Powerful Women in the Ancient World: Perception and (Self) Presentation: Proceedings of the 8th Melammu Workshop, Kassel, 30 January - 1 February 2019 (Melammu Workshops and Monographs, 4) 9783963271380, 3963271388

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Melammu Workshops and Monographs 4

Powerful Women in the Ancient World

Powerful Women in the Ancient World Perception and (Self )Presentation

Proceedings of the 8th Melammu Workshop, Kassel, 30 January – 1 February 2019 www.zaphon.de

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Edited by Kerstin Droß-Krüpe and Sebastian Fink

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21.06.2021 20:57:46

Powerful Women in the Ancient World Perception and (Self)Presentation Proceedings of the 8th Melammu Workshop, Kassel, 30 January – 1 February 2019

Edited by Kerstin Droß-Krüpe and Sebastian Fink

Melammu Workshops and Monographs Volume 4

Edited by Sebastian Fink and Robert Rollinger

Scientific Board Alberto Bernabé (Madrid) Josine Blok (Utrecht) Rémy Boucharlat (Lyon) Eckart Frahm (New Haven) Mait Kõiv (Tartu) Ingo Kottsieper (Göttingen) Daniele Morandi Bonacossi (Udine) Sabine Müller (Marburg) Simonetta Ponchia (Verona) Kurt Raaflaub (Providence) Thomas Schneider (Vancouver) Rahim Shayegan (Los Angeles) Shigeo Yamada (Tsukuba)

Powerful Women in the Ancient World Perception and (Self)Presentation Proceedings of the 8th Melammu Workshop, Kassel, 30 January – 1 February 2019

Edited by Kerstin Droß-Krüpe and Sebastian Fink

Zaphon Münster 2021

The Melammu Logo was drawn by Rita Berg from a Greco-Persian style seal found on the north-eastern shore of the Black Sea (Dominique Collon, First Impressions: Cylinder Seals in the Ancient Near East (London: British Museum Publications 1987), no. 432). Illustration on the cover: Morton Dürr / Lars Horneman: Zenobia. København 2016, p. 43, by courtesy of the authors.

Powerful Women in the Ancient World. Perception and (Self)Presentation. Proceedings of the 8th Melammu Workshop, Kassel, 30 January – 1 February 2019 Edited by Kerstin Droß-Krüpe and Sebastian Fink Melammu Workshops and Monographs 4

© 2021 Zaphon, Enkingweg 36, Münster (www.zaphon.de) All rights reserved. Printed in Germany. Printed on acid-free paper.

ISBN 978-3-96327-138-0 (Buch) ISBN 978-3-96327-139-7 (E-Book) ISSN 2698-8224

Table of Contents Preface and Acknowledgements Kerstin Droß-Krüpe / Sebastian Fink ...................................................................9 Powerful Women in the Ancient World in the Light of the Sources Innana and En-ḫedu-ana: Mutual Empowerment and the Myth INNANA CONQUERS UR Annette Zgoll .......................................................................................................13 The Many Lives of Enheduana: Identity, Authorship, and the “World’s First Poet” Gina Konstantopoulos ........................................................................................57 Šamḫat: Deconstructing Temple Prostitution One Woman at a Time Nicole Brisch ......................................................................................................77 Hatshepsut: The Feminine Horus and Daughter of Amun on the Throne of Atum David A. Warburton ............................................................................................91 Bathsheba and Beyond: Harem Politics in the Ancient Near East Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones ......................................................................................145 The Agency of Female Prophets in the Bible: Independent or Instrumental? Prophetic or Political? Martti Nissinen .................................................................................................161 Women at the Heart of the Tribal System in the Book of Genesis Stéphanie Anthonioz .........................................................................................185 Between a Queen and an Ordinary Woman: On Laodice and the Representation of Women in Cuneiform Sources in the Hellenistic Period Paola Corò........................................................................................................201 Antigone: Political Power and Resonance Claudia Horst ...................................................................................................211 Mighty, but quiet? Elpinice between Conflicting Priorities in Interpretations and Sources Florian Krüpe ...................................................................................................227 On a Dynastic Mission: Olympias and Kleopatra, Agents of their House Sabine Müller....................................................................................................241

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Table of Contents

(Re)Taking Halikarnassos: Ada, Alexander the Great and Karian Queenship Timothy Howe ...................................................................................................259 Amanishakheto: A Meroitic Ruling Queen of the Late 1st Cent. BC / Early 1st Cent. AD Josefine Kuckertz ..............................................................................................287 Cornelia: A Powerful Woman Kordula Schnegg...............................................................................................323 Domum servavit, lanam fecit: Livia and the Rewriting of the Female Model in the Augustan Age Francesca Rohr Vio ..........................................................................................349 Iulia maior on the Move: exemplum licentiae and euergetis Christiane Kunst ...............................................................................................361 Der Tod Messalinas. Folge sexueller Libertinage oder Machtkalkül? Helmuth Schneider............................................................................................379 Feminine, influential and different? The Presentation of Julia Domna Brigitte Truschnegg ..........................................................................................413 Zenobia of Palmyra: A Female Roman Ruler in Times of Crisis Udo Hartmann ..................................................................................................433 “Earthly yoke”? The Estate of Valeria Melania Ireneusz Milewski..............................................................................................453 Shirin in Context: Female Agency and the Wives of the Sasanian King Khosrow Parviz Ewan Short / Eve MacDonald...........................................................................475 Powerful Women in the Ancient World in Modern Thought Cleopatra as a Strong Woman in Modern Times: A Less Negative Episode in a Disfigured Tradition? François de Callataÿ ........................................................................................499 Rome Herself: Female Characters in Günther Birkenfeld’s Augustus Novels (1934–1984) Martin Lindner..................................................................................................519 Depicting the Palmyrene Queen Zenobia: From Baroque “femmes fortes” to Modern Comic Books Anja Wieber ......................................................................................................541

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Bios ...................................................................................................................567 Index.................................................................................................................573 Names ..........................................................................................................573 Places ...........................................................................................................583

Preface and Acknowledgements Kerstin Droß-Krüpe / Sebastian Fink “Memory renders the past meaningful. It keeps it alive and makes it an essential part of the cultural orientation of present day life.”1 Remembrance and historiography are inextricably linked. Regardless of the times, of the social contexts and of whether in a popular or academic context, both contain a gendered connotation. Gender as a category is of relevance to both, the subjects and the objects of any historiography. It has an impact on and is impacted by who remembers the past, writes history and thus determines narratives about historical events, but also on who (or what) becomes the object of historiography and historical considerations in the first place. Though we often consider the ancient world a male dominated and patrimonial world, our sources provide rich evidence for powerful, influential and even ruling women as well. The negotiation of females and images of women plays a key role in the ancient world. Especially women outside a taxonomy usually conceived of as male/female with differing moral and habitual norms for both genders, are focused on in ancient sources and as in ancient studies. In particular women in power are often perceived as an absolute Otherness, as oxymora and remarkable – and too often highly critically judged – exceptions or deviations, challenging the common order. This volume is the result of the 8th Melammu Workshop “(Self-)Presentation and Perception of Powerful Women in the Ancient World” that took place in Kassel from January 30th to February 1st 2019. Although in recent years several publications dealing with powerful women appeared or are in preparation,2 it is the first volume not only taking an exceptionally broad temporal and geographical scope, but also combining contributions on the portrayal of powerful ancient women in cuneiform texts and classical sources. In doing so, it aims at bringing together both a “western” and “eastern” perspective on the remembrance of these exceptional women and likewise at making the Self-presentation of these women as well as their discursive/narrative treatment by (later, male) outsiders the centre of attention. In what follows, power is understood in its broadest sense – not only real political and formal power, but also more informal concepts of power, such as relations of dependence and superiority in private, in the religious or economic 1 2

Rüsen, 2007: 169. Among the most recent Carla-Uhink / Wieber, 2019; Carney / Müller, 2020.

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spheres, taking into account that the latter forms of power can nevertheless influence the exercise of formal power. Thus, both actual female rulers and women who pulled strings from behind the scenes – at least according to their presentation in the sources – are gathered here. The key questions the contributors to this volume ask are: What information does a close and critical reading of the available sources provide about their actual radius of action and their social and economic status? Were these women considered role models (and if so when and by whom)? What do these details tell us about different gender roles in the Classical and Mesopotamian worlds? How (and possibly why) where the attitudes towards women different? The broad scope of the volume is to demonstrate that the authors of Classical antiquity provide us with more evidence of criticism and moral condemnation of exceptional women than cuneiform sources. One may think particularly of the goddess Inana/Ishtar, who is explicitly characterized by the transgression of gender roles and norms. While several other goddesses represent the ‘loving mother’, Ishtar alone is the goddess of war and love. It might seem strange that these two fields of activity are attributed to the same goddess, but both activities are connected to the transgression of imaginary and conventional borders. ‘All is fair in love and war’ could be her motto. She is the powerful woman per se, dangerous because of her power, dangerous and insatiable as a lover, and ready to destroy the whole world when the object of her desire dares to reject her. Yet, even though it can be noted that Classical sources and cuneiform texts apply different narrative patterns when dealing with powerful women – obviously due to the nature of available source material – the contributions in this volume likewise demonstrate a certain degree of pluralism in ideals of femininity, sometimes even opposing ones, in our sources. While Classical authors show a tendency to criticize powerful women, there are likewise sources admiring these women and praising their abilities. While Thucydides (2,45) considers the glory of those women greatest, who are least talked of (be it for good or for bad), Charon of Carthage is the first to compile in his βίους γυναικῶν ὁμοίως – the lives and deeds of several famous women. As Photius informs us (codex 161) there were more such collection of biographies of historical and mythological women, but most of them did not survive.3 Plutarch’s Mulierum virtutes4 and γυναῖκες ἐν πολεμικοῖς σθνεταὶ καὶ ἀνδρεῖαι / Tractatus de mulieribus claris in bello by an anonymous author constitute exceptions. These are vivid examples of the interest ancient authors took in powerful women and different categories of virtuous and laudable women. After all, even the stoic philosophers vindicate the ἀρετή, the moral virtue, of men and women to be alike.5

3

Cf. Gera, 1997: 32–34. Plut. mor. 242E–263C, explicitly contradicting Thuc. 2,45 in 242E–F. 5 SVF 3,253 and 254. 4

Preface and Acknowledgements

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Accordingly, it is a shortened and simplistic concept to reduce virtuous women in ancient societies to loving mothers and caring wives. Undoubtedly, it is tempting to assume that the ancient world was nicely divided according gender dualism and that men and women had their ideal roles within the ancient world – as it is disseminated in textbooks and numerous popular media, but also still to be found in academic discourse. But as this volume demonstrates, ancient realities were much more complex. It goes without saying, that this selection of powerful women is both subjective and fragmentary. The women discussed cover three millennia. They were monocrats or regents as Amanishaketo, Hatshepsut or Zenobia; they were wives or daughters of mighty rulers as Bathsheba, Olympias, Livia, Iulia minor, Messalina or Iulia Domna; they were religious authorities as Šamḫat, Miriam or Melania; they were part of highly influential families as Antigone, Elpinike, Ada or Cornelia. Yet, there is a multitude of other ancient women who could not be considered in this volume – one might think of Adad-guppi, Nofretete, Semiramis6, Artemisia, Sempronia or Boudicca. Yet, we hope that its readers will find the chapters useful, informative and stimulating. We further hope that this volume can provide an impetus for further research by demonstrating the added value of interdisciplinary research and cross-cultural studies across disciplinary boundaries and on a long-term basis – following the core interests of the Melammu project. Nevertheless, the age-old assumption of ancient gender dualism determines later interpretations and instrumentalization of the information about women (and men) contained in the source material. Not least for this reason, we have decided to dedicate a separate section to the later reception and interpretation of powerful women. Thus, in addition to contributions on powerful women from ANE, Ancient Egypt and Nubia and the world of Classical antiquity (arranged chronographically), there are also contributions dealing with the afterlife of these women in scholarship and popular culture. Again, too, there is an astonishing spectrum of interpretations, that have sometimes even taken on a life of their own, detached from the original sources. The powerful women discussed in this volume can be broadly divided between “women to remember” and “women to forget.” While the “women to remember” are unusual and powerful women, they are represented as the realization of an ideal, being the prototypes of the right behavior and an exemplification of a society’s values. But it is important to note that the “women to forget” are obviously not entirely forgotten. Instead of being erased from cultural memory, they are used as deterrent examples. Their actions are usually interpreted as the results of their bad character and their transgression of social norms in the realm of politics, often accompanied with the transgression of sexual norms. Remembering them in this particular way does not necessarily reflect ancient realities, but rather the respec6

On the ancient portrayals and later reception of Semiramis from Greek historiography up to Baroque opera cf. Droß-Krüpe, 2020.

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tive author’s moral ideals of norms and decent behaviour. It seems that in Mesopotamian and Classical sources two categories prevail: besides the prototype of the loving mother, there is a prototype of the dangerous lover. And when taking a look at the contributions presented in this volume, one may conclude that the latter type was somehow considered more fascinating. Last but not least we would like to express our gratitude towards the many people and institutions who in different forms have contributed to this project. First and foremost, we are grateful to all the contributors of this volume as well as to all the participants of the workshop in Kassel, which will be remembered for fruitful discussions in a relaxed, but also intellectually very stimulating atmosphere. Our enthusiastic and indefatigable student helpers, Lion Arendt and Falk Ruttloh, significantly contributed to the success of the event, Jane ParsonsSauer provided valuable help with the accounting. Special thanks go to Kai Ruffing and to Agnès Garcia-Ventura, who kindly agreed to act as session chairs and discussants. We would also like to acknowledge the financial support received from Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (DFG), from the Academy of Finland Centre of Excellence ‘Changes in Sacred Texts and Traditions’ (CSTT; PI Martti Nissinnen), as well from different institutions connected to Kassel University (IAG Frauen- und Geschlechterforschung, Referat für Internationalisierung und Internationale Kooperationen, Universitätsgesellschaft Kassel e.V.). We also owe thanks to Delila Jordan for carefully creating the indexes to this volume. Her work was made possible with the support of the PhilosophicalHistorical Faculty of the University of Innsbruck. Finally, we owe thanks to Kai Metzler from Zaphon publishing for taking on the project and for his editorial support. Bibliography Carla-Uhink, F. / Wieber, A. (eds.), 2019: Orientalism and the Reception of Powerful Women from the Ancient World. London et al. Carney, E. / Müller, S. (eds.), 2020: The Routledge Companion to Women and Monarchy in the Ancient Mediterranean World. London. Droß-Krüpe, K., 2020: Semiramis, de qua innumerabilia narrantur. Rezeption und Verargumentierung der Königin von Babylon von der Antike bis in die opera seria des Barock. Classica et Orientalia 25. Wiesbaden. Gera, D., 1997: Warrior Women: The Anonymous Tractatus De Mulieribus. Mnemosyne, Bibliotheca Classica Batava Supplementum. Leiden. Rüsen, J., 2007: “How to make sense of the past – salient issues of Metahistory”. The Journal for Transdisciplinary Research in Southern Africa 3/1, 169–221.

Innana and En-ḫedu-ana Mutual Empowerment and the Myth INNANA CONQUERS UR Annette Zgoll1

1 Mighty women. Aims and outline of the article A famous Sumerian song describes the mutual empowerment of a mighty goddess and a mighty human: It is the song to the most powerful female from a Mesopotamian perspective – the goddess Innana,2 in her incarnation as the n i n m e š a r a , the “Lady of the countless numinous instruments of power”. It features the mutual empowerment of Innana, ruler of all the lands, and of the high-priestess En-ḫeduana, whose life is amply documented in sources from the 23rd century B.C.3 Enḫedu-ana urges Innana to prove her powers on earth are the same as in heaven by crushing every possible resistance against it. This would also confirm En-ḫeduana in her powerful position as high priestess. With the aid of fundamental philological methods and, for the first time, a mythological analysis using the new frame theory of general and comparative hylistics, a previously unknown myth about Innana’s disputed power has been discovered, which also serves to legitimize the ritual power of the high priestess Enḫedu-ana.

1

I am grateful to Kerstin Droß-Krüpe and Sebastian Fink for the invitation to the inspiring Melammu conference and the editing of this volume, to the German Research Foundation (DFG) for the funding of the research group on ancient myths STRATA (https://www.unigoettingen.de/de/556429.html), which has made the interdisciplinary research on myths and the results of this paper possible, to Josephine Fechner and Jennifer Brand for the fine editing, to the anonymous reviewer for constructive feedback, to Tina Jerke for her careful correction of my English, and to Christian Zgoll for valuable discussions on the analysis of myths in the outstanding song nin me šara. 2 Evidence for Innana is found in all centuries of ancient Mesopotamian history, since the earliest documents from ancient Uruk (Szarzyńska, 21997a, 21997b, 21997c; Boehmer, 2014; A. Zgoll, 2019; Zgoll / Zgoll, 2020), the city where cuneiform script was invented for the writing of Sumerian about 3,500 B.C., until the end of Mesopotamian culture around the turn of the eras. For Innana see e.g. Westenholz, 1998; Westenholz / AsherGreve, 2013; Pryke, 2017; A. Zgoll 2019. – Innana is not only revered as “Lady of Heaven” but also as “Lady of the Netherworld” (Ereš-ki-gal), see Zgoll, 2020a, and cf. Steinkeller, 2013: 468 (Gansura); for new insights into her cult see Zgoll / Zgoll, 2020. 3 Winter, 1987; Westenholz, 1989; A. Zgoll, 1997; Bahrani, 2001: 113–117; Zgoll, 2005, 2008, 2009, 2015b and 2015c.

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The article is organised in the following way: 1 Mighty women. Aims and outline of the article 2 Textual basis and methodological approach 2.1 Basic philological research 2.2 Basic mythological research 3 Innana’s power disputed. Analysis of a dramatic source 3.1 The most powerful woman of ancient Mesopotamia. An overview 3.2 Contested power: the goddess 3.3 Contested power: the priestess 3.4 En-ḫedu-ana empowers Innana 4 Myths about Innana’s power: Empowerment by the priestess En-ḫedu-ana 4.1 The myth INNANA CONQUERS ENEMIES AND SUMER 4.2 The myth INNANA CONQUERS UR AND EVERY REBELLIOUS CITY 4.3 Comparison of the two Innana myths 4.4 Empowerment of En-ḫedu-ana and her prophetic speaking 4.5 The composite myth INNANA BECOMES RULER IN HEAVEN AND ON EARTH

5 Innana’s warlike powers. Empowerment by ritual recitation 5.1 En-ḫedu-ana’s invocation of Innana’s judgement 5.2 En-ḫedu-ana’s recitation of Innana’s numinous instruments of power 6 Conclusion and outlook: Mutual Empowerment and the role of myths 2 Textual basis and methodological approach 2.1 Basic philological research Displays of power mainly emerge where power is disputed. The textual basis for this study is the song nin me šara / Lady of the countless numinous instruments of power, which addresses the mounting tensions over who among the gods has the greatest power. This song aims to arouse and incite the anger of the goddess Innana during a rebellious upheaval in the land, and finally to calm her down. Two monographs and a number of further studies have been devoted to the linguistic challenges and the historical contextualisation of this song4. Much has been achieved, more remains to be done. Since the language of this text is a highly complex form of Sumerian, it has been dubbed one of the most difficult Sumerian texts ever studied.5 Some of the difficulties preventing our understanding are the 4

The pioneering edition of nin me šara is found in Hallo / van Dijk, 1968. A new edition with a different translation on the basis of further cuneiform sources and comprehensive philological, text critical, and historical analyses is found in Zgoll, 1997. An overview over further studies and translations of the text is found in Attinger 2019b. Substantial new translations are Attinger, 2019b; Zgoll 2015b and 2015c. As basis for the current study further grammatical, lexical and semantic analyses have been conducted; they have led to a new translation (to be published elsewhere), from which I quote here. 5 Wilcke, 1976: 90.

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intricate syntactical structures, words which are only used here (hapax legomena), and the complex logical thread which includes analepses and prolepses, as well as a plethora of abbreviations and allusions. Every attempt to understand a new detail about the text and its contents – be it in relation to the general meaning, the historical setting, the question of authorship, etc. – has to start from the very bottom: from the basic philological investigations. The fruits of 50 years of textual studies form the basis for the new approach on which the present investigation will be built. The most important results are: nin me šara / Lady of the countless numinous instruments of power is a song meant for a ritual in times of civil war, the war of a centrally controlled empire against individual city states. This ritual song is of incantation-like intensity; its complex language is rhetorically brilliant, rich in metaphors and other poetical devices, with large semantic arches, an interlocking leitmotiv network, and brief allusions. A perplexing feature of the text is its dramatic immediacy: the political situation remains in the balance – only the ritual of the high priestess, to which her song belongs, is meant to bring the devastating war to an end. Differing from this is only the attached epilogue which states that the mission was ultimately successful. This epilogue differs from the rest of the song also in style and linguistic character, indicating that it had been a later addition. This song is famous not only for being a refined poetical work, or for its fascinating content and dramatic historical context. It contains a sphragis which names a high priestess as its creator. The complexity of the song, the ritual context, and the fact that the actual situation is still in flux is typical for ongoing rituals; these and many other textual and historical indicators point to the high priestess En-ḫedu-ana6 as the originator. This makes En-ḫedu-ana the first author in world history who is known to us by name. A further investigation of the subject will be the focus of an upcoming paper.7 2.2 Basic mythological research Essential for the present study is first an in-depth philological analysis of the whole song with studies of grammatical and lexematic details, semantic sequences, and poetic structures that build the texture of the song. Additionally there is another methodological approach which is applied to nin me šara here for the first time. This approach accounts for the fact that the narration of myths and al6

For En-ḫedu-ana as author of nin me šara see Hallo / van Dijk, 1968 and Zgoll, 1997 (most comprehensive), 2005, 2008, 2009, 2015b and 2015c. Further discussion on En-ḫedu-ana as author, also of other texts, is found e.g. in Lambert, 1970; Hallo, 1976; Lambert, 2001; Lion, 2008; Glassner, 2009; Keetman, 2010; Selz, 2019: 18; Helle 2019. (The short note of Civil, 1980: 279 against En-ḫedu-ana as author refers only to another song attributed to her; accordingly Michalowski, 1998: 65). 7 This paper is planned to become part of a volume to be edited by M. Kern about “Authorship and Authority in the Ancient World”.

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lusions to such myths forms a central part of the ritual song. Recently it has been demonstrated that ancient myths are in fact battle-grounds for competing world views, and they find particular use in hierarchical disputes.8 We must therefore follow the myths that underlie the semantic sequence of the song: the parts and fragments of myths contained in the song must be analysed if we wish to understand the disputes about the power of Innana. This will reveal the attempt of Enḫedu-ana to empower Innana in the most extreme circumstances of upheaval and rebellion. Our new approach is even more promising because long-term studies in several interdisciplinary research groups and projects (especially in the context of the Göttingen Collegium Mythologicum9), in the research group on ancient myths STRATA10 (funded by the German Research Foundation, DFG), and others11 have developed a basic toolkit for mythological research: a frame theory and a set of methods for the reconstruction of myths. Important results have been published in the “theoretical and methodological foundation” to “myths as polymorphous and polystratic Erzählstoffe”12 and in a comprehensive framework, the Tractatus mythologicus13. The latter publication presents the theoretical and methodological groundwork for a study of myths that can serve as the foundation for a general, transmedial, and comparative study of Erzählstoffe; a follow-up volume collects interdisciplinary case studies from eight different fields of research14. Further studies are in preparation,15 and they are promising to deliver many new findings. 8

See C. Zgoll, 2019: 413–439 and 2020: 60–73. https://www.uni-goettingen.de/de/collegium-mythologicum/410971.html. 10 https://www.uni-goettingen.de/de/556429.html. 11 For example the joint-venture project TEMEN of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and Göttingen University, see https://www.uni-goettingen.de/de/temen/547431.html. 12 See C. Zgoll, 2020 entitled “Myths as Polymorphous and Polystratic Erzählstoffe: A Theoretical and Methodological Foundation.” This is an abbreviated English version of main parts of C. Zgoll 2019. 13 See C. Zgoll, 2019 entitled “Tractatus mythologicus. Theorie und Methodik zur Erforschung von Mythen als Grundlegung einer allgemeinen, transmedialen und komparatistischen Stoffwissenschaft.“ This basic work encompasses many case studies on myths from the Ancient Near East and Ancient Greece and Rome. 14 Zgoll / Zgoll, 2020, a volume with exemplary applications of this method from different disciplines of research about ancient cultures and religions as Sumer, Akkad, Egypt, Greece, Rome, Israel, Early Judaism and Early Christianity. 15 In print is Maiwald, 2020 about “Mesopotamische Schöpfungstexte in Ritualen. Methodik und Fallstudien zur situativen Verortung”. This dissertation deals with the situational contextualisation of texts with creation myths in rituals; in preparation for print is the interdisciplinary volume G. Gabriel / B. Kärger / A. Zgoll / C. Zgoll (eds.), “Was vom Himmel kommt. Stoffanalytische Zugänge zu antiken Mythen aus Mesopotamien, Ägypten, Griechenland und Rom” and an introduction into the new field of hylistic narratology by A. Zgoll / B. Cuperly / A. Cöster-Gilbert 2021. – During the next years several new projects will be published, e.g. in the context of the interdisciplinary research group STRATA 9

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To provide a forum for the pursuit of such new avenues, the series MythoS has been created.16 In the present context some brief pointers may suffice to characterize the theoretical and methodological concepts relevant here: As a result of years of research in the mentioned research groups on mythology C. Zgoll has managed to develop a generally applicable definition of myth: “A myth can be defined as an Erzählstoff which is polymorphic through its variants and – depending on the variant – polystratic; an Erzählstoff in which transcending interpretations of what can be experienced are combined into a hyleme sequence with an implicit claim to relevance for the interpretation and mastering of the human condition.”17 That includes the following: • •

Myths are not identical with texts. A myth can take the concrete form of a text, but it can also be represented in other media, e.g. pictures, pantomimes, or films. • A myth must therefore be something “behind” these concrete manifestations, irrespective and independent of the medium. But how, then, can we get hold of (a version of) a myth if it is not overtly visible but “hidden” within such medial manifestations? For an objective reconstruction of (the different versions of) a myth it is necessary to include all of the available ‘narrative material’ in a given source. Without semantic bias, each (minimal) action-bearing unit of the Erzählstoff must be taken into account, since they constitute the smallest building blocks of the narrative material; for convenience such a ‘minimal action-bearing unit of the Erzählstoff’ has been labelled ‘hyleme’, from the Greek hyle (ὕλη) ‘material’ or ‘Stoff’. Hyleme analysis is the essential method for reconstructing myths, separating different versions of the same myth (and of the narrative materials, or Erzählstoffe, in general), and for comparing narrative materials, or Erzählstoffe18. With this new approach it becomes possible to reconstruct mythical narratives that the people of ancient Mesopotamia handed down about Innana/Ishtar’s power and cleverness. We have applied the theory and methods of mythological research (https://www.uni-goettingen.de/de/556429.html) and the Emmy Noether Research Group of G. Gabriel about “Mythische Literaturwerke der altbabylonischen Zeit als wissenspraktische Artefakte” (https://www.geschkult.fu-berlin.de/e/altorient/forschungsprojekte/for schung/Mythische-Literaturwerke-als-wissenspraktische-Artefakte/index.html). 16 The series is called Mythological Studies, abbreviated MythoS, and is hosted by De Gruyter, see https://www.degruyter.com/view/serial/MYTHOS-B. 17 Zgoll, 2020: 75–76; see in more detail C. Zgoll, 2019: 557–563, especially 562–563. 18 For hyleme analysis see C. Zgoll, 2019: 124–128 and 2020. An overview over the terminology of the frame theory of mythological research is found in C. Zgoll, 2019: 579– 583 (English and German). For a new comparative approach to myths and other Erzählstoffe see C. Zgoll, 2019: 164–204. For hyleme analysis as basis for hylistic narratology see Zgoll / Cuperly / Cöster-Gilbert, 2021.

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to reconstruct several (variants of) myths about Innana (see the overview below). The methodological tools have allowed us (1) to detect new myths about Innana, (2) to make sense of some previously opaque myths, (3) to evaluate the widely diverging perspectives on the goddess, and (4) to place them in their respective historical context(s). Forming the core of the present contribution will be an analysis of the ritual song nin me šara / Lady of the countless numinous instruments of power, which sees Innana’s apparently disputed power proclaimed in no uncertain terms. The hyleme analysis is based on the new philological analysis and translation of the famous song.19 3 Innana’s power disputed. Analysis of a dramatic source 3.1 The most powerful woman of ancient Mesopotamia. An overview Innana’s name declares her to be the “lady of heaven” (nin an=ak), and her temples and sanctuaries all over Mesopotamia testify to the immense veneration she enjoyed among the population20. Worship of Innana was intense enough for her Akkadian name, Ištar, to become the generic word for “goddess”, ištaru. Hyleme analysis allows for the reconstruction of multiple myths about Innana, with several more mythical variations. It also delivers new insights regarding the source of her powers.21 One central mythical theme is the claim that Innana is in possession of the numinous instruments of power (Sumerian m e ), which confer power and supremacy on the deity. Several myths recount how Innana gathers the instruments of power from all cosmic regions: •

19

me from the subterranean ocean (Abzu) in the myth INNANA BRINGS THE ABZU’S INSTRUMENTS OF POWER TO URUK, found in the epic Innana and Enki22: Innana outwits Enki, the god of ritual wisdom and city-god of Eridu, by making him drink too much beer, and then steals the instruments of power from him;

The whole new translation and philological commentary will be published elsewhere; for the time being see as most extensive monographic study Zgoll, 1997 and besides that Zgoll, 2015b and 2015c. 20 Babylon may serve as a striking example: Tintir, an ancient catalogue listing religious buildings and installations in Babylon of the 1. Mill., counts 180 cultic installations (“shrines” or “chapels”, Akkadian ibratu) devoted to Ishtar (George, 1992: 68 f.); even if this number is not to be taken literally it implies that shrines for Ishtar were to be found on every corner. Innana/Ishtar must have played a most important role, not only in the state cult, but in the life of everybody. 21 See in detail Zgoll, 2020a, 2020b and Zgoll / Zgoll, 2020. 22 Titles of myths are given in capitals, titles of texts in italics. – For this most important textual source of the myth see Farber-Flügge, 1973, for a mythological approach cf. Zgoll, 2020b. The analyses of Annus, 2016: 31–37 on this and other myths about Innana and her “boat of heaven” do not seem to be rooted in an analysis of the original texts.

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•

•

19

me from heaven in the myth INNANA BRINGS THE FIRST TEMPLE OUT OF HEAVEN, found in the epic song an gal karede / Innana and An23: With a “gang” of other gods Innana steals the House of Heaven from the god of heaven, i.e. she establishes the first earthly temple as a model for all other temples. It has to be assumed that Innana thus transfers the instruments of power, inherent in the heavenly temple, from the divine to the human sphere (indeed, the temple could not function without the instruments of power, as they include its first and foremost rituals). Innana even manages to get hold of the powers of the netherworld by descending into this dangerous realm and enduring death itself to complete her task; this daring deed is the theme of the myth INNANA BRINGS THE NETHERWORLD’S INSTRUMENTS OF POWER TO EARTH24 which is described in the epic song angalta / Innana’s Descent to the Netherworld25.

3.2 Contested power: the goddess To learn more about the power of the goddess, an analysis of the ritual song nin me šara / Lady of the countless numinous instruments of power will be of interest because the song references a time when the power of Innana was disputed. Composition of the ritual song can safely be dated to the 23rd century B.C.,26 which 23 For the most important textual source of this myth see van Dijk, 1998 (with the collaboration of A. Cavigneaux); for a new translation see Zgoll, 2015a, for a new interpretation Zgoll, 2021; a new edition has been prepared as part of the TEMEN (Topography – Mythology – Narration) joint project between the University of Göttingen (Lower Saxony) and the Hebrew University of Jerusalem (Israel), funded by the Lower Saxony Ministry for Science and Culture (http://www.uni-goettingen.de/de/temen/547431.html). It will be published in the series Mythological Studies (MythoS). 24 The reconstruction of this myth which had escaped previous research has become possible by applying the new frame theory and method of mythological research using hyleme-analyses and stratification-analyses (see C. Zgoll, 2019 and 2020) to detect mythical versions and mythical strata in texts and other medial concretisations of myths. The results have been confirmed by several means: (1) a yet unpublished, older version of this myth has been found in a ca. 800 years older textual source and (2) other, contemporary sources, confirm the reconstruction as well (see Zgoll, 2020a); (3) the ancient evaluation of the myth is made clear through explicit reference to another Innana-myth (see Zgoll, 2020b) and (4) by the existence of cultic rituals which obviously celebrate that Innana gained these instruments of power (see Zgoll / Zgoll, 2020). Thus, a new interpretation of this myth can now safely be reconstructed which harmonizes perfectly with the position of this goddess representing one of the highest deities of the pantheon as well as with Innana’s veneration documented all-over Mesopotamia throughout the centuries. 25 The most important textual source of this myth is the epic with the incipit angalta “From the Great Heaven”, most recently edited by Attinger, 2019a (with further literature). A new edition of this epic has just been finished in the Göttingen / Paris dissertation of B. Cuperly, a project of the mythological research group STRATA. 26 See note 6.

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saw the emergence of the Akkadian Empire of Sargon, the first to be established in the Mesopotamian world while it was being besieged by older states (such as Kiš) and traditional Sumerian city states.27 The source is unique in that it provides a contemporary perspective on this tumultuous phase, which also introduced new developments in politics, religion, and the arts.28 3.3 Contested power: the priestess One of the highest priestly offices at that time was that of the high priestess of the moon god Nanna in the city of Ur. The first known office-holder was En-ḫeduana; the style of an extant votive inscription is comparable to that of royal inscriptions.29 As the high priestess of Nanna, En-ḫedu-ana represented Nanna’s wife Ningal, so that during the performance of certain rituals she was believed to embody the goddess herself.30 En-ḫedu-ana calls herself the daughter of the founder of the empire, i.e. Sargon of Akkade (23rd century). It is under his grandson Narām-Sîn that we see some states, including the mighty city states of the South, rise in rebellion. Among them, the city state of Ur is one of the leading forces against the centralistic state.31 It is here, in Ur, that this political rebellion has a direct effect on the high priestess En-ḫedu-ana: the new ruler of Ur, Lugal-Ane, wants her to install him as the new king.32 En-ḫedu-ana refuses to grant the ruler’s wish, and he threatens to execute the priestess. En-ḫedu-ana flees into exile where, in another city state (presumably Lagaš), she performs a powerful ritual to interact with the goddess Innana.33 Innana is a personal protective deity of the Sargonic kings and, through her cultic wedding (hieros gamos), spouse to the actual king Narām-Sîn. The song nin me šara is part of En-ḫedu-ana’s ritual to empower the goddess; I am at present una27

For the origins of the Akkadian empire see e.g. Gelb, 1981 and 1992; Steinkeller, 1993 and 2013a; Westenholz, 2020. 28 For an overview of the most important developments during the Old Akkadian period see, for instance, Liverani, 1993; Franke, 1995; Tinney, 1997; Westenholz, 1999; Foster, 2016. – New religious developments of that epoch are visible in the praise song nin me šara itself, e. g. when it is proclaimed, that Innana has been elevated to highest rank, see nin me šara 114–5: “At birth you (= Innana) were the smaller queen, (but now:) how you have surpassed the Anuna, all the great gods!” and section 4.5 of this paper. 29 See Gelb / Kienast, 1990: 64 f. “Sargon A 1” and 190 “Sargon C 15” = Frayne, 1993: 35 f. no. 16 (Ex. 1 and 2). 30 See Westenholz, 1989: 541–544; Zgoll, 2008: 11 f.; Stol, 2016: 558–564; for the worldview behind this notion of a deity manifesting in a human being cf. Zgoll, 2012a und 2012c. 31 See on this “Great Revolt” against Narām-Sîn of Akkad in further detail Franke 1995: 175–177; Tinney, 1997; Zgoll, 1997: 99–110 and passim; Wilcke, 1997; Westenholz, 1999: 51–54; Sommerfeld, 2000; Haul, 2009: 33–94; Foster, 2016: 12–15. 32 See Zgoll, 1997: 155 f.; cf. also Weiershäuser, 2008: 253. 33 Cf. nin me šara 104–108 and 136–137 (see sections 4.3 and 5.2 below).

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ware of any other such ritual with a stronger sense of empowerment than that of En-ḫedu-ana’s song. In this paper I will show, how Innana’s power had been disputed, why an empowerment of her was necessary, how En-ḫedu-ana aimed to empower Innana and how this would affect En-ḫedu-ana herself. 3.4 En-ḫedu-ana empowers Innana The core component of En-ḫedu-ana’s ritual is a song of praise. This might seem strange to us: faced with threats such as rebellion, exile, and death, why perform a song of praise? Why not a lamentation? Strong religious beliefs shaped the world view of the ancient Mesopotamians, and rituals involving songs of praise were crucial means of interaction with the mightiest entities in the universe, who were presumed to have the power to change the course of history.34 En-ḫedu-ana’s ritual aims to convince Innana that the time has come for her to use her instruments of power and to act as the patron deity of the empire as it finds itself under siege, that is, at the very moment her power is being contested. The ritual, with its song, serves moreover as conjuring recitation to empower the goddess (see section 5.2). 4 Myths about Innana’s power: Empowerment by the priestess En-ḫedu-ana In this section we will look at some of the 153 lines of En-ḫedu-ana’s ritual song nin me šara, with which En-ḫedu-ana tries to invoke Innana’s power. nin me šara is characterised by a highly stylised rhetoric with a complex argumentative structure. Only a closer examination will reveal that En-ḫedu-ana has built into the text allusions to several myths about the irresistible power of Innana. 4.1 The myth INNANA CONQUERS ENEMIES AND SUMER The first key passage of interest here is the description of Innana’s conquest of her enemies (ll. 20–33).

34

See for example the rhetoric strategies in prayers of hand-lifting rituals which try to make a deity help in mostly emergency situations: in these prayers, the section with hymnal praise may cover half of the whole text, in order to make the deity inclined to help (Zgoll, 2003: 269–270). And there is even more to be said about the ancient’s concept of how powerful praise can be. The power of praise is meant as transferring the praised properties to the praised entity. This can be inferred from praises of temples which are meant to function as they should. Two Göttingen projects are devoted to this topic, B. Kärger on the hymn to the temple of Keš, A. Merk on the Enki’s Journey to Nippur; see for the time being the activation of the temple of Keš through the song of praise: “Das Preislied überträgt auf den Tempel dessen eigene Macht.” (Zgoll, 2012b: 28). For the power of praise in general see Gerstenberger, 2018.

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Textual approach to nin me šara NMŠ 20–3335 20

nin-ĝu10 za-pa-aĝ2-zu-še3 kur i3-gegurum-e 21 ni2 me-lim4 u18-lu-da nam-lu2-ulu4 22 niĝ2-me(-)ĝar ĝiri3-bi u3mu-ri-gub 23 me-ta me ḫuš-bi šu ba-ere-ti 24

i-dub ir2-ra-ke4 ĝal2 mara-ab-taka4 25 e2 a-nir gal-gal-la sila-ba mu-ri-du 26 igi me3-ta niĝ2 ma-ra-tasi-ig 27 nin-ĝu10 a2 ni2-za (na4)zu2zu2 i3-gu7-e 28

u4 du7-du7-gen7 i3-du7du7-de3-en 29 u4 gu3 ra-ra-da gu3 im-daab-ra-ra(-an) 30 d Iškur-da še25/26/30 mu-unda-an/ab-ge4-ge4(-en6) 31 im ḫulu im ḫulu-da im-dakuš2-u3-de3(-en) 32 ĝiri3-za nu-kuš2-u3 (i3-)imsi

35

“My Queen! When all enemy lands bow down at the sound of your roar, after the people, (horrified) by your fearsome radiance, and (destructive) storms, / had turned their steps toward you in mute dread – of all the numinous instruments of power (m e ), you had grasped the most terrible ones – then the gateway of tears was opened on your account, then one started to walk the path to you, to the house of all the great laments. Because of you, all had been ripped away, even before the battle. My Queen! (How powerful is) the strength of you! When it (your strength) crushes the hardest material (flint or tooth)36, when like the invasive storms barging in, you ceaselessly barge in, when with the ceaselessly howling storms you ceaselessly howl, – with the (god of thunder) Iškur you thunder thunderously – when with the terrible storms, with the terrible thunderstorms you ceaselessly exhaust, while (your own foot =) you have never yet tired,

The translations presented in this paper are the outcome of a new philological in-depth analysis of nin me šara; the results will be published elsewhere. A former English translation of the German translation found in my monographic study (Zgoll, 1997) has been prepared by Michelle Hart and Tatjana Dorsch, see www.angelfire.com/mi/enheduanna/ Ninmesara.html; the English translation of ETCSL 4.07.2 is also based on Zgoll, 1997. The latest German translation of nin me šara is Zgoll, 2015b (with annotations); a recent overview of the extant text sources with a French translation and annotations is provided by Attinger, 2019b; a thorough analysis of nin me šara including a contextual sociopolitical approach to the text can be found in Zgoll, 1997. 36 See Attinger, 2019.

Innana and En-ḫedu-ana 33

balaĝ a-nir-ra-ta i-lu muun-da-ab-be2

23

then one (= people in general) strikes up a song of lamentation with the harp of laments.”37

Reconstruction of the myth in the order of the text (20–33) The mythological method of hyleme analysis allows us to reconstruct the myth (= narrative material, Erzählstoff)38 behind these lines. This is done by extracting the smallest action-bearing units – hylemes39 – from the textual material. As a first step, we will isolate the hylemes from the passage and display them in the order in which they appear in the text:40 lines of the text My Queen! When all enemy lands bow down at the sound of your roar, 21 after the people, (horrified) by your fearsome radiance and (destructive) storms, / 22 had turned their steps toward you in mute dread 23 – of all the numinous instruments of power, you had grasped the most terrible ones – 20

37

hylemes in textual order Innana raises a warlike roar.41 (20) All enemy lands bow down. (20) Innana has terrifying capabilities (n i 2 m e l i m ). (21 f.) Inanna sends howling storms. (21 f.) People are horrified by Innana. (21 f.) People haste (in terrified silence =) traumatised to Innana. (21 f.) Innana picks up the most horrifying instruments of power. (23)

In some manuscripts the harp is conceptualized as a person (accordingly in the large building inscription of Gudea of Lagaš Gudea Cylinder A vi 24–26, vii 24–29 and B xi 1 f., xv 21 f., see Edzard, 1997: 73 and 94, 97 and ETCSL 2.1.7: 162, 188, 1056, 1177) whereas in other manuscripts of the text the harp features as an object (non personal class). 38 A myth is an Erzählstoff (narrative material) which lies behind its concretisations in form of texts or pictures or pantomimes, films, dances etc., see C. Zgoll, 2019: 25–31 and 2020: 73–76. 39 For the method and concrete procedure (and the theory behind it) see C. Zgoll, 2019: 119–128, and Zgoll, 2020 (in English) and Zgoll / Cuperly / Cöster-Gilbert, 2021; for exemplary applications see the contributions from different scholarly fields, collected in Zgoll / Zgoll, 2020 and in Gabriel / Kärger / Zgoll / Zgoll, 2020. 40 There are several methodological steps which have to be followed, when preparing a hyleme analysis, and rules which aim to standardise the format of hyleme analyses. For these see C. Zgoll 2019: 124–134 (in German), and 2020: 38–40 (in English); Zgoll / Cuperly / Cöster-Gilbert, 2021 (in English). 41 For the warlike noise of Innana see Fink, 2017.

24

lines of the text 24 then the gateway of tears was opened on your account, 25 then one (= people in general) started to walk the path to you, to the house of all the great lamentation. 26 Because of you, all had been ripped away, even before the battle. 27 My Queen! (How powerful is) the strength of you! When it (your strength) crushes the hardest material (flint or tooth), 28 when like invasive storms barging in, you ceaselessly barge in, 29 when with the ceaselessly howling storms you ceaselessly howl, 30 – with the (god of thunder) Iškur you thunder thunderously – 31 when with terrible storms, with terrible thunderstorms you ceaselessly exhaust, 32 while (your own foot =) you have never yet tired, 33 then one (= people in general) strikes up a song of lamentation with the harp of laments

Annette Zgoll

hylemes in textual order Innana makes NN (= people) lament. (24)

NN (= people) haste lamenting to Innana. (25)

NN (= Innana) takes away all “things” (= weapons etc.) from the people = conquers the hostile people. (26) Innana has the power (to break even the hardest material =) to conquer anyone and anything. (27)

Innana barges in with the storms. (28)

Innana howls with the storms. (29)

Innana thunders with the thunder-god Iškur. (30) Innana engages unceasingly with the destructive storms (forces). (31) Innana (does not tire =) stays full of energy. (32) NN (= people) sing lamentations accompanied by harp music. (33)

More about the method: How to reconstruct a myth or another Erzählstoff The next step in the process of hyleme analysis involves rearranging the extracted hyleme sequence in its chronological order,42 and this poses some challenge for our analysis. As narratological research has shown, a story can never be told in its

42

See note 40.

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entirety.43 No story could tell every little detail which might be necessary to tell “everything”. There will always be omissions; there will always be things and happenings which must or can be implied, for example because they are selfevident. Scholarly research aims to lay bare such allusions and implications, and to make an objective, cogent case for its findings. Tools for making the invisible visible are important aids in the promotion of knowledge. Linguistic analysis, for instance, has made enormous contributions to philological studies. It has the capacity to uncover morphemes that are invisible in the written or spoken language but are nevertheless there (be it that are mute, assimilated, defectively written, or even invisible by default). Linguistic analysis is thus an essential aid in translation and interpretation. Narratology, thus far, has had to make do without a comparable systematic tool for the analysis and extraction of implicit narrative elements. There is an urgent need for a methodological toolkit to form the – necessary – foundation for the investigation of myths and their meaning. Hylistic, or hyleme, analysis fills this need. Arranging hylemes in their chronological order often reveals logical gaps or omissions dictated by the cultural context. A simple example: For the following sequence of hylemes A and B – hyleme (A): *Innana looks from heaven to the netherworld. – hyleme (B): *Innana knocks at the gates of the netherworld. we have to imply at least two other hylemes that would have to be positioned between A and B: – hyleme 1 between A+B: [Innana leaves heaven.] – hyleme 2 between A+B: [Innana reaches the netherworld.] Sometimes only part of a hyleme is missing: In a text about the myth INNANA DESCENDING TO THE NETHERWORLD, the statement *“Somebody knocked at the gates of the netherworld” or *“There was a knock at the gates of the netherworld” would lead to the hyleme – [Innana] knocks at the door of the netherworld. As with similar analytic systems (e.g. linguistic analysis), there are additional rules and practical conventions that apply but need not be mentioned here.44 One finding of C. Zgoll is of special importance for the reconstruction of a mythical 43

On this insight from narratology cf. e.g. Martínez / Scheffel, 2012: 165 (“kein Text kann vollständig explizit sein”) and C. Zgoll, 2019: 127 f. und 174 f. Relevant to this is Iser, 1994. 44 See Zgoll, 2020: 38–42.

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hyleme sequence: not all hylemes operate on the same narrative level. Some hylemes summarize other hylemes in the style of headlines; these are so-called hyperhylemes45. Reconstructing the chronology of the myth (core: 20–33) The single event hylemes from the passage of nin me šara / Lady of the countless numinous instruments of power 20–33 are now presented in the chronological order of events46. Implicit i.e. missing information that can nevertheless be deduced with confidence is added in square brackets, with the corresponding lines of the poem indicated by (→). Hylemes which belong to a hyperhyleme are indented below the hyperhyleme: – [Innana] conquers the hostile people. (20–33) – Innana takes up the most terrifying instruments of power. (23) – Innana raises a warlike roar with the storms and with the thunder-god Iškur. (20, 28–31, cf. 10) – Innana destroys (the enemies) with the storms and with Iškur. (28–31) – Innana stays full of energy. (32) – Innana makes [people] lament. (24–25, 33) – [People] haste traumatised to Innana. (21–22, 25) – All enemy lands submit to Innana. (20) – [Innana is now sovereign of all the lands, of heaven and earth.] (→ 20, cf. 12, 21–33) Hylistic analysis demands accuracy. The next step, therefore, is to check for completeness: Does the compiled hyleme sequence contain the whole myth, or is it only part of a myth?47 The first hyleme reconstructed from the textual source is “Innana conquers enemies”. The content of this hyleme is re-active. What we do not know is why she “conquers enemies”. A Mesopotamian myth does not normally forego a proper introduction48. A prior action or event must have occurred to induce the conquering reaction. In the element “enemies” lies the clue: a hostile act must have been perpetrated by an opposing group or person to warrant the status of “enemy”, which in turn explains Innana’s conquest. To avoid any misunderstanding, it seems appropriate at this point to remind ourselves of the difference between a myth (or any other Erzählstoff) and a text. Of course a text can choose to start from any point in the hyleme sequence of its Erzählstoff, and then look back into the past or forward into the future (with ana45

Cf. C. Zgoll, 2019: 185–198, and 2020 (in English). This simple chronological order of events is different from the arrangement of the hylemes as chosen in the text (see section 4.1.2), for rhetoric and other reasons. 47 For the application of this method and its results see C. Zgoll, 2019; Zgoll / Zgoll, 2020; Gabriel, 2021, section 5.2. 48 See A. Zgoll, 2020a. 46

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lepses and prolepses), or it can omit parts of the story, especially if it is well known to its recipients. A telling example can be found in the Old Babylonian epic hymn angalta / Innana’s Descent to the Netherworld. The text starts with Innana making a plan – but before the planning stage there has to be an intention. This intention is addressed in lines 191–193 and 205–207, which contain the hyleme: Innana wants to get the numinous instruments of power of the netherworld. We have thus identified the starting point of the Erzählstoff, in this case of the myth INNANA BRINGS THE NUMINOUS POWERS OF THE NETHERWORLD TO EARTH. Hyleme analysis has provided us with the tools to detect the “missing” beginning of this particular version of the myth (which had been incorporated into a larger composite myth INNANA BECOMES RULER OVER LIFE AND DEATH).49 Applying these findings to the reconstruction of the myth from the present song nin me šara / Lady of the countless numinous instruments of power leads to the conclusion that far from the complete myth, lines 20–33 contain only a core passage; for omitted parts we need to take a closer look at the rest of this song. An analysis of lines 1–19 and other sections does reveal information about the absent exposition of our myth, and we can therefore propose the following reconstruction of the complete hyleme sequence. An gives Innana the instruments of power – The deities An and Uraš love Innana. (2) – The god of heaven, An, gives Innana the numinous instruments of power. (14) – Innana takes up the numinous instruments of power. (5–8) – Innana is in possession of the numinous instruments of power. (1, cf. 2–8, 14, – 16) – Innana is full of fearsome radiance. (2) – Innana rides on predators. (14) – Innana has the power to unleash terrifying disasters and howling storms. (21– 22) – Etc. (There are many more details and metaphors in 1–33 – e.g. flood and fire 11, 13 – describing how Innana’s power manifests itself) Enemies arise, including Sumer – Enemies arise. (20–33, cf. 9–11) – Sumer becomes an enemy. (13, 18) An passes judgement on the enemies, Enlil agrees – An passes judgement [on the enemies.] (15, 19 with consequences in 20–33) – An´s judgement includes Sumer. (15, 19 in conjunction with 13, 18)

49

Zgoll, 2020a and Zgoll / Zgoll, 2020.

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– Enlil agrees to enforce the judgement on Sumer. (18) Innana executes the judgement of An on the enemies – Innana executes the judgement of An [on the enemies, including Sumer.] (15, 18, cf. 9–11, 20–33): – [Innana] conquers the hostile people. (20–33) – Innana takes up the most terrifying instruments of power. (23) – Innana raises a warlike roar with the storms and with the thunder-god Iškur. (20, 28–31) – Innana destroys [the enemies] with the storms and with Iškur. (28–31) – Innana makes [people] lament. (24–25, 33) – [People] haste traumatised to Innana. (21–22, 25) – Innana stays full of energy. (32) Innana has become sovereign of all lands – All enemy lands submit to Innana. (20) – [Innana is now sovereign of all the lands, of heaven and earth.] (→ 20, cf. 3, 12, 20–33) The mythological method of hyleme analysis has allowed us to reconstruct this myth in its chronological order. We have to note, that the references to anonymous enemies on the one hand and Sumer on the other hand let this hyleme sequence waft between different modes of narrating, an abstract and a concrete mode. Condensing the message of the myth in a title We have found it more meaningful to generate titles for myths in hyleme format rather than to name them after key players (as in INNANA AND AN) or a single element of the story (as in DELUGE-MYTH). We therefore propose to name the myth we have extracted from lines 20–33 – our Erzählstoff – by condensing its contents as follows: AN LETS INNANA EXECUTE HIS JUDGEMENT ON ENEMIES AND SUMER By crediting An as the driving force behind Innana’s actions, the title assumes the perspective of En-ḫedu-ana: in Mesopotamia (and elsewhere) the person giving orders or devising a plan is considered to be “in charge”. The rule applies to gods as well as in daily life: the person who orders the construction of a temple, i.e. the king, is the “builder” of the temple, not the construction workers who lay down the rows of bricks. Accordingly it is Innana who brings the first temple out of heaven, not the other gods who act as her helpers.50 50

That this is the perspective of ancient recipients becomes clear by the reaction to the deed: The god of heaven clearly states, that it is Innana who has brought the first temple out of heaven. See Zgoll, 2015a and 2021.

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A close reading of the myth’s textual manifestation, however, shows that the formal design of the text is diverging from the message of the Erzählstoff in its focus on Innana rather than An as responsible for the deeds. The text credits Inanna with the “conquest of enemies”. An’s authority is of secondary importance if not entirely marginal. A title reflective of the strong textual focus on Innana is therefore INNANA CONQUERS ENEMIES AND SUMER If we compare the hylemes of this myth in its plain, chronological order with the concrete textual passages of nin me šara / Lady of the countless numinous instruments of power 1–19 and 20–33, En-ḫedu-Ana’s rhetorical embellishments become even more apparent. Elliptical omissions and changes in the chronological arrangement of the hylemes weave a complex fabric. The re-arranged chronology primarily serves to emphasize the final outcome: The god An subjects all countries to his judgement. Innana executes the judgement with the result that all enemies – including Sumer – bow down to Innana, i.e. they must accept her as their ruler. After recounting the myth about the “hostile lands” in 20–33, the text continues with the core passage from another myth in the next segment, nin me šara / Lady of the countless numinous instruments of power 42–59. 4.2 The myth INNANA CONQUERS UR AND EVERY REBELLIOUS CITY Textual approach to nin me šara 42–59 42

nin kur-ra diri-ga a-ba ki-za ba-an-tum3

43

ḫur-saĝ ki-za ba-e-de3gid2-de3-en (or ba-e-de3gid2-da-aš) dEzinam niĝ2ge17-bi 44 abul-a-ba izi mu-un-ri-ri 45 i7-ba uš2 ma-ra-an-de2 uĝ3-bi ma-ra-na8-na8

51

“Queen, greater than the hostile lands – who would dare take any of your territories away from you?51 You take the ‘mountain range’ (= Sumerian city state)52 into your territory: (the grain-goddess Ezinam is taboo =) grain is no longer allowed to exist there. Fire was set everywhere against its great gates. Blood was spilled in its canals for you, its people had to drink it for you.53

Verbal forms with the base tum3 are construed with perfective conjugation pattern but imperfective sense, see Jagersma, 2010: 366; for the meaning of tum3 see Sallaberger, 2005. As for tum3 with prefix {ba-} see Woods, 2008: 310. For ki-za see Zgoll, 1997: 346–348 and Attinger. 2019 note 32. 52 For the meaning of “mountain range” as “Sumerian city state” in this and similar contexts see Zgoll, 1999. 53 The marû-forms here and in the following lines mark the verbal forms as modal.

30 46

uĝnim-bi ni2-bi-a ma-raab-laḫ5-e 47 zu2-keše2-bi ni2-bi-a mara-ab-si-il-le 48 ĝuruš a2-tuku-bi ni2-bi-a ma-ra-ab-su8-ge-eš 49 iri-ba ki-e-ne-di-ba mir i-ib2-si 50 ĝuruš ša3-gan-bi lu2še3 ma-ra-ab-sar-re-eš 51 iri kur za-ra li-bi2-indu11-ga-am3 52 aja uugu6-zu li-bi2-in-ešam3 53 enim ku3-zu (u3-)bi2-indu11 ki ĝiri3-zu ḫe2-eb-ge4

54

ša3-tur3-bi-ta ĝiri3 ḫe2eb-ta-an-ze2-er 55

munus-be2 dam-a-ni-ta sa6-ga na-an-da-ab-be 56 ĝe6-u3-na ad na-an-daab-ge4-ge4 57 niĝ2 ku3 ša3-ga-na nammu-da-an-bur2-re 58

u3-sumun2 zi-zi dumu gal dSuen-na 54

Annette Zgoll

Their troops, (in their “self”54 =) all gathered together, they had to surrender to you. Even their elite troups, gathered together, they had to be struck down for you. Even their strong men – all of them, they lined up before you. In the town’s places of pleasure, a storm (has been filled =) rages. They have hunted down their best men as prisoners for you. This is about the city that has not said “This land is yours!”, it is about those who have not said “He is your natural father!”: when he (= Innana’s father, the city god of Ur) has spoken your fate-determining word (= carried out your sentence): (then) the territory will truly be subdued (again) beneath your foot. 55 (Then care will truly disappear there56, from their wombs =) then truly new life can no longer flourish in its wombs. That woman there – she may no longer speak in love with her spouse. At night she may no longer hold counsel with him. She may no longer reveal to him (the fate-determining thing of her womb =) her innermost womb, which holds the hope of future life. 57 Aggressive wild cow, great daughter of Suen,

Connotation: “in their fear”. The following precative forms (55–57) make it clear that the passage refers to the future; therefore this holds true as well for 53 and 54: the verbal forms are affirmatives of the future, formally identical with precatives (in static meaning with ḫamṭu-forms, see Jagersma, 2010: 562); as for affirmatives of the future see Attinger, 1993: 293 f.; Zgoll 2015: 48 and 2020: 104 with note 66. 56 For the meaning of this phrase see Wilcke in Zgoll, 1997: 360 note 1019 and Attinger, 2019. 57 The phrase “the thing of her womb” has the meaning “wish”, “object of a wish” or “foetus”, see Attinger, 2019. The combination with the adjective ku3 “brilliant”, “fate determining” is until now attested only here. In the context of lines 54–57 there is a metaphorical interweaving of statements about womb and fertility with others about nightly communication and sexual interaction of spouses. 55

Innana and En-ḫedu-ana 59

nin an-ra diri-ga a-ba kiza ba-an-tum3

31

Queen, greater than (the god of heaven) An – who would dare take any of your territories away from you?”

The text is highly poetic and full of stylistic devices. It changes the chronological order of events and mostly offers hints and glimpses while concealing the details of what transpires. The hostile city, for instance, is not identified by name. However, we do learn that it is to Nanna and Innana that the city shall be obedient (51– 53, see also 58), and it is Nanna who shall execute Innana’s judgement on the city in question. The most obvious conclusion, therefore, points to the city under Nanna´s protection: Ur is the hostile target about to be subdued – by its own city god. It is no coincidence that the segment about Ur, which had threatened and exiled En-ḫedu-ana, is told in a thoughtful and cautious manner (99–108).58 The passage nin me šara / Lady of the countless numinous instruments of power 42– 59 reveals clues about a previously unknown myth relating to the city of Ur. A reconstruction will be attempted below. Reconstruction of the myth in the order of the text (42–59) The reconstruction of the myth behind this passage59 yields the following hylemes in the order of the text: lines of the text 42 Queen, greater than the hostile lands – who would dare take any of your territories away from you?

43

You take the ‘mountain range’ (= Sumerian city state) into your territory: (the grain-goddess Ezinam is taboo =) grain is no longer allowed to exist there.

58

hylemes in textual order Innana is queen. (42) Innana is more powerful than the hostile lands. (42) Nobody can steal territories from Innana. (→ 42, 59) [Innana is the sovereign of all the lands.] (→ 42, 59) Innana conquers a Sumerian city state (= primarily the city of Ur, see 51–53, cf. Zgoll, 1999). (43) Innana incorporates this city state into her territory. (43) The city state is deprived of its powers: (43–57, cf. 13, 18)

In addition, this poetic device to obfuscate the identity of this hostile city, has a remarkable side effect: With this literary technique the passage 42–59 about Ur (denotative meaning) is turned into a paradigm for any rebellious city opposing Innana (connotative meaning). See Zgoll, 1997: 89–98. 59 See section 2.2, 4.1.2 and 4.1.3 for the methodological procedure.

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lines of the text

44

Fire was set everywhere against its great gates. 45 Blood was spilled in its canals for you, its people had to drink it for you. 46 Their troops, (in their “self” =) all gathered together, they had to surrender to you. 47 Even their elite troops, gathered together, they had to be struck down for you. 48 Even their strong men – all of them – they had to be lined up before you. 49 In the town’s places of pleasure, a storm (has been filled =) is raging. 50 They have hunted down their best men as prisoners for you. 51 This is about the city that has not said “This land is yours!”, 52 it is about those who have not said “He is your natural father!”: 53 when he (= Innana’s father, the city god of Ur) has spoken your fate-determining word (= carried out your sentence): (then) the territory is truly subdued (again) beneath your foot.

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hylemes in textual order The city state no longer has (a) grain (goddess). (43) NN burns its city gates. (44) NN fills the canals (of the city) with blood. (45) The inhabitants of the city have only blood to drink. (45) The city surrenders all its troops as prisoners to Innana. (46, 47, 48, 50)

→ 46

→ 46

(Storm =) The warlike power of Innana→17 overwhelms all places of joy in the city.60 (49) → 46

If a city rebels against Innana (51), if a city does not recognize (the city god of Ur) Nanna as father of Innana (52), then (the city god of Ur) Nanna will destroy this rebellious city: (53) (The city-god of Ur) Nanna (speaks the word of Innana =) executes the judgement of Innana against this city (= Ur). (51–53) Innana passes judgement on the city of Ur. (53) [Innana’s father (the city-god of Ur) accepts the supremacy of Innana over his city (= Ur).] (51–53) The judgement (enim ku3)61 of Innana subdues

For the storm as denoting Innana’s warlike power see nin me šara 17 and 27–31. For the meaning of e n i m k u 3 cf. 15 with the e n i m k u 3 of An. – The struggle about the question who has the supremacy over the fateful judgement of cities and lands runs through the entire text. 61

Innana and En-ḫedu-ana

lines of the text 54

(Then care will truly disappear there, from their wombs =) then no new life can flourish in its wombs any longer. 55 That woman there – she may no longer speak in love with her spouse. 56 At night she may no longer hold counsel with him. 57 She may no longer reveal (the fate-determining thing of her womb =) her innermost womb to him, which holds the hope of future life. 58 Aggressive wild cow, great daughter of Suen, 59

Queen, greater than (the god of heaven) An – who would dare take any of your territories away from you?

33

hylemes in textual order rebellious cities. (51–53) NN (= Innana?) stops fertility: No new life comes from the wombs (of this city). (54, 57)

There is no love in the city, no sexual intercourse between spouses (55–57). (No new life comes from the wombs. → 54) → 55

→ 55

Innana is an aggressive wild cow. (58) Innana is the great daughter of (Suen =) Nanna. (58) Innana is more powerful than An. (59) (the other hylemes are identical to those in 42)

Reconstructing the myth in its chronological order (core: 42–59) In order to reconstruct the mythical Erzählstoff, the above hyleme sequence must be arranged in its chronological order. The procedure is the same as with the myth INNANA CONQUERS ENEMIES AND SUMER (core in 20–33, see section 4.1). Because of their general validity, durative hylemes are placed at the beginning of the sequence; the more specific single event hylemes then form the subsequent group.62 Durative hylemes – Innana is queen. (42) – Innana is the great daughter of the city god of Ur (Nanna, Suen). (58 with 51– 53) 62

For durative vs. single event hylemes cf. C. Zgoll, 2021, chapter 2.4.

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Commentary: This would normally place her below the city god; but the hierarchy is reversed here, see 42, 51–53, 59. – The city-god of Ur is Innana’s father. (52) Commentary: The statement defines the city-god of Ur through his daughter Innana, i.e. she ranks above him in the hierarchy. – Innana is an aggressive wild cow. (58) – Innana is more powerful than the hostile lands. (42) – Nobody can steal territories from Innana. (→ 42, 59) – [Innana is the sovereign of all the lands.] (→ 42, 59) – If Innana conquers a (“mountain” =) Sumerian city state, then all its power is gone: (43–57, cf. 13, 18) – The judgement of Innana subdues rebellious cities. (51–53) Single event hylemes 1: A city state rebels against Innana – A (Sumerian) city state63 (primarily: the city of Ur64) wants to steal territories from Innana = starts a rebellion against Innana and her territory. (42–43, cf. 51– 52) – This city state (= Ur) says/claims: (51–52). – Innana does not own the land. (→ 51–52) – NN (= the city god of Ur) is not the father of Innana. (I.e. he is not defined through Innana, but seen as independent, and perhaps even above her in the hierarchy of the gods.) (→ 51–52) Single event hylemes 2: Innana passes judgement on the city state – Innana passes judgement (e n i m k u 3) on that city state (specifically Ur). (53 with 51–52) Single event hylemes 3: The city god executes Innana’s judgement – [Nanna, Innana’s father (= the city-god of Ur), accepts Innana’s supremacy over his city (= Ur).] (51–53) – Nanna executes the judgement of Innana against this city state (= Ur). (51–53) Consequences 1: The city state has no more food – The city state no longer has a grain (-goddess). (43) Consequences 2: The city state has no more means of offence and defense – NN burns the gates of this city (= Ur). (44) – [NN (= enemy of the city of Ur) comes into this city (= Ur).] (→ 44) – [NN conquers the troops of this city (= Ur).] (→ 45–50) – [NN kills many people of this city (= Ur). (→ 45) 63 64

For “mountain” as chiffre for “(Sumerian) city-state” cf. Zgoll, 1999. For the denotative and connotative identification of this city see note 58.

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35

– NN fills the canals (of this city Ur) with blood. (45) – The inhabitants of the city have only blood to drink. (45) – (Storm =) The warlike power(s) of Innana→17 overwhelm(s) all places of joy in the city (= Ur). (49) – The city surrenders all its troops as prisoners to Innana. (46–48, 50) Consequences 3: The city state loses its fertility – NN (= Innana?) stops fertility: (54–57) – There is no love in the city, no sexual intercourse between spouses. – No new life comes from the wombs (of this city). (54–57) Results 1: Innana has become the ruler of all the lands – The city state of Ur belongs to Innana’s territory. (42–43 with 51–53, see com mentary above) – [This city state (= Ur) is now saying] (cf. 51–52.): – [Innana does own the land] (cf. 51–52.) – [Nanna is defined as the father of Innana (and not as independent of her)] (cf. 51–52.) – Every city state belongs to Innana’s territory. (42–43) – Innana is now the ruler of all the lands. (42–43, 59 and as a direct result 62; cf. 17, 20 etc.) Results 2: Innana has become the most powerful among the gods – Innana is now more powerful than (the god of heaven) An. (59) – Nobody (especially not her father) can diminish Innana’s sovereignty. (59) Condensing the message of the myth in a title The mythical content/message can be condensed in the title as follows: INNANA LETS NANNA EXECUTE HER JUDGEMENT ON UR AND EVERY REBELLIOUS CITY

As with the first myth, AN LETS INNANA EXECUTE HIS JUDGEMENT ON ENEMIES AND SUMER, a title following the textual focus will present Innana as the protagonist: INNANA CONQUERS UR AND EVERY REBELLIOUS CITY 4.3 Comparison of the two Innana myths In the preceding sections we reconstituted two myths from En-ḫedu-ana’s song: AN LETS INNANA EXECUTE HIS JUDGEMENT ON ENEMIES AND SUMER (core elements in lines 20–33), and INNANA LETS NANNA EXECUTE HER JUDGEMENT ON UR (core elements in lines 42–59). Both are styled on the textual level as the heroic deeds of Innana, the first being INNANA CONQUERS ENEMIES AND SUMER, the

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second INNANA CONQUERS UR AND EVERY REBELLIOUS CITY. The fact that a number of common features can be identified in both myths, e.g. Innana conquers enemies, suggests the existence of a link or relationship. Is one and the same myth being told in two different formats, one with more specific content, the other with less? Are they completely separate? How would we determine the relationship, if any, between the two myths? Hyleme analysis, which has facilitated our reconstruction, also provides the toolkit for a systematic comparison of the two Erzählstoffe65. We will present this comparison in an abbreviated form with the aid of so-called hyperhylemes, which can incorporate multiple hylemes.66 Innana grows powerful / is powerful Myth 1: AN LETS INNANA EXECUTE HIS JUDGEMENT ON ENEMIES AND

SUMER (core 20–33)

Myth 2: INNANA LETS NANNA EXECUTE HER JUDGEMENT ON UR AND EVERY REBELLIOUS CITY (core 42– 59)

At birth, Innana is a minor lady.67 (114) An and other great gods love Innana. (2, 18, 109, 121, 135) An gives the numinous instruments of power to Innana. (14). Innana is in possession of the numinous instruments of power. (→ 1– 12, 14, 16) Innana is the most powerful, aggressive deity. (passim) [Innana is the sovereign of all the lands.] (→ 42, 59) Innana is more powerful than the hostile lands. (42) [Innana] conquers the (“mountains” =) Sumerian city states. (43 + 13, 18)68 Nobody can steal territories from Innana. (→ 42, 59) 65

For the method to compare Erzählstoffe see C. Zgoll, 2019: 164–204. As for hyperhylemes cf. section 4.1.3 and C. Zgoll, 2019: 185–204; an interesting example for the comparison of two Mesopotamian myths is given in Zgoll, 2020a. 67 This information from 114 is important to understand the dynamics of the following. 68 Cf. Zgoll, 1999. 66

Innana and En-ḫedu-ana

37

Enemies arise, gods pass judgement on them Myth 1: AN LETS INNANA EXECUTE HIS JUDGEMENT ON ENEMIES AND

SUMER (core 20–33) Enemies arise. (9–11, 20–33) Sumer becomes an enemy. (13, 18)

An passes judgement (e n i m k u 3) [on these enemies], including Sumer (15, 13, cf. 9–11, 20–33)71

Myth 2: INNANA LETS NANNA EXECUTE HER JUDGEMENT ON UR AND EVERY REBELLIOUS CITY (core 42– 59) Enemies arise. (51–52.) A city (= Ur69) starts a rebellion against Innana (51–5270) by saying: Innana does not own the land. (51–52) Nanna, the city god of Ur, is not defined as the father of Innana. (51–52) Innana passes judgement (e n i m k u 3) on the city (of Ur). (51–53)

Gods execute the judgement against the enemies Myth 1: AN LETS INNANA EXECUTE HIS JUDGEMENT ON ENEMIES AND

SUMER (core 20–33) Authorized by An, Innana executes the judgement of An [on these enemies], including Sumer. (15, cf. 9–11, 20–33) Innana takes up the most terrifying instruments of power. (23) Innana raises a warlike roar with the storms and the thunder god. (20, 28, 30) Innana rages unceasingly along with the destructive storms. (29, 31)

69

Myth 2: INNANA LETS NANNA EXECUTE HER JUDGEMENT ON UR AND EVERY REBELLIOUS CITY (core 42– 59) Authorized by Innana, Nanna, the city god of Ur, executes Innana’s judgement on the city of Ur. (51– 53) (Storm =) The warlike power(s) of Innana overwhelm all places of joy in the city (= Ur). (49)

The city is primarily Ur since problems with the city god of Ur, Innana’s father Nanna are hinted at (see lines 52 and 58) – and the problems with Ur, the place where En-ḫeduana had been high priestess, are one of the leitmotifs in the song. For the denotative and connotative identification of this city see note 58. 70 And cf. Zgoll, 1999. 71 Enlil agrees to enforce the judgement on Sumer (18).

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Myth 1: AN LETS INNANA EXECUTE HIS JUDGEMENT ON ENEMIES AND

SUMER (core 20–33) NN (= Innana) takes everything away from the people. (26)

Innana makes [people] lament. (24– 25, 33) NN (= people) haste lamenting and traumatised to Innana. (21–22, 25)

Myth 2: INNANA LETS NANNA EXECUTE HER JUDGEMENT ON UR AND EVERY REBELLIOUS CITY (core 42– 59) (a) The city state no longer has any food: The city state no longer has a grain (-goddess). (43) (b) The city state has no more means of offence or defense: NN burns the gates of this city (= Ur). (44) [NN comes into this city (= Ur).] (→ 44) [NN conquers the troops of this city (= Ur).] (→ 45–50) [NN kills many people of this city (= Ur). (→ 45) NN fills the canals (of this city Ur) with blood. (45) The inhabitants of the city have only blood to drink. (45) The city surrenders all its troops as prisoners to Innana. (46–48, 50) (c) The city state is deprived of its fertility NN (= Innana?) stops fertility: There is no love in the city, no sexual intercourse between spouses. No new life comes from the wombs (of this city). (54–57).

Innana and En-ḫedu-ana

39

Innana is now sovereign of all the lands and cities Myth 1: AN LETS INNANA EXECUTE HIS JUDGEMENT ON ENEMIES AND

SUMER (core 20–33) The judgement of An and the executive force of Innana have subdued the rebellious lands. (20–33) All enemy lands submit to Innana. (20)

[Innana is now sovereign of all the lands, of heaven and earth.] (→ 20, 3, 12)

Myth 2: INNANA LETS NANNA EXECUTE HER JUDGEMENT ON UR AND EVERY REBELLIOUS CITY (core 42– 59) The judgement of Innana has subdued the rebellious city of Ur (53). The city state of Ur submits to Innana and becomes part of her territory. (42–59) [This city of Ur is now saying] (cf. 51–52): [Innana does own the land] (cf. 51–52); [Nanna, the city god of Ur, is defined as the father of Innana (and not as independent of her)] (cf. 51–52) Innana is now sovereign of all the lands. (42–59)

Innana is now the most powerful among the gods Myth 1: AN LETS INNANA EXECUTE HIS JUDGEMENT ON ENEMIES AND

SUMER (core 20–33) Innana is now the most distinguished deity in heaven and on earth. (12) The Anuna, the great gods, now fear Innana. (34–37, see below section 4.5)

Myth 2: INNANA LETS NANNA EXECUTE HER JUDGEMENT ON UR AND EVERY REBELLIOUS CITY (core 42– 59) Innana is now more powerful than (the god of heaven) An. (59) Nobody (especially not her father, the city god of Ur) can now diminish Innana’s sovereignty. (53, 59)

For the continuation of the myth see below section 3.7. Results of the comparison: Myth 1 as prehistory of myth 2 From the textual presentation of the two myths they appear to be nearly identical: Innana is the hero both in the narrative about INNANA CONQUERS ENEMIES AND SUMER and in INNANA CONQUERS UR AND EVERY REBELLIOUS CITY. A different picture emerges from a comparison using different criteria, i.e. if we treat them as

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Erzählstoffe or hyleme sequences. In the first myth, the highest authority on the level of the myth (which is blurred on the level of the text) is An, whereas in the second myth it is Innana. Between AN LETS INNANA EXECUTE HIS JUDGEMENT ON ENEMIES AND SUMER, where Innana defers to the decisions of An, and INNANA LETS NANNA EXECUTE HER JUDGEMENT ON UR, where Innana herself is the decision-maker, the massive increase in power and authority on Innana’s side is patently obvious, as is the complementary loss of An’s authority, as line 50 puts it: Innana has grown even more powerful than An. The first myth starts out with Innana being outranked by An and ends with her as the “sovereign of all the lands”. The second myth starts where the first myth leaves off: Innana is already “sovereign of all the lands”. Whereas the ending of myth 1 establishes Innana’s sovereignty, myth 2 assumes from the beginning that her authority is legitimate but under attack, and that it must now be re-established. The comparative approach therefore yields a remarkable result: Myth 1, AN LETS INNANA EXECUTE HIS JUDGEMENT ON ENEMIES AND SUMER (core in nin me šara 20–33), tells the prehistory of the subsequent second myth, INNANA LETS NANNA EXECUTE HER JUDGEMENT ON UR AND EVERY REBELLIOUS CITY (core in nin me šara 42–59). Because An has given Innana power over “all the lands”, she is now the sovereign ruler of the countries and city states under her jurisdiction, and any hostile act against Innana will be deemed an illegitimate rebellion. The message of the first myth is that Innana is omnipotent, and this forms the basis for the second myth: The city of Ur and any other city that does not submit to Innana’s authority will be regarded as rebellious, prompting its own protective deity – here Nanna, the city god of Ur, but in principle any other city god would perform the same act – to duly execute Innana’s order of destruction. Read sequentially, the two myths form a composite narrative (a common occurrence in ancient Mesopotamia)72 detailing Innana’s path to power, as the ruler of “all lands” – including Sumer and Ur (see section 4.5). 4.4 Empowerment of En-ḫedu-ana and her prophetic speaking Hylistic analysis of the mythical passages of nin me šara / Lady of the countless numinous instruments of power enhances our understanding of the actual contemporary history of En-ḫedu-ana’s lifetime. The Sumerian city states rebel against Innana and her chosen ruler (Sargon, Narām-Sîn etc.).73 The ritual of En-ḫeduana implores Innana to prove that she is as powerful as En-ḫedu-ana proclaims. Reality at the time, however, presented a much darker picture. When En-ḫeduana performed the ritual and recited the song, her situation was disastrous and bore no resemblance to the mythical scenario she painted. But if Innana did conquer the city of Ur, En-ḫedu-ana’s invocation and empowerment of Innana as the 72 73

See for example Zgoll, 2020a, 137–155 (section 8). See in detail Zgoll, 1997.

Innana and En-ḫedu-ana

41

patroness of the empire would be vindicated and her priestly faith in the goddess reaffirmed. En-ḫedu-ana’s position as the high priestess of Nanna at Ur would be unassailable. In other words, if Innana were to prove her power on earth, she would verify En-ḫedu-ana’s assertions. En-ḫedu-ana would be officially reinstated, with all the powerful ‘weapons’ (Sumerian: m e ) that belonged to her office – an office she still claimed to hold (67, 120). The ritual song however indicates that many of her contemporaries did not recognize her priestly powers (68– 73, 99–101, 104–108, 117), and the situation was precarious enough for En-ḫeduana to wonder if her performance would seal her fate (99). Despite addressing her fear of the future, En-ḫedu-ana’s account of the myths is given partially in retrospect, as if they had in fact occurred in the past (note the perfective aspect in lines 17–19, 21–26, 44–50). The retrospective aspect identifies the mythical narrative as a paradigm, which in turn forms part of a prophetic act: both myths start out in retrospect only to end up predicting future events (27– 33, 51–53, 54–57). The high priestess remains steadfast in her conviction – and her hope – that Innana will reveal herself to be the powerful deity celebrated in various mythical narratives and (thus) invoked in En-ḫedu-ana’s ritual text, indeed that she make her presence felt as the mightiest of the gods. 4.5 The composite myth INNANA BECOMES RULER IN HEAVEN AND ON EARTH At this point, the composite myth does not yet appear to have a proper ending. Instead, we are confronted with a new claim: beyond her dominion over the earth, Innana’s sphere of power also extends to the heavenly realm of the other high gods of the pantheon. This important new piece of information is emphasized and referenced at several strategic locations throughout the text. After the passage INNANA CONQUERS ENEMIES AND SUMER (core 20–33), the text continues as follows: 34

nin-ĝu10 dA-nun-na diĝir galgal-e-ne 35 su-dinmušen dal-a-gen7 du6-de3 mu-e-ši-ib-ra-aš 36 igi ḫuš-a-za la-ba-su8-ge-ešam3 37 saĝ-ki ḫuš-a-za saĝ nu-mu-unde3-ĝa2-ĝa2

“My Queen! (Then) the Anuna, the great gods, like (fluttering =) terrified bats, they fluttered to crevices74 because of you. They could not withstand your devastating glance. They cannot stand up against the threat of terror on your brow.

Evidently, Innana’s powers are not limited to the use of force against human rebels: even the Anuna gods must submit to her judgement.

74

Connotative: “to mounds of ruins”.

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Similarly, the passage relating the myth INNANA CONQUERS UR AND EVERY REBELLIOUS CITY ends with the following line: 59

nin an-ra diri-ga a-ba kiza ba-an-tum3

Queen, greater than (the god of heaven) An – who would dare take any of your territories away from you?”

At the beginning of the song Innana appears merely authorized to execute An’s decisions (15); at the end her powers are far greater than those of the supreme deity: not only does she now represent the executive power but she has judiciary powers as well. Now Innana has sovereignty over all decisions and determines the outcome of future events, a fact that is clearly addressed in the ritual core of En-ḫedu-ana’s song (122–122) and elsewhere. The other high gods – An, Enlil (95), and Nanna (51–53 with 42–59) – now perform the tasks Innana assigns to them; they carry out the work of destruction for Innana, e.g. as in: 94

iri-bi An-ne2 ḫa-ba-ra-siil-le

94

This city (= Ur) – An will truly crush it for you!

Later in the text, the mythic theme INNANA EXECUTES JUDGEMENT ON THE ANUNA GODS is further elaborated: 112

an-ur2 an-pa(-a) nin galbi-me-en 113 d A-nun-na-ke4-ne gu2 ĝeš ma-ra-an-ĝar-re-eš 114 u3-du2-da-ta nin banda3dame-en 115 d A-nun-na diĝir gal-gal-ene(-er) a-gen7 ba-e-ne-diriga 116 d A-nun-na-ke4-ne numdum-numdum-bi-ta ki su-ub ma-ra-AK(-e)-ne

“From the base to the zenith of heaven, you are the great Queen (nin gal75), the Anuna have submitted to you. At birth you were the smaller queen, (but now:) how you have surpassed the Anuna, all the great gods! The Anuna (now) kiss the ground before you with their lips.”

The mythological analysis of these segments confirms it is through her actions that Innana gains power both on earth (as analysed above) and in heaven (see the following). The passages emphasizing her power in heaven contain frequent references to her new pre-eminent position amongst the other high gods of the pantheon.76 Thus we can reconstruct the remaining details of our composite myth:

75

Ningal is the name of Innana’s mother and wife of the city-god of Ur, Nanna. Other passages in nin me šara present Innana, for instance, as having become more powerful than her own father and mother, Nanna and Ningal (nin me šara 61, 122–133, 147–152).

76

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Part 1 of the composite myth: AN LETS INNANA EXECUTE HIS JUDGEMENT ON ENEMIES AND SUMER (core 20–33) – At birth, Innana is a minor lady/deity. – The great gods love Innana. – An empowers Innana through the gift of numinous instruments of power. – Innana becomes a most powerful, aggressive deity. – Enemies arise. – An passes judgement against them. – Innana executes the judgement against the enemies. – Innana becomes sovereign of all the lands and cities. – Innana becomes the most powerful among the gods. Part 2 of the composite myth: INNANA LETS NANNA EXECUTE HER JUDGEMENT ON UR AND EVERY REBELLIOUS CITY (core 42–59) – Ur rebels against Innana. – Innana passes her judgement against Ur. – The city god of Ur adopts Innana´s judgement on the city of Ur. – Nanna executes Innana´s judgement against Ur. – Innana proves her dominion over all the lands, including the Sumerian city of Ur. – Innana proves she is the most powerful among the gods. Part 3, end of the composite myth: INNANA EXECUTES JUDGEMENT ON THE ANUNA GODS This has detailed consequences in the heavenly sphere, which are expressed through single event hylemes: – The Great Gods, the Anuna, hide in ruins. (34–35) – The Anuna submit to Innana. (113) – The Anuna kiss the ground before Innana. (116) There are also more profound changes, expressed in the form of stative-resultative hylemes. They affect both the earthly sphere and its gods and heaven and the heavenly gods: – Innana henceforward rules as highest sovereign over all the lands. (20, 42, 59) – Nobody (with the specific connotation: especially not Innana’s father, the city god of Ur) can deprive Innana of her sovereignty. (59 with 51–53) – Innana is now more powerful than the god of heaven. (59) – Innana is now more powerful than the Great Gods, the Anuna. (34–37, 113– 116) – Innana is now the Great Lady, the Sovereign in all of heaven and on earth. (12, 112)

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The title of the composite myth Thus, the message of the composite myth, and its conclusion, spells out that Innana holds power over every land, i.e. everywhere on earth, and over every god, i.e. everywhere in heaven. A condensed title for this composite myth is therefore INNANA BECOMES RULER IN HEAVEN AND ON EARTH 5 Innana’s warlike powers. Empowerment by ritual recitation 5.1 En-ḫedu-ana’s invocation of Innana’s judgement Having narrated the composite myth,77 the high priestess proceeds to recite the numinous instruments of power, imploring Innana to take up these instruments and to use them instantly (nin me šara 63, 65): (60 … nin gal nin-e-ne) 63b ser3 ku3-zu ga-am3-du11 65b

me-zu ga-mu-ra-ab-du11

“(Great queen of queens, …) I will recite your fate-determining song! I will recite for you your numinous instruments of power!”

To prove the legitimacy of her claim, En-ḫedu-ana cites an oracle by the god of heaven (An) commanding her first to persuade Innana to raise her warlike powers and then to calm her down again (nin me šara 77–80):78 77

nam Lugal-an-ne2 munuse ba-ab-kar-re 78

kur a-ma-ru ĝiri3-ni-še3 i3nu2 79 munus-bi in-ga-maḫ iri mu-(un-)da-ab-tuku4-e 80

gub-ba ša3-ga-na ḫa-mase25-de3

77

“(Verdict of An:) ‘The Lady will tear away the destiny of Lugal-Ane (= the rebellious ruler of Ur). Because mountains (i.e., any hostile land or city) and flood (have lain =) lie at her feet, because she is truly mighty (compared to all others), she will make the city state (i.e., Ur etc.) tremble before her. Stand up (in ritual79), so that she will calm down in her heart for me80!’”81

There are also other myths referred to, e.g. an allusion to INNANA BRINGS THE FIRST HEAVEN (see on this myth Zgoll, 2015a) in lines 86–89. Later on, in nin me šara 141–142, there is a unique mythical version of the myth DEMONS CAPTURE DUMUZI. For the role of these myths in nin me šara see Zgoll, 2015b (especially 56). 78 C. Wilcke has succeeded in identifying this passage as the Oracle of An, cf. Wilcke, 1976. 79 See lines 136–138. 80 Innana shall calm down for the sake of An. 81 See Wilcke, 2006: 213. TEMPLE OUT OF

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En-ḫedu-ana repeats her performance of this sacred ritual, to incite and thereby empower Innana; once more she states (nin me šara 81–83): 81

En-e2-du7-an-na-me-en ara-zu ga-mu-ra-ab-du11 82 ir2-ĝa2 kaš du10-ga-gen7 83 ku3 dInnana-ra šu ga-muni-re-bar di-zu ga-mu-ra-abdu11

“En-ḫedu-ana am I, I will now say a prayer to you. My tears, like sweet beer – I will now shed them freely for you, fatedetermining Innana, ‘(Your judgement! =) It is with you to render the judgement!’ I will say to you.”82

This recitation is dangerous – the implication being that the supplicant, by expressing her faith in Innana’s powers, has created a mortal danger for herself (she may be killed by other gods or even by Innana herself83): 99

ser3 ku3-ĝa2-ke4-eš i3-ug5ge-de3-en

“And because of my fate-determining song – must I die?”

5.2 En-ḫedu-ana’s recitation of Innana’s numinous instruments of power The strongest empowerment of Innana occurs in the conjuring recitation of Innana’s numinous instruments of power and in the recurring claim that the judging of enemies in general, and of Ur in particular, is Innana’s domain. Here the philological analysis is again fundamental for our understanding of the passage. A new analysis of the grammatical construction shows that only one tablet from Ur (UrA) actually contains the construction suggested by previous translations (including mine). All other tablets, all from other locations, use a different construction of the verb "to know” (z u ) with locative, which Attinger, 2019 has identified, and for which I here propose the meaning (see the commentary in the notes to the translation). The complete passage conveys its message with conjuring repetitiveness: Innana has the power of decision; she is the supreme judge and ultimate authority on all things present and future. When Innana strikes down Ur and other rebels, the truth of the message will be known. 122

ḫe2-zu ḫe2-zu-am3 Nanna li-bi2-in-du11-ga zaa-kam bi2-in-du11-ga d

82

“It will truly be known, it will truly be known, so it is84: That Nanna has (said nothing =) rendered no judgement (about the fate of Ur, Lugal-Ane, En-ḫedu-ana),85 that he has said about it:

This announcement will be fulfilled in 122–133. See Zgoll, 1997: 87–88; Zgoll, 2015b: 57. 84 Affirmative of the future, see note 55. 85 See 82–83 and 102–103. The problem is urgent. 83

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123

an-gen7 maḫ-a-za ḫe2-zuam3

124

ki-gen7 daĝal-la-za ḫe2zu-am3 125

ki-bal gul-gul-lu-za ḫe2zu-am3 125a

kur-ra gu3 de2-za ḫe2-zuam3

Annette Zgoll

‘(It =) The judgement is yours (= Innana)!’86 Since you have become as high as heaven87, it (= that the judgement is yours, Innana)88 will truly be known!89 Since you have become as wide as the earth, it (= that the judgement is yours, Innana) will truly be known! Since you will annihilate the rebelling territories, it (= that the judgement is yours, Innana) will truly be known! Since you will roar against the enemy lands, it (= that the judgement is yours, Innana) will

86 Verbal forms: final person prefixes show that here perfective forms (ergative ḫamṭuconjugation with transitive subject of the 3rd Sg. personal class) are meant, i.e. “he has ...”. Semantically, the statement takes a stand on the prevailing problem of whether the moon god has pronounced a judgment or not, which has been the focus of attention since 83 and 102–103. Line 102 explicitly formulates di--du11 “to pronounce a judgment on these things”; in 103 and 122 this is abbreviated by simply "pronounce it (= a judgment) on these things". Partly in positive, partly in negative statements, indicative and modal, the problem of whether Nanna has spoken this judgement or not is raised: ba-ra-bi2-in-du11 (102), bi2-in-du11 (103), li-bi2-in-du11 (103), li-bi2-in-du11-ga (122), bi2-in-du11-ga (122), li-bi2-in-du11-ga (133), bi2-in-du11-ga (133). These repetitions function as a leitmotiv: they make it emphatically clear that the problem is pressing; they show the gravity of what is being negotiated here, namely whether the power of judgement lies with Nanna or Innana (and depending on how this question is decided, the future will also develop in favour or against En-ḫedu-ana’s concern, on which life and position for her, and the existence for the kingdom, depend). The repetitive, sometimes antithetical formulations make it clear that the issue is still pending and that everything depends on it being brought to a proper conclusion now. The entire song of En-ḫedu-ana serves this purpose, but especially the conjuring invocation of Innana in 122–133, which emphatically tells about her power and what is to be done now. 87 Variant in text UrA from the city of Ur: “That you have become as high as heaven, will truly be known!” and analogously in the following similar lines. 88 See 122 and 133. 89 The construction has been identified by Attinger, 2019: z u is construed here with locative. The sense of this construction and the difference to the construction without locative has still been unclear. We will deal with that elsewhere, just in short: the locative presents the reason, why something is known: “to know something/somebody ‘in’ something (= locative)” has the meaning “to know something/somebody because of something (= locative) / because something has happened (= verbal form with locative)”. See e.g. Innana and Iddin-Dagan (Iddin-Dagan A) 10–14. The subject of nin me šara 123–132 is the statement of 122 and 133: that the judgement (about the city of Ur and about its “rebellious” ruler Lugal-Ane and En-ḫedu-ana) belongs to Innana and not to Nanna (122, 133). Nanna has not rendered the judgement (102–103); instead he has acknowledged, that the power over the judgement lies with Innana (122, 133).

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126

saĝ ĝeš ra-ra-za ḫe2-zuam3

127

ur-gen7 ad6 gu7-za ḫe2-zuam3

128

igi huš-a-za ḫe2-zu-am3

129

igi ḫuš-bi IL2.IL2-i-za ḫe2zu-am3

130

igi gun3-gun3-na-za ḫe2zu-am3

131

uru16-na nu-še-ga-za ḫe2zu-am3 132

u3-ma gub-gub-bu-za ḫe2zu-am3 133 d

Nanna li-bi2-in-du11-ga za-a-kam bi2-in-du11-ga

134

nin-ĝu10 ib2-gu-ul-en i3maḫ-en

135

nin ki-aĝ2 An-na-ĝu10 mir-mir-za ga-am3-du11

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truly be known! Since you will crush the enemies, it (= that the judgement is yours, Innana) will truly be known! Since you will devour corpses like a predator, it (= that the judgement is yours, Innana) will truly be known! Since your glance has become devastating, it (= that the judgement is yours, Innana) will truly be known! Since you will raise your devastating glance everywhere (against the enemies), it (= that the judgement is yours, Innana) will truly be known! Since you made your glance sparkle everywhere (against the enemies), it (= that the judgement is yours, Innana) will truly be known! Since you have become overpowering and unyielding, it (= that the judgement is yours, Innana) will truly be known! Since you will triumph everywhere, it (= that the judgement is yours, Innana) will truly be known! That Nanna has (said nothing =) rendered no judgement (about the fate of Ur, Lugal-Ane, En-ḫedu-ana), that he has said about it: “(It =) The judgement is yours (= Innana)!” – my Queen! – since that has made you even greater, since you have become the most powerful, – my Queen, beloved of An! – (therefore) I will sing (this song90) about all of your wrath!”

This point marks the climax of both the song and the ritual. The recitation functions as a performative-conjuring action, to impress upon Innana that she has the power and every right, even the obligation, to act against Ur. The ritual recitation does not occur in isolation. It is embedded within the larger song, which in turn narrates its expansive composite myth, and ultimately an even larger external ritual. Immediately after the powerful recitation to conjure 90

See 63 and 99.

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Innana’s powers, En-ḫedu-ana refers to the ritual actions enhancing the ritual words. And, once again, she then insists that Innana must not calm down. That is, Innana must not calm down before her work is done and her sentence is carried out (nin me šara 136–137): 136

ne-mur mu-dub šu-luḫ si bi2-sa2

137

(E2-)eš2-dam ku3 ma-ra(-an)-ĝal2 ša3-zu na-mase25-de3

“I have heaped up the coals, the purification rites are here (in the temple Ešdam-ku91) prepared for it (= the recitation of this ritual song)92, the temple Ešdam-ku93 stands ready for you here – for my sake, nobody must calm your heart down!”

6 Conclusion and outlook: Mutual Empowerment and the role of myths Mythological analysis has brought us closer to an understanding of the ancient Mesopotamian perspective on the song nin me šara / Lady of the countless numinous instruments of power. The song of praise contained in nin me šara, and its accompanying ritual, emerge as devices for the mutual empowerment of the goddess and her priestly human servant, in hopes of resolving a critical historicopolitical situation that affects events both in heaven and on earth. This is the purpose behind the recitation of the myth INNANA CONQUERS ENEMIES AND SUMER (see 4.1), the myth INNANA CONQUERS UR AND EVERY REBELLIOUS CITY94 (see 4.2), and their fusion into the larger composite myth INNANA BECOMES THE RULER IN HEAVEN AND ON EARTH (see 4.5). A further crucial means to achieve the desired goal is the recitation of Innana’s instruments of power, which functions as a performative-conjuring act (see 5.2). By evoking the myths about a forceful, victorious Innana, En-ḫedu-ana declares that the goddess has become the most powerful deity among the great Anuna gods. At one time, Innana used to be a minor goddess (114), but she has managed to surpass the other deities, all of whom are now submitted to her authority (115– 116). The song is full of the conviction that Innana needs only to use her power and subdue the city of Ur for En-ḫedu-ana to be reinstated. The song expresses the 91

See the next line. See 135 and 138. 93 Literally “Destiny-decreeing harbourage”; name of an Innana temple in the city state of Ĝirsu/Lagaš and also name of a sanctuary to be found in several Innana temples. 94 These new results – that the central myth in nin me šara is about INNANA WHO CONQUERS ENEMIES AND SUMER, and about INNANA WHO CONQUERS UR AND EVERY REBELLIOUS CITY – makes it impossible to see the song nin me šara as a means to create “the Sumerian” or to count it as symbol of “Sumerian culture” (hypothesis of Helle, 2019). Ur is stylised as the paradigm for all problematic inimical cities, especially the ones in Sumer (Zgoll. 1997 and 1999). 92

Innana and En-ḫedu-ana

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hope that En-ḫedu-ana never actually did cease to be the legitimate and mighty “radiant high priestess of Nanna” at Ur. The terms of her office, however, have changed: it is now Innana, not Nanna, who holds the priestly instruments of power (4–5). At the time the song nin me šara / Lady of the countless numinous instruments of power is composed to serve as the core of a powerful ritual dedicated to Innana the situation is dark: the civil war is raging, the actual king of the Akkadian Empire, Narām-Sîn, is in acute danger,95 En-ḫedu-ana in exile, and everything seems to contradict the convictions of the priestess En-ḫedu-ana (see 3.3)96. This sense of total opposition is palpable throughout the ritual song, and it shapes the conclusion, condensed in the final sentence (the subsequent lines 143–153a being a later addition, see 2.1): 141

dam dab5-ba-za-ke4-eš dumu dab5-ba-za-ke4-eš 142 ib2-ba-zu ib2-gu-ul ša3-zu nuTE.EN.TE.EN

“141 Because your husband (= the ruler Narām-Sîn) has been seized, because your protégé has been seized – 142 as long as your rage about that (has become =) is still huge, nobody→38,41 will calm down your heart!”97

While the political situation is indeed disastrous for En-ḫedu-ana and the Akkadian Empire, the powers of Innana and En-ḫedu-ana are not actually in evidence but exist only as a strong conviction of En-ḫedu-ana, only as a hope for the future98 – in a situation that contemporaries may call hopeless. A royal inscription of Narām-Sîn records the hopeless situation in unique terms when it describes the Akkadian king as being in confinement, in distress99. But then something happens which in ancient Mesopotamia must necessarily be understood as divine intervention, and here in particular as the intervention of Innana: En-ḫedu-ana’s hopes turn to concrete reality. The Bāseṭkī-inscription of Narām-Sîn tells about an unexpected reversal of fortune and final victory for the Akkadian Empire, which it 95

Cf. the inscription of Narām-Sîn about the “Great Revolt”, note 99. See in detail Zgoll, 1997. 97 Only when Innana will have destroyed all enemies and have freed her beloved husband and protégé (111, 141), which also means that En-ḫedu-ana will then be rehabilitated, then Innana’s anger will be quenched. This is the precondition that Innana will calm down again. 98 The end of the ritual song nin me šara, lines 143–152, describes a positive outcome. These lines are so different from the rest of the song that they must be a later addition to it, an epilogue. This topic will be dealt with in another study. 99 Bāseṭkī inscription 5–19, see Frayne, 1993: 113 no. 10: Out of love for the king, Innana/Ištar made him victorious in difficult hardship. – After Narām-Sîn’s victory over the rebellious coalition of the southern city states, a peaceful period followed in which the king engaged himself in an ambitious temple building program in several Babylonian cities, see Westenholz, 1999: 54. 96

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attributes solely to the power of Innana/Ištar. Thus Narām-Sîn defeats his enemies – the coalition of Ur and other city states – and it is safe to assume that En-ḫeduana will have been reinstated as high priestess, be it in Ur or elsewhere. From Enḫedu-ana’s – religious, cultic, divine – perspective, Innana’s king and husband Narām-Sîn gains victory through Innana’s power. Innana has responded exactly as envisioned and conjured by En-ḫedu-ana’s ritual: she has directed her wrath against Narām-Sîn’s enemies, and she has made use of her numinous instruments of power. The self-evident conclusion for contemporary observers would have been to attribute the success in battle to the success of En-ḫedu-ana’s ritual. By conquering Ur and all other enemies, Innana has demonstrated that she is the strongest among the gods. Consequently, En-ḫedu-ana is vindicated as the most powerful priestess. The ritual of empowerment and its song attain exemplary character. The ritual song is fixed in writing and copied as a model, to be emulated by any truly powerful priest or priestess100. Bibliography Annus, A., 2016: The Overturned Boat: Intertextuality of the Adapa Myth and Exorcist Literature. State Archives of Assyria Studies 24. Helsinki. Attinger, P., 1993: Eléments de linguistique sumérienne: la construction de du11/ e/di «dire». Orbis biblicus et orientalis. Sonderband. Freiburg / Göttingen. Attinger, P., 2019a: “La descente d’Innana dans le monde infernal (1.4.1)”. http://www.iaw.unibe.ch/attinger (Pp. 1–105). — 2019b: “Innana B (Ninmešara) (4.7.2)”. In http://www.iaw.unibe.ch/attinger (Pp. 1–12). Bahrani, Z., 2001: Women of Babylon. Gender and Representation in Mesopotamia. London / New York Boehmer, R.M., 2014: “Ein frühnächtliches Fest zu Ehren der Stadtgöttin von Uruk, Innana”. Zeitschrift für Orient-Archäologie 7, 127–135. Civil, M., 1980: “Les limites de l’information textuelle”. In M.-T. Barrelet (éd.): L’archéologie de l’Iraq: perspectives et limites de l’interprétation anthropologique des documents, Colloque international du CNRS. Paris, Pp. 225– 232. Dijk, J.J.A. van, 1998: “Innana raubt den ‚großen Himmel‘. Ein Mythos”. In S. Maul (ed.): Festschrift für Rykle Borger zu seinem 65. Geburtstag am 24. Mai 1994: tikip santakki mala bašmu … . Cuneiform Monographs 10. Groningen. Pp. 9–38. Edzard, D.O., 1997: Gudea and His Dynasty. The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia: Early Periods 3/1. Toronto / Buffalo / London. ETCSL, Black, J.A. et al. 2003–2006: http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/

100

The findings in this paper have consequences on the question about the authorship of En-ḫedu-ana which will be discussed in a separate paper, see note 7.

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Helle, S., 2019: “Enheduana and the Invention of Authorship”. Authorship 8/1. https://doi.org/10.21825/aj.v8i1.11486. Iser, W., 1994: Der Akt des Lesens. Theorie ästhetischer Wirkung, 4., durchges. und verb. Aufl. Munich (1st edition 1976). Jagersma, B., 2010: A Descriptive Grammar of Sumerian. Leiden. (https://open access.leidenuniv.nl/bitstream/handle/1887/16107/Binnenwerk-jagersma.pdf ?sequence=2) Kärger, B., 2020: “Was aus dem Himmel kommt. Eine Untersuchung mythischer Hyleme und religiöser Vorstellungen in sumerischen Texten”. In G. Gabriel / B. Kärger / A. Zgoll / C. Zgoll (eds.): Was vom Himmel kommt. Stoffanalytische Zugänge zu antiken Mythen aus Mesopotamien, Ägypten, Griechenland und Rom. Mythological Studies 4. Berlin / Boston. (in preparation) Keetman, J., 2010: “Das Ritual in Enḫeduanas Lied Königin der zahlreichen Me”. AoF 37/1, 38–48. Lambert, W.G., 1970: “Compte rendu de Hallo et van Dijk (1968)”. BSOAS 33 383–384. Lambert, W.G., 2001: “Ghost-Writers?”. NABU 83. Liverani, M. (ed.), 1993: Akkad. The First World Empire. Padua. Lion, B., 2008: “Les femmes et l’écrit en Mesopotamie: auteurs, commanditaires d’inscriptions et scribes”. In J.J. Justel et al. (eds.): Las culturas del Próximo Oriente Antiguo y su expansión mediterránea. Saragossa. Pp. 53–68. Maiwald, K., 2020: Mesopotamische Schöpfungstexte in Ritualen. Methodik und Fallstudien zur situativen Verortung. Mythological Studies 3. Berlin / Boston. (in print) Martínez, M. / Scheffel, M., 2012: Einführung in die Erzähltheorie. 9., erweiterte und aktualisierte Aufl. Munich (1st edition 1999). Michalowski, 1998: “Literature as a source of lexical inspiration: some notes on a hymn to the goddess Inana”. In J. Braun / K. Lyczkowska / M. Popko / P. Steinkeller (eds.): Written on Clay and Stone. Ancient Near Eastern Studies Presented to Krystyna Szarzynska on the Occasion of her 80th Birthday. Warsaw. Pp. 65–73. Pryke, L.M., 2017: Ishtar. Gods and Heroes of the Ancient World, Oxon / New York. Sallaberger, W., 2005: “bringen” im Sumerischen Lesung und Bedeutung von de6(DU) und tum2(DU)”. In R. Rollinger (ed.): Von Sumer bis Homer. Festschrift für Manfred Schretter zum 60. Geburtstag am 25. Februar 2004. AOAT 325. Münster. Pp. 557–576. Selz, G., 2019: “Female Sages in the Sumerian Tradition of Mesopotamia”. In S. Anthonioz / S. Fink (ed.): Representing the Wise. A Gendered Approach. Proceedings of the 1st Melammu Workshop, Lille, 4–5 April 2016. Melammu Workshops and Monographs 1. Münster. Pp. 17–42.

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Sommerfeld, W., 2000: “Narām-Sîn, die “Große Revolte” und MAR.TUki”. In J. Marzahn / H. Neumann (eds.): Assyriologica et Semitica. Festschrift für Joachim Oelsner anläßlich seines 65. Geburtstages am 18. Februar 1997. AOAT 252. Münster. Pp. 419–436. Steinkeller, P., 1993: “Early Political Development in Mesopotamia and the Origins of the Sargonic Empire”. In M. Liverani (ed.): Akkad. The First World Empire. Padua. Pp. 107–129. — 2013a: “An Archaic Prisoner Plaque from Kiš”. RA 107. Pp. 131–157. — 2013b: “How Did Šulgi and Išbi-Erra Ascend to Heaven?”. In D. S. Vanderhooft et. al. (eds.): Literature as Politics, Politics as Literature. Essays on the Ancient Near East in Honor of Peter Machinist. Winona Lake. Pp. 459–478. Stol, M., 2016: Women in the Ancient Near East. Boston / Berlin. Szarzyńska, K., 21997a = 11987: “The Sumerian Goddess INNANA-KUR”. In K. Szarzyńska, Sumerica. Prace sumeroznawcze. Philologia Orientalis 3. Warsaw, Pp. 108–114. — 21997b = 11993: “Offerings for the Goddess Inanna in Archaic Uruk”. In K. Szarzyńska, Sumerica. Prace sumeroznawcze. Philologia Orientalis 3. Warsaw, Pp. 115–140. — 21997c: “Cult of the Goddess Innana”. In K. Szarzyńska, Sumerica. Prace sumeroznawcze. Philologia Orientalis 3. Warsaw, Pp. 141–143. Tinney, S., 1997: “A New Look at Narām-Sin and the ‘Great Rebellion’”. JCS 47, 1–14. Weiershäuser, F., 2008: Die königlichen Frauen der III. Dynastie von Ur. Göttinger Beiträge zum Alten Orient 1. Göttingen. Westenholz, A., 1999: “Teil 1. The Old Akkadian Period: History and Culture”. In W. Sallaberger / A. Westenholz (eds.): Mesopotamien. Akkade-Zeit und Ur III-Zeit. Annäherungen 3. Orbus Biblicus et Orientalis 160/3. Freiburg / Göttingen. Pp. 17–117. — 2020: “Was Kish the Center of a Territorial State in the Third Millennium? – and Other Thorny Questions”. In I. Arkhipov / L. Kogan / N. Koslova (eds.): The Third Millennium: Studies in Early Mesopotamia and Syria in Honor of Walter Sommerfeld and Manfred Krebernik. CM 50. Leiden. Pp. 686–713. Westenholz, J.G., 1989: “Enḫeduanna, En-Priestess, Hen of Nanna, Spouse of Nanna”. In H. Behrens / D. Loding / M.T. Roth (eds.): DUMU-E2-DUB-BAA. Studies in Honor of Åke W. Sjöberg. Occasional Publications of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund 11. Philadelphia. Pp. 539–556. – 1998, “Goddesses of the Ancient Near East”. In L. Goodison / C. Morris (eds.), Ancient Goddesses 3000–1000 BC: Myths and Evidence, London. Pp. 63–82. Westenholz, J.G. / Asher-Greve, J. 2013: Goddesses in Context. On Divine Powers, Roles, Relationships and Gender in Mesopotamian Textual and Visual Sources. OBO 259. Fribourg / Göttingen.

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Wilcke, C. 1976: “Nin-me-sár-ra – Probleme der Interpretation”. WZKM 68, 79– 92. — 1997: “Amar-girid‘s Revolte gegen Narām-Su´en”. ZA 87, 11–32. — 2006: “Die Hymne auf das Heiligtum Keš. Zu Struktur und Gattung einer altsumerischen Dichtung und zu ihrer Literaturtheorie”. In P. Michalowski / N. Veldhuis, (eds.): Approaches to Sumerian Literature. Studies in Honor of Stip (H.L.J. Vanstiphout). CM 35. Leiden / Boston. Pp. 201–237. Winter, I.J. 1987: “Women in Public: The Disc of Enḫeduanna, the Beginning of the Office of En-Priestess, and the Weight of Visual Evidence”. In J. M. Durand (ed.): La femme dans le proche orient antique. Proceedings of the Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Paris, July, 1986, Paris. Pp. 189–201 (reprinted in Winter, I. J. 2010, On Art in the Ancient Near East II – From the Third Millennium B.C.E. Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 34.2. Leiden / Boston). Woods, C. 2008: The Grammar of Perspective. The Sumerian Conjugation Prefixes as a System of Voice. CM 32. Leiden. Zgoll, A., 1997: Der Rechtsfall der En-ḫedu-Ana im Lied nin me šara. AOAT 246. Münster. — 1999: “Ebeh und andere Gebirge in der politischen Landschaft der Akkadezeit”. In S. de Martino / F.M. Fales / G.B. Lanfranchi (eds.): Landscapes, Territories, Frontiers and Horizons in the Ancient Near East. Papers Presented to the XLIV Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale Venezia, 7–11 July, 1997. History of the Ancient Near East / Monographs – III/1–3. Padua. Pp. 83–90. — 2003: Die Kunst des Betens. Form und Funktion, Theologie und Psychagogik in babylonisch-assyrischen Handerhebungsgebeten an Ištar. AOAT 308, Münster. — 2005: “Menschen – Götter – Konflikte. Systematische Überlegungen zur Feindschaft im antiken Mesopotamien und der Modellfall einer Priesterin im Kampf gegen einen Usurpator aus dem 23. Jh. v.Chr.”. In H. Felber (ed.): Feinde und Aufrührer. Konzepte von Gegnerschaft in der Literatur des Mittleren Reiches. Abhandlungen der Sächsischen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Leipzig. Philologisch-historische Klasse, 78/5. Leipzig. Pp. 283–301. — 2008: “En-hedu-Ana: Tochter Sargons – Gemahlin des Mondgottes. Zeugnisse vom dramatischen Leben der frühesten Autorin (23. Jh. v.Chr.)”. In J. Kügler / L. Bormann (eds.): Töchter (Gottes). Studien zum Verhältnis von Kultur, Religion und Geschlecht. Bayreuther Forum Transit 8. Münster. Pp. 7–21. — 2009: Vielfalt der Götter und Einheit des Reiches. Konstanten und Krisen im Spannungsfeld politischer Aktion und theologischer Reflexion in der mesopotamischen Geschichte. In R.G. Kratz / H. Spieckermann (eds.): Götterbilder – Gottesbilder – Weltbilder. Band I: Ägypten, Mesopotamien, Persien, Kleinasien, Syrien, Palästina. Forschungen zum Alten Testament 2. Reihe Bd. 17,

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Tübingen. Pp. 103–130. (first edition 2006) — 2012a: “Der oikomorphe Mensch. Wesen im Menschen und das Wesen des Menschen in sumerisch-akkadischer Perspektive”. In B. Janowski (ed.): Der ganze Mensch. Zur Anthropologie der Antike und ihrer europäischen Nachgeschichte. Berlin. Pp. 83–106 + 320. — 2012b: “Welt, Götter und Menschen in den Schöpfungsentwürfen des antiken Mesopotamien”. In K. Schmid (ed.): Schöpfung. Themen der Theologie 4. Stuttgart. Pp. 17–70. — 2012c: Der Mensch als Haus. Ergänzungen zur oikomorphen Anthropologie der sumerisch-akkadischen Antike, NABU 40. — 2015a: “Innana holt das erste Himmelshaus auf die Erde”. In B. Janowski / D. Schwemer (eds.): Weisheitstexte, Mythen und Epen. Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments, Neue Folge 8. Gütersloh. Pp. 45–55. — 2015b: “nin me šara – Mythen als argumentative Waffen in einem rituellen Lied der Hohepriesterin En-ḫedu-Ana”. In B. Janowski / D. Schwemer (eds.): Weisheitstexte, Mythen und Epen. Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments, Neue Folge 8. Gütersloh. Pp. 55–67. — 2015c: “Die Geburt des Autors: Das Lied der Hohepriesterin Encheduana aus dem 23. Jahrhundert vor Christus”. In K. Volk (ed.): Erzählungen aus dem Land Sumer. Wiesbaden. Pp. 339–350, 436. — 2019, “Inanna – City Goddess of Uruk”. In T. Potts (ed.): Uruk. First City of the Ancient World. Los Angeles. Pp. 50–59. (English translation of Zgoll, A., 2012, “Inanna – Stadtgöttin von Uruk”. In N. Crüsemann et al. (ed.): Uruk. 5000 Jahre Megacity. Begleitband zur Ausstellung “Uruk. 5000 Jahre Megacity” im Pergamonmuseum – Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, in den Reiss-Engelhorn-Museen Mannheim. Pp. 70–79.) — 2020a: “Durch Tod zur Macht, selbst über den Tod. Mythische Strata von Unterweltsgang und Auferstehung der Innana/Ištar in sumerischen und akkadischen Quellen”. In A. Zgoll / C. Zgoll (eds.): Mythische Sphärenwechsel. Methodisch neue Zugänge zu antiken Mythen in Orient und Okzident. Mythological Studies 2. Berlin / Boston. Pp. 83–159. — 2020b: “Condensation of Myths. A hermeneutic key to a myth about Innana and the Instruments of Power (Sumerian: me), incorporated in the epic angalta”. In W. Sommerfeld (ed.): Dealing with Antiquity. Past, Present & Future. RAI Marburg. AOAT 460. Münster. Pp. 427–447. — 2021: “Wie der Himmel auf die Erde kommt. Der prototypische Charakter des E-ana-Tempels im mythischen Epos Innana raubt das Himmelshaus für die Erde”. In G. Gabriel / B. Kärger / A. Zgoll / C. Zgoll (eds.): Was vom Himmel kommt. Stoffanalytische Zugänge zu antiken Mythen aus Mesopotamien, Ägypten, Griechenland und Rom. Mythological Studies 4. Berlin / Boston. (in preparation)

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Zgoll, A. / Zgoll, C., 2020: “Innana-Ištars Abstieg ins Totenreich und Aufstieg mit Machtmitteln (Sumerian: me). Durch Hylemanalysen zur Erschließung von Spuren mythischer Stoffe hinter kultischer Praxis und epischer Verdichtung”. In I. Arkhipov / L. Kogan / N. Koslova (eds.): The Third Millennium: Studies in Early Mesopotamia and Syria in Honor of Manfred Krebernik and Walter Sommerfeld. CM 50. Leiden. Pp. 749–801. Zgoll, A. / Cuperly, B. / Cöster-Gilbert, A., 2021: “Introduction to Hylistic Narratology: How to Understand the Shape of Stories. The Example of Dumuzi’s Death”. In S. Helle / G. Konstantopoulos (eds.): The Shape of Stories: Narrative Structures in Cuneiform Literature, Cuneiform Monographs, Leiden. (in preparation) Zgoll, C., 2019: Tractatus Mythologicus. Theorie und Methodik zur Erforschung von Mythen als Grundlegung einer allgemeinen, transmedialen und komparatistischen Stoffwissenschaft. Mythological Studies 1. Berlin / Boston. — 2020: “Myths as Polymorphous and Polystratic Erzählstoffe: A Theoretical and Methodological Foundation”. In A. Zgoll / C. Zgoll (eds.): Mythische Sphärenwechsel. Methodisch neue Zugänge zu antiken Mythen in Orient und Okzident. Mythological Studies 2. Berlin / Boston. Pp. 9–82. — 2021: „Grundlagen der hylistischen Mythosforschung. Hylemanalyse, Stratifikationsanalyse und komparative Analyse von mythischen Erzählstoffen“. In G. Gabriel / B. Kärger / A. Zgoll / C. Zgoll (eds.): Was vom Himmel kommt. Stoffanalytische Zugänge zu antiken Mythen aus Mesopotamien, Ägypten, Griechenland und Rom. Mythological Studies 4. Berlin / Boston. (in preparation)

The Many Lives of Enheduana Identity, Authorship, and the “World’s First Poet” Gina Konstantopoulos

Enheduana stands as one of the few figures from Mesopotamia – in her case, southern Iraq circa the late third millennium BCE – to travel from her ancient origins to gain recognition in the modern, non-Assyriological sphere, finding resonance in popular, and often western, culture. She shares this distinction with literary figures such as Gilgamesh; historical rulers such as Sargon the Great and Sennacherib; and deities such as Ishtar or Enki. Enheduana, however, straddles the categories occupied by these other figures, existing as something between literary figure, historical reality, and invented symbol. From her earliest attestations, Enheduana changes and shifts, to be continually repurposed in each new cultural context wherein she finds herself. Eleanor Robson summarized well the tangle of interpretations surrounding Enheduana with the statement that Enheduana has had three lives: the first as an actual, real-life woman in Mesopotamia, circa 2300 BCE; the second, as a figure of prominence in Sumerian literature of the Old Babylonian period, some six centuries later; and the third as an icon of poetry and authorship claimed by second-wave feminism since the 1970s.1 Throughout this article, I trace this tangle of the many lives of Enheduana, each dependent in some way upon the one that came before. We may also see how Enheduana is being reinterpreted yet again in modern times, to acquire a fourth life that is connected to, and yet very much distinct from, any of those which have come before. First life: Priestess and patron Though each and any of Enheduana’s lives should be considered “real”, at least from a certain point of view, her first life is the only one directly attached to an actual, historical figure. In this life, we find Enheduana as the daughter of Sargon the Great (r. 2340–2285 BCE), the first king of the Sargonic dynasty of rulers. Enheduana was established as the en-priestess to the moon god Nanna/Su’en, installed in this high cultic office at the city of Ur. 2 We see references to the historical figure of Enheduana from a variety of sources: several mentions of her come from personal seals belonging to individuals who served her, one of which identifies her directly as the daughter of Sargon (en -h e 2 -du 7 -an-na dumu sár-ru-

1

Robson, 2017. Her name, which means “The En-priestess is the Ornament (h e 2 - d u 7 ) of Heaven (a n n a )”, was certainly one she was given or took herself when she was installed in this high cultic office (Wagensonner, 2020: 39).

2

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GI).3

Another seal belonged to the supervisor of her estate or holdings, while a third example, a seal impression, seems to potentially identify one [x]-kituš-du, a scribe, as her servant, though the last two lines of this sealing are heavily reconstructed, particularly in light of the half-named individual’s profession.4 The most well-known object associated with her is undoubtedly the so-called “Disk of Enheduana,” excavated from the gipāru at Ur in 1927 and currently in the collection of the University of Pennsylvania museum (CBS 16665).5 The alabaster disk measures 25.6 cm in diameter and was found in several fragments; the current version is heavily reconstructed. It is marked by a horizontal band of imagery on the obverse, similar to the rolled-out impression created from a cylinder seal.6 The reverse bears an eleven-line inscription, which reads as follows: en -he 2 -du 7 -an-na MUNUS.NUNUZ.ZI d nanna dam d n anna du mu ⸢ša r-ru ⸣- G I [lug al]-⸢kiš⸣ [e 2 - d inan]na.ZA.ZA [ur]i 5 ki -ma-ka [bara 2 ]-si-g a bi 2 -e-du 3 bara 2 banšur-anna mu-še 3 bi-sa 4 “Enheduana, the zirru of Nanna, the spouse of Nanna, the daughter of Sargon, king of the world, in the [temple of the goddess Inan]naZA.ZA of Ur, she erected a socle (and) named it: ‘the dais, the table of the god An / of the heavens’.”7 A copy of the inscription on the disk's reverse is found, like so much of the material connected to Enheduana, in a text dating to the Old Babylonian period, on a clay tablet also found at Ur.8 This text provides a helpful accounting of the various titles connected to Enheduana, though it does not reference her position as the enpriestess of the moon-god Nanna, which does appear referenced in the later Old 3

Frayne, 1993; Sargon E2.1.1.2003. See Frayne, 1993; Sargon E2.1.1.2004; E2.1.1.2005. The relevant lines of the latter seal impression are, as mentioned, quite poorly preserved, and reconstructed as follows: [d u b s ]a r [i r 1 1 - d a - n ]i . 5 Frayne, 1993; Sargon E2.1.1.16 provides the exact findspot for the object: “Ur, from the fill at the north-east end of the passageway between blocks A and B, and C of the IsinLarsa levels of the Gipar-ku”, leaving us with few doubts as the object’s context and dating. 6 The clear parallels between the imagery on the obverse and a cylinder sealing have been noted by Winter (1987: 190–191). 7 Translation following Frayne, 1993, Sargon E2.1.1.16 and Westenholz, 1989: 540, with reference to Glassner, 2009: 221. 8 Frayne, 1993, Sargon E2.1.1.16 provides the findspot of this Old Babylonian copy as “Ur, from No. 7 Quiet Street, rooms 5–6.” The tablet itself is in the collections of the Baghdad Museum; Frayne takes the presence of this copy to indicate that the disk, or at least its inscription was available and undamaged through at least the Old Babylonian period, with any damage to the older object occurring after the later copy of the inscription was completed. 4

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Babylonian compositions connected to her. The remaining titles and positions, of both zirru and spouse (dam) of Nanna, have been discussed at length by Westenholz, and I will reference here only her eventual conclusion that the zirru “may be understood as Ningal on earth; there has been an identity-transference” between Ningal and Enheduana (1989: 544). As zirru, Enheduana was equated to Ningal, the divine spouse of Nanna and the other title seen in her inscription only reinforced this position. Although references to Enheduana’s first life are relatively sparse, certain key facts are clear: first, that Enheduana was a person of social and religious, if not also political, importance, a standing tied to her position as the priestess of the moon-god as well as her lineage as the daughter of Sargon. Second, Enheduana was associated with Sumerian, with the southern city of Ur and its prominent cult, and to some degree, with the Sumerian language itself. This role will be central to her second life, one connected to the Old Babylonian period and to Sumerian literature, but it begins in the Akkadian-dominated Sargonic period which preceded it. Moreover, Enheduana is herself rooted in an earlier and deeper continuity, even in these oldest references to her. She may stand as the earliest reference to the office of the en-priestess, but this hardly indicates that she was the first individual to hold such an office.9 The deliberate nature of Enheduana’s position, which I would describe as an act of deliberately performative Sumerian, worked to anchor the empire of her father in the deeper past that he, as an usurper and thus inherently an intruder, was actively engaged in overwriting.10 Second life: Poet and author Enheduana’s second life appears over half a millennium after her first; tied to Old Babylonian Sumerian literary texts. In this life, she is the purported author of a number of detailed Sumerian literary compositions, claims which are centered on the three following texts: Ninmešarra (“the Exaltation of Inana”),11 Inninšagurra (“the Great-Hearted Lady”),12 and the Temple Hymns.13 In addition to these major works, Enheduana is referenced in a balbale hymn to the god Nanna, though the context of this attestation, and thus Enheduana’s role in relation to the text, is 9

Winter (1987: 195–196) argues that comparisons with the scene found on the obverse on the Enheduana’s disk and Early Dynastic scenes make a case for the existence of the office of the en-priestess, or a very similar function, well before Enheduana’s time. 10 Suter (2017: 346) has also pointed out the similarity between the disk of Enheduana and an Early Dynasty door plaque found in the same giparu and depicting a very similar scene. Winter takes these similarities as evidence for the earlier existence of the office of the enpriestess; Suter does not discount this interpretation but argues that the later example (Enheduana’s) was a deliberate evocation of the earlier object. 11 See Zgoll, 1997. 12 Sjöberg, 1975. 13 Sjöberg / Bergmann, 1969; a new edition is the focus of the doctoral research and dissertation of Monica Phillips of the University of Chicago.

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uncertain given the fragmentary state of this text at certain points, particularly where her name appears. Regardless, the text has been suggested as being attributed to her.14 Other texts have been more tentatively connected to Enheduana, such as most notably the Sumerian text Inana and Ebih, a connection made on the basis of similar content and style, as it is also centered on the goddess's exploits, glorifying her eventual triumph over the rebellious Mount Ebih, the Jebel Himrim.15 This text cannot, however, be concretely attributed to Enheduana, though it is well-integrated into her later, twentieth-century reception as one of her authored texts.16 Though the historical Enheduana was directly connected with the moon-god Nanna, her Old Babylonian texts are centered on the goddess Inana. Ninmešarra opens with a long recitation of praises of the goddess Inana, before moving to describe Enheduana’s own plight: exiled by a usurper, her frequent pleas to the god Nanna have gone unanswered, and she has turned to Inana in her desperate plight, that the goddess might restore the proper order. Though Inninšagurra is longer than Ninmešarra by some one hundred lines, the text itself holds a less compelling narrative, being primarily devoted to extolling Inana’s many virtues. When Enheduana appears in the text, she proclaims herself first the high priestess of the moon-god,17 but is apparently beset with difficulties and trials; this section is unfortunately fragmentary and difficult to interpret. As with Ninmešarra, 14 For reference, this text is ETCSL Nanna C. Enheduana is referenced twice within this text; in the first, only her name is preserved, while the second reference, near the close of the text, contains the following plea: “O Ningal, my Enheduana, may she (Enheduana) restore your (Ningal’s) heart(?) to its place”(d n i n - g a l e n - h e 2 - d u 7 - a n - n a - ĝ u 1 0 [ š a 3 ] z u k i - b i h u - m u - a n - g i 4 - g i 4 ) ; see Westenholz, 1989: 555. Note that this section is given a different translation and interpretation by Hall (1985: 764–775), who attributes it more directly to Enheduana by interpreting direct speech from her in the text. 15 For this potential connection, see Foster, 2015: 206–209; moreover, Inninšagurra references actions that appear to connect with those described in Inana and Ebih, by stating how the mountain did not bow down before Inana (Sjöberg, 1975: 189; lines 110–112). As described by Delnero (2011: 134–135) there are also parallels between the imagery used to describe Inana in both Ninmešarra and Inana and Ebih, and the three texts (Inninšagurra, Ninmešarra, and Inana and Ebih) are listed as the first three lines of an Old Babylonian catalogue of literary texts, though the tablet includes a listing of over twenty literary texts; see Cohen, 1976: 131. The connection between the two texts, and perhaps Enheduana’s presumed authorship of latter, may be possible based upon such similarities, but is not stated in the text itself – and given how clearly her authorship is stated in the three major texts that do claim her as author, the lack of such a statement within the text is suspect. 16 Meador (2001: 89–102) integrates the text into Enheduana’s overall program of texts to Inana, a proposed schema that I will discuss later. Meador’s is the most prominent but hardly the only treatment of Enheduana to connect her to Inana and Ebih, however (see Salisbury, 2001: 101–103). 17 Sjöberg, 1975: 198–199; line 219 (e n - h e 2 - d u 7 - a n - n a- m e - en NUNUZ.ZI d n a n n a ) .

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Enheduana’s own loyalties have shifted from Nanna to Inana, as she states: “My Lady, I will proclaim your greatness in all lands and your glory!”18 The Temple Hymns, a collection of forty-two hymns dedicated to a number of deities and their temples, is less Inana-centric, though she is still the focus of the hymns dedicated to her temples in the cities of Uruk, Zabalam, and Ulmaš, respectively.19 Although this text spreads its focus to include many other deities and cities besides Inana, it also contains the most direct reference to Enheduana’s own authorship, coming at the very close of the entire composition: lu 2 dub zu 2 keš 2 -da en-he 2 -du 7 -an-na lu gal-ĝu 10 niĝ 2 u 3 -tu na-me lu 2 nam-mu-un-u 3 -tu “The composer of the tablet is Enheduana; My lord, that which has been created no one has ever created before.”20 This text uses the verb zu 2 keš 2 , which has the literal meaning of “to gather, weave, bind” to describe Enheduana’s role in the creation of the Temple Hymns. In doing so, the text underscores the notion that Enheduana has created from many disparate parts a new and unified whole, something which “no one has ever created before”. In this respect, however, its use does differ from the few parallel textual examples we may otherwise find – to be fair, these are also much later and from Akkadian texts, employing the verb kaṣāru, which has similar meanings to “zu 2 keš 2 ”. The most notable of these is found in the first millennium literary text Erra and Išum, which includes in the closing lines of its fifth and final tablet the identification that Kabti-ilāni-Marduk is the composer (kaṣir) of the text, but also stresses that the text has been divinely transmitted to him in a dream, and he has not altered a single word of it.21 Erra and Išum claims a divine lineage and legitimacy, and thus an origin that is in some senses atemporal. In contrast, Enheduana claims to have specifically created something new, and anchored that claim by deliberately comparing it to works which may have – but did not – come before her own. Whether or not Enheduana – which is to say, the historical figure, the Enheduana of her first, late third-millennium life – was the actual author of these works remains a question of some debate by Assyriologists. The matter is more settled when she appears in her later, third representation, as authorship is, as we shall

18

Sjöberg, 1975: 200–201; line 254 (n i n - ĝ u 10 n a m - m a h - z u k u r - k u r - r a k a - t a r - z u [ g a - s i - i l ] ). 19 These three passages comprise hymns sixteen, twenty-six, and forty; for the full listing of the divine topics of the forty-two hymns, see Sjöberg and Bergmann, 1969: 13. 20 Sjöberg / Bergmann, 1969: 49. 21 Such claims worked to strengthen and legitimate the efficacy of Erra and Išum, which functioned as both a literary text and a ward against plague (Konstantopoulos forthcoming).

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see, central to Enheduana’s third life.22 It is certainly true that the works that claim Enheduana as their author are separated from her by some centuries, and no copies that are contemporaneous with her historical life have been recovered, though such statements are always at the mercy of what has managed to survive the millennia. However, whether or not the historical Enheduana was the sole author of the works attributed to her is in some sense immaterial.23 It was clearly of critical importance to the Old Babylonian scholars and scribes that her authorship be prominently displayed, and moreover, that this same authorship appear in connection with her three major works. The circulation of the image of Enheduana as an author, as a single voice crafting many stories, is of far greater significance than the actual reality of that same authorship. Enheduana made an attractive symbol: she is one of only seven named female individuals within the corpus of Old Babylonian Sumerian literary texts. She is one of the few who is concretely established as an actual historical figure within this corpus, a status she shares with Sîn-Kašid’s daughter, Ninšatapada.24 As one of such a small number of named women, Enheduana was well positioned to represent the larger concept of Sumerian knowledge. In each of her lives, Enheduana exists as a symbol of some kind: this is certainly true of her third life, where she is invoked as a feminist figurehead, but it is equally true when we consider her second life. Here, Enheduana represents the cultural significance of Sumerian, but moreover, of Sumerian as it could be acquired and learned by scribes, particularly those who had already progressed through the more elementary stages of scribal education. Ninmešarra was one of the Decad, a set of ten texts that appear at the beginning of curricular catalogues and were prominently featured in Sumerian scribal education.25 Enheduana’s texts, particularly Ninmešarra, were thus representative of a higher level of scribal training, a benchmark that was reached by students who had already slogged through the scribal trenches. Thanks to its wide circulation it could also stand as a symbol of scribal mastery that, although not easily attained, was nevertheless still attainable. However, it is important to recognize that the Old Babylonian literary corpus – particularly the corpus that Enheduana’s texts were a part of – was from a fairly narrow window of space (our texts are largely from Nippur) and time (shortly following 1740 BCE).26 The available copies of these texts were thus rooted in turmoil: Nippur had been dramatically affected by the revolt of Rim-Sîn II (1742– 22

These arguments are summarized, in brief, in Helle, 2019: 5 and Suter, 2017: 342. As discussed by Helle, 2019: 5. 24 The full roster of these women is discussed by Gadotti, 2011: 196. 25 On the Decad, see Tinney, 1999; the framework for the stages of scribal education at Nippur were discussed by Veldhuis, 1997. 26 See Helle, 2019: 7 and Robson’s (2001: 41–43) overview of House F at Nippur, where many of the tablets were found. 23

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1740) and the destruction that followed in its wake. Sumerian, particularly as expressed by Enheduana and her texts, was a source of stability as well as status. As stated by Sophus Helle, Enheduana served to represent Sumerian identity – as decided upon and expressed by scribes – on several levels, expressed through her major literary works. Through the Temple Hymns “she personified the Sumerian literary tradition, condensing a broader mixture of traditions into a single figure and so guaranteeing its coherence”, while through Ninmešarra, Enheduana “provided a working model for how that (Sumerian) tradition could be acquired by Akkadian-speaking scribes” (2019: 8). In her Old Babylonian life, Enheduana functions as both symbol and tool, employed to bolster a specific image. It is a role that resonates with her later lives. Modern reinventions: Enheduana’s third life It is in Enheduana’s modern reception that she finds the most widespread attention. This, her third life, is invariably referenced by nearly any popular article written about the figure; even those written by historians and Assyriologists.27 But from where did this third life, which sees Enheduana become a feminist symbol, even spring? Initial interest in Enheduana, primarily dated to the early and midtwentieth century, was still strictly limited to Assyriological circles and centered on the Sumerian literary works connected to her. A short article published by Adam Falkenstein in the late 1950s focused more on the figure herself, but this short article hardly presented her in the “world’s first author” interpretation that would become so entwined with her later representations.28 English translations of Ninmešarra and Inninšagurra had appeared by the late 1960s and though these were primarily scholarly works, the availability of any such translations was undoubtedly critical to Enheduana’s popular reception.29 If there is a precipitating moment for Enheduana’s role as a feminist symbol, it occurred in 1978, when American anthropologist and folklorist Marta Weigle published the article “Women as Verbal Artists: Reclaiming the Sisters of Enheduana”.30 Weigle’s article was concerned with the “study of women as verbal artists” something that must “proceed in culture and gender-specific terms and

27

See Pryke, 2019; Halton, 2017. Falkenstein, 1958. Another early scholarly reference to Enheduana as an individual can be found in Sollberger’s (1954–1956: 26) description of the priestesses of the moon-god Nanna, including the daughter of Sargon of Akkad, one “Enganduana”. 29 For translations of Ninmešarra, see Hallo / van Dijk, 1968; Kramer’s publication (1969) of Ninmešarra in ANET also helped the text reach a wider, non-Assyriological (though likely primarily Biblical) audience. Both the Temple Hymns and Inninšagurra owe their early English translations, at least in part, to Åke Sjöberg; see Sjöberg / Bergmann, 1969 and Sjöberg, 1974 for editions of the respective texts. 30 Weigle’s article served as an introduction to a themed issue of the journal of Women Studies, Frontiers. 28

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yet speak to us as Westerners with our own aesthetic sensibilities” (1978: 1). Enheduana became central to this study, as Weigle set out to also examine how to define concepts such as verbal art, artist, society, and aesthetics in relation to women artists.31 Within this framework, Weigle presents Enheduana as follows: “Art and aesthetics are generally defined by the group and/or the gods, and these definitions have too often precluded or ignored women. Ironically, however, the first known author in the world (written) literature is a women – Enheduana – daughter of Sargon the Great of Akkad (c. 2300–2230 B.C.), and high priestess of the moongod Nanna at Ur and the heavengod An at Uruk in Sumer. Several texts attributed to Enheduana survive … [which] should have assured [the] author a prominent place in the annals of world literature, but most literary historians think first of Sappho, if only as the primary exception to the rule of male-dominated religious-literary traditions.”32 As for her own influences, Weigle cites a 1976 lecture by Cyrus Gordon as her introduction to Enheduana, and she references work on the figure by Assyriologists such as Hallo and Van Dijk, and quotes directly a translated passage of Ninmešarra – if only to illustrate how curious it is that Enheduana is neglected in favor of Sappho when one thinks of ‘first female authors’.33 To Weigle, Enheduana swiftly becomes the alpha and omega of female authorship, particularly female authorship in the face of patriarchal systems of hegemonic oppression and dominance. This role, as well as that of a feminist icon, has also been played by Inana/Ištar, with many of these interpretations tied to Wolkstein and Kramer’s 1983 popular edition of many of the texts connected to the goddess.34 Other figures, such as Lilith, have been the subject of similar modern feminist interpretations in their more recent reception.35 Weigle thus positions Enheduana as a first revolt against the patriarchy of the written word, but also as part of an already existing oral tradition of which women could take equal, if not greater, part. To this end, she states that the dominance of male voices in literature is a quality of written traditions, while women's voices 31

Weigle, 1978: 1–2. Weigle, 1978: 2. 33 Weigle, 1978: 2; see also her accounting of the various sources she references for Ninmešarra (1978, n. 5). 34 The story of Inana’s descent to the Netherworld has been particularly central to a number of modern interpretations and retellings: amongst these I highlight Judy Grahn’s The Queen of Swords (1990), a book-length poem where Inana (called Helen in the text) must descend to the Netherworld, a setting which also serves as a lesbian bar within the text; and Alice Notley’s The Descent of Alette (1996), which draws less directly on Inana’s myths but still draws influence from the Sumerian text, along with notable references to Dante’s Inferno. 35 See Shapiro, 2010; Shapiro, 2019. 32

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may be found in greater, if unrecorded, number in oral traditions: “Men may control the media, and they may make every effort to silence women through custom and legislation. Nevertheless, women certainly do talk, and teach their children to speak. Some talk very well, at least in the estimation of other women, if not men, too. Such women are the spiritual sisters of Enheduana, frequently denied the ‘official’ mean of verbal artistic expression within their societies, but no less capable in their ‘unofficial’ ways.”36 The suggestion that an oral tradition may tie strongly into women’s own suppressed speech and agency is curiously juxtaposed against the written nature of Enheduana’s own legacy, rooted as it was entirely in scribal context and culture. Regardless of this tension, Weigle nevertheless clearly aims to place Enheduana as a figure of individual and independent authorship, and moreover, an image, if not icon, of female resistance and power. Enheduana is far from the only “first woman” to be found within the history of literature, though many of our other examples have much clearer, if not indisputable, claims to authorship when compared to Enheduana. The Tale of Genji, composed in Heian period Japan (c. 1008 CE), is often described as the world’s “first novel”, and its author, Murasaki Shikibu, given similar standing.37 Similarly, the 1818 publication of Frankenstein; or, the Modern Prometheus by Mary Shelley may arguably lay claim to being the first work of science fiction.38 36

Weigle, 1978: 2. This is a designation applied more often in recent years (or from Western sources) as The Tale of Genji, and Murasaki Shikibu herself, is part of a complex literary history of female authors during this period of Japanese history, who themselves authored works that have been uneasily divided into longer “narrative texts” (or monogatari, such as the aforementioned Tale of Genji / Genji Monogatari) and shorter literary “diaries” (nikki, such as the Sarashina Nikki, one of six renowned nikki from the Heian period; see Arntzen / Moriyuki, 2014: 3–19; on the difficulties of these ‘genre’ divisions, see Gatten, 2007). Being composed by women both nikki and the longer monogatari, including the Tale of Genji, have been positioned as variously unsuitable (Kornicki, 2005) and explicitly intended for women (Naito, 2014) at different points in the millennium of history since their initial production, particularly as the works became more widely printed and distributed. 38 Frankenstein was initially published anonymously; Shelley’s name appeared on the second edition, published in 1823. Since its first publication, Shelley’s work has been viewed as a response and reaction to a number of different themes, a confluence of influences and affects, including shifting climate and fears of technology, to name only a few (see Griffin / Lobdell 2018 for an introduction to the special issue of Science Fiction Studies dedicated to Shelley’s work). Given Shelley’s youth – she was only twenty when Frankenstein was first published – her own independence and self-affirmation in the authorship of the novel have unsurprisingly been questioned, with the alternative view being that Shelley’s novel was a distillation of the ideas of the (mostly male) writers and thinkers whom she encountered. Thankfully, Shelley’s own biographical material, including her letters, has pushed 37

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Both Murasaki’s and Shelley’s claims to authorship are far more concrete than Enheduana’s, but as before, the reality of her authorship is ultimately less important than the story that is told, and believed, about said authorship. Popular translations of Enheduana’s work, notably Ninmešarra, are found in the years following Weigle’s article.39 More recent popular reception of Enheduana, at least in the English-speaking world, is undoubtedly influenced by one source in particular: Betty De Shong Meador’s general audience publication of the related texts. Her first book collects what she has determined to be the major texts of Enheduana connected to Inana, while her second publishes her edition of the Temple Hymns.40 A Jungian analyst, Meador interprets both the figures of Enheduana and Inana through her own particular lens, and it is neither relevant or productive for me to critique the nuts and bolts of her actual translations. They are certainly influenced by her own aims and initial perspectives, but one could apply such a judgment to all scholarship on some level. I am rather interested in the texts she chooses to include in her first work, and how she uses those texts to not only consolidate but also expand Enheduana’s claims to authorship. In her first book, Meador (2001) presents her translations of the texts Ninmešarra, Inninšagurra, and Inana and Ebih, with the last a very deliberate – if dubious – inclusion on her part. The first two texts are clearly and concretely linked to Enheduana, and in claiming them under her banner of authorship, Meador follows in a tradition established by the Old Babylonian scribes themselves. The last of her three texts, however, cannot be conclusively linked to Enheduana, as I have already discussed. Though connections between the three texts, as well as between Enheduana and Inana and Ebih have been proposed, they are inconclusive and prove to be an insubstantial foundation for the full weight of the arguments and conclusions that Meador places upon them. Meador emphasizes the connection between all three texts so as to focus upon Enheduana’s own authorship and singular autonomy in their creation. She presents them

back against such assertions (Carson, 1988). Interestingly, although the claim of Frankenstein as the earliest work of science fiction may be debated, the result would only, in all likelihood, be to replace it with yet another text authored by a woman; namely, Margaret Cavendish’s utopian work The Description of a New World, Called the Blazing-World, published in 1666. On the constructed world of the Blazing World and Cavendish's own influences as represented in the work, see Leslie, 2012: 89–107. 39 See in particular Barnstone / Barnstone’s (1980: 1–8) inclusion of Ninmešarra in an anthology of women poets; their translation is excerpted and adapted from Hallo / van Dijk, 1968. 40 Meador, 2001 and 2009. My phrasing in regards to the context of Meador, 2001 is deliberate, given her focus on including Inana and Ebih as one of those texts. Other popular interpretations of Enheduana’s works, particularly Ninmešarra, has followed Meador’s work (see Daglish, 2008), building off of her interpretations and even the inclusion of Inana and Ebih as part of Enheduana’s deliberate corpus of works.

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in her book as a connected corpus, if not an outright trilogy of interrelated and interdependent texts: “Inana and Ebih must have been the first of the three poems of Enheduana, because the events it describes are referred to in the next two poems. Also, the poem unequivocally establishes Inana as foremost of all the gods. This was a necessary step in Enheduana’s attempt to strengthen the ancestral religion in the face of threats to its centrality.”41 This view merges the concepts of patron and author as connected to Enheduana, to the point where the latter has entirely subsumed the former. Moreover, such claims assign both agency and agenda to Enheduana, who is now not only the author of hymns to Inana, but has crafted a progressive narrative that defines those hymns and the goddess who is central to them. In her second book, Meador assigns a similar agency and political motivation to Enheduana’s creation of the Temple Hymns, positing that she crafted the text in order to help support her father Sargon's reign. The narrative is an explicitly political one, with Enheduana being given the ability to shape political and religious reality through the creation and circulation of her authored texts. Now established, this narrative has been further circulated by later examples of both scholarship and popular reception to feature Enheduana, such as, for example, J. Royster’s (2003) article on the history of rhetoric which positions Enheduana as an early example of a woman rhetor. The author bases her analysis of off Meador's work, as emblematized by both her quoted sections of Inninšagurra and Inana and Ebih42 and, most tellingly, her following statement on the significance of Inana and Ebih to Enheduana: “As the poem (Inana and Ebih) progresses, what becomes clearer is that Enheduana is a politically insightful storyteller who uses this generic form not only to explain a historical event and celebrate the goddess to whom she had dedicated herself by that point, but also to use a culturally important historical moment to create a new mythology for Inana and a more powerful presence for herself as the priestess who glorifies Inana’s name.”43 Such a statement speaks to the appeal of this modern image of Enheduana. Her Old Babylonian appearance was a complicated tangle of issues of scribal authority, Sumerian identity, and authorship, but her third life is far more straightforward. Rather than being constructed by committee, this Enheduana stands as a single figure with her own authority, agency, and identity. Here, Enheduana is depicted as helming the ship of her authorial intent, navigating skillfully through 41

Meador, 2001: 90. All of which are taken from Meader, 2001. 43 Royster, 2003: 153. 42

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any obstructions posed by the patriarchy of both ancient Mesopotamia and modern historical scholarship, to grandly influence the political and religious destiny of Mesopotamia. Fourth and future lives The nature of Enheduana’s third life is still in flux, and it is difficult to say the paths it might take in its continued cultural evolution. Some of her appearances are less directly connected to the second-wave feminism which critically underlies her third life, however. The last of the forty-two Temple Hymns contains a reference to the goddess Nisaba consulting a lapis-lazuli tablet (presumably of the heavens) and measuring the heavens. This action has been connected with Enheduana directly and has given her additional interpretations as both an early mathematician and astronomer.44 It is perhaps these associations that led the International Astronomical Association to name one of Mercury’s craters after her in 2015, for example.45 Connected to and yet independent from these references, we may also see a fourth life of Enheduana, wherein she takes on new interpretations. In this life, she is connected to the modern Middle East, and is employed by modern artists, particularly Iraqi writers, to connect with Iraq’s ancient past.46 This connection claims particular importance and significance when set against the turmoil that has beset the country in more modern times, resonating against a backdrop of events that include, but are certainly by no means limited to: the oppressive regime of Saddam Hussein; the Gulf War; the 2003 American invasion of Iraq and subsequent Iraq war, which lasted nearly a decade; the destruction of lives, cities, and cultural heritage by Daesh; and the 2019 Iraqi protests. Ancient

44

See Sjöberg / Bergmann, 1969: 48–49 for the translation of the relevant passage of the Temple Hymns. When her new-found identity as a mathematician is referenced, however, it does appear to exist alongside her more popular associations of priestess, poet, and author (Glaz. 2019). 45 International Astronomical Union 2015. The IAU chose the names for five of Mercury’s craters from a pool of 3,600 submitted names; Enheduana was chosen alongside four other poets and authors: Irish composer Turlough O’Carolan (16th c. CE) ; portrait photographer Yousuf Karsh (20th c. CE); Egyptian singer Umm Kulthum (1920s–1970s); and Mexican painter Diego Rivera (1920s–1950s). Given the pool of other chosen names, it may well be Enheduana’s identity as a poet and author that distinguished her from the other possible names. She is certainly the only ancient figure by a large margin to be included. 46 Appearances of Enheduana in this fourth life may, of course, spring from sources within and without the Middles East, as embodied by the Enheduanna Society, an organization founded in London in 2002 in order to “popularize the literature of Ancient Iraq (Mesopotamia) through the art of oral storytelling” (Enheduanna Society, n.d.). The Society’s members recite ancient and modern poetry connected to Mesopotamia, with the latter including the poems of Amal al-Jubouri, along with several other modern Iraqi poets.

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Mesopotamian imagery has already a long history of use in dialogue with many of these more recent events. As an example, I point to Iraqi-American artist Michael Rakowitz’s The invisible enemy should not exist, which recreates Assyrian sculptural and architectural elements from modern material, such as his 2018 construction of a lamassu statue out of date syrup cans. The lamassu, winged human-headed bulls, were guardian beings, prominently positioned in protective positions throughout Neo-Assyrian palaces. Rakowitz has described the project as an attempt to recreate objects of cultural heritage that have since been lost, removed from Iraq and Iraqi museums. In his own words, the project creates an “intricate narrative about the artifacts stolen from the National Museum of Iraq, Baghdad, in the aftermath of the US invasion of April 2003; the current status of their whereabouts; and the series of events surrounding the invasion, the plundering and related protagonists.”47 Similarly, modern Iraqi protests, including the most recent 2019 protests, have incorporated the use of cuneiform graffiti and street art into public demonstrations, including large-scale depictions of the Sumerian term “ama-ar-gi 4 ” or “amagi 4 ” by Iraqi street artists Osama Sadiq.48 The term has the literal meaning of to “return to mother” but in Sumerian contexts indicated a return to a previous state, such as a manumission from slavery. In light of this, it has acquired the more direct meaning of “freedom” when in modern use, and finds new meaning as a symbol of rebellion and resistance. These are only two examples among many, and they are far from the only ways in which ancient Mesopotamian imagery may be employed in modern times. Saddam Hussein was himself more than fond of invoking such imagery, styling himself through his propaganda as an ideological successor of Mesopotamian rulers, particularly of the Assyrian Empire and its kings.49 Given the sometimes-claim of Enheduana as the “world’s first poet”, it seems fitting that it is in poetry that Enheduana resurfaces as a thread connecting modern and ancient in the Middle East. We see her take this role in one of the works of Indian poet Meena Alexander, entitled “Triptych in a Time of War”. Alexander juxtaposes her reflections on the work and life of Iranian poet Forough Farrokhzad with the image of Frank Stella’s 1977 sculpture, Dove of Tanna. The sculpture wings its way through the poem, connecting modern Iran, New York City (itself reeling from recent violence), and ancient Iraq: “It takes flight from the eastern wall of 365 Fifth Avenue and settles on the ziggurat of Ur, by a crater where a bomb burst. 47

Rakowitz n.d. For an example of “a m a - g i 4 ” graffiti in the context of the 2019 protests, see Sadiq, 2019; al-Rashid, 2019. 49 Harkhu, 2005; Goode, 2010. 48

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Returning to the office without walls you hear Enheduanna cry O the ziggurat of Ur is crowned with doves!”50 Alexander composed this poem in March 2003 in New York City; at that time, Dove of Tanna, was displayed in in the atrium of the Graduate Center of City University of New York, at 365 Fifth Avenue. The sculpture thus moves through both time and space in this passage, connecting lines of violence. Indeed, Alexander opens a discussion of the composition of this and several other poems with the simple but telling question of: “What does it mean to belong in a violent world?”51 Such a question finds resonance in the work of Iraqi poet Amal al-Jubouri, whose poems are also inextricably tied to her experiences with her homeland. AlJubouri was forced to flee Iraq under Saddam Hussein and seek political asylum in Germany, to return in the almost immediate wake of Saddam’s fall in 2003. Her work is reflective of Iraq’s ancient and modern lives: while her 1999 poetry collection entitled Enheduanna, Priestess of Exile, reflects her years of exile in Germany, her 2011 collection Hagar before the Occupation / Hagar after the Occupation is a clear response to the American invasion of Iraq and its aftermath. As a whole, Hagar before / Hagar after is an expression of grief, an elegy for Iraq interwoven with the constant refrain of al-Jubouri grappling with the paradox of how – and even if – poetry may spring from such a loss.52 Her poetry calls upon the figure of Enheduana, and finds further echoes in the destruction of cities espoused in the Sumerian city laments that can be dated to the same Old Babylonian period as Enheduana’s texts.53 Both influences are seen in al-Jubouri’s poem, “Enheduanna”, which opens with the lines: “Oh Towers: It's time to leave this Mesopotamian soil This land of signs Too many dead you have buried While brooding your conspiracies Your rotten days”54

50

Alexander, 2006: 1594–1595. The site of Ur serves a doubled purpose in the poem, functioning as an invocation both of the city of the moon-god with which Enheduana was closely linked, and as a reference to one of the military bases used during the Iraq Invasion. 51 Alexander, 2009: 162. 52 On al-Jubouri’s own biography, as well a focused critical response to Hagar Before / Hagar After, see Paden, 2012. Enheduana, Priestess of Exile has not yet been translated from Arabic. 53 On the use of Sumerian and Akkadian literature in modern Iraqi writings, particularly the City Laments and texts such as Gilgamesh, see al-Musawi, 2006: 27–29. 54 Al-Jubouri, 2003: 40.

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The poem appears to appeal equally to the devastation that the cities of Iraq had suffered in both ancient and modern times, a devastation that extends well before the 2003 American invasion of Iraq. Indeed, similar themes are found in a poem by Iraqi expatriate Jawad Yaqoob, written in response to civilian deaths in the 1993 American bombardment of Baghdad: “Tonight Ishtar is in sorrow / dripping hot tears. / Sadness in Baghdad’s eyes / clouds all the ancestors’ ziggurats. / And the ancient women of Ur and Uruk / mourning brothers and sons.”55 At the close of al-Jubouri’s poem, however, Enheduana emerges once again as a source of strength, appearing in its final lines: “Enheduanna’s heart was greater than / the tyrants’ gospels.”56 Enheduana stands as a symbol of resilience and as a reference to the title of her work Inninšagurra, thus invoking, as Yaqoob already has, the rage and strength of the goddess Inana/Ishtar as well. Al-Jubouri invokes Enheduana a number of times in her poetry, and each reference finds echoes of loss, mourning, and inextricable displacement. Though her poem “Enheduanna and Goethe” only invokes the ancient priestess by name in its title, her presence is keenly felt throughout the poem, which seems to shift at times to even occupy her point of view and assume her voice: “A stranger in your home but in my home I am the mistress of lamentation. O East, what have you done to me? I love you but you brought me shame.”57 Al-Jubouri’s own mourning here echoes the despair of Enheduana in Ninmešarra, similarly cast out of her homeland, abandoned and ignored by the moon-god to whom she had been loyal. But Enheduana’s grief, whether seen in this poem or in the other examples I have discussed, may also function as an anchor, mooring both Iraq’s present and future to its past. When surveying the many lives of Enheduana, it can be tempting to accuse some of the works connected to Enheduana’s more modern reception, particularly those of her third life, as either uncaring or ignorant of the historical realities of the figure, and of the Sumerian literature connected to her. Such claims, I would argue, miss two key points. The first is that historically Assyriologists have neglected to produce accessible popular editions to provide an available alternative to the presently existing translations, though this is has seen some change in relatively recent years.58 The second and far more central point, however, is that 55

Yaqoob, 2003: 238; al-Musawi, 2006: 29. Iraqi painter Laylā al-‘Aṭṭār was one of the civilians killed by the American cruise missile strike on Baghdad; the poem is Yaqoob’s reflection on her. 56 Al-Jubouri, 2003: 40. 57 “Enheduanna and Goethe”, Al-Juburi, 2001. 58 See, for example, the recent compilation of women’s writing from Mesopotamia by

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Enheduana has always been a symbol, even in her first, historical, life. Throughout each of her lives, what Enheduana has been used to symbolize has changed, moving through: an image of Sumerian religious significance; the unifying and elite power of Sumerian identity and scribal training; a figure of secondwave feminism as the ‘world’s first author’, an early and deeper resistance against a patriarchal system; and, finally, a connection to Iraq’s own ancient culture and history that may be levied in response to a tumultuous present. If each of these are, in essence, interpretations of Enheduana, then it is disingenuous to claim that any of her ‘lives’ should be cast as invalid in comparison to the others. Enheduana has endured in the popular sphere because of her ability to adapt to – and be adapted by – the demands of the times and cultures wherein she finds herself. Given such skills, her fourth life is unlikely to be her last, and any of her later lives should be judged as unique, but equally worthy, interpretations of the woman herself. Bibliography Alexander, M., 2006: “Triptych in a Time of War”. PMLA 121/5, 1593–1595. — 2009: Poetics of Dislocation. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Altoma, S.J., 2004: “Iraq’s Modern Arabic Literature in English Translation 1950–2003”. Journal of Arabic Literature 35/1, 88–138. Arntzen, S. / Moriyuki I., 2014: The Sarashina Diary: A Woman’s Life in Eleventh-Century Japan. New York: Columbia University Press. Barnstone A. / Barnstone, W., 1980: A Book of Women Poets from Antitquity to Now. New York: Schocken Books. Black, J. / Cunningham, G. / Robson, E. / Zólyomi, G., 2004: The Literature of Ancient Sumer. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Carson, J.P., 1988: “Bringing the Author Forward: ‘Frankenstein’ through Mary Shelley’s Letters”. Criticism 30/4, 431–453. Cohen, M.E., 1976: “Literary Texts from the Andrews University Archaeological Museum”. Revue d’Assyriologie 70, 129–144. Daglish, C., 2008: Humming the Blues: Inspired by Nin-me-sar-ra, Enheduanna’s Song to Inanna. Corvallis, Oregon: Calyx Books. Delnero, P., 2011: “‘Inana and Ebiḫ’ and the Scribal Tradition”. In G. Frame et al. (eds.): A Common Cultural Heritage: Studies on Mesopotamia and the Biblical World in Honor of Barry L. Eichler. Bethesda: CDL Press. Pp. 123–149. Grahn. J., 1990: The Queen of Swords. Boston: Beacon Press. Enheduanna Society. n.d. “About Us: Who Was Enheduanna?” The Enheduanna Society, http://www.zipang.org.uk/aboutus.htm (accessed 5 December 2019).

Halton / Svärd, 2017; the Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature and connected published works such as Black et al., 2004; and, as a rare earlier example, Jacobsen’s (1987) popular collection of translated Sumerian texts.

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Falkenstein, A., 1958: “Enḫedu‘anna, die Tochter Sargons von Akkade”. RA 52/2, 129–131. Frayne, D., 1993: Sargonic and Gutian Periods (2334–2113 BC). The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia: Early Periods. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Gadotti, A., 2011: “Portraits of the Feminine in Sumerian Literature”. JAOS 131/2, 195–206. Glaz, S., 2019: “Enheduanna: Princess, Priestess, Poet, and Mathematician”. The Mathematical Intelligencer. https://doi.org/10.1007/s00283-019-09914-7. Gatten, A., 2007: “Review of: Objects of Discourse: Memoirs by Women of Heian Japan by John R. Wallace”. The Journal of Japanese Studies 33/1: 268–273. Glassner, J.J., 2009: “En-hedu-ana, une femme auteure en pays de Sumer, au IIIe millénaire?” Topoi: Orient-Occident 10, 219–231. Goode, J.F., 2010: “Archaeology and politics in Iraq: from the British mandate to Saddam Hussein”. In A. Cohen / S.E. Kangas (eds.): Assyrian Reliefs from the Palace of Ashurnasirpal II: A Cultural Biography. Hanover: University Press of New England. Pp. 107–123. Griffin, M. / Lobdell, N., 2018: “Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein at 200”. Science Fiction Studies 45/2, 225–228. Hall, M.G., 1985: “A Study of the Sumerian Moon-God, Nanna/Suen”. PhD Dissertation; University of Pennsylvania. Hallo, W.W. / van Dijk, J. 1968.: The Exaltation of Inanna. Yale Near Eastern Researches 3. New Haven: Yale University Press. Hallo, W.W. / Simpson, W.K., 1971: The Ancient Near East: A History. New York: Harcourt. Halton, C., 2017: “Why Has No One Ever Heard of the World’s First Poet? Enheduanna is Revered by Ancient Alien Conspiracy Theorists – but Few Others”. Literary Hub 22 June 2017. https://lithub.com/why-has-no-one-everheard-of-the-worlds-first-poet/ (accessed 10 October 2019). Halton, C. / Svärd, S., 2017: Women’s Writing of Ancient Mesopotamia: an Anthology of the Earliest Female Authors. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Harkhu, U., 2005: “Does History Repeat Itself?: the Ideology of Saddam Hussein and the Mesopotamian Era”. Scientia Militaria: South African Journal of Military Studies 33/1, 47–71. Helle, S., 2019: “Enheduana and the Invention of Authorship”. Authorship 8/1, 1–20. International Astronomical Union, 2015: “Mercury Crater-naming Contest Winners Announced”. International Astronomical Union, Press Release. https:// www.iau.org/news/pressreleases/detail/iau1506/ (accessed 2 December 2019). Jacobsen, T., 1987: The Harp that Once … Sumerian Poetry in Translation. New Haven: Yale University Press.

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al-Jubouri, A. 2001: “Enheduanna and Goethe”. In N. Handal (ed.): The Poetry of Arab Women: A Contemporary Anthology. Northampton, MA: Interlink Group Publishing. al-Jubouri, A., et al., 2003: “Five Iraqi Poets in Western Exile”. World Literature Today 77, 37–42. al-Jubouri, A., 2011: Hagar before the Occupation / Hagar after the Occupation. Farmington, ME: Alice James Books. Konstantopoulos, G., forthcoming: “‘These are of the Mouth of Ea’: the Divine Origin of Incantations and the Legitimation of the Exorcist’s Craft”. In C. Meccariello / J. Singletary (eds.): “As It Is Written”? Uses of Sources in Ancient Mediterranean Texts. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Kornicki, P.F., 2005: “Unsuitable Books for Women? ‘Genji Monogatari’ and ‘Ise Monogatari’ in Late Seventeenth-Century Japan”. Monumenta Nipponica 60/2, 147–193. Kramer, S.N., 1969: “A Hymnal Prayer of Enheduanna: the Adoration of Inanna in Ur”. In J. Pritchard (ed.): Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament, (3rd ed.). Princeton: Princeton University Press. Pp. 579–582. Leslie, M., 2012: “Mind the Map: Fancy, Matter, and World Construction in Margaret Cavendish’s ‘Blazing World’”. Renaissance and Reformation 35/1, 85– 112. Meader, B. De Shong, 2001: Inanna, Lady of the Largest Heart: Poems of the Sumerian High Priestess Enheduanna. Austin: University of Texas Press. — 2009: Princess, Priestess, Poet: the Sumerian Temple Hymns of Enheduanna. Austin: University of Texas Press. al-Musawi, M., 2006: Reading Iraq: Culture and Power in Conflict. London: I.B. Tauris. Notley, A., 1996: The Descent of Alette. New York: Penguin. Naito, S., 2014: “Beyond The Tale of Genji: Murasaki Shikibu as Icon and Exemplum in Seventeenth- and Eighteenth-Century Popular Japanese Texts for Women”. Early Modern Women 9/1, 47–78. Paden, J., 2012: “How to Live in Exile: the Poetry of Amal al-Jubouri”. Asymptote. https://www.asymptotejournal.com/criticism/amal-aljubouris-hagar-before-the-occupation-hagar-after-the-occupation/ (accessed 4 December 2019). Pryke, L., 2019: “Hidden Women of History: Enheduanna, Princess, Priestess and the World’s First Known Author”. The Conversation, 13 February 2019. http://theconversation.com/hidden-women-of-history-enheduanna-princesspriestess-and-the-worlds-first-known-author-109185 (accessed 10 October 2019). Rakowitz, M., n.d.: “The invisible enemy should not exist”. http://www.michael rakowitz.com/the-invisible-enemy-should-not-exist (accessed 30 November 2019).

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al-Rashid, M., 2019: “Cuneiform in Iraqi street art”, November 7, 2019, 6:46 p.m. Tweet. https://twitter.com/moudhy/status/1192377653422153728 (accessed 30 November 2019). Robson, E., 2001: “The Tablet House: a Scribal School in Old Babylonian Nippur”. Revue d’Assyriologie 93, 39–66. Robson, E., 2017: “A long thread about Sumerian princess and priestess Enheduan(n)a”, September 1, 2017, 5:17 a.m. Tweet. https://twitter.com/eleanor _robson/status/903351010860695552?lang=en (accessed 10 October 2019). Royster, J.J., 2003: “Disciplinary Landscaping, or Contemporary Challenges in the History of Rhetoric”. Philosophy & Rhetoric 36/2, 148–167. Sadiq, O., 2019: “Ama - ar - gi / ‫”ﺃﻣﺎﺭﺟﻲ‬, November 5, 2019. https://www.insta gram.com/p/B4c2WNoJw4G/ (accessed 30 November 2019). Salisbury, J.E., 2001: Encyclopedia of Women in the Ancient World. Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO. Schmelz, J., 2013: “En’hedu’anna – Our First Great Scientist!” Women in Astronomy, 6 May 2013. http://womeninastronomy.blogspot.com/2013/05/ enheduanna-our-first-great-scientist.html (accessed 11 October 2019). Shapiro, A.R., 2010: “The Flight of Lilith: Modern Jewish American Feminist Literature”. Studies in American Jewish Literature 29, 68–79. Shapiro, M.R., 2019: “The Temptation of Legitimacy: Lilith’s Adoption in Contemporary Feminist Spirituality and their Meanings”. Modern Judaism 39, 125–143. Sjöberg, Å.W. / Bergmann S.J., 1969: The Collection of the Sumerian Temple Hymns. Texts from Cuneiform Sources 3. Locust Valley: J.J. Augustin Publisher. Sjöberg, Å.W., 1975: “In-nin šà-gur4-ra: a Hymn to the Goddess Inanna by the Priestess Enḫeduanna”. Zeitschrift für Assyriologie 65, 161–253. Sollberger, E., 1954–1956: „Sur la chronologie des rois d’Ur et quelques problèmes connexes“. AfO 17, 10–48. Suter, C.E., 2017: “On Images, Visibility, and Agency of Early Mesopotamian Royal Women”. In L. Feliu / F. Karahashi / G. Rubio (eds.), The First Ninety Year: A Sumerian Celebration in Honor of Miguel Civil. Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records 12. Berlin: de Gruyter. Pp. 337–362. Tinney, S., 1999: “On the Curricular Setting of Sumerian Literature”. Iraq 61, 159–172. Veldhuis, N., 1997: Elementary Education at Nippur: the Lists of Trees and Wooden Objects. PhD dissertation, University of Groningen. Weigle, M., 1978: “Women as Verbal Artists: Reclaiming the Sisters of Enheduanna”. Frontiers: A Journal of Women Studies 3/3, 1–9. Westenholz, J.G., 1989: “Enheduanna, En-Priestess, Hen of Nanna, Spouse of Nanna”. In H. Behrens / D.T. Loding / M.T. Roth (eds.): Dumu-e2-dub-ba-a:

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Studies in Honor of Åke W. Sjöberg. Philadelphia: University Museum. Pp. 539–556. Winter, I.J., 1987: “Women in Public: the Disk of Enheduanna, the Beginning of the Office of En-Priestess, and the Weight of the Visual Evidence”. In M. Durand (ed.): La Femme dans le Proche-Orient Antique: Compte rendu de la 23e Rencontre Assyriologique International (Paris, 7–10 Juillet 1986). Paris: Recherche sur les Civilisations. Pp. 189–201. Wolkstein, D. / Kramer, S.N., 1983: Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth: her Stories and Hymns from Sumer. New York: Harper Perennial. Yaqoob, J., 2003: “The Resurrectuion of Layla al-Attar”. In Iraqi Poetry Today. King’s College: London. Pp. 238–239. Zgoll, A., 1997: Der Rechtsfall der En-hedu-Ana im Lied nin-me-šar-ra. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag.

Šamḫat Deconstructing Temple Prostitution One Woman at a Time Nicole Brisch

The name of Šamḫat, the well-known woman from the Babylonian Epic of Gilgamesh, who initiated the wild man Enkidu into the civilized world through sexual intercourse, was chosen here as one of the most famous literary characters connected to temple prostitution in the ancient Near East.1 Prostitution in general and temple or sacred prostitution more specifically are topics that continue to elicit strong responses to this day, especially where the interpretation of ancient Near Eastern data is concerned. Scholarly discourse on the question of temple prostitution vacillates between a staunch affirmation of its existence (e.g. Cooper, 2006; 2013; 2016; Lambert, 1992; Wilhelm, 1990; Yoffee, 1998; Yoffee, 2004: 121–128; Leick, 1994; Stol, 2016: 419–435) and a complete or almost complete denial (Assante, 1998; Rubio, 1999; Budin, 2008; Roth, 2006; Shehata, 2009: 103 and 222).2 The roots of the idea of temple prostitution can be traced back to Herodotus, the ‘father of history’ whose descriptions of Babylonian customs include that of women soliciting sex in exchange for money at a temple (Wilhelm, 1990; Goodnick Westenholz, 1989; Roth, 2006; Cooper, 2013: 49–50; Yoffee, 2004: 121–122). As Roth (2006: 22) has so aptly put it: “Although there is not a single modern piece of scholarship that gives any credence at all to any of Herodotus’s other “Babylonian customs” – whether wise or shameful – his story about the ritual defloration and sexual accessibility of common women in the sacred realm (“Babylonian sacred prostitution”) remains stubbornly embedded as an accepted fact in the literature.” The topic of temple prostitution continues to reverberate today, sometimes in rather unexpected ways. For example, the Turkish Sumerologist Muazzez Çiğ was indicted in Turkey in 2006 on charges of insulting Muslim women and inciting religious hatred. The reasons for her indictment were found in a book that she had authored, in which she hypothesized that the head scarf traditionally worn by re1

And although this article does not discuss Šamḫat at length, this contribution does include a discussion of her title ḫarimtum, a term that is central to the question of ancient Near Eastern temple prostitution. 2 I would like to express my sincerest gratitude to Sebastian Fink and Kerstin Droß-Krüpe for organizing this wonderful workshop on such an important topic and for the invitation to participate in it. I am extremely grateful for the fellowship at the Wissenschaftskolleg zu Berlin (2019–20), which allowed me the time and mental space to explore the question of temple prostitution in greater detail. Abbreviations follow the Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago.

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ligious Muslim women can be traced back to pre-Islamic times, when ancient Mesopotamian priestesses that engaged in temple prostitution covered their heads with scarves. Çiğ, who was 92 at the time of the trial, was acquitted of the charges in less than an hour, and images of the nonagenarian, her arms raised in victory, made the news around the world.3 In other cases, the purported existence of ancient Near Eastern temple prostitution has been used to legitimize and de-stigmatize modern sex workers by showing that this practice was not as defamed in the distant past as it is today. To quote an example: “The earliest records of prostitution show that it took place in temples: to visit a prostitute was to make paeans to the goddess. In fact, one of the earliest known deities was Inanna – a female prostitute (…).” (Sanders et al., 2009: 1). While the wish to de-stigmatize modern sex work is understandable, one should also be careful with fitting the past into a mold that suits modern purposes only. To describe the goddess Inanna as a female prostitute falls far short of the complexity of one of the most ancient goddesses in the Mesopotamian pantheon. The following represents an attempt to critically discuss and re-evaluate the question of temple prostitution by reviewing some of the available data and their interpretation. In this context, it is also important to show that a discussion of temple prostitution cannot and should not be analyzed in isolation from the role of women in ancient Mesopotamia. Moreover, in reviewing the extant literature, it becomes clear that there are some serious methodological problems in the current debates surrounding temple prostitution. In particular, the uncritical use of singular and isolated historical sources from diverse geographical and chronological backgrounds to make arguments pertaining to three millennia of Mesopotamian history is unquestionably one of the weakest arguments on both sides of the debate. Thus, a single text from Nuzi, a city located in the periphery of Mesopotamia (Wilhelm, 1990) has often been hailed as incontrovertible proof for the existence temple prostitution (Wilhelm, 1990: 516–523; Stol, 2016: 419). Yet, this singular source, which is moreover post-Old Babylonian and dates to the period of about 1600–1400 BCE, cannot and should not be used to make claims pertaining to the entire ancient Near East and the entirety of Mesopotamian history.4 Additionally, historical sources are often used as if they are of equal value: thus, the Code of Hammurabi, literary texts, divinatory texts, and legal and administrative documents, a mishmash of genres spanning two or three millennia, are all seen as having equal historical value when attempting to reconstruct this societal phenomenon. Equally problematic is the assumption by those that have argued for the existence of temple prostitution that it is a historical constant whose existence is a given. Thus, because a word, for example the Akkadian ḫarimtu, can be translated as “prostitute” in some cases, does not mean that the term always 3

BBC News, 6 November 2006. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/6106098.stm accessed on 28 October 2019. 4 Rubio (1999) has offered an alternative interpretation of this singular source.

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and in all sources has the same meaning, a point that was already made by Assante (1998). An additional aspect that needs to be taken into consideration when discussing the question of temple prostitution are the strong local differences in the administrative and religious organization and performance of religion in ancient Mesopotamia. Recent research has shown that the same priestly titles did not necessarily have had the same meaning or function across all cities in the Mesopotamian heartland. A case in point is the priestly office called the nadītum in Akkadian, lukur in Sumerian (Harris, 1975: 305–312; Yoffee, 2004: 116–121; Stone ,1982). Harris’s pioneering study of the office of the nadītum at the city of Sippar showed that these women were not allowed to have sexual relations (Harris, 1975: 306). However, more recent studies of nadītum and other priestesses have shown that there are significant differences in the ways the priestesses were organized and lived throughout Babylonia (see the comparative table in Barberon, 2012: 108). Additionally, in Goddeeris’s publication of new legal and administrative documents from Nippur, there appears a woman by the name of Narāmtum, who was a nadītum priestess of Lugalaba. Not only was this nadītum priestess married, she also adopted children (Goddeeris, 2016: 361). This represents clear and unequivocal evidence for local differences in the practicing of religious offices during the Old Babylonian period and should serve as a warning against making wide-reaching claims on the role, functions, restrictions, and freedoms of women that were appointed priestesses. Definitions Before discussing whether or how temple prostitution can or cannot be identified in ancient Mesopotamia, it is worth thinking about definitions: what do we actually mean when we use the terms prostitution or temple prostitution? In her contribution on “Prostitution” in the Oxford Handbook of Crime and Policy, Jody Miller writes: “Definitions and meanings of prostitution are widely contested. It is generally agreed that prostitution involves the exchange of sexual activities for economic remuneration with individuals with whom no special relationship otherwise exists.” (Miller 2011: 549) As Miller points out, this definition concentrates on the “sellers rather than the purchasers of commercial sex” (italics original) and therefore has often focused exclusively on women rather than men (Miller 2011: 549). It is interesting to note that the same way of thinking is often visible in studies of ancient Near Eastern temple prostitution, where the focus has been on the female priestesses that purportedly sold sex instead of the men that may have been consumers and purchasers of sex.

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The difficulties in defining prostitution in modern societies can serve as a neat illustration that the identification of prostitution in ancient societies that are culturally, chronologically, and geographically so far removed from today can add even more layers of complication to such attempts. Thus, the question arises what an economic remuneration may have been in the context of temple prostitution. Did priestesses perform sexual acts as rituals in service of the deity they served? Did the priestesses receive payment for these services that contributed to the temple’s accounts? Or did men pay the temple prostitute’s husbands or brothers so that they could pay the temple for the services their wives and sisters rendered on behalf of the temples? Yoffee (2004: 126–127) has argued that the women, which he identified as women that performed sexual rituals, did not receive economic remuneration but that the sexual intercourse they practiced was part of religious rituals, which we only poorly understand. However, if that was indeed the case, is it sensible to call these women “prostitutes”? Before going further, I should like to add that it is in some cases extremely difficult to separate fact from fiction, that is to separate textual (and archaeological) evidence from (modern or ancient) interpretations, and what modern scholars read into ancient texts. Accordingly, and as has been stated numerous times, there is not a single text that constitutes a contract between a person, whether belonging to the temple or not, that sold sexual services to another person for an economic remuneration. However, given that writing was only used in particular contexts, especially elite contexts that required written documentation of a given act, it is also unlikely that such a document will ever be found. Šamḫat: a harlot? It is told in the Babylonian Epic of Gilgamesh that Šamḫat lay with Enkidu, who became Gilgamesh’s trusted friend and companion, for “7 days and 7 nights.” Andrew George has recently proposed – on the basis of a new manuscript – that the sexual intercourse that was part of Enkidu’s initiation to turn him from a brute man who lived with animals into a civilized man that wore clothes and kept the company of women, took place two times, not just once (George, 2018). The ritualized act of sexual intercourse here functions clearly as a rite of passage from the stage of being part of nature to the stage of being part of civilization, with the week-long sexual intercourse representing the liminal phase of transition. Šamḫat is, in the Standard Babylonian version of the Epic but also in the newly published tablet (George, 2018: 14), designated with the Akkadian term ḫarimtum, a word that is frequently translated as “harlot” or “prostitute.” Nevertheless, the Gilgamesh Epic does not actually mention that she received monetary remuneration for the services she rendered, though of course Enkidu’s curse and subsequent blessings represent a poetic portrayal of a prostitute’s life (see also Leick, 1994: 165– 167; Cooper, 2016: 212–213). Thus, the literary image of Šamḫat as the prostitute may serve a very specific poetic rendering of what distinguishes nature from cul-

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ture (or civilization). But does this mean that the ḫarīmtum was a prostitute in real life? Assante (1998) has shown in her in-depth study of the term ḫarīmtum that modern scholars have connected almost every female priestly office, not just the office of the ḫarīmtum, at one time or another to prostitution and/or the sacred marriage ritual. The NIN-dingir priestess, a priestess of high standing in early Mesopotamia (Renger, 1967: 139–141; Steinkeller, 1999; Stol, 2000), is also good example for this. Additionally, the above-mentioned nadītum has also been identified as a “prostitute” by some (Lambert, 1992). It should be pointed out here that in general women were much more common in priestly offices in the early periods of Mesopotamian history, especially in the Ur III (ca. 2112–2004 BCE) and the Old Babylonian periods (ca. 2000–1595 BCE). In post-Old Babylonian periods, among others in the Neo-Babylonian period (625–539 BCE), there is a notable absence of women from religious offices (Waerzeggers, 2010: 49–51), especially in high-ranking offices, such as en- and NIN-dingir priestesses (Sallaberger and Huber Vuillet 2003–2005: 627–628). Even though the Neo-Babylonian king Nabonidus attempted to revive the custom of appointing his daughter as the high-priestess of the moon god, this seems to have been an isolated event that was not continued. The reasons for this notable absence of women are not entirely clear and should be studied further. This is important, because a study of prostitution and other forms of sex work should take social and historical changes into consideration. Moreover, as Stol (2016: 426) has pointed out, many of the old titles for priestesses became devalued and associated with prostitution in later parts of Mesopotamian history, an example being the title qadištum, a title designating a woman who likely acted as a midwife but later became associated with prostitution. I believe this is a very significant factor that has not been taken into consideration adequately in the discussion surrounding temple prostitution. For example, late, i.e. first millennium BCE, evidence from lexical lists, in which many priestly titles were lumped together and then translated as “prostitutes” is very often used to argue for the existence of temple prostitution in the Old Babylonian period, almost one thousand years earlier. Terms that possibly designate temple prostitutes There are several Akkadian and Sumerian terms that have been connected to prostitution, yet it is not possible here to distinguish between what may be terms for “prostitutes” and “temple prostitutes.” It will be impossible in the following to discuss all the terms in depth, and I will try to focus on a selection. I shall moreover try to show that a careful separation of the historical sources should make us re-think at least some of the translation of these terms as “temple prostitute,” when alternative interpretations of this term are not only possible but also likely. A brief survey of the evidence from the Old Babylonian period will be followed by a

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discussion of alternative narratives of what the ritual functions of these women may have been. ḫarimtum The Akkadian term ḫarimtum, in Sumerian munuskar-kid, is perhaps the term that is most frequently translated as “prostitute.” It is possible that ḫarimtum is derived from the verb ḫarāmum which means “to separate,”5 and that ḫarimtum describes a woman that is separated from society, but this etymology has to remain speculative. The Sumerian term (munus)kar-kid has been interpreted as a reference to a woman working at the quay/harbor area as the place where she pursued her business (Lambert, 1992: 138; Cooper, 2016: 213); however, the evidence adduced for this interpretation seems rather weak. At Sippar, an office or service called ḫarimūtum is headed and organized by a male temple official called the gala-mah (in Akkadian g/kalamāḫu), the chief lamentation priest (Tanret / van Lerberghe, 1993; Tanret, 2011). The chief lamentation priest is in charge of assigning the ritual duties (called parṣū in Akkadian, variously translated as “rite, ritual, temple office, prebend, income from a prebend” etc.6). In the case of the chief lamentation priest Ur-Utu, the rites he was in charge of were that of Annunitum, a goddess that may originally have been a name of the war-like, male aspect of the goddess Ištar and then became venerated on her own (Selz, 2000: 29. 34–35). Although ḫarimūtum is commonly associated with prostitution, there is no evidence for this in the administrative texts related to the performance of these rituals that were designated such and, in fact, thus far there seems to be only evidence for men having performed the ḫarimūtum for the goddess Annunitum at Sippar (Tanret / van Lerberghe, 1993: 441 and n. 14).7 In contrast to the actual administrative accounts, it is the literary texts that seemingly offer evidence for prostitution (Cooper, 2016: 213). In the Sumerian 5

See AHw II, p. 325, s.v. ḫarimtu(m) “Abgesonderte, Prostituierte” referring to AHw II, p. 323, s.v. ḫarāmu(m) II “absondern.” However, the verb does not occur in connection with women prostituting themselves. Also see CAD Ḫ, p. 89–90, s.v. ḫarāmu v., where it is noted: “possibly the etymon of ḫarimtu and ḫarmatu, if these words designate women socially set apart.” 6 For further translation possibilities see CAD P, p. 195, s.v. parṣu. 7 The discussion of the terms ḫarimūtum, translated by some as “office of the prostitute” but in Sippar performed by men, and redûtum, perhaps to be translated as “office of the soldier,” in Sippar performed by women, has presented many difficulties for those that have argued for the existence of temple prostitution. Gallery (1980) made careful suggestions that in later literature often got merged into interpretations that suited the argument. There is not enough space here to discuss some of the more outlandish suggestions that have been made to account for the designations that do not conform to modern ideas of prostitution. Perhaps one should consider rituals in which traditional gender roles were switched, i.e. men performed ḫarimūtum “harimu-service” and women performed redûtum “military service.” Whether the ḫarimūtum consisted of sexual acts is not clear.

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literary corpus there is one reference in a partially fragmentary love-song of the goddess Inanna that has a couple, albeit partial duplicates; the subscript of the fragmentary and short composition in question (CBS 8530) states that it is a balbal d⸢inanna⸣-[kam], a “Balbal-song of the goddess Inanna” (Sjöberg, 1977: 16; Sefati, 1998: 383 no. 5). These types of songs are typically love-songs extolling the goddesses’ sexuality rather explicitly. The passage in question can be translated as “When I stand by the wall, it is 1 lamb (sc. in payment) / When I bend over, it is 1 ½ shekels.” 8 Whether or not this may or may not reflect a real payment that was made to a temple in exchange for sexual intercourse, using a fragmentary love-song as evidence for the existence of temple prostitution of Inanna’s priests seems questionable at best. While Inanna does carry the title kar-kid, albeit only in a few Sumerian literary compositions, this title is not mentioned in the just quoted love-song; because the meaning of some of these titles and epithets of Inanna still escape a full understanding, the conclusions drawn on the basis of a few attestations of a title and one more or less explicit but fragmentary attestation in a love-song make for rather flimsy evidence for the real-life existence of temple prostitution in the Old Babylonian period. The above-mentioned passage from the Babylonian Epic of Gilgamesh about Enkidu’s initiation into civilization through sexuality does not occur in the Sumerian Gilgamesh tales. Additionally, we do lack any contracts that recorded payment in exchange for sex where a ḫarimtum was mentioned, though one should add that such a transaction probably would not have been recorded in writing, so this argumentum ex silencio is not necessarily meaningful. kezertum Another important priestly title that frequently has been connected to sacred prostitution is the title kezertum (Sumerian: munussuḫur-lá), which is translated as “prostitute,” both by the CAD and the AHw.9 The CAD distinguishes, moreover, a male substantive kezrum, which, by contrast, is translated more neutrally as “person with curled hair,”10 a courtesy that the female form of the noun was only afforded in brackets. Because the verb kezērum originally means “to curl the hair,” a more neutral translation of kezertum (the female form of the noun derived from the verb) and kezrum (the male form of the noun) could just have been “woman” or “man with curly hair.” Kezrētum women have been associated with prostitution, because in the first millennium BCE they were often mentioned together with ḫarimtum and šamḫa8

e2-gar8-da gub-bu-g̃u10 1 sila4-am3 / gam-e-g̃u10 1 ½ gin2-am3 (CBS 8530 obv. I 10’–11’ = obv. I 19–20 in Sjöberg’s [1977: 17] editio princeps). 9 CAD K, p. 314, s.v. kezertu “prostitute (lit. woman with curled hair, a hair-do characteristic of a special status)”; AHw I, p. 468, s.v. kezretu(m) “eine Dirne mit kizirtu-Haartracht.” 10 CAD K, p. 316, s.v. kezru.

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tum, especially in lexical lists, but again, in the early second millennium BCE, there is no hard evidence to prove that they engaged in prostitution. Additionally, as already mentioned above, other titles of priestesses were devalued through an association with prostitution in the first millennium BCE, so the late evidence can hardly be used to make solid arguments for the early second millennium BCE. In the Old Babylonian period, the designation kezertum is attested in several cities (in Larsa: Shehata, 2009: 102–103; and perhaps in Babylon: Barberon, 2012: 45), but our best evidence comes from the city of Kiš during the late Old Babylonian period (Yoffee, 1998; Yoffee, 2004: 121–128). There is a suggestion that the kezrētum women were originally from Uruk, where they were associated with the goddess Inanna.11 Women that had the designation kezertum could be of high or low standing, married or unmarried (Shehata, 2009: 103). A group of legal documents from Kiš, which are similar to loan contracts and which state amounts of silver that were owed to the “overseer of the kezrētu women” (ugula suḫur-la2-meš) (Yoffee 1998), are an important source for understanding some of the economic aspects of kezertum rituals. The silver that is owed is sometimes further described as ša3 ne2-bi-iḫ ke-ze-ri “from the payment/compensation of the Kezerum” (e.g. YOS 13, 312 l. 2) or sometimes as ša3 ku3-babbar ke-ze-e-ri “from the silver of the Kezerum” (e.g. YOS 13, 45 l. 2). The loan contracts state that the women owe this amount of silver to the overseer of the kezrētu and that either their husbands or their brothers will guarantee the payment of this fee to the overseer. Out of this some scholars have constructed an imagined sexual rite, which a woman performed and for which the overseer, who was affiliated with the temple, was owed money to, which then their husbands or brothers had to pay. A few texts also specify that the silver was part of the parṣū “ritual” of the kezrētum (Yoffee, 1998: 321; Shehata, 2009: 221). A singular text shows a list of kezrētum women, some of whom were of high standing in society (YOS 13, 111). Yoffee (1998: 328–329; 2004: 124) interpreted this text as indicating the assignment of kezrētu women to these women of high standing, i.e. each of the women named in the list, whose titles (or the titles of their family members) indicate that they were of high standing in society, was assigned an unnamed kezertum woman. By contrast, Shehata (2009: 221) proposed to read the text as a list of women of high standing that were collectively designated as kezrētum women, an interpretation that is much more in line with 11

The idea of a goddess AN.AN.INANNA (Shehata, 2009: 217), whose worship may have moved from Uruk to Kiš late in the Old Babylonian period after some of the southern cities were deserted, may have to be reconsidered in light of some indications for the worship of both An and Inanna in Uruk during the Old Babylonian period (Brisch, 1998). The joint worship of An and Inanna at Uruk could also potentially put a damper on the idea that all priestesses of Inanna were temple prostitutes, but it would need to be studied further; thus far, there is to my knowledge no suggestion that priests in charge of An’s worship were also sacred prostitutes.

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administrative practices of bookkeeping in ancient Mesopotamia. For example, the list begins with the entry: 1 munus e2-gi4-a ḫu-la-am-ḫu-uš ugula mar-tu “1 woman, the daughter-in-law of Hulamhuš, the general,” which Yoffee (1998: 328) translated as “1 (kezertu assigned to) (…).” The summary of this list states: šu-nigin 8 munus ke-ez-re-tum “8 kezrētum women” (YOS 13, 111, l. 17). There is nothing that speaks against interpreting these women of high standing as kezrētum women, or at the very least that interpretation should be seriously considered and then only rejected with good reason. One suspects that the only reason that the interpretation of the list as assignments of kezrētum to women of high standing was that the supposed sexual nature of these rituals. Yet, if alternative interpretations for the rituals that were performed are considered (see below), such hermeneutic acrobatics or tautologies may not be necessary (a kezertum woman is a prostitute, because prostitutes are called kezertum). In literary texts, there is only one attestation to my knowledge, in which a kezertum woman is mentioned. The composition is a unique Old Babylonian manuscript from Nippur that is difficult to interpret but may indicate that the kezertum here acted as a musical entertainer (Roth, 1983: 278; Shehata, 2007).12 Shehata (2007: 521) followed Roth’s (1983: 275) interpretation of the texts as a “comic morality tale.” Women and rituals in Early Mesopotamia – an alternative narrative? When analyzing the role of women as actors within ancient Mesopotamian religion during the Old Babylonian period, one cannot help but notice that, beginning with Herodotus and ending with modern scholarly discourse, the sexualization of priestesses is reminiscent of classic Orientalist fantasies. Shehata (2009: 102 and 221–222) has proposed a realistic alternative interpretation of the rituals that these women performed based on a different reading of the available data. She points to two letters, which are, admittedly, slightly older than the data from Kiš, as they date to the time of Hammurabi of Babylon. At least one of these letters (AbB 2, 34) mentions kezrētum women in connection with transporting goddesses from Emutbala to Babylon via a boat.13 The letter 12

Attestations at the city of Mari in northern Mesopotamia, which show that kezrētum women were of lower standing and served in the royal harem, which has also been taken as an argument in favor of these women having served as prostitutes (Yoffee, 2004: 125 with further references), are not necessarily relevant in this context. As already mentioned above, there are clear indications for local variations in the meaning of titles and in the functions of priestly offices in ancient Mesopotamia. 13 The relevant passage in the letter AbB 2, 34 lines 6–7 read a-na iš-ta-ra-a-tim ša e-mutba-lim re-de-e-em (…) “in order to escort the goddesses from Emutbalum (…)” . CAD I/J, p. 271, s.v. ištarītu 2. (woman of special status), suggests a different interpretation. Here ištarītu (pl. ištarātu) is understood as a designation of women of a special status that were to be sent from Emutbalum to Babylon. CAD R, p. 231, s.v. redû 1.b. “to take along, escort persons” 4’ “other persons, divine statues” reads ištarātum and seems to interpret it as as

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written by king Hammurabi himself to his trusted governor Sîn-iddinam states that the kezrētum women are to follow the goddesses on the boat, perhaps in a separate boat, and also stipulates that both the goddesses and the kezrētum women should receive enough travel provisions. The travel provisions for the goddesses are specified as bread, beer, and sheep. It is unclear which goddesses were transported on the boat, and it is also unclear to which deities the kezrētum women were devoted to. Although they do not seem to have travelled on the same boat, one could speculate that the kezrētum women were to travel together with the goddesses as some kind of “goddess’s maid,” in charge of their well-being (perhaps grooming?) during their journey. Even though this letter also represents a singular attestation, it could indicate an alternative scenario, which, far from linking kezrētum women with prostitution associates them with taking care of goddesses while travelling. An additional text from Kiš describes that the “overseer of the kezrētum women” rented a canal (YOS 13, 236 + 326, see Yoffee, 1998: 327–328). Perhaps it was the overseer’s responsibility to rent canals for the purpose of transporting gods and goddesses. This explanation would also work well with the singular text discussed above, which mentions women of high standing that were summarized as “8 kezrētum women.” If indeed their religious duties consisted of accompanying goddesses, then women of high standing would have willingly served in this capacity, with their husbands, or in case of monetary problems their brothers, willingly paying the required fees that would allow them to participate in this religious duty and privilege. A part of the fee would benefit the temple or the palace, whoever was in charge of organizing the journeys. Divine journeys for the purpose of festivals were not uncommon in ancient Mesopotamia, and several Sumerian literary texts describe such divine journeys. In fact, there is even a mythological tale in which the goddess Inanna steals the divine rites (Sumerian: me, Akkadian parṣū) from Enki in Eridu and brings them to Uruk, her home. Among these rites are also various priestly offices. She transports all of the rites to Uruk on the “Boat of Heaven.”14 So if we do want to use literary and mythological texts to reconstruct ancient rituals, why not this one? As already mentioned above, there are a number of indications that show that female priestly titles became lumped together under the header of “prostitutes” or “prostitution,” both in literary texts and in later time periods, when there were far fewer women in priestly offices. It is also possible that the title kezertum originally never meant “prostitute” but was just that, a priestly title whose full meaning we do not yet grasp, and that later became a synonym of derogatory expressions that designated women as prostitutes. “goddesses” or “divine statues.” 14 A full edition of the myth Inanna and Enki can be found in Farber-Flügge, 1973; for further literature see the Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature, http://etcsl.orinst. ox.ac.uk/cgi-bin/etcsl.cgi?text=c.1.3.1&display=Crit&charenc=gcirc#.

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While I do not wish to pretend that the alternative reading proposed here is necessarily more convincing than the interpretation of kezrētum women as prostitutes, I believe that it is important to consider this alternative scenario seriously and to study the textual evidence in greater detail, while keeping an open mind. I believe this is a point that Finkelstein (1972: 10–11) already underlined in his publication of many of the texts relating to these women’s activities. Conclusions First and foremost, it is clear that there is a need for proper source critique when it comes to the reconstruction of the roles of women and female temple employees in ancient Mesopotamia. Firstly, the women need to be studied within a given societal and historical context, without mixing evidence from three millennia. It is important not just to isolate a role of the “temple prostitute” and ignore all other offices that women held as part of their religious duties. Second, a study needs to include a proper evaluation of the purpose of a given text. Thus, evidence from law codes, be they from the Ur III, Old Babylonian, or Middle Assyrian periods, should be evaluated carefully and collated using data from other sources, such as contemporary legal and administrative documents, when available. Thirdly, literary texts, though important for understanding a specific image that was created in a specific context may not reflect social realities in all of Mesopotamia’s historical periods. Similarly, lexical texts also had a different purpose, for example, the teaching of writing, associations, and ordering the world, among others. Moreover, there is a need for more care to be taken when translating specific terms. One thing that one cannot help but notice is that priestly offices, especially those that are connected to the goddess Inanna/Ištar, have been interpreted as prostitutes. And here more often than not mythological and other religious texts, in which Inanna/Ištar is described as the insatiable prostitute, are used as arguments in favor of temple prostitution. Yet, to my mind it is extremely problematic to draw such concrete conclusions on the basis of mythological texts, while disregarding other mythological texts about Inanna that show a very different picture of her.15 Although a firm argument cannot be made at this point, we should seriously consider the hypothesis that sometime during the Old Babylonian period, societal changes led to a stigmatization of some women in priestly offices affiliated with the goddess Inanna/Ištar, which led to the creation and then further transmission of the literary image of the temple prostitute. It is not argued here that no prostitution ever existed in ancient Mesopotamia (the Sumerian term kar-kid, for example, is mentioned in the Instructions of Šurrupag in the context of slaves); instead, it is argued here that we should attempt to separate fact from fiction and decon15

Incidentally, I have not seen any suggestions that (male?) priests of Enki committed incest or rape, because the myth Enki and Ninhursanga describes the god committing incest on generations of his daughters.

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struct the sexualization of women in priestly offices, be they temporary offices that saw women of high standing performing religious rites, be they women of high or low standing that were employed by temples to perform rituals or organize economic aspects of acquiring the material goods necessary for performing these rituals. It is clear that women were much more present as actors within religious offices in the early periods of Mesopotamian history, i.e. in the third and early second millennia BCE. In fact, women from the royal family and other elite families occupied important priestly offices, and through their positions these women also acquired economic powers, which enabled them to be active participants in economy and society, for example, through lending money or purchasing real estate. Not all priestesses were rich and famous, but also lower-ranking priestesses actively participated in religious rituals and, perhaps through this were able to secure their livelihood and income. Bibliography Assante, J., 1998: “The kar.kid / ḫarimtu, Prostitute or Single Woman? A Reconsideration of the Evidence”. UF 30, 5–96. Barberon, L., 2012: Les religieuses et le culte de Marduk dans le royaume de Babylone. Archibab, 1. Mémoires de N.A.B.U. 14. Paris. Brisch, N., 1998: “Eine Siegelabrollung Išme-Dagans von Isin (1953–1935 v.Chr.) aus Uruk”. Baghdader Mitteilungen 29. 29–34. Budin, S.L., 2008: The Myth of Sacred Prostitution. Cambridge. Cooper, J.S., 2006: “Prostitution”. Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie, 11. Berlin. Pp. 12–21. — 2013: “Sex and the Temple”. In K. Kaniuth et al. (eds.): Temple im Alten Orient. Colloqiuen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft,7. Wiesbaden. Pp. 49–57. — 2016: “The Job of Sex: The Social and economic role of prostitutes in ancient Mesopotamia”. In B. Lion / C. Michel (eds.): The Role of Women in Work and Society in the Ancient Near East. Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records, 13. Berlin. Pp. 209–227. Farber-Flügge, G., 1973: Der Mythos Inanna und Enki unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der Liste der me. Studia Pohl 10. Rom. Finkelstein, J.J., 1972: Late Old Babylonian Documents and Letters. YOS 13. New Haven. Gallery, M.L., 1980: “Service Obligations of the kezertu–Women”. OrNS 49, 333–338. George, A., 2018: “Enkidu and the Harlot: Another Fragment of Old Babylonian Gilgameš”. ZA 108, 10–21. Goddeeris, A., 2016: The Old Babylonian Legal and Administrative Texts in the Hilprecht Collection Jena, Part 1 and 2. TMH 10. Wiesbaden.

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Goodnick Westenholz, J. 1989. “Tamar, Qedēšā, Qadištu, and Sacred Prostitution in Mesopotamia”. Harvard Theological Review 82, 245–265. Harris, R., 1975: Ancient Sippar. A Demographic Study of an Old Babylonian City (1894–1595 B.C.). Istanbul. Lambert, W.G., 1992. “Prostitution”. In V. Haas (ed.): Außenseiter und Randgruppen. Beiträge zu einer Sozialgeschichte des Alten Orients. Xenia, 32. Konstanz. Pp. 127–157. Leick, G., 1994: Sex and Eroticism in Mesopotamian Literature. London. Miller, J., 2011: “Prostitution”. In M. Tonry (ed.): The Oxford Handbook of Crime and Public Policy. Oxford. Pp. 547–577. Renger, J., 1967: “Untersuchungen zum Priestertum in der altbabylonischen Zeit. 1. Teil”. ZA 58. 110–188. Roth, M.T., 1983: “The Slave and the Scoundrel: CBS 10467, A Sumerian Morality Tale?”. JAOS 103, 275–282. — 2006: “Marriage, Divorce, and the Prostitute in Ancient Mesopotamia”. In C.A. Faraone / L. McClure (eds.): Prostitutes and Courtesans in the Ancient World. Madison, Wisconsin, pp. 21–39. Rubio, G., 1999. “¿Vírgines o meretrices? La prostitución sagrada en el Oriente antiguo”. Gerión 17, 129–148. Sallaberger, W. / Huber Vuillet, F., 2003–2005: “Priester. A. I. Mesopotamien”. RlA 10, 617–640. Sanders, T. / O’Neill, M. / Pitcher, J., 2009: Prostitution, Sex Work, Policy and Politics. London. Sefati, Y., 1998: Love Songs in Sumerian Literature. Critical Edition of the Dumuzi-Inanna Songs. Ramat-Gan. Selz, G., 2000: “Five Divine Ladies. Thoughts on Inanna(k), Ištar, In(n)in(a), Annunītum, and Anat, and the Origin of the Title ‘Queen of Heaven’”. NIN 1. 29–62. Shehata, D., 2007. “Privates Musizieren in Mesopotamien?” In M. Köhbach et al (eds.): Festschrift für Hermann Hunger zum 65. Geburtstag gewidmet von seinen Freunden, Kollegen und Schülern. WZKM, 97. Wien, pp. 521–529. — 2009: Musiker und ihr vokales Repertoire. Untersuchungen zu Inhalt und Organisation von Musikerberufen und Liedgattungen in altbabylonischer Zeit. Göttinger Beiträge zum Alten Orient 3. Göttingen. Sjöberg, Å., 1977: “Miscellaneous Sumerian Texts, II”. JCS 29, 3–45. Steinkeller, P., 1999: “On Rulers, Priests, and Sacred Marriage: Tracing the Evolution of Early Sumerian Kingship.” In K. Watanabe (ed.): Priests and Officials in the Ancient Near East. Papers of the Second Colloquium on the Ancient Near East – The City and Its Life held at the Middle Eastern Culture Center in Japan (Mitaka, Tokyo). Heidelberg. Pp. 103–137.

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Stol, M., 2000: “Titel altbabylonischer Klosterfrauen.”. In J. Marzahn / H. Neumann (eds.): Assyriologica et Semitica. Festschrift J. Oelsner. AOAT 253. Münster. Pp. 457–466. — 2016: Women in the Ancient Near East. Berlin. Stone, E., 1982. “The Social Role of the Nadītu Women in Old Babylonian Nippur”. JESHO 25, 50–70. Tanret, M., 2011: “Learned, Rich, Famous, and Unhappy: Ur-Utu of Sippar”. In K. Radner / E. Robson (eds.): The Oxford Handbook of Cuneiform Culture. Oxford. Pp. 270–287. Tanret, M. / van Lerberghe, K., 1993: “Rituals and Profit in the Ur-Utu Archive”. In J. Quaegebeur (ed.): Ritual and Sacrifice in the Ancient Near East. OLA 55. Leuven. Pp. 435–449. Waerzeggers, C., 2010: The Ezida Temple of Borsippa. Priesthood, Cult, Archives. Achaemenid History 10. Leiden. Wilhelm, G., 1990: “Marginalien zu Herodot, Klio 199” In T. Abusch et al. (eds.): Lingering over Words. Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Literature in Honor of William L. Moran. Atlanta, Georgia. Pp. 505–524. Yoffee, N., 1998: “The Economics of Ritual at Late Old Babylonian Kish”. JESHO 41, 312–343. — 2004: Myths of the Archaic State. Cambridge.

Hatshepsut The Feminine Horus and Daughter of Amun on the Throne of Atum David A. Warburton

Introduction Hatshepsut herself describes how once – when she was in her 20s as divinely anointed and self-proclaimed king of Egypt – she stood alone in full sight of her subjects and with her two hands rubbed a mixture of myrrh and gold alloys over her entire body until she was gleaming fragrantly with the perfume absorbing and reflecting the rays of the sun. Exotic scents complemented the sight of “her skin of gold and electrum”1 shining radiantly “before the face of the entire land”.2 The whole land danced for her and praised her. The warm shimmering particles clinging to her lithe body and the luxurious scents reaching her mind, she was ecstatically glorying in her own beauty and power – appearing as a living goddess, appreciated and worshipped as any goddess could wish, but none could experience. Hatshepsut assures us that “Never had the like happened” before.3 Although slightly prone to exaggeration concerning her own accomplishments, in this case we may confidently believe that such a thing really never had happened before in the history of the world at that time. Indeed – despite, e.g., claims that the gods let her realm extend to “everything the sky covers and the ocean surrounds”,4 “its ends in the primeval darkness”,5 and all “that the god created” was “working for her” “with fear in their hearts”6 – it can be justly said that much of her life and reign had no parallels anywhere in earlier history. Hatshepsut (probably in power from before ca. 1475 BC; reigned as king ca. 1470–1450 BC) was probably the most determined, powerful and influential woman in the first three millennia of recorded human history (ca. 2500 BC–500 AD). Aside from having been one of those kings who set Egypt on its way to 1

Urk. IV: 339, 17. All “translations” (marked thus) from the original sources (i.e., Urkunden IV; P. Chester Beatty I) are my own, prepared for this text, which can be offered to you thanks to Melammu, for which I am thus extremely grateful to the organisers. I am also extremely appreciative of one highly astute peer-reviewer who found and specified short-comings, large and small. If the paper disappoints – as the sympathetic peer-reviewer hinted it would – it is because of my incapacity to convey at once an understanding of the world into which Hatshepsut was born, what she did, and bequeathed to us. The failures are mine and not Hatshepsut’s. 2 Urk. IV: 340, 2. 3 Urk. IV: 340, 7. 4 Urk. IV: 244, 12–13. 5 Urk. IV: 248, 16–17. 6 Urk. IV: 341, 15–16.

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building that empire that briefly became the most powerful empire of the Bronze Age (ca. 1450–1200 BC),7 she understood royal responsibility as performing justice and not just conquering new territories. Officially, Hatshepsut had three fathers: her official human father was Thutmosis I, probably a commoner general who became king of Egypt by virtue of being married to Hatshepsut’s mother, his chief consort Ahmes; Hatshepsut’s divine begetter was the Theban god Amun whom her mother had pulled into her bed; the other divine father was the Sun-god Re of whom the Egyptian king was traditionally ex officio the offspring, since sometime in the third millennium BC (pro forma “son of Re”, but in Hatshepsut’s case, “daughter of Re”). Her alleged human father, the military officer who became king Thutmosis I, was the first Egyptian ruler to reach the Euphrates river in Syria – and probably got further into Nubia than any other Egyptian king before him. That race which brought Egyptian armies to the Euphrates was a matter of incredible boldness and luck, as no potential enemies expected anyone coming out of that quarter, and such a feat was not easily repeated. In the Bronze Age, Thutmosis III alone succeeded, and he required several preparatory campaigns simply to repeat it one single time; his son Amenophis II clearly failed. Ramesses II never came near. This deed of Thutmosis I was nothing ordinary, and it was Hatshepsut who assured that when her successor came of age, he had the necessary armies at hand – and that he was adequately trained to lead armies (in contrast to Ramesses II, who was himself the son of a general and should have known better). Thus, thanks to Hatshepsut, Thutmosis III was the second and last Egyptian Bronze Age king to reach the Euphrates – and also led his armies far to the south in Nubia. In this sense, Hatshepsut paid reverence to her alleged human father by paving the way to a military success that was based on what he had done – but exceeded it (and that of any other Egyptian king). As king, Hatshepsut was officially the daughter of Re, who was – together with the ancient Atum of Heliopolis – the Sun-god and nominal chief of the Egyptian Pantheon. As king, Hatshepsut (her own name literally meaning “Foremost of the noble ladies”) adopted a royal name as Mȝct-kȝ-Rc, which can be translated as “Justice is the character of Re”.8 Although the ancient Near East reportedly has no left us real religious tracts, Hatshepsut left us one of the clearest, defining the 7

Egypt’s was admittedly an accidental empire. Warburton, 2001 analyses the political history, stressing that the Egyptian empire was hardly due to Egypt alone – but to a constellation whereby Egypt maintained itself while others declined, or flourished after the Egyptian moment. As Egypt’s power was waxing, it was not the Egyptians, but the Hittites who – alone of all Near Eastern Empires – under gifted, courageous and risk-taking leaders, destroyed two other empires (the First Dynasty of Babylon and Mitanni). 8 Maat is a complicated concept (see, e.g., Assmann, 1995) meaning both “harmony” & “order” as well as “truth” & “justice”, and the ka is also a difficult concept meaning “soul”, “double”, “character”, etc. so the name could be legitimately translated quite differently.

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responsibilities of king and god alike, placing the royal performance of justice among the primary responsibilities in serving the Sun-god Re.9 Although but one god among many when she ascended the throne, her father Amun was rapidly elevated to become the real king of the gods.10 She improved his temple – and Thutmosis III, like all of the following New Kingdom kings, unthinkingly continued Hatshepsut’s policy of maintaining Amun at the apex of the Egyptian pantheon. By the end of the New Kingdom, the worldly estate of Amun was certainly far wealthier than that of the elder gods Atum of Heliopolis and Ptah of Memphis. In the first millennium BC, temples of Amun were spread around the land – and the Greeks spoke of Ἂμμον, when they did not call him Zeus. Hatshepsut had transformed the living part of the Egyptian religion into the worship of Amun. Beauty & love Although today crumbling and covered with dust, Hatshepsut’s greatest temple – celebrating herself and her father Amun, just across the river from Amun’s own temple at Karnak – is “one of the great architectural wonders of the ancient world”.11 Its white limestone once gleamed brilliantly before a background of red cliffs. The temple is testimony to her administrative skills and architectural taste – and its pleasing decoration explains her origins and her accomplishments (while allowing her to be worshipped as a goddess among the gods). It was also once the home of dozens of statues celebrating her æsthetic taste, her piety, and her beauty. In that temple, Hatshepsut staged herself with tales of her origins and accomplishments. The most relevant here is that of her origins as depicted in the temple. According to Hatshepsut, her mother was “the most beautiful woman” in all of Egypt.12 And this turned out to be decisive for mother and daughter, because the god Amun had learnt for certain that she was the most beautiful maiden around by sending out Thoth (the god of wisdom) to investigate. Thoth assured Amun that she really was the most beautiful woman in Egypt. This made her suitable for Amun’s purpose of creating a reliable king for Egypt, as was his pretext for seducing the maiden when he explained his project to the gods. So accordingly, Amun-Re, king of the gods, willingly yielded and “gave his heart to her” mother.13 The god knew that the most beautiful Girl in Egypt was already married to the king of Egypt – so that her children were destined to rule Egypt. In fact, there was a local political problem that this particular Girl was neither a *queen nor a wife, but effectively merely the beauty at the apex of the entourage of women officially 9

The text Assmann (1970) identified in Der König als Sonnenpriester, dealt with below. The Egyptian for “Amun-Re, king of the gods” is jmn-rc-nsw-nṯr.w and survived into Greek as Αμωνρασονϑηρ. 11 Quote from Roehrig, 2005: 4. 12 Urk. IV: 219, 2 13 Urk. IV: 219, 16. 10

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at the king’s disposal, and the children of any of these women could be made king: the sole important duty of these girls was to be impregnated by the king and no one but the king. The king could choose whichever convenient beauty he liked to sleep with, but no alternative sleeping partner was imaginable or foreseen for his various beauties – and this made the Girl desired by Amun rather insignificant, since there was no way that he could assure that her offspring would be chosen for the throne (there being the offspring of other beauties available). And in any case, any child fathered by Amun would be illegitimate, and thus ineligible anyway. The god could do as he liked, but the god was not needed to produce an heir. This was all arranged by the royal family without Amun. Beyond that, Thoth will have told him that this was all an unfortunate accident. The Girl he wanted was a royal princess who had wanted to leave the palace to decide her own fate. Thus, at some point she had married that general whom she vastly outranked socially, and who was thus overawed to think that he could even see her, let alone touch her. By making this move, she was deprived of her official titles – but gained her freedom. Unfortunately for the Girl, the royal family needed a new king when king Amenhotep I, the last of the royal blood line died. And it was the Girl’s husband who was chosen to become king Thutmosis I precisely because he was married to this particular Girl, who gave him legitimacy14 (again confirming the instability upon which Amun’s conceptual programme was based). In this fashion, the Girl was ushered back into the royal palace, from which she had only very recently escaped. Confined in a golden prison, she was now (in her opinion) nothing but Number 1 concubine of a king who had a couple of other beauties to amuse himself with: suddenly she was long longer loved or special. His promotion was her personal humiliation: her vagina was the first item on the menu, but not necessarily the choice one, because her family had decided – against her wishes and inclinations – that her whole life was now reduced to that. She was still very young and very beautiful and there was nothing for her to do but let her servant girls tend her skin with oils and perfume. However, she could do little for them: the servant girls did not want to learn how to read, let alone to think. For the servant girls, the life they had was undreamt-of freedom. Everyone else in the country had to work hard with very little reward. Their lives were very different. They moved around the palace and courtyards, bathed with their mistress, and shared her meals. Their uniforms were mainly well tended hair and jewellery as their ordinary attire in public – when serving and dancing – consisted largely of earrings, jewelled anklets, golden bracelets, jewelled belts which hung loosely on their hips, and flowers. On working days, they could lie in the sand, spreading their legs and stretching their arms in a sandy courtyard, rolling themselves over in the sun so that the rays of the sun assured that every bit of their 14

This is an idiosyncratic version based on a widely accepted interpretation (footed on rather shaky evidence, explained below) – and is certainly partly guesswork.

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skin would remain a pleasant uniform brown as a sign of inferior status (the same colour as men, but contrasting greatly with the white women they served, who would never venture out in the sun without protection). Lazily roasting themselves so that people could admire their bodies was part of the job. Almost as soon as he had become king with a harem and armies to play with, her husband left the Girl and her girls alone, occasionally taking the Girl to the temple, but otherwise he was often campaigning or checking up on provincial officials whom he distrusted. But sometimes he would visit. And sometimes when she heard him coming into her quarters she would hear some squealing among her darling servant girls, competing to be royally skewered as a playfully delighted morsel. Sometimes the king would then go away again without coming to her. Sometimes, he would come in to confide about financial and personnel problems. None of this had been part of the Girl’s dreams. In her own eyes, by marrying this particular man, she had lost her royalty, but gained freedom and independence in a country where very few people had any choices about anything. Now, she was nothing but a neglected dainty. For the servant girls, this was paradise. For the Girl who did not even want to be princess, it was a nightmare. Worse was that her brief moment of freedom had not prepared her for this torture. But she was still young and beautiful – and the servant girls adored her and loved to pamper her, thinking her the greatest. And this was the Girl that Amun had now espied for his own personal ends – which were unimaginable to the Girl. And one night Amun set out to find his quarry. Ever over-cautious and illprepared, Amun had Thoth guide him to the Girl’s very threshold. Thence, the god surreptitiously slipped into the bedroom of the “fairest in the land”, and Hatshepsut’s mother was immediately awakened by the god’s fragrance. She had been dreaming about something and in her dream she had been laughing. Now, still smiling with her dream, the Girl was awakened by an exotic surprise. Hardly conscious of anything, the Girl smiled at the god and he went up to her.15 Amun confirmed through his behaviour that his “lust” was “for her”.16 Suddenly the world changed for the Girl. Neglected by her husband, this was an interruption of her boring, but peaceful life. At the sight of his divine potency when he revealed himself to her as a god, Hatshepsut’s future mother lost control of her mind: aroused; seeing his beauty, desire for him coursed through her body.17 The Girl (fig. 1) was overwhelmed and confused as she beheld the god exposed before her (fig. 2).

15

Urk. IV: 219, 13–15. Urk. IV: 219, 17. 17 Urk. IV: 220, 3–4 16

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Fig. 1. Hatshepsut’s Mother

Fig. 2. Amun-Re

An Egyptian tale relates that upon seeing a beautiful maiden – as fair as the anxious Girl now in the sights of Amun – the god Seth “wanted her very extremely badly”.18 Pursuing her secretly, Seth expected her to yield voluntarily, but inevitably. Beauty demanded divine conquest. And now the former princess herself was transformed into a mere servant girl, to be skewered by an egotistical god simply because she was beautiful. Using a common expression, Seth describes the act of sex as “the work of the warrior against” someone19 – a phrase playing on the words for “vagina” and “work (or deed)” being homonyms (kȝ.t), making the vagina the warrior’s own. And the goddesses obliged, offering their vaginas. One time when the head of the Egyptian pantheon was sulking, the goddess Hathor came to him and stood

18

P. Chester Beatty I: 6, 5–8. Admittedly the text uses a word that could also be rendered as “love” or “desire” (mrj) – and is so translated elsewhere here. Regardless, a beautiful girl was desired for sex alone. This seemingly masculine understanding of love differs little from what we know from the love poems – which were at least partly ascribed to girls. The love poems stress that boys and girls alike sought beautiful partners, but the poems also suggest a consciousness that aspirations and expectations might have differed. The love poems frequently stress that the girl is waiting impatiently for the right boy and looks forward to “embracing him”; e.g., P. Chester Beatty I: verso, section C, 2, 2. However, the girls acknowledge that he will do more than “embrace her”, knowing that he will “reach her grotto”; P. Chester Beatty I: verso, section G, 2, 4. One boy extols the physical beauty of his chosen girl – whom he plans to “intoxicate” as a prelude to “drenching her grotto” understanding his act to be “slaughter”; yet he still expects that she will demand that he “embrace” her until dawn (P. Chester Beatty I: 16, 9–11). The girls obviously really did want to be “embraced”, but were seemingly more concerned with being assaulted by the right boy than actually expecting tender treatment. 19 P. Chester Betty I: 12, 3.

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before the great god, and “she exposed her vagina to his face”,20 at which the great god “played with it and then he got up”.21 In daily life, ordinary beautiful Egyptian girls were all accustomed to being treated roughly by impatient lovers who “cannot be restrained”.22 Beautiful and willing girls had to be ready for whatever came with willingness.23 One even conceded that she had lost her mind, assuring her love, pleading that she was ready for anything: “Your love ferments in my body […] May you hurry to see your love Like a warhorse on the battlefield Like a bull to fodder Heaven gives its love As flames in straw”24 Knowing that possessing her body would be heaven for her chosen love, the flames of her heart’s ephemeral passion lead her to wish that her body be brutally battered. Hatshepsut’s mother knew that for Egyptian men and gods, girls were but bodies to be “opened” and “filled”;25 “(bountiful) fields (to be ploughed)”.26 For men, the girls had to proffer their vaginas, their bodies but the stage of masculine performance.27 The girls too saw it this way, and adjusted accordingly: the girls learnt to long for impatience, and be ready. But “ready for what?!”, the Girl must have asked herself vainly, knowing that her heart had been transfixed by desire for the god. Uncontrollable desires turned her fate over to the god who wanted it, and her heart wanted the god. She knew the script: marriage had put her on the side lines, but now her heart would render her beauty to the god, as his desired plaything.28 Yet the role appealed to her: her heart and body desired the god, independent of her good sense. Beholding his member, she knew that she wanted to submit to his love of her and her love of him, but that unable to survive it, she was doomed. 20

P. Chester Beatty I: 4, 2. P. Chester Beatty I: 4, 3. 22 A girl acknowledges this in a love poem; P. Chester Beatty I: verso, section G, 1, 7. 23 The Egyptian word for “ready” (spd) was determined by the vaginal triangle (𓇮) itself, meaning “sharp”, “clever” and “ready” – and was thus itself a simple ideological/social guide for clever young girls who understood that if they really wanted love, they had to be ready for violence. 24 My adaptation of a rendering by Schott, 1950: 46 (P. Harris 500). 25 Ptahhotep, line 328; Ptahhotep, line 283, has a reference which implies that women were “opened” or “split” (Junge, 2003: 233). 26 Ptahhotep, line 330. 27 Ptahhotep, line 337. 28 There is a text which could imply that she was spd.t “fully prepared (for sex)”, Urk. IV: 244, 6. But the placement is rather odd. 21

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The Girl was not a goddess and could not offer herself to cheer up a god – at least not in the hope of ever arising again. She was mortal and before her stood a murderous weapon which promised to tear her asunder. Yet the Girl was as complacent as Hathor, neither horrified nor fearful. Indeed – in contrast to Hathor – she was growing quite warm with excitement. The god knew that the Girl was mortal and beautiful – and beautiful mortal girls were predestined to be “ready” for a divine invitation. Otherwise it was no fun to bludgeon them. The feeling was mutual: she was overjoyed at beholding his beauty, love of him spread through her body, overcoming her and strengthening her. Adjusting to the situation, “She placed his aroused member on herself, and she kissed it.”29 Viewing the divine tool before her, the Girl might have trembled, as she anticipated an immediate lethal onslaught. Yet inwardly, calm, she was getting sexually excited about her inevitable fate and took him to her lips. The more she thought about it, mind and heart drove her mad with desire, propelled by the certainty that for once she could experience something sensational. This was her own moment! Yet nothing happened. Her desire grew uncontrollably. Yet the god did nothing. This was incomprehensible. So – gradually adjusting to the absolutely unexpected and unfathomable, but absolutely inevitable – the Girl started talking. Not knowing what else to say, she confirmed that she knew what was coming (which was probably all she could think about at this moment, with trepidation and desire balancing themselves in her heart). She announced her surrender: “Facing [… this god, …] the [Girl] said: […] ‘My Lord! How very extremely awesome you are! It is noble to see your leading member! My majesty will unite with your potency! May your fragrance spread through all the members of my body!’”30 The pause was odd. Her awkward loquaciousness – after her lips had caressed him and nothing happened – confirmed some inexplicable divine reticence. There is no word of the god succumbing to her irresistible beauty. The hapless god was apparently dumbfounded at what he encountered and experienced – and at the situation he had created for himself. The pathetic god was accustomed to holding his own member and dreaming of goddesses – but was now confronted by a lively and adventurous mortal Girl with her own independent will. Thus, unknown to her, the Girl had a far stronger effect on him than he on her. Knowing that being ploughed by pure divine power of these lethal dimensions and firmness would be fatal, the divinely inspired spell of mutual love bound them and the Girl’s desire overcame her. Yet, it was left to the Girl to guide the god. Rather than simply being swiftly raped to death, it was for the Girl to dispel his hesitations by stroking his divine potency, reassuring the god of his awesomeness. 29 30

Urk. IV: 220, 13–14. Urk. IV: 220, 16–17; Urk. IV: 221, 1–4.

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Her pulse racing, she waited for the god’s granite hard member to plunge into her, finishing her off. But the god still held off. She was unable to stand it anymore. Peculiarly, it was only after she had done and said everything that, allegedly, “the majesty of this god did all that he wanted together with her.”31 She was wild with desire when finally impaled, enjoining him to inundate her. This does not seem to make sense in terms of what was happening. For it was Girl who had quite literally staked out her claim to possession by encompassing him so that his heavenly beauty and divine potency were now hers: at least for the instant before she expired. It was the Girl who forgot herself as she loved the god more and more, certainly as no goddess ever had – or would care to do. The god may have “done all that he wanted with her” in that by letting her squeeze him dry, the Girl did inadvertently get herself pregnant – but this was an accident. Oblivious to this reality, and certain that each second was her last, the ecstatic Girl went on and on. Having unleashed him into herself and ridden him mercilessly, the sated and exhausted Girl lost consciousness, unaware of what she was doing, but still bouncing him furiously. Finally, broken by the Girl’s raging storm of pure love, the god’s imperishable member was reduced to a wilted stem. “The god remained speechless until the Girl was finished.” Humbled, the god then mumbled some promising words about how his newly begotten daughter would come to rule the land. Amun then slunk off, to brag to the other gods about where his sperm was lodged,32 but he presumably offered no details about how it got there – and there is no reliable record that he ever dared to touch that Girl or any other mortal ever again. The Girl may not have been able to imagine such an outcome – but she had had no doubt about what she was doing. In Egyptian her title was not *queen (which does not exist in Egyptian), but rather “chief royal wife” – and her sole important duty was to sleep with the king and no one but the king. If her desire for him faltered, he had other willing beauties. But no such alternative was imaginable or foreseen for her. Thus that night the unsuspecting king was engaging with another, lesser, girl (one under the same obligation/prohibition, but lacking in prestige or power beyond her own allures – and in exploiting these, every girl in the group was always conscious of the competition, no matter how much they smiled at each other and complemented each other on their indisputable beauty). The chief consort was therefore alone that night, unchaperoned, with no illusions that this was her husband: she had been awakened by divine fragrance and her own eyes beheld the irresistible divine awesomeness bewitching her:

31 32

Urk. IV: 221, 5. Urk. IV: 222, 10.

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“He caused that she see him in his form as a god.”33 Seeing that member, and desiring the god, the Girl knew that her fate was sealed. She was, however, certain that her unfaithfulness would be rewarded with immediate death. To cross the threshold, the god had taken the form of her husband. The servant girls hanging around will have known that this was not the king – and once the god had disrobed himself before the Girl, the servant girls will have been dismayed at what would happen to their mistress. By contrast, the chosen Girl smiled broadly and disloyally as she embraced the god and drove him on, breaking all bounds. What drew them together was that mutual attraction that draws the beautiful to each other. This was normal in Egypt, and thus Hatshepsut herself proudly assures us of this. Afterwards the god had explained to the Girl that his daughter was in her womb – and that that daughter would exercise the kingship, and that the entire land would serve her, that his divine power was for her daughter.34 But the future mother was probably asleep and not listening; she had celebrated the ultimate in unfaithfulness; assuming that this was her last act, she had taken her fill of human pleasure in his divine potency. She knew herself to be physically desirable, endowed with ephemeral beauty that could not last. Overwhelmed with unquenchable desire for a god who wanted her, and possessed by love for that god, at that moment, love was all that she sought. “She did not expect to awaken again in this world.” However, eventually she gradually regained consciousness. Initially she will have been dazed to awaken in her own bed in her own palace. She was surrounded by her own darlings, the lovely, lively servant girls, washing her and arranging her bedding. Initially, she sensed only the perfume and oils with which the servant girls tended her mistreated body. The god and his fragrance was gone. The girls had unwittingly washed it away, leaving her only aching muscles and countless bruises in her and disfiguring her skin and lips. Gradually, ordinary life resumed. She was, however, at once amazed and disappointed that the shy god did not return. After all, she was now truly initiated, and she longed to play again. This was truly something different! In yielding to passionate love, the Girl had assumed that she would be torn asunder and eviscerated by unrestrained and uncontrollable divine power. Instead, she had played the god – as the servant girls saw, watching their mistress’s astonishing performance. Since she survived, the Girl thought that the god should come back. She was ready for anything, even to be killed – but not to be neglected.35 After all, she was the 33

Urk. IV: 220, 1. Urk. IV: 221, 10–12. 35 This idea of the girl impatient for her lover to return – or even to look at her – is the dominant theme of the love poems spoken by girls, dominating, e.g., most of P. Chester Beatty I: verso, section G, but also e.g., verso C 4, 2–3. The girls in P. Harris 500 are also 34

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most beautiful Girl around – and all would wish to be embraced by her.36 The god should count himself lucky that she desired him – and he should come to her as quickly as the other girls wished of their own chosen lovers. The future mother knew perfectly well that it was not her husband to whom she had abandoned herself from before the moment she drew the god to herself and kissed him. She loved the god. And her disloyal passion had only grown as she longed to take him, and eventually took him. The Girl now loved and desired the god far more – and as she had probably never loved or desired her husband (who had been chosen for practical reasons, to escape from that very palace where the god had found her). She had dreamt of teaching her servant girls to read, but they had never been interested in that, more concerned about their own bodies which everyone loved. Now this! She too was reduced to being a prisoner of her own vagina, longing for a god who would not return to her bed. Her dreams of what she wanted to become had been completely destroyed by her compelling beauty and her faithless vagina – which had its own desires taking possession of her mind. The god held back from returning while her love grew with her disloyal longing. The Girl had wanted the god when she was convinced he would kill her. Now she wanted him even more – and found herself pregnant and alone instead of raped and dead. She was thus a reluctant and unhappy mother with a hastily conceived daughter the inconvenient reward for the god’s one-night-stand. impatient, but slightly different, with more attention to perfume, birds, marshes, and fields – but also beds, thighs, breasts, and a girl who has love mingling in her body possessing her mind (to paraphrase Simpson’s 2003: 309 translation of one line). The boys too must wait, but not with longing. The boys bemoan neglect as painful inflicted physical suffering – while the waiting girl is longing to yield to her love and give emotional attention. The girls keep it up, although the girls have no illusions about what awaits them with the return of the lover. 36 This is a common line in the love poems where a boy remarks of his chosen beauty, “joyous is everyone she embraces”; P. Chester Beatty I: verso, section C, 1, 7. In this particular poem, the boy is distraught that his chosen beauty leaves him alone, night after night. The implication that others were “joyously embraced” on those nights is clear and implies a promiscuity which the poems sung by the girls do not share. The girls seem to be more concerned about getting and keeping their chosen one, and letting that one do as he liked with her – and thus the fears of the truly desired boys may have been groundless. If we truly understand the texts, even the truly beautiful girls would aim to recover a wandering boy who had fallen for a rival (as Simpson, 2003: 315 and Schott, 1950: 53 render a line from P. Harris 500). This aim of the physically well-endowed girl to possess the one object of her love did not, however, prevent any girl from invariably looking her best and parading about town self-consciously (and thus the behaviour of both Hatshepsut and her mother). And thus one chosen beauty “makes the necks of all the lusty youths stretch”; P. Chester Beatty I: verso, section C, 1, 6. This is hardly surprising as “her sweet lips”, “tall neck”, “lotus-like fingers”, “bulging ass”, and “beautiful thighs” are among her charms – which also include not talking too much; P. Chester Beatty I: verso, section C, 1, 3–5.

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Hatshepsut was conceived and brought up in this atmosphere of illicit shared passionate love: this “love child” was the living legacy of an amorous Amun and an unfaithful consort. But the god had even more problems, for – while avoiding her bedroom, the scene of his humiliation – he could not forbear seeing the most beautiful Girl in the land. This happened to the despair of Hatshepsut’s mother who had long ceased to cajole her husband. Yet the god himself loved both the seductive young mother and the beautiful young daughter – for whom he had arranged a special fate. Even while still a small girl, the god would “kiss” his “beloved daughter of my body”37 “on her nose”.38 Hatshepsut clearly loved her father Amun who had been attracted to her beautiful mother who herself desired the god’s awesome beauty. Later Hatshepsut would concede that she too had “become a beautiful maiden”,39 and Amun would in turn later tell her how “my heart is greatly sweetened […] seeing your beauty”.40 In this context, the god also appears to refer to some past event, where he says that “it is good for my heart, all my memory of the sweetness of your mouth”.41 But love was not all for Hatshepsut, as it had been for her mother. For the future mother, all this was absurd: she was the “god’s hand” and the god should allow her to “grasp” him again. For Hatshepsut, her mother’s desire was irrelevant, as – like Amun – Hatshepsut depended upon her mother getting pregnant (not having more fun threatening the defenceless child in her womb with that awesome weapon). As mother, the Girl, having survived the bashful god, served Hatshepsut quite well. The future mother saw this differently and would have preferred the god to make her pregnant after her passion had been cooled by practice – if this was necessary at all. But she lived with her love and the knowledge that the love would be nobly rewarded: as chief royal consort her job was to produce future kings – and ultimately there could be no more pleasingly legitimate king than one adulterously fathered by a loving (if sexually dissatisfying) god. For Hatshepsut, Amun was destiny, not fate as Amun had been for her mother. Even if her mother was deceived and disappointed, this brought advantages to Hatshepsut: she not only had power, but she was also divinely beautiful – and she stood in the good graces of a powerful god, and she intended to stay in his good graces as she was extremely conscious of the unique position in which he had placed her: a beautiful woman wielding power reserved for men.

37

Urk. IV: 279, 6. Urk. IV: 243, 6. 39 Urk. IV: 246, 6. 40 Urk. IV: 297, 5–6. 41 Urk. IV: 297, 10–11. If this is an illusion to Hatshepsut having been intimate with her father, it would be reasonable in the context of Egypt between divine father and daughter – and Amun would have done it when Hatshepsut was very, very young, so that if morally reprehensible, the act was Amun’s and it cannot be a flaw attached to Hatshepsut. 38

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Hatshepsut as king

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Fig. 4

Not being unnecessarily modest, once king, Hatshepsut had dozens of statues of herself made – and some of these have survived the ravages of her male critics and of time. Among these are a number of extraordinary ones, including two complementary pieces. There is a white limestone image of her seated wearing a male royal kilt and royal headcloth (fig. 3) – with the typically male bare chest embellished by “small, but clearly feminine breasts”.42 And there is a red granite statue of her with the larger and firmer breasts of a stately young woman barely concealed behind the straps of the tight fitting fine white linen dresses women were expected to wear – but likewise seated on a throne with a masculine royal headcloth covering her hair (fig. 4).43 The two are experiments in the representation of a woman as king, with some tending to believe that the latter is almost an individual portrait.44 Regardless, both of the images should have disturbed the Egyptians because neither is politically correct in terms of gender: a male royal headcloth should not be aligned with female breasts (however small) nor with a long white dress (however prim) – as is frequently remarked. Here we have the very image of a woman in a place of power where a woman did not belong – simultaneously taking advantage of the traditions and mocking the national values.45 42

Cooney, 2014: 154; Pictured Roehrig, 2005: 171–172. Pictured Roehrig, 2005: 170–171 44 See the exorbitant text accompanying the description cited in Roehrig, 2005: 171: “this portrayal of a female ruler is no bland, idealized presentation, but an individualized image. One is tempted to infer that its subject was a resolute and self-controlled woman who exercised kingship with authority”. 45 It is worth noting that most Egyptologists assume that on ordinary occasions Hatshepsut will have worn the tight white dress with head cloth and not paraded about the palace barechested, with a kilt. This is highly probable. However, one should not exaggerate and en43

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Significant and even more jolting for the Egyptians, however, was the choice of colours: Egyptian men are usually dark red/brown and Egyptian women white/golden yellow. Here the colour schemes are shockingly reversed with the more male statue (fig. 3) of white stone and the more female statue (fig. 4) of red stone. The Egyptians will have seen the statues painted (if at all), but nevertheless there is an unmistakable ideological tinge in the choice of stones as it confirms that Hatshepsut was probably constantly throwing things into doubt, both discreetly and indiscreetly. She loved her own feminine beauty as much as she loved power. Power The headcloth was essential: once in power, “she performed as king”,46 – as her “fathers” Thutmosis I and Amun wished and decreed – “appearing” on Amun’s throne, “lord of what the sun encircles”,47 the world “beneath her throne”,48 enemies “under her sandals”.49 Years later, she would still scold those who disdained admiring the works she created for her beloved father Amun, claiming that “never had the like been done since the creation”,50 and proclaiming, “Beware lest you say, ‘I do not at all understand why you did this.’!”.51 As an adolescent princess (allegedly daughter of Thutmosis I) Hatshepsut had observed her “father” at work. When her “father” died, as royal consort she practiced at exercising power in the name of her young and feeble husband (Thutmosis II). When he died, she placed a baby born to a servant girl on the throne (Thut-

dow her with false modesty. The scene presented at the outset of this paper would not make any sense if she had been wearing anything at all. The text explains that with “her two arms” she covered “all of her members” (= “her entire body”) with the finest myrrh (Urk. IV: 333, 13–14). With the white dress, only her arms, face and feet would have been exposed. The text says that she covered herself “with her two arms” and thus there must have been (far) more than her face exposed, since the exposed arms do not count. She did this before the entire land, knowing that she was young and beautiful. Beyond that is the fact that the golden alloys and myrrh would have rendered her scintillating skin a combination of dark brown and gold – joining the characteristic colours of men and women. However, in the excitement, this nuance may have been apparent to her alone – as was probably ultimately true of many of her insights bequeathed to us as display. In this sense, much of what she did and thought must have remained inaccessible for most people, because incomprehensible in their limited world view – not because what she thought and did was not eminently correct, ethically and philosophically, as well as æsthetically. 46 Urk. IV: 283, 15. 47 Urk. IV: 283, 16. 48 Urk. IV: 283, 17. 49 Urk. IV: 282, 13. 50 Urk. IV: 374, 15. 51 Urk. IV: 365, 10–11.

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mosis III), and ruled for him while she aimed for the Egyptian kingship for herself. Not yet 20 years old, she seized the kingship itself – pushing the toddler she herself had crowned into the background. As a young woman, she set the state on a course which would be maintained for centuries, by skilfully exploiting the “authority” of the kingship to increase the “power” of the land and the kingship, using crowns and administrative measures – as well as carrying out demonstrative projects such as the celebrated mission to the mysterious land of Punt, and the construction of temples. When the youth came of age and insisted that he alone was king, Hatshsepsut was swept aside as he led her armies deep into Syria and Nubia. And from the booty and tribute won, the victorious king heaped up treasures for Amun in the temple he enlarged for him. The proud king was unconscious that while elevating Egypt and Amun to unimaginable heights, Thutmosis III was increasing the power of the father of the daughter of an unfaithful royal consort – in precisely the fashion Hatshepsut had foreordained. Regardless – after Thutmosis III reached the Euphrates in Syria – gifts flowed in from the entire world, from the Aegean, from Mesopotamia and from Nubia. The like had never happened before – and yet no one noticed it, as these were but mere symbols in an increasingly prosperous land, which had hitherto seen many symbols and little wealth. Neither the words of Amun nor the words of Hatshepsut were empty. This was by no means normal then. Even now it is inconceivable for anyone to govern so skilfully that his or her successor could effortlessly build on existing accomplishments. Yet this was done by a beautiful, inexperienced, untutored young girl. This is almost unimaginable. And yet – we need not imagine: we need only reconstruct what she so lovingly prepared for us to discover and enjoy. What Hatshepsut did is clear; only the how and why is the domain of speculation. And most of those great works we admire were indeed built for her father – it was he who gave her the power to mobilise Egypt in his honour. And what strikes us is the beauty and originality of her creations – including the statues she had made of herself. She knew that she was divine. She loved her own body and beauty and works and wanted to share that æsthetic experience with us. Although seemingly cloaked in mystery, her story of the way she wielded power was staged in a fashion which means that she herself still guides the way we think about her – and like Egypt in her own day, we obey unthinkingly.52 We 52

The mountain of books dedicated to her – Cooney, 2014; Nadig, 2014; Warburton, 2012 are just among those published by Egyptologists in the first years of the second decade of the 21st century alone – testifies to her continued success in manipulating our imagination. It is perhaps worth noting that a peer-reviewer of this article remarked that it was lightly referenced. This is true. I have only cited what I quote or view as useful for readers. However, there is more: Troy, 1986 probably has around 900 titles in her bibliography; in Warburton, 2012, there are only around 800 titles cited; more concentrated, Cooney lists around 150 and Nadig less than 100. A great deal more has been – and can be – said, but

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are all in a quandary here, for she has left us enough material for everyone to form a judgement herself or himself. This has frequently led to harsh judgements which show no appreciation for the great person she was. However, regardless of whether you, like Hayes, view her as a “shrewd, ambitious, and unscrupulous woman”53 or like Schulze, speak of her as “talented”, “successful”, “charming”, “a great person”, “and a very beautiful woman”54 – you are still the victim of her own portrayal of herself, for we have nothing else. After she left the stage, she was not condemned or her accomplishments dismissed: what could be moved of what she left was simply swept away. However, her legacy could not be obliterated. Firstly, because she left enduring but unassailable monuments in forms of governance and philosophy that endured because those who detested her personally unwittingly carried them out long after she had left the stage. And secondly, given her æsthetic passions and the money she was willing to expend on them, enough remains from her days of glory that we can understand that and why her contemporaries did not feel comfortable about her: sovereignty, determination, values, efficiency, and æsthetics do not ordinarily coalesce in the mind of a young girl. Thus details remain which betray the character of this extraordinary woman. One official. who witnessed her rise, described it by saying that her husband, the king of Egypt, Thutmosis II died and went to heaven, and then his son Thutmosis III assumed his place as king of Egypt, ruling upon the throne of he who begat him – but his sister Hatshepsut took care of the country, which did her bidding; she was served, Egypt obedient; the granaries overflowed; Egypt was moored; she offered counsel and issued edicts, and Egypt was satisfied.55 The situation was this: her father was Thutmosis I, who was probably a general who inherited the throne by virtue of marrying a princess Ahmes (aka the Girl here), and she gave birth to Hatshepsut, the future wife of the future king, her halfbrother Thutmosis II. When he died, Thutmosis III, a child, the son of a concubine, was somehow put on the throne – but Hatshepsut ruled, and Egypt obeyed. She later crowned herself, and continued to rule as king until Thutmosis III came of age. At that point Hatshepsut disappears. Decades after her disappearance, her monuments were dismantled, defaced, torn down; her statutes reduced to rubble.56 And her name and image were freI have generally tried to let the ancient literature come to the fore. Those with interest can go through these works and bibliographies for themselves, but should not neglect other works cited in footnote 86 below. 53 Hayes, 1973: 317. 54 Schulze, 1976: 10. 55 Summarised from Urk. IV: 59, 13–60, 11; translated Warburton, 2012: 23. 56 Recognising this fact – that she was not immediately the victim of a damnatio memoriae – can probably be legitimately identified as the accomplishment of Peter Dorman. For most of the other discoveries about her, there were many who contributed to gradually

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quently not only effaced, but the names of Thutmosis I, II, and III put in the places where hers had been. And there are also places where Ramesses II had restorations organised, thinking that Akhenaten had removed the name of Amun, and Ramesses had the name of Amun inserted where Hatshepsut’s name had been hacked out a century before Akhenaten’s underlings arrived with their chisels.57 In many cases, there is but a shadow where a relief once showed her standing in glory. However, Hatshepsut had frequently identified herself as “the daughter of Amun”, “the daughter of Re” and “the female Horus” (whereas these are titles born almost exclusively by male kings), and in her inscriptions it frequently arrived that she would write “the king…she said”. All this betrayed her identifying herself as a strong woman – who never forgot how Amun, who had fallen for her beautiful mother (who felled the god when the opportunity allowed itself) put her on the throne – and the feminine (in this case female!) grammatical endings and pronouns allow us to recognise her as the author where texts have otherwise been altered to remove her. More than three millennia after her disappearance, 19th century AD Westerners who were gradually beginning to recreate the history of Egypt begin to assemble a bizarre historical mosaic in the middle of the 15th century BC. Essential to understanding this puzzle is that how Thutmosis I came to the throne is not clear, and therefore the claims of his son Thutmosis II (son of a concubine, and thus half-brother, but also husband, of Hatshepsut) are not clear either – and even less so those of Thutmosis III, likewise born to a concubine, with no dynastic blood in his veins. By contrast, through her mother, Hatshepsut believed that she had pure dynastic blood flowing through her veins. Thus, she was the legitimate ruler of Egypt. Therefore, while Thutmosis III was king, she had herself crowned king of Egypt (stressing that she was a “female Horus”) as well and ruled with a charming ruthlessness. Unfortunately, her only daughter died young and thereafter Hatshepsut dedicated herself to keeping Egypt in order so that Thutmosis III could take over a prosperous country.58 unrolling the story. 57 E.g. Urk. IV: 245, 1 & 18. 58 It is reasonable to speculate that court officials realised that poisoning the daughter was an easier way to hinder Hatshepsut than trying to assassinate Hatshepsut herself. Once the daughter of the earlier king was dead, the widowed Hatshepsut could hardly produce a convincingly legitimate heir (as the tricky Isis allegedly did pull off when gods ruled the land), and the end of her reign would be the end of her project. In those days, infant mortality was always a grave problem for Dyn. XVIII and was doubtless one reason why concubines were a rational form of dynastic insurance, even if it meant abandoning the hope of a pure dynastic blood line. Thus the death of princes and princesses was an ordinary affair: Hatshepsut herself had seen two of her brothers die before the future Thutmosis II became eligible for the “inheritance of the two lands” as the kingship of Egypt was known.

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Initially, it was very difficult to understand how the tale was to be put together – but once it became clear, it became progressively easier to recognise what Hatshepsut had done. Theology & politics under Hatshepsut Ancient Egypt enjoyed three ages of glory when the land was united under native pharaohs: the Old Kingdom (the pyramid age, in the middle of the third millennium); the Middle Kingdom (the age of literature & politics in the first half of the second millennium); and the New Kingdom (the age of empire in the second half of the second millennium BC). These three eras were interrupted by civil wars, and followed by ages of foreign rule and decline. In the third millennium, divine temples are virtually unknown, and the king is celebrated; divine temples gradually become increasingly important from the end of the third millennium onwards – as royal legitimacy was gradually anchored more in divine support than in royal power. Hatshepsut had a major impact in determining the growth of divine power as the source of royal legitimacy in the development of the Egyptian state. However, her power and legitimacy was not merely rooted in having been fathered by Amun: it was essential that Hatshepsut’s mother was a princess as Hatshepsut assumed that in mother and daughter alike, the royal blood of the primordial royal family still flowed in her veins. I would view it as virtually certain that Hatshepsut was not related to the first human family to have ruled Egypt. However, in those days, myth, truth and history were not so clearly demarcated as they are today.59 She may have believed that through her human mother, she was the descendent of those kings who had taken over the role of human rulers on earth after the Sun-god had abdicated his responsibilities, and left human societies to organise themselves, after having specified which humans should be rulers. This would have given her reason to believe that she was justifiably self-confident about her divinity, and willing to invent a tale to buttress something she truly believed. Understood in this fashion, she did indeed have the strongest claim to the kingship – and felt a responsibility to reflect this ancestry in performance. And thus for Hatshepsut, the exercise of power as a just ruler was of the utmost importance for the kingship itself – as the deputy of Re. As the history of Egypt was a tale of divine delegation assembled as a human structure, Hatshepsut realised that ruling Egypt meant responsibility for the welfare of the god’s people (who were now hers). She knew that the kings at the end There would have been no reason to be suspicious – and in any case once the princess was dead, Hatshepsut could do nothing to guarantee controlling the future (or so they will have thought, being concerned only about women being permitted to rule and not understanding anything else). 59 See, however, Warburton, 2009.

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of the Old Kingdom had been feeble and that disloyal officials had undermined the Middle Kingdom throughout its history. In this sense, she realised that the gods could not make either the officials or the kings serve: it was the king herself who had to establish and maintain the basis. That this was self-serving is as evident as the fact that she took the role seriously – and that in so doing, she served Egypt and the gods. Amun-Re and the gods of Egypt Thus, for us today, Egypt appears to be a land of temples dedicated to gods – and the temple of Amun-Re at Karnak appears to be the greatest. When Herodotus visited Egypt (around a millennium after Hatshepsut), even without having seen Karnak, he still reported that the Egyptians were the most pious of people (ii, 37) and understood Amun as Zeus (ii, 42). And the overwhelming presence of these temples was more obvious to ancient visitors than it is today, for only a small portion of the temples have survived – and there was very little other monumental architecture in those days. However, it was not always thus – and Hatshepsut had a crucial role in changing the image of Egypt, to becoming a land strewn with divine temples.60 While rebuilding those parts of the Amun Temple at Karnak which had been erected or started by her father Thutmosis I and his son (her brother/husband), Thutmosis II, Hatshepsut also erected some obelisks of her own. Traditionally the huge granite obelisks were symbols of the sun, and one of the most magnificent of the early ones had been erected at Heliopolis – the city of the Sun – by Sesostris I of the Middle Kingdom centuries before Thutmosis I erected a pair at Karnak, for Amun-Re, a syncretistic form of Re where Amun encroached on the unique role of the Sun-god. In erecting further obelisks at Karnak, Hatshepsut was supporting this identity and enjoying herself playing with the mightiest of phallic symbols the world had ever seen. Thutmosis III was to follow her in enthusiastically erecting enormous obelisks, but what he thought is not clear. Hatshepsut, also began to cultivate a new image of Amun, who was himself a bit of a confusing entity. His name meant that he was “hidden” (jmn) and he had no firm nature or role. A rather obscure entity alluded to in the Pyramid Texts, he came to the fore in the era of Dyn. XI, around 2000 BC in Thebes, and it was these kings (who ruled but part of Egypt) that made him Amun-Re – combining an obscure provincial god with the greatest god of the Pantheon. However, the kings of that dynasty who worshipped Amun were of no significance, and it was 60

On the one hand, aside from the palaces there will have been few large buildings and thus the temples stood out. On the other, the temples – made of stone not brick – were used as quarries and much less is left of them than millennia ago. After Hatshepsut, temples became increasingly abundant. In this sense, the dominance of the temples in the urban landscape will have been awesome.

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only because the powerful kings of the succeeding Dyn. XII (likewise a Theban Dynasty) worshipped him that he rose in importance. But even after Sesostris I raised a magnificent temple to Amun at Karnak, Monthu remained the main deity of Thebes – and the temple built by Sesostris was literally left to gradually fall down in the centuries before Hatshepsut and her father began a programme of restoration. This was an opening for Hatshepsut who not only embellished the architecture of his world, but she also conjured up a new version by drawing on his relationship to Re-Atum. Before the dawn of Egyptian history, there had been a fertility god, named Min, characterised by an enormous erection (and little else) at a time when humans were otherwise increasingly obsessed with goddesses of various kinds (Inanna and Hathor shared many attributes, drawing on this ancestry). Given the aggressive goddesses, a god with an erection was an understandable necessity, but the goddesses did not seem to be interested in Min, who had to hold his own member when seeking satisfaction. Somehow Min dwindled in importance and the Sun-god gradually insinuated his way into a religion which was otherwise primarily dominated by the royal household. Centuries later, in historical times in Egypt, there emerged a tale whereby the Creator God Atum started off by masturbating to create the first divine couple, which would lead to the creation of heaven and earth, and then to the creation of divine kingship. In this fashion – sometime in the third millennium BC – Atum the Sun-god had acquired an erection as attribute, and because he was alone at the start, he had no choice but to masturbate (unlike Min who was merely frustrated). At some unknown point in cult practice and theological speculation, there appeared the concept of the “god’s hand” and also a goddess named “She comes and grows”. This latter-named goddess was a rather out of place phenomenon and worshipped in Heliopolis, the city of the sun-gods Re and Atum in the second millennium BC. It would be logical assume that the goddess was but a manifestation of the divine member, propelled by the “god’s hand”, but the god’s member might also have been designated as a “hand” as well. Thus, there was confusion – and also an element whereby a female nature was somehow inserted into something that was an inherently male affair. The central doctrine affirmed that a male spirit alone sufficed to satisfy the world in every respect, and that the female was superfluous. Facing the challenge of overcoming this ideological obstacle, Hatshepsut skilfully built on two elements of these tales in order to tie the god to herself. On the one hand, Hatshepsut encouraged the growth of Amun-Re’s enormous erection, drawing on images of the god Min and the story of the creation of the world. This was a matter of matter of iconography which was quite striking and should perhaps be linked to her passion for obelisks. On the other, the royal women were drawn to the divine member so that the

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royal women of Dyn. XVIII came to be designated as the “god’s hand”. The “god’s hand” was originally his own – and thus the irony of the god Min who lived in a world dominated by goddesses and could do more than helplessly hold his own member. In Hatshepsut’s day, the royal women came to the aid of the ithyphallic god, adopting the style of “god’s hand” but adjusting their understanding of their role to suit their female anatomy (and desires). Hatshepsut strengthened this psychological environment, as it allowed royal women to gain more power while remaining true to themselves. Being pliable, Amun played an important role in this development – one which Hatshepsut exploited to the full, especially when considering the role of her mother. And there are still more undercurrents invisible to those unfamiliar with the land. Among these are the names, as theophoric names are common in Egypt – for commoners and kings alike. These can express some form of piety and also a political programme. Names like Ah-hotep or Monthu-hotep mean that the god Ah or Monthu is “satisfied” (with worship, offerings, whatever). Names like Ḏḥwty-ms (Thutmosis) or Amun-mes mean that the god Thoth or Amun is “born”. This is simple, but it is important to understand that Ah-mes and Thot-mes mean the same, since both Thoth and Ah are forms of the Moon-god – and thus the name of Hatshepsut’s mother (Ahmes) was roughly the same as that of her father and husband (both Thutmosis) – and it was of course Thoth who led Amun to the queen’s chamber. In this sense, the Thutmosides were the servants of Amun, and likewise the Amenhoteps who “satisfied” Amun. In the Middle Kingdom, the name Amun-em-hat was common, designating the one who knew that “Amun-isin-front”.61 Hatshepsut was of Theban origin and thus through Dyn. XII and Dyn. XVIII part of a tradition which served Amun, and gave Amun pre-eminence. That she had every interest in serving Amun beyond all other gods was quite clear. Architectural Theology Significantly, by tradition, Thebes actually belonged to Monthu and there were several Monthu temples built around Thebes, temples which had been embellished in the course of the Middle Kingdom and the New Kingdom. Indeed, Thutmosis III took a special pleasure in building temples to Monthu, as he was also a god of war. By contrast, Amun was practically unknown before the Middle Kingdom and hardly an important god outside of Thebes – where he was not the main god. 61

It is doubtful that the male kings of Dyn. XII who bore this name understood it as Hatshepsut would, with the ithyphallic Amun prominently displaying his erect member “before” himself – exactly as Hatshepsut’s mother had seen and experienced it delighting and exciting her. The name Amun-nakht can be interpreted as “Amun-is-victorious” but it might have been more popularly understood in the ithyphallic sense of “Amun-is-strong”, as it tested Hatshepsut’s mother.

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However, not only did Thutmosis III continue with Hatshepsut’s project of elevating Amun to the pinnacle of the pantheon, awarding him both wealth and power (in exchange for wealth and power in a do ut des reciprocal exchange), but he obliviously also opened an era in which an increasing number of temples were erected to Amun, and proportionately fewer to the other gods. Hatshepsut’s main project was enlarging the scope of the temple of Amun. This she did by improving on the collapsed temple of Sesostris I of the Middle Kingdom – as well as on the work of her father and her husband. She also began her own shrine which was to be placed in the centre of the temple, displaying in image and texts various aspects of her reign. In effect, she transformed the landscape of Thebes, with processions along and across the Nile, all uniting the temples and shrines around Thebes to the Estate of Amun. At the centre, lay the temple of Amun at Karnak, and it was here that Hatshepsut staged herself – as the oracles upon which her kingship was founded took place here, and many of her most important buildings began here. Chapelle Rouge The decoration of the chapelle rouge (so called because French archaeologists have a preeminent position in Karnak and because the upper part of the structure is made of red quartzite blocks) presents both her coronation and the journeys of her father Amun to the various temples Hatshepsut made: her own memorial temple across the river, another sanctuary on the west bank at Medinet Habu further south, and the Luxor Temple on the east bank south of Karnak and across from Medinet Habu. The text around the base of the shrine (carved into black ganitodiorite blocks) is her explanation of how she was chosen by Amun to become king, expressed in terms of the tale of an oracular tour around Karnak. This singular oracle text was designed to offer Hatshepsut an alternative avenue to legitimacy – beyond her birth. Unwittingly, Thutmosis III likewise copied this tradition – and thereby assigned Amun yet more power, while also implicitly legitimising Hatshepsut. This monument was to be the centre of Karnak, placing her at the centre of the worship and theology of Amun. (After she disappeared, it was, however, completed and then dismantled – but recently reconstructed by the French).62 Holiest of the Holy The tale of the conception and birth of Hatshepsut is part of a tale Hatshepsut used in the decorative programme of her temple (which she names ḏsr-ḏsr.w, “holyof-holies”) at the place we today call Deir al-Bahri (an Arabic phrase meaning “northern monastery”). Whereas Egyptian temples usually become lower and smaller the further and deeper one penetrates into the darkest and most holy re62

The text is translated in Warburton, 2012: 226–233, based on the text established by Pierre Grimal while reconstructing the temple.

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cesses at the back, Hatshepsut’s reaches upwards over two terraces behind a giant courtyard, rendering it audaciously visible. Each terrace has a shady portico where a visitor could take in the programme of æsthetic propaganda at leisure, and each terrace is divided into northern and southern halves, divided by a central ramp leading upwards. The right (northern) half of the lower portico, forms the Western edge of the forecourt and is decorated with scenes of fowling and hunting reflecting royal pleasures offered by the gods to the king so that the king could offer his catch to the gods. The left half offers a detailed account of two obelisks Hatshepsut had quarried out from the granite outcroppings at the first cataract at Aswan and set up in the temple of Karnak – directly across the river from her temple. Taking the ramp from the forecourt up to the first terrace, the Western limit is again a divided portico. To the right is the tale of Hatshepsut’s conception (with prude images of the queen and god gently holding hands accompanying the more graphic details offered by the texts cited above) and birth. The god paid close attention to every detail of Hatshepsut, not only choosing the most beautiful Girl in Egypt to be her mother, but also ordering that the gods ordain her a good future. To the left are scenes of the mission Hatshepsut sent to Punt, whence she acquired the incense with which she smeared her body in the scene presented at the outset. Here we can see Hatshepsut’s magnificent sailing vessels, the ruler of Punt and his family (including his hideous wife who must have horrified Hatshepsut with her own exquisite æsthetic expectations), the trade goods offered and received, the village, the fish of the Red Sea and countless other details. To the far left is a rather large shrine for Hathor and another for Anubis at the far right. Aside from being a goddess of love, Hathor was also a local Theban goddess of the Western mountain (and thus the Beyond). Hathor had also been worshiped in shines in the ruined temple built by Monthuhotep (of Dyn. XI, to the north of which Hatshepsut built hers and thus Hatshepsut was reviving a cult – and claiming it. Hatshepsut will have adored her as another powerful woman. Anubis was an ancient god associated with mummification and the dead. These laterally aligned chapels take us into the world of the gods and the West, leaving behind this world and the accomplishments of Hatshepsut. Ascending the next ramp, one reaches a more important realm of the divine with chapels for Hatshepsut and her three fathers: Thutmosis I as a dead king, Amun as the king of the gods, and a solar court celebrating Re. Hatshepsut’s temple is thus an expression of her philosophy, with her human accomplishments surmounted by the worship of the gods – and above all the Sungod with his unroofed solar court, open to the skies. And the Sun-god will be revealed to be the key to Hatshepsut’s conception of kingship – as distinguished from the conceptual framework of her own personal legitimacy.

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The Valley of the Kings & the Amduat Invisible and inaccessible is the tomb Hatshepsut cut into the mountain from the other side, directly behind her temple at Deir al-Bahri. Hatshepsut was always preparing for immortality and thus had one tomb – with sarcophagus – made for herself as “chief royal consort”, cut into a remote and inaccessible cliff. Once she became king, she started a new tomb for herself in a remote desert valley behind her temple, and intended to bury her father Thutmosis I with her (albeit in two separate sarcophagi) in her tomb in what became the New Kingdom Valley of the Kings. In the end, Thutmosis III had another tomb built for her father (his grandfather) – and we have no idea of what happened to Hatshepsut, as parts of what Thutmosis III found in her tomb ended up in her father’s, but she apparently was not left in her own tomb (if she had ever been buried there). From the reign of Thutmosis III onwards, the Valley of the Kings – as begun by Hatshepsut – became primarily the royal cemetery of the kings of the New Kingdom. There are very few non-royal tombs in the cemetery – and two of them belong to the era of Hatshepsut, so one can conclude that Hatshepsut began the tradition and thus was followed by the other kings who made it more exclusive. In this fashion, the funerary temples of the kings were on the East side of the mountain, and the burial chambers of the kings were on the West side. The decoration of the burial chambers – which eventually expanded in size to become real decorated tombs by the middle of Dyn. XIX – was dominated by exotic books of the Netherworld, the oldest and most original of which is the Amduat. The name (jmj-dwȝ.t) means “(the book of) that which is in the Beyond” and dealt with the nightly voyage of the sun, divided into 12 hours (like the 12 hours of the day). After the end of Dyn. XVIII, many different variations of this theme developed, but all were based on the Amduat or aspects of it.63 The origins of this book are at once clear and difficult to understand. The oldest existing copies date to the reign of Hatshepsut. Hatshepsut and her highest official, the Vizier User-Amun (a name literally meaning “Powerful is Amun”), each had a copy of this highly original book concerning the nightly voyage of the sun in their respective tombs. User-Amun left no doubt that he and his family expected to voyage with the Sun-god in the beyond as his family is depicted in the solar barque. This is rather odd, as one could imagine the king dreaming of such a fate – but hardly an ordinary mortal. However, it would be a reasonable case of justice if he wrote the book for Hatshepsut and was then allowed to put it in his own tomb – while it is otherwise found only in royal tombs (during the New Kingdom), and parts of it therefore adorn virtually all of the royal tombs in the Valley of the Kings (although the later tombs are dominated by other books). The Amduat is therefore probably a creation dating to the reign of Hatshepsut, one which bound the king into the solar orbit in the same way that Hatshepsut’s

63

For literature and the text, cf., e.g., Hornung / Abt, 2007.

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tomb and temple bound the Valley of the Kings into the Estate of Amun. Beyond that, however, the Amduat probably also contributed to a proliferation of solar hymns in Theban private tombs which likewise begins during the reign of Hatshepsut.64 This celebration of the Sun-god Re was fundamental to Hatshepsut’s ideological programme about the role of the Sun-god in the exercise of sovereignty in Egypt, which was itself consolidated in another text.65 The King as high priest of the Sun-god (König als Sonnenpriester) This is a New Kingdom text which elaborates on some theological points highlighted in conventional fashion in the solar hymns which begin to proliferate in Theban private tombs from the time of Hatshepsut’s reign onwards. The version Assmann assembled was ultimately based primarily on a text from the temple at Luxor, supplemented by another from Karnak, and some other examples in private tombs. There can be no doubt that the text preserved at Luxor dates to the reign of Amenophis III, a century after Hatshepsut. However, the text is written in the retrograde fashion cherished by Hatshepsut – suggesting to me that it will date to the age of Hatshepsut. In Hatshepsut’s system, the beginning of the text lies sequentially where one would expect the end of the text, when reading based on the sculpted form of the hieroglyphs rather than the grammar (as Assmann recognised). Hatshepsut employed this form frequently where symmetry was æsthetically important as it allowed different texts to be placed on each side of a gate to appear symmetrically balanced – although the texts were not identical in either content or orientation (as one had to be written “backwards”). Obviously, those copying such texts – whether ancient Egyptians or modern Egyptologists – will have found what was æsthetically pleasing to be intellectually confusing. And this was probably the case for both the ancient Egyptian scribes who copied it in the reign of Amenophis III – and also for the German Egyptologist who first encountered it in modern times. For Hatshepsut, beauty was paramount – and those who could not understand should simply understand that her wisdom was superior to their understanding.66 Let us assume 64

Assmann, 1983. Thus, there is Hatshepsut’s (1) concept of her own legitimacy as being a member of the royal blood-line of Dyn. XVIII, and fathered by Amun and (2) her concept of the Egyptian kingship as being integrated into the solar orbit, which was in turn integrated into the solar cycle of time – and the solar responsibility for the maintenance of order on earth. For the political (rather than moral) ideology, cf. Warburton, 2012. 66 Assmann (1970: 5 n. 1) follows Altenmüller in dating the text in Luxor to the Middle Kingdom. However, (1) the one preserved was actually executed by the New Kingdom pharaoh, Amenophis III in Luxor, (2) all the other sources date to the New Kingdom or later, (3) in the same area of the same temple Amenophis III also copied Hatshepsut’s scene of Amun and the Hatshepsut’s mother quaintly holding hands, which accompanied the more detailed text describing the steamy scene presented at the outset here, (4) as 65

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that Hatshepsut or one of her acolytes composed the text and be grateful to Assmann who rescued it from incomprehensibility – and now when translating into English, we face no problems and the text appears deceptively banal, as we can see from my version of the text that: “The King worships the Sun-god […] when he comes forth, having opened [… the gates of the eastern horizon] flying off to the heavens as the Morning-sun. [In the evening] he enters the mouth [of the sky-goddess Nut] and comes forth from [between her] thighs at his birth in the east of the sky. His father Osiris raises him up. The arms of Huh and Hauhet receiving him, he rests in the morning barque. The King knows the secret speech spoken by the eastern powers when they joyously praise the Sun-god, at his rising when he appears in the horizon, when they open the bolts of the gates of the eastern horizon and he takes the ways of the heavens. He knows their appearances and manifestations, their cities in the god’s land. He knows the places where they stand when the Sun-god turns to the beginning of the paths. He knows that speech spoken by the two teams when they tow the barque of those of the two horizons. He knows the custom of the birthing of the Sun-god and his transformation in the flood. He knows that secret gate through which the great god comes, he knows those who are in morning barque and that great image in the Evening barque, he knows your tow-ropes in the horizon and the rudders in primeval sea. The Sun-god has placed the king in the land of the living, for forever and ever, judging mankind and pacifying the gods, making divine justice real, annihilating evil. He gives offerings to the gods and invocation offerings for the spirits of the dead. The name of the King is in heaven like the Sun-god; he lives relaxed like the Sun-god. The aristocracy is excited when they see him, the people dance for him in his role as ‘child’ when the Sun-god comes forth as the Morning-sun.”67 In the ordinary solar hymns so frequently encountered in Theban private tombs from the reign of Hatshepsut onwards, one encounters a routine which has the tomb-owner/worshipper greeting the morning form of the Sun-god (Khepri, translated here as “Morning-sun”), and the daily form of the Sun-god (Re), and the evening form (Atum), as the sun travels across the sky in the morning, mid-day, and evening forms of the sun, with the solar barque reduced to morning and evenstated, Hatshepsut also used the retrograde way of writing for æsthetic reasons (which is Altenmüller’s argument for dating it to the Middle Kingdom), and (5) there are no compelling reasons to assume that the text dates to the Middle Kingdom. 67 My translation – with minor modifications – of Assmann, 1970: 17–19 (hieroglyphs) 20–22 (German).

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ing forms. The solar hymns and this text do not deal with the nightly voyage of the sun (except to say that the sky-goddess swallows the Sun-god in the evening and gives birth to him the morning). This night voyage is the theme of the Amduat – and thus dealt with in a scholarly fashion during the reign of Hatshepsut. Strikingly, however, this text does not refer to the evening or night form of the Sun (Atum) – and this is because Hatshepsut understood herself as King of the Living, i.e., those who knew the Morning-sun and the Sun-god Re, whereas the night form of the sun was for the Dead, and of little interest to Hatshepsut. But the whole is dealt with philosophically and cosmologically. This text uses Egyptian conventions stressing that the king has been installed by the Sun-god and has complete knowledge of the universe, being initiated and insinuated into the eternal solar cycle of which he plays his role on earth, ruling mankind and pacifying the gods, assuring constant offerings for the gods and the blessed dead, while eliminating evil. By mediating between the Sun-god and the aristocracy and the people, the king causes justice to prevail – and is celebrated by mankind for carrying out divine will for the benefit of the people. This is Hatshepsut’s understanding of her role – not merely mediating between gods and mankind, but fulfilling the role of the Sun-god here on earth by exalting good and destroying evil (which included, conveniently, any of those who chose to “rebel” against her, as the sun’s delegate). The text thus touches on the morning birth of the Sun-god and his climb into the heavens in his barque – which is the main theme of the solar hymns known from the private tombs of the New Kingdom. The main purpose of this texts is, however, to identify the King as the one responsible for serving as the Sun-god’s delegate here on earth. Hatshepsut understood her role as performing justice here on earth for the living as her mission – and this is the statement of this text. The context of this latter emphasis on the role of the king in this world is a short passage in the Coffin Texts (part of Spell 1130), dating to five or six centuries before Hatshepsut. Here the Sun-god explains himself: “I have done four good deeds within the portal of the horizon. I made the four winds that everyone might breathe in his time. Such was my deed in this matter. I made a great flood so that the poor as well as the great might be strong. Such was my deed in the matter. I made every man equal to his fellow, and I forbade them to do wrong, but their hearts disobeyed what I had said. Such was my deed in the matter. I made their hearts not forget the West in order to make god’s offerings to the gods of the nomes. Such was my deed in the matter.”68 There are several key points linking these two texts. (1) In the version of the Coffin Texts, we have the reality that the Sun-god has withdrawn from the world (as 68

Faulkner, 1978: 167. My translation (Warburton, 2012: 147) differs a bit, but for the essentials it makes no difference.

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should be clear to any ordinary observer looking at the sky, but is confirmed by the Sun-god himself, who is speaking of what he did on the edge of the horizon), having performed four deeds – and left mankind to their ways. (2) With the text of the König als Sonnenpriester, the king assumes the role abdicated by the Sungod, performing justice, exalting good and destroying evil here on earth. (3) Hatshepsut understands that it is not enough to simply establish equality: justice means maintaining equality – and punishing infringements. (4) The reader will have noted that the eastern horizon alone is mentioned in the text of König als Sonnenpriester: the West is the land of the Dead, and the eastern horizon is related to life on earth when the Sun-god reappears. Hatshepsut is the one who guarantees justice as the representative of the Sungod here on earth. Her responsibility is for the Living and not the Dead. She will organise invocation offerings for the blessed dead, but her concern is for the living. This is clearly the way Hatshepsut understood her role – and she went to considerable lengths to achieve every detail of this programme, including her passion for being praised, which was an obligation for those under her rule (and her sandals). This is probably the first time in history that justice for all becomes a royal obligation, delegated by the Sun-god to the king. If the others are unwilling to submit to the rule of the Egyptian king, this amounts to rebellion against the will of the Sun-god and his delegate (and not a war of liberation against Egyptian imperialism). Hatshepsut certainly understood this – and thus her concern with her role as the king of the living. Hatshepsut’s inclusive concept of society The solar hymns appearing abundantly in the private tombs of high officials in Thebes are a direct reflection of the invocation of the Sun-god as responsible for life – and with life comes justice administered by the Queen. However, this is not the worship of the sun mediated by the king: the officials are addressing the Sungod directly in this genre. They are following the conceptual guidance of a change gradually pushed by Hatshepsut whereby the link between gods and people is loosened from a royal monopoly into a social activity. Curiously, it is also during the reign of Hatshepsut that the naophorous statues first appear (or at least begin a continuous development which was maintained throughout the rest of Egyptian history).69 The basic characteristic of such statues is that they reveal a close relationship between an official and a god – almost any god with a temple; there seems to be no definite orientation, in contrast to the solar hymns. The peculiarity of these statues is that they all express a desire for 69

Wildung (1982) identifies the first as being one made for Hatshepsut’s favoured official Senenmut. I am inevitably tempted to believe that the type developed under Hatshepsut’s tutelage, but chance finds may reveal earlier predecessors. Regardless, the continuous chain certainly was founded under her rule.

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an official to partake of the temple offerings. By being physically present in the temple (or even in open courtyards attached to tombs where gods might pass by, as was the case after Hatshepsut’s day), the official is able to partake of the offerings and the spirit. The exact interpretation is rather controversial, but these statues were part of some kind of “protective” relationship between worshipper (in the form of the statue standing eternally in the temple) and deity. By encouraging these tendencies, Hatshepsut was deliberately pursuing a policy which placed far more responsibility on the king to pursue and implement justice while at the same time loosening the bonds of access to the gods in a fashion which increased personal freedom for the officials. That the ensuing justice would be more open was just as certain as that religion would also take on new forms, making personal piety a legitimate avenue to the worship of the gods. This open attitude may also have expressed itself in a different attitude towards love between humans. Earlier in this paper, I have stressed what the Egyptian love songs reveal about potentially contrasting masculine and feminine expectations in erotic love. What is crucial is that the earliest preserved Egyptian love poetry is derived from the Ramesside period (and written in the colloquial language which Akhenaten pushed a century after Hatshepsut). Thus one cannot argue that Hatshepsut invented the genre – and I am not saying she either did it herself, or even sponsored it. However, before the New Kingdom, women rarely appeared in what one would call a prominently independent fashion. And the tradition of women running households and participating in cultic activities would last for the rest of Egyptian history. And accordingly, in the ancient Egyptian teachings (called “wisdom” literature) which were directly copied and imitated and revised over the millennia, women were generally objects. And it was generally agreed that they meant trouble, with Ptahhotep lecturing “Beware of approaching women, nothing good will come of it”.70 By contrast, in the love poems the boys stress the physical beauty of their lovers, and the girls are not coy about reciprocating. One states her wishes: “My desire is to descend And to bathe in your presence, That I may let you look upon my beauty In a tunic of finest royal linen Besprinkled with perfume.”71 The finest wet linen would reveal all, leaving little to the imagination, and annihilate a boy’s power of resistance when she leaves the water and approaches him coming close, with an offering in her fingers. Thus, on occasion a girl will even bid the boy to come to her, saying 70 71

Ptahhotep 281–282, in my free translation, which maintains the spirit but not the text. Simpson 2003: 317.

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“Oh beauteous youth, may my desire be fulfilled [To become] the mistress of your house. With your hands resting upon my breasts, You have spread your love (over me).”72 In this case, she is at least asking the boy to come to her (the approaching which Ptahhotep sought to discourage). And she is using the Egyptian expression for “housewife”, meaning that this is the real thing and not a game for her. In another case the girl declares that she is hurrying to her lover: “I am already on my way to you, my dress hanging on my arm”; the garment would be required later, when they return to public eyes.73 Of this poetry, we have no trace in the era of Hatshepsut. However, within decades of Hatshepsut’s rule, there is a singular image in the tomb of Rekhmire, the vizier under Hatshepsut’s successor Thutmosis III, which has attracted a good deal of attention (fig. 5) because it demonstrates that Bronze Age Egyptian artists could play with perspective (which they otherwise never used in official art this way). Interesting for us is that in the Ramesside love poetry, we have a reference (cited above) to the “bulging ass” of a cherished beauty – and here (shortly after Hatshepsut), we have the only official Bronze Age representation demonstrating that the Egyptians shared tastes familiar to ourselves.

Fig. 5 Servant girl in the tomb of the Vizier Rekhmire

72

Again, in Simpson’s (2003: 314) translation. It could be that the “(over me)” could also be “(through me)”. 73 P. Chester Beatty I: 17, 4. This is a very difficult line to translate as there are disagreements about words, but the meaning is impossible to avoid.

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And, of course, the references to breasts in the love songs almost never appear in a similarly graphic way in the official art.74 – and thus we must imagine what Dyn. XVIII Egyptians thought (until some Ramesside private art reveals an even greater capacity to exploit perspective). However, these exceptional artistic touches reveal thoughts transforming attitudes towards women. Just how women’s attitudes towards themselves transformed from being (a) consciously, pleasingly, desirable and æsthetic creations into (b) self-consciously sensuous beings with their own interests must have been a difficult process. Some fundamental elements were already present from early on, as illustrated with Hatshepsut’s obsession with her own beauty, referring to herself as she had referred to her mother, or even further as when claiming to be “better looking than anything (in the universe)”.75 Obviously the adulterous behaviour of Hatshepsut’s mother who smiled at the god and pushed him on had an impact on understanding that erotic love was not just a masculine drive: even if the god “did all that he wanted together with her”, the Girl was also doing what she wanted. The texts were there for the literate to read – and within a century, a new genre of literature was born in Egypt, and continues to flourish until this day. However, the painting in the tomb of Rekhmire betrays that poetry and art might have been converging before the Ramesside era For me, it is striking that in one poem, the girl expresses her self-understanding not as being the housewife who enjoys having her breasts fondled (as above), but rather imagines herself as “the Noble One, Mistress of the Two Lands,”76 This latter expression comes so close to being an oblique reference to Hatshepsut (whose own name distinguished her as the “foremost of the noble women”, and her official role as both queen and king made her the mistress of Upper and Lower Egypt) that I am at least tempted to mention it – and suggest that girls may have realised that Hatshepsut was on their side. While she herself betrays nothing of the kind directly, the public dissemination of the tale about her conception is rather striking. Together, all of this expresses a form of liberation from oppression that went along with Hatshepsut’s desire to be appreciated. On the one hand, the officials could view themselves as part of a system of legitimate government, and also unrestricted in their participation in temple activities. On the other, people (boys and girls alike) came to terms with their feelings and desires in a fashion which was publicly recognised. 74

Again, there is an exception in a celebrated scene in TT 52, the tomb of Nakht, where “the rules” are broken and a musician’s breast is “frontally” elegant (Hodel-Hoenes, 2000, 36–37). This dates to a few decades later than the image from the tomb of Rekhmire, and thus less than a century after Hatshepsut. 75 Urk. IV: 246, 1. 76 Simpson, 2003: 312.

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She not only had her own pleasure in her beauty and power – but she also used her power to improve the quality of life in a way which was certainly appreciated by many – including many like Tuthmosis III and many a lover feeling free to embrace her chosen boy, who will never have realised that Hatshepsut through the deft, agile and flexible exercise of her power, she left the world a better place than she found it. She used her power to build ideologies and temples, but also contributed to an emancipation of the members of society, who were to take more responsibility for their own lives, while also allowing themselves freedom of expression – even in the form of love songs expressing a girl’s understanding of erotic love as being pure love mingling in the body. Hatshepsut’s Power There is no question that when Hatshepsut assumed the kingship – several years after she had Thutmosis III crowned as king while she was regent – her power in the land did not change: she had been fully in charge since the death of her husband (Thutmosis II), and probably had her husband largely under her thumb.77 77 A peer-reviewer justifiably enquires if there is any proof of this. Of course not. However. One point is that Hatshepsut knew that the child who became Thutmosis II was not foreseen for the throne, but chosen only after two elder brothers pre-deceased him. Furthermore, not only did Thutmosis II himself leave little more than the remains of a few monuments (after a reign of at most 4 years), but Hatshepsut did not bother to complete his tomb or even provide an inscribed sarcophagus for him. In contrast to this, Hatshepsut had the foresight to have provided herself with three inscribed sarcophagi, one of which she had to sacrifice when she became king, and one of which she had posthumously re-worked for her father. Needless to say, all these sarcophagi are original and æsthetically pleasing. However innovative they are, they are also perplexingly theologically conservative, revealing profound thought and perfect execution. The textual decoration is necessarily protective in nature, and makes highly traditional but ancient appeals – but there is also more modern accompanying imagery with the same object. Significantly, Amun does not appear here; instead she draws on ancient concepts going back more than a thousand years – and reveals that she understands that what awaits her in the Beyond is different from what she had the chance to do on earth. That the forms she invented lasted through the dynasty is but another confirmation of her authority. The best source on the subject of these remarkable objects in context is Hayes, but Hayes cannot even grudgingly state clearly what Hatshepsut had done, but nevertheless cannot conceal it either – despite his intense hatred of Hatshepsut who had been dead for more than three millennia when he started writing. Hatshepsut’s contempt for her husband was more abrupt than Hayes’s long-winded denunciations of Hatshepsut for having subjected Thutmosis III to “many years of humiliating subordination” (Hayes 1935: 138). Hatshepsut simply consigned her husband to eternity unprotected in an undecorated stone box, leaving precious little for Hayes to analyse (and nothing for Thutmosis II to hope for). As king, Hatshepsut counts herself as successor of her father and recognises Thutmosis III, but totally disregards her husband, who had other consorts. One of these other concu-

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Above, I stressed that Hatshepsut alone is the one who influences what we think of her. And what is strange is that she not only has this power over us, but she also seems to have exercised it over her contemporaries. One of the great problems faced by all of those who dismiss her as a vain power-seeking scoundrel who deprived Thutmosis III of his rightful place as solitary king of Egypt is the fact that all observers are agreed that she made sure that he was fully prepared for that role once he came of age. It is frequently assumed that she died at that point and that she did not voluntarily relinquish power when he came of age. This is, in fact, unknowable. However he came to his legitimate solidary reign, Hatshepsut had left him a land in perfect shape – and he used the armies she bequeathed to him and the architectural examples she displayed for him for his own purposes, which is the greatest possible testimony to the success of her reign.78 Beyond that, it is highly significant that in one of her last surviving inscriptions – dating to years before the beginning of the sole reign of Thutmosis III – Hatshepsut actually summarises her reign in detail, not only mentioning that the entire land lived in fear of her, but also specifying: “I came as Horus, a goddess spitting fire against my foes. I threw out what is abominable to the great god […] Dawn does not happen (except at) my command. My vision endures like the mountains. The sun disk shines, his rays illuminating the vision of my majesty, the exalted falcon above the palace of eternity, eternally.”79 This is not only an audacious statement – but also a testament. It means that she knew in advance that the twilight of her sole reign was approaching, and that she bine consorts was Isis, the mother of Thutmosis III, and Hatshepsut really seems to have shoved this Isis out of the way, even while making sure this Isis’s son Thutmosis III would (a) be educated as a leader and (b) inherited from her (Hatshepsut) a land worth leading. (The real Isis, of course, appears on Hatshepsut’s own sarcophagi, protecting her). Thus Hatshepsut had a high regard for both her father Thutmosis I and for Thutmosis III – but there is no evidence that she viewed her husband as anything except the half-witted illegitimate son of a secondary wife who was unfortunately her half-brother (but precisely thereby completely lacked the divine and royal blood that flowed powerfully in her veins). In this sense, I deduce that Hatshepsut had no respect at all for Thutmosis II (and I would say justifiably so from her standpoint, because she was after all a vigorous ruler and he was not). Beyond that, from a purely logical standpoint, it follows that if she conducted state affairs (perhaps with her mother) during the reign of Thutmosis II, it would be easier to understand how she slipped into power so easily after his death, preventing the officials and royal family from taking over. This was a courageous and bold act for girl to pull off. A bit of experience in sovereignty and familiarity with the ways of power at court would have gone a long way towards securing success. 78 The wars are discussed in Warburton, 2001; the architecture in Warburton, 2012. 79 Urk. IV: 390, 13–391, 5.

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intended to stress that she knew it would nevertheless last forever. In this sense, we need not think that she unexpectedly died or lost power, but rather that she knew that (a) she would soon be obliged to cede her role, and (b) that she had established her place in the universe – long before she was forced to take leave of it, abandoning it (and her legacy) to lesser mortals. Furthermore, (c) she turned over a perfectly tuned military machine and state apparatus to her successor. And (d) most importantly, she had established a theological system expressed in the architectural configuration of Thebes which was the setting for the performance of justice based upon a sound and coherent system justifying the divine kingship which expected that kings serve god and man alike – by maintaining Egyptian rule of the universe and guaranteeing justice. Few can be claimed to have been both as efficient and as foresighted as Hatshepsut was in that. And after Hatshepsut was removed from power, Thutmosis III unwittingly carried out her will and plan exactly as she had foreseen, and this strengthened her own Dyn. XVIII more than anything that had ever happened in the history of Egypt. If one understands (1) that Hatshepsut’s mission was to act as the king, as delegate of the Sun-god performing justice here on earth, one will also understand that (2) her celebration of Amun was a matter of establishing her own legitimacy to perform that role. In this sense, one should not confuse her concept of executing justice here on earth with her realistic conception of legitimacy being based on divine right and royal blood. That she had the divine right to rule allowed her to legitimately carry out a programme of justice and prosperity here on earth. Her own solution to these problems lay in the specific history of Egypt, and the origins of the fundamental concept of justice (“order”, “harmony”, “truth”, “justice”, mȝc.t) may well lie in Egypt. When originally established – some 5000 years ago – kingship in Egypt had been a simple matter of royal power and authority, and relatively rapidly, the legitimacy of kingship lay in that “dominion” or “authority” (wȝs as opposed to nḫt, sḫm or pḥ.ty, mere “strength” or “power”) which assured “stability” (ḏd). Before the middle of the third millennium BC, the concept of “legitimacy” meant that the Egyptian kings stressed that they were the “lords of justice”, performing mȝc.t while quelling revolts and subduing opposition. This gradually led to an increasing reliance on divine support as buttressing legitimacy – probably because the kings were too lazy and the bureaucrats too corrupt to ensure the performance of “justice”.80 In effect, during the early second millennium BC, the simple exercise of kingship became a matter of human negotiation, and the power of royalty was dimin80

Aside from Assmann (e.g., 1995, 1996) and O’Connor / Silverman (1995), many others, including myself (Warburton, 2012), but most comprehensively and competently Rolf Gundlach (e.g., 1998 – but there is much more), are among those who have explored these problems.

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ished through delegation, irresponsibility, and competition. When the Theban kings of Dyns. XVII and XVIII re-united the country after the ensuing civil wars, the kingship of the early part of the second half of the second millennium BC was gradually strengthened – but neither fully legitimate nor fully established. Hatshepsut contributed significantly to establishing the foundations of power which would last for another half millennium – but her successor kings failed, and brought Egypt down. To some extent, one can say that they mistook the importance of Amun for the dynastic legitimacy as the foundation of the state. By neglecting the performance of justice as part of leadership, they lost legitimacy – and the temple of Amun gained an economic and social power which was completely irrelevant to the fate of the state, leading to moral bankruptcy and political failure. Hatshepsut’s power was divinely ordained – but her performance was human, and in the interest of humanity. Her standards are adequate to condemn others without judgement – and yet she was effaced, while her inferiors have been allowed to be celebrated. Sadly, while many celebrate Hatshepsut, it is the person rather than the responsible king that is celebrated, whereas her leadership – in philosophy, ideology, balance, respect for humans and the performance of justice (and perhaps even in encouraging the joy of erotic love) – was exemplary for man and woman alike. Context In Ancient Egypt, from the First Dynasty to the defeat of the Ptolemies, (ca. 3000– 30 BC), dominion and kingship was dogmatically reserved for men. The kings were competent warriors and devout builders dedicated to the service of the kingship, the people and the gods. The hardest working officials could hardly hope to reach the top of the bureaucracy, but they could spend long hours in offices and weeks or months in the quarries or the fields. By contrast, the luckiest of the beautiful women of Egypt were in the palaces where they were to live a life of ease, far removed from the hovels in which most of the people lived. They had to be beautiful, adorned with precious jewellery, wonderful make-up and clean dresses. Servants were there to care of their every need so that they were relaxed and happy. And they had to make their lithe bodies squirm joyously under the strong, clean, manicured hands of a clean shaven powerful man who might repeatedly rape them on soft mattresses covered with clean linen. With so many girls obliged to please them, the kings had no reason to be more tender than the young boys they often were – and the example of the gods might have encouraged kings to indulge themselves with more virile violence to innocent young beauties who were easily replaced: and in any case a few weeks of neglect (while abusing other women) would let injured beauties heal and make them more pliant at the next visit. Not many girls could hope for much of anything in Egypt – but even the most select of the fair maidens could dream of no more

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than being more than being mere mothers, daughters or consorts of the kings. Of women chosen by Egyptian gods, we only know of one – Hatshepsut’s mother – who survived a divine courtship, but superficially, it would appear that she only survived because Amun wanted her to give birth to his daughter. This would, of course, be one way to explain the god’s strange reluctance to do anything dangerous to her, but it still makes no sense.81 For most boys and gods, the vagina was battlefield or playground, and the essential attribute of a beautiful girl. If Amun had had the presence of mind, he could have had her however he wanted simply tearing her in two as she herself (and her servant girls) assumed would happen.82 We can legitimately assume that 81 This is one way of interpreting the tale as Hatshepsut has given it to us, i.e., the god tried to avoid hurting the Girl because he was concerned about the fate of his child, Hatshepsut. However, another explanation is also possible. The first point is that there was no reason for Amun to think that he could force the Egyptians to accept a female king – and the Egyptians did indeed refuse to accept it (once she was removed from power). It is therefore possible that Amun was actually after the Girl as a sex object and not trying to make a child. In this version, it would follow that the girl survived because of her own courage and strength in assaulting and exhausting a god who was psychologically unprepared for what she did to him. Her aggression may well have cowed and weakened him physically, while defeating him psychologically. That she became pregnant was the inevitable result of the fury with which she had taken him – and that he backed off was the result of his recognising her conquest, having destroyed his ego, consuming his potency. That Hatshepsut turned the tale to her advantage was a matter of her ingenuity – and allowed her to display the independence of mind, passionate love, disloyalty, courage, and quick-mindedness of her mother. Another possibility is, of course, that the Girl summoned Amun to a rendez-vous to discuss kingship – and that the god (who was not well educated in either etiquette or complicated theoretical matters) changed the subject by exposing himself which he knew would drive the girl wild with desire. But – since he had done this because he assumed that he was in charge – he was not prepared for the eventuality that she would simply seduce and consume him before he understood what was going on. This would actually explain the fact that the god seemed not to have understood what was going on in a more persuasive fashion than either my version or Hatshepsut’s. If this is what really happened, Hatshepsut’s fable was arranged to make the Girl’s unfaithfulness somehow justifiable in a fashion which hardly corresponds to the various obligations of those involved – but did some to save the dynastic reputation (to the degree that details and concept were copied later in Dyn. XVIII, by Amenophis III at least, and the principle seems to have endured through time, though hardly as more than a legend, with none of the essential importance it had for Hatshepsut). 82 In the cosmological analysis, the Sun-god was supposed to enter into the mouth of the sky-goddess in the evening on the western horizon, and to be born from her thighs in the eastern horizon at dawn. During the day, the king and the gods shared the world with humanity. This was part of the Egyptian understanding of order. The cossetted young servant girls in Egypt were among the most defenceless people on earth and would have experienced what men really wanted and the way they really

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the Egyptian gods were even more brutal than the young boys or men: goddesses might have survived but not mortals (at least none are recorded). However, fortunately, most girls were not beautiful enough to be desired by gods – and so they just had to put up with the men. No other role was foreseen for women. Indeed, one of the highest titles a girl could have was to be the “hand of the god”, serving herself up so that the god did not have to masturbate with his own hands. Such was their role. There was no title “queen” – only the title translated as “the great royal wife” (or the suchlike) distinguished the chief consort from the other women who slept with the king. While Egyptian kings did not have innumerable concubines in their stalls, they did have a number of secondary wives, aside from one, or at least generally one at a time, who was known as the “great royal wife”. The primary quality of the royal consorts was to be beautiful, and in a number of cases, there is little or no evidence of any royal or educational background. Ramesses II lived long enough to enjoy at least three such maidens, two of them were probably selected for their beauty, but at least one to satisfy the political demands of her mother, the Hittite queen. Thus, the consorts were mere “royal ornaments” (which was in fact also a title given to those peripheral girls let out of the palace to marry an ordinary official) forming part of the royal background. But even the consorts of the lowest level could luck out by producing a son at the right time, and becoming the beloved mother of a reigning king. But, not even this was certain: the mother of Thutmosis III (who was the insignificant girl Isis mentioned above) was pushed aside by Hatshepsut (and largely neglected by the king himself). My point here is that it is possible that Hatshepsut might well have played a behaved. The servant girls who witnessed Amun’s visit to the palace bedroom were the same who experienced the king’s visits. They will have endured everything the king wanted to do with them since their lives consisted of no more than smiling and giggling while serving – and they depended on it. The kings will have gotten accustomed to that, and taken advantage of it. And they will have given everything they could. The servant girls will therefore have known that – with a perfectly clear conscience – if he had moved quickly, the Amun they beheld before their adored mistress could easily have entered the Girl through her ass to gleefully ejaculate in the confines of her throat, at once shredding, eviscerating and asphyxiating the Girl as well as ripping her apart – reversing the course of the sun, and thereby symbolically violating the very spirit of the universe. That Amun could have done this remains true, regardless of the real explanation of why he did not do it. The idea that the god actually respected the Girl seems improbable, but it is possible that she simply outmanoeuvred and outwitted him, and thus a deflated ego may have stopped him (unless he really did want the child to become king and build temples to him, which would also make sense). Regardless of human and divine behaviour, Hatshepsut knew of the injustices perpetrated by human frailty – and sought to remedy this rather than promote imitations of what the gods did do and could do.

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role in legitimising feminine erotic love that changed the nature of human society in the very long term. If I am correct that this was already expressed in the Egyptian love songs of the Ramesside era, we must also recognise it is still not even really attained in modern Western society. Yet by having encouraged the birth of the genre of the love song, presumably sung by comely musicians at banquets where perfume, wine and opium will have been enjoyed, Hatshepsut endorsed female erotic love as a legitimate means of self-expression. There was no way, however, that she could have openly supported such: it would have been fatal to her project: her success was at least partially due to the fact that her reputation was untarnished. Being irreproachable gave her terrifying strength because men could not handle her. She realised that to let herself be accused of what others would understand as base ordinary desires would destroy her capacity to lead and her legacy. But she laid bare a conceptual approach which may have freed girls to seek their own ways, as may well have been impossible before her. The Ramesside poetry and the art must be understood as part of a continuum in developing self-awareness in which Hatshepsut’s flaunting of her own physical beauty may have played a role, especially in conjunction with her own political success. Politically, however, in Egypt, women were basically excluded for all time. There were, however, exceptions: some women ruled the land but most did not claim the kingship. Mostly however, calamitous disaster ensued, and their reigns marked the close of their respective dynasties (such as the ruling royal daughter/king Neferusobek and royal spouse Cleopatra VII). The precedent establishing the masculinity of Egyptian kingship was Queen Meryt-neith in the Middle of Dyn. I. After the death of her husband, Djet, she ruled the land for her son Den, until he came of age. While she did not claim the kingship, she alone (i.e., the only non-king) built a monumental tomb for herself among those of the other kings of Dyn. I. Before her tomb stood a unique pair of stelae (as before the other royal tombs) identifying her as the sole female owner of a monumental tomb in Egypt’s first exclusively Royal Cemetery – but she did not embellish the stele with any title: neither as king nor as royal consort nor as royal mother. What distinguished these women was invariably royal blood: they had not come into the king’s arms because of their beauty alone (as could happen in Dyn. XVIII), but rather power flowed in their veins. Hatshepsut was, however, alone among the Egyptian royal women in that she not only grabbed power and declared herself to be king, but also held on to power long enough to assure that her Dyn. XVIII went on from strength to strength – until Akhenaten destroyed the dynasty by betraying Amun, the god who fathered Hatshepsut.83 83

A peer-reviewer disagreed with some of my assumptions about Akhenaten. For me it is a fact that the dynasty that Hatshepsut strengthened was destroyed by Akhenaten’s recklessness. This is true whether one views Akhenaten as an effeminate fool or a bold reformer, just as it is true that Dyn. XVIII flourished after Hatshepsut, regardless of whether

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Other women had stabilised power. In the middle of Dyn. I, Meryt-neith had saved Egypt from a succession crisis when she took over by ruling until her son came of age – but she did not dare to claim the kingship, and the authorities decided that it would be better to forget her. Likewise, it was probably Ny-maathep, the wife of Khasekhemwy the last king of Dynasty II and the mother of the Djoser the first powerful king of Dyn. III, who secured that continuity which led Egypt out of an age of chaos and into an age of greatness – but the authorities were not very grateful, as she is only visible to those who seek her. A few other women had claimed power, but failed like Tausert whose Dyn. XIX ended with her. No other woman had claimed, maintained and stabilised power for both herself and Egypt: only Hatshepsut. The women of Dyns. XVII and XVIII One reason why Hatshepsut tried what she did and succeeded is doubtless that, through her mother – the Girl who seduced Amun – Hatshepsut was related to some women who had likewise played key roles in establishing the dynasty. one views her as (a) a role model and ideal ruler or (b) a wicked stepmother. The same applies to religion: regardless of (a) whether admiring Christians perceive Akhenaten as adumbrating the Israelite religion which gave rise to Christianity, his reform was a catastrophic error in being centred exclusively on himself and the worship of his god to the neglect of all else. Regardless of (b) whether detractors suggest that Hatshepsut’s policies menaced the Egyptian religion and dynastic legitimacy, her kingship marked a step forwards for humanity in understanding that the worship of the Sun-god demanded the that royal power be exercised to establish and maintain justice among men. This latter assertion – which was put into context in policy, theology and cosmology – is probably one of the greatest achievements in human history (and in my opinion of incomparably greater importance for humanity than introducing anything approaching zealous monotheism). Hammurabi of Babylon had also moved in the same direction a few centuries earlier, demonstrating that linking the achievement of justice among men to the responsibilities of sovereignty is socially more useful than monotheism. In neglecting this aspect, Akhenaten contributed to the emergence of the concept of religion as the worship of gods, as religion is understood in the West – in stark contrast to the idea of the worship of the gods being an ideology linking divine legitimacy with justice. By shifting mȝc.t to the domain of religion and away from political responsibility, Akhenaten betrayed and destroyed the foundations of the Egyptian political system. This error contributed to the decline of the power and responsibility of the Egyptian kingship and also led to the separation of religion (as defined by service to the gods) from political responsibility for justice. The Western world has never recovered from this error, which was only rendered less valuable as Greek concepts of virtues were not maintained as universal civic values – since morals and virtues became purely religious. The peer-reviewer is correct that this is tendentious. It is not philological wisdom. However, although philology cannot recover philosophical accomplishments, it does not mean that politics does not exist, and that the actions of political actors do not have an impact – even if we can only recover these actors through philological groundwork.

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One of the most important was Tetisheri, a shadowy darling – “Little Teti” – who witnessed the death of royal sons and relatives killed in the war of liberation waged against the Hyksos for at least half a century. She survived until nearly the time of the ultimate victory which brought united Egypt under the control of the Theban Dyn. XVIII. She must have been a decisive anchor of the family. Incidentally, the mummy of one of these kings killed in the wars against the Hyksos was recovered after having lain a few weeks on the battlefield, and he was buried with at least five holes in his head, from axes and spears (fig. 6), which can be typologically identified as weapons used by neighbours in Western Asia. Someday the specialists will doubtless tell us exactly what killed him. What is important is considering that this is the head of a king whose body was recovered from the battlefield. Above, we cited Seth as equating sex with war. Evidently, this type of statement had a very different ring to the Egyptians than it does to us: penetration was violent wilful injury, deliberately performed against innocent beautiful girls. That the girls adjusted to this and made it part of their lifestyle is highly important to understanding mentalities.

Fig. 6. Head of King Seqenenre-Taa Another of these women was Tetisheri’s daughter Ahhotep, who almost certainly steered the country after the death of the Dyn. XVII king (her son or brother) Kamose, until Ahhotep’s young son Ahmose, the first king of Dyn. XVIII came of age and could continue the war. Ahmose’s predecessor was probably killed – like several others in the wars with the Hyksos – but Ahmose eventually succeeded in driving the Hyksos out of Egypt, and taking the war into the Levant. Ahmose himself refers to her as “the female ruler of the two lands” – which is the female equivalent of one of the royal titles for “king” – and also as the “lady of the banks and the islands” (which might refer to the Nile and parts of the eastern Mediterranean).84

84

Urk. IV: 21, 3–4.

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Another was Ahhotep’s daughter, Ahmes-Nefertari, the beloved mother of Amenhotep I, the second king of Dyn. XVIII – and probably also the mother of Ahmes, Hatshepsut’s mother. Our knowledge of Hatshepsut’s mother (aka the “Girl” of this text) does not offer us much to work with.85 As can be seen from my own sketch at the start of this article, she might well have been far more than an inspiration to Hatshepsut, being rather a woman who was in an excellent position to warn Hatshepsut of the dangers of simply accepting the existing structures. She herself obviously had no plan to change anything except her own life – and thus we must assume that Hatshepsut developed her own system. Hatshepsut’s ideas were founded in a thorough knowledge of art, mythology, ideology and an understanding of ethics, morals, correct behaviour, and human nature. In this sense, Hatshepsut belonged to a line of politically involved women. But what she did exceeded anything any of them had ever done until then.86

85 Everything we think about her is highly speculative, because we lack the necessary information. To all appearances, Ahmes only legitimately bore the title of “king’s sister”, but not “king’s daughter” or “king’s mother”. As brothers, only Amenhotep seems reasonable – which would make Ahmose her father, and according to Hatshepsut, she was her mother, and thus she would appear in reality to have been “king’s daughter, king’s brother, king’s mother”, but does not bear the titles. It is, however, assumed that Thutmosis I was not a member of the royal family and that it was only as her husband that he could become king – because she was part of the family. This leads to the conclusion that there was a rule that any royal princess who married a commoner lost the right to her title of “royal daughter”. This would make sense since at least one (or only one?) royal daughter was to marry her brother the king – and the others should disappear to maintain order. Thus she would have lost the title when she married the commoner – and when he became king (because of her!), she became “chief royal consort” of a king who was not her brother. Being the highest woman in the realm, recovering her other titles was less important than producing royal offspring. She had two sons, but both died young – and another daughter who would have been Hatshepsut’s elder sister – of whom little is known. Hatshepsut does not seem to suggest that any of her siblings were fathered by Amun, but she will certainly have been born after Thutmosis was crowned king (because she is not shown on an image showing her elder sister along with the crowned parents), and may have linked her legitimacy to that point as well. Incidentally, if this is all correct, Hatshepsut might have been around 16 years old when she crowned herself king – and around 35 years old when her reign ended. She can hardly have been much older or younger – and this says a great deal about what she was thinking about when she was a 12-year old adolescent who would soon become a mother. 86 In writing this article, I did not consult and did not allow myself to be guided by Lesko, 1989; Manniche, 2002; Troy, 1986; and Tyldesley, 1994 – but these are among the works which readers might like to consult for further ideas and references, aside from Cooney, 2014 and Roehrig, 2005, where more recent literature will be found.

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Early powerful women Above, I hinted that Hatshepsut was probably the most powerful woman in the first three millennia of history. This was not a bow to Theodora and seemed to neglect the remarkable mid-third millennium Sumerian Queen Kù-dBa-ba6. However, to be honest, the Sumerian queen’s influence was restricted to her own home town – and Theodora may have ruled her household, but without her husband, she had no chances. And – allowing myself to be influenced by Procopius – I am not inclined to view Theodora as a role model. In contrast to all of them was, however, another. In the middle of Tang Dynasty China there was the Empress Wu Zetian who briefly reigned officially (690–705 AD), but was manipulating and/or in power with interruptions for decades before that (from ca. 650 AD) as Wu Zhao. She established her own (southern) Zhou dynasty, and apparently believed herself related to the far more significant dynasty of the same name that had successfully ruled China for a century or so around and after 1000 BC, but had already declined in power more than a millennium before her birth.87 To this day, Wu Zetian remains the only legally ruling Chinese empress. She may be conceptually confined to her own dynasty, but historically she is usually aligned into the Tang Dynasty – which was one of China’s grandest, and thus Empress Wu’s land, people and power were greater than those of Hatshepsut.88 While she can certainly compete with Hatshepsut in determination once in of-

87 A peer-reviewer took issue with the claim that the Zhou dynasty had been declining for a millennium before the birth of Empress Wu. Of course, the demise of the Zhou dynasty (256 BC) did not take place a millennium before her birth – but the dynasty had already suffered a crippling military defeat in 957 BC, and further catastrophic developments in 771 BC and again in 481 BC. The decline had therefore begun well over a millennium before Wu Zhou’s birth, and indeed in our eyes disconcertingly soon after the dynasty came to power, rendering the dynasty less impressive, especially in view of its long decline. However, the founders of the Zhou Dynasty have always enjoyed good reviews where they are praised for their noble and righteous values and prudent behaviour, being the first Chinese dynasty to have been founded by such people. This will have been the reason for Empress Wu’s choice of dynastic name – and she will have been fully conscious of what she was doing when she used education (N.B. not MBA’s and professional training) to reform the state. 88 It is typical that modern authors will frequently allege (e.g., Schulze, 1976, passim) that Egypt was unusually economically prosperous under Hatshepsut’s rule. It is possible that trade flourished under Hatshepsut, but there is no evidence suggesting that the people benefitted a lot economically. Even if the girls got some hope, materially things will not have improved overnight as happened in 20th century Europe. It is typical of our era that successful rulers in the distant past are viewed as having been good at economic policy leading to prosperity. In contrast to this, it would appear that China really did prosper under Wu Zetian. And in any case Tang China was far wealthier than Dyn. XVIII Egypt.

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fice, Empress Wu began her road to power as a well-born and extremely well educated low level concubine and not as a princess. In the course of her politically active life, one of her major accomplishments was that she oversaw essential parts of a transformation of the state examination system whereby the exams were improved and the number of graduates employed in the administrative system grew. This means that in just one single domain her importance incontestably continued to grow in a socially important fashion for more than a millennium after her death. Beyond that, she also inspired a flourishing literary culture which may be viewed as lasting to the present day. In this sense, Empress Wu far overshadows Hatshepsut in the degree of her ascent and also in influence. Like so many women in power, Wu Zhou is described as simultaneously (1) ruling at her “unscrupulous” “arbitrary personal whim”, with “deliberate exploitation of factionalism, ruthless personal vendettas, political manipulation in complete disregard of ethics and principles”, and (2) being “beautiful and enticing”, “with a natural genius for politics”, being “brilliantly adept”, and having “sharp intelligence, determination and excellent judgement”.89 Empress Wu may have been the most powerful and influential woman of all time – and she certainly climbed higher than any other human woman in history.90 However, aside from her sexual pursuit of power, Empress Wu also had a reign characterised by terror and violence – which certainly exceeded what was required. There is no evidence for anything of this kind in Hatshepsut’s biography, making Hatshepsut quite distinctive.91 Likewise in contrast to Hatshepsut, Empress Wu suffers an abundance of malicious male judgements from those who suffered under her, opposed her, or simply had to endure her. This record makes the final judgement on her reign extraordinary. After Empress Wu’s death, her legitimate male successor – whom Empress Wu shoved out of the way as Hatshepsut did Thutmosis III – described her as “brilliant, virtuous and wise, she responded to the needs of the times. She 89

Twitchett / Wechsler, 1979: 244–245. A peer-reviewer took issue with these claims. I stress that I say she “may” have been the greatest (which obviously allows for discussion), but that “she certainly climbed higher” (which is admittedly an incontestable assertion, which does not allow for discussion – and thus raises doubts). The peer-reviewer adduced Elizabeth I. In my opinion Elizabeth was not the powerful queen of the most powerful land in the region in her day, but it is hopefully indisputable that she did not start her career as a concubine, and thus the greatness may be debated, but comparison makes the overall ascent of Empress Wu extraordinary. 91 Hatshepsut is constantly claiming that she was ruthlessly quelling rebellions, annihilating enemies and that the world lived in fear of her (e.g., Urk. IV: 341, 16; 346, 8). However, it must be assumed that there is some exaggeration and that she regarded those who opposed her as being opposed to her divine rule. What is lacking is any testimony of the personal type preserved in the accusations and charges levelled against Theodora and Empress Wu. 90

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employed the splendid policies of the first beginnings”.92 We never learn that Thutmosis III said anything of the kind about Hatshepsut. Her work was dismissed in silence – even though Hatshepsut did consciously formulate her activities as being ideal and related to the will of the primeval days. In this sense, Empress Wu left a living – blossoming – imprint (which the men felt to be a wound) and not an embarrassingly concealed scar (as it was treated in Egypt). However, there a further detail: Wu Zhao started her climb as a concubine and – according to the records – ultimately lost power because an alliance with corrupt lovers undermined her popularity. It will always be impossible to establish the ultimate veracity about the sexual behaviour of women in power. The Sumerian Queen was apparently an “inn-keeper” or “bar-maid”93 (and this could imply that she had been viewed as prostitute), just as Theodora was an “actress” (which means a “prostitute”).94 However, in the case of Theodora, “even Procopius acknowledges her beauty”.95 It is important to note that when the Old Babylonian Gilgamesh was insulting Ištar, he included a rapist among her alleged “lovers”,96 and was thus maligning her extremely unjustly (at least in my eyes!); furthermore, Gilgamesh accuses Ištar of abusing her lover Tammuz, but the reality is that it was known that Dumuzi/Tammuz was actually a disloyal adulterer – and that (the Sumerian) Inanna nevertheless regretted his death and took “part in the mourning over” his death”.97 In this sense, one can draw two conclusions. One is that women are apparently easily maligned if their sexual behaviour comes to resemble what is acceptable for men (rape, unfaithfulness, promiscuity), and secondly, that they can always be accused of this if nothing else. That this is applied to politically successful women – such as Kù-dBa-ba6 and Theodora (quite aside from Inanna/ Ištar) – is an indication of nothing more than male helplessness in the face of female competence.98 92

The emperor himself quoted by Guisso, 1979: 306. Die Schankwirtin, Edzard, 1980–1983: 83. 94 Skandalöses Vorleben, Tinnefeld, 2003/2012: 319. 95 Louth, 2008: 106. 96 Gilgamesh, Tablet VI, 64; Heidel 1970, 52 = Schmökel 1985, 63; Volk 2011–2013, 266. 97 Alster 2011–2013, 437. 98 The term competence is deliberately ambivalent here. Political competence on the part of women is frightening to men: they cannot understand it and they cannot deal with it. Sometimes, like Justinian, they follow tamely, conceding their own cowardice. Sexual confidence and competence on the part of women is also equally frightening for men. Men have delusions about their sexual capacities, but they know they can never match those of women. This means that men lose their balance when trying to demean women, and fall into slandering them, peculiarly seeming to suggest that any behaviour the men consider to be unacceptable for women is per definitionem wrong – without considering that reciprocal standards set for men would have no meaning, since they would not amount to exceptional 93

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However, amazingly, Hatshepsut was exceptionally not like this: the only whiff of impropriety about her was the fact that her mother was an eager adulteress – and Hatshepsut herself is the source of this tale. Although besmirched by modern Egyptologists, no claim of the sort was associated to Hatshepsut herself during or after her lifetime in Antiquity (i.e., only the modern Egyptologists pursue the programme established the authors of the Sumerian king-list and maintained by Procopius). In this sense, Hatshepsut was unique. She was morally irreproachable and her leadership impeccable.99 As a woman, Hatshepsut did exalt her own beauty – but her real concern was the exercise of power in the interests of justice. For this purpose, Amun-Re and Hatshepsut’s beautiful mother were essential accessories. But Hatshepsut herself was morally unblemished, and she herself conducted the affairs of state better than most. If she exaggerated her deeds and demanded recognition, this was doubtless partially a matter of simply confronting society with her reality. She realised that what she was doing – and what she herself was – was not ordinary. reproaches, but rather mere accounting of ordinary male behaviour. One has no idea of how these women actually behaved. An objective view would be that if they did any of the things of which they were accused, these women would have simply been responding to their environment, and exploiting it in a rational fashion. The question of the degree to which the female manipulation of sex has become fundamental to human social behaviour – rather than being an aberration to be condemned – is an interesting issue essential to understanding human aims and methods. The line in the Egyptian teaching of Ptahhotep (line 337, kȝ.t dj.t=s n cwy=s, literally “the vagina she renders for her arms”) mentioned above, might be explained as meaning “she surrenders her vagina for an embrace” – and thus hints at unimaginable complexity: apparently in the eyes of the male observer, the girl wishing a tender embrace from her lover willingly exposes her vagina to violence. In Egyptian, “embrace”, ḥpt, is determined differently ( 𓂘 ) from, e.g., “copulation” nkj ( ), the former ambivalent, the latter implying male dominance. There is probably no uniform feminine view of this – but do they react to male behaviour? 99 Pre- and extramarital sex, and adultery were known in Egypt, but it was unusual for respectable married women to behave (publicly) in a way that could be perceived as adulterous. While proudly flaunting their beauty for all to see, even unmarried girls seemingly wanted to reserve their bodies for the boy they chose. What Hatshepsut’s mother did was hardly exemplary (but the circumstances were also somewhat awkward). But even so – in contrast to the insinuations and speculation of modern Egyptologists – Hatshepsut did not leave one single hint about anything unbecoming in her own sexual behaviour which was visible to her contemporaries and through them to us (in contrast to her mother, Theodora and Empress Wu). It is extremely important to understand that all of the endless insinuations – both by those who admire and those who detest Hatshepsut – about Senenmut’s possible role in Hatshepsut’s sexual life are completely groundless. They are all unjustly besmirching her reputation – because of their own personal attitudes about what is normal. They forget that there is nothing ordinary about Hatshepsut.

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For the Egyptians (men and women alike) a beautiful woman was a sex object, and – albeit unwillingly – Hatshepsut’s mother (aka the “Girl” here) involuntarily and, possibly biologically programmed, adjusted to conform with this identity.100 Hatshepsut did not make even one gesture publicly suggesting that her incomparable beauty was allied with the acceptance of performing the role of sex object (as her mother and most Egyptian girls did).101 And this is not unimportant: in the Pre-Modern world women were but sex objects, and understood themselves as such. Hatshepsut’s mother, the Girl chosen by Amun, was performing the role society assigned her. She understood what it 100 This remains true whatever the circumstances of Hatshepsut’s conception, because her mother acted as a sex object. This is so whether (a) the Girl was chosen by Amun as a sex object to play with or (b) the Girl was chosen by Amun as a sex object to father a child, or (c) the Girl was herself consciously a sex object and deliberately seduced Amun. 101 A peer-reviewer seems to have doubts about the potential veracity of my suggestion that Pre-Modern women largely accepted their role as largely that of being a sex-object (if they were fortunate enough to be beautiful). I believe that even without my encouragement (as offered in this paper), the reader will realise that for Hatshepsut, it was important that her mother was beautiful and attracted the god, and that the god clearly used her sexually as an instrument for his own ends. That Hatshepsut considered it to be important that she was beautiful should be evident. That Hatshepsut approved of the god’s behaviour should be evident. That Theodora and Empress Wu were both viewed as having been beautiful and desirable is clear from the records – and that both evidently used this power for their manipulative ends is equally clear. I conclude from this that these women understood that their sexual allures were the strongest of their cards in getting access to power. Positions at the apex of society were not open to women, and virtually all of the management jobs were likewise reserved for men: there was no access to the rungs of the social ladder promising a chance at political leadership by normal means. What role did they have in a world where a whole series of paragraphs in Hammurabi’s law code (§§ 16, 17, 110, 129, 133b, 141, 143, 150, 161, 166, 171b, 178, 180, 184, 103…) is dedicated to the question of controlling women?! Most of the law code assumes that men have all professions (and also that men were frequently tempted to touch women they should not – but it was only of legal interest if the desired woman belonged to some other man). Women did not have any access to any professions (except as inn-keepers, in temples, or as slaves), and yet they still had to be controlled. What was their role in life?! Managing the house, the children, and their husbands? How could they view themselves, except as being potentially desirable – and in constant fear of some more beautiful rival? It should be clear that I personally view Hatshepsut as having had eternal values that went far beyond those of most of the men who have come to power anywhere, anytime in the last 5000 years. And few of those men can be legitimately accused of not abusing their positions to satisfy their sexual interests, while many of them can be legitimately assumed to have pursued personal interests in their use of power rather than executing value-driven policies (in contrast to Hatshepsut and Empress Wu). It is rather evident that at least some beautiful and intelligent women will have been clever and bold enough to understand how to exploit this. Their way was not made easier by those who barred their way – and most women did not have a chance of much at all.

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meant to be a beautiful Girl, even if she was the highest woman in the land. It was both essential that she was the most beautiful and also essential that she unflinchingly meet the wishes of her husband and the god. All were destined to desire her sexually because of her beauty, but she was reserved for her husband, who could do whatever he wanted to her (including demonstrating contempt for her love of him).102 When the god appeared, she knew that the god’s love was be expressed exclusively in a purely sexual fashion, and because of her beauty she was expected to perform – as were all the other beauties in the land. However, in contrast to most girls, she knowingly did so at her peril. That she survived was, however, perhaps not merely a matter of her wit, but rather that for some reason the god permitted her to survive. Other girls were not so lucky, but most girls did not risk being transfixed by impatient gods. Nevertheless, most girls could not hope for much at all – and this narrow vision of their identity played a key role in their behaviour all their lives.103 102 It is crucial to realise that in the phrases cited above, (1) Seth viewed his “deed of the warrior” as performed “against” (Egyptian r) his partner, whereas (2) in this specific instance, it is stated that Amun what he did, “together with her” (Egyptian ḥnc=s). Regardless, the Girl’s behaviour conformed to the norm as she understood that the only thing the god wanted was her vagina, and that she had no choice but to surrender. In contrast to other girls, even if she survived the divine attack, Hatshepsut’s future mother could not hope that a tender embrace would follow – and there is in fact no record that one did. In the same sense, there is also no further reference to Amun appreciating her incredible beauty. After surrendering themselves, ordinary beautiful girls would find their beauty appreciated and their love rewarded with an embrace, leaving both partners fully content with each other. In this sense, Amun’s view of the Girl is confirmed to have been purely instrumental, and her love abused, regardless of the fact that the Girl survived. These incoherencies in the expectations about Amun’s behaviour and his actual performance may be significant – and reflect the lack of balance in expectations and performance on the part of both players in the unusual situation of Hatshepsut’s conception. It all makes sense if Hatshepsut was the object and her mother just an instrument in Amun’s project – as this alone assured her survival, while otherwise her beauty would have assured destruction as her fate at the hands of a god. 103 A sympathetic peer-reviewer doubts the claim that “other girls were not so lucky”, requesting mythological references. I did not mean fairy tales about women: I meant that most women were not in a very comfortable position in the ancient world; beautiful upper class women had some chances. But I would prefer to simply refer to the records from Mesopotamia (where there is far more material than in Egypt). One hint at the unfortunate lot of girls in the Ancient Near Eastern World are the references to women with children and without husbands working in the textile industry (e.g., Lafont, 2016) and the slave girls with children being sold but without any husband (e.g., Galil, 2007). Obviously, these girls could have been virgins raped one single time, or adventurous girls taking risks. In either case, they suffered from being unlucky sexobjects.

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This Pre-Modern reality makes all powerful women even more remarkable, for they broke out of a role which they largely accepted. For Wu Zhao, sex was probably rarely pure fun, generally manipulative pleasure, and frequently pure politics – but she used it skilfully. Empress Wu may have been the most successful woman of all times in mixing politics and pleasure, but was hardly alone in trying, as this was the best avenue to power. Few women dreamt of exercising power as Wu and Hatshepsut did, but this makes Hatshepsut even more exceptional, because the wide-spread understanding of the role and nature of a woman are so different from what she did. In Hatshepsut’s plan, Hatshepsut’s mother was left to play the role of sex object, so that Hatshepsut could be unblemished and not behave as a woman was expected to. Hatshepsut thus came from a world in which it was completely ordinary to expect that even a royal consort would gladly spread her legs to satisfy the wishes of a god who simply appeared unexpectedly before her (as Hatshepsut portrays her mother in exactly this way). Hatshepsut does not suggest that her mother tutored her in politics (although this is probable), but instead portrays her as a girl ready for a divine adventure. And yet – however beautiful she was and whatever she wants us to believe that she expected her mother to do – she herself certainly did not imply that she wished to be seen as behaving this way. And this is extremely confusing. Since we are accustomed to having these stories preserved somewhere – whether by the likes of an Herodotus or a Procopius Another indication is a text relating the fate of an Ur III manager responsible for a group of women who simply failed to meet expectations in grinding grain, unloading boats, whatever. They probably did not get adequate rations and were deliberately worked to death. The manager was responsible for the thousands of missing woman-days of work – and at his death, if he had not repaid the debt, then, N.B., his wife would join the enslaved women (Englund, 1991). Such women were simply unlucky. And the evidence of the nadītus in the Old Babylonian period seems to suggest that their families astutely exploited them to keep real estate in the family (my interpretation of, e.g., Janssen, 1991; Stone, 1982). One can observe that many of them functioned as astute businesswomen – but their families had left them no other options. From the Upper classes, nadītus were allowed to marry, but forbidden to have children (for fear the inheritance would go out of the family), and the woman’s property went to her brothers (Goddeeris, 2002: 87, 129). These women were doomed to misfortune by their families. By contrast, peasant girls could end up with children – but without fathers or husbands, and possibly lose the protection of their families simply by becoming pregnant, ending up destitute and working in the textile industry or falling into slavery. It would seem highly probable that many girls never had any real chance if their families could not protect them – and evidently illegitimate children made the families unhappy with them. Enjoying sex with several partners and without children – as was Inanna/Ištar’s lot – was also considered reprehensible, as expressed in the typically contemptuous male reproaches of Gilgamesh (who – as noted above – even includes a rapist among her alleged “lovers”). Some girls from the upper classes may have had a pleasant life – but even Enkheduanna did not seem to be particularly satisfied with her lot.

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or even in the Sumerian Kinglist – it means that people can be relied on to spread, nourish, cherish and maintain rumours of any kind such as those surrounding Theodora and Empress Wu. Such tales are more commonly recalled and embellished than details of great military victories. If Hatshepsut had done anything wayward in the eyes of her associates, this would mean that she was able to prevent any evidence of any kind getting out of the palace. Even the most competent administrator and terrifying manager could not possibly hope to succeed in preventing precisely such leaks in an institution as well-staffed as an Egyptian palace. It is more probable that she took the higher road, but played her role in a bewitching fashion which leaves us relating her to an early blossoming of erotic love poetry while claiming that her life was blameless in the eyes of her contemporary male critics. Instead, Hatshepsut made the Egyptian kingship into an institution which was based upon the constant and consistent performance of justice. And by virtue of this justice, Egyptians and foreigners alike would gladly serve her. She was thorough in her preparation of a cosmologically comprehensive and theologically based political order – which she willingly accompanied with threats of terror and destruction for all who opposed her.104 And she was thus efficient and systematic in executing it. And therefore, like Empress Wu, the way Hatshepsut performed her (exclusively male) job outshone most men with similar jobs. And – like the others – Thutmosis III was reluctant to recognise anything. It is much easier if a woman accepts her identity as sex object, and keeps herself to that identity. Society understands this and – hypocritically – society also demands that a woman be criticised for behaving as she is expected to behave. Thus, Theodora and Empress Wu are open to this hypocritical criticism – but the blameless Hatshepsut is not. This is painful for the critics who insist on criticising a woman for being a woman – and then they also criticise women who outperform men, as this is viewed as being in appropriately “ambitious” (presumably because most men in positions of power make mediocre leaders). Today, things are allegedly different. However, reality is a bit different from the ideal. One question to be posed is thus whether modern men are still dominated by this mentality (that women are sex objects), and that it prevents them from seeing women (and themselves) for what they are. And the other question concerns the degree to which modern women are perfectly willing to argue that it is correct to cultivate and celebrate their own sexual attractiveness and beauty – and still aim at moulding society in a fashion which corresponds to human needs and desires, rather than accepting the (presumably male) model of trying to insist that the ideal world is one based on viewing the world as a playpen in which to live out purely egoistic dreams of pointless com-

104

E.g., Urk. IV: 341, 13–16.

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petition for attention. It is odd that both Hatshepsut and Empress Wu – despite their very different sexual cultures (the one publicly exploiting sex constantly, the other avoiding that her reputation was damaged) – both aimed at improving society (in contrast to many male rulers, both sexually active and impotent in all senses). Conclusion It is probably not insignificant that the two women who succeeded in a male world – Empress Wu and Hatshepsut – both aspired to creating a more just and better society, whereas men in power seem intent on using society for their own ends, or bequeathing us some misguided ideological imprint of how society should be. In contrast to Empress Wu and most of the others (including Cleopatra VII), Hatshepsut may be the great, lonely exception among the very great women of history in not being a sex object: neither in her own eyes nor in those of her society – and thus Hatshepsut was not only an outstanding ruler, but also an exceptionally irreproachable person. She steered her land and established precedents for behaviour and sovereignty which are exemplary, indisputable, reliable guidelines, but neither her successors nor predecessors could live up to her standards. The extraordinary success and devastating mockery of male hypocrisy and dominion – both of which characterise the quintessence of Hatshepsut’s reign – explains how Hatshepsut’s charm has left us all spellbound. But nothing explains why such people are so extraordinarily rare – even in societies which are far more liberal than that of ancient Egypt.105 References Alster, B., 2011–2013: “Tammuz(/Dumuzi)”. Reallexikon der Assyriologie 13, 443–449. Assmann, J., 1970: Der König als Sonnenpriester. Berlin. — 1983: Sonnenhymnen in Thebanischen Gräbern. Mainz. — 1995: Ma’at. Munich. — 1996: Ägypten: eine Sinngeschichte. Munich. 105

Unless it is that they are not so rare. As constituted, human societies have no place for true benefactors. Ordinary people cannot recognise them, seeking to minimise them, render them normal, and besmirch them while ordinary people themselves are mysteriously constantly falling for thread-bare charlatans who elbow their way. Societies devise laws to protect charlatans since they are the ones who make the laws, and decide upon the standards used to judge others. And that would explain why the virtuous benefactors of society are so rare: they are easily eliminated by the dishonest, both those who fail to understand the aims of benefactors – and those who recognise their goals and deliberately aim to disable them, creating an ambiance of distrust which eliminates the foundations of any system based on justice.

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Cooney, K., 2014: The Woman who would be King. New York. Edzard, D.O., 1980–1983: “Königslisten und Chroniken A. Sumerisch”. In Reallexikon der Assyriologie 6, 77–86. Englund, R.K., 1991: “Hard Work – Where will it get you?”. Journal of Near Eastern Studies 50, 255–280. Faulkner, R.O., 1978: The Ancient Egyptian Coffin Texts. Warminster. Galil, G., 2007: The Lower Stratum Families in the Neo-Assyrian Period. Leiden. Gardiner, A.H., 1931: The Library of A. Chester Beatty: Description of a hieratic papyrus with a mythological story, love-songs, and other miscellaneous texts. London. Goddeeris, A., 2002: Economy and Society in Northern Babylonian in the Early Old Babylonian Period. Louvain. Guisso, R.W.L., 1979: “The reigns of the Empress Wu, Chung-tsung and Juitsung”. In D. Twitchett / J.K. Fairbank (eds.): Sui and T’ang China. Cambridge History of China 3/1. Cambridge. Pp. 290–332. Gundlach, R., 1998: Der Pharao und sein Staat. Darmstadt. Hayes, W.C., 1935: Royal Sarcophagi of the XVIII Dynasty. Princeton. — 1973: “Egypt: Internal Affairs from Tuthmosis I to the Death of Amenophis III”. In I.E.S. Edwards / C.J. Gadd / N.G.L. Hammond / E. Sollberger (eds.): History of the Middle East and the Aegean Region, c. 1800–1380 BC. Cambridge Ancient History II/13. Cambridge. Pp. 313–416. Heidel, A., 1970: The Gilgamesh Epic and Old Testament Parallels. Chicago. Hodel-Hoenes, S., 2000: Life and Death in Ancient Egypt. Ithaca. Hornung, E. / Abt, Th. (eds.), 2007: The Egyptian Amduat – The Book of the Hidden Chamber. Zurich. Janssen, C., 1991: “Samsu-iluna and the hungry nadītums”. Northern Akkad Project Reports 5, 3–39. Junge, F., 2003: Die Lehre Ptahhoteps und die Tugenden der ägyptischen Welt. Fribourg / Göttingen. Lafont, B., 2016: “Women at work and women in the economy and society during the Neo-Sumerian period”. In B. Lion / C. Michel (eds.): The Role of Women in Work and Society in the Ancient Near East. Berlin. Pp. 149–173. Lesko, B. S. (ed.), 1989: Women’s earliest records from Ancient Egypt and Western Asia. Atlanta. Louth, A., 2008: “Justinian and his Legacy”. In. J. Shepard (ed.): The Cambridge History of the Byzantine Empire. Cambridge. Pp. 99–129. Manniche, L., 2002: Sexual Life in Ancient Egypt. London. Nadig, P., 2014: Hatschepsut. Darmstadt. O’Connor. D. /.Silverman, D.P. (eds.) 1995: Ancient Egyptian Kingship. Leiden. Roehrig, C.H. (ed.), 2005: Hatshepsut: From Queen to Pharaoh. New York. Schmökel, H., 1985: Das Gilgamesch-Epos. Stuttgart. Schott, S., 1950: Altägyptische Liebeslieder. Zurich.

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Schulze, P.H., 1976: Hatschepsut: Herrin Beider Länder. Regensburg. Sethe, K., 1906: Urkunden der 18. Dynastie. Leipzig. Simpson, W.K., 2003: The Literature of Ancient Egypt. New Haven. Stone, E., 1982: “The social role of the Nadītu women in Old Babylonian Nippur”. Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 25, 50–70. Tinnefeld, F., 2003–2012: “Theodora [2]”. In Der Neue Pauly 12/1, 319. Troy, L., 1986: Patterns of Queenship in Ancient Egyptian Myth and History. Uppsala. Twitchett, D. / Wechsler, H.J., 1979: “Kao-Tsung (reign 649–83) and the Empress Wu”. In D. Twitchett / J.K. Fairbank (eds.): Sui and T’ang China. Cambridge History of China 3/1. Cambridge. Pp. 242–289. Tyldesley, J., 1994: Daughters of Isis: Women in Ancient Egypt. London. Volk, K., 2011–2013: “Šukaletuda.” Reallexikon der Assyriologie 13, 266–267. Warburton, D.A., 2001: Egypt and the Near East: Politics in the Bronze Age. Neuchâtel. — 2009: “Egyptian History: Definitely! Myth as the Link between Event and History.” In M. Fitzenreiter (ed.): Das Ereignis. Internet Beiträge zur Ägyptologie und Sudanarchäologie 10. Berlin. Pp. 283–307. — 2012: Architecture, Power, and Religion: Hatshepsut, Amun & Karnak in Context. Münster. Wildung, D., 1982: “Naophor.” Lexikon der Ägyptologie IV, 342.

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Chronological orientation (all dates arbitrary, merely for convenience) Years 3000–2600 2600–2100 2100–2000 2000–1700 1700–1500 1500–1300 1535–1510 1510–1590 1490–1480 1480–1472 1472–1418 1470–1450 1418–1390 1390–1345 1345–1330 1325–1315 1300–1180 1180–1075 1075–715 715–670 670–610 610–525 525–332 332–30 51–30 30 BC–641 AD 270–275 AD 500–548 -------618–906 690–705

Dynasties I–II III–VI IX–XI XI–XIII XIV–XVII XVIII

XIX XX XXI–XXIV XXV XXVI XXVI XXVIII

Period Early Dynastic Old Kingdom First Intermediate Middle Kingdom Second Intermediate New Kingdom

Some Kings, Ruling Women Narmer, Meryt-Neith, Khasekhemy Djoser, Snofru, Cheops Amenemhat IV, Neferusobek

Ahmose Amenhotep I Thutmosis I Thutmosis II Thutmosis III Hatshepsut Amenhotep II Thutmosis IV, Amenhotep III Akhenaten Tutankhamun Seti I, Ramesses II, Tausret Ramesses III Third Intermediate Period Ethiopian Rule Assyrian Rule, Late Period Late Period Persian Rule Macedonian, Ptolemaic Rule Ptolemy XII, XIII, XIV, XV, Cleopatra VII Roman Empire Aurelian, Zenobia (Justinian 482–565) Theodora Tang Dynasty in China Wu Zhao/Zetian

Bathsheba and Beyond Harem Politics in the Ancient Near East Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones

According the Hebrew Bible, King David actively endorsed the institution of the royal harem within Israel’s monarchic society. The wives and concubines he acquired throughout his adult life represented developments in his very successful domestic and foreign policies; a succession of marriages and sexual alliances reflected his increasing political acumen and his dynastic manoeuvrings. The Bible attributes nineteen wives and concubines to David. These included the daughter of his predecessor, Saul, the childless princess Michal, and Abigail, the widow of the wealthy Nabal. Maacah was a princess too, the daughter of Talmai, king of Geshur in the Golan Heights; her marriage to David was a matter of state policy and little more. Ahinoam, Haggith, Abital, and Eglah were early acquisitions for the burgeoning royal harem, taken as consorts whilst David was merely the ruler of Hebron. Nevertheless, these early marriages show that David was arming himself for dynastic dominance at a later date.1 Only one of David’s marriages seems to have been motivated by passion rather than politics: the account of his courtship of, and marriage to, Bathsheba of Jerusalem, the daughter of Eliam (1 Samuel 11:3; she is called the daughter of Ammiel in 1 Chronicles 3:5), stands out from the surrounding material in its lack of apologetic tone for David’s un-Godly behaviour and is probably a later addition to the text. In one of the best-known scenes from the Bible, David, while walking on the roof of his palace, saw a very beautiful woman bathing. He ordered enquiries and found out that she was Bathsheba, wife of Uriah the Hittite, a general in David’s army. He desired her and later made her pregnant. In an effort to conceal his sin, David summoned Uriah from the army (with whom he was on campaign) in the hope that Uriah would have sex with her and think that the child belonged to him. But Uriah was unwilling to violate the ancient kingdom rule applying to warriors in active service. Rather than go home to his own bed, he preferred to remain with the palace troops. After repeated efforts to convince Uriah to have sex with Bathsheba the king gave the order to his general, Joab, that Uriah should be placed on the front lines of the battle, where Uriah would be more likely to die. David had Uriah himself carry the message that led to his death. After Uriah had been killed, David married Bathsheba. The child of their illicit union died (a punishment from God), but later the new queen was blessed with a son – Solomon, whose name means “The Replacement”, a reference to his birth following the death of his 1

On Bathsheba and the Davidic women see Ben-Barak, 1986; Bodner, 2014; Kalmanofsky, 2014; Marsmann, 2003 and Solvang, 2015.

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infant brother. Three more sons – Nathan, Shammua, and Shobab – followed in quick succession. Altogether, scripture records that David had nineteen sons by his women, and one daughter, Tamar. Bathsheba is the only one of David’s wives to be drawn with any substantial characterization. The others act simply as cyphers for their sons and are attested in the scriptures only in the context of their male offspring: Sons were born to David in Hebron: “His firstborn was Amnon the son of Ahinoam of Jezreel; his second, Cileab the son of Abigail the widow of Nabal of Carmel; the third, Absalom the son of Maacah daughter of Talmai king of Geshur; the fourth, Adonijah the son of Haggith; the fifth, Shephatiah the son of Abital; and the sixth, Ithream the son of David’s wife Eglah. These were born to David in Hebron.” (2 Samuel 3: 2–5) But Bathsheba is different. Two strong narratives are crafted around her strength of personality and its implications for the history of Israel. The first scene occurs late in the reign of David and shows Bathsheba hard at work at the bedside of her dying husband attempting to manoeuvre her grown-up son, Solomon, into the role of David’s heir. By drawing on earlier promises the king had (supposedly) made to her and by making it explicit that if Solomon’s elder half-brother, Adonijah, became king, then her life, alongside Solomon’s, was in real danger, she gets what she wants and her son is proclaimed as David’s successor: “Bathsheba bowed down, prostrating herself before king [David] … She said to him, ‘My lord, you yourself swore to me [that] Solomon your son shall be king … But now Adonijah has become king … My lord … as soon as my lord the king is laid to rest …, I and my son Solomon will be treated as criminals.’” (1 Kings 1: 16–20) For many years David’s family had been in a state of turmoil, as brother fought brother for supremacy; there had been scenes of rape, incest, and honour killings; there had been uprisings and full-out rebellions against the throne, followed by recriminations and executions. David was worn down and worn out by the politics of his own family but now the old king’s reluctance to appoint an heir from among his brood of sons had brought about the unfortunate life-or-death situation, where his favourite wife (but by no means most powerful wife) and her son were in danger of death. Bathsheba knew that if her bid to get Solomon on the throne backfired, then the rival claimant, Adonijah, and his mother, Haggith, would not think twice before ordering the execution of the rival mother and son. This was in no way a unique occurrence in antiquity, given that primogeniture was not a practice adopted by any of the great royal dynastic houses of the Near East. Rather

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than appoint a first-born son as heir to the throne and train him in the arts of rulership, kings of the Near East, like David, preferred to hedge their bets on destiny and wait to appoint any one of the (potentially) many sons born to the any number of women belonging to the royal harem. That is why Bathsheba wasted no time, in David’s dying days, in gathering the support of prominent members of the court – the clergy, the administration, and the army – in supporting her son against the claims of his elder brother, Adonijah, David’s fourth son by his wife Haggith, who in anticipation of his father’s imminent death, had proclaimed himself king of Israel. Bathsheba deftly persuaded David to give orders that Solomon should immediately be proclaimed king and, as this act was done with the proper religious rites of anointing, the elder prince fled the court. But after David had died, and taking advantage of the mourning period which followed the death of the much-loved ruler, Adonijah attempted to gain the throne once more. In order to do this, he attempted incorporate one of the late king David’s best-loved concubines, the young and beautiful Abishag of Shunem, into his own harem by marrying her. Given the symbolic significance of concubines and the cruciality of controlling the royal concubines especially, we must wonder at Adonijah’s bold effort at trying to appropriate the reproductive capability of his father’s possession. His plan to marry Abishag was a deliberate act intended to jeopardize the legitimacy of Solomon’s rule, as Bathsheba was quick to recognize. For this (potential) act of treason, Adonijah was swiftly put to death and a succession crisis was averted. We see in this story how a royal mother might work assiduously at promoting the advancement of her son, for it was only with a son’s accession to the throne that her was future was assured. And what a future that might be, as Bathsheba’s next Bible-scene reveals: “When Bathsheba went to King Solomon to speak to him …, the king stood up to meet her, bowed down to her and sat down on his throne. He had a throne brought for the king’s mother, and she sat down at his right hand.” (1 Kings 2:19) A king’s mother ranked supreme at court, second only to the king. Solomon himself never forgot the debt he owed his mother and, in the dramatic carefully scene crafted by the biblical editor, he ceremoniously rose from his throne to greet his mother and bowed before her, before enthroning her at his righthand-side, the place of honour. The benefits of being a queen mother were profuse. When acting with wisdom and energy, royal mothers like Bathsheba can be seen as dynastic guard dogs, carefully policing the continuity of the family and preventing internal strife, and while the championing of her son meant advancement for her own status, the underlying agenda of queen mothers was “dynastic security at all costs.” The actions of Bathsheba to promote her son Solomon to the throne should be read in this light. But how far is the biblical story reflective of the wider Near Eastern concepts of female power and motherly influence? This chapter attempts

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to widen the scope of the investigation by looking at the tactics of mothers, wives, and other royal females, in court societies across the ancient Near Eastern world. I am conscious that I am drawing on a broad range of evidence from several successive Near Eastern societies across a wide span of time, but I do this for a purpose – to expose the realia of the use and abuse of women in dynastic politics and to counteract any disparaging attempts amongst scholars to regard female participation in succession issues, or in the broader politics of rule, as abnormal and the products of hostile historiography.2 Some historians have suggested that the reports of intrigues, factions, and insurgences at the ancient courts are more literary motifs than authentic records of actual events,3 but it is more likely that the conservative nature of the courts themselves truly engendered repetitive actions on the part of frustrated courtiers. As Arthur Keaveny astutely notes, “Monarch after monarch was surrounded by thrusting officials and relatives. Given that this circumstance did not change we need not … wonder if, in reign after reign, they led to the same … consequences. It is the unchanging nature of court life over a long period rather than a reprise de motifs littéaires which led to the repetitious nature of the tales.”4 Corralling evidence from across Near Eastern antiquity helps normalize harem participation in dynastic life. Harem politicking at the Near Eastern courts precipitated intense domestic rivalries among the royal women and this (theoretically) wrangling had a direct impact upon imperial policy as wives and mothers went head-to-head with one another out of jealously over rank and status or, predominantly, to solidify the status of their sons. The sons themselves frequently united with their mothers, whom they saw as their champions, and turned upon their siblings as competition for the throne mounted. But why did ancient rulers like king David play this form of dynastic Russianroulette and refuse to adopt the simple system of appointing the fist-born son as the heir as means of quelling any threats of murder and mayhem? The rationale for disregarding primogeniture could have had a practical basis, of course, for in an age of high infant mortality rates even among the aristocracy, it might be considered prudent for a father to hold off on making decisions on appointing an heir until his sons began to reach maturity. Even then, there was no guarantee of long life. The long-lived pharaoh Ramses II, for instance, witnessed the death of at least twelve of his first-born sons and was eventually succeeded by prince Merenptah, the thirteenth son who only came to power because all his older brothers had died. Merneptah was probably the fourth child of Isetnofret, one of the two “Great 2

See, for instance, Sancisi-Weerdenburg, 1983: 20–33 and 1987: 33–45. See further Brosius, 1996, contra. Llewellyn-Jones / Robson, 2010 and Llewellyn-Jones, 2013: 96–122. See also Morgan, 2016: 189–221. 3 Briant, 2002: 322. 4 Keaveney, 2003: 123.

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Royal Wives” of Ramses II, a woman whom, by all accounts, languished in Ramses’ affections behind her co-wife, Nefertari who had indeed given Ramses his first-born and much-loved son, Prince Amun-her-khepeshef. He was Crown Prince of Egypt for the first 25 years of Ramses II’s reign, but eventually predeceased his father in Regnal Year 25. The pharaoh did aspire to rank his children in order of their birth, and it was Ramses II’s second oldest son, Prince Ramses, who then succeeded him as Crown Prince for another 25 years.5 But thereafter the appointment of an heir apparent was a chaotic affair and Merenptah would only assume the office of Crown Prince in Regnal Year 67, the year of Ramses II’s death. Even the plans of a god-king, it appears, could be thwarted by disease or simple bad luck. Warfare too could have a detrimental impact upon any primogeniture aspirations which a Near Eastern monarch might have harboured: in Assyria, Sennacherib’s eldest son, Aššur-nadin-šumi, who seems to have been primed to be future king, disappeared and presumably died in a military campaign. In fact, Assyrian evidence confirms neither Sargon II, Esarhaddon, nor Aššurbanipal were firstborn sons. In the court of Israel, as we have noted, Biblical writers show that king David was succeeded by Solomon the son of Bathsheba but that Solomon had many older half-brothers born of different mothers; these had systematically disappeared by ways of illness, warfare, and execution. Other reasons for rejecting the notion of primogeniture could operate on a more personal level. Kings might wait to see which of his sons showed the most potential for rulership, or simply display characteristics which he himself recognized as desirable or engaging. Anthony Dolphin Alderson’s frank assessment of Ottoman succession issues is apt for the ancient Near East too: “Far from there being any theory of primogeniture… the law of succession may well be described as a ‘free-for-all,’ in which the strongest of the sons inherited the throne, while the others … suffered death.”6 Moreover, the relationship between a king and his women, the birth-mothers of potential heirs, could dictate a prince’s future and it was common that favoured women were shown preference through the monarch’s championing of their sons. As Jeroen Dunidam perceptively puts it, “Between the sheets, crown and sceptre lost their spell. And no one could get closer to the royal ear. Wives and mistresses (and for different reasons mothers and sisters) were therefore influential … the confident served as a broker of the king’s [power].”7 This is certainly the rous undertaken by Bathsheba in her bid to empower Solomon; she plays on the love which David has for her and she reactivates memories of their shared passion. Beyond this, however, there was active lobbying for the rights and status of sons by ambitious wives and concubines who sometimes worked with courtiers and 5

Dodson / Hilton 2004: 164–177. Alderson, 1956: 13. 7 Dunidam, 1994: 155. 6

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dignitaries to promote the aspirations of their male off-spring – witnessed also in the Bathsheba narrative. The large harems of the Near Eastern empires meant that, “the presence of numerous … women stressed the stature of patrilineal decent” and, again as Duindam notes, “Succession adhered to certain rules and prohibitions connected to the ideals of rulership, but it left room for the intervention of ruling elites, and notably for those at the heart of power at court.”8 Sex as politics Duindam is correct to emphasize that, “the male ruler’s sex-drive was never the sole explanation of polygyny.”9 Women were gathered together in ancient court societies to fulfil important social, cultural, and ritual roles and to undertake (it was hoped) vital functions in dynastic continuity as mothers. The political impact which the women of the harem might have on a dynasty’s development was profound. In Achaemenid Iran (c. 559–330 BCE), for instance, the possession of a royal predecessor’s women ensured the successor’s hold on the throne; the control of the harem gave a new ruler the potential to legitimate his reign through the physical possession of a former monarch’s household. This is why, upon his succession to the throne of Persia, Darius I married numerous princesses of the royal line. In this Darius was seemingly following a common ancient practice: the Egyptian pharaoh Akhenaten inherited his father’s wives and concubines when he succeeded Amenhotep III to the throne and, a century later, Ramses II routinely inherited the women belonging to the harem of his father Seti I as a demonstration of dynastic longevity. But Darius I’s acquisition of the women of his predecessors was anything but routine; he had seized the throne of the Teispids (the family of Cyrus the Great) and had proclaimed the birth of a new dynasty – the Achaemenids – with himself as the head. In his bid for power Darius had married all the available royal women of the line of Cyrus and incorporated them into his harem. He quickly fathered children by his new acquisitions and promoted his sons born in the purple above those born before his accession – a point stressed by Xerxes himself who claims in one inscription to have been made “the greatest” of his siblings.10 We have no idea how the Teispid women themselves regarded the usurpation of power, or even if they went willingly to Darius’ bed, but it must have been apparent to them that their family bloodline and their potential fecundity made them political agents in a world in which women were otherwise without direct power. The possession of a predecessor’s harem of women ensured the successor’s hold on the throne and the control of the harem gave a new ruler the potential to legitimise his reign through the physical possession of a former monarch’s household – and the potential for sexual command over the women of any former 8

Duindam, 2016: 154. Duindam, 2016: 132. 10 XPf. 9

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ruler must not be overlooked here. For its part, the Achaemenid dynasty’s own downfall was confirmed in 331 BCE when Alexander of Macedon defeated Darius III in battle and subsequently captured his court and harem, including his esteemed mother, Sisygambis. Alexander even promoted the idea that the defeated king’s mother was now his champion. A tradition preserved in Quintus Curtius Rufus says that Sisygambis could never absolved Darius for abandoning his family post-battle and that when she was called upon to mourn his death, she was reported to have said, “I have only one son [Alexander] and he is king of all Persia.”11 The story (alongside that of Sisygambis starving herself to death following Alexander’s death) is probably apocryphal and was coined as pro-Alexander spin to justify his takeover of the Persian throne, but what is certain is the Alexander married Sisygambis’ granddaughter, Stateira II, in 324 BCE to stamp his hold on the empire. For the Achaemenids, the Macedonian king’s seizure of the Persian royal harem en masse and his marriage into the family, heralded the end of their dynastic rule. Alexander’s appropriation of the reproductive capabilities of the women of the inner court immediately nulled the legitimacy of Darius III’s reign and brought three hundred years of successful empire-building crashing down. In much the same vein, although less internationally resonant, upon his military victory and subsequent accession to the throne of Israel, king David claimed all the females of the household of his opponent, king Saul.12 Solomon inherited his father’s harem of women and servants although, as we have noted and will explore further, challenges to both David and Solomon came in the form of rebellions within the royal house when two of David’s son’s rebelled against the Israelite kings and attempted to win the royal concubines and incorporate them in rival royal harems. The threat of having royal women fall into the hands of opponents was very real. In the Hebrew Bible, Yahweh threatened David with the prophecy that, “I will take your women before your eyes” – and that menace resonated deeply with all the kings of the ancient Near East. Sennacherib’s account of his successful 701 BCE campaign against the western princelings of his empire trumpets the fact that Hezekiah, king of Judah, “was overwhelmed by the awesome splendour of my lordship, and he sent to me after my departure to Nineveh, my royal city… his daughters (and) his palace women.”13 In other words, Hezekiah showed his acquiescence to the king of Assyria by offering Sennacherib the reproductive capabilities of the women of the Judean royal house. In her ground-breaking study of the Ottoman harem, Leslie Pierce makes a vital observation on the nature of absolute monarchy:

11

Heckel, 2008: s.v. “Sisygambis.” 2 Samuel 12: 8. 13 Cited in 2006: 345–347. 12

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“Sex for … any monarch in a hereditary dynasty, could never be purely pleasure, for it had significant political meaning. Its consequences – the production of offspring – affected the succession to the throne, indeed the very survival of the dynasty. It was not a random activity … Sexual relations between the [ruler] and chosen women of the harem were embedded in a complex politics of dynastic reproduction.”14 Taking this logical idea very seriously, it is clear that any trivialization in which the harem is viewed as a brothel-like pleasure-palace fails to do justice to its central role in the political milieu of a royal court or, indeed, of empires at large. Nevertheless, within the female household, status was dependent upon gaining and maintaining the king’s favour. Beauty or at least desirability did have its role. Bathsheba is first introduced into the David narrative in a way that draws attention to her physical charms: “One evening David got up from his bed and walked around on the roof of the palace. From the roof he saw a woman bathing. The woman was very beautiful” (2 Samuel 11:1), while another text, quite unparalleled in Assyrian history, shows king Sennacherib to have clearly been smitten by one of his wives: “As for Tašmetum-šarrat … my beloved wife, whose features [are] perfect above all women, I had a palace of loveliness, delight and joy built … May she be granted days of health and happiness … May she have her fill of well-being …”15 Women who had sexual relations with the king would have had (even if only temporarily) greater status than those who had no access to his bed, and therefore we can speculate how competition to attract and keep the king’s sexual attention could be intense. The title “favourite of the king”, found with intermittent regularity in the sources, suggests that some women – but not all women – were recognized as having a particular significance in the king’s affections. Love and sexual attraction aside, in the cut and thrust world of the harem, it is increasingly clear that the position of a primary wife was not necessarily a stable one given that the king might prefer the son of a lesser wife or a concubine to become his successor. Thus, as Zafrira Ben-Barak is keen to emphasize, “Women … had … to plan and establish a sophisticated power-base capable of justifying and backing their sons in their bid for power. To this end they gathered supporters to their sons’ side from various political strata in the realm and recruited religious elements in order to obtain for their sons the legitimacy of divine election to kingship.”16

14

Pierce, 1993: 3. See further Pierce, 2008: 81–94. Macgregor, 2017: 85. 16 Ben-Barak, 1986: 85–100, at 93. See also Marsmann, 2003: 345–370. 15

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Elena Woodacre makes some valuable observations, however, noting the significant cost this might mean for mothers who launched a bid for power: “a mother’s personal ambition – and others’ fear of it – could undermine her relationship with her offspring. In cases where the political situation in the realm was stable and the order of the succession was clear and secure without threat of alternative claimants, a mother’s desire to see her child accede to the throne might be easily realized. However, when political instability was present in the realm or when the field of potential claimants was diverse and challenging, a mother often struggled to realize her ambition for them to rule.”17 Despite their best efforts, some son-promoting mothers were unsuccessful in their power-bids. But the fact that we know of thwarted attempts at accessing power proves that for many mothers and sons, the power-game was worth playing. Mother love and sibling rivalry Generally in the ancient Near East, gender ideologies adhered to an understanding of human reproduction which insisted that women were primarily receptacles of the male seed and that, as a consequence, women were only important as producers of children. In a royal context this meant that the woman who produced the son who eventually became king was automatically regarded as having the highest status amongst all other women, having performed best her natural duty to state and gods. The best evidence of powerful women in the Near East relates, therefore, to king’s mothers rather than wives or concubines. The Neo-Assyrian kings were conscious of the role played by their mothers in their God-given progress to the throne, as Sennacherib writes in one of his inscriptions: “The mistress of the gods, the mistress of creation, looked favourably in the womb of the mother who bore me …”, while, after his official recognition as Crown Prince, Aššurbanipal wrote a letter in which lauds the virtues of his deceased mother: “Aššur and Šamaš decreed for me the Crown Princeship of Assyria on account of her righteousness.”18 This concept is located in Israelite royal ideology too: “For you created my innermost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am … wonderfully made.”19 Ellen Weber Libby’s psychoanalytical study of the bond between mothers and favourite sons exposes some interesting factors which we can see clearly operating within the gender-segregated world of ancient harem societies. Favourite sons, she argues, tend to fill the voids in their mothers’ emotional lives created by husbands who are literally or emotionally absent or preoccupied; these women train their favoured sons to replace theses older, adored, men. Emerging from the erro17

Woodacre, 2015: 2. Macgregor, 2017: 105. 19 Psalm 139: 13–16. 18

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neous belief that they have replaced their fathers, mothers’ favourite sons tend to grow up vulnerable to sociopathic behaviours, and are egocentric and comparatively ill-prepared for the trials of real life.20 They rely on their mothers all the more. In Persia, in the so-called “Harem Inscription”, a text recalling his succession to the throne, Xerxes designates himself maθišta (literally, “the greatest”): “Darius had other sons, but – thus was [the god] Ahuramazda’s desire – my father Darius made me the greatest [maθišta] after him. When my father Darius went away from the throne, by the grace of Ahuramazda I became king on my father’s throne.” (XPf §4–5 = Xerxes, Persepolis Inscription f, lines 4–5) Xerxes’ text is full of confidence and bravado, but is perhaps more hyperbole than reality, at least if we choose to follow the story of Darius’ succession as told by Herodotus who reports of a “violent struggle” which erupted between Darius’ many sons. Xerxes, born to Darius after he had ascended the throne, emerges victorious because he plays the “porphyrogeniture card” and thereby pulls rank over his brothers, the sons born to Darius while he was still a private man.21 In the Harem Inscription Xerxes makes no mention of his mother, Atossa, and it is left to Herodotus to note how she, as Cyrus the Great’s eldest daughter, “had all the power” and manoeuvred to secure the throne for her first-born son, a facet of the story we should take seriously. Although Herodotus’ foregrounding of Atossa’s power and influence does not sit well with the scant mentions of her in authentic Persian sources (only six texts from Persepolis refer to “Udusana” – Atossa – and they can both be dated before Xerxes’ birth to c. 500/499 BCE), it is probable that she only rose to real prominence after the accession of Xerxes when she became the undisputed head of the harem. Before that time she, like many other royal women before and after her, must have spent a considerable time operating behind the scenes. However, when a younger son ascended the throne he would, in a way, owe his position to his mother, for it was she who had received the king’s seed and it was thus though her that he achieved legitimacy to the throne, regardless of his mother’s rank. The fact that his mother had been the sexual companion of the king bestowed a dynastic legitimacy on the offspring of that union. As Sarah Melville states, a “woman’s association with the king as his wife and receptacle of his seed gives her son status, but only in retrospect, after he is chosen heir. Mothers gain prestige only when their sons are chosen for kingship.”22 Upon the king’s death, however, mothers gained the highest court status. Widowhood propelled the royal mother into untouchable authority.

20

Libby, 2010. Hdt. 7.2–3. 22 Melville, 2004: 37–57, esp. 56. 21

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In systems of absolute government, succession issues were the primary concern of the king. Having many children certainly assured that the throne would stay within the dynasty and the advantages of having many sons to be potential heirs and to act as governors and military leaders and having numerous daughters to use as marriage pawns were clear. The drawback, however, was that the large number of male heirs increased the chance of rebellion and civil war. Competition between siblings was, it appears, part of the fabric of daily life at court. In Israel a major rebellion erupted against king David when his son Absalom decided to break from his father and establish a rival royal court in Hebron. The catalyst for this revolt had been the rape and deflowering of princess Tamar by her half-brother prince Ammon. Absalom, determined to avenge his full bloodsister had Ammon murdered and for this action, he was sent into exile in Hebron by his doting and heartbroken father.23 The whole account of Ammon’s heinous crime and of the family feud that quickly escalated into civil war is fuelled by the presence of Tamar. Her rape and shame meant that the princess could have no future role to play in the politics of her father’s royal house since her sexual violation rendered her valueless in the political ambitions of David. As Amy Kalmanofsky notes, “Tamar… can never marry nor have children. She can never become a mother in her husband’s house. Instead … Tamar is condemned to represent her father’s troubled house and embody its distress.”24 Sometime later, when Absalom captured and publicly raped ten of his father’s concubines in a wilful act of political revenge (the biblical chronicler describes the act as a “stench”), the message sent to David vividly clear: like other ambitious claimants to other thrones, Absalom was stamping his desire to rule onto the bodies of his father’s women.25 When Absalom was killed in battle, the ten concubines were reclaimed by David but, now tainted by the rape of Absalom (and with the possibility that any one of them might be carrying his child), the king ceased to have sexual relations with them (and presumably moved on to new concubines): “Then David came to his house at Jerusalem, and the king took the ten women, the concubines whom he had left (there), and placed them under guard and provided them with sustenance, but did not go in to them. So they were shut up until the day of their death, living as widows.” (2 Samuel 20:3) The disgrace within the house of David, in which a blood-princess and ten concubines are rendered dynastically worthless, compromised the whole kingdom since the sexual indiscretion of one son and the violence, sexual degeneracy, and blind ambition of the other, reflected badly on the inability of the father to keep 23

2 Samuel 13: 21–22. Kalmanofsky, 2014: 112. 25 2 Samuel 16: 22–24. Solvang, 2015: 50–66; Bodner 2014. 24

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his house in order. In the context of a society in which there was no disconnect between the virtue of the ruling house and the virtue of the state as a whole, this was bound to have grave consequences. The salient point here in the ancient Near Eastern context is that the actions of the royal family profoundly impacted on the dominions over which they ruled. Dishonour brought to the women of a royal household reverberated with dynastic consequences. The Assyrian royal family too was torn apart when in 683 BCE, several of the sons of Sennacherib rebelled against their father and killed him following his unexpected appointment of a Crown Prince – a younger prince, Esarhaddon, the son of a foreign concubine named Zakûtu,26 The older brothers were motivated to kill their father for this snub in order to take the throne for one of their number although Esarhaddon managed to secure the throne and defeated his brothers’ factions in a six-week civil war. He then had his brothers’ families and associates executed and confirmed his legitimacy on the throne with the creation of several inscriptions which clearly outlined the events that led him to power: “My brothers went mad. They drew their swords, godlessly, in the middle of Nineveh … All the gods looked with wrath on the deeds of these scoundrels, brought their strength to weakness and humbled them beneath me.” While Esarhaddon’s inscription tells the basic story, it is not the whole one since it appears that, after Sennacherib announced his choice of heir and the brothers made clear their displeasure, Zakûtu sent Esarhaddon into hiding for his safety until the time was right for his return. Esarhaddon never forgot his mother’s role in safeguarding his life and helping him gain the crown and in his later years, when he appointed one of his own younger sons, Aššurbanipal, as his successor, he was determined to avoid a repeat of the events that had thrust him into power and asked his elderly but venerable mother to oversee her grandson’s safe accession. When Esarhaddon died, Zakûtu honoured her son’s request and issued the so-called Loyalty Treaty which compelled the Assyrian court and those territories under Assyrian rule to accept and support the reign of Aššurbanipal: “Anyone who (concludes) this treaty which Zakûtu, the queen dowager … on behalf of Aššurbanipal, her favourite grandson, anyone who should […] lie and carry out a deceitful or evil plan or revolt against Aššurbanipal, king of Assyria, your lord; in your hearts plot evil intrigue (or) speak slander against Aššurbanipal; in your hearts contrive (or) plan an evil mission (or) wicked proposal for rebellion (and) uprising […] or conspire with another for the murder of Aššurbanipal … and if you hear and know that there are men who agitate or conspire among you – whether his brothers or royal relatives – should you hear or know, you shall seize and kill them and bring them to Zakûtu.” 26

Texts also name her Naq’ia; see Macgregor, 2017: 97–98.

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Here Zakûtu comes across rather as “an active party in a mutually beneficial negotiated power relationship and, from a heterarchical perspective, it can be suggested that the son and the (grand)mother legitimize each other, both gaining status from each other.”27 Less understandable are the accounts of royal mothers deliberately churning up fraternal strife and forwarding dynastic disharmony. In Persia Darius II’s influential sister-wife, Parysatis, had more than fulfilled her dynastic duty and had produced numerous healthy sons and daughters but the two eldest sons, Prince Arses and Prince Cyrus (named after his illustrious ancestor and known to history, therefore, as Cyrus the Younger) got the bulk of the parental attention. Parysatis had a particular fondness for Cyrus but King Darius favoured Arses and began to train him for the throne. Deciding to keep Arses close to him at court for training in kingship, Darius sent the younger brother to Ionia to act as the royal overseer of the troublesome area. Once established in the west, Cyrus bought the services of Greek mercenary soldiers and when, in the Autumn of 405 BCE Darius II became ill and summoned Prince Cyrus to re-join the court at Babylon, Cyrus arrived with 300 hoplites as a show of his new-found military prestige. Upon Darius’ death the throne passed to the eldest son who took the throne-name of Artaxerxes II, but the court was immediately plunged into chaos when Cyrus was found to be plotting to usurp the throne. Artaxerxes immediately had his brother arrested and imprisoned. Parysatis quickly intervened, however, and begged Artaxerxes for Cyrus’ life and persuaded by Parysatis of his innocence, the new king sent Cyrus back to Ionia to take up his duties once more. Safely ensconced in his palace on the western frontier of the empire, Cyrus, now encouraged by his mother through correspondence, began plotting to oust Artaxerxes from the throne once and for all. In 401 BCE the impetuous 23-year-old Cyrus assembled his troops at Cunaxa in Babylonia. In the midst of a ferocious battle against his brother Cyrus was mortally wounded and died. His decapitated head was sent to Babylon to be displayed to the court. Utterly devastated by the death of Cyrus, the grieving Parysatis systematically hunted down and destroyed many individuals connected to his death. Why did Parysatis pervert the role of royal mother in this way, encouraging strife between her sons and even setting her younger son in opposition to his father? It can only be explained (from the evidence available to us at least) as a blind love for Cyrus coupled with, perhaps, a clash of personality with her eldest son. Her devotion to Cyrus overwhelmed Parysatis’ vision of dynastic circumspection. The Greek author Xenophon, who served in Cyrus’ mercenary army, was clear on this point: “Darius and Parysatis had two sons born to them … [The younger] had … the support of Parysatis, his mother, for she loved him better than the son who was king.”28 Cyrus, we are led to believe was named by Parysatis for his 27 28

Svärd, 2012: 507–518, 511. Xen. Anab. 1.1.1–4.

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illustrious ancestor but also because, Xenophon (mistakenly) insists, the name meant “sun” in Persian. Cyrus was literally his mother’s ray of sunshine. Conclusion Harem-politicking could be a dark world in which intense feelings of hatred, intolerance or, conversely, loyalty, and overwhelming affection, had a direct impact upon imperial policy. Women went head-to-head with one another or with the men who surrounded them to secure their own positions and to solidify the status of their sons. Executions, punishments, mutilations, and even revenge killings were commonplace. Within harem societies all women were potential political players, but it is mothers (wives and concubines) who emerge as the skilled political operators and impassioned dynastic guardians. Parysatis’ vendettas against the individuals who had been involved in prince Cyrus’ death is proof of the deepfelt devotion she had for her favourite son and of the commitment she had made to securing the throne for him. History judges her as misguided in her actions but her instincts were, to her, right and justified. Zakûtu’s loyalty-oath is a demonstration of how much the Assyrian monarchs valued female intercession in the safeguarding of the royal house and the quelling of insurrection. The Assyrians recognized that succession periods were always times of crisis and that royal mothers had an ability to bring potential dynastic chaos to a quick and effective end. The biblical narrative which began this study, depicts Bathsheba as a wily political practitioner who realizes that her safety completely lies with her son’s accession to the throne and that only his smooth succession would bring peace to the house of David, an institution so long at war with itself. Throughout the ancient Near East effective mothers of successful heirs were willing to commit themselves to playing the long game of politics; along the way a little blood might be spilt, of course, but for the continuity of the dynasty, this was a small price to pay. Bibliography Alster, B., 1997: Proverbs of Ancient Sumer. Bethesda. Alderson, A.D., 1956: The Structure of the Ottoman Dynasty. Oxford. Ben-Barak, Z., 1986: “The Queen-Consort and the Struggle for Succession to the Throne”. Orientalia Lovaniensia Periodica 17, 85–100. Bodner, K., 2014: The Rebellion of Absalom. London. Briant, P., 2002: From Cyrus to Alexander. A History of the Persian Empire. Winona Lake. Brosius, M., 1996: Women in Ancient Persia (559–331 BC). Oxford. Chavalas. M. (ed.), 2006: The Ancient Near East. Oxford. Dodson, A. / Hilton, D., 2004: The Complete Families of Ancient Egypt. London Dunidam, J. (1994) Myths of Power. Norbert Elias and the Early Modern European Court, Amsterdam.

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— 2016: Dynasties. A Global History of Power, 1300–1800. Cambridge. Fales, F. / Postgate, N., 1992: Imperial Administrative Records. Part 2. Helsinki. Fleiner, C. / Woodacre, E. (eds.), 2016: Virtuous or Villainess? The Image of the Royal Mother from the Early Medieval to the Early Modern Era. London. Gordon, M. / Hain, K. (eds.), 2017: Concubines and Courtesans. Women and Slavery in Islamic History. Oxford. Heckel, W., 2008: Who’s Who in the Age of Alexander the Great: A Prosopography of Alexander’s Empire. Oxford. Kalmanofsky, A., 2014: Dangerous Sisters of the Hebrew Bible. Minneapolis. Keaveney, A., 2003: The Life and Journey of the Athenian Statesman Themistocles (524–460 BC) as a Refugee in Persia. Lampeter. Kennedy, H., 2004: The Court of the Caliphs. London. Kozloff, A.P., 2012: Amenhotep III. Egypt’s Radiant Pharaoh. Cambridge. Lal, R., 2005: Domesticity and Power in the Early Mughal World. Cambridge. Llewellyn-Jones, L., 2013: King and Court in Ancient Persia 559–331 BCE. Edinburgh. Llewellyn-Jones, L. / McAuley, A., Forthcoming: Sister-Queens in the High Hellenistic Period: Kleopatra Thea and Kleopatra III. London. Llewellyn-Jones, L. / Robson, J., 2010: Ctesias’ History of Persia. Tales of the Orient. London. Macgregor, S.L., 2017: Beyond Hearth and Home. Women in the Public Sphere in Neo-Assyrian Society. Helsinki. Marsmann, H.J., 2003: Women in Ugarit and Israel. Leiden. Martin, R.E., 2012: A Bride for the Tsar. Bride-Shows and Marriage Politics in Early Modern Russia. Dekalb. McMahon, K., 2013: Women Shall Not Rule. Imperial Wives and Concubines in China from Han to Liao. Lanham. — 2016: Celestial Women. Imperial Wives and Concubines from Song to Qing. Lanham. Melville, S., 2004: “Neo-Assyrian Royal Women and Male Identity: Status as a Social Tool”. Journal of the American Oriental Society 124/1, 37–57. Morgan, J., 2016: Greek Perspectives on the Achaemenid Empire. Persia Through the Looking Glass. Edinburgh. Parker, S.,1997: Ugaritic Narrative Poetry. Atlanta. Pierce, L., 1993: The Imperial Harem. Women and Sovereignty in the Ottoman Empire. Oxford. — 2008: “Beyond Harem Walls: Ottoman Royal Women and the Exercise of Power”. In A. Walthall (ed.): Servants of the Dynasty. Palace Women in World History. Berkeley. Pp. 81–94. — 2017: Empress of the East. How a Slave Girl Became Queen of the Ottoman Empire. New York. Redford, S., 2002: The Harem Conspiracy. The Murder of Ramesses III. Delkab.

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Sancisi-Weerdenburg, H., 1983: “Exit Atossa: Images of Women in Greek Historiography on Persia”. In A. Cameron / A. Kuhrt (eds.): Images of Women in Antiquity. London. Pp. 20–33. —1987: “Decadence in the Empire of decadence in the sources? From source to synthesis: Ctesias”. In H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg (ed.): Achaemenid History I. Sources, Structures and Synthesis. Leiden. Pp. 33–45. Seigle, C.S. / Chance, L.H., 2014: Ōoku. The Secret World of the Shogun’s Women. Amherst. Sharlach, T.M., 2017: An Ox of One’s Own. Royal Wives and Religion at the Court of the Third Dynasty at Ur. Berlin. Solvang, E.K., 2015: “Guarding the House. Conflict, Rape, and David’s Concubines”. In M. Masterson / N. Sorkin Rabinowitz / J. Robson (eds.): Sex in Antiquity. London. Pp. 50–66. Svärd, S., 2012: “Women, Power, and Heterarchy in the Neo-Assyrian Palaces”. In G. Wilhelm (ed.): Organization, Representation, and Symbols of Power in the Ancient Near East. Winona Lake. Pp. 507–518. Toorawa, S. (ed.), 2015: Ibn Al-Sa’i. Consorts of the Caliphs. Women and the Court of Baghdad. New York. Weber Libby, E., 2010) The Favourite Child. New York. Woodacre, E., 2015: ‘Introduction: Royal Mothers and their Ruling Children’. In E. Woodacre / C. Fleiner (eds.): Royal Mothers and their Ruling Children. Wielding Political Authority from Antiquity to the Modern Era. London. Pp. 1–8.

The Agency of Female Prophets in the Bible Independent or Instrumental? Prophetic or Political? Martti Nissinen

Women as prophets Prophecy was one of the very few professional roles in the ancient world that was not gender-specific. The ancient Near Eastern sources provide an ample evidence of both male and non-male prophets, giving the impression that gender did not really matter if a person was acknowledged as a prophet, that is, a speaker of divine messages to human addressees. The cuneiform sources know a significant number of women and other non-male persons acting as mouthpieces of the divine. In the seventh-century BCE Assyria it seems that only the minority of prophets were of male gender, and even at Mari a millennium earlier in the seventeenth century BCE, a significant portion of prophets known to us were women or belonged to the class of assinnu, that is, persons with an unconventional gender role. In the most significant Greek oracle sites, such as the temples of Apollo at Delphi and Didyma, and that of Zeus at Dodona, the inspired speakers were women; of the major oracles, only Claros employed male persons as deliverers of Apollo’s words.1 Gender-inclusiveness was not typical of all divination. In Mesopotamia, the divinatory roles that involved highly developed literacy and studies in omen literature, especially astrology and extispicy, were reserved for male persons. The evidence for women in scholarly professions is scanty at the best, and disappears altogether towards the first millennium BCE.2 In the Greek world, there is evidence of female seers practicing some kind of technical divination, but even there, the female involvement in divination is not very common outside the major oracle sites just mentioned.3 The gendered image of Greek and Mesopotamian divination is, therefore, twofold: inductive/technical divination generally belongs to men, while intuitive/inspired divination can be practiced by male and non-male persons alike. This general picture, without presenting an all-pervasive and absolute divide, may serve as the starting point when we start discussing the agency of female prophets in the Bible.

1

A full taxonomy of the gender of prophets in the ancient Near East and in Greece can be found in Nissinen, 2017: 297–304; for the assinnu, see Peled, 2016; Svärd / Nissinen, 2018; for female prophets in the ancient Near East, see also Stökl, 2010, and in Greece, Flower, 2008: 211–39; Lampinen, 2013. 2 See May, 2018. 3 See Flower, 2008: 121–215.

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In the Hebrew Bible, the image of divination is dominated by prophecy, which is the prioritized way of becoming conversant with divine knowledge. Many other forms of divination are forbidden and condemned altogether, and legitimized forms of inductive divination are much less sophisticated than the main Mesopotamian divinatory techniques. Women can be found as practitioners of both legitimate and non-accepted divination,4 but the gender balance of biblical prophets is heavily male-dominated: ca. fifty male persons carry the title nābî’ “prophet,” but only five women are called nĕbî’â “female prophet,” namely Miriam (Exod 15:20); Deborah (Judg 4:4); Huldah (2 Kgs 22:14–20); Noadiah (Neh 6:14), and an anonymous female prophet in Isa 8:3. In addition, the activity of a group of anonymous women is once characterized as “prophesying” (hitnabbê’) in Ezek 13:17–23.5 To these should be added another female prophet who is not mentioned in the Hebrew Bible but who belongs to its literary aftermath, that is, Anna, who is there when Jesus is presented at the temple of Jerusalem (Luke 2:36–38). Anna is the one and only female prophet in the New Testament who has been given a proper name and who carries the title προφῆτις.6 That only some ten percent of biblical prophets are women does not necessarily give an accurate picture of the gender-balance of prophets in the ancient kingdoms of Israel and Judah or the Persian province of Yehud. That the prophets of the male god Yahweh were predominantly male is a distinct possibility, given that the sparse documentation of prophecy in the Levantine / West Semitic world knows otherwise only male prophets of male deities.7 In any case, everything we know about the prophetic phenomenon in Southern Levant in the Roman times and earlier comes to us through a scribal filter and is indicative of the preferences of the authors and editors of the texts that were to form the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament. Even the few female characters designated as prophets should be discussed as narrative figures in the first place, not trying to draw all too many historical conclusions regarding the position of female prophets in Israel, Judah, Yehud, or Judea. The agency of the female prophets is, therefore, to be understood as a literary construct created by the scribes for their audiences. Some of the characters may

4

For women’s divination in the Hebrew Bible, see Hamori, 2015. General studies in the female prophets in the Hebrew Bible include Fischer, 2002; Gafney, 2008; Williamson, 2010; Brenner-Idan, 2015: 58–67; Hamori, 2015; Lee, 2019; Nissinen, 2019b (Engl. 2019a: 127–52). 6 In addition, Philip’s four anonymous daughters are said to prophesy in Acts 21:9, and the self-proclaimed προφῆτις of Rev 2:20 is given the nickname Jezebel. 7 Cf. Stökl, 2009. The Levantine / West Semitic documentation of prophecy consists of a small number of texts: the plaster texts from Deir Alla (El); the Zakkur stela (Baalshamayin); the Amman Citadel Inscription (Milcom), and two or three letters from Lachish (SBLWAW 41, nos. 136–141). 5

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carry historical reminiscences of the socio-political impact of women acting as prophets, while others are purely legendary. Agencies of the prophets With “agency” I refer to the capacity of a person to act and function within a social environment.8 There are different types of agency corresponding to the status and roles of the individual within the community. In this essay, I pay attention to the religious agency, that is, claiming and enacting of an actively assumed role within a religious context.9 Religious agency has different subcategories depending on the religious function of a person. Divinatory agency presupposes that there is a community acknowledging the possibility of communication between the human and superhuman realms, as well as persons who are acknowledged as having the capacity and skills for successful divine-human communication. Prophetic agency is the type of divinatory agency that involves intuitive communication with the divine, that is, acquisition of divine knowledge without inductive interpretation of observable objects.10 Another type of religious agency is magical agency, which differs from divinatory agency in so far as its purpose is not primarily to acquire superhuman knowledge but to bring about change by ritual means in collaboration with superhuman agents.11 Magical agency typically conflates with ritual agency, which is a multifaceted subcategory of religious agency, involving engagement with any kind of ritual practices. Anyone having a religious agency within a community normally assumes multiple agencies less defined by religion, such as political, military, administrative, etc., depending on the person’s social status and occupation. Therefore, even prophetic agency is not necessarily the principal agency of a person but is more or less combined with other agencies. The subtypes of religious agency – prophetic, magical, and ritual – are not mutually exclusive but coincide in different combinations. Prophetic agency, perhaps even to a greater extent than many other religious agencies, can be either independent or instrumental, or both in different proportions. With instrumental agency I mean the idea of the prophet as a passive intermediary of the divine word, the deity being understood as the actual agent while the subjectivity of the human intermediary is silenced. Independent agency, on 8

The following analysis of agency is based on my earlier work on the gendered prophetic agency in Nissinen, 2017: 304–314; cf. also Svärd / Halton, 2018: 25–30. 9 Cf. Leming, 2007. 10 For this definition of prophecy, see Weippert, 2014: 231–232; Stökl, 2012: 7–11; Nissinen, 2017: 19–23. 11 I have recently discussed the differences and interfaces of divination and magic (e.g., Nissinen, 2019c; 2020a; 2020b), dismantling the alleged difference of magic and religion but distinguishing between the categories of magic and divination which nevertheless may overlap. Cf. also Hamori, 2015: 20–26; Schmitt, 2004, 90–93.

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the other hand, lays more accent on the subjective capacity of decision-making of the human agent.12 Whether a prophet’s agency is to be seen as instrumental or independent is very much a matter of cultural interpretation of agency; what seems to us quite independent action in an ancient narrative may have been interpreted as instrumental by the ancient readers. In what follows I will investigate individually each of the six female biblical prophetic characters and the one anonymous group. Again, it is necessary to remind that all these women are primarily narrative characters and, as such, literary constructs of their authors. Therefore, the agencies of these prophetic women should not be taken as a reliable description of what female prophets actually did in ancient times but, rather, what kind of action could be imagined to have taken place in the authors’ and the readers’ past. Miriam Miriam is the most often mentioned female prophet in the Hebrew Bible, and the only one appearing in more than one context.13 She is introduced in Exod 15:20, immediately after the Israelites have walked on dry ground through the Sea and the waters have returned to destroy the entire Egyptian army. Having experienced this miraculous act of God, Moses sings a song together with the Israelites, beginning with the words “I will sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously; horse and rider he has thrown into the sea” (Exod 15:1). This song of praise lasts for eighteen verses, after which the Hebrew text repeats the Israelites’ walking on dry ground and the Egyptians’ destruction, saying: “Then the prophet Miriam, Aaron’s sister, took a tambourine in her hand; and all the women went out after her with tambourines and with dancing. And Miriam sang to them: ‘Sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously; horse and rider he has thrown into the sea’” (Exod 15:21–21). Miriam’s song does not continue any further in the Masoretic Text. The repetition can be explained in various ways. The song could be understood as an antiphony between Moses and Miriam, whose response is only represented by the first lines, or, rather, that Miriam’s song is secondarily re-attributed to Moses to lend to it more authority.14 The fluidity of the textual tradition can be seen in the Reworked Pentateuch presenting (and preserving?) fragments of a longer version of Miriam’s song (4Q365 6 II 1–7).15 In any case, the crucial verse repeated almost verbatim in verses 1 and 2116 is now ascribed first to Moses and after him to 12

For independent and instrumental agencies, see Hovi, 2011. On Miriam, see, e.g., Kessler, 2001; Fischer, 2002: 64–94; Rapp, 2002; Ackerman, 2002; Gafney, 2008: 76–85; Tervanotko, 2013; Brenner-Idan, 2015: 62–63; Hamori, 2015: 61–81. 14 Thus Freedman, 1999: 70–71; for the primacy of Miriam’s song, see also Janzen, 1992. 15 See White, 1992: 222–224. 16 The only difference in the Masoretic Text is the form of the verb “to sing”: ’āšîrâ (15:1; 13

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Miriam. Therefore, in the present composition, Miriam comes second only to Moses – but in any case, second to Moses. The one-verse piece of narrative describing Miriam ascribes her several roles. She is introduced as the sister of Aaron, thus providing her with a high social standing and integrating her into the leadership structure. Moses, Aaron, and Miriam are mentioned together even in Mic 6:4, where God says to have sent them before the people when redeeming them from the slavery in Egypt. Indicative of Miriam’s self-evident role as a member of a leading family is also the report on her death and burial (Num 20:1) and her position in the genealogy of the Levites in Num 26:59 (cf. 1 Chron 5:29). In Exod 15:20–21, Miriam takes the initiative after the miracle, introducing a ritual involving music and dance. She leads the band of women who play the drum and dance in praise of God. The music and dance initiated by Miriam give a response to the miraculous act of God by the people who have just been saved from the disaster. Miriam, hence, assumes a ritual agency that she practices from a leadership position, at least in relation to other women participating in the worship. The ritual initiative makes Miriam’s agency both independent and religious – but what about her prophetic agency? She carries the title nĕbî’â, and even if nothing is said about her transmitting divine words, it cannot be coincidental that such a rare title is given to her. Perhaps there is one expression indicating her role as an intermediary between God and the people, i.e., ‘ānâ lāhem to be found behind the translation “sang to them” (15:21). The verb ‘ānâ actually does not mean “to sing” but “to answer,” and in this case may refer Miriam’s response to God on behalf of the people, not to them.17 Even according to this interpretation, Miriam does not act as God’s mouthpeace, but she communicates with him anyway, combining the prophetic and ritual agencies. A more distinctly prophetic agency of Miriam is discussed in Numbers 12, a story which is essentially about prophetic authority. This narrative tells about an open conflict between Moses and Miriam, supported by her brother Aaron. Miriam and Aaron express their disapproval of the marriage of Moses with a Cushite woman and come to him asking: “Has the Lord spoken only through Moses? Has he not spoken through us also?” (12:2). This question clearly marks Miriam’s and Aaron’s prophetic agency, since the expression dibber bĕ- means exactly God’s speaking through them. At the same time, however, this agency is called into question – not by Moses who is described as being “very humble” (12:3), but by God himself. God says: “When there are prophets among you, I the Lord make myself known to them in visions; I speak to them in dreams. Not so with my cohortative sg. 1.) vs. šîrû (15:21; imperative pl. 3.); note that both the Septuagint (Ἄισωμεν), the Peshitta (nšbḥ/šbḥyn) and the Vulgate (cantemus) read a first person plural form in both verses. 17 Cf. Fischer, 2002: 66–67.

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servant Moses; he is entrusted with all my house. With him I speak face to face – clearly, not in riddles; and he beholds the form of the Lord” (12:6–8). The prophetic agency of Miriam and Aaron is not denied altogether, since they could be included among the prophets to whom God speaks in dreams and visions. Moses, however, forms a category of his own. He is more than an average prophet, since he talks with God face to face (cf. Exod 33:11; Deut 34:10). Miriam (but not Aaron) is first punished with leprosy because of her rebellion, but finally only becomes shut out of the camp for seven days. In Numbers 12, Miriam’s social, ritual, and theological positioning differs drastically from Exod 15. Miriam is humiliated, becoming (ritually) excommunicated for a period of seven days as if she was impure and thus excluded from any ritual performance (cf. Lev 13:46; Num 5:2). Her prophetic agency is decidedly independent in Numbers 12, and this is precisely the reason why her leadership is disputed if not ridiculed.18 If the contradictory and conflicted presentation of Miriam’s agency goes back to controversies of the Second Temple period, as many scholars have assumed with good grounds,19 then Miriam’s agency as a narrative character is also political, as it is a part of the once-political agenda of the text itself. Deborah With Deborah, we enter into an entirely different divinatory landscape with a woman who presides over a variety of functions, and whose authority is not called into question by anyone. Deborah is introduced in the narrative of Judges 4 concerning a war between the Canaanites and the Israelite tribes of Naphtali and Zebulun.20 She also plays a role in the subsequent poem, the so-called “Song of Deborah,” in Judges 5. She is introduced not only as ’iššâ nĕbî’â, “prophet woman,” but also as ’ēšet lappidôt. This compound, often translated as “the wife of Lappidoth,” may be a pun that allows multiple interpretations such as “woman of torches / fiery woman,” or, supposing an intended metathesis of the Hebrew consonants (l–p-d < d–l-p), even a reference to the Delphic oracle.21 Even the name Deborah may be taken as a pun, since the consonants d–b–r refer to the Hebrew verb dibber denoting speaking, and the word itself means a “honey-bee”.22 Both interpretations hint at the prophetic role of Deborah, not only speaking but even

18

According to Tervanotko, 2013: 167, “it is no coincidence that Miriam initiates the discussion concerning prophecy and that God addresses her about this matter. In doing so, her own relationship with God is dealt with.” 19 See Kessler, 2001; Rapp, 2002: 178–193. 20 On Deborah, see Fischer, 2002: 190–230; Gafney, 2008: 85–93; Williamson, 2010: 72– 74; Brenner-Idan, 2015: 63–66; Hamori, 2015: 82–93; Lee, 2019: 118–125. 21 Thus Kupitz / Berthelot, 2009: 114–117. 22 For the puns, see Spronk, 2001: 239–240.

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bees, associated with female prophecy in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes.23 All these puns make sense with regard to Deborah’s agencies, which are multiple indeed. The first thing that is told about Deborah is that she “used to sit under the palm of Deborah between Ramah and Bethel in the hill country of Ephraim; and the Israelites came up to her for judgment” (Judg 4:4). This highlights Deborah’s position as one of the judges who led the people of Israel before the establishment of the monarchy. Nothing more is told about her judicial activity, and it is worth asking if it refers to any kind of administration of justice, or whether the verb šāpaṭ rather refers to the function of a diviner visited by people to receive divine judgment.24 The palm tree can be associated with a holy tree representing the divine presence. As oracular activity, Deborah’s “judging” is also comparable to the prophesying of the Delphic Pythia sitting on her tripod.25 Deborah’s activity has even other decidedly divinatory elements. She delivers the word of Yahweh to Barak, calling him to be the commander of the Israelite troops and promising victory (4:6–7), and she uses phraseology typical of ancient Near Eastern war oracles: “Up! For this is the day on which the Lord has given Sisera26 into your hand. The Lord is indeed going out before you” (4:14). She even demonstrates clairvoyance in predicting that Barak will not be glorified, because “the Lord will sell Sisera into the hand of a woman” (4:9) – not referring to herself but to Jael who was to kill Sisera with a tent peg (4:21). All this indicates Deborah’s divinatory agency, which includes even a prophetic aspect. Her prophetic role is not indicated by the title nĕbî’â alone;27 she pronounces a war oracle, and her prophetic role is acted out even ritually in singing. As in the case of Miriam, Deborah, together with Barak, sings a song of praise after the defeat of enemy forces, and in the song itself, Deborah is urged to “speak” (dibber) a song (5:12). This conveys the idea of music as inspired speech. When it comes to proclaiming divine words, her agency may be seen as instrumental, but at the same time, her narrative roles emphasize her independent action and initiative in liberating the Israelites from the Canaanite oppression. Deborah’s functions are not restricted to divinatory activities, since she assumes a very active role in the war; indeed, the victory over the Canaanites rests

23

West, 2003. The use of šāpaṭ can be compared to the Ugaritic necromantic text KTU 1.124, in which the word mtpṭ stands for an oracle. For this text, see Dietrich / Loretz, 1990: 205–240 and their conclusion (ibid., 238): “So dürfte das mšpṭ der Deborah (Ri 4,5) auf ihre Tätigkeit als Orakelpriesterin unter einem Baum hindeuten.” Cf. also Spronk, 2001: 235–237. 25 Cf. Kupitz / Berthelot, 2009. 26 Sisera is the commander of the Canaanite troops. 27 The title and, consequently, the prophetic role of Deborah has been regarded as secondary; see, e.g., Spronk, 2001: 242. 24

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essentially on the independent action of two powerful women, Deborah and Jael.28 Deborah not only intermediates Yahweh’s oracles to Barak, but even goes up to the battle with him and his ten thousand warriors (4:10), delivering the abovequoted oracle of victory before the decisive attack of the Israelites (4:14). The Song of Deborah calls her “the Mother in Israel” (5:7), and the tribes of Israel are said to have joined Deborah (5:15), as if she was in command of the army. This gives Deborah quite a strong military agency, which is clearly dependent on her divinatory agency as God’s messenger but does not turn her agency into instrumental but quite independent.29 Deborah’s leadership has been rightly likened to that of Moses,30 with whom Deborah (unlike Miriam) is not explicitly compared in the biblical text. With respect to her multiple agencies, including the divinatory, military, ritual, and perhaps even judicial aspects, and to her unquestioned leadership, Deborah is by far the most powerful woman among the female prophets in the biblical narrative. Huldah While acknowledging Deborah’s merits as the mightiest female prophet in the Bible, we should not play down the religio-political significance of Huldah, the last prophet mentioned in Joshua–Kings, Deborah being the first.31 Huldah plays an important role in the narrative about the “Scroll of Law” (sēper hat-tôrâ) found during restoration works in the temple of Jerusalem and read aloud to King Josiah (2 Kings 22; 2 Chronicles 34). This scroll is usually identified with the book of Deuteronomy or an idealized form of it; in any case, in the version of Kings (unlike that of the Chronicles32), Huldah’s oracle initiates the cultic reform Josiah executed in the kingdom of Judah, and thus has occupied a prominent position in the “history of Israelite religion,” however historical the event itself can be considered.33 Huldah, like Deborah, has an animal name (ḥuldâ) which can be undserstood as “mole” or, as in Talmud, “weasel.”34 The name may carry connotations related 28

See Brison, 2013. See Eder, 2009: 123–124. 30 See, e.g., Hamori, 2015: 88–89. 31 On Huldah, see Handy, 1994; Weems, 2003; Fischer, 2002: 158–188; Gafney, 2008: 94–103; Williamson, 2010: 68–72; Ilan, 2010; Brenner-Idan, 2015: 60–61; Hamori, 2015: 148–59; Scheuer, 2015; Stavrakopoulou, 2018. 32 In Chronicles, Huldah “is ‘replaced’ by Jeremiah at the end of the book, since the destruction of Jerusalem is presented as the fulfillment of oracles that YHWH put in the mouth of Jeremiah (2 Chr 36:21)” (Römer, 2016: 521). 33 The historicity of Josiah’s cultic reform has been both defended (e.g., Albertz, 2005) and refuted (e.g., Pakkala, 2010); either way, the historicity of the prophet Huldah remains an open question. 34 Huldah the weasel is discussed in bMeg 14b; cf. ḥoled, one of the unclean animals listed in Lev 11:29. 29

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to Huldah’s agency. Both the blindness of the mole and the shrewdness of the weasel have been suggested as characterizing Huldah, either as a “blind prophet” only listening to the words of the scroll35 or as a “cunning career woman.”36 Huldah is introduced through her husband37 Shallum, keeper of the wardrobe, who lived in the new quarter of Jerusalem. The familial and spatial location of Huldah reveals certain ambivalence in her relation to the temple of Jerusalem, since it may be understood to indicate either Huldah’s proximity to or her distance from the temple. If Shallum was in charge of temple vestments, Huldah is linked with the temple through her husband without being directly affiliated with it. In any case, the delegation sent to her by King Josiah consists of a priest, a scribe, and royal officials and, therefore, represents the political and religious high command of the kingdom of Judah. The narrative wants the reader to understand that this female prophet (nĕbî’â) is trusted by the temple and the court as an accredited intermediate of divine knowledge. Her indirect link with the temple is probably highlighted to distance her from the personnel of the temple who were to be displaced because of their wrong maintenance of the worship. All this provides Huldah’s with a distinctly religio-political agency.38 The only thing that is told about Huldah’s action is that the king’s delegation went to her, presumably to her domicile, to consult her, and that she spoke to them divine words beginning with the Botenformel (messenger formula): “Thus says the Lord, the God of Israel: Tell the man who sent you to me, Thus says the Lord, I will indeed bring disaster on this place and on its inhabitants – all the words of the book that the king of Judah has read … (etc.)” (2 Kgs 22:15). Huldah’s agency is not only presented as a decidedly prophetic one, but also depicted in a quite instrumental and impersonal manner. She does nothing but transmits the divine word, has no interpretation to add to it, and does not act in any way that would highlight her personal initiative. What she says is for the first part “a patchwork from expressions the occur in the book of Jeremiah,”39 and even otherwise, being embedded in the narrative of Joshua–Kings, permeates with Deuteronomistic language.40 The whole story can be seen as fulfilling the ideals about a king consulting and observing the Torah (Deut 17:18–20), which is mediated by a prophet like Moses raised up by God (Deut 18:15–22). Hence, at least indirectly, Huldah is presented as a follower of Moses himself.41 However, her prophetic agency is 35

Thus Römer, 2013. Thus Scheuer, 2015: 113–123. 37 In the Greek text of Codex Vaticanus, Huldah appears as Shallum’s mother. 38 That is, on a narrative level. In my view, the text does not give enough evidence of a historical character having been either a prophet of Asherah (thus Edelman, 1994) or a proponent of the Deuteronomistic movement (thus Ilan, 2010). 39 Römer, 2016: 521; cf. idem., 2013. 40 See Weems, 2003; Ilan, 2010. 41 See Fischer, 2002: 182–185. 36

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subordinate to the divine agency represented by the scroll. This, again, connects Huldah with the agency of the scribes as transmitters of the divine word. The scribes who authored the narrative do not feature Huldah as anything but the mouthpiece of God, presenting her agency as instrumental rather than independent. A dash of independence in Huldah’s agency may, however, be heard in her “cunningness” suggested by her name and visible in her “ambiguous and agreeable”42 oracle to the king in proclaiming the destruction of Jerusalem while promising that the king will not need to see it with his own eyes: “I will gather you to your ancestors, and you shall be gathered to your grave in peace; your eyes shall not see all the disaster that I will bring on this place” (2 Kgs 22:20//2 Chr 34:28). As the story continues, it becomes clear that Josiah was killed by Pharaoh Necho at Megiddo but, later on, his remains were indeed gathered and buried in Jerusalem (2 Kgs 23:29–30//2 Chr 35:20–24). Thus, contrary to the widespread opinion, Huldah’s oracle did, indeed, come true: Josiah was buried in his own tomb and never had to witness the destruction of Jerusalem.43 Huldah’s activity is not set in the temple, neither does she perform a ritual in the place where the king’s delegation come to consult her. While Huldah, thus, is not given an independent ritual agency, her activity is embedded within a larger ritual context. The act of reading the scroll that caused the king to rend his garment, the king’s request for an oracle about the scroll, and the prophecy delivered by Huldah can be seen as a sequence of ritual responses to the scroll itself.44 Even the burial of Josiah after his death can be seen as concluding the ritual sequence of which Huldah’s oracle form an essential part. Huldah, hence, is provided with a ritual agency, however indirect and instrumental. Another indicator of Huldah’s indirect ritual agency is her location which distances her spatially from the temple but associates her with it through her husband Shallum. He is presented as the keeper of the wardrobe, that is, the curator of vestments who would have had to do with the king’s garments as well – presumably both the one he rent and the one in which he was wrapped for his burial.45 This is probably the reason why Shallum is mentioned: not primarily to identify the female prophet through her husband but to provide her with an institutional and material link to “the material objects, ritual actions, and very bodiliness of the Jerusalem temple cult itself.”46

42

Scheuer, 2015: 121. Stavrakopoulou, 2018: 287–288. 44 See ibid., 283. 45 Cf. ibid., 289–290. 46 Ibid., 291. 43

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Noadiah The fourth female prophet carrying a personal name is Noadiah who is mentioned once in the book of Nehemiah.47 Nehemiah was the official of the Persian king who came to Jerusalem to organize the restoration of the walls of the city. As the implied author of his “memoire,” he reports the manifold hardships in fulfilling this task and the enduring opposition of the local elites against it. Among his opponents are not only his archenemies Tobiah and Sanballat but even prophets: “Remember Tobiah and Sanballat, O my God, according to these things that they did, and also the prophetess Noadiah and the rest of the prophets who wanted to make me afraid” (Neh 6:14). The perspective is entirely that of the omniscient narrator who speaks in Nehemiah’s voice and constructs the political scenery in Jerusalem in his time,48 including the cooption and refusal of prophets.49 The mention of prophets is noteworthy for several reasons. First, the book of Ezra-Nehemiah does not otherwise mention any other contemporary prophets, only the prophets of the past.50 Second, Nehemiah tells a little earlier that he had been accused in an anonymous letter of putting up prophets to proclaim him king of Jerusalem (6:7). He also tells about the false prophecy (nĕbû’â) of Shemaiah son of Delaiah, who had asked him to hide away in the temple lest he might be killed (6:10–13). Nehemiah denies all this as pure intimidation and denigration. Third, the text suggests there were several prophets in Jerusalem who were against Nehemiah, and since Noadiah’s name is specifically mentioned, she seems to assume a leading role among those prophets. The text gives the impression that there were still (or: again) prophets in Jerusalem after the destruction of the city and the temple one-and-half a century earlier, perhaps a group continuing the old prophetic tradition. For some reason, this group found itself in opposition to the religio-political authority represented by Nehemiah and felt itself threatened by his activity.51 These prophets – if not all prophets52 – sided with the people who were not happy with Nehemiah’s undertakings.

47

On Noadiah, see Carroll, 1992; Fischer, 2002: 255–273; Nissinen, 2006: 30–35 (= 2019: 577–595); Gafney, 2008: 111–14; Williamson, 2010: 65–67; Brenner-Idan, 2015: 61–62; Hamori, 2015: 186–188. Note that in the Septuagint, Noadiah appears as a male person (2 Esdr 16:14: τῷ Νωαδια τῷ προφήτη). 48 This is demonstrated by Clines, 1990, with just warnings against taking the narrative at face value for the purposes of history-writing. 49 Cf. Carroll, 1992: 90. 50 I.e., Haggai and Zechariah in Ezra 5:1–2; 6:14 and anonymous prophets in Ezra 9:11; Neh 9:26, 30, 32. On prophets in Ezra–Nehemiah, see Grabbe, 2018. 51 Miriam’s opposition to Moses in Numbers 12 has been interpreted along similar lines; cf. Carroll, 1992: 94–95; Kessler, 2001; Rapp, 2002: 178–193; Fischer, 2002: 266–271. 52 As Carroll, 1992: 88 points out, Haggai and Zechariah, that is, figures of the past, are the only prophets who stand for what the writers of Ezra–Nehemiah stood for.

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Noadiah’s agency appears as emphatically independent and political in the brief note in Neh 6:14. She is not introduced as having any kind of divinatory function, but is only presented as an opponent of Nehemiah and his policy, together with “the rest of the prophets,” who had been “intimidating” him (mĕyārĕ’îm). The same verb is used of the anonymous senders of the letter accusing Nehemiah of putting up prophets for himself; perhaps Noadiah and her colleagues are implicitly presented as its senders. Such prophets would have executed a wellknown prophetic function of king-making, whereas Noadiah and the other prophets appear primarily political actors with an agenda similar to the other opponents of Nehemiah. Therefore, Noadiah’s agency is bound up with the conflict among the servants of the Persian empire, reflecting the prophets’ potential of bolstering political stances – something that may have been reality in the narrator’s world.53 The female prophet in Isaiah 8 In the book of Isaiah, we encounter an anonymous female prophet, of whom only the following words are said: “I went to the female prophet (han-nĕbî’â), and she conceived and bore a son” (Isa 8:3). The speaker is the prophet Isaiah who is told by God to take a tablet and write on it the name Maher-shalal-hash-baz, “Pillage Hastens, Looting Speeds.” Isaiah does what God tells him to do in the presence of two named witnesses, and the ominous name written on the tablet is then given to the son to whom the female prophet gives birth.54 The name of the child is presented as a sign of Samaria and Damascus becoming subjugated by Assyria. The mother of the child is anonymous but her designation bears a definite article. The woman is often called Isaiah’s wife, but this is not how she is introduced in the text. What matters more than the marital configuration is that the anonymous woman who gives birth to the child with the God-given ominous name is actually called a prophet in the narrative set in the mouth of the prophet Isaiah. Her individuality and her prophetic role are highlighted by the title with a definite article, whereby her anonymity makes her part of the scenario narrated by the male prophet’s mouth. As han-nĕbî’â, she is on equal terms with Isaiah, but her namelessness deprives her of independent agency. The female prophet is not presented as speaking divine words;55 rather, giving birth to the child is her oracle.56 Naming the witnesses but leaving her anonymous underscores the instrumental nature of her agency, but it is nevertheless divinatory 53

Cf. Silverman, 2019: 21: “Whatever one thinks of the narrator in Nehemiah, these mentions of prophets only make sense if the audience could have accepted the plausibility of prophets still functioning in the same manner.” 54 On the female prophet in Isaiah 8, see Knauf, 2000; Fischer, 2002: 189–220; Gafney, 2008: 103–107: Williamson, 2010: 74–76: Hamori, 2015: 160–166. 55 Unless Isa 8:3–4 is not originally an oracle spoken by her, as suggested by Knauf, 2000. 56 Hamori, 2015: 161: “This woman literally delivers an oracle.”

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agency. She not only carries the prophetic title, but she also participates in the ominous chain of events including the inscription of the son’s name by Isaiah, the sexual intercourse between the two, the parturition of the son by herself, and, eventually, the fulfilment of the divine word concerning the wealth of Damascus and the spoil of Samaria that will be carried away by the king of Assyria. She is not given independent initiative of any kind; however, acting in tandem with Isaiah she is not left without agency either.57 The women “prophesying” in Ezekiel 13 Ezekiel 13 consists of two sections concerning people who are presented as false prophets. The first section (13:1–16) condemns male “prophets of Israel” who are prophesying “out of their own imagination” (13:2: mil-libbām). The nature of these prophets is characterized as “seeing false visions and uttering lying divination” (13:8: han-nĕbî’îm ha-ḥōzîm šāw’ we-haq-qōsĕmîm kāzāb), which seems to refer to verbal prophecy allegedly based on visionary divination. The second section (13:17–23) concerns “the daughters of your people, who prophesy out of their own imagination” (13:17: bĕnôt ‘ammĕkā ham-mitnabbĕ’ôt mil-libbĕhen). Unlike the men, the women do not carry a prophetic title but they are nevertheless said to prophesy, using the verb hitnabbē’. What they do, however, is not intermediation of divine words based on visions, as was the case with the male prophets. Instead, Ezekiel is told to prophesy (nibbā’) to them and condemn their practices described in a seemingly detailed manner. The women are said to sew bands on people’s wrists and make veils for their heads, thus “hunting down” their lives, “putting to death persons who should not die and keeping alive persons who should not live” (13:18–19). What this is supposed to mean in concrete terms is difficult to figure out. Entrapping “lives” (nĕpāšôt), which is presented as the function of the bands and veils, has been interpreted, for instance, as necromancy,58 but seem indeed refer to activities, imagined or real, the purpose of which was either therapeutic or pernicious.59 Only in the concluding verse of the passage the description of the women’s activity starts resembling what was said previously of the male prophets: they are supposed to hear that they will no longer “see false visions nor practice divination” (13:23: šāw’ lō’ teḥĕzênâ wĕ-qesem lō’ tiqsamnâ ‘ôd). Hence, the image of the women is complemented with two more divinatory terms and thereby made to correspond to that of the male prophets. It is probable that verses 13:22–23 57

Ibid.: 166: “What prior assumptions would need to be in place in order not to assume that when a female prophet gives birth to a sign-child, it is her symbolic action as well, and not only the father’s? Reading the story as a joint sign-act by the two prophets seems the most straightforward interpretation.” 58 Thus Hamori, 2015: 167–183 and Stökl, 2013; cf. Bowen, 1999, who associates the activity of the women with medical and ritual aspects of childbirth. 59 Cf. Schmitt, 2004: 285; Berlejung, 2003: 197.

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have been added secondarily60 for this particular reason. The practices of the women condemned in Ezekiel 13 are described in seemingly precise but ultimately vague terms – perhaps intentionally so as a part of the enemy rhetoric relying on negative stereotypes.61 An interesting feature of Ezek 13:17–23 is that the use of the verbal root nb’ overlaps with other divinatory vocabulary – not only √ḥzh which refers to seeing visions and is often used of prophets’ activity, but also √qsm which denotes oracular and/or divinatory practices always mentioned in a negative tone in the Hebrew Bible. The allegedly lethal effects of the women’s activities cannot be labelled as “prophetic” by any definition. The activity of the men and women condemned in Ezekiel 13 challenges our customary definition of prophecy and makes especially the women operate at the crossroads of prophecy and other kinds of divination – or, rather, at the interface of divination and magic. The expressions related to entrapping lives indicate magical rather than prophetic agency.62 This ritual activity has nothing to do with transmission of divine knowledge but is supposed to bring about a change in the patient’s life, in this case, the nĕpāšôt manipulated by the women. In the composition of Ezekiel, the female magicians are juxtaposed with men whose activity is presented as prophetic, however false. The point of the rhetoric of Ezekiel 13 is to deprive both the male and the female diviners of any instrumental divinatory role. Both ways, their agency is presented as distinctly independent “prophesying out of their own imagination.” Anna Anna, daughter of Phanuel, is the only woman in the New Testament who has been given a proper name and the title προφῆτις.63 She is an old woman who has lived as a widow for a long time,64 staying permanently in the temple and wor60

Cf. Pohlmann, 1996: 185–186. Note that verse 13:21, like many other passages in Ezekiel (cf. 6:14; 7:4, 9, 27; 12:16; 17:21; 20:26; 22:16; 23:49; 24:27; 25:17; 28:23, 26; 29:9, 16, 21; 30:26; 35:15; 36:38; 37:28; 38:23), ends with the formulaic conclusion “Then you will know that I am YHWH.” 61 I am indebted to Patrik Jansson for this perspective. 62 Brison, 2019: 103; cf. Schmitt, 2004; 360–362; Brenner-Idan, 2015: 75. For more arguments for the separate but overlapping categories of prophecy and magic, see Nissinen 2020b. 63 Women’s prophetic activity is also reckoned with in Acts 21:9 mentioning the four daughter of Philip who prophesied (προφητεύουσαι), as well as in Acts 16:16–18, where a slave-girl with a πνεῦμα πύθωνα follows Paul and promotes him and his companions as “slaves of the Most High God”, even though Paul is annoyed and orders the spirit to come out of her. In his own letter, Paul (1 Cor 11:4–5) presupposes that both men and women may prophesy but does not single out any female persons doing so. 64 Depending on the interpretation of the Greek text, she is 84 either years old, or has lived as a widow for 84 years; cf. Bovon, 1989: 149: “Wegen ἕως mit Genitiv ist 84 eher ihr

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shipping (λατρεύω) there “with fasting and praying night and day” (Luke 2:37). When Joseph and Mary come to the temple to present Jesus, their son, to God, they first meet the old Simeon who praises God, gives a blessing to the family and utters a prediction concerning the destiny of the child as a sign to the people of Israel (2:25–35). Right at that moment Anna enters the scene, begins to praise (ἀνθωμολογέομαι) God and to “speak about the child to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem” (2:38). Surprisingly little has been written about Anna who doubtless counts among the prominent women whom Luke presents to his readers as models of faith.65 She may be modelled by Luke after the model of the biblical figures of Hannah and Judith,66 and she is often considered a female counterpart to Simeon.67 That Anna never leaves the temple but worships there fasting and praying not only makes her appear as an ascetic68 but also provides her with a distinctly ritual agency. Even the verbs λατρεύω and ἀνθομολογέομαι describe her activity in ritual terms, giving the impression that Anna was permanently associated with the temple. Given the virtually non-existent evidence of women’s ritual roles in the context of the Second Temple, the ritual aspect alone makes Luke’s description of Anna noteworthy. Anna’s prophetic agency has rarely been highlighted, despite her prophetic title. Presumably, however, Luke’s choice of the title προφῆτις is not arbitrary but indicates that the readers should appreciate Anna as a prophet. It has been claimed that Anna does not utter an oracle; instead, “her herald’s role is rather to spread the word about this child acknowledged by Simeon.”69 There is no need, however, to let Anna’s agency be overshadowed by Simeon’s. It is Anna and not Simeon whom Luke calls a prophet, and her appearance on the stage “at that very moment” (2:38: αὐτῇ τῇ ὥρᾳ ἐπιστᾶσα) highlights the unsolicited nature of her performance, which is described as “speaking” about the child. This probably implies more than just talking about him; rather, the verb λαλέω should indeed be understood as inspired prophetic proclamation70 juxtaposed with the equally ominous sign (σημεῖον) mentioned by Simeon (2:34). Anna’s prophecy is addressed to those who await the redemption of Israel. This audience can be understood in the

gegenwärtiges Alter als die Dauer ihrer Witwenschaft.” 65 See Hultgren, 2009. 66 Cf. ibid.: 37. Hannah uttered a song of praise (1 Sam 2:1–10) and was considered a prophet in rabbinic tradition (bMeg 14a; cf. Hamori, 2015: 102–103), whereas Judith was a widow who fasted continually (Jdt 8:6), served God day and night (11:17), and awaited the deliverance of Jerusalem (13:4–5). 67 For pairing men and women in Luke–Acts, see D’Angelo, 1999: 181–184. 68 Thus Brenner-Idan, 2015: 66. 69 Fitzmyer, 1970: 423. Even according to D’Angelo, 1999: 186, “Luke gives Anna no prophetic oracle.” 70 For prophets as subjects of λαλέω, cf. Luke 1:70; Acts 28:25; 1 Cor 14:29.

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light of Simeons prayer, in which the salvation is prepared for all peoples – the gentiles as well as the tribes of Israel who, in Luke’s words, “earnestly worship day and night,” hoping for God’s promise to come true (Acts 26:6–7).71 Thus, the prophetic agency of Anna is firmly embedded in the theological context of Luke– Acts, even though after her, women are not given prophetic roles in the Gospel of Luke.72 The multiple (gendered) agencies of the female prophets The agency perspective has turned out to be helpful in differentiating the roles and functions of female persons who are called prophets in the biblical narrative. The female prophets mentioned in the Hebrew Bible do not form a uniform group – in fact, their social and religious profiles are surprisingly diverse because of their different agencies. There is a surprising amount of variation in their agencies both compared to each other and to the male prophets of the Hebrew Bible. I demonstrate this with comments to the following figure, in which the bullseye ◎ denotes instrumental agency, the fisheye ◉ stands for independent agency, and the bullet • indicates indirect agency: prophetic

ritual

Miriam

◉

Deborah

political

leadership

◉

◉

◉

◉

◉

◉

◉

Huldah

◎

•

◎

Noadiah

•

Anon (Isa 8)

◎

Anna

◉ ◎ ◉

Anon (Ezek 13) ◎

magical

military ◉

◉

•

◉

◉

The agencies of the female prophets mentioned in the Hebrew Bible and in New Testament can be divided in six types, of which three – prophetic, ritual, and magical agency – are clearly religious, whereas the other three – political, military, and leadership – are not primarily religious. The anonymous group of women accused in Ezek 13:17–23 has hardly anything to do with transmission of divine knowledge, especially if the mentioning of false visions and divination in Ezek 13:23 fulfill primarily editorial purposes to match the women’s activity with the previously mentioned male prophets. Even in Noadiah’s case, the prophetic role is dependent on her title and, perhaps, as the source of the nĕbû’â of Shemaiah. Therefore, Noadiah’s prophetic agency re71

Cf. Räisänen, 1991: 103. Cf. D’Angelo, 1999: 186–188. For women prophesying in Acts 16:16–18 and 21:9, see above n. 63. 72

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mains indirect at the best. In all remaining cases, the women assume a prophetic role that is valued positively. Huldah, Anna, and the anonymous prophet in Isa 8:1–4 are presented by the narrators as God’s instruments without accent on their subjectivity, although in Huldah’s case some independence can perhaps be sensed between the lines. Miriam and Deborah, on the other hand, are described as active agents, whose prophetic role is bound up with their leadership positions. Miriam’s position is strongly contested in Numbers 12, but at the same time, her agency is presented as highly independent. Miriam and Deborah are also active ritual agents, both enacting their prophetic role by singing a song of praise. Even Anna praises God, belonging permanently to the temple context. Fasting continuously and praying regularly, she has a most outspoken ritual agency. The use of bands and veils by the women of Ezekiel 13, again, implies the performance of a magical ritual for either therapeutic or maleficent purposes. The women who “prophesy” (mitnabbĕ’ôt), hence, have a magical agency which is generally combined with ritual agency, since magic is seldom practiced without a ritual performance. On the other hand, the anonymous prophet who gives birth to the child in Isa 8:1–4 participates in a chain of events in which the ominous name of the son is magically connected to a change in the Levantine political structures. Without assuming an independent role, she is given an instrumental agency in the magical action with political consequences. Huldah, too, participates in a scenario with tremendous political effects, but even her role is instrumental rather than independent, since she does not participate in the changes triggered by her oracle. Some other female prophets assume outspokenly independent political roles. In Noadiah’s case, this is the primary agency given to her as Nehemiah’s adversary, and Miriam’s opposition to Moses in Numbers 12 can be read in similarly political terms. Both women appear as independent agents whose resistance to the male authority is related in negative terms, whereas Deborah’s political agency, including judicial decisions and foreign politics, is presented in a most appreciative way. Independent political agency entails even leadership roles: Noadiah seems to be the prima inter pares among the prophets of Jerusalem, and Miriam is not only the leader of female dancers and musicians in Exod 25:20, but even her conflict with Moses highlights authority and leadership structures. Besides her role as a sovereign diviner, Deborah is also a military leader who not only delivers war oracles but goes up to battle, hence being the only biblical prophet with an active and independent military agency. A few words are at place about a topic that would merit a study of its own: the prophetic women’s agencies from a gendered perspective. None of the six agencies are gender-specific, which raises the question to what extent the female gender of the actors contributes to their description and performance. The only woman whose performance is presented as specifically feminine is the prophet of Isa 8:1–3. She gives birth to a child, thereby participating in a chain

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of events in which she is only given an instrumental agency and anonymous, silenced subjectivity. The enemy images constructed in Ezekiel 13 build upon the juxtaposition of male and female characters. While the male prophets are accused of verbal transmission of false visions, the women’s practices are described as pointedly magical. Magic can be performed by men and women alike and the union of women and magic cannot be considered universal.73 Nevertheless, women are typically not associated with legitimate magic, but female practitioners of magic are generally condemned in the texts of the Hebrew Bible (e.g., Exod 22:17; 2 Kgs 9:22). This may be “rooted in the broader cultural trope of the religiously and sexually dangerous woman.”74 Miriam’s gendered agency is twofold. She is highly appreciated as the sister of Moses and Aaron (Num 26:59; 1 Chron 5:29) and as the leader of the band of women (Exod 15:20–21). In these contexts, Miriam has an independent role which, however, is subordinated to Moses. This becomes clear when Miriam and Aaron challenge the prophetic authority of Moses (Numbers 12). Both appear as questioning Moses’ primacy, but the consequences are strictly gendered: one who becomes punished is the sister, not the brother. The female gender plays a less decisive role in the description of the other female prophets in the Hebrew Bible. Huldah’s identification through her husband Shallum probably serves the purpose of connecting her with the temple and distancing her from it by the same token. Otherwise, it is difficult to see any genderspecific content in what is narrated about Huldah in 2 Kings 22:14–20. The same is true with the brief note on Noadiah in Neh 6:14, unless the prophet’s female gender as such has been taken as striking enough to give the reason for naming her specifically. Deborah is called “Mother of Israel” (Judg 5:7) and the pleonastic but emphatic word “woman” in her title ’iššâ nĕbî’â lays the accent on her female gender. However, the way she performs her motherly and prophetic role is characterized by authority, leadership, and bravery in battle – things that are usually associated with hegemonic masculinity. In fact, Judges 4 deconstructs the conventional male and female performance patterns altogether.75 Finally, the female gender of Anna should be seen against the background of the Hellenistic Jewish world in which the Gospel of Luke was written. As the female counterpart of Simeon, she proclaims the redemption of Israel and, by implication, even the salvation of other nations. Her character as a widow and ascetic 73

See Stratton, 2014: 16–19, according to whom the association of magic and women is “ubiquitous but not universal.” 74 Hamori, 2015: 207. For women and magic in the Hebrew Bible, see also Brison, 2019. 75 Eder, 2009: 126: “Ri 4 kommt ganz ohne geschlechtsspezifische Zuordnung von Macht aus. Eine einseitige Zuschreibung auf etwaige ‘typische’ Männer- oder Frauenmacht ist nicht auszumachen.”

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not only reminds that of Judith but could also be compared with women who belonged to Jewish ascetic groups in first century CE Alexandria, of whom we know through Philo.76 Whether or not Luke was familiar with these groups, his interest in asceticism arises from a similar Hellenistic philosophical background.77 Moreover, the permanent sexual abstinence was even part of the figure of the Pythias of Apollo at Delphi,78 and may have been a common expectation of a female prophet in Luke’s world, however discredited the Greek prophetesses themselves might have been by Christian authors.79 Conclusion What can be learned from the study of female biblical prophets from the perspective of agency? As was emphasized earlier in this essay, the biblical prophetic figures should be taken as characters serving narrative purposes in the first place. The description of Miriam, Deborah, Huldah, Noadiah, Anna, and the anonymous women in Isaiah and Ezekiel is intrinsically linked to the narrative contexts in which they appear. Therefore, the variety of roles assumed by the female prophets in the Bible is primarily the literary creation of the authors of the pertinent passages in the books of Exodus, Numbers, Judges, Kings, Isaiah, Ezekiel, Nehemiah, and the Gospel of Luke. Miriam in Exodus, Deborah, Huldah, Anna, and the woman mentioned in Isaiah have been given a narrative role that corresponds to the narrator’s ethos and contributes constructively to the storyline, whereas Miriam in Numbers, Noadiah, and the women mentioned in Ezekiel are presented as counterimages whose activity appears in dubious light. Second, the author- and context-bound quality of each and every narrative character advises against reconstructing the historical image of a female prophet in “ancient Israel” on the basis of this source material. The prophetic figures are few and far between, representing different imaginations of what can be expected of a female prophet in a more or less distant past. Nevertheless, the texts may be read as suggestive of some religio-historical circumstances, such as the presence of female prophets in Jerusalem in general (Huldah) and their contribution to the struggle for authority within the community (Noadiah, Miriam in Numeri). Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, the variety of agencies of female prophets is significant from the point of view of theory of divination. Whenever a woman engages in inspired transmission of God’s word she is given the title nĕbî’â or προφῆτις, which is not the case in other kinds of divination women are found practicing in biblical texts.80 This certainly endorses the prevailing defini76

Cf. Taylor, 2003: 173–340. For Luke’s advocacy of asceticism, see Garrett, 1999. 78 See, e.g., Johnston, 2008: 40–44. 79 For Early Christian polemics against non-Christian oraclers, see Nieto Ibáñez, 2010. 80 Hamori, 2015, for instance, discusses Rebekah (Gen 25:19–26), the Necromancer of EnDor (1 Samuel 28), the “wise women” in 2 Samuel, Rachel (Gen 31:17–35), and the 77

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tion of prophecy as a branch of divination based on non-inductive intermediation of divine knowledge. By the same token, however, the significant variety of agencies of the female prophetic figures warns against all too strict adherence to scholarly categories. The ideas about divination may not be identical in every text, and the authors’ use of prophetic titles may not be based on exactly similar expectations. The texts discussed in this essay demonstrate that in the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament, prophetic agency can be either positively or negatively associated with a female person, depending on the narrative strategy of each text. The negative representation of Miriam and Noadiah does not yet imply a general suspicion against women as prophets, for which there is evidence from later times.81 The female prophets are presented as effective agents, whether their agency is independent or instrumental, and whether the effects of their agency are valued in good or bad terms. Bibliography Ackerman, S., 2002: “Why Is Miriam Also among the Prophets (And Is Zipporah among the Priests?)”. JBL 121, 47–80. Albertz, R., 2005: “Why a Reform Like Josiah’s Must Have Happened”. In L.L. Grabbe (ed.): Good Kings and Bad Kings. LHBOTS 393. London. Pp. 27–46. Berlejung, A., 1999: “Falsche Prophetinnen: Zur Demonisierung der Frauen von Ez 13:17–21”. In M. Oeming (ed.): Theologie des Alten Testaments von der Perspektive der Frauen. Beiträge zum Verstehen der Bibel 1. Münster. Pp. 179–210. Bovon, F., 1989: Das Evangelium nach Lukas (Lk 1,1–9,50). EKK 3.1. Neukirchen-Vluyn. Bowen, N.R., 1999: “The Daughters of Your People: Female Prophets in Ezekiel 13:17–23”. JBL 118, 417–433. Brenner-Idan, Athalya, 2015: The Israelite Woman: Social Role and Literary Type in Biblical Narrative. Second edition. London / New York. Brison, O., 2013: “Jael, ’eshet heber the Kenite: A Diviner?” In A. Brenner-Idan / G.A. Yee (eds.): Joshua and Judges. Texts @ Contexts. Minneapolis. Pp. 139–160. — 2019: “Frauen und magische Praktiken in den Prophetenbüchern (Josua–Maleachi)”. In I. Fischer / J. Claassens (eds.): Prophetie. Die Bibel und Frauen, Hebräische Bibel – Altes Testament 1.2. Stuttgart. Pp. 95–112. Carroll, R.P., 1992: “Coopting the Prophets: Nehemiah and Noadiah”. In E. Ulrich et al. (eds.): Priests, Prophets and Scribes: Essays on the Formation and Heritage of Second Temple Judaism in Honour of Joseph Blenkinsopp. JSOTSup 149. Sheffield. Pp. 87–99. mother of Micah (Judges 17) as female diviners in the Hebrew Bible. 81 Cf. Tervanotko, 2015.

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Clines, D.J.A., 1990: “The Nehemiah Memoire: The Perils of Autobiography”. In idem, What Does Eve Do to Help?and Other Readerly Questions to the Old Testament. JSOTSup 94. Sheffield. Pp. 124–164. D’Angelo, M.R., 1999: “(Re)presentations of Women in the Gospel of Matthew and Luke Acts”. In R.S. Kraemer / M.R. D’Angelo (eds.): Women and Christian Origins. New York / Oxford. Pp. 171–195. Dietrich, M. / Loretz, O. 1990: Mantik in Ugarit: Keilalphabetische Texte der Opferschau – Omensammlungen – Nekromantie. ALASP 3. Münster. Edelman, D.V., 1994: “Huldah the Prophet – of Yahweh or Asherah?” In A. Brenner (ed.): A Feminist Companion to Samuel and Kings. Sheffield. Pp. 231– 250. Eder, S., 2009: “Machtbeziehungen und Gewaltverhältnisse im Alten Testament: Ri 4 exemplarisch analysiert”. In S. Eder / I. Fischer (eds.): “… männlich und weiblich schuf er sie” (Gen 1,27): Zur Brisanz der Geschlechterfrage in Religion und Gesellschaft. Theologie im kulturelle Dialog 16. Innsbruck / Wien. Pp. 102–127. Fischer, I., 2002: Gotteskünderinnen: Zu einer geschlechtsfairen Deutung des Phänomens der Prophetie und der Prophetinnen in der Hebräischen Bibel. Stuttgart. Fitzmyer, J.A.,1970: The Gospel According to Luke I–IX. AB 28. New Haven/London. Flower, M.A., 2008: The Seer in Ancient Greece. Berkeley. Freedman, D.N., 1999: “Moses and Miriam: The Song of the Sea”. In P.H. Williams / T. Hiebert (eds.): Realia Dei: Essays in Archaeology and Biblical Interpretation in Honor of Edward F. Campbell, Jr. at His Retirement. Atlanta. Pp. 67–83. Gafney, W.C., 2008: Daughters of Miriam: Women Prophets in Ancient Israel. Minneapolis. Garrett, S.R., 1999: “Beloved Physician of the Soul? Luke as Advocate for Ascetic Practice”. In L.E. Vaage / V.L. Wimbush (eds.): Asceticism and the New Testament. New York / London. Pp. 71–96. Grabbe, L.L., 2018: “Prophets in the Chronicler: The Books of 1 and 2 Chronicles and Ezra–Nehemiah”. In C.A. Rollston (ed.): Enemies and Friends of the State: Ancient Prophecy in Context. University Park, Pa. Pp. 297–310. Hamori, E.J., 2015: Women’s Divination in Biblical Literature: Prophecy, Necromancy, and Other Arts of Knowledge. The Anchor Yale Bible Reference Library. New Haven. Handy, L K., 1994: “The Role of Huldah in Josiah’s Cult Reform”. ZAW 106, 40–53. Hovi, T., 2011: “Sukupuoli, toimijuus ja muutos: Uuskarismaattisen liikkeen ‘uutuus’” [Gender, Agency, and Change: ”Novelty in the Neocharismatic Movement]. Teologinen Aikakauskirja 116, 195–207.

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Hultgren, S. 2009: “Anna (Prophetess): I. New Testament”. EBR 2, 36–38. Ilan, T., 2010: “Huldah: The Deuteronomic Prophetess of the Book of Kings”. lectio difficilior 1/2010. (www.lectio.unibe.ch). Janzen, J.G., 1992: “Song of Moses, Song of Miriam: Who is Seconding Whom?” CBQ 54, 212–220. Johnston, S.I., 2008: Ancient Greek Divination. Chichester. Kessler, R., 2001: “Miriam and the Prophecy of the Persian Period”. In A. Brenner (ed.): Prophets and Daniel. A Feminist Companion to the Bible, Second Series 8. Sheffield. Pp. 77–86. Knauf, E.-A., 2000: “Vom Prophetinnenwort zum Prophetenbuch: Jesaja 8,3f im Kontext von Jesaja 6,1–8,16”. lectio difficilior 2/2000 (www.lectio.unibe.ch). Kupitz, Y.S. / Berthelot, K., 2009: “Deborah and the Delphic Pythia: A New Interpretation of Judges 4:4–5”. In M. Nissinen / C.E. Carter (eds.): Images and Prophecy in the Ancient Eastern Mediterranean. FRLANT 233. Göttingen. Pp. 95–124. Lampinen, A., 2013: “Θεῷ μεμελημένε Φοίβῳ: Oracular Functionaries at Claros and Didyma in the Imperial Period”. In M. Kajava (ed.): Studies in Ancient Oracle and Divination. Acta Instituti Romani Finlandiae 40. Rome. Pp. 49– 88. Leming, L.M., 2007: “Sociological Explorations: What Is Religious Agency?” The Sociological Quarterly 48, 73–92. Lee, N.C., 2019: “Biblische Prophetinnen: Sichtbare Körper, hörbare Stimmen – befreites Wort”. In I. Fischer / J. Claassens (eds.): Prophetie. Die Bibel und Frauen, Hebräische Bibel – Altes Testament 1.2. Stuttgart. Pp. 113–131. May, N.N., 2018: “Neo-Assyrian Women, Their Visivility, and Their Representation in Written and Pictorial Sources”. In S. Svärd / A. Garcia Ventura (eds.): Studying Gender in the Ancient Near East. University Park, Pa. Pp. 249–288. Nieto Ibáñez, J.M., 2010: Cristianismo y profecías de Apolo: Los oráculos paganos en la Patrística griega (siglos II–V). Madrid. Nissinen, M., 2006: “The Dubious Image of Prophecy”. In M.H. Floyd / R.D. Haak (eds.): Prophets, Prophecy, and Prophetic Texts in Second Temple Judaism. LHBOTS 427. London. Pp. 26–41. — 2017: Ancient Prophecy: Near Eastern, Biblical, and Greek Perspectives. Oxford. — 2019a: Prophetic Divination: Essays in Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy. BZAW 494. Berlin. — 2019b: “Nichtmännliche Prophetie in Quellen des Alten Orients”. In I. Fischer / J. Claassens (eds.): Prophetie. Die Bibel und die Frauen, Hebräische Bibel – Altes Testament 1.2. Stuttgart. Pp. 65–94. — 2019c: “The Ritual Aspect of Prophecy”. In L.-S. Tiemeyer (ed.): Prophecy and Its Cultic Dimensions. JAJSup 31. Göttingen. Pp. 101–114. — 2020a: “Why Prophets Are (Not) Shamans?” VT 70, 124–139.

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— 2020b: “Why Prophecy Is (Not) Magic.” In R. Müller / U. Nõmmik / J. Pakkala (eds.): Fortgeschriebenes Gotteswort: Studien zur Geschichte, Theologie and Auslegung des Alten Testaments, Festschrift für Christoph Levin zum 70. Geburtstag. Tübingen. Pp. 213–226. Pakkala, J., 2010: “Why the Cult Reforms in Judah Probably Did Not Happen”. In R.G. Kratz / H. Spieckermann (eds.): One God – One Cult – One Nation: Archaeological and Biblical Perspectives. Berlin. Pp. 201–235. Peled, I., 2016: Masculinities and Third Gender: The Origins and Nature of an Institutionalized Gender Otherness in the Ancient Near East. AOAT 435. Münster. Pohlmann, K.-F., 1996: Das Buch des Propheten Hesekiel (Ezechiel): Kapitel 1– 19. ATD 22/1. Göttingen. Räisänen, H., 1991: “The Redemption of Israel: A Salvation-Historical Problem in Luke-Acts”. In P. Luomanen (ed.): Luke–Acts: Scandinavian Perspectives. PFES 54. Helsinki. Pp. 94–114. Rapp, U., 2002: Mirjam: Eine feministisch-rhetorische Lektüre der Mirjamtexte in der hebräischen Bibel. BZAW 317. Berlin. Römer, T., 2013: “Huldah: I. Hebrew Bible / Old Testament”. EBR 12, 520–522. — 2016: “From Prophet to Scribe: Jeremiah, Huldah, and the Invention of the Book”. In P.R. Davies / T. Römer (eds.): Writing the Bible: Scribes, Scribalism, and Script. Durham, Md. Pp. 86–96. Scheuer, B., 2015: “Huldah: A Cunning Career Woman?” In B. Becking / H.M. Barstad (eds.), Prophecy and Prophets in Stories: Papers Read at the Fifth Meeting of the Edinburgh Prophecy Network. OTS 65. Leiden. Pp. 104–123. Schmitt, R., 2004: Magie im Alten Testament. AOAT 313. Münster. Silverman, J.M., 2019: Persian Royal-Judaean Elite Engagements in the Early Teispid and Achaemenid Empire: The King’s Acolytes. LHBOTS 690. London. Spronk, K., 2001: “Deborah, a Prophetess: The Meaning and Background of Judges 4:4–5”. In J.C. de Moor (ed.): The Elusive Prophet: The Prophet as Historical Person, Literary Character, and Anonymous Artist. OTS 45. Leiden. Pp. 232–242. Stavrakopoulou, F., 2018: “The Prophet Huldah and the Stuff of State”. In C.A. Rollston (ed.): Enemies and Friends of the State: Ancient Prophecy in Context. University Park, Pa. Pp. 277–296. Stökl, J., 2009: “Ištar’s Women, YHWH’s Men? A Curious Gender-Bias in NeoAssyrian and Biblical Prophecy”. ZAW 121, 87–110. — 2010: “Female Prophets in the Ancient Near East”. In J. Day (ed.): Prophecy and Prophets in Ancient Israel: Proceedings of the Oxford Old Testament Seminar. LHBOTS 531. London. Pp. 47–61. — 2012: Prophecy in the Ancient Near East: A Philological and Sociological Comparison. CHANE 56. Leiden.

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— 2013: “The ‫ מתנבאות‬of Ezekiel 13 Reconsidered,” JBL 132, 61–76. Stratton, K.B., 2014: “Interrogating the Magic–Gender Connection”. In K.B. Stratton / D.S. Kalleres (eds.): Daughters of Hecate: Women and Magic in the Ancient World. New York / Oxford. Pp. 1–37. Svärd, S. / Halton, C., 2018: Women’s Writing of Ancient Mesopotamia: An Anthology of the Earliest Female Authors. Cambridge. Svärd, S. / Nissinen, M., 2018: “(Re)constructing the Image of the Assinnu”. In S. Svärd / A. Garcia Ventura (eds.): Studying Gender in the Ancient Near East. University Park, Pa. Pp. 373–411. Taylor, J.E., 2003: Jewish Women Philosophers of First Century Alexandria: Philo’s ‘Therapeutae’ Reconsidered. Oxford. Tervanotko, H., 2013: “The Figure of Miriam and Prophecy”. In J. Stökl / C. Carvalho (eds.): Prophets Male and Female: Gender and Prophecy in the Hebrew Bible, the Eastern Mediterranean and the Ancient Near East. SBLAIL 15. Atlanta. Pp. 147–168. — 2015: “Unreliability and Gender? Untrusted Female Prophets in Ancient Greek and Jewish Texts”. JAJ 6, 359–381. Weems, R.J., 2003: “Huldah, the Prophet: Reading a (Deuteronomistic) Woman’s Identity”. In B.A. Strawn / N.R. Bowen (eds.): A God So Near: Essays on Old Testament Theology in Honor of Patrick D. Miller. Winona Lake, Ind. Pp. 321–339. Weippert, M., 2014: Götterwort in Menschenmund: Studien zur Prophetie in Assyrien, Israel und Juda. FRLANT 252. Göttingen. West, M.L., 2003: Homeric Hymns. LCL. Cambridge, Mass. White, S.A., 1992: “4Q364 and 365: A Preliminary Report”. In J. Trebolle Barrera / L. Vegas Montaner (eds.): The Madrid Qumran Conference. STDJ 11. Leiden / Madrid. Pp. 217–228. Williamson, H.G.M., 2010: “Prophetesses in the Hebrew Bible”. In J. Day (ed.): Prophecy and Prophets in Ancient Israel: Proceedings of the Oxford Old Testament Seminar. LHBOTS 531. London. Pp. 65–80.

Women at the Heart of the Tribal System in the Book of Genesis Stéphanie Anthonioz

The tribal system is not the common denominator of the identity of Israel in biblical texts, contrary maybe to what one would expect. In fact, the twelve tribes are only present in particular books while absolutely absent from the others. In the book of Genesis, tribes are represented from a genealogical point of view.1 The book of Numbers is interested in the tribal system for its military organization.2 In the book of Deuteronomy, the tribes are judged and distributed over Mount Gerizim and Ebal (Deut 27:12–13) and blessed by Moses (Deut 33). The Book of Joshua is entirely devoted to the tribal system but, this time, in a geographical perspective (Jos 15–21). The Books of Chronicles take up the historiography of Kings while focusing on the tribal question (1 Chr 2–8; 12:23–27; 27:16–22). In the prophetic library (the Neviim), only the Book of Ezekiel is concerned with the tribal system as a new earth is described (Eze 48). In this contribution our interest will focus on the tribal system in the book of Genesis, the way it is constructed, and the place or function occupied by women. At first glance, the tribal system appears to be masculine as only the sons of Jacob are counted. However, as underlined by I. Fischer, “With these narratives that emerge from a general history of humankind (Gen 1–11), Israel’s life in the promised land is written as firmly anchored in the primordial world order. At the same time, the development of the nation is told in the form of family narratives as begetting and giving birth; the great importance of women is thus quite obvious. But the women are also bearers of the promise, and they also determine the inheritance succession of their sons. In this regard, the ancestral narratives can only be compared with the narratives about the beginnings of the kingdom.”3 In this contribution we would like to show that even if the tribal system is a mas1

Gen 29–30 is the narrative concerning the birth of the children of Jacob, Gen 35:23–26 gives the list of Jacob’s children in Canaan, Gen 46:8–25, the list of the children (along with Dinah) when they enter Egypt and Gen 49 represents the blessings of Jacob over his sons before his death. 2 In Num 1:5–16, tribes are named after their chiefs. In Num 1:20–56, tribal order is given for the conquest, in Num 2, for the encampment, in Num 7, for the tribal chiefs at the dedication feast, in Num 10:11–28, the marching order is given and in 13:5–17, the order of the chiefs for the land reconnaissance. A new census is done in Num 26. And finally, in 34:18–29, the tribal order is given for the allotment of the land. 3 Fischer, 2011: 293.

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culine construction, as the children of Jacob are sons and the only daughter Dinah never counted as a matriarch, women are powerful actors in the tribal system.4 They are powerful in their relation to the sons of Jacob as the blessings of the sons are dependent upon women. We will analyze in detail the Book of Genesis, the literary strategies that exhibit how women are at the heart of the very blessings or curses of Jacob’s sons. The birth narratives (Gen 29:31–30:24) will be first scrutinized before we turn to the so-called blessings of Jacob (Gen 49). I. Presentation of the tribal system according to the Book of Genesis The birth narratives take place in Gen 29:31–30:24: according to the fiction, Jacob had to flee from his country, as Esau wanted to kill him, after the stealing of his birth right. Jacob returns to the plains of Aram and to the family of his mother Rebecca, his uncle Laban. He marries his daughters, Leah and Rachel, that is, he marries his own cousins. Indeed, endogamy appears as usual/customary in the patriarchal narratives,5 whereas the Law condemns many blood relations (Lev 18). While marriage between cousins is not forbidden, the marriage with one sister-in-law is (Lev 18:18). This is precisely what Jacob has to do, he who loved Rachel, must marry first Leah, according to the will and treachery of Laban. Moreover, Leah’s stature as the first wife is tarnished, which is not unproblematic, again, with regard to the Law (Deut 21,15–17).6 One senses that the sexual ethic of the group is exceptional and does not conform to the laws that are known in the Pentateuch through the different legal codes. The posterity of Jacob is therefore the fruit of his two marriages along with his unions with the servants of his wives when they undergo periods of sterility. The order of the births may be summarized in the following table: Leah Gen 29: 31–35

Gen 30: 3–8 Gen 30: 9–13

4

Bilhah, servant of Rachel

Zilpah, servant of Leah

Rachel

Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah Dan, Naphtali Gad, Asher

“Not Counted but Valued” says Hieke, 2011: 186, concerning Gen 46:8–27; Exod 6:15. Abraham marries his half-sister Sarai (Gen 20:12 in contradiction with the stipulation of Lev 18:9; 20:17; Deut 27:22), Nahor marries his niece Milka (Gen 11:29), Isaac his cousin Rebecca (Gen 24:15), Esau his cousin Mahalath (Gen 28:9). 6 Wells, 2010: 131–146; id., 2011: 101–129; Carmichael, 1982: 505–520. 5

Women at the Heart of the Tribal System in the Book of Genesis

Leah Gen 30: 14–21

Bilhah, servant of Rachel

Zilpah, servant of Leah

187

Rachel

Issachar, Zebulun, Dinah

Gen 30: 23–24

Joseph

By the end of this narrative, the number twelve is attained only if the birth of Dinah is counted. However, the births of Jacob’s sons are not over, and the narrative continues in the following way: Leah

Bilhah

Zilpah

Gen 35: 16–19 Gen 41: 50–52

Rachel Benjamin

Asenath

Manasseh, Ephraim

Benjamin is born in Gen 35:16–19 on the way from Bethel to Ephrath, where his mother Rachel dies. Even if they are the sons of Joseph and Asenath, daughter of the priest Potiphera, and are born in Egypt, Manasseh and Ephraim, are recognized by Jacob as his own sons before his death, just as his first-born Reuben and Simeon (Gen 48:5). One has to note that the marriage of Joseph, referring to an exogamic principle, debated elsewhere in biblical texts, is here no hindrance for the sons to belong to Jacob. In these narratives, filled with anecdotes, such as Rachel’s jealousy, or the mandragoras of Leah, (narratives which are not necessary here to develop), one can imagine that the order of the births, the identity of the mother, are essential elements in the construction of the identity and importance of the tribes.7 Indeed, in the text usually called the blessings of Jacob (Gen 49), one is struck by the fact that for at least three of the tribes, Leah’s firstborn, Reuben, Simeon and Levi, the blessing is rather a curse. Strikingly, the judgement of these tribes is dependent upon a woman’s destiny. Before starting a detailed analysis of the blessings of Jacob (Gen 49), let us recall the general structure of the text, which is presented as a collection of sayings, each addressed by Jacob to a son, Dinah having been replaced by Benjamin, whom Rachel gave birth to on the way.

7

See Hieke, 2011: 151–192; id., 2003: 278–297.

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Table of the Sons of Jacob / Israel according to the Blessings of Jacob (Gen 49) Gen 49: 3–15

Leah Reuben, Simeon-Levi, Judah, Zebulun, Issachar

Gen 49: 16–18 Gen 49: 19 Gen 49: 20 Gen 49: 21 Gen 49: 22–27

Bilhah

Zilpah

Rachel

Dan Gad Asher Naphtali Joseph, Benjamin

The narrative has for a long time been considered inconsistent so that at least two hands have been identified in the scribal process. According to R. de Hoop, Jacob’s blessings should belong to the deathbed account covering Gen 47:29– 49:33.8 The genre is defined as testamentary sayings and should be compared to royal literature. Two strata are identified: the older one defined as pro-josephite, which should be situated in Sichem, around 1250 BCE, and the more recent as pro-judean, aiming at the legitimation and justification of Judah, the youngest son of Leah, this stratum dated to the Solomonic era. Such dating is at times defended,9 but more often criticized. According to J.-D. Macchi, one should distinguish the sayings concerning the six small tribes (Zebulun, Issachar, Dan, Gad, Asher and Naphtali), because of their style and size.10 A chiastic structure is identified according to the thematic content of the blessing (Gen 49:13–21): A Zebulun B Issachar C Dan C’ Gad B’ Asher A’ Naphtali

8

trade taxes war war taxes trade

De Hoop, 2007. Hendel, 2012: 52–54. 10 Macchi, 1999: 179–183. 9

(direct speech) (metaphor) (metaphor) (direct speech) (direct speech) (metaphor)

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Because the order of the tribes corresponds to no other in the biblical sources, the author proposes that it should be considered an integrated source later introduced into the blessings. This source should be viewed as of Northern origin, at the time of the prosperous reign of king Omri during the IXth century.11 This list would match political criteria and concern every entity coming under the authority of the Northern kingdom. The end of the monarchy and the loss of many territories would have prompted a symbolical reorganization of the land, distinguishing the twelve from the vast region of Transeuphratia.12 The concept of the twelve is therefore not specifically Judean, as both North and South have the advantage of reaffirming their unity and identity.13 From our point of view, there is no doubt that the “six small tribes” according to J.-D. Macchi represent buffer zones at times distanced from the mountain of Ephraim, heart of the Northern kingdom, or from the Judean hills. However, should one consider these as an independent source just because their order is attested nowhere else? After all, the order of the “six tribes of Leah,” according to the analysis of M. Noth, is still respected with the only inversion of the last two, Issachar et Zebulun?14 This order is indeed the one found in Gen 35:23–26 and 46:8–27 and seems to be authoritative for the scribes. Moreover, are questions of political geography the only issues of the blessings’ redaction? We must therefore analyze the narrative of the blessings in greater details with particular attention to the tribes whose blessing or curse are dependent upon a woman. II. Women and sex in the service of curse and blessing One should start the analysis of the blessings of Jacob keeping in mind that they begin in chapter 48, when Ephraim et Manasseh, sons of Joseph, are blessed just as Reuben and Simeon, the first-born of Jacob. Manifestly the blessings of Reuben and Simeon that are turned into curses, as we shall see, allow the integration of Ephraim and Manasseh as sons of Jacob. A game of thrones is at the heart of the tribal system and women appear as the discriminating principle. The following analysis is concerned with the blessings that involve women though often in a very indirect way, it will allow us to see clearly the work and interpretation of scribes in the construction of the tribal system and the role devoted to women in a masculine order.

11

“Le royaume bénéficie alors d’une large zone d’influence allant de Dan au nord à Gad au sud-est. Il est également en mesure de prélever taxes et corvées dans les plaines issakarites et ashérites. Quant au commerce, il se développe notamment par les voies maritimes. Les zones frontières sont encouragées à défendre le territoire, les impôts et les corvées sont vus d’un bon œil.” Macchi, 1999: 183. 12 Macchi, 1999: 273. 13 Macchi, 1999: 305. 14 Noth, 1970: 97; id., 1930.

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II.1. Reuben (Gen 49:3–4) “Reuben, my firstborn are you, (3A) My might and the firstling of my strength, (3B) Superior in tallness, and superior in power; (3C) Deceptive like water –you shall have no superiority, (4A) For you went up to your father’s bed, (4B)15 Then you defiled the concubine’s couch. (4C)”16 Many textual difficulties are to be underlined, among which we retain for our purpose: ‫( אֹ ונִ י‬49:3), which can be understood according to the verbal root of rest and happiness (‫ און‬II. cf. BDB), or, on the contrary, according to the homonym root of affliction (‫ און‬I. cf. BDB). The first meaning is in accordance with verse 49:3 that praises Reuben as the firstborn having brought strength and dignity to his father Jacob. The second meaning is in accordance with the following verse announcing the crime of Reuben who slept with the servant of the departed Rachel, Bilhah (Gen 35:22), an action elsewhere condemned by the Law (Lev 18:8 cf. Deut 23:1).17 Both positive and negative interpretations are attested in ancient witnesses.18 The blessing of Reuben (49:3–4) makes no connection to the narrative of his birth and the etiology of his name based on the verbal root of seeing (‫ראה‬, 29:32). A closer look, however, reveals a possible scribal pun between the substantive ‫( אֹ ונִ י‬49:3) placed in Jacob’s mouth (with the double meaning of the father’s happiness and affliction), and the substantive ‫( ﬠֳנִ י‬29:32) placed in Leah’s mouth, the mother (‫)כי ראה יהוה בעניי‬.19 The sorrow of the father thus echoes the affliction of the mother. This curse not only makes sense after the blessing of Ephraim and Manasseh but also in view of the coming blessing of Judah: Judah, the fourth son of Leah becomes the first in the order of blessing, after Reuben but also Simeon and Levi have been condemned. For our case, it is thought-provoking that the curse of Reuben is dependent upon the interpretation and the condemnation of a sexual crime: the son of Jacob has gone up unto his father’s concubine couch,20 the maid of his beloved wife. This condemnation presupposes Gen 35:22 where this incident is narrated but not condemned (“While Israel lived in that land, 15

Tal, 2016: 135, 195*. De Hoop, 2007: 86–97; id., 2003: 1–32. See also Macchi, 1999: 41–54; Steiner, 2010: 209–235. For textual criticism, more recently Tal, 2016. 17 See Fischer, 2011: 287–288. 18 Tal, 2016: 135, 194*–195*. 19 The root ‫ ענה‬signifies “to be submissive, afflicted.” 20 “After the death of her mistress Rachel, Jacob apparently made Bilhah his “concubine” (‫)פִּ י ֶלגֶשׁ‬. Only here is Bilhah seen as a concubine. While Rachel was alive, she was Rachel’s “slave” (‫)שׁפְ חָ ה‬ ִ and in her position within the family a “maidservant” (‫ )אָ מָ ה‬since she was brought into Jacob and Rachel’s marriage as a surrogate mother. Sexual relations with concubines – in contrast to those with slaves and maidservants – are considered marriages, even if of a lesser legal status. It can be assumed that they come about without paying a bride-price.” Fischer, 2011: 287; Engelken, 1990: 74–126. 16

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Reuben went and lay [‫ ]ישכב‬with Bilhah his father’s concubine; and Israel heard of it. Now the sons of Jacob were twelve”), and the legal interdiction found in Lev 18:8 and Deut 23:1. This textual strategy aims at interpreting this act –the violation of Jacob’s couch and the sexual relation with Rachel’s servant Bilhah– as the cause of Reuben’s curse. The sexual relation with Bilhah is strategically referred to and condemned, so that it may be said, of course in a narrative way, that Bilhah is powerful enough to be the cause of Reuben’s curse! Through the curse, Bilhah and Rachel are not only justified but honored. The first-born of Leah is accordingly condemned! II.2. Simeon and Levi (Gen 49:5–7) “Simeon and Levi are brothers, (5A) Weapons of violence are their knives. (5B) My soul shall not enter in their company, (6aA) My glory shall not rejoice in their gathering; (6aB)” “For in their anger they slew a man, (6bA) In their wantonness they hamstrung a bull; (6bB) Cursed be their anger, for it is fierce, (7A) And their wrath, for it is cruel, (7B) I will divide them in Jacob, scatter them in Israel (7C)”21 Simeon and Levi are associated in the same blessing which again turns out to be a curse. Their crime, though not directly referred to, may only be the vengeance of their sister, Dinah (Gen 34). Let us recall the facts.22 When Jacob comes back with his wives and children to the land of Canaan, after the years spent with his uncle Laban, he buys a land (Gen 33:19) in the region of Sichem in the North and settles there. Sichem, the son of the city’s chief, Hamor the Hivvite, sees Dinah, takes her and humiliates her (‫ ענה‬in the piel).23 But falling in love with her, he keeps her at home and asks his father to obtain Dinah from her father Jacob. Hamor meets Jacob to arrange the marriage.24 The sons of Jacob seem to agree but demand the circumcision of the city’s men. When these are recovering, on the third day, Simeon and Levi go to Sichem and have all men die by the sword. They plunder the city and go away with their sister. Jacob is angry at all this, while his sons answer him: “Should our sister be treated like a whore?” (Gen 34:31). According to C. Westermann, the curse should refer to a variant of the narrative, since, according to Gen 34:30 and 35:5, the vengeance is considered an honorable fact and never condemned.25 Moreover, Gen 34 mentions no mutilated animal 21

De Hoop, 2007: 97; id., 2003: 15. See also Macchi, 1999: 54–69; Tal, 2016: 135–136, 195*–196*. 22 Luciani, 2009. 23 The verb signals not so much the violence suffered by Dinah as the transgression of moral codes concerning marriage. See Nocquet, 2017: 67–86. 24 Wells, 2015a: 249–254; Frymer-Kensky, 1998: 79–96, and Fischer, 2011: 286. 25 The history of exegesis has read Gen 34 as a plea for endogamous marriages. Levi, the

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contrary to 49:6.26 As in the case of Reuben, Simeon’s and Levi’s curse is based upon the interpretation of a fact, a sexual act, and its ad hoc interpretation. The narrator presupposes the context or hypertext of the vengeance of Dinah to explain the curse of the brothers, though the reference itself is not direct. Certainly, the curse gives an account of the dispersion of both tribes, since no territory is allotted to them.27 Let us notice here again that no connection is made with the birth narratives, the drama of their mother Leah and the etiology of their names (Gen 29:33–34). However, the order follows that of the birth narratives and the sequence is similar in Gen 29 and 49. Obviously the list of the six sons of Leah is respected, whereas the scribe introduces the curse of the three first-born so as to give Judah the first place among his brothers in terms of blessing. The order of blessing replaces the order of birth. If the concerns of such a strategy are Judean,28 one should remember that the curses serve also the blessing of the Northern tribes Ephraim and Manasseh (Gen 48). Issues are as a consequence both Northern and Southern. Again the curse formulated is grounded upon the interpretation and condemnation of a sexual act: Sichem wishes to marry Dinah whom he violated. In this he is more than lawful, as he proposes to pay the price of the dowry (Gen 34:11– 12 cf. Exod 22:15–16; Deut 21:10–14; 22:28–29).29 Avenging their sister, Simeon and Levi judge the case but do not act lawfully. It is evident that this episode is not exempt from a reflection over the questions of marriage, again endogamy versus exogamy, as Hamor, the father of Sichem is a Hivvite (Gen 34:2), a people of the land. The marriage would imply the sharing of the land and the goods (Gen 34:21). But the ideology of the conquest is precisely against such sharing. With the condemnation of Simeon and Levi, it is also a vision of the land that is condemned along the principle of endogamy. In fact, in reconciling Northern and Southern issues, the final redactors do have to reflect over the community matrimonial system, as there can be no greater Israel, North and South, without mixed marriages. In cursing Simeon and Levi, Dinah is justified and honored. Again, founder of the priestly dynasty, is seen as a pioneer, just as his descendant Phinehas is cited as an authority by opponents of exogamous marriages (Num 25; Esd 7,1–5). In the book of Judith, Simeon is also declared a hero for avenging his sister’s rape. In Judith’s speech, Dinah stands for the sanctuary that is in danger of being violated, which the descendant of Simeon actually prevents by killing the general (Jdt 9:1–14, esp. 9:8). See Fischer, 2011: 287. 26 Westermann, 2002: 328. 27 According to C. Westermann, the blessing-curse does not accord with the narratives, since Simeon has been integrated into Judah and Levi is a priestly tribe: “The saying is a literary fiction: the author had before him a tradition concerning a tribe of Levi that once engaged in battles together with Simeon.” Westermann, 2002, 328. 28 Blum, 2012: 193; Macchi, 1999: 72–79; Carr, 1996: 248–253; Blum, 1984: 228–229, 260–261. 29 Van Seters, 2001: 239–247.

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she is powerful enough, narratively and strategically, to be the cause of their curse! II.3. Judah (Gen 49:8–12) “Judah are you, (8aA) Your brothers shall praise you, (8aB) Your hand shall be on your enemies’ neck, (8bA) Your father’s sons shall bow down to you. (8bB)”30 “A lion’s whelp is Judah, (9aA) May you grow up, my son, from the prey; (9aB)31 If he stoops down, crouches as a lion, (9bA) A ‘king’s lion’, who will raise him? (9bB)” “The scepter shall not depart from Judah, (10aA) Nor the ruler’s staff ever from between his feet, (10aB)32 For certain, let tribute come to him, (10bA)33 And may the obedience of the peoples be to him. (10bB)” “May he bind his foal to the vine, (11aA)34 And his ass’s colt to the choice vine; (11aB) May he wash his garments in wine, (11bA) And his vesture in the blood of grapes; (11bB) His eyes shall be darker than wine, (12A) His teeth whiter than milk. (12B)”35 The blessing of Judah covers five verses and manifests his grandeur and superiority towards his enemies and also his brothers. The blessing is moreover royal and dynastic. Literarily it appears highly constructed.36 The verbal root of praise (“Judah, your brothers shall praise you [ ‫]יֹ ודוּ‬,” 49:8) is the knot of Judah’s blessing and draws a tenuous link with the narrative of his birth (“This time I will praise 30 J.-D. Macchi, on his part, considers a chiastic tricolon ABA’ (4+3+4) : “8Toi Juda tes frères te célébreront, ta main sera sur la nuque de tes ennemis, les fils de ton père se prosterneront devant toi.” See Macchi, 1999: 82. 31 “Tu es un jeune lion Juda, à cause de la proie, mon fils, tu es monté. Il s’est accroupi, il s’est couché comme un lion et comme un lion qui le fera lever ?” Macchi, 1999: 87. 32 The term ‫ מחקק‬here does not designate a function but rather the attribute of power (cf. Num 21,18; Psa 60,9 // 108,9). At first glance the image may be understood as that of the patriarch Judah seated as chief whereas a second look makes clear a reference to his descent. See Macchi, 1999: 95, 97. 33 Concerning Shiloh, see Macchi, 1999: 97–109; Tal, 2016: 136, 197–198*; Frolov, 2012: 417–422; Steiner, 2013: 33–60; id., 2010: 209–235. 34 Gianto, 2016: 21–23. 35 De Hoop, 2007: 114; id., 2003: 16–17. 36 If the blessing is independent upon Deut 33, it does have literary connections with Judg 5:14 (“scepter” and “the marshal’s staff”) and Deut 33:20–22 (the leonine metaphor). In each case the re-appropriation works for the praise of Judah. This time, it is possible that the blessing also presupposes the character of Judah in the Joseph story who, contrary to Reuben (Gen 37:21–30), manages to save the life of Joseph when he sales him to merchants on their way (37:28), thus playing the role of the elder.

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[‫ ]אֹ ודֶ ה‬Yhwh,” Gen 29:35). The metaphor of the staff between the legs, metaphor of a perpetual descendance, may be connected to the episode concerning Tamar (Gen 38). Indeed, Judah took as wife the daughter of a Canaanite named Shua – the principle of exogamy is to be noted again– and had three sons, Er, Onan et Shelah, born in Cheziv (Gen 38:1–5). Judah takes, in turn, Tamar as a wife for Er but he dies shortly after. Judah then gives Tamar in marriage to Onan according to the law of the levirate (cf. Deut 25:5–10),37 however, Onan refuses to impregnate Tamar and he dies for having displeased Yhwh. Since Judah’s only remaining son is not grown up yet and since he assumes that Tamar is guilty of the death of both his sons, he sends his daughter-in-law back to her father’s house (38:11). With this action, Judah commits an injustice, for, according to the levirate law, he could either release Tamar from the levirate obligation (so that she is free to marry another man and start a family, see Deut 25:7–10), or care for the woman in his own household (if the demand of the levirate obligation is to be upheld). Yet, even once his son Shelah is grown up, Judah still does not give him to Tamar (Gen 38:14). But Tamar is not to be wronged and she takes action: playing the harlot by the road, Judah goes to her in Timna. She becomes pregnant. When Judah learns that Tamar is pregnant, he first gets angry and would have her judged by fire (Deut 22:22).38 When he understands that he is the father, he realizes, however, that she has acted more justly than him for he refused to give her his son, Shelah (38:26). Ironically enough, Tamar saves the descendance of Judah (Gen 46:12 cf. 1 Chr 4:1)39 and in a pragmatical manner extends the law of the levirate not just to the brothers of the deceased but to his father.40 The episode is quite ludic. Again, the narrator interprets the story for the purpose of the blessing. Tamar’s sexual ethic is not according to a norm but, on the contrary, a pragmatic decision: in the freedom of her behavior Tamar saves Judah’s descendance. She therefore makes him great and his descendance numerous. In all this, Tamar is portrayed as cunning and indeed very powerful, acting for the greatness of Jacob’s / Israel’s descendance.

37

According to Deut 25:5–10, in the event of a still-undivided inheritance, a brother must beget a son with the widow of a brother who has died without children, so that the name of the late brother will be carried on. However, Onan, “the vital one,” denies Tamar offspring, since this would catapult him from the position of the principal heir if he were to beget a son. The injustice that ultimately also leads to the death of this man who carries vitality in his name lies in the fact that, although he sleeps with Tamar, he practices coitus interruptus to deny her the entire reason why he is supposed to have sexual relations with her in the first place (Gen 38:8–9; Deut 25:5–6). See Wells, 2005a: 255–256; Ficher, 2011: 288–289. 38 Wells, 2015b: 294–300; Otto, 2002: 248–253; Scholz, 2010: 112–117. 39 See Hieke, 2011: 185–186. 40 Jackson, 2002: 29–46.

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II.4. Joseph (Gen 49:22–26)41 “A young bullcalf is Joseph, (22aA) A bullcalf next to a well (22aB) In the meadow he will stride towards the Bull, (22bA)42 And he will make him strong so they will become numerous. (23aB)” “And (if) archers will harass him, (23bA) His bow will remain stable, (24aB) And the arms of his hands become nimble, (24aC) By the hands of the Strong One of Jacob, (24bA) By the name of the Shepherd of Israel’s stone; (24bB)” “By El, your father, who will help you, (25aA) And by Shadday, who will bless you, (25aB) With blessings of the Heavens above, (25bA) Blessings of the Flood, resting below, (25bB) Blessings of breasts and womb. (25bC)” “Your father’s blessings prevail over the eternal mountains’ blessings, (26aA) The longings of the everlasting hills. (26aB) May they be on the head of Joseph, (26bA) And on the skull of one set apart of his brothers. (26bB)”43 Prosperity and success may also be indirectly interpreted as an allusion to Joseph’s relations with women. Joseph, one remembers, becomes in Egypt the majordomo of Potiphera. Joseph is beautiful to look upon and the wife of his master looks on him with desire (Gen 39:7). Joseph refuses her until he is ensnared and accused of rape.44 When the master hears what the woman says he has Joseph put to the fortress, the Pharaoh’s prison. But Joseph in all his justice will be proved right and his descendance through Ephraim and Manasseh prosperous. Again women are to be closely connected to Joseph’s blessing and appear powerful enough to be the cause of his blessing even if it is in this case highly ironical.

41

Giuntoli, 2015: 203–232; Wénin, 2005; Lemaire, 1990: 183–292; Na’aman, 1986 : 145– 166; Michaud, 1976. 42 Let us underline the difficulty of verse 22 and the possibility of a vegetal interpretation, Joseph compared to the fruit of a tree (‫)פֹּ ָרה‬, or an animal interpretation, Joseph as an ass (‫ )פּ ֶֶרא‬or a bull (‫)פּ ָָרה‬. For J.-D. Macchi, this last interpretation is the best and creates literary connections with Gen 41: “Les vaches, dont Joseph est fils (‫)בן פרת‬, renvoient à celles de Gn 41, qui en traversant le rêve de Pharaon permettent à Joseph de devenir un homme puissant et prospère (un taureau près d’une source). La mention de la source ‫ עין‬fait penser au renversement de destin qui finalement fait émerger Joseph de la fosse vide où l’avaient mis ses frères.” Macchi, 1999: 195. 43 De Hoop, 2007: 180–181; id., 2003: 21–22; Macchi, 1999: 185–206. See also Tal, 2016: 137–138, 202*–205*. 44 Ficher, 2011: 291–292.

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II.5. Benjamin (Gen 49:27) “Benjamin is a wolf, who will tear apart, (27aA) In the morning he will devour the prey, (27aB) And in the evening he will divide the spoil. (27aC)”45 The blessing of Jacob over the last born of Rachel sounds again like a curse as the image of the wolf is a pejorative one (Jer 5:6; Eze 22:27; Hab 1:8; Zeph 3:3). What events could be pointed to? From Benjamin, very few narratives are known except for the sexual crime of the Benjaminites, in Gibeah, concerning the spouse of an anonymous Levite (but this is to be found in Judg 19–21). If Benjamin is cursed indeed, this works for the greater glory of his brother Joseph, last born of Rachel. What comes out from such analysis is clearly a game of thrones: tribes of little importance in biblical texts (Dan, Naphtali, Gad, Asher, Issachar and Zebulun) receive no developed blessing or curse, tribes of some importance are dealt with more extensively, positively in the case of Judah and Joseph, and negatively in the case of Reuben, Simeon and Levi, and Benjamin. All this works for the greater glory of Judah and Joseph, that is the greater Jacob / Israel. What is striking for our purpose is the role ascribed by the scribe or narrator to women: it is through them that Jacob’s sons are blessed or cursed, making them very powerful indeed. The blessings of Jacob / Israel thus end, offering a new chiastic structure by which the indirect descent is encircled by the direct descent. The analysis of Gen 29,31– 30,24 and Gen 49 shows that the genealogical order gives full meaning to the greater tribal Israel as it is construed. One is, moreover, invited to distinguish between the different statuses of the spouses. A chiastic structure may be brought to light (but not in the terms of J.-D. Macchi): Judah, born fourth of Leah, has taken the place of the first-born and is opposed to or closely associated with Joseph as the first-born of Rachel. Both frame the indirect descendants: A Judah (49:8–12), fourth-born of Leah but first in blessing (49:3–15) B Dan (49:16), first-born of Bilhah C Gad (49:19), first-born of Zilpah C’ Asher (49:20), last-born of Zilpah B’ Naphtali (49:21), last-born of Bilhah A’ Joseph (49:22–26), first-born of Rachel (49:22–27) If we consider the faults in the diverse condemnations, it is striking that they are never clearly pointed out by the scribes but obviously interpreted, the fruit of a necessary intra-exegesis. Their nature always points to some sexual crime, involving women who otherwise would appear quite absent from the construction of the 45 45

De Hoop, 2007: 224; id., 2003: 23. Macchi, 1999: 245. See also Tal, 2016: 138, 205*.

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greater Israel and its tribal system except for the four mothers. Indeed, cursed are those (men) who climb over their father’s couch, cursed are those who break a marriage (whatever the situation of the bride at the time of her marriage), cursed are those who rape a woman, but blessed are those (women) who save their descendance (even to the point of prostitution and alteration of the law) and blessed those (men) who stand immorality (even to the point of their own condemnation to prison). The sexual question is not problematized, it is not viewed from the point of norms or standards but is, instead, very pragmatically handled. Indeed, rhetorically and strategically, we may affirm that it is because of women that Judah and Joseph are blessed, and it is because of women, too, that Reuben, Simeon, Levi and Benjamin are cursed, making Joseph and Judah all the greater! As a final word, it is to be underlined how the narrative of Jacob’s blessings presents an ethic that is based on the defense of the condition of the spouse and an openness to mixed marriages. The main idea seems to be the protection of the descendance even to the point of pragmatically arranging and amending laws! Certainly, the identity that is constructed is genealogical, but it is also geographical in the sense that it is open to other peoples. These views reflect socioeconomical issues: whereas exogamy favors the dispersion of the propriety,46 endogamy favors identity assets. However, this latter view does not reflect that of the final redactors, who, without negating the principle of endogamy, do propose a much wider vision of Israel, both geographic and genealogical. North and South constitute one entity, integrating direct and indirect descent so that it is impossible to dissociate them, except for their sexual crimes interpreted ad hoc, narratively and in a manner that could be best qualified as “extradiegetic:” one has to know the larger story, the whole book of Genesis or even other traditions, to be able to make sense of the blessings (or curses). The analysis conducted in the Book of Genesis concerning the tribal system has shown the close association between sexual ethic and identity except that sexuality is pragmatic, not normative. Endogamy is not incest and mixed marriages must not be condemned. These positions lead one to think that they are about surviving in an everchanging and international society. The identity of Israel as it is construed in the book of Genesis does not fear side roads as long as life and descendants are safe. For this reason, women are very powerful indeed!

46

Adams, 2014: 26.

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Abbreviations and Bibliography BDB: The Brown-Driver-Briggs Hebrew and English lexicon with an appendix containing the Biblical Aramaic, coded with the numbering system from Strong’s Exhaustive concordance of the Bible, Francis Brown with the cooperation of S.R. Driver and Charles A. Briggs, 13th printing, Peabody, 2010. Adams, S.L., 2014: Social and Economic Life in Second Temple Judea. Louisville. Blum, E., 2012: “The Jacob Tradition”. In C.A. Evans / J.N. Lohr / D.L. Petersen (eds.): The Book of Genesis: Composition, Reception, and Interpretation. Leiden. Pp. 181–211. — 1984: Die Komposition der Vätergeschichte. Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament 57. Neukirchen-Vluyn. Carmichael, C.M., 1982: “Uncovering a Major Source of Mosaic Law: The Evidence of Deut 21:15–22:5”. Journal of Biblical Literature 101, 505–520. — 1979: Women, Law, and the Genesis Traditions. Edinburgh. Carr, D.M., 1996: Reading the Fractures of Genesis: Historical and Literary Approaches. Louisville. de Hoop, R., 2007, Genesis 49 and Its Literary and Historical Context, Atlanta. — 2003: “Genesis 49 Revisited: The Poetic Structure of Jacob’s Testament and the Ancient Versions”. In M.C.A. Korpel (ed.): Unit Delimitation in Biblical Hebrew and Northwest Semitic Literature. Assen. Pp. 1–32. Engelken, K., 1990: Frauen im Alten Israel: Eine begriffsgeschichtliche und sozialrechtliche Studie zur Stellung der Frau im Alten Testament. Stuttgart. Fischer, I., 2011: “On the Significance of the ‘Women Texts’ in the Ancestral Narratives”. In I. Fischer / M. Navarro Puerto (eds.): Torah. The Bible and women: an encyclopaedia of exegesis and cultural history 1. Atlanta. Pp. 251– 293. Frolov, S., 2012: “Judah Comes to Shiloh: Genesis 49,10bα, One More Time”. Journal of Biblical Literature 131, 417–422. Frymer-Kensky, T., 1998: “Virginity in the Bible”. In V.H. Matthews / B.M. Levinson / T. Frymer-Kensky (eds.): Gender and Law in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 262. Sheffield. Pp. 79–96. Gianto, A., 2016: “Archaic Biblical Hebrew”. In W.R. Garr / S.E. Fassberg (eds.): A Handbook of Biblical Hebrew. Volume 1: Periods, Corpora, and Reading Traditions. Winona Lake. Pp. 21–23. Giuntoli, F., 2015: “Ephraim, Manasseh, and Post-Exilic Israel: A Study of the Redactional Expansions in Gen 48 Regarding Joseph’s Sons”. In F. Giuntoli / K. Schmid (eds.): The Post-Priestly Pentateuch: New Perspectives on its Redactional Development and Theological Profiles. Tübingen. Pp. 203–232. Hendel, R., 2012: “Historical Context”. In C.A. Evans / J.N. Lohr / D.L. Petersen (eds.): The Book of Genesis: Composition, Reception, and Interpretation. Lei-

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den. Pp. 52–54. Hieke, T., 2011: “Genealogy as a Means of Historical Representation in the Torah and the Role of Women in the Genealogical System. In I. Fischer / M. Navarro Puerto (eds.): Torah. The Bible and women: an encyclopaedia of exegesis and cultural history 1. Atlanta. Pp. 151–192. — 2003: Die Genealogien der Genesis, Herders biblische Studien = Herder’s biblical studies 39, Freiburg im Breisgau. Jackson, M., 2002: “Lot’s Daughters and Tamar as Tricksters and the Patriarchal Narratives as Feminist Theology”. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 98, 29–46. Lemaire, A., 1990: “Aux origines d’Israël : la montagne d’Éphraïm et le territoire de Manassé (XIII–XIe siècle av. J.-C.)”. In E.-M. Laperrousaz (ed.): La protohistoire d’Israël. Paris. Pp. 183–292. Luciani, D., 2009: Dina (Genèse 34). Sexe, mensonges et idéaux. Langues et cultures anciennes 13. Bruxelles. Macchi, J.-D., 1999: Israël et ses tribus selon Genèse 49. Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 171. Fribourg / Göttingen. Michaud, R., 1976: L’histoire de Joseph, le Makirite : (Genèse 37–50). Lire la Bible 45. Paris. Na’aman, N., 1986: “The Boundary between Ephraim and Manasseh and Mount Ephraim”. In N. Na’aman: Borders and Districts in Biblical Historiography: Seven Studies in Biblical Geographical Lists. Jerusalem Biblical Studies 4. Jerusalem. Pp. 145–166. Nocquet, D.R., 2017: La Samarie, la Diaspora et l’achèvement de la Torah. Territorialités et internationalités dans l’Hexateuque. Orbis Biblicus Orientalis Band 284. Fribourg / Göttingen. Pp. 67–86. Noth, M., 1970: Histoire d’Israël. Bibliothèque historique. Paris. — 1930, Das System der Zwölf Stamme Israels. Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament 1. Stuttgart. Otto, E., 2002: Gottes Recht als Menschenrecht: Rechts- und literaturhistorische Studien zum Deuteronomium. Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische Rechtsgeschichte. Wiesbaden. Scholz, S., 2010: Sacred Witness: Rape in the Hebrew Bible. Minneapolis. Steiner, R.C., 2013: “Four Inner-biblical Interpretations of Genesis 49,10: On Lexical and Syntactic Ambiguities of ‫ ﬠַד‬as Reflected in the Prophecies of Nathan, Ahijah, Ezekiel, and Zechariah”. Journal of Biblical Literature 132, 33– 60. — 2010: “Poetic Forms in the Masoretic Vocalization and Three Difficult Phrases in Jacob’s Blessing: ‫( יֶתֶ ר ְשׂאֵ ת‬Gen 49:3), 49:4 ‫יְ צוּﬠִ י ﬠָ לָה‬, and 49:10 ‫” ָיב ֹא ִשׁי ה‬. Journal of Biblical Literature 129, 209–235. Tal, A., 2016: Genesis = ‫בראשית‬. Biblia hebraica quinta 1. Stuttgart. Van Seters, J., 2001: “The Silence of Dinah (Genesis 34)”. In J.-D. Macchi /

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T. Römer (eds.): Jacob : commentaire à plusieurs voix de / Ein mehrstimmiger Kommentar zu / A Plural Commentary of Gen 25–36, mélanges offerts à Albert de Pury. Le Monde de la Bible 44. Genève. Pp. 239–247. Wells, B., 2015a: “The Interpretation of Legal Traditions in Ancient Israel”. Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel 4, 234–266. — 2015b: “Sex Crimes in the Laws of the Hebrew Bible”. Near Eastern Archaeology 78, 294–300. — 2011: “First Wives Club: Divorce, Demotion, and the Fate of Leah in Genesis 29”. Maarav 18, 101–129. — 2010, “The Hated Wife in Deuteronomic Law”. Vetus Testamentum 60, 131– 146. — 2005, “Sex, Lies, and Virginal Rape: The Slandered Bride and False Accusation in Deuteronomy”. Journal of Biblical Literature 124, 41–72. Wénin, A.: 2005, Joseph ou l’invention de la fraternité : lecture narrative et anthropologique de Genèse 37–50. Le livre et le rouleau 21. Bruxelles. Westermann, C.: 2002, Genesis 37–50. Trad. J. J. Scullion. Minneapolis.

Between a Queen and an Ordinary Woman On Laodice and the Representation of Women in Cuneiform Sources in the Hellenistic Period1 Paola Corò

It is not at all surprising to find the use of Greek names in Babylonian sources especially from the Hellenistic and Parthian periods. These represent only a small fraction of the Babylonian onomastic corpus of the time, although approximately 250 individuals bearing a Greek name are mentioned in cuneiform sources which correspond to as many as approximately 130 discrete name entries.2 Only 8 of these refer to female names, half of which identify ‘powerful women’ or, properly speaking, queens. These are Laodice, the wife of Antiochus II, mother of Seleucus II and of Antiochus Hierax, to which I will return extensively; the other Laodice, i.e. the daughter of Antiochus III; Stratonice, the daughter of Demetrius Poliorcetes, wife of Seleucos I and then of Antiochus I; Teleonike, the Arsacid queen married to Phraates III;3 and then Thalassia, the wife of Hyspaosines of Caracene. As for the other apparently ‘ordinary’ women, known by the names of Antiochis, Dionysia, Krato, and Phanaia, it is the aim of the second part of this paper to show that, even though they were not of royal lineage, they were powerful in their own right. This is a safe assumption if only by virtue of the fact that their identities are preserved in the sources relating to the context of the activities of the elite of the southern Babylonian city of Uruk in the Hellenistic period and have as such come down to us. 1. Powerful women: queen Laodice in cuneiform sources Among the queens, I will focus on Laodice. As noticed above, cuneiform sources mention two women going by this name: one is the Seleucid queen wife of Antiochus II,4 and the other is the daughter of Antiochus III, married first to Antiochus 1

I wish to thank Kerstin Droß-Krüpe and Sebastian Fink for their kind invitation to take part in the workshop and their kind hospitality in Kassel. I am especially grateful to Julien Monerie, Stefania De Vido and Alice Bencivenni for commenting on the preliminary version of this paper, offering useful suggestions and comments for its improvement. Any mistakes remain my own. 2 The figures are based on Monerie, 2014 and include mainly occurrences in sources dated to the Hellenistic and Parthian period, but a few earlier exceptions. 3 However, note that Teleonike’s name in the sources is only tentatively reconstructed: Monerie, 2014: 169, sub voce. 4 See Monerie, 2014: 149, sub voce Laodice(1), for the occurrences, to which CTMMA IV 148B: rev. iii 1, can now be added: see Corò, 2020.

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the Young, appointed as co-regent to his father probably around 210–209 BC (102 SE according to the Babylonian King List) and possibly then to her other brother Seleucus (IV, Philopator) following his death.5 The first of the two, the wife of Antiochus II Theos, will be the object of the first part of my investigation. Literature on this woman abounds especially in connection to her having been allegedly repudiated by Antiochus when he took Berenice, the daughter of Ptolemy II, as his wife. Sources are also inclined to ascribe her an active albeit negative role in the context of the succession following Antiochus II. In fact, most ancient authors portray Laodice as an example of female corruption, attributing the responsibility for Antiochus’ murder to her, while she plotted to secure her children’s succession to the throne. Recent studies have, however, shed new light on these episodes, eventually redeeming Laodice’s reputation. Further, on the basis of the testimony offered by cuneiform sources, it is now widely accepted that Laodice was not at all repudiated and she effectively played a part in promoting “a stable image of the family and the succession”. She is also acknowledged as acting as a representative of the Seleucids, especially in Asia Minor and Mesopotamia; a position that she probably achieved by building on a support network in Asia Minor that included her personal acquaintances and family.6 Despite the important contribution of cuneiform sources in the reconstruction of a more nuanced portrait of Laodice, any description of the crucial episodes of her life is missing from relevant Babylonian texts. These only make passing mention of the queen and almost exclusively in the context of the endowment of royal land she made, together with her two sons, in favour of the citizens of the Babylonian cities of Babylon, Borsippa and Kutha, having received it previously as a personal gift from Antiochus at an unknown date.7 The relevance of this episode for the local community is underlined by its being widely documented in cuneiform. In fact, it is mentioned twice in the Astro-

5

It is unclear if Laodice was also married to her other brothers: as noticed by Bencivenni, 2017: 211, fn. 25 the debate is still open on the identity of the wives of the three sons of Antiochus III. See in particular the synthesis by Rougemont, 2012: 64–65, with bibliography. 6 For a synthesis of the ancient and modern negative approach to the character of Laodice, see in particular Coşkun, 2016: 107–112 and D’Agostini, 2016: 35–37, both with earlier bibliography. For a re-evaluation of Laodice’s character which takes into account also the cuneiform sources, see Martinez-Sève, 2002 (contra Del Monte, 1997: 45), Coşkun, 2016 and D’Agostini, 2016 (esp. p. 47, for the role the queen played in Asia Minor). 7 On this episode in cuneiform sources, see Lehmann, 1892; Sarkisian, 1969: 320–327; Van der Spek, 1986: 241–248 and 1993; Sherwin-White / Kuhrt, 1993: 128–129; Del Monte, 1997: 43–45. For a recent complete edition of the so-called Lehmann text and its duplicate in the British Museum, with commentary: see Van der Spek / Wallenfels in Spar / Jursa, 2014: 213–227. For a synthesis: Monerie, 2018: 197–203.

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nomical Diaries (namely in 248 and 246 BC),8 and, as the Lehmann text shows, the endowment was the object of an official stone entitlement-monument erected in the Esangila temple in 236 BC to record the grant and the names of the royal benefactors. The document was still copied as late as 173/172 BC by an apprentice scribe for the personal collection of an older scribe, according to the Babylonian school tradition.9 Finally, following Sciandra, the episode is referred to in an Astronomical Diary from the Parthian period, recording Mithridates I’s confirmation of its validity.10 And, while the name of the queen is not explicitly recorded, an indirect reference to the royal grant might be suggested in two private contracts dated 239 BC and 196 BC respectively (73 SE and 116 SE), which record the sale of fields described as part of the territory of the “city of the donation by the king, his wife and their sons”.11 It is outside the scope of this paper to re-discuss the significance of these documents in the context of Babylonian history under Seleucid domination. Rather, I would like to emphasize a few details that are especially relevant for the purpose of the present analysis. Besides the long lasting and particularly fortunate documentation of this specific episode in Late Babylonian sources, it is noteworthy that references to the royal grant occur in both the literary tradition (as represented by the ADs) and in private documents. Significantly, it apparently assumed such a paradigmatic value to be echoed in a toponym. References to the donation and its benefactors were made to identify properties in private contracts within a somewhat local context bearing witness to the legal significance of this place name which was, as such, given official recognition. In addition, it suggests that the locals had a clear knowledge of the endowment and its implications in order to distinguish it from other fields and land, with regards to the specific conditions the donation engendered, such as exemptions, as well as from a topographical point of view, for the specific location of the lands. The systematic mention of Laodice alongside the other benefactors in relation to the grant, be it either by name or through her title, in private and official documents, speaks in favour of Babylonian acknowledgment of the queen’s role in the episode. Laodice’s own good name, besides that of the king and his sons, was in fact to be celebrated for the generosity shown towards the citizens of Babylon. As the entitlement monument mentioned in the so-called Lehmann text records: 8

AD2 -245B obv. 5’ and AD2 -247B obv. 4’. As observed by Van der Spek / Wallenfels in Spar / Jursa, 2014: 226, n. 3. 10 The reference is to AD 3 -140A, u.e.4: see Sciandra, 2012: 242. 11 The two unpublished tablets (BM 41582 and 41461), which are part of the British Museum collections, are quoted by Monerie, 2018: 201 and currently being prepared for publication by J. Hackl, who kindly confirmed that the designation is used on both tablets (Hackl, personal communication). I wish to thank Julien Monerie for sharing his preliminary personal transliteration of these texts with me. 9

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“(…) Let the good names of Antiochus (II), the king, Laodice his wife, Seleucus (II) and Antiochus (Hierax) his sons be invoked for (their) gracious deed towards the citizens of Babylon (…)”. (CTMMA IV 148: 33– 37) It is thus evident that the Babylonians, at least the scribal milieu, had some familiarity with Laodice12 who, despite the negative picture portrayed by classical authors, was in all probability singled out in cuneiform sources not only as the bestknown Seleucid queen but also as one with positive character: her association with events depicted as favourable in the eyes of the local community is, in fact, clear. However, Babylonian familiarity with the queen did not suffice for the scribes to overcome the difficulties of transcribing her name in cuneiform: the fact that sources recorded four different spellings of the name Laodice out of six occurrences suggest that they still did not feel much at ease with her Greek name.13 Different from that of the king’s, the queen’s name was not part of the date formulas found in Babylonian documents and it appears the scribes never became acquainted with the praxis of writing it on an everyday basis so as to establish a normalized spelling for it.14 In addition, the queen’s name is also absent, to the best of our knowledge, from the onomastic repertoire of Greek female names from Babylonia. In fact, no ‘ordinary’ woman with a Greek name was called Laodice in cuneiform sources. The use of royal names (especially Seleucid and Argead) represents about 10% of the Greek names in the onomastic repertoire of the city of Uruk in the Hellenistic period. It is generally believed that the adoption of royal names by the members of the local elite was a way to express ‘some kind of relationship with the foreign rulers’.15 Although it is outside the scope of this paper to discuss the validity of this statement and the significance of this phenomenon as a whole, it is worth noticing that the only two occurrences of royal names among women in sources deriving from Hellenistic Uruk involve Greek women. These are Antiochis, echoing the royal name of Antiochus, and Krato, also known as Šamê-ramat. Since Antiochis appears to have been ethnically Greek, the choice of her name by her parents was 12

As already observed by Del Monte, 1997: 45: “Come che sia, l’interesse degli ambienti dell’Esagila in questi anni per la figura di Laodice, a prescindere dalle sue traversie matrimoniali, sembra ovvio e si può presumere che i riferimenti a lei e alla donazione dovessero essere frequenti nei Diari di questi anni, purtroppo molto frammentari”. 13 On the spellings of the name Laodice in cuneiform see Corò, 2020. 14 On the process of normalization of the spellings of Greek names into cuneiform, see Monerie, 2014: 37–41; also, Monerie, 2015b. 15 Boiy, 2005: 57, n. 49; more recently followed by Monerie, 2014: 75, n. 43. Contra Sarkisian 1976: 501; Note, however, the statement by Langin-Hooper and Pearce, that the topic needs further consideration: Langin-Hooper / Pearce, 2014: 195, n. 30.

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unlikely meant to express any “instance of Hellenization” by the members of the local elite. On the other hand, the choice of the name of the Assyrian queen Šamêramat (the legendary Semiramis) as a double name for Krato might have been “significant” in the opposite sense.16 Whatever the reasons for them, it is clear that royal names were part of the Greek female onomastic corpus. It could be suggested that, unless via a distortion caused by the chance of discovery, the absence of the name Laodice from the corpus might imply a restriction of the queen’s agency, which never reached a level of popularity for her name to be incorporated into the onomastic repertoire of “ordinary” women. 2. Ordinary women with Greek names in cuneiform Before turning to the agency and “power” of Greek “ordinary” women in cuneiform sources, some clarification is necessary on the presumed ethnicity of women with Greek names. Bearing a Greek name in Babylonia was in itself not indicative of an individual who was ethnically Greek. Considering the Babylonian identification system and naming practices,17 it is conceivable that when the onomastic chain of a women who bore a Greek name included a Greek patronym and excluded a Babylonian family name or “clan” affiliation, a device otherwise typically used to identify a member of the local elite, she was ethnically Greek. Building on this, among those mentioned in Table 1, Antiochis, Dyonisia and Krato were presumably ethnically Greek, while, conversely, Phanaia was likely not to have been. Name/Filiation

Babylonian spelling

Greek

Occurrences

f

Antiochis / mDiophantos

f

An-ti-’i-i-ki-su

Ἀντιοχίς

BiMes 24 6//VS 15 7; YOS 20 54

f

Dionysia / mHerakleides

f

di-ni-’i-i-si-’a

Διονύσια

VS 15 13

f

ka-ra-ṭu-ú

Κρατώ

YOS 20 62

Φάναια

YOS 20 62; BiMes 24 27//29; STUBM, No. 97-RE

Šamê-ramat = fKrato / m Artemidoros f

Phanaia / fSibqat-Šušinak fpa-na-a (Šibqāya) Table 1

Phanaia is only recorded in the sources as Krato’s slave and within the onomastic chain of her sons. Despite her personal name, and as her mother’s name suggests,

16

As suggested by Langin-Hooper / Pearce, 2014: 191, n. 22. For a synthesis on Babylonian name practices see Langin-Hooper / Pearce 2014: 188– 191. 17

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her family probably originated from Susa. It is generally believed that she owed her Greek name to her mistress, Krato.18 For this reason, her case will not be considered. Krato herself was the daughter of a Greek and also married to a Greek man.19 Despite this, as we have seen before, she bore another Babylonian name (and what a name!). She operated in Uruk as seen in one of the few contracts recording slave consecrations to the temple. As Monerie has shown, this is conceivably a type of document that owes much to the Greek legal tradition of the sacred manumission by consecration.20 Although participation in these kinds of transaction was not limited to individuals of Greek origin, it is interesting that the only evidence of Krato is within the framework of this kind of legal medium.21 On the other hand, Dionysia and Antiochis, both married into local Babylonian families despite their being originally Greek. Dionysia is mentioned in a contract (VS 15 13) as the buyer of a house and its furnishing that was qualified as the ‘property of (the god) Anu’ (i.e., temple property), located in the neighbourhood of the temples. It is likely but not certain, as only the first name and no patronym for Dionysia’s husband is recorded, that the seller of the property was Dionysia’s husband. Unfortunately, no further evidence of her in the Hellenistic corpus is found. Conversely, we are well-informed about Antiochis,22 who was the daughter of a Greek man and was married to Anu-uballit, a prominent Babylonian of the time also known by his Greek name Kephalon as well as by a third Aramaic, but, unfortunately, fragmentarily preserved name. Anu-uballiṭ = Kephalon, was the chief officer and sanctuary administrator of the city of Uruk during the reigns of Antiochus III and his successor (Seleucus IV). He belonged to a powerful Babylonian family and inherited his position within the upper echelons of the city administration from his father along with the possibility of also transferring it to his son. As inscriptions in his name record, he played a part in the reconstruction of one of the main sanctuaries at Uruk.23 It has been long believed that through his marriage to Antiochis, Anu-uballit strengthened his social position. This is based on the assumption that Antiochis’ father was a rich Greek inhabitant of Uruk or possibly a Seleucid high official; 18

On Phanaia: Monerie, 2014: 157–158 and 2015a: 423, 430–431 and 441; Corò, 2018, 267–268 (with n. 117 on the identity of Phanaia’s mother). 19 Oelsner, 1992: 343; Langin-Hooper / Pearce, 2014: 191, n. 22. For a more cautious position see Monerie, 2014: 73–74; id., 2015a: 420, n. 45. 20 Monerie, 2015a. 21 Monerie, 2015a: 420. 22 On Antiochis: Doty, 1988: 99–100; Monerie, 2014, 119–120, sub voce; Langin-Hooper / Pearce, 2014: 186–187 and 195, esp. n. 9; Monerie, 2016: 530–531. 23 On this individual and his career: Bowman, 1939; McEwan, 1984; Doty, 1988; Monerie, 2012: 333–343; and Clancier / Monerie 2014: esp. 207–208.

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however, no evidence in this sense exists to date.24 Conversely, what seems more certain is that, as a result of marrying into a traditional Babylonian family, Antiochis was able to participate in transactions usually reserved for members of the local Babylonian elite. In fact, she was active in the prebendary market and could buy at least two shares of temple enterer prebends from local individuals. She is identified as the wife of Anu-uballit/Kephalon in the contracts, as was the norm for women, and more precisely, as Dionysia, she was entitled to personally conduct the transactions. It seems therefore that she gained much from her “Babylonization”.25 As Langin-Hooper and Pearce have recently shown, “Greek women who married into Babylonian families seem to have been as active in the social and economic spheres as their Babylonian counterparts”.26 The social and cultural identity of their families of origin, namely their Greek heritage, was incorporated into their new Babylonian families. This was achieved by adopting typical Babylonian naming practices such as maternal-line papponymy, that is the habit to name children after a maternal-line ancestor, in exactly the same manner Babylonian heritage entered the family via paternal-line papponimy. This resulted in a mixture of Greek and Babylonian names for the couples’ children. 3. Conclusion To conclude, the participation of Greek women in the economic life of the local community was strictly connected to their “Babylonization”. It may come as no surprise that Krato, who besides bearing a second Babylonian name is assumed as being a Greek married to a Greek, was not fully incorporated into the local community and that the only evidence we have on her regards a very particular “Greek style” type of transaction. As is clear from the analysis carried out above, both in the case of queen Laodice, and that of the ‘ordinary’ Greek women mentioned in cuneiform sources, it is their involvement in the local community that destined them to be recorded in the Babylonian sources, thus preventing their being consigned to oblivion. In this way, also ordinary women became in their own way “powerful”. Bibliography Bencivenni, A., 2017: “Dossier di Nehavend: lettera di Menedemo e lettera / prostagma di Antioco III”. AXON 1/2, 205–214. Boiy, T., 2005: “Akkadian-Greek Double Names in Hellenistic Babylonia”. In W. van Soldt / R. Kalvelagen / D. Katz (eds.): Ethnicity in Ancient Mesopotamia. CRRAI 48. PIHANS 102. Leiden. Pp. 47–60. Bowman, R.A., 1939: “Anu-uballiṭ – Kephalon”. AJSL 56/3, 231–243. 24

Monerie, 2012: 340. Monerie, 2016: 530–531, and 539. 26 Langin-Hooper / Pearce, 2014: 199. 25

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Clancier, Ph. / Monerie, J., 2014: “Les sanctuaires babyloniens à l’époque hellénistique: evolution d’un relais de pouvoir”. Topoi 19/1, 181–217. Corò, P., 2018: Seleucid Tablets from Uruk in the British Museum. Text Editions and Commentary. Antichistica 16. Studi Orientali 8. Venezia. — 2020: “A new spelling for the name of Laodice in cuneiform: a matter of literacy?”. NABU 2020/2, note 79. Coşkun, A., 2016: “Laodike I, Berenike Phernophoros, Dynastic Murders, and the Outbreak of the Third Syrian War (253–246 BC)”. In A. Coşkun / A. McAuley (eds.): Seleukid Royal Women. Creation, Representation and Distortion of Hellenistic Queenship in the Seleucid Empire. Historia – Einzelschriften 240. Stuttgart. Pp. 107–134. D’Agostini, M., 2016: “Representation and Agency of Royal Women in Hellenistic Dynastic Crises. The case of Berenike and Laodike”. In A. Bielman Sánchez / I. Cogitore / A. Kolb (eds.): Femmes influents dans le monde hellénistique et à Rome (IIIe siècle av. J.-C. – Ier siècle apr. J.-C.). Grenoble. Pp. 35–59. Del Monte, G.F., 1997: Testi dalla Babilonia Ellenistica. Vol. 1. Testi cronografici. Pisa. Doty, L.T., 1988: “Nikarchos and Kephalon”. In E. Leichty / M. deJ. Ellis / P. Gerardi (eds.): A Scientific Humanist. Studies in Memory of Abraham Sachs. Philadelphia. Pp. 95–118. Langin-Hooper, S. / Pearce, L., 2014: “Mammonymy, Maternal Lines Names and Cultural Identification. Clues from the Onomasticon of Hellenistic Uruk”. JAOS 134/2, 185–202. Lehmann, C.F., 1892, “Noch einmal Kassû, Κίσσιοι, nicht Κοσσαῖοι”. ZA 7, 328– 334. Martinez-Sève, L., 2003: “Laodice, femme d’Antiochos II: du roman à la reconstruction historique”. Revue des Études Grecques 116, 690–706. McEwan, G.J.P., 1984: A Greek Legal Instrument in Hellenistic Uruk. AoF 11, 237–241. Monerie, J., 2012: “Notabilité urbaine et administration locale en Babylonie du sud aux époques séleucide et parthe”. In Chr. Feyel / J. Fournier / L. GraslinThomé / Fr. Kirbihler (eds.): Communautés locales et pouvoir central dans l’Orient hellénistique et romain. Nancy. Pp. 327–352. — 2014: D’Alexandre à Zoilos. Dictionnaire prosopographique des porteurs de nom grec dans les sources cunéiforms. Oriens et Occidens 23. Stuttgart. — 2015a: “More than a Workman? The case of the ēpeš dulli ṭiddi ša bīt ilāni from Hellenistic Uruk”. KASKAL 12, 411–448. — 2015b: “Writing Greek with Weapons Singularly Ill-Designed for the purpose: The Transcription of Greek Names in Cuneiform”. In R. Rollinger / E. van Dongen (eds.): Mesopotamia in the Ancient World. Impact, Continuities, Parallels. Melammu Symposia 7. Münster. Pp. 349–363.

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— 2016: “Female Prebend Holders and Temple Economy in Hellenistic Uruk”. In C. Michél / B. Lion (eds.): The Role of Women in Work and Society in the Ancient Near East. SANER 13. Berlin / Boston. Pp. 526–542. — 2018: L’économie de la Babylonie à l’époque hellénistique. SANER 14. Berlin / Boston. Oelsner, J., 1992: “Griechen in Babylonien und die Einheimischen Tempel in hellenistischer Zeit”. In D. Charpin / F. Joannès (eds.): La circulation des biens, des personnes et des idées dans le Proche-Orient ancient. CRRAI 38. Paris. Pp. 341–347. Rougemont, G. (ed.), 2012: Inscriptions grecques d’Iran et d’Asie centrale. Corpus inscriptionum Iranicarum, Part II: Inscriptions of the Seleucid and Parthian periods and of Eastern Iran and Central Asia. Vol. I. Inscriptions in nonIranian languages (avec des contributions de Paul Bernard). London. Sarkisian, G.Kh., 1969: “City Land in Seleucid Babylonia”. In I.M. Diakonoff (ed.): Ancient Mesopotamia: Socio-Economic History – A Collection of Studies by Soviet Scholars. Moscow. Pp. 312–331. — 1976: “Greek Personal Names in Uruk and the Graeco-Babyloniaca Problem”. In J. Harmatta / G. Komoróczy (eds.): Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft im Alten Vordersien. Budapest. Pp. 495–503. Sciandra, R., 2012: “The Babylonian Correspondence of the Seleucid and Arsacid Dynasties: New Insights into the Relations between Court and City during the Late Babylonian Period”. In G. Wilhelm (ed.): Organization, Representation, and Symbols of Power in the Ancient Near East: Proceedings of the 54th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale at Würzburg, 20–25 July 2008. Winona Lake (Indiana). Pp. 225–248. Sherwin-White, S. / Kuhrt, A., 1993: From Samarkhand to Sardis. A New Approach to the Seleucid Empire. Berkeley / Los Angeles. Spar, I. / Jursa, M., 2014: The Ebabbar Temple Archive and Other Texts from the Fourth to the First Millennium B.C. CTMMA IV. New York. van der Spek, R.J., 1986: Grondbezit in het Seleucidische rijk. Diss. Amsterdam. — 1993: “New Evidence on Seleucid Land Policy”. In H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg et al. (eds.): De Agricultura. In Memoriam Pieter Willem de Neeve (1945– 1990), Amsterdam. Pp. 61–77. Abbreviations AD2 Sachs, A.J. / Hunger, H., 1989: Astronomical Diaries and Related Texts from Babylonia. Vol. II: Diaries from 261 B.C. to 165 B.C. Wien. AD3 Sachs, A.J. / Hunger, H., 1996: Astronomical Diaries and Related Texts from Babylonia. Vol. III: Diaries from 164 B.C. to 61 B.C. Wien.

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Weisberg, D.B., 1991. The Late Babylonian Texts of the Oriental Institute Collection. Bibliotheca Mesopotamica 24. Malibu. BM siglum for tablets in the British Museum Collections. CTMMA IV Spar / Jursa, 2014. VS 15 Schroeder, O., 1916: Kontrakte der Seleukidenzeit aus Warka. Vorderasiatische Schriftdenkmäler der Königlichen Museen zu Berlin. Heft 15. Leipzig. YOS 20 Doty, L.T., 2010: Cuneiform Documents from Hellenistic Uruk. Yale Oriental Series: Babylonian Texts. Vol. XX. STUBM Corò, 2018.

Antigone Political Power and Resonance Claudia Horst

Introduction: The conflict Antigone, the daughter of Oedipus, owes her popularity less to her ancestry than to her resistance towards Creon, the king of Thebes. This conflict, which shall be recalled briefly, has a previous history that traces back to her father Oedipus. When Oedipus was the king of Thebes, the city was pest-ridden. Although he was an acknowledged monarch, he was gradually forced to realize that he was the cause of the misery the city was afflicted with. Long ago, Oedipus, who grew up at the royal court in Corinth, slew his father as the oracle prophesized. When this happened, he was neither aware that the person concerned was his father Laïos, nor that he was the king of Thebes. He thought that Laïos and his companions were strangers when he encountered them on a journey. As they blocked Oedipus’s way by force, he fought back and became guiltlessly guilty of his father’s death.1 He was equally unaware that Iocaste, whom he married after the Thebans assigned kingship to him, was the widow of Laïos and also his own mother. Once Oedipus understood what had happened, he blinded himself and left Thebes.2 From then on, his sons Eteocles und Polynices, who resulted from his incestuous relationship with his mother, were to govern the city in turn year by year. As Eteocles was not ready to cede his power after his one-year reign, his brother declared war against Thebes with the support of the city of Argos. In the following battle, both brothers were finally killed in action. Soon afterwards, Creon, the brother of Iocaste, and thus Antigone’s uncle, came to power. Only a short time after his accession to power, Creon enacted a new law according to which only Eteocles should be buried “with due observance of right and custom”3, whereas Polynices, who was proclaimed a traitor to the Fatherland, was to remain unburied. Antigone was not in agreement with the new law, and therefore decided to bury her brother in defiance of the law Creon issued. That Creon was not willing to bestow resonance on Antigone’s voice constituted the basic conflict of the tragedy, as the following article will demonstrate. As recent sociological investigations have shown, human beings try to establish relationships of resonance between the world and themselves. In their inner1

Soph. OC 800–813. Soph. OC 1268–1296. 3 Soph. Ant. 23–24: [...] σὺν δίκῃ χρῆσθαι δικαιῶν καὶ νόμῳ [...]. 2

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most being, they seek and long for a connection to the world, everything from breathing to culturally differentiated worldviews. If these worldviews do not resonate with society, the relationships between subject and world become fragile, both individually and politically.4 Research problems How legitimate Antigone’s disobedience toward the new prohibition of funerals was, continues to be the subject of controversy to this day. Prominent representatives of this classical debate were Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel and Friedrich Hölderlin. In compliance with prevailing opinions, Hölderlin described the tragedy as a history of rebellion. With his decision to silence Antigone’s voice, Creon had committed homicide by means of words with “tödtendfactischen”5 consequences. By basing her decision on moral law, which required the burial of the brother, Antigone had rightly rebelled against Creon’s claim to power. This interpretation was explicitly challenged by Hegel, who reacted directly to Hölderlin’s “Notes on Antigone”. Anyone who refers to unwritten law, like Antigone, necessarily contradicts the general order. Hegel saw Antigone’s will not as the will of a civic individual as part of the moral order of the state, but as the will of a single entity (“Einzelheit”6). In contrast to moral convictions that shape and maintain the state, the will of such an entity is dark, withdrawn and malicious. As it is only possible, according to Hegel, to maintain the polity by suppressing the spirit of such entities, Creon was right to take a stand against the tyrannical conduct of Antigone.7 Some of the basic arguments put forth by Hegel and Hölderlin still play a part in more recent debates. In this context, notably the opposing assumptions by Judith Butler and Bonnie Honig are to be mentioned. Unlike Hegel, Judith Butler asserts that Antigone was right to put forward her moral ideas that did not contrast with the political order, but were rather related to it.8 A funeral for Polynices would have been perceived as a public scandal, as the incestuous relationships in which Antigone was still bound would have undergone a performative repetition through the funeral.9 For Antigone did not only mourn Polynices as brother and nephew – since Oedipus was Antigone’s father and because of their common mother Iocaste at the same time her brother – but also as her beloved husband, as Butler stresses on the basis of the following quotation.10

4

Rosa, 2016. Hölderlin, 2004 [1803]: 217–219. 6 Hegel, 2014 [1807]: 339. 7 Hegel, 2014 [1807]: 348–354, 328–342. 8 Butler, 2000: 1–5. 9 Butler, 2000: 58. 10 Butler, 2000: 57. 5

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As Antigone approached her grave, she exclaimed: “Tomb, bridal chamber, deeply-dug eternal prison where I go to find my own […].”11 According to Butler, Antigone’s love for Polynices has to be understood as a result of a curse still bearing down on Antigone. As Oedipus predicted, until doomsday, Antigone will be loved by no other men except him. Antigone at the same time obeyed and disobeyed this incestuous appropriation, as she transferred the love for her father to her brother.12 Despite her incestuous enmeshment that was socially stigmatized, Antigone refused to obey any law that denied the public acknowledgement of her loss. According to Butler, Antigone had thereby anticipated the situation of those who are all too familiar with the loss of human lives on whom no public mourning is bestowed if one, for instance, thinks of the victims of AIDS.13 Whereas Butler stresses Antigone’s resistance in a comparable manner to Hölderlin, Bonnie Honig instead seems to agree with Hegel’s interpretation, as she also accuses not Creon, but Antigone of tyrannical behavior.14 Honig directly relates the prohibition of the funeral decreed by Creon to the new practices of mourning that arose in the course of the democratization of Athens and which are defended in Pericles’s funeral oration. In contrast to elite mourning practices of the archaic period, which stressed the irreplaceability of the deceased, in democratic times, the replaceable nature of the individual was emphasized. For this reason, Pericles tried to comfort the parents whose sons had been killed in action in bringing their service for the polis to mind. As not the individual but the polis was central, he finally appealed to the parents who were still fertile to bring new children into the world. Future generations would enable parents to forget their sons soon, and the city would also benefit from them. They would contribute to a large population and support the safety of the city.15 From the earliest inception of democratization, the alteration of mourning practices and the introduction of state funerals for the fallen aimed to constrain the privileges of the aristocracy. The Greeks were aware that the establishment of new institutions was not enough to induce a change in the political system if the norms and mentalities deeply rooted in the society were not altered as well. Since the time of Solon, mourning practices were progressively adjusted to the isonomic structure of the Athenian polis.16 This particularly concerned the con11

12

Butler, 2000: 23. Soph. Ant. 891–893:

Ὦ τύμβος, ὦ νυμφεῖον, ὦ κατασκαφὴς οἴκησις αἰείφρουρος οἷ πορεύομαι πρὸς τοὺς ἐμαυτῆς [...].

Butler, 2000: 60. Butler, 2000: 24. 14 Honig, 2009: 6. 15 Thuc. 2,44. 16 Funke, 2001: 11 n. 36; Schmitz, 2007: 87–89. 13

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finement of excessive forms of mourning that were common during the archaic period as the following quotation clarifies:17 “Laceration of the flesh by mourners, and the use of set lamentations, and the bewailing of any one at the funeral ceremonies of another, he [Solon] forbade. The sacrifice of an ox at the grave was not permitted, nor the burial with the dead of more than three changes of raiment, nor the visiting of other tombs than those of their own family, except at the time of interment.”18 In addition, the próthesis (the public viewing) should take place in the house and the ekphorá (the funeral procession) before dawn. The confinement of extravagant funerals was intended to prevent the aristocracy from using the funeral ceremony to show off its wealth and to exert too much influence on the democratic polis.19 The new mourning practices and the legal limitation of ostentatious funerals were further to counteract the old, aristocratic cycle of vengeance. In the past, funerals frequently provided opportunities to revive endless feuds between aristocratic families. That was especially true when the deceased relative had been murdered. In these cases, the vengeance that was planned against the murderer could already be announced by loud and public mourning. According to Bonnie Honig’s idea, Creon linked the prohibition of the funeral to the wish to put an end to the old circle of vengeance and to support the democratization of the polis, while Antigone, through her excessive mourning, was clinging to Homeric traditions and represented an antidemocratic position. In this context, Honig refers to lines 422–428: “When, after a long while, this storm had passed, the girl was seen, and she wailed aloud with the sharp cry of a grieving bird, as when inside her empty nest she sees the bed stripped of its nestlings. So she, too, when she saw the corpse bare, broke into a cry of lamentation and cursed with harsh curses those who had done it.”20 17

Honig, 2009: 11, 16. Plut. Vit. Sol. 21,4–5: ἀμυχὰς δὲ κοπτομένων καὶ τὸ θρηνεῖν πεποιημένα καὶ τὸ κωκύειν ἄλλον ἐν ταφαῖς ἑτέρων ἀφεῖλεν. εναγίζειν δὲ βοῦν οὐκ εἴασεν, οὐδὲ συντιθέναι πλέον ἱματίων τριῶν, οὐδ’ ἐπ’ ἀλλότρια μνήματα βαδίζειν χωρὶς ἐκκομιδῆς. 19 Honig, 2009: 10–11; Ferrario, 2006: 82–83; Roselli, 2006: 138 f. 20 Καὶ τοῦδ’ ἀπαλλαγέντος ἐν χρόνῳ μακρῷ, ἡ παῖς ὁρᾶται κἀνακωκύει πικρᾶς ὄρνιθος ὀξὺν φθόγγον, ὡς ὅταν κενῆς εὐνῆς νεοσσῶν ὀρφανὸν βλέψῃ λέχος· οὕτω δὲ χαὔτη, ψιλὸν ὡς ὁρᾷ νέκυν, γόοισιν ἐξῴμωξεν, ἐκ δ’ ἀρὰς κακὰς ἠρᾶτο τοῖσι τοὔργον ἐξειργασμένοις. 18

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With the curses Antigone uttered while she tried to bury Polynices according to Homeric traditions, she had announced that she would take vengeance for the death of the deceased. The following considerations will not continue to pursue the question of whether Antigone or Creon was guilty of tyrannical behavior. Considering that different normative concepts came into conflict, the focus is directed not toward the motives of single persons, but toward the modes of interaction that were taking place between them. It will thereby be demonstrated that the problem Sophocles deals with in his tragedy revolves around the question of how Antigone could succeed in making her voice heard in a political system that offered her interests no resonance. Resistance against refused resonance If one considers Antigone’s behavior toward Creon first, it can be ascertained that Antigone did not fundamentally refuse the political system. In lines 905–912, Antigone instead explicitly acknowledges the new mourning practices. Her speech is evocative of the funeral oration, and Pericles’s appeal to forget the dead and to bear their replaceable nature in mind. Antigone reaffirms that she would not burden the polis with her objection in the same way had her husband, or, if she had had any, her children died. “Never, if I had been a mother of children, or if a husband had been rotting after death, would I have taken that burden upon myself in violation of the citizens' will. For the sake of what law, you ask, do I say that? A husband lost, another might have been found, and if bereft of a child, there could be a second from some other man. But when father and mother are hidden in Hades, no brother could ever bloom for me again.”21 According to Bonnie Honig, these lines are proof of Antigone’s antidemocratic attitude, insofar as she puts the aristocratic principle of kinship before politics. However, if one assumes, as mentioned above, that Antigone embraces the mourning practices that developed in a democratic system, the interpretation by Bonnie Honig falls short. Read differently, the conduct of Antigone could also be 21

Οὐ γάρ ποτ’ οὔτ’ ἂν εἰ τέκνων μήτηρ ἔφυν οὔτ’ εἰ πόσις μοι κατθανὼν ἐτήκετο, βίᾳ πολιτῶν τόνδ’ ἂν ᾐρόμην πόνον. Τίνος νόμου δὴ ταῦτα πρὸς χάριν λέγω; πόσις μὲν ἄν μοι κατθανόντος ἄλλος ἦν, καὶ παῖς ἀπ’ ἄλλου φωτός, εἰ τοῦδ’ ἤμπλακον· μητρὸς δ’ ἐν Ἅιδου καὶ πατρὸς κεκευθότοιν οὐκ ἔστ’ ἀδελφὸς ὅστις ἂν βλάστοι ποτέ.

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understood as a willingness to negotiate with Creon. At no point is her criticism directed toward the existing mourning practices, but against the prohibition of funerals, which was introduced by Creon only on the occasion of Polynices’s death. The law was completely new. As Antigone tells her sister Ismene, the general has just decreed this edict.22 At this point it has to be emphasized that attempts to democratize the polis pre-dated Creon’s rule. Already with Eteocles and Polynices, who were to rule every other year, a fundamental principle of democratic politics had been introduced. This attempt failed, as the transition of power was not institutionally regulated. In, e.g., monarchical contexts where elections do not exist, usurpations are often the only means to replace one ruler by another.23 The beginning of Creon’s rule, as the next section will demonstrate, was also not qualified to drive the democratization forward; on the contrary, it supported the revival of tyrannical structures. The prohibition of the funerals Creon introduced was obviously unlike the other mourning rituals in that it was no measure against the re-aristocratization of the polis. Neither Antigone nor the citizens backing her were working against the democratization of the polis, but against the fact that dead bodies remained unburied. It has been assumed that Sophocles’s play – which was like other tragedies an essential part of the political thinking – referred to the case of Samos.24 After the war, the captives were allegedly crucified and not buried. Although the law also sided with Pericles in this case, insofar as traitors deserved no burial, there was no lack of critique of his violent actions. Ancient authors who wanted to leave an ideal image of Pericles for posterity did not mention the occurrence at all, like Thucydides, or denoted them as anti-Periclean propaganda like Plutarch. The tragedy, however, as Vickers emphasized, was an appropriate instrument to criticize the treatment of the dead bodies which had been regarded as particularly violent. As the tragedy was able to transfer social and political occurrences to historical or mythical contexts, the utterance of critiques could happen with vigor and safety, in contrast to explicit reports of Pericles’s politics. Therefore, the tragedy could easily avoid being accused of referring to historical events.25 It is conceivable that the occurrences on Samos constituted the historical background of the play.26 Above this, there is still another, even more important argument indicating that in the tradition of political thought, the critique of unburied dead bodies does not 22

Soph. Ant. 8. Luhmann, 1989: 14–15. 24 Vickers, 2008: 14, 16 n. 10. Here, Vickers calls Wilamowitz’s dictum about Sophoclean tragedies bearing no relation to contemporary events into question. See von WilamowitzMoellendorf, 1899: 59. 25 Vickers, 2008: 25. 26 Vickers, 2008: 14. 23

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necessarily support the old, aristocratic mindset. Apparently, it was instead directed against tyrannical behavior. As the last book of the Iliad reports, Achilles could only find a way out of his isolation by overcoming his anger. For that, he had to commiserate with Priamos and allow him to bury Hector, his son, whose corpse had been abused by Achilles. In the epic, the denial of a funeral was also regarded as a transgression accepted by neither humans nor the gods. Moreover, it was regarded as an act directly connected to tyrannical conduct. Thus, Apollo laments that the heart of Achilles was full of disdain.27 The anger of Achilles became a symbol for a tyrannical form of rule dependent on violence, while compassion represented a responsive form of rule providing resonance. Antigone also perceived the denial of the funeral as a transgression of a tyrannical ruler who, furthermore, contradicted her religious identity. According to her assumption, Creon has ignored the natural and the divine order with his conduct. “Nor did I think that your decrees were of such force, that a mortal could override the unwritten [...]. Not for fear of any man's pride was I about to owe a penalty to the gods for breaking these.”28 It was impossible for her to submit to Creon’s will. More than Creon’s sanctions, she feared the judgement of the gods that determined her eternal life. “[…] it would honor me to die while doing that. I shall rest with him, loved one with loved one, a pious criminal. For the time is greater that I must serve the dead than the living, since in that world I will rest forever.”29 As Robin Celikates in connection with the philosophy of Spinoza has shown, laws that are enacted by authorities without being rooted in existing practices, habits and emotional structures, are perceived as a lifestyle prescribed by others, and therefore, encounter resistance.30 At this point, it has to be mentioned again that Antigone did not fundamentally reject the political system. She did not demand that Creon be replaced with another ruler or a new system introduced. Instead, she tried to enter into a dialogue with Creon while explaining that she accepts the existing mourning practices, but not the new legislation.

27 28

Hom. Il. 24, 40–44. Soph. Ant. 453–460:

οὐδὲ σθένειν τοσοῦτον ᾠόμην τὰ σὰ κηρύγμαθ’ ὥστ’ ἄγραπτα κἀσφαλῆ θεῶν νόμιμα δύνασθαι θνητὸν ὄνθ’ ὑπερδραμεῖν. [...] Τούτων ἐγὼ οὐκ ἔμελλον, ἀνδρὸς οὐδενὸς φρόνημα δείσασ’, ἐν θεοῖσι τὴν δίκην δώσειν· 29 Soph. Ant. 72–76: καλόν μοι τοῦτο ποιούσῃ θανεῖν. Φίλη μετ’ αὐτοῦ κείσομαι, φίλου μέτα, ὅσια πανουργήσασ’· ἐπεὶ πλείων χρόνος ὃν δεῖ μ’ ἀρέσκειν τοῖς κάτω τῶν ἐνθάδε. Ἐκεῖ γὰρ αἰεὶ κείσομαι· 30 Celikates, 2006: 54. Spinoza, 1994 [1667]: V, 1; 3–4.

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Governance and the denial of resonance Creon completely lacks readiness for negotiation. From the beginning, however, his reactions make abundantly clear that Antigone’s demands should find no resonance. Creon particularly tries to justify his actions exclusively by reasons of state. Whoever counteracts the law will not only lose his honor, but will be punished by death by stoning. Through appeal to reasons of state, not only is obedience to the law underlined, but also obedience to Creon as a representative of the state, as his following statement confirms: “No, whomever the city may appoint, that man must be obeyed in matters small and great and in matters just and unjust.”31 By relying on reasons of state as a higher purpose, he can justify all actions as being in keeping with the political telos. The leader of the chorus criticizes Creon’s attitude and accuses him of laying claim, by means of the prohibition of the funeral, to judging not only the living but also the deceased: “And the power is yours, I believe, to make use of every law whatsoever, both concerning the dead and all us who live.”32 Creon does not consider the citizens free human beings, but servants who, if necessary, he will force to follow him. “And I have witnessed horses with great spirit disciplined by a small bit. For there is no place for pride, when one is his neighbors’ slave.”33 Creon already knows at this point that the majority of the citizens stand behind Antigone and not behind him: “From the very first certain men of the city were chafing at this edict and muttering against me, tossing their heads in secret, and they did not keep their necks duly under the yoke in submission to me.”34 Despite his knowledge of his dwindling support by the people, he is not prepared to follow the voices of his councilors. He accuses the prophet Teiresias, who approaches him with good advice, of being corrupt. Instead of yielding and listening to others, he decides to prevent contradiction as strictly as resistance: “But if anyone oversteps and does violence to the laws, or thinks to dictate to those in power, such a one will never win praise from me.”35 Here, Creon de31

Soph. Ant. 666–667:

32

Soph. Ant. 213–214:

33

Soph. Ant. 477–479:

34

Soph. Ant. 289–292:

35

Soph. Ant. 663–665:

Ἀλλ’ ὃν πόλις στήσειε, τοῦδε χρὴ κλύειν καὶ σμικρὰ καὶ δίκαια καὶ τἀναντία. νόμῳ δὲ χρῆσθαι παντί πού γ’ ἔνεστί σοι καὶ τῶν θανόντων χὠπόσοι ζῶμεν πέρι. Σμικρῷ χαλινῷ δ’ οἶδα τοὺς θυμουμένους ἵππους καταρτυθέντας· οὐ γὰρ ἐκπέλει φρονεῖν μέγ’ ὅστις δοῦλός ἐστι τῶν πέλας. ἀλλὰ ταῦτα καὶ πάλαι πόλεως ἄνδρες μόλις φέροντες ἐρρόθουν ἐμοί, κρυφῇ κάρα σείοντες, οὐδ’ ὑπὸ ζυγῷ λόφον δικαίως εἶχον, ὡς στέργειν ἐμέ. Ὅστις δ’ ὑπερβὰς ἢ νόμους βιάζεται, ἢ τοὐπιτάσσειν τοῖς κρατοῦσιν ἐννοεῖ, οὐκ ἔστ’ ἐπαίνου τοῦτον ἐξ ἐμοῦ τυχεῖν.

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cidedly sheds his democratic obligation to account for his actions and to get involved in the proceedings. He tries to evade conflicts by referring to ultimately subjective arguments that tolerate no dissent. Creon repeatedly uses the category of age or sex to refute the arguments produced by other persons. So, he tries to reject Haemon’s manifold efforts to appease him with reference to his age with only one sentence: “Men of my age – are we, then, to be schooled in wisdom by men of his?”36 While Creon connects age with concrete qualities, he tries to treat these qualities in the same way as age as natural and unchangeable categories. If, for instance, the capability to speak the truth is denoted as the privilege of advanced age, it is impossible for a younger person to speak up. Haemon exposes Creon’s approach fairly quickly as a pure power strategy, which does not promote the exchange of arguments but prevents it: “But if I am young, you should look to my conduct, not to my years.”37 Haemon even goes one step further and argues that the category of age is not just a natural factor but also a social and cultural category. So, he accuses Creon himself of speaking like an adolescent. Haemon identifies the authoritarian statement by Creon: “Shall Thebes prescribe to me how I must rule?”38 as an expression of his juvenile immaturity by which he tries to set his own will as supreme. A function similar to that of age is performed by references to the sex of a person. Sex can also be treated as a natural and therefore unchangeable affair to immunize arguments against criticism. Thus, Creon refers to categories of sex in order to justify that he does not need to react to Antigone’s demands. If he would approach her, not he, but she would be a man.39 He considers a responsive conduct toward women unmanly. That Antigone dares to raise her voice under these social circumstances is another indication of her powerful acting. It is notable that Creon justifies his superiority not just with his natural sex, but also with social categories and specific actions. Thus, the capability to rule might be perceived as the privilege of men if this capability were linked with the priority of the male sex as opposed to the female sex based on natural law. In order not to venture his manliness and his claim to power, Antigone’s voice is not allowed to find resonance. Therefore, Creon must hold firm to his decision once made: “While I live, no woman will rule me.”40

36

Soph. Ant. 726–727:

37

Soph. Ant. 728–729:

38

Soph. Ant. 734: Soph. Ant. 484. 40 Soph. Ant. 525:

Οἱ τηλικοίδε καὶ διδαξόμεσθα δὴ φρονεῖν ὑπ’ ἀνδρὸς τηλικοῦδε τὴν φύσιν; εἰ δ’ ἐγὼ νέος, οὐ τὸν χρόνον χρὴ μᾶλλον ἢ τἄργα σκοπεῖν. Πόλις γὰρ ἡμῖν ἁμὲ χρὴ τάσσειν ἐρεῖ.

39

ἐμοῦ δὲ ζῶντος οὐκ ἄρξει γυνή.

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The end of communication The idea that Creon was repeatedly approached with – that an individual may only represent the polis if he opens a space in which not just his will, but also the will of others may find resonance – runs like a common thread through the entire tragedy. Haemon in particular tries to convince Creon of the necessity of responsive conduct. In doing so, he argues in a variety of ways rather than limiting himself to normative claims. By employing different metaphors, he tries to convince Creon that it is politically indispensable to respect the interests of the people and to restore social approval: “You see how the trees that stand beside the torrential streams created by a winter storm yield to it and save their branches, while the stiff and rigid perish root and all?”41 Another metaphor, which plays a central role in political philosophy, is the socalled ship metaphor, which might be used for different purposes. Creon also seized on this picture to prove that only a captain may lead a ship, but not an uneducated crowd. Haemon, in contrast, pursues a completely different line of argument with the metaphor of the helmsman. If a captain, as Haemon points out, runs a ship too tightly and acts without regard for the opinion of others, he might put the entire ship in danger: “Do not, then, bear one mood only in yourself: do not think that your word and no other, must be right. [...] And in the same way the pilot who keeps the sheet of his sail taut and never slackens it, upsets his boat, and voyages thereafter with his decking underwater. Father, give way and allow a change from your rage.”42 Creon believes that he is not able to afford concessions, nor to act responsively. To Haemon’s objection that the city does not only belong to one man, Creon responds: “Does not the city by tradition belong to the man in power?”43 Haemon responds to this insisting that the city not only consists of the ruler but of all men participating in the polis: “You would make a fine monarch over a desolate land.”44

41

Soph. Ant. 712–714:

42

Soph. Ant. 705–718:

43

Soph. Ant. 738: Soph. Ant. 739:

44

Ὁρᾷς παρὰ ῥείθροισι χειμάρροις ὅσα δένδρων ὑπείκει, κλῶνας ὡς ἐκσῴζεται, τὰ δ’ ἀντιτείνοντ’ αὐτόπρεμν’ ἀπόλλυται. Μή νυν ἓν ἦθος μοῦνον ἐν σαυτῷ φόρει, ὡς φῂς σύ, κοὐδὲν ἄλλο, τοῦτ’ ὀρθῶς ἔχειν· […] Αὔτως δὲ ναὸς ὅστις ἐγκρατὴς πόδα τείνας ὑπείκει μηδέν, ὑπτίοις κάτω στρέψας τὸ λοιπὸν σέλμασιν ναυτίλλεται. Ἀλλ’ εἶκε, θυμῷ καὶ μετάστασιν δίδου. Οὐ τοῦ κρατοῦντος ἡ πόλις νομίζεται; Καλῶς ἐρήμης γ’ ἂν σὺ γῆς ἄρχοις μόνος.

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That kings who rule over an empty land will soon be kings no more is a powerful symbol in the history of political thought. As the Babylonian Epic of Gilgamesh already reports, the gods would experience the destruction of their own livelihood by destroying all men in the flood, since they were no longer able to offer them sacrifices.45 There is a similar motif in the Iliad, which also describes the dependency of the gods on the sacrifices of men.46 Finally, one might point to Aristophanes, who clearly demonstrates in his comedy “The Birds”, that the gods would lose their authority if they were deprived of their sacrifices.47 The motif of the “empty land” was also embraced in later times, for example, in the philosophy of Spinoza. Spinoza argued that if subjects are treated like a flock, the political community quickly turns into a wasteland.48 Recent approaches in political science have indicated, with reference to Spinoza, that it is not institutions and laws, but the power of the people that constitute the factual and normative base for government.49 The insight that those who do not respect the interests of the demos do not rule over a society but over an empty wasteland comes too late for Creon.50 When he has halfheartedly decided to deviate from his principles, Antigone has already hanged herself in her catacomb. Haemon, in his grief for Antigone and in his anger for his father, has stabbed himself with his own sword. After Creon is also told that Eurydice, in her grief for her son, has taken her own life, everything slips from his grasp: “I do not know which way I should look, or where I should seek support. All is amiss that is in my hands [...].”51 Without the willingness to adhere to the law, no city may persist. But this obedience cannot be imposed by force, as Creon believed. His consistent refusal to allow other voices resonance ultimately seems to be the cause of the tragedy. When Antigone said that a husband and one’s own children might be replaceable but a brother is not, she obviously tried to communicate with Creon. With this remark, she may have been evoking another king who, unlike Creon, did not reject the lamentations of a woman, but was ready to listen to her. The ruler cited here was the Persian king Darius, of whom Herodotus reports the following story. Like Creon, Darius was confronted by a woman who attempted to resist the arrest of 45

XI, 114–163 (George, 2003: 710–713). Hom. Il. 24, 46–71. 47 Ar. Av. 1515–1524. 48 Spinoza, 1994 [1667]: V, 4. 49 Celikates, 2006: 48–53. 50 As the choir remarked in line 1270: Οἴμ’ ὡς ἔοικας ὀψὲ τὴν δίκην ἰδεῖν. (Ah, how late you seem to see the right!) 51 Soph. Ant. 1341–1346: [...] οὐδ’ ἔχω ὅπᾳ πρὸς πότερον ἴδω· πάντα γὰρ λέχρια τἀν χεροῖν, [...]. 46

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her relatives. Instead of suppressing the lamentations like Creon, Darius made her an offer. He wanted to allow her to free one of her relatives. In the same way as Antigone, the woman opted for her brother, who, unlike her other relatives, was not replaceable. It is conceivable that Sophocles, who was a friend of Herodotus, wanted to quote the widespread story when he put that statement into Antigone’s mouth. If Creon, like the Great King of Persia, had been ready to enter into negotiations with the lamenting women, he presumably would not have failed. The possibility of engaging with political representatives in a relationship of accountability is identified by Hartmut Rosa as an essential characteristic of democratic structures, and to this day is a reason for the unabated attractiveness of democracy.52 Also in Athens, the duty to account for one’s actions (lógon didónai) was closely connected with democracy by means of different procedures. The communicative strategies used by Creon to avoid a dispute with Antigone make clear, however, that he could not meet the standards to which representatives of democratic communities were held. With his appeal to the reason of state as a higher end, he attempted to vindicate his actions. As shown by Dimitris Vardoulakis, the reference to a higher end supports the foundation of political sovereignty and ultimately also the application of violence, since all means that serve the implementation of a higher end seems legitimate.53 Since a higher end is not negotiable, the modes used to assert it are the communicative strategies of justification, as applied by Creon. Voices of alterity that question the meaning or the significance of such a purpose and demand a communicative dispute cannot be permitted in this context. At the extreme, they will be excluded from the political community with violence like Antigone. As has been noted in the literature, not only does Creon appeal to higher ends, but Antigone also does so when she decides to bury her brother Polynices. She repeatedly refers to the divine order to justify her actions. The leader of the chorus further renders Antigone’s stubbornness problematic: “She shows herself the wild offspring of a wild father, and does not know how to bend before troubles.”54 It is certainly right that religious positions that concern salvation are not negotiable. But this does not quite seem to apply to Antigone. A reading of the tragedy in greater detail shows that in comparison to Creon, Antigone is more likely ready to negotiate. Thus, contrary to Creon, Antigone not only makes use of the communicative form of justification, but also of the form of judgement when she explains why the death of her brother is more important to her than the death of husbands or 52

Rosa, 2016: 364–365, 588. Vardoulakis, 2013: 13–18. 54 Soph. Ant. 471–472: Δηλοῖ τὸ γέννημ’ ὠμὸν ἐξ ὠμοῦ πατρὸς τῆς παιδός· εἴκειν δ’ οὐκ ἐπίσταται κακοῖς. See Meier, 1988: 211, 214. 53

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children. With her implicit reference to Darius’ conduct, she advises Creon of alternative opportunities for action. Finally, Antigone is even willing to distance herself from her own position and to imagine not that she herself is right, but perhaps also others: “Well, then, if these events please the gods, once I have suffered my doom I will come to know my guilt.”55 Conclusion. What remains of Antigone? In conclusion, what remains to be answered is the question of how Antigone stays in our mind after the previous deliberations. Is she to be considered as a tyrannical, obstinate citizen, a resistance fighter, or was her conflict with Creon simply unsuccessful? After all, the tragedy ends with her death. Against the backdrop of these thoughts, Antigone’s decision to end her days in the vault cannot be understood solely as a sign of her failure. Her suicide was instead her last resort to elude a political system that was directed only toward her exclusion and bestowed no resonance upon her voice. If one wants to follow a thesis of Foucault’s on parrhesia, she decided to tell her truth at an unspecified price, which may be as high as her own death.56 If one considers the chronological order of the occurrences after her death and the place where they happened, her suicide can also be interpreted as a continuation of her resistance, and therefore as a political suicide. Antigone’s death was instantaneously followed by Haemon’s death, by Eurydice’s death and by Creon’s change in thinking. From the course of events, one should certainly not leap to the conclusion that political suicides are principally an appropriate instrument to induce political rethinking. However, what might be construed from the occurrences is the failure of Creon’s policy of exclusion.57 His last measure against Antigone consisted in her exclusion from society. She, as Creon said, shall not be entitled to live here with us.58 But obviously, Antigone’s expulsion was not successful. Her voice found resonance even from that place that should represent the outside of society.

55

Soph. Ant. 925–926:

Ἀλλ’ εἰ μὲν οὖν τάδ’ ἐστὶν ἐν θεοῖς καλά, παθόντες ἂν ξυγγνοῖμεν ἡμαρτηκότες· 56 Foucault, 2011: 56. This kind of free speech is fundamental to Foucault’s definition of parrhesia. 57 “What does not fit is exorcised, what does not conform is silenced, what resists entry in a security index is banished to the house, to a living death in the darkened cave, or to oblivion.” Euben, 1997: 158. 58 Soph. Ant. 890. See Rosa, 2016: 257–258: “Claude Lévi-Strauss, Walter B. Cannon und andere Ethnologen berichten von einer an ganz unterschiedlichen Stammesgesellschaften beobachteten Praxis des sogenannten sozialen Todes (oder auch des Voodoo-Todes), bei der verstoßene Stammesmitglieder dadurch buchstäblich umgebracht werden, dass ihnen jede Resonanz verweigert wird.”

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To summarize Antigone’s story, one could say that those who are excluded apparently remain present in every society.59 Bibliography Aristophanis, Comoediae, vol. 1, Acharnenses, Equites, Nubes, Vespas, Pacem, Aves, ed. Frederick W. Hall, William M. Geldart. Oxford 1952 [1900]. George, A.R., The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic. Introduction, Critical Edition and Cuneiform Texts, vol. 1. Oxford 2003. Plutarchi, Vitae parallelae (BT), vol.1, ed. Claes Lindskog, Konrat Ziegler. Leipzig 1957. Plutarch’s Lives, Theseus and Romulus. Lycurgus and Numa. Solon and Publicola (LCL), vol. 1, transl. Bernadotte Perrin. London 1998 [1914]. Sophocle, Antigone (LBL), vol. 1, ed. Alphonse Dain, transl. Paul Mazon. Paris 1967 [1955], 72–122. Sophocles, The Antigone of Sophocles (CUP), ed. with introduction and notes by Sir Richard Jebb. Cambridge 1891. Sophocle, Oedipus Tyrannos (LBL), vol. 2, ed. Alphonse Dain, transl. Paul Mazon. Paris 1958, 72–128. Butler, J., 2000: Antigones’s Claim. Kinship Between Life and Death. New York. Celikates, R., 2006: “Demokratie als Lebensform. Spinozas Kritik des Liberalismus”. In G. Hindrichs (ed.): Die Macht der Menge. Über die Aktualität einer Denkfigur Spinozas. Heidelberg. Pp. 43–65. Euben, J.P., 1997: Corrupting Youth. Political Education, Democratic Culture, and Political Theory. Princeton. Foucault, M., 2011: The Government of Self and Others. Lectures at the Collège de France 1982–1983, ed. Frédéric Gros, transl. Graham Burchell. Basingstoke (UK). Hegel, G.W.F.H., 2014, 4th ed., [1807]: Phänomenologie des Geistes. Frankfurt am Main. Hölderlin, F., 2004 [1803]: “Anmerkungen zur Antigonä“. In D. E. Sattler (ed.): Sämtliche Werke. Briefe und Dokumente in zeitlicher Reihenfolge (Bremer Ausgabe, vol. 10). München. Pp. 212–219. Honig, B., 2009: “Antigone’s Laments, Creon’s Grief. Mourning, Membership, and the Politics of Exception”. Political Theory 37/1, 5–43.

59

“Those excluded are those who are subjected to violence, then and now. They are thus reincluded by being subjected to the violence of the sovereign. There is a codetermination between the sovereign who stands above the law and all the figures who are placed below the law. The reason is that without the excluded, violence could not be justified. This parallel exclusion and inclusion that characterize Agamben’s paradox of sovereignty can be called a logic of exclusory inclusion.” Vardoulakis, 2013: 98.

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Ferrario, S.B., 2006: “Replaying Antigone. Changing Patterns of Public and Private Commemoration at Athens c. 440–350”. In Cynthia B. Patterson (ed.): Antigone’s Answer. Essay on Death and Burial, Family and State in Classical Athens. Lubbock, Texas. 79–117. Funke, P., 2001: “Wendezeit und Zeitenwende. Athens Aufbruch zur Demokratie”. In D. Papenfu / V.M. Strocka (eds.): Gab es das griechische Wunder? Griechenland zwischen dem Ende des 6. und der Mitte des 5. Jahrhunderts v.Chr. Tagungsbeiträge des 16. Fachsymposiums der Alexander von Humboldt-Stiftung vom 5. bis 9. April 1999 in Freiburg im Breisgau. Mainz. Pp. 1–20. Luhmann, N., 1989: “Theorie der politischen Opposition”. Zeitschrift für Politik. Neue Folge 36/1, 13–26. Meier, Chr., 1988: Die politische Kunst der griechischen Tragödie. München. Rosa, H., 2016: Resonanz. Eine Soziologie der Weltbeziehung. Berlin. Roselli, D.K., 2006: “Polyneices’ Body and his Monument. Class, Social Status, and Funerary Commemoration in Sophocles’ Antigone”. In Cynthia B. Patterson (ed.): Antigone’s Answer. Essay on Death and Burial, Family and State in Classical Athens. Lubbock, Texas. Pp. 135–177. Schmitz, W., 2007: Haus und Familie im antiken Griechenland. München. Spinoza, Baruch de, 1994 [1677, Opera Posthuma]: Politischer Traktat. Tractatus politicus, ed., new transl. with introduction and annotations by Wolfgang Bartuschat. Hamburg. Vardoulakis, D., 2013: Sovereignty and its Other. Toward the Dejustification of Violence. New York. Vickers, M., 2008: Sophocles and Alcibiades. Athenian Politics in Ancient Greek Literature. Ithaca, NY. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, U., 1899: “Excurse zum Oedipus des Sophokles”. Hermes 34, 55–80. Abbreviations BT Bibliotheca Teubneriana. CUP Cambridge University Press. LBL Les Belles Lettres. LCL Loeb Classical Library.

Mighty, but quiet? Elpinice between Conflicting Priorities in Interpretations and Sources Florian Krüpe

When US President Barack Obama in 2010 stepped up to the microphone to honour the anniversary of Greece’s declaration of independence, he could not resist addressing the Archbishop of the Greek Orthodox Church and community in America, Demetrios, who, in turn, had made Obama subject to a more or less flattering comparison about a year ago: “Last year, His Eminence tried to compare me with Alexander the Great. I thought this would get me more respect from Michelle and the girls. (Laughter.) It did not. (Laughter.) They reminded me instead that Greek literature is full of very strong women. (Laughter.)”1 However great the reflex to contradict an American president in these times may be, it must be conceded here that the Obamas are right about the huge number of strong women in ancient sources – even if their strength is not always evident at first glance. This kind of hidden strength applies to Elpinice, who has been subject of surprisingly few modern studies,2 and who cannot easily be pigeonholed: daughter of Miltiades, sister, wife and lover of Cimon, wife of Callias, lover of Polygnotos, scandalous aristocrat, politically committed, a manipulative mastermind ... nothing really fits, the sources only present small tesserae and mirror shards. In the end, however, as so often, it is all about female agency, about possibilities for female political participation in classical Athens – and about the question of what could be true and what is perhaps too much wishful thinking. Let us first try a biographical sketch. All considerations of the figure of Elpinice need to concede that her life data cannot be determined exactly. Sources inform us that she was the daughter of Miltiades (550–489) and the Thracian Hegesipyle3, and that Cimon (510–449) was her older half-brother. Years later her grave was next to Cimon’s, in front of the Melitic Gates4, and thus close to the Mnema of Thucydides, with whom she

1

Remarks by the President Honoring Greek Independence Day. March 09, 2010. The White House Office of the Press Secretary: https://obamawhitehouse.archives.gov/reality check/the-press-office/remarks-president-honoring-greek-independence-day. 2 See in particular the studies by Zaccarini, 2011; 2017 and Bultrighini, 2014. Brill’s New Pauly devotes only 129 words to her. 3 Davies, 1971: 302. For Hegesipyle cf. Zaccarini, 2011: 303. 4 Plut. Cim. 4,3.

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was supposedly related.5 Along with other framework data this allows for estimated life data of “around 500” to “around 439”. We learn nothing about her education and early years, but Rebekka Futo Kennedy suspects with good justification that Elpinice might have enjoyed the education typical for aristocratic families of that time.6 Being still “very” young, she was married to her half-brother Cimon.7 According to Cornelius Nepos, this was certainly not a love marriage, but rather a according to local customs marriage, as Athenians were allowed to marry daughters of the same father.8 Plutarch reports similarly, but additionally remarks that there simply was no other worthy candidate due to her noble descent.9 Diodorus further adds that a similar phenomenon was the reason for the marriages of Ptolemy and Berenice or of Zeus and Hera – or with the Persians in his time.10 At the same time, however, these authors (along with others) speak against this connection – they reject and discredit it. Plutarch, Diodorus, Athenaios,11 (Ps.-)Andokides, and Aristides, some of them referring to sources from the 5th century as Eupolis, Stesimbrotos and Ion of Chios12, report that such a relationship between half siblings was forbidden and illegal. And they go even further and state, that it was precisely because of this immoral marriage that Cimon was finally ostracized.13 This moral (de)valuation of Elpinice’s private love life, which certainly reflects judgements about Cimon, but nevertheless focuses particularly on Elpinice, prevail both’s early years. The sources further state that while she was still in a relationship with her brother, Elpinice started another relationship with Polygnotos, one of the most famous painters of her time,14 who was largely responsible for the design of the famous Stoa Poikile. 5

Plut. Cim. 4,2. Futo Kennedy, 2015: 69. 7 Plut. Cim. 4,3. 8 Nepos Cim. 1,2 9 Nepos Cim. 1,2 10 Diod. 10,31,1. 11 Plut. Cim. 4,8; 15,3; Diod. 10,31; Athen. 13,589e; Ps.-Andok. 4,33; Aristid. Schol. 3,515. 12 Eupolis, Poleis fr. 221 A-K, Kock 208. On Stesimbrotos and Ion, whose writings and methods resemble each other cf. Meister, 1978: 274–294; Tsakmakis, 1995: 129–152. 13 Plut. Cim. 15,3; Suda s.v. Cimon. 14 Plin. Nat. 35,59: “ […] Polygnotus of Thasos who first represented women in transparent draperies and showed their heads covered with a parti-coloured headdress; and he first contributed many improvements to the art of painting, as he introduced showing the mouth wide open and displaying the teeth and giving expression to the countenance in place of the primitive rigidity. There is a picture by this artist in the Portico of Pompeius which formerly hung in front of the Curia which he built, in which it is doubtful whether the figure of a man with a shield is painted as going up or as coming down. Polygnotus painted 6

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“And indeed in other cases too they say that Elpinicé was not very decorous, but that she had improper relations also with Polygnotus the painter, and that it was for this reason that, in the Peisianacteum, as it was then called, but now the Painted Colonnade, when he was painting the Trojan women, he made the features of Laodicé a portrait of Elpinicé.”15 (Transl.: B. Perrin) Cimon’s family is regarded the main commissioner of this famous artist, who is praised for having been able to a special degree “[…] historische, politische und kulturelle Leistungen der Polis durch Gegenüberstellung mythischer und aktueller Ereignisse in eine identitätsstiftende Bildersprache zu übersetzen.”16 If we decide to trust Plutarch’s statement of Laodice – Elpinice in the Stoa Poikile, this small episode could be considered to be an early example of a phenomenon widespread in art, this is to provide mythological figures with features of historical, mostly contemporary persons. Another remarkable piece in this context is a red-figured Hydria with kalathiskos dancers in the National Museum in Naples. The vessel, dating to 450–440 BC, is attributed to Polygnotos, on which the seated female figure is identified as Elpinice by an inscription above her head.17 This hydria might thus be reflecting Polygnotos’ famous image of Elpinice – but also the 5th century zeitgeist, placing Elpinice in a certain ‘corner’ and thus ‘labelling’ her.18 To put all these accusations into context: The accusation of incest, as it is presented inter alia by Plutarch, who repeatedly refers to contemporary sources,19 is attributed particular weight, so that even years later it did Cimon just as much harm as the accusation that he sympathized with the Spartans: “they banded together to denounce him, and tried to inflame the people against him, renewing the old slanders about his sister and accusing him of being a Spartan sympathiser. It was to these calumnies that the famous and popular verses of Eupolis about Cimon had reference: ‘He was not base, but fond of wine and full of sloth, And of the ’ld sleep in Lacedaemon, far from home, the temple at Delphi and the colonnade at Athens called the Painted Portico […].” (Transl.: H. Rackham); Quint. Inst. Or. 11,10,3: “The first great painters whose works are worth looking at for other reasons than their antiquity are said to have been Polygnotus and Aglaophon. Their simple colour still has its admirers, enthusiastic enough to prefer these rude objects, the beginnings, as it were, of the future art, to the greatest of the later masters. I take this to be a pretentious claim to superior understanding.” (Transl.: D.A. Russell) 15 Plut. Cim. 4,5. Bleimfelder (1952, 11) judges this to be an unjustified accusation. 16 Hoesch & Oakley 2001. 17 ARV2 1035,61. Cf. Furtwängler et al., 1932: 319–324, pl. 171, figs. 151–154; Matheson, 1995: 23–25, pl. 14. 18 Keuls, 1993: 93: “[…] in the light of the prevailing mores, the identification of the figure by name was so rare as to constitute an act of social defiance.” 19 Plut. Cim. 4,5.

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And leave his Elpinicé sleeping all alone.’” 20 (Transl.: B. Perrin) How much the sibling’s marriage was subject of gossip in Athens can be estimated from an ostracon from the ostracism trial of Cimon, which reads: ΚΙΜΟΝ ΜΙΛΤΙΑΔΟ ΕΛΠΙΝΙΚΗΝ ΛΑΒΩΝ ΙΤΩ “Cimon, son of Miltiades, take Elpinice and go!”21 Elke Stein-Hölkeskamp justifiably attaches great importance to this piece of evidence, since it demonstrates how much this relationship was talk of the town and provided “willkommene Gelegenheit zu böswilligem Klatsch und Verleumdungen für Kimons Gegner”.22 For Bultrighini, more than just incest is at stake; incest is only the pretext. He considers it part of a slanderous propaganda, an attack rooted in and motivated by the existence of a collaboration (sic) between Cimon and Elpinice. This accusation, he further elaborates, also expresses the perceived necessity to harm not just one but two political opponents. In Bultrighini’s eyes, the ostracon is therefore also to be taken as evidence of Elpinice’s actual political importance.23 Let us keep this in mind, when we now again turn to the family’s history before Cimon’s ostracism. Following his overall aim to describe bona et mala of a person, Plutarch does not grant the young Cimon any flattering character: Although of noble disposition, he was not held in high esteem. He is said to have been a heavy drinker, rather simple-minded, just like his grandfather, and had not been taught music, rhetoric or similar subjects. In addition, Plutarch states, referring again to Stesimbrotos and also the poet Melanthius, that the young Cimon was also very fond of women.24 His marriage with Isodice at the end of the 480s25 established a connection with the Alkmaeonids, an even more powerful, richer and more influential family in Athens.26 Cimon’s main problem during his early years was not a 20

Plut. Cim. 15,3. Incest and befriending Sparta are accusations are at the same level (Zaccarini, 2011: 287; Zaccarini, 2017: 35): both (!) are domestic accusations to harm Cimon. This passage gains significant importance in Bultrighini (2014: 500 ff.), who considers it a common sarcastic reference to the private life of a target person – as in attic comedies. He consequently does not regard this episode trustworthy. 21 Ostrakismos-Testimonies I, Tl/67. 22 Stein-Hölkeskamp, 1999: 150. Likewise Zaccarini, 2011: 296; Zaccarini, 2017: 35; Brenne, 1994: 14. 23 Bultrighini, 2014: 492/493. Brenne (1994: 13) agreed to that view, as ostraca still served the purpose to condemn, mock or defame the individuals who appeared on them. 24 Plut. Cim. 4,3–5. 25 Plut. Cim. 4,5: “And it is clear that he was unusually devoted to Isodice, the daughter of Euryptolemus and granddaughter of Megacles, who lived with Cimon as his lawful wife, and that he deeply grieved her death, if one must rely for evidence on the elegies written to console him in his grief.” (Transl: B. Perrin). Cf. Zaccarini, 2017: 31. 26 Zaccarini. 2017: 31.

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small one, however: his father Miltiades, the former ‘hero of Marathon’, had been brought to trial and fined 50 talents – an enormous sum that he was unable to pay. When Miltiades died, his son Cimon inherited this fine and was imprisoned due to his lack of sufficient financial resources to meet it the fine.27 It was around that time, that a marriage of Cimon’s sister Elpinice with Callias was launched – a welcomed opportunity to join another powerful (and wealthy) family, the Ceryces, and a little later another sister (or daughter) of Cimon became the wife of Thucydides. These were powerful connections in Athens at that time, for Zaccarini an anti-Themistocles alliance.28 Elpinice’s new husband, Callias, is described in the sources as little distinguished, but enormously rich.29 Allegedly, it was Callias, who desired Elpinice and suggested to Cimon to marry her and answer for his fine.30 What at first glance seems to be just “business between men” disposing of a woman as a comparatively passive object, however, takes a remarkable twist in other sources. According to Nepos, the active part was with Elpinice: “Callias scorned such a proposal, but Elpinice declared that she would not allow the son of Miltiades to die in the state prison, when she had the power to prevent it, but that she would marry Callias, if he would keep his promise.”31 (Transl.: J.C. Rolfe) This does not fit the impression that has been gained so far from reading the sources: In Nepos, Elpinice was still very young but already had power, courage and influence that she could take the reins of action. The marriage came into being, allegedly with the participation/approval of Cimon, but given the circumstances, his role cannot have been great. As a consequence, Cimon was set free, regained his position due to his outstanding rhetoric abilities, his generosity, his knowledge of the law and his military experience, as Nepos states32 In the end, 27

Hdt. 6,136. Zaccarini, 2017: 31. In addition cf. Stein-Hölkeskamp, 1999: 139: “Einem Aristokraten aus Kimons Generation mußten allerdings nicht nur die Chancen, sondern auch die evidenten Risiken durchaus klar sein, die aus diesen neuen Verhältnissen für jeden Einzelnen erwuchsen. Allein schon das Gerichtsverfahren gegen seinen Vater Miltiades und die Ostrakisierung und spätere Verurteilung des Themistokles dürften genügt haben, Kimon und allen anderen politisch ambitionierten Aristokraten mit aller Deutlichkeit vor Augen zu führen, daß der Demos nun ganz neue, besondere und gesteigerte Erwartungen an seine Führer stellte und daß sie mit ziemlich unmittelbaren schweren Konsequenzen zu rechnen hatten, wenn sie in den Augen der Bürgerschaft diesen hohen Ansprüchen nicht genügten. So verblaßte der Marathon-Ruhm des Feldherrn Miltiades schnell, als sein Paros-Unternehmen nicht den zuvor von ihm selbst versprochenen Erfolg hatte.” 29 On ore mines: Nepos Cim. 1,3. 30 Nepos Cim. 1,3; Plut. Cim. 4,7. 31 Nepos Cim. 1,4. 32 Nepos Cim. 2,1. 28

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however, he regains power and reputation because of his sister. Elpinice’s marriage to Callias is commonly dated to the 480s, just as is Cimon’s own marriage to Isodice.33 Zaccharini therefore considers the Callias story to be highly dubious and constructed, the fine to be suspiciously high, and legitimately asks who ultimately paid Cimon’s fine – and whether we may really believe that Callias bought Elpinice’s hand.34 For the next eventful 20 years in Athens, we learn nothing about Elpinice’s fate. She only makes an appearance in our sources when Cimon is to be held accountable for his pro-Spartan positions – and ostracism proves to be a tool in domestic political debates. A first charge against him was brought in the course of the punitive operations of the Athenian league against the island of Thasos.35 Among the prosecutors was Pericles, whose family, despite personal ties, apparently was in a long established opposition to Cimon and his family;36 Pericles’ part in this trial was, however, largely insignificant, maybe not least because the case turned out to be hopeless for the accusers early on 37 – Cimon was acquitted. More interesting for the present micro-study is, however, Elpinice’s behaviour, as she actively intervenes in favour of her now prominent half-brother: “In mentioning this famous trial Stesimbrotus says that Elpinice came with a plea for Cimon to the house of Pericles, since he was the most ardent accuser, and that he smiled and said, ‘Too old, too old, Elpinice, to meddle with such business.’ But at the trial he was very gentle with Cimon, and took the floor only once in accusation of him, as though it were a mere formality.”38 (Transl: B. Perrin) Again, Plutarch refers to Stesimbrotos, a reference that we will reconsider again below.39 Tsakmakis has pointed out that Plutarch’s narrative of this episode fol33

Zaccarini, 2017: 30 with n. 27. Zaccarini, 2017: 31–32. 35 Cf. Kagan, 1992: 64; Hornblower, 2002: 23–25; Welwei, 2011: 237–239. 36 Bleimfelder, 1952: 105–106; Azoulay, 2014: 86. Elpinice was also the mother of Hipponikos who later married Pericles’ first wife. 37 Bleimfelder, 1952: 106. 38 Plut. Cim. 14,4. 39 Meister (1978: 290) emphasizes that Plutarch quotes Stesimbrotos above all when he was able to deduce a deviation from the other tradition. Tsakmakis (1995: 149) stresses in particular one aspect of the method of Stesimbrotosbetont insbesondere einen Aspekt der Methode von Stesimbrotos: “Stesimbrotos ließ dagegen allzu oft die negativen Seiten der Persönlichkeit seiner Protagonisten erscheinen. Die ‘großen’ Männer werden weder als Helden noch als integre Persönlichkeiten dargestellt, sondern benehmen sich menschlich, wobei ihre Mängel besonders hervorgehoben werden. Auch die Handlungen, die ausgewählt und geschildert werden, sind keine Ereignisse von historischer Bedeutung und begünstigen nicht die Auszeichnung der Protagonisten, sondern konfrontieren sie mit banalen und unattraktiven Situationen. […] Die Vor34

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lows an identical layout in the vita of Cimon and the vita of Pericles, suggesting that both versions were designed making use of Stesimbrotos directly.40 It is particularly striking that Elpinice’s behaviour is considered to be self-evident. For her brother, this trial should have been a warning;41 only a little later the circumstances were much less favourable. In 462/61 BC he was ostracized due to his activities in the context of the helot uprising in Laconia: When the Spartans sent back Athenian soldiers that had been intended as support against the helots, this was considered an affront for which Cimon was held responsible.42 The Areopagus was deprived of his power at the request of Ephialtes, and when Cimon tried to reverse this change, he was ostracized.43 This was the beginning of the end of his political career. Cimon’s downfall is read in several ways in scholarly research: For Bleimfelder, Cimon had above all failed in domestic politics,44 while for Kurt Raaflaub, his fall is rooted in his increasingly unsuccessful foreign policy, that was less accepted by his fellow citizens.45 For James Romm the populists had won.46 Martin Dreher considers Cimon’s ostracism (as many of the ostracism trials of the time) a result of envy and dislike among his fellow citizens against all rich aristocrats, who were able afford amusements – or whose private lives, as with Cimon, offered cause for criticism.47 It is astonishing that in a political trial Cimon’s incestuous (?) relationship with Elpinice should have played a role, in particular as the events were about 20 years

liebe Stesimbrotos’ für solche Situationen unterstreicht sein Anliegen: es sollen die Schwächen, die negativen Seiten der großen Männer gezeigt werden.” 40 Tsakmakis, 1995: 136; 137: “Man spürt Plutarchs Versuch, vom Zitat, wie es einmal unter direkter Verwendung von Stesimbrotos’ Werk niedergeschrieben wurde, so wenig wie möglich abzuweichen.” 41 So, justly, Bleimfelder, 1952: 106–107. 42 Thuk. 1,102; Plut. Cim. 16,8–17,2. Cf. Bleimfelder, 1952: 108–115. 43 Plat. Gorg. 516d; Plut. Cim. 15,3; 17,3. Cf. Stein-Hölkeskamp, 1999: 462; Bleimfelder, 1952: 118. 44 Bleimfelder, 1952: 118: “[…] jedenfalls trifft Kimon das Verschulden, daß er hier in der Innenpolitik versagt und somit seiner Außenpolitik den Rückhalt entzogen hat. Ihm brachte dieser Fehler die Verbannung, Athen den Krieg.” 139 45 Raaflaub, 2000: 112: “Kimon verlor, weil seine spartafreundliche Politik die Legitimation des Erfolgs verloren hatte.” 46 Romm, 2012: 74: “Cimon proved the winner in the contest with Themistocles, but he was himself brought down by the same populist forces that had once put Themistocles in power.” Similarly Bleimfelder, 1952: 127–128. 47 Dreher, 2000: 74: “Bevorzugt verbannte das Volk Männer, die durch ihre allgemeine Lebensführung oder durch überhebliches Auftreten Neid und Abneigung ihrer Mitbürger auf sich zogen. Steine des Anstoßes waren Reichtum und exklusive, aristokratische Vergnügungen […] oder es war ein als unmoralisch geltendes Verhalten wie bei Kimon, dem ein Verhältnis mit seiner Schwester Elpinike nachgesagt wurde […].”

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before. This observation leads Bleimfelder to consider it unlikely, that this line of argumentations was really crucial for the trial.48 He rather sees this accusation rooted in existing animosities of the source authors: “Daß gewisse Schreiberlinge in ihrer Sucht, den Lesern zu gefallen, das abgedroschene Verhältnis mit seiner Schwester als Grund für den Ostrakismos wieder auftischten, wundert uns bei dieser Art der Überlieferung nicht.”49 For all we know, Cimon’s exile actually lasted a full 10 years, and he was not allowed to enter Athens again until 451. This is when his sister was to make another important appearance on Athen’s political stage: Athenaios in his Deipnosophistai and Plutarch in his vita of Pericles correspondingly report that Cimon’s return came about with the help of Elpinice; Athenaios even states that sexual favours were involved.50 The account in Plutarch is more detailed, here Elpinice intervenes emphatically: “Some, however, say that the decree for the restoration of Cimon was not drafted by Pericles until a secret compact had been made between them, through the agency of Elpinicé, Cimon’s sister, to the effect that Cimon should sail out with a fleet of two hundred ships and have command in foreign parts, attempting to subdue the territory of the King, while Pericles should have supreme power in the city. And it was thought that before this, too, Elpinice had rendered Pericles more lenient towards Cimon, when he stood his trial on the capital charge of treason. Pericles was at that time one of the committee of prosecution appointed by the people, and on Elpinice’s coming to him and supplicating him, said to her with a smile: ‘Elpinice, thou art an old woman, thou art an old woman, to attempt such tasks.’ However, he made only one speech, by way of formally executing his commission, and in the end did the least harm to Cimon of all his accusers.”51 (Transl: B. Perrin) For Charlotte Schubert it is Pericles, who played the decisive role in this political manoeuvre;52 but Bleimfelder takes a different perspective and gives credits to Elpinice.53 Most scholars favour an interpretation that oscillates between these

48

Bleimfelder (1952: 138) states, that the ostracism was above all motivated by Cimon’s attempt to reverse Ephialtes’ reforms. 49 Bleimfelder, 1952: 137–138 (with reference to Ps.-Andok. 4,33; Plut. Cim. 15,3). 50 Plut. Pericl. 10,4–6; Athen. 13,589e: “Pericles accepted the opportunity to have sex with Elpinice as his price for arranging Cimon’s return.” Zaccarini (2011: 299) notes, that Athenaios quotes Antisthenes here (FGrHist 1004 F 7a). 51 Plut. Pericl. 10,4. 52 Schubert, 2016: 37. 53 Bleimfelder, 1952: 11.

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positions and tend towards a kind of “middle course”: Cimon intervenes via his sister, but the “secret compact” is a pure anecdote and thus not credible. Even Plutarch himself does not seem convinced by his version, especially since he again does not clearly name his sources at this point.54 Bultrighini points out another exciting detail, namely that these negotiations between Elpinice and Pericles took place on an equal footing in Plutarch’s account.55 The conflict between the powerful families,56 between Pericles on the one hand and Elpinice/Cimon on the other, apparently continued to smoulder when we take a look at the last, perhaps most amusing episode in Elpinice’s life. Again in Plutarch, she is granted a small, but subversive counterpart in his report about the epitaph on the fallen soldiers of the Samian War: “When Pericles, after his subjection of Samos, had returned to Athens, he gave honourable burial to those who had fallen in the war, and for the oration which he made, according to the custom, over their tombs, he won the greatest admiration. But as he came down from the bema, while the rest of the women clasped his hand and fastened wreaths and fillets on his head, as though he were some victorious athlete, Elpinice drew nigh and said: ‘This is admirable in thee, Pericles, and deserving of wreaths, in that thou hast lost us many brave citizens, not in a war with Phoenicians or Medes, like my brother Cimon, but in the subversion of an allied and kindred city.’ On Elpinice’s saying this, Pericles, with a quiet smile, it is said, quoted to her the verse of Archilochus: ‘Thou hadst not else, in spite of years, perfumed thyself.’”57 (Transl: B. Perrin) This scene contains a number of remarkable details. Laurie O’Higgins points out that what is particularly special about this account is that it is set in public;58 the events take place during a social gathering. Likewise astonishing is the immensely positive response of the other women present59 to Pericles’ performance, which is (consciously?) contrasted with the ironic bon mot of Elpinice: She criticizes, publicly (!), the politics of the city – and this in the very year when a law proposed by Pericles forbade the mockery of Attic politicians.60 If Plutarch’s episode has a

54

Schubert, 2016: 37 with n. 82. Likewise Bleimfelder, 1952: 165; Bultrighini, 2014: 445; Tsakmakis. 1995: 150–151. 55 Bultrighini, 2014: 461. 56 Who were closely interlinked by family ties. One may mention that Hipponikos, son of Elpinice and Callias, was married to Pericles’ first wife (Plut. Pericl. 24,8). 57 Plut. Pericl. 28,3–5. 58 O’Higgins, 2003: 113. 59 Bultrighini (2014: 467) compares it to fans cheering for a rock star. 60 Ca. 440/439: Schol. Aristoph. Ach. 67. Cf. Schwarze, 1971: 169–173.

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true core,61 Elpinice voiced her criticism by means of a mocking verse – and was punished for her insolence with a verse that was intended to belittle her as a woman and politician. The occasion for these incidents, the celebration for the fallen soldiers, had also been a place of contention between the political factions as well as for the question what position Elpinice held at that time. She obviously still had a public voice, but Pericles’ attempt to put her in her place – both politically and socially – by ostentatiously emphasising her age, suggests that the already little agency of women had become increasingly smaller in the aftermath of the Peloponnesian War.62 Pericles defended himself with all the means at his disposal – even with a law – against increasing hostile attacks, not least coming for Attic comedy.63 His difficult situation becomes also evident in the above cited episode, that likewise demonstrates in an exemplary manner the possibilities and limitations, but also the acutal power, which a woman like Elpinice had or could have. One cannot entirely avoid the feeling of being taken in by a literary topos,64 for dealing with literary-historiographical traditions is undoubtedly problematic. Bultrighini repeatedly emphasizes Plutarch’s bias, that is for him based on a rejection of an active female role model as this does not fit into his clichés and his pigeonholes. He is convinced, that the historical Elpinice, however, acted autonomously and she had political agency – she was far more than just a man’s supporter.65 Elpinice, he continues, is a figure that disturbs and irritates Plutarch, which has contributed to the darkening of her image and her marginalisation.66 Zaccarini also points to the difficult question of the models of our main source, Plutarch, who regularly writes in the plural about underlying sources, but rarely mentions them by name.67 Moreover, a parallel construction can be observed in Plutarch:68 Both Lucullus and Cimon are portrayed as physically extraordinarily tall – and as having a relationship with a woman who had huge political agency: Praecia for Lucullus, Elpinice for Cimon. With Plutarch, Elpinice apparently also serves as an explanation for Cimon’s success in politically difficult times.69 Elpinice acted ex machina, combining charm and wit and develops from a quiet femme fatale to a cunning, daring politician, who was regularly used by Plutarch as the 61

Bultrighini, 2014: 503–505 strongly doubts this. According to him, it is much more likely that Pericles was unable to counter this criticism. 62 O’Higgins, 2003: 113–114: “The line […] puts a woman in her place, politically and socially. […] As a woman Elpinice had no subjectivity, and as an old woman she did not even have the indirect power of being an object of desire.” (quote 113). 63 Will & Högemann, 2000. 64 Zaccarini, 2011: 298. 65 Bultrighini, 2014: 450–451. 66 Bultrighini, 2014: 451. 67 Zaccarini, 2017: 35. 68 Zaccarini, 2017: 30. 69 Zaccarini, 2017: 35.

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embodiment of the voice of reason.70 Corresponding episodes in Plutarch’s lives of Cimon and Pericles were probably due to Stesimbrotos, as has already been mentioned above. Stesimbrotos as a citizen of Thasos had been biased with regard to the person and family of Cimon,71 which is why his gossip stories must be given particularly critical consideration.72 But even if we acknowledge all this and approve a certain filter of literary instrumentalization, we still faced with Elpinice as a politically immensely independent woman. One of her most vehement defenders is Bultrighini, who even declares her the ‘mastermind’ behind Cimon’s activities.73 Elpinice was self-sufficient, politically gifted and instinctive, she guided her brother’s political career and saved him more than only once.74 Bultrighini builts his appraisal on four arguments: a) Cimon’s political career was only made possible by her marriage to Callias – and this marriage happened because of Elpinice’s instigation.75 b) Elpinice had been heavily involved in the propaganda built around Cimon’s family. The clearest signal was her representation in the paintings of the Stoa Poikile, which should not be dismissed as a marginal detail. Elpinice had an important political role, if only behind the scenes. To demonstrate this role, she exploited her acquaintance to Polignotos, a connection that was subsequently discredited by her enemies as illegitimately and erotically motivated. Polignotos was not just anyone, however, and the Stoa Poikile became thus due to his assistance and artistry part of Cimon’s propaganda.76 c) Elpinice must be credited for having made decisive contributions to the negotiations with Pericles at crucial moments in Cimon’s political life (namely in the context of ostracism and his return from exile).77 Without her this would not have been possible. During her brother’s absence, she was Pericles’ critic, whom she openly accused of whitewashing his political decisions in the conflict with Samos. d) Unlike Cimon, Elpinice was very aware that her brother’s influence was based mainly on his connections to Sparta. His allies there, however, had not escaped the change of power in Athens.78 Cimon was an outstanding 70

Zaccarini, 2017: 35. Deviantly Meister, 1978: 275–276; 281: “Alles in allem zeigen also die auf Kimon bezüglichen Fragmente, daß dieser bei Stesimbrotos keineswegs in einem negativen Lichte erscheint, sondern positiv beurteilt wird.” 72 Zaccarini, 2017: 35. 73 Bultrighini, 2014: 446–460. 74 Bultrighini, 2014: 446–447. 75 Bultrighini, 2014: 506. Likewise Zaccarini, 2011: 298. 76 Bultrighini, 2014: 508. Likewise Zaccarini, 2011: 298. 77 Bultrighini, 2014: 508. Likewise Zaccarini, 2011: 298. 78 Bultrighini, 2014: 509. 71

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strategist, but was a little gifted as a politician, unable to adapt to new situations. It was only thanks to the advice of third parties that he was able to escape a political situation that had seemed hopeless. The decisive advisor came from the immediate family; Elpinice guided the fate of the family wisely and with foresight, protected her brother from behind the scenes, saved him from harm, and worked on his political standing.79 So, what remains now, which Elpinice do we choose? Looking at her traces in ancient sources is frustrating, because we would like to have more material, to learn more about this woman in 5th century Athens, who obviously had considerable political influence. Her private life was the subject of public opinion,80 but not only because she belonged to the family of a politically influential man,81 but also because she herself was an asset in the society of her time.82 Her interventions in public affairs were at the expense of her reputation, so in later writings “gossip” was quoted accordingly and she was discredited as a “loose girl” by being accused of having an incestuous relationship with Cimon.83 For some modern scholars, Elpinice’s “slander” owes to Attic comedy, which made use of her as a convenient historical model and thus manipulated her remembrance.84 Elpinice was witty, was associated with the most important men of her time, and was a consultant to her brother – for 5th century Athens, but even more so for several later ancient historiographers, biographers and writers, it was hard to digest that a woman had stood out so much in public life.85 In view of the difficult and ambiguous sources it is up to everyone to decide for “mastermind” or “femme fatale”. Undoubtedly we are faced with an Elpinice who had an unusually large degree of political participation and freedom for a woman of that time, and who was essential for her brother’s career and gained

79

Bultrighini, 2014: 517–518. Futo Kennedy, 2015: 71: “These women were publicly notorious, if not scandalous, but they were neither prostitutes nor courtesans. The gossipy anecdotes about them describe behavior that resembles the definition of the hetaira reconstructed by scholars from the orators and later writers like Athenaeus.” 81 Futo Kennedy, 2015: 72. 82 “[…] apparently a woman of some determination and influence” (Patterson, 2007: 172); O’Higgins, 2003: 113; Zacccarini, 2011: 298: “almost as much a co-protagonist as her brother, just as in the incest accusation, which hit Cimon only but involved both of them”. 83 Patterson, 2007: 173; Zaccarini, 2011: 299 n. 32. 84 Bleimfelder, 1952: 11; O’Higgins, 2003: 111; 112: “A woman’s involvement or alleged involvement in politics was invariably sexualized by the comic poets.” – “Plutarch records the slanders, broadcast by the comic poets, as forming part of a propaganda campaign waged by Cimon’s enemies to discredit his efforts to restore the powers of the Areopagus. Such comic inventions became part of the fabric of Athenian politics.” 85 Bleimfelder, 1952: 11. 80

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considerable agency, both private and political.86 This certainly irritated Athens’ male dominated society not just once.87 And thus we do have a strong ancient woman, quite in the sense of Obama’s remark above, though he most certainly – without wanting to offend a former US president – did not bear Elpinice in mind when making his speech. Bibliography Azoulay, V., 2014: Pericles of Athens. Princeton. Bleimfelder, K., 1952: Kimon und seine Politik. Innsbruck. Brenne, S., 1994: “Ostraka and the Process of Ostrakophoria” In W.D.E. Coulson et al. (eds.): The Archaeology of Athens and Attica Under the Democracy. Oxford. Pp. 13–24. Bultrighini, U., 2014: “Cimone, sua sorella”. In U. Bultrighini / E. Dimauro (eds.): Donne che contano nella Storia greca. Koinos Logos 10. Lanciano. Pp. 441– 528. Davies, J.K., 1971: Athenian propertied families 600–300 B.C. Oxford. Dreher, M., 2000: “Verbannung ohne Vergehen, Der Ostrakismos (das Scherbengericht)”. In B. Leonhard / J. von Ungern-Sternberg (eds.): Große Prozesse im antiken Athen. München. Pp. 66–77. Furtwängler, A. et al. (eds.), 1932: Griechische Vasenmalerei. Auswahl hervorragender Vasenbilder, Serie III. Text. München. Futo Kennedy, R., 2015: “Elite Citizen Women and the Origins of the Hetaira in Classical Athens”. Helios 42, 61–79. Hoesch, N. & Oakley, J.H., 2001: s.v. Polygnotos, DNP 10 (2001). Consulted online on 27 February 2020 Hornblower, S., 2002: The Greek World. 479–323 BC, London. Routledge History of the Ancient World. Kagan, D., 1992: Perikles. Stuttgart. Keuls, E.C., 21993: The Reign of the Phallus: Sexual Politics in Ancient Athens. Berkeley. Matheson, S.B.,1995: Polygnotos and Vase Painting in Classical Athens. Madison. Meister, K., 1978: “Stesimbrotos’ Schrift über die Athenischen Staatsmänner und ihre historische Bedeutung (FGrHist 107 F 1–11)”. Historia 27, 274–294. O’Higgins, L., 2003: Women and humor in classical Greece. Cambridge.

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Zaccarini (2017: 35): “questionable sex life and an unusual degree of political participation”. He continues: “In any case, Elpinice seems to have been a rather invasive personality in Athenian domestic politics, as well as a relevant figure in Cimon’s career itself.” (Zaccarini, 2017: 35) 87 Likewise Zaccarini, 2011: 303.

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Patterson, C., 2007: “Other Sorts: Slaves, Foreigners, and Women in Periclean Athens”. In L. Samons II (ed.): The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Pericles. Cambridge Companions to the Ancient World. Cambridge. Pp. 153–178. Raaflaub, K., 2000: “Den Olympier herausfordern? Prozesse im Umkreis des Perikles”. In B. Leonhard / J. von Ungern-Sternberg (eds.): Große Prozesse im antiken Athen. München. Pp. 96–113. Romm, J. (ed.), 2012: Plutarch, Lives That Made Greek History. Indianapolis / Cambridge. Schubert, Ch., 2016: Perikles. Darmstadt. Schwarze, J., 1971: Die Beurteilung des Perikles durch die attische Komödie und ihre historische und historiographische Bedeutung. Zetemata 51. München. Stein-Hölkeskamp, E., 1999: “Kimon und die athenische Demokratie”. Hermes 127/2, 145–164. Stein-Hölkeskamp, E. / Hoesch, N., 2006: s.v. Kimon, DNP 7. Consulted online on 3 March 2020 Tsakmakis, A., 1995: “Das historische Werk des Stesimbrotos von Thasos”. Historia 44, 129–152. Welwei, K.-W., 2011: Griechische Geschichte. Von den Anfängen bis zum Beginn des Hellenismus. Paderborn et al. Will, W. / Högemann, P., 2000: s.v. Perikles, DNP 9. Consulted online on 28 February 2020 Zaccarini, M., 2011: “The case of Cimon: the evolution of the meaning of philolaconism in Athens”. Hormos 3, 287–304. Zaccarini, M., 2017: The Lame Hegemony: Cimon of Athens and the Failure of Panhellenism, ca. 478–450 BC. Bologna.

On a Dynastic Mission Olympias and Kleopatra, Agents of their House Sabine Müller

Introduction Due to the everlasting prominence of her son Alexander III of Macedonia extending far beyond scholarly circles, Olympias still owns a place in the collective memory of present times.1 Her myth in our times contains elements from her depiction in the ancient literary sources and additional features created by modern perceptions and interpretations of her role and speculative ideas about her personality. A colorful example of Olympias’ modern reception is provided by her introduction into high fashion: In February 2018, at the Fashion Week in Paris, the Greek fashion designer Laskaris presented his Spring-Summer collection, entitled: “Olympias, the woman behind Alexander the Great”.2 Coming from Samothrake where the young Epeirote Olympias first met young Philip when they were initiated into the mysteries and became engaged,3 Laskaris felt personally inspired by Olympias and her local heritage. The dresses shown at the Fashion Week were thought to look like Ancient Greek costumes of priestesses. While no source attests that Olympias was a priestess, it is assumed that she may have been a priestess of Dionysos.4 Some of Laskaris’ dresses were influenced by the columns of the temple of Samothrake and intended to mirror Olympias’ early life before being married. The headwear of the last phase of the show, intended to reflect Olympias’ life as Philip’s wife, was inspired by the golden wreath from the tomb at Vergina-Aigai. In fact, scholars are still not sure who wore this wreath, perhaps priests.5 Laskaris described his fascination for Olympias as follows: “Olympias was a very special woman with a timeless range of charm. She inspired me initially for her travelling life. She had a personal power and glamour, and when Philip was absent, he was giving her the rule of Acknowledgements: I am grateful to Elizabeth Carney for her helpful suggestions and to Kerstin Droß-Krüpe and Sebastian Fink for their kind invitation to the conference. 1 On Olympias see Carney, 2020a; Carney, 2019c; Carney, 2019b: 379–381; Carney, 1993b; Müller, 2019: 31–32, 37–38, 76; Müller, 2013: 35–37; Mitchell, 2012: 3–5; Carney, 2009; Carney, 2006; Heckel, 2006: 181–183; Blackwell, 2005; Carney, 2000: 62– 68, 85–90, 119–123; O’Neil, 1999; Macurdy, 1932: 22–46. 2 https://www.vuafashionweek.com/hc-jan18-laskaris. 3 Plut. Alex. 2.1–2. 4 Carney, 2010b: 46; Carney, 2006: 96–101. 5 Tsigarida, 2010.

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Macedonia. She was a woman with huge reserves of power. A woman who changed the events with her presence and was tasked with raising this great man. To be honest she reminds me of many ladies dressed in my Fashion House, great women, successful and dynamic who are behind strong men. I believe that a strong man has always behind him a dynamic, intelligent and versatile woman who discreetly pushes and supports him. Why not?”6 In Greek City Times, an author praised Laskaris’ collection and the gift bag she got: “We left (…) with a wonderful candle (…) with the name of Laskaris (…), but above all with a light in our hearts. Laskaris’ (…) collection was an amazing journey within a journey, a tribute to Ancient Macedonia, to strong women and great civilizations that never die.”7 The woman described by Laskaris and alluded to by the reporter is an artificial image of Olympias shaped by modern images of influential, independent business women. In fact, we do not know anything about Olympias’ character and whether she was personally charming. The ancient literary authors created constructions, shaped by their own moral views. No ancient source speaks of Olympias as charming. She is rather depicted as quarrelsome and nasty.8 Furthermore, she never was the regent of Macedonia during Philip II’s absence. There is only one instance when Philip is said to have entrusted the regency to a member of his family while being on a campaign: to his teenage son Alexander in 340 BC, obviously a measurement to provide his future successor with necessary administrative, political, and military experiences in order to gain a standing with the leading Macedonian factions at court.9 However, in order to play it safe, Alexander was supervised by Philip’s most influential generals such as Antipatros.10 In addition, the idea that Olympias raised Alexander is based on modern conceptions of family life. As a baby, Alexander had a nurse, Lanike, the sister of Kleitos, a high-ranking general under Philip and Alexander himself.11 At least, Olympias seems to have played a role in influencing the early education of Alexander. One of his early teachers, Leonidas, was one of Olympias’ syngeneis, kins-

6

https://greekcitytimes.com/2018/02/10/olympias-mother-of-alexander-the-great-inspire s-laskaris-ss18-fashion-show-in-paris-2/. 7 Polina Paraskevopoulou in Greek City Times: https://greekcitytimes.com/2018/ 02/10/ olympias-mother-of-alexander-the-great-inspires-laskaris-ss18-fashion-show-in-paris-2/. 8 Plut. Alex. 39.7; 68.3; Arr. Anab. 7.12.5–7. For the deconstruction of this image see Carney, 2009: 200–201; Carney, 2006: 57. 9 Plut. Alex. 9.1–2. 10 Müller, 2019: 34; Heckel, 2006: 11; Bosworth, 1988: 21, 245–246. 11 Arr. Anab. 4.9.3; Curt. 8.1.2, 2.8–9; Ath. 4.129a. Cf. Alonso Troncoso, 2007; Heckel, 2006: 145.

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men: either one of her relatives or a member of her inner circle.12 Another early instructor of Alexander was Lysimachos from Akarnania, close to Olympias’ homeland Epeiros. As, reportedly, he praised Alexander’s maternal descent from Achilles, it is thought that he owed his appointment to Olympias’ advocacy.13 However, when Alexander was a teenager, Philip chose his teachers, namely, Aristotle, who began to teach him in about 343 BC.14 However, despite all these historical inaccuracies, Laskaris’ idea of Olympias as a charming, intelligent, glamorous, and powerful business woman popular enough to sell high fashion clothes marks another stage of Olympias’ reception. In early scholarship, her portrait used to be in accordance with her ancient image based on Greek and Roman views on her as a quarrelsome, cruel, scheming, domineering, and nasty battleaxe interfering into politics only for personal, emotional reasons such as untamed jealousy, revenge, hatred, and greed for power. Ancient sensationalist tales – allegedly, Olympias corrupted her step-son Arrhidaios’ mind by giving him drugs or killed Philip II’s last wife Kleopatra and their babydaughter by dragging them onto a blazing oven – were taken at face value.15 In 1926, Helmut Berve stated that Olympias was of demonic nature, exceedingly passionate, insatiately revengeful and power-hungry, crueler and more unscrupulous than the toughest Successors: “Die Wildheit der Barbarin hat O. nie verleugnet.”16 In 1932, Grace Harriet Macurdy emerged as the “pioneer” regarding studies on Macedonian royal women. Aiming at investigating royal Macedonian “woman power”, she noted the significance of the role of several female members of Macedonian dynasties and stated that they possessed political insight, daring, energy, and courage and showed “a remarkable capacity for ruling in the manner of the kings of whom they were wives and daughters.”17 However, she also adopted main features of the fictitious ancient depictions of the women’s personality: her Olympias, one of the “strongest and most domineering of the royal women”, is “overbearing and dramatic”, of “vengeful and rancorous nature” and her son Alexander “knew that the judgment of a woman of such desparate passions could not be trusted.”18 In his Große Frauen des Altertums, first published in 1942, Ernst Kornemann called Olympias “das balkanische Teufelsweib.”19

12

Plut. Alex. 5.4–5; 22.5; 25.4–5; Plin. NH 12.62. Cf. Müller, 2019: 32; Heckel, 2006: 147; Macurdy, 1932: 28–29; Berve, 1926: 235–236. 13 Plut. Alex. 5.5 (Onesikritos?); 24.6–7 (Chares). Cf. Heckel, 2006: 153; Heckel, 1981: 80–82. 14 Diog. Laert. 5.4, 10; Plut. Mor. 327c; 604d; Plut. Alex. 7.2; Plin. NH 8.44; Ath. 9.898e; Ail. VH 4.19. Cf. Heckel, 2006: 51. 15 Plut. Alex. 77.5; Paus. 8.7.7. Cf. Just. 9.7.12 (murder without the oven). 16 Berve, 1926: no. 531, 284. 17 Macurdy, 1932: ix, 1. 18 Macurdy, 1932: 8, 32–34. 19 Kornemann, 1998 [1942]: 108.

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Current scholarly attention to Olympias and royal women in Argead Macedonia in general is based essentially on the research of Elizabeth Carney. She was the first scholar to point out the complexity of female roles in Macedonia as “participants in an interlocking web of relationships that dominated the public life of Macedonia”20 – far beyond the “traditional” fields of domestic duties, marriage, and reproduction. Carney made clear that Argead monarchy was the rule of a clan and the spaces of action of its female members were defined by their being part of this clan.21 Therefore, Argead women – the mothers, sisters, wives, or daughters of reigning Argeads and their male relatives – could participate in shaping the presentation of their dynasty and become agents of their house.22 Macedonia’s rise to hegemony under Philip II was a watershed concerning the representation and vizualization of Argead monarchy including the visibility of individual Argead women.23 This paper aims at analyzing the public roles of Olympias and her daughter Kleopatra, the full sister of Alexander III,24 as the most prominent Argead women. It will explore their visibility in the fields of politics, diplomacy, succession advocacy, communal welfare (euergetism), and patronage and argue that they acted “as part of the basileia”25 in accordance with the respective reigning Argead. Their appearance as agents of their dynasty was approved of and certainly arranged with the Argead ruler. Since both women are particularly visible in the reign of Alexander III, it can be concluded that the prominence of the female element of the Argead representation formed part of his agenda. His mother and sister were advocats and representatives of Argead interests in Europe in his absence while he waged war in Asia. The problem of the sources Evidence on Argead women is scarce, scattered, fragmentary, and focused on male Argeads anyway. Archaeological and epigraphic evidence is basically poor for Argead Macedonia, let alone for royal women. There is evidence on a contemporary portrait sculpture of Olympias but it is lost: in 338, Philip II commissioned the first known Macedonian dynastic group made of gilded marble that showed himself, his father, mother, wife Olympias, and son Alexander.26 This 20

Carney, 2010a: 409. Carney, 2019a: 8; Carney, 2016: 7–11; Carney, 1995. 22 Carney, 2010b: 43. 23 Carney, 2016: 11; Carney 2003: 251. 24 On Kleopatra see Carney, 2020b; Carney, 2019b: 378; Müller, 2019: 31, 76; Meyer, 2013: 122; Müller, 2013: 35–37; Meeus, 2009; Carney, 2006: 42–59; Heckel, 2006: 90– 91; Blackwell, 2005; Carney, 2000: 75–76, 123–128; Funke, 2000: 179–180; 188–190; Macurdy, 1932: 33–37, 46–48. 25 Carney, 2016: 7. 26 Paus. 5.17.4, 20.9–10. Cf. Carney, 2019a: 108–112; Palagia, 2017: 151–153 (identifies 21

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sculptural representation of the legitimacy and unity of his family core was made by Leochares and put up in the Philippeion, a circular roofed building, dedicated to Zeus to thank him, the Argead protector and patron, for the Macedonian victory at Chaironeia, in Olympia. Since only the statue bases survived, we have no impression of Olympias’ depiction as Philip’s wife and mother of his heir apparent. Another problem is posed by the set of miniature small ivory heads from the probably royal tomb at Vergina-Aigai that are thought to represent Philip and members of his family. While the bearded male head is usually identified with Philip, given the similar features of the other heads, it is not entirely clear who might be who.27 The depictions of Olympias on third-century AD bronze coins from the Macedonian koinon, gold medallions from the Aboukir hoard and late antique Roman contorniates are fictions mainly referring to legends about Alexander’s alleged being fathered by a divine snake, Zeus(-Ammon).28 The literary evidence is another issue: Macedonian historiography – probably first emerging in the 4th century BC anyway – is lost. Even the scarce epigraphic material comes from Greece. Due to the lack of Macedonian reports, the texts of Greek and Roman writers are our main literary sources. However, they view Macedonia and the Argead monarchy from the outside while preserving the cultural perceptions and judgments of their respective intellectual and socio-political background. The Argeads claimed a – surely forged – Greek (Heraklid) descent from Peloponnesian Argos and their courtly circles participated in Greek culture, but in several respects, Macedonia differed from Greece, not at least regarding the spheres of action of elite women.29 As a consequence, royal women such as Olympias and Kleopatra are not recognized as agents of their house. Distressed by their public appearance in the field of politics – in Greek and Roman eyes an exclusively male territory – the authors usually depict the royal women as “unseemly” interfering elements of chaos, sympton of a “barbarian” court and the loss of the morals of its ruler. Carney characterizes the authors’ attitude as “a compound of ignorance and hostility” accompanied by feelings of alienation.30

Eurydike as Philip’s last wife); Carney, 2016: 89–90; Carney, 2010a: 417; Palagia, 2010; Müller, 2010: 181–182; Carney, 2009: 195; Carney 2007. According to archaeological results, there was no change in the original statue program and contrary to Pausanias’ claim, the statues were not chryselephantine, thus no cult statues, see Schultz, 2007: 205– 221. 27 Worthington, 2008: 235, with fig. 23d. 28 Dahmen, 2007: 31–32, 37–38, 140–141, 148, 152–154; Carney, 2006: 120–123. On the snake-siring see Ogden, 2015; Ogden, 2011: 7–8, 21–28; Stoneman, 2008: 6–26. 29 Alleged Greek descent (apparently a myth created by Alexander I): Hdt. 8.137.1, 139; Thuc. 2.99.3; 5.80.2; Diod. Sic. 7 F 15. For the influence of their non-Greek neighbours on the Macedonians see Carney, 1993a: 318–320; O’Neil, 1999. 30 Carney, 2016, 12.

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There are supposed letters of Olympias paraphrased by ancient authors, mostly Plutarch.31 However, suspiciously, these letters portray Olympias in a bad fashion: quarrelsome and scheming, slandering Antipatros and getting on her son’s nerves by her constant complaints. In consequence, there is legitimate doubt regarding the authenticity.32 One of the major sources of misunderstanding resulting in Greek and Roman distorted interpretations of Argead marriage politics, court, and wives, was Argead polygamy as a royal prerogative.33 Polygamy was a political device serving to secure a sufficient number of throne candidates, and to establish or intensify political alliances with other influential families on a wide scale. Recently, Dominique Lenfant has argued that in Greek eyes, Persian polygamy was a foreign habit, “but neither a striking feature nor a monstrous one” associated with any decadence.34 Be it as it may, as for Argead polygamy, our Greek and Roman authors may also not have considered it as abhorrent and the most distinctive feature of the Argead court. However, they showed a clear lack of understanding when it came to the existence of several legal Argead wives simultaneously (this is the same what they do with the Persian kings’ wives as well). As a consequence, the writers erroneously depicted these “superfluous” wives as mere concubines (παλλακαί), mostly of lower rank, and their children as illegitimate (νόθος).35 For example, Satyros (third century BC) admits that there were political reasons for Philip’s seven marriages but at the same time reveals his misunderstanding of the polygamous Macedonian structures by creating the impression that Olympias was forced to live together with the other wives and that Alexander’s legitimacy was doubted.36 In addition, there occurred biased reports about royal women making trouble at polygamous courts. Such depictions always include the blackening of the portrait of the respective ruler who did not manage to keep them under control. This phenomenon seems to be the background of the stories about Olympias’ alleged instigation of Philip’s assassination, suspiciously solely treated as a fact by the notoriously unreliable Trogus-Justin.37 Since Philip did not cease to promote Alexander as his heir apparent at any time and Alexander depended on his father as 31

Plut. Mor. 180d, 332f–333a; Alex. 39.5; Diod. 17.114.3, 118.11. Müller, 2013: 35; Collins, 2012: 5; Carney, 2009: 200–201; Carney, 2006: 53–54. Plutarch seems to have used a Hellenistic collection of letters containing mostly forgeries, cf. Badian, 2003: 30. 33 It is uncertain which Argead ruler introduced this practice. Philip II is the first for whom it is explicitly attested (Ath. 13.557b–e). But it was probably practiced before (Just. 9.8.3). 34 Lenfant, 2019: 28–29. Contra Madreiter, 2012: 144–145, 161; Brosius, 1996: 3–4. See also Kuhrt, 2007: 578, 593–604; Sancisi-Weerdenburg, 1987. 35 Cf. Just. 9.8.2; 13.2.11 and Plut. Alex. 77.5 on one of Philip II’s seven wives, Philinna, a high-ranking Thessalian. 36 Ath. 13.557b–e. Cf. Plut. Alex. 9.4. 37 Just. 9.7.1–12. For a critical deconstruction see Hatzopoulos, 2018: 58–64. 32

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his primary factor of legitimization, the suspicion that Olympias – either with or without Alexander’s knowledge – instigated Philip’s assassination does not make any political sense.38 Creating the impression that loss of morals runs in the family, Plutarch is upset about Olympias’ daughter Kleopatra who in all likelihood acted as regent of Epeiros for her minor son Neoptolemos after the early death of her husband, Alexander I of Molossia (331/0 BC).39 Thus, in Greek view, she “interfered” in “male” territory. According to Plutarch, Kleopatra misused her freedom of action in order to have an affair with a handsome young man: thereby, she committed hybris to her royal rank.40 Plutarch’s criticism includes a rebuke of Alexander: he is depicted as the undutiful head of the family who failed in arranging a remarriage of his widowed sister. He even tolerated her shameful behavior and stated that her basileia should provide her with some fun. In the eyes of the Greek moral philosopher, Alexander’s conduct was just as shocking as that of his sister. As for Olympias’ career after Alexander’s death in 323 BC, when she supported the claims of her grandson Alexander IV and became the figurehead of the faction of Polyperchon against Kassandros and his supporters in the civil wars, the Roman authors provide us again with biased views on her activities. According to Cornelius Nepos, she asked Eumenes how she could claim the throne in Macedonia. He advised her to wait until her grandchild gained the throne or otherwise be mild and exercise her power without any severity. However, she did not listen to the male advice but “proceeded to Macedonia and conducted herself most cruelly.”41 Trogus-Justin characterizes Olympias’ political style when fighting for her grandson’s rights in Macedonia as follows: she “committed a great slaughter among the leading circles throughout the country in a manner more like a woman than a royal.”42 However, such stereotypical judgments reveal more about the socio-cultural background of the ancient authors than about Olympias and her Argead agency.

38

Müller, 2019: 36–38; Hatzopoulos, 2018: 158; Psoma, 2012: 78; Carney, 2006: 31–36; Funke, 2000: 167–168. 39 Just. 12.2.3–4; Aeschin. 3.242. There is no explicit reference in the source that she took the regency but it is supposed since she received embassies (Aischin. 3.242) and represented Epeiros as thearodoch in 330 (SEG 23.189, l. 11). Cf. Meyer, 2013: 122; Heckel, 2006: 90–91; Carney, 2000: 89; Funke, 2000: 188. 40 Plut. Mor. 818b–c. 41 Nep. 18.6.3: in Macedoniam profecta est et ibi crudelissime se gessit. Trans. J.C. Rolfe. 42 Just. 14.6.1: cum principum passim caedes muliebri magis quam regio more fecisset. Trans. J. Selby. Cf. Comploi, 2002: 351. On the date of her death see Anson, 2006.

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Spaces of action There was no fixed or institutionalized role for an Argead woman and obviously no royal title.43 Carney suggests that in some individual cases, the women’s personal names recognized their public identity and had the impact of a “quasi-title”.44 Olympias’ Epeirote names before her marriage seem to have been Polyxena and Myrtale while she was renamed Olympias after her marriage, perhaps to commemorate Philip’s victory in Olympia or in the Macedonian games at Dion.45 Reportedly, she also bore the name Stratonike, perhaps after her faction’s victory at Euia (317).46 Kleopatra honored her brother’s defeat of the Theban revolt in 335 by calling her baby daughter Kadmeia.47 For the insurrection had begun by attacking the Macedonian garrison on the Theban Kadmeia once installed by Kleopatra’s father Philip. After the defeat of the Thebans, a synedrion decided to raze Thebes to the ground, except for the Kadmeia where the Makedonian garrison was reinstalled.48 Olympias and Kleopatra lived at a time when the dynasty’s rise and Philip II’s elevation of rank in relation to his leading circles increased the participation of royal women in the monarchical presentation. Their activities as agents of their house under Philip, in particular under Alexander, and during the transitional times after his death mirrored a wide range of royal women’s spaces of action besides succession advocacy, marriage politics: dedications, benefactions, diplomacy, piety, politics, warlike appearances, cultural policy, and patronage. Of course, the freedom of action and degree of public prominence depended on the individual Argead woman and her respective standing at the court. An Argead woman’s flexible “market value”, symbolic weight or capital was constituted by (1) the political influence and prestige of her natal family’s ancestry, (2) the influence of her faction, (3) her ability to give birth to a potential successor, and (4) her personal ability to engage in networking.49 (1) Olympias came from the Molossian ruling house of Epeiros, a neighbour of Macedonia, thus of some strategic importance. Her father Neoptolemos I, uncle Arybbas, and brother Alexander I had ruled successively. Her ancestry was prestigious as her family, the Aiakids, claimed to descend from Aiakos through Neoptolemos, thus from Achilles.50 (2) Olympias’ faction at court seems to have mainly consisted of kins43

The word basilissa for a Macedonian royal woman is earliest attested for Demetrios Poliorketes’ wife Phila after 306: Syll.3 333.8–9. Cf. Carney, 1991: 161. 44 Carney, 2010b: 44; Carney, 1991. 45 Plut. Mor. 401a-b. Cf. Carney, 2006: 15–16; Heckel, 2006: 181; Carney, 2000: 62–63; Funke, 2000: 97, 164; Macurdy, 1932: 24. 46 Carney, 2006: 16. 47 Plut. Pyrrh. 5.5. 48 Diod. 17.13.3–4; Just. 11.3.8–4.9. 49 Müller, 2017: 194–195; Carney, 2006: 22–24. Diod. 19.11.2 speaks of axioma. 50 Plut. Alex. 2.1; Just. 17.3.3. Cf. Strab. 7.7.8. See Funke, 2000: 98–99,

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men from Epeiros and its neighbours before Alexander’s succession but rose to importance under his reign. (3) She gave birth to Philip’s future successor in 356. (4) Her ability to establish politically important connections may be mirrored by the fact that she still played a leading role in Argead politics after Alexander’s death.51 As for Kleopatra’s axioma, (1) she was the daughter of Olympias and Philip II and Alexander’s full sister. Her family claimed descent from Herakles. (2) Her faction at the Argead court formed part of Olympias’ and Alexander’s faction. After her marriage to Alexander I of Molossia in 336, her power base was located in Epeiros.52 (3) She gave birth to Alexander I’s successor Neoptolemos II. (4) After Alexander’s death, when she was probably in her early 30s, she was still active and made use of being regarded as a symbol of Argead royalty. The influential generals Leonnatos, Perdikkas and Ptolemy courted her. Carney suggests that she tried to arrange her remarriage on her own, thereby competing with Antipatros’ daughters.53 However, she was killed in 308 on the instigation of Antigonos.54 During Alexander’s campaigns, he needed the help of confidants at home who acted as agents in the interests of his house. The influential general and éminence grise, Antipatros, had been left in charge of European affairs.55 However, while Antipatros could be expected to defend the interests of Macedonia and its leading circles, these could differ from Argead interests. Therefore, Alexander needed representatives of his house working hand in hand with him: Olympias and Kleopatra.56 He provided them with parts of his booty they could use for distribution policy, dedications, or other benefactions for the sake of their house.57 After the establishment of Macedonian control over the Kyrenaika, a granary, in 331/0, he shipped Kyrenaian grain to them which they sold during a time of shortage in Greece, likely cheaper than the expensive famine price. As the only individuals mentioned, Kleopatra’s and Olympias’ names appear on a list of major recipients of grain from Kyrene.58 Antipatros is not mentioned. After Gaugamela, Olympias ordered a dedication of crowns to Delphic Apollon to be paid with 190 dareikoi, the Persian gold coins, obviously another part of Alexander’s booty (Syll.³ 252).59 51

Carney, 2019b: 378; Meeus, 2009; Carney, 2000: 123–128. Diod. 16.91.1; Just. 9.6.1, 7.7; 13.6.4. Cf. Meyer, 2013: 119. 53 Cf. Carney, 2019b: 378. Contra Meeus, 2009: 72–78 who denies her any agency in the respect of marriage negotiations. 54 Diod. 20.37.5–6. Cf. Heckel, 2006: 91. 55 Arr. Anab. 1.11.3; Curt. 4.1.39; Diod. 18.12.1. Cf. Heckel, 2006: 36. 56 Müller, 2013: 35; Carney, 2006: 50–51, 96. 57 Plut. Alex. 16.8; 25.4; 39.7. 58 SEG 9.2; Lyk. Leokr. 26. Cf. Carney, 2006: 49–51; Carney, 1995: 386. On the establishment of control over the Kyrenaika see Curt. 4.7.9–10; Diod. 17.49.2–3. 59 Syll.³ 252. Cf. Müller, 2013: 36; Heckel, 2006: 182; Bringmann / von Steuben, 2000: 17; Macurdy, 1932: 34. 52

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During the Indian campaign, the Macedonian communication lines were cut for a certain time. Rumors circulated that Alexander had died triggering unrest in several parts of the Argead Empire, also in Europe.60 In this crucial time, Olympias and Kleopatra participated in the attempts to consolidate Argead authority in Epeiros and Macedonia.61 In 324, Olympias demanded the surrender of Harpalos, a former member of her faction, from the Athenians, either in concert with Antipatros or separately.62 Carney suggests that there occurred problems with Antipatros as the women were not formally appointed to preserve Alexander’s interests: there was no such office.63 Olympias, Kleopatra and the Attic Orators The contemporary speeches of the Attic orators attest to the degree of prominence of Olympias and Kleopatra as representatives of their dynasty. Similar to the references to Argead rulers, the orators only mention their personal names, even without any hint to Macedonia. This implies that the audience was knowledgeable about their identity and public persona. Acknowledging the Argead women as representatives of their clan, the orators also shed a significant light on the gloomy mood in Athens under the detested Macedonian dominion: Olympias and Kleopatra were seen as another manifestation of the evil Macedonian oppressors and corrupting forces.64 In 330, Lykourgos impeached the Athenian Leokrates for treason since he had fled from the city after Chaironeia. Stressing that Leokrates, a disgrace to the polis and the Athenians, betrayed the Athenian citizenship and all of its values, Lykourgos is upset that he bought corn from Kleopatra and used the money he had withdrawn from Athens.65 It is implied that to conduct transaction with a representative of the Argeads and give Athenian money to her was another proof of Leokrates’ corruption and unreliability. In about 330–328, the Athenian Euxenippos was impeached on a charge of having been bribed to make a report contrary to the interest of the Athenian demos.66 Defending Euxenippos, the Attic orator Hypereides, known for his political posture as an opponent of an appeasement policy regarding Macedonia, sheds 60

Arr. Anab. 7.4.2–3; Plut. Alex. 68.2–3; Hyp. Eux. 25. Plut. Alex. 68,3 (biased). Cf. Müller, 2013: 34–37; Carney, 2006: 50–53; Blackwell, 2005; Funke, 2000: 190; O’Neil, 1999: 11–14. 62 Diod. 17.108.7. 63 Carney, 2006: 49–52, 57–59. 64 Cooper, 2007: 2–3; Wirth, 1999: 304–306; Engels, 1989: 222–226. 65 Lyk. Leokr. 26. 66 On the date see Bernhardt, 2012: 277; Whitehead, 2000: 155–157. Euxenippos is identified with the trierarch at some time before 334/3 (PA 5886) and the Euxenippos who made a dedication at the Oropian Amphiareion, a famous incubation shrine, between 338– 322 for Hygieia (SEG 15.291), cf. Cooper, 2007: 2; Whitehead, 2000: 154. The outcome of the trial is unknown. Cf. Engels, 1989: 214. 61

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light on the public Athenian perception of Olympias as the female head of the Argead and Molossian house.67 Additionally, he provides us with an impression of the profound Athenian dislike of the Macedonians and their supremacy. Apparently, Euxenippos’ accuser Polyeuktos had argued that Euxenippos had somehow allowed Olympias to dedicate a bowl to the statue of Hygieia and thus exposed himself as an evil flatterer.68 Ironically, Hypereides tries to neutralize the accusations against Euxenippos that he flattered Olympias and was a friend of the Macedonians, thus a traitor doing harm to Athens.69 He addresses the accuser Polyeuktos: “‘Yes: because of the dreadful things he did over the phiale – allowing Olympias to dedicate it to the statue of Hygieia.’ The fact is, you suppose that by serving up her name in this trial and making a meal of it yourself, and falsely accusing Euxenippos of flattery, you will build up hatred and anger towards him from the jurors. But it is wrong, my friend, to use the name of Olympias and Alexander to try to harm some citizen (…) it is here, in your wish to ruin Euxenippos, that you hate Olympias, alleging that he is an flatterer of her and (other) Macedonians.”70 Hygieia, personified Health, was the daughter of Asklepios.71 It is assumed that Olympias made the dedication of the probably golden bowl on behalf of her much wounded and often unhealthy son.72 Simultaneously, the dedication showed her as a benefactress in the name of her house. In addition, while she is perceived as

67 On the speech see Bernhardt, 2012: 277–281; Whitehead, 2000; Wirth, 1999b; Engels, 1989: 21 Whitehead, 2000; 3–229; On Olympias in the speech see: Cooper, 2007: 2–3; Carney, 2006: 95–96; Whitehead, 2000: 215–220; Wirth, 1999a: 171–173, with n. 628; Wirth, 1999b: 304–306; Usher, 1999: 334. 68 Hyp. Eux. 19. Cf. Bringmann / von Steuben, 2000: 17, no. 1 [L]. On the date of the dedication see Wirth, 1999a: 171–172, n. 628. Euxenippos must have acted in some sort of official capacity, cf. Cooper, 2007: 3; Whitehead, 2000: 215; Engels, 1989: 220. Thus, he was not really a privatier as Hypereides continuously emphasized. 69 Bernhardt, 2012: 278; Usher, 1999: 334; Wirth, 1999a: 171. For the use of apostrophe in this passage in order to urge reasonableness on the defendant see Usher, 2010: 356. 70 Hyp. Eux. 19–20: ναί: δεινὰ γὰρ ἐποίησεν περὶ τὴν φιάλην, ἐάσας Ὀλυμπιάδα ἀναθεῖναι εἰς τὸ ἄγαλμα τῆς Ὑγιείας. τοῦτο γὰρ ὑπολαμβάνεις, ἐφόδιον ἑαυτῷ εἰς τὸν ἀγῶνα τὸ ἐκείνης ὄνομα παραφέρων καὶ κολακείαν ψευδῆ κατηγορῶν Εὐξενίππον, μῖσος καὶ ὀργὴν αὐτῷ συλλέξειν παρὰ τῶν δικαστῶν. δεῖ δέ, ὦ βέλτιστε, μὴ ἐπὶ τῷ Ὀλυμπιάδος ὀνόματι καὶ τῷ Ἀλεξάνδρου τῶν πολιτῶν τινα ζητεῖν κακόν τι ἐργάσασθαι (…) ἐνθάδε δὲ μισεῖς Ὀλυμπιάδα ἐπὶ τῷ ἀπολέσαι Εὐξένιππον, καὶ φῂς κόλακα αὐτὸν εἶναι ἐκείνης καὶ Μακεδόνων. Trans. D. Whitehead. 71 Paus. 1.23.4. Carney, 2006: 95. On her cult in Athens where she was probably venerated since the 5th century BC see Tonini, 2010: 40–42. See also Whitehead, 2000: 215: probably an Athenian creation. 72 Carney, 2006: 95. Thompson, 1982: 161 thinks of a silver bowl.

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associated with Alexander, although it was no joint dedication, she is also perceived as a Macedonian power factor in her own right, a figure of authority. The device “With or without his mother Olympias, there was only one Alexander”73 also works the other way round. Clearly, she is also depicted as another representative of the Macedonian suppression: Hypereides claims that being associated with her raised the anger and hatred of every good Athenian citizen. The iconographic attribute of Hygieia is a serpent that she characteristically feeds from a phiale. Already during the 4th century BC, she was often shown sitting while the serpent coils on her lap.74 Olympias’ image as a snake charmer is one of the most influential regarding her afterlife. Reportedly, she raised petsnakes, appeared on the battlefield of Euia surrounded by snakes, and conceived Alexander by a huge snake (drakon), either Zeus(-Ammon) in disguise, or, according to variants of the Alexander Romance, the Egyptian magician Nektanebos II.75 In his Alexander or the False Prophet about the success of a wicked fraud posing as an oracle founder, Lukian ridiculed the snake-siring legend. His – otherwise not attested protagonist of the indeed existing cult – seems to carry the name Alexander for a reason: there are several ironic references to Alexander III in Alexander.76 As for Lukian’s sarcastic version of a miraculous snake, the pseudomantis travels with an elderly lady to Macedonia and buys a tame serpent at Pella. Announced by fake prophecies and accompanied by special effects, Alexander celebrates the birth of the divine epiphany in his Paphlagonian hometown Abonuteichos: the tame Macedonian serpent with a humanoid head with long hair provided by a puppet.77 Third-century AD bronze coins from the Macedonian koinon, gold medallions from the Aboukir hoard, and Roman contorniates (4th or 5th century AD) show images of Olympias associated with serpent-siring.78 She is portrayed as a veiled lady with a snake bracelet or as reclining on a couch or chair feeding a snake. One contorniate has the inscription: Olympias Regina.79 Also, one panel of damaged late antique mosaics from Baalbek showing Alexander’s life, depicts Olympias on a couch with a snake on her lap. It is followed by the scene of the birth of 73

Whitehead, 2000: 217. Ogden, 2015: 120–121; Ogden, 2011: 53–54; Ogden, 2009: 38; 39, n. 23. 75 Plut. Alex. 2.5–7; Ath. 13.560f; Ps.-Kall. 1.3–7.7. Cf. Collins, 2012: 3–4; Stoneman, 2008: 6–26. On Plutarch’s portrayal of Olympias’ religious attitude as a symptom of her “barbarian” nature see Asirvatham, 2001. In the Middle Ages, the core idea of the siring snake was adopted but the drakon transformed into a dragon. Cf. Ross, 1963: 20. 76 Luk. Alex. 1; 6; 7 (cf. Plut. Alex. 2.4; Just. 11.11; Arr. Anab. 4.10.2); 16 (cf. Plut. Alex. 76.4; Arr. Anab. 7.26.1); 41 (indirect). Cf. Müller, 2018; Ogden, 2011: 54–55; Victor, 1997. 77 Luk. Alex. 7–16. 78 Dahmen, 2007: 31–32, 37–38, 140–141, 148, 152–154; Carney, 2006: 120–123. On the snake-siring see Ogden, 2015; Ogden, 2011: 7–8, 21–28; Stoneman, 2008: 6–26. 79 Dahmen, 2007: 38, 154, fig. 28.4. 74

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Alexander and a depiction of the baby Alexander being bathed by a nymph.80 Daniel Ogden has pointed out the strong correspondance of Olympias’ serpent iconography with that of Hygieia and raised the question whether it was pure coincidence that she dedicated a phiale to the statue of Hygieia in Athens.81 Perhaps, this votive somehow influenced the perception of her in her afterlife and was combined with the legends about Alexander being fathered by a large snake. However, we can only speculate about it. There is no further information about Olympias’ association with Hygieia. In his defence of Euxenippos, Hypereides provides us with another impression of Olympias as a political actor: “Olympias has made complaints about what happened at Dodona; unfair complaints (…) Zeus of Dodona commanded you, through the oracle, to embellish the statue of Dione. You made a face as beautiful as could be, with all the other accomplishments (…) Hence the subject of Olympias’ complaints, when they came. Her letters pointed out that Molossia, the site of the temple, is her country; we, consequently, have no right to stir up anything there.”82 Nothing is further known about this affair.83 It seems that the Athenian ambassadors who were ordered to negotiate with the priests at Dodona forgot to inform Olympias and therefore, she demanded to be respected. While Hypereides paraphrased her letters, it is difficult to determine whether she really had stated flatly that Dodona was situated in a land, Molossia, which was hers. It might rather be the usual stylistic device of exaggeration in Greek oratory: the theme of a “barbarian” writing an impudent letter to the civilized Athenians also occurs in a speech of Aischines.84 Olympias’ portrayal as a representative of the Macedonian evil is in accordance with other testimonies of the hostile mood in Athens under Alexander.85 Since the Attic orators had to address common values and wide-spread attitudes in order to be successful, their comments testify to the dissatifaction with the po80

Carney, 2006: 124; Ross, 1963: 2–3. Ogden, 2011: 53. Cf. Ogden, 2015: 121: he sees a relevance in any case. 82 Hyp. Eux. 24–25: ὑμῖν Ὀλυμπιὰς ἐγκλήματα πεποίηται περὶ τὰ ἐν Δωδώνῃ οὐ δίκαια (…) ὑμῖν γὰρ ὁ Ζεὺς ὁ Δωδωναῖος προσέταξεν ἐν τῇ μαντείᾳ τὸ ἄγαλμα τῆς Διώνης ἐπικοσμῆσαι: καὶ ὑμεῖς πρόσωπόν τε ποιησάμενοι ὡς οἷόν τε κάλλιστον καὶ τἆλλα πάντα τὰ ἀκόλουθα (…) ὑπὲρ τούτων ὑμῖν τὰ ἐγκλήματα ἦλθε παρ᾽ Ὀλυμπιάδος ἐν ταῖς ἐπιστολαῖς, ὡς ἡ χώρα εἴη ἡ Μολοττία αὑτῆς, ἐν ᾗ τὸ ἱερόν ἐστιν: οὔκουν προσήκειν ἡμᾶς τῶν ἐκεῖ οὐδὲ ἓν κινεῖν. Trans. D. Whitehead. 83 Whitehead, 2000: 156; Wirth, 1999a: 171–172, n. 628. Thompson, 1982: 161 suggests that such an Athenian embassy, perhaps led by Euxenippos, himself, brought the votive statuette of a boy with a dove for Dione, now in the Museum of Ioannina. 84 Aischin. Ktes. 238–239. 85 On this basic hostility see Landucci Gattinoni, 1994: 59, 61. 81

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litical situation in Athens that exploded into the Lamian War after Alexander’s death. In about 334, Hypereides was publicly upset about the demand of a “foreigner” (= Alexander) for Athenian triremes.86 In 330, Aischines failed in attempting to prevent that his political adversary Demosthenes was honored with a golden stephanos for his devotion to the polis (= his resistance against the Macedonian rise).87 The decision of the Athenian jury representing the demos was a blatant statement in favor of Demosthenes’ former collision course and a renunciation of the appeasement policy advocated by the faction of Euboulos and Aischines. In 324, in a forensic speech, its writer Deinarchos frankly calls the Macedonians “the barbarians”.88 Furthermore, significantly, in a nostalgic turn,89 in 327/6, the Athenians honored a member of a Persian family which had been essentially involved in the Persian defence against the Macedonian invasion: the house of Artabazos.90 Currently, the honorand is identified with Thymondas who was best known for commanding the infantry on the right wing against the Macedonians at Issos.91 At this time, there still had been hope that the Persians could turn the tables. Conclusions In particular during Alexander’s reign, Olympias and Kleopatra exercized notable political influence and showed considerable public visibility in Macedonia, Epeiros and Greece. They did so as agents of their house. Thus, for example, they acted as benefactresses in the name of their dynasty. Alexander profited from their agency and will have been in constant contact with them. Olympias and Kleopatra were symbols of Argead identity, figures of authority, representatives of Macedonia and Epeiros. After Alexander’s death, they were still perceived as his representatives. Bibliography Alfieri Tonini, T., 2011: “I culto di Igea nelle iscrizioni greche”. LANX 10, 37– 46. Anson, E. M., 2006: “Dating the Deaths of Eumenes and Olympias”. AHB 20, 1– 8. Asirvatham, S., 2001: “Olympias’ Snake and Callisthenes’ Stand: Religion and Politics in Plutarch’s Life of Alexander”. In S. Asivartham et al. (eds.): Between Magic and Religion. Lanham. Pp. 93–125. 86

Hyp. Diondas 144r 32 ff. Cf. Plut. Phok. 16; 21. Aischin. Ktes. 12. 88 Dein. Demost. 24. 89 On this nostalgic turn in Athens in the late 330s and early 320s under the rule of Alexander see Westwood, 2016: 76–77. 90 IG II² 356. Cf. Lambert, 2018: 141–143, 152. 91 Curt. 3.9.2. Lambert, 2018: 142: “it is unlikely to be irrelevant that Thymondas was best known for leading the Greek mercenaries against Alexander at Issos.” 87

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Badian, E., 2003: “Plutarch’s Unconfessed Skill. The Biographer as a Critical Historian”. In T. Hantos (ed.): Laurea internationalis. Stuttgart. Pp. 26–44. Bernhardt, J., 2012: “Rhetorische Strategie und politischer Standpunkt bei Hypereides”. Hermes 140, 263–283. Berve, H., 1926: Das Alexanderreich auf prosopographischer Grundlage. Vol. II. München. Blackwell, C.W., 2005: “Athens and Macedonia, in the Absence of Alexander”. In C.W. Blackwell (ed.): Dēmos: Classical Athenian Democracy (www.stoa. org. Edition of July 1, 2005). (access: 23.01.2019). Bosworth, A.B., 1988: Conquest and Empire. The Reign of Alexander the Great. Cambridge. Bringmann, K. / von Steuben, H. (eds.), 1995. Schenkungen hellenistischer Herrscher an griechische Städte und Heiligtümer. Vol. I. Berlin. Brosius, M., 1996: Women in Ancient Persia (559–331 B.C.). Oxford. Carney, E.D., 1991: “‘What’s in a Name?’ The Emergence of a Title for Royal Women in the Hellenistic Period”. In S. B. Pomeroy (ed.): Women’s History and Ancient History. Chapel Hill. Pp. 154–172. — 1993a: “Foreign Influence and the Changing Role of Macedonian Royal Women”. AM 5, 313–323. — 1993b: “Olympias and the Image of the Virago”. Phoenix 47, 29–55. — 1995: “Women and basileia. Legitimacy and Female Political Action in Macedonia”. CJ 90, 367–391. — 2000: Women and Monarchy in Macedonia. Norman. — 2006: Olympias. Mother of Alexander the Great. New York / London. — 2007: “The Philippeum, Women, and the Formation of a Dynastic Image”. In W. Heckel et al. (eds.): Alexander’s Empire: Formulation to Decay. Claremont. Pp. 27–60. — 2009: “Alexander and his ‘Terrible Mother’.” In W. Heckel and L.A. Tritle (eds.), Alexander the Great. A New History. Oxford. Pp. 189–203. — 2010a: “Macedonian Women”. In J. Roisman / I. Worthington (eds.): A Companion to Ancient Macedonia. Oxford. Pp. 409–427. — 2010b: “Putting Women in their Place: Women in Public under Philip II and Alexander III and the Last Argeads”. In E.D. Carney / D. Ogden (eds.): Philip II and Alexander the Great. Father and Son, Lives and Afterlives. Oxford. Pp. 43–54. — 2016: King and Court in Ancient Macedonia: Rivalry, Treason, and Conspiracy. London / New York. — 2017: “Argead Marriage Policy”. In S. Müller et al. (eds.): The History of the Argeads – New Perspectives. Wiesbaden. Pp. 139–150. — 2019a: Eurydice and the Birth of Macedonian Power. Oxford. — 2019b: “Royal Macedonian Widows: Merry and not”. GRBS 59, 368–396.

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— 2019c: “An exceptional Argead Couple: Philip II and Olympias”. In A. Bielman-Sanchéz (ed.): Power Couples in Antiquity. Transversal Perspectives. London. Pp. 16–31. — 2020a: “Olympias”. In W. Heckel et al. (eds.): Lexicon of Argead Makedonia. Berlin. Pp. 354–359. — 2020b: “Kleopatra, Daughter of Philip II”. In W. Heckel et al. (eds.): Lexicon of Argead Makedonia. Berlin. Pp. 301–302. Collins, A., 2012: “Callisthenes on Olympias and Alexander’s Divine Birth”. AHB 26, 1–14. Comploi, S., 2002: “Frauendarstellungen bei Fremdvölkern in den Historiae Philippicae des Pompeius Trogus/Justin”. In C. Ulf / R. Rollinger (eds.): Geschlechter – Frauen – Fremde Ethnien in antiker Ethnopgraphie, Theorie und Realität. Innsbruck, 331–359. Cooper, C., 2007: “The Rhetoric of Philippizing”. In W. Heckel et al. (eds.): Alexander’s Empire. Formulation to Decay. Claremont. Pp. 1–12. Dahmen, K., 2007: The Legend of Alexander the Great on Greek and Roman Coins. New York. Engels, J., 1989: Studien zur politischen Biographie des Hypereides. München². Funke, S., 2000: Aiakidenmythos und epeirotisches Königtum. Stuttgart. Hammond, N.G.L., 1992: The Macedonian State. The Origins, Institutions and History. Oxford. Hatzopoulos, M.B., 2018: La mort de Philippe. Une études des sources. Athens. Heckel, W., 1981: “Polyxena, the Mother of Alexander the Great”. Chiron 11, 79–86. — 2006: Who’s Who in the Age of Alexander the Great. Oxford. Kornemann, E., 1998. Große Frauen des Altertums im Rahmen zweitausendjährigen Weltgeschehens. 3rd ed. Bremen. Kuhrt, A., 2007 The Persian Empire. A Corpus of Sources from the Achaemenid Period. London / New York. Lambert, S., 2018: Inscribed Athenian Laws and Decrees in the Age of Demosthenes. Leiden. Landucci Gattinoni, F., 1994: “I mercenari nella politica ateniese dell’età di Alessandro: Parte I. Soldati e ufficiali mercenari ateniese al servizio della Persia”. AncSoc 25, 33–61. Lenfant, D., 2019: “Polygamy in Greek Views of the Persians”. GRBS 59, 15– 37. Macurdy, G.H., 1932: Hellenistic Queens. A Study of Woman-Power in Macedonia, Seleucid Syria, and Ptolemaic Egypt. Baltimore / London. Madreiter, I., 2012: Stereotypisierung – Idealisierung – Indifferenz, Formen der Auseinandersetzung mit dem Achaimeniden-Reich in der griechischen Persika-Literatur. Wiesbaden.

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Meeus, A. 2009: “Kleopatra and the Diadochoi”. In P. van Nuffelen (ed.): Faces of Hellenism, Leuven. Pp. 63–92. Meyer, E.A., 2013: The Inscriptions of Dodona and a New History of Molossia. Stuttgart. Mitchell, L.G., 2012: “The Women of Ruling Families in Archaic and Classical Greece”. CQ 62, 1–21. Müller, S., 2010: “Philip II”. In J. Roisman / I. Worthington (eds.): A Companion to Ancient Macedonia. Oxford. Pp. 166–185. — 2013: “Das symbolische Kapital von Argeadinnen und Frauen der Diadochen”. In Chr. Kunst (ed.): Matronage. Soziale Netzwerke von Herrscherfrauen im Altertum in diachroner Perspektive. Osnabrück. Pp. 31–42. — 2017: “The Symbolic Capital of the Argeads”. In S. Müller et al. (eds.): The History of the Argeads – New Perspectives. Wiesbaden. Pp. 183–198. — 2018: “Icons, Images, Interpretations: Arrian, Lukian, Their Relationship, and Alexander at the Kydnos”. Karanos 1, 67–86. — 2019: Alexander der Große. Eroberung – Politik – Rezeption. Stuttgart. Ogden, D., 2009: “Alexander, Scipio and Octavian: Serpent-Siring in Macedon and Rome”. SyllClass 20, 31–52. — 2011. Alexander the Great: Myth, Genesis and Sexuality. Exeter. — 2015: “Nectanebo’s Seduction of Olympias and the Benign Anguiform Deities of the Ancient Greek World”. In P. Wheatley / E. Baynham (eds.): East and West in the World Empire of Alexander. Oxford: Pp. 117–131. O’Neil, J.L., 1999. “Olympias: ‘The Macedonians will never let themselves be ruled by a woman’. Prudentia 31, 1–14. Palagia, O., 2010: “Philip’s Eurydice in the Philippeum at Olympia”. In E.D. Carney / D. Ogden (eds.): Philip II and Alexander the Great. Father and Son, Lives and Afterlives. Oxford. Pp. 33–42. — 2017: “Archaeological Evidence”. In S. Müller et al. (eds.): The History of the Argeads – New Perspectives. Wiesbaden. Pp. 151–161. Psoma, S.E., 2012: “Innovation or Tradition? Succession to the Kingship in Temenid Macedonia”. Τεκμήρια 11, 73–87. — 2015: “Naming the Argeads”. Ktèma 40, 15–26. Ross, D.J.A., 1963: “Olympias and the Serpent: The Interpretation of a Baalbek Mosaic and the Date of the illustrated Pseudo-Callisthenes”. JWCI 26, 1–21. Sancisi-Weerdenburg, H., 1987: “Decadence in the Empire or Decadence on the Sources? From Source to Synthesis: Ctesias”. AchHist 1, 33–45. Schultz, P., 2007: “Leochares’ Argead Portraits in the Philippeion”. In R. von den Hoff / P. Schultz (eds.): Early Hellenistic Portraiture: Image, Style, Context. Cambridge. Pp. 205–233. Stoneman, R., 2008: Alexander the Great. A Life in Legend. London. Thompson, D.B., 1982: “A Dove for Dione”. Hesperia Suppl. 20, 155–162, 215– 219.

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Tsigarida, B., 2010: “A New Gold Myrtle Wreath from Central Macedonia in the Collection of the Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki”. BSA 105, 305– 315. Usher, S., 1999: Greek Oratory. Tradition and Originality. Oxford. — 2010: “Apostrophe in Greek Oratory”. Rhetorica 28, 351–362. Victor, U., 1997: Lukian von Samosata. Alexandros oder der Lügenprophet. Leiden. Westwood, G., 2017: “Nostalgia, Politics, and Persuasion in Demosthenes’ Letters”. In M. Johncock / E. Sanders (eds.): Emotion and Persuasion in Classical Antiquity. Stuttgart. Pp. 75–90. Whitehead, D., 2000: Hypereides. The Forensic Speeches. Oxford. Wirth, G., 1999a: Hypereides, Lykurg und die αὐτονομία der Athener. Ein Versuch zum Verständnis einiger Reden der Alexanderzeit. Wien. — 1999b: “Euxenippos – ein biederer athenischer Bürger”. Tyche 14, 285–308. Worthington, I., 2008: Philip II of Macedon. Oxford.

(Re)Taking Halikarnassos Ada, Alexander the Great and Karian Queenship Timothy Howe*

“[Alexander] next entered Caria, where he was welcomed by Ada, Idrieus’ widow and sister of the former dynast and satrap Mausolus. She had been dispossessed of her authority by her brother Pixodarus; she adopted Alexander as her son and put her fortress Alinda into his hands. But Alexander was held up by Halicarnassus, where Memnon himself commanded the garrison; with him were Orontopates, satrap of Cara, Pixodarus’ successor, and some Macedonian exiles.” (Tarn, 1948: 19–20) So W.W. Tarn summarises Ada’s role in Alexander the Great’s campaign, giving the Hekatomnid ruler these few sentences in his history of Alexander. Even the Roman authors Arrian and Strabo devote more space to her.1 And yet, 20th and 21st century scholars have largely followed in Tarn’s wake, neglecting Ada’s role as a military commander, ruler and person in her own right to focus on Alexander and his political needs.2 Even those who attempt to center Ada in the analysis, such as Matthew Sears (2014) nonetheless perpetuate the reductionist view that Ada was a political tool for Macedonian propaganda.3 In what follows, I seek a * I would like to thank the editors for inviting me to contribute to this project. Their advice and assistance was invaluable. Also deserving of thanks are Frances Pownall, Hugh Bowden, Daniel Ogden, Waldemar Heckel and Pat Wheatley, whose comments on drafts and deep insight greatly improved the argument. 1 Arr. Anab. 1.23.6–8; Strabo 14.1.17. 2 In his 2019 military and religious biography of Alexander, Fred Naiden echoes Tarn’s judgement: “Unable to vanquish Memnon, Alexander gained a victory of a sort over Pixodarus, who had refused to become his father-in-law. Passing through Pixodarus’s kingdom of Caria, Alexander gave it to his sister Ada, who had ruled the country before but lost it to her brother. Using an odd turn of phrase, he said that Ada was like a mother to him. Ada, in turn adopted him as her son. That way he could inherit the throne of Caria once she died” [emphasis added] Naiden, 2019: 56. For Naiden, Ada is reduced to a dynastic tool that serves both to legitimate Alexander’s inheritance of Karia and to satisfy Alexander’s personal revenge against Pixodaros. Both reasons dehumanize Ada and only the first is supported by the sources. That revenge over Pixodaros motivated Alexander in any way is pure speculation and best put aside. 3 Sears’ conclusion that Karian Ada was a “symbol of Greekness” for Alexander’s propaganda undermines his goal to reconsider Ada on her own terms. Yet this is well in keeping with the communis opinio, which sees Alexander’s enagement with Ada in decidedly Alexander-centred terms, as locally orientated propaganda invented to gain the support of the Karians. Consequently, Wilcken, 1967: 93; Bosworth, 1988: 230; Ruzicka, 1992: 140–

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different approach. By analysing Ada as a Karian queen and evaluating her military power and socio-political context, I hope to show that the military threat and advantage Ada offered the invading Macedonians as holder of the fortresses that could threaten passage up the Maiandros Valley4 – the most convenient land-route from Miletos through Central Asia Minor to Mesopotamia – had more effect on Alexander’s choices to ally with Ada and assist her in retaking Halikarnassos than any possible propaganda value (Hellenic or otherwise) the Karian queen may have offered. Even though Alexander had turned away from the Aegean coast after Miletos, Ada’s need to retake Halikarnassos from her rebellious brother Pixodaros “convinced” him to change his plans. Ada courted Alexander, not the other way round. The fact that the seige of Halikarnassos did not result in a speedy victory for Alexander, has resulted in a dearth of both acient and modern scholarly attention. Indeed, the ancient sources were more than ready to move on to Alexander’s more “successful” military endeavours. Karian queenship: Ada the Hekatomnid Ada, daughter of Hekatomnos, was part of an unusual and short-lived dynasty of siblings who ruled Karia from 377/6 to 331 BCE.5 The family’s ancestral powerbase was the lowland city of Mylasa and the sourrounding mountain fortresses and sanctuaries of the Latmos Range, such as Alinda, Labraunda and Sinuri (see map, Figure 1).6 Under the patriarch Hekatomnos, the family was elevated to regional authority some time after 395, when the Persian Great King Artaxerxes II recognized him as satrap of Karia.7 After Hekatomnos’ death in 377/6, the eldest son Maussollos and the eldest daughter Artemisia married and co-ruled. While the Greek literary sources treat Maussollos as the controlling partner in this sibling marriage, dedications from Karia show that the Karians understood the couple as joint monarchs.8 During their reign, Maussollos and Artemisia centred the 141; Carney, 2003: 248–289; Worthington, 2004: 62; Cartledge, 2004: 142; Heckel, 2006: 3; 2008: 51–52; Müller, 2019: 95 see the alliance with Ada as the first example of Alexander’s wider policy of appealing to local populations by honouring local traditions and leaders. Despite focusing on the power and role of Karian women, Carney, 2005: 70 has surprisingly little to say about Ada and Alexander and follows the trend of yoking their political and military alliance to Alexander’s propagandistic and military needs and desires. 4 For Ada’s control over the Maiandros see Karlsson, 1994: 141–153; Bockisch / Ruggendorfer / Zabrana, 2013: 130. 5 For the debate over the date of Hekatomnos’ death see Hornblower, 1982: 38–40; Ruzicka, 1992: 92. 6 See Hornblower, 1982: 34–51 for an overview of the dynasty and 294–331 for the Hekatomnid building programme. See Carstens, 2006; 2009: 88–100, 107–120 for the role of Mylasa and the sanctuaries of Labraunda and Sinuri. 7 Hornblower, 1982: 36; Ruzicka, 1992: 16–21. 8 Labraunda 3.2, no. 40; Staatsvertäge 260; I. Erythrai 8 = SIG 168 = Tod GHI 2:155.

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satrapy in the Greek orbit, relocating the capital from Mylasa to the important port city of Halikarnassos and engaging in a programme of panhellenism.9 At the same time, the couple also began to transform the sanctuary of Labraunda into an international religious centre that welcomed both Greek and Persian audiences, work which continued under their sibling successors, Ada and Idrieus.10

Figure 1: Map of the central Karia and the Maiandros River Valley. Created by author.

Hornblower, 1982: 40, 358–363; Carney, 2005: 66 for the nature of this “joint” rule. While modern scholars readily acknowledge the reality suggested by the epigraphic evidence, Hellenic gender norms about male primacy still dominate the conversation. The studies of Hornblower, 1982 and Ruzicka, 1992 are prime examples. See discussion below. 9 Diod. 15.90.3. Hornblower, 1982: 78–105; Ruzicka, 1992: 33–36. 10 Carstens, 2009, 100: “I believe that Labraunda was the key sanctuary for the Hekatomnids, where they staged and used the rural site as an extended palace, suited for processions, audiences, banquets in a magnificent setting. I further suggest that the meetings of the Karian federations were transferred from the lowland Mylasa to Labraunda during the Hekatomnid period. Or at least, that when the leader, the King of the Karians needed to be consulted he was often to be found in Labraunda under the protection of an ancient deity, in the midst of well-staged ideology.” Williamson, 2013b: 145–146: “The many dining facilities are indeed one of the most remarkable aspects of Labraunda, particularly the Andrones, the splendid banqueting halls built by Maussollos and his brother Idrieus which integrated both Greek and Achaemenid architectural influences, no doubt intended to impress guests of state through super-prestigious, ritual banqueting.” For further discussion of the role of Labraunda in Hekatomnid royal identity, see Carstens, 2009: 88–100; 2013; Konuk, 2013: 110–112; Williamson, 2013a; 2014, 90–96. For Achaemenid engagement with Labraunda see Carstens, 2011.

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What is particularly unusual about the Hekatonid dynasty is not that brother married sister – though Greek and Roman authors did find such sibling unions distateful11 – but rather that the Hekatomnid women, Artemisia and Ada ruled alone after the death of their brother-husbands.12 Unlike other brother-sister dynasties of the ancient Mediterrean world, the Hekatomnid women did not remarry a surviving brother (or other close male relative), but chose to rule alone.13 The fact that neither the Karian people, nor the Persian Great Kings objected to this arrangement indicates the legitimate power and authority Artemisia and Ada wielded in the region.14 As a result, we should see the Karian queenship practised by Ada as a legitimate and integral institution in its own right and not downplay its power as mere “symbolism”, as has been commonly done when studying the interactions between Ada and Alexander the Great.15 In 351 BCE, after the death of their older sister Artemisia, Ada and her brotherhusband Idrieus inherited Karia.16 Like Artemisia and Maussollos, the new Hekatomnid rulers invested in the international sanctuaries of Labraunda and Sinuri.17 They also strengthened the military defenses along the eastern approaches to the satrapy: fortifications at Labraunda, Alinda and Alabanda were extended, as Ada and Idreus focused on controlling access to and from the strategic Maidandros Valley via the Sacred Way of Labraunda – a fortified highway stretching from Mylasa to Alinda.18 Ada and Idrieus also continued Artemisia and Maussollos’ 11

E.g. Ath. 621a. See Hornblower, 1982: 358–363 for further discussion. No children were produced by the brother-sister pairs, either with siblings or with other partners. Thus, apart from Pixodaros who did not have a unmarried sister to wed, the Hekatomnids had no heirs. Pixodaros married a Persian Cappadocian woman, Aphneis, with whom he had a daughter, also named Ada. Strabo 14.2.17. Ruzicka, 1992: 126. 13 E.g. Kleopatra VII of Egypt married two of her younger brothers, Ptolemy XIII and Ptolemy XIV, respectively. Lucan, Pharsalia, 110–113; 430–455. [Caes.] BA 33. 14 Carney, 2005: 76; Ruzicka, 1992: 100–102. While we have no formal records of Artaxerxes II naming Artemisia satrap, I find Ruzicka’s point (1992: 101) compelling that “so long as the Persian treasury regularly received the tribute owed by the Hekatomnids, matters of title may have been of little concern to Artaxerxes.” Demosthenes 15.11–12 certainly seems to have accepted her sole rule as he railed against her in 351, predicting what she would do if Athens interfered and attempted to replace the Rhodian oligarchy with a democracy. 15 E.g. Sears, 2014. 16 Diod. 6.69.2, 45.7; Strabo 14.2.17; Arr. Anab. 1.23.7; Harpocration, s.v. “Idrieus.” 17 Two Sinuri inscriptions show Ada and Idrieus making joint decrees, one a decree of syngeneia for an individual (2 Sinuri 1, no. 73; Robert, 1945: 94–98) and the other a grant of tax exemption (3 Sinuri 1, no. 75. Robert, 1945: 98). The two siblings are also depicted on a private dedicatory relief from the temple of Athena Alea in Tegea, which has often been taken as a sign of their panhellenism. The fact that Zeus Labraunda is also portrayed with them here underscores the pivotal role the sancuary continued to have under Ada and Idrieus. See Waywell, 1993 for analysis of the relief and its wider context. 18 Road: Strabo 14.2.23; Roos, 2006: 18; Hild, 2014: 26, n. 74, 40; Konecny / Ruggen12

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engagement with the Greek communities of both Asia Minor and the Greek mainland. Indeed, so successful was the Karian couple’s patronage that Miletos dedicated honourific statues of Ada and Idrieus at Delphi.19 These military and sociopolitical investments along the Labraundan Sacred Way and at Miletos, show that Ada and Idreus, just like Artemisia and Maussollos, saw both opportunities for expansion as well as threats to their power coming from Ionia and Persia along the Maiandros Valley.20 This policy, however, was not unusual. Like many elites in 4th century Asia Minor, the Hekatomnids attempted to tread a middle path between both Greece and Persia.21 In 344, after the death of Idrieus, Ada became sole ruler of Karia, just as her sister Artemisia had done on the death of the eldest Hekatomnid, Maussollos.22 During her period of sole rule, Ada continued the defensive works in central Karia begun during her joint rule with Idrieus. In their study of the fortifications at Alinda, Konecny / Ruggendorfer (2014: 742), suggest that the main circuit wall of the city was begun during this period, though it was likely completed after 340 BCE, after Pixodaros had driven Ada from Halikarnassos and she made Alinda her capital-in-exile. Ada also continued to patronise the important Ionian city of Miletos. Indeed, it is possible that the Milesian dedication at Delphi, mentioned above, could date to this period of Ada’s sole rule.23 In addition, the colossal head of Ada (Figure 2), found in the sanctuary of Athena Polias at Priene and now in the British Museum, might also date to Ada’s sole rule, though it is more likely it

dorfer, 2014: 709. Fortifications: Karlsson / Henry / Bild, 2008: 111–116, 129 offer a detailed analysis of the fortifications and 32 ancient fountain houses along the course of the Sacred Way from Labraunda to Mylasa, as well as the large fortress above the acropolis and the 5 watchtowers along the road, most of which have a view towards the acropolis. Konecny / Ruggendorfer, 2014: 714–742, analyse the Way going towards Alinda, which possessed similar fortifications built under the Hekatomnids. As Williamson, 2013a: 6, notes “there is a second monumental gateway to Labraunda from the east, which led from Alinda and Alabanda to the north via a road that was also at least partly paved … Labraunda was thus a connecting station in this road.” 19 Tod GHI 2.161B. This was signed by one Satyros, whom Hornblower, 1982: 241–242; 275 suggests was likely Satyros son of Isotimos from Paros. A private individual also dedicated the relief of the couple to Athena Alea in Tegea discussed above, Tod GHI 2.162B; see Waywell, 1993. 20 Karlsson, 1994: 141–153; Bockisch / Ruggendorfer / Zabrana, 2013: 130. See Ruzicka, 1992: 67–75 for Maussollos’ campaigns in Ionia and efforts to expand Karian influence among the Greek cities of the region. In 362/1 Maussollos revolted from Persia: Diod. 15.90.3; Xen. Ages. 2.27; Ruzicka, 1992: 76–89. 21 See, e.g. Hyland, 2017. 22 Arr. Anab. 1.23.7; Strabo 14.2.17; Diod 16.45.7; 69.2. 23 See Hornblower, 1982: 241–242, for a discussion of the issues surrounding the dating of this dedication.

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comes from the period after Alexander’s arrival.24 Like her sibling predecessors, Ada maintained and even strengthened her resources in the Maiandros River basin.

Figure 2. Colossal head of Ara from the sanctuary of Athena Polias at Priene. © Trustees of the British Museum. Reproduced with permission. Yet Ada was also a loyal Persian satrap. In 341, when Philip II of Macedon besieged Perinthos on the Sea of Marmara, the Great King of Persia, Artaxerxes III Ochos, ordered all of his Asian coastal satraps to help the Perinthos resist. Alongside her colleagues Ada did so.25 A few months later, when Philip sur-

24

Hornblower, 1982: 329–330; Carter, 1983: 264–266; 271–276; Prag / Neave, 2010. Diod. 16.75.1–2. Hornblower, 1982: 48–49 and Ruzicka, 1992: 127–128 argue that Pixodaros and not Ada sent this aid, but I find it unlikely that Pixodaros, who struck a decidedly anti-Persian tone in his coinage of 340, would be in a position to do the Great King’s bidding. Pixodaros only courted the Great King after his alliance with Philip II fell through. See discussion below. 25

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rounded Byzantion, Karian-controlled Kos and Rhodes also sent assistance.26 It is in this context that we should see the Great King lack of interference with Ada’s position in Karia. As with Artemisia’s sole role, there was no internal Karian nor external Persian push for Ada to marry or in any way share power with male family members, though given his later actions, it seems that the remaining Hekatomnid brother, Pixodaros, did not like this state of affairs. And yet, Pixodaros bided his time: Ada ruled for four years before Pixodaros rose against her.27 When rebellion came, Pixodaros’ “usurpation” was decidedly unspectacular. Unlike the previous Hekatomnids, Pixodaros was unable to control the heartland of Karia – he did not dedicate at the important dynastic cult centres of Labraunda and Sinuri, a clear indication that beyond the hellenised metropole of Halikarnassos, Pixodaros’ control over Karia (and the Karians) was limited. As a result, from 340–336 BCE, Karia was divided between the two siblings – Ada holding the native Karian Hekatomnid sites and Pixodaros the hellenised Halikarnassian coast – with neither decisively in control of the kingdom. This stalemate, and the lack of progress on Pixodaros’ part to gain the native Karian interior, may explain why the Great King did not confirm Pixodaros’ usurpation of the Karian throne in 340. Artaxerxes III Ochos may have been waiting for a clear winner to emerge in the Karian civil war. For the moment, Persia seemed to support Ada, at least tacitly.28 Since the Great King seemed unwilling to interfere in Karia, and Pixodaros could not unseat Ada from the fortified highlands, the usurper had to find new allies and carve out an independent powerbase outside of Karia. With Persian help not forthcoming, the Greek communities were the obvious choice. Indeed, the coinage Pixodaros issued in his first year suggest that anti-Persian elements across the Aegean in mainland Greece were on his wishlist. Among the first coins Pixodaros issued from Halikarnassos were 1/8 daric gold coins with Zeus Osogillis of Mylasa on the obverse and Zeus Labrys and Pixodaros’ name in Greek on the reverse. The Karian symbolism of the two Zeuses makes it clear that his Hekatomnid roots and native Karians were an important audience, but the unusal choice of metal suggests that Pixodaros was courting anti-Persian allies as well a local Karians. Only the Great King coined gold in this manner.29 It was unprecedented for any leader in Asia Minor, Hekatomnid or otherwise, to mint in gold, especially on the Pesian daric standard. And yet, Pixodaros did so, using Karian cultic symbols from the heyday of Karian power under Maussollos. Pixodaros chose to put his name on gold coins reserved exclusively for the Great King, most likely to demonstrate to the Greek world (and any Karians who might be inter26

Diod. 16.77.2. Arr. Anab. 1.23.7–8; Strabo 14.2.17; Diod. 16.74.2. 28 This has puzzled ancient and modern authors alike (see n. 22, above). Hornblower, 1982: 49 and Ruzicka, 1992: 123–125, for example, insist that Pixodaros was the “real” satrap of Karia, not Ada. 29 Konuk, 2013: 110 urges caution against reading too much into these unique coins. 27

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ested) his anti-Persian credentials. One does wonder if Philip II of Macedon was part of Pixodaros’ target audience, for Philip II was the only other ruler to coin in gold at the time and Philip was also decidely anti-Persian, as he had demonstrated recently at Perinthos and Byzantium.30 Pixodaros also issued tetradrachms with Didymaean Apollo on the obverse in an exact emulation of contemporary Milesian coins, likely in an attempt to complete with Ada for Miletos’ attention. On the reverse we see Zeus Labrys (the god of Labraunda) or just the axe of Labraunda and Pixodaros’ name in Greek. And while these tetradrachms were similar to Ada and Idrieus’ coins, they were struck in weight standards (full Chian) not in use since the early reign of Maussollos and Karia’s period of autonomy from Persia. With these tetradrachms, Pixodaros is attempting to usurp not only Ada’s queendom but also her control over the Hekatomnid family legacy. Significantly, some of the new coins were overstruck coins of Idrieus and Ada.31 By linking the glorious (and, at times Hellenising) Karian past under Maussollos with contemporary Miletos, and issuing gold coins on the Persian standard in what can only be understood as defiance of the Great King, Pixodaros seemed intent on broadcasting a message that he was not just usurping power from Ada but also from Persia itself.32 While the use of symbols from Labraunda intentionally reference Pixodaros’ struggle with Ada over the Hekatomnid legacy, they may have also communicated a deeper panhellenic and anti-Persian message. Herodotos, in his narrative of the revolt of the Ionian poleis against Persia (499–494 BCE), recounts the leadership provided by a Karian general, one Pixodaros son of Maussollos (Hdt 5.118). In 497, this Pixodaros fought Persian forces in the Maiandros Valley and then retreated to Labraunda, and finally Pedasa, where the Karians crushed the Persian army. Herodotos’ narrative (5.119–121) leaves no question of Karian loyalty to the Greek cause: μετὰ δὲ παρεόντων καὶ διαβάντων τὸν Μαίανδρον τῶν Περσέων, ἐνθαῦτα ἐπὶ τῷ Μαρσύῃ ποταμῷ συνέβαλόν τε τοῖσι Πέρσῃσι οἱ Κᾶρες καὶ μάχην ἐμαχέσαντο ἰσχυρὴν καὶ ἐπὶ χρόνον πολλόν, τέλος δὲ ἑσσώθησαν διὰ πλῆθος. Περσέων μὲν δὴ ἔπεσον ἄνδρες ἐς δισχιλίους, Καρῶν δὲ ἐς μυρίους. [119.2] ἐνθεῦτεν δὲ οἱ διαφυγόντες αὐτῶν κατειλήθησαν ἐς Λάβραυνδα ἐς Διὸς στρατίου ἱρόν, μέγα τε καὶ ἅγιον ἄλσος πλατανίστων. μοῦνοι δὲ τῶν ἡμεῖς ἴδμεν Κᾶρες εἰσὶ οἳ Διὶ στρατίῳ θυσίας ἀνάγουσι. κατειληθέντες δὲ ὦν οὗτοι ἐνθαῦτα ἐβουλεύοντο περὶ σωτηρίης, ὁκότερα 30

Carstens, 2009: 124–126 argues that Hekatomid symbolism and propaganda had an important influence on Philip II’s dynastic self-fashioning. 31 Konuk, 2013: 110. 32 Such Maussollos-style coins might also recall the times when Karia had allied with the Greeks against Persia. See Ruzicka, 1992: 67–75 for Maussollos’ campaigns in Ionia and efforts to expand Karian influence among the Greek cities of the region. In 362/1 Maussollos revolted from Persia: Diod. 15.90.3; Xen. Ages. 2.27; Ruzicka, 1992: 76–89.

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ἢ παραδόντες σφέας αὐτοὺς Πέρσῃσι ἢ ἐκλιπόντες τὸ παράπαν τὴν Ἀσίην ἄμεινον πρήξουσι. [120] βουλευομένοισι δέ σφι ταῦτα παραγίνονται βοηθέοντες Μιλήσιοί τε καὶ οἱ τούτων σύμμαχοι: ἐνθαῦτα δὲ τὰ μὲν πρότερον οἱ Κᾶρες ἐβουλεύοντο μετῆκαν, οἳ δὲ αὖτις πολεμέειν ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἀρτέοντο. καὶ ἐπιοῦσί τε τοῖσι Πέρσῃσι συμβάλλουσι καὶ μαχεσάμενοι ἐπὶ πλέον ἢ πρότερον ἑσσώθησαν: πεσόντων δὲ τῶν πάντων πολλῶν μάλιστα Μιλήσιοι ἐπλήγησαν. [121] μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο τὸ τρῶμα ἀνέλαβόν τε καὶ ἀνεμαχέσαντο οἱ Κᾶρες: πυθόμενοι γὰρ ὡς στρατεύεσθαι ὁρμέαται οἱ Πέρσαι ἐπὶ τὰς πόλις σφέων, ἐλόχησαν τὴν ἐν Πηδάσῳ ὁδόν, ἐς τὴν ἐμπεσόντες οἱ Πέρσαι νυκτὸς διεφθάρησαν καὶ αὐτοὶ καὶ οἱ στρατηγοὶ αὐτῶν Δαυρίσης καὶ Ἀμόργης καὶ Σισιμάκης: σὺν δέ σφι ἀπέθανε καὶ Μύρσος ὁ Γύγεω. τοῦ δὲ λόχου τούτου ἡγεμὼν ἦν Ἡρακλείδης Ἰβανώλλιος ἀνὴρ Μυλασσεύς. “Presently, when the Persians had come and had crossed the Maiandros, they and the Karians fought by the river Marsyas. The Karians fought hard and for a long time, but in the end they were out-numbered. Two thousand Persians fell and ten thousand Karians. [119.2] Those of them who escaped were driven into a large grove of sacred plane-trees in the precinct of Zeus of the Armies at Labraunda – the Karians are the only people whom we know who offer sacrifices to Zeus by this name. When they had been driven there, they deliberated about best way to save themselves: was it better for them to surrender to the Persians or to depart from Asia. [120] While they were deliberating, the Milesians and their allies came to their aid. At this point the Karians abandoned their former plans, and prepared to wage war all over again. They met the Persian attack and suffered a heavier defeat in the battle than the first. Many men fell, but the Milesians were hardest hit. [121] But the Karians rallied and fought again after this disaster, because they had learned that the Persians were marching against their cities. They prepared to ambush the Persians along the road at Pedasa.33 The Persians fell into their trap by night and perished, the men and their generals, Daurises, Amorges and Sisimakes. Myrsus, son of Gyges also perished. The leader of this ambush was Heraklides of Mylasas, son of Ibanollis.” Although the Karians initially suffered a great loss to the Persian army at Labraunda, they chose to redouble their efforts. In a way, Labraunda serves as a turning point in the Karian-Greek alliance and resistance of Persian “slavery,” as 33

There is considerable debate over whether the correct reading here is Pedasa near Halikarnassos or Pidasa farther north on the edge of Milesian territory. Hornblower, 2013: 304–305, after reviewing the various claims, argues for Pidasa. Since Pixdodaros would be engaging the wider rhetoric of the campaign, such disagreement over place does not affect the present argument.

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articulated by Herodotos. Thus, Labraunda and the symbols of Zeus Labrys would resonate well with the resistance-to-Persia political discourses of the the latter part of the 4th century. As John Maricola 2007 has noted, the Persian Wars of the 490s and 80s, and Herodotos’ account of them, figured largely in the political posturing of the Greek cities of the 340s. Although signposting a revolt from Persia seems to be a huge risk, I suspect that Pixodaros’ choice was infomed by his lack of progress in winning over the native Karians and the Persian King. Ada was firmly entrenched in the interior and Karia essentially had two rulers. The Great King was doing nothing to resolve the situation one way or the other. It is worth noting that Great King Artaxerxes III Ochos, who came to power in 358, had expressed no disapproval of the sole rule of Artemisia from 353–351, the accession of Ada and Idrieus in 351, and the sole rule of Ada in 344. Consequently, from Ochos’ perspective, Ada seems to have been the legitmate ruler and Pixodaros the “pretender”. It would be wrong to argue from a Greco-Roman gender-normative perspective that the Karians and Persians preferred a male on the Karian throne. It is significant that Arrian, Anab. 1.23.7, has to remind his audience not to misunderstand the realities of Karian Queenship: “νενομισμένον ἐν τῇ Ἀσίᾳ ἔτι ἀπὸ Σεμιράμεως καὶ γυναῖκας ἄρχειν ἀνδρῶν / it had been accepted in Asia from Semiramis forward that women should actually rule men.” Viewed in this light, Ruzicka’s assertion (1992: 124–125), that Ochos would “prefer a male Hekatomnid” on the satrapal throne is not only culturally inaccurate but even runs counter to previous Achaemenid policy in Karia. Likewise, his assertion that Ochos’ general Mentor would “naturally” support Pixodaros against Ada is also flawed. So far as we know, Mentor did not, in fact, intervene in the Karian civil war at this time and speculation about what he “may have preferred” is best put aside. In the end, Persian policy is clear: Pixodaros received no Persian assistance from 341–336. Ochos seems to have been content with the status quo, with Ada and Pixodaros keeping each other busy so that neither could be a threat to wider Persian interests in the region. But the Greeks and native Karians were not Pixodaros’ only potential allies. As with his coinage, Pixodaros turned to elder brother Maussollos for inspiration: the neighbouring Lykians had been an integral part of Maussollos’ realm but since his death had moved out of Halikarnassos’ sphere of influence.34 From 340–337, Pixodaros had extended his influence along the southern Karian coast into Lykia.35 This action attracted Ochos’ attention. In 337, in a famous trilingual inscription (Aramaic, Lykian and Greek) from Xanthos, Pixodaros asserts his control over both Karia and Lykia. The Aramaic text – which likely retains the closest fidelity to an original edict from the Great King – calls Pixodaros “Satrap of Karia” and asserts that he shall adjudicate Lykian matters on behalf of the Great

34 35

Hornblower, 1982: 120–123; Ruzicka, 1992: 84–86, 124–125. Ruzicka, 1992: 124–126.

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King.36 Ochos’ role in this is decidedly unclear – he certainly did not make any move to counter Pixodaros’ assertion but neither did he give Pixodaros any support. Ochos did not assist Pixodaros militarily against Ada. In reality, then, Pixodaros was in little better position with regards to his sister in 337 than he had been when he took power in 340. While the Great King made no move to counter his power in Lykia, or his use of the title Satrap of Karia, Pixdaros nonetheless ruled over a rump satrapy and received no Persian aid. For this reason, Pixodaros continued to seek help elsewhere. Or, perhaps more accurately, Pixodaros did not abandon his efforts to secure allies from across the Aegean. Enter the Macedonians. In 336, Pixodaros approached Philip II of Macedon, father of Alexander the Great, with a proposal of alliance.37 From Pixodaros’ perspective, Philip was a good choice. Over the past few years the Macedonian monarch had attempted to insert himself into the political dramas of Asia Minor and to cultivate local rebellions against Persia.38 But unfortunately for Pixodaros, the Macedonian alliance came to nothing due to internal Macedonian factionalism. Yet, all was not lost. Political change had also come to Persia: Ochos had been assassinated by the eunuch Bagoas and a new king, Darius III had come to the throne.39 As a newly crowned monarch, Darius III needed all of the allies he could find in order to consolidate control over an empire in chaos. While the details are murky at best, we can trace a noticeable shift in Pixodaros’ fortunes in 336/5 that mirror the needs of the new Great King: after the negotiations with Philip fail, Pixodaros has his daughter Ada marry a Persian noble named Orontobates. On Pixodaros’ death a little over a year later, Darius confirmed Orontobates as satrap of Karia, the first non-Karian to hold that position.40 I think it likely that Orontobates served as the intermediary between Darius III and his father-in-law Pixodaros, or perhaps even as a guarantor of Pixodaros’ good behaviour – Strabo’s statement (14.2.17) that Orontobates was Karia’s co-ruler together with Pixodaros indicates a complicated power relationship existed between the two men. In any event, the non-traditional appointment of a Persian more than any other act signals Darius III’s position regarding Ada. The new Great King would not allow Ada to rule any part of Karia. Her time of controlling the interior of Karia was coming to an end.

36

Fouilles de Xanthos 6. For a translation and commentary on the text see Briant, 2002: 707–709. For the debate over dating see the summary of the main positions and references collected by Briant, 2002: 1011–1012. 37 Plut. Alex. 10.1–5 is clear that Pixodaros is the instigator of the negotiations. See Heckel / Howe / Müller, 2017: 100–105. Cf. Ruzicka, 2010: 6–7, who presents the proposed union between Philip III Arrhidaeus and Ada II as a project conceived by Philip II, not Pixodaros. 38 Ath. 6, 256e; Diod.16.52.1–4; Arist. Oec. 1351a 33–37; Dem. 10.31–34; Strabo 13.1.57. 39 Briant, 2002: 769–780. 40 Plut. Alex. 10.5; Arr. Anab. 1.23.8; Strabo 14.2.17.

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But Ada had prepared for this eventuality. While Pixodaros was attempting to assert his control over Karia and cosy up to the Great King, Ada had stepped up the fortification work at Alinda and Alabanda and attempted to consolidate her authority over the interior of Karia.41 The fact that Darius III did not send reinforcements from Lydia or Greater Phrygia along the Maiandros Valley, even though he had confirmed the Persian Orontobates as Karian satrap and sent ships to Halikarnassos, hints at Ada’s power in the interior and control over the land routes from the other Persian satrapies in Asia Minor. In addition to fortifying her strongholds, Ada continued to affirm her allegiance to her Karian subjects by connecting directly with the Karian culture and language. We can see this most clearly in a proxeny decree from Kaunos honouring two Athenians, that De Martinis (2015: 227–230) convincingly dates to Ada’s period of “exile” or soon thereafater. The primary language of the decree is Karian, and though there is some text in Greek, it is unclear whether it was a full translation or gloss, like the Greek in the trilingual decree from Xanthos discussed above. As De Martinis (2015: 226–227) notes, “the apparent contradiction inherent in the use of Carian as a source of identity by a member of the Hecatomnid dynasty, which has long used the Greek as official language, could be explained by the Ada’s need to emphasize her Carian origin compared to that of Persian Orontobates, member of the Hecatomnid dynasty as a result of the marriage bond with Ada II, Pixodarus’ daughter.” That Ada chose to commemorate international honourands (Athenians!) in the local language seems to undercut Sears’ argument the Ada’s value to Alexander lay in her being a known symbol of Greekness.42 Regardless, 335/4 was a pivotal year for Ada. The new Great King, Darius III had confirmed the Persian Orontobates as satrap of Karia, a shift in Persian policy and a clear signal that Ada’s control over the Karian interior was threatened. As Orontobates welcomed Memnon and the Persian fleet, Ada’s position became increasingly dire. But the summer of 334 also brought a new player to the politics 41

Konecny / Ruggendorfer, 2014: 709. Müller, 2019: 95–96 summarises the issue well: “Matthew Sears möchte in Alexanders Verbindung zu Ada ein Versatzstück panhellenischer Propaganda erkennen: Als Vertreterin der Hekatomniden, die griechische Künstler und Kultur stark gefördert hatten, sei sie ‘a nice emblem of Greek liberation’ gewesen. Es ist aber fraglich, ob es ausreichte, Mäzenaten griechischer Künstler in der Familie zu haben, um als panhellenisches Symbol zu gelten. Auch die Perserkönige hatten griechische Künstler beschäftigt. Zudem war Adas Vater Mausolos den Athenern noch in schlechter Erinnerung, weil er 357–355 den Abfall von Rhodos, Kos und Chios vom Zweiten Seebund unterstützt hatte. Ada selbst war mit den Stationen Geschwisterehe und weiblicher Regentschaft im Lebenslauf – in griechischen Augen ‘barbarische’ (Un)Sitten – alles andere als eine (pan)hellenische Vorzeigevertreterin.” 42

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of Asia Minor: Alexander’s victory over Darius’ satraps at the Granikos River in May of 334 sent ripples throughout the region. Greeks and non-Greeks alike flocked to the young Macedonian king.43 This only increased after his successful siege of Miletos a few months later. In August of 334, Alexander seemed Ada’s best possible ally against Darius III, Orontobates and his wife Ada, the daughter of Pixodaros. In addition, since Memnon had quartered his fleet at Halikarnassos after the fall of Miletos, Alexander was Ada’s last best chance to retake her capital. Accordingly, Ada could not let Alexander continue up the Maiandros River towards Greater Phrygia and the Great Road to Susa. She had to convince him to assist her or she would lose her queendom. And so she set out to meet the conquering hero as he marched to the Greek city of Tralles. Alexander and the Greek fleet Before we can begin to understand what took place between Ada and Alexander near Tralles on the Maiandros in August of 334 BCE, we must first consider Alexander’s strategic position and immediate goals – in particular, his dismissal of the panhellenic fleet after his victory over the Persian forces at Miletos. The opinio communis, articulated by Arrian (Anab. 1.20.1) and accepted by recent commentators,44 holds that Alexander dismissed his fleet as part of a larger plan to capture Halikarnassos and the Persian naval bases by land. Unfortunately, this “grand strategy” argument is problematic for three reasons. First, it relies on an ancient a priori assumption that Alexander always planned to take out the Persian fleet after Miletos as the first stage in his multi-pronged strategy to conquer Persia.45 Second, it overlooks the fact that after Miletos, Alexander was marching inland along the Maiandros River to the satrapy of Greater Phrygia and thus moving away from the land routes to Halikarnassos, the headquarters of the Persian fleet after Miletos.46 After their meeting in August 334, Alexander had to back43

Arr. Anab. 1.17.10, 18.2; Diod. 17.24.1; Tod, GHI 2.192. See Capdetrey, 2012: 230– 231 for a discussion of the impact of Alexander’s victory at Granikos among Greek and non-Greek inhabitants of western Asia Minor. 44 See Schachermeyr, 1973: 182; Bosworth, 1980: 141–142; Romane, 1994: 69; Murray, 2008: 42–43, for analyses of Alexander’s strategy regarding his fleet. 45 Alexander paid so little attention to the Persian navy that it nearly recaptured the Aegean. Curt. 3.1.19–20; Arr. Anab. 2.2.3. As Bosworth, 1988: 47 observes, this was a tactical blunder. Clearly, Alexander’s focus was elsewhere. 46 Bosworth, 1980: 143, argues, contra Stark, 1958b: 104–106, that Alexander took the coastal road because he could not have gone to Alinda – Ada met him as he marched into Karia. At the time Bosworth was writing little archaeological work had been published on the heavily fortified Sacred Way from Alinda to Mylasa and the coastal plain. Consequently, Bosworth was not aware of how much more advantageous to Alexander and Ada the inland route would be over the coastal route. Moreover, since Ada did not control the coastal regions from Halikarnassos to Miletos at this time (see above), it is unlikely that she would have been able to meet Alexander other than near the Maiandros River and its

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track to assist Ada in taking Halikarnassos (see map, Figure 3). Third, other than Arrian’s opinion on what he claims Alexander “thought,” we have no direct evidence of any grand strategy to take the Persian ports by land. Further, Alexander did not follow this “attack naval bases by land” plan other than during the two rather unique sieges of Halikarnassos and Tyre, one an initial failure, the other an epic success.47 For example, although he marched through the territory of Karia’s neighbours Lykia and Pamphylia after failing to take Halikarnassos, Alexander did not garrison any port cities in these strategic regions or destroy any naval infrastructure – despite the fact that the Perisan fleet was still active in the Aegean.48 Alexander’s actions in Asia Minor after Miletos show that the Persian navy was not a concern for him until the siege of Tyre.

Figure 3: Map of Alexander’s route to Halikarnassos. Created by author. At this point, it is worthwhile examining the narrative context in which Arrian (Anab. 1.20.1, 23.7–8) reports his understanding of Alexander’s “grand strategy”: Ἀλέξανδρος δὲ καταλῦσαι ἔγνω τὸ ναυτικὸν χρημάτων τε ἐν τῷ τότε ἀπορίᾳ καὶ ἅμα οὐκ ἀξιόμαχον ὁρῶν τὸ αὑτοῦ ναυτικὸν τῷ Περσικῷ, οὔκουν ἐθέλων οὐδὲ μέρει τινὶ τῆς στρατιᾶς κινδυνεύειν. ἄλλως τε ἐπενόει, κατέχων ἤδη τῷ πεζῷ τὴν Ἀσίαν, ὅτι οὔτε ναυτικοῦ ἔτι δέοιτο, τάς τε παραλίους πόλεις λαβὼν καταλύσει τὸ Περσῶν ναυτικόν, οὔτε ὁπόθεν τὰς ὑπηρεσίας συμπληρώσουσιν οὔτε ὅποι τῆς Ἀσίας προσέξουσιν ἔχοντας. junction with the Marsyas River near Tralles. 47 Tyre fell to Alexander for reasons having little to do with any grand strategy for taking out the Persian fleet: Curt 4.2.17; Arr. Anab. 2.17.3–4. Cf. Murray, 2008: 43–44. 48 Arr. Anab. 2.2.3–5. Bosworth, 1980: 183–184; Bosworth 1988: 52–53.

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καὶ τὸν ἀετὸν ταύτῃ συνέβαλλεν, ὅτι ἐσήμηνεν αὐτῷ ἐκ τῆς γῆς κρατήσειν τῶν νεῶν…[here follows an out of sequence discursus on the seige of Halikarnassos and aftermath] (23.8) Ἄδα δὲ Ἄλινδα μόνον κατεῖχε, χωρίον τῆς Καρίας ἐν τοῖς ὀχυρώτατον, καὶ ἐσβαλόντι Ἀλεξάνδρῳ ἐς Καρίαν ἀπήντα, τά τε Ἄλινδα ἐνδιδοῦσα καὶ παῖδά οἱ τιθεμένη Ἀλέξανδρον. καὶ Ἀλέξανδρος τά τε Ἄλινδα αὐτῇ ἐπέτρεψε καὶ τὸ ὄνομα τοῦ παιδὸς οὐκ ἀπηξίωσε, καὶ ἐπειδὴ Ἁλικαρνασσόν τε ἐξεῖλε καὶ τῆς ἄλλης Καρίας ἐπεκράτησεν, αὐτῇ ἄρχειν ἁπάσης ἔδωκε. “Alexander now decided to disband his navy, because he lacked the necessary resources at that time and also perceived that the fleet could not face an action with the Persian navy. For these reasons he was unwilling to risk disaster with even part of his forces. Further, he reckoned that because he now controlled Asia with his land troops, he no longer needed the navy. He thought that by capturing the cities on the coast he would break up the Persian fleet, since they would have nowhere to make up their crews from, and no place in Asia where they could find safe harbour. This was what he took the omen of the eagle to mean: he was not to overcome the ships from dry land… [here follows an out of sequence discursus on the seige of Halikarnassos and its aftermath] (23.8) At this time Ada held only Alinda, the strongest fortress in Karia. When Alexander approached Karia she went to meet him, surrendering Alinda and adopting Alexander as her son. Alexander gave Alinda to her charge, and did not reject the title of son. After he had taken Halikarnassos and become master of the rest of Karia, he decided she should rule over everything.” Notice that Arrian breaks up the chronology of events in order to foreground the seige of Halikarnassos and thereby demonstrate that Alexander’s interpretation of the eagle omen was correct.49 As Hugh Bowden (2017) has argued, Arrian regularly deploys omens and signs to create narrative space in which to offer commentary on Alexander’s thoughts, motives and actions. In this way, omens serve to inject divine authority into Arrian’s interpretations. 50 Investing in Arrian’s post hoc, propter hoc argument, which seems to be grounded in Alexander’s rather

49

Bosworth, 1980: 142 believes that the omen is Arrian’s own invention. That Arrian needed a divine explanation to give authority to Alexander’s actions is borne out by the fact that he knows Alexander made the wrong choice. The Macedonian king failed to take Halikarnassos in 334 and the Macedonians only captured the city later, after the Persian navy had dissolved as an effective force upon Memnon’s death: Arr. Anab. 2.1–5; Diod. 17.29.1–2; Romane, 1994; Murray, 2008. Indeed, the Battle of Issos rather than the siege of Halikarnassos, was the turning point for the Persian navy. Darius’ defeat at Issos, and his subsequent retreat to Mesopotamia and de facto abandonment of the Mediterranean encouraged the Persian naval allies on Cyprus and in Phoenicia to come over to Alexander, so Murray 2008 convincingly argues. 50

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unique actions at Tyre (not Halikarnassos) is of little use. As Romane noted in his study of seiges of Miletos and Halikarnassos (1994: 69), neither Diodoros nor Arrian knew precisely why Alexander disbanded his fleet and attacked Halikarnassos by land. Indeed, Arrian’s inclusion and interpretation of the eagle omen give cover to the fact that the author was himself confused by Alexander’s actions – hence, Alexander is guided by divine will. If we take the pre-Tyre campaign as a whole, Alexander’s actions demonstrate that he focused very little direct attention on the Persian navy and was more invested in land battles against Persian land forces.51 So, perhaps we can leave aside Arrian’s explanation that Alexander chose to conquer a naval force by land – an argument that would appeal more to a Roman audience raised on Livy’s and Polybius’ descriptions of Rome’s wars with Carthage52 – and see what other reasons the sources offer for Alexander’s dismissal of the fleet and enagement in the Karian civil war on Ada’s behalf. Arrian (Anab. 1.20.1, 23.5–6) also speculates that Alexander could no longer afford to keep both his fleet and his land army.53 While Plutarch (Alex. 15.2–3) had raised the issue of funds when discussing Alexander’s invasion, this is the first we see of money troubles in Arrian. Although lack of funds serves as a tidy explanation for the dismissal of the fleet, it does not wash.54 Alexander was clearly not broke in summer of 334: Arrian knows that after the victory at the Granikos River Alexander had seized the satrapal capital of Sardis and its sizable treasury (Anab. 1.17.2). The Macedonians had also taken Miletos and presumably had access to any precious metals and military supplies accumulated there, by right of conquest. To put it simply: Arrian knows that Alexander is not in the same financial position after Miletos as he was before Granikos. I find it telling that our sources do not raise this “lack of funds” issue again, even though Alexander takes in no revenue after Miletos and only has expenses until his victory at Issos a year later, when he captures the treasure Darius abandoned on the battlefield. So, I think it is safe to say that we can view reports about a lack of funds with healthy skepticism. Arrian (and/or his sources) does not fully understand why Alexander did not keep his fleet. And, since we cannot rely on Arrian, our “best source for military matters”, we need find another explanation for why Alexander turned around and besieged Halikarnassos.

51

So Bosworth, 1980: 142, “Macedonian operations in Lycia were mostly inland, not directed against the coast”. 52 The famous passage from Polyb. 1.20.5–21.1 comes to mind here. 53 Diod. 17.22.5 reports the same information about expense, suggesting that this claim about resources driving Alexander’s strategy originated from earlier sources and not Arrian or Diodoros themselves. 54 Tarn, 1948: 18; Wilcken, 1967: 93, accept this explanation.

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Ada and Alexander It is useful to remind ourselves that Alexander in 334 BCE was not yet a world conqueror – we cannot see him as “Alexander the Great” and argue backwards post hoc, propter hoc, to determine his grand strategy. We must look at what Alexander has achieved thusfar in his 2-year reign and see events as evolving in response to the situation on the ground. So far, Alexander has won two military engagements against Persian forces, the last of which (the seige of Miletos) was rather difficult. Moreover, Alexander is new to Asia Minor and does not have a wealth of personal experience traversing through Persian territory to guide him. As a result, he would look to the actions of his predecessors Kyros the Younger and Agesilaos of Sparta, as reported in the works of Xenophon.55 In particular, Agesilaos’ panhellenic “New Trojan War” to free the Greeks would have resonated with Alexander’s propaganda, at least so far as his stop at Troy and his rhetoric after Granikos of freeing the Greeks from the Barbarians was involved.56 Alexander, or his advisors, such as the official campaign historian Kallisthenes, would not have overlooked Xenophon’s eyewitness accounts, since these narratives provided rich detail about local politics, supply routes and military tactics. Significantly, both Kyros’ and Agesilaos’ invasions were land campaigns that set off from Miletos and fought decisive land battles rather than naval engagements. Recognizing Persian superiority on the sea, both Kyros and Agesilaos planned inland sorties via the Maiandros River Valley, far from Persia’s port cities and naval bases. Indeed, like Alexander in 334, Kyros had also besieged Miletos in 401 in order to neutralize the Greeks loyal to the Great King who might hinder his passage up the Maiandros.57 Also like Alexander in 334, Agesilaos attacked the borders of Karia in 395, an act which freed passage up the Maiandros.58 Along the march, Agesilaos was approached by a local leader, Spithridates, who invited him into Paphlagonia in order to wrest this area from the control of a rival who supported the Great King. Agesilaos eagerly undertook the journey because, as Xenophon put it “πάλαι τούτου ἐπιθυμῶν, τοῦ ἀφιστάναι τι ἔθνος ἀπὸ βασιλέως / he had long desired to win some nation away from the Persian King” (Xen. Hell. 4.1.2). With Spithridates’ help, Agesilaos set out to take the satrapy and main miltary route to Persia. Xenophon describes Agesilaos’ wider strategy thusly: 55

Bosworth, 1988: 50 argues that Alexander decided to emulate Kyros only after failing to take Halikarnassos, but this need not be the case. See Hyland, 2017: 122–147 for analysis of Kyros’ and Agesilaos’ campaigns. 56 Troy: Arr. Anab. 1.11.6–12.2. Freeing the Greeks: Arr. Anab.1.17.10, 18.2; Diod. 17.24.1; Tod, GHI II, 192; Capdetry, 2012: 230–231. See Prandi, 1985: 77–79, 82–93; Borgeaud, 2010; Bowden, 2018; Howe forthcoming, for a discussion of Alexander’s use of Homer, Herodotos and Xenophon’s discussion of wars in Asia to inform his strategy and propaganda as seen in Kallisthenes’ official history. 57 Xen. Anab. 1.1.11. 58 Plut. Ages. 9.3; Xen. Ages. 1.29; Plut. Ages. 10.1–2.

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παρεσκευάζετο γὰρ πορευσόμενος ὡς δύναιτο ἀνωτάτω, νομίζων ὁπόσα ὄπισθεν ποιήσαιτο ἔθνη πάντα ἀποστερήσειν βασιλέως. “For he was preparing to march as far as he could into the interior, thinking that he would detach from the King all the nations which he could put in his rear” (Xen. Hell. 4.1.41). Such a plan mirrors Alexander’s actions after Granikos – detach Greek and nonGreek allies from the Great King along the march to the interior of Asia Minor.59 After Miletos, Alexander had two choices – backtrack to Sardis, through territory that was loyal to him and take the Royal Road east to Greater Phrygia, Cappadocia and the Cilican Gates to Syria, or follow the more direct route from Miletos along the Maiandros River to the Royal Road in Greater Phrygia. He chose the Maiandros River.60 Along the way, near Tralles, he met Ada and decided to aid her in taking Halikarnassos. Diodoros 17.24.2 and Strabo 14.2.17 are clear that taking Halikarnassos was Ada’s idea, and was not part of any grand strategy on Alexander’s part.61 Ada “ἱκετεύει τὸν Ἀλέξανδρον καὶ πείθει κατάγειν αὐτὴν εἰς τὴν ἀφαιρεθεῖσαν βασιλείαν / entreated Alexander and persuaded him to re-

59

Capdetry, 2012: 230–231. Although Arrian does not comment on Alexander’s actions between Miletos and meeting Ada, the language he used makes it clear that Alexander was marching up the Maiandros: Ada met up with Alexander at the moment when he was entering Karia – ἐσβαλόντι Ἀλεξάνδρῳ ἐς Καρίαν ἀπήντα. Diodoros’ statement (17.24.1) that Greek cities came over to Alexander after Miletos as he marched to Persia suggests that Alexander planned to access the Persian heartland via the Maiandros Valley, which was filled with important Greek cities like Magnesia and Tralles. More to the point, Alexander’s policy of freedom and democracy to the cities of the Maiandros Valley would echo Agesilaos’ policy in the region and fit what he had done along the Ionian coast. Moreover, the largest city in the middle Maiandros Valley, Tralles, had sent congratulatory messages to Alexander after Granikos, but he had yet to visit the place. Arrian’s narrative of this phase of the campaign, outside of the important seiges of Miletos and Halikarnassos is compressed and chronologically jumbled. As a result, the discussion of Alexander’s relationship with Tralles is related in 1.18, when ambassadors from the Maiandros cities visit the Macedonian king at Ephessos. 61 Alexander’s plan seems to have been to continue quickly up the Maiandros without any entanglements. Thus, he had left his siege engines behind at Tralles. After the siege of Halikarnassos Arrian Anab. 1.23.6 tells us that Alexander brought his siege engines back to Tralles (ἀπαγαγεῖν); Bosworth, 1980: 151. Diod. 17.22.5 confirms that Alexander had to move his siege engines from far away at a great expense. Tralles would fit this context. Although Diodorus (17.24.1) has Alexander transfer the engines from Miletos to Halikarnassos by sea, before meeting with Ada, this seems unlikely, for they were not in place when Alexander arrived to invest the city. As Murray (2008: n. 64) observed in his analysis of the siege, the main reason Alexander failed to take the Myndos Gate is because his engines were delayed in transport. 60

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store her to the kingdom of which she had been deprived” (Strabo 14.2.7).62 What did Ada say to Alexander at that meeting that convinced him to join her in retaking Halikarnassos? How did Ada change Alexander’s strategy? The result is clear: the Macedonian king broke off the march to Persia and backtracked to Halikarnassos without the advantage of the fleet, which had just show itself very effective against the Persian naval forces at Miletos. As noted above, this decision has thrown both ancient and modern commentators into confusion, and as Brian Bosworth noted in his commentary on Arrian (1980: 142), none of the arguments advanced by ancient and modern authors offer satisfactory explanations for Alexander actions. 63 Indeed, if we continue to think about Halikarnassos as the intended target, then Alexander’s march east up the Maiandros Valley makes little sense. But if we shift our perspective, and see Halikarnassos not as Alexander’s target but Ada’s, then we change the conversation. Diodoros and Strabo inform us that Ada convinced Alexander to restore her to the Karian throne. I think we should see Ada in a similar position to Spithridates of Phaphlagonia in 396 BCE, when Agesilaos was traversing this same route along the Maeander – Ada was either an ally or an obstacle.64 The logistics of moving an army up the Maeander River Valley offer context for understanding Ada as an actor in this historical drama rather than simply a symbol. Once Alexander passed Tralles, he would have a problem: Ada held the impregnable, granite-walled fortresses of Alabanda and Alinda that had the potential to threaten access along the middle Maiandros Valley. Although Ada was in a precarious position with regards to Orontobates and Halikarnassos and points south-west, she was nonetheless in a very strong position with respect to Alexander and points north-east. If Alexander had to invest Alabanda, the fortress closest to the Maiandros road, and fight Ada, it would have set back his advance into Persia. And yet, if he alligned with Ada, her control over the fortified Sacred Way would give Alexander a “back-door” into Halikarnassos.65 What had previously 62

Diod 17.24.2: ἐντυχούσης δ’ αὐτῆς περὶ τῆς προγονικῆς δυναστείας καὶ δεηθείσης βοηθῆσαι ταύτην “she presented a petition to recover the position of her ancestors and requested his assistance.” 63 Sears’ main claim (2014: 212) that Alexander “embraced Ada because she consciously and concertedly affected Greekness” is intriguing but inadequate to explain Alexander’s military strategy. Greek symbolism does not explain why Alexander left the Greek city of Tralles (and others along the Maiandros Valley) and marched into the heartland of nonGreek Karia. 64 Strabo 14.2.17 has Ada fight alongside Alexander at the seige of Halikarnassos, suggesting that her military skills and resources were understood by the literary tradition as significant. Jeppesen, 1986: 92–93 takes this to mean that Ada faced off against her neice of the same name. Cf. Carney, 2005: 70, n. 45. 65 Orontobates and Memnon did not see him coming, perhaps further evidence that Alexander’s choice to take Halikarnassos was ad hoc and not part of any grand strategy. Stark, 1958a; 1958b: 104–106; 1958c: 341, argues that the Sacred Way was too narrow and likely

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seemed unwise – taking Halikarnassos when Orontobates and Memnon controlled both the sea and the land – was becoming plausible. More to the point, Ada had leverage over Alexander: she could delay his eastward progress and bleed his resources by forcing a siege at Alabanda. And so the two came to a mutually beneficial arrangement – Alexander would turn aside and join Ada in retaking Halikarnassos. Apart from military inducements, Ada may also have offered Alexander an opportunity to deepen his connections to what would later be a major interest of his – his “other father”, Zeus.66 As Munn 2008 has shown, Alexander leveraged local Zeus connections a few months later in 333, when he wrapped himself in a Macedonian-sourced mythos of Midas and Asian kinghip at Gordion. Ada presented Alexander with a similar opportunity – connection with a Zeus Ninuendos / Zeus Labrys and his son Adonis.67 By presenting Alexander as the New Adonis, the son of a local Zeus (with herself as the New Mother Goddess), Ada could weave Alexander into native Karian mythologies for their mutual benefit. That such a relationship was on offer is suggested by a heretofore troublesome passage form Plutarch’s Moralia (180a): τῆς δὲ τῶν Καρῶν βασιλίσσης Ἄδας ὄψα καὶ πέμματα παρεσκευασμένα περιττῶς διὰ δημιουργῶν καὶ μαγείρων φιλοτιμουμένης ἀεὶ πέμπειν πρὸς αὐτόν, ἔφη κρείττονας ἔχειν αὐτὸς ὀψοποιούς, πρὸς μὲν ἄριστον τὴν νυκτοπορίαν πρὸς δὲ δεῖπνον τὴν ὀλιγαριστίαν.

to be snow-covered in Autumn for it to be an effective route for Alexander’s army. She concludes that Alexander must have taken the route south of Alabanda to the coast and then approached Halikarnassos from the sea. All reconstructions of Alexander’s route have followed Stark’s thesis. But in the 50 years since she wrote, archaeological work in the region has changed our view of the Sacred Way, see above, n. 18. The Sacred Way was Alexander’s best choice because it avoided any coastal regions where Memnon’s fleet could compromise his route. Moreover, the Sacred Way is at no higher elevation than the pass to the coast via Alabanda and no more likely to be snow-covered. 66 See Howe, 2013 for a discussion of how Alexander invested in a mythos as a son of Zeus. 67 Carstens, 2009: 24–26 notes that there is a long tradition in Karia of worshipping the Anatolian storm god and his consort Innana, the mother goddess. Brody 2001: 102 argues that by the Roman dictator Sulla’s time Zeus Labrys was associated with Aphrodite in her guise as Anatolian mother goddess with Adonis as lover and/or son. See Yildrim 2004 for an analysis of the carved reliefs at Aphrodisias and the local traditions that link Adonis, Zeus and Aphrodite in Karia. See Chaniotis, 2010: 239–240, who traces the linkages between Ninos, husband of Semiramis and father of Adonis, and Zeus among the local traditions and epigraphic record of Karia. Unfortunately, the local traditions that informed these linkages are lost to time, leaving only a hint of the rich mythology available to Ada and Alexander.

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“Ada, queen of the Carians, made it a point of honor to be always sending to him fancy dishes and sweetmeats prepared in unusual ways by the hands of artists and chefs, but he said he had better fancy cooks – his night marches for his breakfast, and for his dinner his frugal breakfast.” While Carney 2005: 70, n. 45 dismisses the ancedote as “dubious” I don’t think we should be too quick to do so. Theokritos’ Idyll 15.112–118, attests that Adonis worship at the time centred round specially prepared sweet dishes.68 While Carney is correct that Plutarch uses this anecdote to show Alexander’s simple tastes and rejection of luxury, it is important to note that he also underscores the fact that Ada regulary (ἀεὶ) sent them to the Macedonian commander. If Alexander did not eat such sweet food then Ada would cease sending it, if the purpose was to please or nurish her new “son”. But the addition of ἀεὶ, continual repetive action, suggests that a ritutal purpose was the intent here. The sweet cakes and other delicaies should be seen as dedications to Alexander as the New Adonis rather than as “food”. The timing of these gifts to Alexander is significant because Ada had been building up the local Adonis cult for several years. Archaeological survey shows that Ada had constructed a new temenos to Adonis and the Mother Goddess (as Aphrodite) at Alinda.69 Stephanus of Byzantium, likely following the famous 3rd Century BCE Karian historian Apollonios of Aphrodisias, confirms this, noting that there was a famous shrine to Adonis and Aphrodite constructed at Alinda.70 The Hekatomnid rulers had a long history of deploying cult, ritual and space to articulate their identity as native Karian rulers. The ritual of sweet foods, and Ada’s adoption of Alexander as her “son”, hint that local Karian ritual and power networks informed their interactions.71 Unfortunately, the complex web of symbolic relationships that Ada and Alexander may have built around these cults are now lost to us, though the “adoption” suggests something more than legitimis-

68

See Reed, 2000: 322, 331. See Bockisch / Ruggendorfer / Zabrana, 2013: 133–134, 141–158 for analysis and references. 70 Stephanus s.v. Αλεξάνδρεια ι. Stephanus seems to know a great deal about Karian geography and history and regularly quotes Apollonios. For example, in BNJ 740 F 6a, he cites Apollonios as a source for Alabanda being the “happiest home to the Karians”. For the relationship between Stephanus and Apollonios see Paradiso, 2010. That Alexander participated in this politicisation can be confirmed by the fact that Alinda was renamed Alexandria, the first of many cities to bear that name; see Cohen, 1995: 244–246 for Alinda as the first of Alexandrias. 71 In this context I think we should reconsider Abramenko’s innovative hypothesis that Ada (and not Olympias) informed Alexander about Alexander of Lynkestis’ plot against him. Carney, 2005: 70 dismisses it out of hand. But Ada had become an important part of Alexander’s Asian network. She had connections in Asia that Olympias, back in Greece did not. 69

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ing Alexander’s inheritance of Karia is at play. As with Midas and Gordion, Macedonian royal tradition itself may have offered an opening for the family union between Alexander and Ada. Herodotos reports in 8.136 that the nephew of Alexander I, one Amyntas after his maternal grandfather Amyntas I, was given Alabanda, a πόλις μεγάλη “great city” in Phrygia to live in. Unfortunately, the manuscript tradition as we have it reports that this Alabanda was located in Phyrgia, not Karia – Herodotos also knows of the Alabanda in Karia (7.95.1) – and since Herodotos was a native Halikarnassian, he should be in a position to know the cities of Karia.72 Thus, much ink has been spilt to over the location of the Alabanda of 8.136, though with little result.73 Since we have no way to resolve the “Alabanda Question”, I think it is best to focus on Ada and Alexander’s reception of Herodotos’ text, rather than the potential errors in 72

As Bowrie, 2007: 224 notes, Hdt. 8.136 is the only attestation for a Phrygian Alabanda. Badian, 1994: 115–116 posits that two cities named Alabanda existed at the same time, and that the Phrygian one was given to the younger Amyntas as a consolation prize, after the loss of Macedonia from Persian control in aftermath of 5th century Persian Wars. Badian concludes that this “lesser” Alabanda was so unimportant that it received no further notice in the literary record. Since Badian’s argument does not take into account Herodotos’ statement that Phrygian Alabanda was a πόλις μεγάλη, it is best put aside. The other solutions to the “Alabanda Question” are in a different category altogether and involve emendations to Herodotos’ text. Stein, 1875: ap. Hdt 8.136, for example, proposed that Ἀλάβανδα was a copy-error for Ἀλάβαστρα. But since there is no Alabastra attested in Asia Minor most editors of Diodoros have perferred to retain Ἀλάβανδα, though Stein’s argument does persist; e.g. Vasilev, 2015: 112–113. More recently. Hornblower, 1982: 218, n. 2, pointed out that although Alabanda cannot be correct since it contradicts what Herodotos, a native of Karia tells us in Hdt. 5.95, a word like Alabanda must be intended and was subsequently garbled by a copyist. Hornblower proposes Blaunda / Blauda / Blaundos on the Phrygian-Lydian border, based on Diod. 13.104.6. And there the issue might rest but for the material evidence from Blaundos. A. Filges performed field surveys at Blaundos in 1999, 2000 and 2002 but was unable to find evidence of a Classical city; Filges, 2006: 321–350; Can, 2017. Likewise, in 2018 and 2019, B. Can, the current leader of the Blaundos Excavation Project, excavated the city centre and found no Classical material. Thus, depite extensive survey and two seasons of excavation, no physical evidence has been found of a city (μεγάλη or otherwise) dating to the late 400s BCE – the period when Herodotos is writing and the period to which Diodoros is referring (B. Can, personal communication). While the archaeological record has cast doubt on Hornblower’s innovative philological solution, a closer examination of Diodoros offers a potential way forward. Diodoros calles Blaundos a fort (φρούριον), not a polis; see commentary in Nielsen, 2002: 55, esp. n. 50. And so it possible that a small late 5th century fort may lie hidden among Hellenistic and Roman Blaundos. But syncretising Herodotos’ πόλις μεγάλη and Diodoros’ φρούριον still require a great leap of faith. In the end, because a comprehensive solution has not been reached, I think it best to work with Herodotos’ text as we have it and focus on Alexander’s reception of an Argead presence at “an” Alabanda in Asia Minor. Thus, for Alexander, a familial connection could be made, via Alabanda, between Ada and the Argeads, thereby legitimising his “adoption” by Ada. 73

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the manuscript or the “accuracy” of that text in the modern historical sense. From the fragments that survive of Kallisthenes’ official history of Alexander’s campaign, it is clear that Herodotos’ Historia was certainly well known at Alexander’s court.74 Seen in this light, then, the fact that a branch of the Argead royal house could be connected to a prosperous city in Asia Minor, named Alabanda, would have great diplomatic use. A putative family connection between Alexander and Ada could do much to legitimate their alliance, especially when Alexander III, named descendant of Alexander I, found himself face-to-face with the current ruler of Alabanda. What better justification for alliance that uniting two estranged “branches” of the Argead family? Conclusions Ada ruled over a strategically important queendom. She had to the support of her fellow Karians as well as that of Persian and Macedonian monarchs. Like her Hekatomnid predecessors, she used all the tools at her disposal – military, political and religious – to keep control over her realm. But unlike many Persian satraps in Asia Minor, including members of her own family, she stayed loyal to her overlords, so long as they stayed loyal to her. And yet, she is one of the most overlooked rulers of the ancient world, largely because she crossed Alexander the Great’s path and was overshadowed by him. As Alexander’s story grew, Ada’s strategic needs become overwhelmed by his, her story elided by his. And so in the Alexander historiography, taking Halikarnassos becomes not Ada’s plan but Alexanders, a link in the Great Man’s grand strategy to take out Persian seapower by land. Though Ada’s role has not been completely erased, it is decidedly diminished. This paper has attempted to challenge such orthodoxy and bring Ada out of the shadows as a military leader and politician in her own right. Retaking Halikarnassos was Ada’s plan, not Alexander’s. She met him as he marched up the Maiandros and convinced him to change plans in favour of a mutually beneficial alliance. Interestingly, many of the legitimising tools that Ada used to retain her control of Karia and attract allies, such as family mythologies, ruler cults and brother-sister marriage Alexander’s successors would make famous. As we continue to refine Ada’s story and centre analysis on her and her tools of empire, it is worth revisiting the origins of Hellenistic kingship and looking to Karia as well as to Pharaonic Egypt and Achaemenid Persia.

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Bibliography Abramenko, A., 1992: “Die Verschwörung des Alexander Lyncestes und die ‘μήτηρ τοῦ βασιλέως’. Zu Diodor XVII 32.1”. Tyche 7, 1–8. Badian, E., 1994: “Herodotus on Alexander I of Macedon”. In S. Hornblower (ed.): Greek Historiography. Oxford. Pp. 107–130. Bockisch, G. / Ruggendorfer, P. / Zabrana, L., 2013: “Temple and altars for Greek and Carian gods. New evidence for religious life in Alinda during the late Classical and Hellenistic Period”. In O. Henry (ed.): 4th Century Karia, Defining a Karian identity under the Hekatomnids. Varia Anatolica 28. Paris. Pp. 129–162. Borgeaud, P., 2010: “Trojan Excursions: A Recurrent Ritual, from Xerxes to Julian”. History of Religions 49/4: 339–353. Bosworth, A.B., 1980: A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander I. Oxford. — 1988: Conquest and Empire. Cambridge. Bowden, H., 2017: “The Eagle has Landed: Divination in the Alexander Historians”. In T. Howe / S. Müller / R. Stoneman (eds.): Ancient Historiography on War and Empire. Oxford. Pp. 149–168. — 2018: “Alexander Fights the River: On Reconstructing the Battle of the Granikos”. In T. Howe / F. Pownall (eds.): Ancient Macedonians in the Greek and Roman Sources: From History to Historiography. Swansea. Pp.163–180. Bowie, A.M., 2007: Histories. Book VIII. Cambridge Greek and Latin classics. Cambridge. Briant, P., 2002: From Cyrus to Alexander. A History of the Persian Empire. Winona Lake, IN. Brody, L.R., 2001: “The Cult of Aphrodite at Aphrodisias in Caria”. Kernos 14, 93–109. Can, B., 2017: “Blaundos Antik Kenti”. In R.M. Czichon / Ş. Söyler / B. Can / İ. Çavuş (eds.): Yüzey Araştırmaları ve Kazılar Işığında Uşak. Istanbul. Pp. 73–81. Capdetrey, L., 2012: “Le roi, le satrape et le koinon: la question du pouvoir en Carie à la fin du IVe siècle”. In K. Konuk (ed.): Stephanèphoros de l’économie antique à l’Asie Mineure. Hommages à Raymond Descat. Bordeaux. Pp. 229– 246. Carney, E.D., 2003: “Women in Alexander’s Court”. In J Roisman (ed.) Brill’s Companion to Alexander the Great. Leiden. Pp. 227–252. — 2005: “Women and dunasteia in Caria”. AJP 126, 65–91. Carstens, A.M., 2009: Karia and the Hekatomnids: The Creation of a Dynasty. BAR International Series 1943. Oxford. — 2011: “Achaemenids in Labraunda. A Case of Imperial Presence in a Rural Sanctuary in Karia”. In L. Karlsson / S. Carlsson (eds.): Labraunda and Karia. Proceedings of the International Symposium Commemorating Sixty Years of

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Swedish Archaeological Work in Labraunda. Uppsala. Pp. 121–131. — 2013: “Karian Identity – A Game of Opportunistic Politics or a Case of Creolization?”. In O. Henry (ed.): 4th Century Karia, Defining a Karian identity under the Hekatomnids. (Varia Anatolica 28). Paris. Pp. 209–215. Carter, J., 1983: The Sculpture of the Sanctuary of Athena Polias at Priene. London. Cartledge, P., 2004: Alexander the Great: the Hunt for a New Past. New York. Chaniotis, A., 2010: “Aphrodite’s Rivals: Devotion to Local and Other Gods at Aphrodisias”. Cahiers du Centre Gustave Glotz 21, 235–248. Cohen, G., 1995: The Hellenistic Settlements in Europe, the Islands and Asia Minor. Berkeley / Los Angeles De Martinis, L., 2016: “Alexander in Asia Minor. Reconsidering a Greek-Carian Inscription from Kaunos”. In F. Landucci Gattinoni / C. Bearzot (eds.): Alexander’s Legacy. Monografie del Centro Ricerche di Documentazione sull’Antichità Classica 39. Rome. Pp. 219–236. Filges, A., 2006: Blaundos-Berichte zur Erforschung einer Kleinstadt im lydishphrygischen Grenzgebiet. Tübingen. Heckel, W., 2006: Who’s Who in the Age of Alexander the Great. Malden, MA. — 2008: The Conquests of Alexander the Great. Cambridge. — 2016: Alexander’s Marshals (Second Edition). New York. Heckel, W. / Howe, T. / Müller, S., 2017: “‘The Giver of the Bride, the Bridegroom, and the Bride’. A Study of the Murder of Philip II and its Aftermath”. In T. Howe / S. Müller / R. Stoneman (eds.): Ancient Historiography on War and Empire. Oxford. Pp. 92–124. Hild, F., 2014: Meilensteine, Straßen und das Verkehrsnetz der Provinz Karia. Vienna. Hornblower, S., 1982: Mausolus. Oxford. — 2013: Herodotus: Histories Book V. Cambridge. Howe, T., 2013: “The Diadochi, invented tradition, and Alexander’s expedition to Siwah”. In V. Alonso Troncoso / E M. Anson (eds.): After Alexander: The Time of the Diadochi (323–281 BC). Oxford. Pp. 57–70. — forthcoming: “Alexander at Troy: Arrian, Kallisthenes and ‘Goals’ of Historiography”. In R. Rollinger / J. Degen (eds.): The World of Alexander in Perspective: Contextualizing Arrian. Wiesbaden. Hyland, J.O., 2017: Persian Interventions: The Achaemenid Empire, Athens, and Sparta, 450–386 BCE. Baltimore. Jeppesen, K., 1986: “The Ancient Greek and Latin Writers”. In K. Jeppesen / A. Luttrell (eds.): The Written Sources and their Archaeological Background, vol. 2 of The Maussolleum at Halikarnassos: Reports of the Danish Archaeological Expedition to Bodrum. Jutland Archaeological Society Publications 15.2. Copenhagen. Pp. 8–113.

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Karlsson, L., 1994: “Thoughts about Fortifications in Caria from Maussollos to Demetrios Poliorketes”. REA 96/1, 140–153. Karlsson, L. / Henry, O. / Blid, J., 2008: “Labraunda 2004–2007. A preliminary report on the Swedish excavations”. IstMitt 5, 109–133. Konechy, A.L. / Ruggendorfer, P., 2014: “Alinda in Karia: the Fortifications”. Hesperia 83, 709–746. Konuk, K., 2013: “Coinage and Identities under the Hekatomnids”. In O. Henry (ed.): 4th Century Karia. Defining a Karian Identity under the Hekatomnids. Varia Anatolica 28. Paris. Pp. 101–122. Marincola, J., 2007: “The Persian wars in fourth-century oratory and historiography”. In E. Bridges / E. Hall / R. J. Rhodes (eds.): Cultural Responses to the Persian Wars: Antiquity to the Third Millennium. Oxford. Pp. 105–125. Müller, S., 2019: Alexander der Große: Eroberungen – Politik – Rezeption. Stuttgart. Munn, M., 2008: “Alexander, the Gordion Knot, and the Kingship of Midas”. In T. Howe / J. Reames (eds.) Macedonian Legacies: Studies in Ancient Macedonian History and Culture in Honor of Eugene N. Borza. Claremont, CA. Pp. 107–144. Murray, W. M., 2008: “The Development of a Naval Siege Unit under Philip II and Alexander III”. In T. Howe / J. Reames (eds.): Macedonian Legacies: Studies in Ancient Macedonian History and Culture in Honor of Eugene N. Borza. Claremont, CA. Pp. 31–56. Naiden, F. S., 2019: Soldier, Preist, God: A Life of Alexander the Great. Oxford. Nielsen, T.H., 2002: “Phrourion. A Note of the Term in Classical Sources and in Diodorus Siculus”. In T.H. Nielsen (ed.): Even More Studies in the Ancient Polis. Stuttgart. Pp. 49–64. Paradiso, A., 2010: “Apollonios of Aphrodidias (740)”. In I. Worthington (ed.): Brill’s New Jacoby. Consulted online on 14 February 2020 Prag, J. / Neave, R., 2010: “Sibling Semblance: Mausolus and his Sisters”. In F.C. Macfarlane / C. Morgan (eds.): Exploring Ancient Sculpture: Essays in Honour of Geoffrey Waywell. Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies, Supplement 104. London. Pp. 109–120. Prandi, L., 1985: Callisthene. Milan. Reed, J.D., 2000: “Arsinoe’s Adonis and the Poetics of Ptolemaic Imperialism”. TAPA 130, 319–351. Robert, L., 1945: Le Sanctuaire de Sinuri près de Mylasa: I: les inscriptions greques. Memoires de l’Institut Français d’Archeologie de Stamboul 7. Paris. Romane, J.P., 1994: “Alexander’s Sieges of Miletus and Halicarnassus”. AncW 25, 61–76. Roos, P., 2006: Survey of Rock-Cut Chamber-Tombs in Caria 2: Central Caria. Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology LXXII 2. Göteborg.

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Ruzicka, S., 1992: Politics of a Persian Dynasty. The Hecatomnids in the Fourth Century B.C. Norman, OK. — 2010: “The ‘Pixodaurs Affair’ Reconsidered Again”. In E. Carney / D. Ogden (eds.): Philip II and Alexander the Great: Father and Son, Lives and Afterlives. Oxford. Pp. 3–11. Schachermeyr, F., 1973: Alexander der Große: das Problem seiner Persönlichkeit und seines Wirkens. Wien. Sears, M., 2014: “Alexander and Ada Reconsidered”. CP 109, 211–221. Stark, F., 1958a: Alexander’s Path from Cana to Cilicia. New York. — 1958b: “Alexander’s March from Miletus to Phrygia.” JHS 78, 102–120. — 1958c: “Landscapes in Caria II”. The Geographical Journal 124/3: 340–346. Stein, H., 1875: Herodotus: 5. Band. Buch VIII und IX. Berlin. Tarn, W. W., 1948: Alexander the Great. Cambridge. Vasilev, M. I., 2015: The Policy of Darius and Xerxes towards Thrace and Macedonia. Leiden. Waywell, G. B., 1993: “The Ada, Zeus, and Idrieus Relief from Tegea in the British Museum”. In O. Palagia / W.D.E. Coulson (eds.): Sculpture from Arcadia and Laconia: proceedings of an international conference held at the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, April 10–14, 1992. Oxford. Pp. 79–86. Wilcken, U., 1967: Alexander the Great (trans. by G.C. Richards). New York. Williamson, C.G., 2013a: “Public space beyond the city. The sanctuaries of Labraunda and Sinuri in the chora of Mylasa”. In C.P. Dickenson / O.M. van Nijf (eds.): Public Space in the Post-Classical City: Proceedings of a One Day Colloquium held at Fransum, 23rd July 2007. Caeculus, 7. Leuven. Pp. 1–36. — 2013b: Labraunda as Memory Theatre for Hellenistic Mylasa. Code-Switching between Past and Present?”. Herom 2: 143–167. — 2014: “Power of Place: Ruler, Landscape and Ritual Space at the Sanctuaries of Labraunda and Mamurt Kale in Asia Minor”. In C. Moser / C. Feldman (eds.): Locating the Sacred. Theoretical Approaches to the Emplacement of Religion. Oxford / Oakville. Pp. 87–110. Worthington, I., 2004: Alexander the Great: Man and God. Harlow. Yildirim, B., 2004: “Identities and Empire: Local Mythology and Self-Representation of Aphrodisias”. In B. Borg (ed.): Paideia. The World of the Second Sophistic. Berlin. Pp. 23–52.

Amanishakheto A Meroitic Ruling Queen of the Late 1st Cent. BC / Early 1st Cent. AD Josefine Kuckertz

Introduction and historical overview The following report1 deals with a woman who lived in the Meroitic Period in the territory of today’s Sudan. In response to the powerful Kerma Empire, the land south of Assuan had been gradually brought under Egyptian control in the Middle Kingdom (c. 1980–1760 BC) and was eventually conquered up to the area between 4th and 5th cataract in the New Kingdom (c. 1540–1290 BC) (fig. 1).2 About three centuries after colonial rule had ended indigenous power elites from around Jebel Barkal were able to conquer Egypt to rule as Dynasty 25 (c. 760–663 BC), holding sway over a territory stretching from Sudan to the borders of Palestine. Assyrian attacks forced the Nubian kings to retreat from Egypt; they afterwards reigned at their capital Napata at Jebel Barkal (Napatan Period, c. 650 – c. 300 BC). With the Ptolemaic dynasty in Egypt changes occurred also in the neighbouring country; including, i.a., establishing the main royal burial place farther south at Meroe (Merotic Period, c. 300 BC – 330/350 AD). The Kushite Empire, or better: the cultural sphere, extended from Assuan southwards to somewhere south of Khartoum and the confluence of White and Blue Niles. In the 3rd to the 1st century BC, after the conquest of Ptolemy II, however, Lower Nubia as far as Maharraqa was, with interruptions, under Ptolemaic supremacy, intended – as in previous New Kingdom colonial times – mainly to secure the access to the gold and mineral mines of the Eastern Desert and the trade routes to inner Africa. Although Kushite culture was strongly influenced by Egyptian style and concepts, a 1

Many thanks go to the unknown reviewer for his useful comments. For the photos of Amanishakheto’s stelae from Naga (see figs. 2 and 6) I am much indebted to the excavators Dietrich Wildung and Karla Kroeper as well as to Sylvia Schoske from the Egyptian Museum Munich. Thanks are likewise due to Olivia Zorn from the Egyptian Museum Berlin for photos of LD V, 40–41 (figs. 3 and 4) as well as of the blocks ÄM 2244–45 from Amanishakheto’s tomb chapel (fig. 5). 2 On the history cf. the summary in Kuckertz / Lohwasser, 2016: 15–19. In the following, the territorial designations Nubia or Lower Nubia are used for the area on both sides of the Nile valley from 1st to beyond the 2nd cataract of the Nile (other scholars even to the 3rd cataract), and Kush or Upper Nubia for the land further south up to somewhere south of Khartoum. Kushite Empire or Kushite culture, on the other hand, are terms describing the sphere of control and its cultural traits prevalent in the whole territory south of Egypt, reflecting likewise a continuous political and cultural entity during both phases (Napatan and Meroitic). Dates are quoted after Hornung / Krauss / Warburton, 2006: 490–495, for the Nubian dates especially Zibelius-Chen, in op. cit.: 496–498.

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growing number of native elements and ideas can be traced from the 3rd century BC onwards, indicating its markedly distinct character. The Meroitic Kingdom came to an end around the middle of the 4th century AD, when single regions in the north and in the south became more powerful and conflicts arose with peoples like the Noba or the nomadic Blemmyes infiltrating the Nile valley, as well as with the growing Aksumite power.

Fig. 1. Map of Nubia and Kush in the 1st millennia BC to AD (adapted after Welsby / Anderson, 2004, fig. 99).

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Date and historic setting The ruling Queen Amanishakheto is one of the most famous women in the Meroitic Period. This is in the main due to the number of her documents, some being of an extraordinary nature.3 The dates of her reign are not entirely clear, ranging from the second half of the 1st century BC to the first half of the 1st century AD. The succession of rulers at that time (c. 50 BC to 50 AD) has come under discussion in the last years, but I retain here the sequence favoured by the majority of scholars, namely that Amanishakheto was a predecessor of Natakamani and Amanitore.4 Nothing definite is known about the ancestry of Amanishakheto. Some of the fragments of offering tables found in her tomb Beg N 6 in Meroe were thought to bear traces of the names of her parents.5 New research, however, indicates that the offering tables are not contemporaneous, but of a much later date and perhaps are associated with a secondary use of the tomb.6 As for the title kandake identifying her as a king’s mother (see below), there is no indication who her husband was and who the son was for whom she assumed regency and then rulership.7 It is conjectured that she may have been from the same family as Amanitore and Natakamani (see below). Amanishakheto herself is the successor of ruling Queen Amanirenase who is believed to be the last adversary of the Romans in the Romano-Meroitic struggles in the years between 25/24 and 21/20 BC.8 Amanishakheto must have lived thereafter, but the date of her accession to the throne is unknown. The conflict’s background concerns the situation in Lower Nubia. In Ptolemaic times the area between Assuan and Hiera Sycaminos at modern Maharraqa, the Dodekaschoinos (12-Miles-land, c.128 km), which in the 2nd century BC was enlarged further south to the 30-Miles-land (Triakontaschoinos)9, was a buffer zone between the Ptolemaic and Kushite realms.10 The stretch of land, with its revenues devoted to the goddess Isis of Philae, also remained a buffer zone be3

See detailed Kuckertz, forthcoming a. Finds of stelae of Amanishakheto in temples of Natakamani and Amanitore in Naga have promoted the idea of Amanishakheto being their successor; for a different interpretation and the various proposals for the succession of rulers, see Kuckertz, forthcoming a. On the diverse sequences of rulers, see also below the passage on ruling queens with note 108. 5 Hintze, 1959: 45–48. 6 Rilly, 2017: 253. 7 Various proposals have been made in scholarship, e.g. that she was wife of Teriteqase or of Akinidad, her father being Amanikhabale, etc. But all these assumptions lack concrete evidence and are speculative. 8 About the Romano-Meroitic conflicts cf. inter alia Hofmann, 1977b; Török, 1997: 448– 455; 2009: 427–435, 439–442; 2015: 83–84; Hoffman et al., 2009; Matić, 2014. 9 The Triakontaschoinos, first mentioned in an inscription of c. 150 BC (Minas-Nerpel / Pfeiffer, 2010: 287), spanned a strip of c. 260 km reaching from the 1st to the 2nd cataract. 10 On the Ptolemaic-Kushite relations in Lower Nubia cf. Török, 2009: 377–415. 4

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tween Roman and Meroitic interests. Since the beginning of Roman rule the region south of the ancient Egyptian frontier at Assuan/Philae was officially attached to the Roman Empire, viz. the Roman prefect in Egypt,11 administered by a governor (tyrannos), who was presumably a member of an important local Meroitic family at home in Lower Nubia.12 Conflict between Meroites and Romans presumably arose because of uprisings against demands of Roman tax collectors in Lower Nubia.13 Raids of the Meroites even reached Assuan and Elephantine, capturing prisoners and removing statues of Augustus. The Roman army under the 3rd Egyptian prefect C. Publius Petronius reacted and defeated the Meroites in a first battle at Dakka (Pselchis) in 25 BC.14 It is highly unlikely that Petronius, after having captured Qasr Ibrim (Premnis), proceeded about 700 km further south to the Meroitic town of Napata and devastated it as Strabo and the Res Gestae Divi Augusti have reported. Hostilities, however, did not end, and Meroitic resistance continued. Sometime later, presumably in 22 BC, the Meroitic army tried to re-occupy Qasr Ibrim, only to be stopped again by Petronius, who had installed a garrison there two years before.15 Negotiations with the Roman emperor started afterwards. In winter 21/20 BC a peace treaty was concluded on the island of Samos between Augustus and ruling Queen Amanirenase’s emissaries. The terms were advantageous for the Meroites: the area administered by the Romans was reduced to the old Dodekaschoinos and the requirement of dues (φόρος) from the Kingdom of Meroe was relinquished.

11

Crucial is the trilingual stela of C. Cornelius Gallus (1st praefectus Alexandriae et Aegypti) from Philae, dated in 29 BC, now Cairo CGC 9295. About the beginning of Roman rule in the Triakontaschoinos cf. Locher, 2002; Minas-Nerpel / Pfeiffer, 2010; a summary is Török, 2012. See also the literature cited in note 7. 12 The name of this governor is known from one of the Meroitic stelae at Hamadab that presumably contains reports of the beginning of the Romano-Meroitic conflicts (REM 1003, for reference see below note 20). It is a man called Qeper/Quper who was captured by Akinidad’s troops a few years later and whose sons Padiese and Pihor drowned in the Nile. For them, a small sanctuary was erected at Dendur (now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, cf. Griffith, 1917: 167 f.; Rilly, 2017: 250, 256); it was built under the auspices of the Roman prefect C. Publius Petronius. Hesitatingly on the identification of Qeper, Hoffmann et al., 2009: 155. 13 The most prominent account of the events is that of the historian Strabo (Geogr. XVII, 1.53–54, FHN III: no. 190), also shortly mentioned in the Res Gestae Divi Augusti 26.5 (FHN II: no. 166). 14 Petronius was appointed prefect because the 2nd prefect L. Aelius Gallus was envisaged by Augustus to launch an expedition against Arabia. The Meroitic king Teriteqase, who had proceeded with his army from the south to Dakka, suddenly died and was succeeded by Queen Amanirenase. According to Strabo she was already ruling in the time of the battle. 15 The garrison (from 24–22 BC) had left Qasr Ibrim presumably for lack of supplies.

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Ruling Queen Amanishakheto After the Meroites and Romans had formulated the conditions for peace and the Romans had withdrawn to the old frontier at Maharraqa, the regions to the south up to the 2nd cataract (the Triakontaschoinos area) were now to be reorganised by the Meroitic state. The administrative restructuring of the Lower Nubian territory presumably was accomplished under Amanishakheto’s reign,16 but it seems to have been planned or even started under Amanirenase. A stela bearing the names of Amanishakheto and Akinidad (REM 1141, London BM 1836),17 found in the paving of the cathedral at Qasr Ibrim, perhaps contains some information about the measures taken for the reorganisation although we are not able to understand completely the Meroitic text.18 The word tameya (‘white man’) is mentioned twice, once followed soon after by the term ‘commander’. The passage presumably refers back to the Romans and the conflict with the Meroites in the recent past. The erection of the stela at Qasr Ibrim may have been politically motivated, demonstrating and underlining the Kushite ‘victory’, as expressed in the advantageous regulations of the peace treaty. The concrete background was perhaps provided by the former stationing of Roman troops at the town. As head of the administration of the Lower Nubian province, a governor (peseto in Meroitic, psentês in Greek) was installed, who was responsible solely to the ruler.19 The first governor was Akinidad, in all probability a man of royal descent whose unclear status is discussed in scholarship (see below). He had earlier served the rulers Teriteqase, then Amanirenase before he continued for a certain time under Amanishakheto. It is highly likely that he was actually the person behind the structural reorganisation of Lower Nubia. The title peseto occurs on two documents in which he is mentioned together with ruling Queen Amanirenase.20 The term Akine 16

Rilly, 2017: 255. Edwards / Rilly, 2007: 82–90, figs. 15.9–10; Ferrandino, 2018. The REM-number refers to the Répertoire d’épigraphique Méroïtiques, in which all known Meroitic texts are assembled; the last compilation is Leclant et al., 2000. Additions up to 2003 are found in the Digital Meroitic Newsletter, http://www.meroiticnewsletter.org/. 18 Ferrandino doubts that the text of the stela contains a royal text, the royal protocol being used only as a dating feature (within an eponymous dating system). She proposes that donations of a private dedicator in the course of religious festivals (a bark journey of a statue of Isis?) may be the content. 19 The first occurrence of the title peseto is discussed: Török (2009: 414 f. concerning the relevant offering tables of Tasemerese / Tasemerekha and Khalalakharora) puts it in the late 2nd century BC. I follow here C. Rilly’s palaeographic dating of the offering tables in the 1st century AD (Rilly, 2007: 347 Tableau 13; 2017: 256). 20 On part of a bronze naos from Kawa (REM 0628, Macadam, 1949: 100–102, pls. 49– 50; Rilly, in: Baud et al., 2010: 147, 149, cat. 200) and on the Hamadab stela, REM 1003, London British Museum EA 1650 (Griffith, 1917; cf. Wolf, 2004; Wolf / Rilly, in: Baud et al., 2010: 160–161). Akinidad is mentioned also on the second stela from Hamadab REM 1039 (Khartoum SNM 32200), which seems to contain the continuation of the text 17

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for the Lower Nubian province south of Maharraqa appeared slightly later with Akinidad’s presumed second successor.21 The seat of the administration was first at Faras, later at Karanog lying further north.

Fig. 2. Stele Khartoum SNM 34661 (REM 1293), Naga, Amun temple(© Naga Project) There may be an allusion to the recent Romano-Meroitic conflicts on a stela found in the Amun temple in Naga (REM 1293, Khartoum SNM 34661, fig. 2).22 The stela depicts Amanishakheto’s election as ruler by the native deities Apedemak and Amesemi. In the lower register the first complete figure in a row of bound of REM 1003 (Rilly, 2011c: 38 f., 45–47, fig. 4; Rilly, 2014). 21 Khalalakharora (REM 0521), FHN II: no. 155. Likewise dated earlier by Török and differently by Rilly (see note 18). From the late 3rd century AD onwards Akine applies to whole Lower Nubia between 1st and 2nd cataract. 22 Kröper et al., 2011: 36–38, 188 f., figs. 37, 213, 218–219, cat. 14; Kuckertz, forthcoming a (to the bibliography of the stelae REM 1293 as well as REM 1294 from Naga add Rilly, 2011c).

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prisoners is depicted with helmet-like headgear; he is labelled ‘white man’ (tameya). The interpretation of this figure as a Roman23 is disputed, however, as well as the idea that the prisoner may point to the Romano-Meroitic war not long before or to strife with the Romans in Amanishakheto’s time.24 The row of bound prisoners could, by contrast, be a mere topos with which the ruler is presented as dominating the hostile outside world, including people from foreign nations – the queen’s role as sovereign would dictate her appearance as victorious ruler. The Meroitic text (REM 1293)25 on the back of the stela is remarkable indeed. It is a prayer to the lion god Apedemak of the town of Daqari requesting him to endow the queen with life and that the cities of Shellal and Naga should give her certain boons. Daqari is as yet not identified; the hitherto supposed equation with Dangeil, a locality c. 50 km north of the confluence of the Nile with the Atbara River (cf. fig. 1), where a substantial Amun temple has been unearthed,26 seems not valid. Shellal lies directly northeast of ancient Philae, thus immediately at the pharaonic Egyptian frontier.27 Naga, existing since the 4th century BC or even earlier,28 was an important town in the south situated some 40 km distant from the Nile in the Wadi Awatib. Traces of numerous temples (including those of Apedemak), palaces and official buildings, mainly of the 1st centuries BC and AD, are still visible there today. The text on the stela thus defines – for the Meroites! – the northern and southern extension of the Meroitic Empire, reaching northwards as far as the Egyptian frontier at Assuan. In the light of realistic politics, however, actual sovereignty was hampered by the fact of Roman rule up to Maharraqa. The actual political situation is not reflected in the text, but rather the ideological claims of the Meroitic royal house in the time of Amanishakheto and aspirations of supremacy over the territory once under Kushite control. It may not be coincidental that the stela was found in the sanctuary of Naga’s main Amun temple, although the god depicted and mentioned is the indigenous Meroitic lion god Apedemak, not Amun.

23

Rilly, 2011a: 188 f. Matić, 2015. 25 Rilly, in: Baud et al., 2010: 157. 26 Cf. the Berber-Abidiya-Archaeological Project, http://www.britishmuseum.org/resear ch/research_projects/all_current_projects/sudan/berber-abidiya_project.aspx. 27 On the location cf. Reisner, 1910, vol 1.2: plans II, IX. The Egyptian king Psamtek II had erected a stela at Shellal, commemorating his Nubian campaign in 593 BC, when he presumably fought against the Kushite king Aspelta, see at latest Jansen-Winkeln, 2016. Because of the rising waters, caused by the building of the Assuan High Dam, the temples on Philae were in the 1970ies transferred to the island of Agilkia lying further northwest. Does the mentioning of Shellal on the stela SNM 34661 indicate that an Apedemak temple is to be expected there? 28 Naga (Tolkte) is mentioned on the stela of king Nastasen (Berlin ÄM 2268), cf. FHN II: 486–487. 24

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The findspot of the stela indicates that its text was submitted to the powerful state god Amun. A number of further stelae of Amanishakheto have been found, some inscribed in Meroitic cursive script. The queen had set up two stelae in front of the second pylon of the large Amun temple in Meroe. One is the so-called obelisk, an appellation derived from its massive quadrangular form with an original height of nearly 3 m (REM 1361 etc., Khartoum SNM 30175);29 it seems to have carried a historical text on all four sides. The companion stela on the opposite side of the passage presumably was likewise donated by her. From the Lion temple at Meroe comes a heavily eroded stela bearing the queen’s throne name as well as her personal name (REM 0406, Khartoum SNM 523).30 In addition to the stela from Naga mentioned above, three more stelae or fragments thereof come from this same site.31 Two of these four bear the queen’s name while there are good arguments for attributing the other two to her. One man already mentioned above played a prominent role in the early years of Amanishakheto’s reign. Akinidad,32 very likely a member of the royal family, had served Amanishakheto’s predecessors Teriteqase and ruling Queen Amanirenase, being depicted and mentioned with both of them. That he was a son of Amanirenase,33 as Strabo’s account about the Roman-Meroitic war (Geogr. XVII, 1.53–54) seems to imply, is not definitely proven. Although royal features are associated with him (such as the titles ‘king of Lower Egypt’ and ‘son of Re?’ in Egyptian hieroglyphs34) and his name is written in a cartouche, he never became king himself for completely unknown reasons. His title pqr or pqr-tr, after qore ‘king’ and kandake the highest title in the Meroitic Empire and often translated as prince or even crown prince, is also discussed as indicative of a high military function.35 Akinidad was in fact the military leader in the conflicts with the Romans. Perhaps already in office in the early reign of Teriteqase, he commanded the Meroitic troops in the battle at Dakka in 25 BC, and later led the attacks against 29

Rilly, 2002. The obelisk was broken into several fragments which received own REMnumbers. The companion stela is only fragmentarily preserved. 30 Kormysheva, 2006: 163–164, cat. 144. 31 Khartoum SNM 31338 (REM 1294) from the Amun temple; Khartoum SNM 34633 and SNM 27499 (REM 1238) from the Lion temple. Detailed discussion is found in Kuckertz, forthcoming a. All stelae have been found in buildings of the successors Natakamani and Amanitore. 32 On the monuments of Akinidad inter alia Török, 2009: 499–501; Rilly, 2011c; Zach, 2014: 560–562; Kuckertz, forthcoming a. 33 So Török, 1997: 455 f.; Rilly, 2017: 234, 243, 253, 282. Rilly assumes that Akinidad and Teriteqase were brothers born by Amanirenase. In Strabo’s account (cf. FHN III: no. 190) only the son of the kandake (meaning here: the Meroitic queen) is mentioned, without any name, neither of the son, nor of the queen. 34 Vrtal, 2015: 467. 35 Rilly, 2011c: 39, 46; Rilly, 2017: 234 and passim; Zach, 2014.

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the Romans. Two stelae with his name, one also bearing that of Amanirenase, were found at the temple of Hamadab in the vicinity of Meroe.36 They presumably describe the skirmishes in the course of the conflict. Akinidad’s position as governor (peseto) of the Lower Nubian province was addressed above. Tomb Bar 5 at Jebel Barkal can probably be assigned to him.37 His prominent role during the reign of three rulers suggests that he was a ‘grey eminence’, at least behind the two queens Amanirenase and Amanishakheto. Both perhaps were in need of a person to legitimise their rulership. Building activities of Amanishakheto are documented in Kawa, Jebel Barkal, Meroe and Wad Ben Naga.38 She was active in building or finishing two tombs, that of her predecessor as well as her own, and in erecting, or adding to, four temples and one palatial building. Current excavations at Naga and Wad Ben Naga may bring to light further evidence of construction attributable to her. Right at the beginning of her reign she was responsible for the interment of her predecessor Amanirenase and the completion of her tomb.39 Finishing temple Meroe 250 which Amanirenase had started with Akinidad probably was Amanishakheto’s next duty; her cartouche has been found on plaster from the enclosure wall.40 Akinidad was still active with Amanishakheto when executing some building measures of unknown extent in the temple of Kawa, where both are named on a number of sandstone blocks found in the courtyard.41 A small processional kiosk (B 551) in the Amun temple at Jebel Barkal dates to a somewhat later time in her reign as do buildings at Wad Ben Naga.42 Akinidad is no longer mentioned in connection with her at either site; by this time he must have been dead. The large palace WBN 100 was a conspicuous building of 61 x 61 m with more than 60 rooms. The walls of the upper storey were in parts lavishly decorated.43 Integrated 36

Cf. Wolf, 2004; cf. note 19 above. Yellin, 2015: 11, 14. 38 Detailed Kuckertz, forthcoming a. 39 It is not ascertained where Amanirenase was buried, discussed are Beg N 21 at Meroe or Bar 4 at Jebel Barkal with a preference by most scholars on Bar 4 (cf. Yellin, 2015; 11, 14, figs. 6d, 14a) in which the tomb owner is once depicted with the Egyptian Double crown. 40 For the temple Hinkel et al., 2001; for Amanishakheto, op. cit.: 205, 259–260, 264, pls. D.12, E.2, E.8. 41 Macadam, 1949: 101, 117, no. 105, 106, pls. 35, 58. 42 For the different buildings at Wad Ben Naga, in which Amanishakheto was involved, see Onderka 2016, 21–24 with fig. 7 and passim. WBN 100: Vercoutter, 1962: 263–299; Vrtal, in: Onderka / Vrtal et al., 2013: 57–62, figs. 6.1–6.12; Onderka / Vrtal et al., 2014: 150–151, 156–163, cat. 50–62; for a reconstruction model see Maillot, 2015: 82, fig. 3. Stela in WBN 500: Onderka, 2016, 62–65, fig. 55; Onderka / Vrtal / Gatzsche, 2016: 108– 109, fig. 3. 43 Decoration consisted i.a. of faience tiles and figural scenes in painted and gilded plaster. The fragment of a decorated tile of lime plaster or faience (Khartoum SNM 62/10/87) 37

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were rooms with religious functions (?) and storage facilities where trade goods like elephant tusks, ebony beams and other wares have been found. At least the early phase of the eastern temple at Wad Ben Naga (subWBN 500) seems also due to Amanishakheto as the fragment of a stela of hers was found in its early levels. For some scholars the stelae found at Naga hint at building activities of the queen there, but until now archaeological traces in support of this assumption do not exist.44 Amanishakheto was buried in the northern royal cemetery at Meroe in tomb Beg N 6.45 The pyramid, erected at the site of the ruined pyramid ascribed to the early Meroitic king Arnekhamani who lived two centuries earlier, was among the largest in the cemetery before Giuseppe Ferlini demolished it in 1834 in search of precious objects.46 The famous jewellery he found is now dispersed among the Egyptian museums of Munich, Berlin and Turin.47 More than 250 individual items (including also some vessels and wooden ornaments) belong to the treasure. The jewellery was once deposited in one of the burial chambers, although Ferlini claimed to have found it in the pyramid’s upper part. The wealth of burial goods, including those additional items found in 1921 during G. A. Reisner’s excavation of the tomb,48 adds enormously to our knowledge of the ideological and religious concepts of Meroitic kingship. The treasure preserved is a special case since other royal tombs barely yielded such quantities of jewellery, even though they surely were once equipped with similar amounts but which were robbed from the burial chambers in antiquity. The bulk of Amanishakheto’s jewellery and her burial assemblage belong to the Kushite-Meroitic sphere with designs borrowed from or influenced by Egyptian models. Objects imported from the Mediterranean world are likewise present.49 depicts a shrine in which the queen adores Amun and Mut, see Onderka, 2016, 30, fig. 12; Sackho-Autissier, 2018. The scene reminds the above-mentioned stela REM 1293, Khartoum SNM 34661 from Naga where Amanishakheto inside a shrine is elected and crowned by the deities Apedemak and Amesemi (see above with note 22). 44 Rilly (see below note 110), in regarding Shanakdakhete and Amanishakheto as one and the same person, attributes her temple F/Naga 500. 45 Dunham, 1957: 106–111; Chapman / Dunham, 1952: pls. 16–17, 27E, 31F. 46 Cf. Priese, 1993: fig. 2 (seen by F. Cailliaud in 1821). 47 Schäfer, 1910; Priese, 1993; Markowitz / Lacovara, 1996; Lohwasser, 2001b. 48 Harvard University–Museum of Fine Arts Expedition, Dunham, 1957, 106–111. Objects are dispersed between the museums in Boston and Khartoum. 49 E.g. cameos depicting Athena (Berlin ÄM 1751), a bust of Apollo (ÄM 1752) or a theatre mask (Munich Ant. 2497e), ring plates with a sitting dog (Berlin ÄM 1733) or a sow (Berlin ÄM 1748) and bronze vessels (Munich Ant. 709; Berlin ÄM 22878), see Schäfer, 1910: 149–151, 185 f., pl. 29, 30, 35, 36. Six pairs of Greek auloi (double reed pipes) are being investigated since 2013 by the Museum of Fine Arts (MFA) Boston, see https:// www.mfa.org/collections/conservation/feature_auloiofmeroe, with further literature, accessed 2.8.2019.

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In the relief decoration of her tomb chapel some of the figures depicted have been carefully obliterated, perhaps on different occasions (fig. 3).50 In particular the person sitting behind the queen51 and some figures adoring her have been effaced. The mutilations must have occurred either in the time of her successor, who was responsible for the construction and decoration of the chapel, or even still later. Such effacements may be indicative of difficulties which occurred after Amanishakheto’s death, perhaps concerning questions of succession and associated dynastic problems (see further below). The identity of the person who succeeded her on the throne is not definitely known, but most scholars assume it was Natakamani.52

Fig. 3. North and south walls of the tomb chapel of Beg N 6 (above: after Kendall, 1989, fig. 4; below: after LD V, 41 © Archive ÄMP).

50

Chapman / Dunham, 1952: pl. 16; a more careful investigation of the traces is Kendall, 1989: 666–668, fig. 4. It differs in some points on the depictions in Chapman / Dunham which are based on Lepsius’s work. 51 Akinidad according to Zach, 2014: 563. 52 On other proposals see the discussion in Kuckertz, forthcoming a.

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Fig. 4. Pylon of the tomb chapel of Beg N 6 (after LD V, 40, © Archive ÄMP). In nearly all of her documents Amanishakheto is depicted as a rather corpulent woman – a characteristic she shares with the majority of royal women in the Meroitic Period.53 While stoutness is a most favoured beauty type found in many African areas,54 it is not the only reason for the queen’s physical appearance. The picture of a well-fed and thus rich woman, member of a family of means, also is supposed to underline her fecundity and potential for motherhood which is important for the endurance of the family line into the next generation. Amanishakheto’s portly physique is expressed by broad hips and protruding buttocks, folds of fat around her waist, her thick arms, by folds at both sides of her neck and the fleshy face with rounded cheeks and chin. Her role as a belligerent ruler, who is obliged to fulfil certain tasks like maintaining order and repelling chaos, is likewise expressed.55 Such duties belong first and foremost to the ideological role of every ruler in Egypt and in Kush and need not necessarily be connected with personal involvements in conflicts. Amanishakheto’s sumptuous dress is that typical for many royal women in Meroitic times. She wears a long undergarment and a coat or robe, often fringed, which lay over one shoulder and was knotted at the breast. Her ‘standard’ jewellery consists of a broad collar, ear rings, bracelets, anklets and decorated ‘cuffs’ 53

Exceptions of more slender figures are for example the double statue CG 684 attributed to Nahirqo, the gold statuette of Nawidemak (Oberlin, Ohio) and the figure of Amanikhatashan in the tomb chapel reliefs of Beg N 18 (for the queens see below). 54 Cf. Kendall, 1989: 655–658 on ethnographic parallels of female corpulence. 55 On the pylon of her tomb chapel (see fig. 4); on stela Khartoum SNM 34661 (see fig. 2); on jewellery: cameo with Athena, Berlin ÄM 1751 (above note 48); rings Berlin ÄM 1720, 1740 depicting a vulture grasping prisoners (Schäfer, 1910: pl. 28; Priese, 1993: fig. 40b– c).

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covering the forearms. As a ruling queen she is equipped with additional specific regalia, depicted inter alia in the chapel reliefs of Beg N 6 (see figs. 3, 4). Such items, over and above her crowns, are distinctive elements of the royal costume or “Staatsornat” which are attributed to every sovereign (tasselled cord, royal sash and particular jewellery).56 The long tasselled cord – terminating in up to six tassels at both ends – either lies over one shoulder with the ends hanging down, one behind and one in front of the figure, or is knotted somewhere at the girdle. Often two cords appear as on the pylon of Amanishakheto’s tomb. The royal sash, a sort of red-coloured shawl, is made of cloth with long fringes which is put over one shoulder or, when double, is worn crosswise (fig. 4). To the distinctive royal jewellery belong two necklaces: a long chain of large beads with a figure of Amun (usually) or of his spouse, the goddess Mut, and a short cord wound around the neck with three amulets depicting Amun ram-headed and crowned with a sun disk. Amanishakheto’s role as the country’s highest priest(ess) is revealed on seal rings from her tomb, depicting her wearing the panther skin.57 Some of the queen’s headgear is rather unusual. The crown she wears in her tomb chapel and on stela Khartoum SNM 34661 is an amalgamation of two special crowns: the hemhem-crown, encompassing reed bundles with feathers, which is usually found with the native lion god Apedemak, and the high falcon-feathers with sun disk of Amun’s crown. Another unusual type of headgear appears on the righthand pylon of her tomb (figs. 4, 5): a bird with outstretched wings envelopes the top of the queen’s head and a shield-ring with the ram-headed Amun is attached to a broad diadem. The Amun-horn curling around her ears, depicted on the lefthand pylon, relates her to the state god Amun to whom as ruler she is affiliated as his ideological offspring. The queen’s personal name Amanishakheto, or in some cases Amanishakhete, is a Meroitic one compounded with the Meroitic name of the god Amun, Amani. The meaning of the name is unknown.58 As mentioned above, she was also equipped with a throne name in Egyptian hieroglyphs which was identified only recently.59 Kheper-ka-Re, ‘the manifestation of the Ka-power of/is (the god) Re’, is a throne name adopted in earlier times by the Egyptian kings Senusret I (c. 1920–1875 BC) in the Middle Kingdom and Nektanebos I of Dynasty 30 (c. 380– 56

Török, 1990 on the ruler’s costume. Berlin ÄM 1723, 1699 (Schäfer, 1910: 130 f., pl. 24; Priese, 1993: 44 f., figs. 42c, 43a). 58 Rilly, 2017: 263, 353 proposes a translation like “Amun has designed her” or “Amun has engendered her”. 59 Rilly, 2002: 142 with n. 60. A block fragment from Doukki Gel presents in high relief the same rebus-writing of the name Kheper-ka-Re at the tip of a staff (?), but cannot be dated precisely to any of the rulers with this throne name, cf. Rilly, 2003: 42 f., 51 pl. IX, fig. 1–2. Meroitic kings are often documented by their birth name alone. Only rarely appears a name belonging to the five-fold Egyptian royal titulary which Nubian kings had adopted when ruling in Egypt as Dynasty 25; cf. Török, 1997: 200–206, table N. 57

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362 BC) as well as by the Kushite rulers Malowiamani in the 5th and Arnekhamani in the 3rd century BC. After Amanishakheto the name was used by Natakamani along with Aritenyesbokhe and Teqorideamani in the 2nd/3rd century AD.60 Adopting throne names borne by illustrious kings in the past was a recurrent feature in Egyptian and Kushite cultures. Designed by expert priests, the names always express a distinctive conceptual statement. Senusret I was successful in not only establishing a strong political administration in Egypt, but also in subduing Nubia as far as the 2nd cataract where he founded a large fortress at Buhen. The consolidation of the Egyptian state at the beginning of Dynasty 12, or at least the deified king’s glory, may have been felt comparable to the situation which Amanishakheto faced after the withdrawal of the Romans and the task of the administrative reorganisation of Lower Nubia. King Malowiamani’s adoption of Senusret’s throne name may well have been similarly inspired since he perhaps faced the same historical situation – the re-occupation of Lower Nubia in the 5th century BC.61 The model of Amanishakheto’s name may be sought also in Arnekhamani, one of the first Meroitic kings who built conspicuous temples in Musawwarat es Sufra and whose presumed (but levelled) burial place she occupied. The throne name of the rulers following the queen might be a reference to her – this can safely be assumed for Natakamani. The choice of throne name by later rulers Aritenyesbokhe and Teqorideamani may refer to her or to Natakamani, he himself a king widely documented throughout the empire.62 Two special features in the appearance of Amanishakheto must be mentioned which differentiate her in some way from other royal women: her overlong fingernails and scars on her cheeks. Both may be interpreted as signs of ethnic identity.63

60

For Kushite kings bearing the name Kheper-ka-Re cf. Török, 1997: 202–206; Vrtal, 2015, 487 f. (omitting Amanishakheto). Vrtal points out that most rulers with throne name Kheper-ka-Re exerted an active policy vis à vis Egypt. 61 So according to Török, 2015: 54. On the probable historical background cf. Török, 2009: 364–367. On Malowiamani FHN I, no. 55. 62 Cf. Kuckertz, 2019. In scholarship, Natakamani’s throne name is often considered as referring to Arnekhamani. 63 On ethnicity and its study in archaeology regarding material culture and habits, especially in the relationships between Egypt and Nubia, cf. Smith, 2003 and the literature cited therein. Cf. also Moreno Garcia, 2018 and several other articles in Journal of Egyptian History 11.1–2 (2018). The recognition of smaller social groups (tribes, clans) in the archaeological record is certainly more difficult to detect than larger entities with distinct differences in appearance and habits (Asiatics, Nubians, Libyans, etc.); discussion mostly focuses on those groups. For Nubia as a tribal society and the difficulty of securely identifying ethnic and tribal groups, cf, Ashby, 2016: 24–27, here related to the individuals attested in inscriptions at Philae and the Dodekaschoinos in the 1st to 5th century AD.

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The reliefs in the chapel of her tomb Beg N 6 and on two stelae64 show Amanishakheto with extremely long fingernails. The pointed nails of both figures on the fragment of another stela are indicative that here Amanishakheto and her possible relative Amanitore are depicted.65 Amanitore, the mother of King Natakamani,66 is the only other person who appears in Meroitic documents with long fingernails.67 Although only these two women are definitely documented with this feature, there is a tendency in literature and popular documentation to ascribe all Meroitic queens, and even all women, as having such overlong fingernails. According to remarks ascribed to Agatharchides of Knidos (2nd century BC; temp. Ptolemy VI), which are preserved in the work of Diodorus Siculus, certain wild Aithiopian68 tribes “… are squalid all over their bodies, have extremely long nails just like wild animals, and are as far removed as possible from kind behaviour to each other”.69 In the 19th century G.A. Hoskins and C.R. Lepsius reported that high ranking women had extremely long fingernails, surely also a sign of not being obliged to engage in manual labour. Scholarly interpretation of the long fingernails of the Meroitic royal women is diverse.70 Proposals include that the fingernails may be a sign of food taboos (prohibiting touching certain things) or a way of indicating a female ruler’s power by showing her with lion-like claws. Sexual attractiveness may be another reason for the long fingernails. Also considered is that it is a tribal marker,71 indicating that the women with pointed nails came from a particular family or clan. The possible purposes behind scarification considered below (ethnic identification, ideas about beauty, magical and/or religious grounds, and indicators of sociological status) may apply to some extent as well to long fingernails.

64

Khartoum SNM 31338 and SNM 34633. On a further stela (Khartoum SNM 34661) the relief is obliterated but long fingernails are indeed probable. 65 Khartoum SNM 27499, on the interpretation see Kuckertz, forthcoming a. 66 The relationship of both (husband and wife? – brother and sister? – son and mother?) was long unknown. Recent research on two graffiti in Dakka has settled the question, see Rilly, 2017: 273 f. 67 In the Lion temple in Naga 300, see Gamer-Wallert, 1983: sheets 5a, 6a, 7, etc. The only other document showing a hand with pointed fingernails (of a figure not preserved) is on a re-used block of unknown date in the foundation of temple Naga 200, see Kuckertz, forthcoming a. 68 The terms “Aithiopia” and “Aithiopians” of classical authors designate the land and the dark-skinned inhabitants of the regions south of Egypt, today Sudan and African countries further south, as well as Libya. 69 FHN II: 652 no. 143, lines 3.8–10. 70 Cf. Zach, 1999: 299–300. 71 Zach, 1999: 300.

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Fig. 5. Berlin ÄM 2544-45 from the pylon of Beg N 6 (photos Sandra Steiß, © ÄMP Egyptian Museum and Papyrus collection). The second feature of ethnic affiliation concerns the three undulating scars incised on Amanishakheto’s cheek in the depiction of her on the righthand side of the pylon of Beg N 6 (figs. 4, 5).72 Although sometimes interpreted as a decoration in form of three uraei affixed to the band that secures her crown,73 the wavy lines most probably document three scars incised on her cheek. The depictions of two goddesses, Amesemi and Mut, with analogous markings similarly in association with a comparable ‘head band’ appear on a stela of Amanishakheto (Khartoum SNM 31338) and in a chapel built by her at Jebel Barkal (B 551). The unusual representation of a deity with scars can be explained by supposing that the goddess Amesemi in all probability is a deified former queen, thus a human being.74 Another proposal to account for these marks on the cheeks of a goddess might be that Amesemi and the goddess Mut in chapel B 551 are designed on the royal model, i.e. influenced by the (actual or desired) physical appearance of the king or queen who commissioned the object or building. Such interdependence is regularly found in Egyptian art and can be presumed for imagery in Kush as well. The feature of cheek scars on deities, however, is conspicuous for Amanishakheto’s time; it does not occur otherwise, which may be due to the sheer amount of contemporaneous documents and lack of them from other eras. Amanishakheto is not the only royal figure depicted with facial scars. King Natakamani likewise appears with three wavy lines, stylized as uraei, on the cheeks.75 It may well be that Amanishakheto and Natakamani with his mother Amanitore belonged to the same specific people or clan at home in the southern region of the Meroitic Empire.76 72

Chapman / Dunham, 1952: pl. 17; now Berlin ÄM 2244, Wildung, 1996: 304 f., cat. 322. 73 Zach, 1999: 299. The fastening band runs straight from the ear to the chin. 74 On Amesemi see Kuckertz, forthcoming b. 75 In Tabo: Jacquet-Gordon, 2005: 98, 104 fig. 5–7; in Naga 300: Gamer-Wallert, 1983: 52, sheet 7. 76 Similar facial scars are found even today with particular peoples in the Sudan, cf. Ken-

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It is nevertheless remarkable that not all depictions of Amanishakheto or Natakamani exhibit scars, but only some of them. If not indicated by paint which would not have survived in the archaeological record, the presence or absence of scars may have been occasioned by a special purpose which was important on particular occasions, but not necessary in other circumstances. Besides indicating an ethnic affiliation, scarification may have had other purposes like beautification, warding off evil spirits, medicinal or religious reasons, demarcation of sociological positions as age, status, etc.77 Both features of Queen Amanishakheto – the long fingernails and the scars – are in my opinion to be interpreted as signs of ethnic affiliation, designating members of the same people or tribe. A further topic concerning Amanishakheto must be discussed. In one document she seems to be represented and considered a deified person. Deification in Egypt is not an unusual phenomenon. After death the deceased became an Osiris, the Egyptian god of the Netherworld, thus a deified persona. Initially a royal prerogative, this transformation also became possible for humbler people starting in the Middle Kingdom, when in a sort of democratisation such beliefs were shared also by ordinary people. Deification and worship were attributed furthermore to persons who had some merits during their lifetime. Examples are certain nomarchs in the Middle Kingdom and Imhotep, the architect of King Djoser’s step pyramid at the beginning of Dynasty 3. His memory survived more than 2800 years, far into the Roman Period when he was revered as a deity.78 Deification after death must be distinguished from deification during life, which is documented only for a certain number of individuals, especially kings. The most prominent example is perhaps the Egyptian king Ramesses II, who commissioned statues depicting himself as a god alone or among other gods, and had them erected in temples in Egypt and Nubia. Amanishakheto in my opinion must likewise be put in the same category. Although deification in the Kushite culture seems not well documented, there are nevertheless indications of its existence, after rulers’ deaths but also during their lifetime.79 In general, rulers can adopt attributes of deities by means of their crowns, jewellery or garments, etc., without their being regarded themselves as deities. Their role is a divine one and imbued with a notion of divineness. As a ruling queen Amanishakheto herself personifies this divinely ordained office. She nevertheless seems to aspire to a higher or more complex degree of divinity, which is expressed dall / El-Hassan, 2016: fig. 11. 77 Cf. Ingram, 2017. Phillips (2016, 283 f.) considers scarification as indicative of social status. For facial scarification in Nubia/Sudan see Kendall, 1989: 672–680, fig. 5–8, pl. IV; Zach, 1999: 298–299; Blazynski, 2003. 78 Cf. Wildung, 1973; 1977; von Lieven, 2010; Kahl, 2012; Quack, 2014. 79 See Kuckertz, forthcoming c, chap. IX.4. Queen Amanirenase inter alia is considered as deified.

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by additional means. These are the lack of the cartouche frame around her name80 and her decided identification with a goddess in an inscription. Both are found on the stela from the hypostyle of the Amun temple in Naga (Khartoum SNM 31338, fig. 6). In the inscription on the back Amanishakheto is directly equated with a deity: “She is the goddess Makase”.81 This Meroitic goddess is hardly known; her name itself is compounded with the Meroitic word mk (maka) for “god” or “goddess” The equation with the goddess states that the queen herself is divine. Amanishakheto’s directive to create the stela leads us to conclude that such a status was expressed while she yet lived. The action of the goddess Amesemi on the front of the stela underlines the assumption that here deification during Amanishakheto’s lifetime is meant: the goddess’s gesture of touching the queen’s elbow, i.e. of electing her, is meaningful only for a living person.

Fig. 6. Stele Khartoum SNM 31338 (REM 1294), Naga, Amun temple (© Naga Project).

80

The omission of the cartouche frame is well known from Egyptian cases where it is interpreted as denoting a deified ruler, cf. Wildung, 1973: 556; Spieser, 2000: 31–32, 150. The same is accepted also for Amanishakheto, see Rilly, 2011a: 185. 81 Meroitic mk : mkse-l-o, cf. Rilly, 2011b: 494 n. 39. A (presumably Nubian) goddess Nekhesmekes/Nakhasamakase? is known from Egyptian texts, Zibelius-Chen, 2011: 160.

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Ruling queens in Meroe Classical authors have mentioned several times that the Aithiopians were ruled by a woman. They call her in Greek κανδάκη, an expression that reflects the pronunciation of the Meroitic written word kdke. Although this term in reality is a title not used for reigning figures (see below) – and/or only in combination with the kingly title qore – it is in these sources frequently associated with a ruling queen, sometimes identified as the name of the queen. A woman as ruler is remarked on by most authors because of its peculiarity in the classical world. To what extent particular features, like that of the one-eyed Candace described by Strabo, reflect reality cannot be verified. Below I use the word ‘Candace’ when classical authors are cited. The sources are conveniently accessible, with annotations, in Fontes Historiae Nubiorum II and III, edited by Tormod Eide, Thomas Hägg and László Török in 1996 and 1998. The Alexander romance (Ps. Callistenes),82 the earliest version of which is Hellenistic, comprises i.a. the exchange of letters between Queen Candace and Alexander the Great. It contains reports about precious gifts and exotic animals from the Meroitic queen as well as a journey of Alexander to Meroe where he visits the royal palace and temples. The romance’s information is based on other sources such as Herodotus and further Hellenistic literary works. Whether historical events are reflected in this story of diplomatic contacts with Meroe as well as by the Aithiopian embassy to Alexander in 324 BC, mentioned in the Anabasis (7.15.4) of the historian Arrian (85–90–after145/146 AD), cannot be proven.83 Bion of Soloi, living in the early 3rd century BC presumably in the time of Ptolemy II, wrote several books of a history called Aithiopika; his account is lost to us, but was cited in later works, i.a. by Pliny the Elder. In the first book of the Aithiopika (cited in Schol. Act. Apost. 8.27), Bion refers to the Candace as follows: “The Aithiopians do not reveal who are the fathers of their kings, but these are traditionally regarded as sons of the sun. The mother of each king they call Candace”.84 Bion himself had visited Aithiopia in the course of his life (Pliny, Nat. Hist. 6.183). This same passage is repeated almost word for word in a 6th century commentary (Ps.-Oecumenius, Comm. On Act. Apost.12 ad 8.27),85 which also includes references to women rulers in Aithiopia and to the treasurer of the Candace who converted to Christianity (see below): “Women ruled Aithiopia, and this Candace was also one in their line of succession; and the eunuch was her keeper of the royal treasuries. It should be known that Candace is what the Aithiopians call every mother of a king since the Aithiopians do not refer to the father, but these are traditionally regarded as sons of the sun. The mother of each king they call Candace.” 82

FHN II: no. 85, p. 503 ff. Török, 2009: 378 f. 84 FHN II: no. 105. 85 FHN II: no. 106. 83

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The historian and geographer Strabo (c. 63 BC–after 23 AD) in the early 1st century AD wrote an account of the war between the Romans and Meroites mentioned above (Geogr. XVII, 1.53–54).86 He reports that at the time of the battle at Dakka in 25 BC, the Meroites were ruled by a queen, a manly figure who had lost one eye. Strabo had travelled to Egypt in 25/24 BC, accompanying the (2nd) prefect of Egypt L. Aelius Gallus. He thus presumably had rather fresh information which is underscored by remarks like “Queen Candace, who ruled the Aithiopians in my time”. In his account he also states that, after the Romans captured Qasr Ibrim, they tried to proceed under the command of C. Publius Petronius (3rd prefect of Egypt) to Napata: “This was Candace’s royal seat and her son was there; she herself had taken residence in a place nearby”. It is now generally accepted in Meroitic studies that the Romans never reached Napata and that the campaign’s endpoint in all probability was reported for propagandistic reasons only. In a later stage of the conflict, presumably in year 22 BC, the Candace is said to have proceeded once more to re-occupy Qasr Ibrim which had been held for two years by Roman troops. But the army of Petronius arrived first and peace negotiations started soon after. Cassius Dio (c. 155/163–235 AD) in the 3rd century refers to the same event and the same Candace (Roman History 54.5.4–6).87 As stated above, the ruling queen at the time of the Romano-Meroitic conflict was presumably Amanirenase who assumed rulership after the death of King Teriteqase (around 25 BC). The report of Pliny the Elder (23–79 AD) on Nero’s expedition(s) in the years between 61 and 63 AD (Naturalis Historia 6.186)88 also speaks about a ruling queen: “A woman, Candace, ruled. This name has been passed from queen to queen for many years”. The Candace mentioned here is usually identified with Amanitore, the mother of King Natakamani. She herself, bearing the Meroitic title kdke, was not ruling, but her appearance was quasi royal and she was omnipresent in her son’s buildings and stelae. Clearly, an outsider could have had the impression that she was a ruler. Another option for the queen at the time of Nero’s expedition(s) would be Queen Amanikhatashan.89 Lucius Annaeus Seneca (c. 4 BC– AD 65), presumably with reference to the same event of Nero’s expedition (Nat. Quaest. VI.8.3),90 speaks instead of a king of the Aithiopians, not a queen. This 86

FHN III: no. 190. The campaign of the 3rd Roman prefect in Egypt against the Meroites is mentioned also in the Res Gestae Divi Augusti 26.5 (FHN II: no. 166). On the son of the Candace, see above with note 33. 87 FHN III: no. 205. 88 FHN III: no. 206. Discussions exist whether one or two expeditions took place: on behalf of the different rulers by Pliny and Seneca (see the following passage) two expeditions were favoured (cf. op. cit.: 895). F. Hintze (1959: 29) assumes a first expedition under king Amanitenmomide, the second under queen Amanikhatashan. 89 See preceding note 87. 90 FHN III: no. 209.

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likewise may be explained in view of the joint rule of Natakamani and Amanitore where the first and foremost was definitely the male ruler. A passage in the Acts of Apostles (8.26–28),91 dating c. 60–100 AD, describes the conversion to Christianity of a treasurer of Candace: “a eunuch who was a high-ranking official at the court of Candace, the queen of Aithiopia, and in charge of all her treasure”. The historicity of the event is doubted; taking it as the date of Nubia’s Christianisation has been refuted. A remark by Eusebius of Caesarea in the 4th century about the queens of Ethiopia (Hist. ecclesiastica 2.1.13)92 goes back to this passage in the Acts of Apostles. He cites : “… some divine agency brought from the land of the Aithiopians a high-ranking official of the queen there (that people is still today by ancestral custom ruled by a woman).” Based on these reports of classical authors, two chronologically defined powerful Meroitic women can be distinguished. The first is ruling Queen Amanirenase, who was active during the Romano-Meroitic conflict between 25 and 21/20 BC. The second is with high probability the mother of King Natakamani, the kandake Amanitore, alive around 61/63 AD. The title kandake with the meaning of King’s Mother is definitely older, as the report of Bion of Soloi from the 3rd century BC shows. This early classical source definitely lacks any indication that these kandakes were ruling queens. Meroitic title kandake Contrary to the comments of classical authors, the word kandake – written kdke, ktke, kdwe, ktwe in Meroitic, qntjgj/kntjkj in Egyptian Demotic script and hieroglyphs, κανδάκη in Greek – does not signify a ruling queen in the Meroitic realm and is in fact documented in association with only few women.93 The meaning of the title is not definitively established; the often proposed connection with a word for woman or sister is invalid. Up for discussion are the meanings King’s Mother, King’s Sister, Mother of the Crown Prince, or King’s Wife. The most probable assumption is that it designates the mother of the king. Here, the reference in the Aithiopika of Bion of Soloi from the 3rd century BC is crucial: “The mother of each king they call Candace. Unclear is whether the title ‘Mother of the King’ refers to the actual ruler or is to be understood progressively as denoting the mother of the heir and future king. This touches another serious problem: we are not sure about the modes of succession rules that come into effect in Kushite kingship. Discussed are patrilinear, matrilinear and collateral succession systems as

91

FHN III: no. 194. See also the 6th century AD commentary (Ps.-Oecumenius, Comm. On Act. Apost.12 ad 8.27), mentioned above (with note 84). 92 FHN III: no. 294. 93 For the title cf. Hofmann, 1977a; Török in FHN II: 510; Zibelius-Chen, 2011: 242 f.: Rilly, 2017: 230, 234 f.

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well as election and adoption or a mixture of them.94 The importance of the title “Mother of the King” is revealed by texts of the preceding Napatan Period. The king’s mother, with the Egyptian title mw.t njsw.t and being compared to the goddess Isis, had an important role vis-à-vis the legitimacy of her son, the “Living Horus” on the pharaonic throne.95 Her role is grounded in the mythological story of Isis hiding and rearing her son Horus in the delta marshes and thus securing his succession of his father Osiris. Also discussed is whether the term “mother” designates the biological mother, who bore the king, or whether it describes a social role that could also be performed by women not consanguineous to the king. The title kandake is definitely known for only three women in the first centuries BC and AD, Amanirenase, Amanishakheto and Amanitore. These kandakes are not ruling queens except when also possessing the kingly title qore, which is the case with Amanirenase and Amanishakheto. Amanirenase was kandake in the time of her predecessor and retains this title when becoming qore. Amanishakheto is always documented with both titles; she nowhere appears just as kandake alone. Amanitore, the mother of Natakamani, is documented with the title kandake alone, but not as qore. Her appearance, however, better suits a more superior role (see further below). For ruling queens like Nahirqo, Shanakdakhete and others (see the list below) the title is only conjectured in scholarship, but not recorded so far on any document. Browsing the affiliations of kings in the Meroitic Period in order to look for possible title-holders, only a few kings’ mothers can be detected.96 Besides Amanitore, none of the women mentioned bears the title kandake. The female qore Nawidemak, whose son Amanikhabale definitely ascended the throne, also does not bear it. With the exception of Nawidemak and Amanitore, the others are not documented by further monuments. Some early queens, i.e. kings’ wives, hitherto considered to bear the title kandake,97 must be definitely excluded; their names were erroneously interpreted as the respective title. It is, however, most likely that additional kandakes existed, at least in later times. In the late Meroitic Period of the 2nd/3rd to 4th century AD, administrative 94

The different theories of succession are discussed inter alia by Morkot, 1999; Lohwasser, 2000; 2001a: 246–256; Kahn, 2005; Saito, 2015. The systems describe the succession of a usually male descendant (mostly a son) from the line of the father (patrilinear) or the mother (matrilinear), or the successor being a sibling or descendant of a sibling (collateral). Kahn (2005) opts for a patrilinear system in which only under unforeseen circumstances other solutions can be chosen. 95 Kormysheva, 1999; Lohwasser, 2001a: 282, 324–327. 96 List in Zach, 1992: 90, based on their mentioning on royal offering tables. Amanitore as mother of Natakamani must be added; to the recently re-evaluated graffiti at Dakka, see above note 66. 97 Zach, 1992: 85 f., fig. 6. It concerns the Late Napatan / Early Meroitic royal women Bartare/Karatari, buried in Beg S 10 and Sartin/Kanarata-Reqenem, buried in Beg S 4. Quoted are here the traditional and the renewed reading of their names.

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titles including the term kandake are documented in inscriptions on stelae and offering tables in Lower Nubia.98 These offices (e.g. mareperi [major domus?], sasimete or maseqorose) reflect perhaps agricultural domains of a kandake, or possibly fiscal- or trade-related functions connected with them.99 Such titles are indicative of properties of (a) kandake(s) in Lower Nubia which supplied goods or income for their owner. Amanitore – a special case? The kandake Amanitore, the mother of Natakamani, is so overwhelmingly in the focus of scholarly research that her actions and appearance, as well as her pervasive presence, are often taken as the most meaningful example of a ruling queen. But caution is called for. Amanitore does not bear the Meroitic kingly title qore and in most of her documentation she only accompanies her son Natakamani, always in secondary position. It is speculated that she executed the office of qore for a short time, perhaps as a regent for a son too young to reign;100 but that she bore this title is based on very fragile assumptions. In general, Amanitore is documented as enjoying an extraordinary status. Like her son she is equipped with a throne name (Mery-ka Re), and both her names are encircled by a cartouche. Some of her titles written in Egyptian hieroglyphs above the cartouches are royal: “Daughter-of-Re, Mistress of the Diadems, Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt (njsw.t bj.t), Mistress of the Two Lands”101 as well as “female pharaoh”in the Demotic graffito Dakka 17. These titles, however, are no clear proof of her status: The use of Egyptian royal titles in the Meroitic era is indeed not confined to reigning monarchs. They are borne, for example, by Akinidad who never became king or by two princes in the retinue of Natakamani and Amanitore – Arikankharor and Arakakhataror –as heirs to the throne, but before being appointed king; they both died untimely. Amanitore’s external appearance is that of a ruler with the regalia of state (crowns, tasselled cord, royal sash) and the distinctive jewellery (chain of large beads, necklace with Amun-amulets). Her actions also illustrate the duties of a ruler: she kills prisoners and defends against chaos (pylon temple Naga 300), she bears arms and receives such in a scene in her tomb (Beg N 1). She acts as priestess in religious scenes similar to the king whom she accompanies (adoring and offering to the deities), unlike earlier Napatan royal women who officiate only with sistrum-playing or libating. She even receives a crown (relief in the Amun temple in Naga). Although it is tempting to evaluate Amanitore’s multiple sources 98

See Millet, 1981: 137–138. Mareperi of the kandake: REM 1031, REM 1963 (cf. FHN III: 1075 f.), sasimete of the kandake (cf. FHN II: 735); maseqorose of the kandake (cf. Millet, 1981: 131). 99 Millet, 1981: 138; Zach, 1992: 83–84. 100 Zach, 2001. 101 Vrtal, 2015. The title njsw.t bj.t is the usual Egyptian title for a king and ruler.

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when discussing Meroitic queens, it seems inappropriate to consider her appearance a model for ruling Meroitic queens in general. Amanitore and Natakamani are more exceptions in Meroitic rulership than the “norm”. Although the familial relationship of Amanitore and Natakamani has now become clear, the reasons for their joint appearance are still not understood. It is speculated that Amanitore was the actual carrier of the hereditary principle and that she was the factual vehicle of succession which obliged her son Natakamani to portray her constantly together with him.102 Due to the undetermined status of the concrete meaning of kdke it seems to me for now preferable to consider it simply as a title, without drawing too narrow historical conclusions concerning the question for whom a kandake was relevant – i.e. to whom she was married or who her offspring was.103 The high-ranking title for royal females definitely concerns women who were closely related to reigning kings and who in turn sometimes became a ruler themselves. All interpretations cited here have in common that the titles mw.t njsw.t, sn.t njsw.t or kdke have something to do with the transmission of the right to rule. A number of ruling queens are known to us from the Meroitic Period.104 It must be mentioned beforehand that rulership in the Kushite Kingdoms from the 8th/7th century BC to the mid-4th century AD is first and foremost a male prerogative, usually and in most cases inherited from the father.105 Examples of female rulers before the Meroitic era are inconclusive. Sakhmakh, the wife of King Nastasen, is once labelled nsw, the Egyptian word meaning king, and is equipped with a Horus-name, one of the five elements of a ruler’s titulary.106 She assumed the higher role perhaps after the death of her husband. A female ruler may have existed in Kush during the Middle Kingdom. She is known through an Egyptian inscription that refers to foreign rulers; the territory where she ruled unfortunately cannot be located precisely and may have been outside the Nile valley.107 The ruling queens of the Meroitic Period are buried, like the kings and some other high-ranking figures, either at Jebel Barkal or in the northern cemetery of Meroe. Indicative to the identification as monarch are their iconography (jewellery, royal regalia, and cartouches), the structure of their tombs (three burial 102

Cf. Zach, 2001; Kuckertz, forthcoming a. On their temple building program see Kuckertz, 2019. 103 As the exact meaning of the title kandake is not assured, deductions of exact relationships must be considered as highly speculative. 104 Queenship in Kush is discussed by Lohwasser, 2001a; 2001c, who primarily is concerned with the Napatan Period. The subject “Queenship” includes also non-ruling queens, i.e. the wives or mothers of the king. 105 See above with note 94 for the different succession modes discussed for the Kushite Kingdoms. 106 Lohwasser, 2001a: 57, 181 f., 344. 107 A female ruler (Hq[A]t) with name Satjyt is mentioned in an execration text, Morkot, 2012: 119; Phillips, 2016: 288; Lohwasser / Phillips, 2021: 1016.

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chambers) and/or the Meroitic title for king qore, which is applied to sovereigns, regardless of their sex. It does not occur in every case, which is presumably due to the sparseness of documents. Some of the Meroitic ruling queens are equipped with Egyptian royal titles, which seem equivalent to the Meroitic title qore. This, however, is not a clear proof as the Egyptian royal titles had lost much of their weight and relevance.108 In the following list the ruling queens are enumerated with a possible identification of their tombs, as well as their dating. The sequence of Kushite rulers is not always settled conclusively; the continuing debate cannot be discussed in detail here. Therefore, different possible dates are given for some queens.109 I do not follow C. Rilly’s assumption110 that Shanakdakhete and Amanishakheto are one and the same person. Indicated is also whether the tomb chapels included relief scenes and if titles or iconographic features point to identification as a ruler. In some cases a male figure accompanies the ruling queen. Nahirqo, first half of 2nd cent. BC111 presumably tomb Beg N 11 (Dunham, 1957: 72–73; Chapman / Dunham, 1952: pl. 7A–B, 8, 9, 25C–E; Näser 1996); with male figure in tomb and at statue CG 684 (see below); royal iconography in tomb and statue. Unknown queen, end of 2nd–first half of 1st cent. BC112 tomb Bar 8 (Dunham, 1957: 59–62113) with three subterranean chambers (royal type).

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Cf. Vrtal, 2015, 482: “… it is far from clear whether they were not rather understood as mere symbols.” See above on Akinidad with note 34 and the passage on Amanitore. 109 Current king lists with (often differing) dates are found in Welsby, 1996; Török, 2015; Rilly, 2017: 120–122. To the list here is added the attribution to a generation which is based on Reisner’s and Dunham’s work on the Kushite royal tombs (cf. Dunham, 1957: 2–8) and which was fundamental to the majority of the older king lists. 110 Rilly, 2011a: 183–185; 2017: 230, 261–263. 111 Rilly, 2017: 121; Dunham, 1957: generation 36; on the different datings of Nahirqo lying between 186 and 150 BC cf. Hofmann, 1978: 70, 73. On the attribution of Beg N 11 to Shanakdakhete, op. cit.: 74–79. See below with note 129 on the attribution of Beg N 11 to queen Nahirqo instead of Shanakdakhete. 112 Rilly, 2017: 121; Dunham, 1957: generation 32 (1). 113 The sandstone group, presumably attached in the niche in the (destroyed) chapel (Dunham, 1957: pl. XXXVIII B, now MFA Boston), depicts a figure of Osiris flanked by two goddesses; a female figure in profile appears at the left side of the group holding the hand of the adjoining goddess. A winged sun disk appears above her head. The tomb owner is said to be a queen, but the group statue is ambivalent in depicting Osiris (representing the tomb owner?) as well as the female figure at the side to whom the winged sun disk gives a certain emphasis. The attribution of the tomb to a male ruler was discussed, but Hofmann (1978: 62–68) likewise assumes a ruling queen, dating her in the mid-2nd century BC.

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Shanakdakhete, middle or end of 2nd century BC / first half of 1st cent. AD114 perhaps tomb Beg N 21 (Dunham, 1957: 83–85; for attribution cf. Yellin, 2014: 80 f. with fig. 6A); cf. FHN II: no. 148; with male figure in temple Naga 500 (Hintze, 1959: 36–39, figs. 6–7, pls. III–VIII); royal iconography in tomb, Egyptian titles in Naga 500. Nawidemak, 1st century BC / first half of 1st cent. AD115 tomb Bar 6 (Dunham, 1957: 97–100; Chapman / Dunham, 1952: pl. 13A– B); title qore on the base of a gold statuette116 and royal iconography, cf. FHN III: no. 186. Amanirenase, second half of 1st cent. BC117 presumably tomb Bar 4 (Dunham, 1957: 86–89; Chapman / Dunham, 1952: pl. 13C–D); with male figure (Akinidad) on other documents (cf. FHN II: no. 175); titles kdke, qore and royal iconography. Amanishakheto, end of 1st cent. BC–beginning of 1st cent. AD118 tomb Beg N 6 (Dunham, 1957: 106–111; Chapman / Dunham, 1952: pl. 16–17, 27E); with male figure (Akinidad); Meroitic titles qore, kdke, Egyptian royal titles119 and royal iconography, cf. FHN II: no. 177 and the preceding article. Amanikhatashan, first half of 2nd cent. AD120 tomb Beg N 18 (Dunham, 1957: 146–153; Chapman / Dunham, 1952: pl. 21D); Egyptian royal titles121 and royal iconography, cf. FHN III: no. 225. 114

Rilly, 2017: 121. His dating in AD rests on his equation of Shanakdakhete with Amanishakheto. Older positions had put her in the middle or the end of the 2nd cent. BC, so i.a. Dunham, 1957: generation 40. 115 On the dating in the 1st century BC cf. Hofmann, 1978: 83, 102; Dunham, 1957: generation 44. The position of queen Nawidemak in the list of Merotic rulers is questioned. Some scholars see her (and her son Amanikhabale) as having lived before Teriteqase. Others assume a later date and even consider them following Amanishakheto, see the discussion in Kuckertz, forthcoming a. Rilly (2017: 121) puts her in the first half of the 1st cent. AD. 116 Khartoum SNM 5457 (statuette) and Allen Memorial Art Museum, Oberlin, Ohio (base, REM 1089), see Wenig, 1978: 216, cat 137; on the history of the statuette Rilly, 2017: 264, 267. 117 Rilly, 2017: 121; Dunham, 1957: generation 41. 118 Rilly, 2017: 121 = Shanakdakhete; Dunham, 1957: generation 46. 119 Vrtal, 2015: 467 f. 120 Rilly, 2017: 122; Dunham, 1957: generation 55. On the different datings in the second half of the 1st and beginning of the 2nd century AD cf. Hofmann, 1978: 135 f. 121 Vrtal, 2015: 479.

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Unknown queen, mid-2nd to mid-3rd cent. AD122 tomb Beg N 32 (Dunham, 1957: 178–179; Chapman / Dunham, 1952: pl. 23A–C); royal iconography. Unknown queen, beginning of 4th cent. AD123 tomb Beg N 26 (Dunham, 1957: 196–197; Chapman / Dunham, 1952: pl. 23G); royal iconography. According to this list at least nine Meroitic ruling queens existed in the time between the end of the 2nd century BC and the beginning of the 4th century AD.124 A ruling queen seems to be mentioned as domina regina (Lady Queen) also in a traveller’s graffito (in Latin, CIL III 83) found inscribed on a wall at Musawwarat es Sufra.125 The inscription is dated to the end of the 3rd to first half of the 4th century AD, thus to the period of the fading Meroitic Empire, and bears witness to direct diplomatic or commercial contacts between Rome and Meroe. This queen may or may not be the women in the list who was buried in Beg N 26.126 We have only scant information on most of the last rulers of the Meroitic Period, of whom often enough neither a tomb nor even their number is known to us. Some of the queens mentioned are accompanied by a male person who must have had certain relevance although difficult to ascertain. In the reliefs of their tombs (Beg N 6 and Beg N 11) Amanishakheto and Nahirqo are accompanied by a male person who sits behind the queen and touches her crown(-streamers) – a gesture reminiscent of the coronation.127 The impressive tomb Beg N 11 with two pylons and courts, but lacking inscriptional identification, has been ascribed by scholars to Shanakdakhete. But recent re-evaluation has questioned her ownership and attributes the tomb with good arguments to Queen Nahirqo, who lived in the first half of the 2nd century BC.128 An uninscribed statue group of a queen with a man at her side similarly touching the crown (CG 684) was found in Meroe. Usually also attributed to Queen Shanakdakhete, it is now likewise ascribed to Nahirqo.129 The next in the series is ruling Queen Shanakdakhete who is shown ac122

Dunham, 1957: generation 62; Rilly, 2017: 201, 295 f. He attributes the tomb to Amanakhalika, the wife of king Tarekeniwal, dated to the second half of the 2nd century AD. On the different datings of the tomb owner cf. Hofmann, 1978: 150. 123 Rilly, 2017: 122; Dunham, 1957: generation 71. The tomb is attributed tentatively to a queen with name Patra[…]peamani (Hofmann, 1978: 185 ff.) which in fact is the name of a local ruler at Meroe. 124 The deceased buried in Beg N 25 (Dunham, 1957: 198 f., generation 72) is sometimes referred to as ruling queen. The attribution, however, is based on unsafe interpretation of relief traces, cf. Hofmann, 1978: 181 f. 125 Lajtar / Van der Vliet, 2006. 126 So also Rilly, 2017: 319. 127 Chapman / Dunham, 1952: pl. 7, 16. 128 Rilly, 2011a: 183–184; 2017: 229 f., 261; Yellin, 2014: 81–82. 129 Ascription to Shanakdakhete: i.a. Wenig, 1978: 212–213, cat. 135. Nahirqo: Rilly,

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companied by and officiating with a male person in temple Naga 500.130 As mentioned above, Queen Amanirenase, having become qore after the death of Teriteqase, was supported in many activities by Akinidad who had been active in the time of her predecessor and still served Amanishakheto for a time. Several interpretations may be cited for the presence of a male figure, who can appear in a costume which is otherwise found with crown princes or presumed heirs. One proposal suggests that to be a full-fledged monarch a female ruler needed a male component. To rule competently each male ruler needed his mother and/or his wife as female component, so a female ruler was in need of the male component to execute her office.131 Some scholars identify the male figure as the heir himself who had been chosen as successor of the queen.132 Yet another interpretation more concretely refers to a ruling queen being a female in a purely male office. A male member of the royal house was needed to ensure the correctness and rightfulness of the queen’s taking over the office of qore. The women (wives or daughters of a king) might have acquired rulership for a husband who died or for a crown prince or a successor too young to reign. Questionable origin may have been another reason for a male backing the queen. If from a different familyclan than the predecessor and as an outsider she may have been in need of someone to assure her legitimacy. That may have been the case with Amanishakheto, as is perhaps indicated by erasures in her tomb chapel mentioned above.133 Although what occurred and when these obliterations were made is as yet not fully understood, it is clear that several of the figures were carefully cut away. The most likely interpretation seems to be that the successor of Amanishakheto was perhaps of another branch of royal aspirants to the throne. Amanishakheto herself may have been from a different clan, who in the beginning of her reign needed someone, i.e Akinidad, to secure her rulership.134 The male person behind the queen is regarded as the one who definitely had the real political power.135 Especially the Meroitic title kandake / “Mother of the King” has led to the assumption that the ruling queens of Meroe took over the office of qore when a successor to the throne was too young to rule and especially when a supposed heir died prematurely.136 This assumption, however, cannot be substantiated in most cases by identifying a specific heir. According to this theory Amanishakheto must 2017: 229. 130 Hintze, 1959: 36–39, pls. III–VIII. 131 Lohwasser, 2001a: 341–344. 132 Zach, 1992: 94; Kendall, 1989: 666. Török (2015: 85) assumes them to be deceased princes. 133 See above with note 50. 134 See Kuckertz, forthcoming a. 135 Zach, 1992: 109; 2014. 136 Kahn, 2005; 2013; Zach, 2001: 513; Török, 2015: 79; Rilly, 2017: 234 f.

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have had a son and heir who died and in whose place she ascended to the throne.137 Female rulership in Meroe is thus interpreted as an unforeseen feature when royal women were regents exercising power in exceptional circumstances. The regency of women for young heirs is well known also from Egypt. That their regency sometimes developed into rulership is documented by the ruling queens Hatshepsut138 in Dynasty 18 and Tausret in Dynasty 20; both adopted an otherwise male royal office.139 It is nevertheless astonishing that in a relatively short period of c.150–200 years at least five ruling queens are documented (Shanakdakhete, Nawidemak, Amanirenase, Amanishakheto and Amanikhatashan) who together with Amanitore represent a strong female element in Meroitic rulership. In the revised king lists of C. Rilly and L. Török with their different dating of Shanakdakhete and Nawidemak an even shorter time span of about 100–150 years for so many ruling queens is envisaged.140 Resumee Ruling Queen Amanishakheto is one of the best-known women of the Meroitic Empire. She lived around the turn of the millennia, sometime after the RomanoMeroitic war (25–20/21 BC) and during the principate of Augustus. She is documented by stelae and her building program reaching from Qasr Ibrim in the north to Naga and Wad Ben Naga in the south. Conspicuous are the many elaborate pieces of jewellery from her burial at Meroe, which in the 19th century found their way into European museums. Amanishakheto, bearing the royal title qore, definitely was the sovereign at the head of the Empire, who in the beginning of her rulership had to rely on an important man in her retinue. A short survey of the female rulers in the Meroitic Period reveals that all in all, nine ruling queens are known from the end of the 2nd century BC up to the 4th century AD. Although the title kandake was often erroneously taken as denoting a ruling queen, its meaning is not yet definitely established. In fact, only three 137

Rilly, 2017: 235, 253 f. In his interpretation of the title kandake as regent for an immature son, Rilly assumes that Amanishakheto was a wife of Teriteqase (Rilly, 2017: 253 f.; similarly Török, 1997: 456). The son and heir, in his opinion, is depicted on two rings of Amanishakheto’s jewellery (Berlin ÄM 1711, 1747). But the child’s identity on these ring plates is not settled: Lohwasser (2001b: 287 f.) assumes that Amanishakheto herself is depicted as the royal child whom her mother presents to the god Amun, her divine father (on ÄM 1711), and to the king, her husband (on ÄM 1747, for this ring see Kuckertz, forthcoming a). 138 On Hatshepsut see D. Warburton, this volume. 139 Cf. Lohwasser, 2001a: 284, 286. For the few other Egyptian queens known (Early Dynastic Period to New Kingdom, cf. Kahn, 2005: 150) can likewise be stated that they officiated in special situations, in most cases when the husband had died and no adult male heir was available. 140 Török in a lecture in 2014 has called it “the period of female rulers”.

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Cornelia A Powerful Woman Kordula Schnegg

1. Introduction1 CORNELIA AFRICANI F(ILIA) / GRACCHORUM2 --- In this much quoted inscription the two essential family markings of Cornelia are listed. Cornelia is first identified as the daughter of the famous P. Cornelius Scipio Africanus and her connection with the Gracchi is mentioned. In most scholarly writings, the second indication is more closely defined with Cornelia’s role as mother of the two politically important sons, Tiberius and Gaius, and consequently translated as “mother of the Gracchi”.3 In this manner, Cornelia is remembered for the achievements of her father and those of her sons. The inscription also clearly shows the linking of two families from different gentes. With her marriage to Ti. Sempronius Gracchus, Cornelia became the hinge between the old Patrician lineage of the Cornelii Scipiones and the Plebeian lineage of the Sempronii Gracchi.4 Both lineages, especially in their notable branches – the Scipiones on the one hand and the Gracchi on the other – belonged to the Roman political elite in the second century BC. Members of both lineages held high offices, and celebrated military victories and triumphs. Cornelia came from a familia with an exceptionally high ancestral capital and married into a familia with a slightly smaller, but still very substantial ancestral capital.5 Cornelia, situated at the heart of this entwining of families, thus, belonged to the most exclusive circle in Rome. It is the reason she became visible on the political stage in Rome and that she became part of political communication in the Roman Republic and finally also part of Roman history, in which she is remembered as a powerful woman. The advantages, obligations, and challenges Cornelia had because of her familial background will be discussed in the following. Cornelia as a representative of the Roman elite will be placed in the political field of the Roman Republic, and her possibilities for actions, her relations and interactions will be discussed.6 In order to do this, it is necessary to illuminate the position of Cornelia in her natal

1

I thank Stefanie Hoss for correcting the English version of the text, and for her advice. CIL VI 31610. 3 The addition of mother of the Gracchi makes sense with regard to the note in Plut. C. Gracch. 4.3, where the statue and the inscription are mentioned; see also Plin. NH 34.31. 4 The gens Cornelia belonged to the gentes maiores, cf. Livy 2.21.7; Münzer, 1992a; 1992b. 5 About the social capital of the maiores see Flaig, 22004: 55–56. 6 Flaig, 22004 and 2011 (based on Bourdieuʼs concept of political field). 2

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family as well as in the nuptial family. This makes it possible to sketch Cornelia in her social destiny as a daughter, a wife, a mother and a mother-in-law. Cornelia’s influence on the policy of her sons is examined with the help of a fragment of a letter and the marriages of her children. Finally, the Nachleben of Cornelia will also be outlined. In contrast to almost all other Roman women, Cornelia was stylized into the ideal image of a mother in Western history. In this function, Cornelia had an impact that lasted many centuries. Her figure was used in an idealized manner by modern authors and artists, who took their inspiration from ancient literature. Here, Cornelia is increasingly detached from the historical context and formed into a personified virtue. However, these biographical and political considerations, as well as the history of reception of the figure of Cornelia, will have to be preceded by some thoughts on methodology. 2. Sources and methodology Three main challenges require a clear methodological approach in order to present Cornelia historically. These are the following: (1) Ancient information about Cornelia is scarce, resulting in our inability to write a balanced biography. The quality of ancient texts illuminating the life of Cornelia is varying. The texts have different structures related to their various genres, and they follow different traditions (for instance, with a pro- or anti-Gracchan view). Cornelia is treated anecdotally (for instance by Valerius Maximus, Pliny the Elder, Martial, Juvenal) or exemplarily (e.g. by Cicero, Quintilian); she is mentioned as an agent in various historical or biographical narratives (e.g. by Livy, Polybius, Plutarch, Appian). The only preserved writing that may be by her own hand, the fragment of a letter attributed to Cornelia, is the subject of controversy in scholarship. Due its manner of transmission, its historical interpretation is difficult, opening up questions on authenticity and intention writing. With the inscription cited at the beginning, however, a significant epigraphic testimony is preserved that points to the power of Cornelia. All in all, the sources available to us permit only a partial illumination of the historical person. For this reason, this essay focuses on the political field in which Cornelia stood and acted, discussing her as a member of the gens Cornelia and as a part of the family of Ti. Sempronius Gracchus. Her possibilities for political action are outlined through her family relationships. (2) The memories of Cornelia recorded in contemporary literature are determined by the socio-political discourse of the Roman elite, which increasingly turns Cornelia into a timeless, ahistorical exemplum. Suzanne

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Dixon states, for example, that Cornelia is made a “faceless example”7; a fact tangible for the first time in the writings of Cicero.8 This de-individualization of Cornelia, which went hand-in-hand with the charging up of her figure with symbolism, most likely began with the politics of her son Gaius.9 For a large part, the history of Cornelia can only be discussed through the politically and ideologically charged memories of her. Her own intentions, motivations, and political goals, which would let her stand out as an individual person acting autonomously, remain largely hidden. However, the memories and traditions of Cornelia draw attention to the power of this figure, a power that was already visible during her lifetime. (3) Furthermore, the extent of scholarly research on Cornelia’s life by now is hardly manageable. In the last three decades alone, numerous studies have been produced which describe Cornelia as woman of “flesh-andblood” from different perspectives.10 In this context, Cornelia’s fertility is treated as well as the supposedly mother-son-relation Cornelia and Gaius.11 Cornelia’s life, her influence on politics, and her education will be examined with a source-critical eye.12 The authenticity of the letter fragment attributed to Cornelia, will also be discussed.13 This paper deals with the question of Cornelia’s power and influence on the contemporary politics of the Roman Republic, using the theoretical approach of discourse-analytical gender studies.14 For this, gender relations are analysed as power relations that organize all parts of life: politics as well as economy and the family. Power is not only defined as institutional violence, but, following Michel Foucault, also as a finely woven net of unequal relations that run vertically and horizontally through social space.15

7

Dixon, 2007: 60. The concern for the education of her sons is quoted as an exemplary behaviour, cf. Cic. Brut. 211; Quint. Inst. 1.1.6; Tac. Dial. 28. 9 In this context, Cornelia functions as “feminized, featureless figure”, cf. Dixon, 2007: 60. On the instrumentalisation of Cornelia for Gaius’ policy see Plut. C. Gracch. 4.3–4; Burckhardt / Ungern-Sternberg, 1994: 117 and below. 10 Dixon, 2007: 60. 11 On fertility and the physical challenges of numerous pregnancies see, for example, Petrocelli, 1994. A psychological interpretation of the relationship between Cornelia and Gaius is offered, for instance, by Hallett, 2004; Hallett, 2006; Hallett, 2010. 12 Dixon, 2007; Burckhardt / Ungern-Sternberg, 1994; Hemelrijk, 1999: 64–71. 13 Cf. Instinsky, 1971; Wirth, 1994: 447–449; Hallett, 2004; Hallett, 2009; Hallett, 2010: 357–364. 14 Scott, 1986; Scott, 1988: 28–50; Scott, 2001; Scott, 2008. 15 Foucault, 1976: 114–123; Scott, 1986: 1067. 8

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3. Cornelia, member of the Cornelii Scipiones Looking at Cornelia’s family origins, the high social prestige of this Roman woman becomes strikingly obvious. Her background made her a valuable person for political alliances via marriage.16 As already mentioned, Cornelia was born into a distinguished Patrician family. Her father was none other than P. Cornelius Scipio with the cognomen Africanus, consul in 205 and 194 BC, censor in 199 BC, appointed as princeps senatus in 199, 194 and 189 BC, victor over Hannibal, participated in the victory over the Seleucid king Antiochus III, and multiple Triumphator.17 Cornelia’s mother was Aemilia Paulla.18 She also came from a distinguished Patrician lineage, the gens Aemilia. Her familia brought forth several very successful politicians. Her father was L. Aemilius Paullus (cos. 219, 216 BC), who died in the battle of Cannae (216 BC).19 Her brother, L. Aemilius Paullus with the cognomen Macedonicus (cos. 182, 168 BC), was the winner of the battle of Pydna (168 BC).20 The relation between him and Aemilia was probably very close throughout their lives, if one looks at the entanglement by marriage and adoption between the domus Africani and domus Aemilii.21 The ancient sources tell us that Aemilia Paulla was well educated, that she was very loyal to her husband; but also that she knew how to show off her social prestige and prosperity.22 Cornelia had two brothers, Publius and Lucius, as well as an on older sister, Cornelia maior. Several indications in the ancient texts suggest that Scipio Africanus and Aemilia Paulla created an educationally friendly environment for their children. For example, the sources emphasise the education and impressive eloquence of Publius.23 Cornelia is also described as well educated, although mainly in connection with her role as “mother of the Gracchi”. A family like the one of Scipio Africanus offered both the male and female offspring the best conditions to act in the social-political arena each in the roles marked for their gender. The prestige that was united in Scipio Africanus and 16

Cf. Flaig, 22004: 62–66; Münzer, 1992c (including a comprehensive overview of the ancient sources). 17 Cf. Henze, 1992 (including a comprehensive overview of the ancient sources); Schwarte, 2000. 18 In Val. Max. 6.7.1 Aemilia is named with the cognomen Tertia; cf. Harders, 2008: 103. 19 Livy 22.35.1–3; Polyb. 3.106–107. 20 L. Aemilius Paullus had two of his sons adopted (Fabius Aemilianus, Scipio Aemilianus) to enable all four sons to have a political career. The adoptive families financially supported the careers of the two adopted sons, while he financially backed the remaining two. It is noteworthy that L. Aemilius Paullus continued to take care of the education of all his sons even the adopted ones. Cf. Flaig, 2000: 134–136; Zahrnt, 2000; Harders, 2008: 108–118. 21 For the sibling relationship in detail, see Harders, 2008: 108–118. 22 Polyb. 31.26.3–6; 31.28; Val. Max. 6.7.1; Plut. Aem.6.4–5. Cf. Barnard, 1990: 385. 23 Cic. Brut. 77; Cic. Sen. 35; Vell. Pat. 1.10.3. See also Münzer, 1992d; Briscoe, 2013.

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Aemilia Paulla and which they made available to their children was outstanding even within the Roman elite. Furthermore, Cornelia’s father had an extraordinary career, holding high offices at a fairly young age. Scipio Africanus also was extremely successful in military actions in these turbulent times.24 His prestige, wealth, and political power earned him a prominent position within the nobility. This is also reflected in the legends that formed around his person in contemporary (or near-contemporary) literature.25 However, in the Roman nobility, in which different familiae and gentes competed for political and military offices, the leading position of a single person could not be tolerated in the long run. The prominent position of Scipio Africanus ultimately led to a confrontation with other members of the nobility.26 The eventual consequence of this was that Scipio Africanus had to give up his leading position, being only the legate of his brother, L. Cornelius Scipio, in the war against Antiochus III, for instance. He finally completely withdrew from politics as a result of the corruption trial (the so-called Scipionic trial in either 188 or 184 BC, the exact date is unclear).27 Scipio Africanus then left Rome and spent the remainder of his life in Liternum.28 His withdrawal from politics is evaluated differently in the literature: while some see it as one of his great acts of selflessness – for instance Seneca in his Epistulae Morales – others describe it as a reaction to the wounding of his vanity, such as Valerius Maximus, for example.29 Cornelia had witnessed her father’s withdrawal from politics, and the manner in which he distanced himself from Rome, the city in which he once had been celebrated as a Triumphator over the Carthaginians, and in which, at the end of his life, he did not even want his grave to be.30

24 Scipio Africanus became curule aedile very young (Livy 25.2.6–8), and in 211 BC, he became proconsul and received an imperium (Livy 26.18.7–19.5; Polyb. 10.4.1–4), in 205 BC, at the age of just 31 he became consul for the first time (Livy 27.38.12). For the extraordinary career of Scipio Africanus see for instance Bengtson, 1943; Scullard, 1970; Schwarte, 2000; Beck, 2005: 328–367. 25 See the part on Cornelia in ancient literature below. 26 In this sense, the legal steps taken by the senate against the Scipiones were probably an act of equalisation. The exclusive position of the Scipiones can be seen in their political power as well as in the structure of their kinship group, see Harders, 2017: 207–209. 27 Livy 37.59.1–6: Triumph of L. Cornelius Scipio over Antiochus III. Livy 38.50.4–57.1: Trial against L. (and probably also against P.) Cornelius Scipio as a consequence of the war against Antiochus III; cf. Mommsen, 1866; Bengtson, 1943: 505–508; Scullard, 1970: 190–224; Schwarte, 2000: 117. 28 Livy (38.56.3) and Seneca (Ad Lucilium Epistulae Morales 86.1) write that they still saw the country house of Scipio Africanus in Liternum. His tomb should also have been there, cf. Livy 38.53.8–9; 38.56.1–4; Sen. Epist. 86.1; Val. Max. 5.3.2. 29 Sen. Epist. 86.1. Val. Max. 5.3.2 quotes the epitaph: ingrata patria, ne ossa quidem me habes. 30 Livy 30.45.5–7; 38; 38.53.8–9; 38.56.1–4; Sen. Epist. 86.1; Val. Max. 5.3.2.

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A cursory look at the ancestors of Scipio Africanus clarifies the social prestige of Cornelia as a member of this familia even better. One only has to look at the reputation of Scipios father, grandfather and great-grandfather, in order to see the political potential of the familia. Pater, avus and proavus all held high offices with the imperium. They also received special honours from the res publica. The father of Scipio Africanus, P. Cornelius Scipio, was consul in 218 BC. He was killed in the second Punic war. His grandfather, L. Cornelius Scipio, was consul in 259 BC and censor in 258 BC and was granted a triumph for his military success in the first Punic war.31 His great-grandfather, L. Cornelius Scipio Barbatus, was consul in 298 BC and censor in 280 BC.32 Looking at the women in the closer family of Scipio Africanus, literary tradition presents two of them as acting independently, as participants in political actions in a broader sense. The first is the wife of Scipio Africanus, Aemilia Paulla. Together with her husband, she was committed to the education of their children and seemingly also wanted to have a say in their marriage alliances.33 She also seems to have actively shaped some of the connections between her natal family and her nuptial family.34 The other is Pomponia, mother of Scipio Africanus, who is said to have politically pushed her two sons.35 With her mother and paternal grandmother, Cornelia had at least two women in her family who pursued political goals and thus showed Cornelia possibilities for political influence available to respected women of the nobility in the second century BC.36 4. Cornelia and Ti. Sempronius Gracchus One can only hazard historical conclusion about Cornelia’s life from the time of her engagement and marriage with Ti. Sempronius Gracchus onwards. Both the date of her birth and her childhood remain a mystery to scholarship. Ancient texts point out that Cornelia was engaged at a quite young age to the much older Ti. Sempronius Gracchus, and probably was married to him immediately after the engagement.37 According to Polybius and Plutarch, the union was arranged after the death of Cornelia’s father in 183 BC.38 Livy also knows of this opinion, but 31

CIL VI 1286.1287. CIL VI 1284.1285. 33 Livy 38.57.6. Cf. Barnard, 1990: 384–385. 34 Polyb. 31.27; Plut. Ti. Gracch. 1.1; 4.3. Cf. Harders, 2008: 111–118. 35 Polyb. 10.4.4–5; Sil. Pun. 13.615. Cf. Barnard, 1990: 384. Pomponia herself came from a distinguished family. She was the daughter of Mʼ. Pomponius Matho (cos. 233 BC). 36 The activity of these women may not have been a unique feature of the familia of the Scipiones. But female agency in this family can be sketched somewhat more clearly as there are more historical sources for them. The actions of these women are particularly interesting from a gender-historical perspective, because they highlight the opportunities for action for elite women. Cf. Dettenhofer, 1992. 37 For a date of the marriage in 176/175 BC see Stegemann, 1997; Hemelrijk, 1999: 65. 38 Polyb. 32.13; Plut. Ti. Gracch. 1.1; 4.3. 32

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offers another one, in which the marriage resulted from the trial of L. Cornelius Scipio.39 The hand of Cornelia would then have been the reward for the ‘correct’ attitude of the Tribune Ti. Sempronius Gracchus to the Scipiones.40 It is said that Scipio Africanus provided both daughters with a dowry of 50 talents. According to Polybius, half of it was handed over at the marriage by her mother, Aemilia Paulla.41 – From this, one can infer that Scipio Africanus must already have been dead, and the date for the marriage must thus have been after 183 BC, which means that the marriage cannot have been a direct result of the trial of L. Cornelius Scipio.42 – The second half of the dowry was paid to the husbands of the Corneliae after the death of their mother by Scipio Aemilianus, nephew, adoptive grandson and heir of Aemilia Paulla.43 Ti. Sempronius Gracchus married a woman of distinguished lineage and more than respectable wealth, who brought an extraordinary ancestral capital into the marriage. The matrimonial value of Cornelia was very high.44 Besides, Cornelia was still young. Gracchus, who had no legitimate offspring yet, could thus confidently expect biological descendants. Cornelia is said to have given him twelve children.45 Ti. Sempronius Gracchus himself came from a noble Plebeian family that had provided consuls for two generations.46 He himself was a successful military man, celebrating a triumph over the Celtiberians in 178 BC, and a successful politician, being made consul in 177 BC and in 163 BC, as well as censor in 169 BC. Ancient texts sketch the image of a formidable military man who enjoyed a good reputation with the soldiers.47 His popularity in these quarters may have been very useful to his sons as well. Ti. Sempronius Gracchus is described as a calm politician, whose overriding political aim was to ensure the continued functioning of the res publica. He maintained good contacts with political greats outside Rome, such as king Attalus of Pergamon.48 Cornelia thus married a respected 39

Livy 38.57.3. Livy 37.57.3. This reason is seen as not very plausible. It cannot be reconciled with further information on the payment of the dowry to Cornelia and her older sister. 41 Polyb. 32,13. 42 Polyb. 32.13. Cf. Burckhardt / Ungern-Sternberg, 1994: 101; Dixon, 2007: 3–5. 43 Polyb. 32.13. As Scipio Aemilianus made the payment immediately and completely after the death of Aemilia Paulla, he could distinguish himself among the elite, cf. Harders, 2008: 119–124. 44 Flaig, 22004: 64. 45 Plut. Ti. Gracch. 1.5; cf. Plin. NH 7.57 (with the note that Cornelia gave birth to male and female babies alternately). The exceptional fertility of Cornelia appeared to be a miracle, since Plinius relates that Cornelia’s vagina had grown together, which was interpreted as a bad omen. (Plin. NH 7.69). 46 Cf. Münzer, 1972d; for the gens Sempronia see Münzer, 1972a, for the Sempronii Gracchi see Groag, 1972. 47 Cf. Cic. Div. 1.36; Livy 40.1–50.5 und 41.7.1–3. 48 Cf. Polyb. 30.27; 31.1. According to Märtin, 2012: 300 Ti. Sempronius Gracchus used 40

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man, whose political success she complemented as wife, and whose ancestral lineage as a Plebeian would enable their male children to gain access to the People’s Tribunate. According to tradition, only three of the twelve children of Cornelia and Gracchus reached adulthood: Sempronia, Tiberius und Gaius.49 Tiberius was the older of the two sons. According to Plutarch, the age difference between Tiberius and Gaius was nine years.50 Where in the sequence of births the only surviving daughter Sempronia belongs, is not made clear in the ancient sources.51 We know that Cornelia did not marry again after the death of Gracchus. She was a univira.52 According to Plutarch, not even the proposal of the Egyptian King Ptolemy VIII would have been accepted by Cornelia.53 It is said that the widowed Cornelia mainly dedicated herself to the education of her two sons. However, the ancient sources do not give any indication of Cornelia’s commitment to the education of her daughter Sempronia. This may be due to the sources and does not mean that Cornelia neglected her daughter in educational matters. As for the sons, the ancient sources claim that their military skills and the ability to diplomatically negotiate during the war were a legacy from their father, while they had received their education from their mother.54 And the sons were not only eloquent; the sources report that Gaius Gracchus wrote a political pamphlet, in which most members of his immediate family (father, mother and brother) were mentioned.55

the participation in the legation to expand his clientela. 49 Plut. Ti. Gracch. 1.5. Cf. Münzer, 1972c, 1972e and 1972f. 50 Plut. Ti. Gracch. 3; C. Gracch. 1.2. 51 In Plut. Ti. Gracch. 4.5, we read that Tiberius served under his brother-in-law in the Punic War in about 146 BC. We can conclude that Sempronia was already married at this time, accordingly she must have been older than Gaius, who was born about 154/153 BC. 52 Plut. Ti. Gracch. 1.3. For the status of a univira at the time of the Roman Republic cf. Dixon, 1992: 32, 77, 89; Hemelrijk, 1999: 64–65. 53 Plut. Ti. Gracch. 1.3. Ptolemy VIII Euergetes II (deceased in 116 BC) had good connections with the Roman senate, which supported him in conflict with his brother. Ptolemy VIII was in Rome twice, and may have met Cornelia. However, such encounters are not mentioned in the ancient sources, with the exception of this remark by Plutarch, cf. Günther, 1990. 54 Both Tiberius and Gaius were considered to have been capable soldiers. While Tiberius showed himself to be ambitious and politically motivated from the beginning, Gaius is said to have been reluctant to turn to politics. Cf. Plut. Ti. Gracch. 2–6; C. Gracch.1–2; App. B. civ. 1.9.35; 1.21.88. 55 Cic. Div. 1.36 and 2.62; Plut. Ti. Gracch. 8.7, indicating the writing was addressed to Pomponius. In addition, pointed statements by Gaius about Cornelia are said to have been in circulation, see Plut. C. Gracch. 4.3 For Gaius as a writer, also see the publication “Fragmente römischer Memoiren” by Scholz / Walter, 2013: 38–43.

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5. Cornelia and her political influence The ancient sources agree that Cornelia was heavily invested in the education of her sons in order to enable them to pursue successful political careers. Cornelia’s influence on her sons must have been great, as they grew up without a father.56 But the extent to which Cornelia pushed her sons into politics or influenced their political decisions will be discussed in detail in the following. In order to do this, I will first turn to the description of Cornelia by Plutarch, then to the letter fragment and finally to the marriages of Cornelia’s children. 5.1 Plutarch on Cornelia It is above all the information in Plutarch’s Lives which suggests that Cornelia influenced the politics of her sons. The biographer (born in the Principate) reports, for example, that Tiberius sought the People’s Tribunate because: “… Cornelia the mother of Tiberius, [who] often reproached her sons because the Romans still called her the mother-in-law of Scipio [Aemilianus], but not yet the mother of the Gracchi.”57 For the politics of Gaius, direct influence of Cornelia is related in two cases: Gaius is said to have renounced the planned removal of M. Octavius due to the wishes of his mother, which can be interpreted as direct influence of Cornelia.58 But this reference says more than that, because it also suggests the political instrumentalisation of Cornelia by Gaius. In his remarks on the lex de abactis, Plutarch, according to his own statements, quotes Gaius Gracchus, who, wanting to silence a political opponent, stated that he could not compare himself with Cornelia. Neither did he bear children, as she did, nor did he lead such an impeccable life as she did.59 The significance of Cornelia for the argument is clear from this. Due to her origin and family connections, Cornelia represented a pawn with a high sociopolitical weight, which Gaius could use for his policy. Cornelia could be used as 56

Cornelia’s husband died in 154 BC, see Burckhardt / Ungern-Sternberg, 1994: 105. If we follow Plutarch’s information (C. Gracch. 1.2) we can calculate the year of Tiberius’ birth as163/2 BC and that of Gaius’ birth as 154/3 BC. That means that Tiberius was ten years at the most when his father died and his brother Gaius was still a baby; see also Hemelrijk, 1999: 65. Tiberius the Elder had no brother, who could have taken care of the young children. Ancient sources do not mention Cornelia’s brothers in their function as maternal uncles. Maybe they were already dead by that time. – On the social role of a paternal uncle (patruus) or maternal uncle (avunculus) see Bettini, 1992. 57 Plut. Ti. Gracch. 8.5. 58 Plut. C. Gracch. 4.3–4; Diod. Sic. 34.25.2: M. Octavius was the counterpart in office of Tiberius. Immediately after his election to the People’s Tribunate in 123 BC, Gaius wanted to take action against him, but – according to history – he complied with his mother’s wishes and withdrew the motion to remove M. Octavius from office. See Burckhardt / Ungern-Sternberg, 1994: 112–114. 59 Cf. Plut. C. Gracch. 4.3–4.

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a signal to the optimates as well as to the populares, enabling a political balance, without Gaius having to lose face.60 According to Plutarch, this strategy was successful: “The people were pleased at this and gave their consent, honouring Cornelia no less on account of her sons than because of her father”.61 If the biographer used the writings of the politician for this description this would not only prove that Gaius used his mother as well as his brother and father for political purposes, but also that his pamphlet was in circulation at least until the time of Plutarch.62 The second example describing direct influence of Cornelia in the vita Gaii probably takes place at the end of the life of Gaius. When L. Opimius (cos. 121 BC) began to abolish the laws of Gaius, the situation in Rome came to a head and Cornelia is said to have secretly recruited men from abroad and smuggled them into Rome “disguised as reapers”.63 Plutarch explains that hidden clues for this action could be found in Cornelia’s letters to her son.64 But according to another tradition, which is also quoted by Plutarch, “Cornelia was very much displeased with these activities of her son”.65 Plutarch thus offers two narratives that report of two different behaviours of Cornelia in the politically tense situation of 121 BC. The letters of Cornelia herself testify to her support of Gaius, while the second source reporting her displeasure remains anonymous. Regardless of whether Cornelia actually supported the riot (σύστασις) of her son in this illegal manner or whether she distanced herself from it: Cornelia appears as a woman with a decided opinion on her sons’ politics.66 5.2 The Letter of Cornelia If one deals with the question of the influence of Cornelia on the politics of her sons, the fragment of the letter handed down through the writings of Cornelius Nepos (ca. 100–28 BC) must be taken into account.67 A closer look reveals that a 60

In addition to that Plutarch describes various scenes in which Gaius refers in public to “Cornelia” or to the “mother of Tiberius” or to his father, cf. Plut. C. Gracch. 3.3–4; 4.3– 4; 14.2–3.4 (Gaius demonstratively stops in front of his father’s statue). 61 Plut. C. Gracch. 4.3. 62 Cf. Burckhardt / Ungern-Sternberg, 1994: 118–120. 63 Plut. C. Gracch. 13.2. 64 Plut. C. Gracch. 13.2. 65 Plut. C. Gracch. 13.2. 66 Plut. C. Gracch. 13.2. Cf. Burkhardt / Ungern-Sternberg, 1994: 114–115. 67 The letter fragment, consisting of two parts, has been handed down as part of de historicis Latinis of Cornelius Nepos. The connection between the fragment and the work of Cornelius Nepos is unclear. And this is one reason why the authenticity of the letter is questioned; cf. Hubel, 1900: 5–7; Instintskiy, 1971; Wirth, 1994: 448 n. 5; Plant, 1994: 101; Hemelrijk, 1999: 193–197.

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political opinion can be derived from the fragment. The addressee of the letter (supposedly Gaius) is asked not to do anything that could harm the res publica. This request is repeated several times and culminates in the formulation: “When will our family cease from madness? […] When will we cease insisting on causing and suffering troubles? When will we be ashamed of confusing and disturbing the state?”68 The letter also demands that the plan to continue the brother’s policy must be abandoned and that in extreme cases, the enemy must be spared for the good of the res publica. The literary ego (supposedly Cornelia) applies different strategies of communication which aim at emotional connection between mother and son, but also at the pietas of the child towards the mother.69 Thus, the literary ego expects that the son should take account of the mother’s needs in all his political actions. His actions should find her favour. For in the time left to her, she does not want to see her family destroy the res publica. Reflecting on the content of this fragment against the background of the politics of the Gracchi, one can indirectly interpret it to mean that the welfare of the res publica is being equated here with the welfare of the big landowners represented by part of the Senate. In contrast, the politics of Tiberius or Gaius were aimed at curtailing big landowners in order to redistribute public land and thus offer poor farmers a chance of survival.70 This is not referred to in the fragment. Nor can any proposals be found for a conciliatory implementation of the politics of Tiberius and Gaius, but only emotionally charged appeals according to which the res publica must not be damaged. The literary ego of Cornelia in the fragment is also not afraid for her only surviving son, but admonishes him to honour his special obligation towards his mother. In view of the necessity with which Roman citizens had to prove themselves in the political field, the question arises why Cornelia should have advised her son at the beginning of his career to give up his political ambition. The passage deals with the fact that the addressee should not apply for the People’s Tribunate or should do so only after the death of his mother. So what would have been the alternative for a young and politically committed Roman with Plebeian roots? – To be loyal to the Senate or to draw radical personal consequences and leave the political arena?71 What should Gaius have done to preserve the family’s symbolic 68

Translation by Plant, 1994: 102. FR 59 M: denique quae pausa erit? ecquando desinet familia nostra insanire? ecquando modus ei rei haberi poterit? [...] ecquando perpudescet miscenda atque perturbanda re publica? 69 Hallett, 2009: 180–185 also refers to the emotional communication strategy. Assuming that Cornelia is the author of the letter, Hallett reflects on the arguments against the background of the mother-son and father-daughter relationship. 70 Cf. e.g. Plut. Ti. Gracch. 9; App. B. civ. 1.9.35–12.45. 71 For Gaius, there would have been no alternatives to the People’s Tribunate, as he was

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capital, which was the central task of male descendants? The authenticity of the letter is discussed controversially in scholarship, in part due to the manner of its being handed down to us and in part because of its fragmentary state.72 This fact and the conservative political stance conveyed in the letter, which is directed against the Gracchan policy, allow doubts about the authenticity of this letter. What is certain is that Cornelia put down her ideas in writing. According to Cicero, letters from Cornelia were still in circulation in Rome in his time.73 This indicates that Cornelia’s letters had a certain political and literary quality; otherwise Cicero would hardly have referred to them. One can assume a lively correspondence between Cornelia and her sons, especially between her and Gaius, at the latest from the time she stayed in Misenum. It is quite conceivable that Cornelia also discussed political measures with her sons. 5.3 Matrimonial alliances Another aspect has to be considered in order to outline the question of Cornelia’s political influence, namely, the marriages of her children. It can be assumed that Cornelia was involved in the marriages of the three children that reached adulthood. Since her husband was already dead at this time, she is even likely to have played a central role in the choice of spouse. If marriages are seen as an opportunity for a political alliance in order to secure one’s own familia and give the male offspring a promising future, the connection of all three children were successful. With the marriage of her daughter, the connection between the nuptialfamily of Cornelia and the gens Cornelia was strengthened. The groom, Scipio Aemilianus, was the nephew of Aemilia Paulla and had been adopted by her son Publius. Scipio Aemilianus came from a distinguished family and was adopted into a distinguished family. His ancestral capital was considerable and he had a brilliant political career (cos. 147 and 134 BC; cens. 142 BC). However, the marriage between Sempronia and Scipio Aemilianus remained childless. Tiberius was married to a member of a respected Patrician gens, namely to Claudia Pulchra. Her father was Ap. Claudius Pulcher (cos. 143 BC and cens. 136

probably still too young to compete for a high office (cf. cursus honorum). Continuing his military service seemed unattractive, as, according to Plutarch, Gaius had already served as a soldier for twelve years, and had been appointed Quaestor three times, and had thus already lost quite a bit of his fortune (C. Gracch. 2.5). 72 Discussions include the question of authorship, dating and authenticity of the letter; see the overview in Instinsky, 1971; cf. Wirth, 1994: 447 n. 2; Plant, 2004: 101–104. Instinsky, 1971 and Dixon, 2007: 24–32 assume that the letter was a propaganda of the optimates at the end of the 2nd century BC. 73 Cic. Brut. 211: Legimus epistulas Corneliae matris Gracchorum: apparet filios non tam in gremio educatos quam in sermone matris. Quintilian also refers to Cornelia’s letters, which served as rhetorical model in his time (Inst. 1.1.6); see also Plut. C. Gracch. 13.2.

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BC). Plutarch reports on her engagement that it was arranged without consultation with the mother of the bride, who was annoyed about that fact, but was very satisfied with the choice of the groom.74 Livy tells a very similar episode, which in his version is about the engagement of Cornelia to Tiberius. Plutarch knows both of them and judges: “I am aware that some refer this story to Tiberius the father of the Gracchi and Scipio Africanus Major, but the majority of writers tell it as I do […].”75 This episode shows that some motifs were essential for the family history of the Gracchi. In this case, the intention is to highlight the outstanding character of the respective grooms (both the father or the son), who are so impeccable that even the annoyed mother of the bride cannot find fault with them. Gaius was married to Licinia, who had been born into the Plebeian gens Licinia. Her father, P. Licinius Crassus Dives Mucianus, had had a political career (cos. 131 BC).76 Licinia brought a great dowry into the marriage, which she could only save from confiscation after her husband’s death with the help of her paternal uncle, the pontifex maximus P. Mucius Scaevola.77 Licinia was also related to the father-in-law of Tiberius, Ap. Claudius Pulcher, who was her maternal uncle. The exciting thing about this interrelationship is that all three men, Ap. Claudius Pulcher, P. Licinius Crassus Dives Mucianus, and P. Mucius Scaevola supported the politics of Tiberius, and the latter two also supported those of Gaius. Through these marriages, the common policies of these actors were consolidated into a family policy that was increasingly directed against close relatives of the Gracchi, namely against Scipio Aemilianus and even more clearly against Scipio Nasica Serapio (cousin of the Gracchi on their mother’s side).78 The political alienation between Tiberius and Scipio Aemilianus seems to have been a slow development over a longer amount of time.79 According to Plu74

Plut. Ti. Gracch. 4.3. Plut. Ti. Gracch. 4.2–3, who cite Polybius as reference. Cf. Livy 38.57.7–8: Here, Aemilia Paulla complains that Scipio Africanus has affianced her daughter without her mother’s consent. She can only be appeased by being told the choice of the groom, Ti. Sempronius Gracchus. 76 Plut. Ti. Gracch. 21.1–2. 77 Plut. C. Gracch. 17.5. 78 A family policy of Scipio Aemilianus can be deduced from the ancient sources, too. His family policy at first encompassed his natal and adoptive families; probably wanted to extend it to the family of his wife as well. Source-based considerations on this issue can already be found in Burckhardt / Ungern-Sternberg, 1994: 100, Zahrnt, 2000 (with a critical view to the political strategy of Scipio Aemilianus) and Harders, 2008: 119–128. 79 In Plut. Ti. Gracch. 7.3–4 we read of an alienation between the former friends, which the author attributes to the ambitious behaviour of Tiberius. Plutarch (Ti. Gracch. 7.4) judges accordingly: “And in my opinion Tiberius would never have met with his great 75

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tarch, Scipio Aemilianus supported the early military and political career of Tiberius and later Gaius.80 The break between Tiberius and his brother-in-law is likely to have been brought about by Tiberius’ violent action against the opponents to his reforms at the latest (about 133 BC).81 However, we find no description of an open confrontation between the brothers-in-law in the ancient sources. The situation is quite different in connection to Scipio Nasica Serapio, who appeared in public as a political opponent of his cousin Tiberius.82 But there are indications of rumours suggesting a split in Cornelia’s family. This is expressed in the description of the sudden death of Scipio Aemilianus (129 BC). Appian tells us that Cornelia and Sempronia murdered Scipio Aemilianus in order not to see the law of Tiberius fall.83 The motif of the politically motivated murder of the husband can also be found in later sources.84 It is striking that Sempronia in her double role as sister of the Gracchi and wife of Scipio Aemilianus, should have valued her relationship with her brothers more highly than with her husband, as Ann-Cathrin Harders already pointed out.85 A family policy initiated by Cornelia and followed by her sons and her sonin-law cannot be deduced from the sources. Cornelia was part of a family that was politically important and in which the men – husband, sons and son-in-law – were politically successful. But it also was a family in which two strongly differing political positions were held after a certain point in time. To which of the two politics Cornelia felt committed cannot be clearly stated, because the ancient sources describe two alternative narratives of Cornelia’s actions. According to one tradition, she is listed as supporter of her sons’ politics, especially of Gaius misfortunes if Scipio [Aemilianus] Africanus had been present at Rome during his political activity.” 80 Plut. Ti. Gracch. 4.4. Plut. Ti. Gracch. 7.3–4. 81 The criticism of Scipio Aemilianus on Tiberius’ reforms is outlined in Plut. Ti. Gracch. 21.4–5; cf. Livy Epit. 59.11. According to Appian (B. civ. 1.19.78–20.83), Scipio Aemilianus acts cautiously in dealing with the laws of Tiberius. 82 Rhet. Her. 4.68; Livy Epit. 58; Plut. Ti. Gracch. 13.2; 21.1–4; App. B. civ. 1.16.68–70. 83 App. B civ. 1.20.83–84. See also Barnard,1990: 390–393; Harders, 2008: 132. The sudden nature of the death of Scipio Aemilianus probably was cause for speculation on its manner, see Plut. C. Gracch. 10.4–5. 84 Schol. Bob. ad Cic. Mil. (p. 72, Hildebrandt 1907): Sempronia is said to have murdered her husband together with her brother Gaius. According to Oros. 5.10.9–10, Sempronia would have surpassed the ‘crimes’ of her brothers with this act; see also Livy Epit. 59.17. Cf. Harders, 2008: 133. 85 Cf. Harders, 2008: 135–137. According to Val. Max. 3.8.6, Sempronia once again performs her role as sister in public, in testifying in front of the contio against the freedman L. Equitus, who pretended to be the son of Tiberius and was repudiated by her. Dixon, 2007: 12–14, records that Sempronia “[…] is very much the forgotten woman in the Cornelii-Gracchi family story” (p. 12). In fact, there are only few references to her life in ancient sources.

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Gracchus, while according to another tradition, she appears as a critic of her sons’ politics. In 121 BC, all three main actors (Tiberius, Scipio Aemilianus, and Gaius) of her nuclear family are dead. According to Plutarch, Cornelia did not retire after the death of her sons, but continued to fulfil her obligations by welcoming friends, scholars, and rulers at her residence in Misenum.86 On these occasions she is also said to have spoken of her fate and suffering with dignity:87 “She was indeed very agreeable to her visitors and associates when she discoursed to them about the life and habits of her father Africanus, but most admirable when she spoke of her sons without grief or tears, and narrated their achievements and their fate to all enquirers as if she were speaking of men of the early days of Rome.”88 A brief look still needs to be taken at the generation of Cornelia’s grandchildren: Cornelia’s children could not reproduce to the extent that a continuation of her husband’s line through descendants in the generation of the grandchildren was assured.89 Her son Tiberius had three sons, but they all died young.90 Gaius also had a son, who probably also died as a boy, and a daughter, called Sempronia.91 As mentioned before, the marriage of Cornelia’s daughter Sempronia to Scipio Aemilianus remained childless.92

86

Plut. C. Gracch. 19.1–3. Plut. C. Gracch. 19.2. 88 When exactly Cornelia retired to Misenum cannot be dated historically. The correspondence with her son Gaius suggests that the move took place at a time when Gaius was People’s Tribune. According to Hemelrijk, 1999: 97, the move could already have taken place after the murder of Tiberius. This is hinted at by Oros. 5.12.9 as well. 89 It should be noted that the line of Scipio Africanus was continued by his daughter Cornelia maior and her son Scipio Nasica Serapio, who was involved in the murder of his cousin Tiberius in 133 BC. Cornelia’s brothers, P. und L. Cornelius Scipio, do not seem to have had any biologically descendants. Scipio Aemilianus, who was adopted by P. Cornelius Scipio, died childless in 129 BC, as stated above. 90 Münzer, 1972e. 91 Münzer, 1972b: 1371. The first name of the son has not been handed down. If he was the eldest or only son, he could have had the praenomen Gaius. That the granddaughter of Cornelia is the Sempronia who participated in the bellum Catilinae (cf. Sall. Cat. 25.1–5; 40.5–6) as Münzer 1972g explained, was rejected among others by Weiden Boyd, 1987: 183, who assigns the protagonist to the Sempronii Tuditanii. 92 App. B civ. 1.20.83. On this marriage see Plut. Ti. Gracch. 1.3; 4.4; Val. Max. 6.2.3; Livy Epit. 59.17; Oros. 5.10.10. The marriage between Scipio Aemilianus and Sempronia is an example of the ‘extremely exclusive marriage behaviour’ of the Cornelii Scipiones, as it was a first-degree marriage between cousins – and that was not common in the elite; see Harders, 2017. 87

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6. Political failure and public memory Like her father at the end of his career, Cornelia’s sons failed due to the resistance of the senate aristocracy. Their manner of yielding their political influence, which seemed uncontrollable to parts of the Senate, was part of their downfall. While Scipio Africanus withdrew from politics in order not to endanger either himself, or the res publica, the Gracchi chose the direction of disrupting the political consensus and ultimately of their physical annihilation. Cornelia saw both political strategies and had to witness the results. As for the sons, it was particularly distressing from an aristocratic perspective that they could not be buried properly. Tiberius and Gaius Gracchus were killed and their bodies thrown into the Tiber.93 Neither could the women of the family (mother, sister, and wife) mourn the dead in public, nor was there a solemn funeral procession.94 In this manner, the ancestral capital could not be displayed. In contrast, the reputation of Scipio Africanus did not suffer any lasting losses after his withdrawal from politics. This is demonstrated by the fact that his imago was kept for a time in the temple of Iuppiter Optimus Maximus on the Capitol, which was an extraordinary honour. At every funeral procession of his family Scipio’s imago was fetched from the temple and solemnly carried along.95 Tiberius and Gaius Gracchus never had the chance to be remembered with their imagines in public. Later, the citizenry rehabilitated the two brothers and formed a positive memory of them. According to Plutarch, they were honoured by the people of Rome, who had a statue erected to each of the Gracchi at the respective places of their deaths.96 According to Plutarch, Cornelia received a statue with an inscription while Gaius was still alive.97 Pliny the Elder (1st century AD) has this to say about it: “there is the statue of Cornelia the mother of the Gracchi and daughter of the elder Scipio Africanus. It represents her in a sitting position and is remarkable because of the strapless sandals; it stood in the public colonnade of Metellus, but is now in Octavia’s building.”98

93

Cf. Plut. Ti. Gracch. 19.5–6; 20.2–3; Plut. C. Gracch. 3.2; 14.2–3; 17.1–6; App. B. civ. 1.16.70–17.71; 1.26.117–120. See also Dixon, 2007: 54. 94 Cf. Plut. Ti. Gracch. 20.2 (Gaius asks in vain for the body of his brother), Plut. C. Gracch. 15,2–4 (speech of Licinia to Gaius), 17,5 (women are forbidden to wear mourning for Tiberius). 95 The imago seems to have been preserved from the 180s BC until the 2nd century AD. Jupiter was the favoured god of Scipio Africanus, cf. Flower, 2006: 335. 96 Plut. C. Gracch. 19.1. In both cases it was probably a posthumously erected statue, cf. Sehlmeyer, 1999: 185–187. 97 Plut. C. Gracch. 4.4; cf. Plin. NH 34.31. 98 Plin. NH 34.31. Hemelrijk, 1999: 67 interprets the representation of Cornelia in footwear typical for wearing inside the house as staging her as a mother who takes care of household and children.

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A pedestal with an inscription in honour of Cornelia, which has already been quoted at the beginning of this paper, has been preserved.99 The date of the dedication of the statue is contested in scholarship, with mainly three dates being discussed:100 1) at the earliest at the time when Gaius was People’s Tribune (123 BC; the statue would then be part of the political program of Gaius); 2) after the death of Gaius (121 BC), erected by the followers of the Gracchan policy (the statue would then be a symbol for the Gracchan policy); 3) during the Augustan period, which would have integrated Cornelia in the political program of Augustus (Cornelia would then represent the exemplum of an educated and fertile woman, a loyal wife and a caring mother). All three dates combine the erection of the statue with a political program. The fact that the political intention of the donator could be understood by the recipients without any further explanation in the inscription presupposes Cornelia’s history to be common knowledge and is testimony to her fame as the daughter of Scipio Africanus and as mother of the Gracchi. 7. Cornelia in the ancient tradition The evidence that Cornelia was educated, surrounded herself with authors and philosophers, and was strongly invested in the education of her sons distinguishes her, but does not make her exceptional among the female contemporaries of her class.101 The evidence that Cornelia influenced the political careers of her sons also distinguishes her, but even that does not make her exceptional among her peers.102 The historically extraordinary thing about Cornelia is her role as the daughter of Scipio Africanus, who in turn is outstanding, but even more so in her role as the mother of the Gracchi.103 Cornelia’s Nachleben is closely linked to the 99

The reference to the sculptor T(e)isikrates refers to the Augustan period. If the statue, including the inscription, was erected in Cornelia’s lifetime, it can be assumed that the inscription was revised in Augustan times, cf. Sehlmeyer, 1999: 186; Dixon, 2007: 56–59. 100 For a dedication in Republic period see, for instance, Kajava, 1989; Petrocelli, 1994: 63–65, Sehlmeyer, 1999: 185–187, Dixon, 2007: 56–59; for a dedication in Augustan period see, for instance, Hemelrijk, 1999: 66–67. 101 In Cic. Brut. 211 Cornelia is cited as good example for how the education of the children should be managed by parents. 102 Burckhardt / Ungern-Sternberg, 1994: 128, 132. Dettenhofer, 1992, with further examples of mothers from the Late Republic, who offered their sons good conditions for political careers, e.g. Sempronia, mother of D. Iunius Brutus Albinus, Servilia, mother of M. Iunius Brutus, or Iulia, mother of M. Antonius (p. 791–795). 103 Cf. Cic. Brut. 211 (Corneliae matris Gracchorum), Val. Max. 4.4 (Cornelia Gracchorum mater) und 6.7.1 (Cornelia Gracchorum), Iuv. 6.166 (Cornelia, mater Gracchorum), Tac. Dial. 28.6 (Cornelia Gracchorum), App. B. civ. 1.2.17 (Κορνηλίας τ͠ης Σκιπίωνος) and 1.3.20 (Κορνηλίας τ͠ης Γράκχου μήτηρ).

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political deeds of her sons. The contemporary and later memory of Cornelia would be insignificant if her sons had not pursued such an uncompromising policy, already seen as a turning point of the Roman Republic by the ancient authors.104 This assumption is supported by the fact that Cornelia’s older sister is almost completely absent in the ancient literature, although she also had an influential politician as a son, namely Scipio Nasica Serapio. But the memory of the Gracchi and their program of reforms was kept alive after their death, handed down and written about in literature.105 As mater Gracchorum, Cornelia loses her historical profile, becoming the ideal of womanhood. Cornelia symbolizes the politics of her sons. This form of appropriation of Cornelia was probably already started by Gaius, indications of which can be found in Plutarch. It is possible that the figure – or rather the memory – of Cornelia was also instrumentalised by representatives of the politics of the populares after Gaius Gracchus, as Markus Sehlmeyer discusses with regard to the date of the dedication of her statue.106 As the mother of the Gracchi, Cornelia is also known as the perfect Roman matrona. She is considered to have been morally and a perfect mother, who paid attention to the education of her sons. Valerius Maximus compresses all these attributions into the famous saying: Haec […] ornamenta sunt mea.107 In addition, Cornelia joins other legends about the Scipiones and Gracchi, which were already in circulation in antiquity. Three examples illustrate this: The snake has a central meaning in the story of the legendary conception of Scipio Africanus, and a pair of snakes was supposed to have referred to the future of the couple Cornelia and Tiberius.108 The episode about the choice of the groom for Cornelia and/or Claudia Pulchra are identical, which was already noticed by the ancient authors.109 Finally, the motif of the royal crown, which according to an104

In Plut. Ti. Gracch. 20.1, references are made to historiographers, who described the final battle between Tiberius and his opponents as ‘the first civil war of Rome’. Cf. also App. B. civ. 1.3.9; 1.6.25; 1.27.121; 1.121.565. 105 For example, the French revolutionary François Noël Babeuf (1760–1797), who adopted the nickname Gracchus, because the policy of the Gracchi was interpreted as social-revolutionary. 106 Sehlmeyer, 1999: 185–187. 107 Val. Max. 4.4. However, this is a common so-called ‘wandering’ anecdote or folk-tale motif, which is reported in Plut. Mor. 241.1.9 (Sayings of Spartan Women) and modified in Plut. Phoc. 19 (here the husband is called an ornament), cf. also Burckhardt / UngernSternberg, 1994: 106; Meineke, 2013: 330. – Only rarely is Cornelia characterized in a negative way, e.g. in App. B civ. 1.20.83 (Cornelia as murderer of the son-in-law) or in Iuv. 6.166–169 (the arrogant Cornelia). An ironic remark about Cornelia’s sexual behaviour is reported in Mart. 11.104. 108 Livy 26.19.6; Gell. NA 6.1.1–4. Plut. Ti. Gracch. 1.2–3; cf. Plin. NH 7.122. A similar prophecy can also be found in the mythical tale of Alcestis and Admetus, cf. Burckhardt / Ungern-Sternberg, 1994: 102. 109 Plutarch reflects this fact in Ti. Gracch. 4.3.

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cient tradition was offered to Scipio Africanus and rejected by him.110 Ptolemy VIII Euergetes II is said to also have offered Cornelia a throne and royal prestige, but she also rejected the offer.111 In contrast, Cornelia’s sons, Tiberius and Gaius, are suspected of striving to get a king-like position in the res publica.112 8. A glance at Cornelia in Western tradition Cornelia is already idealised in the ancient sources. She is regarded as being virtuous, caring, and decent. She is represented as exemplary matrona, widow, and perfect mother. Cornelia is stylized as a chaste woman, which made her ideal for a transformation into a Christian context.113 The seemingly timeless values of the ideal woman projected onto Cornelia are also mentioned in scholarly publications. In Soergel’s monograph from the 19th century, Cornelia becomes a pioneer for the ideal Christian mother.114 In the 19th century, magazines published for parents and women had the symbolic title “Cornelia”,115 such as the ‘Magazine for home education. With the participation of pedagogues and doctors’ (“Zeitschrift für häusliche Erziehung. Unter Mitwirkung von Pädagogen und Aerzten”) published by Carl Pilz.116 In the foreword to the first volume, the editor introduces the magazine as a ‘friend’ (“Freundin”) for women; its title should remind them of the exemplary Cornelia.117 A not to be neglected reception of Cornelia also took place through the fine arts. The motifs captured on canvas range from the marriage proposal of Ptolemy VIII, which Cornelia rejects (cf. Laurent de La Hyre, 1664), to the presentation of sons as the “ornaments” of a woman (cf. Angelica Kauffmann, 1785; Philipp Friedrich Hetsch, 1794).118 Statues of Cornelia are erected, such as that of Pierre-Jules 110

Polyb. 10.46–10, cf. Livy 27,1.9.3–6; Polyb. 21.15.4. Günther, 1990: 127, calling the authenticity of the incident into question. 112 Plut. Ti. Gracch. 14.2; 19.2; cf. Sall. Iug. 31.7; Cic. Amic. 41; Vell. Pat. 2.4.4. Plut. C. Gracch. 6.1. Cf. Günther, 1990: 127. 113 Meineke, 2013: 323. Jerome, for instance, refers to the purity and fertility of Cornelia (Adv. Iovinian. 1.49; Ep. 54.4); see also Dixon, 2007: 61–63. 114 Soergl, 1868. The century-long reception of Cornelia as the perfect mother actually shows the longevity of gender norms as they prevailed in Western civilization. 115 Meineke, 2013: 334 refers to “Die guten Cornelia-Romane”, published by Hallwag in Bern from 1949 to 1958. 116 In “Pädagogischer Beobachter: Wochenblatt für Erziehung und Unterricht” (Band 7, 1881, Heft 23, 4) it says, that the magazine “Cornelia” is to be recommended to mothers. Retrieved July 11, 2019 from the e-periodica / Schweizer Zeitschriften online website: http://doi.org/10.5169/seals-240657. 117 Pilz, 1864: 2. 118 The antique motifs can be combined with contemporary elements. In the painting “Cornelia, die Mutter der Gracchen” Hetsch combines the image of the modest Roman matrona with contemporary criticism of aristocratic luxury, see Schneider, 2010: 178–181; for further examples see also Meineke, 2013: 333–334. 111

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Cavelier, which bears the inscription “Cornélie, mère des Gracques” (1861),119 or the one by Levi Tucker Schofield with the inscription “These are my jewels”, placed in front of the Ohio Statehouse in Columbus (1883).120 Even feminist art refers to Cornelia. Judy Chicagos work “The Dinner Party” (1974–1979) memorializes historical and fictional female figures. Among the 998 notable women represented in the Heritage Floor is Cornelia.121 9. Summary In this contribution Cornelia is the central subject of historical analysis. The focus is on describing her as an actress in the Roman Republic and on elucidating her political influence. The analysis concentrates on a description of Cornelias possibilities for action, and on the gender- and power-relations around her. Looking on the political field, Cornelia is discussed as a member of the Cornelii Scipiones and as a part of the Sempronii Gracchi. In her social role as daughter of Scipio Africanus and above all as mother of the Gracchi, she was already politically instrumentalised during her lifetime. Because of this instrumentalisation, a (skewered) image of her found its way into contemporary literature and through it, into Western tradition. While ancient texts still refer to her political influence, it is the virtues ascribed to her as an exemplary mother that acquire a special significance in the course of time. The image of Cornelia thus becomes part of a gender discourse that provides fixed roles for men and women. That these roles can last for a long time could be demonstrated by the few illuminating references to Cornelia’s reception in Western tradition. In this context, Cornelia becomes a powerful idea of a respectable woman. The power of Cornelia, or rather the power that emanated from Cornelia can be described as follows: Cornelia exerted political influence. She was political instrumentalised. She became a part of the Roman history, which gave her historical significance. Finally, she is stylized into a figure of personalized virtue that found resonance in Western societies for many centuries.

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The Statue is made of marble and was made in 1855. Retrieved July 25, 2019 from the Musée d’Orsay website: from https://www.musee-orsay.fr/fr/collections/oeuvres-com mentees/sculpture/commentaire_id/cornelie-mere-des-gracques-7068.html?tx_commentaire_pi1%5BpidLi%5D=842&tx_commentaire_pi1%5Bfrom%5D=729&cHash=335 fec9350. 120 The statue was erected in 1883. Cornelia, symbolizing Ohio, refers to her children, who in this arrangement represent political and military characters of the USA. Retrieved July 25, 2019 from the Ohio Statehouse website: http://www.ohiostatehouse.org/about/capitolsquare/statues-and-monuments/these-are-my-jewels. Cf. Meineke, 2013: 335. 121 Retrieved July 25, 2019 the Khan academy website: https://www.khanacademy.org/ humanities/global-culture/identity-body/identity-body-united-states/a/judy-chicago-thedinner-party. Cf. Chicago, 2007.

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Bibliography Ancient Sources Appien, Histoire Romaine, tome VIII, livre XIII: Guerres Civiles, Livre I, texte établi et traduit par Paul Goukowsky, Paris 2008. M. Tulli Ciceronis Rhetorica, tomus II, recognovit brevique adnotatione critica instruxit A. S. Wilkins, Oxford 1911. M. Tullius Cicero, De Senectute / De Amicitia / De Divinatione, with an English translation by W. A. Falconer, Cambridge, MA / London 1923. Diodorus of Sicily, in twelve volumes, vol. XII: Fragments of books XXXIII-XL, with an English translation by F.R. Walton, with a general index to Diodorus by R.M. Geer, Cambridge, MA / London 1967. Sancti Eusebii Hieronymi Stridonensis presbyteri epistolae secundum ordinem temporum ad amussim digestae et in quatuor classes distributae (Patrologiae cursus completus. Series Latina, vol. 22), edidit J.-P. Migne, Paris 1845. The Attic Nights of Aulus Gellius, with an English translation by J. C. Rolfe, Cambridge, MA / London 1927. Juvenal and Perseus, edited and translated by S. Morton Braund, Cambridge, MA / London 2004. Livy, in fourteen volumes, vol. I: books I–II, with an English translation by B.A. Foster, London / Cambridge, MA 1967 (reprint). Livy, in fourteen volumes, vol. V: books XXI–XXII, with an English translation by B.A. Foster, London / Cambridge, MA 1963 (reprint). Livy, in fourteen volumes, vol. VI: books XXIII–XXV, with an English translation by F. Gardner Moore, London / Cambridge, MA 1966 (reprint). Livy, in fourteen volumes, vol. VII: books XXVI–XXVII, with an English translation by F. Gardner Moore, London / Cambridge, MA 1963 (reprint). Livy, in fourteen volumes, vol. VIII: books XXVII–XXX, with an English translation by F. Gardner Moore, London / Cambridge, MA 1962 (reprint). Livy, in fourteen volumes, vol. X: books XXXV–XXXVIII, with an English translation by E.T. Sage, London / Cambridge, MA 1965 (reprint). Livy, in fourteen volumes, vol. XII: books XL–XLII, with an English translation by E.T. Sage and A.C. Schlesinger, London / Cambridge, MA 1964 (reprint). Livy, in fourteen volumes, vol. XIV: Summaries, fragments and Obsequens, with an English translation by A.C. Schlesinger, with a general index to Livy by R.M. Geer, London / Cambridge, MA 1959. M. Valerii Martialis Epigrammaton libri, recognovit W. Heraeus, ed. correctiorem curavit J. Borovskij, Leipzig 1925/1976. Cornelii Nepotis vitae cum fragmentis, edidit P.K. Marshall, 3. Auflage, Stuttgart / Leipzig 1991. Cornelius Nepos, Lateinisch-Deutsch, herausgegeben von Gerhard Wirth, Amsterdam 1994.

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Pliny, Natural History, in ten volumes, vol. II: Libri III–VII, with an English translation by H. Rackham, London / Cambridge, MA 1961 (reprint). Pliny, Natural History, in ten volumes, vol. X: Libri XXXVI–XXXVII, with an English translation by D.E. Eichholz, London / Cambridge, MA 1962 (reprint). Plutarchʼs Moralia, in fifteen volumes, vol. III: 172A-263C, with an English translation by F. Cole Babbitt, London / Cambridge, MA 1961 (reprint). Plutarchʼs Lives, in eleven volumes: vol. X, with an English translation by B. Perrin, Cambridge, MA / London 1959 (reprint). Plutarchʼs Lives, in eleven volumes: vol.VI, with an English translation by B. Perrin, Cambridge, MA / London 1954 (reprint). Plutarchʼs Lives, in eleven volumes: vol. VIII, with an English translation by B. Perrin, Cambridge, MA / London 1959 (reprint). Polybius, The Histories, in six volumes: vol. IV, with an English translation by W. R. Paton, Cambridge, MA / London 1960 (reprint). Polybius, The Histories, in six volumes, vol. V, with an English translation by W. R. Paton, Cambridge, MA / London 2006 (reprint). Polybius, The Histories, in six volumes: vol. VI, with an English translation by W. R. Paton, Cambridge, MA / London 1968 (reprint). Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria, Book 1, with an English translation by H. Edgeworth Butler, Cambridge, MA / London 1920. Rhétorique à Herennius, texte établi et traduit par G. Achard, Paris 1989. Seneca, Ad Lucilium Epistulae Morales, in three volumes: vol. II, with an English translation by R.M. Gummere, Cambridge, MA / London 1920. C. Sallusti Crispi Catilina Iugurtha orationes et epistulae excerptae de historiis recognovit A. W. Ahlberg, Leipzig 1919. Scholia in Ciceronis orationes Bobiensia edidit P. Hildebrandt, Leipzig 1907. Cornelii Taciti Opera minora, recognovit brevique adnotatione critica instruxit H. Furneaux, Oxford 1900. Valerius Maximus, Memorable Doings and Sayings, volume I: books I–V, edited and translated by D.R. Schackleton Bailey, Cambridge, MA / London 2000. Valerius Maximus, Memorable Doings and Sayings, volume II: books VI–IX, edited and translated by D.R. Schackleton Bailey, Cambridge, MA / London 2000. Velleius Paterculus, Histoire Romaine, tome I, livre I, texte établi et traduit par J. Hellegouarc’h, Paris 1982. Velleius Paterculus, Histoire Romaine, tome II, livre II, texte établi et traduit par J. Hellegouarc’h, Paris 1982.

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Research Literature Barnard, S., 1990: “Cornelia and the Women of Her Family”. Latomus 49/2, 383– 392. Beck, H., 2005: Karriere und Hierarchie. Die römische Aristokratie und die Anfänge des cursus honorum in der mittleren Republik. Klio. Beiträge zur Alten Geschichte 10. Berlin. Bengtson, H., 1943: “Scipio Africanus. Seine Persönlichkeit und seine weltgeschichtliche Bedeutung”. HZ 168/3, 487–508. Bettini, M., 1992: Familie, Verwandtschaft und Ehe im antiken Rom. Historische Studien 8. Frankfurt am Main. Briscoe, J., 2013: “P. Cornelius Scipio Africani f.”. In T.J. Cornell (ed.): The Fragments of the Roman Historians. Vol. 2: Texts and translations. Oxford. Pp. 122–123. Burckhardt, L. / Ungern-Sternberg, J., 1994: “Cornelia, Mutter der Gracchen”. In M. Dettenhofer (ed.): Reine Männersache? Frauen in Männerdomänen der antiken Welt. München. Pp. 97–123. Chicago, J., 2007: The Dinner Party: From Creation to Preservation. London. Dettenhofer, M.H., 1992: “Zur politischen Rolle der Aristokratinnen zwischen Republik und Prinzipat”. Latomus 51/4, 775–795. Dixon, S., 1992: The Roman Family. Ancient Society and History. Baltimore/ London. Dixon, S., 2007: Cornelia. Mother of the Gracchi. Women of the Ancient World. London / New York. Flaig, E., 2000: “Lucius Aemilius Paullus – militärischer Ruhm und familiäre Glücklosigkeit”. In Hölkeskamp / Stein-Hölkeskamp, 2000. Pp. 131–146. Flaig, E., 22004: Ritualisierte Politik. Zeichen, Gesten und Herrschaft im Alten Rom. Historische Semantik, Band 1. Göttingen. Flaig, E., 2011: “Habitus, Mentalitäten und die Frage des Subjekts: Kulturelle Orientierungen sozialen Handelns”. In F. Jäger / J. Rüsen (eds.): Handbuch der Kulturwissenschaften, Band 3: Themen und Tendenzen. Stuttgart. Pp. 365–371. Foucault, M., 1976: Mikrophysik der Macht. Über Strafjustiz, Psychiatrie und Medizin. Berlin. Groag, E., 1972: “Sempronii Gracchi”. RE II A,2 1972 (revised edition of 1923), 1370–1428. Günther, L.-M., 1990: “Cornelia und Ptolemaios VIII. Zur Historizität des Heiratsantrages (Plut. TG 1,3)”. Historia 39/1, 124–128. Haake, M. / Harders, A.-C. (eds.), 2017: Politische Kultur und soziale Struktur der Römischen Republik. Bilanzen und Perspektiven – Akten der internationalen Tagung anlässlich des 70. Todestages von Friedrich Münzer (Münster, 18.–20. Oktober 2012). Stuttgart.

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Hallett, J., 2010: “Human Connections and Paternal Evocations: Two Elite Roman Women Writers and the Valuing of Others”. In R.M. Rosen / I. Sluiter (eds.), Valuing Others in Classical Antiquity. Mnemosyne, Supplements 323. Leiden/Boston. Pp. 353–374. — 2009: “Absent Roman fathers in the writing of their daughters”. In S.R. Hübner / D.M. Ratzan (eds.): Growing Up Fatherless in Antiquity. New York. Pp. 175–191. — 2006: “Introduction: Cornelia and her Maternal Legacy”. Helios 33/2, 119– 147. — 2004: “Matriot Games? Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi, and the Forging of family-oriented political values”. In F. McHardy / E. Marshall (eds.): Women’s influence on Classical Civilization. London / New York. Pp. 26–39. Harders, A.-C., 2008: Suavissima soror: Untersuchungen zu den Bruder-Schwestern-Beziehungen in der römischen Republik. Vestigia. Beiträge zur Alten Geschichte 60. München. — 2017: “Familienbande(n). Die politische Bedeutung von Verwandtschaft in der römischen Republik”. In Haake / Harders 2017. Pp. 197–214. Hemelrijk, E.A., 1999: Matrona docta. Educated women in The Roman élite form Cornelia to Julia Domna. London / New York. Henze, W., 1992 (1900): “Cornelius Scipio, no. 336”. RE IV,1 (revised edition of 1900), 1462–1470. Hölkeskamp, K.-J. / Stein-Hölkeskamp, E. (eds.), 2000: Von Romulus zu Augustus. Große Gestalten der römischen Republik. München. Hubel, K., 1900: Die Brieffragmente der Cornelia, der Mutter der Gracchen. Erlangen. Instinsky, H.U., 1971: “Zur Echtheitsfrage der Brieffragmente der Cornelia, Mutter der Gracchen”. Chiron 1, 177–189. Kajava, M., 1989: “Cornelia Africani f. Gracchorum”. Arctos. Acta Philologica Fennica. Vol. XXIII. Helsinki. Pp. 119–131. Märtin, St., 2012: Die politische Führungsschicht der römischen Republik im 2. Jh. v.Chr. zwischen Konformitätsstreben und struktureller Differenzierung. Trier. Meineke, E.-T., 2013: “Cornelia”. DNP Supplemente 8, 329–336. Mommsen, Th., 1866: “Die Scipionenprozesse”. Hermes 1/3, 161–216. Münzer, F., 1972a: “Sempronius”. RE II A,2 (revised edition of 1923), 1359– 1360. — 1972b: “Sempronius (Gracchus), no. 40”. RE II A,2 (revised edition of 1923), 1371. — 1972c: “Sempronius (Gracchus), no. 47”. RE II A,2 (revised edition of 1923), 1374–1400. — 1972d: “Sempronius (Gracchus), no. 53”. RE II A,2 (revised edition of 1923), 1403–1409.

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— 1972e: “Sempronius (Gracchus), no. 54”. RE II A,2 (revised edition of 1923), 1409–1426. — 1972f: “Sempronia, no. 99”. RE II A,2 (revised edition of 1923), 1445. — 1972g: “Sempronia, no. 103”. RE II A,2 (revised edition of 1923), 1446. — 1992a: “Cornelius”. RE IV,1 1992 (revised edition of 1900), 1249–1251. — 1992b: “Cornelii Scipiones”. RE IV,1 1992 (revised edition of 1900), 1426– 1427. — 1992c: “Cornelia (no. 407)”. RE IV,1 (revised edition of 1900), 1592–1595. — 1992d: “Cornelius Scipio, no. 331”. RE IV,1 (revised edition of 1900), 1437– 1438. Petrocelli, C., 1994: “Cornelia the Matron”. In A. Fraschetti (ed.): Roman women, translated by L. Lappin. Chicago / London. Pp. 34–65. Pilz, C. (ed.), 1864: Cornelia. Zeitschrift für häusliche Erziehung. Band 1. Leipzig. Plant, I. (ed.), 2004: Women Writers of Ancient Greece and Rome. An Anthology. Norman. Schneider, N., 2010: Historienmalerei. Vom Spätmittelalter bis zum 19. Jahrhundert. Köln / Weimar / Wien. Scholz, P. / Walter, U. (eds.), 2013: Fragmente Römischer Memoiren. Studien zur Alten Geschichte 18. Heidelberg. Schwarte, K.-H., 2000: “Publius Scipio Africanus der Ältere – Eroberer zwischen West und Ost”. In Hölkeskamp / Stein-Hölkeskamp, 2000. Pp. 106–119. Scott, J.W., 1986: “Gender: A Useful Category of Historical Analysis”. AHR 91/5, 1053–1075. — 1988: Gender and the Politics of History. New York. — 2001: “Millennial Fantasies. The Future of ‘Gender’ in the 21th Century / Die Zukunft von gender. Fantasien zur Jahrtausendwende”. In C. Honegger / C. Arni (eds.): Gender. Die Tücken einer Kategorie. Joan W. Scott, Geschichte und Politik. Beiträge zum Symposion anlässlich der Verleihung des HansSigrist-Preises 1999 der Universität Bern an Joan W. Scott. Zürich. Pp. 39– 63. — 2008: “Unanswered Questions”. AHR 113/5, 1422–1430. Scullard, H.H., 1970: Scipio Africanus: Soldier and Politician. Aspects of Greek and Roman Life. Bristol. Sehlmeyer, M., 1999: Stadtrömische Ehrenstatuen der republikanischen Zeit. Historizität und Kontext von Symbolen nobilitären Standesbewusstseins. Historia Einzelschriften 130. Stuttgart. Stegmann, H., 1997: “[I 1] Cornelia”. DNP 3, 166. Weiden Boyd, B., 1987: “Virtus Effeminata and Sallust’s Sempronia”. TAPA 117, 183–201. Zahrnt, M., 2000: “Publius Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus – der intrigante Enkel”. In Hölkeskamp / Stein-Hölkeskamp, 2000. Pp. 159–171.

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Abbreviations For the Greco-Roman authors, standard abbreviations as offered in the front of the Oxford Classical Dictionary (4th edition) are used. CIL Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum (1883– ). DNP Der Neue Pauly. RE A. Pauly, G. Wissowa, and W. Kroll, Real-Enzyklopädie d. klassischen Altertumswissenschaft (1893– ).

Domum servavit, lanam fecit Livia and the Rewriting of the Female Model in the Augustan Age Francesca Rohr Vio

In 9 AD, Augustus responded to some members’ of the ordo equester call for the repeal of his legislation in favour of marriage and procreation with a long speech that was reported by the 3rd-century historian Cassius Dio. He illustrated the many advantages of marriage for the individual, for the family, and for the community: “For is there anything better than a wife who is chaste, domestic, a good housekeeper, a rearer of children; one to gladden you in health, to tend you in sickness; to be your partner in good fortune, to console you in misfortune; to restrain the mad passion of youth and to temper the unseasonable harshness of old age?”1 Addressing the members of the ruling class, the princeps described the model of the ideal woman, which dated to the archaic period and had been perpetuated, with minor adjustments, over the centuries, more or less until the 1st century AD. During the period of the civil wars, however, the model experienced a crisis that led to the erosion of the civil and ethical values so long shared by the Roman ruling class and that it had used to justify its power in the State. When Augustus re-established the res publica in 27 BC, he did so by restoring institutions, securitas, jurisprudence, religion, and laws.2 However, this also involved the (re)construction of a code of shared values based on a return to tradition or mos maiorum.3 To this end, during his principate, Augustus offered citizens a whole series of examples of behaviour inspired by Rome’s illustrious past, while grafting onto this legacy of values a certain number of innovations meeting the needs of a profoundly changed political, social, and economic situation.4 He then placed himself and his family on top of this two-fold base as models for his contemporaries and for posterity.5 He attributed an exemplary function to the women of the domus principis6, with the leading role being given first to his sister Octa1

Dio 56,3,3: πῶς μὲν γὰρ οὐκ ἄριστον γυνὴ σώφρων οἰκουρὸς οἰκονόμος παιδοτρόφος ὑγιαίνοντά τε εὐφρᾶναι καὶ ἀσθενοῦντα θεραπεῦσαι, εὐτυχοῦντί τε συγγενέσθαι καὶ δυστυχοῦντα παραμυθήσασθαι, τοῦ τε νέου τὴν ἐμμανῆ φύσιν καθεῖρξαι καὶ τοῦ πρεσβυτέρου τὴν ἔξωρον αὐστηρότητα κεράσαι; 2 Vell. 2,89,3–4. 3 Borgna, 2016: 49–56. 4 Summi viri in Augustus’ Forum are particularly meaningful for their educational value: Cresci Marrone, 1993: 169–179; Geiger, 2008: 1–8; 61–81. 5 RG 8. Troiani, 2016: 129–137. 6 According to Suet. Aug. 64: Filiam et neptes ita instituit, ut etiam lanificio assuefaceret vetaretque loqui aut agere quicquam nisi propalam et quod in diurnos commentarios referretur “In bringing up his daughter and his granddaughters he even had them taught

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via7 and later to his wife Livia.8 In the period of the civil wars, a number of matrons had acquired new spheres of action, flanking and sometimes even replacing their men – husbands, sons, brothers, and fathers – in key areas of political life.9 Although this type of behaviour had caused women to move away from traditional models, it was justified by the exceptional situation of the time. In fact, there were armed clashes between factiones and many knights and senators had lost lives – beheaded as proscribed, killed in street fighting in Rome, slaughtered on the battlefields where Roman cives were pitched against each other. Many men found themselves far from Rome, fleeing to escape their political enemies or at the head of armies. The seats of power were often abandoned, becoming weakened in terms of their traditional functions. Political decisions were often made within the domus, during informal encounters, suppers, and meetings in which matrons could also participate. The return to normality pursued by Augustus during his principate involved revising these new forms of political procedure; matrons ‘returned’ to their traditional roles, handing the reins of public life back to the men on whose behalf they had exercised power during the 1st century BC. Nonetheless, the new reality of the empire did not permit a full return to the habitual practices of the middle Republic. With only a few exceptions, the middle Republic had confined women to the domus10, placing domestic and family matters within their purview. Now the time had come to define the proper modes of action for matrons, establishing a balance between the need to return to the ancient mores and to identify spheres of action suited to women who were by now cultivated, free of tutela, able to manage property (sometimes extensive), and competent with regard to public matters. Although female intervention in cult practices and funeral rites had been admitted in the past, such opportunities now increased. Euergetism by women was encouraged and matrons were involved in different aspects of community life – also public – alongside the prince. While they did not assume institutional roles, they were often called upon to participate in politics in various capacities11 as revealed by the exceptional honours reserved for Octavia, the sister of Augustus, and then

spinning and weaving, and he forbade them to say or do anything except openly and such as might be recorded in the household diary”. 7 Cosi, 1996: 255–272; Wood, 1999 (2001): 27–35; Cresci Marrone, 2013: 79–98; Valentini, 2016: 239–255. 8 Barrett, 2002 (2006); Kunst, 2008; Dennison, 2013 (2010); Freisenbruch, 2010; Cenerini, 2018: 183–194. 9 Cenerini / Rohr Vio, 2016; Rodríguez López / Bravo Bosch, 2016; Rohr Vio, 2019. 10 Milnor, 2005: 3–4; 12–34. 11 Cenerini, 2009: 22 and 2016: 26–28. About the public role of imperial women from Livia to the Late Empire Kunst / Riemer (eds.), 2000 specifically for what concerns the contributions by Leppin, Klein, Wieber-Scariot, even if they are referred to subsequent cases.

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for his wife, Livia.12 Livia was therefore chosen as the female paradigm par excellence with all of the qualities traditionally associated with matrons being attributed to her:13 beauty14 and nobleness15; irreproachable conduct in her domestic life16; the composure requested by the pudicitia that she maintained even on tragic occasions such as the deaths of her son Drusus the Elder and of her grandson Germanicus.17 One particular aspect of Livia’s behaviour helps shed some light on how it became possible to reconcile adherence to these fundamental aspects of the model with the practice of such new actions in civic life. In his Life of Augustus, Suetonius praises the princeps’s sobriety of habits, writing: “Except on special occasions he wore common clothes for the house, made by his sister, wife, daughter or granddaughters; his togas were neither close nor full, his purple stripe neither narrow nor broad, and his shoes somewhat high-soled, to make him look taller than he really was”.18 By running the wool workshop – where she worked together with the other women in the household of Augustus called upon to play an exemplary role, including his sister Octavia, his daughter Julia the Elder, and his grand-daughters Julia the Younger and Agrippina the Elder – Livia was following in the steps of the Roman matrons of the earlier days of the principate. In fact, Plutarch dates the art of weaving to the time of the foundation of Rome and describes how the Sabines negotiating with the Romans who had abducted their women demanded that 12 The initiatives that Livia released in favor of the community, in the religious practices, the honours given to Octavia and Livia – particularly the sacrosanctitas and the ius imaginum to both of them in 35 BC, renewed for Livia in 9 BC; the exemption from the tutela for Livia in 9 BC; the dedication of a Porticus to Octavia after 27 BC and to Livia in 7 BC; the exemption from the Lex Voconia for Livia in 9 AD: all of these topics are mentioned in Cosi, 1996: 255–272; Barrett, 2006 (2002); Cenerini, 2018: 183–194; Rohr Vio in press. 13 CIL I 2,2211 (Claudia’s eulogy); ILS 8402 (Amymone’s inscription); CIL VI 1527, 31670, 37053 (the so-called Laudatio Turiae); CIL VI 10230 (Murdia’ inscription) qualify pulchritudo, castitas, pudicitia, pietas, fecunditas as fundamental virtutes. Cf. Garlick / Dixon / Allen, 1992; Cenerini, 2009 (2013); Lamberti, 2014: 61–84. 14 Tac. ann. 5,1 affirms that Octavian was moved by Livia’s cupido formae. Cf. Strunk, 2014: 126–148. About Livia’s virtutes Kunst, 2008: 111–124. 15 Vell. 2,75,3: Livia, nobilissimi et fortissimi viri Drusi Claudiani filia, genere, probitate, forma Romanarum eminentissima, quam postea coniugem Augusti vidimus, quam transgressi ad deos sacerdotem ac filiam. Cf. also Tacitus, even more critic towards the princeps’s wife, however recognizes her breeding: Tac. ann. 5,1: nobilitatis per Claudiam familiam et adoptione Liviorum Iuliorumque clarissimae. 16 Tac. ann. 5,1: sanctitate domus priscum ad morem, comis ultra quam antiquis feminis probatum, mater impotens, uxor facilis et cum artibus mariti, simulatione filii bene composita. 17 Cresci / Nicolini, 2010: 163–178. 18 Suet. Aug. 73: Veste non temere alia quam domestica usus est, ab sorore et uxore et filia neptibusque confecta; togis neque restrictis neque fusis, clavo nec lato nec angusto.

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their duties be limited to spinning wool for their new husbands and that they be spared from heavy labour, as was the custom in their families of origin: “When the Sabines, after their war against the Romans, were reconciled with them, it was agreed that their women should perform no other tasks for their husbands than those which were connected with spinning. It was customary, therefore, at subsequent marriages, for those who gave the bride away, or escorted her to her new home, or simply looked on, to cry “Talasius!” merrily, in testimony that the woman was led home for no other task than that of spinning.”19 The production of home-spun garments also contributed to the sobriety of the household. Augustus would use the example provided by Livia to encourage the Roman cives to dress modestly. According to Cassius Dio, in 18 BC, the princeps spoke in support of the legislation on marriage that had been criticized by the senators, who refused to marry on the grounds of women’s immorality: “‘You yourselves ought to admonish and command your wives as you wish; that is what I do’ When they heard that, they plied him with questions all the more, wishing to learn what the admonitions were which he professed to give Livia. He accordingly, though with reluctance, made a few remarks about women’s dress and their other adornment, about their going out and their modest behaviour”.20 Augustus, therefore, proposed his own wife as a model for the senatorial ordo, also identifying clothing as a key component of correct matronly conduct. Yet another aspect of the wool workshop contributed to Livia’s exemplary function. Women carrying out spinning and weaving activities would remain in the innermost space of the domus, protected from contacts with the outside world, as revealed by the story of Lucretia, which took place in the time of King Tarquinius Superbus. According to the legend, the king’s son Sextus Tarquinius took advantage of her husband’s absence to enter the house and rape her. Having lost her virtue, Lucretia committed suicide and was revenged by her relatives who drove the kings from Rome. Sextus Tarquinius had to violate the sacred bonds of hospitality in order to cause this loss of pudicitia, given that Lucretia spent her time during her husband’s absence at the loom and would have been in a part of

19

Plut. Rom. 15,5: ἐπεὶ γὰρ οἱ Σαβῖνοι πρὸς τοὺς Ῥωμαίους πολεμήσαντες διηλλάγησαν, ἐγένοντο συνθῆκαι περὶ τῶν γυναικῶν, ὅπως μηδὲν ἄλλο ἔργον τοῖς ἀνδράσιν ἢ τὰ περὶ τὴν ταλασίαν ὑπουργῶσι. παρέμεινεν οὖν καὶ τοῖς αὖθις γαμοῦσι τοὺς διδόντας ἢ παραπέμποντας ἢ ὅλως παρόντας ἀναφωνεῖν τὸν Ταλάσιον μετὰ παιδιᾶς, μαρτυρομένους ὡς ἐπ’οὐδὲν ἄλλο ὑπούργημα τῆς γυναικὸς ἢ ταλασίαν εἰσαγομένης. Cf. Plut. Rom. 19,9. 20 Dio 54,16,4–5: “αὐτοὶ ὀφείλετε ταῖς γαμεταῖς καὶ παραινεῖν καὶ κελεύειν ὅσα βούλεσθε· ὅπερ που καὶ ἐγὼ ποιῶ.” ἀκούσαντες καὶ κελεύειν ὅσα βούλεσθε· ὅπερ που καὶ ἐγὼ ποιῶ.” ἀκούσαντες οὖν ταῦτ’ ἐκεῖνοι πολλῷ μᾶλλον ἐνέκειντο αὐτῷ, βουλόμενοι τὰς παραινέσεις ἃς τῇ Λιουίᾳ παραινεῖν ἔφη μαθεῖν. καὶ ὃς ἄκων μέν, εἶπε δ’ οὖν τινα καὶ περὶ τῆς ἐσθῆτος καὶ περὶ τοῦ λοιποῦ κόσμου τῶν τε ἐξόδων καὶ τῆς σωφροσύνης αὐτῶν. Sull’abbigliamento delle matrone Bonfante, 1994: 3–10; Berg, 2002: 15–73; Noguera Celdrán, 2016: 613–634 and n. 20.

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the house protected from external contacts.21 The domus in which Livia wove was, of course, rather different from Lucretia’s home. Although the domus of Augustus was a physical place on the Palatine Hill, it also represented the princeps’s “extended family” and new centre of power. The domus principis was both public and private, a seat where many political decisions were made and where princeps and ruling class met.22 In fact, it came into being and was perpetuated through marriages, ties of friendship, and the birth of descendents who consolidated the various alliances.23 Women played a key role in this context. They were mothers who could give the princeps potential heirs, perpetuating the domus through their fertility24 as well as transmitting the values on which the principate was founded to future generations; in fact, they were also the educators of the young relatives of the princeps and of the young guests/hostages sent by client kings to be raised in the household of Augustus.25 Female actions in this context acquired their legitimacy due to the ambiguity of the domus principis, which combined the private function traditionally appropriated for women with the public function otherwise denied to matrons. Livia’s role caused her to be identified as the origin, together with Augustus, of the domus and of the new imperial configuration. Like Hersilia, who inaugurated the Rome of the Kings together with Romulus, like Tanaquil, who founded the Etruscan Kingdom in Rome together with Tarquinius Priscus, like Lucretia, whose sacrifice induced her relatives to overthrow the kings and to establish the Republic, Livia contributed to an institutional transformation that would play a decisive role in public life. It is unlikely that Livia’s activities at the loom would have involved her actually weaving her family’s clothes with her own hands; rather, she probably supervised the weaving activities carried out in the domus by the slaves, according to a practice widespread among 2nd-century matrons who were sometimes also owners and managers of their own manufacturing enterprises.26 Nevertheless, the wool workshop to which the wife of Augustus devoted herself can also be interpreted as a symbolic reference to other types of fabric woven by matrons as a result of the gradual transformation of their space in public and political life. In fact, Livia was also celebrated for weaving a web of personal and family links for her hus-

21

Liv. 1,57,6–58,5. About woolworking in the traditional feminine model Larsson Lovén, 1998: 85–95. 22 Pani, 1979; Winterling, 1999; Girotti, 2010. 23 Moreau, 2005: 7–23; Moreau, 2009: 33–43. The new condition of the domus principis facilitated the interference of Augustus’ women in politics: Cenerini, 2016: 34–35. 24 Cenerini, 2009:17–18. This role, attributed to the women of the imperial family, justified the awarding to Livia in 9 AD of the ius trium liberorum, that exempted her from Lex Voconia, even if she had not had three children: Dio 55,2,5. 25 About the role of the matronae as educators: Tac. dial. 28; Dixon, 1988 (2014): 227; Dasen / Spät, 2010. 26 Fischler, 1994: 117; Vicari, 2001: 16; Chiabà, 2003: 264.

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band, in support of his domus and, therefore, also of the state.27 The warp and weft of Livia’s loom were the interpersonal relations and marriage agreements creating the new ruling class and fabric of the dynastic succession of Augustus.28 This role was attributed to Livia as early as 38 BC. As the daughter of Marcus Livius Drusus Claudianus and wife of Tiberius Claudius Nero, both exponents of the illustrious pro-Republican gens Livia and gens Claudia, this matron, now wife of the Caesarian Octavian, contributed to the politics of the triumvir who would become princeps, seeking to join the highest echelons of the Roman aristocracy so as to obtain an authoritative legitimation for his leadership ambitions.29 Livia took over the role of reconciling the gens Julia and gens Claudia. Although often on opposing sides during the civil wars, after the Treaty of Brundisium (40 BC) and the Pact of Cape Miseno (39 BC) these gentes found their interests converging and made efforts to come to a conciliation, identifying Livia as a valuable mediator. Even later, Livia continued to create ties on behalf of Augustus. Although she had shown herself to be fertile as the mother of Tiberius and of Drusus the Elder, both born of her first marriage, she did not bear Augustus any children, thus depriving him of a direct heir.30 According to the consolidated practice, this could have resulted in her divorce from Augustus. She compensated for this shortcoming by contributing in a different way to the fusion between the two components of the domus principis – Julia and Claudia – and to the transmission of imperial power. From 4 AD onwards, when Augustus adopted Tiberius, Livia guaranteed the princeps his successor, even if he was not a blood relative as Augustus would have liked. Nevertheless, she did contribute to raising to the purple blood relatives of Augustus belonging to later generations. Referring to Augustus and Livia’s lack of offspring, Tacitus points out that “the union of Agrippina and Germanicus created a blood connection between herself and Augustus, so that her great-grandchildren were shared with him.”31 In fact, Livia was the great-grandmother of the third emperor, Caligula, who had both Julian and Claudian ancestry. Though unable to bear him sons, Livia 27

In Roman society, clothing was an indicator of identity, revealing social class as well as the wearer’s status of Roman citizen, e.g. Casartelli, 1998: 109–126. As a result of these qualities, clothing sometimes became the subject of political debate as revealed in a clash of views between Octavian and Antony during the Second Triumvirate. 28 Also Octavia did weave relationships for the imperial politics: Suet. Aug. 63 reports that at Marcellus’ death in 23 BC, her brother, Augustus, asked her the authorization to make his daughter Iulia Maior marry Agrippa, who should have divorced Marcella, Octavia’s daughter. 29 Referring to the “politics of the oblivion” through which Octavianus forgot the injustices he and his adoptive father, Iulius Caesar, suffered, in order to reconcile with the philorepublican faction: Fraschetti, 1994: 129–130. 30 Mastrorosa, 2016: 65–87. 31 Tac. ann. 5,1: nullam posthac subolem edidit sed sanguini Augusti per coniunctionem Agrippinae et Germanici adnexa communis pronepotes habuit.

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ensured that her husband could place a consanguine heir on the imperial throne due to a network of relations and marriage ties that she probably had a hand in constructing. Through her involvement in imperial politics and successor strategies, Livia helped legitimise a new model of wife. This transformation had been set into motion during the late Republic. In this period marriage implied that both partners really participated in each other’s lives and that women therefore shared their husbands’ public responsibilities32. Livia conforms to this model and becomes, in turn, a model for the matrons of the Empire. These matrons would also weave links to the gens of their husband in the private sphere and to the State in a more public context, thus impacting the composition of the future ruling class. Augustus approved of this role being played by Livia, to the point of transforming it into a model. However, it was also controversially exploited by those taking a critical stance towards the principate. Livia’s contribution to the dynastic politics of Augustus was interpreted as inappropriate meddling in matters beyond her competence,33 leading to accusations of her involvement in the deaths of all of the candidates chosen by Augustus to succeed him, thus hindering the rise of her son Tiberius.34 These claims were made with regard to the deaths of Marcellus in 23 BC35, of Lucius and Gaius Caesar in 2 and 4 AD36, and of Agrippa Postumus in 14 AD.37 According to her critics, Livia deliberately concealed the death of Augustus at Nola until the arrival of Tiberius, thus interfering in the dynamics of the succession.38 Alluding to Livia’s interference in imperial politics, Caligula described her as a Ulixes stolata, evoking her cunning through his reference to Homer’s Ulysses and qualifying her as a woman by his mention of the stola, a garment worn by matrons.39 We might therefore consider this emphasis upon Livia’s devotion to weaving, a highly esteemed ancient craft that could be interpreted both literally as well as symbolically, as the princeps’s response to such accusations, with the aim of legitimising his wife’s involvement in dynastic politics in particular. This two-fold approach, both real and symbolic, could also be 32

Rohr Vio, 2019: 35–46. Tac. ann. 5,1–2. About Livia’s assumed involvement in the death of some of the designated successors: Suet. Cal. 23,3; Tac. ann. 1,3,3; Dio 53,33,4; 55,10a,10; 55,32,1–2; 56,30,1–2. 34 Plin. nat. 7,46,150 mentions Livia’s and Tiberius’ cogitationes between Augustus’ misfortunes and worries. 35 Dio 53,33,4. 36 Dio 55,10a,10. Cf. Tac. ann. 1,3,3. 37 Tac. ann. 1,6,2; Dio 56,30,1–2. Livia may have killed Fabius Maximus too, after the reconciliation between Augustus and Agrippa at Planasia: Tac. ann. 1,5,1–2. 38 Tac. ann. 1,5,4; Dio 56,31,1. The story might be a duplication of Tanaquilla’s legend, who had hidden Tarquinius Priscus’ death until Servius Tullius became king. About Tanaquilla: Staccioli, 2018. 39 Suet. Cal. 23,3. 33

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applied to the actions of another famous weaver rooted in Rome’s mythical heritage that was so often drawn upon by Augustus for his collection of ennobling exempla.40 Tanaquil, wife of King Tarquinius Priscus, is often considered the archetype of the weaver woman.41 Up until the 1st century BC, the toga regia undulata of Servius Tullius woven by Tanaquil was kept in the temple of Fortuna. Tanaquil’s textile skills led her to invent the plain tunica recta worn both by boys and brides, whose wedding procession offerings included a spindle and distaff; her identification with the weaving workshop and the associated virtutes was immortalised by the statue depicting her with a spindle and sandals in the Temple of Sancus.42 Like Livia after her, Tanaquil transferred her skills at the loom to other spheres, weaving links between individuals and families and interfering in the public actions of her husband, both before and after his arrival in Rome, in that two-fold interpretation, both symbolic and real, of the weaving workshop that would provide an archaic, legitimising precedent for the wife of the princeps.43 As in the case of Tanaquilla, also Livia's role in politics was never formalized in an office, but resulted in the title of Augusta, from 14 AD.44 From this moment, the women of the imperial family who legitimated the successor, as his mother or as his wife, were identified by this title.45 So Antonia Minor in 37 AD, although after her death, by the will of her nephew Caligula, was Augusta; also was Agrippina Minor in 50 AD, after Nero’s adoption; Poppea and her daughter Claudia in 63 BC, by Nero’s will, too. Livia’s model survived even after the Iulio-Claudian dynasty. Galba, moreover, who tried to establish a new principatus, guaranteed some visibility to Livia depicting her portrait on his coins to underline a dynastic continuity in 69 AD. In the same year, Sestilia, mother of the emperor Vitellius, was Augusta: although he had no blood ties with Augustus, Vitellius applied Livia’s model to his mother precisely for the legitimacy. The inauguration of a new dynasty with the principatus of Vespasian did not produce the eclipse of Livia: Domitilla, wife of Vespasian, obtained the title of Augusta after her death and also Iulia, daughter of Titus, did; Domizia Longina, mother of Domitian's heir, was Augusta too. In the Antoninan age, the title of Augusta was confered to numerous women of the imperial family, not only mothers and wives of the emperors, still in relation to their role in the succession. Livia was also the priestess of the Divus Augustus cult. The ancestry from the 40

Probably since the Augustan Age Tanaquilla’s tradition is divided and on one hand identifies her as a model, while on the other hand as an antimodel: Bauman, 1994: 177– 188. 41 About the ancient models for the women of the Imperial family: Purcell, 1986: 91. 42 Plin. nat. 8,74,194 and Plut. Quaest. Rom. 30,271e. 43 About the relation between the memory of the two women in the historiographical tradition: Bauman, 1994: 177–188; Berrino, 2004: 15–32. 44 Cenerini, 2018: 190–194. 45 Cenerini, 2009: passim.

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first deified emperor legitimized his successors to take power. Livia’s model was employed by Antonia Minore, from 37 AD; Agrippina Minore was the priestess of the Divus Claudius cult during Nero’s reign. In the modalities of her political action, Livia was, therefore, the arrival point of the female experience of the Late Republic and the starting point of the new reality of the women of the Domus principis. A well-known epitaph for a matron called Claudia in the 2nd century BC clearly synthesises the matronal model, attributing two activities to the ideal woman: domum servare et lanam facere, evoked in the title of this contribution.46 Livia, matrona optima, carried out these same duties, adapting the original meaning to the needs of her time: her care of the house, in this case, the domus principis, translated into care for the imperial family, a new, fundamental centre of power, and the weaving of wool turned into the building of relations between cives that would in turn have further repercussions in the political sphere. Bibliography Barrett, A.A., 2006 (2002): Livia. La First Lady dell’impero. Trad. it. Roma (New Haven / London). Bauman, R.A., 1994: “Tanaquil-Livia and the Death of Augustus”. Historia 43, 177–188. Berrino, N.F., 2004: “Dalla Tanaquilla di Livio alla Livia di Tacito”. InvLuc 26, 15–32. Berg, R., 2002: “Wearing Wealth: Mundus Muliebris and Ornatus as Status Markers for Women in Imperial Rome”. In P. Setälä / R. Berg / R. Hälikkä / M. Keltanen / J. Pölönen / V. Vuolanto (eds.): Women, wealth and power in the Roman Empire. Rome. Pp. 15–73. Bonfante, L., 1994: “Introduction”. In J.L. Sebesta / L. Bonfante (eds.): The World of Roman Costume. Madison. Pp. 3–10. Borgna, A., 2016: “Augusto al potere. Mores, exempla, consensus”. In A. Maffi (ed.): Princeps legibus solutus. Torino. Pp. 47–62. Casartelli, A., 1998: “La funzione distintiva del colore nell’abbigliamento romano della prima età imperiale”. Aevum 72, 109–126. Cenerini, F., 2009: Dive e Donne. Mogli, madri, figlie e sorelle degli imperatori romani da Augusto a Commodo. Imola. — 2009 (2013): La donna romana. Modelli e realtà. Bologna. — / Rohr Vio, F. (eds.), 2016: Matronae in domo et in re publica agentes. Spazi e occasioni dell’azione femminile nel mondo romano tra tarda repubblica e primo impero. Atti del Convegno di Venezia, 16–17 ottobre 2014. Trieste. — 2016: “Le matronae diventano Augustae: un nuovo profilo al femminile”. In F. Cenerini / F. Rohr Vio (ed.): Matronae in domo et in re publica agentes.

46

CIL I2 1211 = CIL VI 15346 = CLE 52 = ILLRP 973 = ILS 8403.

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Spazi e occasioni dell’azione femminile nel mondo romano tra tarda repubblica e primo impero. Atti del Convegno di Venezia, 16–17 ottobre 2014. Trieste. Pp. 23–42. — 2018: “Iulia Augusta: Livia dopo Augusto”. In S. Segenni (ed.): Augusto dopo il bimillenario. Un bilancio. Roma. Pp. 183–194. Chiabà, M., 2003: “Trosia P. Hermonis l. Hilara, lanifica circlatrixs (InscrAq, 69)”. In A. Buonopane / F. Cenerini (eds.): Donna e lavoro nella documentazione Epigrafica. Atti del I seminario sulla condizione femminile nella documentazione epigrafica (Bologna, 21 novembre 2002). Faenza. Pp. 261–276. Cosi, R., 1996: “Ottavia. Dagli accordi triumvirali alla corte augustea”. In M. Pani (ed.): Epigrafia e territorio. Politica e società. Temi di antichità romane. Bari. Pp. 255–272. Cresci Marrone, G., 1993: Ecumene augustea. Una politica per il consenso. Roma. — 2013: Marco Antonio. La memoria deformata. Napoli. — / Nicolini, S., 2010: “Il principe e la strategia del lutto – Il caso delle donne della domus di Augusto”. In A. Kolb (ed.): Augustae. Machtbewusste Frauen am Römischen Kaiserhof?, Akten Der Tagung in Zürich 18.–20.9.2008. Berlin. Pp. 163–78. Dasen, V. / Späth T. (eds.), 2010: Children, Memory and Family Identity in Roman Culture. Oxford. Dennison, M., 2013 (2010): Livia. L’imperatrice di Roma. Trad. it. Roma. Dixon, S., 1988 (2014): The Roman Mother. London / Sydney. Fischler, S., 1994: “Social Stereotypes and Historical Analysis. The Case of the Imperial Women at Rome”. In L.J. Archer et al. (eds.): Women in Ancient Societies. An Illusion of the Night. New York. Pp. 115–33. Fraschetti, A., 1994: “Livia, la politica”. In A. Fraschetti (ed.): Roma al femminile. Roma / Bari. Pp. 123–151. Freisenbruch, A., 2010: The First Ladies of Rome. The Women behind the Caesars. London. Garlick, B. / Dixon, S. / Allen, P. (eds.), 1992: Stereotypes of Women in Power. Historical Perspectives and Revisionist Views. New York. Geiger, J., 2008: The First Hall of Fame: a Study of the Statues in the Forum Augustum. Leiden / Boston. Girotti, B., 2010: Vita alla corte imperiale romana. Bologna. Kunst, C. / Riemer, U. (eds.), 2000: Grenzen der Macht: Zur Rolle der römischen Kaiserfrauen. Stuttgart. Kunst, C., 2008: Livia. Macht und Intrigen am Hof des Augustus. Stuttgart. Lamberti, F., 2014: “Donne romane fra Idealtypus e realtà sociale. Dal ‘domum servare’ e ‘lanam facere’ al ‘meretricio more vivere’”. Quaderni Lupiensi di Storia e Diritto 4, 61–84.

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Larsson Lovén, L., 1998: “Lanam Fecit: Woolworking and Female Virtue”. In L. Larsson Lovén / A. Strömberg (eds.): Aspects of Women in Antiquity. Jonsered. Pp. 85–95. Mastrorosa, I.G., 2016: “Matronae e repudium nell’ultimo secolo di Roma repubblicana”. In F. Cenerini / F. Rohr Vio (eds.): Matronae in domo et in re publica agentes. Spazi e occasioni dell’azione femminile nel mondo romano tra tarda repubblica e primo impero. Atti del Convegno di Venezia, 16–17 ottobre 2014. Trieste. Pp. 65–87. Milnor, K., 2005: Gender, Domesticity, and the Age of Augustus: Inventing Private Life. Oxford. Moreau, Ph., 2005: “La domus Augusta et les formations de parenté à Rome”. CCG 16, 7–23. — 2009: “Domus Augusta: l’autre « maison d’Auguste »”. In M. Christol / D. Darde (eds.): L’Expression du pouvoir au début de l’Empire. Autour de la Maison Carrée à Nîmes. Paris. Pp. 33–43. Noguera Celdrán, J.M., 2016: “Indumentaria de la matrona romana en el Saeculum Avreum y el siglo I. Una visión desde la estatuaria femenina segobrigense”. In R. Rodríguez López / M. J. Bravo Bosch (eds.): Mujeres en tiempos de Augusto : realidad social e imposición legal. Valencia. Pp. 613–34. Pani, M., 1979: Tendenze politiche della successione al principato di Augusto. Bari. Purcell, N., 1986: “Livia and the womanhood of Rome”. PCPhS 212, 78–105. Rodríguez López, R. / Bravo Bosch, M.J. (eds.), 2016: Mujeres en tiempos de Augusto: realidad social e imposición legal. Valencia. Rohr Vio, F., 2019: Le custodi del potere. Donne e politica alla fine della repubblica romana. Roma. — in press: “Le donne della domus principis e la legislazione a tutela della famiglia: Augusto e la rivitalizzazione della tradizione aristocratica”. In Ph. Le Doze (ed.): Le costume de Prince. Regards sur une figure politique de la Rome ancienne. Rome. Staccioli, R.A., 2018: Tanaquilla. Creatrice di re per il trono di Roma. Roma. Strunk, T.E., 2014: “Rape and Revolution: Livia and Augustus in Tacitus’ Annales”. Latomus 73, 126–148. Troiani, L., 2016: “Augusto e l’elogio di Filone Alessandrino”. In G. Negri / A. Valvo (eds.): Studi su Augusto. In occasione del XX centenario della morte, Torino. Pp. 129–37. Valentini, A., 2016: “Ottavia la prima ‘First Lady of Imperial Rome’”. In F. Cenerini / F. Rohr Vio (eds.): Matronae in domo et in re publica agentes. Spazi e occasioni dell’azione femminile nel mondo romano tra tarda repubblica e primo impero. Atti del Convegno di Venezia, 16–17 ottobre 2014. Trieste. Pp. 239–255.

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Vicari, F., 2001: Produzione e commercio dei tessuti nell’Occidente romano. Oxford. Winterling, A., 1999: Aula Caesaris. Studien zur Institutionalisierung des römischen Kaiserhofes in der Zeit von Augustus bis Commodus (31 v.Chr. – 192 n.Chr.). München. Wood, S., 1999 (2001): Imperial Women: a Study in Public Images, 40 B.C. – A.D. 68. Leiden / Boston / Köln.

Iulia maior on the Move exemplum licentiae and euergetis Christiane Kunst1

“It is shameful to narrate and dreadful to recall. For his daughter Julia, utterly regardless of her great father and her husband, left untried no disgraceful deed untainted with either extravagance or lust of which a woman could be guilty, either as the doer or as the object, and was in the habit of measuring the magnitude of her fortune only in the terms of licence to sin, setting up her own caprice as a law unto itself.” (Tr. F.W. Shipley)2 With these words Velleius Paterculus opens his account on what happened in 2 BCE, when Augustus accused his daughter publicly of adultury and sent her into exile on the island Pandateria (Ventotene), off the coast of Campania.3 Possibly the young Velleius was himself in Rome at the time of the embarrasing revelations. Certainly he had been involved with Iulia’s fate at different stages of his life: First and for all, Velleius4 was a loyal follower of Iulia’s allegedly disregarded husband Tiberius, who was stuck on the isle of Rhodes, when his wife fell from her father’s favour.5 Second, Velleius was part of her eldest son Caius‘ entourage to the east. The company left Rome shortly after the scandal in January 1 BCE and must have been already in preparation before.6 30 years later Velleius’ judgement on Augustus’ only child was still valid. Between 56 and 62 CE7 – in the principate of Iulia’s great-grandson Nero – at a time, when witnesses were still alive, the philosopher Seneca (ben. 6,32) commented: “The deified Augustus banished his daughter who was shameless beyond the indictment of shamelessness, and made public the scandals of the imperial house.” 8 Pliny the Elder (7,46.149), who attributed a political aspect to Iulia’s case, pitied the powerful emperor as a father for: “the adulterous behaviour 1

Translations by the author unless otherwise stated. Vell. 2,100,2–3: foeda dictu memoriaque horrenda in ipsius domo tempestas erupit. Quippe filia eius Iulia, per omnia tanti parentis ac viri immemor, nihil, quod facere aut pati turpiter posset femina, luxuria libidineve infectum reliquit magnitudinemque fortunae suae peccandi licentia metiebatur, quidquid liberet pro licito vindicans. 3 Cohen, 2008. 4 Christ, 2001. 5 Sattler, 1962; Levick, 1972; Jakob-Sonnabend, 1995. 6 For chronology see Meise, 1969: 5–34. 7 Cooper / Procopè, 1995: 183 f. 8 Divus Augustus filiam ultra impudicitiae male dictum impudicam relegavit et flagitia principalis domus in publicum emisit. 2

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of his daughter and her acknowledged plots of parricide.”9 In the second century the tone of our sources turned slightly milder. Looking now for a third party10 to be made responsible for Iulia’s supposed conduct and her down-fall, attention focused more on the emperor’s harshness in judgement against his only child. Writers were convinced that Augustus’ decision to go public with fierce rage inevitably had to lead to her disaster. The first to phrase a complicity of Augustus was Seneca (ben. 6,32,2): “lacking control over his rage, he had made public these [scandals], which had to be punished by the Emperor, but should equally have been kept secret by him, since the disgrace of shame also affects whoever punishes it. Later, when embarrassment had replaced rage, groaning that he had not concealed in silence the events of which he had so long been unaware, until it had become shameful to speak out he often cried out, ‘none of this would have happened to me, if either Agrippa or Maecenas had been living’.” (Tr. E. Fantham slightly modified)11 Tacitus (ann. 3,24,2–3) remarked: “As Augustus’ public fortune had been successful, so that of his household was unfortunate because of the immorality of his daughter and granddaughter whom he expelled from Rome, punishing their adulterers with death or exile. For by calling an offence common between men and women by the solemn name of pollution of religion and violation of his majesty, he went far beyond the clemency of our ancestors and his own legislation.” (Tr. E. Fantham)12 However, Iulia’s flagrancy and promiscuity remained beyond doubt. Sueton (Tib. 7,2) even claimed Iulia had tried to seduce Tiberius when still being married to Agrippa and judged her and her homonymous daughter: “The Julias, daughter and granddaughter, tainted with every disgrace”.13 By the beginning of the third century Cassius Dio (55,10,14) showed complete bewilderment at Augustus’ blindness towards her behaviour and his subsequent disproportionate reaction when 9

... adulterium filiae et consilia parricidae palam facta. For Sempronius Gracchus as Iulia’s seducer see Tac. ann. 53,1. 11 Haec tam vindicanda principi quam tacenda, quia quarundam rerum turpitudo etiam ad vindicantem redit, parum potens irae publicaverat. Deinde, cum interposito tempore in locum irae subisset verecundia, gemens, quod non illa silentio pressisset, quae tam diu nescierat, donec loqui turpe esset, saepe exclamavit : “Horum mihi nihil accidisset, si aut Agrippa aut Maecenas vixisset!” 12 ... ut valida divo Augusto in rem publicam fortuna ita domi improspera fuit ob impudicitiam filiae ac neptis quas urbe depulit, adulterosque earum morte aut fuga punivit. nam culpam inter viros ac feminas vulgatam gravi nomine laesarum religionum ac violatae maiestatis appellando clementiam maiorum suasque ipse leges egrediebatur. 13 Suet. Aug. 65,1: Iulias, filiam et neptem, omnibus probris contaminatas ... 10

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truth came to light.14 Ancient authors are little concerned with Iulia as a person beyond asserting her overwhelming sexual desire (libido) and extravagance (luxuria) that turned her into an exemplum licentiae (an example of licentiousness).15 Iulia is remembered for her femaleness – bound to her sexuality and for the pains she put on her poor loving father. The late antique author Macrobius, who seems to offer some inside into her character, plays the same tune by 400 CE: “She was in her thirty-eighth year [in 2 BCE], a time of life when if she had behaved reasonably she would have been almost elderly; but she abused the indulgence of fortune no less than that of her father. Of course her love of literature and considerable culture, a thing easy to come by in that household, and also her kindness and gentleness and utter freedom from vindictiveness, had won her immense popularity, and people who knew about her faults were amazed that she combined them with qualities so much their opposite.” (Tr. H. Lloyd-Jones)16 The collection of salty jokes17 Macrobius collected recall 400 years after the events again Augustus’ ignorance and blind love for his frivolous daughter and imply a rivalry in the Augustan house, between Iulia and Livia, the two first ladies of the empire.18 It cannot be denied, the literary sources mirror the impact of Iulia’s public punishment in 2 BCE, still enhanced by the emperor’s last will in 14 CE. Thereby Augustus formally disinheritated his daughter and refused her burial in the family’s mausoleum.19 Iulia’s story was hardly of any interest before the 19th century, when historians started to explain Iulia’s outrageous behaviour.20 August Stahr (1865) painted the picture of a beautiful but rather lightheaded young woman suffering from the severity of her father’s home, being little prepared to administer the freedom offered by her early marriages.21 Later victimisations of Iulia focused

14

For Cass. Dio see esp. Swan, 2004: 106–110. Explicitly Vell. 2,100, 3 and Plin. nat. 21,9. 16 Macr. 2,5,2: annum agebat tricesimum et octavum, tempus aetatis, si mens sana superesset, vergentis in senium: sed indulgentia tam fortunae quam patris abutebatur, cum alioquin litterarum amor multaque eruditio, quod in illa domo facile erat, praeterea mitis humanitas minimeque saevus animus ingentem feminae gratiam conciliarent, mirantibus qui vitia noscebant tantam pariter diversitatem. 17 Richlin, 1992; Long, 2000. 18 Macr. 2,5,6. 19 Suet. Aug. 101,3 cf. Cass. Dio 56,32,4. 20 For Iulia’ reception in narrative literature see Simonis, 2013. 21 Beginning with Stahr, 1865: 133 ff. Ferrero, 1921: 52 ff., 69 who claimed the party of Tiberius led by Livia used the marriage laws to get the better of Iulia in 2 BCE. 15

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on her role as a pawn on her father’s political chess-board.22 Both argumentations however reinforce Iulia’s femaleness. Not surprisingly fresh voices emerged against the backdrop of the second wave of feminism, when the personal was recognized as political. Eckhard Meise or Barbara Levick did not any longer interpret Iulia’s exile as result of her sexual misbehaviour, but conjectured her involvement in a conspiracy against Augustus.23 Edmund Groag’s and Ronald Syme’s earlier attempts to rehabilitate Iulia with political arguments had rather seen Iulia as a pawn for other agents like Iullus Antonius24 or Livia.25 Even when the conspiracy argument was challenged and opposed, political motifs for Iulia’s punishment kept circulating. Kurt Raaflaub and Loren Sammons (1990) replaced the conspiracy with a dynastic-power struggle, in which Iulia’s behaviour had been only a valuable excuse.26 Others identified Iulia’s sexuality as threat to Augustus’ political system. Arther Ferrill (1980) argued Iulia’s open breach of the marriage laws caused the emperor’s rage.27 Similarly Richard Baumann (1992) stated Iulia and her coterie’s contempt for the Establishment had to be penalized by Augustus in the light of becoming pater patriae in 2 BCE.28 Over the past years Iulia’s life-style has been reacknowledged as act of wilfull opposition towards Augustus’ moral renovation and his political system.29 And again we observe Iulia’s scholarly reception projections of current concepts of femininity at any time.30 My aim cannot be to look for further explainations of Iulia’s failure, but rather to shed fresh light on her public image before and after 2 BCE reviewing ancient material evidence. Iulia’s portrait and damnatio memoriae After her banishment in 2/1 BCE it was inopportune to publicly honour Augustus’ disgraced daughter, even though no such instruction is known. Archaeologists assume that Iulia’s portraits were either destroyed or stored away in the West31, while they remained on view in the East, due to the fact that they belonged to family monuments, dedicated during Iulia’s soujourn here. Between 17 and 13 22

Temporini, 2002: 61, 67. Fantham, 2006: passim. For the role of Iulia’s tragedy in staging himself see Milnor, 2005: 88 ff. 23 Meise, 1969: 5 ff.; Levick, 1976; Lacey, 1980. 24 Groag, 1919; Syme, 1939: 426–428; Carcopino, 1958: 65–142; Syme, 1974. 25 Gardthausen, 1891: I, 1101; Ferrero, 1921:65. 26 Raaflaub / Samons, 1990: 428–430. 27 Ferrill, 1980; Radista, 1980: 290–294. 28 Bauman, 1992: 117. 29 Severy, 2003: 180 ff; Fantham, 2006, Schmitzer, 2010; Braccesi, 2012. 30 There are few exceptions pointing at the constructive dimension of her sexuality like Richlin, 1992 or Wood, 1999: 38 f. 31 Wood, 1999: 27, 30; Pollini, 2001; Varner, 2001: 59–60; Varner, 2004: 86–88; Fraschetti, 2005.

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BCE32 Iulia and her second husband Agrippa, de facto coemperor of her father Augustus, stayed in the Eastern part of the empire for administrative reasons. All over the empire public portraits of Iulia must have been on display before 2 BCE.33 Iulia’s portrait appeared on coins during Augustus’ lifetime. Livia had to wait for this honour until the reign of her son Tiberius. In 13 BCE denars were coined by the moneyer C. Marius with the reverse-type of Iulia’s bust flanked by her sons‘, Caius and Lucius, Augustus’ adopted sons and heirs. Above her head could be seen the civic crown (corona civica), symbol of the house of Augustus by then.34 It represented her as an important member of the domus Augusta and gate-keeper of power, linking the two generations of Caesars, her father and sons.35 An undated lead token (tessera) from Rome, used at the games to present the public with all kinds of gifts, points as well at Iulia’s prominence in public life as symbol of plenty and welfare.36 The discussed coins were issued in the very year, when Caius Caesar made his first public appearance and his parents returned from their journey to the East. Despite these reference points scholars have not achieved consensus on establishing a portrait type for Iulia and attributing known portraits to her.37 Most likely a portrait from Corinth identified by John Pollini38 represents her. Interestingly enough, the head must have been deliberately removed from a family group monument at the basilica and buried close by.39 Epigraphic-numismatic evidence Around 40 inscriptions from all over the empire survived which relate to Iulia. The bulk comes from Western Asia Minor and its offshore islands.40 However only seven of these inscriptions belong to bases for joint family monuments.41 The majority are honorary inscriptions42, often statue bases. It is worth while to categorize the ways Iulia is referred to in terms of family: ten inscriptions call her 32

Boschung, 1993: 48–58; Rose, 1997: 21, 61. For Agrippa’s itinarary Halfmann, 1986: 161–166. 33 Seven statues can be traced from inscriptions at Delphi, Ephesos, Lindos, Palaepaphos, Sestos, Thasos and Thespiae put up as part of family groups Rose, 1997: 20 f.; Wood, 1999: 20; Boschung, 2002: 144 ff. 34 Kunst, 2008: 88, 131. 35 RIC² Aug. 404. 36 CIL XV 7275: [I]ulia Aug(usti) f(iliae); Grimm, 1973; Winkes, 19955, 220. 37 Portraits discussed: Berlin (before Winkes, 1995); Glanum (Bartels, 1963: 23), Baeterrae (Boschung, 1993: 48–50), Caerre (Rose, 1997: 61, 126–128); Wood, 1999: 70 ff; Varner, 2004: 87 f. 38 Pollini, 2002; Winkes, 1995: 221. 39 Varner, 2004: 88. 40 I exclude an inscription from Apollonia for which see Chaniotis, 2003. 41 See above note 33. 42 Hahn, 1994: 106–117.

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‘daughter of Augustus and wife of Agrippa’, only four ‘daughter of Augustus and wife of Tiberius’, and twelve simply name her ‘daughter of Augustus’. Six inscriptions use no family relation at all, and seven mention her only indirectly, like an inscription for a priestess of hers, found in the theater of Dionysos at Athens.43 The relevance of these findings will be obvious looking at the South entrance to the agora at Ephesos.44 The so-called Mazaeus and Mithridates gate with three passage ways was dedicated in the 20th year of Augustus’ tribunate (in 4 or 3 BCE) by two freedman to “their patrons and the people [of Ephesos]”. On top of each lateral gate of the monument two pairs of statues were identified by inscriptions45: Augustus with Livia (left) and Agrippa with Iulia (right). While Livia is explicitly called wife of Augustus, there is no closer description of Iulia. In 4/3 BCE Agrippa had already died and her third husband Tiberius remained in exile on Rhodes (since 6 BCE). The interpretation of Iulia’s position depends on the distribution of inscriptions46 on the gate and their succesive reading. The Greek text above the middle gate way is slighty withdrawn and reads: “Mazaios and Mithridates to the patrons and to the people [of Ephesos].”47 The Latin text is spreading over the two outer gate ways in the forefront and has three different parts: a dedication to Augustus and Livia above the left gate48, a dedication to Agrippa and Iulia49 above the right gate and a line reading from the left gate [Mazaeus and] to the right gate [Mithridates to the patrons].50 Though both dedications use the same formulae, the fifth line creates a marked imbalance and gives more value to the patronage of the late Agrippa and Iulia. Indeed Iulia must be considered a main addressee of the gate since she and Agrippa were obviously the patrons at least of Mithridates,51 whereas Mazaeus might have fallen into the clientela of Augustus after Agrippa’s death. Also the decoration of the central freeze with Venus Genetrix reinforces Iulia’s outstanding role. Iulia was repeatedly joined to Venus Genetrix in Western Asia 43

IG II² 5096. Mackowski, 1994. 45 Rose, 1997: 173 cat. 112, suggests a statue of L. Caesar (I. Ephes. 3007) was after 2 CE added. 46 I.Ephes. 3006. 47 Μαζ[αῖο]ς καὶ Μιθριδάτης / [τοῖς] πά[τ]ρωσι καὶ τῶι δή[μωι]. 48 “For the Imperator Caesar Augustus, the son of the god, supreme pontiff, consul twelve times, holder of tribunician power twenty times; and for Livia, the wife of Caesar Augustus (Imp(eratori) Caesari divi f(ilio) Augusto pontifici / maximo co(n)s(uli) XII tribunic(ia) potest(ate) XX et / Liviae Caesaris Augusti). 49 “For Marcus Agrippa, the son of Lucius, consul three times, imperator, holder of tribunician power six times; and for Julia the daughter of Caesar Augustus” (M(arco) Agrippae L(uci) f(ilio) co(n)s(uli) tert(ium) im(eratori) tribunic(ia) / potest(ate) VI et / Iuliae Caesaris Augusti fil(iae)...). 50 Mazaeus et Mithridates patronis. 51 Burrell, 2009: 70. Augustus was the main heir to Agrippa (Cass. Dio 54,29,5). 44

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Minor.52 We will come back to this shortly. From the evidence of the Ephesian gate it is plain that Iulia’s particular denominations on our inscriptions can open new insights, if taken seriously. The case of the gate at Ephesos tells that our inscriptional evidence does not even in the East, necessarily come from the time of Iulia’s marriage to Agrippa and their joint tour 16–13 BCE. This has always been obvious for inscriptions calling her wife of Tiberius. One of them, an honorary inscription set up by Noric tribes after 9 BCE for Iulia and Livia, came to light at Virunum53 in Carinthia/ Austria. Taken together with information from Sueton (Tib. 7,3) that Iulia gave birth to Tiberius’ child at Aquileia, the inscription suggests that Iulia and her mother in law accompanied Tiberius (at least in parts) during his turn as legatus Augusti on the way to Pannonia and Dalmatia. This assumption of Iulia’s attendance also seems applicable to Agrippa’s official journey to Gaul and Spain (June 20 – spring 18 BCE): there are two records from Emerita Augusta (Mérida) und Carthago Nova (Cartagena) documenting a statue of Iulia and a donation made by her.54 What comments even stronger for this interpretation is the birth-date of Iulia’s first daughter, Iulia minor, between June 19 – August 18. This is firmly constrained by her brothers’ birthdays55 and calls for conjugal unity in time of conception.56 Iulia’s and Agrippa’s journey to the East was framed by major events in Augustan succession politics. The couple departed after the Augustan Saecular games (held 31st May – 3rd June 17 BCE) which announced a new golden age. Some time during the celebrations Augustus adopted their two sons Caius and Lucius.57 After their return to Rome the first public appearance of Caius Caesar58 was staged (12th July 13 BCE) and linked to the commission of the altar of peace (ara pacis) marking Augustus’ own return to Rome from his perennial journey to the west on 4th July 13 BCE.59 It is clear from this that presence and absence were carefully orchestrated. Hence, imperial women’s journeys deserve a closer look, especially because they get little attention in our literary material. For men spatial mobility was part of their social mobility and sign of their social and political participation and superiority.60 The well known senate’s debate in 21 CE on the

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Alzinger, 1974: 14. AEA 2004, 19. 54 CIL II 475 (Emerita/Lusitania); CartNova 228 (Carthago Nova / Hispania Citerior). 55 C. Caesar between 14th and 13th of Sept. 20 BCE; between 14th June and 15th July 17 BCE. 56 A gold coin (RIC² Aug 278) from around 19 BCE carrying the image of Libera possibly with Iulia’s portrait on the averse and the corona civica on the reverse. 57 Kunst, 2008: 129–130. 58 Cass. Dio 54,26,1. 59 Fasti Amiterni (CIL I² p. 243). 60 Kunst (forthcoming). 53

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question whether governors’ wives should be allowed to accompany their husbands into the provinces61 reveals that female mobility in the provinces was denounced as threat to good morals. This discussion would have been needless, if female mobility at the top level of Roman society was not perceived as a challenge to the mobility of men in the same social strata. For imperial women journeys opened spaces for personal interaction to be integrated into their framework of matronage, their basis of influence and power.62 After Agrippa and Iulia had left Rome in 17 BCE, they might have spent the winter on Sicily, where Agrippa owned large estates.63 Helmut Halfman who reconstructed Agrippa‘s ambitious itinerary already pointed out that in early 14 BCE Iulia travelled Western Asia Minor all by herself.64 A clear-cut proof for her independent journey to Illion/Troy at the beginning of the year is given by Flavius Iosephus.65 Apparently the city of Illion was ill prepared to receive the emperor’s daughter, which led to deep annoyance with Agrippa.66 Though it cannot be excluded that Iulia travelled on her own because of her new pregnancy, it cannot be the reason for not going to Syria. Agrippina was born in October 14 BCE possibly in Athens, more likely on Lesbos67 the pregnancy must have come into existence very early in 14 BCE, following the journey to Syria in 15 BCE during their second winter on Lesbos. From Lesbos Iulia and her husband took different routes: she visited Ilion/Troy and Agrippa went by ship to Sinope and Amisos on the Black Sea. Ilion had long-standing relations with female members of the Iulian family, who had acted as benefactresses towards the polis.68 On the coast of the Black Sea they met again and travelled back over land69, possibly on the different routes: Iulia making her way via Sardis.70 Separate journeys doubled the presence of Agrippa, who held tribunician power, and gave more poleis the chance to receive a member of the imperial family. For Iulia independent travelling held the chance to establish or maintain networks of her own like at Ilion. If we look at the inscriptions calling Iulia wife of Agrippa, one from Thespiai and an Athenian dedication on Delos could be connected with the couple’s

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Marshall, 1975; for a more general approach see Foubert, 2016. Kunst, 2013; Kunst, 2010. 63 Hor. epist. 1,12,1. 64 Halfmann, 1986: 166; Perea Yébenes, 2012. 65 Ios. an. 16,2,2. 66 Ibid.; Nik. Dam. FGrHist 90 F 134; SIG³ 776 = IGR IV 204 = IvIlion 86. 67 Raepsaet-Charlier 1983, No. 812. 68 Iulia, daughter of Lucius Iulius Caesar (cos. 89 BCE): IvIlion 72. 69 Ios. an. 16,2,2. 70 Sardis 7,1,197. 62

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outward journey via Greece in 17 BCE.71 Evidence from Kos72, Patara73 and Cyprus74 belong to part of the next year’s route to Syria. Sardis75 and Samos76 can be asscociated – as mentioned – with the backward journey from the Black Sea through Paphlagonia etc. to Samos.77 It is striking that among the inscriptions, which call Iulia wife of Agrippa, those from Kos have been interpreted as being part of honours for Agrippa on that islands.78 It should however be noted that Agrippa was honoured as patron and benefactor (Cal. 141) on Calymna, which belonged to Kos. On Kos itself Iulia was honoured several times, whereas Agrippa is only present in his familial representation as husband.79 Almost all inscriptions as his wife have strong sacred connotations, which clearly bring Iulia to the foreground. At Patara and Kos she was honoured as daughter of Theos (God) Augustus80, at Delphi the Athenians dedicated a statue of Iulia to Apollo, Artemis and Leto and the Samians offered another statue to their main goddess Hera. On Kos Iulia was honoured by an image of Artemis81 in the tempel of Apollon and on Cyprus she was called Iulia Thea Augusta. The dominance of Artemis, sister of Apollon, my be a pure coincidence, but it corresponds remarkably with coins also struck by C. Marius in 13 BCE. Their reverse type is the goddess Diana82 with a quiver of arrows on her back. Because of Diana’s physical resemblance to Augustus, the coin may represent Iulia as Diana Lucina, the goddess of childbirth and fresh beginning. Iulia’s prominent public role is definitively visible in a monument from Thespiae with her in the center of a statuary family group on a semicircular exedra,83 including Agrippa, their children (Caius, Iulia, Lucius and Agrippina) and Livia. Possibly it was erected on the occasion of the birth of Agrippina.

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IThesp 423 (Thespiai/Boetoia); ID 1592 (Delos); for Agrippa Halfmann 1986, 163. IG XII 4.2.1180 (Isthmia/Kos); IG XII 4.2.1154 (Halasarna/Kos). 73 SEG 63, 1334= AE (2012) [2015] 1659 (Patara/Lycia). 74 IGR III 940 (Palaipaphos/Cyprus). The inscription must have been erected after 15 BCE, when Augustus after an earthquake (17 BCE) supported the city and allowed it the name Augusta (Cass. Dio 54,23,7). 75 Sardis 7,1,197 (largely restored). 76 IG XII.6.1.393 (Samos). 77 For Agrippa Halfmann, 1986: 163. 78 Halfmann, 1986: 165. 79 Games (Agrippeia) held on Kos in the 1st cent. CE (IG XII.4.939) can have been as well a tribute to his granddaughter Agrippina. For dedications to Iulia’s grandchildren on Kos see Heil, 2013. 80 IG XII.4.2.1180. For Patara see above note 73. 81 IG XII.4.2.1154. 82 RIC² Aug. 403; Kunst, 2008: 131–132; Wood, 1999: 67–68 comes to the conclusion the bust represents Diana Augusta. 83 Rose, 1997: cat. 82. 72

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A significant number of inscriptions which honour Iulia as daughter of Augustus but without any further familial attribution call her Euergetis (benefactress) and reflect her matronage for particular poleis. There are honorary inscriptions from Mytilene/Lesbos84 and Thasos. The latter is particularly interesting, because the people from Thasos85 erected a statue for Iulia as “benefectress (through the efforts) of her ancestors”. Later they added a statue for Livia as Thea Euergetis together with Iulia minor (probably as infant in the arms of the elder).86 Rose supposed that only part of the block is preserved and other persons like Gaius and Lucius might have been included.87 Besides the inscriptions calling Iulia benefactress we have a number which honour her as goddess, most often connected to Aphrodite, Venus Genetrix or Leto (mother of Artemis and Apollon). Some also imply a cult of her own. At Mytilene/Lesbos Iulia is honoured as Iulia Nea Aphrodite Euergetis88, in her double function as goddess (Aphrodite as Venus Genetrix) and benefactress. At Assos within eyeshot from Lesbos, Lollia Antiochis dedicated a bath in honour of Iulia89, which may point to a personal relationship of the two women. Iulia had spent at least two winter seasons on Lesbos. Athens introduced a cult of Iulia, and Samos90 probably did also. Aphrodisias91 and Samos92 dedicated an image of Hera to Iulia. On Kos she was also honored as Iulia Augusta Leto Kalliteknon93, at Euromos/ Caria (with a statue of C. Caesar) as Iulia Kalliteknon94, and at Priene as Iulia Thea Kalliteknon.95 The epitheton Kalliteknon meaning “with a fair child/fair children” is also attested at Pergamon for Apollon Kalliteknon.96 Though it is very difficult to arrange the evidence chronologically, the inscriptions should be dated later than Iulia’s journey with Agrippa, to the time of her marriage with Tiberius (11–2 BCE). All show either her independent matronage or emphasize Iulia’s divinity connected to giving birth and underline her prominent position as mother of Caius Caesar. Therefore, the evidence has to be dated to the time after Caius’ official presentation to the public (13 BCE), perhaps even after receiving the toga virilis together with the title of princeps iuventutis (5 BCE). A further journey to

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IG XII.2.482; IG XII.2.204. IG XII.8.381: διὰ προγόνων εὐεργέτιν. 86 Rose, 1997: cat. 95. 87 Rose, 1997: cat. 95. 88 IG XII.2.482. 89 ΙΚ 4,16. 90 IG XII.6.1.330. 91 SEG 30, 1249. 92 IG XII.6.1.393. 93 IG XII.4.2.1155 = SEG 54, 73. 94 AE 1993, 1521 = SEG 43, 711; Habicht, 1996. 95 I.Prien. 225. 96 Hieroi Logoi 2.18; see Ohlemutz, 1940: 12; cf. Parker, 2016: 63, n. 146. 85

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Asia minor or at least close contacts become very probable for Iulia even after Tiberius had withdrawn to Rhodes in 6 BCE. 97 The inscriptions, that name Iulia wife of Tiberius, except one dedication from Kaunos in Lykia which honours her as benefactress, clearly focus on him: for instance, a dedication from Lindos/Rhodes (after 9 BCE) in honour of Tiberius, his deceased brother Drusus and Iulia (possibly in 6 BCE)98, and an extraordinary honorary inscription from Paphos/Cyprus that quite unusually calls her „wife of Tiberius“ before „daughter of Augustus“.99 Likewise noteworthy is her closeness to Livia, as already observed in the revised inscription from Thasos. Apparently this bond was strongly perceived during her marriage with Tiberius and makes little sense before. At Pergamon the magistrate Charinos (after 10 BCE) honoured both women with a bronze coin as: Livia Hera and Iulia Aphrodite.100 Athens introduced a joint cult for Livia and Iulia together with the goddess Hestia (Vesta).101 The women’s cooperation is also literarily attested for the celebrations of Tiberius’ victories over the Dalmatians and Pannonians in 9 BCE, when Iulia and her mother-in-law entertained the women of Rome to a banquet.102 As we have already observed, the Ephesian gate of Mazaeus and Mithridates definitely belonged to the time of Tiberius’ residence on Rhodes. An altar to the Imperial family from Pelousion/Egypt also belongs to this period.103 It was dedicated on 8th January 4 BCE by Quintus Corvius Flaccus, epistrategos of the Thebaid, mentioning Iulia the fifth position behind Augustus, Livia and her sons Caius and Lucius, but ahead of the governor of Egypt. In Galilee Philip the Tetrarch (ruler 4 BCE – CE 34) renamed the town Bethsaida in honour of Iulia Iulias, some-time during the period 4 to 2 BCE.104 Iulia must have had a personal relationship with Herodes’ son, who had spent much of his early life at the Augustan court.105 A further dedication during Tiberius’ time of exile for Iulia and her two

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We know that Iulia travelled the Troas and was honoured by the city council at Alexandria Troas (IK 53,12=AE 1973, 511). Another inscription from Alexandria Troas for Theos Augustus und Tiberius Augustus together with Iulia Augusta, Gaius and Lucius as well as the governor of Asia in 23–21 BCE (SEG 37,1007) makes little sense after 4 CE and should rather be dated originally between 11–6 BCE, having been actualized at a later date after Tiberius had become emperor in 14 CE. 98 Lindos II 385. 99 ABSA 42 (1947), 228,12 = IGR III 943. 100 RPC 2359. 101 See above note 43; Kajava, 2004. 102 Cass. Dio 55,2,4. 103 IGR I,5 1109. Grimm, 1973 attributes also a bone tessera from Oxyrhynchos with the inscription ΙΟΥΛΙΑ on the back to her because of facial similarities to the tessera from Rome. 104 Kokkinos, 2008; Kuhn, 2015: 152; Strickert, 2002. 105 Wilker, 2007, 25.

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sons Caius and Lucius comes from Paros106, confirming her public role right up to the events of 2 BCE. Summary The banishment of 2 BCE irreversibly destroyed Iulia’s public persona and deformed her memory. Even a short glance at the epigraphic and numismatic evidence, however, reveals that Iulia was more than a pleasure-seeking party goer. We have to remind ourselves that the honorary monuments remained on view over years when there was still hope that she would return from exile. However, her role in the principate of Augustus was determined by the fact that she was the future principes’ mother. With five living children she could rightly claim to be the new Venus Genetrix, the ancestral mother of the Iulian family tribe reborn. It can also be shown that Iulia should not be imagined as a woman acting entirely in her husband’s wake. Her numerous journeys around different parts of the empire, her public presence as well as her considerable wealth, and, last but not least, personal access to different types of decision makers put Iulia in the position to develop her own networks, now mainly visible in communities from Western Asia Minor. The fact that her monuments remained intact is most striking in the light of evidence, for instance, from Corinth. The sacred and euergetic flavour of most of the monuments in question affirms that Iulia was an important patroness in this area. But Iulia was also remembered in the West. The Roman people petitioned several times in vain to call the emperor’s daughter back from exile (Suet. Aug. 65,3). Contrary to our evidence from literary sources, Livia and Iulia did not at all compete, but cooperated. This is also well documented by a graveyard of their joint freedmen at Rhegium in Calabria107, Iulia’s last residence in exile. Even Tacitus (ann. 4,71,4) acknowledged that Livia publicly supported her former daughter-in-law during these years, but implied a lethal competition for power going on behind closed doors. Iulia‘s loose living, the ultimate reproach: “she was behaving so dissolutely that by night she reveled and caroused in the Forum, indeed on the very Rostra” (ἀσελγαίνουσαν οὕτως ὥστε καὶ ἐν τῇ ἀγορᾷ καὶ ἐπ᾽ αὐτοῦ γε τοῦ βήματος)108 should be read as a parable of her mobility in spaces of action that were usually closed to a woman. The literary discourse on Iulia’s down-fall picks up on Augustus’ argument of his daughter’s sexual license, and turns her role as patroness receiving friends or clients and handing out favours into purely erotic metaphors of easy to have. Though it is impossible at the time being to reconstruct Iulia’s personal networks in any detail, the criticism brought forward in this paper can help to explain her father’s severe reaction even by ancient standards. Being a rich landowner109 Iulia did not have to rely on public space to meet up with her 106

SEG 26, 958. Linderski, 1988. 108 Cass. Dio 55,10,12, cf. Sen. ben. 6,32,1; see Swan, 2004, 107. 109 Bruun, 2005. 107

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lovers. She must have overstepped the line110 and challenged her father’s position.111 The circumstances around the death of Augustus underline both the willingness of the deceased as well as the new emperor to make sure Iulia stayed were she was, kept in detention at Rhegium deprived of any mobility.112 Bibliography Alzinger, W., 1974: Augusteische Architektur in Ephesos. Wien. Bartels, H., 1963: Studien zum Frauenporträt der augusteischen Zeit. Fulvia, Octavia, Livia, Julia. München. Bauman, R.A., 1992: Women and Politics in Ancient Rome. London. Boschung, D., 1993: “Die Bildnistypen der iulisch-claudischen Kaiserfamilie”. Journal of Roman Archaeology 6, 39–79. — 2002: Gens Augusta. Untersuchungen zur Aufstellung, Wirkung und Bedeutung der Statuengruppen des julisch-claudischen Kaiserhauses. Monumenta Artis Romanae 32. Mainz. Braccesi, L., 2012: Giulia, la figlia di Augusto. Rom-Bari. Bruun, C., 2005: “Iuliae Aug(usti) f(iliae) praedium”. In Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae: Suburbium III, Rome, 98. Burrell, B., 2009: “Reading, Hearing and Looking at Ephesos”. In Johnson, W.A. / Parker, H.N. (eds.), Ancient Literacies. The Culture of Reading in Greece and Rome. Oxford, 69–95. Carcopino, J., 1958: Passion et politique chez les Césars. Paris. Chaniotis, A., 2003: “Livia Sebaste, Iulia Sebaste, Caius Caesar Parthikos, Domitian Anikeitos theos”. Acta Antiqua Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 43, 341–344. Christ, K., 2001: “Velleius und Tiberius”. Historia 50, 180–192. Cohen, S.T., 2008: “Augustus, Julia and the development of exile ad insulam”. Classical Quarterly 58, 206–217. Cooper, J.M. / Procopé, J.F., 1995: Seneca: Moral and Political Essays. Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought. Cambridge. Fantham, E., 2006: Julia Augusti. The Emperor’s Daughter. London.

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Already Susan Wood (1999, 38 f.) pointed out that the legitimate and illegitmate alliance is defined through control over the female body. Iulia’s mother Scribonia accompanied her disgraced daughter (Cass. Dio 55, 10, 14.) and made a statement of accepting her daughter’s allegiance. 111 In his letter to the senate Augustus accused Iulia of having crowned the statue of Marsyas during nocturnal excesses (Plin. nat. 21, 8–9: luxuria noctibus = excesses at night cf. Sen. ben. 6,32,1: nocturnis comissationibus = nightly Bacchanalian revels), who had challenged Apollo, the emperor’s patron god. For crowning of Marsyas as historical fact Sanderson / Keegan, 2011. 112 Augustus’ will made this very plain and Tiberius did not show mercy but tightened up her imprisonment (Tac. ann. 1,53); Rogers, 1967.

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Ferrero, G., 1921: Die Frauen der Caesaren. ³Stuttgart. Ferrill, A., 1980: “Augustus and his Daughter, a Modern Myth”. In Deroux, C. (ed.), Studies in Latin Literature and Roman History 2. Brussels, 332–346. Foubert, L., 2016: “The lure of an exotic destination: the politics of women’s travels in the early Roman Empire”. Hermes 144, 462–487. Fraschetti, A., 2005: “La damnatio memoriae di Giulia e le sue sventure”. In Buonopane, A. / Cenerini, F. (eds.), Donna e vita cittadina nella documentazione epigrafica. Faenza, 13–25. Gardthausen, V., 1891: Augustus und seine Zeit, 2 vols. Leipzig. Grimm, G., 1973: “Zum Bildnis der Iulia Augusti”. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts (Römische Abteilung) 80, 279–282. Groag, E., 1919: “Studien zur Kaisergeschichte III. Der Sturz der Iulia”. Wiener Studien 41, 74–88. Habicht, C., 1996: “IULIA KALLITEKNOS”. Museum Helveticum 53, 156–159. Hahn, U., 1994: Die Frauen des römischen Kaiserhauses und ihre Ehrungen im griechischen Osten anhand epigraphischer und numismatischer Zeugnisse von Livia bis Sabina., Saarbrücker Studien zur Archäologie und Alten Geschichte 8. Saarbrücken. Halfmann, H., 1986: Itinera principum. Geschichte und Typologie der Kaiserreisen im Römischen Reich. Heidelberger Althistorische Beiträge und Epigraphische Studien 2. Stuttgart. Heil, M., 2013: “Agrippina und Kos. Eine Inschrift und ihre Geschichte”. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 184, 183–192. Jakob-Sonnabend, W., 1995: “Tiberius auf Rhodos: Rückzug oder Kalkül?”. In Schubert, C. / Brodersen, K. / Huttner, U. (eds.), Rom und der griechische Osten. Festschrift für Hatto H. Schmitt zum 65. Geburtstag. Stuttgart. Pp. 113– 116. Kajava, M., 2004: “Hestia Hearth, Goddess, and Cult”. Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 102, 1–20 Kokkinos, N., 2008: “The foundation of Bethsaida-Julias by Philip the Tetrarch”. Journal of Jewish Studies 59, 236–251. Kuhn, H.-W., 2015: Betsaida/Bethsaida – Julias (et-Tell): die ersten 25 Jahre der Ausgrabung (1987–2011): gesammelte Aufsätze aus neutestamentlicher Sicht (mit Nachträgen bis 2013) und die Münchner Gesamtpläne. Göttingen. Kunst, C., forthcoming: “Der Princeps und die Mobilität der Elite”. — 2013: “Matronage von Herrscherfrauen. Eine Einführung”. In Kunst, C. (ed.): Matronage. Handlungsstrategien und soziale Netzwerke antiker Herrscherfrauen. Osnabrücker Forschungen zu Altertum und Antike-Rezeption 20. Rahden. Pp. 7–18. — 2010: “Patronage/Matronage der Augustae”. In Kolb, A. (ed.): Machtbewußte Frauen am römischen Kaiserhof? Herrschaftsstrukturen und Herrschaftspraxis II, Akten der Tagung in Zürich 18.–20.9.2008. Berlin. Pp. 145–161.

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— 2008: Livia. Macht und Intrigen am Hof des Augustus. Stuttgart. Lacey, W.K., 1980: “2 B.C. and Julia's Adultery”. Antichthon 14, 127–42 Levick, B., 1976: “The Fall of Julia the Younger”. Latomus 35, 301–339. — 1972: “Tiberius‘ Retirement to Rhodes in 6 B.C. ”. Latomus 31, 779–813. Linderski, J., 1988: “Julia in Regium”. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 72, 181–200. Long, J., 2000: “Julia-jokes at Macrobius’ Saturnalia: subversive decorum in late antique reception of Augustan political humor”. International Journal of the Classical Tradition 6, 337–355. Mackowski, R.M., 1994: “La porta di Mazeo e Mitridate in Efeso nelquadro evergetico dell’ideologia augustea”. Antonianum 69, 101–104 Marshall, A.J., 1975: “Tacitus and the Governor's Lady: A note on Annals III.33– 34”. Greece and Rome 22, 11–18. Meise, E., 1969: Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der Julisch-Claudischen Dynastie, (Vestigia 10). München. Milnor, K., 2005: Gender, Domesticity, and the Age of Augustus. Inventing Private Life. Oxford Studies in Classical Literature and Gender Theory. Ohlemutz, E., 1940: Die Kulte und Heiligtümer der Götter in Pergamon. Würzburg. Parker, R., 2016: “Notes on Translations”. In Russell, D.A. / Trapp, M. / Nesselrath, K.H. (eds.): In Praise of Asclepius: Aelius Aristides, Selected Prose Hymns. Tübingen. Pp. 54–64. Perea Yébenes, S., 2012: “El viaje de Julia Augusta a Ilión el año 14 a. C., según la Autobiografíade Nicolás de Damasco (Jacoby §90 fr 134)”. In Bravo, G. / González Salinero, R. (eds.): Ver, viajar y hospedarse en el mundo romano, Madrid. Pp. 263–278. Pollini, J., 2002: “A new portrait of Octavia and the iconography of Octavia Minor and Julia Maior”. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts (Römische Abteilung) 109, 11–42. Raaflaub, K.A. / Samons, L.J., 1990: “Opposition to Augustus”. In Raaflaub, K.A. / Toher, M. (eds.): Between Republic and Empire. Berkeley / Los Angeles / London. Pp. 417–54. Radista, L.F., 1980: “Augustus‘ Legislation Concerning Marriage, Procreation, Love Affairs and Adultery”, Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt II 13, 278–339. Raepsaet-Charlier, M.-T., 1983: Prosopographie des femmes de l’ordre sénatorial (Ier–IIe siècle ap. J.-C.). Louvain. Richlin, A., 1992: “Julia’s Jokes, Gallia Placidia, and the Roman Use of Women as Political Icons”. In Garlick, B. et al (eds.): Stereotypes of Women in Power. Historical Perspectives and Revisionist Views. New York. Pp. 65–91. Rogers, R.S., 1967: “The Deaths of Julia and Gracchus A.D. 14”. Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association 98, 383–390.

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Rose, C.B., 1997: Dynastic Commemoration and Imperial Portraiture in the Julio-Claudian Period. Cambridge Studies in Classical Art and Iconography. Cambridge. Sanderson, B. / Keegan, P. 2011: „Crowning Marsyas: The Symbolism involved in the Exile of Julia“. Studia Humanioria Tartuensia 12, 1–7. Sattler, P., 1962: “Julia und Tiberius. Beiträge zur römischen Innenpolitik zwischen den Jahren 12 vor und 2 nach Chr. ”. In Sattler, P.: Studien aus dem Gebiet der Alten Geschichte. Wiesbaden. Pp. 1–36 (repr. 1969 In Schmitthenner, W. (ed.): Augustus. Wege der Forschung 128. Darmstadt. Pp. 486– 530). Schmitzer, U., 2010: “Julia – die Ohnmacht der Erotik”. In Feichtinger, B. (ed.): Gender Studies in den Altertumswissenschaften: Aspekte von Macht und Erotik in der Antike. Trier. Pp. 151–176. Severy, B., 2003: Augustus and the Family at the Birth of the Roman Empire. London. Simonis, A., 2013: “Julia”. In Möllendorf, P. von / Simonis, A. / Simonis, L. (eds.): Historische Gestalten der Antike: Rezeption in Literatur, Kunst und Musik. Der Neue Pauly Supplemente 8. Stuttgart. Pp. 535–540. Stahr, A., 1865: Römische Kaiserfrauen. Berlin. Strickert, F., 2002: “Josephus’ reference to Julia, Caesar’s daughter, Jewish antiquities 18, 27–28”. Journal of Jewish Studies 53, 27–34. Swan, P. M., 2004: The Augustan Succession. An Historical Commentary on Cassius Dio’s Roman History. Books 55–56 (9 B.C.–A.D. 14). Oxford. Syme, R., 1974: “The Crisis of 2 B.C.” Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften, philosophisch-historische Klasse. Sitzungsberichte, Heft 7. München, repr. 1984: Roman Papers 3, Oxford, 912–936. — 1939: The Roman Revolution. Oxford (reprint 1974). Temporini, H., 2002: “Die iulisch-claudische Familie. Frauen neben Augustus und Tiberius”. In Temporini, H. (ed.): Die Kaiserinnen Roms, Von Livia bis Theodora. München. Pp. 21–102. Varner, E., 2004: Multilation and Transformation: Damnatio Memoriae and Roman Imperial Portaiture. Monumenta Graeca Et Romana. Leiden. — 2001: “Portraits, Plots and Politics: Damnatio Memoriae and the Images of Imperial Women”. Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome 46, 41–93. Wilker, J., 2007: Für Rom und Jerusalem. Die herodianische Dynastie im 1. Jahrhundert n.Chr. Frankfurt/M. Winkes, R., 1995: Livia, Octavia, Julia. Publications d’histoire de l’art et d’archeologie de l’Université Catholique de Louvain 87: Archaeologica transatlantica 13. Louvain. Wood, S., 1999: Imperial Women. A Study in Public Images 40 BC – 69 AD. Mnemosyne Supplements 194. Leiden 1999.

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Abbreviations of inscriptions and literary sources ABSA Annual of the British School of Athens, Cambridge. AE L’Année Épigraphique. Paris 1888–. AEA Annona Epigraphica Austriaca, 1979–. CartNova La ciudad de Carthago Nova 3: La documentación epigráfica, J.M. Abascal Palazón – S.F. Ramallo Asensio (eds.). Murcia 1997. Cass. Dio Cassius Dio, Roman History. CIL Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum. Berlin 1863–. FGrHist Fragmente der Griechischen Historiker. Hor. epist. Horace, epistulae. I. Ephes. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 11–17: Die Inschriften von Ephesos. Bonn 1979–1984. I. Prie Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 69: Die Inschriften von Priene. Bonn 2014. ID Inscriptions de Délos. Paris 1926–1972. IG Inscriptiones Graecae. IGR Cagnat, R. et.al., Inscriptiones Graecae ad res Romanas pertinentes. Paris 1906–1927. Ios. an. Flavius Iosephus, antiquitates. ΙΚ 4 Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 4: Die Inschriften von Assos. Bonn 1976. IK 53 Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 53: The Inscriptions of Alexandreia Troas. Bonn 1997. IThesp Roesch, P.: Les inscriptions de Thespies. Lyon 2007. IvIlion Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 3: Die Inschriften von Ilion. Bonn 1975. Lindos Blinkenberg, C., Lindos. Fouilles et recherches, 1902–1914. Vol. II, Inscriptions. 2 vols. Copenhagen / Berlin 1941. Macr. Macrobius, saturnalia. Nik. Dam. Nikolaus of Damacus, Life of Augustus. Plin. nat. Plinius, historia naturalis. RIC² Aug. Sutherland, C. H. V.: The Roman Imperial Coinage I. London 1923 revised 1984. RPC Roman Provincial Coinage. Sardis Buckler, W.H. / Robinson, D.M.: Sardis 7. Publications of the American Society for the Excavation of Sardis: Greek and Latin inscriptions 1. Leyden 1932. SEG Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum. Sen. ben. Seneca, de beneficiis. SIG³ 776 Sylloge inscriptionum graecarum 1–4, ed. W. Dittenberger. 3rd edn., eds. F. Hiller von Gaertringen, J. Kirchner, H. R. Pomtow and E. Ziebarth. 4 vols. Leipzig 1915–1924. Suet. Aug. Sueton, Life of Augustus.

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Sueton, Life of Tiberius. Tacitus, annales. Velleius Paterculus, historia Romana.

Der Tod Messalinas Folge sexueller Libertinage oder Machtkalkül? Helmuth Schneider

Wie eine Durchsicht der wissenschaftlichen Literatur zum frühen Principat zeigt, wurde über Messalina, die Frau des Claudius, nahezu einhellig ein extrem negatives Urteil gefällt; es gibt sicherlich Nuancen, die vor allem auf einer genauen, abwägenden Interpretation der antiken Quellen beruhen, jedoch das Gesamtbild nur wenig verändern.1 Die Ereignisse, die im Jahre 48 n.Chr. zum Tod Messalinas führten, werden ebenfalls unterschiedlich bewertet, aber ungeachtet einzelner sachlicher Differenzen wird das Bild einer Frau gezeichnet, die durch ihr eigenes Verhalten ihren Tod herbeigeführt hat. In den folgenden Ausführungen soll das Bild der Messalina in der Geschichtswissenschaft dargestellt und die Tendenz der Bewertung analysiert werden. Um die Kontinuität der Urteile zu belegen, werden exemplarisch auch die Aussagen über Messalina in einem Werk des 18. Jahrhunderts herangezogen (I). Es ist dann zu fragen, wie Messalina in der antiken Literatur dargestellt wird (II) und welche Probleme sich bei der Interpretation der Quellen ergeben (III). Abschließend wird der Versuch unternommen, den Tod der Messalina mit den machtpolitischen Ambitionen im Umfeld des Claudius zu erklären (IV). I Unter den modernen Historikern, die sich über Messalina geäußert haben, ist zuerst Theodor Mommsen zu nennen, der in seiner im Wintersemester 1882/83 gehaltenen und von Paul Hensel mitgeschriebenen Vorlesung zur römischen Kaisergeschichte der Frau des Claudius längere Ausführungen gewidmet hat: „Es ist schwer, ein Bild der Frau zu entwerfen, weil sie wenig Charakteristisches hat. Sie gehörte als Urenkelin der Octavia, der Schwester des Augustus, dem höchsten Adel Roms an, und schon dies genügte, ihr eine politische Stellung zu geben, auch das ganz charakteristisch. Aber Messalina war nicht bloss ehrlos, sondern vollkommen herz- und kopflos. Ihre Sittenlosigkeit, ihre metzenhafte Gemeinheit war sprichwörtlich. Sie war ohne Ehrgeiz. Sinnlichkeit und Habgier waren die beiden einzigen Motoren ihres Wesens. [...] Trotzdem ging das Regiment, abgesehen von seiner sittlichen Seite, nicht schlecht. Es zerbrach an dem Übermut Messalinas. Sie knüpfte ein Verhältnis mir Gaius Silius an, dem consul designatus. Er scheint dies Ver1

Hartmann, 2007: 158–172.

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hältnis zur Förderung seines Ehrgeizes gesucht zu haben. Das Detail ist absurd und ekelhaft. [...] Das war eine politische Handlung, die gegen den Pakt mit den Freigelassenen ging. Es handelte sich um ihre Existenz, Claudius musste weiterregieren. Außerdem hatte Messalina bereits den Polybios beseitigt, und das hatte das Verhältnis schon erschüttert. Callistus, Pallas und Narcissus hielten Rat. Den beiden ersten versagte der Mut, Narcissus aber unternahm es, den Kaiser und sich zu retten. Es gelang. Claudius war nach Ostia geschickt worden, als Messalina mit Silius Hochzeit feierte. Narcissus eilte zu ihm und drängte ihm das Todesurteil ab. [...] Silius und Messalina wurden hingerichtet, die Herrschaft des Kaisers war befestigt.“2 Messalina wird hier deutlich als eine sexuell hemmungslose und intrigante Frau ohne jeglichen politischen Ehrgeiz charakterisiert. Erst Messalinas Verbindung mit C. Silius, der die Herrschaft für sich anstrebte, hatte deutliche politische Implikationen. Die Freigelassenen des Claudius sahen durch diese Liaison ihre Machtstellung bedroht. Narcissus veranlasste Claudius schließlich, seine Frau zum Tode zu verurteilen, und erreichte, dass die Hinrichtung dann vollstreckt wurde. Das Interesse der Freigelassenen, ihre vom Princeps Claudius abhängige Macht zu behaupten, und nicht etwa der Vorwurf der Sittenlosigkeit führte nach Mommsen zum Tod Messalinas. Die Mitschrift der Vorlesung Mommsens wurde erst 1992 publiziert, daher hatten sein Urteil über Messalina und seine Erklärung der Ereignisse des Jahres 48 naturgemäß keinen Einfluss auf die Althistorie des 19. und 20. Jahrhunderts. Dennoch verdient dieser Text Beachtung, weil er zeigt, wie der bedeutendste deutsche Althistoriker des 19. Jahrhunderts Messalina wahrgenommen und den Hörern seiner Vorlesung präsentiert hat.3 Die 1960 erschienene ‚Römische Geschichte‘ von Alfred Heuß, die unter den Althistorikern rasch als Standardwerk anerkannt wurde, eine weite öffentliche Resonanz fand und mehrere Auflagen erreichte, prägte in der Zeit der frühen Bundesrepublik Deutschland das Bild der römischen Geschichte;4 wie Mommsen geht auch Heuß ausführlich auf die Person und den Tod Messalinas ein: „Doch Claudius gebrach es völlig an männlicher Selbständigkeit. Das zeigte sich vor allem an seinem Verhältnis zum weiblichen Geschlecht. Nicht dass er in besonderer sexueller Freizügigkeit gelebt hätte; aber der Frau, die er in dritter Ehe im Jahre 40 n.Chr. geheiratet hatte, war er geradezu hörig. Es war dies Valeria Messalina, eine Großnichte des Augustus, ein Wesen mit einem ungezügelten Triebleben und beherrscht von dem weiblichen Ehrgeiz, sich jeden Mann, der ihr gefiel, untertan zu machen. 2

Mommsen, 1992: 188–190. Christ, 1982: 58–66. 4 Christ, 1982: 275–281. 3

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Sie unterjochte sich Claudius völlig und verschaffte sich die Freiheit, in der Ehe mit ihm ihren Neigungen nachzugehen. Die Macht, die sie durch ihn erhielt, benutzte sie, um Frauen, in denen sie Geschlechtsrivalinnen sah, Männer, die ihr nicht zu Willen waren und vor allem diejenigen, welche den Kaiser von ihrem Treiben unterrichten wollten, zu vernichten. Das betraf natürlich in erster Linie die oberen Hof- und Beamtenkreise, zumal wenn sie einige Geltung besaßen, beim Heere beliebt waren oder kraft verwandtschaftlicher Beziehung zu Augustus ein großes Ansehen genossen. Das Gebaren Messalinas wurde nicht nur ein gesellschaftlicher Skandal, sondern infolge ihrer Stellung ein öffentlicher Notstand. Kein Wunder, dass es zu Verschwörungen kam. Im Jahre 48 erreichte diesen Vamp endlich der Untergang. Die Katastrophe stellte sich ein, als Messalina sich des Claudius entledigen wollte, um ihren Liebhaber auf den Thron zu sehen. Nur dem energischen Dazwischentreten des Freigelassenen Narcissus gelang die Vereitelung des Anschlages. Er kostete Messalina das Leben.“5 Diese Darstellung weist drei entscheidende Elemente auf: Messalina wird durch ihr „ungezügeltes Triebleben“ charakterisiert, sie vernichtet Frauen und Männer der „oberen Hof- und Beamtenkreise“, wenn sie ihr nicht zu Willen sind, und schließlich versucht Messalina, Claudius zu beseitigen und ihrem Liebhaber den Thron zu sichern. Auffallend ist die sprachliche Formulierung bei Heuß: Messalina wird als „Vamp“ bezeichnet, den „endlich“ der Untergang erreichte. In dieser Sicht ist Messalina wesentlich von ihren sexuellen Leidenschaften getrieben und ihr Tod das angemessene Ende einer Frau, deren Handlungen einen „öffentlichen Notstand“ zur Folge hatten. Ähnlich wie Alfred Heuß haben sich später Hermann Bengtson und Karl Christ über Messalina geäußert; auch in ihren weithin beachteten Werken wird die Abhängigkeit des Princeps von seiner Frau betont: „Ganz verhängnisvoll aber war die Abhängigkeit des Claudius von seinen Frauen; er war viermal verheiratet, die schlimmste war Valeria Messalina. Sie wurde von Narcissus aus dem Wege geräumt, als sie durch ihre Verbindung mit C. Silius eine Gefahr für das Leben des Prinzeps und für den Staat zu werden drohte (48 n.Chr.).“6 Auch bei Bengtson ist die Wortwahl nicht unproblematisch; Messalina wurde „aus dem Wege geräumt“, als ob es sich um einen Vorgang innerhalb einer Verbrecherorganisation gehandelt hätte. Inwiefern die Verbindung mit C. Silius eine Gefahr für das Leben des Claudius bedeutete, bleibt ebenso unklar wie die Rolle, die C. Silius dabei gespielt hat. Bei Christ, dessen Geschichte der römischen Kaiserzeit zuerst 1988 erschien und dann durch folgende Auflagen eine weite 5 6

Heuß, 1964: 330–331. Bengtson, 1973: 245.

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Verbreitung fand, ist die Abhängigkeit des Claudius von seinen Frauen „eindeutig und zugleich das peinlichste Kapitel dieses Principats.“ Messalina, die als nymphoman bezeichnet wird, wagte schließlich, „mit ihrem jugendlichen Liebhaber C. Silius in aller Form eine gleichzeitige zweite Eheverbindung“ einzugehen. Daraufhin handelte „der Freigelassene Narcissus [...] während Claudius in Lethargie verfiel.“ Lakonisch heißt es über das Ende der Gemahlin des Princeps: „Messalina und Silius wurden zum Tod verurteilt.“7 Einen ähnlichen Tenor besitzen die kurzen Bemerkungen von Alexander Demandt über Messalina in dem Buch über das Privatleben der römischen Kaiser. Demandt folgt der Satire Iuvenals, dem Werk des Cassius Dio sowie der spätantiken Schrift des Aurelius Victor. Nach Demandt leistete Messalina sich nicht nur „die wildesten Orgien“, sondern hat sich „im Bordell öffentlich feilgeboten“. Als sie mit C. Silius „einen bacchischen Initiationsritus feierte,“ der in Rom als Hochzeit gedeutet wurde, „ließ Claudius sie hinrichten.“ Die Initiative der Freigelassenen bleibt hier unerwähnt, die Verse des Iuvenal über die Kaiserin, die nachts den Palast verlässt und in ein Bordell eilt, werden für glaubwürdig gehalten.8 In dem von Manfred Clauss 1997 herausgegebenen Band mit Portraits der römischen Kaiser hat Wilhelm Kierdorf dieses Bild der Messalina noch einmal prägnant zusammengefasst, ein Text, der es verdient, hier vollständig zitiert zu werden: „Unmittelbar nach dem Abschluss der Zensur wurden Ansehen und Stellung des Claudius durch seine Frau Messalina aufs äußerste gefährdet. Diese stand wegen ihrer zügellosen sexuellen Gelüste und ihrer zahllosen Liebschaften, von denen Claudius angeblich nicht das geringste wusste, seit langem in schlechtem Rufe. Berüchtigt waren auch ihre Intrigen, denen viele Leute, darunter Senatoren höchsten Ranges, zum Opfer fielen. [...] Als sie im Oktober 48 so tollkühn war, ihren damals bevorzugten Liebhaber, den jungen Senator Gaius Silius, in aller Form zu heiraten, klärte der Leiter des kaiserlichen Sekretariats Narcissus den Kaiser über Messalinas Lebenswandel und die drohende Gefahr auf. Da Claudius völlig fassungslos war, brachte Narcissus ihn auf schnellstem Wege ins Prätorianerlager, sorgte für die Verhaftung und Aburteilung der an Messalinas Orgien Beteiligten und ließ schließlich diese selbst – ohne Prozess – beseitigen, weil er befürchtete, Claudius werde sich von ihr wieder umgarnen lassen.“9 Kierdorf gebraucht solche Wendungen wie „zügellose sexuelle Gelüste“, „zahllose Liebschaften“ und Intrigen, denen „Senatoren höchsten Ranges zum Opfer fielen“, um die Persönlichkeit der Messalina zu charakterisieren, die schließlich „beseitigt“ wird, um zu verhindern, dass sie Claudius wieder „umgarnt“. Wie es 7

Christ, 2005: 227. Demandt, 1996: 81. 9 Kierdorf, 1997: 73–74. 8

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scheint, verleitet das Thema dazu, eine der Geschichtswissenschaft wenig angemessene Sprachebene zu wählen. Betrachtet man die Äußerungen von Mommsen bis zu Kierdorf, so drängt sich der Eindruck auf, dass die Althistorie in der Darstellung des Charakters und der Handlungsweise der Messalina kaum Fortschritte gegenüber einem Autor des 18. Jahrhunderts wie De Servies erzielt hat. Bei De Servies, dessen Buch über die Gemahlinnen der römischen Kaiser 1724 ins Deutsche übersetzt in Augsburg erschien, werden schon dieselben Akzente gesetzt wie bei Mommsen, Christ, Heuß und Kierdorf. Zu Beginn des Kapitels über Messalina10 fällt de Servies in drastischer Sprache ein klares, moralisch begründetes Urteil: „Sie wurde von einer Mutter gebohren, so wenig Verstand und Tugend hatte, und ahmte ihr auch in ihren Schandthaten nicht nur nach, sondern übertrafe sie auch. Dann sie erfüllte ihr gantzes Leben mit Lastern, und besudelte sich mit den schändlichsten und berüchtigsten Unordnungen. Ihre Unzucht war so ehrlos, als möglich war, ihre Ausschweiffungen übermacht, und ihre ausgelassene Sitten jedermann bekannt und abscheulich. [...] Messalina hatte von Natur eine so hefftige Neigung zu Liebes-Händeln, dass es ihr sehr schwehr war, sich in den erlaubten Schrancken der Ehe zu halten, als welche für ein mit tausenderley bösen Lüsten erfülltes Herz allzuenge sind. Sie hatte auch Schönheit und Credit genug, Liebhaber zu bekommen, auch viel zu wenig Tugend, als dass sie dieselbige hätte lange warten lassen sollen. Daher kommt es, dass sie ihr Leben mit so vielen Unordnungen beflecket. [...] Ihr verderbtes Hertz oder vielmehr ihr böses Temperament erweckte die Geilheit; und die Begierde nach Geld und Gut die Grausamkeit wider diejenige, so selbiges besassen, so dass Unzucht und Geitz gleichsam die zwey Angel waren, um welche alle Begierden und Thaten dieser berüchtigten Kayserin liefen, und durch welche sie belebt und erhalten wurden. Ein unglückseeliger Zustand für ein Reich, wann es durch ein Weib regiert wird, welches keinen Rath anhört als den ihre Begierden geben.“11 Den Tod der Messalina führt De Servies auf die Ehe mit C. Silius zurück.12 Narcissus konnte erreichen, dass Claudius über die Lage informiert und ihm dabei suggeriert wurde, Silius wolle ihn stürzen und sei kurz davor, Princeps zu werden. Um zu verhindern, dass Claudius, wieder sicher in seiner Stellung, seiner Gemahlin verzieh, gab Narcissus den Befehl, Messalina zu töten.13 Die Ausführungen von De Servies schildern trotz der dezidierten moralischen Wertungen und einer klaren, gegen Messalina gerichteten Tendenz insgesamt zuverlässig die Abfolge 10

De Servies, 1724: 250–300. De Servies, 1724: 250–253. 12 De Servies, 1724: 285. 13 De Servies, 1724: 287–298. 11

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der Ereignisse, was darauf zurückzuführen ist, dass er sich eng an die historiographischen Quellen, an die Annalen des Tacitus und an Cassius Dio, anlehnt. Wie die Urteile über Messalina von Mommsen bis Kierdorf zeigen, hat das negative Urteil über Messalina, das in einem Teil der antiken Quellen gefällt wird, sich so verfestigt, dass es ohne Einschränkungen noch ihr Bild in der althistorischen Forschung des 19. und 20. Jahrhunderts zu prägen vermochte. Während die genannten Historiker sich stark auf die Persönlichkeit und geradezu obsessiv auf die sexuellen Aktivitäten Messalinas konzentrierten, stehen in neueren Arbeiten die politischen Hintergründe der Ereignisse und die Machtverhältnisse in der Umgebung des Princeps im Vordergrund. So verzichtet Albino Garzetti in der umfangreichen Monographie über die Zeit von Tiberius bis zu den Antoninen weitgehend darauf, das sexuelle Verhalten Messalinas zu thematisieren, ohne dabei ihre Verantwortung für die Verurteilung zahlreicher Senatoren und von Frauen, die den führenden Familien angehörten, zu verschweigen: „Many illustrious ladies of the imperial house itself met their end, obviously victims of the jealousy and hatred of Messalina. For example, Julia Livilla, the youngest daughter of Germanicus, after first being recalled with her sister Agrippina from exile imposed on both by Gaius, was then condemned in 42 and put to death for no particular reason. […] A close collaborator in the government of the empire like the praetorian prefect Catonius Justus was a direct victim of this terrible women, who was afraid that he would denounce her crimes to Claudius when the latter returned from Britain. “14 Den Tod der Messalina führt Garzetti, der hier Tacitus folgt, darauf zurück, dass sie es im Oktober 48 wagte, Gaius Silius “with full ceremonial” zu heiraten: „The act signified revolution, since it was clear that Silius would not have lent himself to such a fantastic deed to satisfy a whim but because the logical consequence was that he was to become Princeps in place of Claudius.“ Die folgenden Ereignisse werden dann allerdings mit den Worten, „the rash pair succumbed to the energy of the freedman Narcissus“ nur ungenau beschrieben.15 In seiner großen Studie zur Augusteischen Aristokratie stellt Ronald Syme Messalina in den Kontext der führenden Familien des Imperium Romanum. Im Kapitel über die Frauen im Zentrum der Macht – „Princesses and Court Ladies“ – geht es um die familiäre Herkunft einzelner Frauen, um familiäre Beziehungen, Heiratsverbindungen und das Verhalten der Frauen, die mit dem Princeps verheiratet waren. Syme, der Messalina einige Seiten widmet16 und sie einleitend als 14

Garzetti, 1974: 115. Garzetti, 1974: 116. 16 Syme, 1986: 182–185. 15

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„avid, envious and vindictive“ charakterisiert,17 folgt weitgehend der Darstellung des Cassius Dio und listet alle ihr von Cassius Dio zugeschriebenen Opfer auf; die für ihr Handeln von den antiken Historikern genannten Motive werden ohne Einwände wiedergegeben.18 Das Ende Messalinas wird kurz erwähnt: „The next year saw the end of Valeria Messallina, whose outrageous conduct culminated in a nuptial ceremony celebrated with C. Silius.“19 Syme sieht selbst, dass die antike Überlieferung von Parteilichkeit und Vorurteilen geprägt ist: „The evidence is also partial and prejudiced. For example, Valeria Messallina bears the main burden for most of the crimes that diversified the first half of Claudius’ reign.“20 Für seine eigene Darstellung bleibt diese Einsicht allerdings folgenlos. Barbara Levick hat in ihrer Biographie des Claudius den Versuch unternommen, die politischen Hintergründe der Ereignisse des Jahres 48 n.Chr. zu klären. Sie verweist zunächst auf die unsichere Position Messalinas nach der Geburt des Britannicus für den Fall, dass Claudius starb oder es eine Verschwörung gegen ihn gab. In dieser Situation versuchte sie, das Überleben ihres Sohnes durch eigene Verbindungen zu einflussreichen Persönlichkeiten zu sichern. Levick charakterisiert das Verhalten der Messalina wie folgt: „In short, Messallina should not be seen as an adolescent nymphomaniac; in the main she used sex as means of compromising and controlling politicians.“21 Wie verwundbar die Stellung des Claudius tatsächlich war, zeigt besonders die Rebellion des Camillus Scribonianus, der als Statthalter Dalmatiens Legionen kommandierte.22 Unter diesen Voraussetzungen ist nach Levick die Beziehung Messalinas zu C. Silius zu sehen. Während Narcissus zunehmend in Messalina eine Gefahr für die Freigelassenen und das Regime sah, suchte Messalina Verbündete unter den Senatoren und Equites, Silius wiederum die Unterstützung Messalinas, um auf 17

Syme, 1986: 182. Dies gilt etwa für den Tod des Annius Vinicius; Cassius Dio (60,27,4) nimmt an, Vinicius sei von Messalina vergiftet worden, weil sie glaubte, er werde den Tod seiner Frau, Julia Livilla, rächen, außerdem war sie verärgert darüber, dass er sich weigerte, eine sexuelle Beziehung mit ihr einzugehen. Vgl. dazu Syme (1986: 183): „He was poisened by Messallina, whose advances he repulsed – and who feared that he might be meditating revenge for Julia Livilla.“ Es ist allerdings durchaus fraglich, ob Vinicius ermordet worden ist; vgl. Eck, 2002a: 236–237. Man hat geradezu den Eindruck, dass ein Todesfall innerhalb der Führungsschicht unbedingt als Mord Messalinas erklärt werden musste, wobei als Motiv zwangsläufig sexuelle Gier erscheint. 19 Syme, 1986: 184. 20 Syme, 1986: 185. 21 Levick, 1990: 56. 22 Levick, 1990: 59. 18

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diese Weise Einfluss auf Claudius nehmen zu können.23 Die vermeintliche Heirat der Messalina mit Silius sieht Levick als „precursor of other such charades, also conducted in due form, be equally invalid, the ‘marriages‘ of Nero to Pythagoras and Sporus,“ sie bot aber den Freigelassenen und insbesondere Narcissus die Möglichkeit zur Intervention.24 Thomas Wiedemann betont in seinem Beitrag zur ‚Cambridge Ancient History‘ ebenfalls die politischen Implikationen der Ereignisse des Jahres 48 n.Chr.; er nimmt an, dass Messalina den Versuch unternahm, Claudius zu ersetzen.25 Wiedemann weist darauf hin, dass seit 42 n.Chr. im engsten Umfeld des Princeps mehrmals einflussreiche Senatoren als potentielle Rivalen ausgeschaltet worden waren; zumindest in einigen dieser Fälle ist seiner Ansicht nach Messalina für das Vorgehen gegen einzelne hochrangige Senatoren und Frauen, darunter Angehörige der Familien des Germanicus und des Claudius, verantwortlich. Messalinas Pläne werden kurz skizziert, wobei hervorgehoben wird, dass nicht allein Claudius bedroht war: „She had a claim to Julian blood in her own right, and was building up a power base for herself and her two children. But her plans threatened not just Claudius’ daughter Antonia, but also many of the servants of the domus Caesaris.“26 Die Freigelassenen Narcissus und Mnester ergriffen daraufhin die Initiative und beschuldigten Messalina, eine Ehe mit C. Silius zu planen oder schon eingegan23 Levick, 1990: 66: „Paradoxically, then, Messallina’s attack on Valerius Asiaticus led to her seeking allies in the senatorial and equestrian orders, both of which has lost influence to the court. Her lover was a young man of family and of impeccable antecedents – his father a victim of Sejanus – looks, and courage; and he was about to hold the consulship, presumably as ordinarius of 49. Silius had himself begun an attack on his personal enemy P. Suillius in the aftermath of the Asiaticus affair which was based precisely on the conduct of accusers. From this point of view, if Messallina’s affections could be won and her political support put to use, the Emperor could be turned against the men who had engineered so many deaths, provided with a new set of advisors, and brought round to support the interests of established political circles. With Messallina on their side and Silius as consul to take the initiative, determined senators might be able to bring their influence to bear on the Emperor. Not only senators: leading knights were among the men executed after the plot was discovered. Seneca ascribes the death of six Roman knights to Narcissus, as well as those of Silius and an ex-praetor, Juncus; knights even more than senators were losing ground to the freedmen as confidants of the Princeps, a prerogative of wealthy non-senators since the time of Julius Caesar, as Tacitus testifies. Accordingly, Silius had committed himself to Messallina by divorcing his wife in 47. Messalina was won and induced to commit herself to the ‘marriage’ ceremony as proof of good faith.“ 24 Levick, 1990: 67. 25 Wiedemann, 1996: 239: „The year 48 also saw the last major threat to Claudius’ rule, an attempt by his wife Messallina to replace him.“ 26 Wiedemann, 1996: 239–240.

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gen zu sein, wobei Silius bis zur Volljährigkeit des Britannicus herrschen sollte. Claudius konnte von der Richtigkeit dieser Beschuldigungen überzeugt werden, und Narcissus ließ Messalina hinrichten. Abschließend spricht Wiedemann von „Messallina’s plot.“27 Die Geschichte von der Heirat Messalinas mit C. Silius wäre demnach eine bloße Verleumdung der Freigelassenen gewesen, um sich in einem Machtkampf innerhalb der Familie des Princeps behaupten zu können. Auf einen in der vorangegangenen Diskussion kaum beachtetes Problem hat Werner Eck hingewiesen, auf die Frage nach der Glaubwürdigkeit der Quellen. Wie Eck konstatiert, tragen „vor allem die Berichte bei Iuvenal und Cassius Dio [...] so offensichtlich die Zeichen des Unwahrscheinlichen an sich, dass sie, zumindest im Detail, nicht ernst genommen werden dürfen. Für eine Charakterisierung Messalinas als größte Nymphomanin der Geschichte fehlen ganz sicher die notwendigen verlässlichen Quellen.“28 Die antiken Texte sind oft widersprüchlich und bieten unterschiedliche Akzente, so dass es mehrere Möglichkeiten der Interpretation gibt. Dies gilt gerade für die Berichte über die Heirat der Messalina mit C. Silius: „War dies eine Tragödie oder eine Farce, ein Ausbruch besessener Liebesleidenschaft oder nur ein schlecht geplantes Komplott gegen den regierenden Princeps? Für jede dieser Sichtweisen gibt es einzelne Indizien; doch es lässt sich kein Szenario entwerfen, in das sich alle Überlieferungselemente passend einfügen ließen.“29 Es geht Eck aber nicht nur darum zu zeigen, dass die antiken Texte zu Messalina nicht immer zuverlässig sind, sondern auch um die Frage, wie es eigentlich dazu kam, dass Messalina in den Quellen derartig negativ dargestellt werden konnte. Eck vermutet eine Beeinflussung der öffentlichen Meinung durch Agrippina: „Wir müssen vor allem damit rechnen, dass im öffentlichen Meinungskampf gerade nach Abschluss der Affäre von den verschiedenen Gruppen und deren Anhängern Versionen über Teilaspekte im Umlauf gesetzt wurden, die in die Überlieferung eingegangen sind. Vor allem Messalinas Nachfolgerin an Claudius’ Seite, Agrippina, musste ein Interesse daran haben zu zeigen, dass die Zustände am Hof unhaltbar geworden waren, dass

27

Wiedemann, 1996: 239–240: „The freedmen Narcissus and Mnester organized the opposition to her; she was accused of planning – or perhaps actually carrying out – a divorce, followed by a remarriage to the patrician Gaius Silius, who would presumably rule Rome as her consort until Britannicus was old enough to take over. Claudius was convinced of the truth of these allegations, and Narcissus had Messallina executed.“ 28 Eck, 2002c: 118. 29 Eck, 2002c: 133.

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die „Hure“ an der Seite des Princeps aus eigenem Verschulden und notwendigerweise umgekommen war.“30 Mit dieser Feststellung sind wir aufgefordert, uns der Analyse der Quellen zuzuwenden. II Grundlegend für jede Untersuchung der Zeit des Claudius sind – neben den Inschriften, den Münzen und den archäologischen Überresten31 – zunächst die antiken historiographischen Werke, die in den älteren wissenschaftlichen Arbeiten auch umfassend ausgewertet wurden. Es kommt aber nicht nur darauf an, die Informationen dieser Texte unkritisch zusammenzufügen, sondern sie auch auf innere Widersprüche und auch auf Widersprüche zwischen den verschiedenen Autoren hin zu überprüfen. Eine Durchsicht der historischen Schriften ergibt zunächst einen überraschenden Tatbestand: Suetonius, der in den Viten der Caesaren neben deren politischen Aktivitäten auch ihr Privatleben, darunter auch ihre Ehen und ihre sexuellen Präferenzen, ausführlich behandelt hat,32 erwähnt Messalina nur an wenigen Stellen der Biographie des Claudius. Sie wird kurz in der Aufzählung der Gemahlinnen des Claudius genannt: „Nach ihnen vermählte er sich mit der Tochter seines Vetters Barbatus Messala, Valeria Messalina. Als er erfuhr, dass sie neben anderen Fehltritten und Laster sogar in aller Form C. Silius geheiratet hatte, wobei eine Vereinbarung über die Mitgift getroffen worden war, ließ er sie hinrichten.“33 An anderer Stelle wird geschildert, wie Messalina und Narcissus die Hinrichtung des Appius Silanus gemeinsam herbeiführten, indem sie Claudius davon überzeugten, Silanus plane seine Ermordung.34 Nach Meinung von Suetonius hat Claudius seine Liebe zu Messalina eher aus Furcht davor, dass C. Silius die Herrschaft übernehmen könnte, als aus Entrüstung über die beleidigende Behandlung

30

Eck, 2002c: 133. Vgl. herzu Levick (1990: ill. 1–30). Strocka (1994) mit Beiträgen über die claudischen Staatsdenkmäler (Hölscher), das Kaiserporträt (Massner), über den Stilwandel in der Wandmalerei (Strocka), die Statuenausstattung im Nymphäum bei Baiae (Andreae) und die Bogenmonumente und Stadttore (v. Hesberg). 32 Suet. Aug. 61,1. Vgl. Caes. 44,4; Tib. 42,1; Claud. 26,1; Vesp. 20,1; Wallace-Hadrill, 1983: 171, Schilderung des Sexuallebens: Suet. Aug. 69; Tib. 43–45; Nero 28–29; Dom. 22. 33 Suet. Claud. 26,2: Quam cum comperisset super cetera flagitia atque dedecora C. Silio etiam nupsisse dote inter auspices consignata, supplicio adfecit (eigene Übersetzung). 34 Suet. Claud. 37,2. Suetonius gibt keinen Grund für das Vorgehen der Messalina und des Narcissus gegen Silanus an. 31

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aufgegeben.35 Ohne Zweifel sind die Annalen des Tacitus die wichtigste Quelle zu Messalina; allerdings sind die Kapitel über die Regierungszeit des Claudius für die Zeit vor dem Prozess gegen Valerius Asiaticus verloren. Tacitus hält Messalina für die treibende Kraft in diesem Prozess, der im Jahr 47 n.Chr. stattfand, also nur ein Jahr vor ihrem Tod. Ihre Motive waren nach Tacitus Eifersucht und der Wunsch, sich die Gärten des Lucullus anzueignen, die damals Valerius Asiaticus gehörten. Sie veranlasste P. Suillius, die Anklage zu übernehmen, der Prozess wurde in Gegenwart Messalinas im cubiculum, im privaten Gemach, geführt. Valerius Asiaticus wurde zum Tode verurteilt, die Todesart wurde ihm freigestellt.36 Messalina stand Agrippina feindselig gegenüber, wie Tacitus in seiner beiläufigen Erwähnung der Saecularspiele feststellt; bei dem Troiaspiel,37 einem Reiterfestzug der Knaben aus den führenden senatorischen Familien, erhielt der junge Domitus Ahenobarbus, Sohn der Agrippina, größeren Beifall als Britannicus, der Sohn des Claudius und der Messalina; die Zuneigung des Volkes beruhte nach Tacitus auf dem Andenken an Germanicus, dessen letzter männlicher Nachkomme Domitus Ahenobarbus war, und auf dem Mitleid mit Agrippina, die damals besonders unter der Grausamkeit Messalinas litt.38 Tacitus glaubt, dass Messalina von der Vorbereitung einer Anklage gegen Agrippina nur durch ihre leidenschaftliche Liebe zu C. Silius abgehalten wurde, die durchaus vor den Augen der stadtrömischen Öffentlichkeit ausgelebt wurde.39 Diese Beziehung entwickelte dann eine eigene Dynamik, die jetzt vor allem von Silius ausging, der eine formelle Eheschließung forderte und sich zugleich bereit erklärte, Britannicus zu adoptieren, was in der damaligen Situation nur bedeuten konnte, diesem die Nachfolge zu sichern. Der Text impliziert, dass Tacitus annahm, Silius habe die Stellung des Claudius einnehmen wollen. Als Claudius in Ostia weilte, wurde die Hochzeit dann tatsächlich vollzogen.40 35

Suet. Claud. 36: Messalinae quoque amorem flagrantissimum non tam indignitate contumeliarum quam periculi metu abiecit, cum adultero Silio adquiri imperium credidisset. Vgl. Suet. Claud. 29,3. 39,1. 36 Tac. ann. 11,1–3. Zu Valerius Asiaticus vgl. Eck, 2002b: 1106–1107. Zum Prozess Griffin, 1984: 53: Levick, 1990: 61–64. 37 Zum Troiaspiel vgl. Verg. Aen. 5,545–603; Suet. Nero 7,1. Hier wird Britannicus allerdings nicht genannt. 38 Tac. ann. 11,11,2–12,1. 39 Tac. ann. 11,12,1–3. 11,12,1: et matri Agrippinae miseratio augebatur ob saevitiam Messalinae, quae semper infesta et tunc commotior, quo minus strueret crimina et accusatores, novo et furori proximo amore distinebatur. 11,12,3: illa non furtim, sed multo comitatu ventitare domum. 40 Tac. ann. 11,26–27; besonders 11,26,3: cuncta nuptiarum sollemnia celebrat. In 11,27 beteuert Tacitus, der Bericht über die Hochzeit von Silius und Messalina sei nicht erfunden, er habe das wiedergegeben, was ältere Menschen gehört und schriftlich festgehalten haben: sed nihil compositum miraculi causa, verum audita scriptaque senioribus trado.

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In den politisch einflussreichen Kreisen Roms41 wurde daraufhin befürchtet, dass Silius höhere Ambitionen (maiorem spem) habe; es wurden Strategien eines Vorgehens überlegt, aber aktiv wurden dann die Freigelassen Callistus, Narcissus und Pallas; nur Narcissus war aber bereit, Claudius über die Situation zu unterrichten, ohne Messalina zuvor vorher zu informieren. Es gelang ihm, Claudius davon zu überzeugen, nur durch ein schnelles Eingreifen könne verhindert werden, dass der Ehemann, nämlich Silius, Herr der Stadt sei.42 Claudius war von der ihm drohenden Gefahr überzeugt, wie seine Frage auf dem Weg nach Rom zeigt, ob Silius noch Privatmann sei.43 In dieser kritischen Situation feierte Messalina das Fest der Weinlese, wobei Frauen als Bacchantinnen auftraten.44 Auf die Nachricht hin, Claudius komme aus Ostia nach Rom, begab Messalina sich in die Gärten des Lucullus; ihr Versuch, sich vor Claudius zu rechtfertigen, wurde von Narcissus unterbunden, Silius wurde mit anderen Beteiligten sofort hingerichtet. Tacitus nennt an dieser Stelle die Namen von vier Equites, den Praefekten der vigiles, den Procurator der Gladiatorenschule und den Senator Iuncus Vergilianus, ferner den Eques Traulus Montanus.45 Als Claudius am Abend den Befehl gab, Messalina solle am folgenden Tage erscheinen und sich rechtfertigen, befahl Narcissus den Centurionen, Messalina hinzurichten und gab diesen Auftrag als Befehl des Claudius aus. Nach vollzogener Tat wurde Claudius informiert, der allerdings keine Reaktion zeigte und das Mahl ungerührt fortsetzte.46 Es ergibt sich so ein klares Bild: Tacitus nimmt für das Jahr 48 eine Rivalität zwischen Messalina und Agrippina an, er hält die Eheschließung zwischen Messalina und C. Silius für ein Faktum und ist der Auffassung, Silius habe die Stellung des Princeps angestrebt. Das Fest der Weinlese fand danach statt und ist mit der Eheschließung nicht zu verwechseln. Diese bewog die Freigelassenen zur Intervention, Narcissus setzte schließlich gegen den ausdrücklichen Willen des Claudius, der Messalina anhören wollte, deren Tötung durch, wobei er die Centurionen täuschte. Das Motiv der Freigelassenen war die Furcht vor einem Principat des C. Silius; ihre erste Überlegung ging deswegen dahin, Messalina von ihrer Liebe zu Silius abzubringen und ansonsten Stillschweigen über die Affäre zu bewahren; sie

Allerdings bleibt unklar, wer diese seniores gewesen sind und ob ihr Zeugnis tatsächlich glaubwürdig war. Zu dieser Frage vgl. Griffin, 1984: 29, 193; Levick, 1990: 64–67; Eck, 2002a: 128–132; Cenerini, 2010. 41 Tac. ann. 11,28,1: Igitur domus principis inhorruerat, maximeque quos penes potentia et, si res verterentur, formido. 42 Tac. ann. 11,28–30. Die Aufforderung des Narcissus: Tac. ann. 11,30,2: ac ni propere agis, tenet urbem maritus. 43 Tac. ann. 11,31,1: an Silius privatus esse. 44 Tac. ann. 11,31,2. 45 Tac. ann. 11,32,1–36,3. 46 Tac. ann. 11,37,1–38,2.

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fürchteten aber gleichzeitig, in die sich anbahnende politische Katastrophe selbst hineingezogen zu werden. Dieses Motiv scheint gerade auch für Narcissus ausschlaggebend gewesen zu sein. Nicht der Protest gegen die vermeintliche Sittenlosigkeit Messalinas, sondern ein drohender politischer Umsturz war nach Tacitus die Ursache für die Ereignisse, die zum Tod der Messalina führten. Cassius Dio bietet mehr Informationen als Tacitus, da der Text für die gesamte Regierungszeit des Claudius – teilweise als Epitome – erhalten ist. Messalina wird hier nach einem Überblick über die allgemein begrüßten Maßnahmen des Claudius für Handlungen verantwortlich gemacht, die sich zunächst auf das engere Umfeld des Princeps bezogen. So beschuldigte sie aus Eifersucht Iulia Livilla, die jüngste Tochter des Germanicus, fälschlich des Ehebruchs und erreichte deren Verbannung und Tötung.47 Es folgte das Vorgehen gegen C. Appius Silanus, der sich geweigert hatte, mit Messalina eine sexuelle Beziehung einzugehen. Messalina erscheint hier als πορνικωτάτη, eine vollendete Prostituierte.48 Messalina ging dann soweit, andere Frauen der Führungsschicht zum Beischlaf mit anderen Männern in Gegenwart ihrer eigenen Ehemänner zu veranlassen; gleichzeitig führte sie Claudius Konkubinen zu. Den Praetorianerpraefekten Catonius Iustus ließ Messalina beseitigen, weil er Claudius über ihre Umtriebe informieren wollte.49 Als ein weiteres Opfer Messalinas nennt Cassius Dio den Consular M. Vinicius.50 Sie hatte ein Verhältnis mit dem Pantomimen Mnester, dem sie fälschlich vorspiegelte, Claudius sei mit dieser Liaison einverstanden.51 Die Verurteilung von Valerius Asiaticus und des Pompeius Magnus führt Cassius Dio ebenfalls auf die Initiative der Messalina zurück.52 Unter den Verfehlungen Messalinas nennt Cassius Dio zuletzt ihr Bestreben, mehrere Männer als legitime Ehegatten zu haben, ein Vorsatz, der schon bei dem ersten Versuch vereitelt wurde.53 Sie schloss die Ehe mit C. Silius und gab in Abwesenheit von Claudius ein berühmtes Symposion.54 Die Freigelassenen des Claudius, die zunächst in Übereinstimmung mit Messalina gehandelt hatten, vertrauten ihr nach der Tötung des Freigelassenen Polybius nicht mehr,55 und so informierte Narcissus Claudius über die Vorgänge in Rom und behauptete dabei, Messalina habe vor, ihn, Claudius, zu töten und Silius die Herrschaft zu überge-

47

Cass. Dio 60,8,4–5. Cass. Dio 60,14,2–4. 49 Cass. Dio 60,18,1–3. Zur Aussage, Messalina habe auch andere Frauen der Führungsschicht veranlasst, sich zu prostituieren, vgl. auch Cass. Dio 60,31,1. 50 Cass. Dio 60,27,4. Zu Vinicius vgl. Eck, 2002a: 236–237. 51 Cass. Dio 60,22,3–5. Vgl. Cass. Dio 60,28,3–4. 52 Cass. Dio 60,29,6a. Zu Valerius Asiaticus vgl. Cass. Dio 60,27,1–3. Zu Pompeius Magnus vgl. Cass. Dio 60,5,7. Eck, 2001: 113; Eck, 2002c: 126. 53 Cass. Dio 60,31,1–2. 54 Cass. Dio 60,31,3–4. 55 Cass. Dio 60,31,2. 48

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ben. Claudius eilte darauf hin nach Rom zurück, und ließ neben vielen anderen auch Messalina selbst töten.56 Es gibt eine Reihe von Unterschieden zwischen den Berichten des Tacitus und Cassius Dios über die Ereignisse unmittelbar vor dem Tod Messalinas. Die Behauptung Cassius Dios, Messalina habe unmittelbar vor ihrem Tod für sich das Recht einführen wollen, mehrere Männer heiraten zu dürfen, findet bei Tacitus keine Bestätigung. Das Verhalten der Freigelassenen und insbesondere des Narcissus wird bei Tacitus differenzierter dargestellt: Während Tacitus behauptet, Narcissus habe Claudius getäuscht und den Tod der Messalina gegen den Willen des Claudius befohlen, stellt Dio kurz fest, Claudius habe Messalina töten lassen. Aurelius Victor hat sich im 4. Jahrhundert an diesem von Tacitus und Cassius Dio gezeichneten Bild der Messalina in dem Abschnitt über Claudius orientiert; er betont, sie habe zahlreiche Liebhaber gehabt, Männer, die sich ihrem Umgang entzogen, beseitigen lassen und außerdem andere Frauen zum Ehebruch in Gegenwart ihrer Männer gezwungen. Die Freigelassenen, die viele Verbrechen der Messalina gebilligt hatten, wendeten sich schließlich gegen ihre Patronin und ließen sie durch ihre Anhänger ohne Wissen des Claudius, jedoch vorgeblich auf seinen Befehl hin, umbringen. Wie um eine Erklärung für dieses Geschehen zu bieten, verweist Aurelius Victor abschließend noch darauf, dass Messalina in Abwesenheit des Claudius einen anderen Mann geheiratet habe.57 Iuvenal hat in der sechsten Satire durch die Schilderung des Sexualverhaltens der Messalina den Zeugnissen der Geschichtsschreibung eine weitere Facette hinzugefügt: „Blick auf die Rivalen der Götter, hör, was ein Claudius Erduldete. Wenn die Gattin wahrnahm, dass ihr Mann schlief, Wagte sie, die kaiserliche Hure (meretrix Augusta), nachts den Kapuzenmantel Anzulegen und die Matte dem Ehebett im Palast vorzuziehen, Und verließ ihn, nur von einer einzigen Sklavin begleitet. Ihr schwarzes Haar aber verbarg eine blonde Perücke, und so betrat Sie das von einem alten Flickenvorhang warmgehaltene Bordell Und die leere und ihr gehörende Zelle. Da bot sie sich an, Nackt, mit vergoldeten Brustwarzen, den Namen Lycisca vortäuschend, Und zeigte den Leib, der dich, edler Britannicus, getragen hatte. Schmeichelnd empfing sie die Besucher und verlangte Bezahlung. Wenn dann der Bordellwirt schon seine Mädchen entließ, Ging sie betrübt weg und, was sie doch noch konnte, schloss als letzte Die Zelle, noch immer glühend von der Brunst der steifen volva, und, erschöpft von den Männern, jedoch nicht befriedigt, zog sie 56 57

Cass. Dio 60,31,4–5. Aur. Vict. Caes. 4,5–11.

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Davon, durch geschwärzte Wangen hässlich und von dem Qualm der Lampe Schmutzig trug sie den Gestank des Bordells zum kaiserlichen Lager.“58 An anderer Stelle geht Iuvenal auf das Schicksal des C. Silius ein, der als „Bester und Schönster eines patrizischen Geschlechts“ durch Messalina in den Untergang gerissen wird. Dem Befehl zur Heirat zu gehorchen hatte den Tod zur Folge.59 Bemerkenswert sind auch jene Verse, in denen Iuvenal den Tod der Messalina auf den Befehl des Narcissus zurückführt, dem Claudius gehorcht habe.60 Eine andere Dichtung, die „Octavia“, bietet einen Hinweis auf die Verbindung der Messalina mit Silius; Octavia klagt, die Mutter habe sich vermählt, ohne an die Kinder, den Gatten oder die Gesetze zu denken;61 es kam die Rachegöttin, die den Zorn des Princeps erregte, der die unglückliche Mutter mit dem Schwert tötete.62 Von einem exzentrischen Sexualverhalten Messalinas spricht ähnlich wie Iuvenal auch Plinius, der in dem Abschnitt der naturalis historia über die Fortpflanzung der Tiere die Tatsache erwähnt, dass der Mensch im Gegensatz zu den Tieren keine sexuelle Sättigung kennt, und als Beleg hierfür einen Wettstreit der Messalina anführt, die durch einen fünfundzwanzigmaligen Beischlaf innerhalb einer Nacht und eines Tages eine berühmte Prostituierte besiegt haben soll.63 III Diese Texte werfen, wie schon Werner Eck gesehen hat, bei der Interpretation und bei dem Versuch, die Ereignisse im Herbst 48 zu klären, eine Vielzahl von Fragen auf. Es gibt allerdings ein Zeugnis, dessen Inhalt eindeutig ist und dessen Glaubwürdigkeit meines Erachtens nicht bezweifelt werden kann. Es handelt sich um die kurze Darstellung des Tacitus über die Senatssitzung nach dem Tod der Messalina. Die Angaben sind wohl kaum durch die subjektive Sicht des Historikers verfälscht worden, denn sie beruhten auf den veröffentlichten Senatsprotokollen64 und waren damit überprüfbar. 58

Iuv. 6,115–132 (Übersetzung von J. Adamietz). Iuv. 10,331–345. 60 Iuv. 14,328–331: divitiae Narcissi, indulsit Caesar cui Claudius omnia cuius paruit imperiis uxorem occidere iussus. 61 Octavia 261: oblita nostri, coniugis, legum immemor. 62 Octavia 265–267: incendit ira principis pectus truci caedem in nefandam : cecidit infelix parens heu, nostra ferro. 63 Plin. nat. 10,172: Messalina, Claudii Caesaris coniunx, regalem hanc existimans palmam, elegit in id certamen nobilissimam e prostitutis ancillam mercennariae stipis eamque nocte ac die superavit quinto atque vicesimo concubitu. 64 Die Senatsprotokolle wurden veröffentlicht. Vgl. Tac. ann. 5,4,1. Zu den acta senatus vgl. Talbert, 1984: 308–337. 59

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Nach Tacitus hat der Senat den Beschluss gefasst, den Namen der Messalina zu streichen und ihre Standbilder sowohl von privaten als auch von öffentlichen Orten zu entfernen. Darüber hinaus wurden Narcissus die Amtsinsignien eines Quaestors (quaestoria insignia) gewährt.65 Durch die damnatio memoriae hat der Senat Messalina nachträglich faktisch zur Staatsfeindin erklärt und durch die Verleihung der quaestoria insignia die Verdienste des Narcissus für die Bewältigung der krisenhaften Situation anerkannt. Die Schwierigkeit der Interpretation beruht darauf, dass es offen bleibt, was eigentlich Messalina im Senat vorgeworfen wurde, um die damnatio memoriae zu begründen. Tacitus verzichtet darauf, hierüber eine Aussage zu treffen, und es drängt sich der Eindruck auf, dass dies für den Historiker deswegen nicht nötig war, weil seine Schilderung der vorangegangenen Ereignisse, darunter vor allem die Hochzeit mit C. Silius, als Grund für die Senatsbeschlüsse ausreichte. Damit weicht Tacitus an dieser Stelle in gravierender Weise von seiner sonstigen Darstellung über Senatssitzungen nach Todesfällen und Morden innerhalb der domus des Princeps ab, wie sich leicht an folgenden Beispielen zeigen lässt. Es ist signifikant, dass die ‚Annalen‘ des Tacitus – nach dem Bericht über den Tod des Augustus – mit der Ermordung des Agrippa Postumus einsetzen. An dieser Stelle wird deutlich zwischen der offiziellen Begründung für die Tötung eines Enkels des Augustus66 und den wirklichen Motiven für die nicht geleugnete Tat unterschieden.67 Ebenso aufschlussreich ist der Bericht über die Senatssitzung nach dem Tod der älteren Agrippina, die in der Verbannung auf der Insel Pandateria Selbstmord begangen hatte oder aber durch Entzug der Nahrung getötet worden war:68 Tiberius beschuldigte Agrippina der Unkeuschheit sowie des Ehebruchs mit Asinius Gallus und behauptete, sie sei nach dessen Tod aus Lebensüberdruss gestorben. Außerdem warf Tiberius ihr vor, sie habe gierig danach gestrebt zu herrschen (dominandi avida), und rühmte sich, dass sie nicht erdrosselt worden sei. Der Senat dankte ihm damals und beschloss, Iuppiter ein jährliches Weihgeschenk darzubringen.69 Dieselbe Struktur haben auch die Kapitel über den Mord an der jüngeren Agrippina, der zunächst in allen Einzelheiten von dem Entschluss Neros, die Mutter

65

Tac. ann. 11,38,3–4: iuvitque oblivionem eius senatus censendo nomen et effigies privatis ac publicis locis demovendas. decreta Narcisso quaestoria insignia. Vgl. zur damnatio memoriae Hartmann, 2007: 172. 66 Agrippa Postumus war Sohn M. Agrippas und Iulias, der Tochter des Augustus. Vgl. Kienast, 1995: 296. 67 Tac. ann. 1,6,1–2. 68 Tac. ann. 6,25,1. Vgl. Kienast, 1995: 297–298. 69 Tac. ann. 6,25. Vgl. Suet. 53,2. Ehebruch war aufgrund der lex Iulia de adulteriis coercendis ein Kriminaldelikt; vgl. Kienast, 1982: 137; Rotondi, 1912: 445.

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ermorden zu lassen, bis hin zur Ausführung der Tat dargestellt wird.70 Nachdem das Verbrechen begangen worden ist, behauptet Nero in dem Schreiben an den Senat fälschlich, Agrippina habe die Absicht gehabt, ihn töten zu lassen, und Selbstmord begangen, als der Anschlag misslungen sei. Es folgten weitere Beschuldigungen: „Sie habe die Mitregentschaft angestrebt, habe gehofft, die Praetorianerkohorten würden den Treueid auf eine Frau leisten, und die gleiche Schande dem Senat und Volk zugedacht.“71 Von Interesse ist hier insbesondere die Bemerkung des Tacitus, Nero habe für alle Vergehen des Claudius seine Mutter Agrippina verantwortlich gemacht.72 Auch in diesem Fall ist die Divergenz zwischen dem tatsächlichen Geschehen, so wie es von Tacitus beschrieben wird, und seiner Rechtfertigung im Senat klar erkennbar. Nur in den Kapiteln über den Tod der Messalina hat Tacitus darauf verzichtet, über einen Widerspruch zwischen dem Geschehen und der offiziellen Darstellung der Ereignisse im Senat zu berichten. Es besteht damit die Möglichkeit, dass die Behauptung, Messalina habe Silius geheiratet, im Senat zur Rechtfertigung der Tötung der Messalina vorgetragen worden ist und damit ebensoviel Wahrheitsgehalt hat wie die Aussage Neros, seine Mutter habe einen Anschlag auf ihn geplant, der nur im letzten Moment vereitelt werden konnte.73 Nach Auffassung von Cassius Dio war Messalina für den Tod einer Reihe von Frauen aus der Familie des Princeps und von Senatoren verantwortlich, die auf ihre Veranlassung hin angeklagt und verurteilt worden sind.74 Es gibt demgegenüber allerdings Zeugnisse, die diese Sicht relativieren. Dazu gehört der Bericht des Tacitus über den im Jahre 58 unter Nero geführten Prozess gegen P. Suillius Rufus, der von den Zeugen wegen seines Vorgehens gegen Senatoren, equites und einzelne Frauen stark belastet wurde: „Diese warfen ihm vor, er habe durch die Bosheit seiner Anklage Q. Pomponius in die Zwangslage der Teilnahme am Bürgerkrieg versetzt, Iulia, des Drusus Tochter, und Sabina Poppaea in den Tod getrieben und Valerius Asiaticus, Lusius Saturninus und Cornelius Lupus zu Fall gebracht, ja Scharen römischer Equites seien verurteilt worden, und die ganze Grau70

Tac. ann. 14,3–8. Tac. ann. 14,10,3–11,3 (Übersetzung von E. Heller). 72 Tac. ann. 14,11,2. 73 Vgl. zur Hochzeit der Messalina Tac. ann. 11,27. Vgl. zu der Aussage des Tacitus über die Glaubwürdigkeit der Berichte über die Hochzeit der Messalina mit Silius oben Anm. 40. 74 Im Einzelnen nennt Cassius Dio folgende Opfer: Iulia Livilla (Cass. Dio 60,8,4; vgl. Hanslik, 1999: 368), Appius Silanus (60,14,3–4; vgl. Eck, 1996a: 906), Catonius Iustus (Praetorianerpraefect, 60,18,3; vgl. Sen. apocol. 13,5; Griffin, 1984: 68; Levick, 1990: 142), Iulia (Tochter des Drusus, Enkelin des Tiberius, 60,18,4; vgl. Eck, 1999a: 3), Vinicius (60,27,4; vgl. Eck, 2002a: 236–237), Valerius Asiaticus (60,29,6a; vgl. Eck, 2002b: 1106–1107), Cn. Pompeius Magnus (60,29,6a; vgl. Eck, 2001: 113). 71

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samkeit des Claudius falle auf Suillius zurück.“75 In seiner Verteidigung behauptete Suillius, all diese Anklagen seien nicht von ihm aus eigenem Antrieb unternommen worden, sondern er habe dem Princeps, also Claudius, gehorcht. Nero wies dies mit dem Hinweis zurück, aus den commentarii des Claudius gehe hervor, dass dieser keine Anklage gegen irgendeine Person erzwungen habe. Erst darauf hin berief Suillius sich auf die Befehle (iussa) der Messalina.76 Der Prozess, der mit einer Verurteilung und der Verbannung des Suillius auf die Balearen endete, macht deutlich, wie schwierig es ist, die Verantwortung für die einzelnen Anklagen bestimmten Personen zuzuweisen. Ein weiterer Text, der nicht mit den Angaben des Cassius Dio übereinstimmt, ist die von Suetonius verfasste Vita des Claudius. Suetonius, der aufgrund seiner Stellung als a studiis und ab epistulis über die Ereignisse innerhalb der Familien der Principes gut informiert war, macht Claudius für die Hinrichtung von Appius Silanus, der beiden Iuliae sowie von Cn. Pompeius und L. Silanus verantwortlich; mit Ausnahme des L. Silanus sind alle hier genannten Männer und Frauen bei Cassius Dio hingegen Opfer Messalinas.77 An anderer Stelle berichtet Suetonius allerdings im Widerspruch zu seiner vorangegangenen Feststellung, dass Messalina und Narcissus durch falsche Anschuldigungen Claudius veranlasst hatten, Appius Silanus hinrichten zu lassen.78 In dem Abschnitt über die Persönlichkeit des Claudius hebt Suetonius dessen Hang zur Grausamkeit hervor.79 Es ist daher nicht auszuschließen, dass Claudius selbst gegen solche Politiker, die er als eine Konkurrenz und somit als eine Gefahr für sich ansah, rücksichtslos vorging. Ferner wird die Behauptung von Cassius Dio, M. Vinicius, Consul in den Jahren 30 und 45, sei auf Befehl Messalinas vergiftet worden, in der neueren Forschung nicht allgemein akzeptiert.80 Das Urteil der antiken Historiographie über Messa75

Tac. ann. 13,43,2 (Übersetzung von E. Heller). Zum Prozess: Tac. ann. 13,42–43. Zur Aussage des Suillius vgl. Tac. ann. 13,43,3: ille nihil ex his sponte susceptum, sed principi paruisse defendebat. Iussa Messalinae; Tac. ann. 13,43,4. Messalina und Suillius: Tac. ann. 11,1,1. Vgl. Griffin, 1984: 54. 77 Suet. Claud. 29,1: Appium Silanum consocerum suum Iuliasque, alteram Drusi, alteram Germanici filiam, crimine incerto nec defensione ulla data occidit, item Cn. Pompeium maioris filiae virum et L. Silanum minoris sponsum. […] Silanus abdicare se praetura ante IIII. Kal. Ian. morique initio anni coactus die ipso Claudi et Agrippinae nuptiarum. In quinque et triginta senatores trecentosque amplius equites R. tanta facilitate animadvertit. Zu Suetonius vgl. Sallmann, 2001, 1084–1088. Im Fall des L. Silanus liegt ein Widerspruch zwischen Suetonius und Tacitus vor: Nach Suetonius wurde er gezwungen, die Praetur niederzulegen und sich das Leben zum Anfang des Jahres 49 zu nehmen, während er nach Tacitus auf eigene Entscheidung hin Selbstmord beging. Vgl. Tac. ann. 12,3,2– 12,4,3; 12,8,1. 78 Suet. Claud. 37,2. Ein Motiv für die Tötung des Ap. Silanus wird nicht angegeben. 79 Suet. Claud. 34,1: Saevum et sanguinarium natura fuisse. Vgl. Cass. Dio 60,14,1. Vorliebe für Gladiatorenkämpfe: Suet. Claud. 34,1–2. Cass. Dio 60,13,1. 80 Cass. Dio 60,27,4. Vgl. Levick, 1990: 61; Eck, 2002a: 236–237. 76

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lina ist keineswegs so eindeutig, wie dies oft suggeriert wird. Insbesondere der Fall des Valerius Asiaticus ist in dieser Hinsicht bezeichnend: Tacitus nennt als Motive der Messalina Eifersucht und den Wunsch, sich die Gärten des Lucullus, die im Besitz des Asiaticus waren, anzueignen. Tatsächlich wurden aber vor allem politische Vorwürfe gegen Valerius Asiaticus erhoben: Er sei an der Ermordung des Gaius führend beteiligt gewesen und habe sich dessen öffentlich gerühmt,81 er breche gerade zu dem in Germanien stehenden Heer auf und sei durchaus fähig, die Stämme Galliens gegen Rom aufzuhetzen.82 Tatsächlich besaß Claudius ohne Zweifel eine starke Abneigung gegen Valerius Asiaticus, die in seiner Rede über das Ämterrecht der Gallier klar zum Ausdruck kommt: „Über den schrecklichen Namen des Räubers schweige ich, und ich hasse jenes Ungeheuer der Ringerschule.“83 Es besteht damit durchaus die Möglichkeit, dass für das Verfahren gegen Valerius Asiaticus, der gallischer Abstammung war und wegen seines Reichtums Neid erregte,84 andere Motive als die von Tacitus genannten85 ausschlaggebend waren. Die Tatsache, dass Messalina später im Besitz der Gärten des Lucullus war, beweist nicht, dass der Prozess geführt wurde, um sich diese Gärten aneignen zu können. Die Erwähnungen Messalinas in den Satiren Iuvenals wurden von den Althistorikern zu Recht kaum beachtet.86 Die sechste Satire mit den Versen über Messalina im Bordell warnt einen jungen Mann vor der Ehe und schildert ihm in grellen Farben das Fehlverhalten von Frauen in der Ehe. Ausgangspunkt der Satire ist die Feststellung, dass die Keuschheit früherer Zeiten nicht mehr gegeben ist.87 Es kann hier nicht darauf ankommen, alle katalogartig aufgelisteten Verfehlungen zu nennen, den Anfang jedenfalls macht die Frau eines Senators, die einem Gladiator nach Ägypten folgt; anschließend stellt Iuvenal fest, dass das Schicksal, von der Ehefrau betrogen zu werden, aber nicht nur die privata domus trifft, sondern auch den Princeps; als Beispiel dient Claudius, dessen Frau nachts das Bordell aufsucht. Die Satire ist entsprechend den Konventionen der literarischen Gattung in vielen Versen von krassen Übertreibungen und einer drastischen Sprache geprägt, sie kann kaum als historisch zuverlässiges Zeugnis bewertet werden.88 Ein klares Indiz spricht jedenfalls dagegen, dass Messalina in der Ehe mit Claudius von Beginn an sexuell promiskuitiv gewesen ist; Agrippina hat die Kinder, die dieser Ehe entstammten, Britannicus und Octavia, stets als Kinder des 81

Valerius Asiaticus nach der Ermordung des Gaius: Cass. Dio 59,30,2. Tac. ann. 11,1,1–2. Vgl. Levick, 1990: 62–63. 83 ILS 212 II Zeile 15–19: Ut dirum nomen latronis taceam, et odi illud palaestricum prodigium Vgl. Eck, 2002b: 1106–1107. Vgl. zur Rede des Claudius Tac. ann. 11,24. 84 Cass. Dio 60,27,3. 85 Tac. ann 11,1,1: Eifersucht und Habsucht Messalinas. 86 Eine Ausnahme stellt hier Demandt, 1992: 81 dar. 87 Iuv. 6,1–24. 88 Adamietz, 1986: 231–307, besonders 262–265; Braund, 1992: 85–86. 82

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Claudius anerkannt und Octavia für die familiäre Legitimation ihres Sohnes gebraucht, indem sie eine Ehe zwischen Octavia und ihrem Sohn arrangierte.89 Darüber hinaus wurde Domitius Ahenobarbus von Claudius adoptiert, so dass er gleichzeitig Sohn, Stiefsohn und Schwiegersohn des Princeps und Ehemann sowie Bruder der Octavia war. In der Krise des Verhältnisses zu ihrem Sohn Nero nannte Agrippina Britannicus den echten Nachkommen, der würdig sei, das Imperium seines Vaters zu übernehmen.90 Die ‚Octavia‘ eines unbekannten Autors kann nur bedingt als Beleg für die Ereignisse des Jahres 48 und vor allem für die Heirat Messalinas mit C. Silius herangezogen werden.91 Eine grundsätzliche Schwierigkeit der Interpretation besteht in der ungeklärten Datierung des Textes; es ist keineswegs sicher, dass dieses Stück unmittelbar nach Octavias Tod im Jahr 62 verfasst worden ist und somit auf genauer zeitgenössischer Kenntnis der Vorgänge zwischen 48 und 62 beruht.92 Es gibt jedenfalls neben anderen Indizien deutliche Übereinstimmungen zur Darstellung des Tacitus, der das Drama der letzten Tage der Octavia eindrucksvoll gestaltet hat.93 Falls die ‚Octavia‘ aber erst um 100 abgefasst worden wäre, ist der Inhalt beeinflusst von dem historischen Wissen der Entstehungszeit der Tragödie. Wenn Octavia über ihre Mutter und deren Heirat mit C. Silius klagt, gibt das Stück nur wesentlich die Version über die Ereignisse im Herbst 48 wieder, die auch bei Tacitus, Suetonius und später bei Cassius Dio zu finden ist. Unter dem Gesichtspunkt der historischen Glaubwürdigkeit der Tragödie ist außerdem die Figur des namenlosen Praetorianerpraefekten problematisch, denn sie entspricht kaum dem historischen Vorbild. Es gibt einen weiteren bemerkenswerten Text, der zu Messalina eine andere Sicht als die der antiken Historiker bietet: Nach dem Tod des Claudius und dem Regierungsantritt Neros verfasste Seneca, der zu Beginn der Regierungszeit des Claudius nach Corsica verbannt und durch Agrippina wieder aus dem Exil nach Rom zurückberufen worden war, eine Schmähschrift, in der er Claudius verhöhnt und dessen Divinisierung als apocolocyntosis (Verwandlung in einen Kürbis) lä89

Verlobung: Tac. ann. 12,9. Heirat: Tac. ann. 12,58,1. Tac. ann. 13,14,2. 91 Eck (2002: 129): „Doch alle Zweifel werden durch die Aussage in der Tragödie Octavia widerlegt, Messalina habe Silius geheiratet. Dabei ist die Octavia, in der das Schicksal von Messalinas Tochter mit größter Anteilnahme beschrieben wird, als einzige literarische Überlieferung nicht grundsätzlich feindlich gegen Messalina eingestellt. Wenn aber selbst dort an der Eheschließung nicht gezweifelt wird, muss man diese als ein Faktum anerkennen.“ 92 Die ‚Octavia‘ ist im Corpus der Seneca-Tragödien überliefert; wegen der Hinweise auf Ereignisse nach 65 wird in der Forschung ausgeschlossen, dass die Tragödie von Seneca stammt. Die Datierung ist unsicher, es wird heute weitgehend eine Entstehung um 100 angenommen. Vgl. Schmidt, 2000: 1096–1097. Zur Datierung vgl. auch zusammenfassend Beck, 2007: 7–18 und 39–45. 93 Tac. ann. 14,60–64. 90

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cherlich macht.94 Die Handlung95 setzt ein mit dem Tod des Claudius und einem Lobpreis auf die felicia saecula, auf die glückseligen Zeiten unter Nero. Claudius gelangt dann in den Himmel, wo die Götter darüber diskutieren, ob man ihm die Aufnahme als Gottheit gewähren solle. Augustus, der nach seinem Tode divinisiert worden war, ergreift in der Debatte das Wort und fordert, Claudius habe Himmel und Olymp zu verlassen, ein Votum, dem die anderen Götter zustimmen. In seiner Rede geht Augustus auf die Herrschaft des Claudius ein und nennt seine Nachkommen, die unter Claudius ihr Leben lassen mussten: „Dieser, den ihr da seht, hat so viele Jahre unter dem Deckmantel meines Namens gelebt und mir dafür in der Form gedankt, dass er die beiden Iuliae, meine Urenkelinnen, umbringen ließ, die eine durch den Henker, die andere durch den Hunger; ferner jenen Urenkel, Lucius Silanus. [...] Sage mir, göttlicher Claudius, warum hast du ausnahmslos alle, die du hast hinrichten lassen, ob Mann oder Frau, verurteilt, ehe du den Sachverhalt untersuchtest, ehe du die Betroffenen hörtest. [...]Du dagegen hast Messalina, deren Großonkel ich in derselben Weise war wie der deine, ermordet! ‚Ich weiß von nichts’ sagst du? Die Götter sollen es dich büßen lassen. Noch viel schimpflicher ist es, dass du von nichts wusstest als dass du sie hast ermorden lassen!“96 Die Rede endet mit einer Aufzählung der Männer und Frauen, die Claudius während seines Principates hat umbringen lassen, wobei wiederum Messalina erwähnt wird: „In Anbetracht des Umstandes, dass der göttliche Claudius ermordet hat seinen Schwiegervater Appius Silanus, seine beiden Schwiegersöhne Magnus Pompeius und Lucius Silanus, ferner Crassus Frugi, den Schwiegervater seiner Tochter, einen Menschen, ihm selbst so ähnlich wie ein Ei dem anderen, sodann Scribonia, die Schwiegermutter seiner Tochter, seine Gattin Messalina und all die anderen, deren Zahl sich nicht hat ermitteln lassen, stelle ich den Antrag, es solle gegen ihn streng vorgegangen werden.“97

94

Griffin, 1976: 129–133; Adamietz, 1986: 356–382; Fuhrmann, 1999: 178–181. Zur Datierung vgl. die Erwähnung des Narcissus bei Sen. apocol. 13,2. Vgl. Tac. ann. 13,1,3. Zu möglichen politischen Intentionen: Griffin, 1984: 96–97. 95 Adamietz 1986: 367–378. 96 Sen. apocol. 10,4–11,1 (Übersetzung von G. Binder). Die Verwandtschaft zwischen Claudius und Augustus beruht darauf, dass die Mutter des Claudius, die mit Drusus verheiratete Antonia minor, Tochter von M. Antonius und Octavia war, der Schwester des Augustus. Damit war Claudius der Enkel der Octavia und Großneffe des Augustus. 97 Sen. apocol. 11,5 (Übersetzung von G. Binder). Vgl. hierzu Suet. Claud. 29,1.

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Nachdem Claudius in Rom noch seiner eigenen Leichenfeier zugesehen hat, kommt er in den Hades, wo ihm seine Opfer entgegenziehen.98 C. Silius wird erwähnt, aber eine Heirat mit Messalina nicht behauptet und eine Beziehung zum Tod der Messalina nicht hergestellt. Es folgen weitere Opfer, an ihrer Spitze Messalina, die Freigelassenen, Praetorianerpraefecten, Freunde und schließlich eine große Zahl von Verwandten.99 Im Hades wird das Verfahren gegen Claudius eröffnet, die Anklage lautet, es seien 35 Senatoren und 321 römische Equites ermordet worden.100 Die Schrift wendet sich ohne Zweifel an politisch gut informierte Leser, vielleicht an die engeren Kreise der domus des Princeps,101 sie konnte nur ihre Wirkung haben, wenn die wichtigsten Fakten stimmten102 oder zumindest der Wahrnehmung der Zeitgenossen entsprachen. Die Schrift kam dem Verhalten Neros entgegen, der stets über Claudius zu spotten pflegte.103 Die Liste derer, die unter Claudius angeklagt und verurteilt worden sind, entspricht weitgehend dem, was aus anderen Quellen bekannt ist. Die Tendenz ist eindeutig: Während die von ihm verfasste und von Nero im Senat verlesene laudatio funebris Claudius rühmte,104 kam es Seneca in der ‚Apocolocyntosis‘ darauf an, mit Nachdruck auf die äußerlichen Schwächen des Princeps und auf die von ihm begangenen Taten hinzuwiesen. Dass dies vor allem in Form von zwei Gerichtssitzungen stattfindet, geht auf die Neigung des Claudius zurück, selbst Prozesse zu entscheiden,105 und die consecratio106 eines offensichtlich unwürdigen Princeps findet ihren Spiegel in dem Weg des Claudius zu den Göttern auf dem Olymp, die diesen aber abweisen und damit die consecratio als falsch erweisen. Bemerkenswert ist, dass in der „Apocolocyntosis“ – wie auch im Bericht des Tacitus über den Prozess gegen Suillius und in der Claudius-Vita des Suetonius – die Taten, für die später bei Cassius Dio Messalina verantwortlich gemacht worden ist, Claudius zugeschrieben werden. Darüber hinaus erhebt Seneca an mehreren Stellen der Schrift auch den Vorwurf, Claudius habe sogar seine Gattin Messalina töten lassen, ohne Gründe für die Tat anzugeben.107 Selbst wenn man bedenkt, dass die Schrift primär gegen das Andenken an Claudius gerichtet ist, bleibt auffallend, dass die vermeintliche Abhängigkeit des Claudius von den Frauen und 98

Sen. apocol. 13,4. Sen. apocol. 13,6. 100 Sen. apocol. 14,1. So später auch Suet. Claud. 29,2. 101 Griffin, 1976: 129; Adamietz 1986: 356. 102 Dazu gehören auch die Kennzeichnung der persönlichen Eigenheiten des Claudius, so sein Kopfwackeln, das Nachziehen eines Beines oder das undeutliche und langsame Sprechen; vgl. Sen. apocol. 5,2–3; Adamietz, 1986: 360. 103 Vgl. Suet. Nero 33,1; Griffin, 1984: 96. 104 Tac. ann. 13,3,1. 105 Tac. ann. 13,4,2. 106 Tac. ann. 13,2,3. 107 Sen. apocol. 11,1; 11,5; 13,5. 99

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der Lebensstil der Messalina hier nicht erscheinen. Es ist die Folgerung naheliegend, dass Seneca die „Apocolocyntosis“ in einer Zeit schrieb, in der das negative Bild der Messalina noch nicht formuliert worden war. Erst nach der „Apocolocyntosis“, vor allem in den Jahren, in denen Agrippina politischen Einfluss besaß, wie Werner Eck vermutet,108 oder in der Zeit der Flavier, wäre demnach Messalina als eine Frau gezeichnet worden, deren hervorstechende Charaktereigenschaften die sexuelle Hemmungslosigkeit, Habgier und Grausamkeit gewesen sind.109 In diesem Zusammenhang ist zu beachten, dass das Bild, das man von Messalina entwarf, in hohem Maße von der Beurteilung des Claudius und seines Principats abhängt. Folgt man der Auffassung von Miriam Griffin, wurde in der Zeit der Flavier die Notwendigkeit gesehen, den Principat nach der Regierungszeit Neros und nach den Bürgerkriegen des Jahres 69 neu zu begründen.110 Der rechtlichen und politischen Legitimation des Principats diente zunächst die lex de imperio Vespasiani, durch die der Senat die Kompetenzen eines Princeps genau definierte und Vespasianus übertrug. Dabei ist auffallend, dass diese Kompetenzen umschrieben werden mit dem Hinweis auf die Rechte des Augustus, des Tiberius und des Claudius. Es werden hier Gaius, Nero und die drei Principes der Bürgerkriegszeit übergangen.111 Es war offensichtlich, dass Vespasianus sich nicht auf Gaius und Nero berufen wollte; Claudius wiederum war unverzichtbar, weil sonst der Principat seit Tiberius nur eine Zeit schlechter Imperatoren gewesen wäre; eine Fortsetzung dieses Herrschaftssystems war unter dieser Voraussetzung schwer zu legitimieren. Mit Claudius aber konnten Gaius und Nero als einzige Ausnahmen unter den guten Principes seit Augustus gesehen werden. Wie Griffin ausführt, wurde Claudius aber nicht allein in der lex genannt, sondern war auch 108

Eck, 2002c: 133. Für das vorherrschende negative Bild einiger Principes wie Gaius und Domitianus konstatiert Mary Beard eine ähnliche Beeinflussung der Überlieferung: „Man kommt jedoch nur schwer um die Schlussfolgerung herum, dass die über ihn erzählten Geschichten, auch wenn sie ein Körnchen Wahrheit enthalten, eine unentwirrbare Mischung aus Tatsachen, Übertreibung, bewusster Falschauslegung und reiner Erfindung sind – und weitgehend nach seinem Tod und vor allem zum Nutzen des neuen Kaisers Claudius aufgebracht wurden, dessen Legitimität als Herrscher teils von der Vorstellung abhing, dass man seinen Vorgänger zu Recht beseitigt hatte“; Beard, 2015: 425. „Ganz allgemein hatten die politischen Begleitumstände eines Regimewechsels erheblichen Einfluss darauf, wie ein Kaiser in die Geschichte einging, denn die Darstellung seines Werdegangs und Charakters wurde so umgestaltet, dass sie den Interessen seines Nachfolgers zupasskam.“ (Beard, 2015: 433). Bemerkenswert ist in diesem Zusammenhang, dass Sueton ähnlich wie Seneca vor allem Claudius für die Opfer seines Principats verantwortlich macht (Suet. Claud. 29,1), mit der einen Ausnahme des Appius Silanus (Suet. 37,2). Zur Abhängigkeit des Claudius von den Freigelassenen und Frauen vgl. Suet. Claud. 29,1. 110 Griffin, 1994: 311–315. 111 ILS 244. 109

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Vorbild für eine Reihe von Maßnahmen des Vespasianus, der außerdem auch den Tempel des Claudius vollenden ließ.112 Aus einer positiven Sicht des Claudius ergab sich wiederum die zwingende Konsequenz, das offensichtliche Vorgehen gegen Angehörige der domus des Princeps sowie gegen einzelne Senatoren und Equites nicht dem Princeps selbst, sondern seinem Umfeld, und dies bedeutet Messalina und den Freigelassenen, anzulasten.113 Dass damit allerdings auch eine Abhängigkeit des Claudius von seinen Frauen postuliert werden musste, war demgegenüber eher nebensächlich. Die Aussage des Plinius über Messalina ist schwer zu beurteilen; es kann nicht geklärt werden, ob es sich um ein falsches Gerücht handelt, das in der Zeit nach ihrem Tod entstanden ist, oder ob es sich um die Überlieferung eines tatsächlichen Geschehens handelt. Grundlage aller Aussagen über Messalinas Sexualverhalten ist die wohl kaum zu bestreitende Feststellung, dass sie nach der Geburt ihrer beiden Kinder sexuelle Beziehungen außerhalb ihrer Ehe hatte. Um diesen Sachverhalt zu bewerten, ist es notwendig, hier kurz auf den Lebensstil der Jahrzehnte zwischen Augustus und Nero einzugehen. Es existieren in der Literatur zahlreiche Zeugnisse bis hin zur sechsten Satire Iuvenals, in denen Frauen zumindest der Oberschicht allgemein eine Neigung zur Untreue und zum Ehebruch vorgeworfen wird.114 Von Belang sind gerade die generellen Äußerungen Senecas, weil sie aus der Zeit der Messalina stammen, und ferner die Hinweise auf jene Frauen, die in der Literatur wegen ihres freizügigen Lebensstils erwähnt und getadelt werden. In der zwischen 49 und 62 verfassten Schrift de beneficiis115 bemerkt Seneca, es gebe keine Scham vor Ehebruch mehr (adulterii pudor), Frauen hätten mehrere Liebhaber, und ein solches Verhalten sei weit verbreitet.116 Derartige kollektive Anklagen sind durchaus fragwürdig, aber sie wären kaum denkbar, wenn nicht einzelne Frauen derart gehandelt hätten. Der erste Fall, bei dem das Auftreten einer Frau aus der Familie des Princeps zu einem Politikum wurde, betrifft Iulia, die Tochter des Augustus. Ihr wurde vorgeworfen, öffentlich an nächtlichen Trinkgelagen teilgenommen und Beziehungen zu mehreren Männern, darunter auch zum Sohn des Marcus Antonius, unterhalten zu haben. Augustus ging mit aller Härte gegen seine Tochter vor, ließ im Senat über die Vorfälle berichten und verbannte seine Tochter auf die Insel 112

Griffin, 1994: 312–313. Für eine solche Argumentation gibt es bei Tacitus ein Beispiel; nach der Ermordung seiner Mutter machte Nero Agrippina in seinem Schreiben an den Senat für alle Vergehen des Claudius verantwortlich: Tac. ann. 14,11,2: temporum quoque Claudianorum obliqua insectatione cuncta eius dominationis flagitia in matrem transtulit. Ein ähnlicher Vorgang kann für Messalina angenommen werden. Vgl. Griffin, 1984: 64. 114 Die Zeugnisse sind gesammelt bei Friedländer (2016 Bd. 1: 283–294). Zu Friedländer vgl. Nippel, 2012: 426–427. 115 Maurach, 1991: 81 und 100–110. 116 Sen, benef. 3,16,3–4. Ähnlich Sen. benef. 1,9,3; 7,9,5. 113

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Pandateria, wo sie unter schlimmsten Bedingungen ihr Leben bis zu ihrem Tod fristete.117 Die freizügige Lebensweise von Frauen der Oberschicht (libido feminarum) ist für das Jahr 19 durch einen Senatsbeschluss bezeugt, der Frauen, deren Großvater, Vater oder Ehemann ein eques Romanus war, die Prostitution verbot.118 Anlass war das Verhalten einer Vistilia, die aus der Familie eines Praetors stammte und sich bei den Aedilen als Prostituierte einschreiben ließ. Aus dem Bericht des Tacitus geht hervor, dass der Ehemann seine Frau zu kontrollieren und bei einem manifesten Delikt die Verhängung der im Gesetz vorgesehenen Strafe zu veranlassen hatte.119 Messalina war in ihrer Zeit keineswegs die einzige Frau, der in der antiken Geschichtsschreibung sexuelle Aktivitäten außerhalb der Ehe nachgesagt werden. Tacitus erwähnt mehrere solcher Frauen, die durch ihre Schönheit und ihre sexuell freizügige Lebensweise bekannt waren, so Domitia Lepida, die Agrippina als Rivalin ansah,120 Iunia Silana, die mit C. Silius verheiratet und durch Messalina verdrängt worden war,121 Agrippina selbst, die Mutter Neros,122 und später dann, zur Zeit Neros, Sabina Poppaea.123 Es ist daher sachlich kaum berechtigt, gerade Messalina zu einem Symbol sexueller Exzesse im kaiserzeitlichen Rom zu machen.124 Ein weiterer Aspekt sollte hier nicht unerwähnt bleiben: Untreue ist nicht allein Frauen wie Messalina zuzuschreiben, sondern auch den Männern, die der Oberschicht oder der domus des Princeps angehörten. So hatte Claudius selbst zwei namentlich genannte Konkubinen (paelices), die auf Drängen des Narcissus Claudius in Ostia die Nachricht überbrachten, Messalina habe Silius geheiratet.125 117

Suet. Aug. 63,1.65,1–3. Cass. Dio 55,10,12–16. Tod der Iulia: 1,53,1–2. Vgl. Späth, 1996: 191–193; Eck, 1999b: 2; Temporini-Gräfin Vitzthum, 2002: 66–68. 118 Tac: ann. 2,85,1: Eodem anno gravibus senatus decretis libido feminarum coercita cautumque, ne quaestum corpore faceret cui avus aut pater aut maritus eques Romanus fuisset. 119 Tac. ann. 2,85,2–3. 120 Tac. Ann. 12,64,3: nec forma aetas opes multum distabant; et utraque impudica infamis violenta haud minus vitiis aemulabantur. Vgl. Eck, 1997: 744. 121 Tac. ann. 13,19,2: Iunia Silana, quam matrimonio C. Sili a Messalina depulsam supra rettuli, insignis genere forma lascivia. Vgl. Strothmann, 1999: 56–57. 122 Tac. ann. 12,65,2; 14,2,2. Zum Verhältnis mit Pallas vgl. 12,25,1. Vgl. Eck, 1996b: 298. 123 Tac. ann. 13,45,1–2: huic mulieri cuncta alia fuere praeter honestum animum. quippe mater eius, aetatis suae feminas pulchritudine supergressa, gloriam pariter et formam dederat; opes claritudini generis sufficiebant, sermo comis nec absurdum ingenium, modestiam praeferre et lascivia uti. Vgl. Goffin, 2001, 149–150. Vgl. zum Vorwurf eines Ehebruchs ihrer Mutter Sabina Poppaea: Tac. ann. 11,2,1. 124 Späth, 1996: 193–194. 125 Tac. ann. 11,29,2–30,1.

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Die Praesenz der Konkubinen im Haushalt eines Senators wird außerdem in dem Brief des Plinius über die Ermordung des Larcius Macedo angedeutet.126 Eine letzte Überlegung gilt dem Problem der Verallgemeinerung; an dieser Stelle soll dies hier nur an einem Beispiel gezeigt werden, das aus der wohl wichtigsten deutschen Darstellung der römischen Geschichte der Zeit nach 1945 stammt. Wenn Heuss über Messalina schreibt, sie sei beherrscht gewesen „von dem weiblichen Ehrgeiz, sich jeden Mann, der ihr gefiel, untertan zu machen“ und sie habe die Macht, die sie durch Claudius erhielt, benutzt, „um Frauen, in denen sie Geschlechtsrivalinnen sah, Männer, die ihr nicht zu Willen waren und vor allem diejenigen, welche den Kaiser von ihrem Treiben unterrichten wollten, zu vernichten“,127 dann handelt es sich um Feststellungen, die in dieser Form kaum auf einer wissenschaftlich vertretbaren Auswertung der Quellen beruhen. Für die Behauptung über die Männer, die ihr nicht zu Willen waren, gibt es bei Cassius Dio nur zwei Belege, die Tötung des Appius Silanus und des Consulars Vinicius, der vergiftet worden sein soll. Für die Tötung eines Mannes, der den Princeps über „ihr Treiben“ informieren wollte, findet sich bei Cassius Dio ein einziges Beispiel, das des Catonius Iustus.128 Eifersucht wird bei Cassius Dio als Grund für das Vorgehen die beiden Iuliae und bei Tacitus im Fall der Poppaea Sabina angeführt.129 Ob die Aussagen bei Cassius Dio für die negative Sicht der Messalina bei Heuss ausreichen, ist durchaus fraglich. IV In der Geschichte der Messalina gibt es noch einen Subtext, dem bisher wenig Aufmerksamkeit gewidmet wurde.130 Wenn man die Konstellation des Jahres 48 verstehen will, ist es notwendig, zunächst die Situation der älteren Agrippina im Principat des Tiberius zu beleuchten.131 Nach dem Tod des Germanicus im Oktober 19 hatte Agrippina als dessen Witwe eine prominente Stellung in Rom inne. Durch die Ambitionen des Seianus befördert gab es bald erhebliche Schwierigkeiten im Verhältnis zwischen Tiberius und seiner Mutter Livia132 einerseits und Agrippina andererseits. Tacitus schreibt Seianus die Absicht zu, die Söhne des Germanicus zu beseitigen, die nach dem Tod des Drusus von Tiberius der Für-

126

Plin. epist. 3,14,3. Vgl. Quint. inst. 4,2,123–124 (M. Antonius); Tac. hist. 1,72,3 (Ofonius Tigellinus); 3,40,1 (Flavius Valens); Treggiari, 1991: 51–54; besonders 52 Anm. 62. Außereheliche Beziehungen des Augustus: Suet. Aug. 69. Zur Einstellung des M. Antonius vgl. seinen Brief an Caesar, Sohn des Dictators, bei Suet. Aug. 69,2. 127 Heuss, 1964: 330–331. 128 Cass. Dio 60,14,3 (Appius Silanus); 60,27,4 (Vinicius); 60,18,3 (Catonius Iustus). 129 Cass. Dio 60,8,4; 60,18,4 (Iuliae). Tac. ann. 11,2,2 (Poppaea Sabina). 130 Vgl. aber die wichtigen Bemerkungen von Levick, 1990: 65–66. 131 Vgl. Späth / Wagner-Hasel, 2000: 262–281; Eck, 2002c: 77–102. 132 Zur Haltung der Livia vgl. Tac. ann. 4,71,4.

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sorge des Senates empfohlen worden waren.133 In dieser Situation bemühte sich Seianus, den Zwiespalt in der Familie des Tiberius durch Anschuldigungen gegen Agrippina zu vertiefen. Er beschuldigte sie, stolz auf ihre vielen Kinder und unterstützt durch ihre Popularität nach der Herrschaft zu streben.134 Im Jahr 24 wurden die Konflikte innerhalb der Familie zu einem machtpolitischen Problem, denn Seianus suggerierte nun, das Imperium stünde vor einem Bürgerkrieg und Agrippina würde durch Parteigänger unterstützt, deren Zahl wachsen würde, wenn man nichts dagegen unternehme.135 Aus Anlass des Prozesses gegen Claudia Pulchra, eine Enkelin der Octavia, kam es zu einer erregten Auseinandersetzung zwischen Tiberius und Agrippina; deren Bitte, sie wieder zu verheiraten, schlug Tiberius aus machtpolitischen Erwägungen ab.136 Das Ergebnis dieser Streitigkeiten innerhalb der Familie und der Intrigen des Seianus137 war schließlich die Verbannung Agrippinas auf die Insel Pandateria, ihres Sohnes Nero auf die Insel Pontia; beide starben noch während der Regierungszeit des Tiberius. Der jüngere Sohn Drusus wurde ebenfalls zum hostis erklärt und verhungerte in den Kerkern des Palastes auf dem Palatin.138 Eine weitere Tochter der älteren Agrippina, Iulia Livilla, überlebte zwar den Principat des Tiberius, wurde dann von Gaius zusammen mit ihrer Schwester, der jüngeren Agrippina, wegen Beteiligung an einer Verschwörung des Aemilius Lepidus auf eine der Pontischen Inseln verbannt,139 unter Claudius zurückberufen, dann auf Veranlassung Messalinas oder des Claudius wegen Ehebruchs angeklagt, verbannt und kurz darauf getötet.140 Die jüngere Agrippina, die zusammen mit ihrer Schwester Iulia Livilla aus der Verbannung nach Rom zurückgekehrt war, heiratete den Consular Sallustius Passienus Crispus.141 Sie hat die Geschichte ihrer Familie durchaus reflektiert, sie schrieb commentarii, in denen sie ihr Leben und das Schicksal ihrer Verwandten der Nachwelt überliefert hat.142 Die Situation der Familie stellt sich zu Beginn der Regierungszeit des Claudius demnach wie folgt dar: Die Mutter der jüngeren Agrippina, die ältere Agrippina, war unter Tiberius verbannt und umgebracht worden. Dasselbe Schicksal hatten ihre beiden älteren Brüder; die jüngere Schwester Iulia Livilla war ebenfalls angeklagt, verbannt und dann auch getötet worden. Die Mutter und zwei Geschwister waren Opfer des Tiberius, des Onkels von Claudius, dem die Schuld am Tod der jüngeren Schwester gegeben wurde. Die Frage war 133

Tac. ann. 4,8,35. Tac. ann. 4,12,3. 135 Tac. ann. 4,17,3. 136 Tac. ann. 5,52–53. 137 Tac. ann. 5,59,3; 5,67,3. 138 Suet. Tib. 53–54. Vgl. Eck, 2002c: 100. 139 Cass. Dio 59,22,6–8. Vgl. Eck, 1996c: 184. 140 Suet. Claud. 29,1; Cass. Dio 60,8,4–5. Vgl. Hanslik, 1999: 368. Vgl. Griffin, 1984: 28. 141 Zur jüngeren Agrippina vgl. Eck, 2002c: 133–155. 142 Tac. ann. 4,53,2. Vgl. Eck, 1996b, 298. 134

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nun, wie Agrippina nach diesen Ereignissen und Erfahrungen sich nach ihrer Rückkehr aus der Verbannung wiederum in die domus des Claudius einfügen konnte. Eins ist deutlich: Als Tochter des immer noch geschätzten Germanicus,143 als Enkelin der Iulia und Urenkelin des Augustus hatte sie engere verwandtschaftliche Beziehungen zu Augustus als Claudius oder Messalina. Für Messalina stellte die Rückkehr Agrippinas aus der Verbannung ebenfalls ein Problem dar; auch sie konnte sich auf verwandtschaftliche Beziehungen zu Augustus berufen, stammte sie doch sowohl väterlicherseits als auch mütterlicherseits von Octavia ab, der Schwester des Augustus.144 Das entscheidende Problem für Messalina war es, ihrem Sohn Britannicus die Nachfolge des Claudius zu sichern. Diese war ihrem Sohn angesichts der Tatsache, dass der Principat keine verbindliche Nachfolgeregelung kannte, keineswegs sicher. Und gerade unter Tiberius hatte es sich gezeigt, dass der Anspruch auf die successio145 brutal übergangen werden konnte. Messalina hatte durchaus Grund, die Ambitionen Agrippinas zu fürchten. Zwei Zeugnisse belegen mit aller Deutlichkeit, dass zwischen den beiden Frauen eine unversöhnliche Rivalität bestand. Als bei dem Troiaspiel anlässlich der Saecularfeier im Jahre 47 die plebs dem jungen Domitius Ahenobarbus größere Gunst erwies als dem Britannicus, wertet Tacitus dies als Ausdruck der Achtung vor Germanicus und des Mitleids mit Agrippina. Beim Troiaspiel reiten die Jungen in drei Reiterabteilungen, die jeweils von einem Knaben angeführt werden.146 Wenn hierbei beide, Domitius und Britannicus, eine herausgehobene Stellung einnahmen, dann ist verständlich, dass der über drei Jahre ältere Domitius eine bessere Figur machte. Aber dass dieses Troiaspiel so organisiert worden ist, dass beide Jungen zusammen vor der Öffentlichkeit auftraten, erweckt den Eindruck, als habe hier die Konkurrenz der Mütter eine entscheidende Rolle gespielt. Es ist bemerkenswert, dass Tacitus an dieser Stelle auf das Verhältnis zwischen Messalina und Agrippina eingeht und von der Grausamkeit (saevitia) der Messalina spricht, die schon immer Agrippina feindselig gesonnen war und damals be-

143

Tac. ann. 11,12,1. Zu den verwandtschaftlichen Beziehungen Messalinas vgl. Levick, 1990: 54: Der Vater Messalinas M. Valerius Messalla Barbatus war Sohn der Marcella, der Tochter aus erster Ehe der Octavia mit C. Claudius Marcellus, cos. 50 v.Chr.; ihre Mutter Domitia Lepida war Tochter des L. Domitus Ahenobarbus, der mit Antonia, Tochter aus zweiter Ehe der Octavia mit Marcus Antonius, verheiratet war. Domitia Lepida war Schwester des Cn. Domitius Ahenobarbus, des ersten Mannes der Agrippina und Vater des L. Domitius Ahenobarbus, der nach seiner Adoption durch Claudius den Namen Nero erhielt (Tac. ann, 11,11,2; 12,26,1). 145 Tac. ann. 4,12,2: non dubia successio. 146 Vgl. dazu Verg. Aen. 5,560–562: tres equitum numero turmae ternique vagantur ductores: pueri bis seni quemque secuti agmine partito fulgent paribusque magistris. 144

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sonders aufgebracht war.147 Tacitus berichtet ferner über eine fabelhafte Erzählung, als Kind sei Domitius von Schlangen bewacht worden; Sueton hat dieser Geschichte eine dramatische Wendung gegeben, indem er berichtet, es habe das Gerücht existiert, Messalina habe Männer ausgeschickt, die den kleinen Domitius bei seinem Mittagschlaf erwürgen sollten, die aber voller Furcht vor einer großen, sich aus dem Kissen hervorbewegenden Schlange flohen.148 Dem Gerücht selbst ist kein besonderer Wert beizumessen, aber die Tatsache, dass ein solches Gerücht überhaupt entstehen konnte und dass Domitius hier quasi Britannici aemulus, Konkurrent des Britannicus, genannt wird, ist bezeichnend. Das Gerücht enthüllt die tiefere Wahrheit, dass es bei der Konkurrenz zwischen Messalina und Agrippina letztlich um die Frage ging, ob Britannicus oder Domitius die Nachfolge (successio) des Claudius antreten werde. Diese Frage stand zur Entscheidung an.149 Es musste klar sein, dass die Chancen des Domitius Ahenobarbus relativ gering waren, solange Messalina mit Claudius verheiratet war, für Messalina wiederum stellte Agrippina eine gravierende, wenn auch latente Bedrohung dar, auf die sie im Jahr 48 durch Vorbereitung eines Prozesses reagieren wollte, was in Rom wohl bekannt war.150 Die Schwäche der Messalina war ihr Lebensstil, der sich von dem Agrippinas kaum unterschied; die Differenz zwischen Agrippina und Messalina lag aber darin, dass diese eben Frau des Princeps war und damit Beziehungen außerhalb der Ehe leicht einen politischen Charakter erhalten konnten. Unter diesen Umständen war die Chance für Agrippina gekommen, als Messalina ein Verhältnis mit C. Silius begann. Die Freigelassenen haben dieser Affäre eine erhebliche politische Dimension zugeschrieben und zu einer politischen Gefahr für den Princeps stilisiert: „Solange ein Schauspieler mit dem Schlafzimmer des Princeps sein Spiel getrieben habe, sei ihm zwar Schande angetan worden, aber vom Untergang sei keine Rede gewesen; jetzt sei es ein junger Mann der Nobilität, der sich durch die Würde seiner Erscheinung, durch die Kraft seines Geistes und das bevorstehende Consulat zu höherer Hoffnung rüste.“151 Die Freigelassenen diskutierten darüber, wie die Krise in der domus des Princeps zu bewältigen sei, und von ihrer Entscheidung hing das Schicksal beider Frauen und ihrer Kinder ab. Nach Cassius Dio war Messalina dabei im Nachteil, denn sie hatte das Vertrauen der Freigelassenen verloren, nachdem sie die Verurteilung und Hinrichtung des Polybios durchgesetzt hatte, eines Freigelassenen, mit dem 147

Tac. ann. 11,12,1: et matri Agrippinae miseratio augebatur ob saevitiam Messalinae, quae semper infesta et tunc commotior 148 Suet. Nero 6,4. 149 Vgl. Griffin, 1984: 28–29. 150 Tac. ann. 11,12,1. 151 Tac. ann. 11,28,1 (Übersetzung von E. Heller).

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sie ein Verhältnis gehabt haben soll. Es ist allerdings auffallend, dass Tacitus in diesem Zusammenhang Polybios nicht erwähnt.152 Agrippina wiederum hatte ein enges Vertrauensverhältnis zu Pallas; wahrscheinlich unterhielt sie eine sexuelle Beziehung mit Pallas bereits vor dem Sturz der Messalina. Dafür sprechen zwei Formulierungen des Tacitus; er spricht er davon, dass Pallas zur Zeit dieser Entscheidung in leidenschaftlicher Gunst stand,153 und an anderer Stelle geht er rückblickend auf das Leben Agrippinas in folgender Weise ein: Agrippina, „die in jungen Jahren in der Hoffnung auf die Herrschaft (spe dominationis) mit Lepidus Ehebruch begangen, sich in gleicher Begierde für die Gelüste des Pallas weggeworfen hatte und für jede Schandtat geübt war durch die Heirat mit ihrem Onkel.“154 Pallas war jedenfalls derjenige, der den Weg zur Macht für Agrippina und ihren Sohn organisierte; er konnte nach der Tötung der Messalina erreichen, dass Claudius Agrippina heiratete, und später setzte er die Adoption des Domitius Ahenobarbus durch, der als Adoptivsohn des Claudius den Namen Nero erhielt.155 Diese Adoption entschied letztlich das Schicksal des Britannicus: Claudius wurde vergiftet, der Adoptivsohn Nero Princeps, und Britannicus als möglicher Konkurrent Neros ebenfalls ermordet.156 Es ist völlig klar, dass Agrippina mit Unterstützung des Pallas die durch den Tod der Messalina entstandene Situation nutzte, um für Nero die Nachfolge des Claudius zu sichern; es spricht aber auch viel dafür, dass bereits dass Vorgehen gegen Messalina im Herbst 48 von Agrippina und Pallas vorbereitet worden war. In der krisenhaften Zuspitzung der Situation war es dann allerdings Narcissus, der entschieden handelte und die Tötung der Messalina befahl, während Pallas im entscheidenden Augenblick das Risiko einer Aktion gegen Messalina zu hoch war.157 Angesichts der entschlossenen Haltung des Narcissus war es Pallas auch möglich, sich zunächst zurückzuhalten; ihm musste es nur darauf ankommen, dass Messalina starb. Erst in der Diskussion über eine erneute Heirat des Claudius trat er anders als Narcissus entschieden für Agrippina ein.158 152

Cass. Dio 60,31,2. Zu Polybios vgl. Suet. Claud. 28, hier ohne Hinweis auf Messalina und seinen Tod. Es ist angesichts bei dieser Quellenlage keineswegs sicher, dass die Angaben bei Cassius Dio glaubwürdig sind. 153 Tac. ann. 11,29,1: flagrantissimaque eo in tempore gratia Pallas. 154 Tac. ann. 14,2,2 (Übersetzung E. Heller): quae puellaribus annis stuprum cum Lepido spe dominationis admiserat, pari cupidine usque ad libita Pallantis provoluta et exercita ad omne flagitium patrui nuptiis. Vgl. Tac. ann. 12,65,2. 155 Tac. ann. 12,1,2; 12,2,3; 12,25,1; 12,26,1. Vgl. 13,2,2. 156 Tac. ann. 12,26,2; 12,65; 12,66; 12,69; 13,14,2; 13,15–17. 157 Tac. ann. 11,29,2. 158 Tac. ann. 12,1,2; 12,2,3. Die Tötung der Messalina und die Heirat des Claudius mit Agrippina waren für Narcissus und Pallas nur kurzfristig von Vorteil; Pallas wurde bald nach der Heirat der Agrippina durch den Senat geehrt: Tac. ann. 12,53. Vgl. Plin. epist. 7,29. 8,6. Narcissus, der von Agrippina beschuldigt wurde, er habe sich bei den Bauarbei-

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Es bleibt noch die Frage, wie der Tod der Messalina zu bewerten ist. Die Quellen sind widersprüchlich; während Suetonius und Cassius Dio berichten, Claudius habe Messalina hinrichten lassen, hat nach Tacitus Narcissus eigenmächtig die Tötung Messalinas veranlasst, als Claudius befahl, Messalina solle am folgenden Tag kommen und sich rechtfertigen.159 Eine ähnliche Position findet sich bei Aurelius Victor.160 In der Forschung wird die Tat unterschiedlich bewertet; es gibt neutrale Formulierungen wie bei Heuss, Garzetti oder zuletzt bei Sommer,161 aber auch die Annahme, dass es ein Todesurteil gegeben hat, so etwa bei Mommsen, Christ und Eich, der aber immerhin feststellt, Messalina sei ermordet worden.162 Nach Kierdorf ließ Narcissus ohne Prozess Messalina beseitigen, und auch Eck ist der Auffassung, Narcissus habe auf eigene Verantwortung gehandelt. Das Motiv des Narcissus sieht Eck in der Befürchtung, Messalina werde sich an ihm rächen, wenn sie weiterleben würde.163 Folgt man Tacitus, ist der Position von Eck uneingeschränkt zuzustimmen. Es ist aber auch festzustellen, dass es bei Tacitus keinen Hinweis dafür gibt, es habe ein Prozess gegen Messalina stattgefunden oder es sei ein Urteil gefällt worden, und ferner ist auf den juristischen Tatbestand hinzuweisen, dass Narcissus in keiner Weise das Recht hatte, einen Angehörigen der Familie des Princeps hinrichten zu lassen. Bei dem Tod der Messalina handelte es sich um einen brutalen, politisch motivierten Mord. ten am Fuciner See bereichert, hat die Schwäche seiner eigenen Position gesehen und wohl gehofft, Britannicus werde Nachfolger des Claudius werden; Tac. ann. 12,57,2. 12,65. Kurze Zeit nach dem Regierungsantritt Neros wurde er zum Selbstmord gezwungen (Tac. ann. 13,1,3); als es zu dem Konflikt zwischen Nero und Agrippina kam, wurde Pallas entmachtet (Tac. ann. 13,14) und im Jahr 62 hingerichtet. Lollia Paulina, die nach dem Tod der Messalina vom Freigelassenen Callistus für die Heirat mit Claudius empfohlen worden war, wurde auf Betreiben der Agrippina verurteilt und zum Selbstmord gezwungen: Tac. ann 12,1,2; 12,22. 159 Suet. Claud. 26,2: supplicio adfecit. Cass. Dio 60,31,5; Tac. ann. 11,37,2–38,1. 160 Aur. Vict. Caes. 4,10: eam quoque ignaro, quasi iubente tamen, domino per satellites interfecere. 161 Heuss (1964: 331): „Nur dem energischen Dazwischentreten des Freigelassenen Narcissus gelang die Vereitelung des Anschlages. Er kostete Messalina das Leben.“; Garzetti (1974: 116): „the rash pair succumbed to the energy of the freedman Narcissus.“; Sommer (2009: 135): „49 n.Chr. trennte sich, auf maßgebliches Betreiben der Freigelassenen, der lange Zeit duldsame Claudius von seiner Gattin Messalina, die sich zuvor in aller Öffentlichkeit mit dem jungen Senator Gaius Silius vermählt hatte.“ 162 Mommsen (1992: 190): „Narcissus eilte zu ihm und drängte ihm das Todesurteil ab.“;Christ (1982: 227): „Messalina und Silius wurden zum Tode verurteilt.“; Eich (2014: 73 f.): „... verurteilte er seine Frau durch ein traditionelles Hausgericht zum Tode, wollte ihr dann aber noch die Möglichkeit der Verteidigung einräumen. Einige Freigelassen des Imperators kamen einem befürchteten Stimmungsumschwung des Kaisers jedoch zuvor und ließen Messalina kurzerhand ermorden.“ 163 Kierdorf, 1997: 74; Eck, 2002c: 133.

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Bibliographie Adamietz, J., (Hg.), 1986: Die römische Satire. Darmstadt. Beck, J.-W., 2007: „Octavia“ Anonymi. Zeitnahe praetexta oder zeitlose tragoedia?, 2. Aufl. Göttingen. Bellen, H., 1998: Grundzüge der Römischen Geschichte. Die Kaiserzeit von Augustus bis Diocletian. Darmstadt. Bengtson, H., 1973: Römische Geschichte. Republik und Kaiserzeit bis 284 n.Chr. München. Braund, S.H., 1992: „Juvenal – Misogynist or Misogamist?“. JRS 82, 71–86. Cenerini, F., 2010: „Messalina e il suo matrinmonio con C. Silio“. In A. Kolb (Hg.): Augustae. Machtbewusste Frauen am römischen Kaiserhof?, Berlin. S. 179–191. Christ, K., 1982: Römische Geschichte und deutsche Geschichtswissenschaft. München. — 2005: Geschichte der römischen Kaiserzeit. 5. Aufl. München. De Servies, J.R., 1724: Leben der Gemahlinnen der ersten zwölff römischen Kayser sonderlich aus dem Geschlecht Caesar; in welchen die geheime Intriguen derselbigen bescheiden entdecket, zugleich aber auch die wichtigste Stücke der Römischen Historie selbiger Zeit erzählet werden. Augsburg. Demandt, A., 1996: Das Privatleben der römischen Kaiser. München. Eck, W., 1996a: DNP 1, Sp. 906 s.v. Appius II 4. — 1996b: DNP 1, Sp. 298 s.v. Agrippina 3. — 1996c: DNP 1, Sp. 184 s.v. Aemilius II 9. — 1997: DNP 3, Sp. 744 s.v. Domitia 5. — 1999a: DNP 6, Sp. 3 s.v. Iulia 8. — 1999b: DNP 6, Sp. 2 s.v. Iulia 6. — 2001: DNP 10, Sp. 113 s.v. Pompeius II 14. — 2002a: DNP 12/2, Sp. 236–237 s.v. Vinicius II 3. — 2002b: DNP 12/1, Sp. 1106–1107 s.v. Valerius II 1. — 2002c: „Die iulisch-claudische Familie: Frauen neben Caligula, Claudius und Nero“. In H. Temporini-Gräfin Vitzthum (Hg.): Die Kaiserinnen Roms. Von Livia bis Theodora. München. Pp. 116–133. Eich, A., 2014: Die römische Kaiserzeit. Die Legionen und das Imperium. Beck Geschichte der Antike. München. Friedländer, L., 2016: Darstellungen aus der Sittengeschichte Roms in der Zeit von Augustus bis zum Ausgang der Antoninen. Vier Bände ND 9./10. Aufl. Leipzig 19211923. Darmstadt. Fuhrmann, M., 1999: Seneca und Kaiser Nero. Eine Biographie. Frankfurt. Garzetti, A., 1960/1974: L’Impero da Tiberio agli Antonini. Rom; englische Übersetzung: From Tiberius to the Antonines. A History of the Roman Empire AD 14–192. London. Goffin, B., 2001: DNP 10, Sp. 149–150 s.v. Poppaea 2.

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Goodman, M., 1997: The Roman World 44 BC – AD 180. London. Griffin, M., 1976: Seneca. A Philosopher in Politics. Oxford. — 1984: Nero. The End of a Dynasty. London. — 1994: „Claudius in the Judgement of the Next Half-Century“. In Strocka (Hg.), 1994: S. 307–316. Hanslik, R., 1999: DNP 7, Sp. 368. s.v. Livilla 2. Hartmann, E., 2007: Frauen in der Antike. Weibliche Lebenswelten von Sappho bis Theodora. München. Heuss, A., 1964: Römische Geschichte. 2. Aufl. Braunschweig. Kienast, D., 1982: Augustus. Prinzeps und Monarch. Darmstadt. — 1995: DNP 1, Sp. 296–298 s. v. Agrippina 2. Kierdorf, W., 1997: „Claudius“. In M. Clauss (Hg.): Die römischen Kaiser. 55 historische Portraits von Caesar bis Iustinian. München. S. 73–74. Levick, B., 1990: Claudius. London. Maurach, G., 1991: Seneca. Leben und Werk. Darmstadt. Mommsen, Th., 1992: Römische Kaisergeschichte. Nach den Vorlesungsmitschriften von Sebastian und Paul Hensel hg. von Barbara und Alexander Demandt. München. Nippel, W., 2012: DNP Suppl. 6, Sp. 426–427 s.v. Friedländer. Rotondi, G. 1912/1990: Leges publicae populi romani. Milano. ND Hildesheim. Sallmann, K. 2001: DNP 11, Sp. 1084–1088 s.v. Suetonius 2. Schmidt, P.L., 2000: DNP 8, S. 1096–1–097, s.v. Octavia 4. Sommer, M., 2009: Römische Geschichte. Zweiter Band, Rom und sein Imperium in der Kaiserzeit. Stuttgart. Späth, Th. / Wagner-Hasel, B. (Hg.), 2000: Frauenwelten in der Antike. Geschlechterordnung und weibliche Lebenspraxis. Stuttgart. — 1996: „Frauenmacht in der frühen römischen Kaiserzeit? Ein kritischer Blick auf die historische Konstruktion der ‚Kaiserfrauen‘“. In M. Dettenhofer (Hg.): Reine Männersache? Frauen in Männerdomänen der antiken Welt. München. S. 159–205. Strocka, V.M. (Hg.), 1994: Die Regierungszeit des Kaisers Claudius (41–54 n.Chr.). Umbruch oder Episode?. Mainz. Strothmann, M., 1999: DNP 6, Sp. 56–57 s.v. Iunia 6. Syme, R., 1986: The Augustan Aristocracy. Oxford. Talbert, R.J.A., 1984: The Senate of Imperial Rome. Princeton. Temporini-Gräfin Vitzthum, H., 2002: „Die iulisch-claudische Familie: Frauen neben Augustus und Tiberius“. In H. Temporini-Gräfin Vitzthum (Hg.): Die Kaiserinnen Roms. Von Livia bis Theodora. München. S. 21–102. Treggiari, S., 1991: Roman Marriage. Iusti Coniuges from the time of Cicero to the time of Ulpian. Oxford. Wiedemann, Th.E.J., 1996: „Tiberius to Nero“. CAH X Second edition, S. 198– 255.

Feminine, influential and different? The Presentation of Julia Domna Brigitte Truschnegg

Introduction The exceptional position of the wives of the Severan Emperors is repeatedly emphasized in both older and current historical research. Julia Domna was one of four highly placed Syrian-born women at the Roman imperial court between A.D. 193 and 235, each of whom had a powerful position and a network of power at her disposal.1 While the status of these women was primarily established with the help of historical/literary sources, numerous coins, inscriptions and pictorial representations confirm it. Traditionally, a focus on the literary sources has led to the Severan women being credited with a lust for power and a high degree of ambition.2 In the older scholarship, these characteristics – which were condemned in women, but not men – were seen both as a symptom of the growing decadence and decay of the Roman Empire as well as evidence for increasing orientalizing.3 In the course of his reassessment of the imperial crisis of the 3rd century, Kettenhofen has already refuted the latter idea in 1979.4 Later historians, such as Karl Christ, consider the fact that women took on completely new roles (functions, positions) to be a characteristic of the Severan dynasty, in which the open and direct political involvement of powerful women was the rule rather than the exception.5 In recent years, the women of the Severan imperial house have become more prominent again with a series of publications examining the role of these women as reflected in imperial propaganda, focusing either on individual aspects or different sources such as pictorial representations6, honorary titles, and inscriptions 1

Also living at the imperial court were Julia Domna’s older sister Julia Maesa with her daughters Julia Soaemias and Julia Avita Mammaea. 2 The biographies of the Severan women in particular are based on the literary sources and consequently on their male-centred worldview. 3 See for instance Herzog-Hauser, 1918: 929–930; Kornemann, 1954: 256, 260, 264. 4 For a discussion of older theories of ‘orientalization’ since 1918 see Kettenhofen, 1979: 1–9 and 173. 5 See K. Christ 1988: 633–634. Christ emphasised that this had no negative consequences for the dynasty, but enabled the dynasty to repeatedly assert itself through its extraordinary activity. 6 Following Baharal, 1992: 110–118, the portraits of Julia Domna are deliberately aligned with those of Faustina Minor as a sign for the continuity of traditions of the Antonine Dynasty under the new dynasty. Julia Domna is depicted as the first imperial wife with the emperor at the sacrifice (Septimius Severus arch in Leptis Magna, relief in the Argentine

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and monuments.7 The role of the women in the history of the Severan dynasty was examined, as was their relationship to the gender relations of the time.8 Two wide-ranging monographs on Julia Domna complete this picture. In her biography Julia Domna, the Syrian Empress, Barbara Levick compares the empress to other imperial wives and investigates the function and significance of Julia Domna’s literary patronage.9 Sonja Nadolny’s 2016 monograph convincingly demonstrated that it was the imperial family as a whole – and not the women individually – which set the framework for the propaganda’s depictions on the coins and that these depictions were carefully coordinated.10 Against the background of this diverse research and with reference to this volume I will first examine how Julia Domna was presented and perceived in the literary sources between the 3rd and the 6th century. Based on this, I will then investigate which indicators denote a ‘powerful woman’, the sources, instruments and mechanisms of Julia Domna’s power and her impact, and whether her origin as a priestess from Emesa in Syria played a role in the literary/historical sources.11 Biographic sketch Julia Domna hailed from Emesa in Syria and, as the daughter of the sun-priest Bassianus, was a member of an influential family, several members of which had become local rulers of Emesa. 12 She married Septimius Severus between A.D. 185 and 187, and gave birth to Caracalla and Geta in A.D. 186 and 189, before her husband was elevated to emperor. 13 According to the sources she is said to

arch in Rome). She is also the first to be depicted in the military image program of a triumphal procession: As Victoria she is depicted in the attic of the Arch of Septimius Severus in Leptis Magna, cf. Alexandridis, 2000: 23–25. The image of Julia Domna can also be found on everyday objects, such as a lamp mirror. It testifies to her popularity and position of power and the effectiveness of imperial propaganda. Cf. Siebert, 2000: 35–36. 7 Focussing on the aspect of motherhood as a targeted propaganda for the Imperial family: Langford, 2013; Pictorial representation: Alexandridis, 2004; honorary titles and inscriptions: Bertolazzi, 2013: 304–308; Cassibry, 2014: 75–90; Dietz, 2008: 71–83; monuments: Heinemann, 2007: 615–620; coin portraits: Meyer, 2017: 365–374. 8 Role in the history of the dynasty: Bleckmann, 2002: 265–339. 9 Levick, 2007. 10 Nadolny, 2016: 19–73. 11 The effectiveness of the Severan women is documented in the pictorial representations by their exemplary character in terms of fashion and hairstyle, among other things. Especially the hairstyle in the portraits of Julia Domna served as a reference to the Antonine dynasty. Baharal, 1992: 110–118; 12 See Herzog-Hauser, G. 1918: 926–935; Bleckmann, 2002: 265–279; Stegmann, 1999: 4–5; Levick 2007. 13 Because the exact year of the marriage can only be deduced from various imprecise sources, it has become common in scholarship to use this period. Bleckmann, 2002: 268 and Levick, 2007: 31 argue for A.D. 187, while Stegmann, 1999: 4 makes a case for A.D.

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have participated in the overthrow of the praefectus praetorio Fulvius Plautianus in 205, to whose hostility she had long been exposed at court.14 Julia Domna accompanied Septimius Severus on his campaigns to the East and from 208 to 211 on his campaign to Britain. In return, she received the honorary title mater castrorum.15 This title had earlier only been used for Faustina Minor, a member of the Antonine dynasty, which underlines the close ties of Septimius Severus with the Antonines.16 After the death of Septimius Severus in A.D. 211, the conflict between his two sons broke out openly. Julia Domna is credited with efforts to reconcile her sons (Herodian 4.3.1–9). The conflict escalated in 212 when Caracalla had his brother Geta killed in her presence (Cassius Dio 78.2; Herodian 4.4.3). The extent of her (informal) political role as an advisor to the government during the reign of Caracalla is difficult to determine (Cassius Dio 78.10.4; 18.1– 3). Her high social status as a member of the imperial family is confirmed by the honorary title pia felix mater Augusti et senatus et patriae. Julia Domna travelled to the east of the empire several times and remained there for a period, for example in A.D. 214 in Nicomedeia (Cassius Dio 78.18,1–3) and in A.D. 217 in Antiocheia (Cassius Dio 79.4.2). This was probably where she first heard of the death of her son Caracalla, murdered during his campaign against Parthia by his prefect of the guard, Opellius Macrinus (Cassius Dio 7.23.1; Herodian 4.13.8). Contradictory views exist on the circumstances of her own death a short time later (possibly also in A.D. 217); suicide seems possible. Her ashes were later buried in Rome (Cassius Dio 79.23.2–6; 24.1–3). From exemplary wife to power-obsessed ruler – Julia Domna in the literary sources Written sources from four centuries are available for the study of the representation of Julia Domna.17 The broad time spectrum, the relationship of the sources to each other, the gaps in the text, and the diverse intentions of the authors make a historical analysis difficult. However, the conscious selection of the sources as well as the different form given to the significant episodes, make it possible to identify a clear development in the presentation and perception of Julia Domna.

185. With comprehensive embedding in the geographic cultural and historical background in Syria, see Levick, 2007: 6–22. 14 Cassius Dio 76.15.6–7 Herodian 3.11. 15 Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum CIL XII 4345; XIV 120. 16 On the Severans cf. for example Eder, 2002: 1100–1104. On the Roman imperial court in Severan times, cf. Schöpe, 2014. 17 See Sonja Nadolny, who compares the sources on all four Severan women: Nadolny, 2016: 135–203.

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Representation of Julia Domna by Cassius Dio The contemporary author Cassius Dio, originating from Bithynian Nicaea (A.D. 161–230), pursued a senatorial career and became a member of the Senate under the reign of Commodus (180–192), holding various other high offices for over 50 years. The writing of his ‘Roman History’, addressed to a non-Roman audience and comprising 80 books, lasted from A.D. 194 to 229.18 The relevant parts on Julia Domna were written up to A.D. 216.19 The books that name Julia Domna are only partially known and are only preserved in 11th century excerpts by Xiphilinos. The portrayal of the Syrian wife of Septimius Severus in Cassius Dio concentrates on six episodes from the time of her marriage until her death, which I will present in somewhat more detail as a basis for the comparison with the other sources. In his first mentioning of her, Cassius Dio turns Julia Domna into an essential element of the prophecy of the future imperial dignity of Septimius Severus: “(1) The signs which had led him to hope for the imperial power were as follows. When he was admitted to the senate, he dreamed that he was suckled by a she-wolf just as Romulus had been. When he was about to marry Julia, Faustina, the wife of Marcus, prepared their nuptial chamber in the temple of Venus near the palace.” (Cassius Dio 75.3.1) The marriage of Julia Domna and Septimius Severus took place between six and eight years before his elevation to emperor and ‘confirms’ the predestination of BOTH Septimius Severus and Julia Domna as the imperial couple. The second episode is connected to the domineering attitude of the Praetorian prefect Fulvius Plautianus towards the emperor. His unseemly behaviour goes so far that Julia Domna is also portrayed as a victim of his persecutions and slander. “(6) So greatly did Plautianus have the mastery in every way over the emperor, that he often treated even Julia Augusta in an outrageous manner; for he cordially detested her and was always abusing her violently to Severus. He used to conduct investigations into her conduct as well as gather evidence against her by torturing women of the nobility. (7) For this reason she began to study philosophy and passed her days in company with sophists.” (Cassius Dio 76.15.6–7)

18

Cassius Dio began his literary activity by writing about the importance of dreams as omens of a reign in connection with the rule of Septimius Severus. 19 After the death of Septimius Severus, Cassius Dio extends his work, which was initially planned to only run until the death of Commodus, to an overall history, see Birley, 1997: 1014–1015. As a result, the ‘History’ by Cassius Dio is, together with Livy, the longest representation of early Roman history. On Cassius Dio in general, see the standard reference work by Millar, 1964/1999.

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The fact that Plautianus had noble women tortured, who probably were less than ideal informants on political conspiracies and more able to confess social transgressions, also points to the character of the slander. According to Cassius Dio, Julia Domna turned to philosophy because of this difficult situation.20 The fact that she now moved in philosophical circles reinforces the impression of a withdrawal from other social – and possibly public – circles.21 Furthermore, Julia Domna stands out in a positive sense from the extremely negative portrayal of Plautianus by Cassius Dio, who claims that he celebrated wild orgies and had sexual intercourse with underage girls and boys. The fact that Plautianus also isolated his own wife from other social contacts, including the imperial family, reinforces the negative impression. (Cassius Dio 76.15.7). Julia Domna is twice involuntarily involved in the violent resolution of a family conflict. After Plautianus was murdered for his agitation against Septimius Severus, the still unsuspecting Julia Domna meets Plautilla – who is both Plautianus’ daughter and Julia Domna’s daughter-in-law – and they are confronted with hair from the beard of Plautianus. The secret relief of Julia Domna is contrasted by Plautilla’s grief: “(4) […] And somebody plucked out a few hairs from his beard, carried them to Julia and Plautilla, who were together, before they had heard a word of the affair, and exclaimed, ‘Behold your Plautianus,’ thus causing grief to the one and joy to the other.” (Cassius Dio 77.4) Apart from the literary tension that emanates from the ambiguity of this scene, Cassius Dio here presents Julia Domna as a woman who can control her emotions if the social norms demand it. In the second paragraph, Julia Domna is an involuntary witness to the conflict between her sons Caracalla and Geta. Caracalla uses his mother to invite his brother Geta to a conversation in her private rooms. He then has the defenceless boy murdered by his men and his deceived mother has to watch her younger son die in her lap. “(3) … but when they were inside, some centurions, previously instructed by Antoninus, rushed in a body and struck down Geta, who at sight of them had run to his mother, hung about her neck and clung to her bosom and breasts, lamenting and crying: ‘Mother that didst bear me, mother that didst bear me, help! I am being murdered.’ (4) And so she, tricked in this way, saw her son perishing in the most impious fashion in her arms, and received him at his death into the very womb, as it were, whence he had been born;

20

On the literary patronage of women, see for example Hemelrijk, 1999: 100–104. E. Hemelrijk rightly concludes from the disputes between Plautianus and Julia Domna that Plautianus thereby wanted to reduce the influence of Julia Domna on the emperor, Hemelrijk, 1999: 123. 21

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for she was all covered with his blood, so that she took no note of the wound she had received on her hand.” (Cassius Dio 78.2.3–4) The counter-image of the birth invoked by Cassius Dio underlines the fact that Julia Domna – albeit blameless – cannot live up to her role as a mother. The coemperor’s mother cannot protect her other child and is exposed to the manipulation of Caracalla as well as his anger, which prevents her from openly mourning her dead son.22 Parallel to this, a passage about Caracalla’s reign provides key information on the function of the Emperor’s mother as a counsellor. In it, Julia Domna admonishes Caracalla not to waste too much money on his soldiers (Cassius Dio 78.10), but the young Emperor disregards this and other wise advice from his mother, as Cassius Dio explicitly reports (Cassius Dio 78.18.2). Nevertheless, he involves his mother in his government work and entrusts her with official activities. She answers the petitions and the Latin and Greek correspondence (Cassius Dio 78.18.1–3) and sorts the incoming correspondence for him (Cassius Dio, 79.4).23 Cassius Dio explicitly mentions that her name is mentioned together with the emperor's name in political and military letters, and that she herself, like the emperor, gave public receptions for leading personalities.24 Julia Domna is only criticised by Cassius Dio for behaviour exhibited towards the end of her life. First he describes her shock as a mother when she receives the news of Caracalla’s assassination. But her grief was not for her son, whom she hated (because of the assassination of his brother), but concern about her imminent loss of power (Cassius Dio 79.23). With these claims, Cassius Dio not only diminished a mother’s pain, but also ran counter to the expectations of his readers. Unexpectedly, Macrinus continues to let her have her own bodyguard and her court despite her verbal abuses against him.25 Once again, Julia Domna acts unexpectedly and plans to take political action against Macrinus. He reacts by making her leave the city (Antiocheia), after which she – already seriously ill – kills herself by refusing food.26 22

Cassius Dio 78.2.5. In his account, Julia Domna’s sense of duty offers a significant contrast to the headstrong and inhuman behaviour of Caracalla. 23 B. Levick in particular pointed out the extensive linguistic skills (Greek, Latin and possibly Aramaic) that the Syrian woman had to acquire in order to cope with these challenges. Levick, 2007: 20–22. 24 Cassius Dio 78,1,1–3. S. Nadolny understands this passage as Cassius Dio’s criticism of the public appearance of Julia Domna. She sees this in connection with his criticism of the rule of Caracalla, Nadolny, 2016: 144–145. 25 With the claim that she wanted to make herself the sole ruler of the Roman Empire in the style of Semiramis or Nitokris, Cassius Dio now condemned Julia Domna's behaviour as definitively outside the social norms! Cassius Dio 79.23. 26 Breast cancer could be the main cause for the death of Julia Domna, suggests S.M. Fick. The massive weight loss associated with the disease could be explained by tumor cachexia.

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Until the death of Caracalla, Cassius Dio presents Julia Domna as the ideal wife, determined by fate to marry Septimius Severus, whose position with the emperor was not affected by the slander of Fulvius Plautianus and who, because of it, withdrew into a philosophy.27 With the violent death of her older son, the portrayal of Julia Domna turns negative. In her (‘male’) endeavour to maintain power, she acts between emotional predicament and strategic planning.28 Cassius Dio indirectly tries to introduce the idea of power-hungry ‘oriental’ women, which has negative connotations in Roman society. In this, the presentation of Julia Domna reflects a tendency observable in the whole work of Cassius Dio, namely that after an initial phase of optimism, a negative attitude towards Septimius Severus prevails. Sonja Nadolny has pointed out that, for Cassius Dio, the relationship between the emperor and the senate plays a decisive role. The depiction of the emperor and Julia Domna demonstrates a shift from the senatorial ideal of rulership to an emphasis on the ruler's personality and his family.29 Representation of Julia Domna by Herodian The imperial official Herodian (178/180–after 240), probably hailing from Antiocheia, wrote a history of the Roman Emperors in eight books, dealing with the period from after the reign of Marcus Aurelius until the sole reign of Gordian III (A.D. 180–238). 30 The books, written in Greek, were published after A.D. 240. Despite a lack of source criticism and little political knowledge, his imperial history is an important source of indispensable information on the history of the first half of the 3rd century. Herodian was not a member of the senatorial class and accordingly was not bound by its values.31 The stated aim of his publication, namely to entertain his readership, is achieved by Herodian (among other things) though combining the various references to Julia Domna into a coherent narrative and garnishing it with anecdotes. In this manner, Julia Domna becomes a literary persona, mediating between her sons. This approach clearly shows Herodian’s selective use of his source Cassius Dio.

Fick, 2005: 49–54. 27 On the role of the Roman imperial wife in general, see Kunst, 2000: 1–6. 28 Cassius Dio also described the male activities of women before the Severans, for example the negative depiction of Fulvia (48.10.2) explained by Schnegg, 2006: 269 in her investigation on Cassius Dio focusing on women in wartime. 29 Nadolny, 2016: 136–148. That the agitation of Julia Domna in public is also understood as criticism in this context seems to be too far-fetched to me. 30 Franke, 1998: 467. Sidebottom, 1997: 271–276. For a comprehensive overview of the author and work see cf. Müller, 1996: 9–26. 31 See in more detail Nadolny, 2016: 158–164.

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The fundamental assessment of Julia Domna by Herodian does not differ significantly from that of Cassius Dio, but his selection of episodes shows a different accentuation; unlike Cassius Dio’s description, Julia Domna is not at the centre of the accusations of Fulvius Plautianus, Herodian places her and Septimius Seversus as a couple at the centre of the attack. When Fulvius Plautianus tries to force the military tribune Saturnius to carry out the assassination attempt of the imperial couple, the latter can skilfully manoeuvre himself out of this difficult situation. Saturnius, like Julia Domna, hailed from Syria, and Herodian described the people from the east as perceptive and quick-witted (Herodian 3.11.4–8). Herodian emphasises Julia Domna's role as mediator between the brothers Caracalla and Geta even more than Cassius Dio. The official significance of her efforts is shown when she is mentioned first in a series of respected men and advisors of Severus who are striving for reconciliation of the sons (Herodian 3.15.6). In this context, there is an episode that is only summarized in Cassius, which Herodian embellishes into an impressive scene that gives Julia Domna a grand speech. The sons gather both Julia Domna and a number of fatherly friends and try to enforce a division of the empire. While the gathered men look down with gloomy faces, the mother says: “Earth and sea, my children, you have found a way to divide, and, as you say, the Propontic Gulf separates the continents. But your mother, how would you parcel her? How am I, unhappy, wretched – how am I to be torn and ripped asunder for the pair of you? Kill me first, and after you have claimed your share, let each one perform the funeral rites for his portion. Thus would I, too, together with earth and sea, be partitioned between you.” (Herodian 4.3.8) Herodian here presents Julia Domna in all her authority as the emperors’ mother, an authority that is ultimately recognized and successful. He also documents her political commitment to a united imperial rule of both her sons, prompted by the drastic image that a division of the Empire would be tantamount to a division of the mother. The text of the scene of the Geta's murder is incomplete, but Herodian probably based himself on the narrative of Cassius Dio. Geta dies in the arms of Julia Domna, leaving her covered in blood and in deep sorrow (Herodian 4,4,3). The assassination of Caracalla is turned by Herodian into an act of humiliation, in which the emperor is stabbed to death in Carrhae on the way to the temple of Selene while relieving himself. When Julia Domna is handed the urn with the ashes of her son, Herodian does not give any indications that Julia Domna fears for the loss of her power, but sees her death as a consequence of the loss of her sons.

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“[…] After burning the body on a pyre and placing the ashes in an urn, Macrinus sent it for burial to the emperor’s mother in Antioch. As a result of these similar disasters, which befell her two sons, Julia died, either by her own hand or by the emperor’s order. Such was the fate suffered by Caracalla and his mother Julia, who lived in the manner I have described above.” (Herodian 4.13.8) In all four episodes, Herodian is exclusively positive about Julia Domna! He ignores the negative attitudes of Cassius Dio towards the emperor’s mother at the end of her life. This is remarkable, especially when one considers the intended entertainment value of the work. In contrast to Cassius Dio, Herodian even gives Julia Domna a brilliant scene in which she is presented in all her authority as a mother, but also showing a high degree of political responsibility. He places Julia Domna in a politically relevant context, emphasizing the political significance of her function as the emperor’s mother. This is clearly expressed by a powerful image: to divide the Empire would be like dividing the mother and would explicitly mean the death of the mother and implicitly the downfall of the Empire. Representation of Julia Domna in the Historia Augusta (H.A.) and later historiographies The Scriptores Historiae Augustae is a collection of biographies of Roman emperors, pretenders to the throne, and usurpers running from Hadrian (117–138) to Numerianus and Carinus (283–284/5).32 Among the surviving texts are also five vitae (Septimius Severus, Caracalla, Geta, Opilius Macrinus, Alexander, Clodius Albinus), which serve as the basis for the descriptions of Julia Domna. Despite many open questions, the date of origin of the H.A. is roughly estimated to be in the first half of the fourth century. The Scriptores historiae Augustae are difficult to classify in terms of textual intention due to their unclear chronology. This source is mainly interesting for the further development of the image of Julia Domna, which is why the question of authorship only marginally affects the subject matter.33 In the vita of Septimius Severus there is a reference to the fact that Julia Domna was prophesied to marry a ruler, which is why Septimius Severus asks for her hand (H.A., Septimius Severus 3.9). Without even mentioning Fulvius Plautianus and his intentions, the episode around his attacks is reduced here to the accusations against Julia Domna. These accusations, whose character had never been specifically mentioned before, are now named: both love affairs and a con-

32

Scriptores Historiae Augustae henceforth abbreviated H.A. fundamental Syme, 1971; Johne, 1998: 637–640. 33 For a compilation of all passages on women in the Historia Augusta, see Wallinger, 1990. On the Historia Augusta and the model character of many episodes about women, see Nadolny, 2016: 179–185.

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spiracy against Severus are attributed to her: “For all that, he [Septimius Severus] was less careful in his home-life, for he retained his wife Julia even though she was notorious for her adulteries and also guilty of plotting against him.” (H.A., Septimius Severus 18.8). The accusations of private misconduct increase when the author, after the death of Severus, reports about Julia Domna that Caracalla takes her as her wife: “[…] (7) who took his own stepmother to wife – stepmother did I say? – nay rather the mother on whose bosom he had slain Geta, her son.” (H.A., Septimius Severus 21.7). The fact that in this vita, Caracalla is regarded as her stepson instead of her own son slightly weakens the transgression of such a relationship, but nevertheless massively defames Julia Domna.34 The vita of Caracalla offers two very different narrative variants of wellknown episodes: At the murder of Geta, Julia Domna openly mourns the death of her son, and Caracalla is tempted to kill her and the other mourning women, but is prevented from doing so (H.A., Caracalla 3.3). Caracalla’s relationship with Julia Domna is mentioned here as well, but is now clearly described as an incestuous relationship: One day, Julia Domna is described as having almost completely exposed herself to her son and allowed him to touch her – and so Caracalla added to fratricide (ad paricidium iunxit incestum) incest (H.A., Caracalla 10.1.ff.). The references to Julia Domna in the Vita of Geta are neutral in comparison and draw on well-known interpretations of the narrative elements: the role of fate in the choice of his spouse by Septimius (H.A., Geta 3.1) and the desire of Caracalla to kill Julia Domna because she cries over the murder of Geta (H.A. Geta 7.3). The third reference shows Julia Domna concerned about the future of her son Geta. When a dream leads Septimius Severus to believe that a man with the name Antoninus will be his successor, he renames Caracalla, originally called Bassianus, Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. Another dream of Julia Domna, which makes it clear that he would thus block Geta’s path to the throne, leads to Geta also being given the name Antoninus (H.A., Geta 1.3). The origin of Julia Domna are stressed for the first time in connection with fate in the Vita of Alexander35: “For, as Marius Maximus narrates in his Life of Severus, Severus, at that time only a commoner and a man of no great position, married a noblewoman from the east [nobilem orientis mulierem], whose horoscope, he 34

Caracalla is supposed to have been the son of Paccia Maricana, the first wife of Septimius Severus, who died in A.D. 185. 35 Marcus Aurelius Severus Alexander Augustus was the grandson of Julia Domna and Roman emperor in A.D. 222–235.

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learned, declared that she should be the wife of an emperor.” (H.A., Alexander 5.4). Moral criticism predominates in the representation of Julia Domna in the vitae of both Septimius Severus and Caracalla: Julia Domna is explicitly accused of love affairs for the first time and is said to have had a sexual relationship with Caracalla.36 An out-of-control ruler is accused of having had a morally bad wife/ mother/stepmother. In contrast to this, the vita of Geta emphasizes her origin from the East in a positive way! Another fourth-century source confirms the tendency of sources to reduce the representation of Julia Domna to potential transgressions: The late Roman historian Aurelius Victor, in his mid-4th century A.D. history of the emperors (Liber de Caesaribus), describes the excesses of Julia Domna and the conspiracy accusations as a shadow on the life of the excellent statesman Septimius Severus. The fact that Severus still has feelings for her, despite Julia Domna’s criticised ‘free lifestyle’ further, diminishes the emperor’s fame (Aurelius Victor, De Caesaribus 20.23). He finds even clearer words for her behaviour towards Caracalla: “He [Caracalla] was patient, accessible and calm, he had the same fortune and wife as his father. For, captivated by her beauty, he made every effort to marry his stepmother Julia, whose crimes I have recorded above, since she, in her great eagerness for power, had showed herself unclothed to the gaze of the young man as if unaware of his presence. When he passionately declared: ‘I should like, if I may, to…’; she replied even more shamelessly, for she had stripped off her modesty with her clothes; ‘You want do? Certainly you may.’” (Aurelius Victor, De Caesaribus 21.2–3) Aurelius Victor hides all positive aspects (suitable wife, counsellor, loving mother) in the depiction of Julia Domna. She is reduced to her female charms and sexual transgressions, which cast dark shadows not only on her person but also on her husband and son. There is no other representation in ancient literature that is so clearly and exclusively negative.37 This overview of the literary sources on Julia Domna clearly shows that the descriptions of the wife of emperor Septimius Severus in contemporary sources of the third century still address various aspects of her life: her suitability as a wife, the conflict with Plautianus, her efforts in the conflict of the sons, her powerlessness in the assassination of Geta, her role as the emperor's mother and his 36

On the model character of many episodes about women, see Nadolny, 2016: 179–185. For later authors such as the Christian Paulus Orosius at the beginning of the 5th century, the marriage with his mother had a negative effect on the judgement of Caracalla, because of his inability to control his lust (Orosius 7.18.2). At the turn of the 5th and 6th centuries, the Greek historian Zosimos once again takes up the role of Julia Domna in the murder of Geta, which not even she as the mother of both the murderer and the victim could prevent (Zosimos 1.9.2).

37

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advisor, her visibility in public correspondence and her participation in the representation of the imperial family, including even her efforts to retain her power. These aspects fade into the background in the 4th century and are ultimately completely blanked out in favour of the portrayal of a woman, whose feminine charms tie the men of the imperial family to her against all conventions, and who thus damages their image. The power of Julia Domna Against the background of these representations of Julia Domna in the historical sources, the question arises to what extent and in which areas Julia Domna was presented or perceived as a powerful woman and to what extent some aspects of power possibly reflect power in reality. In general, the power of Julia Domna is closely linked to the roles and positions she has assumed in the course of her life within the imperial family.38 Her power – as it is presented in the literary sources – is not legally sanctioned and can be understood as ‘informal’, but it shows several dimensions of power.39 Sociology distinguishes several dimensions of power: sources of power (such as physical superiority, personality, availability of resources, organizations); instruments of power (such as social capital, official authority, functional authority, material authority, information); forms of exercising power (such as influence, persuasion, motivation, exercising personal authority, control, compulsion, violence); mechanisms of power (such as negative and positive sanctions, manipulation).40 What dimensions of power are reflected in the presented sources on Julia Domna? Instrument of power: proximity to the emperor. The episode of the prophesy about Julia Domna’s marriage documents the superhuman legitimation for the reign of Septimius Severus as well as their common predestination for the highest power. Julia Domna thus becomes an elementary component of the emperor’s claim to power and his representation of power. Instrument of power: social capital. Julia Domna operates within the social framework of the imperial family. The conflict with Fulvius Plautianus reveals one aspect of her social capital, as it fosters her interest in philosophy and the formation of a philosophical circle.41 The scene gives the impression that she transfers her presence from politically influential groups to possibly less public 38

Patronage of women as an official means of integrating women into the imperial representation cf. Kunst, 2008: 145–161. 39 On the Augustae and the forms of their political power from the beginning of the imperial period to Late Antiquity cf. Kolb 2008: 11–35; on the ‘informal power’ of the Imperial women cf. Wagner-Hasel, 2017: 226–229. 40 The dimensions of power from a sociological perspective are discussed by Imbusch, 2018: 281–284. 41 Her wealth, education and high social status as the emperors’ wife and mother shows that she was an important patroness, Hemelrijk, 1999: 125.

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circles. The fact that she succeeds in establishing herself as a literary patroness is a clear sign of her well-established social network. To interpret this as a retreat from politics would presuppose that she was previously politically active, and this is something not really believed to have been the case during her marriage to Septimius. However, it may be seen as a withdrawal from a circle in which political actors like Plautianus were active. The fact that he also isolated his own wife from contact with the imperial family reinforces the public and social role of Julia Domna. Instrument of power: information and functional authority. When Julia Domna reviews and answers the correspondence for Caracalla in his absence, when the letters bear both his and her name, she is involved in functions within ruling. She is the only one besides the emperor who is praised in letters to the senate and her welfare is reported. Like the emperor, she gives receptions for important political figures. On these occasions Julia Domna not only represents the rule of her son, she also represents his power. That the historical sources perceive her participation in official governmental tasks as political is also indicated by the fact that these are mainly reported from outside of Rome, when Julia Domna is staying in Nikomedeia and Antioch or more generally in the East of the Empire. Source of power: financial resources. When Julia Domna accuses Caracalla of being wasteful, it becomes apparent that she is informed about financial resources and issues and also about their importance for imperial rule. Beyond that several passages in Herodian (Herodian 5.4.1) document that the Severan women have considerable financial resources of their own. He points out that her sister Julia Maesa had become rich through imperial privileges, and it can be assumed that Julia Domna also had similar resources. All the efforts to preserve her power, when she plans to take political action against Macrinus, which Cassius Dio attributes to Julia Domna, would not be conceivable without this financial support in the background, which demonstrates the power of Julia Domna. Source of power: personal authority.42 Julia Domna’s personal authority is shown in different aspects: Her personal authority as wife is prevents that the slander of Plautianus may cause her to withdraw from public life, but do not seriously threaten her. Julia Domna is said to have successfully used her maternal authority several times, together with advisors to the emperor and other distinguished men, for the reconciliation of her sons. In his episode about the prevented division of the empire, Herodian virtually erects a monument to the prestige – and thus the power – of the emperor’s mother. When he states that a mother can be divided just as little as the Roman empire, he gives this domestic image a political dimension. A division of the Empire, just like the division of the mother, would mean decline or death. Source of power: autonomous control over the body – suicide. It is not self42

Authority is understood in the above sense as a source of power (personality), which tries to convince by instruments of power (functional authority).

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evident that the sources unanimously present Julia Domna as a woman for whom suicide in a hopeless situation is an option. Taking agency for her own situation at the end of her life is an instrument of power. This mostly ‘male’ and socially accepted way of coping with such a situation is used by Julia Domna in a manner that is ‘typical female’, namely the refusal to eat. It is rarely acknowledged that this bloodless and non-violent form of suicide requires a more lasting and stronger determination than the more ‘male’ and quicker methods.43 Mechanism of power: (sexual) attractiveness. Both the Late Antique Historia Augusta and Aurelius Victor attest Julia Domna emotional and physical attraction, to an extent that causes a loss of status for father and son alike. Using the proverbial ‘weapons of a woman’, the sources present Julia Domna’s emotional power over Septimius Severus, who does not abandon her despite the accusations made against her and her emotional/erotic power over her son Caracalla, who marries her. This is a well-known image of the defamation of women, which skilfully combines two points of criticism of female behaviour: the reprehensible use of sexual attractiveness for personal or political influence.44 Limits of power: The option of power also includes aspects of powerlessness – as the depiction of Julia Domna in the sources clearly shows. The slanders of Plautianus force her to give up previous social networks; his death is portrayed as liberation. Her proximity to the emperor as part of her social capital provides her with the required protection to avert the consequences of moral hostility. It does not however, protect her from it or even defy it. Moral and societal norms limits her instruments of power. The manipulation by her own son, which ends with the murder of Geta, bears witness to a moment of bitter powerlessness. The fact that she is said to have been denied public mourning casts a bad light on the emperor, but again demonstrates her lack of power. Her son’s ambition becomes the limit of her maternal authority. Coercion and manipulation rather show the mechanisms of Caracalla’s power. Even when Julia Domna is presented as her son’s advisor, the fact that he does not follow any of her advice again underlines the limits of her power. The categories presented in the depictions of Julia Domna reveal instruments of power, such as social networks, proximity to the ruler, functional authority and access to information. To an equal extent sources of power are already tangible through Julia Domnas’ access to financial resources and through her personality. The limits of power relativize the framework of her activities and significance. 43

Cassius Dio (79.24.3) report that she had an additional illness, which she contracted as a result of the shock of Caracalla’s assassination and which is said to have accelerated her death. This view fits very well with his picture of Julia Domna, who, apart from her last phase of life, always corresponds to the Roman ideal of women. 44 Cf. the accusations against Sophoniba, who seduces Syphax and Massinissa with these methods and for political and personal purposes: Diod. 27.5.12; Liv. 30.13.9; App. Lib. 27,114.

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The effect of the instruments of power (mechanism of power) is used by the sources to defame the empress, using sexual attractiveness as an example. Julia Domna – foreign and/or Roman? Studies on the portrayal of foreign/barbarian women in ancient Roman sources have shown that foreign women are granted different rights and greater freedom of action than those in Roman society.45 Often, foreign women are said to have ‘male’ characteristics and fields of activity, and for this very reason they are perceived as barbaric and foreign. The same descriptive criteria were also applied by ancient authors to Roman women when they acted beyond the norms of society. This gives the impression that Roman women were perceived as ‘foreign’ in their own society as soon as they moved outside the fields of activity intended for women / in male fields of activity. Against this background, the question arises as to whether the origin of the emperor's wife from Emesa in Syria is relevant for her depiction in the literary/historical sources. The preceding analysis has clearly shown that her origin does not play a significant role in the representation of Julia Domna; it does not serve as an argument to underline or explain her portrayal. Only in two cases is reference to her origin made at all: in the reference to the kinship between Alexander Severus and the noble Julia Domna from the East (H.A., Alexander 5.4) and in the account that Julia Domna aspired to be sole ruler, like the Assyrian queen Semiramis and the Babylonian queen Nitokris (Cassius Dio 79.23.1). In contrast, the depiction of Julia Domna in the sources of the 3rd century shows parallels with the depiction of Roman noble women, who in emergency situations – for sons and fatherland – exceed the established norms. The motif of the mother's authority, for example, is already used by the Roman historian Livy for an episode of early Roman history: it is the reproaches and appeals of his mother that resonate with the renegade Coriolanus. Livy claims that, after she had been successful and the enemy army had withdrawn from Rome, the men allowed the women their success, because in former times there was no resentment against “foreign fame” (gloriae alienae) (Livy, Ab urbe condita 2.40). Even before Julia Domna, Roman women had used their networks to support their sons in their careers, such as Cornelia (190–100), mother of Gracchi. The literary representations of these two women have much in common. Both come from respected families and support their sons in their political careers. Both sons are murdered. Both were patronesses of literary circles. They wrote letters that went beyond private correspondence and they received guests and cultivated contacts with notable and political personalities of the leading circles. The major differences can be seen in the behaviour of the two women after the death of their 45

Ulf, 2002: 15–31; Rollinger / Ulf, 2006a: Rollinger / Ulf, 2006b; FRuGAE – Database on (the perception of) women and gender in ancient ethnography“: https://www.uibk. ac.at/alte-geschichte-orient/frugae/datenbank.html.

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sons. Julia Domna’s political agitation to maintain her power is in stark contrast to the behaviour of Cornelia, who completely withdraws from public life to Misenum. The extent to which the Syrians Julia Domna and her sister were involved in the cultural and social scene in Rome can be seen from Herodian’s report on Julia Domna's elder sister Julia Maesa after Bassianus/Elagabal came to power. Julia Maesa admonishes her grandson Bassianus/Elagabal to dress neatly and according to Roman tradition when he appears before the Roman senate, because his barbaric appearance (luxurious robes with gold and purple) would disturb the senators, as they deemed such things only appropriate for women. She imparts Roman cultural values to her grandson, and she also longs for the Roman palace in which she lived with her sister for years (Herodian 5.5.1). In later perception, Julia Maesa and her daughters are linked to foreign behaviour and political agitation characterised as oriental.46 Among the advantages of Julia Maesa’s life at the Roman imperial court – apart from the imperial privileges – is both the wealth that can be acquired there and experience in defence against politically motivated assassination attacks. None of the planned attacks of Elagabal on Alexander Severus and his mother Julia Soemias succeeds (Herodian 5.8.3). The Syrian sisters clearly wanted to live at the Roman imperial court and remain there. It remains unclear whether the social networks, the cultural environment, or the political opportunities for the male descendants were decisive for this. Their ‘foreignness’ is always mentioned in the literary sources when the women become politically active and break through Roman patterns of behaviour. Against this background, the perception and representation of Julia Domna in literary sources could be considered – besides all allegations especially in the later tradition – as well as a testimony to the successful integration of a Syrian priestess at the imperial court in Rome. Summary It is above all the later literary sources that have long shaped the image of Julia Domna in scholarship. The empress from Emesa is only presented negatively in the literary/historical sources from the 4th century onwards, where she is burdened with increasing moralising criticism! If one looks at her portrayal by the contemporary historians Cassius Dio and Herodianos, one gains a predominantly positive image of the wife of Septimius Severus. The emperor's Syrian wife conforms to the portrayal of Roman noble and powerful women and also to the ideal women in Roman culture more than one would expect. The dimensions of power of Julia Domna can be differentiated by using various categories. Her authority (source of power) as wife of the emperor is based 46

The defamatory character of the portrayal of the Severan imperial women in antiquity and modern times as unbridled, power-hungry and greedy was already pointed out in 1988. Christ, 1988: 634.

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on the person of Julia Domna, as well as it is part of the power of the Severan dynasty. In addition to the literary sources, inscriptions, honorary titles and coinage amply support this.47 As a member of the closest circle of the imperial family, she possesses a high level of social capital (instruments of power) and as momin-chief she is not only available as an advisor to her son during his reign, but also takes on political tasks with which he entrusts her (source of power). In most cases, the imperial family is the basis of these power dimensions. This is clearly evident when Caracalla’s successor, Macrinus, at first misjudges Julia Domna as politically harmless, because she had been deprived of the most important members of the imperial family. At a later point he banished her from Antiocheia later, after she had begun to use her financial resources for propaganda against him with the aim to make herself the sole ruler of the Roman Empire as Cassius Dio (79.23) claims. These family-based instruments of power are increasingly supplanted in the sources by mechanisms of power focusing on the character of Julia Domna or, more generally, on her femininity. This is also where the indicators of her emotional and erotic power are to be found, with which she is said to have tied her husband to herself and seduced her son. Last but not least, Julia Domna’s power spectrum also shows the limits of her power against male propaganda and family violence. The question of her origin is without relevance for the representation of Julia Domna. The image of foreignness and accusations of excessive political activity are more relevant to the representation of her sister Julia Maesa and Julia Maesa’s daughters, whose Syrian origin and foreignness is emphasized, although they obviously estimated the Roman imperial court with its networks and the political opportunities for their male descendants. The negative perception of the political machinations of the latter seems to include Julia Domna in retrospect. The portrayal of the Severan empresses’ wives in the literary/historical sources is thus just as inconsistent as that of the Severan Emperors, but reflects the views of a negative development of the Severan dynasty. Bibliography Ancient Works Bird, H.W. 1994: Aurelius Victor, Sextus: Liber De Caesaribus of Sextus. Translation H.W. Bird. Texts for Historians. Cary, E. 1955: Dio’s Roman History. Translation E. Cary. Vol. 9 [Books LXXI– LXXX]. Reprint. The Loeb Classical Library 177. Magie, D. 1961–1967: The Scriptores Historiae Augustae. Translation D. Magie. Vol.1–2. Reprint. The Loeb Classical Library 139–140.

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See footnote 7.

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Echols, Edward C. 1961: Herodian of Antioch’s History of the Roman Empire, Translation E.C. Echols. Berkeley and Los Angeles. Modern Works Alexandridis, A., 2000: “Exklusiv oder bürgernah? Die Frauen des römischen Kaiserhauses im Bild”. In Ch. Kunst (ed.): Grenzen der Macht. Zur Rolle der Römischen Kaiserfrauen. Potsdamer Altertumswissenschaftliche Beiträge. Pp. 9–28. — 2004: Die Frauen des römischen Kaiserhauses. Eine Untersuchung ihrer bildlichen Darstellung von Livia bis Iulia Domna. Mainz. Baharal, D, 1992: “The Portraits of Julia Domna from the Years 193–211 A. D. and the Dynastic Propaganda of L. Septimius Severus”. Latomus. Revue d’ Études Latines 51, 110–118. Bertolazzi, R., 2013: “From the CIL Archives: A New Statue Base of Julia Domna from Mustis (Tunisia)”. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 184, 304– 308. Birley, A.R., 1997: “Cassius Dio”. DNP 2. Pp. 1014–1015. Bleckmann, B., 2002: “Die severische Familie und die Soldatenkaiser”. In H. Temporini-Gräfin Vitzthum (ed.): Die Kaiserinnen Roms. Von Livia bis Theodora. München. Pp. 265–339. Cassibry, K., 2014: “Honoring the Empress Julia Domna on Arch Monuments in Rome and North Africa”. In L.R. Brody (ed.): Roman in the provinces. Art on the periphery of empire. Chestnut Hill: McMullen Museum of Art. Boston College. Pp.75–90. Christ, K., 1988: Geschichte der Römischen Kaiserzeit. Von Augustus bis zu Konstantin. München: C.H. Beck Verlag. Dietz, K., 2008: “Eine griechische Inschrift für Caracalla und Iulia Domna aus Rom”. In H. Börm / N. Ehrhardt / J. Wiesehöfer (eds.): Monumentum et instrumentum inscriptum. Beschriftete Objekte aus Kaiserzeit und Spätantike als historische Zeugnisse. Festschrift für Peter Weiß zum 65. Geburtstag. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Pp. 71–84. Eder, W., 2002: “Severische Dynastie”. DNP 12/2. Pp. 1100–1104. Fick, S., 2005: “Iulia Domna. Die historiographischen Nachrichten zu ihrem Lebensende aus heutiger medizinischer Sicht”. In F. Beutler / W. Hameter (eds.): „Eine ganz normale Inschrift ...“ Festschrift zum 65. Geburtstag von Ekkehard Weber. Althistorisch-Epigraphische Studien der Österreichischen Gesellschaft für Archäologie 5. Wien. Pp. 49–54. Franke, Th., 1998: “Herodianus”. DNP 5. Pp. 467. Hemelrijk, E., 1999: Matrona Docta. Educated Women in the Roman Elite from Cornelia to Julia Domna. London et al.: Routledge. Herzog-Hauser, G., 1918: “Iulia Domna (566), zweite Gemahlin des Kaisers Severus”. RE 19/1. Pp. 926–935.

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Imbusch, P., 2018: “Macht – Autorität – Herrschaft”. In J. Kopp / A. Steinbach (eds.): Grundbegriffe der Soziologie. Wiesbaden: Verlag Springer. Pp. 281– 288. Johne, K.P., 1998: “Historia Augusta”. DNP 5. Pp. 637–640. Kettenhofen, E., 1979: Die syrischen Augustae in der historischen Überlieferung. Ein Beitrag zum Problem der Orientalisierung. Bonn. Kolb, A. (ed.), 2008: Herrschaftsstrukturen und Herrschaftspraxis. Augustae – Machtbewusste Frauen am Römischen Kaiserhof? Akten der Tagung in Zürich 18.–20.9.2008. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. Kornemann, E., 1954: Große Frauen des Altertums im Rahmen zweitausendjährigen Weltgeschehens. Wiesbaden. Kunst, Ch., 2000: “Die Rolle der römischen Kaiserfrau. Einleitung”. In Ch. Kunst (ed.): Grenzen der Macht. Zur Rolle der Römischen Kaiserfrauen. Potsdamer Altertumswissenschaftliche Beiträge 3. Stuttgart: Steiner-Verlag. Pp. 1–6. — 2008: “Patronage/Matronage der Augustae”. In A. Kolb (ed.): Herrschaftsstrukturen und Herrschaftspraxis 2. Augustae. Machtbewusste Frauen am Römischen Kaiserhof? Akten der Tagung in Zürich 18.–20.9.2008. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. Pp. 145–161. Langford, J., 2013: Maternal megalomania: Julia Domna and the imperial politics of motherhood. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Levick, B.M., 2007: Julia Domna, Syrian Empress. Women of the Ancient World 31. London et. al.: Routledge. Meyer, M., 2017: “Julia Domna – „Braut des besten Mannes, Mutter des besten Kindes, assyrische Göttin der Liebe, nie untergehender Mond”. In A. Pangerl (ed.): Portraits. 500 Years of Roman Coin Portraits. 500 Jahre römische Münzbildnisse. München: Staatliche Münzsammlung München. Pp. 365–374. Millar, F., 1964/1999: A Study of Cassius Dio. Special Edition for Sandpiper Books. First published Oxford 1964 / Reprint 1999. Müller, F.L., 1996: “Einleitung”. In Herodian. Die Geschichte des Kaisertums nach Marc Aurel. Übersetzung F.L. Müller. Stuttgart. Pp. 9–26. Nadolny, S., 2016: Die severischen Kaiserfrauen. Palingenesia 104. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Rollinger, R. / Ulf, Chr., 2006a: Frauenbild und Geschlechterrollen bei antiken Autoren an der Wende von der Spätantike zum Mittelalter. Unter Mitarbeit von Kordula Schnegg. Wien / Köln / Weimar: Böhlau Verlag. — 2006b: “Von ethnographischen Topoi, Frauen-Rollen und Frauen-Bildern, von Geschlechtern, Gender und Diskurs. Zur Geschichte eines Projekts und seiner Publikationen”. In R. Rollinger / Chr. Ulf (eds.): Frauenbild und Geschlechterrollen bei antiken Autoren an der Wende von der Spätantike zum Mittelalter. Unter Mitarbeit von Kordula Schnegg. Wien / Köln / Weimar: Böhlau Verlag. Pp. 11–23.

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Schnegg, K., 2006: “Darstellungen von Frauen in Kriegssituationen in der Römischen Geschichte des Cassius Dio”. In Chr. Ulf / R. Rollinger (eds.): Frauen und Geschlechter. Bilder – Rollen – Realitäten in den Texten antiker Autoren der römischen Kaiserzeit. Unter Mitarbeit von Kordula Schnegg. Wien / Köln / Weimar: Böhlau Verlag. Pp. 257–278. Schöpe, B., 2014: Der römische Kaiserhof in severischer Zeit (193–235 n.Chr.). Historia Einzelschriften 231. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Sidebottom, H., 1997: “The Date of the Composition of Herodian’s ‘History’”. L’Antiquité Classique 66, 271–276. Siebert, A.V., 2000: „Portraitabsicht und Portraitwirkung. Gedanken zu zwei Kaiserinnenportraits in Hannover”. In Ch. Kunst (ed.): Grenzen der Macht. zur Rolle der Römischen Kaiserfrauen. Potsdamer Altertumswissenschaftliche Beiträge 3. Stuttgart: Steiner-Verlag. Pp. 29–40. Stegmann, J., 1999: “Iulia (12) Domna, die Frau des Septimius Severus”. DNP 6. Pp. 4–5. Syme, R., 1971: Emperors and Biography. Studies in the Historia Augusta. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Wagner-Hasel, B., 2017: “Hinter dem Vorhang: Die Nachfolgefrage und die Macht der Kaiserfrauen”. In B. Wagner-Hasel: Antike Welten. Frankfurt: Campus-Verlag. Pp. 222–229. Wallinger, E., 1990: Die Frauen in der Historia Augusta. Althistorisch-Epigraphische Studien 2. Wien: Selbstverlag der Österreichischen Gesellschaft für Archäologie.

Zenobia of Palmyra A Female Roman Ruler in Times of Crisis Udo Hartmann

In autumn of 274 CE, emperor Aurelian presented in his triumphal procession in Rome not only the defeated barbarians but also the two rulers of the separate empires in the East and West, now again integrated into the structures of the central Roman Empire. The former Gallic emperor Tetricus and Zenobia of Palmyra went before his carriage in the procession.1 Giambattista Tiepolo depicts this famous scene in a cycle on Zenobia for a Venetian villa from the 1720s. The defeated queen Zenobia, still richly adorned with jewels, strides bowed before the carriage of the emperor. Like Cleopatra and Boudicca, she was considered a queen who opposed Roman rule. As a powerful woman and an oriental warrior queen, Zenobia is also depicted in another painting of Tiepolo’s cycle. Here, the proud female ruler from Palmyra gives a speech in front of her soldiers with Roman standards while her small son, for whom she exercises the rule, nestles anxiously against her left leg. Zenobia stands on a pedestal in her camp and prepares her army for the fight with Aurelian (figure 1).2 The figure of the warrior queen Zenobia, however, was not only a motif of Western artistic adaptation in early modern paintings. The queen also represents a founding myth of the young Arab nation-state of Syria. For example, the 100 pound banknote of Syria shows her portrait; propaganda posters on the road to Palmyra show the Syrian president Bashar al-Assad in community and in the line of tradition with the Arab freedom heroine Zenobia, who fought the Roman ‘colonizers’. The long-time loyal follower of the former Syrian president Hafiz al-

1

For the rule of Zenobia (PIR² S 504; PLRE I 990) and history of the Palmyrene empire in the third century CE see esp. Hartmann, 2001; 2008b; Sommer, 2017: 168–179; Andrade, 2018. For queen Zenobia see also Equini Schneider, 1993; Kotula, 1997: 89– 144; Bleckmann, 2002: 317–333; Sartre / Sartre, 2014. For the Palmyrene dynasts Odaenathus and Zenobia see further Gawlikowski, 2007; Smith, 2013: 175–181. A more popular account on the life of queen Zenobia is found in the biographies of Stoneman, 1992; Southern, 2008; Winsbury, 2010; Braccesi, 2017. For the history of Palmyra in the third century see also Starcky / Gawlikowski, 1985: 49–69; Will, 1992: 167–197; Sartre, 2001: 971–984; Sommer, 2005: 159–170; 220–224; 2008: 309–318; Teixidor, 2005; Hartmann, 2016. For Palmyra in Late antiquity see Kowalski, 1997; Intagliata, 2018. I want to thank Ronja Schrand for correcting the text of the paper. 2 Hartmann, 2001: 474. For the reception history of Zenobia in Western art and literature cf. Hartmann, 2001: 470–475; Wieber, 2007; Sartre / Sartre, 2014: 198–245; Weingarten, 2017: 139–142.

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Asad, the Minister of Defence Mustafa Tlass even wrote a monograph on Zenobia. His Arab freedom heroine here fights against Roman foreign rule.3

Figure 1: Giambattista Tiepolo (1696–1770), Queen Zenobia Addressing Her Soldiers (1725/30), Washington, National Gallery of Art (Samuel H. Kress Collection, 1961.9.42). © National Gallery of Art (). In this article, I would like to discuss this image of the warrior queen Zenobia which can be already found in the ancient sources, in the Greek and Latin historiography. After an overview of the rule of queen Zenobia in the Roman East, I will analyze the literary stylization of the oriental queen in the Late antique historiography and then discuss the question of to what extent this image is correct and to what extent Zenobia can actually be understood as a powerful woman. Zenobia comes from the Syrian oasis city of Palmyra, which had become the organizer of Roman long-distance trade with India since the late first century. Long-distance trade brought enormous wealth to the city, of which the ruins of the oasis still bear witness today.4 In 212, the emperor Caracalla granted the city 3

Hartmann, 2001: 475; Sartre / Sartre, 2014: 252–258; Weingarten, 2017: 142–145; Andrade, 2018: 226–228; 2019: 170. Cf. Tlass, 1986. Zahran (2003) also portrays Zenobia as an Arab freedom heroine. 4 For the long-distance trade of Palmyra see Drexhage, 1988; Will, 1992: 57–102; Young, 2001; Seland, 2016.

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the status of a Roman colonia with ius Italicum.5 However, in the first half of the third century the city was in a deep political crisis: in neighbouring Iran, the new dynasty of the Sasanids took power in 224. They immediately became much more aggressive towards Rome than the previous Arsacid dynasty and largely curbed long-distance trade via southern Mesopotamia. During the difficult situation of the late 240s, the Palmyrenes raised Septimius Odaenathus, who was the most important man of their city, to the office of city chief. He received the irregular title “exarchos of the Palmyrenes” in Greek or “head of Tadmōr” (rš’ dy tdmwr) in Palmyrene to guarantee the safety of the city. With this new political leadership, practically a new dynasty of Palmyrene princes was established.6 The Roman emperor confirmed this step and appointed him and his son Ḥairān to the Roman senate.7 After emperor Valerian had been captured by the Persian king Šābuhr in the summer of 260, this confidante of the emperor from Palmyra took political power in Roman Syria. In two offensives Odaenathus defeated, on behalf of the new emperor Gallienus, the Persians and besieged their residence Ktesiphon on the Tigris. As ruler in the East and general of the Roman army, he was legitimized by two temporary special posts of dux Romanorum and corrector totius Orientis, through which Gallienus had given him military and civil power in the Roman Orient. After his successes against the Persians, Odaenathus elevated himself and his successor Herodianus, who was his son from his first marriage, to the title “king of kings” in 263, which symbolized the victory over the Persian King and upgraded the general’s position without assuming the title of Augustus. But the Palmyrene general established now a personal, dynastic power in the Roman East. Thus, a second largely independent regional power developed in the East, after the usurpation of Postumus 260 in Gaul had already established a separate empire in the West.8 Odaenathus married in a second marriage Septimia Zenobia Bat-Zabbai, who was born around 240 as daughter of an Antiochus.9 Odaenathus had another son 5

For the colonia Palmyra: Ulpianus, De censibus I, Dig. 50.15.1.4–5. Cf. Millar, 1990: 42–46; 1993: 143–144; 326–327; Sartre, 1996: 394–395; Hartmann, 2001: 59–60; 2006: 54–59; Yon, 2002: 243–244; Smith, 2013: 130–132. 6 For the career of Odaenathus (PIR² S 472; PLRE I 638–639) see esp. Hartmann, 2001: 86–230; Sommer, 2017: 154–168; Andrade, 2018: 111–141; cf. also Strobel, 1993: 247– 256; Will, 1992: 172–185; Equini Schneider, 1993: 11; 15–23; Millar, 1993: 157–159; 165–171; Sartre, 2001: 972–979; Sommer, 2005: 160–162; Sartre / Sartre, 2014: 41–53. 7 Hartmann, 2001: 97–98; Hächler, 2019: 581–588, no. 260. 8 Hartmann, 2001: 129–218; Andrade, 2018: 132–141; cf. also Sartre / Sartre, 2014: 54– 70 (rex regum already in 259/60 CE). For the emperors Valerian and Gallienus see Goltz / Hartmann, 2008; Glas, 2014; Geiger, 2013. 9 Hartmann, 2001: 116. For the father Antiochus (PIR² S 434): CIS II 3971, Palmyrene l. 7 (see note 52); Milik, 1972: 318 (name on a bulla); OGIS 650–651; CIL III 6727. He is most likely identical with the usurper Antiochus in Palmyra in 273 CE (PIR² A 745 =

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with her, Vaballathus Athenodorus.10 When Odaenathus and Herodianus were killed by a conspiracy of emperor Gallienus in winter 267/268,11 the widow Zenobia took control of the Roman Orient and transferred the titles of her late husband to her still underage son Vaballathus. He now ruled as king, corrector totius Orientis und dux Romanorum over Syria. The clarissima regina Zenobia now took over the protection of the Roman Orient, but still formally recognized the rule of Gallienus and his successors Claudius Gothicus and Aurelian in the Roman Empire.12 In 270, queen Zenobia used the weak position of emperor Claudius, who had to fight an invasion of the Goths and had to face the plague in the Balkans, to expand the power of Palmyra. She occupied the provinces of Arabia and Egypt and gave her son the title imperator in autumn 270. The area of the Roman official Odaenathus, appointed by Gallienus, had thus become a “regional realm” (“Teilreich”) of a king and imperator in the Roman Orient who continued to recognize the supremacy of the emperor, but acted largely independently.13 The vir consularis rex imperator dux Romanorum Vaballathus now also minted coins in Antioch and Alexandria with his portrait on the reverse and the head of the new emperor Aurelian, who had reigned in Rome since September 270, on the obverse.14 But after his victories over German tribes on the Danube, emperor Aurelian did not accept the regional rule of Zenobia any longer. In spring 272, he moved from Byzantium to the East, forcing Zenobia and Vaballathus to usurp Roman imperial power. At the end of March or the beginning of April 272, she elevated

S 434; PLRE I 71, no. 1), Zos. 1.60; 61.1; HA Aurelian. 31.2; Pol. Silv. 521.49, cf. Hartmann, 2001, 117–124. 10 For the family of Odaenathus cf. Hartmann, 2001: 112–128. For Vaballathus (PIR² S 492; PLRE I 122, no. 2): HA Aurelian. 38.1; Pol. Silv. 521.49; cf. Zos. 1.59.1. 11 For the murder of Odaenathus see Hartmann, 2001: 218–230. The backgrounds of the death are disputed: Was this a plot of emperor Gallienus against a rival in the East (so e.g. Equini Schneider, 1993: 11; Strobel, 1993: 252; Teixidor, 2005: 198; Gnoli, 2007: 50, n. 51; Andrade, 2018: 143–152; with more caution Sartre / Sartre, 2014: 71–72), a conspiracy of Zenobia (so Février, 1931: 90) or a feud in the family of the dynasts of Palmyra against the king (so e.g. Bleckmann, 1995: 93–96; 2007: 57–61; Potter, 2004: 263)? Kaizer (2005) thinks that the question cannot be clarified; similar Sommer, 2005: 162. 12 CIS II 3971 (see note 52); Fest. 24; Eutr. 9.13.2; HA Gall. 13.2; trig. tyr. 27.1; 30.2; Aurelian. 22.1; 38.1; Zos. 1.39.2; Ioh. Ant. fr. 152.2 (FHG IV 599 = fr. 231 Roberto); Sync. 467.13–14. Cf. Hartmann, 2001: 242–271; Sartre / Sartre, 2014: 89–93; Andrade, 2018: 165–171. 13 Hartmann, 2001: 278–351; Andrade, 2018: 171–189. Cf. also Equini Schneider, 1993: 61–78; Watson, 1999: 59–69; Sartre / Sartre, 2014: 89–101; 104–113. For the emperor Claudius Gothicus see Hartmann, 2008a: 297–307. 14 For the coinage of the rex and imperator Vaballathus as deputy-ruler of Aurelian see Hartmann, 2001: 251–254; Bland, 2011: 141–144; 154–158; 162–163; 172–174. Antioch: RIC V 1, 308, no. 381. For the emperor Aurelian see Watson, 1999; Hartmann, 2008a: 308–323.

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her son to Augustus and herself to Augusta in order to reach equality with the emperor Aurelian. Without major incidents, Aurelian traversed Asia Minor and reached Syria. After his victories in Immae near Antioch and near Emesa, Aurelian had defeated the armies of the East. Zenobia fled to Palmyra, but was captured by Aurelian’s soldiers.15 Aurelian, who strove in the East as well as in Gaul for a smooth integration of the separate empires, amnestied both Zenobia and Gallic emperor Tetricus, whom Aurelian had captured in 274, after presenting them in his triumphal procession in Rome.16 Zenobia received a villa near Tivoli, where she spent the rest of her life.17 Palmyra’s concept of a regional Roman government and the division of responsibility for the protection of the borders, however, set a precedent. At the end of the third century, Diocletian used this innovative idea for his reformation of the Roman Empire, introducing a Western and Eastern emperor with two deputy rulers to safeguard all regions.18 In Late antiquity, the fact was soon forgotten that Septimia Zenobia was the wife of a Roman consular from a Roman colonia in Syria.19 The author of the Historia Augusta, who wrote around 395/400 CE,20 paints Zenobia as a barbarian, oriental warrior queen who stood up against Rome and against the effeminate emperor Gallienus.21 In his collection tyranni triginta, the author describes the 15 Hartmann, 2001: 352–387; Andrade, 2018: 191–207. Cf. also Equini Schneider, 1993: 78–86; Watson, 1999: 70–78; Sartre / Sartre, 2014: 101–104; 161–176. 16 Hartmann, 2001: 388–394; 411–413. For the triumph: Fest. 24; Eutr. 9.13.2; HA tyr. trig. 24.4; 30.3; 30.24–26; Aurelian. 30.2; 32.4; 33–34. 17 HA trig. tyr. 30.27; Sync. 470.5–7; Zon. 12.27 (p. 607.6–11). Zosimus (1.59) reports that Zenobia died on the march to Europe. Cf. Equini Schneider, 1993: 56–60; Hartmann, 2001: 413–424; Sartre / Sartre, 2014: 182–187; Andrade, 2018: 209–211. 18 Hartmann, 2001: 457–462. 19 Cf. Pan. lat. 8.10.2 (from 297 CE); Lat. Veron. 13 (Palmyrenes under the Oriental barbarians, under the gentes barbarae, quae pullulaverunt sub imperatoribus). Cf. Hartmann, 2001: 424–425. 20 For the date around 395/400 see Syme, 1968: 72–79 (395/96); Johne, 1976: 11–46; Chastagnol, 1994: XXX–XXXIV; Thomson, 2012: 37–53. Cameron (2011: 743–778) dates the compilation around 375/80, Straub (1963) after 405, Savino (2017) in the second decade of the fifth century after Stilicho’s death in 408 and Festy (2007) around 430. The author wrote in Rome and had good relations with pagan, senatorial circles. All attempts to identify the author remain, however, hypothetical: Nicomachus Flavianus senior (Demougeot, 1953; Ratti, 2007), Nicomachus Flavianus iunior (Hartke, 1940; Callu, 1992: LXX–LXXIII; Festy, 2007), Eusebius of Nantes (Peter Lebrecht Schmidt in Sehlmeyer, 2009: 290), Naucellius (Thomson, 2012: 70–88) and Tascius Victorianus (Savino, 2017: 44–45) were suggested as the author of the Historia Augusta. 21 HA tyr. trig. 30. For the vita of Zenobia see Equini Schneider, 1993: 34–36; Hartmann, 2001: 22–24; Krause, 2007; Paschoud, 2011: 177–196 (commentary). Cf. also Cazzaniga, 1972; Marasco, 1988: 226–232; Wallinger, 1990: 139–149; Frézouls, 1994: 133–136; Wieber, 2000: 287–295; Bleckmann, 2002: 319–321; Lippold, 2006: 356–368; Girotti,

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lives of 30 little-known usurpers of the middle of the third century who allegedly kept guard over the frontiers of the Roman Empire, while emperor Gallienus only pursued his private pleasures in Rome.22 All shame is exhausted, says the author, for in the weakened state of the empire under Gallienus even a foreign woman (peregrina) ruled most excellently in the Eastern part of the empire and has therefore to be included in the list of the 30 tyrants.23 In the vita of Zenobia, the author presents a rather colourful compilation of various motifs from the repertoire of Latin historiography on oriental queens and masculinized woman warriors. The noble, beautiful and proud Eastern queen24 boasted of the descent of Dido, Semiramis, Cleopatra and the Ptolemies.25 She put on the sagulum, the imperial coat, as sign of the succession to her husband Odaenathus, and assumed the royal diadem and dressed like Dido of Carthage.26 Zenobia had reigned in the name of her sons longer than it is appropriate for a woman.27 She was ruling Palmyra and the Roman East with the vigour of a man. Many historians report that she was even braver than her husband.28 Only Aurelian had been able to subject the proud queen to the rule of Roman law.29 In a (fictitious) letter, Aurelian defends himself to the senate that he has triumphed over a woman. He praises Zenobia’s strict military leadership. She had so much frightened Orientals and Egyptians that even Arabs, Saracens, or Armenians did not dare to move. Zenobia had thus preserved the rule of Palmyra in the Roman 2011; Molinier Arbo, 2014. See further Burgersdijk, 2004/05 (references to Juvenal in the vita); Benoist, 2015: 279–283; Jones, 2016; Sartre / Sartre, 2014: 74–77. 22 For the tyranni triginta see Rösger, 1977, esp. 387–390; Barnes, 1978: 69–70; Zecchini, 1997; Paschoud, 2011: XXIX–XLV; 1–219. 23 HA tyr. trig. 30.1–2: omnis iam consumptus est pudor, si quidem fatigata re p. eo usque perventum est, ut Gallieno nequissime agente optime etiam mulieres imperarent, (2) et quidem peregrina. enim, nomine Zenobia … Cf. Paschoud, 2011: 181– 184. 24 Pride of Zenobia: HA tyr. trig. 30.3. Beauty of Zenobia: HA tyr. trig. 15.8 (mulier[um] omnium nobilissima[m] orientalium feminarum et, ut Cornelius Capitolinus adserit, s[e]pecissima[m]); 30.15. The author Cornelius Capitolinus (PIR² C 1334; PLRE I 180, no. 4) is fictitious, cf. Syme, 1971: 5; Chastagnol, 1991: 23–24 (“… le nom fabriqué Cornelius Capitolinus paraît donc évoquer à la fois Balbus et Cicéron.”); 1994: 886, n. 3; Paschoud, 2011: 127. 25 HA tyr. trig. 27.1 (Didonem et Samiramidem et Cleopatram sui generis principem); 30.2; 30.19; Claud. 1.1; Aurelian. 27.3; Prob. 9.5. Cf. Equini Schneider, 1993: 27–29; Watson, 1999: 86; Paschoud, 2011: 169–170. Such comparisons of different Oriental warrior queens were literary topoi in Late antiquity: Ammianus (28.4.9) compares Semiramis, Cleopatra and Artemisia with Zenobia. 26 HA tyr. trig. 30.2: post Odenatum maritum imperiali sagulo perfuso per umeros, habitu donis ornata, diademate etiam accepto. 27 HA tyr. trig. 30.2: diutius, quam femineus sexus patiebatur, imperavit. 28 HA Gall. 13.2–3; 13.5; tyr. trig. 15.8; 30.5. 29 HA tyr. trig. 30.3; 30.23–24.

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Orient and at the same time protected the Eastern borders of the empire.30 The author thus describes Zenobia as an oriental queen and female hero following the example of Cleopatra. The following characterisation of Zenobia mixes in a rather contradictory way the motif of a late antique ‘holy woman’ with the motif of a masculinized warrior queen and the motif of an oriental ruler in all her splendor. The author praises her chastity, saying that she only slept with her husband to have children.31 And he praises her spiritus divinus and her incredible venustas, her divine spirit and her grace.32 This literary motif of an ascetic ‘holy woman’ also includes the education and the language skills of Zenobia. Zenobia speaks Latin only cautiously, but she masters the Egyptian language perfectly.33 She has studied Alexandrian and oriental history and even made an epitome, a short historical study. And she reads works on Roman history in Greek translation.34 The masculinized warrior queen Zenobia also loves hunting like a Spaniard; she drinks with Persians and Armenians until they fall under the table.35 Like the Roman imperatores, she appears in the contio, the Roman army assembly, with helmet and purple coat and uncovered arms.36 Her voice sounds clear and like that of a man.37 Zenobia rides with her cavalry and marches with her foot-soldiers.38 And more than you would expect from a woman, she conserves the money in the public treasury.39 The author also broadly developed in the vita the third motif, the splendid oriental ruler. Zenobia lives in splendor and regal pomp, allows herself to be worshipped in the Persian manner,40 dines according to Persian custom and uses 30 HA tyr. trig. 30.4–11 (7: possum adserere tanto apud orientales et Aegyptiorum populos timori mulierem fuisse ut se non Arabes, non Saraceni, non Armenii commoverent). Cf. Paschoud, 2011: 185–187. 31 HA tyr. trig. 30.12. Cf. Gilliam, 1970: 107–110; Wieber, 2000: 291–292; Paschoud, 2011: 187–189. 32 HA tyr. trig. 30.15. 33 HA tyr. trig. 30.20–22. Cf. Paschoud, 2011: 192–193; Sartre / Sartre, 2014: 145–146. 34 HA tyr. trig. 30.22: historiae Alexandrinae atque orientalis ita perita, ut eam epitomasse dicatur; Latinam autem Graece legerat. This historical epitome of Zenobia (FHG III 665; BNJ 626) is fictitious, cf. Equini Schneider, 1993: 35; Hartmann, 2001: 300, n. 157. 35 HA tyr. trig. 30.18: nata est Hispanorum cupiditate. bibit saepe cum ducibus, cum esset alias sobria; bibit et cum Persis atque Armeniis, ut eos vinceret. 36 HA tyr. trig. 30.14: imperatorum more Romanorum ad contiones galeata processit cum limbo purpureo gemmis dependentibus per ultimam fimbriam, media etiam coclide veluti fibula muliebri adstricta, brachio saepe nudo. 37 HA tyr. trig. 30.15. 38 HA tyr. trig. 30.17. Cf. Paschoud, 2011: 190–191. 39 HA tyr. trig. 30.16. 40 HA tyr. trig. 30.13: vixit regali pompa. more magis Persico adorata est. Cf. Wieber, 2000: 292.

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golden and jeweled drinking vessels at her banquets. Older eunuchs serve the queen.41 Aurelian presents her jeweled in his triumphal procession in Rome. The author uses firstly oriental topoi such as court luxury, pomp, eunuchs and Persian proskynesis, despotism over barbarian peoples, descent of the mythical queens of the East from Babylon to Egypt. Secondly, he uses the figure of the chaste and educated queen. Finally, he uses the figure of the masculinized warrior queen, who crosses gender boundaries, to form an extremely exotic character of an oriental ruler. In the vita of Zenobia, the queen is a positive figure who takes the lead in the army after the death of Odaenathus and protects Rome’s borders in the East.42 In the vita of emperor Aurelian however, the author depicts the negative image of an arrogant and warlike regina Orientis, an oriental queen who, like Cleopatra, opposes Roman rule with pride and insolence. She arrogantly rejects Aurelian’s letter with the demand for capitulation, referring to her oriental auxiliaries and the courage of Cleopatra.43 This change of perspective, which at first glance seems contradictory, results from the different evaluations of the emperors with whom Zenobia has to deal:44 the effeminate emperor Gallienus is contrasted with a powerful and virile oriental warrior queen who has to perform the duties of the Roman emperor in the East.45 On the other hand, the author contrasts the image of the severe and belligerent Illyrian emperor Aurelian, who restores Rome’s world domination, with the negative image of an oriental queen, playing with the pictures of the victorious and male Imperium Romanum and the vanquished and feminized Orient.46 How is this image of an oriental warrior queen and opponent of Rome in the Historia Augusta to be evaluated? The literary figure of Zenobia both in the tyranni triginta and in the vita of emperor Aurelian is not based on any substantial information; it is almost entirely taken from the author’s imagination.47 To enter41

HA tyr. trig. 30.14; 30.19. There is only one criticism in the tyranni triginta: Zenobia is a bad step-mother to “Herodes”, the son of Odaenathus with his first wife (HA tyr. trig. 16.3; 17.2). Cf. Paschoud, 2011: 128. 43 HA Aurelian. 22.1; 26.3–5; 27.1–4. Cf. Paschoud, 1996: 147; Lippold, 2006: 366–368; Krause, 2007: 326–332; Sartre / Sartre, 2014: 175. 44 Cazzaniga, 1972 (the author is using two different sources); Krause, 2007: 313–332; Harders, 2015: 204–206. Cf. also Girotti, 2011: 197–208; Molinier Arbo, 2014. 45 HA Gall. 13.2–3; tyr. trig. 1.1; 30.1; 30.10; 30.23; 31.7. Cf. Frézouls, 1994: 134–135; Krause, 2007: 313–322. 46 Cf. Jones, 2016. 47 Cf. Bleckmann, 2002: 319 (“Ernst genommen hat freilich der unbekannte Autor der Historia Augusta diese von ihm selbst konstruierte heroische Frauenfigur nicht.”); Burgersdijk, 2004/05: 149–150; Sartre / Sartre, 2014: 77 (“le portrait … provient d’une complète construction littéraire”); Rohrbacher, 2016: 53. Only the account of Zenobia’s retirement near Rome after the triumph of Aurelian is historic (HA tyr. trig. 30.27), cf. Hart42

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tain his late antique readers in Rome, he offered a pastiche of traditional historiographical motifs on oriental queens and warrior women. Although modern research has attempted to verify at least the reports about Zenobia’s claimed descent from the Ptolemies or the Armenian auxiliary troops, there is no basis for this in the parallel sources.48 The few documentary sources on Zenobia – coins, lead bulls, inscriptions and milestones – paint a completely different picture of her royal self-representation. In August 271, the two Palmyrene generals Septimius Zabdas and Septimius Zabbai honour the clarissima pia regina, the “most illustrious” and “pious queen” Zenobia with a bilingual inscription on a column console in the Great colonnade street of Palmyra.49 The two generals of equestrian rank present the queen in this text as a Roman citizen from a senatorial family with the epithet pia (“pious”) which is also common among the Severan empresses like Iulia Domna, but also among the wives of soldier emperors like Caecilia Paulina and Salonina.50 In accordance with the policy of Palmyra to accept supremacy of the Roman emperor, however, Zenobia does not claim the title Augusta. She is only a regina, a queen in the Roman Orient. And like her son, the rex and imperator Vaballathus, she submits to the emperor in Rome. It is also remarkable that queen Zenobia recedes into the background of the Palmyrene royal self-representation in the period of the “regional realm”, from the murder of Odaenathus until the war of Aurelian against Palmyra (267/268–272). Thus Zenobia is almost completely absent in the official Palmyrene propaganda in this period. Milestones of the ‘regional

mann, 2001: 413–424; Andrade, 2018: 209–211. 48 Cf. Hartmann, 2001: 272–277; 285. Especially the Zenobia’s claim of Cleopatra’s descent is often considered historical, cf. e.g. Stein, 1923; Barnes, 1972: 177; 1978: 69; Will, 1992: 187; Strobel, 1993: 251, n. 445; Long, 1996: 69; Gaggero, 1996; 2005 (Zenobia had claimed descent from Dido, Semiramis and Cleopatra as part of her propaganda); Watson, 1999: 65–66; Bussi, 2003: 262–266; Burgersdijk, 2004/05: 144; Teixidor, 2005: 201; Janiszewski, 2006: 219–224; Braccesi, 2017: 57–59. Andrade (2018: 171) thinks that Zenobia used Cleopatra as a role model to emulate. 49 IGLS XVII.1 57 (= Inv. III 20; CIS II 3947; PAT 293): Σεπτιμίαν Ζηνοβίαν τὴν λαμ|προτάτην εὐσεβῆ βασίλισσαν | Σεπτίμιοι Ζάβδας ὁ μέγας στρα|τηλάτης καὶ Ζαββαῖος ὁ ἐνθάδε | στρατηλάτης, οἱ κράτιστοι, τὴν | δέσποιναν, ἔτους βπφ' μηνεὶ Λωῷ. – ṣlmt spṭmy’ btzby nhyrt’ wzdqt’ | mlkt’ spṭmyw’ zbd’ rb ḥyl’ | rb’ wzby rb ḥyl’ dy tdmwr qrṭsṭw’ | ’qym lmrthwn byrḥ ’b dy šnt 582 (translation of the Palmyrene text: “Statue of Septimia Bat-Zabbai, clarissima and pia | regina; Septimii Zabdā, commander in chief,| and Zabbai, commander of Tadmōr (Palmyra), both viri egregii,| raised it for their lady, in the month of Ab in the year 582.”). For Zabdas (PIR² S 498; PLRE I 990): HA Claud. 11.1; Aurelian. 25.2–3; Zos. 1.44.1; 51.1; Inv. III 19 (= CIS II 3946; PAT 292; August 271); IGLS XVII.1 57 (= Inv. III 20; CIS II 3947; PAT 293). For Zabbai (PIR² S 497; PLRE I 990): Inv. III 19; IGLS XVII.1 57. Cf. Hartmann, 2001: 301; Sartre / Sartre, 2014: 106– 107. 50 Hartmann, 2001: 254.

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realm’ from the province of Arabia along the via nova Traiana honour the vir clarissimus rex consul imperator dux Romanorum Vaballathus, the deputy-emperor of the East, but not Zenobia.51 Only milestones on the road between Palmyra and Emesa from the period of 267/268 until 270 near the oasis name the queen after the king of kings and corrector totius Orientis Vaballathus.52 Eastern coins from Antioch and Alexandria in Egypt show emperor Aurelian on the obverse and the young ruler of the ‘regional realm’ Vaballathus on the reverse. On his Antoniniani from Antioch, Vaballathus wears as rex a royal diadem and as imperator an imperial laurel wreath. Coins with the portrait of the queen Zenobia, however, were not minted in this period.53 Her (hardly recognizable) portrait is only found on some lead bulls with the legend “Queen Zenobia” or “Queen Septimia Zenobia”.54

51 Cf. e.g. Bauzou, 1989, vol. 2: 41–42, no. 28 (= 1998: 202, no. 95 XV B 3): [L(ucius) Iuli]us Aureli[us | Septi]mius | [Va]ballath[us | Ath]enodorus | [v(ir) c(larissimus) rex] co(n)s(ul) | [impe]rator dux | [R]o[m]anorum | (millia passuum) XV | ιε'. For the other documents (inscriptions, papyri and coins) naming the rex consul imperator dux Romanorum Vaballathus cf. Hartmann, 2001: 247–254. 52 CIS II 3971 (= IGR III 1028; OGIS 649; PAT 317; from 267/68–270): … κ]α[ὶ ὑπὲρ σω]|τηρίας Σεπτιμίας Ζηνο|βίας τῆς λαμπροτάτης | βασιλίσσης, μητρὸς τοῦ | βασιλέως, θυ[γ(ατρὸς) το]ῦ [Ἀντιόχου]. – ‛l ḥ[ywh] wz[kwth dy] spṭymyws | whblt ’tndr[ws nhy]r’ mlk mlk’ | w’pnrtṭ’ dy mdnḥ’ klh br | spṭ[ymy]ws [’dynt mlk] mlk’ w‛l | ḥyh dy spṭymy’ btzby nhyrt’ | mlkt’ ’mh dy mlk mlk’ | bt ’nṭywkws m 14 (translation of the Palmyrene text: “For the [life] and the [victory of] Septimius | Vaballathus Athenodor[us, clarissimius] rex regum | and corrector totius Orientis, son of | Sept[imi]us [Odaenathus, rex] regum, and for | the life of Septimia Bat-Zabbai, clarissima | regina, mother of the rex regum,| daughter of Antiochus, mile 14.“). Cf. Hartmann, 2001: 242–243. Three other (badly preserved) milestones, found on the street between Emesa and Palmyra, mention queen Zenobia, mother of king Vaballathus: IGR III 1029 (= Kalinka, 1900: 25, no. 11; OGIS 650); Kalinka, 1900: 25–26, no. 12 (= OGIS 651); CIL III 6727 (= III 6049), cf. Hartmann, 2001: 118–120. 53 For the coinage of the rex and imperator Vaballathus see note 14. 54 Lead bull, perhaps from Antioch (National Museum of Damascus), with the portrait of Zenobia as tyche, obverse: [ΖΗ]ΝΟΒΙΑ Η ΒΑΣΙΛΙΣΣΑ (Seyrig, 1937: 3–4; pl. VI, 4–5; Equini Schneider, 1993: 98, fig. 18); lead bull, perhaps from Antioch (Cabinet des Médailles, Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris), with the portrait of Zenobia as tyche, obverse: ΣΕ[Π ΖΗ]ΝΟΒΙΑ Η ΒΑΣΙΛΙΣ(Σ)Α, reverse: [s(pṭymy’) b]tzby [bt] ’ṭkys, (translation of the Palmyrene text: “[S(eptimia) Ba]t-Zabbai, [daughter] of Antiochus”; Milik, 1972: 318); lead bull, perhaps from Antioch (Cabinet des Médailles, Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris), with the portrait of Zenobia, obverse: [Σ]Ε[Π ΖΗΝΟΒΙΑ] Η ΒΑΣΙΛΙΣΣΑ (du Mesnil du Buisson, 1962: 757–758 = PAT 2827). Cf. Equini Schneider, 1993: 26; 33; 99; Hartmann, 2001: 117, n. 205.

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Figure 2: Antoninianus of Septimia Zenobia Augusta from Antiochia, spring/summer 272 (RIC V.2, 584, no. 2; Bland, 2011: 170–171, no. 29, e–k, dies 45/Jun ii), obverse: S ZENOBIA AVG; reverse: IVNO REGINA (Juno, holding a patera and a vertical scepter, with a peacock at her feet; a star in the left field). © Classical Numismatic Group (Coin ID 318545). Zenobia accepted the title Augusta and the right to mint coins, connected with this imperial title, only after the usurpation of Vaballathus, who placed himself on a par with his opponent Aurelian in the spring of 272. The coinage in the Roman East fundamentally changed afterwards. The new Augustus from Palmyra wears on his new coins from Antioch a radiate crown, and Aurelian is no longer shown. Septimia Zenobia Augusta is depicted on her very rare Antoniniani from Antioch above a crescent moon (figure 2). She wears a stephane and a ridged coiffure; this hairstyle had been in fashion among the wives of the soldier emperors since Tranquillina, wife of Gordian III. The Alexandrian Billon coins of Zenobia from spring 272 show the individual portrait of the new empress with stephane and the waving ‘helmet’ coiffure, typical for the Severan empress Julia Mamaea.55

55

Hartmann, 2001: 354–364. For the coinage of Vaballathus Augustus and Zenobia Augusta see Hartmann, 2001: 356–359; Bland, 2011: 144–146; 154–158; 163–172; 175–176; Antioch: RIC V 2, 584, no. 1–2 (Zenobia); 585, no. 1–8 (Vaballathus). For the iconography of Zenobia cf. Equini Schneider, 1993: 87–99. Zenobia as Augusta: IGR III 1065 (= 1027; OGIS 647; milestone near Byblus). For imperial titles of Imperator Caesar Lucius Iulius Aurelius Septimius Vaballathus Athenodorus Persicus maximus Arabicus maximus Adiabenicus maximus pius felix invictus Augustus cf. ILS 8924 (= Bauzou, 1998: 203, no. 98 XI G 1); Bauzou, 1989, vol. 2: 34, no. 22 (= 1998: 204, no. 99 XIV C 2); Bauzou, 1989, vol. 2: 91–92, no. 82 (= 1998: 204, no. 100 XXV F 1); Bauzou, 1989, vol. 2: 111–112, no. 102 (= 1998: 204–205, no. 101 XXXVI K 1); IGR III 1065 (= 1027; OGIS 647; near Byblus); Hartmann, 2001: 355–356.

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Here, as on the coins from Antioch, the ordinary, rather boring legends on the reverse do not indicate a special political program or oriental self-representation of the new empress in Syria. These conventional images and legends thus probably propagated above all the continuity of Roman rule after the usurpation of Vaballathus. Zenobia uses the normal repertoire of images and legends of the imperial coinage in the third century; and if she emphasizes anything in her coinage, it is the normality of this Roman usurpation in the East. There is certainly a reference to the Severan empresses from Syria and their exceptional position of power at the imperial court. Thus Julia Domna was also portrayed on a crescent moon. Above all, however, it is striking that Zenobia’s self-representation on her coinage hardly differs from that of Augusta Severiana, the wife of her rival Aurelian. Severiana Augusta is also depicted with stephane on a crescent moon. Neither an oriental program or even anti-Roman aspects, nor references to Ptolemaic rule, assumed in the research, can thus be found on Zenobia’s coins.56 Thus, Zenobia presented herself in the first years of her rule as the wife of a Roman senator and queen in the Roman Empire and then in 272 CE as Augusta and mother of the emperor, who held at court a similar position as the Severan empresses. The royal and imperial self-representation of Zenobia thus does not attribute her a special political position, but can Zenobia nevertheless be understood as a powerful woman? Does at least the image of a powerful and warlike ruler apply to her? Zenobia did not participate herself in battle, neither as queen from 267/68 until 272, nor as empress in spring and summer 272, as the author of the Historia Augusta assumes in her vita. According to the historian Zosimus, Zenobia’s generals always lead the battles of the troops of Palmyra. In 270, her general Zabdas conquers Egypt in two campaigns;57 Zabdas also fights the battle near Antioch against Aurelian in 272. After the lost battle, he withdraws behind the walls of Antioch, where Zenobia is staying with her court.58 Zabdas also leads the defeated army of Palmyra from Antioch to Emesa.59 According to the Historia Augusta, these generals caused Zenobia to go to war and fought her battles.60 The Roman equestrian Zabdas was thus the leader of the Eastern armies and the Palmyrene troops. Zenobia and Vaballathus remained at court.

56

For Julia Domna see e.g. RIC IV 1, 274, no. 389 (Antoninianus from Rome under Caracalla for IVLIA PIA FELIX AVG). For Severiana see e.g. RIC V 1, 315, no. 2 (Aureus from Rome for SEVERINA AVG). Salonina Augusta was also depicted with stephane on a crescent moon, cf. e.g. RIC V 1, 108, no. 5 (Antoninianus from Lyon under Valerian and Gallienus for SALONINA AVG). For the references to Ptolemaic rule see note 48. 57 Zos. 1.44 (1: τῶν Σκυθῶν τοίνυν, ὡς διεξῆλθον, ἐσκεδασμένων καὶ τὸ πολὺ μέρος ἀποβαλόντων, μειζόνων ἐφιεμένη ἡ Ζηνοβία πραγμάτων Ζάβδαν ἐπὶ τὴν Αἴγυπτον ἐκπέμπει). For Zenobia in the work of Zosimus cf. Müller, 2020: 120–128. 58 Zos. 1.51.1. 59 Zos. 1.51.2. 60 HA Aurelian. 30.2.

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The sources also emphasize that Zenobia was surrounded by a staff of advisers, including scholars such as the Platonic philosopher Cassius Longinus.61 In winter 267/68 Zenobia succeeded in taking over the government only with the help of her husband’s advisors and supporters, who probably had to fear punishment by emperor Gallienus.62 Her advisors and generals advise her to flee to Palmyra after the defeat at Emesa in summer 272.63 Zosimus reports that Zenobia claimed to be innocent and acquitted herself of all guilt in the trial against her and her accomplices which emperor Aurelian conducted after the victory over Palmyra in Emesa in 272. Zenobia had rather denounced many individuals who had led her astray as she was only a woman. Among these people was also Longinus.64 The philosopher and other advisers were sentenced to death, while Zenobia was acquitted.65 Perhaps Zenobia did indeed try to shift the responsibility for the usurpation onto her advisers, as Zosimus claims. But it is more likely that Aurelian did not want to have a woman and a child from a senatorial family executed as the main culprit of the usurpation. Therefore, he concentrated on Zenobia’s advisers and generals who belonged to the equestrian order. There is no doubt that the general Septimius Zabdas and the philosopher Cassius Longinus were the major co-designers of the Palmyrene politics after the death of Odaenathus. On the other hand, it was above all the energetic and charismatic personality of Zenobia who achieved the establishment of dynastic rule in the Roman East in 267/68. In a manner quite unusual for a woman in Roman politics, Zenobia is described as a regent who holds all the threads of power in her hands:66 Zosimos says that she is a woman of “male thinking and courage” who takes over political power in the Orient after the sudden death of Odaenathus.67 Zosimus emphasizes that it is queen Zenobia who wants to expand her territory 61

For the court of Zenobia see Hartmann, 2001: 300–308; cf. also Yon, 2002: 135–139. Longinus (PIR² C 500; PLRE I 514–515, no. 2): HA Aurelian. 30.3; Zos. 1.56.3; Suda Λ 645 s. v. Λογγῖνος. Cf. Hartmann, 2001, 302–305; 391–392; 2018, vol. 1: 472–482; vol. 3: 1446–1447; Männlein-Robert, 2001, esp. 109–112 (fr. 5); 114–138 (fr. 7–8); Sartre / Sartre, 2014: 147–149. Longinus wrote a speech on Odaenathus (Lib. epist. 1078). 62 Zos. 1.39.2. Cf. Ioh. Ant. fr. 152.2 (FHG IV 599 = fr. 231 Roberto). 63 Zos. 1.54.1. 64 Zos. 1.56.2: ἐπανελθὼν εἰς τὴν Ἔμισαν εἰς κρίσιν ἤγαγε Ζηνοβίαν τε καὶ τοὺς ταύτῃ συναραμένους· ἐπεὶ δὲ αἰτίας ἔλεγεν ἑαυτὴν ἐξαιροῦσα, πολλούς τε ἄλλους ἦγεν εἰς μέσον ὡς παραγαγόντας οἷα γυναῖκα, ἐν οἷς καὶ Λογγῖνος ἦν … 65 Zos. 1.56.3. For the trail of Emesa: HA Aurelian. 30.1–3; Zos. 1.56.2–3; Suda Λ 645 s. v. Λογγῖνος. Cf. Brisson / Patillon, 1994: 5230–5231; Watson, 1999: 79; Hartmann, 2001: 391–393; 2018, vol. 3: 1446–1447; Männlein-Robert, 2001: 122–135 (fr. 7–8); Andrade, 2018: 207. 66 Cf. Watson, 1999: 87–88; Hartmann, 2001: 464–466; Yon, 2002/03: 216–217. 67 Zos. 1.39.2: τῶν ἐκεῖσε πραγμάτων ἀντιλαμβάνεται Ζηνοβία, συνοικοῦσα μὲν Ὀδαινάθῳ, φρονήματι δὲ ἀνδρείῳ χρωμένη καὶ διὰ τῶν ἐκείνῳ συνόντων τὴν ἴσην εἰσφέρουσα τοῖς πράγμασιν ἐπιμέλειαν. Cf. Ioh. Ant. fr. 152.2 (FHG IV 599 = fr. 231 Roberto).

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and sends Zabdas to invade Egypt.68 The queen also appears in various Manichean texts and in the Jerusalem Talmud as a powerful ruler in the Roman East.69 Women could not hold political offices within the structures of the Roman Empire. They were not members of the Roman senate and could not command armies. At best they exercised political power informally; they acted at court behind the scenes. Zenobia’s titles regina and Augusta did not give her any political power. The fact that she was able to shape politics in the Roman East after her husband’s death resulted from a combination of very different factors: Her husband Odaenathus had filled a political power vacuum in the Orient after the capture of emperor Valerian. He established a personal rule over the Roman East after his victories over the Sasanians and appointed an heir to the throne. Only this charismatic position of the victor over the Persian king of kings and the establishment of a royal dynasty enabled Zenobia to appoint her son Vaballathus as legitimate successor of King Odaenathus – in the eyes of the Eastern legions – and to usurp the Roman offices of the corrector for him. Thus the Palmyrene empire would be unthinkable without the military and political successes of Odaenathus and without dynastic legitimation. Secondly, Zenobia could exercise political power as a woman only as a de facto regent for her underage son, without any formal constitutional enshrinement in the political system of the Roman Empire.70 Her regency was dependent on her position as mother of the heir. Zenobia is not mentioned in any source before the death of her husband, so apparently she played no role in the politics of Palmyra before 267.71 Her political position of power thus resembled that of the Severan empresses, especially that of Julia Domna under Caracalla or that of Julia Avita Mamaea under Severus Alexander.72 A third factor to explain her exceptional political power was the continuing weakness of the central Roman Empire. Invasions of Germanic tribes and tribal confederations on the Danube and the establishment of a separate empire in Gaul under Postumus, who claimed to rule the entire Roman Empire, forced the emperors in Rome, Gallienus, Claudius Gothicus, and Aurelian, to accept the expansion of power in the East by the Palmyrenes and her occupation of Egypt until 272 CE. It was already possible for Severan empresses to informally participate in Rome’s politics at the imperial court as wives, widows, or mothers of reigning emperors. But only the exceptional political situation within the crisis of the third 68

Zos. 1.44.1. Hartmann, 2001: 308–315; 324–332; Sartre / Sartre, 2014: 152–155. 70 Zenobia’s position in politics cannot be explained by a special role for women in Palmyrene society, as Andrade (2018: 60; 167) assumes. 71 The report in the Historia Augusta (HA tyr. trig. 15.2; cf. tyr. trig. 15.7; 30.6) that Odaenathus set out against the Persians, having with him his wife Zenobia and his sons is fictional (pace Sartre / Sartre, 2014: 73–74). 72 For the Severan empresses see Kettenhofen, 1979; Nadolny, 2016. 69

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century after the capture of Valerian and the impending collapse of the Roman Empire allowed the energetic widow of Odaenathus to build up a power position in the Orient that had previously been without parallel in Roman history. Her innovative concept of a ‘regional realm’ under the supremacy of the Roman emperor was an answer to the questions of the crisis of the third century and demonstrates her political foresight. However, she lost the struggle with Aurelian, who had better trained army units but no forward-looking political concepts for a division of the Roman Empire. Bibliography Andrade, N., 2018: Zenobia. Shooting Star of Palmyra. New York. — 2019: “Burying Odainath: Zenobia and Women in the Funerary Life of Palmyra”. In S. Krag / R. Raja (eds.): Women, Children, and the Family in Palmyra. Copenhagen. Pp. 168–183. Barnes, T.D., 1972: “Some Persons in the Historia Augusta”. Phoenix 26, 140– 182. — 1978: The Sources of the Historia Augusta. Bruxelles. Bauzou, Th., 1989: A finibus Syriae. Recherches sur les routes des frontières orientales de l’Empire Romain. 3 vol. Doctoral thesis, Université de Paris I. — 1998: “Le secteur nord de la via nova en Arabie de Bostra à Philadelphia”. In J.-B. Humbert / A. Desreumaux (eds.): Fouilles de Khirbet es-Samra en Jordanie, vol. 1: La voie romaine, le cimetière, les documents épigraphiques. Turnhout. Pp. 101–255. Benoist, St., 2015: “Women and Imperium in Rome. Imperial Perspectives” In J. Fabre-Serris / A. Keith (eds.): Women and War in Antiquity. Baltimore. Pp. 266–288. Bland, R., 2011: “The Coinage of Vabalathus and Zenobia from Antioch and Alexandria”. Numismatic Chronicle 171, 133–186. Bleckmann, Bruno, 1995: “Zu den Quellen der vita Gallieni duo.”. In Historiae Augustae Colloquium Maceratense 1992. Bari. Pp. 75–105. — 2002: “Die severische Familie und die Soldatenkaiser”. In H. TemporiniGräfin Vitzthum (ed.): Die Kaiserinnen Roms. Von Livia bis Theodora. München. Pp. 265–339. — 2007: “Odainathos in der spätantiken Literatur.” In Historiae Augustae Colloquium Bambergense 2005. Bari. Pp. 51–61. Braccesi, L., 2017: Zenobia, l’ultima regina d’Oriente. L’assedio di Palmira e lo scontro con Roma. Roma. Brisson, L. / Patillon, M., 1994: “Longinus Platonicus Philosophus et Philologus I. Longinus Philosophus”. ANRW II 36.7, 5214–5299. Burgersdijk, D., 2004/05: “Zenobia’s Biography in the Historia Augusta”. Talanta 36–37, 139–151.

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Bussi, S., 2003: “Zenobia/Cleopatra: immagine e propaganda”. Rivista italiana di numismatica e scienze affini 104, 261–268. Callu, J.-P. (ed.), 1992: Histoire Auguste, vol. I 1: Introduction générale. Vies d’Hadrien, Aelius, Antonin. Paris. Cameron, A., 2011: The Last Pagans of Rome. Oxford. Chastagnol, A., 1991: “Le Capitole dans l’Histoire Auguste”. In Bonner HistoriaAugusta-Colloquium 1986/1989. Bonn. Pp. 21–29. — (ed.), 1994: Histoire Auguste. Les empereurs romains des IIe et IIIe siècles. Paris. Cazzaniga, I., 1972: “Psogos ed épainos di Zenobia. Colori retorici in Vopisco e Pollione (H.A.)”. Parola del passato 27, 156–182. Demougeot, E., 1953: “Flavius Vopiscus est-il Nicomaque Flavien?” Antiquité Classique 22, 361–382. Drexhage, R., 1988: Untersuchungen zum römischen Osthandel. Bonn. du Mesnil du Buisson, R., 1962: Les tessères et les monnaies de Palmyre. Paris. Equini Schneider, E., 1993: Septimia Zenobia Sebaste. Roma. Festy, M., 2007: “L’Histoire Auguste et les Nicomaques”. In Historiae Augustae Colloquium Bambergense 2005. Bari. Pp. 183–195. Février, J G., 1931: Essai sur l’histoire politique et économique de Palmyre. Paris. Frézouls, E., 1994: “Le rôle politique des femmes dans l’Histoire Auguste”. In Historiae Augustae Colloquium Genevense 1991. Bari. Pp. 121–136. Gaggero, G., 1996: “Memorie del passato nella propaganda politica di Zenobia” In A.F. Bellezza (ed.): Un incontro con la storia nel centenario della nascita di Luca de Regibus 1895–1995. Genova. Pp. 211–222. — 2005: “Nuove considerazioni su alcuni modelli femminili di Zenobia”. In L. Santi Amantini (ed.): Dalle parole ai fatti. Relazioni interstatali e comunicazione politica nel mondo antico. Roma. Pp. 109–119. Gawlikowski, M., 2007: “Odainat et Hérodien, rois des rois.” Mélanges de l’Université Saint-Joseph 60, 289–311. Geiger, M., 2013: Gallienus. Frankfurt am Main. Gilliam, J.F., 1970: “Three Passages in the Historia Augusta”. In Bonner Historia-Augusta-Colloquium 1968/69. Bonn. Pp 99–110. Girotti, B., 2011: “I ritratti di Zenobia nella Historia Augusta: tra simbologia e inventio”. In I. Baldini Lippolis / A.L. Morelli (eds.): Oggetti-simbolo: produzione, uso e significato nel mondo antico. Bologna. Pp. 195–209. Glas, T., 2014: Valerian. Kaisertum und Reformansätze in der Krisenphase des Römischen Reiches. Paderborn. Gnoli, T., 2007: The Interplay of Roman and Iranian Titles in the Roman East (1st–3rd Century A. D.). Wien. Goltz, A. / Hartmann, U., 2008: “Valerianus und Gallienus”. In K.-P. Johne (ed.): Die Zeit der Soldatenkaiser. Krise und Transformation des Römischen Reiches im 3. Jahrhundert n.Chr. Berlin. Pp. 223–295.

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Hächler, N., 2019: Kontinuität und Wandel des Senatorenstandes im Zeitalter der Soldatenkaiser. Prosopographische Untersuchungen zu Zusammensetzung, Funktion und Bedeutung des amplissimus ordo zwischen 235–284 n.Chr. Leiden. Harders, A.C., 2015: “Consort or despot? How to Deal with a Queen at the End of the Roman Republic and the Beginning of the Principate”. In H. Börm (ed.): Antimonarchic Discourse in Antiquity. Stuttgart. Pp. 181–214. Hartke, W., 1940: Geschichte und Politik im spätantiken Rom. Untersuchungen über die Scriptores Historiae Augustae. Leipzig. Hartmann, U., 2001: Das palmyrenische Teilreich. Stuttgart. — 2008a: “Claudius Gothicus und Aurelianus”. In K.-P. Johne (ed.): Die Zeit der Soldatenkaiser. Krise und Transformation des Römischen Reiches im 3. Jahrhundert n.Chr. Berlin. Pp. 297–323. — 2008b: “Das palmyrenische Teilreich”. In K.-P. Johne (ed.): Die Zeit der Soldatenkaiser. Krise und Transformation des Römischen Reiches im 3. Jahrhundert n.Chr. Berlin. Pp. 343–378. — 2016: “What was it like to be a Palmyrene in the Age of Crisis? Changing Palmyrene Identities in the Third Century AD”. In A. Kropp / R. Raja (eds.): The World of Palmyra. København. Pp. 53–69. — 2018: Der spätantike Philosoph. Die Lebenswelten der paganen Gelehrten und ihre hagiographische Ausgestaltung in den Philosophenviten von Porphyrios bis Damaskios, 3 vol. Bonn. Intagliata, E.E., 2018: Palmyra after Zenobia. 273–750: An Archaeological and Historical Reappraisal. Oxford. Janiszewski, P., 2006: The Missing Link. Greek Pagan Historiography in the Second Half of the Third Century and in the Fourth Century AD. Warsaw. Johne, K.-P., 1976: Kaiserbiographie und Senatsaristokratie. Untersuchungen zur Datierung und sozialen Herkunft der Historia Augusta. Berlin. Jones, P., 2016: “Rewriting Power: Zenobia, Aurelian, and the Historia Augusta”. Classical World 109, 221–233. Kaizer, T., 2005: “Odaenathus von Palmyra”. In M. Sommer (ed.): Politische Morde. Darmstadt. Pp. 73–79. Kalinka, E., 1900: “Inschriften aus Syrien”. JÖAI 3. Beiheft, 19–36. Kettenhofen, E., 1979: Die syrischen Augustae in der historischen Überlieferung. Bonn. Kotula, T., 1997: Aurélien et Zénobie. L’unité ou la division de l’Empire? Wrocław. Kowalski, S.P., 1997: “Late Roman Palmyra in Literature and Epigraphy”. Studia Palmyreńskie 10, 39–62. Krause, Chr., 2007: “Herrschaft und Geschlechterhierarchie. Zur Funktionalisierung der Zenobiagestalt und anderer Usurpatoren in den Viten der Historia Augusta”. Philologus 151, 311–334.

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Lippold, A., 2006: “Rolle und Bild der Frauen in der Historia Augusta”. In Chr. Ulf / R. Rollinger (eds.): Frauen und Geschlechter, vol. 1: Bilder – Rollen – Realitäten in den Texten antiker Autoren der römischen Kaiserzeit. Wien. Pp. 355–369. Long, J., 1996: “Two Sides of a Coin. Aurelian, Vaballathus, and Eastern Frontiers in the Early 270s”. In R.W. Mathisen / H.S. Sivan (eds.): Shifting Frontiers in Late Antiquity. Aldershot. Pp. 59–71. Männlein-Robert, I., 2001: Longin, Philologe und Philosoph. Eine Interpretation der erhaltenen Zeugnisse. München. Marasco, G., 1988: “Alcuni tyranni dell’epoca di Gallieno”. Sileno 14, 215–232. Milik, J.T., 1972: Dédicaces faites par des dieux (Palmyre, Hatra, Tyr). Recherches d’épigraphie proche-orientale, vol. 1. Paris. Millar, F., 1990: “The Roman Coloniae of the Near East”. In H. Solin / M. Kajava (eds.): Roman Eastern Policy and Other Studies in Roman History. Helsinki. Pp. 7–58. — 1993: The Roman Near East 31 BC – AD 337. Cambridge. Molinier Arbo, A., 2014: “Zénobie, reine de Palmyre. Quand une Orientale prend le pouvoir dans l’Histoire Auguste”. In A. Gonzales / M.T. Schettino (eds.): L’idéalisation de l’autre. Faire un modèle d’un anti-modèle. Besançon. Pp. 183–203. Müller, G., 2020: “Μείζονα πράγματα. Persians, Romans and Palmyra in Zosimus’ historiography”. In M. Sommer (ed.): Inter duo Imperia. Palmyra between East and West. Stuttgart. Pp. 109–128. Nadolny, S., 2016: Die severischen Kaiserfrauen. Stuttgart. Paschoud, F. (ed.), 1996: Histoire Auguste, vol. V 1: Vies d’Aurélien et de Tacite. Paris. — (ed.), 2011: Histoire Auguste, vol. IV 3: Vies des Trente Tyrans et de Claude. Paris. Potter, D.S., 2004: The Roman Empire at Bay, AD 180–395. London. Ratti, St., 2007: “Nicomaque Flavien senior auteur de l’Histoire Auguste”. In Historiae Augustae Colloquium Bambergense 2005. Bari. Pp. 305–317. Rösger, A., 1977: “Usurpatorenviten in der Historia Augusta”. In Bonner Festgabe Johannes Straub. Bonn. Pp. 359–393. Rohrbacher, D., 2016: The Play of Allusion in the Historia Augusta. Madison. Sartre, M., 1996: “Palmyre, cité grecque”. In Palmyra and the Silk Road (Annales Archéologiques Arabes Syriennes 42). Damascus. Pp. 385–405. — 2001: D’Alexandre à Zénobie. Histoire du Levant antique. Paris. Sartre[-Fauriat], A. / Sartre, M., 2014: Zénobie, de Palmyre à Rome. Paris. Savino, E., 2017: Ricerche sull’Historia Augusta. Napoli. Sehlmeyer, M., 2009: Geschichtsbilder für Pagane und Christen. Res Romanae in den spätantiken Breviarien, Berlin.

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Seland, E. H., 2016: Ships of the Desert and Ships of the Sea. Palmyra in the World Trade of the First Three Centuries CE. Wiesbaden. Seyrig, H., 1937: “Antiquités syriennes 19. Note sur Hérodien, prince de Palmyre”. Syria 18, 1–4, pl. VI. Smith II, A.M., 2013: Roman Palmyra. Identity, Community, and State Formation. Oxford. Sommer, M., 2005: Roms orientalische Steppengrenze. Palmyra – Edessa – Dura-Europos – Hatra. Eine Kulturgeschichte von Pompeius bis Diocletian. Stuttgart. — 2008: “Der Löwe von Tadmor. Palmyra und der unwahrscheinliche Aufstieg des Septimius Odaenathus”. Historische Zeitschrift 287, 281–318. — 2017: Palmyra. Biographie einer verlorenen Stadt. Darmstadt. Southern, P., 2008: Empress Zenobia. Palmyra’s Rebel Queen. London. Starcky, J. / Gawlikowski, M., 1985: Palmyre. Paris. Stein, A., 1923: “Kallinikos von Petrai”. Hermes 58, 448–456. Stoneman, R., 1992: Palmyra and Its Empire. Zenobia’s Revolt against Rome. Ann Arbor. Straub, J., 1963: Heidnische Geschichtsapologetik in der christlichen Spätantike. Untersuchungen über Zeit und Tendenz der Historia Augusta. Bonn. Strobel, K., 1993: Das Imperium Romanum im ‚3. Jahrhundert‘. Modell einer historischen Krise? Stuttgart. Syme, R., 1968: Ammianus and the Historia Augusta. Oxford. — 1971: Emperors and biography. Studies in the Historia Augusta. Oxford. Teixidor, J., 2005: “Palmyra in the Third Century”. In E. Cussini (ed.): A Journey to Palmyra. Collected Essays to Remember Delbert R. Hillers. Leiden. Pp. 181–225. Thomson, M., 2012: Studies in the Historia Augusta. Bruxelles. Tlass, M., 1986: Zénobie. Reine de Palmyre. Damas. Wallinger, E., 1990: Die Frauen in der Historia Augusta. Wien. Watson, A., 1999: Aurelian and the Third Century. London. Weingarten, J., 2017: “Zenobia in History and Legend”. In J. Aruz (ed.): Palmyra. Mirage in the Desert. New York. Pp. 130–145. Wieber, A., 2000: “Die Augusta aus der Wüste – die palmyrenische Herrscherin Zenobia”. In Th. Späth / B. Wagner-Hasel (eds.): Frauenwelten in der Antike. Geschlechterordnung und weibliche Lebenspraxis. Darmstadt. Pp. 281–310. — 2007: “Die Karawanenkönigin – Das Bild der Zenobia im modernen Roman.” In M. Korenjak / St. Tilg (eds.): Pontes IV. Die Antike in der Alltagskultur der Gegenwart. Innsbruck. Pp. 129–141. Will, E., 1992: Les Palmyréniens. La Venise des sables. Paris. Winsbury, R., 2010: Zenobia of Palmyra. History, Myth and the Neo-classical Imagination. London. Yon, J.-B., 2002: Les notables de Palmyre. Beyrouth.

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— 2002/03: “Zénobie et les femmes de Palmyre”. Annales Archéologiques Arabes Syriennes 45–46, 215–220. — (ed.), 2012: Palmyre. IGLS XVII, Fasc. 1. Beyrouth. Young, G.K., 2001: Rome’s Eastern Trade. London. Zahran, Y., 2003: Zenobia between Reality and Legend. Oxford. Zecchini, G., 1997: “I tyranni triginta: la scelta di un numero e le sue implicazioni.” In Historiae Augustae colloquium Bonnense 1994. Bari. Pp. 265–274. Abbreviations ANRW Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt. BNJ Brill’s New Jacoby. CIL Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum. CIS Corpus Inscriptionum Semiticarum. FHG Fragmenta Historicorum Graecorum. IGLS Inscriptions grecques et latines de la Syrie. IGR Inscriptiones Graecae ad res Romanas pertinentes. ILS Inscriptiones Latinae Selectae. Inv. Inventaire des inscriptions de Palmyre. OGIS Orientis Graeci Inscriptiones Selectae. PAT Palmyrene Aramaic Texts. PIR² Prosopographia Imperii Romani. PLRE Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire. RIC Roman Imperial Coinage.

“Earthly yoke”? The Estate of Valeria Melania Ireneusz Milewski1

In late antique sources we do not find much information about the estates of the Roman aristocracy. Thus, it is worth analyzing the accounts regarding the property of Melania the Younger, one of the richest women of her time, heir to the fortune of Valerii and Ceionii.2 We find information about her, and about her property, in two sources, written for aristocratic audiences to glorify adoption of an lifestyle: in Historia Lausiaca, a compendium of stories about saints, written about 419/420 by Palladius of Helenopolis and in Vita Melaniae Iunioris, written by Gerontius of Jerusalem, shortly after Melania’s death in 439. Despite the usual assurances of the authors that their accounts are credible, they are not free from many distortions. In other words, the way in which Gerontius and Palladius describe Melania’s activities is typical of hagiographic works, and therefore not always credible.3 We will show this primarily in relation to the way they determine the amounts of money. Obviously, they cannot be quoted without critical reflection. Unfortunately, we note the works of historians studying late antiquity who do not know the specifics of hagiographic texts. First, however, a few words about Melania the Younger.4 Melania was born around 385 (?) as a granddaughter of Melania the Elder (from gens Antonia)5 and Valerius Maximus Basilicus (from gens Valeria), a praefectus urbis at the time of Julian the Apostate.6 Melania’s father was Valerius Publicola, and mother Ceionia

1

This article was written with the financial support of the Polish National Science Centre (UMO-2015/17/B/HS3/00135). 2 Chausson, 2004: 94–98. 3 Uytfanghe, 1993: 135–188. 4 On Melania the Younger see: Pietri / Pietri, 1999–2000: 1483–1490 (Melania 2); Jones / Martindale / Morris, 1971: 593 (Melania 2); Clark, 1998: 19. 5 Jones / Martindale / Morris, 1971: 592. 6 Melania the Elder after the dead of her husband dedicated herself to ascetism and began to sell her possessions and the money obtained from sales was used for monastic foundations and for support to the church and the poor in Italy and in the Roman Est. In Egypt (where she spent two years, 372–374), she traveled to Alexandria and its environs, to the mountain of Nitria and the adjacent deserts, where she visited the numerous anachoretes. For over twenty years she also stayed in Palestine (from 374 to 399), cf. Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 46.1–2 and 55.1 Cf. also: Ensslin, 1931: 415 ff.; Murphy, 1947: 59–77; Moine 1980: 10–25; Elm, 1994: 253–310; Lenski, 2004: 93 ff.; Wilkinson, 2012: 166–184; Brown, 2012: 276–277; Bratož, 2018: 232–233.

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Albina.7 Both parents were Christians.8 Melania was the heir to the fortunes of two old Roman families: gens Valeria (after her father, Valerius Publicola, who died in 404)9 and gens Ceionia (together with her mother, Albina, a daughter of Ceionius Rufius Albinus, who held the office of the praefect of Rome from 389 to 391). Probably she was an only child but, according to Gerontius, she could have had siblings.10 Her husband Pinian (the son of the prefect of Rome, Severus), whom she married at the age of 1411, was also a member of the gens Valeria.12 As Palladius claimed, Melania had convinced her husband to embrace asceticism. They decided to live like “sister and brother”.13 It is worth noting that late antique sources, mostly Christian, above all expose the possessing and disposing of property by zealous Christian women, heirs of ancestral fortunes, who sold and distributed their property to the poor, bishoprics, and monasteries.14 Such examples create the misleading and wrong impression that this phenomenon was common.15 In fact, these are only isolated cases, although we admit, that they are unique due to the size of the possession given out. When trying to estimate the size of Melania the Younger’s estate, there are at least two things to keep in mind. First, Gerontius and Palladius, while describing the economic activity of Melania, knew her personally. Palladius used her hospitality in Rome (404–406)16, while Gerontius accompanied Melania for most of the last 30 years of her life. But most likely they did not have precise data about her estate. Secondly, the property of which both authors speak, belonged not only to Melania but also to her husband, Pinian, also the heir of the fortune of gens Valeria. In both accounts he is pushed into the background. Information about Melania’s estate appears in Gerontius on the occasion of reporting the circumstances in which she disposed of her property. It began in the city of Rome, most likely in 404 (after the death of her father Publicola17). As 7

Valerius Publicola: Pietri / Pietri, 1999–2000: 753 (Publicola 1). Ceionia Albina: Pietri / Pietri, 1999–2000: 33, 75–77 (Albina 2); Hinson, 1997: 319–324. 8 Grig, 2004: 203–230. 9 Heine, 2008: 152 ff. 10 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 12. 11 Unclear date of her marriage. According to Curran, 2000: 300, Melania had been married in 396, so at the age of 11 (?), which is very doubtful. Cf. also Dunn, 2014: 93. 12 Pietri / Pietri, 2000, 1798–1802 (Pinianus 2); Jones / Martindale / Morris, 1971: 702 (Pinianus 2); Curran, 2000: 300. 13 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 1–9. Cf. also Speyer, 1995: 208–227. 14 Brown, 1961: 1–11; Hopkins, 1965: 309–327; Mundy / Davidson, 2011: 303–326. 15 Brown, 1988: 153; Rapp, 1996: 313–316. 16 Hunt, 1973: 456–480; Fisher, 1991: 23–50; Clark, 1992: 22–23; Delmaire, 2005: 160; Cooper, 2007b: 165–166; Minets, 2017: 411–440. 17 According to Gerontius (Vita Melaniae Iunioris 12), Publicola probably was thinking of disinheriting Melania and redistributing her possessions, or actually her part of the inheritance, to “the other children”. Cf. also: Harries, 1991: 54–70; Barone-Adesi, 1993:

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soon as Publicola had died, she gained control of her inheritance, and the young couple moved into the house in Via Appia.18 According to Gerontius, at that time, Melania was giving away “handfuls of money” to the poor, and she hosted the homeless. On her command “large alms” were also sent to convicts in the “furthest provinces of the Empire”. It is true that such information should not be repeated uncritically, but convicts primarily relied on donations from their families or people like Melania. At that time, her extensive charity work was based on the sums of gold and silver accumulated in one of their houses in Rome.19 Around 406 Melania and her husband Pinian began to sell their property in the city of Rome and in its suburbs.20 According to Gerontius, this action aroused the resistance of some of the senators there, supported by the unnamed prefect of the city, most likely Pompeianus.21 His opposition to Melania’s actions provided influential bishops an excuse to call him a “pagan”. Although Gerontius does not explain which senators opposed the sale of property by Melania and Pinian, it can be assumed that among them were other members of gens Valeria and probably gens Ceionia.22 Obviously, it affected the mood, which allegedly further stirred up Pinian’s brother Severus. It is interesting that Gerontius, moved by the fate of the poor who benefited from support of Melania and Pinian, no longer shows such compassion to slaves, whose fate, as it seems, mattered little to him.23 Slaves were very concerned about the actions of the couple, particulary about the sales that would break up families or even just friendship between slaves. So Pinian’s slaves from his estates had appealed to their master to sell them to his brother Severus, which also happened.24 The other members of the Valerii and Ceionii families, and the other senatorial families, were also probably worried about the decrease in the value of their own estates. They wanted to stop Melania and Pinian from selling their possessions. Faced by the revolt of the slaves and to gain court favor for the sale of property by both spouses, Melania went to the court of Serena, the niece of Theodosius the Great and the wife of Stylicho.25 They both were quasi-regents of the Western 230–265; Humfress, 2017: 17. 18 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae iunioris 6. Cf. also Laniado, 2009: 15–43; Grossmann / Dey, 2012: 1088. 19 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 9. 20 According to Dunn, 2014: 97: “this would have been in 402 or 403”. This chronology must be rejected. 21 Pietri / Pietri, 1999–2000: 897–898 (Pompeianus 2); PCBE 2, 1810–1811 (Pompeianus 1). Cf. also Chastagnol, 1960: 447. 22 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 10. Cf. also Drijvers, 1987: 260261; Arjava, 1996: 159–1–61. 23 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 10. 24 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 10. 25 Salzman, 2006: 354.

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Empire during the tenure of the child emperor Honorius.26 As an argument for the intention to sell off Italian estates, Gerontius gives a rather peculiar explanation, namely that it would calm the sentiments among slaves in the Melania’s estate, not only in Rome and on her suburban estate on Via Appia but also in Campania, Spain, Sicily27, Africa, Mauretania, Britain, and “the other lands”.28 But her audience at Serena’s court was not only concerned with the “danger of a slave revolt”. Melania may have also petitioned for venia aetatis29, the privilege entitling the minor to the rights and liabilities of a person of full age, including to sell her property.30 Melania came to Serena’s court thanks to the mediation of “holy bishops”, whom Gerontius does not mention by name.31 The audience at Serena’s court probably took place in late 406 or, at the latest, in 407. This supposition is justified only by one tip, namely the information from Palladius of Helenopolis about the low prices of slaves in Italy at the beginning of the fifth century. Slaves from Melania’s and Pinian’s lands were sold for “three gold pieces” per person (in other words, really cheap), and others 8000 slaves were manumitted.32 Admittedly this information, cannot be taken literally, but the low price for these “goods” at that time was most likely caused by the “flooding” of the local slave market by the Gothic prisoners, warriors of Radagais, captured in 406 in Italy.33 According to Gerontius, Melania brought jewels and precious crystal vases as gifts for Serena, Stylichon’s “pious wife”, and other valuable items, including rings, silver and silk fabrics. She distributed them among cubicularii and door keepers.34 When Melania stood before Serena, she explained the matter: Severus, Pinian’s brother, wanted to “take control” of her husband’s estate. Gerontius, however, does not explain how they wanted to do that. He admits that he was helped by “certain senators” who “wanted to get rich this way”35, which is of course Gerontius’s invention, confirming the nobility of Melania and Pinian’s activity and the low motives of those who wanted to stop selling estates by “pious 26

Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 11. Cf. also Brown, 2012: 297. According to Vita Melaniae Iunioris (latinae) 18.4 (ed. Laurence, 190), Melania had in Sicily “sexaginta villas circa se habentes quadrigintenos servos agricultores”. The Greek version of Vita did not include the number of slaves. Cf. also Filippini, 2015: 168. 28 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 11. Cf. Dunn, 2014: 101. 29 Grubbs, 2002: 50. 30 Saller, 1994: 190; Arjava, 1998: 147–165; Kleijwegt, 2004: 891; Cooper, 2007a: 24– 25; Alberici / Harlow, 2007: 193–203; Brown, 2012: 296. 31 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 11. Cf. also Moine, 1980: 54–55, 59, 61; Sirago,1985: 381–386. 32 Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 61.5. It is worth noting that Gerontius does not mention the manumission of Melania’s slaves. 33 Milewski, 2018: 12–13. 34 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 11. 35 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 11. 27

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spouses”. Gerontius is silent or unaware of the fact that the sale of so many large estates in the West, struggling with a lack of gold and silver, probably contributed to the fall of the prices of real estate, including possessions of the other senators. It was probably this fear that was the main reason for the reaction of the Italian aristocracy to the sale of property by Melania and Pinian, not the religious considerations that Gerontius claims.36 Therefore, anyone who opposed this intention is called by him “miscreant” or “pagan”. According to Gerontius, Serena, having learned about the actions taken by the “sinister senators” supported Melania’s attempts to protect her patrimony against familial claims. She referred the case to Honorius, who allegedly proclaimed an imperial edict that “in every province” local officials (“governors and ministers”) would agree on the sale of her goods under threat of no specific punishment for opposing the emperor’s decisions and that the gold and silver from the sale should be “safely delivered” to Melania and Pinian.37 Let us recall where her estates were located. Gerontius listed Melania’s estates in the city of Rome, and in its vicinity, next in Campania, Sicily, Spain, Britain, Africa Proconsularis, Mauretania, Numidia and in the “other provinces”.38 Palladius added lands in Aquitaine (Gaul) and in Tarragona (Spain).39 Although Gerontius assures us that Honorius issued this edict, it has not survived to our times. This does not mean, however, that it was not published. It cannot be ruled out that since the whole action was covered by the patronage of Serena, local officials were indeed obliged to securely deliver, to the agreed place, sums obtained from the sale of Melania’s lands. According to Tido Janssen, that regulation was indeed issued by the young emperor in the absence of Stylicho at the imperial court in Ravenna.40 I suppose, however, that finding buyers for such large estates at the beginning of the fifth century would have been extremely difficult.41 According to Gerontius, Melania sold all these estates (with the exception of her possessions in Africa Proconsularis, Numidia, Mauretania, Spain and Gaul), and the money from the sale went to the East. Palladius, on the other hand, claimed that the spouses did not sell all their estates in Sicily and in Campania.42 During that audience, after a request for permission to sell the estate by Melania (and Pinian) was sent to the court of Honorius, Melania ordered their servants to bring gifts and, according to Gerontius, she said to Serena: “Accept from us small blessings (in meaning “gifts”)”. According to him also, not only 36

Matthews, 1990: 290. For the role of barbarian invasions in the economy of the Roman West in the fourth and fifth centuries, see also Wickham, 1984: 15–20. 37 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 12 (transl. by E.A. Clark, 37) 38 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 11 and 20. 39 Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 61.5. 40 Janßen, 2004: 161 41 Banaji, 2001: 3940; Duncan-Jones, 1990: 121–1–42. 42 Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 61.6.

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did Serena not accept anything, but she also threatened that if anyone of her court took anything, even “one goldpiece”, it would be the “theft of godly matters” and “he will commit a sacrilege”. Instead, she expressed the wish that the gifts offered to her should be sold as “God’s property”, and the money obtained in this way should be given to the poor and “saints” (bishops).43 One of many “pious” stories in early Byzantine hagiographic texts. Melania, after the audience at Serena’s court, tried to sell Pinian’s luxurious mansion on the Celian Hill in Rome.44 With the help of the “holy bishops”, the purchase of this house was offered to Serena, but she refused, unable to pay the sum requested. According to Gerontius, she said to the intermediaries: “I do not think I have the means to buy the house at its true value”. The bishops (also in this case called “saints”) convinced Serena to buy only a few precious marble statues. However, the house could not be sold. It was devastated in 410 by the Visigoths, and then sold, according to Gerontius, for less than nothing, because it was burned during the sack of Rome.45 Although this is not the subject of our study, it is worth considering what real relations connected Serena with Melania and Pinian and whether their leaving to Italy in 408 (or maybe only in 410) was only caused by “desire to reach holy places” in the East (where they arrived in 417). Perhaps rather, it was a capital transfer from Italy and from other western provinces, first to Africa, because of the Visigoths’ invasion and the weakening political position of Serena, benefactor of Melania and Pinian? Serena, with her husband, Stilicho46, was blamed for the attack of the barbarians and was condemned to death by the Senate.47 When Melania and Pinian reached Africa, they showed generosity to the local bishoprics, above all in Thagaste, they stayed there for seven or maybe for ten years (in both cases, the time intervals are questionable), then quite suddenly moved on to a further journey to the East, just away from the barbarian threat approaching Africa (when the Vandals and Visigoths had taken all of Spain). At this point in Vita Melaniae graeca, Gerontius gives more detailed information on Pinian’s estate, although only that located in Italy. In the time before Visigoths’ invasion, the annual income from his Italian estates was estimated at 120,000 gold pieces.48 The Latin version of Vita ascribed this income to Melania. 43

Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 13 (transl. by E.A. Clark, 37). Cf. Giardina, 1988: 127–142. 44 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 14. According to Vita Melaniae Iunioris 14 (latinae), the house belonged to both spouses. Probably it was the so-called domus Valeriorum, cf. Wittern, I994: 44; Spera, 2013: 170. 45 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 14 (transl. by E.A. Clark). 46 First of all, Stylicho, executed in Ravenna on August 22, 408, was blamed for his “disastrous mishandling of Alaric”, cf. Brown, 2012: 298. 47 Demandt / Brummer, 1977: 479–502; Salzman, 2006: 356; Heather, 2006: 216–217. 48 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 15.

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It must be admitted that this is not a large sum of money, a little for such a big fortune. So maybe we have a mistake in this case, and maybe Gerontius had meant 120,000 pounds of gold? On the other hand, it should be remembered that Pinian was a member of family, which was only a branch of the powerful gens Valeria, and, besides, in this case we are talking only about income from his Italian estates. As Gerontius claimed, Pinian’s estate was so large that it “cannot be estimated.” However, it was successively sold and the distribution of the money was handled by “trusted bishops”, probably the same who appear in earlier parts of Vita Melaniae (during a visit to Serena’s court or in the mediation over the sale of Pinian’s house in Rome). On this occasion, Gerontius gives the amounts of money which once were sent by Pinian’s to the churches in the eastern provinces: 40,000 solidi, 30,000, 20,000 and 10,000 as well as the unspecified “rest of gold”.49 I think that the gradation of the amounts mentioned above is not accidental, and the account of Gerontius, although it confirms the transfer of large sums of money to the East, should not be taken literally. After a brief description of Pinian’s property and income from his Italian possessions, Gerontius describes Melania’s estate. At one time in 406 in one of her houses in Rome, she collected 45,000 pieces of gold from the sale of parts of her local real estate (houses with gardens). Melania donated the obtained gold to the poor and “saints” (bishops).50 After selling the rest of her property in Rome, she decided “with her charity to go beyond Italy”. Gerontius lists the beneficiaries of her generosity, namely the bishoprics of Mesopotamia, Syria, Palestine, Egypt, Pentapolis and “other provinces”. Here, a supplement to Gerontius is the account of Palladius of Helenopolis. He claimed that Melania, through her “trusted clergyman”, Paul from Dalmatia, transferred the following sums to the East: to Jerusalem, Egypt and Thebaida 10,000 solidi, to Antioch and to the other Syrian bishoprics 10,000 solidi, to Palestinian bishoprics (except Jerusalem) 15,000 solidi, while between the unspecified “Churches on the islands”, and also among the clergy in exile 10 000 solidi were distributed.51 Further, Palladius’s account regarding Melania’s generosity is not very clear. He states that the same amount (10,000 or 45,000 solidi counting all the amounts mentioned above?) Melania distributed to the bishoprics in the West and as Palladius claimed: “all this, and four times as much, she snatched, if God will allow the expression, out of the mouth of the lion Alaric by her faith”.52 With this last statement, Palladius confirms that the above mentioned sums were obtained only from the sale of her Italian estates, probably including those belonging to Pinian. Gerontius and Palladius presented Melania’s sale of lands in Italy and in other western provinces as providential. Gerontius, on the occasion of describing the circumstances in which 49

Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 15. Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 17. 51 Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 61.4. Cf. also Dunn, 2014: 94. 52 Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 61.5 (translated by E. C. Butler, 168). 50

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Melania sent considerable sums of money to the East, mentions the unknown monk Tigrinus. With his help, Melania bought several houses in Constantinople, in which monasteries for men and women were arranged.53 Melania, after selling many of her estates in Rome, Italy and Spain, sailed to Africa, shortly before Alaric’s invasion of Italy.54 It seems that Gerontius intentionally emphasized this fact. As in the case of Palladius’s account, he confirmed that Melania’s decisions regarding the sale of estate in Italy were correct, that they had been sold in fulfillment of “Christ’s command”.55 Once again, the opponents of Melania and Pinian, unnamed senators, chaired by the aforementioned “pagan prefect”, become active. According to Gerontius, he submitted to the senate a project regarding the confiscation of Melania’s property.56 Gerontius does not explain why this should be done, although indirectly from his account it can be deduced that, this was a kind of “punishment” for the sale of her estates and distribution of money to the Church and the poor. One would like to say, another pious history like many in early Byzantine hagiographic texts. The reason for the action of senators in this case was different, namely to collect money to pay of the Alaric during the siege of the city of Rome.57 Because of Pinian’s and Melania’s association with Serena (who was put to death in late 408), their estate seemed probably easier to confiscate than the property of other still influential families (e.g. the estate of still powerful Roman family, the Anici).58 It is a fact that the praefect of Rome, to face Alaric’s demands, had turned to the wealth of senatorial families. Gerontius absurdly portrayed this as a personal attack on Melania. Pompeianus, the prefect of the city (who was, according to Melania’s biographer, “a very ardent pagan”)59 decided with the entire Senate to appropriate Melania’s and Pinian’s estates (or only their city property?) for the public treasury60. Gerontius confirms something else. In his account Melania seemed completely uninterested in aiding her fellow citizens, to defend the city from the barbarian assault. Otherwise, it cannot be ruled out that Melania’s relations with Serena were also an excuse for an attempt to confiscate her (or their) property in Rome. However, the Roman plebs, the main beneficiary of Melania’s generosity

53

Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 19. Cf. also Rubenson, 2012: 1046–1047. Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 10–14. Cf. also Cloke, 1995: 36–37. 55 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae iunioris 19: “Everybody praised the Lord of all things, saying: ‘Lucky are the ones who anticipated what was to come and sold their possessions before the arrival of the barbarians!’” (transl, by E.A. Clark, 42). 56 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 19. 57 Zosimos, Historia nova 6.7.4. 58 Demandt / Brummer, 1977: 479–502; Matthews, 1990: 290; Curran, 2000: 309; Brown, 2012: 298. 59 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 19 (transl, by E.A. Clark, 42). Cf. also Chastagnol, 1960: 447. According to Barnes, 1976: 385, Pompeianus was “a Christian”. 60 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 19. 54

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in the time of the bread shortage61, “by God’s providence”, found out about the prefect’s intention, captured him, and stoned him to death. One could say: a deserved, almost biblical, punishment for “the pagan”. Due to riots in the city and the prefect’s death, the “other Roman senators” also abandoned their efforts to confiscate Melania’s estate.62 The event described above was an opportunity for Gerontius to emphasize once again Melania’s righteousness and “just punishment” for those who wanted to prevent her from distributing wealth to the poor and the clergy. The above account also shows that, contrary to Gerontius’s earlier assurances of selling all Italian goods, Melania and Pinian, leaving Italy in 408 or maybe only in 410, still had estates there, like the magnificent house, which could not be bought even by Serena. The spouses fled the city of Rome for their estates in Campania63 and then continued their journey from Italy towards Palestine, through Sicily (where they also sold some of their lands). During this part of their journey, on or near “unnamed islands”, we note their dealings with pirates and the purchase of abducted captured. Melania spent 3000 gold pieces on ransom (2,500 for the inhabitants of the islands and an additional 500 solidi for freeing “one distinquished woman”, unknown by name).64 After arriving in Africa (probably in late 410), in the region of Thagaste (where they held estates), the spouses continued to sell their property in Numidia, Mauretania and Africa Proconsularis65, and the money obtained in this way was allocated to buy out another captives and to support the poor in the cities where they stayed.66 According to Gerontius, the bishops of Thagaste (Alypius) and Carthage (Aurelius) urged Melania and Pinian to be more generous, promising of the “heavenly benefits” for such an action. Among the largest beneficiaries of Melania’s generosity was Thagaste, where she founded, on her estate, a monastery (numbering 130 nuns) and a monastery (80 monks).67 Among the gifts received by the bishopric of Thagaste we note also large sums of gold and silver (“silverware”), silken robes (of Melania), and the financing of various equipment for local church.68 The decrease in the cash she had, was already quite significant, but they still possessed substantial property.69 Melania stayed in Africa allegedly for seven years, all the time generously supporting the

61

Harries, 1984: 67–68. Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 19. Cf. also Dunn, 2009: 319–333. 63 Their stay in Campania is mentioned by Melania's cousin, Pauline bishop of this city, cf. Paulinus Nolanus, Carmina 21, 836–838. 64 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 19 (transl by E.A. Clark, 42). Cf. also Milewski, 2017: 151–154. 65 Jones, 1964: 782. 66 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 19–20. Cf. also Filippini, 2015: 166. 67 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 20, 22. Cf. also Rubenson, 2012: 1051–1052. 68 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 21. Cf. also Cooper, 2007: 165–189. 69 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 22. 62

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local churches and monasteries.70 In the meantime however, Melania must have received a new cash, quite a lot of money, from the administrators of her estates, because after seven years spent in Africa71, reaching Jerusalem, she was again in possession of significant amounts of gold and silver.72 In this part of Vita graeca, Gerontius returns to the property that Melania still owned in the West. So, he claimed, because of the barbarian threat some of her western estates could not be sold, and that some of her “trusted administrators”, a few years after Alaric’s invasion of Italy, sold her estates in Spain (in province of Tarraconensis).73 Since Melania left Rome in late 408 (or in 410) and since Gerontius assures us that she spent the next seven years in Africa, the sale of her Spanish estates should be dated at 415 or at the latest at 417. Hagiographic texts frequently use the numbers 1, 3, and 7, and thus their use for money and number of years is admittedly unreliable. However, if the aforementioned chronological indication was justified (namely, that seven years after leaving Italy, Melania also decided to sell the rest of her Spanish estates), then her activities related to the disposal of the property acquired, in addition to religious, also economic justification. At that time Visigoths of Athaulf were approaching Spain, the same barbarians, who in A.D. 408–410 plundered Italy under the Alaric’s command, including Melania’s estates. In other words, despite the fact that Gerontius emphasizes the religious considerations of Melania by selling her Spanish estates, equally important, if not more important, were economic considerations, namely the sale of these estates before they were plundered by invaders. Probably the administrators of her property informed their employer that the Spanish estates were under threat of barbarian invasion and that an attempt should be made to save even a part of her property there. Let us also remember that the other Roman families had also the same dilemma, including those who were not Christians or even Christians who did not intend to dispose of their property for the benefit of the poor or the Church.74 Not all Christians at this time were as zealous as our couple, manifesting their attachment to the new religion through disposing of their property in order to obtain “celestial nobilitas”. So how can the scale of Melania’s and Pinian’s activities be explained? Were they just following the words of the Gospel and wanted to get rid of all worldly things, or was their behavior related at least partially to the great popularity of pelaganism in the West at that time, which preached a radical ascetism?75

70

Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 30, 34. Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 34. Cf. also Brown, 2002: 56; Dunn, 2014: 113. 72 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 35. Cf. also Clark, 1989: 170; Harries, 1984: 56. 73 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 37. 74 Coster, 1959: 146–159. 75 Brown, 1970: 56–72; Brown, 2005: 18; Harries, 1984: 55–56, 62; Coon, 1997: 1–27, 95–119; Brown, 2012: 3–30, 291–308; Dunn, 2014: 93; Löhr, 2016: 3–5. 71

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An anonymous administrator, “a trusted servant”, who around 415 sold the Spanish estates of Melania, brought the money thus obtained to Jerusalem, but it was, as Gerontius claimed, “a little money”.76 Melania gave this gold and silver to charity and bishoprics in Palestine, and then she went to the Egyptian desert, where visiting the coenobitic communities she also supported them financially.77 After returning from Egypt, Melania settled in Jerusalem for good. She financed there her most successful foundations, monasteries on the Mount of Olives.78 The conclusion is, that she was still in possession of considerable sums of money.79 According to Gerontius, in the last years of her life Melania no longer had any free funds, and no one from the West contacted her in matters of her property. I suppose, however, that until 417 she could not sell all her possessions in the Western Roman Empire. This supposition seems to be confirmed by Palladius. In Historia Lausiaca, written in 419/420, he states that Melania and her mother Albina (from gens Ceionia) were not in Palestine but they lived in one of their estates in Sicily or in Campania (according to Gerontius, Melania sold these estates in 408 or in 410), creating there, with “fifteen eunuchs and sixty virgins”, some kind of “ascetic community”.80 Palladius had no reason to confabulate in this case. However, the question remains, why Gerontius does not mention this fact. It cannot be excluded that Melania, after spending several years in Jerusalem, had decided to go to Italy, when the threat of barbaric raids passed there, to personally supervise the sale of the rest of her estates, in Campania or in Sicily. An attempt to estimate the size of the estate of Melania the Younger (and Pinian) The accounts of Gerontius and Palladius analyzed above, mostly quite laconic, are the only ones regarding the property of Melania the Younger and her husband Pinian. Do they allow us to estimate, at least approximately, the size of Melania’s estate? Unfortunately, this information must be considered together with data regarding the property of Pinian. The data provided by Gerontius and Palladius refer to the property of both spouses, who, as we remember, were the heirs of gens Valeria. What do we know about the size of this estate? The possessions of the family were located in almost all provinces of the Roman West, but we do not know what their real size was nor what income they brought.81 The account of Geroncius, who described one of Melania’s possessio (probably in Sicily)82, gives 76

Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 37. Cf. also Brown, 2012: 300. Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 37–38, 58. 78 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 41. Cf. also: Chitty, 1966: 46–51; Rubenson, 2012: 1038. 79 Clark, 1989: 56; Bar, 2005: 49–65. 80 Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 61.6. 81 Harper, 2016: 43–61. 82 The magnificent estate was located probably near Messina, opposite Reggio (di Ca77

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us an idea of how great and wonderful they were. But let’s give the voice to the owner herself: “We had an extraordinary piece of property, and on it was a bath that surpassed any worldly splendor. On one side of it was the sea, and on the other, a forest with diverse vegetation in which wild boar, deer, gazelles, and other animals used to graze. From the pool, the bathers could see boats sailing on one side and the animals in the wood on the other. Therefore the Devil found in this another opportune pretext. ‘He set before me,’ she said, ‘the variety of statues there and the inestimable income that derived from the estate itself.’ For there were sixty-two households around the bath.”83 As far as I know, this is the only such description in late antique texts. Although quite detailed, it does not allow even an approximate estimation of the value of described possessio. Gerontius, but only in Vita latinae, described also another one rural estate of Melania, and namely her possesio in African Thagaste. According to the Latin text, it was an estate, which brought in an anormous income (possessionem multum praestantem reditum), an estate larger than the city itself (possessio maior erat etiam civitatis ipsius), with a bath and numerous craftsmen (habens balneum, artifices multos), including gold-, silver-, and coppersmiths (aurifices, argentarios, et aerarios). On huge estate there were also the seats of two bishops: Catholic and “Heretic”, probably Donatist (et duos episcopos, unum nostrae fidei et alium haereticorum).84 But let us return to the attempt to estimate the size of Melania’s estate. Apart from Gerontius and Palladius, we do not have much information about the size of the estates of the late Roman aristocracy and the incomes derived from it. The exception is the account of Olympiodorus of Thebes, a Greek historian living in the fifth century, the author of History, a history of the Western Empire from 407 to 425.85 The data provided by him is contemporary to accounts of Gerontius and Palladius. According to the historian from Thebes, in many Roman senatorial families, the annual income was about 4,000 pounds of gold, not counting the income from grain, wine and other food products. As Olympiodorus claimed, if the aforementioned commodities were also sold, it would give a total annual income of around 12,000 pounds of gold.86 In other words, the richest Roman fam-

labria), cf. Rampolla, 1905: 179. A proposal for another location, namely in Campania, cf. Harper, 2011: 194. 83 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 18 (transl. by E.A. Clark, 40). According to Vita latinae 18.4 (Laurence, 190), described estate habebat sexaginta villas (sixty villas) and there were 400 slaves (circa se habentes quadringentenos servos agricultores). 84 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris lat. 21.4 (Laurence, 194). Cf. also Life of Melania, transl. by E.A. Clark, 190 (note 27) and Fraschetti, 2001: 198; Harper, 2011: 194–195. 85 Matthews, 1970: 79–97; Baldwin, 1980: 212–231; Stickler, 2014: 85–102. 86 Photius, Bibliothèke 80 (= Olympiodorus).

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ilies, among which were also Valerii and Ceionii, reached an annual income of up to 16,000 pounds of gold, i.e. slightly more than 1 152,000 solidi. This is almost ten times the income of Pinian from his Italian estates. But the annual income of 120 000 solidi, does not need to be taken literally, and besides, in this case we are talking about income only from his Italian estates. Let us return, however, to Olympiodorus. He calculated the income of less wealthy Roman families at between 1000 and 1500 pounds of gold.87 To confirm this data, he cites the expenses incurred by Western Roman aristocrats in the fifth century in connection with their public functions. He mentions that Probus, son of Olympius, who was holding the office of praetor during the usurpation of emperor Joannes (423–425), spent 1200 pounds of gold on organizing various public shows. Meanwhile, the well-known senator Symmachus allegedly spent 2,000 pounds of gold financing the expenditure of his son, Symmachus, who held the office of praetor in 406.88 Maximus, the “Italian rich man”, as Olympiodorus calls him, broke them all. On the expenses of his son, who also held the office of praetor, he spent as much as 4,000 pounds of gold.89 How does this data relate to other sums exchanged in connection with the turmoil in Italy in the early fifth century? I mean here the ransom paid to Alaric, the Visigoth king. In the years 408 to 410, in the time when Melania and Pinian sold some of their Roman estates, to Alaric was paid by a Roman senate a huge sums: over 9,000 pounds of gold and 30,000 pounds of silver, of which 4,000 in 408 (for abandoning the first siege of Rome), and another 5,000 pounds and huge amounts of precious items were handed over next time, trying to dissuade the Visigoth king from intending to capture of the city.90 Both the alleged income of the Roman aristocracy of his time, mentioned by Olympiodorus, as well as information about the property of Melania and Pinian seem to be reasonable, although not much can be said about the size of their estate. The data we have, does not allow us to determine it. Concluding remarks Information about Melania’s life and activity, which we find in Vita Melaniae Iunioris (graeca et latina) and in Historia Lausiaca confirms that hagiographic texts, as a historical sources, have many cognitive defects. They are characterized, among others, by the silence concerning many facts from the life of their hero (or heroes), by the repetition of topical values in determining the amounts of money, time intervals or distances. It is no different in the case of Melania and Pinian. On the basis of accounts of Gerontius and Palladius, which are the only sources for estimating the size of Melania’s estate, we are not able to do this, firstly due to the lack of precise data and secondly, we do not know how many estates of gens 87

Photius, Bibliothèke 80 (= Olympiodorus). Vera, 1986: 231–276. 89 Jones, 1964: 185. 90 Brown, 2012: 294. 88

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Valeria and gens Ceionia was owned by her. As Geroncius’ accounts show, attempts to take Melania’s property by her relatives, from a childless ascetic Christian woman, intensified after the death of her father Publicola. Probably these circumstances affected Melania’s sudden sale of her estates, first in Rome and its suburbs, and next in Italy (including lands in Campania). By disassociating the estates from her family, Melania undermined any attempts of Valerii to change the ownership of her estate. This action undoubtedly shows her great wisdom or even cleverness. However, the question remains whether Melania came up with this idea or whether her mother Ceionia Albina or some one else advised her such a solution. Her undoubted ability to find oneself in a complicated political and social situation confirms that she perfectly coped with various difficulties related to managing such large assets, and the ownership of the property, contrary to what was already widely claimed at the time, was not an obstacle to her pursuit of a “perfect life”. Hence the “question mark” in the title to the above study. Ceionii and Valerii, the aristocratic families from which Melania came, were the most powerful in the Roman world, and owned estates throughout the whole empire. Belonging to these families, however, came with certain restrictions, especially for women. But the example of Melania shows, that Christian asceticism gave aristocratic women in late antiquity the ability to make choices in their life.91 Because of their economic power, Christian aristocratic women were able to redefine their social roles through their religious aspirations and decisions92, sometimes through establishing own communities, also on their own estates, for example the monastic communities founded in Thagaste by the couple93. With their foundations in Africa (after 408–410) and in the East (after 415–417), they made a very wise decision.94 Primarily, Melania and Pinian kept their wealth safe from the barbarian invasions and invested their money in still stable provinces (in Africa and in Palestine). It should be also noted that the spouses always sold their estates in western provinces at the right moment95, when the barbarian invasions had not yet devastated land prices. It was very important because their lands in the West lay in the path of the raids of Visigoths and Vandals (who, however, reached also Africa in 429). In the action of Melania and Pinian, in the circumstances and the way they sold their property in the West (a sudden sale of estates), we see a well-thoughtout strategy96, but their case also does not exclude other benefits. Melania and Pinian, as zealous Christians, by disposing of their fortune in charitable works, 91

Salzman, 1989: 207–220. Yarbrough, 1976: 149–165. 93 Salzman, 2004: 69–137, 151; Elliott, 1993: 52–55. 94 Talbot, 1990: 119–129. 95 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 19. 96 Clark, 1989: 167–183. 92

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probably hoped to gain something more valuable for them, namely a “heavenly benefits”. Like Peter Brown claims: “Everyone could see, how treasure on earth became treasure in heaven”.97 However, we should not forget that a Christian charity, like ancient (“pagan”) euergetism, was also an investment in social capital, also in profitable friendships with members of the imperial family and Christian aristocracy, both in the West and in the East. But first of all, Melania and Pinian reinvested their estate in the more stable provinces, first in Africa and then in the East (in the city of Constantinople and in Palestine) and it should be noted that the principals beneficiaries of their activity were not the poor but the monastic communities. Economicaly, it was a very wise decision. Using the support of Serena and emperor Honorius, Melania had control over own patrimony (after the death of her father, Publicola) and use it for her investments, and for charity in the city of Rome. And when Melania sold a large part of her estate, she fled from the endangered Italy, with her husband Pinian, to Campania and then to Sicily, and after a few years in Africa they reached the eastern provinces. Analyzing the accounts of Gerontius and Palladius, we see that Melania, a Christian aristocratic woman, quite easy found her place in the complicated political situation of the first decades of the 5th century. Her case shows that cultivation of good relationships with the imperial court and other rulers (like Serena and Stilicho in the West) was an important element of economical and political strategy. But the city of Rome at the beginning of the fifth century was no longer an imperial capital (at least since the time of the first tetrarchy), and Italy was just one of many provinces of the Roman world. The “political heart” of the Roman Empire was already beating in the East, in Constantinople, where Melania also visited and where she established a friendly relations with Eudocia, a “pious wife” of emperor Theodosius the II98 and with local influencial Christian aristocrats (among others with cubicularius Lausos).99 It should be noted that Melania and Pinian sold their estates in the troubled West (especially in Italy, Gaul and in Spain), always one step before the invading barbarians: before Alaric’s invasion of Italy (in 408–410) and before the Visigoths and Vandals invaded Gaul and Spain (413–415).100 This remark seems to confirm that they had been perfectly oriented in development of the political situation. Gerontius and Palladius primarily emphasized the role of Melania in these activities, as a smart and clever manager of their property. The practicing asceticism combined with making wise financial and political decisions gave her, as an aristocratic Christian woman, a full control over own inherited wealth.101 97

Brown, 2012: 300. Clark, 1982: 141–156; Drijvers, 2020: 92. 99 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae Iunioris 53. Cf. also Bardill, 1997: 67–95. 100 Bachrach, 1969: 354–358; Barnish, 1986: 120–155; Burns, 1992: 362–373; Kulikowski, 2000: 325–345; Schwarcz, 2001: 15–28. 101 Cf. also Clark, 1995: 356–380; Humfress, 2017: 17 (“Melania … have practiced an 98

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Bibliography Sources Gerontius. Vita Melaniae Iunioris: Greek edition: Gorce, D. 1962. Vie de Sainte Mélanie. Text grec, introduction, traduction et notes, Sources Chrétiennes 90. Paris. Gerontius, The Life of Melania the Younger, Introduction, Translation, and Commentary by E.A. Clark. New York / Toronto 1984. Latin edition: Laurence, P., 2002. La Vie Latine de Sainte Mélanie: Edition critique, traduction et commentaire. Jerusalem. Palladius. Historia Lausiaca. A Critical Discussion Together with Notes on Early Egyptian Monachism. ed. with commentary E. C. Bulter. Cambridge 1904. Paulinus Nolanus, Carmina, Hartel, W. (ed.), 1984. Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum 30. Vienna. Photius, Bibliothèke, ed. R. Henry. Paris 1959. Zosimos, Historia nova, ed. F. Paschoud. Paris 2000. Secondary literature Alberici, L. / Harlow, M., 2007: “Age and Innocence: Female Transitions to Adulthood in Late Antiquity”. Hesperia Supplements 41, 193–203. Arjava, A., 1996: Women and Law in Late Antiquity. Oxford. — 1998: “Paternal Power in Late Antiquity”. The Journal of Roman Studies 88, 147–165. Bachrach, B. S., 1969: “Another Look at the Barbarian Settlement in Southern Gaul.” Traditio 25, 354–358. Baldwin, B., 1980: “Olympiodorus of Thebes”. L’Antiquite Classique 49, 212– 231. Banaji, J., 2001: Agrarian Change in Late Antiquity: Gold, Labour, and Aristocratic Dominance. Oxford. Bar, D., 2005: “Rural Monasticism as a Key Element in the Christianization of Byzantine Palestine”. The Harvard Theological Review 98, 49–65. Bardill, J., 1997: “The Palace of Lausus and Nearby Monuments in Constantinople: A Topographical Study”. American Journal of Archaeology 101, 67–95. Barnes, T.D., 1976: „The Historical Setting of Prudentius’ Contra Symmachum”. American Journal of Philology 97, 373–386. Barnish, S.J.B., 1986: “Taxation, Land and Barbarian Settlement in the Western Empire”. Papers of the British School at Rome 54, 120–155. Barone-Adesi, G., 1993: “Dal dibattito cristiano sulla destinazione dei beni economici alla configurazione in termini di persona delle venerabiles domus destinate piis causis”, Atti dell’ Accademia Romanistica Costantiniana 9, 230– 265.

‘antifamilial’ radical ascetism in order to develop new forms of estate planning”).

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Bratož, R., 2018: “Rufinus von Aquileia”. RAC 2018, Lieferung 227–228, 231– 246. Brown, P., 1961: “Aspects of the Christianization of the Roman Aristocracy”. The Journal of Roman Studies 51, 1–11. — 1970: “The Patrons of Pelagius. The Roman Aristocracy between Est and West”. Journal of Theological Studies 21, 56–72. — 1988: The Body and Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity. New York. — 2002: Poverty and Leadership in the Later Roman Empire. Hannover / London. — 2012. Through the Eye of a Needle: Wealth, the Fall of Rome, and the Making of Christianity in the West, 350–550 AD. Princeton. Burns, V., 1992: “The Visigothic Settlement in Aquitania: Imperial Motives”. Historia: Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte 41/3, 362–373. Chastagnol, A., 1960: La Préfecture urbaine à Rome sous le Bas-Empire, Paris. Chausson, F., 2004; “Les patronats familiaux de cités en Afrique et en Italie aux IVe–Ve siècles: un dossier épigraphique”. Atti della Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei 5, 71–120. Chitty, D.J., 1966: The Desert a City. An Introduction to the Study of Egyptian and Palestinian Monasticism under the Christian Empire, Oxford. Clark, E.A., 1982: “Claims of the Bones of Saint Stephen. The Partisans of Melania and Eudocia”. Church History 51, 141–156. — 1989: “Piety, Propaganda, and Politics in the Life of Melania the Younger”. Studia Patristica 18, 167–183. — 1992: The Origenist Controversy: The Cultural Construction of an Early Christian Debate, Princeton. — 1995: “Antifamilial tendencies in ancient Christianity”. Journal of the History of Sexuality 5.3, 356–380. — 1998: “The Lady Vanishes of a Feminist Historian after the ‘Linguistic Turn’”. Church History 67, 1–31. Cloke, G., 1995; This Female Man of God. Women and Spiritual Power in the Patristic Age, AD 350–450, London / New York. Coon, L.L., 1997: Sacred Fictions. Holy Women and Hagiography in Late Antiquity, Philadelphia. Cooper, K., 1992: “Insinuations of Womanly Influence. An Aspect of the Christianization of the Roman Aristocracy”. The Journal of Roman Studies 82, 150– 164. — 2005: “The Household and the Desert: Monastic and Biological Communities in the Lives of Melania the Younger”. In A.B. Mulder-Bakker / J. WoganBrowne (eds.): Household, Women, and Christianities in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages. Turnhout. Pp. 11–36. — 2007a: The Fall of the Roman Household. Cambridge.

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— 2007b: “Poverty, Obligation, and Inheritance. Roman Heiresses and the Varieties of Senatorial Christianity in Fifth-Century Rome”. In K. Cooper / J. Hillner (eds.): Religion, Dynasty, and Patronage in Early Christian Rome, 300–900. Cambridge. Pp. 165–189. Coster, C.H., 1959: “Christianity and the Invasions: Two Sketches”. The Classical Journal 54, 146–159. Curran, J.R., 2000: Pagan City and Christian Capital. Rome in the Fourth Century, Oxford. Delmaire, R., 2005: “The Date of Innocent I’s Epistula 12 and the Second Exile of John Chrysostom”. Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 45, 155–170. Demandt, A. / Brummer G., 1977: “Der Prozeß gegen Serena im Jahre 408 n. Chr”. Historia 26, 479–502. Drijvers, J.W., 1987: “Virginity and Asceticism in Late Roman Western Elites”. In J. Blok / P. Mason (eds.): Sexual Asymmetry: Studies in Ancient Society. Amsterdam. — 2020: “Barsauma, Eudocia, Jerusalem, and the Temple Mount”. In J. Hahn / V. Menze (eds.): The Wandering Holy Man. The Life of Barsauma, Christian Asceticism, and Religious Conflict in Late Antique Palestine. Oakland. Pp. 89– 103. Duncan-Jones, R., 1990: Structure and Scale in the Roman Economy. Cambridge Dunn, G.D., 2009: “The Care of the Poor in Rome and Alaric’s Sieges”. In G.D. Dunn / D. Luckensmeyer / L. Cross (eds.): Poverty and Riches. Sydney. Pp. 319–333. — 2014: “The Poverty of Melania the Younger and Pinianus”. Augustinianum 54/1, 93–115. Elliott, D., 1993: Spiritual Marriage: Sexual Abstinence in Medieval Wedlock, Princeton. Elm, S. 1994: Virgins of God: The Making of Asceticism in Late Antiquity. Oxford. Filippini, A., 2015: “Schiavi, poveri e benefattori nell’Anatolia tardoantica: la visione sociale delle comunità enkratite attraverso gli atti apocrifi degli apostoli”. In U. Roberto / P. Tuci (eds.): Tra marginalità e integrazione. Aspetti dell’assistenza sociale nel mondo greco e romano (Quaderni di Erga-Logoi 4). Atti delle Giornate di studio (Università Europea di Roma, 7–8 novembre 2012), Milano. Pp. 139–185. Fisher, A.L., 1991: “Women and Gender in Palladius’ Lausiac History”. Studia Monastica 33, 23–50. Fraschetti, A., 2001: Roman Women, Chicago / London. Giardina, A., 1988: “Le donazioni di Melania la giovane e gli equilibri della società tardoromana”. Studi Storici 29, 127–142. Grig, L., 2004: “Portraits, Pontiffs and the Christianization of Fourth-Century Rome”. Papers of the British School at Rome 72, 203–230.

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Grossmann, P. / Dey H., 2012: “Mönchtum II (Architektur)”. RAC 24, 1064– 1098. Grubbs, J.E., 2002: Women and Law in the Roman Empire. A sourcebook on marriage, divorce and widowhood, London / New York. Harper K., 2015: “Landed Wealth in the Long Term Patterns, Possibilities, Evidence”. In P. Erdkamp et al. (eds.): Land and Natural Resources in the Roman World. Oxford. Pp. 43–61. Harries, J., 1984: “Treasure in Heaven”: Property and Inheritance Among Senators of Late Rome”. In E. M. Craik (ed.): Marriage and Property. Aberdeen. Pp. 54–70. Heine, M., 2008: Die Spiritualität von Asketinnen. Von den Wüstenmüttern zum städtischen Asketinnentum im östlichen Mittelmeerraum und in Rom vom 3. bis zum 5. Jahrhundert. Münster. Heather, P., 2006: The Fall of the Roman Empire. A New History of Rome and the Barbarians. London. Hillner, J., 2003: “Domus, Family, and Inheritance: The Senatorial Family House in Late Antique Rome”. The Journal of Roman Studies 93, 129–145. Hinson, E.G., 1997: “Women of Biblical Scholars in Late 4th Century”. Studia Patristica 33, 319–324. Hopkins, M.K., 19165: “The Age of Roman Girls at Marriage”. Population Studies 18/3, 309–327. Humfress, C., 2017: “Gift-giving and Heritance Strategies in Late Roman Low and Legal Practice (Fourth to Sixth Centuries CE)”. In O.-A. Rønning / H. Møller Sigh / H. Vogt (eds.): Donations, Inheritance and Property in the Nordic and Western World from Late Antiquity until Today. London / New York. Pp. 9–27. Hunt, E.D., 1973: “Palladius of Helenopolis: A Party and its Supporters in the Church of the Late Fourth Century”. Journal of Theological Studies n.s. 24, 456–480. Janßen, T., 2004: Stilicho. Das weströmische Reich vom Tode des Theodosius bis zur Ermordung Stilichos (395–408). Marburg. Jones, A.H.M., 1964. The Later Roman Empire 284–602: A Social, Economic, and Administrative Survey. Vol. 1–2. Oxford. Jones, A.H.M. / Martindale, J.R. / Morris, J., 1980: Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire. Cambridge. Klijwegt, M., 2004: “Kind”. RAC 20, 865–947. Kulikowski, M., 2000: “Barbarians in Gaul, Usurpers in Britain”. Britannia 31, 325–345 Laniado, A., 2009: “The early Byzantine state and the Christian ideal of voluntary poverty”. In M. Frenkel / Y. Lev (eds.): Charity and Giving in Monotheistic Religions. Berlin. 15–43.

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Lenski, N., 2004: “Valens and the Monks. Cudgeling and Conscription as a Means of Social Control”. Dumbarton Oaks Papers 58, 93–117. Löhr, W., 2016: “Pelagius (Pelagianer)”. RAC 27, 1–26. Matthews, J.F., 1970: “Olympiodorus of Thebes and the History of the West (AD 407–425)”. The Journal of Roman Studies 60, 79–97. Matthews, J., 1990: Western Aristocracies and Imperial Court AD 364–425. Oxford. Milewski, I., 2017: “A Few Remarks on the Ransom Paid for Releasing Captives in Selected Early Byzantine Hagiographic Texts”. Studia Ceranea 7, 151–159. — 2018: “Ceny niewolników w ‘Historia Lausiaca’ autorstwa Palladiusza z Helenopolis / Slave prices in Historia Lausiaca by Palladius of Helenopolis”. Studia Europaea Gnesnensia 21, 9–24. Minets, Y., 2017: “Palladius of Helenopolis: One Author, Two Ways to Write”. Journal of Early Christian Studies 25, 411–440. Moine, N., 1980: “Melaniana”. Recherches Augustiniennes l5, 3–79. Mundy, P. / H. Davidson, H., 2011: “Making Money Sacred. How Two Church Cultures Translate Mundane Money into Distinct Sacralized Frames of Giving”. Sociology of Religion 72, 303–326. Murphy, F.X., 1947: “Melania the Elder. A Biographical Note”. Traditio 5, 59– 77. Pietri, Ch. / Pietri L. (eds.) 1999–2000: Prosopographie chrétienne du bas-empire 2: Prosopographie de l’Italie chrétienne (313–604). Rome. Rampolla del Tindaro, M., 1905: Santa Melania giuniore, senatrice romana: documenti contemporanei e note. Roma. Rapp, C., 1996: “Figures of Female Sanctity: Byzantine Edifying Manuscripts and Their Audience”. Dumbarton Oaks Papers 50, 313–344. Rubenson, S., 2012: “Mönchtum I (Idee und Geschichte)”. RAC 24, 1009–1064. Saller, R.P., 1994: Patriarchy, Property and Death in the Roman Family. Cambridge. Salzman, M.R, 1989: “Aristocratic Women: Conductors of Christianity in the Fourth Century”. Helios 16, 207–220. — 2006. “Symmachus and the ‘Barbarian’ Generals”. Historia 55, 352–367. Schwarcz, A., 2001: “The Visigothic Settlement in Aquitania: Chronology and Archaeology”. In R.W. Mathisen / D. Shanzer (eds.): Society and Culture in Late Antique Gaul. Revisiting the Sources. Aldershot. Pp. 15–28. Sirago, A.V., 1985: “Funzioni di Serena nella Vita Melaniae”. Vetera Christianorum 22, 381–386. Spera, L., 2013: “Roma, gli imperatori e i barbari nel V secolo”. In I. Baldini / S. Cosentino (eds.): Potere e politica nell’età della famiglia teodosiana (395455). I linguaggi dell’impero, le identità dei barbari. Atti del Convegno internazionale (Ravenna, 24–25 settembre 2010). Bari. Pp. 165–195.

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Speyer, W., 1995: “Das christliche Ideal der Geschlechtlichen Askese in seinen negativen Folgen für den Bestand des Imperium Romanum”, In M. Wacht (ed.): Panchaia. Festschrift für Klaus Thraede Münster. Pp. 208–227. Stickler, T., 2014: “Das Geschichtswerk des Olympiodor von Theben”. In B. Bleckmann / T. Stickler (eds.): Griechische Profanhistoriker des fünften nachchristlichen Jahrhunderts. Stuttgart. Pp. 85–102. Talbot, M.-A., 1990: “The Byzantine Family and the Monastery”. Dumbarton Oaks Papers 44, 119–129. Uytfanghe, M., 1993: “L’hagiographie: un „genre” chretien ou antique tardive?”. Annalecta Bollandiana 111, 135–188. Vera, D., 1986: “Simmaco e le sue proprietà”. In F. Paschoud / G. Fry / Y. Rütsche (eds.): Colloque genovois sur Symmaque. Paris. Pp. 231–276. Wickham, C., 1984: “The Other Transition: From the Ancient World to Feudalism”. Past and Present 103, 3–36. Wittern, S., 1994: Frauen, Heiligkeit und Macht. Lateinische Frauenviten aus dem 4. bis 7. Jahrhundert. Berlin.

Shirin in Context Female Agency and the Wives of the Sasanian King Khosrow Parviz Ewan Short / Eve MacDonald

In the context of powerful women from the Sasanian period there are few who can compare to the 7th century queen, Shirin. Shirin is by far the most well-remembered of all elite Sasanian women. As the wife of Khosrow II Parviz (590– 628CE) she is still celebrated as a symbol of idealised love and self-sacrifice in popular and literary culture in Iran and the wider Persianate world. Abbas Kiarostami’s 2008 film Shirin depicts Iranian women’s responses to the romantic story of Khosrow and Shirin while, further afield, the Nobel-prize-winning author Orhan Pamuk’s My name is Red (1998) encodes the same love story of Shirin and Khosrow into its narrative. These examples illustrate the pervasive influence of Persian myth and epic not just in Iran but east and west across Asia. Shirin’s prominence in Iranian culture stems from her vivid depiction in two medieval Persian poems: Abolqasem Ferdowsi’s “national epic of Iran”, the Shahnameh, written around 1010 and the slightly later romance by Nezami Ganjavi’s Khosrow and Shirin (written 1181). Both poems feature the Sasanian queen in a starring role.1 Shirin’s romantic story may have the most prominent afterlife, but she is not the only one of Khosrow Parviz’s reportedly twelve thousand wives to be remembered in the Shahnameh. There are two other women, Mariam and Gordyeh, who also stand out in the historical section of the epic for their actions and agency in the text.2 While Ferdowsi’s detailed representations of these three women are in part literary constructions based upon repeated topoi in the narrative, these were 1

All dates CE unless otherwise stated. See most recently Madreiter, 2020, on Shirin’s reception from late antiquity to the twenty-first century. See also, Davis, 2016: 13; and Davis, 1992, on the fluctuating influence of the Shahnameh over the centuries since its creation and setting out the rise and fall of the Shahnameh in Iranian politics and recent history (especially useful is the prologue, xi–xxxii); Dabashi, 2019, argues eloquently for the Shahnameh and Ferdowsi’s place in world literature. See Motlagh, 2012, and Davis, 2007, on women in the Shahnameh. We use the anglicised Khosrow and Shirin for Xusrō o Šīrīn and Shahnameh for Šāh-nāma here. 2 For the conventional division of the Shahnameh into mythical, legendary and historical sections see the discussion below, at page 3. Nizami Ganjavi also describes a wife of Khosrow named Shekar, although it has been suggested by Madreiter that Ganjavi invented this character to take on the negative qualities associated with Shirin in the Shahnameh, see Ganjavi, Khosrow and Shirin: 38–39 and Madreiter, 2020: 197; Motlagh, 2012: 64–65 (n. 141), notes that the 12th century Persian text Mujmal mentions another wife named Bahrāmdōkht.

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also historical women and their stories present a unique opportunity to access ideas around the role of powerful women, or at least the memory of them, within the late-Sasanian ruling elite.3 These are views upon which other texts and material evidence provide only limited evidence. The question that intrigues us here is how do the historical women, upon whom all this myth and legend rests, fit into Iranian cultural and political history in the late 6th and early 7th centuries? We want to explore to what degree the lasting memory of Shirin, Miriam and Gordyeh may reflect the realities of female agency in the decaying court of the last Sasanian kings. In many ways the three wives of Khosrow appear in the Shahnameh as ambiguous, even contradictory figures. The reported behaviours of the women are standardised, matching roles for women in Ferdowsi’s own time or included as topoi.4 As a character Shirin vacillates between a perfect model of fidelity and a murderous femme fatale. The fabulous Gordyeh first appears as an amazon-like warrior well outside the norms of female behaviour in either the 7th century, or in the 10th/11th century when Ferdowsi wrote. She is first introduced as the devoted sister of Khosrow’s enemy and rival to the throne, Bahram Chobin, and a rallying point for resistance to Sasanian rule. Mariam is described as a daughter of the Roman/Byzantine emperor Maurice, but no Byzantine Greek source corroborates this claim. Below we consider whether she was a historical figure or purely fictional; a significant symbol of the way memory and epic can preserve aspects of roles otherwise ignored in the historical sources, or a figure of Romano-Persian entente. Each of these wives of Khosrow and the type of marriage they had with the Sasanian king also provides a different view towards the ways in which women in the late 6th/early 7th century may have operated at inter-state and interfamilial levels within Sasanian society. The Shahnameh’s multivalent representations of these women can be linked to contemporary late antique responses to their position within the Sasanian elite in the last decades of Sasanian rule. The text has been connected to one or more official Sasanian books of kings, or Khwaday-namag, that were finalised in the 7th century. Ferdowsi is also understood to have drawn on other Sasanian texts, including a romance known as the Book of Bahram Chobin (Bahram Chobinnama), as well as Iranian oral traditions.5 Shirin, Mariam and Gordyeh’s signifi3

The core study of women in the Shahnameh is Motlagh, 2012. See also: Davis, 2007. For Sasanian women in the time of Khosrow see Panaino, 2006. Rose, 1999, surveys the role of women across the period. 4 See the observations of Motlagh, who feels that the women in the Shahnameh are more developed characters than women depicted elsewhere in Persian literature, including in the texts produced by Nezami Ganjavi and his followers. Motlagh gives Ferdowsi credit for the prominence of women in the Shahnameh, see Motlagh, 2012:19–20. Krasnowolska, 2013, assesses the use of complete narrative units in the text. 5 See Christensen, 1907 for the reconstruction of the Bahram Chobin romance; Howard

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cance within ‘transnational’ traditions is also shown by their appearance in other medieval and late antique sources written in Arabic, Armenian, Greek, and Syriac. It is essential, then, to examine the Shahnameh alongside these texts to search for gendered memories of prominent elite women that may stem from the politics and culture of the late antique Sasanian Empire. We aim to shed light on responses to the positions of Iranian and foreign-born elite women within both the late-Sasanian and wider Near-Eastern cultural milieu. The Shahnameh Ferdowsi’s Shahnameh is a new-Persian poem composed of over 50,000 lines.6 The poem is structured around the rule of fifty Persian monarchs. The first part of the text begins with mythology concerning the creation of the world and then features stories of the legendary Kayanid dynasty of rulers.7 With the appearance of Alexander, the poem moves to recount the history of the Sasanian rulers, concluding with the defeat and death of the last Sasanian king Yazdgerd III by the Arab armies. The passages depicting the reign of Khosrow II and its aftermath in Ferdowsi’s account are structured around the rebellion of Bahram Chobin, Khosrow’s sexual relationship with Shirin, Khosrow’s murder by his son Sheroy (who ruled briefly as Kavad II), and Shirin’s heroic rejection of Sheroy’s advances.8 Ferdowsi (born in 940) was a member of the Persian-speaking landed aristocracy (dehqans) who had retained high status in former Sasanian territory under Arab rule. Their preservation of the memories of Sasanian culture was a key part of the processes that transmitted the stories of these women into the medieval Persian world.9 Ferdowsi wrote during a revival of interest in Sasanian culture in the Khorasan region, a revival that was fostered by the region’s Samanid rulers who liked to present themselves as continuers of Sasanian rule. These rulers may well have sponsored several other Shahnamehs alongside Ferdowsi’s.10 The Shahnameh as an epic is acknowledged to have been a compilation, developed over a long period of evolution of different mythological and historical Johnston, 2010: 350; Nöldeke, 1879, 474–478. Shabazi, 1988 provides an overview of events and their memory. See also Pourshariati, 2008: 122–131. The Persian Khwadāynāmag. 6 The translation used here is by Davis, 2016. It is supplemented where needed by Mohl’s 1838 Persian text and translation. 7 For the incorporation of Achaemenid history into Kayanid legend in Sasanian propaganda see, Daryaee, 1995. See also more recently Shayegan’s, 2011 publication on the political ideology of the Sasanian kings. 8 For Sheroy / Siroy / Siroes who ruled briefly as Kavad II see list of references in Kaegi, 2003: 175 and n. 70–72 9 For dehqans: Hayes, 2015: 369–393; Taffazoli, 2000: 38–59. 10 Including the so-called prose Shahnameh, Davis, 1992: 9, and the work of Daqiqi, as noted by Meisami, 1999: 37. See also Dabashi, 2019 for the Shahnameh’s role and influence in world literature.

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tales of varied origins, both oral and written.11 Amongst Ferdowsi’s sources the one that is often mentioned is the Khwaday-namag, the so-called Book of Lords. Theodore Nöldeke first argued for the compilation of an official book written in Pahlavi, commissioned by Khosrow I (531–579) and finalised between 632–637 under Yazgerd III.12 The Khwaday-namag covered Iranian history from primordial times to the end of Khosrow II’s reign (628) and was transmitted through 8th– 12th century Arabic and New Persian texts. The Khwaday-namag is believed to have recorded war and politics alongside anecdotal and didactic material, which both entertained and instructed the Sasanian elite on to how to best maintain good government and social order. Elements of myth, legend and history were blended together, with the Sasanians, rather than the Parthians, presented as the natural successors of the legendary Kayanid dynasty.13 In a development of Nöldeke’s thesis, Philip Wood has recently argued for the composition of multiple redactions of the Khwaday-namag during the tumultuous politics following Khosrow’s overthrow and murder in 628.14 He suggests that there were competing streams of texts that were used to develop and establish the legitimacy of the elite families of the realm, and to mythologise their stories. His proposal for multiple Pahlavi histories within the Khwaday-namag tradition seems to be corroborated by the statements of several tenth-century Arab historians, who claim to have seen multiple beautifully bound Sasanian books in the possession of Persian dehqans.15 This helps to illuminate one of the processes of historical transference in the years that followed on from the assassination of Khosrow II, which may have resulted in the stories of his prominent wives coming to the fore. The Shahnameh has been understood to transmit a significant volume of material from the Khwaday-namag and other written and oral traditions. Dick Davis has highlighted the difficulty of recovering these sources but accepted the identification of Daqiqi’s earlier tenth-century Shahnameh and the Book of Bahram Chobin.16 Kumiko Yamamoto has emphasised the significance of Iranian oral tra11

Krasnowolska, 2019: 12. See also Yarshater, E., 1983: 359–480. Shayegan, 2012; Gazerani, 2016 on the Sistani epic cycles and development of the textual tradition and structural devices used in the text of the Shahnameh. 12 Nöldeke, 1930: 21–26. Followed by Yarshater, 1983: 359–360, and Howard-Johnston, 2011: 343–346. Agathias (writing in 580) claimed to use a translation of the ‘Persian Royal Annals’ for his History: Agathias, section 273B. 13 The reign of the Parthians is covered very briefly, although this dynasty ruled Iran between 247 BCE and 224 CE. See here Daryaee, 1995 on national vs Kayanid history. 14 Wood, 2016: 410–411. For texts produced under Yazdgerd III see the preface of the 1425–6 Shahnameh: Nöldeke, 1930: 21–23. 15 Including al-Mas’ūdī (d.957), as noted by Bosworth, 1983: 489. 16 Davis, 1992: 8–12; Davis, 2016: 28. For his view on Bahram Chobin: Davis, 1995: 55– 56. See Gazerani, 2015 who looks at the Sistani and Scytho-Parthian nature of the epic traditions; for the Bahram Chobin-nama see Nöldeke, Geschichte der Perser, 474–478,

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dition in transmitting and modelling the stories which feature in Ferdowsi’s Shahnameh.17 Anyone aiming to approach Ferdowsi’s sources however faces several difficulties. The poem’s canonization and successive periods of medieval royal patronage serve to blur the epic and romantic roots of the stories.18 Nonetheless, whilst we recognise the difficulties of recovering the sources Ferdowsi used, and understanding how he used them, in this article we offer some observations on the connection between the Shahnameh and specific texts, including the Khwaday-namag and the Book of Bahram Chobin, in the transmission of information on Khosrow’s named wives. Our intention is to connect the Shahnameh’s multivalent representations of these women to aspects of late antique culture by comparing them with patterns of response to women in power. The femme fatale/saint: Shirin Amongst the three wives of Khosrow in the Shahnameh, Ferdowsi’s depiction of Shirin is the most detailed. Ferdowsi’s account of Shirin’s relationship with Khosrow and her presence at the Sasanian court provides sustained evidence for memories of late antique politics and culture. Shirin is also attested to in GrecoRoman sources. Evagrius Scholasticus (writing in 593) records a Greek inscription on a paten which Khosrow II donated to St Sergius in Rusafa, giving thanks for the pregnancy of his Christian wife, Siren. Theophylact Simocatta (writing in 638) also tells us that Khosrow married ‘Seirem’ in 592. He claims to have transcribed a letter giving instructions for the inscription on the paten, which he dates to 593.19 The Syriac Khuzistan Chronicle, which was composed between 649–652 in Mesopotamia, also describes a Christian queen named Shirin. She is depicted as wielding considerable power in ecclesiastical affairs and influencing Khosrow in the appointment of Sabrisho and then Gregory of Porath to the position of Catholicos of the Church of the East. The text also then describes how she supported the court doctor Gregory of Sinjar’s promotion of miaphysites at the Sasanian court.20 The Khuzistan Chronicle describes Shirin as an Aramean, and Baum connected this description to Kufa in modern day north Iraq. The Shahnameh also describes Shirin as a Persian woman from Khuzistan.21 The evidence and Christensen, 1907 for the reconstruction. 17 Yamamoto, 2013: 7, 81–109. 18 See Dabashi, 2019: 39–59 here. 19 Evagrius, section 6.21; Theophylact, Simocatta, sections 5.13.7–14.11. The names ‘Seirem’ and ‘Sirin’ are variants of Shirin suggesting that there were separate Greek scribes responsible for the letter and the engraving who seem to have differed in their opinion of how to best render the name from Pahlavi into Greek. 20 Khuzistan Chronicle, sections 1.16–17, 1.19, 1.22. For Shirin’s support of miaphysites: ps. Sebeos, section 151. For the “monastery of Shirin” (Ctesiphon) see Denha (ed. and trans. Neau), History of Maruta, sections 75–76. Flusin, 1992, vol. 2 for the miaphysite debate. 21 Khuzistan Chronicle, section 1.19; Pseudo-Sebeos, section 83. Shirin is depicted as Ar-

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for a Mesopotamian background fits well with Shirin’s connection to Rusafa, because dedications at the St Sergius shrine show that the cult was popular amongst Iranian Christian communities west of the Zagros mountains.22 In the narrative of the Shahnameh, Shirin appears abruptly. She is described as having been Khosrow’s concubine when he was still a prince during reign of his father Hormozd IV (579–590). Khosrow encounters Shirin anew after he has become king and defeated the usurper Bahram Chobin (c.591/2). She appears in front of the king to deliver an emotive speech from a palace rooftop persuading Khosrow to renew his relationship with her.23 Shirin returns to the royal palace with Khosrow and the king demands that his chief priest marry them according to Zoroastrian rites. The palace elites are alarmed by Shirin’s presence and exhort him to abandon her. The chief priest accuses her of polluting the lineage of the nobility and she is also described as being incapable of issuing pure offspring. Khosrow responds by producing a bowl of warm blood that he passes around to his nobles, he then has the blood cleaned out and fills it with water saying that like the bowl, Shirin has been purified by his own scent.24 This fascinating ritual purification may have been linked to Shirin’s Christianity. Here a reference to Ganjavi’s Khosrow and Shirin is telling. Central to the narrative of the poem is Shirin’s evasion of Khosrow’s attempts to make her his concubine, and her insistence on a legitimate marriage. Paola Orsatti has suggested that this aspect of Ganjavi’s narrative should be connected to a tradition which remembered that Shirin had insisted on a legal marriage with Khosrow because of her own Christian faith.25 Shirin’s prominence at Khosrow’s court, and her determination to organise her relationship with the king according to Christian menian in Nezami Ganjavi’s Khosrow and Shirin, but she is not described as such in any late antique source: Scarcia, 2003: 46–50, 113. The ninth-century Chronicle of Seert also describes Shirin as an Aramean: Chronicle of Seert (ed. Scher):146–147. 22 Fowden, 1999: 120. Theophylact Simocatta described St Sergius as the most popular saint amongst Iranian Christians: Theophylact Simocatta, 5, Section 14.3. For the popularity of St Sergius in sixth- and seventh-century Syria, Mesopotamia and Iran: Fowden, 1999: 101–129. 23 The abrupt introduction into the text seems to indicate the inclusion of the Shirin narrative from a separate source, perhaps a pre-existing romance. Shirin says: “My lord, my warrior, my king, who lives favoured by all that heaven’s fortune gives, where is your love now? Or your tears that I, and I alone, could comfort once and dry? Where are the endless nights we turned to day with tears, and smiles, and amorous sweet play? Where are our oaths and promises, and where are all the vows we vowed we’d always share?”: Ferdowsi (trans. Davis): 919. The similarities to the beginning of Achilles Tatius’s Leucippe and Clitophon and Longus’s Daphnis and Chloe (both 2nd century A.D.) has been noted by Holzberg, 1995: 70. 24 Ferdowsi (trans. Davis), 1996: 920–921. 25 Orsatti, 2007. See for example: Nezami Ganjavi (trans. Chelkowski), Khosrow and Shirin: 31, 42.

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principles, may have provoked anxiety amongst Khosrow’s Zoroastrian courtiers. Khosrow and Shirin seem to have attempted to allay this anxiety by staging a purification ritual in the presence of Khosrow’s court. Ferdowsi describes Khosrow’s Byzantine wife Mariam presiding in the golden apartments of the harem, but Shirin poisons her in secret and is then promoted to the same apartments, to the role of chief wife. The next significant episode for Shirin occurs after Khosrow’s execution in the Shahnameh, when his usurping son, Sheroy, demands of Shirin that she marry him. Shirin delivers a splendid speech where she emphasises her fulfilment of the virtues which make a woman honourable.26 Then Shirin makes her way to Khosrow’s tomb where she lays her face against Khosrow’s and poisons herself to die alongside him. This death was ‘praised by the world.’ As a topos, the act of dying alongside your man after rejecting the advances of his successor is also in Xenophon’s Cyropedia (Abadatas and Panthea) and in Plutarch’s story of Anthony and Cleopatra.27 Shirin is connected to motifs that appears across Hellenistic through to eleventh-century Persian romances, depicting a fictional or mythical woman who heroically retains her chastity when separated from her lover.28 The motifs in this story are present elsewhere in the Shahnameh when, for example, the heroic mother Jarireh places her face against her dead son’s body before committing suicide.29 As he dies, Bahram Chobin is also held by Gordyeh, his wife and sister, who gives a stirring speech, lamenting her husband’s foolish rebellion, before heroically resisting the advances of the emperor of China.30 Shirin is therefore variously presented as a sinister and overbearing presence within the Sasanian court, or a model of heroic fidelity. These paradoxes prompted Dick Davis to raise the question “are we to approve or disapprove of Shirin?”.31 Davis also felt that Ferdowsi’s multivalent portrayal of Shirin was connected to the range of sources available to him, suggesting that some of these were radically contradictory to one another. Here we follow this suggestion, searching for connections between the Shahnameh’s representation of Shirin and aspects of 26

These are modesty, motherhood and beauty. For Shirin the poisoner, see Madreiter, 2020: 195. 27 Ferdowsī (trans. Davis): 934–939. Reading this passage alongside a khabar in alTabari’s history, modern studies usually date Shirin’s death to 628: Baum, 2004: 58; alTabari V, section 1053. See Davis, 2007, note 32 for the recurrence of this theme. Xenophon, Cyropaedia, sections 5.3–18, 6.31–33, 7.2–16. For this story as an archetype for Hellenistic and medieval Persian literature: Davis, 2002: 26–33. For connections with Ctesias’ Persica, influenced by Achaemenid court culture: Gera, 1933: 198–210. 28 While Penelope in the Odyssey sets the gold standard this is a current theme in Persian Romances, Vis o Ramīn, Varqeh o Golshāh and Vāmeq o ‘Adhrā. See Davis, 2002: 42– 43. 29 Ferdowsi (trans. Davis): 322–323. 30 Ferdowsi (trans. Davis): 906–911. 31 Davis, 2016: 26.

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late antique culture. The motifs used to construct the Shahnameh’s negative presentation of Shirin appear in other traditions and texts connected to late antiquity. When Shirin displays her beautiful face from a palace rooftop and delivers a tearful speech to Khosrow, she is behaving like a Pairikā. These Paris derive from Zoroastrian mythology, where they are described as women created by the devil Ahriman to use their beauty to lure men away from righteous causes.32 They are a product of a strain of anxiety in Iranian mythology (and frankly most ancient and medieval cultures) that beautiful women might gain control of the men around them.33 In the Shahnameh, Shirin’s association with the Paris is further developed by a priest who labels her influence over Khosrow as “hellish”.34 Shirin’s role as a Pairikā within the Shahnameh illustrates how Ferdowsi’s sources used Iranian mythological traditions to criticise Shirin’s presence in the Sasanian court. These may well have been communicated through a pre-existing romance, oral tradition or in a well-known epic involving a hero tempted by beauty. The Shahnameh’s representation of Shirin also bears similarities with other late antique texts outside of the immediate Sasanian milieu. This suggests connections between Ferdowsi’s sources and Greco-Roman texts, established through the extensive cross-cultural interactions between the Roman and Sasanian empires during the fourth to sixth centuries.35 Significantly, the representation of Shirin as a secretive poisoner of her rival Mariam resembles Procopius’s depiction of the Byzantine empress Theodora in the Secret History (written 550–558). Procopius writes that Theodora secretly ordered the killing of the Gothic queen Amalasuntha. Theodora’s sinister influence over Justinian is also described as a pollution upon Roman society.36 By stressing Theodora’s secrecy, Procopius articu32 Ferdowsi (trans. Davis): 918–920. Emphasis on the beauty of Shirin’s eyes and cheeks is paralleled in Sophocles’ Antigone, lines 781–800. For anxiety about the female face as a site of power in Greek literature: Blondell, 2013: 4–6; 22–24. For the female voice and power: Blondell, 2013: 22–24. 33 Paris appear in several other places in the Shahnameh and include the figures of Rudābeh, Sudābeh and Manizeh: Ferdowsī, (trans. Davis): 78–79, 217–228, 339. 34 Ferdowsi, (trans. Davis): 921. 35 Canepa, 2009: 21–33. An impression of the sharing of literature within this cross-cultural milieu is reinforced by Davis’ own study of the shared motifs and narrative techniques held in common by both eleventh century Persian romances and Hellenistic novels: Davis, 2002: 11–59. For the Shahnameh, Davis sees parallels between the story of Rostam and the Akvan Div (Ferdowsi, (trans. Davis): 325–331), and Achilles Tatius’ Leukippe and Kleitophon. The Shahnameh features a recurring topos whereby an Iranian prince flees a hostile land with a foreign lover (eg Ferdowsi (trans. Davis): 358–371), also in the myth of Helen of Troy (see Edmunds, 2016: 103–142), as well as Odatis and Zariadres (preserved by Charles of Mitylene, 4th century BC), and the Ethiopica (3rd/4th centuries AD): Davis, 2002: 61–75. 36 Procopius, Secret History, sections 2.6; 2.10–11. Associations between powerful women and poison are drawn in earlier texts from antiquity. Tacitus represents Germanicus, who

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lates the idea that women’s power can only work in a domestic setting, not in a legitimate public space, and that such secret power is always illegitimate.37 Similarly, in Sasanian society, legitimate power was understood to be exercised through clearly defined high offices, not through informal influence.38 The story of Shirin’s poisoning of Mariam may be again connected to a source that criticised Shirin’s power in Sasanian society. This evidence suggests that invective texts were written within Sasanian literary culture, and that these may have used negative representations of women’s power to criticise Sasanian royal power. The passages of invective directed against Shirin, and therefore criticising Khosrow, may well have been included within a version of the Khwaday-namag produced after Khosrow’s death in 628 by one of the rival factions vying for power.39 The evidence for a text criticising Shirin’s queenship matches with discernible patterns of men’s responses to women’s agency across late antiquity. The Shahnameh’s attribution of heroic female qualities to Shirin, especially celebrating the fidelity of her close relationship to Khosrow II, might well be dated to Yazdgerd III’s early reign, between the years 632–637. Following Khosrow II’s murder in 628, his son Sheroy was reported to have executed seventeen of his own brothers and half-brothers, which resulted in the breakdown of the Sasanian system of succession between 628–632.40 By 632, there were four candidates claiming rulership. These included the queen Azarmigduxt and three men; Hormizd, Mihr-Khosrov and Yazdgerd himself.41 Azarmigduxt was the secsuspected that he been poisoned by Plancina, saying, that he had fallen victory to women’s treachery: Tacitus, Annals, Book 2. section 71, line 4. Tacitus also depicts other women poisoners, including Locusta (first century A.D.), who is also described by Suetonius and Cassius Dio: Tacitus, Annals, Book 12, section 66, Book 13, section 15; Suetonius, Life of Nero, sections 33, 34; Cassius Dio, fragments 61.34; 63.3. 37 As noted by Brubaker, 2004: 89. 38 For Sasanian high offices: Theophylact Simocatta, sections 3.18.6–10. For Sasanian administration see Lukonin, 1983: 681–746; Taffazoli, 2000 is a brief of detailed outline of the structure of Sasanian society. Daryaee, 2009: chapter 5 on the economy and administration of the Empire. 39 This version of the Khwadāynāmag was likely produced by a group either around Khosrow’s son Sheroy (reigned 628), who deposed Khosrow, Sheroy’s son Ardashir III (r. 628), or the usurper general Shahrbaraz (reigned 629). It may well be that these rulers and their supporters had much to gain by propagating hostile memories of Shirin’s corrupting influence, which helped to justify the removal of Khosrow from power. 40 Al-Tabari V, sections 1046–1067. 41 Chronicle of Seert, sections 579–580; ps. Sebeos, section 129; Malek, 1993: 239. This study follows the understanding of Howard-Johnston, 1999: 225–226. For alternatives: Panaino, 2006: 221–240; Pourshariati, 2008: 161–219. Wood sees several 7th century Syriac sources preserved in the 10th century Chronicle of Seert, with a life of Isho’yahb II giving information for 632: Wood, 2013: 185–187. Howard-Johnston argues that ps.Sebeos (653) combined Khwadāynāmag and Armenian material and that for 632 he shares a ‘Persian source’ with the Chronicle of Seert: Howard-Johnston, 1999: 225–226; 2006: 41–

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ond woman to ascend to sole rulership of the Sasanian Empire after her sister Boran had briefly ruled (r. 630–632). These women’s sole rules are clearly attested to in coinage and were enabled by the absence of male candidates.42 According to the Chronicle of Seert, Azarmigduxt was a child of Khosrow and Shirin.43 By contrast to Azarmigduxt, Yazdgerd, according to a khabar in al-Tabari’s history, was only the child of Khosrow’s son Shahriyar by a cup-bearer.44 Through these tumultuous years of civil war, by 633 Yazdgerd III had finally secured the Sasanian capital Ctesiphon following Azarmigduxt’s murder. Numismatic evidence suggests that between 632 and 635, Yazdgerd’s rule was rejected in many regions of the Sasanian Empire. Susan Tyler-Smith’s study has shown that only the regions of Pars, Khuzistan and Sagistan are known to have struck coins in Yazgerd’s name.45 In addition, a further mint in Erān-āsān-kar-Kavād (Garamīg), continued to strike coins for another rival, Mihr-Khosrov until 637.46 In this context, memories of Azarmigduxt’s first-class paternal and maternal lineage may have continued to expose the presence of a cupbearer in Yazdgerd’s matriline. Significantly, the khabar where al-Tabari describes Yazdgerd’s childhood states Shirin was Shahriyar’s adopted mother and that she took the young Yazdgerd under her protection. This tradition may have originated with an attempt to place Shirin in Yazdgerd’s matriline, to bolster his lineage and thereby negate continuing questions about his legitimacy to rule following the deposition of Azarmigduxt, and equally, generate support among the Christian communities. By 632, after four years of civil war, Khosrow’s reign was remembered positively, whilst the usurper Sheroy was discredited as having brought about chaos.47 It may be that Shirin’s importance to Yazdgerd’s claim to rule necessitated a reinterpretation of her memory. Therefore, Yazdgerd and his supporters produced a redaction of the Khwaday-namag which placed Shirin in Yazdgerd’s matriline and celebrated her heroic fidelity to Khosrow. To legitimise Yazdgerd, this redaction of the Khwaday-namag might have cast Shirin’s close relationship with Khosrow as an exemplar of the loyalty which underpinned an age of stability. Her heroic resistance to the corrupting Sheroy further suggested that her adopted grandson Yazdgerd was well placed to restore the conditions of Khosrow’s reign. It is perhaps this text that provided Ferdowsi, or others who collated these stories, with the memory of Shirin’s resistance to Sheroy’s advances, around which most of the heroic motifs which he associates with Shirin are clustered.

62; also Greenwood, 2002: 323–397. 42 Panaino, 2006: 221–240; Daryaee, 2009: 187–209; Emrani, 2009 on Boran. 43 Chronicle of Seert (ed. Scher): 579–580. 44 Al-Tabari V, sections 1044–1045. 45 Tyler-Smith, 2000: 140. 46 Malek, 1993: 239–241. 47 From 629, Boran issued coins connected to Khosrow II: Malek & Curtis, 1998: 118.

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Ultimately any analysis of the role of the variant versions of the Shirin story are based upon hypotheses around vanished sources and their intentions. Yet, the discrepancies in the Shahnahmeh’s representation of Shirin do suggest that memories of her were disputed, which in turn suggests that they carried an enormous amount of currency, even after Khosrow’s reign. This serves to reinforce an impression of Shirin’s prominence at the Sasanian court. She emerges as an exemplar in the way in which female agency could be played out in the Sasanian court of the 7th century and also the role of memory and matriline might play in the processes of legitimization in the dynastic politics. The Byzantine princess: Mariam When Mariam (Maryam) appears in the Shahnameh she is the daughter of the Byzantine emperor Maurice. In the spring or summer of 590, Khosrow had fled to Maurice and requested assistance in his battle against Bahram Chobin. The Byzantine Emperor responded with support, “I am giving my daughter, my wealth and a well-equipped army ...”48 During the negotiations the emperor had demanded that Khosrow marry his daughter, insisting she was to remain a Christian. The dowry brought with the princess was the military support that Khosrow had required. Khosrow relied upon Byzantine troops to gain the Sasanian throne and defeat the rebel Bahram Chobin.49 In Ferdowsi, the marriage cemented the alliance formed between Khosrow and the Byzantine emperor. The Sasanian-Byzantine alliance is described in several Greek and Arabic sources, but the marriage is not. In the Shahnameh Maurice is shown acting as a Sasanian king, consulting astrologers for an auspicious day to send his daughter to Khosrow’s harem. Mariam is a beautiful woman devoted to Khosrow, and she is, unequivocally, his highest status wife. Her residence is the golden apartments of his harem, and here she gives birth to Sheroy, who will later murder Khosrow and succeed him. Alongside the Shahnameh, Nezami Ganjavi’s Khosrow and Shirin and the history of alTabari, written between the tenth and twelfth centuries, present Mariam as the daughter of Maurice and the mother of Sheroy.50 Mariam is also mentioned in the Arabic texts written by Hamza and Mas’udi.51 The Syriac sources also mention her, with the earliest reference in the Khuzistan Chronicle, where she is described as a Byzantine.52 Later Syriac sources that mention Mariam include the Chronicle 48

Ferdowsi (trans. Davis): 892 Theophylact Simocatta provides a detailed account of Khosrow’s alliance with Maurice, and the contributions of Roman troops to Khosrow’s victory over Bahram Chobin, especially at the battle of Blarathon: Theophyhlact, 4.10.1, 5.15.11. Al-Tabari V, sections 999–1000. For a chronology of Khosrow’s reign: Fowden,1999: 138. 50 Al-Tabari V, section 999. 51 Hamza, Annales II: 10. 52 Khuzistan Chronicle, section 10. 49

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of Seert (ninth century) and the Chronicle of Pseudo-Dionysius (eighth century). In the Chronicle of Seert, Mariam is associated alongside Shirin with the building of churches.53 Both the Shahnameh and Ganjavi’s poem are clear that Mariam died before Shirin, and before the end of Khosrow’s reign. The Chronicle of Seert also hints that memories of the two queens were amalgamated. Mariam is described as a daughter of Maurice in the main body of text, but the Arabic marginalia notes that there are some versions of this story which say that Maurice’s daughter was Shirin.54 It is possible that memories of Mariam were combined with traditions associated with Shirin, who outlived her to the end of Khosrow’s reign. Is it problematic that there is no mention of Mariam in any Greek source? The seventh-century historian Theophylact Simocatta writes that Maurice and his wife Konstantina had three daughters, all of whom were imprisoned by the usurper Phokas and then killed.55 The seventh-century Chronicle of John of Nikiu similarly describes how all of Maurice’s daughters were tonsured after Phokas’ usurpation.56 The confusion between Mariam and Shirin mentioned in the Chronicle of Seert and the silence of the Greek sources has convinced some scholars that Mariam is an ahistorical figure, perhaps invented by Sasanian propagandists to distract from the embarrassment of Khosrow’s reliance upon Byzantine soldiers to defeat Bahram.57 Antonio Paniano, however, pointed out that in Sasanian Iran it was simpler for a pater familias to be associated with sons and daughters who were not his biological descendants, for example through some forms of levirate marriage. He therefore suggests that it is possible that Mariam was a Byzantine woman from Maurice’s entourage, who was perhaps related to him. In Paniano’s view, she was then presented as a daughter of the Byzantine emperor for the purpose of Sasanian propaganda.58 An examination of prosopographical information for Mariam’s supposed father, Maurice, supports Paniano’s suggestion. Maurice had held a close bond with Tiberius since at least 574, and was married to Tiberius’ daughter Konstantia in 582, when Tiberius became emperor and when Maurice was aged around forty-three.59 Maurice seems to have held off marriage until 53

Wood, 2013: 215 n. 107. See below, n. 62. Chronicle of Seert, (ed. and trans. Sher): 146; Baum, 2014: 27. 55 Theophylact Simocatta, section 8.15. Maurice’s history may well have been redacted by those who wrote Heraclius’ versions of the events. See also Scarcia, 2004 who identifies Maryam with the Christian martyr Golēn-doḵt. 56 Paniano, 2006: 228 n. 49. 57 In the nineteenth century Friedrich von Spiegel rejected middle eastern traditions concerning Mariam as groundless statements: Spiegel, 1871–1878: 500 n. 2; 511 n. 2. More recently, Motlagh, 2012: 72 also suggested that Mariam was perhaps just Shirin’s Christian name. See Scarcia, 2004 who argues for her identity as a Christian martyr. 58 Panaino, 2006: 233–235. Most recently, Richard Payne has also accepted that Mariam was a historical figure and a Byzantine princess, although offering no comment on her connection to Maurice: Payne, 2015: 166. 59 Whitby, 1993: 7. 54

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Tiberius became emperor, so that he could marry Konstantina after the successsion, and be named as heir. As Maurice did not therefore marry until he was fortythree, it is possible that he fathered a child out of wedlock, who was not mentioned by Greek texts produced after Maurice’s reign. On the other hand, Maurice also had one brother and two sisters, who were both married, and Konstantina had one sister.60 Mariam could have been a niece of Maurice by one of these siblings. The Shahnameh portrays Mariam as a figure of inter-state entente and geopolitical influence. This is exactly the kind of role we would expect a foreign-born woman to play in the Sasanian court. Mariam is shown exercising influence and acting as a mediator between her uncle Niatus, who heads allied Byzantine forces, and the Sasanian general Banduy. Here the Shahnameh’s representation of Mariam may be connected to two seventh-century Greek and Armenian sources, which describe a Christian queen in Ctesiphon in her own palace, who mediated between Christian prisoners and made direct petitions to Khosrow II. A Greek sermon delivered by the bishop, Antiochus Strategos, narrates the exile of a group of Byzantines to Ctesiphon following the Sasanian conquest of Jerusalem in 614. An eyewitness to the events was told by a monk about a Christian Sasanian queen who had taken prisoners into her care and who petitioned Khosrow to give her possession of the true cross.61 Written in Armenian, Movses Daskhurant’i’s tenthcentury History of the Caucasian Albanians provides another close account of an active Christian Sasanian queen. James Howard-Johnston identifies a seventhcentury text preserved within Daskhurant’i’s History, covering the period 623– 82, and using the record of a companion of the Albanian catholicos Viroy.62 Viroy’s associate tells us that during his detention in Ctesiphon between 603–628, the Catholicos was protected in a Christian queen’s palace, and that she used her close relationship with Khosrow ‘to save his life as a present from the king.’63 The Christian queen is not named by either Antiochos Strategos, or the companion of Viroy. However, the ninth-century Chronicle of Seert describes Shirin as possessing the True Cross during the first years of Khosrow’s reign, when Maurice was still Byzantine emperor.64 Perhaps influenced by this account, modern studies have described Shirin possessing the true cross after the capture of

60

Maurice’s sisters were named Gordia (married to Philippicus) and Theoctista (widow of an unknown husband) and his brother was named Peter. For Konstantina’s sister was named Charito, see Whitby, 1993: 5. 61 Antiochus Strategos: 511–514. The use of the first-person pronoun to describe the events surrounding the Christian queen suggests an eyewitness account. The text has survived to us in a Georgian translation of the fragmentary Greek text: Conybeare, 1910: 502. 62 Following A.A. Akopyan, see Howard-Johnston, 2006: 49–62. This is shown by the appearance of the first-person pronoun in an account of Viroy’s delegation to the Khazars in 628: Movses Daskhurants’i: section 2.99. 63 Movses Daskhurants’i: section 2.93. 64 Chronicle of Seert: 272–273.

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Jerusalem in 614, and they have subsequently read the accounts from Strategos and Viroy as describing Shirin.65 Yet significantly, the tenth-century Chronicle of Eutychios of Alexandria describes Mariam requesting the True Cross after the capture of Jerusalem.66 It is therefore possible that our seventh-century sources describe Mariam’s activities in Ctesiphon. If Mariam was related to Maurice as we suggest, her cultural connections to Byzantium would have encouraged Christian Byzantine prisoners to view her as a natural ally. Mariam would have therefore been qualified to effectively mediate between Khosrow and Christian Byzantine prisoners. By contrast, Shirin is described in Syriac and Armenian texts as a supporter of miaphysite Christians. The miaphysite catholicos Viroy may have in turn also viewed her as an ally and so here Shirin may have acted alongside Mariam as a mediator to prisoners at the Sasanian court. It is possible therefore that Shirin and Mariam were both mediating between the Sasanian ruling class and Christian prisoners, approaching different groups with whom they shared cultural and religious connections. When considering the possibility that Mariam and Shirin’s roles complimented one another, a passage in the Chronicle of Seert describes how Khosrow founded three churches during his reign, two of which were associated with Mariam and one with Shirin.67 Significantly, Khosrow invited the Chalcedonian patriarch of Antioch to consecrate these churches, between 593 and 595. This invitation seems to have been made to reinforce Khosrow’s ongoing alliance with the Chalcedonian Byzantine emperor Maurice.68 Mariam’s Byzantine background would have reinforced the Chalcedonian connection to these foundations and strengthened Khosrow’s gesture of friendship to Chalcedonian communities. Hitherto modern studies have consistently described Shirin as significant to relationships between the Sasanian ruling class and Christian communities.69 However, both Mariam and Shirin seem to have been important to the Sasanian government’s patronage of Christian institutions. Together, they appear to have contributed to Khosrow’s engagement with Christian communities during the different phases of his rule. During the previous two centuries, several Sasanian rul65

Baum, 2004: 48. Eutychios of Alexandria, Chronicle, section 99; Baum, 2004: 78. 67 Chronicle of Seert: 146–147. The Chronicle says that one of the foundations was a grand church and castle built in Beth Lashpar for Shirin. Michael the Syrian describes the churches as dedicated to the Mother of God, the Theotokos, and the martyr Sergius: Michael the Syrian, Chronicle, section 10.23. Agapius: 186–187, describes the church at Ctesiphon as dedicated to St Mary. 68 Fowden, 1999: 140. 69 Shirin has been characterised as a patron of miaphysite communities, based mainly upon the accounts in the Khuzistan Chronicle and Ps. Sebeos (see above, note 21). Flusin, 1992, vol. 2: 106–118; Morony, 2006: 350–351; Both Fowden and Payne have suggested that Shirin contributed to Khosrow’s attempt to position himself as a mediator between different Christian groups in Sasanian territory: Fowden, 1999: 140; Payne, 2016: 187. 66

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ers had joined marriages with non-Persian women, to cement political alliances with foreign powers.70 Our window onto Mariam and Shirin’s prominence amongst the Sasanian ruling class may perhaps be a product of the unstable times in which they lived. Sasanian queens may well have exercised a great deal of authority behind the scenes in areas not visible in the extant sources connected to more stable periods of Sasanian history. It is equally possible that the extension of Mariam and Shirin’s roles in relation to Khosrow’s Christian communities within and outside the Sasanian Empire may have also represented a departure from convention. Their new roles in drawing Christian communities closer to the Sasanian court may have therefore resulted in their extensive presence in the sources. The weight of historical evidence thus points towards Mariam’s historicity, and her performance of a mediatory role, separate to or in tandem with Shirin. The activities of these two queens could later have been obscured as Mariam became absorbed into representations of Shirin developed after Khosrow’s death. This may have happened because Shirin was still alive at the end of Khosrow’s reign and was therefore more significant to Sasanian audiences in the aftermath of Khosrow’s death. It is also possible that Mariam, as a relative of the deposed Byzantine Emperor Maurice, was swept under the carpet by the Byzantine sources who wrote the story of the Emperor Heraclius and his subsequent wars with Khosrow. As we have seen, Ferdowsi’s description of the Sasanian nobles and Zoroastrian chief priest as hostile to Shirin’s presence in Khosrow’s harem may have been associated with an invective text against Khosrow. We have noted that the Shahnameh’s account hints at anxiety amongst Khosrow’s courtiers, provoked by Shirin’s determination to underpin her position within the Sasanian ruling class according to Christian religious principles. It is also possible that anxiety amongst the Sasanian nobility and religious elite, who were already enduring external stress and internal political chaos due to Khosrow’s wars with the Byzantines, was further exacerbated by the prominence of two Christian queens and their influence in Khosrow’s court. The sister-wife: Gordyeh Of the three wives of Khosrow Parvez discussed here the figure of Gordyeh appears as the most autonomous in the narrative and in the contemporary sources. She is, as one commentator has noted, one of the stars of the Shahnameh but her marriage to Khosrow signals the end of her agency in the text .71 Gordyeh’s star70

The wife of Bahram V, was an Indian princess. According to al-Tabari V, 884 the wife of Kawad I and mother of Khosrow I, Nīwāndukht, was a Hephtalite. Khosrow I himself married a daughter of the Turkish Khagan, who became mother of Hormzid I: Brosius, 2000. The Šahrestānīhā ī Ērānšahr 47, a middle Persian geography mentions Šīšīnduxt, Jewish wife of Yazdgerd I, who was the mother of the king Bahram V (Gur). 71 Davis, 2007: 79 notes that she is ‘the most strongly drawn of all the female characters

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ring role likely comes via the previously discussed book, the Bahram Chobinnama, that was one of Ferdowsi’s sources.72 In the narrative she is a warriorprincess as fierce and dedicated, if not a little more pragmatic, as her brother Bahram.73 If Bahram Chobin is portrayed as the ideal elite male, as a heroic military commander who successfully fought off Turkish incursions into Sasanian territory, she is his counterpart.74 When Bahram challenges for the Sasanian throne and leads a serious rebellion that drove Khosrow II to flee to the Byzantines, she remains by her brother’s side. When in turn Bahram flees to the Emperor of China, she goes with him. There Bahram is killed but Gordyeh lives on to rebuff the Chinese Emperor’s offer of marriage. She then returns at the head of her brother’s army and in the story, she carries with her the family line. She consents to marry another of Khosrow’s enemies (Gostahm – also the king’s uncle) whom she subsequently murders. Eventually Khosrow marries her himself. Gordyeh’s marriage to Khosrow represents one of the most frequent and essential kinds of union used by the Sasanian dynasty: that is marriage to bind the elite families of the regions and ethnicities of Iran together.75 The Shahnameh incorporates the heroic brother and sister Bahram and Gordyeh but does not explicitly mention the fact that they were married. It has long been assumed that Ferdowsi may have been tactfully avoiding outright comment on the incestuous marriage to adhere to the sensitivities of his time, although the marriage aspect of their relationship may well have been implicit to the contemporary Persian audience.76 The brother/sister relationship is explicitly noted by Arabic sources contemporary to Ferdowsi. Al-Tabari, for example, writes that ‘Bahram had a sister called Kurdiyah, one of the most accomplished of women and most endowed of them with qualities, whom he had married’.77 in the whole immense work’. 72 Gordyeh’s family were the Mihrans, of Parthian origin, see Pourshariati, 2008, 122–130 for the rebellion of Bahram and the family. The similarity of Gordyeh’s depiction in the Shahnameh to that of of the Gordafrid, the Amazon princess who battles with the hero Sohrāb echo those of Achilles and Penthesilea from Greek myth. See Motlagh, 2012: 42– 43 for an assessment of her role in the text. 73 Bahram served the Sasanian king Hormzod IV (father of Khosrow II) as head of an elite force in c. 590 CE (al-Tabari V, sections 992–993) 74 Theophylact Simocatta, book 4 section 9–12 tells of the defeat of Bahram Chobin by Khosrow 75 Here see Motlagh, 2012: 64–67; Pourshariati, 2008: 397–414 for the revolt of Bahram Chobin; Davis, 2007: 82–83 on the unique role of Gordyeh. Davis, 2013: n. 31 notes her continual ‘fearlessness’ in the eyes of Ferdowsi in trying to run her own life and make her own choices although she never succeeds but does illustrate the roles in which her agency was directed. 76 Motlagh, 2012: 64 n. 142 comments that Noldëke, 1879: 474–478 first makes note of the discrepancy. 77 Al-Tabari V, section 998.

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Gordyeh is exceptional for her amazon-like qualities but also captures an essence of the power of women in the elite families in Sasanian Iran, who could carry the bloodline of legitimacy and who were frequently figures of intra-familial alliances. In her speech at her brother’s death, Gordyeh’s criticism of her brother’s policies of disloyalty towards the ruling dynasty may be Ferdowsi’s way of using a representation of Gordyeh’s strength and wisdom as a criticism of her brotherhusband, and the choices he made in rebellion.78 By endowing Gordyeh with the strength and wisdom usually accorded to male heroes, Ferdowsi seems to implicitly criticise Bahram Chobin in the text. Ferdowsi may have constructed this reversal of roles in his own work to achieve his literary objectives, rather than following his source. In the figure of Gordyeh we can perhaps also see how sisters and wives (and these are women who were often both sister and wives) within the ruling elite families played a role in legitimisation of rule and succession over the course of the Sasanian dynasty. Despite Ferdowsi’s reticence about Bahram and Gordyeh’s sibling marriage, the complexity of elite Sasanian marriage policy is nonetheless effectively depicted by the Shahnameh’s representation of the pair. This is because the Shahnameh implies how both figures, the brother and sister, carry the legitimate and dynastic authority of the family. Bahram and Gordyeh practice what was called xweddodah in Middle Persian. This term refers to marriage within the nuclear family specifically and consanguineous marriage generally. Xweddodah marriage texts imply the sister and brother together brought about legitimate rule in the elite families of Sasanian society. This may have become more important when the chaotic political and military situation created a need for an emphasis on legitimacy.79 There are very straightforward details about the practice of endogamy encoded in the late Sasanian period laws. These have been preserved for us in the late Sasanian law text known as the Book of a Thousand Judgements, a collection gathered together in the first half of the 7th century CE. Here specifically the Sasanian practice of xweddodah was explicitly linked in the law codes to inheritance and relates specifically to property.80 The law codes state that both daughter and the son together formed the legitimate right to inherit. This was connected to a concept of the unity of the family. The legal codes and the Zoroastrian religious 78

“If one Sasanian girl remains”, so beautifully expressed in the Shahnameh (trans. Davis): 906. 79 For discussion on how widely xweddodah marriage was actually practised see Rose, 1999; Daryaee, 2013; and discussion in Payne, 2015. 80 Madayan i Hazar Dadestan (A18, 7–12) “If he declares (this): ‘I have conveyed this thing to my son after the passage ten years, and let the thing I conveyed to my son belong to my son in the case that (my) son marries my daughter’ … and again explicitly states that ‘if the son does not marry the daughter (ie. his sister), then even after the passing of ten years (the thing) shall not belong (to him).”

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texts from which the Sasanian dynasty proclaimed their legitimacy were steeped in the practice of consanguineous marriage.81 The degree to which these sources reflect daily life in Sasanian Iran, or not, is discussed by Touraj Daryaee, who notes the fact that many of these texts were written down after or around the time of the fall of the Sasanian Empire. An increased emphasis on purity of family lineage in the face of conversion to Islam was perhaps the impulse behind the production of these texts.82 The significance of sister-wives in the elite families of Sasanian Iran may help to explain Gordyeh’s political role, which seems to have been perceived by contemporary audiences as connected to her marriage to her brother Bahram Chobin. On Bahram’s death Gordyeh became the symbol and figurehead of the family’s rebellion. The interest in marriage to Gordyeh shown by the imperial family of China, and by Khosrow’s rebel uncle, further indicate that she was a representative of her family’s authority, and implicitly their military power.83 In extreme circumstances, as we have seen above with the Sasanian Queens Boran and Azarmigduxt, women in Sasanian Iran could come to head the family, even if only as figureheads. The fact that Gordyeh eventually agreed to marry Khosrow is the act that effectively ended the rebellion of her family. Her marriage to Khosrow and envelopment into the harem of the Sasanian king signifies the subjugation of her family into the power of the king of kings and the ultimate failure of her brother’s usurpation. Conclusions The long reign of king Khosrow Parviz lasted from 590 to 628 and is one of the most well attested periods of Sasanian history, coming just at the end of 400 years of dynastic control. It is also one of the most chaotic, a period of constant warfare, usurpation, regicide and disintegration. The prominence of three of Khosrow’s wives, who emerge vividly in the narrative of the Shahnameh, reflects some of the ways in which elite women operated in this environment. It also reveals how, in times of crisis and dynastic turmoil, women often appeared more visible in historical narratives. Representations of Shirin and Mariam’s court battles and rivalries play out in the timeless narrative of competition of women in the harem, 81

The Pahlavi Rivāyat, section 11 reads: “In one place it is revealed that Ohrmazd said to Zoroaster: These are the four best things: worship of Ohrmazd the Lord; and offering of firewood and incense and oblation to the fire; and satisfying the needs of the priest (righteous man); and he who practices xwēddōdah with his mother or daughter or with his sister.” (chapter 8c1). 82 Daryaee, 2013, assesses the way the late Sasanian and early Islamic Zoroastrian laws emphasise legitimacy and inter-family marriage because of the threat of conversion, property loss and wealth transfer in place. See Fransden’s, 2009 study on incestuous marriages in Eygpt and Persia. 83 Davis, 2007: 82–83 notes that she is ultimately powerless to achieve any real influence.

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but also, we would argue, in the specific political context of the deadly aftermath of Khosrow’s overthrow and death and the succession to the throne. Gordyeh emerges as an elite Iranian woman who was symbolic of the power and influence of her family and who was perceived by late antique audiences as instrumental in rival bids to the throne. By reading the Shahnameh alongside late antique sources, we can develop an impression of the ways in which these women influenced their environment, or at least attempted to. We are able to see this in the novelty of Khosrow’s policies towards Christian communities and the prominence of the Christian wives, Mariam and Shirin, within this policy. The sources used for the Shahnameh have picked up memories of these women and echoes of their agency, but tend to focus upon the figure of Shirin, perhaps because she was more politically relevant to the immediate aftermath of Khosrow’s reign. Responses to the agency of the wives of Khosrow Parviz were preserved as memories for posterity within stories and legends of the Sasanians kings. We have attempted to shed light on the sources that captured and transmitted responses to these women’s agency. Shirin, Mariam, and Gordyeh appear as significant figures in the discourse of a fragmented political context involving the whole of the near east and western Asia, with multiple political and military agendas, as well as cultural, linguistic, and religious traditions, all at play. The representations of the wives of Khosrow Parviz offer a glimpse into the potential for prominent roles for elite women within the ruling class in other, less visible, periods of Sasanian history. The portrayals of these women can thus be considered as templates for the ways in which elite women could and did operate in the court culture of the Sasanian kings. Bibliography Primary Sources Abolqasem Ferdowsi, Shahnameh, trans. by D. Davis, 2016, as Shahnameh: The Persian Book of Kings. New York. Abolqasem Ferdowsi, Le livre des rois / par Abou’lkasim Firdousi, publié, traduit et commenté par Jules Mohl. Paris (1838, reprinted by Jean Maisonneuve, 1976). Al-Tabari, History, trans. by C.E. Bosworth, 1999, as The History of al-Tabari, vol. 5. Albany, NewYork. Antiochus Strategos, The Capture of Jerusalem by the Persians in the year 614, ed. and trans. by Frederick C. Conybeare, 1910, as “Antiochus Strategos’ Account of the Sack of Jerusalem in A.D. 614”. The English Historical Review 25/99, 502–517. Chronicle of Seert, trans. by Mgr. Addai Scher, 1919, as Histoire Nestorienne Inédite (Chronique de Séert). Patrologia Orientalis Tome IV, Paris.

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Cyriacus of Mardin, Treaty on Jacob Baradeus, ed. and trans. by M.A. Kugener, as “Recit de Mar Cyriaque”. Revue de l’Orient Chretien 7, 201–216. Denha, History of Maruta, ed. and trans. by Francois Nau, 1900, as Histoire de Marouta: Patrologia Orientalis, vol 3. Paris. Evagrius, Ecclesiastical History, ed. and trans. by M. Whitby, 2000, as The Ecclesiastical History of Evagrius Scholasticus. Liverpool. History of Pseudo-Sebeos, trans. by R. W. Thomson, 1999, as The Armenian History Attributed to Sebeos. Liverpool. Karnamak-I-Artakhsir I Papakan, ed. and trans. by E.K. Antia, 1900, as Karnamak-I Artakhsir Papakan: The original Pahlavi text, with transliteration in Awesta characters, translation into English and Gujarati and selections from the Shahnameh. Bombay. Madayan i Hazar Dadestan, trans. by A. Perikhanian & N. Garsoian, 1997, as The Book of a Thousand Legal Judgements (A Sasanian Law-Book). Costa Mesa. Movses Daskhurants’i, History of the Albanians, trans. by C.J.F. Dowsett, 1961, as The History of the Caucasian Albanians. London. Nizami Ganjavi, Khosrow o Shirin, trans. by Peter J. Chelkowski, 1975, as ‘Khosrow and Shirin’, P. Chelkowski (ed), Mirror of the Invisible World, tales from the Kamseh of Nizami. New York. Pp. 21–45. Šahrestānīhā ī Ērānšahr: A middle Persian text on Late Antique Geography, Epic and History. English and Persian texts, translation and commentary by Touraj Daryee. 2002. Costa Mesa. Theophylact Simocatta, History, trans. by Michael Whitby and Mary Whitby, 1986, as The History of Theophylact Simocatta. Oxford. The Khuzistan Chronicle, ed. and trans. by Geoffrey Greatrex and Samuel Lieu, 2002, as ‘The Khuzistan Chronicle’ in G. Greatrex and S. Lieu (eds.): The Roman Eastern Frontier and the Persian Wars, A Narrative Sourcebook, Part II AD 363–630. London. Pp. 229–237. The Pahlavi Rivāyat Accompanying the Dādestān ī Dēnīg, Parts I and II, edited and translated by A.V. Williams, 1990. Copenhagen. Secondary Sources Abdullaeva, F., 2019: “The legend of Siyavosh or the Legend of Yusof?”. In O. Davidson / M. Shreve Simpson (eds.): Ferdowsi’s Shāhnāma: Millennial Perspectives, Ilex Foundations Series 13. Cambridge, Mass / London. Pp. 28–57. Ager, S., 2005: “Familiarity Breeds: Incest and the Ptolemaic Dynasty”. JHS 125, 1–34. Allen, P., 1981: Evagrius Scholasticus, the Church Historian. Spicilegium sacrum Lovaniense. Leuven. Bartholomae, C., 1924: Die Frau im sasanidischen Recht. Heidelberg.

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Baum, W., 2004: Shirin: Christian – Queen – Myth of Love. A Woman of Late Antiquity – Historical Reality and Literary Effect. New Jersey. Bosworth, C.E., 1983: “The Persian Impact on Arabic Literature”. In A.F.L. Beeston / T.M. Johnstone / R.B. Serjeant / G.R. Smith (eds.): Arabic Literature to the End of the Umayyad Period. Cambridge. Pp. 483–496. Blondell, R., 2013: Helen of Troy: Beauty, Myth, Devastation. Oxford. Brosius, 2002: “Women”. Encyclopædia Iranica, online edition, available at http: //www.iranicaonline.org/articles/kosrow-o-sirin (accessed Oct. 30, 2019). Browne, E.G., 1956: Literary History of Persia Vols. 1 & 2. Cambridge. Chaumont, M.L., 1963: “A propos de quelques personnages feminins figurant dans l’inscription trilingue de Saphur ler a la ‘Ka’ba de Zoroastre’”. Journal of Near Eastern Studies 22/3, 194–199. Choksy, J., 1989: “A Sasanian Monarch, his Queen, crown prince and deities”. American Journal of Numismatics 1, 117–135. Christensen, A., 1907: “Romanen om Bahrâm Tschôbîn, et Rekonstruktionsforsøg”. Studier Fra Sprog-Og Oldtidsforskning 75. Copenhagen. Clark, G., 1993: Women in Late Antiquity. Pagan and Christian Life-styles. Oxford. Coloru, O., 2015: “I am your Father! Dynasty and Dynastic Legitimacy in PreIslamic Coinage Between Iran and Northwest India”. Electrum 22, 173–199. Curtis, V. S. & Stewart, S., 2008: The Sasanian Era: The Idea of Iran Vol. 3. London / New York. Dabashi, H., 2019: The Shahnameh: The Persian Epic as World Literature. New York. Daryaee, T., 2013: “Marriage, Property and Conversion among the Zoroastrians: From Late Sasanian to Islamic Iran”. Journal of Persianate Studies 6 (1–2), 91–100. — 2009: Sasanian Persia. The Rise and Fall of an Empire. London / New York — 1995: “National History or Kayanid History?: The nature of Sasanid Zoroastrian historiography”. Iranian Studies 28/3–4, 129–141. Davis, D., 2016: “Introduction”. in D. Davis (trans.) Shāhnāmeh, The Persian Book of Kings. New York. Pp. 13–37. — 2015: “Religion in the Shahnameh”. Iranian Studies 48/3, 337–348. — 2007: “Women in the Shahnameh: Exotics and Natives. Rebellious legends and Dutiful Histories”. In S. Poor / J. Schulman (eds.): Women and Medieval Epic. Gender, Genre and the Limits of Epic Masculinity. New York / Basingstoke. Pp. 67–90. — 2002: Panthea’s Children: Hellenistic Novels and Medieval Persian Romances. New York. — 1996: “The Problem of Ferdowsi’s Sources”. Journal of the American Oriental Society 116/1, 48–57.

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— 1992: Epic and Sedition: The Case of Ferdowsi’s Shahnameh. Washington DC. Davison, O.M., 1994: Poet and Hero in the Book of Kings. Cornell. Duchesne-Guillemin, J., 2008: “Zoroastrian Religion”. In E. Yarshater (ed.): The Cambridge History of Iran. Cambridge vol. 3.2. Pp. 866–908. Emrani, H, 2009: “Like Father, Like Daughter: Late Sasanian Imperial Ideology and the Rise of Bōrān to Power.” Available online at E-sasanika (https://www. sasanika.org/esasanika/like-father-like-daughter-late-sasanian-imperial-ideol ogy-the-rise-of-boran-to-power-2/) (accessed Nov. 01, 2019). Flusin, B., 1992: Sant Anastase le Perse et L’Histoire de la Palestine au Début du VIIe Siècle, Tome 1: Les Textes et Tome 2: Commentaire. Paris. Frandsen, P.J., 2009: Incestuous and Close-Kin Marriage in Ancient Egypt and Persia. CNI 34. Copenhagen. Frye, R.N., 1983: “The Political History of Iran under the Sasanians”. In E. Yarshater (ed.): The Cambridge History of Iran Volume 3: The Seleucid, Parthian and Sasanid Periods. Cambridge. Pp. 116–180. Gazerani, S., 2016: The Sistani Cycle of Epics and Iran’s National History: On the Margins of Historiography. Leiden / Boston. Grignaschi, M., 1973: “Nihayatu-l ‘arab fi ahbari-l-furs wa-l-‘arab”. Bulletin d’etudes orientales 26. Pp. 115/33–136/54. Hambly, G.R.G. (ed.), 1999: Women in the Medieval Islamic World. New York. Harper, P.O., 1971: “Sources of Certain Female Representation in Sasanian Art”. La Persia Nel Medioevo. Rome. Pp. 503–515. — 1981: Silver Vessels of the Sasanian Period, Volume One: Royal Imagery. New York. Herrman, G., 1969: “The Darabgird Relief. Ardashir or Shapur? A Discussion in the Context of Early Sasanian Sculpture”. Iran 7, 63–68. Higgins, M.J., 1955: “Chosroes II’s Votive Offerings at Sergiopolis”. Byzantine Zeitschrift 48, 89–102. Holzberg, N., 1995: The Ancient Novel: An Introduction. London / New York. Howard-Johnston, J., 2011: Witnesses to a World Crisis: Historians and Histories of the Middle East in the Seventh Century. Oxford. Huyse, P., 2008: “Late Sasanian Society between Orality and Literacy”. In V.S. Curtis / S. Stewart (eds.): The Sasanian Era: The Idea of Iran Vol. 3. London / New York. Krasnowolska, A., 2019: “Ferdowsi’s Dāstān – An Autonomous Narrative Unit?”. In O. Davidson / M. Shreve Simpson (eds.): Ferdowsi’s Shahnama: Millennial Perspectives, Ilex Foundation Series 13. Cambridge, MA / London. Pp. 12–27. Llewellyn-Jones, L., 2019 : “Harem Politics: royal women and succession crises in the Ancient Near East (c. 1400–300BCE)”. In E. Woodacre / L. Dean /

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C. Jones et. al. (eds.): The Routledge History of Monarchy. London / New York. Pp. 534–550. Lord, A.B., 2001: The Singer of Tales 2nd Edition, S. Mitchell / G. Nagy (eds.). Cambridge, MA. Madreiter, I., 2020: “From Historical Enigma to Modern Role Model the Reception of the Sāsānid Queen Šīrīn in Contemporary Iranian Cinema”. In F. CarlàUhink / A. Wieber (eds.): Orientalism and the Reception of Powerful Women from the Ancient World. London. Pp. 193–208. Meisami, J.S., 1999: Persian Historiography to the End of the Twelfth Century. Edinburgh. Motlagh, D.K., 2012: Women in the Shahnameh: Their History and Social Status within the Framework of Ancient and Medieval Sources. N. Pirnazar (ed.) / B. Neuenschwander (trans.). Costa Mesa. Nöldeke, Th., 1879: Geschichte der Perser und Araber zur Zeit der Sasaniden aus der arabischen Chronik des Tabari. Leiden. — 1920 [1896–1904]: Das Iranische Nationalepos. Berlin. — 1930: The Iranian National Epic, (transl. L. Bogdanov). Journal of the K.R. Cama Oriental Institute 7. Bombay (reprinted 1979 by Porcupine Press, Philadelphia). Orsatti, P., 2006: “Ḵosrow o Širin”, Encyclopaedia Iranica, online edition, available at http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/kosrow-o-sirin (accessed Oct. 17, 2019). Panaino, A., 2006: “Women and Kingship: Some Remarks about the Enthronisation of Queen Boran and Her Sister Azarmigduxt”. In J. Wiesehöfer / P. Huyse (eds.): Ērān ud Anērān: Studien zu den Beziehungen zwischen dem Sasanidenreich und der Mittelmeerwelt. Beiträge des Internationalen Collogquiums in Euti, 8–9. Stuttgart. Pp. 221–240. Payne, R.E., 2015: A State of Mixture: Christians, Zoroastrians and Iranian Political Culture in Late Antiquity. Oakland. Pierce, L, 2015: “Serpents and Sorcery: Humanity, Gender and the Demonic in Ferdowsi’s Shahnameh”. Iranian Studies 48/3, 349–367. Poor. S / Schulman, J.K. (eds.), 2007: Women and Medieval Epic. Gender, Genre, and the Limits of Epic Masculinity. New York / Basingstoke. Pourshariati, P., 2008: Decline and Fall of the Sasanian Empire: The SasanianParthian Confederacy and the Arab Conquest of Iran. London / New York. Robinson, C.F., 2003: Islamic Historiography. Cambridge. Rose, J., 1999: “Three Queens, Two Wives, and a Goddess: The Roles and Images of Women in Sasanian Iran”. In G.R.G. Hambly (ed.): Women in the Medieval Islamic World. New York. Pp. 29–54. Scarcia, G., 2004: “La ‘sposa bizantina’ di Khosrow Parviz”. In La Persia e Bisanzio, Convegno internazionale (Roma, 14–18 ottobre 2002). Atti dei convegni lincei 201. Rome. Pp. 115–135.

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Cleopatra as a Strong Woman in Modern Times A Less Negative Episode in a Disfigured Tradition? François de Callataÿ

Abstract There are few historical figures whose reception have been as heavily distorted as Cleopatra, whose life and deeds were for long only known to us by her victors, Augustus and the subsequent Roman tradition reported by Plutarch and reproduced much later by Shakespeare. The white male colonialist society of the second half of the 19th c. will put a peak to that dark image. But before that, during Renaissance and Early Modern times, we do observe a series of images offering a much less charged portrait of Cleopatra. The aim of this paper is to explore and to put into perspective this neglected kind of evidence focusing on medals, gems and tapestries. As I tried to demonstrate in a short essay about the uses and abuses of the images of Cleopatra,1 there is possibly no iconic female historical figure to have suffered more from prejudices than Cleopatra. Very little has survived about her in terms of literary tradition, which is entirely Roman and deliberately hostile. Two literary works dominate the reception with their high stature: Plutarch in various places but mostly in his Life of Antony, and Shakespeare much later with his Antony and Cleopatra (1607). 1. Cleopatra in literary sources: Plutarch, Shakespeare and the others Plutarch of Chaeronea (46–125 AD) wrote his Parallel Lives during the reign of Trajan, in the first decade of the 2nd century, on the basis of primarily Roman documentation. Neoplatonic, opposed to both Epicureans and Stoics, he has no reason to feel sympathy for this Cleopatra, who disturbs the virtue of his hero Antony. The portrait he draws bears the trace of Augustan propaganda and the two irredeemable features that it seeks to stigmatize: she is a woman and she is a foreigner. This double danger was aggravated by the fact that by having given birth to Caesar’s son, she also held strong legitimacy. Jacques Amyot’s (1513– 1593) translation of the Parallel Lives into French in 1559 met a resounding success and spread Plutarch everywhere.2 Its translation into English by Thomas North in 15793 influenced Shakespeare, who took direct inspiration to write An-

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Callataÿ, 2015. Amyot, 1559. 3 North, 1579. 2

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tony and Cleopatra, first played in 1606 and first published in 1623.4 These two presentations offering a same voice dominate the reception of Cleopatra. Other voices reinforce the prejudices. Roman poets only quote her by degrading periphrases: “harmful wife” in Virgil,5 or “mad queen” in Horace.6 As summed up by a recent commentator, she is an “evil beauty, treacherous and conspiratorial, foreign, incestuous, daring, lying, adulterous, sumptuous, luxurious, indecent, vain, greedy”.7 Two minor ancient sources go even further: Propertius describes Cleopatra as regina meretrix, translated either as “mother mackerel” or “queen of the whores,8 while a sentence in Sextus Aurelius Victor implies that Cleopatra was prostituting herself to the highest bidder and that many paid with their death their night with the queen.9 The great encyclopaedist Ali Ibn al-Husayn al-Masu’di (896–956) appears as the sole exception to offer an unprejudiced image of Cleopatra. In his Meadows of Gold, she appears as the guardian of Greek knowledge, science and philosophy, and whom Augustus would have attacked to seize these very secrets. But his lonely voice was not echoed in the Christian world. Dante Alighieri (1265–1321) places Cleopatra in the second circle of Hell, the one reserved for the luxurious.10 In his book about On famous women, Boccacio (1313–1375) strongly insists on her depraved character,11 while Christine de Pizan (1364–1420) takes great care not to include her in the edifying cycle of the virtuous women who comprise her Book of the City of Ladies (1405).12 At the dawn of the Renaissance, Cleopatra’s image was thus frozen: she was the great sinner, the seducer of a thousand lovers, a case of monstrous and debilitating lasciviousness. Among the many texts that feature this incomparable corrupter, I extract a satire by the Jansenist Henri Spoor, author in 1715 of a late and polemical collection of Illustrium imagines.13 This visual/literary genre presents a mirror of vices and virtues of famous characters. The text is short and deserves to be reproduced in its entirety as it offers an almost complete corpus of the prejudices involved:

4

Shakespeare, 1623. Virgil, Aeneid, VIII, 688: nefas ... coniunx. 6 Horace, Odes, I, 37: regina dementis. 7 Boyer, 2004: 28. 8 Propertius, Elegies, III, 11; see also Pliny the Elder, Natural History, III, IX, 119–121. 9 Sextus Aurelius Victor, Liber de viris illustribus urbis Romae, XXX: “Haec tantae libidinis flees, ut saepe prostiterit, tantae pulchritudinis, ut multi noctem illius morte emerint”. 10 Dante, Inferno, V, 63. But he pities her in Paradise, VI, 76–78 for her courageous death. 11 Boccaccio, 1374: chap. 88. 12 Pizan, 1405. 13 Spoor, 1715: 94. 5

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Cleopatra regina Aegyptiorum Africa monstrorum genetrix, metuenda colonis Plena feris, Lybico plena leone, Lupo Atque minax Nilo, crocodilus littore, praeda Mentitas lacrymas, quo capiatur, agit, Africa tosta nimis, Phaebique calore cremata est ; Sed Cleopatra magis fervet amore viri. Est regina, fui non est regina doloris, Possidet haec vitiis regna minora fuis. Ardet concubitus, pascitque per ossa furorem, Illius haec animi sunt alimenta, cibi. Sive throno sedeat, sommo obruta sive cubili Dormiat, Antonium noxque, diesque refert. Est, fateor formosa, sibi fomosa manere Convenit. Antonii, quod petit, uxor habet. Est mulier gurges, mulier privata pudore, Est lassanda viris, non satienda viris. Everything is there: Africa is full of monsters; full of monsters because it is too hot and nature is therefore out of control, because Phebus (Apollo) has burned everything there (Phaebique calore cremata est). It is even worse in the case of Cleopatra because she burns with the love of men (magis fervet amore viri). Where does she burn? In bed (Ardet concubitus). She furiously has men in the skin (literally “in the bones”: per ossa furorem). She exhausted poor Anthony days and nights (noxque, diesque”). This Anthony who had a wife was captured by this indecent woman (mulier privata pudore), tired by men but never satisfied by them (lassanda viris, non satienda viris). 2. Short summary of Cleopatra’s Nachleben in visual arts from the Renaissance to today How to sum up the Nachleben of Cleopatra in the visual arts? Table 1 is an attempt to establish chronological frequencies for the main types of iconographic representations based on a – admittedly not very large – corpus of 168 artworks (mostly paintings).14

14

See Callataÿ, 2015: 81.

502

Eva (serpent) Laocoon (serpent) Cleopatra/Ariadne of Vatican (serpent) (baroque ecstasies) Venus Death (as in Plutarch) Meeting at Tarsus Banquet Pearl (Cleopatra alone) Cleopatra and Octavian Cleopatra and Anthony Varia Total

François de Callataÿ

1500– 1550– 1600– 1650– 1700– 1750– 1800– 1850– Total 1549 1599 1649 1699 1749 1799 1849 1899 6 6 3 5 8 3 3 12 6 1 3 28

7 -

3 -

10 4 4 -

2 7 1 7 6

1 1 4 7

1 4 1 1 2

4 1 -

1 5 1

24 25 8 12 16

-

-

2

1

-

5

-

-

8

-

-

-

-

1

7

1

2

11

1 20

1 12

1 33

2 32

3 18

2 23

2 9

18 30

30 176

Table 1. Main iconographic themes related with Cleopatra (1500–1900) Cleopatra standing upright in a natural landscape, borrowed from the iconography of Eve in paradise, is a device that ends with the first decades of the sixteenth century. In vogue quite immediately after its discovery in 1506, the tormented pose of the Laocoon extends a little further but not much further. Inspired by the Vatican sculpture found in 1512 of the so-called dying Cleopatra, actually sleeping Ariadne, with her right arm folded over her head, Cleopatra will be often assimilated to Venus with red drapery in the background. The first half of the 17th c. is characterized by an explosion of the theme of Cleopatra's death, mostly focusing on the expiring face. The same appeal for baroque ecstasies is found with the iconography of Mary Magdalene. Venus and Mary Magdalene, the embodiments of carnal pleasures, also fascinated the artists of Bologna along with the last queen of Egypt. With the second half of the 17th c., the intimate Cleopatra gave way to a more complex staging of power. Particularly popular are the episode of the banquet, with his anecdote of the pearl, which magnifies the strong woman. Eroticism becomes more discreet.15 Politics prevails over religion. The Grand Siècle of Louis 15

Cleopatra bet Marc Antony that she could host a more expensive dinner than he could. After having served a simple meal and to the astonishment of Antony wondering about

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XIV displayed its frozen devices, which expressed power and ambition. Cleopatra’s death is no longer a personal act, a dialogue with the divine, but a scene of collective affliction where the servants Charmion and Iras throw their arms of despair, as close as possible to Plutarch’s description.16 The 18th c., especially the second half, further amplified this political dimension of Cleopatra, by choosing to represent her encounters with Antony and Octavian, from angles that sometimes express her strength of soul, sometimes her submission to the winner. At last, the second half of the 19th c. (the first half being marked by a relative vacuum) explodes the framework of the agreed themes, enriching Cleopatra’s iconography with new scenes but also with unfavourable prejudices according to the then dominant tropisms: orientalism and eroticism, colonialism and exoticism, with a touch of sadism.17 Cleopatra is no more considered as a powerful queen but again seen as the embodiment of lasciviousness as typified by the Romans and the Christians. This is much less to her advantage than the queen of love depicted in the 16th c., with the passion for love sometimes understood as a mystical quality. The strong woman has become again – and more than ever – a fatal woman. To this darkened picture, the 19th c. triumphant bourgeoisie delightedly added a touch of cruelty. At the same time, in the aftermath of the Expédition d’Égypte, her cultural identity was denied. No more perceived as a Hellenistic queen, descendant of Macedonian kings and queens who reproduced in an endogamous way, she was from now onwards connected to an imaginary world that was only slightly her own: the old pharaonic civilization with its magnetic charm. For the historian, the effects will be devastating, not on the popularity of her image – which will benefit from it – but on the relationship to reality and the misunderstandings that will result from it. The 20th c. is characterized by the planetary extension of the myth through mass media: theatres and movies but also, more recently, countless images often created by anonymous hands and put online on the web. For the first time in history, images are no longer the prerogative of a small white male elite, duly formed in artistic techniques (the artists), but of a much larger pool, largely including women in a proportion likely to be at last significant. how she could ever win, Cleopatra crushed one large pearl from a pair of earrings, said to value 60 million sestertii and dissolved it in a goblet of vinegar, before gulping it down (Pliny, NH, 9.58). 16 Plutarch, Antony, 85.5–86.6. 17 A characteristic male fantasy taken up later in Romantic Age by Alexander Pushkin in the poem Cleopatra as part of his Egyptian nights (1824): “Hear me! This day is my pleasure / To make us equals in my sight. / To you my love were highest blessing, / But you may buy this bliss tonight. / Behold the marketplace of passion! / For sale I offer nights divine; / Who dares to barter in this fashion / His life against one night of mine?”

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Cleopatra is presented ever more alone, ever more eroticized, ever more dominant. She has eliminated her enemies. The Romans have gone. The snake also ran away through a corner of the painting, having played the role of visual identifier for so long. This is all normal since, now firmly anchored to Pharaonic Egypt, Cleopatra could get rid of a snake, emblematic of the sad fate inflicted by the Romans. To the old basic equation “woman + snake = Cleopatra”, one has substituted a new and very efficient syntax “eroticized woman + pyramid = Cleopatra” (if not eroticized, it is Nefertiti). Eroticized and dominant: “Eros und Macht” in German. In this overwhelming popular imagery, the felines are gaining in power. “Naked woman + Egyptian referent + panther = Cleopatra as dominant seductress”. Beautiful and dangerous as a reworked version of the poisonous woman typical of the Belle Époque. She is seductive because she likes to represent herself as such (the famous advertising of L’Oréal: “because I am worth it!”). Mistress of animals herself, like the Minoan or Mycenean potnia therôn or the Greek Artemis, the contemporary Cleopatra is a bitch, a little cruel, very sensual and above all supremely narcissistic. In a world where everyone is invited to stage her or himself by inventing a life greater than the real margins of her/his existence, Cleopatra is for many a great mirror for built vanities. Frozen and icy, cut off from others, reflected in its ephemeral beauty in the shadow of the eternal pyramids, this new and current image of Cleopatra brings the fruit of other prejudices, totally different but not less lamentable than the old ones. 3. Cleopatra as a strong or fatal woman on tapestries in Early Modern times In this long story of nearly continuous disgraces, there is however one moment which partly escapes this sad fate: the Early Modern times.18 Only partly since a significant amount of written and visual art continue to be hostile. She is evoked in 1642 by Georges (1601–1667) and Madeleine (1607–1701) de Scudéry in their Illustrious women, but to say that “the glory of her death removes the shame of her life”.19 She is not surprisingly absent in the Heroic women published by Father Jacques du Bosc in 1669.20 She is vilified in 1663 by the Jesuit Pierre Le Moyne (1602–1671) in his Gallery of strong women, described as learned and skilled, but depraved, spendthrift and “like a sow adorned with gold buckles”.21 The only one 18

See Richard-Jamet, 2004. Scudéry, 1642: 47–66 (47 for the quotation). 20 Bosc, 1669. 21 Le Moyne, 1663: XXX (“elle diffama la beauté, / prostitua la royauté, / abusa des trésors de la terre et de l’onde, / et par un luxe énorme et fatal à sa Cour, / Ses aïeux avaient fait les miracles du monde, / à beaucoup moins de frais qu’elle ne fit l’amour.”) and 241 (“[…] de Cléopâtre, et de quelques autres princesse, qui ont été courageuses, magnifiques, savantes, habiles, et n’ont pas été fort chastes. J’ai déjà dit, que cette tâche était d’autant plus vilaine, qu’elle était sur une matière plus précieuse et travaillée avec plus d’art […] 19

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to adopt an entirely positive tone is a woman: the Venetian Lucrezia Marinella (1571–1653) in her book published in 1642 about The Nobility and Excellence of Women, with a great subtitle: and the Defects and Vices of Men.22 Here Cleopatra is simply “magnificent” and “splendid”. It is mainly in visual art that her status is modified and mainly with grand historical composition. Cleopatra’s life became a highly fashionable motive after the translation of Plutarch’s Parallel Lives by Jacques Amyot. As with the large frescoes painted by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo (1696–1770) in 1746–1747 for the Palazzo Labia in Venice, it prompts cycles of representations out of which some episodes soon became canonical, like the meeting of Antony and Cleopatra at Tarsus, the banquet with the episode of the pearl, the battle of Actium and to be sure, the final death of the queen. Tapestries were at the time the best medium to display such grand cycles. Already in the second half of the 16th c., several sets about Caesar and Cleopatra or Antony and Cleopatra were produced at Brussels, as the one woven in ca. 1560 and once bought by John Pierpont Morgan (1837–1913) and given to his stepbrother Walter Hayes Burns (1838–1897).23 Among the many sets involving Cleopatra produced during the 17th c., one may specifically cite five: 1) the one on Cleopatra and Antony originally created by Karel van Mander the Young (1579– 1623) and produced after 1621 in Gouda and Schonhoven, where Cleopatra is given a prominent role especially in the tapestry devoted to the pearl episode.24 2) The cycle on Antoine et Cléopâtre, produced shortly before 1650 by Isaac Moillon (1614–1673) for the Aubusson factory with again the episode of the pearl and Cleopatra placed here in the centre of the composition.25 3) The Story of Antony and Cleopatra designed ca. 1650 by Justus van Egmont (1601–1674) and woven in the years 1650–1677 at the Brussels workshop directed by Geraert van der Strecken (?–1677), with both the episodes of the meeting at Tarsus and the pearl

ou par la générosité de Cléopâtre, habile et licencieuse, magnanime et débauchée. Il est certes grand dommage que tant de vertus aient été si mal logées, et en si mauvaise compagnie. Et puisque le Saint Esprit a comparé les belles qui ne sont pas sages à des truies parées de boucles d’or”. 22 See Marinella, 1601: 57, 72 and 80. 23 This set was long hung at North Mymms Park (Hertfordshire countryside) before being sold by Sotheby’s. The cathedral of Burgos keeps two sets of them (see Matesanz del Barrio, 2008). The first set of originally 6 pieces created by Pieter Coecke van Aelst (1502–1550) was given in 1651 by Archdeacon Juan de Ayala Guzman. On one piece, Cleopatra and her court, one reads the words: SPES, FIDES, TEMPERANTIA, IVSTITIA (Hope, Faith, Temperance and Justice) (see Carò et al., 2014), while the second sold in 1646 by Juan Castro y Castilla, count of Montalvo, for no less than 4,000 ducats includes 9 pieces and is attributed to Marteen van Heemskerck (1498–1574). 24 See Hartkamp-Jonxis, 2002: 32–34. 25 A set is on display in the Palais de Lascaris (Nice).

506

François de Callataÿ

at the banquet.26 4) The Story of Augustus and Cleopatra, woven in Brussels ca. 1670 by Peter and Jeroen Le Clerc after a drawing by Charles Poerson (1609– 1667).27 5) The very large set of 14 Flemish high baroque pieces relating the Story of Caesar and Cleopatra woven ca. 1680 at the Brussels workshop of Gerard Peemans (ca. 1625–ca. 1710).

Fig. 1. The Meeting of Antony and Cleopatra, ca. 1650, Brussels, designed by Justus van Egmont and woven in the workshop directed by Geraert van der Strecken (New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, Inv. 92.1.9, 414 x 518 cm © wikicommons) 26

See the 5 pieces kept at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (inv. 92.1.7-11). See Appleton Standen, 1985: n° 32 (The story of Antony and Cleopatra). For the tapestry with the pearl (Inv. 92.1.7 – bequest Elizabeth U. Coles 1892), see the legend: ANTONIVS IPSAM / COMPELLENDI / GRATIA MISSVS ILLIUS / AMORE CAPTITVR [Antony, sent to compel her, is captured by love of her]. For the tapestry with the meeting, see the legend: ANTONIVS IPSAM / COMPELLENDI / GRATIA MISSVS ILLIUS / AMORE CAPTITVR [Antony, sent to compel her, is captured by love of her] (fig. 1). 27 See Cleopatra tempts Augsutus with gifts, 365 x 559 cm (Boston, Museum of Fine Arts, Inv. 1970.400 with the inscription: CLEOPATRA AUGUSTUM MUNERIBUS TENTAT (Cleopatra tempts Augustus with gifts) or The triumph of Cleopatra, 355 x 505 cm (Brussels, Museum of Art and History, Fondation Roi Baudouin – fig. 1).

Cleopatra as a Strong Woman in Modern Times

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The inventory of royal furnishings made in 1695 after the death of Queen Mary gives the measure of this success with no less than 3 reported cycles: 5 pieces in the Standing Wardrobe at St. James Palace, 8 in the Hampton Court Wardrobe and 9 in the Windsor Wardrobe.28 It is also well known that a tapestry of the meeting of Cleopatra and Antony along the Cydnus is evoked by Shakespeare in The Tragedy of Cymbeline, King of Britain (2.4, 66–76) written in ca. 1611. At a banquet given by Philario, Giacomo described the tapestry as hanging on the wall of Imogen’s bedroom with the “proud Cleopatra when she met her Roman”: “First, her bedchamber, (Where I confess I slept not, but profess Had that was well worth watching) it was hang’d With tapestry of silk and silver, the story Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman, And Cydnus swell’d above the banks, or for The press of boats, or pride. A piece of work So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive In workmanship and value; which I wonder’d Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, Since the true life on’t was” It is likely that Shakespeare himself was inspired by the recent English translation by Mary Sidney Herbert (1561–1621), countess of Pembroke, of the French book by Robert Garnier (1545–1590) on Antony.29 And we know that Mary Herbert commissioned Samuel Daniel for a companion piece about Cleopatra.30 As argued by Céline Richard-Jamet,31 the portrait of Cleopatra emerging from early modern tapestries is thus less the one of a strong woman than of a fatal woman. There is no cycle dedicated to her glory only and men remain the dominant figures. 4. Cleopatra on medals and gems in Early Modern times In contrast with what has been seen so far, there are no snakes, nor any depreciative visual allusions on the three sets of Renaissance medals created by Valerio Belli, known as Vicentino (c. 1468–1546), and Vittore Gambello, known as Camelio (c. 1455–1537), during early 16th c., before the Counter-Reformation, but after the discovery of the Laocoon (1506) and the Vatican Cleopatra (1512). 28

See Munoz Simonds, 1992: 97 (with reference to Thomson, 1915 and Olson, 2013: 139– 140). 29 See Garnier, 1578 and Sidney-Herbert, 1595. 30 Sidney-Herbert, 1595: 13 and 21. On this, see Frye, 2000: 238. On this, see also Ziegler, 1990: 83 and Olson, 2013: 127–148 (6. Cymbeline’s Translated Tapestry). 31 See Richard-Jamet, 2003 and 2004.

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On the contrary, these medals display a surprising and firm laudatio of the queen who is in one case called “divine” (ΔΙΑ) (fig. 2), while she is associated with the happy virtue (ΑΡΕΤΗ ΕΥΤΥΧΗΣ) and eternal peace (ΕΙΡΗΝΗ ΑΙΔΙΑ) on the other two (figs. 3–4), Greek translations of the Roman concepts of the fortuna felix and the pax aeterna which appear on the reverse of many imperial coin issues. Roman is also the representation of ΑΡΕΤΗ, the “virtue” that corresponds to the image of Fortune, recognizable by the presence of the rudder and the cornucopia.

Fig. 2. Vittore Gambello « Camelio » (c. 1455–1537), Cleopatra, 26.71g, 33mm, 6h (Classical Numismatic Group, e-Auction 364, 2 December 2015, n° 346; © Coinarchives)

Fig. 3. Valerio Belli (c. 1468–1546), Cleopatra, ar, 22mm (Baldwin’s, 39, 11 Oct. 2004, n° 1936; © Coinarchives)

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Fig. 4. Valerio Belli (c. 1468–1546), Cleopatra, pb, 8.42g, 26mm, 12h (Classical Numismatic Group, e-Auction 364, 2 December 2015, n° 346; © Coinarchives) The cycle of 50 medals (two sets of 25) created by Valerio Belli (1470–1546) has attracted a lot of attention.32 These medals are described in two inventories, a manuscript kept in Milan and a printed book known in a unique copy kept in Vienna.33 They are evoked by Pirro Ligorio (1510–1583) and vividly described in a letter by Francisco de Olanda (1517–1585).34 Out of 50 characters, most of them are Greek and a substantial number are women (12 for 38). In addition to Cleopatra, there are Iphigenia, Sappho and Corinne (the Corinthian poetess), but also Helen of Troy, Polyxena (one of King Priam’s daughters), Olympias (Alexander the Great’s mother), Roxane (his wife) and Hypsicratia (one of Mithridate Eupa32

On Valerio Belli, see Burns / Collareta / Gasparotto, 2000. On the cycle of medals, see especially Lawrence, 1996: 18–29; Gasparotto, 2000 and Bernardelli, 2014. 33 Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Ms. Pinelli R99 Sup, f° 254r–256v; and Vienna, Austrian National Library, 62.H.28.(8): Cento pezzi di cunei di medaglie in Venetia in mano di M. Jacomo Kinig. And see what it is said in Roth-Scholtz, 1725 (on this, see Bernardelli, 2014). 34 Olanda, 1928: 77–78: “Valerio di Vicenza was an old man, in good health and spirits, and a gentleman of fine culture ; he was moreover the one man in the present time in Christendom who could rival the ancients in the art of carving medals in high or fairly high relief […] Valerio di Vicenza […] produced from beneath his velvet dress fifty medallions of purest gold, fashioned by his hand after the manner of the ancient medals and so admirably done that they seemed to increase my respect for antiquity. They were struck from dies with marvellous skill. Among these medallions he showed me one of Artemisia in the Greek manner, with the Mausoleum on the reverse side, and a Virgil in the Latin style, with pastoral scenes carved on the reverse, which took my fance above all the rest. And thenceforth I esteemed Messire Valerio a greater man than I had thought” (see Lawrence, 1996: 20).

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tor’s women). Only one has the privilege to have been the theme of two medals: Cleopatra. We know that Belli asked the assistance of friends, most notoriously Pietro Bembo (1470–1547) and Janus Lascaris (1445–1535), to create types and legends with a special role for the great philologist.35 The legends, likely to have been created by Lascaris, are all favourable to the point of becoming ironic as with the harmony of the Greeks (ΟΜΟΝΟΙΑ ΕΛΛΗΝΩΝ) for Helen of Troy, the very object of the apple of discord and the Trojan war. Then the happy virtue (ΑΡΕΤΗ ΕΥΤΥΧΗΣ) and eternal peace (ΕΙΡΗΝΗ ΑΙΔΙΑ) attributed to Cleopatra starts to resound differently, much more as satirical. Strangely enough, this ironic dimension has not been commented on in modern literature.36 Recent literature on Cleopatra’s image also curiously ignores what can be gleaned from the books about famous people, the Illustrium imagines, whose genre Andrea Fulvio (ca. 1470–1527) inaugurated in 1517.37 Filled with whimsical portraits (the images of Adam and Nebuchadnezzar are given), these books made an extensive use of numismatic evidence as the most assured way to identify historical figures. Fulvio offers a veiled portrait of Cleopatra with a Latin legend: Cleopatra, queen of Egypt, friend of Caesar (CLEOPATRA AEGYPTI REGINA CES. AMICA).38 This veiled portrait is likely to be a confusion with the numismatic portrait of Cleopatra Thea (ca. 164–121 BC), who married three Seleucid kings. The text is also misleading since it evokes the beauty of Cleopatra (“pulchritudine sua”) against the testimony of Plutarch. This veiled portrait will be found, with the Greek legend ΚΛΕΟΠΑΤΡΑ ΑΕΓΙΠΤΟΙ ΒΑΣΙΛΙΣΣΑ, in other Illustrium imagines as late as the first half of the 18th c.39 (fig. 5) It also appears on an unattributed metallic Renaissance fantasy, whose reverse is inspired by the coinage of Juba II of Mauritania, in the name of Cleopatra Selene, one of Antony and Cleopatra’s daughters (fig. 6).40

35

Hypothesis made first by Magrini, 1871: 469–503 and Lawrence, 1996: 20–21. See Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Pinelli Ms. R99 SUP, n° 29: “ελενη βασιλισσα il suo riverso è une figura che siede et ha in mano un cornucopia co’ due rami et ομονοια ελληνων”. 37 Cleopatra is not to be found in Johann Hüttich, Imperatorum et caesarum vitae, cum immaginibus ad vivam, effigiem expressis, 1534 (only dealings with the Romans) or Roville, 1553. 38 Fulvio, 1517: n° 14. 39 Spoor, 1715: 95 and Canini, 1731: 262–275 and pl. LVIII. 40 Modern fantasy of a denarius of Cleopatra (see Classical Numismatic Group, EA 164, 9 May 2007, n° 101, 3.81g; © Coinarchives). 36

Cleopatra as a Strong Woman in Modern Times

Fig. 5. Spoor 1715, 95.

Fig. 6. Modern fantasy of a denarius of Cleopatra (Classical Numismatic Group, EA 164, 9 May 2007, n° 101, 3.81g; © Coinarchives).

511

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François de Callataÿ

In his Discours sur les medalles et graveures antiques published in 1579, Antoine Le Pois also produces a veiled portrait but this time taken from a real coin of the last Cleopatra.41 But he misreads the legend and reads ΟΣΣΑΝ ΣΩΤΗΡΑΣ (fig. 7), “saviour of everything”, which he significantly comments: “in which one sees the marvellous arrogance of this woman, who unfortunately usurps with great blasphemy, what properly belongs to God’s majesty”.42 The true meaning of these words would not have pleased him much more since it reads ΘΕΑ ΝΕωΤΗΡΑ, “the younger divine”.43 The mistake will be recognized and corrected in 1671 by Ezechiel Spanheim.44

Fig. 7. Le Pois 1579, 110, pl. H, n° 7. I will not comment on the rare ones who did not confuse the coin image of Cleopatra, such as Antonio Agustin (1517–1586)45 or Johann Schultes (1595– 1645) in a generally unnoticed dissertation.46 I want to conclude instead with other revealing misinterpretations. In his book about figures on ancient gems, Leonardo Agostini (1593–1669) provides three portraits of Cleopatra, out of which two deserve comment.47 Number 78 is a bared frontal bust of a veiled woman taking a snake in her right hand, which, if not a maenad to which one has added a snake, 41

Le Pois, 1579: 68–69 (episode of the pearl) and 110, pl. H, n° 7. On this type and other fantasies, see Goltz 1644: pl. 44. 42 Le Pois, 1579: 68 (“En quoy se voit l’arrogance merveilleuse de cette femme, qui usurpe malheureusement avec grand blasphème, ce que proprement appartient à la majesté de Dieu, qui conserve toutes choses. À la vérité, ce titre et appellation convient très mal à cette bonne commère, laquelle étant non moins impudique que superbe, fut très mauvaise gardienne de son honneur et chasteté. De ses folles amours sont pleins tous les historiens …”). 43 On this, see Buttrey, 1954. 44 Spanheim, 1671: 385. 45 Agustin, 1650: 23, n° 10–11. 46 Schultes, 1645. 47 Agostini, 1657: n° 78–79 and 1669: n° 42.

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is entirely reminiscent of the Baroque expiring Cleopatras and will thus condemn the piece as modern. Number 79 is a profile bust of a woman whose diadem, as it is argued, is adorned with ivy leaves (“bacche di ellera”), a reference to Dionysus/Bacchus, hence to Antony linked with Cleopatra. The trouble is that this gem is likely to represent Dionysus himself with his long hair, too long possibly here for modern and contemporaneous minds. In the supplement given in 1606, Agostini adds another alleged portrait of Cleopatra, this time in carnelian, which is clearly a maenad in the position of the sleeping Ariadne of the Vatican (fig. 8).48

Fig. 8. Agostini 1694, 57, n° 145 Again with long hair, Apollo on a gem coming from the collection of Fulvio Orsini (1529–1600) is wrongly described as Cleopatra by Johann Faber in another book entitled Illustrium imagines (fig. 9)49 Amusingly, the bow of Apollo is here described as a snake planted in her breast (cum serpente in pectore conspicitur).

48 49

Agostini, 1694: 57, n° 145. Faber, 1606: 27, n° 46.

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Fig. 9. Faber 1606, 27, n° 46. To see a snake and to recognize a bared bust of woman will prompt other wrong attributions. Describing an agate belonging to his collection, Jacob de Wilde (1645–1721) see twin snakes (geminis anguibus) running along the neck of a veiled and diademed woman.50 At last, a bust on a carnelian gem belonging to the Florence Museum is attributed to Cleopatra despite the presence of a laurelwreath and its normal attribution to Apollo. But the author insists that this is a woman: “the protuberance of the breast, the softness of the neck, the roundness of the shoulders testify for it” (fig. 10).51

50

De Wilde, 1703: 29, and pl. X, n° 34. Mulot, 1787: 112–114 and pl. XXXII, n° III (112–113 : “la protubérance du sein, la molesse du cou, la rondeur des épaules en offrent des preuves”). 51

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Fig. 10. Mulot 1787, pl. XXXII, n° III So all in all and considering these rarely examined kinds of evidence, the image emerging for Cleopatra in Early Modern times appears as indeed less loaded with prejudices than during the 19th and 20th c. But it is clearly the fatal woman who dominates the strong one, and the metallic fantasies created by Valerio Belli, the only evidence which looks totally favourable, are likely to be satirical. These medals and gems, genuine or invented, mostly served to denounce the impudicity of the last queen of Egypt. Bibliography Agostini, L., 1657–1669: Le gemme antiche figurate. 2 vols. — 1694: Gemmae et sculpturae antiquae depictae. Franeker. Agustin, A., 1650: Dialoghi intorno alle medaglie, inscrittioni ed altre antiquità. Rome. Amyot, J., 1559: Les vies des hommes illustres grecs & romains, comparées l’une avec l’autre, par Plutarque de Chéronée. Paris. Appleton Standen, E. 1985: European post-Medieval tapestries and related hangings in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I, New York. Pp. 206–217. Bernardelli, A., 2014: “Un elenco di conii delle medaglie di Valerio Belli”. Rivista Italiana di Numismatica CXV, 243–282. Boccaccio, G., 1374: De Mulieribus claris. Florence. Bosc, J. du, 1669: Les femmes héroïques comparées avec les héros. Ensemble les moralitez à la fin de chaque histoire. Paris. Boyer, Ph., 2004: “Cléopâtre ou les vertus de l’infortune”. In Cl. Ritschard / A. Morehead (eds.): Cléopâtre dans le miroir de l’art occidental. Geneva. Pp. 25–34.

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Burns, H. / Collareta, G. / Gasparotto, D. (eds.), 2000 : Valerio Belli Vicentino 1468 c.–1546. Vicenza. Buttrey, T.V., 1954: “Thea Neotera on coins of Antony and Cleopatra”. American Numismatic Society. Museum Notes 6, 95–109. Canini, J.-A., 1731: Images des héros et des grands hommes de l’antiquité, dessinées sur des médailles, des pierres antiques et autres anciens monumens. Amsterdam. Carò, F. et al., 2014: “Redeeming Pieter Coecke van Aelst’s Gluttony Tapestry: Learning from Scientific Analysis”. Metropolitan Museum Journal 49/1, 151– 164. de Callataÿ, F., 2015: Cléopâtre: usages et mésusages de son image. Bruxelles. de Olanda, Fr., 1928: Four Dialogues on Painting. Oxford. de Pizan, Chr., 1405: La cité des dames. Paris. de Scudéry, G. / de Scudéry, M., 1642: Les femmes illustres ou les harangues héroïques avec les véritables portraits de ces héroïnes tirés des médailles antiques. I, Paris. de Wilde, J., 1703: Gemmae selectae antiquae. Amsterdam. Faber, J., 1606: Illustrium imagines. Antwerp. Frye, S., 2000: “Staging Women’s Relations to Textiles in Shakespeare’s Othello and Cymbeline”. In P. Erickson / C. Hulse (eds.): Early Modern Visual Culture. Representation, Race, and Empire in Renaissance England. Philadelphia. Pp. 215–250. Fulvio, A., 1517: Illustrium imagines. Venice. Garnier, R., 1578: Marc Antoine. Paris. Gasparotto, D., 2000: “Una galleria metallica di personaggi illustri: le medaglie all’antica”. In Burns / Collareta / Gasparotto 2000. Pp. 137–159. Goltz, H., 1644: C. Iuli Caesaris Augusti et Tiberi nomismata. Antwerp. Hartkamp-Jonxis, E. 2002: “Flemish tapestry weavers and designers in the northern Netherlands. Questions of identity”. In G. Delmarcel (ed.): Flemish tapestry weavers abroad. Emigration and the founding of manufactories in Europe. Leuven. Pp. 32–34. Lawrence, S.E., 1996: “Imitation and Emulation in the Numismatic Fantasies of Valerio Belli”. The Medal 29, 18–29. Le Moyne, J., 1663. La gallerie des femmes fortes. Paris. Le Pois, A., 1579: Discours sur les medalles et graveures antiques, principalement romaines. Paris. Magrini, R., 1871: “Sopra cinquanta medaglie di Valerio Belli, discorso dell’Ab Antonio Cav. Magrini”, Atti del Reale Istituto Veneto di Scienze, Lettere ed Arti III/16, 469–503 Marinella, L., 1601: La Nobilità e eccellenza delle donne, co diffetti e mancamenti de gli uomini. Venice. Matesanz del Barrio, J., 2008: “La colección de tapices flamencos de la catedral

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de Burgos en la Edad Moderna”. Boletín de la Institución Fernán González 236, 121–124. Mulot, F.-V., 1787: Le Museum de Florence ou collection des pierres gravées, statues, médailles et peintures, etc. Paris. Munoz Simonds, P. 1992: Myth, emblem, and music in Shakespeare’s Cymbeline. An iconographic reconstruction. Cranbury. North, Th., 1579: The lives of the noble Grecians and Romanes compared together by that grave philosopher and historiographer, Plutarke of Chaeronea. 1. London. Olson, R., 2013: Arras Hanging. The Textile That Determined Early Modern Literature and Drama. Newark. Pushkin, A., 1824: Egyptian nights. Richard-Jamet, C., 2003: Les Galeries de femmes fortes dans les arts en Europe aux XVIe et XVIIe siècles. PhD, Bordeaux. — 2004: “Cléopâtre: femme forte ou femme fatale ? Une place équivoque dans les galeries de femmes fortes aux XVIe et XVIIe siècles”. In Cl. Ritschard / A. Morehead (eds.): Cléopâtre dans le miroir de l’art occidental. Geneva. Pp. 37–52. Roth-Scholtz, Fr., 1725: Beytrag zur Gelehrten Historie. Nürnberg. Roville, M., 1553: Promptuaire des medalles des plus renomees personnes qui ont esté depuis le commencement du monde. Lyon. Schultes, J., 1645: Oratio de monarchiae praestantia è nummo Cleopatrae. Nurmberg. Shakespeare, W., 1623: Antony and Cleopatra. London. Sidney-Herbert, M., 1595: The Tragedie of Antonie Donne into English by the Countess of Pembroke. London. Spanheim, E., 1671: Disserationes de praestantia et usu numismatum antiquorum. 2nd ed., Amsterdam. Spoor, H., 1715: Deorum et heroum, virorum et mulierum illustrium imagines antiquae illustratae versibus & prosa. Amsterdam. Thomson, W.G., 1915: Tapestry weaving in England. London. Ziegler, G., 1990: “My Lady’s Chamber. Female Space, Female Chastity in Shakespeare”. Textual Practice 4, 73–90.

Rome Herself Female Characters in Günther Birkenfeld’s Augustus Novels (1934–1984) Martin Lindner

“After a brief silence Caesar says in a still more troubled voice: ‘So in every camp and every palace in which he may henceforth reside, he must have with him the best, the noblest Rome. As a constant reminder and warning. You have probably noted yourself, Cilnius, what an utterly different man Antony is as soon as he treads Italian soil again. If Rome is always with him, he will remain a Roman.’”1 The future emperor Augustus makes this peculiar assessment of his colleague Marc Antony in Günther Birkenfeld’s 1943 novel. The debilitating influence of Cleopatra has poisoned the mind of the triumvir, and only a proper Roman marriage can promise a cure. The antidote discussed is “the best, the noblest Rome” – in other words: young Caesar’s own sister Octavia. This short passage offers a first glimpse at the pivotal function of female members of the imperial household in this remarkable series of texts. The novels’ importance lies not so much in their literary impact, but in their unusually long and well-documented process of creation during which they became a showcase of intertwining strands of traditions and motivations of classical reception. 50 years ago, Birkenfeld and his work would have needed little introduction. In the early 21st century, however, few readers remember his ambitious project to redefine the relevance of early imperial Rome as a political blueprint by rewriting one single piece of historical biography over several decades. The following section will therefore outline the author’s life and literary output, before we can approach the concept of the novels and their relevance as sources for the history of European and especially German mentalities from 1934 to 1984. The third and

1

“Nach einigem Schweigen sagt der Caesar noch bedrängter: ‚Also müssen wir ihm das beste, edelste Rom in jedes Feldlager und in jeden Palast mitgeben, in dem er künftighin residiert. Zur steten Erinnerung und Mahnung. Du wirst selbst bemerkt haben, Cilnius, wie völlig ein anderer Antonius ist, sobald er wieder italischen Boden betritt. Wenn Rom stets bei ihm ist, wird er Römer bleiben.‘ ” (A1, 158) All translations are my own, except for the quotes from the first edition (A1) which are based on the 1935 translation by Winifred Ray. For more information on the reference system and other translations, see the following section. In the second sentence, Ray translates “Rome’s best and noblest”, which has been changed to a wording closer to the original personification “das beste, edelste Rom”.

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largest part will give a comparison of four case studies: the four female faces of Rome.2 The work of a lifetime Günther Max Birkenfeld was born in 1901 in Cottbus, close to today’s border between Germany and Poland. He received a classical education and went on to study Literature and Art History at the University of Berlin. Having obtained his PhD in 1924,3 Birkenfeld opted for the precarious career of an independent author, translator, and editor. His early works had obvious autobiographical tendencies, but they also showed the influence of contemporary social criticism. Birkenfeld wrote about impoverished students and the suffering of families left behind in the rise of the modern metropolis. The breakthrough came in 1929 with his novel Dritter Hof links, the English translation A Room in Berlin giving him his first minor international success. Birkenfeld may have been an above-average scientist and writer, but his true talents lay in his networking abilities. He rose to become the General Secretary of the Reichsverband des deutschen Schrifttums between 1927 and 1930. This umbrella organisation included several German writers’ unions, and his position allowed Birkenfeld to influence discussions and decisions regarding copyright issues, royalties, censorship, and control of an aid fund for impoverished authors.4 Until the end of the Weimar Republic, he also used his contacts and networking skills to make dozens of appearances on national radio, often promoting his own works.5 When the new Nazi government took over in 1933, Birkenfeld experienced the new political agenda first hand: Dritter Hof links and his 1930 work Liebesferne were blacklisted.6 The complex system of writers’ unions with its many small opportunities made way for a centralized and state-controlled structure. Birkenfeld went into what is known nowadays as ‘inner emigration’: on the one hand, his humanist and Christian upbringing prevented him from embracing the anti2

A more detailed version of the first sections (with a focus on the character and role of the princeps) is available as Lindner, 2018. I would like to thank Penelope Goodman, Fiona Hobden, Sylvia Lindner, Robert Mueller-Stahl and Juliette Harrisson for their valuable critique and comments on both essays. 3 The PhD thesis “Die Gestalt des treuen Eckart in der deutschen Sage und Literatur” was never published, but a typescript version dated 14 October 1924 is still in possession of the Stiftung Preußischer Kulturbesitz (MS 24/662). 4 Fischer, 1980: 345–346. Several of the works cited below confuse this with the Schutzverband deutscher Schriftsteller, the major one of the writers’ unions participating in the umbrella organisation mentioned above. 5 The Deutsches Rundfunkarchiv lists almost forty appearances between 1926 and 1932: www.dra.de/rundfunkgeschichte/schriftsteller/autoren.php?buchst=B&aname=G%Fcnth er+Birkenfeld. 6 Cf. the entry under http://verbrannte-und-verbannte.de/person/238.

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intellectual Nazi ideology. On the other hand, he never openly opposed the regime and was willing to succumb to the political reality when advertising his projects. The logical resort was a shift from contemporary to historical fiction and especially biography. Birkenfeld’s first attempts were hardly encouraging: J.G. Cotta’sche Buchhandlung Nachfolger, a major German publisher, was interested in his 1933 proposal for a narrative biography of Augustus.7 Historical novels were quite popular at the time. Nevertheless, the editors at Cotta were unsure about the marketability of the author – and irritated by his obtrusive attempts to sell the manuscript as an educational blueprint.8 Still sceptical, the publisher signed Birkenfeld on a mediocre contract for 3,000 copies and a book club edition of another 5,000. The first draft reached Cotta in April 1934 and was rejected point-blank. Had it been completed as outlined by Birkenfeld, his treatment of Augustan Rome would have amassed to over 1,000 pages. The delivered first third was considered unreadable and schoolmasterly. In June, the revised draft proved equally horrible, causing Cotta to take steps to annul the contract.9 By the end of summer 1934, however, the exodus of Jewish writers had led to a general shortage of available manuscripts. Birkenfeld received a last chance and rallied to produce a slim and fastpaced manuscript within a couple of weeks. His publisher gave it lukewarm support and in December 1934, Augustus – Roman seines Lebens (hereafter cited as “A1”) finally hit the shelves. The over-enthusiastic author immediately started meddling in the marketing and exhausted his editors with initiatives for a newspaper serial, a film version and translations into over a dozen languages. Birkenfeld did not act merely out of economic motivation, but seems to have had a certain ‘sense of mission’ as well. His correspondence states continuously the educational political benefits of his 7

Outlined in Birkenfeld’s introduction to his initial proposal from 8 November 1933: „The general idea is not to burden the reader with scholarly stuff. The novel has to be accessible for everyone.” (“Es soll durchaus vermieden werden, den Leser mit Bildungskram zu belasten. Der Roman muss verständlich sein für jedermann.”) This letter and most of the archival material discussed below stems from the Verlagsarchiv Ernst Klett AG, Stuttgart, fasc. V45/V104. For simplicity’s sake, all following references will use the shorthand “VEK [day].[month].[year]” instead of the full citation. I am indebted to Ulrike Scholz for her help with the research. 8 Starting with the above-mentioned initial proposal: “in search for a historical figure, whose era may serve as an example and critique of contemporary events.” (“[A]uf der Suche nach einer historischen Gestalt, in deren Epoche das heutige Geschehen als Beispiel wie als Kritik abgelesen werden könnte”; VEK 08.11.1933.) 9 Rejection of and corrections to the first draft are described in an internal memo (VEK 24.5.1934); the negative reviews of the second draft and the contract issues are documented in letters between Cottaʼs owner and his editor (VEK 27/29.6.1934). The early drafts themselves are lost. I thank Alexander Kraft (Marburg) for checking the Birkenfeld estate at the Deutsches Literaturarchiv.

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vision of ancient Rome.10 This may explain odd attempts like the one to publish simultaneously a Catalan and a Castilian translation for the Spanish-speaking world.11 The British version from 1935 was licensed to an American and a Canadian publisher, but none of the three found a larger audience.12 The Spanish translation and especially the Italian one – the latter one with three reprints until 1942 – performed far better.13 Meanwhile, the German original produced mixed results: reviews were neutral to positive, but never enthusiastic. Most at least recognized (and sympathized with) Birkenfeld’s idea of using a lively prose to convey a deeper historical message. Unfortunately, many either disagreed with the diachronic parallel or were baffled by what precisely the author was trying to tell them.14 The general tendency might be described as not unfriendly, but uninterested and favouring the more succinct alternatives. While the book club edition performed well and had to be reprinted, the standard edition proved tough to sell.15 When Cotta agreed to Birkenfeld’s plans and transferred the rights to a new publisher in June 1942, the German Augustus stood at 16,378 sold copies, of which 13,150 belonged to the book club edition.16 10 His original idea was to market the book as “indispensable for scholars” supplemented by the claim “an example for the foundations of all modern fascist and similar states” (“für den Gelehrten unentbehrlich […], ein Vorbild aller heutigen faschistischen und verwandten Staatenbildungen”. His editor at Cotta rejected this suggestion for a cover text immediately; the communication is preserved in VEK 21.09.1934. 11 The Verlagsarchiv Ernst Klett documents at least thirty similar attempts; Birkenfeld (in VEK 2.5.1935) only spoke out against translations into Ukrainian, Yiddish and Hebrew (“an der Übersetzung […] in das ukrainische, jüdische und hebräische nicht interessiert”). 12 One might speculate that the instantaneously successful Claudius novels by Robert Graves, first published in 1934, had sewn up the English-speaking markets. Birkenfeld, however, blamed the outcome on unlucky circumstances of world politics: “there, the book about the forefather of fascism has come out at a rather unfavourable moment.” (“Das Buch über den Ahnherrn des Fascismus [sic] ist dort in einem recht ungünstigen Augenblick erschienen”; VEK 15.6.1936). 13 His masterstroke was to persuade a diplomat to personally hand over a copy to Benito Mussolini and, with the help of the Italian ambassador, receive the dictator’s sympathetic answer by telegram. The telegram itself is lost, but the whole story is well documented in several letters (VEK 20.1.35 and 1.2.1935). 14 Reviews appeared e.g. in the Berliner Volkszeitung, in the Frankfurter Zeitung or in the Sonntag-Morgen in late 1934 and early 1935. Birkenfeld’s comments on them are part of the communication with his publisher as cited below. 15 Cf. VEK 24/25.11.1935. 16 VEK 16–19.6.1942; for the initial numbers see VEK 30.11.1933. The book club edition was marketed by the Deutsche Buch-Gemeinschaft, an organization with a neutral to moderate conservative political approach and about half a million members by that time. Its 1974 anniversary catalogue suggests that, in 1934, the initial 5.000 copies were a high number for a contemporary young author. This nevertheless fell short of late nineteenth-

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In 1941, Birkenfeld had been drafted into the Luftwaffe and served as a war reporter. His new position gave him disillusioning insights into a propaganda machine trying to manipulate public opinion of a war that was obviously out of control.17 Birkenfeld somehow managed to persuade the Berlin publisher Paul Neff Verlag to accept a manuscript enhanced to 500 pages – and get it printed despite severe paper shortage in Germany. The timing could hardly have been worse. The manuscript was completed right at the start of the Stalingrad catastrophe in winter 1942, i.e. shortly before the infamous “300 Spartans” speech by Hermann Göring.18 The situation in Germany caused further delay, so that production and shipping had to wait until late 1943 and early 1944, respectively. When Neff started its feeble attempts to advertise the book (A2) in the middle of a war zone, few readers took notice and even fewer were interested in a melancholic biography of a Roman emperor. Leben und Taten des Caesar Augustus had virtually no impact until the end of the Second World War. In its aftermath, with the book reeking of the 1943 zeitgeist, the publisher was unwilling to prepare a reprint for a post-war audience.19 Birkenfeld himself faced other problems and had to shelve any plans regarding his Augustus. He left the army and tried to revive his career as a journal editor, century bestsellers such as those of Gustav Freytag, whose works reached 450,000 copies that year (Deutsche Buch-Gemeinschaft, 1974: 18). Due to the structure of the book club and the loss of sources, it is difficult to say how many of the members actually read Birkenfeldʼs Augustus (cf. Wittmann, 2011: 335 and Deutsche Buch-Gemeinschaft, 1964; for the difficulties in calculating membership and audience estimations for the Deutsche BuchGemeinschaft, see Kollmannsberger, 1995: 27). The Deutsche Buch-Gemeinschaft became part of the Bertelsmann group in the 1980s, which never acquired the firm’s archive for the years in question (personal correspondence with Walburga Pollock from Der Club Bertelsmann). 17 See also Heukenkamp, 1999: 371. 18 Up to his point, propaganda had attempted to inspire hope for a last-minute turnaround. In January 1943, the broadcasted speech by Göring seemed to take defeat as given and put forward a different agenda: it was the duty of any soldier – or even his historical purpose – to accept death unquestioningly. Like the 300 Spartans at Thermopylae, the Stalingrad divisions should be motivated by the opportunity to protect European/Western culture in an act of heroic self-sacrifice. Within the next few days, the Soviet Army overran the city – and the German troops surrendered. The impact of the event is visible in the way Göring had to tone down the cynicism in the printed version (Völkischer Beobachter 33, 2.2.1943, Berlin Edition). On the speech and the relevance of contemporary classical reception, cf. Rebenich, 2002 and 2006; Clough, 2004; Albertz, 2006; Boedtger, 2009; Meier, 2010; Londey, 2013. 19 The Neff-Almanach from 1954 – celebrating the companyʼs 125th anniversary – praises the long-standing tradition of publishing historical novels. Günther Birkenfeldʼs work as an author features neither in the publishing history (Paul Neff Verlag, 1954: 9–14) nor in the backlist (ibid.: 299–320). However, the catalogue names him as translator for a new edition of a novel by Taylor Caldwell (ibid.: 302).

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albeit with mixed results.20 His return to contemporary fiction helped to establish him as an author again, and Birkenfeld was able to play an important role in the revival of several writers’ unions and other NGOs. Above all else, he carved a niche for himself as a political commentator. On the one hand, he promoted the freedom of literature and the liberal arts in general. Many of his statements indicate a liberal conservative position, but on the other hand, this was overshadowed by his increasingly outspoken anti-communist rhetoric.21 Birkenfeld achieved a certain fame as a radio commentator for the Rundfunk im amerikanischen Sektor, the official radio station for Berlin’s American sector. In the 1950s, he was employed as editor by the prestigious Suhrkamp Verlag – and used his more stable position to start working on yet another Augustus version. Over the next couple of years, he was recognized for his work in the field of world literature, including translations of André Maurois and Olga Signorelli. This also brought him into contact with Horst Erdmann, one of the most controversial characters in early post-war Germany. Erdmann had been a key member of an NGO from Western Germany fighting against judicial corruption in Eastern Germany in the 1940s to 1960s. The NGO’s funding by Western agencies and its considerable influence made Erdmann a prominent target. In 1958, Eastern German sources exposed various untruths regarding his biography. He had forged a Jewish ancestry, fabricated documents to appropriate academic titles, and committed perjury to hide his membership in the Nazi party and various Nazi organisations. As soon as Erdmann had stepped down from his position, Western German authorities ruled that the charges had expired, which allowed dropping the embarrassing case altogether.22 Regardless of the scandal, Birkenfeld sidled with Erdmann, when the latter built his second career as a publisher of ‘inter-cultural literature’.23 It seems hardly surprising that he used his position as head editor of the new Horst Erdmann Verlag to advance his Augustus project again. The rewritten third version was published in 1962 under the title of Die Ohnmacht der Mächtigen – Ein historischer Augustus-Roman (A3). The final work on the manuscript had coincided with the building of the Berlin Wall, and the publication happened almost simultaneously with the Cuban Missile Crisis. 20

His main project was a journal called Horizont. Even though its editor was now in its mid-forties, it proclaimed itself as the “Zeitschrift der jungen Generation” (“journal of the young generation”). It cultivated a disputatious style, its texts approaching issues such as youth movements, the generation gap, refugees as prostitutes and the situation of young veterans in post-war Germany; see also Heukenkamp, 1996: 29–31 and Malende, 2000: 207–210. Under the influence of the Berlin Blockade, Horizont was forced out of business in 1948. 21 Cf. Malende, 1996, but also Kantorowicz, 1958. 22 On the details see Hagemann, 1994: 167–183. 23 Cf. Horst Erdmann Verlag, 1968: 8.

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Birkenfeld did his best to create some links to those milestones of the Cold War era, but the reception was rather meagre, one reviewer calling it a product of the “belletristic outback of historical sciences”.24 As we lack reliable data on the actual number of copies produced, it is difficult to judge the impact of the book. In 1968, at least, the publisher’s catalogue lists it as “sold out”.25 Birkenfeld died in Berlin in 1966 and did not experience this last small triumph. Then again, he was spared having to endure a particularly crude revival. In 1984, the Stuttgart-based publisher Magnus-Verlag decided to reprint the Augustus novel (A4) – for unknown reasons using the 1943 version. The text was obviously a product of the late Second World War, and the “solution” was as simple as it was misleading: all passages from the prologue that had referred to the contemporary war situation were eliminated.26 Apart from minimal and sloppy corrections of spelling, the book otherwise remained unchanged. The procedure may have been perceived simply as a cheap “update”, but it is also possible that the intention was to avoid the still touchy issue of German guilt. In any case, the modifications also obliterated the author’s 1943 confession that, in his 1934 version, he had been too naïve in his usage of source material and prejudiced in his adoration of Augustus.27 Magnus-Verlag had a reputation as a slightly amateurish publisher, though without any revisionist agenda,28 which makes a tragic blunder the most likely explanation. Be that as it may, the fate of Augustus as a narrative in constant transformation outlasted even its own creator. A narrative’s narrative Paradoxically, the best way to analyse the female characters in the Augustus novels is by first blanking them out. Birkenfeld has a very idiosyncratic approach to narrating and re-narrating his story. Augustus is his ever-changing focal point, whose functions can be understood only in a comparative reading of what is essentially the same book in different stages of transformation. The following section will therefore concentrate on the emperor to demonstrate Birkenfeld’s concept of imperial biography and historical relevance. Nevertheless, Augustus is only one-half of the story. Without the remarkably stable female characters, the novels would lose their historical “anchor”. Octavia, Attia, Livia, and Julia are the 24

“[B]elletristisches Hinterland der Geschichtswissenschaften” (Der Spiegel, nos. 1–2, 1963: 65). 25 Horst Erdmann Verlag, 1968: 147. Horst Erdmann Verlag changed names and hands several times; the remains of the revived Edition Erdmann were bought in 2008 by marixverlag, Wiesbaden. Unfortunately, the relevant part of the firm’s archive apparently did not survive (personal correspondence with Lothar Wekel from marixverlag). 26 A4: 7–8. 27 A2: 7–8. 28 Their main business was reprints of public-domain translations of Homer, Horace and Plato as well as the works of Mommsen, Gregorovius and von Clausewitz.

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female faces of Rome. They and Augustus complement one other, and by looking at the shifting contrasts, we can identify the narrative’s narrative. As indicated above, the Augustus novels have not exactly aged well. This, however, makes them all the more relevant as indicators of a certain zeitgeist. The 1934 version shows how much Birkenfeld had taken the publisher’s criticism to heart. Like in the rejected drafts, he makes frequent use of classical sources,29 with an obvious fondness for the works of Suetonius and Vergil.30 However, the quotes are blended almost seamlessly into the text, so that most readers would have difficulties to recognize them as such. There are still some cumbersome passages left, but in general, Birkenfeld opted for emotional dialogue and a lively prose of short sentences in the present tense. It is easy to overlook the 39 annotations (and the timetable) as they are not indicated in the main text. The focus is on the rise of young Octavian, the civil wars, and the establishment of the early principate. Augustus – Roman seines Lebens shows strong tendencies towards a “cult of youth” narrative and emphasises the creative forces of strong leaders. Despite the author’s obvious classical background, the novel even has some anti-intellectual elements.31 While these points sound like a convergence with fascist ideology, Birkenfeld’s pre-war Augustus is more of a proto-Christian messiah than a ‘Führer’ character. The Rome he longs for is closer to humanist and Christian ideals than to an ideal Nazi state.32 The 1943 Leben und Taten des Caesar Augustus returns to the tripartite structure of the first draft versions: Der Weg zur Macht (The Way to Power) Rettung aus dem Zusammenbruch (Rescue from Collapse), and Der Neubau (The Reconstruction). Large parts of the prose are now in past tense,33 while the dialogue is 29 In terms of literary theory, the approach is a traditional example of narrative fictionalisation as defined by Nünning, 2007: 91–92. 30 However, there are no indications that this was meant as a nod to the popularity of Vergil in Italian fascism. Birkenfeld’s admiration comes chiefly from a humanist and Christian viewpoint, making Vergil a John the Baptist to a secular (proto-)messiah; cf. A1: 145: “heart-easing was the pious conviction which had surged from his breast into Caesar’s own” (“So herzbefreiend ist die gläubige Gewißheit, die aus seiner Brust herüberströmte in die eigene Brust.”) 31 A leitmotif is the destination to greatness that can only be diagnosed and felt, but never explained. This is present e.g. in the prophecies of the astrologer Theogenes (A1: 36–39), of the dying consul Pansa (A1: 85–86) and of the poet Vergil (A1: 143–145); cf. also the sighting of the sidus Iulium which is spontaneously recognised by everyone as a divine omen for the new age of Caesar (A1: 70–72). 32 On the influence of what might be called the “Orosian tradition” see Sloan, 2018, and Boeye / Pandey, 2018. 33 Oddly enough, Ray’s translation of the 1934 edition had anticipated the effect with an unauthorized change of tenses. Therefore, all respective quotes given in this chapter have been readjusted to Birkenfeld’s original version. For the 1943 edition, the author’s decision to switch to past tense might also be the result of critical reviews by the controlling

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more restricted. The narration has been enhanced from 385 loosely filled pages to about 500 densely packed ones. The author has almost doubled the number of endnotes and added quotes from original sources, but also made them more visible. There are 16 illustrations with a historical commentary, several genealogical tables and a new prologue. Birkenfeld, the then war reporter, does his best to indicate a shift from emotional life story to a more balanced biographical study. The Second World War Augustus is still an exceptional man, but mainly one with good intentions struggling with his own time. The emperor tries to rise above pettiness and cruelty, yet inevitable destiny causes him to fail at some time, and the historical situation drives him to extremes.34 No situation is ever hopeless;35 however, the new prologue shows Birkenfeld’s increasing skepticism towards any form of blind hero worship. At the same time, it stresses the relevance of Augustus if seen as a multi-faceted character and against the background of the reality of the late Republic. His sacrifices for Rome may sometimes be misguided, but hopefully not in vain – or even necessary as a catharsis before reaching a better future. With the Nazi ideology ringing increasingly hollow, it is hardly surprising to find even stronger Christian undertones in some of the crucial passages. For the 1962 Augustus, the main plot structure received only few adjustments, but everything else is very much a product of the Cold War era. Birkenfeld changed a part of the vocabulary no longer considered politically correct,36 and set a new tone for the narrative. Die Ohnmacht des Mächtigen (The Powerlessness

government agency on this point (VEK 31.1.35). 34 E.g. in Vergil’s assessment of Augustus as a troubled character “in meaningful and joyous service of a better future. [Vergil] has seen into his innermost self, has recognized a human being fighting at great expense so that no living thing might perish, even more that it will be inherited in a higher and more beautiful form by future generations.” (“[Z]um sinnvollen und freudigen Dienst an einer besseren Zukunft […]. [Vergil] hat ihn im Innersten erkannt, hat den Menschen erschaut, der in großer Mühe darum ringt, daß kein Lebendiges hinfalle, daß es vielmehr erhöhter und verschönter fortgeerbt werde an die Kommenden”; A1: 145). 35 Fittingly for the German situation in 1943, Birkenfeld evokes the upcoming “world domination of the Roman people, paved by the sacrifices of heroic ancestors. […] In almost every episode, there were dramatic setbacks, just as there were in every year that Augustus battled through. […] The poet’s belief, however, in a third age of the world, under Roman rule, filled the twelve lays with that elementary greatness to which Augustus had risen in his belief in Rome’s new future.” (“[D]ie Weltherrschaft des römischen Volkes, vorbereitet durch die Opfer der heldischen Ahnen. […] In fast jeder Episode erfolgten dramatische Rückschläge wie in jedem Jahre, das Octavian durchkämpfte. […] Die Gläubigkeit des Dichters aber an das dritte Weltjahrhundert unter römischer Oberherrschaft erfüllte die zwölf Gesänge mit jener schlichten Größe, zu der Augustus im Glauben an die neue Zukunft Roms emporgestiegen war”; A2: 387–388). 36 On the astonishingly detailed process and its inconsistencies see Lindner, 2018: 247– 249.

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of the Powerful) had formerly been the title of a chapter; now, he made it the novel’s main title and leitmotif. The prose is even more reserved and in past tense, the dialogue and other dramatic elements are reduced beyond the already restricted 1943 version. Various technical changes like the highlighting of quotes give the text a more scholarly appearance. The updated prologue illustrates how much Birkenfeld’s vision has transformed: Augustus was anything but a saint, yet he is still noteworthy as the “founding father of Western culture” and of course of Rome.37 Furthermore, he remains “relevant through [the emergence of] monocratic democracies of various kinds”.38 Augustus, we learn, was a true world leader, because his intention was not simply to rule an empire: “as Octavian, he had to fight adamantly in bloody wars for world peace, as Augustus, he was allowed to be the clement and wise Emperor of Peace.”39 The high cost of this transformation is somehow justified, and modern times desperately lack such a figure, possibly even a new principate. On the other hand, there is always a dark undertone: even great Augustus would not be enough to tame the destructive power of historical dynamics. While the principate was a marvellous achievement in its own right, he and his creation nevertheless became tarnished in the process.40 As mentioned above, the female characters change comparatively little over the three versions. They may receive a few more lines of description or be included in some additional scenes, but the overall tendencies are very stable. To be clear, most female figures in all of the Augustus novels are faceless and speechless anyway. Even Cleopatra is only shown as a fully-fledged character on a handful of pages, 41 which are extended in the later versions and read like a half-hearted nod to the familiar Plutarchean-Shakespearean tradition.42 In fact, only one woman outside the imperial household holds any importance: Fulvia, the wife of Marc Antony. In her description, Birkenfeld chimes in with the hostile tradition derived from classical sources43 and describes her less as a person and more as a principle. With only minute changes from novel to novel, she represents generic 37

“Gründer des Abendlandes” (A3: 10). “[G]egenwärtig wieder aktuell durch monokratische Demokratien mannigfacher Spielart” (ibid.). 39 “Als Octavian mußte er unerbittlich in blutigen Kriegen den Weltfrieden erkämpfen, als Augustus durfte er der nachsichtige und weise Friedenskaiser sein” (ibid.). 40 E.g. in A3: 9: “It cannot be denied that Octavian committed acts of cruelty during the years of civil war; among other things, he was jointly responsible for the proscriptions and personally responsible for the massacre in Perugia.” (“Es ist nicht abzustreiten, daß Octavian in den Jahren der Bürgerkriege grausame Handlungen beging; unter anderem war er mitverantwortlich für die Proscriptionen und alleinschuldig an dem ‘Blutgericht von Perugia’”). 41 Chiefly on the events between Actium and Cleopatra’s suicide (A1: 214–227; A2: 306– 322; A3: 256–272). 42 To which the best introduction is still Wyke, 2002. 43 See Günther, 2020. 38

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chaos, the uncontrolled rage and greed of a brutal time as described below. The four other main female characters discussed in the following section are like the cardinal points in a compass. They cannot be redefined, but Augustus’s position towards them indicates the direction Birkenfeld tries to give each (re-) reading of the time. The female faces of Rome The case studies below proceed in chronological order, not in genealogical. Augustus’s mother is the oldest one by years, though not by the political and historical status quo that she personifies. In a nutshell, the stages are the Rome of the Early and Middle Republic as represented in Octavia, the pre-war Rome of the Late Republic in Atia, the new Imperial Rome in Livia, and the decline of the Empire in Julia. Octavia Augustus’s sister starts out as his trusted and trusting companion. Octavia’s support for her brother is motivated out of a shared “loyalty to [their] father and [their] love for Rome”.44 Cynically speaking, she is perfectly adequate. She possesses a certain amount of empathy and intelligence, but these qualities are mainly important to let her identify and fulfil her role in family and society. Her counterpart is the rampant and obscene Fulvia, whose charm is wasted on Octavian. Her brazenness has caused her to lose her femininity, removing her from “his picture of the Roman woman, as embodied by Octavia”.45 When Atia’s health declines, Octavia grows into her brother’s new mother figure, the last remaining voice of humanity, decency, and romanitas. The key scene starts with the young Caesar too busy for a family reunion at Baiae, which had been intended as a short reprieve from the horrors of the proscriptions. With Atia too weak to speak, Octavia hastens to Rome to interrogate and scold her brother like a little boy. She condemns the brutality of his doings. Her main concern, however, is their gravity as acts of impiety against the Roman gods. Her honest indignation causes young Caesar to wake up – and find the nightmare is real. The scene is practically identical in all three versions,46 but the wider context puts it into a different perspective: the 1934 edition makes it an instructional setback in the emotional growth of young Caesar into Augustus. The 1943 and 1962 versions use it as the first indication of the titular powerlessness of the powerful. Nevertheless, the message of the scene is consistent. On a personal level, Octavia 44

Uniformly in all three editions: “aus der Treue gegen [den] Vater und aus der Liebe zu Rom“ (A1: 79; A2: 131; A3: 113). 45 W. Ray’s translation as “exemplified” is even weaker than the 1934 original “Bildnis der Römerin, das Octavia vergegenwärtigt” (my emphasis, A1: 73). The later versions opt for the archaic “verleiblicht” (A2: 122) or the more earnest “verkörperte” (A3: 106). 46 A1: 116–118; A2: 174–176; A3: 149–151.

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can pity her troubled brother; on a political one, she remains firm. The old Rome cannot accept the crimes committed in its name. This outbreak is rather uncharacteristic for Birkenfeld’s Octavia. At least it happens behind closed doors, which is how the moral conscience and chief diplomat of the imperial family usually works. This role inevitably brings her into conflict with the new Rome, most explicitly in the 1943 version: “Livia and Octavia were and remain alien to one another. They might be described as enemies, if Octavia in her gracious and gentle way would not try hard to do right by the Claudian and respect her as her brother’s wife. Livia is less concerned for Octavian, whose geniality is painful to her own dispassionate nature and whose ancient Roman modesty […] she despises as bourgeois. Yet Livia, no less than Caesar, appreciates a sombre life without extravagances. But what is natural to herself, exasperates her in Octavia. Deeper antagonisms separate the two women. Livia is a child of her age. And this age has made her harsh, suspicious and reserved, and it taught her to guard zealously her own interests. Octavia has been no less visited by inflictions, but they have left her untouched and ageless, as women have been and always will be, when they are swayed only by gentleness, integrity and motherhood.”47 Livia can understand only the worth of conscientiousness, not of altruism. Despite the actually moderate age difference, the sisters-in-law seem to be separated by centuries. It is a rare moment, in which Birkenfeld emphasizes that the venerable early Rome is not (just) a wishful projection, but a reality of timeless relevance. The quotation at the beginning of the chapter gives an example of Augustus’s – then young Caesar’s – reluctant realpolitik. Octavia on the other hand remains remarkably restrained in the following paragraphs. She accepts the analysis of political necessities and agrees to put the greater ideal above personal happiness. Her marriage to Marc Antony is frequently called her “sacrifice for the good of 47

“Livia und Octavia sind und bleiben einander fremd. Man müßte von Feindseligkeit sprechen, wenn Octavia in ihrer gütigen und vornehmen Art sich nicht darum bemühen würde, der Claudierin gerecht zu warden und sie als Gattin ihres Bruders zu achten. Weniger bemüht sich Livia um die Octavierin, deren Herzlichkeit ihrem kühlen Wesen peinlich ist und deren […] altrömische Bescheidenheit sie für sich als spießig bezeichnet. Dabei schätzt Livia, gerade so wie der Caesar, ein nüchternes Leben ohne jeden Aufwand. An Octavia jedoch wird ihr zum Ärgernis, was ihr bei sich selbst natürlich ist. Es sind tiefere gegensätze, die unvereinbar die beiden Frauen trennen. Livia ist ein Geschöpf ihrer Zeit. Und diese Zeit hat sie herb, argwöhnisch und zurückhaltend gemacht, hat sie dazu erzogen, eifersüchtig über ihren eigenen Vorteil zu wachen. Octavia ist nicht minder von Erschütterungen heimgesucht worden. Doch ist sie bei alledem so unberührt und zeitlos geblieben, wie Frauen immer waren und sein werden, in denen einzig Milde, Gerechtigkeit und Muttertum regieren” (A2: 272–273; cf. A3: 230–231). The 1934 version is very similar in tone, but shorter and lacks the reference to ancient traditions (A1: 192).

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Rome”.48 Birkenfeld’s description goes beyond a sense of personal duty: in the best Roman way, Octavia functions as an inspiring and effective exemplum. As long as she is around, her husband indeed learns to behave like a proper Roman again. Only when her influence as an exemplum fades, conflicts start to escalate again: “at home, by Octavia’s side, Antony remains a Roman and a big docile boy. But as soon as he goes out among the pleasure-loving Greeks …”49 The ideals she represents never become any less commendable, but the careless arrogance of the time causes people to forget their worth – to their own peril. Octavia’s unquestioning and unshaking morality pulls the siblings apart and together at the same time. Her brother starts to venerate her as an unachievable ideal, the personification of true romanitas unattainable by any politician facing the practical constraints of historical reality. Since he realizes that she does not selfishly seek popularity, he grants it to her freely. Octavia is respected almost uniformly for aligning herself with moral concepts associated with early Rome: she is a devout wife and mother, who never speaks up until necessary. There are no discrepancies between Octavia’s image and her true character. Her trust in the gods and the good fate of Rome is so unwavering that she can interpret Livia and her attacks as the well-deserved “dark and evil spirit, as the lasting punishment sent by the gods into her brother’s house, the punishment for a violation of a marriage concluded in their sight, the punishment for the abduction of a pregnant woman”.50 Octavia accepts public honours only if they are likely to inspire betterment in others. In the Roman elite’s constant struggle for prestige, this could put her into conflict even with male protagonists. Yet somehow, nobody except her sister-in-law seems to be able to imagine her as a rival. The explicit discussion is introduced only in the more reflective 1943 narrative, where it enforces the message of conscientiousness versus a craving for recognition as the driving forces of the old versus the new Rome.51 Atia When Birkenfeld’s narrative picks up in 44 BC, the mother of Augustus gives the impression of a Roman Mrs. Bennet. With civil war at her doorstep, Atia has nothing better to do than worry about her plates.52 Her beliefs are traditional up 48

A1: 159–163; A2: 226–230; A3: 192–195. “Im Hause, an Octavias Seite, bleibt Antonius Römer und der folgsame große Junge. Doch sobald er unter die genußsüchtigen Griechen hinaustritt …” (A1: 182); repeated almost verbatim in A2: 255 and A3: 216. 50 “[Als] das Böse, das Dunkle, die Strafe, die von den Göttern leibwandelnd und für alle Zeit in das Haus ihres Bruders entsandt wurde, die Strafe für den Bruch einer von den Oberen geschlossenen Ehe, die Strafe für den Raub der schwangeren Frau“ (A1: 263) cf. A2: 366 and A3: 310. 51 A2: 287–288; cf. A3: 242–243. 52 A1: 54; A2: 96; A3: 84 – always addressed as “Mütterchen” (“little mother”). 49

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to the point of being unthinkingly old-fashioned. The combination of simple honesty and a small-minded view of the world produces comical results, e.g. when Atia tries to perk up Octavian with homemade food and enforce a bedtime schedule. The effect, however, is at least partly a grounding one, which her son seems to respect. The 1934 version emphasises the first aspect: Atia’s intentions are laudable, while her behaviour is inappropriate. Her son is destined for greatness, and her warning works rather as a reminder of how impressive his future triumph will be. The Late Republic as represented by her is unable to grasp what is about to come. In the 1943 edition, the more sombre tone of the novel gives the scene a tragicomic twist. Apart from the ridiculousness, Atia’s is the unconditional and honest love forever lost. By 1962, the focus has shifted to the second aspect. There is no bedtime schedule, but instead a reminder of an upbringing with family values at its core.53 Faced with the consequences of Iulius Caesar’s testament, Atia gradually turns into a more serious character. She criticises Octavian’s adoption, primarily out of concern for the safety of her son, but soon doubts the legality of the entire process. Atia laments the monarchic airs of her son like an exhausted mother faced with an over-eager child. Her interference in politics never goes beyond remarks uttered in private.54 The Republic may not yet be dead, but Atia already thinks and speaks about it in terms of nostalgia. Again, minor changes between the novels indicate different tendencies: in all three, Atia is reading de agricultura by Cato the Elder. In 1934, however, she longs for a time when the foreign influence of Greece had not yet ruined the noble Roman spirit. In 1943, Atia bemoans the loss of austerity that had made Romans unmanly. In 1962, the issue is a lack of modesty that had defined the good old days.55 Birkenfeld only hints at the danger for Atia to become collateral damage in the confrontation between young Caesar and his rivals.56 The focus is on her son’s attempts to spare her not merely harm, but also reality altogether, treating her to white lies. Atia seems to see through at least some of them, yet never seeks confrontation.57 At the triumphant return of her son, she and Octavia willingly fulfil their decorative roles. Atia is allowed a rare moment of mockery, when she calls her son a “rascal” – as if he had stolen an apple instead of bringing down the Republic.58 53

A1: 55–56; A2: 96–98; A3: 84–85. Very short in A1: 7; more detailed in A2: 131 and A3: 113. 55 A1: 56; A2: 98; A3: 85. 56 Counteracted in Cic. Phil. 3.15–3.17; cf. Suet. Aug. 4. 57 Almost in passing in A1: 78–81; with an emphasis on the dramatic departure from the family (not unlike modern war narratives) A2: 120 and 131–134; A3: 104 and 113–116. 58 A1: 96–97 (including “du bist ein großer Schlingel”); A2: 151–152 (“du bist mir mal ein Schlingel”); A3: 129–130 (“nie […] hätte ich geglaubt, daß du ein solcher Schlingel bist”). 54

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On her deathbed, the transformation is finally complete: modern times and the actions of her son still confuse her. However, she realizes the incompatibility of her nostalgic views and political reality in general terms. Criticism and mockery are misplaced when the world has so obviously decided to conform to a new order. Atia does not embrace the change, but she can accept her son’s role. Her dying words are pity for the burden he has to bear. The Late Republic has come to terms with the monarchic turn.59 Between the three novels, this scene changes only in irrelevant details. The main difference lies in the position within the narrative structure: In the 1934 version, it marks the middle of book 1 “Rettung aus dem Zusammenbruch” (“rescue from collapse”). It is a personal setback overcome by the unerring rise towards monarchic power. In the tripartite structure of the 1943 and the 1962 edition, the above-mentioned title has been given to the middle book, and Atia’s death closes book 1 “Der Weg zur Macht” (“the way to power”). The death of his mother marks the end of young Caesar’s military ascent and leads over to his new role as renovator of the Empire. Livia The wife of the first emperor is introduced as a mirror image of Octavia. She is at least as intelligent, yet with the ambiguous quality of being able to “suppress her female nature”.60 In the beginning, Livia appears rather passive and with values not unlike those represented by her sister-in-law. All three editions clarify that the appeal to her new husband is not so much as a lover or even as a person: “Incidentally, as it were, it occurs to him that he could love such a woman. […] She is the new Roman woman in the same sense as he feels himself to be the new Roman man. Both have preserved within themselves the best of their ancestral inheritance and have merely transformed it into that more liberal mode of life, which an emancipated epoch demands. […] Livia, as Gaius recognizes from all this, is the first woman in whom Rome’s transformation is symbolised. Octavia, on the other hand, embodies the eternal, unchangeable essence of the Roman race. Octavia is the Rome which Gaius reveres; Livia is the Rome for which he has striven and laboured, until today it was revealed to him in herself.”61

59

A1: 121–122; A2: 180–181; A3: 154–155. “Ihr Frauentum verleugnen” (A1: 172); “ihre Fraulichkeit verleugnen” (A2: 242 and A3: 206). 61 “Wie von ungefähr kommt ihm der Gedanke, daß er eine solche Frau lieben könnte. […] Sie ist im gleichen Sinne die neue Römerin, in dem er sich selbst als der neue Römer fühlt. Beide haben sie das beste von Vätererbe in sich bewahrt und haben es nur in jene freiere Lebensform verwandelt, die eine entfesselte Epoche bedingte. […] Livia, dies erkennt Cajus nach alledem, ist die erste Frau, in der Roms Wandlung Wesen wurde. Indessen Octavia das letzthin Ewige im Römertum, das nie sich wandeln wird, verkörpert. Octavia 60

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The 1943 version is again grittier, e.g. when enhancing the last part to “for which he had suffered and sacrificed, fought and killed.”62 Livia’s function as the face of the new Rome is identical, but the focus is now more on the price of her attraction. As discussed above, her focus on pragmatism drives Livia into confrontation with the old Rome and forces her to redefine her own identity. At first more by accident, Livia drifts into the role of chief advisor, then of factual regent during Augustus’s periods of weakness.63 In the end, she acts like a personal nurse in control of her geriatric husband. Birkenfeld’s Livia is in line with the tradition of depicting her as an éminence grise, albeit with several restrictions. She opposes several of her husband’s plans; nevertheless it would be morally impossible for her to think about killing him. Although she may be able to steer him especially in his final years, she restrains herself from any extremes due to her astute grasp of political necessities.64 Augustus’s slipping control over Livia symbolizes the gradual emancipation of the new monarchic order from its beginnings. The new Rome develops dynamics never foreseen and finally uncontrollable by its creator. Livia retains a core of traditional values, mainly regarding the worth of family, obedience and Roman gravitas. At the same time, she envisages her role as the welcome result of a new era, even if this means having to take great personal risks. At one key point, Livia comes close to a nervous breakdown: her ultimate goal to secure her son’s succession and thusly to reinstate the Claudii above the Iulii is at hand. In this moment of triumph, she looks back and is overwhelmed by its cost: “[Livia’s] face grows sad. She shakes her head and whispers in a voice resonating with grief and with dread of the inscrutable purposes of the gods: ‘The family! The family is stronger in me than any wish of my own. I do not want all this in the least! But I cannot do otherwise!’ Livia bowed her face in her hands.”65

ist jenes Rom, das Cajus verehrt, Livia jenes, um das er gelitten und gedient hat, bis es ihm heute in ihr erschien“ (A1: 171–172). 62 “[U]m das er gelitten und geopfert, gekämpft und getötet hatte” (A2: 242), repeated in A3: 206. 63 The 1934 edition describes the process as a welcome relief for Maecenas, who longs to return to the life of an artist (A1: 196). The 1943 version is blunter: “from this moment, Livia was Caesar’s highest and constant councellor.” (“Livia war jetzt die erste und ständige Beraterin des Caesar”; A2: 278 and A3: 235). 64 All three versions emphasize this as Augustus’s “Ohnmacht” or “Machtlosigkeit”, i.e. his “impotence” or “powerlessness”. At first, this is imagined as playful, with Livia being more skilful at the game (A1: 265–267; A2: 367–370; A3: 311–313). In the end, Augustus needs one of his brighter moments merely to sum up enough energy to fret about his subjection by Livia (A1: 350; A2: 455–456; A3: 382). 65 “Trauer zeichnet sich in den Zügen der Frau. Sie schüttelt den Kopf und flüstert mit einer Stimme, in der Gram und Angst vor der undurchdringlichen Absicht der Oberen

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Birkenfeld lets Livia soldier on, recreating the dilemma of Augustus. She has a unique insight into the mechanisms of power, and she plays a decisive part in and as the new Rome. Yet ultimately, Livia is a mere “tool in the hands of the gods”.66 Like Augustus had lost control over his creation, her success causes new problems and leads to a paradox she can never resolve. Augustus’s impeding death confronts her with the incompatibility of her different roles. Her respect and love for her husband on his deathbed is so deep that it binds her tongue. At the same time, the great man is so helpless that her actions are likened to those of a mother caring for a sick child. When her actual son Tiberius enters, there is a chance to put an end to internal strife, but Livia remains headstrong. Her only language is one of radical pragmatism, and she forces her unwilling son to fake a death sentence by her deceased husband against Agrippa Postumus.67 Livia’s contradictory motivations illustrate the unsolved problems of Augustus’s new world order. Julia In Birkenfeld’s view, the daughter of Augustus is the result of misguided good intentions. Her father attempts to protect her from political reality, albeit for different reasons and with different effects than in the case of Atia: “Gaius is annoyed at his little daughter’s bad manners, and he does not realise that he himself is chiefly to blame for her impudence. Julia is the living reminder of one of the many sacrifices which Caesar had to make against his heart and will. Gaius is merely stilling his qualms of conscience in regard to the child, when he treats Julia with fond and exaggerated indulgence.”68 Livia is more clear-sighted and tries to rein in her stepdaughter. The spoilt child, however, fails to understand her actions as anything but personal enmity. In all this, Julia “is the new youth, which has adapted itself all too wantonly and exuberantly to the prosperity of the new aeon”.69 She takes peace and stability for schwingen: ‘Die Familie! Die Familie ist in mir stärker als jeder eigene Wunsch. Ich will dies alles ja garnicht! Aber ich kann nicht anders!‘ Livia birgt das Gesicht in die Hände“ (A1: 301–302). The effect is emphasised through context in A2: 406–407 and A3: 343. 66 “[E]in Werkzeug in der Götter Hand” (A1: 365; A2: 471; A3: 394). 67 A1: 376–377; A2: 481–482; A3: 403. 68 “Cajus ärgert sich über die Ungezogenheit seines Töchterchens. Er bemerkt nicht, daß er selbst die meiste Schuld an ihrem Hochmut trägt. Julia ist die lebendige Erinnerung an eines der vielen Opfer, die der Caesar wider Herz und Willen auf sich nehmen musste. Cajus begütigt nur immer sein schlechtes Gewissen gegenüber dem Kinde, indem er Julia mit zärtlicher Liebe und mit übertriebener Nachsicht verwöhnt” (A1: 241). The 1943 and 1962 versions enforce the reprobative tone in the surrounding paragraphs (A2: 338–339 and A3: 286–287). 69 A1: 279–280; cf. A2: 384 and A3: 324.

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granted. As long as Julia can enjoy her life, her view of the world is apolitical. When she confronts Augustus and later Livia on several occasions, it is essentially because she doubts their motives and/or rationale. She accepts that the keywords of Republican tradition are still in use – in the way one might employ euphemisms and other obvious half-truths in advertising. Therefore, she thinks it ludicrous, when her father tries to use the same rhetoric to judge her own behaviour. His whole career proves his austerity towards her and his insistence upon moral values is nothing more than hypocrisy. The most explicit example is a ‘showdown’ that ultimately provokes the irritated father to introduce his famous moral legislation.70 Julia’s anger is in no way directed against the political system created by her father and personified by her stepmother. Her motivation stems from personal disgust of being lied to as if she could not see behind the façade, but also from her self-perception as a victim of circumstances. Politics do not concern her, so why should they continue to have an impact on her life and hinder her self-fulfilment? Birkenfeld leaves no doubt that Julia’s call for personal freedom is a paradox bordering on absurdity. The new Rome she stands for is all about individuality. If confronted with an alternative to heteronomy, however, Julia is unable to make an actual choice: after the death of her husband Agrippa, she unjustly attacks her father for plotting yet another political marriage and ignoring her personal wishes. Augustus quotes her former criticism and proclaims to be tired of manipulating the fate of his loved ones for the so-called common good. Given a free choice, which would include not being re-married at all, Julia picks Tiberius as the first possibility that comes to her mind. Her erratic rebellion has brought her the very result for which her hated stepmother had fought all the time.71 Julia’s only other form of expression is demonstrating ignorance of social protocol. Her disrespect of authority and morale perverts her function as female role model. The extreme reactions caused by her behaviour and treatment symbolize the changing attitude of the Roman populace towards the res publica. Julia’s affairs and social misconducts are considered to be as entertaining as despicable. Once in exile, however, public opinion turns in her favour for the simple reason that Livia is hated more: “Louder and more indignant even than in the case of Marcellus grow the accusations against the empress which are whispered from mouth to mouth. […] It is the general opinion that Livia had only hushed up for years the conduct of the emperor’s daughter in order that she might one day strike at her more effectively.”72 70

A1: 284–290; A2: 390–395; A3: 329–333. A1: 299–300; A2: 405; A3: 341–342. 72 “Lauter und empörter noch als im Falle des Marcellus wandern die Bezichtigungen gegen die Kaiserin von Mund zu Mund. […] Man ist allgemein der Ansicht, daß Livia das 71

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Birkenfeld never indicates that the populace might be motivated by compassion for Julia – or that there is any doubt about her guilt. However, these points can be overlooked when the dominating focus is anger against Livia’s harmful effect as éminence grise. It is tempting to extend the thought: the decline of Rome (Julia) is tragic, but it was caused from within or even by the imperial system itself (Livia). Coda From an aesthetic viewpoint, Birkenfeld’s Augustus novels are rightfully forgotten. From a historical one, they remain a wonderful opportunity to study how classical reception employs Rome and its powerful women as analogies and explanations for contemporary history. In his attempts to create a modern Augustus (or more precisely: a series of Augusti), Birkenfeld has paradoxically returned to some very old narrative concepts. His depiction of the powerful women of the imperial household comes close to the function of female monarchs as exempla in Baroque opera – which are in turn deeply indebted to late antique and medieval concepts of moral historiography.73 At some points, Birkenfeld seems to realize that he is not describing fully-fledged characters but figures of almost mythical proportions: “Rome’s rise had begun with the first ‘rape of the Sabines.’ And with the second …? Augustus recognises with horror that the tragedy of the house on the Palatine has become a tragedy of the State […]. ‘For all this not Livia but I am really to blame!’ confesses the old man to himself, and, worn and crushed, he bears the penalty.”74 Birkenfeld’s women are powerful and powerless at the same time. As personifications of historical stages and moral concepts, they define the whole narrative. Without them, even the fate of great Augustus would be meaningless. As individuals, they may wield enormous power, but their decisions are highly predictable. They are constants, not characters – the faces of Rome.

Treiben der Kaisertochter nur deshalb durch Jahre gedeckt habe, um sie eines Tages umso furchtbarer treffen zu können” (A1: 341–342); slightly more distanced in A2: 447 and A3: 375. 73 Cf. Hartmann, 2017: 58–60. 74 “Mit dem ersten ‘Raub der Sabinerinnen’ begann Roms Aufstieg. Und mit dem zweiten …? Voller Entsetzen erkennt Augustus, daß die Tragödie des palatinischen Hauses zu einer Tragödie des Staates wurde […]. ‘Dies alles ist zuletzt nicht Livias, es ist meine Schuld!’ gesteht der Greis sich ein und nimmt zerknirscht, zermürbt die Buße auf sich” (A1: 342; not in A2 or A3).

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Bibliography Augustus, German editions A1: Birkenfeld, G., 1934: Augustus – Roman seines Lebens. Berlin. A2: Birkenfeld, G., 1943/44: Leben und Taten des Caesar Augustus. Berlin. A3: Birkenfeld, G., 1962: Die Ohnmacht des Mächtigen. Ein historischer Augustus-Roman. Herrenalb. A4: Birkenfeld, G., 1984. Leben und Taten des Caesar Augustus. Stuttgart. Augustus, international editions Canada: Birkenfeld, G., 1935: Augustus – A Novel. Toronto. Italy: Birkenfeld, G., 1936: Augusto. Il romanzo della sua vita. Milano (three reprints, 1937–42). Spain: Birkenfeld, G., 1937: Augusto, Cayo Julio César Octaviano. La novela de su vida. Barcelona (reprinted 1942). United Kingdom: Birkenfeld, G., 1935: Augustus. A Novel. London. United States: Birkenfeld, G., 1936: Augustus. A Novel. New York.” Referenced literature Albertz, A., 2006: Exemplarisches Heldentum. Die Rezeptionsgeschichte der Schlacht an den Thermopylen von der Antike bis zur Gegenwart. Ordnungssysteme 17. Munich. Boedtger, C., 2009: “Thermopylae und das Opfer der 300. Antikenrezeption und nationaler Opfermythos”. In C.G. Krüger / M. Lindner (eds.): Nationalismus und Antikenrezeption. Oldenburger Schriften zur Geschichtswissenschaft 10. Oldenburg. Pp. 98–110. Boeye, K / Pandey N.B., 2018: “Augustus as Visionary. The Legend of the Augustan Altar in S. Maria in Aracoeli, Rome”. In P.J. Goodman (ed.): Afterlives of Augustus. AD 14–2014. Cambridge. Pp. 152–177. Clough, E., 2004: “Loyalty and liberty: Thermopylae in western imagination”. In T.J. Figueira (ed.): Spartan Society. Swansea. Pp. 363–84. Deutsche Buch-Gemeinschaft, 1964: “1924–1964. Vierzig Jahre Deutsche BuchGemeinschaft”. In Deutsche Buch-Gemeinschaft (ed.): Das Buch stiftet Gemeinschaft. Herausgegeben im April 1964 zum vierzigjährigen Bestehen. Berlin. Pp. 69–73. Deutsche Buch-Gemeinschaft (ed.), 1974: 1924–1974. 50 Jahre Deutsche BuchGemeinschaft. Darmstadt. Fischer, E., 1980: “Der “Schutzverband deutscher Schriftsteller” 1909–1933”. Archiv für Geschichte des Buchwesens 21, 1–666. Günther, S., 2020: “Femme fatale oder femina oeconomica? Fulvia und ökonomisches Kalkulieren in der Späten Römischen Republik”. In K. Matijević (ed.): Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft in der späten Römischen Republik. Fachwissenschaftliche und fachdidaktische Aspekte. Scripta Mercaturae Beihefte

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2. Gutenberg. Pp. 93–104. Hagemann, F., 1994: Der Untersuchungsausschuß Freiheitlicher Juristen 1949– 1969. Langs Rechtshistorische Reihe 125. Frankfurt am Main. Hartmann, V., 2017: “Cleopatra in Baroque Opera: The Stage Design Between Depiction of Power and Adoption of Antiquity”. In K. Droß-Krüpe (ed.): Great Women on Stage: The Reception of Women Monarchs from Antiquity in Baroque Opera. Wiesbaden. Pp. 49–69. Heukenkamp, U., 1996: “Nachkriegsliteratur in Berlin”. In U. Heukenkamp (ed.): Unterm Notdach. Nachkriegsliteratur in Berlin 1945–1948. Berlin. Pp. 17–46. — (ed.), 1999: Deutsche Erinnerung. Berliner Beiträge zur Prosa der Nachkriegsjahre (1945–1960). Berlin. Horst Erdmann Verlag, 1968: “Bibliographie des Horst Erdmann Verlages 1957– 1967”. In Horst Erdmann Verlag (ed.): Im elften Jahr. Erdmann Almanach. Tübingen. Pp. 145–159. Kantorowicz, A., 1958: “Der Tag des freien Buches. Als Ost und West sich in Berlin zum letzten Male einig waren”. Die Zeit, 8 May, no. 19. Kollmannsberger, M., 1995: Buchgemeinschaften im deutschen Buchmarkt. Funktionen, Leistungen, Wechselwirkungen. Buchwissenschaftliche Beiträge aus dem Deutschen Bucharchiv München 49. Wiesbaden. Lindner, M., 2018: “In Search of a New Princeps. Günther Birkenfeld and his Augustus Novels (1934–1984)”. In P.J. Goodman (ed.): Afterlives of Augustus. AD 14–2014. Cambridge. Pp. 240–257. Londey, P., 2013: “Other battles of Thermopylae”. In C.A. Matthew / M. Trundle (eds.): Beyond the Gates of Fire: New Perspectives on the Battle of Thermopylae. Barnsley. Pp. 138–149. Malende, C., 1996: “Berlin und der P.E.N.-Club. Zur Geschichte der deutschen Sektion einer internationalen Schriftstellervereinigung”. In U. Heukenkamp (ed.): Unterm Notdach. Nachkriegsliteratur in Berlin 1945–1948. Berlin. Pp. 89–128. — 2000: “Zur Vorgeschichte eines öffentlichen Briefwechsels zwischen Johannes R. Becher und Rudolf Pechel im Dezember 1950”. In S. Hanuschek / T. Hörnigk / C. Malende (eds.): Schriftsteller als Intellektuelle. Politik und Literatur im Kalten Krieg. Studien und Texte zur Sozialgeschichte der Literatur 73. Tübingen. Pp. 197–234. Meier, M., 2010: “Die Thermopylen. “Wanderer, kommst Du nach Spa(rta)” ”. In E. Stein-Hölkeskamp / K.-J. Hölkeskamp (eds.), Erinnerungsorte der Antike. Vol. 1: Die Griechische Welt. Munich. Pp. 98–113. Nünning, A., 2007: “Kriterien der Gattungsbestimmung. Kritik und Grundzüge von Typologien narrative-fiktionaler Gattungen am Beispiel des historischen Romans”. In M. Gymnich / B. Neumann / A. Nünning (eds.): Gattungstheorie und Gattungsgeschichte. Studies in English Literary and Cultural History 28. Trier. Pp. 7 –99.

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Paul Neff Verlag (ed.), 1954: Neff-Almanach 1954. Herausgegeben zum 125jährigen Bestehen des Paul Neff Verlags. Wien. Rebenich, S., 2002: “From Thermopylai to Stalingrad. The myth of Leonidas in German historiography”. In A. Powell / S. Hodkinson (eds.): Sparta. Beyond the Mirage. London. Pp. 323–349. — 2006: “Leonidas und die Thermopylen. Zum Spartabild in der deutschen Altertumswissenschaft”. In A. Luther / M. Meier / L. Thommen (eds.): Das Frühe Sparta. Stuttgart. Pp. 193–215. Sloan, M.C., 2018: “Augustus, Harbinger of Peace. Orosius’ Reception of Augustus in Historiae Adversos Paganos”. In P.J. Goodman (ed.): Afterlives of Augustus. AD 14–2014. Cambridge. Pp. 103–121. Wittmann, R., 2011: Geschichte des deutschen Buchhandels. Beck’sche Reihe 1304. 3rd ed. Munich. Wyke, M., 2002: The Roman Mistress. Ancient and Modern Representations. Oxford / New York.

Depicting the Palmyrene Queen Zenobia From Baroque “femmes fortes” to Modern Comic Books* Anja Wieber

1. Zenobia in Early Modern visual culture: a patroness of ruling women? Sometime in the 1670s, the French Artist Antoine Paillet finished his painting “Zénobie combattant l’empereur Aurélien” (“Zenobia in battle with Emperor Aurelian”) which was part of a series of six belligerent women decorating the queen’s guardroom in Versailles, drawn either by himself or by Claude Vignon. These images of women depict ancient heroines: mythical ones, i.e. Harpalyce and Cloelia, and historical ones, i.e. Artemisia, Rhodogune of Parthia, Hypsicratia and Zenobia.1 In this painting, Zenobia, wearing a warrior’s helmet and on horseback in hand–to–hand combat – with her spear aimed at the Roman emperor – is clearly characterized as an Amazon. But how did Zenobia,2 a heroine from the 3rd century, after her husband’s death acting as regent queen of the Palmyrene subempire and in 272 finally defeated by the Roman Emperor Aurelian, get from the Middle Eastern caravan city to the French palace to become one of the symbolic guardians of Queen Marie-Thérèse, wife of Louis XIV? From Late Antiquity, the Palmyrene queen had already enjoyed a colourful reception history in nearly all genres of literature and arts as well as in everyday culture and historical scholarship.3 At the end of the Middle Ages and the begin* My thanks go to the following for their help in the different stages of preparing this paper: To Udo Hartmann, to Stefan Sandführ and of course to Judith Rhodes who has, not for the first time, shown patience in grappling with my English language. Anna Martínez Hernández kindly proofread my Spanish quotes. Finally, particular thanks to Revistería Ponchito and to Bathes for making the Mexican comic book “Zenobia – Reina de Palmira” accessible to me and for providing me with information about the expiring copy right. Morton Dürr generously allowed me not only to use one of the pages from his graphic novel “Zenobia”, but also sent me a high-resolution version. 1 Sheriff, 2004: 67; for an illustration of the painting and for background information see the official website of Versailles http://collections.chateauversailles.fr/#8ecf53a5-8b894da7-a1c2-2ea19c7f4e09; Wenzel, 2001: 85–87 refers to a correspondence between the war-themed decoration of the queen’s apartments to that of the king’s rooms, which is in his eyes the reason for depicting the belligerent women; be that as it may, I cannot agree with his interpretation that the design for the queen’s rooms expresses her loss of power. 2 For Palmyra the most extensive study is Hartmann, 2001; cf. also Sommer, 2017. For the Palmyrene Queen see: Stoneman, 1992; Southern, 2008; Winsbury, 2010, Sartre / Sartre, 2014 and recently Andrade, 2018. 3 Asmus, 1911; Hartmann, 2001: 470–475; Dallapaiazza, 2013; Sartre / Sartre, 2014: 191– 258; Weingarten, 2017; Andrade, 2018: 215–229; see also Wieber, 2017: 125–126, with more detailed reference literature to different branches of Zenobia’s reception history.

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ning of the Renaissance, the figure of Zenobia was given a role in an academic battle, known under the term “querelle des femmes”, a European intellectual debate about the nature of women, their rights and their abilities, but also about the relationship between men and women, that went on until the era of the European Revolutions and even later.4 Following Boccaccio’s treatise De claris mulieribus, many other authors, mostly male, referred to Zenobia as an exemplum for an exceptional and strong woman.5 By such a reference to a person from the past, a technique from ancient rhetoric, authority is lent to the argument.6 This is not the place to discuss all the mentions of the Palmyrene queen in late medieval and early modern writings, suffice to say that her characterisation, as with those of other strong women from antiquity, bears a certain mark of ambiguity: putting an emphasis on her exceptional nature might at the same time affirm male superiority and the normality of female inferiority.7 Moreover, Zenobia’s portrayal underwent a change through the centuries from originally brave and martial character traits to more wifely qualities; thus Thomas Elyot’s Zenobia, who appears as one of the three dialogue partners in his “The Defence Of Good Women” (1540), is every inch the subdued queen turned into a faithful wife after her defeat.8 Nonetheless, there were actually quite a number of queens and female regents in Early Modern Europe.9 Even if one reads the genre of women’s praise as a means to contain the political power of women, one has to keep in mind that many queens and other aristocratic women were the female patrons to whom these works were often dedicated.10 The addressees most probably perceived their fe-

4 For a concise overview of the current state of research see: Opitz–Belakhal, 2018: 139– 143; see also Zimmermann, 1995 and Bock, 2000: 13–52. 5 Wayne, 1987: 48–50 refers to quotations of Zenobia by “Boccaccio, Chaucer, Lydgate, Christine de Pizan, Jean Luis Vives, Helisenne de Crenne, Sir Thomas Elyot, Agrippa, William Bercher, Antony Guevara, William Painter, George Pettie, Ariosto, Ben Jonson, George More, Barnabe Rich, Daniel Tuvil, and Thomas Heywood”; see also Asmus, 1911: 9–12. 6 Wieber-Scariot, 1999: 308. 7 Wayne, 1987: 50–55; Jansen, 2008: 103: “(…) female sovereignty only as a last and temporary resort”; Rohwer–Happe, 2015: 167–168; Knowles, 2019: 92. 8 Wayne, 1987: 57–61; Howe, 2003 stresses this discourse shift by describing the ways in which Queen Isabella I is characterized: instead of a second Zenobia she is over time compared to Penelope. But one should bear in mind that the mythical Penelope was not only a wife, but also for a long time a female regent. 9 Wunder, 1992; Dixon, 2002; Schnettger, 2009. 10 See e.g. the illuminated miniature from Christine de Pisan’s collected works, dedicated to the French queen Isabel of Bavaria: we see the authoress presenting the volume to the queen (online presentation by the British Library http://www.bl.uk/manuscripts/Viewer. aspx?ref=harley_ms_4431_f003r); Juan Luis Vives dedicated his educational treatise De institutione feminae Christianae (“The Education of Christian Women”, 1523) to the English queen Catherine of Aragon, first wife of Henry VIII, who had commissioned this

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male predecessors as presented to them from a completely different angle. An example of how an aristocratic woman of those days could relate to an ancient queen is given by Countess Aemilia Juliana of Schwarzburg–Rudolstadt, a typical German Kleinstaat.11 To express her commitment to her husband and her concept of a partnership in power she had herself depicted on a wall painting in the palace in Leutenburg (ca. 1688). Alongside with her husband Count Albert Anton (they are shown clasping each other's right hand in the dextrarum iunctio), she is presented in the Baroque version of an ancient warrior queen: Zenobia. Her likeness has quite clearly been modelled on an emblematic12 illustration of Zenobia from Pierre Le Moyne’s “La Gallerie des Femmes Fortes” (“The Gallery of Powerful Women”, 1647) (fig. 1).13 Having a closer look at the original etching from Abraham Bosse and Gilles Rousselet (after Claude Vignon), one finds interesting details. Again, this Zenobia holds a spear, but considering the background scenery,14 which is explained by the subscription, we get to know her as a fearless huntress: “Reyne des Palmyreniens, victorieuse des Roys et des Lyons, aguerrit ses Enfans à la chasse: et les dresse par son exemple à la vaillance et à la victoire. Trebellius Pollio” – “Queen of Palmyra, who is victorious over kings and lions, hardens her children by hunting and raises them after her own example to be brave and victorious. Trebellius Pollio.”15

work; Thomas Elyot addressed his apologia of the female sex to Anne of Cleves, King Henry’s fourth wife; Jansen, 2008: 92, 96; 104; for other examples see Zimmermann, 1995: 32–33. 11 Aikin, 20016: 103–105; to name but one other example: Henriette Adelaide of Savoyen, Electress of Bavaria, began in 1664 to embellish her antechamber with “femmes fortes”, among them Zenobia; see Wenzel, 2001: 364–366. 12 Of the emblem’s classical tripartite structure (motto, picture and subscription; see Grove, 2010: 73) the motto is missing in this gallery of strong women, but the headline “ZENOBIE” of the opposite text page with her biography following could act as a substitute. 13 The edition of Le Moyne’s “La Gallerie des Femmes Fortes” is accessible online: https://archive.org/details/lagalleriedesfem00lemo; the original orthography is left unchanged. 14 For the principle of foreground and background used in Early Modern images to structure different times of action („continuous narrative“) see Grove, 2010: 65. 15 For the full–page depiction of Zenobia see Le Moyne, 1647: 144; the text about the Palmyrene queen runs from 145–160, including a comparison with an exemplum from the Middle Ages, Joanna of Flanders, duchess of Brittanny (ibid., 157–160). By citing the name Trebellius Pollio, de Moyne refers to one of the fictive author names of the Historia Augusta, a late ancient collection of biographies of Roman emperors, which up to the end of the 19th century was believed to be the work of six different authors and which is – by modern standards – a not always trustworthy, but none the less important, source for Zenobia’s life; see Johne 2008.

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Fig. 1. Zenobia, an illustration from Pierre Le Moyne’s “La Gallerie des Femmes Fortes”, p. 14416 The Palmyrene queen wears the helmet typical for ancient war goddesses and Amazons,17 but with feathers à la Baroque and a crown put on top. Comparable to Baroque rulers, she is impersonating a Roman emperor and commander of the

16

Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication; https://commons. wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Zenobia,_an_illustration_from_Pierre_Le_Moyne%27s_%27 La_Gallerie_des_femmes_fortes%27_MET_DP829038.jpg. 17 Neysters, 1995: 102–103, with examples for aristocratic women who had their portraits or that of their foremother painted as Minerva or Amazon on p. 111–113, 117, 126, 128, 129; see also Dixon, 2002: 23, 25, 58, 177; for the legendary Semiramis as a warrior queen in Baroque opera see Droß-Krüpe, 2020, with illustration on p. 21.

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army18 with a muscle cuirass. As her right hand is occupied with the hunting weapon, she has lifted her left hand in a commanding gesture with her index finger pointing, which reminds the viewer to some degree of the posture adopted by the statue of Augustus from Prima Porta, the different use of arms notwithstanding.19 Instead of a simple Roman tunic Zenobia wears a longer undergarment, decorated with frills, that is visible through the cuirass’s leather straps and is slit for freedom of movement. Her outfit is completed by richly decorated Roman sandals (caligae) and a hint of the paludamentum, the commander’s cloak, loosely thrown on.20 One can indeed say that she is a warrior queen, for all her adornment with female jewellery. Also, the shape of her cuirass does not negate her sex. With male rulers (either Roman emperors or modern kings) the front part of that armour was typically an area of political messages conveyed by ornaments laden with meanings. Here the message is the queen`s womb and her reproductive success. Furthermore, her body language conveys a strong physical presence21 and shows momentum: we see her in motion; this is also true for the background scenery.22 In sum, the queen’s over–all appearance demonstrates self–consciousness. No wonder, she could give even to powerful women of Early Modern Times the self– assurance which was – at times – needed by regent queens acting for their underage sons, as was the case with Anne of Austria, mother of Louis XIV.23 It was she24 to whom Pierre Le Moyne addressed his book about the strong women, with Zenobia being one of the patronesses for female regents, having an expertise on the military field.25

18 A later example is an etching from Pierre Simon showing Louis XIV as a Roman emperor with laurel around his helmet and a battlefield in the background (Berghaus / Diepenbroick–Grüter, 1977: 146–147); for a German emperor impersonating a Roman General see Emperor Matthias as Publius Cornelius Scipio Africanus maior, in a painting by Lucas I. van Valckenborch (1580); https://www.khm.at/objektdb/detail/2350/. 19 For the index finger and its connotations see Trumble, 2010: 4–10. 20 For the details of the cuirassed statue in general see Fejfer, 2008: 207–211. 21 See Knowles, 2019: 107. 22 For the link between foot- and arm-position and the effect of movement of the cuirassed statues see Fejfer, 2008: 208. 23 For the three French regent queens and their iconic program to legitimize their rule see Gaehtgens, 1995; Neysters, 1995: 98–100. Grove, 2010: 71, refers to Marc de Vulson’s biographical portraits of famous French men (“Les portraits des hommes illustres”, 1650), including two of the regent queens, Marie de Medici and Anne of Austria. 24 Le Moyne, 1647: dedication picture on p. 7; his homage to the queen extends from p. 8 to 45; the other exempla are women from the Bible, Barbarian women (among them Zenobia), Ancient Roman women and Christian women. 25 Every part of the gallery is composed in the same manner: for each woman, a eulogy is followed by a special moral question, and the chapter is closed by an exemplum of a comparable, famous woman from the times of post-antiquity. Zenobia stands for women’s military aptitude, therefore the moral question is, whether women can show military vir-

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Whereas this Baroque portrait of Zenobia can be read as a combination of image, text and symbol with certain aspects of continuity,26 thus being a precursor to a panel in a comic book on which this chapter will focus, there is another art that forms a sort of link between the different pictorial genres: tapestry. Although most wall hangings of that era lack text,27 they introduce an element of continuity, telling a whole story through different pictures.28 The story of Zenobia was very widespread among aristocratic circles and often sets of seven up to fifteen sequential pieces of spectacular proportions were ordered from the carpet weavers. So, the walls of castles and manor houses all over Europe became a projection screen for Zenobia’s fate from her marriage to Odaenathus to her defeat by Aurelian.29 Considering the dimensions of the tapestries (often three by four metres or more) the woven Zenobia, sometimes the Amazon type, sometimes a typical Baroque queen, proved to be larger than life. 2. Zenobia as a Mexican comic book character: an Oriental ‘My Fair Lady’ and a freedom fighter In 1965, the Mexican publisher “Editorial Novaro” printed the comic book “Zenobia – Reina de Palmira” (“Z. – Queen of Palmyra”). Although in the 1960s, this publishing house was one of the four main companies in the comic business of Mexico, mainly printing translations of US comics,30 so far no American counterpart to the series of which Zenobia’s story was a part, i.e. “Mujeres Célebres” (“Famous women”), can be found.31 Examining the range of women in this monthly series, there are heroines from tues: “Si les Femmes sont capables des Vertus Militaires.” (Le Moyne, 1647: 153–157). 26 Grove, 2010: 59–92 assumes that there is a long tradition of text–image–interaction back to the Middle Ages and Early Modern Times, but prefers “to think in terms of parallel mentalities” instead of “pinpoint(ing) a direct cause-and-effect-link” for the pre-history of comic books. (60); see also Gundermann, 2007: 11–15, and 59–65: three elements of a comic, for the continuity see n. 14 above. 27 Campbell, 2007: 282, 459, and Sartre / Sartre, 2014: 213, give examples of tapestries accompanied by explaining Latin texts. 28 For an image–based narrative as a key element of comics see Grove, 2010: 64–65. 29 Hartmann, 2001: 473; Büttner, 2010: 4–6; Sartre / Sartre, 2014: 212–214; for the eight pieces counting tapestry in the Palazzo Mansi, Lucca see Cambini 2002 (illustrations on 44, 46, 48); Göbel, 1934: 200 refers to a Flemish-English tapestry series in the Swedish Tyresö Palace; Heinz, 1995: 165 points out that by the 18th century the interest in tapestries has become an overall European phenomenon. 30 Hinds / Tatum, 1992: 7–8. 31 There is no such series as “Famous Women”; no volume about Zenobia can be found in “Classics Illustrated”, which is indeed mainly a series of adaptions of great works of literature, but could also cover novels that were less canonical or other topics, such as “Cleopatra” (No 161) or “Negro Americans” (No 169); for covers and topics see the archived webpage: https://archive.org/details/classicsillustrated.

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a wide variety of epochs, countries and spheres: celebrity32 accounts for contemporary stardom from film, royal lineage, or success in business.33 Other categories are famous rulers,34 writers,35 and military women.36 Some women were chosen because of their special connection to Central or South America, such as Policarpa Salavarrieta,37 named La Pola, Heroine of the Colombian Independence, or Elisa Lynch,38 the First Lady of Paraguay 1862–1870. Up to this point only eight books have been found referring to ancient times: Salome, Nefertiti, Sappho, and Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi, two volumes about Cleopatra, Zenobia, and finally Theodora.39 Summing up, the series as a whole stands in the tradition of “Frauenzimmerkataloge” (“catalogues of women”),40 in which from Early Modern times on, famous women of education (one of them being Zenobia)41 are listed with their biographies, first in Latin and then in national languages. Obviously, the Early Modern criteria for the selection of extraordinary women have an impact

32 For the discourse of celebrity which is different from concepts of heroism insofar that it is based more on a star’s ordinariness, the reader’s intimacy with him or her and consumerism than on exceptional achievements see Dawson, 2001. 33 As examples the following might serve: actresses – Elizabeth Taylor and Grace Kelly; royal lineage – Princess Margaret of England; successful business woman – Helena Rubinstein. 34 Female rulers are, among others: Catherine the Great, Queen Victoria, Marie Antoinette, Empress Dowager Cixi. 35 Such as: Virginia Woolf, Colette and Selma Lagerlöf. 36 E.g.: Maria Ursula de Abreu e Lencastre from Brazil, who served as a corporal in 17th century Portuguese India (Boxer, 1975: 80). 37 Jungehülsing, 2010. 38 Wilson, 2003. 39 For a representative overview of the thematic issues of the series under discussion see online databases about comics: http://www.comicvine.com/mujeres–celebres/4050– 27431/ and the internet collection of this series http://revisteriaponchito.com/mcelebres/. The series came to a halt, probably in 1974, according to the information provided by https://www.comics.org/series/35167/; cf. also random hits on eBay, for the internet– based method of research in the field of reception studies see Solomon, 2008: 69, who calls eBay “America’s attic”. 40 To a certain degree the “femmes fortes” are included in the “Frauenzimmerkataloge” and the debates overlap; for a German–English overview of the persons involved in this discourse see Woods / Fürstenwald 1984; for defining “Frauenzimmerkataloge” as a collection of female exempla in contrast to lexica for women readers see Rossbach, 2015: 62– 64; for the whole genre see: Schmidt-Kohberg, 2014. 41 Schmidt-Kohberg, 2014: 202, includes the Palmyrene queen in a list of women of ancient times who were often quoted in the “Frauenzimmerkataloge”; for the late ancient use of Zenobia as one exemplum in a series of notorious women, see Wieber-Scariot, 1999: 318–346; for an overview of the history of these catalogues from antiquity on see McLeod, 1991.

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on other genres right up to the 20th century, as the comic books demonstrate.42 Looking for information about the team responsible for the volume under discussion, there is not much to find. Copywriter Margarita Loreto and illustrator Manuel Moro worked for different comic book series, while company founder Luis Novaro promoted mass culture and edited other comparable series about lives and deeds of famous people.43 “Historietas”, to use the Mexican term for a comic book, are the most read books in Mexico,44 and their success may also be caused by problems such as widespread illiteracy and low–literacy, school absenteeism, lack of secondary education etc. which are still prevalent today and certainly were in the 1960s.45 “Zenobia – Reina de Palmira” belongs to the subgenre of the semi–historical comics. Therefore this story follows the history of events, but some of the characters and gaps in the story that cannot be accounted for by scholarly evidence are fabricated.46 The cover (fig. 2) allows us the first look at Zenobia, according to which she is certainly the leading lady of the story and a belligerent woman to be reckoned with. Her face, turned to the viewer, and her fighting arm are situated on the intersection point of the two diagonals. In contrast, her male antagonist is only to be seen from the back, in semi-profile. On the reverse side of the cover, Zenobia is properly introduced to the reader, by a written, yet detailed text in twelve paragraphs.47 The headline, given in capitals with text shadow, already introduces her 42 Eberti’s “Eröffnetes Cabinet Deß Gelehrten Frauen=Zimmers” of 1706 (reprint 1990; “Opened cabinet of learned women”), a typical example of the “Frauenzimmerkataloge”, includes lemmata for all the ancient women from the series “Mujeres Célebres”, apart from Nefertiti, Salome and Theodora. For very recent „Frauenzimmerkataloge” see the illustrated books by Rachel Ignotofsky about “fearless women” from science, sports and art (https://www.rachelignotofskydesign.com/about). 43 “Grandes viajes” – “Great travels”; “Historias del Cristianismo” – “Tales of Christianity”; “Joyas de la Mitología” – “Jewels of Mythology”; “Lectura para todos” – “Reading for all”, children’s books; “Patronos y Santuarios” – “Patrons and Shrines”; “Vidas Ejemplares” – “Exemplary Lives”; “Vidas Ilustres” – “Famous Lives”; most of the titles can be found on the on the collector’s page http://revisteriaponchito.com/. 44 Hinds / Tatum, 1992: 5–7; Coerver / Pasztor / Buffington, 2004, 104: “Comic books account for about 80 percent of all printed material in Mexico, considerably more than books and newspapers combined.”; Duncan / Smith, 2009: 303–306, esp. 306: “Mexicans may have read more comics per capita than any other culture, but recently the huge audience for comics has begun to slip away.” 45 Coerver / Pasztor / Buffington, 2004: 159–164. 46 For classics in comics cf. Lochmann 1999a; Kovacs / Marshall 2011; Carlà 2014; for a typology of historical comics see Lochman, 1999b: 94–95: 1. „historisch–dokumentarische Comics” – strictly historical comics 2. „Historisierende Comics” – semi–historical comics: a) „Abenteuercomics” – adventure comics b) „Humorcomics” – funny comics c) „Erotik–Comics” – erotic comics d) „Comicromane” – graphic novel. 47 References to the pages under discussion will be given in brackets.

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as the heroine48: “LA HEROÍNA”. The setting in time and space (Tadmor and Tibur; 272) as well as the main characters follow. These are the men in Zenobia’s life: her husband Odenato, her antagonist, the Roman Emperor Aureliano, and her son Vallabathus.49 Only the places Tadmor and Tibur are shown in bold,50 to mark the beginning of Zenobia’s story and her retirement. Not until the seventh paragraph is she called by her title: “reina”.

Fig. 2. Cover of the comic book “Zenobia – Reina de Palmira” 48

This is one of the leitmotifs of the introduction: “una de las grandes heroínas” – “one of the great heroines”; “un ejemplo de valentía” – “an example of bravery”; “dignidad y heroísmo” – “dignity and heroism”; “el valor y la distinción de la desdichada reina” – “the courage and distinction of the unfortunate queen”; “la valerosa reina” – “the courageous queen”; “una mujer heroica” – “a heroic woman”. 49 The names will be cited the way the comic presents them, some of them being a Spanish version, others being the ancient version; a change of letters might have caused the new version of her son’s name: “Vallabathus”; actually his name reads: “Lucius Iulius Aurelius Septimius Vaballathus Athenodorus“ (Jones / Martindale / Morris, 1971: 991). 50 The place names are given in the ancient and the modern version; but the emphasized names are a mixtum compositum, with Tadmor being the modern name of Palmyra and Tibur being the Latin name of the contemporary Tivoli.

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In the first paragraph we learn that she fought for her country’s independence from Rome, and the introductory text, which started with her name, ends in the twelfth paragraph with the word “liberty”, that is the independence of her people. Actually, we learn in the last sentence of this paragraph that she sacrificed herself for the just cause, although we have been told earlier that she retired to Tibur.51 In her fight for freedom she has followed the legacy of her husband Odenato, only failing because of betrayal by one of her generals. Besides, Zenobia is compared to the notorious Cleopatra who is, in this context, definitely not an example of virtue. The Palmyrene queen by far outweighs the Ptolemaic queen with her moral qualities. Now the reader is ready to reinterpret the cover. Zenobia is certainly depicted in the tradition of “femmes fortes” as a fighting Amazon on horseback. The oblique perspective and the cut–out–like composition of the picture underline her part in the action–packed combat. Her dress cites the ancient leather straps around the arms we know from the Baroque Zenobia. Her cuirass is also, with its lacing on the front, vaguely reminiscent of the lorica segmenta type of ancient cuirass that was also closed at the front.52 However, her helmet seems to be shaped after Persian spiked helmets of Early Modern Times.53 The rest of her dress, especially the richly decorated girdle and the leg decoration, as well as the saddle blanket of her horse, have more than a touch of Orient. Because of her flowing hair one cannot see whether an aventail is attached to the helmet to protect her neck and shoulders; in the course of the story she will wear such a helmet (17) and also a spiked helmet with a neck guard (28–29). The warrior she is fighting is marked as oriental by the use of the sabre (exactly the same weapon she also carries) and his outfit: voluminous Oriental trousers, sash and a headdress of unknown origin (a turban helmet?).54 Therefore one assumes that he is the traitor mentioned, but later on one learns that he is one of her men and that they are practising combat

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“Zenobia es una de las grandes heroínas del Oriente que luchó por la indepencia de su país – Palmira – cuando éste se hallaba sometido a la dominación del Imperio Romano.” […] “una mujer heroica, que amó a su pueblo y supo sacrificarse por su libertad.” – “Zenobia is one of the great heroines of the Orient who fought for the independence of her country – Palmyra – when it was under Roman rule.” […] “a heroic woman, who loved her people and knew how to sacrifice herself for their freedom.” (foreword). 52 Cleland / Davies / Llewellyn–Jones, 2007: 12; later in the story, Zenobia will wear a muscle cuirass (17). 53 Grancsay, 1963, shows different types of helmets from the region, but from ancient times (Assyrian and Sasanian period) and the Middle Ages: Many of them have the conical shape or/and the spike. Admittedly, spiked helmets came into use in 19th century independent Mexico (Knight, 1986: 18) and Zenobia’s fight for independence has a modern Mexican subtext with the equation of Rome with Spain (see below). 54 The sabre might be the Persian curved sabre, of which the origin lies in Central Asia of the Early Middle ages; Çakır Phillip, 2016: 82–84; for the turban helmet see the same: 62.

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techniques (17). The whole scenery is reminiscent more of 1001 nights presented in Hollywood style than of Palmyra, not least because of the very bright colours.

Fig. 3. “Zenobia – Reina de Palmira”, p. 2. The cartoon itself starts with two flashbacks; after the reader has entered the present-day ruins of the desert city (1), Zenobia is introduced in a pseudo-antique outfit55, as a regent for her son (2), visually denoted by her throne and her follower’s proskynesis. The last panel on that page shows her as a lonely woman, embracing a (phallic?) column, thereby absentmindedly looking into her past (fig. 3). The next flashback takes us to the day of her wedding to Odenato. The halfpage dimension of the panel serves to enhance the importance of this ceremony. The information from the introductory text about her Mesopotamian descent is expanded by her father’s name Amrón (2/3). This is obviously a modernized version of Amr b. Zarib, Shaikh of the nomadic Amlaqi tribe,56 and refers to the Arabian legendary tradition about the queen. The book makes creative use of one of the lacunae in modern research. As a matter of fact, we do not have much information about Zenobia’s father, who is now generally believed to have been a certain Palmyrene, named Antiochus.57 The illustration of the bride and the wedding feast, however, are drawn in the register of harem fantasies. We see a musician play what looks like an Ottoman lute and some of the men in the background wear headpieces resembling Janissary hats or Persian hats from the 19th century.58 55

The dress can be compared to evening dresses of the 1960s, cf. designs for one shoulder evening gowns by the Franco-American couturière Pauline Trigère (https://www.pinter est.de/pin/600104719075900213/). 56 Hartmann, 2001: 337; cf. also Weingarten, 2008. 57 Hartmann, 2001: 116–124. 58 See e.g. the student project of Boston College (https://mediakron.bc.edu/ottomans/

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Dancing girls59 perform a veil dance that – quite practically – masks their bikini tops and their navels. Zenobia wears a face–veil. That sort of costume does more to answer readers’ expectations for oriental exoticism (fig. 4) than to depict historical evidence.60 At the same time the veiling of the nakedness might have satisfied censorship.61

Fig. 4. “Zenobia – Reina de Palmira”, p. 3.

janissary-hat-1) and the way the 19th century French costume historian Auguste Racinet (2015=1888: 222–223) sketched Near Eastern and Asian headgear of his time. 59 For the occidental misinterpretation of the Arabian dance tradition through blending colonial fantasies and night club culture cf. Buonaventura, 1995; Mabilat, 2006, Appendix II: 210–211, presents 19th century English texts about erotic Indian dances with veils and music that read like a manual of the panel under discussion. 60 Information for women’s clothing in the Arsacid period, which was the ruling dynasty in Mesopotamia of Zenobia’s time, is scarce; therefore one has to refer to earlier periods: see Shahbazi, 1992 and Kawami, 1992; mainly long dresses are depicted, and veils only cover the back of the head, not the face. For the amalgam of modern fashion and so–called authentic costumes in ancient epics (with an impact on other media) cf. Wieber-Scariot, 1998: 77–84 and Llewellyn-Jones, 2005; for the way the rich Palmyrene women might have been dressed see the female busts from Palmyra (https://brewminate.com/portraitureof-ancient-palmyra/). 61 In films the display of the navel, especially the female, was forbidden for a long time by censorship; see Sims, 2003: 213–225. Since the 1960s censorship seems to have lost more and more of its impact on comic books (Coerver / Pasztor / Buffington, 2004: 105); but cf. for example the way the Amazon women are dressed in the Mexican science fiction movie “Planeta de las Mujeres Invasoras” (“Planet of the invading women”, 1965): sexy outfits, but no navels to be seen; http://diedangerdiediekill.blogspot.de/2011/07/planeta-de-lasmujeres-invasoras-mexico.html (a blog for World Pop Cinema).

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Then Zenobia, unveiled, and Odenato are presented as a perfect couple (3–4): both of Latin looks, he is tall with clear–cut features; she is a virgin beauty62, whose face so far has only been seen by her father. Their relationship is hierarchical, so she looks up to him; in fact she addresses him as “(amado) se᷉ nor” ((beloved) Sir, 4; 5). Next we witness a process that can be labelled as ‘educating Zenobia’ (4–7).63 We are explicitly told that Zenobia follows her husband’s wishes when she casts off her face–veil,64 as well as the habits of her native country (4). She is asked to study politics and the ‘Westerners’65. As a result, her husband deems her qualified to represent him in his absence (due to tribal turmoil). Her adviser will be Odenato’s secretary, Babat, whose name carries connotations of many idioms in children’s language (“papa”). Evidently Zenobia is a submissive wife, listening to her husband and following the advice of a paternal friend. She is assiduously learning (“muchos días y muchas noches” – “many days and many nights”, 6). On top of that, she pays the Roman “pretor” a visit to enlarge her knowledge about Rome (7). Tulio Dicio66, however, is very amazed at an Arab woman from Mesopotamia (the Orient squared, so to speak67) with an interest in politics.68 So as not to violate traditional gender roles, her husband Odenato takes over after his return, not without speaking in high terms of her skill in reigning. Zenobia, for her part, makes him understand that she did it only to please him and out of interest for his occupation, thus emphasizing her role as a submissive wife and an attentive companion (8). However, she does not stop learning and listening to Babat, but she is not thereby turned into a bluestocking, as her sexy outfit and her fashionable manicure demonstrate: her interest in Cleopatra’s dominion is accompanied by a nail-polished thumb (in the style of the 1960s), holding the scroll with information about the queen (8). A connection between the two queens can be traced back to the Historia Augusta telling us that the Palmyrene queen claimed

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“Odenato: ¡Oh! Tu hermosura sobrepasa la de los luceros.” (“Your beauty surpasses the brilliance of the stars.”, 3). 63 For historical sources about Zenobia’s education: Historia Augusta trig. tyr. 30, 21–22, and for the cultural life at her court see Hartmann 2001: 300–308. 64 One other panel (5) shows Zenobia with the face–veil: it is in fact when she is introduced by her husband to the Roman officials in Palmyra. 65 “Odenato: Además, quiero que aprendas a gobernar y a tratar a los occidentales.” (“Also, I want you to learn to govern and to deal with Westerners.” 4). 66 The name could derive from Tullius and Decius. 67 The Oriental mishmash of ancient and Islamic times is enhanced, when Zenobia’s father is called a “Sultán” (9) – a term of the Middle ages; about the rebellious tribes we hear that they had forgotten “Allah and his prophet” (sic!; 10). 68 Tulio Dicio: “Nunca imaginé que una mujer árabe de la Mesopotamia supiese tanto de política.” (“I never imagined that an Arab woman from Mesopotamia knew so much about politics.”, 7).

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ancestry from Cleopatra.69 Although, in this context, the relationship can be more compared to learning from the faults of her counterpart, as Zenobia’s thoughts prove: “Esa reina, Cleopatra, cometió muchos errores.” – “That queen, Cleopatra, made many mistakes.” (fig. 5).

Fig. 5. “Zenobia – Reina de Palmira”, p. 8. Shortly after, we see the couple standing beside a pram (again a larger panel, this time elongated), and we understand that Zenobia has also fulfilled her duty as a mother (9). Now, her requesting to be taught in military tactics does not cause any harm to her femininity. Odenato gives her his promise to train her, but does not want her to accompany him in his actual fight. For the first time Zenobia is not the obedient wife, and she dresses up in men’s clothes to follow her husband on the battlefield – but the reader learns that Zenobia’s father (despite her maid’s criticism) would understand her acting like that (9). Consequently, she comes to Odenato’s defence in a critical situation (11).70 The soldiers’ comments hover between “women on the battlefield cause bad luck” and praise for her courage (12). Next, the “pretor” pays a visit to the recovering Odenato and Zenobia makes use of the conversation, which quickly becomes a lesson in Roman weaponry and military discipline, to enable her to understand that to Rome, warfare is an art (13–15). Suddenly, Odenato’s condition deteriorates (15). On his deathbed he assures her of his love and tells her that she will be a great queen and will make his son a great ruler. The future tense here converges into the imperative voice, so his

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Historia Augusta: trig. tyr. 27, 1; 30, 2; Claud.1, 1; Aurelian. 27, 3; Prob. 9, 5; modern scholars however do not believe in this ancestry, see Hartmann, 2001: 23–24. 70 Odenato: “A ti debo la vida, Zenobia.” (“I owe you my life, Zenobia.”, 13).

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last words become mandatory.71 Of course, Zenobia willingly assumes that duty. Then she improves her military expertise and reorganizes her army (17).72 Years later, Palmyra has become a potent kingdom and we learn from Zenobia that the appointing of the new governor Cayo Gelo73 in Palmyra makes Emperor Aureliano‘s respect for her military power obvious (18). After a discussion between Zenobia and Babat about the most convenient time for military action (i.e. against Rome (18)), we get to know her two generals: Fidelio and Heraclamón (19), of whom the one with the telling name of “Faithful” will prove his loyalty, whereas the other general will betray his queen (29) and she will kill him in the end (30).74 In the meantime, we watch the preparations for war and the beginning of the combat operation. At first, Zenobia is successful and her fighting for liberation from Rome becomes a leitmotif.75 Finally, the Roman emperor has to turn up to finish the rebellion and to call the “woman” (the first mention of his intervention 25; 27 ff.) to order.76 We witness a Jeanne-d’Arc-like Zenobia (fig. 6) heroically fighting (29), and even when she is taken hostage by the Roman emperor she orders her people not to give up war; only for her loyal general does she beg for mercy (30). 71 Odenato: “Serás una gran reina y harás de mi hijo un ... gran ... gobernante.” (“You will be a great queen and you will make my son a … great … ruler.”, 16). 72 Zenobia: “Odenato confió en mí para hacer de su hijo un gran monarca, y lo será. // Pero para eso yo necesito ser una gran reina.” (“Odenato trusted me to make his son a great monarch, and he will be.” / “But for that I need to be a great queen.”, 17). 73 The name probably signifies “Gaius Gallus”, which cannot, however, be verified by historical sources or reference literature. 74 We do know the names of her generals: Zabdas (commander in chief) and Zabbai (commander of Palmyra) (see Hartmann, 2001: Index 532); ancient sources tell of a Heraclamon, who helped Aurelian to conquer the pro–Palmyrene city of Tyana. He was however no general of Zenobia and was not killed by her, but executed by the emperor Aurelian for committing treason; see the Historia Augusta (Aurel. 23, 4–5); Hartmann, 2001: 366. 75 During a conversation between Zenobia and her general Fidelio: F: “Gracias a ti seremos un pueblo libre.” Zenobia: “En el que reinará mi hijo sin rendir vasallaje a nadie.” (F.: “Thanks to you we will be a free county.” Zenobia: “In which my son will reign without paying vassalage to anyone.”, 20) The people of Palmyra, hailing Fidelio and Zenobia: “¡Ya somos libres!” (“Now, we are free!”, 24) Zenobia to her advisers: “Somos due᷉nos absolutos de Palmira. Haremos de ella el más grande de todos los reinos de (sic!) oriente.” (“We are absolute owners of Palmyra. We will make it the greatest of all the kingdoms of the East.”, 24) Zenobia to her people: “Pueblo libre de Palmira … Este es vuestro único rey, Vallabathus.” (“Free people of Palmyra … This is your only king, Vallabathus.”, 25). 76 An officer of Aureliano: “Zenobia no podrá quejarse. Tú, el emperador Aureliano, vienes en persona a combatirla.” Aureliano: “¡Ja, ja, ja! Nunca una mujer desafió al imperio como lo hizo ella. Tendrá su merecido.” (“Zenobia can’t complain. You, Emperor Aureliano, come in person to fight her.” – “Hahaha! A woman never challenged the empire the way she did. She will receive what she deserves.”, 27).

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Fig. 6. “Zenobia – Reina de Palmira”, p. 29.

Fig. 7. “Zenobia – Reina de Palmira”, p. 31. After all she turns up in Rome, in the triumphal procession, but in a carriage of her own, beside her son. This panel does not offer information as to whether the queen and her son are chained; actually, they look more like honoured guests (fig. 7).77 Zenobia does not beg for mercy, but the emperor grants her an honourable retirement in Rome, together with her son, emphasising that without

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The Historia Augusta presents Zenobia as a show piece in Aurelian’s triumphal procession in Rome: she is on foot, heavily laden with jewellery, and chained (trig. tyr. 30, 24–26 and Aurelian. 33–34); Hartmann 2001, 412, accepts the queen’s presence in the procession, but he thinks that the author of the Historia Augusta exaggerates in his description of the triumph.

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treason the victory would have been hers (31).78 The whole comic ends with emperor Aureliano’s comment on Zenobia’s departure to her retreat: “Mírala bien, porque pasarán muchos a᷉nos antes de que aparezca en el mundo una mujer tan valiosa como ella.” (“Look at her well, because it will be many years before a woman as valuable as she appears in the world.”, 32). How would the Mexican audience of the 1960s have reacted to that story line and the gender pattern within it? First of all, Mexican society favoured very traditional gender roles in those days. When the comic was published, women had been granted the right to vote only twelve years previously (at a national level). Admittedly, during the 1940s and up to the 1960s Mexico’s industry enjoyed an extraordinary boom (called “Mexican miracle”), but this did not lead to women’s emancipation. Women were supposed to be the homemakers and mothers, whereas men were the providers; a general change will not be brought about until the economic crisis of the 1970s.79 Nonetheless, the Mexican Zenobia as a heroine was no threat to traditional gender roles. Apart from one exception, she is – throughout the whole story – presented as a woman who acts with the approval of her menfolk (husband, father and advisor). It is her husband who wants her to take part in politics – in this regard, they had a teacher–student relationship – and it is he who gives her orders on his deathbed. By his death she becomes the head of the household, the modern technical term is a “jefe”, which was indeed common for widows in the Mexico of those days.80 Ancient historical events also favoured the gender hierarchy at that time, as Zenobia’s role as a leader is only a temporary one. No matter how engaged the comic shows her to be in politics and war, she is also always a devoted wife and caring mother.81 The comic book could nonetheless be read as a tutorial for widows who would have step into men’s places temporarily, in case of emergency. Considering the visual codes, but also some of the terms used (e.g. “Sultán”), this comic gives evidence of how the story of Zenobia is orientalised.82 But in this 78

Aureliano: “Pues te diré que de no haber sido traicionada, tu ya hubiera sido la victoria.” (“Well, I will tell you that if you had not been betrayed, the victory would be already yours.”, 31). 79 Coerver / Pasztor / Buffington, 2004: 537–539; 289. 80 Cuevas Hernández / Solorio Pérez, 2010, 334: “Nettel (1992) poses that the female– headed household as a result of widowhood was the most common reason for which women became the head of the household in Mexico until mid 20th century.” 81 Conversation between Babat (B.) and soldiers (S.), when Odenato was ill: S.: “Si el rey está enfermo, su esposa podría atendernos.” B.: “Te equivocas. La reina no se separa un momento de su lado.” (S.: “If the king is ill, his wife could assist us.” / “You are wrong. The queen doesn’t leave her husband for a second.”, 16); the son as a consolation after her husband’s death (17), taking precautionary measures for her son (21), begging for her son’s life (31). 82 For Zenobia as an incarnation of the Orient in Alexander Baron’s novel “Queen of the

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case the discourse of characterizing Eastern people as foreign and the embodiment of “the other” is expanded by the more backwardness of Zenobia’s fictive homeland Mesopotamia. The motif à la “My Fair Lady” with the husband teaching his wife, which was indeed very popular in Mexico of the late 1950s,83 is merged with a concept of orientalism84 by which the woman as the Orient per se is more oriental than the oriental husband, who is moreover often dressed like a Roman. By the use of these shades of orientalism,85 the gender hierarchy is kept intact. Finally, it is worth raising the question whether fighting women were considered a taboo in those days. Mexico certainly has a strong tradition of women taking part in the national struggle for freedom. There had been many conflicts in the 19th century (war of independence from Spain (1810–1821), colonial border conflicts with France and the USA). Then there was a violent revolution at the beginning of the 20th century (1910–1921) and Mexican engagement in the Spanish Civil War. In all combat actions women were involved, performing different duties from nursing to fighting.86 As a result “soldaderas” are well–known in Mexican folk songs, literature and art. Sometimes “soldaderas” are represented either as the beautiful, but silent, camp follower or as the assertive, but evil, female fighter. In visual arts they are often depicted in a very feminine attire and body shape (e.g. with wasp–waists).87 The Mexican Zenobia answers to those stereotypes in so far as she incorporates the two types of “soldaderas” with her feminine looks and her bravery. Therefore, national freedom as objective justifies Zenobia’s acting, i.e. her entering the male–dominated world of the military. In this context, Rome can be read as a cypher for modern colonial, imperialist powers (Spain, France and USA). It may seem an irony of history that Mexico turned exactly that representation of Zenobia into a post–colonial icon that is steeped in Early Modern European culture in general, as discussed above, but also especially in that of the former colonial “motherland” Spain. There Zenobia was very popular as an exemplum in educational genres88 and as a protagonist on a stage she entered with the famous play “La gran Cenobia” by Pedro Calderón de East” see Wieber, 2017; for Zenobia as a romantic and orientalised heroine in novels of different origin (many of them French) see Sartre / Sartre, 2014: 236–243. 83 Carrera, 1998. 84 For the overlapping discourses of the Orient and women (especially of those in power) and their otherness as well as the different orientalisms see Carlà-Uhink / Wieber, 2020a and 2020b. 85 For the so-called “nesting orientalism” see Carlà-Uhink / Wieber, 2020 b, 3. 86 Salas, 1990; Coerver / Pasztor / Buffington, 2004: 472–474; they also have antecedents in colonial times, when the conquerors met Indian women warriors and when Spanish or Portuguese women followed their men during the conquest of the Aztec empire, see also Jones, 2005: 94–103. 87 King, 2005. 88 For Zenobia in the Spanish “Querelle des femmes” see Howe, 2008: 21, 31–58, 130,143, 150, 177.

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la Barca. This dramatist combined information of the Historia Augusta (extended by fictive characters) with a court intrigue and romantic love.89 Moreover, Zenobia’s visual heritage, partly based on the imagery of tapestries, is linked to Spain by the Netherlands’ main production sites lying in Habsburg territories.90 The Spanish conquerors most certainly brought their Zenobia versions and those of their European neighbours in their cultural baggage to Mexico. The modern Mexican comic builds the queen’s story to some degree on the information from ancient sources, mostly Historia Augusta, or on their tradition, 91 and at the same time makes her a romantic and oriental heroine. By constructing her story before Odaenathus’ death in the style of a prequel, this life of an exemplary woman aims to entertain and to educate.92 Thereby, a thrilling historical adventure is closely knit together with an ideal–typical, contemporary gender hierarchy and a national varnish. 3. Zenobia – an outdated exemplum? My observations about Zenobia started with her as an exemplum often aimed at ruling women in Early Modern times, which makes her in a way exclusive, an icon of aristocratic culture. That applies also to the tapestries about her life, being luxury goods. By contrast, the Mexican comic character Zenobia is easily accessible and part of a bourgeoisification process. This has already been true in Early Modern times, with the Palmyrene queen becoming a paragon of wifely qualities to be emulated by the female readership, an ideal of which the comic gives substantial proof. It is unrealistic that such a Zenobia would appeal to the female readers of our time. But how about Zenobia in contemporary comic culture, is she still a character of interest? A random search on the internet shows that Zenobia lives on in manga and fantasy styles.93 In 2016, Morton Dürr and Lars Horneman presented a graph89

Asmus, 1911: 12–15; Quintero, 2012: 51–77. For the predominance of the tapestry from the Spanish Netherlands during the 17th century see Heinz, 1995: 13–98. 91 St. Jerome with his information about Zenobia’s retirement and her second marriage is the only explicit naming of an ancient source in the introduction of the comic book; this might refer to Jerome, chron. sub anno 274: Zenobia in urbe summo honore consenuit. A qua hodieque Romae Zenobiae familia nuncupatur – “Z. reached old age in Rome, highly honoured. Even today a family of Zenobia derives its name from her.” Zenobia’s second marriage however is only mentioned in sources from the Middle Ages (Hartmann, 2001: 414). 92 For the label “educational comic” see Duncan / Smith, 2009: 215; in this case we could speak of an educational subtext; cf. also the introduction of the comic book: “una síntesis biográfica de la valerosa reina de Palmira” (“a biography of the courageous queen of Palmyra”) and “siguen inspirando reflexiones y estudios” (“still inspire reflections and studies”), thereby referring to a scholarly discourse about the queen. 93 See e.g. the online artwork community “DeviantArt”. 90

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ic novel94 (not just for children) which is named after the Palmyrene queen. The young Syrian girl Amina has to escape from her homeland because of the civil war. As her parents are dead and no other relatives are with her on the boat, she remembers in her struggle for survival her personal exemplum of bravery: Zenobia (fig. 8).95

Fig. 8. Dürr / Horneman: Zenobia, p. 43, by courtesy of the authors; the Danish text can be translated as follows: “Zenobia was the queen of Syria. A queen of the old days. The most beautiful woman in the world.”

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The definition of the genre “graphic novel” is far from coherent. As the length of the book is not a really satisfying characteristic, I will use the term according to the level at which the superhero image is deconstructed and real life problems are addressed in the book under discussion; cf. Duncan / Smith, 2009: 4, 35–36, 70–3, 214. 95 Dürr / Horneman, 2018: 41–47, 56, 77–78, on 91 we see the letters ZENOBIA on the shipwreck.

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Asked why he decided to go for Zenobia, Morten Dürr gave the following answer: “Google told me, that the phrase: if Zenobia could – so can you – was something a mother could tell her daughter in Syria. That made me realise that Zenobia could be the anchor for the whole book”.96 Sadly, the girl Amina drowns. Here the moving figure of Zenobia stands in the tradition of exempla used as a means of self–reassurance. For the Syrian people it is to be hoped that in the very near future they will refer to that sort of “femme forte” in a context other than that of war. Bibliography Aikin, J.P., 2016: A Ruler’s Consort in Early Modern Germany. Aemilia Juliana of Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt. London / New York. Andrade, N.J., 2018: Zenobia. Shooting star of Palmyra. New York. Asmus, R., 1911: “Zenobia von Palmyra in Tradition und Dichtung”. Euphorion 18, 1–24; 295–321. Berghaus, P. / Diepenbroick-Grüter, H.-D. Freiherr von (eds.), 1977: Porträt 1: Der Herrscher. Graphische Bildnisse des 16.–19. Jahrhunderts aus dem Porträtarchiv Diepenbroick. Katalog. Münster. Bock, G., 2000: Frauen in der Europäischen Geschichte. Vom Mittelalter bis zur Gegenwart. München. Boxer, C.R., 1975: Women in Iberian Expansion Overseas, 1415–1815. Some Facts, Fancies and Personalities. Oxford. Büttner, N., 2010: “Eine neu entdeckte Zeichnung von Justus van Egmont”. Kunstgeschichte. Open Peer Reviewed Journal (urn:nbn:de:0009-23–25161). Buonaventura, W., 51995: Die Schlange vom Nil. Frauen und Tanz im Orient. Frankfurt a.M. (= English original London 1989). Çakır Phillip, F., 2016: Iranische Hieb-, Stich- und Schutzwaffen des 15. bis 19. Jahrhunderts. Berlin / Boston. Campbell, T.P., 2007: Tapestry in the Baroque: Threads of Splendor. London / New Haven / New York. Cambini, G., 2002: “La serie di Aureliano e Zenobia: il Corpus degli Arazzi Fiamminghi di Palazzo Mansi a Lucca”. In Zenobia. Il sogno di una regina d’Oriente. Catalogo della mostra. Milano. Pp. 44–49. Carlà, F. (ed.), 2014: Caesar, Attila und Co. Comics und die Antike. Darmstadt. Carlà-Uhink, F. / Wieber, A., 2020a: Orientalism and the Reception of Powerful Women from the Ancient World. London / Oxford / New York / New Delhi / Sidney. — / — 2020b: “Introduction”. In F. Carlà-Uhink / A. Wieber (eds.): Orientalism and the Reception of Powerful Women from the Ancient World. London / Oxford / New York / New Delhi / Sidney. Pp. 1–15.

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Personal note by Morten Dürr via messenger (15/8/2019).

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Carrera, C., 1998: “Remembering Mexico’s ‘Mr. Theatre’, Manolo Fabregas”. Official Website of “Playbill”, a monthly U.S. magazine for theatregoers. http://www.playbill.com/article/remembering-mexicos-mr-theatre-manolofabregas-com-73214. Cleland, L. / Davies, G. / Llewellyn-Jones, L., 2007: Greek and Roman Dress from A to Z. London / New York, Coerver, D.M. / Pasztor, S.B. / Buffington, R.M., 2004: Mexico. An Encyclopedia of Contemporary Culture and History. Santa Barbara / Denver / Oxford. Cuevas Hernández. A. J. / Solorio Pérez, C. D., 2010: “The formation of female– headed households in poor urban sectors in Colima, Mexico: a five-case analysis”. Sociedade e Cultura 12/2, 331–342. Dallapiazza, M., 2013: “Zenobia”. In Der Neue Pauly. Supplemente 8: Historische Gestalten der Antike. Rezeption in Literatur, Kunst und Musik. Stuttgart/Weimar. Pp. 1057–1064. Dawson, R., 2001: “‘Europens Kaiserinn’. Katharina II. und die Zelebrität”. L’Homme 12/2, 265–290. Dixon, A., 2002: Women Who Ruled: Queens, Goddesses, Amazons in Renaissance and Baroque Art. New York. Droß-Krüpe, K., 2020: “Semiramide in India: The Reception of an Ancient Oriental Warrior Queen in Baroque Opera”. In F. Carlà-Uhink / A. Wieber (eds.): Orientalism and the Reception of Powerful Women from the Ancient World. London / Oxford / New York / New Delhi / Sidney. Pp. 16–28. Duncan, R. / Smith, M.J., 2009: The Power of Comics. History, Form, and Culture. New York / London. Dürr, M. / Horneman, L., 2018: Zenobia. Wien. (Danish original: København 2016). Eberti, J.C., 1706: Eröffnetes Cabinet Deß Gelehrten Frauen=Zimmers. Breslau (= E. Gössmann (ed.), 1990: Archiv für Philosophie– und Theologiegeschichtliche Frauenforschung, Bd. III. München). Fejfer, J., 2008: Roman Portraits in Context. Berlin / New York. Gaehtgens, B., 1995: “Macht–Wechsel: oder die Übergabe der Regentschaft”. In B. Baumgärtel / S. Neysters (eds.): Die Galerie der starken Frauen. Die Heldin in der französischen und italienischen Kunst des 17. Jahrhunderts, Ausstellungskatalog. Berlin / München. Pp. 64–78. Göbel, H., 1934: Wandteppiche. III. Teil. Die Germanischen und Slawischen Länder, Band II West-, Mittel-, Ost- und Norddeutschland, England, Irland, Schweden, Norwegen, Dänemark, Russland, Polen, Litauen. Berlin. Grove, L., 2010. Comics in French: The European Bande Dessinée in Context. Oxford / New York. Grancsay, S. V., 1963 “A Sasanian Chieftain’s Helmet”. The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin 21/5, 253–262.

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Gundermann, C., 2007: Jenseits von Asterix: Comics im Geschichtsunterricht. Schwalbach am Taunus. Hartmann, U., 2001: Das palmyrenische Teilreich. Stuttgart. Heinz, D., 1995: Europäische Tapisseriekunst des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts. Die Geschichte der Produktionsstätten und ihrer künstlerischen Zielsetzungen. Wien / Köln / Weimar. Hinds, H.E. / Tatum, C.M., 1992: Not Just for Children: The Mexican Comic Book in the Late 1960s and 1970s. Westport 1992. Howe, E.T. 2003: “Zenobia or Penelope? Isabel la Católica as Literary Archetype”. In D.A. Boruchoff (ed.): Isabel la Católica, Queen of Castile: Critical Essays. New York. Pp. 91–102. — 2008: Education and Women in the Early Modern Hispanic World. Aldershot / Burlington. Jansen, S.L., 2008: Debating Women, Politics, and Power in Early Modern Europe. New York. Johne, K.-P., 2008; “Die Historia Augusta”. In K.-P. Johne / U. Hartmann / T. Gerhardt (eds.): Die Zeit der Soldatenkaiser. Krise und Transformation des Römischen Reiches im 3. Jahrhundert n.Chr. (235–284) Tom. I. Berlin. Pp. 45–51. Jones, D.E., 2005: Women Warriors. A History. Washington. Jones, A.H.M. / Martindale, J.R. / Morris, J., 1971: The prosopography of the later Roman Empire. Vol. 1: A.D. 260–395. Cambridge. Jungehülsing, J., 2010: “Policarpa Salavarrieta”. https://www.boell.de/de/navi gation/lateinamerika-bicentenario-la-pola-heldin-kolumbianische-unabhaeng igkeit-9712.html. Kawami, T., 1992: “Clothing iii. In the Arsacid period”. In Encyclopædia Iranica, Vol. V,7. Pp. 737–739. http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/clothing-iii. King, B. C., 2005: “Iconography and Stereotype: Visual Memory of the Soldaderas.” Michigan Journal of History 3.1. https://umichjh.com/past-volumes/volume-iii/. Knight, A., 1986: The Mexican Revolution. Vol. I: Porfirians, Liberals and Peasants. Lincoln / London. Knowles, M.T., 2019: “Tricky, fine, and trapped: painting the ‘femme forte’ in early seventeenth-century France”. Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 82/1, 92– 114. Kovacs, G. / Marshall, C.W. (eds.), 2011: Classics and Comics. Oxford / New York. Le Moyne, P., 1647: La Gallerie des Femmes Fortes. Paris. https://archive.org/ details/lagalleriedesfem00lemo. Llewellyn-Jones, L., 2005: “The Fashioning of Delilah. Costume Design, Historicism and Fantasy in Cecil B. DeMille’s Samson and Delilah (1949)”. In L. Llewellyn-Jones / L. Cleland / M. Harlow (eds.): The Clothed Body in the

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Ancient World. Oxford. Pp. 14–29. Lochman, T. (ed.), 1999a: “Antico–Mix” Antike in Comics. Basel. Lochman, T., 1999b: “Neue Geschichten zur Alten Geschichte”. In T. Lochman (ed.): “Antico–Mix” Antike in Comics. Basel. Pp. 92–105, Mabilat, C., 2006: British orientalism and representations of music in the long nineteenth century ideas of music, otherness, sexuality and gender in the popular arts. Durham theses. Durham University. http://etheses.dur.ac.uk/2703/. McLeod, G., 1991: Virtue and venom: catalogs of women from antiquity to the Renaissance. Ann Arbor. Neysters, S., 1995: „Regentinnen und Amazonen“. In B. Baumgärtel / S. Neysters (eds.): Die Galerie der starken Frauen. Die Heldin in der französischen und italienischen Kunst des 17. Jahrhunderts. Ausstellungskatalog. Berlin / München. Pp. 98–139. Opitz–Belakhal, C., 22018: Geschlechtergeschichte. Frankfurt / New York. Quintero, M.C., 2012: Gendering the Crown in the Spanish Baroque ‘Comedia’. London / New York. Racinet, A., 2015: Kostümgeschichte. Vom Altertum bis zum 19. Jahrhundert. Sämtliche Farbtafeln. Köln. With an introduction by F. Tétart-Vittu. (Reprint of the French original of 1888 and its translation). Rohwer–Happe, G., 2015: “Unzuverlässiges Erzählen im englischen polemischen Dialog: Thomas Elyots ‘The Defence of Good Women’ (1540)”. In U. Baumann / A. Becker / M. Laureys (eds.): Polemik im Dialog des RenaissanceHumanismus. Formen, Entwicklungen und Funktionen. Göttingen. Pp.155– 169. Roßbach, N., 2015: Wissen, Medium und Geschlecht. Frauenzimmer-Studien zu Lexikographie, Lehrdichtung und Zeitschrift. Frankfurt am Main / Bern / Bruxelles / New York / Oxford / Warszawa / Wien. Salas, E., 1990: Soldaderas in the Mexican Military: Myth and History. Austin. Sartre, A. / Sartre, M., 2014: Zénobie de Palmyre à Rome. Paris. Schnettger, M., 2009: “Weibliche Herrschaft in der Frühen Neuzeit. Einige Beobachtungen aus verfassungs- und politikgeschichtlicher Sicht”. zeitenblicke 8/2. http://www.zeitenblicke.de/2009/2/schnettger/index_html. Schmidt-Kohberg, K., 2014: „Manche Weibspersonen haben offtmals viel subtilere Ingenia als die Manspersonen“. Weibliche Gelehrsamkeit am Beispiel frühneuzeitlicher Frauenzimmerlexika und Kataloge. Sulzbach/Taunus. Shahbazi, S., 1992: “Clothing ii. In the Median and Achaemenid periods”. In Encyclopædia Iranica, Vol. V,7. Pp. 722–737. http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/clothing-ii. Sheriff, M.D., 2004: Moved by Love. Inspired Artists and Deviant Women in Eighteenth-Century France. Chicago / London. Sims, M., 2003: Adam’s Navel. A Natural and Cultural History of the Human Body. New York.

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Solomon, J., 2008: “Fugitive Sources, Ben-Hur, and the Popular Art ‘Property’”. RBM: A Journal of Rare Books, Manuscripts, and Cultural Heritage 9/1, 67– 78. https://rbm.acrl.org/index.php/rbm/article/view/296/296. Sommer, M., 2017: Palmyra. Biographie einer verlorenen Stadt. Darmstadt. Southern, P., 2008: Empress Zenobia: Palmyra’s Rebel Queen. London / New York. Stoneman, R., 1992: Palmyra and its Empire. Zenobia’s Revolt against Rome. Ann Arbor. Trumble, A., 2010: The Finger: A Handbook. New York. Wayne, V., 1987: “Zenobia in Medieval and Renaissance Literature”. In C. Levin / J. Watson (eds.): Ambiguous Realities: Women in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. Detroit. Pp. 48–65. Weingarten, J., 2008: “The Zenobia Romance”. http://judithweingarten.blogspot. com/2008/06/zenobia-romance.html. — 2017: “Zenobia in History and Legend”. In J. Aruz (ed.): Palmyra: Mirage in the Desert. New York, Pp. 130–145. Wenzel, M., 2001: Heldinnengalerie – Schönheitengalerie: Studien zu Genese und Funktion weiblicher Bildnisgalerien 1470–1715. Dissertation. Heidelberg. https://archiv.ub.uni-heidelberg.de/volltextserver/5771/. Wieber, A., 2017: “Zenobia of 1001 nights – Alexander Baron’s novel ‘Queen of the East’”. thersites 5, 125–149. http://www.thersites.uni-mainz.de/index.php/ thr/article/view/59. — 2020: “The Palmyrene Queen Zenobia in Syrian TV – Inverting Orientalism for Modern Nationhood?”. In F. Carlà-Uhink / A. Wieber (eds.): Orientalism and the Reception of Powerful Women from the Ancient World. London / Oxford / New York / New Delhi / Sidney. Pp. 136–150. Wieber-Scariot, A., 1998: “Herrscherin und doch ganz Frau – Zur Darstellung antiker Herrscherinnen im Film der 50er und 60er Jahre”. metis 7, 73–89. — 1999: Zwischen Polemik und Panegyrik – Frauen des Kaiserhauses und Herrscherinnen des Ostens in den ‘Res gestae’ des Ammianus Marcellinus, Trier. Wilson, F., 2003: “The Lady Macbeth of Paraguay”. The Guardian 1 Feb. https: //www.theguardian.com/books/2003/feb/01/featuresreviews.guardianreview3. Winsbury, R., 2010: Zenobia of Palmyra: history, myth and the neo-classical imagination. London. Woods, J.M. / Fürstenwald, M., 1984: Schriftstellerinnen, Künstlerinnen und gelehrte Frauen des deutschen Barock. Ein Lexikon / Women of the German– speaking Lands in Learning, Literature and the Arts during the 17th and Early 18th Centuries. A Lexicon. Stuttgart. Wunder, H., 1992: ‘Er ist die Sonn‘, sie ist der Mond’. Frauen in der Frühen Neuzeit. München. Zimmermann, M., 1995: “Vom Streit der Geschlechter. Die französische und italienische Querelle des Femmes des 15. bis 17. Jahrhunderts”. In B. Baumgär-

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Bios Stéphanie Anthonioz is a member of the UMR 8167 “Orient et Méditerranée” (Mondes sémitiques). She teaches Biblical Hebrew at the École Normale Supérieure in Paris and is responsible for the collection “Littérature ancienne du ProcheOrient” (LAPO), Éditions du Cerf. She holds her professorial thesis (habilitation, 2014) in Ancient History (Paris IV, Sorbonne) on the subject of “Israël dans son environnement proche-oriental. La construction d’une identité religieuse au Ier millénaire.” Nicole Brisch (PhD, University of Michigan) is the Associate Professor of Assyriology at the University of Copenhagen. She is the author of Tradition and the Poetics of Innovation: Sumerian Court Literature of the Larsa Dynasty (2007), the editor of Religion and Power: Divine Kingship in the Ancient World and Beyond (2008) and co-editor of Constituent, Confederate, and Conquered Space: the emergence of the Mittani state (2014). Her research interests include Mesopotamian literature, kingship, religion, and economy. Her forthcoming books include the publication of a temple archive from Nippur and a book on ritual, religion, and gender in ancient Mesopotamia. Paola Corò is a tenure-track assistant professor of Assyriology at Ca’ Foscari University, Venice. She gained her PhD in 2003 at the University of Florence (Italy). She is the author of two monographs dealing with cuneiform documents from the Hellenistic period, esp. from the city of Uruk (Prebende templari in età seleucide, HANE/M 8, Sargon, Padua, 2005 and Seleucid Tablets from Uruk in the British Museum, ECF, Venezia, 2018). Her research interests include, among others, the history, culture, epigraphy, language of Hellenistic Babylonia; text formats and their layout; food and food practices, and the prosopography of Ebla. Since April 2020 she is the Principal Investigator of the research project LIBER The King’s Librarians at Work. Applying Machine Learning and Computer Vision to the Study of Scribal Marks on Cuneiform Tablets, funded by the SPIN 2 measure of Ca’ Foscari University, Venice. François de Callataÿ is head of department at the Royal Library of Belgium, professor at the Université Libre de Bruxelles and director of studies at the Ecole pratique des Hautes Études (Paris). A specialist of ancient Greek coinages, he got the Francqui 2007 Prize for his works about numismatic quantification and his reassessment of the link between coinages and military expenditures. He has also devoted many studies to numismatic antiquarianism (16th–18th c.) and is the cofounder of the Fontes Inediti Numismaticae Antiquae Project. A member of the Royal Academy of Belgium and the Academia Europaea, he is a corresponding

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member of Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres and the Deutsches Archäologisches Institut. Kerstin Droß-Krüpe currently holds the position of an ‘Akademische Oberrätin’ at Ruhr-Universität Bochum. Before she held positions at the universities of Marburg, Kassel and Innsbruck. She studied Classical Archaeology, Ancient History, and Business Administration at Philipps-University Marburg. She gained her PhD in 2010 with a thesis about textile production in the Roman province of Egypt, which was published as Wolle – Weber – Wirtschaft: Die Textilproduktion der römischen Kaiserzeit im Spiegel der papyrologischen Überlieferung (Wiesbaden 2011). Her habilitation dealt with the reception of the Babylonian queen Semiramis from antiquity to Baroque opera and was published as a monograph (Semiramis, de qua innumerabilia narrantur. Rezeption und Verargumentierung der Königin von Babylon von der Antike bis in die opera seria des Barock [Wiesbaden 2020]). Her main research interests are ancient economic history, ancient textiles studies, and the reception of antiquity. Sebastian Fink is Senior Scientist at the University of Innsbruck since 2020. Before he held positions in Kassel (Germany) and Helsinki (Finland). He studied Assyriology and Philosophy at the University of Innsbruck, where he finished his PhD in 2010. His main areas of research are Mesopotamian intellectual and literary history, the Sumerian language and new approaches to the history of antiquity. Udo Hartmann holds a PhD in Ancient History from the Freie Universität Berlin (2000) and has taught at the Humboldt-Universität in Berlin, in Dresden, Kiel and Bochum. Since 2012, he is lecturer for Ancient History at the University of Jena where he habilitated in 2018. His main areas of research are the crisis of the Roman Empire in the third century AD, the Roman Near East and Palmyra, the Parthian and Sasanian history and philosophers in Late Antiquity. Claudia Horst studied History and Philosophy at the University of Bielefeld and at the University of Exeter (Erasmus grant). Her PhD Marc Aurel – Philosophie und politische Macht zur Zeit der Zweiten Sophistik (University of Bremen) was published in 2013 (Franz Steiner Verlag). Her habilitation deals with the emergence of the Athenian democracy in the context of the Ancient Near East. From 2014 to 2015 she was a Visiting Scholar at the Columbia University in New York. Her main research interests are interrelations between politics and cultures, political theory, philosophy of history, cross-cultural contact between Mesopotamia and Greece. From August 2015 to July 2020 she was part of the research and teaching staff of the Alexander von Humboldt-Professorship for the Ancient History of the Near and Middle East, LMU (Prof. Dr. Karen Radner).

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Timothy Howe is Professor of History and Ancient Studies at St. Olaf College (USA), specializing in Hellenistic historiography and archaeology. His research focuses on elites and the political, economic and religious tools they use to maintain their power. He has authored and edited numerous books, translations and commentaries, book chapters and articles on Alexander the Great and his Successor Ptolemy I of Egypt. His most recent book, Ptolemy I Soter: A Self Made Man (2018), is now available from Oxbow. Gina Konstantopoulos (PhD, University of Michigan) is an Assistant Professor in Assyriology and Cuneiform Studies at the University of California, Los Angeles. She has published on religion, magic, and literature in Mesopotamia, with a particular focus on the role of demons and monsters in Sumerian and Akkadian texts. Her current research focus is on the creation of distant and imagined lands and notions of space and place in the ancient Near East. She has edited a special issue of Journal of Ancient Near Eastern History on this theme. Florian Krüpe studied Ancient History, Classical Archaeology and Modern History at the Philipps-Universität Marburg (Master of Arts). His Ph.D. thesis dealt with the damnatio memoriae. In 2008, he was appointed Senior Lecturer in the Department of History and Cultural Studies (Philipps-Universität Marburg). His research focuses on memorial culture (forms, functions and contexts of memory) as well as on the reception of the ancient world during the 19th and 20th centuries, primarily on the invention of imperial madness as a topos in modern historiography. Josefine Kuckertz studied Egyptology, Near Eastern and Classical Archaeology at Free University Berlin. In the project Excavations in Naga, Sudan (D. Wildung / K. Kroeper) at the Egyptian Museum Berlin, now in Munich, she dealt with the (virtual) reconstruction of reliefs of temple Naqa 200 (in print). A further research project was Otto Rubensohn in Ägypten. Vergessene Grabungen 1901–1907/8 at the Egyptian Museum Berlin. Other publications are about Pre-dynastic Egypt (with F. Afifi Badawi, F.-W. Rösing et al., Merimde-Benisalâme IV. Die Bestattungen, 2016), the Amarna Period (Gefäßverschlüsse aus Amarna. Sozioökonomische Aspekte einer Fundgattung des Neuen Reiches, 2003), and excavations of the DAI in Elephantine (with Achim Krekeler: Elephantine XXI. Bauten und Stadtstruktur; with Ingrid Nebe: Elephantine XXII. Die Funde; both volumes in print). Her recent research topics concentrate on the history and culture of the Meroitic period. Christiane Kunst is full Professor in Ancient History at the University of Osnabrück. She received her Ph.D. from Philipps-Universität Marburg with a dissertation on the history of scholarship on Roman Britain (published 1994 as Römische

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Tradition und Englische Politik, Studien zur Geschichte der Britannienrezeption zwischen William Camden und John Speed, Hildesheim 1994) and was awarded a habilitation from Potsdam University for a thesis on the Roman family (published 2005 as Römische Adoption. Zur Strategie einer Familienorganisation). She further published books on memory (2004), living in the Roman city (2006), imperial women (2000, 2008, 2013), and most recent on the issue of conflict landscape (2017). Currently her research interests centre on mobility. Martin Lindner s a Lecturer in Ancient History at the Universität Göttingen. He works on Imperial Roman history, classical reception and cultural history. Among his publications are Rom und seine Kaiser im Historienfilm (2007), Nationalismus und Antikenrezeption (2009) and Antikenrezeption 2013 n.Chr. (2013). Lloyd Llewellyn Jones is Professor of Ancient History at Cardiff University. He specialises in Achaemenid Persia, Greek socio-cultural history and the reception of antiquity in popular culture. He is the author of King and Court in Ancient Persia 559–331 BCE and of Designs on the Past – How Hollywood Created the Ancient World. Eve MacDonald is a Lecturer in Ancient History at Cardiff University where she researches and teaches on the wider Mediterranean and Near Eastern world with an emphasis on the Roman and Sasanian Empires. She is currently working on a history of the Sasanians for Yale University Press and is co-author of the recently published volumes on the excavations at the Dariali Fort in the high Caucasus in Georgia (Oxbow, 2020). Ireneusz Milewski (Department of Ancient History, University of Gdańsk), researcher of religious, social and economic changes in the later Roman empire. Sabine Müller is Professor of Ancient History at Marburg University. Her research focuses on the Persian Empire, Argead Macedonia, the Hellenistic Empires, Macedonian royal women, Lukian, and reception studies. Her publications include the monographs Die Argeaden. Geschichte Makedoniens bis zum Zeitalter Alexanders des Großen (Paderborn 2016), Perdikkas II. – Retter Makedoniens (Berlin 2017) and Alexander der Große. Eroberung – Politik – Rezeption (Stuttgart 2019). Martti Nissinen is Professor of Old Testament studies at the University of Helsinki, and the director of the Academy of Finland Centre of Excellence Changes in Sacred Texts and Traditions (2014–19). He is an expert of the prophetic phenomenon in the ancient Eastern Mediterranean, and his research interests include also gender issues (love poetry, homoeroticism, masculinity) in the Ancient East-

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ern Mediterranean. His books include Ancient Prophecy (2017), Prophetic Divination (2019); Prophets and Prophecy in the Ancient Near East (2nd ed. 2019), Homoeroticism in the Biblical World: A Historical Perspective (1998), References to Prophecy in Neo-Assyrian Sources (1998), and Prophetie, Redaktion und Fortschreibung im Hoseabuch (1991). Francesca Rohr Vio teaches Roman History and History of Women in the Roman world at Ca’ Foscari University. She studies politics and political communication in the Late Republic and in the Early Empire and gender history in Ancient Rome. Among her most recent publications: Publio Ventidio Basso (Rome 2009); Contro il principe. Congiure e dissenso nella Roma di Augusto (Bologna 2011); Fulvia (Naples 2013); Le custodi del potere. Donne e politica alla fine della repubblica romana (Rome 2019). Kordula Schnegg is an Associate Professor at the Department of Ancient History and Ancient Oriental Studies, University of Innsbruck. She studied history and classics. She gained her PhD in 2007 with a thesis about Appian of Alexandria with a focus on gender and social differences as structural elements of the narrative (published as Geschlechtervorstellungen und soziale Differenzen bei Appian aus Alexandrien). Her habilitation dealt with gender transgression (eunuchs, hermaphrodites) in Roman antiquity from the 1st century BC to the 1st century AD. Her main research interests are body and gender history, Roman republic, ancient historiography and history of science and methodology. Since 2018 she is the head of the Research Platform Center of Gender Studies Innsbruck Helmuth Schneider, born Bad Gandersheim (Niedersachsen) 29.7.1946, studied history and philosophy at Tübingen and Marburg, especially with Karl Christ; doctorate 1973 on economy and politics in the late Roman Republic. From 1978 assistant to Alexander Demandt at Freie Universität Berlin, 1986 habilitation there on the ‘Technikverständnis’ in Classical Greece (Darmstadt 1989). 1986 priv.-doz., 1991–2011 prof. of Ancient History at University Kassel. Editor (with H. Cancik and M. Landfester) of Der Neue Pauly (Stuttgart 1996–2002). Editor (with P. Kuhlmann) of Brill’s New Pauly Supplements 6, History of the Classical Scholarship. A Biographical Dictionary (Leiden 2014). Ewan Short is an AHRC funded PhD candidate at Cardiff and Reading Universities. His thesis focuses on imperial Byzantine women and political legitimacy between 1028–1118. Beforehand, he studied History at Oxford University. Ewan has also been a visiting researcher at the Swedish Research Institute in Istanbul, where he worked on a project on the Byzantine Mangana palatial complex. His main research interests are women’s history and gender studies in late antiquity and the early medieval period, and the architectural history of Istanbul.

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Brigitte Truschnegg is Associate Professor at the department of Ancient History and Near Eastern Studies, University of Innsbruck. Her research focus is the perception and description of cities in Greek and Latin literature (with a focus on sources dealing with Alexander III). Her research further includes gender in ancient historiography as well as the history and archaeology of the Alpine regions in Roman times. David A. Warburton is professor of Egyptology at the Institute for the History of Ancient Civilizations of the Northeast Normal University, Changchun, China. He studied political science, archaeology and Egyptology; BA and MA American University of Beirut, Dr.phil. University of Bern; HDR (Habilitation á diriger des recherches) Paris I Sorbonne-Pantheón. He was Resident Director of the American Institute for Yemeni Studies and directed and/or participated in epigraphic work, archaeological excavations and surveys in France, Switzerland, Egypt, Syria, Iraq, and Yemen. He has taught ancient Economics, Egyptology, Archaeology, and Religion at universities in Belgium, China, Denmark, Egypt, France, Switzerland and Germany. Research interests are the emergence and history of: economics, cognition, science, religion, and warfare. Recent monographs: Architecture, Power and Religion (2012), Fundamentals of Economics (2016); recent co-edited volumes: Handbook of Religions in Ancient Europe (2013), The Value of Colour (2019). Anja Wieber (Dortmund) is an independent scholar and a member of IMAGINES, an international network focusing on modern receptions of antiquity in the visual and performing arts. Her research interests include women’s history and gender studies in antiquity, ancient slavery, the history of education and reception studies, particularly in different filmic genres. Currently she has co-edited with Filippo Carlà-Uhink Orientalism and the Reception of Powerful Women from the Ancient World. Annette Zgoll is professor of Ancient Near Eastern Studies at the Georg-AugustUniversität Göttingen and member of the Göttinger Akademie der Wissenschaften. She has published editions of Sumerian and Akkadian cuneiform tablets, especially of the earliest known author En-ḫedu-Ana, and is a specialist of Mesopotamian mythology, religion, and literature.

Index Names Aaron 164–166, 178 Abigail 145 Abishag 147 Abital 145 Abolqasem Ferdowsi 475–479, 481–482, 484, 489–491 Absalom 155 Achilles 217, 243, 248 Ada 259–281 Ada II (daughter of Pixodaros) 262, 269–271 Adonijah 146–147 Adonis 278–279 Aelius Gallus 290, 306 Aelius Seianus, L. 404–405 Aemilia Juliana of SchwarzburgRudolstadt 543 Aemilia Paulla 326–329, 334–335 Aemilius Lepidus 405, 408 Aemilius Paullus, L. 326 Aemilius Paullus Macedonicus, L. 326 Aemilius Saturnius, Q. 420 Agatharchides of Knidos 301 Agesilaos of Sparta 275–277 Agostini Leonardo 512–513 Agrippa (see Vipsanius Agrippa, M.) Agrippa Postumus (see Vipsanius Agrippa, M. Postumus) Agrippina the Younger (see Iulia Agrippina) Agrippina the Elder (see Vipsania Agrippina) Ah 111 Ahhotep 130–131 Ahinoam 145

Ahmes (= the Girl; Hatshepsut’s mother) 92–103, 106–107, 111, 113, 115, 121, 126, 129, 131, 135–137 Ahmes-Nefertari 131 Ahmose 130–131 Ahriman 482 Ahuramazda 154 Aischines 254 Akhenaten 107, 119, 128–129, 150 Akinidad 291–292, 294–275, 309, 314 Alaric 459–460, 462, 465, 467 Albert Anton 543 Alexander I 280–281 Alexander I of Molossia 247, 249 Alexander III (the Great) 151, 227, 241–254, 259–260, 262, 264, 269–281, 305, 477 Alexander IV 247 Alexander of Lynkestis 279 Alexander Severus 428, 446 Amal al-Jubouri 68, 70–71 Amalasuntha 482 Amanikhabale 308, 312 Amanikhatashan 306, 312, 315 Amanirenase 289–291, 294–295, 306–308, 312, 314–315 Amanishakheto 287–316 Amanitore 289, 301–302, 306–310, 316 Amenhotep I 94, 131 Amenophis II 92 Amenophis III 115, 126 Amenhotep III 150 Amesemi 292, 302, 304 Amina 560–561 Ammiel 145

574

Ammon 155 Amorges 267 Amun 91–115, 124–129, 131, 136– 137, 292–294, 299, 304, 309, 315 Amun-her-khepeshef 147–149 Amun-Re 93, 96, 109–110, 135 Amyntas 280 Amyntas I 280 An 19, 27–33, 35–44, 47, 58, 64, 84 Andokides 228 Anna 162, 174–179 Annaeus Seneca, L. (the Younger) 306, 361–362, 398, 400–402 Anne of Austria 545 Annunitum 82 Anon 176 Antigone 211–224 Antigonos I 249 Antiochis 201, 204–207 Antiochus Hierax 201, 204 Antiochus (Septimia Zenobia’s father) 435, 551 Antiochus I 201 Antiochus II 201–204 Antiochus III 201–202, 206, 326– 327 Antiochus Strategos 487–488 Antiochus the Younger 201–202 Antipatros 242, 246, 249–250 Antonia the Younger (Claudius’ mother) 356–357 Antonius Iullus 364 Antonius, M. 402, 499–503, 505, 507, 513, 519, 530–531 Antonius Pallas M. 380, 390, 408– 409 Anu-uballit (= Kephalon) 206–207 Anubis 113 Apedemak 292–293, 299 Aphneis 262

Index

Aphrodite 278–279, 370, 502 Apollo 161, 217, 249, 266, 369, 501, 513–514 Apollonios of Aphrodisias 279 Appian of Alexandria 324, 336 Arakakhataror 309 Ariadne 502, 513 Arikanharor 309 Archilochus 235 Aristides 228 Aristophanes 221 Aristotle 243 Aritenyesbokhe 300 Arnekhamani 296, 300 Arrhidaios 243 Arrian (see Flavius Arrianus, L.) Arruntius Camillus Scribonianus L. 385 Arses 157 Artabazos 254 Artaxerxes 157 Artaxerxes II 260, 262 Artaxerxes III Ochos 264–265, 268–269 Artemis 369 Artemisia 260–263, 265, 268 Arybbas 248 Asenath 187 Asinius Gallus G. 394 Asklepios 251 Aššur 153 Aššur-nadin-šumi 149 Aššurbanipal 149, 153, 156 at-Tabari 484, 490 Athenaios 228, 234, 238 Atia maior 529–533, 535 Atossa 154 Attalus of Pergamon 329 Atum 91–93, 110, 116–117 Augustus (princeps) 290, 339, 349– 357, 361–367, 369–373, 380– 381, 394, 399, 401–402, 406,

Index

499, 503, 519–537, 545 Aurelian (princeps) 433, 436–438, 440, 442–447, 541, 546, 549, 555–557 Aurelius Propertius S. 500 Aurelius Victor S. 382, 392, 409, 423, 426, 500 Azarmigduxt 483–484, 492 Babat 553, 555 Bagoas 269 Bahram Chobin 476–481, 485–486, 490–492 Banduy 487 Barak 167–168 Bathsheba 145–158 Belli, Valerio 509–510, 515 Bembo, Pietro 510 Benjamin 187, 196–197 Berenice 202, 228 Bilhah 190–191 Bion of Soloi 305, 307 Birkenfeld, Günther 519–537 Boccaccio, Giovanni 500, 542 Boran 484, 492 Bosc, Jacques du 504 Boudicca 433 Caecilia Paulina 441 Caligula (princeps) 352–356 Callias II 227, 231–232, 237 Callisthenes 275, 281 Candace (Amanitore or Amanikhatashan) 305–307 Caracalla (princeps) 414–415, 417– 423, 425–426, 429, 434–435, 446 Cassander 247 Cassius Dio L. 306, 349, 352, 362, 382, 384–385, 387, 392, 395, 396, 398, 400, 404, 407, 409, 416–418, 420–421, 425–426, 428–429

575

Cassius Longius (Platonic philosopher) 445 Catonius Iustus 384, 391, 404 Cavendish Margaret 66 Cayo Gelo 555 Ceionia Albina 453–454, 463, 466 Ceionius Rufius Albinus 454 Charinos 371 Charmion 503 Cicero (see Tullius Cicero, M.) Cimon 227–238 Claudia Augusta (Nero’s daughter) 356 Claudia Marcella (the Elder) 54 Claudia Pulchra 334–335, 340, 405 Claudianus Livius Drusus, M. 354, 371 Claudius Caesar Britannicus T. 385, 387, 389, 392, 397–398, 406–408 Claudius Drusus Nero (the Elder) 351, 354, 404–405 Claudius Gothicus (princeps) 436, 446 Claudius Marcellus, M. 355 Claudius Nero Germanicus 351, 354, 384, 386, 391, 404, 406 Claudius Nero T. 354 Claudius (princeps) 379–404, 406, 408–409 Claudius Pulcher A. 334–335 Cleopatra (sister of Alexander III) 244–245, 247–250, 254 Cleopatra (wife of Philip II) 253 Cleopatra Selene 510 Cleopatra VII 128, 141, 262, 433, 439–440, 499–513, 519, 528, 550, 553–554 Commodus (princeps) 416 Constantina (Constantin’s daughter) 486–487

576

Cornelia Africana 323–342, 427– 428 Cornelia Maior 326 Cornelia Salonina Chrysogone 441 Cornelius Nepos 228, 231, 247, 332–333 Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus Africanus, P. 329, 331, 334–337 Cornelius Scipio Africanus, P. 323, 326–329, 335, 337–342 Cornelius Scipio Barbatus, L. 328 Cornelius Scipio, L. (Cornelia’s brother) 326, 334, 337 Cornelius Scipio, L. (Cornelia’s uncle) 327, 329 Cornelius Scipio, L. (cos. 259) 328 Cornelius Scipio Nasica Serapio, P. 335–337, 340 Cornelius Scipio, P. (Cornelia’s brother) 326, 337 Cornelius Scipio, P. (Scipio Africanus’ father) 328 Cornelius Tacitus, P. 354, 362, 372, 384, 389–395, 397–398, 400, 403–404, 406–407, 409 Corvia Flaccus, Q. 371 Creon 211–223 Curtius Rufus, Q. 151 Cyrus II (the Great) 150, 154 Cyrus the Younger 157–158 Dante Alighieri 64, 500 Darius I 150, 154, 221–223 Darius II 157 Darius III 151, 269–271, 273–274 Daurises 267 David (king) 145–152, 155–156, 158 Deborah 162, 166–168, 176–179 Deinarchos 254 Delaiah 171 Demetrios 227 Demetrius Poliorcetes 201

Index

Demosthenes 254 Den 128–129 Diana 369 Dido of Carthage 438 Dinah 185–187, 191–192 Diocletianus (princeps) 437 Diodorus Siculus 228, 274, 276– 277, 280, 301 Dionysia 201, 305–307 Dionysos 241, 513 Djet 128 Djoser 129, 303 Domitia Lepida 403 Domitia Longina 356 Domitianus (princeps) 356 Domitius Ahenobarbus, L. 389, 398, 406–408 Drusus (see Claudius Drusus Nero [the Elder]) Dumuzi (= Tammuz) 44, 134 Eglah 145 Elagabal (princeps) 428 Eliam 145 Elizabeth I. 133 Elpinice 227–239 Elyot Thomas 542 En-ḫedu-ana 13–50, 57–72, 138 Enki 18, 57, 86–87 Enkidu 77, 80, 83 Enlil 27–28, 37, 42 Ephialtes 233 Ephraim 187, 189–190, 192, 195 Er 194 Erra 61 Esarhaddon 149, 156 Esau 186 Eteocles 211, 216 Euboulos 254 Eudocia 467 Eumenes 247 Eupolis 228–229 Eurydice 221, 223

Index

Eusebius of Caesarea 307 Eutychios of Alexandria 488 Euxenippos 250–251, 253 Evagrius Scholasticus 479 Ezinam 29–31 Fabius Quintilianus, M. 324 Faustina the Younger (see Galeria Faustina A. [the Younger]) Fidelio 555 Flavia Domitilla (the Elder) 356 Flavia Serena 455–461, 467 Flavius Arrianus, L. 259, 268, 271– 274, 276–277, 305 Flavius Honorius (princeps) 455– 457, 467 Flavius Josephus 368 Flavius Stylicho 455–458, 467 Forough, Farrokhzad 69 Frank Stella 69 Frankenstein 65–66 Fulvia (Marcus Antonius’ wife) 528–529 Fulvia Plautilla, P. (Caracalla’s wife) 417 Fulvio, Andrea 510 Fulvius Plautianus, G. 415–417, 419–421, 423–426 Gabinius Pompeianus Barbarus 455, 460 Galba (princeps) 356 Galeria Faustina, A. (the Younger) 415–416 Gallienus (princeps) 435–438, 440, 445–446 Genji 65 Georges 504 Gerontius of Jerusalem 453–467 Geta (princeps) 414–415, 417–418, 420, 422–423, 426 Gilgamesh 57, 77, 80, 83, 134, 138 Göring, Hermann 523 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von 71

577

Gordyeh 475–477, 481, 489–493 Gostahm 490 Gregory of Porath 479 Gregory of Sinjar 479 Gudea 23 Haemon 219–221, 223 Haggai 171 Haggith 145–147 Hammurabi 78, 85–86, 129, 136 Hamor 191–192 Hamza 485 Hannah 175 Hannibal 326 Harpalos 250 Hathor 96–98, 110, 113 Hatshepsut 91–140, 315 Hauhet 116 Hector 217 Hegesipyle 227 Hekatomnos 260 Helen of Troy 510 Hera 228 Heraclamón 555 Heraklides of Mylasas 267 Herodian 419–421, 425, 428 Herodotus 77, 85, 109, 138–139, 154, 221–222, 266–268, 280– 281, 305 Hersilia 353 Hezekiah 151 Homer 355 Horatius Flaccus, Q. 500 Hormizd IV 480, 483 Horus 91, 107, 123, 308 Huh 116 Hulamhuš 85 Huldah 162, 168–170, 176–179 Hussein, Saddam 68–70 Hygieia 251–253 Hypereides 250–254 Hyspaosines of Caracene 201 Ibn al-Husayn al-Masu’di, Ali 500

578

Iddin-Dagan 46 Idrieus 259, 261–263, 266, 268 Imhotep 303 Innana (= Ištar) 13–50, 57, 59–61, 64, 66–67, 71, 78, 82–84, 86– 87, 110, 134, 138, 278 Iocaste 211 Ion of Chios 228 Iras 503 Isetnofret 148–149 Isis 122–123, 127, 308 Ismene 216 Isodice 230, 232 Iškur 24, 26, 28 Ištar (= Innana) Išum 61 Iulia Agrippina (the Younger; Nero’s mother) 356–357, 384, 387, 389–390, 394–395, 397– 398, 401, 403, 405–409 Iulia Avita Mammaea 413, 443, 446 Iulia Domna 413–429, 441, 444, 446 Iulia Flavia (Titus’ daughter) 356 Iulia Livilla 384–385, 391, 405 Iulia Maesa 413, 425, 428–429 Iulia Soemias Bassiana 413, 428 Iulia the Elder (Augustus’ daughter) 351, 354, 361–373, 402, 406, 535–537 Iulia the Younger (Augustus’ granddaughter) 351, 362, 367, 369 Iulian the Apostate 453 Iulius Bassianus 414 Iulius Caesar, G. (Augustus’ adopted son) 355, 361, 365, 367, 369–372 Iulius Caesar, G. 505, 510, 532

Index

Iulius Caesar, L. (Augustus’ adopted son) 355, 365, 367, 369–372 Iulius Callistus, G. 380, 390 Iulius Polybius, G. 407–408 Iuncus Vergilianus 390 Iunius Appius Silanus, G. 388, 391, 396, 399, 401, 404 Iunius Iuvenalis, D. 324, 382, 387, 392–393, 397, 402 Iunius Silanus, L. 396, 399 Iustinian I. (princeps) 134, 482 Iunia Silana 403 Jacob 185–191, 196–197 Jael 167–168 Jarireh 481 Jawad Yaqoob 71 Jesus 162, 175 Joab 145 John of Nikiu 486 Joseph 175, 187–190, 195–197 Josiah 168–170 Juba II of Mauritania 510 Judah 188–190, 192–194, 196–197 Judith 175, 179 Kabti-ilāni-Marduk 61 Kadmeia 248 Kamose 130 Kavad II 477 Khasekhemwy 129 Khepri 116–117 Khosrow I 478 Khosrow II Parviz 475–493 Kleitos 242 Krato 204–207 Kù-dBa-ba6 132, 134 Kurdiyah 490 Kyros the Younger 275 Laban 186, 191 Laios 211 Lamassu 69 Lanike 242

Index

Laocoon 502 Laodice (daughter of Antiochus III) 201 Laodice (wife of Antiochus II and mother of Seleucus II) 201–207, 229 Larcius Macedo 404 Lascaris Janus 510 Leah 186–188, 190–192, 196 Leochares 245 Leocrates 250 Leonidas 242 Leonnatos 249 Levi 187, 191–192, 196–197 Licinia 335 Licinius Crassus Dives Mucianus, P. 335 Licinius Crassus Frugi, M. 399 Licinius Lucullus, L. 236 Lilith 64 Livia Drusilla (Augustus’ wife) 349–357, 363–366, 369–372, 404, 529–530, 533–537 Livius, T. 274, 324, 328–329, 335, 427 Lollia Antiochis 370 Louis XIV 545 Lucian of Samosata 252 Lucretia 352–353 Lugal-Ane 20, 44–47 Lugalaba 79 Lykourgos 250 Lysimachos of Akarnania 243 Maacah 145 Macrinus (princeps) 415, 418, 421, 425, 429 Macrobius Ambrosius Theodosius 363 Maecenas G. 362 Makase 304 Malowiamani 300 Manasseh 187, 189–190, 192, 195

579

Mariam 475–477, 481–483, 485– 489, 492–493 Marinella Lucrezia 505 Marius G. (moneyer) 365, 369 Martial (see Valerius Martialis, M.) Mary 175 Mary Magdalene 502 Mas’udi 485 Mauricius (princeps) 476, 485–489 Maussollos 259–263, 265–266, 268, 270 Melania the Elder 453 Melania the Younger 453–467 Melanthius 230 Memnon 259, 270–271, 273, 277– 278 Mentor 268 Merenptah 148–149 Meryt-neith 128–129 Michal 145 Midas 278, 280 Mihr-Khosrov 483–484 Miltiades 227, 231 Min 110–111 Miriam 162, 164–168, 171, 176– 180 Mithridates I 203 Mnester 386, 391 Monthu 110–111 Monthuhotep 113 Moses 164–166, 168–169, 171, 177–178, 185 Movses Daskhurant’ I 487 Moyne Pierre Le 504, 545 Mucius Scaevola, P. 335 Mut 299, 302 Myrsus 267 Nabal 145 Nabonidus 81 Nahirqo 308, 311, 313 Nakht 121

580

Nanna (Suen) 20, 30–49, 57–61, 63–64, 71 Narām-Sîn 20, 40, 49–50 Narāmtum 79 Narcissus 380–383, 385–388, 390– 394, 396, 403, 408–409 Nastasen 310 Natakamani 289, 297, 300–303, 306–310, 316 Nathan 146 Nawidemak 308, 312, 315 Necho 170 Nefertari 148–149 Neferusobek 128 Nektanebos I 299 Nektanebos II 252 Neoptolemos (Achilles’ son) 248 Neoptolemos I (Olympias’ father) 248 Neoptolemos II (Kleopatra’s son) 247, 249 Nero (princeps) 306, 356–357, 361, 394–396, 398–403, 408–409 Nezami Ganjavi 475–476, 480, 485–486 Niatus 487 Ningal 20, 42, 59–60 Ninhursanga 87 Ninos 278 Ninšatapada 62 Nisaba 68 Nitokris 427 Noadiah 162, 171–172, 176–180 Nut 116 Ny-maathep 129 Obama, Barack 227, 239 Octavia minor (Augustus’ sister) 349–351, 354, 406, 519, 529– 533 Octavia minor (Claudius’ and Messalina’s daughter) 379, 393, 397–398

Index

Octavius, M. 331 Oedipus 311–313 Olympias 241–254 Olympiodorus of Thebes 464–465 Omri 189 Onan 194 Opimius L. 332 Orontobates 259, 269–271, 277– 278 Osiris 116, 303, 308 Paillet Antoine 541 Palladius of Helenopolis 453–454, 456–457, 459–460, 463–465, 467 Parysatis 157–158 Paul 174 Paul from Dalmatia 459 Pausanias 244–245 Perdiccas 249 Pericles 213, 215–216, 232–237 Petronius P. 290, 306 Phanaia 201, 205–206 Phanuel 190 Philip 190 Philip II 241–249, 264, 266, 269 Philo 179 Phokas 486 Phraates III 201 Pinianus 454–463, 465–467 Pixodaros 259–260, 262–271 Pizan, Christine de 500 Plinius Secundus Maior, G. 305– 306, 324, 338, 351, 393, 402, 404 Plutarch of Chaeronea 216, 228– 230, 232–238, 246–247, 252, 274, 278–279, 324, 328, 330– 332, 335–338, 340, 351–352, 481, 499, 503, 505, 510 Pois, Antoine Le 512 Polybius 274, 324, 328–329, 335, 380

Index

Polyeuktos 251 Polygnotos 227–229, 237 Polynices 211–213, 215–216, 222 Polyperchon 247 Pompeius Magnus, G. (Claudius’ son-in-law) 391, 396, 399 Pomponia 328 Pomponius Matho, M. 328 Poppea Sabina 356, 403–404 Porcius Cato, M. (the Elder) 532 Postumus (princeps) 435, 446 Potiphera 187, 195 Praecia 236 Priamos 217 Procopius of Caesarea 132, 134– 135, 138–139, 482–483 Ptah 93 Ptahhotep 97, 119–120, 135 Ptolemy 249 Ptolemy II 202, 228, 287 Ptolemy VIII 330, 341 Ptolemy XIII 262 Ptolemy XIV 262 Quintilian (see Fabius Quintilianus, M.) Rachel 186–187, 190–191, 196 Radagaisus 456 Ramesses II (= Ramses II) 92, 127, 148–150, 303 Re 92–93, 107–109, 113, 115–117, 124, 126 Re-Atum 110 Rebecca 186 Rekhmire 120–121 Reuben 187, 189–192, 196–197 Rim-Sîn II 62–63 Romulus 353 Sabinia Tranquillina Furia 443 Sabrisho I 479 Sakhmakh 310 Salavarrieta Policarpa 547

581

Sallustius Crispus Passienus, G. 405 Sanballat 171 Sappho 64 Sargon II 149 Sargon of Agade 20, 40, 57–59, 63–64, 67 Satyros 246 Saul 145, 151 Scudéry, Madeleine de 504 Seleucus I 201 Seleucus II 201, 204 Seleucus IV (Philopator) 202, 206 Semiramis 205, 268, 278, 427 Sempronia 330, 334, 336–337 Sempronius Gracchus, G. 323–326, 330–341 Sempronius Gracchus, T. (the Younger) 323–324, 326, 330– 341 Sempronius Gracchus, T. (the Elder) 323–324, 329–332, 335 Seneca (the Younger; see Annaeus Seneca L. [the Younger]) Senenmut 118, 135 Sennacherib 57, 149, 151–153, 156 Senusret I 299–300 Septimia Zenobia Bat-Zabbai 433– 446, 541–561 Septimius Aurelius Vaballathus Athenodorus, L. 435–436, 441– 444, 446, 549 Septimius Herodianus (= Hairan) 435–436 Septimius Odaenathus 435–436, 439–441, 445–447, 546, 549– 551, 553–554, 559 Septimius Severus Pertinax, L. 414–417, 419–426, 428 Septimius Zabbai 441 Septimius Zabdas 441, 444–446 Seqenenre-Taa 130

582

Sesostris I 109–110, 112 Sestilia (Vitellius’ mother) 356 Seth 96, 130, 137 Seti I 150 Severiana Augusta (Aurelianus’ wife) 444 Severus (Pinianus’ brother) 455– 456 Shahriyar 484 Shakespeare, William 499, 507 Shallum 169–170, 178 Shammua 146 Shanakdakhete 308, 311–313, 315 Shelah 194 Shelley, Mary 65–66 Shemaiah 171, 176 Sheroy 477, 481, 483–485 Shikibu Murasaki 65–66 Shirin 475–493 Shobab 146 Shua 194 Sichem 188, 191–192 Silius, G. 380–391, 393–395, 398, 400, 403, 407 Simeon 175–176, 178, 187, 189– 192, 196–197 Sisera 167 Sisimakes 267 Sisygambis 151 Sîn-iddinam 86 Sîn-Kašid 62 Solomon 145–149, 151 Solon 213–214 Sophocles 211–224 Spinoza, Baruch de 217, 221 Spithridates 275, 277 Spoor, Henri 500 Stateira II 151 Stephanus of Byzantium 279 Stesimbrotos 228, 232–233, 237 Strabo 259, 269, 276–277, 290, 294, 305–306

Index

Stratonice 201 Suen (= Nanna) Suetonius Tranquillus, G. 351, 362, 367, 388, 396, 398, 400–401, 407, 409, 526 Suillius Rufus, P. 389, 395–396, 400 Šabuhr I 435 Šamaš 153 Šamḫat 77, 80 Šurrupag 87 Tacitus (see Cornelius Tacitus, P.) Talmai 145 Tamar 146, 155, 194 Tammuz (= Dumuzi) Tanaquil 353, 356 Tarquinius Priscus, L. 353, 356 Tarquinius, S. 352 Tarquinius Superbus, L. 352 Tašmetum-šarrat 152 Tausert 129 Teiresias 218 Teleonike 201 Teqorideamani 310 Teriteqase 289–291, 294, 306, 312, 314–315 Tetisheri 130 Tetricus 433, 437 Thalassia 202 Themistocles 231, 233 Theocritus 279 Theodora I 132–136, 138–139, 482–483 Theodosius I (princeps) 455 Theodosius II (princeps) 467 Theophylact Simocatta 479, 486 Thoth 93–95, 111 Thucydides 216, 227, 231 Thutmosis I 92, 94, 104, 106–107, 109, 111, 113–114, 123, 131 Thutmosis II 104, 106–107, 109, 111, 122–123

Index

Thutmosis III 92–93, 104–107, 109, 111–112, 114, 120, 122– 125, 127, 133–134, 139 Thymondas 254 Tiberius (princeps) 354–355, 361– 362, 365–367, 370–371, 394, 401, 404–406, 535–536 Tiberius II Constantinus (princeps) 486–487 Tiepolo, Giovanni Battista 505 Tigrinus 460 Titus (princeps) 356 Tobiah 171 Traulus Montanus 390 Tullius Cicero, M. 324–325, 334 Tullius Servius 356 Ulysses 355 Ur-Utu 82 Uraš 27 Uriah 145 User-Amun 114 Valeria Messalina 379–409 Valerian (princeps) 435, 446–447 Valerius Asiaticus 389, 391, 397 Valerius Martialis, M. 324 Valerius Maximus 324, 327, 340 Valerius Maximus Basilicus 453

583

Valerius Messala Barbatus, M. 388 Valerius Publicola 453–455, 466 Velleius Paterculus 351 Vergilius Maro, P. 500, 526–527 Vespasian (princeps) 356, 401–402 Vinicius, M. 391, 396, 404 Vipsania Agrippina (the Elder; Caligula’s mother) 351, 354, 368–369, 394, 404–405 Vipsanius Agrippa, M. 354, 362, 365–370, 536 Vipsanius Agrippa, M. Postumus 355, 394, 535 Viroy 487–488 Vitellius (princeps) 356 Wu Zetian (= Wu Zhao) 132–136, 138–140 Xenophon 157–158, 275–276, 481 Xerxes 150, 154 Xiphilinos 416 Yahweh 151, 167–168, 174 Yazdgerd III 477–478, 483–484 Zakûtu 156–158 Zechariah 171 Zeus 93, 109, 161, 228, 245, 252– 253, 262, 265–268, 278 Zosimos 445

Places Abonuteichos 252 Aboukir 252 Africa 458, 460–462, 466–467 Akkad(e) 20, 49 Alabanda 262, 270, 277–281 Alexandria 179, 436, 442 Alinda 259–260, 262–263, 270– 271, 273, 277, 279 America 227 Antiocheia 415, 418–419, 421, 425, 429, 436, 442–444 Aphrodisias 278, 370

Aquileia 367 Aquitaine 457 Amisos 368 Arabia 290, 436, 442 Argos 211 Asia minor 202 Assos 370 Assuan 113, 287, 289–290 Athens 213–214, 227, 230, 232– 239, 250–254, 366, 368, 370– 371 Baalbek 252

584

Babylon 18, 49, 77, 79, 84, 157, 202–207 Baghdad 71 Baiae 529 Bethel 187 Bethsaida 371 Borsippa 202 Britain 415 Buhen 300 Byzantium 436 Campania 361, 457, 461, 463, 467 Cappadocia 276 Carrhae 420 Carthage 274 Carthago Nova 367 Chaironeia 245, 250 Cheziv 194 China 132–133, 490, 492 Chios 270 Claros 161 Constantinople 460, 467 Corinth 211, 365, 372 Corsica 398 Ctesiphon 484, 487–488 Cunaxa 157 Cyprus 273, 369, 371 Dakka 290, 294, 306 Damascus 172–173 Daqari 293 Deir al-Bahri 112, 114 Delphi 161, 263, 369 Delos 368 Didyma 161 Dion 248 Dodona 161, 253 Ebih 60, 66–67 Egypt 91–140, 148–150, 164–165, 187, 195, 281, 287, 290, 293– 294, 298–301, 306–310, 315, 371, 436, 442, 445–446, 463 Elephantine 290 Emerita Augusta 367

Index

Emesa 414, 427–428, 442, 444–445 Emutbala 85 Epeiros 243, 247–250, 254 Ephesos 366–367 Ephrat 187 Eridu 86 Euia 248, 252 Faras 292 Galilee Philip 371 Gaugamela 249 Gaul 437, 467 Germany 70 Geshur 145 Gibeah 196 Greece 161, 211–224, 241–254 Gordion 278, 280 Halikarnassos 259–261, 263, 265, 267–268, 270–274, 276–278, 280–281 Hebron 145–146, 155 Heliopolis 92–93, 109–110 Ilion (Troy) 368 Immae 437 Ionia 157 Iraq 68–71 Iran (= Persia) 69, 150–151, 154, 157, 162, 206, 259–277, 280– 281, 435, 475–493 Israel 145–158, 162, 168–180, 185–197 Issos 254, 273–274 Japan 65 Jebel Barkal 287, 290, 295, 302, 306 Jerusalem 155, 162, 168–180, 462– 463, 487–488 Judah 151, 162, 168–169 Judea 162 Karanog 292 Karia 259–281, 370 Karnak 93, 109–110, 112–113, 115 Kaunos 270

Index

Kawa 295 Khartoum 287, 292, 294 Kiš 20, 84–86 Kos 265, 270, 369–370 Ktesiphon 435 Kutha 202 Kyrene 249 Labraunda 260–263, 265–268 Lacona 233 Lagaš 20, 23, 48 Larsa 84 Lesbos 368, 370 Liternum 327 Luxor 112, 115 Lydia 270 Lykia 268–269, 272, 274, 371 Macedon 151, 241–254, 259–260 Maharraqa (= Hiera Sycaminos) 287, 289, 291–293 Mari 85, 161 Medinet Habu 112 Megiddo 170 Memphis 93 Meroe 287–316 Mesopotamia 13–50, 57–72, 77–88, 149–153, 155–158, 161, 202– 206, 260, 435 Mexico 541–561 Miletos 260, 263, 266, 271, 274– 277 Misenum 334, 337, 428 Musawwarat es Sufra 300, 313 Mylasa 260–262, 271 Naga 287, 289, 292–296, 301, 304, 309, 313–315 Napata 287, 290, 306 (auch Jebel Barkal) New York City 69–70 Nikomedeia 425 Nineveh 151, 156 Nippur 62–63, 79, 85 Nola 355

585

Nubia 92, 105, 287–316 Nuzi 78 Olympia 245, 248 Palestine 461, 463, 466–467 Palmyra 433–438, 441–446, 541– 561 Pamphylia 272 Pandateria 361, 394, 402–403, 405 Paphlagonia 275, 369 Paros 372 Parthia 415 Patara 369 Pedasa 266–267 Pella 252 Pergamon 370–371 Perinthos 264, 266 Persia (see Iran) Phoenicia 273 Phrygia 270–271, 276, 280 Priene 263–264, 370 Punt 113 Qasr Ibrim 290–291, 306, 315 Ravenna 457 Rhegium 372–373 Rhodes 265, 270, 361, 366, 371 Rome 274, 323–342, 349–357, 361–373, 379–409, 413–429, 433–438, 440–447, 454–460, 462, 466–467, 519–537 Samaria 172–173 Samos 216, 235, 237, 290, 369–370 Samothrake 241 Sardis 274, 276, 368–369 Shellal 293 Sicily 368, 457, 461, 463, 467 Sinope 368 Sinuri 260, 262, 265 Sippar 79, 82 Spain 458, 462, 467 Sparta 237 Sumer 20–21, 27–29, 33, 35–43, 48, 59, 64, 132

586

Susa 206, 271 Syria 92, 105, 276, 368–369, 420, 433–444, 541–561 Tarragona 457 Thagaste 458, 461, 464, 466 Thasos 232, 237, 370–371 Thebes 92, 109–113, 115–116, 124–125, 211–224, 248 Thespiae 369 Timna 194 Tralles 271–272, 276–277

Index

Transeuphratia 189 Tyre 272–274 Ulmaš 61 Ur 20, 29–50, 57–59, 64, 69–71 Uruk 13, 18, 61, 64, 71, 84, 86, 201, 204, 206 Virunum 367 Wad Ben Naga 295–296, 315 Xanthos 268, 270 Yehud 162 Zabalam 61