Processions and the Construction of Communities in Antiquity: History and Comparative Perspectives (Routledge Monographs in Classical Studies) [1 ed.] 9781032294490, 9781032294506, 9781003301646

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Routledge Monographs in Classical Studies

PROCESSIONS AND THE CONSTRUCTION OF COMMUNITIES IN ANTIQUITY HISTORY AND COMPARATIVE PERSPECTIVES Edited by Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo and Alberto del Campo Tejedor

Processions and the Construction of Communities in Antiquity

This volume elucidates how processions, from antiquity to the present, contribute to creating consensus with regards to both political power and communitarian experiences. Many classical sources often only tangentially allude to processions, focusing instead on other ritual moments, such as sacrifice. This book adopts a comparative approach, bringing together historians of antiquity and later periods as well as social anthropologists working on contemporary societies, analysing both ancient and modern examples of how rituals, symbols, actors, and spectators interact in the construction of communities. The different examples explored in this study illustrate the performative capacity of processions to construct reality: the protagonism of image and movement, the design of cultic itineraries, and the active participation of members of the public. In studying these examples, readers develop an understanding of how power is exercised and perceived, the extent of its legitimacy, and the limits of community in a variety of case studies. Processions and the Construction of Communities in Antiquity is of interest to students and scholars of the classical and early Christian worlds, especially those working on cult, religion, and community formation. The volume also appeals to social anthropologists interested in these issues across a broader chronology. Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo is a Professor of Ancient History, at the Universidad Pablo de Olavide (Seville). She works on different aspects of ancient Mediterranean religions. Her publications include Himnos a Isis (Trotta 2006), Ruling the Greek World (Franz Steiner 2015), Empire and Religion: Religious Change in Greek Cities under Roman Rule (Brill 2017), and Understanding Integration in the Roman World (Brill 2023). Alberto del Campo Tejedor is Professor of Social Anthropology at the Universidad Pablo de Olavide (Seville) and author of 22 books and more than a hundred papers focused on religion, ritual, sports, symbolism, humour, and oral literature.

Routledge Monographs in Classical Studies

Recent titles include: Politics in the Monuments of Pompey the Great and Julius Caesar Eleonora Zampieri Power and Rhetoric in the Ecclesiastical Correspondence of Constantine the Great Andrew J. Pottenger The War Cry in the Graeco-Roman World James Gersbach Religion and Apuleius’ Golden Ass The Sacred Ass Warren S. Smith Studies in Ancient Greek Philosophy In Honor of Professor Anthony Preus Edited by D. M. Spitzer Personal Experience and Materiality in Greek Religion K.A. Rask A Cognitive Analysis of the Main Apolline Divinatory Practices Decoding Divination Giulia Frigerio Processions and the Construction of Communities in Antiquity History and Comparative Perspectives Edited by Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo and Alberto del Campo Tejedor For more information on this series, visit: https://www.routledge.com/ Routledge-Monographs-in-Classical-Studies/book-series/RMCS

Processions and the Construction of Communities in Antiquity History and Comparative Perspectives

Edited by Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo and Alberto del Campo Tejedor

First published 2023 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2023 selection and editorial matter, Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo and Alberto del Campo Tejedor; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo and Alberto del Campo Tejedor to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Muñiz Grijalvo, Elena, editor. | Campo Tejedor, Alberto del, editor. Title: Processions and the construction of communities in antiquity: history and comparative perspectives / edited by Elena Muniz-Grijalvo and Alberto del Campo Tejedor. Description: Abingdon, Oxon : Routledge, 2023. | Series: Routledge monographs in classical studies | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Identifiers: LCCN 2022059860 (print) | LCCN 2022059861 (ebook) | ISBN 9781032294490 (hardback) | ISBN 9781032294506 (paperback) | ISBN 9781003301646 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Processions, Religious--Greece. | Processions, Religious--Rome. | Political customs and rites--Greece. | Political customs and rites--Rome. | Communities. Classification: LCC BL619.P76 P76 2023 (print) | LCC BL619.P76 (ebook) | DDC 203/.8--dc23/eng20230511 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022059860 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022059861 ISBN: 978-1-032-29449-0 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-032-29450-6 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-003-30164-6 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003301646 Typeset in Times New Roman by KnowledgeWorks Global Ltd.

Contents

List of figuresvii List of tablesix List of contributorsx 1 Introduction: Processions and the construction of communities

1

ELENA MUÑIZ-GRIJALVO AND ALBERTO DEL CAMPO TEJEDOR

2 Peisistratus’ processional performance: Between ritual, symbolic action, and strategy

14

GEORGIA PETRIDOU

3 Processing women and maidens in Greece: Appearances and appurtenances

32

ANNALISA LO MONACO

4 The women of the domus Augusta in processions and ceremonies (first to third century CE)

50

PATRIZIA ARENA

5 Pompa funebris: Collective experience and political power in the shadow of death

71

SOI AGELIDIS

6 Long and winding roads: Imperial funeral processions to the city of Rome under Augustus and Tiberius

89

IDA ÖSTENBERG

7 Toward the imperial cult: The Hellenistic processions as forerunners? ELENA CALANDRA

111

vi  Contents 8 Processions and the construction of Roman imperial power

125

ELENA MUÑIZ-GRIJALVO

9 Rituals and processions in the Empress Irene’s justification of power (780–802)

141

HÉCTOR GONZÁLEZ-PALACIOS

10 The processions in honour of the Mater Magna and the construction of Roman identity (third century BC to fourth century CE)

154

SYLVIA ESTIENNE

11 Ritual-feast mockery and humiliation during Roman triumphs: Functions and meanings of ioci militares from a cultural-historical perspective

171

ALBERTO DEL CAMPO TEJEDOR

12 The first Christian processions in Milan

191

PEDRO GIMÉNEZ DE ARAGÓN SIERRA

13 Holy Week in Huelva: An urban ritual drama

205

JOSÉ CARLOS MANCHA CASTRO

14 A comparative study of processions: The Baroque feast of Corpus Christi, Islamic Morocco, and historicist Rome

218

JOSÉ ANTONIO GONZÁLEZ ALCANTUD

15 Ancient and modern processions at the limits of Isaac Casaubon’s patience

240

JUAN R. BALLESTEROS

Index

254

Figures

3.1 Boeotian lekanis with sacrificial procession moving toward the altar of Athena led by a kanephoros, circa 550 BC. 34 3.2 The Parthenon Frieze, E 1–17; E 47–63. 36 3.3 Oinochoe with personification of pompé, sensual with pink mantle, mid-fourth century BC.39 3.4 Kylix with kanephoros in the act of libation, attributed to the painter of Makron, 490–480 BC.40 3.5 Parthenon east frieze, slabs E 49–56.40 3.6 Parthenon east frieze, slabs 57–61.41 3.7 Marble funerary statue of a maiden with shoulder-mantle, circa 320 BC.43 5.1 Collocatio on a relief from the grave monument of the Haterii, 120 BC.74 5.2 Collocatio on a relief from the grave monument of the Haterii, 120 BC.75 5.3 Pompa funebris on a grave relief from Amiternum, 50 BC. Chieti, Museo Archeologico.76 5.4 Consecratio of Titus on a relief from his triumphal arch at the Forum Romanum.83 6.1 The so-called Drususstein in Mainz.94 6.2 Suggested route of Drusus’ funeral escort from Germania in 9 BC. 95 6.3 The Belvedere Altar, 12 BC–2 BC. The identification of the figures in the scene has been much debated, but Buxton (2014) argues in favour of Drusus (standing in the chariot) with Livia, Gaius, and Lucius Caesar bidding farewell.104 10.1 Empty throne on the tympanum of the Cybele’s temple in Rome. Drawing of the detail of a Claudian relief.158 10.2 Altar with Metroac procession.159

viii  Figures 14.1 14.2 14.3 14.4 14.5

Civic procession of the Tarasca in Granada I.222 Civic procession of the Tarasca in Granada II.223 “Roman” parade in Plaza de España, Seville, I.232 “Roman” parade in Plaza de España, Seville, II.232 “Roman squadron” in Piazza Navona, Rome.233

Tables

10.1 Metroac festivals with procession156 14.1 Comparisons between case study rituals235

Contributors

Soi Agelidis is a Classical Archaeologist and researcher of ancient religion and death. She is an Assistant Professor at the Institute of Archaeological Studies and Scientific Director of the Kunstsammlungen Antike at the Ruhr-Universität Bochum. Patrizia Arena is an Associate Professor of Roman History at the Università Europea di Roma. She is the author of the books Feste e rituali a Roma. Il principe incontra il popolo nel Circo Massimo (Edipuglia 2010), Augusto, Res gestae. I miei atti (Edipuglia 2014), and Gladiatori, carri e navi. Gli spettacoli nell’antica Roma (Carocci 2020). Juan R. Ballesteros is an Associate Professor of Ancient History at the Universidad Pablo de Olavide (Seville). His studies range from classical historiography to the humanistic approach to Antiquity. He is the author of a critical edition of Iustus Lipsius’ Admiranda (1598) (Huelva 2021) and has recently edited unpublished letters by Isaac Casaubon. Elena Calandra is Director of the Central Institute for Archaeology and of the Archaeological Service, Ministry of Culture, Rome. Calandra is the former Inspector executive, Superintendent in Lombardia, Umbria, Latium, and Calabria; Director of the National Etruscan Museum of Villa Giulia, Rome; and Director of the Intangible Heritage Service. Alberto del Campo Tejedor is a Professor of Social Anthropology at the Universidad Pablo de Olavide (Seville) and author of 22 books and more than a hundred papers focused on religion, ritual, sports, symbolism, humour, and oral literature. Sylvia Estienne is a Lecturer in Roman History at the Ecole normale supérieure–Paris Sciences Lettres. Her research focuses on the religion of ancient Rome, particularly on the place of images in temples and traditional rituals. Pedro Giménez de Aragón Sierra is an Associate Professor of Ancient History at the Universidad Pablo de Olavide of Seville. His main scientific interests are religious ideas and religious rituals in Judaism and Christianity, and their contacts with others ideas and rituals of Roman Empire.

Contributors xi José Antonio González Alcantud is a Professor of Social Anthropology at the University of Granada, director of the Observatory of Cultural Prospective of the University of Granada, Corresponding Academician of the Royal Academy of Moral and Political Sciences of Spain, and winner of the Giuseppe Cocchiara International Prize (Italy) for anthropological studies in 2019. Héctor González Palacios is a Junior Researcher both at the University of Málaga and the École of Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales of Paris, where he is currently working on Transgender Dynamics in Late Antique Eastern Mediterranean. His research focuses on gender in Antiquity from an anthropological and comparative perspective. Annalisa Lo Monaco is an Associate Professor of Greek and Roman archaeology at Sapienza University of Rome. Her main scientific interests are religious life, production, and economy of sanctuaries in Greece, Roman sculpture of the imperial age, and imperial ideology. José Carlos Mancha Castro is currently an Assistant Professor of Social Anthropology at the Department of History, Geography and Anthropology at the University of Huelva and a member of the Cultural and Heritage Observatory research group (HUM066). Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo is a Professor of Ancient History, at the Universidad Pablo de Olavide (Seville). She works on different aspects of ancient Mediterranean religions. Her publications include Himnos a Isis (Trotta 2006), Ruling the Greek World (Franz Steiner 2015), Empire and Religion: Religious Change in Greek Cities under Roman Rule (Brill 2017), and Understanding Integration in the Roman World (Brill 2023). Ida Östenberg is a Professor of Classical Archaeology and Ancient History at the Department of Historical Studies at Gothenburg University, Sweden. She has published widely on Roman political culture: triumphs, defeats, and memory sanctions. She is presently working on Roman public grief, elite funerals, and commemorative practices. Georgia Petridou is a Reader in Ancient Greek History at the University of Liverpool. She works on Classical literature, history of Greek and Roman religion, and ancient medicine in its socio-cultural context. She is the author of Divine Epiphany in Greek Literature and Culture (OUP 2015) and the editor of a special issue of the journal Religion in the Roman Empire (3.2, 2017): Embodying Religion: Lived Ancient Religion and the Body. She has also co-edited Homo Patiens. Approaches on the Patient in the Ancient World (Brill 2016 with C. Thumiger) and Beyond Priesthood. Religious Entrepreneurs and Innovators in the Imperial Era (DeGruyter 2017 with R. L. Gordon and J. Rüpke).

1

Introduction Processions and the construction of communities Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo and Alberto del Campo Tejedor

This book elucidates the role played by processions in the construction of community in Graeco-Roman antiquity. Unfortunately, the classical sources are not particularly generous in this respect since they often only allude to processions tangentially, preferring to focus on other aspects of the ritual such as sacrifice. Therefore, we have adopted a comparative approach in the belief that it will prove extraordinarily enriching, and thus this book brings together not only historians of antiquity but also those of other periods and even social anthropologists studying contemporary societies, all of whom have prior experience of research on processions. On this occasion, our contributors were tasked with analysing ancient and modern examples of how rituals, symbols, actors, and spectators interact to construct communities. In September 2021, we spent several days together in Seville (Spain) reflecting on the subject under analysis1. This book is the result of that productive encounter, and in our opinion, it provides a much more nuanced and multifaceted picture than recourse to the classical sources alone would permit. As an anecdote, after almost two years without processions because of the Covid-19 pandemic, the colloquium took place a few days before the effigy known as the Señor del Gran Poder (the Mighty Lord)2 crossed the entire city of Seville to reach some of the most disadvantaged neighbourhoods, precisely in an attempt to strengthen the bonds of citizenship and the idea of community. In this short introduction, we outline several theoretical premises concerning the particularities of processions and how they can contribute to the construction and smooth running of a community. Notwithstanding their meagre details, the sources provide a glimpse of how the ritual particularities of processions actively contributed to create and shape communities, and how the inhabitants imagined their communities. Processions are performative not only because they consist in a performance, but also because they construct reality.3 They are not mere reflections or images of communities; rather, they contribute to the creation of the community itself, the group in action. To borrow Kertzer’s words on ritual, “it is by participating in rituals that people identify with larger political forces that can only be seen in symbolic form.”4 Processions probably represent one of the most DOI: 10.4324/9781003301646-1

2  Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo and Alberto del Campo Tejedor vibrant of rituals; they are also among those that actively involve the greatest number of people, as they depend heavily on actors and spectators alike, as will be discussed later. Given that “the reality of community lies in its members’ perception of the vitality of its culture,” as Anthony P. Cohen remarked in his seminal study on the construction of communities,5 the study of processions is a key element in understanding how a community functions. One of the main objectives of this book is to illustrate the potential of processions to create and instil meanings through their expressive dimension and to affect and modify reality through their performative dimension. Ritual not only communicates, expresses, and transmits, but also inspires, modifies, and creates. The various subjects involved play an important role in this, as does the particular situation of communication defined as a procession. Clearly, there is no symmetry between the actors and the spectators, nor between those who organize and control the procession and those at whom it is directed. Instead, as we shall see, processions constitute far more than a simple top-down mechanism used by the powers that be to transmit propaganda, and the members of the public are far from being mere passive consumers. The contributors to this book examine the performative mechanisms that facilitate the ritual construction of a community, the political intentions underlying such performances, and the roles played by the various subjects involved, who do not correspond to a simple, unequivocal division between actors and recipients. 1. Firstly, the participation of (part of) the community itself and the opportunity to share experiences together create a new space of collective experience, situated between reality and the imaginary.6 Going from the most to the least obvious aspects, one can start by noting that, as with all rites, processions give rise to physical proximity among the participants. This “being together” forms the basis for creating a sense of horizontality, equality, and community. However, they do more than promote the existence of an ephemeral space of intimate coexistence. People do not only share space: they also share (in) “the syntax of the rite and the semantics of the symbols,”7 in other words, the keys to interpreting the symbols and the highlights of the spectacle. Last but not least, they also share a third aspect in common: emotions, because rituals usually appeal to the heart rather than to reason. The sight of a procession passing by is intended to leave no one indifferent. A procession’s raison d’être is not only to parade images, cult objects, or sacrificial victims, but also, as Isidore of Seville observed, to put on a show (Isid., Etym. 18, 2, 2: Pompa dicta est graeca significatione apo tou pompeuein, hoc est publice ostentari). Consequently, it is essential that the public are involved in the performance. Spectators are expected to react to what is being displayed, showing surprise, applauding, cheering, or maintaining a respectful silence. Thus, members of the public are transformed into actors and their intervention is as crucial for the efficacy of the rite as that of the

Introduction 3 actors themselves. As in other rituals, the public forms as much a part of the staging as the actors, the objects and images being paraded, the music, the light, and the aromas. In the words of Beacham, the “theatricalization of perception and experience” endows the spectators with the status of actors. Their mere presence is an essential part of the rite, because without them processions are pointless; however, their reactions are also of prime importance. As we have seen earlier, the public’s intervention is performative in both meanings of the word: on the one hand, the spectators “act,” forming part of the performance and helping convey the message; on the other hand, they are encouraged to act and think in a particular way. Both aspects—the spectators’ active role and the effect that processions have on them—are inseparable and constitute the ritual’s “communicative link”: actors and spectators not only engage with the message, but also with each other, thus sharing an experience on an emotional level and, through this, assimilating certain truths. This necessary expression of the emotions on the part of the public results in the socialization of these very emotions, and shared emotions become guides to intellection or, as Georgia Petridou observes in this volume from the standpoint of cultural pragmatics, take precedence over cognition.8 Processions give shape to an exceptional or extraordinary universe replete with symbols, which tends to stir the participants’ emotions. In the words of Brilliant, the more intense an experience, the more psychologically involved the participants9; therefore, it is only to be expected that their reactions to the experience are outwardly expressed. Of course, the range of reactions is potentially as wide as the number of individuals forming part of the multitude; but, at the same time, the rite minimizes individuality: But now the procession is approaching […]. The time is come to applaud; the procession approaches, glistening with gold. First in place is Victory borne with expanded wings; come hither, Goddess, and grant that this passion of mine may prove victorious. Salute Neptune, you who put too much confidence in the waves […]. Soldier, salute thy own Mars […] turn, Minerva, towards thyself the hands of the artisan. (Ovid. Am. 3.2.45. Transl. G. Showerman) The triggering of emotions is ensured by two of the most characteristic features of processions: the mass participation of actors and spectators, and the spectacle produced by the leading role of moving images. Thus, the participants (both actors and spectators, but the latter in particular) are overwhelmed by the sensation of sacred immersion. Drawing primarily on early modern sources, many have speculated on the impact of being “literally immersed in sacredness” and the impossibility of absorbing an entire rite at a glance.10 Depictions of early modern processions

4  Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo and Alberto del Campo Tejedor were actually designed to reinforce this impression, showing interminable rows of participants—some of very high status—bearing a multitude of extraordinary objects, accompanied by all nature of visual effects.11 Furthermore, the presence of images fosters a bond between the spectators and that which is represented.12 The images are humanized and therefore encourage the spectators to establish a dialogue with them, especially when they are images in motion. The capacity of processional images to move endows them with greater value and greatly enhances their performative impact on the spectators. A contemporary example may help to illustrate this idea. At the Holy Week in Seville, as the crowd watches the approaching Virgen de la Macarena amidst the candle smoke that has blackened the image’s face after more than 12 hours on the street, people tend to share their feelings. Someone shouts “Look at her tired little face!” as if the effigy were a real person with whom it would be possible to dialogue. Humanization does not end there: in response to the complaints of some of the spectators (clearly tourists) that the Macarena is taking much too long to enter the church, someone angrily retorts, “She’ll enter when she feels like it!” The humanization of images fosters the spectators’ identification with these and very effectively encourages people to express their emotions. It is possible to imagine something similar in the case of the acclamations addressed to deities in the ancient world, which “constructed the illusion of direct contact with the god.”13 Images in motion have a particularly powerful capacity to prompt reactions from the actors and spectators,14 which are shared with the community and that express a feeling that becomes collective. And it is not only a question of sharing emotions: it is easy to imagine how the public’s cheers and remarks could provide a vehicle for intellection of the spectacle. For example, expressions of fervour exalted the emperors and served to forge a connection with the vicarious representation of a power that was actually located elsewhere. However, processional images facilitated a further step: the public’s reactions served to synthesize the perception and intellection of imperial power. The relationship with these images, therefore, functioned as a catalyst for emotions and standardized the ways of understanding that power. By exchanging emotions and ideas about the emperors, community members became aware of their own existence as a group. Something very similar occurs with the ritual movement of rulers, as González Alcantud illustrates in his observations on contemporary Morocco. 2. We shall now turn to the second dimension of how processions contribute to construct communities. The dynamics of processions help to legitimize and even impose certain versions of reality. Processions tend to create the impression that everyone shares the community’s objectives and that to go against these would not be “natural.”15 This is one of the reasons why processions are so important in “symbolic politics,” as Agelidis contends in this volume: they play a decisive role as “condensation symbols,”

Introduction 5 i.e., abbreviated forms of complex emotional structures which go beyond objective references to reality. Several features of processions combine to lend authority to certain worldviews. The first and foremost of these elements is the crowd itself; the participation of large numbers of people constitutes a powerful and distinctive factor. Analysing the vast parades held in the former Soviet Union, Catherine Bell concluded that “the size of the approving crowds certainly helped create much of the power.”16 Simply the mere presence of the public exerts a legitimizing effect, to which must be added the immersive effect of the masses on individual spectators. Mass attendance at an event renders it more magnificent still and enhances the message, not only because a large number of spectators suggests their widespread endorsement of whatever is being represented, but also because of the cathartic effect produced by the reactions of multitudes who, with their cheers and applause, or even just with their combined presence and close physical contact, are capable of provoking expressions that increase the participants’ sensory experience. Due to their very nature, the ancient sources frequently lack direct evidence of the number of people who turned out to watch the processions. Nevertheless, both the literary and epigraphic sources—each in its own way—reflect the importance that was given to the public’s presence and the multitudinous nature of imperial cult processions. It is not uncommon to find formulas alluding to the participation of large numbers of spectators or simply the “people,” without offering further details, but nevertheless managing to create the impression that it was a mass of people. To give just one example, the surprising episode of the procession of the god Elagabalus, organised by the emperor and featuring his imperial namesake, with the emperor himself running backwards in front of the chariot transporting the god, concluded as follows: A six-horse chariot bore the sun god, the  horses huge and flawlessly white, with expensive gold fittings and rich ornaments. No one held the reins, and no one rode in the chariot; the vehicle was escorted as if the sun god himself were the charioteer. Elagabalus ran backward in front of the chariot, facing the god and holding the horses’ reins. He made the whole journey in this reverse fashion, looking up into the face of his god. Since he was unable to see where he was going, his route was paved with gold dust to keep him from stumbling and falling, and bodyguards supported him on each side to protect him from injury. The people ran parallel to him, carrying torches and tossing wreaths and flowers (Herodian 5.6.7–8. Transl. E.C. Echols) Of course, for our purposes, the veracity of the information that Herodian transmitted is not that important here: we will never know for sure whether Elagabalus really ran backwards without tripping over, nor if the “people” were present and ran alongside the emperor, with the added complication

6  Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo and Alberto del Campo Tejedor of having to carry torches, wreaths, and flowers at the same time. What is really significant, in our view, is that Herodian considered that the “people” factor would contribute to create a greater impact on his readership. The “rhetoric of the masses” (real or imagined) doubtlessly contributes to consolidate legitimacy. And there is yet a second way in which attendants might act out their commitment to the prevailing order. Processions normally follow given routes that have been carefully designed by the competent authorities to instil a particular understanding of reality. This cartography of a species of sacred topography includes and excludes certain parts of the city, mapping a vision of what really matters and what does not, which is recorded with particular intensity in everyone’s minds.17 Taking the example of the imperial cult in ancient Rome, processions parading images of the emperors tended to leave the temple of the imperial cult and then wend their way to one of the city’s major recreational spaces (the theatre, the amphitheatre, or the circus), where the images of the imperial house could preside over the games or ceremonies to which they had been carried. The route included the city’s most prominent buildings: the temples of the most important gods and, in the main, all those places associated with the image of itself that the city desired to project. Accordingly, it comprised a sort of sacred topography that served to legitimize a specific vision of the city, while at the same time excluding other possibilities. Processions thus made a substantial contribution to endorsing a vision of the city that revolved around sites of imperial worship. The chapters in this volume by Giménez de Aragón Sierra and Mancha Castro provide further eloquent examples of how ancient and contemporary itineraries endorsed and endorse new balances of power. 3. The intersection between the first two aspects mentioned previously (public participation in and the political dimension of processions) leads inevitably to the conclusion that processions are not simply promoted by those in power or passively consumed by spectators. As is well known, communication is never one-way, from sender to receiver. For one thing, there are multiple kinds of reception. The episode mentioned previously, during the Macarena procession in Seville, highlights the existence of multiple forms of engagement not only among the actors but also among the recipients. Tourists passively consume a procession as a spectacle, whereas residents, who understand the codes and form part of the imagined community, participate emotionally. The latter thus become co-creators of the performance, contributing to its efficacy through cries, lamentation, hymns, or cheering, and therefore have the capacity to affect the messages transmitted by the procession, erasing the distance between its performers and its public. The participatory (and not only representative or discursive) nature of processions sheds light on a key issue: the capacity of not only the various actors in a procession but also its spectators to negotiate, debate, and even oppose the official version of reality being projected by a procession. The

Introduction 7 procession may constitute a tool of propaganda for those in power, who may desire to build an imagined community18 in accordance with a particular political structure or series of norms, values, and ideas, but this also inevitably depends on the target audience. Given that the ultimate aim is to influence the spectators (fostering their adherence to the intended messages, affecting their memory, spurring them to action and, in short, arousing an intense state of emotions and feelings), a procession must satisfy certain needs, fulfil expectations, and, furthermore, generate the satisfaction involved in feeling that the people are not only being taken into account, but are also the procession’s principal target. Many ritual performances in antiquity involved the distribution of food, thus forging an association between the sustenance and well-being of the population and the emperor’s generosity and wealth. However, if this latter failed to fulfil his obligations to the people, these had their own means to demand their due. In De Certeau’s terms,19 those in power deploy strategies in their own interests, but the people can also employ tactics, for example to compel the operation of what Thompson called a “moral economy.”20 Subordinates have no choice but to accept the hierarchy and the order imposed on them, but this requires the powerful to comply with certain obligations, among which the distribution of wealth is typically recurrent. Depending on each case, the people are empowered as co-creators of the ritual performance, abandoning their passive role and acting in accordance with premises and codes that do not always reflect those dictated by the authorities who usually organize and control processions. There is often a tension between the two, which underlines the fact that superiors and subordinates do not share the same goals. The people may embrace certain messages, but they may also modify these at will, adapting them to their needs. Although markedly controlled by those in power, processions establish an exceptional context in which the ordinary conventions of everyday life are cast aside. This inevitably means that a procession contains not only ritual but also festive elements. The term “procession” evokes the image of a sequence of formal acts, a line of participants parading in hierarchical order, a staged event of a solemn and repetitive nature controlled by some kind of power. It is these ritual aspects of the procession that are largely responsible for creating a sense of immutability and sacredness. However, processions also have their reverse side, of improvisation, informality, and chaos. We tend to view ritual and festival as rigidly dichotomous elements, and thus a Corpus Christi parade and a Carnival parade would nowadays be seen as two antagonistic models of processions. In practice, however, most processions foster and facilitate ritual and festive elements alike. In a Holy Week procession in Andalusia, there is as much fun, laughter, joy, and even sexual escapades that imply a high degree of freedom as there is solemn silence, reverential restraint, and high seriousness. The same is true of processions in antiquity.

8  Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo and Alberto del Campo Tejedor The triumphal procession provides a good example of this. The ius triumphandi not only established how such recognition should be requested and who had the power to confer it, but also the formal aspects of the performance: the prototypical sequence of actions, the route, the protagonists and the emblems and symbols they could display, the hierarchy to observe and rules concerning what could and could not be done. However, alongside this prescriptive formula (maintained either by law or by custom), a high degree of spontaneity was also tolerated. The spectators could demonstrate their approval or disapproval of the spectacle they were witnessing, and the actors in the procession might include elements other than those programmed by the procession organizers. Thus, soldiers could mock their generals in vulgar songs, the ioci militares, or decide who would be exalted or denigrated, independently of and sometimes in opposition to those who, in theory, were to be celebrated in the triumph, as Del Campo’s chapter illustrates. In short, the construction of community through processions does not simply derive from a symbolic, top-down programme, but also involves multiple actors and different degrees of participation. Thus, besides evident political interest and imposition, processions also entail dialogue, negotiation, opposition and, in short, co-creation. Obviously, the various participants are not in symmetry, but the prominence and power of those promoting the procession do not entirely erase the sway of those who refuse to play mere walk-on parts in the ritual. After all, it is in the interests of those in power that the people are moved, affected by the ritual programme, and feel part of the community. Consequently, there is no choice but to admit active, sometimes spontaneous participation that is not bound by the same prescriptions as those that ideally govern the procession. * 4. In this introduction, we have attempted to show how the ritual features characteristic of processions can serve as powerful drivers to create and enforce certain worldviews, including the very existence of the community. We have seen how the processional rite offers a full range of possibilities that contribute to produce those effects. However, these are just some of the key perspectives from which the singular nature of processions can be understood. The following chapters contain numerous examples illustrating the fascinating process of community construction and consolidation at different times and from several standpoints. Obviously, many of the features described are specific to each of the various contexts analysed; nevertheless, the ideas that we have attempted to outline in this introduction recur repeatedly. We believe that a comparative perspective has enabled us to delve deeper into the multiplicity of mechanisms involved in the construction of community. Although the chapters are ordered chronologically, those that deal with similar topics have been grouped together to facilitate comparison.

Introduction 9 The book begins with a chapter by Georgia Petridou on a procession organized in sixth century BC Athens to celebrate the return of the tyrant Peisistratus Employing a cultural pragmatics approach, Petridou argues that the procession incorporated several cultural realities shared by the Athenian community (e.g., texts, narratives, events, and symbols), which contributed to the success of this extraordinary procession. Annalisa Lo Monaco and Patrizia Arena analyse women’s participation in processions from several standpoints. Lo Monaco is primarily concerned with women in classical Greek cities and describes how processions visibilized and consolidated women’s place, thereby providing stability to the wider community. For her part, Arena examines a very select group— female members of the Roman imperial family—and their participation in the pompa funebris and marriage rituals; the use of women as guarantors of continuity consolidated political equilibrium and community consensus concerning its rulers. The pompa funebris is also the subject of the contributions from Soi Agelidis and Ida Östenberg. Agelidis explores republican and imperial funeral processions as catalysts for intense emotions that lent weight to the social and ideological constructions being articulated by these rituals. Meanwhile, Östenberg focuses on imperial funeral processions to Rome and on the way in which these exceptionally long parades strengthened the new dynasty and also the Italian and imperial collective identity. Elena Calandra, Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo, and Héctor González Palacios look at processions from Hellenistic times to the Byzantine Empire that celebrated the rulers’ power. Calandra identifies several common features between the dazzling parades of the Hellenistic kings and the somewhat more modest ones held in imperial times, including the relationship between the monarch and divinity, theatricality, the ephemeral transformation of urban space and the reiterated message of dynastic continuity. MuñizGrijalvo analyses processions in which images of Roman emperors were paraded as acts of communication between the ruler and his subjects, and therefore as acts of government that contributed to consolidating the community. For his part, González Palacios discusses the case of the Byzantine empress Irene of Athens in his analysis of processions as a means to embody the role of the ruler but also to transform it if necessary: relying among other things on processional imagery, Irene worked her way up from imperial wife to empress. The processional dynamic is particularly effective at conferring both a real and an imagined place on each of the groups and elements that make up the community, including rulers, monarchies and women, but also foreigners, as Sylvia Estienne shows in her chapter on the procession held in honour of the Mater Magna at Rome. This procession facilitated the selection of a series of supposedly Phrygian elements to construct a Metroac identity that was in fact very much Roman and thus contributed to the definition of Roman identity.

10  Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo and Alberto del Campo Tejedor The infinite permeability of ritual—in this case, of processions— enabled the incorporation and redefinition of elements that in principle were actually foreign to the ritual itself. Sometimes these foreign elements were of overseas origin, as we have just seen, but at other times they come from within the community itself, from the different subjects involved. Such was the case of spontaneity and humour, which also played a role in processions. Analysing the tradition of Roman soldiers singing derisive songs about the general celebrating a triumph in Rome, Alberto del Campo Tejedor reveals how the soldiers were actively involved in the construction of the experience and message of the ritual. The troops praised their commander and showed their satisfaction by singing laudatory songs, but they could also deride him by singing satirical songs or exalt someone other than the triumphator. Through this ritual-festive denigration by means of the ioci militares, soldiers and plebs conjured up an ephemeral, symbolic equality similar to that created by more carnivalesque festivals, generating the impression of a more egalitarian community in which the general was required to show urbanitas, civilitas, and clementia and submit to criticism from the subalterns. As we have seen earlier, the spatial aspect of processions contributes strongly to legitimizing the imaginary limits of community and hierarchy. Pedro Giménez de Aragón Sierra’s chapter on Christian processions in Constantinople and Milan in the fourth century illustrates this idea particularly clearly: in Milan, the Christian authorities used processions to appropriate urban areas traditionally associated with political power, thereby consolidating the position of the Church. An analysis of Holy Week in the city of Huelva (Spain) from the nineteenth century to the present day is the subject of José Carlos Mancha Castro’s chapter, which also draws on the ritualized use of space (in his words, an “urban ritual drama”) as one of the ways to construct a relationship between members of the community and between these and the socio-economic hierarchy. Finally, José Antonio González Alcantud conducts a parallel analysis of cases widely separated in time and context (the Corpus Christi procession in Baroque Granada, the itinerant mehalla of the Moroccan sultans up until the end of the nineteenth century, the candlelight procession in the Moroccan city of Salé, and the revival of neo-pagan rites in Rome and of street recreations of the ancient Roman cohorts in Seville), all of which exemplify how processions affirm the essential role of power in resisting the threat of chaos. The book closes with an original contribution by Juan Ballesteros on how the famous humanist Isaac Casaubon interpreted the Isiac processions described in a fourth century source (the Historia Augusta) in the light of his own experience as a scandalized spectator of the processions held in seventeenth century Paris. In the present volume, which adopts a comparative approach to the particularities of the processional rite in very different places and at very different times, Ballesteros’ contribution sounds a

Introduction 11 necessary note of caution against misinterpreting the sources and forcing similarities between different contexts. We hope, however, that the variety of examples discussed here will prove useful for those who wish to reflect on processions as a means to construct community, particularly in the GraecoRoman world, but also in other contexts.

Notes 1 The workshop was entitled “Processions and the symbolic construction of communities”. Both the workshop and this book are the result of the Research Project “Discursos del Imperio Romano: Las procesiones y la construcción de la comunidad imperial” (PGC2018-096500-B-C32 MCIU/AEI/FEDER, UE), financed by the Spanish Ministerio de Ciencia, Innovación y Universidades and the European Regional Development Fund. Thanks are due as well to the V Plan Propio de Investigación, the Department of Geography, History and Philosophy, and the Faculty of Humanities at the Universidad Pablo de Olavide de Sevilla for their financial and academic support. We are deeply indebted to all the participants for their ideas that enlightened our own. 2 The Señor del Gran Poder (the Mighty Lord) is one of the most popular of the effigies paraded during Holy Week in Seville. It represents Jesus bearing the cross on his shoulder on his way to Mount Calvary. 3 Berger and Luckmann (1966). 4 1988, 2. 5 1995, 118. 6 Anderson (1983), Gvozdeva and Velten (2011, 24), and van Deusen (2008). 7 Hölkeskamp (2014). 8 Giesen (2006). 9 Brilliant (1999) and Favro (2008). 10 Muir (2007, 141). 11 Social anthropology has demonstrated that rituals tend toward a multisensory psychological emotionality. In other words, they appeal to the senses: sight, through spectacular displays; hearing, through the sound of music and cheering; touch, through the sensation of close proximity with a crowd of other people; smell, through the scent of flowers, incense, and other pleasant fragrances; and even taste, through banquets held before or after the ritual at which specific, unique dishes are served. It is therefore important to understand that, to a large extent, performativity depends on the senses being affected; see Del Campo and Corpas (2005). 12 The relationship with images in general has received renewed research attention in recent years. Of the abundant literature on the subject, we shall limit ourselves to citing some recent studies that have examined the reactions of devotees or spectators: see Mylonopoulos (2010), Madigan (2012), Estienne et al. (2015), and Kiernan (2020). 13 Chaniotis (2009, 209). 14 Ashley and Hüsken (2001) and Gvozdeva and Velten (2011, 23). 15 Flanigan (2001, 39). 16 Bell (1997, 129). 17 On the importance of the “spatial turn” for understanding the role of space in the legitimation of communities, see among others Bourdieu (1971), Lefebvre (1974), and Cosgrove (1984). This perspective has been successfully applied to history in general (e.g. Zeller 2004; Döring and Thielmann 2009; Warf and Arias 2009), and to ancient religions in particular, see for example Estienne

12  Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo and Alberto del Campo Tejedor (2001), Kalas (2015), and Raja (2012, 2014, 2017). In 2014, the Belgian publishing house, Brepols, launched a series entitled Contextualizing the Sacred aimed at analysing sacred space through material and textual culture. 18 Anderson (1983). 19 1999. 20 1971.

Bibliography Anderson, Benedict. 1983. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origins and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso. Ashley, Kathleen, and Wim Hüsken. 2001. Moving Subjects: Processional Performance in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. Amsterdam; Atlanta, GA: Rodopi. Beacham, Richard. 2005. “The Emperor as Impresario: Producing the Pageantry of Power.” In The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Augustus, edited by Karl Galinsky, 151–74. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bell, Catherine. 1997. Ritual: Perspectives and Dimensions. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Berger, Peter L., and Thomas Luckmann. 1966. The Social Construction of Reality. A Treatise in the Sociology of Knowledge. Garden City, New York: Anchor Books. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1971. “Genèse et structure du champ religieux.” Revue française de sociologie 12(3): 295–334. Brilliant, Richard. 1999. “‘Let the Trumpets Roar!’ The Roman Triumph.” In The Art of Ancient Spectacle, edited by Bettina Bergmann and Christine Kondoleon, 220–9. Washington, DC: National Gallery of Art. Chaniotis, Angelos. 2009. “Acclamations as a Form of Religious Communication.” In Die Imperium Romanum. Koine und Konfrontationen, edited by Hubert Cancik and Jorg Rüpke, 199–218. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Cohen, Anthony P. 1985. The Symbolic Construction of Community. London-New York: Routledge. Cosgrove, Denis E. 1984. Social Formation and Symbolic Landscape. London: Croom Helm. De Certeau, Michel. 1984. The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley: University of California Press. Del Campo Tejedor, Alberto, and Ana Corpas. 2005. El mayo festero. Ritual y religión en el triunfo de la primavera. Sevilla: Fundación José Manuel Lara. Döring, Jörg, and Tristan Thielmann (eds.). 2009. Spatial Turn. Das Raumparadigma in den Kultur- und Sozialwissenschaften, 2nd ed. Bielefeld: Transcript. Estienne, Sylvia. 2001. “Les lieux du religieux à Rome, de César à Commode: Un état de la question.” Pallas 55: 55–75. Estienne, Sylvia, Valérie Huet, François Lissarrague, and Francis Prost (eds.). 2015. Figures de dieux: construire le divin en image. Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes. Favro, Dianne. 2008. “The Festive Experience: Roman Processions in the Urban Context.” In Festival Architecture, edited by Sarah Bonnemaison, Christine Macy, 24–56. London: Routledge.

Introduction 13 Flanigan, C. Clifford. 2001. “The Moving Subject: Medieval Liturgical Processions in Semiotic and Cultural Perspectives.” In Moving Subjects, edited by Kathleen Ashley and Wim Hüsken, 35–51. Amsterdam-Atlanta: Rodopi. Giesen, Bernhard. 2006. “Performing the Sacred: A Durkheimian Perspective on the Performative Turn in the Social Science.” In Social Performance: Symbolic Action, Cultural Pragmatics, and Ritual, edited by Jeffrey C. Alexander, Bernhard Giesen, and Jason M. Mast, 325–67. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gvozdeva, Katja, and Hans R. Velten. 2011. Medialität der Prozession: Performanz ritueller Bewegung in Texten und Bildern der Vormoderne = Médialité de la procession: Performance du mouvement rituel en textes et en images à l’époque prémoderne. Heidelberg: Winter. Hölkeskamp, Karl-Joachim. 2014. “Raum–Präsenz–Performanz. Prozessionen in politischen Kulturen der Vormoderne–Forschungen und Fortschritte.” In Medien der Geschichte–Antikes Griechenland und Rom, edited by Ortwin Dally, Tonio Hölscher, Susanne Muth, and Rolf M. Schneide, 359–95. Berlin-Boston: De Gruyter. Kalas, Gregor. 2015. The Restoration of the Roman Forum in Late Antiquity: Transforming Public Space. Austin: University of Texas Press. Kertzer, David I. 1988. Ritual, Politics, and Power. New Haven: Yale University Press. Kiernan, Philip. 2020. Roman Cult Images: The Lives and Worship of Idols, from the Iron Age to Late Antiquity. Cambridge-New York: Cambridge University Press. Lefebvre, Henri. 1974. La production de l’espace. Paris: Anthropos. Madigan, Brian. 2012. The Ceremonial Sculptures of the Roman Gods. LeidenBoston: Brill. Muir, Edward. 2007. “The Eye of the Procession. Ritual Ways of Seeing in the Renaissance.” In Ceremonial Culture in Premodern Europe, edited by Nicholas Howe, 129–53. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press. Mylonopoulos, Joannis. 2010. “Introduction: Divine Images Versus Cult Images— an Endless Story About Theories, Methods, and Terminologies.” In Divine Images and Human Imaginations in Ancient Greece and Rome, edited by Joannis Mylonopoulos, 1–19. Leiden: Brill. Raja, Rubina. 2012. Urban Development and Regional Identities in the Eastern Roman Provinces, 50 BC–250 AD: Aphrodisias, Athens, Ephesus, Gerasa. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press. Raja, Rubina (ed.). 2017. Contextualizing the Sacred in the Hellenistic and Roman Near East: Religious Identities in Local, Regional, and Imperial Settings. Turnhout: Brepols. Raja, Rubina, and Elizabeth Frood (eds.). 2014. Redefining the Sacred: Religious Architecture and Text in the Near East and Egypt 1000 BC–AD 30. Turnhout: Brepols. Thompson, Edward Palmer. 1971. “The Moral Economy of the English Crowd in the Eighteenth Century.” Past & Present 50: 76–136. Van Deusen, Nancy (ed.). 2008. Procession, Performance, Liturgy and Ritual. Ottawa: Institute of Mediaeval Music. Warf, Barney, and Santa Arias. (eds.). 2009. The Spatial Turn: Interdisciplinary Perspectives. London: Routledge Zeller, Thomas. 2004. “The Spatial Turn in History.” Bulletin of the GHI 35: 123–4.

2

Peisistratus’ processional performance Between ritual, symbolic action, and strategy Georgia Petridou

Recent studies on religion and democracy in Classical Athens (e.g., Jameson 2014; Canevaro and Gray 2018; Petridou 2021) have argued that an unmistakable two-directional relationship between religious life and political action religion is obvious in every sphere of socio-political and economic activity (education, healthcare, law-making, law enforcement, etc.) and on every level of societal organisation in the city (from the individual to the household, and from the professional and cultic associations to the city-state as a whole). This chapter engages closely with recent socioanthropological perspectives and looks afresh at the symbolic polyvalence of the epiphanic procession that led the exiled tyrannos Peisistratus back to Athens in the 550s BC (Hdt. 1.60.2–5) as an example of such unmistakably two-directional relationship between religious life and political action.1 Effectively, the present study joins forces with the other contributors of this volume to discuss the careful ritual construction and signification of that procession, and the means it employed to create a climate of political cohesion and celebration in the community. The first section examines the procession, its ad hoc organisation and reception by the wider civic community, as well as its significance for the early Athenian political history. The second section assesses some of the more prominent ritual models for the procession that have been proposed thus far, and proposes Athena’s epiphany festival of Pro(s)charistēria as a new one. The third section shifts the focus from ritual to symbols and imagery drawn from popular epic poetry and discusses the significance of Athena’s leadership in Peisistratus procession. Finally, the fourth and final section brings the threads together, employing “cultural pragmatics,” a methodological approach pioneered by Jeffrey Alexander and Bernhard Giesen (Alexander 2004; Alexander, Giesen, and Mast 2006) that foregrounds performance and emotions in both ritual performance and politics, and maintains that Peisistratus’ processional performance pulls together various equally significant defused cultural realities such as texts, narratives, events, symbols, etc. Engaging with socio-anthropology in general, and the theory of cultural pragmatics, allows for a fuller appreciation of the semantic polyvalence and political impact of Peisistratus’ procession, which DOI: 10.4324/9781003301646-2

Peisistratus’ processional performance 15 is now raised to a powerful and dynamic tool of power negotiation between the Athenian people and their chosen political leader.

2.1 Peisistratus’ procession and its imprint in early Athenian history According to Herodotus’ Histories (1.60.2–5), sometime in the 550s, Phye, a tall and beautiful girl from the deme of Paiania, escorted the chariot procession that brought the tyrannos Peisistratus back to Athens from his exile. Phye, we are told in the same passage, was visually assimilated to the tutelary goddess of the city, Athena, as she led the procession in full military attire, having thus acted as a kind of accompanying goddess (theos pompos) to Peisistratus: Hdt. 1.60.2–5 Legrand: Μετὰ δὲ οὐ πολλὸν χρόνον τὠυτὸ φρονήσαντες οἵ τε τοῦ Μεγακλέος στασιῶται καὶ οἱ τοῦ Λυκούργου ἐξελαύνουσί μιν. Οὕτω μὲν Πεισίστρατος ἔσχε τὸ πρῶτον Ἀθήνας καὶ τὴν τυραννίδα οὔ κω κάρτα ἐρριζωμένην ἔχων ἀπέβαλε, οἱ δὲ ἐξελάσαντες Πεισίστρατον αὖτις ἐκ νέης ἐπ’ ἀλλήλοισι ἐστασίασαν. Περιελαυνόμενος δὲ τῇ στάσι ὁ Μεγακλέης ἐπεκηρυκεύετο Πεισιστράτῳ, εἰ βούλοιτό οἱ τὴν θυγατέρα ἔχειν γυναῖκα ἐπὶ τῇ τυραννίδι. Ἐνδεξαμένου δὲ τὸν λόγον καὶ ὁμολογήσαντος ἐπὶ τούτοισι Πεισιστράτου, μηχανῶνται δὴ ἐπὶ τῇ κατόδῳ πρῆγμα εὐηθέστατον, ὡς ἐγὼ εὑρίσκω, μακρῷ (ἐπεί γε ἀπεκρίθη ἐκ παλαιτέρου τοῦ βαρβάρου ἔθνεος τὸ Ἑλληνικὸν ἐὸν καὶ δεξιώτερον καὶ εὐηθείης ἠλιθίου ἀπηλλαγμένον μᾶλλον), εἰ καὶ τότε γε οὗτοι ἐν Ἀθηναίοισι τοῖσι πρώτοισι λεγομένοισι εἶναι Ἑλλήνων σοφίην μηχανῶνται τοιάδε. Ἐν τῷ δήμῳ τῷ Παιανιέϊ ἦν γυνή, τῇ οὔνομα ἦν Φύη, μέγαθος ἀπὸ τεσσέρων πήχεων ἀπολείπουσα τρεῖς δακτύλους καὶ ἄλλως εὐειδής. Ταύτην τὴν γυναῖκα σκευάσαντες πανοπλίῃ, ἐς ἅρμα ἐσβιβάσαντες καὶ προδέξαντες σχῆμα οἷόν τι ἔμελλε εὐπρεπέστατον φανέεσθαι ἔχουσα, ἤλαυνον ἐς τὸ ἄστυ, προδρόμους κήρυκας προπέμψαντες, οἳ τὰ ἐντεταλμένα ἠγόρευον ἀπικόμενοι ἐς τὸ ἄστυ, λέγοντες τοιάδε· “Ὦ Ἀθηναῖοι, δέκεσθε ἀγαθῷ νόῳ Πεισίστρατον, τὸν αὐτὴ ἡ Ἀθηναίη τιμήσασα ἀνθρώπων μάλιστα κατάγει ἐς τὴν ἑωυτῆς ἀκρόπολιν.” Οἱ μὲν δὴ ταῦτα διαφοιτῶντες ἔλεγον, αὐτίκα δὲ ἔς τε τοὺς δήμους φάτις ἀπίκετο ὡς Ἀθηναίη Πεισίστρατον κατάγει, καὶ ἐν τῷ ἄστεϊ πειθόμενοι τὴν γυναῖκα εἶναι αὐτὴν τὴν θεὸν προσεύχοντό τε τὴν ἄνθρωπον καὶ ἐδέκοντο Πεισίστρατον. Megacles then was so worn out because of the faction that he sent a herald to Peisistratus and promised to restore him to power, provided that he would accept his daughter in marriage. Peisistratus agreed to do so, and having come to an agreement with Megacles, the two of them together, in order to lead Peisistratus back to the city, devised a trick, which seems to me the silliest by far, especially in view of the fact that the Greeks have always been distinguished from the barbarians on the

16  Georgia Petridou account of their cleverness and silliness-free thought; amongst them the Athenians were said to be the most clever of them all; and yet it was at the expense of these Athenians that Megacles and Peisistratus together should devise the following machination: In the demos of Paeania there was a woman called Phye, three fingers short of four cubits in stature, and good-looking in all other respects. This woman they fitted in a suit of armour, put her on a chariot, gave her detailed instructions about how to make the strongest impression, and, after having sent heralds to precede the procession, drove her into the city. As soon as they arrived to Athens, and following the instructions they had been given, these heralds proclaimed the following: ‘Citizens of Athens, receive with pure mind Peisistratus, whom Athena herself honours most of all men and leads him back to her own citadel.’ So the heralds went around and proclaimed those things. It was not long before rumour reached the outlying demes of Athens, that Athena was leading Peisistratus back to the city; those of the city also believed that the woman was indeed the goddess herself and prayed to that human creature and received Peisistratus back to their city. The Constitution of the Athenians (14.4) also reports on Peisistratus’ procession extensively and with gusto, whilst commending briefly on the information provided in the Herodotean Histories regarding Phye’s origins and profession: [Arist]. Ath. Pol. 14.4–15.2 Oppermann: ἔτει δὲ δωδεκάτῳ μετὰ ταῦτα περιελαυνόμενος ὁ Μεγακλῆς τῇ στάσει, πάλιν ἐπικηρυκευσάμενος πρὸς τὸν Πεισίστρατον, ἐφ’ ᾧ τε τὴν θυγατέρα αὐτοῦ λήψεται, κατήγαγεν αὐτὸν ἀρχαίως καὶ λίαν ἁπλῶς. προδιασπείρας γὰρ λόγον, ὡς τῆς Ἀθηνᾶς καταγούσης Πεισίστρατον, καὶ γυναῖκα μεγάλην καὶ καλὴν ἐξευρών, ὡς μὲν Ἡρόδοτός φησιν ἐκ τοῦ δήμου τῶν Παιανιέων, ὡς δ’ ἔνιοι λέγουσιν ἐκ τοῦ Κολλυτοῦ στεφανόπωλιν Θρᾷτταν, ᾗ ὄνομα Φύη, τὴν θεὸν ἀπομιμησάμενος τῷ κόσμῳ, συνεισήγαγεν μετ’ αὐτοῦ· καὶ ὁ μὲν Πεισίστρατος ἐφ’ ἅρματος εἰσήλαυνε, παραιβατούσης τῆς γυναικός, οἱ δ’ ἐν τῷ ἄστει προσκυνοῦντες ἐδέχοντο θαυμάζοντες. On the twelfth year after this [i.e. the first period of Peisistratus’ reign], Megacles, worn out because of the faction, and having sent heralds to come to an agreement with Peisistratus, on terms of receiving his daughter in marriage, led him back to the city in an antiquated and extremely simple manner: for after having spread the rumour that Athena was leading Peisistratus back to the city, and having found a tall and beautiful woman (according to Herodotus a member of the demos of Paeania, but according to some others a Thracian flower-girl from Collytus named Phye), he dressed her up to imitate the goddess’ external appearance, and brought her to the city with Peisistratus, who on his part entered the city on a chariot with the woman standing at his side, while the people in the city were filled with awe and performed ritual proskynēsis.

Peisistratus’ processional performance 17 The girl’s name, Phye (Φύη literally means “growth” from φύομαι, from IE *bheh 2u-, “to grow, arise, spring up”) may have sounded in the ears of Herodotus’ Athenian informants as something like the modern epithet “the Body,” i.e., as the personification of an extraordinary physical beauty and stature, which alludes also to extraordinary human and agricultural fertility.2 The same links with agricultural fertility are emphasized by PseudoAristotle’s the Constitution of the Athenians, in which we learn that Phye might have been a flower-girl. Both narratives, the more extensive one by Herodotus and the more compact one by pseudo-Aristotle, lay emphasis on the audience’s extraordinary reactions to witnessing the beautiful and tall human girl embodying and impersonating the goddess in the ritual context of an epiphanic procession. In the Histories, the onlookers of the chariot procession led jointly by Peisistratus and Phye believe that the girl is the goddess herself and offer prayers to her (proseuchonto). In the Constitution of the Athenians, they are said to have been filled with awe (thaumazontes) and performed proskynēsis, a gesture, which regardless of whether it involved kneeling or not, for the Greeks belonged clearly to the realm of theiai timai (“divine honours”) and was often associated with humans who were treated as the living embodiment of the divine.3 Peisistratus did not act out of his own accord, both texts are clear on this front. The festive procession, which articulated in symbolic terms the Athenians’ acceptance of Peisistratus as leader was the brainchild of Megacles, who thus managed to forge new ritual links with the city poliadic deity for himself and his soon to be son-in-law Peisistratus 4. Peisistratus’ return was also imprinted in the collective memory of the historian’s fifth century informants as a cunning scheme, a stratagem the tyrannos and his allies used to assist his return to power, if we are to judge by Herodotus disparaging comments on the gullibility of the Athenians. Modern scholars of a positivist-reductionist disposition have questioned the historicity of the episode based on Herodotus’ scornful remarks. Compare, for instance, How and Wells’ comments ad loc: “The story of the sham Athene is one of the most curious in H.; he is shocked by it, (emphasis mine) and introduces sarcastic touches … into it; but he completely believes it … It argues almost greater credulity to suppose that history and myth become thus inextricably mixed in the course of two generations than to accept the story of Phya.” On the other hand, as Renée Koch Piettre5 puts it: “[…] does it matter whether the audience knew that the girl was disguised or not? One might argue that the duality of performance generated a special ontological space that allowed for the girl’s simultaneous identity as mortal actor and immortal goddess. Here cross-cultural comparison suggests that such duality in processional and ritual contexts is possible and widespread, despite western scepticism. We may observe in India and Nepal today the worship of masked gods, during which the disguised persons feel as if they really ‘are’ divinities, and for

18  Georgia Petridou which there exist specific ritual gestures that establish the very moment of the gods’ arrival within his or her mortal ‘vessel’… Phye was not simply a woman but a ‘real’ goddess for the duration of the procession …” Beauty and stature can potentially be concomitant semeia of a divine epiphany, but they can also be potential factors of confusion, blurring the boundaries between the human and the divine6. It was clearly due to Phye’s “godlike” looks that the Athenian demos received her as Peisistratus’ divine escort and started praying to her, as if she was Athena in the flesh. However, the spectacle of the good-looking maiden riding on a chariot could not have made such a vivid impression to the Athenians had it not been for the representational strategy of enacted epiphany, whereby a human being is assimilated to the god or his statue as his facsimile and the living embodiment of his power in specific ritual contexts7. More, importantly, enacted epiphanies were particularly popular with epiphanic festivals, that is festivals that celebrate the arrival or the departure of a deity. To come back to Koch Piettre’s insightful observation, Peisistratus’ stratagem would not have worked had it not been embedded in the right ritual context. But what was exactly the ritual paradigm of Peisistratus’ procession? What sort of deep ritual grammar did Peisistratus and his allies follow when they plotted his own epiphany in the political scene of Athens in 550s BC?

2.2  The ritual grammar of Peisistratus’ procession The element of processional performance in the Phye episode has been repeatedly discussed by several scholars of the processional school. Different readings emphasize different aspects of the Peisistratus procession. Rebecca Sinos, for instance, looks at the episode as an epiphany procession, which aimed at elevating its participants to a level superior to that of the humans. The same author rightly emphasizes the use of the chariot both in art and cult and concludes that these ceremonial devices connect the human activity presented—whether fighting in a battle, in a wedding, or in an athletic contest—to its mythic paradigm. In this view, chariots, when used in iconography or ritual, aim at making humans beings appear more “godlike,” and this is precisely why Peisistratus made the chariot procession the centrepiece of his ceremonial entry to Athens.8 Walter Connor, however, was the first to underline the pre-eminence of processional performance in the articulation of socio-political and religious power-structures in general and in archaic politics in particular.9 Having been influenced by the scholarly developments in socio-anthropology, and with processional rites of Renaissance Venice in mind, Connor understood the Phye procession as a meaningful negotiation of power dynamics between the people and their leader, as a two-directional communication, and effectively, as an expression of mutual consent in the form of a civic ritual. Like Sinos, Connor laid emphasis on the importance of the chariot as

Peisistratus’ processional performance 19 a status marker in festive processions and read the reference to Phye/Athena as Peisistratus’ divine paraibatēs as an allusion to the recently revived and reorganized Panathenaic procession.10 Paraibatēs (masc.) and paraibatis (fem.) mean literally ‘the one who stands beside’, that is the warrior who stands next to the charioteer.11 Some festive processions, like the Eleusinia and the Panathenaea, indeed, included contests of apobatai and parabatai, namely of individuals who in full armour used to leap in and out of the ceremonial chariots.12 The term features in both of our fourth century sources of the episode (i.e. Kleidemos’s eighth book of Nostoi, and the Aristotelian Athenian Constitution).13 However, since paraibatēs does not appear in Herodotus, the earliest of our sources, the possibility that Phye, visually assimilated to Athena, was instructed to jump in and out of the chariot throughout the procession seems fairly remote. Guy Hedreen, on the other hand, attempted to draw parallels between the Phye pompē and the Dionysiac epiphany processions, such as the shipcart epiphany procession of the Anthesteria, or the εἰσαγωγή ἀπὸ τῆς ἐσχάρας, (“the escorting in from the hearth”) of the cult statue of the god from his temple in the academy back to the city-centre.14 Peisistratus himself is often discussed along the long line of Hellenistic and early imperial monarchs, who likened themselves, both visually and conceptually, to Dionysus while entering the gates of their cities, and has therefore been regarded as some sort of proto-triumphator. In this view, Peisistratus’ entrance into the city in a jovial pompē is comparable to, let us say, Alexander’s entering Gedrosia accompanied by his entire army in a quasi-Dionysiac thriambos procession (Arrian Anab. 6.28; Plut. Alex. 67.2–4.); Demetrius’ remarkably extravagant entrance to Athens in the spring of 307 BC (Plut. Dem. 9.1 and 13.1; Athen. Deipn. 253D-F); Attalus’ triumphal entrance to Athens in 201 BC (Polyb. 16.25.5–8.); or Mark Antony’s entering Ephesus in 41 BC amidst women dressed as Bacchants and boys like satyrs and pans in a procession which abounded in pipes, flutes, thyrsoi, ivy branches, and other Dionysiac insignia and paraphernalia (Plut. Ant. 24.3–4; Vell. Pat. 2.84.4; Dio Cass. 50.5.3.).15 The two structurally integral elements of these triumphal entries were a) the entry of the ruler through the city gates, who was met by the citizenry and escorted in a jovial procession, often accompanied by hymns and acclamation, to the city’s special local deity’s dwelling; and b) the offering of sacrifices to this deity16. The arrival of the victorious ruler signifies the beginning of a new era for the community. These triumphal entrances of the Hellenistic and early Imperial monarchs may have been partly modelled on the epiphany processions of the archaic and classical Greek-speaking world. Note, however, that Henk Versnel17 in his seminal work on the Graeco-Roman triumphus refrained from drawing direct parallels between the jovial pompē that sought to underpin divine sanction for Peisistratus’ return to Athens and the entrance processions of the rulers of the GraecoRoman world. Moreover, Dionysus, the main epiphanic protagonist of the

20  Georgia Petridou proposed parallel ritual occasions mentioned above, does not feature in the Phye pompē in any form. Nor are we told that Peisistratus was dressed in the guise of this god, or, as a matter of fact, in the likeness of any other god or hero, as Boardman and others who followed him have assumed.18 As Robert Parker19 maintains rightly, “the theory appears to work neither chronologically, nor in terms of the logic of communication: the relevant scenes begin too early and end too late, and they do not force the viewer to look beyond Heracles to Peisistratus in the way that effective propaganda would need to do.” More significantly, as Josine Blok 20 puts it very pertinently, none of the ritual parallels proposed so far seem to have included an epiphany procession, which entailed “the change of a political persona non grata into a popular leader, to be invested moreover with power for many years to come (if we stick to the traditional chronology) by means of this religious practice.” Susan Deacy is certainly on the right path, when she suggests that Peisistratus and his allies orchestrated his triumphant return to Athens whilst drawing from a variety of successful and familiar cultic paradigms, such the sacred processions in the Panathenaea and the Plynteria.21 Undoubtedly, the ritual grammar of the chariot procession had to be immediately recognizable to the audience if it were to be impactful. Moreover, it had something to do with Athena. Hedreen’s processional examples do not feature Athena, the only divine character who was said to have partaken in the procession. And this is precisely where the greatest difficulty lies: Athena, unlike other epidemic deities like Dionysus and Kore, does not seem to have a festive occasion in which the goddess was said to be “coming up” or “leaving away,” which could indeed provide the ritual prototype for the Phye procession. Or does she? As I have argued elsewhere more extensively22 there is yet another possible cultic model for the episode as a whole, which has been ignored so far, namely an annual epiphanic festival of agrarian in honour of Athena called either Proscharistēria or Procharistēria (both variants are attested by Byzantine lexicographers). 1 Suda π 2928 s. v. Προχαριστήρια· ἡμέρα ἐν ᾗ οἱ ἐν τῇ ἀρχῇ πάντες ἀρχομένων καρπῶν φύεσθαι, λήγοντος ἤδη τοῦ χειμῶνος, ἔθυον τῇ Ἀθηνᾷ· τῇ δὲ υσίᾳ ὄνομα Προχαριστήρια. Λυκοῦργος ἐν τῷ Περὶ τῆς ἱερωσύνης·ετὴν τοίνυν ἀρχαιοτάτην θυσίαν διὰ τὴν ἄνοδον τῆς θεοῦ, ὀνομασθεῖσαν δὲ Προχαριστήρια, διὰ τὴν βλάστησιν τῶν καρπῶν τῶν φυομένων. (ed. Adler Leipzig 1933 = Conomis VII 1a) Procharistēria is the day on which all the officeholders used to offer sacrifices to Athena when (because of) the crops began to grow, and the winter was already ending. The name of these sacrifices (festival) was Procharistēria. Lykourgos in his work entitled “On the Priesthood” writes: ‘so the most ancient sacrifice is held because the goddess is

Peisistratus’ processional performance 21 coming up, and it is named Procharistēria because of the sprouting of the growing crops.’ 2 Lexica Segueriana. Glossae Rhetoricae (e cod. Coislin. 345) p 295.3 s. v. Προσχαριστήρια· ἡ μυστική θυσία τῆς Ἀθηνας ὑπὲρ τῶν φυομένων καρπῶν (ed. Nauck Berlin 1814) = Anecd. Bekker 1.295.3 Proscharistēria is the mysteric festival of Athena for the sake (for the benefit) of the growing crops. Essentially, they both give the same name for the festival, which is Pro(s)charistēria, meaning a thanksgiving sacrifice that was offered either before (“pro-”) the expected event or in addition to (“pros-”). More importantly, in either case, the much-anticipated event is said to have been the growth of the crops: ὑπὲρ τῶν φυομένων καρπῶν (Lexica Segueriana); διὰ τῆν βλάστησιν τῶν καρπῶν τῶν φυομένων (Suda). The reader is instantly reminded here of Φύη, the tall, beautiful girl whom Peisistratus employed to lead his procession. As mentioned above, her name may well have been reminiscent of this resounding appeal for vegetative growth, at least in the ears of the procession’s original audience. The girl’s connection with vegetation is all the more prominent in both the Athenaeus passage (which preserves the fragment from Cleidemus’ Nostoi) and the excerpt from the pseudo-Aristoteleian Athenian Constitution, where in addition to Phye’s name, we get the information that she was a professional seller of flowers and garlands (stephanopōlis).23 Why would there be so much emphasis on the name and the identity of the mortal who played the role of an immortal—we have no comparable cases from other enacted epiphanies either in cult or in crisis—if it was not significant? Could we also read here a hint that Peisistratus’ epiphanic procession was in fact modelled on Athena’s epiphanic festival, which, as we are told by both Lexica, culminated in sacrificial offerings in favour of the growing crops (ὺπὲρ τῶν φυομένων καρπῶν)? And if so, in what ways could the ritual grammar of Athena’s festival fit the needs of Peisistratus’ homecoming? At this point, Suda’s entry (no. 1: π 2928) deserves a special mention as it provides the most concrete and comprehensive information on Athena’s epiphany festival. Apparently, the festival of Procharistēria was of great antiquity (ἀρχαιοτάτην θυσίαν) and prestige, for it was attended by all the Athenian officeholders (οἱ ἐν τῇ ἀρχῇ πάντες). The Athenian magistrates offered sacrifices to Athena as a thanks-offering in advance to propitiate the goddess, who was somehow linked with vegetation.24 This piece of information clearly ties well with how the author of the Athenian Constitution characterizes the Phye procession: κατήγαγεν αὐτὸν ἀρχαίως καὶ λίαν ἁπλῶς. The ritual procession on which Peisistratus and his allies modelled their histrionic procession must have been of significant antiquity and of great popularity to be effortlessly understood and appreciated by its spectators. The Pro(s)charistēria festival fits this description perfectly.

22  Georgia Petridou The time of the festival is indicated as sometime between the end of the winter and the beginning of spring. The Suda concludes its entry by quoting verbatim its source and by giving a fragment from Lykourgos speech entitled On the Priesthood. Lykourgos, the fourth century orator of the Eteoboutadae genos, who was an expert on religious matters and possibly even a priest at the Erechtheion, writes: “so the most ancient sacrifice is held because the goddess is coming up and it is named Procharistēria because the growing crops are sprouting.”25 Unfortunately, we do not have any exact information as to what time of the year the Phye procession took place. Ancient historians disagree even as to whether it took place before or after the tyrannos’ self-exile to Eretria, and modern historians have challenged the historicity of the episode as a whole, as seen earlier on. Nonetheless, one may safely assume that if the procession did indeed take place—and, I think, it must have done so to leave such an impactful imprint in the cultural memory of the Athenians who witnessed it—then it may as well have taken place at a time of the year, where such a spectacular display would not go amiss due to adverse weather conditions.26 According to the entry in the Lexica Segueriana (no. 2) Athena not only had a festival in her role as a vegetation-related goddess (ὑπὲρ τῶν φυομένων καρπῶν), but there was also a mysteric aspect to that festival (ἡ μυστική θυσία τῆς Ἀθηνας)—a segment of the celebration that took place away from the prying eyes of the public, perhaps in the presence of the few privileged ones who had somehow secured access to it (via initiation, sex-segregation, or perhaps by belonging to the right sacred genos).27 However, how could we legitimately speak of mysteric sacrifices in honour of an “Olympian” deity, when these are the kind of rites most commonly associated with the so-called “chthonian” deities? First and foremost, the Pro(s)charistēria festival is certainly not the first instance we hear of a processional ritual in honour of Athena that involved some sort of μυστικά or ἄρρητα. For example, a plethora of sources (literary and material alike) of great generic and chronological distribution attest to the festive procession of the Arrhēphoria festival as involving arrhēta and constituting part of some kind of μυστήρια.28 The vagueness of the ancient testimonies on these secret rites in honour of Athena—which in all likelihood were connected to human and agricultural fertility—is best explained as a sign of reverence and pious anxiety over divulging the secret content and significance of the procession. In fact, a similar reason may partly explain the silence over the Pro(s)charistēria festival. If indeed it contained a mysteric segment, then it would be problematic to report. On the other hand, the festival that celebrated the epiphany of Athena also contained a lavish public segment, which all Athenians in public office attended, as we are told by the Lexica. How, then, is it that we do not hear anything of this festival from any other source? In all probability, the Pro(s)charistēria festival would have been overshadowed by festivals of analogous character celebrated in honour of Kore or some other agrarian deity; or more likely,

Peisistratus’ processional performance 23 it would have been outshined or absorbed by an even more extravagant festival in honour of Athena such as the Panathenaea, Skira, or Plynteria. At any rate, the festival may have been at the peak of its glory at the time Peisistratus and his supporters decided to model the Phye procession on it. Deacy’s suggestion that Peisistratus’ procession follows the ritual grammar of the great Panathenaea (which by the year of Peisistratus’ return from the exile would have been performed at least three times), although appealing, does not quite dovetail with the description of the festive procession as of great antiquity and simplicity (ἀρχαίως καὶ λίαν ἁπλῶς) found in the Athenian Constitution. Secondly, I want to make clear that I am not subscribing to extreme scholarly views that portray Athena as “a primeval all-powerful Mother” with “power over fertility both of the fields and the womb,” as Parker29 puts it. I am thinking more along the lines of Jan Bremmer’s baggy and accommodating definition of the character of Greek gods and goddesses: “Polytheistic gods are rather fluid and do both tend to assume elements of each other’s character and to preserve locally in their cult elements of earlier stages of Greek religion, which may not have been adopted or survived elsewhere”30. This means that, in all probability, Athena did receive thanks-giving sacrifices in advance (procharistēria) in her civic role as protector of Athens and guarantor of its agrarian wealth and general economic prosperity. That antiquated Pro(s)charistēria festival, however, may have subsequently been absorbed in a more lavish festive procession in honour of Athena, or eclipsed by a festival of agricultural character in honour of Kore and/or Demeter. The festive procession of the Pro(s)charistēria festival, may well have provided a good ritual paradigm for Peisistratus’ staged epiphany festival, since: (a) this is the only attested epiphanic festival that involves Athena, Peisistratus’ divine escort; and (b) because the insistence of our sources on Phye’s name meaning “growth” and her occupation as a flower-girl— which sort of information is unparalleled in any other accounts of enacted epiphanies—could be interpreted as reminiscent of the main scope of the original festival, which was to propitiate the goddess ὑπὲρ τῶν φυομένων καρπῶν. Finally, (c) the Suda’s emphasis on the festival’s great antiquity dovetails well with the comment made by the author of the Athenian Constitution, that Peisistratus’ advent was orchestrated “in an antiquated and extremely simple manner” (ἀρχαίως καὶ λίαν ἁπλῶς).

2.3  Athena as Peisistratus’ theos pompos There could not have been any better deity to restore Peisistratus to power by escorting him in a grandiose procession to the Athenian acropolis, the heart of the city, than Athena herself. Athena was, after all, the permanent dweller of the acropolis, the deity to whom a military victory in sixth century Athens would have been attributed, and, more significantly, the deity

24  Georgia Petridou closely associated with the Alcmaeonid family representing here the old world-order, with which Peisistratus attempted to build a new powerful alliance.31 In a sense, the link between the new and the old power structure is forged through the traditional “kingship passed on through marriage” schema, but appears to have been cemented only through the more unconventional means of an epiphany procession led by Athena, who thus appeared to have condoned and given her blessings to the newly arrived political leader. Furthermore, Athena, especially Athena in the Homeric epic, is the paradigmatic theos pompos (escorting deity). Peisistratus, who was said to have modelled himself on Odysseus on more than one occasion, could not have found a better divine companion for his own nostos.32 While attending the procession, the contemporary onlookers may have thought of scenes like the one with Athena elbowing Sthenelos down, so she can ride along with Diomedes (Il. 5.835ff.). For Gerald Else33, for instance, this Iliadic scene forms the closest parallel for the Phye chariot procession. Or they could have recalled the scene in the Odyssey, where Athena manifested herself to Odysseus in the likeness of a virgin and leads him to Antinoos’ palace (Od. 7.18ff.).34 Additionally, Athena is the patron goddess of cunning intelligence and stratagematic contrivance. Athena was thought of as the inventor (heuretis) of trickery and military stratagems, and as such, in Arcadia, she was given the cult title Machanitis (Paus. 8.36.5–6). She could, therefore, be perceived as the divine agent who not only condones, but also promotes and endorses Peisistratus’ Odyssean ethos. In fact, as the next section argues, there is an evident “mentality of stratagem,” to use Everett Wheeler’s term.35 in Herodotus’ narrative, a significant part of which is occupied by the Peisistratus procession.36 However, just in case the message was still not clear enough for the Athenian citizenry, heralds were sent out to precede the chariot procession and invite the spectators to witness the epiphany of Athena and her human consort—thus providing a running commentary to the scene. The reader notes the conspicuous position of the imperative δέχεσθε in the mouth of the herald who proclaimed the return of Peisistratus in the Herodotean version of the event: «Ὦ Ἀθηναῖοι, δέκεσθε ἀγαθῷ νόῳ Πεισίστρατον, τὸν αὐτὴ ἡ Ἀθηναίη τιμήσασα ἀνθρώπων μάλιστα κατάγει ἐς τὴν ἑωυτῆς ἀκρόπολιν.» … καὶ οἱ> ἐν τῷ ἄστεϊ πειθόμενοι τὴν γυναῖκα εἶναι αὐτὴν τὴν θεὸν προσεύχοντό τε τὴν ἄνθρωπον καὶ ἐδέκοντο Πεισίστρατον. Compare also the similar description in AP 14.4: καὶ ὁ μὲν Πεισίστρατος ἐφ’ ἅρματος εἰσήλαυνε, παραιβατούσης τῆς γυναικός, οἱ δ’ ἐν τῷ ἄστει προσκυνοῦντες ἐδέχοντο αυμάζοντες. (ἀπο)/(ὑπο)/(προσ)-δέχεσθαι and their cognates are all technical terms for announcing and requesting the reception of a divine epiphany in both myth and cult.37 However, although one might have expected the human to announce and request the ritual reception of the divine, in Peisistratus’ case, it is Phye

Peisistratus’ processional performance 25 dressed as Athena who makes it possible for Peisistratus to perform his own “epiphany” in the political scene of Athens. This highly significant reversal of roles in the epiphanic procession is indicative of Peisistratus and Megacles’ outstanding ability to manipulate religious and political symbols to serve their own political agenda. The ad hoc organized epiphanic procession worked and the Athenians, we are told by both sources, offered ritual reception to Peisistratus (edechonto) and welcomed him back in the city. Nonetheless, Phye’s procession was no mere carnival-style float. Taking on the form of Athena, the girl/goddess escorted Peisistratus’s chariot procession through the streets in a display of not-so-tacit endorsement, facilitated his reintegration into the Athenian political community. Indeed, the chariot procession led by Phye, the living embodiment of Athena paraded through the streets of the city, rendered the whole community blissful cowitnesses of the Athena’s arrival. Moreover, the spatial appropriation (via the procession) of the community was reinforced even further by the ritual one, i.e., via the sacrifices offered at the Acropolis. As Athena Kavoulaki,38 puts it very aptly, “the group builds a relation to special environment and organises space, but at the same time it organises itself through the arrangement of the procession: in the space which is available to the community human relations are formed and power associations are manipulated and negotiated. The procession can play, thus, an instrumental role in shaping the forces of social interaction.” Despite Herodotus’ protestations, the Athenians were not simply fooled by the image of a dressed-up girl. They were conscious participants in a sacred procession that served as a two-way political communication.

2.4 Peisistratus’ processional performance and cultural pragmatics All in all, ritual, popular epic poetry, and political strategy are core components of Peisistratus’ social performance. This, however, does not explain its widely accepted success. What made Peisistratus’ processional performance so effective? Having offered and discussed all these interpretative possibilities for Peisistratus’ epiphanic procession may leave the reader slightly confused. So, which one is it? Which one of the literary or ritual models discussed in this chapter was the dominant one, the one that perhaps inspired in the first place, or more probably guaranteed the succeed of Peisistratus’ processional performance? Do we really have to choose? If seen through the sociologist Jeffrey C. Alexander’s more recently developed paradigm-changing theory of cultural pragmatics,39 Peisistratus’ processional performance opens itself to all these interpretative possibilities simultaneously, and thus acquires a new semantic polyvalence for both its synchronic audience and Herodotus’ audience. For Alexander, society consists of a realm of “de-fused” realities, such as texts, narratives, events, symbols, and so on. It is performance that “fuses” these disparate

26  Georgia Petridou but interrelated societal elements together. All performances fuse, but only successful performances manage to convey social and political resonance or meanings, i.e., it is only successful performances that “re-fuse”—bring societal nexus and politics together around a new set of public and widely accepted meanings. In this light, Peisistratus’ processional performance becomes successful precisely because it fuses successfully defused social elements widely known and easily decipherable: the well-known ritual grammar of the epiphanic festival, and the time-resistant belief in the superiority of those who enjoy a close, privileged relationship with the divine, as well as the highly enjoyable, emblematic Homeric narratives that present Athena as theos pompos (“accompanying deity”) to heroes, such as Diomedes or Tydeus. Even so, this strategic re-fusion of these previously defused elements cannot account adequately for the intense emotional responses to the chariot procession led by a beautiful Phye. The hermeneutical gap in Alexander’s more sombre approach can be supplemented by his collaborator Bernhard Giesen’s much-needed emphasis on the close correlation between ritual performance and emotion. In the same volume’s concluding contribution, Giesen’s article “Performing the Sacred,” draws heavily upon Emile Durkheim and, in contrast to Alexander, foregrounds emotion and its relation to performance and recognition. Giesen thus argues that in ritual emotion takes precedence over cognition, i.e., we feel the sacred rather than know the sacred. If seen within Alexander and Giesen’s methodological and analytical framework of cultural pragmatics, Peisistratus’ procession ceases being an elaborate masquerade and becomes a powerful tool of meaningful negotiation of power (kratos) between the people (demos) and their leaders; a meaningful expression of mutual political consent enacted through processional action. Peisistratus’ processional performance allows not simply for his reintroduction to the community, but, more significantly, for his successful reinstatement in the political consciousness of the Athenians as their ideal leader.

Notes 1 I am indebted to Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo, who invited me to participate in the wonderful conference on processions and the construction of communities in antiquity, in which a first draft of this chapter was presented. All translations, unless otherwise stated, are mine. In describing Peisistratus as a tyrannos, I follow Anderson (2005, 173–222) and others, who have avoided the term tyrant as misleading and anachronistic. The Greek tyrannos describes more aptly those conventional, if unusually dominant, leaders who flourished in the early Greek oligarchies. Interestingly, the fourth-century Pseudo-Aristotelian Constitution of the Athenians, one of the texts that has most impacted the way we conceptualize the Athenian politics of the Archaic and Classical eras, describes Peisistratus more than once (A.P. 13, 14, 16) as an extreme democrat (emphasis mine) and his reign as resembling more a constitutional government than the rule of a tyrant. More on this in Petridou (2021).

Peisistratus’ processional performance 27 2 The girl is called Phye in most of our sources (Hdt. 1.60; Kleidemos FGrHist 323 F15; [Arist.] Ath. Pol. 14.4; Polyaen. Strat. 1.21.1; Hermogenes Inv. 1.3 with Max. Plan. ad loc. (Rh. Gr. V 378 Watz); Epit. Val. Max. 1.2 ext. 2). The only exception is the ancient scholia to Aristophanes’ Knights (Schol. Eq. 449a 11), where she is called Myrrinē. 3 Clay (1989), Van Straten (1974), and Bowden (2013) cf. also Arrian 4.8–12, where Alexander the Great is implicitly criticized for claiming this honour for himself. Rhodes (1981, ad A.P. 14.4): “προσκυνεῖν was an act of homage paid by Persians to their human superiors (e.g., Hdt. 1.134.1) but the Greeks only to the gods; the original meaning of the Greek word is ‘to blow a kiss,’ and this is the essential part of the act, but it might on occasions be accompanied by physical abasement.” 4 Anderson (2005, 31–34). 5 Koch Piettre (2018, 192–3). 6 Petridou (2015, 29–31). 7 Petridou (2015, 43–48). 8 Sinos (1993, 75–78), Deacy (2007), and eadem (2008, 99–102). 9 Connor (2000, 56–75). 10 To support this view, he uses the testimony of Dionysius of Hallicarnasus, who thinks that apobatēs is the Attic equivalent of parabatēs (Antiq. Rom. 7.73.3). Contra Boardman (1989, 159), who thinks that turning “an Athena parabates into an apobates is too much.” On the remodelling of the Panathenaea by Peisistratus in the second quarter of the sixth century, see Parker (1996, 89–91) with primary sources and secondary bibliography. 11 Cf. for instance IG I2.5, Il. 5.365, 23.132, Eur. Suppl. 677, Xen. Cyr. 7.1.20, Strab. 15.1.52, Ael. VH 4.18.4, Hesych. s.v. παρα(ι)βάται etc. Perhaps the closest parallel to Phye and Peisistratus riding together can be found in Apoll. Rhod. 1.754–6 and Schol. Pind. O.1.122b.7, where Hippodameia is the paraibatis and Pelops the charioteer on one of the two racing chariots woven into the purple mantle that Athena herself has made. 12 Connor (2000, 66, n. 33) with bibliography. Cf. also Parker (1996, 90). 13 Kleidemos FGrH 323 F15 = Ath. 13, 89 p. 609 C-D: καὶ τὴν καταγαγοῦσαν δὲ Πεισίστρατον ἐπὶ τὴν τυραννίδα, ὡς Ἀθηνᾶς † πειραν εἶδος ἔχουσαν, καλήν φησι γεγονέναι, ἥτις καὶ τῆι θεῶι εἴκαστο τὴν μορφήν. στεφανόπωλις δὲ ἦν, καὶ αὐτὴν ἐξέδωκε πρὸς γάμου κοινωνίαν ὁ Πεισίστρατος Ἱππάρχῳ τῷ υἱῷ, ὡς Κλείδημος ἱστορεῖ ἐν ηʹ Νόστων (?)· «ἐξέδωκε δὲ καὶ Ἱππάρχῳ τῷ υἱεῖ τὴν παραιβατήσασαν αὐτῷ γυναῖκα Φύην, τὴν Σωκράτους θυγατέρα· καὶ Χάρμου τοῦ πολεμαρχήσαντος θυγατέρα ἔλαβεν Ἱππίᾳ, περικαλλεστάτην οὖσαν, τῷ μετ’ αὐτὸν τυραννεύσαντι.» συνέβη δὲ (ὥς φησι) τὸν Χάρμον ἐραστὴν τοῦ Ἱππίου γενέσθαι καὶ τὸν πρὸς Ἀκαδημίᾳ Ἔρωτα ἱδρύσασθαι πρῶτον, ἐφ’ οὗ ἐπιγέγραπται· Ποικιλομήχαν’ Ἔρως, σοὶ τόνδ’ ἱδρύσατο βωμὸν | Χάρμος ἐπὶ σκιεροῖς τέρμασι γυμνασίου. Cf. also [Arist.] Ath. Pol. 14.4: καὶ ὁ μὲν Πεισίστρατος ἐφ’ ἅρματος εἰσήλαυνε, παραιβατούσης τῆς γυναικός, οἱ δ’ ἐν τῷ ἄστει προσκυνοῦντες ἐδέχοντο θαυμάζοντες. 14 The ritual eisagōgē was part of the preliminary ritual of the City Dionysia. Whether the ship-cart procession belonged to the City Dionysia or the Anthesteria is still a matter of debate. More on this in Hedreen (1994, 45–46) and Graf (1993, 59) with bibliography. On Dionysiac thriambos and Dionysiac processions as epiphany processions, see Versnel (1970, 1–38). 15 Cf. also Duff (1992, 55–71) who maintains that Jesus’s entry into Jerusalem, as reported by Mark (11.1–10) has been modeled on Graeco-Roman triumphal processions of this sort. 16 (Versnel 1970, 386).

28  Georgia Petridou 1 7 Versnel (1970, 386). 18 A full review of the so-called “Boardman treatment” can be found in Brandt (1997, 315–43). 19 Versnel (1970, 70, 86). 20 Parker (1996, 85). 21 Deacy (2007, 232). Cf. also eadem (2008, 99): “We also need to take account of the impact that the Great Panathenaia would have had upon the Athenians as a worshipping group. By the time of this event, the festival would have been celebrated three times: in 566, 562 and 558. Peisistratus would have been able to appeal to the renewed sense of communality provided by the festival, with much of its excitement generated by the impromptu ceremony.” However, how impromptu that ceremony was, especially when it was a carefully designed to allude to a deep-rooted and easily recognizable ritual schema, is a matter of debate. 22 Blok (2000, 18). 23 Blok (2000, 18). 24 Kleidemos FGrHist 323 F15 = Ath. 13.89 Kaibel p. 609 C-D: στεφανόπωλις δὲ ἦν; [Arist]. Ath. Pol. 14.4: ὡς δ’ ἔνιοι λέγουσιν ἐκ τοῦ Κολλυτοῦ στεφανόπωλιν Θρᾷτταν. 25 Other examples of in advance offerings include the protrygaia and the proērosia. 26 Lycourg. Fr. 7, 1a-b Conomis; Anecd. Bekker I, 295,3 with Deubner (1960, 17), Bérard (1974, 24), and Parker (1996, 302–4). This is the same sacred genos from which the priestess of Athena Polias came from. On Lykourgos’ keen interest on religion and his expertise on religious matters: Parker (1996, 242–55); [Plut.] Mor. 847d; Frs. VI, 1–22 (from his speech On the Priestess); frs. VII, 1–6 (from his speech On the Priesthood); Fr. XIII, 1 (from his work On the Oracles). All the references are to the Conomis’ edition with his detailed notes (idem 1970) ad loc. Other epigraphical sources (IG II2 1672 and 334) present him as actively involved in the rebuilding of the sanctuary of the Eleusinia Mystēria and the reformation of the Lesser Panathenaea. 27 On the date of Peisistratus’s exiles, see Lavelle (1991); on the establishment of the Great Panathenaea: Figueira (1984). 28 See Deubner (1960, 17, n. 2): “Hier werden geheime Riten angedeutet.” 29 Parker (2005, 396). 30 Bremmer (2005, 163). 31 E.g. Eur. Ion. 260–81; Paus. 1.27.3; [Apoll.] 3.14.6; Suda s.v. ; EM s.v. καὶ ; Hsch. s.v. α 7442 · ἑκατέρως λέγουσιν οἱ συγγραφεῖς, κἂν μὲν διὰ τοῦ , διὰ τὸ τῇ Ἕρσῃ ἐπιτελεῖσθαι τὴν πομπήν· ἐὰν δὲ διὰ τοῦ , ἐπεὶ ἐπ’ ἀῤῥήτοις συνέστη and · μυσταγωγός; Et Gen. s.v. Etymologicum Genuinum α 1230 (Call. fr. 741)· ἑορτὴ ἐπιτελουμένη τῇ Ἀθηνᾷ ἐν τῷ Σκιροφοριῶνι μηνί· λέγεται δὲ διὰ τοῦ ἐρρηφορία. παρὰ τὸ τὰ ἄρρητα καὶ μυστήρια φέρειν· ἢ ἐὰν διὰ τοῦ παρὰ τὴν Ἔρσην τὴν Κέκροπος θυγατέρα, ἐρσηφορία· ταύτῃ γὰρ ἦγον τὴν ἑορτήν. οὕτως Σαλούστιος (R. Pfeiffer, Callimachus II, p. XXIX) AB, Sym. 1416, EM 1862. *Methodius. 32 On the close link between Athena and Megacles and his family, see Boardman (1978, 227–34) and (1989, 158–9). Athena retained her strong ties with the Alcmaeonids in the classical era, if we are to judge from her close relationship with Pericles as exemplified in the famous Pyrrhus episode (Plut. Per. 13. 12–13). 33 Else (1957, 36–37). 34 Note here that the Peisistratus procession is narrated by Kleidemos in his eighth book of his Nostoi according to Athenaeus: FrGrHist 323 F15 = Athen. 13.89 p.609 CD. In Plut. Sol. 30.3 we find the biographical tradition. There is, in fact,

Peisistratus’ processional performance 29

3 5 36 37 38

39

a biographical anecdote in Plutarch’s Solon, where we are told explicitly that the tyrannos had modelled himself on Odysseus. When Peisistratus deliberately hurt himself and entered the agora requesting official protection from his enemies, Solon accused him of acting out the relevant Homeric scene, where Odysseus disguised himself as a deplorable beggar: “Oh you son of Hippocrates,” Solon said, “You don’t play the part of Homeric Odysseus by the book. For he inflicted injuries on himself to deceive his enemies, while you have done the same to mislead your fellow-citizens” that tell us explicitly that the tyrannos had modelled himself on Odysseus. Everett Wheeler’s term (1988, 26, 29–31). It is interesting that Athena, having fulfilled her duty towards her protégé, leaves the scene to go to Marathon and Athens (Od. 7.78). More on stratagems in general in Wheeler (1988, 26, 29–31) and Jordan (1988, 547–71); on stratagems in Herodotus and the Phye episode, in particular, in Petridou (2015, 142–70). E.g. [Apoll.] Lib. 3.14.7; Paus. 2.35.4, 7.27.9, 1.37.2; Diod. Sic. 5.4.3. Compare also here how the problematic reception of Phoebus’ birth epiphany by potential cult centres is described by the author of the Homeric Hymn to Apollo (47–48): αἱ δὲ μάλ’ ἐτρόμεον καὶ ἐδείδισαν, οὐδέ τις ἔτλη / Φοῖβον δέξασθαι καὶ πιοτέρη περ ἐοῦσα. Initially, Delos seemed equally preoccupied by the same fear of facing the birth-epiphany of the atasthalos god: ἀσπασίη κεν ἐγώ γε γονὴν ἑκάτοιο ἄνακτος / δεξαίμην·; but she finally yields when Leto takes an oath that the island will become renowned as Apollo’s cult centre (63–64). Similar terminology is used in Callimachus’ Bath of Pallas for the reception of Athene in the form of her cult-statue during her renowned Argive festival Plynteria (Call. 5.137–40). More in Petridou (2015, 123–4) with more examples and bibliography. Alexander and Giesen’s research programme is inspired by leading figures of anthropology like Clifford Geertz and Mary Douglas and sociology like Victor Turner, but looks back to Aristotle for inspiration about how inextricably intertwined in modern societies are dramatic performance, symbolic action, and ritual.

Bibliography Anderson, Greg. 2005. “Before Turannoi Were Tyrants: Rethinking a Chapter of Early Greek History.” Classical Antiquity 24: 173–222. Alexander, Jeffrey C. 2004. “Cultural Pragmatics: Social Performance Between Ritual and Strategy.” Sociological Theory 22: 527–73. Alexander, Jeffrey C., Giesen, Bernhard, and Mast, Jason L., eds. 2006. Social Performance: Symbolic Action, Cultural Pragmatics, and Ritual. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bérard, Claude. 1974. ANODOI: Essai sur l’imagerie des passages chthoniens. Rome.    . 1989. “Hommes, prêtres et dieux.” In L’Islam: Une religion, edited by J. Waardenburg, 95–120. Geneva. Blok, Josine. 2000. “Phye’s Procession: Culture, Politics and Peisistratid Rule.” In Peisistratus and the Tyranny: A Reappraisal of Evidence, edited by Heleen SancisiWeerdenburg, 17–28. Brill: Leiden. Boardman, John. 1978. “Herakles, Delphi and Kleisthenes of Sikyon.” Revue Archéologique 2: 227–34.    . 1989. “Herakles, Peisistratos and the Unconvinced”, Journal of Hellenic Studies 109: 158–9.

30  Georgia Petridou Bowden, Hugh. 2013. “On Kissing and Making up: Court Protocol and Historiography in Alexander the Great’s ‘Experiment with “Proskynesis.”’” Bulletin of the Institute of Classical SStudies 56: 55–77. Brandt, Hartwin. 1997. “Herakles und Peisistratos, oder: Mythos und Geschichte. Anmerkungen zur interpretation vorklassischer Vasenbilder.” Chiron 27: 315–43. Bremmer, Jan N. 2005. “The Sacrifice of Pregnant Animals.” In Greek Sacrificial Ritual. Olympian and Chthonian. Proceedings of the Sixth International Seminar on Ancient Greek Cult, Göteborg University, 25–27 April 1997, edited by Robin Hägg and Brita Alroth, 155–65. Stockholm: Swedish Institute at Athens. Canevaro, Mirko and Gray, Benjamin D. eds. 2018. The Hellenistic Reception of Classical Athenian Democracy and Political Thought. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Clay, Jenny Strauss. 1989. The Politics of Olympus: Form and Meaning in the Major Homeric Hymns. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Connor, Walter R. 20002. “Tribes, Festivals, and Processions: Civic Ceremonial and Political Manipulation in Archaic Greece.” In Oxford Readings in Greek Religion, edited by Richard Buxton, 56–75. Oxford: Oxford University Press = Connor, Walter R. 1987. Journal of Hellenic Studies 107: 40–50. Conomis, Nikos C. 1961. “Notes on the Fragments of Lycurgus.” Klio 39: 107–20.    . 1970. Lycurgi oratio in Leocratem, edited by Nikos C. Conomis, (ed. post C. Scheibe & F. Blass). Leipzig: Teubner. Deacy, Susan. 2007. “‘Famous Athens, Divine Polis’: The Religious System at Athens.” In A Companion to Greek Religion, edited by Daniel Ogden, 221–35. Malden, MA and Oxford: Blackwell.    . 2008. Athena. London and New York: Routledge. Deubner, Ludwig. 19622. Attische Feste. Wien: Hildesheim New York G. Olms. Duff, Paul B. 1992. “The March of the Divine Warrior and the Advent of the GrecoRoman King: Mark’s Account of Jesus’ Entry into Jerusalem.” Journal of Biblical Literature 111: 55–71. Else, Gerald. F. 1957. “The Origin of Τραγῳδία.” Hermes 85: 27–34. Figueira, Thomas J. 1984. “The Ten Archontes of 579/8 at Athens.” Hesperia 53: 447–74. Graf, Fritz. 1993. “Dionysian and Orphic Eschatology.” In Masks of Dionysus, edited by T. H. Carpenter and C. A. Faraone, 239–58. Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press.    . 1996. “Pompai in Greece: Some Considerations About Space and Ritual in the Greek Polis.” In The Role of Religion in the Early Greek Polis, edited by Robin Hägg, 55–65. Stockholm: Svenska Institutet (Athènes). Hedreen, Guy M. 1994. “Silens, Nymphs, and Maenads.” Journal of Hellenic Studies 114: 47–69.    . 2004. “The return of Hephaistos, Dionysiac Processional Ritual and the Creation of a Visual Narrative.” Journal of Hellenic Studies 124: 38–64. Jameson, Michael H. 2014. “Religion in the Athenian Democracy.” In Cults and Rites in Ancient Greece: Essays on Religion and Society, edited by Michael H. Jameson, 232–69, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jordan, Borimir. 1988. “The Honors for Themistocles After Salamis.” American Journal of Philology 109: 541–71. Kavoulaki, Athena. 1999. “Processional Performance and Athenian Democracy.” In Performance Culture and Athenian Democracy, edited by Simon Goldhill and Robin Osborne, 293–320. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Peisistratus’ processional performance 31 Koch Piettre, Renée. 2018. “Anthropomorphism, Theatre, Epiphany: From Herodotus to Hellenistic Historians.” Archiv für Religionsgeschichte 22: 189–209. Lavelle, Brian M. 1991. “The Compleat Angler: Observations on the Rise of Peisistratus in Herodotus (1.59–64).” Classical Quarterly 41: 317–24. Parker, Robert. 1996. Athenian Religion. A History. Oxford: Clarendon Press. . 2005. Polytheism and Society at Athens. Oxford: Oxford University Press Petridou. Georgia. 2015. Divine Epiphany in Greek Literature and Culture. Oxford: Oxford University Press. . 2021. “Religion and the Principals of Political Obligation.” In A Cultural History of Democracy in Antiquity, edited by Carol Atack and Paul Cartledge, vol. 1, 95–114, part of the multi-volume series A Cultural History of Democracy, edited by Eugenio F. Biagini. London: Bloomsbury. Rhodes, Peter J. 1981. A Commentary on the “Aristoteleian” Athenaion Politeia. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Sinos, Rebecca H. 1993. “Divine Selection: Epiphany and Politics in Archaic Greece.” In Cultural Poetics in Archaic Greece. Cult, Performance, Politics, edited by Carol Dougherty and Leslie Kurke, 73–91. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. van Straten, Folkert. 1974. “Did the Greeks Kneel Before Their Gods?” Bulletin Antieke Beschaving 49: 159–89. Versnel, Henk. S. 1970. Triumphus. An Inquiry into the Origin, Development and Meaning of the Roman Triumph. Leiden: Brill. Wheeler, Everett L. 1988. Stratagem and the Vocabulary of Military Trickery. Leiden and New York: E. J. Brill. Williams, Dyfri J. R. 1983. “Herakles, Peisistratos and the Alcmeonids.” In Image et Ceramique Grecque, Actes du Colloque de Rouen, edited by François Lissarrague and Françoise Thelamon, 131–40. Rouen: Université de Rouen.

3

Processing women and maidens in Greece Appearances and appurtenances Annalisa Lo Monaco

In 1940, Martin P. Nilsson wrote: “Greek society was an extremely male society, especially in Athens and the Ionian cities. Women were confined to their houses and seldom went outdoors.”1 One might add that women had no civil rights or legal personality, could not even speak, or be named in public. Much has been said about this in the last 30 years, and it is not worth labouring.2 However, I would like to return to Nilsson’s final remarks: “but religion did not exclude them. There were priestesses in many cults, and women regularly took part in the festivals and sacrifices.”3 In other words, a public role was envisaged, but limited solely to the religious sphere: with the rank of priestesses their civil status changed, they enjoyed civil rights, could dispose of their assets and even have the same honours as men (among them proedria, crowns, promanteia, and asylia).4 Here, I would like to apply these reflections to the issue of the female presence in public pompai, in which all citizens were paraded before the assembled community by category. Despite the existence of a rich scholarly bibliography relating to the Greek pompai,5 the topic of female participation in processions has so far received only sporadic attention6 and is not dealt with in detail in even the very recent editions of works dedicated to the female world.7 Even so, the questions that arise on considering it are very interesting. Were women active participants in the processions? With what role? In what positions? What garments did they wear? In what follows, I will only discuss public pompai, completely excluding processions involving women in the private sphere,8 such as those linked to marriage rites9 or funerals.10 I also exclude from the analysis marble votive reliefs or splendid wooden pinakes11 depicting parades of family members loaded with offerings before the deity, processions linked to private cults and processions with exclusively female participation, such as the Thesmophoria or the orgiastic festivals for Dionysus. This paper is divided into two subsections. First, I will discuss the roles and ages and role of the women involved in the processions and then move on to a more detailed analysis of the ways in which they were included, the values displayed by their clothing, and their specific position in the parade. DOI: 10.4324/9781003301646-3

Processing women and maidens in Greece 33 Documentary basis: in the absence of a complete corpus of processions in Greece, the corpus I worked with is the list provided by Franz Bömer in the RE of 1952,12 with some updates, which unfortunately should not be understood as complete because of the extreme variability of the entries relating to processions. Although the corpus is not definitive, some data are certainly interesting from a quantitative point of view. Out of a total of 356 attestations of pompai recorded by Franz Bömer, only 32 provide unequivocal data on the inclusion of women in city parades. This is very few indeed (less than 9%), considering that a count of women employed in city offices in Asia Minor alone in the imperial age from Augustus to the Severans offers very different amounts: as many as 214 women held public office.13 Our figure is therefore undoubtedly underestimated, certainly due to the purpose of the epigraphic documents (usually honorary decrees, sometimes sacred laws) and of the literary sources, which are not lavish with specific details about the processions. For example, we must add to the total references to all the priestesses involved in the processions by virtue of their office (such as the priestess of Athena Polias), or through attestations of functions already involving processions (such as the kanephoria). In the epigraphic documents recording public pompai, women are always referred to with reference to two categories, either according to their role or their age. In the first category, it is the kanephoroi and hiereiai who are mainly mentioned, while liknophoroi14 and phialephoroi are rarer15; in the second, gynaikes, parthenoi, and korai, then tas paidas16 and amphitaleis (an ambiguous case, because it refers to both sexes).

3.1 Roles Among the offices, that of kanephoros17 certainly stands out, accounting for more than half of the total number of pompai collected and more than two-thirds of the category by role. These were young girls who, having just entered puberty, looked after the carrying baskets containing sacrificial instruments (usually machairai, garlands and ribbons) hidden from the gaze of those present and offerings to the gods (aparchai, incense, cakes, grain, and other offerings). It was not a priesthood, but an honorary position, for which the most worthy and beautiful eugeneis maidens were chosen.18 They were always members of the most illustrious families: for Attica the daughters of the Kerykes, Eteoboutadai, Eumolpidai, Apheidantidai, Eupatridai, and Erisychthonidai19 are attested in office. By parading in a procession, the girls attained considerable visibility, which would have been valuable to them with a view to future marriage proposals.20 It is no coincidence that the sources insisted on emphasizing their beauty, clothing, and cosmetics,21 as well as chastity, a fundamental requirement for marriage. Their role is not specific to a single deity: kanephoroi are attested at processions in honour of Apollo, Artemis, Athena, Demeter, Dionysus, Hera, Meter Theon, Serapis, Isis, and Zeus.22 It is relevant to note that these are

34  Annalisa Lo Monaco exclusively processions at the civic level, included in liturgical calendars and celebrated on a civic basis, with the involvement of the whole community (including at the Panathenaia, Diisoteria, City Dionysia, Eleusinia, Pythia, Brauronia, the Heraia in Argos, and the Epidauria). The same maiden might serve as kanephoros on more than one festive occasion and in private celebrations.23 The resulting glory was passed on to the whole family: some epigraphic documents honour the fathers with praise and ivy wreaths, who were evidently owed financial support to carry out the task. In Athens, a decree of 282/1 BC records honours for all the magistrates who participated in the City Dionysia’s pompé and among them also the father of the chosen kanephoros24; around the middle of the second century BC in Skyros, the father of the kanephoros previously selected by the archon was honoured for having made the pompé as dignified as possible (τήν τε πομπὴν ἐπευσχημόνησε).25 There is indeed a certain discrepancy in the various documentary corpora: while the vascular representations attest to their presence from the middle of the sixth century BC (Attic and Boeotic ceramics, Figure 3.126), the epigraphic corpus records a considerable increase in attestations from the

Figure 3.1  Boeotian lekanis with sacrificial procession moving toward the altar of Athena led by a kanephoros, circa 550 BC. Source: The Trustees of the British Museum, London.

Processing women and maidens in Greece 35 fourth century onwards, with the reporting of more than 50 proper names of kanephoroi27 and their inclusion, as said, in most of the city festivals.28 Their role had become so important that a fourth-century Athenian decree states that they were to receive a portion of the sacrificed animal, as was the case for male priests.29 In the processions, their numerical presence is variable, ranging from about a dozen in the Pythais (from Athens to Delphi30) to only one at the City Dionysia.31 Mostly, they occupy the first position in the parades, followed by the animals to be led for sacrifice and other attendants and officiants. Far behind numerically are the hiereiai (at one-quarter of the total and one-third by category). Although the priesthood was the only public function that allowed women to enjoy certain privileges and their own juridical personality,32 surprisingly few of them are explicitly mentioned in the repertories regarding processions: evidently, participation in processions was inherent in the duties of the office and was not the object of specific record. The priestess of Athena Polias, for example, participates in the Panathenaia, Kallynteria, Plynteria, and Skira and oversees the Arrephoria, giving the arrephoroi the secret objects; yet, of the 27 Athenian priestesses known between the end of the fifth century BC and the third century AD, only one is mentioned explicitly regarding processions performed. This was Chrysis, priestess of Athena Polias in 106–105 BC, who, at the head of a procession from Athens to Delphi, received exceptional privileges such as promanteia, prodikia, asylia, ateleia, proedria, and all the other honours appropriate to proxenoi and euergetai.33 In general, main occasions are naturally the most important city festivals: as priestesses, women are present at processions, indeed they open them, parading before the eyes of the entire city,34 often on a cart pulled by animals sacred to the deity in question. In Patras, the priestess of Artemis Laphria moved on a cart pulled by deer,35 at the Heraia in Argos, it was a cart pulled by oxen.36 On these occasions, the priestesses always have the leading positions: at the opening of the procession in Argos, in Magnesia for Zeus Sosipolis, in Eleusis,37 in Ephesos,38 in Perge during the annual festival of Artemis Pergaia (where she is explicitly called ἱ. ἀγός39), in the Hyakinthia in Sparta,40 and at the closing in Patras; in very rare cases, the order of the procession is drawn by lot.41 This first position, at the beginning of the procession and at the head of all the male categories of citizens, is explained, as Didier Viviers observed,42 by the roles being linked to the functioning of the procession itself or the rituals immediately following it (sacrifice and banquet) and taking priority over civic roles in the traditional sense; the last position, unique to Patras, probably stems from the desire to assimilate the priestess to the goddess43 (as in the Roman pompa circensis).44 Sometimes, one can even speak of intentional mimesis with the goddess, involving clothing attributes and, I imagine, even posture and gestures. At Pellene, the priestess καλλίστη καὶ μεγίστη τῶν παρθένων, according to Polyainos,45 appeared in the panoply of the goddess; a similar effect was

36  Annalisa Lo Monaco achieved by the parthenos at the Tritonis swamp in Tunisia, who appeared as Athena with helmet and full panoply on a chariot in a procession to the sea.46 Priestesses as goddesses, then. Closing the series are the maidens charged in various ways with carrying the objects necessary for the ritual performance that took place after the arrival of the procession itself. Among the 22 religious functions expected of women, with specific regard to processions, we can point out the liknophoroi, phialephoroi, deipnophoroi, and bearers of other materials,47 together with those carrying oinochoai and thymiateria, of which we have a splendid representation in the Parthenon frieze,48 appearing solemn and majestic in the eastern frieze alone, 16 of them on the southern side and 13 on the opposite side.49 Their numbers: out of a total of 63 figures in the eastern frieze, from which 14 divine figures must be subtracted, no less than 29 are women, equal to almost 60% of the total representation. Their composition is very interesting. On the left side we have two groups of five maidens (with phialai and with oinochoai) preceded by a group of six without attributes: they seem to be marching either in a row of two or κατά μίαν (Figure 3.2a). On the other side, there is a similar but not symmetrical situation, with the 13 maidens grouped in pairs of two and enclosed by a group of phialephoroi (Figure 3.2b). On both sides, they are assisted and

Figure 3.2 The Parthenon Frieze, E 1–17; E 47–63 Source: Drawing by R. Rosenzweig; after Neils, 2001.

Processing women and maidens in Greece 37 received by two gynaikonomoi. It is interesting that while in the processions mentioned in the inscriptions the text would seem to reflect their middle position in the ordering of the parades, here they are undoubtedly among the first to arrive at their destination, separated as they are from the scene of the delivery of the peplos and the deities in the center by the lone male figures standing in himation and sandals (E 20–23 and E 43–46).

3.2  Age classes The second category of female attestations in the processions, the one by age classes, sees gynaikes and parthenoi side by side in slightly less than half of the examples, while the occurrence of korai,50 paidas, or amphitaleis is very rare. The parthenoi,51 only seldom expressly qualified as hierai,52 could be either priestesses53 or simply girls, responsible for the execution of night dances. Their presence could therefore be guessed at even in cases where, not explicitly mentioned regarding processions, they are then mentioned for dances. Neither inscriptions nor literary or archaeological sources give us more precise information about their participation. The inclusion of gynaikes in the processions is quite different. Precisely because they are already married, they are the only ones who can be included in major civic processions together with andres54: this is the case of the great annual procession from Palaepaphos to the sanctuary of Aphrodite in Paphos with a long route of more than 10 km or the procession at Hermione in the Argolid during the festival for Demeter Chthonia.55 In some cases, important civic processions saw the exclusive participation of married women. This was so at Amyklai, in Laconia, as part of the festival during which a garment woven over the previous year was offered to Apollo. Here, the female priesthood was for life and katà genos: honouring the priestesses who opened the procession immediately highlighted their social role and the importance of the family to which they belonged.56 The priestesses at the head of the procession, the ordinary women in the procession, interestingly, this does not seem to be a selection of female members chosen on the basis of wealth or membership of illustrious families, but the entire civic body marching as one.57 Who knows whether male spectators were expected? During the Plynteria in Athens, the Praxiergidai were sole in charge of escorting the Pallas statue to Phaleron for the annual ritual washing.58 A female and centrifugal procession: in this case, female exclusivity seems to be linked to the privilege of handling the statue of an ancient cult. In short, a system seems to have emerged in which mature women received tasks entirely in keeping with their role and functions, understood as traditionally feminine and linked to the oikos: weaving (in the case of Amyklai) and washing (of clothes and statues), attested throughout the Greek world, from Athens, Tegea, Chios, Paros, Iasos, and Thasos.

38  Annalisa Lo Monaco Outside this system is the reorganization of the Leukophreneia festival at Magnesia in 221–220 BC in response to the epiphany of Artemis: the festival becomes penteteric and panhellenic, with gymnastic and equestrian agones and theatrical competitions equal in importance to the Pythian games (isopythion) and stephanites (gold diadems as prizes). The procession involves civic magistrates, athletes, and theoroi from other cities and citizens and sees the differentiated participation of gynaikes and parthenoi; the former are involved in a restricted procession with female participation only and a liturgical purpose that seems to move from the city to the sanctuary (ἔξοδος εἰς τὸ ἱερὸν, ll. 26–27, with departure to the agora?59), the younger ones are foreseen only as a chorus.

3.3 Dresses Age and role are primary in the choice of clothes to be worn in the procession. The selection of the clothes was not a private choice but was one of the tasks of a special civic magistrate, the gynaikonomos,60 responsible for a real dress code to be followed and in charge of imposing the related sanctions. Interesting in this regard are the terms: if the aim is eukosmia,61 the sin is to be disorderly, akosmountes (Andania62). A pelike of the middle of the fourth century BC, now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, shows the personification of pompé already wearing jewellery and ornaments, wrapping a diaphanous and sensual cloak around her body (Figure 3.3). Ancient literary sources tell us that the kanephoroi had to be powdered (skin as white as flour, says a scholiast of Aristophanes63) and wear jewellery, necklaces64 and gold ornaments.65 Neither the epigraphic corpus nor the literary sources are particularly generous with information on the clothing and accessories worn by women in processions,66 whereas precise indications can be found in documents concerning the clothing of priestesses in the exercise of their function67 or of worshippers entering certain sanctuaries. One of the key texts is certainly the regulation of Andania (already mentioned) of 92–91 BC. In it, three categories of women (gynaikes, parthenoi, and slaves) appear in three differentiated degrees of initiation: we have hierai, already sacred, past initiates (teloumenoi), and new initiates (protomystai). The dress code allows two garments for each woman regardless of category, one of which is compulsorily: the cloak, which can be worn over a plethora of garments, such as the kalaseris, the hypoduma, and the chiton or the sindonitas. There is also an interesting difference between the clothes allowed by category (with an expense limit!) and those permissible in procession: thus, we know that for the hierai, it was possible to wear himatia with bands during processions, but not during offerings and liturgical celebrations.68 Given their pertinence, it is astonishing how few specific iconographic representations of the kanephoroi there are. Between the mid-sixth and

Processing women and maidens in Greece 39

Figure 3.3  Oinochoe with personification of pompé, sensual with pink mantle, midfourth century BC. Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

mid-fifth centuries BC, there are fewer than 30, and in the following century only 14, of which only 3 are vascular.69 Their cloak is distinctive, worn over a chiton (in the Archaic period) or peplos (in the Classical period, Figure 3.4), fastened simply over the shoulders and falling over the back of the figure with undulating drapery: it is the himation of feast days, which with its gentle movement at the sides of the body adds to the grace and elegance of the figures, without hindering their movements.70 The cloak is not a specifically feminine garment, but the lightness of its fabric, its transparency, and mobility emphasize the sensuality of the maidens’ movements, underlining their grace and charm. The hair, embellished with a bandage or garlands, may be loose on the nape of the neck or gathered up. The feet are always barefoot,71 a choice that certainly derives from ritual prescriptions, so much so that it is regulated in sacred laws concerning access to sanctuaries,72 which may depend on the need for contact with the earth or, vice versa, on the absence of contact with animal skins or with animals other than those sacrificed. Not dissimilar is the selection of garments for the maidens depicted in the Parthenon frieze73 (Figures 3.5 and 3.6): here the dress code envisages only two forms: peplum + festive himation or himation that wraps around the figure, concealing the garment underneath (usually chitons).

40  Annalisa Lo Monaco

Figure 3.4  Kylix with kanephoros in the act of libation, attributed to the painter of Makron, 490–480 BC. Source: Toledo Museum of Art.

In both cases, the effect is undoubtedly very different from what we have seen in the vascular representations: the back-mantle reveals to the eye the presence of the peplos, emphasizing its potential, considered in recent studies to be a ceremonial garment74 capable of symbolically conveying the Athenians’ sense of civic identity. The shapes and volumes of the figures are

Figure 3.5  Parthenon east frieze, slabs E 49–56. Source: 2007 RMN-Grand Palais, Musée du Louvre, Paris; Hervé Lewandowski.

Processing women and maidens in Greece 41

Figure 3.6  Parthenon east frieze, slabs 57–61. Source: The Trustees of The British Museum, London.

here completely concealed, their bodies completely hidden. The symbolic intention alone prevails.75 Similar, or perhaps even more closed, is the effect of the himation that envelops the figure, completely hiding its volumes and even making it difficult to recognize the garment underneath. The women have a solemn and proud air; sensuality is not at the center of the scene, but rather their composure and formal gait. We need to take a considerable leap to examine the “grade zero” in the processional dress code, namely female nudity. While male nudity was a norm both in real life and in the iconographic repertoire, female nudity is more problematic: display of naked female bodies is only possible in the case of hetairai and/or parthenoi in athletic contexts.76 The only known exception to the rule occurs in Sparta, where naked women were included in solemn processions. Plutarch refers the novelty to Lykourgos who, “eliminating all forms of slackness, sedentary education and femininity, accustomed girls no less than boys to take part naked in processions, to dance and sing at certain religious festivals, in the presence and under the gaze of young people.”77 There has been much discussion on the question of whether the adjective gymnàs of the korai indicates a short dress, therefore a sort of chitoniskos worn under the chiton, or whether it was not instead, as Angelo Brelich has argued,78 a matter of ritual nudity. The reference to processions

42  Annalisa Lo Monaco is explicit and re-proposed in the Apophthegmata laconica in reference, however, to parthenoi.79

3.4 Conclusions In sum, public processions with female participation are attested from the archaic to the imperial age. They are internal processions—within the city—moving in the direction of a specific sanctuary, or external—mostly directed to waterways (rivers, marshes, the sea)—to fulfil fixed and periodic ritual prescriptions. Gynaikes and parthenoi may parade in single groups or alongside male paides80 and, more rarely, adult andres; the number of processions involving only women is small. As for the other categories of citizens, everything concerning their participation (their position in the procession, clothing and accessories, their number and disposition) must fulfil established and controlled criteria, on pain of sanctions, sometimes severe. The much-desired eukosmia of the gynaikes and parthenoi was achieved using clothing not dissimilar to that used in their daily lives, and in which they are often depicted in honorary and funerary statues (Figure 3.7).81 The choices invariably involve a chiton and peplum, sometimes used in combination, overlaid with a cloak,82 more or less close-fitting or open on the body. The repertoire was rather limited: a certain standardization of the dress code was desirable and certainly intentional for the visual impact of the processions.83 The only differences can be seen in the way the garments are draped and in the pose of the figures: in short, in their iconographic scheme. In the statues, the cloak does not normally hang down from the shoulders as in the case of the back-mantles but is draped around the body in a rich series of variations,84 aimed at appreciating its materiality and fabric. In processions, the solution of the festive cloak is preferred, which, hanging behind the figure, offers the female body entirely to the spectators’ eyes. As far as the design of the figures is concerned, open schemes prevail in the processions, the only ones that allow women and girls to pose actively and participate in the ceremonies in progress. Thus, schemes such as the Pudicitia or the Large and Small Herculaneum Women, extremely static, are never chosen: the women are solemn and active, intent on a gesture that usually also qualifies their role (offering libations and/or objects). In short, they move on a double track: on the one hand, they offer themselves to the eye in clothes that enhance their movements and sensuality (in the archaic age: chiton) or decorum and composure (in the classical age: peplos), and on the other, they are active participants in rituals involving the entire civic body taking place inside and outside the city. Sensual or solemn, young girls and mature women can thus experience, at least once a year, a fully urban dimension.85 Radical changes are seen in the Hellenistic period, when the very meaning of the pompai is changed to become merely a celebration of the sovereign and his power. I will give just one example.

Processing women and maidens in Greece 43

Figure 3.7  Marble funerary statue of a maiden with shoulder-mantle, circa 320 BC. Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

Summer 166, Daphne, near Antioch: Antiochus IV organizes a magnificent procession on the games in honour of Apollo Archegetes and the celebration of the ninth anniversary of his reign, with the clear intention of exceeding the splendour of the games of Aemilius Paulus at Pydna.86 The procession involved thousands of participants lined up in a veritable military parade that is quite forceful and must have impressed with the strength of its deployment. The first tranche sees 16,000 mercenaries and 45,000 soldiers with various equipment and magnificent horsemen parading, followed by 800 ephebes, 1,000 sacrificial oxen, 300 sacred delegates, statues of gods and heroes and then slaves with gold and silver. At the close, 200 gynaikes sprinkle perfume on onlookers from gold vessels, followed by two further groups of women (80 and 500) carried on litters with gold and silver feet, all richly attired (πολυτελῶς διεσκευασμέναι). Who are they and what means their inclusion in such a procession? The numerous recent studies on this procession do not even mention them.87 The presence of

44  Annalisa Lo Monaco the scent-spreaders can perhaps be explained in relation to sophisticated perceptual effects, somehow also linked to the parade of personifications such as Night and Day, Dawn and Noon, Earth and Sky and the stars of Alexandria. But what about the rich and splendid gynaikes on litters with ageminate feet? We have no parallel in the Greek world: here they appear to be completely detached from their religious role, they are neither hierai nor attendants to the cult. Their presence would seem to be linked to their social level, which was rather high judging by the splendour of their clothes and beds.88 Without parallels in the Greek world, their inclusion would rather seem to be an intentional emulation of Roman customs: in Roman society, women of senatorial rank could go out in sumptuous litters89 and participate in processions and religious rites (e.g. Atia, Augustus’ mother90). However, as far as I know, this was an isolated case, which was not repeated in the magnificent processions organized by Attalids91 and Ptolemies, nor in the ceremonial processions of the imperial age in which gynaikes and korai participated on foot and, as always, in their magnificent festive clothes.92

Notes 1 2 3 4 5

6 7 8 9 10 11

1 2 13 14 15 16

Nilsson (1940, 96). For a historiography of the status of women in Greece: Katz (2003). Nilsson (1940, 96) and Osborne (1993, 393). Ferrandini Troisi (2000, 97). I mention only the latest works, from which the copious previous bibliography can be inferred: Laxander (2000), in part 24–27 (on the role of the pompai as constitutive of city identity); Tsochos (2002), Kavoulaki (2011), and Chaniotis (2013, 21, n 3). Brulé (1987), Calame (1997), Connelly (2007, 167–73), Dillon (2010), Kaltsas and Shapiro (2008) and Chaniotis (2013, 30–31). Kaltsas (2008). On regulations, see Reeder (1995). Kavoulaki (1997, 351–71). Fixed positions: men in front (of the coffin?) and women behind (Dem. XLIII, 62), but also attested in reverse order: Eitrem (1917, 63) and Kavoulaki (2005). Athens, National Archaeological Museum, wooden pinax from Pitsas, procession in honour of the Nymphs (540–520 BC) with the names of the three women depicted: Euthydika, Eukolis, Ethelonche (Amyx 1988, 394–5, 604–5; Connelly 2007, 170–1, fig. 6.3). RE XXI.2, 1952, coll. 1878–1994, s.v. pompa (F. Bömer). Kirbihler (1994, 72–75). Kalathos procession with parthenikai liknophoroi barefoot and without jewellery (Call., Cer. v. 126). Athens, Piraeus: procession of the Orgeones: phialephoroi wearing silver ornaments (183–182 BC: IG II2 1328 l. 10); Lokroi Epizephyrioi: procession for Persephone opened by a phialephoros (Pol. XII 5,9). Heleneia at Therapne: tas paidas on carts (Plut. Aeg. 19.7; Hesych. s.v. kannathra; Nilsson 1957, 426).

Processing women and maidens in Greece 45 17 Mittelhaus in RE X.2 1919, coll. 1862–1866; Dillon (2003, 37); Connelly (2007) and Tsochos (2002, 203–6). 18 Phot. αὖται δὲ τῶν ἀστῶν καὶ τῶν εὐγενῶν ἦσαν κανηφόροι, ἐν ταῖς πομπαῖς αἱ ἐν ἀξιώματι παρθένοι ἐκανηφόρουν κανηφόροι, εὐγενεῖς παρθένοι. 19 Connelly (2007, 34, n. 47). 20 See the story of Peisistratos’ youngest daughter, with whom Thrasyboulos fell in love during the procession and even kissed her (Diod. 9.37.1). 21 Sourvinou-Inwood (1988, 53–56), Parker (20092, 225 n. 35), and Connelly (2007, 34–39). 22 RE X.2 coll. 1862–66, s.v. kanephoroi [K. Mittelhaus]; Parker (20092, 224–6). 23 Roccos (1995, 645, n. 41) and Parker (20092, 224) (e.g. on Rural Dionysia). 24 IG II2 668; Parker (20092, 224). 25 IG XII.8.666. 26 Dillon 2003, 39. 27 Between fourth century BC and second century AD, with most occurrences between 138 and 95 BC (Turner 1983, 323–6, Table 5 with 49 cases). 28 Connelly (2007, 34). 29 IG II2 334, ll. 14–15; Woodhead (1997, 114–7), cat. 75, ll. 39–40 (post 337 BC). 30 Pythais 138–137 BC: 11 kanephoroi; 106–105 BC: 13 kanephoroi (Syll3 696C; Eitrem 1919, 106). See Syll3 711 E l. 10 (106–105 BC); 728 E l. 13 (97/96 BC). 31 Syll2 636; Parker (20092, 224). 32 For a general overview, see Ferrandini Troisi (2000) and Sinclair Holderman (2008). 33 IG II2 1136; Connelly (2007, 1 and fn. 1); 144: she received the honor of two portrait-statues on the Acropolis (IG II2 3484). 34 Alkmeonis, priestess of Dionysus in Miletus (late third to early second century BC: Henrichs 1978, 148–9). 35 Paus. 7.18.12. 36 Th. 5. 37 IG I3 79 and Clinton (2005, 41): 442/441 BC; Connelly (2007, 64); IG II2 1078. 38 Ephesos, Ephesia and Artemisia: the priestess Antheia leads the procession dressed as Artemis the huntress (Xen. Eph. Ant. 1.2.6-7). 39 Nilsson (1957, 256). 40 IG V.1.586 e 587: archeis e theoros; Athen. 4.139F. 41 Plataiai, Daidala: a gynaika gets on the wagon with agalma, and their position in the parade is given by lot (Paus.9.3.7). 42 Viviers (2010). 43 Eitrem (1917, 88). 44 Lo Monaco (2008). 45 Polyaen. strat. 8.59; Nilsson (1957, 91). 46 Her. 4.180.3; Nilsson (1957, 403). 47 As is the case within the Sanctuary of Artemis Orthia along the Eurotas, with a pompé of parthenoi bearing the pharos (Alc. Parth. vv. 61–63). 48 Dillon (2003, 49). 49 Neils (2001, 154–8). 50 Athens: procession to the Delphinion, korai with a twig of wool in their hands (Plut. Th. 18.1; Deubner 1956, 201). 51 Already sexually mature but not yet married, they are a borderline category between girls and gynaikes (Lee 2015, 45–46). 52 Hiereiai in Andania’s inscription (IG V.1.1390, l. 30); ἱερωμένη παρθένος in Patras (Paus. 7.18.2). 53 As was the case in Pellene: Polyaen. strat. 8.59. 54 In the novel by Xenophon of Ephesos, a splendid procession is narrated, moving from the city’s Artemision to the chora a mile away: the procession includes both parthenoi of 14 years and epheboi of 16 years, both marriageable age. The

46  Annalisa Lo Monaco maidens are dressed splendidly, “as if to receive a lover” (πρὸς ἐραστὴν). Nothing similar is attested in reality: it is possible, however, that in the novel literary fantasy has amplified existing traditions and customs (Xen. Eph. Ant. 2.2–3). 55 Strab. 14.6.3; Nilsson (1957, 364); Paus. 2.35.4. 56 IG V.1.586 and 587 (2nd century AD). 57 Paus. 3.16.2. 58 Dillon (2003, 134) and Parker 20092, 478. 59 IMagnesia 54, l. 21 and 100 l. 33 = Syll3 695; Nilsson (1957, 250). 60 Their presence is well attested in epigraphic documents from the fourth to the second century AD. See Ogden (2002) with further ref. 61 IPerg II.463: eukosmia ton parthenon; there are also magistrates called kosmophylakes. 62 Ogden (2002, 209). 63 Schol. Aristoph. Av. 1551: λευκοῖσιν ἀλφίτοισιν ἐντετριμμέναι; Ec. 732. 64 Helladios in Phot. bibl. 534a 5 ss. 65 Plutarch reports that Lykourgos had provided not only to kosmon for Athena but also gold ornaments for 100 kanephoroi (Plut. X orat. 852b). 66 Athens, procession of the Semnai Theai, before 458 BC with gynaikes wearing their purple festive clothes (Aisch. Eum. 1006–43). 67 Epie, Thasos (Ist BC-Ist AD) “She wears white robes and a stole, as is prescribed for these deities” (Ferrandini Troisi (2000, 77–80 n. 5.1), l. 33 (leukois stolismois). For white robes LSAM p. 37 n.1. 68 Ogden (2002, 204–5). 69 Calculations in Roccos (1995, 646). 70 Roccos (2000). 71 Further ex. in Connelly (2007, 92). 72 Patera (2012, 38, n. 67) with ref. 73 See Shinozuka (2016). 74 Dillon (2010, 79, 81). 75 Lee (2005, 61–62). 76 E.g., in the krateriskoi at Brauron: see Lee (2005, 185), fig. 6.2. 77 Plut. Lyc. 14.4. 78 Brelich (1969, 158). 79 Plut. Apopht. Lac. 227E: γύμνωσιν τῶν παρθένων ἐν ταῖς πομπαῖς. 80 Ephesos, Ephesia and Artemisia: gynaikes and paides (Thuc. 3.104.3; Dion. IV 25); Daitis: deipnophoria at the sea parthenoi and paides washing the Artemis’statue (Men. Kith. vv. 92–95); Tamyai in Euboea: procession for Asklepios with a thygatera and paides under 7 years (end of fourth-beginning of third century BC: IG XII.9.194; Nilsson 1957, 412); Teos, Apollonis: parthenoi chosen by the paidonomos sing hymns; in the procession there are also παῖδας ἐλευθέρους offering sacrifices and libations (Ditt. Or. Gr. 309 l. 9). 81 See Goette (2012, 27, 31). 82 Dillon (2010, 64–65). 83 Ogden (2002, 205). 84 Dillon (2010, 65). 85 Ability to stand in these clothes as a demonstration of their social status and areté: Vorster (2007, 120–1). 86 Pol. 30.25–26, perhaps based on Protagorides of Cyzicus, author of a On the festivals of Daphne (Ath. 4.150CD, 176AB, 183F= FGH 853F 1–2; V 195c). See Walbank (20032, 86 n. 44). 87 Walbank (20032) and Strootman (2007). 88 On sumptuously decorated litters, wealthy women were transported to the theatre Plut. Arat. 17; Poseid. in Ath. 5.212 BC. The Greek term is φορεῖον. 89 DC 57.15.4.

Processing women and maidens in Greece 47 90 Suetonius (2.94.4), reports the miracle of Augustus’ conception following his mother’s union with a snake, in the temple of Apollo, based on Asklepias of Mendes. 91 E.g. Elaia, annual procession for Asklepios and Attalus III (IvPergamon 246, l. 38: γυναῖκας παρθένους πάντας). 92 Gythion’s inscription: SEG XI.923, 14–16 AD.

Bibliography Amyx, Darrell Arlynn. 1988. Corinthian Vase Painting of the Archaic Period. Berkeley: University of California Press. Brelich, Angelo. 1969. Paides e parthenoi. Roma: Edizioni dell’Ateneo. Brulé, Pierre. 1987. La fille d’Athènes. La religion des filles à Athènes à l’époque classique: mythes, cultes et société. Paris: Belles Lettres. Calame, Claude. 1997. Les choeurs de jeunes filles en Grèce archaique. Roma: Edizioni dell’Ateneo. Chaniotis, Angelos. 2013. “Processions in Hellenistic Cities. Contemporary Discourses and Ritual Dynamics.” In Cults, Creeds and Identities in the Greek City after the Classical Age, edited by Richard Alston, Onno M. van Nijf and Christina. G. Williamsen, 21–47. Leuven-Paris-Walpole, MA: Peeters. Clinton, Kevin. 2005. Eleusis. The Inscriptions on Stone. Documents of the Sanctuary of the Two Goddesses and Public Documents of the Deme. Athens: The Archaeological Society at Athens. Connelly, Joan Breton. 2007. Portrait of a Priestess. Women and Ritual in Ancient Greece. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Deubner, Matthew. 1956. Attische Feste. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. Dillon, Matthew. 2003. Girls and Women in Classical Greek Religion, London-New York: Routledge. Dillon, Sheila. 2010. The Female Portrait Statue in the Greek World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Eitrem, Samson. 1917. Beiträge zur griechischen Religionsgeschichte. Oslo: Kristiania. Ferrandini Troisi, Franca. 2000. La donna nella società ellenistica. Testimonianze epigrafiche. Bari: Edipuglia. Goette, Hans Rupert. 2012. “Zur Darstellung von religiöser Tracht in Griechenland und Rom.” In Kleidung und Identität in religiösen Kontexten der römischen Kaiserzeit, edited by Sabine Schrenk, Konrad Vössing and Michael Tellenbach, 20–34. Regensburg: Schnell & Steiner. Henrichs, Albert. 1978. “Greek Maenadism from Olympias to Messalina.” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 82: 121–60. Kaltsas, Nikolaos and Alan Shapiro, eds. 2008. Worshipping Women: Ritual and Reality in Classical Athens. Athens: Onassis Foundation (USA) / Hellenic Ministry of Culture. Katz, Marylin. 2003. “Ideology and the Status of Women in Ancient Greece.” In Sex and Difference in Ancient Greece and Rome, edited by Mark Golden and Peter Toohey, 30–43. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Kavoulaki, Athina. 1997. “Staging the Wedding: The Nuptial ‘Pompe’ in Greek Tragedy.” In Proceedings of First Panhellenic and International Conference on Ancient Greek Literature, edited by Joannes Theophanes Papademetriou, 351–71. Athens: Hellenic Society for Humanistic Studies.

48  Annalisa Lo Monaco    . 2005. “Crossing Communal Space: The Classical Ekphora ‘Public’ and ‘Private’.” In Ιδία και δημοσία: les cadres “privés” et “publics” de la religion grecque antique. Actes du IX colloque du Centre International d’Étude de la Religion Grecque Antique (CIERGA), tenu à Fribourg du 8 au 10 septembre 2003, edited by Véronique Dasen and Marcel Piérart, 129–45. Liège: Centre International d’Étude de la Religion Grecque Antique.    . 2011. “Observations on the Meaning and Practice of Greek pompe (procession).” In Current Approaches to Religion in Ancient Greece. Papers Presented at a Symposium at the Swedish Institute at Athens 17–19 April 2008, edited by Matthew Haysom and Jenny Wallensten, 135–50. Stockholm: Svenska Institutet i Athen. Kirbihler, François. 1994. “Les femmes magistrats et liturges en Asie Mineure (IIe s. av. J.-C.–IIIe s. ap. J.-C.).” Ktema 19: 51–75. Laxander, Heike. 2000. Individuum und Gemeinschaft im Fest. Untersuchungen zu attischen Darstellungen von Festgeschehen im 6. und frühen 5. Jahrhundert v. Chr. Münster: Scriptorium. Lee, Mireille M. 2005. “Constru(ct)ing Gender in the Feminine Greek Peplos.” In The Clothed Body in the Ancient World, edited by Liza Cleland, Mary Harlow and Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones, 55–64. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Lo Monaco, Annalisa. 2008. “In processione al Circo.” In Trionfi Romani (cat. mostra Roma), edited by Eugenio La Rocca and Stefano Tortorella, 76–83. Milano. Neils, Jenifer. 2001. The Parthenon Frieze. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Nilsson, Martin P. 1940. Greek Popular Religion. New York: Columbia University Press.    . 1957. Griechische Feste von religiöser Bedeutung mit Ausschluss der attischen. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Ogden, Daniel. 2002. “Controlling Women’s Dress: Gynaikonomoi.” In Women’s Dress in Ancient Greek World, edited by Sue Blundell and Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones, 203–25. London: Duckworth. Osborne, Robin. 1993. “Women and Sacrifice in Classical Greece.” Classical Quarterly 43(2): 392–405. Parker, Robert. 20092. Polytheism and Society at Athens. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Patera, Maria. 2012. “Ritual Dress Regulations in Greek Inscriptions of the Hellenistic and Roman Periods.” In Kleidung und Identität in religiösen Kontexten der römischen Kaiserzeit, edited by Sabine Schrenk, Konrad Vössing and Michael Tellenbach, 35–46. Regensburg: Schnell & Steiner. Reeder, Ellen D. 1995. “Women and Men in classical Greece.” In Pandora: Women in Classical Greece, 20–31. Catalogue Exhibition Walters Art Gallery, BaltimorePrinceton: Princeton University Press. Roccos, Linda Jones. 1995. “The Kanephoros and Her Festive Mantle in Greek Art.” AJA 99(4): 641–66.    . 2000. “Back-mantle and Peplos. The Special Costume of Greek Maidens in 4th-Century Funerary and Votive Reliefs.” Hesperia 69: 235–65. Shinozuka, Chieko. 2016. “Myth and Ritual. The Garments of the Maidens on the Parthenon East Frieze.” In The Parthenon Frieze: the Ritual Communication between the Goddess and the Polis: Parthenon Project Japan 2011–2014, edited by Toshihiro Osada, 91–117. Wien: Phoibos Verlag.

Processing women and maidens in Greece 49 Sinclair Holderman, Elisabeth. 2008. “Le sacerdotesse: requisiti, funzioni, poteri.” In Le donne in Grecia, edited by Giampiera Arrigoni, 299–330. Roma-Bari: Laterza. Sourvinou-Inwood, Christiane. 1988. Studies in Girlsʾ Transitions: Aspects of the Arkteia and Age Representation in Attic Iconography. Athens: Kardamitsa. Strootman, Rolf. 2007. The Hellenistic Royal Courts. Court Culture, Ceremonial and Ideology in Greece, Egypt and the Near East, 336–30 BCE. Utrecht: University of Utrecht. Sumi, Geoffrey S. 2004. “Civic Self-Representation in the Hellenistic World. The Festival of Artemis Leukophryene in Magnesia-on-the-Maeander.” In Games and Festivals in Classical Antiquity, edited by Sinclair Bell and Glenys Davies, 79–92. Oxford: Archaeopress. Tsochos, Charalampos. 2002. Πομπάς πέμπειν: Prozessionen von der minoischen bis zur klassischen Zeit in Griechenland. Thessaloniki: University Studio Press. Turner, Judy Ann. 1983. Hiereiai: Acquisition of Feminine Priesthoods in Ancient Greece. Ann Arbour: Diss. Santa Barbara. Viviers, Didier. 2010. “Élites et processions dans le cités grecques: une géométrie variable?” In La cité et ses elites: Pratiques et représentation des formes de domination et de contrôle social dans les cités grecques, edited by Laurent Capdetrey and Yves Lafond, 163–83. Pessac: Ausonius. Vorster, Christiane. 2007. “Greek Origins: The Herculaneum Women in the preRoman World.” In The Herculaneum Women. History, Context, Identities, edited by Jens Daehner, 113–39. Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum. Walbank, Frank William. 2003. Polybius, Rome and the Hellenistic World: Essays and Reflections. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Woodhead, Arthur Geoffrey 1997. Inscriptions: The Decrees (Athenian Agora XVI). Princeton, N.J.: American School of Classical Studies at Athens.

4

The women of the domus Augusta in processions and ceremonies (first to third century CE) Patrizia Arena

In the last 30 years, the attention of various scholars has focused on the women of the imperial family, to reconstruct their biography, their political role, the specific function in the transmission of the imperial power inside the domus Augusta, as well as their presence in monetary issues, reliefs, inscriptions, and precious stones. Nevertheless, the still existing difficulty of fully reconstructing the life and role of these women has recently been reiterated, as the literary sources often present negative descriptions and judgements of their behaviours and actions, oriented in a moralistic sense.1 Secondly, it is also connected to the fact that our sources do not mention the public action of the emperor’s female relatives or their participation in rituals and ceremonies for long periods of their life. In my opinion, specific attention was not paid to verifying globally their participation in various types of processions, from the first to the beginning of the third century CE. For this reason, this chapter will examine funerals, engagements, and weddings, although in ancient historical texts the explicit references to the carrying out of processions are not numerous, just as those to parades in general in the context of the documentation relating to Roman public religious rituals.2

4.1  Funeral processions From the end of the first century BC to the beginning of the third century CE, there is a constant presence of the women of the imperial family in the funerary processions, although the literary sources do not always record it. In Östenberg’s chapter in this volume, the funeral procession, which accompanied the body of Drusus the Elder from Germany to Rome in 9 BC, is analysed in detail. Therefore, I will limit myself to point out the fundamental role that Livia played in this parade and during the solemn funeral that was decreed for him in Rome. The Consolatio ad Liviam together with the Consolatio ad Marciam testify her presence in the first funeral procession.3 The anonymous poet of the Consolatio ad Liviam creates a strong opposition between the period preceding Drusus’s death and the one that followed. In the first, the mother took care of the preparations for her son’s triumph; DOI: 10.4324/9781003301646-4

The women of the domus Augusta in processions and ceremonies 51 in the second, on the contrary, she had to participate in the parade that escorted his body to the Mausoleum of Augustus and not to the temple of Capitoline Jupiter.4 Seneca highlights the long journey across the peninsula and her deep sorrow.5 Livia not only participated in this sad parade that reached Rome from northern Italy, but also in the funeral ceremony that officially took place in the capital. Together with her was Antonia Minor, Augustus’s niece (as the daughter of his sister Octavia and of Marc Antony), and wife of Drusus the Elder. The funeral ceremony for Drusus, organized with magnificence and solemnity, without doubt saw Antonia participating in public.6 Although the sources are not explicit in this regard, her absence would have been noted and recorded, as it was further on the occasion of Germanicus’s funeral. As regards to the funus of Augustus, Livia was in Nola with her husband when his condition worsened and he died. The body of the emperor was carried in a procession from Nola to Rome and Livia was an integral part of this parade, although it is not noted in literary texts.7 She accompanied him on his last journey, as she had done for their son Drusus. Her role in the procession was important, because she was the wife of the deceased emperor and the mother of the designated successor, Tiberius. For the funus, we have the explicit testimony of Cassius Dio about her presence in the Campus Martius after the burning of the body and the flight of the eagle from the pyre.8 From the ustrinum, in a sorrowful procession, Livia went with the most remarkable men of the equestrian order to the Mausoleum for the deposition of the remains of her husband. But she also had to participate in the earlier phases of the funeral, although it is not explicitly mentioned for them in the literary sources. She had to follow the coffin, made of ivory and gold, from the Palatium, their domus on the Palatine, according to the noble funeral tradition. It was brought by the magistrates designated for the new year into the Forum, where Tiberius and Drusus, her sons, pronounced two laudationes. She then had to accompany the coffin from the Forum to the pyre built in the Campus Martius. In this parade, described by Cassius Dio, the senate and the equestrian order, their wives, the praetorian guard, and practically all the citizens who were in the city at that time took part.9 It must be pointed out that Livia had played a fundamental role together with her son Tiberius in the organization of Augustus’s funeral and in the choice of the proposals made by the senate on the honours to decree him, as attested by Cassius Dio.10 Also in Östenberg’s chapter in this volume, the funeral procession, which was led by Agrippina the Elder and brought Germanicus’s ashes back to Rome, is analysed. I would like to add just two points. Agrippina played a leading role in the return journey and in the sorrowful parade from Syria to Italy with her husband’s ashes. As S. Wood pointed out, after Germanicus’s death, her trip to Brundisium and along Italy demonstrated Agrippina’s talent for political theatre and her ability to use her visibility in a public ceremonial context in order to influence public opinion and create consensus towards her and her sons, as she had done in a different context during the

52  Patrizia Arena crises in the German provinces.11 She landed in Brundisium with Caligula, whom they had taken along to the East, and with Livilla, who had been born during their stay.12 Every detail was carefully planned by Agrippina and her entourage. The few days stop on the island of Corcyra, before the landing to Brundisium, served to increase the number of spectators present at her arrival and of the participants in the procession. Envoys were sent to the coast, and from there to Rome, to announce her return.13 Furthermore, the choice to present herself to the public holding in her arms the urn with Germanicus’s ashes ( feralem urnam tenens) and maintaining a dignified and reserved behaviour (egressa navi defixit oculos) was aimed at establishing a communication not per verba but per imagines with all the people, which was considered more effective for her aim.14 The sight of her and her children generated empathy, which became support on the political level. In Terracina, Drusus the Elder, Claudius, and the other Germanicus’s sons Nero and Drusus III, who did not follow their parents to the East, joined the procession, probably with their sisters Agrippina Minor and Drusilla.15 This was the second occasion in which the people observed all Germanicus’s children, male and female, parading in an official context. The first was Germanicus’s triumph in 17 CE, when his five sons (Nero Drusus, Drusus Caesar, Caligula, Agrippina Minor, and Drusilla) paraded with him in the triumphal chariot.16 The presence of her children in the procession underlines the concept of dynastic continuity, which was pivotal in the contemporary ideology, as confirmed by the Tabula Siarensis and the Senatus consultum de Cn. Pisone patre.17 Agrippina’s presence was fundamental in another solemn procession, not during her life but after her death. Through the careful organization of this parade emerges the importance of the female members of the imperial family, alive or deceased, for the legitimation of the reigning emperor’s power, especially in the initial moments of his government. Upon his accession to the throne, Caligula, showing his piety towards his family, rehabilitated the memory of his mother Agrippina and his brothers, not by vengeance and blood, but by honorary decrees and a shrewd policy of images and ceremonies.18 It should not be forgotten, in fact, that the people’s support for Caligula was derived from the propaganda of the senatorial aristocracy who, after Agrippina’s fall from grace, had focused on the only surviving son of Germanicus in an anti-Seian and ultimately anti-Tiberian function.19 In April of 37 CE, Caligula went, with great pomp, to the islands of Pontia and Pandataria to personally collect the remains of his mother and brother Nero.20 He took the urns to Ostia “with no less theatrical pomp” and from there, along the Tiber, to Rome on a bireme. In the capital, he had them transported in procession on fercula by the most eminent members of the equestrian order, in broad daylight and through a large crowd, as Suetonius specifies. Then, he placed the remains in the Mausoleum of Augustus, dressed in a purple toga, and was surrounded by lictors. Caligula was the main actor in this ceremony, but Agrippina was the co-protagonist. This

The women of the domus Augusta in processions and ceremonies 53 funeral procession was deliberately modelled by him on his mother’s return trip to Rome with his father’s ashes in 19 CE. R. Cristofoli highlighted the strong impact it had on the people and the communicative effectiveness of this performance to promote his family and to represent its power as the result of the individual contribution of each of its members, alive or deceased.21 The deposition of the urns in the Mausoleum of Augustus with a solemn procession had a very specific political significance in this first phase of Caligula’s principate, which includes the two-year period 37–38: it was a full re-evaluation of his direct descent from Augustus, of whom Agrippina was the intermediary and it was a way to attest his continuity with Augustus.22 Caligula further honoured the memory of his mother by organizing games in the Circus Maximus and the senate decreed that the image of Agrippina was carried on the carpentum in the pompa circensis.23 The women of the imperial family paraded repeatedly in processions after their death and consecration, since their statues, which were carried on special carts, were included in the pompa circensis.24 Staying focused on the Julio-Claudian family, Agrippina the Younger was the protagonist of an anomalous procession. In 39 there was the wellknown conspiracy against Caligula, in which Marcus Amilius Lepidus, widower of the Diva Drusilla, Cneus Cornelius Lentulus Getulicus, legate of Germany Superior, the emperor’s sisters, Agrippina Minor and Livilla, were involved.25 Lepidus wanted to reconfirm his bond with Caligula and the possibility of his succession through his relationships with his sisters-in-law (who were therefore accused of adultery), perhaps first with Livilla, who was married to M. Vinicius, and then with Agrippina Minor, who was the wife of Cn. Domitius Aenobarbus.26 Agrippina had a central role in the conspiracy, as the words of Tacitus denote, because the misfortune of her husband and the prominence given to Drusilla by Caligula did not pave the way for her.27 The death of Drusilla represented the turning point: Agrippina took to support the position of Lepidus in the hope of replacing her deceased sister in the role of continuator of the dynasty and of obtaining recognition for the succession for her son Lucius (the future emperor Nero). However, Caligula’s marriage with the fertile Milonia Cesonia and the birth of their daughter Drusilla, recognized by him, had to push Agrippina to a conspiracy to eliminate Caligula. One of the purposes of the military expedition to Germany was to put an end to the plots against him, which had been going on for months by members of the aristocracy and now also by his relatives. Therefore Caligula, on his journey to Germany, had brought with him his two sisters Agrippina and Livilla, while he had left his wife Cesonia and their daughter in Rome. Aemilius Lepidus was with them too. The journey lasted 40 days and Caligula forced the troops gathered in Italy to heavy marches. He unmasked the plot and had Lepidus killed. On the occasion of his execution, he gave money as a reward to the soldiers, as if the death of his brotherin-law had been a victory against the enemies. Then he sent three daggers to Rome in honour of Mars Ultor, the protector god of Augustus, who became

54  Patrizia Arena the avenging god of every attempt on the dynasty.28 A communication of the discovery of the conspiracy was sent to Rome probably around October 20–22 at the latest, as evidenced by the vows of the fratres Arvales. These were followed by other vows around October 26–27 with sacrifices, which celebrated the conclusion of the affair.29 As Dio reports, Caligula humiliated his sister, forcing her to personally bring the urn with the remains of Lepidus back to Rome, holding it in her lap all the way.30 This procession constituted a parody of the very serious one that, in 19, had seen the mother Agrippina the Elder as protagonist, as we have already seen.31 The meaning of this spectacle amplifies the dynastic references, because it highlights by contrast the greatness of their mother.32 Through this emblematic parade, Caligula visually demonstrated to the various communities involved in the route and to the people of Rome the illegitimacy of an aspiration to power that passed through the female members of the family without his consent and what was the punishment provided. At this point, we can ask ourselves some questions because we do not have any testimonies from the literary sources about Agrippina’s journey. Did Caligula deliver the ashes of his lover to her publicly, in the presence of the soldiers? When did she make this journey back? Before the triumphant return of Caligula or together with him? In this second case, it would have been a further spectacular element: the emperor returned victorious for the military campaign, accompanied by loyal soldiers; the presence of the sister (or rather the sisters, united by the fate of condemnation) in the procession with the remains of her lover would have testified another aspect of his victory, that over his political opponents. We know that Caligula entered the city with an ovation on his birthday, August 31, 40. He was welcomed by a large delegation of senators, including Claudius; he greeted the people probably gathered in the Forum and from a tribune threw a large amount of silver and gold on the crowd. He then went in solemn procession to the Capitol.33 The majesty of this return to Rome is marked by its coincidence with the celebration of his birthday, another feature of the Augustan ceremonial policy followed by him. At the beginning of August 117, emperor Trajan died in Selinus (Cilicia) during the journey back to Rome. His wife Plotina, his niece Matidia the Elder (daughter of his sister Marciana and mother of Vibia Sabina), and the praetorian prefect Attianus were with him. He was the first emperor who died outside Italy and during a military campaign. The first part of the funeral rite took place in Selinus in front of the former three and of Hadrian, who immediately went there for the cremation of Trajan’s body.34 His presence was crucial for the legitimacy of his succession. The proclamation of Hadrian as emperor by the armies in Syria and its ratification by the Senate followed the cremation. In fact, while Plotina, Matidia, and Attianus were embarking for the return, Hadrian wrote to the Senate to obtain the granting of divine honours to his predecessor and to apologize for accepting the proclamation of the army before having requested the approval of the patres.35 The literary sources unfortunately do not give us

The women of the domus Augusta in processions and ceremonies 55 other details on the ceremony held in Selinus nor on the return journey to Rome. The urn with the ashes was brought to Rome in September and was placed in the base of the Trajan’s Column, according to the author of the Epitome de Caesaribus.36 It was surely Plotina who kept the urn with the ashes all the time and brought it back to Rome with Matidia in a sorrowful procession, according to the noble funeral tradition, as Agrippina the Elder had done and Julia Domna further on will do.37 The pitiful custody of the urn suited well to the public image of Plotina presented by the inscriptions, the monetary issues, and the literary sources.38 She was the widow of the deceased emperor and together with Matidia represented the dynastic continuity. It is necessary to remember that she was presented in the literary sources as the main promoter of Hadrian’s accession to the throne.39 The dynastic continuity passed through the female line of the family of the Ulpii, according to the policy undertaken by Trajan during his reign and intensified since 112, when his sister Marciana died.40 We can imagine a sad funeral procession that crossed the peninsula and the arrival of many people at the landing place and in the other towns where the procession stopped in a similar way to what happened when Livia accompanied the body of Augustus from Campania and Agrippina the Elder brought Germanicus’s ashes from Brundisium. Plotina and Matidia were the protagonists of the parade. We have to suppose that, on their arrival to Rome, representatives of the senatorial and equestrian order welcomed them and participated in the procession guided by the two women up the Trajan’s Forum to place the urn in the base of the Column.41 At the beginning of the third century, Julia Domna participated in the long funeral procession to bring back to Rome the ashes of her husband Septimius Severus, who died in Eburacum on February 4, 211, and to allow their two sons to take power, according to the paternal dispositions.42 The first funeral took place in Eburacum, as Herodian testifies. The pyre was prepared and the body of the deceased emperor, in military dress, was placed on it in the presence of the assembled army. The sons set it on fire and the ashes of the deceased were collected in an alabaster urn together with aromatic substances.43 Julia Domna’s participation in the procession through northern Europe and Italy is explicitly attested by Herodian.44 The funeral procession retraced the roads that had brought the imperial family to Britain, arriving in Rome not before the late spring of 211, and the funus was prepared with great pomp in the capital.45 Upon arrival in Rome, Herodian mentions Caracalla and Geta followed by the consuls who carried the urn with the ashes, without explicitly mentioning Julia Domna. However, she had to be present even in this delicate moment and participate in the procession, both as the wife of the deceased emperor and as the mother of the new Augusti and, therefore, a fundamental link in the legitimation of the imperial power assumed by her two sons.46 As F. Ghedini also notes, the sources do not tell us anything specific about Julia Domna’s participation in the second funeral in Rome, but she certainly had to have a leading role

56  Patrizia Arena in the long days of public mourning. According to the explanatory description of the Roman funeral rites inserted by Herodian in the narration, the vigil of the sick was carried out in the vestibule of the imperial palace. Here, the senators wrapped in black robes, on the left, and the women of the two higher orders with white robes and without jewellery, on the right, sat for most of the day.47 Julia Domna obviously had to participate in the vigil of matrons. Subsequently, the wax image of the emperor was carried along the Via Sacra to the Roman Forum, where hymns were sung by a choir of children and a choir of noble women; from here it was taken to the Campus Martius, where the great pyre was set up. Also in this case, Julia Domna had to lead the noble women in the procession that accompanied the coffin through the streets of the city and had to attend the stake that sanctioned the apotheosis of her husband.48 Nevertheless this was not the first funeral ceremony that Julia Domna attended in Rome. She had to be present at the funeral of Pertinax in 193, guiding the noble women who participated in the procession accompanying the coffin through the streets of the city.49

4.2  Bridal processions For a full understanding of the participation of the emperor’s female relatives in rituals and processions, in my opinion, engagements and weddings should also be taken into consideration. Recent studies have highlighted the importance of marriage strategies inside the Julio-Claudian, Ulpian, and Antonine families.50 Within this marriage policy, the women of the domus Augusta played a fundamental role as spouses of the emperors and of the designated emperors, or mothers of the future emperors. Engagements and weddings were pivotal tools for the transmission of power, for the continuation of the dynasty and for its legitimation. Little attention was devoted to analyse whether these messages were conveyed to the public with the organization of lavish celebrations and, in my opinion, this aspect has remained on the margins of scholars’ considerations concerning the public ceremonial of Rome. Their role had to be clearly evident or rather it had to be flaunted in the procession that accompanied the young bride from her family house to her husband’s.51 In the literary sources, there is no evidence of special celebrations organized on the occasion of engagements and weddings of male and female members of the imperial family during the principate of Augustus. Generic expressions are used, such as “he promised in marriage,” “he betrothed,” and “ he/she married.”52 This is somewhat strange if we consider the relevance of the marriage policy planned by Augustus for the succession involving his daughter Julia, his stepsons, nieces, and nephews, which was pursued from 25 BC and progressively modified for dealing with the tragic events that made his policy vain on more than one occasion. Nevertheless, in some passages of Cassius Dio concerning the principate of Augustus’s successors, a few sentences help us to deduce that previously there had been public celebrations of engagements and weddings

The women of the domus Augusta in processions and ceremonies 57 of members of the imperial family, which magnified the traditional bridal procession and the rites. Tiberius did not organize any official celebration on the occasion of the wedding of Julia, daughter of his son Drusus, and on the wedding of Germanicus’s daughters, Drusilla and Julia, which he had arranged in 33.53 “Not even the city celebrated their wedding”, writes Cassius Dio. Therefore, these events happened without public celebrations, such as banquets and games, and without interrupting normal activities. Consequently, the wedding took place in a discharged form, without the presence of the emperor, but with the usual wedding processions and rituals. His niece Julia, daughter of Drusus II and widow of Nero III, son of Germanicus and Agrippina, in 33 married Rubellius Blandus of equestrian origin, as underlined by Tacitus.54 This choice of Tiberius, that caused affliction in the citizenry, was a consequence of the misfortune in which Julia’s mother Livilla had fallen because of her intention to marry Sejan. It was a marriage that would alter Tiberius’ plans for the succession.55 Drusilla, Germanicus’s daughter, married L. Cassius, consul of 30 CE; her sister Julia married M. Vinicius, him too consul with Cassius in the same year.56 The marriages of these three princesses took place with men not of the foreground, who in no case could have been considered for the succession to the throne. The decision to not celebrate these publicly derived from this. Tiberius did not want to give visibility in the dynasty to Agrippina’s two daughters nor to his niece Julia. We can believe that in this year Tiberius had planned a wide-ranging marriage and dynastic policy for the surviving son and daughters of Agrippina the Elder, because in 33 he also arranged the marriage of his nephew Caligula, who was with him in Capri and for whom he foreshadowed the succession.57 Gaius’s wedding with Iunia Claudilla, daughter of M. Iunius Silanus, princeps senatus and consul in 15, was celebrated in Antium in the presence of the emperor. The choice of this wife, daughter of a man very close to Tiberius, who had also taken a hard line against Livilla after the fall of Sejan, no doubt indicated the emperor’s willingness to further promote the young Caligula for the succession.58 Nevertheless, “not even for this occasion he want to enter Rome”, according to Cassius Dio, nor probably was the city involved in celebrations of any kind. Concerning the emperor Claudius, Cassius Dio testifies to a similar behavior on the occasion of the engagement of Octavia and of the wedding of Antonia, his daughters, in 41: “He did nothing extraordinary, indeed he himself in those days continued to preside over the courts and the senate met regularly.”59 It would be deduced that only the foreseen rites took place, with the processions arranged in the usual way, without these being followed by banquets and shows for the people. Octavia, the daughter he had from Messalina in 39–40, was betrothed to Lucius Iunius Silanus Torquatus, son of M. Silanus, consul in 46 and nephew of Augustus.60 Antonia, daughter of Claudius and Petina born in 25–27, was betrothed to Pompeius Magnus the son of M. Licinius Crassus Frugi, consul in 27, who

58  Patrizia Arena had a brilliant career under Claudius, though he fell into disgrace and was put to death in 46;61 then, in 47, she married in a second marriage Faustus Silla, who was a half-brother of Messalina.62 These unions were part of the broader dynastic policy undertaken by Claudius in 41 after his accession to the throne. He recalled the sisters of Caligula, Agrippina the Younger, and Livilla, from exile to strengthen the domus Augusta. He gave Agrippina in marriage to Gaius Sallustius Crispus Passienus, an elderly consular who was close to him and therefore did not pose any danger to his throne. These acts were aimed at giving a new solidity and respectability to the domus Augusta through the female members of the family and the constant reference to the descent from Augustus. Claudius reserves a positive role for the women of the dynasty, both at the emperor’s side and inside the family.63 Thus, he chose as husbands for his daughters young members of the senatorial order, as to broaden the elite’s consent towards him.64 For Pompeius, it was an important advance, because his family had been ostracized during Caligula’s principate. If we consider the ceremonial politic followed by Claudius and the presentation of his sons-in-law to the public opinion, we can remember that Claudius allowed Lucius Iunius Silanus Torquatus and Pompeius Magnus to parade in his triumphal procession in 44. Moreover, Claudius went up the stairs of the Capitol on his knees, as Caesar had done, with the support of his sons-inlaw on both sides, evidently with an intent of dynastic propaganda.65 His wife Messalina participated in the triumphal procession riding a carpentum directly behind Claudius’s chariot and it is likely their two children, Octavia and Britannicus, stood in the chariot beside their father.66 In theory, in 41, he could have celebrated the engagement and the wedding in a somewhat more solemn manner. Political reasons of prudence likely could be at the basis of this decision, due to the tensions existing at several levels after his accession to the throne. The same tensions dissuaded him from organizing public celebrations at the birth of Tiberius Claudius Drusus Germanicus on February 11 or 12, 41.67 This was a year characterized by Messalina’s rivalry against Agrippina and Livilla, who had just returned from exile, so that Livilla was accused of adultery with Seneca, relegated to Pandataria, and sentenced to death.68 It is necessary to recall Claudius’s low inclination for games and celebration of various kinds, which were considered a waste of public money. If we look in the literary sources for other testimonies related to imperial engagement and wedding ceremonies celebrated, the most detailed narrations are those about the famous wedding of Messalina with Silius. Tacitus lingered on the details of the rituals of this wedding, reconstructing them and lamenting the sacred traditions trampled beneath the feet of villains. In 48, Messalina cuncta nuptiarum sollemnia celebrat in her wedding to Caius Silius, consul designatus in the same year and son of C. Silius consul in 13, who was condemned with his wife Sosia Galla by Tiberius because he was a supporter of Agrippina the Elder, in her dispute with Sejan-Tiberius.69

The women of the domus Augusta in processions and ceremonies 59 Tacitus lists all the fundamental elements of the wedding rituals: adhibitis qui obsignarent, illam audisse auspicum verba, subisse flammeum, sacrificasse apud deos, and discubitum inter convivas. It is necessary to consider the political relevance of this marriage, which was not a mere manifestation of Messalina’s impudicitia. It was the result of a political plot, born with the aim of transferring the imperial power from Claudius to C. Silius through the mediation of Messalina, the emperor’s wife.70 Messalina’s aim was to ensure the succession of her son Britannicus at a time when the presence of Agrippina the Younger and of her partes in the court was increasing and Claudius felt the need to emphasize the bond with Germanicus and his wife Agrippina the Elder. They were in fact the pivotal basis of the demonstrations of consent from the people to the emperor. C. Silius’s aim was instead to establish a “true senatorial Principate.”71 The clarification made by Callistus to the emperor Claudius, reported in Tacitus’s account, that the people, the senate, and the soldiers (the fundamental bases of the imperial legitimacy) had seen the wedding, matrimonium Silii vidit populus et senatus et miles, indicates that everything had taken place publicly.72 Consequently, we can assume that people, soldiers, and senators were spectators of the wedding on the occasion of the bridal procession; furthermore, senators and praetorians were spectators and also participants in the banquet organized by Messalina. Cassius Dio testifies that she celebrated the wedding by offering a sumptuous party and gave Silius a residence worthy of a king, in which he had brought all the most precious relics belonging to Claudius, a kind of dowry.73 Messalina, the female component of the domus Augusta, was regarded as source of legitimacy of the imperial power and of its transfer, although in this case she was not the emperor’s daughter, but his legitimate wife, officially awarded or not the title of Augusta.74 Moreover, the whole city of Rome had often seen Messalina going to her lover’s house publicly and with a great numbers of followers, in my opinion in a sort of procession repeated in time, which almost emphasized the transfer of the imperial power from her legitimate husband to Silius: Illa non furtim, sed multo comitatu ventitare domum, egressibus adhaerescere, largiri opes honores; postremo, velut translata iam fortuna, servi liberti paratus principis apud alterum visebantur.75 I think that Tacitus consciously uses this reference to Messalina’s movements within the city, as in a procession, to draw a sharp contrast with what happens after Claudius had been informed and his vengeance was about to fall on his wife and conspirators. In chapter 32, he presents the picture of a procession of humiliation, which was well planned by Messalina: Atque interim tribus omnino comitantibus—id repente solitudinis erat—spatium urbis pedibus emensa, vehiculo, quo purgamenta hortorum ecipiuntur, Ostiensem viam intrat, nulla cuiusquam misericordia, quia flagitiorum deformitas praevalebat.76 Messalina, with only three people accompanying her, walked a long stretch in the city of Rome and then took the Via Ostiensis on a modest cart (very different from the carpentum she used) to meet Claudius and obtain his forgiveness.

60  Patrizia Arena Regarding the second century CE, we have some interesting literary testimonies. I will start with the engagement and wedding of Faustina Minor to Marcus Aurelius. She, in a similar way to the Julio-Claudian princesses, represented the centre of the transmission of imperial power in a dynastic key. Annia Galeria Faustina (Minor), after the death of Hadrian, was betrothed to Marcus Aurelius.77 She reached the apex of pre-eminence with her future spouse as soon as the change in the marital agreements made at the accession of Antoninus was completed: she was 8 years old and her future husband was 17. We do not know if the engagement was publicly celebrated. However, a sestertius was minted in the years 140–144 with the portraits of Antoninus Pius and his wife Faustina Maior, of the engaged couples and of the goddess Concordia (epigraphed in the legend) on the reverse. Not all scholars agree in linking this monetary issue to the engagement, however it could not convey a more explicit message to all the subjects of the Empire:78 the upcoming marriage of the two engaged couples would have guaranteed the continuity of the dynasty, in the sign of peace and prosperity for whole the Roman Empire.79 The altar of Concord erected in Ostia testifies to the importance of this engagement in the dynastic ideology and for its presentation to the public opinion, as well as a change in the rites now, including a link with the imperial couple and with the deified Faustina. This altar was dedicated to the emperor Antoninus Pius and to the diva Faustina and its inscription, bearing the text of the decurional decree, reports: ob insignem eorum concordiam, utique in ara virgines quae in colonia Ostiensi nubent, item mariti earum supplicent.80 P. Weiss and B. Levick highlighted the implications of this monument in response to a senatorial decree of 140, issued in Rome three weeks after the death of Faustina Maior.81 During the principate of Antoninus Pius, the bridal couples in Rome went to leave offerings in front of the statues of the emperor and his wife, who were their model for an harmonious marriage. The concord inside the imperial couple thus becomes the guarantor and protector of the wedding of all Roman citizens. The marriage between Marcus Aurelius and Annia Galeria Faustina Minor was celebrated in 145 with great pomp, including the usual votes, distributions of grain and coins to the people, an important donative to the soldiers, and with games that opened on May 13.82 Therefore, we must assume also that the bridal procession took place with great splendour. It was a pivotal moment in the consolidation of the dynasty and in the celebration of the harmony it embodied. Another coinage was issued to celebrate the event: an aureus, a sesterce, and an axis whose reverses depicted Marcus Aurelius holding a scroll and shaking Faustina’s hand (dextrarum iunctio) under the gaze of Concordia as pronuba. The legend Vota Publica indicates that the wedding was also associated with public vows, so as to propitiate a happy future for the spouses and for the res publica.83 Furthermore, the honours paid to the diva Faustina Maior were punctually taken up by those attributed post mortem to her daughter, the

The women of the domus Augusta in processions and ceremonies 61 diva Faustina Minor, probably with a new decree issued in 176, including a new altar erected in Rome on which all the Roman brides and bridegrooms would have to make a sacrifice in order to achieve a similar marital harmony. Larger-than-human-size silver statues were placed in the temple of Venus and Rome, built by Hadrian on the Velia, and an altar was erected where the bridal couples could leave offerings, as attested by Cassius Dio.84 In our sources, we read about another important marriage for the dynasty, that of the daughter of Marcus Aurelius and Faustina, Annia Aurelia Galeria Lucilla, with Lucius Verus, celebrated in 163. Lucilla had been betrothed to Lucius Verus in 161 and we can suppose that a public betrothal ceremony was held, because it would have further communicated to the public the previous elevation of Marcus Aurelius to the rank of Augustus and the designation of his adoptive brother, Lucius Verus, as co-regent.85 Through the engagement, the alliance between the emperors was strengthened. At the time of the marriage, Lucius Verus was in the East, engaged in the war against the Parthians, and Marcus Aurelius sent his daughter to him in Ephesus. In the Historia Augusta, we find interesting information about the procession that accompanied the bride to her future husband, from Rome to Brundisium and then to Ephesus.86 Marcus Aurelius entrusted his daughter to a sister, according to the Historia Augusta, presumably Lucius Verus’ sister, Ceionia. Marcus himself, despite having said in the Senate that he wanted to participate in the celebration of the wedding, was unable to leave Italy and accompanied the procession only up to Brundisium.87 In the parade, walking the bride was Lucius Verus’s uncle, M. Vettulenus Civica Barbarus, consul in 157. Faustina the Younger was absent and her absence could be due to the care she had to give to her children, the twins, including Commodus and the younger Annius Verus. The marriage was celebrated in Ephesus, where Lucius Verus had joined his bride. This latter, as compensation for the provincial ceremony, which in any case had to be sumptuous, instead of the more important in the capital, obtained the title of Augusta.88 “The marriage stabilized Lucilla’s top position in the imperial family, especially after bore legitimate offspring. Lucilla as well as Lucius Verus functioned as essential pillars of a ruling strategy which served the political positioning of the higher-ranking Augustus and the continuation of Marcus Aurelius’s lineage.”89 The celebration of the marriage consolidated the family relationships within the ruling family and placed Lucius Verus, now co-emperor and Marcus Aurelius’ son-in-law, at the center of the family. Moreover, a further heir to the throne for Marcus Aurelius could be born from this marriage. During the reign of Septimius Severus, the sumptuous marriage between Caracalla and Plautilla was celebrated at the end of August 202 CE and it was configured as a memorable event for Rome, a sort of continuation of the solemn celebrations for the reditus of the emperor and for the decennalia.90 The couple married according to the traditional Roman rite, we

62  Patrizia Arena should hypothesize a confarreatio celebrated in the presence of the pontifex maximus. The testimonies we have are those of Cassius Dio, autoptic, and of Herodian, which however do not provide details on the carrying out of the ceremony or the bridal procession. In Dio’s account, however, there is an implicit reference to a parade, when he mentions the dowry given by Plautianus to his daughter. The sentence “we personally saw those riches as they were carried across the Forum to the Palatium” suggests a solemn bridal procession through the streets of Rome. Not only the senators but also the people were spectators of this performance, as well as testifying the autopsy character of the first chapter of Cassius Dio.91 The sumptuous procession displayed to the people the position of Plautilla in the imperial family, the continuity of the dynasty, and the increasing power of Plautian at the same time. After the procession, which had to be the deductio in domum mariti of Plautilla, Cassius Dio mentions the banquet, in which both traditional cooked food and raw meat were served. At this banquet, to which the senators were invited, Julia Domna had to take part, in a prominent position as wife of the reigning emperor and mother of the groom.92

4.3 Conclusions From the end of the first century BC to the beginning of the third century CE, there is a constant presence of the women of the imperial family in the funerary processions, although the literary sources do not always record it and do not report all the phases of the ritual in which they took part. From the analysis of the evidences concerning the funera organized for the women of the imperial family, their full visibility in the funeral field emerges. To completely reconstruct their visibility and function in the ritual and the political meaning of their presence for the legitimacy and the reinforcement of the dynasty, it is necessary to consider not only the various details reported in the sources but also the omissions. In this last case, a comparison with what we know about the performance of the ritual in general has to be made. Both emperors and their female relatives planned and organized the funeral processions so that specific messages could be transmitted to the main social groups, depending on the different political situations. They created consent around the emperor and specific members of his family or publicly discredited some of his relatives, showing through rituals what were the political choices of the moment. As regards to the processions on the occasion of engagements and weddings, a modest propensity of the ancient authors to report details emerges, despite the importance of the matrimonial policy recognized by the scholars for the legitimacy and the continuation of the various dynasties. The celebration of lavish ceremonies for engagements and weddings within the imperial family is remembered and/or described by ancient historians in a non-uniform manner from the first to the beginning of the third century CE. They take the rituals for granted in most cases or linger on the details

The women of the domus Augusta in processions and ceremonies 63 when it comes to celebrations that are considered transgressive in many respects. It is also generally remembered that they were not celebrated by the will of the reigning emperor or that they were celebrated in a solemn way; and in this last case the banquets offered, the donations made to the people and the soldiers and the staging of various kinds of shows are mostly mentioned. From the analysis of the documentation relating to the first century, it emerges that the reigning emperor had the discretionary power to make engagements and weddings events to be celebrated with all the people. Otherwise, he gave them a more subdued tone, which makes us hypothesize the simple development of the traditional bridal procession in the city and of the banquet. Furthermore, it emerges that Cassius Dio is evidently more sensitive to the theme of the public celebration of princesses’ engagements and weddings, recording whether the celebrations involved the city or not. Tacitus, on the other hand, probably does not consider this notation important and dwells more on the genealogy and positions of future husbands, as well as on their death penalty.

Notes 1 2 3 4

Cfr. Cenerini (2015, 102) and Cenerini (2016a, 23). Estienne (2015, 106). Brännestedt (2015, 38–39). Cons. Liv., 19–20; 25–28; cfr. Fraschetti (1996, 210). According to Ov., Pont., 3.4.95–96, and the anonymous poet of the Consolatio ad Liviam (26), Livia had a special role in preparing the triumphal chariot; see Flory (1998), 491. 5 Cons. Liv., 33; Sen., Marc., 3.2. On the use of the verb prosequor by Seneca and of duco in the Consolatio ad Liviam cfr. Fraschetti (1996), 124. 6 Tac., Ann., 3.5; Suet., Tib., 7.3; Suet., Claud., 1.3; Dio Cass., 55.2. 7 Dio Cass., 56.31.2; Suet., Aug., 100.2–3. Cfr. Cresci Marrone and Nicolini (2010), 177–8. 8 Dio Cass., 56.42.4. 9 Dio Cass., 56.42.1. 10 Dio Cass., 56.47.1. 11 Tac., Ann., 2.75; Barrett (1996, 30–31), Wood (2001, 207), and Salvo (2010, 144–52). 12 Tac., Ann., 2.75.1; 3.1.4 and 3.2.3; Suet., Calig., 10.1; Rivière (2016, 277–8). 13 Tac., Ann., 3.1–3. 14 Valentini (2019, 219–21). 15 Tac., Ann., 2.75.1. 16 Tac., Ann., 2.41.4. Statues of Germanicus’s family, his father, mother, sister, brother, wife and all children, male and female, were displayed on the arch erected by Senate’s decree in the Circus Flaminius: Tabula Siarensis, frg. a, ll. 9–36. Cfr. Flory (1998, 491–2). 17 Severy (2000, 321–37) and Arena (2018, 24–30). Concerning the other women of the imperial family involved in the funus at Rome, Tiberius, Livia, and Antonia were not present at Agrippina’s arrival to the city. Tacitus writes that Tiberius and Livia did not show themselves in public during the days of the iustitium and that Antonia Minor also did not carry out any important public role for the funeral and for the funeral honors decreed for her missing son: Tac., Ann., 3.3.1–3. Antonia was not absent in all the phases of mourning decreed for Germanicus and in all the funeral honors, but only in the specific moment of Agrippina’s

64  Patrizia Arena arrival to Rome with the ashes of the deceased prince and in the insigna officia carried out on this occasion; cfr. Fraschetti (1990, 93, n. 80) and Segenni (1994, 305). For the public opinion, her absence would have helped dispel the suppositions of Tiberius’s guilt for the death of Germanicus. In this crucial moment her behavior, necessarily analogous to that of Tiberius and Livia, helped to guarantee the stability of the imperial family and the cohesion of the domus Augusta; cfr. Segenni (1994, 305–6), Cogitore (2014, 169), and Martina (2016, 291–3). Further documents suggest Antonia’s public action, combined with her presence in some other phases of the funus. The Tabula Siarensis mentions Antonia Minor several times: she, together with the most representative exponents of the domus Augusta (Tiberius, Germanicus’s adoptive father, and Livia, his grandmother), was invited by the senate to take part in the decisions regarding the funeral honors to be decreed for Germanicus: Tab. Siar., frg. I, ll. 4–8; Cipollone 2011, 3–18. 18 Cfr. Cristofoli (2018, 96–97). 19 Bianchi (2006, 599). 20 Suet., Calig., 15.1; Sen., Ira, 3.21.5; Dio Cass., 59.3.5–6. 21 Cristofoli (2018, 97). 22 Suet., Aug., 101.3. 23 Suet., Calig., 15.1–2; Dio Cass., 59.10.4. A sestertius was coined that bore the representation of the carpentum with the inscription SPQR MEMORIAE AGRIPPINAE on the obverse and the figure of Agrippina the Elder on the reverse: RIC I2, 112 n. 55; BMCRE I, 159 nn. 81–87; Wood (1988, 410). 24 Arena (2009), Arena (2010, 61–73), Estienne (2015, 116–19), and Latham (2016, 117–32). 25 On the conspiracy cfr. Barzanò (2011, 65–79), Cogitore (2014, 172–5), Cristofoli (2015, 386–406), Cristofoli (2018, 120–35), and Valentini (2019, 290–8). 26 Tac., Ann., 6.15.1 and 4.75. 27 Tac., Ann., 14.2.2. 28 Dio Cass., 59.22.7. Concerning the relationship between the conspiracy, the three daggers sent to Mars Ultor and the rhetoric cfr. Cogitore (2014, 176–178). 29 CIL VI.32346, ll. 17–21=Scheid (1998, 37), n. 13, fgh, ll. 1–22: in part. ll. 1–8; Scheid (1990, 397). 30 Dio Cass., 59.22.6–8. 31 Bianchi (2006, 628). 32 Cogitore (2014, 174). 33 Suet., Calig., 49.2.; Dio Cass. [Xiph.], 59.25.5. 34 According to J. Arce, it was a military funeral, which had a greater importance for the legitimacy of Hadrian compared to the next held in Rome: Arce (2000, 61–2). 35 SHA, Hadr., 5.9-10; 6.1–2; 12.2. 36 Epit. de Caes., 13.10; Dio Cass., 69.2.3; Eutr., 8.5.2. 37 Valentini (2012, 130–1). 38 On the presentation of Plotina and the women of the Ulpian family as embodiment of traditional female values, as model of discretion, of lack of ambition and family harmony, cfr. Cortés Copete (2014, 202–5) and González-Conde Puente (2015, 127–48). 39 SHA, Hadr., 3.10; Dio Cass., 69.1.1; SHA, Hadr., 4.1 and 4.4. For the analysis and interpretation of the sources concerning the adoption of Hadrian, the falsification of Trajan’s will, the role of Plotina in the affair, and the existence of a succession plan already prepared by Trajan, cfr. Galimberti (2007, 15–30), Cortés Copete (2014, 187–208), and Pistellato (2015, 404–5). 40 Cenerini (2019) and Schnegg (2021, 414).

The women of the domus Augusta in processions and ceremonies 65 41 For the vexata quaestio concerning the celebration of a double funeral or only one ceremony consisting of the funus and the posthumous triumph, as well as on the precise moment of the consecratio, cfr. Richard (1966), Bickermann (1972), Kierdorf (1986), Arce (2000), and Benoist (2005, 151–7). 42 SHA, Sev., 23.3. On her role and representation as mother of the dynasty, Bertolazzi (2019) and Bertolazzi (2021, 454–5). 43 Dio Cass., 77.15.3–4; Hdn., 3.15.7; SHA, Sev., 2.4.2. 44 Hdn., 4.1.1. 45 Benoist (2005, 165–6) and Ghedini (2020, 124–6). 46 Hdn., 4.1.3–5. 47 Hdn., 4.2.1–3. 48 Hdn., 4.2. 4–11. 49 Levick (2007, 39). 50 Cébeillac-Gervasoni (1989), Hidalgo de la Vega (2000), Chausson (2003), Mastrocinque (2011), Levick (2014, 62–77), Fraser (2015), Marcone (2015, 223–48), Cenerini (2016a, 2016b), Arena and Marcone (2018), Cenerini 2021, and Schnegg (2021, 411–4). 51 On the wedding and its rituals cfr. Hersch (2010). 52 Suet., Aug., 64; Tib., 7; Calig., 7; Claud., 26.1; Dio Cass., 54.31.1–2. 53 Dio Cass., 58.21.1–2. 54 Tac., Ann., 6.27.1. 55 Tac., Ann., 6.2.1. For her adulterous relationship with Sejan, the charges of poisoning Drusus Minor, the death sentence by will of Tiberius or her mother Antonia Minor, and the succession policy inside the domus Augusta, cfr. Cenerini (2014, 129–30), Cogitore (2014, 170), and Martina (2016, 299–301). 56 Tac., Ann., 6.15.1. 57 Tac., Ann., 6.20; Suet., Calig., 12.1; Dio Cass., 58.25.2. According to Cassius Dio the wedding was celebrated in 35, but the dating to 33 of Tacitus is preferable; it is confirmed by Suetonius, who dates the marriage non multo post the transfer of Caligula to Capri. Cfr. Barrett (2002, 199). 58 Cristofoli (2018, 82–83). 59 Dio Cass., 60.5.7; 60.33.11. 60 Tac., Ann., 13.1.1; Tac., Ann., 12.3.2; Sen., Apocol., 10. Cfr. Suet., Claud., 24 and 27. 61 Sen., Apocol, 11.2 and 5; Dio Cass., 60.31.7; Tac., Hist., 1.48; Suet., Claud., 27 and 29. On Claudius’s wives, daughters, son cfr. also Chausson (2018, 15–30). 62 Cfr. Dio Cass., 60.30.6a; Sen., Apocol., 11.5; Suet., Claud., 27.2. 63 Cogitore (2014, 175). 64 On their career enhancement according to the scheme prepared by Augustus for the designated successors, Dio Cass., 60.5.8. 65 Dio Cass., 60.23.3. For the death sentence of Pompeius Magnus and the involvement of Messalina, Sen., Apocol., 11.2 and 5; Suet., Claud., 27 and 29; Tac., Hist., 1.48; Dio Cass., 60.31.7. On the suicide of Lucius Iunius Silanus after the charges of incest, the involvement of Agrippina the Younger, and the dissolution of the engagement with Octavia by Claudius, Tac., Ann., 12.8.1. Cfr. Buongiorno (2017, 122, 188–9, 200–202). 66 Dio Cass., 60.22.2; Flory (1998, 493). 67 Dio Cass., 60.3.2–3. 68 Dio Cass., 60.8.4–5; Tac., Ann., 14.63.2; Suet., Claud., 29.1. 69 Suet., Claud., 26.2; 29.3; Tac., Ann., 11.26.3; Tac., Ann., 11.27. On the trial of C. Silius and Sosia Galla, the relationship with the partes Agrippinae, cfr. Valentini (2019, 162–7). 70 Fagan (2002, 573), Pani and Todisco (2008, 259), Cenerini (2010, 179–91), Cenerini (2018, 36–37). Contra Eck (2002, 116–33) and Hidalgo de la Vega (2007, 405).

66  Patrizia Arena 7 1 Tac., Ann., 11.26.2; Momigliano (1961, 76). 72 Tac., Ann., 11.30.2. 73 Dio Cass., 60.31.3–5. 74 Flory (1988) and Cenerini (2010, 187). 75 Tac., Ann., 11.12.3. 76 Tac., Ann., 11.32.3. 77 SHA, Marc., 6.2. 78 RIC III, 108 n. 601a; BMC IV, 199 n. 1237; Morelli (2009, 108–9). 79 Baharal (2000, 334). 80 CIL XIV.5326 = Cébeillac-Gervasoni, Caldelli, Zevi 2010, 196–7, n. 53. 81 Weiss (2008, 6–10), Levick (2014, 99–100), and Priwitzer (2021, 441). 82 Fast. Ost. in Inscr. Ital. 13.1, 205; Kienast (1996, 141). SHA, Ant. Pius, 10.2; Mar. 6.6; Marc., 19.7–9. On the donation for the wedding of Marcus Aurelius SHA, Ant. Pius, 8.1; 10.1–2. Cfr. Beckmann (2009, 208–10) and Hidalgo de la Vega (2012, 121–9). 83 RIC III, 81 n. 434; BMC IV, 89 n. 621. 84 Dio Cass., 71.31.1–2. 85 Dio Cass., 71.1–3.; SHA, Marc., 7.5–9. 86 Cfr. Schnegg (2021, 411–12). 87 SHA, Marc., 9.4-5; SHA, Verus, 7.7. On the rumors concerning the reasons that led Marcus Aurelius to not accompany his daughter in Asia Minor and about the concerns felt by Lucius Verus for the arrival of Marcus Aurelius due to his dissolute behavior, cfr. Cenerini (2015, 3). 88 Levick (2014, 70–71). 89 Schnegg (2021, 413). 90 BMCRE V, 234*, 235 n. 405, 236 nn. 406–10; Lusnia (2014, 54) and Ghedini (2020, 66–67). 91 Dio Cass., 76.1.2; Hdn., 3.10.5–6. 92 For the active participation of Julia Domna in the ceremonies and processions of the ludi Saeculares septimi in 204, cfr. Lusnia (2014, 105–16), Rantala (2017, 89–102), and Schnegg (2020, 354–6, 374–88, 454–84).

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70  Patrizia Arena Pistellato, Antonio. 2015. “Augustae nomine onorare: Il ruolo delle Augustae fra ‘Staatsrecht’ e prassi politica.” In Il princeps romano: autocrate o magistrato? Fattori giuridici e Fattori sociali del potere imperiale da Augusto a Commodo, edited by Jean-Louis Ferrary and John Scheid, 393–427. Pavia: Iuss Press. Priwitzer, Stefan. 2021. “The Faustinas.” In The Routledge Companion to Women and Monarchy in the Ancient Mediterranean World, edited by Elizabeth D. Carney and Sabine Müller, 439–51. London-New York: Routledge. Rantala, Jussi. 2017. The Ludi Saeculares of Septimius Severus: The Ideologies of a New Roman Empire. London: Routledge. Richard, Jean Claude. 1966. “Les Funerailles de Trajan et le Triomphe sur les Parthes.”Revue des etudes latines 44: 351–62. Rivière, Yann. 2016. Germanicus. Prince romain. Paris: Perrin. Salvo, Davide. 2010. “Germanico e la rivolta delle legioni del Reno.” Hormos 2: 138–56. Scheid, John. 1990. Romulus et ses frères. Le collège des frères Arvales, modèle du culte public dans la Rome des empereurs. Rome: Ecole française de Rome.    . 1998. Recherches archéologiques à la Magliana: Commentarii fratrum Arvalium qui supersunt: les copies epigraphiques des protocoles annuels de la Confrérie Arvale (21 av.–304 ap. J.-C.). Rome: Ecole française de Rome. Schnegg, Bärbel (in collaboration with François Chausson, Wolfram SchneiderLastin). 2020. Die Inschriften zu den Ludi saeculares. Acta ludorum saecularium. Berlin-Boston: De Gruyter. Schnegg, Kordula. 2021. “The Imperial Women from the Flavians to the Severi.” In The Routledge Companion to Women and Monarchy in the Ancient Mediterranean World, edited by Elizabeth D. Carney and Sabine Müller, 411–22. London-New York: Routledge. Segenni, Simonetta. 1994. “Antonia Minore e la domus Augusta.” Studi Classici e Orientali 44: 297–331. Severy, Beth. 2000. “Family and State in the Early Imperial Monarchy: The Senatus Consultum de Pisone Patre, Tabula Siarensis and Tabula Hebana.” Classical Philology 95: 318–37. Valentini, Alessandra. 2012. Matrone tra “novitas” e “mos maiorum.” Spazi e modalità dell’azione pubblica femminile nella Roma medio repubblicana. Venezia: Istituto Veneto di Scienze, Lettere ed Arti.    . 2019. Agrippina Maggiore. Una matrona nella politica della domus Augusta. Venezia: Edizioni Ca’ Foscari – Digital Publishing. Weiss, Peter. 2008. “Die vorbildliche Kaiserehe: zwei Senatbeschlüsse beim Tod der älteren und der jüngeren Faustina, neue Paradigmen und die Herausbildung des ‘antoninischen’ Prinzipats.” Chiron 38: 1–45. Wood, Susan. 1988. “Memoriae Agrippinae: Agrippina the Elder in Julio-Claudian Art and Propaganda.” American Journal of Archaeology 92: 409–26.    . 1995. “Diva Drusilla Panthea and the Sisters of Caligula.” American Journal of Ancient History 99(3): 457–82.    . 2001. Imperial Women. A Study in Public Images, 40 B.C.–A.D. 68. LeidenBoston-Köln: Brill.

5

Pompa funebris Collective experience and political power in the shadow of death Soi Agelidis

5.1  Introduction: Premises The death of a person is a factum, non-negotiable, non-alterable, an anthropological constant. This certainty seems to induce people to conceptualize death in manifold ways, aligned to the respective spiritual, religious, social, political, and many other circumstances, to help them deal with the incomprehensible. In this process, collectivity proves to be a main vehicle to form and establish beliefs and processes framing death, for they gain more power as more individuals echo them. Ultimately, these beliefs and processes develop into symbols in the sense of Geertz1 and stand in a reciprocal relationship to the society they were formed in and form, respectively. Major events in history are distinguished by their perception by a wide audience and by their singularity. The fall of the Berlin Wall, the inauguration of President Obama, the attack on the World Trade Center, and the death of Lady Diana, to name a few random examples from my own lifetime, affected the world public more or less immediately and there is hardly anyone who couldn’t tell you where they were or what they were been doing when these events occurred. It is the quality of contemporary witness we all nurse with our narratives of our lived experiences that increases our importance as individuals. At the same time, however, on an emotional level, we connect with others—in lofty words: we connect with the whole world—by paying attention to these incidents, appropriating them into our life story. Here again, the collective perception of and engagement with certain occurrences provide beliefs and processes to encounter the unexpected and to adapt to contingency. Both the dealing with death and the processing of major historical events require and foster collectivity.2 This is also the common denominator of the events in the focus of this chapter, the pompa funebris of the Roman nobility and the apotheosis of the Roman emperors. I will argue that the collective experience of these events intensifies the commonality within the Roman populace, reinforces allotted roles of individuals and social groups, and, finally, perpetuates central institutions of the society.3 DOI: 10.4324/9781003301646-5

72  Soi Agelidis In terms of general introductory thoughts, the death of a public person can be perceived as an incisive occurrence for a society, which is celebrated by means of well-organized events addressed to the public. The wide participation of the people is actually one reason for the importance of the event and in turn this very importance of the event is one reason for the wide participation of the people in the first place. The shared experience evokes a certain emotional reaction, constructing and strengthening a community acting in previously assigned ways. The public events I will discuss here are the pompa funebris of the Roman nobility and subsequently the divinization of the emperor. The theoretical background for my remarks stem from the concepts of symbolic politics. Although they were developed within the political and media sciences, and on the basis of contemporary events, they are nevertheless in my opinion quite fruitful for the analysis of these Roman phenomena.

5.2  Symbolic politics The concept of symbolic politics (originally in German symbolische Politik) was first established in the political sciences by Murray Edelman in the 1960s and further developed especially by Ulrich Sarcinelli in the same discipline, Andreas Dörner in the media sciences, and Roger-Gérard Schwartzenberg in law and political sciences.4 The theoretical principles and definitions by Edelman were fundamental for the considerations by later scholars and are still valid, so we will rely primarily on his work.5 In everyday language, politics are often described as ‘symbolic’ when politicians present things superficially to launch a fake image instead of introducing issues of actual interest. The meaning of ‘symbolic politics’ as theoretical concept, however, is substantial on many levels. In politics, contents as well as the way to present them are of high importance. In public debate and representation, both factors are linked with one another in language, actions, and persons and thus emerge symbols for certain values and ideologies. Due to their structure, symbols are quite stable and can be used to abbreviate complex situations and discussions. They offer a frame for the development of public identities adopted by individuals and groups within the society, which again makes the communication and interaction between individual and collective actors predictable and subsequently stable.6 We can rephrase this notion by stating that within an existing (political and social) order, this same pattern keeps functioning unaltered as long as everybody plays their allotted roles. The term symbol is central for our considerations, so a few explanations are in order.7 Edelman distinguishes between referential and condensation symbols. He considers the former to be abbreviated items that can be evaluated in reality and are not central for the present study. We focus instead on condensation symbols, meaning abbreviated forms of complex emotional structures that go beyond objective references to reality.8 Symbolic politics operate intensively with these kind of symbols. They provide active agents

Pompa funebris  73 an access to people’s feelings in order to promote the acceptance of their particular aims.9 Finally, for the discussion of the impact the pompa funebris has had for the stability of the Roman society and its political institutions, myth and ritual are especially relevant symbols. They are beliefs—political or religious—shared by the people on the one hand and sequences of specific activities for specific contexts on the other hand, all according to a consensus within the society and thus virtually unalterable.10 Their consistency derives from the nature of their tradition: they are given, seem to have always been, and are practiced without bothering the consciousness. Myth and ritual are embodied resources—if we understand ‘body’ as the embodied self, the unity of physical, cognitive, and emotional qualities of a person.11 It is important to stress that myth and ritual encompass the entire society and are not restricted to the upper classes or even the dominant few. They provide sense for the very being of the society, its structures and institutions and the roles of its members, and binds them all together. In our case, myth and ritual affect the deceased persons, their families and environment, and their successors in any business, but also the audience of the events. We will discuss this in detail next.

5.3 Death The death of a person triggers a sequence of non-everyday processes for those around them. The activities pursue three different goals, all of them essential for the affected individuals as well as for the society. The first one appears quiet practical but is potentially loaded with religious and spiritual ideas: the corpse must be disposed of appropriately, which means in an adequate way and place. The second goal is comforting the grief of the relatives, helping them through the extreme but usually decreasing negative emotions to a new emotional state that allows them to live henceforth a different but normal life. Due to the focus of this chapter, both these aspects must be neglected and only a third one will be discussed: the integration of the bereaved in their new situation into the existing social structure. In the case of the Republican nobility, we will concentrate on the family of the deceased, while for imperial times, the successor as well as the plebs urbana will be the focus of our attention. So, without further ado, let us get to the heart of the matter.12

5.4 Collocatio For the Roman nobility, the life of a person created and maintained a certain public image and so did its conclusion. It thus comes as no surprise that dying was subject of idealized literary descriptions and exempla: one died at home with their beloved around them, the final breath caught with a

74  Soi Agelidis kiss by the mother who then closed the eyes and called the deceased’s name (conclamatio).13 After the death has been determined, the corpse had to be cleaned, dressed, and prepared for the following procedures.14 This had been the task of the female family members for a long time, for they used to take care of everything that had to be done inside the house. From the first century CE onwards though professional undertakers, the libitinarii and pollinctores were usually employed to do this work.15 Depending on the type of burial, the corpse was dressed in his or her best clothes—in case of public officials or triumphators e.g. in their particular toga—or draped into a shroud.16 After their preparation, the dead were placed on a funeral couch, the lectus funebris,17 and presented to a limited public in the atrium of the house (Figure 5.1). They were surrounded by the imagines, the masks of the ancestors, and were thus shown framed by the group of people they

Figure 5.1  Collocatio on a relief from the grave monument of the Haterii (120 BC). Rome, Musei Vaticani, Museo Gregoriano Profano 9998. Source: AKG Images.

Pompa funebris  75

Figure 5.2  Collocatio on a relief from the grave monument of the Haterii (120 BC). Rome, Musei Vaticani, Museo Gregoriano Profano 9999, here cast at the Museum für Abgüsse klassischer Bildwerke München Inv.-Nr. 1192b. Source: Museum für Abgüsse klassischer Bildwerke.

belonged to henceforth.18 Visitors came to pay their respects and say goodbye (Figure 5.2). The family as well as friends and clients lingered for a while to comfort the relatives and to deal themselves with the death of the person—a friend, a neighbour, a patron. The collocatio was the first opening of the intimate event of death into the public and thus the first notification of the bereaved’s new status: a widow, an orphan, the new head of the family, the new head of a company.19 This network of relations, and the new arrangement of roles in particular, was presented more explicitly during the pompa funebris, when the position of the family and all its members was displayed in various ways to the public.20

5.5  Pompa funebris The pompa funebris was the most expansive part of an aristocrat’s funeral (Figure 5.3). The bier with the body of the deceased, relatives, and friends, but also musicians and mourners paced along the streets of Rome from the

76  Soi Agelidis

Figure 5.3  Pompa funebris on a grave relief from Amiternum (50 BC). Chieti, Museo Archeologico. Source: AKG Images.

home of the family to the site of burial for inhumations and of cremation, respectively. The nature of the procession, immediately perceivable for visual, auditory, and olfactory signs, added up to a significant composition. The body itself, family and mourners in dark clothes, music, lamentations and dirges, burning torches,21 and incenses signalled explicitly the purpose of the cortege. Nevertheless, the whole event was by our recent standards neither silent nor dignified. It was noisy and colourful, a real spectacle conceived to impress and even entertain. The greatness of the deceased, their life, their attainments, and their contributions to society were to be celebrated pompously.22 Moreover, a central element of this representation was the inclusion of the deceased into the row of glorious ancestors within the family in order to underline the importance of the individual and his or her kin. At the end of the day, the whole venture aimed for a good image of the gens and along with the maximum support by the people in permanent political competition with the rest of the nobility. With this in mind, it is no wonder that the opening of the pompa funebris occurred by musicians and performers. The sound of the brass instruments—tibiae, cornua and tubae—notified that the cortege was approaching so people could hold or come closer to get a better view of the happening.23 Next followed the praeficae singing the dirges as they did already during the collocatio.24 Then, dancers and actors catered for a peculiar art of entertainment: they made jokes about the deceased in order to remind that these persons, despite all their benefits, were still human and not divine.25 Even more impressive was certainly the group that followed: the imagines, the masks of the ancestors of the family, were presented to the audience by either simply being carried along or even worn like a face mask

Pompa funebris  77 by actors who represented these persons.26 In this case, they also wore the clothes and carried the regalia of their respective magistracy and could be even accompanied by lictores—or rather persons acting as them—and acted out the prestige of their function.27 The following cluster focused back on the deceased, their life, and achievements. In the case of a military commander, panels with depictions of his glorious battles, looted goods, badges of honour, as well as lists and depictions of conquered cities and peoples were carried along—not unlike a triumph. This demonstration of military success was followed by the apparent proof of their wealth, that is: the slaves that were freed by the testament of the deceased, all wearing their pointy hats, the pilleus, on their shaved heads. Further evidence of wealth were gifts and goods that would be burned in the rogus along with the body. A considerable number of torchbearers and lictores28 —or rather performers acting like them—were also walking along, probably ahead of the body. The corpse was usually transported inside an arca or capulum, a closed chest with a model of the deceased placed on its lid. In this way, the guise of the deceased was visible, though no one had to view the actual corpse in public, which could cause a pollution of the onlookers.29 The chest was carried on a kind of barrow by men in a close relationship to the deceased— this function was a big honour for the chosen ones.30 Behind the feretrum walked the family. Their guise and acting expressed their grief, with their adequate clothing in adequate colours, gestures, and words conveying their pain. Though this demonstration was appropriate, the degree of it could still scandalize—it could be either too much or too little. The literary evidence shows clearly that the behaviour of the bereaved was object of discussions, gossip, and appraisals.31

5.6  Laudatio funebris At the forum, the bier was placed on the rostra, the performers with the imagines took a seat around it, and people gathered to listen to the laudatio on the deceased by a close male relative. The magnitude of the person already staged ostentatious in the pompa was now phrased explicitly. The purpose of the speech was not to comfort the bereaved and the other attendees but to underline how big the loss of the dead was for everyone. Yet again, the final aim of the laudatio was to strengthen the prestige of the gens by glorifying its deceased members and empower the active members in the political competition. The audience on the other hand was constituted as a community by participation and emotional involvement32 and confirmed as such the structures and common values of Republican Rome and the populus Romanus. The individual steps of the procedure, the way each action was performed, reflects the standardized rituals of which everyone belonging to this community was aware. The presentation of roles and achievements of

78  Soi Agelidis the deceased, but also the behaviour of bereaved and public on the other hand, express the beliefs of how people had to act in their particular role inside their society, representing here the myth. By this collective performance, structures are reproduced and institutions confirmed. This is valid onward for the next step—the cremation and burial—although the publicity of these events was minor.

5.7  Cremation & burial After the laudatio, the cortege proceeded to the place of cremation or—in the case of inhumation—burial.33 Due to the custom that both had to be carried out outside the pomerium, the pompa passed through the gates to a prepared spot. Depending on the deceased, more or fewer people followed the bier: in most funerals, only family and closest friends would carry on; in the case of nobiles and later especially of emperors and empresses, a bigger crowd walked to the site of the rogus. The funeral pyre was prepared appropriately at the ustrinum or ustrina by skillful professionals, the ustores. The pyre could be adorned with rugs and other textiles, flowers, carvings, and statues. Moreover, various goods, personal belongings of the deceased, gifts, and scents were placed along with the corpse. The size and furnishing of the rogus intended once again to demonstrate the magnitude of the deceased. The burning itself was certainly an impressive spectacle and took several hours.34 Finally, the last blaze was extinguished with water, and then the closest family selected the bones, washed them with water or wine, dried them with linen, and placed them together with some grave goods into the urn, which again was entombed.35

5.8  Social function and impact of the pompa funebris The pompa funebris was a ritual well known to the participants, either active or passive, and was performed against the ideological backdrop of political engagement of the individual as the foundation for the persistence of the Republic. As a condensation symbol, it perpetuated values and ideologies that again contributed to the stability of the social networks of which Roman society consisted.36 This symbol activated emotional reflexes and certain behaviours, leading to people assuming the role assigned to them. A clear hierarchy inside this community was hereby demonstrated and perpetuated.37 Obviously, the practical purpose of the pompa funebris was to transport the corpse from the house of the deceased to the place of cremation and burial, respectively, to remove the body from the realm of the living. The social purposes of the event, however, were multiple and depended up to a certain point on the individual or collective perception. With the cortege, the bereaved made the death of their relative generally known to the wider public. Along with that, the new roles of family

Pompa funebris  79 members, close relatives, partners etc., in familial, political, and commercial matters were implicitly presented. The heritage of the deceased was incisively visualized during the pompa. To underline the legitimacy of this heritage, the ancestors were prominently shown. The attending community on the other hand confirmed by its mere presence the importance of the family and the legitimacy of the heirs along with their claims. The weight of the emotional relief the people offered to the bereaved by empathy and the psychological implications of this aspect must be neglected here. The essence of the last remarks is that the heirs and the crowd were dependent on each other for their importance was generated by the reciprocity of presenting and perceiving. The size of the pompa, the spectacular presentation, and the multitude of sensory stimuli intensified the reciprocal relationship between the two groups. Concerning the individuals, the impact of the event is different when regarding the relatives or the crowd. The relatives presented themselves as persons in their individual roles as e.g., widow and mother or son and new head of the family and business, to get the confirmation for these partly new roles. They were presented as framed by their family, but nevertheless as individuals. Within the crowd, on the other hand, everyone gained importance as part of a collective; each one can value their role as an eyewitness of the event outside the context of it, even a long time later. Such roles can also become part of the individual or even collective identity of a family or other group.

5.9  A step further: The divination of Roman emperors The significance of the pompa funebris as a presentation of a noble family, its members, and their achievements was greatly diminished once Augustus claimed the whole of Roman history and all branches of the Roman nobility for himself.38 The genealogy presented in his forum and later in his pompa funebris39 reached back to the earliest history of the city with Romulus and Remus as well as Aeneas and to the mythical Roman kings, but it went on to include recent personalities belonging not only to the gentes of the Julii and Claudii, but also the Valerii, Cornelii, Fulvii etc. In this way, the first emperor usurped, so to speak, all families that had been politically relevant during the Republic 40 as his predecessors and ancestors. This concept was an important foundation for the narrative of overcoming civil war and creating the pax Augusta.41 At the same time, however, he made it impossible for other nobiles to refer to their own families and ancestors exclusively or even at all—for from now on, they belonged to the references of the princeps. Out of the instability of the late Republic, which had resulted from the fierce but ineffective competition among the noble families 42, Augustus modified the myth, the ideological backdrop against which the rituals of the nobiles were performed, by usurping the history of Roman nobility. In this way, both ritual and myth

80  Soi Agelidis were perpetuated, with roots still reaching back to the Republic, and all participating groups would resume their traditional roles. Nevertheless, the consequence of the Augustan shift was incisive for the Roman nobility and for the populace; as the myth was changed, so did also their public roles. The competition ground for the nobiles was from now restricted to the political and military offices.43 The effect to the plebs urbana was the opposite. They were promised a patron and protector combining the power and benefits of all noble families and committed to the people. This special relationship persisted under the successors of the first princeps and would go on to define the Roman monocracy until the very end. In the principate, the plebs urbana obtained the position of one of the three instances—or ‘acceptance groups’—to legitimate the position of Roman emperor. After the troops—either the pretorians or the legions of a province—acclaimed the new emperor and took an oath on him, the senate would assign him the imperium, the tribunicia potestas, and the costumary titles by a senatus consultum, and the plebs would (at least initially) affirm his position by a lex de imperio adopted in a comitian assembly.44 The role of the plebs was even more exclusive during the cremation and the following deification of the dead emperor.45 The pompa funebris for Augustus, and later for the following emperors, took place in a similar manner as we saw for the nobility, but was even more extensive in quantity and more expensive in quality. In addition, even before the statement of the death, occasionally an effigy representing the deceased emperor was an object of interaction for his inner circle so his death could be publicly staged in an ideal way.46 In these cases, it was also this dummy that was carried along during the pompa and burned on the rogus later. During the ritual, the emotions of the crowd were addressed and the feeling of mutuality was alluded. At the campus martius where the cremation of the emperors took place, the community gathered after listening to the laudatio funebris, which once again became emotive.47 When the pyre was lit and the body of the emperor was burning, the staging of the events met the people after hours of intensive multisensorial and emotional collective experiences. This was a fruitful ground to launch the most powerful sight of the day, that is: the eagle representing the soul of the emperor, now a divus, flying up into the sky.48 To be an eyewitness of this most important event distinguished each individual although they slipped into this role merely as part of the community. This dynamic—the collective experience, the emotional involvement, and the individual self-perception—is in my opinion the key to understanding the irrational acceptance of the obviously staged event.49 In accordance with the concept of symbolic politics, the conjoint acceptance of the staged divination of the emperor occurred to keep the social network of the Roman society stable. The orchestration of the emperor actually ascending up to the sky on the wings of an eagle was explicitly

Pompa funebris  81 addressed to the plebs. By constructing such a strong visual sign, the successor offered the people an opportunity to participate in the legitimation of his claim to the power of the emperor.50 The senate already had contributed by deciding for the divinization of the dead emperor, the military had acclaimed the new emperor, and now the plebs confirmed the process. The plebs acting as eyewitnesses of the deified emperor’s ascent is in accordance to their role in creating and spreading rumours—a field dominated by the plebs anyway.51

5.10 Monumental commemoration and imagery of the consecratio The divinization of the emperors—and some empresses—was reflected by various buildings and images in Rome with a clear focal point on the campus martius.52 It all begins yet again with Augustus. The novel and grand design of the ensemble in the northern part of the campus martius, with the Ara Pacis, the Horologium Augusti, and the Mausoleum, including the Res Gestae changed the guise of the district decisively by creating a monumental stage for the celebration and commemoration of live and deeds, death, and divinization of the first Roman emperor.53 Rather neglected, because it is not surely located yet, is the role of the ustrinum, which was part of this ensemble. According to literary sources,54 the original place where the cremation and thus the divination of Augustus took place was conserved and somehow shaped to create a monument for the deification of the emperor. Although neither the precise location nor the arrangement of the monument are known to us, it is clear that it was part of the Augustean complex.55 Besides the demonstration of family bonds inside the Julian-Claudian dynasty at the Mausoleum, the fact that Augustus had become a divus during the cremation of his body was publicly presented, too. The same focus is reflected further by monuments ascribed to the Antonines in the area between the Hadrianian and Augustan buildings. Three structures in a similar layout can be identified as consecration altars, i.e. altars erected at the site where the ustrinum for the cremation of the emperor had stood.56 They consist of a square altar made of marble with a side length of ten meters surrounded by two enclosures with a side length of approximately 23 and 30 meters, respectively.57 In the case of the altar lying the furthest in the west, its orientation to the column honouring Antoninus Pius indicates that the two buildings obviously belonged to a single complex commemorating the emperor post mortem. The depictions on the reliefs of the column’s pedestal refer partially explicitly to the divination of Antoninus Pius and his wife Faustina.58 At both sides, a decursio was depicted most probably showing the two dedicators, Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus, leading each one group of riders circuiting pretorians. The side opposite to the altar presented the apotheosis of Antoninus Pius and Faustina: Both seated at the back of a winged youth, Aion or a genius,

82  Soi Agelidis accompanied each by an eagle and ascending up to the sky. Personifications of the campus martius, a young man lying on the ground and clasping the obelisk of the Horologium Augusti, and of the enthroned Roma attend the event. The fourth side carried the dedicatory inscription.59 Both consecration altars to the east of this complex cannot be ascribed to a specific emperor or empress, but due to their placement close to the former and their alignment to it, they appear to also belong to the Antonines. Moreover, the position and orientation of the column erected to honour Marcus Aurelius in the southeast of these structures also points to his dynasty.60 It is very likely that several similar complexes stood in this area, leading Paul Zanker to describe this region as an ‘apotheosis landscape.’61 It is not surprising that divination and family bonds, two guiding principles for the legitimate succession or Roman emperors,62 came to the fore again by the Antonines. After the regulated succession order in the JulianClaudian and Flavian dynasties, the process became quite complicated after Trajan. His successor Hadrian applied an extensive building program to underline his legitimate ruling and that of the Antonines. Trajan had occupied with his forum Traiani the last available building area in the centre of the city and placed there his and his wife’s grave marker.63 Hadrian then concentrated his building activity in the campus martius in the vicinity and in relation to the Augustan and Flavian edifices. His mausoleum on the other side of the Tiber, the pantheon with its new porticus and the temple for his deified mother-in-law, the Augusta Salonia Matidia, were among his projects.64 The intention behind this activity to erect monuments of the dynastic power and claims is obvious and their placement in relation to the Augustan complex underlines this statement. For our question on the role of the populace for the preservation and confirmation of the institution of the Roman emperor and the hypothesis that collectivity was a decisive factor for the stability of these structures, we have to examine more intensively the places and the depictions of the apotheosis. The consecration altars and the depictions of the divination served as a confirmation of the sight witnessed by the people and a perpetual remembrance of the event. Besides the monuments we already examined, a few more are preserved today. The relief reused for the Arco di Portogallo in the third century CE is a work of the second century and commemorates the divination of empress Sabina (ca. 86–136 CE).65 She is carried up into the sky by a female winged genius with a torch in her hands in the presence of her husband emperor Hadrian seated on a stool, the personification of the campus martius.66 The apotheosis of emperor Titus depicted at the summit of the pass in the arch erected in his honour by his successor and brother Domitian is reduced due to the size of the relief to the absolute minimum (Figure 5.4): the emperor seated at the back of an eagle.67 The effect of the image on the other hand is intensified by its high position above the head of the passer-by.

Pompa funebris  83

Figure 5.4  Consecratio of Titus on a relief from his triumphal arch at the Forum Romanum. Source: Deutsches Archäologisches Institut Abteilung Rom D-DAI-Rom-2617_D13.

Although we know just a few depictions of the apotheosis, the ones available 68 give some good hints on the essential elements of the figurative commemoration of the event. First, the location of the cremation was obviously of high importance: the personification of the campus martius is depicted on the relief for Sabina as well as in that for Antoninus Pius and Faustina, acting as one of the two spectators of the apotheosis. The images stress the ties between the event and the place, thus demonstrating that the specific location functions as a condensation symbol for the divination of emperors and empresses. The second constant element of the iconography is the ascent into the sky on the wings of a living being. The winged genii and the eagles, respectively, are reminiscent to the spectacle people witnessed during the actual divination of the emperor at the rogus, i.e. the eagle ascending into the sky, along with the emotional and mental state people experienced. On this level, the individual is addressed directly and engages to his or her allotted role during the ritual. The eagle is the second strong condensation symbol emerging out of the event.

84  Soi Agelidis Location and vision are thus fixed and monumentalized to preserve the memory of the events experienced by the eyewitnesses. Right from the beginning of the Imperial times, this celebrative space was remodelled and obtained a new design that cast in the forms of buildings and monuments the subjects of succession (myth) and the relevant proceedings (ritual). The Ara Pacis likely was the paradigm after which the consecration altars of future emperors were built and the Mausoleum is a family grave dedicated to family bonds and succession led by blood bonds (even if they had to be constructed by adoptions). The consecration altars and the depictions of the eagle and the winged genii, respectively, triggered the remembrance of the collective experience to ever reinforce the myth and ritual that kept the institution of the Roman emperor stable.

5.11 Conclusion The principle of reciprocity visible already in the context of Republican pompae funebres is yet again decisive and even more vital for the persistence of the imperial rule. As long as the new emperor and the plebs urbana played their roles in this celebration of Roman imperial structures, they kept their capacities in the process of succession. Especially in this highly sensitive moment when the last emperor was dead and his successor’s rule was not yet fully established, the symbolic activity was crucial for guaranteeing the stability of the system, the peculiar monocratic system that was the imperium romanum.69 This underlines that symbolic politics are by no means empty shells of formalized actions but can be very essential for the persistence of institutions and the stability of societies. I hope it became clear that the pompae funebres were decisive for the success of these complex processes. Due to the mass of people participating and the various parts of the city they passed, a large part of society was addressed. Moreover, the ritual and the shared experiences evoked intense emotions. In this way, a strong collectivity was constituted and needed to validate the publicly claimed roles—whether of the widow, of the new head of the family, or the designated new emperor.

Notes 1 2 3 4

Geertz (1973). Cf. Hölkeskamp (2014, 359–60). Cf. Hölkeskamp (2014, 363). Edelman (19852), Edelman (1971), Sarcinelli (1987), Sarcinelli (1989), Schwartzenberg (1980), and Dörner (1996). 5 In addition, the focus laid by Sarcinelli (1989, 299–304) on language as the main verifiable vehicle for the purposes of symbolic politics opposes what we notice for ancient societies. 6 Edelman (19852, 1–2, 9, 15) and Dölle (2010, 160–61). 7 Besides the following definition cf. for further considerations on symbols also Sarcinelli (1989, 295–6).

Pompa funebris  85 8 9 10 11 12

Edelman (19852, 6–7). Dölle (2010, 164). Edelman (19852, 16–18) and Dölle (2010, 165–6). Frick (2015, 145–72). The following description of the events is shortened and idealized because our focus lays on the generally established way they occurred. Also the indication of the primary sources is selective. On the difficulties concerning the available evidence for the consecratio of the Roman emperors: Price (1987, 58–59) and Zanker (2004, 12–14). 13 Hope (2009, 50, 54–57, 71). Cic. Verr. 5.118; Aen. 4.672–86; 9.487; Ov. Tr. 3.3.37–46. 14 Graham (2015, 47). 15 Schrumpf (2006, 24–25, 269–71), Hope (2009, 68–69, 71), and Graham (2015, 42). 16 Schrumpf (2006, 26–27) and Graham (2015, 51–52). Iuv. 3.171 f.; Liv. 34.7.3; Prop. 4.11.61; Polyb. 6.53.1; 53.7; Apul. Met. 10.12; Flor. 4; Dig. 15.3.19; Mart. 9.57.8; Val. Max. 5.5.4; Lactant. 2.14.19. 17 CIL VI.12649; Petron. Sat. 42.6; 78.1; Prop. 2.13.21–22 (3, 5, 6); Stat. Silv. 5.1.210ff.; Suet. Ner. 50. 18 Pers. 3.105; Plin. NH 7.46 (6); Sen. Ep. 12.3. Flaig (2015, 100–101, 111–13). 19 Schrumpf (2006, 28–35) and Hope (2009, 66). 20 On the importance of the Roman public for the pompa funebris and the image of the noble families cf. Flaig (2015, 113–19). 21 The carrying of the torches does not necessarily mean that the pompae took place at night. A symbolical value—death is associated with darkness—is also plausible. cf. Schrumpf (2006, 41), n. 102; Hope (2009, 76). 22 Flaig (2015, 107, 109–10). 23 Schrumpf (2006, 38–41) and Flaig (2015, 105–6). 24 Schrumpf (2006, 41). 25 Schrumpf (2006, 41–42): Suet. Vesp. 19; Dion. Hal. 7.72.12. 26 Flaig (2015, 101–4). Most likely the masks used for the pompae were not the same that were displayed in the atrium of a noble man’s house originally taken from the face of the real persons. Rather, copies were manufactured after the originals: Schrumpf (2006, 43–45). 27 Schrumpf (2006, 42–46, 50–51). 28 Schrumpf (2006, 41): Asc. Mil. 29; Ov. Her. 1.120; Prop. 4.11.46; Sen. Tranq. 11.7; Suet. Aug. 98; Tac. Ann. 3.4.1; Aen. 11.142 ff. 29 Schrumpf (2006, 51–55). 30 Schrumpf (2006, 55–56). 31 Schrumpf (2006, 28–30, 56–59); Hope (2009, 121–49). Cic. Leg. 2.25.64; Plin. NH 11.157 (58); Lucian Luct. 12; Cic. Tusc. 2.55; 3.62; Apul. Met. 2.27.3; 3.8.1; 7.27.2; 8.9.2; Cass. Dio 75.5.3; Catull. 64.350 f.; Juv. 13.130; Ov. Am. 2.6.4; 3.9.10–11; Petron. Sat. 111.8 f.; Sil. Pun. 13.389; Tibull 1.1.67 f.; Aen. 4.673; Liv. Epit. 1.26.2. 32 Schrumpf (2006, 62) and Frick (2015, 221, 231–2, 236–7). 33 Flaig (2015, 107). 34 Schrumpf (2006, 84–85): the least seven hours. 35 Schrumpf (2006, 86–87) and Hope (2009, 80–85). 36 Dölle (2010, 161–4). 37 Cf. Dölle (2010, 165–6). 38 The funerals of Roman emperors were carried out in a similar way to the ones of the nobiles. Price (1987, 59–70) gives a good résumé of the procedures. 39 Price (1987, 64–65) and Flaig (2019, 54–57). 40 Flaig (2019, 54–55) and Hölkeskamp (2014, 368). On the exempla of the nobiles cf. Flaig (2015, 120–3). 41 Augustus himself refers to this narrative: Aug. res gestae 34.

86  Soi Agelidis 42 Since Augustus had occupied many fields in which agonality among the nobiles was performed in the Republic the mode of the competition among them changed from now on, cf. Flaig (2019, 127–30). 43 Flaig (2019, 129–33). 44 Flaig (2019, 203–35). 45 A good insight into the consecratio of Roman emperors and other members of their families but also into the development of the rituals out of procedures of the Republic provides e.g. Chalupa (2006/2007). 46 The use of the imperial effigy is attested in some cases: Price (1987, 64, 72, 75–76, 96–97) and Zanker (2004, 14–20). Since a representation of the deceased was used for the pompa funebris by the Roman nobility, people were in principle already familiar with this practice. 47 Price (1987, 65–66). 48 Price (1987, 95) emphasizes that the eagle ascending from the rogus was introduced only in the second century—and Suetonius has been anachronistic in his testimony on Augustus. The fact—Price himself refers to—that in “private art” e.g., on gems, the eagle is depicted already in the early imperial times is on the contrary a strong argument for this incident to occur actually from the Augustan times onwards. 49 The obvious staging of the apotheosis leads scholarship time and again to neglect it or treat it with arrogance and cynicism as already stated by Price (1987, 57–58) in his fundamental text on the phenomenon. 50 Reciprocity is a key element here. Cf. Hölkeskamp (2014, 364). 51 Flaig (2019, 107–9). 52 Although the events are certainly ephemeral (cf. Hölkeskamp 2014, 360) buildings and monuments can serve as long-lasting keepers of remembrance. 53 Albers (2013, 109–16, 132–3, 227–8, 244, 251). 54 Strab. 5.3.8. 55 Albers (2013, 115, 280). 56 Occasionally, the consecration altars are addressed as ustrina, e.g. Price (1987, 68). Albers (2013, 182) has made it perfectly clear that a labeling as consecration altars is more adequate. 57 Albers (2013, 180–4, 226–7). 58 Zanker (2004, 52–53) fig. 23, 60 fig. 27; Albers (2013, 182) fig. 101, 236 fig. 126. 59 Albers (2013, 182) fig. 101, 235–6 fig. 126. 60 Zanker (2004, 55–56) and Albers (2013, 185–6, 188, 236–7). 61 “Apotheose-Landschaft”: Zanker (2004, 56). Cf. Albers (2013, 184, 188). 62 On the complex circumstances around the succession of the Roman emperors see e.g. Börm (2015) and Gotter (2015). 63 Trajan had died on his way back to Rome in Selinus (today in southern Turkey) where most probably a commemoration temple was erected—I am very thankful for the insights given to me by Claudia Winterstein into her current research on the monument and sharing with me her new, not yet published interpretation. In the past, she followed the older reading as a cenotaph: Winterstein (2009) and Winterstein (2013). The urns of him and his wife Pompeia Plotina were placed in the pedestal of the Trajan column in the forum Traiani: Albers (2013, 170, 237–8). 64 Zanker (2004, 55–56) and Albers (2013, 161–77, 250–1, 252–3, 257–8). 65 Zanker (2004, 58–59) fig. 26. 66 The rogus carried out in a narrower relief is obviously a later addition to the scene: Albers (2013, 182–3 n. 204). 67 Pfanner (1983), Taf. 25 Abb. 1. 68 The ivory diptython dating in the fifth century CE (London, British Museum 1857, 1013.1: Zanker 2004, 63 fig. 29) and the relief showing Lucius Verus stepping onto his chariot in Ephesos (Wien, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Antikensammlung I

Pompa funebris  87 867: www.khm.at/de/object/9a15edfbee/) are not considered here because of their dating and location, respectively, since the paper focuses on Rome of the imperial times. 69 The way people expressed their grief for the death of an emperor reveals that this time was perceived as crucial for all, cf. Price (1987, 62–64).

Bibliography Albers, Jon. 2013. Campus Martius. Die urbane Entwicklung des Marsfeldes von der Republik bis zur mittleren Kaiserzeit. Wiesbaden: Reichert. Börm, Henning. 2015. “Born to be Emperor: The Principle of Succession and the Roman Monarchy.” In Contested Monarchy, edited by Johannes Wienand, 239–64. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Chalupa, Ales. 2006/2007. “How did Roman Emperors Become Gods? Various Concepts of Imperial Apotheosis.” Anodos. Studies of the Ancient World 6–7: 201–7. Dölle, Christian. 2010. Politisch-kulturelle Rahmenbedingungen Symbolischer Politik in entwickelten Mediendemokratien am Beispiel Deutschlands, Großbritanniens und der USA. Dissertationsschrift zur Erlangung des akademischen Doktorgrades an der Philosophischen Fakultät der Universität Passau. Passau: Universität Passau. Dörner, Andreas. 1996. Politischer Mythos und symbolische Politik. Hamburg: Rowohlt Verlag. Edelman, Murray. [1964] 19852. The Symbolic Uses of Politics. 2nd ed. Urbana: Illinois University Press.    . 1971. Politics as Symbolic Action: Mass Arousal and Quiescence. Chicago: Markham Publishing. Flaig, Egon. 2015. “Prozessionen aus der Tiefe der Zeit. Das Leichenbegängnis des römischen Adels – Rückblick.” In Raum und Performanz. Rituale in Residenzen von der Antike bis 1815, edited by Dietrich Boschung, Karl-Joachim Hölkeskamp and Claudia Sode, 99–126. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner.    . 2019. Den Kaiser herausfordern. Die Usurpation im Römischen Reich. 2nd ed. Frankfurt: Campus Verlag. Frick, Eckhard. 2015. Psychosomatische Anthropologie. 2nd ed. Stuttgart: Verlag W. Kohlhammer. Geertz, Clifford. 1973. “Religion as a Cultural System.” In The Interpretation of Cultures, edited by Clifford Geertz. 3rd ed. 2017, 93–135. New York: Basic Books. Gotter, Ulrich. 2015. “Penelope’s Web, or How to Become a Bad Emperor Post Mortem.” In Antimonarchic Discourse in Antiquity, edited by Henning Börm, 215–33. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner. Graham, Emma-Jayne. 2015. “Corporeal Concerns: The Role of the Body in the Transformation of Roman Mortuary Practices.” In Death Embodied. Archaeological Approaches to the Treatment of the Corpse, edited by Zoë L. Devlin and Emma-Jayne Graham, 41–62. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Hölkeskamp, Karl-Joachim. 2014. “Raum – Präsenz – Performanz. Prozessionen in politischen Kulturen der Vormoderne – Forschungen und Fortschritte.” In Medien der Geschichte – Antikes Griechenland und Rom, edited by Ortwin Dally, Tonio Hölscher, Susanne Muth and Rolf Michael Schneider, 359–95. Berlin: De Gruyter. Hope, Valerie M. 2009. Roman Death. The Dying and the Dead in Ancient Rome. London: Continuum.

88  Soi Agelidis Pfanner, Michael. 1983. Der Titusbogen. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Price, Simon. 1987. “From Noble Funerals to Divine Cult: The Consecration of Roman Emperors.” In Rituals of Royalty. Power and Ceremonial in Traditional Societies, edited by David Cannadine and Simon Price, 56–105. Cambridge: University Press. Sarcinelli, Ulrich. 1987. Symbolische Politik. Zur Bedeutung symbolischen Handelns in der Wahlkampfkommunikation der Bundesrepublik Deutschland. Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag.    . 1989. “Symbolische Politik und politische Kultur. Das Kommunikationsritual als politische Wirklichkeit.” Politische Vierteljahresschrift 30(2): 292–309. Schrumpf, Stefan. 2006. Bestattung und Bestattungswesen im Römischen Reich. Ablauf, soziale Dimension und ökonomische Bedeutung der Totenfürsorge im lateinischen Westen. Bonn: University Press. Schwartzenberg, Roger. 1980. Politik als Showgeschäft. Moderne Strategien im Kampf um die Macht. Düsseldorf: Econ Verlag. Winterstein, Claudia. 2009. “Der Şekerhane Köşkü in Selinus. Bauhistorische Untersuchungen zum vermuteten Kenotaph des Kaisers Trajan.” Architectura: Zeitschrift für Geschichte der Baukunst 39: 27–41.    . 2013. “Şekerhane Köşkü in Selinus: The Alleged Cenotaph for the Roman Emperor Trajan. Preliminary Report on Current Architectural Research.” In Rough Cilicia. New Historical and Archaeological Approaches. Proceedings of an International Conference Held at Lincoln, Nebraska, October 2007, edited by Michael C. Hoff and Richard F. Townsend, 157–75. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Zanker, Paul. 2004. Die Apotheose der römischen Kaiser. Ritual und städtische Bühne. München: Carl Friedrich von Siemens Stiftung.

6

Long and winding roads Imperial funeral processions to the city of Rome under Augustus and Tiberius Ida Östenberg

In 23 BC, the young Marcellus, Augustus’ nephew, unexpectedly passed away in Campania after falling sick, possibly from the plague. His body was escorted back to Rome and buried in Augustus’ Mausoleum, at the time still under construction. The event marked a new era. Marcellus was the first in a row of imperial family members to be interred in the Mausoleum. Further, the funeral cortège to Rome itself formed a novelty. From then on, the imperial house transported their deceased males back from their places of death to Rome in public processions, a procedure not practised during Republican times, with Sulla as the one notable exception. Thus, processions brought the deceased Agrippa to Rome from Campania in 12 BC, Drusus back from Germania in 9 BC, Lucius Caesar from Massilia via Ostia in 2 CE, and his brother Gaius from Lycia, via Brundisium, two years later. The remains of the dead emperor himself were escorted from Nola in 14 CE, as were Germanicus’ ashes from Syria via Brundisium in 19 CE. As we shall see, these funeral processions travelled vast distances on land and at sea, lasted for days, weeks, and even months, and involved numerous groups of people and a multitude of Italian and imperial communities. People took turns carrying the bodies, they organized sacrifices in the cities and along the road, and they joined the emperor’s family members in their grief. The imperial funeral processions to Rome in the early Empire have (as a phenomenon) largely escaped the attention of scholars. For this reason, I will use the first part of this chapter to present the evidence for each of the processions that followed the bodies of Marcellus, Agrippa, Drusus, Lucius and Gaius Caesar, Augustus and the ashes of Germanicus from the locations where they perished back to Rome. For some, the sources are substantial (Drusus and Germanicus), while for others rather little is known (Marcellus and Agrippa). In the second, shorter, part of this chapter, I will analyse and discuss the distances covered, the manifold participants and the memories created by the escorted funerals, all in terms of collective rituals set to strengthen DOI: 10.4324/9781003301646-6

90  Ida Östenberg both the new dynasty and the Italian and imperial collective identity. At the same time, I will be attentive to any underlying conflicts triggered by the deaths of the young “princes” and their funeral processional rituals.1 Further, the novelty of the practice will be noted, as will the triumphal elements of the processions and the theme of apotheosis. It should be stated from the beginning that during Augustus and Tiberius, only male members of the imperial family were bestowed with this honour. This is, I believe, simply because they died away from Rome. The female members were profoundly important to the new dynasty, and both Augustus’ sister Octavia and wife Livia were interred in the Mausoleum. However, since they (probably) passed away in the city, their funeral rituals were all performed there.2 Some of the other female members died in exile and were not permitted a resting place in the Mausoleum. Under Augustus, this was the destiny of the two Juliae, the daughter and granddaughter of Augustus, respectively, as also of Agrippa Postumus.3 Tiberius further exiled Agrippina the Elder, but her ashes were repatriated and brought into the Mausoleum by way of a public procession performed by her son Caligula when he became emperor.4 Most likely, other female members of the imperial family would have been given similar honours under Augustus and Tiberius too, had they lost their lives away from Rome and deemed worthy of the last honours.

6.1 Funeral processions to Rome from Marcellus to Germanicus 6.1.1  Marcellus, 23 BC Octavia’s son Marcellus was only 19 when he passed away in Baiae in September or October 23 BC.5 Several authors mention Marcellus’ death and public funeral in Rome.6 We also know that Augustus held a laudatio, from which a few words have been preserved.7 As for the cortège to the Urbs, the distance between Baiae and Rome is around 215 kilometres. If walking and covering 20–30 kilometres a day, the procession with Marcellus’ body would thus have lasted about 7–11 days. Our only source for the procession to Rome is Servius, who in his commentary on Marcellus’ appearance in the underworld (Aeneid 6) writes thus (ad Aen. 6.861): huius mortem vehementer civitas doluit: nam et adfabilis fuit et Augusti filius. Ad funeris huius honorem Augustus sescentos lectos intra civitatem ire iussit: hoc enim apud maiores gloriosum fuerat et dabatur pro qualitate fortunae; nam Sulla sex milia habuit. Igitur cum ingenti pompa adlatus et in campo Martio est sepultus.

Long and winding roads 91 The citizens were deeply pained with grief over his death, as he had been both amiable and a son of Augustus.8 To honour his funeral, Augustus ordered that six hundred lecti should proceed into the city.9 This had been a glorious tradition among the ancestors and provided good fortune: Sulla had six thousand. Thus, he was carried along with a large procession and buried in the Field of Mars. What or who are the 600 lecti that Augustus ordered for the procession? Javier Arce proposed 600 dining beds reserved for a funeral banqueting,10 and others have suggested that such biers either transported imagines maiorum or carried gifts.11 Silvio Panciera’s reading is different: the lecti in his view were not beds, but people elected to accompany the body of Marcellus from Campania to Rome.12 In fact, as Panciera acknowledges, two manuscripts have delectos and electos (“selected”) rather than lectos.13 This would also make much more sense of the comparison with Sulla, who had died just nearby Marcellus, at Puteoli. Sulla’s body was transported to Rome in a procession led by trumpeters and horsemen in large numbers and followed by a great multitude of armed men on foot.14 His was the first extended funeral procession that we know of, and Marcellus’ was in all probability the second, and their routes were identical. Further, both Sulla and Marcellus were given public funerals and both were buried in the Campus Martius. People must have looked at Marcellus’ procession and remembered Sulla’s. I would like to add one more argument in favour of Panciera, one that he does not mention himself: Vergil’s description of Pallas’ funeral train in book 11 of the Aeneid. Pallas, the young son of Evander, had been entrusted to Aeneas, but was killed in battle by Turnus. As has been noted, Vergil at many instances draws parallels between Pallas and Marcellus.15 Both youths are depicted as the hope of their people, and Vergil uses the same wordings when Anchises speaks about Marcellus and Aeneas speaks about Pallas. Both are described as being extraordinarily beautiful (egregius forma), both are doomed, and both are addressed as miserande puer.16 There is no doubt that Vergil wrote the unexpected, tragic death of Marcellus into the Aeneid, certainly in the scene in the underworld in book six, but also in the figure of Pallas. Like Marcellus, Pallas was led in a funeral procession back to Rome, or rather proto-Rome, Evander’s city. And indeed, when Aeneas arranges for the procession to set off for Rome, he picks 1000 men from his army to accompany the bier. These were, writes Vergil, lecti, that is chosen (11.60–1: toto lectos ex agmine mittit mille viros), just like the 600 that Servius provides for Marcellus.17 Vergil was composing the Aeneid when Marcellus passed away. He may well have watched the procession that carried the young man’s remains from Campania to Rome, as also the funeral rites in the city

92  Ida Östenberg itself. Several scholars have reasonably argued that when Anchises explains the row of heroes in the underworld to his son, the scene recalls Marcellus’ Roman funeral, with imagines representing his ancestors.18 The scene ends with the lament of Marcellus; it is as if Anchises and Aeneas are watching his actual funeral. It seems reasonable that elements from the deceased Marcellus’ escort back to Rome were incorporated into Virgil’s poetic description of the dead Pallas’ mournful return there as well. 6.1.2  Agrippa, 12 BC In 12 BC, Agrippa passed away in Campania, and Augustus himself escorted him back to Rome, where he held a laudatio for his long-time friend and son-in-law and buried him in the Mausoleum.19 Very little is known about the cortège to Rome; Dio Cassius states that the funeral procession was performed in the same way as later for Augustus, but it is unclear whether he is referring to the transport of the body to Rome or to the obsequies in the city, or to both.20 What we do know is that Sulla, Marcellus, Agrippa and later Augustus all died in Campania, from where their bodily remains were escorted in processions to Rome. 6.1.3  Drusus the elder, 9 BC There is much more to be said of our next case, Drusus the Elder, who was the eldest son of Livia, a great commander and hugely popular in Rome. Returning from the Elbe to the Rhine during a campaign in Germania in 9 BC, Drusus broke his leg as his horse fell on him.21 He died 30 days later (Liv. Per. 142) in his summer camp, which, according to Suetonius (Claud. 1.3), hence begot the name castra scelerata, “the accursed camp.” It has been suggested that the modern village of Schellerten should be identified as its geographical location.22 When news of his brother’s condition reached Tiberius in Ticinum (modern Pavia), he immediately set off, travelled in great haste to Drusus and found him still alive.23 Tiberius’ journey was famous in antiquity both for the fraternal piety and for the quick pace at which he covered such a large distance, partly set in a dangerous German terrain.24 According to Pliny the Elder, Tiberius travelled the 200 Roman miles night and day (nocte ac die) by carriage.25 Valerius Maximus tells a similar story, noting that Tiberius made the journey as if in one breath. In his version, however, it was after crossing the Alps and the Rhine that Tiberius travelled the 200 Roman miles day and night. Changing horses along the route, Tiberius travelled through German land in the company of a local guide named Antabagius.26 The full distance between Ticinum and Schellerten (possibly Drusus’ place of death) is around 1000 kilometres, or 676 Roman miles. It is possible that Tiberius covered the initial part of the route in

Long and winding roads 93 a carriage as per Pliny, but after crossing the Rhine travelled the rest— perhaps 200 Roman miles, or 296 kilometres—on horse-back as per Valerius Maximus. When Drusus had passed away, Tiberius ordered the body to be carried to the winter camp at Mogontiacum, modern Mainz, by centurions and military tribunes. As in the case of Marcellus (and earlier Sulla), the army was thus entrusted with the first part of the procession. If it indeed began in Schellerten, the distance would be 320 kilometres; if the procession covered 20–30 kilometres a day in the partly difficult terrain, it would still have taken 11–16 days.27 The sources claim furthermore that the German tribes agreed to a temporary standstill as Drusus was carried through their territory.28 In Mainz, the soldiers raised a monument, which they were to run around each year at a given date (stato die),29 possibly Drusus’ death date or the day that the corpse arrived at Mainz. Further, on this day, the cities of Gaul were obliged to hold prayers and sacrifices. Suetonius calls the monument a tumulus, and it has been identified with the so-called Drususstein within the citadel in Mainz (Figure 6.1).30 The army had wanted to bury Drusus either in the castra scelerata or, perhaps more likely, at Mogontiacum,31 but Tiberius decided to escort Drusus’ body back to Rome, leading the procession all the way. Suetonius adds that he walked the entire distance by foot.32 It seems highly likely that they proceeded via Lugdunum (modern Lyon). Not only did the main road lead here, but Lugdunum was also where Drusus had been stationed between 13 and 9 BC, and where he had dedicated the altar of the Tres Galliae to Augustus. His son Claudius had been born in Lugdunum in 10 BC; perhaps Drusus’ family met the cortège here, together with the concilium Galliarum.33 The distance between Mogontiacum to Rome, via Lugdunum and Ticinum, is about 1800 kilometres. Even if the procession walked as far as 20–30 kilometres a day without rest, the ORBIS model at Stanford University, which calculates travelling times and expenses in the Roman world, estimates that such a journey would have taken 60–90 days.34 At Ticinum, both Augustus and Livia joined the escort.35 The final leg, from Ticinum to Rome measures about 600 kilometres. If walking 20–30 kilometres a day, Augustus, Livia, and Tiberius would have been seen escorting Drusus through Italy for around 20–30 days. But as they stopped in cities all along the route, the journey must have taken much longer (Figure 6.2). We need further to remember that a funeral cortège is in its essence a solemn movement, not to be hurried. It must therefore have taken several months for Drusus’ body to be taken from the castra scelerata in Germania to Rome. The members of the imperial house were certainly not alone in the procession. According to Suetonius and Dio Cassius, the leading men from all cities and colonies helped carry the body to Rome, where, according to Suetonius, it was met by the decuries of scribes.36 Once in Rome, and after

94  Ida Östenberg

Figure 6.1  The so-called Drususstein in Mainz. Source: The author.

preparations had been made, Tiberius held a laudatio in the Forum and Augustus one at the circus Flaminius (he could not enter the pomerium as he was still on campaign).37 From the Forum, Drusus’ body was carried to the Campus Martius by senators and equites and their wives.38 Drusus was then buried in the Mausoleum.39 Drusus’ death and funeral procession passing through Italy form central themes in two more ancient texts. One is the Consolatio ad Liviam, formerly

Long and winding roads 95

Figure 6.2  Suggested route of Drusus’ funeral escort from Germania in 9 BC. Source: Johan Åhlfeldt.

attributed to Ovid and believed to have been composed sometime in the Julio-Claudian age; most scholars argue for a late Augustan or Tiberian date.40 The other is likewise a consolatio, but written in prose: Seneca’s Consolatio ad Marciam, which lauds the exemplarity of Livia’s conduct after Drusus’ death. The Consolatio ad Liviam puts quite an emphasis on the journey, as Livia, having expected her son to return in triumph, instead has to lead Drusus’ funeral procession through the mourning Italian cities (173: funera ducuntur Romana per oppida Drusi).41 The poem underlines the communal grief (200: publica damna) and tells of how everyone participated in the processional activity and of how the youth offered to carry the solemn

96  Ida Östenberg burden (207–8, 463). Once in Rome, in a touching scene, even the river Tiber cried (221–30). In the Consolatio ad Marciam too, people from all colonies, towns, and provinces pour out and escort the bier, as if the procession was a triumphal one.42 Livia’s presence is marked here too; she accompanies (3.2: prosecuta) the body, while Tiberius leads the procession on foot. All along the long journey (3.2: longo itinere), Livia watches the numerous pyres that burn throughout all Italy (3.2: tot per omnen Italiam ardentibus rogis). In Rome, she herself places the remains of her son into the Mausoleum (3.2: intulit tumulo). 6.1.4  Lucius and Gaius Caesar, 2 and 4 CE Lucius and Gaius, the grandsons and adopted sons of Augustus, both died young. Lucius Caesar was on his way to Spain when he suddenly fell ill and passed away in Massilia on August 20, 2 CE; he was 19.43 The body was brought back on sea and landed in Ostia, where the inhabitants awaited his arrival.44 An inscription in the fasti Ostienses states that thousands of people carrying lit candles and torches met the procession. The town was decorated in mourning and the city magistrates, dressed in black, carried the body, probably through the city and towards Rome (CIL XIV, 4532):45 Hominu[m plus – – – g] inta millia can[delis ardentibus] obviam processe[runt. Magistratus] Ostiensium pulla[ti corpus tulerunt.] Oppidum fuit orn[atum – – –] Thousands of men with lighted candles [and/or torches] came forth to meet [the funeral procession]. The magistrates of Ostia dressed in mourning carried the corpse. The town was decorated… One-and-a-half years later, on February 21, 4 CE, Lucius’ 3-year-older brother Gaius died in Limyra on the coastline of Lycia, suffering from an unhealed wound.46 According to Dio Cassius, the bodies of both brothers were escorted to Rome by military tribunes and the leading men of every city.47 The route of Gaius’ funeral cortège is unknown, but it is likely that the body was taken by ship to Brundisium and then brought through the various cities along the Via Appia to Rome. The ORBIS model calculates that such a journey would take 33 days, but again, we should add substantial time for travel arrangements, various stops, and local ceremonies. For both brothers, the journey on sea must have formed part of the solemn processions. We have epigraphic evidence for the public mourning of Gaius and Lucius, both in Rome and elsewhere in Italy. Most important are the inscriptions from the colony of Pisa, where the local council in detail wrote down the honours given the brothers.48 For the present discussion,

Long and winding roads 97 I would like to underline two aspects. One is that in Pisa, the honours for Lucius were discussed on September 19, a month after his death, and that Gaius’ demise was announced on April 2, six weeks after his death.49 The bodies must have arrived much later. The other point is that after the death of Lucius and Gaius, a so-called iustitium, a period of mourning, was announced (as would later be for Augustus, Germanicus, and Drusus the Younger, and possibly also earlier for Drusus the Elder). For Gaius, the Pisa edict spells out the regulations—people were to dress in black and not engage socially, matrons were to grieve, and shops, temples, and baths were to be closed “from the day that his death was announced until his remains were returned and buried and the funeral rites for his shades completed.”50 The iustitia for Lucius and Gaius are also documented in two more inscriptions, one from the Mausoleum (probably) for Lucius, stating, among other things, that the consuls had declared a iustitium and that everyone mourned: omnes luxerunt. The other inscription forms an entry in the Fasti Cuprenses, noting that Gaius died February 21, and that an iustitium had been declared in Rome to last until his bones had been carried into the Mausoleum: [VIIII k. Mart. C. Caesar] Aug(usti) f(ilius) dec[essit in Lycia/ annum agens XXI]II. Romae iustit[ium indictum est] donec ossa eius in [Ma] esol[aeum in/lata sunt].51 6.1.5  Augustus, 14 CE The emperor died in Nola on August 19, 14 CE and his body was escorted to Rome. Several sources provide rather substantial information about the funeral in the city.52 For the cortège between Nola and Rome, less is known, but both Suetonius and Dio Cassius give useful accounts. According to Suetonius (Aug. 100.2): Corpus decuriones municipiorum et coloniarum a Nola Bovillas usque deportarunt noctibus propter anni tempus, cum interdiu in basilica cuiusque oppidi vel in aedium sacrarum maxima reponeretur. A Bovillis equester ordo suscepit urbique intulit atque in vestibulo domus conlocavi. Decurions from the municipalities and colonies carried his body from Nola all the way to Bovillae. Because of the time of year, this took place at night, and during the day the body was stored in the basilica of the given town or in the largest of its temples. At Bovillae, the equestrian order received the body, carried it to the city, and placed it in the vestibule of his house. Dio’s version is very similar: the foremost men of each city escorted the emperor’s body; closer to Rome, the equites took over and brought it into the city at night. Further, Dio adds that the senate subsequently absolved

98  Ida Östenberg Tiberius for the forbidden act of touching the corpse and also, more strangely, for having escorted it on its journey, after which the text unfortunately breaks off.53 We may thus note once more that the foremost members of the communities along the funeral route took turns to carry the body. No military men appear in these accounts, but we know from Tacitus (Ann. 1.8) and Dio Cassius (56.42) that such officials were present at the later funeral in Rome. Interestingly, both Suetonius and Dio Cassius note that the procession at least partly took place at night; it seems that the warm weather in August posed difficulties, possibly for preserving the body, or because the heat presented difficulties for the bearers.54 As for the time used, we may note that when Tiberius himself died, Caligula escorted the body back from nearby Misenum, a journey that took 13 days from the time of the death.55 Dio Cassius further states that Tiberius was absolved for having touched the body, something that brings to mind Tiberius’ own critique of Germanicus burying bodies after the Teutoburger defeat, partly for religious reasons, as Germanicus was an augur (Ann. 1.62). That Tiberius would lead the escort to Rome seems rather obvious;56 perhaps the objections were likewise religiously motivated.57 Lastly, we may note that the procession was separated from the funeral in Rome; first, the cortège took the body to Rome (via Bovillae) and only later was the funeral staged in the city. It was only after the emperor’s remains had entered Rome that the senate met to discuss the funeral arrangements.58 6.1.6  Germanicus, 19 CE Germanicus, the son of Drusus the Elder, adopted son of Tiberius and husband of Augustus’ granddaughter Agrippina, died on October 10, 19 CE in Daphne outside of Antioch, Syria.59 Accusations of poison and witchcraft were directed at Cn. Calpurnius Piso and his wife Plancina, and Tiberius and Livia were likewise implicated. According to Tacitus (Ann. 2.73; cf. Dio Cass. 57.18.9–10), Germanicus’ body was exposed naked in the forum of Antioch (corpus antequam cremaretur nudatum in foro Antiochensium), where people looked for signs of poisoning before the corpse was cremated. Germanicus also had a sepulchrum in Antioch and a cenotaph (tribunal) erected in Daphne (Tac. Ann. 2.83). The massive outburst of grief, blame, and violence in Rome at the news of Germanicus’ death (Tac. Ann. 2.82), and the later trial against Piso, are well known from Tacitus and from several important inscriptions.60 Here, I will focus on the return of Germanicus’ ashes to Rome, for which Tacitus is our main source.61 Now, Tacitus’ narrative is certainly biased both in favour of his hero Germanicus and against his villain Tiberius, but his account is still useful for the procession route, the role of Agrippina and the strong reactions of the Roman people.

Long and winding roads 99 At some time after Germanicus’ funeral in Syria, Agrippina (Ann. 2.75), pitied by the crowd and tired from grief and physical illness, went on board the fleet together with her two children, presumably the 7-year-old Caligula (cf. Suet. Cal. 10.1) and 1-year-old Julia Livilla (ascendit classem cum cineribus Germanici et liberis). Agrippina carried the ashes of her husband in her lap ( feralis reliquias sinu ferret). Except for a few days of rest on Corfu, the ship, again according to Tacitus, travelled without any breaks, despite the winter seas (Ann. 3.1). Meanwhile, masses of people from far and near gathered at Brundisium. Friends, soldiers, and large crowds filled the harbour, the city walls, and the house roofs. The ship rowed slowly (paulatim) towards the shore to match the sorrowful occasion. Men and women all wailed and groaned, as Agrippina together with the children left the ship, carrying the urn and holding her gaze downwards (Ann. 3.1) Then followed the funeral procession along the Via Appia from Brundisium to Rome. Tacitus (Ann. 3.2) writes that Tiberius had sent two cohorts from the Praetorian Guard and had ordered the magistrates from Calabria, Apulia, and Campania to meet the cortège. These tribunes and centurions carried the urn on their shoulders, preceded by unadorned standards and reversed fasces. All along the route and in all the colonies, people wore black while the knights dressed in the trabea. In the towns and colonies, people burned perfumes and offered funerary gifts. Others turned up from afar, grieving loudly and offering sacrifices. At Tarracina, Tiberius’ son Drusus and Germanicus’ brother Claudius met the procession together with the four children of Germanicus and Agrippina who had not accompanied them to Syria. The consuls M. Valerius Messala and M. Aurelius Cotta Maximus Messalinus, the senate, and large crowds of people all left the city and stood along the road, weeping and greeting the cortège as it passed by (Ann. 3.2).62 Tiberius and Livia were nowhere to be seen, writes Tacitus, either because it was below their dignity to be viewed grieving or because they were afraid their hypocrisy would be revealed. Also missing was Antonia, Germanicus’ mother.63 People were upset that, unlike at the death of Drusus, the deceased’s brother (Claudius) had only gone one day’s journey to meet the funeral train. Tiberius had not even turned up at the city gate (Ann. 3.3). How much time would have passed between the death of Germanicus on October 10 until his ashes arrived in Rome?64 First, the funeral arrangements in Antioch were to be held and the sailing journey planned. For the route itself, from Antioch via Corfu, Brundisium, and Tarracina to Rome, the ORBIS model calculates 35 days, but again we must add substantially more time because of the particular circumstances. There was the stay in Corfu, as well as numerous other stops along the road as the ship entered Brundisium and as different groups met the procession as it moved forward in a solemn march.

100  Ida Östenberg News of Germanicus’ death travelled faster,65 and the people in Rome implemented a spontaneous iustitium, probably immediately in either late November or early December (Tac. Ann. 2.82).66 A formal iustitium was declared by the senate somewhat later, on December 8,67 and the senate also met to discuss Germanicus’ honours twice, first on December 16.68 As we know that M. Valerius Messala and M. Aurelius Cotta Maximus Messalinus were consuls in 20 CE, the trip to Tarracina must have occurred after January 1 that year. Tiberius ended the iustitium just before the Megalesian Games, which took place in early April (Tac. Ann. 3.6), so it is reasonable to assume that Germanicus’ ashes would have been placed in the Mausoleum sometime in March, and that the cortège arrived in Rome not too long before this. In all, then, it would probably have taken around five to six months after his death before Germanicus’ remains were placed in the Mausoleum.69

6.2  The funeral processions as collective rituals The imperial funeral processions to Rome covered vast distances and lasted for long periods of time. As we have seen, Drusus’ body was escorted around 2100 kilometres from Germania to Rome, a journey that must have taken several months. To transport Gaius’ body from Lycia would have taken weeks, or even months, and as discussed previously; sources indicate that it took five to six months after Germanicus’ passing in Antioch before Agrippina arrived with his ashes in Rome. We must assume that when dead bodies were taken to Rome, they were embalmed, in order to be openly displayed to the spectators along the road.70 Adding to the time required was the fact that funeral processions by definition are slow-going affairs: grief and respect for the dead require an unhurried, dignified motion. Hence, while sources indicate that it took less than a month for the notice of Drusus’ accident to reach Ticinum and then for Tiberius to rush to his brother’s deathbed,71 the return was instead deliberately slow, as manifested by Tiberius walking on foot. Ships also travelled with an intentional lack of speed; hence the fleet transporting Agrippina with Germanicus’ ashes was rowed at a slow pace (paulatim) as it entered Brundisium, thus underlining the solemnity of the occasion (Tac. Ann. 3.1). The sources point out not only the length of the processions themselves, but also underline the distance and effort made by the imperial family to meet and escort the dead. Tiberius was lauded for rapidly covering the long distance to Drusus’ castra through a partly hostile territory and for leading the escort on foot all the way back, demonstrating his fraternal pietas. As a contrast, Tacitus (Ann. 3.3) writes that the Roman people criticized Claudius for travelling only a single day to meet Germanicus’ funeral procession at Tarracina, and Tiberius and Livia for not even greeting the escort at the gate. Their conduct was regarded as signs of disrespect, both to the deceased and to the grieving people.72

Long and winding roads 101 The ancient authors further emphasized how large numbers of people from near and far met with, watched, and joined the processions. What is more, sources time and time again underline how all people and places participated in the funeral processions and the grieving: even fierce Germania held a truce and offered prayers and sacrifices while Drusus was ill and his body carried from the castra scelerata to Mainz, thus offering an open, peaceful, and solemn space for the cortège (Sen. Marc. 3.1).73 The cities, colonies, regions, and provinces were active participants in the moving ceremonies, and some were specifically named, including Campania, Calabria, Apulia (Tac. Ann. 3.2), Mogontiacum, Ticinum, Bovillae, Antioch, Corfu, Brundisium, and Tarracina. Through movement, the funeral processions connected people and places in a both physical and deeply emotional way. As the bodies of the dead with their grieving entourage passed through the sea- and landscape, cities and regions were united in a joint collective journey. Livia saw flames from the sacrificial pyres as she escorted her deceased son Drusus to Rome (Sen. Marc. 3.2), a sight that in a very visual way connected the Italian peninsula. Many communities would have performed as did Ostia, where the whole city went out to meet Lucius’ body with torches and lit candles (CIL XIV.4532). Another recurring theme in the ancient descriptions is the insistence that all groups of society escorted the dead. Time and time again, we are told that the military was present, that the magistrates and the foremost men of the cities took turns to carry the sorrowful burden, that senators and the equites took part, that large crowds poured out and that men, the youth, children, and women all participated—the active presence of women can for example be seen in the conduct of Livia at Drusus’ death and even more so in Agrippina carrying her husband’s ashes back to Rome.74 The gods took part too, as did the river Tiber and, if you will, sacrificial animals. Further, the processions took place day and night, on land and at sea. These cortèges embraced all of Rome, terra marique, tota Italia and the orbis terrarum—every place and space, all people and all time. The funeral processions under Augustus and Tiberius thus both reflected and constructed the idea of empire. And of dynasty too; it is a mark of monarchy to engage people in the ruler’s family—also in the young, who are presented and perceived as representatives of the future common good. In the Republic, it would have been unthinkable to honour those who had not yet performed deeds for the state in a similar way.75 The Augustan funeral processions were collective rituals that strengthened the new dynasty and helped shape an Italian and Roman collective identity. Active participation is key to communal rituals; the bodily movements, the gift-giving and sacrifices, and the sensual experiences of seeing fires, smelling incense, and hearing cries all intensify the emotions and reinforce the collective ritual as “a time out of time” as defined by Falassi.76 Cities outside the route would have joined by building altars, sacrificing, and commemorating the dead, as was the case in Pisa.

102  Ida Östenberg But mass rituals could also prove dangerous to power; protests are not called movements without reason. Thus, when grieving crowds met with and followed Agrippina’s journey with Germanicus’ ashes through Italy, they posed a threat to Tiberius.77 The military escorts of the imperial processions were there to carry the body and pay respect to the deceased, but their presence also demonstrated the capacity to impose violence. Indeed, Tacitus saw the presence of the troops at Augustus’ funeral as an indication of Rome’s servitude to the princeps (Ann. 1.8.) Other cracks in the ritual community are more difficult to discover. But processions also form “moving hierarchies,”78 and we should imagine competition and conflicts within the participating cities, as some were counted among the “foremost citizens” and chosen for honourable assignments, others not.79 There would also have been those who opposed Augustus and those who disliked the deceased. Death causes ruptures in the social fabric. Hence, the inscription for Lucius, stating that everyone grieved, omnes luxerunt, could be read not only as a neutral statement of fact, but also as the hegemonic power’s instructions for how people were expected to behave. In contrast to the case of Germanicus, the trio of Augustus, Livia, and Tiberius succeeded in gathering support at Drusus’ death by exposing themselves to physical and emotional hardships, by walking on foot for long distances, and not least by moving together with the crowds. Hence, a communitas was created, in the words of Victor Turner, in which the hierarchy between “above” and “under” was temporarily dissolved.80 Tiberius, Augustus, and Livia walked with the people and the people walked with them, sacrificed with them and grieved with them. The ritual participation set in a highly emotional time and space strengthened the bond between rulers and the ruled. Presence is crucial; so too are credibility and sincerity. This I why, I believe, some sources stress how people viewed Livia’s conduct and facial expressions as she accompanied Drusus, and later also Agrippina as she travelled with her husband’s ashes.81 Tacitus also stresses the importance of sincerity and credibility when he implies that Tiberius and Livia avoided appearing in public at Germanicus’ death, as people would have seen through any fake grief.82 Processions leave memories in people’s minds and in communal stories. Hence, the various funeral processions also interacted with funeral processions that had been held previously. Escorting Marcellus from Campania to Rome reminded people of Sulla’s funeral, and the later processions that followed the same route would have made the road between Campania and Rome take on a certain funeral significance. Germanicus’ return was compared to that of his father Drusus. And when Caligula later rushed off to collect the ashes of his mother Agrippina (and brother Drusus) and brought them in urns on a military ship to Ostia and further to Rome, where the foremost equites carried them into the Mausoleum, the evocation of

Long and winding roads 103 Germanicus’ funeral procession was profound.83 Once more, Rome saw a fleet return with the ashes of a parent of Caligula’s who had been mistreated by Tiberius. As in the case of Germanicus, Caligula himself was present, as was indeed (the remains of) Agrippina. Furthermore, processions leave behind them in the land- and cityscape mnemonic marks, or what Pierre Nora calls lieux de mémoire, shaping new memory-scapes.84 Thus, the camp where Drusus died was not only transformed into a cursed place, a castra scelerata, but would also have been remembered as the starting point for his lengthy funeral procession. Even more so, the Drususstein in Mogontiacum (Mainz), annually revisited by the army and the people of Gallia, became a distinct monumental, memorial node—at once the destination of the escort from the castra scelerata and the place of departure for Tiberius’ walk to Rome. Similarly, Germanicus’ cenotaph in Daphne and his sepulchrum in Antioch (Tac. Ann. 83) became associated with both his death and the funeral journey to Rome that followed. We should further imagine that inscriptions and memorials would have marked the temples, houses, open places, and roads where the bodies were temporarily placed and travelled along the routes. The inscription from the Fasti Ostienses bears witness to such a proud memory for a city that welcomed and carried Lucius’ body as it embarked in the harbour on the way to Rome. All roads lead to Rome, and in Rome, the dead were met at the city gates and then taken (it seems) to the palace, from where the city funeral procession then—probably very soon afterwards— commenced.85 Via the ceremony on the Forum Romanum, the bodies were then carried to the funeral pyre on the Campus Martius, after which their remains were buried in Augustus’ Mausoleum. Wherever these processions had set off, whether Campania, Germania, Gallia, Lycia, or Syria, it was only when the ashes of the imperial family members had been laid to rest in the Mausoleum that the ritual was concluded. This circular orb, itself a symbol of an enclosed empire, absorbed the imperial dead. While the Mausoleum thus formed the final abode of the physical remains, one could argue that the processional route ended not here but in the heavens. The eagle that sprang from the funeral pyre indicated Augustus’ apotheosis, and indeed, the young dead males of the imperial family were often depicted as heroes in a Greek sense of the word. Propertius sang of Marcellus turning into a star, and the Consolatio ad Liviam explicitly likens Drusus’ funeral procession through Italy to a triumphal-like apotheosis, a scene possibly represented on the Belvedere Altar (Figure 6.3).86 There were strong symbols of triumph, also over death, and of apotheosis present in the funeral processions.87 The processions ended on the Field of Mars, not only for those physically present, but for everyone, in Rome, Italy, and the Empire. This is where the iustitium becomes relevant.88 As we saw previously, we know from inscriptions that in the case of Gaius, matrons were to grieve, people

104  Ida Östenberg

Figure 6.3  The Belvedere Altar, 12 BC–2 BC. The identification of the figures in the scene has been much debated, but Buxton (2014) argues in favour of Drusus (standing in the chariot) with Livia, Gaius, and Lucius Caesar bidding farewell. Source: Mr. R. Laev; Rome: Vatican Museums, arachne.dainst.org/entity/6109994.

to dress in black and not engage socially, and shops, temples, and baths to stay closed “from the day that his death was announced until his remains were returned and buried and the funeral rites for the Shades completed.” Another inscription stated that the iustitium lasted until his bones had been carried into the Mausoleum, donec ossa eius in [Ma]esol[aeum in/lata sunt] (CIL IX.5290). Thus, as long as the funeral processions were on the road, the iustitium provided a ritual time frame during which the focus of all Romans and their enemies was on the deceased and the imperial family. Once the remains of the deceased had been placed in the Mausoleum, the mourning period ceased and everyone who had participated—men, women, senators, equites, soldiers, priests, provinces, cities, colonies, Germania, the river Tiber, and the imperial family—changed their clothes, opened the shops, and returned to daily life. Hence, writes the author of the Consolatio ad Marciam (3.2), after Livia had walked in grief through

Long and winding roads 105 Italy and finally placed Drusus in the Mausoleum, she laid away her sorrow along with him and re-engaged with the living. The long and winding funeral procession had come to its end.

Notes 1 Processions both construct communities and disclose fractures in the society, see e.g. Kong (2005). 2 Octavia: [Ov.] Cons. Liv. 69–70; Suet. Aug. 61.2; Dio Cass. 54.35.4–5. Livia: Suet. Tib. 51, Cal. 10.2; Tac. Ann. 5.1–2; Dio Cass. 58.2. 3 The Juliae: Flower (2006, 160–9). 4 Discussed by Östenberg, in press. 5 Panciera (1994, 66). 6 Verg. Aen. 6.860–86; Prop. 3.18; [Ov.] Cons. Ad Liv. 65–8; Plut. Marc. 30.6; Dio Cass. 53.30.4–6; Serv. Ad Aen. 1.712, 6.861; Lindsey, Gloss. Lat. I, 268, 17 and 360, 929. 7 Serv. Ad Aen. 1.712. Malcovati (1928, 2, 53–54) and Panciera (1994, 66). 8 Marcellus was in fact Augustus’ nephew and not his son. 9 Intra could mean both “into” and “within.” Flower (1996, 2006, 100–101) argues in favor of “within,” based on Servius’ use of intra civitatem in Ad Aen. 11.142, stressing that Servius underlines the presence of soldiers (the lecti) within the city. However, Servius’ full sentence here includes an ire (intra civitatem ire), and he specifically compares the number with Sulla, whose body was indeed escorted by a large entourage from Campania (App. BCiv. 1.105–6). I would thus prefer “into.” As this chapter will show, sources also repeatedly stress the large number of people and groups of people escorting the bodies of the imperial members to Rome, including a prominent presence of soldiers. 10 Arce (1988, 31). 11 The idea of biers carrying gifts is based on Sulla’s funeral, where Plutarch narrates that crowns and spices were transported ἐν φορήμασι δέκα καὶ διακοσίοις (“on 210 litters,” Sulla 38.3), see Panciera (1994, 89). 12 Panciera (1994, 89–91). Flower (1996, 100–1), agrees with this reading. 13 Delectos: codex Reginensis 1674 and quingentos electos: Mythogr. 1, 226. Bode. Panciera (1994, 90). 14 App. BCiv. 1.105–6. 15 Reed (2007) and Ziogas (2017, 465–71). 16 Marcellus: Verg. Aen. 6.861, 6.882. Pallas: Verg. Aen. 10.435, 11.42. 17 Flower (1996, 100–101), argues that the lecti were soldiers, but places the procession inside the city, see above, n. 9. 18 Verg. Aen. 6.756–86. Skard (1965); Novara (1987); Bettini (1991, 144–9); Flower (1996, 109–14). 19 [Ov.] Cons Liv. 67–70. Fragments of the laudatio have been preserved on a papyrus, see Koenen (1970); Gronewald (1983). 20 Dio Cass. 54.28. 21 Liv. Per. 142; Dio Cass. 55.4–5. 22 Powell (2013, 203, n. 79). 23 [Ov.] Cons Liv. 89–94; Sen. Cons. Pol. 15.15; Dio Cass. 55.2.1. 24 Liv. Per. 142; Sen. Cons. Pol. 15.15; Pliny NH 7.84; Val. Max. 5.5.3; Dio Cass. 55.2.1. 25 Pliny NH 7.84: cuius rei admiratio ita demum solida perveniet, si quis cogitet nocte ac die longissimum iter vehiculis Tib. Neronem emensum festinantem ad Drusum fratrem aegrotum in Germaniam; ea fuerunt ͞c͞c passuum: “Our admiration of this

106  Ida Östenberg feat will only be in full if we reflect that Tiberius Nero completed this long journey by travelling by carriage night and day as he hastened to Germany to his brother Drusus, who was ill: this measured 200 miles.” 26 Val. Max. 5.5.3: iter quoque quam rapidum et praeceps velut uno spiritu corripuerit, eo patet quod Alpes Rhenumque transgressus die ac nocte, mutato subinde equo, ducenta milia passuum per modo devictam barbariam Antabagio duce solo comite contentus evasit: “How swift and hasty his journey was, seized as if in a single breath, is evident from the fact that after crossing the Alps and the Rhine, travelling day and night and changing horses at intervals, he covered at full stretch 200 miles through a barbarous land recently conquered, with his guide Antabagius as his sole companion” (Transl. Shackleton Bailey, modified). Distance: Powell (2013, 107). 27 Dio Cass. 55.2.1; cf. Sen. Pol. 15.5. 28 Sen. Marc. 3.1. 29 Suet. Claud. 1.3. 30 Powell (2013, 129). 31 [Ov.] Cons. Liv. 167–72; Sen. Pol. 15.5. 32 Suet. Tib. 7.3: Drusum fratrem in Germania amisit, cuius corpus pedibus toto itinere praegrediens Romam usque pervexit; cf. Liv. Per. 142. 33 Powell (2013, 111). 34 See the ORBIS project website, https://orbis.stanford.edu. 35 Tac. Ann. 3.5 (Augustus); for Livia, see the Consolatio ad Liviam. 36 Suet. Claud. 1.3: Corpus eius per municipiorum coloniarumque primores suscipientibus obviis scribarum decuriis ad urbem devectum sepultumque est in campo Martio: “His body was carried by the leading men of the free towns and colonies to Rome, where it was met and received by the decuries of scribes, and buried in the Campus Martius” (author’s translation); Dio Cass. 55.2.1–2. 37 Suet. Claud. 1.5; Dio Cass. 55.2.2. 38 Dio Cass. 55.2.3. 39 Liv. Per. 142; [Ov.] Cons. Liv. 65–74, 161–3, 226–34; Sen. Marc. 3.2; Suet. Claud. 1.3, 1.5, 1.46; Dio Cass. 55.2.1–3, all with Panciera (1994, 72–76). Livy ends his history with the death of Drusus. 40 The identity of the author and the date of the Consolatio ad Liviam have been much debated. See e.g. Jenkins (2009, n. 5) and Ursini (2014, 94, n. 2), for a bibliography. Ursini himself places the date not before 13 CE. 41 [Ov.] Cons. Liv. 27: Funera pro sacris tibi sunt ducenda triumphis. 42 Sen. Marc. 3.1–2: ingens civium provinciarumque et totius Italiae desiderium, per quam effusis in officium lugubre municipiis coloniisque usque in urbem ductum erat funus triumpho simillimum: “was the deep grief of the citizens and of the provinces and of all of Italy. All the free towns and the colonies poured out for the sad duty and led into the city a funeral that much resembled a triumph” (author’s translation). 43 Suet. Aug. 65.1; DPL (Decretum Pisanum de augendis honoribus Lucii Caesaris (= CIL XI.1420) 16: a(nte) d(iem) X[III k(alendas) Sept(embres); Ant. Min. 20 Aug: Infer(iae) L. Caesaris. The Fasti Gabini sets his demise to September 20, probably confusing it with the date his death was announced in Italy; Degrassi (1963, 499). 44 The ORBIS project calculates such a journey on sea to take six days. 45 Panciera (1994, 98–100). 46 Date: CIL IX.5290 (Fasti Cuprenses); LPG passim. 47 Dio Cass. 55.12.1: τοῦ δὲ Λουκίου τοῦ τε Γαΐου τὰ σώματα διά τε τῶν χιλιάρχων καὶ διὰ τῶν ἐφ’ ἑκάστης πόλεως πρώτων ἐς τὴν Ῥώμην ἐκομίσθη. 48 DPL and DPG, see Lott (2012). 49 DPL 1; DPG 45.

Long and winding roads 107 50 DPG 58–62: oportere ex ea die qu[a ei]us deces⟨s ⟩us esset usqu[e] ad eam diem qua ossa relata atque co[nd]ita iustaque eius Manibus perfecta essent, cunctos, veste mutata templis qu[e d]eorum immortalium balneisque publicis et tabernis omnibus clausis, co[nv]ictibus sese apstinere: “It was fitting that everyone, with their clothing changed, refrain from social engagements and that the temples of the immortal gods, the public baths, and the shops all be closed from the day on which his death was announced until the day on which his remains were returned and buried and the funeral rites for his shades completed” (transl. Lott). 51 CIL IX.5290. Lucius: Mortem eius iustitio per con[sules indicto], CIL VI.895. 52 Tac. Ann. 1.8; Suet. Aug. 100, Tib. 23; Dio Cass. 56.34–42. 53 Dio Cass. 56.31.2–3: τὸ δ’ οὖν σῶμα τὸ τοῦ Αὐγούστου ἐκ μὲν τῆς Νώλης οἱ πρῶτοι καθ’ ἑκάστην πόλιν ἐκ διαδοχῆς ἐβάστασαν, πρὸς δὲ δὴ τῇ Ῥώμῃ γενόμενον οἱ ἱππῆς παραλαβόντες νυκτὸς ἐς τὸ ἄστυ ἐσεκόμισαν. Τῇ τε ὑστεραίᾳ βουλὴ ἐγένετο […] καὶ μετὰ τοῦτο τῷ τε Τιβερίῳ ἄδεια ἐδόθη, ὅτι τοῦ τε νεκροῦ, οὐκ ἐξὸν δή, ἥψατο καὶ συμπαρέπεμψεν αὐτόν (καίτοι τὰς …: “The body of Augustus was carried from Nola by the foremost men of each city in succession. When it drew near Rome, the knights took it in charge and conveyed it by night into the city. On the following day there was a meeting of the senate […]. After this Tiberius was absolved for having touched the corpse, a forbidden act, and for having escorted it on its journey, although the …” (translation Earnest Cary). 54 Swan (2004, 306), also noting that the body was probably embalmed. 55 Tiberius died March 16, 37 CE and Caligula entered Rome on March 28, Degrassi (1947, 190–1). 56 Both Livia and Tiberius were in Nola when Augustus died, Suet. Aug. 98. 57 Swan (2004, 309). 58 Suet. Aug. 100–101; Dio Cass. 56.31–33 with Swan (2004, 305–9). 59 The date is given by the Fasti Antiates Ministrorum, Degrassi (1963, 209): Infer(iae) Germanic(i) and the tabula Siarensis 136, 147. 60 The tabula Siarensis, the tabula Sebena and the senatus consultum de Cn. Pisone patre (SCPP), see e.g. Lott (2012) for texts, translations and commentaries. 61 See further Panciera (1994, 118–22). 62 For the identity of the consuls, see Woodman and Martin (1996, 87). 63 Woodman and Martin (1996, 91–93). 64 For the timetable and the testimonies of Tacitus and the preserved inscriptions, see Fraschetti (1990, 94–119), Panciera (1994, 118–20), and Woodman and Martin (1996, 67–96). 65 Scholars have suggested that it would have taken about 40 days for a courier to reach Rome, Woodman and Martin (1996, 69). 66 Fraschetti (1990, 97) and Panciera (1994, 119). 67 Fasti Ostienses: Degrassi (1947, 185). 68 Tabula Siarensis 160. 69 Panciera (1994, 119–20) and Woodman and Martin (1996, 67–96). 70 For Roman embalming, see Counts (1996). 71 Livy (Per. 142) notes that Drusus died 30 days after his accident. 72 Cf. Hope (2019, 121). 73 Cf. how the river Danube opens up Dacia for the Roman army in scene 3 of Trajan’s column. 74 As I have discussed elsewhere (Östenberg 2015), ancient authors who described Roman welcoming committees of triumphators, generals, and people returning from exile (Cicero most prominently) likewise emphasized distances, the number of people and the presence of all kinds of groups of people. 75 Östenberg (2023, 45–46).

108  Ida Östenberg 76 Falassi (1987), 4; see also Kong (2005), with further references. Sensory experiences in Roman mourning: Hope (2017). 77 Hartmann (2005, 103–10). 78 Füssel (2004, 191–4). 79 For processional rituals as occasions for and mirrors of tensions and conflicts, see Kong (2005), with further references. 80 Turner (1977); Hartmann (2005, 88–110). 81 For a similar discussion, see Hope (2019). 82 Hartmann (2005) interestingly discusses the similarities between the unexpected deaths of Germanicus and Diana, Princess of Wales, whose untimely death in 1997 likewise posed a crisis to a monarchical family. Not unlike Tiberius and Livia, Diana’s former husband Prince Charles and mother-in-law Queen Elizabeth II received massive criticism for not publicly demonstrating grief. 83 Suet. Cal. 15; Dio Cass. 59.3.5. Östenberg, in press, also discussing the MEMORIAE AGRIPPINAE coins, issued by Caligula. 84 In his three-volume collection Les lieux de mémoire (1984–92). 85 As we saw, Tiberius and Livia were criticized for not meeting Germanicus’ funeral at the city gate. The sources for Augustus clearly show that the body was first carried to the palace, after which the senate convened and the funeral took place. The sources for Sulla’s funeral describe a similar procedure, see Panciera (1994, 89–90). 86 Prop. 3.18.33–4: qua Siculae victor telluris Claudius et qua / Caesar, ab humana cessit in astra via: “he moved from the human path towards the stars, where Claudius, the conqueror of Sicilian land, and Caesar both are” (translation Stig Oppedal); Cons. ad Liv. 329–36: Ille pio, si non temere haec creduntur, in arvo / inter honoratos excipietur avos, / magnaque maternis maioribus, aequa paternis / gloria quadriiugis aureus ibit equis, / regalique habitu curruque superbus eburno / fronde triumphali tempora vinctus erit. / Accipient iuvenem Germanica signa ferrentem / consulis imperio conspicuumque decus: “In the blessed fields, unless such things are believed in vain, he will be admitted among his honoured forebears. To the great glory of his maternal and paternal ancestors alike, he will journey there, golden, in a four-horse chariot, and with temples bound by triumphant laurel he will look resplendent in his ivory car and regal clothing. They will receive this young man who bears the standards of Germania and the visible honour of consular command” (translation Stig Oppedal); cf. Sen. Cons. ad Marc. 3.2: funus triumpho simillimum. Belvedere Altar (Vatican Museums): Buxton (2014). 87 For this theme, see Davies (2004, 67–71), Norman (2009), and Östenberg (2021). 88 Hartmann (2005, 97–98).

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Long and winding roads 109 Davies, Penelope. 2004. Death and the Emperor. Roman Imperial Funerary Monuments from Augustus to Marcus Aurelius. Austin: University of Texas Press. Degrassi, Attilio. 1947. Inscriptiones Italiae 13:1: Fasti consulares et triumphales. Rome: Libreria dello Stato.    . 1963. Inscriptiones Italiae 13:2: Fasti et Elogia. Rome: Libreria dello Stato. Falassi, Alessandro. 1987. “Festival: Definition and Morphology.” In Time Out of Time: Essays on the Festival, edited by Alessandro Falassi, 1–10. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Flower, Harriet I. 1996. Ancestor Masks and Aristocratic Power in Roman Culture. Oxford: Oxford University Press.    . 2006. The Art of Forgetting. Disgrace and Oblivion in Roman Political Culture. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press. Fontana, Laura. 2021. “Monumenta odi publici sempiterna. Strategie funerarie d’attacco in Campo Marzio.” In Epigrafia e Politica II. Documenti e iscrizioni per lo studio di Roma repubblicana, edited by Simonetta Segenni and Michele Bellomo, 85–105. Milano: Ledizioni. Fraschetti, Augusto. 1984. “Morte dei ‘principi’ ed ‘eroi’ della famiglia di Augusto.” Annali del Istituto universitario orientale. Sezione Archeologia e Storia Antica 6: 151–89.    . 1990. Roma e il principe. Rome: Editori Laterza. Füssel, Marian. 2004. “Rang und Raum. Gesellschaftliche Kartographie und die soziale Logik des Raumes an der vormodernen Universität.” In Raum und Konflikt. Zur symbolischen Konstituierung gesellschaftlicher Ordnung in Mittelalter und Früher Neuzeit, edited by Christoph Dartmann, Marian Füssel and Stefanie Rüther, 175–97. Münster: Rhema. Gronewald, Michael. 1983. “Ein neues Fragment der Laudatio Funebris des Augustus auf Agrippa.” Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 52: 61–62. Hartmann, Andreas. 2005. “Germanicus und Lady Di: zur öffentlichen Verarbeitung zweier Todesfälle.” In Der Vergleich – Eine Methode zur Förderung historischer Kompetenzen: ausgewählte Beispiele, edited by Waltraud Schreiber, 61–126. Neuried: Ars una–Verlag. Hope, Valerie M. 2017. “A Sense of Grief. The Role of the Senses in the Performance of Roman Mourning.” In Senses of the Empire. Multisensory Approaches to Roman Culture, edited by Eleanor Betts, 86–103. London & New York: Routledge.    . 2019. “An Emperor’s Tears. The Significance of the Mourning of the Julio-Claudian Emperors.” Thersites: Journal for Transcultural Presences and Diachronic Identities from Antiquity to Date 9: 117–146. Jenkins, Thomas E. 2009. “Livia the Princeps: Gender and Ideology in the Consolatio ad Liviam.” Helios 36(1): 1–25. Koenen, Ludwig. 1970. “Die ‘laudatio funebris’ des Augustus für Agrippa auf einem neuen Papyrus (P. Colon. inv. nr. 4701).” Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 5: 217–83. Kong, Lily. 2005. “Religious Processions: Urban Politics and Poetics.” Temenos 41.2: 225–49. La Rocca, Eugenio. 2016. “Il tumulus Iuliae nel Campo Marzio e l’iscrizione su tegola di marmo del Pantheon.” In Archippe. Studi in onore di Sebastiana Lagona, edited by Massimo Frasca, Antonio Tempio and Edoardo Tortorici, 185–96. Rome: Bonanno Editore.

110  Ida Östenberg Lindsay, Wallace M. 1926–31. Glossaria Latina. Iussu Academiae Britannicae edita. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Lott, Bert J. 2012. Death and Dynasty in Early Imperial Rome: Key Sources, with Text, Translation, and Commentary. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Malcovati, Enrica. 1928. Caesaris Augusti Imperatoris Operum Fragmenta. Turin: Paravia.    . 1972. “Il nuovo frammento Augusteo della Laudatio Agrippae.” Athenaeum 50: 142–51. Norman, Naomi J. 2009. “Imperial Triumph and Apotheosis: The Arch of Titus in Rome.” In Koine: Mediterranean Studies in Honor of R. Ross Holloway, edited by Derek B. Counts and Anthony S. Tuck, 41–53. Oxford: Oxbow. Novara, Antoinette. 1987. “Imagines de l’Élysée Vergilien.” In La mort, les morts et l’au-delà dans le monde romain (Actes du colloque de Caen, 20-22 November 1985), edited by François Hinard, 321–49. Caen: Université de Caen. Östenberg, Ida. 2015. “Power Walks. Aristocratic Escorted Movements in Republican Rome.” In The Moving City: Processions, Passages and Promenades in Ancient Rome, edited by Ida Östenberg, Simon Malmberg and Jonas Bjørneby,13–22, 239–43. London: Bloomsbury.    . 2021. “The Arch of Titus: Triumph, Funeral and Apotheosis in Ancient Rome.” In The Arch of Titus. From Jerusalem to Rome – and Back, edited by Steven Fine, 32–41. Leiden & Boston: Brill.    . 2023. “Gendering the Funeral. Public Obsequies Held for Elite Women in Rome.” In Gendering Roman Imperialism, edited by Hannah Cornwell and Greg Woolf. Leiden: Brill.     In press. “Memoriae Agrippinae. Portraits, Processions and the Re-Establishment of Agrippina the Elder’s Memory.” In Cultural Memory in Imperial Rome, edited by Martin T. Dinter and Marcos Martinho dos Santos. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Panciera, Silvio. 1994. “Il corredo epigrafico del Mausoleo di Augusto.” In Das Mausoleum des Augustus: Der Bau und seine Inschriften, edited by Henner von Hesberg and Silvio Panciera, 65–175. München: Verlag der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Powell, Lindsay. 2013. Eager for Glory. The Untold Story of Drusus the Elder, Conqueror of Germania. Barnsley: Pen & Sword Military. Reed, Joseph D. 2007. Virgil’s Gaze: Nation and Poetry in the Aeneid. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Skard, Eiliv. 1965. “Die Heldenschau in Vergils Aeneis.” Symbolae Osloenses 40: 53–65. Swan, Peter M. 2004. The Augustan Succession. An Historical Commentary on Cassius Dio’s Roman History, Books 55–56 (9 B.C.-A.D. 14). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Turner, Victor. 1977. The Ritual Process. Structure and Anti-Structure. Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press. Ursini, Francesco. 2014. “Sul problema dell’ autenticità e della datazione della Consolatio ad Liviam.” Vichiana 51(1–2): 93–120. Woodman, Anthony J., and Ronald H. Martin. 1996. The Annals of Tacitus, Book 3, edited with a Commentary. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ziogas, Ioannis. 2017. “Singing for Octavia: Vergil’s ‘life’ and Marcellus’ death.” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 109: 429–81.

7

Toward the imperial cult The Hellenistic processions as forerunners? Elena Calandra

When considering the royal celebrations of the Hellenistic age, it is tempting to speculate whether they influenced later manifestations, e.g., investigating whether the royal cult might have contributed to the definition of ritual elements of the Imperial cult and evaluating what memory of the Hellenistic celebrations was actually preserved by the Romans down to the Imperial age. For this purpose, and despite the complexity of the problems involved, the processions seem to provide an excellent point of view from which to attempt an interpretation.1 The starting point may be identified, in a broad sense, in the Macedonian festivals celebrated by Philip II in the sanctuary of Dion after the capture of Olynthus in 348 BC and after the victory of Chaeronea in 338 BC.2 More specifically, the transformation of a civic processional rite into a royal and divine event was accomplished by Philip II in Aigaì-Vergina in 336 BC: in the procession that would be fatal to him, the king paraded in the theatre as the thirteenth deity following the statues of the Twelve Gods.3 In this way, Philip II merged a civic religious practice with the royal one: his invention, therefore, consisted in the king’s involvement in the procession, and in the fact that he followed the Twelve Gods, wishing to appear as a god in the eyes of his subjects. Such an attempt, indeed, was exposed to failure due to the protagonist’s death “on stage”; however, his son would soon follow the same path. As a conqueror, Alexander also led a procession in Soli, where he held sacrifices in honour of Asklepius, promoted a competition of torch races, and established an athletic and music competition; he would later act in a similar way in Memphis.4 However, a real turning point is represented by his entry in Babylon after the victory at Gaugamela in 331 BC: in the city, the winners and defeated joined in the same procession, merging in an unprecedented way. Alexander was welcomed in the town by the satrap Mazaeus, that, as a suppliant, offered himself, his children, and the whole city to the king, while Bagophanes, guardian of the fortress and treasurer, promoted an authentic welcome rite, covering the processional way with flowers and garlands, placing altars with silver and spices, and showering Alexander with DOI: 10.4324/9781003301646-7

112  Elena Calandra gifts; the Magi, the Chaldean astronomers, the priests, the musicians, the knights, and the citizens followed the treasurer.5 In meeting the citizens, Alexander shifted from recipient to protagonist, marking the first step of a rapid evolution that would culminate, a few years later, with his return from India imitating the “triumph” of Dionysus. In that case, however, Alexander would rise, albeit in an allusive way, to a divine level, whose final step would later occur in Siwa.6 Such performances, in fact, were connected only with Alexander’s extraordinary vision; Ptolemy II would be pleased to organize and to be a spectator in his own ceremony, while Antiochus IV’s personal involvement in the Daphne festival was considered offensive by ancient sources.7 In any case, the closeness of the sovereign to the god, the relationship between royalty and divinity is the essence of the new language of propaganda, as demonstrated by Alexander himself. As for his successors, the juxtaposition of kings’ and gods’ images is evident in Delos, where Antigonus I Monophthalmos and Demetrius Poliorketés are included in a Dodekatheón, while a century later, the deified Eumenes II appears with the Twelve Gods in Pergamon and in Kos.8 Returning to our topic, two royal processions organized by Alexander’s successors allow a detailed analysis: the pompé in Alexandria, promoted by Ptolemy II as part of the Ptolemaîa probably in 279–278 BC, and, a century later, the pompé of Antiochus IV within the panégyris of 166 BC in Daphne, a suburb of Antioch in Syria. Both are described by Athenaeus of Naukratis, who depends on Callixeinus of Rhodes for the Alexandrian pompé and from Polybius of Megalopolis for the Daphne festival, narrated also by Diodorus of Sicily and quoted, probably, by Granius Licinianus.9 Recounting the events in the capital of the Egyptian kingdom Athenaeus includes a description of the Grand Procession, after the ekphrasis of the extraordinary banquet pavilion: evidently for the ancient scholar, the skené, and the procession represent two aspects of the same event or, rather, of the same sequence of events: the banquet, set under the canopy for a selected number of guests, and the pompé, the musical agon, and the sacrifice of 2000 oxen parading in the procession for all the Greek-speaking inhabitants.10 Primarily, the pompé was marked by the display of an exorbitant amount of wealth and prestigious goods. According to Rice’s scheme, it included an opening part (I), a procession of Dionysus (II), and a final part (III): i The opening was introduced by the Morning Star (Eosphóros), and consisted of a parade of ancestors and of some gods; ii The procession of Dionysos (the only one described in detail) was introduced by the images of Eniautós, the Year, of Penteterís, the Luster (personification of the feast recurring every four years); the most important episodes of Dionysus’ life were represented, including the triumphal return from India; an impressive sequence of exotic animals followed, and also a “cart carrying statues of Alexander, Ptolemy

Toward the imperial cult 113 Soter, Arete, Corinth, and Priapus, followed by women dressed as Greek cities”; at the end, the exhibition of the god’s ritual objects and animals for sacrifice, followed by the coronation ceremony and dedications to the ruling family; iii The remaining part of the Grand Procession, including the processions of Zeus, of other gods, of Alexander and of Ptolemy II’s parents; the Evening Star (Esperos); the parade of various objects of worship and of the royal treasure, and, at the end, the army pageant, with 56,600 infantry units and 23,200 cavalry units.11 The procession took place in the Stadium but, given the large numbers, it also had to be arranged throughout the entire city. Citizens watched the procession in the streets, but royal palaces were also opened to all, as is clearly shown in the same years on the occasion of the feasts of Adonis, recalled by Theocritus’ Idyllium 15; the final destination, according to Coarelli, could have been a temple dedicated to Dionysus.12 It is uncertain, however, if the Alexandria procession was at all known to the Romans; the only evidence we may take into consideration is the testimony offered by the mosaic, found in the Aula Absidata beneath the Sanctuary in Praeneste (modern Palestrina, near Rome). Coarelli pointed out that this extraordinary mosaic is a copy, dating to the last decades of the second century BC, of a painting, possibly exhibited in the Tychaion in Alexandria, representing ancient Egypt and, in the section where the capital is represented, exactly the pompé; the fact that a part of the local élite involved in Isiac cults would choose to set up in Praeneste an explicit reference to Egypt and to the procession could only implicate that its strong symbolic meaning was clearly understood.13 More recently S. Gatti, in the edition of her excavations in the Aula Absidata, connects the mosaic—still dated, as well as the Aula, in the later decades of the second century BC—with L. Caecilius Metellus Calvus, who belonged to a plebeian family that moved from Praeneste to Rome and took part with P. Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus and Sp. Mummius in a diplomatic journey to the East. In 140–139 BC, the envoys were welcomed by Ptolemy Phiskon, who invited them to visit Alexandria and its palaces, offering banquets and accompanying them in a trip along the Nile; according to Gatti, the Palestrina mosaic could refer to this particular circumstance.14 Both interpretations, however, are not conflicting, since the mosaic could have contained also a recollection of Ptolemy II’s Grand Procession, albeit much later, in the second half of the second century BC, in a political phase in which Roman interest in the Mediterranean was much increased. Around 279 BC, in fact, Rome was still far from the power it would later achieve, while the Ptolemaic kingdom wished to assess its supremacy over the Mediterranean sea; it should be kept in mind that the first treaty between Rome and the Ptolemaic kingdom dates to 273 BC, not surprisingly under Ptolemy II.15

114  Elena Calandra A century later, in a totally changed political scenario, with Rome definitely predominant, the ideological turning point occurs with Antiochus IV’s panégyris16: according to Polybius, the king organized it in opposition to the feasts promoted by Lucius Aemilius Paulus in Amphipolis, after his defeat in Pydna of Perseus, the last king of Macedonia. Apart from the competition, Antiochus IV probably also celebrated in 166 BC the anniversary of his accession to the throne, occurred in the month of Hyperberetaíos, i.e., September–October, in 175 BC, after the murder of his brother Seleucus IV, on September 3 of the same year.17 After the practice pattern followed in all main celebrations, the Daphne panégyris was preceded by the dispatching of embassies; in this way, Antiochus IV pursued the royal tradition, at the same time emulating L. Aemilius Paulus by inviting to the panégyris the most distinguished men from almost the whole Greek cultural world; aiming to appear as a king not only in Rome’s eyes, but also in those of the other ruling families, i.e. the (allied) Attalids and the (enemies) Lagids. The result was an immediate, albeit short-lived, diplomatic success. The Daphne festival included the procession (duration unknown), agones, monomachies and hunts (lasting 30 days), the public dispensation of ointments in gymnasiums (certainly in the first five days after the events, and possibly in the following ones), and banquets (duration unknown), totalling at least 35 days. The pompé itself consisted of five different parades: of the army, chariots, crowns, oxen and sacrifice tables, divine images, and luxury goods. The parade was composed of 41,000 infantry units (plus 480 duellists) and 9,500 cavalry units, reflecting the mixed composition of Alexander’s army. At the same time, the king adorned with great magnificence the entire Basileia area, with ephemeral constructions probably flanking the permanent ones, following the tradition of Persian palaces. Athenaeus and Diodorus don’t say how the space was actually used, but it is certain that the parade, and the entire panégyris, were impactful and needed large spaces to be performed.18 The competition with L. Aemilius Paulus, emphasized by Polybius (in Athenaeus), shows that in Amphipolis and Daphne, a “mirror game” was played between Roman aristocracy and Hellenistic kingship. Information about the Daphne festival is handed down by a Greek, contemporary witness of Roman politics, keeping memory and tradition of an absolutely extraordinary event; in Amphipolis, L. Aemilius Paulus, a Roman general, chose to follow the Greek usage, i.e. the tradition started by Philip II and Alexander, kings of Macedon, probably also referring to the more recent Nikephória at Pergamum: the highlights were the sending of embassies, the horse races and athletic competitions, the banquets, the giving of donations, the destruction of weapons, and the display of the booty of works of art. According to Plutarch, the consul would behave like a Roman in Rome, promoting a triumph (in the Amphipolis celebrations, no parade was

Toward the imperial cult 115 staged) that would be considered a pivotal point in the perception of the ceremony, with the establishment of luxuria as well. The behaviour of L. Aemilius Paulus both in Amphipolis and in Rome is enlightening, setting up two parallel projects that contemplate two ephemeral performances, varying in accordance with the different contexts.19 In fact, the years 167–166 BC show an extraordinary concentration of spectacles and triumphs: the Amphipolis festival in the spring of 167 BC and the panégyris in Daphne in summer-autumn 166 BC; the triumph of L. Aemilius Paulus in November 28/30, 167 BC, followed by the naval triumph of Cn. Octavius; the spectacle promoted by Anicius Gallus in the Circus Maximus in Rome in February 166 BC, after the defeat of Gentius, king of Illyrians.20 Such frequency cannot be a coincidence, and probably remained fixed in collective memory, also as Polybius attests.21 Considering the evidence offered by the processions, we can identify a few points to be found in the imperial cult as well: the display of relationship between sovereign and god; the theatricality; the urging of citizens to participate collectively and simultaneously to the event. In this regard, a recent work by C. Letta clarifies very well definitions and processes. Initially, he rightly argues that the imperial cult “riunisce sotto un’unica etichetta convenzionale pratiche religiose diverse e contraddittorie che mutarono nel tempo e assunsero aspetti molto diversi a seconda dei luoghi, dei contesti culturali e dei ceti sociali.”22 First, Letta proposes a distinction between the living emperor, to whom “iniziative molteplici e frammentate” are reserved, and the divinized and deceased divi, recipients of a divine worship established and codified by the Senate; secondly, he separates public and private worship, differentiating the public honours into state worship, provincial cults, and citizen cults. Only the state cult, practiced by the army in Rome, respects the distinction between the cult of the divi and other indirect forms of worship.23 At the same time, it is worthwhile observing that the worship forms are organized in different ways in the Western and in the Eastern part of the Roman Empire: according to Paul Zanker, “Unlike Rome, the Greek East needed no newly invented symbols or visual imagery of empire.”24 In fact, such forms were not so far from the cults that cities addressed to Alexander and his successors, even through the local koinà, as S. R. F. Price fully demonstrated.25 On the other hand, the change introduced by Augustus and followed by his descendants was crucial. It consisted of the strong centralization of the program on one hand, and of a high number of events taking place in systematic capillarity on the other: cult ceremonies moved either from the centre and/or with a mechanism of local solicitation or even vice versa so that initiatives were promoted both by the emperor and the single communities, granting to the imperial cult the widest diffusion. The transition from the Hellenistic forms of worship to the Imperial ones, however, was not immediate. It went through various stages, from the

116  Elena Calandra imitation game of the late Republican aristocracy to the new awareness of the first princeps. As has been proven, a change gradually established itself in late Republican Rome within the élite of the optimates, winners and conquerors but culturally dependent on the Greek world, who took over the dynastic legacy and transposed it in a wide self-representation phenomenon, e.g., in public monumental programs or in senatorial portraiture—closely imitating the Hellenistic rulers’ imagery—or in the late Republican villae, reproducing on a smaller scale the royal Hellenistic residences. Even the association with paideia is retained by long stays in Greece, according to the dynastic model 26: the transformation of the Hellenistic ceremonial into the Imperial practice, in fact, may be connected to all these elements. According to Augustus’s plan, and considering how his successors carried it out, the imperial cult was to have different outputs: salient points were the construction and/or the dedication of buildings intended for imperial worship27; the association or assimilation of the new cult to the earlier ones; the dedications to the princeps and family members in the city, in temples and in public buildings; the display of their images in public spaces; and the establishment of public festivals. When investigating the possible influence of the royal cult in the creation of elements of the imperial one, it is wise to refer to the impressive corpus gathered by D. Fishwick, a vast range of information useful in identifying practices common to both.28 In particular, the Gythion inscription is one of the most emblematical and more extensively studied sources that illustrates a procession: the pompé, in which all the citizens take part, moves from the temple of Asklepius and Hygieia heading to the Caesareum, the celebration site; however the real fulcrum is the theatre, exactly like the Stadium in Alexandria (Daphne’s topography is less precise in this respect).29 Otherwise, in the same years a decree in Messene dealing with the cult of Divus Augustus, Livia, and other family members mentions games and a procession led by the priest of the Divus Augustus, culminating in the Sebasteion.30 More than a century later, according to the novel of Xenophon of Ephesus, the parade of type-statues (apeikonísmata) and images (eikónes) plays an important role in the city: images of Trajan, Plotina, and Divus Augustus are transported and exhibited from the temple of Artemis to the theatre, touching the key locations in the city, “on assembly days and on various occasions of the liturgical year.”31 Further precious evidence is offered by the sebastophóroi, bearers of the imperial busts,32 attested in Greece and in Asia Minor, and by a letter to the Athenian gerousia in which Marcus Aurelius and Commodus object to gold and silver portraits, preferring bronze busts of moderate scale to be transported and exhibited on the main festive occasions.33 In this general framework, the Gythion procession constitutes the early formulation of a “mobile” rite in the early Imperial age, and as such, it

Toward the imperial cult 117 requires some comment. The recipients of the cult were the members of the first Imperial family: Augustus (by then deceased), Livia, and Tiberius; Germanicus and Drusus Minor were venerated in the hypostases of Aphrodite and Nike, referring respectively to Caesarian and Augustan ideology. According to the inscription, the agoranomos was in charge of the ceremonies: a show, in the theatre and in the city, six days long (the first five days dedicated to the Imperial family, the sixth to Titus Quinctius Flamininus), followed by two days of honours for the benefactors C. Iulius Eurykles and his son, C. Iulius Lakon; a total of eight days. The procession followed a recurring pattern in the imperial cult practice, customary in public buildings, i.e., the presence of the emperor as divus, enhancing the role of princeps Tiberius and of the members of the imperial family. The presence of Divus Augustus as political ancestor and auctoritas for the reigning family would still mark the Ephesus parade, but would later become unnecessary. At Gythion, a highly distinguished consul of the past, T. Quinctius Flamininus, was also placed alongside the ruling dynasty, albeit in a slightly inferior position; also the more recent benefactors of the local community are mentioned. The decision to associate Flamininus with the cult of the emperor reflects precisely those tendencies of the élite mentioned previously and marks the successful addition of the Hellenistic phase of Roman power: in 190 BC, the consul, culturally bilingual in Greek and Latin, was bestowed from Greek cities (Chalcis, Argos, Kos), honours equal to those tributed to the gods, whereas in 15 AD, he would embody both sovereignty and humanity.34 A different rite, though undoubtedly in some way connected with the rites customary in Greece, were the Romaia Sebastà at Naples, culturally a Greek city, where the imperial images were not carried but a “cortege of competitors and officials to the Caesareum” is attested.35 The identification of this building in recent excavations in Naples has now provided a topographical setting for the pompé.36 In conclusion, the Hellenistic processions in Alexandria and in Daphne inaugurated a dramatic way of spreading the propaganda message: on one hand, by means of lavish self-representation, the king proved his and his family’s connection with the gods, popularized the idea of kingship, engaging his subjects and providing them with a striking image of his own power, theatrical and stunning; on the other hand, the community was engaged by an imagery whose codes were differently understood according to the origin of the viewer and to his cultural and social level. Both festivals also had an impact on the landscape, transforming it, although for a limited time37; and made contact with the king possible, creating a chance for the inhabitants, who from spectators became active participants in the event by way of their own amazement and emotion.38 This legacy can be recognized in the well-known cases of Gythion and Ephesus, but with certain distinctions. Some aspects are undoubtedly

118  Elena Calandra common to the royal and to the imperial processions: the organization of the festival stages, including the choice of spectacle buildings as apt scenarios; the use of space in a limited time, providing places with an alternative monumentality, not displayed by permanent structures but rather by a staged program; the temporary transformation of the urban topography; the social dimension of attendance and interaction on the part of an audience involved as a partaker of imagery, not merely as a visitor of a monument. The role of the ruler had changed as well as the way to represent it. The rituality of the imperial cult acknowledged the various stages of the Hellenistic royal cults: in Gythion and later in Ephesus, the images of the divus and of the emperor in charge were present, so that the transition from the first generation to the later one was guaranteed, just as in the Alexandria procession, where images of Alexander and of the first royal couple were on parade at the time of the second king, Ptolemy II; while the Daphne pompé appeared as a spectacular exercise of power, well aware of the strategies enforced by the Romans. Unlike the manifestations of the Hellenistic age, a strongly distinctive element is offered by the abundance of wealth in Alexandria and Daphne, only moderately present in Gythion: imperial power no longer required the ostentation of luxury as a form of domination and obtained considerably longer lasting effects thanks to a more structured system that recurred over time, emperor after emperor. The dynamics between sovereign and subjects extended from the city itself and connected with the territory, as recently demonstrated in the case of Oenoanda in 124 CE.39

Notes 1 On the processions: entry of Bömer (1952, c. 1955); recently Graf (1996, 55–65), True et al. (2004, 1–20) (Greek age), and Fless (2004 (Roman age), 33–58); Hellenistic age: Price (1984, especially 110–12, 128–9, 189–190), Chaniotis (1995), Köhler (1996), Köhler (2000, 216–25), Chankowski (2005, 185–206), Viviers (2010, 163–83), Chaniotis (2011, 3–43), Chaniotis (2013, 21–47), and Muñiz Grijalvo and Lozano (2022, 255–7). The Hellenistic kingship and the connection between the ruler and his subjects in the Hellenistic age have been considered in recent literature: Price (1984), Bulloch et al. (1993), Zanker and Wörrle (1995), Bilde et al. (1996), Savalli-Lestrade and Cogitore (2010) (especially Ma (2010, 147–64)), Iossif, Chankowski and Lorber (2011), especially Chankowski (2011, 1–14) and Iossif and Lorber (2011, 691–710). 2 D.S. 16.55.1 and D. Chr. 2.2. Macedonian influence: Rice (1983, 26–27), Brisson (2018, 420), and especially Mari (2020, 506–17). On the festivals, commentary in Iddeng (2012, 11–37); in general van den Eijnde, Blok and Strootman (2018). 3 D.S. 16.92.5. 4 Arr., An., 2.5.8; 2.24.6; 3.5.2. Cf. Thompson (2000, 369–70). 5 Arr., An. 3.16.3–5; Curt. 5.1.17–23; discussion in Briant (2009, 49–55). 6 Buccino (2013) and Pfrommer (2013, 58–69). 7 Ath. 5.195 f; Ath. 10.439 d; D.S. 31.16.6. 8 Long (1987, 199–200 and 216–17); Rutherford (2010, 43–54).

Toward the imperial cult 119 9 Celebrations in Alexandria: Ath. 5.196 a-203 a; Daphne panégyris: Ath. 5.194 c-195 f = Plb. 30.25–26; Ath. 439 b-439 d = Plb. 30.26; D.S. 31.16.5–6; Gr. Lic. 28.5–6 (in general on panegýreis Ziehen (1949, cc. 581–3). 10 Dunand (1981, 11–40), Rice (1983), Goukowsky (1992, 152–65), Wikander (1992, 143–50), Goukowsky (1995, 79–81), Walbank (1996, 119–30), and Caneva (2010, 173–89); more recent discussion in Calandra (2011, 45–48). 11 Rice (1983, 28–29, quote from 28). 12 Coarelli (1990, 235). 13 On the mosaic: Coarelli (1990, 235–51). 14 Gatti (2017, 120–4). 15 Coarelli (2008, 37–47) and Parisi Presicce (2010, 19–34). 16 Walbank (1996, 119–30), Iossif (2010, 125–57), Brisson (2018, 415–49), Strootman (2019, 173–215), Mari (2020, 491–524), and Calandra (2021). 17 Calandra (2021, 15–17). 18 Calandra (2021, 19–21). 19 Comment and bibliographical references now in Calandra (2021, 57–60). 20 Edmonson (1999, 77–89). 21 The literature dealing with triumphs is impressive. It is however to be noted that pompaì and triumphs are only apparently similar in their impact by way of the ephemeral, but, as has already been demonstrated, must be definitively considered as distinct. In short, pompaì— exactly as the Persian processions— do not make a show of the vanquished enemy, while the Roman triumph flaunts it. Regarding these differences, a synthesis of the related problems is in Raup Johnson (1993, 23–34); overall discussion in Erskine (2013, 37–54); recently Menichetti (2020, 37–40); Calandra (2021, 59–60), with further discussion. Spectacularity: Amiotti (2002, 201–6); Bell (2004); Bergmann and Kondoleon (1999), and, ibi, in particular von Hesberg (1999, 64–75), Edmonson (1999, 77–95), D’Arms (1999, 300–318), Östenberg (2009), and Hjort Lange and Vervaet (2013). 22 Letta (2021, 3). 23 Letta (2021, 3–5). 24 Zanker (1988, 297 and in general 297–333); a seminal contribution to the discussion in Price (1984, 23–52). 25 Price (1984, 65–77). 26 von Hesberg, Hölscher (1990, 73–84) and Hölscher (1994, 875–88); portraiture: Croz (2002). 27 Temples of the imperial cult: Hänlein-Schäfer (1985); Iberian provinces: most recently Maggi (2021, esp. 83–88: building types). 28 Fishwick (1991, 550–66). 29 SEG XI.923. Calandra and Gorrini (2008, 3–22, with discussion); most recently Miranda (2020, 43–46, with references). 30 SEG XLI.328. Most recently Miranda (2020, 35, with references). 31 Fishwick (1991, 551–2, with references). 32 Fishwick (1991, 551–2). 33 Fishwick (1991, 545 and 552). 34 Price (1984, 40–47), Calandra and Gorrini (2008, 9, with references), and Letta (2021, 7). 35 Quoted in Fishwick (1991, 556). 36 Miranda (2020, 34–36). 37 Thompson (1982, 172–89 (impact of buildings in Hellenistic age)); according to Kohl (2007, 113–4), topography may be a monument in itself. Impact of images: Cain (1995, 115–30). 38 Hölscher (2005, 74–83). 39 Muñiz Grijalvo and Lozano (2022, 249–62).

120  Elena Calandra

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Toward the imperial cult 121    . 2011. “Festivals and Contents in the Greek World.” In Thesaurus cultus et rituum antiquorum VII, 3–43. Los Angeles: The J. Paul Getty Museum.    . 2013. “Processions in Hellenistic Cities. Contemporary Discourses and Ritual Dynamics.” In Cults, Creeds and Identities in the Greek City After the Classical Age, edited by Richard Alston, Onno M. van Nijf, and Christina G. Williamson, 21–47. Leuven, Paris, Walpole: Peeters. Chankowski, Andrzej. 2005. “Processions et cérémonies d’accueil: une image de la cité de la basse époque hellénistique?” In Citoyenneté et participation à la basse époque hellénistique, edited by Pierre Fröhlich and Christel Müller, 185–206. Geneva: Librairie Droz.    . 2011. “Le culte des souverains aux époques hellénistique et impériale dans la partie orientale du monde méditerranéen: questions actuelles”. In More than Men, Less than Gods. Studies on Royal Cult and Imperial Worship, edited by Panagiotis P. Iossif, Andrzej S. Chankowski and Catharine C. Lorber, 1–14. Leuven: Peeters. Coarelli, Filippo. 1990. “La pompé di Tolomeo Filadelfo e il mosaico nilotico di Palestrina.” Ktema 15: 225–51.    . 2008. “Roma e Alessandria.” In La lupa e la sfinge. Roma e l’Egitto. Dalla storia al mito, edited by Eugenio Lo Sardo, 37–47. Verona: Electa. Croz, Jean-François. 2002. Les portraits sculptés de Romains en Grèce et en Italie de Cynoscéphales à Actium (197–31 av. J.-C.): essai sur les perspectives idéologiques de l’art du portrait. Paris: Harmattan. D’Arms, John H. 1999. “Performing Culture: Roman Spectacle and the Banquets of the Powerful.” In The Art of Ancient Spectacle, edited by Bettina Bergmann and Christine Kondoleon, 300–318. New Haven and Washington: National Gallery of Art. Dunand, Françoise. 1981. “Fête et propagande à Alexandrie sous les Lagides.” In La fête, pratique et discours. D’Alexandrie hellénistique à la Mission de Besançon. “Annales Littéraires de Besançon” 262, 11–40. Besançon: Centre de Recherche d’Histoire Ancienne de Besançon. Edmonson, Jonathan C. 1999. “The Cultural Politics of Public Spectacle in Rome and the Greek East, 167–166 BCE.” In The Art of Ancient Spectacle, edited by Bettina Bergmann and Christine Kondoleon, 300–18. New Haven and Washington: National Gallery of Art. Erskine, Andrew. 2013. “Hellenistic Parades and Roman Triumphs.” In Rituals of Triumph in the Mediterranean World, edited by Anthony Spalinger and Jeremy Armstrong, 37–54. Leiden: Brill. Fishwick, Duncan. 1991. The Imperial Cult in the Latin West. Studies in the Ruler Cult of the Western Provinces of the Roman Empire, 2, 1. Leiden: Brill. Fless, Friederike. 2004. “Römische Prozessionen.” In Thesaurus cultus et rituum antiquorum I, 33–58. Los Angeles: The J. Paul Getty Museum. Gatti, Sandra. 2017. “Tradizione ellenistica e sperimentazione italica: l’Aula Absidata nel foro di Praeneste.” Archeologia Classica 68(7): 53–141. Goukowsky, Paul. 1992. “Fêtes et fastes des Lagides.” In Alexandrie IIIe siècle av. J.-C. Tous les savoirs du monde ou le rêve d’universalité des Ptolemées, edited by Christian Jacob and François de Polignac, 152–65. Paris: Autrement.    . 1995. “Sur la ‘grande procession’ de Ptolémée Philadelphe.” In Hellenika symmikta. Histoire, linguistique, épigraphie, 2, edited by Claude Brixhe, 79–81. Nancy: Antiquite Nancy.

122  Elena Calandra Graf, Fritz. 1996. “Pompai in Greece, the Role of Religion in the Early Greek Polis.” In Proceedings of the Third International Seminar of Ancient Greek Cult, edited by Robin Hägg, 55–65. Stockholm: Svenska Institutet i Athen. Hänlein-Schäfer, Heide. 1985. Veneratio Augusti. Eine Studie zu den Tempeln der ersten römischen Kaisers. Roma: Giorgio Bretschneider Editore. Hjort Lange, Carsten and Frederik J. Vervaet, eds. 2013. The Roman Republican Triumph. Beyond the Spectacle. Rome: Edizioni Quasar. Hölscher, Tonio. 1990. “Römische Nobiles und hellenistische Herrscher.” In Akten des XIII. Internationalen Kongresses für klassische Archäologie, Berlin 1988, 73–84. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern.    . 1994. “Hellenistische Kunst und römische Aristokratie.” In Das Wrack. Der antike Schiffsfund von Mahdia 1–2, edited by Gisela Hellenkemper Salies, Hans-Hoyer von Prittwitz und Gaffron and Gerhard Bauchhenß, 875–88. Köln: Rheinland.    . 2005. “I monarchi ellenistici: rappresentazioni emotive del potere.” In Eureka! Il genio degli antichi, edited by Eugenio Lo Sardo, 74–83. Naples: Electa. Iddeng, Jon W. 2012. “What Is a Graeco-Roman Festival? A Polythetic Approach.” In Greek and Roman Festivals. Content, Meaning, and Practice, edited by Johann Rasmus Brandt and Jon Wikene Iddeng, 11–37. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Iossif, Panagiotis P. 2010. “Imago mundi. Expression et représentation de l’idéologie royal séleucide. La procession de Daphné.” In New Studies on the Seleukids, edited by Edward Dąbrowa, 125–57. Krakow: Jagiellonian University Press. Iossif, Panagiotis P. and Catharine C. Lorber. 2011. “More than Men, Less than Gods: Concluding Thoughts and New Perspectives.” More than Men, Less than Gods. Studies on Royal Cult and Imperial Worship, edited by Panagiotis P. Iossif, Andrzej S. Chankowski and Catharine C. Lorber, 691–710. Leuven: Peeters. Itgenshorst, Tanja. 2006. “Roman Commanders and Hellenistic Kings: On the ‘Hellenization’ of the Republican Triumph.” Ancient Society 36: 51–68. Leuven: Peeters. Kohl, Marcus. 2007. “Architecture, sculpture, espace. Essai de caractérisation de l’aménagement du cadre urbain hellénistique.” In Images et modernité hellénistiques. Appropriation et représentation du monde d’Alexandre à César, edited by FrançoiseHélène Massa-Pairault and Gilles Sauron, 113–26. Rome: École française de Rome. Köhler, Jens. 1996. Pompai. Untersuchungen zur hellenistichen Festkultur. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang.    . 2000. “Dalla parola all’immagine e viceversa. Il caso delle processioni nell’età ellenistica.” In Proceedings of the Annual Interdisciplinary Conference sponsored by Loyola University Chicago, edited by John Casey, Mary Warnement, Jim Whelton and Anne Wingenter, 216–25. Rome: Pontifical Gregorian University. Letta, Cesare. 2021. Tra umano e divino. Forme e limiti del culto imperiale degli imperatori nel mondo romano. Lugano: Agòra & co. Long, Charlotte R. 1987. The Twelve Gods of Greece and Rome. Leiden, New York, København, Köln: Brill. Ma, John. 2010. “Le roi en ses images: essai sur les représentations du pouvoir monarchique dans le monde hellénistique.” In Des Rois au Prince. Pratiques du pouvoir monarchique dans l’Orient hellénistique et romain (IVe siècle avant J.-C.IIe siècle après J.-C.), edited by Ivana Savalli-Lestrade and Isabelle Cogitore, 147–64. Grenoble: Université Stendahl.

Toward the imperial cult 123 Maggi, Stefano. 2021. Riflessi di Roma in Occidente. L’organizzazione degli spazi pubblici per il culto imperiale nelle province iberiche tra Augusto e i Flavi. Bari: Edipuglia. Mari, Manuela. 2019. “I linguaggi della politica e i culti dei sovrani.” In L’età ellenistica. Società, politica, cultura, edited by Manuela Mari, 107–31. Roma: Manuela.    . 2020. “Panegyreis rivali. Emilio Paolo e Antioco IV tra tradizione macedone e melting pot tardo-ellenistico.” In New Perspectives in Seleucid History, Archaeology and Numismatics: Studies in Honor of Getzel M. Cohen, edited by Roland Oetjen, 491–524. Berlin, Boston: De Gruyter. Menichetti, Mauro. 2020. “Trionfi romani e parate ellenistiche.” In Στην υγεια μας. Studi in omaggio a Giorgio Bejor, edited by Claudia Lambrugo, 37–40. Sesto Fiorentino: Edizioni All’insegna del giglio s.a.s. Miranda de Martino, Elena. 2020. “Forme e riti del culto di Augusto a Napoli.” In Augusto e la Campania. Da Ottaviano a Divo Augusto. 14, 2014 d.C., edited by Teresa Cinquantaquattro, 31–52. Naples: Electa. Muñiz Grijalvo, Elena, and Fernando Lozano Gómez. 2022. “Imperial Cult Processions and Landscape in the Greek Cities of the Roman Empire. The Case of the Demosthenia of Oenoanda.” In The Impact of the Roman Empire on Landscapes. Proceedings of the Fourteenth Workshop of the International Network “Impact of Empire, edited by Marietta Horster and Nikolas Hächler, 249–62. Leiden: Brill Östenberg, Ida. 2009. Staging the World. Spoils, Captives, and Representations in the Roman Triumphal Procession. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Parisi Presicce, Claudio. 2010. “L’ascesa di Roma nei paesi di cultura ellenica. Dalla conquista del Mediterraneo alla costruzione dell’immagine del Romano.” In L’età della conquista. I giorni di Roma, edited by Eugenio La Rocca, Claudio Parisi Presicce with Annalisa Lo Monaco, 19–34. Exhibition catalogue (Rome 2010–2011). Geneva and Milan: Skira Pfrommer, Michael. 2013. “Durch Orakel zum Pharao. Die Geburt des Gottköniges.” In Alexander der Große Herrscher der Welt, edited by Rupert Gebhard, Ellen Rehm and Harald Schuze, 58–69. Munich: Verlag Philipp von Zabern Price, Simon R. 1984. Rituals and Power. The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Raup Johnson, Sara. 1993. “Antiochus IV’s Procession at Daphne (166 BC). A Roman Triumph? A Case Study in the Relations of Rome and Syria 175–164 BC.” In Journal of Associated Graduates in Near Eastern Studies, 4(1):23–34. Rice, Ellen E. 1983. The Grand Procession of Ptolemy Philadelphus. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rutherford, Ian. 2010. “Canonizing the Pantheon: The Dodekatheon in Greek Religion and its Origins.” In The Gods of Ancient Greece: Identities and Transformations, edited by Jan N. Bremmer and Andrew Erskine, 43–54. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press Savalli-Lestrade, Ivana and Isabelle Cogitore. 2010. Des rois au prince. Pratiques du pouvoir monarchique dans l’Orient hellénistique et romain (IVe siècle avant J.C.-II siècle après J.-C.). Grenoble: Université Stendahl. Strootman, Rolf. 2019. “Antiochos IV and Rome: The Festival at Daphne (Syria), the Treaty of Apameia and the Revival of Seleukid Expansionism in the West.” In Rome and the Seleukid East. Selected papers from Seleukid Study Day 5, edited by Altay Coşkun and David Engels, 173–215. Brussels: Peeters.

124  Elena Calandra Thompson, Dorothy J. 2000. “Philadelphus’ Procession: Dynastic Power in a Mediterranean Context.” In Politics, Administration and Society in the Hellenistic and Roman World, edited by Leon Mooren, 365–88. Leuven: Peeters. Thompson, Homer A. 1982. “Architecture as a Medium of Public Relations among the Successors of Alexander.” In Macedonia and Greece in Late Classical and Early Hellenistic Times, edited by Berly Barr Sharrar and Eugene M. Borza, 172– 89. Washington: National Gallery of Art. True, Marion, Jens Daehner, Janes Burnett Grossman, Kenneth D. S. Lapatin and E. M. Nam. 2004. “Processions”. In Thesaurus cultus et rituum antiquorum I, 1– 20. Los Angeles: The J. Paul Getty Museum. van den Eijnde, Floris, Josine H. Blok and Rolf Strootman, eds. 2018. Feasting and Polis Institutions. Leiden, Boston: Brill. Viviers, Didier. 2010. “Elites et processions dans les cités grecques. Une géométrie variable?” In La cité et ses élites. Pratiques et représentation des formes de domination et de contrôle social dans les cités grecques, edited by Laurent Capdetrey and Yves Lafond, 163–83. Bordeaux: Ausonius. von Hesberg, Henner. 1999. “The King on Stage.” In The Art of Ancient Spectacle, edited by Bettina Bergmann and Christine Kondoleon, 65–75. New Haven and Washington: National Gallery of Art. Walbank, Frank W. 1996. “Two Hellenistic Processions: A Matter of SelfDefinition.” Scripta Classica Israelica, 15: 119–130. Wikander, Charlotte. 1992. “Pomp and Circumstance: The Procession of Ptolemaios II.” Opuscula Atheniensia 19: 143–50. Zanker, Paul. 1988. The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus. (English translation by Alan Shapiro). Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press. Zanker, Paul and Michael Wörrle, eds. 1995. Stadtbild und Burgerbild im Hellenismus. München: C. H. Beck. Ziehen, Ludwig. 1949. “Panegyris.” In Real-Encyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft XXXVI, 2, edited by August Pauly and Georg Wissowa, cc. 581–583. Stuttgart: Alfred Druckmuller.

8

Processions and the construction of Roman imperial power1 Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo

There is no difference between kicking or stepping upon the king himself or his portrait. (Artemidorus 4.31)

The purpose of this chapter is to analyse the contribution of those processions in which images of the emperors and other members of the imperial house were carried to the ideological construction of their power and the imperial community itself. Accordingly, a study is performed on their ritual particularities and the relationship that might have existed between the processional rite and the way in which the emperors’ power was constructed and perceived. The focus will be placed here on the sources that document the imperial images carried in procession in order that they should preside over the games held in honour of the emperors and other important occasions from first century BC to third century CE, mostly outside Rome. The ritual use of the images of the emperors, without them actually being present, involved essential differences with respect to the processions that were held in Rome. In the provinces, those images alluded to a distant reality, with which direct contact was rarely made;2 as a matter of fact, the relationship between the emperors and the provincials was often limited to the latter’s participation in the rites of the imperial cult and, in this sense, the enlivening of the imperial images during processions gave a particular significance to the perception of imperial power, into which the idea here is to gain further insights. The leading role of images, their movement and the public’s interaction with them, all distinctive traits of processions, combined to suggest to the imperial subjects a series of nuances associated with imperial power. Those processions constructed and shaped that power and not only the imperial subjects’ perception of it. It could even be said that, through the processions, the emperors were really governing: the images in movement allowed for embodying the idea of a supreme power residing in another place, which DOI: 10.4324/9781003301646-8

126  Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo was renewed on the occasion of each procession and who struck up a dialogue with their subjects.3 In this chapter, an attempt will be made to illustrate in two different but complementary ways how processions constructed meanings on which the life of the Empire rested. On the one hand, I will try to show how they gave the impression that there existed an open communication channel between the emperors and their subjects, and that the latter participated, in some way or another, in shaping imperial power. On the other hand, it will be seen how processions allowed the legitimacy of the emperors to rest, albeit ephemerally, precisely on the relationship established with the public during them. Anticipating the final conclusion of this chapter, it could be said that processions contributed to construct imperial power by identifying it with the type of power exercised during the processional rite and by socializing that same perception of power.

8.1  Shaping imperial power Processions were ideal occasions for constructing and sharing certain meanings in which imperial power had a stake. Since the Hellenistic period, processions became important elements in the construction of the power of kings and, later on, emperors.4 Indeed, it was only as of the Hellenistic period that the practice of ritually parading human beings, in the same way as the gods, began.5 Processions provided an extraordinary showcase for displaying all the symbols that the spectators were meant to see: from the representation of the ruler in precious metals and adornments, to the mode of transport chosen to convey that image, through the illustrious personages that normally escorted the king or emperor. Beyond all these details making up the visual expression of imperial power, processions also represented the existence of an open communication channel between the emperors and their subjects. On the one hand, through images in movement the validity of the power of a living ruler, who enjoyed a real life elsewhere, was being expressed, which probably prompted all kinds of subjective reactions to the institutionalised aspects of processions. On the other, the organisation and details of the rite leant themselves to a plethora of clarifications around which a negotiation between the emperors and their subjects was established—at least in appearance. The first idea has to do with the reasons behind the carrying of images in procession. The gods were normally taken out in procession to commemorate a mythical episode, to sanctify a place, or to receive illustrious personages who arrived to the city.6 In contrast, processions involving imperial images usually celebrated current events directly linked to the ruler. As Patrizia Arena recalls,7 the feriae hominum causa did not exist in Rome until the Republican period, but as of the time of Augustus, it was customary to celebrate anniversaries and events directly linked to the imperial persona: his dies natalis, his ascension to the throne, adoptions, the birth of heirs,

Processions and the construction of Roman imperial power 127 victories, and so forth. The custom was by no means unique to the imperial capital: for instance, a decree of Messene from the reign of Tiberius (SEG 41.328, 14 CE), in a very fragmentary state, appears to establish the transfer of the images of Augustus, Tiberius, and other members of the imperial house from the temple of the imperial cult for the celebration of the dies natalis (of Tiberius or Augustus).8 In addition to the greater glory of themselves and their families, the images of emperors could also be carried in procession to preside over political assemblies or festivals in honour of other gods. The transfer of the image of Augustus was such a relevant matter that it required careful planning and a series of precautions, which were often negotiated between the emperor and his subjects. Probably the best example of this is the famous letter that Marcus Aurelius sent to the Athenian gerousia in which, after answering the questions of council and posing his own, the emperor established the transfer of four imperial images for presiding any important occasion for the city, for example, to the assemblies: “…you will execute them on a moderate scale, the four of equal size, so that it will be easy on your holidays at every gathering to transport them wherever you may wish on every occasion, as for example to the popular assemblies.”9 There are another two splendid examples of the organization of processions with imperial images for reasons relating to the daily life of a city and its institutions and civic festivals. The first is the very well-known procession of the statues of Artemis, the members of the imperial house and the personifications of the institutions, which was held in the city of Ephesus since 104 CE, thanks to the largesse of the magnate Caius Vibius Salutaris.10 This procession, which involved both the personnel of the sanctuary of the goddess Artemis and the corps of ephebes of the city, was organized remarkably often: it was not only held on the occasion of the religious festivals associated with the emperors, but also to celebrate the sacrifice of the first moon of the archieretical year, the 12 sacred meetings and the regular monthly assemblies. In total, and according to Rogers’ estimates, the procession must have been held every fortnight on average.11 The second example appears in a famous letter that Claudius sent to the city of Alexandria, in which the emperor issued instructions about two statues dedicated by the Alexandrians in the context of the imperial cult (P.London 6.1912). Claudius decided that the first of the two statues, which represented the Pax Augusta Claudiana, should be transferred to Rome, but that the second one (in all likelihood of the emperor or perhaps of his wife Messalina), “according to your request shall be carried in procession on the eponymous days in your city” (Trad. Hunt-Edgar). The expression ταῖς ἐπονύµαις ἡµέραις παρʼ ὑµῖν has been translated in different ways: “the eponymous days in your city” (the version reproduced here), “on name days”12 or “on my name days.”13 The precise meaning of “eponymous days” is debatable in this context, although it seems to refer to the festivals of the emperor or even to civic festivals that, in principle,

128  Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo had nothing to do with the imperial cult in which the imperial images were ultimately included.14 The occasion on which the images of the reigning emperors were taken out in procession, therefore, had to do with the here and now, rather than with a remote past or a mythical occurrence. To this should be added that the calendar of celebrations in which those images appeared was necessarily varied, because it was linked to the imperial persona (such as birthdays or other milestones in their personal lives) and to occasions that each specific emperor decided to honour with his presence.15 All these circumstances made the relationship between ruler and ruled more current and fluid. The second idea that suggests that processions could be interpreted as an open communication channel between the emperors and their subjects has a bearing on their organization. As Price proposed, the fictitious negotiation on the tribute that should be paid to the ruler, with the whole range of answers that the emperor could give—from authorization to prohibition— served to create the impression that not everything was taken for granted.16 This maxim, which could certainly apply to most of the communication between the emperors and their subjects, is particularly relevant in relation to the public display of imperial images. Special attention was paid to everything related to the temples of the imperial cult and the imperial statues, their placement17 and their ritual use, with the active involvement of the successive emperors. The “modest” rejection of divine honours by Tiberius, Germanicus, Caligula, and Claudius are all well-known examples.18 But the emperors also regulated the elaboration and dissemination of their public image.19 Processions were ideal occasions for qualifying the position of the emperors with respect to the gods. There were many details that had to be regulated, ranging from their order, which allowed for classifying the importance of the images forming part of them,20 to the mode of transport used for the gods and emperors.21 It is interesting that it was not only the emperor who was involved in this modulation. With imperial permission, the subjects could also make decisions on how best to display the emperor in the procession. A delightful example of this (although it does not directly refer to any procession) can be found in a decree of the city of Mytilene from the time of Augustus (IG XII.2.58 = IGRR IV.39 = OGIS 456). As with others in the region, the city had voted the emperor extraordinary honours (games and sacrifices), which equated him with Jupiter and the rest of the gods. However, the city retained the right to elaborate on those honours, if any other better ways of paying tribute to the emperor sprang to mind in the future: “[…] if something more honouring should be discovered in the time to come, the city’s willingness and piety will omit nothing that could contribute more effectively to his deification.”22 It is perhaps the last part of the text that is most striking: constrained by the habitual rhetoric of publications of this type, the Mytileneans were asserting that the city was

Processions and the construction of Roman imperial power 129 participating actively in the process of deifying the emperor, making him more or less divine (theopoiein) according to the honours that they themselves were showering on him. The celebration of the imperial cult, therefore, contributed to consolidate the idea that the process of deification of the emperors was a matter that concerned everyone. Something similar can be deduced from the letter that Claudius sent to the Alexandrians, that is, the possibility that the city might become actively involved in presenting the emperor as a god, in this case in the context of a procession. As we have seen, the emperor ordered that the second of the two statues that the city had given to him should be carried in procession through Alexandria itself, accompanied by a throne and whatever else the Alexandrians deemed appropriate: “[…] and it shall be accompanied by a throne adorned with whatever trappings you choose” (P.London 6.1912: ll. 39–40). The succinct postscript with which the sentence ends offered the city’s inhabitants the opportunity to embellish the throne, the symbol of imperial power, as they pleased. Regardless of whether these details were mentioned in the decrees, it is evident that the outward appearance of processions ultimately depended on the circumstances and intentions of each city. Within the limits established by the imperial guidelines, it was the cities that decided who should form part of them, which sacrificial victims were the most suitable, which sacred objects should be displayed, and which adornments could be included. In short, they performed an authentic classification of the divinity of the emperor. At least in appearance, the organisation of processions led to the impression that there was still much to be done in the construction of imperial power. The elaboration on the emperor’s power seemed to depend on moments such as the procession, around which communication between the ruler and his subjects was activated. As a result, the procession materialized the reigning emperor, making him a living being, who showed an interest in his public image and was willing to negotiate with his subjects the place that he should occupy in their collective imaginary.

8.2  Legitimizing imperial power Processions also made a powerful contribution to constructing the legitimacy of the emperors. To begin with, it was the cities that decided on their itineraries. Although there is usually no information on the details— which are not mentioned in the sources—it seems that they tended to leave the temple of the imperial cult before wending their way to one of the great recreational spaces in a city (the theatre, amphitheatre, or circus) in order that the images of the imperial house should preside over the games or ceremonies for which they had been transported. The route also included the city’s most prominent buildings: the temples of the most important gods and, in the main, all those places relating to the image that the city desired to project.23 Accordingly, it composed a sort of sacred topography that

130  Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo served to legitimize a specific vision of the city, while, at the same time, excluding other possible versions. Processions thus made a substantial contribution to endorsing a vision of the city that was articulated around the places of imperial worship: the temple of the imperial cult as their point of departure or arrival, plus the most important sanctuaries and recreational buildings, in front of which the rites in honour of the emperor were performed.24 Of the examples outside Rome that have come down to us, we only know in sufficient detail the procession funded by Caius Vibius Salutaris in the city of Ephesus. The procession departed from the great sanctuary of the goddess Artemis, located outside the city walls. After leaving the residence of the goddess, it followed a circular route that passed by a series of places that Rogers has interpreted as a “narrative of Ephesian historical identity.”25 The only scheduled stop was at the theatre, where the statues were probably placed among the public in the sectors reserved for the council, the gerousia, the corps of ephebes, and the tribes.26 From the theatre, the procession continued on its route before returning to the sanctuary of Artemis, probably on the same day. In other cases not as well-documented as that of Ephesus, only the points of departure and, with luck, arrival are known. There is indeed a fair amount of uncertainty about the procession that took place in Gythion to open the theatrical games in honour of the gods and the imperial house.27 Apparently, it departed from the temple of Asclepius and Hygieia for the Kaisareion, which was located in the city’s agora:28 “When the procession has reached the Caesaraeum, the ephors shall sacrifice a bull for the salvation of the rulers and the gods, and for the eternal endurance of their kingdom, and after having sacrificed they shall invite all the members of the phideitia and the public magistracies to sacrifice in the agora” (transl. Gorrini-Calandra). The precise relationship between this first procession, in which the ephebes, the neoi, and the rest of the citizens intervened, and the rites performed in the theatre before the images (grapte eikonai) of Augustus, Livia, and Tiberius, is regrettably still a mystery. From the inscription, it cannot be deduced whether the images were transported to the theatre in the procession that departed from the Asklepeion or were safeguarded in some other place and the agorânomos took it upon himself to place them on their plinths before the games commenced. At any rate, the regulations made clear that the route of the procession and the final location of the images of the emperors closely linked the temple of the imperial cult to the theatre. Something similar occurred in the rest of the cases that are known to us. In the city of Messene, as has been seen, a very fragmented decree provides only an incomplete account of the procession whose point of arrival was the temple of the imperial cult, in which the cult’s supreme priest entered first, with a torch in his hand maybe to illuminate the images of Augustus, Tiberius, Livia, Antonia, and Livilla.29 In Naples, in the

Processions and the construction of Roman imperial power 131 context of the Sebastan games, which were first held in the time of Augustus (c. 2 BC–AD 2), there was a procession about which we only know that it ended in the Kaisareion.30 In the city of Oenoanda, during Hadrian’s reign, the famous Demostheneia were introduced in honour of their founder, Julius Demosthenes, and to the greater glory of the reigning Emperor Hadrian; of the spectacular procession that is mentioned in the dossier, we only know that its point of arrival was the theatre and that it included the ten sebastophoroi whose task was to transport the Augustan images, the statue of the god Apollo and a sacred altar.31 Lastly, Fishwick analyses a number of references to certain imperial cult processions that probably (although there is no conclusive evidence) made their way to monumental buildings in cities of the Western Empire.32 The itinerary of many processions, therefore, gave the impression of cities revolving around the imperial house. A second argument of legitimacy was the makeup of those processions. The decrees and sacred laws offer us a glimpse of those festivals in which the civic authorities and young men belonging to the most prominent families participated in processions, thus underpinning the authority of the emperor with their presence as well as reaffirming their pre-eminent position in the city.33 In Ephesus, the ephebes received the 31 images forming part of the procession and paraded them through the streets to the theatre and back again (IEph 27, ll. 48–56). In Gythion, it was the ephebes, the neoi, the sacred virgins, and the rest of the citizenry who also took them out in procession, in which the ephors also played an active role (SEG 11.923, ll. 25–28). In Messene, the priest of the imperial cult led the procession (SEG 41.328, ll. 22–24). In Oenoanda, the agonothetes was accompanied by the rest of the magistrates in the procession, with which he ratified his taking of office and in which he wore a crown bearing the images of Hadrian and Apollo; but, moreover, in the great procession that passed through the theatre, all the magistrates and senior officials of the city were represented by sacrificial victims, which they themselves were expected to supply (Wörrle [ed. pr] = SEG 38.1462, ll. 58–60). Inscriptions allow a further strategy to buttress social order: the close contact that was established between images of a certain type and those tasked with transporting them during processions, which in Greece—at least on some occasions—were called sebastophoroi and in Graeco-Roman Egypt, komastai. There are many ambiguities about processional images and their bearers. Broadly speaking, it seems that processions included very different types of images which, moreover, could be transported in different ways (depending on their size). In a recent work on ceremonial images, Madigan concludes that, on many occasions, the images had not even been conceived specifically for processional use.34 However, he identifies a certain type of image that was compact (usually always 1 meter high), which became commonplace in the Imperial Age and which, in his view, had indeed been conceived for being carried in a procession. That compactness made those

132  Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo images, in the author’s opinion, ideal for being carried in procession to recreational buildings and for occupying places of honour for presiding over the games. Owing to their size, they must have been hand-held by individuals who were expected to embrace them; the resulting close contact between bearers and images would have suggested a certain intimacy.35 The author claims that there must have been a difference in class between the bearers of these statuettes, who would have enjoyed a high social status, and those who transported the larger images on litters, who probably belonged to a lower social class. To date, it has been impossible to determine whether the sebastophoroi mentioned in certain inscriptions might have been the bearers of those statuettes that were carried individually.36 The sources in which both appear are too different to be able to establish any correlation between them; and, worse still, it is not at all clear whether the sebastophoroi transported the images on litters or hand-held them. Nevertheless, in the opinion of Robert, seconded by more recent authors,37 that the task of the sebastophoroi was held in low esteem and, therefore, they must have belonged to unprivileged groups, does not seem to be borne out. As has been recently highlighted in the few testimonies in which they appear, the sebastophoroi were apparently always ephebes. Indeed, in IG XII Suppl. 646—the most revealing inscription in this respect—they are cited among the agonothetai of the ephebes, that is, among the most elite members of a group that was already privileged.38 The famous inscription of Salutaris in Ephesus established that the 31 images transported from the temple of Artemis on the outskirts of the city should be borne “with full splendour” by the ephebes once they had entered the city.39 In Termessos Minor, there was the figure of the sebastophoros in perpetuity, which the same inscription differentiated from the other sebastophoroi who held their offices only for three days during the festival.40 To summarize, the office of sebastophoros seems to have been related to a privileged sector of the population. Processions propitiated close contact with the emperors, which was perhaps expressed in the special way in which their images were carried by citizens who were not mere bearers, but members of a select group of mortals who were allowed access to their “personas” represented by their statues. Therefore, a clear message was conveyed to the spectators: only a few fortunate people enjoyed the closeness of the emperor. The outward expression of a special relationship with processional images—as with the prominent positions of certain officeholders in those processions—helped the members of the community to accept their leaders and, in turn, to recognise themselves. The identification of cities with the places associated with the emperors, therefore, was expressed in the itineraries of the processions that they held. In turn, displaying the civic hierarchy in processions was a way of corroborating the legitimacy of the order in which they were conducted, with the emperors as the objects of veneration. But they also included a third element

Processions and the construction of Roman imperial power 133 that was even more important for constructing that legitimacy: the presence of the public. As is suggested in the introduction to this volume, in processions, probably more than in any other rite, the public forms part of the staging. Although it is impossible to guess how many people actually watched the processions, literary sources highlight the participation of crowds. The case of the epigraphic sources is somewhat different, but their effect might have been similar. The dry epigraphic formulas offer almost no details on the public. Nonetheless, the crowd was included on the list of those forming part of processions. It is interesting to compare the formulas that listed the participants in civic processions in the Classical and Hellenistic periods, with what occurred in the Greek cities when they were immersed in an imperial logic. In the decrees that regulated the makeup of civic processions in Classical and Hellenistic times, it was common practice to list only the members of the civic hierarchy: the members or representatives of the different councils, the archons and priests, and the different age groups (ephebes, neoi and paides), together with their instructors. It was understood that whoever occupied the main offices in civic life were also those tasked with performing the rites in the name of their fellow citizens. Thus, civic decrees became the ideal showcase for an aristocratic concept of the city, embodied in those who participated (sympompeuontes) in processions. Unlike the regulations that restricted the number of participants in civic processions, the formulas regulating the makeup of the processions relating to the imperial cult or to euergetic foundations sometimes alluded to the participation of “all the citizens” in a rather imprecise fashion. In the case of the procession held in Gythion, it was decreed that “the ephebes, the neoi and all the other citizens [emphasis added], all crowned with laurel wreaths and dressed in white,” plus “the sacred maidens and the women,”41 should participate. Although it is impossible to know for sure whether all the citizens and all the women of the city literally participated in the procession or limited themselves to crowding the streets to watch it pass by, the formula implies a significant difference with respect to those processions in which the emperors were not included. The same had happened before in the decrees regulating the processions in honour of the kings: to pay tribute to Lysimachos, for instance, the city of Priene organized a cult in his honour in which, among other things, “all the citizens shall wear garlands, and the priests and the colleges of magistrates and all the citizens shall go in procession on the birthday of king Lysimachos.”42 The same applied to the honours granted to euergetes, who were often recipients of sacrifices and multitudinous processions, as in the case of Alkesippos of Kalidon: during the festivals called Alkesippeia, which were celebrated annually in his honour, “the priests of Apollo and the archon and the prytaneis and all the other citizens shall go in procession.”43

134  Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo In my opinion, the reference to “all the citizens” was included in these inscriptions to evoke the presence of a mass of people whose intervention was considered to be legitimizing. Indeed, it is no coincidence that imperial processions ended, as a rule, in the great recreational buildings of cities, where the public waited expectantly. Both during the procession per se and at the moment it arrived at the building in question to commence the games, the crowds of spectators played an essential role. The same can also apparently be deduced from certain innovations introduced into the imperial cult. In the third century, perhaps due to the breakneck speed at which monarchs were deposed and proclaimed, the custom of celebrating the arrival of the image of the new emperor in cities with a procession took root. It is uncertain how formal the practice was, which, according to MacCormack, was only regulated in the period of the tetrarchy.44 However, since the beginning of the century, the magistrates and the people had become accustomed to welcoming the image of the new emperor on the streets as if it were the emperor in person and as if an authentic imperial adventus were being celebrated.45 As with the emperor himself, his image arrived in the city in question accompanied by soldiers and music. It was understood that only after an adequate reception had been offered would the loyalty of the city to the new ruler be beyond doubt. Another well-known passage in Herodian offers an account of this. In 238 CE, very shortly after the death of Maximin, the inhabitants of Aquileia expressed their loyalty to the new Caesars, all cheering their statues en masse: The Aquileian generals, however, did not allow the gates to be opened to them; bringing forward the statues of [Pupienus] Maximus and Balbinus and Gordian Caesar, they cheered these rulers themselves and thought it appropriate that Maximinus’ soldiers also acknowledge them and shout their approval of the emperors chosen by the Senate and the Roman people (Herod. 8.62. Transl. E.C. Echols). The presence of the public cheering the statues as they passed by, together with the design of the itineraries and the makeup itself of the processions, were criteria that were outwardly expressed and which constructed the power of the new ruler. In this sense, processions were mechanisms for legitimization par excellence. * In this chapter, we have had the opportunity to see how the presence of the images of the emperors in processions contributed to construct imperial power. For the reasons analysed here, those processions in which the images of the emperors were carried did not produce the same effects as those of the other gods. Although they followed similar patterns and triggered essentially identical ritual dynamics, the imperial images in procession were

Processions and the construction of Roman imperial power 135 referring to an order that actually existed in another place and which, consequently, was necessary to consolidate. To a certain extent, it could be said that the power of the gods was not negotiable, but that of the emperors was indeed; or that was at least the impression that processions gave. In this regard, they can be understood as acts of governance. Governing is a complex business that does not only consist of receiving embassies, enacting laws, or guaranteeing the food supply: it is also a question of expressing the authority of the ruler, cementing the loyalty of his subjects, and defining the very limits of the community being governed. As discussed here, the processional rite offered a full range of possibilities that contributed to produce those effects. Imperial processions referred to emperors who were alive and who made themselves felt in the daily lives of their subjects, who could, in turn, contribute to consolidate imperial power. Both the negotiations on processions and their itineraries led to the impression that the exercise of power was not a one-way act, but the result of the communication between the emperors and their subjects. Furthermore, those subjects endorsed the authority of their rulers and intervened in their legitimisation, aligning local communities with the central power. The members of the public—above all the “masses”—were reserved a place of honour in the construction of the legitimacy of the emperors. And it was that same public who expressed and shared a series of emotions and perceptions of that power that coalesced the community. Imperial processions, therefore, were one of the stages on which the emperors—in this case, their images—played the complex role of rulers.

Notes 1 This chapter is a result of the Research Project “Discursos del Imperio Romano: Las procesiones y la construcción de la comunidad imperial” (PGC2018096500-B-C32 MCIU/AEI/FEDER, UE), financed by the Spanish Ministerio de Ciencia, Innovación y Universidades and the European Regional Development Fund. 2 As beautiful as it is relevant in this respect is Kafka’s famous short story, The Great Wall of China. I owe this reference to F. Lozano and to the departed K. Hopkins. 3 The idea of the rite as a real exercise of power is one of the central contributions of Geertz in his famous study of the Balinese monarchy (Geertz 1980). Cf. Freedberg (1989) and Barasch (1992) for the idea of identity between an image and what it represents; cf. also Versnel (1987, 47). Price (1984, 203) notes that the idea is used in Christianity, in which it is deployed in the debate on the Holy Trinity: the Father and the Son are the emperor and his image. 4 Köhler (1996), Chaniotis (2013), and Calandra in this volume. 5 Price (1984, 189–90), Clauss (1999, 304), and Chaniotis (2003, 9). 6 Viviers (2014). 7 Arena (2010). 8 Ll. 35–36: ἐπιτελεῖσθαι  δὲ  καὶ  ἀγώνας,  γυμνικὸν  τῶν  παίδων  καὶ  ἐφήβων  καὶ  ἱ[ππικ]ὸν τῶν νέων ἐν τᾶι γενεθλίῳ ἁμέρᾳ 9 Oliver (1941, 85–90), ll. 34–35.

136  Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo 1 0 Rogers (1991) and Edelmann (2008). 11 Rogers (1991, 83). 12 Bell and Crum (1924), Tcherikover and Fuks (1960, no. 2), Oliver (1989, no. 19), and Hunt and Edgar (1934, no. 212). 13 Lewis and Reinhold (1955) and White (1986). 14 On the meaning of “eponymous days,” see Dundas (1994, 201–28). 15 Price (1984, ch. 4). 16 Price (1984, 243–44). 17 Price (1984, 146–56), Estienne (2010), and Steuernagel (2010). 18 Taylor (1929), Charlesworth (1939), and Lozano (2010, 68 n. 128). 19 Suet. Aug. 57; I.Ephesos 25 = Oliver (1989 n. 170), Stuart (1939), Price (1984, ch. 7), and Edelmann (2008, 153). 20 Arena (2010, 73–74). 21 Latham (2016, 108–32). 22 Ll. 9–15: εἰ δέ τι τούτων ἐπικυδέστερον τοῖς µετέπειτα χρόνοις εὑρεθήσεται, πρὸς µη[δὲ][ν] τῶν θεοποιεῖν αὐτὸν ἐπὶ [πλέ]ον δυνησοµένων ἐλλείψει[ν] τὴν τῆς πόλεως προθυµίαν καὶ εὐσέβειαν. 23 Although the sources do not allow for reconstructing the itineraries of most processions, that funded by Caius Vibius Salutaris in Ephesus (Rogers 1991, 80–126) and the evolution of the pompa circensis in Rome (Latham 2016, 132–45) are known in detail. 24 Gros (1990) and Rosso (2009). 25 For some criticisms of this idea, cf. van Bremen (1993), Cole (1993). 26 Rogers (1991, 102). 27 SEG 11.923. The text does not provide information on the frequency of the procession, its exact route, or the order of the different rites with which the games were opened, cf. Seyrig (1929), Taylor (1929), Rostovtzeff (1930), Hupfloher (2008), Lo Monaco (2009, 605–7), and Calandra and Gorrini (2008). 28 On the identification of the Kaisareion, see Taylor (1931, 87) and Lo Monaco (2009, 604–5). 29 SEG 41.328, ll. 22–29: ἀµ[νοῖ]ς εὐωχείσθω ἐν τ[ῷ Σεβαστείῳ  ἱερεὺς] ὁ κατ᾽ ἔτος τοῦ Σεβαστοῦ δαδουχείτω [- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -]εἰς τὸ ἱερὸν παρέρπων καὶ πρῶτος ἐκ δεξιῶν σ[- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -] µονον ἁµεῖν καὶ πᾶσιν ἀνθρώποις φωτίσαι [———]ναν τὸν Σεβαστόν, Τιβερίου δὲ Καίσαρος ἀπ ̣ [——— καὶ τοὺς γεννήσαν]τας αὐτὸν καὶ ἀνιέντας αὐτῷ, τὸν αὐτὸν ν ̣ [——————— ] δὲ καὶ θεὰν Λειβίαν τὰν µατέρα αὐτοῦ καὶ γ[υναίκα θεοῦ Σεβαστοῦ Καίσαρος] καὶ Ἀντωνίαν καὶ Λιβίλλαν. 30 IvOl. 56, l. 49; Geer (1935, 208–21), Robert (1970, 9), and Miranda (1990, 91–92). 31 III. ll. 61-63: ὁµοίως αἱρεῖσθαι ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ καὶ σεβαστοφόρους ιʹ̣, οἵ[τι]νες φοροῦντες ἐσθῆτα λευκὴν καὶ στέφα[νον σε]λίνινον βαστάσουσι καὶ προάξουσι καὶ προποµπεύσουσι τὰς σεβαστικὰς εἰκόνας καὶ τὴν [τοῦ] πατρῴου ἡµῶν θεοῦ Ἀπόλλωνος καὶ τὸν π[ροδ]ηλούµενον ἱερὸν βωµόν. Wörrle 1988; Mitchell 1990; Jones 1990; Gascó 1993; Guinea 1997; Muñiz-Lozano 2021. 32 Lugdunum, Narbo, Tarraco, Aventicum, Amiternum, Capua and elsewhere: cf. Fishwick 1991: 550–66; Elkins 2014: 78–82. 33 Muir (1997). 34 Madigan (2012, ch. 1). 35 In fact, Madigan (2012) himself suggests that the custom might have originated from the Greek world or the private sphere, where it spread to the Roman world and public ceremonies, before ending up being associated with the imperial cult. 36 RPh 13 (1939) 122–3, l. 13; IG XII Suppl. 646; BCH 24 (1900) 338, 1.

Processions and the construction of Roman imperial power 137 37 Robert devoted his attention to the sebastophoroi on several occasions: 1939: 124–5 (concerning the inscription of Tanagra commented on below), 1960; BE 1979 no. 315. Pleket said much the same in SEG 56.1426, following Wörrle (1988, 134): “The sebastophoroi were subordinate officials active on a level below that of magistrates and (high) priests. They simply carried the images in processions, a relatively ‘menial’ task.” 38 In Tanagra, post. AD 212: IG XII Suppl. 646, l.13 = MDAI(A) 59 (1934), 77 = RPhil 13 (1939). On the ephebes and their offices, cf. the comments of De Lisle (2020, 30). 39 Images that, according to estimates, could not have weighed more than 7 pounds (a little over 3 kilograms). 40 BCH 1900:340. It is likely that the komastai (the bearers of the imperial images) in Egypt, as Robert himself has admitted, also belonged to the upper classes: in POxy 1265 there is reference to a komastés tôn theíôn protomôn who was also the priest of Zeus and Hera; POxy 1449 refers to the komastai as priests of Zeus, Hera, Atargatis, Kore, Dionysos, Apollo, Neotera, and the associated gods; P.Oslo 3.94 mentions a priest of Zeus, Hera, Atargatis, Kore, Dionysos, and [the other deities residing with them in the temple], and komastés of the imperial busts. 41 Ll. 26–28: πομπευόντων τῶν τε ἐφὴβων καὶ τῶν νέων πάντων καὶ τῶν ἄλλων πολειτῶν ἐστεμμένων δάφν [̣ ης] στεφάνοις καὶ λευκὰ ἀμπεχομένν. Συμπομπευέτωσαν δὲ καὶ αἱ ἱεραὶ κόραι καὶ αἱ γυναῖκες ἐν ̣ [τ]αῖς ἱεραῖς ἐσθῆσιν. 42 I. Priene 14, ll. 20–23: στεφαν ̣ηφορεῖν [τ]ο̣[ὺ]ς̣ πολ ί̣ [τ]α ̣ς ἅπαν[τας,] καὶ ποµπ ὴ ̣ [ν π]έµπε[ιν το]ύς τε ἱερεῖς καὶ τὰς συναρχ[ίας] καὶ τοὺς πολίτας πά̣[ντας τοῖς γενεθλίοις βασιλέως Λυσιµάχου. 43 SGDI II 2101 = Syll3 631 (182/181 BC), ll. 7–8: πονπεύειν δὲ ἐκ τᾶς ἅλωος τοὺς ἱερεῖς τοῦ Ἀπόλλωνος καὶ τὸν ἄρχοντα καὶ τοὺς πρυτάνεις καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους πολίτας πάντας. 44 1981: 67; 1972. 45 Robert (1960, 322), Fishwick (1991, 552–3), Pekáry (1985, 24), and Price (1984, 175).

Bibliography Arena, Patrizia. 2010. Feste e rituali a Roma. Il principe incontra il popolo nel Circo Massimo. Bari: Edipuglia. Barasch, Moshe. 1992. Icon: Studies in the History of an Idea. New York: New York University Press. Bell, Harold Idris, and Walter E. Crum. 1924. Jews and Christians in Egypt. London: Oxford University Press. Calandra, Elena, and Maria Elena Gorrini. 2008. “Cult Practice of a Pompé in the Imperial Age: S.E.G. XI.923.” Sparta 4(2): 3–22. Chaniotis, Angelos. 2003. “Der Kaiserkult im Osten des Römischen Reiches im Kontext der zeitgenössischen Ritualpraxis.” In Die Praxis der Herrscherverehrung in Rom und seinen Provinzen, edited by Hubert Cancik, and K. Hitzl, 3–28. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck.     2013. “Processions in Hellenistic Cities: Contemporary Discourses and Ritual Dynamics.” In Cults, Creeds and Contests, edited by R. Alston, O. M. van Nijf, and C. G. Williamson, 21–47. Louvain: Peeters. Charlesworth, Martin P. 1939. “The Refusal of Divine Honours, an Augustan Formula.” Papers of the British School at Rome 15: 1–10. Clauss, Manfred. 1999. Kaiser und Gott. Stuttgart-Leipzig: B. G. Teubner.

138  Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo Cole, Susan Guettel. 1993. “Review of G. Rogers, the Sacred Identity of Ephesos.” American Journal of Archaeology 97(3): 589–90. De Lisle, Christopher. 2020. “The Ephebate in Roman Athens: Outline and Catalogue of Inscriptions.” Attic Inscriptions Online 12: 1–103. Dundas, Gregory S. 1994. “Pharaoh, Basileus and Imperator.” Unpublished Ph.D. diss. University of California. Edelmann, Babett. 2008. “Pompa und Bild im Kaiserkult des römischen Ostens.” In Festrituale in der römischen Kaiserzeit, edited by Jorg Rüpke. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Elkins, Nathan T. 2014. “The Procession and Placement of Imperial Cult Images in the Colosseum.” Papers of the British School at Rome 82: 73–107. Estienne, Sylvia. 2010. “Simulacra deorum versus ornamenta aedium. The Status of Divine Images in the Temples of Rome.” In Divine Images and Human Imaginations in Ancient Greece and Rome, edited by Joannis Mylonopoulos, 257–71. Leiden: Brill. Fishwick, Duncan. 1991. The Imperial Cult in the Latin West volumen II.1. Leiden: Brill. Freedberg, David. 1989. The Power of Images: Studies in the History and Theory of Response. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Gascó Lacalle, Fernando. 1993. Evergetismo (unpublished memory for his professorship). Geer, Russell M. 1935. “The Greek Games at Naples.” Transactions American Philological Association 66: 208–21. Geertz, Clifford. 1980. Negara: The Theatre State in Nineteenth-Century Bali. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Gros, Pierre. 1990. “Théâtre et culte impérial en Gaule Narbonnaise et dans la Péninsule Ibérique.” In Stadtbild und Ideologie. Die Monumentalisierung hispanischer Städte zwischen Republik und Kaiserzeit, edited by Walter Trillmich and Paul Zanker, 381–90. Munich: Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Guinea Díaz, Patricio. 1997. “Las Demostenias de Enoanda y los bueyes ciudadanos.” In Chaire. Homenaje al profesor Fernando Gascó, 463–71. Sevilla: Scriptorium. Hunt, Arthur S. and Campbell C. Edgar. 1914. Select Papyri. London: Heinemann; New York: Putnam’s sons. Hupfloher, Annette. 2008. “Die Welt der Kaiserfeste in der Provinz Achaia.” Das Altertum 53: 144–52. Köhler, Jens. 1996. Pompai: Untersuchungen zur hellenistischen Festkultur. Frankfurt am Main-New York: P. Lang. Latham, Jacob. 2016. Performance, Memory, and Processions in Ancient Rome: The Pompa Circensis from the Late Republic to Late Antiquity. New York: Cambridge University Press. Lewis, Naphtali, and Meyer Reinhold. 1955. Roman Civilization II. New York: Harper and Row. Lo Monaco, Annalisa. 2009. Il crepuscolo degli dei d’Achaia. Roma: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider. Lozano, Fernando. 2010. Un dios entre los hombres: La adoración a los emperadores romanos en Grecia. Barcelona: Universitat de Barcelona. MacCormack, Sabine. 1972. “Change and Continuity in Late Antiquity: The Ceremony of ‘Adventus.’” Historia 21(4): 721–52.

Processions and the construction of Roman imperial power 139     1981. Art and Ceremony in Late Antiquity. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Madigan, Brian. 2012. The Ceremonial Sculptures of the Roman Gods. LeidenBoston: Brill. Miranda, Elena. 1990. Iscrizioni greche d’Italia. Roma: Quasar. Mitchell, Stephen. 1990. “Review of M. Wörrle, Stadt und Fest im kaiserzeitlichen Kleinasien. München 1988.” Journal of Roman Studies 80: 183–93. Muir, Edward. 1997. Ritual in Early Modern Europe. Cambridge-New York: Cambridge University Press. Muñiz-Grijalvo Elena, and Fernando Lozano. 2021. “Imperial Cult Processions and Landscape in the Greek Cities of the Roman Empire: The Case of the Demosthenia of Oenoanda.” In The Impact of the Roman Empire on Landscape, edited by M. Horster et al., 249–62. Leiden-Boston: Brill. Mylonopoulos, Joannis. 2010. “Introduction: Divine Images Versus Cult Images— An Endless Story About Theories, Methods, and Terminologies.” In Divine Images and Human Imaginations in Ancient Greece and Rome, edited by Joannis Mylonopoulos, 1–19. Leiden: Brill. Oliver, James H. 1941. The Sacred Gerousia, Hesperia Suppl. 6, Baltimore: American School of Classical Studies at Athens.     1989. Greek Constitutions of Early Roman Emperors from Inscriptions and Papyri. Philadelphia, PA: American Philosophical Society. Pekáry, Thomas. 1985. Das römische Kaiserbildnis in Staat, Kult und Gesellschaft: Dargestellt anhand der Schriftquellen. Berlin: Mann Verlag. Price, Simon. 1984. Rituals and Power: The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor. Cambridge, NY: Cambridge University Press. Robert, Louis. 1960. “Recherches épigraphiques.” Revue des études anciennes 62(3): 276–361.     1970. “Deux concours grecs à Rome.” Comptes Rendus des Séances de l’année - Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres 114(1): 6–27. Rogers, Guy. 1991. The Sacred Identity of Ephesos: Foundation Myths of a Roman City. London-New York: Routledge. Rosso, Emmanuele. 2009. “Le message religieux des statues divines et imperials dans les théâtres romains: Approche contextuelle et typologique.” In Fronts de scene et lieux de culte dans le theatre antique, edited by Jean-Charles Moretti, 89–126. Lyon: Maison de l’Orient et de la Méditerranée-Jean Pouilloux. Rostovtzeff, Michail. 1930. “L’empereur Tibère et le culte imperial.” Revue Historique 163: 1–32. Seyrig, Henri. 1929. “Inscriptions de Gytheum.” Revue Archéologique 29: 84–106. Steuernagel, Dirk. 2010. “Synnaos theos. Images of Roman Emperors in Greek Temples.” In Divine Images and Human Imaginations in Ancient Greece and Rome, edited by Joannis Mylonopoulos, 241–55. Leiden: Brill 2010. Stuart, Meriwether. 1939. “How Were Imperial Portraits Distributed Throughout the Roman Empire?” American Journal of Archaeology 43: 601–17. Taylor, Lily Ross. 1929. “Tiberius’ Refusals of Divine Honors.” Transactions American Philological Association 60: 87–100.     1931. The Divinity of the Roman Emperor. Middletown, CT: American Philological Association. Tcherikover, Victor A., and Alexander Fuks. 1960. Corpus Papyrorum Judaicarum. Vol. 2. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

140  Elena Muñiz-Grijalvo Van Bremen, Riet. 1993. “Review of G. Rogers, The Sacred Identity of Ephesos.” Journal of Roman Studies 83: 245–46. Versnel, Hendrik S. 1987. “What Did an Ancient Man See When He Saw a God? Some Reflections on Graeco-Roman Epiphany.” In Effigies Dei: Essays on the History of Religions, edited by Dirk van der Plas, 42–55. Leiden: Brill. Viviers, Didiers. 2014. “Quand le divin se meut. Mobilité des statues et construction du divin.” In Figures de dieux. Construire le divin en images, edited by Sylvia Estienne, Valerie Huet, François Lissarrague and Francis Prost, 27–38. Rennes: Presses Universitaires. White, John L. 1986. Light from Ancient Letters. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press. Wörrle, Michael. 1988. Stadt und Fest im kaiserzeitlichen Kleinasien. München: C. H. Beck.

9

Rituals and processions in the Empress Irene’s justification of power (780–802) Héctor González-Palacios

On November 1, 768, Irene of Athens made her ceremonial entrance into the city of Constantinople to marry Leo, the son and heir of the emperor Constantine V. Thirty-one years later, that same woman participated in the Easter Monday procession as Emperor of the Romans. Barring the joint two-month reign of Zoe and Theodora in the eleventh century, she was the only woman to have governed alone in Constantinople for so long. Owing to its uniqueness and importance in the development of the Byzantine state, it is a small wonder that her solitary five-year reign has not gone unnoticed by modern researchers. Specifically, the spotlight is placed here on her role in imperial ceremonies, especially processions, as instruments for building community in Constantinople, and on how she used them to masculinise (or “androgenize”) her figure and to bend the rules that limited access to the throne in her progressive ascent from wife and mother to co-ruler and finally empress. Each of the five processions examined below had a specific meaning in her rise to power. It should be borne in mind that the sources for Irene’s reign are rather thin on the ground. Besides a small number of other indirect sources,1 the main written evidence is provided by Theophanes the Confessor in his Chronographia, in which he sometimes summarizes a full year in a couple of sentences. The iconographic evidence is almost non-existent, mainly consisting of coin portraits, which can provide very interesting but also very limited information.2 The main source for studying rituals in Middle Byzantine Constantinople is the Book of Ceremonies, a detailed compilation of the imperial ceremonies performed by Constantine VII Porphyrogenetos in the tenth century. As for modern research, it should be noted that there are still very few studies approaching rituals and Byzantine imperial power from an anthropological perspective, like those that have been performed on other historical periods, such as ancient Greece and the Ottoman Empire. First and foremost, it should be stressed that there were no female rulers of the Byzantine Empire, not only because of the patriarchal society inherited from the Graeco-Roman world, but also because of the lack of a stable DOI: 10.4324/9781003301646-9

142  Héctor González-Palacios dynastic succession to the throne. Since the emperor was the delegate of Christ on Earth, he was mainly chosen by God’s will. Byzantine emperors were usually depicted with halos, not because they were saints as individuals, but because of the sanctity of their role.3 The holder of the throne could lose God’s approval and be replaced by another general or aristocrat from outside the previous royal family. Theoretically, anyone who had God’s blessing, the acclaim of the demos, the army, and/or the Senate, and military clout could become emperor. In this system, the sex of the pretender was fundamental, as the empire’s political structure was ultimately based on military power. Although the figure of the emperor was eternal, without any alternative, unlike in early modern European monarchies there was no blood-based succession system. Being the male firstborn of a previous emperor was no guarantee of inheriting the crown. The existence of dynasties in Byzantium was due to the custom of crowning sons co-emperors while their father was still reigning. Indeed, even though only one of them acted as the effective ruler in normal circumstances, one basileus reigning on his own was a rare exception to the rule. But the legitimacy of the son of an emperor had nothing to do with kinship, but with the act of coronation itself. In the Middle Byzantine political system, the legitimacy of an emperor was recognized and reaffirmed in a series of regular rituals in which processions played a prominent role. In the city of Constantinople, they were held regularly, more often than not forming part of religious feasts.4 It is impossible to distinguish clearly between religious and political processions because both merged into one: the emperor was the representative of Christ on Earth and almost all civic festivities were, by this time, religious commemorations of one kind or another. The Easter procession, celebrating the death and resurrection of Christ, became fundamental with the Christianization of the Empire. It can be understood as a renewal of the bond between the basileus and the demos of the city, as a “repeated work of re-organisation of the encyclopaedic memory,”5 by which the latter recognized the authority of the former. More than a religious celebration, Holy Week was the reaffirmation of the political and religious order, in which the figure of the emperor, as the representative of Christ Resurrected, was indispensable. It revolved not around the masses or the patriarch, but around the emperor. It was he who gave each one of the senators a palm branch on Palm Sunday.6 It was he who gave alms to the poor on Maundy Thursday.7 It was he who donated 100 lbs of gold to the Church on Holy Saturday.8 On Easter Sunday, he even held a feast accompanied by 12 patricians: “We think of both the magistroi and patricians themselves as representing the Apostles, and the good Emperor, insofar as is possible, as being analogous to God.”9 It could be claimed that at Easter the emperor embodied Christ, as long as he did not fall into the heresy of deifying himself. Easter would not have only been the celebration of Christ, but also of the emperor, his living image.

Rituals and processions in Empress Irene’s justification of power 143 Little is known about Irene’s life before arriving at the capital, apart from the fact that she came from Athens, a city that had ceased to be important long before, surrounded by Slavic countryside. Nothing is known about her family position or why Constantine chose to marry her to his son. It has been suggested that she was very beautiful and that she might have been around 16 when she came to Constantinople.10 There is a chance that she was chosen in a bride-show, a sort of beauty contest for finding a wife for the emperor or his heir. The reason behind this is that in Byzantine ideology, as in the Graeco-Roman and the Persian worlds, one’s outer appearance was supposed to be the external manifestation of one’s inner virtues. Beauty and physical integrity bore witness to God’s blessing and were a prerequisite for ascending to the throne.11 That is why mutilation, such as blinding, castration and amputating noses was a popular way of getting rid of rivals and usurpers in the Middle Byzantine period. Irene herself, as with her predecessors, did just that to eliminate her opponents, including her son, Constantine, who she blinded in 797 as the result of the power struggle between them both. Although it is not known for sure whether Irene was chosen in a bride-show,12 she did indeed popularize (or establish) the custom by choosing her son’s wife Maria of Amnia13 in this way, after breaking off his previous engagement with the daughter of Charlemagne.14 In 768, Irene left the imperial palace of Hiereia to enter Constantinople, in a maritime procession escorted “by many dromones and chelandia decorated with silken clothes.”15 Two days later, the betrothal was celebrated and, on December 17, Irene was crowned Augusta and married to Leo. The two ceremonies—the crowning of the Augusta and the wedding— were two separate events and, therefore, should not be confused, although, as in this case, they could be performed on the same day. The reason behind this is that, as already noted, in Byzantine ideology, family and political ties were independent: the empress did not owe her status to the fact that she was married to a basileus, but because she was crowned Augusta. For example, Constantine V crowned his third wife Augusta 15 years after their marriage, while at some point during the reigns of Herakleios and Leo VI, the Augusta was not their wife, but their daughter.16 In other words, the Augusta was not simply a queen consort, but a meaningful symbol in state ideology. The Byzantine court was underpinned by a dual gendered ideology, in which the emperor and the empress were the earthly representatives of Christ and the Virgin, surrounded by a court of eunuchs recalling the heavenly angels.17 Considering the strong Neoplatonic ideas embedded in early Christian theology, the Byzantine court could be considered as an imitation of the court of God. More than an individual, the role of empress was a public persona played by a series of women over time. Recent studies, such as Anne McClanan’s, have questioned attempts at identifying Early Byzantine images of empresses, namely to assign different representations to individuals, as is the custom in Roman archaeology.

144  Héctor González-Palacios Instead, McClanan maintains that these images, including statuettes, ivories, and steelyard weights, should be regarded as anonymous representations.18 This may call to mind Ernst Kantorowicz’s two bodies of the king (queen), in which the individual is absorbed by the character. When a basileus crowned an Augusta, it was not a human choice, but a divine one: “Glory to God who has proclaimed you empress!”, “Glory to God who has crowned your head!”, “Holy, holy, holy!”, the demos and the Senate cried at a public ceremony that endorsed the imperial coronation.19 In 776, another important procession took place.20 By this time, Leo IV, the husband of Irene, had ascended to the throne following the death of his father Constantine. He had fathered one child with the Augusta, Constantine, who was aged 5 at the time. During the first year of his solo reign, Leo decided to associate his son with the throne, crowning him basileus. The ceremony took place on Easter Sunday, a time of year, as already observed, replete with significance. It was no coincidence that Leo chose the celebration of the triumphal Resurrection of Christ to crown the new delegate of God on Earth. Leo and the young Constantine celebrated a mass in the Hippodrome. In this surviving relic of Antiquity, the people of Constantinople attended the sacred coronation of Constantine by his father and cheered him as an expression of public recognition. Afterwards, they processed to Hagia Sophia, accompanied by the Caesars and other high-ranking officials. Theophanes specifically mentions Irene, who followed them escorted by the sceptres. When Leo died in 780,21 his son Constantine was only 10. Irene went out of her way to make sure that her son did not take the reins of state government. Instead of playing the role of regent, as in modern European monarchies, she was more of a co-ruler or even a ruler legitimized by Constantine’s basilia. After all, she was the Augusta and, even though there had yet to be a female emperor, the fact that a woman governed the empire in practice was not a new development. Liz James considers Irene as the last of a series of powerful women, each of whom was more influential than her predecessor: Pulcheria (399–443), the sister of Theodosius II, Theodora (501–548), the wife of Justinian, and Sophia (ca. 530–ca. 601), the wife of Justin II and effective ruler of the Empire during her husband’s dementia.22 Sophia tended to associate her image with Justin’s even on coinage, which set a precedent for the subsequent empresses, especially Irene. Irene lost no time in placing her name next to her son’s in public festivities and on monuments and coins, thus making sure that it was the reign of Constantine and Irene, a formula that is very common in the literary sources addressing the period.23 The joint reign of mother and son, during which the use of icons was restored in the Eastern Roman Empire, was soon associated—with Irene’s approval—with another Orthodox mother and son ruling together, to wit, Constantine and Helen,24 and even with Christ and the Virgin.25 The reign of Irene was effectively recognized and justified through her son, although it did not avoid the threat of a coup d’état, which

Rituals and processions in Empress Irene’s justification of power 145 occurred only 40 days after the succession, when Nikephoros, a brother of Leo, unsuccessfully proclaimed himself emperor. Irene tonsured the plotters and forced the usurper to administer communion to the people on the feast of Christ’s Nativity. In this way, she made sure that everyone would notice the new status of her husband’s brothers and, therefore, their inability to reign as monastic life prevented them from doing so. That same day, she went in public imperial procession with her son, offering the church the richly adorned imperial crown formerly worn by her husband. Her role in the 780 Christmas Day procession was not just that of wife and mother, as in the procession in 776, but also that of co-ruler.26 Irene needed to cement her power and did so very cleverly. The eighth century was characterized by the iconoclastic reform of the Isaurian Dynasty. According to the iconoclasts, all religious images were heretical and, accordingly, should be destroyed and replaced by the only acceptable symbol: the cross. A movement promoted by the elites, it was particularly popular among soldiers. Thanks to iconophile chronicles, we know a legend of abusing monks, destroying churches, and performing atrocities grew up around Constantine V, who was a leading proponent of iconoclasm. Leo continued his father’s religious policy, but there was a volte-face during the reign of Irene and her son. To secure her throne, the empress promoted bureaucrats and members of the lesser nobility at court to high positions in the government, while dismissing the old military aristocracy, who she could not trust. In other words, a noblesse de robe and sections of society, including monks, marginalized by her iconoclast predecessors, formed the bedrock of her reign. Filippo Ronconi links this change in the upper echelons of government to the apparent “cultural revival” in literary production during the ninth century.27 Although there are plenty of stories about Irene’s veneration of icons,28 with several authors linking her iconophile policy to “female traditionalism,”29 the truth is that this stance clearly helped to stave off the constant threat of a coup by the iconoclastic and pro-Isaurian military elite. Irene had a major handicap: her inability to command an army as a woman. Placing a man in command of the troops was a risky move, bearing in mind that in practical terms, as in classical Rome, it was he who had the most powerful military force who could seize the imperial throne. Her strategy was to adopt a diplomatic policy, to suspend all military campaigns and to place eunuchs in command of the army. In theory, eunuchs, as “mutilated” individuals and, therefore, contrary to the Byzantine idea of the imperial body, could not usurp the throne, but as men, could indeed command an army. John, Theodore, Staukarios, Aetios … all Irene’s generals were eunuchs. Be that as it may, practically all her military actions were defensive, and she preferred diplomacy to war. For instance, the Arab invasion of 781/782 ended when the Byzantines accepted to pay tribute and Irene tried to marry Constantine to Charlemagne’s daughter, maybe to safeguard the

146  Héctor González-Palacios Empire’s Italian possessions.30 Irene deployed a pax romana propaganda, shrewdly using her name (Irene means “peace” in Greek) to paint a picture of herself as a pacifier and restorer of the Orthodox faith.31 The only offensive campaign was launched by her eunuch Staurakios against the Slavs in Greece in 782. As a result of his success, Staurakios was allowed to celebrate a triumph, with games in the Hippodrome, when in fact Irene was using her eunuch to celebrate herself. A few months later, she marched through Thrace, a region that Byzantine emperors had not visited for a long time, with her son and “taking along organs and musical instruments.” On her way, she rebuilt the city of Beroia and renamed it Eirenoupolis, which besides the “City of Irene,” can also be translated as the “City of Peace.”32 Irene managed to maintain this form of imperial government for ten years, but Constantine was getting older and beginning to chafe at the bit. In 789, now aged 20, he started to assume effective power over the Byzantine Empire and had some of Irene’s eunuchs arrested. Constantine’s first attempt to impose his authority did not last long because, following a terrible earthquake in the city, Irene regained effective power and arrested her son, forcing the troops to swear that they would never make him ruler. By that time, she only needed him alive to justify her position. Some themata, however, refused to take the oath and rebelled against Irene, forcing her to free her son. Constantine was acclaimed as the one and only basileus and the troops were yet again obliged to swear that they would refuse to accept Irene as empresses, who was then taken into custody. The reign of Constantine VI was marked by the expulsion of Irene’s eunuchs, the return of the military elites, and the resumption of military campaigns against the Arabs and the Bulgarians, some of which led to triumphal processions, like the one celebrated on June 24, 792 after the defeat of the rebellious thema of the Armeniacs. Coinciding with the procession of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist, the emperor forced the vanquished to march in chains through Constantinople and tattooed their faces, before sending them into exile. Earlier that year, Constantine VI had once again made his mother Augusta, after being pressured to do so, thus re-establishing the reign of “Constantine and Irene.”33 Anxious to regain power, Irene began to plot. In 797, after winning over part of the army, she had Constantine VI arrested while he was on campaign. He was taken back to Constantinople, where he was blinded in the Porphyra, the same room in which he had been born.34 His blinding had something prophetic about it. In 792, the brothers of his father Leo, who had tried to usurp the throne again, had been blinded and had had their tongues cut out, an innocent patrician also having met the same fate. According to Theophanes, their punishment had taken place in August, on a Saturday, while Constantine VI was also blinded by his mother in the same month and on a Saturday.35 After Irene had taken her revenge, the sun was darkened for 17 days, as the result of the emperor’s blindness.36

Rituals and processions in Empress Irene’s justification of power 147 Thenceforth, Constantine disappeared from the picture and Irene began to wield full power as empress. When signing new laws,37 she would use the title of basileus, a term that Theophanes also employs in his account: “Straight away the emperor sent Michael Lachanodrakon and his preceptor, the protospatharios John, and they made the Armeniacs swear that they would not accept his mother Irene as their emperor [basileus].”38 In this case, the male term “basileus” was employed to refer to the figure of the emperor and imperial authority, although a woman was occupying the throne. On coinage and in the literary and epigraphic sources, by contrast, she is called basilissa, the feminine form of basileus. According to Kriszta Kotsis, the title of basilissa appearing on coins over that of Augusta may reflect Irene’s desire to distance herself from her previous role of mother and to achieve full recognition as empress.39 To that end, she deployed a very detailed propaganda, combining old elements with new ones and the symbols of the emperor with those of the empress. On her coins, she used the imperial regalia: the crown, the globus cruciger, the crossed sceptre, and the loros, a garment relating to military triumphs and Christ (196–213).40 But, at the same, she did not try to conceal her status as a woman, which had initially granted her the authority to hold power as Augusta. She continued to practise womanly philantropia—to wit, the sponsorship of public works expected of Augustae41—as well as remitting local taxes in Constantinople and eliminating trade tariffs with certain cities.42 The Life of Irene describes her as the “Abraham-like and allpraiseworthy male-woman of God (τοῦ θεοῦ ἄνθρωπον τὴν) who was the first of those most pious women.”43 As the result of Constantine’s disappearance, Irene combined both imperial institutions in one: to be an effective and powerful Augusta, there had to be a basileus. Without one—a new husband, as had occurred to Pulcheria, might have limited her power—she chose to assume that title as well. This combination of symbols is best exemplified by the Easter Monday procession in 799,44 as already noted, one of the key rituals of Byzantine society. That day, Irene, as the one and only basileus, rode in a golden chariot drawn by four white horses, which were led by four patricians. She processed from the church of the Holy Apostles, the burial place of the Isaurian emperors, while distributing great largesse to the people. Irene was occupying the place of the emperor, while recognizing her limits. Instead of riding a horse, reserved for men only, she rode in a chariot, inherent to female allegories and classical Roman goddesses. She reinforced her authority by having important patricians to “lead” her chariot. The procession to the church of the Holy Apostles was no coincidence either, for Irene intended to highlight the fact that she was a descendant of emperors gone by. Lastly, she distributed money among the people, which was not only a custom of emperors during Holy Week, but also a way of winning over the demos at a time when her position on the throne was rather unstable.

148  Héctor González-Palacios During her five-year solo reign, she was under continual threat. On the one hand, the constant plots against her, first among the military and then among her own eunuchs, who had started to vie for the legacy of an aged and sick woman. On the other, the attacks launched by the Arabs, whose devastation of Anatolia met with no reaction from the empress, who did not want to risk all in a military campaign and preferred to negotiate. In 800, the eunuch Staurakios attempted to usurp the throne, heeding the prediction of “false monks and magicians” who claimed that he would be emperor, but died of sickness before he could put his plan into practice. The following year, another of her eunuchs, Aetios, tried to place his bearded brother on the throne. In 802, a Frank delegation arrived in Constantinople with a proposal for Irene: to marry Charlemagne. The newly crowned Emperor of the Romans in the West probably wanted to legitimize his recent title.45 He received no response. Finally, in October, one of Irene’s non-eunuch administrators, Nikephoros, carried out a coup d’état and seized the throne, forcing her to take her vows before exiling her to the island of Lesbos. Theophanes was of the view that she would have probably accepted Charlemagne’s proposal if her reign had not ended so abruptly. Irene’s years in power were characterized by a meticulous use of imperial propaganda, which included processions. She combined tradition and innovation in the imperial rites, embodying the figure of the emperor, but without renouncing her femininity or role as an empress. The figures of the Augusta and the basileus merged into one in her role as the basilissa. Seen from a modern perspective, Irene’s reign was exceptional in that she held the highest male rank in the Empire, plus the fact that even a eunuch— Staurakios—attempted to reach a position from which he was traditionally barred because of his emasculation. But, if examined more closely, it was not a radical departure from the past. In her use of ceremony, Irene not only wanted to be seen as an innovator, but also as a restorer of order, for example, by re-establishing iconodulism. Anthony P. Cohen remarks on the paradox that, in periods of intense social change, communities and their leaders use “symbols of the ‘past,’ mythically infused with timelessness,” sometimes even in contradiction to the regimes that are being created.46 Although Irene’s behaviour seems to have been cautious so as to avoid losing the crown, the generally held idea in the Empire that the throne was vacant, as the Franks (and maybe the Arabs) understood it to be, does not appear in the sources that have come down to us. The case of Irene (and the subsequent one of Staurakios) reflects that the gender or physiological “rules” that limited access to certain positions of power were, in fact, relative and could be bent in the Byzantine Empire at certain times and under certain conditions, as had occurred previously with Justinian II Rhinotmetos (r. 685–695 and 705–711).

Rituals and processions in Empress Irene’s justification of power 149 The principles governing access to power were not rigid constitutional laws, but were based on both mores and customs and negotiation between social actors. This negotiation was a slow process lasting 34 years and already based on the precedents of influential imperial women in past centuries. Partly thanks to her increasingly prominent role in processions in and outside the city—Theophanes only mentions five, but they were probably many more—the people of the Empire, and especially of Constantinople, became accustomed to see her first as the Augusta, then as a co-ruler, and finally as the basileus. In short, as Cohen observes, “the reality of community lies in its members’ perception of the vitality of its culture. People construct community symbolically, making it a resource and repository of meaning, and a referent of their identity.”47

Notes 1 For example, hagiographies such as her own Life (BHG 2205), the Life of Patriarch Tarasios (BHG 1698) and the Life of Philaretos (BHG 1511z), laws including the two in Lingenthal (1857, 55–62 [Coll. I, Nov. XXVII and XXVIII]) and the Acts of the Second Council of Nicaea. 2 Cf. Kotsis (2012). Setting aside the Tier Adventus Ivory, which has sometimes been identified with Irene receiving the relics of St Euphemia, which, according to Theophanes, were cast into the sea by the iconoclast emperor Constantine V (Theop. 6258), although the jury is still out on this issue. 3 Kantorowicz (2016, 78–80). 4 For a list of processions in Byzantium, cf. Janin (1966). 5 Sperber (1974, 145). 6 De cer., bk. 1, ch. 31. 7 De cer., bk. 1, ch. 33. 8 De cer., bk. 1, ch. 35. 9 De cer., bk. 2, ch. 40: Ἐν μὲν τῶν καθ’ ἠμᾶς νοημάτων τὴς εὐσεβίας, καθῶς ὁ ἐμὸς λόγος, ὑποκυπώσομαι. Τὸ μὲν περιβεβλῆσθαι λώρους τοὺς μαγίστρους καὶ πατρικίους ἐν τῇ ἑορτασίμῳ ἡμέρᾳ τῆς οἀναστάσεως Χριστοῦ τοῦ Θεοῦ ἡμῶν εἰς τύπον ἡγουμεθα τοῦ ἐωταφιασμοῦ αὐτοῦ· τὸ δὲ κεχρυσῶοθαι αὐτοὺς εἰς ἑαύτης λαμπρότητα, ἡλιοβολουμένους ἐξ ἡλίου Χριστοῦ αὐτοῦ τῇ ἐγέρσει αὐτούς τε τοὺς μαγίστρους ἐν τύπῳ χρηματιζειν τῶν ἀποστόλων, τόν τε χρηστὸν βασιλέα κατὰ τὸ ἐφικτὸν ἀναλογοὺντα Θεῷ: We think of the magistroi and patricians putting on loroi on the feast day of the Resurrection of Christ our God as representing his laying out for burial, and their being made of gold, for the splendour of this day, as being struck by the rays from the sun at the Resurrection of Christ himself. We think of both the magistroi and patricians themselves as representing the Apostles, and the good Emperor, insofar as is possible, as being analogous” (Transl. by Moffat and Tall 2012). In later times, the emperor even performed the ritual of the Washing of Feet on Maundy Thursday. Cf. Ostrogorsky (1956, 4). 10 Barbe (2006, 55). 11 Hatzaki (2009, 49–65). 12 Cf. Garland (1999, 73) and Barbe (2006, 55); Niketas of Amnia, Life of St. Philaretos, ff. 225r-225v. 13 Life of St. Philaretos, f. 225r.

150  Héctor González-Palacios 1 4 Theop. 6281. 15 Theop. 6261: Tῇ δὲ α’ τοῦ Νοεμβρίου μηνὸς τῆς η’ ἱνδικτιῶνος εἰσῆλθεν Εἰρήνη ἐξ Ἀθηνῶν ἐλθοῦσα ἀπὸ τῆς Ἱερείας ἐν τῇ βασιλευούσῃ πόλει δρομώνων καὶ χελανδίων πλείστων ἐστολισμένων σηρικοῖς παλλίοις, καὶ τῶν τῆς πόλεως προυχόντων σὺν γυναιξὶ προσαπαντώντων καὶ προαγόντων αὐτῇ. καὶ τῇ γ’ τοῦ αὐτοῦ Noεμβρίου μηνὸς τοῦ πατριάρχου ἐλθόντος ἐν τῷ παλατίῳ ἐν τῇ ἐκκλησίᾳ τοῦ Φάρου ἐγένετο τὰ πρὸς τὴν αὐτὴν Εἰρήνην τοῦ βασιλέως Λέοντος σπόνζα· καὶ τῇ ιζ’ τοῦ Δεκεμβρίου μηνὸς ἐστέφθη ἐν τῷ τρικλίνῳ τοῦ Αὐγουστέως ἡ βασίλισσα Εἰρήνη, καὶ ἀπελθοῦσα ἐν τῷ εὐκτηρίω τοῦ ἁγίου Στεφάνου ἐν τῇ Δάφνῃ ἔλαβε τὰ τοῦ γάμου στέφανα σὺν τῷ τοῦ Κωνσταντίνου υἱῷ Λέοντι τῷ βασιλεῖ: “On 1 November of the 8th indiction Irene made her entrance from Athens. She came to the Imperial City from Hiereia, escorted by many dromones and chelandia decorated with silken clothes, and was met by the prominent men of the City and their wives who led the way before her. On the 3rd of the same month of November the patriarch went to the church of the Pharos in the palace and the betrothal of the Emperor Leo to the same Irene was celebrated. On 17 December Irene was crowned Empress in the hall of the Augusteus. She proceeded to the chapel of St Stephen in the Daphne and received the marital crown along with Constantine’s son, Leo.” (Transl. by Mango and Scott 1997). 16 Herrin (2000, 21–23). 17 Herrin (2000, 20–22); for eunuchs and parallels between the earthly and heavenly courts, Ringrose (2003, 142–83). 18 McClanan (2002, 29–64) and James (2001, 18–45). 19 De cer., bk. 1, ch. 40, R205-206: δόξα Θεῷ αταδείξαντί σε βασίλισσαν;” “δόξα Θεῷ στέψαντι τὴν κορυφήν σου; ἅγιος, ἅγιος, ἅγιος. 20 Theop. 6268: καὶ τῇ ἐπαύριον, ἥτις ἦν ἡ µεγάλη κυριακὴ τοῦ πάσχα, ἰνδικτιῶνος ιδ’, ὥρᾳ αὐγῆς, ἐξελθὼν ὁ βασιλεὺς σὺν τῷ πατριάρχῃ ἐν τῷ ἱπποδρομίῳ, καὶ ἐνεχθέντος ἀντιμισσίου, παντὸς τοῦ λαοῦ ὁρῶντος, ἐποίησεν ὁ πατριάρχης τὴν εὐχήν, καὶ ἔστεψεν ὁ βασιλεὺς τὸν υἱὸν αὐτοῦ· καὶ οὕτω προῆλθον ἐν τῇ µεγάλῃ ἐκκλησίᾳ oἱ δύο βασιλεῖς σὺν τοῖς δυσὶ καίσαρσι καὶ τρισὶ νοβελισίμοις· προῆλθε δὲ καὶ ἡ βασίλισσα Εἰρήνη μετὰ τὸ προελθεῖν τοὺς βασιλεῖς ὀψικευοµένη ὑπὸ τῶν σκήπτρων διὰ τῶν σχολῶν, καὶ ἀνῆλθε διὰ τοῦ ἀναβασίου τῆς Χαλκῆς εἰς τὰ κατηχούµενα τῆς ἐκκλησίας μὴ ἐξελθοῦσα εἰς τὴν µέσην τοῦ ἐμβόλου: “The next day which was Easter Sunday, (24 April), indiction 14, the emperor went to the Hippodrome at daybreak together with the patriarch. A portable altar having been brought, the patriarch recited the prayer in the presence of all the people and the emperor crowned his son. Then the two Emperors processed to the Great Church together with the two Caesars and the three nobilissimi. After the emperors had gone forth, the empress Irene also processed, escorted by the sceptres, by way of the Scholai and ascended the staircase of the Chalke to the gallery of the church without appearing in the colonnaded Mese.” 21 Theop. 6073. 22 James (2001, 83–98). 23 The Life of St. Philaretos emphasizes the reign of Irene over that of Constantine: “At that time, the beloved-by-Christ augusta Irene reigned with her son the anax Constantine (Κατὰ δὲ τὸν καιρὸν ἐκεῖνον, βασιλεύοντος τῆς φιλοχρίστου Εἰρήνης αὐγούστης σὺν ἄνακτι τῷ υἱῷ αὐτῆς Κωνσταντίνῳ)” (f.225r). 24 Quod si perseverantes permanseritis in ea quam coepistis, orthodoxa fide, et per vos in partibus illis in pristino statu erectae fuerint sacrae ac venerandae imagines, sicut piae memoriae dominum Constantinum imperatorem et beatam Helenam, qui fidem orthodoxam promulgaverunt atque sanctam catholicam et apostolicam spiritualem matrem vestram Romanam Ecclesiam exaltaverunt, et cum caeteris orthodoxis imperatoribus, utpote

Rituals and processions in Empress Irene’s justification of power 151 caput omnium ecclesiarum venerati sunt, ita vestrum a Deo protectum clementissimum nomen novum Constantinum et novam Helenam habentes, per quos in primordiis sancu catholica et apostolica Ecclesia robur fidei sumpsit, et ad quorum instar vibrantissima ac in toto orbe terrarum vestra opinatissima in triumphis imperialis fama laudabiliter divulgatur. Magis autem si orthodoxae fidei sequentes traditiones Eccleaae beati Petri apostolorum principis amplexi fueritis censuram, et sicut antiquitus vestri praedecessores sancti imperatores egerunt, ita et vos eam honorifice venerantes, ejus vicarium ex intimo dilexeritis corde, potiusque vestrum a Deo concessum imperium eoram secutum fuerit orthodoxam, secundum sanctam Romanam nostram Ecclesiam, fidem (PL 96, 1217). 25 Theop. 6273. It has been claimed that during the first year of Constantine and Irene’s rule, a man who was digging by the Long Walls of Thrace discovered a coffin with a corpse inside and, engraved on its lid, an inscription that read, Χριστὸς μέλλει γεννᾶσθαι ἐκ Μαρίας τῆς παρθένου, καὶ πιστεύω εἰς αὐτόν. ἐπὶ δὲ Κωνσταντίνου καὶ Εἰρήνης τῶν βασιλέων, ὦ ἥλιε, πάλιν µε ὄψε: “Christ will be born of the Virgin Mary and I believe in Him. O sun, you will see me again in the reign of Constantine and Irene.” 26 Theop. 6273: οὓς δείρασα καὶ κουρεύσασα ἐξώρισεν εἰς διαφόρους τόπους. τοὺς δὲ ἀνδραδέλφους αὐτῆς καίσαράς τε καὶ νοβελισίµμους ἀποκείρασα ἱερατεῦσαι καὶ μεταδοῦναι τῷ λαῷ πεποίηκεν ἐν τῇ ἑορτῇ τῆς Χριστοῦ γεννήσεως, ἐν ᾑ καὶ προελθοῦσα βασιλικῶς δηµοσίᾳ σὺν τῷ παιδὶ προσήνεγκε τῇ ἐκκλησίαᾳ τὸ ὑπὺ τοῦ ἀνδρὸς αὐτῆς ἀρθὲν στέμμα ἐπικαλλωπισθὲν διὰ μαργαριτῶν: “Irene had them scourged and tonsured and banished them to different places. As for her brothers-in-law, the Caesars and nobilissimi, she made them take holy orders and administer communion to the people on the feast of Christ’s Nativity, on which day she went in public imperial procession together with her son and offered to the church the crown that had been removed by her husband, which she had further adorned with pearls.” 27 Ronconi (2021, 143–72). 28 Cf. Garland (1999, 74–75). 29 Cf. Barbe (2006). 30 Theop. 6274. 31 Kotsis (2012, 197–203). 32 Theop. 6275. 33 Theop. 6282–88. 34 It warrants noting that the fact that Irene had her son blinded in the same room in which she had given birth to him has cast a sinister shadow over her reign. However, family disputes, wars, mutilations, and murders were by no means uncommon in Constantinople and in other parts of the Mediterranean during this period. The poetic significance of the Porphyra and the fact that she was a mother, who assumedly professed “maternal love” for her offspring, have contributed to cast her in a negative light. It seems as if for contemporary researches parricide, fratricide, and filicide, even though they regard them as despicable acts, are less so if “men” are the perpetrators. 35 Theop. 2684. 36 Theop. 6289. 37 Lingenthal (1857, 55–62). 38 Theop. 6283: συναχθέντες δὲ τῷ Ὀκτωβρίω μηνὶ τῆς ιδ’ ἰνδικτιῶνος οἱ τῶν θεμάτων ἐν τῇ Ἀτρῴᾳ ἐπεξήτησαν πάντες κοινῇ γνώµῃ Κωνσταντῖνον βασιλέα εἰκοστὸν ἄγοντα ἔτος· φοβηθεῖσα δὲ Εἰρήνη τὸὅρμημα τοῦ λαοῦ ἀπέλυσεν αὐτόν. αὐτοὶ δὲ τοῦτον αὐτοκράτορα ἐκύρωσαν μέν, ἀπεκήρυξαν δὲ τὴν τούτου μητέρα. ἀπέστειλε δὲ εὐθέως ὁ βασιλεὺς Μιχαὴλ τὸν Λαχανοδράκοντα καὶ Ἰωάννην, τὸν βάγυλον αὐτοῦ καὶ πρωτοσπαθάριον. καὶ ὥρκισαν τοὺς Ἀρμενιάκους τοῦ μὴ

152  Héctor González-Palacios

3 9 40 41 42 43 4 4 45

4 6 47

δέξασθαι Εἰρήνην τὴν αὐτοῦ μητέρα εἰς βασιλέα· τὸν δὲ Ἀλέξιον ἐπεκύρωσε στρατηγὺν αὐτῶν: “In the month of October of the 14th indiction the men of the themata gathered at Atroa and unanimously asked for the emperor Constantine who was then in his twentieth year. Being afraid of the impetus of the army, Irene let him go. They confirmed him as Emperor and rejected his mother. Straight away the emperor sent Michael Lachanodrakon and his preceptor, the protospatharios John, and they made the Armeniacs swear that they would not accept his mother Irene as their emperor; and he confirmed Alexios as their strategos).” It is striking that Constantine was not actually depriving Irene of her role as an imperial woman, as an Augusta, but only trying to prevent her from assuming male imperial roles. Kotsis (2012, 203–4). Kotsis (2012, 196–213). James (2001, 11–16), Tradgold (1982). Theop. 6293. κράξασα τὴν Άβραμιαῖαν καì πανεύφημον τοῦ θεοῦ ἄνθρωπον τὴν καì πρωτίστη ν ὑπάρχουσαν τῶν εὐλαβέστατων ἐκείνων γυναικῶν. Theop. 6291. Charlemagne’s coronation in 800 probably had to do with the idea that the imperial throne, while being occupied by a woman, was in fact vacant (cf. Garland (1999, 87)). However, marrying Irene would have enabled him to reach his ultimate goal. Cohen (1985, 102). Cohen (1985, 118).

Bibliography Barbe, Dominique. 2006. Irène de Byzance. La femme empereur 752–803. Paris: Perrin. Cohen, Anthony P. 1985. The Symbolic Construction of Community. London-New York: Routledge. De Boor, Carl (ed.) 1883. Theophanis Chronographia. Leipzig: B. G. Teubner. Fourmy, Marie Henriette and Maurice Leroy. 1934. “La vie de S. Philarète.” Byzantion 9 (1): 85–170. Garland, Lynda. 1999. Byzantine Empresses. Women and Power in Byzantium AD 527–1204. London-New York: Routledge. Hatzaki, Myrto. 2009. Beauty and the Male Body in Byzantium. Perceptions and Representations in Art and Text. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Herrin, Judith. 2000. “The Imperial Feminine in Byzantium.” Past & Present 169: 3–35. James, Liz. 2001. Empresses and Power in Early Byzantium. London-New York: Leicester University Press. Janin, Raymond. 1966. “Les processions religieuses à Byzance.” Revue des études byzantines 24: 69–88. Kantorowicz, Ernst. 2016 [1957]. The King’s Two Bodies. A Study in Mediaeval Political Theology. Princeton-Oxford: Princeton University Press. Kotsis, Kriszta. 2012. “Defining Female Authority in Eighth-Century Byzantium: The Numismatic Images of the Empress Irene (797–802).” Journal of Late Antiquity 5(1): 185–215.

Rituals and processions in Empress Irene’s justification of power 153 Lingenthal, Zacharias A. (ed.) 1857. Ius Graeco-Romanum. Pars III. Novellae Constitutiones. Leipzig: T. O. Weigel. Mango, Cyril and Roger Scott (trans.) 1997. The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor. Oxford: Oxford University Press. McClanan, Anne. 2002. Representations of Early Byzantine Empresses. New York: Palgrave MacMillan. Migne, Jean-Paul. 1862. Patrologia Latina 96. Paris: J.P. Migne. Moffat, Ann and Maxeme Tall. (trans.) 2012. Constantine Porphyrogennetos: The Book of Ceremonies. Leiden-Boston: Brill. Ostrogorsky, George. 1956. “The Byzantine Emperor and the Hierarchical World Order.” The Slavonic and East European Review 25(84): 1–14. Ringrose, Kathryn M. 2003. The Perfect Servant. Eunuchs and the Social Construction of Gender in Byzantium. Chicago-London: The University of Chicago Press. Ronconi, Filippo. 2021. “Administrative Elites and the ‘First Phase of Byzantine Humanism.’” In Political Communication in Chinese and European History, 800–1600, edited by Hilde De Weerdt and Franz-Julius Morche, 143–172. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Sperber, Dan. 1974. Rethinking Symbolism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tradgold, Waren T. 1982 (trans). “The Unpublished Saint’s Life of the Empress Irene (BHG 2205).” Byzantinische Forschungen 8: 237–251.

10 The processions in honour of the Mater Magna and the construction of Roman identity (third century BC to fourth century CE) Sylvia Estienne The Roman procession (pompa) was characterized by its function and its pomp. It was firstly an escort, intended to accompany men or gods to a specific place;1 thus, a procession was used to accompany gods to the circus (pompa circensis), the dead to the pyre (pompa funebris), or a victorious general to the temple of Jupiter (pompa triumphalis). The idea of pomp is also fundamental: the procession is an honour that manifests the majestas of the gods and the dignitas of men. In the context of religious festivals, not every moving ritual necessarily constitutes a formal procession; the term pompa, moreover, does not necessarily capture the diversity of religious processions.2 The category would undoubtedly deserve to be reconsidered; a distinction should probably be made between processional rituals, which have the function of transporting people, objects or deities, and other types of ritual movement, which aim rather to define spaces, such as the lustrum.3 In Rome, processions were usually part of larger festivities, such as triumphs or games; they rarely constituted an autonomous ritual. Triumphal processions were exceptional events with a high memorial value; many written and figurative sources survive.4 Although they were more frequent, because of the recurrence of religious festivals and the multiplication of games from the end of the third century BC, processions dedicated to the gods paradoxically left much less trace in written and figurative sources.5 A notable exception is a procession in honour of the Mater Magna, which several authors of the first century BC chose to describe in varying lengths (Lucr. 2.600–660; Ov. Fast. 4.179–88; Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 2.1.3–5). It seems to have been the high point of the cult, officially introduced in Rome in 204 BC. The cult of the Mater Magna (Cybele for the poets) has long been the focus of historians’ attention because it is one of the examples of so-called “foreign cults” (sacra peregrina).6 Both ancestral, because she was conceived as a deity of ancient Troy, whose descendants the Romans claim to be, and foreign, because she came from the East, the Mater Magna Idaea Deorum of the Romans7 fully illustrates this category of so-called “foreign cults,” a properly Roman creation. Based on a passage from Denys of Halicarnassus (Ant. Rom. 2.19.3–5), modern historians have reconstructed a double cult, with a Roman part, centred on the celebration of the feast DOI: 10.4324/9781003301646-10

The processions in honour of the Mater Magna 155 of the Megalesia between April 4–10, and a “foreign” part, celebrated in the month of March around the cycle of Attis, the Phrygian paredros of the goddess. The “foreign” part of the cult, at first celebrated only by the Phrygian clergy, would have been partially “Romanized” during the first two centuries of the Principate8. Scholarly attention has been focused on the insertion of the “Phrygian” cycle into the Roman public calendar (considered as a form of “Romanization”), in particular on the creation of new rituals (the taurobolium), on the mysteric dimension of the cult, or on the most exotic cultic actors, the galli.9 Aspects considered more Roman, such as games or processions, have been less studied, although they often constitute the focal point of the cult in the ancient sources.10 I will first show that Metroac processions are characterized by their singularity and diversity; they allow us to reflect on cultural processes resulting from the Roman expansion in the Mediterranean. We will then see that they played a central role in the perception of the cult and participated in the plural and constantly re-negotiated construction of the Roman identity.

10.1 Diversity and singularity of processions in the cult of the Mater Magna Based on the Metroac festive cycle as reconstructed from the calendar of Filocalus (354 CE), it is possible to identify the festivals in honour of the goddess that included processions, i.e. the vast majority of them (Table 10.1). Only two feasts, the dies sanguinis and the requieto of March 24 and 26, which are otherwise poorly documented, seem to have taken place inside the sanctuary, without processions.11 All the others include processions, of varying size and modality. Two processions are particularly emphasized: the lavatio procession on March 27 and the opening procession of the Megalesia, on April 4. It is not always easy to distinguish them in the ancient sources, yet they differ significantly in their sequence and form. The ritual of the lavatio does not appear in the public calendars until the middle of the first century CE; the precise date of March 27 is only attested rather late, but the ritual was probably celebrated as early as the Republican period12. The route, the actors, and the sequence of the ritual can nevertheless be reconstructed in broad outline.13 The effigy of the goddess was transported from the sanctuary of the Palatine to the symbolic limits of the ancient territory of Rome, on the banks of the Almo, a southern tributary of the Tiber.14 There, after a sacrifice, the Phrygian priest washed the statue of the goddess (Ov. Fast. 4.332–9) and the cultic instruments, which had been used especially during ritual mutilations of galli (Mart. 3.47.1–5; Val. Flacc. 8.239–42). The galli and other servants of the goddess accompanied the ceremony with shrill ululations and the sound of tambourines (Ov. Fast. 4.340–2). The procession, surrounded by torches and a shower of flowers then returned to the Palatine through the Capena gate15 under the supervision of

Date of festival

Name of festival

Literary sources

March 15 March 22

Canna intrat Arbor intrat

March 25 March 27

Hilaria (?) Lavatio

April 4

Megalesia (arrival of MM)

April 4–10

Megalesia (ludi scaenici)

Lydus Mens. 4.49 Lydus Mens. 4.59 Arnob. Adv. 5.16 Carm. Contra pag. 108 Julian Or. 5.168C. Herodian. 1.10.5 Ov. Fast. 4.337–346 Luc. 1.599–600 Val. Flacc. 8.239–242 Mart. 3.47.1–4 Arrian, Tact. 33.4 Herodian. 1.10.5? Amm. Marc. 23.3.7 August. De civ. D. 2.4. Prud. Perist. 10.154–160 Lucr. 2.600–660 Dion. Hal. 2.19.3–5 Ov. Fast. 4.179–188 Varro. Eumenid. 150B (?)

April 10

Dies natalis of MM’s temple (ludi circenses)

Ov. Fast. 4.391

Iconographic sources

Numismatic sources

Metroac altar with four figures carrying a ferculum with a throne (Cambridge)? Sarcophagus with a stone on a ferculum (Aquileia)?

Fresco with Mater Magna on ferculum (Pompeii) Metroac altar with four figures carrying a ferculum with a throne (Cambridge)? Sarcophagus with a pompa circensis (Mater Magna, Victoria and a divus) (Rome)

RRC.385.4 (Volteius, 78 BC) RRC.491.2 (Cestius and Norbanus, 43 BC)

156  Sylvia Estienne

Table 10.1  Metroac festivals with procession

The processions in honour of the Mater Magna 157 the quindecemvirs (Lucan. Phars. 1.599–600). The effigy carried is believed to be the original idol of the goddess, the black stone of Pessinunte, set in a silver face (Prud. Perist. 10.155–8). She is carried on a chariot drawn by heifers (Ov. Fast. 4.345–6). This chariot designated by Ovid as a plaustrum, a relatively common vehicle, is presented by later sources as a carpentum (Amm. Marc. 23.3.7; Prud. Perist. 10.154–5), a covered ceremonial carriage, often reserved for processions.16 Only Augustine (De Ciu. D. 2.4), who refers to the ceremonies celebrated in Carthage at the end of the fourth century, mentions a litter (lectica), which was carried on men’s backs.17 A week later, on April 4, a great procession was held inside the city this time, to mark the beginning of the Roman festival of the Megalesia. The statue of the goddess was carried on litter (Ov. Fast. 4.185), accompanied by her servants performing armed dances and musicians playing tambourine, cymbals, and Phrygian flute. These details argue for the identification of this festival on a fresco from Pompeii.18 The procession was preceded by scenic games that took place on the Palatine, in a theatre set up just in front of the temple of the Mater Magna (“under the eyes of the goddess”).19 Led by the Phrygian priests, the procession of April 4 went through the streets of the city.20 As Dionysius of Halicarnassus points out, for the Phrygian servants of the cult, one of the purposes of the procession was to beg for alms.21 The great procession was therefore not intended to accompany the goddess to the theatre, but constituted an autonomous ritual sequence and occupied a central place, as we shall see, in the definition of the goddess’ identity in Rome. In contrast, our sources on the traditional type of processions (pompa circensis, pompa theatralis) performed as part of the games in her honour are poor. On April 10, Ovid mentions a pompa circensis, but it is not clear whether it refers to the circus games that celebrated the dies natalis of the temple of the Mater Magna on the Palatine or to the following festival, the ludi Ceriales.22 On the other hand, what kind of theatrical pompa could be organized on the occasion of the stage games that took place in front of the temple? A quotation from Varro has long been interpreted in this sense, but it is based on a correction of the manuscripts that does not win support; according to this correction, the Phrygian priest would have carried a crown taken from the cult statue to the stage of the theatre, in front of the temple.23 In support of this hypothesis, a relief from the Claudian period representing the façade of the temple of Mater Magna on the Palatine is usually mentioned;24 on the tympanum, instead of an anthropomorphic image of the goddess, an empty throne is depicted on which a mural crown is placed (Figure 10.1). This arrangement, referred to by modern historians as a sellisternium, was attested in some theatrical processions.25 Even if the keys to understanding the scenography of the pediment represented on this Claudian relief escape us for the most part, we can safely assume that the throne with the mural crown was the symbol of the presence of the goddess during the ludi scaenici of the

158  Sylvia Estienne

Figure 10.1   Empty throne on the tympanum of the Cybele’s temple in Rome. Drawing of the detail of a Claudian relief. Source: Tillyard (1917, Figure 1, p. 286).

Megalesia.26 Based on this evidence, some scholars have proposed to identify a representation of this pompa theatralis on an altar now preserved in the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge (Figure 10.2).27 On one of the side scenes of this anepigraphic monument, a processional stretcher carried by four figures dressed in oriental style is carved; a throne similar to that of the pediment of the Mater Magna is placed on the stretcher, with not a mural crown, but a closed basket, a cista, often associated with the practice of mysteries.28 Other elements of the same relief may, however, lead the interpretation in another direction. The presence of decorated pine branches behind the throne of the goddess could refer to the processions of the March festivals, in particular that of the Arbor intrat on March 22.29 On that day, a procession of dendrophori carried into the sanctuary of the Mater Magna a freshly cut pine tree, adorned with violets and woollen strips (Arn. Adv. 5.16)30. This pine was dedicated to the goddess in memory of the death of Attis, her paredros, and placed in a reserved part of the temple, the sanctum.31 In the present state of our knowledge, it is difficult to establish whether the altar in the Fitzwilliam Museum represents an actual procession led by the goddess’ servants—dendrophori, galli, or religiosi—or whether we deal with a symbolic scene, combining several elements of the cult, in memory of the priestess of the Mater Magna, of whom it is probably the cinerary altar.32 The course of the March processions remains generally very poorly known, which explains the scepticism with which modern commentators

The processions in honour of the Mater Magna 159

Figure 10.2  Altar with Metroac procession. The Fitzwilliam Museum. GR.5.1938. Source: The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge.

consider Herodian’s description of a procession in honour of Mater Magna under Commodus: 33 On a fixed date in early spring each year the Romans celebrate a festival in honour of the mother of the gods. All the tokens of people’s wealth and the treasures of the imperial house—things of marvellous material and workmanship—are paraded in honour of the goddess. Free licence is given to all kinds of revels; anyone can disguise himself as any character he wants; there is no position so important or exclusive that someone cannot disguise himself in that dress and play the fool by concealing his true identity, making it difficult to tell the real person from the man in fancy dress.34 Described as joyful, this procession has often been identified with the Hilaria, a festival that appears late in our sources as celebrating the end of Attis’ mourning (Macrob. 1.21.7). The theme of the cross-dressing of the participants, essential to the plot since it is an attempt to assassinate the emperor, could then refer to the presence of different associations of cult servants dressed in oriental style and armed (hastiferi, bellonarii …) during the procession back from the lavatio.35 But the Greek historian does

160  Sylvia Estienne not give a particularly oriental colouring to the procession, preferring to emphasize the more generic characters of the procession (ostentation of wealth, festive licence, place of interaction between the emperor and the people).36

10.2  Phrygian Rites, ‘included otherness’ and Roman identity In line with Frantz Cumont’s ideas, these processions, whose exoticism was underlined in ancient sources, were for a long time perceived as the sign of a different religiosity. The questioning of Cumont’s interpretive model has made it possible to take a new look at these rituals and to highlight their “Romanity” instead.37 A careful reading of the passage by Dionysius of Halicarnassus is enlightening: Even though [Rome] has, in pursuance of oracles, introduced certain rites from abroad, she celebrates them in accordance with her own traditions, after banishing all fabulous clap-trap. The rites of the Idaean goddess are a case in point; for the praetors perform sacrifices and celebrate games in her honor every year according to the Roman customs, but the priest and priestess of the goddess are Phrygians, and it is they who carry her image in procession through the city, begging alms in her name according to their custom, and wearing figures upon their breasts and striking their timbrels while their followers play tunes upon their flutes in honor of the Mother of the Gods. But by a law and decree of the Senate no native Roman walks in procession through the city arrayed in flamboyant robes, begging alms or escorted by flute-players, or worships the god with the Phrygian ceremonies.38 Far from establishing the existence of a double cult, Phrygian on the one hand and Roman on the other, Dionysius praises the control exercised by the Roman authorities over all the rites and their refusal in particular to grant a place to mythological fables. Under the patronage of the praetors, the procession takes place in a festive universe familiar to the Romans (sacrifice, games), even if it presents deliberately exotic features that our sources willingly insist on. The presence of Phrygian priests, the practice of begging,39 and thunderous music 40 are the three markers of the goddess’ foreign identity that are also found in Lucretius and Ovid. These oriental features establish a clear separation between the Phrygian servants and the Roman public, which is symbolically kept at a distance, both by the armed dancers and by the symbolic prohibitions: Romans by birth cannot be priests of the goddess, begging is forbidden to Romans, and bodily mutilation is condemned; the figure of the galli, these effeminate servants vilified in many Roman sources but indispensable to the cult, made it possible above all to think about what the Roman should not be and thus the Roman identity.41 Nevertheless, the pomp and general order of the main Metroac processions are drawn from the same repertoire as the other great Roman

The processions in honour of the Mater Magna 161 processions: for example the music, the armed dancers, and the carnival figures are also part of the circus processions.42 During the lavatio, the goddess is “domesticated” twice: on the one hand, by the insertion of the betylus in an anthropomorphic statue that conforms to the canons of Graeco-Roman representation, and on the other hand, by her display on a carriage that is appropriate to the Roman pompa (plaustrum or carpentum). The torches for the lavatio procession, the violets, and the woollen strips decorating the pine tree of Attis belong to the repertoire of funeral processions, while echoing elements of the myth of Attis.43 Some scholars have shown that the exotic rites used in the Roman cult of the Mater Magna did not necessarily have Phrygian precedents, or in any case did not refer to a coherent cult model, but were the result of a selection that borrowed from both Greece and the East.44 More than the adaptation of a foreign cult to Roman religious practices (“Romanization”), the Phrygian character of the goddess was the result of a specifically Roman reconstruction whose aim is not to make an exotic cult acceptable, but to think the Roman identity. The inversion of various ritual gestures can be understood in this sense: during the lavatio, the Phrygian priest operates wearing a purple tunic and with his head uncovered (Ov. Fast. 4.349), contrary to the Roman practice of veiling his head with a piece of his immaculate toga. This process was highlighted for various rituals that the Romans performed “according to the Greek rite” (ritu graeco).45 Arrien uses a similar expression for lavatio (“according to the Phrygian rite”).46 Florence Dupont has proposed the notion of “included otherness” to explain this cultural construction specific to the Roman imperium and based on “a permanent movement of rejection and absorption.”47 The processions carried out by the dendrophori on March 22 have most often been interpreted as the result of the Romanization of a Phrygian rite. The dendrophori, honourable members of associations appointed by the civic authorities, would have been substituted for the galli to make the cult of Attis acceptable. The altar in Cambridge (Figure 10.2) may, however, lead us in another direction. The figures wearing Phrygian caps and carrying the ferculum are problematic: their dress does not correspond to that attributed to the galli in the literary texts (long hair, long dress, effeminate appearance, etc.), but rather refers to a generic East, such as that found in the iconography of Attis or Mithras.48 Reversing the paradigm, Françoise Van Haeperen proposed to speak of the “Phrygianization” of the festivities of the month of March; from the middle of the first century CE, the increasing variety of public festivals in honour of the goddess would be marked by the invention of “Phrygian” rites, as the Romans previously celebrated “Greek” rites.49

10.3 Impact of Metroac processions on religious, political, and social identities The Metroac processions are not only the result of a cultural “bricolage,” they are central to the very construction of the identity of the goddess and the perception of her cult. In a ritualistic religious system, where “doing

162  Sylvia Estienne is believing”50, the ritual practices implemented in the processions are in a sense a kind of “performing theology.”51 The foreign features of the procession were perceived as carrying meaning and values that were invested in various ways depending on the audience and the times. The written sources privilege the erudite and philosophical viewpoint of the Roman aristocracy. It is striking to note that it is precisely on the evocation of the statue carried in procession and its cortege that the main exegeses we know are built. Lucretius, Ovid, as well as Varro and Macrobius base their interpretations on the iconography of the statue (mural crown, tambourine, chariot harnessed to lions) but also on the context of the procession (music, armed dancers, movement of the litter).52 These interpretations were probably not available only to intellectual circles, but widely shared; an anecdote reported by Suetonius shows that the use of the tambourine of the galli as an allegory of the earthly orb (and thus of Augustus’ imperium….) was perfectly understood by all spectators at the ludi.53 Although he claims to borrow his views from Greek scholars, Lucretius valued in his exegetical discourse typical Roman values such as pietas and patria, interpretations that were taken up in the fourth century CE by Servius, the commentator of Virgil.54 These various exegetical discourses were articulated with the affirmation of ethical and moral values, which could find their application in multiple fields, both political and social. For example, the image of the goddess carried in procession, which was especially widespread in the Roman world, was also chosen by two monetary magistrates at the end of the Republican period as a metonymic figure for the games, also recalling their political significance.55 The Megalesia appears to be a festival strongly marked by the ideology of the Roman aristocracy. The symbolic construction that emerges from the rites set up in 204 BC refers to an aristocracy that was concerned both with claiming the Hellenic ideal through the Trojan myth and with asserting its political and moral singularity through the exaltation of virtus. These values were not necessarily agreed upon: during the first stage games, in 194 BC, for the first “Greek games,” i.e. stage games, the introduction of a hierarchy of places in the theatre, underlining the pre-eminence of the senators, caused debate.56 In Late Antiquity, processions of the Mater Magna are also present in written and figurative documentation. Jacob Latham has recently shown convincingly how the ambivalences of the cult of the Mater Magna were reinvested by Christian authors in the fourth century CE, in order to define the Christian values to which the Roman aristocracy was now called to aspire.57 The processions appeared to be one of the last social rituals that allowed the latter to assert its values and rank, as shown by their recurrence in late funerary iconography.58 The ambivalence of the Metroac processions offered Christian polemicists a symbolic repertoire of interest to build a Christian identity by contrast. It is more difficult to measure the impact of these processions on the rest of society. Nevertheless, curse tablets (defixiones) found in Mainz, in

The processions in honour of the Mater Magna 163 a Flavian sanctuary dedicated to the Mater Magna and Isis, have shed new light. Faced with the miseries of everyday life (misappropriation of an inheritance, unfaithful bride, jealousy of a neighbour, etc.), modest devotees asked the goddess or Attis to punish the guilty and avenge them. The evocation of the rites of the Phrygian cycle of March is used to reinforce the effectiveness of their request, like this deceived woman who asks that the reputation (and virility?) of the man who abandoned her be “withered like the tree that withers in the sanctuary (sanctum).”59 We are very far from the interpretations of Varro or Ovid, but it is interesting to note that here again, the experience of processions made it possible to think about the function and the power of action of the divinity. The dendrophori, who were the main participants in these processions in many cities of the Roman West, have left an important epigraphic documentation—nearly 150 inscriptions—in which, paradoxically, they rarely mention their participation in the cult of the Mater Magna.60 Nevertheless, some inscriptions allow us to understand indirectly how the processions, which combined a high public profile with participation in a reserved part of the rite, were a place of social distinction. An inscription from the second century CE from Privernum lists the work done by Marcus Sulpicius Eutyches, who was quinquennalis of the dendrophori;61 from the parvis (area) to the interior of the temple of the Mother of the gods, these arrangements precisely mark the significant points of the procession of the Arbor intrat and emphasize the privileged status of the dendrophori who access the sanctum, the holy of holies. Similarly, in Ostia, Calpurnius Jovinus celebrates the memory of his brother, Julius Charelampis, sacerdos of the Mother of the gods of the colony of Ostia “who introduced the tree 19 times.”62 Also in Ostia, re-examining the dedications made within the religious colleges occupying the Mater Magna campus, Van Haeperen notes that they were often small silver statuettes, particularly suitable for being carried in procession.63 At Sitifis, in the province of Mauritania, the dendrophori participated in the restoration of the temple of Mater Magna, in particular by offering silver images and a carpentum, a carriage with its decorations, intended for processions.64 Participation in the processions is not seen from an esoteric perspective, but as a response to a growing search for social recognition on the part of the middle strata of society, which uses all the codes of the civic universe: participation in public life, evergetism, and display of dignitas.65 The processions of the Mater Magna thus show both the strength of Roman religious norms and their social effectiveness. Far from generating forms of religious communitarianism, they are fully part of Roman identity. The multiplication of festivals involving processions is less a sign of the Romanization of worship than of the redefinition of Roman identity through these collective rites. In this light, the account of the Metroac procession described by Herodian (1.10.5) can be reconsidered. The Greek historian frequently includes digressions on Roman religious festivals in accounts of

164  Sylvia Estienne moments of crisis of imperial power; they serve to highlight the corruption of the emperors’ morals and the loss of the virtues on which Rome based its power.66 From this point on, the symbolic significance of the procession that serves as a backdrop to the plot of Maternus in Herodian can be better understood; immediately afterwards, the Greek historian feels the need to recall the circumstances of the arrival of the Mater Magna in Rome in 204 BC; it was a good opportunity to celebrate, through the character of the vestal Claudia, the embodiment of Roman virtue and the power of a deity from Asia Minor (1.11.5)67, symbolizing the foundations of a Roman empire accepted by the Greeks. The joyful procession in which the emperor participates can then be understood as an allegory of the tacit pact on which the Roman order rests.

Abbreviations CCCA Vermaseren, Marteen, J. 1977–1989. Corpus Cultus Cybelae Attidisque. Études Préliminaires sur les Religions Orientales 50. Leiden: Brill. 7 vol. CIL 1893. Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum. Berlin: W. de Gruyter. PPM 1990–2003. Pompei. Pitture e mosaici. Roma: Istituto della enciclopedia italiana. 20 vol. RRC Crawford, Michael H. 1974. Roman Republican Coinage. LondonCambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 1 0 11 12 13 14

Viviers (2004–2005). Fless (2004). Scheid (2016). See for example Itgenshorst (2005) and Östenberg (2009). Fless (2004), Latham (2016). Fest. 268L. Van Andringa and Van Haeperen (2009). On the Roman name of the goddess and its specificity Belayche (2016a). Alvar (2008, 282–93). Without being exhaustive: Borgeaud (1996), Alvar (2008), Beard (2012), and Latham (2012, 2014/2015). On processions, see however Favro (2008), Belayche (2021). Alvar (2008, 284–93). Possibly celebrated during the Republic inside the sanctuary, where a large pool with steps was found: Roller (1999, 274); the creation of the circuit to the Almo may be an Augustan innovation, Alvar (2008, 285–7). Several reconstructions of the route have been proposed, all hypothetical: Scheid (1994), Pensabene (2008), and Turcan (2012). The main ancient source, Ovid, Fast. 4.332–46, is not without problems of interpretation, cf. Pfaff-Reydellet (2004). Scheid (1994, 9) and Borgeaud (1996, 98 and 206). The exact location is problematic. Ovid, who included it in the goddess’ journey between Ostia and Rome, placed it at the junction of the Almo and the Tiber, i.e. near the via Ostiensis. But if the procession then passed through the Porta Capena, located on the Via Appia, it had to make a significant roundabout route. Poetic licence

The processions in honour of the Mater Magna 165 (Porte 1984) or symbolic diversions (Scheid, 1994)? However, we note that both Martial (3.47.1–2) and Stace (Silv. 5.1.222–3) closely associate the Almo with the porta Capena and the via Appia. The location of the lavatio could possibly have been at the junction of the via Appia and the Almo, a short distance from the first mile. 15 On the military symbolism of this gate, thus linked to the protective patronage of the goddess, Scheid (1994, 8–9). 16 Isid. Etym. 20.12.3: carpentum pompaticum. Abaecherli (1936), Östenberg (2003, 29–36). 17 Cf. a late sarcophagus from Aquileia (Aquileia, museo Archeologico Nazionale, inv. 225, mid-fourth century AD) depicts a procession with a stone in an aedicula on a litter carried by four men; the betylus of the Mater Magna can be seen here, most recently Rebaudo and Zanier (2012–2013, 284–5 [lavatio]) and Latham (2016, 216 [pompa circensis]). 18 Fröhlich (1991, 182–4; 332–3). Contra Van Andringa (2009, 279–84) who sees here a representation of the lavatio. 19 Cic. Har. Resp. 24: num quid ego de illis ludis loquar, quos in Palatio nostri maiores ante templum in ipso Matris Magnae conspectu Megalensibus fieri celebrarique uoluerunt? 20 Ov. Fast. 4.186: Vrbis per medias exululata uias; Lucr. 2.624: magnas inuecta per urbis; Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 2.19.4. 21 Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 2.19.4: ἱερᾶται δὲ αὐτῆς ἀνὴρ Φρὺξ καὶ γυνὴ Φρυγία καὶ περιάγουσιν ἀνὰ τὴν πόλιν οὗτοι μητραγυρτοῦντες, ὥσπερ αὐτοῖς ἔθος. 22 Ov. Fast. 4. 391–2: Circus erit pompa celeber numeroque deorum,/ primaque uentosis palma petetur equis. 23 Varro, Eumenid. Fr. 150B: cum illoc vento, video Gallorum frequentiam in templo qui dum *essena hora nam* (codd.; Scaliger: e scena coronam; Lachmann: messem hornam) adlatam inponeret aedilis signo deae, deum et deam gallantes vario recinebant studio. Lastly, Rolle (2017, 39–43) following Lachmann. Whatever ritual Varro describes, it is a rite identified as Phrygian and illustrating the theme of furor, ecstatic madness, which is the subject of his book. 24 Relief of the collection della Valle-Medici, found in the sixteenth century and now walled up in the façade of the Villa Medici in Rome. Several interpretations have been proposed for the monument to which it belonged, most recently La Rocca (1992). The relief depicted an unidentified procession passing several temples. 25 On the identification between sellisternium and pompa theatralis, Ross Taylor (1935) and Abaecherli (1936); her hypothesis based on iconographic documents for the most part is subsequently taken up by most researchers despite the absence of explicit textual evidence; La Rocca (2007). On the theatricals processions, Madigan (2012, 84–101) and Latham (2016, 166–8). 26 Lastly Bell (2009) with older references. 27 Madigan (2012, 99–101) and Latham (2016, 166–7). 28 Van Haeperen (2019b and 2020). 29 Contra Tillyard (1917): a procession on March 24. 30 On this festival instituted by the emperor Claudius (Lyd. mens. 4.59), Borgeaud, (1996, 131–5). Pensabene (2008) proposes a restitution of the route of this procession in Rome, from the Caelius where the toponym Arbor Sacra seems to indicate that the wood where the pine was cut was located, to the temple of the Palatine, passing by the Basilica Hilariana, identified as the seat of the college of dendrophori. 31 Blänsdorf (2012 n. 6 = Blänsdorf [2010, 186–7, no. 18]). On the presence of a reserved space (sanctum) in the sanctuaries of the Mater Magna, Evangelisti (2012).

166  Sylvia Estienne 3 2 As has been convincingly demonstrated by Van Haeperen (2019b). 33 Contra Rowan (2007) with older ref. 34 Herod. 1.10.5. (Transl. C. R. Whittaker). See Rowan (2007, 173–4) and Fishwick (1967, 154–5). 35 Fishwick (1967, 148–55) and Alvar (2008, 288, n. 316). 36 This cannot be out of ignorance since in the next paragraph he digresses at length about the arrival of the Mater Magna in Rome from the East (1.11, 1–5). 37 For the challenging of the category of “oriental cults,” see Belayche (2000), Bonnet, Rüpke and Scarpi (2006), and Bonnet, Pirenne-Delforge and Praet (2009). More specifically on processions, Belayche (2016b et 2021). 38 Dion. Hal. Rom. Ant. 2.19.4–5 (Transl. E. Cary). 39 This is an important aspect of the Phrygian priesthood, see also Lucr. 2.626–7; Ov. Fast. 4.350–2; Pont. 1.1.39; Augustine De civ. D. 7.26.1. Cic. de leg. 2.22 states that this is a non-Roman practice and reserved for this feast. See Borgeaud (1996, 62–64 and 170) and Roller (1999, 163–8). 40 On the sensorial ambiance of these procession and their rhetorical use by the various authors, Belayche (2021). 41 Beard (2012) and Latham (2012, 2014/15). 42 Belayche (2021). 43 On the presence of torches associated with the goddess’ joy in ending the mourning, Val. Flacc. 8. 240–2. On the symbolism of torches in the funerary ritual, Scheid (1984). For a use of the funerary connotations of the festival, see Mart. 3.47.1–4; Stat. Silv. 5.1.222–3. 44 Summers (1996), Borgeaud (1996), Roller (1999), and Belayche (2016a). 45 Scheid (1995; 2005a and 2005b). 46 Arrian. Tact. 33.4: Φρυγῶν νόμῳ. 47 Dupont (2002). 48 On the discrepancy between the literary image and the iconographic evidence of the servants of the Mater Magna, Latham (2014/2015). For identification of servants on this altar, Van Haeperen (2019b). 49 Van Haeperen (2019a, 194–5). 50 Scheid (2005a). 51 Latham (2015). 52 Lucr. 2.600–660; Ov. Fast. 4.190–245; Varro cited by Augustine. De Civ. D. 7.24. See lastly Rolle (2017, 93–104). Macrob. Sat. 1.21.7. 53 Suet. Aug. 68.1. 54 Lucr. 2.604–5; Serv. Aen. 3.113. See Summers (1996) and Rolle (2017, 95–96). 55 RRC.385.4 (Volteius, 78 BC), RRC.491.2 (Cestius and Norbanus, 43 BC). Turcan (1983). 56 Val. Max. 2.4.3. See Alvar (2008, 244–6). 57 Latham (2020). 58 Guidetti (2017). Cf. the sarcophagi from Rome and Aquileia discussed above. 59 Blänsdorf (2010, 186–7, n. 18 = Blänsdorf [2012, n. ]). Gordon (2012). 60 Van Haeperen (2012). 61 AE 2012, 337. Evangelisti (2012, 327–36). 62 CIL XIV.4627. See Van Haeperen (2012). 63 Van Haeperen (2019a, 186–7). 64 CIL VIII.8457 = VIII.20343 = CCCA 5.142 (288 CE). 65 Van Haeperen (2019a, ch.4). 66 Rowan (2007, 168–9): “The placement of Herodian’s digressions on religion perhaps indicates a conscious or unconscious association of religion with a challenge to social norms or the status quo.” 67 ὁμοῦ δὲ τὸ ἐναργὲς τῆς θεοῦ καὶ τὸ σεμνὸν τῆς παρθένου Ῥωμαῖοι ἐθαύμασαν. See Scheid (1994).

The processions in honour of the Mater Magna 167

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The processions in honour of the Mater Magna 169 Pfaff-Reydellet, Maud. 2004. “Théorie et pratique du ‘récit des origins:’ l’arrivée de Cybèle dans le Latium (Ovide, Fastes IV 247–348).” In L’ultima parola: l’analisi dei testi: teorie e pratiche nell’antichità greca e latina, edited by Giancarlo Abbamonte, Ferruccio Conti Bizzarro, and Luigi Spina, 261–71. Napoli: Arte Tipografica. Porte, Danielle. 1984. “Claudia Quinta et le problème de la lavatio de Cybèle en 204 av. J.-C.” Klio 66: 93–103. Rebaudo, Ludovico, and Katharina Zanier. 2012–2013. “Pezzi difficili. Due Sculture Aquileiesi del IV Secolo d.C.” Aquileia nostra 83–84: 273–88. Rolle, Alessandra. 2017. Dall’Oriente a Roma. Cibele, Iside e Serapide nell’opera di Varrone. Pise: ETS. Roller, Lynn E. 1999. In Search of God the Mother. The Cult of Anatolian Cybele. Berkeley/Los Angeles/London: University of California Press. Ross Taylor, Lily. 1935. “The ‘Sellisternium’ and the Theatrical ‘Pompa.’” Classical Philology 30: 122–30. Rowan, Clare. 2007. “Rethinking Religion in Herodian.” Ancient History: Resources for Teachers. 35: 163–76. Scheid, John. 1984. “Contraria facere: renversements et déplacements dans les rites funéraires.” Annali dell’Istituto Orientale di Napoli 6: 117–39.     1994. “Claudia, la Vestale.” In Roma al femminile, edited by Augusto Fraschetti, 3–19. Bari: Laterza.    . 1995. “Graeco Ritu: A typically Roman Way of Honouring the Gods.” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 97: 15–31.    . 2005a. Quand faire c’est croire. Les rites sacrificiels des Romains. Paris: Aubier.     2005b. “Un élément original de l’identité romaine: les cultes selon le rite grec.” In Dossier: Et si les Romains avaient inventé la Grèce? Paris-Athènes: Éditions de l’École des hautes études en sciences sociales     2016. “Le lustrum et la lustratio. En finir avec la ‘purification’. ” In Vestigia. Miscellanea di studi storico-religiosi in onore di Filippo Coarelli nel suo 80° anniversario, edited by Valentino Gasparini, 203–9. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Summers, Kirk. 1996. “Lucretius’ Roman Cybele.” In Cybele, Attis and Related Cults. Essays in Memory of M. J. Vermaseren, edited by E. N. Lane, 337–65. Leiden: Brill. Tillyard, Eustace M. W. 1917. “A Cybele Altar in London.” Journal of Roman Studies 7: 284–8. Turcan, Robert. 1983. Numismatique romaine du culte métroaque. Leiden: Brill.     2012. “Le circuit rituel de la Lauatio.” In Demeter, Isis, Vesta, and Cybele: studies in Greek and Roman Religion in honour of Giulia Sfameni Gasparro, edited by Attilio Mastrocinque and Concetta Giuffré Scibona, 240–5. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Van Andringa, William. 2009. Quotidien des dieux et des hommes. La vie religieuse dans les cités du Vésuve à l’époque romaine. Rome: École française de Rome. Van Andringa, William, and Françoise Van Haeperen. 2009. “Le Romain et l’étranger: formes d’intégration des cultes étrangers dans les cités de l’Empire romain.” In Les religions orientales dans le monde grec et romain: Cent ans après Cumont (1906–2006). Bilan historique et historiographique, edited by Corinne Bonnet, Vinciane Pirenne-Delforge, and Danny Praet, 23–42. Bruxelles-Rome: Institut historique belge.

170  Sylvia Estienne Van Haeperen, Françoise. 2011. “Les acteurs du culte de Magna Mater à Rome et dans les provinces occidentales de l’Empire.” In Figures d’Empire, fragments de mémoire. Pouvoirs et identités dans le monde romain impérial IIe s. av. n.è., VIe s. de n.è., edited by Stéphane Benoist, Anne Daguet-Gagey, and Christine Hoët-Van Cauwenberghe, 467–84. Lille: Editions du septentrion.     2012. “Collèges de dendrophores et autorités locales et romaines.” In Collegia. Le phénomène associatif dans l’Occident romain, edited by Monique Dondin-Payre and Nicolas Tran, 47–62. Bordeaux: Ausonius Éditions.     2019a. Étrangère et ancestrale, la Mère des dieux dans le monde romain. Paris: Éditions du Cerf.     2019b. “Représentations, pratiques et agents cultuels de Mater Magna: réflexions autour de l’autel du Fitzwilliam Museum (Cambridge).” In Corpi e saperi. Riflessioni sulla trasmissione della conoscenza, edited by Sabina Crippa, 235–48. Bologne: Pendragon.     2020. “The Cista, a Hallmark of Mater Magna’s Mysteries in the Roman World?” In Mystery Cults in Visual Representation in Graeco-Roman Antiquity, edited by Nicole Belayche and Francesco Massa, 194–217. Leiden: Brill. Viviers, Didiers. 2004–2005. “Parcourir la cité: des processions aux époques grecque et romaine.” Annuaire EPHE, Section des Sciences religieuses 113: 219–22.

11 Ritual-feast mockery and humiliation during Roman triumphs Functions and meanings of ioci militares from a cultural-historical perspective1 Alberto del Campo Tejedor 11.1  Introduction: Studying the triumphal songs The triumph was a procession (pompa) in which the victorious general paraded through the streets of Rome on a chariot, accompanied by his troops, the defeated prisoners and the spoils of war. Some of the customs associated with this celebration have aroused perplexity throughout history. Among the most baffling, however, are the jibes as well as the jocular and often obscene compositions chanted by soldiers during the triumphal procession. At times, the songs praised the victorious general, but they often constituted carmina incondita—in the words of Livy— i.e., “spontaneous,” “free,” “vulgar,” “humorous,” and even “improvised” songs.2 What was the underlying intention of the soldiers’ songs during the triumph? What were they responding to and what role did they play? Do we know anything about what they transmitted and aroused? In short, how should they be interpreted? As an anthropologist who enters into dialogue with history, I believe the object of study must inevitably be framed in relation to the subjects that intervene in this communicative act: the soldiers who invent the songs, the generals to whom they allude, the audience present, and even other participating actors. The interveners behave in a specific way according to the communicative situation. The latter implies certain ways of relating in person, since, as demonstrated by Goffman,3 each situation of interaction is governed by rules, i.e., a conventional framework that dictates what questions can or cannot be asked and what are the underlying meaning of these actions. This communicative situation of interaction is also based on a performative model, the festive ritual in this case. Finally, this celebration germinated within a broader historicalcultural epoch, which included other practices and ideas proper to the era. Along with this method, which we could call contextualization, I propose to use historical-cultural comparison. This latter technique essentially consists of analysing a social fact in the light of other analogous DOI: 10.4324/9781003301646-11

172  Alberto del Campo Tejedor facts belonging to other cultures and/or historical epochs. Put simply, the idea is to compare triumphal songs with other irreverent oral manifestations, both from Antiquity and other moments in history, including the present day. My starting point is the observation, made by a number of anthropologists including Lévi-Strauss,4 that certain cultural patterns are widespread across different societies that have not necessarily been in contact with each other. Social anthropology has demonstrated the existence of what could be called a common ethno-logic. Beyond cultural borrowing, the diffusion and historical continuity of certain cultural practices, as well as the uniqueness of each culture, we are all, ultimately, homo sapiens: we solve problems—sometimes in a similar way. Be that as it may, it is more viable and effective to compare cultural contexts that are close and have resembling historical evolutions. The comparative examples that I will use in this chapter are taken mostly from the Hispanic sphere. This latter context lends itself to comparison not only because of Rome’s imprint on the Iberian Peninsula, but also because of the centuries-old awareness of that influence, encouraging practices and discourses that were assimilated to those of the Romans. In my view, the dialogue between historians of antiquity and social anthropologists is more productive when it focuses on the interrogation: “what was the meaning” rather than “what happened.” That is, a ritual’s given sequence of events (which underwent constant change anyway) matters less than the profound rationale that largely underlies and determines the ritual’s purpose and meanings. Historical-cultural comparison allows us to relate not only the concrete actions under study (the triumphal songs and other indecorous oral manifestations), but also the various interpretations that have accompanied them throughout history. My main interest is to understand the ambivalence and ambiguities surrounding a celebration that glorified the triumphator as much as it deprecated him. I believe that this way, it will be possible to complexify a view that regards a triumph primarily as a political hero-worshipping performance. One that is sponsored by the general to gain status and prestige, via the senatus consultum, and to consolidate a certain conception of the empire.

11.2  The power of soldiers The triumph certainly allowed boosting the career of the victorious general because in Rome, public offices often derived from political and military victories. The triumph would also have served as political propaganda, to strengthen prestige and power, not unlike how it would have been employed by other leaders, such as Henry II or Napoleon, who resorted to similar celebrations centuries later. The instrumental use of the ritual, however, is never quite so monolithic. Some elements may be unforeseen by the organizers and go wrong.

Ritual-feast mockery and humiliation during Roman triumphs 173 Or simply, different participants, even those playing a secondary role, may also take the liberty to introduce their symbolic messages and to nuance or contradict the ceremony’s chief meaning. According to historical testimonies, the victorious general, despite being the undisputed protagonist, was sometimes overshadowed by other figures who were praised by the soldiers and the people. And this happened together with, or to the detriment of the triumphator. One illustration is the triumph of the dictator Mamercus Aemilius Mamercinus owing to his victory over the Etruscans in 437 BC. During the triumphal parade, the soldiers did not dedicate their verses to him, but to a military tribune, Aulus Cornelius Cossus. The latter was carrying the spoils of the enemy king, whom he himself had killed in battle. In their triumphal chants, the soldiers compared him to Romulus.5 This shows the extent to which they were able to highlight who should be considered the battle’s true hero and, consequently, the triumph’s protagonist. In theory, triumphs could not be celebrated if the general did not return home with his legions. This was, of course, a sign that the war was over. But, above all, the soldiers, who were the war’s direct witnesses, were the only ones who could really attest to the victory, how it had unfolded and “witness his triumph as deserved or undeserved.”6 As across all ages, the soldiers of ancient Rome were not always satisfied. In fact, protests and riots were habitual. There were several good reasons for this: for example, alleged despotic treatment by military commanders and a loot distribution considered unjust by the army. Soldiers had an opportunity to show their discontent during the triumph. By naming and shaming their commander with ribald verses, the soldiers were returning other humiliations they had experienced themselves in the form of punishments. Suetonius describes the “old-fashioned”7 discipline that Augustus instituted with vexatious corrections. The sentenced centurion was forced to stand in front of the praetorium all day, sometimes dressed in a tunic with no belt. This was an obvious degradation, since the soldier was forced to remove his usual military uniform (the sagum) and wear a beltless garment proper to a woman’s attire. On other occasions, the sanctioned centurion stood with a long pole (decempeda), which was used by soldiers for various camp tasks. Or he held a piece of lawn like the ones that foot soldiers carried around to cover the camp. These punishments consisted of humiliations that symbolically degraded the soldier’s rank. There was therefore no want of reasons to take revenge during the triumphs.

11.3  The soldiers’ song repertoire Understandably, one’s perspective on discipline varies greatly depending on whether one suffers from it in the flesh or observes it from the outside. For citizens, discipline would have signified the best guarantee of success. For soldiers, however, discipline meant a life of rigour, deprivation, suffering,

174  Alberto del Campo Tejedor and even despotic treatment. The soldiers’ repertoire of songs from different eras illustrate a series of complaints that were almost invariable. In many nineteenth- and twentieth-century songs collected in Spain, soldiers berate their hard-to-bear superiors: Cruz se llama mi Cabo Cruz mi sargento mayor; ¡Dios quiera que de estas cruces, no sea el Calvario yo!8 [My Corporal’s name is Cross, my sergeant major’s name is Cross. God forbid that between them be I the Calvary!] Among the soldiers’ irreverent couplets, some vociferate against the commanders: indeed, the latter receive decorations or promotions for war merits while common soldiers are overlooked: La bala que a mí me hirió también rozó al comandante. A él le hicieron coronel, yo, tan soldado como antes.9 [The bullet that wounded me also brushed the commander. He was made a colonel, I remain a common soldier.] Some topics thus repeat themselves due to the very nature of war conflicts or the logical asymmetry between soldiers and their superiors. No less common are situations of abuse of power or favouritism and they help us to imagine what Roman soldiers would have experienced.

11.4  Ioci militares as a social sanction The consul Gaius Valerius triumphantly entered Rome in 410 BC. But he received one standing ovation (ovatio) only. Furthermore, it was a sort of minor triumph during which the general paraded on horseback, instead of on a chariot. Livy tells how the soldiers were antipathetic and hostile towards him.10 On the one hand, he had forcibly recruited the army. On the other, he had ruled that the loot be auctioned, returned to the public treasury and that only soldiers who did not refuse military service could participate in the distribution. This stoked the anger of the plebs and the soldiers.

Ritual-feast mockery and humiliation during Roman triumphs 175 Both would take their revenge during the triumphal procession, insulting the consul with lewd verses (inconditi uersus) while praising the tribune of the plebs, Marcus Menenius.11 The latter had opposed conscription and was known for his agrarian law. Livy wished to make it clear how soldiers and plebs rallied to express their preferences and criticisms during the procession. When the soldiers mentioned Menenius, “the attachment of the surrounding people vied by their applause and commendation with the loud praises of the soldiers.”12 Faced with such a show of support, the patricians were obliged to manoeuvre to stop Menenius from being elected as a military tribune. In what some would regard as a class struggle, the plebs resented not being able to elect military tribunes and therefore took revenge when electing the quaestors: thus, for the first time in history, plebeian quaestors were elected, and what is more, in greater numbers than the patricians (three commoners versus only one patrician). The commander had to tread carefully and take the soldiers’ opinion into account. By generously distributing the spoils to his subordinates, he was ensuring the soldiers’ praise. Nevertheless, the risk was that the rest of the citizens would call him a populist. This occurred, according to Livy, during the triumph of Gnaeus Manlius Vulsus against the Galatians in 187 BC: Such songs were sung by the soldiers about their commander that it was easily seen that they were sung about an indulgent leader who sought popularity, and that the triumph was marked more by the applause of the military than of the civil population.13 These episodes show how the triumphal parade was an occasion for soldiers and the plebs to express their agreement or disagreement with certain decisions of power. The fear of what would be said in the form of ribald songs must have had a singular effect on the generals. The reason, as Dionysius of Halicarnassus makes clear, is that it was a permissible custom.14

11.5  Ambiguity of expressive freedom Even though the triumphant songs could be laudatory regarding the generals, what was truly considered idiosyncratic and singular about these verbal compositions was their familiar, satirical, crude, lewd, even obscene mood. According to Livy, when Marcus Furius Camillus entered Rome triumphantly after expelling the Gauls from the city (in 387 BC), the soldiers enthroned him with their chants calling him alter Romulus (the other Romulus), pater patriae (father of the country), and conditor alter urbis (second founder of the city).15 Livy is nonetheless actually framing these theoretical compliments within what would be a satirical tradition: the ioci militares.16

176  Alberto del Campo Tejedor What were the soldiers trying to express? They may perhaps indeed have wished to recognize the greatness of a soldier who, ultimately, would be elected dictator five times, a tribune with consul powers six times, and celebrated four triumphs, but there are other possibilities: the soldiers may have sung these praises as an ironic exaggeration towards those who accumulated too much power and honour. After all, the fact that Camillus had his chariot drawn by four white horses and his face painted red, like the statue of Jupiter, aroused resentment among the population.17 Some ancient testimonies, such as that of Appian, associate the carmina triumphalia with freedom of expression: soldiers sometimes laud their generals, and on other occasions mock or criticise them, “for in a triumph everybody is free, and is allowed to say what he pleases.”18 Such songs were synonymous with liberty, but also with ambiguity.19 The jocularity did not always convey the same meaning and did not systematically reflect some satirical affront. In the context of the triumph after the First Samnite War, Livy writes that the name of the tribune Decius (whose bravery the soldiers had praised) was no less celebrated by means of “the rough jesting of the soldiers” (incondito militari ioco) than the consuls.20 What did he mean? That the songs were laudatory or that by including the military tribune among the recipients of jibes and jocular affronts, he was being equated with the triumphant generals? Another episode related by Livy seems interesting to me. Marcus Livius Salinator and Gaius Claudius Nero both participated in the Second Punic War. The senate therefore decided that both were entitled to receive honours, though to varying degrees.21 Given that the victory in the final battle in which Hasdrubal was killed was near the Metaurus river, in the territory defended by Marcus Livius, and that he had returned with his soldiers (while those of Gaius Claudius were still fighting Hannibal), Marcus Livius had to receive a triumph and Gaius Claudius only an ovation. Yet the idea that was recorded in the chronicles (and probably in the popular imagination) was that the battle would not have been achieved without the bold movement of the latter, who, leaving his camp in southern Italy, where he kept Hannibal’s army under control, left with 7,000 men to Metaurus to reinforce Marcus Livius’ troops. Livy takes sides, affirms that the glory fell above all on Gaius Claudius, in line with his merits and not least for having ceded the honour of taking the chariot to his colleague. In addition, the historian seeks to convince us that this bias was also shared by the spectators, who commented that the true victor rode on horseback: “Such continual expressions of the spectators attended Nero all the way to the Capitol.”22 The episode reveals Livy’s own inclinations and how he, in an interested way, reconstructs history. The interesting aspect is that, in accordance with the greater praise of Gaius Claudius Nero, “it was observed that more verses were invented by the soldiery upon Gaius Claudius in their jocular style, than upon their own consul.”23 Evidently these indecent expressions could only have a positive intention, since what

Ritual-feast mockery and humiliation during Roman triumphs 177 Livy wishes to show is that the soldiers also turned to the one who was not, in reality, their commander.

11.6  The ritual and the feast Scholars have emphasized the ritual components of triumph: a more or less conventional sequence of acts, an itinerary, and even an ius trimphandi. The cases in which a triumph could be requested before the senate were regulated, for example. Ritual dimensioning generates a framework of rules allowing control: certain extraordinary things can be done (since the ritual establishes a non-ordinary framework), but only in a specific way and at a given time. In addition, they acquire a concrete meaning here. Triumph is, in van Gennep’s words, a rite of passage in which the general is promoted to a new and superior social status.24 Thus, unsurprisingly, the chaotic turbulences proper to the liminal moments of the rites of passage take place after having entered Rome triumphantly, but before presenting sacrifices to the Gods. Power (exemplified in the derided general) allows affronts, as long as the burlesque remains within that ritual framework. The limits are naturally never clear because triumph is both a rite and a festival. The triumph suddenly introduces one or several days of celebration, that is, moments in which daily norms are temporarily abolished and a fleeting chaos of freedom reigns. The triumph’s extraordinary and singular character even stems from the very breaking of the norm, according to which the general did not enjoy imperium within the limits of the city’s sacred enclosure.25 The triumph suspends that norm. But, as in other celebrations, it also brings to a momentary halt the necessary containment of expressions and the maintenance of a hierarchical order. In ordinary times, such restrictions maintain a structure, ensuring social control. In addition, triumph brings with it another utopian element, typical of festivities: abundance, excesses, and unbridled enjoyment, leading participants to states of euphoria and disinhibition. Not only do the soldiers and the plebs attend a grandiose spectacle, but they are brought to take part in it directly. Profits and some of the spoils are distributed among the soldiers, but other gifts are also given out to the people: extra rations of wheat, for example. Banquets are open to all, games are held, and public works are planned. The triumph is also a context for love affairs, according to the story of Ovid.26 The accounts of some triumphs, such as that given by Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus, allow us to picture the context of abundance, optimism, and joy: The leaders of the enemy were led before his car: the military standards were carried before him: his army followed laden with spoil. Tables with provisions are said to have been laid out before the houses of all, and (the soldiers) partaking of the entertainment, followed the car with the triumphal hymn and the usual jests, after the manner of revellers.27

178  Alberto del Campo Tejedor Jibes would be justified by the atmosphere of freedom, enthusiasm, and festive enjoyment. One must remember, however, that if power allowed this, it was because such license had a purpose: that of serving as an escape valve.

11.7  The reversal of order Martial associates the jokes and poetic liberty of his epigrams with the Ludi Florales, the Saturnalia and the Roman triumphs.28 As observed by Richlin, in all these contexts, the order was somewhat inverted.29 In the Floralia, the nudatio mimarum was allowed, a kind of striptease;30 in the Saturnalia, even the slaves were free for a few days (as specified by Macrobius); and in the triumphs, the soldiers took the liberty of humiliating their general with lewd verses. All the above are manifestations of a festive pattern found across many cultures and historical epochs, characterized by the embodiment of an ephemeral and symbolic upside-down world. The Carnival naturally comes to mind in the West. But there are many other manifestations: for example, in the Middle Ages, the clergy’s lower echelons (especially the subdeacons) held controversial feasts in which they usurped on the functions and rank of their superiors. The festa subdiaconorum, sometimes referred to as the Feast of Fools ( festum stultorum), were the object of criticism and censure by the Church’s more traditional and conservative wing. The latter did not hesitate to consider it together with other festivals of order reversal as pagan reminiscences dating back to the Saturnalia or the January Kalendae. But there was always a section of the Church that approved these controversial feasts. In the year 1400, the cloister of the faculty of theology of the University of Paris declared it was in favour of tolerating the controversial Feast of the Ass (a variant of the Feast of Fools) based on a recurring argument dating back to Antiquity: Wine barrels explode if we do not remove their lids from time to time to air them. So too are we, old barrels, that the wine of wisdom would shatter if such wisdom was kept exclusively for the service of God. In this way, on some days during the year, we freshen it, we abandon ourselves— to be entertained in line with tradition—to the most exuberant delights and folly. This seems to be our second nature and innate. We then return later with greater enthusiasm to our studies and the exercise of religion.31 The argument refers to the need to find moments of relaxation and enjoyment in the face of rigour and daily discipline, a sort of escape valve to prevent tedium from spreading. In his Philippics, Cicero defends himself against the accusations about certain jokes that he was supposed to have cracked in camp during the Civil War: That camp was indeed full of care (plena curae); but men, in however troublous times—if only they are human—sometimes relax their minds (animis relaxantur).32

Ritual-feast mockery and humiliation during Roman triumphs 179 In the army, deprivations and iron discipline, especially in combat, require further moments of relaxation and fun, precisely to revitalize oneself and to be ready for new battles. This rationale may have played a role in Caesar’s success, if we give credence to Plutarch’s words: Sometimes, too, after a great victory he relieved of all duties and gave them full licence to revel, being in the habit of boasting that his soldiers could fight well even when reeking of perfumes.33 Following the same rationale, soldiers would be rewarded with a few moments of festive freedom during the triumph (if they did not take their own leave), in which to abandon themselves for a few hours or days after painful battles. Soldiers from all eras have created jokes, nicknames, and songs that have described their superiors. Yet naturally, they could not voice them publicly, less still in the presence of commanders. The ritual-festive context sets out that liberty, belittling superiors ambiguously: first, because the superior is lauded at the same time, and second, because it is the superior who allows the ritual affronts. Indeed, the celebration remains within the time and space limitations determined by power itself. The taunting is legitimized by the breaking of the rules and so is even the order reversal, which brings with it a celebration that targets the rest of the warrior (never better said). Ultimately, by degrading the general, a symbolic equalization takes place. The game is to smash the hierarchies by implicitly declaring that all are equal, if only at a symbolic, ritual-festive level—as in the case of the Carnival and other celebrations that express a reversal of order; the latter relates to the theoretical camaraderie that should govern in the army. It is also linked to the assumption that the commanders’ hierarchical position is not undermined by his exposure to the same hardships, dangers, and humiliations as that of common soldiers.

11.8  The obscene: The apotropaic sense One established hypothesis among some scholars of antiquity, is that obscene verses aimed at protecting the victorious general.34 On the one hand, the obscene would refer to fertility and prosperity. On the other, the general was glorious and resembled a god, it was thus necessary to shield him from the evil eye, from envy. In Plutarch’s account of the triumph of Aemilius Paullus, he specifies that the soldiers were “singing, some of them diverse songs intermingled with jesting, as the ancient custom was, and others paeans of victory and hymns in praise of the achievements of Aemilius.”35 The sense of mockery seems associated with a protective function, since Plutarch alludes to the possibility that, despite the fact that he was admired by all, he could also arouse the envy of “a divinity whose province it is to diminish whatever prosperity is inordinately great, and to mingle the affairs of human life, that no one may be without a taste of evil and wholly free from it.”36

180  Alberto del Campo Tejedor The general’s glory could trigger the envy of both humans and gods. Obscene songs could protect him. Triumphal songs would be analogous to the Fescennine verses ( fescennina iocatio or fescennini uersus), i.e., indecent compositions sung at weddings, whose objective could have been to arouse the bride’s fertility.37 An argument supporting this theory is that, according to Pliny, under the triumphal chariot dangled a fascinum: an amulet in the shape of a phallus that was usual for children to wear around their necks to conjure up bad luck.38 As Mary Beard critically points out, it is indeed puzzling that only Pliny documented this detail.39 The historian is unfavourable to the “apotropaic” and “evil eye” hypothesis because she considers it refers to archaic Roman elements. A historical comparison, however, shows that the apotropaic sense of the obscene has been maintained for centuries and does not constitute archaism. While I could refer to secondary sources, I can mention here that in my own fieldwork, I have observed in the Ecuadorian Andes how the newborn child is given a jet stone fist (higa de azabache) to protect it against the evil eye. According to all scholars, this latter symbol is equivalent to the Roman phallic amulet. A point I do agree on though with Beard is that not all obscene triumphal songs have an apotropaic meaning.

11.9  The satire I believe that the jocular and obscene songs that soldiers dedicated to Caesar in his triumph over Gaul were not symbolic forms of protection, but satirical affronts invented in a context of permissiveness: Watch well your wives, ye cits, we bring a blade, a bald-pate master of the wenching trade. Thy gold was spent on many a Gallic whore; exhausted now, thou com’st to borrow more.40 To express the idea of a waste of gold (effutuisti aurum), the song employs a compound of the simple futuo (having carnal dealings with a woman). The satirical mood seems evident. Indeed, Suetonius remembers this composition (which must have been passed on orally) when talking about Caesar’s fame as a seducer of other men’s wives. Elsewhere in the account, the biographer tells us that Caesar was a rather smug man, who was “so nice in the care of his person.”41 That explains why he endured “his baldness gave him much uneasiness, having often found himself on that account exposed to the jibes of his enemies.”42 Thus, it seems that mocking Caesar’s baldness became a recurring practice that was not to the dictator’s liking. Calling him bald and adulterer were not the only affronts made to Caesar. According to Suetonius, if anything could have truly damaged Caesar’s honesty, it was “his intimate dealings with Nicomedes,” king of Bithynia between 91 and 74 BC.43 Suetonius tells how Caesar’s opprobrium

Ritual-feast mockery and humiliation during Roman triumphs 181 of sodomite was reproduced in speeches and verses, such as those of Gaius Licinius Bald, poet friend of Catullus, who would have composed some satirical verses known to all. Many other poets felt free to hammer on the same subject. Cicero himself would have succumbed to the temptation of mocking Caesar on the same question. It is therefore unsurprising that in the context of their triumph over Gaul, the soldiers joined in the general’s derision, with some verses that were collected by Suetonius: All the Gauls did Caesar vanquish, Nicomedes vanquished him; lo! now Caesar rides in triumph, victor over all the Gauls, Nicomedes does not triumph, who subdued the conqueror.44 Again, the humour lies in the play on words of subigere, which bears undeniable obscene connotations. Suetonius cannot be accused of manipulating information or inventing opprobrium to lambast Caesar. In fact, among the 12 rulers portrayed in his De vita Caesarum, Julius Caesar is among the most advantageously depicted, along with Augustus, Otto, Vespasian, and Titus. On the other hand, it is hard to believe that Suetonius did not understand the meaning of satires or distorted them. In fact, they were a topic of interest to him, as shown by the fact that he even published a lost book significantly titled: De maledictis et obscaenis urbis (On rude and obscene words). Another book that has failed to reach us was entitled Ludrica historia (History of public games), in which Suetonius demonstrated that he was familiar with the customs of Rome’s various jocular-festive events.

11.10  Urbanitas, civilitas and clementia To understand the satirical meaning of the army’s invented verses, it is also appropriate to contextualize them in relation to their recipient. A positive side of Caesar, highlighted by Suetonius, was his tolerance and endurance in the face of satirical invectives.45 It was well known that Catullus (poem 57) had dedicated scathing verses to him, in which, for example, he called both Caesar and Mamurra faggots. Mamurra was chief of the military workers in Caesar’s army in Gaul. He was said to have enriched himself thanks to Caesar’s favours. And yet, according to Suetonius, Caesar accepted Catullus’ apology, invited him to dinner, and continued to enjoy his father’s friendship. That the powerful endured the insults of their subordinates was valued as a sign not only of urbanitas and civilitas, but also of clementia.46 Caesar created his own mythology about the idea of clemency. Sallust advanced clementia Caesaris as opposed to Cato’s severitas.47 Faced with the cruelty and severity of previous rulers, Caesar depicted himself as guided by mercy and clemency. He did so either based on personal conviction or on a calculated populist strategy. His clemency would be reflected in war, often sparing the lives of his enemies. It also applied to his soldiers’

182  Alberto del Campo Tejedor own mistakes: he demanded courage of them, but “he treated them with equal strictness and indulgence.”48 As for sanctions, he seems to have been relentless with deserters and the seditious, but “he did not take notice of all their offences or punish them by rule.”49 After the battles, as mentioned earlier, he gave soldiers the liberty to have fun as they pleased. That was not all: to strengthen ties, he called the soldiers commilitones (comrades), not simply milites (soldiers). Suetonius comments that Caesar’s benevolent treatment rendered the soldiers “very loyal to him.”50 Caesar manifested that same diplomatic nature and clemency in relation to his detractors’ diatribes, criticisms, and satires. According to Suetonius, he bore “with good nature the attacks on his reputation made by the scurrilous volume of Aulus Caecina and the abusive lampoons of Pitholaus.”51 Suetonius does not of course overlook Caesar’s dark side: he was arrogant, insolent, egomaniacal, megalomaniac, and tyrannical. But he depicts an all-powerful man who, precisely for this reason, was not afraid to allow for some mockery towards his person. Calling him a faggot, the soldiers did nothing else but follow the path of other satirical poets, whom Caesar himself forgave. The accusation of sodomy suggested that there were favouritisms, of an economic or political nature, for example. The latter has generated discredit and satire across all ages (as shown by the jocular affronts that today’s soldiers dedicate to comrades who are favoured by military commanders, labelling the “sycophant” as “faggots”). Naturally, Caesar himself could take mockery in his stride and used caustic and biting language to attack his opponents and defend himself. He regarded humour, especially satire, as a way of relating. On the other hand, he maintained with his soldiers the sort of camaraderie that is typical of a superior who preaches by example, maintains discipline when necessary, but allows certain liberties, even minor misconducts, to relieve the tensions of battle. Perhaps the soldiers did not want to say that “our leader is immoral, a corrupter of customs,” but rather “make way for the army commanded by its bald adulterer, a down-to-earth man who, despite his rank, shares some of the proverbial traits of the troops, like an interest in women.” This was, in fact, one of the prototypical features of the Miles gloriosus, as represented in the theatre. To this we must add that, given Caesar’s proverbial ambition and arrogance, the derision was justified under the pretext of taking the wind out of his sails.

11.11 Humiliation For St. Bernard, humiliation is the path to humility. Holiness is offered to those who are able to accept, with patience and resignation, not only God’s humiliation, but that which others have in store for us.52 This Christian and Christological version of the concept is not alien, however, to other cultures and historical epochs. The conception of the dangers surrounding

Ritual-feast mockery and humiliation during Roman triumphs 183 human beings when they forget their condition and liken themselves to an immortal God is a widespread idea. Several components of the Roman triumph point in that direction. According to some chroniclers, a slave would take place in the triumphal chariot behind the general and, holding a golden crown on the victor’s head, would whisper: “Look behind you remember you are a man.” Tertullian perfectly understood the meaning of such a custom: “he shines with a glory so surpassing as to require an admonitory reference to his condition.”53 Pliny suggests a slightly different but largely compatible, interpretation. The warning was designed to safeguard the general from the gods’ wrath or, to put it in his own words, “to obtain […] the benevolence of Fortune, the executioner of glory.”54 The concern is similar: the general must avoid becoming arrogant to avert the gods’ punishment. The writings that have reached us from Roman Antiquity show how present this concern was at the time. For example, there was repeated criticism of Pompey the Great’s triumphs, especially the one he celebrated in 61 BC. In this latter triumph, he exhibited carts loaded with gold including gold statues, and signs proclaiming the general’s incredible exploits. But that is not all. He himself wore a cloak that would have belonged to King Alexander himself. This raised much distrust. The reason was probably not the implausibility of the cloak (given that two and a half centuries separated the two men), but because of Pompey’s pretence of greatness. A century after Pompey’s victorious celebration, Pliny the Elder lamented that this had been a “defeat of austerity, and a triumph, to put it plainly, of luxury.”55 As if that were not enough, Pompey was singularly young for such feasts and extravagance.56 Four horses were not enough to draw his chariot. He had to replace them with elephants. When the animals could not pass through one of the route’s monumental gates, the moral was plain to see: such excessive ostentation called for a lesson of humility. He had to be ridiculed.57 Pompey belonged to a small group of generals who, in the words of Lucan, “had ascended three times in his chariot to the Capitolium.”58 Others surpassed him: Julius Caesar celebrated five triumphs. Would this not precisely justify some arrogance-preventing derision? Do triumphs—whether in the past or today—not expose those who rise above others to envy, criticism, and even a certain desire to deflate them? Pliny the Elder’s critique of the pomp of Pompey’s triumph centres on a bust of pearls that Pompey himself had made to parade in the triumph. Pliny the Elder regarded it as “an extravagant material intended for women.”59 More than effeminacy, Pliny criticized frivolous vanity, which was to end up as a “cruel omen of divine fury,” given that Pompey was ultimately beheaded. Was this not a kind of divine punishment that exemplified the fate that awaited the overly grandiose? Significant is Livy’s account of the triumph of Aemilius Paullus.60 The victor, in gold and purple, would have radiated majesty in the face of the

184  Alberto del Campo Tejedor pity caused by the Macedonian king Perseus, who was chained. But lo and behold, Fortune sometimes punishes excess felicity. Five days before the triumph, Aemilius Paullus’ youngest 12-year-old son died. As if Nemesis didn’t avenge himself enough, his oldest 14-year-old son died three days after the triumph. Plutarch also reproduces the episode in similar terms. Aemilius Paullus justifies his suspicion of such fortune, since this Goddess “does not do men any pure favour and free from revenge.”61 Both Livy and Plutarch emphasize the lesson: Fortuna tends to take revenge when success is excessive. In short, a magnificent general, to whom Fortune would have smiled, was not only a threat to himself, but to the entire people of Rome. Maybe that is why—i.e., to avoid arousing the gods’ wrath—the general was subjected to ritual derision, just as he was protected by a phallus and obscene songs that kept him from envy.

11.12  The Epinikion: The danger of victory I find it especially fruitful to compare the carmina triumphalia with the Epinikion songs. The songs praise the winner of an event included in the four Panhellenic games (Olympia, Delphi, Corinth, and Nemea), which gave their names to the Olympic, Pythic, Isthmic and Nemean odes. These songs from classical Greece, which were cultivated by poets such as Pindar or Bacchylides, were requested by the victor himself, or by his family, to be proclaimed in his city of origin sometime after the victory. The compositions, therefore, were sung in the middle of a celebration, which included a stage presentation, a choir, dance, and a coronation procession. In addition to the victor’s praise, often associated with some myth, these songs often contained a moral teaching. In Pindar’s Pythian 8, the poet warns that it is the gods (and not the athletes) who give or take away the glory, causing one to triumph and another to irrevocably fall.62 Faced with the gods who manage destinies, man is “ephemeral” (epomeroi).63 The topic of changing luck is repeated in other episodes, for example, in Olympic 12, where the winner’s luck depends on the “dice of fortune.” The tone of the carmina triumphalia can be satirical, irreverent, and obscene, while the Epinikion has a heroic and sublime resonance. This is logical, given that some compositions came from soldiers and others from established poets. Their respective literary and religious nature may differ, but their sobering meanings are perhaps not so dissimilar. Pythian 2 constitute an exordium to maintain restraint and gratitude. What counts is to avoid that “disastrous excess.”64 As in the literature on triumphs, envy appears as a major concern in the Epinikion.65 That is why the poet’s song exhorts that the envious and the cursed disappear.66 Of particular interest for our comparative analysis is Pythian 3, addressed to Hiero, the tyrant of Syracuse. Indeed, this figure combines the sports

Ritual-feast mockery and humiliation during Roman triumphs 185 hero and the politician/military victor. The poet warns: “A man’s bliss does not remain intact for long when it comes to him loaded with abundant fruits.”67 May Hiero not forget the lessons of his ancestors: “for one good they endow to a mortal, the immortals distribute two sorrows.”68

11.13  Other ritual-festive practices of warning and humiliation This philosophical background has largely endured over the centuries. It has encouraged symbolic degradation practices designed to warn or instruct victors, while disinhibiting the gods from severe, non-symbolic, punishments. I will briefly describe here other ritual-festive practices based on that same ethno-logic. Graduate ill treatments and songs were a widespread university custom, especially during the Renaissance. They consisted of a series of mockeries, usually in the form of satirical compositions. Students having attained an academic degree had to endure them in public. As stated in a 1560 work (the Colloquia of Palatine and Pinciano), the losers in a professorship contest had to lament, naturally, but those who won were expected to undergo an ambivalent ritual. They were honoured for their merits, sometimes to the extent that they were made to walk triumphantly, mounted on horseback, through the city (in a similar way to the Roman generals who received ovations). To celebrate “the triumph of their works,” they “wear golden spur” and the procession is accompanied by “various genres of musical instruments.”69 The next day, the protagonist is even taken to the main church where they “put him on a high altar.”70 There, elevated above the other mortals, he who is to receive the highest academic university degree undergoes a degradation ritual, which the author of the work (Juan de Arce de Otálora) compares to the Roman triumph: And there, before conferring him the Doctor’s degree and insignia, they disgrace him and proffer countless insults and mockeries, as they did to the Roman captains when they made their triumphant entries, to stop them from becoming arrogant after receiving honour and prosperity.71 The carmina triumphalia/ioci militares tradition engendered comparisons with other degrading customs. For lack of space, I have not developed other examples that would have been equally productive, such as the medieval fiesta del obispillo (little bishop’s feast) between St. Nicholas and the Day of the Innocents. During this festivity, the youngest choir boy usurped the bishop’s functions, frock, and rank for a few days, the bishop humbling himself before the boy.72 This celebration encompassed the following components: the principle according to which the logic of the last will be the logic of the first; ritual humiliation to achieve humility; the eutrapelic escape valve; and the reversal of the typical order of certain festive moments. We found traces of all these elements in the Roman triumphs. The same ethno-logic

186  Alberto del Campo Tejedor can also be found in the church’s new masses, that is, the first Mass sung by the newly invested priest, called, therefore, Misacantano—the newly ordained priest.73 Since the thirteenth century at least, councils and synods had warned against the festive deliria of what is, in every way, a rite of passage. In the feast that came before and after his first mass, the ordained priest was congratulated in all kinds of ways, he was praised at the pulpit, offerings were made, and he was accompanied by a solemn, musical procession. But since ancient times, he was also subjected to burlesques. The newly ordained priest was obliged to pay for the banquet, in which satirical couplets could be freely directed towards him. Then, as described in another mid-sixteenth century work (El Crotalón), he was smeared with grime and flour and carried around on a donkey, marking a satirical anti-climax to his ascension.74

11.14 Conclusions The Roman triumph was a show of the victor’s power. As the victor represented the State, i.e., Rome itself, the triumph epitomized the new geopolitical situation brought about with each new victory. The gods had been favourable to the Roman cause and to the general in particular. For enemies, the triumph was a humiliation. So much so in fact, that according to Horace, Plutarch, Florus, or Dion, Cleopatra would have preferred to commit suicide rather than to be paraded in the streets of Rome. Triumphant soldiers would also have experienced humiliating punishments in daily military life. Conversely, as we have seen, an ancient logic present in countless rituals and festivals also brought about the practice of humiliating the humiliator. There were different underlying meanings to this. Unsurprisingly, this occurred at a time and within a State that was uniquely belligerent and militarized. In Roman times, various criticisms arose of the excesses of certain triumphs or the consequences of praising certain war achievements. Parallels can be drawn with the criticisms of the Vietnam War and other conflicts artistically expressed by Hollywood. Both cases reveal a phenomenon that has been discerned by Beard: “As a general rule, it is warrior states that produce the most sophisticated critique of the militaristic values they uphold.”75 The triumph ritual encouraged both the recognition and the display of power. It accommodated symbolic mechanisms to alleviate the harmful effects of military glory. At the same time, the subaltern classes, the soldiers and the plebs, took advantage of these liberties, before the dismissive gaze of the authorities. Rulers understood the need to break with the order on a feast day, especially in the liminal moments of the rite of passage in which the general was thenceforth likened to a god. When we delve into history, we speculate about what the protagonists of the past must have felt and thought. Caesar may have been outraged to be called bald on his most glorious day. Yet he also perhaps drew some

Ritual-feast mockery and humiliation during Roman triumphs 187 satisfaction at having the opportunity to show that, despite his autocratic desires, he was capable of allowing his subordinates to mock him (as others had permitted before him). One of Martial’s epigrams suggests not only that taunting verses constituted a custom, but that the general was not ashamed of it: Your triumphs tend to endure jokes and it is not embarrassing for the general to be the target of taunts.76 Moreover, although Martial recognizes that soldiers have fun insulting Caesar, he too has the right to listen to them. Triumph is not conceivable without such derision: The soldier bearing the triumphal crown will enjoy festive jibes when he escorts you among the steeds embellished with laurel. Let you too be allowed, Caesar to hear jokes (iocos) and light verses (leuiraque carmina), as the Roman triumph itself seeps in mockery (lusus).77 In Spain, as in other European monarchies, kings of different dynasties had jesters in their Courts precisely to tell them the truths that people were thinking (and that others were not willing to reveal). Beyond the pleasure of comedy, jesters were also there to show that the rulers were capable, like ordinary humans, of taking buffoonish degradation. It is sometimes difficult for us to interpret the meaning underlying the actions of such remote times. And this may simply be because we have lost the capacity to imagine, because similar social facts and behavioural logics have been extirpated. The Council of Trent or the Enlightenment, to mention two relevant stages, utterly transformed the West’s festive spirit, ruining countless practices. It may be hard for us to picture the reasons why soldiers were allowed to mock their generals on the very day they received their highest accolades. But for Arce de Otálora, who knew countless festive rituals of a jocular and carnivalesque nature in his time (the sixteenth century), it was not difficult to establish certain parallels. In the same way, anthropological observations can help us today: humour, in whatever way it is concretely expressed, has served similar purposes throughout history. Clearly, Roman society welcomed the custom of ioci militares. Despite abundant references to the custom, no records have reached us of any direct criticisms of this playful-festive usage. But there are, however, many allusions suggesting it constituted a deep-rooted, traditional, and accepted custom, probably because of the multiple functions it fulfilled, as well as its elusive character, difficult to control. The state, the citizenry, and the soldiers benefited from the glory of their generals. The triumph enhanced the general’s recognition and charisma. Rome depended on military successes, just as the generals achieved, through them, a rise in status, wealth, and power. On the other hand, the Romans were concerned that these same

188  Alberto del Campo Tejedor individuals would attack the lex (the law) and the mores (tradition) or would prioritize their desires and aspirations over the res publica. In the first century BC, there was a clear awareness of the dangers that victors presented to the general interest. Pompey or Caesar are paradigmatic cases. Both used the triumphs as a way to legitimise themselves and show grandiosity. Degrading rituals undoubtedly fulfilled the mission of offsetting feelings of greatness, the accumulation of power, and of breaking with norms and customs. From a more relational perspective, the triumphs—and particularly certain customs such as the soldiers’ jibes—played a notable role regarding the natural tensions between these charismatic leaders and the soldiers. The triumph was a context of negotiation, where the general’s power, authority, and achievements were discussed, as well as the soldier’s ability to have a voice and vote. In that sense, a triumph—broadly supported by the senate, the people, and the soldiers—could be understood as the demonstration that the general in question was virtuous, and even that he possessed a certain aura. And yet, as we have seen, the readings that were made of the general, his actions, and even his triumph, contributed to the debate about his person or the soldier’s critical capacity. However, it also contributed more generally to the discussion on the power, authority, ambition, wealth, and the strategies adopted by the distinct ruling figures to succeed or be recognized.

Notes 1 This chapter is a result of the Research Project “Discursos del Imperio Romano: Las procesiones y la construcción de la comunidad imperial” (PGC2018096500-B-C32 MCIU/AEI/FEDER, UE), financed by the Spanish Ministerio de Ciencia, Innovación y Universidades and the European Regional Development Fund. 2 Liv. 4.20.2. 3 Goffman (1986). 4 Lévi-Strauss (2000, 263–92). 5 Liv. 4.20.2. 6 Liv. 26.21.4. 7 Aug. 24. 8 Gil Muñoz (2002, 130). 9 Gil Muñoz (2002, 131). 10 Liv. 4.53.9. 11 Liv. 4.53.11–12. 12 Liv. 4.53.12. 13 Liv. 39.7.3. 14 Ant. Rom., 7.72.11. 15 Liv. 5.49.7. 16 Liv. 5.49.7. 17 Plin. 33.112; Zonaras, 7.21.3. 18 App. Pun. 66. 19 Hickson Hahn (2015). 20 Liv. 7.38.3.

Ritual-feast mockery and humiliation during Roman triumphs 189 2 1 Liv. 28.9.10. 22 Liv. 28.9.16. 23 Liv. 28.9.18. 24 Van Gennep (1960). 25 Liv. 45.35.4. 26 Ars. 1.217–19. 27 Liv. 3.29.5. 28 Mart. 1, introduction; 7.8; 11.2; 11.15. 29 Richlin (1992, 9–10). 30 Val. Max. 2.10.8. 31 Massip (1992, 26–27). 32 Cic. Phil. 2.39–40. 33 Plut. Jul. 67. 34 Richlin (1992, 10, 94), O’Neill (2003). 35 Plut. Aem. 34.7. 36 Plut. Aem. 34.8. 37 Hersch (2010, 151–8). 38 Plin. HN. 28.39. 39 Beard (2009, 331). 40 Suet. Jul. 51. 41 Suet. Jul. 45.1. 42 Suet. Jul. 45.2. 43 Suet. Jul. 49.1. 44 Suet. Jul. 49.4. 45 Suet. Jul. 73. 46 Beard (2015, 129–35). 47 Cat. 51. 48 Suet. Jul. 65. 49 Suet. Jul. 67. 50 Suet. Jul. 68. 51 Suet. Jul. 75. 52 St. Bernard (1987, 499). 53 Tert. Apol. 33. 54 Plin. HN. 33.11. 55 Plin. HN. 37.14. 56 Cic. Man. 61. 57 Plin. HN. 8.4; Plut. Pomp. 14.6. 58 Luc. 8.553–4. 59 Plin. HN. 37.14. 60 Liv. 45.40–1. 61 Plut. Aem. 35.6. 62 Pythian 8.76–8. 63 Pythian 8.95. 64 Pythian 2.11.57. 65 Pythian 7.19–21. 66 Pythian 11.53–4. 67 Pythian 3.104–8. 68 Pythian 3.83–4. 69 Arce de Otálora (1995, II, 657). 70 Arce de Otálora (1995, II, 657). 71 Arce de Otálora (1995, II, 657). 72 Del Campo (2020, 137–50, 313–23). 73 Del Campo (2009).

190  Alberto del Campo Tejedor 7 4 75 76 77

Villalón (1982, 391–2). Beard (2009, 4). Mart. 1, 4. Mart. 7, 8.

Bibliography Arce de Otálora, Juan. 1995. Coloquios de Palatino y Pinciano, 2 vols. Madrid: Fundación José Antonio de Castro, Turner. Beard, Mary. 2009. The Roman Triumph. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.     2015. Laughter in Ancient Rome. On Joking, Tickling, and Cracking Up. Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press. Del Campo Tejedor, Alberto. 2009. “Diversiones clericales burlescas en los siglos XIII a XVI: las misas nuevas.” La Corónica. A Journal of Medieval Hispanic Languages, Literatures & Cultures 38(1): 55–95.     2020. Historia de la Navidad. El nacimiento del goce festivo en el cristianismo. Sevilla: El Paseo Editorial. Gil Muñoz, Carlos. 2002. Cancionero popular de quintos y soldados de Bonifacio Gil. Madrid: Ministerio de Defensa. Goffman, Erving. 1986. Frame Analysis. An Essay on the Organization of Experience. Boston, MA: Northeastern University Press. Hersch, Karen K. 2010. The Roman Wedding. Ritual and Meaning in Antiquity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hickson Hahn, Frances. 2015. “Triumphal Ambivalence. The Obscene Songs.” In Ancient Obscenities. Their Nature and Use in the Ancient Greek and Roman Worlds, edited by Dorota Dutsch and Ann Suter, 153–74. Ann Arbor, Michigan: University of Michigan Press. Lévi-Strauss, Claude. 2000. Antropología estructural. Madrid: Paidós. Massip, Francesc. 1992. El teatro medieval. Voz de la divinidad cuerpo de histrión. Barcelona: Montesinos. O’Neill, Peter. 2003. “Triumph Songs, Reversal and Plautus’ Amphitruo.” Ramus 32(1): 1–38. Richlin, Amy. 1992. The Garden of Priapus. Sexuality and Aggression in Roman Humor. Oxford: Oxford University Press. St. Bernard. 1987. Obras completas de San Bernardo, vol. 5: Sermones sobre el Cantar de los Cantares. Madrid: BAC. Van Gennep, Arnold. 1960. [1909]. The Rites of Passage. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Villalón, Cristóbal de. 1982. El Crotalón. Madrid: Cátedra.

12 The first Christian processions in Milan1 Pedro Giménez de Aragón Sierra

The term used by the clergy for their processions was lite and/or its Greek and Latin derivatives, litaneia and letania, rejecting the term pompa because of its polytheistic tradition. In Constantinople, however, imperial processions to the Basilica of Hagia Sophia were called proeleusis or prokensos rather than litanies.2 This difference in terminology reflects the two-pronged nature of the process of Christianization of processions in the Roman world in the fourth and fifth centuries. On the one hand, pre-existing processions were Christianized through the inclusion of Christian symbols, prayers, hymns, and the elimination of polytheistic elements (such was the case of the imperial processions, the adventus and the pompae circenses, triumphales, and funebres), while on the other hand, new Christian processions were introduced, including funeral processions or adventus for martyrs and saints, which would sometimes be celebrated annually, and other processions commemorating a historical religious event of significance for the whole of Christendom or for a particular Christian city. This process was more marked in Constantinople and Milan than in the former imperial capital, since fourth century Rome barely witnessed any imperial processions. Consequently, the Church was not in a position to compete with the political powers for control of urban space.3 The first and foremost historical fact of Constantinople was its foundation, which Constantine celebrated with a procession that his successors in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages repeated annually every May 11th and which has been described in various sources.4 The emperor and his cortège would emerge from the palace into the Augusteion, a square consecrated to St. Helena and site of the Milion, a tetrapylon arch from which all distances in the Eastern Empire were measured; from there, the procession took the Mese, a porticoed street lined with monuments that led to the circular Forum of Constantine, 500 metres to the west. In the centre of the forum stood the great Column of Constantine, while to the north lay the Senate, to the east the Praetorium and to the south the Capitolium. According to tradition, Constantine and his successors chanted the Song of Moses and then returned to the circus to prostrate themselves opposite the kathisma or imperial tribune, before the statue of Anthousa, the DOI: 10.4324/9781003301646-12

192  Pedro Giménez de Aragón Sierra tutelary deity of Constantinople. This is an early example of an element of Christianization—Constantine as the “new Moses”—coexisting with a polytheistic survival, the goddess Tyche or Fortune.5 Constantine and his successors adorned the median strip, the spina, with statues depicting not only polytheistic deities such as the Sun God, Selene, Artemis, Hercules, and Zeus, but also representations of the Zodiac, monsters such as Scylla, a group representing the victory of an eagle over a serpent, emperors such as Augustus or Diocletian, and even charioteers, such as the famous Porphyrius, and actresses and dancers from the circus, whose power and influence over the people was such that the emperors depended on their favour to avoid popular rebellions. The famous Serpentine Column that stood in the spina of the circus was a monument dedicated to Apollo at Delphi in gratitude for the victory at Plataea over the Persians in 479 BC, which Constantine relocated to his city in an act that reflected his youthful devotion to the Greek sun god. There was even a statue of Hecate with three heads and six arms in the Milion, as she was the patron saint of crossroads and games.6 As for the pompa circensis, this was held before the venationes and chariot races, the only Roman spectacles to survive. However, the pompa was reduced to the parade of images of emperors: Christian symbols such as crucifixes were introduced and the only goddess to maintain her presence was Victory, viewed more as an allegory than a deity. In the words of Jacob Latham, the pompa deorum became a pompa Dei, albeit without removing the polytheistic sculptures that adorned the building and its surroundings.7 Their numbers increased as the emperors made the city their permanent residence. During the 43 years between Constantine’s death in 337 and Theodosius’ adventus in 380, the emperors only overwintered in Constantinople five or six times. From Theodosius onwards, the number of circus spectacles multiplied to several a day in the late fifth and early sixth centuries.8 The same naturally applied to the imperial adventus, although from the fifth century onwards, they gradually became less frequent because the emperors left the city on increasingly fewer occasions. As for the pompa triumphalis, we know that this was held at least nine times over the course of these two centuries. In addition, nine emperors celebrated their pompa funebris over the same time, in the Church of the Holy Apostles, built by Constantius II. In the early fifth century, John Chrysostom, perhaps in imitation of Ambrose of Milan, began to promote ecclesiastical processions such as the traslatio of the martyr St. Phocas of Pontus in 403 or weekly processions for Sunday, Saturday, and feast day services. These left the forum in disorderly fashion to enter Hagia Sophia unceremoniously, accompanied by chanting, oil lamps, and papyrus torches. Chrysostom, however, clashed with the empress Eudoxia and died in exile.9 Thirty years later, the patriarch Nestorius came into conflict with Pulcheria, sister of Theodosius II,

The first Christian processions in Milan 193 the latter’s successor to the throne and defender of the cult of Theotokos or the Mother of God. He too was banished. To paraphrase Van Nuffelen, Nestorius and Chrysostom showed a poor grasp of the rules of the game in the Byzantine court.10 Theodosius II inaugurated new Christian processions in which he played the leading role, such as the traslatio of the remains of Chrysostom to the Holy Apostles in 438, the adventus of the relics of St. Stephen brought from Jerusalem by his wife Eudocia in 439, and the procession of thanksgiving for the end of the earthquake in 447. All of these would be commemorated annually. It was probably during his reign or that of his sister Pulcheria (founder of the church of the Theotokos Chalkoprateia around 451) that the image of the Mother of God began to be paraded in a chariot during the imperial triumphal processions, preceded by the emperor mounted on a white horse. This was one of the first processions to involve a Christian image. However, the new processions in Constantinople were always presided over by a political authority, whether the emperor or the eparch of the city, as decreed by the emperor Anastasius (497–518). Apart from this limitation on ecclesiastical autonomy, it should be noted that not only were there still statues of pagan gods in the city, but polytheistic festivals such as the Saturnalia, the Brumalia, the Rosalia, and the Kalendas continued to be celebrated.11 In contrast to the situation in Constantinople, in Milan, capital of the Western Roman Empire from 286 to 402,12 it was the clergy who triumphed in the struggle to control sacred space by means of processions, probably because Bishop Ambrose and his successors were skilled political players. The ancient Celtic oppidum of Mediolanum began to expand after Caesar granted it Roman law and it became a municipium. Its location at a crossroads of major routes contributed to its development, as can be seen in the Itinerarium Antonini Augusti.13 The theatre (seating 8000 spectators) and the forum, which excavations in the Biblioteca Ambrosiana and the Piazza del Santo Sepolcro have revealed measured 55 × 160 metres, date from the time of Augustus, while the amphitheatre, seating 20,000 spectators, was built at the end of the first century AD. In addition to the temple to the Capitoline Triad, which presided over the forum on the northeastern side, various other temples or sanctuaries were built, including the temple of the imperial cult, the temple of Diana, the temple of Mithras, and the temple of Cybele. The crisis of the third century was accompanied by a decline in economic and demographic activity, accentuated by the arrival in Milan of the Alemanni and Marcomanni hordes (260 and 270, respectively). Finally, under Maximian, the walls were extended to the northeast to enclose an area measuring just over a square kilometre, and the circus, the imperial palace and the Herculean baths were built.14 Although the city witnessed population growth, it has been estimated that there were around 37,000 inhabitants in the fourth century, which was an average size for a city in the Roman Empire.15

194  Pedro Giménez de Aragón Sierra Measuring 470 metres long and with the capacity for 80,000 spectators, the circus in Milan was larger than that of Constantinople even though Milan had a much smaller population, and in keeping with Roman custom, it was joined to the palace, as was typical of tetrarchic circuses.16 However, it was unusual in that it abutted the city walls, which partially surrounded it, creating a second line of defence to the west of the palace. The military emperor Maximian not only enlarged the walled enclosure, but also ordered the construction of four defensive forts outside the walls: the Castrum Vetus to the southwest, the Castrum Iovis to the northwest, the Castrum Portae Novae to the northeast, and the Arx Romana to the southeast. The four respective gates were used to enter the city through the cardus and decumanus maximus, which from the first century BC intersected in the forum. For the first 75 years of the fourth century, these rather humble streets were used for imperial processions in Milan, including Caesar Flavius Severus’ adventus in 306, Constantine’s six adventus (in 312, 313, 315, 318, and July and October 326), Constans’ four (in 340, 342–3, 346, and 348), Constantius II’s two (352 and 354), and Valentinian I’s three (364, 368, and 374). The only pompa triumphalis that took place in this period was held in July 355 after Constantius II’s victory over the Alamanni, and no imperial pompa funebris was held because not even Maximian would be buried in the mausoleum he had ordered to be built in the city.17 Gratian held his first adventus in Milan on August 3, 379. The archaeological excavation carried out by Donatella Caporosso on Milan Metro line 3 has shown that it was during his reign that the Via Porticata was built, which, instead of entering through the Arx Romana and heading towards the forum, crossed the city in a parallel line going directly towards the palace and the circus.18 Unfortunately for him, Gratian was unable to celebrate triumphs in Milan and instead inaugurated his work in 383 with his own pompa funebris, following his defeat by the usurper Maximus. The second and last imperial pompa funebris that the city would see, officiated by St. Ambrose, was that of his half-brother Valentinian II in 392, following his suicide or assassination orchestrated by the usurper Eugenius. Theodosius, however, did make use of the magnificent Via Porticata, whose columns today stand in front of the Basilica of San Lorenzo, for on October 10, 388, he celebrated his first pompa triumphalis following the defeat of the usurper Maximus and restoration of the city to the rule of Valentinian II, who renounced Arianism in exchange for the Hispanic emperor’s support; on September 1, 389 he returned to Milan after a journey to Rome and held an adventus, and in September 394 he celebrated his second pompa triumphalis in the city, which was never to see one again. The triumph was followed by celebrations for the coronation of Honorius as Augustus of the West, but Theodosius fell ill while attending the circus celebrations and subsequently died on January 17, 395. Although Ambrose officiated at his funeral, he was buried in Constantinople. Shortly afterwards, Honorius moved the capital

The first Christian processions in Milan 195 to Ravenna. In sum, with only three pompae triumphales and two pompae funebres, the imperial processions, although Christianized, did not have the same impact in Milan as in Constantinople. In contrast, the ecclesiastical processions showed much greater vigour, persisting throughout the mediaeval period as a testimony to the power of the Milan clergy. Ambrose of Milan speaks of the material legacy of his predecessors Mirocles, Eustorgius, and Dionysius (Epistle 75a.18), referring to the basilicas he inherited from them during his episcopate: the Basilica Vetus (later called Santa Maria Maggiore, the Duomo), located next to the episcopal palace and the baptistery; the Basilica Portiana, identified with convincing arguments by Silvia Lusuardi Siena as the present church of San Vittore al Corpo located in the western necropolis next to the Imperial Mausoleum, in which the Mauritanian martyr St. Victor was buried following his execution during the persecutions of Diocletian and Maximian; the Basilica Fausta, where the martyrs Felix and Nabor, St. Victor’s legionnaire companions, were buried by Bishop Maternus (Ep. 77.2), later known as the Basilica Naboriana;19 the Basilica of Bishop Eustorgius (343–355), built in the southern necropolis between the Porta Ticinensis and the amphitheatre; and the Basilica Nova or Maior (since the eighth century called the church of St. Thecla), located next to the Basilica Vetus. To this legacy, Ambrose added another four basilicas to house the relics of martyrs: the Basilica Prophetarum built to the west of the city around 375–380 and the burial place of Bishop Dionysius, who died in exile for refusing to support the Arian dogma of Emperor Constantius II; the Basilica Apostolorum erected around 380 to the south next to the Via Porticata where Ambrose deposited the relics of the Apostles John, Andrew, and Thomas, brought from the East; the Basilica Martyrorum built next to the Basilica of Fausta in the western necropolis towards the end of the decade to house the relics he had discovered of the martyrs Gervasius and Protasius; and the Basilica Virginum to the north, which he began but which was completed by his teacher and successor in the episcopate, St. Simplician, who deposited there the relics of the martyrs of the Alpine Non Valley, beheaded by pagans who supported the usurper Eugenius. Ambrose, who had a political and military background in topography and spatial planning and was serving as corrector or governor of Emilia-Liguria when he was baptized, ordained priest, and consecrated bishop in 374, no doubt had a plan of Milan in mind when he drew up his building projects for peripheral basilicas skirting the walls, similar to Maximian’s four outer forts protecting the secondary gates. The Versum de Mediolano Civitate, a Lombard text written between 737 and 744, states that the relics of the saints were placed around the city walls to help defend the city. Apart from this popular belief, this geographical layout reflected a more mundane ambition: to control the urban space by means of processions commemorating the martyrs. The first procession in Milan to honour a martyr dates from preAmbrosian times and is perhaps the oldest known Christian procession,

196  Pedro Giménez de Aragón Sierra with the obvious exception of funeral processions and the aforementioned Christianized imperial processions. This was the traslatio of the martyrs Felix and Nabor from Todi to the Basilica Fausta during the episcopate of Maternus (331–343), which was celebrated, in the words of Ambrose, plaustri triumphalis modo, i.e. with a triumphal chariot in the style of the imperial processions. However, it was not commemorated annually but instead, as with the imperial triumphs and adventus, was held only when the relics arrived. It is possible that the first annual processions in Milan were the ones accompanying the move of the episcopal see from the Basilica Vetus to the Nova and vice versa at the end of spring and on the third Sunday of October. Mediaeval Lombard texts record that 12 “decuman” priests carried the Ark of the Covenant with the books of the Old and New Testament, flanked by cross-bearers and followed by the clergy in order of rank. The procession concluded with the bishop and clergy passing under the ark in the choir of each church, indicating that the act was celebrated with chanting. The small space in which the performance took place suggests a time when the bishops of Milan were timidly beginning to wield power. However, Ambrose, whose clashes with the Arians Valentinian II and his mother Justina and with the Catholic Theodosius are well known, managed to consolidate the ecclesiastical processions in the city and endow them with the outward form that subsequently characterized them throughout the Middle Ages. The first important procession he held was the pompa funebris for his brother St. Satyrus in 377, who was buried together with the martyr Victor and the bishops Mirocles and Protasius in the Basilica Portiana. To understand the enormity of the event, it should be noted that the basilica was then in the hands of the Arian clergy, who worshipped on Sundays in the Basilica Palatina.20 Gratian ceded it to Ambrose in 379. Furthermore, in 383, under Ambrose’s influence, the emperor signed one of his most controversial decrees: the removal of the statue of the goddess Victory from the Roman Senate. Valentinian II, whose first measure was to restore the said altar of Victory, clashed with Ambrose between April 385 and January 386 over possession of the Basilica Portiana. Ready to sacrifice his life, Ambrose roused the people with speeches, hymns, and antiphonal chants (Ep 21), and Valentinian, not wanting to make him a martyr, backed down. Control of the Basilica Portiana was essential to govern the space between the forum and the aristocratic western necropolis, a route that Ambrose travelled daily to visit the Mauritanian martyrs (Ep. 75a.15). The issue at stake was whether the cemetery was primarily for the martyrs or for the emperors. Unable to become a martyr for the Milan people himself, the archbishop decided to excavate the western necropolis and miraculously found the bodies of Saints Gervasius and Protasius (Ep. 22). To paraphrase Giuseppe Visonà, it was an extraordinary discovery, as these were two completely unknown figures.21 He immediately ordered the construction of the Basilica Martyrorum to house their relics. This event is fundamental because it marks

The first Christian processions in Milan 197 the beginning of the first procession commemorating the Milan martyrs (according to Ambrose, the Mauritanian martyrs were simply guests) that was held annually for centuries: the inventio of Gervasius and Protasius, which probably went from the episcopal complex to the western necropolis, thus Christianizing the aristocratic quarter of the city. After his victory over Valentinian II, Ambrose’s prestige was such that in the same year he converted and baptized Augustine of Hippo in the new baptistery he had built in the city, that of St John the Baptist, and on May 9 or 10, he consecrated his second great church, the Basilica Apostolorum, the start of which was mentioned earlier. Meanwhile, the following year, Valentinian II failed to defeat the usurper Maximus and fled to the East. As already mentioned in the section on Constantinople, Theodosius lent him his support after he publicly renounced Arianism at Thessalonica. Justina would have been dead by now and Ambrose, one of Theodosius’ main supporters in the West, probably demanded his conversion.22 Theodosius then married Valentinian II’s sister, Galla, and they defeated Maximus in early June 388, celebrating the pompa triumphalis in Rome on July 13 with his son Honorius while Valentinian II remained in Gaul, as Maximus had not yet been captured. As Neil B. McLynn has observed, Theodosius probably wanted to use the occasion to win over the Roman Senate and present his son as a possible heir to the West.23 From there, he left for Aquileia to execute Maximus in July or August. In Milan, on October 10, 388, Theodosius and Valentinian II celebrated the first pompa triumphalis along the Via Porticata to the tetrapylon Triumphal Arch. Ambrose most probably looked askance on the imperial procession with all its ostentatious power and glory. Shortly afterwards, Ambrose’s struggle with Emperor Theodosius began. The first clash occurred when the emperor had just arrived in the city and attempted to join the presbyters at the altar to receive communion: Ambrose ordered him to return among the laity.24 Contrary to Constantinian political theology, according to which the emperor was the “bishop of the external affairs” of the church, Ambrose argued that divine and ecclesiastical affairs were the exclusive province of the priests and that the emperor should confine himself to palace affairs.25 This was rapidly followed by conflict over the burning of the synagogue at Callinicus, when Ambrose warned the emperor that the Christian soldiers at Callinicus might refuse to obey his orders, and over the slaughter at Thessalonica,26 for which Ambrose excommunicated the emperor, who was required to undertake public penance for months before being readmitted as a repentant “new King David” in April or December 390. In gratitude, on February 24, 391 Theodosius decreed the prohibition of pagan sacrifices (Theodosian Code 16.10.10) and removed the altar of Victory. Traditionally, this has been interpreted as a subordination of imperial power to ecclesiastical power, which inaugurated the mediaeval conflicts between Church and Empire. Various hypotheses have recently been advanced, based on the

198  Pedro Giménez de Aragón Sierra assumption that Theodosius needed to please his Gothic troops and at the same time win over the people of Milan, where he lived: The solution was provided by Ambrose, who turned the catastrophe into a public relations Triumph for the emperor. To the admiration of his Christian subjects, Theodosius was seen to humble himself before the discipline of the church; he took his place in the ordo poenitentium at Milan, among the sinners who gathered at the basilica to demonstrate their repentance to God, and tearfully solicited the prayers of the faithful. This dramatic gesture, once seen as a formal capitulation of empire to church in anticipation of Canossa, has more recently been interpreted in more modest terms as a victory for Theodosius’ conscience over his pride. But this psychological approach mistakes the nature of a penance that was not an act of lonely soul-searching but an exhibition enacted before the Christian community of Milan. Theodosius, so much of whose work as emperor consisted of making carefully stylized public appearances, cannot but have been aware of these spectators. If any perspective upon the affair is to be privileged, it is theirs: we must therefore ask how they would have regarded the spectacle of their Augustus abasing himself before them.27 When the usurper Eugenius took Milan with the support of the pagan senators of Rome, Ambrose fled to Bologna. Eugenius reinstated the altar of Victory and reopened the temples.28 It has been thought that the cult and procession of Cybele was restored in Milan with Eugenius’ permission, and that this was the origin of the Parabiago plate. On his return on August 1, 394, he transferred the relics of Saints Vital and Agricola to the Basilica Fausta. In 395, just after the death of Theodosius, Ambrose repeated his archaeological success, unearthing the tombs of martyrs and discovering the remains of St. Nazarius and St. Celsus. Relics of the former were taken to the Basilica Apostolorum while those of the latter were housed in a chapel in the western necropolis. This procession, the Traslatio s. Nazarii a s. Celso ad s. Nazarii, was celebrated with all possible ecclesiastical pomp, ordering the clergy by rank as described in the writings of Ambrose, and accompanied by the antiphonal hymns and canticles he had introduced to the West. The ecclesiastical hierarchy given in Ambrose’s texts indicates that after the bishop came the presbyters, followed by the deacons, lectors and cantors, monks, virgins, and widows.29 Every year, his successors in the episcopate, his teacher Simplician (397–401), and his deacon Venerius (401–405),30 repeated the procession from the chapel of St. Celsus to the Basilica Apostolorum on the date of the Inventio, no longer carrying the remains of St. Nazarius, but rather symbols of the martyr, crosses, holy books, and candles. It was the first ecclesiastical procession in Milan that did not start from the episcopal complex or occupy the centre of the city, but instead, as with the imperial adventus and pompae

The first Christian processions in Milan 199 triumphales, albeit in reverse, it passed through the aristocratic area and along the Via Porticata built by Gratian, whose use from then on would be ecclesiastical rather than imperial. Ambrose died on April 4, 397, Holy Saturday, having named his teacher Simplician as his successor. This latter’s first act as bishop was to officiate the pompa funebris for Ambrose, which followed the route from the episcopal complex to the Basilica Martyrorum before burying the late bishop alongside the martyrs Gervasius and Protasius. Subsequently, the procession commemorating the death of St. Ambrose was held every year thereafter in the middle of Holy Week. We do not know if any other procession commemorating the Passion of Christ was held in Ambrose’s time, but it is highly probable that besides the procession honouring the saint, there was also a procession dedicated to Christ. To do otherwise would have been irreverent. What we do know is that a procession with palms was held in mediaeval Milan on Palm Sunday, which once again involved Ambrose, since the route started from the Basilica of San Lorenzo and divided in two at the Porta Ticinensis: the archbishop on horseback rode to the Basilica Martyrorum where the saint was buried while everyone else went on foot to the Duomo. However, the archaeological evidence indicates that the Basilica Laurentiana was not completed until the end of the fifth century, and therefore this procession—at least along this route—must have arisen at that time.31 Another procession in honour of Ambrose commemorated his Ordinatio as bishop on December 7, a few weeks before Christmas. This was probably initiated by his successors. It also seems likely that the procession of the Idea was initiated by Ambrose’s successors, given the participation of members of the Schola s. Ambrosi, who concluded it. Besides crucifixes, staffs, gospels, and candles, the procession also included an icon, probably a sculpture, in which the Virgin and Child appeared in a kind of nativity scene, carried on a platform by two “decuman” priests. The procession was held on the feast day of the Purificatio s. Maria, on February 2. A relief dated much later than the now vanished church of Santa Maria Beltrade—located between the episcopal complex and the forum—shows that the decuman priests were followed first by the bishop, with his mitre and crozier, and then by the priests or deacons, while bringing up the rear of the procession was a vecchione bearing a staff and a candle and representing the presbyters of the Schola s. Ambrosi.32 This was an important innovation because it involved the introduction of images in Christian processions. An anonymous hypothesis proposed in texts held in the Archaeological Museum of Milan suggests that this procession of the Virgin and Child may have arisen to combat the success of the procession of Cybele and Attis in polytheistic Milan, the memory of which is preserved on the Parabiago plate. This makes sense, of course, in the time of Simplician, when the last throes of paganism produced the martyrs of the Non Valley. The aim of christianizing the idea of the Mother of God was to put an end to the polytheistic tendency to worship female deities. The use of an image

200  Pedro Giménez de Aragón Sierra implied the renunciation of a Christian taboo of Jewish origin, namely the public worship of images carved by human hands that were paraded through the city. Another possibility is that this procession arose in Milan during the sixth century, under Byzantine rule, through the influence of the Constantinopolitan cult of the Theotokos. In any event, the difference is clear: in the Italian capital, processions ceased to be imperial and their control shifted to the ecclesiastical hierarchy, as would happen in general throughout the West.

Notes 1 This chapter is a result of the Research Project “Discursos del Imperio Romano: Las procesiones y la construcción de la comunidad imperial” (PGC2018096500-B-C32 MCIU/AEI/FEDER, UE), financed by the Spanish Ministerio de Ciencia, Innovación y Universidades and the European Regional Development Fund. 2 Baldovin (1987, 205–9). 3 The first Christian processions in Rome were those of Pope Gelasius I in 554 and Pope Gregory I’s letania septiformis in 590 and 603 AD. Zos. 2.29.5–30.1, Roberto (2018, 39–42), Latham (2009, 293–304; 2012, 298–327), and Grig and Kelly (2012, 6–7). 4 Malalas, Chron. 13.7; Libro de las ceremonias 1.75–80. 5 It was still a Roman city with polytheistic buildings such as the Capitolium or temple to the Capitoline Triad, the temple of Apollo, the Nymphaeum, and the Philadelphion, which may have been a site of imperial worship. The temple of Apollo, situated to the south of the forum, is mentioned in Evagrius Scholasticus, H. E. 2.13. In Late Antiquity, the Philadelphion was known as the Proteichisma and was dedicated to the Tetrarchs, Constantine’s predecessors. The porphyry statue of the emperor stood there until the day of the city’s inauguration, when it was carried in procession to the circular forum. Parastaseis Syntomoi Chronikai 56, Bauer (2001, 30–32), and Andrade (2010, 165). 6 Bauer (2001, 28–29) and Zanini (2007, 85–100). 7 Latham (2016, 183–232). See also papyri: Oxy. 79.5215, Harrauer 56, Oxy 34.0727, and Bingen 128. 8 Grig and Kelly (2012, 13–14) and Schreiner (2009, 17–18). 9 Andrade (2010, 166). 10 Van Nuffelen (2012, 190–1). 11 Schreiner (2009, 87–88). 12 The major reference work for this period is the 565-page catalogue of the exhibition held at the Royal Palace in Milan from April 22–24, 1990, with contributions from scholars at various universities and edited by Gemma Sena Chiesa. 13 The work probably dates from the time of Caracalla. The city is mentioned eight times and was notable for standing on the route from Rome to the Alpine provinces, to Aquileia and Pannonia, and to Gaul and Hispania. Bermond Montanari (1990, 26–27). 14 The name of the baths appears in Auson., Ordo nob. urb. 35–45. The outer limits of the palace and the semicircular building on the Via Brisa have been defined; Lusuardi Siena (1990, 99) and Mori (2018, 95–120). On the circus, Sacchi (2012), Provenzali (2018, 79–93). In addition to the above-mentioned catalogue, on the development of the city, Mirabella Roberti (1994, 381–8), Mori (1996, 27–39), Roberto (2018, 25–53), and Fedeli (2018, 55–78). On the forum, Mori (2010,

The first Christian processions in Milan 201 91–113). The colossal head of Jupiter in the Milan Archaeological Museum probably came from the Capitolium. Mirabella identified one of the temples as being devoted to imperial worship in the Flavian period. Excavated on the Via del Lauro, this space measured 12 × 15 metres and had an apse, a preserved wall measuring 3.80 meters, vaults, and an inscription in honour of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius. There was an altar to the Deus Magnus Pantheus from the third century AD, Sartori, (1990, 80). There is a second century inscription in the Museum dedicated to Mithras. The cult of Cybele is attested by the beautiful Parabiago plate, which Alda Levi dated to the second century and Alföldi to the second half of the fourth century in neo-pagan circles close to Julian the Apostate or the usurper Eugenius; Musso (1983, 13–15). 15 Airoldi et al. (2017, 183). 16 Provenzali (2018, 87–92). It has recently been reconstructed in 3-D using computer applications and quantitative methods, funded by the Archaeological Museum: Guidi et al. (2017, 1–18). 17 Sena Chiesa (1990, 31). 18 Caporosso (1991). Moreover, when Ausonius visited the city in 379, he described neither the arch nor the road; David (2011, 55–64). 19 Paulinus, Vita Ambrosii 14. 20 We know from mediaeval sources that the churches of San Giorgio al Palazzo and San Alessandro al Palazzo existed within the imperial enclosure. Mori (2018, 108–109). 21 Visonà (2018, 11). 22 McLynn (1994, 296). On the death of Justina during the war, Rufinus, Hist. eccl. 12–17; and Sozom., Hist. eccl. 7.14.7 (although it is not clear in Zos. 4.47.2). On his demonization, Paulinus, Vita Ambr. 20.1–3. 23 A clear example of Theodosian propaganda was the speech made by the Gallic rhetorician, Pacatus, who did not mention Valentinian II in the war against the usurper, but only as a child under the protection of Theodosius. McLynn (1994, 320). 24 Sozom., Hist. eccl. 7.25.9. With his orthodoxy and devotion, Theodosius may have been viewed by Ambrose as an uncomfortable presence and an unwelcome rival for the position of leader of Catholicism; McLynn (1994, 298). 25 Episkopos ton ektos (Euseb., Vit. Const. 4.24), Quae sunt divina, imperatoris potestatis non esse subiecta, (…) Scriptum est: Quae Dei, Deo, quae Caesaris, Caesari. Ad imperatorem palatia pertinent, ad sacerdotem ecclesiae (Ambrose, Ep. 20.8 and 19). Paul Veyne has interpreted this phrase of Constantine’s as a joke and an example of imperial modesty, considering himself the equal of the bishops. Veyne (2008, 105–6). I think it is the opposite, however: the bishops exercised authority over their diocese, just as the political vicars in the Constantinian territorial system, but the emperor wielded authority over inter-episcopal relations, that is, over everything beyond the diocese of each of them. Hence it was the emperor and not a bishop who convened the Council of Nicaea. 26 Ep. 40, 41, 51, 74.9–18; De obitu Theodos. 23.34; Paulinus, Vita Ambr. 22.23 and 24; Sozom., Hist. eccl. 7.25; McLynn (1994, 298–309). 27 McLynn (1994, 223). 28 Although Eugenius was a Christian. Zos. 186, 45.4.3; Bravo (2010, 154). 29 Paredi, 120–5. 30 On the following bishops, Marolus (405–20) and Martinian (420–35), there is less information and even the chronology is uncertain. Savio (1913, 145–61). 31 Although there were small chapels from the fourth century, it did not become important until the construction of an imperial mausoleum in the mid-fifth century at the behest of Galla Placidia (Chapel of St. Aquilinus, known in the early Middle Ages as the Cappella della Regina). The basilica or mausoleum was built between the time of Galla Placidia and that of Bishop Lawrence I of Milan (end

202  Pedro Giménez de Aragón Sierra of the fifth century), after which it began to be used as a burial place for bishops. On the construction of San Lorenzo, Rossignani (1990, 137–9), Mirabella Roberti (1990, 437–8). 32 Carmassi (2002, 397–414).

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The first Christian processions in Milan 203 Guidi, Gabriele, Sara Gonizzi, Laura Loredana, and Umair Shafqat. 2017. “Accurate Reconstruction of the Roman Circus in Milan by Georeferencing Heterogeneous Data Sources with GIS.” Geosciences 7: 91. Krautheimer, Richard. 1987. Tre capitali cristiane. Topografia e politica. Torino: Einaudi. Latham, Jacob A. 2009. “The Making of a Papal Rome: Gregory I and the letania septiformis.” In The Power of Religion in Late Antiquity, edited by A. Cain and N. Lenski, 209–304. Burlington: Ashgate.     2012. “From Literal to Spiritual Soldiers of Christ: Disputed Episcopal Elections and the Advent of Christian Processions in late Antique Rome.” Church History 81(2): 298–327.     2016. Performance, Memory, and Processions in Ancient Rome. The Pompa Circensis from the Late Republic to Late Antiquity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lizzi, Rita. 2007. “‘Praesul et possessor.’ Ambrogio e la propietà private.” Studia Ambrosiana 10: 19–60. Lusuardi Siena, Silvia. 1990. “Il palazzo imperiale,” “Il complesso episcopale,” “La ‘basilica nova’ (S. Tecla),” “Il battisterio di S. Giovanni alle Fonti,” “Il recinto di S. Vittore al Corpo,” “La ‘basilica Apostolorum,’” “Il cimitero ‘ad Martyres,’” “La basilica Virginum.” In Milano capitale dell’Impero Romano 286–402 d.C, edited by Gemma Sena Chiesa, 99, 106, 106–8, 109–10, 111–2, 119–20, 124, and 130–1. Milan: Silvana.     2009. “Tracce archeologiche della ‘depositio’ dei santi Gervasio e Protasio negli scavi ottocenteschi in S. Ambrogio.” Studia Ambrosiana 3: 125–54. Lusuardi Siena, Silvia, E. Dellù, and M. L. Delpiano. 2012. “Lettura archeologica e prassi liturgica nei battisteri ambrosiani tra IV e VI secolo.” Studia Ambrosiana 6: 89–119. Lusuardi Siena, Silvia, and E. Neri. 2013. “La basilica Portiana e S. Vittore al corpo: un punto di vista archeologico.” Studia Ambrosiana 7: 147–92. McLynn, Neil B. 1994. Ambrose of Milan. Church and Court in a Christian Capital. Berkeley, MA: University of California Press.     2004. “The Transformation of Imperial Churchgoing in the Fourth Century.” In Approaching Late Antiquity, edited by S. Swain and M. Edwards, 235–70. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Mirabella Roberti, Mario. 1990. “Architetture paleocristiane a Milano.” In Milano capitale dell’Impero Romano 286–402 d.C, edited by Gemma Sena Chiesa, 433–8. Milan: Silvana.    1994. “Teatro, anfiteatro e circo a Milano,” In Antichità Altoadriatiche 41: 381–8. Musso, Luisa. 1983. Manifattura suntuaria e committenza pagana nella Roma del IV secolo. Indagine sulla Lanx di Parabiago. Roma: L’Erma. Navoni, Marco. 2007. “Le sepolture dei vescovi di Milano: Il caso di san Simpliciano.” Studia Ambrosiana 1: 67–76. Paredi, Angelo. 1940. “La liturgia di Sant’Ambrogio.” In Sant’Ambrogio nel XVI centenario della nascita, edited by A. Gemelli, 120–5. Milan: Società Ed. Vita e Pensiero. Petoletti, Marco. 2018. “L’epigrafe di Eustorgio I, vescovo di Milano.” Studia Ambrosiana 11: 149–63. Provenzali, Anna. 2018. “L’area del Monastero Maggiore di Milano, ora Civico Museo Archeologico. Interventi e risultati dei recenti progetti di valorizzazione” Studia Ambrosiana 11: 79–93.

204  Pedro Giménez de Aragón Sierra Ranaldi, Antonella. 2019. “Antica chiesa di san Dionigi. Milano la ritrova.” Archeologia Viva 197: 66–69. Roberto, Umberto. 2018. “L’identità tetrarchica di Milano e l’Italia tardoantica.” Studia Ambrosiana 11: 25–53. Rossignani, Maria Pia. 1990. “Il complesso laurenziano.” In Milano capitale dell’Impero Romano 286–402 d.C, edited by Gemma Sena Chiesa, 137–9. Milan: Silvana.     1996. “Ricerche archeologiche nel suburbio di Milano.” In Milano in età imperiale (I-III secolo), edited by E. A. Arslan, 107–18. Milan: ET. Sacchi, Furio. 2007. “Il luogo di S. Simpliciano a Milano: spunto sui culti suburbani dal riesame del matteriale romano reimpiegato nelle strutture basilicali”, Studia Ambrosiana 1: 99–103.     2012. Mediolanum e i suoi monumenti dalla fine del II secolo a.C. all’età severiana. Milan: Università Catolica del Sacro Cuore. Sannazaro, Marco. 2009. “Cottidie pergebam ad martyres. I dintorni della basilica di S. Ambrogio nel IV secolo: Tradizione letteraria e documentazione archeologica.” Studia Ambrosiana 3: 101–24.     2018. “Eustorgio e la sua basilica: un incrocio tra storia e leggenda sulle origini cristiani di Mediolanum.” Studia Ambrosiana 11: 121–48. Sartori, Antonio. 1990. “Altare al grande Dio Pantheo da Milano.” In Milano capitale dell’Impero Romano 286–402 d.C, edited by Gemma Sena Chiesa, 80. Milan: Silvana. Savio, Fedele. 1913. Gli antichi vescovi d’Italia. Milano. Bolonia: Forni. Schreiner, Peter. 2009. Constantinopoli, metropoli dai mille volti. Roma: Salerno Editrice. Sena Chiesa, Gemma, ed. 1990. Milano capitale dell’Impero Romano 286–402 d.C. Milán: Silvana. Szonntagh, Eugene L. 1996. “Organ Tone-Color and Pipe Dimensions: Aquincum Hydraulus Scale Studies.” Studia Musicologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 37 fasc. 2/4: 191–216. Teja, Ramón. 1995. La “tragedia” de Efeso (431): herejía y poder en la Antigüedad tardía. Santander: Servicio de Publicaciones de la Universidad de Cantabria. Van Nuffelen, Peter. 2012. Orosius and the Rhetoric of History. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Veyne, Paul. 2008. El sueño de Constantino. El fin del imperio pagano y el nacimiento del mundo cristiano. Barcelona: Paidós. Visonà, Giuseppe. 2018. “Sterilem martyribus ecclesiam Mediolanensem. Ambrogio e la Chiesa milanese preambrosiana.” Studia Ambrosiana 11: 3–24. Zanini, Enrico. 2007. Introduzione all’archeologia bizantina. Roma: Carocci.

13 Holy Week in Huelva An urban ritual drama José Carlos Mancha Castro

Popular rituals and festivals are one of the classic subjects of analysis in social anthropology, having been widely studied within the discipline since its inception because they are considered meaningful social and symbolic manifestations that shed light on how each society constructs reality.1 Anthropologists view rituals as kaleidoscopic social and symbolic spaces in which various polysemic ideas and symbols are expressed, and which act as places of collective memory. For this reason, we also see them as space-time instrumentalized by the political powers as a means to legitimize a given unitary and apparently seamless social and ideological model.2 Many authors have studied rituals to uncover unnoticed reliefs or veiled, insufficiently captured social practices and realities.3 Using various methodologies and theoretical concepts, they have attempted to decipher and explain the forms, functions, structures, meanings, and expressive models of rituals. These different approaches have generated numerous theories about the subject. For example, ritual has been defined as a set of actions with symbolic efficacy,4 as a social drama,5 as an exercise in meta-communication,6 as a game,7 or as a performance,8 in all cases constructed and performed in community. The aim of this chapter is to analyse a particular religious ritual in Andalusian culture that is celebrated at the spring equinox: the Semana Santa (Holy Week). Specifically, I shall analyse Holy Week in the city of Huelva, exploring one of its deepest meanings, namely that of an urban ritual drama and a social and symbolic space of exhibition in which plural discourses and narratives are expressed and that ritualizes the inter-relationships between the participant subjects and social groups and between these and the inhabited space and the dominant civil and ecclesiastical powers that vie for its control. My aim is to conduct an analysis, from a symbolic perspective, of the form, structure, and temporality of this ritual system and of some of the functions and meanings of its ceremonial processions.9 To explore the ritual of Holy Week, we must first recognize that it is a social fact with multiple connotations, as it encompasses various meanings associated with the spheres of religion, identity, and ecology. This ritual does not, therefore, have a sole meaning, although the various authorities in DOI: 10.4324/9781003301646-13

206  José Carlos Mancha Castro the economic-political sphere and the Catholic Church have attempted to interpret it as an exclusively religious phenomenon in order to experiment with different control strategies. Rather, it is a total social fact,10 that is to say, a socio-cultural phenomenon where various dimensions of social life are represented, confused, and mixed, including religiosity, political relations, and ecological, normative, artistic, and economic processes—these latter not being linked exclusively to the market economy. Holy Week is a complex ritual forming part of what, in the social sciences, is known as “popular religiosity” and, therefore, located on the fringes of the Church.11 Popular religiosity is understood here as a system of collective magical-religious beliefs and practices that focus on iconolatry and iconoduly, through which communities interpret and, above all, experience significance and their cultural identity and collective memory. It is not only an alternative frame to official religiosity, but also a hybridization of it; a syncretic field in which iconic, ideological, aesthetic, environmental, emotional, and absorbing ritual acts are expressed, which overlap with religious beliefs and practices relating dyadically to the transcendental. It is thus contended here that it is a sociocultural phenomenon that ought to be analysed from a holistic perspective. Similarly, it is a socio-symbolic space in which institutional and power imaginaries— chiefly ecclesiastical and economic-political—and popular imaginaries become hybridized and feed back into each other. In this regard, Rina Simón notes that institutional imaginaries publicly sanctify and recognize, in a way, popular imaginaries, while the latter lend greater social legitimacy to the former.12 This view of Holy Week is not new in Andalusian anthropology. Since the 1970s, various authors have constructed theoretical and methodological frameworks in an attempt to understand and explain it.13 Moreno Navarro and Agudo Torrico have indicated several levels of meaning in the phenomenon that correspond to the mostly unconscious key elements that make up its hybrid symbolic nature.14 Thus, Holy Week is a popular religious ritual of a festive nature in which the community and the Christian-Catholic deity enter into a relationship through rites and iconic acts that commemorate the passion and death of Christ and the sorrow of the Virgin Mary, this being the most explicit level of meaning. However, it is also a ritual in which relationships are established and expressed between the community itself, kinship and affinity networks, and various social groups, becoming a space for sociability and an important element of identity. In addition, it is an ecological ritual that establishes a connection between humans and nature and ritualizes the environmental changes and conditions that occur in their geographical space. It is also an urban dramaturgical festival that ritualizes the relationship between the community, public space, and the institutions of economic-political and religious power, reflecting instrumentalizations, alliances, and social tensions that may exist—or have existed—on the symbolic plane.15

Holy Week in Huelva 207 Below I shall examine Holy Week in Huelva from the analytical perspective of an urban ritual drama. To this end, it will first be necessary to delve into this theoretical concept coined by Gómez Lara and Jiménez Barrientos16 following on from the concept of social drama proposed in studies by Douglas and Turner,17 which highlighted suggestive links between theatre and ritual.18 Urban ritual drama is a communicative, dramaturgical process that is swathed in symbolism and incorporates the various identities and institutions present in the framework of a given society, which express themselves collectively in public space, recreating the community. This concept emerged from the study of different ritual systems, including “mediaeval play cycles in European cities, modern national festivals in the West, festive periods in the Jewish or Arab calendar and the great urban festivals of Hinduism.”19 These ceremonial systems present a ritual structure similar to that of the Holy Weeks celebrated in Andalusia and other countries in the Mediterranean cultural sphere, when these latter are considered as effervescent popular religious festivals celebrated in the urban space rather than mere liturgical rites subject to the exclusive control of the Catholic Church.20 Thus, building on the proposal formulated by Gómez Lara and Jiménez Barrientos,21 I shall identify the main characteristics that define and structure an urban ritual drama. First, it comprises a ritual system that does not consist of a univocal and unilateral discourse, but instead encompasses diverse narratives and meanings. Although there is a basic official narrative that structures the celebration of the festival around a religious event (the commemoration of the passion and death of Christ and the sorrow of his mother, the Virgin Mary), in accordance with the Catholic liturgy, this narrative is hybridized with others that also organize the festive time. These offer multiple, diverse forms of integration in the ritual celebration, which acquires meaning and communicative value in the public space and enables expression of a particular symbolic history of the ceremony and the community that celebrates it. Second, it must be stressed that this is an invented tradition 22 in a constant process of revision and thus characterized by improvisation, innovation, imitation, and what Frazer called contagious magic.23 Third, the ecological and economic aspects of the ritual are inherent to the social and geographical-environmental space in which it takes place; in the case of Holy Week, in the city, in spring. It is, therefore, a symbolic recreation of the community expressed in the urban space at the spring equinox. In this respect, reciprocity, lavish consumption and extravagance, shared abundance, and symbolic gifts or exchanges, encapsulated in presents, sacrifices, and offerings, are not distorting elements, but are instead central and cohesive. Viewing Holy Week in Huelva—and in any other town in Andalusia— as an urban ritual drama enables us to observe how the city is socially and symbolically recreated and reproduced as a dynamic, dialectical setting in which the component social groups and dominant agencies are

208  José Carlos Mancha Castro represented. This has been a constant feature of festive public rituals in cultural traditions throughout the Mediterranean, whose peoples have historically organized dramatizations with ancestral precedents such as the processions held in Greek and Roman cities or mediaeval public executions.24 This festive-ritual logic is associated with a culture of display and representation, of using the urban space as a showcase and living theatre, as a place for exhibition and interaction between a series of social groups and institutions that transform it to construct a temporary symbolic framework whose duration is intrinsically linked to that of the festive time. The start of the festive time opens up a liminal, marginal, temporal space that halts everyday social time, while at the same time transforming the urban space. Thus, a sacred time emerges together with an aesthetic, ephemeral, imagined, and desired city, where the community is recreated, public order is disrupted, and some of the legal norms that govern the social structure are transgressed in a constant metamorphosis that is daily renewed. As the physical space where the ritual action takes place, the city becomes a key part of the ritual itself, sometimes even its object.25 This new sacred, dynamic, and ephemeral setting, which represents the idealized city, is both witness to and the subject of a total metamorphosis related to the structural sequencing of the ritual being celebrated: buildings and streets are decorated using perishable decorative and constructive strategies to render them more beautiful in the eyes of the ritual agents, and therefore more useful for the ritual purpose; vehicular traffic is suspended in certain key spaces, which will be invaded by processions; human traffic increases throughout the city, flowing in accordance with the processions; and the people participating in the festival dress according to the norms that comprise the ritual’s internal code. Thus, the city where the ritual drama is staged becomes an integrating framework for the symbolic expression and representation of communitas,26 a space containing history, identity, meaning, and processes of social and symbolic relations, in other words, a space that has become a true place, in the sense proposed by Augé.27

13.1 Form, structure, and temporality of the urban ritual drama of Holy Week in Huelva Like all Christian-Catholic Holy Week celebrations, the Huelva celebration originated in the wake of the Counter-Reformation initiated by the Catholic Church in the mid-sixteenth century. However, it only emerged as a modern popular festive ritual, as a great urban ceremony based on the aesthetic, expressive, and meaningful model with which it is identified today, between the last quarter of the nineteenth century and first three decades of the twentieth century. Previously, the model of celebration was very different to the one we see today, because although the present festival is enveloped in archaizing aesthetic elements, this does not mean that it is in itself archaic. With the exception of a handful of images, the vast

Holy Week in Huelva 209 majority of the festival’s component aesthetic-expressive elements, both material and immaterial, have been produced in the last 150 years. The word “tradition” exerts an important influence on Holy Week, but from an anthropological point of view it is an invented tradition,28 that is, it is a socio-symbolic practice which, although it seems or is claimed to be very old, is in reality of recent creation, having been the subject of profound transformations that can only be understood in the context of modernity, rather than as the persistence of elements and practices considered ancestral or pre-modern. Today, Holy Week is a popular urban theatrical festival with bourgeois overtones, based on the ideals of romanticism, historicist regionalism, and modernism. The small processions typical of the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries have thus been replaced by the processions in their current form: having played no part until the end of the nineteenth century, music has now become a fundamental element of the new expressiveness of the phenomenon; the ritual costumes were devised between the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries; and only one in five of today’s confraternities were founded before the twentieth century, having been, furthermore, subject to several re-foundations or revivals in previous historical moments. To the above can be added the new social functions performed by contemporary confraternities, which differ widely from those of yesteryear. Given these ingredients, it is not surprising that Holy Week should be classified as a modern festival, one that has been (re)invented using a few earlier elements merged with mostly new ones that mimic an archaic aesthetic that conceals absolutely contemporary festive-ritual foundations. In other words, this ritual phenomenon cannot be classified as a fossil that has survived the onslaught of modernity; on the contrary, the ritual has changed in the wake of the transformations that have taken place in the modern society that celebrates it. To understand the aesthetic and expressive models of the Huelva Holy Week festival, it is essential to highlight the role played in them by the renowned aesthetic ideologist of Holy Week in Seville: the embroiderer Juan Manuel Rodríguez Ojeda. Imbued with the principles of the Arts and Crafts movement, this artist shaped many of the aesthetic-expressive elements that are now seen as typical of the festival, and his influence is still very much alive. New models of the floats (mainly with a canopy), new ceremonial clothing for the participants, and models of attire for the effigies all form part of the artistic legacy bequeathed by Rodríguez Ojeda, synthesized and given expression in his confraternity of the Macarena (Seville).29 To paraphrase Martínez Velasco, Ojeda “designed nothing less than Holy Week as we see it today.”30 As with any ritual and festive process, Holy Week has an internal structure and temporality. It is celebrated at the spring equinox, coinciding with the first full moon of the astronomical season of spring (known as the paschal full moon). Thus, the date of Holy Week changes every year,

210  José Carlos Mancha Castro evidencing the ritualization of a seasonal change that in the Mediterranean cultural sphere is associated with abundance, fertility, and the rebirth of life. In contemporary Huelva, this urban ritual drama takes place over eight consecutive days: the eve of the festival, which falls on the Friday of Sorrows and Saturday of Passion, followed by Palm Sunday, Holy Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, Maundy Thursday, and the early morning and afternoon of Good Friday. From the sixteenth century until the late nineteenth century, processions were only held on Maundy Thursday and the early morning and afternoon of Good Friday. However, far-reaching changes in the morphology and popularity of the festival since the late nineteenth century and the creation of new confraternities in the twentieth century meant that the days of celebration were extended back through the week, with new processions taking place on the last days of Lent, from the Friday of Sorrows to Holy Wednesday, thus expanding the ceremonial structure and increasing the duration of the festival itself. Over the course of these days, the confraternities that parade through the streets of Huelva carry floats anarchically depicting representations of various moments in the passion and death of Christ that are narrated in the Gospels. By anarchically, I mean that the structure of the dramatic representation of the festival bears neither a linear nor a chronological relationship to the gospel passages. On the contrary, this processional structure depicts these scenes of the deicide in a jumbled, chaotic manner, differing from the sequential storyline of the Gospel narrative. This apparently anarchic structure reflects historical, sociological, and symbolic factors associated with each confraternity, since the internal structural logic of the ritual is marked more by the history of the festival itself than by the story or history commemorated.31 Essentially, the structure is based on the prestige and seniority of each confraternity on the day established for its procession. Similarly, the order of the confraternities’ floats along the official route is not structured by a sequential logic based on the biblical narrative. The most recently founded confraternities head the processions along the official route, while the oldest ones usually come last, regardless of the Gospel passage represented. It is obligatory for all confraternities participating in the Holy Week processions to follow the official route, which basically becomes a via triumphalis,32 a public space decorated and privatized for a few days, where chairs and boxes are installed for spectators to watch— for a fee—the processions pass by. This space occupies the historic commercial centre of the town, which is also the site of the institutional headquarters of the political powers and an important seat of ecclesiastical power. Along the official route, each of the confraternities’ floats is required to halt before the boxes occupied by representatives of the three institutions that organize and control the ceremony: the Council of Brotherhoods and Confraternities, the Diocesan Catholic Church, and the City Council. Unsurprisingly, the official route has been modified over the course of time to reflect changes in the location of the institutional centres of the economic-political and religious powers.

Holy Week in Huelva 211 The first days of Holy Week—from the Friday of Sorrows to Holy Tuesday—are days of great ritual intensity, announcing that the city’s most important festival, and the one most popular with its residents, has returned after a year of waiting and preparation. However, the climax of the celebration is reached from the middle to the last days of the ritual drama. In Huelva, the moment of peak intensity occurs between Holy Wednesday and the dawn of Good Friday, when the confraternities carry the city’s most popular and sacred symbolic effigies: Our Lady of Hope and Our Lady of Victory, which are paraded on Holy Wednesday, and the Nazarene (Christ carrying the cross), which is paraded in the early morning of Good Friday. The processions carrying the Virgins of Hope and Victory are ritual acts of jubilation and joy, in which participants cry words of rejoicing that contrast with the multitude of signs and expressions of sadness and grief that permeate the ritual drama of Holy Week. Meanwhile, the multitudinous procession of the Nazarene symbolizes the experience of historical oppression of the people of Huelva, anchored in collective memory. It is in this procession, which shows the good man (Christ) unjustly bearing the cross, that these people see themselves, as it symbolizes their own experience of collective oppression, which is recreated through the representation of the tragedy of Jesus Christ, an aspect that has been noted previously by authors who have analysed other Holy Week rituals in Andalusia.33 The two processions that conclude the ritual drama take place in the afternoon of the last day of Holy Week, on Good Friday: the procession of the Holy Sepulchre and the procession of Our Lady of Solitude. The solemn parade of the Holy Sepulchre brings together the institutional representatives of the city’s civil and religious powers, symbolizing the official narrative with which the celebration ends. Meanwhile, the disconsolate maternal effigy carried by the Confraternity of Silence in the procession of Our Lady of Solitude is the final event of the festive season, and symbolizes sadness that the festivity is drawing to a close. This procession does not ritualize the tragic event of the death of Jesus Christ, but the death (the end) of the Holy Week festival itself. Thus, expression is given to the two motives for mourning the conclusion of the narratives that endow the ritual drama with meaning: on the one hand, sorrow at the death of Christ, and on the other, sadness for the end of the communitas and the sacred time of the festivity. This initiates the phase of reassimilation of the ritual participants, who return to everyday social time.

13.2 The ceremonial processions of Huelva’s Holy Week: Structure, meanings, and functions The confraternities are social and ceremonial groups that generate identity. Established in various parishes and confraternity houses around the city, they have become elements of identity embedded in different territorial spaces within the city, whether in—or close to—the historic centre or in

212  José Carlos Mancha Castro less central neighbourhoods. Holy Week, the ritual drama that they organize, is Huelva’s most multitudinous festival, and while the celebration lasts, many Huelva residents of all ages, social strata, and ideologies inundate the city’s historical and symbolic centres to parade with their confraternities or to watch the processions. Some travel several kilometres to the city centre, while others, obliged to live outside Huelva, return to their city of origin. They do so to symbolically reaffirm their sense of belonging to the community, participating in a festive practice that they consider traditional and symbolically rejecting subalternity, exclusion, or forced migration. Consequently, some have interpreted the socio-symbolic theatre of Holy Week as a ritual of symbolic vindication of their right to the city, in which numerous people declare their right to enjoy their city, to participate in its symbolic community practices, and to express their local or group identity.34 This socio-symbolic theatre or urban ritual drama of Holy Week acquires meaning in the dynamic and dialectical setting that is public space. It is in the streets that the confraternities’ processions reveal their complex and syncretic ritual structure, made up of multiple symbols of a diverse nature, primarily religious-Catholic, corporate-confraternity, civil, and military. The processions are organized as a burial procession divided into two parts: the procession of floats showing Christ, with an effigy of him dead or condemned to death, and the procession of floats showing the Virgin Mary as a mother in mourning; both types are accompanied by hundreds of “penitents”: subjects robed in ritual costumes consisting of a tunic, either a cape or cloak, a mask, and a hood, and carrying ritual elements such as candles, crosses, standards, or staffs. On the basis of this processional structure, each of the confraternities “conveys a symbolic system of hierarchy and status that is expressed through the ritual position” of the participant subjects.35 The ritual subjects can participate in the procession as penitents (nazarenos) accompanying the effigies, or as the bearers (costaleros) who carry them. I contend that participation in this ritual drama has a dual significance, and thus that the ritual subjects’ motive for participating in processions will be based on one of two perspectives and ways of understanding the ritual event, which may also complement one another. Thus, some give a penitential meaning to their participation, transforming the ritual subject into the personification of an ex-voto that governs the individual’s practice according to the principles of sympathetic magic.36 By imitating the sufferings endured by Christ, the individual achieves absolution from sin. This religious meaning is based on the idea of a symbolic gift offered to the deity under the logic of do ut des: I offer you physical penance in exchange for the granting of grace. In other words, a symbolic dyadic contractual relationship—a religious correlation—is established between two asymmetrical forces: a deity-patron who grants and a devotee-client, who benefits from the concession based on the principles of the theory of primordial debt, which, according to Graeber, is at the origin of all humanity’s relations with deities.37

Holy Week in Huelva 213 However, other ritual subjects may endow their participation with a festive and communicative significance, viewing the ritual action as a playful, sentimental, and supposedly traditional practice composed of internal vernacular codes that the natives themselves do not fully understand. Here, participation assumes an identitarian meaning, in which ritual is seen as a symbolic social fact that binds and unites. This perspective explains why young children may be involved, dressing them as altar boys or girls, or penitents in local costumes considered traditional, or why participation may involve remembering—once again piercing the heart—absent relatives for whom Holy Week and the confraternity represented an important element of identity. In this case, the ritual drama can be viewed as an act of commemoration and of immersion in individual and collective memory, which has a strong emotional charge.38 Moreover, the urban ritual drama of Holy Week has two underlying functions that I believe are fundamental: the socializing function and the egalitarian function. The socializing function is based on seeing the ritual as a game, interpreting it from the perspective of symbolic interactionism argued by Goffman.39 Playing at Holy Week involves establishing a series of enculturation actions in the symbolic universe of the ritual process, consisting of manifestations and symbols that identify the people and social groups that come together to participate in accordance with the codes of a total ceremony. Thus, these play at governing and directing the confraternity, at working for it voluntarily, at participating in the communicative codes of the Holy Week ritual, and at socializing children and young people in these codes. Such socialization is evident, for example, in the fact of dressing children as penitents or altar boys or girls who distribute sweets, holy cards of the effigies, or wax from the candles. This is a collective system of reciprocity, of gifts,40 with elements of ritual and identity, which only takes place and has meaning during the festival. It is a symbolic-festive system of distribution and extravagance, which symbolically inverts and negates everyday socialization in the utilitarian and acquisitive values of the market logic pervading the ideological conception of contemporary capitalist societies.41 Meanwhile, the egalitarian function is based on viewing ritual drama as a liminal event, a generator of communitas, as proposed by Turner.42 During the ritual process, by which I mean the street processions staged by the confraternities, an ephemeral communitas is generated in which any social differences that might exist at a structural level between participants disappear. The ritual group becomes an indissoluble, totalizing unit, where all the participants in the procession become one: the confraternity. This ephemeral ritual egalitarianism can be seen very clearly in the lack of distinction between the penitents: they all dress the same, behave the same, and wear the same mask, differing only in the elements they carry or the position they occupy in the procession. The same can be seen in the bearers, who all become one in the task of carrying the float “tôh por iguâh” (all equally). The ritual is thus (re)produced, temporarily effacing any structural distinctions

214  José Carlos Mancha Castro of a social, ideological, or economic nature that might exist between members and transforming participants into an egalitarian, symbolic us that is recreated for a limited time: the duration of the procession.

13.3 Conclusions As we can see, Holy Week in Huelva is a total ceremony, in the sense given by Mauss,43 which is articulated around different meanings and socio-symbolic functions, in other words around factual discourses and polysemic meanings that are incorporated into the ritual process in different ways. It is a complex socio-cultural phenomenon that is difficult to decipher, experiential, bearing a strong emotional charge, which expresses the collective memory of the participant community and is embedded in a specific local context, intermingling social, political, ecological, economic, and religious aspects in a symbolic (self-)representation of the community in celebration. As with any ritual process in which the power of the symbols that come into play acquire an important capital, Holy Week offers many ways of approaching and forming part of the phenomenon’s symbolic universe. There are many types of behaviour and ways of conceiving the ritual, in addition to narratives and discourses that shape a variety of aesthetic and sensorial models revolving around icons of collective identification that dramatize the temporal and urban space in which the ritual is performed. This complex symbolic game of identities, which has many dimensions and meanings, involves the self-representation of an ideal, desired, evanescent, festive community whose members take to the streets to exhibit themselves as a communitas,44 and who, despite coming from different walks of life, possess a symbolic equality during the ritual act. This symbolic equality is ephemeral and its persistence linked to the duration of the symbolic rules established by the local authorities for the ritual. With the disappearance of the ritual of Holy Week, the oppositional structure that, for a number of days, has replaced the social stratification in which the social groups comprising the local community are normally separated, disappears. Namely, the particular socio-symbolic differentiation experienced by the communitas gives way yet again to the stratified social differentiation inherent to communities in modern Western societies. During the performance, facilitated by the start of the festival, a comprehensive ritual exhibition is developed that reconnects—for which reason it is religious—people from very different backgrounds, but who, together, devote themselves to a voluntary and liberating task. The identification of the people and religious groups with the icons of Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary reveals a ritual in which the community’s collective memory is expressed, this being understood as a history of oppression that is reinterpreted and dramatized using these religious-Catholic icons. They thus give shape to an urban ritual drama with a complex symbolic language and a diversity of aesthetic and sensorial actions—regarded as vernacular and/

Holy Week in Huelva 215 or traditional—that establish relationships of meaning, which build groups and communities, and express as a counterculture bent on resisting the onslaught of modernity.

Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 1 0 11 12 13 1 4 15

1 6 17 18 19 20

2 1 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

3 0 31 32 33 34

Berger and Luckmann (1967). Moreno Navarro (1999) and Domene Verdú (2017). García (1991). Bourdieu (1971). Turner (1970). Geertz (1973). Goffman (1961). Schechner (1994). This paper is a synthesis of the key ideas presented by the author in Mancha Castro (2020a). Mauss (1971). Navarro de la Fuente (2014). Rina Simón (2015). Of particular note in this respect are the studies by Moreno Navarro (1999, 2006), Rodríguez Becerra (1985, 2006), and Briones (1997). Moreno Navarro and Agudo Torrico (2012). Mancha Castro (2020a). In this respect, I wish to highlight recent ethnohistoriographical studies that have sought to shed light on the symbolic construction of modern political regimes such as Francoism, which used these archaizing rituals associated with the sacred to construct a cultural hegemony and base its legitimacy on an aura of sacredness. See Rina Simón (2015, 2016) and Mancha Castro (2018, 2020b). Gómez Lara and Jiménez Barrientos (1997). Douglas (1966) and Turner (1970). García (1991). Gómez Lara and Jiménez Barrientos (1997, 151). A recent study employing this concept of urban ritual drama has drawn parallels between Holy Week celebrations in Andalusia and Muslim processions in the desert associated with the festivals of Arbaʽein and Ashura, mainly observed by the Shiite branch. See Saavedra (2021). Gómez Lara and Jiménez Barrientos (1997). Hobsbawm (1983). Frazer (1994 [1922]). Mancha Castro (2020a). Egizabal (2013). Turner (1969). Augé (1992). Hobsbawm (1983). At the beginning of the twentieth century, Ojeda designed new penitential robes for the confraternities of Los Judíos and Santo Entierro in Huelva, and he also designed and embroidered four of the five canopied floats that existed in Huelva at the time. Martínez Velasco (2013, 96). Mancha Castro (2020a). Florido del Corral (2005). Briones (1997) and Moreno Navarro (2006). Moreno Navarro and Agudo Torrico (2012).

216  José Carlos Mancha Castro 35 Rodríguez Mateos (1998, 259). For more on this complex processional structure, see Mancha Castro (2020a). 36 Frazer (1994 [1922]). 37 Graeber (2014). 38 Mancha Castro (2020a). 39 Goffman (1961). 40 Mauss (1971 [1950]). 41 Mancha Castro (2020a). 42 Turner (1969). 43 Mauss (1971 [1950]). 44 Turner (1969).

Bibliography Augé, Marc. 1992. Non-lieux. Introduction à une anthropologie de la surmodernité. Paris: Seuil. Berger, Peter L., and Thomas Luckmann. 1967. The Social Construction of Reality: A Treatise in the Sociology of Knowledge. London: Penguin Books. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1971. “Genèse et structure du champ religieux.” Revue française de Sociologie 12: 295–334. Briones, Rafael. 1997. “Muerte y vida en la experiencia simbólica de la Semana Santa andaluza.” Demófilo. Revista de Cultura tradicional de Andalucía 23: 193–214. Domene Verdú, José Fernando. 2017. “La función social e ideológica de las fiestas religiosas: identidad local, control social e instrumento de dominación.” Revista de Dialectología y Tradiciones Populares 72(1): 171–97. doi: https://doi.org/10.3989/ rdtp.2017.01.007 Douglas, Mary. 1966. Purity and Danger. An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Egizabal, María Isabel. 2013. “Rituales en procesos de transformación del espacio público. Significado e influencias de algunas actuaciones en Bilbao la Vieja, San Francisco y Zabala.” Zainak 36: 125–43. Florido del Corral, David. 2005. “La Semana Santa Andaluza. Complejidad de significados y riqueza expresiva.” Ponencia presentada en el Curso de Estudios Hispánicos, Cursos de Otoño de la Facultad de Geografía e Historia de la Universidad de Sevilla, España. [Unpublished]. Frazer, James George. 1994 [1922]. The Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion. New York: Oxford University Press. García, José Luis. 1991. “Una introducción a las teorías actuales sobre el ritual.” In Rituales y proceso social: estudio comparativo en cinco zonas españolas, edited by José Luis García et al., 9–14. Madrid: Instituto de Conservación y Restauración de Bienes Culturales. Geertz, Clifford. 1973. The Interpretation of Cultures. New York: Basic Books. Goffman, Erving. 1961. Encounters. Two Studies in the Sociology of Interaction. Oxford: Penguin University Books. Gómez Lara, Manuel J., and Jorge Jiménez Barrientos. 1997. “Fiesta, interpretaciones e ideología: la Semana Santa de Sevilla, drama ritual urbano.” Demófilo. Revista de Cultura tradicional de Andalucía 23: 147–64. Graeber, David. 2014. Debt: The First 5,000 Years. New York: Melville House. Hobsbawm, Eric. 1983. “Introduction: Inventing traditions.” In The Invention of Tradition, edited by Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger, 1–14. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Holy Week in Huelva 217 Mancha Castro, José Carlos. 2018. “La Semana Santa y la recatolización de Huelva. Un acercamiento a la construcción simbólica del franquismo de posguerra.” Pasado y Memoria. Revista de Historia Contemporánea 17: 413–52. doi: https:// doi.org/10.14198/PASADO2018.17.15     2020a. “La dramatización de una ciudad. Significaciones rituales urbanas de la Semana Santa de Huelva.” Disparidades. Revista de Antropología 75(1): e013. doi: https://doi.org/10.3989/dra.2020.013     2020b. La Semana Santa y la construcción simbólica del franquismo en Huelva (1937–1961). Sevilla: Universidad Internacional de Andalucía. Martínez Velasco, Julio. 2013. La Semana Santa de Sevilla de ayer a hoy. Sevilla: ABC Biblioteca Palabras de Pasión. Mauss, Marcel. 1971 [1950]. Sociologie et anthropologie. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Moreno Navarro, Isidoro. 1999. Las Hermandades andaluzas: una aproximación desde la Antropología. Sevilla: Secretariado de publicaciones Universidad de Sevilla.     2006. La Semana Santa de Sevilla. Conformación, mixtificación y significaciones. Sevilla: Biblioteca de Temas Sevillanos. Moreno Navarro, Isidoro, and Juan Agudo Torrico. 2012. “Las fiestas andaluzas.” In Expresiones culturales andaluzas, edited by Isidoro Moreno Navarro and Juan Agudo Torrico, 165–218. Sevilla: Aconcagua Libros. Navarro de la Fuente, Santiago. 2014. “La religiosidad popular como elemento de adhesión al primer franquismo. Una aproximación al caso de Sevilla.” In La Iglesia en Andalucía durante la Guerra Civil y el primer franquismo, edited by José Leonardo Ruiz Sánchez, 109–26. Sevilla: Secretariado de publicaciones Universidad de Sevilla. Rina Simón, César. 2015. “La construcción de los imaginarios franquistas y la religiosidad ‘popular,’ 1931–1945.” Pasado y Memoria. Revista de Historia Contemporánea 14: 179–96. doi: https://doi.org/10.14198/PASADO2015.14.07     2016. “Rituales de pasión, muerte y resurrección. La religiosidad popular y la legitimidad sagrada en el franquismo.” In Fascismo y modernismo: Política y cultura en la Europa entreguerras (1918–1945), edited by Francisco Cobo Romero, Claudio Hernández Burgos and Miguel Ángel del Arco Blanco, 171–84. Granada: Comares. Rodríguez Becerra, Salvador. 1985. Las fiestas de Andalucía. Sevilla: Editoriales Andaluzas Unidas.     2006. La religión de los andaluces. Málaga: Sarriá. Rodríguez Mateos, Joaquín. 1998. La ciudad recreada. Estructura, valores y símbolos de las Hermandades y Cofradías de Sevilla. Sevilla: Diputación de Sevilla. Saavedra, Pedro J. 2021. “Procesiones en el desierto.” Nazarenos 1: 14–19. Schechner, Richard. 1994. Performance Theory. New York: Routledge. Turner, Victor. 1969. The Ritual Process. Structure and Anti-Structure. New York: Adline Publishing Co.     1970. The Forest of Symbols: Aspects of Ndembu Ritual. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.

14 A comparative study of processions The Baroque feast of Corpus Christi, Islamic Morocco, and historicist Rome José Antonio González Alcantud 14.1  Between the power of the rite and comparison 14.1.1 The processional rite from the perspective of political anthropology As shown by social anthropology, a discipline that to a large extent is a knowledge focusing on ritual, ritual plays an essential structuring role in the institution of power. From an anthropological perspective, it is not so much an epiphenomenon of power as the primordial expression and cyclic reaffirmation of the right of foundation. And this is so because ritual, whether of a political or religious nature, has extra-empirical efficacy.1 It is thus impossible to understand politics, as part of power, without ritual.2 Processions—the formulation of the ceremonial rite in movement— foreground social order while satisfying desires and instincts for order and hierarchy. Their periodic celebration in the public space gives rise to order and they can serve as a simile of the physical social structure. For this reason, it warrants recalling a number of works in the field of the social sciences, like, for example, Louis Dumont’s Homo Hierarchicus, Richard Newbold Adams’ Energy and Structure, and Georges Balandier’s Le désordre. Éloge du mouvement. From these works, some main ideas can be inferred. Power should not be confused with the political sort, since it goes beyond the political act. Entropic dissipation results from periods of disorder, festivals, wars, and revolutions, which end up restoring the order of power in an oscillating sense. The return to order implies the presence and exhibition of the social body with its different degrees and categories visible through the re-establishment of hierarchy. Power, disorder and hierarchy are concepts that allow for analysing the past and present of societies. On the other hand, processions, defined by movement, contrast with other rituals of power characterized by statism. Whether it be a reception, audience, or liturgical celebration, statism is at the core of rituals. In this respect, ritual is more profoundly ceremonial.3 It is confined to a limited space, with the intervention of a sort of iconostasis, a space reserved for the sacred, hidden from public view, which obliges audiences to participate DOI: 10.4324/9781003301646-14

A comparative study of processions 219 passively, while the officiants administer the secret of the liturgical ritual. Surrounding the monarch, a figure half sacral and half political, there is also a reserved space. On the contrary, processions are integrated into the public order, the agora, in the classical sense of the word. The difference lies in movement and in the public/private, secular/sacral space. It can be assumed that the desire for public exposure in hierarchical processions has to do with the incompleteness of static/state rituals, with restricted access or with the passive participation of the public. The transition from the private to the public sphere is of capital importance, since this is the space-time (chronotope, according to Bakhtin) of legitimization, the second pillar of political power, along with coercion. But for this very reason, the public space is a hazardous place, in terms of both exposure to public reprimand and, above all, ritual clashes. The visibility of the subject through his participation in public rituals, the way in which he exhibits himself and how he acts “according to his character,” has its own rationales.4 Unlike in coming of age rituals, for example, in their public processional counterparts there is no liminal phase of humiliation or distancing, for as they are rituals involving exposure to the community as a whole, they have a propensity, so to speak, towards hierarchy. Having said that, there are categories that cannot be outwardly expressed in processions or that do so in other ways. They derive from liminality; they are anti-structures. It warrants recalling that liminality is an essential component of hierarchy per se: “[…] if liminality is regarded as a time and place of withdrawal from normal modes of social action, it can be seen as potentially a period of scrutinization of the central values and axioms of the culture in which it occurs.”5 Liminality, as Victor Turner saw it, is reintegrated into society through participation in—sometimes anticeremonial—rituals, which take the form of carnival parades. Through this “scenographic” game, the imaginary anomie of many individuals, situated on the margins of power, returns to reintegrate itself.6 Whereby theatricality in movement, under the ceremonial procession or festive parade formula, is an act of hierarchy and integration in relation to power.7 14.1.2  The hermeneutic way of comparison In the logic of anthropology, the comparative or ethnological method allows for contrasting three processional worlds: the feast of Corpus Christi in the seventeenth century, the Maghrebi Sultanate during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and the twenty-first century historicist recreations of imperial Rome. Albeit culturally and conceptually very different, they allow for arriving at some common conclusions about the uses of hierarchy and integration in movement, which is ultimately the cornerstone of processions and parades. To justify this approach of “comparing the incomparable,” it is essential to heed Marcel Detienne, who warns, “Comparative work is part and parcel of anthropological scholarship, whereas in ‘the science of history’

220  José Antonio González Alcantud it is always unexpected and soon becomes to be viewed with distrust (…).”8 This comparison can give rise to some or other structural and functional explanation, beyond providing us with elements of identity. It should not be forgotten that the aim of this collective book is to strike up a dialogue between historians of the ancient world and anthropologists. For this reason, it is convenient to remember that in the history of anthropology and in the historiography of the social and historical sciences, there are three major works that perfectly exemplify this comparative tendency. La Cité Antique by Numa Fustel de Coulanges, Ancient Society by Lewis Henry Morgan, and The Golden Bough by James Frazer, are all influenced by comparativism. Without respecting the chronological order between Greece and Rome, Fustel de Coulanges dwelt on analogies, before concluding that rituals were analogous and occupied a similar position in the Greek poleis and in the Roman empire. For which reason this book subsequently prompted political anthropologists to underline the importance of ritual in the establishment of the polis and politics. As for Morgan, he highlighted the similarities and analogies between Iroquois society—his object of study— and the Graeco-Roman world with its own tribes. The conclusion that he drew was that the transition from stateless to state societies paved the way for social evolutionism. Lastly, to justify his primordial anti-historicism Frazer—criticized by British structural functionalist social anthropology—performed a comparison between the beliefs of the peasants of his time and those of ancient pagans. His anthropo-historical method also involved comparativism. In all these authors there was a common denominator, namely, comparison, and the most reasonable benchmark was the ancient world. Naturally, it was thus necessary to give priority to the comparative method. So, it is not so much a question now of innovating in the methodological field as recovering a pre-existing method. This comparative exercise, with modern instruments, should allow for bringing into play structure, hierarchy, legitimacy, and autochthony. 14.1.2.1 Case study I: The feast of Corpus Christi in the Spanish Baroque period Bonet Correa recalled that the Baroque feast concealed, perhaps more than any other thing, political impulse: “It could be judged as motley and multiple, but in reality blindingly obvious analogies are hidden under its various ‘masks,’ or different ‘appearances,’ namely, there are common denominators clearly rooted in politics.”9 An aspect into which further insights can be gained by studying a particular feast, that of Corpus Christi, in which a more abstract than material concept was displayed in the streets: the body of Christ incarnated in the Host. A sublimation of the act of ceremonially consuming the flesh of sacrificed God, which reached the highest degree of ritual sophistication in Christianity.

A comparative study of processions 221 Julio Caro Baroja dates the introduction of the feast of Corpus Christi in the Iberian Peninsula to around 1306–25 CE, possibly due to a Provençal influence. However, it would not become truly popular and widespread until the sixteenth century with the triumph of the CounterReformation, before becoming fully consolidated in the following one. The golden age of this markedly urban religious feast was the Baroque, which, as a reaction against the inward-looking nature and rationalism of the Reformation, expressed its strength of conviction in ostentatious theatricality and sensations. Baroque taste was inclined to novelty, invention, and artifice: “Novelty,” J. A. Maravall wrote, “captivates taste and the will following it.”10 The baroque ceremonial rite was strictly governed by meticulous rules; it has been claimed that Baroque feasts were characterized by repetition over time, perhaps to a greater extent than in other historical ages. Baroque inventiveness, on the other hand, had to pursue novelty. The temporary architecture, the altars along the processional route, allowed for combining novel invention with ceremonial inflexibility. At the same time, the adornment of streets with paintings and hangings contributed to conceal the daily ordinariness of the Baroque city, giving it that air of novelty consubstantial to Baroque culture.11 The ceremonial procession of the feast of Corpus Christi included, according to Caro Baroja, a convoluted scenography, with streets decked out with garlands, guild or peasant dances, grotesque figures such as giants and dwarves with big heads, representations of animals or monsters such as the Tarasque, horsemen, and other symbolic or grotesque characters such as vejigueros, mojigones, and so forth (Figures 14.1 and 14.2).12 CounterReformation ceremonies offered social groups the opportunity to exhibit themselves among the festive crowd, for the purpose of reaffirming hierarchies and constraining the Rabelaisian grotesque body emerging from medieval popular culture.13 The Baroque ritual programme included the enclosure of the festive grotesque body, namely, the parade, in the ceremony. To reinforce this programme, in the best Counter-Reformation style there were preachers who, at the places where the procession stopped along its route, addressed those congregated employing an allegorical language, referring to the hieroglyphic pictures installed for the occasion or to the Tarasque itself. In this ceremony, there was a mixture of influences of very different origins, from autochthonous peasants to foreigner city dwellers, but all of them determined and united by the Baroque ritual. As the seat of the archbishopric and the Royal Chancery, Granada was a major religious and cultural centre during the Counter-Reformation. Given the recent triumph over Mohammedanism, periodic public reaffirmations of Christianity in the city’s streets were required. Consequently, it possessed the wherewithal for the feast of Corpus Christi to take root. In an attempt at assimilation, while the Mudejar culture was maintained, the zambras or Moorish dances

222  José Antonio González Alcantud

Figure 14.1  Civic procession of the Tarasca in Granada I. Source: J. A. González Alcantud.

accompanied the Corpus Christi procession, until the expulsion of the Moors. The Lead Books of Sacromonte, discovered at the end of the sixteenth century, sought to integrate the Moors into Spanish society—another indication of the assimilationist desires of the period. In Granada, the hierarchical order of the Corpus Christi procession was very strict, as described in detail by its most prominent analysts, the fin-de-siècle local scholars Miguel Garrido Atienza and Francisco de Paula Valladar. The procession had a very precise internal hierarchy. The first source is the Consueta de ceremonias y gobierno de la Catedral de Granada, which, although it is unclear when it was written, can probably be dated to the time of the construction of the cathedral during the first decades after

A comparative study of processions 223

Figure 14.2  Civic procession of the Tarasca in Granada II. Source: J. A. González Alcantud.

the conquest of the city. It established a rigid order, defining places, ceremonial dress, and so forth. By the same token, Article 126 of the Ordenanzas que los muy ilustres y muy magníficos señores Granada mandaron guardar, para la buena gobernación de su república (1552) stipulated the order that “the sponsors, members and stewards of the brotherhoods of this city” had to maintain in the Corpus Christi procession, as well as the obligation to provide sedge and fragrant grass—which grew in the surrounding towns on the fertile plain of Granada—with which to strew the streets: We order all the inhabitants and dwellers of the said city, through which the procession is to pass, to cover windows and doors with awnings as best they can, and to clean and sweep their properties, with those failing to do so being fined (200 maravedis).14 Since the ritual was strict and honour all important among Old Christians, the possibility of disputes over protocol was always possible, more so as the Royal Chancery was close at hand for litigation.15 These disputes between the archbishop, the chapter of the cathedral, the Royal Chancery, and the governor of the Alhambra gave rise to acrimonious lawsuits, when not to real problems of public order. One such controversy was the so-called “chair lawsuit,” raging throughout the seventeenth century, around a sort of gestatorial chair (a ceremonial throne on which Popes were carried on shoulders), on which the archbishop of the city was supposed to be carried during the Corpus Christi procession and which, by and large, blocked the

224  José Antonio González Alcantud view of the monstrance.16 The lawsuit, which would be resumed at the end of the century, was resolved again in 1604 by a royal decree authorizing the archbishop to use the chair. The dispute even made it necessary to draw up additional plans of how the procession should be hierarchically organized.17 This penchant for litigation even went so far as to affect the vestments that should be worn by the seises or dancers of the royal chapel and those of their cathedral counterparts, once again requiring royal intervention.18 An interesting controversy was sparked by the reception, with refreshments included, given by the court before the procession, which according to its opponents interrupted its correct evolution. There were even legal disputes over the fact that some of the authorities wore gloves, a sign of disrespect, and that the guilds participated with all kinds of objects that should be limited to their pennants, among other aspects. Such was the importance given to symbols in the Baroque period, it was a procession rife with disputes over protocol. The mystical union represented by the abstract symbolism of the cult of the body of Christ reached its highest expression of ceremonial rituality in the procession. In opposition, the persistent and, to a certain extent, liminal and/or anomic pagan publicly displayed himself. In this connection, the Corpus Christi procession was preceded by the festive and carnivalesque procession—or sort of grotesque parade19 —of the Tarasque, a dragon-type mythical hybrid tamed by a woman. The procession or parade that accompanied her was formed by giants and little devils. In addition to little devils wearing double-faced masks, which nowadays could be assimilated to the large-headed dwarves, the Tarasque also used to be accompanied by seven—one of the highest power numbers in Judaism—giants who came to represent the seven cursed ancient cities, the seven wise men of Greece, the seven lovers of the Antiquity, the seven capital sins, the seven wonders of the world, or the seven main sciences. “And they all bore emblems, symbols and so forth, and made their meaning known by means of decastichs, quintains and quatrains, which each one carried written on cards in a visible place.”20 The procession of the Tarasque was occasionally forbidden for tarnishing the most important thing in the eyes of the Church, namely, the procession itself. The cosmic laughter generated by this festive ritual thus contrasted with the ceremoniousness of the Corpus Christi procession. The Tarasque and its companions posed a danger to the homo paganus, which was not so much expressed outside Christianity but within it, and which had been threatening the mystical union of the Christian city for centuries. The parade ended with autos sacramentales (similar to English morality plays) acted out by comedians on floats. Despite their religious character, they portrayed all kinds of disorders. Mythography had its risks if the central threads uniting the fragments of the myth in question were impossible to identify, and even more so if it had been incarnated in the rite and

A comparative study of processions 225 all trace of its meaning had since been lost. Baroque culture, in which the Corpus Christi procession reached its zenith, was symbolic, replete with emblems and allegories, employing the trompe l’oeil technique or theatre as vehicles of expression. In the Corpus Christi procession of Granada, the mythological and allegorical scenes were transported on floats. In the words of Garrido Atienza, “the performances, on machines or in mobile theatres, called floats, were offered and repeated at all the places where the procession stopped along its route.” Some authors have opportunely related these floats to the culture of automatons. Indeed, there is evidence of automatons on some of the processional altars. J. E. Varey recounts how, in September 1635, there was an automaton representing the Virgin in Bib-rambla Square in Granada, “which, when the procession passed by, rotated showing the way to the station and enhancing the majesty of what was being celebrated.” Similarly, it is known that in Valencia as early as in the seventeenth century, prizes were awarded to those who decorated the altars with automatons. In the Tarasques of Madrid, allegorical figures, which were often automatons, were also carried in procession. This mythical dragonlike hybrid could even have an articulated tongue, jaws, or tail to frighten the peasants, as in the Tarasques of the French Midi. Allegorical figures were also used to represent the vices. It has been contended that the Tarasques “are the product of a popular art” that sought to “teach by delighting.”21 They had nothing to do with static “folklore,” since, thanks to Baroque novelty and popular inventiveness, they varied from year to year. The floats with their representations were gradually perfected, while it was forbidden for them to stop in front of altars. The growing popularity of pagan themes, such as those of the autos sacramentales reproduced by Miguel Garrido, dedicated to the gods Pan and Apollo, obliged the ecclesiastical authorities and the Crown to impose prohibitions on the clergy. They were also affected by other regulations, like, for example, the Royal Decree of Graces, issued in Madrid on December 23, 1642, whose provisions included the following in relation to the floats used to transport the autos sacramentales and their actors: Stipulating that, in the said feast, as regards both the altars and their adornment and hangings, and the dances, plus the floats on which the autos are performed and everything else in the said feast that is, and has been, customary, the other floats on which the autos are performed and the companies performing them should at first participate in the parade held in the morning, with all the dances and apparatus pertaining to the procession, and that, in the meantime, all those autos should be performed in the festival itself in Bib-rambla Square through which the procession passes in front of the Casas de los Miradores.22

226  José Antonio González Alcantud From this decree, it can be inferred that the place set aside for performing the autos sacramentales was not at all suitable. The plethora of norms and controversies underscores the importance of the Corpus Christi procession. The culture of the emblem and the allegory was imposed on an illiterate peasantry. The most ceremonial part of the procession was very leisurely.23 On the contrary, the pace of the agonistic part of the feast, threatening to get out of hand in the parade at any time, which heralded the evening festivities in the central Bib-rambla Square, tended to quicken. The procession had to swallow the parade and digest it within, domesticating it. 14.1.2.2  Case study II: Alawite Morocco in the contemporary age One of the most outstanding processions in modern and contemporary Morocco, that is, the period of the Alawi dynasty, from the second half of the seventeenth century down to the present day, was the mehalla formed by the sultan and his court, with a ritual accompaniment, but above all, with an army that marched through the country’s untamed regions, known as siba. The purpose of this mehalla was to subdue by force, and also to subjugate symbolically, Morocco’s rebellious tribal areas. They can be interpreted as a dialectic between centralization, the struggle for resources and, in particular, tax collection.24 But the sultan’s itinerancy had an enormous symbolic value, insofar as it exemplified the very principle of the imposition and legitimacy of power.25 At the end of the eighteenth century, the Polish traveller Jan Potocki claimed that, in view of the attitude of the Moroccans, the sultan had to be constantly visible, because if he were absent for a few days, rumours would spread and he would lose power.26 The last great mehalla was that of Hassan I, at the end of the nineteenth century, but the “green march” into the Western Sahara in 1975, and even the activity of the current king, omnipresent at official events throughout the country, can also be interpreted as such. Certainly, whenever the king fails to show his face for a time, rumours about his health or domestic problems spread like wildfire. Ritual appearances, especially on the move, are vital for establishing and maintaining power. To fathom its importance, it is essential to bear in mind that power in Morocco revolves around the Makhzen. At the beginning of the twentieth century, it was believed that Morocco had no awareness of nationhood, as it is understood by Europeans.27 This peculiar system of government is known as the Dar al-Makhzen, or storehouse. It is both the palace complex or the seat of power and the court of military men, servants, officials, and so forth, surrounding the sultan. In addition to being the seat of government, the sultanate and the diwans, presided by viziers, the historical Makhzen served as a silo, in a subsistence economy, a place for supplying the population with food in bad years.

A comparative study of processions 227 The sultanate also included religious functions, which could be identified with the leadership of the umma or community of believers, because the sultan was, and still is, also the Amir al-Mu’minin or “Commander of the Faithful”.28 To this should be added that the system for accepting and recognizing a sultan requires submission (beya’a): “The act by which he is recognized, performed by the principal theological doctors (ulemas), is called bêa, a word that also means ‘contract of sale’ or ‘purchase’.”29 The beya’a occupies a mythical place in the primal organization of rituals: A symbol of submission par excellence, the beya’a has taken on a primary political dimension since the time of the Prophet. By this act, the faithful recognise a pre-established fact. Mohammed and his successors have been chosen by God, who has given them the immaterial and material means to impose their power. In brief, the oath of allegiance is not a contract, but a declaration of irrevocable submission.30 The relationship between the medina-city, the urban elites, and their centres of worship and knowledge, on one hand and the Makhzen on the other, has always been problematic. The sultans were fully aware that they needed the submission of the inhabitants of the burg or medina, who were always attentive to developments within the Makhzen. The union between rite and temporality has been best achieved at the Royal Court of Morocco in the beya’a, the public ceremony in which the country’s grandees submit to the king. Evidently, this implies that the king is required to show himself in public, in a sort of parade in which ulemas, grandees, and guilds are obliged to pay him obedience. The beya’a of Marrakech and the following one in Fez, which, in 1907, marked the beginning of the reign of the new sultan Mulay Hafid at the expense of his deposed brother Mulay Abdelaziz, confirms the importance of the rite of submission, which must be performed with the consent of the local grandees and ulemas.31 For this reason, the Makhzen attaches huge importance to intermediaries, such as the king’s private secretary or hayib, who plays the fundamental role of mediating between his inner circle and the rest of the courtiers and citizens. Today, it is no longer celebrated only at the accession to the throne of each new king, but has also become an annual event, associated with the feast of the throne, celebrated in early March every year. Moreover, it is no longer only the ulemas who act as a “counterweight” to the king’s power, but all the high officials, many of them from the country’s farthest reaches. The beya’a occupies a significant place in the post-colonial nationalism introduced by Mohammed V, who, in the period of independence, revamped the image of the royal house by changing the title and concept of sultan, which invoked old systems characterized by despotism, for that of king. He also founded the feast of the throne to commemorate Moroccan independence in March 1956, in which the annual beya’a was maintained. The ritual was renewed

228  José Antonio González Alcantud by giving it a new meaning. The feast of the throne, which was held for the first time in Fez, on November 18, 1934, with great splendour, especially in the medina, was intended to have a markedly popular character with collective banquets. The authorities of the French Protectorate collaborated very actively. As first, the nationalists do not seem to have played an outstanding role. During that first edition of the feast, there were no subversive acts and the nationalists kept a very low profile, according to French intelligence. The current purpose of this ceremony has been described by the sociologist M. Tozy in the following terms: The king makes a spectacular entrance in a traditional context that assembles the elected authorities representing all the provinces and those appointed by him on the same stage. The fact that all of them strike the same attitude of submission allows them to access that intimate space and prevents them from exercising power independently. Everything is arranged as if the intention were to prevent his power from been exploited by others and to oppose the elective legitimacy of his councillors, limited to terms of office, a perennial legitimacy, even if it is renewed annually.32 It should be considered that the beya’a was already being criticized by the European ambassadors of the period as part of an outdated ritual in which they did not want to participate: “Maintaining a humiliating and antiquated ceremony for all European embassies to the Cherifian court,” as was claimed at the beginning of the nineteenth century.33 Yet, it continued to fulfil an essential function. In the past, the public ceremony, as a development of the ritual, was performed with all the pomp and circumstance of imperial greatness. When embassies were received in the hermetic city of Fez in the nineteenth century, the entire population was summoned: “Merchants closed their shops and the scribes brought the administration to a halt.” Then came “the unforgettable entrance parade, followed by the traditional so-called three-day pause of purification: an obligatory moral quarantine before the sultan’s audience.”34 This did not involve fasting, as might be understood from its purifying character, but mounas or “gigantic” offerings. A. Marcet describes one of the audiences given by Muley Hassan in Marrakech in 1882. After being fetched by the khalifa of the kaïd of meshwa, he was escorted to the Mamounia by some ten soldiers. The place of the reception was either one of the summer houses in the garden or one of palace’s large halls. This procession was an act of submission, hence its great importance.35 In relation to the ritual structure of Alawite power, one of the issues that European ambassadors and consuls found most shocking were the long waits before being received. “There were successive visits to the embassy residence,” until finally the moment of the “imperial audience”

A comparative study of processions 229 arrived. This occurred when least expected, reaffirming the sultan’s omnipotence with its randomness: “In the open air, in the mechouar, the palace’s immense esplanade surrounded by high crenellated walls, the Cherifian’s infantry was arranged in two lines ending at a distant gate.” The troops were the loyal msakhrin. The members of the embassy were left standing for an indefinite time, until the sultan finally appeared, to whom the ambassadors would then offer their gifts. All this theatricality was supposed to impress the ambassadors—for many of them, the appearance of the sultan gave rise to the sensation of being in the presence of a truly superior being. Merely displaying himself when administering justice in the mechouar, attending the great mosque on Fridays, going to a reception for ambassadors, or reviewing troops was tantamount to a processional act with clear political connotations. All travellers usually described majestic receptions at which it was very important to pay attention to the ritual. Besides receptions for ambassadors, public rituals included the appearance of the sultan under the imperial parasol, a custom borrowed from the Egyptian Fatimid world. Although its meaning is ambiguous, “the parasol would represent a ‘mobile centre,’ a metonymy of the palace, whose surroundings are treeless,” on which the sun beat down mercilessly.36 Images of the sultan under the parasol were disseminated far and wide through exotic illustrations, updating the apparently “medieval” conception of the Moroccan monarchy. It is true that a conservative view of the ritual conjures up unrealistic images of Morocco and its monarchy as “despotic,” “tribalistic,” “authoritarian,” and so forth. It was not, however, despotic, as was sometimes, and still is, imagined in Europe, formerly accustomed to authoritarian monarchies and currently to their constitutional counterparts, but rather clientelist, with multiple ramifications through the guild system of the cities and the tribal system of the countryside.37 As opposed to the majestic rituals, a typically religious procession would be that of the Mûlûd, the Muslim Easter, in Salé, a former Andalusian corsair republic, very reluctant to accept the power of the sultan and the Makhzen.38 As described by Victor Loubignac during the Protectorate in the 1930s and the 1940s, this so-called “candlelight procession,” or dôr as-sma, was highly unique, since “it was rooted in a distant past.”39 In Loubignac’s time, it was the task of a family of Andalusian origins to make the eight candlesticks with a geometrical decoration two months before the procession of the Mûlûd took place. These were then used in the procession, which ended with requests for blessings or baraka at the sanctuary of Sidi ‘Abd-Allah ben Hassûn. About the unofficial character of the procession controlled by the saint’s followers, Loubignac has the following to say: The procession does not, however, have any official character. One can easily console oneself by believing that the fact that the authorities have refrained from implementing arbitrary initiatives or making the

230  José Antonio González Alcantud influence of the court felt, has allowed for maintaining, with the traditional ceremony, its true character. Since its creation, the ceremony has indeed consolidated the primordial role of the descendants of the great patron of Salé Sidi ‘Abd-Allah ben Hassûn, led by the chief of the zawiya.40 Those taking part included the boatmen of Salé, who crossed the mouth of the river Bou Regreg with their barges, connecting this city with Rabat, on the opposite bank. The procession takes place during the vigil of Mûlûd, towards the end of the afternoon, when the sun has begun to set; the boatmen of Salé, dressed in their brilliant uniforms with shimmering colours and abundant embroidery, join the descendants of the saint; this one is indeed their patron saint, so that this feast appears to be theirs, their mawsim; they also take it upon themselves to carry the candles, with no other reward than the satisfaction of doing a pious deed.41 The procession passed through the medina, amid a riotous crowd, before heading towards the outskirts: The procession forms in a small square located in the immediate vicinity of the house of the mahr artisan; it is led by the boatmen in single file, carrying candles, who are soon surrounded and then engulfed by the ecstatic crowd. Their first stop en route is the mausoleum of Sidî Ahmed Hajji, another great saint honouring the city. Arriving there through the el-Kbir souk of the attara, they stop in front of his tomb for about 10 minutes, so as to honour him, after which they depart for the sanctuary of Sidi ‘Abd-Allah ben Hassun, located to the northwest, in the high part of the city. The route passes through the streets of the el-Kbir souk, the harrazin, the Qisariyya, the district known as Talht el-qaa and the hârrârin, before ending at the Marinid madrasa. From there, the participants continue to the great mosque, the zawiya Tîjâniyya, always amid a huge crowd, making it practically impossible to move. The strident and piercing sound of fifes are punctuated by the muted beat of drums and the clearer rhythm of tambourines. Long pennants float in the wind, the symbolic and urbane pretence of order is overwhelmed and the women ululate resoundingly on the terraces; there is widespread jubilation.42 Today, the dôr as-sma attracts the Moroccan authorities and tourists, alike, in addition to the people of Salé. The difference between the two types of processions, on the one hand, the political ones, revolving around the sultan and organized by the Makhzen, with the greatest amount of pageantry possible, recalls the problems of the

A comparative study of processions 231 theatre-state, insinuated by C. Geertz,43 because they represent the durability and omnipresence of power. While the religious or popular ones, on the other, transcending politics as a concept, focus on culture. The intersection between both—power politics and popular culture—do not go so far as to transverse and coincide with each other, as occurred in the European Baroque, in spite of sharing the Sultan’s role as a religious leader. 14.1.2.3  Case study III: Historicist recreations in postmodernity Perhaps the most important celebratory element of Imperial Rome is the Arch of Titus, in whose reliefs the historical culture of the triumphant procession is expressed. I only became aware of its importance in the synagogue of Rome, in whose museum huge importance is attached to the entrance of the Hebrew ritual vestiges brought by the conquering troops from Jerusalem. It warrants bearing in mind that the procession included animal sacrifices in the midst of the parading troops.44 But beyond that, the humiliation of seeing the sacred symbols dragged over the ground is highlighted in the showcases of the Roman synagogue. Everything points to the apotheosis of the triumph of “Romanness.” Beyond purely artistic aspects, to interpret this phenomenon, it is necessary to resort to the concept of “spectral images,” as Didi-Huberman does, or simply to “phantasmatics,” as formulated in Lacanian psychoanalysis. “Now we are somewhat better prepared to understand the paradoxes of a history of images conceived as a history of phantoms, in which survivals, latencies, and returns [revenances], all take part in the most clearly marked developments of periods and styles.”45 The phantasmagorical revival of Rome at other historical moments, such as the Cinquecento, was a sort of reinterpretation that marked the passing of power, when it was considered as a reincarnation of those heroic or glorious times: “But the ruins within and outside Rome awakened not only archaeological zeal and patriotic enthusiasm, but an elegiac or sentimental melancholy.”46 The idea of the eternal Rome is a secular social historical fact that has led to the current gentrification of the city itself, with the appreciation of the value of real estate in the neighbourhoods close to the Colosseum and the imperial forums.47 Architectural monuments, material and commemorative witnesses to an idealized time, are present in the social production of heritage the length and breadth of the Mediterranean.48 Rome is the centre, but the power of its images is ubiquitous in the ancient limes romanorum, like, for example, in the former Baetica province. It is a question begged by the armaos, Roman praetorians of sorts, very virile men of a certain age who, wearing Roman costumes and armour and bearing arms, participated in the Andalusian Holy Week processions. It is the same question that I asked myself years later when seeing a troop of legionaries enter the Plaza de España (Seville), in 2015,

232  José Antonio González Alcantud

Figure 14.3  “Roman” parade in Plaza de España, Seville, I. Source: J. A. González Alcantud.

who faithfully copied the drill of an Imperial Roman cohort—several years later, the press was still commenting on their presence (Figures 14.3 and 14.4).49 There was an evident desire to underscore Andalusia’s deep ancient roots and that Islamic al-Andalus only formed part of its history, even though it was closer in time, more striking and more universal. This

Figure 14.4  “Roman” parade in Plaza de España, Seville, II. Source: J. A. González Alcantud.

A comparative study of processions 233

Figure 14.5  “Roman squadron” in Piazza Navona, Rome. Source: J. A. González Alcantud.

struggle for meaning appears in founding narratives. For instance, there is still a heated controversy over who founded Granada between the proponents of the existence of a Roman Granada and those who attribute its ex-novo foundation to the Berber Zirid dynasty in the tenth century. It is only understood here as a dramatization that contests the historicist narrative in which al-Andalus prevails. In a sense, it is a mise en valeur of the region’s ancient legacy or heritage in opposition to its medieval Arab counterpart. In Rome every year, numerous cohorts of neo-pagans, who embrace the theatricality of ancient Rome as if it were their own, gather in the circus (Figure 14.5). But there, as the centre of a Christianity that required a major narrative and ritual effort to displace paganism as the official religion, the meaning perhaps differs from that in Seville. Neo-pagans actually exist. In Rome, they gather in the Via Romana agli Dei, the historicist setting in which paganism is celebrated. Tono Vizcaíno observes that some function as associations and others somewhat more detrimentally as a “community,” and that, although they perform their rituals at home, the neo-pagan cult occasionally resurfaces, as an act of affirmation, in public spaces. This is the case of the Lupercalia, celebrated amid the ruins of the ancient imperial circus.50

234  José Antonio González Alcantud In a way, beyond the evident theatricality, it would be an act of affirming paganism as an unyielding fact. Even fascism fostered the revival of neo-paganism by rediscovering ancient Rome, by excavating, restoring and using the fora, even building the great Via dei Fori Imperiali.51 Although it is also true that fascism did not result from the cult of Rome itself, since “original fascism loathed the true Rome of its time.”52 It is neo-paganism that has a universal scope, versus official religions, as Marc Augé understood in his day in his Génie du paganisme, that which nourishes it and gives it strength.53 But in the case of Rome, it rises up against Christianity as an official religion.

14.2  An exercise of interpretation As noted at the beginning of this chapter, the comparative method is fundamental in anthropology. It has been resorted to here to identify the similarities and differences between the three case studies examined previously in the chapter, belonging to different regimes of historicity, but with links to and visibility in current performative rituals in which none of them has lost their validity or has become extinct. Consequently, these rituals continue to play a role in shaping culture. They exist in Spain, Morocco and Italy, and their function is renewed regularly (for a summary, see Table 14.1). For Balandier, the ritual dramatization of power leads to its inevitability: “The great game of power. Through ritual dramatization, it shows that there is no alternative to the order established by the law other than mockery, arbitrariness and lurking chaos.”54 There is danger in the movement of the procession that disrupts the quietest public space to converge and compete with it. It is a static ritual, but subject to different dangers, posed by those who aspire to harness it and do not form part of it. Somehow or other, it must achieve adhesion, of the limits, through the theatricality deployed by power. They all have a common denominator in that they reintegrate us into an organization of the cosmopolitical world order. Its processional expression as an itinerancy that, with its movement that is always a return trip, affirms and establishes the essentiality of power in the face of the threat posed by a lack of spatio-temporal order. The triumph of the ephemeral guarantees the future of those who organize and promote it. A dramatized temporality that is always aimed at maintaining power and, at the same time, at converting its actors into subjects in their own right, that is, into autochthonous people, sources of power, and incarnations of it.55 But, in line with Balandier’s reflections, it should also be taken into account that in opposition to “traditional societies [which] have a map of order and disorder … current modern societies only have changing maps, they are groping their way through immediate history.”56 And there are now indications that the ceremony is no longer only a source of order. As

Table 14.1  Comparisons between case study rituals Period

Rite

Age

Arrangement

Staging

Effect

Meaning

Result

Andalusian Baroque

Corpus Christi procession and grotesque parade

16th–18th centuries

Integrative hierarchical order

Orderly and hierarchical procession

Dramaturgy and festivity

Conjunctive

Islamic Morocco

Beya’a (Rabat, etc.) …………….. Dôr as-sma or candlelight procession (Salé) Andalusia …………….. Rome

19th–20th centuries ………… 19th–20th centuries 20th–21st centuries …………. 20th–21st centuries

Subjugation …………… Algarabía (uproar)

Passive masses …………… Guilds, zawiyas

Theatre-state …………… Feast

Aesthetic dramatization of politics and symbolic efficacy Ceremonial of political power …………………. Opposition to power Street parade …………………. Living places of worship

Source: J. A. González Alcantud.

Narrative Civil-military ……………… cohort Neo-paganism …………… Neo-pagan rituals

Sociability …………… Sociability

Plural

A comparative study of processions 235

Historicist Rome

Disjunctive

236  José Antonio González Alcantud Erwing Goffman contended in 1980, before the assembly of the American Sociological Association, a “loose coupling” would now prevail, “between interactional practices and social structures.”57 As can be seen, plasticity is much greater in the third case.

Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

1 5 16 1 7 18 19 20 21 22

2 3 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33

Cazeneuve (1976). González Alcantud (1998). Lisón (1991). Goffman (1994, 268). Turner (1991, 167). Duvignaud (1990, 74–76). Geertz (1981). Detienne (2008, x). Bonet Correa (1990, 5). Maravall (1983, 458). Orozco (1985, 100). Caro Baroja (1986, 53). Bakhtin (1971, 290) and González Alcantud (1993). “Mandamos á todos los vezinos y moradores de dicha Ciudad, por donde ha de passar la Procesión, que entolden las ventanas, y puertas lo mejor que pudieren, y limpien, y varran, sus pertenencias, so la dicha pena (doscientos maravedises) á cada uno que lo contrario hiziere” (Valladar 1886, 3–4). Caro Baroja (1968). The archbishop Talavera, Queen Isabella’s confessor, is usually credited with having introduced this archiepiscopal chair. Valladar (1886, 12). López (2008, 53). Bertos (1988, 66–67). Davis (1986, 73–111). Garrido Atienza (1889, 85). Varey (1953, 53). “Disponiendo la dicha fiesta asi en quanto á los altares adorno, dellos y colgaduras y las danzas, como en los carros de la representación de los autos y todo lo demás en la dicha fiesta acostumbrado y auiendo sido asimismo costumbre que os otros carros de la representación de los autos y las compañías que los representarían, al principio saliesen al paseo que se hacia por la mañana con todas las danzas y aparato que hauia de yr en la procesión y que después en el ynterin que iba pasando esturivesen representando los dichos autos en la misma fiesta en la plaça de Viua rambla por donde la procession pasaua en frente de los Miradores” (Valladar 1886, 5). Garrido Atienza (1889, 95–123). Dakhlia (1988, 736). Dakhlia (1998). Potocki (1991). Doutté (1909, 10). Waterbury (1975). Doutté (1909, 3). Charles-Roux (1948, 73). Laroui (1993, 390–9). Tozy (2008, 81). Mouline (2016, 73). Archives Diplomatiques, La Courneuve, París. 73cpom/1. Correspondance politique et commerciale. 1897–1914, 2.

A comparative study of processions 237 3 4 35 36 37 38 39 40

41

42

43 44 45 46 47 48 49 5 0 51 52 53 54 55 56 57

Charles-Roux (1948, 227–9). Marcet (1886, 161). Dakhlia (1998, 250). González Alcantud (2019). Maziane (2007). Loubignac (1946, 5). “La procession cependant ne revêt aucun caractère officiel. On s’en consolera aisément en pensant que l’abstention des autorités, préservant la manifestation de toute initiative arbitraire, de toute influence courtisane, a permis d’en maintenir, avec le cérémonial traditionnel, le véritable caractère. La cérémonie consacre en effet depuis sa création le rôle primordial dévolu aux descendants du grand patron de Salé Sidi ‘Abd-Allah ben Hassûn, dirigés par leur chef de zaouia” (Loubignac 1946, 9–10). “À la vigile du Mûllûd, vers la fin de l'après-midi, quand le jour commence à décroître, le cortège se forme; les barcassiers de Salé, revêtus de leurs brillants uniformes aux chatoyantes couleurs et aux abondantes broderies, se joignent aux descendants du Saint; celui-ci est en effet leur patron, en sorte que cette fête apparaît comme la leur, comme leur moussem ; aussi se chargent-ils de transporter les cierges sans aucune autre rétribution que la satisfaction d’accomplir une oeuvre pie” (Loubignac 1946, 10). “Le cortège se forme sur une petite place située à proximité immédiate de la maison du mahre artisan; les barcassiers porteurs de cierges, disposés en file indienne, s’avancent les premiers, bientôt encadrés puis submergés par une foule débordante d’enthousiasme; leur premier objectif est le mausolée de Sidî Ahmed Hajji, un autre grand saint dont s’honore la ville; ils s’y rendent par le souq el-Kbir des attara et marquent devant son tombeau, en son honneur, une pause d’environ dix minutes, après quoi ils en repartent pour gagner le sanctuaire de Sidi ‘Abd-Allah ben Hassun situé au nord-ouest, dans la, partie haute de la ville; l’itinéraire emprunte les rues commerçantes: le souq el-Kbir, les harrazin, la Qisariyya, le quartier dit Talht el-qaa, les hârrârin, pour aboutir à la médersa mérinide; de là, les assistants poursuivent par la grande mosquée, la zaouia Tîjâniyya, toujours au milieu de la même affluence, d’une densité qui rend toute circulation pratiquement impossible; les fifres égrènent leurs sons aigres et perçants, que scandent les sourds battements des tambours et ceux plus clairs des tambourins; les longs oriflammes flottent au vent, le service d’ordre d’ailleurs tout symbolique et débonnaire est débordé, les femmes sur les terrasses poussent leurs youyous retentissants, la liesse est générale” (Loubignac 1946, 12). Geertz (1994). Norman (2009, 42). Didi-Huberman (2018, 79). Burckhardt (2010 [1867], 113). Herzfeld (2009). Herzfeld (1991). “Un campamento romano se asienta en el Prado este fin de semana” (Diario de Sevilla, March 16, 2019). Vizcaíno (2021, 109–10). Muñoz (1936). Gentile (2007, vii). Augé (1993). Balandier (1994a, 87). Detienne (2008). Balandier (1994b, 143). Goffman (1983).

238  José Antonio González Alcantud

Bibliography Adams, Richard Newbold. 1975. Energy and Structure. A Theory of Social Power. Austin: The University of Texas Press. Augé, Marc. 1993. El genio del paganismo. Barcelona: Muchnik Editores. Bakhtin, Mikhail. 1971. La cultura popular en la Edad Media y en el Renacimiento. Barcelona: Barral. Balandier, Georges. 1994a. El poder en escenas: de la representación del poder al poder de la representación. Barcelona: Paidós. Balandier, Georges. 1994b. El desorden: La teoría del caos y las ciencias sociales. Elogio de la fecundidad del movimiento. Barcelona: Gedisa. Bertos, Pilar. 1988. Los seises en la catedral de Granada. Granada: Caja Prov. de Ahorros. Bonet Correa, Antonio. 1990. “La fiesta barroca como práctica del poder.” In Fiesta, poder y arquitectura. Aproximaciones al barroco español, edited by Antionio Bonet Correa, 5–31. Madrid: Akal. Burckhardt, Jacob. 2010 [1867]. The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy. Mineola, New York: Dover Publications, Inc. Caro Baroja, Julio. 1968. “Honor y vergüenza. Examen histórico de varios conflictos.” In El concepto de honor en la sociedad mediterránea, edited by John G. Peristiany, 77–126. Barcelona: Lábor.     1986. El estío festivo. Fiestas populares de verano. Madrid: Taurus. Cazeneuve, Jean. 1976. Sociología del rito. Buenos Aires: Amorrortu. Charles-Roux, François. 1948. “Missions diplomatiques françaises à Fès.” Hésperis Tome XXXV (¾): 255–88. Dakhlia, Jocelyne. 1988. “Dans le mouvance du prince: la symbolique du pouvoir itinérant au Maghreb.” Annales ESC 3: 735–60.     1998. Le divan des rois. La politique et le religieux dans l’Islam. Paris: Aubier. Davis, Susan G. 1986. Parades and Power Street Theatre in Nineteenth Century. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Detienne, Marcel. 2003. Comment être authoctone. Du pur Athénien au Français raciné. Paris: Seuil.     2008. Comparing the Incomparable. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Didi-Huberman, Georges. 2018. The Surviving Image. Phantoms of Time and Time of Phantoms: Aby Warburg’s History of Art. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press. Doutté, Edmond. 1909. Le sultanat marocain. Extrait de la Revue Politique et Parlementaire. Paris: Davy. Dumont, Louis. 1970. Homo Hierarchicus. Ensayo sobre el sistema de castas. Madrid: Aguilar. Duvignaud, Jean. 1990. Herejía y subversión. Ensayos sobre la anomia. Barcelona: Icaria. Garrido Atienza, Miguel 1990 [1889]. Antiguallas granadinas. Las fiestas del Corpus. Granada: Editorial Universidad de Granada. Estudio preliminar: J. A. González Alcantud. Geertz, Clifford. 1981. Negara: The Theatre State in 19th Century Bali. Princeton: Princeton University Press.     1994 [1968]. Observando el islam. Barcelona: Paidós. Gentile, Emilio. 2007. Fascismo di pietra. Roma: Laterza. Goffman, Erving. 1983. “The interaction order.” American Sociological Review 48(1): 1–17.

A comparative study of processions 239     1994. La presentación de la persona en la vida cotidiana. Buenos Aires: Amorrortu. González Alcantud, José Antonio. 1993. Agresión y rito y otros ensayos de antropología andaluza. Granada: Diputación de Granada.     1998. Antropología y/o Política. Sobre la formación cultural del poder. Barcelona: Anthropos.     2019. Historia colonial de Marruecos. 1894–1962. Córdoba: Almuzara. Herzfeld, Michael. 1991. A Place in History. Social and Monumental Time in a Cretan Town. Princeton: Princeton University Press.     2009. Evicted from Eternity. The Restructuring of Modern Rome. Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press. Laroui, Abdellah. 1993 [1977]. Les origines sociales et culturelles du nationalisme marocain (1830–1912). Casablanca: Centre Culturel Arabe. Lisón Tolosana, Carmelo. 1991. La imagen del rey. Realeza, monarquía y poder en la Casa de los Austrias. Madrid: Austral. López-Guadalupe Muñoz, Juan Jesús. 2008. “Fiesta y litigio en la Granada barroca. A propósito de un dibujo de la procesión del corpus de 1695.” Cuadernos de Arte 39: 49–64. Loubignac, Victorien. 1946. “La procession des cierges à Salé.” Hespéris. Archives berbères et Bulletin de l’Institut des Hautes-études marocaines XXXIII: 5–30. Maravall, José Antonio. 1983. La cultura del Barroco. Análisis de una estructura histórica. Barcelona: Ariel. Marcet, Adolphe. 1886. Le Maroc. Voyage d’une mission française à la cour du sultan. Paris: Plon. Maziane, Leila. 2007. Salé et ses corsaires (1666–1727). Un port de course marocain au XVIIe siècle. Caen: Presses Universitaires de Caen. Mouline, Nabil. 2016. Le Califat. Histoire politique de l’islam. Paris: Flammarion. Muñoz, Antonio. 1936. La Roma de Mussolini. Milano: Fratelli Treves. Norman, Naomi J. 2009. “Imperial triumph and apotheosis: The arch of Titus in Rome.” In Mediterranean Studies in Honor of R. Ross Holloway, edited by Derek B. Counts and Anthony S. Tuck, 41–53. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Orozco Pardo, José Luis. 1985. Christianópolis. Urbanismo y Contrarreforma en la Granada del Seiscientos. Granada: Diputación. Potocki, Jean. 1991 [1805]. Viaje de Marruecos, seguido por el viaje de Hafez. Barcelona: Laertes. Tozy, Mohamed. 2008. Monarchie et islam politique au Maroc. 3rd ed. Paris: Presses de Sciences Po. Turner, Victor. 1991. The Ritual Process. Structure and Anti-Structure. 7th ed. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Valladar, Francisco de Paula. 1886. Estudio histórico-crítico de las Fiestas del Corpus en Granada. Granada: La Lealtad. Varey, J. E., and Shergold, Norman D. 1953. “La tarasca de Madrid: un aspecto de la procesión del Corpus durante los siglos XVII y XVIII.” Clavileño 4: 18–26. Vizcaíno Estevan, Tono. 2021. SPQR Now. Imaginarios contemporáneos en torno a la antigua Roma. Vitoria: Sans Soleil. Waterbury, John. 1975. Le Commandeur des croyants. La monarchie marocaine et son élite. Paris: PUF.

15 Ancient and modern processions at the limits of Isaac Casaubon’s patience Juan R. Ballesteros

In 1603, Isaac Casaubon, a fervent Calvinist, published a critical edition of the Historia Augusta in Paris. This was the first scholarly work that he produced once a resident in Paris, following decades of exile. At that time, Paris had regained its position as a major centre of Catholicism after years of religious conflict, thanks to the efforts of Henry IV, the new king and advocate of Casaubon’s return to France, and the city was to become one of the hubs of Counter-Reformation baroque at the turn of the century. The reformed Catholicism being constructed in the early seventeenth century included public spectacles such as masses, carnivals, and processions, all events that strained the austere Huguenot sensibility of Casaubon—one of humanism’s greatest classical philologists—to his limits. In this manifestly hostile environment, Casaubon devoted most of his time to practising and perfecting the method of reading ancient texts that lay at the roots of his entire humanistic project. In this chapter, I shall describe Casaubon’s response to the ancient processions he read about in his studies and the modern processions that took place around him in Catholic Paris. In doing so, my goal is to define Casaubon’s stance, whether in the intimacy of his personal diary or in the research that led to his edition of the Historia Augusta.

15.1  Commodus as bearer in the Isiac procession Several passages in the Historia Augusta (HA) provide somewhat vague information about how religious processional rituals functioned in imperial Rome. Despite sustained scholarly endeavours, the HA texts remain ambiguous testimonies as regards ancient processions. Such is the case of one Isiac procession in which the emperor Commodus customarily participated.1 The texts on this procession transmitted by the HA come from the Vita Commodi, the Vita Pescennii Nigri, and the Vita Caracalli. As becomes immediately obvious, these three texts do no more than rework a single, curious, and, as always in the HA, dubious notice. The procession is used as a context in which to present buffoonish aspects of the emperor’s biography, but it remains possible to establish from these texts what knowledge DOI: 10.4324/9781003301646-15

Ancient and modern processions 241 the author of the HA may have had of the Isiac ceremony.2 The passages as presented here are based on the interpretation of them derived from Casaubon’s notes on them in his general commentary on the HA.3 In this commentary, Casaubon adduced other ancient literary, historiographical, and biblical texts as parallels with a sole intention. The message that the HA transmits about the procession—trivial, unimportant, and not at all solemn, as we shall see below—is reworked in Casaubon’s commentary to situate it in a historical framework in which the goal is basically to depict the crisis of paganism. Casaubon’s reading of these texts thus illustrated a religious world in decline, but depending on the antiquarian method employed, it was also aimed at defining the formal nature of paganism, which could be documented thanks to the HA. In sum, Casaubon’s commentaries are extremely interesting because they provide a vulgate formulation of the reception of pagan rituals in classical studies since humanism. Indeed, they evidence a sort of erudite phrasing of an overarching melody that could be summarized, in Casaubon’s own words, as follows: mos hic genticus plane ridiculus fuit et stultus.4 Casaubon’s variations do not alter this melodic theme on the ancient processions: rather, they elucidate and canonize it for posterity from different points of view. The three HA texts explain that the emperor Commodus took a very active part in an Isiac procession.5 The first describes the emperor’s degree of involvement and his behaviour during the procession, and this latter is depicted as representative of his personality. The emperor acts with a mixture of religious fervour (evident in the zeal with which he observes the processional ritual), studied cruelty towards the penitents accompanying him, whom he obliges to physically hurt themselves in accordance with the prescribed penitential rituals, and a taste for the kind of practical joke typical of a spoilt adolescent, pranks that obviously undermine the pomp and gravity expected of a religious ritual. I believe that the true interest of the author of the biography lay in painting this picture rather than providing a detailed description of a procession. Thus, on the day of the procession, Commodus had to say goodbye to his beautiful natural blond curls (Herod. 1.7.5) and shave his head in order to carry Anubis. In addition to demanding that the acts of penance being practised be painfully real, the emperor used this solemn occasion as an opportunity to whack other participants in the procession with the pointed muzzle of the jackal god: He worshipped Isis, to the point of shaving his head and serving as Anubis’ bearer [et Anubim portaret]. With premeditated cruelty, he decreed that those serving Bellona should inflict real cuts on their arms. He obliged the followers of Isis to beat their chests with pine cones until forming open wounds. While carrying the image of Anubis [Cum Anubin portaret], he struck the heads of the Isiac devotees in front of him very hard with the snout of the statue. (HA Com. 9.4–6)6

242  Juan R. Ballesteros The second text is contained in a description of the strange appearance of the emperor Pescennius Niger.7 As he was a friend of Commodus, there was a portrait of him in a mosaic in the curved portico of the emperor’s gardens, which depicted Pescennius taking part in the Isiac procession: He appears among the portraits of Commodus’ best friends depicted on the curved portico of Commodus’ gardens, carrying the sacred objects of Isis. Commodus was so devoted to this cult that he shaved his head, served as a bearer of Anubis [et Anubim portaret] and completed the procession observing all of the stations. (HA Pesc. Nig. 6.8–9)8 The third describes Emperor Caracalla’s devotion to the Isiac cults. In this text, the author expresses his scholarly reservations about the information he possesses concerning the arrival of Isis in Rome, and in a somewhat ironic aside, given the erratic nature of his work, he adds a historiographical reflection on the possibly contradictory testimonies he has about this event: He brought the cult of Isis to Rome, and built magnificent temples everywhere for this goddess. Naturally, he celebrated her cults with even greater respect than had been the case up to then. In this respect, I find it surprising that someone claims he was responsible for bringing the cults of Isis to Rome, because Antoninus Commodus had already participated in them by serving as a bearer for Anubis [et Anubin portaret] and observing the stations. It is possible that Caracalla increased the impact of the cult of Isis, but he was not the first to introduce it. (HA Carac. 9.10–11)9 There are several strange elements in these texts. For example, the personal participation of the emperor Commodus as a devoted bearer of Anubis has been called into question and declared an evident anachronism.10 In contrast, the apparent intrusion of the devotees of Bellona, who are mentioned in the first text in the middle of the Isiac ceremony, is not so extraordinary and has a literary parallel in a text from Juvenal’s sixth Satire, in which devotees of the mad Bellona appear together with those of Mater Magna (Juv. Sat. 6.512–513: ecce furentis/Bellonae matrisque deum chorus intrat).11 The text also contains other elements more typical of the Phrygian cults of Cybele and Attis, such as the use of pine cones in the penitential ritual. According to a text by Lactantius, the depilated priests of Isis beat their breasts to commemorate the goddess’s pain over the loss of her son (Div. Inst. 1.21: Isidis Aegyptia sacra sunt, quatenus filium paruulum uel perdiderit, uel inuenerit. Nam primo sacerdotes eius, deglabrato corpore, pectora sua tundunt; lamentantur, sicut ipsa, cum perdidit, fecerat). However, this text, which is clearly the basis for the formulation

Ancient and modern processions 243 of the ritual used in Com. 9.4, does not mention the use of pine cones as penitential instruments.12 It is more difficult to establish the meaning of the expression that in all three texts serves to indicate the main activity carried out in the procession by the emperor: Anubim portare. Indeed, this has been the crux of the entire episode ever since Casaubon proposed the solution reflected in the translations given here, which consists of explaining the text as a Latin formula for expressing the act of carrying a divine effigy on one’s shoulders, on an urban circuit in a processional ceremony: Anubin autem portare est simulacrum illius humeris impositum per urbem circumferre.13 Casaubon develops his explanation in several ways. In the commentary to Sacra Isidis coluit, ut et caput raderet, et Anubin portaret, he adduces a biblical text from the Book of Isaiah, eximium locum in reference to the god Baal: “They bow down before him and worship him, they bear him on their shoulders and carry him” (Is. 46.6–7), a text which Casaubon illustrates with commentaries by St. Jerome and Procopius of Gaza. Based on the former’s commentary, Casaubon adds that the processional worship of divine effigies described in the lines from Isaiah became particularly important in Egyptian religion (maxime in Aegypto divino cultui consecrata sunt).14 Later, in his note on Cum Anubis portaret capita Isiacorum graviter obtundebat ore simulacri, Casaubon again illustrates the expression and states: At the same time that many were serving as bearers of the statue of Anubis [simulacrum Anubis plures simul baiularent], other bearers [caeteros baiulos] preceded Commodus. In fact, a group of Isiac priests also preceded the effigy [ante simulacrum] and those who carried it [et qui illum gestabant]. Then, for his amusement [per lasciviam], Commodus would lean forwards, causing the snout of the statue he was carrying on his shoulders [quod humeris gestabat] to strike the heads of the bearers in front of him. This action could not but harm those who received the blow, for their heads were uncovered, and the snout of Anubis, which as is known, resembles the face of a dog, is of all images the most suited to cause injury. Moreover, the Isiac devotees also wore dog masks, which made it all the more easy for Commodus to thump the heads of those preceding him. In the fourth book of his Civil Wars, Appian says: The aedile Volusius was declared an outlaw and he asked a friend who was a priest of Isis for his habit. He donned the linen robe, which covered him down to his feet, slipped on the dog’s head [τὴν τοῦ κυνὸς κεφαλὴν ἐπέθετο] and then, in that guise, as if celebrating the cults, he travelled until joining Pompey. When describing the Isiac priest, Tertullian says: Then, besides the sistrum, he also wore the mask of a dog.15 Besides Anubim portare together with a group of bearers and performing his lamentable antics, the emperor observed all the liturgical stations of the

244  Juan R. Ballesteros procession. This is indicated by expressions such as omnis pausas explere and pausas edere (or in its corrupted form, pausa sedere). In his commentary, Casaubon confuses the emperor who took part in the procession—the text of the HA does not state that it was Basianus, i.e. Caracalla, but repeats the notice of how Commodus behaved during the procession of Anubis— explaining the ritual that the emperor performed as follows: The commentary to the Commodus explains the ritual of carrying Anubis. Wise men have considered it necessary to correct pausa sederet [sat at the station] to pausas ederet [performed the stations]. Whichever reading is correct, the expression must be understood in terms of what precedes it [ab antecedenti consequens]. The author means the following: Although he was the emperor, Basianus observed the entire ritual every time he carried Anubis as if he were one of the Isiac devotees. It was customary to stop at certain places [certis locis interiungere] when carrying statues of the gods. In his life of the Athenian sophist Apollonius, Philostratus says: He is buried in a neighbourhood on the road to Eleusis called the Sacred Fig Tree. When the Eleusinian processions head towards the city centre, they stop there [ἀναπαύουσιν]. Apparently, when the Isiac devotees stopped at a station [pausam facerent] while carrying the statue, they sang hymns to the goddess and who knows what other things they did [aut nescio quid aliud egisse]. All this is what Spartianus meant when he wrote that Caracalla used to sit at the station [pausa sedere] or to perform the stations [pausas edere].16 From the general image depicted in Casaubon’s commentaries, it would appear that the Isiac procession in which Commodus took part was a thoroughly baroque procession. This assumption enabled Casaubon to elucidate the HA texts in unusual detail. In addition, he made critical judgements about the ceremony that subtly fed into his analysis of the text. In another commentary, to Bellonae servientes vere exsecare brachium praecepit, it was the particle vere (truly) that drew Casaubon’s attention. Consequently, his interpretation of the text centres on the meaning and implications of this word. If Commodus’ biographer thought it relevant to describe the emperor’s cruel action—forcing penitents to vere exsecare brachium—it must have been because the reverse was the customary practice: But note the term used by Lampridius: vere, from which we know that the greater part of all these wounds of the devotees of Bellona were false and feigned [plerumque ficta et simulata fuisse tantum vulnera].17 Processions in the HA were no more than the empty motions typical of a false religion in which few believed. Only the zeal of a perverse, rigorist, and

Ancient and modern processions 245 somewhat unbalanced emperor ensured that this mediocre and ridiculous spectacle still survived in the second century CE. Modern criticism of the HA has produced an alternative explanation of these passages describing the manner in which Commodus participated in the procession of Isis. In a monograph on the navigium Isidis (the Isiac procession of March 5 described in book 11 of Apuleius’ Golden Ass) published in 1937, Andreas Alföldi gave an explanation that appears repeatedly in textual analyses of the HA: lacking any real knowledge of what he was describing, the HA biographer had misinterpreted his source: “[W] e can prove that the compiler of the HA based his statement on a misunderstood literary account. He had mistaken the expression Anubin (or faciem caninam) portare: he did not know that this only means to wear the mask of A[nubis]”.18 Thus, the author of the biography of Commodus had failed to understand a notice reporting that the emperor had participated in the procession of Isis wearing the mask of Anubis, which is what Anubim portare meant. To document this explanation, Alföldi adduced a text by Appian already cited by Casaubon (BC 4.6.47): the aedile Volusius, declared an outlaw by the Caesarians, fled Rome concealed beneath an Isiac habit. The disguise he wore until reaching safety included a dog’s head in the likeness of the face of the god Anubis that concealed his own (καὶ τὴν τοῦ κυνὸς κεφαλὴν ἐπέθετο).19 To support his explanation, Alföldi had to establish an equivalence between the Anubim portare of the HA and Appian’s τὴν τοῦ κυνὸς κεφαλὴν ἐπιτίθημι, a strategy that in my opinion does not resolve the fundamental religious problem that the HA unintentionally poses. After all, the question that those who read the HA texts from a religious perspective seek to answer is how the procession of divine effigies was celebrated in the Rome of Commodus, in the context of the cult of Isis: was a statue used or were actors disguised as the deity? Appian’s text seems fundamental to resolve the meaning of the parallels in the HA, but its interpretation does not conclusively define the exact meaning of the expression Anubim portare. Was the dog’s head that Volusius wore to make his hasty escape a mask, a helmet, or an extravagant hood? The verb ἐπιτίθημι is too imprecise to resolve this question.20 Of course, this κυνὸς κεφαλή completely covered Volusius’ face, but to what extent does this object allow us to clarify the meaning of the HA texts and the knowledge that its author—obtuse, confused, or simply malicious—had of the Isiac procession he describes? What was the image of it that he wished to convey? And why? The many readings of the biographer who wrote the HA include the most important ancient text that tradition has preserved on the Isiac processions: The Golden Ass by Apuleius.21 One must conclude that he was certainly familiar with this text’s description—in book 11—of Anubis’ appearance in the procession of Isis. Given the eminently literary nature of the HA author’s education, it is possible that his confused depiction of the functions of the effigy of Anubis and of the emperor Commodus in the

246  Juan R. Ballesteros procession may be related to Apuleius’ text describing the appearance of Anubis and other divinities in the Isiac procession: Next appeared the gods who deigned to proceed on human feet [dei dignitati pedibus humanis incedere prodeunt]. First was the dread messenger between the gods above and the Underworld, his dog’s head held high aloft [sublimis attollens canis cervices arduas], his face now black, now gold: Anubis, holding a caduceus in his right hand and brandishing a green palm-leaf in his left. Hard on his heels followed a cow standing upright, the fertile image of the All-Mother, proudly borne on the shoulders of one of her blessed priests. […] Another carried in his fortunate embrace the worshipful image of the supreme divinity.22 (Apul. Met. 11.11.1–3, translated by E. J. Kenney) Apuleius’ text seems to better support the interpretation that divine effigies were carried in the procession. The gods that marched pedibus humanis appear to be processional statues. However, the description of Anubis as tall (sublimis) and with the long neck of a greyhound (attollens canis cervices arduas) is not inconsistent with the idea of a devotee equipped with a hood in the shape of the god. The two possibilities are not mutually exclusive: in the Isiac processions, effigy bearers are compatible with celebrants attired as the gods. Leaving this compromise aside, I shall now explore why Casaubon opted for the first explanation.

15.2  Casaubon at the Corpus Christi in 1601 It was not only divine statues and images of gods that were carried in the Roman processions for which many streets in the imperial cities— and some of the ancient authors’ texts—provided such an excellent stage. Liturgical objects and cultic instruments with complex supernatural capacities and intricate sacred meanings were also paraded: the pine tree of Attis formed the heart of a procession on March 22, the day of the Arbor intrat festival, and in the Isiac processions, candles, palms, wreaths, sistra (the sistrum is a kind of ritual rattle), situlae (the situla was a vessel for sacred water), cistae (the cista seems to be a closed wicker basket), and various vessels were carried through the cities. While he was preparing his work on the HA and commenting—somewhat reluctantly, it seems—on the scandalous processions described in it, a surprised Isaac Casaubon was provided in Paris with the opportunity to witness at first hand the parade of another sacred object.23 In 1601, the feast of Corpus Christi fell on June 21.24 Probably on the evening of that same Thursday, with the memory still fresh in his mind of an experience to which he was certainly not accustomed, Casaubon wrote a description in his diary of the Parisian Corpus Christi procession and

Ancient and modern processions 247 also made some references to a more colourful one which it seems took place at the same time and for the same reason in Rome: We whiled away some of the morning contemplating the riches of Paris. It was indeed the day when the wafer of bread which must be worshipped as if it were God turns the whole city upside down. What an amazing thing… and they say that the celebration here is quieter than in Rome. The Pope is carried on the shoulders of four men and the sacred bread is carried by a white horse with an elegant gait. Oh mercy! For God’s sake, how much longer are they going to carry on doing it?25 An analysis of Casaubon’s reaction to this ceremonious parade with which Parisian Catholics celebrated the mystery of Eucharistic transubstantiation provides some clues as to his understanding of the ancient processions. My intention here is to show that the literary formulation of the contempt he felt for the Corpus Christi processional ritual as recorded in his diary sheds light on the tone of the commentary analysed above concerning the Isiac procession described in the HA. The sentiment with which he described the Corpus Christi of 1601 is not far removed from that with which he must have addressed the HA texts, so that the two events—the Corpus Christi of 1601 and the Isiac procession depicted in the HA—merge to become one and the same ceremony. The opening line of the June 21 entry on the Corpus Christi procession may seem trivial, but it is undoubtedly the most important sentence in the text. It is highly ambiguous concerning the part Casaubon played in the procession of 1601: was he a simple spectator or an active participant?26 Partem matutini temporis eripuit θεωϱία divitiarum Lutetianarum. In my opinion, Casaubon, a member of Henry IV’s court, where he aspired to a stable position as a scholar in the king’s service, states in this sentence that he was obliged to waste the entire morning accompanying the Corpus Christi procession, during which time, forced to walk through the entire city alongside other courtiers, he was able to see the wonders of the city (θεωϱία divitiarum Lutetianarum) and, perhaps, to learn from conversations with other participants about the Roman procession, which he also describes, briefly and maliciously, at the end of his entry.27 Casaubon presents himself neither as the passive spectator of idle urban revelry, nor as a disgusted, indignant fundamentalist, but as an astonished passer-by who, taking part in a procession, witnesses an extraordinary ethnological phenomenon. Accompanying the Corpus in 1601 may have been an unavoidable duty for Casaubon, but the experience assumed the nature of fieldwork similar to that which Aby Warburg undertook centuries later in the papal Rome of Mussolini’s time. Despite the rain, Warburg decided to attend the “rebirth of triumphant paganism” organized by the papal court on the occasion of Pius XI’s jubilee in St. Peter’s Square after the signing of the Lateran Pacts on February 11, 1929.28 By thus combining

248  Juan R. Ballesteros personal experiences with a scientific, humanistic discourse, both authors came to see the imprint of paganism on European cultures and its periodic revival in civic and religious life. From time to time, the pagan gods would awaken in their Mediterranean residences. The terms in which Casaubon presents the Parisian procession and reports the information he had acquired—no doubt through hearsay— concerning the equivalent Roman rituals, add significant nuance to the initial surprise. Instead of constructing a sentence with the verbs procedo or porto, as in the HA, Casaubon used the verb circumfero to describe the Paris procession: ὁ ὁβολιμαῖος ἄρτος pro Deo adorandus tota urbe circumfertur. Casaubon had already used circumfero in his commentary on the HA to describe what the processions were like in Rome (simulacrum per urbem circumferre).29 An antecedent for this use of circumfero occurs in the description given in books 8 and 9 of The Golden Ass (Apul. Met. 8.24–9.10) of the incessant begging by which the scandalous followers accompanying Philebus, the priest of Dea Syria, earnt their living. The wandering donkey Lucius initially served Philebus as a bearer of the goddess (deae gerulus, Apul. Met. 8.28.5), but as he soon came to realize, the effigy had a far more secular, material function: it served as a money chest for the itinerant mendicants’ takings (circumforaneus mendicabulus, 9.4.3). In Lucius’ initial description of his new master, he explains the processional rituals practised by the troupe led by Philebus using the same verb as that used by Casaubon to report the Parisian version of the Corpus Christi: one of your street-corner scum, one of those who carry the Syrian Goddess around our towns [circumferentes] to the sound of cymbals and castanets and make her beg for her living (Apul. Met. 8.24.2, Transl. E. J. Kenney). The activities of the corybantes of Dea Syria for whom Lucius bore the goddess’s effigy are soon shown in Apuleius’ description to be ridiculous, insincere, and even dishonest, and I believe this parallel reveals an intention behind Casaubon’s statement about the Parisian procession in which he—like Lucius in the Dea Syria processions—was forced to take part. Casaubon’s report of the information he had garnered about the Corpus Christi procession in Rome contains even clearer precedents for the intention behind the comment he wrote in his diary: Papa humeris quatuor virorum gestatur, τὸν ἄρτον illum equus albus tolutim doctus incedere. In any non-religious context, a man being carried on the shoulders of others does not usually have very solemn connotations, but in this case, the image of the supreme pontiff borne aloft on the shoulders of four bearers is accompanied by the presentation of the sacred object (τὸν ἄρτον illum), which is carried in the procession on the back of a white horse tolutim doctus. The word tolutim is an equestrian term and is somewhat unusual. It refers to a trot typical of certain Hispanic horses in antiquity, the famous Galician and Asturian Asturcon breed, “which do not gallop at the usual pace, but have a gentler gait because they move their legs alternately, thus

Ancient and modern processions 249 the horses are taught the technique of advancing at a characteristic trot” [tolutim] (Plin. NH 8.166 [=67]).30 However, there was also a humorous use of the word.31 In the comedy Asinaria, the term tolutim is documented in a more elaborate comic context. The situation that Plautus presents is as follows: Argyrippus must give his slave Libanus a piggyback in exchange for the 20 minae he needs to pay the dowry of the beautiful Philenium (Plaut. Asin. 680–710). Libanus decides to humiliate his proud master, so once he is astride Argyrippus, he demands a more ceremonious gait: “But what kind of gait is this? I shall reduce your ration of barley if you don’t move with the Spanish gait” [tolutim ni badizas] (Plaut. Asin. 707). As we saw, Pliny describes the trot of the Asturcon horse as a gentle gait (mollis glomeratio), and the perfidious Libanus demands it from his besotted master to ridicule and mock him. In my view, Casaubon applies this to the horse carrying the Corpus Christi in Rome to deride the ridiculous solemnity of the ritual. Past and present were thus mingled in Isaac Casaubon’s reflections on the processions that so strained his patience, defining an idea of them that I believe has exerted an evident influence on classical studies. New perspectives on ancient processional rituals should perhaps bear in mind the particular way in which baroque processions have shaped our understanding of ancient ones. Isaac Casaubon meets all the conditions to demonstrate this and bestows historiographical depth to current studies on ancient processions.

Notes 1 The texts that I quote from the Historia Augusta (=HA) are taken from the Hohl edition. This generally coincides with the Soverini edition and the Belles Lettres edition, although in the latter case, not all the biographies in the collection have yet been published, so there are only a few volumes. Casaubon’s critical edition of the HA was published in 1603 (=Casaubon 1603). I have consulted Casaubon’s diaries in the Russell edition of 1850 (=Ephemerides). 2 The appearance of Anubis in the procession and the development of the stations recall the Navigium Isidis procession in early March or the inventio Osiridis in late October and early November; see Bricault (2001, 2012). 3 There are seven commentaries: 1) to Sacra Isidis coluit, ut et caput raderet, et Anubin portaret, 2) to Bellonae servientes vere exsecare brachium praecepit, 3) to Isiacos pineis usque ad perniciem pectus tundere cogebat, 4) to Cum Anubis portaret capita Isiacorum graviter obtundebat ore simulacri, 5) to pictum de musivo inter Commodi amicissimos videmus, sacra Isidis ferentem, 6) to In quo mihi mirum videtur quemadmodum sacra Isidis primum, per hunc Romam venisse dicantur and 7) to Ut et Anubin portaret et pausa sederet, see Casaubon (1603, 213–14, 275–6, 296–7). 4 Casaubon (1603, 214). Mos genticus is a Tacitean expression (Ann. 3.43.2) referring to the customs of the Aedui, the former inhabitants of Autun in Burgundy, a region renowned for its Catholicism at the time of Casaubon.

250  Juan R. Ballesteros 5 On Commodus’ religious policy, see Galimberti (2018), who describes the emperor’s religious extravagances in the framework of the construction of a theocratic model for the Roman state. Drawing on numismatic sources, Galimberti explains that in the time of Commodus, the Eastern cults and divinities— Cybele, Serapis, Isis—were “ormai inserite a pieno titolo nella religione ufficiale dell’impero” (356). 6 Hohl edition (=Soverini edition): Sacra Isidis coluit, ut et caput raderet et Anubim portaret. Bellonae servientes vere exsecare brachium praecepit studio crudelitatis. Isiacos vero pineis usque ad perniciem pectus tundere cogebat. Cum Anubin portaret, capita Isiacorum graviter obtundebat ore simulacri. The Casaubon edition gives substantially the same text. 7 On the implications of Pescennius Niger’s physiognomy suggested by the HA, see Ballesteros (2018, 383–5). 8 Hohl edition (=Soverini edition): Hunc in Commodianis hortis in porticu curva pictum de musio inter Commodi amicissimos videmus sacra Isidis ferentem; quibus Commodus adeo deditus fuit, ut et caput raderet et Anubim portaret et omnis pausas expleret. The Casaubon edition offers a variant which, as we shall see below, does not correspond to the annotated text in the commentary: omnes partes expleret. Bricault (2001, 29) translates omnes partes expleret as observer tous les rites. 9 Hohl edition (=Soverini edition): Sacra Isidis Romam deportavit et templa ubique magnifice idem deae fecit ; sacra etiam maiore reverentia celebravit, quam antea celebrabantur. In quo quidem mihi mirum videtur, quemammodum sacra Isidis primum per hunc Romam venisse dicantur, cum Antoninus Commodus ita ea celebraverit, ut et Anubin portaret et pausas ederet; nisi forte iste addidit celebritati, non eam primus invexit. The Casaubon edition gives templa ubique magnifica instead of templa ubique magnifice. 10 According to Alföldi (1937, 45), “[t]his cannot be true. What was done by senators of the late fourth century in defence of polytheism, was not equally well admissible in an emperor of the second.” 11 See the identification of Bellona and Isis in Apul. Met. 11.5.3. The cutting of arms was also practised by the scandalous devotees of Dea Syria, led by Philebus in Apul. Met. 8.27.5 (ancipiti ferro quod gerebant sua quisque brachia dissiant). 12 Penitents taking part in the procession of the Day of the Blood of Mater Magna (=March 24), however, did beat their breasts with pine cones, see Alvar (2001, 212). Professor Alvar has informed me of the questionable reliability of Lactantius’ testimony about the Isiac cults (Isis did not mourn the loss of her son, but that of her husband Osiris). 13 Casaubon (1603, 214). 14 Ibid.: Isaias capite xlvii [46.6–7]: ἐποίησαν χειροποίητα καὶ κύψαντες προσκυνοῦσιν αὐτοῖς. ἄιρουσιν αὐτὸ ἐπὶ τῶν ὤμων, καὶ πορεύονται, quem eximium locum de sacris Aegyptiorum interpretatur Hieronymus. Procopius in eum locum magis generaliter: φασὶν ὡς ἐν ταῖς δαιμονίων πομπαῖς ἐκκοµίζοντες ἱερεῖς τὰ ἀγάλµατα φέροντες ἐπ’ ὤµων, τὰς πλατείας ἀχθοφοροῦντες διήρχοντο. 15 Casaubon (1603, 214): Cum simulacrum Anubis plures simul baiularent, caeteros baiulos praecedebat Commodus, sed ibat ante simulacrum et qui illum gestabant Isiacorum sacerdotum agmen. Commodus igitur per lasciviam sese incurvans facile efficiebat ut simulacri, quod humeris gestabat, os in proximi cuiusque caput incideret. Non poterat hoc fieri sine laesione eorum qui ictum illum excipiebant. Nam et capite nudo erant et os Anubis in rostri canini similitudinem ut notum est, effigiarum inferendo vulneri aptissimum. Interdum et personam caninam assumebant Isiaci, cum quidem tanto fuit facilius Commodo obtunsionibus capita

Ancient and modern processions 251 praecedentium laedere. Appianus libro quarto bellorum civilium [4.6.47]: Οὐολούσιος δὲ ἀγορανομῶν προεγράφη καὶ φίλον ὀργιαστὴν τῆς Ἴσιδος ἔχων ᾔτησε τὴν στολὴν καὶ τὰς ὀθόνας ἐνέδυ τὰς ποδήρεις καὶ τὴν τοῦ κυνὸς κεφαλὴν ἐπέθετο καὶ διῆλθεν ὕτως ὀργιάζων αὐτῷ σχήματι εἰς Πομπήιον. Tertullianus de Isidis orgiasta [Carmen ad Senatorem quendam 2.33]: Nunc quoque cum sistro faciem portare caninam. Tradition has attributed the Carmen ad Senatorem quendam, about a senator who renounced Christianity to practise Eastern cults, to both Tertullian and Cyprian. This text has gained considerable prominence in HA criticism, and has been considered to lie at the heart of the HA’s response to a possible religious conflict between paganism and Christianity, see Alföldi (1937, 45). 16 Casaubon (1603, 297): De ritu portandi Anubis satis ad Commodum. Pro pausa sederet placet viris eruditis scribi pausas ederet. Sive hoc, sive illo modo legas, ab antecedenti consequens intellegi debet. Nam hoc vult auctor: Bassianum etsi imperatorem, omnem tamen egisse quoties Anubin portaret, quasi unum ex Isiacis. Erat moris cum simulacra deorum portarent, certis locis interiungere. Philostratus in Apollonio Atheniensi sophista: ἐτάφη ἐν τῷ προαστείῳ τῆς Ἐλευσῖνι λεωφόρου, ὄνομα τῷ προαστείῳ Ἱερὰ συκῆ, τὰ δὲ Ἐλευσινόθεν ἱερά, ἐπειδὰν ἐς ἄστυ ἄγωσιν, ἐκεῖ ἀναπαύουσιν [Philostr. VS 30]. Videntur Isiaci cum portandi simulacrum pausam facerent, deae himnos cecinisse, aut nescio quid aliud egisse. Hoc totum voluit significare Spartianus cum scriberet Caracallum solitum pausa sedere vel pausas edere. 17 Casaubon (1603, 214): Sed observa vocem Lampridii, vere. Nam ex illa discimus, plerumque ficta et simulata fuisse tantum vulnera Bellonariorum. 18 Alföldi (1937, 45), cf. Takacs (1994, 113). 19 On Marcus Volusius’ flight, see the chapter by L. Bricault and V. Gasparini in Bonnet and Sanzi (2018, 39–50). 20 Among many other meanings, the transitive ἐπιτίθημι can mean “to lift,” “to put on a covering,” “to put on as a finish” and in the middle voice, “to put on oneself.” 21 See HA, Clod. Alb. 12.12. 22 Nec mora cum de dignitati pedibus humanis incedere prodeunt; hic horrendus ille superum commeator et inferum nunc atra, nunc aurea facie sublimis attolens canis cervices arduas Anubis, laeva caduceum gerens, dextera palmam virentem quatiens. Huius uestigium sequebatur bos in erectum levata statum, bos omniparentis deae fecundum simulacrum, quod residens umeris suis proferebat unus e ministerio beato gressu gestuosus. […] Gerebat alius felici suo gremio summi numinis venerandam effigiem […]. 23 I explored this context in Ballesteros (2016), which provides a fundamental bibliography on Casaubon. 24 Pope Urban IV instituted the feast of Corpus Christi in 1264. It was to be held on the Thursday following Trinity Sunday. The feast of Corpus Christi emphasises the vision of the consecrated host as the mystical body of Christ and the mystery of transubstantiation associated with Eucharistic communion. Among the most important rituals of the feast of Corpus Christi is the procession and adoration of the consecrated host, which is normally carried in a reliquary, see Muir (1997, 71–74). 25 Ephemerides, 355–6: Partem matutini temporis eripuit θεωϱία divitiarum Lutetianarum. Erat enim dies quo ὁ ὁβολιμαῖος ἄρτος pro Deo adorandus tota urbe circumfertur. O rem stupendam! Suave autem, quod Romae fieri dicitur. Papa humeris quatuor virorum gestatur, τὸν ἄρτον illum equus albus tolutim doctus incedere. En pietatem! Sed, O Deus, quam diu ista fient? 26 The texts of Casaubon’s diary take God as their sole interlocutor and were a means of rendering his life in partibus infidelium tolerable. His ten years of coexistence with Catholicism were not without their contradictions, see Ballesteros (2016).

252  Juan R. Ballesteros 27 Thanks to Casaubon’s diary, we know that at the end of August of the same year he accompanied the king to see the works at the Tuileries Palace, undoubtedly one of the divitiarum Lutetianarum Casaubon was referring to in his entry on the Corpus Christi procession, see Ballesteros (2016, 99 n.31). 28 While on his last visit to Italy, Aby Warburg, who studied the survival of paganism in art history (Die Erneuerung der heidnischen Antike, a posthumous collection [1932] of his principal work, was translated into Italian in 1966, into English in 1999 and into Spanish in 2005), visited the Catacombs of Domitilla, the remains of the temple of Mater Magna on the Palatine Hill and the Mithraeum of Ostia. His busy social and academic life in 1928 and 1929 included meetings with Franz Cumont and Friedrich Behn. It was his assistant Gertrud Bing who defined the papal ceremony as a “rebirth of triumphant paganism” in the Roman diary that they co-wrote, see Warburg and Bing (2016, 71). 29 See n.14. 30 [Q]uibus non vulgaris in cursu gradus, sed mollis alterno crurum explicatu glomeratio, unde equis tolutim carpere incursum traditur arte. Susana González Marín translates “de ahí se transmite la técnica del paso portante de los caballos” [this is where the horses’ “ambling gait” comes from]. 31 Welborn (2005, 74). Nonius Marcellus illustrates the term tolutim with passages from Agathon, one of the Varro’s Menippean Satires only known from the fragments collected by Nonius himself (see edition by Cèbe, 38) and from Lucilius’ eighth Satire.

Graeco-Roman sources Apuleius. 1998. The Golden Ass or Metamorphoses, English translation by E. J. Kenney. London: Penguin. Apuleyo. 2003. Las Metamorfosis o El asno de oro, 2 vols., Spanish translation by J. Martos. Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas. Casaubon, Isaac (ed.). 1603. Historiae Augustae Scriptores Sex. Paris: Ambrosius et Hieronymus Drouart. Hohl, Ernestus (ed.). 1965. Scriptores Historiae Augustae, 2 vols. Leipzig: Teubner. Plinio. 2002. Historia Natural, libros 8–11, 28–32, Spanish translation and notes by J. Cantó, I. Gómez Santamaría, S. González Marín, and E. Tarriño. Madrid: Cátedra. Soverini, Paolo. 1983. Scrittori della Storia Augusta, 2 vols. Torino: UTET. Varro. 1972–1994. Satires ménippées, 10 vols. French translation and commentary by J.-Pierre Cèbe,. Rome: École française de Rome.

Humanistic sources Casaubon, Isaac. 1603. In Aelium Spartianum, Iulium Capitolinum, Aelium Lampridium, Vulcatium Gallicanum, Trebellium Pollionem, et Flavium Vopiscum emendationes ac notae. Paris: Ambrosium Drouart.     1850. Ephemerides, 2 vols., edited by J. Russell. Oxford: Typographeus Academicus.

Ancient and modern processions 253 Bibliography Alföldi, Andreas. 1937. A Festival of Isis in Rome Under the Christian Emperors of the IVth Century. Budapest: Institute of Numismatics and Archaeology of the Pázmány-University. Alvar, Jaime. 2001. Los misterios. Religiones “orientales” en el Imperio Romano. Barcelona: Crítica.     2008. Romanising Oriental Gods. Myth, Salvation and Ethics in the Cults of Cybele, Isis and Mithras. Leiden-Boston: Brill. Ballesteros, Juan R. 2016. “Casaubon en París: la anotación de la Historia Augusta (1603) en la polémica religiosa de tiempos de Enrique IV de Francia.” Quaderni di storia 84: 83–126.     2018. “Una cigüeña en una higuera, un potro en un tejado, el espejo de Didio Juliano y la máscara de Heligábalo. Bienvenidos al mundo religioso de los siglos II y III d. C. … según la Historia Augusta.” Arys 16: 367–92. Bonnet, Corinne, and Ennio Sanzi (eds). 2018. Roma, la città degli dèi. la capitale dell’Impero come laboratorio religioso. Rome: Carocci editore. Bricault, Laurent. 2001. “Les Anubophores.” Bulletin de la Société égyptologique de Genève 24: 29–42.     2012. “Associations isiaques d’Occident.” In Demeter, Isis, Vesta and Cybele. Studies in Greek and Roman Religion in Honour of Giulia Sfameni Gasparro, edited by Attilio Mastrocinque and Concetta Giuffrè Scibona, 91–104. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Galimberti, Alessandro. 2018. “La politica religiosa di Commodo.” Arys 16: 347–65. Muir, Edward. 1997. Ritual in Early Modern Europe. Cambridge-New York: Cambridge University Press. Östenberg, Ida, Simon Malmberg, and Jonas Bjørnebye, eds. 2016. The Moving City. Processions, Passages and Promenades in Ancient Rome. London, Oxford, New York, New Delhi, Sydney: Bloomsbury. Takács, Sarolta A. 1994. Isis and Sarapis in the Roman World. Leiden- Boston: Brill. Van Haeperen, Françoise. 2019. Étrangère et ancestrale. La mère des dieux dans le monde romain. Paris: Editions du Cerf. Warburg, Aby, and Gertrud Bing. 2016. Diario romano. Madrid: Siruela. Welborn, Larry L. 2005. Paul, the Fool of Christ. A Study of 1 Corinthians 1–4 in the Comic-Philosophic Tradition. London-New York: Bloomsbury.

Index

acclamation(s) 4, 19 adventus 134, 191–4, 196, 198 agones 38, 86n42, 112, 114 agonothetes 131–2 Alexander 19, 111–5, 183 Alkesippeia 133 altar 34, 60–1, 81–2, 84, 93, 101, 103–4, 111, 131, 156, 158–9, 161, 185, 196–8, 213, 221, 225 amphitheatre 6, 129, 193 Andania 38, 45n52 Anthesteria 19, 27n10 Antiochus IV 43, 112, 114 Anubis 241–6 apotheosis 56, 71, 81–3, 86n49, 90, 103, 232 Arbor intrat 156, 158, 163, 246 Arrephoria 35 Artemis Laphria 35 Athena 14–18, 19–26, 33–6 Athens 9, 14–6, 18–20, 23, 25, 32, 34–5, 37, 141, 143 Attis 155, 158–9, 161, 163, 199, 242, 246 audience 7, 17, 20–1, 25, 71, 73, 76–7, 118, 162, 171, 218, 230 bearer 36, 77, 98, 116, 131–2, 196, 212–3, 240–3, 246, 248 Bellona 241–2, 244 beya’a 228–9, 235 Brauronia 34 bridal procession 56–7, 59–60, 62–3 Brumalia 193 burial 74, 76, 78, 147, 195, 212 bust(s) 116, 183 Caius Vibius Salutaris 127, 130, 132 Campus martius 51, 56, 80–3, 91, 94, 103 candles 96, 101, 198–9, 212–3, 231, 246

canopy 112, 209 Capitolium 183, 191 carmina triumphalia 176, 184–5 Carnival 7, 10, 25, 161, 178–9, 219, 240 carpentum 53, 58–9, 157, 161, 163 chariot 15–20, 24–6, 36, 52, 58, 104, 114, 147, 157, 162, 171, 174, 176, 180, 183, 192–3, 195–6 circus 6, 53, 94, 115, 129, 154, 157, 161, 191–4, 233 City Dionysia 34–5 civilitas 10, 181 clementia 10, 181 communitas 102, 208, 211, 213–4 confraternity 209–13 Corpus Christi 7, 10, 218–26, 235, 246–9 crowd 4, 5, 52, 54, 78–80, 99, 101–2, 133–4, 221, 231–2 Cybele 154, 158, 193, 198–9, 242 dance 37, 41, 76, 157, 160–2, 184, 192, 221, 225 demos 16, 18, 26, 142, 144, 147 Demostheneia 131 dendrophori 158, 161, 163 Dies natalis 126–7, 156–7 Dionysus 19–20, 32–3, 112–3 Diisoteria 34 drums 232 Easter 141–2, 144, 147, 231 effigy(ies) 1, 4, 80, 155, 157, 209, 211–3, 243, 245–6, 248 eikónes 116, 130 Eleusinia 19, 34 ephebes 127, 130–3, 143 Epidauria 34 emotion(s) 2–4, 7, 9, 14, 26, 73, 80, 84, 101, 117, 135

Index 255 epiphany 14, 17–25, 38 experience 1–3, 5, 10, 42, 71–2, 80, 84, 101, 163, 206, 211, 246, 248 feast, festival, festive 3–4, 7, 10, 14, 17–23, 26, 32, 34–5, 37–9, 41–2, 44, 111–2, 114–8, 127, 131–3, 142, 144–5, 154–163, 171, 177–8, 183, 185–7, 192–3, 199, 204–8, 218–21, 224–6, 229, 231, 235, 246 feeling(s) 4, 7, 73, 80, 188 ferculum 156, 161 Floralia 178 funeral pyre 78, 103 funus 51, 55 galli 155, 158, 160–2 games 6, 38, 43, 53, 57–8, 60, 100, 111, 116, 125, 128–32, 134, 146, 154–5, 157, 160, 162, 177, 179, 181, 184, 192, 205, 213–4, 219 Gythion 116–8, 130–1, 133 Heraia 34–5 Hilaria 156, 159 Holy Week 4, 7, 10, 142, 147, 199, 205–15, 233 Hyakinthia 35 hymn(s) 6, 19, 56, 177, 179, 191, 196, 198, 244 icon 144–5, 199, 214 identity 9, 17, 21, 40, 79, 90, 101, 130, 149, 155, 157, 159–63, 205–6, 208, 211–3, 220 image 1–4, 6–7, 9, 14, 25, 52, 55–6, 72–3, 76, 81–3, 112, 114, 116–8, 125–135, 142–5, 157, 160, 162–3, 192–3, 199–200, 208, 229–30, 232–3, 241, 243–6, 248 imperial cult 111, 115–8, 125, 127–131, 133–4 incense 33, 76, 101 Isiac processions 10, 240–7 Isis 33, 163, 241–3 joke 76, 178–9, 187, 241 kanephoros (oi) 33–5, 38, 40 komastai 131 laudatio funebris 77, 80 laughter 7, 224 lavation 155–6, 159, 161

lecti 91, 91n9, 157 Leukophreneia 38 lictores 77 litter 43–4, 132, 157, 162 ludi 156–7, 162, 178 marriage 9, 15–6, 24, 32–3, 53, 56–61, 143 martyr 191–2, 195–9 mask 17, 74, 76, 212–3, 220, 224, 243, 245 Megalesia 100, 155–8, 162 mehalla 10, 226 Messene 116, 127, 130–1 Metroac processions 155, 159–163 mourners 75–6 music 3, 76, 111, 134, 160–2, 209 navigium Isidis 245 Nikephória 114 opprobrium 180–1 ovation 54, 174, 176, 185 Panathenaea 19–20, 23 panégyris 112, 114–5 parade 2, 5, 7, 9, 32–3, 35, 37, 42–4, 50–2, 54–5, 61–2, 112–4, 116–8 parthenoi 33, 37–8, 41–2 Parthenon frieze 36, 39 penitent 212–3, 241, 243, 243n12, 244 performance 1–3, 6–8, 14, 17–8, 25–6, 36, 53, 62, 78, 112, 115, 172, 196, 205 phialephoros 33, 36, 44, Plynteria 20, 23, 29, 35, 37 Plaustrum 157, 161 pompa circensis 35, 53, 136, 154, 156–7, 165, 192, funebris 9, 71–80, 86, 154, 192, 194, 196, 199 theatralis 157–8, 165 triumphalis 154, 192, 194, 197 Pro(s)charisteria 14, 21–23 proeleusis 191 prokensos 191 propaganda 2, 7, 20, 52, 58, 112, 117, 146–8, 172, 201 Ptolemaîa 112 relics 59, 149, 193, 195–6, 198 Rosalia 193 sacra peregrina 154 sacrifice 1, 19–23, 25, 32, 35, 46, 54, 89, 93, 99, 101, 111–4, 127–8, 130, 133, 155, 160, 177, 197, 207, 232

256  Index sagum 173 satire 180, 182 satirical 10, 175–6, 180–182, 184–186 Saturnalia 178, 193 sebastophoroi 116, 131–2, 137 sellisternium 157, 165 senatus consultum 52, 80, 172 shipcart 19 Skira 23, 35 song(s) 8, 10, 183–4, 186–8, 191–2, 196–7 laudatory 10, 175–6 satirical 10, 181, 185, spectators 1–8, 10, 11, 21, 24, 37, 42, 52, 59, 62, 83, 100, 112, 117, 126, 132, 134, 162, 176, 193–4, 198, 210, 247 statue 18–9, 37, 42–3, 45, 53, 60–1, 63, 78, 111–2, 116, 127–34, 155, 157, 161–2, 176, 183, 191–2, 196, 200, 241, 243–6 sultan 10, 226–7, 229–232 sympompeuontes 133

tambourines 155, 157, 162, 232 Tarasque 221, 224 theatre 6, 51, 111, 116–7, 129–31, 157, 162, 182, 193, 207–8, 212, 225 theos pompos 15, 23–4, 26 Thesmophoria 32 torchbearer 77 torches 5, 6, 76, 85, 96, 101, 155, 161, 166, 192 traslatio 192–3, 196, 198 triumph 8, 10, 19, 50, 52, 77, 95, 103, 112, 114–5, 119, 146, 171–88, 194, 198, 221, 232 triumphator 10, 19, 74, 107, 172–3 tyrannos 14, 15, 17, 22, 26, 28 urbanitas 10, 181 ustrinum 51, 78, 81, 86 via triumphalis 210 Virgin Mary 151, 206, 207, 212, 214