The Lure of the Antique: Essays on Malta and Mediterranean Archaeology in Honour of Anthony Bonanno (Ancient Near Eastern Studies Supplement) 9789042936171, 9789042938243, 9042936177

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ANCIENT NEAR EASTERN STUDIES Supplement 54

THE LURE OF THE ANTIQUE Essays on Malta and Mediterranean Archaeology in Honour of Anthony Bonanno Edited by

Nicholas C. Vella, Anthony J. Frendo and Horatio C.R. Vella

PEETERS 2018

ANCIENT NEAR EASTERN STUDIES SUPPLEMENT 54

Anthony BONANNO

ANCIENT NEAR EASTERN STUDIES SUPPLEMENT 54

THE LURE OF THE ANTIQUE Essays on Malta and Mediterranean Archaeology in Honour of Anthony Bonanno Edited by

Nicholas C. VELLA, Anthony J. FRENDO and Horatio C.R. VELLA

PEETERS LEUVEN – PARIS – BRISTOL, CT. 2018

Series Editors: Antonio Sagona and Claudia Sagona A catalogue record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

ISBN 978-90-429-3617-1 eISBN 978-90-429-3824-3 D/2018/0602/120 Copyright rests with individual authors All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or translated in any form, by print, photoprint, microfilm, microfiche or any other means without written permission from the publisher PRINTED IN BELGIUM

Peeters N.V., Warotstraat 50, B-3020 Herent

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION ‘Investigator Antiquitatis’: Honouring the Academic Legacy of Anthony Bonanno . . Nicholas C. VELLA, Anthony J. FRENDO and Horatio C. R. VELLA

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Anthony Bonanno – List of publications, 1971‒2017 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Maxine ANASTASI

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RECEPTION OF THE ANTIQUE Abela’s cabinet of antiquities revisited: Collecting, knowledge and patronage in seventeenth-century Malta . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Reuben GRIMA

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The Gozo oscillum, Carlo Castone della Torre di Rezzonico and the Villino Agata, Malta . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mario BUHAGIAR

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Cicero, Wikarjak, and Coleiro . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Carmel SERRACINO

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SOILS, SNAILS AND STORYTELLING Historic-period terrestrial environments and soil erosion in the Maltese Islands: Evidence from mollusc assemblages from cave-fills at Għajn il-Kbira near Victoria, Gozo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Chris O. HUNT and Patrick J. SCHEMBRI

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Unlocking the past through the present: Exploring the use of present-day land snail assemblages as indicators of past environments in the Maltese Islands . . . . . . . Patrick J. SCHEMBRI, Katrin FENECH and Kimberly TERRIBILE

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Impacts of climate change on archaeological heritage, with a case study from Malta . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . JoAnn CASSAR

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CONTENTS

Storytelling and archaeological interpretation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Katya STROUD

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Pachino, Sicily: One of the earliest examples of Maltese migration in the modern age David MALLIA

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PREHISTORY Reflections on sacred head hair in the prehistory of Malta . . . . . . . . . . . . . Simon STODDART and Caroline MALONE Shaping spaces for the dead: An analysis of tool marks at the Ħal Saflieni Hypogeum, Malta . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . David CARDONA and MariaElena ZAMMIT Beyond the structure: Revisiting the Tarxien temples excavations . . . . . . . . . Joanne ATTARD MALLIA

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143

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The Maltese figurative artefacts from the Late Neolithic Maltese temple complexes: Some considerations according to provevance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sharon SULTANA

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Taking Maltese prehistory out of the box: Towards a definition of the Borġ in-Nadur archaeological facies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Davide TANASI

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The beat of a different drum – sound devices in Bronze Age Malta . . . . . . . . Claudia SAGONA

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Textile production in Copper Age Sicily: Preliminary considerations . . . . . . . Pietro MILITELLO

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THE CLASSICAL WORLD Multicultural synthesis, ethnic identity, and the case of Phoenician-Punic Malta . Anthony J. FRENDO

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The gods’ manipulation of women’s action in Homer’s epics and Vergil’s Aeneid . Horatio C. R. VELLA

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La distribuzione di anfore da trasporto maltesi fuori dall’arcipelago: nuovi dati Babette BECHTOLD

257

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CONTENTS

Olive oil production technology in Roman Malta . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Maxine ANASTASI and Nicholas C. VELLA The Roman sacellum of the so-called Temple of Heracles in Agrigento, Sicily: A forgotten history . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Francesca BUSCEMI

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Indagini archeologiche nelle terme romane di Termini Imerese, Sicilia . . . . . . Oscar BELVEDERE and Vincenza FORGIA

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From theatre to amphitheatre: The evidence of Taormina and Cyrene . . . . . . . Frank SEAR

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Verism, caricature and the grotesque: A Roman miniature terracotta portrait bust? Caroline WILLIAMS and Hector WILLIAMS

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‘Rome’ at Qumran? – What if? Some remarks on the so-called Roma jar from Qumran Cave 7Q . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dennis MIZZI

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EPILOGUE Reminiscences, the 60s and post 80s . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ann GINGELL-LITTLEJOHN

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On tour with our honorand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Paul XUEREB

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The traveller . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . George CAMILLERI

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Close encounters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Joseph GALEA DEBONO

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Three boy scouts and more . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Carol JACCARINI

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INTRODUCTION

‘INVESTIGATOR ANTIQUITATIS’: HONOURING THE ACADEMIC LEGACY OF ANTHONY BONANNO Nicholas C. VELLA, Anthony J. FRENDO and Horatio C. R. VELLA

This volume celebrates Anthony Bonanno, the person who has dedicated his life to archaeology and to the institution where he has worked, and continues to do so in his seventy-first year. To write a short appreciation of Anthony Bonanno is both a great honour and a daunting prospect, for it is hard to write about the archaeology in and of Malta over the last fifty years without reference to his work, his teaching, and his efforts to develop archaeology academically at the University of Malta. Tony – as he is known to his friends, colleagues and acquaintances – grew up in Żejtun, Malta. He joined the Bachelor of Arts course at the Royal University of Malta in 1963, at the age of 16, having completed his secondary schooling at De La Salle College. He came to the Classics indirectly, having to study Latin in order to enroll on the Bachelor’s programme, with French and Italian as main subjects. He registered as a provisional student and studied Latin privately first, followed by ancient Greek subsequently. In this he was helped by a priest from his home town, Revd Salvino Galea, and Revd Dr Joseph Busuttil, a classical specialist of quite some standing. In 1968 Tony obtained his degree with Honours. It was Mgr Edward Coleiro, the Professor of Latin and the Head of the Department of Classics at the University of Malta, and foremost expert on Vergil, who believed that archaeology should be an integral part of the Bachelor’s programme (Fig. 1a). Seeing the blow that Latin had received as a result of Vatican Council’s decision to replace it with vernacular languages for liturgical purposes, Coleiro advised Tony to seek further studies in archaeology at the University of Palermo. With this institution an agreement had been entered, on Coleiro’s initiative, to conduct archaeological excavations in Malta, in particular through the work of Dr Rita Virzì. Bonanno obtained a state scholarship which enabled him to read for a Laurea in Lettere specialising in Classical Archaeology (Indirizzo Classico). Level headed, as fellow student and friend Nunzio Allegro would recall to us in conversation years later, Tony kept his distance from the student revolutions and university sit-ins that took Italy by storm in order to complete his degree on time. He took part in the annual excavation campaigns of the University’s Istituto di Archeologia e Storia dell’Arte Antica at the site of the ancient Greek city of Himera, on the north coast of Sicily, under the direction of the dynamic Prof. Nicola Bonacasa. With Tony were a group of students with whom he travelled to attend conferences in Tunisia and Algeria. Many went on to have distinguished academic careers, not least one contributor to this volume (Belvedere) (Fig. 1b, 2a). These were formative years during which Tony acquired the traditional grounding in Classics, which was to prove so important in his later research and career generally. They

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b. Fig. 1. a – A group of students from the Bachelor’s programme visiting the Roman bathing complex at Għajn Tuffieħa with Mgr Coleiro (centre) and Revd Dr Busuttil (to Coleiro’s right) in April 1965. Tony Bonanno is crouching behind Coleiro (photograph reproduced by courtesy of Geraldine Sciberras); b – Tony Bonanno (centre) with a group of fellow students from Palermo in Algeria, 1969, including Nunzio Allegro (to his right) and Oscar Belvedere (photograph reproduced by courtesy of Nunzio Allegro).

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were also happy years when lasting friendships were forged – aided, it would seem, not only by Tony’s generous and humane character, but also by his purchasing an old Fiat 500 which allowed a degree of mobility to those fellow students who would fit inside it. Under Bonacasa’s supervision, Bonanno went on to write and defend a thesis on Greek and Roman sculpture in Malta’s main museum and collections. After his stint in Palermo, Tony returned to Malta where he passed public examinations for the post of Assistant Curator at the Museums Department. He renounced the position to take up the post of Assistant Lecturer in Coleiro’s department where he started teaching Classical art and archaeology within the newly founded courses on the History of Mediterranean Civilization and Classical Culture and Civilization. A requirement of the post Tony held at the university was that post-graduate studies had to be pursued for promotion. The traditional route followed by the majority of Maltese was to do so in Italy (obtaining a ‘specializzazione’, or in the UK, reading for a PhD). Going against the suggestion of Coleiro, who favoured Italy as a clear sign that dependence on Britain needed to be curtailed, Tony opted for a PhD after having received support from the Anglophile rector, Prof. Edwin Borg Costanzi. After all, in opting for England, he was following in the footsteps of the four resident Classicists in the department who had all obtained their doctorate from the University of London. A few days after he married Mary Rose Galea in December 1971, Tony enrolled at the foremost tertiary institution for archaeological education – the Institute of Archaeology in London. There, he met two of our contributors to this volume (Frank Sear and Caroline Williams). In London, Tony worked under the supervision of Donald Strong until the latter’s sudden death in 1973 meant that he was then supervised by Richard Reece, a budding scholar of Romano-British coins who had been to Malta to work on the numismatic collection at the National Museum of Archaeology in 1969 and 1970. This was to be the beginning of a fruitful collaboration between the two and of a relationship that helped several of Tony’s students who embarked on graduate studies in the United Kingdom and who found in Richard a source of genuine interest in their studies and generous support during their stay. Bonanno went on to obtain his doctorate in the Archaeology of the Roman Provinces in 1975, having defended his thesis on portraits and other heads on Roman historical reliefs up to the Severan age, published the following year as the sixth monograph in the British Archaeological Reports series. During his studies in London, Tony travelled to Libya more than once to take part in the full-scale excavations that the UK-based Society of Libyan Studies was carrying out jointly with the Libyan Department of Antiquities at a newly discovered site in Benghazi. This was Berenike, a Hellenistic/Roman city named after the wife of Ptolemy III. There Tony was responsible for the cataloguing of finds, especially the sculpture and terracottas which he published in the final report. This hands-on work is something that Tony was to enjoy doing whenever the opportunity came his way several years later. He still does, in fact, and has encouraged many students to do likewise. Not happy to embrace the theoretical debates that took British archaeology by storm in the late seventies and eighties simply for the sake of keeping up with the times, Tony was, and remains, a quintessentially rational and empirical thinker.

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Back at the University of Malta, Bonanno was promoted to Lecturer the year he completed his doctorate, and he was able to teach archaeology, mostly to students enrolled on evening degree programmes, besides teaching Greek and Latin texts, in the original and in translation. The political situation in Malta in the increasingly challenging years of the late 1970s and early 1980s hindered any attempts to promote the discipline of archaeology at the university. Matters came to a head in 1979 when the humanities and the sciences came under fire by the government led by the controversial Dom Mintoff, and both faculties were suppressed altogether. Some members of the academic staff, colleagues of Bonanno, decided to leave the island altogether. Others, like Tony, by now father of two young daughters, decided to stay on (Fig. 2c). Tony’s appointment was transferred to the Faculty of Education where he taught archaeology, ancient history and art. In addition, between 1982 and 1984, at the behest of the Minister of Education who thought that some academics had a poor teaching load, he was required to spend three days a week at the National Library of Malta. This time, spent with his colleagues, the historian Godfrey Wettinger and the classicist Revd Nicholas Debono Montebello, was particularly fruitful and resulted not only in his obtaining a good knowledge of the antiquarian literature about the Maltese islands, but also leading to the discovery of some seventeenth-century documents of note. One of these, the will of the Vice-Chancellor of the Order of St John, Giovanni Francesco Abela, has inspired one of the contributions to this volume (Grima). Despite the challenging times, for which Tony took a formal stand by running for the 1981 general elections on the ticket of the party in opposition in the notoriously Labour stronghold of the third district, his activities in Malta continued unabated. In 1977, he joined forces with Anthony Luttrell who had just completed his term as lecturer in the Department of History at the University of Malta, and Tom Blagg, one of Britain’s foremost experts on Roman architectural sculpture, to carry out important stratigraphic excavations around and inside the late medieval church of the Annunciation at Ħal Millieri on the outskirts of Żurrieq in south-central Malta (Fig. 2b). Their efforts were subsequently published by the University of Malta and the archaeological report remains, to this day, the only one on a Maltese medieval site to have been published. Tony was also involved in a field-walking survey, the first of its kind in Malta, around Ħas-Saptan in an effort to locate an abandoned medieval village, and in 1986 he carried out small-scale excavations inside another chapel, San Ċir in the Rabat countryside. He was also advisor to a team of American archaeologists from the University of California, Los Angeles, who undertook excavations in the open area opposite the museum of Roman antiquities in Rabat between 1983 and 1984. Tony’s career was to take an exciting turn in the mid-1980s when he started to be intrigued by Malta’s prehistoric antiquities. During those two years of attachment to the National Library, the daily encounters with Wettinger who had by now become Malta’s leading social and economic historian of the Middle Ages, and the fruitful and stimulating discussions between them, led Tony to extend his research into Malta’s prehistory with a paper, published in 1986, advocating a socio-economic approach to the period associated with the megalithic temples. Meanwhile, the opportunity arose in 1985 to host a first international conference on the archaeology of the Mediterranean dedicated to ‘Archaeology and

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b.

c. Fig. 2. a – Tony Bonanno photographed near the so-called ‘Temple of Diana’ at Cefalù, 1970 (photograph reproduced by courtesy of Nunzio Allegro); b – Tony Bonanno (second from left) with Tom Blagg (third from left) and Anthony Luttrell (framed by door) at Ħal Millieri, 1977, during a visit to the excavation by the Hon. Minister of Culture, Agatha Barbara, accompanied by Dr Tancred Gouder (Curator of the National Museum of Archaeology; right) and Francis Mallia (Director of the Museums Department; photograph from the Tom Blagg Collection, Archives and Special Collections, University of Malta Library reproduced with permission); c – Tony Bonanno (standing) with colleagues in an office in the Msida campus of the University of Malta, June 1981: from left to right, Peter Vassallo (English), the late Godfrey Wettinger (History) and the late Rev. Alphonse Sammut (Italian) – photograph taken by Oliver Friggieri (Maltese) (from the personal collection of Anthony Bonanno).

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Fertility Cult’ at the University of Malta to which one of the editors, Horatio Vella, attended from Zimbabwe and to which proceedings he contributed a paper. It was during this academic gathering, which Tony convened, that initial discussions were held between the University, the Museums Department led by Tancred Gouder, and Colin Renfrew from the University of Cambridge. The idea was to put together a collaborative research project with which to answer many of the unsettled questions relating to the Temple period, using the latest scientific techniques and modern methods of excavation. Above all, interpretation was to be context-driven which, for a Classicist like Tony, trained to study textual sources rigorously in order to explain context and discover meaning, made perfect sense. It was Tony’s wish that such a project would not only bring a stimulating research programme to Malta, but would also be a good place where students could be trained and interact with peers. His wish came true. The project went on to achieve its goals between 1987 and 1994, and the results were published on completion of the fieldwork at the prehistoric funerary subterranean site of the Brochtorff Circle in Xagħra, Gozo – producing exceptional figurative representations about which Tony has written on several occasions and that still inspire many researchers, including the field directors of the project, the husband and wife team who are amongst the contributors to this volume (Malone and Stoddart; see also Sultana). As for the wish to have Maltese students trained on the project, the move could not have been more timely, for a degree in Archaeology at the University was in the offing. This was made possible the same year the project started. Indeed, the situation at the University of Malta improved in 1987 with a change in government, when the faculties of arts and sciences were reinstated. Tony could return to the Faculty of Arts, and immediately took the initiative to launch a Bachelor’s degree in Archaeology and extended this discipline to the remits of the Department of Classics in 1990. He also lobbied to have additional lecturing staff, resulting in the appointment in 1989 of two of us – one an alumnus in Classics who had been teaching Latin and Greek at the University of Zimbabwe (Horatio C. R. Vella) and the other a scholar of Near Eastern archaeology (Anthony J. Frendo). Tony also worked hard to move the department to dedicated premises on the University campus in 1992, choosing to have an early nineteenth-century farmhouse located on the edge of the campus refurbished for the purpose, facilitating not only the teaching and the practical classes, but also the research associated with materials collected during fieldwork. By 1996, the Department was ready to carry out its own field excavation project at the multi-period site of Tas-Silġ – a cautious decision that was embraced by many who thought that it was high time that such an important archaeological site be given the attention it deserved. After this, Tony followed the whole administrative cursus of those who strongly believe in their Alma Mater even if this often comes at the expense of research: sitting on and chairing many academic committees, boards of study and institute governing boards, heading the department of Classics and Archaeology for many years (1988‒1996, 1999‒2011), becoming Dean of the Faculty of Arts (1990‒1992), and member of Council (1987‒1992). To the positions he occupied, and ones that he still does, Tony invariably brings not only a sense of serious purpose and gravitas, but also the thoroughness and precision of his training in the Classics. This is seen especially in the way meetings are conducted and a faithful record of

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the proceedings kept, observing rules and regulations to the letter, but never failing to look at issues or problems holistically especially when student well-being is at stake. In addition to his expertise, such qualities have also been appreciated outside the University of Malta when Tony was invited to sit on various committees: member of the Maltese National Commission for UNESCO (1988‒1996), member (1988‒1990) and later chairman (1990‒1992) of the committee to advise the Minister of Education on the setting up of a Maritime Museum, chairman of the Advisory Management Board of the Maritime Museum (1992‒1994), member of the governing board of the Planning Authority (1992‒1998), member of the Technical Experts Committee for the monitoring of the Mnajdra, Ħaġar Qim and Ġgantija temples, member of the Mdina Rehabilitation Committee (2000‒2002), member of the Board of Directors of Heritage Malta (2004‒2011), and a member of the Scientific Committee for the Conservation of the Megalithic Temples (since 2004). Anthony Bonanno’s record as a scholar speaks for itself, and this fact was recognised internationally in various ways, not least by his being asked to lecture at a number of universities and being appointed on the advisory editorial board of several journals (Mediterranean Archaeology and Archaeometry, Archeologia Viva, Mare Internum, Journal of Mediterranean Studies). Tony was also elected a corresponding member of the Istitutum Archaeologicum Germanicum in 2010 and of the Archaeological Institute of America the following year. He was elected Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries of London in 2002 in recognition of his outstanding contribution to archaeology, and was elected Visiting Scholar at Wolfson College, Oxford, during a sabbatical year in 2005. The books and articles that Tony has written and the projects he has undertaken in collaboration with fellow scholars and former students also indicate his openness to cooperation at all levels. The KASA project, undertaken between 2004 and 2006 with colleagues from Sicily (three of whom have contributed to this volume: Buscemi, Militello, Tanasi) and funded by the European Union’s interregional funds, stands out for the amount of research that was produced and published, especially by several early-stage researchers who went on to become experts in their field. Moreover, Tony’s commitment to reach wide audiences has been commendable, resulting over the year in numerous popular publications for leading archaeology and travel magazines. Furthermore, in 2001 and 2004 he wrote two monographs in Maltese, one on prehistory and the other a co-authored publication on archaeology, filling a much felt void in authoritative publications in the vernacular. He returned to the same genre of writing in 2005 when he worked with photographer Daniel Cilia and published a monograph on ancient Malta. More recently, he has embarked on a project in collaboration with Heritage Malta to produce an on-line cumulative catalogue of Graeco-Roman sculpture in order to enhance public visibility of one class of artefacts in the national collections. As for the famous annual tours abroad, which he has organised and led since 1990 for specialists and non-specialists alike, we direct our readers to the writings gathered as an Epilogue in this volume. They reveal aspects of Tony’s otherwise reserved character few get a chance to experience and cherish (Fig. 3). Outside the University of Malta, Tony has been particularly active in two voluntary organisations, namely Din l-Art Ħelwa and The Archaeological Society Malta, presiding over the former between 1999 and 2001 and over the latter between 2010 and 2014, serving

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Fig. 3. Away from the humdrum of administration; enjoying a tour of eastern Sicily (with colleagues Timmy Gambin, Chris Gemmell and Nicholas Vella), January 2012 (photographed reproduced by courtesy of Timmy Gambin).

on the committees of both for many years. His sound advice has stood both organisations in good stead, not least when decisions had to be taken on controversial issues related to the conservation and protection of cultural heritage sites. One – the decision not to detach late fifteenth-century frescoes from the Church of the Annunciation at Ħal Millieri – stands out. His argument that preserving the mural paintings in their context was far more important than any other aesthetic considerations won the day. The title of this Festschrift is inspired by our honorand’s passion for a knowledge of the past understood broadly in the Latin sense of antiquitates, encapsulated in Varro’s writings as an ordered corpus of knowledge about the past, including human origins – as Tony himself never fails to remind his undergraduate students. All the essays gathered here are a reflection of the search for order, significance and meaning – qualities that Tony has always sought to achieve in his work as a true ‘investigator antiquitatis’ – whether the data consist of the tiniest of snails or the most megalithic of prehistoric buildings. Moreover, they are a reflection of Tony’s multi-faceted interests, bridging prehistory and history. We have gathered the contributions into four sections. The first is dedicated to three papers that relate to the reception of the antique, narratives inspired by a dragon, a griffin, and an inscription respectively (Grima; Buhagiar; Serracino). The second section gathers

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five papers, three of which tackle the environment – past (Hunt and Schembri; Schembri, Fenech and Terribile) and present (Cassar) – while another paper deals with museum communication (Stroud), and the last one is about a modern Maltese presence in south-east Sicily (Mallia). The third and fourth parts include papers that fall into the two chronological divisions that span Tony’s scholarly production: prehistoric and classical. The prehistoric section considers a variety of issues that go from Malta’s Temple period to the Bronze Age, from a broad consideration of figurative representations recovered from Malta’s temple sites (Sultana) to a detailed study of the significance of head hair on the same imagery (Stoddart and Malone). One paper looks at the tool marks present at the Ħal Saflieni funerary complex (Cardona and Zammit) and another one returns to the issue of object decontextualization for the bone assemblage from the Tarxien temples (Attard Mallia). Two contributions deal with the Bronze Age of the Maltese Islands, with one attempting a definition of the Borġ in-Nadur archaeological facies (Tanasi) and the other one about a reconsideration of the function of one of the most characteristic pottery vessels from that same facies (Sagona). The last paper in the section is a review of textile production in Copper Age Sicily (Militello). The fourth and last section deals with contributions that fall within the scope of the Classical world, understood widely to embrace various themes: Phoenician-Punic ethnic identity (Frendo), transport amphorae in the Mediterranean (Bechtold), and olive oil production technology (Anastasi and Vella). Others deal with site-specific investigations on the basis of which themes are discussed: from Agrigento (Buscemi) to Termini Imerese (Belvedere and Forgia) to Taormina and Cyrene (Sear), and Qumran (Mizzi). In addition, one contribution deals with a Roman miniature terracotta portrait bust (Williams and Williams) and another considers the gods’ manipulation of women’s actions in ancient epic (Vella). Close to retirement, Tony continues to write, lecture and to supervise undergraduates and graduates alike, and is keen to take on new collaborative ventures especially as departmental excavations which he has co-directed in more recent years (Tas-Silġ 1996‒2004, Għar ix-Xiħ 2005‒2010, Malta Survey Project 2008‒2010, Żejtun Roman Villa 2006‒ ongoing) are slowly being wrapped up and preliminary and final reports published. On behalf of the contributors to this volume, and the many other friends and colleagues who expressed their support for this venture from the very start, we present this Festschrift to Tony as a token of friendship and appreciation for his contribution to archaeology for half a century.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The idea of having a collection of essays to celebrate Anthony Bonanno’s life-long contribution to archaeology came to Horatio C. R. Vella at a dinner party celebrating Tony’s sixty-fifth birthday. Given the complications of coordinating the numerous contributions received, and ensuring that all were peer reviewed anonymously, the delivery of the volume has been a laboured undertaking. We are grateful to all the contributors who have been loyal supporters of this initiative from the very start, and patiently awaited the final result

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– H. C. R.

VELLA

as the years slipped by. We are also grateful to those who contributed personal energy to make the final volume possible, not least Katrin Fenech and Ann Gingell-Littlejohn who assisted with the copy editing and proof-reading respectively. Carmel Serracino provided useful insights and snippets of information, gathered as part of his doctorate on the history of Classics in Malta, used in this introductory note. Claudia Sagona took on the brunt of ensuring that all the contributions were in order when she received them in July 2017 during what was a most difficult time following the demise of her husband, Antonio – a friend to many of the Maltese contributors, not least of our honorand – and who was all too happy in 2015 to accept the volume in the series which he co-edited with his wife Claudia. We also express our gratitude to the new editors of the ANES monograph series, Abby Robinson and Andrew Jamieson, and at Peeters, we thank the whole publication team for seeing the volume through with the usual eye for detail. We hope that everyone will be pleased with the final result. Nicholas C. VELLA, Anthony J. FRENDO and Horatio C. R. VELLA University of Malta [email protected] [email protected] [email protected]

ANTHONY BONANNO – LIST OF PUBLICATIONS, 1971–2017 Edited by Maxine ANASTASI

1971 “Erba’ Ritratti Cirenajci fil-‘Villa Rumana’ tar-Rabat,” Arti (Malta) 1: 8–10. 1976 Portraits and other Heads on Roman Historical Relief up to the Age of Septimius Severus. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports. “Cyrenaican funerary portraits in Malta,” Journal of Roman Studies 66: 39–44. “Another funerary portrait from Cyrenaica in the British Museum,” The Society for Libyan Studies, Seventh Annual Report (1975–1976): 27–30. 1977 “The Severan commemorative relief at Cyrene,” The Society for Libyan Studies, Eighth Annual Report (1976–1977): 19–25. “Distribution of villas and some aspects of the Maltese economy in the Roman period,” Journal of the Faculty of Arts (Royal University of Malta) 6(4): 73–81. “L’habitat maltese in età romana,” Kokalos 22–23 (1976–1977): 385–395. Jointly with T. C. C. BLAGG and A. LUTTRELL “Hal Millieri, Malta,” Notiziario di Archeologia Medievale 21: 44. “I Fenici,” Il Veliero (Malta) 9: 2–3. “Un gruppo di ermette decorative a Malta,” Archeologia Classica 29: 399–410. Review of ‘Ghar ta’ Iburdan. Un insediamento trogloditico in età tardo-romana,’ ΚΩΚΑLΟΣ 22-23 (1976–77): 396–9, by R. Virzì Hägglund. Notiziario di Archeologia Medievale 19: 18. 1978 “Hal Millieri explored,” Vigilo (Malta) 1: 8–14. 1979 “Paris, Pelops, Hieron II or a Roman Flamen?,” Mélanges de l’École Française de Rome 91: 343–353. “Paris, Pelops or a Roman flamen?,” in Greece and Italy in the Classical World: Acta of the XI International Congress of Classical Archaeology, London, 3–9 September

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1978, edited by J. N. Coldstream and M. A. R. Colledge, p. 279. London: National Organizing Committee, XI International Congress of Classical Archaeology. “Lycophron and Malta,” in Philias Charin: Miscellanea in Onore di Eugenio Manni, pp. 273–276. Rome: Giorgio Bretschneider. 1980 “Roman villa at Ramla Bay, Gozo,” Heritage 32: 634–637. 1981 “Two archaeological sites recently discovered at L-Iklin,” Hyphen 2(5): 212–220. “Malta in the third century,” in The Roman West in the Third Century, edited by A. King and M. Henig, pp. 505–513. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports. 1982 “Quintinus and the location of the temple of Hercules at Marsaxlokk,” Melita Historica 8(3): 190–204. “The importance of Tas-Silġ,” The Teacher (Malta, April 1982): 6–7. 1983 “The tradition of an ancient Greek colony in Malta,” Hyphen 4(1): 1–17. “Sculpture” and “Terracottas,” in Excavations at Sidi Khrebish Benghazi (Berenice), vol. II, edited by J. Lloyd, pp. 51–90. Supplement to Libya Antiqua V. Tripoli: Department of Antiquities, Ministry of Teaching and Education, People’s Socialist Libyan Arab Jamahiriya. Editor of Melita Historica 8(4). “Sculpture,” in Handbook of Roman Art, edited by M. Henig, pp. 66–96. Oxford: Phaidon. 1984 Editor of Melita Historica 9(1). “Giovanni Francesco Abela’s legacy to the Jesuit College,” Proceedings of History Week 1983: 27–37. 1985 “La escultura,” in El arte romano: una revisión de las artes visuales del mundo romano, edited by M. Henig, pp. 76–110. Barcelona: Destino.

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1986 An Illustrated Guide to Prehistoric Gozo. Gozo: Gaulitana. Editor of Archaeology and Fertility Cult in the Ancient Mediterranean, Papers presented at the First International Conference on Archaeology of the Ancient Mediterranean. The University of Malta, 2–5 September 1985. Amsterdam: B. R. Grüner. “The Maltese artistic heritage of the Roman period,” Proceedings of History Week 1984: 1–12. “A socio-economic approach to Maltese prehistory. The temple builders,” in Malta: Studies of its Heritage and History, edited by P. Serracino Inglott, pp. 17–45. Malta: Mid-Med Bank. Review of Late Roman and Byzantine Catacombs and Related Burial Places in the Maltese Islands. Oxford: B.A.R., by M. Buhagiar. Melita Historica 9(3): 309–340. 1987 Editor of Laurea Corona, Studies in Honour of Edward Coleiro. Amsterdam: B. R. Grüner. Malta: An Archaeological Paradise. Malta: M. J. Publications. 1988 “Tecniche costruttive dei templi megalitici maltesi,” in Missione a Malta, edited by A. Fradkin Anati and E. Anati, pp. 101–111. Milan: Jaca Book. “Imperial and private portraiture: A case of non-dependence,” in Ritratto Ufficiale e Ritratto Privato, Atti della II Conferenza internazionale sul Ritratto romano, Roma, 26–30 settembre 1984 (Quaderni della Ricerca Scientifica 116), edited by N. Bonacasa and G. Rizza, pp. 157–164. Rome: Consiglio nazionale delle ricerche. “Contiguità e continuità culturale e linguistica fra Sicilia e Malta in età prearaba,” Hyphen 5(5): 241–252. “Facilities in the Maltese libraries for the research worker in the Humanities: The research worker point of view,” in Libraries and Research in Malta, edited by P. Xuereb, pp. 21–24. Malta: Malta University Press. “Evidence of Greek, Carthaginian and Etruscan maritime commerce south of the Tyrrhenian: the Maltese case,” in Navies and Commerce of the Greeks, the Carthaginians and the Etruscans in the Tyrrhenian Sea. Acts of the European Symposium held in Ravello, January 1987, edited by T. Hackens, pp. 418–428. Strasbourg: Council of Europe, Division for Scientific Cooperation. 1989 “L-arkeologija u l-identità nazzjonali,” L-Identità Kulturali ta’ Malta, edited by T. Cortis, pp. 165–181. Malta: Dipartiment ta’ l-Informazzjoni. “The originality of Roman Sculpture,” Hyphen 6(1): 8–22.

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“Maltese prehistory,” Swissair Gazette June 1989: 28–34. “Status and stratification in Roman society in the fourth and third centuries B.C.,” Epistula Zimbabweana 23: 15–23. 1990 Malta: Ein Archäologisches Paradies. Malta: M. J. Publications. Jointly with T. F. C. BLAGG and A. T. LUTTRELL Excavations at Ħal Millieri, Malta. A Report on the 1977 Campaign Conducted on Behalf of the National Museum of Malta and the University of Malta. Malta: University of Malta Press. Jointly with T. GOUDER, C. MALONE, S. STODDART and D. TRUMP “Monuments in an island society: The Maltese context,” World Archaeology 22(2): 190–205. “Malta’s role in the Phoenician, Greek and Etruscan trade in the western Mediterranean,” Melita Historica 10(3): 209–224. “The archaeology of Gozo: From prehistoric to Arab times,” in Gozo: The Roots of an Island, edited by C. Cini, pp. 11–45. Malta: Said International. 1991 Editor of Journal of Mediterranean Studies 1(2). “Malta’s changing role in Mediterranean cross-currents. From prehistory to Roman times,” in Malta: A Case Study in International Cross-currents, edited by S. Fiorini and V. Mallia Milanes, pp. 1–12. Malta: University of Malta. “Introduction,” Journal of Mediterranean Studies 1(2): 163–169. Jointly with J. CASSAR “The deterioration of cultural property by airborne pollutants: A case study of a Mediterranean island,” in Airborne Particles: Their Negative Effects on the Cultural Heritage and its Environment, Round Tables, Ravello December 1989 and 1990 (PACT), edited by S. Hicks, U. Miller, S. Nilsson and I. Vuorela, pp. 161–182. Strasbourg: Conseil de l’Europe. “Tarxien and Xagħra Circle. Their place in Mediterranean proto-history,” in Le Mont Bego. Une Montagne Sacrée de l’Age du Bronze. Sa Place dans le Contexte des Religions Protohistoriques du Bassin Méditerranéen. Colloque International, Tende, Alpes-Maritimes, 5–11 Juillet 1991, edited by H. Lumley, pp. 681–693. Paris: Laboratoire de Prehistoire du Musee Nationale d’Histoire Naturelle. 1992 Roman Malta, the Archaeological Heritage of the Maltese Islands / Malta Romana, il Patrimonio Archeologico delle Isole Maltesi. Rome: Confederazione Mondiale degli Exallievi ed Exallieve di Don Bosco.

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“Die megalithische Kunst Maltas, Fruchtbarkeitskult oder sexuelle Repräsentation?,” in Die Grosse Göttin der Fruchtbarkeit: Die Tempel der Vorzeit auf Malta, edited by G. Tromnau, pp. 25–32. Duisburg: Stadt Duisburg. “Maltese megalithic art. Fertility cult or sexual representation?,” in Collected Papers, edited by R. Ellul Micallef and S. Fiorini, pp. 75–91. Malta: University of Malta. “Archaeological parks and cultural tourism: A report on the Malta workshop,” in Archaeological Sites in Europe: Conservation, Maintenance and Enhancement. European Colloquy jointly organised by the Council of Europe and the Istituto Português do Património Cultural, Conimbriga, Portugal, 18–20 October 1990, Architectural Heritage Series No. 22, Council of Europe, 1992: 57–60. 1993 Malte: Un Paradis Archéologique. Malta: M. J. Publications. “Tarxien and Tarxien Cemetery: Break or continuity between Temple Period and Bronze Age in Malta?,” Congrès Méditerranéen d’Ethnologie Historique. L’Identité Méditerranéenne, Lisbon 4–8 November 1991, Mediterrâneo 2: 35–47. “The prehistory and protohistory of the Maltese islands. Current problems and perspectives,” in X Jornades d’Estudis Històrics Locals: La Prehistòria de les Illes de la Mediterrània Occidental (Mallorca 29–31 October 1991, Palma), edited by G. Rosselló Bordoy, pp. 215–241. Palma de Mallorca: Institut d’Estudios Balearics. Jointly with S. STODDART, T. GOUDER, C. MALONE and D. TRUMP “Cult in an island society: prehistoric Malta in the Tarxien period,” Cambridge Archaeological Journal 3(1): 3–19. Jointly with S. STODDART, T. GOUDER, C. MALONE and D. TRUMP “The death cults of prehistoric Malta,” Scientific American 269(6): 76–83. “The Birgu Peninsula in prehistoric and Classical times,” in Birgu — a Maritime City, edited by L. Bugeja, M. Buhagiar and S. Fiorini, pp. 15–30. Malta: Central Bank. Jointly with S. STODDART, T. GOUDER, C. MALONE and D. TRUMP “New light on death in prehistoric Malta: The Brochtorff Circle,” in People of the Stone Age. Hunter-gatherers and Early Farmers (The Illustrated History of Humankind), edited by G. Burenhult, pp. 100–101. New York: Harper Collins. 1994 Malta: il Fascino dell’Archeologia. Malta: M. J. Publications. “The Romans in Malta,” Treasures of Malta 1(1): 48–53. “Malte antique,” Revue du Monde Musulmane et de la Mediterranée 71: 39–47. “The impact of tourism on the Gozitan archaeological heritage,” in Tourism in Gozo: Policies, Prospects and Problems, edited by L. Briguglio, pp. 57–64. Malta: University of Malta Gozo Centre.

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Jointly with S. STODDART, T. GOUDER, C. MALONE and D. TRUMP “La mort à Malte pendant la préhistoire: Le Cercle de Brochtorff,” in L’Age de Pierre, la Chasse, la Cueillette, l’Agriculture (Les Berceaux de l’Humanité), edited by G. Burenhult, pp. 100–101. Paris: Bordas. “Archaeology,” in Malta. Culture and Identity, edited by H. Frendo and O. Friggieri, pp. 81–103. Malta: Ministry of Youth and the Arts. Review of Antonia Augusta, Portrait of a Great Roman Lady. London/New York: Routledge, by N. Kokkinos (1992). Journal of Mediterranean Studies 4(1): 152–154.

1995 “Contextual significance of ritual evidence in Malta,” in Ritual, Rites and Religion in Prehistory (3rd Deia International Conference of Prehistory), edited by W. H. Waldren, J. A. Ensenyat and R. C. Kennard, pp. 136–145. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports. “The prehistory of Gozo,” in Gozo and its Culture, edited by L. Briguglio and J. Bezzina, pp. 2–12. Malta: Formatek Ltd. Jointly with S. STODDART, T. GOUDER, C. MALONE and D. TRUMP “Mortuary ritual of 4th millennium BC Malta: The Zebbug period chambered tomb from Brochtorff Circle at Xaghra (Gozo),” Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 61: 303–345.

1996 “Aspects of the socio-economic structure of Roman maritime commerce,” in Le Commerce Maritime des Romains, Actes du Symposium organisé à Barcelone, mai 1988, à la Mémoire de N. Lamboglia, PACT 27 (1990), edited by T. Hackens and M. Miro, pp. 47–56. Strasbourg: Conseil de l’Europe. “Research on prehistoric and Roman Gozo: Past, present and future,” in A Focus on Gozo, edited by J. Farrugia and L. Briguglio, pp. 41–57. Malta: University of Malta Gozo Centre. “Temple megalithism vs. funerary megalithism. The case of the Maltese islands,” in XIII International Congress of Prehistoric and Protohistoric Sciences, Forlì - Italia - 8/14 September 1996, Colloquia vol. 9, Forlì, ABACO: 103–107. “The study of archaeology in Malta,” Malta Archaeological Review 1: 6–7. “The artist in prehistoric religious ritual: servant or master?,” in Maltese Prehistoric Art: 5000–2500 BC, edited by A. Pace, pp. 53–58. Malta: Fondazzjoni Patrimonju Malti/National Museum of Archaeology. “Egyptian iconography in ancient Maltese art,” Treasures of Malta 2(3): 43–47. “Il-wirt arkeoloġiku fl-inħawi tal-Gudja,” Bir Miftuħ 6: 8–9. “Tas-Silg excavations sponsored by Din L’Art Helwa,” Vigilo (Feb–May 1996): 9.

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1997 Malta: Ein Archäologisches Paradies, 2nd edition. Malta: M. J. Publications. Jointly with A. FRENDO “Din L’Art Helwa sponsors Malta’s first summer school of archaeology and excavations at Tas-Silg,” Vigilo (Oct 1996–Jan 1997): 16–17. Jointly with A. FRENDO “Excavations at Tas-Silg 1996,” Malta Archaeological Review 2: 8–10. “Gli enigmi dell’archeologia maltese: I templi megalitici e le figure adipose,” in Malta, edited by F. Formignani, pp. 57–59. Milan: UTET. “L’énigme des ‘cart ruts’,” Ulysse 56: 10. “La première architecture du monde,” Ulysse 56: 12–15. “The imperial portraits from Malta: Their contextual significance,” in Roman Portraits. Artistic and Literary, edited by J. Bouzek and I. Ondrejova, pp. 62–64. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. 1998 “Malta (Melite - Gaulos),” in Ciudades Antiguas del Mediterráneo, edited by M. Mayer and I. Roda, pp. 322–325. Barcelona/Madrid: Lunewerg. “An Egyptianizing relief from Malta,” in L’Egitto in Italia, dall’Antichità al Medioevo (Atti del III Congresso Internazionale Italo-Egiziano, Roma, CNR - Pompei, 13–19 novembre 1995), edited by N. Bonacasa, pp. 217–228. Rome: Consiglio Nazionale delle Ricerche. 1999 Jointly edited with A. ESPINOSA RODRIGUEZ Journal of Mediterranean Studies 9(1). Jointly with A. ESPINOSA RODRIGUEZ “Issue Editors’ Foreword,” Journal of Mediterranean Studies 9(1): 1–3. “Malta: Microcosmo mediterraneo,” Archeologia Viva 18, 75 (maggio/giugno 1999): 20–37. “Tarxien, Xaghra Circle and Tas-Silġ. Occupation and re-use of temple-sites in the early Bronze Age,” in Facets of Maltese Prehistory, edited by A. Mifsud and C. Savona Ventura, pp. 209–223. Malta: Prehistoric Society of Malta. “The rise and fall of megalithism in Malta,” in Studien zur Megalithik/The Megalithic Phenomenon, edited by K. W. Beinhauer, G. Cooney, C. E. Guksch and S. Kus, pp. 99–112. Mannheim/Weissbach: Beier and Beran. 2000 Jointly with N. C. VELLA “Il-wirt arkeologiku ta’ Ħal Kirkop,” in Ħal Kirkop u l-Inħawi ta’ Madwaru, edited by H. C. R. Vella, pp. 1–23. Malta: University of Malta Press.

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“Early colonization of the Maltese islands: The status quaestionis,” in Colonización Humana en Ambientes Insulares. Interacción con el Medio y Adaptación Cultural, edited by V. M. Guerrero and S. Gornés, pp. 323–337. Palma: Servicio de Publicaciones. Edited jointly with A. J. FRENDO, with the assistance of N. C. VELLA “Excavations at Tas-Silġ, Malta. A preliminary report on the 1996–1998 campaigns conducted by the Department of Classics and Archaeology of the University of Malta,” Mediterranean Archaeology 13: 57–114. ‘Art,’ in “Excavations at Tas-Silġ, Malta. A preliminary report on the 1996-1998 campaigns conducted by the Department of Classics and Archaeology of the University of Malta,” (edited by A. Bonanno and A. J. Frendo, with the assistance of N. C. Vella), Mediterranean Archaeology 13: 99–102. Jointly with A. J. FRENDO ‘Introduction,’ in “Excavations at Tas-Silg, Malta. A preliminary report on the 1996-1998 campaigns conducted by the Department of Classics and Archaeology of the University of Malta,” (edited by A. Bonanno and A. J. Frendo, with the assistance of N. C. Vella), Mediterranean Archaeology 13: 67–71. 2001 Il-Preistorja (Kullana Kulturali 30). Malta: Pubblikazzjonijiet Indipendenza. “Les temples et sanctuaires préhistoriques,” Dossiers d’Archéologie 267: 34–45. “Malte sous les Romains,” Dossiers d’Archéologie 267: 56–67. “Malta tra Africa e Sicilia: indizi dei contati marittimi nel II millennio,” in Culture Marinare nel Mediterraneo Centrale e Occidentale fra il XVII e il XV Secolo a.C. (Ricerche di Storia, Epigrafia e Archeologia Mediterranea 4), edited by C. Giardino, pp. 97–107. Rome: Begatti Libri. 2002 An Illustrated Guide to Prehistoric Gozo. 2nd edition. Gozo: Gaulitana. Jointly with M. BUHAGIAR “Archeologia paleocristiana e bizantina di Malta. Nuove acquisizioni e nuove riflessioni,” in Byzantino-Sicula IV. Atti del I Congresso Internazionale di Archeologia della Sicilia Bizantina (Corleone, 28 luglio–2 agosto 1998), edited by R. M. Carra Bonacasa, pp. 653–676. Palermo: Istituto siciliano di sudi bizantini e neoellenici. Jointly with M. FANTAR, M. GIGANTE, P. KAKRIDIS and M. RAPHAEL “Malta/Aeolia” and “Gozo/Calypso,” in ΣΤΑ ΧΝΑΡΙΑ ΤΟΥ ΟΔΥΣΣΕΑ, pp. 92–99, 144–151. Athens: Ministry of Development.

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2004 Jointly with E. VELLA and M. BORG L-Arkeologija ta’ Malta (Kullana Kulturali 59). Malta: Pubblikazjonijiet Indipendenza. Jointly with M. FANTAR, M. GIGANTE, P. KAKRIDIS and M. RAPHAEL “Malta/Aeolia” and “Gozo/Calypso,” in In Odysseus’ Wake. Voyaging between Myth and Reality, translated from Greek by A. Doumas, pp. 94–101, 147–153. Athens: Ministry of Development. “Malta during Phoenician, Roman and Byzantine times: Outside influences and original traits,” in Malta - Roots of a Nation. The development of Malta from an Island People to an Island Nation, edited by K. Gambin, pp. 45–54. Malta: Midsea Books. “Insights into Malta’s Roman period,” Kultura 21(3): 10–11. “Rituals of life and rituals of death,” in Malta before History, edited by D. Cilia, pp. 271–287. Malta: Miranda Publishers. Jointly with A. CORRADO and N. C. VELLA “Bones and bowls: A preliminary interpretation of the faunal remains from the Punic levels in area B, at the temple of Tas-Silġ, Malta,” in Behaviour behind Bones: The Zoo-archaeology of Ritual, Religion, Status, and Identity, edited by S. Jones O’Day, W. Van Neer and A. Ervynck, pp. 47–53. Oxford: Oxbow. Jointly with F. A. CARROLL, K. FENECH, C. HUNT, A. M. JONES and P. J. SCHEMBRI “The past environment of the Maltese Islands: The Marsa cores,” in Exploring the Maltese Prehistoric Temple Culture: Presentations from the 2003 Conference (available only in CD), edited by L. Eneix, 10. Sarasota. 2005 Malta: Phoenician, Punic, and Roman. Malta: Midsea Books. “The Maltese islands in the Odyssey,” in De Triremibus. Festschrift in Honour of Joseph Muscat, edited by T. Cortis and T. Gambin, pp. 11–20. Malta: PEG. Jointly with C. MALONE, T. GOUDER, S. STODDART and D. TRUMP “The death cults of prehistoric Malta,” Scientific American (Special Edition: Mysteries of the Ancient Ones) 15(1): 14–23. Review of L’Arcipelago Maltese in Età Romana e Bizantina: Attività economiche e scambi al centro del Mediterraneo. Bari: Edipuglia (2004), by B. Bruno. Malta Archaeological Review 6 (2002–2003): 53–56. Academic director for The Significance of Cart-ruts in Ancient Landscapes, edited by J. Magro Conti and P. C. Saliba. Malta: Midsea.

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2006 Jointly with H. MOMMSEN, K. CHETCUTI BONAVITA, I. KAKOULLI, M. MUSUMECI, C. SAGONA, A. SCHWEDT, N. C. VELLA and N. ZACHARIAS “Characterization of Maltese pottery of the Late Neolithic, Bronze Age and Punic Period by neutron activation analysis,” in Geomaterials in Cultural Heritage, edited by M. Magetti and B. Messiga, pp. 81–89. Special Publications 257. London: Geological Society. “Ħal Għaxaq u l-inħawi ta’ madwaru: il-wirt arkeoloġiku,” in Ħal Għaxaq u Niesu, edited by H. C. R. Vella, pp. 11–27. Malta: Kunsill Lokali Għaxaq. 2007 “The Phoenicians and the Maltese prehistoric cultural landscape,” in Cult in Context. Reconsidering Ritual in Archaeology, edited by D. A. Barrowclough and C. Malone, pp. 107–111. Oxford: Oxbow Books. “Foreword,” for The Extramural Necropolis of Gaulos, by G. Azzopardi, pp. 5–6. Gozo: The Author. “Malta,” in Archaeological Atlas of Prehistoric Europe, edited by M. Buchvaldek, A. Lippert and L. Košnar, vol. 1, pp. 321–323. Prague: Charles University. “The economic history of Roman and Byzantine Malta,” review of L’Arcipelago Maltese in Età Romana e Bizantina: attività economiche e scambi al centro del Mediterraneo, Bari: Edipuglia, (2004), by B. Brunella. Journal of Roman Archaeology 20: 519–524. 2008 Jointly edited with P. MILITELLO Malta and Sicily: Miscellaneous Research Projects, published in CD: K.A.S.A. Palermo: Officina di Studi Medievali. Jointly edited with P. MILITELLO Malta in the Hybleans, the Hybleans in Malta / Malta negli Iblei, gli Iblei a Malta (Proc. Int. Conference Catania, 30 September, Sliema 10 November 2006 / Atti del Convegno Internazionale Catania, 30 settembre, Sliema 10 novembre 2006). Palermo: Officina di Studi Medievali. Jointly edited with P. MILITELLO Interconnections in the Central Mediterranean: The Maltese Islands and Sicily in History (Proceedings of the International Conference St Julians, Malta, 2nd and 3rd November 2007). Palermo: Officina di Studi Medievali. “Relazioni fra Malta e la Sicilia nella preistoria: I rilievi spiraliformi,” in Sicilia e Malta: Le isole del Grand Tour / Sicily and Malta: The Islands of the Grand Tour, edited by R. Bondin and F. Gringeri Pantano, pp. 1–9. Malta: Midsea Books. “Foreword,” in The Significance of Cart-ruts in Ancient Landscapes, edited by J. Magro Conti and P. C. Saliba, pp. vii–ix. Malta: Midsea Books.

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“The Department of Classics and Archaeology of the University of Malta: Some current research,” The European Archaeologist 29: 3–4. “Maltese Archaeology: What future?,” (Keynote Paper, 14th Annual Meeting of the European Association of Archaeologists), European Journal of Archaeology [9 pages]. “In search of an identity: The anthropomorphic representations of megalithic Malta,” in Lino: A Tribute (Festschrift in honour of Lino Spiteri), edited by D. Fenech, V. Fenech and J. R. Grima, pp. 59–83. Malta: PEG. “Insularity and isolation: Malta and Sicily in prehistory,” in Malta in the Hybleans, the Hybleans in Malta / Malta negli Iblei, gli Iblei a Malta (Proceedings of the International Conference Catania, 30 September, Sliema 10 November 2006 /Atti del Convegno Internazionale Catania, 30 settembre, Sliema 10 novembre 2006), K.A.S.A., edited by A. Bonanno and P. Militello, pp. 27–37. Palermo: Officina di Studi Medievali. Jointly with P. MILITELLO “Introduction,” in Interconnections in the Central Mediterranean: The Maltese Islands and Sicily in History, Proceedings of the Conference St Julians, Malta, 2nd and 3rd November 2007, K.A.S.A., edited by A. Bonanno and Pietro Militello, pp. 1–4. Palermo: Officina di Studi Medievali. “Maltese wine pressing in antiquity,” Melita Historica 11(1): 1–18. 2009 Jointly edited with C. MALONE, S. STODDART, D. TRUMP, T. GOUDER and A. PACE Mortuary Customs in Prehistoric Malta: Excavations at the Brochtorff Circle at Xaghra (1987–94). Cambridge: McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. “L’acqua nella cultura dei templi megalitici di Malta,” Mare Internum: Archeologia del Mediterraneo 1: 25–31. “Malta under the Romans,” in The Historical Collection: Celebrating Malta’s Heritage through Stamps, edited by Heritage Malta, pp. 45–49. Malta: Midsea Books. Jointly with C. MALONE, S. STODDART, T. GOUDER, R. GRIMA and D. TRUMP “Introduction: The intellectual and historical context,” in Mortuary Customs in Prehistoric Malta: Excavations at the Brochtorff Circle at Xaghra (1987–94), edited by C. Malone, S. Stoddart, A. Bonanno, D. Trump, T. Gouder and A. Pace, pp. 1–16. Cambridge: McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. Jointly with C. MALONE, D. TRUMP, J. DIXON, R. LEIGHTON, M. PEDLEY, S. STODDART and P. SCHEMBRI “Material culture,” in Mortuary Customs in Prehistoric Malta: Excavations at the Brochtorff Circle at Xaghra (1987–94), edited by C. Malone, S. Stoddart, A. Bonanno, D. Trump, T. Gouder and A. Pace, pp. 219–313. Cambridge: McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. “Art and Architecture” and short interventions in “Symposium: The Temple debate,” in Mortuary Customs in Prehistoric Malta: Excavations at the Brochtorff Circle at Xaghra (1987–94), edited by C. Malone, S. Stoddart, A. Bonanno, D. Trump,

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T. Gouder and A. Pace, pp. 530–535, 347, 354–357. Cambridge: McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. 2010 “It-Tifsira taċ-Ċirku tal-Ġebel tax-Xagħra għal-Preistorja Maltija,” in Ix-Xagħra (Għid 2010): 53–56 (translation of a speech given on the occasion of the launching of the volume Mortuary Customs in Prehistoric Malta in Rabat, Gozo on 5 January 2010). “Il saccheggio dei marmi greci passava per Malta”/ “The looting of the Greek marbles passed for [sic] Malta”, Ligabue Magazine, Anno XXIX, 56(1): 76–93. “Women and society in prehistoric Gozo,” in 60th Anniversary of the Malta Historical Society: A Commemoration, edited by J. F. Grima, pp. 61–72. Malta: The Malta Historical Society. “Connections and connectivity in the central Mediterranean: Malta in antiquity,” in Archeomed: Workshop Internazionale di Archeologia Subacquea (Atti della giornata di studio organizzata dal Dipartimento di Archeologia Subacquea Fondazione RAS, Restoring Ancient Stabiae, Castellamare di Stabia, 30 novembre–2 dicembre 2007), edited by R. Federico, pp. 28–34. Castellamare di Stabia: Istituto Internazionale Vesuviano per l’Archeologia e le Scienze Umane. 2011 “The Romans in Malta,” (reprinted with updates) Treasures of Malta 50, XVII (2): 84–89. “The lure of the islands: Malta’s first Neolithic colonizers,” in The First Mediterranean Islanders: Initial Occupation and Survival Strategies, edited by N. PhocaCosmetatou, pp. 145–156. Oxford: Oxford University School of Archaeology. Jointly with M. ANASTASI, J. CASSAR, R. De ANGELIS and N. C. VELLA “The Żejtun Roman villa conservation project,” Vigilo 40: 14–17. “L-Arkeoloġija f’Dun Karm,” in Studji Dunkarmiani, edited by C. Azzopardi, pp. 103–127. Malta: L-Akkademja tal-Malti/Klabb Kotba Maltin. “The rise of a maritime strategic island: Malta under the Phoenicians and the Romans,” in The Maritime History of Malta: The First Millennia, edited by C. Cini and J. Borg, pp. 36–71. Malta: Salesians of Don Bosco. 2012 “Apotropaia: Prehistoric and ancient amulets from the Maltese islands,” Treasures of Malta 53, XVIII (2): 10–18. “Il passaggio dall’Età del Bronzo al period fenicio a Malta: L’impatto sociale e culturale,” in I Nuragici, i Fenici e gli Altri. Sardegna e Mediterraneo tra Bronzo Finale e Prima Età del Ferro (Atti del I Congresso Internazionale in occasione

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1971–2017

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del venticinquennale del Museo “Genna Maria” di Villanovaforru 14–15 dicembre 2007), edited by P. Bernardini and M. Perra, pp. 121–127. Sassari: Carlo Delfino. Jointly with R. F. DOCTER, N. C. VELLA, N. CUTAJAR and A. PACE “Rural Malta: First results of the Joint Belgo-Maltese Survey Project,” BABESCH 87: 107–149. Jointly with F. A. CARROLL, C. O. HUNT and P. J. SCHEMBRI “Holocene climate change, vegetation history and human impact in the Central Mediterranean: Evidence from the Maltese Islands,” Quaternary Science Reviews 52: 24–40. “L’arte preistorica a Malta: Lo stato delle ricerche,” in EPI OINOPA PONTON: Studi sul Mediterraneo Antico in Ricordo di Giovanni Tore, edited by C. del Vais, pp. 69–78. Oristano: S’Alvure. Jointly with N. C. VELLA “Past and present excavations of a multi-period site,” in The Żejtun Roman Villa: Research, Conservation, Management, edited by R. Abela, pp. 8–25. Malta: Wirt iż-Żejtun. 2013 “Malta in the central Mediterranean context in the Late Bronze Age and the Archaic Age: Settlement and trade networks,” in Les Lingots Peau-de-Boeuf et la Navigation en Méditerranée Centrale (Actes du IIième Colloque international, Lucciana, Mariana, 15–18 septembre 2005), edited by J. Cesari, pp. 269–276. Ajaccio: Editions Alain Piazzola. Review of Site, Artefacts and Landscape. Prehistoric Borġ in-Nadur, Malta (Praehistorica Mediterranea 3). Monza: Polimetrica (2011), edited by D. Tanasi and N. C. Vella. Malta Archaeological Review 9 (2008–2009): 74–76. 2014 “Insularity and the emergence of complex social and religious systems in prehistoric Malta: The artistic indicators,” in A Timeless Gentleman: Festschrift in Honour of Maurice Degiorgio, edited by G. Bonello, pp. 83–94. Malta: Fondazzjoni Patrimonju Malti. “The archaeology of Petronius: Engaging a social science with literature,” Melita Classica 1: 9–30. 2015 Jointly edited with N. C. VELLA Tas-Silġ, Marsaxlokk (Malta) I: Archaeological Excavations conducted by the University of Malta, 1996–2005 (Ancient Near Eastern Studies, Supplement 48). Leuven: Peeters.

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Jointly edited with N. C. VELLA Tas-Silġ, Marsaxlokk (Malta) II: Archaeological Excavations conducted by the University of Malta, 1996–2005 (Ancient Near Eastern Studies, Supplement 49). Leuven: Peeters. “A missing work of art: Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, Asklepios, Serapis, or Herakles?,” Malta Archaeological Review 10 (2010–2011): 46–52. “Iż-Żejtun fil-qedem: trinek għat-tkabbir tas-siġar taż-żebbuġ u tad-dwieli,” Għaqda Mużikali Beland 32: 96–99. “The figurative representations, scarabs and amulets,” in Tas-Silġ, Marsaxlokk (Malta) II: Archaeological Excavations conducted by the University of Malta, 1996–2005 (Ancient Near Eastern Studies, Supplement 49), edited by A. Bonanno and N. C. Vella, pp. 257–297. Leuven: Peeters. Jointly with N. C. VELLA “Introduction,” in Tas-Silġ, Marsaxlokk (Malta) II: Archaeological Excavations conducted by the University of Malta, 1996–2005 (Ancient Near Eastern Studies, Supplement 49), edited by A. Bonanno and N. C. Vella, pp. 1–16. Leuven: Peeters. “Malta,” in Frühgeschichte der Mittelmeerkulturen: Historisch-archäologisches Handbuch, (Der Neue Pauly, Supplemente 10), edited by A.-M. Wittke, pp. 815–820. Stuttgart: Verlag L. B. Metzler. “Ħal Millieri explored,” Vigilo (50th Anniversary Issue, July 2015): 29 [reproduced from Vigilo 1 (1978)]. “The missing link: Agrippina the Younger,” Tesserae, the Heritage Malta Bulletin 1: 4–11. Review of Zammit of Malta: His times, Life and Achievements, 2 vols. Malta, Allied Publications, by R. Ellul Micallef. Malta Archaeological Review 10 (2010– 2011): 78–80. Jointly with G. BALDACCHINO Review of Religious Networks in the Roman Empire: The Spread of New Ideas. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (2013), by A. Collar. Journal of Mediterranean Studies 24(1): 125–126. 2016 “The Cult of Hercules in Roman Malta: A discussion of the evidence,” Melita Classica 3: 243–263. “The first inhabitants of Malta,” EXPRESSION (online quarterly journal) 14: 22–30. Online Catalogue of Greco-Roman Sculpture in the National Collections of Malta published on Heritage Malta website with 15 items having now been published. “What’s in a name? The sigma-shaped rock-cut tables in Maltese catacombs,” in At Home in Art: Essays in Honour of Mario Buhagiar, edited by C. Vella, pp. 495–503. Malta: Midsea Books.

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2017 Review of Essays on the Archaeology and Ancient History of the Maltese Islands: Bronze Age to Byzantine. Malta: Midsea Books (2014), by M. Buhagiar. Malta Archaeological Review 11 (2012–2013): 100–102.

RECEPTION OF THE ANTIQUE

ABELA’S CABINET OF ANTIQUITIES REVISITED: COLLECTING, KNOWLEDGE AND PATRONAGE IN SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY MALTA Reuben GRIMA

Any observant visitor entering the former Conventual Church of the Order of St John in Valletta will notice three coats of arms above the doorway, commemorating the leading patrons of the building of the church in the 1570s.1 The coat of arms of Pope Gregory XIII is in the centre, flanked to the left by that of the Order, and to the right by that of Grand Master Jean de la Cassiere. The keen-sighted will also notice that high on the corners of the belfries, gargoyles carved in the shape of lions’ heads gaze out over the city, echoing the rampant lion in La Cassiere’s coat of arms. Another zoomorphic reference in the church’s façade, however, escapes most visitors nowadays. The two massive central corbels supporting the balcony directly above the same coats of arms are carved with an elegant and unusual motif made up of a series of converging volutes, reminiscent of the webbed wing of a bat or a flying fish2 (Fig. 1). The significance of this motif was practically forgotten when, several centuries later, during Valletta’s postwar reconstruction, it was echoed in a simpler, scaled-down version on the corbels on the apartment blocks just across St John’s Square. A clue to the origin of this motif lies between the corbels themselves, in the coat of arms of Gregory XIII, which displays a rising and winged dragon with a truncated tail. The figure of the dragon follows the prevailing conventions for the representation of these mythical monsters. The motif on the corbels shows an unmistakable similarity to the webbed wings on contemporary representations of dragons (Fig. 2),3 leaving little doubt that it was a direct reference to the coat of arms of Gregory XIII, completing the scheme of heraldic references on the church’s façade. Cardinal Ugo Buoncompagni was elected to the papacy to become Gregory XIII in May 1572, seven months after the battle of Lepanto, and barely four months after La Cassiere was elected Grand Master of the Order of Saint John. At the same time as Buoncompagni’s

1

 I am indebted to Prof. Nicholas Vella, Dr Joan Abela and Ms Isabella Camilleri at the Notarial Archives, and Ms Maroma Camilleri at the National Library for their invaluable assistance in tracing several of the sources used here. 2   A similar motif may be observed on balcony corbels elsewhere in Valletta, at the rear of the former chancery of the Order, where Archbishop Street meets Strait Street, on the façade of a house at 206‒208 Republic Street, and of another property at 18, Saint Ursula Street. A variation on the same theme appears below the windows of Casa Scaglia, on the corner between South Street and Mikiel Anton Vassalli Street. All these examples appear to post-date, and may well have been inspired by, the example at St John’s. 3  Aldrovandi 1640, pp. 419, 420, 422, 423. The example on p. 420 is particularly close to the motif on the corbels. See also Caprotti 2004, pp. 139‒149. Another example worth noting is an ink drawing that includes a pair of winged dragons on the title page of the index of Notary Michele Attard for the years 1647 and 1648, held at the Notarial Archives in Saint Christopher Street (it is worth recalling here that Gian Francesco Abela’s Descrittione di Malta first appeared in 1647).

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Fig. 1. Dragon-wing motif on the corbels over the main entrance of the former Conventual Church of St John. Note the rising dragon on the Buoncompagni coat of arms in the centre.

Fig. 2. Woodcut depicting a winged dragon. Aldrovandi 1640, p. 420. Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library.

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election, a monstrous dragon reputedly appeared near his native city of Bologna, terrorising the countryside until it was killed and its body carried to Bologna.4 As masterfully recounted by Findlen, this unusual story took an even stranger turn because it coincided with the election of a pope whose family coat of arms showed a rising dragon. As news of this controversial phenomenon spread across Italy, its interpretation was carefully managed to steer clear of its being misconstrued as an inauspicious portent for the new pontiff.5 The incident of the dragon became indelibly associated with his family arms, and must have been fresh in the memory when the dragon’s wing motif was adopted on the corbels on the façade of St John’s.

SCIENTIFIC KNOWLEDGE

AND COLLECTIONS IN LATE SIXTEENTH-CENTURY

EUROPE

The way the incident of the dragon unfolded, and the very fact it could have taken place at all, confront the modern reader with some of the deeply rooted differences between our conceptions of scientific thought today and those prevalent in the late sixteenth century. Those conceptions were epitomised in the figure of Ulisse Aldrovandi, who became the protagonist in the study, interpretation and publication of the dragon’s remains. Cousin to the pope, and one of the foremost scholars and scientists active in Bologna in the late sixteenth century, he was entrusted with the dragon’s corpse for detailed study.6 Aldrovandi’s interests ranged across medicine, anatomy, zoology and ornithology. In his lifetime, he built a formidable reputation as one of Italy’s foremost men of learning, and left a twofold legacy in the form of his many publications, and in his museum, which comprised a collection of specimens amassed over several decades. Upon his death in 1605, Aldrovandi bequeathed his collection, including the embalmed body of the dragon, to the Senate of Bologna, with instructions for it to be housed in the Palazzo Pubblico.7 The Aldrovandi museum was to leave a lasting impression on a succession of visitors during the course of the seventeenth century. One person who almost certainly must have been aware of the collection and of its bequest to the city was a young man who had come to the University of Bologna to pursue his studies, obtaining a doctorate in civil and canon law in 1607,8 at a time when the Aldrovandi collection was at the height of its fame. His name was Giovanni Francesco Abela, a Maltese nobleman who, following a distinguished career serving the Order of St John as an ambassador and as chaplain, was to rise to the rank of Vice-Chancellor of the Order.9 While relatively little is known about the early genesis of Abela’s interest in antiquarianism and natural history, there are various clues that suggest his sojourn in Bologna exposed him to Aldrovandi’s works and to his collection, and that this experience was to have a lasting influence on his thought. While Abela is more 4

 Findlen 1994, p. 17.  Findlen 1994, pp. 18‒23. 6  Findlen 1994, pp. 17‒21. 7  Findlen 1994, p. 122; see also Skeates 2000, p. 15. 8  Ciantar 1772, p. viii; see also Leopardi 1961, p. 9. 9  Leopardi 1961. 5

R. GRIMA

34

often remembered for his monumental contributions to history and archaeology, he also took a keen interest in natural phenomena. His approach to such phenomena was to remain closer to that inherited from Aldrovandi than to that of some of his own contemporaries. Four decades after he completed his studies in Bologna, in his masterpiece describing Malta’s history, geography, archaeology and natural history,10 he reported occasional appearances of ‘sea monsters’ in Maltese waters, including one that was beached in 1642, which he considered important enough to merit one of the very few illustrations in the volume.11 His account of these reports, at the boundary between the verifiable and the legendary, is reminiscent of Aldrovandi’s study of the dragon of 1572. Likewise, Abela’s explanation of the origin of marine fossils in the rock closely followed that of Aldrovandi, who believed that such fossils were generated within the rock itself.12 Abela held to this belief, rejecting the emerging idea that they were created by the remains of living organisms deposited while the rock was still being formed.13 The encounter with Aldrovandi’s work may have also influenced Abela in other ways. The cabinets of curiosities formed by the early polymaths and antiquarians of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were, more often than not, the result of the endeavours of a single individual, as well as being the personal property of that individual. Scholarly works published by such individuals usually made extensive references to the objects held within their own collection, which served as a reference and a showcase for the specific interpretations developed by their owner over a lifetime of study. This created a reciprocal relationship between the process of collecting and that of interpreting and publishing. Collections were used to illustrate and argue the veracity of the interpretations put forward, while the publication of these interpretations served to heighten the importance of the collections themselves. Aldrovandi’s work epitomised this reciprocal relationship, and in this respect helped to shape a model that was to be followed a generation later by, among others, Abela and Athanasius Kircher.

“CHE

QUIVI COSSI RIMANGHINO, E RESTINO CUSTODITI

…

IN PERPETUO”

The model outlined above for the construction of knowledge had an inherent paradox. On one hand, the encyclopaedic interpretations that were put forward and published by such collectors often played a major role in the shaping of contemporary knowledge, rendering their collections all the more significant to the scientific community of the day, at least in the view of the collectors themselves. On the other hand, the fact that the collections were their own private property, which they or their heirs could dispose of or disperse, was at odds with the collections’ significance to the wider scientific community, which their owners had often spent a lifetime to promote. This paradox was to haunt successive collectors with the challenge of ensuring that their collections would become a legacy that endured 10

 Abela 1647.  Abela 1647, pp. 136‒137. 12  Quoted in Skeates 2000, p. 7. 13  Abela 1647, p. 135. 11

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beyond their own lifetime. As already noted, Aldrovandi addressed this issue by leaving his entire collection to the Senate of Bologna, with detailed instructions on how it was to be housed and presented. Decades later, Abela was to face the same preoccupation regarding the collection of antiquities and curiosities that he had amassed at the Casino San Giacomo, his villa overlooking the innermost end of the Grand Harbour (Figs 3–4). The provisions that Abela made to address these concerns are recorded in a group of documents held at the National Library of Malta, which were studied and brought to light in a paper by Anthony Bonanno.14 When this paper appeared, it was one of a very few pioneering studies on the early history of antiquarianism and archaeology in Malta, which paved the way for later work in this area. A burgeoning of interest in this field has been witnessed in more recent decades. As a result, we may now revisit some aspects of the early history of Abela’s collection in the wider context provided by subsequent contributions. As discussed in detail by Bonanno, the documents held at the National Library reveal a number of significant details regarding Abela’s plans for his collection of antiquities and the property they were housed in, which allow us to trace how Abela’s plans for the future of his property in Marsa changed over time. In 1627, he donated it to the Conventual Church of the Order, with provisions to keep a votive lamp perpetually lit in the Chapel of St James. As noted by Bonanno,15 no reference is made to antiquities in the 1627 deed, notwithstanding the fact that we know from other sources that by this date, Abela already had an established reputation as an antiquarian, and as an important reference point for other scholars. When Gualtherus visited Malta around 1624, for instance, he reported that he was shown several inscriptions and tombs by Abela.16 A decade later, in 1637, Abela modified his original deed to grant the administration and usufruct of the Casino San Giacomo, its grounds and its contents to the Jesuit College in Valletta.17 This time, he made explicit and detailed provisions regarding his collection. The continued existence of his collection, and its accessibility for study to future scholars, was evidently a foremost consideration in Abela’s mind at this stage. What also emerges from these documents is that Abela had invested heavily in the development of his villa and grounds into the ideal venue to accommodate his collection, in the cabinetto within the house itself, as well as in the adjoining garden. What was at stake for Abela was not simply the safeguarding of the collection itself for posterity, but the ensemble of contents and setting which he had taken great pains to create. A significant change from the 1627 provisions to those laid down by Abela a decade later concerned the properties included in his donation to the Conventual Church. Whereas in 1627 his intention was to bequeath a plot of land at Paola together with his property at Marsa, in the 1637 document he explains that his intention was now to dismember the land at Paola from the donation, replacing it with two newly-acquired plots of land adjoining his

14

 Bonanno 1984.  Bonanno 1984, p. 31. 16  Gualtherus 1624, p. 51. See also discussion in Freller 2003, p. 52. 17  Bonanno 1984, pp. 30‒33. 15

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R. GRIMA

Fig. 3. Eighteenth-century manuscript map showing the Casino San Giacomo and its garden. M46, National Library of Malta. Reproduced by kind permission of Malta Libraries.

Fig. 4. Detail of Fig. 3. The Casino San Giacomo is referred to as ‘Vigna de PP. Gesuiti’. Reproduced by kind permission of Malta Libraries.

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37

property at Marsa, of a value equivalent to that of the dismembered plot.18 Abela also refers to the improvements he had undertaken in order to wall off the additional plots and to join them to the original garden. The successive acquisition of these plots and their integration into the main property clearly formed part of a programme of consolidation and embellishment, in which Abela must have invested considerable energy over several years. The inclusion of these extensions in a single bequest was a logical consequence of these developments. More glimpses of Abela’s vision for the future purpose of this property may be gleaned from the express provisions he made for the collection it housed, in what is probably the most emphatically worded paragraph in the whole deed: “Di piu`dichiaro voglio, et intendo che con l’amministrazione et usufrutto delli detti casa e giardino siano et s’intendano anco compresi tutti li pezzi di statue, pietre e sepolchri antichi, che vi sono e saranno in esso giardino, e vasi di creta e vetro et altre cose antiche che si trovano nel gabinetto di essa casa, con tutte le medaglie di diversi metalli che pur si ritrovano nel medesimo gabinetto, dove voglio et ordino, che quivi cossi rimanghino, e restino custoditi da essi Padri in perpetuo, ne si possino dalli detti giardino e casa cavar fuori, ne darsi cosa alcuna a persona che sia sotto qualunque pretesto, ma si conservino a benefitio de curiosi antiquarii.”19

Abela goes on to make a distinction between the objects just described, regarding which his instructions to keep the collection intact and in situ are unequivocal, and the paintings and furnishings in the house, disposal or replacement of which was permitted. These provisions underline the centrality of his collection to the purpose of his bequest. The house and garden were to continue to serve in perpetuity as the fitting receptacle for the preservation of the collection, and the venue for its study and appreciation. Having assembled the collection, and having created and enlarged a property to house it, Abela needed to put one more element in place in order to secure the institutional future of his most cherished project. This third requirement was the long-term custodianship of the collection and of the premises that housed it. In the revised provisions laid down by Abela in 1637, the choice for this role fell upon the Jesuit College in Valletta, which upon his death was immediately to be entrusted with the administration and usufruct of the Casino San Giacomo. As a member of the Order of St John, bequeathing his property to the Order itself was the most natural course for Abela. His departure from such a route in favour of the Jesuit College therefore requires some explanation, and in fact was to disgruntle many knights.20 Here it will be argued that this choice was anything but incidental, and was only made possible by very specific historical and political circumstances, which persuaded Abela that the Jesuit Order was the institution best equipped for such an undertaking. In order to set the stage, we now need to sketch out the networks of patronage and knowledge surrounding the legacy of 1637. One of the scholars that we know Abela corresponded with is referred to as ‘Signor de Peires’. Abela reports that he sent some fossil samples and archaeological artifacts to him in Aix in 1635, in order to seek his authoritative opinion.21 ‘Signor de Peires’ was none other 18

 N[ational].L[ibrary of].M[alta]. Treas. A, Ms 115, xvii r‒xviii v; see also Bonanno 1984, pp. 33‒34.  N.L.M. Treas. A, Ms 115, xvii r. 20  Borg 1967, pp. 102‒103. 21  Abela 1647, p. 136. 19

R. GRIMA

38

than Nicolas Claude Fabri de Peiresc, one of the more influential savants of his day, who distinguished himself in the study of fossils, antiquities, and astronomy, and who also maintained a prolific correspondence with other scholars. Like Abela, he received part of his education in a Jesuit school, before specialising in laws. And like Abela, his interests spanned the study of nature as well as culture. In 1633, he had played an important role in promoting the reputation and career of another contemporary, the German Jesuit Athanasius Kircher, whom he recommended to Cardinal Francesco Barberini, the nephew of Pope Urban VIII. Barberini’s subsequent patronage of Kircher made it possible for the latter to install himself in Rome, launching a meteoric career in the study of nature, antiquities, and arcane knowledge.22 Once in Rome, Kircher also set about creating a museum in the Jesuits’ Roman College, which was soon to become one of the most celebrated collections of Europe.23 Abela formed part of the same intellectual tradition as Peiresc and Kircher. In 1637, when he made provisions to entrust his collection to the Jesuit College in Valletta, it is evident that he was not only aware of their contributions and their reputation, but also influenced by their work. Abela’s correspondence with Peiresc, referred to above, began at least two years before he revised his legacy in 1637. Abela quotes at length from a letter he received from Peiresc, asking for further information about the altitude from which the marine fossils had been collected. Abela reports how this exchange was cut short by Peiresc’s death,24 which took place at Aix on 24 June 1637.25 One of Peiresc’s last letters was sent to his protégée Kircher, on the eve of the latter’s departure from Rome for Sicily and Malta, entreating him to, among other things, make observations of natural phenomena at Etna, and to collect indexes of the main libraries he came across.26 On 31 May 1637, Kircher arrived in Malta, accompanying Landgrave Friedrich of Hesse-Darmstadt, in the capacity of his confessor.27 News of the impending arrival of the prince and his distinguished companion preceded them. On 14 May 1637, the General of the Jesuit Order wrote from Rome to the Rector of the Jesuit College in Valletta, instructing him to take particular care of Kircher, who was to teach mathematics at the College.28 Shortly after the arrival of the Landgrave and his retinue, on the 8 and 9 of June, his party as well as the Inquisitor Fabio Chigi were hosted by Grand Master Lascaris at Verdala Palace,29 and were taken to visit the troglodytic community nearby.30 Chigi maintained a continuous flow of correspondence with Cardinal Francesco Barberini. At the time of the election of Grand Master Lascaris less than two years earlier, in September 1635, Barberini had written to Chigi, granting Abela the right to vote in the election, in view of his vast experience in the running of the Order.31 With the arrival of the Landgrave in 22

 Findlen 1994, pp. 78‒79.  Findlen 2001, p. 39. 24  Abela 1647, p. 136. 25  Fletcher 2011, p. 38. 26  Fletcher 2011, p. 75, quoting Gassendi. 27  Borg 1967, p. 62; see also Fletcher 2011, p. 491. 28  Borg 1967, p. 273; see also Findlen 2004, pp. 17‒18. 29  Borg 1967, p. 274. 30  Zammit Ciantar 2000, p. 6. 31  Borg 1967, pp. 39‒40, 169‒170. 23

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39

Malta, Barberini now exercised continuous pressure through Chigi in order to secure a series of privileges for the German prince. One of the very first of these was a papal bull granting the Landgrave the status of a Grand Cross, with the right to sit and vote on the Council of the Order,32 which came into effect on 3 June 1637.33 The chronology of the process to approve Abela’s legacy to the Jesuits was closely interlaced with the developments reviewed above, and may be better understood in the context of the networks of patronage, knowledge and obligation that have just been outlined. On 10 June 1637, literally the day after Grand Master Lascaris had hosted the Landgrave, Kircher and Chigi for a couple of days at Verdala, we find the Grand Master sending the Council of the Order Abela’s petition to modify his earlier deed in favour of the Jesuit College. On 19 June, the Council, which now included the Landgrave as a voting member, granted its approval. In September, the Pope’s permission and the Grand Master’s approval were secured.34 The timing of Abela’s petition in early June 1637, during the very first weeks of Kircher’s presence in Malta, can hardly be coincidental. Through communications such as Abela’s correspondence with Peiresc, men such as Barberini and Kircher were very probably aware of Abela’s collection, even before Kircher’s arrival in Malta. Once in Malta, the two-day stay at Verdala provided ample opportunity for some informal discussion between the Grand Master, Chigi, the Landgrave and Kircher on the future of Abela’s collection. The fact that Kircher now formed part of the teaching staff of the Jesuit College in Valletta may also have had a bearing. The presence of the celebrated scholar, who had already caused a considerable sensation in Rome, added lustre to the Jesuit College, and in the eyes of men like Abela, who himself had received part of his early education from the Jesuits,35 would have reinforced the perception that the College was the ideal institution to become the perpetual custodian of his collection. When Kircher was posted to Malta in the role of confessor to the Landgrave, it was certainly not intended to be a brief posting, as the prince was now a member of the Order of St John, and was in fact to remain based in Malta for another decade. In the event, Kircher spent eight months on the island. Keen to continue his wider research projects, he petitioned his superiors to appoint another confessor to replace him, and to post him elsewhere. He was eventually called back to Rome, departing on 1 February 1638.36 In the intervening months however, particularly at the start of his sojourn, it would have been reasonable to expect Kircher’s stay to be a longer one. To Abela, this must have boded well. Entrusting his collection to the Jesuit College at a time when a member of its staff was a rising star, who enjoyed the direct patronage of Cardinal Barberini, promised to place it in the mainstream of scholarly study.

32

 Borg 1967, p. 63.  Borg 1967, p. 273. 34  Bonanno 1984, p. 30. 35  Bonanno 1984, p. 32. 36  Findlen 2004, pp. 17‒18. 33

R. GRIMA

40 “… SE

POTESSE TAL

GALLERIA

RIVEDERE L’ABELA, VI PIAGNEREBBE”37

As is well known, in spite of his best efforts, the destiny of Abela’s collection was to take a less fortunate turn. Kircher’s departure was not necessarily a setback, as it promised to reap even greater benefits. With Kircher back in Rome, as his reputation and that of his museum continued to grow to celebrity status, he must have seemed the perfect partner and model to help ensure the continued preservation, promotion and study of Abela’s collection when it devolved to the Jesuit College in Valletta. A sequence of other events however intervened. In March 1639, an incident during carnival spiralled into an unpleasant confrontation between some of the younger knights and the Jesuit fathers, culminating in the ransacking of the Jesuit College in Valletta, and the eviction and replacement of most of the Jesuits from the island.38 Among the complex causes of this animosity was the granting of the future usufruct and administration of Abela’s Casino San Giacomo, which many knights felt should have been retained by the Order, and which Chigi now perceived as an added liability for the Jesuits, as it only made them the target of jealousy. He even went as far as to advise the Jesuits to consider surrendering their rights on the property to help smoothen troubled waters.39 Although such a surrender did not take place, the climate was certainly not a conducive one for the future promotion of Jesuit activity on the property. Abela died on 4 May 1655, and the Jesuits took possession of the usufruct and administration of the Casino San Giacomo the same day.40 Precisely at the moment when the Jesuit Order in Malta and in Rome was meant to step in to continue the realisation of Abela’s project, another reversal struck. Between September and November of the same year, Malta suffered the most serious visitation of the plague in more than sixty years.41 In Rome, meanwhile, Kircher was beset by other problems.42 The death of Pope Innocent X in January 1655 had lost him his most important patron.43 The newly elected Pope Alexander VII was none other than Fabio Chigi, who sixteen years previously had advised the Jesuits to cede their rights over the Casino San Giacomo. This circumstance did little to encourage any grand Jesuit initiative regarding Abela’s legacy. When the plague reached Rome in the spring of 1656, to linger through 1657, it burdened Kircher with much more immediate problems than those of supporting the antiquarian efforts of his brethren in Malta.44 What must have seemed a fortuitous alignment of circumstances in 1637 had transpired to be rather less favourable. As a result, in the decades that followed, the collection at the Casino San Giacomo was to languish in a much sorrier state than Abela had done his best to provide for.

37

 Mifsud 1764, p. 249.  Borg 1967, pp. 100‒104, 471‒477. 39  Borg 1967, p. 103. 40  Bonanno 1984, pp. 36‒37. 41  Cassar 1964, pp. 164‒175. Twenty years later, in 1675‒1676, the worst visitation of the plague recorded in Malta wiped out about 15% of the population. 42  Baldwin 2004 provides a rich account of this stage of Kircher’s career. 43  Baldwin 2004, p. 61. 44  Baldwin 2004. 38

ABELA’S CABINET OF ANTIQUITIES REVISITED

41

BIBLIOGRAPHY ABELA, G. F. 1647 Della Descrittione di Malta Isola nel Mare Siciliano con le sue Antichita, ed altre Notitie. Malta: Paolo Bonacota. ALDROVANDI, U. 1640 Historiæ Serpentum et Draconum. Bonon: Marcus Antonius Bernia. BALDWIN, M. 2004 “Reverie in time of plague: Athanasius Kircher and the plague epidemic of 1656,” in Athanasius Kircher: The Last Man Who Knew Everything, edited by P. Findlen, pp. 61‒75. London: Routledge. BONANNO, A. 1984 “Giovanni Francesco Abela’s legacy to the Jesuit College,” Proceedings of History Week 1983, pp. 27‒37. Malta: The Malta Historical Society. BORG, V. 1967 Fabio Chigi, Apostolic Delegate in Malta (1634‒1639): An Edition of His Official Correspondence. Città del Vaticano: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana. CASSAR, P. 1964 Medical History of Malta. London: Wellcome Historical Medical Library. CAPROTTI, E. 2004 Mostri, Draghi e Serpenti nelle silografie dell’opera di Ulisse Aldrovandi e dei suoi contemporanei. Milan: Mazzotta. CIANTAR, G. 1772 Malta Illustrata, Ovvero Descrizione di Malta, Isola del Mare Siciliano e Adriatico, con le sue Antichità. Malta: Stamperia del Palazzo di S.A.S. FINDLEN, P. 1994 Possessing Nature: Museums, Collecting, and Scientific Culture in Early Modern Italy. Berkeley and London: University of California Press. 2001 “Un incontro con Kircher a Roma,” in Athanasius Kircher S.J.: Il Museo del Mondo, edited by E. Lo Sardo, pp. 39‒47. Rome: Edizioni De Luca. 2004 “The last man who knew everything… or did he? Athanasius Kircher, S.J. (1602‒1680) and his world,” in Athanasius Kircher: The Last Man Who Knew Everything, edited by P. Findlen, pp. 1‒47. London: Routledge. FLETCHER, J. E. 2011 A Study of the Life and Works of Athanasius Kircher, ‘Germanus Incredibilis’: With a Selection of His Unpublished Correspondence and an Annotated Translation of His Autobiography. Leiden: Brill. FRELLER, T. 2003 “Excavators and Adventurers,” Treasures of Malta 9(2): 51‒54. GUALTHERUS, G. 1624 Siciliae obiacentium insular, et Bruttiorum antiquae tabulae. Messina: Petrum Bream. LEOPARDI, E. R. 1961 “Gian Francesco Abela: His life and career,” in G. F. Abela. Essays in His Honour by Members of the Malta Historical Society on the Third Centenary of his Death (1655‒1955), pp. 7‒14. Malta: Department of Information. MIFSUD, I. S. 1764 Biblioteca Maltese dell’Avvocato Mifsud, Parte Prima. Malta: Stamperia di S.A.S. SCICLUNA, H. 1955 The Church of St John in Valletta. Malta: The Author. SKEATES, R. 2000 The Collecting of Origins: Collectors and Collections of Italian Prehistory and the Cultural Transformation of Value (1550‒1999). Oxford: British Archaeological Reports. ZAMMIT CIANTAR, J. 1991 “Athanasius Kircher in Malta,” Studi Magrebini 23: 23‒44.

R. GRIMA

42 2000

Life in Għar il-Kbir: A seventeenth-century account by Athanasius Kircher, S.J. and an engraving depicting it published by Pieter van der Aa. Malta: Dingli Local Council.

Reuben GRIMA University of Malta [email protected]

THE GOZO OSCILLUM, CARLO CASTONE DELLA TORRE DI REZZONICO AND THE VILLINO AGATA, MALTA Mario BUHAGIAR

This is the story of a cognoscente of the Age of Enlightenment, a gifted architect, a rich suburban villa designed by the latter, and the archaeological discovery that binds them together. The connection between the different protagonists of the story has largely escaped notice in the published literature, and is being told here for the first time in honour of a friend and colleague.

THE OSCILLUM One of the finest examples of the Late Roman decorative arts in Maltese collections is a white marble disc oscillum (diameter 28 cm, thickness 2.5 cm) in the archaeological museum on Gozo, reportedly found on that island in unknown circumstances.1 The low relief decorations show a Greek theatrical mask on one side, and a griffin with a ram’s head next to its left front paw on the other (Fig. 1).

Fig. 1. (a) The Gozo oscillum, probable obverse side with griffin and a ram’s head and (b) the probable reverse side with Greek theatrical mask (photograph reproduced courtesy of Heritage Malta/Museum of Archaeology, Gozo).

1

 The assistance of Ms Nicoline Sagona, Manager Gozo Museums and sites, Heritage Malta, is gratefully acknowledged.

M. BUHAGIAR

44

Sir William Smith, in his dictionary of classical antiquities,2 gives the term oscillum an apotropaic significance by drawing an association to the usually wood-carved face (or head) images of Bacchus that were hung in vineyards to be swung by the wind so that “whichever way they looked they were supposed to make the vines in that quarter fruitful.”3 Presumably as a result of the fascination with the portrait face of the GraecoRoman wine deity, oscillum (pl. oscilla) is usually interpreted as a diminutive of os meaning “a little face.” Although wood appears to be have been the commonest material, oscilla could also be of wax, earthenware, and (as in the case of the Gozo specimen) white marble. Although Bacchus, and other deities connected with the cultivation of the soil, appear to have been the most common propitiatory divinities invoked, especially in the sementivae feriae (sowing festivals),4 oscilla were also hung as offerings to other deities on other festivals and ceremonies, presumably for expiation motives, serving in this way a ritualistic purpose. The deity honoured by the Gozo oscillum is not known but the high quality of the work suggests an important provenance that is unfortunately unknown. The presence of the griffin arguably suggests a temple because the hybrid creature was esteemed as a symbol of divine power and a guardian of the divine.5 The only known other oscillum from Gozo (and apparently also from Malta) was found by Thomas Ashby in 1910 during the excavations of the seaside villa at Ramla Bay. It was broken in several pieces and he records it as the “scanty fragments” of a white marble circular disc, 5 mm (three-sixteenths of an inch) in thickness, with a bearded Silenus head on one of the sides and “the legs with some drapery” on the other.6 It is obviously unrelated to that in the museum oscillum and the fragments (if they survive) have still to be identified in the museum’s reserve collection.

CARLO CASTONE

DELLA

TORRE

DI

REZZONICO

The first known mention of the Gozo oscillum is in Carlo Castone della Torre di Rezzonico’s account of his visit to Malta in 1793‒1794.7 Carlo Castone (1742‒1796) was one of the most respected cognoscenti and literary personalities of the Age of Enlightenment. He was an esteemed member of the Accademia degli Arcadi in which he adopted the name of Dorillo Dafneio. Under the influence of Johann Joachim Winckelmann, he published, in 1772, the treatise Discorsi accademici relattivi alle belle arti which won him academic acclaim.8

2

 Smith 1842, p. 677.  The practice is mentioned by Virgil Georg. II. 388‒392. 4  One of the better known examples is the white marble Bacchus oscillum at the British Museum. 5  Von Volborth 1981, pp. 44‒45. 6  Ashby 1915, p. 74. 7  Eynaud 1989, pp. 58‒59. 8  Della Torre di Rezzonico 1772. 3

THE GOZO OSCILLUM

45

Although born in Como to the rich and politically powerful Rezzonico family, Carlo Castone was, for most of his life, attached to the Ducal Court of Parma where he enjoyed a reputation for aristocratic refinement, erudition and an encyclopaedic knowledge of art, literature and classical antiquity. He had a profound knowledge of Greek literature and was fluent in French and English. Widely travelled, he set new standards in scholarly travel literature. The accounts of his viaggi stand out for their perceptive analysis of cultural heritage, political and socio-economic-religious realities and natural and geo-physical phenomena. They betray the all-pervasive inquisitiveness of an incisive intellect nurtured in the enlightened philosophy of Jean le Rond d’Alembert and Denis Diderot. His travel journal to England9 and its ancillaries – Frammenti sulla città di Londra and Collezione di quadri osservati in Londra10 – are an indispensable reference tool to the study of England as a role model in the Age of Enlightenment. They set the pattern for the successive travelogues Giornale di viaggio di Napoli negli anni 1789 e 1790 (in which the quest for, and study of, classical ruins was a primary motivation) and Viaggio della Sicilia e di Malta negli anni 1793 e 1794.11 In 1789, he had the ill fortune to meet Giuseppe Balsamo, alias Alessandro Cagliostro. This was to cause him much embarrassment when, during his trial, the notorious occultist and adventurer mentioned him among his acquaintances. He was also aggrieved by accusations of adherence to a masonic lodge and left Parma for Naples and Sicily. In an effort to regain his good repute, he crossed to Malta to seek investiture as Knight in the Hospitaller Military Order of St John. Grand Master Rohan, whom he had previously met, found him “di sanissimi principi” and he was received in the Langue of Italy, as a Knight of Justice. On his return to Italy he suffered a stroke while at the theatre in Naples and died soon afterwards in 1796.12 The Viaggio di Malta deserves to be better known for its in-depth knowledge of the island and its history, works of art and antiquities.13 It is almost the exact contemporary of the better known Malte par un voyageur François by Guignard de Saint Priest,14 with which it shares core information. Carlo Castone was well familiar with it and makes frequent references to Saint Priest with whom he sometimes disagrees. The Viaggio is in many ways the superior account and a more valuable tool to art historians and archaeologists, containing, among others, a very incisive and critical appreciation of Caravaggio’s Beheading and of Mattia Preti’s St John’s ceiling, an analysis of the Knights’ Rhodian treasure of relics and reliquaries, and a well-informed discussion of archaeological artefacts. He visited private collections such as those of the Marchese Barbaro and the Baronessa Muscat and was well familiar with the cabinet of antiquities and the paintings in the summer apartments of the Grand Master’s Palace.

 9

 Opere 1819.  Opere 1819 (Appendix to the travelogue). 11  Opere 1817; 1818. 12  Biographical details in Fagioli Varcellone 1989. 13  The exact date of the voyage is unknown and any time between 1793 and 1795 is possible. 14  de Saint Priest 1791. 10

M. BUHAGIAR

46

Other antiquities were displayed in the Bibliotheca, the building of which had just been completed by Stefano Ittar.15 Here he was shown round by the learned priest (“dotto sacerdote”) Gioacchino Navarro.16 The oscillum was kept among the more famous exhibits which included the marble bilingual candelabrum (popularly known as the cippus), the marble statue of Hercules, and the bronze statuette of the cripple blind beggar covered with a cryptic inscription in an unknown alphabet which (reputedly) had also been discovered in Gozo.17 He had doubts about the Hercules which was a mediocrissima scoltura “at best Roman but certainly not Greek” (al più romana, e non mai greca) and recognised the head as a modern fake that had none of the usual characteristics associated with the divinity. The oscillum was, on the other hand, genuine and of fine quality. He describes it thus: “Found on Gozo is a circular marble disc carved on the two sides. It is something that you can handle with your hands. A griffin who rests his paw on a ram’s head, and a head with a wig that has the semblance of a tragic mask are the two images. The carving is in very low relief and of excellent quality. I have no hesitation in affirming that it was a revolving disc for, in addition to its discreet weight and solidity, there are clear signs, at the point of equilibrium (at the lower end), of the hand that turned it and of its frequent use. The perforation at the top of the disc must have served for its suspension from the nail that held it in place. It could even have been a shield (clipeo) intended for suspension of the type that were discovered in Herculaneum and which one can also see in Portici.”18

STEFANO ITTAR AND

THE

VILLINO AGATA

The fame of the oscillum in the small, but articulate (and remarkably well informed) circle of cultured Knights and Maltese gentry can be gauged from the fact that when in 1786, Gio Francesco Bonici, Baron of Qlejgħa, commissioned Stefano Ittar to build him a leisure house, the Villino Agata, outside the land front of Valletta, its two carved images were used as elements of architectural decoration. It is not known if this reflected Baron Bonici’s cultured interest in classical antiquity or conversely Ittar’s fascination with the artefact. There is also the possibility that the oscillum may originally have belonged to the Baron’s cabinet of antiquities. The use of replicas of classical antique sculpture was a common decorative element in Rococo and Neo-Classical architecture, but the Villino Agata is Malta’s only significant known case. The date 1786 is important in so much as it provides a terminus ante quem for the discovery of the oscillum. Stefano Ittar (c.1730‒1790) was a talented architect who was trained in Rome but gravitated south to Catania where he settled down and acquired good repute. His passage to Malta resulted from two essential realities. The first was political. The Order was passing through turbulent and difficult times and a prestigious building that would add to the lustre 15

 See below.  Carlo Castone wrongly gives his name as Giovanni Navarro who had succeeded Giovanni Pietro Agius De Soldanis as librarian. He was acclaimed as an authority on Maltese antiquities. 17  On the statuette, see Buhagiar 2014, pp. 245‒246. 18  Eynaud 1989, pp. 58‒59; author’s translation. 16

THE GOZO OSCILLUM

47

of Valletta would send a strong message of untainted princely magnificence. The second was the concern of its Chapter General at the precarious state of the Knights’ prestigious library collection and hence the need to have it housed in a new building that would ensure better protection. The decision to commission Ittar was taken in 1776 but work only started in October 1784, when the architect received the first instalment of an annual fee of 1,500 Maltese scudi.19 It was only finally completed in 1796 when Ittar had been already dead for six years.20 It was nonetheless fully functional by 1793‒1794 when Carlo Castone studied its collection of antiquities. The Bibliotheca has often been described as Malta’s first Neo-Classical building.21 This is not correct. The building is essentially an exercise in late eighteenth-century classicism notable for its academic restraint and cultured elegance that give it a hint of Rococo sensibility. Borrowings from classical vocabulary, such as the bucrane and aegricane (the ram’s or goat’s head or skull) are used intelligently, betraying a fascination with antiquity, particularly the metopes of a Doric frieze. Classical antiquity had been a contributory player in Ittar’s cultural formation. As a young man in Rome he had been a protégé of Alessandro Cardinal Albani who boasted one of the finest collections of classical sculpture, while in Catania he befriended Don Ignazio Paternò, Prince of Biscari, whose palazzo with its famous collection of antiquities and works of art was one of the wonders of the city. Francesco Battaglia, his father-in-law, and chief architect to the Prince of Biscari, secured him important commissions and collaborated with him on the prestigious Porta Ferdinandea (now Porta Garibaldi) which has a dignified sobriety in the carefully contrived synthesis between the noble simplicity of the triumphal arch and the Baroque exuberance of the crowning heraldic panoplies of arms and trumpeting angels. The buildings of Giovanni Battista Vaccarini (1702‒1768) and Antonio Amato (c.1700‒1750), whom he succeeded as chief architect and town planner, were a potential source of influence but his buildings became increasing more classical, reaching a climax in the street elevation of the Collegio Cutelli, which was to serve as the prototype for Bibliotheca.22 Villino Agata (Fig. 2) is a playful variation on the more solemnly academic Bibliotheca Collegio Cutelli prototypes with an easily discernible hint of Rococo refinement. It is one of Malta’s most successful and architecturally well-informed villas of the second half of the eighteenth century, with a clear debt to Palazzo Biscari and monumental buildings in Catania. The flamboyantly baroque centrepiece, that is the crowning glory of the villino, is, for example, a re-thinking of the clock-extravaganza of the Porta Ferdinandea, but in spite of the luxuriant application of classically inspired decorative elements, the building has poise, decorum, and simplicity that look forward to Neo-Classical architecture. Built on two stories with a scenographic parapet wall at roof level, it is immediately remarkable for the mathematical logic of its division into articulate bays by stocky Tuscan pilasters. The oscillum’s griffin and theatrical mask, copied with painstaking exactitude but festooned  National Library of Malta. A[rchives].O[rder].M[alta]., Deliberazioni della Veneranda Camera del Tesoro A, f. 315. 20  Sammut 1982, p. 24; on Ittar in Malta see also Buscemi 2008, pp. 6‒7. 21  See in particular Bonello 1970. 22  Details in Sammut 1982. 19

48

M. BUHAGIAR

Fig. 2. Floriana, Villino Agata, view of façade.

with crisply carved garlands of luscious foliage and fruit, are given the place of honour in the window surrounds on the far left and the far right of the façade on the ground floor (Figs 3–4). Clearly they were deliberately singled out for the attention of visitors or passers-by. The villino, built as a summer residence, next door to the villa and gardens of the Balì Ignazio de Argote et Guzman (now the Argotti Gardens) and a few metres distant from the Jesuit retreat house of the Virgin of Manresa (now the archiepiscopal curia), was engulfed by buildings when the district, known as Balzunetta, was developed into a prime residential area, at the turn of the twentieth century. The building is now accessed from a private residence and is not visible from the street. It has long been abandoned and is slowly becoming derelict.23

23  Villino Agata was included in the Antiquities Protection List of 1932 and scheduled by Malta Environment and Planning Authority as a Grade 1 national monument as per Government Notice number 1082/09 in the Government Gazette dated December 22, 2009.

THE GOZO OSCILLUM

49

Fig. 3. Floriana, Villino Agata, detail of the ground floor window with crisply carved medallion of the griffin from the Gozo oscillum.

Fig. 4. Floriana, Villino Agata, detail of the ground floor window with crisply carved medallion of the Greek theatrical mask from the Gozo oscillum.

50

M. BUHAGIAR

BIBLIOGRAPHY ASHBY, T. 1915 “Roman Malta,” Journal of Roman Studies 5: 1‒80. BONELLO, V. 1970 “Posizione storica dell’architettura maltese dal ’500 al ’700,” in Architettura a Malta: Atti del XV congresso di storia dell’architettura, Malta 11‒16 settembre 1967. Roma: Centro di Studi per la Storia dell’Architettura. BUHAGIAR, M. 2014 Essays of the Archaeology and Ancient History of the Maltese Islands. Malta: Midsea Books. BUSCEMI, F. 2008 L’Atene antica di Sebastiano Ittar: Un architetto di Lord Elgin tra Sicilia, Malta e Grecia (Progetto Kasa 4). Palermo: Officina di Studi Medievali. DE SAINT PRIEST, F.-E. G. 1791 Malte par un voyageur François. DELLA TORRE DI REZZONICO, C. C. 1772 Discorsi accademici relativi alle belle arti. Parma: Stamperia Reale. EYNAUD, J. (ed.) 1989 Carlo Castone della Torre di Rezzonico: Viaggio di Malta Anno 1793. Malta: Midsea Books. FAGIOLI VARCELLONE, G. 1989 “Della Torre di Rezzonico, Carlo Gastone,” Dizionario Biografico degli italiani, vol. 37, available at (accessed April 2017). Opere = Opere del Cavaliere Carlo Costone Conte della Torre di Rezzonico raccolte e pubblicate dal Professore F. Mocchetti. 1817 Napoli negli anni 1789 e 1790, vol. 5. Como: Ostinelli. 1818 Viaggio della Sicilia e di Malta negli anni 1793 e 1794, vol. 6. Como: Ostinelli. 1819 Giornale de viaggio d’Inghilterra negi anni 1787 e 1788 (includes Frammenti sulla città di Londra and Collezione di quadri osservati in Londra), vol. 7. Como: Ostinelli. SAMMUT, E. 1982 “A note on Stefano and Sebastiano Ittar,” Proceedings of History Week 1981, edited by M. Buhagiar, pp. 20‒27. Malta: The Malta Historical Society. SMITH, W. (ed.) 1842 A Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities. London: Taylor and Walton. VON VOLBORTH, C. A. 1981 Heraldry: Customs, Rules and Styles. Poole, Dorset: New Orchards Editions.

Mario BUHAGIAR University of Malta [email protected]

CICERO, WIKARJAK, AND COLEIRO Carmel SERRACINO

The Cicero memorial plaque at Mdina is curious for a number of reasons: it commemorates a fact of dubious historicity; it is inexorably linked with an eminent Maltese priest and scholar; it also conserves a long-forgotten association with a Polish professor. The aim of this paper is to investigate the influences that had originally converged to put up this memorial (Fig. 1).

THE PLAQUE Gracing the western wall of the Cathedral Museum, formerly the Old Seminary Palace, the marble plaque features a bronze bas-relief of the Roman orator and, beneath it, an inscription. The inscription is in Latin and, in smaller script, there follows a translation in Maltese. The juxtaposition of the original text in Latin with a Maltese translation on the same marble slab is already a point of interest and makes the plaque quite unique to the island.1 The text reads as follows: M. TULLIUS CICERO M. F. M. N. HUIUS PROVINCIAE PATRONUS CELEBERRIMUS QUAESTOR POPULI ROMANI POSTEA PRAETOR ET CONSUL ROMANUS APUD LICINIUM ARISTOTELEM MELITENSEM ANNO A.U.C. DCLXXIX HIC MELITA IN INSULA HOC MELITENSI IN OPPIDO COMMORATUS EST2 MARKU TULLJU ĊIĊERUN BNIEDEM TA’ FAMA KBIRA U AVUKAT TAL-MALTIN KWESTUR U AKTAR TARD PRETUR U KONSLU TA’ RUMA, GĦAMMAR HAWN, F’DIN IL-BELT TA’ MALTA, FID-DAR TAL-MALTI ĦABIB TIEGĦU LIĊINJU ARISTOTELE

1

 To my knowledge, the only other Latin-Maltese inscription is the one at the gate to the Sanctuary of Our Lady at Mellieħa, which belongs to the mid-19th century. Wied Għammieq cemetery in Kalkara holds an inscription in Latin from 1881, commemorating cholera victims interred in the cemetery. A translation in Maltese is found on a separate slab some metres away from the Latin one. 2  Translation: “Marcus Tullius Cicero, son of Marcus, grandson of Marcus, most celebrated patron of the province, quaestor of the Roman people, afterwards, praetor and Roman consul, dwelt here on the island of Melita at the house of Licinius Aristoteles, a native of Melita, in this town of Melita in the year 679 from the Foundation of the City.”

52

C. SERRACINO

Fig. 1. The Cicero plaque at Mdina, Malta.

CICERO, WIKARJAK, AND COLEIRO

53

We know from the Verrine Orations and from the orator’s personal correspondence that Cicero was well acquainted with several aspects of the island and that he also had Maltese friends.3 However, whether he actually ever stepped on Maltese shores is questionable and remains a matter of conjecture. The Mdina inscription, however, has no qualms about settling the question once and for all. According to the words on the marble, Cicero not only sojourned in Malta, but even stayed in the city of Mdina as guest of his Maltese friend Aulus Licinius Aristoteles, mentioned in Epistulae ad Familiares 13.52.14 The Cicero plaque was officially unveiled in 1979, as part of a ceremony commemorating the tenth anniversary of the Cathedral Museum. The man behind the idea was Mgr Edoardo Coleiro (1914‒1996), the indefatigable Professor of Latin at the Royal University of Malta until his retirement in 1978.5 Of the many students who were privileged to study Latin Literature under him and who later distinguished themselves in their professional careers, it is only right on the present occasion to mention Professor Anthony Bonanno. Coleiro was a leading personality in the ecclesiastical, academic, and cultural life of the island for a considerable portion of the 20th century. Indeed, the establishment of the Museum in 1969 owed much to the industry of the Professor, and he continued to chair its Management Committee until his death in 1996. What prompted Coleiro to choose such a particular occurrence as the tenth anniversary of the Museum to inaugurate the Ciceronian memorial might not be altogether clear. What is clear, however, is that the thought of celebrating Cicero’s relation to Malta in permanent form had been germinating in Coleiro’s mind for a number of years, ever since he heard the Polish scholar Professor Jan Wikarjak reading his paper at the Congress of Latin Studies which was held in Malta between August 30 and September 4, 1973 (Fig. 2).

COLEIRO’S LATIN CONGRESS

OF

1973

The Third International Congress of Latin Studies was a joint initiative between the Classics Department of the Royal University of Malta, at the time headed by Coleiro, and the Academia Latinitati Inter Omnes Gentes Fovendae of the Institute of Roman Studies on the Aventine at Rome.6 Coleiro was an active member of the Academia and had participated 3  For a general treatment, see Bonanno 2005, pp. 142‒148. For a discussion of the references to Malta in Cicero’s letters, see Coleiro 1964, pp. 32‒34, and Busuttil 1971. 4  In his note on Licinius, Abela (1647: Lib. iv, Not. iv) seems to imply that it was Cicero who had played host to Licinius: Aulo Licinio cognominato Aristotele, vissne parimente al tempo di Marco Tullio, fù di lui ospite lungamente…, although ospite in Italian presents a similar ambiguity as the Latin hospes (see infra). Closer to our times, scholars have generally ignored the premise that Cicero visited Malta, e.g. Vassallo 1854, Caruana 1882, Ashby 1915, Laspina 1971, Laferla 1972, Bonanno 1992, Vella 2002. Busuttil (1967, p. 258) states that Cicero entertained Licinius at Rome. Similarly Vella (1974, p. 44) suggests Cicero met Licinius at Rome. In his entry under ‘Cicero,’ Galea (1984, p. 34) writes that “It is said that (Cicero) came to Malta and stayed at Mdina.” 5  See Azzopardi 1997 for an outline of Coleiro’s career and published works. 6  The Archives of the Cathedral Museum at Mdina houses a collection of documentary material related to the Congress, preserved in nine box-files codified as ‘ACM Papers for the Latin Congress 1973’. The outstanding feature of this fascinating collection of memorabilia is the correspondence file, comprising hundreds of letters that were exchanged between Coleiro and participating scholars in preparation to the Congress. Written

54

C. SERRACINO

Fig. 2. Mgr Prof. Coleiro (front row, in soutane) together with participants to the 1973 Latin Congress on the steps of the Auberge de Castille during a city-tour of Valletta (source: Dr Louis Borg).

in the first two congresses, at Rome in 1966 and Bucharest in 1970, where he also contributed a paper.7 Characteristically, Coleiro took the organisation of the Congress with the utmost dedication.8 By the end of 1971, the prima epistula advertising the Congress had been dispatched to 1,502 addressees, ranging from Universities and institutions to private professors and academic journals.9 As many as 116 foreign Latinists finally made it to Malta, some of whom were prominent classicists of international standing.10 Hailing from twenty

in Latin, Italian, or English, depending on the nationality or preference of each correspondent, these letters bring out the character and vitality of Coleiro with great vividness. They are also revelatory of the personality and interests of several of the Latinists who attended the Congress.  7  “De Vergilii vi in recentibus epiciis carminibus creandi” published in Acta Conventus Omnium Gentium Latinis Litteris Linguaeque Fovendis: Bucurestiis a die XXVIII mensis Augusti ad diem III mensis Septembris a. MDCCCCLXX, Bucharest 1970, pp. 211‒217.  8  Cp. Bonanno 1987, p. xiii “Edward Coleiro combines the rare gifts of erudite scholarship and organizational ability”. The collection at the Cathedral Archives also bears witness to Coleiro’s great diligence in orchestrating the Congress, a quality further corroborated to the author by personal testimony of members on the Congress’ organising committee chaired by Coleiro, including Dr Louis Borg and Ms Marina Felice.  9  ACM Papers for the Latin Congress 1973: 6, File 3, for a categorised list of recipients of the prima epistula. 10  One hundred and sixteen is the official figure of foreign delegates given by The Sunday Times of Malta on September 2, 1973, p. 28.

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different countries, the majority of participants were European, with a considerable presence of Latinists from Iron Curtain countries, while a handful of scholars made the trip from the US and Canada.11 The six days were full to the brim, with the presentation of papers, which exceeded fifty in number, taking the greater part of the day, while cultural and social events filled the evenings.12 As habitual with these congresses, the official language was Latin. The proceedings were eventually published in 1976 by the University of Malta as the Acta omnium gentium ac nationum conventus Latinis Litteris Linguaeque fovendis, a hefty 600-page volume in Latin edited by Coleiro which is a testimonial to the high level of scholarship that the Congress elicited. Letters from participants which Coleiro received subsequent to the Congress abounded in expressions of gratitude and commendation, attesting to the general success of this huge event and to its excellent organisation.13 Among the scholars in Malta was Jan Wikarjak, Professor of Classical Philology at the Adam Mickiewicz University in Poznań, Poland (Fig. 3). Born in 1914 (the same year as Coleiro) in Ostrow Wielkopolski, Wikarjak had a distinguished career at Poznań, where he was the dean of the Faculty of Philology (1964‒1968) and the University’s vice-rector (1968‒1972).14 Wikarjak’s main interests were Greek historiography, particularly Herodotus, Cicero, and the Latin Language. His Latin grammar book Gramatyka opisowa języka łacińskiego was published in 1978 and went through many editions. He also translated Francis Bacon’s Novum Organum into Polish. His Od Grecji Herodota i Rzymu Cycerona do średniowiecza i renesansu w Polsce, published posthumously in 2007, attests to Wikarjak’s interest in the Medieval and Renaissance reception of classical literature in his country.15 Wikarjak passed on his academic interests to his daughter, Dr Teodozja Wikarjak, who today lectures in Latin and the Classical Tradition in the Faculty of Polish and Classical Philology at the same University in Poznań.

JAN WIKARJAK’S

CONTRIBUTION

The collection at the Cathedral Archives contains a number of letters exchanged between Coleiro and Wikarjak, all written in Latin.16 In a letter to Coleiro dated October 7, 1972, Wikarjak expresses his wish to attend the Congress and contribute a paper entitled 11  ACM Papers for the Latin Congress 1973: 6, File 1, for lists of the attendees and their countries of origin. 12  The latter included cultural tours and a theatrical production of Plautus’ Menaechmi in Italian. A trip to Gozo was also organised for Latinists who stayed on an extra day after the Congress. 13  These letters justify Coleiro’s claim in the ‘Praefatio’ of Acta, p. 7: “Ea sane quae conventu peracto vel gratulatoriis epistulis ad nos missis vel doctis in ephemeridibus permulti, haud ingratis verbis, de ipso conventu scripserunt non inseruimus, non quod haud acceptissima exceperimus legerimusque, sed quod quam minimis impensis librum conficere – quae sane sint hodiernis diebus talia impensa neminem fallit – pretioque quam minimo legentibus offerre voluimus”. 14  Information on Jan Wikarjak, as well as photographs of the professor and others taken by him during his visit to Malta, was provided to the author by Tedozja Wikarjak in a private communication dated 13 December 2013. 15  OCLC WorldCat Identities states that Wikarjak is the author of “57 works in 137 publications in 4 languages and 477 library holdings”: . 16  ACM Papers for the Latin Congress 1973: 3, File ‘Letters Prof. J. Wikarjak’.

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Fig. 3. Professor Jean Wikarjak (1914‒1983) (source: Dr Teodozja Wikarjak).

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‘De M. Tullio rerum gestarum pronuntiatore’, a title which Coleiro approves in his reply dated October 30. In a second letter dated January 29, 1973, Wikarjak expresses concern about the 30-minute time limit that Coleiro had set for the reading of each paper: …sed etiam aliquid mihimet adtulit sollicitudinis, quippe quod singulis oratoribus non multum temporis concede posse pateat; mea autem oratiuncula, quae de. M. Tullio rerum gestarum pronuntiatore sum habiturus, etiam si brevis esse laborabo, vix dodrantis horae spatio perorari poterit. Itaque pergratum mihi erit, si hac de re aliquatenus me docere comiter volueris.17 The published paper takes nine pages of densely typed Latin in the Acta, which explains Wikarjak’s concern.18 Coleiro replies in a letter dated 2 March, 1973, where one can detect a hint of the characteristic exasperation: Te hortor ut quam brevissimus in tua oratione sis; immediately, as was also typical of his character, Coleiro calms down: Sed noli perturbari; etiam si dodrantis horae spatio dixeris nullo incommodo eris. Si fieri tamen potest etiam brevior esto.19 Next, as a reaction to the list of contributors and scheduled titles of papers that Coleiro sent out to all participating Latinists a few months prior to the Congress, Wikarjak observes a glaring lacuna in the programme and in a letter to Coleiro dated August 10, 1973, he proposes to mend it: Conventus libello perlustrato numquam video orationem quae de Melita eiusque rebus agat. Itaque quaero, nonne supplendum sit. Equidem ipse “extra causa” pauca De Cicerone Melitae Commorante atque Commoraturo proferre possim; quae allocutio uno horae quadrante vel sexante perorari potest. Scribas velim de ea re quid censeas.20 Unfortunately, Coleiro’s reply to this suggestion is not preserved, but it was evidently a positive one. As a matter of fact, Wikarjak was one of the few scholars to read two papers of his own at the Congress. The paper on Cicero in Malta was delivered on the last day of the Congress, September 4, which means less than a month after Wikarjak first mentioned the subject in his letter to Coleiro. His daughter believes that the relative speed by which Wikarjak finished this paper must be accounted for by the fact that he had been working closely on Cicero’s epistolary oeuvre, research that eventually led to the publication in 1976 of Warsztat pisarski Cycerona, with an abstract in French ‘Ciceron et son atelier d’ecrivain’. In his paper entitled ‘De Cicerone Melitae Commorante Atque Commoraturo’, Professor Wikarjak gave reasons why he believed that Cicero had journeyed and sojourned in Malta.21 He says that the orator’s detailed description in the Verrines of diverse aspects of Malta and the Maltese makes a strong case towards surmising (conicere possumus) that Cicero is 17

 Translation: “…and yet there is something which to me is a cause of worry, namely, that the time which is being allowed to each speaker is short. The little paper that I intend giving, ‘On Cicero as the relater of deeds’, will take nearly three quarters of an hour to read even if I endeavour to be brief. I will therefore be obliged if you could kindly advise me on the matter.” 18  “De Marco Tullio Rerum Gestarum Pronuntiatore”, Acta pp. 370‒380 including end-notes, which, however, makes it way shorter than the longest paper by Joseph Maria Mir which runs for 32 pages. 19  Translation: “I urge you to keep your speech as brief as possible! But even if you speak for three quarters of an hour, it won’t be a problem. Nevertheless, if possible, be briefer.” 20  Translation: “I have reviewed the programme of the Congress and fail to see anywhere a speech dealing with Malta and its affairs. Should not this be added, I ask? I myself could produce extra causa a short speech ‘On Cicero’s stay and his later intention of staying in Malta’; this address can be read in fifteen or ten minutes. Please let me know what you think of this.” 21  Acta pp. 506‒511.

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reporting from first-hand knowledge. Although Wikarjak concedes that details of the island could have been equally procured from a secondary source, he feels that Cicero’s particular reference to “satis lato a Sicilia mari periculosoque” must recall the orator’s own perilous experience of crossing the expanse of sea that separates Malta from Sicily (orator certe suum ipsius iter in memoriam redigit).22 Wikarjak holds that, in this passage, Cicero wants to show that his own sense of duty as quaestor exceeded the fear of the dangerous sea, in contrast to the rapacious Verres who as governor had never deigned to pay the island a visit except through his pillaging agents. Even if the Verrines may not provide the ultimate proof of Cicero coming to Malta, Wikarjak believes that Cicero’s letter of 46BC to a certain Rex concerning Aulus Licinius Aristoteles is one piece of evidence to eradicate all doubt (testimoinium quod omnem tollat dubitationem).23 From the glowing terms by which Cicero refers to his Maltese friend, calling him an “antiquissimus hospes”, Wikarjak infers that there can be no further doubt that Licinius, nearly twenty years earlier, had been host to Cicero when the latter was in Malta as quaestor (certe Ciceronis quaestoris, cum Melitam adiret, hospes fuit). Wikarjak chooses to pass over the other possible meaning of the word hospes, which in Latin is not only ‘host’ but also ‘guest’, allowing for the possibility that Cicero could have also known Licinius outside Malta and received him as guest at his, Cicero’s, home.24 But one might argue that, had this been the case, Cicero would not have felt the need to qualify the name by “Melitensis”. At all events, Wikarjak finds the epistolary evidence that Cicero seriously considered Malta as a safe refuge during two major crises in his life, namely his exile in 58‒7 BC and the outbreak of the civil war in 49 BC, as additional proof of the orator’s strong ties of hospitality with the island, cemented through his stop-over during his quaestorship. Finally, Wikarjak rounds off his paper by a particular recommendation: … nescio an in hac insula, scilicet in oppido olim Malta nunc Mdina dicto non modo statua, sed etiam tabula poni possit et in ea eiusmodi litterae incidi: M. TULLIUS CICERO M.F.M.N. HUIUS PROVINCIAE PATRONUS CELEBERRIMUS QUAESTOR POPULI ROMANI POSTEA PRAETOR ET CONSUL ROMANUS APUD A. LICINIUM ARISTOTELEM MELITENSEM ANNO A.U.C. DCLXXIX COMMORATUS EST25

 CIC. Ver. 4.103. It is a point of interest to note that although Wikarjak had flown Alitalia for the Congress in Malta on August 28, he opted to leave the island on September 6 by travelling on the M.V. Lazio to Catania in Sicily, where he spent some days sightseeing before continuing his way to Poland (ACM Papers for the Latin Congress 1973: 4, Files 1 and 5). He had also joined the day-tour to Gozo on September 5, as his photograph of Ramla l-Ħamra Bay confirms. 23  CIC. Fam. 13.52. See Busuttil 1967. 24  Bonanno 2005, p. 148, makes this pertinent linguistic observation. See under hospes in the Oxford Latin Dictionary and in Lewis and Short’s Latin Dictionary. 25  Translation: “I really do not know why in this island, particularly in the town formerly called Melita and now Mdina, a statue and even a plaque should not be set up bearing some such statement: Marcus Tullius Cicero, son of Marcus, grandson of Marcus, most celebrated patron of this province, quaestor of the Roman people, afterwards, praetor and Roman consul, dwelt at the house of Aulus Licinius Aristoteles, a native of Melita, in the year 679 from the Foundation of the City.” 22

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COLEIRO TAKES

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ACTION

Wikarjak’s proposal did not fall on deaf ears. Whatever Coleiro had previously thought about the plausibility of Cicero’s presence in Malta, he took it upon himself to implement Wikarjak’s suggestion.26 He must have felt only too glad to agree with Wikarjak that Mdina was the best location in Malta to have a memorial to Cicero, since Mdina is the site of the ancient town Melita and the likeliest place where the orator would have stayed as guest of Licinius.27 Being the Chairman of the Management Committee of the Cathedral Museum, as well as a major benefactor, it is unlikely that Coleiro would have found any serious objection to setting an inscription up on the wall of the Museum.28 The statua suggested by Wikarjak had to make way for a relief in bronze, for which the sculptor Samuel Bugeja (1920‒2004) was commissioned, modelling his portrait of the orator on the well-known Uffizi bust.29 Bugeja’s model in gesso is also preserved at the Cathedral Museum.30 Perhaps in order to justify the existence of the memorial to Cicero in Mdina, Coleiro must have felt the need to modify Wikarjak’s proposed text slightly by adding the words HAC MELITA IN INSULA HOC MELITENSI IN OPPIDO, thus emphasising the presumed location of Cicero’s residence in Malta which the Pole’s version had avoided. He also included the Maltese translation, which excluded the Roman date, either for lack of room or to avoid unnecessary incomprehension. According to Mgr John Azzopardi, former student and close collaborator of Coleiro, as well as Curator of the Cathedral Museum from 1969 to 2001, the lack of conclusive historical authenticity supporting the inscription provoked some local “verbal resistance.”31 Possibly, this resistance stemmed from the Monuments and Plaques Committee, the Government’s consultative body set up in 1977, under the responsibility of the Ministry of Labour, Welfare and Culture, to “examine requests for the erection of monuments and plaques.”32 The Committee was chaired by the Director of Museums, who was at the time Francis S. Mallia, an archaeologist. Since the Minutes of the Committee could not be retrieved, either at the library of the National Museum of Archaeology, or at the Cultural Superintendence, it was impossible to confirm whether a debate had effectively ensued over the Cicero plaque.33 Failing that, George Glanville and Fr Marius Zerfa OP were contacted: both were members on the Committee during the year in question.34 While the former had 26  In two papers concerning Malta in classical literature (Coleiro 1947 and 1964), Coleiro never pointedly suggests that Cicero could have visited Malta. 27  See Coleiro (1964, p. 29) about “oppidum” in CIC. Ver. 4.103 as the ancient Melita and modern Mdina. 28  Unfortunately, the Minutes of the meetings of the Management Committee held during the period are unavailable. 29  As indicated by the sculptor’s son, Dott. Gerald Bugeja, in a private communication of 12 June 2013. 30  Mgr John Azzopardi, private communication of 21 May 2013. 31  Private communication and conversations with Mgr John Azzopardi between May and December 2013. 32  OPM/245/77 dated August 11, 1977, on the Committee to examine requests for the erection of monuments and plaques. 33  Lino Borg, later member on the Committee, assured the author in a private communication dated June 6, 2013, that Minutes were always kept in perfect order. 34  George Glanville, verbal communication of June 15, 2013; Fr Marius Zerafa, verbal communication of December 19, 2013. Formation of Committee: found in documents contained in MUS 85/58 held at the Library of the National Museum of Archaeology, Valletta.

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no recollection of a discussion over the Cicero plaque, Fr Zerafa remembered that some misgiving had been voiced about the claims of the text, but that this probably happened only after the plaque was put in place. Fr Zerafa added that it was not an unheard of procedure that requests reached the Committee when all was already accomplished. At all events, Mgr Azzopardi had only mentioned “verbal resistance.” Whatever resistance there might have been, it did very little to daunt the unyielding Coleiro from carrying out his plan. That there was some form of resistance to the words on the plaque might possibly be evinced from the presidential speech delivered at the inauguration ceremony on the evening of Tuesday, 22 May 1979.35 The plaque was unveiled by the President of the Republic, Dr Anton Buttigieg (1912‒1983), during a ceremony which also included an informal speech by Coleiro on the ten-year achievements of the Museum, a visit to the premises, and a reception.36 A poet and politician, President Buttigieg had just ushered the country into an age of full sovereignty less than two months earlier on Freedom Day – a coincidence that may possibly have had something to do with the inclusion of the Maltese translation on the plaque. Buttigieg had also studied Latin thoroughly in his student years, initiating a short-lived society for Latin Literature.37 In the Latin Congress of 1973, Buttigieg, then Minister of Justice and Parliamentary Affairs and Deputy Prime Minister, had delivered the opening speech in Latin, a speech he claimed he had written mea manu et meo stilo, in his own hand and style, at the instigation of his old friend and University contemporary, Coleiro.38 However, the highly erudite tone of the address in English that President Buttigieg read during the Cicero ceremony in 1979 smacks of a staunch classicist at work. As a matter of fact, Mgr Azzopardi confirms that Coleiro had not only written the speech but also conveyed it in person to the President’s secretary, in a sealed envelope, as if he were reluctant to trust such a mission to anyone but himself. The presidential speech gave Coleiro an exclusive opportunity to justify the existence of the memorial to Cicero and the statement of the inscription. Simultaneously, he could reply in anticipation to the censure that, if not already forthcoming, the text was likely to provoke. At the outset of the speech, Coleiro summarily dispels any reservations about Cicero’s setting foot in Malta: “Cicero’s relations with Malta are based on three historical moments: Cicero’s visit to the island in the course of his administrative duties as quaestor…” He infers from the designation Melitensis that “Aulus Licinius had his house in Malta, and when Cicero calls him his hospes, his host, he means that he had stayed at his house, where that house was, i.e. in Malta.” The nearly one thousand-word speech glides on in a scholarly but 35

 Department of Information, No 843. Buttigieg, Dr Anton (1979), Speech by the President of the Republic, Anton Buttigieg on the Occasion of the Unveiling of a Memorial Plaque to Cicero at the Cathedral Museum, Mdina, May 222, 1979, pp. 1000‒1006. 36  Department of Information, Press Release No. 814 issued on May 18, 1979. Also report on The Times, Saturday, May 26, 1979, p. 6. 37  The ephemeral Società Universitaria di Letteratura Latina: see Buttigieg 1980, vol. 2, p. 67. 38  See Acta pp. 25‒29, where he concludes, “Antequam autem sermonis mei finem faciam vos oro ut ignoscetis latinati meae. Huic linguae studui abhinc annos quadraginta et ex eo tempore numquam eam scripsi nec locutus sum. Eduardus Coleiro, amicus iuventis meae in Melitensi studiorum Universitate mihi institit atque precibus me fatigavit ut hanc orationem meam latino sermone mea manu et meo stilo scriberem. Ipse reus huius mei criminis.”

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elegant fashion to discuss Cicero’s relationship to Malta and the reasons grounding Cicero on the island, following closely Wikarjak’s Congress paper.39 The erudition of the presidential address was warmly appreciated by the distinguished gathering, leading The Times correspondent to report on the breadth and the conviction with which Dr. Buttigieg made his case.40 What the speech failed to explain was the HOC MELITENSI IN OPPIDO on the marble. Perhaps Coleiro thought better of going into that. Mgr Azzopardi remembers that, when the plaque was unveiled, a witty Ambassador remarked that the word FORSITAN ‘perhaps’ should have been added before HAC MELITA IN INSULA HOC MELITENSI IN OPPIDO.

CONCLUSION Professor Jan Wikarjak died on January 24, 1983. According to Teodozja Wikarjak, her father never learnt that his recommendation of 1973 had been fulfilled and that Malta had honoured Cicero in the very same words he had suggested but for one extra phrase. Had he come to know about the Ciceronian memorial, he would have been most pleased, thinks his daughter. It lies beyond the scope of this paper to explore the real motive, or motives, behind Professor Coleiro’s determination to set up the plaque and thus transform a possibility into a historical memory. Nevertheless, by way of conclusion I would like to venture an interpretation. Rather than grounding Cicero in Malta, what Coleiro possibly wanted to achieve through this memorial was to remind all and sundry, but especially the people who mattered, that Malta is grounded in the classical tradition, which to Coleiro predominantly meant Latinitas, the language and civilization of Ancient Rome. For the past decades, this tradition had been on the decline locally, partly also as a result of international currents which, among other effects, witnessed Latin losing ground within its last stronghold, the Catholic Church. At the core of University life for nearly 40 years, Coleiro had steadfastly resisted the relatively hasty deterioration of the academic status of Latin, which precipitated during the last years of his career and occasioned a dramatic drop in the number of students taking the language. By the late 1970s, however, not only Latin but also the full range of Humanities subjects were in grave danger. The situation finally came to a head when Government abolished Theology at the University and discontinued the BA course through the Education Act of July 1978.41 By affixing the memorial to the wall, bearing the dignified bronze portrait of the epitome of humanitas poised over a Latin text and a translation in the vernacular (in a bid towards wider comprehension and as a bow to the prevailing policy of ‘Maltesisation’), Coleiro wanted to proclaim to the whole nation the credo he had expressed in the inauguration ceremony through the President’s mouth: “Cicero is the embodiment of the Roman 39  The speech considers other aspects unmentioned by Wikarjak, such as hints afforded by Licinius’s Roman name, a matter discussed in Busuttil 1967. 40  The Times, Saturday, May 26, 1979, p. 6. 41  See e.g. Massa 2013 pp. 465‒469.

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fountainhead of our civilization” and the island’s relationship with the orator “enhances Malta’s story and is therefore an event to record and a memory to cherish.” The plaque was Coleiro’s symbolic reminder of our Latin roots and the noble virtues of culture and liberty traditionally personified in Cicero.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS While writing this paper, I have benefited from the opinions, advice, and suggestions of Mgr Ġwann Azzopardi, Prof. Anthony Bonanno, Victor Bonnici, Lino Borg, Dr Louis Borg, Dott. Gerald Bugeja, Dr Alfred Ellul, Marina Felice, George Glanville, Prof. Horatio Caesar Roger Vella, Dr Abigail Zammit, and Rev. Marius Zerafa OP. Through the efforts of my friend Dionysius Sturis, I have had the great pleasure of being able to communicate with Dr Teodozja Wikarjak who provided me with information and photographs of her father. For the assistance in their resepective fields, I would like to thank Maria Guliana Fenech of the Department of Information, Vanessa Ciantar of Heritage Malta, Mark Anthony Mifsud of the Superintendance of Cultural Heritage, and especially Mario Gauci of the Mdina Cathedral Archives. I would also like to express my great gratitude to Catherine Tabone, who read and commented on an earlier draft, and to Prof. Stephen Harrison of the University of Oxford, who kindly suggested some final revisions. Last but not least, I would like to thank Prof. Nicholas C. Vella, Head of the Department of Classics and Archaeology at the University of Malta, for his incessant trust and patience, and specially for having suggested the theme of this paper as a worthy contribution to this publication.

BIBLIOGRAPHY ABELA, G. F. 1647 Della descrittione di Malta, isola nel Mare siciliano, con le sue antichità, ed oltre notitie. Malta: Paolo Bancorta. ASHBY, T. 1915 “Roman Malta,” Journal of Roman Studies 5: 23‒80. AZZOPARDI, J. 1997 “Biographical note, publications and bequest to the Cathedral Museum,” in Dr Victor Captur Memorial Lectures 1994‒1996, edited by John Azzopardi, pp. 3‒10. Malta: Cathedral Museum. BONANNO, A. (ed.) and VELLA, H. C. R. (sub ed.) 1987 Laurea Corona: Studies in Honour of Edward Coleiro. Amsterdam: B. R. Grüner Publishing Co. BONANNO, A. 1992 Roman Malta: The Archaeological Heritage of the Maltese Islands, Formia: World Conference of Salesian Past Pupils of Don Bosco. BONANNO, A. 2005 Malta: Phoenician, Punic, and Roman. Malta: Midsea Books. BUSUTTIL, J. 1971 “Cicero and Malta,” Journal of the Faculty of Arts 4: 193‒196. BUTTIGIEG, A. 1980 Mill-Album ta’ Ħajti, 3 vols. Malta: Klabb Kotba Maltin.

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CARUANA, A. A. 1882 Report on the Phoenician and Roman Antiquities in the Group of the Islands of Malta. Malta: Government Printing Press. COLEIRO, E. 1947 “Malta in classical literature,” Classical Journal 1: 15‒32. COLEIRO, E. 1964 “Malta nelle letterature classiche,” in Missione Archaeologica a Malta. Rapporto Prelininare della Campagna 1963, edited by G. Gabrini, S. Moscati, F. A. Pennacchietti, B. Pugliese, and V. Scrinari, pp. 25‒38. Rome: Università degli studi di Roma, Centro di Studi Semitici, Istituto di Studi del Vicino Oriente. GALEA, J. 1984 Art Twelidi: Dizzjunarju Storiku. Malta: Publishers Enterprises Group (PEG) Ltd. LAFERLA, A. V. 1972 The Story of Man in Malta, 4th edition Malta: A. C. Aquilina and Co. LASPINA, S. 1971 Outlines of Maltese History, 12th edition revised. Malta: A. C. Aquilina and Co. MASSA, D. 2013 PSI Kingmaker: Life, thought and adventures of Peter Serracino Inglott. Malta: The author. VASSALLO, G. A. 1854 Storia di Malta. Malta: Francesco Cumbo. VELLA, A. P. 1974 Storja ta’ Malta, Vol. 1. Malta: Edizzjoni Klabb Kotba Maltin. VELLA, H. C. R. 2002 Malta u Għawdex fl-Era Klassika. Malta: Pubblikazzjoni Indipendenza.

Carmel SERRACINO University of Malta [email protected]

SOILS, SNAILS AND STORYTELLING

HISTORIC-PERIOD TERRESTRIAL ENVIRONMENTS AND SOIL EROSION IN THE MALTESE ISLANDS: EVIDENCE FROM MOLLUSC ASSEMBLAGES FROM CAVE-FILLS AT GĦAJN IL-KBIRA, NEAR VICTORIA, GOZO Chris O. HUNT and Patrick J. SCHEMBRI

INTRODUCTION In the Maltese Islands, much of the high-profile archaeological work of the last century or more has focused on the Neolithic period, which is blessed with spectacular remains of great international importance. Anthony Bonanno has been a strong voice arguing that there is also great interest and importance in the post-Neolithic archaeology, and particularly that of the Roman period.1 The focus of most modern environmental work has also been on the Neolithic period.2 In contrast, remarkably little is known about environments on the Maltese Islands during the later Holocene. Cereal cultivation in an open landscape is suggested by Hellenistic, Punic and late Roman pollen spectra recovered from the precincts of the Tas-Silġ temple complex in southern Malta and in the core at Marsa.3 A very degraded steppe landscape seems to be evident on Comino from Roman times to the present day.4 A single pollen assemblage of probable late nineteenth century age from Mistra Valley in Malta suggests cereal and cotton cultivation and areas of biodiverse maquis and steppe.5 Other than these records, evidence for the Late Holocene environment in the islands is lacking. In this paper, we supplement this record with evidence from a cave fill at Għajn il-Kbira, southwest of Victoria, on Gozo. These cave fills provide strong evidence for extremely open landscapes and vigorous soil erosion during the Roman period (sensu lato), followed by less intensively-used but still open landscapes in medieval and post-medieval times.

MATERIALS AND

METHODS

A group of small caves was encountered during August 1989, during field evaluation of Quaternary environments and assessment of traditional agricultural activity,6 linked with

1

 Bonanno 2005.  Schembri et al. 2009; Carroll et al. 2012; Marriner et al. 2012; Djamali et al. 2013. 3  Hunt 2015; Carroll et al. 2012. 4  Carroll et al. 2012 5  Hunt and Vella 2004‒2005. 6  Jones and Hunt 1994a, b. 2

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– P. J.

SCHEMBRI

Fig. 1. Location of the study site.

the Xaghra (Brochtorff) Circle excavations of Caroline Malone and Simon Stoddart.7 The caves, some with in situ fills, were exposed by excavations for new houses just west of the traditional washhouse at Għajn il-Kbira, on the north side of the Victoria-Xlendi road (Fig. 1). These had cut into a series of small caves of phreatic origin, lying at the base of the Late Oligocene Upper Coralline Limestone and above the Blue Clay aquiclude, which outcrops just downslope from the washhouse, and several metres downslope of the caves. As such, they were probably an abandoned part of the phreatic system, which at that stage still supplied the washhouse. It was evident that the fills of some of the caves had been ejected at some time in the past, because one contained half a metre of compacted animal dung, presumably from stalling sheep or goats, and another had the remains of the quarrytiled floor of a room still in situ on top of cave deposits. The caves and their fills were planned and measured drawings were made. Representative samples for mollusc and pollen analysis were taken from the cave-fills. The sampling interval is indicated in Fig. 2. Potsherds were also recovered and these were identified by the late David Trump. Pollen analysis of the material yielded highly degraded Asteraceae pollen and

 Malone et al. 2009.

7

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degraded organic matter and was not pursued further. In contrast, molluscs were well-preserved and abundant. For the mollusc analysis, samples of 10 litres were taken. These were wet-sieved and the residues were dried and sorted for molluscs. Molluscs were identified by the first author, with help from students at Huddersfield University, and identifications were then revised and corrected by the second author, aided by Anthony Falzon. Taxonomy and the attribution to ecological groups follows Giusti et al.8 with some updates. All specimens showing signs of small mammal predation9 were omitted from the percentage calculations but are shown as ‘Predated’ (Fig. 2) since it is highly probable that these were brought into the cave by rodents or shrews and would thus bias the assemblages. A very preliminary account of the site has been published.10 In this paper, one of the cave fills and its fauna, which is generally representative of the sequences, is documented more fully.

STRATIGRAPHY

OF THE CAVE FILL

In general, the cave fills consist of crudely-plane-bedded diamicts, either yellow or brown in colour, interbedded with and usually overlain by brown silts, also crudely plane-bedded and containing occasional ashy lumps. A few pockets of large land-molluscs were present in the silts – these shells showed the characteristic patterns of damage associated with smallmammal predation11 and the pockets of shells can therefore be interpreted as rodent or shrew nests. The stratigraphy of one of the cave fills is illustrated and described (Fig. 2; Table 1).

Fig. 2. Mollusc assemblages from Għajn il-Kbira site 1.

 Giusti et al. 1995.  Hunt 1993. 10  Hunt 1997. 11  Hunt 1993.  8  9

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Description

0.0-0.25 Dark brown (10YR4/2-10YR5/4) crudely plane-bedded slightly stony clayey silt 0.25-0.4 Light orange-brown to reddishbrown (10YR6/4-10YR7/6) crudely plane-bedded slightly sandy gravelly silt 0.4-0.95 Light orange-brown to reddishbrown (10YR6/4-10YR7/6) crudely plane-bedded sandy gravelly silt 0.95-1.0 Brownish-white (10YR8/4) crudely plane-bedded silty sandy breccia

3

2

1

SCHEMBRI

Artefacts

Sample numbers

Lead shot of nineteenth-century 1, 2 AD type and post-prehistoric potsherds Potsherds of fairly undiagnostic 3, 4 types prevalent between the ninth and nineteenth century AD One potsherd with characteristic 5, 6, 7, 8, fabric of Roman type in sample 8 9, 10, 11 No finds

12

Table 1. Stratigraphy of Cave Fill Site 1.

In broad terms, it is evident that the uppermost parts of the cave fill in Layer 4 relate to the nineteenth century. Layer 3 might be a little earlier, but the fabrics are not particularly diagnostic. The lower part of the cave fill is poorly dated but one diagnostic sherd of Roman type was recovered from sample 8 in Layer 2. This is consistent with finds of Roman-period potsherds in the lower part of the fills of the other caves, but can hardly be said to be truly conclusive evidence of age; see, for instance, the discussion of the chronological issues associated with dating terrestrial sediments using potsherds.12

MOLLUSC

ASSEMBLAGES

Mollusc assemblages are shown (Fig. 2). Here, it can be seen that the assemblages may be divided into three zones. The basal assemblages (GiK1-1) are dominated by Cochlicella acuta, with lesser Trochoidea spratti and minor Theba pisana and Mastus pupa. There is then a transition to more diverse assemblages (GiK1-2) dominated by Trochoidea spratti, Tudorella melitense (= Pomatias sulcatus of previous authors), Theba pisana and Granopupa granum, with some Mastus pupa, Rumina decollata and Muticaria macrostoma. The final assemblages are dominated by Papillifera papillaris, Trochoidea spratti and with rising Vitrea spp. and some Oxychilus hydatinus, Rumina decollata, Truncatellina callicratis, Granopupa granum, Theba pisana and Muticaria macrostoma.

 Hunt et al. 1992; Hunt and Gilbertson 1995.

12

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DISCUSSION Molluscs in cave fills can relate to a variety of taphonomic processes.13 These include a few troglophilic taxa, which live in caves, for instance Vitrea spp., but usually more frequent are those specimens arriving at the cave through inwash by running water or mudflow, or falling down shafts into the cave. Also, sometimes frequent are specimens brought into the cave by small mammals. These are usually recognisable through a characteristic pattern of damage to the body whorl.14 In the case of the molluscs at Għajn il-Kbira, small mammal predation seems to have been most prevalent in GiK1-2 (Fig. 2). Sedimentation in caves around the Mediterranean is known to be highly discontinuous15 and thus it is likely that the assemblages in the cave relate to short periods of sediment flux separated by longer periods with no geomorphological activity. It was argued16 that episodes of extremely intense rainfall could destabilise soils under any form of ground cover, but experience elsewhere in the Mediterranean17 suggests that major sedimentation is normally associated with periods where vegetation was removed by climate or clearance. Thus, mollusc assemblages relating to periods of closed canopy vegetation (if they existed) are unlikely to have been transported into the cave, so therefore the mollusc record may disproportionally reflect open habitats. All further discussion should be read with this in mind. It is likely that the lowest part of the cave fill and its contained mollusc faunas (GiK1-1) relate to the Roman period (sensu lato). The mollusc assemblages, dominated by Cochlicella acuta with Trochoidea spratti, are of the type that would be expected in the driest and most exposed habitats in the Maltese Islands, such as the maritime fringe.18 They imply the existence of land uses where bare, unvegetated soil was maintained. Such practices are typically associated with vine and olive cultivation in the recent past and present day. The very pale colour and angular nature of the basal sediments is consistent with their derivation from shattered limestone, possibly relating to the digging of vine trenches or to construction activity. It might be expected that the middle part of the sequence (GiK1-2) relates broadly to the medieval period, although there are no diagnostic finds to verify this. The decline in Cochlicella acuta is perhaps consistent with the end of the maintenance of bare ground and this is also suggested by the rise of Theba pisana, which is a species that climbs tall grasses and herbs to aestivate during the summer heat.19 Elsewhere in its range, Rumina decollata is usually associated with scrubland.20 The higher species diversity at this time points to land use less intensive than in GiK1-1.

13

 Hunt 1993.  Hunt 1993. 15  Hunt et al. 2010. 16  Grove and Rackham 2003. 17  Gilbertson and Hunt 1987; Hunt et al. 1992; 2010; 2011; Hunt and Gilbertson 1995; Barker and Hunt 1995; Hunt 1996; 1998. 18  Giusti et al. 1995; Kerney and Cameron 1979. 19  Kerney and Cameron 1979. 20  Kerney and Cameron 1979. 14

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There is reasonably strong evidence that the highest levels in the cave fill relate broadly to the nineteenth century AD. Many of the changes between GiK1-2 and GiK1-3 may relate more to the infilling of the cave, producing an environment where troglophiles like Vitrea and Oxychilus21 could flourish, than to changes outside. The rise of Papillifera papillaris most probably relates to the building of walls immediately outside the cave, since this species flourishes on rock-faces and walls.22 Truncatellina callicratis, elsewhere in its range, is often associated with short grazed turf,23 while the decline of Theba pisana might be taken to imply that tall herbs and grasses were no longer prevalent. It may therefore be hypothesised that in the nineteenth century there was an episode of wall construction near the cave, and a moderate intensification of grazing activity leading to short grassy vegetation around the site. The use of one of the caves as a stable is shown by the thick layer of dung there, and it is likely that the animals grazed as they were driven to and from the stable.

CONCLUSIONS This cave fill sequence at Għajn il-Kbira provides a very different perspective on the agriculture of the Roman period than can be gained from the pollen record. At Tas-Silġ, the Late Roman assemblage had cereal pollen but no olive or vine24 while at Marsa, both cereal and olive pollen, but no vines were recorded throughout the Roman period.25 Vines were cultivated on Malta from the Punic period onwards,26 but vine pollen is known to be largely retained in the flower rather than dispersed into the environment and thus absence of pollen cannot be seen as evidence for absence of vines. At Għajn il-Kbira, the basal sediments and the mollusc assemblages point to land-use practises consistent with vine or olive production. Unfortunately, viable pollen assemblages were not recovered, so it is impossible to say which (if any) crops may have been cultivated. After the Roman period, there is some evidence for a change in land-use and the appearance of a tall herb flora. This suggests a sharp decline in the intensity of land-use around the site. Only in the nineteenth century does land-use intensify again. This chimes with the intensification seen in Mistra Valley at this time, but where in the Mistra Valley there was cultivation of cereals and cotton, it would appear that at Għajn il-Kbira grazing may have been the preferred activity. This study suggests that localised records of land-use change may survive in caves, fissure fills and colluvial sequences in the Maltese Islands. Analysis of numerous sites would provide detailed, localised information, which would allow us to test some of the hypotheses raised here. Such work is urgently necessary, as the pace of development accelerates in the Maltese Islands, sites such as these investigated here are most probably being lost on a regular basis. 21

 Hunt 1993.  Kerney and Cameron 1979; Giusti et al. 1995. 23  For example, Hunt et al. 1992; Kerney and Cameron 1979. 24  Hunt 2015. 25  Carroll et al. 2012. 26  N. Vella, pers. comm. 2013. 22

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The authors wish to thank the Cambridge-Malta Archaeological Project led by Prof. Caroline Malone and Dr Simon Stoddart, under whose aegis the field and analytical work was done. The writing of the paper was done under the ERC-funded FRAGSUS programme led by Caroline Malone, under which the authors are CIs. We thank Dr Anne Jones for help with sampling, wet-sieving and sorting, Katie Lowe for companionship in the field, and Maria Ainsworth and Anthony Falzon for assistance with the analysis.

BIBLIOGRAPHY BARKER, G. W. W. and HUNT, C. O. 1995 “Quaternary valley floor erosion and alluviation in the Biferno valley, Molise, Italy: The role of tectonics, climate, sea level change and human activity,” in Mediterranean Quaternary River Environments, edited by J. C. Woodward, M. G. Macklin and J. Lewin, pp. 145‒157. Rotterdam: Balkema. BONANNO, A. 2005 Malta: Phoenician, Punic and Roman. Valletta: Midsea Books. CARROLL, F., HUNT, C. O., SCHEMBRI, P. J. and BONANNO, A. 2012 “Holocene climate change, vegetation history and human impact in the Central Mediterranean: Evidence from the Maltese Islands,” Quaternary Science Reviews 52: 24‒40. DJAMALI, M., GAMBIN, B., MARRINER, N., ANDRIEU-PONEL, V., GAMBIN, T., GANDOUIN, E., LANFRANCO, S., MÉDAIL, F., PAVON, D., PONEL, P. and MORHANGE, C. 2013 “Vegetation dynamics during the early to mid-Holocene transition in NW Malta, human impact versus climatic forcing,” Vegetation History and Archaeobotany 22: 367–380. GILBERTSON, D. D. and HUNT, C. O. 1987 “An outline and synthesis of the geoarchaeological development of the southern Montagnola Senese, Tuscany,” Archeologia Medievale 14: 394‒408. GIUSTI, F., MANGANELLI, G. and SCHEMBRI, P. J. 1995 The Non-marine Molluscs of the Maltese Islands (Monographie Museo Regionale Scienze Naturale, 15). Torino: Museo Regionale Naturale. GROVE, A. T. and RACKHAM, O. 2003 The Nature of Mediterranean Europe: An Ecological History. New Haven: Yale University Press. HUNT, C. O. 1993 “Mollusc taphonomy in caves: A conceptual model,” Cave Science 20: 45‒49. 1996 “The natural landscape and its evolution,” in The Biferno Valley: Archaeology as Annales History in a Mediterranean Valley. Volume 1, edited by G. W. W. Barker, pp. 62‒83. Leicester: Leicester University Press. 1997 “Quaternary deposits in the Maltese Islands: A microcosm of environmental change in Mediterranean lands,” GeoJournal 41(1): 3‒11. 1998 “The impact of agricultural soil erosion on prehistoric and historic-period valley sedimentation in Central Italy,” in Il sistema uomo-ambiente tra passato e presente (Centro Universitario Europeo per i Beni Culturali: Territorio Storico et Ambiente 1), edited by A. C. Livadie and F. Ortolani, pp. 99‒111. Bari: Edipuglia. 2015 “Palynology of some archaeological deposits from Tas-Silġ,” in at Tas-Silġ, Marsaxlokk (Malta) I: Archaeological Excavations Conducted by the University of Malta, 1996‒2005, edited by A. Bonanno and N. C. Vella, pp. 437‒450. Leuven: Peeters.

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HUNT, C., DAVISON, J., INGLIS, R., FARR, L., BARKER, G., REYNOLDS, T., SIMPSON, D. and EL-RISHI, H. 2010 “Site formation processes in caves: The Holocene sediments of the Haua Fteah, Cyrenaica, Libya,” Journal of Archaeological Science 37: 1600–1611. HUNT, C. O. and GILBERTSON, D. D. 1995 “Human activity, landscape change and valley alluviation in the Feccia Valley, Tuscany, Italy,” in Mediterranean Quaternary River Environments, edited by J. C. Woodward, M. G. Macklin, and J. Lewin, pp. 167‒176, Rotterdam: Balkema. HUNT, C. O., GILBERTSON, D. D. and DONOHUE, R. E. “Palaeobiological evidence for agricultural soil erosion in the Montagnola Senese, 1992 Italy,” in Past and Present Soil Erosion: Archaeological and Geographical Perspectives (Oxbow Monographs 22), edited by M. Bell and J. Boardman, pp. 163‒174. Oxford: Oxbow. HUNT, C. O., REYNOLDS, T. G., EL-RISHI, H. A., BUZIAN, A., HILL, E. and BARKER, G. W. 2011 “Resource pressure and environmental change on the North African littoral: Epipalaeolithic to Roman gastropods from Cyrenaica, Libya,” Quaternary International 244: 15‒26. HUNT, C. and VELLA, N. C. 2004‒2005 “A view from the countryside: Pollen from a field at Mistra Valley, Malta,” Malta Archaeological Review 7: 57‒65. JONES, A. M. and HUNT, C. O. 1994a “Walls, wells and water supply: Aspects of the cultural landscape of Gozo, Maltese Islands,” Landscape Issues 11: 24–29. 1994b “Cultural influences on the landscape of Gozo Island, Malta,” Topos 6: 30–37. KERNEY, M. P. and CAMERON, R. A. D. A Field Guide to the Land Snails of Britain and North-West Europe. London: Collins. 1979 MALONE, C., STODDART, S., BONANNO, A., TRUMP, D. with GOUDER, T. and PACE, A. (eds) 2009 Mortuary Customs in Prehistoric Malta. Cambridge: McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. MARRINER, N., GAMBIN, T., DJAMALI, M., MORHANGE, C. and SPITERI, M. 2012 “Geoarchaeology of the Burmarrad ria and early Holocene human impacts in western Malta,” Palaeogeography, Palaeoclimatology, Palaeoecology 339‒341: 52–65. SCHEMBRI, P., PEDLEY, M., HUNT, C. and STODDART, S. 2009 “The environment of Malta and Gozo and of the Xagħra Circle,” in Mortuary Customs in Prehistoric Malta, edited by C. Malone, S. Stoddart, A. Bonanno, D. Trump, T. Gouder and A. Pace, pp. 17‒39. Cambridge: McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research.

Chris O. HUNT Liverpool John Moores University [email protected]

Patrick J. SCHEMBRI University of Malta [email protected]

UNLOCKING THE PAST THROUGH THE PRESENT: EXPLORING THE USE OF PRESENT-DAY LAND SNAIL ASSEMBLAGES AS INDICATORS OF PAST ENVIRONMENTS IN THE MALTESE ISLANDS Patrick J. SCHEMBRI, Katrin FENECH and Kimberly TERRIBILE

INTRODUCTION Land snails from archaeological deposits are useful tools to determine past environments due to their often quite specific habitat requirements. Their value as palaeo-environmental indicators has been recognised by geologists since the 1940s, but it was not until the 1970s that the study of snails was brought into an explicit archaeological context.1 In the Maltese Islands, where the alkaline soils preserve their shells very well, the presence of land snails in archaeological deposits had been noted as far back as 1908.2 Land snails were listed in the Museum Annual Reports up to 1971, along with marine molluscs, and are likely to represent food remains due to the contexts in which they were found.3 Based on such food remains, possible deductions about the environment are rather limited. However, some Maltese archaeological deposits contain natural land snail assemblages. The first environmental studies using land snails were made in connection with the Xagħra Circle excavations in Gozo between 1987 and 1994.4 This study was groundbreaking as it provided the first scientific insight on the environment of a Neolithic site in the Maltese Islands. Other studies of natural assemblages in archaeological deposits followed.5 These studies showed changes over time in diversity and abundance for ecological groups conventionally defined by their habitat/microhabitat requirements as leaf litter (sheltered), open country (exposed), freshwater/wetlands (humid), subterranean and ubiquitous.6 One problem associated with the interpretation of land snail assemblages in the Maltese Islands is that it is based heavily on the ecological information in Giusti and colleagues,7 which, however is more pertinent to indicator species than to multi-species assemblages. This emphasises the need for new ecological studies on Maltese land snail assemblages in order to apply a holistic approach, using both individual species and species assemblages, in environmental interpretations that would hopefully lead to more precise results. 1

 Evans and O’Connor 1999, p. 141.  MAR 1908‒1909, p. E3. 3  Fenech 2009, pp. 82‒84. 4  Schembri and Hunt 2009. 5  E.g. Hunt 1997, pp. 101‒109; Fenech 2001a, pp. 20‒22; Fenech 2001b; Fenech and Schembri 2015, pp. 401‒496. 6  Some of these works classify Maltese land snails more broadly as xeric, mesic, freshwater and ubiquitous species. 7  Giusti et al. 1995. 2

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The present study analyses Maltese land snail assemblages systematically sampled annually at Buskett by students from the Department of Biology of the University of Malta between 1994 and 2012, from six fixed microhabitats (vegetation, dry stone walls and bare rock faces, soil, under stones, trees and leaf litter) within six macrohabitats (garigue, oak stand, pine plantation, olive plantation, watercourse banks8 and maquis). The aim was to find out whether the various mollusc assemblages from specific environmental situations differ significantly from each other to the extent that such assemblages may be used as indicators of particular habitat types. If such is the case, it would then potentially allow environmental interpretation based on a comparison of mollusc assemblages from any scientifically sampled archaeological deposit with the present-day assemblages. As a trial, eight environmental samples from the University of Malta Tas-Silġ excavations were used in a multivariate statistical grouping analysis together with the present-day Buskett samples (Fig. 1). Land snails from environmental samples from the Tas-Silġ excavations have already been analysed to provide information on the environmental conditions prevalent in each cultural period.9 The present analysis is based on the actual deposits with the aim of obtaining a more detailed interpretation specific to the deposit. The archaeological samples were selected from Areas A, B, C, C5 and D.10 Of these, three samples belong to the same period (Hellenistic/Roman) but vary in composition, despite their close spatial proximity.

Fig. 1. Map of the Maltese Islands showing the locations of the sampling sites.  8  Freshwater species were not considered, since such species obviously indicate freshwater and the focus of the study is terrestrial habitats.  9  Fenech and Schembri 2015. 10  Bonanno and Vella 2015: fig. 1: 3 (for location of areas) and fig. 1: 8 (for chronological table).

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METHOD Field sampling Samples were collected from Buskett, where many of the main habitat types of the Maltese Islands11 are represented. A stratified random sampling design was used with samples being collected from the following key habitats: watercourse banks (269 samples), maquis on valley sides (352 samples), stands of trees dominated by olive (Olea europaea) (307 samples), stands of trees dominated by pine (Pinus halepensis) (375 samples), garigue (462 samples), and a forest remnant dominated by oak (Quercus ilex) (246 samples). Within each habitat type, random samples were collected from the following microhabitats where these were available: soil, leaf litter, stones, low-growing vegetation, dry-stone walls (= rubble walls) or exposed rock, and tree trunks from soil level to a height of 2 m. Soil and leaf-litter were sampled by randomly placed 10 cm × 10 cm quadrats. Leaf litter and the surface soil (down to a depth of 5 cm, if available) were collected separately and were later hand-sorted in the laboratory to separate out all molluscs. All malacofauna under stones was collected and the area covered by the stone at soil level was estimated. Vegetation within 1 m × 1 m quadrats was searched for molluscs. Tree trunks, bare rock and rubble walls were sampled using a standard search protocol and the area searched was estimated. Shelled terrestrial molluscs in the samples were identified to species level using the manual by Giusti and collegaues.12 and were counted. All data were standardised to individuals per metre square. The same habitat types were sampled once a year in October or November and data for the following years were analysed: 1994, 1997, 1998, 1999, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010 and 2012. The species included in this study are listed in Table 1. Data treatment and analyses Mean abundances based on the replicates for each microhabitat type per habitat per year were calculated and these values were used to calculate total mean abundance for each species over all years. These data were then used to generate species by habitat, and species by microhabitat, matrices. The PRIMER (Plymouth Routines in Multivariate Ecological Research, PRIMER-E Ltd.) version 6.1.6 suite was used to construct similarity matrices using the Bray-Curtis coefficient, which was selected since it is unaffected by species absences.13 Analyses were carried out for the untransformed data, and for variously transformed data, but only the analyses using fourth-root transformed data are reported here, as these gave the most interpretable results.

11

 Schembri 1997.  Giusti et al. 1995. 13  Clarke and Warwick 2001. 12

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Cantareus apertus (Born) Cantareus aspersus (Müller) Caracollina lenticula (Michaud) Cecilioides acicula (Müller) Cernuella caruanae (Kobelt) Cernuella cisalpina (Rossmässler) Chondrula pupa (Linnaeus) Cochlicella acuta (Müller) Eobania vermiculata (Müller) Ferussacia folliculus (Gmelin) Granopupa granum (Draparnaud) Lauria cylindracea (Da Costa) Marmorana melitensis (Férussac) Muticaria macrostoma (Cantraine) Oxychilus draparnaudi (Beck) Oxychilus hydatinus (Rossmässler) Papillifera papillaris (Müller) Pleurodiscus balmei (Potiez & Michaud) Pomatias sulcatus (Draparnaud)14 Rumina decollata (Linnaeus) Theba pisana (Müller) Trochoidea meda (Porro) Trochoidea spratti (Pfeiffer) Truncatellina callicratis (Scacchi) Vitrea spp. [V.contracta] (Westerlund), Vitrea sp. Giusti, Manganelli & Schembri, and V.subrimata (Reinhardt) Xerotricha spp. [X.conspurcata Tryon and X.apicina (Lamarck)]

Table 1. List of species included in this study. Nomenclature follows Giusti et al. (1995).

The similarity matrices were analysed by hierarchical clustering utilising group-average linkage. Dendrograms were plotted and SIMPROF (similarity profile) permutation tests at a minimum 45% significance level15 were used to determine whether there was any significant structure within clusters. The SIMPER (similarity percentages)16 procedure was employed to determine the species that contributed most to the similarity within each grouping of samples, and to the dissimilarity between the groupings defined a posteriori. Sample grouping was also analysed using non-metric multidimensional scaling (nMDS) ordination based on the same Bray-Curtis similarity matrices computed for fourth-root transformed data that were used for the cluster analyses. 14  The Maltese populations previously assigned to this species are now regarded as belonging to Tudorella melitense (Sowerby), see Pfenninger et al. 2010. 15  Clarke and Gorley 2006. 16  Clarke 1993.

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A set of data from archaeological samples were also analysed (Table 2). For these samples, the relative abundance of each species of mollusc in each sample was calculated as the percent of individuals of that species of the total number of individuals of all species in that sample. In order to run a common grouping analysis of the recent molluscan assemblages identified by the analysis of the Buskett samples (see Results section, below) and the archaeological samples, the abundance data for the recent Buskett samples was recalculated as relative abundances based on the total number of individuals in the assemblage (i.e., all samples within the assemblage pooled together), in the same way as for the archaeological samples, and Bray-Curtis similarity matrices were computed for recent and archaeological samples based on relative abundances. Excavation Site

Stratigraphic Unit / Area Type of Deposit Environmental Sample

Tas-Silġ Tas-Silġ

TSG 158 / 100 TSG 120 / 89

Tas-Silġ Tas-Silġ

TSG 174 / 103 TSG 1053 / 96

Tas-Silġ

TSG 1054 / 101

Tas-Silġ

TSG 2112 / 95

Tas-Silġ

TSG 2128 / 112

Tas-Silġ

TSG 3033 / 108

Date, Period, Phase

A A

Fill Tarxien, Period I, Phase 3 Preconstruction deposit Hellenistic/ Punic, Period II, Phase 1 A Levelling deposit Roman, Period III, Phase 3 B Rubble layer Hellenistic/ Roman, Period IV B Compact brown soil Hellenistic/ Roman, Period IV C5 Fill Borġ in-Nadur, Period II, Phase 2 C Levelling deposit Hellenistic/ Roman, Period IV D3 Levelling deposit Hellenistic/ Roman. Period IV

Table 2. List of archaeological samples analysed and compared with the present-day samples from Buskett.

RESULTS AND

DISCUSSION

A list of habitats considered and the codes used for each is given in Table 3. Habitat

Code

Garigue at Ix-Xagħra ta’ Laroka (Clapham Junction) Secondary maquis on valley sides at Il-Bosk Forest remnant dominated by oak (Quercus ilex) at Il-Bosk Planted stands of trees dominated by olive (Olea europaea) Planted stands of trees dominated by pine (Pinus halepensis) Watercourse banks of Wied il-Luq at the eastern extremity of Buskett

Garigue Maquis Oak Olive Pine Watercourse

Table 3. List of key habitats studied and the code used to describe them.

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The results of cluster analysis of the mean abundances in the main habitats considered are presented as a dendrogram in Fig. 2.

Fig. 2. Dendrogram from cluster analysis utilising group-average linkage of Bray-Curtis similarities on the mean abundances of molluscs in the main habitats studied, computed using untransformed data.

Fig. 2 shows that the garigue habitat separates completely from the others. This reflects the very open nature of garigue. All five other habitat types have shrubs and/or trees that shade the substratum from direct sunlight to different extents, but more so than garigue. Within these shady habitats, the two plantations (dominated by olives and pines) separate out from the other three (the oak stand, the secondary maquis adjacent to this, and the degraded maquis of the watercourse banks). The latter habitats are located on sloping ground and have developed naturally, whereas the pines and olives were planted on terraced fields. The microhabitats analysed and the code for each is given in Table 4. Cluster analysis was run on the mean abundance data for these microhabitats based on Bray-Curtis similarities after fourth-root transformation. SIMPROF permutation tests identified three ‘significant’ clusters in this analysis. In addition to the three clusters identified by SIMPROF, the nMDS plot (Fig. 3) showed a fourth group that separated out quite distinctly and which was made up of samples collected from habitats that are dominated by trees or shrubs with distinct woody trunks.

UNLOCKING THE PAST THROUGH THE PRESENT

Habitat

Microhabitat

Code

Garigue

Leaf litter Bare rock and rubble walls Surface soil Under stones Vegetation

G-L G-R G-S G-St G-V

Maquis

Leaf litter Rubble walls Surface soil Under stones Vegetation Tree trunks

M-L M-R M-S M-St M-V M-T

Oak

Leaf litter Bare rock and rubble walls Surface soil Under stones Tree trunks Vegetation

O-L O-R O-S O-St O-T O-V

Olive

Leaf litter Rubble walls Surface soil Under stones Tree trunks Vegetation

Ol-L Ol-R Ol-S Ol-St Ol-T Ol-V

Pine

Leaf litter Rubble walls Surface soil Under stones Tree trunks Vegetation

P-L P-R P-S P-St P-T P-V

Watercourse

Rubble walls

W-R

Tree trunks Vegetation

W-T W-V

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Table 4. List of microhabitats studied within each habitat (see Table 3) and the code used to describe them.

The samples that make up each microhabitat cluster identified by the cluster and nMDS analyses are listed in Table 5. Cluster 1 was made up solely of Garigue samples and will henceforth be referred to as the ‘Garigue Cluster’. Cluster 2 was made up of samples that were mainly collected from exposed microhabitats (that is, molluscs that were not covered

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Fig. 3. Two-dimensional nMDS ordination diagram of the microhabitats based on fourth-root transformed mean abundance data and Bray-Curtis similarities.

or buried) and will be referred to as the ‘Exposed Cluster’. Cluster 3 was made up of samples that were collected from microhabitats that are characterised by woody tree-trunks and will be referred to as the ‘Trees Cluster’. Cluster 4 was made up of samples that were mainly collected from sheltered microhabitats (that is, molluscs that were covered by stones or buried in soil or leaf litter) and will be referred to as the ‘Sheltered Cluster’. Cluster 1 consists of samples that were all collected from the garigue habitat, irrespective of microhabitat (except for G-R: Garigue-bare rock/rubble walls). The separate clustering of the garigue samples confirms the results based on macrohabitat (Fig. 2) and suggests that the molluscan assemblages of garigue landscapes are distinguishable from those of other habitat types. Cluster 2 consists of samples that were collected from each of the six different habitats investigated. Unlike the Cluster 1 samples, Cluster 2 samples grouped together on the basis of microhabitat, mainly bare rock/rubble walls and low-growing non-woody vegetation (with one sample collected from tree-trunks). These are all more exposed microhabitats than the others in the sense that molluscs were collected from the surface of rock (natural or in the form of dry stone walls) and the surface of leaves or stems of low-growing vegetation. Cluster 3 consists of samples that were all collected from microhabitats characterised by tree-trunks, which clustered together irrespective of the macrohabitat. Although occurring exposed on surfaces similarly to the assemblages of Cluster 2, tree-trunks seem to provide a different microenvironment, perhaps related to the retention of moisture by the wood of the lower trunk.17 Cluster 4 consists of samples from five different macrohabitats. 17

 Kappes 2005.

UNLOCKING THE PAST THROUGH THE PRESENT

Cluster 1 (Garigue Cluster)

GGGG-

V St S L

Cluster 2 (Exposed Cluster)

G- R M- V M- R O- V O- R Ol- V Ol- R P- V P- T P- R W- V W- R

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Cluster 3 (Trees Cluster)

M- T O- T Ol- T W- T

Cluster 4 (Sheltered Cluster)

M- St M- S M- L O- St O- S O- L Ol- St Ol- S Ol- L P- St P- S P- L W- St W- S W- L

Table 5. List of samples that make up each of the four clusters that resulted from the analysis on mean microhabitat data.

The microhabitats in this cluster were surface soil, leaf-litter and stones on soil. These are all sheltered microhabitats in the sense that the molluscs are insulated from the open air by leaf litter, soil or stones and the substratum retains moisture for long periods even in prolonged dry conditions. The SIMPER analysis confirmed what is already known qualitatively, that some species are ubiquitous and others are more habitat-specific. Ubiquitous species included Cochlicella acuta, Pomatias sulcatus and Papillifera papillaris, while Trochoidea meda, Trochoidea spratti and Muticaria macrostoma tended to be associated with garigue, Cantareus apertus, Cantareus aspersus and Eobania vermiculata with exposed habitats, and Oxychilus draparnaudi, Oxychilus hydatinus and Vitrea spp. with sheltered habitats. However, many species were found in more than one cluster of samples, albeit in different relative abundances. This may be related to the extreme mosaic nature of the present day landscape of the Maltese Islands where different habitats may occur within very close proximity to each other, allowing a mixing of mollusc assemblages, especially of species that are not particularly stenoecious. For the combined analysis of recent and archaeological samples, untransformed data were used to generate a matrix of similarities based on the Bray-Curtis coefficient. The recent samples were grouped as ‘Garigue’, ‘Exposed’, ‘Trees’ and ‘Sheltered’ as indicated above and in the ‘Methods’ section. SIMPROF permutation tests were carried out on the dendrogram so produced. These cluster groupings were overlaid onto an nMDS ordination diagram (Fig. 4).

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Fig. 4. Two-dimensional nMDS ordination diagram of the microhabitats based on untransformed mean relative abundance data and Bray-Curtis similarities.

The two-dimensional nMDS plot (Fig. 4) shows that there is a separation between the cluster consisting of the ‘Exposed’, ‘Sheltered’, and ‘Trees’ samples, and the other samples, which include the Tas-Silġ and ‘Garigue’ samples. None of the archaeological samples investigated fall in very close proximity to any of the four recent assemblages. This may be due to the archaeological deposits being all disturbed secondary deposits with a strong anthropogenic footprint (pottery and marine shells). However, despite the human disturbance, the majority of the archaeological samples show a fairly close association with the ‘Garigue’ assemblage, interestingly, regardless of the archaeological context and period. Three archaeological samples have the closest relationship with the ‘Garigue’ assemblage: TSG 2112/95, TSG 174/103 and TSG 3033/108. TSG 2112/95 is a Bronze Age fill deposit. Using individual indicator species, this deposit has formerly been interpreted as being rather undisturbed with dense low vegetation. Comparatively rich in organic content and high in species diversity and abundance, the resulting association with ‘Garigue’ rather than with ‘Sheltered’ was surprising. TSG 174/103 and TSG 3033/108 are two samples that show a great similarity to each other despite their spatial and temporal separation at the excavation site. Although they were associated with the Garigue in the cluster analysis (at 40% similarity), on the nMDS plot they are also placed equally close to ‘Sheltered’ and ‘Exposed’ assemblages. The Hellenistic/Roman samples from Tas-Silġ Area B, 1053/96 and 1054/101, also show a close relation to each other. At the excavation site, the rubble layer 1053 overlay the compact brown soil of 1054, a spatial proximity that is mirrored in the plot. Their molluscan

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assemblages are also associated with Garigue, albeit rather distantly. Similarly, TSG 2128/112 from Area C, also dated to the Hellenistic/Roman period, was included within the ‘Garigue’ group in the cluster analysis at 40% similarity. Two of the samples, TSG 153/100 and TSG 120/89 are outliers. Their composition bears no resemblance to any of the other groups. It is particularly interesting that they appear to be very closely related to each other, despite the fact that TSG 153/100 is a Tarxien phase deposit and TSG 120/89 has been dated to the Hellenistic/Punic period. Both cluster analysis and nMDS indicate that the deposits shared a very similar mollusc assemblage and therefore probably a similar environment. CONCLUSION The combined analysis of the archaeological and recent assemblages highlights the disparity and complexity of the Tas-Silġ deposits. Although some archaeological deposits come from the same period, they do not necessarily have the same assemblages. In fact, some samples from different periods appear to be closely related in terms of their molluscan content, although thousands of years may lie between them. Similarly, deposits found close to one another on the same site may or may not be ecologically related to one another and neither is geographical separation on site necessarily reflected in dissimilarity in the molluscan assemblages. This new approach of statistically comparing archaeological molluscan assemblages with present-day assemblages from known environments opens possibilities for future research. The similarities and differences resulting from objective analysis may provide invaluable insights on past environments beyond the traditional assignation of assemblages to ‘leaf litter, open country and ubiquitous’ and the somewhat subjective use of individual indicator species. The usefulness of such methods may be enhanced by further studies of molluscan assemblages in neo-anthropogenic deposits like garden soils or agricultural soils. BIBLIOGRAPHY BONANNO, A. and VELLA, N. C. (eds) 2015 Tas-Silġ, Marsaxlokk (Malta) I: Archaeological Excavations Conducted by the University of Malta, 1996‒2005. Leuven: Peeters. CLARKE, K. R. 1993 “Non-parametric multivariate analyses of changes in community structure,” Australian Journal of Ecology 18: 117‒143. CLARKE, K. R. and GORLEY, R. N. 2006 PRIMER v.6: User Manual/Tutorial. Plymouth: PRIMER-E. CLARKE, K. R. and WARWICK, R. M. 2001 Change in Marine Communities: An Approach to Statistical Analysis and Interpretation, 3rd ed. Plymouth: PRIMER-E. EVANS, J. G. and O’CONNOR, T. 1999 Environmental Archaeology, Principles and Methods. Stroud: Sutton Publishing. FENECH, K. 2001a Environmental Change and Human Activity at Tas-Silġ (Malta) from the Bronze Age to the Punic Period. Unpublished BA (Hons) dissertation. University of Malta.

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FENECH

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“Report on the excavation of a Punic tomb: The molluscan remains,” Malta Archaeological Review 5: 20‒22. 2007 Human-induced Changes in the Environment and Landscape of the Maltese Islands from the Neolithic to the 15th c AD, as Inferred from a Scientific Study of Sediments from Marsa, Malta. Oxford: BAR International Series. FENECH, K. and SCHEMBRI, P. J. 2015 “Environmental analyses based on molluscan and other sedimentological remains,” in Tas-Silġ, Marsaxlokk (Malta) I: Archaeological Excavations Conducted by the University of Malta, 1996‒2005, edited by A. Bonanno and N. C. Vella, pp. 401‒496. Leuven: Peeters. GIUSTI, F., MANGANELLI, G. and SCHEMBRI, P. J. 1995 The Non-marine Molluscs of the Maltese Islands (Monografie 15). Torino: Museo Regionale di Scienze Naturali. HUNT, C. O. 1997 “Quaternary deposits in the Maltese Islands: A microcosm of environmental change in Mediterranean Islands,” GeoJournal 41(2): 101‒109. KAPPES, H. 2005 “Influence of coarse woody debris on the gastropod community of a managed calcareous beech forest in Western Europe,” Journal of Molluscan Studies 71(2): 85‒91. MALONE, C., STODDART, S., BONNANO, A., TRUMP, D., GOUDER, T. and PACE, A. (eds) 2009 Mortuary Customs in Prehistoric Malta: Excavations at the Brochtorff Circle at Xagħra, Gozo (1987‒94). Cambridge: McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. MAR (MUSEUM ANNUAL REPORTS) 1908‒1909 Annual Report 1908‒09. Malta: Government Printing Office. PFENNINGER, M., VÉLA, E., JESSE, R., ELEJALDE, M. A., LIBERTO, F., MAGNIN, F. and MARTINEZORTÍ, A. “Temporal speciation pattern in the western Mediterranean genus Tudorella 2010 P. Fischer, 1885 (Gastropoda, Pomatiidae) supports the Tyrrhenian vicariance hypothesis,” Molecular Phylogenetics and Evolution 54: 427‒436. SCHEMBRI, P. J. 1997 “The Maltese Islands: Climate, vegetation and landscape,” GeoJournal 41(2): 115‒125. SCHEMBRI, P. J., HUNT, C., PEDLEY, M., MALONE, C. and STODDART, S. 2009 “The environment of the Maltese Islands,” in Mortuary Customs in Prehistoric Malta: Excavations at the Brochtorff Circle at Xagħra, Gozo (1987‒94), edited by C. Malone, S. Stoddart, A. Bonnano, D. Trump, T. Gouder and A. Pace, pp. 17‒39. Cambridge: McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. 2001b

Patrick J. SCHEMBRI, Katrin FENECH and Kimberly TERRIBILE University of Malta [email protected] [email protected] [email protected]

IMPACTS OF CLIMATE CHANGE ON ARCHAEOLOGICAL HERITAGE, WITH A CASE STUDY FROM MALTA JoAnn CASSAR

PREAMBLE In 1991, Prof. Anthony Bonanno and the current author wrote a paper entitled, “The deterioration of cultural property by airborne pollutants: A case study of a Mediterranean Island”.1 This paper was presented at the European University Centre for Cultural Heritage, Ravello, Italy, as part of the Round Table on Airborne Particles: Their Negative Effects on the Cultural Heritage and its Environment. In the twenty-first century, earlier concerns on air pollution effects on cultural heritage have widened to encompass the effects of global climate change on cultural heritage. “Climate Change and Cultural Heritage” was the theme of a number of doctoral courses held in the Ravello Centre between 2009 and 2013. Within this series of courses, in 2013 the present author was invited to give a lecture on adaptation strategies for archaeological sites in connection with climate change. The current paper, which celebrates Prof. Bonanno’s lifetime academic achievements, is based on the contextual information gathered in preparation for that lecture, and includes the expected effects on a local case study, the Megalithic Temples of Malta. The paper on adaptation has been published by the Ravello European University Centre in a book entitled, Cultural Heritage from Pollution to Climate Change to Global Change.2

INTRODUCTION Archaeological heritage includes moveable objects, structures, sites and monuments and their context, situated both on land and under water.3 The materials of concern range from stone to ceramics and glass, from metals to wood and other organic materials. The locations involved vary from inland regions to coastal areas, planes and mountains, and also include underground as well as underwater sites. Archaeological heritage covers all continents and seas, and all climatic zones. Archaeological material will have undergone several changes during its lifetime – changes associated with the obtaining of the material (e.g. smelting and extraction of metals), during manufacture (e.g. the firing of ceramics) and throughout its lifetime (e.g. wear and tear). Buried material will undergo further change in adapting to its new environment – change which will either lead to the disappearance of the material, or to its establishing a new 1

 Bonanno and Cassar 1991.  Lefèvre and Sabbioni 2016. 3  Council of Europe 1992, Article 1. 2

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equilibrium with these surroundings. The latter processes result in changed, often weakened, material. Once the object, or site, is excavated, other changes will take place to try to establish a balance once again, this time with the different, constantly fluctuating, environment. This again will lead to further stresses on the material, and possibly further deterioration. If concrete steps are not taken to conserve the objects at this stage, some materials can disintegrate completely.4 In considering excavated archaeological material, a number of different, interacting environmental parameters are known to operate, bringing about what we call ‘weathering’ or ‘deterioration’. The more extreme the conditions are, and the greater the fluctuations (daily and/or seasonal), the greater can be the impact on the material. Some materials are intrinsically more vulnerable than others, and it is the interaction of intrinsic properties with extrinsic conditions that will determine the form, rate and extent of change. The main environmental parameters that will impact an excavated archaeological object, or site, include temperature, humidity, rain, insolation, wind, salts, pollution and biological growth, as well as their interactions. These result in slow, but unrelenting, changes which must be addressed if the object or site is to survive. This is the realm of conservation, including preventive conservation. And then there are also extreme events.

THE

IMPACT OF EXTREME EVENTS: DISASTERS

The UN/ISDR defines a disaster as: “a serious disruption of the functioning of a community or a society involving widespread human, material, economic or environmental losses and impacts, which exceeds the ability of the affected community or society to cope using its own resource.”5 The causes of disasters are generally extreme events such as earthquakes, floods, hurricanes, tornadoes, cyclones, violent storms, landslides, tsunamis, volcanic eruptions, or wildfires. And these are only natural disasters. Human causes, such as war or terrorism, are not considered here. Extreme events leave colossal damage in their wake. Archaeological sites, especially those located in vulnerable areas (e.g. near the coast) or else made of particularly susceptible materials (e.g. wood) are especially worst hit, and destruction or immense damage are a consequence. However, nothing is safe when a particularly severe or unexpected event occurs. The often cited floods in Florence, Italy, in November 1966, destroyed or ruined an immense number of cultural heritage objects and archival material.6 More recently, in 2002, floods in Central Europe affected many historic buildings including those in the Czech Republic, where flooding occurred in basements and ground floors in several important historic buildings along the river in central Prague. Although flood warnings had allowed many cultural heritage items to be moved to safety,7 others were not. On 14th August 2002, 4

 Cronyn 1990; Pye 2001.  UN/ISDR 2009, p. 9. 6  Florence Flood 2013. 7  RMS – Risk Management Solutions 2003. 5

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the Institute of Archaeology in Prague was flooded up to a height of 3 metres. The largest archaeological library in the Czech Republic, consisting of 70,000 volumes, together with the archives and laboratories, was heavily damaged.8 The loss to the archaeological record was immense. Other important archives in Prague were also seriously damaged, including architecture archives at the National Technical Museum.9

CLIMATE CHANGE Setting the scene Climate change is defined by the IPCC as: “a change in the state of the climate that can be identified (e.g., by using statistical tests) by changes in the mean and/or the variability of its properties, and that persists for an extended period, typically decades or longer. Climate change may be due to natural internal processes or external forcings, or to persistent anthropogenic changes in the composition of the atmosphere or in land use.”10 This document goes on to add: “Note that The United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC), in its Article 1, defines climate change as: ‘a change of climate which is attributed directly or indirectly to human activity that alters the composition of the global atmosphere and which is in addition to natural climate variability observed over comparable time periods’. The UNFCCC thus makes a distinction between climate change attributable to human activities altering the atmospheric composition, and climate variability attributable to natural causes”.11 The IPCC Fifth Assessment Report (Technical Summary) states clearly that: “It is certain that global mean surface temperature (GMST) has increased since the late 19th century […] Each of the past three decades has been successively warmer at the Earth’s surface than any the previous decades in the instrumental record, and the decade of the 2000’s has been the warmest”.12 Effects of climate change also mentioned by the IPCC13 include: increases in coastal flooding; flash floods throughout Europe; sea-level rise; increase in coastal erosion. Effects of rising temperature will also include the loss of sea ice, thawing of permafrost and associated coastal retreat at high latitudes. Heat waves and fires are expected to increase, and snow and frost are likely to decrease.

 8

 UNESCO 2002a.  UNESCO 2002b. 10  Pachauri and Reisinger 2007, p. 78. 11  Pachauri and Reisinger 2007, p. 78. 12  Stocker et al. 2013, p. 37. 13  IPCC 2007.  9

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IMPACT ON ARCHAEOLOGICAL HERITAGE

General Europe is a primary advocate of research on the impact of climate change on cultural heritage, with the NOAH’S ARK project on Global Climate Change Impact on Built Heritage and Cultural Landscapes14 clearly leading the way. Although temperature is generally cited as the main driver of climate change, this EU-funded project identified water as the main threat to cultural heritage. Severe risks arise from extreme conditions such as intense rain, floods and storm surges.15 But more subtle changes, to materials both exposed and buried, are also a hidden danger. The UNESCO report Case Studies on Climate Change and World Heritage states that, whether droughts or floods increase (with regional variations): “changes in water-table levels, in humidity cycles, in time of wetness, in ground water, and in soil chemistry will impact on the conservation of archaeological remains”.16 The impact on structures and materials may be direct or indirect. Direct impacts may include sites being buried or newly exposed, with information being lost or newly gained. Even newly exposed sites present new challenges, as resources must be available to record any new discoveries.17 This is applicable to sites being exposed by erosion, or by the melting of glaciers and the recession of the permafrost. As indirect effects, changing environmental conditions can accelerate the rate of decay of buried archaeological material. As noted previously, buried material survives because it establishes equilibrium with its surroundings. Interchanges occur at a hydrological, chemical and/or biological level. Changes in soil parameters may thus result in the loss of material.18 The form, rate, and degree of change, both direct and indirect, caused by climate change are, however, uncertain.19 To this must be added the fact that funding for research into in situ preservation is scarce.20 One of the main principles of conservation – acceptable in professional circles for the last 25 years, that of ‘preservation in situ’ – has led to the survival of much of the archaeological record. Chitty21 states that this position may have to change if in situ environmental conditions are no longer stable and this may be primarily due to climate change.

 Sabbioni et al. 2008.  Sabbioni et al. 2008. 16  Colette 2007, p. 52. 17  Daly 2011. 18  Colette 2007. 19  Chitty 2007. 20  Van de Noort et al. 2001, quoted by Daly 2011. 21  Chitty 2007. 14 15

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Buried heritage Daly22 states that although specific studies on archaeological remains in situ are lacking, recent research on built heritage, especially on stone weathering and climate change impacts,23 can be extended to include also the same materials making up our archaeological heritage. This is, however, mostly confined to exposed sites. Studies on buried archaeology and its preservation, including climate change impacts, and how to deal with a threat which still has to be measured, are also needed.24 In the case of archaeology, therefore, one of the greatest risks is that climate change may threaten not only currently known archaeological remains, both terrestrial and underwater, but also that heritage of which we have currently no knowledge. The archaeological record is endangered by changes in the burial environment, including temperature, the presence of water (wetter or dryer soils); drought; more frequent and/or more intense rain events; changes in soil chemistry and changes in oxygen levels (and associated chemical changes); loss of vegetation; the melting of ice (permafrost); erosion – including coastal erosion; and the pH and temperature of the oceans (for underwater archaeology). These can lead to the loss of materials and loss of information. Many of these conclusions can be drawn from Daly’s25 review of the literature on climate change and archaeological sites, which refers to several authors on the subject, including Cassar,26 Cassar and Pender,27 Bonazza and colleagues,28 English Heritage,29 National Trust,30 Smith and colleagues,31 Viles,32 Colette,33 Riksantikvaren,34 Pearson and Williams35 and Pearson and colleagues.36 Coastal heritage is increasingly at risk, and the documentation, excavation and preservation of land based, intertidal and underwater or submerged sites and wrecks is becoming even more urgent. The main threats are sea level rise, storm events and increased wave energy, leading to greater flooding, coastal erosion, coastal squeeze and saline intrusion.37 A fall in the pH of the oceans could be an issue, so far not addressed for archaeological heritage, but well researched on coral reefs.38

22

 Daly 2011.  E.g. Bonazza et al. 2009; Smith et al. 2004; Viles 2002. 24  Cassar 2005; Daly 2011. 25  Daly 2011. 26  Cassar 2005. 27  Cassar and Pender 2005. 28  Bonazza et al. 2009. 29  English Heritage 2008. 30  National Trust 2005. 31  Smith et al. 2004. 32  Viles 2002. 33  Colette 2007. 34  Riksantikvaren 2010. 35  Pearson and Williams 1996. 36  Pearson et al. 1998. 37  Pearson and Williams 1996, in Daly 2011. 38  Daly 2011. 23

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As previously mentioned, studies on built heritage are increasingly abundant and can easily be applied to the same materials in archaeological contexts. The UNESCO Report Case Studies on Climate Change and World Heritage39 explains that historic buildings are in closer contact with the ground than modern ones. So are archaeological sites. What has been deduced for historic structures can equally apply to archaeological sites: these are usually built of porous materials which absorb water and salts from the ground, from where the water evaporates to the environment at wall surfaces and floors, which are at the air/material interface. The latter is the most vulnerable zone for damaging salt crystallisation to take place. If ground water availability increases, greater salt mobilisation is possible, and this can lead to more, and more frequent, damaging crystallisation cycles on decorated and other surfaces – it must be kept in mind that decorated areas which we wish to preserve are precisely those situated at this air/material interface. Salt cycles can seriously affect archaeological remains as well as wall paintings, mosaics and other decorated surfaces, including rock art. Drier or wetter (‘wetter’ implies damper conditions when it comes to effects on Heritage materials) climates will affect the frequency of these cycles, or their seasonality.40 In addition to salt deterioration and a possible change in biological effects, which are indirect consequences, an increased frequency of severe storms and intense rainfall can lead to more frequent flood events (with possible erosion or subsidence of foundations), and includes post flooding drying which may encourage both biological and salt damage. Structural damage can result from extreme events (e.g. storm surges or wind gusts) while rapid flowing water can cause erosion. Sea-level rise threatens coastal areas. Wooden constructions and artefacts, in particular, as well as other organic materials, can be increasingly affected by pest infestation, including by new migrating pest species.41 In drought prone areas, the main threats include desertification, salt weathering and erosion.42

CLIMATE CHANGE

AND EUROPEAN CULTURAL HERITAGE

The main predictions by the EU project on climate change and cultural heritage (NOAH’S ARK), for Europe in general, and the Mediterranean in particular, are as follows:43 • annual rainfall is expected to decrease in Southern Europe in the far future (last 30 years of the twenty-first century) • for wind driven rain, a decrease is also expected in Southern Europe in the far future • for biomass accumulation on monuments, a marked decrease is predicted for South Europe 39

 Colette 2007.  Grossi et al. 2011; Sabbioni et al. 2012. 41  Brimblecombe and Lankester 2012; Stengaard Hansen et al. 2012. 42  Colette 2007. 43  Sabbioni et al. 2012. 40

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• a decrease in lichen species richness is predicted for almost all Europe • surface recession is expected to increase in Northern and Central Europe (for marble and compact limestones) • the Mediterranean Basin will in general continue to experience the highest level of risk from thermal stress (thermoclastism) • for salt crystallisation events, there will be an increase in all of Europe of cycles/year of relative humidity = 75.5% (the transition RH44 for halite – sodium chloride – sea salt). Specific studies by Grossi and colleagues45 predict that for salt transitions “a change in their seasonality […] is likely to occur in the future.” It is predicted that climates with dry summers will show lesser frequency of salt transitions in summer, with winter transitions being higher. However, temperate, fully humid climates may frequently undergo salt damage.46 How these predicted changes can affect archaeological heritage in the Mediterranean will be considered by focusing in particular on exposed heritage, concentrating on structures built of porous carbonate stones. The situation of a particular archaeological typology – the Prehistoric Megalithic Temples of the Maltese Islands – will be discussed.

CASE

STUDY

– THE MEGALITHIC TEMPLES OF MALTA

The Prehistoric Megalithic Temples of the Maltese Islands, UNESCO World Heritage sites, have been plagued by a series of severe problems associated with the deterioration of the porous local limestone, as well as structural problems related to their particular and complex mode of construction.47 The custodians of the site have for many years been concerned by the visible deterioration of many of the limestone megaliths, and by a number of collapses which have taken place in recent years. This precarious state of the Temples has led over the years to a number of studies being carried out to identify the main drivers of this deterioration. These have included studies of the structure,48 the materials and their known deteriogens (particularly soluble salts),49 later supported by continuous environmental monitoring.50 The main environmental factors identified as affecting the Temples have been: rain, wind, insolation, salts and pollution, as well as associated temperature and humidity changes, and biological growth (especially lichens). Most of these parameters have been predicted to change in the future, in connection with climate change. As reported in the previous section on “Climate change and European Cultural Heritage”, the predictions by the NOAH’S ARK project for the

44

 RH = Relative Humidity.  Grossi et al. 2011, p. 2583. 46  Grossi et al. 2011. 47  Torpiano 2004. 48  Tampone et al. 1994. 49  Vannucci et al. 1994. 50  Cassar et al. 2011. 45

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Mediterranean in particular are as follows. For the far future: a decrease in annual rainfall and a decrease for wind driven rain; a marked decrease in the shorter term for biomass accumulation on monuments, with a marked decrease in lichen species richness also predicted. In addition, the Mediterranean Basin continues with a very high risk from thermal stress (thermoclastism), with an increase in salt crystallisation events, especially in the case of NaCl – note that this has been identified as one of the major salt contaminants on the prehistoric Temples of Ħaġar Qim and Mnajdra.51 In 2000, in order to address the shorter-term conservation of the sites, and following recommendations of the Scientific Committee for the Conservation of the Megalithic Temples,52 it was decided that the Temples should be protected by a temporary, open-sided shelter.53 During 2008–2009, following a long and targeted environmental monitoring campaign, such a shelter was constructed over each of the temple sites of Ħaġar Qim (Figs 1 and 2) and Mnajdra. Another shelter has now also been erected over the Tarxien Temples. The performance of the existing shelters is currently being assessed by continued environmental monitoring.54 Other targeted studies, including salt deposition studies, wind flow studies and the monitoring of lichen growth on the megaliths, are also taking place. How were these shelters expected to perform? Although evaluation of environmental data is still in its early stages, it had been expected at an early stage that such a shelter would shield against the greatest temperature extremes (and hence cut down on thermal stress). Direct rainfall, and for the greater part wind-driven rain, would also be protected against. It has now been concluded that wind passing through the shelter is not inducing wind funnelling, and that there is a “general drastic drop in wind speed inside the temple from all the directions that the wind may be blowing”.55 This could also lead to a decrease in wind borne salts moving through the sites. Studies in this respect are continuing.56 Colette57 predicted that, as already stated above, greater salt mobilisation would occur if ground water availability increases, leading to more and more frequent damaging crystallisation cycles on surfaces. As less direct water is entering the megaliths, since both the ground, and the megaliths themselves, are receiving less direct rainfall, the frequency of salt cycles is also changing. What still needs to be verified is whether ground water from outside the sheltered area could, in some way, be affecting the sheltered megaliths. But how will the performance of the shelters change once the climate changes? As mentioned, the NOAH’S ARK Project predicts for Southern Europe the combination of an increase of temperatures, and a decrease of precipitations as well as wind driven rain.58 For thermoclastism (thermal stress), the Mediterranean Basin is predicted to generally continue  Becherini et al. 2016; Vannucci et al. 1994.  A Technical Committee for the Conservation of the Temples was set up in 1994. This was followed by the setting up of the Scientific Committee in 2000; this includes a multi-disciplinary team as its members, including archaeologists, conservators, scientists, architects and engineers. Prof. Anthony Bonanno and the present author are members and have been on these two committees since their inception. 53  Cassar et al. 2011; Cassar et al. 2013. 54  Cassar et al. 2011. 55  Farrugia and Schembri 2008‒2009, p. 55. 56  Galea et al. 2015. 57  Colette 2007. 58  Sabbioni et al. 2012. 51 52

IMPACTS OF CLIMATE CHANGE ON ARCHAEOLOGICAL HERITAGE

Fig. 1. The sheltered façade of the Ħaġar Qim Temples.

Fig. 2. The Ħaġar Qim shelter from afar.

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to experience the highest level of risk.59 Therefore, sheltering the megaliths should result in a decrease of this particular cause of deterioration. However, this could lead to the conclusion that even greater protection from this phenomenon is needed – information that could feed into the eventual decision on what to do when the predicted 25 year lifetime of the current shelter ends, and what kind of alternative shelter to build, if indeed this is decided as the way forward. What about pervasive salt deterioration? Studies on salt climatology60 focus in particular on sodium chloride, which crystallises at 75.3% humidity (often rounded off as 75.5%), virtually independent of temperature.61 Such salt transitions can be used to both understand current salt weathering and also to predict future salt damage, as halite is in fact the salt which has been found to occur primarily at the sites of Ħaġar Qim and Mnajdra.62 Monthly meteorological data have been used to estimate the frequency of salt crystallisation cycles, comparing “in the case of halite the monthly average relative humidity … with the transition point of 75.3% relative humidity”.63 Data for the Maltese Islands for the period 1961‒199064 show frequent fluctuations of RH above and below 75.3% (Fig. 3). Studies are currently under way to estimate changes in the number of cycles above and below this RH in these Temples following the construction of the shelters,65 which would affect NaCl salt cycles. As regards future predictions, however, Grossi and colleagues have concluded that: “it is not so much an absolute change in the number of salt transitions, but a change in their seasonality that is likely to occur in the future (and this may be related to changes in climate types)”.66

Fig. 3. Relative Humidity data for the Maltese Islands 1961‒1990 (after Galdies 2011).  Sabbioni et al. 2012.  Brimblecombe 2010. 61  Grossi et al. 2011. 62  Becherini et al. 2016; Vannucci et al. 1994. 63  Grossi et al. 2011. 64  Galdies 2011. 65  Becherini et al. 2016. 66  Grossi et al. 2011, p. 2583. 59 60

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This must be kept squarely in mind when alternatives to the current shelter are being discussed. And this cannot take place without further elaboration of existing climatic data currently being collected both under and outside the shelters, as is happening at present. The use of Climate Change models to elaborate these data must also be seriously considered. Multidisciplinary studies and research, a vital component of the strategy towards the conservation of the Temples since 2000, must therefore continue. It is only in this way that future climate change challenges can be addressed. BIBLIOGRAPHY BONANNO, A. and CASSAR, J. 1991 “The deterioration of cultural property by airborne pollutants: a case study of a Mediterranean Island,” in Airborne particles and gases, and their impact on the cultural heritage and its environment: proceedings of the European workshops held at Ravello, European University Centre for the Cultural Heritage, 12‒13 December 1989 and 14‒16 December 1990 (Pact 13), edited by S. Hicks, U. Miller, S. Nilsson and I. Vuorela, pp. 161‒182. Strasbourg: Conseil de l’Europe. BECHERINI, F., CASSAR, J., GALEA, M. and BERNARDI, A. 2016 “Evaluation of the shelters over the prehistoric Megalithic Temples of Malta: environmental considerations,” Environmental Earth Sciences 75: 1079. doi: 10.1007/z12665106-5875-z BONAZZA, A., MESSINA, P., SABBIONI, C., GROSSI, C. M. and BRIMBLECOMBE, P. 2009 “Mapping the Impact of Climate Change on Surface Recession of Carbonate Buildings in Europe,” Science of the Total Environment 407: 2039‒2050. BRIMBLECOMBE, P. 2010 “Heritage Climatology,” in Climate Change and Cultural Heritage, edited by R. A. Lefevre and C. Sabbioni, pp. 49‒56. Bari: Edipuglia and Centro Universitario Europeo per i Beni Culturali, Ravello. Scienze e Materiali del Patrimonio Culturale. BRIMBLECOMBE, P. and LANKESTER, P. 2012 “Long-term changes in climate and insect damage in historic houses,” Studies in Conservation 58(1): 13‒22. CASSAR, J., GALEA, M., GRIMA, R., STROUD, K. and TORPIANO, A. 2011 “Shelters over the Megalithic Temples of Malta: Debate, Design and Implementation,” Environmental Earth Sciences 63: 1849–1860. CASSAR, J., CEFAI, S., GALEA, M., GRIMA, R., STROUD, K. and TORPIANO, A. 2013 “Preserving the Megalithic Temples of Malta: The Interdisciplinary Approach,” paper presented at the Built Heritage 2013 Conference, Politecnico di Milano, Milan, 18‒20 November. Available at: (accessed March 2014). CASSAR, M. 2005 Climate Change and the Historic Environment. London: University College London Centre for Sustainable Heritage. CASSAR, M. and PENDER, R. 2005 “The Impact of Climate Change on Cultural Heritage: Evidence and Response,” in ICOM 14th Triennial Meeting, The Hague 12–16 September 2005, Preprints, Vol. II, edited by I. Verger, pp. 610–616. London: James & James. CHITTY, G. 2007 “Meeting the Climate Change Challenge,” The Archaeologist 66: 16. Available at: (accessed February 2018). COLETTE, A. 2007 Case Studies on Climate Change and World Heritage. Paris: UNESCO World Heritage Centre. Available at: (accessed February 2018).

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COUNCIL OF EUROPE 1992 European Convention on the Protection of the Archaeological Heritage, Valletta. Available at: (accessed March 2014). CRONYN, J. M. 1990 Elements of Archaeological Conservation. London: Routledge. DALY, C. 2011 “Climate Change and the Conservation of Archaeological Sites: a Review of Impacts Theory,” Conservation and Management of Archaeological Sites 13(4): 293‒310. ENGLISH HERITAGE 2008 Climate Change and the Historic Environment. London: English Heritage. FARRUGIA, S. and SCHEMBRI J. A. 2008‒2009 “Wind Funnelling underneath the Hagar Qim Protective Shelter,” Malta Archaeological Review 9: 51‒59. FLORENCE FLOOD 2013 Available at: (accessed March 2014). GALDIES, C. 2011 The Climate of Malta: Statistics, Trends and Analysis 1951‒2010. Malta: National Statistics Office. GALEA, M., DEBATTISTA, R., GRIMA, M., MACCARELLI, L., BORG, R. and ZERAFA, C. 2015 “Pollution Monitoring for Sea Salt Aerosols and Other Anionic Species at Hagar Qim Temples, Malta: A Pilot Study,” Conservation and Management of Archaeological Sites 17(4): 315‒326, GROSSI, C. M., BRIMBLECOMBE, P., MENDEZ, B., BENAVENTE, D., HARRIS, I. and DEQUE, M. 2011 “Climatology of Salt Transitions and Implications for Stone Weathering,” Science of the Total Environment 409: 2577‒2585. IPPC 2007 Climate Change 2007: Impacts, Adaptation and Vulnerability. Contribution of Working Group II to the Fourth Assessment Report of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, edited by M. L. Parry, O. F. Canziani, J. P. Palutikof, P. J. van der Linden and C. E. Hanson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Available at: (accessed February 2018). LEFÈVRE, R. A. and SABBIONI, C. (eds.) 2016 Cultural Heritage from Pollution to Climate Change. Bari: Edipuglia and Centro Universitario Europeo per i Beni Culturali, Ravello. Scienze e Materiali del Patrimonio Culturale. NATIONAL TRUST 2005 Shifting Shores: Living with a Changing Coastline. London: The National Trust. PACHAURI, R. K. and REISINGER, A. 2007 Climate Change 2007: Synthesis Report. Contribution of Working Groups I, II and III to the Fourth Assessment Report of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. Geneva: IPCC. Available at: (accessed February 2018). PEARSON, M. and WILLIAMS, E. “Possible Effects of Climate Change on the Cultural National Estate,” in Issues 1996 in Management Archaeology, edited by L. Smith and A. Clarke, pp. 123‒127. St Lucia: Anthropology Museum, University of Queensland. PEARSON, M., JOHNSTON, D., LENNON, J., MCBRYDE, I., MARSHALL, D., NASH, D. and WELLINGTON, B. 1998 Environmental Indicators for National State of the Environment Reporting ‒ Natural and Cultural Heritage. Australia: State of the Environment Environmental Indicator Reports. Canberra: Department of the Environment. Available at: (accessed March 2014).

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Caring for the Past. Issues in Conservation for Archaeology and Museums. London: James and James. RIKSANTIKVAREN (NORDIC COUNCIL OF MINISTERS, KASLEGARD, A. S.) 2010 English summary “Facts about and Prognoses for Climate Change which affect Cultural Heritage in Nordic Countries,” in Effekter av klimaendringer på kulturminner og kulturmiljø, Delrapport 3. Available at: (accessed March 2014). RMS [RISK MANAGEMENT SOLUTIONS] 2003 Central Europe Flooding, August 2002. Event Report. Available at: (accessed February 2018). SABBIONI, C., CASSAR, M., BRIMBLECOMBE, P. and LEFEVRE, R. A. 2008 Vulnerability of Cultural Heritage to Climate Change. European and Mediterranean Major Hazards Agreement (EUR-OPA) Strasbourg, 20 November 2008. Available at: (accessed February 2018). SABBIONI, C., BRIMBLECOMBE, P. and CASSAR, M. 2012 The Atlas of Climate Change Impacts on European Cultural Heritage: Scientific Analysis and Management Strategies. London: Anthem Press. SMITH, B. J., WARKE, P. A. and CURRAN, J. M. 2004 “Implications of Climate Change and Increased ‘Time-of-Wetness’ for the Soiling and Decay of Sandstone Structures in Belfast, Northern Ireland,” in Dimension Stone 2004: New Perspectives for a Traditional Building Material, edited by R. Prikryl, pp. 9‒14. London: Taylor & Francis. STENGAARD HANSEN, L., ÅKERLUND, M., GRǾNTOFT, T., RHYL-SVENDSEN, M., SCHMIDT, A. L., BERGH, J.-E. and VAGN JENSEN, K.-M. 2012 “Future pest status of an insect pest in museums, Attagenus smirnovi: Distribution and food consumption in relation to climate damage,” Journal of Cultural Heritage 13: 22‒27. STOCKER, T. F., QIN, D., PLATTNER, G.-K., ALEXANDER, V., ALLEN, S. K., BINDOFF, N. L., BRÉON, F.-M., CHURCH, J. A., CUBASCH, U., EMORI, S., FORSTER, P., FRIEDLINGSTEIN, P., GILLETT, N., GREGORY, J. M., HARTMANN, D. L., JANSEN, E., KIRTMAN, B., KNUTTI, R., KRISHNA KUMAR, K., LEMKE, P., MAROTZKE, J., MASSON-DELMOTTE, V., MEEHL, G. A., MOKHOV, I. I., PIAO, S., RAMASWAMY, V., RANDALL, D., RHEIN, M., ROJAS, M., SABINE, C., SHINDELL, D., TALLEY, L. D., VAUGHAN, D. G. and XIE, S.-P. 2013 “Technical Summary,” in Climate Change 2013: The Physical Science Basis. Contribution of Working Group I to the Fifth Assessment Report of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, edited by T. F. Stocker, D. Qin, G.-K. Plattner, M. Tignor, S. K. Allen, J. Boschung, A. Nauels, Y. Xia, V. Bex and P. M. Midgley, pp. 33‒115. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Available at: (accessed February 2018). TAMPONE, G., VANNUCCI, S., CASSAR, J., GIORDANO, S., FIORITO, S., PIERI-NERLI, P., SAUSA, P. and ZETTI I. 1994 “I Templi Megalitici Preistorici delle Isole Maltesi: Determinazione delle Propietà Meccaniche dei Materiali ed Interpretazione dei Dissesti,” in Conservation of Monuments in the Mediterranean Basin. Proceedings of the Third International Symposium, Venice, Italy, edited by V. Fassina, H. Ott and F. Zezza, pp. 567–575. Venezia: Soprintendenza ai Beni Artistici e Storici di Venezia. TORPIANO, A. 2004 “The Construction of the Megalithic Temples,” in Malta Before History, edited by D. Cilia, pp. 347–365. Malta: Miranda Publishers. UNESCO 2002a Library of the Prague Institute of Archaeology Calls for Help. Available at: (accessed February 2018).

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2002b Architecture Archives in Prague in Ruins. Available at: (accessed February 2018). UN/ISDR 2009 UNISDR Terminology on Disaster Risk Reduction. Available at: (accessed March 2014). VAN DE NOORT, R., CHAPMAN, H. P. and CHEETHAM, J. L. 2001 “In situ preservation as a dynamic process: the example of Sutton Common, United Kingdom,” Antiquity 75: 405‒422. VANNUCCI, S., ALESSANDRINI, G., CASSAR, J., TAMPONE, G. and VANNUCCI, M. L. 1994 “I templi megalitici preistorici delle Isole Maltesi: Cause e processi di degradazione del Globigerina Limestone,” in Conservation of Monuments in the Mediterranean Basin. Proceedings of the Third International Symposium, Venice, Italy, edited by V. Fassina, H. Ott and F. Zezza, pp. 555–565. Venezia: Soprintendenza ai Beni Artistici e Storici di Venezia. VILES, H. A. 2002 “Implications of Future Climate Change for Stone Deterioration,” in Natural Stone Weathering Phenomena, Conservation Strategies and Case Studies, edited by S. Siegesmund, T. Weiss and A. Vollbrecht, pp. 407‒418. London: Geological Society.

JoAnn CASSAR University of Malta [email protected]

STORYTELLING AND ARCHAEOLOGICAL INTERPRETATION Katya STROUD

INTRODUCTION Storytelling can take different forms. A story can be told in the form of a book, an audiobook, a film, a cartoon, a comic strip, a television series, a theatre production, an exhibition and more. Storytelling is an essential part of our education since it is at the very basis of communication and it is through the telling of stories that knowledge is transported from one person to the next and from one generation to the next. Stories are a familiar medium. They introduce children to the harsher realities of adult life through the safe buffers of fiction and imagination. At times, stories escort us into the strangeness of other cultures. Storytelling can likewise transport us into the strangeness of a distant time. Storytelling is one of the essential roles of museum exhibitions. Through museum displays the stories of the past are being communicated to the museum visitor. This paper shall investigate storytelling elements and techniques present in traditional forms of storytelling, and how these can be adapted to archaeological interpretation at Malta’s prehistoric sites.

THE VISITOR CENTRE

AND THE CURATOR

The past decade has seen the reintroduction of the ‘Visitor Centre’ to the Maltese islands, primarily at Ħaġar Qim and Mnajdra Temples in 2009, and at Ġgantija Temples in 2013. These visitor centres, interpretation centres, or site museums, are not a new phenomenon to the Maltese islands. The Domus Romana in Rabat has had a purposely-built museum adjacent to, and partly enclosing, the archaeological remains since the late19th century. In the 1950s a series of small site museums were created at various sites. In 1954 a small building at the entrance to the Tarxien Temples housed a small display about Maltese prehistory, and a small site museum was also created at the Ħal Saflieni Hypogeum in 1956.1 These centres fulfil multiple functions. They familiarise visitors with the archaeological site they are about to visit, and provide the standard commodities that the modern visitor expects: sanitary facilities, ticketing facilities, cafeteria and museum shop, amongst others. These centres often house some of the artefacts, which through the excavation process have become unavoidably disassociated from their original context on that site. In fulfilling these functions, these visitor centres are also transformed into a stage on which visitors are

1

 Gambin 2003; Grima 2000.

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presented stories about the sites, stories about their discovery, about their past, their values and about their future. In the local context, these visitor centres also have the potential of taking on an additional pivotal role. From the late nineteenth and throughout the twentieth centuries, a campaign of expropriation and fencing off of these monuments was started, as their management came directly into the hands of government. In 1883, the first funds were set aside by the government to build enclosure walls around a number of sites2: This transformation was accompanied by the progressive commoditisation of the experience of visiting these sites, making them increasingly accessible to outsiders. Decisions about what was done on and around these sites was prised from the hands of owners and local communities, and increasingly controlled by Government.3

While fences and walls raised around the sites protected the monuments from souvenir seekers, the walls kept the landowners and farmers, the original protectors and managers of the sites, outside.4 Foci of popular local curiosity and debate were suddenly turned into exclusive government properties to be visited by foreigners. The effects of this exclusivity can still be seen today. The general impression that one gets from local media and visitor comments is that archaeological sites are seen as little more than government-managed tourist attractions. The opening of two visitor centres in the space of a few years is an opportunity to encourage a local audience back into these sites. The presentation and interpretation of the sites within these centres is a means through which local interest can again be engaged. The stories that we tell within these centres therefore become key tools in reconciling the local public with their estranged heritage. Exhibition design follows a process: Our design is guided by considerations for story, space and people. We gather up the objects that curators feel best explain the subject in hand… Once the stories are clear, we then work on how best to tell them. The objective is to create a strong narrative that will enable the objects to speak, and compel visitors to listen.5

It is the role of the curator to ensure that the stories told in an exhibition accurately represent the values of the archaeology they are presenting to the public. Curators then work with the design team to create the best way in which to tell these stories. The media through which these stories can then be passed on to the public are endless, and in some cases may allow us to reach audiences outside the visitor centre itself. The makers of Horrible Histories have used collectible cards and magazines, toys, theatre productions and television series to teach children about history through humour and gore. David Attenborough introduced viewers to 3D animated dinosaurs in the television production Natural History Alive, whilst BBC’s Walking with Dinosaurs is very entertaining and captivating for audiences, with characters set in an accurate Jurassic setting. 2

 Bugeja 2012.  Grima 2005. 4  Grima 2011. 5  Casson 2013. 3

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The Chess Project developed a system whereby stories, although presented in a standard digital format, are personalised, and can therefore be tailor-made to the individual museum visitor. These are just some of the ground-breaking media that are being used in archaeological and historical story-telling, and yet the stories at their basis follow traditional formulas and techniques that have stood the test of time in their effectiveness in conveying a story.

TALL

TALES

For years, a visit to Malta’s Neolithic sites was accompanied by little interpretation except for that presented by tourist guides and some information panels installed on site. This lack of information, the lack of evidence for the islands’ prehistory which raises more questions than it addresses, the mysterious nature of the temples and the zealous imagination of some guides and visitors, have resulted in a repertoire of fantastical tales about Malta’s Neolithic. These are at times far removed from the evidence presented by the archaeological record. However, they have lasted for years and now reside on the web, and still make regular appearances in local newspapers and form part of the standard spiel of some tourist guides.6 Amongst these tales are those featuring beings with elongated skulls, a distorted echo of the early twentieth-century craniometric theories,7 which have at times been interpreted as a race of ‘snake priests’ who officiated in the underground burial site, the Ħal Saflieni Hypogeum. Other tales include underwater temples, remnants of Atlantis, as well as school children going missing in the depths of Ħal Saflieni Hypogeum.8 Further stories of child sacrifice within the temples, and cultural links with Minoans and Celts also make appearances from time to time. The popular terminology used to refer to certain areas of these Neolithic sites is also very suggestive, and it rarely has a link to their original function or evidence found within them. Ħal Saflieni for example, has areas and chambers dubbed the ‘snake pit’, the ‘oracle chamber’ and the ‘holies of holies’. Common features within the temples include ‘libation holes’, ‘altars’ and ‘oracle holes’, whilst Neolithic figurines found within them are known as ‘fat ladies’ or ‘mother goddesses’ despite the obvious asexual appearance of many of them. The term ‘temples’ is in itself a popular term adopted for these sites and may reflect only part of their purpose. This repertoire of tales and terms helps create an enticing scenario for a visitor’s experience of the megalithic temples. They appeal to the imagination and relate to familiar concepts. However, the origins of these stories and interpretations do not lie in the archaeological evidence and most are borrowed from other epochs, cultures and settings. In contrast to these interpretations, and possibly as an attempt to balance this scenario, until a decade ago information presented on information panels at local Neolithic sites gave very little interpretation. Information here was presented in a strictly objective and technical 6

 See Maltastar (2012), The Malta Independent (2004) and Black (2014) as some examples.  Bradley 1912; Grima 2014. 8  Griffiths 1920. 7

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manner, drawing from scientific analyses, statistics and academic study. This style emphasises the accuracy and exactness of the facts being presented to the visitor, highlighting the authentic value of the sites and related artefacts. On the other hand, “An important function of the museum story is to dislodge troublesome stereotypes”.9 If the modern interpretation of Malta’s Neolithic is to set right the tales that are misinterpreting these prehistoric sites, and to rekindle the interest of the local public in their heritage, the stories that are told about Malta’s prehistory need to go beyond dimensions and statistics. Archaeological interpretation is here in a way ‘competing’ for the visitor’s attention against stories that present larger-than-life scenarios of snake priests and human sacrifice. So, stories that just deal with pottery typology and geological characteristics are not enough. During an interview for the Museum Journal, Ben Lillie, the creator of The Story Collider podcast, pointed out: “It is not simply enough to tell people they need to know something: you have to make it interesting enough on its own merits that they will want to know it”.10 This is where the marriage of archaeological evidence and storytelling techniques might provide a solution.

STORY-TELLING TECHNIQUES AND

ARCHAEOLOGY

What makes a good story? The recipe for successful storytelling in exhibits is the same as in literature: riveting plots and engaging characters. At the heart of a good museum exhibit is a good story.11

With this in mind, as well as the aim of using stories about prehistory to familiarise local audiences with their past, the author interviewed three experienced local storytellers: Pierre Bonello, an exhibition designer, Malcolm Galea, a playwright, Charles Stroud, a television series director, and author Trevor Zahra. The aim of these interviews was to get a glimpse into what techniques and elements, in their experience, work best with a local audience. The interviews addressed aspects of how the storyteller presents a story in an interesting and exciting way. How do they make their audience, as they close their book, or leave their theatre seat at the end of a show, think about their story, carry it home with them, mull over it and make it their own? The interviews were conducted between December 2013 and January 2014. This research was by no means exhaustive, but offered an initial insight into what tools used by local storytellers could also be used in the presentation of Malta’s prehistoric sites. The conventions of storytelling do not have to be relearned, no matter how specialized the narrative.12

 9

 DiBlasio and DiBlasio 1983.  Linett 2013. 11  Carliner 2001. 12  DiBlasio 1983. 10

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Literary elements such as setting, plot, narrative perspective, style, theme, character and genre are not just used in literature, but are essential building blocks in other storytelling media, such as theatre and film. Theme As mentioned earlier, the theme of the stories in prehistoric sites should be set by the values of the sites themselves but, “[…] one should also not try to say the same story at each site, but a different experience has to be created in each one of them”.13 This is especially important in the case of the Maltese temples where sites of the same period are in close proximity to each other and have the potential to provide a series of related story-lines. In this way, as the visitor visits one site and then another, there is a sense of discovery where the whole story is not revealed at one go, but is revealed across a number of visits. This is one technique used in television series where at the end of an episode there is something left unfinished or unconsumed so that the audience is left wanting more and looking forward to the next episode. However, one has to ensure that the experience at any one site should still feel complete so that the visitor does not exit the site feeling unsatisfied. Characters One clear element that emerged early on in each interview is the importance of characters: Audiences must relate to your work for it to be enjoyable. Therefore there needs to be a character that represents them and shares their opinions and character.14 I believe that the driving force behind any story is its characters. The reader has to feel involved with these characters; he has to understand what they are going through, what is worrying them, what they like, what is bothering them… what their aims are.15

It may be difficult to find the human story in the otherwise academic topic of prehistory, especially when the available evidence is biased towards a particular aspect and does not provide much detail about the population of the time. The main evidence for Malta’s Neolithic comes from the temples themselves. Theories about this period, books and studies have therefore naturally leaned towards aspects related to the architecture of the buildings, with only a small fraction of that attention being given to the individuals who created and inhabited that prehistoric setting. The main evidence about the population of the time, their diet, and some hints at their lifestyle, came to light only in recent years at the Xagħra Circle in Gozo, a Neolithic burial site excavated between 1987 and 1994. By contrast, this site yielded large numbers of human remains, and resultant studies have started shedding light on various aspects of the prehistoric individual’s physique, diet and pathologies. In a bid to bring some of this evidence to life at the Ġgantija Interpretation Centre, it was decided to undertake a facial reconstruction of one of the skulls uncovered at 13

 Pers. comm. Pierre Bonello in an interview held on 9th January 2014.  Pers. comm. Malcolm Galea in an interview held on 13th January 2014. 15  Pers. comm. Trevor Zahra in an interview held on 9th January 2014. 14

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Fig. 1. Facial reconstruction of a skull found at the Xagħra Stone Circle, Gozo.

the Xagħra Circle. The reconstruction was executed by Caroline Wilkinson, an anthropologist from the University of Dundee specialised in forensic facial reconstruction (Fig. 1). The female face produced is as accurate as today’s techniques and know-how allow, but beyond this, the reconstruction did not bring anything new to our knowledge of prehistory. It is just a face. It does not bring with it any further evidence for the Neolithic than the skull alone did. Yet, this prehistoric face made the headlines, it went viral on social media, and was widely discussed by members of the public. The local Times of Malta website was

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inundated with comments about this reconstruction. Some questioned the accuracy of the reconstruction, others commented on her beauty, many said her eyebrows were too thin and some observed how familiar the face was, finding similarities between this prehistoric lady and living neighbours and relatives.16 Being asked what works best with local audiences, television series director Charles Stroud said: “Normal stories about everyday normal people with normal problems are always a winner”.17 What this reconstruction achieved was that for the first time ever, a character was introduced in Malta’s prehistory. This distant culture now had a protagonist, a normallooking, even familiar person. In the public perception, the temples suddenly became populated by individuals who were not much different to themselves. In addition, prehistory also became a topic that non-academics could easily discuss over their Sunday paper. It became a subject that they could relate to in a very personal and familial way. Facial reconstructions are not always possible and are also rather expensive, but they are not the only way through which a character may be introduced to the stories of our past. Characters need not always be historical for visitors to become engaged in their story. They may be fictional or composites of real people. At St. Paul’s Catacombs in Rabat, a character called Valeria guides visitors through the site as she relates her tale on their audioguide. Valeria gives accurate information about the site, but she herself is a fictional character. The only archaeological evidence for her existence is a plaque found at Rabat dating to the late Roman period (4th‒8th century AD). Visitors know this, but just as we get engrossed in a film when we sympathise with its character even though we are aware that it is fictitious, visitors accept Valeria as a voice from the past giving them a personal tour of the site. A literary technique pertaining to characters is that of anthropomorphism or personification, where human traits or characteristics are attached to inanimate objects, phenomena and animals. Considering that archaeological evidence is mainly made up of remains of objects or buildings rather than people, the use of personification can be useful in making strange objects more familiar to the visitor. A children’s history book for example, L-Ewwel 35,000,000 Sena ta’ Ħajti (My first 35,000,000 years) published in 2014, presents the island of Malta as a personified character who relates her story in the first person. Structure One of the most basic elements in exhibition story-telling is that it has a distinct structure. This structure may take different forms from a fixed flow to what is known as a ‘salad bowl’ approach where participants are left free to pick and choose bits of knowledge and information as they please.18 This became evident in the interview with author Trevor Zahra: “There has to be a strategic revelation of facts but done in a clear manner.”19 The simplest way in which this strategy can be carried out in an exhibition is by having a beginning, middle and ending. 16

 See Times of Malta (2013) and Chetcuti (2013) as examples.  Pers. comm. in an interview held on 10th January 2014. 18  Lindauer 2005. 19  Pers. comm. in an interview held on 9th January 2014. 17

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It was found that a fixed flow [in an exhibition] works better since experiments with a freeflow experience in the National Museum of Archaeology’s prehistoric section did not work very well. Visitors felt confused and were left thinking that they missed out on part of the exhibition.20

Visitors, like the reader of a narrative, or the theatre audience, have to be guided through their experience with an introduction to basic concepts at the beginning of the experience, full engagement in the middle, and a satisfactory conclusion, or at times, ‘something to ponder’ at the end. This is a tried and tested structure which helps to introduce any novice to that which is not familiar, allows them to engage with it, and then finally draw from it something that is significant and important. Malcolm Galea highlights this aspect as an important element in his play-writing, emphasising also that apart from the structure, the time allocated to each part of the experience is carefully planned: […] a time budget of how long each scene or sequence should take. This will ensure that the final product won’t have a tapering effect where the first part takes a leisurely time to be established and then it concludes in a hurry.21

At the Ħaġar Qim and Mnajdra Visitor Centre for example, the audiovisual at the start of the exhibition is used to introduce the visitor to the sights and overall mood of the prehistoric site. Following this, visitors are then introduced to various concepts related to the temples, in particular Ħaġar Qim and Mnajdra and their landscape, whilst the experience of the actual sites forms the climax and conclusion of the visit (Fig. 2). Visitors are allowed to set their own pace during this experience choosing how long to take in each section of the visit, however many complained that the introductory audiovisual was too short and not informative enough. The part of the experience, which was originally perceived as the introduction by the visitor, was considered to be too sudden and concise. For this reason, the introductory audiovisual was revised in 2014, and based on visitor feedback, it was made slightly longer, with a few more dates by way of information on the chronology of the site and was also made in 4D (a 3D feature including the effects of wind and rain) giving visitors the experience of being immersed in the history of the sites. Setting Every story has its setting, its context, the backdrop against which it is taking place. In the theatre, this is created physically through props, costumes and scenery. In novels, it is normally done as part of the introduction, although it need not be done explicitly and is often built up through hints and snippets of information in the first few chapters. Linked to this is the idea of immersion, the technique through which the audience is transported to the life and times of our characters and plot. The 100 Years of Museums exhibition held by Heritage Malta in 2003 was particularly successful in creating a feeling of the era and setting the scene. It attracted visitors in that it offered a ‘behind the scenes’ 20

 Pers. comm. Pierre Bonello in an interview held on 9th January 2014.  Pers. comm. Malcolm Galea in an interview held on 13th January 2014.

21

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Fig. 2. Experience structure at the Ħaġar Qim and Mnajdra Visitor Centre. Malta.

glimpse into the life of a museum, with great attention to detail in creating the right setting for each era of the development of museums using real ‘props’. An attempt at immersing the visitor into the daily life in the Neolithic is in the pipeline for the Ġgantija Interpretation Centre where an area has been earmarked for the construction of a replica Neolithic hut (Fig. 3). This will be based on information retrieved from Skorba Temples and the remains of a domestic structure at Għajnsielem, Gozo. It will give visitors the opportunity to ‘step into’ the Neolithic and experience the volume and space of these huts at first hand. At sites where the setting of the story is still accessible, the interpretation given should not replace the actual ‘stage’ by recreating it, but should rather highlight its characteristics and value, empowering the visitor to discover and understand it. This is the approach taken at the Ħaġar Qim and Mnajdra Visitor Centre. Here the landscape between the two sites has been largely preserved with minor changes taking place throughout its history. A few simple measures are taken in the interpretation at the centre to encourage visitors to explore the landscape, first through media in the centre itself and later on in the landscape itself by means of way-marked trails.

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Fig. 3. Artist’s impression of a prehistoric hut by Nicholas Galea.

Narrative perspective and style The narrative perspective and style of a story helps to set the overall mood and affects the visitor’s experience accordingly. The most common narrative perspective that is adopted in museum exhibitions, both locally and internationally, is the third-person narration where the narrator is impersonal and is not in any way affected by the events of the story being told. In the case of Valeria at St. Paul’s Catacombs however, this mould was broken since the narration is carried out in the first person and lends itself to a more personal experience of the site. In choosing the style of the narrative of museum exhibits, the tone curators often precipitate towards is again impersonal, objective and instructional, with emphasis being placed on the accuracy of the facts being presented. This is a rather old-fashioned style of narration, which in some cultures may be perceived as a patronising approach to the visitor. This effect is clearly incidental and is a result of great efforts to ensure that the information being provided is correct and objective. However, the tone adopted in a story reflects the attitude the author, or in this case the curator, appears to hold towards the subject matter. Museum educators not only want to teach the public important information, they also want their visitors to be as excited about [the subject] as they are.22

So, should some of that enthusiasm be communicated in the way in which the story is told, the overall style may become more inviting for the visitor. 22

 Rice 2013.

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Fig. 4. Cartoons by Mario Casha used in the ‘pathologies section’ of the Ġgantija Interpretation Centre.

Humour There’s no better way to engage an audience than by getting them laughing at something. However, humour is often frowned upon by museum curators and managers, since it is sometimes considered as disrespectful to the past. At the Ġgantija visitor centre a bit of humour was introduced to the exhibition in the section depicting some pathologies that were found in the human remains of the Xagħra Circle. Here the curators felt that the topic might be a bit too sombre for their visitors, so comic drawings were made to depict the pathologies being represented, giving this topic a lighter tone (Fig. 4). There is obviously no template for including humour in a museum exhibit, but humour in itself should not be dismissed categorically. Multisensory imagery Another technique related to style is imagery. Imagery is used to help the visitor imagine certain elements of the story that cannot be depicted in the exhibition. By forming mental images of a scene using descriptive words, especially making use of the human senses, the visitor can be immersed into the past. The audiovisual and audioguide of the Ħal Saflieni Hypogeum for example make passing references to the smell of decomposing corpses. This is at times criticised as an attempt at sensationalising the experience, but considering the archaeological evidence, the stench at the site must have been overwhelming at the time it was used as a burial site. Reference to the sense of smell in this case is far from an attempt to win points with visitors, but it is a sincere portrayal of the evidence for the site. Further use of the senses, both at first hand, as in tasting ingredients available in the Neolithic, as well as in written and audio descriptions will go a long way in making archaeological interpretation more engaging. Juxtaposition A storytelling technique used to make the unfamiliar or new more familiar is juxtaposition, in which two opposing images or concepts are positioned near one another so visitors

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Fig. 5. Prehistoric tools exhibit at the Ġgantija Interpretation Centre. Neolithic stone tools are displayed on the left and modern tools used for equivalent purposes are displayed on the right.

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can make the comparison and in this way, understand better what is otherwise strange and unfamiliar. At the Ġgantija Interpretation Centre for example, prehistoric lithic tools are presented next to a modern selection of tools such as a hammer, sandpaper and chisel (Fig. 5). To the untrained eye, the collection of stone tools is no more than a series of lumps of flint of slightly varying shapes. However, the immediate correlation with modern tools turns the alien lithics into meaningful useful implements, the use of which is immediately recognisable. In addition, the obvious contrast of materials further emphasises how different and basic the prehistoric toolkit was and also brings to mind how challenging the use of lithic tools must have been with the lack of comfortable handles and the availability of metal.

CONCLUSION From the privacy of bedtime stories to the gossip at a party, from the quiet of the library to the surround-sound of the cinema screen, from the primitive tales around the fire to the social media at our fingertips, we develop and grow through the sharing of stories. It is therefore very fitting, and in effect advantageous, to examine the story-telling techniques that may be applied to telling stories about our past. As shown in this discussion, the existing techniques used in storytelling in its various forms can be effectively applied to the presentation of archaeological concepts and ideas to the public. There is a fine line between writing archaeology and writing fiction. However, if the archaeological record is allowed to dictate the stories we write, with the help of traditional story-telling techniques, the experience of Malta’s Neolithic can slowly develop into an engaging and memorable one.

BIBLIOGRAPHY BLACK, J. 2014

“The Hypogeum of Ħal Saflieni and an unknown race with elongated skulls,” (accessed 2 January 2014). BRADLEY, R. N. 1912 Malta and the Mediterranean Race. London: T. Fisher Unwin. BROOKS, L. 2011 Story Engineering. Cincinnati, OH: Writers’ Digest Books. BUGEJA, A. 2012 “Challenges to the management of archaeological remains in late 19th century Malta,” Arkivju 3: 3‒14. CARLINER, S. 2001 “Modelling information for three-dimensional space; Lessons learned from museum exhibit design,” Technical Communication 48(1): 66‒81. CASSON, D. 2013 “A spotlight on the exhibition designer,” Guardian, 13 November 2013. CHETCUTI, K. 2013 “That prehistoric Marija l-Għawdxija,” Sunday Times of Malta, 12 May 2013.

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DIBLASIO, M. and DIBLASIO, R. 1983 “Constructing a cultural context through museum storytelling,” Roundtable Reports 8(3): 7‒9. GRIFFITHS, W. A. 1920 “Malta halting place of nations; First account of remarkable prehistoric tombs and temples recently unearthed on the island,” National Geographic Magazine 37: 445‒477. GRIMA, R. 2000 “Managing a world heritage resource,” in The Ħal Saflieni Hypogeum 4000 BC‒ 2000 AD, edited by A. Pace, pp. 37‒44. Malta: National Museum of Archaeology. 2005 Monuments in Search of a Landscape: The Landscape Context of Monumentality in Late Neolithic Malta, PhD dissertation. University College London 2011 “Hercules’ unfinished labour; The management of Borġ in-Nadur and its landscape,” in Site, Artefacts and Landscape: Prehistoric Borġ in-Nadur, Malta, edited by D. Tanasi and N. C. Vella, pp. 341‒372. Monza: Polimetrica. 2014 “Archaeology, nationhood and identity in a small island state,” Melita Historica 16(3): 101‒120. LINDAUER, M. A. 2005 “From salad bars to vivid stories; Four game plans for developing ‘educationally successful’ exhibitions,” Museum Management and Curatorship 20(1): 41‒55. LINETT, P. 2013 “The thoughtful museum: Interview with Ben Lillie on science and the storytelling revival,” Curator 56(1): 15‒19. MALTASTAR 2012 “Malta cave and missing children,” (accessed 8 April 2012). RICE, K. 2013 “Science in Museums; Storytelling and Science,” (accessed 16 January 2013). THE MALTA INDEPENDENT 2004 “The mystery of the hypogeum,” (accessed 11 April 2004). TIMES OF MALTA 2013 “Revealed…the face of a Maltese woman 5600 years ago,” Times of Malta, 7 May 2013. VAYANOU, M. KARVOUNIS, M., KYRIAKIDI, M., KATIFORI, A., MANOLA, N., ROUSSOU, M. and IOANNIDIS, Y. 2012 “Towards personalized storytelling for museum visits,” Personalized Access, Profile Management and Context Awareness in Databases 6th International Workshop, Istanbul, (accessed 5 June 2017).

Katya STROUD Heritage Malta [email protected]

PACHINO, SICILY: ONE OF THE EARLIEST EXAMPLES OF MALTESE MIGRATION IN THE MODERN AGE David MALLIA

INTRODUCTION The Maltese Islands were granted as a fief to the Order of St John in 1530.1 During the earlier part of the two and a half centuries of their rule, the Knights founded a number of new towns: Isla (1551),2 Valletta (1566),3 Paola (1623)4 and Floriana (1724).5 These are an indication of the prosperity of the islands at the time. However, for a number of reasons, beyond the scope of this study, the economy declined in the second half of the eighteenth century. Many histories of the Order of St John salute the benefits of the rule of the Order of St John to Malta and the Maltese.6 An early note of dissent was sounded by Miège, who describes the later years of the Order’s rule as ‘wretched’ and ‘miserable’ for the Maltese, who regretted that the enlightenment spreading across Europe was denied them.7 With the exception of the failed rising of the slaves in 1749, incidents of Maltese discontent were not generally reported in the histories of the Order.8 In 1637, the people were angered by Grand Master Lascaris’s decision to impose an income tax to finance the Floriana fortifications.9 The clergy of the rural parishes led the protest, insisting that the Maltese people had been exempted from such taxation by right of ancient royal concessions.10 The following year a man named Antonio Sardo, on behalf of his fellow Maltese, complained of Grand Master Lascaris’ ‘misgovernment’ to King Philip IV of Spain.11 In 1671, there was another protest against new taxes to raise 100,000 scudi to complete the Cotonera fortifications. During the eighteenth century, more disturbances took place.12 On 20 July 1753, various posters intended to incite the masses against the Order were affixed to street corners in Valletta.13 Ange Goudar,14 writing in 1776, identified six different riots in Malta between  1  The original diploma of the grant made by Emperor Charles V to the Order is conserved in the National Library of Malta.  2  Spiteri 2001, pp. 359‒368.  3  De Giorgio 1985, p. 95.  4  Garrett 1996, p. 29.  5  Guillaumier 2005, p. 679.  6  Bosio 1603, preface; and Abela 1984, preface.  7  Miège 1841, pp. 228‒278.  8  Testa 1989, pp. 120‒127.  9  Hoppen, p. 47. 10  Castillo 2006, p. 92. 11  Mallia-Milanes 1988, p. 4. 12  Mallia-Milanes 1988, p. 4. 13  Thake 2013, p. 56. 14  Venturi 1979, pp. 14‒16, citing Ange Goudar 1776.

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1760 and 1775 over taxes and the Order’s autocratic rule.15 On one occasion, words like “Poveri Maltesi in che miserie vi ha portato questo Gran Maestro” were painted on the Magistral Palace, in Valletta.16 The Order of St John controlled the Valletta Università17 and therefore all the grain supplies to the Maltese Islands and it used this control to undermine dissent.18 The appellation of enlightened despots cannot be applied to the later Grand Masters of Malta. Furthermore, the uncertain state of the Order’s finances towards the end of the eighteenth century, the reduction of income from the corso and the increase in population are also well documented. Throughout the eighteenth century, the Massa Frumentaria (grain fund) was repeatedly misappropriated by the Grand Masters for their own use and this led to a steep rise in bread prices and discontent among the populace.19 It is therefore not surprising to learn that as early as the mid-eighteenth century some Maltese sought a new life abroad by emigrating to the nearby island of Sicily.

EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY SICILY Over 100 new towns were founded in Sicily between the sixteenth and early nineteenth centuries, 90 alone between 1590 and 1650, under the initiative of the Sicilian baronaggio (barons).20 These new towns, most of which were new foundations,21 significantly modified the traditional economic characteristics and demography of the island. After the great earthquake of 1693, which devastated the Southeast of Sicily, a number of new towns were founded in this area, which is known as the Val di Noto.22 The foundations followed a pattern established in the sixteenth century in western and central Sicily,23 which was itself derived from similar grants made in the Iberian Peninsula as far back as AD 824.24 Pachino was one of the last towns to be founded as part of this imposing colonisation process. The gradual decline of piracy and increased security of the coast coupled with the wish of Sicily’s nobles to exploit their feudal lands to the fullest, led the nobility to petition the King of the Two Sicilies to grant them the licentia populandi25 for their uninhabited fiefs. Sicilian barons held considerable capital and possessed vast tracts of unpopulated land. The promises of new titles and further privileges by the Spanish crown encouraged the Sicilian nobility to found new towns, even if they came at a considerable cost.26 Sicily produced a surplus of grain in the early part of the sixteenth century, but owing to a near doubling of the population during that century, Sicily became an importer of grain during the second 15

 Mallia-Milanes 1988, p. 5.  Fava 1978, p. 50. 17  Mea 1957, p. 88. 18  Sharp 2009, p. 23. 19  Fava 1978, p. 43. 20  Gelabert 1995, p. 280. 21  Monterosso 1999, p. 7. 22  Savarino 1998, p. 2. 23  Davis 1995, p. 191. 24  Clapham and Power 1966, p. 67. 25  Clapham and Power 1966, pp. 66‒67. 26  Savarino 2008, p. 284. 16

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half of that century.27 The Spanish crown was eager to increase the production of agricultural products to feed the ever-increasing population of the island. This contrasted with the grants made in preceding centuries in which the principal aim was the creation of fortified strongholds. Furthermore, the new foundations were designed to populate vacant land and turn pasture into arable fields, while providing monies for the crown and a suitable economic return to the founding family. In the area near Syracuse alone, the following new towns were founded: Floridia (1627), Belvedere (1627), Canicattini (1681), Villasmundo (1710), Rosolini (1713), Pachino (1760), Targia (1758), Solarino (1770) and Priolo (1809). Not all towns were successful and some, like Bimisca (1775), Cammaratini (1756) and Carcicera (1766), were abandoned.28 Founding a new town: the Licentia Populandi The founding of a new town on a fief was dependent on the granting of the licentia populandi by the king or the viceroy, his representative.29 This constituted legal security for the colonists, who, together with the delimitation of their land, were granted a series of legal guarantees, which were also to apply to all future members of the settlement including new immigrant families.30 The approval of the università, or council governing the region in which the new town was to be situated, was essential. Often political alliances, lengthy negotiations and concessions were necessary to ensure a majority vote in favour. The benefits of founding a new town included the cultivation of remote areas and the protection of pilgrims and travellers from criminals who infested unpopulated areas. The titled landowner bound himself to respect royal privileges, the collection of taxes and the administration of justice.31 After receiving the assent of the università, the viceroy sought the advice of civic authorities regarding the physical characteristics of the territory, and whether the establishment of a new town would be prejudicial to the interest of the crown. If the replies received were positive, then the licentia populandi was granted and the creation of the new town could begin. Such was the case of Pachino, situated 25 km due south of the city of Noto in the SouthEast corner of Sicily. The territory was the property of the Starrabba family, which traced its noble roots back to the sixteenth century in the town of Piazza Armerina in central Sicily. The terra di Pachino formed part of the Scibini fief, which had been inherited by the Starrabba family when Francesco Starrabba married Ippolita Sortino, the heiress to the Scibini fief, in 1562.32 The fief was inhabited by a small number of families in a hamlet which developed around the Scibini tower.33

27

 Monterosso 1999, p. 7.  Savarino 2001, p. 2. 29  Monterosso 1999, pp. 10‒12, for details regarding the founding process. 30  Clapham and Power 1966, p. 67. 31  Monterosso 1999, p. 9. 32  Bugliarisi-Di-Maio 1994, pp. 15‒16. 33  San Martino de Spucches 1927, vol. 7, pp. 237‒239. 28

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Seven generations later, on 24 April 1756, Gaetano-Maria Starrabba, prince of Giardinelli,34 petitioned viceroy Foglianini, on behalf of Charles III, King of the Two Sicilies, to grant permission for the establishment of a town or ‘population’ in the Scibini fief.35 The viceroy authorised the concession on 26 May 1756,36 as long as the fief was populated by a colony of Greek Catholics.37 The foundation of a town on this site may have permitted the prince to take advantage of the port activity and the tonnara (fish processing plant) at the nearby port of Marzamemi. The main motivation was to not be outshone by other noble families in the Noto region, such as the Trigona, Platamone, Moncada and Landolina families, who had also founded towns.38 The area of the Scibini fief was nearly 2 hectares39 and, although a number of residents from nearby settlements had already been given permission to settle on it, he accepted the conditions of the grant.40 However it seems that few settlers arrived totake up residence in the new town, so in April 1758, the prince applied to the viceroy to grant him permission to found a town which would be populated by Catholic Albanians, Greeks and Illyrians, who were to be ferried over at the prince’s expense. Moreover, the settlers would have the right to the clothing and armaments customary in their native lands. Once royal consent was obtained, settlers were encouraged to move into the territory by means of a range of benefits that the feudal lord undertook to grant. Rents were generally low for land granted on emphyteusis (long lease), and a temporary exemption from the payment of civic dues (a tax concession) constituted considerable benefits. However, the greatest motivation that the barons offered was the provision of dwellings and the permission to construct them, which was indispensable for the colonists to establish their roots in the new settlement. In Pachino, settlers were to be granted an exemption from all taxes for a period of 25 years, but after that would be subject to all taxes payable by other inhabitants of the kingdom. The petition was granted on 1 December 1760, subject to inspection by the Viceroy’s delegate to verify that certain conditions had been complied with. The most onerous condition was that the new colony had to be populated by at least 40 families of Catholics who were not subjects of the Kingdom of Sicily. In 1761, the prince requested and was granted a change in the conditions of the grant to permit Maltese settlers instead of Greeks. Although technically, Malta was still part of the Kingdom of Sicily,41 it had been granted as a fief to the Order of St John in 1530 and was therefore not under the direct rule of the Sicilian crown. As a result, Maltese families were 34  Bugliarisi-Di-Maio 1994, p. 17. The Baron Starrabba had also acquired the title of Baron of Giardinelli in 1584 by marrying the Baroness of Giardinelli. The title was granted by King Peter of the Two Sicilies on payment of a 600 onze to the crown, to which the expenses of 341 onze had also to be paid. However, this entitled him to a seat in the Sicilian parliament. 35  Savarini 2008, p. 284. 36  Figura (1979, pp. 75‒90) gives the full text of the viceregal decrees. 37  Figura 1979, p. 60. 38  The fiefs of Solarino, Rosolini, Maucini and Burgio, Cammaratini and Carcicera respectively. Of these, the last two towns were never actually founded. 39  Figura 1979, p. 3. 40  Figura 1979, p. 60, this meant that the conditions were already broken since the established settlers were Sicilian. 41  San Martino de Spuches 1927, vol. 7 pp. 337‒339. In 1775, it was noted that the Maltese, being subjects of the Sicilian crown, could not be considered as “non-Sicilians” for the purposes of the population of the fief of Bimiscia.

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encouraged to settle in Pachino. On 1 December of that year, the prince dispatched Antonio Sinatra, a boat captain, on a mission to negotiate with Maltese wishing to emigrate and live in the new city of Pachino.42 A number of families from both Malta and Gozo took up the offer and emigrated. Not surprisingly, the new city also attracted settlers from within Sicily itself, although this was against the conditions of the royal decree. The nearby cities of Noto and Ispica (Spaccaforno), anxious about the loss of territory and population, were particularly vociferous in their complaints to the viceroy.43 In 1767, the city of Noto formally complained to the viceroy that the minimum number of foreign households stipulated in the royal decree had still not been reached in Pachino and the Marquis of Ispica accused the Prince of Giardinelli that he had permitted the settlement of Sicilians in the town.44 The following year the viceroy sent inspectors to Pachino and they ascertained the presence of 47 foreign families in the city.45 This inspection gave rise to the legend that the inhabitants of the city sought to trick the inspectors by placing a Maltese person in every house within the city to imply that the city was entirely inhabited by foreigners.46 Indeed the rivelo (census) of the inhabitants of Pachino carried out in 176347 indicates a number of surnames as ‘maltese’ which however were not known in Malta at the time.48 It should also be noted that the earliest church registers contain at least 34 surnames of Maltese origin.49 Pachino: The New Town In contrast with mediaeval cities, the new towns founded at this time were located on low-lying hills or plains. This was due to a sharp decrease in corsair activity in the Mediterranean during the eighteenth century.50 Pachino was situated on a south facing poggio (flat hill-top), two kilometres from the sea. There was a regular source of water in the vicinity and the site was sufficiently higher than the surrounding pantani (marshland) to avoid contagion.51 Towns were no longer fortified but were open to the surrounding countryside and linked to the existing road system. The land around Pachino slopes gently towards the sea on three sides and towards the river Eloro on the fourth. The city was a natural stopping point between established inland Sicilian towns such as Noto and the coast, which is the nearest point to Malta.52 Apart from the salubrious location which the vice-regal despatches insisted upon, the site of a new town had to be close to the fertile land chosen for cultivation. The availability of a water source and building materials were also important considerations. Although Pachino 42

 Bugliarisi-De-Maio 1994, p. 19.  Savarino 2001, p. 6. 44  Savarino 2001, p. 7. 45  Savarino 2001, p. 7. 46  Sultano 1940, p. 51. 47  Bruno 2004 quoted in Cassola and Aliffi 2014, pp. 12‒15. 48  Cassola and Aliffi 2014, p. 15. 49  Rabito 1997, p. 19. 50  Cavaliero 1959, p. 224. 51  Figura 1979, p. 1. 52  Brydone 1773, pp. 153‒156. 43

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is not situated near a river, there were a number of wells that provided access to ground water. This supply was intermittent and dependent on rainfall.53 However, the surrounding land was fertile and once fields had been created by the removal of stones and collection of soil, crops could be grown to feed the population.54 Unlike the new towns in the centre and west of Sicily, cereals were not the principal crop in the south-eastern new towns of the island. This was due to the different topography of the Val di Noto, which favoured the cultivation of a number of crops apart from cereals: hemp, flax, olives, cotton and, especially, vines. Cultivation was extended as widely as possible, even in the coastal areas of the territory. Fishing also played an important role in the economy and with it, the production of fish products such as dried tuna in the three tonnare at Vendicari, Marzamemi and Portopalo. This industry complemented fishing in providing employment for women and children, who were employed in filleting, drying, smoking and salting the tuna and other fish to preserve them.55 The production of substantial quantities of wine meant that some of it could be sold as a cash crop.56 Indeed wine export remained an import source of wealth57 until 1894 when the phylloxera epidemic destroyed the vines.58 It was was only through the efforts of the Marquis de Rudini, Prime Minister of Italy and owner of much of the land surrounding Pachino, that viticulture was re-established by the importation of American vine root stock and following modern cultivation methods.59 Another important cash crop was cotton. The Maltese settlers brought with them their well-known skills in the growing and processing of this plant, which provided work for all the family.60 Cotton was grown, harvested, ginned, spun and woven within the family unit, and only exported via an intermediary.61 The territory of the fief was divided into three main areas.62 The greater part of the fief was the land granted on emphyteusis (long lease) to the settlers, which was composed of plots of land of varying sizes for agricultural purposes. Apart from the tax concessions, the granting of land to new settlers on long or perpetual leases, which could also be transferred to their heirs, was the greatest factor that encouraged immigrants to settle in the new towns. The allocation of land also meant that hitherto uncultivated land was reclaimed for agriculture, while ensuring that the proprietor received a small but steady income. The settlers’ hard work made them and their families self-sufficient and, sometimes, even made them a small profit. The second part of the feudal territory destined for the settlers were the commons, or areas for hunting, fishing, collective cultivation, woodcutting and areas for their flocks to graze. These were designed to guarantee a minimum support to the inhabitants of the 53

 Bugliarisi-De-Maio 1994, p. 33.  Tiralongo 1998, p. 25. 55  Di-Pietro 2002, pp. 22‒23. 56  Di-Pietro 2002, pp. 45‒49. 57  Sannino 1904, p. 251. 58  Di-Pietro 2002, p. 50. 59  Sannino 1904, p. 252. 60  Di-Pietro 2001, p. 33. 61  Wettinger 1981, pp. 15‒17. 62  Misuraca 1979, p. 99. 54

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town.63 These areas were generally situated close to the town. The commons represented a free grant of land to the citizens of the town as a whole.64 The inhabited part of the fief formed the nerve centre of the settlement. Town plans generally followed a chequer board pattern with streets aligned orthogonally. This permitted the modular expansion of the towns as the need arose. In Pachino the orthogonal town plan, which is said to have been drawn up by a surveyor named Gaspare Garrano from Piazza Armerina, is centred about a large square occupying the area of four blocks.65 The most important and imposing buildings were erected along the north side of the main square: the church, the prince’s palace and the fondaco (municipal warehouse). The fountain (pozzo vecchio) was built in a lower part of the town to take advantage of the artesian flow.66 As was customary, these buildings were constructed at the landowner’s expense. Due to the lack of a river in Pachino, the town had no mill, so the people were obliged grind their wheat in Noto.67 The church was probably one of the first buildings to be erected. Initially, it was a small building set in a churchyard just off the square,68 but at the beginning of the nineteenth century,69 a new church was built at right angles to the former with a façade directly on the main square. The original church was dedicated to the Holy Cross and St Elijah. A statue of St Elijah, said to have been brought to Pachino by the Maltese immigrants, is still extant in the church, although the dedication to St Elijah was dropped in 1777.70 The original building became the mortuary chapel of the prince and his family. The churchyard was in use until a new cemetery was built outside the town and the site was turned into an open-air market place.71 Furthermore, the prince ensured that a number of priests were settled in the new town. They acted as intermediaries between the prince and the people and they ministered to the community’s spiritual needs and fostered social cohesion. In Pachino there were initially four priests.72 Two were Sicilian but the other two were Maltese. In one of the early baptism entries, Don Benignus Mizzi describes himself as: Ego Benignus Mizzi pro Melitensibus Cappellanus huius Parochialis ecclesiae Divi Elie et SS.mi Crucifixi huis Terre Pachini …73 [I, Benignus Mizzi, parish priest for the Maltese of this parish church dedicated to St Elias and the Holy Cross of this land of Pachino]

The Maltese priests would undoubtedly have translated the Baron’s instructions to the Maltese settlers, who probably spoke little or no Italian. Other Maltese clergymen served in

63

 Cancila 1992, p. 66.  Monterosso 1999, p. 12. 65  Muscova 1988, p. 62. 66  Moncada 2005, p. 77. 67  Moncada 2005, p. 17. 68  Rabito 1997, provides a photograph of the exterior of the original church taken from the main square. 69  Moncada 2005, p. 109, provides a similar photograph. 70  Guastella 2003, pp. 30‒32. At this time, Don Benignius Mizzi left Pachino for Rome in October 1777, and was replaced as parish priest by Don Antonino-Maria Tedeschi from Noto. 71  Di-Pietro 2002, p. 61. 72  Rabito 1997, gives the names and place of origin of the four clergymen. 73  Pachino baptism register vol. 1, p. 3: baptism record of Franciscus Joannes Borg. 64

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Pachino during the late eighteenth74 and early nineteenth centuries.75 Eventually a council of notables was created, headed by the Baron himself. This included the parish priest and several important people who had settled in Pachino and were known to the prince and trusted by him. The earliest reference to the construction of houses in Pachino dates back to 1759, when the prince entered into a contract with a number of builders to have fourteen houses built under the supervision of the famous architect Vincenzo Sinatra,76 who had designed a number of important buildings in the reconstruction of Noto after the earthquake of 1693.77 The casuzze (small houses) of the Maltese were located in the area surrounding the church.78 The direct influence of Maltese vernacular architecture on these structures is shown by the existence of stone corbels and roofing slabs, which are common in Malta, but unknown in the rest of Europe and North Africa.79 The success of any new town was proportional to the increase in its population. Demographic developments of Floridia which went from 275 inhabitants in 1636 to over 2,000 in 1737; Rosolini from 191 inhabitants in 1714 to 3376 in 1801; and Pachino from 175 inhabitants in 1767, to over 3,000 in 1831, show unequivocally successful foundations.80

THE

REUNIFICATION OF ITALY: DECLINE AND EMIGRATION

Initially the re-unification of Italy in 1860 appeared to have ushered in a period of revitalisation and a number of leading families in Pachino actively supported the insurrection against the Bourbons. Dr Diego Arangio had been exiled to Malta in 1837 and in 1848 for his anti-Bourbon activities.81 The city of Pachino’s orthogonal urban layout was extended along the east-west axis in 186282 when the city’s population had reached 5000 souls.83 However, the exuberance was short lived when the designation of Rome as the capital of Italy, effectively reduced Sicily to a backwater, treated as a conquered region.84 Agriculture declined owing to absentee landlords, fragmentation of land-holdings, deforestation, malaria and lack of rain.85 In 1879, famine struck Sicily and Pachino was particularly affected by it.86 At the beginning of the twentieth century, the parish priest of Pachino described life in the town as miserable.87

74

 Pachino burial register vol. 1: entries for 2-vii-1769, 22-xi-1773, 23-xi-1790.  Guastella 2003, pp. 55‒65. 76  Guastella 2003, p. 19. 77  Tobriner 1982, pp. 234‒235. 78  Muscova 1988, p. 30. 79  Mallia 2002, pp. 81‒106. 80  Monterosso 1999, p. 19. 81  Guastella 2003, p. 54. 82  Cultrera 1990, pp. 7‒8. 83  Guastella 2003, p. 62. 84  Foerster 1919, p. 99. 85  Foerster 1919, pp. 51‒63. 86  Sultano 1940, p. 106. 87  Sultano 1940, p. 107. 75

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Emigration was the only option left for the starving and the unemployed. Tunisia, merely six hours by sailing boat from Sicily, became the ideal destination for those not wishing to break their ties with their homeland, particularly after the establishment of the protectorate in 1881.88 Initially the Sicilians migrated to Tunisia as seasonal workers, returning home each year.89 The acquisition of vast areas of land of ‘uncertain ownership’, by the French authorities in Tunisia,90 and the subsequent sale of these lands as domaines (estates) to enterprising colonists, soon changed the migration pattern.91 The estates were split up into plots which were granted on enzel (perpetual lease, similar to emphyteusis) to colonists.

SAÏDA: A NEW BEGINNING The enchir (Domaine) of Saïda was acquired in 1896 by Mme Gautier, wife of the Marquis de Certaines.92 In 1901, a court decision confirmed the land title of the Enchir Saïda and the land, with an area of 1243.83 hectares, was registered publically.93 Saïda is located on the main road leading from Tunis to Tabarka and Algeria. The area became more attractive for development once the railway line from Tunis to Tabarca and Algeria was opened in 1884.94 In 1902, the Marquise de Certaines began to sell portions of the land by enzel. Each sale included a portion of rural land, as well as a small plot in what would eventually form the village of Saïda to a number of Sicilians. This caused a certain amount of resentment in the press,95 and questions about how the Sicilians were acquiring vast amounts of arable land in Tunisia.96 A number of men from Pachino settled in Saïda in view of the difficult conditions in their homeland. The effect of the so called ‘chain migration’ meant that almost all the inhabitants of Saïda came from Pachino.97 This second cycle of migration meant that some of the descendants of the Maltese settlers in Pachino emigrated once again in search of a better life. For similar reasons thousands of Maltese left the Maltese Islands to settle in Tunisia at this time.98 The acquisition of land in Saïda came with the obligation to maintain the common well situated in the middle of the village. Furthermore, they were obliged to thresh their grain on a plot designated as a threshing field. The village was designed as a series of five parallel unpaved streets, divided into two halves by a perpendicular street running through the settlement. In the middle of the village, there was a small square, which contained the communal well, and the drinking fountain.99 In the meantime, the 88

 Foerster 1919, pp. 214‒216.  Guasella 2003, p. 116. 90  Lenoble 1913, pp. 1‒2. 91  De-Lanessan 1919, pp. 109‒180. 92  Titre Foncier (Land registration document) TF6278 1901, p. 6. 93  TF6278 1901, p. 6. 94  Simms 1997, p. 4. 95  La Dépêche Tunisienne (26 June 1900 and 8 July 1900). 96  Saurin 1900, pp. 5‒6. 97  Salmieri 2002, p. 118. 98  Price 1954, p. 139. 99  Monchicourt 1929, p. 557. 89

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Marquise de Certaines had sold the entire territory, including the bare ownership of the rented portions, to the Société L’Omnium Immobilier de Tunisie.100 Many settlers sent for their wives to join them, while others married (Italian) girls born in Tunisia, which resulted in a growth of the population. The village continued to develop and in 1921, a primary school was built by the state at the northern edge of the settlement. The school buildings included a house for the two (French) teachers employed to teach the two mixed classes of pupils, all of whom were Italians.101 The community grew wheat and barley in their plots and vegetables in the gardens adjoining their houses. Each household also had its own vineyard, which produced grapes. These resulted in a surplus production of wine, which was sold. There was neither church nor cemetery in the village and the community was obliged to attend religious services in Manouba.102 A church was subsequently built in the 1930s.103 In many ways it was a recreation of life in Sicily, but it was not destined to last.

TUNISIAN INDEPENDENCE AND

MIGRATION TO

FRANCE

As a result of the French citizenship laws of the early twentieth century, many inhabitants of Saïda acquired French citizenship.104 In 1940, the German army invaded Tunisia and although it was pushed back by the allies, the end of the war in 1945 signalled the beginning of the end for the French Protectorate in Tunisia. The farsighted citizens of Saïda began to leave the village and to join the exodus of people about to begin their new lives in France. The end came with the Tunisia’s declaration of independence in 1956, when the remaining settlers were ordered out, leaving their belongings behind. A considerable number of them settled in or near Marseilles.105

CONCLUSION Emigration from Malta is among the extraordinary movements of man. The story of the Maltese, who left Malta to settle in Pachino, and the subsequent peregrinations of their descendants in Tunisia and France, shows that the Mediterranean Sea is a highway linking lands and peoples. In times of crisis, hardship and hopelessness,106 people feel compelled to leave their homes in search of greener pastures. They take with them their skills, their crafts and their social structure based on close family ties and the parish (religious beliefs?) with

100

 TF15070 1909, pp. 1‒15; TF16459 1911, pp. 1‒10.  Viret n.d., p. 1. 102  Monchicourt 1929, p. 557. 103  The church is now the local clinic (author’s note). 104  Muscat 2011, pp. 115‒123. 105  Pers. comm. by Mme Evelyne Renault, descended from a Maltese family who emigrated to Pachino, then Tunisia, then France. 106  Foerster 1919, pp. 47‒48. 101

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which to found new communities.107 These values strengthen the community and, coupled with hard work and much sacrifice,108 enable it to overcome the obstacles brought about by being uprooted and transplanted in foreign lands. The success of settlements of Pachino and Saïda is a testimony to this.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Original Sources: SS. Crocifisso Parish Archives, Pachino, Sicily Baptism register vol. 1 (1774–1810)109 Baptism register vol. 2 (1810–1827) Marriage register vol. 1 (1768–1819) Marriage register vol. 2 (1820–1860) Burial register vol. 1 (1760–1827) Burial register vol. 2 (1828–1844) La Manouba (Tunis): Office de la Topographie et de la Cartographie (Land registration office). Titres Fonciers (Land registration deeds): TF6278 1901 TF15070 1909 TF16459 1911 Saïda Primary School School Register of the primary school at Saïda 1919–1947, written by the school principal M. Michel Viret. The register is conserved at the school in Saïda. Newspapers La Dépêche Tunisienne 26 June 1900: 8 July 1900: ABELA, G. F. 1984 Preface to Della descrittione di Malta isola nel mare Siciliano con le sue antichità ed altre notitie, Libr. Quattro. Malta: Midsea Books. Facsimile edition of the original edition, Malta, 1647. BOSIO, A. 1603 Preface to Dell’Istoria della Sacra Religione et Ill[ustrissi]ma Militia di San Giovanni Gierosolimitano Parte Terza. Rome. BRUNO, R. 2004 “Considerazioni e note sulla fondzione di Pachino,” Kalafarina, II. Pachino: Associazione Studi Storici e Culturali. BUGLIARISI-DE-MAIO, M. 1994 La storia di Pachino (published version of a manuscript by Vincenzio Curcio dated 1934). Pachino: Assessorato Beni Culturali. BRYDONE, P. 1773 A Tour through Sicily and Malta, 2 vols. London: Stranham and Cadell. 107

 Dimech 2004, p. 110.  Wood 2006, p. 342. 109  The baptism register for the years 1760‒1774 is missing, although it is mentioned in Sultano (1940), who quotes details of the first baptism in 1761 (author’s note). 108

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CANCILA, P. 1992 L’economia della Sicilia – aspetti storici. Milano: Il Saggiatore. CASSOLA, A. and ALIFFI, S. 2014 Malta – Pachino una storia in comune. Siracusa: Morrone. CASTILLO, D. 2006 The Maltese Cross: A Strategic History of Malta. Westport (CT): Praeger Security International. CAVALIERO, R. E. 1959 “The decline of the Maltese Corso in the XVIIIth century: A study in maritime history,” Melita Historica 2(4): 224‒238. CLAPHAM J. H. and POWER, E. (eds) 1966 The Cambridge Economic History of Europe. Vol. 1: The Agrarian Life of the Middle Ages. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. CULTRERA, S. 1990 Pachino agli albori dell’Unità d’Italia: aspetti sociali, politici ed economici. Pachino: Santocono. DAVIES, T. 1985 “Village-building in Sicily: An aristocratic remedy for the crisis of the 1590’s,” in The European Crisis of the 1590’s: Essays in Comparative History, edited by P. Clark, pp. 191‒208. London: Allen and Unwin. DE GIORGIO, R. 1985 A City by an Order. Malta: Progress Press. DE-LANESSAN, J. L. 1917 La Tunisie. Paris: Félix Alcan. DI-PIETRO, C. 2002 Il paese del vento. Syracuse: Arnaldo Lombardi. DIMECH, P. 2004 “La fin de l’émigration maltaise en Algérie: Circonstances et causes,” Storja 2003‒2004: 103–113. FAVA, P. 1978 “A reign of austerity,” Storja 78: 42–59. FIGURA, L. 1979 Pachino su poggio Scibini (published, edited and updated version of a manuscript by Pasquale Figura dated 1818). Pachino: Comune di Pachino. FOERSTER, R. F. 1919 The Italian Emigration of our Times. Oxford: Oxford University Press. GARRETT, R. 1996 Floriana: A Study in Town-plan Analysis. Malta: Floriana Local Council. GELABERT, J. 1995 “Cities, towns and small towns in Castile, 1500‒1800,” in Small Towns in Early Modern Europe, edited by P. Clark, pp. 271‒294. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. GOUDAR, A. 1776 Réflexions sur la dernière émeute de Malthe. Amsterdam. GUASTELLA, S. 2003 La chiesa madre di Pachino. Pachino: Fratantonio. GUILLAUMIER, A. 2005 Bliet u rħula Maltin. 5th edition, 2 vols. Malta: Klabb Kotba Maltin. HOPPEN, A. 1979 The Fortification of Malta by the Order of St John, 1530‒1798. Edinburg: Scottish Academic Press. LENOBLE, H. 1913 Le Contrat d’Enzel: Modalité du régime foncier tunisien. Paris: Librairie Judiciaire.

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MALLIA, D. 2002

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L’architettura autoctona maltese: Origini, sviluppo e conservazione nella città di Mdina. Unpublished PhD diss. Politecnico di Milano. MALLIA-MILANES, V. 1988 “The genesis of Maltese nationalism,” in The British Colonial Experience 1800–1964: The Impact on Maltese Society, edited by V. Mallia-Milanes, pp. 1‒17. Malta: Mireva. MEA, J. 1957 “Customs tariff in Malta since 1530,” Melita Historica 2(2): 88‒94. Malta: Malta Historical Society. MIÈGE, M. 1841 Histoire de Malte, 2 vols. Brussels: N.-J. Gregoir, V. Wouter and Co. MISURACA, P. 1979 “Caratteri urbanistici dei nuovi insediamenti,” in Città nuove di Sicilia, edited by M. Giuffrè, pp. 90‒110. Palermo: Vittorietti. MONCADA, S. 2005 Pachino il paese delle mille risorse. Pachino: Fratantonio. MONCHICOURT, C. 1929 Sur les traces de Rodd Balek: Les problèmes tunisiens après 1921. Paris: Comité de l’Afrique Française. MONTEROSSO, M. 1999 La fondazione di una città feudale: Il caso di Belvedere. Syracuse: Assessorato al territorio. MUSCOVA, E. 1988 Promontorium Pachyni Preistoria e Storia. Pachino: A.I.M.C. MUSCAT, M. 2011 L’héritage impensé des Maltais de Tunisie. Paris: L’Harmattan. PRICE, C. A. 1954 Malta and the Maltese: A Study in Nineteenth Century Migration. Melbourne: Georgian House. RABITO, G. 1997 250 Anni fa. Documento storico sulla fondazione della città di Pachino, Sicily, available at (accessed 1 October 2013). SAN MARTINO DE SPUCCHES, F. 1927 Storia dei feudi e dei loro titoli nobiliari di Sicilia dalla loro origine ai nostri giorni. 27 vols. Palermo: Scuola Tipografica Boccone del Povero. SANNINO, F. A. 1904 “Sur le prétendu dépérissement des vignes américaines de semis,” La Vigne Américaine et la Viticulture en Europe 8: 250–252. SALMIERI, A. 2002 “Il quartiere della Piccola Sicilia di Tunisi nella prima metà del ’900,” in Architetture Italiane di Tunisia. Tunis: Finzi. SAURIN, J. 1900 L’invasion sicilienne et le peuplement français. Paris: Challamel. SAVARINO, R. 2001 “La fondazione della terra di Pachino,” in Contributi alla geografia storica dell’Agro netino – Atti delle Giornate di Studio, Noto (Palazzo Trigona) 29‒31 maggio 1998, edited by F. Balsamo and V. La Rosa, pp. 1‒8. Noto: I.S.V.N.A. SAVARINO, R. 2008 “Pachino: Una colonia ‘maltese’ in Sicilia,” in Malta in the Hybleans, the Hybleans in Malta, edited by A. Bonanno and P. Militello, pp. 283‒289. Palermo: Officina di Studi Medievali. SHARP, P. 2009 “Malta and the nineteenth century grain trade: British free trade in a microcosm of Empire?,” Journal of Maltese History 1(2): 20‒33. SIMMS, W. F. 1997 The Railways of Tunisia. UK: published by the author.

128 SPITERI, S. 2002 SULTANO, S. 1940 TESTA, C. 1989 TIRALONGO, 1998 THAKE, R. 2013

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Fortresses of the Knights. Malta: Book Distributors Ltd. Pachino e i suoi dintorni nella storia e nella leggenda. Pachino: Zammit. The Life and Times of Grand Master Pinto 1741‒1773. Malta: Midsea Books. P. Pietra su pietra. Syracuse: Arnaldo Lombardi. Patriotism, Deception and Censorship: De Soldanis and the 1751 Account of the Uprising of the Slaves. Malta: BDL.

TOBRINER, S. 1982 The Genesis of Noto, an Eighteenth-century Sicilian City. Los Angeles: University of California. VENTURI, F. 1979 Settecento riformatore: La prima crisi dell’Antico Regime (1768‒1776), 5 vols. Turin: Einaudi. WETTINGER, G. 1981 “Agriculture in Malta in the Late Middle Ages,” Proceedings of History Week: 1‒48. WOOD, J. 2006 “The land of the ‘Turks’: The North African adventure,” Melita Historica 14(3): 333‒344.

David MALLIA [email protected]

PREHISTORY

REFLECTIONS ON SACRED HEAD HAIR IN THE PREHISTORY OF MALTA Simon STODDART and Caroline MALONE

… insperata tuae cum veniet pluma superbiae et quae nunc umeris involitant deciderint comae, nunc et qui color est punicieae flore prior rosae mutatus, Ligurine, in faciem verterit hispidam [Horace, Odes IV.10]1

In one of Horace’s famous odes, the poet thus reflects on the role of hair in the course of life. With an introductory reference to Professor Bonanno’s important work on classical sculpture, we reflect on how hair styles on prehistoric representations of the human form can be employed to interpret the members of society that constructed the prehistoric temples. Our initial questions were: Do these hair styles represent different stages in the life course? Or are they indicative of a timeless ancestral image or of a sacred state? Are they a crucial element of dress of specialists of ritual reproduction? Or are they indicative of a select descent group with privileged access to self-representation? Professor Bonanno’s work on the Julio-Claudian gens, a select descent group with privileged access to self-representation, found standing in the Roman domus of Rabat (Malta), has inspired us to look into the deeper ages of Maltese prehistory. We combine this inspiration with anthropological theory, in an attempt to provide some understanding of the descent groups without name of that period. Professor Anthony Bonanno’s career was not confined to the Classical World, where he began his studies, but engaged in a profitable cross fertilisation of, amongst other key elements, figurative art and context, that took him to prehistory and back. The theme of head hair, investigated here, is one lock or strand of that cross-fertilisation, entangled in the manner of many of his distinguished pupils with anthropological concerns.2 The doctoral thesis of Tony combed the corpus of Roman relief sculpture for portraiture. In his analysis of the Ara Pacis Augustae, he realised that it was hair as much as other facial features or bodily clothing that gave identity to Augustus and Agrippa in contrast to the relatively formless faces of other members of the imperial family. Only the fictive kin of a possible Maecenas3 received a comparable realistic treatment that, once again, in part, focused on the identity of hair. Ten years later, Tony moved substantially into the field of 1

 “… when unexpected downiness comes to your arrogance, and the hair that now floats about your shoulders falls (to the barber) and the complexion that outdoes the flower of crimson rose is changed, Ligurinus, and turned into a bristly bush …” (Thomas 2011). 2  For example, Nicholas Vella, Reuben Grima and Isabelle Vella Gregory. 3  Bonanno 1976, p. 31.

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prehistory,4 inspired by the richness of his land of birth, and it may have been by this crossfertilisation, without the presence of texts to inform on individual identity, that context became prominent in his interpretation of sculptural identity. His seminal reintegration of the portraits of Claudius and his mother Antonia the Younger to their sculpted bodies found separately in the Roman domus of Rabat, depends on context.5 His analysis employed knowledge of shared context to reunite a characteristic female hairstyle to the draped female torso, the vigorous plastic modelling of the male head to a colossal togate statue, and plausibly hypothesised a missing head of a young Nero for the youthfully proportioned torso, together with other more fragmentary elements that could have been other members of the Julio-Claudian gens or descent group. The integration of these elements suggested that the presence of this ideologically charged political group may have given a more public and political role to this urban residence. The more recent discovery of a similar Julian group from the island of Pantelleria gives strength to this contextual reconstruction.6

A

RITE OF PASSAGE: FROM THE CLASSICS TO THE ANTHROPOLOGY OF HAIR

Ode 10 of Horace in Book 4 also dwells on the importance of hair, and consciously or not – it has been suggested that the poet’s epigrammatic intent was pederastic7 – brings out the anthropological context. Horace describes the cross-tressing of nature (from down to bristle) and culture (from flowing to shorn) that also describes a rite of passage, so, although radically different in time and culture, it is a feature that is shared with the transformation of the unnamed individuals of prehistory across the threshold from youth to adulthood. This widely engaged theme of the rite of passage is one major feature of anthropological discourse on the theme of hair, notably in the seminal analysis of magical hair by Leach who stated that, “marked changes in hairdressing very commonly accompany the changes in sexual status that occur at puberty and marriage, but the pattern of change varies”.8 The main thrust of Leach’s discourse is a healthy diatribe against psychological interpretations of hair, but he goes on to emphasise other anthropological features of the manipulation of hair, broadly the ritual situation which makes hair “powerful”9 and the emphasis on rites of passage: From this anthropological point of view, rites de passage (e.g. birth, initiation, marriage, death) reflect the progression of the individual through set stages in the social system; these stages correspond to different degrees of maturity, different types of permitted sexual behaviour, different allocations of social power. Hairdressing is a prominent feature of such rites.10

 4

 Bonanno 1986.  Bonanno 1997.  6  Weiss et al. 2004.  7  Thomas 2011, p. 211.  8  Leach 1958, p. 153; cf. Brain 1977, p. 198.  9  Leach 1958, p. 159. 10  Leach 1958, p. 160.  5

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This article by Leach has become the point of reference for later anthropological treatments of hair.11 Obeyesekere,12 under the influence of American cultural anthropology, explicitly contrasted himself with unemotional English elite culture (!). This permitted him to reintroduce the psychological dimension, largely critiqued, when applied at the public level, by Leach. Under this influence, sexuality, in an uncanny parallel dimension to Horace, becomes once again the dominant mode of interpretation of the distinctive wearing of hair. In the precise context of Sri Lanka, matted, smelly Medusan hair becomes a gift of chastity to the Gods, but it is possible that this state of hair also has a social role: it marks some ascetics out as different from other members of society. There is also a contrasting expression of identity in multi-cultural Sri Lanka where the Medusan hair of some female Hindu ascetics contrasts with the shaven hair of male Buddhist monks. So, although Obeyesekere fetishizes sexual emotion under the characteristic impact of Freud on North American intellectuals, one can still extract some useful indicators of the social and sacred power of hair in constructing identity from the Sri Lankan ethnography. On more positive ground, Obeyesekere makes two key points.13 Firstly, the context of how material symbols (including hair) are displayed is critical. Secondly, we the outsiders to any display of symbols must be aware of our tendency to “narrow the field of meaning and produce a conventionalisation of symbols”. In the current authors’ opinion, a more useful approach is provided by British social anthropology, which plays down the culturally orchestrated role of psychology. Mary Douglas and Christopher Hallpike situate hair within a social understanding.14 Head hair has two bodily characteristics that make it a flexible social marker: its vitality and its prominent effect on individual identity, which is related to the head. Hallpike favours the idea that the cutting of hair shows the imposition of social discipline, a point shared by Douglas.15 In Purity and Danger, Douglas comments principally on the marginality of hair clippings,16 and extends this to marginal individuals in Natural Symbols.17 The placing of treatment of hair within rites of passage, first indicated by Leach, builds on these social understandings. Firth,18 operating within the same British social anthropological tradition, developed this theme and has especially drawn attention to the power of head cutting or shaving and the complementary addition of a wig. Although there is a multiplicity of meanings of hair dressing, highly patterned social responses can be detected in individual societies. Loose hair and cutting of hair can both be metaphors of social separation19 and, as such, form deviations from the norm of controlled hair. It becomes clear that while structures may emerge, their meaning is often culturally specific.20 In Turkish society, controlled braided hair is associated with marriage, and hair is very important for 11

 Eilberg-Schwartz 1995, p. 5.  Obeyesekere 1981, p. 44. 13  Obeyesekere 1981, p. 51. 14  Douglas 1966; 1970, pp. 65–82; Hallpike 1969. 15  Douglas 1970, pp. 99–102. 16  Douglas 1966, p. 121. 17  Douglas 1970, p. 118. 18  Firth 1975, pp. 262–298. 19  Lang 1995. 20  Delaney 1995. 12

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Islamic symbolism more widely, and hair is a prominent part of genderised age grades where the entanglement of female hair has to be regulated. As Firth puts it, men and women use their own physical raw material in terms of the social norms to provide indices to their personality and make statements about their conception of their role, their social position and changes in these.21

As prehistorians, we need to seek out the specific socially constructed crinal structure of the society we are investigating22 and recognise the power of the multivalent metonymic and metaphorical significance of hair. Hair both acts as an indicator of the whole body and has characteristics of both life and death, and this is true particularly of many later Mediterranean societies.23 The headdress plays a major role, although that often extends to covering the face as well. In the case of Hindu and Sikh practice, there are some interesting cases of bound and contained hair with profound structured social meanings, although some anthropologists once again have become preoccupied with their own culturally embedded psychological concerns with sexuality.24 In summary, the ethnographic literature from the Americas,25 Africa26 and western society27 abounds with examples of the distinctive deployment of head hair.

PREHISTORIC MALTA How do these anthropological and ethnographic concerns affect prehistoric Malta? Multiple strands of evidence suggest that the people of Tarxien phase Malta (c.3000–2400 BC) had a highly ordered and structured cosmological world where boundaries, cleanliness, cleansing and classification were extremely important.28 There is convincing evidence that this same sense of order was also applied to hair, since we are fortunate to have a reasonable corpus of figurines, where in almost every case, care was taken to define the hair on the head. From this evidence it is abundantly clear that head hair was the fundamental feature of the face in defining social identity. In contrast to the classical world, we cannot, in any way, detect a naturalistic individual identity, but there was a clear interest in outlining key repetitive features that show distinctive difference. By analogy with archaeological technical draughtsmanship, a legend or code can be hypothesised for different categories of head hair. There is some fuzziness of the boundaries between categories, but head hair structure can, we propose, be detected even from the small, but rich, corpus of examples that have already come to light.

21

 Firth 1975, p. 298.  Cf. Myerowitz Levine 1995. 23  Myerowitz Levine 1995, pp. 86–87. 24  Hershman 1974. 25  Williamson 1979. 26  Herreman and Sieber 2000. 27  Synnott 1987. 28  Malone et al. 2009b; Malone 2008; Stoddart 2002. 22

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Fig. 1. Location map for the Maltese islands (inset). The provenance of head hair representations from burial and “temple” sites.

The corpus of hair endowed heads amounts to 53 examples from four ‘temples’ (Tarxien, Mnajdra, Ħaġar Qim and Ġgantija) and two monumental mortuary contexts (the Ħal Saflieni hypogeum and the Brochtorff Xagħra Circle) (Fig. 1). Unmonumental locations, such as settlements, have not been sufficiently excavated to be certain that the use of figurines endowed with head hair did not have a much wider use in daily life. One unpublished

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figurine, unclassifiable in terms of head hair, is reported to have been found at the probable settlement site of Taċ-Ċawla on Gozo. A further problem is that, with the exception of Skorba, the degree of recovery of figurines endowed with head hair is closely related to the care of excavation. It is no accident that over 60 per cent of the corpus was found in the Brochtorff Xagħra Circle where sieving was carefully employed. As a consequence, a whole new class of small bone figurine and a decorated shell figurine was discovered, together with similarly sized heads of ceramic figurines separated from their bodies. The relative care of excavation at two of the monumental locations, the Brochtorff Xagħra Circle and the Tarxien temple, has led to the discovery of nearly 80 per cent of the examples and we can infer that many of the smaller figurines will have been lost in early research at the other sites of similar size. In spite of these distortions of current knowledge, it is notable that all six provenances are the most monumental and developed complexes of the living and the dead. The prominence of the ritual exuberance of these locations, particularly in the latest Tarxien period, is confirmed by the fact that the smaller temple of Skorba, even though excavated in relatively recent times, did not produce any figurines of the later Temple period, but only of Skorba date. Thus, in spite of these uncertainties, the depiction of head hair and its active agency within prehistoric Maltese ritual seems to have been most prominent in the locales invested with considerable labour, where many scales of sacred largesse were practised and where the concomitant rules would have been most clearly formulated. The apogee of this activity can be broadly dated to the Tarxien phase, since these redolent figurative artefacts appear to have been deliberately stored and sealed in the closed ritual deposits when they were closed down at the end of the Tarxien phase. From the total corpus of 53 examples (Fig. 2), allowing for the prominence of the recent excavation at Xagħra in these figures, they have been found across both funerary (36) and temple contexts (17). This leads immediately to the probability that the codes that they encompass are not specific to life or death rituals, unlike some of the ceramics,29 but cut across all sacred activity, and refer to a cross-cutting class of ritual specialists who may also have had access to other worlds. In the same vein, there does not yet appear to be a distinct preference for a craft material since the use of stone (24) and ceramic (22) appears to have been equally employed. The recent discovery of the use of bone and shell examples makes the relative use of these materials much more difficult to judge, although the two new materials were less employed on the one site (Xagħra) where they have been discovered (stone: ceramic: bone: shell – 12: 12: 7: 1). A substantial proportion of the figurines are sized at the smaller end of the spectrum, and this is not solely a result of the destruction of larger statues (such as at the Brochtorff Xagħra Circle and Tarxien). The small scale of the figurines permitted their direct involvement as portable, liturgical artefacts within sacred activities. It is this personal engagement with the ritual practice of liturgical specialists which would have made them so powerful in access to the divine.

 Malone et al. 2009a, pp. 230–231.

29

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Fig. 2. Sacred categories of Tarxien head hair.

The whole habitus of prehistoric head hair is related to the degree of control of head hair along two dimensions of cutting and gathering (Fig. 3). Free flowing hair is very rare. Beards are absent. The central code for head hair was focused between gathering and covering, leaving free flowing hair and shaving marginal to these precise modes of presentation. The precise, nuanced, boundaries are not always absolutely clear-cut for an outsider, but the hair style is nevertheless, almost always, depicted in well demarcated, unambiguous ways within this range of what might be described in modern terms as a bob and straight fringe. There was considerable concern about hair and its styling within this framework. This level of detail contrasted with the relatively standard features of the face itself. Well defined lines, curls and dots often decorated the bob, suggesting a form of headdress, hair net and even decorative shells such as those of cowrie shells found uniquely on one of the burials within the Brochtorff Xagħra Circle.30 In some cases, there was a much more elaborate hairband or top knot, most prominently seen in some of the stick figurines from the Brochtorff Xagħra cache. At the limits of this defined bob style, there is at one extreme a process of shaving back across the forehead and at the other an extension by pony tail or plait down the back. These may convey some sense of process, perhaps as part of a rite of passage, into and out of, a sacred state. Shaving is quite often associated in the ethnographic literature with changed  Stoddart et al. 2009, p. 145.

30

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Fig. 3. The statistics of the craft production and provenance of Tarxien head hair. A. The statistics of sacred categories. B. The provenance and craft material of Tarxien head hair.

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ritual states, and the relatively frequent presence of the high forehead in the Maltese examples may indicate this taking place. The shaven brow of the Sleeping Lady from Ħal Saflieni is so extreme as to suggest that her head was completely shaven except for the very back. Rarer cases of different states of pony tail and plait seem to suggest a process towards the even rarer cases of freely flowing hair in the repertoire, probably outside the sacred state. Another potential process involves the increased control of hair. The classic bob and straight fringe are already well controlled, almost as if held by some setting agent in modern parlance. A further stage is the imposition of various types of decorative headdress or netting to freeze this constrained hair in place. The final stage appears to be the full covering of the hair with a form of cowl that only leaves the face visible and conceals all intimate detail of the hair itself. It is too easy to link this to the anonymity of death, and, in any case, it is a practice present equally in temple and mortuary complex. As recognised by other anthropologists, it is difficult to give absolute and precise meaning to these features. It is, however, highly probably that they form a sacred code that is not separated by gender or age grade, since the bodies of the figurines are ageless and genderless, but one that characterised a prescribed ritual state that had to be adopted in sacred time and thus refers to a class of timeless ritual specialists. It may have been prescribed by ritual specialists who principally adopted the carefully contrived forms. The overall theme is strictures of control to match the liturgical control of ritual practices. The structure of the variation is difficult to interpret, but may represent rites of transition within the ritual process: on one dimension, the deliberate control of free flowing hair by tethering and then shaving; on another dimension, the progressive setting, containment and concealment of the hair as the ritual progressed. Overall, the whole appearance of the hair styles has exactly the qualities that Leach originally indicated as the features of sacred hair. In our interpretation, these were features particularly adopted by a class of ritual specialists who, while the times were relatively stable, were able to manipulate this ritual dress in sacred time to their own ends.

EPILOGUE That state of sacred time, sustained for so long, apparently came to an orchestrated end. At the end of the Tarxien phase, the loss of heads formed part of the process of apparently deliberate iconoclasm. At the Brochtorff Xagħra Circle alone, there are at least eleven headless bodies, including the central figure which would have stood at some 60 cm in height, presiding over the central part of the site. Its head appears to have deliberately removed and has never been found. Not only were heads lost, but the emphasis on cleanliness and boundaries was replaced by a different Bronze Age world where dung was mixed with household debris in at least one of the former sacred sites, the Brochtorff Xagħra Circle. Furthermore, the depiction of the head was now often schematic and, where depicted, replaced by a completely different style of headdress. If we return to our initial questions, we subscribe to the view that hair style is a fundamental socially embedded sacred pointer for the prehistoric Maltese as it is for many other

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early societies. We are fortunate that the prehistoric Maltese artisans, like their classical successors, chose to model the human form, centred quite consciously on head hair, in such delicate detail. We contend that the style of the head hair forms a prominent feature of a sacred dress, a liminal stage in the rite of passage that was both subtly and more radically modified in the transition from daily life into sacred routines, and from life into death. Daily life probably entailed the flowing hair of the embracing couple of the small ceramic figurine from Tarxien.31 An entry into a sacred state appears to have entailed the gathering of hair, perhaps by a succession of stages, set in place most probably with local lime, tethered by nets and decorative headdresses and finally covered or shorn into a state of anonymity, shrouded in a cowl or shaved back across the forehead. These double actions would have rehearsed the anonymity of death, so inextricably bound up, and simultaneously contrasted, with the elaborate life rituals of nutritional largesse or feasting. The process of dress would have been taken further by the disarticulation of most corpses within the two main mortuary enclosures of Xagħra and Ħal Saflieni, achieving the immortality of the continuing descent group perhaps signified by another major dimension of dress, the skirt that acted for the body as the bob did for the head. A question that we leave hanging is whether these sacred rites were the preserve of a sectional elite, in an atavistic echo of the later Julio-Claudian imperial dynasty that never visited, but left their ideological mark on, the Maltese islands. We suspect that the ritual specialists started with a numinous skill, but over the course of time used those spiritual qualities towards more overtly political ends. In the absence of a securely sustainable environment and institutionalised urban structures this led to a change of the style of head hair, in more ways than one. We have been investigating this conjecture and its causes with Professor Bonanno and more than one of his pupils over the course of the last five years, and will report separately on our conclusions.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Simon Stoddart would like to thank Emily Gowers for advice on Horace’s odes, although all errors of interpretation remain his own.

BIBLIOGRAPHY BONANNO, A. 1976 Portraits and other Heads on Roman Historical Relief up to the Age of Septimus Severus (BAR Supplementary Series 6). Oxford: British Archaeological Reports. 1986 “A socioeconomic approach to Maltese prehistory,” in The Temple Builders. Malta. Studies of its Heritage and History, pp. 17–46. Malta: Mid-Med Bank Limited - Interprint Ltd.

31

 Evans 1971, p. 144, cat. no. T/P.1014 – pl. 49.9.

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BRAIN, J. L. 1977

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“The imperial portraits from Malta: Their contextual significance,” in Roman Portraits: Artistic and Literary: Acts of the Third International Conference on the Roman Portraits held in Prague and in the Bechyně Castle from 25 to 29 September 1989, edited by J. Bouzek and I. Ondřejová, pp. 62–64. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. “Sex, incest, and death: Initiation rites reconsidered,” Current Anthropology 18(2): 191–208.

DELANEY, C. 1995 “Untangling the meanings of hair in Turkish society,” in Off with her Head!: The Denial of Women’s Identity in Myth, Religion, and Culture, edited by H. EilbergSchwartz and W. Doniger, pp. 53–75. Berkeley: University of California Press. DOUGLAS, M. 1966 Purity and Danger. An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. 1970 Natural Symbols: Explorations in Cosmology. London: Barry and Rockcliff. EILBERG-SCHWARTZ, H. 1995 “Introduction,” in Off with her Head!: The Denial of Women’s Identity in Myth, Religion, and Culture, edited by H. Eilberg-Schwartz and W. Doniger, pp. 1–13. Berkeley: University of California Press. EVANS, J. D. 1971 Prehistoric Antiquities of the Maltese Islands: A Survey. London: Athlone. FIRTH, R. 1975 Symbols Public and Private. London: Allen and Unwin. HALLPIKE, C. L. 1969 “Social hair,” Man 4: 256–264. HERREMAN, F. and SIEBER, R. (eds) 2000 Hair in African Art and Culture. New York: Museum for African Art - Prestel. HERSHMAN, P. 1974 “Hair, sex and dirt,” Man 9(2): 274–298. LANG, K. 1995 “Shaven hair and loose hair. Buddhist attitudes towards hair and sexuality,” in Off with her Head!: The Denial of Women’s Identity in Myth, Religion, and Culture, edited by H. Eilberg-Schwartz and W. Doniger, pp. 32–52. Berkeley: University of California Press. LEACH, E. R. 1958 “Magical hair,” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland 88(2): 147–164. MALONE, C. A. T. 2008 “Metaphor and Maltese art: Explorations in the Temple Period,” Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 21(1): 81–108. MALONE, C., BONANNO, A., TRUMP, D., DIXON, J., PEDLEY, M., STODDART, S. and SCHEMBRI, P. J. 2009a. “Material culture,” in Mortuary Ritual in Prehistoric Malta. The Brochtorff Circle Excavations (1987–94), edited by C. Malone, S. Stoddart, D. Trump, A. Bonanno, T. Gouder and A. Pace, pp. 219–313. Cambridge: McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. MALONE, C., GRIMA, R., MAGRO-CONTI, J., TRUMP, D., STODDART, S. K. F. and HARDISTY, H. 2009b “The domestic environment,” in Mortuary Ritual in Prehistoric Malta. The Brochtorff Circle Excavations (1987–94), edited by C. Malone, S. Stoddart, D. Trump, A. Bonanno, T. Gouder and A. Pace, pp. 41–56. Cambridge: McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. MYEROWITZ LEVINE, M. 1995 “The gendered grammar of ancient Mediterranean hair,” in Off with her Head! The Denial of Women’s Identity in Myth, Religion, and Culture, edited by H. EilbergSchwartz and W. Doniger, pp. 76–130. Berkeley: University of California Press.

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OBEYESEKERE, G. 1981 Medusa’s Hair: An Essay on Personal Symbols and Religious Experience. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. STODDART, S. K. F. 2002 “The Xaghra shaman?,” in New Approaches to Medical Archaeology and Medical Anthropology: Practitioners, Practices and Patients, edited by G. Carr and P. A. Baker, pp. 125–135. Oxford: Oxbow Books. STODDART, S., MALONE, C., MASON, S., TRUMP, D. and TRUMP, B. 2009 “The Tarxien Phase levels: Spatial and stratigraphic analysis and reconstruction,” in Mortuary Ritual in Prehistoric Malta. The Brochtorff Circle Excavations (1987–94), edited by C. Malone, S. Stoddart, D. Trump, A. Bonanno, T. Gouder and A. Pace, pp. 109–205. Cambridge: McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. SYNNOTT, A. 1987 “Shame and glory: A sociology of hair,” The British Journal of Sociology 38(3): 381– 413. THOMAS, R. (ed.) 2011 Horace. Odes. Book IV and Carmen Saeculare. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. WEISS, R.-M., SCHÄFER, T. and OSANNA, M. 2004 Caesar ist in der Stadt: die neu entdeckten Marmorbildnisse aus Pantelleria. Hamburg: Helms-Museum. WILLIAMSON, M. H. 1979 “Powhatan Hair,” Man 14 (3): 392–413.

Simon STODDART University of Cambridge [email protected]

Caroline MALONE Queen’s University Belfast [email protected]

SHAPING SPACES FOR THE DEAD: AN ANALYSIS OF TOOL MARKS AT THE ĦAL SAFLIENI HYPOGEUM, MALTA David CARDONA and MariaElena ZAMMIT

INTRODUCTION The hypogeum at Ħal Saflieni is an important prehistoric site located in Raħal Ġdid, a town in Malta’s harbour area, which was discovered at the beginning of the twentieth century when the town was undergoing extensive housing development. The site’s name – Ħal Saflieni – simply means “low-lying village”1 and does not seem to have an archaeological reference as is the case with many other sites on the Maltese Islands.2 The names of minor localities recorded in the district, however, are suggestive even though their exact location is not known. Two such localities are Tal-Għerien (“of the caves”)3 and Ħaġar Mitqub (“pierced stone”)4 and it is tempting to think that these toponyms may have been old references to the site. The site consists of a series of rock-cut chambers dug on three levels, one below the other to a depth of about 11 m below street level. A monumental structure may have originally marked the entrance to the site,5 which was used as an underground cemetery between the mid-fourth and mid-third millennia BC. One of the most striking characteristics of the site is that even though a different construction technique is used, some of the spaces show clear similarities to the architecture of contemporary above-ground temples. Walls and roofs within some of the chambers have also been painted with red ochre. These paintings, bearing different designs, are the only prehistoric rock-paintings found on the Maltese Islands. The site has been the subject of extensive scientific research as well as folk and urban legends. Common themes which have been explored include the site’s architectural significance, artefacts recovered from it and its excavation history. Nonetheless, it was felt that a systematic study of visible tool marks would provide valuable data that would improve our understanding of how the site was created – both in terms of the different types of tools and techniques used as well as identifying different phases of rock-cutting and the creation of the various spaces within it.

1

 Wettinger 2000, pp. 287–288; see also Aquilina 1990, p. 1250.  Wettinger 1975. 3  Zammit 1910, p. 4. 4  Wettinger 2000, pp. 287–288. 5  Cutajar 2000, p. 29. 2

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METHODOLOGY The study consisted of a detailed visual survey of tool marks in all levels of the hypogeum with the exception of room 6, a cistern that was full of water and thus not physically accessible at the time, and the floors of some of the rooms and passages over which a visitor walkway was installed in the 1990s. Rooms at each level were visually inspected and the marks identified were plotted onto 360° images of the site made available by Heritage Malta, the agency responsible for the management of the site. The numbering system created by John Evans6 to identify different rooms within the site was used and an area, which had not been included in this system was labelled ‘0’. Roman numbers were then used to be able to identify walls, megalithic blocks and particular features within each room. Detailed notes, which included descriptions of the different tool types and their locations as well as notes of discussions held during the fieldwork, were also kept. Due to the site’s sensitive nature, access to the site is limited to ten people at any point in time. Therefore, the survey was carried out on a number of mornings, before the site was opened to the public at 9 o’clock in the morning. In this way, disruption to visitors was avoided without affecting the site’s preservation. Light levels at the site are also kept low, and sometimes this presented difficulties in the identification of particular marks. Handheld LED torches were used in such cases. The same difficulty was encountered while photographing the different tool mark types, since flash photography could not be used. In spite of these limitations, the survey produced interesting results, which will be discussed below.

RESULTS AND

INTERPRETATION

Twelve types of tool mark were identified during the survey (A–L). Four of these (B, E, I, K) also have sub-types. Marks which are clearly the result of modern interventions were taken note of, but are not considered in the discussion below. These included marks related to alterations carried out following the excavation to allow for the drainage of water7 and remaining traces of foundations of twentieth-century housing. A full description and location of each type of mark is presented in Table 1. The distribution of marks identified within each level and what these can show about how particular spaces were shaped are discussed below. The Upper Level The Upper Level (Fig. 1) is the oldest part of the complex. This level seems to have been carved out from a pre-existing hollow, which was altered to create an entrance arrangement to this underground site.8 The entrance may have been marked by a monumental structure,

6

 Evans 1971, pp. 46–57.  Zammit 1910, p. 6. 8  Pace 2007, pp. 7, 9. 7

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Fig. 1. The Upper Level: the oldest level of the Ħal Saflieni Hypogeum (base plan courtesy of Heritage Malta).

the full extent of which is unknown.9 Six chambers (2, 3, 4, 5, 7 and 8) of various sizes were dug out (and in some cases partly constructed) around the central space (1). A deep cistern (6), now accessible through room 5, was also excavated at this level. The configuration of parts of the walls of the central area (1), with concave areas alternating with rock-cut pillars, is strikingly similar to the configuration seen in the cistern (6). This configuration recalls the ‘header and stretcher’ construction technique used in the outer walls of prehistoric temples. Tool marks in the central area (1) are heavily deteriorated. Being the topmost level meant that this area was heavily impacted by the construction of foundations of houses that were built over the remains in the beginning of the twentieth century. This has resulted in a 9

 Cutajar 2000, p. 34.

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mixture of modern and ancient tool marks and it is often very difficult to distinguish the ancient marks from their modern counterparts. It is not surprising, then, that the patches of ancient tool marks in rooms 1 and 0 are relatively small compared to the size of the rooms. Nonetheless, the array of tool marks in the rooms of the upper level is still considerably varied. Room 1 preserves the largest variety with types A, B, E, F, G and a small patch of type H next to the entrance to room 7. The remaining small rooms contain more restricted combinations of types A, B, D, E, H and I marks. However, no characteristics worth discussing here could be gleaned from these marks. The Middle Level The middle level (Fig. 2) consists of a series of interconnected chambers which were used for burial. Most of the rooms are oval in shape, and it is within this level that the most intricate painted designs are found. In spite of some modern interventions, the middle level preserves the whole range of tool marks identified. As a result, a lot of information could be gathered from this level, not only about the marks themselves and tools they may have been created with, but also about the structure of the site itself and how it was shaped. To start with, a distinction needs to be made between rooms 9 to 14, referred to here as the intermediate level, and the rest of the middle level (rooms 15 to 27). These rooms are separated from the rest of the middle level by a step 120cm high. Another characteristic which sets these rooms apart is the use of megaliths to mark entrances to almost all the areas at this level. Once in the middle level proper, similarly built structural markers are only found in the area immediately adjacent to the intermediate level (the trilithon in front of room 16 is one example). Most of the walls in rooms 9–14 contain tool marks already encountered in the upper level. These consist of mainly types B and E, created by flat blades, type D, created by a mallet-like tool chipping through bedrock, and type A. Type I marks are only visible in rooms 9 and 12. These are, however, very small and probably connected to later interventions. On one of the walls in room 9, Type I marks are visible on most of the wall except behind a megalith at the entrance of the room where types A and B can be observed. Could this be what is left of the original finish of the wall? A type which is frequently seen in the middle and lower levels is K, first observed in room 16. On the other hand, types J and L are only found within particular zones of the middle level. The appearance of type J in a small portion of wall within rooms 16 and 24 is too limited to attribute any particular significance to it. The presence of type L on the pillars flanking the entrances to rooms 22 and 23, on the other hand, is interesting. A similar gouge-type tool and technique used to create this pitted effect seem to have also been used at least in part of the inner walls of room 22. Pace has compared these tool marks with pitting seen on one of the altar niches at Mnajdra.10 Although the overall effect is similar, the marks at the two sites were executed by a different tool. At Mnajdra, the pitted effect was created by a rotating, drill-like tool whereas at Ħal Saflieni it was created by a 10

 Pace 2007, p. 11.

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Fig. 2. The Middle Level: tool marks show that various areas within this level have been considerably enlarged. The red lines mark the possible original extents of these areas. The green line shows the location where Zammit suggests that a screen was erected within room 26 to divide the same room from the entrance to the Lower Level (base plan courtesy of Heritage Malta).

gouge-like implement. Nonetheless, the use of a similar finish in specific areas at both sites seems to give this type of finish some degree of significance. When the group of tool marks identified are seen in relation to each other across different areas, it becomes apparent that the vast areas of types I and D on the sides of rooms 17, 18, 20 and around the entrance to room 24 (popularly known as the ‘main hall’) seem to be the result of interventions which changed the original shape of the monument (Fig. 2). The most drastic of these changes took place in the area immediately around the entrance to room 24 and the entire zone leading to room 18. The groups of tool marks around the entrance to the main hall in room 15 show that the entrance was originally much smaller and narrower (Figs 2, 4). The tall megalith inserted at the junction between rooms 15 and 17 seems to have been inserted as a supporting element when the original ledge of rock

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Fig. 3. The Lower Level and the directions of type Ic tool marks on the roof (base plan courtesy of Heritage Malta).

separating the two areas was hewn out and therefore the entrance enlarged. Thus, access to the main hall would originally have been through a much narrower doorway with a high step. Could this have acted as a physical barrier to the area? Likewise, room 17 was originally a passage that led from the entrance of the middle level to rooms 20 and 18 (Figs 2, 5). Tool marks on the roof consist of a strip of type A tool marks passing through room 17 from where it then forks out to the entrances to room 20 and room 18. The entrances to both rooms and the chambers themselves have also been enlarged and show extensive presence of type I and type D marks. This means that parts of the middle level originally looked very different from the way they do today (Fig. 2). For instance, much of room 24 would not have been visible directly from the top of the entrance to the middle level and, although it would not have received the same amount of sunlight proposed by Pace,11 some light would have still filtered through. The amount of natural sunlight reaching room 20 would have been very limited due to the narrower passage leading to it, and would have probably entered the room through the openings in room 24 rather than from the passage itself. Pace identifies three zones that were, he suggests, dug in 11

 Pace 2007, pp. 12–15.

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Fig. 4. The entrance to the main hall: (A) view from inside the main hall showing the extent of wall removed (B/C) view from room 15 showing edges of removed walls.

Fig. 5. Approximate line of the original passage through room 17 as indicated by the different tool marks on the roof.

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Fig. 6. The remnants of the original wall that divided rooms 20 and 26 in the middle level.

such a way to receive different degrees of lighting.12 Indeed, as discussed above, what is today known as the middle level can be divided in two areas. The rooms around the intermediate level have architectural elements marking openings, resulting in an area which is visually different than the rest of the site. Architectural features are also extensively used within rooms 24 and 26. On the other hand, painted motifs are used in the other rooms within the middle level (20, 18) creating a different visual effect. This difference may have been directly connected with the type of light used. Architectural elements were sculpted in areas that received a degree of natural light. This would have created sharp shadows, which would have made the architectural façade appear more imposing than it already is. The effect that architectural elements created with direct, steady lighting, would have been completely lost with the flickering light of torches or lamps. However, this type of lighting would have made the designs in the painted areas appear to be moving. Tool marks also suggest that, originally, there was no direct link between room 20 and room 26. Looking at the roof of room 26 one can observe that part of the original wall that divided these two rooms is still traceable through different tool marks visible on the curved wall above the link between room 26 and the entrance to the lower level (Fig. 2: 6). Therefore, it would seem that the middle level was designed to have three separate areas. The corridor at 17 would have led to both rooms 18 and 20, while room 24 would have been the only

12

 Pace 2007, pp. 12–15.

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access to rooms 26 and 27 (Fig. 2). During this initial stage, it is also probable that the elaborate entrance to room 27 was meant to be seen directly from room 24. It is not possible to identify when these interventions to enlarge the site were carried out or whether they actually happened as a single intervention or at different stages. What is clear is that, in its final stages of use, the three main areas identified above became interconnected. Nonetheless, visual and physical markers seem to have still been in place to indicate the different areas. The trilithons in front of the rooms in the intermediate level and room 16 in the middle level may have served such a purpose. The various ledges within a number of doorways, although having a structural purpose,13 could have also created physical difficulty in accessing particular spaces. Another interesting feature to note is that areas where painted motifs predominate seem to have their access points marked with a number of red discs, similar to those found in a niche in room 18. At least twelve of these discs are painted on the ceiling of room 17, just before one approaches the entrances to both rooms 18 and 20. Another group of discs is also visible at the entrance to room 20 from room 26 and on the side of a wall in room 33 within the lower level. The fact that painted discs also occur within the niche in room 18, and are also integrated within the design painted on the roof of the same room may therefore be significant. Is it possible that these painted discs served as markers between an area and another, just as the decorative schemes within a Roman domus would mark access or restriction to the different rooms of the house? The Lower Level The lower level is the last of the levels of the hypogeum to have been dug out (Fig. 3). Seven steps lead to this level from an opening in room 26. This level consists of a series of interconnected rooms, all carved out of the living rock. An interesting feature of this level is that the floor of each room has been scooped out to a much lower level than both the final step leading into this level, and the ledges of rock, or walls, which separate each room. This is often explained as a solution to the need for keeping remains in the various rooms separate.14 If this is so, the hollowed out floors would have been filled in with deposit and bone material, bringing the floor level up to the final step and also the ledges separating each room. Additionally, however, these ledges also served a structural purpose and would thus have had to be left in place to ensure the structural stability of the site.15 Marks within this level are very well preserved, and those that were first identified in other levels retain features which are not visible in other places (see for example, types Bc, Eb and Kb, Table 1). Tool marks visible on the roofs of the various chambers were particularly informative in identifying how this level was shaped. It has already been shown that from the various marks visible within room 26, it seems that the current entrance and approach to this level are a result of the removal of a thick wall of rock that originally separated rooms 26 and 20 (Fig. 2). This created a passage between two spaces that were previ-

13

 Torpiano 2004, pp. 353, 360.  Evans 1971, p. 56. 15  Torpiano 2004, pp. 353, 360. 14

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Fig. 7. The entrance to the lower level and the remnants of the original pit.

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ously separate - both visually and physically. However, the configuration of the steps leading to the lower level seems to indicate that access to this level was intended to be through the main door of room 26. The steps are set right in front of the monumental doorway between rooms 24 and room 26, whereas the steps between room 20 and the lower level are not as well defined and slightly more difficult to use. In his interpretation of the site following the excavation, Temi Zammit suggested that the elevated part of room 26 was screened off from the rest, based on a series of holes dug into the doorway and the floor.16 Thus, Zammit was also of the impression that the access to the lower level was through the monumental entrance separating rooms 24 and 26. This would also mean that the digging of the new level also saw a change in the configuration of the area. The orientation of the monumental doorway to room 27 suggests that, before the lower level was created, it formed part of a monumental arrangement. It is thus evident that at first, the entrance to room 27 was meant to be seen from room 24 and, possibly, room 15. If a screen was indeed erected in room 26 (Fig. 2), this would however mean that the doorway to room 27 was no longer visible. The central doorway of the monumental entrance within room 24 would thus direct people towards the lower level rather than to room 27. Red discs are also painted above the access between the steps to the lower level and room 20. At this point, one also wonders whether the breaches in the walls of room 25 were actually intended to create an easier route to room 26 from room 24 once the original monumental entrance was screened off. This is very difficult to ascertain and will remain a matter of debate for decades to come. Zammit17 is also right in suggesting that digging of the lower level started from a pit in room 23, the remaining parts of which can be identified within the curved ceiling above the ‘seven steps’. The carving of the lower level from this location resulted in an opening in the ceiling, which had to be roofed by corbelled slabs (Fig. 7). Although clearly visible along all the walls of the lower level, it is the tool marks on the roofs of the different rooms that are most informative on the construction of this level. Type Ic tool marks (Fig. 8) show that instead of widening the pit (23) to create room 28, the prehistoric diggers actually dug to the south-east – the area under the so-called ‘seven steps’. Tool marks clearly show that they dug directly to the area now occupied by room 32. Furthermore, tool marks in room 32 fan out from the built trilithon structure that supports the ‘seven steps’. From there, the diggers proceeded to excavate rooms 33 and 29. Type Ic tool marks on the roof of room 29 fan out of the doorway to room 32 and continue to the link with room 28. The sequencing of digging seems, at first, haphazard, but it becomes easier to understand when one factors in the two fault lines between which the rooms were dug and which dictated the linear plan of this part of the level (Fig. 3). It is highly probable that the diggers preferred to excavate directly to this part, following a fault line, the smooth surface of which had already been used in the execution of rooms 25 and 26. It is not clear at which phase room 28 was dug out. However, it seems likely that at least part of it was dug concurrently with rooms 29‒33. A narrow ridge runs horizontally across the room at the same level of the threshold to room 29. This indicates that the room was 16

 Zammit 1910, pp. 14–15.  Zammit 1910, p. 13.

17

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Fig. 8. The type Ic tool marks in room 29 are seen fanning out from room 32 and towards the entrance to room 28.

dug in two phases, initially as a shallower room at the same level of the last of the seven steps, and then extended. The downward extension of the room and construction of the trilithon below the last step would have thus been carried out at a second stage. One final important aspect that came to light during the survey of the lower level concerns the treatment of its rock surfaces. Like some parts of the middle level, the lower level is devoid of built architectural features except for the two trilithons in rooms 28 and 32. Both of these are, however, essential structural elements that support the ‘seven steps’. Painted designs, however, cover several of the walls, with the most common being thick horizontal bands of red colour, alternating with thick bands of uncoloured rock. Interestingly, whereas most of these painted bands consist of a solid coat of paint, parts of the similar motif along the walls of the basin within room 32 are made up of painted red dots over a lighter background (Fig. 9). Also interesting to note are various patches of red paint over a layer of plaster along the wall of the trilithon in the same room (32), which contrasts with most of the other painted designs that were applied directly on the stone surface. Finally, though very faint, a possible spiral motif can be made out on one of the walls of room 33. This, however, can only be verified through digital enhancement. Observation of the various painted motifs within both the middle and lower levels shows that, even though the most intricate painted designs are to be found in rooms 18 and 20, various rooms actually

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Fig. 9. Some of the painted decoration in room 32, made up of red dots over a lighter red background.

bear traces of paint, and designs are much more varied than the spiral and hexagon designs, which are more often indicated in the literature. A similar exercise to this, but focusing on traces of paint in the various rooms, could give us a better picture of what the site actually looked like when it was in use. Technological developments are proving very useful in this regard, and software developed for enhancing painted traces in archaeological sites is having very encouraging results.18

CONCLUDING REMARKS The Ħal Saflieni hypogeum is a very complex site that is unique, not only in its physical characteristics, but also because of the great interest that people have shown in it. Scientific research has been hindered by the lack of proper documentation of the excavation. Nonetheless, the site itself still holds precious information which, if gathered systematically, can

18  Dstretch is a plugin which enhances feint rock paintings which are not visible to the naked eye, enabling visual analysis. For more detail see Harman 2014. This software is currently being used by the authors to record painted motifs at Ħal Saflieni.

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shed more light on the site’s story. Tool marks are just one example. The study presented above has shown that this kind of work can enhance our understanding of, in this case, the structural development of this underground site. This is, however, only a first step towards a more thorough understanding of what the marks which the highly skilled prehistoric craftsmen left behind can tell us about the technological know-how and building procedures of the time. More research on various facets of stone digging and working will thus be needed to make the most of the information still embedded within the surfaces of this monument.

BIBLIOGRAPHY AQUILINA, J. A. 1990 Maltese – English Dictionary Volume Two. Malta: Midsea Books. CUTAJAR, N. 2000 “The archaeological dimension of the Ħal Saflieni Conservation Project: Excavations in the Hypogeum Upper Level 1990–1992,” in The Ħal Saflieni Hypogeum: 4000BC– 2000AD, edited by A. Pace, pp. 23–35. Malta: National Museum of Archaeology, Museums Department. HARMAN, J. 2014 “Dstretch: A tool for the digital enhancement of pictographs,” available at (accessed 10 April 2014). PACE, A. (ed.) 2000 The Ħal Saflieni Hypogeum: 4000BC–2000AD. Malta: National Museum of Archaeology, Museums Department. TORPIANO, A. 2004 “The construction of the megalithic temples,” in Malta Before History, edited by D. Cilia, pp. 347–367. Malta: Miranda Publishers. WETTINGER, G. 1975 “Some Maltese medieval place-names of archaeological interest,” in Atti del Colloquio Internazionale di Archeologia Medievale, pp. 3–39. Università di Palermo: Istituto di Storia Medievale. 2000 Place-Names of the Maltese Islands ca. 1300–1800. Malta: Publishers Enterprises Group. ZAMMIT, T. 1910 The Hal-Saflieni Prehistoric Hypogeum at Casal Paula, Malta: First Report. Malta.

David CARDONA and MariaElena ZAMMIT Heritage Malta [email protected] [email protected]

Deep marks, not defined in shape and edges. Possibly eroded UL; IL; ML; LL tool marks and usually found in the most exposed areas of the site.

Straight-edged tool marks created by straight blades of various UL; IL; ML; LL widths. Direction of the mark is sometimes identifiable.

Very similar to type B marks but with slightly rounded edges, IL thus distinguished from the usual straight-edged type.

Similar to type B, but the result of a clawed, chipped or slightly LL serrated tool.

Deep, linear groove, similar to, but deeper than a scratch mark. UL; IL; ML; LL

B

Bb

Bc

C

Level

A

Type Description

0; 1; 2; 9; 12; 20; 22; 24; 26; 32; 33

28; 29; 31; 32

12

0; 2; 3; 4; 5; 7; 9; 10; 12; 16; 17; 18; 19; 20; 21; 22; 23; 24; 25; 26; 27; 28; 29; 30; 31; 32; 33

0; 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 7; 9; 10; 11; 12; 13; 14; 15; 16; 17; 18; 20; 21; 22; 23; 24; 25; 26; 28; 29; 30; 31; 32; 33

Room

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Narrow, chisel-like, straight-edged marks similar to type B, but UL; ML; LL smaller in size.

Similar to type E[?], but done with a clawed, chipped or slightly serrated tool.

Linear striations left by smoothing of the rock. Direction uni- UL form along long edges.

Smoothing of the surface with no striations visible.

E

Eb

F

G

0; 13; 14; 18; 20; 23; 24; 26; 32

– M.

0; 26

28; 29; 32

0; 1; 2; 7; 9; 10; 13; 14; 15; 16; 18; 20; 21; 22; 23; 24; 25; 26; 27; 28; 29; 31; 32; 33

0; 2; 3; 9; 10; 12; 13; 15; 16; 17; 18; 20; 21; 22; 24; 25; 26; 27; 28; 29; 30; 32

Room

D. CARDONA

UL; IL; ML

Rough shaping of stone surface with a mallet or some other UL; IL; ML; LL heavy tool that removed chippings of approximately 10 × 10cm. Usually found in connection with type I marks.

Level

D

Type Description

158 ZAMMIT

Deep drill holes, conical in shape. In contrast to the Ia type, UL; IL; ML; LL these have not been created by a drill, but by a blade that left straight grooves inwards.

Drill holes, with remnants of the original hole still seen in sec- ML; LL tion after the rock has been chiselled out. The linear grooves left by the ‘drilled’ cavity are not straight so it is possible that they are the result of a tool of indirect percussion rather than a drill.

Dense pitting created by a narrow, roughly straight-edged tool. ML

Ib

Ic

J

Ia

Deep, conical drill holes. This type was eventually subdivided in UL; ML; LL three types (see below). A mixture of all three types is often present. Deep drill holes, conical in shape. These seem to have been UL; IL; ML drilled by a rotating tool.

I

UL; IL; ML

Possible drill holes with concave bottom.

Level

H

Type Description

16; 24

17; 18; 20; 21; 22; 24; 26; 28; 29; 30; 32

9; 12; 17; 18; 20; 21; 24; 26; 32

9; 11 12; 17; 18; 20; 21; 24; 26

0; 2; 3; 4; 15; 17; 18; 23; 28; 29; 32; 33

1; 2; 3; 4; 12; 15; 26

Room

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Similar to type K but done with a clawed, chipped or slightly LL serrated tool.

Decorative pitting done by gauge-type blade, resulting in a ML roughly triangular mark.

Kb

L

– M.

22; 23

28; 32

24; 26; 29

16; 18; 19; 21; 24; 25; 26; 27; 28; 29; 30; 31; 32; 33

Room

D. CARDONA

Table 1. Ħal Saflieni Hypogeum – List of Tool Types. Key: Ic: I = main type; c = sub-type. Level tab: UL = Upper Level; IL = Intermediate Level; ML = Middle Level; LL = Lower Level. Room numbers follow those assigned by Evans (1970).

ML

Same as K but smaller in size.

Ka

ML; LL

Dense marks made by a wide blade creating a fish-scale effect.

Level

K

Type Description

160 ZAMMIT

BEYOND THE STRUCTURE: REVISITING THE TARXIEN TEMPLES EXCAVATIONS Joanne ATTARD MALLIA

In 1913, Lorenzo Despott, a farmer from Tal-Borġ in Tarxien, reluctantly reported some unusual discoveries in his field to the Public Health Department who informed Sir Themistocles Zammit, then Director of the Museum. By 1919, a massive five-year excavation campaign revealed the remains of one of the largest prehistoric megalithic complexes in Malta. At the end of the campaign, Zammit left behind an extensive corpus of archaeological information which includes excavation diaries, several reports and a (selected) collection of finds. The Tarxien Temples excavation is still one of the few instances where a detailed record of the discoveries within a Temple Period site survives.1 Several smaller campaigns carried out since have confirmed that, not surprisingly, a lot of archaeological material is still buried in areas adjacent to the site, but also that existing knowledge has been lost or overlooked over time. The recent rediscovery of a deep pit buried under a modern torba (beaten earth) floor in one of the Temple structures, originally discovered by Thomas Ashby in 19212 and that of a bull relief in another Temple structure,3 prompted a closer look at the old Tarxien records with several questions in mind: Were there any other features which we have lost knowledge of? What else can the records tell us about how and where known artefacts were found? And how does this affect our interpretation of the site? The aim of this paper is to re-examine the data on the Tarxien excavations in an attempt to bridge the existing gap between the site and the collection, taking the first step towards rebuilding the connection between container and content.

THE

SITE

Located in the South East of Malta, on a low hill not far from the largest natural harbour on the island, the Tarxien Temples is best known for the remains of four Temple Period megalithic structures and their re-use in the Bronze Age as a cremation cemetery (Fig. 1). The earliest of the four, the Far East Temple, is a Ġgantija Phase five-apse structure (3600‒3100 BC) close to the eastern limit of the site. A small rectangular court covered in torba divides this Temple from the large complex of three adjoining structures, attributed to 1  See Trump (1966) on Skorba; Malone and Stoddart (2009) on the Xagħra Stone Circle. See also Cazzella and Recchia (2004‒2005) for preliminary results on Tas-Silġ. 2  Zammit 1930, p. 26; Ashby 1924. The pit was rediscovered in the Central Temple in 2009 by Dr Reuben Grima, then Senior Curator of Prehistoric Sites, and curators within the same department. 3  The bull relief was rediscovered in the South Temple in 2009 by Dr Nicholas Vella of the University of Malta.

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Fig. 1. Plan of the remains at Tarxien indicating the location of the bone remains discovered (base plan courtesy of Heritage Malta).

the subsequent Tarxien Phase (3100‒2400 BC).4 The South and East Temples were both built in the early part of the Tarxien Phase. However, the relatively simple and bare East Temple with its finely dressed square-shaped blocks contrasts greatly with the South Temple with its elaborate façade and the complex arrangement of relief carvings. The six-apse Central Temple was added at a later stage following structural modifications to the South Temple and probably also to the East Temple, although interventions during the Roman era make the latter hard to establish.5

THE

RECORD

Modern archaeological practices, based on systematic collection of primary data in the field, are designed to create as complete a record of a deposit as possible before its destruction. The record of Zammit’s work, consisting of four diaries dedicated to the excavation at Tarxien, three interim reports and one final report,6 was progressive for his time, but falls short of reaching modern standards. Zammit’s daily accounts follow the work carried out by groups of hired hands and his supervision of the work allowed him to 4  The dates reported here are based on Malone and Stoddart (2009), the report of the excavations of the Xagħra Stone Circle. 5  For a more extensive description of the remains, see Evans 1971, Cilia 2004; Pace 2006; Trump 2002. 6  Zammit 1915; 1915‒1916; 1915‒1919; 1916; 1917a; 1917b; 1919; 1920; 1930.

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identify obvious stratigraphic deposits such as the dark ashy Bronze Age layer, an underlying soil deposit which was mostly sterile and a Neolithic layer, where these were present. Each of the three layers was however removed as a single entity, with little regard to nuances of colour or texture except where the contrast was too great to ignore such as in the case of smaller ashy patches discovered in two or three areas of the Central Temple in the Neolithic Layer.7 Zammit went to great pains to document the architecture and some of the finds with textual descriptions and illustrations but their location is on many occasions a vague reference to a room or a general area. More common finds such as pottery were lumped in crates and stored or re-buried on site in designated areas with barely a mention.8 Unfortunately, Zammit’s focus on the attractive over the common and the ambiguity of his documentation of find location has influenced the interpretation of the site. It also inevitably introduces an unavoidable bias and a degree of uncertainty into this study. The notebooks also show a regrettable decrease in the level of detail in the reports of the last two years of excavation when the East and Far East Temples were being uncovered, except for discoveries within the so-called Oracular Room (space GG). This could be attributed to the fact that Zammit was monitoring teams working in different areas of the site. Perhaps there were simply fewer objects worthy of note or, more likely, he was captivated by the idea of a hidden chamber and its implications for activities carried out therein.9 Discrepancies between his notes and reports also exist. A noteworthy one is the find spot of a small rough clay figurine with embedded shells which, according to the hand-written notes and final report, was found in one of the excavation spoil heaps. Yet, the preliminary report published in the Museum Annual Report (hereafter, MAR) for 1916‒1917 states that it was discovered in the South Temple, under a large block to the right of the main entrance.10 This begs the question of whether Zammit sought to find the origin of the spoil in which it was discovered whilst preparing the MAR, but eventually decided against using his suspicions in the final report. In spite of these shortcomings, Zammit’s records provide enough detail to be able to plot a substantial number of the features mentioned. The mapping exercise was carried out using ArcGIS 10.2 with a detailed plan extracted from the 3D survey of the site as a base map.11 Working within the limits of the study, where only objects with a relatively secure location could be mapped and considering the space available, the paper will focus only on the intrasite analysis of the animal remains recovered in the Temples and documented by Zammit.12 At the basis of this study is the concept of Causality, advocated by Juan Barceló, which states that the realisation of a specific human or social action is the result of its interaction  7

 Zammit 1915‒1919, pp. 160‒167.  Zammit 1915‒1919, p. 235. One such area was rediscovered in 2011 during works for the building of an extended walkway on site. This yielded more than 40 crates of pottery sherds.  9  Zammit 1930, p. 37. 10  Zammit 1917b, p. 7. 11  The 3D survey was carried out by Heritage Malta in 2011 as part of the ERDF-funded Architectural Heritage Conservation project. 12  D’Andrea and Gallotti 2004, p. 589.  8

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with the physical space in which it occurs, influenced by past and current social and natural processes and, in turn, influencing future processes and actions.13 Theoretically, the study of the physical space and the physical remains of the various processes which took place on site at burial and since should therefore throw some light on the human or social action taking place at the time. In practice, however, it is similar to standing at the juncture of several tightropes in pitch dark. Figure 1 illustrates the results of the mapping exercise. Bone remains, often found in relatively large quantities, are marked on the plan as areas. Smaller individual finds such as horns, bone tools, amulets and statuette fragments were plotted as points, categorised by type. The exercise allows for a range of accuracy of between 0.25 to 2 m which, although far from ideal, is still enough to clearly identify the spatial unit in which the object was discovered. Spatial units were identified by dividing the larger spaces into functional units, such as rooms and courtyards so as to enable multidimensional analysis typically going from micro to macro scales.

THE ANIMAL

REMAINS

One of the most remarkable elements which came out of the Zammit reports was the sheer volume of animal bones recovered during the excavation. Furthermore, the spatial distribution of the bones suggests that there was purpose behind their deposition in specific locations. From the evidence, it was possible to identify three types of deposition: bone repositories, superficial deposits, and buried deposits. Bone Repositories The first category refers to bones accumulated within specially built features in various parts of two of the four structures - the South and Central Temples. Three identical ‘cabinet’-like features, each equipped with a single shelf, tucked away in the corner to one side of the entrance of the inner apses can be found in the Central Temple (Spaces A, B and Y in Fig. 1, Fig. 2). In all probability, a fourth was located in space X which was destroyed in Roman times. In the smaller inter-wall chambers of the Central Temple and the South Temple, several instances of small table-like niches with vertical slabs on two sides supporting a third as cover can be found. Two of the repositories are located in more visible spaces, namely the ‘altar’ on platform E and the carved ‘altar’ with a small cubbyhole hidden behind a stone plug in T. Zammit’s, and later Ugolini’s, use of the term repositories is particularly appropriate as the bones seem to have been accumulated over time.14 This is suggested, for instance, in space W, where three such arrangements are placed adjacent and on top of each other, 13  Barceló 2005; Barceló and Maximiano 2013. In a separate study, Turnbull (2002) applies a similar concept to the Maltese megalithic sites, exploring the way the Temple users experienced the space and how this affected their movements and knowledge. 14  Zammit 1930, p. 21; Ugolini 2012, p. 290.

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Fig. 2. One of the cabinet-like features in the Central Temple (unless otherwise stated, images are courtesy of Heritage Malta).

possibly to maximise on space once the earlier ones were full (Fig. 3). In the ‘cabinet’ in space Y, some of the bones were firmly embedded in the torba floor suggesting that the bones were left untouched even when maintenance works were being carried out.15 In space M, the repository was in a small space behind (and accessed through) the megaliths with the bulls and sow reliefs.16 The association of the storage of animal remains with reliefs of animals on the block’s vertical face (two bulls and a sow in space M) and on the horizontal face (a bull in profile in a small niche in space F) is also interesting although there seems to be no correlation between the animal depicted on the relief and the species of the animal remains stored within (Fig. 4). In fact, the mass of bone remains recovered from these and other repositories seems to have been a mixture of different animals and the majority were burnt. There are several instances in which Zammit identifies species (mainly bull/ox, goat and sheep) and body parts such as vertebrae, shoulder blades and legs, although 15

 Zammit 1917b, p. 5.  Zammit 1917b, p. 4.

16

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Fig. 3. The bone repositories in space W.

Fig. 4. The representation of a bull carved in relief in a small niche in space F (Photograph courtesy of Clive Vella).

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the majority are simply referred to as animal bones. He did however make it a point to mention when horns were discovered, which was practically in all of the repositories. Horns belonging to bulls/oxen, goats and boars have been identified by Zammit. In two instances in space W, the horns were still connected to a part of the skull of a goat and an ox. In his report, Ugolini adds that in the cabinet in space Y, “the horns were placed upright, with their bases stuck in the ground”.17 Overall, in terms of spatial distribution, the bone repositories seem to be limited to the South and Central Temple. Unlike remains uncovered at the Xagħra Stone Circle,18 there seems to be no distinction between bone remains buried on either the left or the right side as content and volume is in most cases comparable. Nine out of the fourteen repositories identified are tucked away in small chambers or corners, out of site of the central, presumably public, areas. The tenth is the carved altar in a prominent position in space T. The last four, including the largest of the repositories (space W), are concentrated in the passageway which links the two Temples together. There is also a significantly higher concentration of repositories in the South Temple, as opposed to the Central Temple. This could possibly have less to do with the later date of the Central Temple than with the simpler, cleaner lines of the architecture of the Central Temple where repositories are all tucked away out of sight in separate chambers rather spread out in the main spaces. After all, the South Temple was likely to have still been in use when the complex reached its current configuration. Surface deposits Horns, along with other animal remains, were also present in several superficial deposits. Particularly noteworthy are the concentrations of bone outside the building in rectangular space S, immediately behind the Bulls and Sow relief megaliths, and in the area surrounding the large megalith to the right of the facade of the Far East Temple. Inside, animal remains were found in the Central Temple in front of the high threshold leading to spaces A and B - the same threshold on which the large stone bowl, which now graces space D, was originally discovered (Fig. 5).19 Bone remains were also found in the inner passageway connecting the South and Central Temples, space O, which is already an area with a high concentration of bone considering the two large repositories to its East and South, with a second surface deposit on the left side of the threshold leading between spaces O and C/D. Unlike the repositories, however, it is doubtful that these depositions, particularly those within the Temple buildings, were accumulated over long periods of time considering that they would have been resting on a surface which was in use. The deposition in space O could, presumably, have been a spill-over from the nearby repositories to its west and south, but this seems to be the exception.

17

 Ugolini 2012, p. 288.  Malone 2007. 19  Zammit 1915‒1919, pp. 160‒163; Zammit 1917, p. 269. 18

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Fig. 5. Monumental threshold in C/D leading to spaces A/B. The large stone bowl, which in the photo is located to the left of the doorway, was originally discovered on the high threshold next to the left pillar.

Conspicuous in its difference is the discovery of two large horns, almost 70 cm long, both from the left side of the head, lying in front of a small recess at the entrance to space M, opposite the megaliths carved with reliefs of two bulls and a sow with her piglets. Unlike all the other instances where horns were discovered, these were an isolated find, not mixed in with other animal remains (Fig. 6).20 Buried deposits The third category is the large number of bones buried underneath blocks within the Temple buildings. Surprised by the discovery of bone remains and several objects buried under a block moved by accident by the workmen, Zammit adopted the practice of lifting free-standing blocks within the Temples in search of bones and artefacts and it seems that he was never disappointed (See Fig. 1). The remains were often generic enough to be referred to simply as “animal bones”, but in some cases he makes reference to the age of the animal such as the “bones of young sheep” (under the threshold to space N)21 or three shoulder blades of kids (under the last decorated block to the left of space T).22 One in particular stands out – the discovery of a bundle of four legs of sheep, with carpal bones and hoofs still attached, under a small block to the left of the entrance to

20

 Zammit 1917b, p. 4; Zammit 1930, p. 25.  Zammit 1915‒1919, p. 222. 22  Zammit 1921, p. viii. 21

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Fig. 6. Large horns discovered in space M.

repository W.23 Without entering into the merits of whether this is an indication of animal sacrifice carried out within the Temple or whether it is a studied offering prepared in advance for a specific purpose, it is a strong indication that a clear choice was being made as to which part/s of the animal would be used. Further studies being carried out on the bone remains in the Heritage Malta collection may yield more information on the subject.24 The most common objects associated with such bones were flint, chert, obsidian, bone, and stone implements which include various tools such as borers, rubbers and mallets as well as knives and flakes. Less common were clay discs, pebbles, sea shells, hemispherical stones and stone and clay vessels. Among the clay vessels were a bowl with a conical cover buried under the platform in space E,25 and a clay ladle with studded decoration under the threshold to Space N.26 Thomas Ashby’s interventions at Tarxien, which took place soon after Zammit’s, revealed a stone sphere, pottery sherds and sheep bones also buried under the doorsill to the South Temple at Tarxien.27 The latter is reminiscent of the discovery of the horn of a bull and a bowl containing 158 sea shells discovered underneath the threshold to Ġgantija South in 1933,28 suggesting that at least some of these practices may have also been carried out in other sites.

23

 Zammit 1915‒1919, p. 228.  A parallel study on the bone remains Zammit retained is being carried out by the author and by the Senior Curator of Natural History John J. Borg. 25  Zammit 1917b, p. 2. 26  Zammit 1915‒1919, p. 222. 27  MAR 1922, p. i. 28  MAR 1934, p. vi. 24

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The presence of tools under the blocks could perhaps be the result of loss or disposal of tools tied to the construction work being carried out but the quantity, variety and good condition of the objects as well as the association with bone remains, some of which were clearly burnt, and the presence of artefacts not related to construction work suggests that the explanation might not be that simple. The spatial distribution of certain objects also hints at choice, rather than random disposal. For instance, almost half the number of knives mentioned by Zammit were buried under the blocks dividing space R and T, in the vicinity of the statue of the colossal figure. More were found in the carved ‘altar’ with the cubbyhole on the same side of space T whilst the rest were divided between spaces V and O. Could we be looking at the remains of offerings placed during construction? So far, the evidence comes from under selected blocks, namely decorated blocks and thresholds, which Zammit chose to explore. The higher significance of these blocks is clearly implied by the carving on their sides compared to the plain walls. Similarly, the importance of thresholds to the builders/users is highlighted in several ways: with interconnected holes, often interpreted as rope holes for doors, in their many variations (several locations); with a line of drilled holes on the side of the threshold slab (space T);29 and even with an inlay with fossil shells and polished stones in a trapezoidal pattern (space A).30 However, a similar discovery of buried animal remains under a floor slab in space V suggests that the practice might not have been limited only to these significant blocks. Did the practice extend also to other parts of the structure such as walls? Was the practice limited to the Tarxien complex or was it also used in contemporaneous sites? Since it is improbable that there will ever be occasion for any other blocks to be lifted and curators tend to frown on the practice, these questions are likely to remain unanswered.

THE ANIMAL REMAINS

IN CONTEXT: A CASE STUDY

So far, this paper has focused on recreating the connection between the bone remains and the site, reviewing the where and how of the deposits of animal bones within the Tarxien Temples. Yet these bones were rarely found in isolation and there are ties to other objects found in association with them. The next section will look at the impact that this may have on the interpretation of the remains. The mapping exercise is one of the stages of a wider project being carried out by the author which seeks to build a more holistic picture of what was happening at the Tarxien Temples through the use of information science and through the study of the site and the collection as a group rather than focusing on either the architecture or the finds. To explore the potential of a fuller analysis which links the site to more than just the animal remains, an area has been selected for a brief illustration at different spatial scales.

29  MariaElena Zammit, Curator of Prehistoric Sites, has identified a similar feature on the threshold leading to Mnajdra East. 30  Zammit 1917b, p. 5.

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171

Fig. 7. Plan of approximate find location in spaces C and D.

The space selected is located between spaces C and D (Figs 5 and 7), delimited to the north by a monumental doorway and threshold leading to spaces A and B. To the south is a large hearth, and to the east and west are two large protruding megaliths in front of which lie two raised horizontal blocks. The horizontal block on the western side also has a cavity on the top covered by a stone plug. Permanent fixtures in the area included a large stone basin on the western end of the threshold (nowadays displayed in space D) and a stone slab with two carved spirals blocking the doorway into spaces A and B. At the micro scale, if taken in context with other finds in the area, it is clear that this area was the focus of some activity. Animal remains were found all around the large stone bowl, both on the threshold and in front of it. Next to the stone bowl, among the bones were sea shells, some of which seem to have been cut into rings, and a stone block depicting what looks like an architectural plan made up of rectangular rooms. The latter does not seem to be representing a known Temple structure as these use the typical rounded shapes prevalent in Neolithic architecture in the Maltese Islands. Mixed in with soil and bones directly in front of the threshold up to a depth of one foot were bone tools and awls, flint and obsidian flakes, a small lump of red ochre, a stone pendant and a stone mass with a knob worked in the shape of a human head. The spread of bone all around the area is interesting considering that there were several repositories of bone nearby. Could there have been specific criteria which determined when bones would be placed in repositories? Perhaps the presence of tools and raw material such as ochre could be connected to the butchering of meat as suggested by the large number of bones? Again,

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this in no way implies any degree of certainty or even belief in the possibility of animal sacrifice at Tarxien, which is a common interpretation,31 as the remains could just as easily be explained as an offering of a piece of meat. The presence of the stone slab indicating a plan and the carved representation of a human head are harder to explain. They may be hinting at why the activity was taking place but they could also have been left there for a multitude of other reasons, during or even after the activity. By expanding the area of study slightly, more information feeds into the scenario. Tucked away in the corners behind the protruding pillars on each side of the threshold, substantial patches of ash and burnt animal bones were found. The corner between the pillar and space D contained only ash and a few fragments of pottery, whilst its counterpart in C was furnished with a shallow stone basin, a stone block with pitted decoration, a biconical or hourglass shaped stone pedestal and a small, hollow stone pillar containing gray ash and surrounded by large animal bones. Not far from this arrangement was the lower half of a small clay figurine of the obese type. At this point, it is clear that there are in fact three loci where some sort of activity was taking place. It is interesting to note that the three are not inter-visible as the large protruding stone pillars effectively hid the two smaller areas from the threshold. Yet, the ash and burnt bones in the corners inevitably bring to mind the well-used hearth only a few metres away, also full of ash and lime when uncovered,32 hinting that in spite of the lack of visibility, the three places might have been connected. Expanding the study even further to include space C reveals more stone pillars full of grey ash and other objects as well as two neat rows of twelve hemispherical stones with a slight indentation on the surface lying on the threshold leading to the East Temple and the outside (Fig. 8). Are these in any way connected to the activity or was this a separate locus? Knowing that several hundred of these hemispherical stones were found, mostly in masses, not far from fireplaces and with many showing signs of burning, were they, as Zammit suggests, used by the participants in an activity which took over the whole space?33

CONCLUDING

REMARKS

Spatial analysis in archaeology is nowadays standard practice, mainly thanks to the development of GIS which enables the digital representation of data and the examination of patterns at different scales in two or three dimensions. Some reservations still remain as to the impact that the technology has on the study and in particular on its oversimplification of archaeological reality, but its effectiveness in the recording, management, visualisation and analysis of data has ensured its use in most modern excavations. Of a certainty, the integrity and consistency of the data, particularly the recording of its spatial dimension, is generally a good indicator of the effectiveness of the analysis.34

31

 Zammit 1930, p. 15; Ugolini 2012, p. 288; Trump 2002, pp. 106–107.  Zammit 1930, p. 26. 33  Zammit 1930, p. 84. 34  Katsianis 2012. 32

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Fig. 8. The two rows of hemispherical stones discovered on the threshold leading outside of the Central Temple.

This study deliberately uses data which lacks accurate or consistent spatial information coming from an incomplete and biased record. The application of information science can help collate different sources of information – including texts, plans, photographs – which span over a century in a way which would not have been possible at the time. Through technology such as GIS, 3D modelling and Virtual Reality, it is possible to bring back together objects which are now separated physically by a few hundred kilometres and a glass showcase. The approach is not new and previous attempts on sites in Belgium and Egypt have achieved a degree of success which is proportional to the age of the excavation.35 The aim is ultimately to re-create the excavation as close to how the excavator originally experienced it as possible so that, in spite of the inevitable destruction of the primary data upon excavation, in spite of the obvious gaps in the record of the site and the loss of a large part of the collection, it may still be possible to produce new knowledge and to infer new insights on the Temple builders/users’ lives and culture.

35

 Avern 2002; Villing 2013.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY ASHBY, T. 1924 AVERN, G. 2002

BARCELÓ, J. A. 2005

“Supplementary excavations at Hal-Tarxien, Malta, in 1921,” Antiquaries Journal 4(2): 93‒100. “Reconstruction of the excavations of two Iron Age chariot burials from Belgium: Applying virtual reality to old excavation data,” in Archaeological Informatics: Pushing the Envelope CAA 2001. Computer Applications and Quantitative Methods in Archaeology. Proceedings of the 29th Conference, Gotland, April 2001 (BAR International Series 1016), edited by G. Burenhult and J. Arvidsson, pp. 157‒162. Oxford: Archaeopress.

“Multidimensional Spatial Analysis in archaeology: Beyond the GIS paradigm,” in Reading the Historical Spatial Information in the World. Studies for Human Cultures and Civilizations based on Geographic Information System, edited by T. Uno, pp. 47‒62. Kyoto: International Institute of Japanese Studies. BARCELÓ, J. A. and MAXIMIANO, A. 2013 “The mathematics of domestic spaces,” in The Archaeology of Household, edited by M. Madella, G. Kovács, B. Berzényi and I. Briz I Godino, pp. 6‒22. Oxford: Oxbow Books. CAZZELLA, A. and RECCHIA, G. 2004‒2005 “L’area sacra megalitica di Tas-Silġ (Malta): Nuovi elementi per lo studio dei modelli architettonici e delle pratiche culturali,” Scienze dell’Antichità 12: 689‒699. D’ANDREA, A. and GALLOTTI, R. 2004 “Prehistoric archaeology: GIS and intra-site spatial analysis,” in Studies on the Early Paleolithic Site of Melka Kunture, Ethiopia, edited by J. Chavaillon and M. Piperno, pp. 589‒597. Florence: Istituto Italiano di Preistoria e Protostoria. EVANS, J. D. 1971 The Prehistoric Antiquities of the Maltese Islands: A Survey. London: Athlone Press. KATSIANIS, M. 2012 “Conceptual and practical issues in the use of GIS for archaeological excavations,” in Thinking Beyond the Tool: Archaeological Computing and the Interpretive Process, edited by A. Chysanthi, K. Papadopoulos and M. P. Flores, pp. 51‒71. Oxford: Archaeopress. MALONE, C. “Ritual, space and structure: The context of cult in Malta and Gozo,” in Cult 2007 in Context: Reconsidering Ritual in Archaeology, edited by C. Malone and D. Barrowclough, pp. 23‒34. Oxford: Oxbow Books. MALONE, C., STODDART, S., BONANNO, A., TRUMP, D., GOUDER, T. and PACE, A. (eds) 2009 Mortuary Customs in Prehistoric Malta: Excavations at the Brochtorff Circle at Xagħra (1987‒94). Cambridge: McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research MUSEUM ANNUAL REPORT 1921 Report on the Working of the Museum during 1917‒1918‒1919. Malta: Museum Department. 1922 Annual Report of the Valletta Museum, 1920‒21. Malta: Museum Department. 1934 Annual Report on the Working of the Museum Department during 1933‒34. Malta: Museum Department. PACE, A. 2006 The Tarxien Temples (Insight Heritage Guides). Malta: Heritage Malta.

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UGOLINI, L. M. 2012

TRUMP, D. 1966 2002 TURNBULL, D. 2002 VILLING, A. 2013

ZAMMIT, T. 1915 1915‒1916 1915‒1919 1916 1917a 1917b 1919 1920 1930

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Malta. Origini della civiltá Mediterranea/Malta. Origins of Mediterranean Civilization, A Re-edition with a Foreword and Introduction by Andrea Pessina and Nicholas C. Vella. Translation of the edition of 1934 by Louis J. Scerri. Malta: Midsea Books. Skorba: Excavations Carried out on Behalf of the National Museum of Malta 1961‒1963 (Reports of the Research Committee of the Society of Antiquaries of London, 23). Oxford: Society of Antiquaries of London. Malta: Prehistory and Temples. Malta: Midsea Books. “Performance and narrative, bodies and movement in the construction of places, objects, spaces and knowledges,” Theory, Culture and Society 19(5/6): 125‒143. “Reconstructing a 19th-century excavation: Problems and perspectives”, in Naukratis: Greeks in Egypt, edited by A. Villing, M. Bergeron, G. Bourogiannis, A. Johnston and F. Leclère, A. Masson and R. Thomas. British Museum Online Research Catalogue, 2013‒2015. Available at (last accessed 2015). Archaeological Field Notes, Notebook 11. Unpublished manuscript held at the National Museum of Archaeology, Malta. Archaeological Field Notes, Notebook 12. Unpublished manuscript held at the National Museum of Archaeology, Malta. Archaeological Field Notes, Notebook 13. Unpublished manuscript held at the National Museum of Archaeology, Malta. “The Hal-Tarxien Neolithic Temple, Malta. First excavation report,” Archaeologia 67: 127‒144. “Second report on the Hal-Tarxien excavations, Malta,” Archaeologia 68: 263‒284. “Further excavations at Hal-Tarxien,” Annual Report of the Valletta Museum 1916, Malta: Museum Department. Archaeological Field Notes, Notebook 14. Unpublished manuscript held at the National Museum of Archaeology, Malta. “Third report on the Hal-Tarxien excavations, Malta,” Archaeologia 70 (1918‒20): 179–199. Prehistoric Malta, the Tarxien Temples. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Joanne ATTARD MALLIA Valletta 18 Foundation [email protected]

THE MALTESE FIGURATIVE ARTEFACTS FROM THE LATE NEOLITHIC MALTESE TEMPLE COMPLEXES: SOME CONSIDERATIONS ACCORDING TO PROVENANCE Sharon SULTANA

ARTEFACTS IN MUSEUM

SHOWCASES

The voyage which an artefact embarks upon from the moment of its inception until it finds itself in a museum could be a very long one. In the case of museums with archaeological collections, thousands of years could pass from the time that a particular object is moulded or carved by an individual until the day it finds itself in a museum showcase to be scrutinised or briefly looked at by museum visitors daily. Once portable artefacts are excavated, it is the norm that they are transferred to museums mainly for safekeeping but also for conservation purposes. The fate of such objects, whether they remain in storage or find themselves on display, depends on a number of factors including aesthetics, conservation status, and interpretation methods. This contribution is intended to put forth some considerations about the figurative artefacts from the above-ground Temple Period megalithic structures,1 about which our honorand has written profusely. By the term ‘figurative’, I am referring to those artefacts which portray a human representation or have a stylised resemblance to the human form. Since these megalithic sites show similar building techniques and structures, one usually presumes that they were probably used for the same or very similar purpose. This is not the platform to try to hypothesise what these UNESCO world heritage sites could have been used for and, for the sake of simplicity, I shall refer to them as ‘temples’ as they have been referred to for the past decades. The four main above ground temple sites which have produced figurative artefacts from the Neolithic period are Tarxien temples, Ħaġar Qim, Mnajdra and Ġgantija. The artefacts from these sites total 82, 76 of which are displayed at the National Museum of Archaeology, four are at the Ħaġar Qim visitor centre and two on display at the Ġgantija interpretation centre. With the exception of the colossal statue from the Tarxien temples, the 76 artefacts which are on display at the National Museum of Archaeology can be seen in 10 different showcases according to their typology.2 This type of display makes it easier for the visitor to get a generic idea of the artefacts, but it unfortunately removes the artefacts further away from their original context. Although the figurative artefacts from the temples have been the 1

 The Temple period spans slightly over one thousand years, from ca 3600‒2500 BC. The term ‘Temple period’ reflects the nomenclature usually given to the late Neolithic period. 2  When the artefacts were being chosen for display at the time that the museum was being refurbished between 1995 and 1998, all the figurative artefacts from the prehistoric temple sites of Malta had been sourced and selected.

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basis of discussion in various papers by different authors, the intention of this paper is to virtually re-contextualise these artefacts by discussing them by provenance in order to see if the repertoire of artefacts from these temples is generic or distinct by site. In order to analyse the relevant 82 artefacts, they were first listed and then split into categories according to their typology (Table 1). A look at the table will immediately show that half of these artefacts were excavated from the Tarxien temple complex. Both Ħaġar Qim and Mnajdra have relatively close amounts of figurative artefacts, 18 and 22 respectively, with Ġgantija producing just two anthropomorphic heads. One can also notice that some categories of artefacts are linked to specific sites. Although the Tarxien temples have the largest repertoire of these representations, I shall start by comparing the artefacts from Ħaġar Qim and Mnajdra since although the temples are sited within metres and are clearly visible from each other, their figurative collections are so distinct that they merit to be dealt with first. Ħaġar Qim The characteristic figurative artefacts synonymous with the Maltese temple period are undoubtedly the ‘Sleeping Lady’, the ‘Venus’ and the ‘fat figures’ which were, and still are at times, commonly referred to as the ‘fat ladies’ and the ‘goddesses of fertility’ amongst other labels. With the sole exception of the ‘Sleeping Lady’ which was excavated from the Ħal Salfieni Hypogeum, or burial complex, and which shall therefore not form part of this analysis, the ‘Venus’ and the more refined and complete statuary artefacts come from Ħaġar Qim. Out of the 12 large3 and medium-sized statues, 11 are from this temple complex. The three large standing statues4 (Fig. 1: 1) were, in all probability due to their weight, not moved around very frequently and could have been an integral part of the temple furniture. Along with the eight seated stone statues (Fig. 1: 2), they have been the subject of debates about gender representation for quite some years. Possibly they are best explained as a representation of a human person irrespective of the gender. Sockets instead of the heads suggest some sort of interchangeable heads, but one should note that only five out of these 11 statues have this socket with holes to secure the head in place.5 The remaining six all have a break where the head could have been and there is no visible trace of a socket (Fig. 1: 3). The other renowned statuette is the well modelled ‘Venus’ (Fig. 1: 4). This statuette represents the female figure in a very well-proportioned rendition. Moulded in clay, the back is as well defined as the front and the arms’ positioning is consistent with that of most other statues and statuettes from this period; one arm by the side and the other one under the breast. Such exquisiteness in craftsmanship is also discernible in a stone carving of a hand with fine incisions delineating the fingers at the back of it (Fig. 1: 5). 3

 This excludes the Tarxien colossal statue.  Due to space restrictions, not all artefacts mentioned will be shown photographically and in many cases only one representative image shall be used. 5  To date no heads that fit these statues have been found. One possibility is that such heads could have been made of perishable material. 4

1 (21167)

Ambiguous figure

3 (9166, 9162, 9153) 2 (9167, 9164) 3 (9163, 9155, 9149) 1 (9168) 1 (9144) 3 (9141, 9147, 9142) 1 (9143) 11 (9137, 9134, 9140, 9136, 9138, 9131, 9160, 9132, 9133, 9135, 9139) 8 (21289, 9171, 9173, 9177, 9175, 9172, 9170, 9169) 1 (9145)

1 (9529)

1 (14406)

40

Tarxien Temples

4 (21270, 21264, 21263, 21272) 12 (21175, 21168, 21277, 4 (9125, 9126, 9127, 9128) HQVC1015, 21244, 21179, 21198, 21276, 21275, 21274, 21273, HQVC1003)

2 (21282, 21281)

2 (21220, 21218)

1 (21254) 1 (21255)

22

Mnajdra Temples

2 (G/S2a, G/S2b)

2

Ġgantija Temples

17

6

10

3 2 3 4 2 4 1 17

1 3 1 8

82

Total

Table 1. Quantity and types of anthropomorphic representations from four temple sites in Malta and Gozo based on the digitised inventory of the National Museum of Archaeology, Malta. The numbers in brackets refer to the artefact ‘Object identification number’ of the same inventory.

1 (21297)

2 (21219, 21212)

1 (21247)

2 (21246, 21295)

8 (21208, 21210, 21209, 21207, 21205, 21206, 21204, Q/S11)

3 (21202, 21203, 21201)

18

Individual body part

Phallic representation

Statue fragment Statue fragment with multiple reliefs Statuette Female statuette “Pregnant” statuette Lower parts of female statuette Couple statuette Head

Colossal statue Standing statue (large) Standing statue (medium) Seated statue (medium)

Total number of artefacts

Ħaġar Qim Temples

FIGURATIVE ARTEFACTS FROM THE LATE NEOLITHIC MALTESE TEMPLE COMPLEXES

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S. SULTANA

180

2

1 3 4 7

5 6 8

Fig. 1. Figurines from the Ħaġar Qim temples: 1. One of the three large stone statues (Object Id. 21203); 2. One of the eight seated stone statues showing the socket instead of the head (Object Id. 21206); 3. One of the seated stone statues which does not have a visible socket in the neck area (Object Id. 21205); 4. The ‘Venus’ (Object Id. 21295); 5. A stone carving of a hand (Object Id. 21297); 6. A female clay statuette (Object Id. 21246); 7. The back of one of the heads showing three distinctive holes at the base of the hair (Object Id. 21212); 8. A clay head with large pellet eyes and a gaping mouth (Object Id. 21167). Not to scale.

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The other artefacts from this site are: a small standing female clay statuette (Fig. 1: 6), one lower part of a clay statuette with six fingers on each hand; and two very small heads, one of which has three noticeable holes at the back of the hair (Fig. 1: 7). Only one artefact from this site falls under the category of ‘ambiguous figure’: a clay head with round pellets for eyes, large protruding nose and a gaping mouth (Fig. 1: 8). Mnajdra Contrasting to the quality and quantity of human representations from Ħaġar Qim, only three statuettes from Mnajdra have a human resemblance and they are not comparable in aesthetic qualities. A distinctive artefact, with close parallels to another one excavated from Tarxien, is that of a female figure with a very conspicuous vagina and a ‘full’ belly which suggests pregnancy (Fig. 2: 1).6 It also has incised lines at the back, but distinctive from the Tarxien figure,7 which has one arm pointing to the genitals and the other one behind the head, the Mnajdra statuette was deliberately made with stumpy arms and legs. Since the arms and legs are clearly not broken off, but were deliberately produced as such, this artefact gives the impression of portraying a person with physical disabilities. The second statuette from this site is carved out of stone and quite diverse from the statues unearthed just a few metres away. This statuette features a figurine without a head, pendant breasts and both arms pointing to the groin (Fig. 2: 2). The third human figurative representation is a small clay torso showing the upper part of the body from the shoulders down to the groin (Fig. 2: 3). This torso is quite detailed with breasts, abdomen folds and even the navel. Close observation will reveal that originally this statuette possibly had the limbs attached to it since a clear darker mark is visible both in the area of the legs and even at the joint of the upper arm where the limbs would have been. The dark areas suggest that the limbs were made separately and stuck on to the artefact before firing. The head looks as if it was broken off but it is difficult to say due to the wear on the neck area. Three other artefacts listed under the ‘individual body parts’ are represented by legs: one single leg clearly broken off at knee height; a pair of legs close together, slightly bent sideways at the knee and broken at waist height; and lastly a pair of legs clearly made as an individual body part and not broken off from a larger statuette (Fig. 2: 4). This site has also yielded two heads (Fig. 2: 5) and two phallic representations (Fig. 2: 6). However, the majority of the artefacts from this temple site, 12 out of 22, have been categorised as ambiguous figures. Peculiar only to this site are a number of twisted pieces of clay (Fig. 2: 7). These artefacts, five in number, look like crossed legs, and are not fragments of a larger statuette. The fact that there is not just one single representation seems to indicate that such artefacts were probably produced for a particular reason. There have been suggestions that they could have served the purpose of ex votos,8 possibly in connection

6  Zammit and Singer 1924, p. 92, however, state that this statuette represents a person with a prolonged disease such as abdominal tumour. 7  The Tarxien statuette also has pieces of shell stuck in various parts of the body as shall be mentioned later. 8  Trump 2002, p. 103.

S. SULTANA

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3

2

1

6

4

5

8

7

9

10

Fig. 2. Figurines from the Mnajdra temples: 1. A ‘Pregnant’ statuette (Object Id. 21255); 2. A stone statuette (Object Id. 21254); 3. Finely made clay torso (Object Id. 21270); 4. A coarsely made pair of legs (Object Id. 21263); 5. A clay head (Object Id 21220); 6. A phallic representation (Object Id. 21281); 7. One of the five twisted pieces of clay (Object Id. 21276); 8. A clay figure with a gaping mouth and ‘pellets’ covering the body (Object Id. 21168); 9. One of the cylindrical forms which clearly show a gaping mouth (Object Id. 21244); 10. Back view of a star-like figure showing the protrusion (Object Id. 21277). Not to scale.

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with an ailment or a physical deformity. It could even be the case that they are representing some type of deformity. Other ambiguous figures include a wide open-mouthed blob of clay, with pellets for eyes (Fig. 2: 8) similar to the one from Ħaġar Qim. Three other clay artefacts with a visibly gaping mouth are rendered in the form of a simple cylinder with a very plain pinched head (Fig. 2: 9). Yet another cylindrical artefact, but thinner and more elongated in shape has outstretched arms, an exaggeratedly long neck and pinched pointed head with no distinct facial characteristics. Also forming part of the Mnajdra ‘ambiguous figures’ collection are two small star-like figurines which look like a stylised human being in a seated position (Fig. 2: 10). At the back, there is a sort of protrusion which either served to plug the artefact into some cavity or else as a support to keep it upright. Though very schematic in nature, most of these artefacts could be symbolic representations of human bodies. Tarxien As mentioned earlier, Tarxien has the majority of figurative artefacts. These 40 artefacts are represented in nearly all the categories listed in Table 1, with the exception of large standing and medium seated statues. Unique to this site is undoubtedly the colossal skirted figure, the uniqueness of which lies mainly in its size (Fig. 3: 1). Although Evans states that “The figure was undoubtedly portrayed as seated”9 the statue seems to have been of the standing type. It is clearly of the same corpulent type as the comparatively smaller Ħaġar Qim standing and seated ones, but this statue is represented with a carved rendition of a skirt. So are five of the other six stone statuettes or statuette fragments excavated from Tarxien. What is particularly interesting to note is that the skirts of the Tarxien statues are all decorated, as opposed to the only two skirted seated statues from Ħaġar Qim which have no decoration at all. With the exception of one,10 the design is very similar, that of arch-like incisions one next to the other, which seem to convey the semblance of pleats (Figs 3: 1–2). From Tarxien temples there is only one statue which looks similar to the Ħaġar Qim corpulent seated type, but it is broken; showing only the lower part, with the legs tucked to one side (Fig. 3: 3). Whether the break was intentional or accidental, and whether such a break, if intentional, was related to the end of the temple period, is and will probably still remain debatable. The Tarxien temple complex has also yielded three lower parts of female statuettes and three small statuettes which all emanate the corpulent type (Fig. 3: 4). Three fragments of what was a medium-sized standing clay statue make up a head, a shoulder and a skirt (Fig. 3: 5). This semi-reconstructed artefact is usually referred to as a ‘priest’ or ‘priestess’ and its uniqueness lies in the fact that it is the only statue of that size made out of clay. It is hollow and seemingly moulded on a core of straw as the inner parts of the statue evidence. Also unique in their characteristics are two lower parts of skirted stone statues, one of them clearly shown as sitting on a sort of bench. These statues both have other figurines carved on the side of the skirt or on the area beneath the skirt, a feature  9

 Evans 1971, p. 120.  In the case of the statue (Obj. Id. 9162), the skirt is decorated with pitted holes.

10

3 1

2

6A

4

6B 5

7

9 11

8

10

12

Fig. 3. Figurative representations from the Tarxien temple complex: 1. Colossal statue (Object Id. 14406), photograph by Daniel Cilia; 2. Arch-like skirt decoration on one of the stone statues (Object Id. 9166); 3. Lower part of a seated stone statue of the corpulent type (Object Id. 9153); 4. Statuette of the corpulent type (Object Id. 9155); 5. Three clay fragments consisting of a head, shoulder and skirt belonging to the same figure (Object Id. 9529); 6a. Hole on top of a statue similar to what is represented in 6b, clearly showing that the top part of the statue was not broken (Object Id. 9167); 6b. Lower part of a stone statue showing smaller figurines in relief below the skirt (Object Id. 9164); 7. A ‘pregnant’ statuette (Object Id. 9144); 8. Minute female statuette (Object Id. 9168); 9. The ‘Embracing Couple’, a minute clay figure showing two individuals locked in an embrace (Object Id. 9143); 10. A stone head – a hole (not visible) perforates it from top to bottom (Object Id. 9131); 11. A side view showing the back protrusion of the three phalli on a platform (Object Id. 9177); 12. One of the ‘ambiguous figures’ which look like stylised human representations (Object Id. 9126). Not to scale.

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which has led to the hypotheses that they represent deities of minor importance or children/ common people being protected by the main deity (Fig. 3: 6b).11 The upper part of these two statues is not broken. The hole on the top indicates that the upper part of the statuette was possibly interchangeable (Fig. 3: 6a). To date, no such upper parts have been found. Characteristically similar to the ‘pregnant’ clay statuette from Mnajdra, the one from Tarxien has a few differences, some already mentioned comparatively with the Mnajdra one (Fig. 3: 7). Apart from the positioning of the arms this statuette has small pieces of shell stuck in various parts of its body. They seem to have been placed in strategic points: above the vulva, between the breasts, inside the mouth, on the shoulder blades and along the spine. It is hard to tell whether they were positioned there as a respite from pain, or contrarily to induce pain just like a voodoo doll’s concept. Of particular note from this site are two very dainty and minute artefacts: one clay statuette shows a naked woman in a seated position with her legs tucked up to her breast (Fig. 3: 8). It only has one arm and a slight indication of a pony tail at the back. It is difficult to say if the artefact was deliberately made with just one arm, since the stump is quite worn. The other artefact shows two people locked in an embrace. Broken at the base, this artefact must have formed part of a slightly larger artefact (Fig. 3: 9). Apart from having fine details such as the incisions showing the hair, this artefact, albeit being very small in size is the only artefact which embodies the human emotional element and gives us an intimate insight into the lives of our Neolithic ancestors. The majority of the artefacts from this site are composed of the human heads and phallic representations. Out of the 17 heads that have been found from the various temple sites, 11 were excavated from the Tarxien temples. They vary in size and material and show a variety of facial characteristics and different hairstyles. Three of these heads have holes which denote that they could have been possibly worn as pendants (Fig. 3: 10). Also, notably numerous compared to the other sites, are phallic representations. Eighty per cent of the Neolithic phallic repertoire comes from this site and all of them are decorated. These include three phalli next to each other on a sort of platform (Fig. 3: 11). The rear of this artefact has a rough protruding wedge the purpose of which can only be guessed at – for display or portability functions? There are also four ‘ambiguous figures’ from this site which take the form of cylindrical bodies with stylised heads and arms (Fig. 3: 12). With regard to individual body parts, we just have one very slim and well-polished broken leg. Ġgantija The only figurative artefacts from Ġgantija temples are two well-proportioned heads carved out of Globigerina Limestone. Larger in size than the heads excavated from the other temple sites, they are unfortunately quite worn (Fig. 4). Notwithstanding, one can still make out their facial features and they seem to be characteristically in conformity with most of the other heads, with almond shaped eyes and short bob-style hair. 11

 Bonanno 1993, p. 82; Trump 2002, p. 99.

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Fig. 4. The limestone heads from the Ġgantija temples (Object Id. G\S 2a, G\S 2b).

CONCLUDING

REMARKS

Having considered the figurative artefacts according to their provenance, one can undoubtedly say that some distinctive artefact types seem to be site specific. The Ħaġar Qim and Mnajdra temple complexes found within a short walking distance from each other, have produced a divergent repertoire of artefacts. Whereas Ħaġar Qim has bestowed upon us an aesthetically pleasing repertoire of artefacts which are so synonymous with the Maltese Neolithic period, just down the hill, Mnajdra temples produced a repository of 22 figurative representations, the majority of which are classified under the ‘ambiguous figures’ category. Gaping mouths, stumpy arms and twisted lumps of clay are artistically a far cry from the well modelled and carved statuary from Ħaġar Qim temples. Can the repertoire of figurative artefacts be taken as an indication that the two neighbouring megalithic structures were being used for diverse purposes? Could it be that they offered refuge to different sectors of society? It would be tempting to say that the temple structure of Ħaġar Qim which rises on top of a ridge with breathtaking seaviews of the south-western coast of Malta used to welcome within its grounds a congregation of people who were somehow superior to those who gathered further down the slope … but this is purely speculation. The Tarxien complex, considered to be the most elaborately decorated temples as evidenced by the spiral carved stone blocks which mainly adorned the Tarxien South entrance, seem to have been supplemented by the largest number of artefacts. Moreover, the

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artefacts excavated from this site include a representation from almost all the categories, comprising the better decorated ones. This is clearly seen from the decorated skirts on the few statues or statuettes and even the various, but mainly pitted decorations adorning the phallic representations. What do such disparities imply? Were the temples serving different functions and accommodating different sectors of the society or could it be different craftsmen’s creative licence? This overview prompts further analytical research. An area for further investigation could be the analyses of the remaining artefacts found in association with the figurative representations, including implements and pottery. One could also take this further and compare the repertoire of artefacts between above ground temple sites and the burial hypogea, although one would be expecting to see differences here due to the dissimilar nature of the sites. The aspects discussed inexorably lead one back to museum interpretation, since the manner in which an artefact is displayed subjects it to how it is perceived. Apart from conservation issues, displaying an artefact in a showcase with other artefacts or solely, is already an indication of the importance given to it by the curatorial team, which could at times be subjective. Dilemmas often occur and since one is dealing with original artefacts decisions have to be made with regard to artefact placement within the display area. Thankfully nowadays, technological aids, though not fully exploited, can assist in giving additional possibilities in interpretation, especially when it comes to placing artefacts in their original archaeological context.

BIBLIOGRAPHY BONANNO, A. 1993 “Maltese megalithic art. Fertility cult or sexual representation?,” in Collected Papers Published on the Occasion of the Collegium Melitense Quatercentury Celebrations (1592–1992), pp. 75‒91. Malta: University of Malta. EVANS, J. D. 1971 The Prehistoric Antiquities of the Maltese Islands. London: University of London. PACE, A. 2006 The Tarxien Temples, Tarxien (Insight Heritage Guides). Malta: Midsea Books Ltd. SULTANA, S. 2006 The National Museum of Archaeology, The Neolithic Period (Insight Heritage Guides). Malta: Midsea Books Ltd. TRUMP, D. 2002 Malta Prehistory and Temples. Malta: Midsea Books Ltd. ZAMMIT, T. and SINGER, C. 1924 Neolithic Representations of the Human Form from the Maltese Islands of Malta and Gozo. London: Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland.

Sharon SULTANA National Museum of Archaeology, Malta [email protected]

TAKING MALTESE PREHISTORY OUT OF THE BOX: TOWARDS A DEFINITION OF THE BORĠ IN-NADUR ARCHAEOLOGICAL FACIES Davide TANASI

INTRODUCTION I discovered Maltese prehistory in 2006, when I met Prof. Anthony Bonanno during his visit to Catania for the Interreg IIIA Programme Italy‒Malta 2004‒2006, a project funded by the European Community and involving the Universities of Catania, Palermo and Malta, of which he was one of the principal researchers. At the time, I was a PhD student at the University of Torino doing a research project on Sicilian prehistory and the only thing I knew about Maltese archaeology was that some Sicilian Middle Bronze Age tombs contained strange red vessels traditionally identified as Maltese imports, about which my colleagues and mentors then could tell me very little. During a day together, while I took him on a tour of the city, I took the chance to question him about Maltese prehistory and his insights about the connections between our islands. He overwhelmed me with his knowledge and passion and, after he learned about my commitment to Bronze Age prehistory, he encouraged me to leave my books behind, to come over to Malta and take up the challenge of studying Borġ in-Nadur pottery, those red vessels I knew from the drawings in the publications of Paolo Orsi. Two months later, I was in the storeroom of the National Museum of Archaeology in Valletta taking Borġ in-Nadur ceramic sherds from the excavations at the temple of Borġ in-Nadur out of their boxes. After that first experience, I never stopped studying Maltese prehistory and it has become my primary research interest. In this contribution,1 an overall reconsideration and redefinition of the Borġ in-Nadur period in the Maltese archipelago will be attempted through the detailed analysis of the characterising data, from settlement patterns to Mediterranean connections, from material production to funerary customs, drawing from a decade of studies on the subject.2

SETTLEMENTS Any considerations about settlement patterns and spatial organisation of the settlements during Borġ in-Nadur are potentially compromised by the paucity of certain data.3 Of the 1

 In the text the term ‘facies’ is preferred to ‘culture’ and intended equal to ‘period’, while ‘phase’ is used just for naming the different chronological moments of pottery production: Cocchi Genick 2005. 2  Tanasi 2008; 2009a; 2009b; 2010; 2013; 2014a; 2014b; Tanasi and Vella 2011; 2014; 2015. 3  In this survey, I have preferred to leave aside the puzzling cart-ruts, the chronology and function of which are still the subject of an academic dispute (Sagona 2004 contra Bugeja 2011a), and the bottle-shaped pits

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sites traditionally attributed to the ‘Bronze Age’,4 few of them certainly belong to Borġ in-Nadur facies. It seems more helpful here to summarise the main features of the facies, focusing on the evidence of the most prominent sites that provide a fairly complete picture: Borġ in-Nadur, Tas-Silġ and Għar Mirdum in Malta and In-Nuffara in Gozo (Fig. 1: 1). The eponymous site of Borġ in-Nadur, located by the Marsaxlokk bay in southern Malta, is a unique example of a fortified settlement known so far in the archipelago. During extensive excavations carried out in 1881, a massive system of fortifications comprising at least two phases was discovered: a long wall incorporating three towers, probably dating to a transitional moment between the Tarxien Cemetery and Borġ in-Nadur periods, and a subsequent wall, characterised by an imposing D-shaped bastion, built and used in the course of the Borġ in-Nadur period.5 At that time, three oval huts were also discovered together with scanty remains of other similar structures. In 1959, D. H. Trump opened a series of trenches near the structures found previously, and south west of them located two further huts, labelled Huts 1 and 2 (Fig. 1: 2).6 The site also comprises the area of a nearby megalithic temple, reused during the Tarxien Cemetery and Borġ in-Nadur periods, explored in the 1920s (Fig. 1: 3).7 The reappraisal of the evidence from the temple8 pointed to a localised reuse of the still standing structures of the complex with limited construction of new buildings.9 Quite similar is the evidence coming from the Tas-Silġ north sanctuary, where another megalithic temple was reoccupied during the Borġ in-Nadur period taking advantage of the good condition of the megalithic structures (Fig. 1: 4).10 The importance of the site in this period is also emphasised by the discovery of significant levels related to Borġ in-Nadur facies in the southern sector of the sanctuary, even in a distant area from the megalithic structures.11 A unique case is represented by the cave of Għar Mirdum, explored in the 1960s and recognised as an evocative place for ritual and funerary practices (Fig. 1: 5).12 A recent reappraisal of the evidence from the cave demonstrated the presence of two distinct, but complementary areas: chamber P, where two burials were discovered, was used as a cemetery, and chamber M/N, which was a liminal space before the funerary space, where ritual activities aimed at food preparation and pottery manufacture were carried out together with practices of offering valuable and exotic items.13

(Sagona 1999 contra Evans 1971, pp. 200‒201), certainly used during Borġ in-Nadur period, but also employed with different aims in later Punic times.  4  Evans 1971.  5  Terranova 2014.  6  Vella et al. 2011, pp. 54‒60; Vella 2015.  7  Bugeja 2011b, pp. 35‒36.  8  Tanasi and Vella 2011.  9  Tanasi 2011a, pp. 150‒152. 10  Cazzella and Recchia 2012, pp. 32‒34. 11  Bonanno et al. 2000, pp. 85‒87. 12  Skeates 2010, p. 209. 13  Tanasi 2014a.

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Fig. 1. 1. Map of the Maltese archipelago with indication of the main Borġ in-Nadur sites (after Tanasi 2013); 2. The settlement at Borġ in-Nadur resulting from the overlay of Mayr and Trump plans (after Tanasi 2015a); 3. Plan of the temple area indicating the areas of major concentration of Borġ in-Nadur pottery (after Tanasi 2011a); 4. Tas-Silġ, north-east area of the site: general plan of the sanctuary related to the Borġ in-Nadur period (after Cazzella and Recchia 2012); 5. Għar Mirdum: Mosaic of the detailed plans of chambers G, M/N, O, P (after Tanasi 2104a, not to scale); 6. In-Nuffara silo pit (after Tanasi 2013).

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Another hint about the organisation of the Borġ in-Nadur settlement is the In-Nuffara pit, the only case of known occupation of Gozo relevant in this period (Fig. 1: 6). In 1962, D. H. Trump explored a silo pit that was at a certain point used as a dumping site, on the In-Nuffara plateau. It had two entrances with internal walls covered by clay renders, partly filled with a large amount of Borġ in-Nadur pottery and debris.14

MEDITERRANEAN INTERACTIONS In the course of the Borġ in-Nadur period, the communities of the Maltese archipelago certainly interacted with other Mediterranean groups. In particular, the pottery evidence points to Sicily and the Aegean. Borġ in-Nadur type pottery has been found in good quantities on several Middle Bronze Age sites (Thapsos facies) of south-eastern and central Sicily, in both domestic and funerary contexts.15 This presence in Sicily turned out to be crucial for the chronological definition of the facies and for supplementing the pottery repertoire and the interpretation of the cultural intermingling between the native groups of Malta and Sicily, associated by geographic proximity. This novelty has changed the terms of the problem suggesting that both men and goods circulated between the two insular contexts, a phenomenon having relevant cultural implications. In this light, the rich assemblage of Borġ in-Nadur type pottery found in certain Sicilian tombs, as in tomb 23 of Cozzo del Pantano and 6 of Matrensa, has been interpreted as the goods used in life and death by Maltese immigrants living among the Sicilian natives and linked with them by bonds of mixed marriages (Fig. 2: 1–2).16 The Maltese presence in Sicily, traditionally considered as the outcome of tightening commercial relations between the two islands, and supported by the discovery of Thapsos type pottery in a few Maltese sites (Fig. 2: 3),17 has been recently reconsidered after some archaeometric analyses pointed out the occurrence of both imports and local imitations.18 Strictly related with this Malta-Sicily connection is the presence and circulation of Mycenaean type pottery and exotic items of Mycenaean type in some Maltese contexts of the Borġ in-Nadur facies. The evidence is limited to the fragment of an LH IIIB kylix from Borġ in-Nadur temple (Fig. 2: 4a), now confirmed as a local production with an exact comparison in the Aegean (Fig. 2: 4b),19 a body sherd of a closed shape dated to LH IIIB from Tas-Silġ south (Fig. 2: 5)20 and a faience bead from chamber M/N of Għar Mirdum (Fig. 2: 6).21 Without proper archaeometric analysis, however, the origins and the provenances of the other two objects cannot be precisely established and every interpretative hypothesis still remains questionable. 14

 Tanasi 2013.  Tanasi 2008; 2010. 16  Tanasi 2011b, pp. 302‒308; 2015b. 17  Tanasi 2008, pp. 55‒56; 2010, p. 109. 18  Barone et al. 2014; Raneri 2015; Tanasi 2014b. 19  Tanasi 2011, pp. 139‒142; Pirone and Tykot 2017, p. 218. 20  Sagona 2011, p. 410. 21  Tanasi 2014a. 15

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Fig. 2. 1. Cozzo del Pantano, tomb 23: pedestal cup inv. no. 11242, simple cup inv. no. 11246 and juglet inv. no. 11264 (after Tanasi 2011b); 2. Matrensa, tomb 6: pedestal cup inv. no. 18704, simple cup inv. no. 18708 and juglet inv. no. 18710 (after Tanasi 2015b); 3. Thapsos pottery from Malta: a. Cup B/P 102 from Baħrija; b. Coppa B/P 101 from Baħrija; c. Coppa B/P 101d from Baħrija (after Tanasi 2010b); 4. LH III B Mycenaean kylix BN/P7 from Borġ in-Nadur temple and related parallel from Phylakopi, Melos (after Tanasi 2011); 5. LH IIIB Mycenaean body sherd inv. no. 2169/30 from Tas-Silġ south (after Sagona 2008); 6. Faience bead (MRD/GL/62) from chamber M/N of Għar Mirdum (after Tanasi 2014b); 7. Early Borġ in-Nadur pottery from Tas-Silġ north: a. pedestalled helmet bowl; b. curvilinear bowl (after Copat et al. 2012); 8. Classic Borġ in-Nadur pottery from Tas-Silġ north: a. decorated tronco-conical bowl; b. axe handle; c.‒d. decorated hemispherical bowls (after Copat et al. 2012); 9. Late Borġ in-Nadur pottery from Tas-Silġ north: a. hemispherical bowl; b. little globular jar; c. tray with tronco-conical walls; d. decorated ovoid jar with an indistinct neck (after Copat et al. 2012); 10. Borġ in-Nadur temple: a. Bronze rod; b.‒c. Tubular bronze elements with golden inlay (after Tanasi 2008, not to scale); 11. Portion of metal vessel from Borġ in-Nadur temple (after Tanasi 2010, not to scale); 12. Thick lead foil from Borġ in-Nadur temple (after Tanasi 2008, not to scale); 13. Stone mould from Borġ in-Nadur temple (after Tanasi 2008, not to scale).

D. TANASI

194 MATERIAL

PRODUCTION

As always in archaeology, pottery is the most important and specific indicator of the Borġ in-Nadur facies. Although our knowledge is mainly based on evidence coming more from Maltese than Gozitan sites, pottery production seems to have developed throughout the archipelago, as far as we know, with the same characteristics. The recent fabric characterisation and definition of technical standards of Borġ in-Nadur pottery22 and the definition on the basis of the stratigraphy of Tas-Silġ north23 and the Borġ in-Nadur settlement,24 of three chronological phases in the course of pottery production – Early, Classic and Late – represents the most significant advance in this field of study of the past 50 years. In this new light, all previous attempts at classification, and subsequent chronological reconstructions, have to be updated.25 Although the known pottery repertoire has been substantially supplemented by the studies of Borġ in-Nadur temple and settlement, at the same time it has been recognised that shapes and typologies cannot be used as discriminating criteria for a further characterisation of the three phases, due to a certain conservatism in the production of the Borġ in-Nadur facies. Also, the surface treatment and decoration turned out to be more specific. On the basis of these two parameters, studied at Borġ in-Nadur and Tas-Silġ,26 at the present state of the research the three phases can be illustrated as follows (Fig. 2: 7–9, Table 1). The evidence of metalworking and the circulation of bronze items in this period is very poor and limited to a few significant cases. The absence of metal sources in the archipelago27 implies that the development of a local production as well as the introduction of bronze items must be related to the above mentioned system of commercial exchanges of which Malta was part. The only two sites providing information about this craftsmanship are the temple and settlement of Borġ in-Nadur and Għar Mirdum. Several bronze objects have been found at the Borġ in-Nadur temple: a small bronze rod (Fig. 2: 10a), two hollow gold plated tubular rings (Fig. 2: 10b–c), a portion of a metal vessel (Fig. 2: 11),28 a thick lead foil (Fig. 2: 12),29 and a shapeless lump of metal. But the most significant find remains the small limestone mould for the production of an ornament (Fig. 2: 13) found in chamber B of the Double Chapel, an area of the temple characterised by numerous Bronze Age finds.30 A massive bronze rivet, probably related to a metal vessel, was even found in layer 2B of trench B, opened by D. H. Trump at the settlement.31 Also remarkable are the items found at Għar Mirdum.32 The exploration of chamber M/N brought the discovery of a few very prominent metal artifacts: a bronze dagger blade  Barone et al. 2014.  Copat et al. 2012, pp. 54‒60. 24  Tanasi 2015a. 25  Trump 1961; Sagona 2011, pp. 399‒414; Tanasi 2011a, pp. 89‒90. 26  Copat et al. 2012, pp. 54‒60; Tanasi 2015a. 27  Evans 1971, pp. 224‒228. 28  Murray 1923, p. 43; Murray 1929, p. 17, pl. XVIII: 7; Tanasi 2009a, p. 16. 29  Evans 1971, p. 226. 30  Murray 1929, pls VIII: 3, XIX: 1. 31  Tanasi 2009a, p. 17. 32  Tanasi 2014a. 22 23

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(Fig. 3: 1), to which was related a bone hilt;33 two bronze rivets (Fig. 3: 2), dimensionally not compatible with the hilt and the dagger, interpreted as belonging to a metal vessel,34 and a massive rough bronze ingot (Fig. 3: 3). Furthermore, in the first report of the exploration of the cave a bronze pin was also reported.35 The ingot from Għar Mirdum and the limestone mould from Borġ in-Nadur temple testify to the existence of limited local metalworking fuelled by the arrival of foreign raw materials, probably acquired in Sicily where Mycenaean entrepreneurs introduced them together with other exotic goods.36 The occurrence of lithic objects is unfortunately not relevant for justifying an apparent underdevelopment of the metal production. The known items certainly referable to the Borġ in-Nadur period are very few. From Hut 2 of the Borġ in-Nadur settlement come three basalt objects, a hammer stone (Fig. 3: 4), a polisher (Fig. 3: 5) and a broken quern (Fig. 3: 6), probably all employed for some domestic production activity.37 In chamber M/N of Għar Mirdum,38 three lithic objects were also found, a globigerina hammer stone (Fig. 3: 7), a globigerina grinding stone (Fig. 3: 8) and a massive basalt quern. The presence of similar objects produced with different materials, local and foreign, can be the result of a different supply strategy at the two sites. Bone working is also represented by very few examples. At the Borġ in-Nadur temple a fragment of a bone awl (Fig. 3: 9), decorated with a points pattern was collected,39 while, on the floor level of Hut 2 of the settlement, a tiny bone object (Fig. 3: 10) interpretable as part of a toy was discovered.40 The most remarkable find is however the bone decorated hilt (Fig. 3: 11), matching with the bronze dagger, found in chamber M/N of Għar Mirdum.41 This object shares the same decorative patterns as a bone necklace spacer decorated with incised small concentric circles (Fig. 3: 12), found in room M of the complex of Tas-Silġ north.42 This peculiar decorative motif has good comparisons in a limited group of objects from Early Bronze Age Sicily.43 With regards to coroplastic material, the amount of clay objects related to textile production is rather abundant. Besides loom weights (Fig. 3: 13a) and spindle whorls (Fig. 3: 13b), well attested at the Borġ in-Nadur temple44 and settlement,45 the most particular examples of terracotta objects traditionally linked to the Borġ in-Nadur facies are the miniature clay anchors (Fig. 3: 13c) traditionally connected with the reeling of thread46 and occurring in Malta from the Early Bronze Age.47 33

 Magro Conti 1999, p. 202.  Tanasi 2009a, p. 17. 35  Mallia 1964. 36  Tanasi 2009a, p. 25. 37  Bracchitta 2014. 38  Tanasi 2015a. 39  Veca 2011, p. 210. 40  Tanasi 2015a. 41  Magro Conti 1999, p. 202; Tanasi 2014a. 42  Cazzella and Recchia 2012, p. 34. 43  Orsi 1893a, 312, pl. III; 1923, 22, pl. II: 6; Tanasi 2014a. 44  Veca 2011, p. 206. 45  Tanasi 2015a. 46  Trump 1960, p. 295. 47  Malone et al. 2009, pp. 215, 217, 280, fig. 10: 19; Cazzella and Recchia 2015. 34

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Fig. 3. 1. Bronze blade (MRD/M/4) from chamber M/N of Għar Mirdum (after Tanasi 2014a); 2. Bronze rivets (MRD/M/2-3) from chamber M/N of Għar Mirdum (after Tanasi 2014a); 3. Bronze ingot from chamber M/N of Ghar Mirdum (after Tanasi 2014a); 4. Basalt hammer stone BN37484 from Hut 2 of Borġ in Nadur settlement (after Bracchitta 2015); 5. Basalt polisher BN37495 from Hut 2 of Borġ in Nadur settlement (after Bracchitta 2015); 6. Basalt broken quern BN37485 from Hut 2 of Borġ in Nadur settlement (Bracchitta 2015); 7. Globigerina hammer stone MRD64/ST/716 from chamber P (after Tanasi 2014a); 8. Globigerina grinding stone MRD64/ST/282 from chamber P (after Tanasi 2014a); 9. Decorated bone tool from Borġ in-Nadur temple (after Veca 2011); 10. Bone item inv. no. 37435 from Hut 2 of Borġ in-Nadur settlement (after Tanasi 2015b); 11. Bone hilt MRD64/ORG/1 from Għar Mirdum (after Tanasi 2014a); 12. Bone necklace spacer decorated with incised small concentric circles (after Cazzella and Recchia 2012); 13. Borġ in-Nadur temple: a. Loom weight; b. Spindle whorls from; c. Clay anchors (after Veca 2011, not to scale); 14. Clay model BN/ P75 from Borġ in-Nadur temple (after Tanasi 2010); 15. Clay figurine inv. 37501 from the ‘rubbish heap’ at Borġ in-Nadur (after Tanasi 2015a); 16. Għar Mirdum: skeleton from the child burial (after Trump 2004); 17. Cozzo del Pantano of tomb 23 (after Orsi 1893).

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A unique object is represented by the clay model of a hut (Fig. 3: 14), recovered from the Open Area of Borġ in-Nadur temple48 and interpreted as a formal imitation of a Cretan Geometric cylindrical model, but showing the typical red slipped treatment of Borġ in-Nadur pottery.49 Another puzzling novelty is the small head of a clay figurine portraying a man or an animal (Fig. 3: 15), found among the pieces produced by the removal of the ‘rubbish heap’ at Borġ in-Nadur, probably a deposit of debris and materials resulting from the excavations of the megalithic wall in 1881.50

FUNERARY

RELIGION

The funerary dimension of the Borġ in-Nadur facies is probably the hardest to reveal because of the paucity of archaeological data. Before attempting any definition of tomb typologies and funerary rituals, the main problem to consider is to determine whether the burial practice used by the natives in this period was incineration or inhumation. The traditional idea that Borġ in-Nadur facies in the archipelago resulted from the arrival of immigrants introducing new habits51 could suggest a cultural break in respect to the previous Tarxien Cemetery period, characterised by a widespread use of the cremation rite,52 and the consequent introduction of inhumation as an alternative practice. To this argumentum ex silentio can be related the evidence of the Tal-Mejtin pits53 and the Marsa Rock tomb,54 doubtfully related to the Borġ in-Nadur facies, where skeletal remains were found inhumed in bottle-shaped pits or rock cut chambers. Another indirect clue about the use of inhumation comes from some chamber tombs of Middle Bronze Age Sicily. The Sicilian tombs 13 and 23 of Cozzo del Pantano and 6 of Matrensa,55 all dated to the Thapsos period, yielded a large amount of Borġ in-Nadur pottery. The reappraisal of those contexts has led to the hypothesis that Maltese immigrants could have been buried in the tombs together with Sicilian natives as a result of an ethnic integration facilitated by mixed marriages.56 Besides these indecisive data, the most remarkable evidence comes from the recently re-examined Għar Mirdum cave.57 The core part of the cave complex is represented by the chambers M/N and P, the latter being the lowest area of the cave and accessible from the bottom of M/N through the cavity O. In chamber P, the skeletons of an adult and a child have been found together with Borġ in-Nadur pottery and items, possibly representing 48

 Veca 2011, pp. 206‒207.  Tanasi 2009b, pp. 521‒523. 50  Tanasi 2015a. 51  Evans 1971, p. 225. 52  Evans 1971, p. 224. 53  Evans 1971, p. 24. 54  Evans 1971, p. 80. 55  Orsi 1893b; 1903. 56  Tanasi 2011b; 2015b. 57  Tanasi 2014a. 49

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the grave goods related to the burials (Fig. 3: 16). In chamber M/N, the archaeological traces have been interpreted as clear evidence of food preparation and pottery manufacturing, two practices having similar productive patterns, carried out employing vessels of the Borġ in-Nadur facies.58 The evidence of Għar Mirdum does not just inform us about the use of inhumation and food preparation/consumption and pottery manufacturing/offering as part of the funerary rituals. In fact, the presence of the above mentioned exotic objects in chamber M/N points to an alternative rite aimed at honouring the dead. Using the Sicilian cases to supplement the Maltese framework, it is helpful to recall the recursive set of Borġ in-Nadur tableware, including a two-handled bowl, an open-mouthed jug and a pedestalled basin, which occurs in tomb 23 of Cozzo del Pantano (Fig. 2: 1; 3: 17)59 and tomb 6 of Matrensa,60 that was also found in the Borġ in-Nadur context of the Double Chapel at the temple.61 This analogy could suggest the existence in the Borġ in-Nadur facies of a ‘ritual meal’, to be carried out always with the same set of vessels, having both religious and funerary value, as its occurrence in domestic and funerary contexts testifies.

CHRONOLOGY To define the chronological terms of Borġ in-Nadur archaeological facies is probably the hardest part of research focusing on Maltese late prehistory. The absence of C14 dates and ignorance about the internal structure of the subsequent Baħrija facies make this task even harder. The only chance of dating comes from cross-dating with Sicily where Borġ in-Nadur pottery was found in several contexts that also lack C14 dates. However, the definition of three new pottery phases, Early, Classic and Late, in the course of the Borġ in-Nadur facies, recognised on a stratigraphic basis at Borġ in-Nadur settlement and Tas-Silġ north,62 and the reconsideration in this light of the Borġ in-Nadur pottery found in Sicily allow us to present some reflections.63 The absence of Borġ in-Nadur type pottery in Sicily in the Early Bronze Age (Castelluccio), which conventionally ended half way through the fifteenth century BC, can be treated as an indicator that the Borġ in-Nadur phase developed from that time on, and though it is certainly an argumentum ex silentio, it is also currently the only available reference point. The majority of the Borġ in-Nadur type pottery found in Sicily64 can be clearly interpreted as related to the Classic Borġ in-Nadur phase. The only examples referable to Late Borġ in-Nadur are a few decontextualised pieces from the settlement of Thapsos.65 But

58

 Tanasi 2014a.  Tanasi 2011b, p. 292, tab.10: 2. 60  Tanasi 2008, pp. 40‒47, 48‒49. 61  Murray 1929, pl. 25; Tanasi 2008b, p. 77, fig. 59c. 62  Copat et al. 2012, pp. 54‒60. 63  Tanasi 2015a. 64  Tanasi 2008; 2010; 2015b. 65  Cazzella and Recchia 2008, p. 385. 59

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since their provenance and stratigraphic connection with structural remains have never been explained, they cannot be taken into account. The absence of Borġ in-Nadur type pottery in Sicily in the course of the Late Bronze Age (North Pantalica culture), as conventionally understood by the scientific community, certainly does not mean that Borġ in-Nadur culture was over, but that the tightening link between Malta and Sicily was interrupted (Table 2)66, probably due to a collapse of the system of Mediterranean interconnections that occurred after the fall of the Mycenaean palaces. The appearance of vessels of Baħrija type in the levels of the Final Bronze Age (Cassibile culture) at Thapsos settlement,67 once the Maltese-Sicilian relationship was resumed, and the discovery of Cassibile culture type artifacts in the Baħrija layers of Tas-Silġ north,68 can be considered as the evidence for a contemporaneity between the two phases. In the light of these considerations, at this point of the discussion the beginning of the Borġ in-Nadur phase could be provisionally assigned to the late fifteenth century BC. The development of the Classic Borġ in-Nadur phase seems to be linked with the phase of Thapsos III, corresponding with LH IIIB1. As to the development of the Late Borġ in-Nadur phase, it seems to be linked with the transitional period between Sicilian Middle and Late Bronze Age (Thapsos III to North Pantalica culture), that is the second half of the 13th century BC. The presence in the Late Borġ in-Nadur context of Hut 2 of painted ware referable to the Baħrija facies might suggest that the transition between the Late Borġ in-Nadur and the subsequent Baħrija facies could have taken place well before the early eleventh century BC. Assuming that the Baħrija phase developed from the early eleventh century BC and that the Late Borġ in-Nadur was about to terminate around the middle of the thirteenth century BC, it can be suggested that there was a further ‘transitional phase’ in between, that lasted until the full development of Baħrija. This transitional phase is perhaps not documented in Sicily due to the decline in the Maltese-Sicilian interconnections – a hypothesis that can be supported by the results of the above mentioned researches on Baħrija materials. From this perspective, the label Middle/Late Bronze Age to describe the Borġ in-Nadur period is much more preferable and appropriate. The availability of this new chronological system of reference requires a substantial revision of those contexts already reappraised in the last few years, an exercise that has been already started.69

FINAL

REMARKS

In less than a decade, there has been a significant advance in research on the Borġ in-Nadur facies, thanks to the systematic reappraisal of old contexts and the publication of new excavations. Archaeometric analyses have provided new data about pottery manufacture

66

 Tanasi 2008, pp. 81‒86.  Vella et al. 2011, p. 274. 68  Cazzella and Recchia 2012, p. 34. 69  Tanasi 2015a. 67

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and technology and the revision of the stratigraphy of some key sites has contributed to the reassessment of the pottery sequences. However, there is still a lot to be done, not just in terms of research, but on the perception of the Bronze Age by the Maltese public, traditionally lured by the imposing majesty of the megalithic temples and enticed by the remains of the Punic and Roman eras that put the archipelago in the framework of a shared Mediterranean history. Prospective radiocarbon dating on specimens from the most recent excavation at Tas-Silġ North or on samples from other Bronze Age stratified contexts would also shed light on the absolute chronology of the internal phases of the Borġ in-Nadur facies. The recent proliferation of publications, often resulting from international projects involving Maltese and foreign scholars, and the opening in the summer of 2011 of the Bronze Age Hall at the National Museum of Archaeology, Valletta, have significantly contributed to the growth of interest in the Bronze Age in general, and the Borġ in-Nadur facies in particular, which the present contribution aims tentatively to define. The model of the Italo-Maltese archaeological cooperation launched in 2006 with the Interreg IIIA Programme Italy‒Malta 2004‒2006, under the guidance of Prof. Anthony Bonanno, turned out to be successful and it has kept producing scientific results, long after the end of the programme. In these years of my studio matto e disperatissimo (sic) of the Borġ in-Nadur facies, I have often looked back to that sunny afternoon in Catania when Prof. Bonanno opened my eyes to Maltese prehistory, and even though I did not have the privilege of being one of his students, I feel as if I have been.

BIBLIOGRAPHY BARONE, G., MAZZOLENI, P., RANERI, S., TANASI, D. and GIUFFRIDA, A. 2014 “Archaeometric characterization of Middle Bronze Age pottery from the settlement at Borġ in-Nadur,” in The Late Prehistory of Malta: Essays on Borġ in-Nadur and Other Sites, edited by D. Tanasi and N. C. Vella, pp. 99‒111. Oxford: Archaeopress. BONANNO, A., FRENDO, A. J. with VELLA, N. C. (eds) 2000 “Excavations at Tas-Silġ, Malta. A preliminary report on the 1996‒1998 campaigns conducted by the Department of Classics and Archaeology of the University of Malta,” Mediterranean Archaeology 12: 67‒114. BRACCHITTA, D. 2014 “Stone artefacts from the settlement at Borġ in-Nadur,” in The Late Prehistory of Malta: Essays on Borġ in-Nadur and Other Sites, edited by D. Tanasi and N. C. Vella, pp. 115‒120. Oxford: Archaeopress. BUGEJA, A. 2011a “Methods of date assignment for cart-ruts in the Maltese Islands: Discussing relationships with Bronze Age fortified settlements on promontories,” Oracle 2: 23‒35. 2011b “Understanding the past: Borġ in-Nadur in antiquarian and early archaeological literature,” in Site, Artefacts, Landscape: Prehistoric Borġ in-Nadur, Malta, edited by D. Tanasi and N. C. Vella, pp. 15‒44. Monza: Polimetrica. CAZZELLA, A. and RECCHIA, G. 2008 “Maltese late prehistoric ceramic sequence and chronology: On-going problems,” in Beyond the Homeland: Markers in Phoenician Chronology (Ancient Near Eastern Studies Supplement 28), edited by C. Sagona, pp. 373‒395. Leuven: Peeters.

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“Tas-Silg: The Late Neolithic megalithic sanctuary and its re-use during the Bronze Age and the Early Iron Age,” Scienze dell’Antichità 18: 15‒38. 2015 “The Early Bronze Age in the Maltese Islands,” in The Late Prehistory of Malta: Essays on Borġ in-Nadur and Other Sites, edited by D. Tanasi and N. C. Vella, pp. 139‒159. Oxford: Archaeopress. COPAT, V., DANESI, M. and RUGGINI, C. 2012 “Late Neolithic and Bronze Age pottery from Tas Silg sanctuary: New research perspectives for the Maltese prehistoric sequence,” Scienze dell’Antichità 18: 39‒ 63. EVANS, J. D. 1971 The Prehistoric Antiquities of the Maltese Islands: A Survey. London: Athlone Press. MAGRO CONTI, J. 1999 “Aggression and defence in prehistoric Malta,” in Facets of Maltese Prehistory, edited by A. Mifsud and C. Savona Ventura, pp. 191‒208. Malta: Prehistoric Society of Malta. MALLIA, F. S. 1964 “Dingli,” Report on the Working of the Museum Department: 1‒2. MALONE, C., BONANNO, A., TRUMP, D., DIXON, J., LEIGHTON, R., PEDLEY, M. and STODDART, S. 2009 “Material culture,” in Mortuary Customs in Prehistoric Malta: Excavations at the Brochtorff Circle at Xagħra (1987‒94), edited by C. Malone, S. Stoddart, A. Bonanno, D. Trump, T. Gouder and A. Pace, pp. 193‒289. Cambridge: McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. MURRAY, M. A. 1923 Excavations in Malta: Part I. London: Bernard Quaritch. 1925 Excavations in Malta: Part II. London: Bernard Quaritch. 1929 Excavations in Malta: Part III. London: Bernard Quaritch. ORSI, P. 1893a “Di due sepolcreti siculi nel territorio di Siracusa,” Archivio Storico Siciliano 18: 308‒325. 1893b “Necropoli sicula presso Siracusa,” Monumenti Antichi dei Lincei 4: 4‒86. 1903 “Necropoli e stazioni sicule di transizione IV. Necropoli di Milocca-Matrensa (Siracusa),” Bullettino di Paletnologia Italiana 29: 136‒149. 1923 “Villaggio, officine e necropoli sicule del primo periodo a Monte Sallia, presso Canicarao (Comiso),” Bullettino di Paletnologia Italiana 43: 3‒26. PIRONE, F. and TYKOT, R. H. 2017 “Trace Elemental Characterization of Maltese Pottery from the Late Neolithic to the Middle Bronze Age,” in Topical Issue on Portable XRF in Archaeology and Museum Studies, edited by D. Tanasi, R. H. Tykot and A. Vianello, Open Archaeology 3: 202– 221. RANERI, S., BARONE, G., MAZZOLENI, P., TANASI, D. and COSTA, A. 2015 “Mobility of men versus mobility of goods: Archaeometric characterization of Middle Bronze Age pottery in Malta and Sicily (15th‒13th century BC),” Periodico di Mineralogia 84(1): 23‒44. SAGONA, C. 1999 “Silo or vat? Observations on the ancient textile industry in Malta and early Phoenician interests in the island,” Oxford Journal of Archaeology 18: 23‒60. 2004 “Land use in prehistoric Malta. A re-examination of the Maltese ‘cart ruts’,” Oxford Journal of Archaeology 23(1): 45‒60. 2008 “Malta: Between a rock and a hard place,” in Beyond the Homeland: Markers in Phoenician Chronology (Ancient Near Eastern Studies Supplement 28), edited by C. Sagona, pp. 487‒536. Leuven: Peeters. 2011 “Observations on the Late Bronze Age and Phoenician-Punic pottery in Malta,” in Ceramics of the Phoenician-Punic World: Collected Essays (Ancient Near Eastern Studies Supplement 36), edited by C. Sagona, pp. 397‒432. Leuven: Peeters.

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SKEATES, R. 2010 An Archaeology of the Senses: Prehistoric Malta. Oxford: Oxford University Press. TERRANOVA, G. 2014 “A defensive wall with towers at Borġ in-Nadur,” in The Late Prehistory of Malta: Essays on Borġ in-Nadur and Other Sites, edited by D. Tanasi and N. C. Vella, pp. 25‒34. Oxford: Archaeopress. TANASI, D. 2008 La Sicilia e l’arcipelago maltese nell’età del Bronzo Medio. Palermo: Officina Studi Medievali. 2009a “Vasellame metallico in Sicilia e nell’Arcipelago maltese nella seconda metà del II millennio a.C. Forme egee per pratiche religiose indigene,” Orizzonti 10: 11‒27. 2009b “A Mediterranean connection. Nuovi dati sulle relazioni tra Malta e Creta agli inizi dell’età del Ferro,” Creta Antica 10(2): 519‒538. 2010 “Bridging the gap. New data on the relationship between Sicily, the Maltese Archipelago and the Aegean in the Middle Bronze Age,” Mare Internum 2: 103‒111. 2011a “The prehistoric pottery,” in Site, Artefacts, Landscape: Prehistoric Borġ in-Nadur, Malta, edited by D. Tanasi and N. C. Vella, pp. 71‒158. Monza: Polimetrica. 2011b “Living and dying in a foreign country. Maltese immigrants in Middle Bronze Age Sicily?,” in Site, Artefacts, Landscape: Prehistoric Borġ in-Nadur, Malta, edited by D. Tanasi and N. C. Vella, pp. 283‒337. Monza: Polimetrica. 2013 “‘Prehistoric painted pottery in Malta’: One century later,” Malta Archaeological Review 8 (2008‒2009): 5‒13. 2014a “Lighting up the dark. The role of Għar Mirdum in Maltese prehistory,” in From Cave to Dolmen: Ritual and Symbolic Aspects in the Prehistory between Sciacca, Sicily and the Central Mediterranean, edited by D. Gullì, pp. 287‒308. Oxford: Archaeopress. 2014b “Uniti e divisi dal mare. Mobilità di uomini e merci tra la Sicilia e l’arcipelago maltese nel II millennio a.C.,” in Atti del X Convegno di Studi sulla Sicilia Antica ‘Viaggio in Sicilia: Racconti, segni e città ritrovate’, edited by M. Congiu, C. Miccichè and S. Modeo, pp. 99‒116. Caltanissetta: Sciascia. 2015a “The pottery from the excavation campaigns of David H. Trump (1959) at the settlement of Borġ in-Nadur,” in The Late Prehistory of Malta: Essays on Borġ in-Nadur and Other Sites, edited by D. Tanasi and N. C. Vella, pp. 35‒97. Oxford: Archaeopress. 2015b “Borġ in-Nadur pottery abroad: A report from the Sicilian necropoleis of Thapsos and Matrensa,” in The Late Prehistory of Malta: Essays on Borġ in-Nadur and Other Sites, edited by D. Tanasi and N. C. Vella, pp. 173‒184. Oxford: Archaeopress. TANASI, D. and VELLA, N. C. 2014 “Islands and mobility: Exploring Bronze Age connectivity in the south-central Mediterranean,” in The Cambridge Prehistory of the Bronze and Iron Age Mediterranean, edited by P. Van Dommelen and B. Knapp, pp. 57‒73. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. TANASI, D. and VELLA, N. C. (eds) 2011 Site, Artefacts, Landscape: Prehistoric Borġ in-Nadur, Malta. Monza: Polimetrica. 2015 The Late Prehistory of Malta: Essays on Borġ in-Nadur and Other Sites. Oxford: Archaeopress. TRUMP, D. H. 1960 “Pottery ‘anchors’,” Antiquity 34: 295. 1961 “The later prehistory of Malta,” Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 27: 253‒262. VECA, C. 2011 “The small finds,” in Site, Artefacts, Landscape: Prehistoric Borġ in-Nadur, Malta, edited by D. Tanasi and N. C. Vella, pp. 195‒222. Monza: Polimetrica. VELLA, N. C. 2015 “Archaeological excavations at the prehistoric settlement of Borġ in-Nadur: David H. Trump’s 1959 campaigns,” in The Late Prehistory of Malta: Essays on Borġ in-Nadur

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and Other Sites, edited by D. Tanasi and N. C. Vella, pp. 7‒23. Oxford: Archaeopress. VELLA, N. C., ZAMMIT, M. E. and BUGEJA, A. 2011 “Borġ in-Nadur: The excavations of Margaret A. Murray and David H. Trump,” in Site, Artefacts, Landscape: Prehistoric Borġ in-Nadur, Malta, edited by D. Tanasi and N. C. Vella, pp. 45‒68. Monza: Polimetrica. VELLA, N. C., TANASI, D., and ANASTASI, M. 2011 “Mobility and transitions: The south central Mediterranean on the eve of history,” in Site, Artefacts, Landscape: Prehistoric Borġ in-Nadur, Malta, edited by D. Tanasi and N. C. Vella, pp. 251‒282. Monza: Polimetrica.

Davide TANASI University of South Florida [email protected]

THE BEAT OF A DIFFERENT DRUM — SOUND DEVICES IN BRONZE AGE MALTA Claudia SAGONA

After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music. [Aldous Huxley, Music at Night and Other Essays]

INTRODUCTION This essay is dedicated to Professor Anthony Bonanno, a scholar who has gathered together the threads of Malta’s ancient past and woven them into narratives with inspirational clarity. My thanks for your gracious support over the years. In the absence of artistic depictions or actual ancient instruments, seldom do we get an opportunity to explore the sensory expression of sound among prehistoric people. Phenomenology is pushing the boundaries of research in considering the otherwise largely elusive sensory qualities of the ancient human experience.1 Drawing on ethnography, physiological human responses to sound, archaeological finds and their contexts, the place sound had in ancient societies can be teased from the surviving remains. Such enquiries have been undertaken for the prehistoric record in Malta, but more can be said, especially for the Middle Bronze Age of the islands. Naturally, we can never be certain of any theories concerning function and ritual practice in cultures that have long been extinct, but at the very least, ethnographic data and archaeological context can suggest possible interpretations. The Middle Bronze Age, commonly referred to as the Borġ in-Nadur period (c.1550 c.900 BC), was ushered into Malta with new pottery traditions and naturally well-defended villages, or other settlements, defined by large boundary walls that protected clusters of small ovoid houses. Of the burial practices of the period, we know almost nothing. Significant finds of Borġ in-Nadur, red slip, hand-made pottery in Sicily, as well as in the type site on the shores of St George’s Bay in Malta, have recently been the subject of review.2 One interesting feature, identified by Davide Tanasi, is a pottery ‘kit’: shapes that are repeatedly brought together in the Bronze Age and deposited—probably in acts of ritual— at certain locations. This pottery set comprises two bi-conical, hourglass forms in two sizes and a jug. It has been identified in undisturbed funerary contexts in Sicily, as well as at Borġ in-Nadur itself, where the vessels were nestled into the ruins of an earlier Neolithic

1 2

 Skeates 2010.  Tanasi and Vella 2011.

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megalithic structure (designated the ‘Double Chapel’ by the excavator).3 Notwithstanding other cultural possibilities, it is argued here that performance may have underpinned the function of the pottery kit, along with other rituals it may have served, such as literal or symbolic dining and imbibing of fluids. The biconical form in the Borġ in-Nadur repertoire (essentially made from one conical bowl fixed onto another, up-turned conical bowl) may have served as a drum or imitated a drum in both shape and decoration. Lynda Aiano has argued convincingly that such pottery forms (including closed and hollow shapes) from Neolithic Europe were used for their sound quality, as percussion devices that may have evolved from mundane domestic pottery shapes into specialised, purpose-made drum frames.4 She amply demonstrates that hollow, goblet-shaped ceramic shapes are well represented in prehistoric contexts.5 Underlying the possibility that this form served as a drum, or imitated one, are questions concerning the role of percussion instruments in ancient societies and the deeper cultural implications for the Borġ in-Nadur period, especially for its Sicilian manifestations. Chemical characterisation analyses of some Borġ in-Nadur samples found at Tas-Silġ indicate that the clay falls within a chronologically broad group of wares (including the Neolithic, Bronze Age and Punic periods) that bear the chemical fingerprint of likely local production.6 If bi-conical forms reflect drum use, then we can add another dimension to life on the island, as well as reasoning why such vessels were valued. They were perhaps purpose-made trade items, carried to Sicily in the hands of individuals for whom the drum and associated vessels were significant.

DRUM

USE IN ETHNOGRAPHIC CONTEXTS

The exploration of sound as part of ancient expression is a recurring theme in literature of the last few decades.7 To circumvent the complexities posed by defining what constitutes a musical instrument,8 some authors prefer to use the more descriptive ‘sound-producing devices’ as proposed by Cajsa Lund in 1981.9 This term can accommodate unprocessed raw materials (e.g., sticks, tree trunks), crafted musical instruments in a range of simple to

3  Tanasi 2011b, pp. 304–305, fig. 10: 23, for the pottery kit, Borġ in-Nadur and Thapsos versions. He draws on undisturbed contexts within Tombs 13 and 23 at Cozzo del Pantano, Tomb 6 in Matrensa and possibly Thapsos Tombs 6 and E (Sicily), which contained repeated examples of the Borġ in-Nadur wares in the configuration of the pottery kit (two sizes of hourglass forms and jug) among other typically Sicilian manufactures; see also Vella, Tanasi and Anastasi 2011, fig. 9: 3. 4  Aiano 2006, p. 31, fig. 4; Aiano argues that the shape evolved from household pottery, a possibility she explores through experimental archaeology and the production of replica drum forms following examples found in Europe. 5  Aiano 2006, Table 1A and 1B, examples from Neolithic Central Europe. 6  Mommsen et al. 2006, p. 84: “the probability that this group [designated SILA] represents the local workshop(s) in the region of Tas-Silg is very high.” 7  Aiano 2006. 8  Problems concerning terminology and definition of ‘drum’ are discussed in, for instance, Mason 1974, pp. 13–14. 9  Lund 1981, pp. 246–247; Watson and Keating 1999.

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complex forms, or even the human voice. For the purpose of this study, the general term ‘drum’ or ‘drum frame’ will be applied to the pottery shape in question. Even a cursory search of the anthropological literature provides numerous examples of drum types, rituals surrounding their manufacture, and symbolic behaviour leading up to performance, as well as of the exclusivity of the musicians, defined places where drums could be played, and a variety of cultural reasons for drum use. We can draw on many groups from the African continent, the Near Eastern region and north Asia to find a wealth of comparative data for drums in Malta. A few examples are surveyed here to demonstrate the possible wider implications of drum use in ancient contexts. The Drummers Women portrayed in figurative art from ancient Near Eastern contexts from the third millennium BC were shown with percussion instruments, especially round-frame drums, in hand (Fig. 1: 1).10 Figurines from locations spread over a wide region, including Mesopotamia, Cyprus11 and the Levant,12 as well as accounts in biblical texts, portray women drummers (1220–1050 BC).13 Some debate surrounds the identity of these drummers, whether they are “deities, priestesses, female votaries, or ordinary women,” but all categories are possible.14 The performers can be one or more individuals of privileged status who are selected to play the drums. Among Nigerian groups, only certain people are permitted to play; for instance, in Sokoto Province, the tambari (shaped like a modern kettle-drum) were played by select men with ‘powers of life and death.’ Here two or three drums are played at a time, usually within the ruler’s dwelling and only in public when a new leader ascends to power or during certain community festivals.15 In the Manchu communities of Asia, a shaman hierarchy was based on skill, experience, technical knowhow and perceived mystical encounters, and drum use was part of the shaman’s repertoire.16 ‘Shaman’ is an Artic Tungus term for men and women who are believed to have specialised knowledge, experience and ability to commune with a spirit world while in trance states.17

10

 Meyers 1991, pp. 16–27; Meyers 2001, pp. 189–191; Tubb 2003, p. 122 with illustration of the Idalion bowl. In modern Middle Eastern societies women often play frame drums, see Doubleday 1999, pp. 101–134. 11  O’Bryhim 1997, pp. 39–45, fig. 1 from Amathus. 12  Numerous illustrations of the frame drum held in the hands of ancient figurines can be found in Paz 2007; e.g., figs 2: 1, 2: 2, 2: 3, with detailed catalogue of finds from Israel and Transjordan, pp. 12–50. See Doubleday 1999, pp. 105–110, for a summary of ancient contexts depicting drum players, especially women. 13  Concerning biblical accounts of female drummers, Meyers 2001, pp. 189–191, cites, for example, Exodus 15: 20–21, Miriam’s celebration on leaving Egypt; 1 Samuel 18: 6–7, David’s welcome after defeating the Philistines; Judges 11: 34, Jephthah’s homecoming. 14  Meyers 1991, p. 18. 15  Harris 1932, pp. 105–106. 16  Li 1992, pp. 76–77; only the drum played by the shaman’s hand is believed to have the ability to summon spirits or to divine the future. 17  Eliade 2004; cf. Bahn 2010.

Fig. 1. 1. Double pipes, lyre and frame drum detail from the Idalion bronze bowl, from Cyprus (after Tubb 2003, p. 122); 2. Djembe hourglass-shaped drum, West Africa region, with net-like tension strings securing the skin onto the upper sounding box (after Visual Dictionary Online); 3. Appliqué fragment over which incised lines cross perhaps representing a tension rod used on drum strings (TSG/96/2173/2, Sagona 2015); 4. Reconstructed example of a Borġ in-Nadur biconical drum-like form, height 22, rim diameter 20 cm, base 14 cm (after Evans 1971, fig. 2:2); 5. Hypothetical drum with skin, strings and tension rod (left of centre) based on the ceramic pottery shapes and decoration in Fig. 1:4; 6. Fragment with motif of horizontal lines terminating at a cluster of three puncture marks under the rim (TSG/96/2112/13, Sagona 2015); 7. Fragment decorated with horizontal and oblique clusters of lines with single puncture mark (TSG/96/2128/2, Sagona 2015); 8. Fragment with decorative lines drawn together with a vertical line and punctures representing stringing (TSG/96/222/4, Sagona 2015); 9. Finer decoration mimicking net-like stringing (TSG/96/3033/4, Sagona 2015); 10. Fragment from Borġ in-Nadur (after Trump 1961, pl. 14, reproduced by courtesy of The Prehistoric Society); 11. see 1:8.

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As Instruments of Communication While the concept of ‘talking’ or ‘telegraph’ drums that allow groups to communicate over long distances has been questioned, when examples are used for such a purpose they are often formed out of a hollow log and are of a large size.18 To Samuel Akpabot who discussed the drums of Nigeria, this categorisation is a misnomer,19 too simplistic for the ways in which every African drum communicates to its listener. As Instruments of Magic and Healing A shaman’s drum is not just symbolic, but is also an apparatus that he or she uses to mediate between the realm of the living and a spirit world. Indeed, the rhythmic beating of the drum was used in many cultures to help induce trance states:20 [A]mong the Transbaikalian Tungus it [the drum] symbolizes the shaman’s canoe for crossing the sea…among the Mongol and some other peoples it represents the shaman’s horse… and among the Evenki and Oroquen in Siberia, it symbolizes the receptacle for different spirits who can be held by the shaman’s hand through the drum.21

For the shaman in an ecstatic trance, the drum is a device used to gather insights into the future, address problems, find lost souls, obtain blessings, perform funerary rites, bring about healing and dispel demons.22 Most shamans use variants of the frame drum with a single skin stretched over one side. No less important than sound during a ceremony are visual performance, the feel of the device and the act of drumming, as well as the smells the drum is imbued with before and during the performance (it can be passed through fragrant smoke, or coated with blood and/or incense).23 All the human senses are stimulated. The drum can embody magical qualities or can be drawn into mystic practice. Cosmology and the magical quality of numbers can be woven into the performance; for instance, three, five, seven or nine levels of the cosmos (depending on the Manchu group involved) are conveyed in rhythmic patterns.24 In these cases, the shaman’s drum itself passes through a life cycle, having been created by divine action through the intercession of the shaman, endowed with the energy of life when in use, and finally silenced with the death of the shaman with whom it is buried.25 Where the drum is positioned as it is played can be equally important in the symbolism: above the shaman’s head in honour of the divine, level with the 18

 Mason 1974, p. 12.  Akpabot 1975–1976, p. 36. 20  Trance can be achieved through various means, using a single method, or combinations of techniques: rhythmic dance, vigorous movements of the head, light deprivation, flickering lights, repetitive chanting and consumption of hallucinogenic substances. 21  Li 1992, p. 52, drawing on evidence in Shirokogoff 1935, p. 297; Oppitz 2004, p. 24; Eliade 2004, p. 173; Mazin 1990. 22  Oppitz 2004, pp. 20–23. 23  Li 1992, pp. 76–77. 24  Li 1992, p. 72. 25  Li 1992, p. 73. Doubleday (1999, p. 126) also observes that “bodily relationships are notable” when drums are used as resonators near the throat, when they are “held close to the heart and navel” as spiritual centres and when they draw people together in dance and marching. 19

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drummer’s torso in recognition of the divine presence during a shamanistic ritual, or pointing to the ground to dispel demons.26 The shaman’s drum can be painted with a range of motifs, including the erotic (human genitals), scenes of cosmic iconography and celestial bodies that act as a map for the shaman on his or her spiritual journey, spiritual animal and bird guides, or earthly people and animals.27 Such deeper symbolism is not restricted to the shamans of Asia. Harris makes some interesting observations about various groups in Nigeria: Not uncommonly the tambari is the receptacle for the secrets of the ruling house. In Argungu, for instance, one of the tamburra when opened by an Emir on his accession was found to contain a dried-up human heart supposed to have been the heart of a centuriesold enemy of the then ruling chief.28

While a beating heart and drumming is, in many respects, a natural parallel,29 paired drums in the Dendi region of Argungu have anthropomorphic characteristics—one is considered male and the other female.30 On the other hand, some cultures believe that a single drum can embody both male and female characteristics.31 Religious Practice in Drum Construction Surrounding the manufacture of drums there can be layers of culturally specific religious rites that govern the acquisition of raw material and its suitability; that is, its ‘blemish-free’ qualities. Privilege and status could be endowed upon the African drum-maker, who was seen as someone with a special association with the divine. Drums were afforded privileged treatment and held in high regard; the royal drums of the Banyankole in East Africa, for example, had attendants or keepers, who were duty bound to coat them with butter churned from the milk of sacred cows.32 Drums could also assume the role of sacred artefacts, depending on the occasion of their use.33 As Instruments of Ceremony, Celebration and Entertainment (Dance, Song, Chanting) Research into the physiological effects of sound on the human brain opens another chapter on how we might interpret sound devices found in pre-literate, ancient cultures. In a pilot study by Cook, Pajot and Leuchter, it was found that variations in frequency can stimulate changes in brain activity: Activity in the left temporal region was found to be significantly lower at 110Hz than at other frequencies. Additionally, the pattern of asymmetric activity over the prefrontal cortex shifted 26

 Li 1992, p. 75.  Oppitz (1992, pp. 62–81) gives a wide range of motifs from Himalayan contexts. 28  Harris 1932, p. 106. 29  Klöwer 1997, p. 3. 30  Harris 1932, p. 106; Oppitz (1992, p. 66) records the female and male sides of illustrated shaman drums of the Himalayan regions. 31  Klöwer 1997, p. 3. 32  Kunda 1979, p. 59. 33  Drums can be sacred to the Yoruba people of west Nigeria, Ojo 1973, p. 50. 27

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from one of higher activity on the left at most frequencies to right-sided dominance at 110Hz. These findings are compatible with relative deactivation of language centers and a shift in prefrontal activity that may be related to emotional processing.34

Thus, music and drumbeats may have acted in a direct way to evoke a human response and stimulate a sense of value associated with all aspects of the performance, especially within ritual contexts. As we have seen, in certain ancient contexts, drumming fell into the realm of women’s activities, often in connection with celebration: Gathering to rehearse, compose, and perform provided women with the opportunity to experience leadership and camaraderie, as well as the esteem of their colleagues and also of their audiences. Such experience is empowering.35

Hence, as Carol Meyers points out, drumming presented clear opportunities for social interaction, playing an important part in ceremonies surrounding rites of passage, including marriage, and emotional bonding.36 Hunting and Warfare Depictions of what might be drums in the remarkable Neolithic frescoes in Çatalhöyük (Turkey) may represent hunting ventures where loud noise was used to drive animals in certain directions. The contexts of the frescoes within what appears to be a sanctuary building may indicate the special role of the drum in such encounters between hunters and animals. The people portrayed have elongated hourglass-shaped objects, perhaps drums, hung at waist height. Some are decorated with animal skins (of spotted leopards), complete with dangling tails and legs, while others are undecorated.37

THE ANCIENT

EVIDENCE FOR SOUND DEVICES IN

MALTA

It is clear the hourglass drum form has a long history (Fig. 1: 2).38 It cannot be doubted that it was a powerful tool of cultural communication, and the implications for possible examples in Bronze Age settings in Malta are significant. We can suggest that the drum in ancient contexts—along with its maker, its owner, the drummer and the occasion of its use, as well as where it was played—may have carried deep cultural significance, steeped in ritual. Such associations could explain why the drum was an important sound device in the Bronze Age Mediterranean, and why the hourglass pottery form came to be exported from Malta.

 Cook et al. 2008, p. 96; see also Watson and Keating 1999.  Meyers 2001, p. 190. 36  Doubleday 1999, p. 126. 37  Sagona and Zimansky 2009, fig. 4: 5, from Çatalhöyük Level V. The leopard skin motifs in the frescos have also been interpreted as clothing. 38  Aiano 2006, pp. 31–42; Akpabot 1975–1976, p. 38. 34 35

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A complex system of stringing may be employed to pull the skin securely over the frame of a drum (Fig. 1: 2). The strings can be further tightened to alter the sound, using small rods of wood, horn and metal inserted as the drums are played.39 Moistening the stretched leather can have the effect of deepening the pitch by rendering the skin softer and less taut.40 If the drums are carried close to the body, then the pitch and sound effects of the beaten hourglass forms can be modulated — the drums are made to ‘talk’ — by pressing the strings between the arm and body of the player.41 Significantly, the often-repeated incised decoration on the Borġ in-Nadur ceramic vessels (both the conical and bi-conical forms) has the appearance of strings used to fasten the leather over the openings of a drum frame (Fig. 1: 4; cf. 1: 5).42 Despite minor variations on the theme (as one might expect from hand-made objects43), the designs are persistent on the pottery forms in question during the floruit of the Middle Bronze Age. Rows of usually three to four horizontal lines, resembling long stitches or leather thong lines, were cut under the lip (Fig. 1: 68, 1011). These motifs usually appear at a few points around the rim,44 often terminating with deep punctures (Fig. 1: 6, 8, 10) before the lines begin again, with or without additional punctures. Short vertical lines or applied thin rods of clay, often shown with ‘eyelets’, can also be modelled over the cluster of punctures, conveying the impression of pinning or gathering the horizontal strings together (Fig. 1: 8, 1011).45 To enhance the effect of the design, the deeply incised grooves and holes were in-filled with white paste. Overall, the patterns reflect stringing near the rim and running obliquely down the body of the bowl (Fig. 1: 4, 7, 9). The latter, diagonal, lines could be interpreted as extra strings, used to adjust the tension of the tightly pulled skin (cf. Fig. 1: 5). Bases tend to have continuous clusters of lines (Fig. 1: 4), suggesting that both ends

39

 Kunda 1979, p. 56; Akpabot 1975–1976, p. 38.  Kunda 1979, p. 57. 41  Observed by Harris (1932, pp. 111–112) concerning the kalungu drum of Hausa; the kalengo ‘talking drum’ in Kunda 1979, p. 57. The implement used to strike the drum, whether the hand or sticks made, for example, of wood, bone, ivory, or metal with or without a padded head, can create further effects. 42  Evans 1971, p. 225, also considered the decoration was imitating “some kind of sling in which the pots were originally carried.” 43  Cf. Tanasi 2011b, p. 295, “there is not an identical match between the decorative features.” Tanasi makes eight decorative categories (p. 294, fig. 10: 21), but essentially the variations all convey the sense of long-stitches or leather thongs and smaller pinning stitches. 44  String-like incised lines under rims, Murray 1925, pl. 21: 212, 217; Tanasi 2011a, fig. 4: 14, BN/ P43/60, BN/P48, BN/P142a, BN/P40; fig. 4: 17, BN/P13, BN/P43:41, BN/P45a; fig. 4: 18, BN/P40; fig. 4: 19, BRG/010/88. BN/P45h, BN/P43/1, BN/P43/40; fig. 4: 21, BN/P122, BRG/010/117, BN/P48; Tanasi 2011b, from Cozzo del Pantano, Sicily, Tomb 13, figs 10: 5 and 10: 13, nos 11223, 11222; Tomb 23, figs 10: 6 and 10: 14, nos 11251, 11254, 11255; figs 10: 7 and 10: 15, nos 11239, 11242, 11246, 11247, 11259; figs 10: 8 and 10: 16, nos 11243, 11244; figs 10: 9 and 10: 17, nos 11240, 11258. 45  ‘Gathered and fastened’ string lines can be seen in: from Borġ in-Nadur, Trump 1961, pl. 14: IIBi, lower right corner; Trump 2004, p. 267, left second row and right top corner; from Tas-Silġ, Cagiano de Azevedo 1965, pl. 32: middle left; Murray 1929, pl. 25: 255, 257; pl. 28: top right; Tanasi 2011a, fig. 4: 14, nos BN/P142a, BN/P40 (with eyelets in the thin vertical rod also in fig. 4: 18); Tanasi 2011b, Cozzo del Pantano, Tomb 23, figs 10: 6 and 10: 14, nos 11254, somewhat stylized as punctures only in 11251, 11255; figs 10: 7 and 10: 15, nos 11239, 11242, 11246, 11247, 11259; figs 10: 8 and 10: 16, no. 11243; fig. 10: 9, no. 11240; fig. 10: 13, no. 11223; fig. 10: 21: B–C (stylized, punctures only), D–H (with vertical line and punctures); fig. 10: 22, C (from Matrensa, Sicily), G (from Borġ in-Nadur BN/P40). 40

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were covered with skin.46 Handles that are attached to the form close to the rim were incorporated intentionally into the fastening arrangements of the skin over the upper opening. Horizontal lines terminate at the handles, with associated punctures on either side (Fig. 1: 10, cf. 1: 5). On occasions, lines travel over the handles, perhaps indicating loops of string around them. More elaborate designs on some pottery fragments are comprised of multiple clusters of zigzags and horizontal lines (Fig. 1: 9).47 They are suggestive of net-like string work on, for example, some west African drum shapes (e.g., Fig. 1: 2). These hourglass-drum strings can be tightened or released to alter the tone and pitch, and a range of drum sizes produce high to low tones that widen the scope and enhance the ‘eloquence’ of the sounds made.48 Among the Maltese pottery examples, the incised decoration can pass over incised or applied vertical bars attached to the sides of the vessels (Fig. 1: 8, 11, cf. 1: 5).49 Such additions on Borġ in-Nadur pottery (Fig. 1: 3) might reflect the documented practice of using small rods to tighten and adjust the hide tension and thereby alter the pitch of the drum (cf. Fig. 1: 5). Drums, it should be noted, are not the only objects copied in ceramics in Malta. There are elaborately decorated pottery bowls that strongly resemble basketry, and string-like, hatched bands decorate some closed pot forms, which might represent handle or suspension attachments tied onto some vessels.50 Red slip coats most of the finer wares of Bronze Age Malta and a deeper cultural meaning may have been attached to its use. In ethnographic contexts, red is linked to life forces and the blood associated with important rites of passage in human societies: menstruation, sexual maturity, birth, healing, death.51 Red certainly figured strongly in prehistoric Maltese cultural expression, and as red ochre, one primary source of the pigment, does not occur naturally in Malta, frequent voyages to ochre mines in Sicily must have taken place.52 That the ancient folk of Malta chose to colour their finer pottery red, including the drum form, may indicate a deliberate symbolic link to the human condition.

46

 Lines around the bases of hourglass shapes, Tanasi 2011a, fig. 4: 17, no. BN/P13; Tanasi 2011b, Cozzo del Pantano Tomb 13, figs 10: 5 and 10: 13, no. CP13/1; Tomb 23, figs 10: 7 and 10: 15, nos 11239, 11242, 11246, 11247, 11256; figs 10: 9 and 10: 17, no. 11240; fig. 10: 22, C (from Matrensa, Sicily), D (from Borġ in-Nadur BN/P13). 47  Examples of net-like patterns, see the few published finds from Għar Mirdum in Calleja-Gera 2002, ‘grey ware’ sherds; Murray 1925, pl. 21: 218; Tanasi 2011a, fig. 4: 14, no. BN/P53. 48  Akpabot 1975–1976, p. 38; Tanasi 2011b, fig. 10: 23, the hourglass appears in two sizes within the pottery kit, Tanasi calls the smaller one a cup. 49  Murray 1929, pl. 25: 255, 261; Tanasi 2011a, figs 4: 17, no. BN/P13; also in Tanasi 2011b, fig. 10: 22: d. 50  Painted basket designs on pottery were probably a Borġ in-Nadur influence during the early Phoenician period: Sagona 2002, figs 11: 2–3; 69: 4. String decorations on pots in the Borġ in-Nadur: Murray 1929, pl. 24: 239, 240; on pottery fragments from Tas-Silġ, TSG/96/2112A/6 and TSG/96/2161/4 in Sagona 2015. 51  Sagona (A.) 1994, pp. 10–15. 52  Maniscalco 1989, pp. 537–541.

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IMPLICATIONS Drum-like pottery (as well as other associated shapes in the Borġ in-Nadur pottery kit) may represent one aspect of Maltese Bronze Age economic activity, produced as a trade commodity. A significant dye industry may have been another element, evident in the vats located outside the settlement at Borġ in-Nadur on the rocky shore of Marsaxlokk Bay.53 Giulia Recchia and Alberto Cazzella considered that Borġ in-Nadur vessels in Sicily were highly prized imported items, used in funerary contexts to epitomise status.54 This was a time when the central Mediterranean was visited by merchants carrying Mycenaean pottery, which also figured among the imported wares found in Sicilian graves.55 Davide Tanasi has pointed convincingly to the significance of the Borġ in-Nadur pottery kit in Sicily, arguing that the reasons for its presence were governed by a ruling class motivated by a desire to display a heightened social status through their ability to attract and acquire exotic artefacts. This display may also have involved ritual, including public feasting and imbibing, as indicated by the presence of the jug in the kit.56 Tanasi also noted that in one conical cup (incidentally not decorated with string lines and therefore, theoretically, left open) are “traces of burning”, which he argued were evidence of ritual feasting. Drawing on the brief ethnographic summary above, however, it could be suggested that this blackening resulted from ritual use of fragrant incense, or possibly a hallucinogenic substance, rather than from food consumption. Chemical analysis could confirm this, although none has been carried out on the vessels.57 Tanasi goes so far as to suggest that not only pottery, but Borġ in-Nadur people as well were present in the southeastern Sicilian communities, living, perhaps marrying, and dying there.58 He may be correct. A further development of this argument relates to the important role the pottery kit, as defined in the archaeological record, may have played in performance, which perhaps included the use of drums. From anthropological contexts, we know that drums played a key part in the expression of belief systems and the celebration of socially significant events. Such music helped forge bonds between people and evoked emotive states, at both the mundane and the sacred levels. The drum was, in every sense, a device that was revered as well as imparting esteem on the owner and the performer. A coating of thick red and burnished slip 53

 Sagona 1999, pp. 23–60, for dye works in Malta.  Recchia and Cazzella 2011, p. 391. 55  A few Mycenaean fragments have been recorded in the archaeological record of Malta: from Borġ inNadur, Murray 1929, p. 16, comments for pl. 20: 1; Evans 1953, p. 72, pl. 14: 1–2; Evans 1971, no. BN/P.19, p. 17, pl. 32: 6; Taylour 1958, pp. 79–80, 184–185, pl. 8:5; from Tas-Silġ, fragment TSG96/2169/30, in Sagona 2015; Mallia 1966, p. 50, fig. 35: 20, from the northern sector of Tas-Silġ. For chronological implications, Tanasi 2008, see fig. 1, dates are largely pinned on the Mycenaean finds in the Thapsos graves of the period; also Recchia and Cazzella 2011, pp. 381–389; cf. Leighton 2009, pp. 174–176, fig. 91: 20–21. Concerning inter-island connections, Vella, Tanasi and Anastasi 2011, §9.3, fig. 9: 2, pp. 259–268. 56  Tanasi 2011b, p. 305, “A jug was used for the communal consumption of the food, and the set [i.e., the Borġ in-Nadur pottery kit] was then placed in the centre of the tomb together with the remains of the food. So going by the remains discovered in tomb 23, the ritual feast would seem to have been carried out using two sets of identical pottery containers.” 57  Vessel 11253 in Tomb 23 at Cozzo del Pantano, Sicily, see Tanasi 2011b, p. 305, fig. 10: 14, Table 10:2. 58  Tanasi 2011b, pp. 305–306. 54

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may have signified, like blood, life forces, as did the sound of the beating drum during performance. Underlying the drum’s shape, its colour and the sound it produced may have been notions of renewal, health, longevity, interaction and bonding within the familial or wider social network, as well as concepts of loss and grief. Drums may have been a product of domestic quarters, as mooted by Aiano for ancient Europe, and were perhaps even fashioned by the women of Bronze Age Malta.59 There is no reason to believe that the drum in ancient Maltese or Sicilian contexts was not similarly valued as it was in other cultures; indeed, the persistence of the hourglass, drum-like form in the archaeological record suggests it produced a sound that was desired, whatever the occasion of its use. There is a poignancy in the fact that the kit was found in funerary contexts in Sicily. In Malta, the drumbeats may have reverberated within the Borġ in-Nadur ruins, already hundreds of years old by the Bronze Age. It requires no great stretch of the imagination to suggest that within these settings lay notions of the past, perhaps of an elusive spirit world that could be reached through ritual, and of performances that ushered the deceased to another realm. Performance may have been a significant element in forging a special connection between the island societies of Malta and Sicily. Respect for what the drum represented, or the feelings the rhythms generated, as well as a certain element of exoticism, may have contributed to the popularity of Borġ in-Nadur people as musicians and the appeal of their manufactures outside of Malta.

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 Women’s role in pottery making has been documented in ethnographic contexts and they could equally have produced pottery in antiquity. The author has observed women potters in the highlands of eastern Turkey at a site known as Dölek (Gümüşhane) making their wares by hand, Sagona and Sagona 2004, p. 228; for illustrations of the Dölek potters at work, see Sagona 2006, pp. 42–43. For wider discussions see, for instance, Arnold 1985; London 1989; Vincentelli 2000.

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2011a “The prehistoric pottery,” in Site, Artefacts and Landscape. Prehistoric Borġ in-Nadur, Malta (Praehistorica Mediterranea 3), edited by D. Tanasi and N. C. Vella, pp. 71–158. Monza: Polimetrica International Scientific Publisher. 2011b “Living and dying in a foreign country: Maltese immigrants in Middle Bronze Age Sicily?,” in Site, Artefacts and Landscape. Prehistoric Borġ in-Nadur, Malta (Praehistorica Mediterranea 3), edited by D. Tanasi and N. C. Vella, pp. 283–337. Monza: Polimetrica International Scientific Publisher. TANASI, D. and VELLA, N. C. 2011 Site, Artefacts and Landscape. Prehistoric Borġ in-Nadur, Malta (Praehistorica Mediterranea 3). Monza: Polimetrica International Scientific Publisher. TAYLOUR, L. W. 1958 Mycenaean Pottery in Italy and Adjacent Areas. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. TUBB, J. N. 2003 “Phoenician dance,” Near Eastern Archaeology (Dance in the Ancient World) 66(3): 122–125. TRUMP, D. H. 1961 “The later prehistory of Malta,” Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society, n.s. 27: 253–262. 2004 “The prehistoric pottery,” in Malta before History: The World’s Oldest Free-Standing Stone Architecture, edited by D. Cilia, pp. 243–267. Malta: Miranda. VELLA, N. C., TANASI, D. and ANASTASI, M. 2011 “Mobility and transitions: The south-central Mediterranean on the eve of history,” in Site, Artefacts and Landscape. Prehistoric Borġ in-Nadur, Malta (Praehistorica Mediterranea 3), edited by D. Tanasi and N. C. Vella, pp. 251–282. Monza: Polimetrica International Scientific Publisher. VINCENTELLI, M. 2000 Women and Ceramics: Gendered Vessels. Manchester: Manchester University Press. WATSON, A. and KEATING, D. 1999 “Architecture and sound: Acoustic analysis of megalithic monuments in prehistoric Britain,” Antiquity 73: 325–336.

Claudia SAGONA University of Melbourne [email protected]

TEXTILE PRODUCTION IN COPPER AGE SICILY: PRELIMINARY CONSIDERATIONS Pietro MILITELLO

The scientific interests of Prof. Anthony Bonanno range chronologically well beyond the limits of the classical world, providing wonderful contributions to scientific debate even in studies of prehistoric and medieval archaeology. It is therefore a pleasure to honour a colleague and friend with a small token of friendship, by presenting the first results of a survey that also considers the area of Sicily and Southern Italy in the renewed interest for an element of prehistoric economies that is as important as it is elusive: textile production, and at the same time recall, from a Sicilian perspective, our past experience in the KASA project.

HISTORY

OF RESEARCH

The perishable nature of the products and the tools (often wood), as well as a lack of knowledge of the technical aspects, relegated studies on textile manufacturing to a marginal role for a long time, even if differently among the diverse disciplines of study. In the field of classical archaeology, the rich iconographic and textual documentation has fed this issue since the early days of research, but from an essentially antiquarian perspective (identification of activities, correspondence between texts and images, etc.) In the field of prehistory, however, the exceptional state of preservation of fragments of textiles and even wooden tools at lacustrine and perilacustrine sites in continental Europe (northern Italy included), sparked an early interest (mid-nineteenth century),1 but primarily targeting recovery and conservation techniques, or the production methods for making fabric.2 In the Mediterranean or Eastern European region, where environmental conditions do not permit either the preservation of the finished artefacts or of wooden objects (not just spindles and spindle whorls, but also combs, distaffs, beaters, shuttles, etc.), the attention to textile production was developed primarily on the basis of texts (inscriptions in cuneiform and linear B), and was directed at the reconstruction of ovine management and the production of wool or linen by the palaces.3 This led to a fragmentation of interest and research and a substantial disregard on the part of field archaeologists for this class of objects, especially when devoid of aesthetic appeal. A fundamental shift occurred with the publication of the seminal work of Elizabeth

1

 Bazzanella and Rast-Eicher 2003.  Vogt 1936. 3  For example, Killen 1962; Waetzoldt 1972. 2

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Barber,4 which appeared more than 25 years ago and possessed two fundamental merits: the proposed overhaul of all aspects of the production of fibres and weaves across a broad chronological and geographical perspective, including linguistic and gender, and the construction of a manual which is easily accessible to non-specialists, thus providing a methodology to entirely or partially bridge the gaps in documentation through an adequate examination of the preserved evidence (primarily spindle whorls and loom weights), even in areas where much of the documentation was lost. This led to a proliferation of volumes dedicated to this subject.5 In 2005, the birth of the Centre for Textile Research in Copenhagen marked the beginning of collaboration between distant research traditions such as the Nordic and Eastern Mediterranean ones, in order to reach a comprehensive approach to the issue, including the employment of experimental archaeology.6 Most of the research, however, focused on the more recent phases of prehistory and early history (the historical period in the Near East, the Bronze and Iron Ages in the Mediterranean), while studies were greatly hampered for the older periods by the lack of documentation, the spatio-temporal dispersion, and also by its ambiguity. Fabric, in the narrow sense of the word, is the cloth made from a yarn, that is a fibre prepared so as to obtain very long yarns, used to create a structure with a warp and a weft. This is, however, merely one of a wide range of manufacturing techniques including twisted fibres for cords, nets, weaves (vannerie).7 The raw materials include plant and animal fibres, the former then being separated into stem (flax, hemp, nettle, ramie) and cortical fibres.8 These latter can be taken from trees (especially lime) and are therefore used from the Palaeolithic Age to the Bronze Age.9 Their period of maximum diffusion remains that of the European Neolithic, defined by Rast Eicher as a Bast Culture with respect to textiles.10 From a social and economic perspective, however, it is not so important when the first weavings appear, but rather when processing fibres with yarn began to represent a significant part of the economy and the social structure of prehistoric communities. From this perspective, there is no doubt that it occurs when the domestication of plants and animals allows for the availability of much more flexible and malleable fibres. Domestication is a necessary condition, but not sufficient however, as flax, esparto and hemp could have been exploited for purposes other than weaving, and sheep could have been bred more for their meat or milk than for wool.11 As far as the vegetal fibres are concerned, the seeds of  4

 Barber 1991.  For example, Tzachili 1997; Peyronnel 2003; Gleba 2008; Rahmstorf 2008; Burke 2010; Guzowska et al. 2012.  6  The Danish National Research Foundation Centre for Textile Research: (accessed May 2016).  7  Leroi-Gourhan 1941, p. 268 places all of these productions (including the processing of hides) under the heading “solides souples” and emphasises that “on peu admettre sans peine ces distinctions du bon sens commun entre la vannerie et le tissage, mais il faut se demander si le spécialiste n’a pas suivi un peu trop fidèlement cette voie, et chercher les causes profondes de son adhésion à un tel point de vue.”  8  ingl. bast: Médard 2003, pp. 81‒82.  9  Gleba 2008, p. 71. 10  Rast Eicher 2005, p. 121. 11  For flax seeds found in the Neolithic and Early Bronze Age of Greece, for example, Halstead 1994, p. 201 states that he is unsure “whether flax was used for oil or fibre or both.”  5

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flax, textile imprints and real textiles appear very early in the East: they are from Abu Hureyra (10,000 BC), Jerf el Ahmar (PPNA), Qalat Jarmo (VIII millennium), Aswad, Çatal Hüyük, Çayönü, El Kowm, Halula, Nahal Hemar (PPNB, VII millennium).12 For Italy, the oldest discovery of flax comes from Sammardenchia (Udine) and is dated to 5620‒5470 BC,13 but it consists of a single seed which may not necessarily be associated with spinning, while botanical traces of linen and remains of thread (flax?) as well as spindle whorls are found in the similarly dated site of La Marmotta on Lake Bracciano, during the impressed ware culture period (5600‒5150 cal. BC).14 The botanical remains of flax increase in the Late and Final Neolithic period, which proves that its use in central Italy was comparatively early.15 The question of wool is far more complex. Some scholars,16 for example, have proposed the predominance of sheep in the zooarchaeological remains from Neolithic Italy as evidence for the production of wool. However, it seems much more likely that goats and sheep were originally bred for meat, and only later, after a certain period of selecting breeds, did they produce enough hair to provide adequate fibre for spinning. This would have developed, according to the theory of the Secondary Products Revolution put forth by Sherratt,17 only during the fourth millennium, with the introduction of the medium hair sheep (‘Medium Hairy Type’ according to Ryder’s classification).18 Some information on the use of sheep for meat or for wool may derive from the analysis of the age of slaughter. According to the model developed by Payne,19 slaughtering after three years of age (when the animal reaches its maximum size), proves that a herd was intended for wool production. It is, however, still possible that the animals were kept for meat beyond this age as a kind of “storage on the hoof” to combat potential periods of famine.20 In Italy, however, based on Payne’s model, breeding actually seems primarily oriented at meat resources, even in the Bronze Age (second millennium BC).21 All this points to a later introduction of the systematic use of wool at the end of the fourth millennium in the Near East and the Eastern Mediterranean,22 but only in the II millennium for central Mediterranean, with different regional patterns23 and with a major development only from the Final Bronze Age on.24

12

 Barber 1991, pp. 133‒144; Bréniquet 2008, pp. 55‒58; Rottoli 2003, p. 66.  Riottola 2003, p. 68. 14  Cocchi Genick 2009, p. 172; Riottola 2003, p. 68. 15  Bazzanella et al. 2003, p. 88. 16  Pessina and Tiné 2008, p. 212, also reaffirmed by Cocchi Genick 2009, p. 177. 17  Sherratt 1981; 1983. 18  Ryder 1993. 19  Payne 1971. 20  Halstead 2004. 21  Riedel and Tecchiati 2003. 22  Barber 1991, pp. 22‒23; Militello 2012a. 23  A ‘woollen’ artefact was found at the site of Castione dei Marchesi (Parma) dated to the Middle Bronze Age (seventeenth‒fifteenth century BC), but it is made of hemp and little wool, as from a mouflon (Bazzanella et al. 2003, p. 200). In the BA site of Cardini di Praia sheep are butchered at a young age, but, on the contrary, an older slaughtering age is attested at other sites as Tufariello, Coppa Nevigata, Broglio di Trebisacce suggestive of wool oriented breeding (Bietti Sestieri 2010, pp. 122‒123), confirming the uneven distribution of raw textile materials in prehistory. 24  De Grossi Mazzorin 2004 (in the final Bronze Age it is possible to detect a true change in the patterns of sheep exploitation); Gleba 2008, pp. 72‒73. 13

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From an instrumentation perspective, alleged loom weights have been found at the Hungarian site of Tiszajenö the end of the seventh millennium,25 and an alleged loom weight was discovered in the Filiestru Cave in Sardinia from the middle Neolithic period (5500 BC), while sometimes decorated flat whorls and kidney-shaped loom weights appear in the facies of the Late Neolithic Chassey-Lagozza and are abundant in the recent facies of the cultures of Ripoli and of Ozieri,26 by now into the fifth‒early fourth millennium. From the above, it is clearly inaccurate to imagine textile production as a traditional craft that evolved in a continuous and homogeneous manner, but on the contrary, a tradition that developed in a different way, sometimes punctiform, bound by traditions, availability of raw materials, economic stimuli such as internal or external demand, and as such may have also been subject to arrest, decline and reactivation.27 In the middle of the third millennium, the Similaun man covers himself with a system of weaves and skins that do not entail the use of fabrics,28 while in the contemporary Montalban site, on the other side of the Alps, the production of yarn is certified by a rich production of spindle whorls made of stone.29 Precisely because of this patchy situation, it is not possible to develop general models, even chronological, that apply to large regions at least until there is evidence for spinning in a uniform manner throughout Europe during the Bronze Age. On the contrary, it is necessary to proceed with regional studies. From this point of view, southern Italy and Sicily remained marginal with regard to studies of prehistoric times, not only for the almost total absence of preserved tissues, but also for the prevalence, in the archaeological research, of a cultural-historical approach, at least until a few years ago. Compare the total absence of references to the production of textiles in the exhibition at Palermo in 1997,30 and the timid apparition of a couple of contributions on this matter at the San Cipirello Conference of 2006, not published, however, until 2012.31 Even at the more published sites, attention to weaving tools has been minimal and often lacks any methodological basis, the result being that (a) it is not always possible to fully rely on references to ‘whorls’ or ‘loom weights’ among the published material, especially when not accompanied by photographs and drawings above all, (b) in the absence of any information regarding the weight of the tools, it is impossible to make any assumptions about the type of material processed (plant or animal fibres) and the product obtained (tightly or loosely woven fabric). It is therefore necessary to initiate a systematic collection of all types of paleobotanical, archaeological and zooarchaeological evidence, and to this end, the TE.SI. (Textiles in Sicily) project was born with two objectives: to assess the manner and timing of the introduction of weaving in Sicily and southern Italy, and to analyse the role it has played in 25

 Barber 1991, pp. 93‒94.  Guidi and Piperno 1992, pp. 302, 313, 324. 27  Similar cases or disappearance and reappearance of techniques are well attested in the past, as in the case of the potter’s wheel, whose introduction can be interpreted as a “bumpy path marked by phenomena of continuity and discontinuity” (see e.g., Laneri 2011). 28  Cocchi Genick 2009, pp. 217‒218. 29  Médard 2000. 30  Tusa 1997. 31  Riolo 2012. 26

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Sicilian prehistory up to the first millennium BC. In collaboration with museums, Superintendents and archaeological parks, a review of published and unpublished material from prehistoric excavations in Sicily was therefore initiated, according to the research guidelines of the Centre for Textile Research, to which we give thanks for allowing the use of their database model and their typological classification (Fig. 1). So far, it has not been possible to identify with certainty any weaving material used in Neolithic complexes, for which we are still waiting for the detailed examination of the material.32 More information is however available for the Copper Age, with seemingly more consistent documentation. Here we present the first results from materials found at six sites distributed across the area of Agrigento (Serraferlicchio, Monte Palombara, Eraclea Minoa, Contrada Stretto) and Caltanissetta (Gibil Gabib, Pietrarossa) (Fig. 2).33

Fig. 1. Typological classification of spindle whorls according to CTR (after Andersson Strand and Nosch 2013). 32  For example, Guzzone 2012 quotes some spindle-whorls from Grotta IV of Milena, in a Neolithic context, where, however, San Cono Piano Notaro fragments have also been found, to be dated to the Copper Age. 33  The examination of material from the Museum of Caltanissetta was performed by Thea Messina and G. Longhitano (2012), that of Agrigento by Dr Antonio Pilato (2013), that of Serraferlicchio by A. Manenti. Thanks to A. Sammito, curator of the Museum of Modica, N. Gulli, official of the Superintendence of Cultural Heritage of Agrigento, R. Panvini, former director of the Archaeological Museum of Caltanissetta, for having provided the necessary permits and in any case facilitated research, Dr Manenti for allowing free access to her technical reports of the material from Serraferlicchio.

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Fig. 2. Map of Sicily with sites mentioned in the text: 1. Serraferlicchio, 2. Monte Palombara – Raffadali, 3. Eraclea Minoa, 4. Contrada Stretto, 5. Gibil Gabib, 6. Pietrarossa. Note that Serraferlicchio is in Agrigento and Pietrarossa in Caltanissetta.

THE

SITES

The Copper Age in Sicily has traditionally been divided into three parts corresponding to three ceramic styles interpreted as an expression of cultural facies: San Cono Piano Notaro (Early Eneolithic), Serraferlicchio (Middle Eneolithic) and Malpasso (Late Eneolithic), with a chronological range within the third millennium (3000‒2200 BC).34 This sequence, calculated on the basis of the stratigraphic succession of some caves especially in Syracuse, functioned along a bipartite system in western Sicily and the Aeolian Islands. Over the past 15 years, however, a major overhaul has led not only to the chronology being lifted to the middle of the fourth millennium35 if not to the beginning of the fourth millennium BC, but also to an attenuation of the stylistic sequence, in favour of at least partial coexistence.36 This would be particularly valid for Agrigentino, where coexistence of ceramics in the style of San Cono Piano Notaro with that of Serraferlicchio is believed to have persisted for 34

 Tusa 1992, p. 230; Guidi and Piperno 1992, p. 540.  Leighton 1999, pp. 91‒92, 269; Tusa 1997, p. 648; Privitera and La Rosa 2008, pp. 28‒29. 36  Leighton 1999, pp. 91‒92. 35

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a long period, and later, that of Serraferlicchio (from which the Sant’Ippolito derives) with that of Malpasso.37 For this reason, the sites mentioned in the catalogue will only be broadly dated within an early or late Copper age. 1. Serraferlicchio (Agrigento) The area of the Serraferlicchio Hill (a large limestone ridge a few hundred meters long and about 1 km north of Agrigento), first researched by Orsi (1928) then by Arias (1937), and recently reviewed by Gullì (2012), was the site of a prehistoric settlement of which the ruins of huts remain, a few caves and a fracture in the bedrock containing a substantial deposit of archaeological material. This cleft in the rock, about 60 m long, 1 m wide and in some places 2 m deep has been interpreted as a sanctuary-tunnel for the presence of nondomestic pottery, a claim which is not supported by the finding of the same type of pottery in the huts, even if the hypothesis of using the tunnel for cult purposes is still the most likely.38 In addition to numerous pottery and other clay (horns) and lithic objects, a large clay spool (height: 150 mm, diam. 15 and 10 mm) and numerous clay and stone whorls were found. Arias, in his 1938 publication, does not detail the exact number of such artefacts and limits himself to a general morphological and dimensional description, but a recent review of some of the material still available, conducted by Dr A. Manenti of the Paolo Orsi Regional Archaeological Museum of Syracuse, has provided valuable metrological information provided in the table.39 2. Monte Palombara – Raffadali (Agrigento) Monte Palombara is a chalky relief at an altitude of 335 m above sea level in contrada ex feudo Catta to the west of Raffadali, along the road that connects Raffadali to Cattolica Eraclea. During archaeological research begun in 1989, two caves (Palombara A and B) were found with material attributable to the Malpasso, San’Ippolito and the first Castelluccio facies. From the eastern slopes of Mount Palombara, a clay biconical whorl was found, having a central hole and grey surface, for which the weight is not known.40 3. Eraclea Minoa (Agrigento) In the Greek necropolis of Contrada Piana Vizzi, at Eraclea Minoa, four parallel ditches were excavated (from 0.60 m to 1.50 m deep) pertaining to an entrenched village chronologically dated to between the late Eneolithic (Malpasso facies) and the Early Bronze Age. The four ditches of the settlement are trenches dug into a layer of pebbles, in line with the tradition of entrenched villages typical of the Neolithic period. At the bottom of ditch 2, 37

 Adamo and Gullì 2012.  Gullì 2003, p. 56. 39  Orsi 1926‒1928; Arias 1937; Gullì 2003, pp. 16‒23; Adamo and Gullì 2012. 40  Gullì 2000, p. 147, table 3: 8. 38

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there was a cist filled with sand mixed with the remains of bird bones and closed by a stone slab. Nine metres to the east of this, on the other hand, a second hole was discovered containing different fragments of pedestalled bowls, vessels, pots, large vases which cannot be identified, an ovoid spindle whorl and a fragment of a clay horn. The filling from ditch 2 also revealed more than a dozen fragments of bowls, pots, handles and even a biconical whorl and a pierced pebble with five cup marks, entirely covered in ochre. The two cists (inside and outside ditch 2), are interpreted as functional to the rites of founding the settlement, while the materials are simple fillings.41 4. Contrada Stretto (Agrigento) The site of Contrada Stretto is located in the town of Canicattì (AG). Revealed during works at the end of the 1990s, it was investigated by the Superintendence of Agrigento in 1997. The excavations carried out between January and February of 1997 have confirmed the presence of a village, of which some circular walls remains. From the limited data collected, the existence of a large settlement consisting of circular huts is inferred, dated to the Eneolithic period, thanks to the abundant ceramic material attributable to Eneolithic facies of Serraferlicchio (painted bucchero ceramic), Malpasso and Sant’Ippolito. In addition to ceramic material, archaeological findings include mainly small bone remains, lithics (spherical pestles), and nine clay whorls in excellent condition with a central hole in truncated cone, rounded truncated cone and biconical forms.42 5. Gibil Gabib (Caltanisetta) At the hill of Gibil Gabib, which dominates the Salso River valley, research was conducted into the main phase of life and the indigenous and archaic dwellings, but the early excavations unearthed traces of an older settlement, dating on the basis of the artefacts to between the San Cono and Serraferlicchio periods. Among these materials is a biconical whorl, attributable to the facies of San Cono Piano Notaro.43 6. Pietrarossa, Caltanisetta Pietrarossa Castle is located on the eastern edge of the Old Town centre of Caltanissetta. From the foot of the castle ruins to the current cemetery the investigations have identified a village of circular huts, which surrendered material dating back to the facies of Serraferlicchio and especially Sant’Ippolito.44

41

 Gullì 1993.  Unpublished. 43  Adamesteanu 1958; Panvini 2003, pp. 15‒16. 44  Sedita Migliore 1991, pp. 21‒27; Panvini 2003, pp. 3, 5‒7. 42

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ANALYSIS OF THE MATERIAL In total, 48 spindle whorls were analysed from six sites. The material derives, when not devoid of context (Monte Palombara), from predominantly residential contexts (Caltanissetta, Gibil Gabib, Valcorrente). The deposit from the Serraferlicchio fracture has been differently interpreted. It was interpreted by the earlier excavators as a reflection of daily activities, according to its traditional identification as a dump site for the settlement. A more recent interpretation, on the contrary, sees it as the result of particular ritual activities. In this case, the presence of spindle whorls could be associated with spinning activities in ritual contexts, such as communal spinning, in a similar fashion to what was happening in Greece almost in the same period.45 On the other hand, the whorl found inside the ditch (foundation?) of Eraclea Minoa is of a cultic nature. The decision to include the whorl as a ‘founding’ element can in fact be traced to the recognition of the importance of spinning, probably as an integral part of the domestic economy and as an element of gender identity. There are no funerary contexts, however, which are compatible with what is happening in the Mediterranean area at the time, but not so with the contemporary Middle East where spindles and spindle whorls in precious materials are buried with their owners in the necropoleis of the elite, as with those of Ur. The vast majority of the whorls are in clay (only three in stone) (Table 1). The most prevalent type used is the biconical (35 examples = 71 per cent), distantly followed by the spherical (5 examples = 10 per cent) and conical shapes (3 examples = 6 per cent). The cylindrical, lenticular or ovoid types are represented by only one specimen each (2 per cent) and could rather be considered as variants of the biconical or spherical types (for lenticular and ovoid), or of the cylindrical type represented instead by the stone whorl. The choice of simple shapes seems to indicate a lack in special or refined production. The heights range from 15 to 62 mm, with an average of 33 mm and concentrations between 30 and 40 mm. Only three specimens are in the 52 to 62 mm range. The diameters range from 30 to 85 mm, with an average of 42 mm and concentrations between 40 and 55 mm, with a single example over 55 mm. Consequently, the ratio between height and diameter ranges from 0.35 mm (low profile) to 2.07 mm (raised profile). These extreme values are not the norm, however, with most of the specimens ranging between 0.60 mm and 1.17 mm and therefore mainly less than a single unit, i.e., with a diameter greater than the height (lowered shape). The weights range from 18 to 131 g, with an average value of 49 g, and concentrations between 40 and 60 g. Apart from the absolute weight value, the ratio between the mass (i.e. the weight) and its spatial distribution is also important as it represents the moment of inertia. For the same weight, the greater the diameter (i.e. moment of inertia), the longer, but more slowly, does the flywheel turn, and vice versa.

45

 Militello 2012b.

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CONCLUSIONS The results discussed above can give some hints on the kind of spun fibres. Shorter and thicker fibres require a greater moment of inertia. From this perspective, heavier whorls allow the spinning of coarser and longer fibres, such as those from plants (flax),46 while lighter whorls are more suitable for wool, although in both cases the experience of the spinner is a key element and archaeologically imponderable.47 The average weight of the Sicilian spindle whorls is greater than the whorls of Molina di Ledro (32 g), or Montalban (28‒49 g), which are believed by the authors to be of the ‘heavy’ type more suited to flax or plant fibres.48 On the other hand, the presence of light spindle whorls (less than 30 g) points to the use of animal fibres. It is also interesting to note the high variation in weights present even at the one site (Serraferlicchio, Pietrarossa), and very similar data has emerged from the Bronze Age whorls of the Modica region.49 On the basis of metrological analysis, the conclusion should be in favour of the prevalence of vegetable fibres over animal fibres, even if they were available. This would have to mean that sheep herding, known to have been present during the Copper Age in Sicily, was not destined for the production of wool, a claim that can only be confirmed by an adequate analysis of the average slaughtering age of the animals. A final consideration is directed at the morphology of the whorls. The biconical form is part of a widely used class especially in the Mediterranean region, from Turkey to Greece to southern Italy, while in the northern parts the whorls are mostly of the cylindrical or lenticular type, very flat. This is further evidence, perhaps, of Sicily’s belonging to a ‘Mediterranean’ cultural region, rather than Central Europe, as early as the fourth‒third millennium BC.

BIBLIOGRAPHY ADAMESTEANU, D. 1958 “Scavi e scoperte dal 1951 al 1957 nella provincia di Caltanissetta,” Notizie degli Scavi di Antichità 1958: 335‒387. ANDERSSON STRAND, E. and NOSCH, M.-L. (eds) 2013 Tools, Textiles and Contexts (Ancient Textile Series 17). Oxford: Oxbow. ARIAS, P. E. 1937 “La stazione preistorica di Serraferlicchio,” Monumenti Antichi dei Lincei 36: 693‒838. BARBER, E. J. W. 1991 Prehistoric Textiles. The Development of Cloth in the Neolithic and Bronze Ages with Special References to the Aegean. Princeton: Princeton University Press. BAZZANELLA, M., MAYR, A., MOSER, L. and RAST-EICHER, L. 2003 Textiles. Intrecci e tessuti dalla preistoria europea (Museo Civico di Riva del Garda, 2003). Trento: Provincia Autonoma di Trento.

46

 Bazzanella Mayr 2009, p. 148.  Martensson et al. 2006. 48  Bazzanella, Mayr 2009, p. 148; Montalban 2000. 49  Tesi Biazzo 2010. 47

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BAZZANELLA, M. and MAYR, A. 2009 I reperti tessili, le fusaiole e i pesi da telaio dalla palafitta di Molina di Ledro. Trento: Provincia Autonoma di Trento. BAZZANELLA, M., MAYR, A. and RAST-EICHER, A. 2003 “I telai preistorici tra Neolitico e Età del Bronzo,” in Textiles. Intrecci e tessuti dalla preistoria europea, edited by M. Bazzanella, A. Mayr, A. Moser and L. Rast-Eicher, pp. 87‒97. Trento: Provincia Autonoma di Trento. BAZZANELLA, M. and RAST-EICHER, A. 2003 “Storia delle ricerche,” in Textiles. Intrecci e tessuti dalla preistoria europea, edited by M. Bazzanella, A. Mayr, A. Moser and L. Rast-Eicher, pp. 23‒30. Trento: Provincia Autonoma di Trento. BIETTI SESTIERI, A. M. 2010 L’Italia nell’età del Bronzo e del Ferro. Florence: Carocci. BRÉNIQUET, D. 2008 Essai sur le tissage en Mésopotamie. Paris: De Boccard. BURKE, B. 2010 From Minos to Midas: Ancient Cloth Production in the Aegean and in Anatolia (Ancient Textiles Studies 7). Oxford: Oxbow. CENCI, L. 2012 “Tessuti ed intrecci dal villaggio di Mursia (Pantelleria),” in Atti XLI Riunione IIPP (San Cipirello 2006), edited by E. Procelli, pp. 1219‒1221. Florence: Istituto Italiano di Preistoria e Protostoria. COCCHI GENICK, D. 2009 Preistoria. Verona: QuiEdit. DE GROSSI MAZZORIN, J. 2004 “Some considerations about the evolution of the animal exploitation in Central Italy from the Bronze Age to the Classical period,” in PECUS. Man and Animal in Antiquity, Proceedings of the Conference at the Swedish Institute in Rome, September 9‒12, 2002 (The Swedish Institute in Rome Projects and Seminars 1), edited by B. Santillo Frizell, pp. 38‒49. Rome: Swedish Institute. GLEBA, M. 2008 Textile Production in Pre-Roman Italy. Oxford: Oxbow. GUIDI, A. and PIPERNO, M. 1992 Italia preistorica. Rome and Florence: Laterza. GULLÌ, D. 1993 “Primi dati sull’insediamento preistorico di Eraclea Minoa,” Quaderni di Archeologia Università di Messina 8: 11‒19. 2000 “Nuove indagini e nuove scoperte nella Media e Bassa Valle del Platani,” Quaderni di Archeologia Università di Messina n.s. 1: 139‒168. 2002 “Agrigento prima dei Greci,” Quaderni di Archeologia Università di Messina 3: 5‒83. 2012 “La ceramica Serraferlicchio da Serraferlicchio,” in Atti XLI Riunione IIPP (San Cipirello 2006), edited by E. Procelli, pp. 601‒609. Florence: Istituto Italiano di Preistoria e Protostoria. GUZZONE, C. 2012 “Idoletti fittili e rinvenimenti neolitici dalla Grotta IV di Monte Grande, presso Milena (CL),” in Atti XLI Riunione IIPP (San Cipirello 2006), edited by E. Procelli, pp. 579‒589. Florence: Istituto Italiano di Preistoria e Protostoria. GUZOWSKA, M., BECKS, R. and ANDERSSON STRAND, E. 2012 “‘She was weaving a great web. Textiles in Troia,” in Kosmos: Jewellery, Adornment and Textiles in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 13th International Aegean Conference / 13e Rencontre égéenne internationale (Aegaeum 33), edited by M.-L. Nosch and R. Laffineur, pp. 107‒111. Leuven and Liège: Peeters. HALSTEAD, P. 1994 “The North-South divide: Regional paths to complexity in prehistoric Greece,” in Development and Decline in the Mediterranean Bronze Age (Sheffield Archaeological

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2004 KILLEN, J. 1964 LANERI, N. 2011

Monographs 8), edited by C. Mathers and S. Stoddart, pp. 195‒219. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. “Farming and feasting in the Neolithic of Greece: The ecological context of fighting with Food,” in Documenta Praehistorica 31 edited by M. Budja, pp. 157‒164. “The wool industry of Crete in the Late Bronze Age,” Papers of the British School at Athens 59: 1‒15. “The life-history of the potter’s wheel in the ancient Near East,” in Archaeological Ceramics: A Review of Current Research, edited by S. Scarcella, pp. 64‒72. Oxford: Archaeopress.

LEIGHTON, R. 1999 Sicily before History. London: Duckworth. MARTENSSON, L., ANDERSSON, E., NOSCH, M.-L. and BATZER, A. 2006 “Technical report experimental archaeology, Part 2:2 whorl or bead 2006,” in Tools and Textiles – Texts and Contexts Research Program. The Danish National Research Foundation’s Centre for Textile Research, University of Copenhagen, electronic publication available at (accessed May 2016). MÉDARD, F. 2000 L’artisanat textile au Néolithique. L’exemple de Delley-Portalban II (Suisse) 3272‒2462 av. J.-C. Montagnac: Monique Mergoil. 2003 “La produzione di filo nei siti lacustri del Neolitico,” in Textiles. Intrecci e tessuti dalla preistoria europea, edited by M. Bazzanella, A. Mayr, A. Moser and L. Rast-Eicher, pp. 79‒86. Trento: Provincia Autonoma di Trento. MILITELLO, P. 2012a Festòs e Haghia Triada. Rinvenimenti minori I. Materiale per la tessitura. Padova: Bottega d’Erasmo. 2012b “Textile activity in neolithic Phaistos,” in Kosmos: Jewellery, Adornment and Textiles in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 13th International Aegean Conference / 13e Rencontre égéenne internationale (Aegaeum 33), edited by M.-L. Nosch and R. Laffineur, pp. 199‒206. Leuven and Liège: Peeters. ORSI, P. 1926‒1928 “Miscellanea Sicula III – Villaggio o santuario a Serra Ferlicchio (Girgenti),” Bullettino di Paletnologia Italiana 46‒48: 64‒71. PAYNE, S. 1973 “The kill-off patterns in sheep and goat: The mandibles from Asvan Kale,” Anatolian Studies 23: 281‒303. PANVINI, R. 2003 Caltanisetta. Il Museo Archeologico: Catalogo. Palermo: Regione sicliana, Assessorato dei Beni Culturali e Ambientale e Pubblica Istruzione. PESSINA, A. and TINÉ, V. 2008 Archeologia del Neolitico: L’Italia tra VI e IV millennio a.C. Rome: Carocci. PEYRONNEL, L. 2004 Gli strumenti di tessitura dall’Età del Bronzo all’epoca persiana (MSAE 4). Rome: La Sapienza. RAST EICHER, A. 2005 “Bast before wool: The first textiles,” in Hallstatt Textiles: Technical Analysis, Scientific Investigation and Experiment on Iron Age Textiles (BAR IS 1351), edited by P. Bichler, K. Grömer, R. Hofmann-de Keijzer, A. Kern and H. Reschreiter, pp. 117‒131. Oxford: Archaeopress. RIEDL, A. and TECCHIATI, U. 2003 “La capra e la pecora in Italia tra il Neolitico e l’Età del Bronzo,” in Textiles. Intrecci e tessuti dalla preistoria europea, edited by M. Bazzanella, A. Mayr, A. Moser and L. Rast-Eicher, pp. 73‒78. Trento: Provincia Autonoma di Trento.

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ROTTOLI, M. 2003 “Il lino,” in Textiles. Intrecci e tessuti dalla preistoria europea, edited by M. Bazzanella, A. Mayr, A. Moser and L. Rast-Eicher, pp. 65‒71. Trento: Provincia Autonoma di Trento. RAHMSTORF, L. 2008 Tiryns: Forschungen und Berichte XVI. Kleinfunde aus Tiryns. Terrakotta, Stein, Bein und Glas/Fayence vornehmlich aus der Spätbronzezeit. Wiesbaden: Reichert Verlag. RYDER, M. 1983 Sheep and Man. London: Duckworth. SHERRATT, A. G. 1981 “Plough and pastorialism: Aspects of the Secondary Products Revolution,” in Pattern of the Past: Studies in Honour of David Clarke, edited by H. Hammond, I. Hodder and G. Isaac, pp. 261–305. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 1983 “The secondary exploitation of animals in the Old World,” World Archaeology 15: 90–104. SEDITA MIGLIORE, M. 1991 Sabucina. Caltanissetta and Roma: Sciascia. TUSA, S. 1992 La Sicilia nella preistoria. Palermo: Sellerio. TUSA, S. (ed.) 1997 Prima Sicilia: Alle origini della società siciliana, 2 vols. Palermo: Ediprint. TZACHILI, I. 1997 Yphantike kai yphanteres sto proistoriko Aigaio. Herakleion: Panepistimiakes Ekdosesi Kritis. VOGT, E. 1936 Geflechte und Gewebe der Steinzeit. Basel: Verlag E. Birkhäuser and cie. WAETZOLDT, H. 1972 Untersuchungen zur Neusumerischen Textilindustrie (Studi economici e tecnologici 1). Rome: Centro per le antichità e la storia dell’arte del Vicino Oriente.

Pietro MILITELLO Università di Catania [email protected]

Chronology

Early CA Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age

Site

Gibil Gabib Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio

Biconical Conical Biconical Spherical Biconical Biconical Biconical Biconical Biconical Biconical Biconical Biconical Biconical Biconical Spherical ovoid Biconical Biconical Biconical Biconical Biconical Spherical Spherical Biconical Biconical Biconical Biconical

Typology 105 49.94 131.1 38.42 26.56 39.84 44.56 35.15 41.47 29.23 75.10 35.74 35 97.21 108.4 35.33 49.71 35.20 23.86 27.63 25.52 27.62 68.13 46.02 56.48 81.80

Weight (g) 62 28 48 43 28 32 36 44 38 28 37 38 34 43 52 35 36 42 25 32 32 32 36 32 33 40

Height (mm) 30 46 55 43 37 39 44 39 41 38 41 37 41 55 55 30 43 36 34 36 32 32 42 49 49 56

Diameter (mm)

49.94 131.1 38.42 26.56 39.84 44.56 35.15 41.47 29.23 75.10 35.74 35 97.21 108.4 35.33 49.71 35.20 23.86 27.63 25.52 27.62 68.13 46.02 56.48 81.80

Hole D. (mm)

232 P. MILITELLO

Chronology

Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Copper Age Final C.A. Final C.A Final C.A Final C.A Final C.A Final C.A

Site

Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Serraferlicchio Monte Palombara Pietrarossa Pietrarossa Pietrarossa Eraclea Minoa Eraclea Minoa

59.36 39.29 42.22 67.49 42.03 45.21 26.45 53.80 50.26 35.79 34.23 60.52 25.18 32.62 55.48 50.81 48 n.i. 29 18 45 n.i. n.i.

Weight (g) 35 32 32 34 36 32 30 30 28 25 31 29 23 24 25 15 20 18 29 22 45 31 55

Height (mm)

Table 1. Metrological features of spindle-whorls from the analysed sites.

Biconical Biconical Biconical Biconical Biconical Biconical Biconical Flat biconical Flat biconical Flat biconical Biconical Flat biconical Conical Cylindrical Stone cylindrical Stone cylindrical Stone cylindrical Biconical Biconical Biconical Spherical Biconical Spherical ovoid

Typology 51 44 45 48 44 41 41 55 41 48 44 50 44 41 34 43 41 32 35 32 34 35 85

Diameter (mm) 59.36 39.29 42.22 67.49 42.03 45.21 26.45 53.80 50.26 35.79 34.23 60.52 25.18 32.62 55.48 50.81 48 5 6.8 7.6 12 n.i. n.i.

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233

THE CLASSICAL WORLD

MULTICULTURAL SYNTHESIS, ETHNIC IDENTITY, AND THE CASE OF PHOENICIAN-PUNIC MALTA* Anthony J. FRENDO

It is a commonplace that the issues connected with cultural and ethnic identity are extremely complex when placed in an archaeological framework and that often there is no simple equation between archaeological remains and ethnic identity. This becomes even clearer when one remembers, for example, that the African Nuer themselves did not know that they were Nuer! This name had been attributed to them by their neighbours and by the ethnographers who had studied them in the 1930s.1 In this paper I shall focus my attention on the problem of multicultural synthesis and ethnic identity with special reference to Phoenician-Punic Malta. It is generally agreed that the Phoenician-Punic period of Malta lasted for at least about five centuries from circa 700 BC at the latest up to 218 BC.2 The Phoenician period proper, when the Maltese archipelago was under the direct influence of the Phoenicians from the Levant, lasted for about a century from circa 700 BC up to the sixth century BC, whereas the Punic period, when these islands were under the direct political rule of Carthage, lasted from the sixth century BC up to 218 BC. This latter date is precise because we know from historical records that this is when the Romans took over Malta from the Carthaginians during the second Punic war.3 It is important to note that the chronological divisions just mentioned are largely historical and political and that they are not based on any considerations of material cultural remains relative to the two different periods – any correlations between the Phoenician period and Phoenician culture and between the Punic period and the Punic culture are essentially coincidental. Thus, for example, we do know that in the Maltese islands there were Phoenician artefacts from the Levant during the Punic period.4 Indeed, it would be preferable to affirm that an artefact is Punic if it exhibits characteristics similar to those of Carthaginian material culture and if it shows appreciable differences to the material culture of the Phoenician homeland, even if this happens during the ‘Phoenician period’.5 Given this state of affairs and in view of the fact that the Phoenicians (as will be shown below) seem to have called themselves ‘Canaanites’, in this paper I shall often refer to them and to the Carthaginians in Malta by this name.

* I am pleased to dedicate this study to Anthony Bonanno, a long-time friend and colleague who never misses the wood for the trees. 1  Lemche 1991, p. 51. 2  Frendo and Vella 2001, pp. 46‒47. 3  Livy XXI, 51. 4  Hölbl 1989, p. 82. 5  Garbini 1980, p. 149.

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For the purpose of this study, it is important to briefly consider the ethnic identity of the Phoenicians. This is an extremely complex and moot question, but it is useful to keep in mind some basic points. The ancient Greeks referred to the Semitic people of the Levantine coast (especially those found on the shores of modern-day Lebanon) as ‘Phoenicians’. This name, which is itself the origin of the name ‘Punic’, stems from the Greek word ‘phoinix’, which Homer had already used some time in the eighth century BC.6 The Semitic equivalent of ‘phoinix’ turns out to be a word which lies at the root of the English word ‘Canaanite’. Thus, for example, ‘kinahhu’ in Akkadian means ‘purple dye’,7 whereas the Hebrew word ‘ken‘ani’ means ‘purple’, or even ‘merchant’.8 The upshot is that from the linguistic point of view, Greek ‘phoinix’ is the equivalent of Akkadian ‘kinahhu’, and since the former lies at the basis of the English word ‘Phoenician’ whereas ‘kinahhu’ undergirds the English word ‘Canaanite’, it becomes clear that linguistically the word ‘Phoenician’ is the equivalent of the term ‘Canaanite’. Is there any historical and archaeological evidence to buttress the foregoing conclusion? Various pieces of evidence of a variegated nature do point in this direction. In the Hebrew Bible, Gen. 10. 15 reads “Canaan begot Sidon his first-born.” This literary text is quite complex, but it does show one interesting point, namely that in the author’s mind there was an intrinsic link between Canaan, and therefore the Canaanites, and the renowned Phoenician city state of Sidon. An even clearer piece of evidence stems from the field of numismatics. There are coins of the Hellenistic period from Beirut with legends on one side in Greek with the equivalent in Phoenician on the other. In one example, the Greek text speaks of “laodikeias tes en phoinike” meaning “Of Laodicea which is in Phoenicia”, whereas the Phoenician translation in consonantal script reads “ll’dk’ ‘š bkn‘n”, namely “Of Laodicea, which is in Canaan”.9 It is highly interesting to note that for the scribe who etched these legends the Greek word ‘Phoenicia’ stands for the Phoenician word ‘Canaan’. Somewhat later, during the first century AD, we have in the Gospels a story about the healing by Jesus of the daughter of a foreign, namely a non-Jewish, woman. It is highly interesting to compare the narrative about this event as it is relayed in the Gospel of Mark and Matthew. In Matthew’s version of the story (Matt. 15. 21-28), the foreign woman is called the ‘Canaanite’ woman (Matt. 15. 22), whereas in Mark’s version (Mark 7. 24-30) she is labelled ‘Syro-Phoenician’. Why this difference? The reason seems to lie in the well-known fact that Matthew, who was a Jewish convert to Christianity, wrote his Gospel for an audience of Christian Jews and therefore he used the terminology Semites were used to, in this case appropriately calling the woman coming from the Lebanon a ‘Canaanite’. On the other hand, Mark wrote his Gospel for a Christian audience which largely stemmed from a gentile, and therefore from a Greek-speaking, background and this explains why he used the Greek equivalent of ‘Canaanite’, namely ‘Phoenician’.10 Finally, we find that in the fifth century AD Saint Augustine of Hippo claimed that when he had interviewed the descendants of  6

 Liddell and Scott 1889, p. 868.  Per se, ‘kinahhu’ means ‘reddish purple’; cf. Soden 1965, p. 479.  8  Koehler and Baumgartner 1995, pp. 485‒486.  9  The legend in Greek and Phoenician as cited in Harris 1936, p. 7 n. 29. 10  Frendo 1993, p. 170.  7

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the Punic people living around the city of Carthage, they had called themselves ‘Canaanite’ in answer to his query about their identity.11 Thus it appears that there is linguistic, historical, and archaeological evidence showing that the people whom the Greeks had termed ‘Phoenician’ had most probably called themselves ‘Canaanite’. The problem is that although a Canaanite would have been an inhabitant of the land of Canaan, this does not mean that the word ‘Canaanite’ itself is a straightforward ethnic term. It appears that various ethnic groups could be included under this term, and Hos. 12. 8 shows clearly that it could function either as an ethnic indicator or as a sociological term to indicate either merchants or urbanites. Indeed, Lemche points out that the term ‘Canaanite’ could also stand for “merchants of foreign extraction who would invariably – in the mind of the Israelites – be potential swindlers”.12 In reality, Canaan had never been well defined politically or ethnically and for a scribe in Western Asia a Canaanite was always someone who did not belong to the scribe’s society or state, whereas the land of Canaan was a country which was always different to that of the scribe.13 In this sense one could not really speak of a Canaanite king or of a Canaanite kingdom in an ethnic sense. Although the equivalence between ‘Phoenician’ and ‘Canaanite’ discussed above is true, one should also remember that it is a commonplace amongst the archaeologists of the Levant to view the Phoenicians as being the direct descendants of the Canaanites in the first millennium BC who were living mainly in the region which corresponds to modern Lebanon. It is clear that this is largely a chronological and geographical distinction, and that in essence Phoenician and Canaanite would still be equivalent. Thus, when one views the material culture of the Phoenicians one is basically looking at the material remains of a particular group of Canaanites, and given what was pointed out in the foregoing paragraph, this means that one could very well be looking at the remains of various ethnic groups living in the same Levantine regions and who would have had intercultural relations. This is probably one of the reasons why the Phoenician-Punic culture has been viewed as being eclectic. In fact, the Phoenicians are first identified in the western Mediterranean “by art objects that show remarkable oriental eclectic style, often in combination with high standards of craftsmanship”.14 Besides having an intrinsically eclectic culture, the Phoenicians had also been very open to other cultures both in Western Asia as well as in the Mediterranean, thereby exhibiting a multicultural synthesis wherever they went. Such a  Augustine, Epistulae ad Romanos inchoata Expositio, 13.5. The authenticity of this claim by Augustine has now been challenged in a very recent study which only came to my attention after I had finished writing this article; see Quinn et al. 2014 who argue that from the text-critical point of view Augustine “very likely wrote something rather different” (p. 183) to “quid sint”, namely “quid sit” thus referring to the language of the rustics around Carthage rather than to their ethnic self-identification (p. 185). The authors opt for the textual archetype which has “sit” rather than “sint”, but they also claim that, notwithstanding this, Augustine could have very well originally written “sint” rather than “sit” (p. 185) after all! See also the highly interesting information in Lemche 1991, p. 152. However, given this textual uncertainty, momentarily I refrain from giving too much weight to Augustine’s oft-quoted text, although the other reasons adduced above for viewing the Phoenicians as Canaanites can still stand. The whole issue demands further research. 12  Lemche 1991, p. 157. 13  Lemche 1991, p. 52. 14  Geus 1991, pp. 11‒12. 11

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scenario is very well exemplified by a particular type of pottery known as ‘black-on-red’ or Cypro-Phoenician ware, dating from the tenth to the eighth centuries BC in Palestine,15 and of which there were three traditions reflected in the production of this type of pottery in Cyprus, in Philistia, and in Palestine.16 Thus, the culture of the Phoenicians both in the Levant and in the western Mediterranean was of its very nature eclectic, besides exhibiting very clear traits of a multicultural synthesis. Such a scenario is very well exemplified in the material culture of PhoenicianPunic Malta and I shall therefore focus my attention on five examples from the Maltese archipelago during this period. These examples should also help us to ask and to hopefully be able to answer some important questions regarding the relationship between material culture and ethnic identity. One example pertinent to the questions being examined consists of the early Phoenician pottery found in Malta. The problems besetting the precise chronology of this pottery as well as the relationship between the new Levantine pottery types and the local ceramic repertoire are to date still very moot and virtually insurmountable. However, there is one aspect which can throw some light on the question of how the Phoenician newcomers to Malta could have integrated with the local people, thereby providing some possible evidence for multiculturalism. In a review article on two books by Claudia Sagona,17 Nicholas C. Vella claimed that it is well-nigh impossible to conclude that the early Phoenician pottery from Malta allows us to claim that there were ceramic carry-overs from the preceding Bronze Age into the early Phoenician period, thereby providing evidence for a continuity between the two phases.18 However, he also very aptly and prudently adds “moreover, I do not see why handmade wares ought necessarily to precede the appearance of wheel-made ceramics. Both techniques of pottery production co-existed in several W[estern] Phoenician sites, and archaeologists now explain this occurrence without invoking the pre-colonial phenomenon whilst leaving open the strong possibility that handmade pots were made by indigenous potters”.19 This last point is crucial in that it points towards a strong possibility that the early Phoenician ceramic repertoire from Malta indicates that the Phoenicians in Malta integrated at least somewhat with the local inhabitants in such a manner that this opened the way to pottery types which exhibited traits of multiculturalism. This conclusion is supported by the results of those who examined the presence of the Phoenicians on the Maltese islands. Indeed, these seafaring people “interacted closely with the indigenous population”20 and multicultural synthesis seems to be an inevitable hallmark of the Phoenician-Punic culture of the Maltese islands seeing that “la presence Phénicienne est caractérisée par une très grande integration avec la communauté locale qui trouve son expression dans des apports certainment actifs et innovateurs”.21

15

 Crée 1991, p. 97.  Markoe 2000, p. 161. 17  Sagona 2002; Sagona 2003. 18  Vella 2005, p. 440. 19  Vella 2005, p. 441. 20  Markoe 2000, p. 180. 21  Ciasca 1995, p. 706 with references there. 16

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The second interesting example consists of the so-called ‘Żurrieq Tower’, which is 3 m square and 6.3 m high “from the upper edge of the cornice to bed-rock”.22 It is in fact the remains of an original building, the exact function of which is unknown and of which there is an illustration dating from the eighteenth century AD.23 The ‘tower’ dates to the late sixth/early fifth century BC and it is built of the customary Phoenician ashlar masonry with an interesting feature at the top where it has a concave gorge, which is typically Egyptian.24 This particular feature of having an Egyptian type of cavetto at the top of Phoenician buildings and columns is found elsewhere in the Phoenician world both at Malta itself and in other Phoenician settlements in the Mediterranean such as Sardinia and North Africa.25 Hölbl has also produced an interesting and thorough study of Egyptian and egyptianising material from the Maltese archipelago during the Phoenician-Punic period. There are many small finds such as amulets and jewellery items, which even if not Egyptian, can certainly be classified as egyptianising and which testify to multicultural synthesis. Such is the case with the small golden figures of the jackel-headed Anubis and the falcon-headed Horus each carrying a sun disk on their head and which were soldered together in antiquity. This double amulet dates to the seventh-sixth century BC and was retrieved from a tomb in Għajn Klieb in Malta.26 The sun disk on the head of the figure of Anubis betrays a Phoenician touch to an otherwise Egyptian theme,27 thus indicating multiculturalism via a Phoenician egyptianising artefact. Indeed this double amulet, which looks so Egyptian, was not made in Egypt. Although its precise origin is still a moot question, it was produced in the western Phoenician world, possibly stemming from either Carthage or Tharros.28 A similar situation obtains for five scarab-shaped swivel rings, three of which are Egyptian with the other two being produced outside Egypt. One of the latter two examples was possibly produced in Carthage whilst the other one was most probably made there.29 One of these rings is known only through a sketch, and the overall date of all five examples is the eighth century BC.30 This means that in the pre-Carthaginian period, the Phoenicians in Malta had already left a number of small finds testifying to a certain type of multicultural synthesis in the sense that some of them were Egyptian whilst others were egyptianising. There is one item from the Maltese archipelago dating to the Phoenician-Punic period which is particularly suited to provide an illustration of the level of multicultural synthesis which the Canaanites had reached on these islands. I am referring to a fragment of papyrus which was found in an amulet holder made of bronze which had been retrieved from a Punic tomb in the area of Tal-Virtù at Rabat in Malta. The torn papyrus has an inscription in ink in Phoenician script on it dating to the sixth century BC.31 Of great interest is the 22

 Vella 1998, pp. 153‒154 with extensive references there; see also Hölbl 1989, p. 147, pls 20, 21.  Hölbl 1989, p. 147 fig. 8. 24  Hölbl 1989, pp. 147‒149. 25  Hölbl 1989, pp. 149‒150. 26  Hölbl 1989, pp. 98‒100. 27  Hölbl 1989, p. 99. 28  Hölbl 1989, pp. 99‒100. 29  Hölbl 1989, pp. 94, 96. 30  Hölbl 1989, pp. 93, 97. 31  Gouder and Rocco 1975, pp. 15‒18. 23

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fact that besides this inscription, the papyrus also exhibits a drawing in ink of Isis holding in her right hand the ankh sign.32 It is a commonplace that Isis was the Egyptian goddess who, amongst other things, had the function of protecting the dead. The inscription reads as follows: “Laugh O strong of heart at your enemy. Make fun of, weaken, and attack the adversary … despise him, crush him over the waters … bring him down … on the sea, tie him, hang him”.33 The Canaanite person who wrote this inscription must have been particularly open to Egyptian culture in view of the fact that the wording of the inscription echoes the language and a number of ideas that originate in different texts from ancient Egypt. One possible (but as shown below not probable) interpretation of the inscription from Tal-Virtù is that Isis could be viewed as urging a number of gods and goddesses, who were her associates in her battle against the enemy of the sun god,34 to annihilate this opponent who was attempting to bar dead people from reaching their destination when travelling over the waters into eternity. It is known that the enemy of the sun god was the monster Apophis (or Seth who appears in the myth of Horus). His aim was precisely to obstruct people from reaching their eternal abode.35 This inscription is based on various sources of ancient Egyptian literature which stem from various periods, however it seems that the closest parallels are in fact found in the collection of magical spells dating from the New Kingdom period known as the Book of Apophis. This latter source helps us to interpret the “courageous ones” mentioned in the Tal-Virtù inscription as being the different deities mentioned in the Book of Apophis, amongst whom there is Isis herself.36 This means that it is highly probable that Isis is to be viewed not as the one who is encouraging the “courageous ones” but as forming part of this group. The exhortation found in the Tal-Virtù inscription was drawn up by someone who was praying that Isis and her divine associates annihilate the monster Apophis and thwart his attempts to bar the dead person from reaching his or her eternal destination. In this context, it is also interesting to note that in the Egyptian Book of the Dead it was the deceased person who actually played the role of the sun god who overcame Apophis.37 The foregoing points demonstrate clearly that the Canaanites in Malta, as elsewhere in the Mediterranean, had a high level of multicultural synthesis to the extent that had it not been for the Phoenician script used in the Tal-Virtù inscription one might not have ever inferred that this had been drawn up by a west Semite rather than by some Egyptian living in Malta. This corroborates the viewpoint of those who believe that there is no simple equation between material culture and ethnic identity. There are two other important archaeological artefacts from the Maltese archipelago which show clearly the extent of multicultural synthesis which the Canaanites on these islands exhibited. I am referring to the two inscribed candelabra in marble each of which has two identical inscriptions on it, one in Punic and its Greek translation below, and 32

 Gouder and Rocco 1975, fig. on p. 9, pl. IV.  After Gouder and Rocco 1975, p. 12. 34  Hölbl 1989, p. 121. 35  Hölbl 1989, pp. 116‒121, 123. 36  Hölbl 1989, p. 121 with references there. 37  Hölbl 1989, p. 120. 33

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which date to the second century BC. Although it is generally thought that these twin candelabra came from Marsaxlokk in the south of Malta, this is uncertain and their provenance is in fact unknown.38 One of the candelabra is now in the Louvre in Paris, whilst the other is in the National Museum of Archaeology in Malta. The inscriptions on the front of the pedestal of these candelabra are identical, except for the distribution of the letters39 and therefore any remarks about the content of the inscriptions apply equally well to both candelabra. What is important in the context of this study is the fact that on each of the candelabra there are two inscriptions: the one at the top in Punic with a translation of it in Greek at the bottom. This is already a testimony in its own right to the fact that the Canaanites in Malta as elsewhere in the Mediterranean were very much open to other cultures. The candelabra show that during the Hellenistic period the Canaanites in Malta were very well acquainted with Greek culture and that they felt the need to erect their own public inscriptions both in their own tongue as well as in the lingua franca of the day, namely Hellenistic Greek. Could it be that they wanted to accommodate any Greek merchants who would have found themselves in Malta? The examples discussed above have one important thing in common, namely that they all show that it is extremely difficult to pin down ethnic identity from material culture and that there is no simple equation between the two. In fact, ethnicity cannot simply be equated with culture, and as Noll reminds us there are cases where a society having one culture could have many ethnic groups as happens in contemporary society in the USA.40 Indeed, an ethnic group could be defined as being “essentially, any clustering of people who take an interest in one another and perceive themselves to be a people”.41 This means that there could even be cases when a person could have more than one identity within the same society. Once again contemporary society in the USA provides a good example when one remembers that Asian immigrants to this country could view themselves both as American as well as belonging to their ‘original’ ethnic group.42 In a study on the neighbours of the Canaanites, namely the ancient Israelites, Pitkänen reminds us that there are six criteria to be fulfilled for there to be an ethnic group: a proper name, a myth of common ancestors, common historical memories, items of a shared culture, a bond with a homeland, and finally a sense of unity.43 Although it was already pointed out above that Canaan was never really well defined politically or ethnically, there seems to be no doubt about the ethnic use of the word ‘Canaanite’ when it comes to the presence of the people of Canaan in the western Mediterranean and in north Africa. Indeed, it was in these areas that the group of people, who in Greek and Latin literature were called Phoenicians and Punic (or Carthaginian), had first viewed themselves as Canaanites.44

38

 Guzzo Amadasi 1967, pp. 15‒17, fig. 1, pl. I; Cooke 1903, pp. 102‒103.  Guzzo Amadasi 1967, p. 15. 40  Noll 2001, pp. 144‒145. 41  Noll 2001, p. 141. 42  Pitkänen 2004, p. 168. 43  Pitkänen 2004, pp. 173‒175. 44  Lemche 1991, p. 152. 39

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It was already mentioned above that when Augustine of Hippo interviewed the descendants of the Carthaginians in North Africa in the fifth century AD, he claimed that in answer to his question “Who are you?”, they replied, “We are Canaanites.”45 This in itself already fits perfectly with the criterion mentioned in the foregoing paragraph that for there to be an ethnic group there must be some people who cluster together and take an interest in each other whilst perceiving themselves as a people. The Canaanites in North Africa also fulfil all the six criteria listed in the foregoing paragraph that Pitkänen viewed as necessary for the presence of an ethnic group. Indeed, the sixth century AD Greek historian, Procopius of Caesarea, provides us with a very interesting (albeit late) complementary piece of evidence regarding this matter. In Book IV: X: 21–22 of his eight-volume work History of the Wars of Justinian, Procopius writes as follows with respect to the Canaanites: They [= the Canaanites of the Old Testament] also built a fortress in Numidia, where now is the city called Tigisis. In that place are two columns made of white stone near by the great spring, having Phoenician letters cut in them which say in the Phoenician tongue: ‘We are they who fled from before the face of Joshua, the robber, the son of Nun.46

The historical implications of this text are complex, and I have dealt with this matter elsewhere.47 What needs to be highlighted here is the fact that the Canaanites, and therefore the Phoenicians and the Carthaginians, were indeed an ethnic group having, amongst other things, a proper name and shared historical memories as well as a common culture. It was shown above that of its very nature the material culture of the Phoenicians is eclectic, and the examples presented in this study have shown that there can be no single and simple equation between material culture and ethnic identity, least of all in the case of these people. The implication is that when it comes to the relationship between material culture and ethnic identity, each case has to be examined separately and taken on its own merits. Moreover, we should also keep in mind the fact that our ideas of ethnic identity could very well be different to those upheld by various people in antiquity. The crucial point is that a group’s self-consciousness is essential to identifying it as an ethnic group, and it is clear that this is something which is well nigh impossible to infer from non-written material remains. However, such self-consciousness can be more easily gleaned from textual evidence, whether this is archaeological or literary. The evidence from the Maltese archipelago which was marshalled above illustrates the conclusions just mentioned and it also shows clearly that the Phoenicians and Carthaginians had a culture which is rather complex for us to comprehend today especially in linking it with them as an ethnic group. Owing to various historical factors, their culture was of its nature eclectic and in turn it was open to other cultural influences, particularly to those stemming from Egypt, thereby issuing in a multicultural synthesis as clearly shown by the Tal-Virtù papyrus inscription discussed above. This explains why it is difficult to automatically equate the material culture of these people with their particular ethnic identity.

45  Augustine, Epistulae ad Romanos inchoata Expositio, 13.5 as cited in Augustinus.it accessed on 20th October 2014. However, see my own reservations in note 11 above regarding this piece of evidence. 46  Translation by Dewing 1916, p. 289. 47  Frendo 2002.

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However, this inscribed papyrus shows that the methodical relationship between written and non-written evidence would be a great step forward in unravelling broad and complex issues such as the type and degree of relationship that there is between material evidence and the ethnic identity of those who had produced it.

BIBLIOGRAPHY CIASCA, A. 1995

“Malte,” in La Civilisation phénicienne et punique: Manuel de Recherche, edited by V. Krings, pp. 698‒711. London-New York-Köln: E. J. Brill.

COOKE, G. A. 1903 A Text-book of North-Semitic Inscriptions: Moabite, Hebrew, Phoenician, Aramaic, Nabataean, Palmyrene, Jewish. Oxford: Clarendon Press. CRÉE, F. DE 1991 “The Black-on-Red or Cypro-Phoenician Ware,” in Phoenicia and the Bible: Proceedings of the Conference held at the University of Leuven on the 15th and 16th of March 1990, edited by E. Lipiński, pp. 95‒102. Leuven: Departement Oriëntalistiek and Uitgeverij Peeters. DEWING, H. B. (trans.) 1916 History of the Wars by Procopius [of Caesarea], vol. 2, Books III and IV. LondonNew York: Heinemann and Putnam’s Sons. FRENDO, A. J. 1993 “Some observations on the investigation of the Phoenicians/Canaanites in the ancient Mediterranean world,” Journal of Mediterranean Studies 3: 169‒174. 2002 “Two long-lost Phoenician inscriptions and the emergence of ancient Israel,” Palestine Exploration Quarterly 134: 37‒43. FRENDO, A. J. and VELLA, N. C. 2001 “Les îles phéniciennes du milieu de la mer,” Dossiers d’Archéologie 267: 46‒55. GARBINI, G. 1980 I Fenici: Storia e Religione. Naples: Istituto Universitario Orientale. GEUS, C. H. J. DE 1991 “The material Culture of Phoenicia and Israel,” in, Phoenicia and the Bible: Proceedings of the Conference held at the University of Leuven on the 15th and 16th of March 1990, edited by E. Lipiński, pp. 11‒16. Leuven: Departement Oriëntalistiek and Uitgeverij Peeters. GOUDER, T. C. and ROCCO, B. 1975 “Un Talismano bronzeo da Malta contenente un Nastro di Papiro con Iscrizione Fenicia,” Studi Magrebini 7: 1‒18. GUZZO AMADASI, M. G. 1967 Le Iscrizioni Fenicie e Puniche delle Colonie in Occidente. Rome: Istituto di Studi del Vicino Oriente, Università di Roma. HARRIS, Z. S. 1936 A Grammar of the Phoenician Language. New Haven, Connecticut: American Oriental Society. KOEHLER, L. and BAUMGARTNER, W. 1995 The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament, revised by W. Baumgartner and J. Jakob Stamm, and translated and edited by M. E. J. Richardson, Vol. 2. Leiden-New York-Köln: E. J. Brill. LEMCHE, N. P. 1991 The Canaanites and their Land: The Tradition of the Canaanites. Sheffield: JSOT Press.

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LIDDELL, H. G. and SCOTT, R. 1889 An Intermediate Greek-English Lexicon: Founded on the Seventh Edition of Liddell and Scott’s Greek-English Lexicon. Oxford: Clarendon Press. MARKOE, G. E. 2000 Phoenicians. London: British Museum Press. NOLL, K. L. 2001 Canaan and Israel in Antiquity: An Introduction. London-New York: Sheffield Academic Press. PITKÄNEN, P. 2004 “Ethnicity, assimilation and the Israelite settlement,” Tyndale Bulletin 55: 161‒182. QUINN, J. C., MCLYNN, N., KERR, R. M. and HADAS, D. 2014 “Augustine’s Canaanites,” Papers of the British School at Rome 82: 175‒197. SAGONA, C. 2002 The Archaeology of Punic Malta. Leuven: Peeters. 2003 Punic Antiquities of Malta and other Ancient Artefacts held in Ecclesiastic and Private Collections. Leuven: Peeters. SODEN, W. VON 1965 Akkadisches Handwörterbuch, vol. 1, A‒L. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. VELLA, N. C. 1998 Ritual, Landscape, and Territory. Phoenician and Punic Non-Funerary Religious Sites in the Mediterranean: An Analysis of the Archaeological Evidence, Unpublished PhD dissertation. University of Bristol. 2005 “Phoenician and Punic Malta,” Journal of Roman Archaeology 18: 436‒450.

Anthony J. FRENDO University of Malta [email protected]

THE GODS’ MANIPULATION OF WOMEN’S ACTIONS IN HOMER’S EPICS AND VERGIL’S AENEID* Horatio C. R. VELLA

At the opening of the Odyssey, the gods complain that men blame the gods for the evils, which they experience, when they should blame themselves for causing those same evils (1.32–34: “ὢ πόποι, οἷον δή νυ θεοὺς βροτοὶ αἰτιόωνται· / ἐξ ἡμέων γάρ φασι κάκ’ ἔμμεναι, οἱ δὲ καὶ αὐτοὶ / σφῇσιν ἀτασθαλίῃσιν ὑπὲρ μόρον ἄλγε’ ἔχουσιν.” Vergil echoes this thinking in his Aeneid (9.184–185: Nisus ait: “dine hunc ardorem mentibus addunt, / Euryale, an sua cuique deus fit dira cupido?”, and 10.111–113: “… sua cuique exorsa laborem / fortunamque ferent. rex Iuppiter omnibus idem; / fata viam invenient.” …) when in Book 9 Nisus asks Euryalus whether our sufferings come from the gods, something denied strongly by Jupiter himself in Book 10, or from men’s deeds.1 But Homer himself, on many occasions, contradicts such divine affirmations by both statements and occurrences described in both the Iliad and the Odyssey. The apparent contradiction between the gods’ statement at the beginning of the Odyssey and the rest of the two epics of Homer can be resolved by interpreting that statement at the beginning of the Odyssey as Homer’s own expression of contemporary religious thought and that which he expects his readers to agree with. The acceptance of manipulation of men’s actions by the gods as part of the technique of epic writing is of paramount importance in understanding epic writing and interpreting important religious messages and mythological presentation of man’s experience in life.2 The purpose of this paper is twofold: to show how the gods in epic can be shown as manipulating female characters for the ultimate fulfilment of moira or fatum in the story; and to compare victims of manipulation by these gods, all being women, such as Dido, Caeneus, Medea, Helen, Nausicaa and Lavinia. This manipulation of the gods involves divine intervention, such as transformations. Vergil respected Homer in his representation of gods’ actions intervening in men’s in his story of Aeneas and his encounters with both mortals and other superhuman beings. At least in the case of Vergil, the poet seems to assimilate the gods’ interventions with emotional and psychological motivations of the characters themselves. In this way, according to G. E. Duckworth, the gods appear to actually express these motivations, as in the case of Cupid in Book 1, the Trojan women in Sicily in Book 5, and Juturna in Book 12.3

* The author wishes to thank Prof. Ray Clark for reading this paper and for his comments. 1  Duckworth 1956, pp. 359–362, concludes that Dido, Pallas, Lausus, Nisus and Euryalus, Camilla, Mezentius and Turnus suffer from their own actions or wrongdoings. 2  See also on this subject of gods’ involvement in epic Classical narrative Williams 1983, pp. 17–39, Lyne 1987, pp. 61–99 and Feeney 1991. 3  Duckworth 1956, p. 358.

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Nevertheless, it is clear that the hunting of Dido with Aeneas in Aeneid 4 is planned by Juno and Venus,4 just as the war against the Trojans is planned by Juno through her manipulation of Turnus and Amata.5 In Aeneid 1, Dido is particularly described as being hit by the arrow of Cupid in the guise of Iulus.6 In this respect, we may pardon Dido’s betrayal of Sychaeus and her hallucinations in her desire for Aeneas, and as a puppet in the hands of the gods she earns our sympathy.7 But does Dido really love Aeneas? Would she have loved him had she not been injected with a dose of passion for him by Venus? In the words of L. Feder, “Dido is a tragic heroine who is the victim of the gods and of her own intense passion.”8 Finally, would she not have stuck to her vow to Sychaeus and treated Aeneas as a guest and, possibly, as co-founder of Carthage had she not been manipulated by the gods?9 Following the tragic death of Dido at the end of Book 4 of the Aeneid, Vergil makes Dido reappear as ghost in the underworld. As Odysseus was shocked to see the ghost of his mother, so was Aeneas shocked to see Dido’s ghost in the underworld, at least, in the presence of Sychaeus.10 There, in the underworld, we find Dido in close proximity to two figures: Sychaeus, her former husband, whom she betrayed by what she called marriage with Aeneas, and Caeneus, who betrayed ‘her’ nature when still a woman by offering herself to be loved by Poseidon: for this favour, she was transformed into a man, taking part in the battle with the Centaurs and in other exploits (Aeneid 6.448‒449: … et iuvenis quondam, nunc femina, Caeneus / rursus et in veterem fato revoluta figuram). The connection of Caeneus with Dido ought not to be interpreted only in so far as change of sex or role is concerned, Caeneus from woman to man, Dido from widow to queen with manly responsibilities. It is true that Caeneus and Dido in the end finished with qualities of their remote 4

 Further on the manipulation of Dido by the gods, see Bandini 1987, pp. 89–108, and Khan 2003, pp. 244–274. 5  Kyriakidis 2001–2002, p. 238. Brazouski 1991, pp. 129–136, combines in her study both the manipulation of Amata by the gods and the disregard by Latinus of her maternal rights to be consulted about her daughter’s marriage. Feder 1954, pp. 207–208, includes as victims of the gods not only the Trojans, Dido and Turnus, but also Pallas, Nisus and Euryalus, Lausus and Camilla. 6  See comments in Bryce 1974, p. 257, and Morgan 1994, pp. 67–68. On the subsequent implications of Dido’s affection for Iulus, see Khan 2002, pp. 187–205. 7  Williams 1965, pp. 19–20, and 1972, p. 210, however, considers Dido as responsible for her reactions to the imposed circumstances and for her decisions. 8  Feder 1954, p. 205. 9  Quinn 1965, p. 17, considers Dido as not truly in love with Aeneas, even when she discusses the topic with her sister Anna. More on Dido, see Buscaroli 1932. 10  On Dido’s death, see Heuzé 1991, pp. 189–193. Johnston 1987, pp. 649–654, says that Sychaeus completes the catalogue of the dead in the lugentes campi, each of whom represent some aspect of Dido’s past. For a comparison of Aeneas’s words “invitus, regina, tuo de litore cessi” and Catullus’ “invita, o regina, tuo de vertice cessi”, see Abel 1962, p. 57, Thornton 1962, pp. 77–79, Tatum 1984, pp. 440–441, and Smith 1993, pp. 305–312. For Catullan echoes in Vergil in general, see Westendorp Boerma 1958, pp. 51–63. Smith, p. 307, also refers to the paronomasia in the use of ferrum (456 f.) and ferre (460). He traces the cutting of the lock of hair in Greek literature to Euripides’ Alcestis, contrasting, however, Aeneas with Admetus, but comparing him with Hercules, the guest in Admetus’ house. Still, unlike Hercules in the underworld, Aeneas will not succeed to bring Dido back to life (pp. 309–311), just as he did “not attempt” to rescue Creusa in Aeneid 2 (but we know he did, at the risk of his own life). In this respect, Smith says that Aeneas is even inferior to Orpheus who, at least, attempted to rescue Eurydice from the underworld (p. 311 n. 25). But Aeneas’ mission to the underworld was not to rescue the dead, but the future lives of Rome through the revelation he was to receive from his father Anchises. For a comparison of Aeneas with Hercules, see H.C.R. Vella 2004.

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and recent past experiences: Caeneus being a woman again, but with a male name, and Dido being a wife to Sychaeus again, but with a stern face of a queen that recalls her last aggressive approach to Aeneas. Caeneus and Dido share with each other in more aspects than that: both Caeneus and Dido were manipulated by the gods: Caeneus by Poseidon, Dido by Venus. Such a manipulation involving love occurs in other epics. Medea is similarly hit by Eros as planned by Aphrodite in the Argonautica (3.6–166, 275–366),11 and, likewise, but without the same involvement in the hero’s story, Athena too prepared Nausicaa for marriage before the coming of Odysseus (Odyssey 6.20–40). In fact, it is the marriage garments that she takes with her to wash in the river for an imminent marriage (Odyssey 6.25–33).12 And, like Anna supporting Dido’s marriage with Aeneas,13 Alcinous is happy to hear of his daughter’s prospects of marrying (Odyssey 6.66–67: ὣς ἔφατ’· αἴδετο γὰρ θαλερὸν γάμον ἐξονομῆναι / πατρὶ φίλῳ. ὁ δὲ πάντα νόει καὶ ἀμείβετο μύθῳ·). In this respect of being manipulated by some god or goddess, Dido can be compared with Helen14 before the incidents at Troy,15 namely, being made to fall in love with Paris, also a guest from overseas, through the instigation of Aphrodite also (Iliad 6.349: αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ τάδε γ’ ὧδε θεοὶ κακὰ τεκμήραντο, Odyssey 4.261–262–264: … ὅτε μ’ ἤγαγε κεῖσε φίλης ἀπὸ πατρίδος αἴης, / παῖδά τ’ ἐμὴν νοσφισσαμένην θάλαμόν τε πόσιν τε / οὔ τευ δευόμενον, οὔτ’ ἂρ φρένας οὔτε τι εἶδος.”). Both Helen and Dido had been in Sidon (Iliad 6.289–292: ἔνθ’ ἔσαν οἱ πέπλοι παμποίκιλα ἔργα γυναικῶν / Σιδονίων, τὰς αὐτὸς Ἀλέξανδρος θεοιειδὴς / ἤγαγε Σιδονίηθεν, ἐπιπλὼς εὐρέα πόντον, / τὴν ὁδὸν ἣν Ἑλένην περ ἀνήγαγεν εὐπατέρειαν, Odyssey 4.617–619: … πόρεν δέ ἑ Φαίδιμος ἥρως, / Σιδονίων βασιλεύς, ὅθ’ ἑὸς δόμος ἀμφεκάλυψε / κεῖσέ με νοστήσαντα· τεῒν δ’ ἐθέλω τόδ’ ὀπάσσαι.”, Aeneid 1.619–621: “atque equidem Teucrum memini Sidona venire / finibus expulsum patriis, nova regna petentem / auxilio Beli; …”, 4.682–683: “exstinxti te meque, soror, populumque patresque / Sidonios urbemque tuam. …”), and both Paris and Aeneas were Trojans. At Carthage, Aeneas served as a link between Helen and Dido, by giving Dido a mantle and a veil, which Helen had brought with her to Troy (Aeneid 1.647–652: munera praeterea, Iliacis erepta ruinis, / ferre iubet, pallam signis auroque rigentem, / et circumtextum croceo velamen acantho, / ornatus Argivae Helenae, quos illa Mycenis, / Pergama cum peteret inconcessosque hymenaeos, / extulerat, matris Ledae mirabile donum). Vergil here calls Helen’s marriage with Paris as “unlawful: inconcessosque hymenaeos”; similarly was unlawful the

11

 See also Williams 1972, p. 207, and Pigón 1991, pp. 52–53.  Vallillee 1955, p. 176, goes as far as to criticise Homer for preparing a setting for an imminent marriage, referring to the valuable gifts and the athletic contests, when in fact Odysseus leaves Nausicaa for Ithaca. 13  Henry 1930, pp. 103–104, compares and contrasts Anna’s relationship with Dido to Chalciope’s relationship with Medea. He further comments on the dreams which both Medea and Dido had. 14  In Latin literature, Helen appears in Lucretius 1.459–475, Catullus 68.87–88, 101–104, both authors well read by Vergil, and in Aeneid 2 and 6, and mentioned by Amata in 7.359–364, for which discussion see Carbonaro 1989, pp. 379–383. 15  In her own words (Iliad 24.765–766), she had spent twenty years in Troy by the time she delivered the last speech in the Iliad. This is not formulaic language, as Hooker 1986, p. 112, would like us think, but a rounded figure to accommodate her stay with Paris in Troy for ten years, during which period the Achaeans mustered their fleet and troops and crossed over to Troy (Murray tr. 2001, pp. 620–621). 12

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marriage of Aeneas, promised to a queen in Hesperia, with Dido, promised to the spirit of Sychaeus (Aeneid 4.127: his “hymenaeus erit.”…). The action of Helen was also tragic: but while Dido brought tragedy on herself and her people who lost an able queen,16 Helen brought tragedy on herself, her people and its allies, the Achaeans, and her ‘new husband’s’ people, the Trojans. Furthermore, just as one woman brought universal catastrophe for ten years and sufferings in the war’s aftermath, another woman, Dido, was the cause of another long international war through her people’s descendants, the Carthaginians.17 Still another woman, Lavinia, was the cause of yet another international war, that between Trojans and Italians, as the Sibyl predicted would happen (Aeneid 6.93–94: “causa mali tanti coniunx iterum hospita Teucris / externique iterum thalami …”). Indeed as happened in the words of Vergil (Aeneid 11.479– 480: … iuxtaque comes Lavinia virgo, / causa mali tanti, …) indeed Lavinia can also be said to have become the cause of civil wars in Rome through her peoples’ descendants in history. It was for the sake of Lavinia that Aeneas was made to depart from the shores of Dido, as Jupiter intimated (Aeneid 4.235–236: “… qut qua spe inimica in gente moratur / nec prolem Ausoniam et Lavinia respicit arva?”). Turnus compares the Italian War for Lavinia with that of the Trojan War for Helen; he even implies Dido when he refers to the Trojans’ hatred for women (Aeneid 9.141–142: … penitus modo non genus omne perosos / femineum …). If, therefore, Lavinia is a second Helen, Aeneas, for Jarbas, Juno and Amata, is also a second Paris (Aeneid 4.215: “et nunc ille Paris cum semiviro comitatu”, 7.321: “quin idem Veneri partus suus et Paris alter”, 363–364: “an non sic Phrygius penetrat Lacedaemona pastor / Ledaeamque Helenam Troianas vexit ad urbes?”).18 Finally, Aeneas is addressed as perfidus hospes by Dido (Aeneid 4.305–306, 323–324: “Dissimulare etiam sperasti, perfide, tantum / posse nefas tacitusque mea decedere terra?” / “ … cui me moribundam deseris, hospes, / hoc solum nomen quoniam de coniuge restat?”) and described as perfidus praedo by Amata (Aeneid 7.361–362: “… quam primo Aquilone relinquet / perfidus alta petens abducta virgine praedo?”).19 In all the above, Helen, Dido and Lavinia were instruments of the gods, victims themselves and sources of trouble for others.20 Helen disdained her new marriage, Dido cursed her ‘lover’, and Lavinia lost Turnus for Aeneas. None of them could be accused of responsible infidelity and action. Indeed, even Priam absolved Helen in Iliad 3.164 for becoming the cause of the Trojan War, saying it was some god who drove her to act shamefully (“οὔ τί μοι αἰτίη ἐσσί, θεοί νύ μοι αἴτιοί εἰσιν,”). Menelaus too blamed some god for making Helen almost reveal the secret of the wooden horse when she approached it to call out the names of the Achaeans within it (Odyssey 4.274–275: “… κελευσέμεναι δέ σ’ ἔμελλε /

16

 On the death of Dido, see Fontanier 1998, pp. 245–258.  On the relationship of Dido and the Punic Wars, see Horsfall 1973–1974, pp. 1–13. 18  See also Anderson 1957, p. 29. 19  Della Corte 1969, p. 320. 20  To these can be added Chryseis and Briseis in the Iliad, as already suggested by Kakridis 1956, p. 22. On the relationship of Briseis with Achilles, see Pucci 1993, pp. 258–272. 17

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δαίμων, ὃς Τρώεσσιν ἐβούλετο κῦδος ὀρέξαι·”),21 while Penelope did the same when she was referring to Helen’s relationship with Paris in the absence of Menelaus (Odyssey 23.222: “τὴν δ’ ἦ τοι ῥέξαι θεὸς ὤρορεν ἔργον ἀεικές·”). In the Iliad, Helen herself repeatedly talks of her regret to be with Paris (6.349–350: “αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ τάδε γ’ ὧδε θεοὶ κακὰ τεκμήραντο, / ἀνδρὸς ἔπειτ’ ὤφελλον ἀμείνονος εἶναι ἄκοιτις”), and in the Odyssey she claims of having been blinded by Aphrodite when she ran away with him (4.260–262: “… ἐπεὶ ἤδη μοι κραδίη τέτραπτο νέεσθαι / ἂψ οἶκόνδ’, ἄτην δὲ μετέστενον, ἣν Ἀφροδίτη / δῶχ’, …”). This is the Helen Telemachus meets at Sparta, and reporting about her to his mother, he too confirms her act as willed by the gods (17.119). This is not “a conventional view of Helen in the Homeric poems,”22 but repeated emphasis on her innocence.23 This picture of Helen in Homer contrasts, to some extent, with that given in Vergil. In the Aeneid, Aeneas describes Helen as escaping from the vengeance of both Trojans and Achaeans, particularly Menelaus’ anger; but Venus, compared to Athena in the Odyssey reminding Odysseus of his home, wife and child, reassures her son Aeneas, also reminding him of his father, wife and son.24 Both goddesses reprove their protegées for their lack of confidence in them. From this comparison alone, Fairclough concludes that this Helen episode in Aeneid 2 is authentically Vergilian.25 On the other hand, Austin,26 Goold27 and Murgia28 argue a different opinion from what they see as an over-ornamentation of the episode, without the restraint Vergil would have used, and that this passage added by Servius was known to Lucan who depended on it in 10.53ff. But this dependence of Lucan on the passage in Vergil under consideration can be taken as confirming its authenticity. Such view has been in fact expressed by Bruère.29 A similar view was expressed by Basto,30 when he compared the Helen episode in Vergil’s Aeneid with a passage in Horace’s Odes (4.9.21–24: … non ferox / Hector vel acer Deiphobus gravis / excepit ictus pro pudicis / coniugibus puerisque primus).31

21

 On this incident, see Groten Jr. 1968, p. 34, and Olson 1989, pp. 387–390. Fredricksmeyer 1997, p. 491, however, condemns the story about the wooden horse as “unnecessary, except to underline her (Helen’s) adulterous nature.” 22  Morgan 1991, p. 2. 23  Further on the innocence of Helen, see Gregory 1996, pp. 8–9. Later on, however, the same author hints at Helen’s “continued lasciviousness” (p. 10). 24  Fairclough 1906, pp. 226–227. 25  For a similar conclusion, see Stégen 1967, pp. 3–6. 26  Austin 1961, pp. 185–198. 27  Goold 1970, pp. 101–168. 28  Murgia 1971, pp. 203–217. 29  Bruère 1964, pp. 267–268. 30  Basto 1984, pp. 20–24. 31  On Helen in Latin Literature, see Carbonero 1989, pp. 378–391. Estevez 1981, pp. 318–335, sees the Helen-episode as interfering with the otherwise symmetrical structure of the Nyctomachy and its major parts, being the palace episode and the murder of Priam. More on the subject of the Helen episode in Vergil, see Noack 1893, p. 431; Van Buren 1920, pp. 102–103; Shipley 1925; Conte 2007.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY ABEL, D. H. 1962 ANDERSON, W. S. 1957

“Ariadne and Dido,” Classical Bulletin 38: 57‒61.

AUSTIN, R. G. 1961 BANDINI, M. 1987

“Vergil, Aeneid 2.567‒88,” Classical Quarterly (n.s.) 11: 185‒198.

BASTO, R. G. 1984 BRAZOUSKI, A. 1991 BRUÈRE, R. T. 1964 BRYCE, T. R. 1974

“Vergil’s second Iliad,” Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association 88: 17‒30.

“Didone, Enea, gli dei e il motivo dell’ Inganno in Virgilio, Eneide IV. Il Poeta e i suoi Personaggi,” Euphrosyne 15: 89‒108. “The swords of Aeneid 4,” American Journal of Philology 105: 333‒338. “Amata and her maternal right,” Helios 18: 129‒136. “The Helen episode in Aeneid 2 and Lucan,” Classical Philology 59: 267‒268.

“The Dido-Aeneas relationship: A re-examination,” Classical World 67: 257‒269. BUISEL DE SEQUEIROS, M. D. 1985‒1986 “Amor y política en la Eneida,” Argos 9‒10 [1989]: 7‒22. BUSCAROLI, C. 1932 Il Libro di Didone. Rome and Milan: Albrighi, Segati and C. CARBONERO, O. 1989 “De Tribus Picturis apud Vergilium intime Connexis (Aen. 1.469‒482),” Vita Latina 114: 15‒16. CONTE, G. B. 1978 “L’episodio di Elena nel second libro dell’Eneide,” Rivista Internazionale di Filologia Classica 106: 109‒119. 2007 The Poetry of Pathos: Studies in Virgilian Epic, edited by S. J. Harrison. Oxford: Oxford University Press. COVA, P. V. 1984 “L’episodio Virgiliano di Elena,” in Atti del Convegno Nazionale di Studio su Virgilio, Torino 1‒2 Maggio, edited by R. Uglione, pp. 123‒147. Turin: Delegazione dell’A.I.C.C. DELLA CORTE, F. 1969 “Perfidus Hospes,” in Hommages à Marcel Renard, edited by J. Bibauw, pt. 1, pp. 312‒321. Brussels: Latomus. DUCKWORTH, G. E. 1956 “Fate and free will in Vergil’s Aeneid,” Classical Journal 51: 357‒364. DUCLOSS, G. S. 1969 “Dido as Triformis Diana,” Vergilius 15: 37. ESTEVEZ, V. A. 1981 “Aeneid II, 624‒31 and the Helen and Venus episodes,” Classical Journal 76: 318‒335. FAIRCLOUGH, H. R. 1906 “The Helen episode in Vergil’s Aeneid II, 559‒623,” Classical Philology 1: 221‒230. FEDER, L. 1954 “Vergil’s tragic theme,” Classical Journal 49: 197‒209. FEENEY, D. C. 1983 “The Taciturnity of Aeneas,” Classical Quarterly 33: 204‒219.

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The Gods in Epic: Poets and Critics of the Classical Tradition. Oxford: Clarendon Press. “Helena und Venus in Zweiten Aeneisbuch,” Hermes 105: 68‒79. “Enquête sur la mort de Didon,” Les Études Classiques 66(3): 245‒258.

“Modelli Greci e Stilemi Virgiliani nell’ episodio di Elena (Aen. 2.657‒88),” in Miscellanea di Studi di Armando Salvatore, pt. 7, edited by E. Flores, pp. 57‒78. Naples: Pubblicazione del Dipartimento di Filologia Classica dell’Università degli Studi Federico II. FREDRICKSMEYER, H. C. 1997 “Penelope Polutropos: The Crux at Odyssey 23.218‒224,” American Journal of Philology 118: 487‒497. GOOLD, G. P. 1970 “Servius and the Helen episode,” Harvard Studies of Classical Philology 74: 101‒168. GORDON, P. 1998 “Phaeacian Dido: Lost pleasures of an epicurean intertext,” Classical Antiquity 17: 188‒211. GREGORY, E. 1996 “Unravelling Penelope: The construction of the faithful wife in Homer’s Heroines,” Helios 23: 3‒20. GROTEN JR., F. J. 1968 “Homer’s Helen,” Greece and Rome 15: 33‒39. HENRY, R. M. 1930 “Medea and Dido,” Classical Review 44: 97‒108. HEUZÉ, PH. 1991 “La mort et l’Agonie d’Élissa-Didon,” Cahiers des Études Anciennes 25: 189‒193. HOMER 2001 Iliad (Books 13‒24), translated by A. T. Murray. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press. HOOKER, J. T. 1986 “Helen and the duration of the Trojan War,” La Parola del Passato: Rivista di Studi Antichi 41: 111‒113. HORSFALL, N. 1973‒1974 “Dido in the light of history,” Proceedings of the Virgil Society 13: 1‒13. JOHNSTON, P. A. 1987 “Dido, Berenice and Arsinoe: Aeneid 6.460,” American Journal of Philology 108: 649‒654. KAKRIDIS, J. T. 1956 “The role of the woman in the Iliad,” Eranos 54: 21‒27. KHAN, H. A. 2002 “The boy at the banquet: Dido and Amor in Virgil Aen. 1,” Athenaeum 90(1): 187‒205. 2003 “Venus’ intervention in the Dido-affair: Controversies and considerations,” in Studies in Latin Literature and Roman History, Vol. 2, edited by C. Deroux, pp. 244‒274. Brussels: Latomus. KINSEY, T. E. 1987 “Helen at the sack of Troy,” La Parola del Passato: Rivista di Studi Antichi 42: 197‒198. KYRIAKIDIS, S. 2001‒2002 “Women and Love in Vergil,” Archaiognosia 11: 233‒247.

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“Quelques réflexions sur l’Épisode d’Hélène (Enéide 2.567‒88)”, Bulletin de la Societé Toulousaine d’Études Classiques 185‒186: 1‒13.

LYNE, R. O. A. M. 1987 Further Voices in Vergil’s Aeneid. Oxford: Clarendon Press. MATTHIESSEN, K. 1997 “Überlegungen zur Helenaepisode der Aeneis,” in Vir Bonus Dicendi Peritus. Festschrift für Alfons Weische zum 65. Geburtstag, edited by B. Czapla, T. Lehmann and S. Liell, pp. 291‒297. Wiesbaden: Reichert. MORGAN, G. 1994 “Dido the wounded deer,” Vergilius 40: 67‒68. MORGAN, K. 1991 “Odyssey 23.218‒224: Adultery, shame, and marriage,” American Journal of Philology 112: 1‒3. MURGIA, CH. E. 1971 “More on the Helen episode,” California Studies in Classical Antiquity 4: 203‒217. NOACK, F. 1893 “Helena bei Vergil,” Rheinisches Museum 48: 431. OLSON, S. D. 1989 “The stories of Helen and Menelaus (Odyssey 4.240‒289) and the return of Odysseus,” American Journal of Philology 110: 387‒394. OTIS, B. 1963 Virgil: A Study in Civilized Poetry. Oxford: Clarendon Press. PALMER, L. R. 1938 “Aris Invisa Sedebat,” Mnemosyne 6: 368‒379. PIGOŃ, J. 1991 “Dido, Diana and Penthesilea: Observations on the queen’s first appearance in the Aeneid,” Eos 79: 45‒53. PÖSCHL, V. The Art of Vergil. Image and Symbol in the Aeneid, translated by G. Seligson. 1962 Michigan: Ann Arbor. PUCCI, P. 1993 “Antiphonal lament between Achilles and Briseis,” Colby Quarterly 29: 258‒272. QUINN, K. 1965 “The fourth book of the Aeneid: A critical description,” Greece and Rome 12: 16‒26. RECKFORD, K. J. 1981 “Helen in Aeneid 2 and 6,” Arethusa 14: 85‒99. SCAFOGLIO, G. 2004 “L’episodio di Deifobo nell’ Ade Virgiliano,” Hermes 132(2): 167‒185. SHIPLEY, F. W. 1925 “The Virgilian authorship of the Helen episode,” Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association 56: 172‒184. SMITH, R. A. 1993 “A lock and a promise: Myth and allusion in Aeneas’ farewell to Dido in Aeneid 6,” Phoenix 47: 305‒312. TATUM, J. “Allusion and Interpretation in Aeneid 6.440‒476,” American Journal of 1984 Philology 105: 434‒452. THORNTON, A. H. F. 1962 “A Catullan quotation in Virgil’s Aeneid Book VI,” Journal of the Australasian Universities Language and Literature Association 17: 77‒79.

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THORNTON, M. K. 1985 “The adaptation of Homer’s Artemis-Nausicaa simile in the Aeneid,” Latomus 44: 615‒622. TODD, R. W. 1980 “Lavinia blushed,” Vergilius 26: 27‒33. VALLILLEE, G. 1955 “The Nausicaa episode,” Phoenix 9: 175‒179. VAN BUREN, A. W. 1920 “Virgil, Aen. II, 567‒588,” Classical Review 34: 102‒103. VELLA, H. C. R. 2004 “Vergil’s Aeneid and the shield of Aeneas: Recurrent topics and cyclic structures,” Studia Humaniora Tartuensia v.A.1. . WESTENDORP BOERMA, R. E. H. 1958 “Vergil’s debt to Catullus,” L’Antiquité Classique 1: 51‒63. WILHELM, M. P. 1987 “Venus, Diana, Dido, and Camilla in the Aeneid,” Vergilius 30: 43‒48. WILLIAMS, R. D. 1965‒1966 “The opening scenes of the Aeneid,” Proceedings of the Virgil Society 5: 14‒23. WILLIAMS, R. D. (ed.) 1972 The Aeneid of Virgil. Books 1‒6. Basingstoke and London: Macmillan.

H. C. R. VELLA University of Malta [email protected]

LA DISTRIBUZIONE DI ANFORE DA TRASPORTO MALTESI FUORI DALL’ ARCIPELAGO: NUOVI DATI* Babette BECHTOLD

INTRODUZIONE Questo contributo riprende un vecchio, ma pur sempre attuale lavoro di Antonia Ciasca sulla distribuzione di ceramiche maltesi al di fuori dall’arcipelago stesso, al momento individuata, in sostanza, solo per i secoli IV‒III a.C.1 La ricerca qui presentata prende spunto dalla recente identificazione, fra le anfore di Pantelleria, di un gruppo di frammenti attribuito ad una bottega maltese di età arcaica.2 Nell’ambito del sopramenzionato progetto (vedi nota*) è stato possibile approfondire lo studio dei frammenti panteschi, ora esaminati con il microscopio binoculare e fotografati in triplice ingrandimento ×8, ×16, ×25, quindi descritti secondo le norme stabilite per la banca dati di FACEM.3 L’assemblaggio pantesco (n. 14) è stato integrato con ulteriori campioni di presupposta origine maltese provenienti da Cartagine,4 Jerba,5 Camarina6 e Selinunte,7 nonché con alcuni frammenti rinvenuti nella stessa Malta (Fig. 1a).8 Sulla base di questa nuova documentazione archeologica sono * La ricerca qui presentata è stata sviluppata nell’ambito del mio progetto ‘Economic interactions between Punic and Greek settlements in the southern Central Mediterranean (late 7th‒4th BCE): the evidence of the transport amphorae’, supportata dall’Austrian Science Fund FWF: P 25046-G19. Ringrazio l’amica M. Almonte (Direzione Generale delle Antichità a Roma) per la revisione del mio testo italiano, nonché R. Lampl (Università di Vienna) per la puntuale elaborazione delle fig. 1‒3. 1  Ciasca 1985, in particolare pp. 22‒24, mentre i dati per l’esportazioni di prodotti maltesi durante l’età arcaica sono ancora piuttosto embrionali (vedi p. 18), cfr. anche Vidal González 1996, p. 96. 2  Bechtold 2013a, pp. 465‒467, pl. 89: 6‒7; 2015a, pp. 123‒124, cat. 9‒14, pl. 1: 9‒14. 3  Il materiale è stato studiato all’Istituto di Archeologica Classica dell’Università di Vienna dall’amica e collega K. Schmidt, senza il cui costante e proficuo apporto scientifico non sarebbe stato possibile svolgere la ricerca qui presentata. Per i metodi standardizzati, utilizzati per la banca dati di FACEM vedi . 4  Scavi della Ghent University/INP Tunis sotto la direzione di R. F. Docter e F. Chelbi negli anni 2002‒2005 nel sito 2 di Bir Messaouda, per l’ultimo rapporto preliminare con ulteriore bibliografia vedi Docter et al. 2006. 5  Ringrazio il collega S. Ben Tahar (Institut National Patrimoine, Jerba) per la possibilità (email del 31.1.2013) di presentare in questa sede alcuni frammenti di anfore maltesi rinvenuti nei suoi scavi a Ghizène, un sito con vocazione marittima ubicato sulla costa settentrionale dell’isola di Jerba. Per dei primi rapporti preliminari vedi Ben Tahar and Sternberg 2011; Ben Tahar 2009. Le anfore puniche di importazione, fra cui anche le maltesi, verranno integralmente pubblicate in Ben Tahar forthcoming. 6  Un sentito ringraziamento va al collega J.-Chr. Sourisseau (Université de Provence, Centre CamilleJullian) che molto generosamente mi ha messo a disposizione tutti i dati relativi all’anfora maltese rinvenuta nella necropoli di Camarina (email del 2.10.2013), ora pubblicata in Sourisseau 2013, pp. 111‒115, fig. 51. 7  Ringrazio l’amico e collega C. Marconi, direttore degli scavi della New York University, Institute of Fine Arts, sull’acropoli di Selinunte (area dei templi B e R) per il permesso di menzionare il frammento di anfora maltese rinvenuto nel saggio L. Per l’ultima relazione di scavo vedi Marconi 2012 con bibliografia precedente. 8  Ringrazio in primo luogo A. Bonanno e N. C. Vella, entrambi del Department of Classics and Archaeology of the University of Malta, per la fiducia di avermi affidato lo studio del materiale ceramico rinvenuto nei loro scavi nella Villa Romana di Żejtun (campagne 2006‒2013). Una parte del materiale anforico è già stata

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Fig. 1a. Siti con accertata presenza di anfore da trasporto di produzione maltese considerati nel presente lavoro (grafico di R. Lampl, Università di Vienna).

campionata, una piccola selezione di questi campioni è stata presa in considerazione per il presente studio. Sempre a A. Bonnano ed a N. C. Vella, direttori degli scavi dello stesso Istituto nel santuario di Tas-Silġ (1996‒2006), vanno i miei sentiti ringraziamenti per aver consentito il campionamento di una quindicina di anfore, fra le quali i due frammenti di produzione maltese qui usati per confronto, che sono integralmente pubblicati in Sagona 2015. Sono molto riconoscente, infine, al collega N. Cutajar, Superintendence of Cultural Heritage of Malta, per l’autorizzazione di utilizzare per questo studio anche tre campioni di anfore rinvenute in delle stratigrafie messe in luce di recente in occasione di scavi di emergenza a Rabat, Triq Gheriexem (RBT09), cfr. Cutajar et al. in preparation.

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stati definiti cinque fabrics9 anforici (cap. 1) già editi nella banca dati di FACEM.10 Va sottolineato, tuttavia, che la ricerca qui presentata si fonda in gran parte su argomentazioni di tipo archeologico11 e va integrata con auspicabili, sistematiche analisi archeometriche.12 I capitoli 2‒4 discutono le evidenze materiali attribuibili ad un orizzonte alto-arcaico, alla media età punica ed al III sec. a.C. Il cap. 5 è riservato all’interpretazione dei nuovi e vecchi dati anforici proposti in questa sede.

1. I NUOVI FABRICS ANFORICI DI

PRODUZIONE MALTESE13

1.1 Il fabric MALTA-A-1 (Fig. 1b: 1) Il fabric MALTA-A-1 si presenta con una matrice di colore rosso, spesso con nucleo grigio, compatto e granuloso con numerosissime particelle carbonatiche e grumi di micrite (0.1‒1.2 mm) e molti foraminifera (0.4‒0.8 mm), inoltre sono stati aggiunti numerosi inclusi rosso-bruni (0.1‒1 mm) e giallo-grigi (0.2‒3 mm), mentre la componente di quarzo è pressoché assente. Si trovano regolarmente vacuoli di forma oblunga (0.2 fino a oltre 5 mm). MALTA-A-1 assomiglia moltissimo a MALTA-C-1 e MALTA-C-2, due fabrics identificati fra la ceramica comune di Żejtun ed attestati in dei contesti stratigrafici del IV sec. a.C.14 Fuori dall’arcipelago, MALTA-A-1 ricorre nelle anfore medio-puniche Ramon T-2.2.1.1 di Jerba (vedi cap. 3.1), nonché nei tre frammenti ellenistici di Pantelleria di cui uno riferibile ad una Ramon T-3.2.1.2. (vedi cap. 4.1). Per Malta il fabric è attestato, per il momento, in tre frammenti dei tipi Ramon T-2.2.1.115 e T-2.2.1.216 rinvenuti  9  Per una recente definizione di questo termine vedi ora Gassner and Trapichler 2011 con bibliografia precedente. 10  Schmidt and Bechtold 2013. 11  La base di partenza del fabric study maltese viene rappresentata dall’assemblaggio ceramico rinvenuto nei recenti scavi a Żejtun (nota 8), apparentemente molto omogeneo da un punto di vista macroscopico. Lo studio al microscopio di un numero selezionato di campioni da Żejtun ha permesso di definire i fabrics maltesi attualmente identificati (ceramica comune, non tornita ed anfore commerciali, vedi Schmidt and Bechtold 2013) la cui documentazione è stata poi integrata, nel caso delle anfore, con altri campioni rinvenuti fuori dall’arcipelago. 12  Segnaliamo che i campioni M 119/239 (MALTA-A-1), M 119/34 (MALTA-A-2) e M 119/41 (MALTA-A-3) sono già stati sottoposti ad analisi archeometriche (chimiche/XRF e petrografiche/sezioni sottili) da parte di G. Montana e L. Randazzo (Dipartimento di Scienze della Terra e del Mare, Università degli Studi di Palermo); i dati petrografici sono pubblicati nella banca dati di FACEM nel nuovo modulo archeometrico: FACEM – , FACEM – , FACEM ‒ , vedi infra, cap. 1.2‒3. 13  Per una dettagliata descrizione di questi fabrics, correlati della completa documentazione fotografica e grafica dei campioni selezionati e della scheda del relativo frammento ceramico, vedi Schmidt and Bechtold 2013. 14  Schmidt and Bechtold 2013, FACEM – , . 15  M 115/8 (ZTN06/662/1), da uno strato di riempimento, databile fra la seconda metà del V ed i primi decenni del IV sec. a.C, in aggiunta ad altri tre frammenti non diagnostici (M 115/4 = ZTN06/548/2; M 115/13 = ZTN06/551/14; M 115/14 = ZTN06/548/14), tutti da strati di riempimento databili al IV sec. a.C. Tutti i quattro i frammenti sono già editi in FACEM ‒ . Il materiale ceramico è in corso di studio da parte di chi scrive. 16  M 115/5, vedi Sagona 2015, pp. 110, 227, n. 5: 177/21, fig. 1:134,5 (da Tas-Silġ), qui considerato un’importazione da Mozia attribuita al tipo Ramon T-6.1.1.1; ZTN06/1540/5 (Żejtun), inedito, materiale in corso di studio da parte di chi scrive, da un contesto della seconda metà del II sec. a.C. con molto materiale residuale databile al IV sec. a.C.

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nella villa di Żejtun e nel santuario di Tas-Silġ, nonché in due anfore tardo-puniche dei tipi Ramon T-7.4.2.1 e T-7.4.3.1 sempre da Żejtun.17 MALTA-A-1 sembra quindi comparire nella media età punica, certamente già nel corso del V sec. a.C., e continua ad essere prodotto almeno fino al II sec. a.C. 1.2 Il fabric MALTA-A-2 (Fig. 1b: 2–3) Il fabric MALTA-A-218 mostra in tutti i casi una matrice di colore grigio, a volte con sottile strato rosso-arancione in superficie. Si presenta con una tessitura compatta, mediofine con numerosissime particelle carbonatiche, grumi di micrite (0.1‒1.7 mm) e foraminifera (0.4‒1.3 mm), nonché molti inclusi bianchi, in genere di forma squadrata (0.2‒2 mm). Come MALTA-A-1 contiene inoltre inclusi grigio-giallastri e rosso-bruni (0.1‒4 mm) e vacuoli di forma oblunga (0.2 fino a oltre 4 mm). Dall’analisi archeometrica di M 119/34 risulta un fabric “(…) ricchissimo in microfossili calcarei (talora anche ben preservati dal processo di cottura) e povero in sabbia quarzosa (sporadica/rara)”.19 MALTA-A-2 è documentato esclusivamente in anfore del tipo Sagona I:1 da Pantelleria (vedi cap. 2.1) e Camarina (vedi cap. 2.3) che suggeriscono una sua produzione limitata all’età alto arcaica, forse già conclusa con la fine del VII sec. a.C. Da Cartagine (vedi cap. 2.2) e Żejtun20 provengono, invece, complessivamente tre frammenti non diagnostici, rinvenuti – probabilmente come elementi residuali – in contesti della media età punica. 1.3 Il fabric MALTA-A-3 (Fig. 1b: 4) MALTA-A-3, dalla matrice a volte grigia, ma anche dalle varie tonalità di marrone, si differenzia da MALTA-A-2 sostanzialmente per la quasi totale assenza della componente di quarzo. I dati archeometrici di M 119/4121 rientrano, sostanzialmente, in quelli descritti per M 119/34 (MALTA-A-2), indicando, tuttavia, una sua più alta temperatura di cottura. MALTA-A-3 ricorre in anfore del tipo Sagona I:1 da Pantelleria e Segesta (scarico di Grotta Vanella).22 Particolarmente preziosa è la sua documentazione in un deposito chiuso della seconda metà del VII‒inizi del VI sec. a.C. rinvenuto sull’acropoli di Pantelleria (vedi cap. 2.1). Di altissimo interesse è inoltre l’identificazione di un frammento di parete attribuito al fabric MALTA-A-3 anche sull’acropoli di Selinunte in un contesto stratigrafico dell’inizio del VI sec. a.C. (vedi cap. 2.4). 17  ZTN06/1540/24, inedito, da un contesto della seconda metà del II sec. a.C.; M 115/10 (ZTN06/1080/4), da uno strato di riempimento databile fra il II sec. a.C. avanzato ed il I a.C., vedi FACEM – . Il materiale ceramico è in corso di studio da parte di chi scrive. 18  Per Pantelleria questo fabric è stato precedentemente definito come ‘impasto 64’, vedi Bechtold 2013a, p. 466, pl. 89: 6. Potrebbe trattarsi della Coarse Grey Gritty Ware di C. Sagona (2002, p. 79). 19  Email del 18.10.2013. Per la scheda petrografica si veda ora FACEM – . 20  M 115/12 (ZTN06/551/12) da uno strato di riempimento del IV sec. a.C., vedi FACEM – , nonché M 105/20 (ZTN06/551/11, inedito, dallo stesso contesto del primo esemplare). 21  Per la scheda petrografica si veda FACEM ‒ . 22  Ringrazio molto M. de Cesare (Università di Palermo) e M. Quartararo (Pisa) per il permesso di fare un primo cenno a questo frammento di orlo, ancora inedito, campionato ed analizzato nell’ambito del progetto menzionato alla nota * (M 165/58). L’esemplare è in corso di studio e verrà presentato da M. Quartararo nella pubblicazione sullo scarico di Grotta Vanella (in preparazione, a cura di M. de Cesare).

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Fig. 1b. Microfoto dei fabrics anforici maltesi (ingrandimento 10×). 1. MALTA-A-1 (M 149/8); 2.-3. MALTA-A-2 (M 119/33.36); 4. MALTA-A-3 (M 119/39) (foto di R. Lampl, Università di Vienna).

2. LE EVIDENZE MATERIALI:

IL PERIODO ALTO-ARCAICO (FINE DELL’VIII‒VII SEC. A.C.)

2.1 Anfore maltesi da Pantelleria Lo studio del materiale anforico rinvenuto nelle ricognizioni del territorio suburbano di Cossyra (nota 7),23 ma anche negli scavi sull’acropoli di S. Teresa (nota 4),24 ha permesso di individuare 11 piccoli frammenti di orli, relativi ai fabrics MALTA-A-225 (Fig. 2: 1–6) e MALTA-A-326 (Fig. 3: 1–3). Per quanto è possibile fare delle identificazioni, considerando 23

 Per la ricognizione si veda Almonte 2013.  Per gli scavi si vedano Schäfer et al. 2015. 25  M 119/33 (Bechtold 2015a, p. 123, cat. 9, pl. 1: 9; FACEM ‒ ), M 119/34 (Bechtold 2015a, p. 123, cat. 10, pl. 1: 10; FACEM ‒ ), M 119/35 (Bechtold 2015a, 123, cat. 11, pl. 1: 11; FACEM ‒ ), M 119/36 (Bechtold 2015a, p. 124, cat. 12, pl. 1: 12; FACEM ‒ ), M 119/37 (Bechtold 2015a, p. 124, cat. 13, pl. 1:13; FACEM ‒ ), M 119/38 (Bechtold 2015a, p. 124, cat. 14, pl. 1:14; FACEM ‒ ), in aggiunta di un frammento non diagnostico e inedito, M 119/40, rinvenuto in un contesto ellenistico nell’area sacra (PN 06 ACR I 2027). 26  M 119/39 (dal survey, inedito, PN 04 ACR RIC UT 141.1–6), M 119/41 (dal survey, inedito, PN 08 ACR RIC UT 226,2‒3), M 119/228 (Bechtold 2015b, p. 337, cat. 4, pl. 1: 2; FACEM ‒ ), in aggiunta di un frammento non diagnostico, M 119/229, rinvenuto nello stesso contesto arcaico dell’esemplare M 119/228. 24

262

B. BECHTOLD

Fig. 2. Anfore maltesi arcaiche in fabric MALTA-A-2. Da Pantelleria. 1. M 119/33; 2. M 119/34; 3. M 119/35; 4. M 119/36; 5. M 119/37; 6. M 119/38. Da Camarina. 7. M 113/7 (ad eccezione del n. 7 (cortesia di J.-Ch. Sourisseau) disegni dell’autore, composizione grafica di R. Lampl, Università di Vienna).

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Fig. 3. Anfore maltesi arcaiche in fabric MALTA-A-3. Da Pantelleria. 1. M 119/39; 2. M 119/41; 3. M 119/228. Anfore maltesi della media età punica in fabric MALTA-A-1. Da Jerba. 4. M149/8; 5. M 149/9. Anfore maltesi ellenistiche in fabric MALTA-A-1. Da Pantelleria. 6. M 119/42 (ad eccezione dei nn. 4-5 (cortesia di S. Ben Tahar) disegni dell’autore, composizione grafica di R. Lampl, Università di Vienna).

lo stato di conservazione estremamente precario dei frammenti, la maggior parte degli esemplari sembra rientrare nelle forme tipicamente maltesi I:1, forse anche I:2 della Sagona,27 che comprendono anfore ovoidi con orli più o meno estroflessi28 dal diametro compreso fra i 12 ed i 15 cm. Troviamo, tuttavia, anche due frammenti dal labbro verticale con faccia esterna rettilinea (Fig. 2: 6, Fig. 3: 3) che formalmente potrebbero essere avvicinati alle anfore con spalla carenata del tipo Karthago 2,29 anche se i pezzi panteschi non conservano parti della spalla. Un ultimo frammento dal profilo triangolare dell’orlo (Fig. 2: 4) rimane attualmente senza confronto. Le anfore maltesi del survey provengono sostanzialmente da unità topografiche localizzate alle pendici nord-occidentali dell’Acropoli dove a partire dalla seconda metà del VII sec. a.C. si svilupperà il cuore cittadino,30 altri due frammenti sono stati raccolti in siti posizionati lungo una delle vie di accesso dal porto alla città.31 Due dei tre frammenti dagli scavi, invece, appartengono ad un contesto urbano rinvenuto in cima all’Acropoli, datato fra la seconda metà del VII e gli inizi del VI sec. a.C. e collegato al più antico nucleo insediativo di Cossyra.32 27

 Sagona 2002, pp. 41, 87‒88, 661, fig. 341: 1 caratteristiche del periodo “Established to Late Phase I” (750‒620 a.C.). Ulteriori, puntuali confronti inoltre in Vidal González 1996, p. 56, cat. 73‒74. Per una recente discussione critica del tipo Sagona I:1 vedi Sourisseau 2013, p. 113, nota 14 che constata una datazione nel VII sec. a.C. per le anfore del tipo Sagona I:1 provenienti da contesti tombali conosciuti. 28  Va rilevato che orli simili caratterizzano anche le forme Xlendi 8, 9, 32 di origine non identificata (Azzopardi 2013, pp. 290‒291, fig. 3) che sembrerebbero, tuttavia, relative a produzione dell’arcipelago. 29  Docter 2007, pp. 629‒631, fig. 343, particolarmente cat. 5357. Docter interpreta questa forma cartaginese, prodotta a partire dal secondo quarto del VII sec. a.C., come derivata dal tipo sud-iberico CdE 1. 30  Siti 37, 86, vedi Almonte 2103, p. 349, pl. VII. Da aggiungere un frammento dal Sito 115 interpretato come ‘frequentazione’. 31  Siti 141, 226, vedi Almonte 2013, p. 352, pl. VIII, XII. Il frammento dal sito 141 non era stato ancora identificato come anfora maltese al momento di stampa del volume di Cossyra II. 32  Bechtold 2015b; Almonte 2013, p. 350.

264

B. BECHTOLD

2.2 Anfore maltesi da Cartagine Fra il materiale anforico campionato degli scavi della Ghent University/INP a Cartagine (vedi nota 4) è stato identificato un frammento di parete, verosimilmente di un’anfora, attribuibile a MALTA-A-233 e probabilmente residuale all’interno di un contesto datato fra la fine del V ed il primo ventennio del IV sec. a.C. Questo coccio rappresenta al momento, a mia conoscenza, l’unica testimonianza concreta della circolazione di anfore maltesi nell’abitato di Cartagine.34 Esistono, tuttavia, scarse indicazioni bibliografiche per la sporadica documentazione, nelle necropoli arcaiche di Cartagine,35 di alcune anfore tipologicamente avvicinabili alla forma I: 1 della Sagona che in passato sono state avvicinate a delle produzioni maltesi. 2.3 Anfore maltesi da Camarina Grazie alla grande disponibilità del collega J.C. Sourisseau (vedi nota 6) è possibile adesso affermare con certezza che l’anfora punica del tipo Sagona I:1 dalla tomba 637 della necropoli di Camarina – Rifriscolaro, datata agli inizi del VI sec. a.C.36 (Fig. 2: 7) e attribuita dal Sourisseau ad una produzione maltese, rientra pienamente nel fabric MALTA-A-2.37 2.4 Anfore maltesi da Selinunte Il frammento di anfora maltese arcaica (vedi cap. 1.3) dall’area del tempio R sull’acropoli di Selinunte,38 da un contesto stratigrafico dell’inizio del VI sec. a.C., rappresenta la prima testimonianza della presenza di ceramiche maltesi nella colonia megarese. La documentazione di un’anfora maltese arcaica si concilia molto bene, in realtà, con il quadro distributivo della classe, attestata lungo la costa meridionale della Sicilia, nel Canale di Sicilia e a Cartagine (vedi cap. 5).

33

 M 92/95 (inedito, dal contesto BM02/1225, inv. BM02/45139).  Va sottolineato, infatti, che un campione di un’altra anfora ritenuta di origine maltese (Maraoui Telmini 2012, p. 186, cat. 221, fig. 203), messoci gentilmente a disposizione dall’amica e collega B. Maraoui Telmini che ringrazio, appartiene ad una produzione palermitana, si veda FACEM – . 35  Una sintesi completa in Vidal González 1996, p. 83 con bibliografia precedente. 36  Sourisseau 2013, pp. 111‒115, fig. 51 con bibliografia precedente. 37  FACEM – . 38  M 154/97, campagna di scavo del 2010, saggio L, US 15, inedito. La US 15 rappresenta una lente di pietre, ossa e cenere databile come terminus ante quem prima del 580 a.C. e fa parte del livellamento dello spazio antistante al tempio R, operato nel momento della sua ricostruzione attorno alla fine del primo ventennio del VI sec. a.C. (ringrazio il direttore degli scavi C. Marconi di questa informazione via email del 16 marzo del 2014). La US 15 conteneva, in associazione con l’anfora maltese, un frammento di orlo di un’anfora corinzia A del tipo 2 del Sourisseau, databile fra la metà del VII ed il primo quarto del VI sec. a.C. (Sourisseau 2006, pp. 135‒137), nonché altri frammenti di parete di anfora soprattutto da Corinto, ma anche da Cartagine e di produzione orientale. 34

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2.5 Anfore maltesi da Gela? Nella bibliografia archeologica vengono indicate come ipotetiche anfore maltesi, sulla base esclusivamente di considerazioni di ordine morfologico, anche due contenitori rinvenuti nella necropoli di Gela.39 Al tipo Sagona I: 1 qui in discussione sembrerebbe corrispondere, tuttavia, solo uno dei due esemplari.40

3. LE EVIDENZE MATERIALI:

IL PERIODO MEDIO PUNICO (V‒IV SEC. A.C.)

3.1 Anfore maltesi da Jerba Grazie alla solita e piacevole collaborazione con il collega S. Ben Tahar (vedi nota 5) posso presentare in questa sede un piccolo assemblaggio di anfore maltesi (n. 3 almeno),41 rinvenute a Ghizène, sulla costa settentrionale di Jerba,42 come elementi residuali in dei contesti della prima età imperiale. Si tratta di due orli43 del tipo Ramon T-2.2.1.144 (Fig. 3: 4–5) e databili fra il V e l’inizio del IV sec. a.C.,45 nonché di quattro frammenti di parete46 che rientrano tutti nel fabric MALTA-A-1. 3.2 Anfore maltesi dal relitto di Porticello? In base ad un esame autoptico, R.F. Docter attribuisce le cinque anfore del tipo Ramon T-2.2.1.1 recuperate dal relitto di Porticello (415‒385 a.C.) ad una produzione maltese.47

4. LE EVIDENZE MATERIALI:

IL PERIODO LATE PUNIC I

4.1 Anfore maltesi da Pantelleria Lo studio delle anfore di Pantelleria ha permesso di individuare due frammenti del fabric MALTA-A-1, relativi al tipo Ramon T-3.2.1.2, databile al III sec. a.C48 (Fig. 3: 6). Il primo esemplare è stato rinvenuto nel survey in un sito localizzato alle pendici nord-occidentali

39

 Ciasca 1985, p. 18, nota 2; Vidal González 1996, p. 83.  Orsi 1906, col. 162, fig. 124. 41  I frammenti di parete indicati alla nota 43 provengono tutti dallo stesso contesto e potrebbero, in via d’ipotesi, appartenere ad un unico vaso. 42  Per la pubblicazione integrale di questi materiali vedi Ben Tahar forthcoming, cap. 2.2.11. 43  M 149/8 (inv. 110235.108), M 149/9 (inv. 110235.48). 44  Ramon 1995, pp. 178‒179, 516, fig. 153. 45  Ottimi confronti provengono da una stratigrafia archeologica, di recente messa in luce, in occasione di scavi di emergenza, nel centro storico di Rabat (Malta), vedi Bechtold in preparation, cat. 3. 8, da contesti datati fra la seconda metà del V e l’inizio del IV sec. a.C. 46  M 149/10 (inv. 110241.186), M 149/11 (inv. 110241.326), M 149/12 (inv. 110241.375), M 149/13 (inv. 110241.187). 47  Docter 1995, p. 502, nota 82 con precedente bibliografia. 48  Ramon 1995, pp. 183, 519‒520, fig. 156‒157. 40

266

B. BECHTOLD

dell’Acropoli,49 mentre il secondo proviene dal sito 1 di Cala Tramontana, da un contesto datato negli anni della prima guerra punica, attorno alla metà del III sec. a.C.50 Un terzo frammento non diagnostico e dello stesso fabric proviene dall’area sacra, da un contesto del II sec. a.C.51 A Pantelleria, alla scarsa diffusione delle anfore maltesi di età ellenistica si contrappone la documentazione molto imponente di ceramica comune maltese, attestata, al momento, con 242 frammenti dagli scavi,52 nonché 53 frammenti dalla ricognizione,53 e databile complessivamente fra il IV ed il III, eccezionalmente anche nel II sec. a.C.54 Prevalgono le forme chiuse, sopratutto le anfore domestiche dei tipi Sagona III‒IV: 4a, 4b, anche se non mancano esemplari di forme aperte, quali coppe o bacini.55 4.2 Anfore maltesi da Lilybaeum Nella necropoli di Lilybaeum sono state rinvenute due anfore commerciali del tipo Ramón T-3.2.1.2 ritenute di produzione maltese56 e pertinenti a corredi databili tra il primo trentennio e la prima metà del III sec. a.C. Sempre dal sepolcreto lilibetano proviene, con ogni probabilità, un secondo nucleo di contenitori di ipotetica origine maltese, conservati al Museo di Mozia (Collezione Whitaker).57 Ancora in proprietà Tumbarello, altre due tombe, databili alla prima metà del III sec. a.C., hanno restituito due anfore domestiche probabilmente maltesi delle forme Sagona III-IV: IVb.58

49

 M 119/42, vedi Bechtold 2013a, p. 467, cat. 40, pl. 89: 7.  Ringrazio molto R. Baldassari (Università di Sassari) per l’autorizzazione di aver potuto esaminare, nell’ambito del progetto menzionato alla nota *, un piccolo campione (vedi FACEM – ) relativo al reperto 465 del sito 1 di Cala Tramontana (edito in Baldassari 2012, p. 197, fig. 5: 6 con cenno ad un primo esame macroscopico dell’impasto da parte di G. Montana alla p. 192, nota 7). 51  M 119/43 (inedito, PN 06 ACR I 2082-74). La US 2082 conteneva, tuttavia, maggiormente materiali databili al IV‒inizi del III sec. a.C. 52  Töpfer 2011. 53  Töpfer 2013. 54  Töpfer 2011, pp. 56‒57, 81. 55  Töpfer 2013, p. 527. 56  Bisi 1971, pp. 688‒690, fig. 18, proprietà Giattino, tomba VIII, associata, all’interno della tomba ipogeica inviolata, con un’anfora domestica maltese del tipo Sagona IV: 1a (2002, p. 666, fig. 346), un’anfora greco-italica del tipo MGV (Vandermersch 1994, pp. 76‒80), nonché con alcune anfore domestiche del tipo MR AD1, nel sepolcreto marsalese caratteristiche di sepolture della prima metà del III sec. a.C. (Bechtold 1999, p. 134; Bisi 1971, pp. 714, 720, fig. 57), proprietà Tumbarello, dalla tomba ipogeica I (contesto violato). Le tombe di questo settore vengono datate nel primo trentennio del III sec. a.C. (Bisi 1971, p. 750). 57  Toti 2003, pp. 1206‒1207, 1210‒1211, cat. 11‒15, tutte con linee rosse dipinte sul corpo ed in quattro casi bollate. 58  Esemplare attualmente esposto al Museo Archeologico del Baglio Anselmi, Sala della Nave Punica, vedi Bisi 1971, p. 732, fig. 71a, p. 734, dalla tomba 39, associata con una moneta punica del tipo SNG Cop 109‒119 (vedi Frey-Kupper 1999, p. 415, fig. 7) ed uno specchio in bronzo. Il secondo esemplare è attualmente visibile nella vitrina 5c, n. 10, vedi Bisi 1971, p. 732, fig. 71b, p. 734, dalla tomba 38, associata con un unguentario piriforme ed una coppa acroma del tipo MR C4 (Bechtold 1999, p. 117). Da ricordare, infine, un guttus di probabile produzione maltese rinvenuto sempre nella necropoli (Di Stefano 1993, pp. 42‒43, pl. XXX: 1). 50

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4.3 Anfore maltesi da Ibiza Tre anfore commerciali del tipo T-3.2.1.2 vengono segnalate per Ibiza e definite genericamente come “provenienti dal Mediterraneo centrale”: si tratta di un rinvenimento sottomarino fuori contesto,59 nonché di due contenitori restituiti dal deposito CPU-I dell’ultimo decennio del III sec. a.C.60 Nel caso di Ibiza va ricordata, oltre all’ipotetica e limitata importazione di contenitori commerciali maltesi, l’indiscutibile imitazione di forme proprie della ceramica comune maltese, soprattutto delle anfore domestiche Eb. 77, localmente prodotte a partire dalla metà del III sec. a.C per circa un secolo.61 Secondo J. Ramon, il fenomeno va inquadrato nel più ampio contesto delle relazioni politico-economiche dell’isola con il mondo cartaginese del III sec. a.C., quando Cartagine tenta di sfruttare al meglio le risorse umane e materiali del mondo iberico.62

5. INTERPRETAZIONE Nonostante il carattere ancora molto embrionale di questo nuovo fabric study della produzione anforica maltese che accosta per la prima volta campioni rinvenuti nella stessa Malta a dei samples provenienti da siti fuori dall’arcipelago, è già ora possibile cogliere alcuni dati di estremo interesse che cercheremo di sintetizzare qui di seguito. L’evidenza più importante riguarda l’orizzonte alto-arcaico, compreso probabilmente fra la fine dell’VIII ed il VII sec. a.C., per il quale si delinea ora abbastanza chiaramente una modesta diffusione di anfore maltesi assimilabili al tipo Sagona I:1 nei fabrics MALTA-A-2/A-3, attestate soprattutto a Pantelleria (cap. 2.1), ma anche a Cartagine (cap. 2.2), Camarina (cap. 2.3), Selinunte (cap. 2.4), Segesta (cap. 1.3) e forse a Gela (cap. 2.5).63 Questo quadro distributivo potrebbe indicare la direttrice lunga la quale venivano diffusi questi oggetti che, toccando le coste sudorientali della Sicilia, si dirigeva verso Pantelleria64 e Cartagine. Tale rotta terrebbe conto, infatti, delle prevalenti condizioni meteorologiche della Sicilia e del suo Canale a Sud, caratterizzate dai venti prevalentemente provenienti da Ovest che rendono estremamente difficoltoso il viaggio in questa direzione, obbligando alla navigazione verso Sud (Piccola Sirte) per poi risalire lungo le coste dell’attuale Tunisia65 oppure, in alternativa, ad un percorso sotto vento, lungo le coste della Sicilia. Le anfore maltesi di Pantelleria rappresentano al momento il più copioso assemblaggio ceramico maltese di età arcaica rinvenuto fuori dalla zona produttrice. La presenza di questi materiali, rinvenuti in alcuni Siti del survey insieme a poche anfore cartaginesi del tipo 59

 Ramon 1998a, pp. 158‒159, fig. 1: 1.  Ramon 1998a, pp. 167, 170, fig. 8: 7‒8. 61  Ramon 1998b, pp. 117‒118. 62  Ramon 1998b, p. 121. 63  Nel più ampio contesto di possibili contatti fra la Gela del VII sec. a.C. ed il mondo fenicio va inoltre ricordato un cenno di A. Tempio (2008, pp. 110‒111) ad una produzione locale di lucerne “a conchiglia di chiara origine fenicio-punica” per il quale, però, non ho trovato rimandi bibliografici. 64  Per una breve discussione dei rapporti fra le isole di Pantelleria e Malta, attestati dall’età eneolitica all’età tardo-antica, vedi Quercia 2006, pp. 1612‒1613. 65  Arnaud 2008, pp. 23‒24; Vella et al. 2011, p. 269. 60

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Karthago 1A1, nonché a due contenitori di produzione moziese, sembra riferibile, grosso modo, al momento di frequentazione non ancora stabile dell’isola, da collegare forse alla presenza di un primo luogo di culto e/o di una stazione commerciale.66 A Cossyra la componente maltese scompare progressivamente con la trasformazione dell’insediamento in un centro abitato stabile nella seconda metà del VII‒inizi del VI sec. a.C.67 Nel contempo vi assistiamo ad un forte incremento delle anfore nordafricane, nonché all’arrivo di nuove classi di materiali che testimoniano circa il definitivo inserimento dell’isola nell’orbita cartaginese68 che potrebbe aver condizionato anche l’allontanamento dei vettori portatori delle anfore maltesi. All’evidenza negativa di Pantelleria69 e Cartagine70 relativamente all’importazione di anfore maltesi databili fra il VI‒IV sec. a.C., si contrappongono ora i nuovi dati di Jerba (cap. 3.1), che potrebbero parlare a favore di un’apertura, nella media età punica, dell’arcipelago verso la piccola Sirte e l’area libica, già precedentemente ipotizzata.71 Particolarmente interessante è la comparsa, con la produzione dei contenitori delle forme Ramon T-2.2.1.1/1.2, di un nuovo fabric, MALTA-A-1, a svantaggio dei MALTA-A-1 e MALTA-A-2, al momento attestati unicamente per le anfore arcaiche Sagona I:1. Questo dato, certamente ancora da corroborare ulteriormente, sembrerebbe indicare un cambiamento posteriore al VII sec. a.C., riguardante il processo produttivo delle anfore locali: potremmo pensare a nuove officine, all’utilizzo di altre materie prime o diverse tecniche produttive. Risposte definitive in questo senso vanno affidate soprattutto a indagine archeometriche (vedi nota 12). Un nuovo capitolo per la diffusione della ceramica maltese si apre con l’età ellenistica, con la produzione del tipo maltese Ramon 3.2.1.2,72 attestato lungo la linea di diffusione Malta ‒ Lilybaeum ‒ Pantelleria ‒ Baleari ed accompagnato da un numero forse anche maggiore di vasi di taglia minore (soprattutto anfore da tavola),73 particolarmente abbondanti a Pantelleria (cap. 4.1). Riflettendo sul significato della distribuzione delle ceramiche maltesi fuori dall’arcipelago A. Ciasca concludeva che “[…] ogni spiegazione […] in termini di rapporto unicamente commerciale […] suona piuttosto insoddisfacente […]. In alternativa, si potrebbe provare ad immaginare […] ‒ almeno per il periodo fine IV/III sec. a.C. ‒ l’emigrazione di nuclei forse non indifferenti di individui […] queste considerazioni possono applicarsi al caso di Cartagine e forse anche a quello di Ibiza.”74 Le nuove ricerche sintetizzate nel presente lavoro permettono ora di precisare, distinguendo in: 66

 Bechtold 2013a, pp. 415‒416.  Bechtold 2013a, p. 414. Dallo strato di riempimento US 2449=2453 rinvenuto nel saggio VIII sull’acropoli (vedi Bechtold 2015c) provengono gli unici due frammenti maltesi stratificati (M 119/228.229), appartenenti, forse significativamente, al fabric minoritario MALTA-A-3. 68  Bechtold 2013a, pp. 417‒421. 69  Assenza notevole in considerazione del fatto dell’alto numero di frammenti studiati ed attribuiti a questo scorcio di tempo (n. 290 ca.), vedi Bechtold 2013a, pp. 417‒427. 70  Anche per Cartagine il panorama anforico della media età punica fonda, oramai, sul dettagliato studio di grandi quantità di materiali presi in considerazione, vedi per una sintesi Bechtold 2008a. 71  Ciasca 1985, p. 24, nota 31. 72  Si segnala a questo proposito l’eccezionale rinvenimento di un probabile relitto carico di questo tipo di anfore nella baia di Xlendi, sulla costa occidentale di Gozo, vedi Azzopardi 2013, pp. 289, pl. 1, 292‒293. 73  Vedi precedentemente Ciasca 1985, pp. 22‒23; Groenwoud and Vidal González 2000, p. 198. 74  Ciasca 1985, pp. 22‒23; 1999, p. 79. Su questa linea di pensiero anche Vidal González 1996, p. 97. 67

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Una prima fase alto-arcaica, ben evidente nella realtà cossyrese, che potrebbe essere legata alla presenza di genti maltesi che si ritirano dall’isola (o vengono emarginati?) con la fondazione cartaginese di un centro stabilmente abitato nel corso della seconda metà del VII sec. a.C. Le anfore maltesi starebbero quindi ad indicare spostamenti di piccoli gruppi di popolazione a scopi non prevalentemente commerciali. Una fase mediana (VI‒metà del IV sec. a.C. almeno?), ancora molto nebulosa, che sembra tuttavia caratterizzata dalla mancanza di prodotti maltesi sia in Sicilia che a Cartagine,75 a vantaggio di un qualche tipo di rapporto, non ancora specificabile, con l’area libica. Una fase tarda, che ‒ in base alle scarse evidenze stratigrafiche da Lilybaeum e Ibiza ‒ interessa probabilmente tutto il III sec. a.C.76 e che vede la riapparizione di ceramiche maltesi proprio in siti di importanza strategica77 per una Cartagine sempre di più incalzata dal crescente potere politico-economico di Roma.78 Nella stessa direzione punta anche la recente analisi del repertorio numismatico maltese (IV avanzato fino al II sec. a.C.) per il quale P. Visonà osserva una cesura importante dopo la fine della prima guerra punica quando “[…] la circolazione di moneta punica a Malta e Gozo diventa indistinguibile da quella nordafricana […]”.79 Propongo quindi di collegare la ripresa della circolazione di ceramiche maltesi nel Mediterraneo centro-occidentale al più tardi a partire dall’inizio del III sec. a.C. ad un aumento del controllo politico ed economico esercitato da Cartagine80 sui suoi avamposti militari di Pantelleria,81 Lilybaeum82 e Malta.83 In seguito a queste nuove esigenze si assiste allo spostamento di gruppi di popolazione ai quali vanno riferiti i vasi in discussione, probabilmente da interpretare, quindi, come beni individuali.84

2.

3.

75

 Significativa mi sembra, a questo riguardo, la “(…) completa assenza di anfore puniche di produzione non maltese nei contemporanei contesti maltesi.” (Ciasca 1982, p. 151). 76  La numerosissima ceramica maltese da Pantelleria, al momento non rinvenuta in dei contesti stratigrafici chiusi, è stata datata al IV‒III sec. a.C. sulla sola base di considerazioni tipologiche. A proposito va ricordato anche che l’afflusso di numerario punico (coniato nelle zecche di Cartagine, della Sicilia occidentale e della Sardegna) aumenta con l’inizio del III sec. a.C. (Visonà 2010, p. 156), dato confermato anche dal recentissimo studio delle monete rinvenute negli scavi maltesi nel santuario di Tas-Silġ (Frey-Kupper 2015, p. 366, pl. 7: 5). 77  A questo proposito mi sembra particolarmente significativo ricordare l’accertata imitazione locale, attorno alla metà del III sec. a.C., del tipo anforico maltese Ramon T-3.2.1.2 nel quartiere industriale punico sull’acropoli di Selinunte (Fourmont 2013, fig. 17: 1‒2). La piazza fortificata sulla costa sud-occidentale della Sicilia, probabilmente anche presidiata da un limitato contingente militare cartaginese (Bechtold 2013c, p. 17), contava indubbiamente fra i siti particolarmente rilevanti nell’ottica militare della metropoli nordafricana. 78  Per una esauriente discussione del fenomeno vedi Bechtold 2007, p. 51. 79  Visonà 2010, p. 154. 80  Argomenta in questa direzione per Ibiza anche Ramon 1998b, p. 121. 81  Va ricordato, a questo proposito, che a Pantelleria proprio attorno al 300 a.C. sembrano interrompersi i flussi sia della ceramica a vernice nera che delle anfore da trasporto di produzione siciliana, a vantaggio delle produzioni di ceramica da tavola e delle anfore cartaginesi, vedi Bechtold 2013b, p. 385. 82  Si inquadra in questo scenario anche il repertorio anforcio attestato per Lilybaeum, intimamente legato ad un commercio diretto con la madrepatria, vedi Bechtold 2008b, p. 548; 2007, pp. 57‒58. 83  Per una breve discussione di questo fenomeno a Malta vedi Visonà 2010, p. 153. 84  Significativo, a questo riguardo, che a Pantelleria l’82% del materiale maltese è stato rinvenuto in delle aree interpretate come abitato (Töpfer 2011, p. 74).

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BIBLIOGRAFIA ALMONTE, M. (ed.) 2013 Cossyra II. Ricognizione topografica. Storia di un paesaggio mediterraneo (Tübinger Archäologische Forschungen 11), Rahden/Westfalen: Verlag Marie Leidorf. ARNAUD, P. 2008 “Islands under question: The Maltese Archipelago, Pantelleria and Marettimo and their contexts in classical antiquity,” in Interconnections in the Central Mediterranaean. The Maltese Islands and Sicily in History (Malta 2007), edited by A. Bonanno and P. Militello, pp. 21‒36. Palermo: Officina di Studi Medievali. AZZOPARDI, E. 2013 “The shipwrecks of Xlendi Bay, Gozo, Malta,” International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 42(2): 286‒295. BALDASSARI, R. 2012 “I materiali rinvenuti nelle indagini subacquee. Le anfore da trasporto e la ceramica,” in Archeologia subacquea a Pantelleria “…de Cossurensibus et Poenis navalem egit…” (Ricerche series maior 3), edited by L. Abelli, pp. 191‒211. Bologna: Ante Quem. BECHTOLD, B. 1999 La necropoli di Lilybaeum. Trapani: Regione Siciliana. Assessorato Regionale dei Beni Culturali ed Ambientali della Pubblica Istruzione. 2007 “Alcune osservazioni sui rapporti commerciali fra Cartagine, la Sicilia occidentale e la Campania (IV‒metà de II sec. a. C.): Nuovi dati basati sulla distribuzione di ceramiche campane e nordafricane/cartaginesi,” BABesch. Annual Papers on Mediterranean Archaeology 82: 51‒76. 2008a Observations on the Amphora Repertoire of Middle Punic Carthage (Carthage Studies 2). Ghent: Department of Archaeology and Ancient History of Europe, Ghent University. 2008b “Anfore puniche,” in Segesta III. Il sistema difensivo di Porta di Valle (scavi 1993‒1993) (Documenti di Archeologia 48), edited by R. Camerata Scovazzo, pp. 539‒580. Mantova: SAP Società Archeologica. 2013a “Le anfore da trasporto da Cossyra: Un’analisi diacronica (VIII sec. a.C.‒VI sec. d.C.) attraverso lo studio del materiale della ricognizione,” in Cossyra II. Ricognizione topografica. Storia di un paesaggio mediterraneo (Tübinger Archäologische Forschungen 11), edited by M. Almonte, pp. 409‒517. Rahden/Westfalen: Verlag Marie Leidorf. 2013b “La ceramica a vernice nera,” in Cossyra II. Ricognizione topografica. Storia di un paesaggio mediterraneo (Tübinger Archäologische Forschungen 11), edited by M. Almonte, pp. 384‒387. Rahden/Westfalen: Verlag Marie Leidorf. 2013c “Il ruolo della Sicilia occidentale nella trasmissione di forme vascolari greche a Cartagine: Il caso di Selinunte nella prima età ellenistica,” in La numismatique pour passion. Études d’histoire monétaire offertes à Suzanne Frey-Kupper par quelques-uns de ses amis à l’occasion de son anniversaire 2013, edited by S. Frey, pp. 9‒31. Lausanne: Éditions du Zèbre. 2015a “La frequentazione di Cossyra fra la seconda metà dell’VIII ed il VII sec. a.C.: Nuovi dati emersi dallo studio delle anfore,” in Cossyra I. Ergebnisse der Grabungen auf der Akropolis von S. Teresa/Pantelleria. Der Sakralbereich (Tübinger Archäologische Forschungen 10), edited by T. Schäfer, K. Schmidt and M. Osanna, pp. 121‒127. Rahden/Westf.: Verlag Marie Leidorf. 2015b “Un deposito di età arcaica dal saggio VIII (scavo 2007),” in Cossyra I. Ergebnisse der Grabungen auf der Akropolis von S. Teresa/Pantelleria. Der Sakralbereich (Tübinger Archäologische Forschungen 10), edited by T. Schäfer, K. Schmidt and M. Osanna, pp. 335‒338. Rahden/Westf.: Verlag Marie Leidorf. In preparation “The pottery from selected stratigraphic units,” in 2009 Gheriexem Str. Excavation at Rabat, Malta, by N. Cutajar, M. Spiteri and B. Bechtold.

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“L’occupation du sol à Rhizène à l’époque antique: Les données de la prospection,” Reppal 14: 63‒80. Forthcoming Ghizène. Un comptoir punique de la Petite Syrte (Carthage Studies 10). Ghent: Department of Archaeology and Ancient History of Europe, Ghent University. BEN TAHAR, S. and STERNBERG, M. 2011 “La pêche à Jerba à l’époque punique: L’apport de l’archéologie,” Rivista di Studi Fenici 39(1): 99‒116. BISI, A. M. 1971 “Lilibeo (Marsala) - Nuovi scavi nella necropoli punica (1969‒1970),” Notizie degli Scavi 25: 662‒762. BONANNO, A. and VELLA, N. C. (eds.) 2015 Tas-Silġ, Marsaxlokk (Malta) II. Archaeological Excavations Conducted by the University of Malta, 1996‒2005 (Ancient Near Eastern Studies, Supplement 48). Leuven: Peeters. BRUNO, B. and CAPELLI, C. 2000 “Nuovi tipi di anfore da trasporto a Malta,” in 6a giornata: Le scienze della terra e l’archeometria (Este 1999), edited by C. d’Amico and C. Tampellini, pp. 59‒65. Padova. CIASCA, A. 1982 “Insediamenti e cultura dei Fenici a Malta,” in Phönizier im Westen (Madrider Beiträge 8), edited by H. G. Niemeyer, pp. 133‒151. Mainz a. Rh.: Verlag Philipp von Zabern. 1985 “Note sulla distribuzione di alcune ceramiche puniche maltesi,” Bulletin Archéologique du Comité des Travaux Historiques et Scientifiques 19: 17‒24. 1999 “Sicilia e Malta. Note su repertori ceramici a confronto,” in La cerámica fenicia en Occidente: centros e producción y áres de comercio (Guardamar de Segura 1997), edited by A. Gonzélez Prats, pp. 69‒87. Alicante: Direcció General d’Ensenyaments Universitaris i Investigació e Instituto de Cultura “Juan GilAlbert”. CUTAJAR, N., SPITERI, M. and BECHTOLD, B. In preparation “2009 Gheriexem Str. Excavation at Rabat, Malta”. DI STEFANO, C. A. 1993 Lilibeo Punica. Marsala: Centro Socio-Culturale «Luigi Sturzo». DOCTER, R. F. 2007 “Archaische Transportamphoren,” in Karthago. Die Ergebnisse der Hamburger Grabung unter dem Decumanus Maximus (Hamburger Forschungen zur Archäologie 2), edited by H. G. Niemeyer, R. F. Docter, K. Schmidt and B. Bechtold, pp. 616‒662. Mainz: Verlag Philipp von Zabern. DOCTER, R. F., CHELBI, F., MARAOUI TELMINI, B., BECHTOLD, B., BEN ROMDHANE, H., DECLERCQ, V., DE SCHACHT, T., DEWEIRDT, E., DE WULF, A., FERSI, L., FREY-KUPPER, S., GARSALLAH, S., JOOSTEN, I., KOENS, H., MABROUK, J., REDISSSI, T., ROUDESLI CHEBBI, S., RYCKBOSCH, K., SCHMIDT, K., TAVERNIERS, B., VAN KERCKHOVE, J. and VERDONCK, L. “Carthage Bir Massouda: Second preliminary report on the bilateral excavations 2006 of Ghent University and the Institut National du Patrimoine (2003‒2004),” BABesch. Annual Papers on Mediterranean Archaeology 81: 37‒89. FACEM (FABRICS OF THE CENTRAL MEDITERRANEAN) Provenance Studies on Pottery in the Southern Central Mediterranean from the 6th to the 2nd c. B.C., editors V. Gassner, M. Trapichler and B. Bechtold, (version 1 of 6.6.2011), . FOURMONT, M. 2013 “Fornaci da vasaio dell’isolato FF1 Nord e produzione anforica nella Selinunte punica (Sicilia),” in FACEM (Fabrics of the Central Mediterranean), editors

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V. Gassner, M. Trapichler and B. Bechtold (version 06/12/2013), . FREY-KUPPER, S. 1999 “I ritrovamenti monetali,” in La necropoli di Lilybaeum, edited by B. Bechtold, pp. 394‒457. Trapani: Regione Siciliana. Assessorato Regionale dei Beni Culturali ed Ambientali della Pubblica Istruzione. 2015 “The coin finds,” in Tas-Silġ, Marsaxlokk (Malta) II. Archaeological Excavations Conducted by the University of Malta, 1996‒2005 (Ancient Near Eastern Studies, Supplement 48), edited by A. Bonanno and N. C. Vella, pp. 351‒400. Leuven: Peeters. GASSNER, V. and TRAPICHLER, M. 2011 “What is a fabric?,” in FACEM (Fabrics of the Central Mediterranean), editors V. Gassner, M. Trapichler and B. Bechtold, (version 06/06/2011), . GROENEWOUD, E. and VIDAL GONZÁLEZ, P. 2000 “Punic Pottery in Malta. Typical Maltese?,” in La ceramica fenicia di Sardegna. Dati, problematiche, confronti (Sant’Antioco 1997), edited by P. Bartolini and L. Campanella, pp. 193‒199. Roma: Consiglio Nazionale delle Ricerche. MARCONI, C. 2012 “Le attività dell’Istituto of Fine Arts – NYU sull’Acropoli di Selinunte (2006‒2010),” in Sicilia occidentale. Studi, rassegne, ricerche (Erice 2009), edited by C. Ampolo, pp. 279‒286. Pisa: Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa. MARAOUI TELMINI, B. 2012 Vestiges d’un habitat de l’époque punique moyenne à Bir Messaouda (Carthage). Bilan des fouilles dans le sondage 7 et analyse de la céramique (Carthage Studies 6). Ghent: Department of Archaeology and Ancient History of Europe, Ghent University. ORSI, P. 1906 “Gela. Scavi del 1900‒1905,” Monumenti Antichi Lincei 17: 161‒162. QUERCIA, A. 2006 “Rapporti e contatti tra isole del Mediterraneo centrale: la Pantellerian Ware a Malta,” in L’Africa Romana. Mobilità delle persone e dei popoli, dinamiche migratorie, emigrazioni ed immigrazioni nelle province occidentali dell’Impero romano (Rabat 2004), edited by A. Akerraz, P. Ruggieri, A. Siraj and C. Vismara, pp. 1597‒1613. Roma: Carocci editore. RAMON, J. 1995 Las ánforas fenicio-púnicas del Mediterráneo central y occidental. Barcelona: Universitat de Barcelona. 1998a “La facies cerámica de importación en Eivissa durante el siglo III,” in Les fàcies ceràmiques d’importació a la costa ibérica, les Baleares e les Pitiüses durant el segle III aC i la primera meitat del segle II aC. (Arqueomediterranea 4), edited by J. Ramón Torres, J. Sanmartí Grego, D. Asensio Vilaró and J. Principal Ponce, pp. 157‒173. Barcelona: Universitat de Barcelona. 1998b “Las anforas Eb. 77 y algunas formas conexas de la producción cerámica púnicoebusitana tardía,” in Miscelláneas de Arqueología ebusitana I, edited by B. Costa and J. H. Fernández, pp. 111‒129. Eivissa: Museo Arqueológico de Ibiza y Formentera. SAGONA, C. 2002 The Archaeology of Punic Malta (Ancient Near Eastern Studies, Supplement 9). Leuven: Peeters. 2015 “The pottery,” in Tas-Silġ, Marsaxlokk (Malta) II. Archaeological Excavations Conducted by the University of Malta, 1996‒2005 (Ancient Near Eastern Studies, Supplement 49), edited by A. Bonanno and N. C. Vella, pp. 1‒514. Leuven: Peeters. SCHÄFER, T., SCHMIDT, K. and OSANNA, M. (eds) 2015 Cossyra I. Ergebnisse der Grabungen auf der Akropolis von S. Teresa/Pantelleria. Der Sakralbereich (Tübinger Archäologische Forschungen 10). Rahden/Westfalen: Verlag Marie Leidorf.

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SCHMIDT, K. and BECHTOLD, B. 2013 “Fabrics of Malta,” in FACEM (Fabrics of the Central Mediterranean), editors V. Gassner, M. Trapichler and B. Bechtold (version 06/12/2013) . SOURISSEAU, J.-C. 2006 “Les amphores commerciales de la nécropole de Refriscolaro à Camarine. Remarques préliminaires sur les productions corinthiennes de type A,” in Camarina. 2600 anni dopo la fondazione. Nuovi studi sulla città e sul territorio (Ragusa 2002/2003), edited by P. Pelagatti, G. Di Stefano and L. de Lachenal, pp. 129‒147. Rome: Istituto Poligrafico e Zecca dello Stato. 2012 “Documents archéologiques et réseaux d’échanges en Méditerranée centrale (VIIIe‒ VIIIe s. a.C.),” in Mobilités grecques. Mouvement, réseaux, contactes en Méditerranée, de l’époque archaïque à l’époque hellénistique, edited by L. Capdetrey and J. Zurbach, pp. 179‒197. Bordeaux: Ausonius. 2013 “Les amphores phénico-puniques de la nécropole de Rifriscolaro à Camerine (fouilles P. Pelagatti, 1969‒1979, tombes 1–1800). Charactérisation et aspects de la circulation des produits puniques en Sicile orientale au VIe s. av. J.-C.,” in Camarina. Ricerche in corso (Roma 2013), edited by M. Bonanno Aravantinos and M. Pisani, pp. 109‒149, Roma: Edizioni Tored. TEMPIO, A. 2008 “Malta in età greca: Fra emporoi e apoikoi,” in Malta in the Hybleans, the Hybleans in Malta. Malta negli Iblei, gli Iblei a Malta (Catania – Malta 2006), edited by A. Bonanno and P. Militello, pp. 105‒131. Palermo: Officina di Studi Medievali. TÖPFER, H. 2011 Maltesische Keramik. Das Fundspektrum und dessen Analyse (Unveröffentlichte Magisterarbeit an der Eberhard Karls Universität). Tübingen. 2013 “Maltesische Keramik,” in Cossyra II. Ricognizione topografica. Storia di un paesaggio mediterraneo, edited by M. Almonte, pp. 527‒530. Rahden/Westfalen: Verlag Marie Leidorf. TOTI, M. P. 2003 “Le anfore fenicie e puniche della Collezione Whitaker (Museo G. Whitaker, isola di Mozia),” in Quarte Giornate Internazionali di studi sull’Area Elima (Erice, 1–4 dicembre 2000), edited by A. Coretti, pp. 1203‒1214. Pisa: Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa. VANDERMERSCH, C. 1994 Vin et amphores de Grande Grèce et de Sicile, IVe‒IIIe s. avant J.-C. (Études 1). Naples: Centre Jean Bérard. VELLA, N. C., TANASI, D. and ANASTASI, M. 2011 “Mobility and transitions: The south-central Mediterranean on the eve of history,” in Site, Artefacts and Landscape – Prehistoric Borġ in-Nadur, Malta, edited by D. Tanasi and N. C. Vella, pp. 251‒282. Monza: Polimetrica International Scientific Publisher. VIDAL GONZÁLEZ, P. 1996 La isla de Malta en Época Fenicia y Púnica (BAR International Series 653). Oxford: Archaeopress. VISONÀ, P. 2010 “Circolante punico a Malta e Gozo tra IV e II sec. a.C. Aspetti e problemi,” Numismatica e Antichità Classiche. Quaderni Ticinesi 39: 141‒161.

Babette BECHTOLD [email protected]

OLIVE OIL PRODUCTION TECHNOLOGY IN ROMAN MALTA Maxine ANASTASI and Nicholas C. VELLA

INTRODUCTION Amongst the numerous articles that our honorand Professor Anthony Bonanno has published during a distinguished career at the Universiy of Malta, one stands out for its timely originality, choice of theme and discerning review of disparate archaeological evidence. In his paper on the “Distribution of villas and some aspects of the Maltese economy in the Roman period,”1 a revised version of which was published in Italian,2 Bonanno lists what was at the time known about the existence of Roman villa sites and farming equipment in the Maltese archipelago, in particular those devoted to the production of olive oil.3 In all, 22 sites were listed, 19 in the larger island Malta, and three in Gozo. Although the article did not escape the attention of those scholars interested in Roman Malta, in particular its economy,4 it is missing from recent accounts on olive oil pressing technology in the ancient world. For example, Frankel’s exhaustive study on ancient wine and oil production in the Mediterranean only lists two major discoveries from the Maltese islands,5 whilst numerous other useful compendia and sources ignore the islands entirely.6 It is hard to explain this lacuna, especially in view of the fact that islands are often the settings for successful specialisation, combining the profits reaped from colonial exploitation of good ecological niches or marginal lands with the ease of maritime redistribution.7 Archaeological evidence for the existence of ancient wine pressing on the Maltese islands has also come to light in recent years, however this evidence is geographically and typologically quite different from the sites under examination here. Remains of scores of shallow rock-cut interlinking troughs, or palmenti, located in dense distributions on rocky valley ridges, have recently been associated with wine pressing,8 and share similar dimensions and

1

 Bonanno 1977.  Bonanno 1976–1977. 3  For an overview of the general differences between olive and wine pressing equipment see Rossiter 1981. 4  Gambin 2005; Bruno 2009; Locatelli 2009. 5  Frankel 1999, List A: site cat. nos 56-0-2435-00-001 (San Pawl Milqi, Malta) and 56-0-1435-00-002 (Nadur, Malta). 6  If we single out Brun 2003, 2004a and 2004b, it is because we feel that no study on ancient viticulture and oleiculture is complete without reference to these books. 7  Horden and Purcell 2000, pp. 224–230. 8  The same features were originally described and discussed in a short article published in the late 1990s (Jaccarini and Cauchi 1999), although no firm interpretation could be established for their function. More recently, they have been linked with wine pressing on the basis of similarities with palmenti in Ferruzano, Calabria (Bonanno 2008, p. 10). 2

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features to installations in Calabria,9 Sicily10 and Algeria.11 The dating evidence associated with such features is difficult, if not impossible, to determine because of the shallow soils typical of the Maltese landscape, in conjunction with the lack of detailed archaeological investigation.12 More reliable evidence for viticulture on the Maltese Islands has recently been uncovered beneath the Late Punic and Roman-period structures (and indeed olive press) at the Żejtun villa, where a series of narrow, linear rock-cut trenches have been discovered across the site.13 A terminus ante quem for their construction and use before the first century BC has been confirmed through stratigraphic and dating evidence. These trenches, which have also been discovered at many other sites across Malta and Gozo, are thought to be associated with the cultivation of vines, and were a response to overcoming the problems associated with viticulture and shallow soil depths. It is our intention in this paper to review the evidence for olive oil production technology used in Malta in antiquity. The nature of the production of olive oil is best illuminated by a study of the implements used to process the fruit, namely the milling and pressing equipment and the storage facilities. Limitations of space do not allow us to go into the detail required. We have preferred to give as comprehensive a list of sites and finds as possible (Table 1); to produce a selection of new drawings and an updated distribution map (Fig. 1); and to raise one or two significant points that help put the Maltese evidence in a wider context.

THE

SITES AND FINDS

Six archaeological sites in Malta consist of an architectural complex associated in part, or in whole, with the production of olive oil in antiquity. 1. Tad-Dawl [site code TDW]: in a field called Nadur in central Malta, not far from the area known as Tad-Dawl, excavations by A. A. Caruana in 1888 uncovered a whole complex which consisted of a trapetum (TDW-T1, Fig. 2: 1), a press bed (TDW-P1), and storage facilities which included a large vat (TDW-V1). A plan of the remains which covered a total area of about 180 m2 was published by Caruana.14 The whereabouts of the site were thought lost. Photographs of the site taken in October 1948 show that it was still largely preserved then,15 but a note in a survey sheet at the National Museum of Archaeology, where the location of the site is higlighted in pencil near the toponym “Ta Ghadaima”,  9

 Sculli 2002.  Brun 2004b, pp. 58–59; Amato 2012. 11  Brun 2004b, pp. 238–239. 12  A survey has been carried out by the Superintendence of Cultural Heritage, Malta, in collaboration with the Sannat and Xewkija local councils to record and document the palmenti dotting the Mġarr ix-Xini valley in Gozo. The results of this survey remain to be published. 13  The University of Malta excavations at the site are ongoing, but details of these features will be published in the final report. 14  Caruana 1888; 1899, p. 223. 15  N[ational] M[useum] of A[rchaeology] archives (Malta), file ‘Remains of a Roman Building in field known as “Nadur” or “Fiedes iz-Zghir”, MQABBA’. 10

OLIVE OIL PRODUCTION TECHNOLOGY IN ROMAN MALTA

No.  1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

Site location Victoria (VCT) Xagħra (XGR) Nadur (NDR) Xewkija (XWK) Wardija (WRD) Xemxija (XMX) San Pawl Milqi (SPM) Bidnija (BNJ) Għajn Tuffieħa (GHT) Mġarr (MGR) Żebbiegħ (ZBH) Mtarfa (MTR) Baħrija (BHR) Rabat (RBT) Ta’ Baldu (BLD) Għargħur (GHR) Swieqi (SWQ) St Julians (JLN) Ħal Millieri (HML) Tad-Dawl (TDW) Żejtun (ZTN) Ta’ Kaċċatura (TKC) Marsaxlokk (MXK)

Trapeta T-1–2 T-1–2 T-1 T-1–2 T-1 T-1 T-1–5 T-1 T-1 T-1–2 T-1 T-1 T-1–2 T-1 T-1 T-1 T-1 T-1 T-1

Counterweight blocks A-1–5 A-1 A-1 A-1 A-1 A-1 -

Press beds P-1–2 P-1 P-1 P-1 -

277 Vats V-1 V-1 V-1 V-1 V-1 V-1–2 V-1–3 -

Table 1. List of the sites mentioned in the text and their respective finds. The sequential number (No.) refers to the site location map in Fig. 1.

confirms that it has since been destroyed by soft stone quarries.16 The trapetum was the centrepiece of the display of the museum of Roman antiquities in Rabat until 2002 when it was moved elsewhere when the museum was refurbished.17 Although published as ‘Greek’ by Caruana, the site is considered to be of Roman date on account of the milling and pressing equipment. Unfortunately, no material, including pottery, is known to have been collected from the site, and none is known to survive in the national collection.

16  NMA archives, Map of Malta, sheet 118, 1:2500 (1913), marked ‘Roman mill and water tank’. We are grateful to Dr Anton Bugeja who kindly brought this datum to our attention. The site seems to have survived until the early 1970s since it appears as ‘ruins’ in the 1973 1:2500 survey sheet (no. 5267) but it was certainly destroyed by 1998 going by the aerial photographs of the area. The site was located at ED50 UTM coordinates 452647, 3967765. 17  The trapetum was already on display with its reconstructed handle across the orbes in 1963 (Pennacchietti 1964, p. 137) and was reproduced in Bonanno 1992, fig. 15. The piece is now located in the grounds of the head office of Heritage Malta in Bighi. Trump (1990, p. 111, fig. 20) states that the trapetum came from Marsaxlokk but there is no supporting evidence for this.

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Fig. 1. Location of the olive pressing equipment and farms in the Maltese islands (M. Anastasi).

2. Ta’ Kaċċatura [TKC]: excavations were conducted at this villa site in the south-east of Malta by a Permanent Archaeological Commission in 1881 and in 1915 by Thomas Ashby from the British School at Rome.18 It is during the second campaign that a stone block with an additional base block for two upright beams (TKC-A1, Fig. 3: 7-8) thought to be part of a press bed was reported by the archaeologists, located in a rock-cut trench on the edge of the villa remains, beyond the peristyle.19 The site is considered ‘Roman’ and although pottery was studied and briefly reported by Ashby, none seems to be present in the museum stores. 3. Għargħur [GHR]: the site was discovered in January 1955 when construction works were taking place to widen one of the village streets (Fig. 5: 1). Reference to the discovery was made in the annual reports of the museum,20 and Claridge included a plan of the remains in her undergraduate dissertation on Roman Malta.21 A file in the archives of the 18

 Ashby 1915, pp. 52–66, fig. 17. The site is located at ED50 UTM coordinates 457223, 3966032.  Ashby 1915, p. 58, figs 20–21. 20  MAR 1954–1955, p. iv. 21  Claridge 1971, fig. 12. 19

OLIVE OIL PRODUCTION TECHNOLOGY IN ROMAN MALTA

Fig. 2: 111. Drawings of the trapeta identified during this survey; 12. schematic diagram of a Catonian trapetum (M. Anastasi and N. C. Vella).

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Fig. 3: 1, 47. Drawings of the counterweight blocks identified during this survey; 2–3. Diagrams of the two types of counterweight blocks found on Malta (M. Anastasi and N. C. Vella); 8. Plan and section drawing of the Ta’ Kaċċatura counterweight block (Ashby 1915, fig. 21).

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National Museum contains the original inked drawing of the site plan and several photographs of the stone equipment used in the production of oil.22 A trapetum (GHR-T1, Fig. 2: 2) was discovered together with a press bed (GHR-P1, Fig. 4: 4) and two cylindrical vats (GHR-V1, Figs 5: 2; 6). A counterweight block (GHR-A1, Fig. 6) is visible, protruding from a section both in the plan and the photographs (Figs 5: 2; 6). The note in the museum’s annual report states that only the “rotary quern” was moved for safe keeping to the museum of Roman antiquties in Rabat. It is now located in the grounds of the same museum.23 A date for the remains has not been put forward other than the generic ‘Roman’. We shall return to the layout of this farm below. 4. San Pawl Milqi [SPW]: it was an Italian archaeological mission that uncovered the remains of a Roman villa on a spot overlooking the large Burmarrad plain in north-east Malta during annual excavation campaigns held between 1963 and 1970.24 A room and adjacent spaces were equipped with olive pressing and storage installions. Remains of two press beds (SPM-P1 and SPM-P2, Fig. 4: 23), three trapeta (SPM-T1, Fig. 2: 3; SPMT2, Fig. 2: 6; SPM-T3, Fig. 2: 5),25 a fragment of a cylindrical orbis (see below) (Fig. 4: 2), five counterweight blocks (SPM-A1, Fig. 3: 1; SPM-A2, Fig. 3: 5; SPM-A3 to A5), and four continguous vats (SPM-V1) were discovered.26 Another two trapeta (SPM-T4 and T5) are reported to have been discovered at San Pawl Milqi in 1879.27 A recent re-evaluation of the villa remains has shown that the set-up of the pressroom belongs to the latest phase of the site dated to the second quarter of the third century AD and the beginning of the fourth (Fig. 4: 1).28 5. Żejtun [ZTN]: substantial discoveries were made during explorations carried out in the early 1970s in the grounds of the village school, consisting of a number of tiled rooms and equipment used for pressing olives. A counterweight block (ZTN-A1, Fig. 3: 6) and a vat (ZTN-V1) are recorded in a sketch-plan drawn in 1972.29 A limestone press-bed was 22

 NMA archives, file “Għargħur. Roman Remains in St John Street, Jan. 1955”.  MAR 1954–1955, p. iv. 24  Earlier excavations had taken place in June and July 1879 (Caruana 1882, p. 90) and again in 1910 (MAR 1910–1911, pp. 10–11). 25  One of the trapeta – in actual fact, a mortarium – was moved to the former seminary of the Mdina Cathedral, now the museum, when it was discovered a few years before the commencement of the excavations in 1963, near trench 5a (Pennacchietti 1964, p. 135 and pl. 41: 2). 26  Pennacchietti 1964; Rossignani 1966. Two of the vats were discovered during excavations carried out early in the century. Drawings dated 19.03.1904 can be found in the archive of the former Chief Draughtsman’s Office in Floriana, Malta; Roll 100/drawing 23A and B. Dr Anton Bugeja kindly directed us to these illustrations. 27  Caruana 1882, p. 90; 1888, p. 453 n. 4. The excavations took place in June and July 1879. The whereabouts of these trapeta is unknown, unless by “one of the stone oil-troughs” Ashby (1915, p. 48 n. 5) meant one of the two, reported to be in the “Valetta museum.” We were unable to trace a reference to this in the guidebook (Zammit 1908). 28  Locatelli 2005–2006. A reconstruction of the pressroom was presented by Locatelli during a seminar held in Malta in 2009 (Locatelli 2009). Unfortunately, the doctoral study on which the reconstruction is based (Locatelli 2004) is unpublished, and the dissertation has remained embargoed by the Università Cattolica of Milan. 29  Bonanno and Vella 2012, fig. 4. 23

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Fig. 4: 1. Phased plan of the San Pawl Milqi villa with an inset highlighting the location of the olive pressing equipment (Locatelli 2005–2006, fig. 3; MM 1966, fig. 7); 2. Plan of the press bed (SPM-P1) in situ (MM 1963, fig. 19); 3. Drawing of the second San Pawl Milqi press bed (SPM-P2; M. Anastasi and N. C. Vella).

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discovered in 2012 during the University of Malta’s excavations at the site.30 A recent analysis of a selection of pottery recovered in the 1972 excavation campaign shows that the site has had a long history, certainly a Punic phase and remains extending well into Byzantine times.31 6. Bidnija [BDN]: the remains of an ‘oil press’ were reported in the annual report of the museum in 1911–1912 near a grove of old olive trees. Of the press, the report notes that “we have only but the stone troughs left,” but adds that “a large circular stone, with a hemispherical section, which was used probably as a crusher, was found close by.”32 The extent of the villa establishment was ascertained using Ground Penetrating Radar as part of the Belgo-Maltese survey project in 2008–10.33 A large limestone vat (BDN-V1)—presumably one of the stone troughs—was located and drawn.34 From the sherd scatters in the area round the vat, the site seems to be Roman but an earlier date for the whole establishment is possible going by the fifth- or fourth-century BC pottery recovered. Besides equipment recovered in situ, several single stone pieces have been reported (Fig. 1). These include the following: seven mortaria belonging to hard limestone trapeta are recorded from Malta—from Ħal Millieri (HML-TI, Fig. 2: 7), Tan-Naħħalija at Għajn Tuffieħa (GHT-T1, Fig. 2: 8),35 L-Imselliet in Żebbiegħ (ZBH-T1),36 Ta’ Baldu (BLD-T1),37 Xemxija (XMX-T1, Fig. 2: 9), Baħrija (BHR-T1), and one from Swieqi (SWQ-T1);38 seven mortaria are recorded from Gozo, two from the Xewkija area, at Tal-Ħamrija (XWK-T1, Fig. 2: 10)39 and Tas-Salvatur (XWK-T2, Fig. 2: 11)40 respectively, another two from Xagħra; one from Ġnien tal-Qassis in Xagħra (XGR-T1)41 and one from Ġnien Mrik (XGR-T2),42 one from Tal-Ħida in Nadur (NDR-T1),43 and two are recorded by 30  Bonanno and Vella 2012, p. 22 and fig. 16. It is not clear whether the limestone press bed was used for pressing olives or grapes. This artefact will be studied in detail in the archaeological report that will follow the completion of the excavations on site. 31  Anastasi 2012. 32  MAR 1911–1912, [iv]. 33  Verdonck 2012, pp. 47–51. 34  Docter et al. 2012, p. 119 (tract B21), fig. 15. 35  This is the same piece reproduced in Bonello et al. 1963, pl. 47: 2 and referred to in passing by Pennacchietti 1964, p. 137 and again by Cagiano de Azevedo 1964, p. 20. 36  “Roman Remains Discovered”, Times of Malta, 21 August 1958, pp. 9–10. 37  No reference is made to the mortarium by Caruana who is the first to draw attention to the bathing complex at Ta’ Baldu (Caruana 1882, pp. 92–93). The mortarium is located in a cave across a field from the ‘bath’ (Buhagiar 2012, D in fig. 5). 38  A large mortarium was identified by one of the writers (MA) in a private commercial residence in Triq il-Qasam, Swieqi. The find was reported to the Superintendence of Cultural Heritage in August 2014. 39  MAR 1905–1906, p. 3; Bonanno 1977, p. 76 no. 20. This must be the trapetum mentioned by Caruana (1899, p. 223). 40  MAR 1958–1959, p. 4. This was found incorporated into a field wall on the outskirts of the village of Xewkija. 41  Dr Anton Bugeja has pointed out to us that the information that is available in print about this site and discovery which overlooks Ramla Valley can be found in MAR 1906–1907, p. E3 and in one of Temi Zammit’s field notebooks (Zammit NB 9, pp. 32–33). Photographs of the trapetum and limestone vat are held in the archives of the National Museum of Archaeology, Valletta; the date “1909 or 1919” is written on the back. We are also grateful to Dr George Azzopardi for sharing with us information about this discovery. 42  Dr Anton Bugeja brought the existence of this discovery to our attention, as well as the short reference made in MAR 1946–1947, pp. 6–7. 43  The mortarium is located at the base of a rubble wall on one side of a track that descends into the Ramla Valley. It was discovered by Lino Bugeja and reported in the local press (The Times) on 24 September 2003.

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Caruana to have been found in the citadel ditch in Victoria.44 In addition, a fragment of an orbis in hard limestone is recorded from the chapel of San Mikiel is-Sinċir outside Rabat (Malta),45 and another trapetum was reported from ‘Fuk il-Ghelieki’, presumably on the outskirts of Rabat (Malta);46 one counterweight block in soft limestone was found in Mtarfa (MTR-A1, Fig. 3: 4),47 and another one from St Julians (JLN-A1).48 A limestone vat is known from Ġnien tal-Qassis in Xagħra (XGR-V1).49 We have been unable to trace details of the pressing equipment that have been reported from Ras ir-Raħeb,50 Misraħ Miel in Mġarr,51 Ħal Far,52 Marsaxlokk,53 and the trapetum reported from Wardija (WRD-T1).54 Bruno also identified an additional site with pressing equipment from Tal-Qigħan in Għajnsielem, Gozo based on a note by Caruana.55 Another possible counterweight block similar to the one at Ta’ Kaċċatura might also have been discovered in a field ‘Tal-Franċiż’ in Rabat, Malta, however, no clear details, photographs or illustrations are available to confirm this.56

THE

EQUIPMENT

Milling stones or trapeta The milling equipment on Malta and Gozo belong to the Catonian trapeta or “concave crusher with raised socket” type57 (Fig. 2: 12). The trapetum consists of a heavy stone basin (mortarium), with a central column (miliarium) that is either a few centimetres higher, or 44

 NLM, Lib. Ms 1598. Their diameter is recorded as being 3 feet and 4 inches.  The orbis had been re-used as a stone for the chapel’s wall (Cutajar 1988, p. 17). A photograph of one was reproduced in an undergraduate dissertation (Martinelli 2012, pp. 57–58, fig. 44). Unfortunately, the orbis was reportedly stolen from the site shortly after its discovery (Azzopardi 2000). Although uncertain, a damaged orbis (RBT-T2, Fig. 2: 4), currently located within the grounds of the Roman domus museum in Rabat, might be the same as the San Mikiel is-Sinċir fragment. 46  MAR 1931–1932, p. IV. 47  This was discovered by one of the authors (NCV) on a country lane on the north side of the Mtarfa plateau in the early 2000s. The block is currently stored in the grounds of the Head Office of Heritage Malta, Bighi. 48  This find is known through a single photograph in a photo album at the National Museum of Archaeology (Heritage Malta). A short note on the back of the image reads “Birkirkara Road, St Julians”. No date is written down, however it was most probably taken in the early 1900s. This discovery was never reported in the government annual reports. We are grateful to Dr Timmy Gambin for bringing this information to our attention. 49  See note 41. 50  Bonanno 1977, site no. 1. 51  This find in reported in Bonnano 1977, p. 74 (site no. 4) for the first time after it was brought to the author’s attention by a member of the public. The find-spots for a further two discoveries recorded by Bruno (2009) at Ta’ Żammitellu (site no. 12) and the Mġarr-Ġnejna road (site no. 9) probably refer to the same site as Misraħ Miel (site no. 10). We consider them as one discovery here. 52  Bonanno 1977, site no. 9. 53  Bonanno 1977, site no. 11. 54  Bonanno 1977, site no. 18. 55  Bruno 2009, site no. 8; Caruana 1899, p. 223. 56  A short reference in the government reports is made with reference to the discovery of a “number of intercommunicated troughs and the bed of a press similar to the one found at the Roman House near Borġ in-Nadur, Birżebbugia [Ta’ Kaċċatura villa], and described by Dr T. Ashby” (MAR 1957–1958, p. 9). 57  Cato De Agri Cultura 20–22; Drachman 1932, pp. 7–22; Frankel 1993, p. 478, fig. 1A. The trapeta from the Maltese Islands belong to Brun’s olive mill type 3a2 (Brun 2004a, p. 9). 45

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flush with the basin’s rim (labrum). The ring-shaped space between the edge of the labrum and the miliarium slopes inwards to accommodate two revolving hemi-spherical mills (orbes), which are secured together by a cupa that extended through each orbis to form handles (modioli). The cupa was fixed onto a metal pivot (columella) secured to the socket at the centre of the miliarium. This mechanism ensured that the orbes were fixed in place and could potentially be adjusted to the required height, but it also was the axis from which the hemi-spherical mills were rotated. According to Cato, olives would have been fed into the mortarium and the action of the revolving orbes would have crushed the fruit, separating the flesh and stone. A gap of one Roman inch (0.018 m) was supposedly left between the orbes and the mortarium basin to avoid crushing the stone in the process58 since according to the ancient sources, crushing the stone affected the taste of the oil.59 To explore this further, experimental archaeology has demonstrated that the trapetum design would have crushed most of the stone during the milling process, and contrary to the assertion that crushed stones affected the taste of the oil, a series of taste tests following these controlled experiments concluded that broken olive stones did not significantly affect the taste of the oil.60 All the examples that were physically relocated are carved out of the local hard Coralline Limestone. The orbes, miliarium and the ring-shaped space are well smoothed, most certainly to ensure the unhindered rotation of the mills. In contrast, and quite unlike the wellcrafted trapeta from Pompeii, the exterior sides of the mortarium are roughly shaped. In addition to the hastily finished surface, two facets, diagonally cut, and opposite each other, are most probably intended to wedge the mill into place and prevent it from becoming dislodged when in use (Fig. 2: 12). The earliest and most securely dated example of a trapetum can be traced to the site at Olynthos, Greece, from the end of the fourth century BC.61 In southern Italy, the majority of trapeta recorded were definitely in use before the AD 79 Vesuvian eruption, but most of them would have been earlier, possibly first century BC in date.62 The longevity of use of the trapetum into the Byzantine period is suggested by an example from Khan Khaldé in Lebanon,63 and also from Siret el-Gamiel in Cyrenaica.64 The densest distribution of trapeta is limited to Greece, Cyprus, Gaul, southern Italy (in particular the Vesuvian region),65 the Maltese islands and the Cape Bon region of Tunisia.66 Similar mills discovered in Israel were only furnished with one semi-spherical orbis.67 Many other types of Roman olive mills are known throughout the Mediterranean, however, other than one fragment of a cylindrical trapetum orbis68 from San Pawl Milqi (see above, Fig. 4: 2), no other types of mills other than the trapetum with hemi-spherical orbes 58

 Drachmann 1932, p. 14.  Cato De Agri Cultura 66.1; Columella Res Rustica 12.52.6–7. 60  Tyree and Stefanoudaki 1996; Foxhall 2007, pp. 133–134. 61  Foxhall 1993, p. 190; Brun 2004a, pp. 94–96. 62  Brun 1986, p. 73. 63  Brun 1986, p. 73. 64  Catani 1976. 65  Brun 1993, pp. 540–541. 66  Mattingly 1996, p. 578, fig. 1. 67  Kloner and Sagiv 1993, pp. 121–122. 68  This type of rotating mill has a vertically positioned cylindrical orbis as opposed to a hemispherical one, and probably belongs to Brun’s mill type 3b (Brun 2004a, p. 9). 59

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have ever been recorded on the Maltese islands.69 This type of trapetum was the most commonly used type of mill in antiquity.70 It consisted of a shallow, flat-bottomed basin with one or two revolving cylindrical—as opposed to semi-spherical—orbes.71 Press beds Relatively few examples of press beds have been discovered on Malta and Gozo, but the few that are known can be divided into two main types: the first is a small, ‘moveable’, flat, elongated stone slab of local Globigerina Limestone with a circular-shaped, grooved channel leading to a tapered spout (ZTN-P1);72 the second type is much larger, thicker, and consists of a large square stone slab with a circular, grooved channel (SPM-P1–P2;73 Fig. 4: 23, GHR-P1; Fig. 4: 4, TKC-P174). The press beds from San Pawl Milqi show very fine craftsmanship, where the surfaces are even and well-smoothed. The example from Għargħur, which has only been examined through existing photographs, appears to have lacked the finesse afforded to the San Pawl Milqi ones. Counterweight blocks The anchor or counterweight blocks identified in the present survey fall into two general types: 1) the fixed lever-windlass type block (Fig. 3: 2);75 and 2) the lever-andscrew press counterweight (Fig. 3: 3).76 Both are shaped out of a single large soft local Globigerina Limestone block measuring approximately 2 m by 0.75 m by 1 m high, with a shallowly hewn dovetail socket on each of the long ends of the block. A shallow linear channel cut into the top of the block links both ends. This detail characterises the lever press, whilst three additional features—two T-shaped sockets either side of a central circular post—characterise the screw press type.

69  Scrinari 1964, 129, pl. 46: 2, fig. 19; Rossignani 1966, p. 102. The single cylindical orbis from San Pawl Milqi was originally thought to belong to a mola olearia as described by Columella, however it is now believed that Columella was actually describing a grain-like millstone (Frankel 1993, p. 478). The diameter of c. 0.50 m, is rather small when compared to other milling stones with a diameter of 0.66–1.25 m (Brun 1986, p. 77), thus classification of the San Pawl Milqi orbis might need revision. For an overview of the general types of olive mills, Brun 2004a, pp. 8–9. 70  Brun 1986, p. 75. 71  Brun 1986, pp. 75–78. 72  Bonanno and Vella 2012, pp. 22–23, fig. 16. Frankel (1999) classifies a similar type of press bed as ‘T4631-Pear Shaped Press Beds. Press Beds with Spout.’ This type is the more commonly adopted press-bed shape in the Aegean (Frankel 1993, p. 321) and Cyprus (Hadjisavvas 1992, p. 21). 73  Pennacchietti 1964, pp. 137–138, fig. 19, pls 44–46: 1. Frankel (1999) classified the two press beds at San Pawl Milqi as ‘T4622-Press Bed Circle in Square.’ 74  Caruana 1888, p. 5, figs 17–18 – marked ‘C’ on plan. 75  This block type can be equated quite confidently with Brun’s type 11/13 (Brun 1986, fig. 59). The three counterweight blocks of this type from San Pawl Milqi (SPM-A1–A3) were classified by Frankel as T55221 (Frankel 1999). 76  As yet, the Maltese screw press-type block does not exactly fit into any established typology, in particular, Brun’s ‘typologie des contrepoids.’ The local blocks share the closest resemblance with Brun’s types 50 and 51 (Brun 1986, fig. 60A). Frankel (1999) assigns the single example from San Pawl Milqi to its own type: ‘T5622Weight-Two Straight Open Mortices and Vertical Bores.’

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The block formed part of the pressing apparatus, which acted as the counterweight where a wooden beam (praelum) was fixed to a vertical post (arbores). The free end of the beam was connected by ropes to a wooden winch or capstan secured to the counterweight block. The act of winding or levering the beam would have resulted in the beam pressing on the fruit-filled baskets (fiscinae) positioned between the beam and press bed (area). In total, seven windlass, and four screwpress counterweight blocks have been recorded on Malta. None have been recorded on Gozo. Of these, four windlass and one converted screwpress block come from San Pawl Milqi alone (SPM-A1; Fig. 3: 1). The presence of the linear shallow channel on both types of blocks suggests that the screw sockets, characteristic of the second type, were added onto an existing windlass block at a later stage, possibly in an attempt to remodel earlier presses. The San Pawl Milqi example (SPM-A1) shows this evolution clearly. The counterweight block from Ta’ Kaċċatura contains an additional element consisting of a second, smaller and raised rectangular stone block with two sockets for wooden uprights (Fig. 3: 7-8). The blocks from San Pawl Milqi have been dated to before the second quarter of the third century AD, after which the entire site was destroyed by fire.77 The presence and apparent co-existence of both block types indicates that by the second quarter of the third/early fourth century AD the screwpress had already been adopted on the island. Similarly, the transformation from windlass to screw technology at the beginning of the third century has parallels with the Roman villa of Les Toulons, in Rians, Var, France.78 Unfortunately, none of the other Maltese examples can be dated with any accuracy. Unstratified pottery associated with the Żejtun79 and Ta’ Kaċċatura80 sites has only been broadly dated from the Punic to the Late Roman periods. Vats A wide range of vats has been recorded on the Maltese islands. The most distinctive type is a circular oil-settling vat, carved out of a single square soft Globigerina Limestone block. A small cup-like depression in the base is intended to assist in scooping out the last dregs of oil.81 Individual units (ZTN-V1,82 BNJ-V1,83 XGR-V1,84 TDW-V185) or a series of double or triple contiguous vats (SPM-V1,86 GHR-V187; Figs 5: 12; 6) belonging to this type have been identified across the islands. A series of larger rectangular vats have also been 77

 See note 28.  Brun 2005, pp. 49–52. 79  Anastasi 2012, p. 28. 80  Although none of the pottery actually associated with the anchor block at Ta’ Kaċċatura was studied or is available, the few fragments of “imitation Samian ware” pottery that were illustrated probably belong to African Red Slip ware D platters, which can be broadly dated to the fifth–seventh centuries AD (Ashby 1915, fig. 24). 81  Frankel (1999) catalogues a similar-shaped type of vat: “T4722-Twin Round Collecting Vat.” 82  Bonanno and Vella 2012, p. 13, fig. 6b. 83  Docter et al. 2012, fig. 15. 84  See note 41. 85  Caruana 1888, fig. 18 – marked “G” on plan. This feature is labelled by Caruana as an “oil vat”. 86  The three contiguous vats have been classified by Frankel (1999) as “T472302-Three Round Vats in Separate Room.” 87  MAR 1954–1955, p. IV; Claridge 1971, fig. 12. 78

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2.

Fig. 5: 1. North-west view of the Għargħur farm, taken shortly after excavation; 2. North view of the trench alignment and rock-cut features from the Għargħur farm (private collection).

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found on some sites on Malta. These vats are not formed from a single limestone block, but are composed of a flat limestone base with one or two hollow scoops, and walls constructed out of a mixture of building material (mainly mortar and rubble).88 Traces of these types of vats have been uncovered at Żejtun (ZTN-V2–V3),89 San Pawl Milqi90 and Tad-Dawl (TDW-V2).91 A combination of both types of vats can be found at the Żejtun farm, where the vats were laid out in an L-shape formation.92

THE

LAYOUT OF THE MALTESE OLIVE PRESS

Limited space prevents us from discussing the nature of each site, however, we feel that two questions need to be put forth: how is the Maltese olive press set up, and how do the Maltese olive presses fit into the wider regional context? Of the six excavated sites that are associated with olive pressing, only two of these (San Pawl Milqi villa and the Għargħur farmsteads) contained all the pressing elements in situ. These include at least one trapetum, one settling vat, one counterweight block and one press bed. The remaining four sites contain a combination of some of the elements. Although none of the excavation notes are available for the Għargħur farmstead, a complete site plan (Fig. 6) and a handful of photographs (Fig. 5) show that the site was indeed one of the best preserved rural farms ever excavated on the Maltese islands.93 The layout of the pressing room is relatively narrow, and includes a single press, most probably intended for domestic use (Fig. 6).94 The counterweight block (GHR-A1; no. 2) lies within a narrow trench cut into bedrock (no. 3). The trench measures about 0.60 m wide and 0.40–0.50 m deep95 so that the top of the counterweight block appears to be a few centimetres higher than the top of the rock-cut trench.96 A linear wall built of large stone blocks was laid along the eastern edge of the trench (Fig. 6, no. 8). It survived up to about two courses high. A second ashlar wall was constructed about 0.50 m west of the anchor block, and also follows the same axis as the trench. It would appear that the blocks seen in the section, as well as the position of the trapetum (assuming it remained in situ) mark the start of a return wall that continued westwards. The rubble wall marked on the plan (Fig. 6, no. 9) shows this wall’s limit, whilst the limit of excavation probably also reflects its northwards extension.97 88

 Brun 2004a, pp. 22–24.  Bonanno and Vella 2012, p. 20, figs 12–13. 90  Scrinari 1964, p. 128, fig. 18, pls 48, 53. 91  Caruana 1888, fig. 17 – three contiguous rectangular troughs marked “DDD” on plan. These features have been labelled by Caruana as “troughs.” 92  Bonanno and Vella 2012, pp. 19–20, figs 11–13. 93  We are grateful to Prof. Jean-Pierre Brun for commenting on the layout of the Għargħur press and for directing us to some useful comparanda. 94  By domestic use we mean producing enough olive oil for the inhabitants of the farm and the immediate local area, with no intention of exporting the finished product over long distances. 95  All the measurements are approximate and taken from the existing plan and photographs available. 96  The counterweight block from the Ta’Kaċċatura villa (TKC-A1) is also positioned within a shallow rockcut trench (see Ashby 1915, fig. 17). 97  The arrangement of this wall appears to have added an additional room to the north-west of the site. Unfortunately, we do not have any stratigraphic or dating information for these walls making it difficult to interpret any construction phases. 89

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Fig. 6. Plan of the Għargħur farm (after Claridge 1971, fig. 12; digitised by M. Anastasi).

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The trench continued southwards for about 2.60 m where it was met with the raised squared press bed (GHR-P1, no. 4) in such a way that the narrow end of the anchor block is aligned with the press bed. The press bed (as seen on plan) is unlikely to be in situ as the position of the press bed is not usually so close to the counterweight block, and would have been positioned adjacent to the two settling vats.98 Beyond the press bed, another trench that is cut into the rock contains several post holes and cut niches (arbor sockets) specifically intended to accommodate a vertical post to fix a wooden beam or praelum (Fig. 5: 2, nos 6–7).99 The alignment of the counterweight block within the trench, the original placement of the press bed, and the location of the arbor sockets suggest that the praelum was arranged along the same axis as the linear trench (Figs 67: 1). Based on foreign comparanda and reconstructions, the beam would also have been positioned slightly west of this axis in order to leave enough room to operate the wooden winch or capstan, which was secured onto the windlass lever-press counterweight block and praelum (Fig. 7: 34).100 However for the Għargħur layout, the position of the two walls aligned either side of the anchor block (Fig. 6, no. 8) would have obstructed the ability to crank the winch. In light of this, it would have been necessary that either the partition or the eastern wall (no. 8) was added at a later date. The same alignment of the counterweight block, press bed and arbor socket appears to be projected for the three presses identified at San Pawl Milqi (Fig. 4: 1). At San Pawl Milqi, the three counterweight blocks (A1–3) seem to be in situ and would have been attached to a praelum anchored along the south-east wall. At least one beam socket (Pr1) is clearly identified in line with counterweight block A1, whilst counterweight block A2 is aligned with press bed P1 (Fig. 4: 1). Since all three counterweight blocks are placed with their long sides adjacent to a wall, it also follows that the praelum beam would have been aligned parallel to the long side of each counterweight block. This re-evaluation contradicts Locatelli’s recent calculations suggesting another hypothesis that follows a more conventional layout seen in Roman-period North Africa and Tripolitania (Fig. 7: 2).101 According to Locatelli’s reconstruction, counterweight blocks A1 and A2 belong to the same press, where one block supported the arbor and the other secured the winch.102 Although the site plans available for Ta’ Kaċċatura, Bidnija and Tad-Dawl are missing certain features, in particular the counterweight blocks, the position of either the counterweight block or press bed, and even  98

 The typical press was based on the one-armed principle. The position of the press bed (ara) was placed closer to the arbores so that maximum leverage was obtained by having a long lever, usually up to about 7 m (Drachmann 1932, p. 51).  99  There is no archaeological evidence on Malta to suggest that the praelum was fixed into a wall niche or two stone uprights. A single posthole in bedrock, measuring 0.24 m in diameter is positioned c. 6 m south of the anchor block at the Żejtun farm. The results of this excavation will be published in the near future. At San Pawl Milqi a T-shaped socket, marked Pr1 in Fig. 4: 1, is located directly south-east of counterweight block A1 (Rossignani 1966, pp. 106–107). 100  Callot provides a very clear reconstruction drawing of the type of wooden winch mechanism that would have fitted onto such a block (Callot 1984, pls 34–35; Fig. 7: 4). 101  Locatelli 2009; this is where the windlass block is positioned with the long side at a right-angle to the praelum. 102  This layout appears to follow Brun’s press layout typology F3 (Brun 1986, fig. 28).

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Fig. 7: 1. Reconstructed section drawings of the Għargħur farm and; 2–3. hypothetical sketch drawings of the different counterweight block and praelum alignments (M. Anastasi); 4. Reconstruction drawing of a windlass lever in a ‘parallel position’ (Callot 1984, pl. 35); 5. Reconstruction drawing of the oil press room from Taqle, Syria (Callot 1984, pl. 37); 6. Plan and reconstruction of the olive press layout from Siret el-Gamiel, Cyrenaica (Catani 1976, figs 3 and 4).

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the settling vats, the position of the remaining features still suggest that the alignment was consistent with the Għargħur press set-up. The fact that all the counterweight blocks known on plan are always positioned with the long side aligned with a wall—such as at the Żejtun and San Pawl Milqi farms (Fig. 4: 1)—further supports this.103 The curious feature noted in the Maltese press sites is that the lever winch that is meant to pull the praelum down, is positioned in line with the praelum and not perpendicular to it, in what Jameson refers to as the ‘parallel position’.104 The closest regional neighbours, namely Southern Italy/Sicily and North Africa, contain no ancient olive—or indeed wine— presses that follow this layout. The windlass (counterweight block) is always positioned perpendicular to the praelum (Fig. 7: 2).105 Instead, the closest parallels for the ‘parallel position’ come from a handful of Late Classical/Hellenistic (fourth–third century BC)106 and Late Antique (fourth–seventh century AD)107 presses in the eastern Mediterranean (Fig. 7: 56).108 The stone counterweight blocks, which were mounted with a wooden windlass were supposedly “used to bring down the beam with their weight while at the same time serving as a base for the windlass.”109 On the Hellenistic sites at Halieis and Asine, the winch was secured directly to two sockets set in a cement floor, suggesting that the intention was to winch the praelum down, as close to the floor as possible in order to maximise the downward force on the press bed. With winches attached to separate blocks, this same process would likely have caused the block to rise above floor level, dangling precariously.110 The advantage of this would have been that the raised block could then be left unattended, whilst the weight of the block slowly pulled the beam down until it settled back onto the floor. This particular feature of a windlass press was less labour-intensive than the screw press,111 and it is the reason why the supposedly technologically superior screw press mechanism did not become widespread across North Africa.112 103

 Bonanno and Vella 2012, fig. 11.  Jameson 2001, p. 285. 105  Although it is rarely ever made explicit, all the site plans recorded and described for North African (Tunisian and Tripolitanian) olive presses have a perpendicular-placed counterweight block (see Mattingly and Hitchner 1993, pp. 452–454, fig. 1; Brun 2004a, 2004b). 106  The sites include: a press room (Room A) on the Industrial Terrace at Helieis in the Argolic peninsula (Greece), dated to c. 300 BC (Jameson 2001, pp. 282–287, figs 1–3; Brun 2004a, pp. 98–99); a press room ‘west of the ‘Crown Prince’s Tower’ in Asine, in the Argolic Gulf (Greece), dated to the Hellenistic period (Jameson 2001, pp. 287–289, fig. 4; Brun 2004a, p. 105); a small press room at the site of Rachi, Isthmia, dated to the third century BC (Anderson-Stojanović 1996, p. 92; Brun 2004a, p. 102); and the site of Kléros 26 in Chersonesos, along the Black Sea, which was dated to the third–second century BC (Brun 2004a, p. 120). 107  These sites include: a villa with an olive press at Siret el-Gamiel, a few kilometres from Cyrene (Catani 1976, figs 3 and 6; Brun 2004b, pp. 86–87; Fig. 7: 6); and a room with a wine press from Lamluda (Buzaian 2009, p. 50, fig. 4), both in Cyrenaica and which date to the sixth century AD; two double presses from Syria: one from Taqle (Callot 1984, pp. 40–41, pls 36–37; Brun 2004b, pp. 120–121; Fig. 7: 5), the other at Kafr Nābo (Callot 1984, pp. 40–41, pl. 26), both dating to the fifth–sixth century AD; and lastly a small single press from Eleusis, Greece, dating to the sixth century AD (Brun 2004b, pp. 78–79). 108  Another four unspecified sites from Cyprus contained presses arranged in the ‘parallel position’ and date to the Roman period (Hadjisavvas 1992, p. 119). 109  Jameson 2001, p. 285. 110  Brun 1986, pp. 118–119; Jameson 2001, p. 287. 111  Brun 1986, pp. 118–119; Wilson 2008, p. 360. 112  Mattingly 1996; Wilson 2008, p. 360. 104

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The potential danger caused by having a dangling block, and ensuring that the winch could pull the beam down as low as possible (i.e. to the floor) appears to have been catered for in some Maltese presses, because the counterweight blocks are often positioned within a rock-cut trench, where the top of the block is only a few centimetres above the level of the floor (Fig. 7: 1). These trenches ensured that should the anchor block be raised, it would still be relatively secured by the narrow width of the trench. This is most certainly the case for the Għargħur farm, where the trench was clearly cut according to the dimensions of the counterweight block. Another advantage to the ‘parallel position’ of the winch was that it helped maximise the pulling force of a shorter beam, where room space was limited.113 According to Cato, the recommended length of a praelum beam was 25 feet (c. 7.6 m), which ensured an effective lever.114 However, Jameson highlights that at Asine, Rachi and Halieis, sufficient leverage was given by beams measuring c. 10–13 feet (c. 3–4 m). The parallel-placed winch ensured that the maximum length of a shortened beam could be utilised, as a perpendicular winch would have required at least an additional metre of space to accommodate the person who cranked the winch.115 In spite of the ability to maximise the leverage of the beam within a smaller space, the available evidence from the Maltese sites indicates that the praelum beams would have measured c. 6–8 m.116 This suggests that the individual Maltese press sites made every effort to maximise the potential leverage forces of their presses—the longest lever together with the most effective means of winching without compromising the beam’s length. An even more surprising feature of the Maltese presses is that at least three examples of screw presses are found arranged in this parallel position (Żejtun, San Pawl Milqi [A1] and Ta’ Kaċċatura). No foreign parallels for this configuration have been identified in the literature. The period which saw the diffusion of the screw press technology throughout the Mediterranean remains uncertain. Archaeological evidence suggests a possible date from the late first century BC in Italy and possibly Asia Minor, whilst spreading further west from about the third century AD.117 Even so, the widescale adoption of the direct screw presses is not evident in the western Roman Empire. Instead, archaeological evidence from Spain and southern France shows that lever presses were converted to accommodate the screw mechanism.118 As discussed earlier, there is clear evidence that Maltese lever presses were converted into screw presses. Instead of replacing the block, as was common practice in Italy and Spain,119 this was adapted, either by cutting additional mortices into the block or adding an additional block on top of an existing weight (Fig. 3: 1). In our view, the ‘parallel position’ of the screw press counterweight blocks came about because of direct conversion of

113

 Ault 1999, p. 564; Jameson 2001, p. 285.  Cato De Agri Cultura 18.2. 115  Jameson 2001, p. 285. 116  Approximate measurements taken off the existing site plans show the following beam measurements: Tad-Dawl (c. 6 m); Żejtun (c. 8 m); San Pawl Milqi (c. 8 m); Għargħur (c. 8 m). 117  Brun 1993, pp. 543–544; Mattingly 1996, p. 585; pers. comm. Jean-Pierre Brun. 118  Brun 2005, p. 52; Mattingly 1996, p. 585. 119  Mattingly 1996, p. 585. 114

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an existing lever press, rather than having much to do with the potential efficiency that this screw position was likely to contribute towards the pressing process. The arrangement of an olive or wine press in the ‘parallel position’ is not common in any region during antiquity. Indeed, whilst discussing the Syrian presses in general, Callot argues that the Taqle and Kafr Nābo press layout are rare in the region, citing Catani’s Cyrenaican example as the only known analogy.120 The earliest Hellenistic examples in Greece and near the Black Sea are also relatively isolated examples. Regional variation appears to be the principal factor in attempting an explanation of the choice in adopting this press layout. However, despite olive and wine pressing installations generally following the same principles, the actual application and arrangement of idiosyncratic layouts incorporating the various essential elements together can vary significantly from region to region, and may be explained by local adaptations to existing technology.121 Nevertheless, one can posit the possibility that a part of the concept of the Maltese olive press layout drew on mainly eastern Mediterranean technological and cultural influences. However, other elements that make up the local press point to other regions for influence: the Catonian trapetum is common in Italy and Sicily,122 whilst the counterweight blocks (Brun’s type 11/13) are the primary type adopted on North African industrial olive presses in the Roman period.123 The question of dating the Maltese sites has already been touched upon above, where associated dateable material for local sites is lacking. Dating evidence for the San Pawl Milqi villa puts the presses in use at least before the second half of the second century to the third century AD, shortly before the entire villa was destroyed by fire.124 The pottery associated with the abandonment of the press bed [ZTN-P1] at the Żejtun villa gives a terminus post quem of about the second/first century BC, whilst the unstratified material associated with the press room at Żejtun, which was collected during the 1972–3 excavations, has been dated from the Late Punic period to the fourth–seventh centuries AD,125 and pottery associated with the site of Ta’ Kaċċatura can also be dated to the fourthseventh century AD. A Late Punic (Hellenistic) date for the earliest press at Żejtun can be compared with the Late Classical and Hellenistic examples from Greece and the Crimea. The evidence for San Pawl Milqi also proves that the adoption of the screw mechanism by adapting existing windlass presses took place before the third century AD since the site was destroyed sometime during this century. The same site also indicates possible contemporaneous use of both windlass-lever and screw press mechanisms. The Cyrenaican and 120

 Callot 1984, p. 40.  For instance, Mattingly notes that there is a lot of regional variation on the choice of olive press technology and localised adaptations to particular types of mechanisms within North Africa, i.e. the way the wooden windlass was secured to the anchor block varied throughout the regions (1996, p. 579). 122  Brun 1986, pp. 71–73. 123  Mattingly and Hitchner 1993, pp. 441, 452–454. 124  See note 28. 125  Anastasi 2010, pp. 106–107; 2012, p. 28. The anchor block and settling vats at the Żejtun farm, located in Area A, are most certainly in situ and are more than likely contemporary with the latest building and occupation of the site. This suggests that the site has a long history of olive pressing from at least the second/ first century BC to the Late Imperial period. The presence of an adapted screw counterweight block [ZTN-A1] also suggests that the press room was altered at a later stage. 121

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Syrian presses that share a similar layout to the Maltese ones have been dated to the Late Roman period (fourth–seventh century AD), offering additional support for the fact that many of the Maltese presses—in particular the ones containing an adapted screw press— date to the same period.

CONCLUSION The purpose of this survey was to update the corpus of archaeological evidence for olive pressing technology on the Maltese islands. Building on the existing work conducted by our honorand in the late 1970s, we have added several more discoveries to the collection of find-spots for stone pressing equipment. A closer examination of some of the better preserved sites allowed us to show how the ‘typical’ olive press adopted on Malta was set up. Both windlass lever- and, at a later date, screw-press technology were adopted, and the ‘parallel position’ layout prevailed on all the sites for which a layout could be reconstructed. It appears that the uncommon layout was intended to maximise the force of the pressing beam without compromising on room space, thereby ensuring that the maximum amount of precious liquid could be squeezed out of one olive yield. The adaptation of placing the winch counterweight within a trench cut specifically to accommodate it is also a localised feature, which enabled the beam to be winched down as close to the floor as possible, as well as offering more control when the weight was raised off the ground. Lastly, outside of the Maltese islands, relatively few archaeological sites share this particular layout, and the ones that do are from the eastern Mediterranean, and date to the fourth-third centuries BC and the fourth-seventh centuries AD. Whether we ought to read more into this, and suggest that with the trade in pottery (with its contexts) that linked Malta to Adriatic, Aegean and other eastern Mediterranean centres from the end of the second century BC to the third/ fourth centuries AD126 came technological inspirations and advances is something to explore elsewhere.

BIBLIOGRAPHY AMATO, F. 2012

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CAGIANO DE AZEVEDO, M., CAPRINO, C., CIASCA, A., COLEIRO, E., DAVICO, A., GARBINI, G., SAVERIO MALLIA, F., MOSCATI, S., PUGLIESE, B., ROSSIGNANI, M. P. and TAMASSIA, A. M. 1966 Missione Archeologica Italiana a Malta: Rapporto preliminare della Campagna 1965. Rome: Università Degli Studi di Roma. CAGIANO DE AZEVEDO, M., CAPRINO, C., CIASCA, A., COLEIRO, E., DAVICO, A., GARBINI, G., MOSCATI, S., PUGLIESE, B., ROSSIGNANI, M. P. and TAMASSIA, A. M. 1967 Missione Archeologica Italiana a Malta: Rapporto preliminare della Campagna 1966. Rome: Università Degli Studi di Roma. CALLOT, E. 1984 Huileries antiques de Syrie du Nord. Paris: Geuthner. CARUANA, A. A. 1882 Report on the Phoenician and Roman Antiquities in the Group of the Islands of Malta. Malta: Government Printing Office. 1888 “Remains of an ancient Greek building discovered in Malta,” American Journal of Archaeology 4(4): 3–7. 1899 Frammento critico della storia Fenicio-Cartaginese, Greco-Roana e Bisantina, Musulmana e Normanno-Aragonese delle isole di Malta. Malta: Giov. Muscat. CATANI, E. 1976 “I frantoi della fattoria bizantina di El-Beida,” Quaderni archeologici della Libya 8: 435–448. CUTAJAR, D. 1988 The Medieval Chapel of Sanċir: The Story of the Rehabilitation. Malta: the author. CLARIDGE, A. 1971 Roman Occupation of Malta and Gozo. Unpublished diss. University of London. DOCTER, R. F., VELLA, N. C., CUTAJAR, N., BONANNO, A. and PACE, A. 2012 “Rural Malta: First results of the joint Belgo-Maltese survey project,” BABESCH 87: 117–157. DRACHMANN, A. G. 1932 Ancient Oil Mills and Presses. Copenhagen: Levin and Munksgaard. FOXHALL, L. 1993 “Oil extraction and processing equipment in Classical Greece,” in La production du vin et de l’huile en Méditerranée / Oil and Wine Production in the Mediterranean area: Actes du symposium international (20-22 Novembre 1991), edited by M.-C. Amouretti, J.-P. Brun and D. Eitam, pp. 183–200. Paris: École Française d’Athènes. 2007 Olive Cultivation in Ancient Greece: Seeking the Ancient Economy. Oxford: Oxford University Press. FRANKEL, R. 1993 “The trapetum and mola olearia,” in La production du vin et de l’huile en Méditerranée / Oil and Wine Production in the Mediterranean area: Actes du symposium international (20–22 Novembre 1991), edited by M.-C. Amouretti, J.-P. Brun and D. Eitam, pp. 477–482. Paris: École Française d’Athènes. 1999 Wine and Oil Production in Antiquity in Israel and Other Mediterranean Countries. JSOT/ASOR Monograph Series 10. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. 2001 “Cato’s press a reapraisal,” in Τέχυαι: Techniques et sociétés en Méditerranée, edited by J.-P. Brun and P. Jockey, pp. 313–325. Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose. GAMBIN, T. 2005 The Maritime Landscape of Malta from the Roman Period to the Middle Ages. Unpublished PhD diss. University of Bristol. HADJISAVVAS, S. 1992 Olive Oil Processing in Cyprus from the Bronze Age to the Byzantine Period. Nicosia: Paul Åströms Förlag. HORDON, P. and PURCELL, N. 2000 The Corrupting Sea. Oxford: Blackwell.

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KLONER, A. and SAGIV, N. 1993 “The technology of oil production in the Hellenistic period at Maresha, Israel,” in La production du vin et de l’huile en Méditerranée / Oil and Wine Production in the Mediterranean Area: Actes du Symposium International (20-22 Novembre 1991), edited by M.-C. Amouretti, J.-P. Brun and D. Eitam, pp. 119–136. Paris: École Française d’Athènes. JACCARINI, C. J. and CAUCHI, M. N. 1999 “The enigmatic rock-cut pans of Mġarr ix-Xini,” Melita Historica 12(4): 419– 444. JAMESON, M. H. 2001 “Oil presses of the Late Classical/Hellenistic Period,” in Τέχυαι: Techniques et sociétés en Méditerranée, edited by J.-P. Brun and P. Jockey, pp. 281–299. Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose. LOCATELLI, D. 2004 Processi di trasformazione tra l’età tardorepubblicana e la media età imperiale a Malta. Il caso della villa di San Pawl Milqi. Unpublished PhD diss. Università del Sacro Cuore, Milano. 2005–2006 “Nuove ricerche a San Pawl Milqi: Primi risultati,” Rendiconti della Pontificia Accademia Romana di Archeologia 78: 257–273. 2008 “L’oro verde di Malta. Stime sulla produzione olearia nella villa San Pawl Milqi,” L’Africa romana XVII: Le ricchezze dell’Africa: risorse, produzoni, scambi, edited by J. González, P. Ruggeri, C. Vizmara and R. Zucca, pp. 1351–1374. Sassari: Carrocci Editore. 2009 “Green gold of Malta? Assessing the processing capacity of the torcularium in San Pawl Milqi.” Unpublished paper delivered at a seminar of the Archaeological Society, Malta, 28 March 2009. MAR (MUSEUM ANNUAL REPORTS) 1905–1906 Annual Report of the Curator of the Museum for the Financial Year 1905–1906. Malta: Government Printing Office. 1906–1907 Annual Report of the Curator of the Museum for the Financial Year 1905–1906. Malta: Government Printing Office. 1910–1911 Annual Report of the Curator of the Museum for the Financial Year 1910–1911. Malta: Government Printing Office. 1911–1912 Annual Report of the Curator of the Museum for the Financial Year 1911–1912. Malta: Government Printing Office. 1931–1932 Annual Report of the Curator of the Museum for the Financial Year 1931–1932. Malta: Government Printing Office. 1946–1947 Annual Report of the Museum Department 1946–1947. Malta: Government Printing Office. 1954–1955 Report on the Working of the Museum Department 1954–1955. Malta: Government Printing Office. 1957–1958 Report on the Working of the Museum Department 1957–1958. Malta: Government Printing Office. 1958–1959 Report on the Working of the Museum Department 1958–1959. Malta: Government Printing Office. MARTINELLI, N. 2012 A Conservation Plan for the Medieval Chapel of San Mikiel is-Sinċir, Rabat. Unpublished BA(Hons) diss. University of Malta. MATTINGLY, D. J. 1996 “Olive presses in Roman Africa: Technical evolution or stagnation?,” in Africa Romana: Atti del’ XI convegno di studio Cartagine, 15–18 dicembre 1994, edited by M. Khonoussi, P. Ruggeri and V. Vismara, pp. 577–595. Sassari: Carrocci Editore.

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MATTINGLY, D. J. and HITCHNER, B. R. 1993 “Technical specifications for North African olive presses,” in La production du vin et de l’huile en Méditerranée / Oil and Wine Production in the Mediterranean area: actes du symposium international (20–22 Novembre 1991), edited by M.-C. Amouretti, J.-P. Brun and D. Eitam, pp. 439–461. Paris: École Française d’Athènes. PENNICCHETTI, F. A. 1964 “Gli impianti agricolti,” in Missione Archeologica Italiana a Malta: Rapporto preliminare della Campagna 1963, by V. Bonello et al., pp. 135–138. Rome: Università Degli Studi di Roma. ROSSIGNANI, M. P. 1966 “Note sui pressoi,” in Missione Archeologica Italiana a Malta: Rapporto preliminare della Campagna 1965, by M. Cagiano de Azevedo et al., pp. 101–107. Rome: Università Degli Studi di Roma. ROSSITER, J. J. 1981 “Wine and oil processing at Roman farms in Italy,” Phoenix 35(4): 345–361. SCRINARI, V. 1964 “Lo scavo,” in Missione Archeologica Italiana a Malta: Rapporto preliminare della Campagna 1963, by V. Bonello et al., pp. 123–131. Rome: Università Degli Studi di Roma. SCULLI, O. 2002 I palmenti di Ferruzzano, archeologia del vino e testimonianze di cultura materiale in un territorio della Calabria meridionale. Florence: Edizioni Palazzo Spinelli. TRUMP, D. 1990 Malta: An Archaeological Guide, 2nd ed. Malta: Progress Press. TYREE, L. and STEFANOUDAKI, E. 1996 “The olive pit and Roman oil making,” Biblical Archaeologist 59: 171–178. VERDONCK, L. 2012 High Resolution Ground-Penetrating Radar Prospection with a Modular Configuration: Potential for the Detailed Imaging of Buried Archaeological Remains. Thesis submitted for the degree of Doctor in Archaeology, University of Ghent. Ghent: Ghent University Press. WILSON, A. I. 2008 “Machines in Greek and Roman technology,” in The Oxford Handbook of Engineering and Technology in the Classical World, edited by J. P. Olsen, pp. 338–366. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ZAMMIT, T. 1908 Guide to the Roman Villa Museum at Rabat. Malta.

Maxine ANASTASI and Nicholas C. VELLA University of Malta [email protected] [email protected]

THE ROMAN SACELLUM IN THE SO-CALLED TEMPLE OF HERACLES AT AGRIGENTO, SICILY: A FORGOTTEN HISTORY* Francesca BUSCEMI

INTRODUCTION The last few years have marked a significant advance in the presentation of archaeological information about ancient Agrigento. This can be seen both in general terms, through the recent publication of the new Archaeological Map and the SIT (Territorial Information System) of the Parco Archeologico e Paesaggistico della Valle dei Templi,1 and more specifically, through the publication of the first definitive volume on Agrigento in the Roman period, after important discoveries over the last decade in the forum area in the centre of the ancient town.2 After 2014, new researches and discoveries started to point out the topic of space and function changing of these buildings in post-Classical period.3 The overall framework of knowledge about the Roman period at Agrigento is now again at the centre of archaeological debate4 and has been enriched with significant new data on public buildings of the Early and Late Empire.5 Particularly in the last two years, the intense activity of archaeological research promoted and/or conducted by the Parco Archeologico encouraged a wider reconsideration of the city in the Roman period.6 The monumental architecture of the Hellenistic-Republican period, however, and any transformations of the great Greek temple buildings and shrines of the lower city at the same time have remained less studied and therefore less well understood.

* This article is a prelude to the study on the sacellum of the so-called Temple of Heracles, which has emerged from my years of teaching in the field with Surveying and Technical Analysis of Ancient Monuments students of the Degree in Cultural Heritage (formerly Archaeological Cultural Heritage) in Agrigento (University of Palermo). A thesis on the subject was submitted by me in the academic year 2008-2009 to Dr Daniela Frasconà. I wish to warmly thank the Agrigento Superintendence of Cultural Heritage and the Parco Archeologico e Paesaggistico della Valle dei Templi, which have in recent years shared the task of protecting and enhancing the site. They have always been welcoming and very helpful with respect to my educational activities. I would also like to thank Dr Jacqueline W. Riley, director of the John Miller Burnam Classic Library, University of Cincinnati, for the hospitality afforded during my research (2013), and Professor Elisa Chiara Portale for the ever enlightening discussions and for reading my text. 1  Belvedere and Burgio 2012. 2  De Miro 2011. 3  See, for instance, the researches on the area to the South of the Olympieion (De Cesare and Portale 2016). 4  Agrigento ellenistico-romana. Coscienza identitaria e margini di autonomia, Giornata internazionale di studi, by Parco Archeologico e Paesaggistico della Valle dei Templi and Università di Catania, Agrigento 30 giugno 2016. 5  An account in Caminneci, Parello and Rizzo 2015. 6  See Parello and Rizzo 2016.

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Fig. 1. Temple A at Agrigento. The small sacellum inside the cella (photograph by the author).

1. The last phase of the so-called temple of Heracles (or Temple A; probably late sixth‒ early fifth century BC),7 documented by the construction of a small and virtually unknown sacellum inside the cella (Fig. 1), can therefore add an important piece of evidence to this picture. This paper presents the history of research into the structures probably relevant to the Early Roman period in the temple, along with various other comments on topographical and architectural matters. 2. The building is located at the western end of the Valley of the Temples, near Gate IV (Porta Aurea) in the Archaic city walls.8 This gate has long been interpreted as the passageway through which the north-south main street (cardo) ran, known from the ancient sources,9 which joined the city’s forum with the emporium on the coast.10 However, the 7

 The last two decades of the sixth Century BC according to Mertens Horn (1988, cat. 6); 488‒480 according to De Waele (1968a, 1980). 8  580‒550 BC according to Marconi (1930, p. 39); the middle of sixth century BC according to De Miro (1983, p. 6; 2000, p. 43), then taken up again by other scholars (Coarelli and Torelli 1992, p. 131; Compernolle 1992, p. 70). Specific archaeological soundings have confirmed a generic dating to the sixth century (Belvedere and Burgio 2012, p. 19). The publication of the structures is in Fiorentini 2009. 9  Liv., XXVI 40, 8, 9, 11. 10  Marconi 1930, pp. 20, 47.

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Fig. 2. South façade of the Temple of Heracles (photograph by the author).

currently favoured hypothesis places the cardo as lying further East, between the temple of Heracles and that of Concordia (Figs 2–3).11 It is not known to which deity the temple was dedicated.12 Its attribution to Heracles dates back to the Renaissance, when Tommaso Fazello13 suggested the identification of this building with the temple of Hercules mentioned by Cicero as non longe a foro.14 In turn, the long-debated location of the forum has included reference to the Greek temple in an example of circular argument, using information based simply on tradition.15 A recent book on Archaic Akragas has reopened the discussion about the dedication of this monument. It connects Cicero’s mention of the Herculis templum with the dedications to Hermes and Heracles inscribed on the seats of the so-called gymnasium, and suggests a topographical proximity between the two buildings, effectively rejecting the link between temple A and the demigod.16 The alternative proposed by the author, previously advanced by Koldewey and Puchstein,17 is that that Temple A was dedicated to Apollo. After the construction of the later sacellum inside the cella, the worship of Asclepius is conjectured to have been 11

 Tripodi 2003.  De Waele 1980, p. 187. 13  Fazellus 1558, pp. 291‒292. 14  Cic., 2 Verr., 4, 43, 94. 15  Bibliography in Adornato 2011, p. 108, n. 23. For an attempt to confirm the attribution to Herakles, see De Miro 2012, pp. 101‒103. 16  Adornato 2011, pp. 106‒107. 17  Koldewey and Puchstein 1899, p. 148. 12

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Fig. 3. Stenopos leading to the Asklepieion from the so-called gymnasium, Agrigento (after De Miro 2003, p. 257, fig. 1).

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added to his cult18 after the abandonment of extramural Asklepieion, sometime between the second half of the third and the second century BC, according to the hypothesis already proposed by De Miro.19 Already in the sixteenth century, as Fazello’s description makes clear, the monument was in a poor state of preservation. It was completely in ruins, with only one column still standing. The reports of foreign travellers in Agrigento during the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, as well as depictions of the monuments by them,20 demonstrate how their ruinous state stimulated both written and visual records which are in purely Grand Tour style, with a content that is essentially romantic and evocative. Documentation of this type provided the dominant record of Agrigento’s monuments for at least a century (Fig. 4). Little attention was paid to the temples even after the appointment of the Prince of Torremuzza as Regio Custode delle Antichità del Val di Mazara in 1779, but at least the first conservation and restoration efforts at Agrigento were attempted, on the Temple of Concord,21 and the Temple of Heracles was the subject of a proposal for the anastylosis of ‘two or three columns’.22

Fig. 4. Artist’s impression of the Temple of Heracles in the nineteenth century; lithograph by S. Puglia (from Liberatore 1840, p. 272). 18

 Already by Marconi 1929, p. 131.  De Miro 2003, pp. 83‒84; for the differences between the two versions, cf. Adornato 2011, p. 114, n. 44. 20  Mascoli and Vallet 1994, pp. 13‒18. 21  Castellana 1991, p. 191; Meli 2003, p. 499; Marrella 2005, p. 120. 22  Pagnano 2001, p. 83. 19

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3. A purely conjectural presentation of the plan and elevation of the Temple of Heracles appeared in 1830, when the supplement by Charles Robert Cockerell to the Antiquities of Athens by J. Stuart and N. Revett was published.23 The sacellum inside the cella is not of course present in this plan, as it was not yet visible at the time. It was not until 1834 that the first programme aimed at clearing the site was conducted24 under the sponsorship of the Commission of Antiquities and Fine Arts, founded in 1827 with its headquarters in Palermo,25 in collaboration with the local Custodians of Antiquities at Agrigento.26 On this occasion, which marks the start of investigation of the ‘Valley of the Temples’ at an official level, the walls of the cella, the internal staircases and columns of the peristyle (with the southern ones still in good condition) were uncovered. The Commission’s report of 1836 does not offer a clear appreciation of the presence of the sacellum inside the naos, especially as the reference to the presumed “benches protruding from the inner part of walls” appears to be a misinterpretation of this structure. Certainly, identified by the Commission, however, was a tripartite division of the cella, with the report of “two other cells […] enclosed within walls having their own doors”.27 From the account of the same excavations by G. Kramer,28 by contrast, the arrangement of the back of the cella emerges with more clarity: Extraordinary […] and as far as I know without precedence, is the compartmentalization of the cella, at the far end of which, in front of the western wall, opposite the entrance, are three small rooms, each with its own door. The one in the middle, whose door is directly aligned with that of the cella, is distinct from the other two which are the same, for the elevation above that of the cella, and for its shape; the front section has a small pronaos added, making it a small temple unto itself. […] The construction of their walls is highly similar to that of the wall of the large cella, so there is no reason to believe that they are of a more recent origin than the rest.29

Also during this initial phase of uncovering the structures, a headless draped statue was unearthed, now housed at the Regional Archaeological Museum ‘A. Salinas’ in Palermo (Fig. 5).30 At the time of its discovery, it was considered to be of Greek workmanship. Its exact context is not clear, but certainly “in one of the two small side rooms described above.”31 This was certainly in the interior of the cella, probably at the west end, since the description of the discovery immediately follows that of the tripartite division at the far end of the naos.32  Stuart et al. 1830, pp. 10‒11, pl. 9.  Reali Decreti e Rescritti riguardanti le Antichità e le Belle Arti 1853, pp. 12‒14 (Castellana 1991, p. 176). 25  Composed of the Prince of Trabia, the Duke of Serradifalco, the sculptor V. Villareale and the painter G. Patania (Castellana 1991, p. 176). 26  The painter R. Politi, the canon E. Lo Presti and the architect Domenico Cavallari (Castellana 1991, p. 176; Serradifalco 1836, p. 41). 27  Transcribed in Castellana 1991, p. 190. 28  Kramer 1836. 29  Kramer 1836, p. 99. 30  Inv. no. 5596; Marconi 1929, p. 132. 31  Kramer 1836, p. 99. 32  “[…] some seats protruding from the internal section of the walls, and lateral to the same [internal section] was found an excellent statue of Greek chisel work, missing, however, the head, hands and feet […]” (Castellana 1991, p. 190). 23 24

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Fig. 5. Draped statue from the interior of the cella, now in the Regional Archaeological Museum ‘A. Salinas’ in Palermo (photograph by the author).

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4. The discovery of the statue was certainly a great stimulus to the interest of the Commission in the excavations, and the Commissioners began to exert pressure for a first plan to be prepared, at least for the “part of the temple” where the discovery was made.33 In 1836, Valerio Villareale, a member of the Commission, continued the excavations around the building, working on both the opisthodomos, to repair a deep gap in the pavement (which had been partially removed in the course of the investigations), as well as outside the west side of the peristyle, where the goal was to find traces of the building’s architectural decoration. Of all this activity, important descriptions are to be found in the reports submitted by the Commission of Antiquities and Fine Arts to the Prince of Campofranco, the Lieutenant General in Palermo, which are today housed in the State Archives of Palermo.34 Again in 1836, the Duke of Serradifalco, also a member of the Commission, stated in a brief account, anticipating the main results of the investigation, that “the cella shows that it had been re-formed by the Romans, both for the difference in the constructions as well as for the partitioning of the opisthodomos into three small cellae”. Serradifalco was therefore the first to conclude that these structures were added after the construction of the original building.35 In the same year, in the third volume of Le Antichità della Sicilia, the same scholar presented his discoveries from the excavations of Agrigento, including drawings by Francesco Saverio Cavallari. This monumental work immediately established itself as a key source of information for one aspect that has continued to attract the attention of modern scholars on the temple: the problem of the restoration of the elevation of the building. According to Serradifalco, the excavations unearthed fragments of the epistyle which belonged to two different types of architectural decoration. In particular, the discovery of two groups of fragments belonging to two different moduli is reported.36 These findings, together with fragments of the cornice and especially the simas with lion head spouts of both moduli (today kept at the Regional Archaeological Museum of Agrigento),37 led to the hypothesis of an ipetra cella, that is, an unroofed cella open to the sky.38 The problem of the correct attribution of this architectural decoration is an intricate and complex one, requiring a careful comparative survey of archival documents, inventories and archaeological material formerly dispersed among the Civic Museum of Agrigento, the custodians’ houses at the ‘Valley of the Temples’, and the Museum of Palermo.39 When comparing the narrative of Serradifalco with the documents of the Commission of Antiquities and Fine Arts (the excavation reports of Villareale), the actual context of the discoveries relating to the smaller series of epistyle does however raise some concerns. We know, for example, 33

 Castellana 1991, p. 192.  Micrographic section, envelope no. 2067, Internal Secretary of State (Castellana 1991, p. 188). 35  Serradifalco 1836b, p. 130. 36  A larger one, probably belonging to the peristyle, has an entablature approximately 3.15 m high (according to Serradifalco 1836, p. 43: 6.3 palms (1.61 m) for the architrave and 5.10, 2 palms (1.52 m approx.) for the frieze; and the cornice was 6.10 palms tall (1.76 m), the sima 3.2 palms (81.72 cm). A slightly smaller one, attributed to the cella and characterised by an architrave, is approximately 1.54 m in height (Serradifalco 1836, p. 44). 37  Griffo 1987, p. 87. 38  Serradifalco 1836, p. 45. 39  On this, see Buscemi 2016. 34

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that excavation of the Temple of Heracles was initiated and conducted at the same time as that of the Temple of the Dioscuri, and there is a continuous interweaving of data from both investigations in the reports. Moreover, the supervision conducted by the correspondents of the local Custodians of Antiquities of Agrigento40 raised many doubts in the Commission itself about the accuracy of the information (“the ill-conducted excavation of [the Temple of] Heracles”).41 5. The first plan of the Temple of Heracles, including the small sacellum inside it, appeared in Serradifalco’s publication (Fig. 6).42 This scholar was the first to devote special attention to the naiskos.43 The tripartite division of the cella, mentioned above, is dated by him to the same period as the restoration of the opisthodomos. Judging from the plan, the latter alteration is thought to have affected the entire wall of the opisthodomos and the corresponding additions to the perimeter walls of the cella. This hypothesis imagined a large operation that occurred during the Roman period, during which the three small chambers at the west end of the cella were also added.44 The few comparanda available for this peculiar arrangement, which led Serradifalco to suggest an improbable link with the Capitoline triad in Rome,45 demonstrate that ever since the earliest explorations, the theoretical problems posed by the modification of the building were not limited to questions of chronology, but involved the identification of a cultural context for the new building alterations. As for the dedication of the temple, Serradifalco proposed the identification of the torso discovered “in the cella to the left of the opisthodomos” with Asclepius.46 He refused, however, to contemplate the idea of such a cult in the building during the Greek period, based on the testimony of Polybius,47 who located the Asklepieion outside the city, and on the conviction that the image was not compatible with the substantial base found inside the sacellum. It was instead suggested that the cult of Asclepius was introduced to the Greek temple only during the Roman period and was subsidiary to that of the principal deity, who was surely venerated in the central naiskos.48 A further clearing of the south crepidoma was conducted in 1865.49

40

 Serradifalco 1836, p. 41; 1836b, p. 129.  Castellana 1991, p. 200. 42  Serradifalco 1836, pl. 16. 43  Serradifalco 1836, pp. 42–43. 44  “Neither would an easy solution to this problem be found, if the diversity that we have already observed, both in the layout and the colour of the stones in this part of the cella, did not in itself demonstrate that the opisthodomos had been later restored. Hence the conviction that we are not far from the truth in believing that, under the dominion of the Romans, both because the temple required some restoration at the time, and for other reasons unknown, the three cellas under consideration were added to the opisthodomos” (Serradifalco 1836, pp. 42–43; translation by the author). 45  Serradifalco 1836, p. 48. 46  That is, the area South of the sacellum. Asclepius was also the opinion of Kramer (1836, p. 99). 47  Pol., I 18, 2. 48  Serradifalco 1836, p. 51. 49  Koldewey and Puchstein 1899, p. 145. 41

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Fig. 6. Plan of the Temple of Heracles (from Serradifalco 1836, pl. 16).

6. A first detailed interpretation of the older discoveries was provided at the end of the nineteenth century by the Germans Koldeway and Puchstein, in their monumental work on the Greek temples of Magna Graecia and Sicily,50 which is still today a reference work useful for the study of our building. New reconstructions accompanied the first systematic and scientific description of the temple, with particular emphasis on building phases on the basis of technical and construction details (Fig. 7). Without dwelling on the larger building, we shall focus here on the problem of the sacellum, which scholars have discussed at length and which is well defined in the general plan of the temple. Widely considered as dating to the Roman period, it was identified by Koldewey and Puchstein as an adyton with an open atrium, while the two additional rooms to the north and south of the small central shrine (henceforth A and B), defined by walls consisting of a single row of blocks, were not interpreted as a tripartite division at the far end of the temple’s cella, since there are no doors or other evidence of an ability to close off this space.51 The sacellum was described by those scholars as divided into two rooms: an atrium, where they found wall reinforcements and a room further inside, at the bottom of which was found the moulded base already illustrated by Cavallari. Scholars describe this as having a Lesbian kymation on three sides and a base, observing controversially that as the moulding

50

 Koldewey and Puchstein 1899, II, pl. 21.  Koldewey and Puchstein 1899, pp. 145, 147.

51

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Fig. 7. Plan of the Temple of Heracles (from Koldeway and Puchstein 1899).

at the base was ‘covered’ by the later floor, it had not been noticed by Serradifalco.52 An interesting piece of evidence cited by Koldewey and Puchstein, which today is no longer discernible but which could perhaps still exist under the enormous bulk of material that to this day occupies most of the cella, is the clay floor claimed to have been identified as running the length of the temple. It is similar to the floor of the sacellum and is dated after the construction of the temple itself.53 Widespread traces of fire are visible on it, especially in the southern pteron. The structures of the sacellum and walls of A and B are rightly identified as lacking mortar and being set directly on the floor of the cella in an area which, along with the opisthodomos, show large areas of redness still visible today, which are attributable to the effects of fire.54 Also reported in the opisthodomos is the presence of many irregular holes in the floor, sometimes in alignment with each other. The original surface of paving slabs in the temple appears to have been severely damaged by long neglect, suggesting a considerable lapse of time between the original construction and the reuse of the building, with the installation of the tripartite division and new floor.55 A relative chronology was established by Koldewey and Puchstein in the context of the temple’s reflooring in antiquity. They put forward the very careful and reliable view that the refacing work in the south-western corner of the cella should be seen in connection with the construction of the sacellum, which they considered as contemporary. In their interpretation of the discoveries and in their architectural description of the different phases of the structure, Koldewey and Puchstein left the problem of areas A and B somewhat in the dark, stating that only the so-called adyton was intended for worship. Here the statue of 52

 Serradifalco 1836, pl. 17, p. 14.  Koldewey and Puchstein 1899, p. 146. 54  Koldewey and Puchstein 1899, p. 147. 55  Koldewey and Puchstein 1899. 53

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Asclepius, reported as being discovered in the “left side room”56 (i.e., room B), would have been venerated. It was, however, only found in the collapsed ruins of the temple. This is in contrast to Serradifalco’s view who, as we have noted, considered the size of the statue incompatible with the larger dimensions of the base inside the sacellum. 7. Beginning in 1922, anastylosis work was undertaken on the south side of the temple’s peristyle, funded by the English patron Sir Alexander Hardcastle, who had bought Villa Aurea and turned it into his home.57 Upon completion of the work in 1924, eight columns, starting with the third from the East, had been raised either partially or to their full height. The restorations were planned and executed by Francesco Valenti,58 Superintendent of Sicilian Modern and Medieval Art, under the supervision of the Director of the Museum of Palermo,59 Ettore Gabrici, on behalf of Paolo Orsi, Superintendent of Antiquities of Sicily. This work at the Temple of Heracles gave rise to a new period of archaeological research in Agrigento, where the financial backing of Hardcastle gave fundamental support to the scientific research of Pirro Marconi, who arrived in Agrigento in 1925 as inspector of the Archaeological Museum of Palermo60 and who in 1927 became the Director of excavations in Western Sicily.61 Since the discovery of further architectural decorative fragments belonging to the Temple of Heracles in 1924 and in 192662 (at the south-east corner of the temple), Marconi focused on the problem of the ‘double’ series of entablatures, and especially from a stylistic point of view, he attempted to establish a typological sequence for the lion heads, which were classified in two series according to chronology and formal distinctions. He took brief notes both of the restoration of the opisthodomos temple attributed to the Roman period and of the sacellum, and rejected the notion of its being a Capitolium proposed by Serradifalco.63 The plan by Koldewey and Puchstein is proposed again, together with photographic documentation which forms part of the discussion.64 Other problems relating to the temple have been the focus of debate among scholars, such as the controversial Early Severan Style pedimental sculpture attributed to the temple

56

 Koldewey and Puchstein 1899, p. 147.  Gàbrici 1925, p. 444; Richardson 2009, pp. 58, 68–71, 79–82. 58  Transcript of a brief note regarding the work in Tusa 1975, pp. 65–66. 59  Gabrici 1926, p. 93. 60  Richardson 2009, p. 83. 61  Marconi 1933, p. 7. 62  “The styles of our [lion head spouts] are those from the so-called Eracleion of Girgenti, which is not easy to sequence, as there are two different types among them; one represented by three specimens: the first excavated in 1924 with the entire cornice, restored and exhibited in the Museum of Palermo, but not yet published (see Notizie degli Scavi di Antichità 1925, p. 445), the second is very fragmentary, restored and also exhibited in the Museum of Palermo, and the third at the Civic Museum of Girgenti; the other, detached from the cornice and inserted into square holes in the eaves, is represented by five specimens, one found years ago at the Eracleion and now at the Museum of Palermo, the second found in 1922 in the minor Olympieion Temple (Notizie degli Scavi di Antichità 1925, p. 440), the third incomplete, found in 1926 at the south-west corner of the Eracleion, the other two fragments are now with the custodians of the temples of Agrigento.” (Marconi 1927, pp. 388 and 403, n. 2; tranlsation by the author). 63  Marconi 1929, pp. 131–132. 64  Marconi 1929, pp. 54–56, figs 27–28. 57

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by De Miro in 1968,65 reconstructed with fragments found at different times and in different areas. Among these, a striking male head of marble was found “in the bottom of a well to the north of the Temple of Heracles,”66 that is, in one of the many water systems located between this area and that to the south of the temple of Zeus. These were filled in with ceramic and other material during the last forty years of the fourth century BC, probably in connection with a Timoleontic restructuring of the area.67 8. It is nevertheless clear that the architecture of this monument remained of marginal interest during most of the twentieth century. Even the fundamental article by G. Gullini,68 which attempted to outline a comprehensive framework for the development of Greek architecture in Sicily, from the colonial age to the Hellenistic period, afforded only a brief mention of the naiskos of the Temple of Heracles, associating it with the opportunities offered by the large cella, and reiterated its dating to the Roman period, based on Koldeway and Puchstein.69 The studies of De Waele on the metrology of the Greek temples in Sicily70 and of those at Agrigento in particular, included a new survey of the so-called Temple of Heracles,71 but the sacellum remained ignored and was not mentioned in De Waele’s text even though it was documented in his general plan (Fig. 8).

Fig. 8. Plan of the Temple of Heracles (from De Waele 1980).

65

 De Miro 1968.  De Miro 1968, p. 144. 67  Barbanera 1995, pp. 22–24. 68  Gullini 1985. 69  Gullini 1985, p. 456. 70  De Waele 1992. 71  De Waele 1980, p. 186. 66

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Finally, the exhaustive repertoire of Lippolis, Livadiotti and Rocco,72 because of its focus on the archaic and classical architecture until the fourth century BC, gave a brief note on the shrine at the end of the cella, suggesting a chronology much later than the temple itself, hypothetically connected with the insertion of the statue of Asclepius. As for other studies, even the volume on Roman Agrigento cited above73 fails to make any mention of the shrine.

CONCLUSIONS The small sacellum inside Temple A can therefore be seen as a structure which has remained largely ignored by modern scientific literature. References have generally been limited to the reporting of its existence, without detailing the spatial, structural, metrological or chronological implications of the structure and without any new, updated, graphical documentation. The history of the investigations, by contrast, demonstrated that a number of promising research issues has developed around the monument since its early explorations: the chronological problem, within the generally accepted ‘Roman’ dating; the typological problem, starting from the suggested relations with Roman models (Capitolium); the worshipped god or gods. To these arguments of discussion, other topics can be added such as the reconstruction of the ritual practices in the last phase of life of Temple A, including the sacellum, in relation to the surviving earlier structures. All these problems will be tackled in our forthcoming study, but some suggestions can already be presented. The chronology of the sacellum has to be more diffusely discussed, nevertheless some chronological hints can be anticipated: for example the dating of the statue of Asklepius to the Augustan age,74 which gives a terminus ante quem for the shrine. The cocciopesto considered as a proof of Roman dating75 is only a later and episodic restoration of the original floor, which was in lime plaster, according to a technique common in Agrigento during the Hellenistic period. On the other hand, the structural connection of the original Temple A with the proto-Hellenistic ‘small chambers’ fortifications76 (Figs 9–10) has to be added to that already noted with the temple of Zeus Olympios,77 in both cases with a partial reuse of the crepidoma by the defensive structure. This evidence allows a definition of the chronological sequence of the manipulations of Temple A, and an outline of the topography of Agrigento in Early Roman times. The function of these two temples as a part of the new city wall, indeed, should be considered as belonging to the same strategic organisation of the defence of the natural cleft at the south-eastern corner of the city, probably during the Roman siege of Agrigento in 255‒254 BC when, according to the ancient sources  Lippolis et al. 2007, pp. 345–347, 802–803.  De Miro 2010. 74  Chiara Portale, personal communication (June 2016). 75  Marconi 1929, p. 131. 76  Gabrici 1925, p. 438, fig. 9; Zoppi 2014. 77  De Cesare and Portale 2016, p. 258. 72 73

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Fig. 9. Aerial view of the ‘small chambers’ fortification between the Olympieion and Temple A, Agrigento (from De Cesare and Portale 2016, p. 266, fig. 8).

(Diod. 23,18,2),78 the Olympieion functioned as a refuge for the citizens.79 At this time, it seems probable that archaic Temple A was no longer in use. While the temple of Zeus was enclosed within the Hellenistic fortifications, Temple A was left outside it, and possibly transformed into a defensive bastion. If this is true, the sacellum should be later than these ‘emergency’ buildings and was built, therefore, between the second half of the third century BC and the Augustan age.

78

 Scuderi 2012, p. 87.  De Cesare and Portale 2016, p. 258 and references therein.

79

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Fig. 10. The length of the ‘small chambers’ fortifications lying over the archaic sacellum near the Olympieion (from Gabrici 1925, p. 438, fig. 9).

Finally, two intriguing topographical issues resulting from this observation are the supposed migration of the cult of Asclepius from outside to inside the walls and the eventual presence of accessorial buildings for the worship practices in the environs of Temple A, also eventually in the so-called lower agora (Fig. 11). In fact, the discovery of a temple on a podium within a portico and at the centre of a court (Julio-Claudian period),80 north of the upper agora, locates the fulcrum of public life in the Roman period much further to the north.81 His structure and configuration of the so-called lower agora continues to remain unclear and its real function has to be re-examined, especially in relation to the neighbouring, highly venerated sanctuaries.

 Fiorentini 2011, p. 100; Caliò et al. 2016.  A public function (leschai?) has been attributed to incomplete and only partially explored structures belonging to two phases, a Late Archaic-Classical and a proto-hellenistic one (Fiorentini 2005, p. 61; De Miro 2012, p. 103) while small artisan workshop facilities here are attributable to the third century BC (Fiorentini 2011, p. 98). The most recent explorations have revealed the presence of materials attributable almost exclusively to the Classical and Hellenistic era (Belvedere and Burgio 2012, pp. 110–111). Ultimately, the sacral destination of the buildings discovered just east of the so-called lower agora, between the stenopos (b) and (c), and tentatively identified as a prytaneion, alsoconfirms that the current interpretation of this area is unsatisfactory; see also Wilson 2012, p. 247. 80 81

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Fig. 11. Detail of the so-called Temple of Heracles and of the lower agora (from De Miro 2012, fig. 8).

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BIBLIOGRAPHY ADORNATO, F. 2011 Akragas arcaica. Modelli culturali e linguaggi artistici di una città greca d’Occidente. Milano: Edizioni Universitarie di Lettere Economia Diritto. BARBANERA, M. S. 1995 Il guerriero di Agrigento. Una probabile scultura frontonale del Museo di Agrigento e alcune questioni di Archeologia “siceliota”. Roma: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider. BELVEDERE, O. and BURGIO, A. (eds) 2012 Carta Archeologica e Sistema Informativo Territoriale del Parco Archeologico e Paesaggistico della Valle dei Templi. Palermo: Regione siciliana. Assessorato dei beni culturali e dell’identità siciliana. BUSCEMI, F. 2016 “Per un contributo al tema delle trasformazioni post-classiche dei grandi templi di Agrigento: il Tempio A e il suo sacello,” Thiasos 6: 33–52. CALIÒ, L., GEROGIANNIS, G. M., GIANNELLA, F., LIVADIOTTI, M., FINO, A., ALBERTOCCHI, M. and LEONI, F. 2016 “Il santuario ellenistico-romano di Agrigento. Lo scavo, l’inquadramento urbano, l’architettura,” in Paesaggi urbani tardoantichi. Casi a confronto, Atti delle Giornate Gregoriane, VIII edizione, Agrigento, 29‒30 novembre 2014 (Bibliotheca Archaeologica 39), edited by M. C. Parello and M. S. Rizzo, pp. 295‒318. Bari: Edipuglia. CAMINNECI, V., PARELLO, M. C. and RIZZO, M. S. (eds) 2015 Agrigentum. Spazi di vita pubblica della città romana. Palermo: Regione siciliana. Assessorato dei beni culturali e dell’identità siciliana. CASTELLANA, G. 1991 “L’attività della Commissione di Antichità e Belle Arti in Girgenti negli anni 1835‒1836 da un carteggio inedito dell’Archivio di Stato di Palermo,” Annali della Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa, classe di lettere e filosofia 21: 176–203. COARELLI, F. and TORELLI, M. 1992 Guide archeologiche Laterza. Sicilia. Roma‒Bari: Laterza. DE CESARE, M. and PORTALE E. C. 2016 “Riscoprire le vecchie scoperte: il sacello presso l’Olympieion di Agrigento,” in Paesaggi urbani tardoantichi. Casi a confronto, Atti delle Giornate Gregoriane, VIII edizione, Agrigento, 29‒30 novembre 2014 (Bibliotheca Archaeologica 39), edited by M. C. Parello and M. S. Rizzo, pp. 257–268. Bari: Edipuglia. DE MIRO, E. 1968 “Il ‘guerriero’ di Agrigento e la scultura di stile severo in Sicilia,” Cronache di Archeologia e Storia dell’Arte 7: 143–156. 1983 La valle dei templi di Agrigento. Novara: Istituto Geografico De Agostini. 2003 Agrigento. II. I santuari extraurbani. L’Asklepieion. Soveria Mannelli: Rubettino. 2011 Agrigento romana. Rome: Fabrizio Serra Editore. 2012 “Agorai e forum in Agrigento,” in Agora greca e agorai di Sicilia, Atti del Seminario Internazionale di Studi Pisa, 30 giugno‒2 luglio 2008, edited by C. Ampolo, pp. 101‒110. Pisa: Edizioni della Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa. DE WAELE, J. A. K. E. 1968 “De datering van het «Herakleion» te Akragas,” in Handelingen van het dertigste Nederlands Filologencongres, Leiden 10‒11 april, pp. 150–151. Gröningen: Wolters. 1980 “Der Entwurf der dorischen Tempel von Akragas,” Archäologische Anzeiger: 180– 241. 1992 “I grandi templi,” in Agrigento e la Sicilia greca: atti della settimana di studio, Agrigento 2‒8 maggio 1988, edited by L. Braccesi and E. De Miro, pp. 157–206. Rome: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider. FAZELLUS, T. 1558 De Rebus Siculis. Decades duae. Panormi.

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FIORENTINI, G. 2005 “Le agorai e gli edifici civili di Agrigento,” in Urbanistica e architettura nella Sicilia greca, edited by P. Minà, pp. 61–63. Palermo: Regione Siciliana. Assessorato dei Beni Culturali Ambientali e della Pubblica Istruzione. 2011 “Considerazioni sull’evoluzione della morfologia urbana in rapporto con l’articolazione funzionale delle aree pubbliche dall’età greca all’età romana,” in Agrigento romana, by E. De Miro, pp. 97–101. Rome: Fabrizio Serra Editore. FIORENTINI, G. (ed.) 2009 Agrigento. Le fortificazioni. Roma: Gangemi Editore. FIORENTINI, G., CALTABIANO, M. and CALDERONE, A. (eds) 2003 Archeologia del Mediterraneo: Studi in onore di Ernesto De Miro. Rome: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider. GÀBRICI, E. 1925 “Rialzamento di alcune colonne del cosiddetto Tempio di Eracle,” Notizie degli Scavi dell’Antichità s. 6, I, fasc. 10‒12: 444–451. GRIFFO, P. 1987 Il Museo Archeologico regionale di Agrigento. Rome: Tipografia Artistica Editrice Nardini. GULLINI, G. 1985 “L’architettura,” in Sikanie. Storia e civiltà della Sicilia greca, edited by G. Pugliese Carratelli, pp. 415–492. Milan: Garzanti. KOLDEWEY, R. and PUCHSTEIN, O. 1899 Die Griechischen Tempel in Unteritalien und Sicilien, 2 vols. Berlin: A. Asher and Co. KRAMER, G. 1836 “Intorno agli scavi eseguiti in Sicilia nell’inverno 1835‒1836,” Bullettino dell’Instituto di Corrispondenza Archeologica 7a: 97–10. LIBERATORE, R. 1840 “Avanzi del tempio d’Ercole in Girgenti,” Poliorama pittoresco 4: 271–273. LIPPOLIS, E., LIVADIOTTI, M. and ROCCO G. 2007 Architettura greca. Storia e monumenti del mondo della polis dalle origini al V secolo. Milano: Pearson Paravia Bruno Mondadori. LO FASO PIETRASANTA, DUCA DI SERRADIFALCO, D. 1836 Le antichità di Sicilia esposte e illustrate vol. III. Palermo: Tipografia e legatoria Roberti. 1836b “Nuovi Tempij ed altre antichità d’Agrigento,” Bullettino dell’Instituto di Corrispondenza Archeologica 8: 129–130. MARCONI, P. 1926 “Girgenti. Ricerche ed esplorazioni,” Notizie Scavi dell’Antichità s. 6, II, fasc. 1‒3: 93–148. 1927 “Le grondaie a protomi leonine del tempio di Demetra a Girgenti,” Bollettino d’Arte 5: 385–403. 1929 Agrigento. Topografia e arte. Firenze: Vallecchi. 1930 “Agrigento. Studi sulla organizzazione urbana di una città classica,” Rivista dell’Istituto Nazionale di Archeologia e Storia dell’Arte anno II, VIII, fasc. I‒II: 7–61. 1933 Agrigento arcaica. Il santuario delle divinità ctonie e il tempio detto di Vulcano. Rome: La Libreria dello Stato. MARRELLA, A. 2005 “Il restauro dei monumenti classici nella Sicilia borbonica,” in Il monumento nel paesaggio siciliano dell’Ottocento, edited by G. Costantino, p. 120. Palermo. MASCOLI, L. and VALLET, G. 1994 “Immagine e immagini di Agrigento nei racconti dei viaggiatori del ’700,” in La valle dei Templi. Tra iconografia e storia, pp. 13‒18. Palermo. MELI, P. 2003 “Studi. Indagini, ricerche e attività di tutela dei monumenti della valle dei templi nell’ultimo decennio,” in Archeologia del Mediterraneo: studi in onore di Ernesto De Miro, edited by G. Fiorentini, M. Caltabiano and A. Calderone, pp. 499–506. Rome: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider.

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MERTENS HORN, M. 1988 Die Löwenkopf-Wasserspeier des griechischen Ostens im 6. und 5. Jahrhundert v. Chr., (Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Römische Abteilung 28). Mainz: P. von Zabern. MINÀ, P. (ed.) 2005 Urbanistica e architettura nella Sicilia greca. Palermo: Regione Siciliana. Assessorato dei Beni Culturali Ambientali e della Pubblica Istruzione. PAGNANO, G. 2001 Le antichità del Regno di Sicilia. I plani di Biscari e Torremuzza per la Regia Custodia. Siracusa. PARELLO, M. C. and RIZZO M. S. (eds) 2016 Paesaggi urbani tardoantichi. Casi a confronto, Atti delle Giornate Gregoriane, VIII edizione, Agrigento, 29‒30 novembre 2014 (Bibliotheca Archaeologica 39). Bari: Edipuglia. RICHARDSON, A. 2009 Passionate Patron: The Life of Alexander Hardcastle and the Greek Temples of Agrigento. Oxford: Archaeopress. SCUDERI, R. 2012 “La prima guerra punica in Diodoro Siculo,” in Pignora amicitiae. Scritti di storia antica e di storiografia offerti a Mario Mazza (Storia e Politica 99), edited by M. Cassia, C. Giuffrida, C. Molè and A. Pinzone, pp. 69‒96. Acireale-Roma: Bonanno Editore. SERRADIFALCO (LO FASO PIETRASANTA, D., DUCA DI) 1836 Le antichità della Sicilia, 3 vols. Palermo: Tipografia e Legatoria Roberti. STUART, J., REVETT, N. and COCKERELL, C. R. 1830 Antiquities of Athens and other Places in Greece, Sicily, etc.: Supplementary to the Antiquities of Athens. London: Priestly and Weale. TRIPODI, G. 2003 “Akragas. L’ubicazione della Porta dell’Emporio,” in Archeologia del Mediterraneo: Studi in Onore di Ernesto De Miro, edited by G. Fiorentini, M. Caltabiano and A. Calderone, pp. 685–691. Rome: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider. TUSA, V. 1975 “Anastylosis ad Agrigento (Tempio di Eracle) e Selinunte (Tempio C),” Sicilia Archeologica 27: 63–69. ZOPPI, C. 2014 “L’Olympieion di Agrigento dopo il 406 a.C.,” in Katà korufèn fàos. Studi in onore di Graziella Fiorentini (Sicilia Antiqua 11), pp. 593‒597. Pisa‒Roma: Fabrizio Serra editore. WILSON, J. A. 2012 “Agorai and fora in Hellenistic and Roman Sicily: An overview of the current status quaestionis,” in Agora greca e agorai di Sicilia, Atti del Seminario Internazionale di Studi Pisa, 30 giugno‒2 luglio 2008, edited by C. Ampolo, pp. 245‒270. Pisa: Edizioni della Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa.

Francesca BUSCEMI Università di Catania [email protected]

INDAGINI ARCHEOLOGICHE NELLE TERME ROMANE DI TERMINI IMERESE, SICILIA Oscar BELVEDERE and Vincenza FORGIA

Fin dal XVI secolo, i primi studiosi di antichità della Sicilia, Arezzo, Fazello e Solito, considerano antichi l’edificio dei bagni termali di Termini.1 L’inizio di veri e proprie indagini sulla struttura non sono però anteriori alla fine del XVIII secolo con il Torremuzza e poi con l’Houel. Quest’ultimo esaminò accuratamente l’edificio moderno costruito agli inizi del secolo precedente, individuando nelle strutture le parti da lui ritenute antiche. In particolare sembrarono allo Houel da attribuire ad età romana alcuni tratti della volta a botte del corridoio anulare esterno delle terme, ammorsati ad anelli laterizi, probabilmente perché la stessa tecnica era stata da lui osservata nei grandi edifici di Catania, attribuiti correttamente ad età imperiale. Inoltre, ritenne, forse sulla base di tracce allora visibili, che l’edificio avesse pianta circolare e che il corridoio anulare circondasse interamente la struttura (Fig. 1), ipotizzando anche che lo spazio centrale fosse coperto da una volta, seguito dal Palmeri e contro l’opinione del Gargotta, che nel 1817 condusse uno scavo nell’area antistante all’edificio, confermando che il calidarium presentava pianta circolare, ma ritenendo che lo spazio centrale (la piscina) fosse scoperto e negando altresì che nell’edificio secentesco si fossero conservate strutture di età romana.

Fig. 1. Planimetria dei bagni termali. Rilievo di J. Houel (Museo dell’Ermitage). 1

 Per lo stato della questione, Belvedere et al. 1993, pp. 50‒58, con tutta la bibliografia precedente.

O. BELVEDERE

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– V.

FORGIA

In realtà il calidarium era solo una parte delle terme romane, come apparve chiaro in occasione degli scavi condotti per la costruzione nell’area adiacente del Grand Hotel delle Terme alla fine del XIX secolo. Dei resti scoperti non resta purtroppo alcuna relazione dettagliata, a differenza di altri scavi archeologici condotti a Termini negli stessi anni, di cui l’ispettore onorario della città, S. Ciofalo inviò regolarmente notizia alla Soprintendenza di Palermo. Probabilmente l’interesse a realizzare una grande struttura alberghiera, che facesse di Termini una rinomata città termale, prevalse su altre considerazioni. Conosciamo l’edificio romano solo grazie all’intervento di A. Indovina che ne redasse la pianta (1896), e da una breve e generica descrizione di G. Patiri, uno studioso locale, che accenna a un grande edificio con una sontuosa decorazione architettonica e musiva,2 di cui nulla rimane di concreto, se non un ritratto di età giulio-claudia,3 oggi esposto nel locale Museo Civico. Generalmente si è ritenuto che il Patiri avesse esagerato nell’esaltare lo splendore delle terme romane, ma i risultati dei recenti saggi di scavo ci inducono a rivedere questo giudizio. Dalla pianta di Indovina (Fig. 2) si intuisce la complessa articolazione della struttura, che risulta divisa in due corpi principali, quello a NE, al di sotto dell’Hotel, che sembra presentare una distribuzione degli spazi in diverse sale dotate di vasche, e quello a SO, il calidarium, inglobato all’interno della costruzione secentesca. In mancanza di altri dati, anche noi abbiamo accettato l’opinione di Houel che le volte ammorsate ad anelli laterizi fossero da attribuire all’edificio romano e di conseguenza ho

Fig. 2. Planimetria dei ruderi al di sotto del Grand Hotel e dei bagni secenteschi. Rilievo di A. indovina (1896).

2

 Patiri 1909, pp. 6‒8.  Bonacasa 1960, p. 59, n. 72.

3

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proposto una datazione al II sec.d.C. dell’intero complesso.4 Abbiamo cominciato a dubitare dell’esattezza di questa conclusione solo dopo alcuni anni, quando nel corso di un maldestro tentativo di ristrutturare l’edificio delle terme, fu abbassato il piano di calpestio e messe allo scoperto le strutture dell’ambulacro circolare, scrostando interamente gli intonaci. La tecnica muraria adoperata, pietrame di pezzatura varia e irregolare mista a sassi e frammenti di laterizi, tenuti insieme da una malta biancastra friabile, appariva molto povera e ben diversa da quella impiegata negli altri edifici romani di Thermae, e anche i frammenti di mattoni, analoghi per impasto, cottura e qualità a quelli adoperati negli anelli laterizi delle volte, non sembravano comparabili con i mattoni noti da altre costruzione di età romana della città. Questi sospetti divennero certezza, quando, grazie alla cortesia dell’amico geologo G. Contino, siamo venuti a conoscenza dei risultati di tre carotaggi effettuati nella piazza antistante all’edificio secentesco. L’area risultava coperta con più eventi successivi da potenti strati alluvionali, depositati dall’impluvio naturale che si apre sulla sinistra delle terme. In uno dei carotaggi, effettuato all’angolo NO dei bagni, alla profondità di oltre m 7 dal p.d.c. fu intercettato uno strato contenente diversi frammenti di ceramica tra cui uno di sigillata italica, che faceva pensare che l’edificio romano si trovasse ben al di sotto di quello secentesco. L’occasione per passare a una ricerca archeologica programmata ci è stata data dal progetto di consolidamento dell’edificio termale, presentato nel 2009 dal Comune di Termini Imerese. Abbiamo, pertanto, avuto la possibilità di eseguire tra agosto e novembre del 2010 tre saggi di scavo con i quali sono state raggiunte le strutture del calidarium e documentata la stratigrafia del sito.5 In tal modo, per la prima volta abbiamo una conoscenza diretta dell’edificio romano e raccolto una serie di dati che ci permettono di comprendere meglio la disposizione e la consistenza del suo apparato decorativo. Il primo dei tre saggi è stato eseguito nel corridoio anulare esterno, mentre gli altri due all’interno della costruzione, in modo da indagare l’edificio antico in senso radiale, allo scopo di intercettarne le diverse parti che lo componevano (Fig. 3). Il primo saggio ha immediatamente messo in luce, pochi centimetri al di sotto del piano di calpestio (- m 3.80 dalla quota attuale della piazza dei bagni), una delle vasche per i bagni caldi raffigurate in un acquarello di J. Houel, conservato al museo dell’Ermitage (Fig. 4). La vasca di forma rettangolare presenta due gradini sui lati ovest e sud, utilizzati per sedersi, come si vede nella raffigurazione del pittore francese. Non è più esistente, invece, la gradinata che permetteva ai malati di scendere direttamente al corridoio esterno dalla piazza soprastante. Sul lato nord, la vasca è delimitata da un muro dell’altezza di circa 60 cm che accoglieva il sistema di conduttura dell’acqua termale, mentre in corrispondenza dell’angolo nordorientale è ancora visibile la canaletta per il deflusso dell’acqua. La pavimentazione è costituita da tre grandi basole di forma irregolare. Non è stato raccolto alcun dato cronologico per il manufatto, che comunque è pertinente all’edificio secentesco, anche se probabilmente non appartiene alla sua prima fase edilizia. 4

 Belvedere 1993, p. 55.  Lo scavo è stato diretto da O. Belvedere e condotto sul campo da V. Forgia, su incarico del Comune di Termini Imerese, in stretta collaborazione con la Soprintendenza BB.CC.AA. di Palermo e con il Parco archeologico di Himera, che ringraziamo. 5

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Fig. 3. Planimetria delle terme con la localizzazione dei tre saggi effettuati.

Fig. 4. Ambulacro dei bagni termali. Acquarello di J. Houel (Museo dell’Ermitage).

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Fig. 5. Muro perimetrale esterno dell’ambulacro e tratto del pavimento (saggio 1).

Completata l’indagine, abbiamo allargato il saggio verso ovest, conducendo lo scavo in profondità. Inizialmente sono stati rinvenuti e asportati tre strati di riempimento artificiale (US 0, 1, 9), da mettere sicuramente in rapporto con la costruzione dell’edificio moderno. Al di sotto si sono messi in luce altri tre strati di riempimento alluvionale (US 10, 11 e 12) relativi alle fasi di abbandono dell’edificio antico, al di sotto dei quali, infine, si sono messe in luce le strutture murarie, conservate parzialmente in alzato, e un tratto di pavimento delle terme romane, ad una quota di m 5.54 (Fig. 5). La US 10 era costituita da un livello argilloso (dello spessore di 30 cm) intriso d’acqua termale e ricco di spezzoni di pannelli mosaicati. La US 11, costituita da un accumulo di malta e tessere di mosaico e, in alcuni casi, di estese porzioni di pannelli mosaicati policromi, è stata interpretata come un evento di crollo dei pannelli, che si presentavano a faccia in giù, quasi certamente in giacitura primaria dal momento del distacco dalla parete, e che dovevano adornare con tutta probabilità la parte superiore delle pareti. Sotto il crollo abbiamo intercettato un ultimo livello argilloso, nel quale erano ‘immersi’ alcuni elementi architettonici, tra i quali un capitello di lesena (Fig. 6) che si trovava in giacitura primaria, dato che posava a faccia in giù su un sottile strato di fango, poco distante dalla lesena cui apparteneva. Immediatamente al di sotto abbiamo incontrato il pavimento, costituito da lastre di marmo (o di calcare) rettangolari giustapposte. Il muro della struttura antica, messo in luce al di sotto del muro esterno dell’ambulacro attuale che ne segue l’andamento, è costruito con blocchetti rettangolari di calcare, in corsi regolari (il muro doveva poi essere intonacato e rivestito dai pannelli di mosaico ritrovati in scavo); la base del muro è tuttora

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Fig. 6. Capitello di lesena rinvenuto in crollo sul pavimento dell’ambulacro.

rivestita da lastre di marmo rettangolari, giustapposte per la lunghezza. La parete era movimentata da un gioco di sporgenze e rientranze ottenuto con una serie di lesene, delle quali il nostro saggio ne ha intercettata solamente una, con il relativo capitello in crollo, come si è detto. Il secondo saggio è stato aperto aldilà del muro interno dell’ambulacro dell’emiciclo, e il terzo in uno dei vani adiacenti, in direzione del centro del calidarium. Nel secondo saggio è stata riscontrata la medesima sequenza stratigrafica del saggio precedente, con una corrispondenza anche nelle fasi di crollo della struttura antica; abbiamo, infatti, rinvenuto gli elementi più leggeri nel livello argilloso superiore (US 12), il crollo dell’intonaco parietale (US 13) e gli elementi architettonici decorativi inglobati nel livello argilloso inferiore (US 14) e crollati sul pavimento della struttura, alla stessa quota del saggio precedente. Anche in questo saggio sono state intercettate alcune strutture delle terme: un tratto del muro interno dell’ambulacro rivestito da pannelli di stucco dipinto e decorato da pilastri su base modanata (Fig. 7), che fungevano da stipiti per le aperture che collegavano l’ambulacro interno a quello esterno. Tale muro sembra avere lo stesso andamento del muro secentesco sovrapposto, ma il tratto messo in luce è troppo breve per esserne completamente sicuri. La base dei pilastri era ornata da pannelli a basso rilievo. Il pavimento era rivestito da lastre giustapposte, orientate parallelamente al muro di fondo. Di fronte al muro è stata messa in luce la base modanata di un altro pilastro (Fig. 8) aggettante sul bordo di una struttura, la cui parete scendeva in verticale, ma di cui non è stato possibile accertare in questo saggio la profondità. Si tratta evidentemente della parete

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Fig. 7. Muro perimetrale interno dell’ambulacro, decorato da pilastri su base modanata.

Fig. 8. Pilastro con base modanata sul margine della vasca centrale del calidarium.

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della vasca centrale del calidarium circondata da uno stretto portico a pilastri, come è spesso usuale nelle terme di acque calde, per esempio in quelle famose di Bath. Lungo il portico, al limite nord del saggio, è stata inoltre rinvenuta la base di una statua di marmo presumibilmente maschile, di cui si conservano solo i piedi. Il terzo saggio ha messo in luce una piccola parte della vasca centrale, il cui fondo, ad una quota più bassa di m 1,20 rispetto al portico (-m 6.77 dalla piazza attuale), era pavimentato con le stesse lastre rettangolari (m 0.80 × 1.20). I dati stratigrafici e cronologici concordano con i saggi precedenti e pongono l’ultima fase di abbandono della struttura antica tra il V e il VII sec. d.C., per la presenza di un frammento di tegola “pettinata” nel livello di crollo del pannello mosaicato (US 5) (Fig. 9) che ha sigillato le fasi di disuso precedenti (US 6) e che si appoggia ad un grosso frammento della copertura dell’edificio (cupola?), costituito da mattoni allettati in uno spesso strato cementizio (US 7). Un altro blocco cementizio era stato trovato ad una quota superiore e risultava coprire i livelli di abbandono (US 4‒6), lasciando ipotizzare una lento disfacimento della copertura. Va forse ricercata in questa persistenza della struttura antica, anche se a livello di rudere, la chiave di lettura di un’espressione di Idrīsī,6 che a Termini segnala la presenza di due bagni “l’un presso l’altro”, “sui quali sorge un edificio antico”. Potrebbe dunque ipotizzarsi, in una sequenza cronologica ancora da stabilire con maggiore dettaglio, una tale successione di eventi, riguardante l’abbandono, la distruzione e il riuso di questa porzione dei bagni romani. Le fasi di crollo furono precedute da una fase di abbandono di durata non precisabile: l’edificio non è più frequentato, crollano le parti architettoniche più pesanti, come parte della copertura; gli elementi architettonici in marmo (capitello di lesena, Fig. 6, elemento marmoreo con decorazione fitomorfa, Fig. 10) cadono quando un sottile strato di fanghiglia ha già ricoperto il pavimento degli ambulacri e il fondo della vasca. Seguono uno o più eventi alluvionali che riempiono l’edificio in rovina, cui si mescolano elementi della decorazione parietale Su questo riempimento avviene il crollo degli elementi decorativi più leggeri, in un momento imprecisato tra V e VII sec. d.C. (pannelli a mosaico). Seguono ulteriori fasi alluvionali e ulteriore crollo della copertura centrale della vasca. Infine, su un riempimento artificiale vengono costruiti i bagni del XVII secolo, il cui ambulacro semicircolare sembrerebbe seguire le strutture antiche7. Allo stato attuale delle ricerche non disponiamo, purtroppo, di dati di scavo relativi alla costruzione delle terme romane, che potrebbero venire solo dall’apertura di nuovi saggi, possibilmente all’esterno dell’edificio antico. Gli elementi decorativi e soprattutto lo stile e la lavorazione delle foglie del capitello di lesena, confrontabili con quello di un capitello di lesena da Pozzuoli,8 suggerirebbero di datare l’edificio in età giulio-claudia.9 6

 Idrisi, in Amari 1880, vol. I, p. 63.  Per risolvere con certezza questo problema sarebbe necessario effettuare altri saggi nell’ambulacro interno delle terme. 8  Valeri 2005, pp. 49‒51, fig. 27. 9  Tale datazione è in linea con quella degli edifici del foro, e forse anche dell’anfiteatro, secondo una recente ipotesi, e dimostrerebbe che il programma di rinnovamento edilizio e di riconfigurazione urbana della colonia venne attuato unitariamente in uno spazio di tempo relativamente breve. Un ulteriore indizio per la cronologia delle terme, che va nella stessa direzione, è fornito dal ritratto di età giulio-claudia rinvenuto durante la costruzione dell’Hotel delle Terme. 7

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Fig. 9. Pannello a mosaico in crollo.

Fig. 10. Elemento decorativo marmoreo con decorazione fitomorfa, rinvenuto in crollo sul fondo della vasca.

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BIBLIOGRAFIA AMARI, M. 1880 Biblioteca arabo-sicula, vol. I. Torino‒Rome: Loescher. BELVEDERE, O., BURGIO, A., MACALUSO, R. and RIZZO, M. S. 1993 Termini Imerese. Ricerche di topografia e di archeologia urbana. Palermo: Istituto di Archeologia. BONACASA, N. 1960 Ritratti greci e romani della Sicilia. Palermo: Fondazione Mormino. PATIRI, G. 1909 “Le terme antiche e nuove di Termini Imerese,” in Terme antiche e nuove di Termini Imerese. Termini Imerese: Tipografia Amore. VALERI, C. 2005 Marmora Phlegraea. Sculture del Rione Terra di Pozzuoli. Rome: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider.

Oscar BELVEDERE and Vincenza FORGIA Università di Palermo [email protected]

FROM THEATRE TO AMPHITHEATRE: THE EVIDENCE OF TAORMINA AND CYRENE Frank SEAR

INTRODUCTION Amphitheatres were not nearly as common in the eastern provinces as in the western. Consequently, when animal hunts (venationes) became increasingly popular in the late second/early third centuries AD, many theatres in the eastern provinces, Sicily and sometimes North Africa, were converted for use as arenas. The usual way of doing this was to enlarge the orchestra and surround it with a protective wall. A number of examples from Greece and Asia Minor and the ways this was done will be discussed here. One of the most radical transformations was the adaptation of the theatre at Taormina in Sicily for use as an arena. This involved creating an arena, space for the animals and totally new entrances to the seating of the cavea. However, perhaps the most complete transformation of all was in the theatre at Cyrene, which as a result had not only an arena, but rows of seats, built where the old stage building had been, opposite the existing seating. This turned the theatre at Cyrene into the closest thing to a true amphitheatre. Venationes The first animal hunt (venatio) took place in Rome in 185 BC at the games given by M. Fulvius Nobilior when a hunt of lions and panthers was put on.1 After Carthage and the surrounding hinterland became a Roman possession as a result of the Third Punic War (149‒146 BC), Rome had at its disposal a rich source of wild beasts for venationes and as time went on the games and the animals used in them became more exotic. Scaurus exhibited a hippopotamus and five crocodiles in the famous games he staged in the Circus Maximus in 58 BC. The most notable venatio given in the Republican period was at the games to inaugurate Pompey’s theatre in 55 BC, when elephants and 600 lions took part. Animals were also used to dispatch criminals in the harsh penalty called damnatio ad bestias when unarmed prisoners were placed in the arena at the mercy of wild animals. This punishment could only take place in the context of a venatio. However, not all animals were killed at these games. The venatio often ended with a show of animals trained to perform tricks, as happens in the circus today. Initially the venatio was the first event of the day, while gladiatorial combat took place in the afternoon, but as an increasingly wide range of beasts became available the venatio often took up the whole day or several days. At Rome, before the building of the Colosseum, 1

 Livy 39.22.

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these events took place in the Roman forum or the Circus Maximus. The Colosseum itself was inaugurated by Titus in AD 80 with an extravagant spectacle which lasted 100 days in which, according to Dio Cassius, nine thousand animals were slain.2 The animals were kept in cages under the arena floor until the show began when they were released into the arena. In amphitheatres which lacked hypogea, they were kept in rooms near the arena and released from an annular passage built around the arena. These annular passages had the secondary purpose of protecting the spectators because their podium walls were usually high, 2.60 m in the case of the arena at Taormina. A protective barrier on top of the podium wall would have provided further protection. The Colosseum was by no means the first amphitheatre to be built in Italy. The amphitheatre first appears as a distinctive structure in Campania c. 120 BC, and the one at Pompeii, dating to c. 70 BC, is the best preserved of these early examples. In the 200 years between their first appearance and the erection of the Colosseum (AD 75‒80), numerous amphitheatres were built in Italy and throughout the Roman Empire. The majority of amphitheatres are in Italy and Africa Proconsularis, if we exclude mixed theatres of the type built in Gaul, Britain and Germany.3 Few amphitheatres were built in Sicily, Greece, Asia Minor or any other of the Eastern provinces. However, as beast hunts gained popularity during the second and third centuries AD, many towns in the Eastern provinces converted an existing theatre into an arena for the staging of animal hunts. This occurred especially in Greece and Asia Minor, as well as in Sicily, along with a smaller number of North African towns which had hitherto lacked an amphitheatre. This process was no doubt given impetus by the Emperor Caracalla, who had hunting theatres built wherever he spent the winter or intended to spend the winter.4

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There were a number of ways an existing theatre could be converted for use as an amphitheatre. 1. Sometimes a theatre could be built or rebuilt so that both theatrical spectacles and venationes/gladiatorial games could be offered. The theatre at Sagalassos (Aglasun, Turkey), built in the last quarter of the second century AD, has a most unusual cavea in that it covers an arc of c. 250o (Fig. 1). The resultant stage is trapezoidal and runs very close to the analemmata walls. The wall facing the orchestra/arena is 17 m long and 2.69 m high. It has a 1.35 m-wide doorway in the middle reaching the full height of the stage and at each side are three lower round-headed openings for animals, as is shown by friezes showing venationes running above them. In the jambs of the doorways are slots for sliding panels which could be raised, and lowered again after the beasts had escaped into the arena. 2

 Dio Cassius 66.25.  For a full list of mixed theatres throughout the Roman Empire, see Sear 2006. 4  Dio Cassius 78.9.7. 3

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Fig. 1. The theatre at Sagalassos (Aglasun, Turkey), plan.

An inscription dedicated by a corporation of dyers honours Quintus Philippianus Varus, agonothetes and high priest of Augustus, for having offered gladiatorial games and venationes lasting four days.5 Another honours a certain Tertullus for his liberal sponsorship of the games, involving large numbers of gladiators as well as bears, panthers and lions.6 These and the reliefs on the front of the stage indicate the principal purposes for which the theatre was used. After an abortive start in the first century AD, work began again on the theatre at Stobi (Pustogradske, FYROM) in the middle of the second century AD. The orchestra, 29.78 m in diameter, was surrounded by a podium wall, 1.60 m high and 80 cm wide. Post-holes and other fixing holes in the top of the podium suggest that a temporary metal grill, one metre high, was erected to protect the spectators from the animals. There was a small room or refuge behind the podium in the centre of the cavea, accessible both from the orchestra and from the central passage under the cavea. There was probably a pulvinar above. Post-holes suggest a further barrier across the front of scene building completely enclosing the orchestra. The theatre was damaged in an earthquake at the end of the third century AD and a thick masonry wall built on top of the podium. This brought its overall height to 3.60 m, which must have blocked the view of the first rows of seats. The parodoi were sealed off with heavy gates and a long curtain wall was built in front of the scene building with three doorways. Two further refuges were built at the sides of the podium wall. There was no stage, but five staircases led from orchestra level up to doorways in the scaenae 5 6

 IGRR 3.360 = Robert 1940, no. 97 = Gallina 1974, pp. 200‒201, no. 5.  CIG 4377 = Robert, Gladiateurs, no. 98 = Gallina 1974, pp. 202, no. 6.

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frons.7 Several other theatres adopted the simple method of building a high podium wall around the orchestra as a protective device. Examples include Perge (Aksu, Turkey) where a pierced marble screen with uprights in the form of herms was built on top of the podium wall. At Side (Eski Antalya, Turkey) a massive wall, two metres wide, was built around the orchestra at a late period, enclosing the lowest four rows of seats. However, it is not certain whether this was to create an arena for venationes or a water-tank for aquatic games (kolymbethra).8 Equally uncertain is the evidence from Telmessos (Fethiye, Turkey) where we have to rely upon Texier’s plan, published between 1839 and 1849. It shows an abnormally large orchestra, 30 m in diameter, in relation to the overall width of the theatre which was 78 m. However, it appears that in the late empire a rough wall, with a maximum preserved height of 2.75 metres, was built around the orchestra, thus turning it into an arena. In the middle of the wall two doors led from the cavea into the arena.9 At Xanthos (Kinik, Turkey), the arena was surrounded by a podium wall, 3.30‒3.40 m high, containing re-used seat blocks, which suggests that the lowest rows of seats were removed to create an arena in a later phase (Fig. 2). The three central doors of the scaenae frons were also walled up,10 and an inscription mentions a tauromachia.11 The Theatre of Dionysus at Athens also seems to have been used for gladiatorial spectacles or venationes to judge by

Fig. 2. The theatre at Xanthos (Kinik, Turkey) looking east.

7

 Gebhard 1975, pp. 46‒55; 1981, pp. 13‒27; 1981, pp. 197‒201.  Bean 1968, pp. 92‒94; De Bernardi 1970, pp. 135‒143. 9  Texier 1849, pp. 187‒188, 244; De Bernardi 1969, pp. 99‒102. 10  Demargne 1953, p. 1775; 1959, p. 2058. 11  Robert 1940, no. 105. 8

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post-holes, measuring 0.14‒0.17 by 0.175 by 0.13 m, around the rim of the orchestra, about 1.07 m away from the front of the thrones and 1.5‒2 m apart. These were presumably for a protective barrier.12 The orchestra of the theatre at Thasos was transformed into an arena, by blocking the parodoi with heavy doors. At the end of the second century AD Heragoras, son of Euphrillos, built a balustrade 1.71 metres high, around the arena, topped by a grill.13 The theatre at Heraclea Lyncestis (Bitolj, FYROM) also had its orchestra turned into an arena with a diameter of 26.80 metres. It was surrounded by a high podium built of orthostates and there were three carceres in it. There were also post-holes in the podium, presumably for a protective device.14 The orchestra of the large theatre at Larissa was also transformed into an arena, but few details are available. In the Roman period, the drains of the old orchestra of the theatre at Maronea in Thrace were covered, the prohedria suppressed and a parapet of orthostates surmounted by an iron grill was built around the edge.15 2. Another common method was to remove the lowest rows of seats around the orchestra. Usually this was between 5‒10 rows which meant, assuming a seat height of about 37‒40 cm, that the front row of seats would now be between 2.00‒3.50 m above orchestra level. Then a barrel-vaulted annular passage, usually about 1.80 m wide, was built around the rim of the newly formed arena, with a parapet wall 2.00‒3.50 m high, facing the arena. This also provided a flat podium on which a barrier could be erected as further protection for the spectators. For example, the theatre at Ephesos was adapted for venationes or gladiatorial games in the early third century AD by removing the lowest six rows of seats, thus creating an arena 33.62 m in diameter from an orchestra 25.80 m in diameter (Fig. 3). Then a vaulted passageway, 1.70 m wide and 2.40 m high, was built around its rim. The podium ran up to the sides of the stage which was of the same height. The spectators were thus protected by a podium wall, 2.40 m high with presumably a protective barrier built on top.16 A similar procedure of suppressing the lowest rows of seats to turn an orchestra, 18.90 m wide, into an arena, 22.50 m wide, was adopted in the large theatre at Magnesia. In the Acropolis theatre at Pergamon, only the lowest three rows of seats were removed to create an arena surrounded by a semicircular wall only 1.20 m high.17 At Corinth, in place of the orchestra which was 27 m in diameter, an arena measuring 27 by 36 m was created by removing the front 10 rows of seats. Most of the pulpitum was demolished and new tribunalia built further back. A wall, 3.50 m high, was built around the arena, painted with scenes of venationes. There were three small refuges on the cavea side.18 A similar process took place in the odeum at Corinth in AD 225 which was restored as an arena for venationes. The old orchestra, 17.20 m in diameter, was enlarged into an arena with a diameter of 25.60 m. Some of the lower seats of the cavea were cut away and the spectators protected

12

 Gebhard 1975, pp. 60‒61.  Salviat 1968, pp. 50‒54; Gebhard 1975, p. 55. 14  Janakievski 1975, pp. 165‒712; Gebhard 1975, pp. 55‒56. 15  Lavas and Karadedos 1990, pp. 655‒662. 16  De Bernardi 1970, pp. 47‒66. 17  De Bernardi 1970, pp. 23‒34; Radt 1988, pp. 287‒292; 1999, pp. 257‒262. 18  Gebhard 1975, pp. 61‒62. 13

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Fig. 3. The theatre at Ephesos (Selçuk, Turkey) looking south-east.

by a wall, 2.40 m high, below the lowest row of seats.19 In the theatre at Dodona in Greece, the lowest four rows of seats were removed and a podium wall, 2.80 m high, was built around the rim of the orchestra (Fig. 4). 20 There were doorways in the podium wall in line with old parodoi. The orchestra was filled to a depth of 50 cm to create an arena measuring 33.10 by 28.15 m, much larger than the original orchestra which was only 21 m in diameter. A refuge was built behind podium wall in front of the middle cuneus, and the stage and earlier paraskenia were demolished. Two sections of curved walling were built up to the back of the skene wall. Doorways gave access to resulting triangular spaces, which were used for holding animals before the spectacle. Bones of bulls and boars found were found there. This method of removing the lowest rows of seats to turn the orchestra into an arena was also adopted at Myra21 and Erythrae.22 In some cases, the remodelling of the orchestra into an arena did not prove successful. The theatre at Curium (Episkopi) in Cyprus was refashioned for gladiatorial games in the third century AD. This involved enlarging the 17.20 m-wide Trajanic orchestra into an arena 21.60 m wide, by removing the stage and the lowest two rows of seats and erecting a metal grill around it. A vaulted carcer, 2.20 m long by 1.60 m wide, opened off its central axis and there was a tribunal, measuring 3.50 by 2.50 m, over it. This transformation 19

 Broneer 1928, pp. 464‒465 (2.40 m high); Broneer 1932, p. 147 (2 m high).  Hammond 1967, pp. 43, 170, 582; Dakaris 1960, pp. 35‒36. 21  De Bernardi 1970, pp. 199‒206. 22  De Bernardi 1974, pp. 9, 80, 142; Ciancio Rossetto and Pisani Sartorio 1994, p. 451. 20

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Fig. 4. The theatre at Dodona (Dodoni, Ioannina, Greece) looking east.

cannot have been popular because by the end of the third century AD, the stage was rebuilt and the lowest rows of seats restored, so that the building could be used for theatrical spectacles once again.23 At Philippi in the third century AD, the lowest rows of seats were removed and the proscaenium demolished to create an almost circular arena, 27.20 m in diameter. It was surrounded by a podium wall, 1.20 m high, pierced by three doorways corresponding to the three central staircases of the cavea. A marble balustrade, 90 cm high, was set up on top of the podium. Behind are mast-slots for a protective barrier, bringing the total height to about 3.70 m.24 3. An unusual conversion was made to the theatre at Aphrodisias (Geyre, Turkey), first built between 39 and 27 BC (Fig. 5). The orchestra was lowered to form an arena and abroad podium wall 2.35 m high was built around it.25 On the stage side of the arena a new pulpitum, also 2.35 m high, was built in front of the old proskenion and a water channel dug in the floor of the arena to assist cleaning. These alterations seem to have taken place in the later second century AD.

23

 Whittingham 1982, pp. 125‒131; Soren and James 1988, pp. 196‒199.  Collart 1937, pp. 175‒177, 371‒387; Gebhard 1975, p. 55. 25  Theodorescu 1996, pp. 127‒148. 24

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Fig. 5. The theatre at Aphrodisias (Geyre, Turkey) looking north-east.

SOUTH ITALY

AND

SICILY AND

THE CASE OF

TAORMINA

Similar alterations were made to a number of theatres in South Italy and Sicily in the late second/early third centuries AD. The theatre at Locri Epizephyrii in South Italy had its 23.50 m-wide orchestra enlarged into an arena, 36.66 m wide, by removing the lowest part of the cavea to a height of two metres. Then a passageway and podium wall in squared blocks was built around it with two entrances into the arena. These alterations took place in the late second/ early third century AD.26 In the old Greek theatre at Tyndaris in Sicily an arena, 25 m wide, was created by lowering the orchestra by 90 cm and removing the lowest five rows of seats (Fig. 6). The stage was also removed and a podium wall 2.50 m high (3.52 m including the parapet) was built around it. Behind the podium were two short stretches of corridor opening off the parodoi, with doorways into the arena under the third and ninth cunei. At the bottom of the central cuneus a vaulted niche opened into the arena. There were also three doorways into the arena corresponding to the three corridors in the scene building. The building must have still been used for theatrical spectacles because there are five brick-lined slots in the arena for the erection of a temporary wooden pulpitum.27 In the late second/early third century AD the theatre at Taormina, which began as a Greek theatre and was later transformed into a Roman one, was adapted for gladiatorial 26

 Mitens 1988, pp. 136‒139.  Bernabò Brea 1964‒1965, pp. 99‒144; Gebhard 1975, p. 62; Mitens 1988, pp. 125‒127.

27

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339

Fig. 6. The theatre at Tyndaris (Tindari, Sicily), plan.

games and venationes (Figs 7 and 8). The stage and the lowest six rows of seats were removed to create an arena, 34 m in diameter, bigger than the preceding orchestra, which had a diameter of 28 m. On the audience side, a vaulted passageway was built around the arena to allow the animals to enter at various points (Fig. 9). Above it was a podium, 2.60 metres above arena level, with a barrier to protect the spectators. This podium formed part of a continuous platform which ran around the whole rim of the arena and extended back into the postscaenium area. The back wall of what had been the stage was also affected by these changes. All but the lowest 43 cms of the columnatio from the theatre period was cut away so that it came to the same level as the podium, 2.60 m above arena level. To maintain this level throughout the postscaenium area a new floor, supported on a concrete barrel-vault, replaced the old wooden floor of the theatre period. In this way, two levels were created – one for the animals at arena level and another safe level, starting about 2.60 m above arena level, for the officials and audience. However, the basilicae (foyers) at the sides of the stage must have also been accessible to the animals as they connect with the arena. Consequently, they could not have been used by the spectators once the theatre was transformed. This means that the spectators could no longer reach their seats either through the basilicae or from the orchestra. Therefore, all spectator access was transferred to the upper part of the building. New upper floors supported by barrel-vaults were inserted into the old basilicae. It can be seen that in the west basilica the insertion has almost closed an opening from the theatre period (Fig. 10).

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Fig. 7. The theatre at Taormina (Sicily), plan.

Fig. 8. The arena at Taormina (Sicily), plan.

FROM THEATRE TO AMPHITHEATRE: THE EVIDENCE OF TAORMINA AND CYRENE

Fig. 9. The theatre/arena at Taormina (Sicily) looking west.

Fig. 10. The west basilica of the theatre at Taormina looking north.

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This resulted in a serious problem because there remained only two other entry points to the main body of the seating, one each side of the cavea. However, there were ten access points to the summa cavea (topmost seats). From the ambulacrum at the top of the cavea, the spectators could pass into the crypta (covered passageway) which supported the seats of the summa cavea. At intervals, staircases, probably wooden, ran through the vault and gave access to the seats. Unfortunately, this crypta gave access only to the summa cavea because there was a solid wall dividing the crypta from the upper part of the cavea, the media cavea (middle seating). Moreover, the level of the highest part of the media cavea was about 1.05 m lower than the floor level of the crypta. The solution was to lower the floor level of the passageway under the summa cavea and cut doors into the wall (Fig. 11). At the same time the niches were built against the original wall. Because the floor level of the crypta was now lower, brick platforms were built under the staircases to compensate for the lowering of the floor level. The platforms and the original level of the crypta can be clearly seen (Fig. 12). This remodelling provided ten new entrances to the cavea. These entrances which had earlier served only the summa cavea now had to serve, along with the two entrances at the sides, all the cavea. This has consequences today. Visitors today can enter the cavea only from the top, unless it happens that temporary seating extending down to orchestra level has been erected for some spectacle. The summa cavea, which held over 1,900 spectators, was already served by the 10 doorways in the ambulacrum wall. Henceforth an additional 6,000 spectators had to find their way through the same 10 doorways to reach their seats in the media cavea. The ima cavea, which held about 2,300 spectators, was only accessible from the two side entrances. This suggests that on average between 800‒1,200 spectators were using each of the 12 possible entry points to the cavea.28

NORTH AFRICA AND

THE CASE OF

CYRENE

Theatres were occasionally altered so that they could be used for venationes in North Africa. The theatre/amphitheatre at Lixus (Larache, Morocco) had puzzled scholars for some time and opinions of it have ranged from a theatre of Greek type (Euzennat)29 to a theatreamphitheatre of the type found in Gaul (Ponsich).30 The real answer seems to be that it is a theatre transformed into an amphitheatre by removing the lowest rows of seats and stage building to create a large arena (Isler) (Fig. 13).31 This transformation is more radical than most in that a full oval arena has been created. In the theatre at Iol-Caesarea (Cherchel, Algeria), five metres of the ima cavea and most of the stage were demolished to create an ovoid arena, measuring 22 by 33 m, three metres lower than the original orchestra. A podium wall was built around it, with four small carceres opening off the south side. The aditus maximi became entrances to the arena.32 28

 Sear 1996, pp. 41‒79.  Euzennat 1963, p. 276. 30  Ponsich 1979, pp. 297‒323; Ponsich 1982, pp. 840‒843. 31  Isler 1994, p. 175. 32  Golvin and Leveau 1979, pp. 817‒843. 29

FROM THEATRE TO AMPHITHEATRE: THE EVIDENCE OF TAORMINA AND CYRENE

Fig. 11. The upper galleries of the theatre at Taormina (Sicily), diagram. Left, the galleries in the theatre period; right, the galleries in the arena period.

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Fig. 12. The upper galleries of the theatre at Taormina (Sicily), looking north.

Fig. 13. The theatre/amphitheatre at Lixus (Larache, Morocco), plan.

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345

Of all transformations of theatres for use as amphitheatres the most radical was that of Cyrene (Shahat, Libya). The extent of the transformation is unparalleled in the ancient world and the result was an almost true amphitheatre rather than a theatre with an arena.33 About 12 rows of seats were removed and the whole stage swept away to create an arena measuring 32.67 by 28.2 m (Fig. 14). The old orchestra and surrounding steps for the bisellia seem to have been buried under the new arena, which was much larger than the old, 16.56 m wide orchestra. The arena was surrounded by an annular passage whose outer wall formed a podium about 2.76 m high (Fig. 15). The transformation did not stop there. A new bank of nine rows of seats, supported on massive arches, was built on the north side of the arena. The number of seats on this side of the orchestra was limited because of the steep slope, but that the attempt was made is remarkable. Vaulted corridors opening off the two main entrances on the major axis ran around the edge of the arena and four staircases led up to the lowest rows of seats.34 Stucchi believed the old theatre was transformed into

Fig. 14. The theatre/amphitheatre at Cyrene (Shahat, Libya), plan. 33

 Stucchi 1975, pp. 286‒289.  Goodchild 1971, pp. 125‒127; Stucchi 1975, pp. 286‒289.

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Fig. 15. The theatre/amphitheatre at Cyrene (Shahat, Libya), showing the annular passage around the arena.

an amphitheatre in the second half of the second century AD while Crema dates these changes to the Severan period.35 In 2005 a major project began, aimed at surveying the remains of the theatre/amphitheatre and ultimately consolidating and restoring the structure.36 It is to be hoped that this project will be brought to a successful conclusion in view of the uniqueness of the building.

BIBLIOGRAPHY BEAN, G. E. 1968 Turkey’s Southern Shore. London: Ernest Benn. BERNABÒ BREA, L. 1964‒1965 “Due secoli di studi, scavi e restauri del teatro greco di Tindari,” Rivista dell’Istituto Nazionale di Archeologia e Storia dell’Arte 13‒14: 99‒144. BRONEER, O. 1928 “Excavations in the Odeum at Corinth, 1928,” American Journal of Archaeology 32: 447‒473. BRONEER, O. 1932 Corinth, vol. X, The Odeum. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press. 35

 Crema 1959, p. 541.  Ensoli 2007.

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CIANCIO ROSSETTO, P. and PISANI SARTORIO, G. 1994 Teatri greci e romani: alle origini del linguaggio rappresentato, vol. 3. Rome: Edizioni Seat. COLLART, P. 1937 Philippes: ville de Macédoine depuis ses origines jusqu’à la fin de l’époque romaine. Paris: E. de Boccart. CREMA, L. 1959 “L’Architettura romana,” Enciclopedia classica 3, 12, 1. Turin: Società Editrice Internazionale. DAKARIS, S. I. 1960 Archaiologikon Deltion 16: 17‒40. DE BERNARDI FERRERO, D. 1969 Teatri Classici in Asia Minore, 2: Città di Pisidia, Licia e Caria. Rome: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider. 1970 Teatri Classici in Asia Minore, 3: Città dalla Troade alla Panfilia. Rome: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider. 1974 Teatri Classici in Asia Minore, 4: Deduzioni e proposte. Rome: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider. DEMARGNE, P. 1953 Fasti Archeologici 8: 1775. 1959 Fasti Archeologici 14: 2058. ENSOLI, S. 2007 The Theatre-Amphitheatre of the Sanctuary of Apollo at Cyrene. Master Conservation plan, (last accessed May 2017). EUZENNAT, M. 1963 “Héritage punique et influences gréco-romaines au Maroc à la veille de la conquête romaine,” in Le rayonnement des civilisations grecque et romaine sur les cultures périphériques. Huitième congrès international d’archéologie classique, 3‒13 septembre 1963, pp. 261‒278. Paris: De Boccard GALLINA, M. 1974 “Epigrafi relative ai teatri” (Appendix 2), in Teatri Classici in Asia Minore, 4, Deduzioni e proposte, edited by D. De Bernardi Ferrero, pp. 195‒237. Rome: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider. GEBHARD, E. B. 1975 “Protective Devices in Roman theaters,” in Studies in the Antiquities of Stobi, vol. 2, edited by B. Aleksova and J. Wiseman, pp. 46‒55. Belgrade. 1981 “The Theater at Stobi: A Summary,” in Studies in the Antiquities of Stobi, vol. 3, edited by B. Aleksova and J. Wiseman, pp. 13‒27. Belgrade: Titov Veles. 1981 “The Scaenae-Frons of the theater at Stobi,” in Studies in the Antiquities of Stobi, vol. 3, edited by B. Aleksova and J. Wiseman, pp. 197‒201. Belgrade: Titov Veles. GOLVIN, J.-C. and LEVEAU, P. 1979 “L’amphithéâtre et le théâtre de Cherchel: monuments à spectacle et histoire urbaine à Caesarea de Mauretanie,” Mélanges de l’École française de Rome 91: 817‒843. GOODCHILD, R. G. 1971 Kyrene und Apollonia. Zürich: Raggi Verlag. HAMMOND, N. G. L. 1967 Epirus: The Geography, the Ancient Remains, the History and Topography of Epirus and Adjacent Areas. Oxford: Clarendon Press. ISLER, H. P. 1994 “Larache, Lixus,” in Teatri greci e romani: Alle origini del linguaggio rappresentato, vol. 3, edited by P. Ciancio Rossetto and G. Pisani Sartorio, p. 175. Rome: Edizioni Seat.

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“A short report of the results of the archaeological excavations of the Roman Theater in Heraclea Lyncestis,” Macedoniae Acta Archaeologica 1: 165‒172. LAVAS, G. and KARADEDOS, G. 1990 Mnimi D. Lazaridi. Thessaloniki: École Française d’Athènes. MITENS, K. 1988 Teatri Greci e teatri ispirati all’architettura greca in Sicilia e nell’Italia meridionale c. 350‒50 a.C. (Analecta Romana Instituti Danici, supplement 13). Rome: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider. PICARD, G. 1975 “La date du théâtre de Cherchel et les débuts de l’architecture théâtrale dans les provinces romaines d’Occident,” Comptes rendus de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-lettres, pp. 386‒397. PONSICH, M. 1979 “Le théâtre-amphithéâtre de Lixus – Note préliminaire,” in Homenaje a Garcia Bellido, vol. 4, edited by A. Blanco, pp. 297‒323. Madrid: Publications de la Universidad Complutense. 1982 “Lixus: Informations archéologiques,” in Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt 2.10.2, edited by H. Temporini, pp. 817‒849. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. RADT, W. 1988 Pergamon. Geschichte und Bauten, Funde und Forschung einer antiken Metropole. Cologne: DuMont Buchverlag. 1999 Pergamon. Geschichte und Bauten einer antiken Metropole. Darmstadt: Primus Verlag. ROBERT, L. 1940 Les Gladiateurs dans l’Orient grec (Bibliotheque de l’École des Hautes Études 178). Paris: E. Champion. SALVIAT, F. 1968 Guide de Thasos (École française d’Athènes). Paris: Editions E. de Boccard. SEAR, F. B. 1996 “The Theatre at Taormina ‒ a new chronology,” Papers of the British School at Rome 64: 41‒79. 2006 Roman Theatres. Oxford: Oxford University Press. SOREN, D. and JAMES, J. 1988 Kourion: The Search for a lost Roman City. New York: Anchor Press. STUCCHI, S. 1975 Architettura Cirenaica. Rome: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider. TEXIER, C. 1839‒1849 Description de l’Asie Mineure, 3 vols. Paris. THEODORESCU, D. 1996 “La frons scaenae du Théatre: innovations et particularités à l’époque de Zoilos,” in Aphrodisias Papers, vol. 3, edited by C. Rouesché and R. R. R. Smith (Journal of Roman Archaeology supplement 20), pp. 127‒148. Ann Arbor, Michigan: Journal of Roman Archaeology. WHITTINGHAM, D. 1982 “The Small Basilica: ‘At Meydan’,” in An Archaeological Guide to the Ancient Kourion Area and the Akrotiri Peninsula, edited by H. Wylde Swiny, pp. 80‒85. Nicosia: Department of Antiquities, Cyprus.

Frank SEAR University of Melbourne [email protected]

VERISM, CARICATURE AND THE GROTESQUE: A ROMAN MINIATURE TERRACOTTA PORTRAIT BUST? Caroline and Hector WILLIAMS

INTRODUCTION We have known Tony for more than forty years and first met at the Institute of Archaeology in London when he was writing his dissertation about portraiture on Roman relief sculpture. We thought that a note on a remarkable little terracotta bust in Vancouver of a grotesque-like woman with a striking hairstyle might be an appropriate study to honour a friend and distinguished colleague of so many years. We have had the good fortune to visit Malta several times and it has always been a great pleasure to have time with him.

THE MINIATURE

TERRACOTTA PIECE

The piece (Fig. 1a1b) is a well-preserved small (13.5 cm in height) terracotta bust of unknown provenance originally from an English collection. The bust depicts an old(er) woman whose most noticeable elements are an elaborate late Flavian – Trajanic toupet hairstyle paired with an ugly set of facial features to which the terms ‘verism’, ‘caricature’ and ‘grotesque’ could be applied. The writers’ assessment of which term best applies will be discussed later. The face is elongated, narrowing markedly to a pointed chin. The eyes are set unevenly in the face with her right eye lower than her left. Thick, broad brows dominate the upper part of the face. On each sunken cheek there is a deep crease running diagonally from the ear to the chin. The nose is very large with a prominent bump and a hooked end, giving the face the appearance generally associated with old witches in fairy tales! The mouth is very broad with a particularly thick lower lip. The hair on the right side ends in a bulge that gives at first the appearance of a swollen jaw. The overall impression made by her face contrasts markedly with the effect created by her aristocratic hairstyle. Her face is dominated by a tall toupet hairstyle featuring three rows of corkscrew curls. Typical of late Flavian and early Trajanic versions of this hairstyle which originates in Flavian times, the mass of curls rises in a wedge shape or pyramidal form giving added height over the centre of the face rather than having the regular curving outline framing the face more typical of earlier versions.1 Noticeable just in front of the ears, especially on the left side of the face, are little ringlets, which may represent the owner’s real hair peeking out from under the false hair that the aged owner may have had to resort to in order to achieve such a dramatic hairstyle. The hair behind this concoction, which probably 1

 See Bartman 2001; we thank Dr Bartman for suggestions on the hairstyle of our figurine.

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WILLIAMS

Fig. 1a1b. The terracotta bust (photograph by the authors).

used a wire framework for support, is treated much more simply. The hair lies very close to the head and is divided into narrow braids running vertically from the crown of her head to the nape. These elements would resemble the modern corn rows braids. The braids are gathered into a small chignon at the nape of her neck rather than into the large and elaborate buns set high on the back of the head. Such buns can sometimes be so large that they cover most of the crown and back of the head. Reinforcing the allusion to a Roman matron either belonging to the aristocracy or with aspirations to give the appearance of belonging, which is created by her hairstyle, she wears the sedate clothing with a hint of richness appropriate for such a woman. Her tunic, whose neckline is just visible above the palla, gives the appearance of being made from a light fabric such as silk since the top edge crinkles gently into slightly sagging broad folds. Over the tunic, she wears a palla draped in shawl format around her back and drawn forward over

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both shoulders with one end clearly tucked inside the folds between her breasts. From the way the mantle falls in elegant parallel fairly deep folds it is clear that it is made from a thicker material such as wool.2 The bust ends at breast level and is set on a tall irregularly rounded base with simple, convex mouldings, two at the top and one at the bottom. The piece was made in a two-part mould with the join for the most part carefully smoothed over though it is still apparent on the top of the head. There is a large circular vent hole offset to her left in the middle of the back. The clay is a light yellowish brown, lightly polished before firing so that it appears self-slipped in places where the white coating/ slip applied after firing is not so thick. No traces of paint have survived. A date for this piece was alluded to briefly above with a reference to the particularities of aspects of the hairstyle, which put it into the late Flavian or more likely the Trajanic period. The pyramidal nature of the hairstyle coupled with the lack of an elaborate large bun created by using a mass of braids at the back suggest the hairstyle associated with Domitia Longina, second wife of Domitian although she gathered the braids at the nape of her neck into a long queue rather than into a small bun.3 The taller, more pointed form of the crest strongly suggests the second century CE in the time of Trajan.4 There are many well-known terracotta and bronze figurine types which depict oddities of various kinds for which uses have been suggested. According to Wace, grotesques such as hunchbacks and dwarves with enlarged penises are usually presented as having the prophylactic purpose of warding off the evil eye.5 Grotesques are, however, just perhaps what can be called the end point for a continuum which begins with a delight in the depiction of the minutiae of reality no matter how decrepit or decayed or flawed or otherwise departing from some communal conception of the idealised norm. As Wace points out in the same article6 genre figures of old, infirm, sometimes inebriated ordinary men and women begin to appear in large-sized marble sculpture in the Hellenistic period and continue to be popular with Roman patrons who, it is suggested, decorated their gardens with such figures, some of which continued to copy types developed in the second century BCE such as the drunken old woman clutching her lagynos. Artists seem to revel in the possibilities of decrepitude such as sagging skin, protruding bones, deep wrinkles, drooping breasts and other departures from the youthful human form, which had been the staple of ancient artists for centuries. Such large expensive sculpture seems more likely to be entertainment of some kind rather than protection from potential evil.

2

 For similar combinations of tunic and mantle in contrasting fabrics see, for example, Fittschen and Zanker 1983, pl. 26, no. 19; pl. 27, no. 20; pl. 61, no. 64; pl. 88, no. 70; pl. 133, no. 105. We thank Professor Fittschen for advice about our piece. 3  See, for example, coin images in Herrmann 1991, p. 39, fig. 5‒10 and Varner 1995. 4  Herrmann 1991, p. 38, for a discussion of the changes to this hairstyle over time. 5  Wace 1903‒1904, pp. 103‒114. 6  Wace 1903‒1904, p. 113.

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WILLIAMS

DISCUSSION So, the question remains – what purpose could a small terracotta bust of the type discussed here serve? Its inherent contradictions, an old, ugly (or caricatured?) face paired with fancy hairstyle and nice clothes, raise questions about its possible meaning. It should be remembered, however, that Roman portraiture of the late Republican and Imperial periods is well-known for admitting contradiction (in our perception at least) into its repertory of acceptable portrait types. The middle-aged Roman matron’s head with its Flavian hairstyle set on the youthful naked body of an aspiring Venus-type is a good case in point as is a coin with the emperor Domitian’s wife.7 Or one can admire the towering crown of small curls adorning the head of the dour Roman matron with the scowling small face seated next to her round-faced little daughter in the statue group now in Chatsworth.8 And it has been pointed out that there is occasional evidence for such hairstyles on women who do not belong to upper echelons of Roman society. The teenaged daughter of a freedman is depicted on a funerary altar dedicated to her wearing an elaborate three-tiered hairstyle though it could be argued that only in death in a portrait commissioned to commemorate her would she be able to wear such a grand style.9 Roman men are not exempt from such depictions, which can appear humorous to the modern gaze, for example the bald businessman from Delos with his small big-eared head set on the impressive muscled body of a Greek athlete.10 Thus our elderly woman fits well into a context which ignores elements of apparent contradiction in the interests perhaps of self-representation using the normative language of surface symbols such as clothing, body type, hairstyle and other adornments. She could be a portrait or at least a portrait-type representing an aged matron of the respectable classes who keeps up appearances by maintaining the current fancy hairstyle and dressing well for public occasions despite her obviously advanced years. Arguing against such an interpretation is the medium and the size – a small terracotta bust is hardly impressive enough for a commemorative portrait meant to memorialize a specific sitter for posterity. Also arguing against this terracotta being a straightforward veristic portrait of someone specific is a terracotta figurine in the Thessaloniki Archaeological Museum, apparently unpublished, but from a grave of Roman times. Available to us only on an image posted on the internet (apparently photographed through the glass of its display case), it depicts an aged (?) naked female with large pendulous breasts sagging to her waist, a pot belly, stumpy legs and her arms placed on her hips in a gesture which appears to be aggressive or defiant.11 She is wearing only a necklace whose central element (an amulet?) hangs just between the top of her breasts and a thick belt-like feature around her waist. It is possible that she  7

 Varner 1995, p. 201, fig. 11.  Bartman 2001, fig. 3.  9  Herrmann 1991, p. 37. 10  Smith 1991, p. 262, fig. 115. 11  For ‘Terracotta figurine of a caricatured female mime’ in the Thessaloniki Archaeological Museum, photographed 24.9.2012 and posted by Dan Diffendale (accessed September 2017), see flickr.com at: ; a direct link to the image at .  8

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actually has some garment of thin material on or around her middle which she is pulling open with her hands to reveal her over-sized belly which is suggestive of pregnancy. If her facial features are simply exaggerated to be unpleasant looking rather than to indicate age then it is just possible that she is indeed pregnant and that she is sitting on or squatting over some sort of birthing chair whose elements are indicated by the uprights on either side of her and the possible back behind her. The figurine is, in fact, reminiscent of the wellknown old crone or old nurse type, sometimes called Baubo, and so it is possible to suggest a connection between this particular object and the idea of an apotropaic purpose for the depiction of abnormal ugliness put forward by, for example, Wace (see above). The visitor to the museum who was interested enough in the figurine to post an image online provides the viewer with the museum’s own tentative interpretation of its meaning which is that it represents a caricatured female mime who plays the theatrical type of the aged concubine. On balance, a connection with birthing and the idea of a good luck charm to avert the evil eye from a birth or to assure fertility seems just as possible.12 Her head provides the connection with our small terracotta bust because the details are very similar. Her elaborate toupet rises above a large face with exaggerated features including a large nose, heavy lidded eyes, which curve downwards at the outer edge and sunken cheeks having deep creases indicating the sagging skin. Her thick-lipped mouth is broad. Only the chin appears somewhat different since the lower part of her face narrows less than on our head so that the face gives the overall impression of being rounder. Otherwise the faces could, in fact, come from a related family of moulds. It is interesting how two very similar heads can then be put to use in seemingly very different ways since our decorously dressed portrait bust with her small breasts just indicated under the clothing is visually far removed from the naked figurine which emphasises female sexual characteristics (the large breasts) and fertility (the swollen belly). If, however, the latter is an apotropaic amulet, then despite its apparent grotesqueness it has a very serious purpose and can be considered a functional item playing a role in everyday life. So where does that put our little terracotta bust? It lacks the element of grotesqueness that to some extent plays a role in all apotropaic figurines. It falls, rather, into the category of caricature, which emphasises or exaggerates natural traits and by exaggerating them appeals to the sense of humour of the viewer. The viewer recognises these exaggerated traits as the property of both the object and potentially of himself/herself. The comic element can, however, also convey some message to the viewer(s) through the perhaps unexpected humour inherent in the characteristics of the figure. By sharing laughter about some subject, a shared opinion or an ideology can be fostered. Such psychological tendencies in populations have been fostered in various contexts from ancient to recent times.13 The images of two famous women from the Roman world appear to have been caricatured on small objects, which could easily be disseminated in appropriate circles where their 12

 For the Baubo type and its connection to old women, ugliness and obscenity, see Olender 1990, pp. 100‒106. For similar figurines from Egypt identified as ‘fecundity figures’, see Bailey 2008, no. 3140‒3143, pp. 52‒53, pl. 25. 13  For a discussion of the grotesque and of caricature see Harpham 1976, pp. 461‒468 and Mitchell 2013, p. 281.

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reputations were perhaps not revered or honoured.14 Such images would help to promulgate negative stereotypes through the humour found in the characteristics, which were chosen for exaggeration. These characteristics had to be recognisable enough, either based on reality or perhaps, as in the case of Cleopatra, on rumour, that the viewer who picked up the piece would ‘get the message’ and by laughing along with his or her fellows, participate in a group condemnation of the person caricatured.15 Our small terracotta would fit well into such a context of political or social caricature executed in inexpensive formats, which could be disseminated easily in large numbers. The fact that our formal little bust shares a head type with a nearly naked, obscene old woman suggests that we are dealing with mass production in which moulds are pressed into service for various purposes. It would be very satisfying to be able to identify the imperial woman who could be the source of this jesting. Domitia Longina or Julia Titi are obvious candidates and perhaps the latter, even after her death, could still have been vilified in some circles for her alleged incestuous dalliance with her married uncle, Domitian. Such an identification must, however, remain speculative but the bust itself stands as testimony to the power of objects, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, to speak to the onlooker.

BIBLIOGRAPHY BAILEY, D. M. 2008 Catalogue of Terracottas in the British Museum, Vol. IV. Ptolemaic and Roman Terracottas from Egypt. London: British Museum Press. BARTMAN, E. 2001 “Hair and artifice of Roman female adornment,” American Journal of Archaeology 105: 1–25. FITTSCHEN, K. and ZANKER, P. 1983 Katalog der römischen Porträts in den Capitolinischen Museen und den anderen kommunalen Sammlungen der Stadt Rom. Mainz: von Zabern. HALPERIN, D. 1990 Before Sexuality. The Construction of Erotic Experience in the Ancient Greek World. Princeton: Princeton University Press. HARPHAM, G. 1976 “The grotesque: First principles,” Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 34: 461‒468. HERRMANN, J. J. 1991 “Rearranged hair,” Journal of the Museum of Fine Arts 3: 34–50. LAES, C., GOODEY C. F. and LYNN ROSE, M. 2013 Disabilities in Roman Antiquity. Disparate Bodies A Capite Ad Calcem. Leiden: Brill. MITCHELL, A. 2013 “Disparate bodies in ancient artefacts: The function of caricature and pathological grotesques among Roman terracotta figurines,” in Disabilities in Roman Antiquity. Disparate Bodies A Capite Ad Calcem, edited by C. Laes, C. F. Goodey and M. Lynn Rose, pp. 275‒297. Leiden: Brill. 14

 For an interesting and useful article on Flavian portraits and how to deal with an individual see Varner 1995. 15  See Neils 2011, p. 198 for a bone or ivory counter with a caricatured female head on one side and the name, Livia, inscribed on the other and p. 202 for a Roman lamp of c. 40–80 CE showing a naked woman riding a crocodile while sitting astride a large phallus, interpreted as an obscene caricature of Cleopatra.

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NEILS, J. 2011 OLENDER, M. 1990

Women in the Ancient World. Malibu: Getty Publications.

SMITH R. R. R. 1991 VARNER, E. 1995

Hellenistic Sculpture. London: Thames and Hudson.

WACE, A. 1903‒1904

“Aspects of Baubo: Ancient texts and contexts,” in Before Sexuality. The Construction of Erotic Experience in the Ancient Greek World, by D. Halperin, pp. 100‒106. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

“Domitia Longina and the politics of portraiture,” American Journal of Archaeology 99: 187‒206. “Grotesques and the evil eye,” Annual of the British School at Athens 10: 103‒114.

Caroline and Hector WILLIAMS University of British Columbia [email protected]

‘ROME’ AT QUMRAN? – WHAT IF? SOME REMARKS ON THE SO-CALLED ROMA JAR FROM QUMRAN CAVE 7Q* Dennis MIZZI

As a former student of Anthony Bonanno, it is a real pleasure to contribute a paper to this Festschrift in his honour. I recall Bonanno’s notion that our reconstruction of the past depends on three pillars: archaeology, texts, and epigraphy, all of which feature prominently in his enduring work on Roman Malta. In this paper, I use these three major sources of information to furnish a new possible interpretation of the so-called ROMA jar from Qumran.

BACKGROUND Khirbet Qumran is a small but well-known site situated along the north-western shores of the Dead Sea, in the Judaean Desert (Fig. 1). The site was originally inhabited in the Iron Age II (eighth–sixth centuries BCE), when it functioned as an Israelite fort.1 Following the Babylonian invasion of 586 BCE, the site lay in ruins for about five hundred years, until it was re-occupied at the beginning of the first century BCE.2 The settlement thrived for around one hundred and seventy years and was abandoned in circa 68 CE, in the midst of the First Jewish Revolt against Rome.3 Subsequently, the site was re-occupied for relatively brief stretches of time in the late first (post-70 CE) and early second centuries CE.4 The focus of this paper is largely on the occupation phase dating from the beginning of the first century BCE till 68 CE, which will conveniently be referred to as Period I-II, in accordance with the chronological nomenclature current in the field.5 * I would like to thank Joan Taylor and Abigail Zammit for their comments on this paper. 1  See de Vaux 1973, pp. 1–3; Magen and Peleg 2006, pp. 72–79, 101–102, although some of the conclusions in the latter work are questionable. 2  De Vaux (1973, pp. 3–5), the original excavator of Qumran, posited that the re-occupation of Qumran took place in the late second century BCE. Although some scholars hold on to this early dating of the re-occupation of the site (e.g., Hirschfeld 2004, pp. 59–60, 83, 87; Cargill 2009, pp. 210–212), the majority of scholars have accepted the revised site chronology proposed by Jodi Magness (2002, pp. 47–72), who has argued that the published evidence indicates that the re-occupation of Qumran could not have taken place prior to the beginning of the first century BCE. 3  See de Vaux 1973, pp. 5–41; Magness 2002, pp. 50–62. The date of the site’s abandonment has also been the subject of some discussion, and a small number of scholars have suggested that Qumran was abandoned between 68 and 73 CE (e.g., Meshorer 2003–2006, pp. 21–22; Lönnqvist and Lönnqvist 2006, p. 143); however, very few scholars support this view. See Popović (2011) for the most recent discussion on the site’s abandonment and destruction. 4  See de Vaux 1973, pp. 41–44; Magness 2002, pp. 62–63; Taylor 2006. 5  Periods I and II represent the two main phases of occupation identified by Roland de Vaux, the excavator of the site, for the period between the late second century BCE and 68 CE. However, as hinted in the previous notes, the site’s chronology has been the focus of many discussions. Some scholars have identified more phases

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Fig. 1. Map showing various sites (including Qumran) situated around the Dead Sea region, in the Judaean Desert.

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1

2

Fig. 2: 1. Plan of Qumran, showing the settlement and the adjacent marl caves, north, west, and south of the buildings [the plan has been adapted from Taylor 2012, fig. 34, which in turn is an adaptation of a plan that appears in Humbert and Chambon 1994; plan is used by courtesy of Joan Taylor]; 2: 2. (looking south) shows part of the marl outcrop in which Cave 4Q was hewn (bottom right corner) and the natural limestone cliffs that dominate the region (top right corner). The Qumran settlement is located on the marl plateau visible in the bottom left corner of the photograph.

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Qumran became renowned worldwide following the discovery of hundreds of Jewish manuscripts — popularly known as the Dead Sea Scrolls — in eleven caves in the environs of the settlement, and, ever since its excavation in the 1950s, it has been the focus of much debate. The majority of scholars assert that the Period I-II inhabitants of the site (henceforth the Qumranites), were closely linked with the sectarian movement depicted in some of the Scrolls, and hence they interpret the site accordingly. In addition, a large number of these scholars also link Qumran and the Scrolls with the Essenes of the classical sources (Josephus, War 2.119–161; Ant. 18.18–22; Philo, Quod. 75–91; Hypoth. 11; Pliny the Elder, Nat. Hist. 5.17).6 In a nutshell, the classic Essene/sectarian hypothesis understands the site of Qumran as a communal centre for a sectarian community, a centre where members wrote, copied, and studied various religious compositions, and led a communal life in prayer, work and other matters, such as in the partaking of ritually pure meals. The hypothesis also holds that the Qumranites were probably a celibate male community who led a somewhat austere life, who stringently practised a ritually pure lifestyle, and who were, to some extent, cut-off from general society. The site displays a number of seemingly peculiar archaeological features which have been regarded, by adherents of this hypothesis, as giving further credence to the sectarian interpretation of Qumran.7 While, in a general sense, this remains the best interpretation of the site during its Period I-II phase, it has not gone unchallenged,8 and there are still numerous unanswered questions. Accordingly, the Essene/sectarian hypothesis is very much open to further refinement, and our understanding of this group that inhabited Qumran remains in flux. In view of the discussion in the final part of this paper, specific reference should be made to the shifting perspectives regarding Qumran’s supposed isolation. Scholars who have challenged the Essene/sectarian interpretation have raised the important point that Qumran was not an isolated settlement. For the most part, adherents of the Essene/sectarian hypothesis have accepted this critique and they have moved on from an understanding of Qumran as an isolated site. Therefore, scholars now acknowledge that Qumran must have been integrated within the regional economy, although it must be stated that Qumran was not situated along any major trade routes.9 There is plenty of archaeological evidence which highlights

of occupation and introduced new chronological nomenclature of their own. Others have accepted de Vaux’s basic chronology, but revised the termini of his phases. Some have also suggested that Qumran was inhabited by different groups of people during the long period covered by de Vaux’s Periods I and II. The matter is very complex and it goes well beyond the scope of this paper. In a nutshell, however, a critical examination of the archaeological evidence supports none of these hypotheses. Most probably, during the first centuries BCE and CE (up to 68 CE), Qumran was occupied uninterruptedly by the same group. For this reason, de Vaux’s Periods I and II can be amalgamated together as one long phase of occupation, here designated as Period I-II. For a detailed review of these issues, see Mizzi 2015; forthcoming. See also Mizzi and Magness 2016. 6  E.g., de Vaux 1973; Broshi 1992a; Cross 1995; Magness 2002. See Taylor 2012 for a detailed and systematic analysis of the descriptions of the Essenes in the classical sources. 7  E.g., de Vaux 1973; Broshi 1992a; Magness 2002. 8  For works that have challenged the sectarian identification of Qumran, see Donceel and Donceel-Voûte 1994; Donceel-Voûte 1994; Golb 1995; Cansdale 1997; Hirschfeld 2004; Zangenberg 2004; Magen and Peleg 2006; Stacey and Doudna 2013. For works that have proposed a variant of the Essene/sectarian hypothesis, see Humbert 1994; 2003a; 2003b; 2006; Stegemann 1998; Mizzi 2009; Cargill 2009; Taylor 2012. For a brief overview of scholarship on Qumran, see Mizzi 2017.  9  Broshi 1999; Gibson and Taylor 2008; Taylor and Gibson 2011; pace Cansdale 1997; Hirschfeld 2004.

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links with the broader economy (e.g., pottery, glass and stone vessels, coins). Even the textual sources — assuming that they can tell us something about the Qumranites10 — underscore the fact that Essenes and members of the movement behind the Scrolls lived in proximity to and interacted with other people. Some of the Scrolls also show that trade and economic transactions with outsiders were permitted as long as these met the rigid guidelines of the movement.11 Consequently, the operating framework of this paper is that Qumran was inhabited by a sectarian community which was integrated within the regional (and perhaps wider Mediterranean) economy.

CONTEXT The site of Qumran has yielded plenty of material remains, including thousands of pottery vessels (with tableware and storage jars being especially prominent in the corpus), a few glass vessels, stone vessels, tools and other metal implements, some personal items, as well as a relatively large number of coins. Pottery was also found in the various caves in the immediate region, and eleven of the caves also yielded manuscripts.12 A number of inscriptions on pottery, stone vessels, weights, seals, and other artefacts have also been identified, written in Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek, or Latin.13 These amount to circa 93 inscriptions,14 dating to different phases of the site’s occupation and including four from the site at ‘Ein Feshkha, located less than five kilometres to the south of Qumran and with which it might have been connected (Fig. 1).15 The majority of the inscriptions were found within the built settlement or in nearby fills and dumps, whereas others were retrieved from some of the surrounding limestone and marl caves. A few are without provenance, but are presumed to have come from the region of Qumran. On the whole, these inscriptions comprise names of individuals, measures, labels, economic transactions, and abecedaries. A few of them remain undecipherable. The focus of this paper is on a double inscription found on a jar discovered in Cave 7Q.

10  It is important to point out that, despite the probable connection between the sectarian movement of the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Essenes, and the Qumranites, one should not assume that the Scrolls and the classical sources on the Essenes are necessarily windows that shed direct light on life at Qumran. 11  See further Murphy 2002; Mizzi 2009; Richey 2012; Taylor 2012. 12  There are two types of cave in the Qumran area: natural limestone caves and artificially hewn marl caves (Figs 23). The former are situated in the cliffs that dominate the region, whereas the latter are situated in the immediate vicinity of the Qumran settlement, which was built on top of a marl plateau. The presence of cylindrical and ovoid jars – which are virtually unique to Qumran – in both the caves and the settlement establishes a strong connection between the two. Moreover, as far as the marl caves are concerned, their connection with the settlement is demonstrated by the presence of paths leading from the caves to the buildings (see Broshi and Eshel 1999) and by the fact that some of these caves – namely those which were hewn within the same marl plateau on which the settlement was built – could only have been accessed through the buildings. As to the function/s of these caves, this remains a matter of debate. 13  See Puech 1984; Cross and Eshel 1997; Yardeni 1997a; Lemaire 2003; Doudna 2004; Magen and Peleg 2006, p. 72; Strange 2006, pp. 51, 53. 14  Hamidović 2009, pp. 465–466. 15  For the link between Qumran and ‘Ein Feshkha, see de Vaux 1973, pp. 59–60, 84; Hirschfeld 2004, pp. 183, 185, 209; Humbert 2006, pp. 24–27; Taylor 2007, p. 256.

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This cave was artificially hewn in the southernmost part of the marl plateau on which the Qumran settlement was built, and it was only accessible through the built area and via a hewn staircase in the marl bedrock (Fig. 4: 12).16 There is therefore little doubt that Cave 7Q was used by the settlement’s inhabitants. The function of the cave itself – just like that of the rest of the caves in the region – is still disputed. The marl caves could have been used as permanent or temporary dwelling quarters, as depositories for manuscripts, as workshops, or as storage areas. Unfortunately, the archaeological evidence from these caves is not sufficient enough to support one interpretation over the others.17 Cave 7Q yielded four jars, two bowl-lids, a juglet, two bowls, a goblet, and a lamp,18 as well as 19 manuscript fragments,19 all of which are in Greek and written on papyrus.20 It should be noted that the southern part of Cave 7Q and part of its floor collapsed into the wadi below,21 which means that a substantial amount of material culture has probably been lost. On the basis of the pottery, the cave appears to have been used throughout the first centuries BCE and CE. De Vaux records (but does not publish) a goblet that, according to him, is of a type well-attested in early first century BCE contexts.22 The two bowls,23 the two bowl-lids, and the juglet can be attributed to both the first century BCE and the first century CE. The lamp (unpublished), described as ‘Herodian,’ belongs to a common class of lamps that emerged in the late first century BCE and became popular in the first century CE.24 Two of the published jars25 belong to the class of broad cylindrical jars with four pierced ledge handles on the shoulder. On the basis of the published evidence, these types probably belong to the late first century BCE and the first century CE.26 The object of our study (jar 7Q6) belongs to this same class of jars that are so typical of Qumran, but it differs from the aforementioned two jars in terms of typology. This jar is ovoid in shape (with the broad part being at the top), it has four pierced ledge handles on the shoulder as well as two ridges (Fig. 5: 1).27 Jar 7Q6 is very different than other ovoid jars found in early first century BCE contexts at Qumran and in the Hasmonaean winter palaces at Jericho, and which continue to be attested in late first century BCE and first-early second centuries CE contexts. One of the major differences is that the latter 16

 De Vaux 1962, pp. 27, 30.  See Mizzi (2016) for a detailed exploration of this issue. 18  See de Vaux 1962, p. 30, figs 6: 5, 8, 11–13. 19  Tov 2010, p. 65. 20  In view of the fact that the majority of the Scrolls from Qumran are written in Hebrew and Aramaic, the presence of a small collection of exclusively Greek manuscripts in Cave 7Q has been considered as a significant datum (e.g., Stökl Ben Ezra 2007, p. 323; White Crawford 2012, p. 259; but see Popović 2012, pp. 570– 572). 21  De Vaux 1962, p. 27. 22  De Vaux 1962, p. 30. 23  De Vaux 1962, figs 6: 8, 13. 24  For a general survey of first century BCE–CE pottery, see Loffreda 2000. For important studies dealing with first century BCE–CE pottery in the region of the Dead Sea, see Loffreda 1996; Bar-Nathan 2002; BarNathan 2006b. 25  De Vaux 1962, fig. 6: 12. 26  Bar-Nathan 2006a, p. 275; 2006b, pp. 67–72; Magness 2002, pp. 80–81. 27  See de Vaux 1962, fig. 6: 5. 17

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type of ovoid jars typically carried two ring handles on the shoulder.28 Three close (but not identical) parallels to jar 7Q6 are jar M-SJ17D from Masada, which was found in contexts dating to the First Jewish Revolt (66–73/4 CE),29 jar J-SJ18 from the Roman Estate at Jericho, found in contexts dating to the late first-early second centuries CE,30 and a jar from Qumran Cave 4Q, which probably belongs to the late first century BCEfirst century CE.31 In view of the above, it appears that jar 7Q6 belongs to a type which developed out of earlier ovoid jars that sported ring handles. It should therefore probably be dated to the first century CE, as its closest parallels suggest. This is corroborated by the fact that numerous fragments from this jar were excavated from Cave 7Q, enough to enable an almost complete reconstruction. This indicates that jar 7Q6 was still in use during the last phase of the cave’s occupation – otherwise, only a few residual fragments would have been retrieved. On the basis of the extant evidence, however, it is difficult to pinpoint (with a high degree of confidence) when the cave was last used. The pottery seems to indicate that Cave 7Q was in use throughout Period I-II, but, in theory, it could also have been used during Period III, which refers to the re-occupation of the site after 68 CE. Furthermore, jar 7Q6 could typologically be dated to the late first-early second centuries CE on the basis of its close parallels. Therefore, a pre-68 CE date may not necessarily be the obvious or only possible chronological attribution for this jar. On the other hand, none of the extant material from Cave 7Q points clearly to a late first century CE date, in contrast with the clear pointers for the cave’s use in earlier times. Moreover, the evidence from the other marl caves adjacent to the settlement overwhelmingly indicates that their use did not extend into Period III.32 For these reasons, it is most probable that Cave 7Q was last intensively used during Period I-II, and therefore jar 7Q6 should probably be assigned to the pre-68 CE part of the first century CE.

THE ‘ROMA’ INSCRIPTION

ON JAR

7Q6

Jar 7Q6 has two identical Hebrew/Aramaic inscriptions painted in black ink on two sides of the jar’s shoulder (Fig. 5: 23). These inscriptions consist of four letters, which read ‫( רומא‬RWM’).33 All the letters are clear and, thus, the reading is quite certain. The interpretation, however, is another matter. 28  See also Magness 2002, pp. 80–81; Bar-Nathan 2002, pp. 23–25, pls 1–2; 2006a, p. 275, fig. 15: 7; Bar-Nathan and Eisenstadt 2013, pp. 11, 12, pl. 1.18: 689. 29  Bar-Nathan 2006b, p. 69, fig. 19, pl. 15: 81. 30  Bar-Nathan and Eisenstadt 2013, pp. 11–12, pl. 1.18: 691. 31  De Vaux 1977, p. 15, fig. 5: 2. This jar also happens to have a painted Hebrew inscription on its shoulder, consisting of three words. 32  The only unambiguous evidence for post-68 CE activity in the marl caves comes from Cave 4Q, in which a round lamp, typical of the late first century CE and onwards, was discovered (de Vaux 1977, pp. 17, 20, fig. 6: 10). This is the only clear evidence for a late first century CE presence not only in Cave 4Q but in all the marl caves. The meagre evidence for post-68 CE activity can only indicate a transient visit that was made to Cave 4Q rather than any intensive use of the marl caves. 33  See Lemaire 2003, pp. 375–376.

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1

2

Fig. 3: 1. (looking west) shows Cave 4Q; 3:2. is of a natural cave situated in the limestone cliffs to the north of the built settlement, beyond the limits of the plan.

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Fig. 4: 1. Photographs (looking east) showing the marl plateau on which the Qumran settlement was built and the now collapsed Caves 7Q, 8Q, and 9Q at the southernmost part of the plateau; 4: 2. Cave 4Q, hewn within a separate marl outcrop further to the west (see plan in Fig. 2:1).

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Roland de Vaux, the original excavator of Qumran, suggested that ‫ רומא‬should be understood as a personal name,34 a view that has also been adopted by André Lemaire and Esther Eshel, among others.35 The name is unattested in contemporary Jewish contexts in ancient Palestine (e.g., inscriptions and documentary texts),36 although variants of it occur in some literary texts (see below). However, occurrences of this name (or variants thereof) are particularly common in Nabataean contexts – cf. ‫( רומא‬RWM’), ‫( רמא‬RM’), ‫( רם‬RM), and ‫( רמאל‬RM’L) – and they are also attested in Palmyrene sources – cf. ‫( רמא‬RM’) and ‫רומי‬ (RWMY), and ‫( רמי‬RMY) – and the Aramaic papyri of Elephantine – cf. ‫( רמי‬RMY).37 In a Palestinian Jewish context, besides the inscriptions from Qumran, forms of this name only appear in literary texts – cf. ‫( רם‬RM) (Ruth 4:19; Job 32:2; 1 Chr 2:25, 27), possibly ‫רמיה‬ (RMYH) (Ezra 10:25) and ‫רומה‬/‫( ראומה‬R’WMH/RWMH) (Gen 22:24),38 and ‫רומא‬ (RWM’) in the Targum of Job (11QtgJob xx, 7) found at Qumran. It has also been proposed that ‫ רומא‬could be a transliteration of the Greek name ‘Ρούμας (Romas), which is known from Dura-Europos.39 An alternative interpretation of the ‫ רומא‬inscription has been proposed by Stephen Pfann. He notes that some inscribed jars from Qumran carry only one letter and that this phenomenon might reflect a system of abbreviations relating to priestly tithes.40 For example, a jar from Cave 3Q is inscribed with the letter ‫( ט‬Ṭ),41 which could stand for ‫טבל‬ (ṬBL, ṭebel) – meaning that the jar’s contents were not yet subjected to priestly tithing – or for ‫( טהור‬ṬHWR, ṭahor) – meaning that the jar’s contents were pure.42 A similar practice is known from Masada, where the letters ‫( ת‬T) and ‫( ט‬Ṭ) marked a number of jars and amphorae. In fact, Yigael Yadin’s interpretation of these letters as abbreviations pertaining to priestly tithes – namely ‫( תרומה‬TRWMH, terumah) and ‫( טבל‬ṬBL, ṭebel), respectively43 – has served as a basis for the interpretation of the examples from Qumran. This interpretation is supported by a passage in the Mishnah (m. Ma‘aser Sheni 4.11), which refers specifically to the use of abbreviations to designate priestly tithes and offerings.44 On the

34

 De Vaux 1962, p. 30.  Eshel 1997, pp. 42–43; Lemaire 2003, p. 376. 36  See Ilan 2002. 37  De Vaux 1962, p. 30; Eshel 1997, pp. 42–43; Lemaire 2003, p. 376, nn. 115–116. 38  The reading ‫ – רומה‬whereby the ’aleph (‫ )א‬has been assimilated (Weiss 1975, p. 141) – is attested in the Samaritan Pentateuch. 39  De Vaux 1962, p. 30; Eshel 1997, pp. 42–43. 40  Pfann 2004, pp. 173–174. 41  De Vaux 1962, p. 8. Lemaire (2003, p. 376) mistakenly identifies this jar as coming from Cave 8Q; however, the registration date of this jar dates to a time when Cave 8Q had not yet been excavated (I would like to thank Marcello Fidanzio for clarifying this issue to me). The error seems to have arisen because Cave 3Q was also designated as Cave 8, which is different from Cave 8Q. All limestone caves that yielded manuscripts carry two designations, one without the ‘Q,’ denoting the cave number assigned during the survey of the region, and one with the ‘Q,’ denoting the order of discovery of the manuscript caves. Thus, for example, Cave 1Q is also designated as Cave 14, and it is different from Cave 1; and Cave 3Q is identical to Cave 8, but not to Cave 8Q. 42  Lemaire 2003, pp. 376–377. 43  Yadin and Naveh 1989, pp. 32–33. 44  Yadin and Naveh 1989, pp. 32–33; Pfann 2004, p. 174. 35

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1

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3

Fig. 5:1. Jar 7Q6, reconstructed. [Photograph by Jean-Baptiste Humbert; courtesy of the École Biblique et Archéologique Française de Jérusalem]; 5: 23. The two identical inscriptions – reading ‫( רומא‬RWM’) – on jar 7Q6. [photographs of the inscriptions are taken from Lemaire 2003, p. 375; all photographs are used by courtesy of the École Biblique et Archéologique Française de Jérusalem].

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basis of this practice, Pfann suggests that ‫ רומא‬might be an abbreviation of ‫תרומא‬, a variant of ‫תרומה‬.45 A possible third interpretation of ‫ רומא‬is to consider it as a place name, referring either to a local settlement – cf. the existence of an Iron Age town, in the region of Judah, called ‫רומה‬ (RWMH, i.e., Rumah),46 for example – or, perhaps, to Rome. The latter is a reading that has been embraced by a small number of scholars, most notably Jose O’Callaghan, who believed that the Greek manuscript fragments in Cave 7Q belonged to the New Testament.47 For him, this inscription provided a further link between Qumran and Rome (i.e., the early church in Rome). O’Callaghan suggested that the double inscription ‫ רומא‬indicates the provenance of the manuscripts or, more specifically, the contents of the jar – namely manuscripts coming from Rome.48 Epigraphists and scholars have not embraced this interpretation of the inscription.49 Indeed, it must be emphasised that there is today universal consensus against the presence of New Testament fragments among the Scrolls. Moreover, the typology of the jar on which the ‫ רומא‬double inscription is found is virtually unique to Qumran. Thus, a Roman provenance is highly improbable. This has been confirmed by INAA analyses, the results of which show that jar 7Q6 was manufactured from regional clay.50 Nonetheless, ‘Rome’ as a reading remains plausible, in theory, and it should not be rejected outright simply because it was endorsed by scholars who argued for and linked the jar with the alleged presence of New Testament fragments at Qumran. It should be noted that, orthographically, ‫ רומא‬could justifiably be read as ‘Rome.’ In addition, despite Yadin’s observation that one-word inscriptions do not typically refer to place names, such inscriptions have since been identified, albeit from earlier chronological contexts.51 At any rate, one should always leave room for the possibility of idiosyncrasies at any given site. Furthermore, it is perhaps significant that we are dealing with a double inscription, which might add weight to the possibility that ‫ רומא‬is not a personal name. It should be noted that none of the other one-word inscriptions from the Qumran corpus that may be interpreted securely as personal names are double inscriptions. Finally, while the jar’s typology and chemical fingerprint rule out a foreign provenance for this jar, they do not exclude the interpretation of the inscription it carries as a place name referring to Rome. The interpretation of the inscription is an independent philological matter, although 45

 Pfann 2004, p. 174, n. 34.  See Elitzur (1994) for the existence of this town, and Lemaire (2003, p. 376) for the possibility of reading ‫ רומא‬as a place name referring to a local settlement. 47  See O’Callaghan 1974. 48  O’Callaghan 1974, pp. 22–23. This qualification of the interpretation apparently arose after a conversation that O’Callaghan had with Yadin, who informed him that one-word inscriptions on jars usually refer to personal names or to the jars’ contents and not to place names. 49  E.g., Eshel 1997, pp. 42–43; Lemaire 2003, p. 376; Pfann 2004, p. 174, n. 34. 50  Gunneweg and Balla 2001, pp. 182–185; 2003, pp. 11, 13; Yellin, Broshi, and Eshel 2001, p. 75. The two studies present different results with regard to the exact provenance of the jar, with one study concluding that it was made from clay local to Qumran (Gunneweg and Balla 2001; 2003) and the other concluding that it was made from Jerusalem clay (Yelling, Broshi, and Eshel 2001). A detailed discussion of the results from these two studies can be found in Yellin 2015. 51  See Lemaire 2004, pp. 2114, 2121. I would like to thank Abigail Zammit for bringing this reference to my attention. 46

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in this specific case, because we are dealing with a one-word double inscription, its reading remains very much an open one. The fact that the reading ‫ רומא‬is essentially unique at Qumran exacerbates the problem,52 since we are deprived of any immediate parallels that could potentially shed further light on the meaning of this inscription. Accordingly, I believe that the ‘Rome’ reading cannot be categorically rejected, and thus it remains a viable option, but one which still needs an explanation that is free from the problems of earlier explanations of ‘Rome.’ Therefore, it seems justifiable to attempt such an endeavour and, to this end, I propose two possible explanations for ‫ רומא‬as ‘Rome.’ Quite simply, the first possibility is that the contents of the jar in question were intended to be exported to Rome, hence the label ‫ רומא‬on two parts of the jar. It seems evident that the Qumranites were involved in the cultivation of palm trees, the processing of dates, and the production of date products.53 Dates were a lucrative crop, and they appear to have been one of the most important Judaean exports after balsam.54 Thus, jar 7Q6 might have contained dates which were to be exported to Rome. The problem with this explanation is that no cylindrical or ovoid jars of the type found at Qumran have so far been excavated elsewhere in the Mediterranean. Therefore, I would like to propose a second potential explanation. It is perhaps possible that the jar’s contents were set aside for Rome, as part of the tax contribution. Our knowledge of Roman taxation is very limited, and it is clear that different systems of taxation were implemented in different provinces of the Roman Empire.55 In general, however, it seems that people from the provinces paid two direct taxes, namely a poll tax (tributum capitis) and a land tax (tributum soli).56 The latter appears to have been paid either in kind or in money, depending on the region.57 Therefore, because of the possibility of payment in kind, the land tax is of particular importance for this second potential explanation for ‘Rome’ on jar 7Q6. As far as land taxation in Judaea is concerned, we know, for example, that Julius Caesar imposed a tribute on the soil (Josephus, Ant. 14.202–206), which seems to have been paid in kind.58 Under Herod, it is likewise evident that the system of taxation included land  Although Lemaire (2003, pp. 348–349) tentatively identifies a variant of ‫ רומא‬on KhQ681 – which he reads as ‫]?( ?[רמא‬RM’) – he notes that this reading is highly uncertain and “très conjecturale.” 53  There various indicators for the existence of this industry at Qumran. First of all, one should note that the area between Qumran and ‘Ein Feshkha would have been perfectly suitable for the cultivation of palm trees (Broshi and Eshel 2006, p. 251). Secondly, large quantities of dates and date pits were excavated in the various dumps around the Qumran settlement (Magen and Peleg 2007, pp. 5, 7, figs 9–10). Thirdly, sealed jars containing date honey have also been found (Magen and Peleg 2007, p. 45, figs 46–47). Fourthly, a date press (L.75) has been identified within the settlement, and various other industrial installations are reminiscent of contemporary installations used to manufacture various date products using traditional methods (Patrich 2006, p. 248). This issue is discussed at length in Mizzi (forthcoming). 54  See also Broshi and Eshel 2006, p. 251; Taylor 2006, pp. 142–146; Goodman 2007, p. 104. Judaean dates seem to have been quite well renowned in antiquity (e.g., Pliny the Elder, Nat. Hist. 13.6–9).The importance of the date palm for the Judaean economy is also hinted at by the fact that the tree became synonymous with Judaea, as indicated by its use as a symbol for Judaea on both Jewish and Roman coins. 55  See Duncan-Jones 1990, pp. 187–198; Isaac 1994. 56  Schürer 1973, pp. 401–404; Rathbone 1996, pp. 312–313; Ando 2006, p. 187. 57  See, for example, Schürer 1973, pp. 401–402; Duncan-Jones 1990, pp. 187–194; Rathbone 1996, pp. 313–314; Erdkamp 2005, pp. 219–225; Ando 2006, p. 188. 58  See also Smallwood 1976, pp. 40–41; Duncan-Jones 1990, p. 189; Pastor 1997, p. 84; Erdkamp 2005, p. 220. 52

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taxes in kind (Josephus, Ant. 15.303).59 The evidence for the first century CE – when Judaea transitioned from a client kingdom to a Roman province in 6 CE – is less clear (e.g., Josephus, Ant. 18.3–4; War 2.118. 403–407; Mark 12:14; Matt 22:17, 19; Luke 20:22),60 but there is little reason to doubt the continued practice of paying land taxation in kind, even if some scholars have indeed questioned this.61 It is, of course, entirely possible that the tributum soli was paid both in kind and in money – depending on the crop – as in other provinces of the Roman Empire, most notably Egypt.62 Various documentary texts found at ‘Ein Gedi (to the south of Qumran) (Fig. 1), dating to the early second century CE, attest to a similar practice in the neighbouring province of Arabia. Indeed, this archive of texts from ‘Ein Gedi is of particular importance as it shows that the practice of land taxation in kind was still in existence in the early second century CE, in

59

 See also Stern 1974a, p. 259; Pastor 1997, pp. 93–94; Rocca 2008, p. 206.  It is not clear whether the census of 6 CE was intended to calculate the poll tax or the land tax or both. Josephus (Ant. 18.3–4) says that Quirinius was tasked to value the property (οὐσία, which can also mean “substance, immovables, estates”; see the LSJ entry at [accessed 10 April 2014]) of the Jews and that, upon the advice of Joazar the High Priest, the Jews registered their property (ἀπετίμων τὰ χρήματα) with the Roman authorities; Josephus also mentions opposition to this taxation, referring to it by the term ἀποτίμησις (“pledging of a property, valuation, tax”; see the LSJ entry at [accessed 10 April 2014]). In this passage, the method of payment, however, is not hinted at. Elsewhere, Josephus (War 2.118) uses the term φόρος with reference to the same census, a term that Josephus typically employs in connection with the tribute that subject peoples paid to a ruling power, and which could have consisted of taxes in kind and money (Mason 2008, pp. 81–82, n. 727). It should be noted, for example, that φόρος is used in Ant. 14.202–206 and 15.303, in contexts that clearly refer to the land tax paid in kind. Josephus uses the plural form of the same term (φόρους) with reference to the collection of the arrears of the tributes in the later first century CE (War 2.405). In this case, he states that the gathering of the tributes resulted in the collection of forty talents. It is, however, unclear whether φόρους, here, refers to the poll or the land tax. The use of the plural could possibly be indicative of both. Moreover, it is possible that the collection of forty talents signifies the collection of taxation in kind, since τάλαντον can refer either to a weight or to money (see the LSJ entry at [accessed 10 April 2014]). With reference to this specific passage, Mason states: “I.e., 40 talents’ worth: how much of this was in cash and how much in kind is unclear” (Mason 2008, p. 312, n. 2546). Therefore, Josephus does not present a clear-cut picture on the matter of the payment of land taxation in the first century CE. The evidence of the New Testament is not any clearer. In the episode when Jesus is tested with regard to the legitimacy of paying taxes/tribute to Caesar, Luke 20:22 uses φόρος, whereas the other synoptic gospels (Mark 12:14; Matt 22:17, 19) have κῆνσος. In Matthew’s case, it is clear that we are dealing with the payment of taxes in money (cf. Matt 22:19, which speaks of the coin of the tribute [νόμισμα τοῦ κήνσου]). Moreover, some of the Greek and Syriac manuscripts that preserve Mark 12:14 read δοῦναι ἐπικεφάλαιον καίσαρι, thereby linking this episode more explicitly with the poll (or head) tax. Indeed, various scholars seem to equate κῆνσος in Matthew and Mark with the poll tax (e.g., Harrington 1991, pp. 310–311; Nolland 1993, p. 958; Hagner 1995, p. 636; Donahue and Harrington 2002, p. 344; France 2007, p. 829), although others consider the term as a general reference for direct taxes (e.g., Davies and Allison 1991, p. 744; 2004, p. 214; Evans 2001, p. 246). Therefore, whether φόρος and κῆνσος are used with specific reference to the poll tax or to direct taxes in general remains a bit unclear. Moreover, it is not certain whether the former term is used synonymously with the latter or whether Luke intends something different by it. This means that this evidence cannot be used to make a case for the payment of land taxes in money. 61  Duncan-Jones (1990, p. 189) suggests that land taxes were paid in money following the census held in Judaea in 6 CE, but he does not support this statement with any evidence. Other scholars, such as Stern (1974b, p. 331) and Smallwood (1976, pp. 150–151), only mention the imposition of the tributum soli without specifying whether this was paid in kind or in money. Of course, the reason for this is the lack of any clear evidence in this regard. 62  See Duncan-Jones 1990, pp. 189, 191–193. 60

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a province that was the geographic neighbour of Judaea.63 Some of these texts reveal that some Jewish families owned date groves in Maḥoza64 and that they paid land taxes or rent65 both in kind and in money (e.g., XḤev/Se 60,66 XḤev/Se 62,67 XḤev/Se 64,68 XḤev/Se 12,69 P. Yadin 1670). Therefore, the probability that, at least, some taxation in kind continued to be levied in Judaea during the first century CE is quite high. These documentary texts also demonstrate that dates were among the crops that could have been taxed in kind, which is especially important in view of the probability that the Qumranites cultivated date groves. This means that the Qumranites could also have paid their land taxes or rent directly in dates. Therefore, the so-called ROMA jar could have contained dates set aside as taxes or payment in kind. While it is clear that in the provinces taxes were gathered by local tax collectors,71 there remains some uncertainty as to where they went, that is, whether taxes fed into the private wealth of the emperor or whether they were directed into the public aerarium in Rome or the provincial chests.72 The problem is exacerbated by divergent interpretations of the term fiscus.73 Nonetheless, scholars in general assume that taxes from the provinces went into the provincial treasuries, which are defined as extensions of the aerarium in Rome.74 Many also point out that “a neat division” cannot be maintained “between ‘imperial’ and ‘senatorial’ finances and their control”.75 In other words, the emperor seems to have been very much in control of all state finances, whether these belonged to his private property (from which much money was injected into the running of the state) or to the public treasury.76

63

 Admittedly, in view of the inhomogeneous nature of Roman taxation, one must be cautious with using evidence from other provinces and/or from later periods. Nevertheless, there is also no reason to exclude other provinces – especially neighbouring ones – as analogous case studies. See also Isaac 1994. 64  See, for example, Cotton and Greenfield 1994; 1995. 65  From the surviving documents, it is very difficult to determine whether the texts speak of private landowners or of tenants who cultivated date groves belonging to the royal or imperial estate. If we are dealing with the latter, however, it is clear that we have a case of hereditary tenancy, that is, a case of leased land that could be sold and left as an inheritance, and which could be cultivated quite freely as long as rent was paid. In this sense, the payment of rent could still be very much considered as a form of taxation akin to the land tax. See the discussion in Cotton 1994; 1997a, pp. 167–168, 221–223; 1997b. 66  See Cotton 1997a, pp. 166–173. This text consists of a tax or rent receipt on produce, paid in money. 67  See Cotton 1997a, pp. 181–194. This document records a land declaration submitted during the provincial census of 127 CE. It also includes a statement regarding the amount due in taxes, which were to be paid both in kind and in money. 68  See Cotton 1997a, pp. 203–223. This is a deed of gift which makes reference to the tax or rent that was to be paid – possibly in kind – on the inherited land. 69  See Yardeni 1997b, pp. 60–64; Cotton 1997a, pp. 222–223. This document comprises a receipt for tax or rent, paid in kind or in the equivalent value in money. 70  See Lewis in Lewis, Yadin, and Greenfield 1989, pp. 65–70. This document consists of the registration of land in the census of 127 CE. It also specifies the due taxes or rent on the land, some of which were to be paid in kind and others in money. 71  Goodman 1987, pp. 33, 34, 44, 115–116, 131–132; Cotton 1997a, p. 168; Isaac 1994, p. 266. 72  Brunt 1966, p. 83; Mason 2008, pp. 310–311, n. 2537. 73  E.g., Jones 1950; Millar 1963; Brunt 1966; Rathbone 1996, pp. 319–322. 74  E.g., Rathbone 1996, p. 320; Mason 2008, pp. 72, n. 676, 310–311, n. 2537. 75  E.g., Rathbone 1996, p. 320. 76  E.g., Jones 1950; Brunt 1966; Rathbone 1996, pp. 320–322; Mason 2008, pp. 72, n. 676, 310–311, n. 2537.

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Some of the aforementioned documentary texts from ‘Ein Gedi mention that payments were due to the fiscus of the emperor – εις λογον κυριακου φισκου (XḤev/Se 64 frag. b, line 29) – or to Caesar – κυριῳ καισαρι (XḤev/Se 60 lines 5–6). In light of the above, Hannah Cotton is right to highlight the fact that this does not automatically mean that the land in question belonged to the imperial estates and that tax/rent from such land went directly into the private fiscus of the emperor. Rather, such land could still have been privately owned.77 Cotton argues that in these texts we might have “a case of ‘loose terminology’: whoever wrote the deed of gift or the receipt was convinced that the monies belonged to the emperor,”78 even if these might have gone into the public funds rather than directly into his private estate. One could argue that the New Testament (Mark 12:14, 17; Matt 22:17, 21; Luke 20:22, 25; 23:2) reflects a similar scenario, where the people’s perception was that the annual taxes – the κῆνσος and the φόρος, which would probably have gone to the provincial fiscus – were being paid directly to Caesar.79 We do not know whether the land between Qumran and ‘Ein Feshkha belonged to the imperial fiscus or whether it was privately owned. Whatever the case, the label ‫ רומא‬on jar 7Q6 could reflect another case of perception, that is, the understanding might have been that payments in kind belonged to or went to Rome, whether they actually ended up in the public aerarium in Rome, or in the imperial fiscus, or in the provincial treasury, and regardless of who actually controlled and administered these finances. Many scholars have highlighted the importance of categorisation at Qumran. For example, Jodi Magness suggests that one of the functions of the peculiar shape of ovoid and cylindrical jars was to indicate that their contents were pure as against the contents of normal bag-shaped jars.80 Pfann underlines the use of some of these jars as tithe jars.81 Looking at the Dead Sea Scrolls – again, assuming they can tell us anything concrete about the Qumranites – one can likewise discern a concern with categorisation, with separating the pure from the impure, for example. Therefore, the practice of physically setting aside produce intended as taxation in kind fits quite well with this picture. And in view of the virtual absence of ovoid and cylindrical jars beyond Qumran, it is likely that it is the contents of jar 7Q6 and not the jar itself that would have been transferred to the local tax collectors. In the unlikely possibility that jar 7Q6 dates to Period III,82 the aforementioned explanation of the ‫ רומא‬inscription would still stand. Recently, Joan Taylor has argued convincingly that, following the First Jewish Revolt, Qumran was probably occupied by local proRoman supporters who continued to exploit the natural/economic resources of this part of

77  See note 65 above, regarding the difficulty in discerning whether we are dealing with private land or imperial estates in the documentary texts from ‘Ein Gedi. 78  Cotton 1997a, p. 223; 1997b (especially p. 262). 79  Schürer 1973, p. 372; Cotton 1997a, p. 223. 80  Magness 2004, pp. 152–153. 81  Pfann 2004. 82  Although ovoid and cylindrical jars are characteristic of Period I-II, and despite the fact that jar 7Q6 most likely dates to this period of occupation (as argued above), the possibility that the Period III inhabitants might have found and re-used complete vessels from the previous occupation should not be discounted.

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the Judaean Desert on behalf of the Romans.83 These occupants would also have had to pay the land tax or rent. In this context, it is significant that, according to Pliny the Elder, the balsam (and, presumably, also the date) plantations in Judaea passed into Roman hands following the First Jewish Revolt (Nat. Hist. 12.54) and, in his own words, “now this (i.e., the balsam tree) is a servant and renders tribute together with its race (i.e., the Judaeans)” (servit nunc haec ac tributa pendit cum sua gente), the implication being that the balsam tree now serves Rome.84 The interpretation of ‫ רומא‬offered here would, therefore, make equal sense if we were to locate jar 7Q6 within the new political and economic context of Judaea in the late first century CE, where the economic resources of the region would have been heavily exploited by Rome through its local dependants.

CONCLUSION This paper has highlighted that the ‘Rome’ reading of the ‫ רומא‬inscription on jar 7Q6 remains a viable option, albeit a highly tentative one (which is very normal as far as one-word inscriptions are concerned). Nonetheless, since ‘Rome’ is still a possible reading, it requires an explanation. In this paper, I have proposed two possible explanations – with a clear preference for the second – which show that ‘Rome,’ as a reading, does not necessarily conflict with the traditional interpretation of Qumran and that there are other ways of explaining ‘Rome,’ without the need to resort to a New Testament connection. Naturally, the proposed explanation would only be applicable if ‘Rome’ proves to be the correct reading.

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Canada, edited by W. Ahrens, S. Embleton, and A. Lapierre, pp. 465–472. Toronto: York University. HARRINGTON S.J., D. J. 1991 The Gospel of Matthew (Sacra Pagina Series 1). Collegeville, Minnesota: Liturgical Press. HIRSCHFELD, Y. 2004 Qumran in Context: Reassessing the Archaeological Evidence. Peabody, Massachusetts: Hendrickson. HUMBERT, J.-B. 1994 “L’espace sacré à Qumrân: propositions pour l’archéologie,” Revue Biblique 101–102: 161–214. 2003a “Reconsideration of the archaeological interpretation of Qumran,” in Khirbet Qumrân et ‘Aïn Feshkha: II: Études d’anthropologie, de physique et de chimie (Studies of Anthropology, Physics and Chemistry) (Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus, Series Archaeologica 3), edited by J.-B. Humbert and J. Gunneweg, pp. 419–440. Fribourg/ Göttingen: Academic Press Fribourg/Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. 2003b “Arguments en faveur d’une résidence pré-essénienne,” in Khirbet Qumrân et ‘Aïn Feshkha: II: Études d’anthropologie, de physique et de chimie (Studies of Anthropology, Physics and Chemistry) (Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus, Series Archaeologica 3), edited by J.-B. Humbert and J. Gunneweg, pp. 467–482. Fribourg/Göttingen: Academic Press Fribourg/Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht. 2006 “Some remarks on the archaeology of Qumran,” in Qumran: The Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Archaeological Interpretations and Debates: Proceedings of a Conference held at Brown University, November 17–19, 2002 (Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 57), edited by K. Galor, J.-B. Humbert, and J. Zangenberg, pp. 19–39. Leiden: Brill. HUMBERT, J.-B. and CHAMBON, A. (eds) 1994 Fouilles de Khirbet Qumrân et de Aïn Feshkha. Vol 1. Album de photographies, repertoire du fonds photographique, synthèse des notes de chantier du Père Roland de Vaux OP (Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus, Series Archaeologica 1). Fribourg/Göttingen: Academic Press Fribourg/Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht. ILAN, T. 2002 Lexicon of Jewish Names in Late Antiquity: Part 1: Palestine 330 BCE – 200 CE (Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism 91). Tübingen: Morh Siebeck. ISAAC, B. 1994 “Tax collection in Roman Arabia: A new interpretation of the evidence from the Babatha Archive,” Mediterranean Historical Review 9: 256–266. JONES, A. H. M. 1950 “The Aerarium and the Fiscus,” Journal of Roman Studies 40: 22–29. LEMAIRE, A. 2003 “Inscriptions de Qumrân et Aïn Feshkha,” in Khirbet Qumrân et ‘Aïn Feshkha: II: Études d’anthropologie, de physique et de chimie (Studies of Anthropology, Physics and Chemistry) (Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus, Series Archaeologica 3), edited by J.-B. Humbert and J. Gunneweg, pp. 341–388. Fribourg/Göttingen: Academic Press Fribourg/Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht. 2004 “Hebrew inscriptions: Section A: Ostraca and incised inscriptions,” in The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994): Volume IV (Monograph Series 22), edited by D. Ussishkin, pp. 2099–2132. Tel Aviv: Emery and Claire Yass Publications in Archaeology (Institute of Archaeology, Tel Aviv University). LEWIS, N. 1989 “Texts of Greek papyri,” in The Documents from the Bar Kokhba Period in the Cave of Letters. Vol. 1. Greek Papyri and Aramaic and Nabataean Signatures and Subscriptions (Judean Desert Studies 2), edited by N. Lewis (Greek Papyri) and Y. Yadin and J. C. Greenfield (Nabataean Signatures and Subscriptions), pp. 33–133. Jerusalem:

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Israel Exploration Society; Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University of Jerusalem; Shrine of the Book, Israel Museum. LIDDELL, H. G., SCOTT, R., and JONES, H. S. A Greek-English Lexicon, Not dated (accessed 10 April 2014). LOFFREDA, S. 1996 La Ceramica di Macheronte e dell’Herodion (90 a.C. – 135 d.C.). Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press. 2000 Ceramica del tempo di Gesù: Vasi della Terra Santa nel periodo romano antico 63 a.C. – 70 d.C. Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press. LÖNNQVIST, K. and LÖNNQVIST, M. 2006 “The numismatic chronology of Qumran: Fact and fiction,” The Numismatic Chronicle 166: 121–165. MAGEN, Y. and PELEG, Y. 2006 “Back to Qumran: Ten years of excavation and research, 1993–2004,” in Qumran: The Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Archaeological Interpretations and Debates: Proceedings of a Conference held at Brown University, November 17–19, 2002 (Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 57), edited by K. Galor, J.-B. Humbert, and J. Zangenberg, pp. 55–113. Leiden: Brill. 2007 The Qumran Excavations, 1993–2004: Preliminary Report (Judea and Samaria Publications 6). Jerusalem: Staff Officer of Archaeology – Civil Administration of Judea and Samaria; Israel Antiquities Authority. MAGNESS, J. 2002 The Archaeology of Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls. Grand Rapids, Michigan: Eerdmans. 2004 “Why scroll jars?,” in Religion and Society in Roman Palestine: Old Questions, New Approaches, edited by D. R. Edwards, pp. 146–161. London: Routledge. MASON, S. (with H. CHAPMAN) 2008 Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary. Vol. 1B. Judean War 2: Translation and Commentary. Leiden: Brill MESHORER, Y. 2003–2006 “The coins from Qumran,” Israel Numismatic Journal 15: 19–23. MILLAR, F. 1963 “The Fiscus in the first two centuries,” Journal of Roman Studies 53: 29–42. MIZZI, D. 2009 The Archaeology of Khirbet Qumran: A Comparative Approach. Unpublished D.Phil diss. University of Oxford. 2015 “Qumran Period I reconsidered: An evaluation of several competing theories,” Dead Sea Discoveries 22: 1–42. 2016 “Miscellaneous artefacts from the Qumran Caves: An exploration of their significance,” in The Caves of Qumran: Proceedings of the International Conference, Lugano 2014 (Studies in the Texts of the Desert of Judah 118), edited by M. Fidanzio. Leiden: Brill. 2017 “Qumran at Seventy: Reflections on Seventy Years of Scholarship on the Archaeology of Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls,” Strata: Bulletin of the AngloIsrael Archaeological Society 35: 9-45. Forthcoming An Archaeology of Qumran: A Contextual Approach to the Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Studies in the Texts of the Desert of Judah). Leiden: Brill. MURPHY, C. M. 2002 Wealth in the Dead Sea Scrolls and in the Qumran Community (Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 40). Leiden: Brill. NOLLAND, J. 1993 Luke 18:35–24:53 (Word Biblical Commentary 35C). Nashville: Thomas Nelson.

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O’CALLAGHAN, J. 1974 Los Papiros Griegos de la Cueva 7 de Qumrân. Madrid: Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos. PASTOR, J. 1997 Land and Economy in Ancient Palestine. London: Routledge. PATRICH, J. 2006 “Agricultural development in antiquity: Improvements in the cultivation and production of balsam”, in Qumran: The Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Archaeological Interpretations and Debates: Proceedings of a Conference held at Brown University, November 17–19, 2002 (Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 57), edited by K. Galor, J.-B. Humbert, and J. Zangenberg, pp. 241–248. Leiden: Brill. PFANN, S. J. 2004 “Kelei Dema‘: Tithe jars, scrolls jars and cookie jars,” in Copper Scroll Studies, edited by G. J. Brooke and P. R. Davies, pp. 163–179. London: T. and T. Clark. Original edition, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002. POPOVIĆ, M. 2011 “Roman book destruction in Qumran Cave 4 and the Roman destruction of Khirbet Qumran revisited,” in Qumran und die Archäologie: Texte und Kontexte (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 278), edited by J. Frey, C. Claußen, and N. Kessler, pp. 239–291. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. 2012 “Qumran as scroll storehouse in times of crisis? A comparative perspective on Judaean Desert manuscripts collections,” Journal for the Study of Judaism 43: 551–594. PUECH, É. 1984 “Courtes inscriptions de la région de Qumrân,” Revue de Qumran 11: 525–535. RATHBONE, D. W. 1996 “The Imperial finances,” in The Cambridge Ancient History, Vol. 10, The Augustan Empire, 43 B.C.–A.D. 69, edited by A. K. Bowman, E. Champlin and A. Lintott, pp. 309–323. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. RICHEY, M. 2012 “The use of Greek at Qumran: Manuscript and epigraphic evidence for a marginalized language,” Dead Sea Discoveries 19: 177–197. ROCCA, S. 2008 Herod’s Judaea: A Mediterranean state in the classical world (Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism 122). Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. SCHÜRER, E. 1973 The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 B.C.–A.D. 135). Vol. 1, revised and edited by G. Vermes and F. Millar. Edinburgh: T. and T. Clark. SMALLWOOD, E. M. 1976 The Jews under Roman Rule: From Pompey to Diocletian (Studies in Judaism of Late Antiquity 20). Leiden: Brill. STACEY, D. and DOUDNA, G. (with a contribution by G. AVNI) 2013 Qumran Revisited: A Reassessment of the Archaeology of the Site and its Texts (British Archaeological Reports S2520). Oxford: Archaeopress. STEGEMANN, H. 1998 The Library of Qumran: On the Essenes, Qumran, John the Baptist, and Jesus. Grand Rapids, Michigan: Eerdmans. STERN, M. 1974a “The reign of Herod and the Herodian Dynasty,” in The Jewish People in the First Century: Historical Geography, Political History, Social, Cultural and Religious Life and Institutions, Vol. 1, edited by S. Safrai and M. Stern, in co-operation with D. Flusser and W. C. van Unnik, pp. 216–307. Assen: Van Gorcum. 1974b “The Province of Judaea,” in The Jewish People in the First Century: Historical Geography, Political History, Social, Cultural and Religious Life and Institutions, Vol. 1, edited by S. Safrai and M. Stern, in co-operation with D. Flusser and W. C. van Unnik, pp. 308–376. Assen: Van Gorcum.

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STÖKL BEN EZRA, D. 2007 “Old caves and young caves: A statistical reevaluation of a Qumran consensus,” Dead Sea Discoveries 14: 313–333. STRANGE, J. F. 2006 “The 1996 excavations at Qumran and the context of the new Hebrew ostracon,” in Qumran: The Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Archaeological Interpretations and Debates: Proceedings of a Conference held at Brown University, November 17–19, 2002 (Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 57), edited by K. Galor, J.-B. Humbert, and J. Zangenberg, pp. 41–54. Leiden: Brill. TAYLOR, J. E. 2006 “Khirbet Qumran in Period III,” in Qumran: The Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Archaeological Interpretations and Debates: Proceedings of a Conference held at Brown University, November 17–19, 2002 (Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 57), edited by K. Galor, J.-B. Humbert, and J. Zangenberg, pp. 133–146. Leiden: Brill. 2007 “Ein Fashkha,” in Encyclopaedia Judaica, 2nd ed., Vol. 6, edited by F. Skolnik and M. Berenbaum, pp. 255–256. Detroit: Macmillan. 2012 The Essenes, the Scrolls, and the Dead Sea. Oxford: Oxford University Press. TAYLOR, J. E. and GIBSON, S. 2011 “Qumran connected: The Qumran pass and paths of the North-Western Dead Sea,” in Qumran und die Archäologie: Texte und Kontexte (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 278), edited by J. Frey, C. Claußen, and N. Kessler, pp. 163– 209. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. TOV, E. 2010 Revised Lists of the Texts from the Judaean Desert. Leiden: Brill. VAUX DE, R. 1962 “Archéologie,” in Les ‘petites grottes’ de Qumran: Exploration de la falaise, les grottes 2Q, 3Q, 5Q, 6Q, 7Q à 10Q, le rouleau de cuivre (Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 3), edited by M. Baillet, J. T. Milik, and R. de Vaux, pp. 3–36. Oxford: Clarendon Press. 1973 Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, rev. ed. London: Oxford University Press. 1977 “Archéologie,” in Qumrân Grotte 4: II (Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 6), edited by R. de Vaux and J. T. Milik, pp. 3–22. Oxford: Clarendon Press. WEISS, R. 1975 “‫ זרע רומא‬in 11Q tg Job xx, 7,” Israel Exploration Journal 25: 140–141. WHITE CRAWFORD, S. 2012 “Qumran: Caves, scrolls, and buildings,” in A Teacher for All Generations: Essays in Honor of James C. VanderKam (Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 153), Vol. 1, edited by E. F. Mason, S. I. Thomas, A. Schofield, and E. Ulrich, pp. 253– 273. Leiden: Brill. YADIN, Y. and NAVEH, J. 1989 “The Aramaic and Hebrew ostraca and jar inscriptions from Masada,” in Masada I: The Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–1965: Final Reports, edited by J. Aviram, G. Foerster, and E. Netzer, pp. 1–68. Jerusalem: The Israel Exploration Society; The Hebrew University of Jerusalem. YARDENI, A. 1997a “A draft of a deed on an ostracon from Khirbet Qumrân,” Israel Exploration Journal 47: 233–237. 1997b “Aramaic and Hebrew documentary texts,” in Aramaic, Hebrew and Greek Documentary Texts from Naḥal Ḥever and Other Sites, with an Appendix Containing Alleged Qumran Texts (The Seiyâl Collection II) (Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 27), by H. M. Cotton and A. Yardeni, pp. 9–129. Oxford: Clarendon Press. YELLIN, J. 2015 “A commentary on two scientific studies of the RUMA (‫ )רומא‬jar from Qumran,” Dead Sea Discoveries 22: 147–161.

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YELLIN, J., BROSHI, M., and ESHEL, H. 2001 “Pottery of Qumran and Ein Ghuweir: The first chemical exploration of provenience,” Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 321: 65–78. ZANGENBERG, J. 2004 “Opening up our view: Khirbet Qumran in a regional perspective,” in Religion and Society in Roman Palestine: Old Questions, New Approaches, edited by D. R. Edwards, pp. 170–187. London: Routledge.

Dennis MIZZI University of Malta [email protected]

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REMINISCENCES, THE 60S AND POST 80S Ann GINGELL-LITTLEJOHN Hon. Secretary The Archaeological Society Malta

Our paths first crossed when Tony and I were students in the late sixties at the then Royal University of Malta in Valletta, which moved to its present premises at Tal-Qroqq in 1967. He was reading Classics and I was doing an Honours degree in English. We took very different routes after graduation, Tony, a year older than me, graduating in 1967 and I in 1968. We would only meet again under very different circumstances in 1989, the year I went back to University aged 41 to read History of Art and Archaeology, probably as a result of an existential crisis after the death of my brother a year earlier. Tony, by then Head of the Department of Classics and Archaeology, was to be one of my lecturers in Archaeology. And how lucky I was to be to have him feeding my mind with new vistas, new areas of knowledge, new skills, fresh delights. Foremost among these delights were the archaeology-focused study tours, starting in 1990 with a memorable trip down the Aegean coast of Turkey, tours which Tony continues to organise indefatigably to this day. Through these intensive trips I met at first hand so many of the cultures that he and his nucleus of equally inspiring lecturers had introduced us to. My recollections of Tony the student are relatively vague as one tended at the time to stick to one’s degree cohort. I remember Tony as a good looking, diffident and unassuming young man, affable and rather reserved, not much different from today’s Tony in that respect. I seem to have been involved in different student organisations from Tony and the fact that I as a woman was actually on the committee of any student organisation at all, two in fact, was pretty unusual. One of the organisations went by the rather pompous name of the Society for the Promotion of Independent Expression, S.P.I.E. for short. Fellow members were Alfred Sant, Prime Minister of Malta several decades later, and Henri Frendo, for many years now Professor at the University of Malta, and others whose names escape me. S.P.I.E. published an aptly named journal called Ferment, in one issue of which, as I recall, hopefully correctly, Alfred Sant, a science undergraduate, wrote a very convincing article about the need for closer ties between Malta and Libya. Talk about foresight. I remember chairing a very avant garde debate at the University theatre around 1966 on the subject of the contraceptive pill. Of the participants, I am only sure of the name of law student Joe Galea Debono, who rose to be judge in the Maltese Courts of Law, who argued in favour of the Pill. The antis carried the day with a resounding majority said to have been spearheaded by a large contingent of theology students. Any other outcome would have been an abomination in 1960s Malta.

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The university was fee-paying at the time, with scholarships awarded to deserving students, unlike of course the present situation where, not only do Maltese and EU students not pay tuition fees but in addition Maltese students also receive a stipend. I’m under the impression that student numbers at the university were then around 600, with women far outnumbered by men. Student population in July 2017 stood at c. 11,500 and unlike the situation in the 1960s where I remember having contact during lectures with just one overseas student, a Greek young lady my age, the University of Malta is Alma Mater to over 1000 international students from 92 countries. What stimulating cross-fertilisation, so different from the generally closed insular mentality of the immediate post-independence years. Female undergraduates today outnumber males in all disciplines apart from Engineering and ICT and for many years now there have been more women graduates than men. To the best of my knowledge there were seven faculties when Tony and I were undergraduates: Arts, Science, Law, Medicine, Theology, Architecture and Civil Engineering, and Dental Surgery. Today’s student is lucky to be able to choose from 14 faculties, many in exciting new disciplines, and a number of faculties have set up interdisciplinary institutes, 18 in total, and 11 centres. I spent a fair amount of time at the Club or Students’ Union in Valletta, considered by the more conservative to be a den of iniquity. I hasten to add that I did not engage in iniquitous activities neither did I skive lectures and tutorials. I do not recall ever bumping into Tony at the Club. We may have been there at different times of day. We women were corralled within clearly defined spaces. I suppose one can almost say we were barely tolerated, though a lot of flirting went on and couples did tend to find their private little corner. For some odd reason we were not allowed to watch television and one of the most irksome restrictions was that we were not to cross the threshold into the holy of male holies, the billiards room upstairs. It could be that the blue language that rent the air was deemed to be offensive to our sensitive ears – men still bothered about such niceties in those far-off times – hence the solicitous need for our (over) protection. As I reminisce it is hard to believe, looking back, that we female students were not allowed to go to University in trousers. Young ladies today can thank us pioneers, the English undergraduates, who, when we moved to the cold and windswept campus in October 1967, rebelled against this discriminatory regulation and actually flouted it. In this we were championed by our enlightened British professor, our beloved Professor Richard Beck, a huge formative influence on so many of us, his students, and still so sadly missed. He won the day, one of his convincing arguments said to have been the unfairness that we should suffer the cold while the young male students, who incidentally always wore smart tailored jackets to University, were warmly clothed. He met strong resistance at Senate level – or was it Council? – from the upper echelons of the academic staff, notably the clerics, particularly the ultra conservative Mons. Professor Edoardo Coleiro, Tony’s Classics lecturer as it happens. Mons. Coleiro, as he was always known, fought tooth and nail against the introduction of a lax, immoral and indecent dress code (my words) which might prove a temptation to male students (my interpretation). He was most likely keen to protect the vulnerable seminarians, poor innocent young men, who used to sit in the front rows in the tiered Lecture Room 8 at the Valletta campus, lest

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they be distracted by a young lady in the room. Kudos to the few who dared speak to us. One such was Joe Friggieri, dubbed The Oracle by Prof. Beck, who didn’t become a priest and is a professor at the University of Malta, the other being Joe Debono who did, and is Canon Dr Debono, a German language specialist now serving in the diocese of Paderborn, Germany. Could it be that Mons. Coleiro was finally persuaded to capitulate when he saw he was meeting too much opposition, or was he warned of the direction being taken by women’s fashion? In 1966, Mary Quant popularised the mini skirt and some of us were wearing mini skirts, not yet micro skirt pelmets, to University. The wearing of trousers, anathema as it was to many old codgers, may have been seen as a lesser evil than the skirt after all. It will also surprise people to know that no woman could attend Mons. Coleiro’s lectures wearing the faintest smidgeon of make up, the punishment for the daring Jezebel being a tongue lashing and summary ejection from the lecture room. The mind boggles but this is the University Tony and I graduated from towards the end of the 60s. O tempora, o mores. I may come across as too hard on the late Professor of Classics. This is certainly not my intention, and I would not like to hurt the person in whose honour this account is being written who I dare say owes much of who he is today to the highly esteemed Professor. Mons. Coleiro taught me Classical Culture and sowed the first seed of my interest in the period, its people, its literature, its achievements, its buildings. What he did not know about his area of expertise was just not worth knowing. He was a disciplinarian, true, but absolutely passionate not to say obsessive about his subject. I clearly remember a tour he led to the site of Tas-Silġ, then being newly excavated by the Italian team, and he fired my imagination. I wonder whether my interest in archaeology may not have been triggered off by this old (… well, all of 52 at the time) man, this stern but so erudite academic whose enthusiasm and fervour had such a strong influence on me, though I was not to know it at the time. The same enthusiasm clearly inspired Tony Bonanno. Can we say that it was the common influence of Mons. Coleiro which brought us together again in 1989? Who knows? Whatever it was, my decision to return to University as an undergraduate was life-changing, without doubt an important aspect being Tony’s tours, flashes of which are indelibly etched on my memory. Will I ever forget walking down the Siq in Petra, coming round the bend and finally setting eyes on the famed Treasury in all its overwhelming splendour? Or the grandeur of the temple at Abu Simbel early on a sweltering spring morning, and almost having to pinch myself to believe I was really there? Or floating on the Dead Sea in Jordan, then hearing gunfire that evening on the Israeli side across the water from our hotel, reminding us in the middle of our idyll of the unrest in that part of the world? Or the sparkling azure tiles of the three madrasas surrounding the Registan in beautiful Samarkand during our trip to Uzbekistan, following the legendary Silk Road? Or the theatre in Philippi within its magical setting and Paul Xuereb, then librarian at the University of Malta and an actor in his leisure time, declaiming Shakespeare, perfectly intelligible from the uppermost row of the theatre? Or the flamingos and wild horses of the Camargue? Or the awesome Mezquita in Cordoba

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and the towering Giralda in Seville which left me winded by the time I had trudged up its winding ramps to the top? Or the impossibly massive Temple of Bacchus in Baalbek which we reached by travelling intrepidly through the Hezbollah-controlled Bekaa valley, paying bribes to be allowed through unharmed? Or the ethereal Hagia Sofia bathed in the light of a full moon? I’m sure Tony will be surprised to know that he was one of the people who changed my life.

ON TOUR WITH OUR HONORAND

Paul XUEREB formerly Librarian, University of Malta

Whilst my career as a professional librarian had led me to visit far-flung places like Jamaica, Fiji, Nigeria, Singapore and New Zealand, before 1989 I had never visited, for business or for pleasure, either the countries of North Africa or the Middle East. My wife Cecilia and I owe to our old University friend Anthony Bonanno the cultural revelations made to us when Easter after Easter we joined his guided archaeological/cultural tours of the Mediterranean and beyond. Under his friendly and always scholarly guidance our aesthetic sensibility was expanded and our knowledge of past antiquities and artistic achievements were broadened immeasurably. Geographically, the farthest we went with him was that enchanting country Iran, great land of an impressively ancient civilisation, which has probably captured my memory more than any other country to which the excursions took us, with the possible exception of that country now being martyred by the most cruel of civil wars, Syria. I consider myself fortunate to have visited that beautiful country well before its devastation by widespread warfare, and dread to think what cities like Homs and Aleppo look like today. I cannot omit mentioning a few of the outstanding sights some other countries revealed to me: the massive Crac des Chevaliers, overlooking a plain still called Plain of the Christians, in Syria, surely one of the outstanding examples of medieval fortifications anywhere; the picturesquely sited ruins of the Roman city of Volubilis in Morocco; the magic environment of the Temple of the oracle at Delphi, in Greece where even the swooping birds seemed to have been stage-managed by a master of the theatre, the staggering and nearsurrealistic beauty of Meteora with its monasteries perched on tall, slender pinnacles; my experience of reciting a speech from Twelfth Night for the friends who very kindly realised this would please me no end, in the fine Greek theatre at Philippi; the phantasmagoric landscapes of Cappadocia, in Turkey … Tony Bonanno attracted many people to his tours not only because of his great academic distinction, but also because of his charming personality and endless patience in dealing with people’s complaints. I shall never forget his clarity and erudition as he led us through sites like Volubilis, Hatti, Baalbek or Palmyra, just as I shall always remember the long dinner conversations he always marked with his urbanity and kindly sense of humour.

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THE TRAVELLER George CAMILLERI Visiting Professor of Dental Surgery, University of Malta

Tony Bonanno had organised a number of archaeology based trips mostly geared for his students, with older interested participants taken on board, but I first joined in 1990 on a trip to Western Turkey. This group of archaeology students and friends formed a compact group on a successful tour starting in Istanbul followed by other sites such as Troy, Pergamon, Ephesus and Bursa. Since then many of that original group followed Tony on his annual trips. He kept a low profile, took the front seat on the coach and kept his cool controlling a disparate and sometimes contentious motley. This he did quietly but firmly, although on a very few occasions he did explode. We owe Tony a big thanks for the unique opportunity he has afforded us to cover most of the Mediterranean basin. Although Classical history and civilisation was his obvious forte we also visited many prehistoric sites as well as those of the Phoenician and medieval periods. Tony took us to the borders of the Roman Empire and beyond. The Mediterranean basin stretching from Spain, France, Italy, Croatia, Albania, Bulgaria, Greece (Fig. 1), Cyprus, Turkey, Syria, Lebanon, Egypt and Morocco were all visited at least once. This

Fig. 1. Tony Bonanno winning the race at the stadium of Olympia, Greece, with fellow guests on one of the tours (2003; photograph reproduced by courtesy of George Camilleri).

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year, 2017, Serbia was an eye opener. Occasionally he strayed away from the Middle Sea and other countries visited included Iran, Mexico and the enthralling Uzbekistan. It is difficult to point out highlights but Ann Gingell-Littlejohn and Godfrey Wettinger’s wedding feast at Aphrodisias (where else?), the felucca sail down the Nile or Paul Xuereb’s soliloquy at Philippi were memorable. Tony’s successful efforts in establishing academic archaeology have resulted in an active and expanding University department. His local contributions to the lecture scene and his many publications have contributed to our knowledge. As an interested layman, I thank him for the many wonderful memories he has afforded us.

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS Joseph GALEA DEBONO formerly Judge in the Courts of Justice, Malta

Apart from a vague recollection of Tony as a junior undergraduate in the early sixties and, much later, through his prolific publications on archaeology, I had no personal knowledge of the man until 1990, when my wife and I joined the tour he had organised to the archaeological sites in western Turkey. Ever since we have followed him in his annual Easter tours across five continents, very often to sites which we would never have had the opportunity to visit, had it not been for his bold initiative. It was on these occasions that I first appreciated Tony’s self-effacing and calm character and his winning contagious half-smile visible through his ever-greying goatee. He would keep an unperturbed stance in the face of trivial and not so trivial incidents which are inevitable in tours of this nature and I only saw him blow his top once at a local guide who led us to a museum which turned out to be closed at that hour. Another time in Salonika we found our group ‘billeted’ in a hotel which was full of rowdy and ill-behaved students from Crete. While coming down to dinner, he was hard put to explain to his wife the reason why a used French letter was left hanging on the switchboard of the hotel’s lift. His firm but measured telephonic protest with the travel agent in Malta for choosing that hotel earned all the group a free bottle of wine at table that night. Some four years ago, while chatting at a wedding, we talked about the importance of regular exercise for ageing persons like the two of us and decided that, come winter, we should go for weekly constitutionals in the countryside. That was the beginning of a series of close encounters with Tony when I really got to know him as the unassuming perfect gentleman that he is. Gradually, these weekly walks, often in the company of Dr Carol Jaccarini, who is well versed in Maltese flora, started taking the nature of visits or revisits to archaeological sites all over Malta with Tony’s camera clicking away happily at some new feature we came across. On one such visit to tombs, surface quarries and apiaries in the Selmun promontory, we came across a multitude of World War II fortifications which were of particular interest to me. We revisited the promontory over and over again, filming every nook and cranny,

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combining Tony’s interest with my own, which I later discovered has in recent years been labelled: “conflict archaeology”. On my suggestion, Tony accepted that we should present all the material on Selmun in a lecture at Din l-Art Ħelwa, where we are both members of the Council. Since then, we have jointly delivered an annual presentation, the last three featuring the archaeological and military sites along the Victoria lines and the Delimara promontory. Apart from surveying all aspects of the military installations, Tony concentrated on the numerous archaeological sites on both sides of the Lines. On one occasion, we discovered that in what seemed to be an abandoned room at Dwejra, there were a number of palaeochristian tombs which had been converted into mangers. We have had our share of potential mishaps during these site visits. Once, returning to the car at Xrobb l-Għaġin, we found it ready to be engulfed by a grass fire on three sides and managed to drive away in the nick of time. On another occasion, while exploring a site at Wied ta’ Għajn Riħana, I got a phone call from the Police asking whether I had parked a car on a bit of waste land by a country track, as some works had to be done there. We doubled back to find the car completely surrounded by a five-inch layer of freshly laid concrete which some local council had decided should be dumped there on that particular day. We managed to float out of that one as well. On another visit to Wied Anġlu, on the Victoria Lines, it suddenly dawned on me that I had dropped my car keys into the ravine below probably while creeping on my backside under a bush which blocked the narrow ledge of the patrol line. We rushed back to the spot but there was no sign of the keys and we were stranded there until my wife drove out with a spare set. Once Tony had to climb down the whole depth of a tomb at Għemieri to retrieve a scale-rule which my butter fingers had dropped and he was not one bit flustered – outwardly at least. But the worst one of all was, when taking a short-cut from Dwejra Lines to Chadwick Lakes to film some tombs in the area, we almost overturned and plunged into a field at a lower level. Trying to avoid a deep rut in the soggy dirt track, I had veered out on what I assumed was a grassy bank at the edge only to find out that it was all grass but no bank underneath. The car dipped to one side as the front right wheel sagged down into the void below. For the next five minutes, we sat there looking at each other deliberating who should go out of the car first to fetch help. If he got out first from the passenger side, my weight on the driver’s seat would probably have tipped the balance and down I would go car and all. On the other hand, if I went out first, there was no guarantee that the car – Tony and all – would not suddenly fall on top of me. Hobson’s choice indeed. That is where Tony’s calm logic prevailed. I was to get out first while he was to make a quick exit from his side if the car showed signs of tipping over. The plan worked and rushing to the other side I held the car as best as I could to enable Tony to get out. He emerged wearing a Cheshire-cat smile and was as cool as a cucumber. I was in outright panic. We still had to salvage my wife’s car which was still precariously balancing only on its right rear wheel. Tony gallantly volunteered to trudge up the hill to signal for help while I stood there for two hours with a useless mobile phone whose battery had run out, after wasting ten minutes

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trying to convince an inane girl at a call centre that Dwejra was not a place in Gozo only. But that’s too long a story to relate here. Such incidents in life show you the measure of the man. He is calm and collected in adversity, ever courteous to all and even willing to turn turtle in a car when the captain had to abandon ship. I can only wish Tony many more years of explorations of archaeological sites, possibly with a more capable driver and in a car which does not have a jinx.

THREE BOY SCOUTS AND MORE Carol JACCARINI formerly Consultant Paediatrician, St Luke’s Hospital, Malta

Over the last three or four years, Tony Bonanno has been a regular walking companion of Judge Joseph Galea Debono and myself (Fig. 2). Like three adventurous boy scouts we would look forward to our weekly rendezvous when for a couple of hours, we would ramble along stony footpaths, traipse around fields or climb arduous rocky high ground, away from it all. Then, oblivious of everything, we would scour the surrounding terrain and talk about everything under the sun. During these mini-treks Tony’s watchful eye would take in every detail and be on the alert for any topographical or archaeological features – a pair of cart-ruts, a Roman surface quarry, a Punic burial pit or a line of megaliths – which he may have overlooked in the past and could possibly be the subject for further study. Bonanno is a well-known name in archaeology both locally and abroad. Over nearly thirty years he has organised cultural-archaeological Easter study tours to many exotic places around the Mediterranean and beyond. The most memorable peregrinations were those to western Turkey (1990), Morocco (1993), Southern Spain (1994), Syria, Jordan and Lebanon (1995), Egypt (1997), Provence, France (2000), Croatia and the Dalmatian coast (2003), Sardinia (2004), Cyprus (2008), Brittany, France (2009), North-East Spain and Portugal (2010), Albania (2013), Uzbekistan (2014), and Krakow and its environs, Poland (2016). As regular participants, my wife and I have enjoyed some unusual modes of transporthorse-drawn cabs, donkey, and camel rides, sailing in a felucca, cruising on a river boat, and racing in safari jeeps across the Wadi Rum desert. These were truly unforgettable times, each trip being a learning and fun experience. Among the mementos of these Easter breaks, I have some pictures of a “heavily pregnant” Professor Bonanno, dressed up in ethnic Turkish costume during “a village wedding reception”, dancing to traditional music and the rhythmic sound of drums, cymbals and pipes (Fig. 3). Other photos snapped during the visit to Egypt, show him in festive, transparent silk robes and a turban headdress while making merry on an idyllic moonlit night cruising up the Nile. Although reserved by nature, Tony relishes being in good company and it was during these jovial, carefree moments that the fun side of him was revealed.

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Fig. 2. Joseph Galea Debono, Anthony Bonanno and Carol Jaccarini on one of their country walks (photograph reproduced by courtesy of Carol Jaccarini).

On a more personal note, I recall one long weekend in 2001, when we invited him to stay with us in Gozo. He was then in full swing preparing for the second revised edition of his Illustrated Guide to Prehistoric Gozo (1986) and we spent time revisiting some of the lesser-known sites, which unlike Ġgantja and the Brocktorff Circle in Xagħra, were off the beaten track and rather difficult to reach. We explored the Bronze Age silo pits on top of In-Nuffara; the temple at Ta’ Marżiena, between Munxar and Sannat; the megalithic temple at L-Imrejżbiet/Tal-Qiegħa at Għajnsielem; the troglodytic caves of Il-Mixta, Għajn Abdul; the long stretch of cart ruts at Tas-Sidra, Qala and the ones at Ta’ Lambert and Ta’ Blankas in Xewkija; as well as the rock-cut pans along the Mġarr ix-Xini valley. That

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Fig. 3. Trip to Turkey, West Anatolia (1990). A ‘pregnant’ Tony Bonanno (right) in ethnic costume during a traditional marriage feast, with – from right to left – Grace Jaccarini, Mary Galea Debono, and Ann Gingell-Littlejohn (photograph reproduced by courtesy of Carol Jaccarini).

was when I was deeply struck by his wide knowledge of Gozo’s cultural heritage and his readiness to share his passion with others. A little-known side of Bonanno is his keen interest in the natural environment. Like myself he has had a life-long fascination with Malta’s avifauna, wild shrubs and flowers. I noted this during our country walks, when a common topic of conversation would often be the aromatic and medicinal plants as well as those of local culinary and folklore interest. Among these, I can mention the wild asparagus (spraġ), fennel (busbies), aloe vera (sabbara), thyme, (sagħtar), sweet marjoram (merqtux), sweet basil (ħabaq), rosemarie (klin) and camomile (kamumella). Other favourites include Malta’s national flower, the rock centaury (widnet il-baħar), the asphodel (berwieq), of Greek mythology fame and the ubiquitous acanthus (ħannewija) that inspired the Corinthian leaf-motif of classical GrecoRoman architecture. Behind Tony’s air of gravitas that commands respect there is a modest and unassuming academic, a learned person who does not blow his own trumpet. He possesses a sharp analytical mind, basing his reasoned arguments on firm scientific evidence and taking into account the available knowledge. His matter-of-fact approach and intellectual integrity have been inspirational.

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Throughout all these years of friendship I have found him to be a pleasant and congenial person, soft spoken and sparse in his words, one who is wise, to the point and measured in what he says. His composure is most admirable. In conversation, he is not just a good listener, but one who is attentive, understanding and responsive: in fact, an active listener, unfortunately a rare trait among us Maltese. He is generous with his time and knowledge, helping all those who consult him including bona fide researchers like myself. I can vouch for this. When once I presented him with a draft study on the enigmatic rock-cut pans of Mġarr ix-Xini valley, Xewkija, co-authored with my medical colleague Maurice Cauchi and later published in Melita Historica (12(4), 1999, 419–444), he was most encouraging, carefully going over the script and making several valuable suggestions. Professor Bonanno is a man of reserved dignity, an outstanding scholar whom it has been a great privilege to know. I thank him for his lasting contribution to the study of Mediterranean archaeology and sincerely wish him ad multos et faustissimos annos.

ANCIENT NEAR EASTERN STUDIES (FORMERLY ABR-NAHRAIN) Supplement Series Series Editors: Antonio & Claudia Sagona

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