Ivories, Rock Reliefs and Merv: Studies on the Ancient Near East in Honour of Georgina Herrmann (Marru, 15) 3963272082, 9783963272080

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marru 15 Ivories, Rock Reliefs and Merv

Ivories, Rock Reliefs and Merv Studies on the Ancient Near East in Honour of Georgina Herrmann

Edited by Dirk Wicke und John Curtis

www.zaphon.de

marru 15 Zaphon

marru-15-FS-Herrmann-Cover.indd 1

06.09.2022 16:03:22

Ivories, Rock Reliefs and Merv Studies on the Ancient Near East in Honour of Georgina Herrmann

Edited by Dirk Wicke and John Curtis

marru Studien zur Vorderasiatischen Archäologie Studies in Near and Middle Eastern Archaeology

Band 15 Herausgegeben von Ellen Rehm und Dirk Wicke

Ivories, Rock Reliefs and Merv Studies on the Ancient Near East in Honour of Georgina Herrmann

Edited by Dirk Wicke and John Curtis

Zaphon Münster 2022

Illustration on the cover: Composite drawing of ivory blinker discovered in Nimrud. Drawing by Dirk Wicke.

Ivories, Rock Reliefs and Merv. Studies on the Ancient Near East in Honour of Georgina Herrmann Edited by Dirk Wicke and John Curtis marru 15

© 2022 Zaphon, Enkingweg 36, Münster (www.zaphon.de) All rights reserved. Printed in Germany. Printed on acid-free paper.

ISBN 978-3-96327-208-0 (Buch) ISBN 978-3-96327-209-7 (E-Book) ISSN 2569-5851

Georgina Herrmann in Merv (courtesy by Rolex).

Content Editors’ note ....................................................................................................... XI Georgina Herrmann ........................................................................................ XIII Georgina Herrmann: Bibliography 1967–2021 ............................................. XVII Ivories Annie Caubet From Arslan Tash to Ugarit: Remarks on ivory beds, suckling cows and grazing deer .......................................................................................................... 3 Serena Maria Cecchini The stele of Melqart: A reappraisal .................................................................... 21 Megan Cifarelli Another look at the Hasanlu ivories ................................................................... 39 Paul Collins Some thoughts on the Assyrian ivories from the Temple of Nabû at Nimrud ...... 69 Harriet Crawford An essay on time and distance ........................................................................... 83 John Curtis A bronze lotus flower handle from Nimrud ........................................................ 89 Stephanie Dalley Narrative art and the Hasanlu beaker: Proposal for a coherent interpretation linked to Gilgamesh ................................................................... 107 Eric Gubel Phoenician lionesses devouring Nubians and the Egyptian myth of the Distant Goddess (Decoding Phoenician Art – IV) ...................................... 127 Muzahim Mahmoud Hussein Methods of draining and directing water discovered in the palaces and temples of Nimrud ..................................................................................... 145 Stefania Mazzoni Ivories in the debate on the Iron I–II archaeology of Syria .............................. 159

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Alan Millard Fitters’ letters .................................................................................................... 177 Julian Edgeworth Reade Archaeological encounters in 1960s Iraq ......................................................... 187 Elizabeth Simpson Carved ivory plaques from Megaron 3 at Gordion ........................................... 211 Claudia E. Suter An unusual ivory panel from Samaria and the composition and realia of banquet scenes in the Iron Age Levant ........................................ 233 Dirk Wicke Images across media: Comparative remarks on some Levantine ivories and metal bowls ................................................................................................ 251 Rock Reliefs Vesta Sarkhosh Curtis Further thoughts on Varegna, the royal falcon, and Verethragna, the victorious warrior god ................................................................................. 285 Judith A. Lerner Some thoughts on the so-called ‘Gayomard seals’ ........................................... 299 Prudence O. Harper Sasanians reimagined: Four Qajar drawings .................................................... 311 Robert Hillenbrand From rags to riches: The development of the zone of transition in pre-Mongol Iranian dome chambers ................................................................ 327 John MacGinnis A Parthian manor on the Lower Zab ................................................................ 347 Bruno Overlaet Sasanian royalty at Naqsh-i Rustam: Documenting and interpreting rock reliefs ........................................................................................................ 365 Ursula Seidl Aphrodite mit Eros in der sasanidischen Kunst ............................................... 387 Merv Warwick Ball ‘Little Merv’: Notes on Marv al-Rud, or ‘Merv of the River’ .......................... 401

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Antonio Invernizzi A throne for Mithridates in Nisa? Ivory furnishings in Central Asia ............... 417 Kathy Judelson Working alongside Georgina, 1992–2000 ........................................................ 441 Gabriele Puschnigg Sasanian perspectives: From antiquity to the medieval period ........................ 445 Nataliya Smirnova Parthian coins from Merv held in the collection of the Pushkin Museum (Moscow) ............................................................................. 463 Helen Wang Money on the Silk Road – twenty years on ...................................................... 499 Colour plates

Editors’ note The editors would like to thank all those colleagues who have so enthusiastically contributed to this volume and who have so willingly followed the style-sheet. Any inconsistences that remain are of course the responsibility of the editors. Invitations to contribute to this volume were only sent out in May 2021 so thanks are due to all who managed to produce articles within a relatively short time frame. A number of other colleagues would have contributed if the lead-in time had been longer, and others would have put their names to a tabula gratulatoria had there been one in the volume. For laying-out the articles, placing the illustrations and preparing the volume for the press, best thanks are due to Dr Alexander Tamm of the University of Frankfurt. We are also very grateful to Dr Kai A. Metzler of Zaphon Publishing and Prof. Dr Ellen Rehm as co-editor of the series marru for agreeing to include this volume in named series as well as for their advice and support. All mistakes remain, of course, ours. The Editors and all contributing friends and colleagues wish to thank Georgina Herrmann for her dedicated work in archaeology over many years and present this volume as a small token of esteem and gratitude. Dirk Wicke and John Curtis

Georgina Herrmann Georgina Herrmann celebrates her 85th birthday on 20th October 2022 and this volume of papers is offered to her by friends and colleagues as a mark of the esteem in which she is held. She has achieved great distinction in various branches of Ancient Near Eastern studies and although it may be invidious to single out individual elements one cannot help but refer to Sasanian reliefs, Nimrud ivories and the excavations at Merv. The extent of her scholarly output is little short of incredible, and characterized always by clear-sightedness, lucidity of style and avoidance of cant or jargon. She has been an inspiring teacher and a popular friend and colleague. She is seemingly tireless and even in her 85th year shows no sign of slowing down; long may she continue to make contributions of fundamental importance to our discipline. Georgina Herrmann (née Thompson) was born on 20 October 1937 to John and Gladys Thompson and was brought up in Wales. Her interest in the archaeology of the Middle East was sparked during a posting to Tehran as a secretary in the British Embassy, and this induced her to study for a postgraduate diploma in Western Asiatic Archaeology with Sir Max Mallowan at the Institute of Archaeology in London. She also studied with David Neil Mackenzie at this time, refering to him as ‘my teacher’ in Iranische Denkmäler. He appears to have directed her towards Iranian Archaeology. She followed Mallowan to Oxford in 1962, when he was elected a fellow of All Souls College. There, based at St Hugh’s College, and supervised by Mallowan, she wrote a D.Phil thesis on ‘The Source, Distribution, History and Use of Lapis Lazuli in Western Asia from the Earliest Times to the End of the Seleucid Era’. This was submitted in 1966, and a summary of the main findings was speedily published in Iraq XXX (1968). On completion of her D.Phil thesis she was awarded the Joanna Randall MacIver Junior Research Fellowship at St Hugh’s College which she held from 1966–68. During this period she began working on Sasanian reliefs and was appointed honorary editor of the fledgling journal Iran in 1966. She edited Iran from volume 4 (1966) until volume 20 (1982), jointly with Professor C. E. Bosworth from volume 6 (1968) onwards, and it is largely thanks to Georgina’s stewardship that Iran has the reputation for high quality production and academic excellence that the journal enjoys today. In the early 1970s Georgina was able to make excursions into the field. Then as now she was indomitable and thought nothing of participating in the 1973 excavation at Nush-i Jan (and taking responsibility for the photography) with two young children in tow, with only occasional help from a child-minder. Then in 1974 she joined the German excavations at Takht-i Soleiman, but this time without children. In 1974 and 1975 travel to Iran and study there was facilitated by fellowships from Lucy Cavendish College Cambridge and Lady Margaret Hall Oxford. Thus, during study visits to Iran in 1974, 1975 and 1977 she was able to study

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selected Sasanian rock reliefs. Despite the fact that these reliefs had often been described, drawn and photographed there was not in existence a detailed record that was adequate for modern study. The method devised by Georgina involved making a photogrammetric record of the reliefs which could then be used to make detailed drawings which were later checked against the original reliefs. In this way, Sasanian reliefs at Naqsh-i Rustam, Bishapur, Sarab-i Bahram and Tang-i Qandil were carefully documented and photographs and drawings (by Rosalind Howell) accompanied by detailed descriptions of the reliefs were published in five fascicules of Iranische Denkmäler (sub-titled Iranische Felsreliefs) between 1977 and 1989. In addition there were editions of the inscriptions by Professor David Neil Mackenzie. Apart from the fact that these fascicules are invaluable tools for the study of Sasanian reliefs, they are an important record of monuments that are fast deteriorating, partly due to adverse environmental conditions and partly due to other depredations. Georgina’s interest in Sasanian art was reflected in her 1977 book in the Elsevier-Phaidon series entitled The Iranian Revival. This covers the Parthian and Sasanian periods in Iran and still remains a very useful survey of an understudied period in Iranian history and archaeology. While Mallowan’s postgraduate student, Georgina had helped him in the latter stages of preparing his monumental excavation report Nimrud and its Remains that was eventually published in 1966, giving him, in Mallowan’s words, “invaluable technical assistance for the final revision”. This introduced her to the rich world of Nimrud ivories. Thousands of fragments had been discovered during the excavations of the British School of Archaeology at Nimrud between 1949 and 1963, directed first by Mallowan himself and latterly by David Oates. Mallowan himself made a stab at publication and invited Georgina to collaborate with him in publishing the ivories found in Room SW7 in Fort Shalmaneser. This appeared in 1974 as Ivories from Nimrud, fascicule 3. By the time of Mallowan’s death in 1978, however, the vast bulk of the huge corpus of ivories found at Nimrud remained unpublished and there was no plan to arrange for their study and publication. It is hugely to Georgina’s credit that she has taken this project under her wing and single-handedly has made great inroads into this publication backlog. Four more fascicules have been published, on the ivories from Rooms SW 11/12, SW37, T10 and other locations in Fort Shalmaneser, and the ivories from the North-West Palace. Even now Georgina is working on yet another volume, the ivories from the Burnt Palace. These detailed studies have now been complemented by an attractively illustrated volume on Ancient Ivory: Masterpieces of the Assyrian Empire (Thames and Hudson 2017) bringing what might be an arcane subject into the public domain. An interest in the Nimrud ivories has thus occupied Georgina throughout much of her career, and her primary publications of the ivories themselves have been accompanied by a stream of articles discussing the Syrian to Levantine origins of many of the ivories, possible workshops, manufacturing techniques, and so on. These various studies and the catalogues themselves amount to an immense contribution to the study of ancient ivories which cannot be overestimated. These publications set new standards in the documentation of ancient ivories, e. g., in systematically studying the back of the carved pieces for toolmarks and fitters’ marks, paying close attention to the working of ivories and their use.

Georgina Herrmann

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From 1985 until 1993 Georgina was a Lecturer in Mesopotamian Archaeology at the Institute of Archaeology, University of London, which became part of University College London in 1991. This was a post that was shared with Dr Harriet Crawford, with the subject being divided between them along chronological lines. Georgina was a Reader from 1993 until her retirement in 2002, and is now an Honorary Professor, and a long line of students are still obliged to her for her support, passionate teaching and counsel. In 1989 she took part in the British Museum excavations at Nimrud and Balawat, which although very successful were not able to be continued because of the 1st Gulf War. Georgina therefore turned her attention to Merv in Turkmenistan, one of the greatest cities on the Silk Roads with occupation stretching from the Achaemenid to the Sasanian period and beyond. In 1991 she set up the International Merv Project, co-directed by Dr Kakamurad Kurbansakhatov, which had as its intention the mapping and archaeological investigation of Erk-Kala dating from the Achaemend period and Gyaur-Kala founded by Antiochus I (281–261 BC). In the course of nine seasons of excavation between 1992 and 2000 many remarkable discoveries were made, all fully and promptly reported in preliminary articles in the journal Iran. It is gratifying that Merv was designated by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site in 1999. As a spin-off from the archaeological project another programme was initiated to record important religious and secular Islamic-period monuments in the Merv oasis, and the first volume in this series, on traditional buildings of the Karakum, authored by Georgina herself, appeared in 1999. Throughout her career Georgina received unwavering support from her husband, the art historian Luke Herrmann, and we are sure she would want us to pay tribute to him here. They married in 1965. Luke was then an AssistantKeeper in the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford, responsible for cataloguing English watercolours and drawings and specialising in Turner and the brothers Paul and Thomas Sandby. He was appointed a lecturer in art history at the University of Leicester in 1967, rising to professor and head of department before his retirement in 1986. In the early years of their marriage Georgina and Luke lived first in Clipston, then in Sibbertoft, both in Leicestershire, and finally they moved to an old vicarage in Monmouthshire where Georgina still lives. Luke passed away in 2016, leaving Georgina and their two sons, Mark and Jeremy. Georgina has received many well-deserved honours and prizes. In 1968, she was elected a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries of London, and in 1996 she was awarded the Rolex Award for Enterprise in Cultural Heritage for her work at Merv. In 1999, she became a Fellow of the British Academy, and served on the Council of the British Academy between 2012 and 2015. In 2001, she received an OBE. The reputation that she now enjoys worldwide is evident from the contributions to this Festschrift.

Georgina Herrmann Bibliography 1967–2021 Books 1967 The source, distribution, history and use of Lapis Lazuli in western Asia from the earliest times to the end of the Seleucid era. Unpublished DPhilthesis. Oxford. 1974 Ivories from Nimrud III. Ivories from Room SW.7 Fort Shalmaneser. London (with M. E. L. Mallowan). 1977a The Iranian Revival. Oxford. 1977b Iranische Felsreliefs D, Naqsh-i Rustam 5 and 8. Sasanian Reliefs attributed to Hormuzd II and Narseh, Iranische Denkmäler 8/II. Berlin. 1980 Iranische Felsreliefs E, The Sasanian Rock Reliefs at Bishapur: Part 1, Iranische Denkmäler 9/II. Berlin. 1981 Iranische Felsreliefs F, The Sasanian Rock Reliefs at Bishapur: Part 2, Iranische Denkmäler 10/II. Berlin. 1983 Iranische Felsreliefs G, The Sasanian Rock Reliefs at Bishapur: Part 3, Iranische Denkmäler 11/II. Berlin (with D. N. Mackenzie). 1986 Ivories from Nimrud IV. Ivories from Room SW37 Fort Shalmaneser. London. 1989 Iranische Felsreliefs I, The Sasanian Rock Reliefs at Naqsh-i Rustam, Naqsh-i Rustam 6, The Triumph of Shapur I, Iranische Denkmäler 11/II. Berlin (with D. N. Mackenzie). 1992 Ivories from Nimrud V. The small Collections from Fort Shalmaneser. London. 1996a The Ancient Cities of Merv, Turkmenistan: a Visitor’s Guide. London. 1996b The Furniture of Western Asia. Ancient and Traditional: Papers of the Conference held at the Institute of Archaeology, University College London, June 28 to 30, 1993. Mainz (edited with N. Parker). 1999 Monuments of Merv: Traditional Buildings of the Karakum. London. 2002 The Monuments of Merv: a Scanned Archive of Photographs and Plans. London (with H. Coffey, S. Laidlaw and K. Kurbansakhatov). 2007 After Alexander: Central Asia before Islam. Proceedings of the British Academy 133. London (edited with J. Cribb). 2008 Ivories from Nimrud VI. Ivories from the North West Palace. London (with S. Laidlaw and H. Coffey). 2013 Ivories from Nimrud VII. Ivories from Rooms SW11/12 and T10 Fort Shalmaneser. London (with S. Laidlaw). 2017 Ancient Ivory, Masterpieces of the Assyrian Empire. London.

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Articles Lapis lazuli: the early phases of its trade, Iraq 30, 21–57. The Darabgird relief – Ardashir or Shahpur ?, Iran 7, 63–88. The sculptures of Bahram II, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, 165–171. Early Sasanian stoneworking: a preliminary report, Iranica Antiqua 16, 151–160. 1983 Lapislazuli. B. Archäologisch, Reallexikon der Assyriologie und vorderasiatischen Archäologie VI/7–8, 489–492 (with P.R.S. Moorey). 1989a Parthian and Sasanian saddlery: new light from the Roman west. In: L. de Meyer and E. Haerinck (eds), Archaeologia Iranica et Orientalis: Miscellanea in honorem Louis Vanden Berghe. Gent. 757–809. 1989b The Nimrud Ivories, 1: The Flame and Frond School, Iraq 51, 85–109. 1992 The Nimrud Ivories, 2: A Survey of the Traditions’. In: B. Hrouda (ed.), Von Uruk nach Tuttul. Eine Festschrift für Eva Strommenger. Münchener vorderasiatische Studien 12. Mainz. 65–79. 1993 The international Merv project: preliminary report on the first season (1992), Iran 31, 39–62 (with V. M. Masson and K. Kurbansakhatov). 1994 The international Merv project: preliminary report on the second season (1993), Iran 32, 53–75 (with K. Kurbansakhatov). 1995a The international Merv project: preliminary report on the third season (1994), Iran 33, 31–60 (with K. Kurbansakhatov). 1995b ‘Through the glass darkly’: reflections on some ladies from Merv, Iranica Antiqua 30, 141–158 (with S. J. Simpson). 1995c A carved bone object from Tell Abu al-Kharaz in Jordan: a Palestinian workshop for bone and ivory?, Levant XXVII, 145–163 (with P. M. Fischer). 1995d The “Silk Road” cities of Merv and “space archaeology”, Bulletin of the Research Center for Silk Roadology, Silk Roadology I: Space Archaeology. Nara. 71–84 (with G. Barratt). 1996a Ivory furniture pieces from Nimrud, north Syrian evidence for a regional tradition of furniture manufacture’. In: G. Herrmann and N. Parker (eds), The Furniture of Western Asia, Ancient and Traditional. Mainz. 153–164. 1996b The international Merv project: preliminary report on the fourth season (1995), Iran 34, 1–22 (with K. Kurbansakhatov and S. J. Simpson). 1996c Merv, “Queen of the World”, uncovering a city on the Great Silk Road, Minerva 7/6, 15–22. 1996d Space archaeology and the cities of Merv, Space Archaeology I/1, 8–9 (with G. Barratt). 1997a The Nimrud Ivories, 3: The Assyrian tradition. In: H. Waetzoldt and H. Hauptmann (eds), Assyrien im Wandel der Zeiten. Heidelberger Studien zum Alten Orient 6. Heidelberg. 285–290. 1997b A Central Asian city on the Silk Road: ancient and medieval Merv, Archaeology International 1, 32–36. 1997c The international Merv project: preliminary report on the fifth season (1996), Iran 35, 1–33 (with K. Kurbansakhatov and S. J. Simpson). 1997d Early and medieval Merv: a tale of three cities, Proceedings of the British Academy 94, 1–43. 1968 1969 1970 1981

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1998a The international Merv project: preliminary report on the sixth season (1997), Iran 36, 53–75 (with K. Kurbansakhatov and S. J. Simpson). 1998b Reflections on the four winged genie: a pottery jar and an ivory panel from Nimrud, Iranica Antiqua 33, 107–134 (with J. E. Curtis). 1999a A forgotten city unearthed, Geographical 71/9, 84. 1999b The international Merv project: preliminary report on the seventh season (1998), Iran 37, 1–24 (with K. Kurbansakhatov and S. J. Simpson). 2000a The international Merv project: preliminary report on the eighth season (1999), Iran 38, 1–31 (with K. Kurbansakhatov and S. J. Simpson). 2000b Taste, perception and colour. In: R. Dittmann et al. (eds), Variatio Delectat: Iran und der Westen. Gedenkschrift für Peter Calmeyer. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 272. Münster. 347–354. 2000c The rock reliefs of Sasanian Iran. In: J. E. Curtis (ed.), Mesopotamia and Iran in the Parthian and Sasanian Periods: Rejection and Revival c. 238 BC – AD 642. London. 35–45. 2000d Ivory carving of first millennium workshops, traditions and diffusion. In: C. Uehlinger (ed.), Images as media. Orbis biblicus et orientalis 175. Fribourg. 267–282. 2001 The international Merv project: preliminary report on the ninth season (2000), Iran 39, 1–31 (with K. Kurbansakhatov and S. J. Simpson). 2002 The Nimrud Ivories, 5: The ‘Ornate group’. In: L. al-Gailani Werr et al. (eds), Of pots and plans. Papers on the archaeology and history of Mesopotamia and Syria. London. 128–142. 2003 Who used ivories in the early first millennium BC?. In: T. Potts et al. (eds), Culture through objects. Ancient Near Eastern studies in honour of P. R. S. Moorey. Oxford. 377–402 (with A. Millard). 2005/6 Roger Moorey (1937–2004), Archiv für Orientforschung 51, 427–429. 2005 Naming, defining, explaining; a view from Nimrud. In: C. Suter and C. Uehlinger (eds), Crafts and images in contact, studies on Eastern Mediterranean art of the first millennium BCE. Orbis biblicus et orientalis 210. Fribourg. 11–21. 2008 The ivories from Nimrud. In: J. E. Curtis, H. McCall, D. Collon and L. al-Gailani Werr (eds), New Light on Nimrud, Proceedings of the Nimrud conference 11th–13th March 2002. London. 225–232. 2012a Some Assyrianizing ivories found at Nimrud: could they be Urartian?. In: S. Kroll, C. Gruber, U. Hellwag, M. Roaf and P. Zimansky (eds), BianiliUrartu, The Proceedings of the Symposium held in Munich 12–14 October 2007. Louvain. 339–350. 2012b Some Phoenician furniture pieces. In: H. Baker, K. Kaniuth and A. Otto (eds), Stories of Long Ago, Festschrift für Michael D. Roaf. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 397. Münster 2012. 241–248. 2013 Assyrian Nimrud and the Phoenicians, Archaeology International 16, 84–95. 2015 Syro-Phoenician ivories at Nimrud. In: P. Ciafardoni and D. Giannessi (eds), From the Treasures of Syria: Essays on Art and Archaeology in honour of Stefania Mazzoni. Nederlands Historisch-Archeologisch Instituut in het Nabije Oosten (Istanbul) 126. Leiden. 163–174 (with S. Laidlaw).

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2020 Austen Henry Layard, Nimrud and His Ivories. In: S. Ermidoro, C. Riva and L. Milano (eds), Rethinking Layard 1817–2017. Atti del convegno promosso dall’istituto Veneto di Scienze, Lettere ed Arti e Università Ca’ Foscari Venezia, Dipartimento di Studi Umanistici (Venezia, 5–6 marzo 2018). Venice. 91–114. 2021 Glass Inlays in Phoenician Ivories. In: V. Boschloos, B. Overlaet, I. Moriah Swinnen and V. van der Stede (eds), Travels through the Orient and the Mediterranean World: Essays presented to Eric Gubel. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 302. Gent. 201–216 (with S. Laidlaw). Forthcoming Attempting to bring order out of chaos. Connoisseurship as a fundamental tool. Reviews 1970 D. N. Wilber, Persepolis: the Archaeology of Parsa, Seat of the Persian Kings (London 1969), Antiquaries Journal 50, 371. 1974 S. A. Matheson, Persia: An Archaeological Guide (London 1972), Antiquaries Journal 54, 93–94. 1978 D. Thompson, Stucco from Chal Tarkhan-Eshqabad near Rayy (Warminster 1976), Antiquaries Journal 58, 406–408. 1982 O. W. Muscarella, The Catalogue of Ivories from Hasanlu, Iran. University Museum Monographs 40 (Philadelphia 1980), Journal of the American Oriental Society 102, 542–543. 1990 O. W. Muscarella, Bronze and Iron: Ancient Near Eastern Artefacts in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York 1988), Journal of Field Archaeology 17, 488–490. 2004 J. Oates and D. Oates, Nimrud. An Assyrian Imperial City Revealed (London 2001), American Journal of Archaeology 108, 642–643. 2021 Joint review of F. R. Allchin, N. Hammond and W. Ball (eds), The Archaeology of Afghanistan from Earliest Times to the Timurid period (revised ed., Edinburgh 2019) and W. Ball, Archaeological Gazetteer of Afghanistan (revised ed., Oxford 2019), Antiquaries Journal 101, 424–428.

Ivories

Sphinx from Room S30, Nimrud, Fort Shalmaneser (ND 7559, after IN V, No. 95).

From Arslan Tash to Ugarit Remarks on ivory beds, suckling cows and grazing deer Annie Caubet Abstract Following the recently published corpus of ivories from Arslan Tash (2018), observations on the technique lead to reflections regarding their iconography and significance. The unexpected association of the grazing deer and the suckling cow images, find its roots in the Late Bronze Age, as indicated by comparison with the corpus from Ugarit. Used to decorate royal beds, thrones, and drinking cups, the double motive served in the expression of royal propaganda and elite life style. The 2018 catalogue of the Arslan Tash ivories: An assessment Georgina Herrmann’s monumental work on the Nimrud ivories was a constant inspiration for the team who recently published the catalogue of the ivories from Arslan Tash (henceforward AT).1 The project began in 2005 as conservation of the pieces preserved in the Aleppo National Museum, a campaign undertaken under the auspices of the Louvre with the cooperation of the Department of Antiquities of Syria and the Syro-Italian expedition at Arslan Tash (Fontan and Affanni 2018). The 112 ivory pieces discovered by the expedition directed by the French Assyriologist François Thureau-Dangin in 1928 had been promptly published (Thureau-Dangin 1931), and shared between the Aleppo Museum and the Louvre in Paris. But illicit excavations conducted soon after the archaeologists had left, unearthed a number of ivory artefacts, now dispersed between Germany, Israel and the USA. They are now integrated for the first time in a complete corpus. The 2018 book begins with the troubled history of the finds (by Fontan); the archaeological context is revised in the light of recent excavations by the Syro-Italian team at AT (by Cecchini and Venturi); technical research includes examination of the debitage, the carving and fixing systems (Affanni, Caubet, Poplin); chemical analysis were conducted on the pigments vestiges and gold applications (Fontan et al.); and a new philological study of the Haza’el inscription and the engraved signs is based on recent epigraphic discoveries (Amadasi-Guzzo). The comprehensive I am grateful to Hartmut Matthäus, Robert Merrillees, Marguerite Yon and Nick Wyatt for their kind advice. My thanks to Caroline Florimont, Musée du Louvre DAO for the new drawing and discussion of Fig. 7. 1

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Annie Caubet

illustrations, photographs, line drawings and infra-red pictures, concentrate on the condition of the pieces, the ivory growth lines, the tool marks, the fixation systems, etc. The catalogue is ordered according to imagery subjects, as it was in the publicatio princeps: human figures, winged anthropomorphic figures, animals and hybrids, vegetal and geometric designs. The few stylistic remarks are limited to observations on animal morphology (by Poplin). For reasons of space and time, the 2018 catalogue does not address the iconographic aspects: the first aim was to serve as a solid base for further studies on art and style. The main conclusions drawn from the different chapters concern the origin, date, technique and function. Although the AT corpus was found in a secondary context, like the Nimrud ivories, it is fairly homogeneous, indicating a single source. The ivory corpus from AT is datable to the late 9th century BC, a production of Damascus, probably connected to the historical king Haza’el (c. 843–806). It came as booty, possibly following the campaign of the Assyrians against Damascus in 773. The corpus numbers a total of 304 pieces, including 30 unidentified fragments: a modest amount compared to the finds from Nimrud. It is composed almost exclusively of plaques cut to be applied on furniture, with the exception of 3 pins and 2 (or more) statuettes of lion, in three dimensions, probably parts of furniture. The techniques are homogeneous: debitage, carving, polychromy and gilding, fixing systems, and rare usage of incrustation, are consistent throughout the whole assemblage, which consisted of several thrones and beds. The imagery on the plaques is limited to individual motifs: there are no narrative friezes, such as banquet or hunting scenes favoured by the Nimrud ensemble. Of the anthropomorphic figures, the largest group consists of the Lady in the window (30), followed by the Birth of Horus2 (22), and the Genies and sacred tree (13). Animal

Fig. 1. Zone of the elephant tusk from where the long plaques are taken (drawing by C. Florimont; from Fontan and Affanni 2018, fig. 26). “Naissance d’Horus” was the original title given to this motif by Thureau-Dagin (1931).

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figures consist of the Cow suckling her calf (48), the Deer (13) and hybrids. The quasi-absence of the bull (only 2) contrasts with the Nimrud finds; the lion, absent from the plaques, appears only on a few three dimensional pieces. All the pieces are made of elephant ivory. Assuming that an average sized tusk allows for the carving of 10 to 20 plaques (Fig. 1), the number of elephant tusks worked for the whole corpus of AT may be reasonably estimated at 15 to 30 tusks, corresponding to 7/8 to 15 elephants: a figure that fits with the number of elephants captured or killed by the Assyrian kings during their campaigns in Syria between the reigns of Tiglath-Pileser I (1114–1076) and Shalmaneser III (858–824): 14 to 30 elephants each (Collon 1977; Fischer 2007, 70–71). The tusks used for the making of the AT ivories may have been taken from elephants living in Syria, the alternative being that they were traded over long distance routes. Further observations Further observations may be drawn from our examination of the technique, observations which are of consequence for the function, iconography, and significance of the AT corpus. The debitage determines (obviously) the shape for the finished artefacts, and vice versa. Debitage has also a consequence over the imagery, and correlates technique with iconography. The orientation of the decorated motif on each plaque is either vertical or transversal. Vertical according to the axis of the tusk, i.e. the motif points to the tip or to the base of the tusk: this is the case for the ‛best’ plaques, depicting the Birth of Horus, and the Genies and sacred tree. The transversal orientation, i.e. when the sides of the motif point to the tip and the base of the tusk, is typically used for long plaques, decorated with a scene which is wider than high: this is the case for the Lady in window within a recessed frame (cat. 13–16, 18, 23–25), and for all the animal plaques, i.e. the Grazing deer (cat. 92–102), the Suckling cow (cat. 104–151) and the Bull (cat. 152–153). Georgina Herrmann had already observed in a group from the Nimrud corpus, that cow and deer plaques were almost interchangeable from the point of view of format, frame, floral background, and fixing systems.3 This is a rule in the AT corpus. Thureau-Dangin had remarked on the similar attitude of deer and cows, in slow motion, their legs alternatively forward and backward, creating a rhythm enhanced by the presence of the intertwined vegetation. Deer and cow plaques at AT are cut in both openwork and relief on solid plaques. In the openwork pieces, 5 deer (cat. 92–96) and 25 cows (cat. 104–128; Fig. 2), average a length of 12 to 14 cm and a height of 6.7 to 7 cm. There are few well preserved examples in this fragile technique, but all display superbly modelled volumes and naturalistic, dynamic musculature. The solid plaques, 5 deer (cat. 98–102) and 15 cows (cat. 135–151; Fig. 3) have an average a length of 8.5 to 12 cm and a height of 5.7 to 6 cm. Their modelling is more linear. Anatomical details such as the muzzle, shape of legs and divided hooves and the shape of the intertwined plant, are similar on the deer and the cow plaques. In front or behind the animal, a plant with intertwined stems Herrmann, Coffey and Stuart 2004, 112 stags: nos 368–379 and cow and calf: nos 381–389. 3

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Fig. 2. Deer (AT Cat.No. 92) and Cow with calf (AT Cat.No. 119) in openwork technique (from Fontan and Affanni 2018, 333. 347). is divided in half vertically, to be completed on an adjacent plaque (cat. 101: deer; cat. 145, 148: cow). These long plaques, unified as they are by a vertical vegetal element, lend themselves best to attempts at reconstruction: mounted one behind the other, they form a frieze well adapted to adorn the wooden frames of beds, thrones and stools. Thureau-Dangin suggested a symmetric composition of animals facing each other two by two on each side of a plant. This is confirmed by a plaque from Nimrud room NW 15, “carved by the hand of a master”, depicting 2 cervids back to back on each side of a tree, their heads turned back towards the plant. Fontan proposes a frieze of cows facing right, totalling a length of c. 95 cm, compatible with the short side of a bed (Fontan 2018, fig. 50.). This is comparable to a group in Nimrud room NW 21 (Herrmann 1992, 112 no 368–379): a series of deer facing right that includes a plaque with two animals (no. 368), to form a set measuring over 60 cm in length. The ratio deer to cow in the surviving corpus of AT suggests there may have been other dispositions, for instance by interspacing 1 deer (D facing right, D’ facing left ) with 2 or more cows (C, C’), in a multiple elements symmetrical

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Fig. 3. Deer (AT. Cat.No. 98) and Cow with calf (AT Cat.No. 136) as solid plaques (from Fontan and Affanni 2018, 337. 357). composition, with variations, with or without a central element (A) such as C–C–D– AA – C’–C’–D’. The identification of the deer depicted in the AT corpus raises the question whether they were intended as a representation of one specific species or not. Three species existed in the fauna of the Near East (Fig. 4), the red deer (Cervus elaphus) is characterised by its large antlers with massive beams and six or more tines; the roe deer (Capreolus capreolus) has simple antlers with one beam rising to a fork with one forward pointing tine midway up; and the fallow deer (Dama

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Fig. 4. Cervus elaphus. Dama mesopotamica. mesopotamica) has distinctive palmate antlers, the biggest part of the beam thins to a broad flat hand-like shape with small finger-like tines called spellers projecting from the top and rear edges (Gilbert 2002, 24–26). In the AT corpus (Poplin 2018 70) the rendering of the antlers is not anatomically correct and borrows elements from the Cervus and the Dama. On the openwork pieces, only one antler is visible (probably for reason of solidity), with one vertical beam from which sprout symmetrical tines, as a simplified tree (cat. 92, 93). This seems in accordance with the red deer (Cervus). The antlers of Cat. 94 are ambiguous, showing either the palmate shape of the Dama, or the second antler of the red deer seen in perspective. On the solid plaques (especially cat. 102) the two antlers are visible and the main beam seems fairly broad, as in the Dama, but the symmetrical tines on each side give it the appearance of a stylized tree, as observed on cat. 92–93. Such ambiguity in the depiction of the antlers may indicate that a generic cervid was intended rather than a specific species. The artists may have been less familiar with the silhouette of this wild animal than they were with the cow, which they could observe easily in their everyday environment.

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The anatomically wrong antlers are in contradiction with the perfection of the body, but they contribute to the elegance of the silhouette. Similarly, the silhouette and attitude of the suckling cow, the well modelled musculature, the anatomical details of the tail, legs, ears and muzzle, are accurately observed from nature; but the sharp twist of the neck generates groups of concentric folds which are anatomically wrong but create a balanced and harmonious composition, combining an abstract design with naturalistic truth: “Ce sont des reliefs harmonieux et plaisants esthétiquement, mais anatomiquement faux, au point d’en devenir abstraits”4. Further speculation Further speculation on the intentions of the artists is invited by the insistent depiction of the sex and the emphasis on the tongue motif. Careful attention was taken display the sexual appurtenance of the cow and deer: their respective gender is made apparent by the presence of elements visible from afar, the antlers, the guzzling calf; more details of the sexual parts are visible on close examination: the testicles of the calf and deer are indicated under the tail, the sheath of the penis under the belly line; the calf, eagerly pulling at the udder, arches its haunches, offering its testicles and anus to the licking mother. In the cow figure, the udder is obvious, and the vulva is apparent (on the sides of the openwork pieces).5 Assuming that the artist intended to represent two typical instances of male and female creatures, with their sexual apparatus visible and active, one may wonder why the male and female of different species were selected, while a bull would be expected as a pair to the cow. Indeed there are many examples of bull/cow pairing in the Nimrud ivories, and the bull image is a cliché in the arts and literature of the ancient Near East, as an expression of male power. But if a symbol of wilderness was intended, the bull image is too ambiguous. Visual representations of the domesticated Bos are not easily distinguishable from those of the wild Aurochs, which survived in Near Eastern consciousness long after it became extinct, as evidenced in the religious texts of Ugarit (Wyatt and Wyatt 2013). We suggest that the choice of the deer in the AT corpus indicates that an unambiguously wild male animal was intended. The deer, with its conspicuous antlers, is immediately recognizable as the untamed inhabitant of the mountains. The pairing of the deer and the cow in the AT corpus achieves an easily readable figuration of the symmetry of Nature: Wild / Domestic, Male / Female. Another curious parallel between the cow and deer scenes is the importance given to the protruding tongue. The deer’s tongue appears even longer by its prolongation into the stem of the plant the animal is nibbling at; the eagerly guzzling calf is licking the teats; and of course, the tongue of the cow steals the show. Because of her sharply turned neck, the cow lowers her head, causing her tongue to be placed on the same horizontal line as her udder. This symmetry of the tongue and the teats, is redoubled by the two rotundities from which they protrude: the concave mouth and the convex udder are in counterpoint to each other. The parallel is evocative of two nutrients, milk and vegetal sap; the calf 4 5

Poplin, unpublished report for AT cat. 119. Poplin, unpublished report for AT cat. 104 and 119.

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sucks the milk, as the deer grazes the grass. The cow is not depicted in the action of grazing, but the plants are there, a reminder of their nutritious value. Cow and deer association at AT and Ugarit The suckling cow and the grazing deer motifs each have a long history in Near Eastern imagery; considered as a pair, as we propose to do here on the basis of our technical examination of the AT corpus, their image is less frequent. The fact that it occurs among the ivory hoard from Ugarit6 is therefore all the more significant: an ivory bed, in a royal context, a Late Bronze Age precursor to the AT corpus. The lactation theme takes at Ugarit the appearance of a winged goddess breastfeeding two boys7 in the centre of the bed panel (Fig. 5; Gachet-Bizollon 2007, cat. 269 pl. 26, 2 H, 137–139). The impressive image, a rare frontal figure, integrates iconographic details borrowed from other traditions: the bovine horns seen “en face”, are an original design derived from the Syro-Mesopotamian divine tiara, influenced by the iconography of Hathor, the divine cow. Deer occupy a generous share of the imagery on the Ugarit ivory bed. They appears in both the narrative friezes (a fragment of another fallow deer has been restored on the upper frieze of side 2 of the bed (Gachet-Bizollon 2007 cat. 283 and fig. 43) and in one of the twelve figurative panels (six on each side). Each occurrence is located so as to attract the maximum attention (Fig. 6 a–b). The frieze on side 1 shows a hunting scene with a kneeling archer shooting arrows at running animals. In the centre, two fallow deer are interlocking their antlers in combat; on the ground, below their bent heads and close to their nostrils, flowers – perhaps a crocus (cf. Alp 1993) – emerge from a woven basket (Fig. 7). Each of the four flowers is composed of two petals enclosing several anthers, each ending in a bead or disk: the drawing of the anthers is comparable to those indicated on the floral crown of the princess pouring wine for king Niqmad (Fig. 8).8 This floral basket is a unique visual variation on the ubiquitous stylized tree flanked by animals motive. Male deer fight at the time of rut, to win domination over the females of the herd and ensure the propagation of the species. On account of the central location of the motif, the deer may allude to sexual (male) potency, while the floral basket would represent (female) fertility. On the other frieze of the Ugarit bed (Fig. 6b; Gachet-Bizollon 2007, pl. 26, 2 K), a hunter carries a deer or a doe on his shoulders while holding on a leash a fallow deer. The leash, symbol of submission of animal to man, is tied to the hunter’s belt, a detail that occurs on a painted pottery vessel discovered at Ugarit (Fig. 9).9 The animal is probably a “cerf appelant”, tamed and used as a decoy (Poplin 1997). It is a deceitfully peaceful scene, the result of violence, a violence explicitly Gachet-Bizollon 2007 proposes to date the ivories from Ugarit 1270–1250. Of the many interpretations of the mirrored image of the two boys, we favor that of the royal heir twinned on the basis of the king’s two bodies principle, see Wyatt 2002, 324–335; Lanaro 2012. 8 Alabaster vase inscribed with the name of Niqmad: Desroche-Noblecourt 1956, remarked on the rarity of this shape of crown; Caubet 2013, fig. 1. 9 Fragment of jar in local pottery, Inv. RS 99. 5312 + 5367, Yon 2006, fig. 2, 10. 6 7

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Fig. 5. Ugarit bed, detail of the breast-feeding goddess, plaque 2/H, photo and drawing (photo by author; drawing after Gachet 2007, cat. 269). displayed on several of the other panels: combats between two humans, combat between human and animal, they imply another liquid, blood. Blood shedding in the course of hunt and combat is implicit on the scenes of the Ugarit bed devoted to male activities. Blood of menstruation may be similarly implied in the panels devoted to moments in the woman’s life: a naked maiden, a loving couple, the breast-feeding goddess. The deer and cow are associated, although more discreetly, on the two gold bowls found in a cache close to the temple of Baal at Ugarit10 (Figs 10–11). One bowl (Aleppo) is decorated with friezes of dense combat scenes, and a prostated deer has fallen between two heroes engaged in combatting a lion11 (Fig. 10). On the other bowl (Louvre), a royal charioteer, his horses in flying gallop, shoots arrows at running animals, a goat, two wild bulls, a heifer and her calf (Fig. 11). Note that the charioteer demonstrates his skill by leading his horses with the reins wound around his waist: this motif is well known in pharaonic imagery, but it takes on a special significance in Ugarit as a visual symbol of the mastering of animal by man (supra). For context and datation, see Yon and Caubet 2001. The spotted hide would identify it as a Dama, but the arborescent antlers are those of the Cervus elaphus, an early example of the ambiguity observed at AT. 10 11

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a

b

Fig. 6a–b. Ugarit ivory bed, sides 1 and 2 (drawing after Gachet-Bizollon 2007, cat. 269).

Despite their different shapes, the two bowls probably formed a matching set12; both are drinking cups, to be used in the course of a banquet (Caubet 2013). The precious metal, the imagery, relate them to royal ideology. Each of the visual motifs examined here may be read on several levels, one reflecting the “real” world or, on a higher plane, as describing the action of gods and heroes, in the management of the cosmos and the warding off of chaos. A similar mythological material is woven into the religious texts of Ugarit, especially the poems of the scribe Ilumilku (Caquot et al. 1974; KTU; Watson and Wyatt 1999; Wyatt 2002; Bordreuil 2019), who gave voice and life to the gods of his time. Connecting text and images has been attempted by scholars right from the early years after the discovery: René Dussaud was the first to base his analysis of the AT cow on the poem Baal, the Heifer and Anat (KTU I.10; Dussaud 1936). The suckling goddess calls to mind Athirat in The Gracious Gods (KTU 1.23; Wyatt 2002, 324–335): Shape, embossing technique and general composition of the two bowls seem to have been created by symmetrical opposition: for instance, one is embossed inside out (Aleppo), the other outside in (Louvre: https://collections.louvre.fr/ark:/53355/cl010141976 ). 12

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Fig. 7. Ugarit ivory bed, detail of floral basket (photos by author and from Gachet-Bizollon 2007, pl. 269; drawing by C. Florimont). Let me invoke the gracious gods, both gluttonous~ from birth, who suck at the nipples of Athirat’s breasts. In common with Ilumilku’s poetic masterpiece, the ivory bed and the gold bowls share a unique blend of creation and tradition. They are the works of great artists, who introduced subtle variations into old Mesopotamian and Syro-Hittite mythological materials and achieved a harmonious creation, in the service of royal ideology. The association between the cow and the deer observed at AT calls attention to the important role given to the deer in these paeans to kingship at Ugarit: frenzied by grief, Anat slaughters 70 deer as a funerary offering for the death of Baal (KTU I.6 i 24), together with goats and wild bulls. The use of the deer as symbolic animal in Ugarit is perhaps a trait borrowed from the Hittites (Crepon 1981), to whom Ugarit was politically and culturally indebted. In Hittite iconography, the bull and deer are the respective mounts of the storm-god, and the stag-god (aka Protective Deity; Collins 2002, chap. 7; Bittel 1976 fig 169 and 178, 214, 224, 225). Hittite kings drank to the gods from vessels in the shape of a bull and a stag in the course of festivals:

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Fig. 8. Alabaster vase of king Niqmad, RS 15.239 (from Desroche-Noblecourt 1956).

Fig. 9. Fragment of painted pottery jar, Ugarit, RS 90.5312+5367 (from Galliano 2004, 234.1) (cf. colour plate II).

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Fig. 10. Ugarit gold bowl, Aleppo Museum M 10129 (from Aruz et al. 2008, 241 Cat.No. 146). The King and Queen drink inside to the storm-god of the city Zippalanda from a bull vessel […]. The king and queen drink outside to the stag-god from a stag vessel.13 During the great KI.LAM festival, statues of gods were carried in processions together with “animals of the gods”, amongst them the deer. The EZEN AYALI, “festival of the stag”, may have been another name for the KI.LAM festival. As part of the royal propaganda in Hittite Anatolia, the deer appears repeatedly as an animal killed in hunting scenes. Thus boasts King Anitta: I made a vow and went on a hunt. On the first day of hunt, I brought to my city Nesa two lions, seventy pigs, sixty wild boars and 120 other wild animals among them bears, leopards, lions, deer, gazelle (Singer 1983, 137f.). In fine, the cow and deer association in the AT corpus invites some remarks on the visual expression of power, sex and kingship. The material itself, elephant ivory, is obtained from a huge and fearsome beast, his tusks, reminiscent of horns14, are the visible sign of the animal’s masculinity.15 Ivory, like gold, is an expensive material, the privilege of the higher classes of society (i.e. men); beds and thrones were reserved to the elite, who practised wine drinking and banqueting as a social

Festival of the spring crocus: Alp 1993, 174–175. For a bull/deer pair of silver rhyta, see Bittel 1976, fig. 169 et 178; Weeden 2018. 14 Mistaking a tusk for a horn is a frequent mental and visual lapsus; but this is another story. 15 In the Asiatic species, Elephas maximus, present in Syria during the LB Age. Pfälzner 2016. 13

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Fig. 11 a–b. Ugarit gold bowl, Louvre AO 17208 (drawing by C. Florimont; photo by author) (cf. colour plate II).

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marker of their status.16 In parallel, ivory is a metaphor for feminine beauty and softness of the flesh. Its choice for the decoration of beds may be motivated by this double connotation. Explicit description of sexual intercourse to ensure posterity is a frequent theme in the Ancient Near East, well documented in Ugaritic. Thus Kings Keret (KTU I.14–16) and Danel (KTU I.17–19) express their concern to beget a royal son, and the intervention of the gods was solicited through the accomplishment of complex rituals: the setting up of a bed is part of a ceremony (a hieros gamos?) involving the king and a daughter of the god Baal (Pardee 2000, 743f.). The imagery on the bed may have been created to add efficiency to the performance. The scenes on the Ugarit bed are more complex and original than the AT corpus; nonetheless, the combined images of the grazing deer and the suckling cow of AT, considered together on the basis of technical analysis of the plaques, may be read as an expression of multiple and symmetrical concepts, elaborated to serve royal ideology: male and female, potency and fertility, wild and domestic, hunting and husbandry, hence blood and milk. The AT tableau is peaceful, leaving out the violence. Bibliography Abreviations AT: Arslan Tash KTU: M. Dietrich, O. Loretz and J. Sanmartin, 1995: The Cuneiform Alphabetic Texts from Ugarit. Ras Ibn Hani and Other Places, Abhandlungen zur Literatur AIt-Syrien-Palästinas und Mesopotamiens 8. Münster. RSO: Ras Shamra-Ougarit Alp, S. 1993 Beiträge zur Erforschung des Hethitischen Tempels. Kultanlagen im Lichte der Keilschrifttexte. Ankara. Aruz, J. et al. (eds) 2008 Beyond Babylon. Art, Trade, and Diplomacy in the Second Millennium B.C. New York. Bittel, K. 1976 Die Hethiter. München. Bordreuil, P. 2019 Ilimilkou le Shoubanite, mythographe d’Ougarit: le scribe, le collaborateur, l’auteur. In: F. Briquel-Chatonnet, E. Capet, E. Gubel and C. Roche (eds), Nuit de pleine lune sur Amurru, Mélanges offerts à Leila Badre. Paris. 95–105. Caubet A. 2009 A tale of two cities. Le coffret en ivoire d’Enkomi et la coupe d’or d’Ougarit. In: Th. Kiely (ed.), Ancient Cyprus in the British Museum. Essays in honour of Veronica Tatton-Brown. The British Museum Research Publication 180. London. 56–62. See Matthäus 2004, 328–329 on ivory thrones and beds as expression of the life style adopted from the Near East by the Cretan aristocracy. 16

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2013 Of Banquets, Horses and Women in Late Bronze Age Ugarit. In: J. Aruz, S. B. Graff and Y. Rakic (eds), Cultures in Contact. From Mesopotamia to the Mediterranean in the Second Millennium BC. The Metropolitan Museum of Art Symposia. New Haven/London. 226–237. 2015 Reflexion sur le lit d’ivoire du palais royal d’Ougarit. In: P. Ciafardoni, D. Giannessi (eds), From the Treasures of Syria. Essays on Art and Archaeology in Honour of Stefania Mazzoni, Publications van het Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten 126, Leiden. 175–181. Caquot, A., Sznycer, M. and A. Herdner 1974 Textes Ougaritiques. I. Mythes et légendes, Paris. Cecchini, S. M. 2009 Les ivoires de Arslan Tash. In: S. M. Cecchini, S. Mazzoni and E. Scigliuzzo (eds), Syrian and Phoenician Ivories of Early First Millennium BCE: Chronology, Regional Styles and Iconographic Repertories, Patterns of Inter-regional Distribution. Ricerche di archeologia del Vicino Oriente 3. Pisa. 87–105. Cecchini, S. M. and F. Venturi 2012 A sounding at Arslan Tash. Re-visiting the “Bâtiment aux ivoires”. In: R. Matthews and J. Curtis (eds), Proceedings of the 7th International Congress on the Archaeology of the Ancient Near East, Volume 3. Wiesbaden. 325–341. Collins, B. J. 2002 Animals in Hittite Litterature. In: B. J. Collins (ed.), A History of the Animal World in the Ancient Near East. Leiden. 237–250. Cornelius, I. and H. Niehr 2004 Götter und Kulte in Ugarit. Kultur und Religion einer nordsyrischen Königsstadt in der Spätbronzezeit. Mainz. Crepon, P. 1981 Le thème du cerf dans l’iconographie Anatolienne des origins à l’époque Hittite, Hethitica IV, 117–155. Desroches-Noblecourt, Chr. 1956 Interprétation et datation d’une scène gravée, Ugaritica III, 179–220. Dietrich, M., O. Loretz and J. Sanmartín 1995 The Cuneiform Alphabetic Texts from Ugarit. Ras Ibn Hani and Other Places, Abhandlungen zur Literatur AIt-Syrien-Palastinas und Mesopotamiens 8. Münster. Dussaud, R. 1936 Cultes cananéens aux sources du Jourdain, d’après les textes de Ras Shamra, Syria 17, 283–295. Fontan, E. 2018 Essai de reconstitution du décor du mobilier. In: E. Fontan and G. Affani 2018, 57–62. Fontan, E. and G. Affanni (eds) 2018 Les ivoires d’Arslan Tash (avec la collaboration d’Annie Caubet et François Poplin). Paris.

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Gachet-Bizollon, J. 2001 Le panneau de lit en ivoire de la Cour III du Palais Royal d’Ougarit, Syria 78, 19–82. 2007 Les ivoires d’Ougarit et l’art des ivoiriers du Levant au Bronze Récent. RSO XVI. Paris. 2008 Les ivoires du Palais royal d’Ougarit: bilan de la recherche. In: V. Matoïan (ed.), Le Mobilier du Palais Royal d’Ougarit. RSO XVII. Paris. 85–100. Galliano, G. (ed.) 2004 Le royaume d’Ougarit. Paris. Gilbert, A. 2002 The Native Fauna. In: B. J. Collins (ed.), A History of the Animal World in the Ancient Near East. Handbuch der Orientalistik 1, 64. Leiden. 3–75. Herrmann, G. 1992 Ivories from Nimrud (1949–1963) V. The Small Collections from Fort Shalmaneser. London. Herrmann, G., H. Coffey and S. Laidlaw 2004 The Published Ivories from Fort Shalmaneser, Nimrud. A Scanned Archive of Photographs. London. Lanaro, A. 2012 Die Problematik des sogenannten Bettpaneels von Ugarit. PhD-thesis. Mainz. Matthäus, H. 2009 Near Eastern Ivories in the Aegean during the Early First Millennium B.C. and their Impact on Local Greek Art. In: S. M. Cecchini, S. Mazzoni and E. Scigliuzzo (eds), Syrian and Phoenician Ivories of Early First Millennium BCE: Chronology, Regional Styles and Iconographic Repertories, Patterns of Inter-regional Distribution. Ricerche di archeologia del Vicino Oriente 3. Pisa. 319–335. Matthiae, P. 1962 Il motivo della vacca che allatta nell ‘iconografia del Vicino Oriente, Rivista degli Studi Orientali 37, 1–31. Merode, R. de and N. Damblon-Willemaers 1983 Essai sur l’iconographie des cervidés chez les Hittites. In: R. Donceel and R. Lebrun (eds), Archéologie et religions de l’Anatolie ancienne Mélanges en l’honneur du professeur Paul Naster. Homo religiosus 10. Louvain-la-Neuve. 173–186. Pardee, D. 2000 Les textes rituels. RSO XII. Paris. Pfälzner, P. 2016 The Elephants from the Orontes. In: D. Parayre (ed.), Le fleuve rebelle: Géographie historique du moyen Oronte d’Ebla à l’époque médiévale. Syria Supplément IV. Beyrouth. 159–182. Poplin, F. 1997 La chasse au cerf appelant du vase d’Alésia, Bulletin des Musées de Dijon 3, 30–33.

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Singer, I. 1983–1984 The Hittite KI.LAM Festival. Studien zu den Boğazköy-Texten 27–28. Wiesbaden. Thureau-Dangin, F., A. Barrois, G. Dossin and M. Dunand 1931 Arslan-Tash. Bibliothèque archéologique et historique 16. Paris. Watson, W. G. E. and N. Wyatt (eds) 1999 Handbook of Ugaritic Studies. Handbuch der Orientalistik I.39. Leiden. Weeden, M. 2018 God-drinking in Hittite Texts. In: S. Ebbinghaus, C. Albinson and A. Change (eds), Animal Shaped Vessels from the Ancient World. Cambridge (Mass.). 68–69. Wyatt, N. 2002 Religious Texts from Ugarit. The Biblical Seminar 53. London/New York. Wyatt, N. and S. Wyatt 2013 The longue durée in the beef business. In: O. Loretz, S. Ribichini, W. G. E. Watson and J.-A. Zamora (eds), Ritual, Religion and Reason. Studies in the Ancient World in Honour of Paolo Xella. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 404. Münster. 417-50. Yon, M. 2006 Remarques sur le “style linéaire” figuré dans les céramiques du Levant, Syria 83, 253–277. 2019 Paysages. Étude iconographique. In: F. Briquel-Chatonnet, E. Capet, E. Gubel and C. Roche (eds.), Nuit de pleine lune sur Amurru, Mélanges offerts à Leila Badre. Paris. 401–416. Yon, M. and A. Caubet 2001 Une coupe inscrite en chypro-minoen à Ras Shamra et les “trésors” d’Ougarit. In: M. Fischer (ed.), Contributions to the archaeology and History of the Bronze and Iron ages in the Eastern Mediterranean, Studies in Honour of Paul Åström. Österreichisches Archäologisches Institut, Sonderschriften Band 39. Wien. 149–157.

The stele of Melqart A reappraisal Serena Maria Cecchini Abstract Since it was first published, the stele found at Breij, north of Aleppo, has never ceased to interest the scientific community. This is due to the historical and religious implications of the Aramaic inscription it bears, a dedication of the stele itself to the god Melqart by Bir Hadad, a supposed king of Arpad. The text will focus on the image, held to be the earliest representation of Melqart known to us, so as to try to understand through iconographic and stylistic analysis the artistic environment to which the stele, one of the rare figured monuments we know from the area of Arpad and Aleppo in first centuries of the 1st millennium BC, might be ascribed. However, the identification within different stylistic schools of the Levantine ivories of a “Southern Syrian”, or “Intermediate” style, groups which I. Winter interprets as “Damascene” style, typical themes of the Phoenician schools, can help us to place the style of our stele in a southern Syrian environment of the late 9th/early 8th century BC. Since it was first published by M. Dunand (1939), the basalt stele (Fig. 1), about a meter in height, found at Breij ca. 7 km north of Aleppo in the late 1930s, now on the northeastern outskirts of the city, has never ceased to interest the scientific community.1 This is due to the historical and religious implications of the fourline Aramaic inscription it bears (Kanaanäische und Aramäische Inschriften 201), a dedication of the stele itself to the god Melqart by a certain Bir Hadad (whose genealogy given in the second line is not very clear), and to the image depicted, identified as the first visual attestation of the god. If, as M. Dunand proposed in 1939,2 the stele was most probably originally erected in Aleppo – since around 1 This paper, read in Aleppo on the occasion of the International Conference entitled “Aleppo City: Past, present and the future” held to coincide with the re-opening of the Aleppo National Museum, is an elaboration of my contribution to the 6th International Congress of Phoenician and Punic Studies held in Cadiz in 2005 (Cecchini 2013). 2 Dunand 1939, 65–66; Pitard 1988, 3. For the possible find-spot of the stele at Tell Muslimiyyeh cf. ibid, 14–16 and Lipinski 2000, 211; the proposal of the find-spot at Ain et Tell, already made by Pitard (1988, 16) and Lipinski (2000, 211), was reiterated by Younger 2016, 511. 533.

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Fig. 1. Stele of Breij (from Matthiae 1975, 485 no. 420).

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the area of Breij there were no traces of pre-Roman settlements – it would be very difficult to determine when this occurred. From the paleographic point of view the dates suggested, possibly influenced by the historical implications of the various readings of the line bearing the genealogy of Bir Hadad, fall between the mid and late 9th century BC.3 We do not intend to review here the numerous historical appraisals made over the years regarding the figure, the reading of the second line of the inscription or the individuals mentioned. Wether we consider Bir Hadad to be a king of this name of Damascus or of another southern kingdom,4 to be a king of Arpad who ruled between the two ‘Attarsumki,5 or simply a member of the dynasty of Bīt-Agūsi,6 clearly alters the historical significance we may assign to the monument itself.7 I shall concentrate on the image – held to be the earliest representation of Melqart known to us today – so as to try to understand, through iconographic and stylistic analysis, the artistic environment to which the stele might be ascribed.8 The image of the god is undoubtedly inspired by the same model that gave rise to a series of figures produced in the 1st millennium BC both on Cyprus and in the western Phoenician-Punic sphere, and which continued in use until at least the 3rd century BC. This is a model which W. Culican (1960–1961) suggested identifying with the specific Tyrian form of cult statues of Melqart which are, obviously, entirely unknown to us. Little attention has, however, been paid to stylistic aspects, apart from noting, as do W. Orthmann (1971, 55) and P. Matthiae (1975, 485), that these include no Neo-Hittite or Luwian elements, although D. Bonatz (2014, 31) has stressed that the mode of representation was typical of gods in the SyroAnatolian region, beginning in the Late Iron Age I. W. T. Pitard (1988, 14–15) pointed out some aspects relating to the Phoenician style which could derive from a Phoenician enclave in the Gulf of Iskanderun. The stylistic aspects should, however, command our interest since this stele is one of the rare figured monuments we know of from the area of Arpad and Aleppo in the first centuries of the 1st millennium BC. In terms of iconography the figure – depicted in profile, in passant stance – displays a number of original features. M. G. Amadasi Guzzo (2019, 163) notes how the style of writing can be linked with that attested in the Zakkur inscription, again supporting the hypothesis that the Bar-Hadad mentioned in this inscription was a king of Arpad, as supposed by Puech 1981, and accepted by Lipiński 2000, 288 and Younger 2005, 260. 4 Which is a now abandoned hypothesis. 5 There is a lengthy bibliography related to the reading in the second line. An exhaustive summary of the reading and interpretation of the second line is given in Na’aman 2016, 80–81. 6 Cf. recently Dušek 2019: “Bar-Hadad, son of Ataršumki, king of the Aramaeans, … dedicated the stela to Melqart in the vicinity of Aleppo. He seems to be a member of the dynasty of Bīt-Agūsi, but he does not seem to be a king of the kingdom. It is possible that he was the brother of Matiʿel, son of Ataršumki, king of Arpad” (194 note 143). 7 Summaries of the historical and religious aspects of this question have gradually appeared, and I refer the reader to: Bonnet 1988, 132–136; Briquel-Chatonnet 1992, 94– 100; Dion 1997, 121–122. 8 For a different approach to the iconography of Melqart cf. Pinnock 2002, who cites the stele of Breij only en passant (387). 3

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The fenestrated axe It has been noted how the fenestrated axe, clearly an anachronistic element in documents of the 1st millennium, became a symbol of the god Melqart par excellence, but also of other divinities, including goddesses (Culican 1961–1962; Gubel 1980). This is an object that was frequently used both as a battle-axe and as a precious weapon in parades during Middle Bronze I (Matthiae 1980, 53–62 and 2013, 380). This precious battle and parade weapon of the Middle Bronze period was, by the 1st millennium, an anachronism but it was a symbol of royal rank, of royal sacrality. It is not by chance that the splendid gold axes of Byblos were found in the temple of the Obelisks which must have been dedicated to Reshef since the fenestrated axe was one of the weapons of this Syrian god adopted by the Egyptians. In the Paleo-Syrian period, however, this kind of axe is not a symbol of divinity.9 At Ebla a fragment of statue (Fig. 2) dating to the late Paleo-Syrian period shows the same weapon resting against the left shoulder of a royal personage (Matthiae 1980, fig. 13). Still at Ebla, two of the individuals who participate in the ceremony with which the deceased king takes his place amongst the deified rulers, depicted on the ivory talisman from the tomb of the Lord of the Caprids (Matthiae 1989, 182, fig. 148), are represented with an axe resting on their right shoulder. P. Matthiae has noted the connection with the regality of those bearing the fenestrated axe since these images are either of royal individuals, as in the statue10, or in any case depicted in contexts linked to the sacred nature of royalty, like the figurines of the talisman. These latter could represent part of the ranks of already deified sovereigns, invited to accompany the king whose rites are being celebrated.11 Our stele constitutes proof of the transformation into divine iconography of an originally regal iconography, and Melqart is a defied “king of the city”12. Of the sovereigns he retains the ceremonial axe and the tiara that never has the horns symbolizing divinity; for this reason he is perhaps holding an ankh which gives his image a divine connotation. The persistence of this motif in the western Phoenician sphere has often been noted (Culican 1960–1961). Likewise, the affinity – but not identification – of the iconography of the stele with that of the individual in western documents, in the transmission of which Cyprus seems to have played an essential role, is incontestable: see the Cypriot seal (Fig. 3) (Culican 1976, tav. IX.2.) and the razor from the necropolis of Douïmès at Carthage considered one of the latest attestations of the motif, from the late 3rd century BC (Acquaro 1971, Ca 83, 71–72. 107 fig. 75,1; Fariselli 2006, 84–85 tab. III,1). For a review of fenestrated axes in the Middle Bronze Age Levant and Minoan Crete cf. most recently Yasur-Landau 2015, who also notes (139) how “at least some of the symbolic meaning of the axe as an attribute of rulership in the Levant was transferred to Minoan Crete.” 10 Matthiae 2013, 380: “It is quite likely that in Middle Bronze II these statues, standing in squares or palaces, represented deified dead kings of Ebla”. For Melqart‘s relationship with the rapi’uma, cf. Lipiński 1995, 229. 11 Although P. Matthiae does not refer explicitly to the two known figurines. 12 For the meaning of mlqrt as “King of the city (of Tyre)”, cf. Lipiński 1995, 229. 9

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Fig. 2. Fragment of statue of Ebla (from Matthiae 1980, fig. 13).

Fig. 3. Impression of a Cypriot stamp seal (from Culican 1976, tav. IX.2).

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The role of Cyprus in the development of this theme is shown also by two Cypriot bowls with identical motifs found respectively at Kourion and Praeneste (Markoe 1985, Cy7, E2). This is the narrative cycle of the so-called “Hunter’s day” or “Melqart‘s journey” (Cecchini 2010). On the Praeneste cup (Fig. 4), which is the better preserved, one can see once again that it is the regality of the individual which emerges. It is possible that the narrative cycle related to an ancient, lost mythical or epic theme, perhaps concerning Melqart himself but, in any case, connected with the sphere of sacred royalty, as all of the seven episodes depicted lead us to presume.13 This story in images could be read as a graphic translation of an ancient myth, illustrating the journey of initiation which led a king of the city, milk qart, to become a god, but a sovereign god who, as a deity, maintained the iconographic elements of the Syrian kings of the past. The presence on the same bowl of the protagonist in the classical pose of the “smiting god” could explain the dichotomy of the figure bearing the fenestrated axe, probably already during the Late Bronze Age, as it appears in the images of Reshef. On the other hand, the links between Melqart and Reshef have often been noted. The tiara As already noted for the fenestrated axe, the headdress of Melqart also has a precise regal correlation with the tiara of the Syrian kings of the Middle and Late Bronze Ages. There is no trace of the horns which characterized the headwear of the gods but there is, perhaps, a trace of underlining on the edge. Moreover, the horns are absent from the images on the two bronze bowls, from the seals and from the razor of Carthage, cited earlier, as well as from the late terracotta figurines (Culican 1960– 1961, figs 1g. 1h) which, however, all have the same headdress. This would most probably seem to be the tiara of Syrian kings of the Middle and Late Bronze Ages undoubtedly in use also on the coast at the end of the Late Bronze Age as seen in the little plaque (Fig. 5) from Byblos (Dunand 1937, tab. CVII:1148). The ankh The object held in the right hand is difficult to identify, but it could be an ankh, which would give to the image a divine connotation. Alternatively, this may be a small container, a motif that was quite widespread in Syria in relation to images of individuals bearing, in their other hand, a sceptre surmounted by a ram’s head, figures which I have, on other occasions (Cecchini 2005), suggested represent individuals of royal and superhuman nature connected with the deification of the deceased kings. Amongst the ivories from Nimrud in both the Syrian or Intermediate and the Phoenician styles, the individuals bearing the ankh are extremely rare (e. g. Herrmann 1986, nos. 297. 942. 1043; 2008, nos. 242. 341; 2013, no. 47) but it appears also on a bowl from Cyprus (Markoe 1985, Cy 2). 13 The king worships in front of a thymiaterion. The theme could be that from which the iconography of certain seals draw their inspiration, above all those from Sardinia where, according to some hypotheses (Culican 1976, 82; Gubel 1980, 11 notes 80–81, tab. II.1–2), the image of Ba’al Shamim is represented even though, in the light of interpretations of the subject depicted on the bowls, I believe that this is simply another representation of Melqart.

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Fig. 4. Detail of a silver bowl from Palestrina (from Markoe 1985, E2).

Fig. 5. Byblos stone plaque (from Dunand 1937, tav. CVII.1148).

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The clothing The clothing worn by the individual is clearly of Egyptian origin as indicated by knee-length under-skirt and uraei on the apron, although the long, open skirt with a sloping hem is also attested in both inner and coastal Syria from at least the Middle Bronze Age on.14 This is a deified king who never wears the horned tiara of the gods but preserves the regal tiara of the past and wears the long, open skirt indicating people of high rank attested in those regions. The individual with tiara on the above-cited plaque from Byblos also wears a long, open skirt that reveals the advanced right leg. The importance given to the loincloths with uraei, depicted on the stele in a simplified version, finds a direct parallel in the Phoenician ivories which, however, probably date to no earlier than the 8th century. It should be noted, that the models in circulation were probably, as F. Faegersten has noted,15 in the form of ivories and wooden statues with ivory inlays but that, even in the wealth of documentation provided by the ivories, there are few examples of Egyptianizing figures in the Phoenician style with the loincloth adorned by a uraeus.16 Those in the southern Syrian style are very rare, but significant.17 And here it is also interesting to stress, for Cyprus, the relationship between the figures wearing the loincloth and the sphere of royalty. F. Faegerstern (2003, 259) maintains that the references to the royal sphere can be understood as indicating an affinity between royalty and divinity, manifested both in Phoenicia and Cyprus by the duty of the king to perform also the tasks of a priest. Melqart is, therefore, a king-god and a god-king confirming, from the iconographic point of view, the words of C. Bonnet that Melqart “est à la fois un roi déifié et un dieu souverain” (1988, 112). The style Questions of style have, to date, only received superficial consideration. P. Matthiae (1975) writes of a “transposition of Phoenician models into the idiom of the sculpture school of Arpad … – always assuming that the work is a local product and not made in the south – which, although lacking the graphic elegance of the few works we have from undoubted Phoenician provenance, cannot be compared either with the plastic representations produced by the Late Hittite workshops”. D. Bonatz (2014, 31) has stressed that the mode of representation was typical of Cf. Matthiae 2016 for the transmission of Egyptian motifs and images in Paleo-Syrian crafts and, in particular, on the Egyptianizing clothing of the presumed rapi’uma (220– 224). On the difficulty of identifying, in Levantine works of the first centuries of the 1st millennium, elements resulting from direct, contemporary influences and those filtered through Syrian tradition, cf. Matthiae 1971, 62 and Winter 1992. 15 Faegersten 2003, 244ff, note 432. On this question cf. also Markoe 1990 and F. G. Maier 1989. 16 In Phoenician style cloisonné figures, in couples facing each other, on the plaques with figures either side of the sacred tree (e. g. Herrmann 1986, nos 1043. 1048. 1062–1065. 1014. 1092–1093). 17 There remain only the uraei of the complex pattern on the apron whilst a plaited motif in the centre separates the two sides of the short skirt, e. g. Herrmann 1986, nos. 359. 2013. 14

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gods in the Syro-Anatolian region, beginning in the Late Iron Age. I. J. Winter (1981, 130) recognized its link with the South Syrian style of carving ivories, W. T. Pitard (1988, 13) notes that “Phoenician elements do indeed predominate on the relief”18, E. Gubel (1983, 25) considered the image “at most an Aramean version of a Phoenician theme” and later (2000, 192) “a purely oriental divine iconography”. As noted earlier, the stylistic aspect should, however, command our interest since this stele is one of the rare figured monuments we know of from the area of Arpad and Aleppo in first centuries of the 1st millennium BC. There are few examples of representations of individual figures known to us from the kingdom of Arpad probably contemporary with the stele: the colossal statue from Ain et Tell (Orthman 1975, 479; Pucci 2020a, 80–81) and the stele from Tell Rifa’at (Orthmann 1971, 529 pl. 48i),19 but the statue dated to the end of the 9th century, and the small funerary stele, probably from the mid-8th century, show similarities with roughly contemporary Syrian works from the north, and completely different stylistic elements to those of the Melqart of Breij. Further south on the coast, instead, the stele of Qadmus bearing the divine image, probably to be dated to the early or mid-9th century, reflects the tendency along the coast towards an Egyptianizing style in representations of divine figures.20 However, identifying different stylistic schools in the ivories of the Levant, and in particular those from Nimrud, of the “Southern Syrian” or “Intermediate” style21, that is to say, groups which interpret (in what I. Winter calls a “Damascene” style) typical themes of the Phoenician schools, can help us to place our stele in a southern Syrian cultural circle of the late 9th/early 8th century BC. The most appropriate iconographic comparison is that with two ivories from Nimrud (Fig. 6) in “Classical Phoenician style” (Herrmann 1986, no. 1043; 2013, 30f. no. 47), in which individuals hold the ankh in their right hand, wearing like Melqart a knee length underskirt with uraei and a longer overskirt with sloping hem and decorated borders, which leaves the legs uncovered. The tiara and the fenestrated axe are missing, but it is very likely that in Tyre the images of Melqart retained the regalia of the past. But, from a stylistic point of view, the closest link is that with the ivories of the Southern Syrian workshops, South Syrian or Syrian Intermediate Tradition, in which I. J. Winter first recognized the peculiar characteristics which brought together “traditional Phoenician iconography in squat un-Phoenician proportions”,

According to W. T. Pitard (1988, 13) the relative size of the head to the rest of the body is closer to Phoenician proportions – ca 1:5 – than to north Syrian styles – ca 3:5 (Winter 1981, 103f.). But the relative size of the Melqart image is actually a little less than 1:4 and so closer to Syrian styles. 19 The headless torso of a basalt statue found at Sefire, certainly many decades later than the stele of Melqart, is dated, on the basis of the cuneiform inscription on the back, to a period after the fall of Arpad into Assyrian hands in 740 BC (cf. lately Younger 2016, 510f., with previous bibliography). A Phoenician influence is recognizable in the pleated skirt. 20 Cf. Cecchini 1997, 90 n. 52 with previous bibliography. Cf. also G. Bunnens (2006, 110) who observes how the stele “strongly departs from the usual iconography of the Storm-God and it associates the divine figure with attributes that are not, normally, those of the Storm-God”. 21 On the matter, cf. Wicke 2009. 18

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Fig. 6. Ivory panel from Nimrud (after Herrmann 1986, no. 1043). characteristics that I. J. Winter herself22 recognized as common to the figure of the Breij stele (1981, 130). The most telling stylistic comparisons are those with some of the ivories from Arslan Tash (Figs 7a and 7b), which can be dated, at least in part, to the end of the 9th / beginning of the 8th cent. BC. The two figures depicted in profile (Fontan and Affanni 2018, nos 2 and 3)23 show all of the stylistic characteristics which Winter attributes to Damascus as a center providing the context for integrating For a concise review of the matter, with bibliography, see Herrmann 2013. Their relative size of the head to the rest of the body is closer to Phoenician proportions of ca. 1:5. 22 23

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b a Fig. 7. a) Ivory panel from Arslan Tash (from Petrasch and Thimme 1973, no. 8); b) Ivory panel from Arslan Tash (from Thureau-Dangin et al. 1931, no. 44). Phoenician and Syrian iconographies24 and styles (Winter 1981, 130). The ivory furniture may have arrived in Arslan Tash/Ḫadatu from Damascus as gift of Shamshi-ilu to his eunuch Ninurta-bel-usur, re-founder of the city, after the campaign of Damascus in 773 BC, when the turtānu added an inscription to the back of the Pazargik’s stele, stating that the tribute received from King Hadyan of Damascus included a seat and a royal bed (Winter 1981, 123; Cecchini and Venturi 2012, 326; ibidem 2018, 30; Amadasi Guzzo 2018, 66; Fontan, Caubet and Affanni 2018, 74). Allowing for the exceptions deriving from the different media used and the simplicity of the stone relief, the similarities of the figure on the stele and the Note that Arslan Tash ivory no. 2 wear the same usekh collar as the mentioned Nimrud ivories.

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Fig. 8. Ivory frontlet from Nimrud (from Herrmann 2008, no. 245). two Arslan Tash semi-divine figures (Figs 7a and 7b), represented in profile with frontal bust, relate to the general stylistic presentation of the figures, more fluid in the ivories, without doubt, but comparable in their proportions and the relationship between the narrow bust and bulky limbs. The clothing also, although not in the Egyptianizing style, shows the same curving outlines at the front. And the iconographic detail also of the long skirt with sloping hem, appearing at the back behind the right side from the waist to the knee, is common to the ivories (Fig. 7a) and the stele. Even the rendering of the feet is in the natural manner and perspective used for the god of the stele. Moreover, Melqart’s beard with the ringlets, falling from beneath the cheek-bones and depicted on parallel planes, closely resembles the beard on the other great ivory from Arslan Tash (Fontan and

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Affanni 2018, no. 1), a figure considered to represent a king (Matthiae 1997, 223) or a governor and which is a quite original work that cannot easily be assigned to any northern Syrian workshop. The same stylistic elements can be found on three identical warrior gods (Fig. 8) represented on ivory frontlets from well NN at Nimrud. G. Herrmann (2008, 81f. nos. 245–247 with previous bibliography), considers the figures belong to the Phoenician rather than the Syrian tradition. However, the attitude of the three individuals is represented in a similar way to that of Melqart on the stele and they are stylistically rendered in an analogous way to that of the two Arslan Tash ivories (Fontan and Affanni 2018, nos. 2 and 3), while all the iconographic details are completely different. Conclusion The following conclusions can be drawn: a) The inscription engraved on the base of the stele is now unanimously attributed to a royal dynasty of Arpad, written there in Aramaic: the paleography indicates the scribe was trained in an Aramaic form of script, very similar to that of the Zakkur inscription (Amadasi Guzzo 2019, 163). b) As for the hypothesis of the presence of a shrine dedicated to Melqart, perhaps in Aleppo, where the stele was exhibited, this is likely (Pitard 1988)25 since Melqart’s cult was based on a long-lasting Syrian religious tradition, the cult of royal ancestors. Also likely is the existence of a well-defined iconographic motif for this deity, very probably originally Tyrian, and standardized in the 1st millennium BC in both the east and west. On the contrary, it is possible to support the hypothesis that the stele represents an indication of the spread of Phoenician trade and culture in inner North Syria during the 9th cent. BC, deducing this from the presence of a Melqart cult? After the Breij inscription, Melqart appears in 754 BC in an Assyrian vassal treaty,26 but this clashes with the fact that in the area of the kingdom of Arpad there are no other elements that can testify to the real presence of Phoenicians (Pucci 2020b), and that the iconography and the style have no parallels. However, in the area of Syro-Anatolian City States, according to Osborne (2021, 73–83), there is “a modest but nevertheless significant corpus of data, and one that dates consistently to the ninth and eighth centuries” (id., 78. 82 fig. 3.3). c) It is more difficult, indeed impossible, to identify the place where the stele was carved27 and if the inscription was engraved together with the carving of the relief in the same place. The combination of Phoenician iconographic elements and South-Syrian stylistic elements in the same work would be explicable if we suppose that such a combination occurred in a southern environment, perhaps Damascus, as we have seen for ivories. This does not, however, mean that the stele was executed in Damascus, but that the iconographic and stylistic matrix of Lipinski (1995, 222) proposed a holy site of a Tyrian comptoir in Aleppo or in Tell Muslimiyyeh, 6 km north of Breij. Cf. also Lehmann 2008, 153. 26 The god is mentioned a few decades later in the treaty of 754 BC between Matiel, king of Arpad and Ashurnirari V, king of Assyria (Parpola and Watanabe 1988, 13 line 22). 27 Perhaps a mineralogical analysis of the stone could give some indication. 25

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the theme was a southern Syrian/Damascene elaboration in the late 9th to the early 8th century of Phoenician originals which, in ways that are unclear to us and for which only assumptions can be made, arrived in the region of Arpad. The general topic of how iconographic and stylistic elements were transmitted has a series of facets and implications that have been repeatedly and extensively treated even within the same geographical areas: the artisans, their workshops and their mobility, the relationships between the different classes of materials and mutual influences, loans and adaptations of the themes and, in addition to the producers, the clients and the users (Cecchini 2011).28 In this regard we have no written evidence of how the iconographic motifs circulated. But the famous passage in 2 Kings (16, 10–16) referring to the conquest of Damascus in 732 BC could explain how a monument could be reproduced in another place. 16, 10: “When King Ahaz went to Damascus to meet Tiglathpileser king of Assyria, he saw the altar that was at Damascus. And King Ahaz sent to Uriah the priest a model of the altar, and its pattern, exact in all its details. 16,11: And Uriah the priest built the altar; in accordance with all that King Ahaz had sent from Damascus, so Uriah the priest made it, before King Ahaz arrived from Damascus”.29 As for style, an equally famous Biblical passage (2 Chronicles 2, 13) is indicative of the capacity and ability of the artisans to adapt and collaborate with artisans of different origins. It reveals the case of Huram-Abi of Tyre, working at the court of Solomon: according to his king, Hiram of Tyre, “He is experienced in all kinds of engraving and can execute any design given to him. He will work with your skilled workers and with those of my lord, David your father”. Bibliography Acquaro, E. 1971 I rasoi punici. Studi Semitici 41. Rome. Amadasi Guzzo, M. G. 2018 Quelques notes sur les inscriptions marques des ivoires d’Arslan Tash. In: Fontan and Affanni, 2018, 63–68. 2019 What Do We Know about the Borders and Exchanges between Aram and Phoenicia in the 9th–8th Centuries B.C.E. in Anatolia and Syria? In: J. Dušek and J. Mynářová (eds), Aramaean Borders. Defining Aramaean Territories in the 10th–8th Centuries B.C.E. Leiden/Boston. 149–171. Bonnet, C. 1988 Melqart: cultes et mythes de l’Héraclès tyrien en Méditerranée. Studia Phoenicia 8. Leuven. Bonatz, D. 2014 Aramaean Art. In: H. Niehr (ed.), The Ancient Aramaeans in Syria, Leiden/Boston, 205–253.

The existence of real small models in stone, or wood, does not seem to be excluded, cf. Cecchini 2011, 84 figs 3–7. 29 On literary, theological, and historical-political considerations about the altar cf. Wazana 2016. 28

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Briquel-Chatonnet, F. 1992 Les relations entre les cités de la côte phénicienne et les Royaumes de Juda. Studia Phoenicia 46. Leuven. Bunnens, G. 2006 A New Luwian Stele and the Cult of the Storm-God at Til BarsipMasuwari. Leuven/Paris/Dudley. Cecchini, S. M. 1997 La stele di Amrit. Aspetti e problemi iconografici e iconologici. In: P. Matthiae (ed.), Studi in memoria di H. Frankfort (1897–1954). Contributi e Materiali di Archeologia Orientale VII. 85–100. 2005 The ‚Suivant du char royal‘ A case of interaction between various genres of minor art. In: C. Suter, Ch. Uehlinger (eds), Crafts and Images in Contact. Studies in Eastern Mediterranean art of the first millennium BCE. Fribourg. 231–251. 2010 Il viaggio di Melqart. In: G. Bartoloni et al. (eds), Tiro, Cartagine, Lixus: nuove acquisizioni. Atti del Convegno Internazionale in onore di Maria Giulia Amadasi Guzzo. Roma, 24–25 novembre 2008. Quaderni di Vicino Oriente IV [2010]). Rome. 73–87. 2011 “Disegni e modelli”, dal Levante al Mediterraneo occidentale. In: P. de Vita and F. Venturi (eds), Da Tell Afis a Mozia, Lugano 2011. Byrsa VIII 15/16 [2009]. 77–91. 2013 La stele di Breyg. In: A. M. Arruda (ed.), Fenícios e Púnicos, por terra e mar. Actas VI Congresso Internacional de Estudios Fenicio Púnicos (Lisboa 2005). Lisbon. 275–283. Cecchini, S. M. and F. Venturi 2012 A sounding at Arslan Tash. Re-visiting the “Bâtiment aux ivoires”. In: R. Matthews and J. Curtis et al. (eds), Proceedings of the 7th International Congress on the Archaeology of the Ancient Near East (12 April–16 April 2010). Wiesbaden. 325–341. 2018 Le contexte stratigraphique du Bâtiment aux ivoires. In: Fontan and Affanni, 2018, 29–34. Culican, W. 1960–1961 Melqart Representations on Phoenician Seals, Abr-Nahrain 2, 41–54. 1976 Baal on an Ibiza Gem, Rivista di Studi Fenici IV, 57–68. Dion, P.-E. 1997 Les Araméens à l’âge du fer: histoire politique et structures sociales. Études Bibliques, Nouvelle série 34. Paris. Dunand, M. 1937 Fouilles de Byblos, I. Paris. 1939 Stèle Araméenne Dédiée á Melqart, Bulletin du Musée de Beyrouth 3, 65–76. Dušek J. 2019 The Kingdom of Arpad/Bīt-Agūsi: Its Capital, and Its Borders. In: J. Dušek and J. Mynářová (eds), Aramaean Borders. Defining Aramaean Territories in the 10th–8th Centuries B.C.E. Leiden/Boston, 171–202. Faegersten, F. 2003 The Egyptianizing Male Limestone Statuary from Cyprus. Lund.

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Fariselli, A. C. 2006 Problematiche iconografiche e iconologiche delle rappresentazioni di divinità guerriere nel mondo punico. In: G. Pisano (ed.), Varia iconographica ab Oriente ad Occidentem. Studia Punica 14. Rome. 75–107. Fontan, É. and G. Affanni 2018 Les ivoires d’Arslan Tash. Décor de mobilier syrien (IXe–VIIIe siècles avant J.-C.). Paris. Fontan, É., A. Caubet and G. Affanni 2018 Conclusion. In: Fontan and Affanni 2018, 73–74. Gubel, E. 1980 An Essay on the Axe-Bearing Astarte and her Role in a Phonician “Triad”, Rivista di Studi Fenici 8, 1–17. 1983 Art in Tyre during the First and Second Iron Age. A Preliminary Survey (OLA 15), Leuven. 2000 Multicultural and multimedial aspects of early Phoenician art, c. 1200– 675 B.C. In: Ch. Uehlinger (ed.), Images as Media. Proceedings of an international symposium held in Fribourg on November 25–29, 1997. Göttingen/Freiburg. 185–214. Herrmann, G. 1986 Ivories from Room SW37, Fort Shalmaneser. Ivories from Nimrud IV. London. Herrmann G., and S. Laidlaw 2008 Ivories from the North West Palace (1845–1992). Ivories from Nimrud VI. London. 2013 Ivories from Room SW11/12 and T10 Fort Shalmaneser. Ivories from Nimrud VII. London. Lehmann, G. 2008 North Syria and Cilicia, ca. 1200–330 BCE. In: C. Sagona (ed.), Beyond the Homeland: Markers in Phoenician Chronology. Leuven. 137–178. Lipiński, E. 1995 Dieux et déesses de l’univers phénicien et punique. Orientalia Lovaniensia analecta 64. Leuven. 2000 The Aramaeans: Their Ancient History, Culture, Religion. Orientalia Lovaniensia analecta 100. Leuven/Paris. Maier, F. G. 1989 Priest kings in Cyprus. In: E. Peltenburg (ed.), Early society in Cyprus. Edinburgh. 376–391. Markoe, G. 1985 Phoenician Bronze and Silver Bowls from Cyprus and the Mediterranean. Classical Studies 26. Berkeley. Los Angeles / London. 1990 Egyptianizing votive statuary from Cyprus: a reexamination, Levant 22, 111–122. Matthiae, P. 1971 La tradition figurative phénicienne et l’art des colonies d’Occidente, Annales Archéologiques Arabes Syriennes 21, 57–62.

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1975 Syrische Kunst. In: W. Orthmann (ed.), Der Alte Orient. Propyläen Kunstgeschichte 14. Berlin. 466–493. 1980 Sulle asce fenestrate del “Signore dei capridi”, Studi Eblaiti III:3–4, 53–62. 1989 Ebla. Un impero ritrovato. Torino. 1997 La storia dell’arte dell’Oriente antico. Vol. 3: I primi imperi e i principati dell’Età del Ferro 1600–700 a. C. Milan. 2013 Stone Sculpture of the Second Millennium BC. In: W. Orthmann, P. Matthiae, M. al-Maqdissi (eds), Stratigraphy and Architecture Archéologie et Histoire de la Syrie I, La Syrie de l’époque néolithique à l’âge du fer. Wiesbaden, 375–592. 2016 Pouvoir et prestige: Images égyptiennes pour le panthéon et la royauté paléosyrienne. In: R. A. Stucky et al. (eds), Proceedings of the 9th International Congress on the Archaeology of the Ancient Near East. 9–13 June 2014, Basel. Wiesbaden. 213–233. Na’aman, N. 2016 Arpad and Aram: reflection of a dimorphic society in the Sefire treaty, Revue d’Assyriologie et d’archéologie orientale 110, 79–88. Orthmann, W. 1971 Untersuchungen zur späthetitischen Kunst. Saarbrücker Beiträge zur Altertumskunde 8. Bonn. Osborne, J. F. 2021 The Syro-Anatolian City-States. An Iron Age Culture, Oxford. Parpola, S. and K. Watanabe 1988 Neo-Assyrian Treaties and Loyalty Oaths. State Archives of Assyria 2. Helsinki. Petrasch , E. and J. Thimme 1973 Phönizische Elfenbeine. Möbelverzierungen des 9. Jahrhunderts v. Chr. Eine Auswahl aus den Beständen des Badischen Landesmuseums. Karlsruhe. Pinnock, F. 2002 Note sull’iconografia di Melqart. In: M. G. Amadasi-Guzzo et al. (eds), Da Pyrgi a Mozia. Studi sull’archeologia del Mediterraneo in memoria di Antonia Ciasca. Rome. 379–389. Pitard, W. T. 1988 The Identity of the Bir Hadad of the Melqart Stela, Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 272, 3–21. Pucci, M. 2020a Archaeological Research in Pre-Classical Syria and the Canon of Ancient Near Eastern Art and Archaeology. In: A. Gansell and A. Shafer (eds), Testing the Canon of Ancient Near Eastern Art and Archaeology. Oxford. 66–89. 2020b Traded Goods in the Amuq during the Iron Age: Cypriot, Phoenician and Egyptian Artefacts at Chatal Höyük, Rivista di Studi Fenici 48, 7–34. Puech, É. 1981 Les ivoires inscrits d’Arslan Tash et les rois de Damas, Revue Biblique 88, 544–562.

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Thureau-Dangin, F. et al. 1931 Arslan Tash. Bibliothèque archéologique et historique 16. Paris. Wazana, N. 2016 Ahaz and the Altar from Damascus (2 Kings 16:10–16): Literary, Theological, and Historical-Political Considerations. In: O. Sergi, M. Oeming, I. J. de Hulster (eds), In Search for Aram and Israel Politics, Culture, and Identity. Tel Aviv. 379–399. Wicke, D. 2009 “Intermediate Tradition” – Dreifach Problematisch. In: S. M. Cecchini, S. Mazzoni, E. Scigliuzzo (eds), Syrian and Phœnician Ivories of the Early First Millennium BCE. Pisa. 239–284. Winter, I. J. 1981 Is there a South Syrian Style of Ivory Carving in the Early First Millennium B.C.?, Iraq 43, 101–130. 1992 Review of G. Herrmann, Ivories from Room SW37, Fort Shalmaneser. Ivories from Nimrud IV, London 1986, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 51, 135–141. Yasur-Landau, A. 2015 From Byblos to Vapheio: Fenestrated Axes between the Aegean and the Levant, Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 373, 139–150. Younger K. L. Jr., 2005 “Hazael Son of Nobody”: Some Reflections in Light of Recent Studies. In: P. Bienkowski, C. Mee, E. Slater (eds), Writing in Ancient Near Eastern Society: Papers in Honour of Alan R. Millard (Library of Hebrew Bible/ Old Testament Studies, 426). New York – London. 245–270. 2016 A Political History of the Arameans: From Their Origins to the End of Their Polities. Atlanta.

Another look at the Hasanlu ivories Megan Cifarelli Abstract I am delighted to have the opportunity to honor Georgina Herrmann, whose contributions to the study of ancient Near Eastern art are inestimable. Thanks to the global COVID-19 pandemic, I am offering an update from the archives and some thoughts on the significant collection of ivories excavated at Hasanlu, Iran, by the Hasanlu Joint Expedition between 1956 and 1977 under the direction of the late Robert H. Dyson and Oscar White Muscarella. In celebration of Dr Herrmann’s contributions to our field, I will briefly discuss the history of the publication of the objects worked from ivory, bone, wood, and similarly carvable materials at Hasanlu, note the objects that have not been fully studied or published, and sketch opportunities for further research. Hasanlu, in northwestern Iran, is a notoriously complex archaeological site. Best known for its dramatic destruction level with monumental structures on the citadel (Fig. 1) that collapsed and sealed their contents – including occupants – the site presents challenges to those who would study its materials, which are distributed between Tehran, the University Museum at Penn, the Metropolitan Museum, with a few objects in other collections in Iran, the United States, and Canada. Despite being one of the most critical excavations for establishing the chronology of northwestern Iran during the late Bronze and early Iron ages, it remains veiled in mystery, perhaps because final excavation reports have not been produced. While Michael Danti has written the final reports for Hasanlu VI–IVc, the Middle Bronze through Iron I periods (2013a), Period IVb (ca 1050– 800 BC) – an era of increasing regional conflict which ended in the catastrophic destruction of the site – remains under-documented and under-analyzed. The most comprehensive treatment of this era at the site was presented in 1989 in a special issue of Expedition, the University Museum’s magazine for its members, more than 30 years after excavations began. This volume was entitled, tellingly, “East of Assyria,” and includes a series of essays on aspects of the Period IVb archaeological record. Soon after excavations closed, the project planned a series of monographs, called Hasanlu Special Studies, which were each “devoted to a special object or category of objects deserving of special attention” (Dyson 1980), the most recent of which (No. 4) is an edited volume featuring essays on disparate

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Fig. 1. Contour plan of Hasanlu, Iran showing excavation areas on the Citadel and the Outer Town. Courtesy of the Penn Museum. aspects of Period IVb material culture edited by Maude de Schauensee (2011b). The goal of this series may have been to get the results of the excavations into the scholarly ether quickly, but this approach – as distinguished from the incredible work produced by the Special Studies authors – puts objects literally before, and intellectually outside of, their architectural, historical, and archaeological contexts.1 In gratitude for Georgina Herrmann’s extraordinary efforts to ensure the publication of the thousands of ivories found at Nimrud, I would like to briefly revisit the objects of worked ivory, bone, horn/antler, and wood from Hasanlu, which were the subject of the second volume of the Hasanlu Special Studies series written by Oscar White Muscarella (1980) – for a time co-director of the excavation. Muscarella’s catalogue featured entries for 293 mostly fragmentary objects of worked ivory, with a small number of objects of bone, shell, and wood. He divided them into four geo-stylistic categories. By far the largest group is Local Style, argued to be locally or regionally produced (Winter 1977), with a small number of imported examples assigned to production elsewhere in Iran, The other two Special Studies volumes are Winter 1980 and Marcus 1996.

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North Syria (Levant), and Assyria. Muscarella’s meticulous study is critically important in establishing the heterogeneity of the corpus of such objects from Hasanlu – significant because of parallels to collections further west in Assyria and the Levant. Because of Muscarella’s longstanding engagement with the site, his catalogue provides a wealth of contextual information and analysis, particularly for the objects found in the collapsed upper story of the rooms east of the main columned hall of the temple called Burned Building II (BB II) (Fig. 2). However, perhaps due to the lack of final excavation reports, the fragmentary nature of the finds themselves, or the more angular “provincial” nature of the local-style carving compared to centers of production further west, these materials have not received much scholarly attention since the publication of this volume. Not surprisingly, the objects that have garnered additional study are those that Muscarella identified as imported from central Assyria (Collins 2006) or of North Syrian (Wicke 2008) production. This relative disregard for the Local Style of carving is perhaps a result of the art historical tendency to rank styles hierarchically, favoring those that to western eyes are more legible or pleasing due to their polished surfaces, smooth contours, symmetrical arrangements, well-proportioned figures, and legible narratives, as compared to more schematic or “crude” carving, stylized figures, repeating and geometric motifs, etc. When the Local Style ivories are mentioned in the literature, it is most often as documents of local material culture – e.g. clothing and furnishings (de Schauensee 2011a) – or as archaeologically derived comparanda for ivories “said to have come from nearby Ziwiye” (Dyson 1980). The intervening years have witnessed numerous critiques of the excavations at Hasanlu themselves, their publication strategy, and the unfortunate predilection for persistently arguing for preliminary conclusions contradicted by findings from later seasons (Muscarella 2006; Kroll 2010, 2013; Pizzorno 2011; Danti 2013a; Cifarelli 2018a;). Michael Danti and I have argued that the excavators’ Assyro-centric narratives about the collections of ivories and other goods at Hasanlu – that the choice to collect these objects imitated Assyrian practices, that a handful of imported Assyrian ivory plaques could be read as a proxy for a real-world direct relationship between Hasanlu and Nimrud, and that the local style of carving itself deliberately emulates elite ninth century BC Assyrian visual culture – were preliminary conclusions not well-supported by the archaeological record (Danti and Cifarelli 2016; Cifarelli 2018a). Assyrian materials do not predominate but form a small part of wildly eclectic collections of imported and local, heirloom and newly made, whole and fragmented, precious and quotidian – objects that were stored, displayed, and likely used in Hasanlu’s monumental buildings. Local Style artistic production during Period IVb (1050–800 BC), moreover, is unlikely to have been made in deliberate imitation of ninth century BC central Assyrian art, but rather has drawn upon the site’s local collections, which have the same Bronze Age components that gave rise to the Neo-Assyrian monumental style in northern Mesopotamia. Most critically for any discussion of ivories, we have shown that the excavation records themselves indicate that, in addition to the examples of ivories, etc., found in Period IVb contexts (1050–800 BC), objects made of ivory are also present under Period IVb floors in very early IVb or IVc (1250–1050 BC) levels of the temple BBII at Hasanlu. These well stratified (albeit poorly recorded)

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Fig. 2. Plan of Citadel Buildings with approximate locations of the objects catalogued in Muscarella 1980. Plan courtesy of the Penn Museum. finds significantly predate, for example, the founding of Nimrud, and establish the longevity of ivory collecting at Hasanlu. Overall, the archaeological record demonstrates strong cultural continuity at the site from the Middle Bronze Age through Iron II, including the persistent tradition of collecting and safeguarding imported, precious, and otherwise interesting objects (Danti 2013a, 2013b; Cifarelli 2018b). Well before the ascent

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of the Neo-Assyrian empire, ivory objects were considered sufficiently valuable at Hasanlu to have been collected and integrated into the furnishings of temple BB II and associated treasuries. This discovery is fully in keeping with what is known about local collecting practices, as numerous examples of heirloom objects have been identified at the site, including the famous Gold Bowl, several inscribed objects with the names of rulers of literate, neighboring polities, 2nd millennium BC glass vessels from southern Mesopotamia, etc. (Porada 1959; Dyson 1989; Marcus 1991; Cifarelli 2018b). It seems likely that some of the published and unpublished examples of worked ivory, bone, and wood also date considerably earlier than their context of deposition, an important question raised in a review of Muscarella by Suzanne Heim (1984, 272). In addition, recent excavations by Iranian archaeologists in the region can surely shed some light on artistic production during the early Iron Age, a much-needed corrective to the use of unprovenanced objects “said to be from” loci such as Ziwiye or Luristan (see, for example, Motamedi 1997; Amelirad 2019), appellations which functioned as “branding” to enhance valuation on the market (Muscarella 1977). A re-evaluation of the Hasanlu ivories themselves, the Local Style production, and their roles in local culture, is in order, although well beyond the scope of this paper. A few thoughts on what this project could look like follow. To assess the scope of a reevaluation of the Hasanlu ivories, I turned to the database of ca. 10,000 objects excavated and registered by the Hasanlu Expedition that I have developed using field records from the Hasanlu archives. My search turned up nearly 300 objects of worked ivory, bone, or wood that had not been included in Muscarella’s 1980 catalogue, doubling the corpus of such objects at the site. This quantity of unpublished objects could be the result of varying definitions of what sorts of objects should be included in this class – what is an “ivory” and to what extent does that category overlap with objects made of ivory and ivory-like materials, the removal from consideration of objects destined for other Special Studies or considered too fragmentary, or oversights in the transfer of information to Muscarella. In the decades that have elapsed, a few of these pieces have been published, for example approximately nine carved wooden objects identified as furniture parts were published in an article on the furniture at Hasanlu (de Schauensee 2011a). That far more objects were registered by excavators than published in the catalogue is not unprecedented, as noted by Claudia Suter with respect to Samaria, where the initial publication of ivories featured less than 200 of the 12,000 fragments excavators found (Suter 2022). While some of the unpublished objects from Hasanlu are fragmentary and/or undecorated, others are decorated and more complete, and so their exclusion from the initial publication is puzzling. Approximately 120 of the unpublished objects were classified by excavators as being made of ivory. Among these objects is an entire class of artifact found in various locations on the citadel and in three burials – decorated bone or ivory tubes, round or square in section, some of which had traces of powdered pigment inside of them (Fig. 3).2 Excavators classified some of these +/- 75 objects as “cosmetic For example, HAS59-953, now in Tehran, contained a substance identified initially as graphite, later as antimony oxide, and HAS62-294, MMA63.109.23, found in BB III, Room 5, contained a similar substance. 2

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Fig. 3. Excavation photograph of typical “cosmetic containers” or “handles” tentatively identified (L-R) as HAS59-494/ MMA60.20.36;HAS59-462/UM60-2020; HAS59-423/Tehran; 499/Tehran 10964; HAS59-422/Boston MFA1975.379. Courtesy of the Penn Museum. containers” and others as “handles” although the morphology and decoration appear the same. Only one of these objects was included in the 1980 catalogue, not coincidentally the only such object with figural decoration – two panels on each of four sides depicting human and animal figures (HAS62-436/Tehran, Muscarella 1980, No. 73, 38–9 and frontispiece). For two of these containers (HAS70-495 and HAS62-0294/ MMA63.109.23) (Fig. 4), excavators noted later (likely 7th century BC) Urartian parallels from Karmir Blur (Piotrovskii 1969, Pl. 114–116; Wicke 2008, KB2, 3; Taf. 43a, b).3 While nearly all of the “cosmetic containers”/“handles” come from Period IVb contexts, a single example was excavated in a Period VIa (Middle Bronze III, ca 1600–1450 BCE) burial in Hasanlu’s Outer Town. Of course, it is possible that the excavators assigned this object to the wrong burial, as was the case for incorrect reports that iron was found in pre-Iron II contexts at Hasanlu (Pigott 1989; Danti 2013a), but these objects may have a deeper history at the site. In addition to the bone and ivory With respect to the Karmir Blur container, Wicke 2008, KB.2, 273, suggests that the petaled, deeply carved rosettes are “typically Urartian.” This champlevé treatment, however, appears centuries earlier at Hasanlu on a wide range of objects, including a few ivory and bone items classified as North Syrian. Similarly inlaid stone mace heads found in BB II, however, appear more closely related to second millennium BCE examples from Assur and Susa, see Muhle 2008. At Hasanlu many of these indentations retain some of the composite material filling the deep petals of the rosettes and other indentation. The use of the champlevé technique may be another example of the impact of the material culture of northwestern Iran on the development of the later Urartian State Assemblage, see Zimansky 1995; Cifarelli 2019. 3

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Fig. 4. Excavation photograph of bone “cosmetic container” from BB IV, HAS70495/unknown. Courtesy of the Penn Museum. tubes, other classes of ojects among the unpublished artifacts include presumed cosmetic applicators, bone and ivory awls and flat tools (shuttles or spatulas) perhaps for textile production, pins, pegs with crenelated or grooved tops (Fig. 5),4 flat decorated and undecorated inlays that may have adorned furniture or containers, larger box fragments, tubes or straws, perforated objects that may be pendants, round objects with a straight handle called by excavators “magnifying glasses” (Fig. 6),5 possible game pieces, inlays for weapon handles, what appear to be fragments of the bodies and lids of round pyxides, a fragment of an ivory bracelet or other arc-shaped object decorated in relief with palmettes (Fig. 7),6 a zoomorphic fan handle that was found inside the famous Gold Bowl (Danti 2014), and of course many pieces too fragmentary to characterize. After discarding from the data set objects without stratified contexts – some of which were “brought in” by local residents, purchased by the excavation, and A total of seven of these pegs are recorded, several of which are incised with circle/ dot motifs. Their function is not clear; excavators suggested they might be used to guide or fasten the strings of a musical instrument. The morphology is also identical to that of a modern nock for fitting an arrow to the string of a bow. In any case, these ivory pegs, two of which were decorated with gold foil, were likely part of elite composite items, and one wonders if they were nocks for ceremonial arrows. 5 These small objects are comprised of a ring attached to a short handle with a perforation, which reminded excavators of the shape of a magnifying glass. Three were found in IVb contexts at the site, two in burials (HAS59-0167/TM in burial SK 69; HAS64-0183 in SK480) and one (HAS62-0353/UM63-5-32) in BB VII at the north side of the citadel. 6 This object (HAS74-0309/unknown) was found in BB V at the southwest corner of Room 3, with a large cache of objects from the collapsed upper story. It is decorated in fashion that strongly resembles repoussé decorated copper alloy bracelets HAS60-0531/ UM61-5-873 found at Hasanlu on the floor of the north end of BB II, Room 5. 4

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Fig. 5. Excavation photograph and field drawing of ivory peg with grooved top HAS70-202/Tehran from the west citadel. Courtesy of the Penn Museum.

Fig. 6. Excavation photograph of bone “magnifying glass” HAS59-0167/Tehran from Burial SK 69. Courtesy of the Penn Museum. registered alongside archaeological finds, the attached concordance (Table One) adds 277 entries to the repertoire of worked bone, ivory, and wooden objects known from Hasanlu. Stylistic analysis of this corpus is far beyond the scope of this brief communication, but it does seem that, like the corpus published by Muscarella, the majority of these were not crafted in exogenous styles. A few notable exceptions include HAS70-169/Tehran (Fig. 8), a tiny fragment of what appears to be an Assyrian style ivory plaque that was found in the western part of the citadel with a fragment that Muscarella (1980, No. 291) identified as an Assyrian style depiction of wings from a furniture plaque, perhaps those of a genie. The fragment in questions depicts what appears to be the right hand of an

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Fig. 7. Excavation photograph of arc shaped ivory bracelet (?) fragment HAS74309/unknown, below (not to scale) is a repousse decorated copper alloy bracelet HAS60-513/ UM61-5-873. Courtesy of the Penn Museum.

Fig. 8. Excavation photograph of Assyrian Style ivory fragment HAS70-169/ Tehran from west citadel. Courtesy of the Penn Museum. Assyrian genie or official holding a rosette-headed mace of the sort known from relief sculptures from Ashurnasirpal’s Northwest Palace at Nimrud (Fig. 9). It is possible that this fragment joins to Muscarella’s No. 291, which he postulated could have been dropped by a looter as they fled the citadel to the west, although the rosette fragment is quite a bit thicker than the wing. From Burned Building V (BB V), a columned hall being used as a stable at the time of its destruction – a clear indication that the site was under enormous military pressure leading up to the final attack (Dyson 1989), come a number of fragments identified as parts of North Syrian style pyxides, some of which resemble Muscarella’s No. 246 a and b

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Fig. 9. Relief sculpture from Ashurnasirpal’s Northwest Palace in Nimrud. MMA 17.190.2079, Gift of J. Pierpont Morgan, 1917 (open access) (cf. colour plate III). (1980, 126–127) with compass drawn guilloches and rosettes (HAS74-N507/ UM75-29-376). In addition, bone tubes incised with a “lotus capital,” a motif associated by Muscarella with North Syrian production (1980, no. 270, HAS64937; MMA 65.163.30), were found in BB V, Room 3 (HAS74-N505/UM75-29347) and BB II, Room 7 (HAS64-0610/unknown) (Fig. 10). The inclusion of the unpublished objects changes some of the patterns of distribution of worked ivory, bone, and wooden objects across the citadel as initially observed by Muscarella (1980, Plan 1, Plan 2, p. 5 Concordance) (Fig. 11).

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Fig. 10. Excavation drawing (not to scale) of North Syrian ivory fragment HAS74-N505/UM75-29-347. Courtesy of the Penn Museum. The 1980 concordance shows that more than 200 objects were found in the upper stories of eastern rooms of BB II, with a handful of objects found elsewhere on the citadel: in the western citadel (1); BB IW (5); BB IVE (3); and BB V (18) (Table Two). According to the revised data, worked bone objects were found in the Outer Town area in six burials and three other locations east and north of the citadel; 15 worked ivory and bone objects were excavated in buildings on the west side of the citadel near the Chariot Gate, including the Assyrian style example mentioned above: 19 (including 13 “cosmetic containers”) were found in the elite residence BB III and 8 more nearby in the constellation of BBs VII and VIII; in the Upper Court area, including BBs IW, IE, the Lower Court Gate building and the South Street area, a total of 34 worked bone and ivory objects were excavated, of which more than 20 were bone cosmetic containers; BB IV, a columned hall, held 11 worked bone and wood objects, including nine “cosmetic containers”; in BB IVE excavators found fragments of 26 objects in ivory, bone, and wood; the Lower Court held three; BB V held 40 additional such objects; finally, an additional 108 objects can be added to those found fallen from the upper floor of the columned hall. It is important to note that these numbers do not reflect the quantity of discrete objects of worked bone, ivory, or wood, but instead record the register entries, each of which could indicate anything from a tiny fragment of an object to a group of several individual objects. More study is required to determine the number of individual objects more precisely, including identifying joins, but it is clear that such objects were used and stored throughout the citadel buildings at Hasanlu, and not simply clustered in the upper storerooms of BB II. This additional data does corroborate some patterns noted by Muscarella, in particular his observation that the ivories in his North Syrian (Levantine) group were found primarily in BB V, a conclusion further supported by the objects under discussion. In 2005, in her chapter “Naming, Defining, Explaining,” Dr. Herrmann wondered (with respect to Nimrud) “Do different contexts reflect

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Fig. 11. Plan of Citadel Buildings with approximate locations of the worked ivory/ bone/wood objects not catalogued in Muscarella 1980. Plan courtesy of the Penn Museum. different times of deposition of booty or different use?” (2005, 19), and this question resonates for Hasanlu as well. One wonders if these Levantine objects came to the site and were stored in BB V relatively earlier in the Iron Age, and use of the particular storeroom discontinued when the ground floor columned hall of BB V was converted to a stable in the era leading up to Hasanlu’s destruction, perhaps at the same time the defensive corridor comprised of BB IV-V was built and the entrance to BB V shifted from its east façade to the more protected west façade (Danti 2013a). Assyrian style ivories, most of which

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appear to date to the mid to late 9th century BC, are entirely absent from this building, perhaps an indication that the BB V storerooms were not in use during the site’s last century. Another aspect of these objects that could benefit from further study is the matter of materials—the need for analysis and more precise assessment of the substances of which these objects are made. According to Muscarella (1980, 2), the items in the corpus he published were predominantly made of ivory, with a few objects in wood, bone, or shell. According to excavation records ivories are a significant portion of these additional objects (120 out of 277) as well, but there are discrepancies among the excavation records, museum records, and publications of these objects–objects recorded as bone or antler in some places will appear as ivory in others, and vice versa (wood is more easily identified). While these materials are worked similarly, by the same craftspeople using the same tools (Herrmann and Laidlaw 2009, 70; Suter 2022), there are potentially important differences among these materials with respect to rarity, hardness, the ability to take a polish, surface characteristics, colour, translucence, etc.7 While it seems obvious that ivory would be a highly regarded, exotic, and precious material at Hasanlu, given the dearth of elephants and hippopotamuses in northwestern Iran, it would be useful to take a closer look at these materials, to ensure their correct identification, and to study the ways they are used at the site. It may be that the material and its affordances was as significant to the residents of Hasanlu as the style of carving, etc. And while there is no direct archaeological evidence for a carving workshop at Hasanlu, the abundance of ivory, bone, and wood objects carved in the Local Style does suggest at least regional, if not site-specific production. In the collapsed second story storerooms that spilled into BB V’s rooms 3 and 8, for example, excavators discovered a 15 cm. long crescent-shaped object they described as “a piece of tusk” (HAS70-686/Tehran) suggesting that the piece of ivory had been prepared for carving but not finished, possibly at the site. This brief communication is a work in progress, a light scratching of the surface of complex issues surrounding the modern discovery and publication, and the ancient production, consumption, use, storage, and display of worked ivory and bone at Hasanlu, many of which have arisen since Muscarella’s publication in 1980. I have attempted to lay some of the groundwork for a comprehensive study of the Hasanlu “ivories” (including all artifacts from the site carved from ivory, bone, and wood) that picks up where Muscarella left off. We can hope that final excavation reports for Period IVb are forthcoming, and it will be possible to understand better these objects in their archaeological and architectural context. With the benefit of findings from recent excavations by Iranian archaeologists in the region – such as those highlighted at the Sanandaj conference in 2019 (Hassanzadeh, Vahdati and Karimi 2019), scientific analyses of materials, the expansive and innovative literature on ivories that emerged over the last decades, as well as the addition of hundreds of examples to the corpus, much work remains to be done on the Hasanlu ivories. Sharing this important data is but a first step in this process. Allison Thomason, Personal Correspondence, March 2022.

7

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Bibliography Amelirad, S. 2019 A Study of Ivory and Bone Plaques From Ziwiye in the Sanandaj Museum, Iraq 81, 11–21. Cifarelli, M. 2018a East of Assyria? Hasanlu and the Problem of Assyrianization. In: Virginia Herrmann and Craig Tyson (eds), Imperial Peripheries in the NeoAssyrian Period. Boulder. 210–239. 2018b Entangled Relations over Geographical and Gendered Space: MultiComponent Personal Ornaments at Hasanlu. In: Silvana di Paolo (ed.), Exhibiting an Imaginative Materiality, Showing a Genealogical Nature: The Composite Artefacts in the Ancient Near East. Oxford. 51–61. 2019 Hasanlu, the Southern Caucasus, and Early Urartu. In: P. S. Avetisyan, R. Dan and Y. Grekyan (eds), Over the Mountains and Far Away. Studies in Near Eastern History and Archaeology Presented to Mirjo Salvini on the Occasion of His 80th Birthday. Oxford. 144–156. Collins, P. 2006 An Assyrian-Style Ivory Plaque from Hasanlu, Iran, Metropolitan Museum Journal 41 (July), 19–31. Danti, M. D. 2013a Hasanlu V: The Late Bronze and Early Iron Ages. Philadelphia. 2013b The Late Bronze and Early Iron Age in Northwestern Iran. In: D. T. Potts (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Ancient Iran. Oxford. 2014 The Hasanlu (Iran) Gold Bowl in Context: All That Glitters…, Antiquity 88 (341), 791–804. Danti, M. D. and M. Cifarelli 2016 Assyrianizing Contexts at Hasanlu IVb?: Materiality and Identity in Iron II Northwest. In: J. MacGinnis, D. Wicke and T. Greenfield (eds), The Provincial Archaeology of the Assyrian Empire. Cambridge. 357–369. Dyson, R. H. 1980 Preface. In: The Catalogue of Ivories from Hasanlu, Iran. Hasanlu Special Studies 2. Philadelphia. 1989 The Iron Age Architecture of Hasanlu, An Essay, Expedition 31, 107–28. Hassanzadeh, Y., A. Vahdati,and Z. Karimi (eds) 2019 Proceedings of the International Conference on the Iron Age in Western Iran and the Neighboring Regions, Sanandaj Iran November 2019. Sanandaj, Iran. Heim, S. 1984 Book Review: A Catalogue of Ivories from Hasanlu, Iran by Oscar White Muscarella, American Journal of Archaeology 88 (2), 271–273. Herrmann, G. 2005 Naming, Defining, Explaining: A View from Nimrud. In: C. E. Suter and Christoph Uehlinger (eds), Crafts and Images in Contact: Studies on Eastern Mediterranean Art of the First Millennium BCE. Göttingen. 11–21. Herrmann, G. and S. Laidlaw 2009 Ivories from the North West Palace (1845–1992). Ivories from Nimrud VI. London.

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Kroll, S. 2010 Urartu and Hasanlu. In: A. Kosyan, A. Petrosyan and Y. Grekyan (eds), Aramazd Armenian Journal of Near Eastern Studies. Yerevan, 21–35. 2013 Hasanlu Period III – Annotations and Corrections, Iranica Antiqua 48, 175–192. Marcus, M. I. 1991 The Mosaic Glass Vessels from Hasanlu, Iran: A Study in Large-Scale Stylistic Trait Distribution, The Art Bulletin 73 (4), 536–560. 1996 Emblems of Identity and Prestige: The Seals and Sealings from Hasanlu, Iran; Commentary and Catalog. Philadelphia. Motamedi, O. 1997 Ziwiye: A Mannean-Median Fortress. In: B. A. Shirazi (ed.), Proceedings of Iranian Architecture and City Building (in Persian). Tehran. 320–357. Muhle, B. 2008 Vorderasiatische Keulen und ihr Umfeld vom 9. bis ins frühe 1. Jt. v. Chr. Typologie und Deutung. Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität. Muscarella, O. W. 1977 ‘Ziwiye’ and Ziwiye: The Forgery of a Provenience, Journal of Field Archaeology 4 (2), 197–219. 1980 The Catalogue of Ivories from Hasanlu, Iran. Hasanlu Special Studies 2. Philadelphia. 2006 The Excavations of Hasanlu: An Archaeological Evaluation, The Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 342, 69–94. Pigott, V. 1989 The Emergence of Iron at Hasanlu, Expedition 31 (2/3), 67–79. Piotrovskii, B. 1969 Urartu (Translated by James Hogarth). New York. Pizzorno, G. H. 2011 Dinkha Tepe Revisited: A Critical Evaluation and Stratigraphic Analysis of the Hasanlu Project Excavations. Unpublished PhD. University of Pennsylvania. Porada, E. 1959 The Hasanlu Bowl, Expedition 1 (3), 18–22. Schauensee, M. de. 2011 Furniture Remains and Furniture Ornaments from the Period IVB Buildings at Hasanlu. In: M. de Schauensee (ed.), Peoples and Crafts in Period IVb at Hasanlu, Iran. Philadelphia, 1–42. 2011b (ed.) Peoples and Crafts in Period IVB at Hasanlu Tepe, Iran. University Museum Monographs. Vol. 132. Philadelphia. Suter, C. E. 2022 Ivory Carving. In: Angelika Berlejung, P. M. Michèle Daviau, Jens Kamlah, and Gunnar Lehmann (eds), Encyclopedia of the Material Culture in the Biblical World: A New Biblisches Reallexikon. Tübingen. 539–554. Wicke, D. 2008 Vorderasiatische Pyxiden der Spätbronzezeit und der Früheisenzeit. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 45. Münster.

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Winter, I. J. 1977 Perspective on the ‘Local Style’ of Hasanlu IVB: A Study in Receptivity. In: L. D. Levine (ed.), Mountains and Lowlands: Essays in the Archaeology of Greater Mesopotamia. Malibu. 371–386. 1980 A Decorated Breastplate from Hasanlu, Iran. Hasanlu Special Studies 1. Philadelphia. Zimansky, P. 1995 Urartian Material Culture As State Assemblage: An Anomaly in the Archaeology of Empire. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 299/300 (July), 103–115.

Table One Hasanlu Loci Outer Town (six burials + other loci) Western Citadel Burned Building III Burned Buildings VII, VIIIE, VIII Upper Court Area (Upper Court, BBIW, BBIE, Lower Court Gate building, South Street) Burned Building IV Burned Building IVE Burned Building IV–V Lower Court Burned Building V Burned Building II

Muscarella 1980 0 1 0 0 5

Additions 12 15 19 8 34

0 3 0 0 18 +/-200

11 26 2 3 40 69

Western area of citadel (15/1) Bazaar Area West HAS70-0174/UM71-23-151 HAS70-0169/TM HAS70-0168/UM71-23-163 HAS70-0167/TM HAS70-0202/TM

Outer Town area (12 entries/0 in Muscarella 1980) Outer Town Burial SK 480 HAS64-0183/? Outer Town Burial SK 69 HAS59-0167/TM Outer Town Burial SK 501a HAS64-0362/? Outer Town Burial SK 15 HAS57-0014/TM10493 Outer Town Burial SK 15 HAS57-0015/TM10496 Outer Town Burial SK 14 HAS57-0044/TM10497 Outer Town Burial SK 25 (Pd VIa) HAS57-0095/TM10484 Outer Town HAS64-0010/Discarded Operation X HAS58-0069/Discarded Operation LIVf HAS59-0208/TM HAS59-0268/UM0-0022 HAS59-0270/Discarded

Table Two (all from Period IVb unless otherwise noted)

Bone Cosmetic Container/tube Ivory, Flat Inlay, Assyrian Style Ivory, Flat Inlay? Ivory, furniture? Ivory peg, crenelated

Bone „magnifying glass“ Bone „magnifying glass“ Bone, Game piece? Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Handle? Bone Equipment, shuttle? Bone, flat inlay? Bone Handle

1 1 1 1 1

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

Another look at the Hasanlu ivories 55

Room 4

Room 13 Room 14

Burned Building III (19/0) Room 11 Room 12

BB VI/Chariot Gate, Room 1 (upper fill)

HAS62-1012/UM63-5-42 HAS62-0557/UM63-5-43 HAS62-0558/Discarded HAS62-0567/TM HAS62-0987/Discarded HAS74-N118/UM75-29-322 HAS74-N011/UM75-29-312 HAS62-0286/UM63-5-38 HAS62-0238/TM HAS62-0505/Discarded

HAS74-N726/UM75-29-418 HAS74-N662/UM75-29-358 HAS74-N679/UM75-29-360 HAS74-N657/UM75-29-356 HAS74-0382/? HAS74-N496/UM75-29-346 HAS74-N475/UM75-29-344 HAS74-N392/UM75-29-338 HAS74-N549/UM75-29-350 HAS74-N427/UM75-29-367

Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Bone tool, awl? Cosmetic Container, Bone Bone tool, shuttle?

“Horn core object” Bone tool, awl? Bone tool, awl? Bone peg Ivory, decorated tube, Cosmetic Container? Unknown, Bone object Ivory, wood furniture element Bone tool, awl? Bone tool, awl? Ivory, flat inlay?

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

56 Megan Cifarelli

Bone, incised, container

Upper Court area, BBIW, BBIE, Lower Court Gate (34/5) Upper Court HAS58-0336/UM59-4-74

Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone (flat) Bone tool, incised, kohl? Bone inlay? Figurine, Bone Wood vessel fragment Cosmetic Container or handle, Bone

„magnifying glass“, Bone Bone tool, awl? Bone game piece? Bone, unknown perforated object Bone, long tube Bone tool, awl? Bone, undecorated cosmetic container, handle? Bone point, tool?

HAS62-0294/MMA63.109.23 HAS62-0296/TM HAS62-0940/Discarded HAS62-0941/TM HAS62-0910/UM63-5-35 HAS62-1033/TM HAS62-0619/UM63-5-34 HAS74-N432/UM75-29-432 HAS62-0086/UM63-5-44

Burned Building VII, VIIE, VIII (8/0) BB VII HAS62-0353/UM63-5-32 HAS62-0136/TM HAS62-0159/TM BB VIIE, Room 3 HAS62-0330/Discarded HAS62-0319/? HAS72-N277/UM73-5-202 BB VIII HAS62-0639/TM HAS62-0644/Discarded

Room 7 Room 9 Courtyard BB III w. of BBIII (R22)

Room 6

Room 5

1

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

Another look at the Hasanlu ivories 57

BB IW, Room 5/6 BB IW, Room 6 BB IW, Room 9 BB IW

BB IW, Room 2 BB IW, Room 5

BB IE, Room 7

BB IE, Room 6

Upper Court/IE BB IE, Room 1 BB IE, Room 5

Upper Court (continued)

HAS59-0527/UM60-20-23 HAS59-0528/UM60-20-24 HAS59-0897/? HAS59-0518/TM HAS59-0499/TM 10964 HAS62-0960/UM63-5-278 HAS59-0462/UM60-20-20 HAS59-0494/MMA60.20.36 HAS59-0867/? HAS59-0870/TM10927 HAS59-0953/TM HAS59-0940/Discarded HAS59-0915/UM HAS59-0918/UM60-20-28 HAS58-0478/TM 10671 HAS58-0423/Tabriz HAS59-0422/MFA1957.379 HAS58-0426/UM59-4-69i HAS59-0423/TM HAS59-0420/MMA60.20.27 HAS58-0477/? HAS58-0334/UM59-4-65

Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Bone, carved, perforated, flat Cosmetic Container, Bone Bone, Cosmetic Container, Cosmetic Container, Bone Bone, Cosmetic Container Wood, furniture element? Wood, furniture element? Bone, Cosmetic Container Bone, handle? Bone, Cosmetic Container Bone, Cosmetic Container Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Undecorated flat inlay, bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Ivory fan handle, zoomorphicii Undecorated bone handle

1 1 1 1 1 1 2 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 6 1 1 1 2

58 Megan Cifarelli

BB IV, Room 5 BB IV, Room 6 (east portico) BB IV, Room 7a

Burned Building IV (11/0) BB IV, Room 1

South Street

BB IX/BH, Room 2 Lower Court Gate Building

BB IW (continued)

HAS70-0494/UM71-23-152 HAS70-0495/? HAS70-0614/UM71-23-146 HAS72-0038/MMA1976.233.7 HAS72-0070/?iv HAS70-0159/? HAS70-0160/TM HAS70-0161/UM71-23-153 HAS70-0496/?

HAS58-0488/UM59-4-75 HAS58-0371/Discarded HAS59-0376/UM60-20-021A, B HAS60-0010/UM61-5-56 HAS60-0004/61-5-52 HAS59-0738/UM60-20-0038 HAS59-0659/UM60-20-25 HAS59-0722/UM60-20-27 HAS59-0723/UM60-20-30 HAS59-0660/TM HAS59-0733/TM

Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Undecorated small bone tube Cosmetic Container, Boneiii Cosmetic Container, Wood Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone

Bone, game piece? Bone tool Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Flat bone inlay, eye? Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Bone Pommel decoration? Bone tool, awl?

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

Another look at the Hasanlu ivories 59

Burned Building IVE (26/3) BB IVE, Room 1 BB IVE, Room 3

Burned Building IV-V (2/0) BB IV-V, Room 4

BB IV, Room 7a (continued) BB IV

HAS70-0158/UM71-23-160 HAS72-N353/UM73-5-213 HAS72-N355/UM73-5-204 HAS74-0047/?v HAS74-N024/UM75-29-313 HAS74-N287/UM75-29-334 HAS74-N145/UM75-29-323 HAS74-N146/UM75-29-324 HAS74-N149/UM75-29-324 HAS74-N150/UM75-29-326 HAS74-0076/UM65-31-990 HAS74-N031/UM75-29-314 HAS74-N085/UM75-29-318 HAS74-N086/UM75-29-319

HAS74-N102/UM75-29-321 HAS74-0274/?

HAS70-0635/TM HAS60-0352/TM

Cosmetic Container, Bone Undecorated, flat ivory inlays, perforated Bone tool, awl? Carved wood panel, furniture? Ivory, bone? Tube fragment Ivory fragment Cosmetic Container, Wood, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Worked bone fragment Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone, Ivory Cosmetic Container, Ivory Cosmetic Container, Bone, Ivory?

Cosmetic Container, Bone Finial? For chariot?

Cosmetic Container, Bone Undecorated, flat bone inlay?

1 10+ 1 1 1 2 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

1 1

1 2

60 Megan Cifarelli

BB V, Room 3, mostly southeast corner

Burned Building V (40/18)

Lower Court (3/0) Lower Court

BB IVE, Room 4

BB IVE, Room 3 (continued)

HAS74-N530/UM75-29-378 HAS74-N500/UM75-29-374 HAS74-N505/UM75-29-347

HAS70-0282/UM71-23-154 HAS70-0283/TM HAS70-0286/UM71-23-139

HAS74-N093/UM75-29-320 HAS74-N164/UM75-29-327 HAS74-N187/UM75-29-329 HAS72-N316/UM73-5-336 HAS72-N301/UM73-5-224 HAS72-N315/UM73-5-333 HAS72-N426.1/UM73-5-215 HAS72-N426.2/UM73-5-215 HAS72-N441/UM73-5-214 HAS74-N077/UM75-29-364 HAS72-0102/? HAS72-N166/UM73-5-207

Ivory Cosmetic Container, tube? Ivory Cosmetic Container, tube? Ivory Cosmetic Box/Tube (N. Syrian? Lotus)

Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Bone Tool, awl?

Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Cosmetic Container, Bone Worked wood fragment Wood furniture fragment, leg? Worked ivory fragment Worked wood fragment Worked ivory fragment Worked ivory fragment Worked ivory fragment, double guilloche Bone Tube?

4 2 1

1 1 1

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 2 1 1 1

Another look at the Hasanlu ivories 61

BB V, Room 3, mostly southeast corner (continued)

HAS74-N506/UM75-29-348 HAS74-N507/UM75-29-376 HAS74-N508/UM75-29-377 HAS74-N511/UM75-29-349 HAS74-N522/UM75-29-429 HAS74-N536/UM75-29-380vi HAS74-N586/UM75-29-428 HAS74-N594A/UM75-29-384 HAS74-N594B/UM75-29-385 HAS74-N594c/UM75-29-386 HAS74-N594d/UM75-29-387 HAS74-N594f/UM75-29-389 HAS74-N594g/UM75-29-390 HAS74-N594h/UM75-29-391 HAS74-N594i/UM75-29-392 HAS74-N594j/UM75-29-393 HAS74-N494/UM75-29-370 HAS74-N498/UM75-29-373 HAS74-N490/UM75-29-345 HAS70-0686/TM HAS74-0310/? HAS74-0313/?

Worked bone? fragment Fragments, “N. Syrian” style pyxis, rosettes, guilloche Worked ivory fragments, polished Worked ivory fragment/”plug”, polished Worked ivory fragment/rim, polished Carved ivory fragment, incised, crenellated edge Worked bone fragment, polished Carved ivory fragment, incised, Worked ivory fragment, perf., Carved ivory boss, rosette Ivory fragment of cosmetic container Worked ivory fragment Worked ivory fragment Worked ivory fragment Worked ivory fragment Worked ivory fragment, polished, incised Worked ivory fragment, polished Cosmetic Container, Bone Bone peg, crenelation? “piece of tusk” Cosmetic Container, Bone, incised herringbone Ivory furniture fitting, palmette capital

1 11 4 1 1 4 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 3 1 1 1 1

62 Megan Cifarelli

Burned Building II (108/200) BB II, Room 4 (stairwell) BB II, Room 5

BB V, Room 9

BB V, Room 8

BB V, Room 3, mostly southeast corner (continued) BB V, Room 4a

Bone, Cosmetic Container Worked flat bone, incised circle-dot Worked wood fragments Worked ivory, furniture fragment

Worked ivory, dagger handle inlay? Ivory, palmette capital? Cosmetic Container, Bone, incised Cosmetic Container, Bone, gold flecks, herringbone Worked ivory fragment Fragment of ivory pyxis lid, low relief rosette Worked ivory, dagger handle inlay? Worked ivory fragment Worked ivory fragment, incised lines Carved ivory fragment, pyxis, rosette and guilloche Worked ivory fragment Worked ivory fragment Worked ivory fragment Carved ivory fragments, rim? Guilloche, zigzag

HAS74-N631/? HAS70-0133/TM HAS74-N623/UM75-29-394 HAS74-N626/UM75-29-397 HAS74-N629/UM75-29-399 HAS74-N630/UM75-29-400 HAS74-N632/UM75-29-401 HAS74-N639/UM75-29-408 HAS74-N641/UM75-29-410 HAS74-N642/UM75-29-411 HAS74-N643/UM75-29-412 HAS74-N644/UM75-29-413 HAS74-N645/UM75-29-414 HAS74-N590/UM75-29-382a-c

HAS59-0917/UM60-20-28 HAS62-0385/Unknown HAS60-0668/TM HAS60-0891/TM

Ivory Bracelet, low relief palmettes

HAS74-0309/?

1 1 3 1

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 3

1

Another look at the Hasanlu ivories 63

BB II, Room 5 (continued)

HAS60-0899b/TM HAS62-0389/? HAS62-0391/UM63-5-54 HAS62-0394/UM63-5-51 HAS62-0405/UM HAS62-0447/UM63-5-50 HAS62-0541/TM HAS62-0585/TM HAS62-0595/TM HAS60-0475/MMA61.100.135/ UM61-5-336 HAS62-0437/UM63-5-36 HAS62-0438/UM63-5-37 HAS60-0476A/TM HAS60-1105/? HAS60-0492/TM HAS60-0506/TM HAS60-1013/UM61-5-320 HAS60-1086/? HAS62-0370/Discarded HAS64-0027/? HAS64-0028/?

1 1 3 2 + 1 1 1 + 30+ 1 1 10+ 8 1 2 5 1 1 1 1

Ivory/bone “eye” inlay Worked bone object Carved ivory inlay fragment, zigzag Bone/ivory pegs with crenelated top Worked, incised, wooden tool. Poplar Worked bone, flat, perforated, inlay? Bone peg, crenelated? Worked bone tool? Bone Furniture inlays, drum/tablevii Ivory, perforated flat inlay, undecorated Bone tool, awl? Bone tool, incised decoration, kohl Worked ivory inlay fragments, chevron, guilloche Worked ivory furniture elements Ivory rosette, low relief Bone, Cosmetic Container, tube, incised Wood furniture legsviii “Ivory with ram,” inlay? Bone chevron inlay Wood furniture legsix Wood furniture legsx

64 Megan Cifarelli

BB II, Room 8

BB II, Room 6 BB II, Room 7a

BB II, Room 5 (continued)

HAS64-0461/UM65-31-311 HAS60-0311/? HAS64-0852/UM65-31-310/TM HAS64-0851/Discarded HAS64-0929/UM65-31-304a HAS64-0498/UM65-31-382 HAS64-0635/UM65-31-234 HAS64-0609/? HAS64-0610/? HAS64-0613/Discarded HAS64-1001/UM65-31-347 HAS64-1002/? HAS64-1004/UM? HAS64-1081/TM HAS64-0730/TM HAS64-0733/TM HAS64-0735/TM HAS64-0736/UM65-31-309 HAS64-0737/TM HAS64-0738/TM HAS64-0739/UM65-31-320 HAS64-0740/TM

Wood furniture legsxi Worked bone, inlay? Wood furniture panel, inlaid Wood furniture leg Carved wood relief fragment, human, local style Bone pegs, gold foil, crenellated. Ivory or shell bosses Bone Tube, gold foil, cosmetic container Bone Tube, Cosmetic container, lotus bud “N. Syrian” Bone tool, awl? Worked wood plaques, furniture elements? Worked wood plaques, furniture elements? Carved wood furniture legs Ivory figurine fragment, local style Carved ivory inlay fragment Carved ivory inlay fragment, rosettes/wheels Carved ivory inlay fragment, Carved ivory inlay fragment herringbone Carved ivory inlay fragment, human foot, local style Carved ivory inlay fragment, human?, local style Carved ivory inlay fragment, rosette, low relief Carved ivory inlay fragment, low relief

2 1 1 1 1 2 2 1 1 1 1 1 3 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

Another look at the Hasanlu ivories 65

BB II , Room 14 BB II, Room 15 Building II, Room 16?

BB II, Room 13

BB II, Room 8 (continued)

HAS64-0747/TM HAS64-0749/UM65-31-317 HAS64-0750/UM65-31-328 HAS64-0751/TM HAS64-0752/TM HAS64-0753/UM65-31-318 HAS64-0754/TM HAS64-0755/TM HAS64-0980B/UM65-31-303 HAS64-1078/TM HAS59-0694/? HAS59-0690/UM60-20-0026 HAS60-0875/TM HAS60-0796/UM61-5-61 HAS60-0390/UM61-5-63

HAS64-0741/TM HAS64-0742/UM65-31-329 HAS64-0743/UM65-31-332 HAS64-0744/UM65-31-335 HAS64-0745/UM65-31-324 HAS64-0746/UM65-31-315

Carved ivory inlay fragment, herringbone Carved ivory inlay fragment, arrow? Carved ivory inlay fragment, herringbone Carved ivory inlay fragment, incised, circle/dot Carved ivory inlay fragment Carved ivory inlay fragment, human garment hem, local Carved ivory inlay fragment, herringbone Carved ivory inlay fragment Carved ivory inlay fragment, herringbone Carved ivory inlay fragment, incised Carved ivory inlay fragment Carved ivory inlay fragment Carved ivory inlay fragment Carved ivory inlay fragment, human, local Carved ivory inlay fragment Carved ivory inlay fragments, guilloche Bone, Inlay for weapon? Bone, Inlay for weapon? Worked bone pendant? Worked bone pendant? Bone, Inlay for weapon handle? 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 2 1 1 1

1 1 1 1 1 1

66 Megan Cifarelli

Southeast of BB II

HAS70-0079/UM71-23-353 HAS70-0406/UM71-23-150 HAS70-0392/TM HAS70-0393/UM71-23-164 HAS70-0415/TM HAS70-0416/UM71-23-168 HAS70-0417/UM71-23-169 HAS70-0418/TM HAS70-0420/UM71-23-171 HAS70-0421/TM HAS70-0422/TM HAS70-0424/UM71-23-172 HAS70-0425/UM71-23-173 HAS70-0426/TM HAS70-0427/UM71-23-174 HAS70-0430/TM HAS70-0431/TM HAS70-0434/UM71-23-177 HAS70-0435/UM71-23-178 HAS70-0436/TM HAS70-0437/TM HAS70-0438/TM

Worked bone object, fragmetns Shell or ivory boss, inlaid Worked bone object Worked ivory fragment, curved, guilloche Carved ivory fragment, lion’s paw, low relief Carved ivory fragment, animal head, low relief Carved ivory fragment, human, low relief Carved ivory fragment, human, low relief Carved ivory fragment, human, low relief Carved ivory fragment, hooves, guilloche, Carved ivory fragment, bird?, low relief Carved ivory fragment, human, low relief Carved ivory fragment, dots, low relief Carved ivory fragment, human, low relief Carved ivory fragment,polished Carved ivory fragment, leaf design Carved ivory fragment, leaf design Worked ivory fragments, rectangular Worked ivory fragment Carved ivory fragment, zigzag Carved ivory fragment, human Ivory, flat inlay, carved

1 2 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 2 1 1 1 4 25+ 1 1 1 1

Another look at the Hasanlu ivories 67

1 4 1

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 3 1 5 6 + 30+

ix de Schauensee 2011. x de Schauensee 2011. xi de Schauensee 2011, p. 14, 20, fig. 1.11, pl. 1.7.

Carved ivory fragment, leaf design Carved ivory fragment Carved ivory pommel inlay Carved ivory fragment Carved ivory pommel inlay, rosette Worked ivory fragments Figurine, animal leg with hoof Carved ivory pommel inlay, rosette Worked ivory fragments Carved ivory fragment, human Worked ivory fragments Worked ivory fragments Worked ivory fragments Worked ivory fragments, one wood inlaid with ivory Undecorated bone handle Ivory “Petalled vessel,” gadrooned Worked ivory fragment, square

iv de Schauensee 2011, p. 21, pl. 1.8c. v de Schauensee 2011, p. 21, pl. 1.8a. vi de Schauensee 2011, pl. 1.8b, p. 14, 21. vii de Schauensee 2011 fig. 1.9, pl. 1.5, p. 10. viii de Schauensee 2011, fig. 1.12, p. 14.

HAS70-D153/Discarded HAS60-0257/? HAS60-0261/Discarded

HAS70-0439/UM71-23-179 HAS70-0440/UM71-23-180 HAS70-0441/TM HAS70-0442/TM HAS70-0443/UM71-23-181 HAS70-0444/TM HAS70-0445/UM HAS70-0446/UM71-23-182 HAS70-0447/TM HAS70-0448/UM71-23-183 HAS70-0449/TM HAS70-0450/UM71-23-184 HAS70-0451/TM HAS70-0452/UM71-23-185

i de Schauensee 2011, p. 18, pl. 1.6. ii Danti 2014. iii Annual Report of the Trustees of the Metropolitan Museum ofArt 106 (Jul. 1,1975 – Jun. 30, 1976), p. 30.

West of BB II

Southeast of BB II (continued)

68 Megan Cifarelli

Some thoughts on the Assyrian ivories from the Temple of Nabû at Nimrud1 Paul Collins Abstract Excavations in a throne room in the Temple of Nabû at Nimrud uncovered ivory plaques carved in an Assyrian-style. These appeared to be part of the temple furniture that had been deliberately burnt at the end of the Assyrian empire. The incised imagery includes processions of foreign tributaries interpreted as Iranians, specifically Medes. Alongside the ivories were found fragments of cuneiform documents containing oaths of loyalty to Assyria sworn by Iranians. This suggested a relationship between ivories and tablets and their symbolic destruction by the Medes. The ivories, which can be dated to the ninth century BC, are better understood as showing Syrian tributaries and a direct connection with the temple throne room and the treaty documents can be discounted. Nevertheless, the objects were probably brought together, perhaps from Iran itself, for their obliteration in a sacred space closely associated with Assyrian kingship. The remarkable carved ivories uncovered in their thousands at Nimrud and made available to scholarship through the painstaking cataloguing, publication and analysis of Georgina Herrmann, include thin panels that are lightly incised in an Assyrian style. These are easily recognisable as they have ‘designs of subjects and persons familiar from the palace bas-reliefs and other stone monuments executed between the ninth and end of the seventh centuries B.C.’ (Mallowan 1970, 1). A few Assyrian ivories come from Fort Shalmaneser but the majority were uncovered in the Northwest Palace and other structures on the citadel mound (Mallowan and Davies 1970; Herrmann 1992; Herrmann and Laidlaw 2009). The largest number, consisting of many fragments of broken ivory panels, were excavated by the British School of Archaeology in Iraq led by Max Mallowan in the citadel’s ‘Ezida’ temple of the god Nabû. A majority were found in a room on the north-western side of the temple, scattered over the top of a low mud-brick throne dais, against its front and sides, as well as over the It is a great pleasure to offer this contribution to Georgina who has done more than anybody to ensure the Nimrud ivories are available for posterity – not least in preparing me to write about some of them, first as my teacher and then as a valued colleague. 1

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Fig. 1. Drawings of incised ivory plaques from the Ezida throne room, Nimrud, Iraq (Mallowan and Davies 1970, Pls. II and XLV Nos. 2 and 202). so-called ‘tram lines’ leading to it (Mallowan 1956, 11–12; Oates and Oates 2001, 116). The ivories in the Ezida throne room had nearly all been badly burnt and were found under a deep layer of fallen roof beams and ash. The incised plaques can be divided into three groups: the king, courtiers and supernatural figures, all with a palmette and guilloche border (Fig. 1; Mallowan and Davies 1970, nos 2, 3, 22–24. 198–202); a procession of foreign tributaries bordered by cross-hatched crenellations (Mallowan and Davies 1970, nos 71–74. 85); and the king, with attendants and guards, receiving a line of tributaries (Fig. 2; Mallowan and Davies 1970, 67–69). For the excavator, these represented ‘the charred fragments of the king’s throne overlaid with carved ivory burnt black and grey and stained with ash’ (Mallowan 1966, I 241). It was, however, the images of tribute bearers that were of particular interest: ‘There can be little doubt that some of the tributaries were intended to represent outlandish men from Iran who, with their flopping woollen caps and side-pieces, open fringed garments and jack-boots, form a sharp

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contrast to the more stiffly dressed men of Assyria … Comparison of some of these panel fragments with engravings from Ziwiye in Median territory makes it seem most probably that some of these tribute bearers were Medes.’ (Mallowan 1956, 14)

Fig. 2. Drawings of incised ivory plaques from the Ezida throne room, Nimrud, Iraq (Mallowan and Davies 1970, Pls. XX–XXI Nos. 67 and 69). The identification of the incised figures as Iranians, specifically Medes, appeared to make much sense in the context of other discoveries in the throne room. At the north-west end of the room and scattered into the adjacent courtyard were dozens of fragments of cuneiform tablets. These comprised the text of an oath of loyalty – a so-called adê treaty – sworn by a number of Iranian leaders from different locations in the Zagros Mountains to the Assyrian crown prince Ashurbanipal in 672 BC (Wiseman 1952; for the composite text of Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty see SAA 2 6). It seemed very possible that there might be a direct relationship between the cuneiform texts, the imagery of tribute-bearers on the ivories, and the

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destruction of these objects at the hands of Median soldiers who contributed to the fall of the Assyrian empire in the years around 615–610 BC. ‘Who but the Medes’ asked Mallowan ‘can have more eagerly awaited the opportunity of seeking out the copies of the treaties stored in the temple and of mutilating the evidence which the Assyrians had put into writing as well as illustration?’ (Mallowan 1956, 15). Until relatively recently the carved and painted images of Assyria were understood as non-verbal footnotes or mere embellishments to the written sources (Bohrer 2003, 124). For Mallowan, therefore, the ivory carvings provided a helpful visual representation of the very people at the heart of an historical event illuminated by the associated cuneiform texts. He recognised, however, that this presented a problem since the ivories ‘are obviously older than the Treaty tablets with which they were found, for there are many archaic traits [that] repeat the habitual designs of the 9th century reliefs of Assur-nasir-pal.’ Nevertheless, regardless of their date, he suggested, ‘[t]o consign to the flames the pictorial records of the Assyrian triumphs as well as the inscriptions must have caused [the Medes] no less additional satisfaction’ (Mallowan 1966, I 250–251). That a relationship between the tablets and ivory carvings is more than just a coincidence has continued to prove attractive to investigators. It has, for example, been suggested that the ivory plaques may date to the late eighth century or are contemporary with the oath-taking ceremony itself (Robson 2015). Beate Pongratz-Leisten proposes that the imagery is connected directly with the event which she argues took place in the Nabû temple (1994, 96; 2015, 419). Cristina Barcina (2016, 17–18) develops this idea further, identifying the carved figures as involved in a processional ceremony associated with a sacred marriage ritual. In a subsequent article, she interprets the plaques as showing a unique event in which Esarhaddon (681–669 BC) is actually depicted installing Ashurbanipal (668–c. 631 BC) as his chosen heir (Barcina 2017, 119–123). There can, however, be little doubt that style, composition and detail of these carved ivories confirm that they can be assigned with confidence to the ninth century (Herrmann 2017, 47). Indeed, the dress and equipment of courtiers that Barcina highlights as important elements in supporting her arguments, such as the strip of shoulder cloth worn by a senior official, never appear in comparable scenes of the seventh century (Collins 2010).2 Despite a distance in time of several centuries between the Treaty tablets and the ivories, it remains possible that they are related through a shared focus on the Assyrian subjugation of the Medes. St John Simpson, for example, follows Mallowan in understanding the burnt and shattered remains in the throne room as the result of ‘an intentional act of ritual undoing through the destruction of both the visual and written messages, and suggest that this may have been the work of Median troops who appreciated the significance of their actions.’ (Simpson 2015, 9; see also 2020, 160). Judging by their clothing, however, the identification of the tributaries as Iranians is unfounded. The various peoples subject to Assyria begin to be distinguished in Assyrian art from the ninth century by stereotypical characteristics such as distinct clothing and other features of personal appearance (Brown 2014). Thus, the robes and An unprovenanced bronze helmet with an incised design that Barcina (2017, 122) relates to scenes on the Ezida ivories, is a modern forgery (Muscarella 2000, 184–186). 2

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Fig. 3. Wall relief from the façade of Room B, Northwest Palace, Nimrud, Iraq, reign of Ashurnasirpal II (883–859 BC) (Photo: Osama Shukir Muhammed Amin). headgear of the tribute bearers on the Ezida ivories are comparable with those worn by figures on a relief of Ashurnasirpal II (883–859 BC) from the Northwest Palace (Fig. 3). These men are also tributaries but have been identified as originating from North Syria and Phoenicia. This conclusion appears to be confirmed by an epigraph on the throne base of Shalmaneser III (858–824 BC) from Fort Shalmaneser which identifies a line of men wearing similar clothing as the tributaries of Qalparunda of the land of Unqi, that is the Amuq in north-western Syria (Fig. 4). The depiction of Syrian and Levantine peoples in the Assyrian visual record of the early to mid-ninth century mirrors their historical encounter with the expanding Assyrian kingdom as it pressed its authority westwards beyond the River Euphrates. In contrast, the Medes only start to be attested in Assyrian sources from the later ninth century as western Iran became increasingly important as a source of horses when their import from the north was disrupted by the formation of the Urartian state in Anatolia. It was

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Fig. 4. Detail of a throne base from Fort Shalmaneser, Nimrud, Iraq, reign of Shalmaneser III (858–824 BC) (Photo Osama Shukir Muhammed Amin).

Fig. 5. Drawing of relief from Room 10 in Sargon’s palace at Dur-Sharruken (modern Khorsabad, Iraq) (Botta and Flandin 1849–1850, Pl. 125). not, however, until the second half of the eighth century that political and cultural contacts between Assyria and the Zagros deepened significantly; under Sargon II (721–705 BC) Assyria came to directly control Median territory situated along the Iranian part of the Silk Road (Radner 2013). It is in this period that Medes can be identified in the wall reliefs of Sargon’s palace at Khorsabad, Dur-Sharruken (Fig. 5).

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Their dress consists of an animal skin worn over a simple knee-long garment and high boots, an outfit that is used for all inhabitants of the Zagros and a Mesopotamian artistic convention for mountain folk attested from the later third millennium BC onwards. While a direct relationship between the contents of the Succession Treaty tablets and the incised images can be discounted, their proximity might be explained by the ivory plaques being ‘closely associated with the throneroom itself. Doubtless originally they were component parts of royal furniture that had been ordered by the king himself’ (Mallowan and Davies 1970, 3). The notion that these ninth century ivories were part of the Ezida furnishings can also be questioned. Although Ashurnasirpal II includes a temple of Nabû in the list of nine temples he claims to have built when he established Nimrud as his primary residence (RIMA 2: A.0.101.30: 55–60), there is no direct evidence that any part of Ezida was constructed by this king or his successor Shalmaneser III (Mallowan 1956, 9). The southern half of the preserved structure, with the shrines themselves, dates to the reign of Adad-nararī III (810–783 BC) and the building, including the northwest quadrant, was refurbished by later rules, especially under Sargon II (Mallowan 1966, I 233–87), Ashurbanipal (668–c. 630 BC), and Sîn-sharruishkun (622–612 BC) (Neumann 2018, 183, n. 9); Ashur-etel-ilani (c. 630–623 BC) may have also made repairs (Novotny 2021). Thus, the furniture could have been installed in the throne room at potentially any time from the late ninth to late seventh century. But was this the case? While stone statues of divine attendants flanked significant interior doorways in Ezida, visual imagery in the building’s interior spaces may have been limited to the cult statues and portable works of art (Neumann 2018, 196). Although the ivory plaques depicting supernatural spirits and the king might appear to be appropriate imagery in a temple context, in fact they find their closest parallels in style and content with the wall reliefs of the Northwest Palace, as is also the case for the processions of tributaries. This has led Georgina Herrmann to suggest that the decorative program of palace spaces was not confined solely to the walls, but extended to the furniture ‘to amplify the messages already illustrated on the walls in sculptures and paintings‘ (Herrmann 2008, 227). They were integral elements in the affective properties of the palace and it is very possible, as Ann Shafer has argued, that the carved and painted visual images served to not only celebrate the king’s actions in restoring cosmic order, but were a required component to complete it. They actively participated in the rituals as a means to ‘assure divine answers to the king’s prayers and to lengthen his life and reign […] ultimately functioning as a kind of conduit to the divine’ (Shafer 2014, 723). As such, the carved ivories would only be affective within the larger framework of a building’s decorative scheme, something that is not evident in Ezida. It is, of course, very possible that Ezida’s ivory furniture mirrored that found in the neighbouring Northwest Palace precisely because it was intended for use in a throne room. The northwest quarter of the temple, with its pair of small shrines and throne room suite, has been identified as spaces intended for the akītu-festival that celebrated the divine marriage of the gods Nabû and Tashmetu; the throne room may have been the place where this was staged or was perhaps intended to be used by the king or his representative during the rituals (Oates and Oates

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2001, 121–123). If the tribute scenes incised on the ivories was indeed intended for display in this space, this would have been very unusual given that the only imagery to survive in other Assyrian temples depicts ‘a divine landscape that rarely included the figure of the king’ (Neumann 2018, 196). The date of the construction of the akītu-suite in the Ezida temple is unclear but it may be linked with the work undertaken in adjacent rooms that is attributed to Sargon II (Mallowan 1966, 235–236). This would mean the furniture would have already been several centuries old if installed in the throne room during the reign of this king. Mallowan offers an explanation: ‘Doubtless the antique throne and furniture had been preserved in this building out of piety and regard for the great founders of Calah [Nimrud], under whom the power of Assyria had risen towards it zenith’ (Mallowan and Davies 1970, 3). The suggestion for such an antiquarian interest might find support in a royal focus on ancient objects, texts and rituals to establish connections with the past during the seventh century (Beaulieu 1994; Roaf 2000; Garrison 2012). Thus, sculptures and inscriptions were uncovered and then reused or interred in the foundations of the Temple of Ningal at Ur (Woolley 1939, 63–64). Royal inscriptions were composed that draw on historical-literary texts about earlier kings reaching back to the third millennium BC (May 2013; Frahm 2019). Esarhaddon describes how he ‘carried the basket’ of soil for the first brick when undertaking the restoration of temples in Babylon and Ashur, while under his sons Ashurbanipal and Shamash-shum-ukin this ritual was translated into stone sculptures modelled on foundation figures of the late third and early second millennium BC, presumably excavated from the foundations of temples of that date (Porter 2004). None of this activity, however, represents an interest in the past, or indeed in old objects, for its own sake but rather a means to transform it into something new. Such an approach is reflected in the work of the scholarly professionals who supported and guided the king: although their wisdom was believed to have originated in a deep, mythical past, it needed to be continuously updated based on the latest thinking (Annus 2010; Robson 2019). As such, while the antique furniture is likely to have retained its royal associations, it seems unlikely that it was being curated to offer a connection with an historical past. There are other, and perhaps better, explanations for why it was found in the Ezida throne room. One possibility again associates the ivories with the adê tablets. As noted above, Mallowan (and then others) interpreted the shattered objects as evidence of a politically motivated act of revenge by the Medes, whose earlier leaders had sworn subservience to Esarhaddon and his heir. He concluded that ‘the sacred character of the oaths which were no doubt sworn on that occasion required the deposition of the [cuneiform] documents within the precincts of the Temple of Nabû. Copies of the treaties must have been kept by the foreign princes within their appropriate sanctuaries’ (Mallowan 1956, 13). Such a scenario appeared to be confirmed in 2009 at Tell Tayinat, (ancient Unqi, capital of the Assyrian province of Kullania, some 800 kilometres west of Nimrud), where a complete tablet was discovered containing the same adê-treaty as in the Ezida documents, but with the oath-taker named as the local governor and his subordinates (Lauinger 2012). The tablet was excavated in a temple where it had likely been mounted or suspended for display, perhaps even serving as an object of worship (Lauinger 2013). This

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might indicate that signatories to the oath sworn at Nimrud had an obligation to take a personal copy of the text back ‘home’ and place it in a prominent position (Barcina 2016). Copies of the treaties were then archived in Ezida or close by (Robson 2015; Herrmann 2017, 47) or perhaps even conspicuously displayed, as at Tayinat (Barcina 2016). Alternatively, if there was only ever one tablet per signatory perhaps, as Mario Fales (2017) has suggested, the Iranian leaders had failed to attend the ceremony at Nimrud and so the texts were stored for a future ceremony that never occurred. There remains, however, the possibility that the treaty tablets had indeed been taken to Iran in 672 BC but were then returned around 614 BC to be symbolically destroyed. Perhaps the Assyrian-style ivory furniture was also carried to Nimrud from Iran? Such a question loses it apparent absurdity when faced by the evidence from the site of Hasanlu in northwest Iran. Here fragments of Assyrian ivories including extremely fine examples carved in low modelled relief with images of supernatural figures, comparable to those known from Nimrud, have been excavated (Muscarella 1980, 148–160; Collins 2006). They were clearly part of a very important piece of furniture, probably a throne, perhaps sent to Hasanlu as a royal gift or symbol of authority, but later destroyed in a fire, possibly during an attack on the site by Urartian forces, around 800 BC. As already indicated, such objects, even if not explicitly representing Iranians, may have been viewed by them with as much distain as the texts of the oaths sanctioning their forebears’ status as vassals of the Assyrian empire. What better place to obliterate them than in a room associated with the akītu festival’s yearly legitimation of the Assyrian king’s position on his throne (Oates and Oates 2001, 122). Perhaps, however, the most likely explanation for the find of ivories in the Ezida throne room is the wood they were attached to and which represented convenient kindling for the fires that would destroy the temple. Although Nimrud had lost much of its royal status when the court moved away during the final years of Sargon II, it remained an important economic and administrative centre and the palaces would have been mostly occupied by Assyrian officials (Kertai 2015). It would have been they who used the ancient furniture, probably disrupting the

Fig. 6. Obverse and detail of the Banquet Stele from the Northwest Palace, Nimrud, Iraq, reign of Ashurnasirpal II (883–859 BC) (Wiseman 1952, Pls II and III).

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Fig. 7. Ivory plaque showing the Assyrian king, from the Northwest Palace, Nimrud, Iraq, reign of Ashurnasirpal II (883–859 BC) (Mallowan and Davies 1970, Pl. I, No. 1).

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carefully planned ritualised relationships between the royal imagery of the ivories and the painted and sculpted wall reliefs. Nevertheless, the wooden thrones, footstools and tables overlaid with ivory retained their royal associations and so could be the subject for vengeful attacks but this may have been less targeted than has previously been thought. Indeed, in his initial report on the finds in the throne room, Mallowan reconstructs a moment when: ‘fragments [of furniture] had been thrown into the room from elsewhere in the building, together with the tablets, and that a great bonfire had then been kindled, the flames being fed by any trophies for which the enemy had no use’ (Mallowan 1956, 12) While the accumulated evidence indicates that the imagery on the Ezida ivories was not the target of calculated destruction, there are clear indications that this was the case for other ivory plaques at Nimrud. As with the Treaty-tablets, this was part of a systematic programme of annihilation intended to magically cancel the symbols of power (Bahrani 2008). It is most evident on many of the Assyrian palace wall reliefs, free standing monuments and portable objects with images of the king – but also occasionally found on depictions of Assyrian officials, soldiers and even the Assyrian queen – which were subjected to defacement and mutilation (Simpson 2020). One of the most famous monuments from Nimrud that should be included in this list of targeted images was uncovered by Mallowan’s excavators some four years before the discovery of the Ezida ivories. This is the so-called Banquet Stele of Ashurnasirpal II, found in a recess at the eastern end of the throne room façade in the Northwest Palace (Fig. 6). While it is best known for its cuneiform text recounting the creation of Nimrud as the new royal centre and the associated celebrations, it is the carved image of the king at the top centre that is of interest here: Ashurnasirpal’s face has been damaged, so that much of his eye has been removed. This is significant as it finds a direct parallel in a magnificent modelled ivory panel discovered embedded in ash and mud at the back of the stele, directly over the floor on which the stele rested (Fig. 7). It is carved with an image of the Assyrian king, who holds a bowl on the tips of the fingers of his right hand and an eagle-headed sickle in his left. His face has been almost clinically erased, and with it the power of Assyria itself. Bibliography Annus, A. 2010 On the beginnings and continuities of omen sciences in the ancient world. In: A. Annus (ed.), Divination and Interpretation of Signs in the Ancient World. Chicago. 1–18. Bahrani, Z. 2008 Rituals of War. The Body and Violence in Mesopotamia. New York. Barcina, C. 2016 The Display of Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty at Kalḫu as a Means of Internal Political Control, Antiguo Oriente 14, 11–51. 2017 The Conceptualisation of the Akitu under the Sargonids: some reflections, State Archives of Assyria Bulletin 23, 91–129.

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2019 Ancient Knowledge Networks: A Social Geography of Cuneiform Scholarship in First-Millennium Assyria and Babylonia. London. SAA 2 = S. Parpola and K. Watanabe 1988 Neo-Assyrian Treaties and Loyalty Oaths. State Archives of Assyria 2. Helsinki. Shafer, A. 2014. The Assyrian Landscape as Ritual. In: B. Brown and M. H. Feldman (eds), Critical Approaches to Ancient Near Eastern Art. Boston/Berlin. 713–739. Simpson, St J. 2015 Destructions now and then: causes and effects, Mesopotamia 50, 1–21. 2020 Annihilating Assyria. In: I. L. Finkel and St J. Simpson (eds), In Context: The Reade Festschrift. Oxford. 141–168. Wiseman, D. J. 1952 A New Stela of Aššur-nasir-pal II, Iraq 14, 24–44. Woolley C. L. 1939 Ur Excavations 5: The Ziggurat and its surroundings. London/Philadelphia.

An essay on time and distance Harriet Crawford ‘Time travels in diverse paces with diverse people. I’ll tell you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal’ (W. Shakespeare ‘As you like it’) A festschrift can be said to have two main purposes, the first is to look back at the achievements of the recipient over a long and distinguished career and the second is to look forward at the impact their work may have in the future. This dual approach to time is my excuse for offering this short essay. The concepts of time and distance have been closely related for much of the past and remain so today. Some discussion of distance seems especially relevant when considering Georgina Herrmann’s career. She has quite literally broken new ground, first in Badakhshan with her doctorate on lapis lazuli and then, much later, in Central Asia at Merv. This essay is not definitive, or even especially scholarly, but comes with affection and admiration. Our lives today are frequently ruled by machinery of immense precision and are full of instruments which can tell you with great accuracy what the time is where you are, or at any other location in the world. GPS/GIS will tell you to within a few metres whereabouts you are, and how far you are from where you want to be. It can probably also tell you how long it will take you to reach your goal. We still often speak of distance in terms of the time it takes to travel from A to B, and this time can be expressed in miles or kilometres per hour. This essay will look at these two closely related concepts, time and distance, in ancient Mesopotamia where no such tools existed. It will try to determine how time and distance were perceived there and how this may have affected the lives of the people living there. (Schemes of weight measurement will not be considered.) Time Why is time, or rather an ability to measure it, important? Practically speaking it was vital, in an agricultural society largely dependent on irrigation, such as that of southern Mesopotamia, to know when to plant your seeds and when the river was most likely to flood so that growing crops could be protected from the flood waters. It was also useful to be able to calculate how long it would be before the sheep, goats, and cattle gave birth and when they should be moved to summer pastures, or return from them.

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It was absolutely necessary, in the interests of society as a whole, to be able to divide up water fairly between consumers over the course of a day or longer. Each farmer had to be allocated his fair share of the irrigation water without which cultivation was impossible in many parts of southern Iraq. No elaborate machinery is needed for this. It was probably achieved by means of a sort of crude sundial, such as an upright stick placed at the head of the local feeder canal; the shadow of the stick moved in an arc throughout daylight hours. This arc could then be traced on the ground and divided up evenly according to the number of people needing the water. The moving shadow showed when water should be made available or closed off for each recipient. This procedure could also be even more ‘low tech’. In gardens in Bahrain today, for example, a soaking wet mass of rags is moved out of one channel to open the mouth, and then used to block another. It was also crucial that the priests had a method by which to calculate the timing of great religious festivals. A failure to do this could lead to disaster for all the people of the local region as the gods expected regular festivals to supply them with feasts and plentiful offerings. These made the gods incline to look favourably on their city. (Each centre had its own tutelary deity who owned the land and everyone in it). It was believed that if such events were not correctly observed, the gods might withdraw their protection from the region and its people with terrible consequences. It seems that there were two parallel concepts of time in use by the later third millennium. One was linear and historical which people could observe for themselves by watching their children grow older, or the plants sprout, produce, and die. The second was a mystical and cyclical concept derived from watching the repetition of the phases of the moon, the movement of the stars and the changing seasons. The human body, too, had its cycles of waking and sleeping and of reproduction. Such observations of natural phenomena and their recurrence at regular intervals could be observed by every human being, as well as by the priests and scribes, and seems likely to help explain the adoption of a second, cyclical, system of time measurement. This concept of cyclical time also seems to provide a reasoned explanation for the importance of omens in the lives of the people of southern Iraq because it was believed. It was also apparently thought that as one cycle succeeded another, the events would be similar, but not identical to those in previous ones (Glassner 2018, 24–27). This logic encouraged men to seek out clues as to what the future might hold. Omens were consulted in order to determine the will of the gods before momentous decisions were made in both private and public life. If, for example, the configuration of the liver in a sacrificial animal, a popular way of consulting the omens, had previously been seen before a notable victory, then the reappearance of the configuration might indicate a similar victory in the near future. This, in turn, might encourage the launching of a military campaign then under consideration. There were many other events which could be seen as omens, the movement of birds and animals and the births of deformed creatures for example. The scribes who interpreted omens were charged with keeping detailed notes on the various configurations seen in the past and of the outcomes after the omen was taken. These could then be referred to when later ‘readings’ were taken to help in

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understanding them. As the conduit between gods and rulers through the medium of omens, this would have given the priests and omen interpreters high status, and even the power to influence the major decisions of the ruler. These decisions were in part determined by the reading of the signs inscribed on the entrails and translated by the priests; however, the reading of the signs inscribed on the entrails and the translation of them for the ruler was surely an art rather than a science, allowing for a certain amount of latitude to procure a desired outcome. The two systems of time, linear and cyclical, were not completely separate. Linear or historical time occurred within a cycle or ‘bala’ as discussed by Glassner (Glassner 2018, 24–27). The historical, or linear time within the cycle was observed and recorded by scribes who noted the years of the local ruler’s reign. Each year was named by reference to an important event in the previous year such as ‘year when king X defeated the army of Y/ gave a new throne to Ishtar/ dug a new canal’ etc. It was a rather cumbersome system as it was also necessary for scribes to keep a reference list showing the order in which the events had occurred. Each capital city was liable to have a different system of dating based on the regnal years of their own ruler and it seems that a ‘universal’ system covering the whole of the south of Iraq was only imposed at the time of the unification of the region by the Agade dynasty in the last quarter of the third millennium BC. It is interesting to speculate on how, before this, inter-city contracts, treaties, loans and so on were dated when each party probably used a different dating system based on the year names of their own ruler. Glassner suggests that, ultimately, cyclical time was of more significance than linear time (Glassner 2018, 26) as it related to the gods and it could be seen as encompassing linear time lying within each divinely appointed cycle. He also reasonably suggested that ‘bala’ should be translated not as ‘dynasty’ but as ‘cycle’, as one bala in a city might consist of rulers from several different families or dynasties. In summary, history or linear time seems to have been understood as nesting within cycles of varying lengths which were predetermined by the gods. At the end of each cycle kingship was carried to its new city as ordained by the gods and a new bala began. For example, many sections of the Sumerian King list end with a statement translated by Jacobsen, as, ‘Uruk was smitten with weapons and its kingship to Ur was carried’ (Jacobsen 1939, 101). Within each cycle linear time was also recorded by the methods described above. This dual system of visualising time indicates the simultaneous employment of both linear and cyclical methods of calculation. There was one major problem with cyclical time which was based on the cycles of the moon, to create a so-called lunar calendar. As the cycles of the moon are 28 days long the lunar year has only 354 days. The lunar year therefore loses 11/12 days every year .compared to the natural movements of the seasons by a more accurate reckoning which is based on the movements of the sun. This means that the real agricultural and solar year was increasingly out of step with the lunar year which fell further and further behind, leading to obvious discrepancies. This problem was solved by adding an intercalary or extra month every four years or so to bring the systems into alignment again. This must itself have brought a degree of disruption to life.

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Finally, there is a third, more subjective approach to time exemplified by the quotation at the beginning of this essay. Our perception of time is often conditioned by our reactions to whatever we are doing. We all know the sensation of time rushing by while we enjoy ourselves, or as we approach disagreeable events, or are faced with a tight deadline. There is also the parallel dragging of time while undertaking unpleasant or difficult duties or waiting for the traffic lights to go green! In these situations there is no doubt that our perceptions of time are definitely ‘subjective’. Distance Distance or length is often initially measured in terms of the human body. We talk of feet for instance, the Romans counted in paces or steps and the Sumerians used the word kus, which meant forearm or a second term, dannu. This word apparently encompassed the idea of a march, a road or a length, rather similar to the later Roman meaning of passus. By the Agade period an even closer link between time and distance is indicated by the use of a single word beru as a unit of measurement for both. The (24 hour) day was divided into 12 berū so beru is usually translated as a double hour. Andrew George translates the description of Gilgamesh’s journey to the shores of the deadly sea as taking place over 12 double hours, so a day and a night or 24 hours (George 1999, 73f.). On the other hand, the distance between Uruk and Aratta in the well known epic is not measured in such precise terms. In Black’s translation we are told that the messenger left Aratta in the morning on his journey to Uruk and was back in Aratta by dusk after superhuman efforts which saw him compared to a falcon, a donkey, and a wolf (Black et al. 2006, 4f.). In many cases perceptions of distance, like those of time, are not absolute and are shaped by the means of transport and by human expectations. As means of transport improve, distances shrink. Less dramatically, today we say things like ‘It’s a two hour drive from here’, but it would be a different length of time if you walked it or went on a bicycle so it can be argued that distance too, can be relative rather than absolute, depending on the means of transport, the terrain, or the direction of the wind and the phases of the moon if travelling by water. A dramatic example of such shrinkage as a result of new technology was provided by Concorde when after a record-breaking flight in 1996 New York was reached in under three hours from London. Conventional planes still took around eight hours to complete the journey. Suddenly it was possible to go to New York for a lunch-time meeting and be back in time for supper in London; America had become a lot closer. There were similar if slightly less dramatic instances in third millennium Mesopotamia of improved technology improving communications. In earlier periods it was people who acted as the draught animal carrying the goods on their backs. The domestication of the donkey and its hybrids dramatically increased the quantity of goods which could be carried and shortened the time needed to make the journey. People were still necessary to direct and organise the trips and by the early second millennium there were what might be called hybrid voyages such as those from Assur to Kültepe in Anatolia. Here the outward journey from Assur was

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undertaken by caravans of donkeys loaded with textiles and tin. These donkeys, in addition to the goods, were then themselves traded. The proceeds of all the sales, usually small quantities of precious metals, were carried back to Assur by the traders themselves on foot (Larsen 2015 for a general account of this trade). The domestication of the donkey was followed by that of the horse and then, probably by the late second millennium, by that of the camel. After this it was also possible to shorten distances by crossing hitherto dangerous or impassable terrain such as deserts, shortening the journey time further. The second major technological advance was the widespread adoption of various types of cart which allowed for the transport of larger quantities of goods, expanding the range of goods moved. For the first time on land, it could be profitable to trade in lower value items in bulk instead of small quantities of the high value raw materials and semi-precious stones which had formed most of the goods in earlier times. It became possible to move far larger quantities of goods on carts pulled by these animals, and to do so in shorter periods of time. Improved technology was already shrinking the world making possible much faster interactions between distant communities, which could foster the exchange of knowledge as well as of goods and people. One of the most striking examples of this transfer of technology and of knowledge was the spread of the cuneiform script which was used throughout most of the ancient Near East from Egypt to Central Asia by the mid second millennium for what might be called official and diplomatic communications. It also became increasingly the case that skilled craftsmen travelled, or were sent, from one royal court to another not merely to produce prestige items, but also to train local workmen in their skills. Such cases have been explored by Georgina Herrmann in her work on the Nimrud ivories. Closer interaction could, sadly, also lead to increased conflict over control of these profitable routes and of the often scarce and valuable prestige goods which travelled along them. Summary At first glance it seems that the Sumerian division of time is far removed from our life today, but this is not entirely the case. Nowadays, the indirect Sumerian influence on the recording of time is generally accepted. It accounts for the division of hours and minutes by sixty, sixty minutes in an hour and sixty seconds in a minute. The division of a circle into 360 degrees also probably originates from Mesopotamia. Sixty was the basis of the sexagesimal system used in some of the earliest documents from Sumer that we have. In addition, linear, historical time is unchanged, and it could be argued that traces of cyclical time can still be found. The repeat patterns of the moon and the seasons continue as before, as do the cycles of the human body, encouraging such continuity. The Annales French school of history made popular by Braudel was founded on the search for patterns which repeated themselves over the socalled Longue Duréé. This could be related to the earlier Sumerian idea of the similarity of events within each cycle or bala. It is also suggested here that this same idea of repetition gives us an explanation for the importance of omens in third millennium Mesopotamia. Could this be related to the continuing popularity

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of fortune telling? Finally, it seems likely that the concept of ‘Subjective time’ mentioned above, was also familiar to the inhabitants of southern Iraq as it is to people today: it is tempting to suggest that it is a universal human trait. It is less easy to find links to connect our world to theirs when discussing distance. Distance is still often measured in terms of time, as we have seen, while distances continue to shrink as trips to the moon and eventually perhaps to Mars become possibilities. The terminology of measurement was still, predecimalisation, linked to the human body with talk of feet, fingers and hands. The range and quantities of goods moved across the world is greater than ever, but apart from these vague similarities it is difficult to find exact parallels. It seems clear that the third millennium concepts of both time and distance were as complex as our own. Time ruled the agricultural cycle and today time affects every aspect of life, but the precision we expect was not available in the third millennium. It is tempting to suggest that, perhaps, life may have proceeded at a slightly less frenetic pace as a result. After all, the human body, the most universal way of measuring both time and distance, has remained much the same. Bibliography Black, J., G. Cunningham, E. Robson and G. Zolyomi (eds) 2006 The literature of ancient Sumer. Oxford. George, A. 1999 The epic of Gilgamesh: a new translation. London. Glassner, J.-J. 2018 Chroniques Mesopotamiennes (4th ed.) La Roue. Jacobsen, T. 1939 The Sumerian King List. Oriental Institute of Chicago, Assyriological Studies 10. Chicago. Larsen, M. T. 2015 Ancient Kanesh. Cambridge. Addendum Since finishing the text I have become aware of an important volume published in Saint Petersburg: Vladimir Emilianov (ed) 2021 Temporal concepts and perception of time in the ancient Orient. St Petersburg.

A bronze lotus flower handle from Nimrud John Curtis Abstract This article deals with a large bronze handle in the form of a lotus flower that was found by A. H. Layard in a cauldron in Room AB of the N.W. Palace at Nimrud in 1850. It is demonstrated that the handle belonged to a bowl which is now missing, and is probably of Egyptian origin. It predates other material in Room AB. It is argued that jugs with similar lotus flower handles, principally from Crete and Lefkandi, are also probably Egyptian products. An analysis of other finds from Room AB suggests that the material in this room is a heterogeneous collection that was hastily gathered together probably in the late 7th century BC. There is no direct connection between the lotus flower handle and the collection known as ‘the Nimrud bowls’, so it cannot be used as evidence in discussions about the date and origin of the latter. Introduction This short study is dedicated to Georgina Herrmann who has the unusual distinction of having made fundamentally important contributions in three disparate branches of Ancient Near Eastern studies, Sasanian reliefs, Nimrud ivories and the archaeology of ancient Merv. This essay relates, albeit indirectly, to her work on the Nimrud ivories, as one question that has always preoccupied Georgina is the relationship between the ivories and the so-called ‘Nimrud bowls’, a hoard of bronze bowls found by Layard in Room AB of the North-West Palace and now in the British Museum. Amongst the issues that are still being debated are whether the hoard was homogenous, when it was brought to Nimrud, where it derived from, and the date-range of the pieces. At the moment there are no definitive answers to any of these questions, and any credible hypotheses will have to depend on a wide range of evidence. We will consider here just one bronze vessel handle which on its own is a tiny but not insignificant part of the jig-saw. It is a bronze handle in the form of a lotus flower that has been cited as evidence that the hoard in Room AB includes material of the 9th century BC (Barnett 1974, 28).

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Fig. 1. Bronze lotus flower handle from Nimrud, topside, British Museum 124602 (N622) (photograph by J. E. Curtis) (cf. colour plate IV).

Fig. 2. Bronze lotus flower handle from Nimrud, underside, British Museum 124602 (N622) (photograph by J. E. Curtis) (cf. colour plate IV). The lotus flower handle from Nimrud The handle (Figs 1–2; British Museum N 622/ BM 124602) is loop-shaped and is 21.0 cm in length with a width of 19.1 cm and a maximum height of 4.9 cm. The weight is 334.2 g. It is in the form of a flower, either nymphaea lotus (white Egyptian lotus) or more probably nymphaea caerulea (the Egyptian lotus, or blue lotus). The latter is found throughout eastern Africa, but particularly in Egypt where it was cultivated and prized by the ancient inhabitants. The handle consists of a strip of metal, just over 1 cm in width, with three longitudinal ribs on each

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surface, which is bent into a U-shape. The upper end of this strip terminates in a lotus flower with spiked petals. There are splayed arms on either side of the flower and a pronounced rib in the middle. At the base of the flower are two triangular ‘windows’ in openwork. The upper and lower parts of the handle are attached to each other, to give rigidity to the handle, by two bronze rods, or stays, c. 3.0 cm long and c. 0.7 cm in diameter. The two splayed arms have at their ends semicircular lugs with holes for single rivets which are still preserved in the holes. A fragment of sheet metal still adheres to one of the rivets. On the underneath of the handle the metal strip is broken at the end but at the point of fracture there is evidence of a rivet-hole. A fragment of sheet metal is preserved on the upper side of the strip towards its end. It is clear that the handle was attached to the side of a large and probably shallow bowl. The lugs at the ends of the splayed arms would have been fixed to the rim of the bowl, with the top of the rim fitting beneath the flat, splayed ends of the handle. The lower part of the handle would presumably have been fixed to the bottom of the bowl. The position of the front ‘stay’ within the handle indicates that the diameter of the bowl must have been approximately 24 cm (Fig. 3) and if the lower part of the handle was indeed fixed to the bottom of the bowl it would have had a depth of 3.0–3.5 cm at this point. It is difficult to say how many castings this handle was made in, but it is possible that the lotus flower and the metal strip were made in a single casting which was then bent into a U-shape, and the bronze rods/ stays (and possibly the semi-circular lugs at the ends of the splayed arms) were added later.

Fig. 3. Sketch showing lotus flower handle BM 124602 with suggested reconstruction of bowl (drawing by J. E. Curtis).

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Jugs with lotus flower handles This handle from Nimrud has often been compared with bronze handles in the form of lotus flowers that were fixed to the sides of jugs (e.g. Barnett 1974, 28; Culican 1976). There is an example of a detached handle from the Cesnola Collection in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, presumed to be from Cyprus (Fig. 4) (Matthäus 1985, 250f. no. 553 pl. 73). It has a length of 7.9 cm.

Fig. 4. Bronze lotus flower jug handle from Cyprus, Metropolitan Museum of Art 74.51.5461 (cf. colour plate IV). There are two examples of these squat jugs with lotus flower handles from graves in the Toumba Cemetery at Lefkandi on the Greek island of Euboea (Fig. 5). The first, in poor condition (Popham, Touloupa and Sackett 1982, fig. 8 no. 39:31 and pl. 20 no. 31), comes from a grave (no. 39) that is dated by Late Protogeometric pottery to c. 950–900 BC. The second (Sackett and Popham 1972, fig. on p. 18; Boardman 1973, fig 1; Popham, Sackett and Themelis 1979, pl. 243 a–c), ht 8.5 cm, is from a grave (no. 33) that is dated by Sub-Protogeometric III pottery to c. 850–750 BC. In this same grave were “two bronze bowls of Cypriot type” (Sacket and Popham 1972, 18).1 The excavators (Popham et al. 1982, 239) note that there are slight differences between the two jugs and following Culican speculate that these might reflect the differences between Egyptian and Phoenician manufacture, but as we shall see this is unlikely. There are also said to be as many as 15 examples of these jugs with lotus handles from the Idaean Cave in Crete (Carter 1998, 172 pl. Ia), and Matthäus (1995, 251 n. 3) cites further examples from Fortetsa and Amnisos both near 1 For an interesting discussion of whether the bowls together with the jugs were part of wine services, see Carter 1998, 174.

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Knossos on Crete, and from Tegea in the Peloponnese. All the jugs are likely to come from contexts with the same date-range as the examples from Lefkandi, that is between about 950 BC and 750 BC.2

Fig. 5. Bronze jug with lotus flower handle from Lefkandi, Eretria Museum (from Boardman 1973, fig. 131). There is no doubt that the form of these jugs is Egyptian, and Radwan (1983, 133–137 nos 369–385 pls 66–68) has collected together 17 examples, 7 from Abydos, one from Dendereh, one from Edfu, and 8 without provenance.3 They are all squat jugs with bulging shoulders and short necks, called by Radwan ‘bauchige Lotushenkelkannen’, and he suggests (1983, 136f.) that Abydos was the main centre of production. They are mostly dated to the 18th or 19th dynasties, but a few are described as Rammeside or Late Rammeside, thus allowing for the possibility that the type might stretch into the 20th Dynasty. They are all, however, quite small, mostly between 7.5 cm and 11.5 cm in height,4 with correspondingly small handles. It is immediately obvious, therefore, that although the Nimrud Dirk Wicke has kindly informed me that two bronze jugs of the same general shape as those from Crete and Lefkandi have been found in two cremation burials at Ziyaret Tepe. Both have handles that broaden out at the top where they join the rim of the jug, and each has floral decoration on this flat space at the top of the handle, one rather in the form of a palm-tree (ZT 9297) and the other incised decoration apparently showing a lotus flower (ZT 29575). These jugs are dated to the late 8th – 7th century BC and are probably local copies/ adaptations of the the earlier Levantine-Egyptian types (cf. Matney et al. 2017, 106). 3 Culican publishes further unprovenanced examples in bronze and glass in the Detroit Institute of Arts (Culican 1976, fig. 12). 4 An exception is no. 392 (Radwan 1983, 137 pl. 69 = Culican 1976, figs 7–9) of unknown provenance that has a tall neck and a height of 19.7 cm. It is in University College London. 2

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handle is related to these jugs through the form of the handle, it must have belonged to a much larger vessel. Bowls with lotus flower handles It was already noted by Jane Carter that the Nimrud handle “probably belonged to a wide shallow bowl rather than to a jug” (Carter 1998, 173 n. 12). As we have noted above, this is exactly right, and it is clear that the Nimrud handle was attached to a large, probably shallow bowl (Fig. 3). In his monumental study of Egyptian bronze vessels Ali Radwan includes three bowls with openwork lotus handles that are comparable to the Nimrud example. One is from Matmar in Upper Egypt (Radwan 1983, 108 no. 310 pl. 49, no. 2). This bowl, diameter 26.5 cm, ht c. 5.0 cm, has a slightly rounded base with low sides that that are incurving at the top and bulbous below. There is a circular rib or ridge in the base. The handle is apparently attached to the bowl with four rivets in the rim and one in the base. It is dated to the 19th or 20th Dynasty. Two further bowls were found together at Gurob (Medinet Ghurab) close to the Faiyum (Radwan 1983, 115f. nos 335f. pls 60–61). They are dated to the 19th Dynasty. They have flat bottoms with low sides that are straight at the top and bulbous below, and have a circular rib or ridge in the base. Both bowls have hieroglyphic inscriptions, but they are of different sizes with diameters of 22.0 cm and 35.5 cm respectively, and heights of c. 3.37 cm and 4.25 cm. Each has three rivets on the rim where the handle attaches and one in the base. In the case of no. 336 the bottom end of the handle, where it is fixed under the bowl, ends in a small palmette, and it is likely that the end of the Nimrud handle, where it is broken off, had a similar terminal. In all respects the handles of these Egyptian bowls are similar to the Nimrud example, but as the bowl to which is was attached does not survive we cannot be sure whether it was more similar to the Matmar or the Gurob examples, but most likely in terms of diameter and height it matches the flat-bottomed bowl no. 335 (Fig. 6). In the case of the rivets, there are two points of attachment to the rim for the Nimrud handle, but the Matmar and Gurob bowls have four and three rivets respectively. It may be, however, that only the two outer rivets are functional and the others are decorative. With regard to the jugs with lotus flower handles that we have discussed above, Culican (1976) attaches great importance to the number of rivets, and whether they are decorative or not, and sees this as a possible criterion for distinguishing between Egyptian and Phoenician products. This is an interesting hypothesis, but seems to me to be unlikely. The origin of lotus flower handles The closest parallel to the Nimrud handle attachment, then, is handles on Egyptian bowls that date to the 19th–20th Dynasties (c. 1292–1077 BC). There is, then, a considerable lapse of time between the date of the Egyptian bowls and the possible dates for the deposition of material in Room AB of the North-West Palace at Nimrud. Exactly the same problem was noted for the jugs with lotus flower handles. All the examples from Greek (Lefkandi) and Cretan (Idaean cave) contexts date from the 9th–8th centuries BC, whereas the Egyptian examples are from the 18th–20th Dynasties (c. 1550–1077 BC). How can this anomaly be explained?

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Fig. 6. Bronze dish with lotus flower handle from Gurob, Egypt (from Radwan 1983, pl. 61, no. 335). Culican (1976) confronts this difficulty by suggesting that there were Phoenician workshops producing bronze vessels in Egyptian style in the early 1st millennium BC, and seeks to identify Phoenician products by the way in which the handle was riveted to the jug. This type of distinction is in any case questionable, but a more serious objection to Culican’s theory is the fact that not a single jug of this type has been certainly found at a Phoenician site. It is true that Culican has published in Syria (Culican 1968, 278f. pl. XIC, 1–3) photographs of a bronze jug (Fig. 7) that appears to have an openwork lotus flower handle similar to those we have been considering from Lefkandi, Crete and Egypt. However, this jug (ht 22.0 cm) is of a different form, with a slender body, tall neck and ribbed mouldings beneath the mouth. According to Culican, this jug, originally in a private collection and now in the National Museum of Beirut, was found at Sidon with another jug, missing its top part, with a hieroglyphic inscription of the 26th Dynasty pharaoh Amasis II (570–526 BC). He admits the circumstances of the discovery are not known but supposes they were probably found together in the same tomb. It seems, however, from the original publication of these jugs by Dunand (1926, 123f. pl. XXXII), that they were originally in different private collections and the alleged find spot in a tomb to the south-east of the city was entirely speculative. An additional problem is that when Culican examined the jug he concluded that it was a hybrid item put together in modern times from two or three different pieces. The handle is probably genuine, but may not belong to the jug. In these circumstances, and in view of its unknown provenance, this jug with a lotus flower handle allegedly from Sidon cannot be used as evidence. This is not to say that Phoenician craftsmen did not replicate Egyptian forms but not apparently this particular type of jug with openwork lotus handle. In a comprehensive review, Jane Carter (1998, 176) concluded that “however unlikely it may seem” the existing comparative evidence supports the hypothesis that “the Aegean jugs were made (in Egypt) between 250 and 500 years earlier than the contexts in which they were found”, and she goes on to suggest circumstances

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Fig. 7. Bronze jug allegedly from Sidon, Beirut National Museum (from Culican 1968, pl. XIX, 6, nos 1, 3). in which this might have happened. This is possible, but seems unlikely. Such a theory would be more credible if all the jugs came from a single site in the Greek world, in which case they might belong to a rediscovered hoard or be from a looted tomb, but the fact that they come from a number of different contemporary sites suggests to me that they were distributed, probably from a single source, in the early 1st millennium BC. That source is likely to have been Egypt, in which case we would have to accept that a centre in Egypt, in Abydos or elsewhere, continued to produce these jugs up to and into the period of the 25th Dynasty. It must be admitted, however, that there is no evidence for such a hypothesis, and if there was a centre in Egypt that continued to manufacture the jugs, it would presumably have been only for export as no examples have been found in Egyptian contexts later than the 19th or 20th Dynasty. Such a theory would, however, chime with Boardman’s view (1973, 113) that the jugs reached the Greek world “certainly straight from Egypt itself with no eastern intermediaries”. Even though it seems most likely, however, there is still a problem with this scenario, and the conclusion is unavoidable that this matter cannot be resolved until more evidence is forthcoming, either from Greece and the Ancient Near East or from Egypt itself. The situation with the bowls with lotus handles is slightly different to that of the jugs in that the Nimrud handle is the sole example of this class of artefact outside Egypt. It would be rash on the basis of a single handle to suggest that bowls with lotus handles continued to be made in Egypt after the end of the 20th Dynasty and then only for export. Even if a centre in Egypt continued to make jugs with lotus handles possibly even as late as the 25th Dynasty, there is no evidence for the production also of lotus-handled bowls in that centre. On the basis of the three Egyptian parallels cited above, then, the most rational conclusion is that the Nimrud handle belonged to a bowl that was manufactured in Egypt in the period

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of the 19th–20th Dynasties (c. 1292–1077 BC). We cannot completely exclude the possibility that it was a later product, made in Egypt in a subsequent period, but this seems very unlikely. How it came to be deposited in a storeroom in a palace at Nimrud built in the 9th century BC cannot be easily explained, but most probably it was brought to Nimrud as part of a collection of booty or tribute following an Assyrian campaign in the Middle East. It is possible, of course, that it came directly from Egypt, perhaps still attached to the bowl to which it belonged, as there is sporadic evidence for contact with Egypt5 but we would then have the same difficulty as with the jugs, namely why should objects have been exported when they were already over several hundred years old? The discovery of the lotus flower handle and the contents of room AB at Nimrud The bronze handle was found in 1850 by Layard inside a cauldron in Room AB6 of the North-West Palace, a room with a well to the south of Room AA. It is clear from Layard’s account in Nineveh and Babylon that the bronze handle was not actually found together with the collection that we now know as “the Nimrud bowls”. He says (1853a, 177 et seq.) the first objects found in this chamber were two bronze cauldrons, inside which were bronze bells,7 bronze hookshaped fasteners,8 studs and buttons in mother of pearl and ivory, and small metal rosettes, all of which he correctly identified as items of horse harness. Beneath the cauldrons were the remains of tripods with bronze lions’ and bulls’ feet and iron rods9 and what we now know to be maceheads.10 Several of the tripods and the maceheads have West Semitic inscriptions (Barnett 1967) suggesting a western origin. The next two cauldrons contained four bronze sleeves with floral decoration, a bronze head of the demon Pazuzu, two bronze belts, a bronze wine strainer, “several plates and dishes”, “various metal vessels of peculiar form”, and “a bronze ornament, probably the handle of a vase or dish”, which is the item with which we are concerned in this paper (Fig. 8). There is no doubt about the identification as the handle is illustrated on the opposite page with a similar caption, viz. “bronze handle of a dish or vase” (Layard 1853a, 181, bottom centre”). We shall return shortly to the context in which the bronze handle was discovered. Eight more cauldrons were found “in other parts of the chamber”, all empty except one with ashes and bones. In one place behind the cauldrons, “were piled without order, one above the other, bronze cups, bowls, and dishes of various sizes and shapes”. The upper vessels in this pile were badly corroded, but towards the bottom of the pile were others that were “almost entire”. Crucially, he tells us that “many of the bowls and plates fitted so closely, one within the Apart from Esarhaddon’s campaigns in Egypt, there were intermittent contacts with Egypt and Egyptians. See, for example, Thomason 2004, Feldman 2004 and Radner 2012, with refs. 6 For the location of this room, see Mallowan 1966, plan III; Oates and Oates 2001, fig. 33; Hussein 2016, pl. 5. 7 Curtis 2013, nos 754–757. 8 Curtis 2013, no. 863. 9 Curtis 2013, nos 463–494. 10 Curtis 2013, nos 1187–1196. 5

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Fig. 8. Wood-cuts of objects found by Layard in Room AB of the North-West Palace at Nimrud (from Layard 1853a, 181). other, that they have only been detached in England” (Layard 1853a, 182). This is the collection known as “the Nimrud bowls”, now in the British Museum, and even after extensive conservation work evidence can still be found that some of the bowls fitted inside others. It seems reasonable to regard the bowls in this pile as a homogenous collection, particularly as many of them are linked together by incised decoration that is of Phoenican or Syrian origin. It is likely that they were brought to Nimrud as a group,11 but when, from where and in what circumstances are still matters that are hotly debated. Some of the more remarkable pieces are illustrated in engravings in the second series of Monuments of Nineveh after watercolours by Edward Prentis12 (Layard 1853b, pls 57–68). Over the years there have been various studies of the Nimrud bowls, and many more of them 11 Layard himself suggested (1853a, 192) that the bowls may have been the work of Phoenician artists brought as captives to Nimrud. 12 For further information about Edward Prentis see Curtis 2020, 80–81.

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published, by scholars such as Poulsen (1912), Barnett (1967; 1974), Markoe (1985) and Onnis (2009). Layard continues his account of the discoveries in Room AB (1853, 194) by saying that “around (my italics) the vessels I have described” (i. e. the Nimrud bowls) were heaped arms and armour, including two bronze shields,13 iron tools including a saw,14 glass bowls,15 and “various objects in ivory and bronze”. The “most interesting of the ivory relics” were several elephant tusks16 and what Layard called an “ivory sceptre” (fig. on p. 195) reinterpreted by Barnett as an ivory furniture leg (Barnett 1975: 182, no E.1, fig. 77).17 Small bronze objects included two solid bronze cubes with gold inlaid designs showing scarab beetles with outstretched wings (Layard 1853a, fig. on p. 196; Curtis and Reade 1995, no. 208; Curtis 2013, 79. 174 pl. XLIII: 566–567). These may have been weights, and probably derived from a western part of the Ancient Near East, perhaps Phoenicia. “In the further corner of the chamber, to the left hand” (i.e. in the north-east corner, near the well) “stood the royal throne” with “the foot-stool” in front of it. These pieces of furniture were of wood overlaid and supplemented with bronze. Unfortunately it is not possible to match Layard’s description (1853a, 198–200) with depictions of furniture on the reliefs, and what he seems to have found was a backless throne with conical feet surmounted by floral mouldings, a cross-bar with bronze volute decoration, bronze bull’s heads at the corners of the seat, and bronze openwork overlay on the legs. The openwork panels show winged human-headed lions with horned caps and winged bird-headed lions respectively on either side of sacred trees. The alleged footstool is difficult to identify and there may instead have been other items of furniture such as a table, and possibly another backless throne and a high-backed throne (Curtis 2013, 77–80 pls XLIV–XLV). Amongst these pieces of furniture the most distinctive is the first backless throne which finds a close parallel on an Assyrian relief of Ashurnasirpal showing the king enthroned (Curtis 1996, pl. 47a). To complete the picture of what was found in Room AB, in 1953 M.E.L. Mallowan cleared out the well and from sludge at the bottom recovered wax-covered ivory and wooden writing boards that had been thrown into the well (Mallowan 1966, I, 151–163; Curtis and Reade 1995, no. 198; Herrmann et al. 2009, 40f. and 147f. nos 96–98).18 One of the ivory boards had an inscription from the time of Sargon, providing us with a terminus post quem for this act of vandalism. Curtis 2013, nos 258–259. Curtis 2013, no. 10. 15 Two complete glass bowls with fragments of others were found in the chamber (Layard 1853, 196; Barag 1985, 28–31; Curtis and Reade 1995, no 116). Barag dates these glass vessels to the late 8th or 7th century BC. Found with the glass bowls was what Layard described (1853, 197) as “a rock-crystal lens”. It is more likely, however, more prosaically, to have been a piece of rock crystal inlay (Curtis and Reade 1995, no. 90). The lens was buried beneath “a heap of fragments of beautiful blue opaque glass” (Layard 1853, 198), probably also pieces of inlay. 16 Barnett 1975, 182, nos E.2–4; Herrmann et al 2009, no. 95. 17 Herrmann et al. 2009, no. 94. Barnett later revised his opinion and identified this piece as a “Phoenician candelabrum” (Barnett 1974, 30). 18 Other finds included a bronze axe (Curtis 2013, no. 1), a bronze wire tassel (Curtis 2013, no. 866), a small block of wood and a wooden comb (Herrmann et al. 2009, 41). 13 14

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It is clear from this brief survey that there was in Room AB a heterogeneous collection of objects, apparently of different origin and different date. It is likely that some items such as the 12 cauldrons and tripods, the maceheads, the collection known as the Nimrud bowls and the cubic weights were brought to Assyria as booty or tribute. We may point to other items, however, as probable Assyrian products. These might include the furniture, the Pazuzu head, the tools and the writing boards that were retrieved from the well. Other items such as the horse harness, and some of the military equipment including the shields are more difficult to place as they are types that are common to Assyria, Urartu, North Syria and possibly even Iran. There is similar divergence in date: the throne, for example, belongs to the period of Ashurnasirpal II (883–859 BC) while the writing-boards date from the time of Sargon (721–705 BC). The conclusion seems inescapable that Room AB was used at least in the last phase of its occupation as a general store-room. However, it may not always have been such. Mallowan refers (1966, II, 152) to uncovering “a big stone conduit and sump” in this room, which would seem to be inconsistent with its being a store-room. It is also unlikely that a room with a well should be used as a store-room, particularly as the stored objects would have blocked access to the well. Layard relates (1853a, fn. on p. 200) that Rawlinson considered (on rather slight evidence) Room AB to have been a kitchen, although Layard himself was in no doubt that it was “a repository for the royal arms and sacrificial vessels”. It seems more probable, however, that its use as a store-room was secondary, in which case when were objects transferred to this room? It is sometimes assumed that after about 710 BC, when the royal residence moved to Khorsabad, little happened at Nimrud. However, we know that Esarhaddon was active at Nimrud (Mallowan 1966, passim), although not necessarily in the North-West Palace, and David Kertai has noted that administrative records found at Nimrud indicate that the main palaces remained active as economic and administrative units (Kertai 2015, 113). The most likely scenario would seem to be that the objects were hastily gathered together possibly from different places in the palace and deposited in Room AB perhaps not long before the final sack of the building in 612 BC.19 This might have happened during a late refurbishment, or in anticipation of an attack. It would be consistent with the writing-boards being thrown down the well when Nimrud was sacked by the Medes and the Babylonians. The association through the inscription with Sargon would have been anathema to the invaders. If this hypothesis is correct, the only terminus ante quem that we have for objects in the room is 612 BC. Unfortunately this does not help us to determine when the collection of bowls was brought to Nimrud, but at least it allows for the possibility that they could have been brought to Nimrud as late as the reign of Sennacherib, perhaps after his campaign in the Levant. The context of the lotus flower handle We have established that there is no direct connection between the lotus flower handle from Nimrud and the hoard known as ‘the Nimrud bowls’. But what of the other things found with the lotus flower handle in the third and fourth cauldrons? 19 It is also possible that the looters themselves gathered the objects in this room prior to a removal which was thwarted.

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Fig. 9. Palm-shaped furniture mouldings from Nimrud, British Museum N273 (left) and N271 (right) (photograph by J. E. Curtis). The objects that can now be identified include four heavy palm-shaped mouldings in bronze (Fig. 9; Layard 1853a, illust. 179, top right; Curtis and Reade 1995, no. 85; Curtis 2013, 81–2, 176, pl. XLVIII, no. 589). These were furniture ornaments that that are shown on Assyrian reliefs fixed to the legs of thrones just above the feet. These are likely to be Assyrian, although similar mouldings are known from neighbouring states such as Urartu. Also of probable Assyrian origin, or at least Babylonian, is the bronze Pazuzu head pendant. The two bronze belts, both plain, are probably Assyrian or Urartian (Curtis 2013, 122. 199 pl. XCIV: 1169–1170). The bronze bowl-shaped strainer (Fig. 10; Layard 1853a, bottom right; Moorey 1980, 192f. fig. 5) is similar to an example from a royal tomb at Nimrud (Curtis 2008, 248–249). Both have a carinated shape that is common in Assyrian pottery but is also found in neighbouring regions.20 The lamp illustrated by Layard (1853, 181 top right) is actually part of a larger vessel that has a bowl at the bottom (Fig. 11; Curtis 2013, 74. 173 pl. XLI no. 531). At least four of these bronze saucer lamps have been found in the royal tombs at Nimrud (Curtis 2008, 243–244), there is another bronze example from a tomb at Ashur and there are comparable pottery lamps from Nimrud, Ashur and Tell Billa. This lamp could, then, be Assyrian, but the form is also known in Iran and probably also occurs in North Syria. Lastly, there is evidence for at least six bronze ladles with spout and strap handle (Fig. 12; Layard 1853a, 181 top right; Curtis and Reade 1995, no. 106). Barnett points to a bronze vessel from Tell Halaf, of similar shape but with fluted sides, and to the depiction of such a vessel on a sculpture at Karatepe (Barnett 1974, 28–30, figs 6–7). Another is shown on a Syro-Phoenician pyxis retrieved in Iraqi excavations in Well AJ in the North-West Palace at Nimrud ( Herrmann

More certainly of Assyrian origin are two bronze strainer-vessels, one with incised decoration formerly in the Temple Collection and now in the British Museum no. 124591 (Moorey 1980, 188–192 figs 2–4, pl. IIIb) and another from a royal tomb at Nimrud (Curtis 2008, fig. 29n). 20

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Fig. 10. Bronze strainer from Nimrud, British Museum 124601 (drawing by Ann Searight).

Fig. 11. Bronze lamp from Nimrud, British Museum 91260/N125/N546 (photograph by J. E. Curtis).

Fig. 12. Bronze ladle from Nimrud, British Museum 124593 (photograph courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum). et al. 2009, no. 234). Matthäus (1986, pl. 48 nos 462–463)21 illustrates two such vessels, one standing on a disc-shaped foot and the other broken at the bottom; both are supposed to come from Cyprus but lack good provenance. It seems very possible that ladles of this type should be associated with the cauldrons, wherever they might come from. Even in these two cauldrons the contents are heterogeneous: furniture mouldings, belts, a pendant, a lamp, a strainer-bowl and our lotus flower handle. It might be argued that the ladle and the strainer together with one of the cauldrons were 21 Matthäus (1985, 190) also refers to an unpublished example in the Römisch-Germanisches Zentralmuseum in Mainz, supposedly from Urartu.

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part of the same drinking-set, or wine-set,22 but the evidence for this is tenuous, certainly not strong enough to suggest that they were imported together. The impression rather is that the objects were thrown into the cauldron in a rather haphazard manner. Conclusion The conclusion seems unavoidable, then, that the lotus-flower handle is neither closely associated with the collection of ‘Nimrud bowls’, nor with the objects with which it was found in one of the cauldrons. It may be one of the oldest objects found in Room AB, but in itself we can deduce nothing from this. It is consistent with the contents of Room AB having been hastily gathered together from various places and put into this store-room. Unfortunately, then, the lotus flower handle is of no help in determining the origin or date-range of the Nimrud bowls. Bibliography Barag, D. 1985 Catalogue of Western Asiatic Glass in the British Museum, vol. 1. London. Barnett, R.D. 1967 Layard’s Nimrud bronzes and their inscriptions, Eretz-Israel 8, 1*–7*. 1974 The Nimrud bowls in the British Museum, Rivista di Studi Fenici 2, 11–33. 1975 A Catalogue of the Nimrud Ivories. 2nd edition, London. Boardman, J. 1973 The Greeks Overseas. London. Carter, J.B. 1998 Egyptian bronze jugs from Crete and Lefkandi, Journal of Hellenic Studies 118, 172–177. Culican, W. 1968 Quelques aperçus sur les ateliers phéniciens, Syria 45, 275–293. 1976 Phoenician metalwork and Egyptian tradition, Revista de la Universidad Complutense 25, 83–88. Curtis, J. E. 1996 Assyrian furniture: the archaeological evidence. In: G. Herrmann (ed.), The Furniture of Western Asia, Ancient and Traditional. Mainz. 167–180. 2008 Observations on selcted metal objects from the Nimrud tombs. In: J. E. Curtis, H. McCall, D. Collon and L. al-Gailani-Werr (eds), New Light on Nimrud. London. 243–253. 2013 An Examination of Late Assyrian Metalwork with special reference to Nimrud. London. 2020 Layard’s relationship with F.C. Cooper and his other artists. In: S. Ermidoro and C. Riva (eds), Rethinking Layard 1817–2017. Venice. 63–89. Curtis, J. E. and J. E. Reade (eds) 1995 Art and Empire: Treasures from Assyria in the British Museum. London.

For a discussion of wine-sets in the Ancient Near East, see Moorey 1980.

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Dunand, M. 1926 Note sur quelques objets provenant de Saïde, Syria 7, 123–127. Feldman, M. H. 2004 Nineveh to Thebes and back: art and politics between Assyria and Egypt in the seventh century BCE, Iraq 66, 141–150. Herrmann, G., S. Laidlaw and H. Coffey 2009 Ivories from the North West Palace (1845–1992). Ivories from Nimrud VI. London. Hussein, M. M. 2016 Nimrud: the Queens’ Tombs. Baghdad/Chicago. Kertai, D. 2015 After the court moved away: a reinterpretation of the ivory finds within the royal palaces of Kalhu, Altorientalische Forschungen 42, 112–121. Layard, A. H. 1853a Discoveries in the Ruins of Nineveh and Babylon. London. 1853b The Monuments of Nineveh: Second Series. London. Mallowan, M. E. L. 1966 Nimrud and its Remains, 2 vols. London. Markoe, G. 1985 Phoenician Bronze and Silver Bowls from the Mediterranean. Berkeley, California. Matney, T. et al. (eds) 2017 Ziyaret Tepe. Exploring the Anatolian frontier of the Assyrian Empire. Edingburgh. Matthäus, H. 1985 Metallgefässe und Gefässuntersätze der Bronzezeit, der geometrischen und archaischen Periode auf Cypern, Prähistorische Bronzefunde, Abteilung II, Band 8. Munich. Moorey, P. R. S. 1980 Metal wine-sets in the Ancient Near East, Iranica Antiqua 15, 181–197. Oates, J. and D. Oates 2001 Nimrud: an Imperial City Revealed. London. Onnis, F. 2009 The Nimrud bowls: new data from an analysis of the objects, Iraq 71, 139–150. Popham, M. R., L. H. Sackett and P. G. Themelis (eds) 1979 Lefkandi I: The Iron Age, plates. The British School at Athens, supplementary volume no. 11. Popham, M. R., E. Touloupa and L H. Sackett 1982 Further excavation of the Toumba cemetery at Lefkandi, 1981, The Annual of the British School at Athens 77, 213–248. Poulsen, F. 1912 Der Orient und die frühgriechische Kunst. Leipzig/Berlin. Radner, K. 2012 After Eltekeh: royal hostages from Egypt at the Assyrian court. In: H. D. Baker, K. Kaniuth and A. Otto (eds), Stories of Long Ago, Festschrift für Michael D. Roaf. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 397. Münster. 471–479.

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Radwan, A. 1983 Die Kupfer- und Bronzegefässe Ägyptens von den Anfängen bis zum Beginn der Spätzeit. Prähistorische Bronzefunde, Abteilung II, Band 2. Munich. Sackett, L. H. and M. R. Popham 1972 Lefkandi: a Euboean town of the Bronze and Early Iron Age (2100–700 BC), Archaeology 25, 8–19. Thomason, A. K. 2004 From Sennacherib’s bronzes to Taharqa’s feet: conceptions of the material world at Nineveh, Iraq 66, 151–162.

Narrative art and the Hasanlu beaker Proposal for a coherent interpretation linked to Gilgamesh Stephanie Dalley Abstract The motifs on the gold beaker excavated at Hasanlu in 1958 can all be connected with episodes in stories about the hero Gilgamesh, written in Sumerian, Akkadian, Hittite and Greek. This is possible because of subsequent finds. Discoveries in recent years of cuneiform tablets have established episodes that were previously unknown. Episodes that are not represented on the beaker can contribute to interpretations of written traditions that were suggested by earlier scholars. Better evidence from the archaeology of the southern Caucasus widens the scope for investigation; and better evidence from Neo-Assyrian records throws light on the likely relations between Hasanlu and Assyria. The unique artistic style shown on the beaker has relevance for a scholarly debate about the value of fifth century Greek vases. Ever since 1958, when a large gold beaker was found on excavations at Hasanlu, scholars have tried to interpret its many repoussé motifs with varying results. Because it is gold, the value of the object supersedes even that of Ursa king of Urartu in the late 8th century, whose drinking bowl (kappu) was of silver (Frame 2021, 301 line 358). Suggestions for dating the bowl itself, for dating the archaeological destruction associated with the level in which it was found, and for linking the style with Hittite, Hurrian and other linguistic groups expounded by Irene Winter in 1989, have not reached a consensus, though the clear motif of subduing Humbaba gave one agreed link to the Epic of Gilgamesh as far as the story, which still has substantial gaps, was known at that time.1 More recently, current evidence for language groups in early Iran has been collected by Ran Zadok (2013); but it would be fruitless to guess what languages were spoken in Hasanlu at the time the beaker was used there. I begin by discarding an early suggestion that the Hasanlu beaker showed a random mixture of motifs linked to different stories, as if Hurrians, Urartians or others were unlikely to tell a coherent story in Note that the so-called Elamite tablet of Gilgamesh (Winter 1989, 104) was later shown to be misidentified; no trace of Gilgamesh themes has yet been found in Elamite texts. 1

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pictures, and that versions of motifs should be linked to particular languages (cf. Winter 1989, 102). The style is clearly not neo-Assyrian. Links with the southern Caucasus are currently emphasised, thanks to more consideration of that area with its archaeology (Cifarelli 2019, 28. 31). Since Winter’s paper, Tallay Ornan included a brief mention of the Humbaba motif of the slaying of Humbaba in Hans-Ulrich Steymans’ useful collection of studies on Gilgamesh in iconography (2010, 235), but the assumption was for Mesopotamian influence. Terracotta plaques, again Mesopotamian, have contributed to the iconography of Gilgamesh in the Old Babylonian period, thanks to the work of Ursula Seidl (2010). On cylinder seals, the slaying of the Bull of Heaven was accepted as related to Gilgamesh’s exploits, also in that volume; but it is not represented on the beaker nor on Old Babylonian terracotta plaques. Omissions from the beaker’s motifs may be instructive. One of the contested motifs is that of the birth and childhood of Gilgamesh, argued by Douglas Frayne (in Steymans 2010), doubted by some scholars in the same volume, but allowed with due caution in Foster’s 2019 translations. More recent cuneiform evidence of the Standard Babylonian Version, hereafter SBV,2 filling gaps in the episodes, now allows other motifs on the beaker to be identified or proposals for their identification strengthened. Translation of the SBV and stories about the hero in Sumerian, Akkadian, Hittite and Greek, in a second edition edited by Ben Foster (2019), conveniently and reliably incorporate new material,3 and many studies of iconography related to Gilgamesh are conveniently collected by Steymans (2010). Some motifs can be connected directly with extant episodes in the SBV; some may eventually be found to fit into the gaps currently identified in the SBV; and some may belong to independent short compositions that were not included in the SBV. This paper is restricted to identifying the motifs on the beaker as illustrations of episodes known from the Epic of Gilgamesh and other stories featuring Gilgamesh, whether in Akkadian or other languages. The aim is not to argue for a particular date for the artwork nor to engage with a possible date for the destruction that killed the looter who was holding the beaker when he fell, which remains uncertain (e.g. Muscarella 2012, 278; Cifarelli 2019, 38). I aim to show that the motifs have a coherent theme based entirely on stories about Gilgamesh. The possible time-frame for the textual evidence extends with certainty from the Old Babylonian period, with possible contributions from Sumerian at an earlier date, and a possible extension later into the Roman period. The lifetime of the lamentation priest Sin-lēqi-unninni, who may have been responsible for SBV tablets I to XI with its framing lines, still cannot be dated from secure evidence; even the correct reading of his name depends on issues of dating (Beaulieu 2000). His name is found connected to the opening line of SBV only in a neo-Assyrian catalogue. Rather than being the author of a whole standard epic, he may have been one of several scribes who remodelled a previous written version. He probably lived in the Late Bronze Age, c. 1300–1000 BC, but there is no direct evidence for this.4 It has become clear that scribes in Based on the work of George 2003, with subsequent new texts mainly edited by him, and included in Foster’s translations. 3 I have occasionally made minor adjustments to the translations given in Foster 2019, by George 2003, and elsewhere. 4 Beaulieu 2000. George thinks the whole of Tablet XII was a late addition. 2

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Syria at Ugarit and Emar already included a framing device for their version of the Gilgamesh Epic, as well as for the Ballad of Early Rulers (in which the names of Gilgamesh and Etana both occur as kings) and they manipulated blocks of lines in a version of the Epic of Gilgamesh, in the latter half of the 13th century BC (George 2007; Cohen 2013, 129–131). In Hittite a much shorter, simplified version of the Epic is partly preserved (Beckman in Foster 2019, 159). The Epic of Gilgamesh as known at Hasanlu may not have corresponded closely to any of the versions so far known. In the SBV I 52–58, in Hittite Gilgamesh (Beckman in Foster 2019), in the middle Babylonian version found at Ugarit5, Gilgamesh is a giant, with measurements specified to eliminate doubt, but the hero is not shown as a giant on the beaker.6 In a Hittite fragment, but not in any extant Akkadian text, Gilgamesh met the Moon-god who advised him to donate statues of the lions he had killed to his temple (Beckman in Foster 2019, 166), although the many gaps in the currently known SBV make it possible that a similar episode was included there. The adoption of Enkidu in Akkadian was entirely unknown and unexpected until a new fragment came to light, now incorporated into Foster’s revised translation of SBV in 2019. A single standard version of the epic written in Babylonian cuneiform did not exist outside any one particular school of scribes before c. 1600 BC or later, as is evident because for instance there are different, contemporary, stories about Gilgamesh and Humbaba in Sumerian. The account of the Deluge attributed to Berossus, who lived in the 4th century BC, evidently used a version that does not quite match that in the SBV (Day 2013; Darshan 2016), and may have remained a separate story with changes related to a lunar calendar that developed independently, concurrent with a slightly different use of the theme both in the Gilgamesh Epic and in Atrahasis. It is almost certain that variant versions of the story continued to circulate beyond the curriculum of Mesopotamian scribes in the late 2nd and the 1st millennia BC. Thus themes previously unknown have emerged in written form. The question whether there were oral versions to which allusions may perhaps be identified in other written texts (Henkelman 2006) remains open, but gaps in the SBV are still substantial. The fragment of a Deluge story from Ugarit, probably of the 14th/13th century, suggests that we need not invoke oral tradition because it has become clear that variant written versions did exist, both in and beyond Mesopotamia, over a very long period of time and place. Some of them remained independent stories alongside their appearance in the SBV. SBV Tablet XII was added or modified, perhaps in the late 8th century BC to incorporate a reference to the death of Sargon II (George 2003, 47–54; Frahm 1999); earlier changes include a shift from the Zagros mountains in a Sumerian story to those of Lebanon and the Amanus in SBV Akkadian, suggestive of a link focussing on royal campaigns or expeditions that changed from third millennium travels to those of the second and first millennia, a major updating within the narrative. The whole written composition evolved over time, so the ‘standard’ version is only a convenient label to which is supposedly attached the role of the George 2007 considers that text from Ugarit to be a ‘heavily corrupt’ version of SBV rather than a different version. 6 In the late third millennium Gudea of Girsu wrote of the temple dedicated to Ningirsu: ‘Grown as tall as Gilgamesh, its throne set there nobody shall remove!’ (Edzard 1997, 100 Cylinder B xxiii.16). 5

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scribe Sin-lēqi-unninni. Foster (2019, xiv) does not consider it likely that written forms of the Epic of Gilgamesh were based on oral tradition, but that they were part of a scribal curriculum, with recital limited to an elite; however, it is hard to envisage how oral dissemination with associated changes could be prevented. Recently a better understanding of the location of Hasanlu and its relationship with Assyria comes from work on Assyria’s eastern borderlands in the late 8th century, particularly relating to the city Muṣaṣir and its shrine of Haldi, as has been analyzed by Karen Radner (2012), using the great resources of the State Archives of Assyria project. The location of Muṣaṣir had long been a matter of dispute, but eventually reached a near consensus, following the study by Zimansky (1990, see also Frame 2021, 273–274). Radner’s study gave an insight into the position of Hasanlu as lying just beyond the border of an Assyrian province ruled by the Palace Herald in the time of Sargon II (721–705 BC), the king who took control of Muṣaṣir from its rebellious client king Urzana and then pardoned him so that presumably he continued as local ruler after the king’s death, because an expansion of Urartian power was still a threat.7 Muṣaṣir and Hasanlu are roughly 100 km apart in the foothills and plain between the eastern edge of the Zagros and the south-western shore of Lake Urmia, with the pass at Kelishin roughly half way between them. The route taken by Urzana from Muṣaṣir to meet Sargon II ended (?) in Erbil, the Assyrian cult city nearest to Muṣaṣir and Hasanlu according to the royal letter SAA V 136 (Lanfranchi and Parpola 1990, no. 136; Radner 2012, 248). Erbil is relevant for providing textual evidence of Ishtar riding on a lion, see below, motif no. 2. Its population had included many Hurrians during the second millennium, and it became a major Assyrian city. Other evidence is lacking for its contribution to artistic traditions. The relationship of Urzana, who was pardoned by Sargon after the looting, gives an idea of how close the Assyrian border lay as seen from Hasanlu; a detailed biography of Urzana is given by Baker and Schmitt (2011). As a client king, he was engaged as part of a long-standing attempt by Assyria to control land past its border along a route leading from near Muṣaṣir across the plain, past Hasanlu, and on to the shore of Lake Urmia. The policy of supporting local rulers of buffer states against Urartu was a long-standing one: in the ninth century the ruler of Muṣaṣir or his delegate(s) attended the great feast at Nimrud recorded on the famous Banquet Stele (Grayson 1991, 293, line 147); perhaps also in an early 8th century wine list for a banquet, also from Nimrud (Kinnier Wilson 1972, no. 4 line 14’).8 It is possible that both Muṣaṣir and Hasanlu lay within the Mannaean kingdom during some of the neo-Assyrian period, and were protected Danti’s 2013 overview of recent work connected the region including Qalaichi just north of Bukan as Mannean territory which was threatened by Urartu in much of the 9th and 8th centuries BC. The earlier account by Postgate (1993–1997) emphasised some uncertainties which still remain, and listed the evidence for Assyrian efforts to protect the area; Marf 2019 has partly updated those works owing to the discovery of the Bukan stela with its Aramaic inscription. 8 Kinnier Wilson 1972, no. 4 line 4’. See Dalley and Postgate 1984, 22–24 and 282 with note referring to Parpola’s possible emendation (1976, 167). The tablet NWL no.4, found in room SW 6, is almost certainly datable to the 8th century BC, rather than the 9th (Dalley and Postgate 1984, 23). Muṣaṣir is not included in Bagg 2017, RGTC 7/2-2 (Neo-Assyrian), nor in Diakonoff and Kashkai 1981, RGTC 9 (Urartian). 7

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from Urartian pressure by Assyrian kings. The motifs on the beaker can be seen against this historical and geographical background (Fig. 1). The beaker was flattened when found. The outline on the drawing suggests its original shape. Diameter at rim: c. 18 cm. Height c. 20 cm. Weight 936 gr. The drawing of Maude de Schauensee with modifications made later (Winter 1989, fig. 6) and used in subsequent publications is still the ideal source for looking at the motifs. The following list gives the order in which the individual motifs are then discussed giving relevant lines of text in translation from the appropriate versions of cuneiform and Greek text.

Fig. 1. The Hasanlu Beaker (drawing by Maud de Schauensee; reproduced here by courtesy of Dr. Richard L. Zettler, Associate Curator-in-charge, Near Eastern Section of the PENN Museum, PA, The Hasanlu Project). 1. The three gods who determine the main events: 1a Moon-god 1b Sun-god 1c Storm-god 2. A goddess riding on a lion is shown beneath them. 3. Motifs from the early life of Gilgamesh: 3a Rescue on an eagle’s back. 3b An adoption scene in which a woman hands over a baby to a seated deity. 4. Gilgamesh (?) offers to an empty throne. 5. Weapons cast for the adventure. 6. Gilgamesh and Enkidu control Humbaba and remove his radiances. 7. The three-headed Deluge flows from the Storm-god’s chariot. 8. Three figures at the water’s edge bring offerings of sheep. 9. Man in the Mountain: Ut-napishtim confronted by Gilgamesh. 10. A naked goddess exposes her charms. 11. Gilgamesh dressed as a hunter walks away from the goddess in a move of rejection. 12. (Not on the beaker). The Killing of the Bull of Heaven. 13. (Not on the beaker). The Scorpion-man. The suggested identifications follow this order.

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1. Three gods who determine the main event The three gods, top left on the drawing, have already been identified satisfactorily as moon-god, sun-god, and storm-god (Winter 1989, 93). They are significantly different from known Mesopotamian representations on cylinder seals and stelae. The animals on which they stand appear to be mythical composites. 1a. The Moon-god is identified by the crescent on his head. Like the Sun-god, he rides on an equid that appears to have both an ear and a horn, and a tail of the kind found on bulls rather than horses. His role is barely found in the extant parts of SBV, but in the/a Hittite version the Moon-god advised Gilgamesh to donate images of the lions he has killed to his temple. The episode took place when Gilgamesh had met the ale-wife Siduri, and may fit in a gap in SBV X or belong only to a different version. This etiological motif – presumably accounting for the presence of lions at a temple of the Moon-god in an unspecified city – may be connected with the lower register on Old Babylonian terracotta plaques assembled and discussed by Ursula Seidl in Steymans (2010). The scene shows a pair of small lions on either side of the standing figure who wears a short kilt, and in some instances the head of a huge Humbaba on the left and right edges of the group. The upper register shows the head of a central, heavily bearded figure backed by weapons.9 The hero Moon-god [said to Gilgamesh]: ‘Go and [make] these two [lions] which you slew into two images for me! Transport them into the city! Take them into the city of the Moon-god.’ (Beckman in Foster 2019, 166) The Moon-god’s presence at the end of the Flood is indicated from a fragment found at Ugarit, which gives a calendrical use of the timings for the start and end of the Flood. It has been connected with the Priestly version of the Flood in Genesis (Darshan 2016). At the start of the time of the Moon’s disappearance, at the start of the month, Ea the great lord stood by my side: ‘Take a hoe and a copper axe. Make a window at the top. Set free a bird and it will find the shore for you.’ (Ugarit RS 94.2953) Cronos appeared to Xisuthros in a dream and revealed that on the 15th day of the month Daisios mankind would be destroyed by a Deluge. (Berossus) This fragment of text is given, possibly corrupted, by a much later writer. Berossus does not name the Moon-god; but the 15th day of the month was significant for a lunar calendar as the day of the full moon, as pointed out by Darshan (2016). 1b. The Sun-god, shown crowned by a winged disk, rides on an equid that appears to have both an ear and a horn, and a tail of the kind found on bulls but not on horses. In SBV he protects Gilgamesh and Enkidu, and it is to the Sun-god that Ninsun prays for the safety of Gilgamesh. Seidl suggested the bearded figure was a form of Humbaba; but as Humbaba is not bearded, Gilgamesh, who supervised the making of weapons, may be preferred. 9

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‘O Shamash, you opened up the mountains for the beasts of the steppe, ... The great gods stand in attendance upon your radiance.’ (SBV III) She also prays to the Sun-god: ‘O Shamash, will not Gilgamesh become a judge among the gods? Will he not share heaven with you? Will he not share a sceptre with the Moon-god?’ (SBV III) 1c. The Storm-god is the leader whose chariot is harnessed to a bull with large horns which spews the Deluge. The Deluge is portrayed on the beaker as a 3-headed monster; for dangerous monsters that have more than one head see e.g. Wiggerman (1992, 153). In SBV XI the Storm-god Adad brings the Deluge. At the first glimmer of dawn, A black cloud rose over the horizon. Inside it the Storm-god Adad was thundering... Adad’s awesome power passed over the heavens. Whatever was bright was turned into gloom. (SBV XI) There is a possibility that the creature lying beneath the foot of Gilgamesh, extending below the mountain, with the hindquarters and tail of a lion, but with the snout and open jaws of a dog-like creature, clearly alive but subdued, is another form of the mythical Deluge-monster (abūbu) as a lion-dragon, and the lower end of the stream of water, beneath the mountain from which Ut-napishtim faces Gilgamesh. See Seidl (1998 with n. 65). 2. Goddess riding on a lion A female wearing a necklace riding on a lion, holding mirror and mace: presumably a goddess. She is shown just below the three male gods and perhaps belongs with them as a fourth deity overseeing the other motifs. The mirror need not represent Kubaba as suggested by Winter; an alternative comparison can be made with Naqia wife of Sennacherib, mother of Esarhaddon, grandmother of Ashurbanipal as shown on an inscribed bronze panel.10 This weakens the proposed link to Carchemish, and raises the likelihood that the goddess is an Ishtar. Bearing in mind that the holy city of Assyria nearest to Hasanlu was Erbil, it is interesting that a hymn of Ashurbanipal to Ishtar Erbil of includes the line: The lady is seated on a lion, on a [...] mighty lions crouch beneath her. (Livingstone 1989, 8:5’) Note that a 12th century BC bronze statuette of a Middle Assyrian scribe Shamash-Bēl with his stylus tucked into his waist-band, dedicated to Ishtar of Erbil, was found near Lake Urmia (MacGinnis 2014, 57). In the Louvre AO 20.185.

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3. Scenes from childhood 3a. Baby on the back of a flying eagle. Told by Aelian (AD 165/70-230/5), written in Greek. The latest colophon for the Gilgamesh Epic is dated 141 or 113 BC in Babylon. When Seuechoros was king of the Babylonians the Chaldeans said that the child born of his daughter would deprive his grandfather of his kingdom. ... secretly the girl bore a child ... So the guards out of fear for the king, threw the child from the citadel ... Now when an eagle, due to its keen sight, saw the child while still falling, it went beneath the infant ... and put its back under him, brought him to some garden, and put him down ... the guardian of the place ... reared him. He was called Gilgamos and became king over the Babylonians. (Pietersma in Foster 2019, 171) This episode may be distinguished from the similar one in the Legend of Etana if the stance of the dogs / sheep is taken into account. In the Legend, and on cylinder seals, Etana is an adult shepherd whose sheep, standing on all four legs, look up at the king mounted on the eagle, whereas on cylinder seals Gilgamesh is a baby (see motif no. 3b below) and has dogs seated to look up at the child riding on the eagle. On the Hasanlu beaker the eagle-rider looks like a baby; but there are no animals looking up with the motif here. On the miniature design on seals the age of the eagle’s rider may not be clear, but the sheep and dogs are clearly different.11 Claus Wilcke (1989, 562–565) discussed the complications of Gilgamesh’s parentage, and apparently accepted that the account of Aelian might be taken from a missing passage in Berossus’ Babyloniaca. However, as discussed below, since Berossus is not known to connect the Flood story to Gilgamesh, by analogy the episode may have had an existence independent of Gilgamesh-related stories at that time. An allusion to such a story may, however, be found in the Sumerian legend of Gilgamesh and Agga, in the lines Agga took the fugitive into his embrace, Agga provided the fleeing bird with grain.12 The passage is ambiguous for the interpretation of the ‘fleeing bird’, as Foster (2019, 104 n. 1) points out. 3b. Adoption: female(?) handing a baby to a male(?) seated on a throne. Adoption scenes are known from at least two Akkad-period cylinder seals that show a woman handing over a child to a seated person, one of whom who wears a flounced robe (Boehmer 1965, nos 555 and 556). Frayne suggested linking it Frayne connected this motif on two Akkadian (mid-third millennium BC) seals with Gilgamesh rather than Etana (see Steymans 2010, 379f. figs 8 and 9 re Boehmer 1965 nos 168 and 697 (?)); the motif may not have been connected with the Epic at that early date. The legend of Gilgamesh’s birth, sometimes linked with the legend of Sargon of Agade’s birth, may be a later addition to Gilgamesh stories, cf. Sommerfeld 2009, 48 and Edzard 1987, 53. 12 Although eagles do not eat grain! 11

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to the early life of Gilgamesh, following Wilcke’s understanding of the Sumerian story of Gilgamesh and Agga.13 At the end of the story, Gilgamesh addressed Agga king of Kish without ambiguity as far as the hero’s rescue is concerned: ‘Agga, you gave me breath! Agga, you gave me life! Agga took the fugitive into his embrace, Agga provided the fleeing bird with grain.’14 If so, the seated person might be Agga. An alternative may be Lugalbanda who is called Gilgamesh’s father in the SBV. The placing of a person on the lap of the adopting person, who is seated, symbolizes the legal process of adoption according to lexical lists of legal phraseology (CAD s.v. sunu A c) 1’ b’). For a second alternative, the recently found tablet relating the adoption of Enkidu as an adult by Nin-sun15 allows the possibility that the scene may represent the adoption of Enkidu by Ninsun, to be a brother for Gilgamesh; if so, the portrayal of Enkidu as a baby is a stereotype of the act of adoption.16 ‘Mighty Enkidu, though you are no issue of my womb, Your offspring shall be among the devotees of Gilgamesh, The priestesses, votaries, cult women of the temple... The priestesses have hereby taken in this foundling.’ The possibility that Gilgamesh like Enkidu was adopted may be comparable to the Hymn of Ashurbanipal (Livingstone 1989, no. 3: 13), possibly referring to the Epic of Gilgamesh, in which the king claimed: ‘I knew no father or mother, I grew up in the lap of my goddesses.’ Shamash-shum-ukin was installed as king of Babylon by Esarhaddon who wrote: ‘I gave Shamash-shum-ukin my son, my offspring, as a present to the god Marduk and the Goddess Zarpanitu.’ (Leichty 2011, 53:10’) A rock carving at Jebel Uweinat in Egypt shows a similar motif;17 a rock carving at Sabaʾ Banāt near Tayma in NW Saudi Arabia likewise.18 It is possible that the scene, and perhaps other rock carvings, had legal significance. On the cylinder seal Boehmer 1965, no. 556 (Steymans 2010, 379) the mother turns away as the child turns towards an adopting female on whose lap he already sits. Frayne in Steymans 2010, 379 figs 6 and 7 (Boehmer 1965, nos. 555 and 556), and Frayne’s translation in Foster 2019, 106. 14 Other interpretations of those lines are noted in Foster 2019, 104 n.1 15 SBV tablet III 120–128 George 2003, 580–581; Foster 2019, 26. 16 I offer no insight into the presence of the pot on Boehmer 1965, nos 549, 555 and 716 as interpreted by Frayne; it is not on the Hasanlu beaker. 17 I thank Rocio Da Riva for this information. 18 I thank Michael Macdonald for this information. 13

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4. Gilgamesh (?) offers to an empty throne The seated male (?) offering a beaker to an empty throne may be Gilgamesh as king of Uruk making an offering to the Sun-god Shamash as he is about to leave his throne empty in Uruk, for travel and adventure with Enkidu. This is known from a precursor to SBV. ‘I am going, O Shamash, to the place of [Humbaba], Let me be safe there, [keep me] alive. Bring me back to the haven of [Uruk], Place your protection [upon me].’ (SBV III, Foster 2019, 27) 5. Weapons cast for the adventure Bronze-casting within or close to Mesopotamian cities is known from Early Dynastic Mari and Girsu, and referred to in the name of a city gate as: ‘Gate of the Smiths (Tabira)’. Weapons were not therefore imported. A very similar motif of weapons lined up for display is shown on the Middle Bronze Age silver goblet found at Karashamb in the southern Caucasus (Aruz et al. 2008, 91 no. 55). Off they went, hand in hand, to the workshop. The craftsmen, seated around, conferred. They cast great axes, Axe blades weighing 180 pounds each they cast. They cast great daggers, Their blades were 120 pounds each, The fittings of the daggers each 30 pounds of gold. (SBV II, Foster 2019, 20, lines 209–218) 6. Gilgamesh and Enkidu control Humbaba The two heroes kneel on either side of Humbaba, on the point of killing him. Their short lower garment ends in a decorated border strip above the knee, their upper garment has short sleeves ending in a border strip, and both men have bracelets or wristbands. The two men are identical, mirror images. Above the head of Humbaba are the radiances (also translated ‘auras’, ‘glories’), that protected him from attack; the two heroes are removing them as each holds down one of Humbaba’s arms. There are several versions of this; all the Akkadian versions are damaged.19 In the Sumerian story Enkidu is Gilgamesh’ servant, and they are accompanied by a retinue from Uruk. ... Huwawa gave him a seventh direful radiance. The men of his city who accompanied him lopped off the shoots, tied them up in a bundle. They laid them to rest in the cleft of the mountain. (Foster 2019, 135) SBV V Foster 2019, 47; Sumerian story pp. 133–135; George 2003, 257 (OB Harmal version) and 263 (OB Ishchali version). 19

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7. The three-headed Deluge flows from the Storm-god’s chariot A part of the stream ends in three snake-like heads, and the lower part ends in a different monstrous beast. The description of the Deluge as a monster is not found in the Gilgamesh texts. In Hittite mythology a snake-monster is associated with the Storm-god Illuyanka. The description of silver shields captured by Sargon II from Muṣaṣir is ambiguous: 12 large silver shields whose bosses are decorated with the head(s) of Deluge monster(s), lion(s) and wild bull(s) (Frame 2021, 82.iv.66’–67’). The monster here and in other Mesopotamian texts is referred to simply as abūbu, ‘Deluge’. Cylinder seals of various periods show a god with a mace-head that has two or three heads on each side, and the handle twisted as if entwined by snakes (Streck 1998–2001, 523). A stream of water sometimes specified as a branch of the Euphrates was called a snake, Nirah (Wiggermann 1998–2001), but it is not found in pre-classical texts or art with three heads as shown on the beaker. In Ninurta mythology a seven-headed snake from the mountains is one of the monsters controlled by Ninurta, and has 50 heads as a mace-head Deluge-of-Battle, the mace with the 50 heads (Angim III 37) and Shamshi-Adad V (823–811) described Ninurta as rider of the Deluge (Grayson 1996, 182) The creature that lies at the end of the Deluge stream below the mountain has the foot of Gilgamesh on it, as if he had subdued it, but with its gaping jaws and a canine head (possibly a wolf) and lion’s hindquarters it is clearly still alive, and is probably also a Deluge monster (Seidl 1998), linked to the lower end of the streaming water. In astronomy the ophidian water Nirah was identified with the Greek constellation Hydra, which has many heads in classical mythology associated with Heracles. The number of heads shown on the beaker may be limited by space in the design. 8. Three figures at the water’s edge Three figures at the water’s edge top right, leading sheep as offerings to the Storm-god and his Deluge-spewing bull, presumably after disembarking from the Ark which is not depicted. One of them is Ut-napishtim, for he resembles the figure of Ut-napishtim in the mountain; another may be his wife, or the captain of the boat. The third, in the front with a beaker(?) and a distinctive hairstyle may be Enlil. On the beaker the offerings consist of sheep, whereas SBV specifies an offering of incense. ‘Then I (Ut-napishtim) brought out an offering and offered it to the four winds,

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I set up an incense offering on the summit of the mountain ... Then Enlil came up into the boat, Leading me by my hands, he brought me out, He brought out my wife ...’ (SBV XI) 9. Man in a mountain Ut-napishtim is in a mountain, on which the Ark (not shown) has just landed. He is threatened by the hunter figure of Gilgamesh, dressed in a lion-skin kilt with dangling tails, with boxer’s gloves around his hands and wrists, barechested, stretching out his arms wanting to pick a fight with Ut-napishtim when he first meets him. Ut-napishtim stretches out his bare fists to defend himself. Ut-napishtim, in the mountain in which he is half concealed, is backed by the Deluge which has a three-headed Flood-monster behind the mountain in which he is half concealed. The mountain is Mt. Nimush / Niṣir if the version used for the beaker shares that identification with SBV XI; another option is Mt. Ararat, as named by Berossus. The other end of the Deluge lies at the end of the Deluge stream, and its gaping jaws and open eye show that it is clearly still alive, so probably it is also a Deluge monster (Seidl 1998). Gilgamesh said to him, to Ut-napishtim: ’Your limbs are not different, you are just as I am, Indeed, you are not different at all, you are just as I am! My mind was made up to fight you, But now, in your presence, my arm is stayed.’ (SBV XI) The wrist-guards are presumably a defensive protection for boxing. The sport of boxing, early attested on the famous wall-painting at Akrotiri (Middle Bronze Age), was one of the sports at the first Olympic games in 688 BC. Hand- and wrist-guards were known as himantes in Greek. A possible early illustration is the decorated band on a Hittite fist-shaped drinking vessel of silver (Aruz et al. 2008, 182 no. 108). 10. A naked goddess exposes her charms A naked goddess exposes her charms, perched on top of a sheep, looking towards the next figure of Gilgamesh dressed in lion-skins as before, turning his back on the goddess. She wears a necklace with a long counter-weight, and holds open her garment to expose her charms. ‘Come, Gilgamesh, you shall be my bridegroom. Give, O give me of your lusciousness.’ (SBV VI) Two sheep with a front hoof resting on the tail of the bull, with Ishtar directly above them as if standing on them, may represent Uruk the Sheepfold (Akkadian supūru), where those events took place. That epithet occurs frequently in SBV for the city Uruk. In the middle Babylonian fragment from Emar (George 2003, 334–335 i.32’) Ishtar simply dwells in the Sheepfold, not explicitly naming Uruk.

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11. Gilgamesh as a hunter dressed in lion-skins The pelts as rectangles are sewn together as vertical strips from the waist, the tails dangling. He holds a bow in one hand, an arrow in the other, has a quiver on his back. He has turned his back, walking away from the naked female, evidently Ishtar of Uruk, who looks towards him, having failed to seduce him. ‘What would I get if I married you? You are a brazier that goes out when it freezes, A flimsy door that keeps out neither wind nor draught ... Which of your lovers lasted forever?’ (SBV VI) The change of Gilgamesh’s dress between the motif with Enkidu and Humbaba, and later as the hunter mark the change from civilization with the wearing of manufactured, decorated garments (Foster 2019, xxi) to the uncivilized wild man wearing animal pelts, but the beaker has the hero wearing them before he leaves Uruk, perhaps implying that he already adopted that dress when he and Enkidu were leaving for the forest. ‘He struck the lions, killed, and scattered them ... He has put on their skins, he eats their flesh‘ (SBV IX) He wears the same lion-skin kilt in his confrontation with Ut-napishtim and when rejecting the advances of Ishtar. 12. The killing of the Bull of Heaven (not on the beaker) It is significant that this episode, well known from SBV tablet VI, is not present on the beaker. Collon (1987, 181) noted that the Bull of Heaven episode is not shown on seals until the neo-Babylonian period, assuming that the presence of wings distinguish it from other killings of lions. George (2003, 99) doubted that the Bull of Heaven episode was an essential part of an Old Babylonian version of the Epic. The Old Babylonian tablet fragment from Nineveh appears to give Gilgamesh narrating his killing of the Bull-of-Heaven, to the ale-wife Siduri (Dalley 2001); the episode in that text may have been part of an independent story, later incorporated into the SBV tablet VI and tablet X. A Sumerian version of the beginning of the episode may omit the killing of the Bull of Heaven: Inanna sees Gilgamesh in Uruk, proposes to him, he politely refuses, offers her gifts which she refuses; he tells his mother, Inanna refuses to release him (Klein and Sefati 2020). As the authors point out, the text provides evidence for three distinct versions of the episode in Sumerian. In connection with the importance of the Moon-god mentioned above, it may be noted that as the constellation Taurus, the Bull of Heaven was the bīt niṣirti ‘safe house’ of the Moon as known from later astrology (Beaulieu 2018, 10). A possible similar connection dating to the Old Babylonian period is suggested by Natalie May (2019). This suggests the implied role of the Moon-god in some versions of the episode: that the killing of the Bull of Heaven meant Gilgamesh’s safety could no longer be guaranteed. Several early interpretations of the Gilgamesh epic as

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it was known over a century ago gave an astral interpretation to the episode, as described by Jeffrey Cooley (2013, 173–179). It is more recently that the moon and Taurus have been connected through the zodiacal concept of the ‘safe house’. 13. The Scorpion-man (not on the beaker) The discovery of impost blocks at the temple entrance at Tell al Rimah, one sculpted with Humbaba, another with a scorpion-man, may imply that both figures already played a part in Gilgamesh stories in the early second millennium BC, or else that they were simply guarding the entrance as fierce protective figures later incoporated into the Epic (Howard-Carter 1983: plates IV and V). Mehmet-Ali Ataç (in Steymans 2010, 269–271) pointed out that the motif is found in the Central Palace of Ashurnasirpal II, ninth century BC, but emphasised that a connection with Gilgamesh is not indicated. According to Beckman the episode was definitely not included in the Hittite version. The motifs on the beaker in the history of art The new interpretation of the motifs on the beaker has implications for another sphere of scholarship, the study of 5th century Greek pottery in its use of narrative art. Thirty-six years after the discovery of the Hasanlu beaker, Michael Vickers and David Gill (1994) proposed that Greek pottery of the 5th century BC which shows motifs from recognisable Greek myths, arose in imitation of gold and silver vessels decorated with themes from myths, of which none had survived although texts referred to them. The value placed upon the Greek pottery in recent times, they argued, does not reflect their value in ancient times, since gold and silver vessels were much more highly prized. The proposal aroused a controversy that was unaware that the Hasanlu beaker provided material evidence for otherwise non-extant examples. It seems to this author that the Hasanlu gold beaker gives unique support for the general hypothesis, despite the presumed disparity in date. The need then arises to explain why such motifs from stories of Gilgamesh are not found elsewhere, not least on the many carved ivories so meticulously published by the honorand, nor on the glazed tiles from Bukan and Qalaichi. Possibly it was linked to feasting in which the Assyrian king or his representative took part, allowing a restricted display. Unlike the silver goblet from Karashamb in the South Caucasus, which has narrow lines to mark separate bands for motifs, also giving a defined sequence, the gold beaker like 5th century Greek pottery has a free arrangement in a wide space. Other representations of narrative art are known in Mesopotamia from texts: the story of the Epic of Creation on the doors, presumably embossed (repoussé) in metal plating for Marduk’s temple in Babylon in the early Kassite period (Paulus 2018), and likewise on bronze doors for the temple of the New Year festival at Ashur described by Sennacherib (Grayson and Novotny 2014, no. 160). Like the gates excavated at Balawat, one can assume that those temple doors had thin horizontal bands of narrative in a restricted sequence of action, extending across the vertical timbers of the doors. Therefore they do not supply a close parallel to the free spacing of epic motifs on the Hasanlu beaker.

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If this large gold beaker were used only at banquets at which the king or his representative / ambassador were present, one might suppose, from lack of similar grouping on ivories, metal bowls, cylinder seals and wall paintings, that it was a royal prerogative linked to royal banquets at which a recital of the epic story was given. Bibliography Aruz, J., K. Benzel and J. Evans 2008 Beyond Babylon. Art, Trade, and Diplomacy in the Second Millennium B.C., Exhibition catalogue, Metropolitan Museum of Art. New York, New Haven/London. Ataç, M.-A. 2010 Representations and Resonances of Gilgamesh in Neo-Assyrian Art. In: Steymans (ed.) 2010, 260–286. Baker, H. and R. Schmitt 2011 s.v. ‘Urzana.’ Prosopography of the Neo-Assyrian Empire 3/II. Helsinki. Beaulieu, P.-A. 2000 The Descendants of Sin-lēqi-unninni. In: J. Marzahn and J. Oelsner (eds), Assyriologica et Semitica, Festschrift für Joachim Oelsner. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 252. Münster. 1–16. Beaulieu, P.-A., E. Frahm, W. Horowitz and J. Steele (eds) 2018 The Cuneiform Uranology Texts. Drawing the Constellations. Philadelphia. Beckman, G. 2019 The Hittite Gilgamesh. Journal of Cuneiform Studies. Supplementary Series 6. Atlanta. Boehmer, R. M. 1965 Die Entwicklung der Glyptik während der Akkad-Zeit. Untersuchungen zur Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 4. Berlin. Cifarelli, M. 2019 The Iron Age at Hasanlu, Iran. New Perspectives. In: Y. Hassanzadeh, A. Vahdati and Z. Karimi (eds), Proceedings of the International Conference on the Iron Age in Western Iran and Neighbouring Regions. National Museum of Iran, Kurdistan, 21–44. Collins, B. J. 2009–2011 s.v. ‘Schlange, B. Bei den Hethitern’. In: Reallexikon zur Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 12. 218–219. Cohen, Y. (ed.) 2013 Wisdom from the Late Bronze Age. Writings from the Ancient World 29. Atlanta. Collon, D. 1987 First Impressions. Cylinder Seals in the Ancient Near East. London. 2010 The Depiction of Giants. In: Steymans (ed.) 2010, 113–133. Cooley, J. L. 2013 Poetic Astronomy in the Ancient Near East. The Reflexes of Celestial Science in Ancient Mesopotamian, Ugaritic, and Israelite Narrative. Winona Lake.

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Dalley, S. and J. N. Postgate 1984 The Tablets from Fort Shalmaneser. Cuneiform Texts from Nimrud III. London. 2001 Old Babylonian Tablets from Nineveh; and Possible Pieces of Early Gilgamesh Epic, Iraq 63, 155–167. Danti, M. 2013 The Late Bronze and Early Iron Age in Northwestern Iran. In: D. T. Potts (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Ancient Iran. Oxford. 327–376. Darshan, G. 2016 The Calendrical Framework of the Priestly Flood Story in Light of a New Akkadian Text from Ugarit (RS 94.2953), Journal of the American Oriental Society 136/3, 507–514. Dyson, R. and O. W. Muscarella 1989 Constructing the Chronology and Historical Implications of Hasanlu IV, Iran 27, 1–27. Edzard, D.-O. 1987 s.v. ‘Literatur’. In: Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 7, 35–66. 1997 Gudea and his Dynasty. Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Early Periods Vol.3/1. Toronto. Foster, B. 2019 The Epic of Gilgamesh. A New Translation, Analogues, Criticism and Response. New York/London. Frahm, E. 1999 Nabu-zuqup-kēnu, das Gilgameš-Epos und der Tod Sargons II, Journal of Cuneiform Studies 51, 73–90. Frame, G. 2021 The Royal Inscriptions of Sargon II King of Assyria (721–705 BC). Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian Period volume 2. Pennsylvania. George, A. R. 2003 The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic: Introduction, Critical Edition and Cuneiform Texts. Oxford. 2007 The Gilgamesh Epic at Ugarit, Aula Orientalis 25, 237–254. Grayson, A. K. 1991 Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC I (1114–859). Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia Assyrian Periods Volume 2. Toronto. 1996 Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC II (858–745 BC). Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia Assyrian Periods Volume 3. Toronto. Grayson, A. and J. Novotny 2014 The Royal Inscriptions of Sennacherib, King of Assyria (704–681), part 2. Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian Period Volume 3/2. Winona Lake. Hassanzadeh, Y. 2006 The Glazed Bricks from Bukan (Iran): New Insights into Mannean Art, Antiquity 80, 307.

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Heffron, Y. and M. Worthington 2011–2013 s.v. ‘Tiāmtu’. In: Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 13, 643–645. Henkelman, W. 2006 The Birth of Gilgameš (AEL. NA XII.21). A Case-Study in Literary Receptivity. In: R. Rollinger and H. Truschnegg (eds), Altertum und Mittelmeerraum. Festschrift für Peter Haider. Oriens et Occidens 12. Stuttgart. 807–856. Howard-Carter, T. 1983 An Interpretation of the Sculptural Decoration of the Second Millennium Temple at Tell al-Rimah, Iraq 45, 64–72. Kinnier Wilson, J. 1972 The Nimrud Wine Lists. Cuneiform Texts from Nimrud I. London. Klein, J. and Y. Sefati 2020 The Beginning of the Sumerian Epic ‘Gilgameš and the Bull of Heaven’, and its possible historical-political background. In: A. Azzoni et al. (eds), From Mari to Jerusalem and Back: Assyriological and Biblical Studies in Honor of Jack Murad Sasson. Philadelphia. 175–185. Kroll, S., C. Gruber, U. Hellwag, M. Roaf and P. Zimansky (eds) 2012 Biainili – Urartu. Acta Iranica. The Proceedings of the Symposium Held in Munich 12–14 October 2007. Acta Iranica 51. Leuven. Lanfranchi, G. B. and S. Parpola 1990 The Correspondence of Sargon II, part II. Letters from the Northern and Northeastern Provinces. State Archives of Assyria V. Helsinki. Leichty, E. 2011 The Royal Inscriptions of Esarhaddon, King of Assyria (680–669 BC). Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian period volume 4. Winona Lake. Livingstone, A. 1989 Court Poetry and Literary Miscellanea. State Archives of Assyria III. Helsinki MacGinnis, J. 2014 A City from the Dawn of History. Erbil in the Cuneiform Sources. Oxford and Philadelphia. Marf, D. 2019 The Aramaean Presence in the Northern Zagros. In: J. Dušek and J. Mynárová (eds), Defining Aramaean Territories in the 10th–8th centuries B. C. E. Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 101. Leiden. 78–91. May, N. N. 2019 Early Monumental Representations of Constellations in Mari: The Moon Between the Giant and Bull of Heaven, Notes Assyriologiques Brèves et Utilitaires 2019/3, 110–112. Metcalf, C. 2020 Review of Beckman, The Hittite Gilgamesh, Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 83, 325–327. Muscarella, O. W. 2012 Hasanlu and Urartu. In: Kroll et al. 2012, 265–279.

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Ornan, T. 2010 Humbaba, the Bull of Heaven, and the Contribution of Images to the Reconstruction of the Gilgameš Epic. In: Steymans (ed.) 2010, 229–260. Parpola, S. 1976 Review of Kinnier Wilson, The Nimrud Wine Lists, Journal of Semitic Studies 21, 165–174. Paulus, S. 2018 Fraud, Forgery, and Fiction: Is There Still Hope for Agum-Kakrime?, Journal of Cuneiform Studies 70, 115–166. Postgate, J. N. 1993–1997 s.v. ‘Mannäer’. In: Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 7, 340–342. Radner, K. 2012 Between a Rock and a Hard Place: Muṣaṣir, Kumme, Ukku and Šubria – the buffer states between Assyria and Urartu. In: Kroll et al. 2012, 243–264. Seidl, U. 1998 Das Flut-Ungeheuer abūbu, Zeitschrift für Assyriologie und Vorderasiatische Archäologie 88/1, 100–113. 2010 Gilgameš: der Zug zum Zedernwald. In: Steymans (ed.) 2010, 209–228. Sommerfeld, W. 2009 s.v. ‘Sargon von Akkade’. In: Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 12, 44–49. Steymans, H.-U. (ed.) 2010 Gilgamesh. Epic and Iconography. Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 245. Fribourg/Göttingen. Streck, M. P. 1998–2001 s.v. ‘Ninurta/Ninĝirsu. A. I.’. In: Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 9, 512–522. Vickers, M. and D. Gill 1994 Artful Crafts. Ancient Greek Silverware and Pottery. Oxford. Winter, I. 1989 The ‘Hasanlu Gold Bowl’: Thirty Years Later, Expedition 31/2–3. 87–106. Wiggerman, F. 2002 Mesopotamian Protective Spirits. The Ritual Texts. Cuneiform Monographs 1. Groningen. 1998–2001 s.v. ‘Niraḫ, Irḫan’. In: Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 9, 570–574. Wilcke, C. 1989 Genealogical and Geographical Thought in the Sumerian King List. In: H. Behrens, D. Loding and M. Roth (eds), DUMU.É.DUB.BA.A. Studies in Honor of Å. W. Sjöberg. Philadelphia. 557–571. Zadok, R. 2013 Linguistic Groups in Iran. In: D. T. Potts (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Ancient Iran. Oxford. 407–422.

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Zimansky, P. 1990 Urartian Geography and Sargon’s Eighth Campaign, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 49, 1–21.

Phoenician lionesses devouring Nubians and the Egyptian Pyth of the Distant Goddess (Decoding Phoenician Art – IV)1 Eric Gubel Abstract Several Phoenician ivories from the Nimrud hoards (with a small number from other sites) depict scenes in the characteristic Egyptianizing style which Georgina Herrmann labelled the “Ornate Group”. They include two masterpieces of ancient ivory carvings featuring the oftentimes ill-termed “lion devouring a Nubian” motif. Extending their study to related motifs with identical stylistic and iconographic properties, a new reading of their original iconological cohesion is offered, based on the Egyptian myth of the “Distant Goddess”, viz. “The Return of the Eye of Ra”. In line with the Hermopolitan New Year re-enactments featured on Libyan period faience chalices, episodes from the Distant Goddess’ myth were annually commemorated by the festival of Bubastis, traditionally a melting pot of locals and Levantines. As an unexpected outcome, finally, the Phoenician version of the lore unveiled here fills in the lacunary pictorial Egyptian narrative, strongly suggesting Phoenician involvement in its propagation abroad. Introduction: Two masterpieces of ancient ivory carving from Nimrud and their lionesses revisited This terrible scene, executed with the matchless touch of a supreme craftsman, is based on symbolic prototypes from Pharaonic Egypt, which represents the Pharaoh in the guise of a lion triumphing over his enemies (Mallowan 1978, 29). For previous sequels of the author’s essays focusing on the iconological coherence of Phoenician motifs earlier considered to merely represent slavish copies if not misunderstandings of Egyptian concepts, see Gubel 2013 and 2022. Many thanks are due to the following colleagues to grant permission to reproduce documents from their files: Prof. S. Binder (Sydney), Prof. H. Brandl (Hildesheim), Dr. P. Collins (Oxford), Prof. A. David (Jerusalem), Dr. K. Densel (New York) and Prof. E. Lange-Athinodorou (Würzburg) as well as to the editors for their painstaking work. I owe the photographic reconstruction and cleaning of old photographs to the talent of M. Pyrizhok (Ukraine). 1

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Fig. 1. Lioness mauling a fallen Nubian, Nimrud NW Palace, Well NN, 9th century BC, Baghdad IM 56642 (ND 2547 stolen 2003) (from Herrmann, Laidlaw and Coffey 2009, pl. V) (cf. colour plate V). Due to her admirable and obviously tireless energy, not to forget her expert connoisseur’s eye combined with an exemplary methodological approach, Georgina has provided the scholarly world with a treasure trove charged with a multitude of fascinating artefacts in ivory, “the stuff dreams are made of” (Odyssey 19.565). As the present case study once more points out, the ones found in neo-Assyrian palatial cities represent a cultural heritage far beyond the concern of a single specific discipline such as Near Eastern Archaeology including a much broader spectrum of scholarship as demonstrated below. The following lines propose a new reading of the motif decorating two exquisitely carved, next to identical ivory cloisonné panels from Nimrud incrusted with carnelian and lapis lazuli inlays. Bedded in a backing layer of Egyptian blue paste and gold leaf cloisons, one of two capital-like panels is on display in the British Museum, whilst its counterpart in the Iraq Museum was stolen in Baghdad in 2003 (Fig. 1).2 Both were discovered in 1952 in a 70 feet deep well dug into the floor of Court NN of Nimrud’s Northwest (“Juniper”) Palace built by Assurnasirpal II and in all likelihood completed between 869 and 865 BC. Since members of the royalty of Tyre and Sidon were invited amongst other tributaries and vassals of subdued lands to the sumptuous inaugural reception as detailed in the emperor’s “Banquet Inscription” (ca. 864 BC ?), their date of manufacture may tentatively be assigned to the earlier part of the second quarter of the 9th century Respectively BM 127412 (ND 2548) and Baghdad IM 56642 (ND 2547 stolen 2003), both analysed in detail in Herrmann, Laidlaw and Coffey 2007, 218f., no. 356a–b pls. V–W with bibliography. See Anderson 2018 and 2022 for a most recent discussion and three paintings of both plaques – with my gratitude to the author for this last-minute reference. 2

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BC.3 This assessment suits the date of the earliest Samaria ivories from the reign of the Northern Kingdom’s “phenicophile” king Ahab (871–857 BC) and his Sidonian spouse Jezebel which would consequently precede the Salamis ivories recently redated to c. 825–750 BC (Nuñez Calvo 2008, 54–58). The latter may of course have included some heirlooms rather than merely representing highly appreciated luxury models produced over a period of about half a century.4 The main motif: lions or lionesses? The main motif skilfully reproduced on both panels (possibly intended to serve as the front and back of some furniture fitting as suggested by the fact that the composition was not repeated in mirror view), is that of a lioness jugulating her victim, a Nubian as underscored by numerous parallels from Egyptian art. Sir Max Mallowan’s assumption that it was inspired by the Egyptian propagandistic trope of Pharaoh subduing a Nubian in the guise of a lion as quoted previously, was widely accepted ever since and indeed some Ramesside and slightly later instances (Figs 2–3) and a Phoenician version thereof (Fig. 4) may be cited here in support of such a view. But what we are more specifically looking for, however, are antecedents or at least contemporary parallels for the motif of a lioness (not a lion as indicated by the absence of manes) emerging out of the Nilotic riparian swamps to maul the heads of her Nubian victim(s) as in the catharising turning point of an Egyptian myth, the adoption of which in a Phoenician context will be substantiated below.5

Fig. 2. Ostracon Cairo JE 63802, Dyn. XX–XXI, lion mauling victim wetting himself (courtesy of the Bulletin of the Australian Centre for Egyptology, drawn by M. Hartley). https://cdli.ucla.edu/search/search_results.php?SearchMode=Text&ObjectID=P463664 for future updates. 4 Other highlights of ancient ivory carving from the same context included the Phoenician “Lady-at-the-Window” lookalike coined Nimrud’s “Mona Lisa” as well as her “Ugly Sister” and other ivories including equine eye blinkers featuring (Tyro-) Sidonian motifs. A few additional fragments of the Phoenician Ornate Group from the well finally, are discussed below since they tie in with the narrative cycle of the panels this paper endeavours to reconstruct. 5 As for the sex of his aggressor, the extremely rare cases of lionesses born with manes (hardly half a dozen cases from South African Wildlife resorts and baby Betsy in the Oklahoma Zoo recorded during the last decades), convincingly proves that we are indeed dealing here with a lioness. 3

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Fig. 3. Lion(ess?) mauling a Nubian, Egyptian blue and gold, reign of Ramses II (? 1279–1213 BC) or later, Egypt (Eastern Delta: Qantir?) (New York, Metropolitan Museum, gift of the Norbert Schimmel trust, 1989.281.92) (cf. colour plate V).

Fig. 4. Sphinx trampling a Nubian, Phoenician bronze horse blinker, Salamis, 9th century BC (from Karageorghis 1969, pl. VIII). The papyrus background and its multi-layered cosmological connotations The aforesaid marshy environment of the panels’ inlaid background consists of lotus and papyrus blossoms (Cyperus p.), incrusted with lapis lazuli and carnelian respectively, “realistically bending this way and that in alternative rows as they sway before the wind” (Mallowan 1978, 28).6 The specific arrangement of their ramification as rendered below both plaques, is identical with that of the palmette friezes of the Salamis ivories7. The Egyptian blue lotus or water lily (Nymphaea nouchali var. caerulea) with its polymorphic petalled leaves inspired the late Ramesside lotiform faience chalices. The Hermopolitan production reached a peak under the earlier Bubastite Libyan rulers of the Delta-based XXIInd dynasty. Several iconographic details of their relief designs reflect highlights of the annual local festival re-enacting the birth of (the ruler as) an infant emerging from a lotus during the inundation of the Nile which heralded the Egyptian New Year (Tait Mallowan 1978, 28. The arrangement of their overlapping stalks in the lowest row is found on other Nimrud ivories and bowls as well as on the Ornate style ivories from Salamis. For identical glass inlays coloured blue by cobalt, see Reade, Freestone and Simpson 2003, Karageorghis and Rehren 2020, Reade 2021, 98–147 and Herrmann 2021. Parallels of the cloisonné design on the plinth suggesting the mountainous landscape of the primeval bud can be seen elsewhere in Phoenician art, see below, n. 11. 7 Karageorghis 1974, pl. 241:148, cf. also Herrmann 1986, pl. 330:1269 for parallels from Nimrud. 6

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1963). Most significantly in the present context, more than one of their emblematic motifs set against a marshy background were readily adopted in contemporary Phoenician art with its manyfold references to the concepts of creation and rebirth, the solar cycle and child gods, not to mention the primeval mound (Spurr, Reeves and Quirke 1999; Huft 2006 and Boschloos 2009). Rendered in the exuberant court style unequivocally reminiscent of the best Tanite productions of Dyn. XXI, the ivories’ background is a Phoenician interpretation of traditional Egyptian precursory designs which usually represent an alternation of flowering papyrus stalks with others still in bud and succeeding each other in horizontal friezes as in the hieroglyph expressing the idea of “inundation” (Gardiner M8).8 Alternatively, fan-like arrangements like on the ivories were inspired by the hieroglyphs representing papyrus clumps referring to the marshes of Chemmis near Buto and the Nile Delta respectively (Gardiner M15-6). The first disposal was a popular device in the decorative patterns of a hoard of Egyptian bowls from Tell Basta/Bubastis, where one of the most important festivals of the Nile delta was celebrated since at least the New Kingdom, a cult which gained momentum with the gradual shift of power to Lower Egypt under Dyn. XIX–XX. A fertile area of cultural blending since predynastic times, it hardly comes as a surprise to find the Tell Basta bowls’ marshland scenery combined with Levantine elements illustrating the transition of the contemporary palaeo-Phoenician, into the Phoenician period tout court (Lilyquist 2012).9 The second, fan-like design as adopted on the ivories (Figs 1. 7–8) was frequently used in Egyptian art likewise on Phoenician bowls, ivories, and more recent seals alike, as the background of scenes featuring the birth of deities with a solar connotation (“Harpocrates”) emerging from a lotus rooted in the primeval mound of Chemmis. The latter recur on ivories of the Unusually Shaped Ivories group (USI), whose peculiar form suggests the volutes of the Sacred Tree (Gubel 2009). This scheme was followed on the Cypro-Phoenician capitals combined or not with the heads of the Hathor Quadrifrons capitals from the Bubastide temple which had obviously (been) inspired (by) either itinerant or in-resident Phoenician artists (Gubel 2008, 174–177 with fig. 10). The Phoenician Olympus The “latticed” frieze decorating the panels’ plinth, finally, reproduces three interlocked rows of identical designs symbolizing the mountainous landscape of the Phoenician Olympus.10 Their bulbous contour is actually a heritage of a Late Bronze Age Levantine style idiom as the depiction of the mountain range on which Baal’s feet is resting on a well-known cylinder seal from Tell Dab‘a in the Nile Delta indicates.11 Similar features can also been seen on a few other Nimrud bronze bowls, especially on the medallion of the (Tyro-Sidonian) “Pantheon For Tanite examples cf. Ciafaloni 1992, 19–30; cf. Gubel 2008. It should be emphasized that representations of the crown of the Distant Goddess on several of these bowls are perfectly matched by Levantine representation such as the Megiddo plaque in the Oriental Institute, Chicago (A 22213), cf. note 23. 10 An impression reinforced by the colour tone of the lapis lazuli inlays. 11 Withheld as the logo on the cover of the Ägypten und Levante series. 8 9

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bowl” (most recently Gubel 2015).12 This iconological connotation implies that the unique shape of the lioness panels equally invokes the contour of a primeval mound as opposed to the palmette shape of the aforesaid Sacred Tree “acroteria“ of the aforesaid U(nusually) S(haped I(vories) group (Gubel 2009). Regarding their typology, both panels’ slightly concave backs with tapering upper ends as well as their dimensions link them with the capital-like finials of the aforesaid group.13 If most examples represent winged creatures associated with the Sacred Tree (sphinxes, griffins, and scarabs), it comes as no surprise that the iconographic repertoire of these acroteria also includes the motif of the young solar deities emerging from a lotus flower set against a marshy background. The Distant Goddess myth in Egypt and its impact in the Phoenician realm The analysis of the Phoenician USI acroteria from Nimrud and Sultantepe, whether furniture finials of (votive) thrones, or fans worn by Bes figures as on Egyptian prototypes if not other elements of ceremonial chariots and equestrian bridle harness ornaments, has already raised the question of wether their motifs such as the suckling female sphinxes with Hathoric hairdo or lionesses suckling their clubs (Figs 6–7) could not refer to the myth of the “Distant”, “Faraway” or “Wandering” Goddess14 (Gubel 2009, 193 III.7; Lilyquist 2012, 21. 33). According to different regional theologies in Egypt, she was differently identified as the wrathful lioness Sekhmet, as well as Bastet, Mut, Hathor, Tefnut, Wadjet or Nekhbet.15 All the latter (and many of their children) invariably bore the title “Eye of Ra”; consequently, the myth of the aforesaid Distant Goddess is oftentimes labelled “The Return of the Eye of Ra”. Actually, a few Ornate style ivory panels from Samaria and Nimrud combining the (right) eye of Ra with the (left) eye of Horus as indicated by their hawk’s talons, may even be taken as inspired by the introductory vignette of some now lost papyrus scroll with the Phoenician version of the myth (Fig. 5b.d).16 Several nearly identical Ornate style compositions (e.g. Suter 2019, 680–682 figs 7. 9), replace the taloned wedjat eyes of the Libyan period type (Fig. 5a.c) by sphinxes with the head of Bastet “the Nubian cat”, an epiphany of the Distant Goddess as will be demonstrated below (Fig. 11). As for the Egyptian wedjat eye amulets reproduced here, it can hardly be a coincidence that the type Fig. 5c combines the eye with the protome of a leonine predator, a straightforward reference to the wanderings of the Distant one’s manifestations as Sekhmet and Bastet, the wedjat being inherited by their sons Nefertem and Mahes respectively. Until further notice, however, it may seem more prudent to regard In the realm of Punic iconography, the mountainous mass is oftentimes referred to as “sacrum”: Quillard 1979, 77f. with pl. XXV: 13 (Nimrud pantheon bowl). 13 Herrmann, Laidlaw and Coffey 2007, 218f. and Gubel 2009 for detailed analyses unnecessary to repeat here. 14 Gubel 2009 and Lilyquist 2012, cf. note 24 below for specific page references. 15 Bastet’s epithets include the title Eye of Ra as evidenced among other things by her inscribed gold figurines found on the chest off General Oundebaouded in the Tanite tomb of his overlord Psusennes I (1045–992): Yoyotte 1987. Cf. Bresciani 2016; Desroches Noblecourt 1995; Inconnu-Bocquillon 2001; Richter 2010. 16 Cf. recently Suter 2019, 680f. fig. 7 and the resourcefully reconstructed Samaria panel fragment 682 fig. 9. 12

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d

c

5a: Wedjat Eye faience amulet, Egypt, early 1st millennium BC, New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, ex J. Pierpont Morgan collection (1917), 17.190.1639; 5b: Ivory panel in the Ornate style, 9th century BC, Nimrud, FS., SW37 (from Herrmann 1986, pl. 260: 1008); 5c: Reconstruction of an ivory panel in the Ornate style, Samaria, 9th century BC (from Crowfoot 1957, pl. III: 2a–b); 5d: Wedjat Eye faience amulet, Egypt, early 1st millennium BC, New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, ex Carnarvon collection (1926), 26.7.1032. these plaques as evidence of the fact that the Ornate group focusses on at least two myths commemorated by festivals in the Delta, the aforesaid one of Isis (or, rather, Astarte) concealing young Horus in the marshes of Chemmis near Buto, and the Distant Goddess myth referred to here.17 This leaves but little doubt that work in the Ornate style workshop(s) was supervised by maestri with an in-depth knowledge of Egyptian theologies, especially those animating cults in the Libya period Delta. Representations on the Phoenician ivories presented below, which I suggest identifying as echoing the myth of the Egyptian Distant Goddess myth in the Central Levant, rather point to the version with Sekhmet and, eventually, Bastet in the lead as the more popular source of inspiration. Following a methodological approach recently adopted again by B. A. Richter (2010) in her reconstruction of the “Wandering Goddess” myth in late Egyptian art, I propose to relate the imaginary of the Phoenician ivory panels to the subsequent episodes of the Egyptian myth, thus highlighting their relevance in this respect. Reducing the myth’s variants identified so far to a strict minimum, its basic storyline can be summarized as follows: Angered by wrongdoings of mankind, the solar deity Ra sends his daughter Sekhmet out on a punitive mission to the Nubian desert, which she reaches via the swampy riverbanks of the Nile (Fig. 1), the well-saturated, moor-like landscape indicated by long-stemmed papyrus stalks with an identical alternation of stalks 17 Wedjat eyes are indeed exclusively linked with the Chemmis episode on ivories published so far (Herrmann 1986, pls. 252: 969–970 (champlevé panels), 265: 1021. 1023 (1025?) with other examples of the theme on pls. 264–265) and replaced by the startled geese already attested on the Bubastis bowls and faience chalices on the plaque Fig. 7, in this context presumably as a reference to the solar creator god Geb. It should be emphasized here that the Isis/Astarte lactans is equally represented in her zoomorphic avatar as a cow suckling her calf (Herrmann 1986, pl. 262: 1014).

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Fig. 6. Hathor sphinx suckling her cub, Nimrud, FS. SW 37 (from Herrmann 1986, 236 no. 1267 pl. 330)

Fig. 7. Proposed reconstruction of an USI acroterion: lioness nursing whelps in a papyrus barque, Nimrud, FS SW 37, respectively Oxford, Ashmolean Museum 1962.308 and Bagdad, Iraq Museum (from Herrmann 1986, 202 pl. 263: 1015–1016).

Fig. 8. Frieze of three lioness’ whelps emerging out of a lotus, Nimrud, FS SW 37, Iraq Museum IM 62761 (from Herrmann 1986, 204 pl. 266: 1027).

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with umbels and buds not yet in full flower. During this first sequence of her mission, Sekhmet progressively transforms into a bloodthirsty lioness, fit for the massacre she is to perform in the Nubian desert where she mauls her unfortunate victims to death.18 In the Phoenician version of the myth, she obviously stays long enough in the marshy biotope to encounter wild lions and subsequently nurse their whelps with motherly love, possibly hidden in a papyrus barque of the same type which will bring her back to Egypt in the second part of the lore (Fig. 7). The ivory plaque Fig. 6 shows another version of this episode, now with Hathor as dramatis persona.19 Represented in the same “Harpocrates” like manner as on the faience lotus chalices and USI ivories, Sekhmet’s progeny (Nefertem, if not rather Bastet’s son Mahes) is represented thrice on another panel as lion-headed solar whelps emerging out of the primeval lotus (Fig. 8).20 However, as soon as the carnage reached its peak (Fig. 1), Sekhmet’s father Ra contritely changes his mind and sends out (Bes and) Thot to appease her and bring her back home.21 The latter eventually succeeds in luring Sekhmet into his papyrus barque and rows her downstream to Bubastis (Per-Bast, “House of the Cat”) (Fig. 9). Crossing a majestic landscape consisting of ever denser reeds and higher papyrus stalks, Thot entertained a still unreliable Sekhmet who gradually transformed back into a human body (though with her original leonine head), under the spell of his lively stories in which animals play a prominent role.22 This is not to mention the soothing sound of rustling papyrus of course, as later simulated by the sistra shaken during rituals performed in the cult of Bastet and other “Eyes of Ra”. Preferring to err on the side of caution as to her state of mind, the priests pour massive amounts of wine in the Nile as soon as the party reached the outskirts of Bubastis. Mistaking the wine for blood, Sekhmet drinks herself insensible and, following Could the ivory plaque with its reference to the Land of Seth possibly refer to this episode (Herrmann 1986, pl. 316: 1268)? 19 Note that the Distant Goddess in her manifestation of a Hathoric sphinx suckling cubs is prefigured on a bowl from the Tell Basta treasure (Lilyquist 2012, 33 with fig. 49), prefigured by a Levantine ivory from Megiddo: Frankfort 1970, 268 fig. 312 and 269 for comparanda (e.g., a sard gem from the reign of Amenhotep III). 20 In the first case definitely not the lion-headed Nefertem of Tell el-Moqdam/Leontopolis in the Delta, crowned by the figure of a hawk (Benavente Vicente 2016); Mahes, “Lord of Slaughter”, however, occasionally wears Nefertem’s lotus crown topped by two straight feathers, notably in his manifestation as an upright leonine predator mauling a captive: Ali 2021, 28–29 figs 10–11. 21 The seldom reproduced motif of Bes holding papyrus stalks on the Egyptian chalices and in Phoenician glyptic (Boschloos 2009, 288–289 fig. 2), may refer to his role in the myth’s context. Plaques like Herrmann 1986, pl. 316: 1217 on the contrary, situates him in the desert-like Nubian landscape as indicated by the palm tree. 22 Gubel 1987, 216f. 267. Some of the remaining blocks of the chapel of Shepenupet II, daughter of the first Kushite king Piye and God‘s wife of Amon at Meidamud, indeed offer a rare insight in the visual narrative of the animal stories referred to in the myth of the Return of the Eye of Ra. Very much like the earlier Ramesside ostraca from Deir el-Medina (Dyn. XX, 1186–1070 BC), they are lively illustrations of the animal fables recounted by Thot to keep his dangerous passenger in good spirits. Note the papyrus background, the light mobile furniture in wickerwork of identical type to that reproduced on the Yaba and Golgoi bowls (below, n. 29), as well as the Phoenician lebbadé headdress worn by the singer of a group of musicians also present on the latter (Gubel 1987, loc. cit., Meyer 1987, 167–180). 18

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Fig. 9. One of two ivory panels reproducing the episode of Thot navigating the papyrus barque of the enthroned Distant Goddess back to Bubastis, Nimrud, FS. SW 37, 9th century BC, Bagdad Iraq Museum IM 65381 (from Herrmann 1986, 204 pl. 267: 1029).

Fig. 10. Ra substituting Heh set against the marshy background of the Distant Goddess Group, Egypt (?), London British Museum EA 38183 (1856,0625.3) (photograph by the author).

Fig. 11. Frieze of “Nubian Cat sphinxes” on an ivory (bedhead?) panel, Nimrud, FS, SW12, 9th century BC, New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 62.269.4. (from Herrmann and Laidlaw 2013, 134 no. 38) (cf. colour plate V).

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this final phase of the appeasing process, the wrathful avenger wakes up as the softhearted Bastet, patroness of all nurturing mothers ever since.23 The story’s happy end called for jubilatory scenes in the spirit of the Bubastite pylon and the New Year’s chalices, but in this case the hierocephalic Ra adopts the typical attitude of Heh who simultaneously personified the primordial waters and the idea of a million (happy) years to come (Fig. 10).24 As on the ivory panel Fig. 11, numerous faience amulets of Third Intermediate Period cats with the quatrefoil hairdo (Fig. 12) are also characteristic of the nursing maids of Bastet’s cult and illustrate the nickname “the Nubian cat” she shared with Sekhmet, most appropriately fitting the aftermath of their exotic endeavour.25 They represent pacified emulation of the wrathful Sekhmet lioness, possibly also of the Hathor-headed sphinxes seen elsewhere in Phoenician art (Figs 5–6 and supra note 18). As for the appreciation of the storyline in the Levant, it goes without saying that the dichotomic aspect of the narrative, the transmutation of the bloodthirsty Sekhmet into the soft-hearted Bastet, was bound to appeal to the Phoenician mind, deeply affected by a similar form of duality as expressed in art by the juxtaposition of complementarity, if not even opposed cosmogonical concepts.26 Henceforth, a yearly festival attracting large crowds from the Nile valley and far beyond staged lively re-enactments of the myth of the “Return of the eye of Ra” in Bubastis including, according to the account of no less an eyewitness than Herodotos (c. 450 BC), sweltering scenes of sparsely dressed and drunk youths rowing papyrus barkques manned by musicians on the waves of the sacred Isheru lake.27 Other processional crafts carried canopies supported by wooden columns with Hathoric capitals protecting Bastet’s statue flanked by other prominent deities of the Distant Goddess’ trope as underscored by several model tambourines and Bubastite stelae as well (Fig. 13).28 In very much the same way the selection of Phoenician ivories presented above convincingly illustrates scenes from the Egyptian myth, and the decoration of early 1st millennium BC Phoenician bowls The appeasement of the goddess by intoxicating her with wine finds an echo in the Libyan period iconography of the decan gods, readily adopted in Phoenician and Punic art: see Quack in Brandl 2013, 75 with notes 20–21. 24 Not coincidentally, the Salamis bedhead combines friezes of the traditional Heh figures, the intertwined stalks as below on Fig. 1 and the Nimrud Nubian sphinxes (Gubel 2016, 171 figs 6–7). 25 Hill 2016, 164 fig. 10 (Salamis), Herrmann and Laidlaw 2013, pl. V: 38; Suter 2019, 680f. fig. 8 and Herrmann 2021, 208 with fig. 6. One may wonder if this type of hairdressing was not an early 1st millennium BC interpretation of the “floral crown” of the Distant Goddess on the Tell Basta bowls (Lilyquist 2012, 22 figs 39–40. 32 fig. 47 and 35f. fig. 54) based on that characteristic of the Libyan Meshwesh tribe (Gubel 1998, 2000). 26 It should be noted, however, that in the same way Sekhmet retained her motherly instincts as elucidated by the scene in Fig. 7, Bastet’s character likewise conserved some hints as to her savage origin as indicated by the recent appraisal of a Theban faience effigy of the goddess enthroned on the slaughtered corpses of Egypt’s traditional enemies (reign of Takelot III, c.753–734 BC): Brandl 2013 passim. 27 Above, note 19 on this simulation of the appeasement of the Distant Goddess. On the role of (excessive) wine consumption in Egyptian festivals and Phoenician knowledge thereof, see Lilyquist 2012, 21. On the recent rediscovery of the Bubastite Isheru Lake’s canals, see Lange-Athinodorou 2019, 549–551 and ead. 2021 passim. 28 Hill 2016, 161 quoting Schorsch 2015 for a large selection of examples. 23

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Fig. 12. Archetype of the faience à pois “Nubian Cat” amulets produced in the early 1st millennium BC Nile Delta, Paris, Louvre E 11135.

Fig. 13. Fragment of a stela, Bubastis, Cemetery of the Cats, formerly Herriat Raznah, Sharkeya National Museum H. 704, © MiN project (photo G. Wenzel). (allegedly) from Athienou and Nimrud features scenes unparalleled in Egyptian art as yet. Whereas the first one refers in our opinion to the aforesaid re-enactment of the myth on the Bubastite Isheru Lake, the second one is more likely linked with the subject of Thot’s fairy tales.29 Nachleben Some conspicuous elements echoing the popularity of the myth in Cypro-Phoenician art must be dealt with elsewhere in greater detail. Suffice it to remind ourselves here of the distribution of Egyptian cultic regalia in faience used in ceremonies On a barque of the Athienou bowl, a cat is placed on the hieroglyph Gardiner W2 (already Wicke, Busch and Fischer 2010, 117 and figs. 34 ibidem for Yaba’s bowl from Nimrud, figs 1–2) a sign presumably not gratuitously used in the orthography of Bastet’s name and referring here to early 1st millennium BC Egyptian clepsydrae with feline/leonine figurines. For a debased version of the bowls’ subject, see Gubel 1987, 212f. cat. 160 pl. XLIII). 29

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honouring the “Bastet epiphany of the Distant Goddess” and her manyfold divine relatives and syncretistic manifestations in the Nile Delta (among other things the lion headed Mahes, Wadjet and Nefertem) including “Hathoric” sistra, rattles, whistles and speckled faience amuletic figurines associated with motherhood.30 The pinnacle of these accessories’ importation in the Eastern Mediterranean is situated between the 8th and early 7th centuries BC with the end of that period denoting a dramatic decrease of Phoenician overseas trade due to the Assyrian destruction of Sidon and the subsequent curtailing of Tyre. Reminiscences of the myth of the Distant Goddess on the other hand, also survived in both contemporary Phoenician and later Punic glyptic where isolated representations of boating divinities, startled pintail geese, horses, leonine predators, and marsh cats set against a papyrus background remained unexplained so far.31 In the light of the foregoing, however, such “random” and “slavish” copies of Egyptian models finally make sense as elements of the natural biotope of the myth of the Distant Goddesses, all but an evanescent trope in Phoenician art as more discernible now. As surprising as convenient, and together with the icons fittingly illustrating its successive episodes as evidenced above, such secondary designs fill in important lacunae in the Egyptian documentation. Simultaneously, they add considerably more concrete weight to the thesis of Phoenician mediation in the propagation of the trope to the Greek world as hesitantly suggested in modern Egyptology.32 Numerous representations of aegises with leonine and feline heads on contemporary Phoenician ivories, seals and bowls indeed mirror the boom of their popularity in the Libyan period cult of Bastet and her avatar Sekhmet (Gubel 2008). The frequency of the name Abedbastet in the Phoenician and Punic onomasticon until well into the Hellenistic period finally, confirms that this cult lasted uninterrupted throughout the 1st millennium BC (EDPC 2008, 4). Bibliography Ali, M. E. 2021 God Mahes in Ancient Egyptian Religion, Journal of Association of Arab Universities for Tourism and Hospitality 21:2, 21–41. Anderson, J. R. 2018 The Chryselephantine Lion Plaques from Nimrud. In: T. Bács, Á.Bollók and T. Vida (eds), Across the Mediterranean. Along the Nile. Studies in Egyptology, Nubiology and Late Antiquity Dedicated to László Török on the Occasion of His 75th Birthday, 1. Budapest. 71–78. 2022 (catalogue entries 149–152). In: V. Rondot and F. Drici (eds), Pharaon. L’épopée africaine des rois de Napata. Paris. 326–327.

Hill 2016, 163 fig. 8 for a selection of these accessories and cf. Bulté 1991. For boat borne scenes, e.g., Gubel 1987, 115–117 cat. 53, pl. XX. 136f. 159 cat. 83 pl. XXVII 137. 159 cat. 84, pl. XXVIII, pls. XXXI: 91–92 and pls XXXIII: 103, XXXVI: 128 and XXXVII: 132 for Punic examples; Gubel 2009, fig.7 (pintail geese), Boschloos 2009; 2014 (horses) and Lagarce 1976, 116 Kit.1072 (wild cat). 32 See, however, Aufray 1998 and Barcat and Kousoulis 2019 on the role of the deltaic middle ground in this process and the emphasis on the multifaceted concept of maternity. 30 31

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Aufray, S. 1998 Un prolongement méditerranéen du mythe de la Lointaine à l’époque tardive. In: N.-Chr. Grimal and B. Menu (eds), Le commerce en Égypte ancienne. Bibliothèque d’Étude 121. Cairo. 19–39. Barcat, D. and P. Kousoulis 2019 Les vases et figurines en faïence entre Rhodes et le Delta : contexte artistique et usages funéraires, Revue Archéologique 2, 321–339. Benavente Vicente, C. 2016 Eine löwenköpfige Bronzestatuette des Gottes Nefertem aus dem ägyptischen Museum und Papyrussammlung in Berlin (ÄM 8988), Égypte Nilotique et Méditerranéenne 9, 141–153. Boschloos, V. 2009 L’iconographie des calices en relief égyptiens par rapport aux adaptations phéniciennes. In: S. M. Cecchini, S. Mazzoni and E. Scigliuzzo (eds), Syrian and Phoenician Ivories of the Early First Millennium BCE: Chronology, Regional Styles and Iconographic Repertories, Patterns of Inter-regional Distribution. Acts of the International Workshop, Pisa, December 9th–11th 2004. Ricerche di Archeologia del Vicino Oriente, 3. Pisa. 285–305. 2014 Tyre, Achziv and Kition. Evidence for a Phoenician Iron Age II Scarab Seal Workshop. In: A. Lohwasser (ed.), Skarabäen des 1. Jahrtausends. Workshop in Münster, 27. Oktober 2012. Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 269. Fribourg. 5–36. 2018 Sardinia, Etruria, Cyprus, and the Phoenician Homeland: Reflections on Distribution, Chronology, Typology, and Iconography of Scarabs from a ‘Tyrian Group”. In: M. Guirgues (ed.), From the Mediterranean to the Atlantic: People, Good and Ideas Between East and West. II. 8th International Congress of Phoenician and Punic Studies, Italy, Sardinia, Carbonia, Sant’Antioco, 21st–26th October 2013. Folia Phoenicia 2. Pisa/ Rome. 123–130. Brandl, H. (and J. F. Quack) 2013 A Bichrome Faience Statuette of Bastet from the Reign of Takeloth III. In: M. C. Flossmann-Schütze et al. (eds), Kleine Götter – Grosse Götter. Festschrift für Dieter Kessler zum 65. Geburtstag, Tuna el-Gebel 4. Vaterstetten. 67–90. Bresciani, E. 2016 Le feste del “ritorno della natura” nell’Egitto antico, Rivista di Studi Fenici XLIV, 105–107 (with references to other contributions on the same topic by the author). Bulté, J. 1991 Talismans égyptiens d’heureuse maternité : “Faïence” bleu vert à pois foncés. Paris. Ciafaloni, D. 1992 Eburnea Syrophoenicia. Studia Punica 9. Rome. Crowfoot, J. W. and G. M. Crowfoot 1938 Early Ivories from Samaria. London.

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David, A. 2011 Devouring the Enemy: Ancient Egyptian metaphors of Domination, The Bulletin of the Australian Centre for Egyptology 22, 83–100. Derchain, Ph. 1972 Hathor quadrifrons. Recherches sur la syntaxe d’un mythe égyptien. Publications de l’Institut historique et archéologique de Stamboul 28. Leiden. Desroches Noblecourt, Chr. 1995 Amours et Fureurs de la Lointaine. Clés pour la compréhension de symboles égyptiens. Paris. Frankfort, H. 1970 The Art and Architecture of the Ancient Orient. London. Gardiner, A. 1927 Egyptian Grammar: Being an Introduction to the Study of Hieroglyphs, London. Gubel, E. 1985 Phoenician Lioness Heads from Nimrud: Origin and function. In: E. Gubel (ed.), Phoenicia and its neighbours. Studia Phoenicia 3. Louvain. 181– 202. 1987 Phoenician Furniture. A Typology based on Iron Age Representations with reference to the Iconographical Context. Studia Phoenicia 7. Louvain. 1998 E pluribus unum: Nubian, Libyan and Phoenician “Bastet”-sphinxes. In: W. Clarysse, A. Schoors and H. Willems (eds.), Egyptian Religion. The Last Thousand Years. Studies dedicated to the Memory of Jan Quaegebeur, I. Orientalia Lovaniensia analecta 84. Louvain. 629–645. 2000 Das Libyerzeitliche Ägypten und die Anfänge der phönizischen Ikonographie. In: M. Görg and G. Hölbl (eds), Ägypten und der östliche Mittelmeerraum im 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr. Ägypten und Altes Testament 44. Wiesbaden. 69–100. 2005 Phoenician and Aramean bridle-harness decoration: Examples of cultural contact and innovation in the eastern Mediterranean. In: Cl. E. Suter and Chr. Uehlinger (eds), Crafts and Images in Contact. Studies on eastern Mediterranean art of the first millennium BCE. Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 210. Fribourg. 111–147. 2008 Le trésor de Nimroud (Iraq) et l’art du royaume bicéphale tyro-sidonien. Remarques typologiques sur quelques bijoux des tombes I et II du Palais nord-ouest. In: Les Phéniciens dans la Méditerranée, Fondation Tyr (Unesco Paris), 5–6 novembre 2007. Paris. 179–183. 2008 Histoire de Pierres: lionnes et sphinges léontocéphales dans l’iconographie araméo-phénicienne du Fer II. In: C. Roche (ed.), D’Ougarit à Jérusalem. Recueil d’études épigraphiques et archéologiques offert à Pierre Bordreuil. Orient & Méditerranée, 2. Paris. 133–142. 2009 The ‘Unusually-Shaped Ivories’ (USI) Group with Stylized Trees. In: S. M. Cecchini, S. Mazzoni and E. Scigliuzzo (eds), Syrian and Phoenician Ivories of the Early First Millennium BCE: Chronology, Regional Styles and Iconographic Repertories, Patterns of Inter-regional Distribution. Acts of the International Workshop, Pisa, December 9th–11th 2004. Ricerche di

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Methods of draining and directing water discovered in the palaces and temples of Nimrud Muzahim Mahmoud Hussein The excavations at Nimrud have revealed that the Assyrians took care in building draining water systems in their buildings as part of their wider building programmes that included their palaces and temples. Building effective and efficient sewage and drainage systems were important for health and hygiene, showing that maintaining cleanliness was important to the Assyrians. Most of the drainage systems that have been uncovered have been filled with debris and dust, but careful cleaning and exposure of these systems highlights not only the details of their construction but also the care that has gone into their building. From assessments of construction, it is clear there were multiple methods to construct drainage systems, some of which are visible on the floors of rooms or courtyards, while others are under brick floors or are made as a series of stacked pottery pipes. While certainly drainage systems are evident in many parts of the Near East, and were use in other Assyrian cities such as Ashur, the quality of construction in Assyria shows the importance of these features in buildings. One of the methods used for drainage and conveyance of water included pottery pipes made of leached clay that were attached together by bitumen and fixed inside the building blocks surrounded by a cover of bricks. In Dur Sharrukin (Khorsabad), we find some plans for such drainage systems in the main palace, where bricks were used to cover ceramic pipes. In the southern part of the palace of King Sennacherib in Nineveh, the 2001 Iraqi excavations revealed underground sewers also constructed of bricks in a similar manner as Dur Sharrukin. In the Assyrian city of Tarbisu (Sherif Khan), 8 km north of the city of Nineveh/Mosul, the results of the excavations of the University of Mosul showed drainage under the floors which were covered with bricks and with pieces of limestone in which several holes were intended to drain water into drainage channels that led to a sacred pool (i.e., bīt rimki). In this case, the drainage length is 19.5 m. In the palaces and temples of Nimrud, such drainage systems are common and it is rare to find a room or courtyard without drainage. In the Ezida, the temple of Nabu in Nimrud, a drainage system was discovered under the paving in the room marked NTS4. This drainage transferred water to the room located to the north, which was marked as NTS7, with the path under a relatively wide dividing wall between the rooms. The Assyrian architects deliberately designed their buildings to ensure the flow of water and passages enable water to easily move from the source to the place where it is intended to be drained. In the passage, a gap is filled with horizontal rows of bricks, allowing easy passage of the channel to the opposite side of the wall, where the construction is in the same way seen in

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mirror-image (Fig. 1). The purpose of the arch is to support the wall above and prevent it from collapsing, and the second purpose is to prevent dust and broken bricks from blocking the drainage. This channel uses bricks of several courses, with bitumen used as a mortar from the inside, and pieces of limestone of different sizes used as a binding agent, with the surface level even with the floor.

Fig. 1. Nimrud, Nabu Temple, channel between rooms NTS4 and NTS7. Another channel for transporting water, also in the Nabu temple, was found in room NTS3 on the north side of the Throne Room. In the western wall of room NTS8, there is an entrance in the floor which is pierced by a narrow channel made of white limestone, whose function is to drain water to the adjacent northern courtyard whose floor slopes slightly to the north, where the entrance to Ezida, the temple of Nabu, is found, which is called the Fish Gate (Fig. 2). The channel ranges in width between 12–18 cm, with depth of about 10 cm, and having a length of 5 m. Near this place and in the western part of Room NT1, in its northern and southern walls, a wide channel is evident, likely made for the passage of water collected in the southern courtyard towards the northern courtyard of the temple of Nabu-Ezid (Plan 1). In the North-West Palace, a network of drainage channels was discovered in most of the rooms, including channels of different shapes and directions. The central square, courtyard Y, was paved with bricks. From east to west, bricks were used to cover drainange, with the drainage also having pieces of limestone covering it. This method was also used in the Temple of Nabu. In the same courtyard in the North-West Palace, we find square pieces of limestone installed within the floor in different places, in the middle of which there is a circular hole intended to drain water into the sewers for that purpose (Fig. 4).

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Fig. 2. Nimrud, Nabu Temple, view south through the fish gate.

Plan 1. Nimrud, plan of the North-West Palace.

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Fig. 3. Nimrud, North-West Palace, courtyard Y. In Hall I of the North-West Palace, in its north wall, we find an arch built in mud in the same style as the arch in the Temple of Nabu, where the channel carried water to the area designated by EA, which is where the obelisk of King Ashurnasirpal II was found, that is located to the north of this place. In the southeast courtyard of the North-West Palace, no. 80, a long channel was discovered that extended from the fourth well to the northern part of the square, close to room 75. It is noticeable that circular holes were placed between one space and another in the channel, that could be blocked and opened as needed by a circular cover of limestone. The duct cover has on one of its flat sides a cylindrical protrusion that fits into the hole and keeps the cover in position (Fig. 4a–b). In another place on the eastern side of the courtyard, close to the stairs, another drainage channel was discovered, built with baked bricks and covered with bricks as well. It was built in the same method as others, with coating of its walls and floor in the channel made with pitch. It is noted here that a part of the cover bricks used for the drainage were found collapsed into the drainage due to the weight of the collapse from above and likely decay (Fig. 5). In this place, close to the well NN, there is a limestone water tank that collected and stored water extracted from the well, likely by means of buckets or earthen jars. In one side of the tank, and close to its floor, there is a hole that could be opened when water was running in one of the nearby drainage channels. It is believed that this hole would be blocked as needed using pieces of cloth or wood suitable as a stopper, where the block could be rotated into the hole and close its access to a bricked duct about 1 m deep (Fig. 6a–b). In the space of the large rectangular courtyards 72 and 56, drainage channels are also found. There is a drainage in room 59 located to the north of the square, which complements the building unit associated with it. On the western side of the room and in the drainage, perforated stones cover the drain with the water drained to the south, which is the square courtyard 72 (Fig. 7). Another drainage channel in courtyard 72 delineates the southern wall of rooms 59 and 60, extending from the east to the west of the courtyard. The channel

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Fig. 4. Nimrud, North-West Palace, central sewage hole. is inclined, following the natural slant of the courtyard. Here, we find a piece of limestone in the middle of the courtyard that has a circular hole and whose purpose is to drain the water into the same drainage channel, including from the adjacent courtyard, and then drain it out to the designated place. Long and narrow ducts were discovered in the middle of the corridors 48 and 44, which were made

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Fig. 5. Nimrud, North-West Palace, collapsed drainage channel.

Fig. 6. Nimrud, North-West Palace, constructed channel through courtyard 72.

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Fig. 7. Courtyard 72/56, mouth of channel. of baked bricks, where the method of laying the floor with bricks from both sides of the channel were followed where half of bricks that measured 36 x 36 x 12 cm were exposed and used along the sides, leaving room for a complete brick to cover the top of the drainage channel (Fig. 8). It is believed that this drainage moved water from the courtyard in front of rooms 49, 57, 63, to a water-drainage depot that is situated in room 56. South of courtyard 72, there are two noteworthy drainage channels. The first one is found in room 71, which can be determined from its northern part to connect to courtyard 56. The second is from 72b which connects to the same aforementioned courtyard. Both these drainage channels are built with bricks. The use of bitumen to seal the bricks was not observed, likely because these drainages were built within the floors, which reduces water leakage to the sides. In the southern part of courtyard 56, specifically the part adjacent to room 62, a wide and deep hexagonal manhole lined with bricks was discovered (Fig. 7). Excavations in it determined its depth to be approximately 9 m. Quantities of soil were extracted in which a small jar of veined alabaster was found. The number of courses that covered its lining was 60. The floor is also bricked, with the diameter of the manhole being 60 cm. Most of the rooms in the southern part of the North-West Palace, if not all of them, are connected by sewers that drain waste water from the palace. In particular, a channel in the part adjacent to the throne room of the North-West Palace contained a narrow manhole with an apparent channel extending a few feet from it, but it was difficult to work on this channel in any detail given the tight space. In room 65, which is located in the southwestern part of the palace, within the floor was found a circular nozzle for an underground drainage course. Next to it is a cylindrical water basin of white alabaster with a hole in the bottom on one

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Fig. 8. Nimrud, North-West Palace, channel through rooms 44/47.

Fig. 9. Clay pipes.

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Fig. 10. Nimrud, Upper Chambers, drainage in room 1/C. side that drains water. It is believed that this room was used as a bathroom given the extensive use of pitch, and the walls were decorated with special-sized bricks. During the excavations that we carried out in the Central Palace, pottery tubes were found, each with two equal openings, and the purpose of these was to fix them one on top of the other by using pitch. Such practice was common

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throughout Mesopotamia. The likely purpose of the clay pipes was to drain water in the palace; possibly the drainage was also used as a gutter from the roof of the building to the floor near the place (Fig. 9). In the palace of King Adad-Nerari III, a channel was discovered that likely drained large amounts of water. It starts with a limestone block with a circular hole in the middle. The long channel extends out of the room from the eastern side with a noticeable slope. Bitumen was used to prevent water leakage from the duct, where it was used to cover the bricks that had the same measurements (Fig.10a–c). A mud brick arch was built over this drainage, with two courses of brick, following the same method mentioned for the Nabu temple. In the western part of the palace itself, specifically in the room that was designated as Room 5, an apparent water channel was discovered that was erected on the floor extending from the east of the room to its western part. The place of drainage is from Room 4 (Fig. 11). In the northern part of the Nimrud citadel platform, where excavations of the Iraqi Department of Antiquities began in 2001, drainage channels were revealed by work there. It is believed that these carried out different roles, which is unclear as work was not finished there and recent destruction by ISIS in this area has prevented this drainage system from being properly understood (Fig. 12a–c). Near these drainage installations, however, a white limestone basin was found with a length of 98 cm, a width of about 60 cm, and a depth of 40 cm (Fig. 13). It seems that the purpose of its presence in this place was to store water. It is believed that a well was in this place. Nearby was a burial found in Square 2a. In

Fig. 11. Nimrud, Upper Chambers, tramlines in room 5.

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Fig. 12. Nimrud, northern citadel platform. the temple of Ishtar, specifically in the building unit north of the main entrance to the temple, which was designated as Unit 9, a water drainage channel that carried away polluted water was revealed, due to the presence of bricks with a circular hole in the middle. For this drainage and channel, bitumen is still stuck in a section of it (Fig. 14). In the southern part of the main courtyard of the Temple of Ishtar, there is a depression in its southeastern part. It is noted that the floor of the courtyard, which was paved with bricks, is slightly tilted. It is believed that in this place there is a basin with drainage, or even a cesspool, coming from likely polluted water. The nature of the depression has not been investigated because that would require raising the brick floor in this place see (Plan 2).

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Fig. 13. Nimrud, northern citadel platform, limestone basin, probably for water.

Fig. 14. Nimrud, Ishtar Temple, Unit 9.

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Plan 2. Nimrud, Plan of Adad-nerari III‘s palace (the upper chambers). What has been reviewed in this research is only a small part of what has been discovered in the Neo-Assyrian buildings found in Nimrud’s citadel. It is believed that the continuation of excavations in Nimrud will result in many more unique discoveries, including discoveries related to the craftsmanship and skills of Assyrian builders, including the internal and drainage architecture of their buildings. Addendum The editors are very grateful to Dr Mark Altaweel for translating it into English. This article adds to the presentation of M. M. Hussein’s excavation work on the citadel of Nimrud, previously published in the journal Sumer. For another article about the work of Muzahim Mahmoud Hussein at Nimrud, see M. M. Hussein, D. Kertai and M. Altaweel, Nimrud and its remains in light of Iraqi excavations from 1989–2002. In: D. Kertai and P. A. Miglus (eds), New Research on Late Assyrian Palaces. Heidelberger Studien zum Alten Orient 15 (Heidelberg 2013), 91–124.

Ivories in the debate on the Iron I–II archaeology of Syria Stefania Mazzoni Abstract The data provided by the few first millennium ivories found in recent excavations in Syria and Anatolia confirm the appreciation of luxury ivory artefacts in different contexts in Iron II and III (9th–7th century BC) but do not help to clarify where and when their production emerged, a problem often debated in the case of North Syrian ivories. The lack of documentation of ivories during the early Iron I (12th–11th century BC) in Syria, marked at that time by renewal of architecture and monumental art, is surprising. The presence, however, of ivories in the southern Levant in the transitional Late Bronze/Iron I period, and the transformation in the working of ivories registered between these phases, attest to a local continuity but also to a substantial change in the modes of production. The adoption of serial procedures and repetition of images in Iron II (9th–8th century BC) may be connected with the unprecedented increase of production documented by the archaeological finds. Furthermore, these factors may offer clues for interpreting the nature and role of workshops and customers. Few 1st Millennium ivories have been discovered in recent times in excavations in Syria and Anatolia which offer new contextual data to the debate on a craft generally considered as the most distinctive Syrian and Phoenician production. The main and largest documentation is, in fact, still provided by old finds from centres of the area of prevailing ivory working (Samaria, Hama, Zincirli, Arslan Tash, Tell Halaf), and especially from the Assyrian capitals, in primis Nimrud, where the most numerous and representative collection of ivory objects was found. This corpus has provided the basis for long-lasting research, culminating in the classification of the ivories in groups by style of carving, images, techniques and types of object and eventually in various attributions to centres and workshops. The volumes ‘Ivories from Nimrud’ thus have constituted a primary source of knowledge thanks to their comprehensive catalogues and the rigorous analyses by Georgina Herrmann, justly celebrated in the present book. Some more or less recent discoveries provide the occasion for further comments on the question of the presence of ivory production during early Iron I (12th–11th century BC) and its steady development in Iron II on the wave of relevant changes in the mode of production.

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Old collections and recent findings The identification of workshops and centres of production of first millennium ivories and related methodological approaches has long been a principal focus of discussion also in captivating seminars where different interpretations were proposed (Uehlinger (ed.) 2000; Suter and Uehlinger (eds) 2005; Cecchini, Mazzoni and Scigliuzzo (eds) 2009; Suter (ed.) 2015). These occasions had also the result of stimulating new editions of old collections of ivories (Samaria: Suter 2011; Arslan Tash: Cecchini 2009; Fontan and Affanni (eds) 2018), and new approaches and criticisms of the workshop and regional attributions (Herrmann 2000; Herrmann 2005; Winter 2005; Di Paolo 2009; Feldman 2014; Suter 2015), as well as more comprehensive presentations (Herrmann 2017), and more synthetic analyses (Wicke 2013; Osborne 2021, 83–95). While the scholarly debate was developing towards new frontiers of research, very few ivories were being found in the excavations in Syria and the Levant, I regrettably must confess as a field archaeologist! It was, in fact, still Nimrud with its renewed excavations that would supply an extensive documentation including remarkable masterpieces (Safer, Sa’id al-Iraqy 1987; Herrmann 2009; Follis 2009; Pappalardo 2006, 2009; Herrmann 2017, 31–34). Lately, relevant ivories were then also found at Ziyaret Tepe/Tushan in the Assyrian palace (Wicke 2008) belonging to the Assyrian sphere. The twelve ivories from Tell Ahmar (Bunnens 1997) mostly from the layer of debris of the earliest occupation phase of building C1, and dated to the second half of the 7th century BC, may constitute the latest evidence for the use of Syrian ivories in the Western Assyrian province. Even considering a date for their original manufacture in the 8th century they attest that furniture decorated by ivories was employed and appreciated in domestic contexts in this late period. From this late 8th and 7th century production, maintained in the provincial Assyrian western area, besides the Assyrian capitals, derives the emergence of a Phrygian production, stimulated by the circulation in central Anatolia of imported North Syrian ivories. The frontlet with a nude female and the blinker with a two-headed sphinx found in Gordion in Terrace Building 2, which were interpreted as gifts maybe from Karkemish, and ivories of local manufacture (Sams 1993, 551–553 pls 95–96; Graff 2014, 107 fig. 32.2) illustrate this process of artistic and technological transfer. Now at Kerkenes Dağ, ancient Pteria, new finds give indications of a local production of ivories (Dusinberre 2002; Branting et al. 2017, 163. 166–170 figs 8–9; Branting et al. 2019, 104–105 figs 8–6,7,8) which also reflect older Syrian models in the selection of techniques and images. The discovery of an ivory calf covered with gold foil at Tell Afis (D’Amore 2022, in press; Mazzoni 2014, 45 fig. 1) (Fig. 1) brings us to the core area of the Syrian production and adds a further masterpiece to the “Flame and Frond” group attributed to a North Syrian workshop (Herrmann 1989, 104–105 pls LX–LXII, see fig. 3; Herrmann and Laidlaw 2009, 91–98 pl. 40), of debated identification and date (Winter 1989; Gunter 2009, 98–101; Affanni 2009; Feldman 2014, 52– 58; Manuelli and Pittman 2018, 147–153). The Afis calf does not help, however, to clarify the date or provenance of this group. It is made in the round and would originally have surmounted the lid of quite a large pyxis, as the noted pieces from Nimrud cited above indicate. It was found as a single discarded piece at the bottom of an underground plastered and brick built storage pit, mixed with pottery

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Fig. 1. Ivory figurine of a calf covered by gold foil, TA.09.A.1 (© Tell Afis Archaeological Mission, University of Florence). of the 8th century BC. Again, comparisons date this ivory to the 9th century BC; the flame-like rendering of the haunches represents a sort of signature trait, and a lingering aspect of the Late Bronze Levantine ivory production (Kantor 1956, 174). An earlier date in the 10th century was then proposed by G. Affanni (2009) for two groups of sphinxes out of five all showing this flame convention. This same flame-like rendering appears, in fact, on monumental sculpture, on the lion’s hindquarters at Tell Halaf, Zincirli, and Hama, and in a later 8th century variant at Karkemish (Mazzoni 2009, 110–114). The presence of this ivory at Afis adds a further significant clue to the identification of a centre of ivory manufacture in Hamath, the name of which appears on some of the ivories from Nimrud (Barnett 1963, 82), and to a Lu‘ash school, as defined by G. Herrmann (1986, 49) for an ivory horse frontlet inscribed with the three letters l‘s, showing a naked female holding lotus flowers at her sides, a hypothesis further supported by P. J. Riis (Riis and Buhl 1990, 13–14; Mazzoni 2009, 113). Tell Afis is identified with the town of Hazrek, where Zakkur, ruler of the kingdom of Hamath and Lu‘ash resisted the siege of a coalition of kings, according to the Aramaic inscription (KAI 202) on the Louvre stele (AO 8155). This identification is now also supported by various inscriptions found in the excavations of Tell Afis. Of particular relevance is the inscription on a fragment of a stele with similar script to the Louvre stele of Zakkur (Amadasi 2014), where the name Hazael is cited, probably the powerful king of Damascus (843–803 BC), whose name appears in inscriptions on bronzes and ivories (Feldman 2014, 161–170 figs 5.5–6). A bronze horse frontlet with nude females from the Heraion of Samos, and two blinkers from the first temple of Apollo Daphnephoros of Eretria present a short inscription possibly as a war tribute to Hazael from Hadad of ‘Umqi in the year when he crossed the river (see now Kyrieleis 2020, 118 pl. 16.1; Fales 2016). These equestrian harness trappings found in the West might document a network of sanctuary officials hoarding

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precious goods (Gunter 2009, 124–128. 142–152) or simply a process of mobility of exotic objects (Feldman 2014, 161–170). Hazael is also cited with the formula “to our lord” in fragmentary ivory labels from Arslan Tash and Fort Shalmaneser at Nimrud (Amadasi 2018, 64–66). It is then useful to connect the Afis ivory calf with the ivories found in Hama E (Riis and Buhl 1990, 248 nos 988. 990–994 figs 118–119; Mazzoni 2009, 108– 109 figs. 2–3), especially two elegant open-work ivory panels, one representing fighting bulls and the other a winged sphinx and a human figure, compared by G. Herrmann (1986, 32f.) to ivories from SW 37 and attributed to the ‘Flame and Frond school’, later singled out as Group 4 by G. Affanni (2009, 175 fig. 6). Thus, we obtain other valuable clues to the proposed identification of an ivory workshop of Hamath and Lu‘ash. Another testimony of the ‘Flame and Frond’ group was recently found at Arslantepe, ancient Melid, an important kingdom where a dynasty descending of the Hittite lineage, ruled in the first centuries of the 1st millennium BC (Manuelli and Pittman 2018). The ivory is an openwork plaque representing two ibexes rampant at either side of a plant and was found in a pit, maybe a sort of cache, at the eastern edge of a large hall, partially sealed by the later floor of this room (Fig. 2). The building consisted of this hall and two other rooms, and had three building phases, the hall in its later phase containing a double-chambered hearth documenting a domestic function. The archaeological context provides a date within the late 9th–early 8th century, but iconographic and stylistic considerations have oriented comparisons to an earlier phase up to around 1000 BC, particularly with the small orthostats of the Tempel Palast of Tell Halaf and the sphinxes of the two earlier subgroups identified by G. Affanni (2009, 173f.). This fine piece is thus considered as the earliest example of the ‘Flame and Frond’ tradition showing a strong link in style, convention and subject with the Late Bronze ivory tradition (Manuelli and Pittman 2018, 159–161). In conclusion, the discovery of ivories in buildings of the Aramaean and Luwian towns is certainly a remarkable archaeological phenomenon, that has positively stimulated further consideration of the role of this production in the area, even though, ultimately, it has not sufficed to provide conclusive contextual data for fixing their chronology (and see Herrmann 2017, 188–190) or centre attribution. To be minimalist, if I may dare, the 9th–8th century date of the North Syrian ivory production remains indisputable. There are, however, valid arguments favouring its earlier emergence in the 10th century, while the continuity of use into the 7th century is well documented by the archaeological contexts of Assyria and its provincial capitals. Ivories and Syria in Iron I On more general historical grounds, the upper date for the production of ivories fixed probably in the late 10th century raises some questions. That a continuous appreciation and use of precious ivory objects in the 7th century by local elites is documented in the imperial provincial sphere is consistent with the historical scenario of an Assyria at the acme of its territorial expansion; on the other hand, what is puzzling if not enigmatic is the absence of ivory documentation in the 12th–11th

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Fig. 2. Ivory plaque of two goats flanking a tree (from Manuelli and Pittman 2018, fig. 4). centuries, early Iron I. This period was marked, in fact, by a process of steady urbanisation, innovative urbanism and renovated artistic production documented by monumental stone sculpture. One can certainly argue that this process had its floruit in the 10th century, when new rulers actively competed in the area replacing the kings of the Hittite lineage (Mazzoni 2013, 474–478) and new forces, the Aramaean and the Israelite kingdoms and the Phoenician city-states, started to exert a less evanescent and more tangible territorial power. Various art genres flourished then in this renewed ethno-political scenario together with architectural stone sculpture that remains for us the best documented genre of this period, being more easily preserved than minor arts in perishable or recyclable materials. Stone sculpture, with its mastery of carving hard stones, was at home in the Luwian states as an heirloom of the Hittite imperial art, and sculptors from the Anatolian homeland may have moved to the towns ruled by the descendants of the Hittite dynasty. The Water Gate reliefs in Karkemish and the Lion Gate reliefs at Melid shared images of offerings to the Storm God strictly inspired by the Hittite iconographies (Mazzoni 1997, 316–318 figs 5. 10; Manuelli and Mori 2016). Even more discernible is the line linking the sculpture quarry of Yesemek, probably active since the later part of the Hittite empire (13th–12th century (and where a large Hittite settlement has been recently discovered, see Engin 2021), with its distinct style of carving lions, sphinxes and mountain gods, and the monumental decoration of the Ain Dara and Aleppo temples of 12th–11th century (Kohlmeyer 2008, 2013; Novák 2012; Dietz 2019). Looking at the absence of ivory production in this phase, it could be useful to re-examine some intrinsic factors of ivory manufacture. This was, in fact, a highly specialised craft, with distinct techniques in preparing and carving the material, that emerged in the Levant and Syria during the Middle Bronze, and

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flourished in the Late Bronze Age. The local Canaanite kingdoms patronized the production of crafts (Feldman 2006, 99–101; 2013, 257), capitalized on raw materials and promoted the technical know-how; the creation of masterpieces, showing technical capacity and inspiring admiration, awe and wonder (Winter 2000, 30–35) and continuous technological and artistic challenges (novitas and difficultas of the artists of the Renaissance) (Mazzoni 2008, 37–38. 43) had been consistent components of the palace involvement in promoting arts as an economic investment since the formation of the early states. As already observed, the decline of the kingdoms and the fall of the palace economy and its patronage of crafts, the crisis and the disruption of the trade routes, between the end of the 13th and the first decades of the 12th century BC, halted the circulation of raw materials and the demand for crafted precious goods (Feldman 2013, 255; Caubet 2013, 455; Mazzoni 2013, 478–479). Only in the mature Iron I (10th century) and in Iron II, from the 9th century BC onwards, did ivory working, along with other crafts (notably bronze working), emerge once again and was characterised not only by lingering traits of the previous Late Bronze tradition in style and selection of images but also by significant innovative elements: the choice of the raw materials and an unprecedented intensity of production. We can start to consider the innovations. A major factor of transformation was, in fact, recognised by the change in the choice of raw materials (Caubet and Poplin 1992, 2010; Caubet 2002, 110–111; 2013, 455). Elephant tusks gradually replaced the hippopotamus canines, more difficult to carve and more wasteful, with some pieces achieving the levels of true tour de force (Caubet 2013, 457). As a consequence, work became easier and faster, and production increased (Caubet 2013, 452–457). However, the finding of elephant bones in the LB I–LB IIA reused NW wing of the MB IIA Royal Palace of Qatna and new analyses of ivory materials have again emphasized the use of elephant tusks in ivory working in this period; in two core regions – identified by archaeological and literary sources – elephants lived and were hunted, the Orontes and the (Upper) Middle Euphrates valleys (Luciani 2006a; 2006b; Pfälzner 2013). This conclusion brings us back again to the question of the absence of ivory working during early Iron I. Was then the demise of the palaces the main factor in the crisis of this craft for at least two centuries? And how could the 10th–9th century artisans then assume the mastery of the work processes and increase production so enormously? Was it the conscious rediscovery of memory (Feldman 2014, 67– 72)? And did it really disappear in Iron I ivory working? To this last question it is easier to give an answer. The southern Levant and particularly Philistine sites furnish, in fact, evidence for the use of ivory objects in the 12th–10th centuries. In Ashdod (XIII–XII), Ashkelon and Ekron (strata VII–IV) different instruments, cosmetic objects, mostly from hippopotamus canines, were found in residential units (Ben-Shlomo and Dothan 2006). The presence of raw unworked materials and parts of canines has suggested a local production, inspired by the earlier Canaanite traditions characterized by Egyptian traits and lingering elements of the International Style (Ben-Shlomo 2006–2007). The most interesting object is the lid of Tell Miqneh/Ekron from Building 350 of Stratum VC in a 12th century context, made from an elephant tusk and incised with a row composed by two bulls fighting with a winged griffin and a lion around a rosette (Ben-Shlomo

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and Dothan 2006, fig. 11; Dothan 2003; 2006.). The iconography, postures of the animals in the combat and figurative conventions for the body details, such as the flames on the hindquarters, can be easily compared with Kantor’s Mycenaeanizing Late Bronze production (Kantor 1956, 166–167; Barnett 1982, 43) which was considered to lie at the origin of the Iron II production (Kantor 1956; Caubet 2008, 411–412) as especially illustrated by the image of the hero and griffin combat and the conventions of the animals’ bodies. The comparison with the ivory plaque from the tomb of Ahiram at Byblos with a lion and a griffin attacking a bull, characterized by similar style and conventions, is certainly intriguing and seemed to suggest, with other works, a Canaanite legacy (Aruz 2014, 8–9. Ill. at p. 9 above; see Caubet 2008, 411–412, no. 264, dated to the 13th century) despite the fact that this monument is dated between the 13th (sarcophagus and reliefs) and the 10th century (lid and inscription). Does the Ekron lid attest to a conservative Iron I local production or is it a residual LB object, an heirloom treasured for its value, as other Egyptianised ivories found in this site indicate? This second hypothesis seems to be supported by the finding of several LB ivory objects in the Temple Palace Complex 650 of Stratum I of 7th century Ekron (Ben-Shlomo and Dothan 2006, 3 fn. 3). These include (Gitin 2012, 233 pl. 50b) “a depiction of a woman, perhaps a royal personage, and a knob bearing the cartouche of the 12th century BC Pharaoh Rameses VIII found in Room w; a large head, probably from the top of a harp, found in Room p; and a large object with a male figure on the front, the image of a royal female personage on the side (ibid., pl. 50B), and the cartouche of the 13th century BC. Pharaoh Merneptah on the back found in Room l”. To support the hypothesis of the Iron I date suggested by Ben-Shlomo and Dothan for the Ekron lid comes a further ivory lid from an Iron I context at Tell es-Safi/Gath, probably representing a (foundation?) ritual deposit (Maeir et al. 2015). This fine decorated lid was compared with a similar lid from the Megiddo hoard, probably made from the same elephant‘s tusks, and a further two from a tomb at Tell el-Farah of more cursory style. These documents seem to indicate that in Iron I in Philistia there was circulation of ivory artefacts in different contexts and for various functions; they show lingering traits from the LB production as documented in the 13th century, to the point that some examples have been considered heirlooms. Further documents are provided by sites from Transjordan. Tombs from Tell Irbid and Tell es-Sa‘idiyeh, dated around 1200/beginning of 12th century BC give evidence of cosmetic ivory objects among the funerary goods: palettes with swimming girls, a unique fish box, bowls with lid; they also may have been older heirlooms in considerating of the interruption in trade documented for this period (Fischer, Bürge and al-Shalabi 2015; Bürge and Fischer 2018). Production, repetition and serial groups The presence of these ivories makes more problematic the void of evidence in Syria in Iron I, and adds a further question to the many lacunae signalled in ivory documents (Di Paolo 2009; Feldman 2014, 29). However, a comment on the mode of production of ivories in Iron II may provide some further clues for our discussion.

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As noted above, in contrast to the LB production consisting of single and unique objects decorated with various designs and images and carved in different styles and techniques, apparently not destined to be even duplicated, in Iron II we can list series of objects and furniture, with ample sets of distinct images, motifs, and techniques repeated with more or less slight variations. These series constituted, in fact, a coherent documentary evidence for identifying groups of works to be attributed to single ateliers, or, at a deeper level of analysis, hands or worker’s signatures (Mallowan and Herrmann 1974). These groups of often similar objects with their distinct imagery do not fit the activity of a few palace-based ateliers working for internal consumption, limited to the circle of the palace consumers, as we can instead document during the LB period. In Iron II, archaeology provides rich evidence for sets of objects, apparently produced in series, such as the panels for furniture, chairs or beds, or the equestrian harnesses, the pyxides, or the hand and lion bowls. The production of series with a high factor of repetition entails a full-time specialised activity of artisans cooperating and reproducing selected types of objects. They could occasionally create distinct variants or produce individual details of carving, that can be identified following the ‘method of the connoiseur’ theorised by the Morellian school, that was, in fact, adopted in studying the SW7 Nimrud ivories (Mallowan and Herrmann 1974, 36) offering in subsequent studies a valid method of analysis (Scigliuzzo 2005a; 2009), despite further criticisms (Feldman 2014, 18–21. 36–38), especially for reconstructing how professional workshops could be organised (Herrmann 2000). The process of repetition of images, style and details of carving was a relevant component of the production of first millennium ivories. Thus, it may be appropriate here to refer to the various types of repetition known in Greek art (StansburyO´Donnell 2011, 89): “There are different forms of repetition, including verbatim repetition (an exact repetition allowing for differences of style), duplication (repetition intentionally identical to the original); reduplication (repetition with a variation or inflection on the original); and redundancy (repetition of all parts to ensure alternative paths for the message). There are also two forms of repetition that introduce more variation from the first to the second image: synonymy (reiteration or substitution of a related item with equivalent meaning) and antonymy (reiteration with substitution of an opposite term, such as front and back.” We can easily verify these forms of repetition taking the example of the equestrian harnesses, frontlets and blinkers with their distinct images, frontal nude females, masters of animals, or various symbols, well known and published (Orchard 1967; Wicke 1999; Gubel 2005 and above mentioned references). This can certainly be only an exercise for refining our capacity for exploring and comparing analogies, similarities and variations in serial production, bringing us back to the method of the connoisseur. As mentioned above, concerning the mode of production, the practice of repetition may reflect the necessity of increasing production, possibly to respond to a higher demand. This was made possible, as noted before, by the greater ease of working elephant tusks instead of the hippo canines. This process may have favoured the formation of a system of professional full-time artisans operating for a number of patrons and consumers, probably a development already starting in the 13th century with the emergence of “private enterprises in the shadow of palace

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oversight” (Feldman 2009, 345, quoting Liverani 2003, 120–123). It is difficult to understand if the certainly enormous amount of ivories found in excavations exceeds the sphere of the palace consumption; it is no doubt considerably higher than the number of ivories of the Late Bronze Age which is consistent with a use by the palaces and their diplomatic exchanges. Thus, in comparison to the Late Bronze Age, the major transformation did not concern the plurality of styles, that characterized similarly the production of both periods, and were marked by politically fragmented landscapes with their various ethno-linguistic components, a factor generally recognised as a main marker in style variability in monumental stone sculpture of the 1st mill. BC The presence of various styles in ivory production may therefore mirror the political regionalisms with their distinct cultural traditions, as, in fact, previous research had concluded with the proposal of regional schools and workshops; another interpretation (Feldman 2014, 31–38) has instead focussed on “networked communities of skilled practitioners” not defined by geo-political borders, and characterised by “slippery identities.” Conclusion To conclude, the most perceptible change in Iron Age ivory craft concerns a relevant increase in crafted portable goods and their serial production, both factors entailing professional activity and the organisation of work in single workshops, as G. Herrmann has proposed (2000). Whether and how these workshops came under political patronage or were, instead, independent organisations or agencies, is certainly difficult to establish from the current documentation. It is possible that with the renewed social scenario individual and collective entrepreneurs may have been channelled into a new system of guilds and hubs not far from the places or zones of distribution of the finished works; independent artisans may have been a not irrelevant component of the social corpus (Scigliuzzo 2005b) as were, in the same period, the trade-agents, representing a “trade oligarchy,” (Liverani 2003, 132– 133), that enjoyed a tangible economic power. We can again speculate on an active role of the successors of the Levantine, or Cananaanite city-states in preserving their traditions and revitalising their productions when political conditions made for easier movement of materials and goods and their demand increased: the Caanaanite legacy (Aruz 2014, 8) was transmitted to Phoenicians, Israelites (Samaria), and Aramaeans (Damascus, Hamath/Lu‘ash, Sam’al/Bit Gabbar, Tell Ahmar/Bit Adini, Arslan Tash/Ḫadatu, Guzana/Bit Baḫiani). In renovating their traditional crafts, elements of the earlier imagery and styles were resumed, as shared components, we agree, of a “collective memory” (Feldman 2014, 64): the Egyptian flavour and distinct protective images. Some Aegaeanised motifs and scenes were also familiar to the new Philistine entrepreneurs who could well re-use old objects and constitute a sort of “trait d’union” between the Canaanite and the Phoenician productions. We can consequently justify a continuity of ivory craft and also its floruit during the phase of the political acme of the Levantine city states and principalities in Iron II, well documented by archaeological and literary sources. As a final comment, however, coming back to the impressive number of ivory pieces found in the Assyrian capitals, as well as in the Levant, a question has still to be addressed: may this production have been originally destined for use and

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display by the Levantine and Syrian elites? The organisation of workshops with their serial procedures seems to respond to a demand surpassing that of internal use; we can only justify this production in the sphere of Assyrian domination and the unequal exchange between the empire and its minor partners or subjugated clients. The Assyrian sources, in fact, underline the enormous wealth of precious goods of the conquered Syrian towns and whilst this was the usual language of propaganda it does reveal a consistent flow of luxury objects which were transferred to the Assyrian capitals. We cannot exclude the possibility that much of this increase in craft production could be stimulated, besides the local demand for valuable luxury goods used in ritual performances by the local elites emulating the Assyrian protocols of power display, by the necessity of supplying tributes and taxations, that became a sort of new compulsory gift exchange. The Assyrian texts give evidence of the importance of luxury goods in the imperial strategies of appropriation and control and they were used in rituals showing dominion and deference (Gunter 2009, 155–177). Eventually, the Assyrian court circles may have also constituted a relevant pool of customers for exotic precious artifacts such as the rich objects found in the tombs of the queens in the North-West Palace of Nimrud or the decorated furniture shown in the “Garden Scene” relief from the North Palace at Nineveh representing Ashurbanipal and his consort Libbali-sharrat (Feldman 2014, 100– 104 fig. 3.9; Mazzoni 2018, 370–376 fig. 7). Bibliography Affanni, G. 2009 Ivory Sphinxes of North Syrian Tradition: the Flame and Frond School. In: S. M. Cecchini, S. Mazzoni and E. Scigliuzzo (eds), Syrian and Phoenician Ivories of the Early First Millennium BCE. Chronology, Regional Styles and Iconographic Repertories, Patterns of Inter-regional Distribution. Pisa. 171–181. Amadasi, M. G. 2014 Tell Afis in the Iron Age: The Aramaic Inscriptions, Near Eastern Archaeology 77.1, 54–57. 2018 Quelques notes sur les inscriptions et marques des ivoires d’Arslan Tash. In: É. Fontan and G. Affanni (eds), Les ivoires d’Arslan Tash: décor de mobilier syrien, IXe–VIIIe siècles avant J.C. Paris. 63–68. Aruz, J. 2013 Introduction. In: J. Aruz, S. B. Graff and Y. Rakic (eds), Cultures in Contact from Mesopotamia to the Mediterranean in the Second Millennium B.C. New Haven and London. 3–11. Aruz, J., S. B. Graff and Y. Rakic (eds) 2013 Cultures in Contact from Mesopotamia to the Mediterranean in the Second Millennium B.C. New Haven and London. 2014 Assyria to Iberia. At the Dawn of the Classical Age. New Haven and London. Barnett, R. D. 1963 Hamath and Nimrud, Iraq XXV, 81–84.

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Fitters’ letters Alan Millard Abstract While describing the carvings on Nimrud ivories, Georgina assiduously noted the “fitters’ marks” incised on them. These are mostly letters of the Phoenician alphabet which are collected here for their contribution to West Semitic epigraphy and to the dating of the ivories. Describing the ivory carvings from Nimrud, Georgina carefully noted the alphabetic letters and other marks incised on the tenons and the backs of many and passed photographs to me to identify for her catalogues. A discussion of those in Ivories from Nimrud I–IV was given in volume IV (43–46). At the time it was offered as provisional, awaiting the complete catalogue of the room’s ivories. Since 1986 Georgina’s devotion and perseverance have presented many more pieces, so here an attempt is made to collect the recorded West Semitic letters on them. This study, like the earlier one, is based on the photographs and comments which she shared with me. As noted in 1986, there are many marks and scratches which were made to help attach the carvings to the surfaces of wooden furniture and some which are simply marks and some which could equally be letters, especially crossed lines similar to taw. This essay attempts to include all those in volumes I–VII. Damage obscures some, while many marks may be accidental, practice engravings, traces of earlier carving, and scratches or holes for adhesive. Collecting the letters exposes some degree of variety, taking account of the uneven surfaces and ways of incising them. (The marks on the ivory writing boards form a separate group, described in IN VI 148–149, and so are not included here.) Different craftsmen in different workshops put their marks on the ivories, so there will not be consistency between them, nor will all have been equally practised in writing, hence some letters are written with a firmer or more competent hand than others and some in reverse. They contribute to knowledge of the West Semitic alphabet in a period from which relatively few texts survive, most of those being the products of professional scribes. For ease of comparison, the letters are all oriented as if hanging from a horizontal line, although placed at various angles on the carvings – sideways, upside down, but the ductus of reversed letters has not been changed. All are reproduced at approximately the same size (Photographs taken from IN I–VII, copyright British Institute for the Study of Iraq).

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´1 IV 766

´7 V 431

´2 V 375

´8 IV 1332

´12 VII 781

´17 VI 127

´3 V 67

´4 VII 87

´9 VII 232

´13 V 39

´18 VI 85

´14 V 375bis

´19 IV 1388

´5 V 437

´10 VI 356b

´6 V 201

´11 VII 231

´15 VII 596

´20 VII 841

´16 IV 1107

´21 V 84

Every ’ (’aleph) has the same basic form known from the 9th century, the angle of meeting of the two oblique strokes being reduced in nos 10–12. B1 VI 100

B6 VII 89

B2 IV 835c

B7 VI 269

B11 VII 58 B12 VII 29

B16 VII 490

B17 IV 755?

B3 VII 654

B8 VII 64

B4 V 284

B5 IV 315

B9 IV 1449

B13 VII T75 B14 VII 117

B18 VII T198 B19 VII T311

B10 IV 1298

B15 IV 752

B20 B+g VI 360

There are clear examples of B (beth) in 9th century style with a straight downstroke turning left to make the foot almost a right angle. The angle becomes curved and the foot shortened (nos 6–10). In nos 11–14 the downstroke leans to the right from the top, a feature seen in the Hebrew script.

Fitter’s letters G1 IV 835c

G6 VI 172

G11 V 75

G16 VI 127

G21 VII 174

G2 IV 1462

G3 IV 247

179 G4 VI 323

G7 IV 319

G8 VII 259

G12 VI 110

G13 VI 100 G14 VI 596

G17 VI 127

G22 IV 133

G9 IV 851

G18 IV 797

G23 VI 111

G5 VI 110

G10 V 290

G15 IV 101

G19 VI 271a

G24 IV 1972

G20 IV 481

G25 ´+G IV 825

G (gimel) is consistently formed with two equal legs meeting at an acute angle at the top, the angle varying from very acute to almost 90° (For the pieces with the very acute-angled letter, see IN VI 65–67, 154). D1 VII 108

D6 VII 56

D11 IV 826

D2 VII 184

D7 VII T311

D12 IV 621

D3 IV 1009

D8 V 460

D13 VII 93a

D4 IV 1494

D9 VI 315

D14 VII 661

D5 VI 203

D10 VI 296

D15 IV 749

D (daleth) has a short stem and a triangular head. Nos 11–15 may not be letters.

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Alan Millard H1 V 450

H6 IV 1493

H11 VII 431

H16 IV 459

H2 IV 769

H7 VI 266

H12 V 407

H3 V 81

H4 IV 824

H5 VII T312

H8 VII 351

H9 VII 238

H10 VII 83

H13 VII 190

H17 IV 1069

H14 V 282

H18 VII 237

H21 IV 521

H19 VII 282

H15 VII 157

H20 V 492

H22 V 68a

H (he) has a vertical with three horizontal bars stretching leftwards from it. The bars usually slope down from the vertical (nos 1–7), or they may be at right angles (nos 8–15). Some letters have four horizontals, as seen in Phoenician and Hebrew script (16–20). W1 IV 836

W2 IV 836bis

W6 V 82

W3 IV 477

W4 IV 511

W5 VI 266

W7 V 283

W (waw) is clear: a hook curving upwards from the left of a vertical. In no. 6 it is less rounded and springs from the top of the vertical, a tendency more common in the 7th century and later, although the piece is in a group of dowels otherwise marked with letters in 9th–8th century forms, e.g. H3, Y2 (see IN V pl. 12).

Fitter’s letters Z1 IV 525

Z2 VII 228

Z5 IV 1139

Z15 IV 1086

Z3 VII 229

Z6 VII 238

Z10 VII 157

Z7 VI 119

Z11 VII 239

Z16 VII 115

181

Z8 VI 323

Z12 VII 262

Z17 VII 235

Z20 VII 160

Z4 VII 230

Z9 VII 107

Z13 IV 757

Z14 IV 835b

Z18 V 68a

Z19 IV 1107

Z21 IV 763

Z (zayin) is typically a pair of horizontal lines with a vertical bar joining them in the middle. No. 16 has a pronounced hook at the right end of the lower line, usually a feature of Hebrew script. Nos 18–20 have the two lines joined by an oblique bar, making a Z shape which gained currency later in the 9th century in Phoenician and Aramaic, both forms occur in the Hazael inscriptions (Amadasi Guzzo 2018, 1–17). Ḥ1 IV 459

Ḥ6 VII T320

Ḥ2 IV 754

Ḥ7 IV 139

Ḥ3 VII 202

Ḥ8 VII 593

Ḥ4 IV 1258

Ḥ5 VII 122

Ḥ9 Ḥ+Ḥ IV 449

Ḥ10 p+Ḥ VII 201

Ḥ (ḥeth) usually has three parallel cross-bars between two verticals, sloping to the left. No. 7 has two cross-bars and no. 8 one. (Z 14 could also be ḥ with a single bar.) No. 9 has four bars, as in the Kilamuwa inscription.

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Alan Millard Ṭ1 VII 86

Ṭ2 IV 771

Ṭ5 IV 754

Ṭ3 IV 751

Ṭ6 IV 553

Ṭ7 VII T77

Ṭ4 I 33

Ṭ8 IV 831

Each Ṭ (ṭeth) is a cross within a circle. Y1 IV 1127

Y2 V 80

Y3 VII 660

Y4 V 481

Y5 r+Y VII 604

Y (yodh) has a clear form (nos 1–3), with no. 3 more angular, which may be the case for damaged no. 4. No. 5 appears to be a reversed y with a bar added. K1 IV 758

K2 VII 431

K5 V 491

K3 VII 93c

K6 VII 768

K4 VI 296

K7 VI 119

K (kaph) nos 1–6 are tridents with the central prong elongated as the stem. No.7 has two arms arising separately from the curving stem. L1 IV 504

L2 IV 1049

The curving L (lamedh) is seen more often in Aramaic than in Phoenician scripts.

Fitter’s letters M1 VII 228

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M2 VII 230 M3 VII 666 M4 VII 709

M5 VII 249

M6 VII 405a

Each example of M (mem) has the horizontal zig-zag head and a long descender, slightly curving, with nos 4–6 reversed. N1 IV 771

N2 IV 817

N3 IV 429

N4 V 105

N (nun) shows a cursive form in nos 2–3, with a more angled head than no. 1. S (samech) does not occur. Although Ḥ9/ P6 could be p + S, the vertical at the right of the second sign is probably intended to make it ḥ. ῾1 VII 108

῾5 IV 539

῾2 VII 596

῾6 IV 463

῾3 IV 621

῾4 IV 753

῾7 IV 1083

῾8 ῾+g IV 825

῾ (῾ayin) is hard to separate from carvers’ trials, e.g. nos 5–9. Each is a complete circle. P1 V 432

P2 VII 388

P3 P+š IV 418

P4 P+š IV 419

P5 P+ḥ VII 201

P (pe) has a head at a sharp angle to the curving descender. Ṣ1 IV 1072

Ṣ2 Ṣ+r? IV 1528

The characters classed as Ṣ (ṣade) differ from known forms and may not be letters, no. 2 apparently a ligature of R and Ṣ.

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Alan Millard P1 V 432

P2 VII 388

P3 P+š IV 418

Q (qoph) with a round head and straight descender stands in the Phoenician tradition. R1 V 79

R2 VII 262

R6 R+y? VII 604

R3 V 434

R4 IV 139

R7 R+š IV 296

R5 VI 104

R8 R+ṣ IV 1528

R (resh) has a lengthy descender with a triangular head to the left. Š1 VII 237

Š5 V 74

Š9 I 124

Š2 IV 1055

Š6 VII 405b

Š10 V 328

Š13 VII 271

Š7 VII 842

Š4 VII 596

Š8 I 78

Š11 IV 1491

Š14 VII 197

Š17 p+Š IV 418

Š3 VII 231

Š15 VII 232

Š18 p+Š IV 419

Š (šin) is made consistently as W.

Š12 VI 99

Š16 IV 309

Š19 r+Š IV 296

Fitter’s letters T1 VII 229

T2 VI 81

T6 VII 812

T11 IV 584

T15 IV 1215

T3 VII 237

T7 VI 365b

T8 V 451

185 T4 V 76

T9 V 493

T12 V 73

T13 VII 254

T16 V 328

T17 VII 254

T5 VII 95

T10 VII 276

T14 V 440

T18 IV 595

T (taw): a +, equi-armed (nos 1–7), or with a long descender (nos 8–10), can be identified as the letter, but that is less certain for nos 11–18. The letters follow forms current in the 9th and 8th centuries BC in Aramaic and Phoenician. The heads of B, D, R are all closed triangles and Ṭ and ‘ are closed circles. During the 8th century scribes writing Aramaic began to open the heads and the circles of Ṭ and ‘, a feature absent from the ivories. The zig-zag head of M began to give way to a curved line with a vertical stroke through it and the right prong of K was elongated, as in no. 7, but with both fingers arising together or one finger with a second hanging from it, forms which do not occur on the ivories. The palaeography, therefore, indicates that the letters were inscribed during the 9th and 8th centuries, a date which agrees with the cuneiform inscriptions of Ashurnasirpal (IN VI *2), Shamsi-Adad V (IN IV 1273) and Shamshi-ilu (IN VI 213). (The ivory scarab engraved with the name of pharaoh Tirhaka, c. 690–664 BC (IN V 178) should not be considered contemporary with the carved ivory pieces; Mallowan 1966, 472–473). Distinctive features of the Aramaic, Hebrew and Phoenician alphabets began to develop during the 9th century (see compactly Rollston 2014), but most of the letters on the ivories do not show characteristics peculiar to one or another, although the writer has claimed that a few may be Hebrew (Millard 2016, 53*– 56*). Accompanying some of the letters are other marks whose purpose escapes us, but they are comparable to those on glazed bricks also found at Nimrud, which probably date to the reign of Shalmaneser III (Millard 1993, 35f.). Longer inscriptions including instructions for cabinet makers and personal and place names have been discussed previously (Millard 2008, 267–270). The simple annotations for the joiners support the skill and artistry of the ivory carvers, so magnificently presented by Georgina.

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Bibliography Amadasi Guzzo, M. G. 2018 Ancora “per il nostro signore Hazael”: Genere e cronologia relativa delle cosiddette “booty inscriptions”. In: A. Vacca, S. Pizzimenti and M. G. Micale (eds), A Oriente del Delta. Scritti sull’Egitto ed il Vicino Oriente antico in onore di Gabriella Scandone Matthiae. Contributi e materiali di archeologia orientale XVIII. Rome. 1–18. Mallowan, M. E. L. 1966 Nimrud and its Remains, 2 vols. London. Millard, A. 1993 The Graffiti on the Glazed Bricks from Nimrud, Appendix to J. Curtis et al. ‘British Museum Excavations at Nimrud and Balawat in 1989, Iraq 55, 35–36. 2008 Aramaic at Nimrud on Clay, Potsherds, Bricks and Ivories. In: J. E. Curtis et al. (eds), New Light on Nimrud. Proceedings of the Nimrud Conference 11th–13th March 2002. London. 267–270. 2016 Marks of Israelite Craftsmen, Eretz Israel 32, Joseph Naveh Memorial volume, 53–56. Rollston, C. 2014 Northwest Semitic Cursive Scripts of Iron II. In: J. A. Hackett and W. E. Aufrecht (eds), An Eye for Form, Epigraphic Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross. Winona Lake. 202–234.

Archaeological encounters in 1960s Iraq Julian Edgeworth Reade Several possible themes crossed my mind on being invited to contribute to this long-overdue volume. Somehow, however, none of them quite seemed to embody the principles of sound scholarship of which Georgina is such an outstanding exponent. However, she has also told me of her interest in personal histories. Here therefore are some observations and illustrations from a lost world some of which she may recognise. The 1960s especially, even if I view them now with some hindsight and nostalgia, still appear as a period of achievement and optimism for people concerned with the Middle East in antiquity. In Iraq, where I often stayed for many months on end, we were engaged in what might be called the Third Wave of archaeological exploration. Before 1920 there had been the heroic age of vast indiscriminate discoveries by Europeans and Americans. Then, up to about 1950, there had been a phase of consolidation, when systematic excavation and analysis created theoretical frameworks within which historical developments could be better understood. At the start the work was done by foreigners, but in the 1930s Iraqi archaeologists became involved, with Seton Lloyd as consultant playing a prominent role in the transition. The collaboration culminated in the excavations at Eridu (Figs 1–2). After 1950, scholars were increasingly adding detail and colour to their inter-pretations of the past, identifying new problems, and experimenting with alternative approaches. There was plenty to be done. Iraqi archaeologists were active all over the country, especially in areas due to be flooded or developed. Among foreign contributors, the British, the Germans and later the Italians had permanent accommodation in Baghdad, and the Chicago Oriental Institute was well-established, excavating at Nippur. The number of other expeditions was growing, and there were individual visiting scholars too. Aims of the work ranged from pure research to fieldwork and conservation. The people in the Iraq Museum and the Directorate-General of Antiquities, the twin institutions we knew collectively as the Department, were generous in sharing their knowledge and enthusiasm. Fuad Safar, who acquired the title of Inspector-General of Antiquities in 1963, was probably the greatest living expert on ancient Iraq. A possible competitor, as he always seemed to know everything, was Muhammad Ali Mustafa. They carried their wisdom lightly. I first came in the spring of 1962, and over the next few years was continually learning new things from them, and from many archaeologists, curators, photographers and other members of the museum staff, and several university students, who welcomed me into that busy world.

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Fig. 1. Final publication of the 1940s excavations at Eridu, by Fuad Safar, Mohammad Ali Mustafa and Seton Lloyd. Iraq Ministry of Culture and Information (1982) (cf. colour plate VI). There were far too many to name. In 1964 Behnam Abu Soof, with the build, presence and deep voice of an Assyrian god, showed me over Tell al-Sawwan, with its fine stone vessels accompanying the earliest use of pottery; his initial views on the site have recently come back into fashion. There were rescue excavations

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Fig. 2. Antran Manoogian, photographer, at work on the Eridu pottery, c. 1950 (photograph provided by Lamia al-Gailani). in the expanding city of Baghdad (Fig. 3); I recall Hazim al-Najafi and Awad alKassar standing in front of a Babylonian temple at Tell Harmal, deciding a proper height for the reconstruction of its mudbrick facade. Ghanim Wahida used me as a sounding board for archaeological ideas. Tariq al-Nu’aimi and I once spent a week pursuing the so-called Median Wall between Balad and Falluja, and I began to appreciate the value of studying wide areas rather than sites in isolation; I also learnt of the Iraqi fondness for watermelons. It was Hazim Hamid, Abu Ahmed, who escorted us round the reputed Tomb of Jonah, Nabi Yunus, with a fine selection of narwhal tusks on its wall; he also told me, sitting in his office in the Mosul Museum, about the ruins of an Assyrian dam at Shallalat, previously unrecorded. Another time a group of us, as guests of the al-Loosi family, were shown round the ancient churches of Tekrit; in the evening we sat in a house near the Tigris, discussing (or on my part attempting to discuss) Arabic poetry, while an audience of students gradually filled the room. In Baghdad I listened with admiration to Tariq Madhloom recounting the obstacles and threats he had confronted in protecting the ruins of Nineveh from modern development. Lamia al-Gailani was beginning her lifelong work of promoting the Iraq Museum at home and abroad. Her thoughtfulness and generosity, and that of the al-Radhi family, notably Selma and Nuha both of whose achievements are now celebrated far beyond Iraq itself, were unforgettable. I had known both Lamia and Selma at Cambridge, important friendships because on my arrival in Baghdad I was ridiculously ill-informed. Education and family circumstances had taught me something of British archaeological practice and of the cultures and languages of the Mediterranean world, ancient and modern, but my first real opportunity to

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Fig. 3. Tell Harmal: Old Babylonian mudbrick walls, with those in foreground partly reconstructed and capped. Background: Baghdad suburb under construction (photograph S.N. Shaw Reade, 1963). practise Arabic had occurred by chance in 1960. One summer afternoon I was playing croquet in the Fellows’ Garden of King’s College when a friend of mine, Patrick Brogan, asked if anyone would care for a lift to Libya. A fortnight later, in consequence, I found myself somewhere in the desert south of Misurata, helping his mother Olwen look for sculptures fallen from a Roman mausoleum. We left the car with Olwen and continued by bus and train to Cairo and Aswan. Then, as an unemployed graduate, I learnt through a tortuous set of coincidences that the British School of Archaeology in Iraq required an assistant for its next field season at Nimrud. Having enjoyed the African excursion, I volunteered my services, was accepted sight unseen, and was soon discovering how to live in a tent, while carefully not asking questions that would expose my ignorance, like “what is a ziggurrat?” Nimrud offered me, as it had to others before me, the equivalent of an extended university tutorial. The interactions of written and material evidence from every kind of source, with particular reference to Assyrian history, were regularly discussed over the dinner table. Everyone participated: David Oates who was then director of the expedition, other members of the staff including Olwen again, Department officials from Mosul and Baghdad, and a range of visitors and specialists including two from the expedition’s long-term sponsors, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, and the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford.

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Fig. 4. Excavation of SW12, Fort Shalmaneser, Nimrud. A (above): Probable view from north-east along north side of room. Daulah Talab al-Angud or possibly Saleh Muhammad al-Musla has prepared ivories at bottom for removal and is working on next layer down. B (below): Close-up of same ivories awaiting removal, seen from south-west (photograph N.H.S. Kindersley, 1963).

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Fig. 5. Lower element of ivory sphinx (ND 12087 = IM 65895) after cleaning; the glossy surface results from treatment with polyvinyl acetate (photograph N.H.S. Kindersley, 1963). The School’s work at Nimrud was then approaching its end. Max Mallowan had directed the excavations from 1949 till 1958, and remained in overall charge from his base in England. As an Oxford man and lover of art, Max cherished the carved ivories that were being found there in great numbers; for him their discovery was the culmination of his archaeological career. Their systematic publication has been one of the great achievements that we owe to Georgina Herrmann; the two photographs in Fig. 4, showing ivories in the ground in Room SW12 of Fort Shalmaneser, came to light after her own book on this area had been published. By 1961 the sheer quantity of ivories was generating problems of conservation; most of our spare time on the dig was spent cleaning them (Fig. 5). Anyone familiar with Nimrud could have pointed to places where yet more ivories could be found, and indeed other interesting objects and features, and I myself was soon aware of architectural problems that I should have loved to investigate, but it was decided that 1963 must be the last season. It is strange to read occasionally of subsequent excavators at Nimrud recovering ivories that the School had “missed”. Unexpectedly, after the 1962 season, I myself remained in Iraq through the summer, entrusted with an exceptionally large jigsaw puzzle. What had happened is that, from the start of the dig, I had been tried on various tasks. First I helped Olwen excavate two or three Greco-Parthian graves; then I was given some objects to draw; then I was stationed in a town-wall trench with Saleh Hussein Dakhil, a senior Shergati pickman, who instructed me in the rudiments of identifying and articulating the standard Assyrian building material, mudbrick. I was next asked to record some architecture – the ramp at one end of the throneroom – and was beginning to do so when I was diverted. A heap of some 300 glazed bricks had been discovered in front of a doorway, plainly fallen from a wall above. The bricks were mostly broken into three or four pieces, but they carried patterns of flowers, vegetation, zigzags, human and animal limbs, and a few cuneiform signs. The condition of the glaze was superficially excellent, with a bright light blue colour predominant, besides green, yellow, white and black, but the surface

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Fig. 6. British School of Archaeology, Baghdad. North corner of courtyard, with stairs to upper floor (photograph S.N. Shaw Reade, 1963) (cf. colour plate VII). formed a distinct bubbly and friable layer, quite unlike the stable glaze used later at Babylon. An attempt to bind the surface layer to the brick behind it, by applying the fashionable consolidant polyvinyl acetate, had the opposite effect from that intended, besides detracting from the brilliance of the blue and green. It became my responsibility to ascertain the original arrangement of the bricks, and to see whether enough survived for a reconstruction. I did this, shifting pieces around in rain and shine, with the help of a cheap local glue, and the bricks turned out to derive from a single panel that was almost complete. So at the end of the season they were loaded into crates and sent to Baghdad. Over the next few months I

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Fig. 7. British School of Archaeology, Baghdad. A (above): West corner of upper floor, with bathroom above kitchen, and stairs to roof. B (below): East side of courtyard, with men refreshing kapok for mattresses, water cooler behind them, and door to serdab (photograph S.N. Shaw Reade, 1963).

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laid out the fragments on the floor of a large room in the old Iraq Museum, the building which Gertrude Bell had secured for this purpose in 1926. The complete glazed-brick panel was reconstructed on a wall in the new Iraq Museum, which opened in 1966. During that summer of 1962 I lived in the “British School” (a name beloved in London, but one which caused endless misunderstanding in Baghdad, where people were liable to imagine British schoolteachers talking about archaeology to classes of Iraqi children). It was an old courtyard house in Karradet Mariam, built of brick and wood, with the living rooms located off a balcony on the upper floor (Figs 6–7); a small harem area occupied one corner. At night scorpions patrolled the ground-floor walls while cockroaches rustled in the kitchen, but I do not recall rats, and it was generally cool, comfortable and clean; a rocket destroyed it during the Iraq-Iran war in the 1980s, after the School had left. Behind the School there was a scattering of houses with palms in the gardens, and a mosque with a handsome blue dome, while the front door opened on to a wide embankment, with Hasan the ferryman ready to row across the Tigris to Rashid Street and the markets on the opposite bank (Fig. 8). Each day I walked to the museum or took one of the red double-decker buses through the crowded streets of Kurkh, where we got eggs from an ordinary-looking house whose interior was a chicken farm. In the museum I was supplied with innumerable cups of tea and lessons in Iraqi culture and conversation, and became for a year or two an unofficial consultant whenever documents required translation into or out of English. I seldom met Taha Baqir, still Director-General of Antiquities in 1962, but I was encouraged, by Fuad Safar and by Faraj Basmachi the museum director, to look at anything that interested me. A vital friend was Abd, the museum assistant who carried a map of the entire collection in his head (I do not think I ever heard his father’s name, a reflection perhaps of his low official status, but in later years he did become Hajji Abd) (Fig. 9). He was always there, so far as I remember, wearing a benevolent smile beneath a soldier’s beret. I did not yet possess a camera, but notes which I then made in the museum storerooms remained helpful for years. It was only afterwards, in other countries, that I encountered curators who resented outsiders studying the collections in their care; in Baghdad such behaviour was unthinkable. Fuad, for instance, having observed my success with the bricks, invited me to put together a set of bronze gates from Balawat, excavated by Mallowan in 1958. The groups had been unpacked on to a large table with all their labels collected in one corner, and they needed extensive conservation. Regrettably I did not have time to accept. Meanwhile, at the School, I continued my education by reading a large proportion of the contents of the library, studying German, and discovering the work of great scholars like Ernst Weidner. I also received the first of a series of financial grants that enabled me to register as a “research student” for a doctorate on Assyrian public buildings and their decoration. The theme had been suggested by David Oates. Margaret Munn-Rankin in Cambridge reported on my progress to some university committee, an irksome duty since we seldom met but one which she performed loyally for years. It was in 1969, at a conference in Brussels, that I was introduced to the celebrated German scholar, Wolfram von Soden, who shocked

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Fig. 8. British School of Archaeology, Baghdad. A (above): View south-west from roof. B (below): River Tigris and ferry boat east of School, with laundry in progress on the bank (photograph S.N. Shaw Reade, 1963).

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Fig. 9. Hajji Abd of the Iraq Museum staff (photograph S. N. Shaw Reade, 1969). me by asking, not what subject I was studying, but who was teaching me. That was when I learnt of the survival of the medieval model, in which a student was expected to follow in the footsteps of one particular master. Each autumn the British School filled with people, under the wing of Jeffery Orchard, the School’s resident secretary-librarian. Some were there to do research and conservation, including Nanina Shaw to whom I was later married. Some conservators came as excavation staff but most worked mainly on the thousands of unclassified ivory fragments for which the Nimrud expedition still had formal responsibility. They included Liz Dowman, who later wrote the pioneering book Conservation in Field Archaeology; Anna Plowden, joint founder of the company Plowden and Smith which helped make conservation a career choice as well as an academic speciality; and Ann Searight, now the distinguished archaeological illustrator. We constituted a part of Baghdad’s small expatriate community; it had its own life that has no place in this account. There was also a stream of young and old visitors from many countries, among them philologists who were reading tablets in the museum, and archaeologists on their way to or from digs in Turkey, Syria, Jordan, Iran and Afghanistan besides Iraq

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itself. So conversations in the School were or could become even more recondite and wide-ranging than those at Nimrud, much as at international congresses. There was no place for theoretical jargon, nor for the common belief that archaeology and philology were somehow independent rather than interdependent fields of study. There must be many people, like myself, who first met in this way in Baghdad, who continued to value the associations for many years, and whose academic work was significantly influenced by the experience. One day Naji al-Asil, former Director-General of Antiquities, arrived for tea; a courtly gentleman, who had represented Iraq at the Lausanne Conference in 1923, Naji Beg brought with him a flavour of the Ottoman past. Another distinguished visitor was Archibald Creswell, the historian of Islamic architecture, who came from Cairo to check some details in the Umayyad castle at Ukhaidhir: aged over eighty, he was in a hurry to get the work done, and companions trailed exhausted behind him. Douglas Kennedy, the Canadian scholar, had a range of interests extending from Neo-Babylonian contracts to Islamic ceramics on which he worked with Tony Brinkman and Bob Adams respectively. He also enjoyed gossip, and it may have been from him that I heard the story, perhaps apocryphal, of the Professor’s Birthday Present. At an archaeological excavation, probably Warka, students carefully cut the message “Happy Birthday, Professor!” in an ancient tongue on three small objects which were then buried on site. On the next day, which was the birthday, one of the objects was duly unearthed and brought to the professor, to be deciphered among much amusement. The other two, however, had disappeared. The puzzle was solved when one of them surfaced in a local shop. Maybe the third will be identified one day in some private collection. I repeat this anecdote because in Iraq itself at that time, so far as I know, there was very little trade in antiquities. There were few or none in the carpet-shops of Baghdad though some of these did have miscellaneous late Ottoman items and trays of metal scrap and old coins. In Mosul I once saw a consular seal of the 1918 Armenian republic. There was a woman in Bab al-Mu’adham, however, with a tray of pretty beads, probably found by chance on the surface of ancient sites, that she used to offer as charms. Lamia al-Gailani bought one once. When she expressed interest in another, the seller asked why she should want two that had the same magical property. The last significant illicit excavations had been those in the Diyala region east of Baghdad during the 1920s. Afterwards the emigration of many business families probably broke the link between suppliers and purchasers. So there was consternation on the news of systematic robbery at the site of Isin about 1972, shortly before the German excavations there. The School is where I first met Max Mallowan and his wife, better known as Agatha Christie the novelist; they were paying a brief visit to Baghdad. Max approved of me, I suspect because I had described the Nimrud glazed-brick panel as a thing “of considerable beauty” and thereby shown aesthetic as well as academic credentials. Agatha used the harem area as her office, but we had been warned that she hated any reference to her writing. I do not know if the warning was correct, as I have seen a couple of 1930s letters in which she cheerfully mentions her novels to archaeological friends, but maybe she had grown tired of the adulation. Only once did the conversation veer in the direction of murder. She was sitting at one end of the table in the School dining room, and I was on her right, when she

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suddenly pointed and asked how I supposed “that” had been employed. It was a large sharp iron hook, hanging down from the ceiling to a point not far above the table. It must once have supported a lamp or chandelier, but now we began to review more sinister possibilities. While I could not afford airfares, the School’s location provided excellent opportunities for travel to the great sites of the Middle East. I must have been one of the last academics to cross the desert on a Nairn bus from Damascus to Baghdad in historic 1920s style. The service was discontinued in 1966 after an Iraq airforce plane collided with the bus and many people were killed. Within Iraq it was easy to visit places reasonably close to Baghdad, and we often did so on Fridays. A feature of the region is the number of great cities included within it – there must be a dozen besides Babylon. Equally noteworthy, though less immediately obvious, is the number of smaller sites. An endless succession of low abraded mounds flanked the roads out of the capital. To the south the sherds underfoot seemed mainly Parthian or Sasanian; there were surprising numbers of tiny bronze coins with the heads of Greek emperors just decipherable, as if the Sasanian economic system relied on Byzantine small change. Towards the Diyala there was a greater proportion of Abbasid sherds, with some exceptional coloured glazes, including a brilliant red that I have never seen on a complete museum vessel. It was unclear how any field survey could do justice to all that evidence. Warka was further away. The importance of the site and the comforts of the dig house were legendary. So were the standards of scholarship, embodied by Ernst Heinrich, Adam Falkenstein and Heinrich Lenzen. Heinrich was wounded in the siege of Berlin, and I only met him in Germany. It was said that Falkenstein, when flown into Iraq during the Rashid Ali regime in 1941 with the job of disseminating German propaganda, rushed immediately to the Iraq Museum, appropriated Seton Lloyd’s desk, installed a telephone for emergency contacts, and spent his time copying as many Sumerian tablets as possible; Seton never forgot how the telephone damaged the desk. When we were invited to Warka about 1963, Lenzen presided, over a table at which the most celebrated dish was the apricot stew. This had been introduced as a vitamin supplement many years previously, and a succession of cooks had made it an immovable fixture which appeared on the table for breakfast every single day; it was excellent. Lenzen gave us a guided tour of the place to which he had devoted much of his life. He indicated one wall that defined the limits of the sacred precinct of Inanna, and recounted how, during an evening walk some years before, the site guard had declined to cross the line of this wall, even though it had not yet been excavated and no one knew of its existence. The guard had indicated, however, that Lenzen himself was free to go forward: apparently he had special privileges as devotee of a goddess who still haunted the ruin. Later, when a party from Warka was expected at Tell al-Rimah, the site chosen by Oates that in 1964 superseded Nimrud as the School’s main field project, we could not hope to compete on atmosphere, but were still anxious to make a good impression. The visitors arrived, however, as often happened, early on a Friday morning, our treasured day off work, when all but one of us were still abed. Now we had recently been given a duck, live but with clipped wings. For some reason it had not yet been eaten, and wandered freely about the camp, with its wing feathers quietly growing back, until it was observed making a low but impressive

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flight from the dig-house courtyard as far as the tent of Yunus the guard. Action was therefore required, and the duck was doomed. It was still kept for a day or two, however, tethered by a cord around its neck, and one of the younger dig staff was taking it for its morning constitutional at the very moment that our visitors drove into camp. We did not feel we had distinguished ourselves by this unusual reception. They, if they even noticed, were far too courteous to reveal what they thought. Rimah is beautifully situated in the plain south of Tel’afar, with hundreds of other mounds stretching away westward to the keel of Jebel Sinjar on the horizon. It invited the kind of area study that is needed to place individual sites in context and explain long-term shifts in human settlement, but it was not possible to do this systematically at the time. The spring flowers are gorgeous, as at Nimrud, and after a good harvest I have seen mountains of golden grain overflowing from store, but there has to be adequate rain and this cannot be relied on. Further south, near Hatra, the rainfall is even less reliable, but I once observed a large area nearby enclosed by a fence to prevent animals from grazing, and it was remarkable how high and thick the vegetation had grown. We can accordingly envisage the Tel’afar plain and its adjoining hills and valleys, in many early periods, as a much richer environment than nowadays. In the 1960s there still were interesting snakes, and a Yezidi snake-charmer lived at Sinjar. Ibrahim Khalaf of Tel’afar described to me once how a snake spat at him while he was riding a horse: perhaps a cobra, of a kind apparently unattested otherwise in Iraq. It was one of those anecdotes, like an account of a python in Kurdistan told me by Abd al-Khalaf al-Angud, which there was no reason to doubt, but which was obviously impossible to verify. Few large animals apart from foxes were left in the wild; I was once offered a hyena skin, but never heard mention of gazelle and pig, whose bones were abundant on my own excavations at Tell Taya. The wild asses too, seen by nineteenth-century travellers, were now extinct. One year, however, when the rains failed and the Arabs took refuge with their flocks in the mountains of Kurdistan, nature reasserted itself. The donkeys of the Arabs, abandoned but surviving on their own, transformed from depressed beasts of burden into virtual wild asses themselves, springing sure-footed across the landscape. The site of Rimah includes a prominent high mound at its centre. Deep caves dug into its southern side, invisible from Tel’afar, were reputedly occupied by young men avoiding conscription during the First World War. An alternative anticonscription procedure, popular at a later date, was to register newborn boys as girls, with female names. This was fine until they grew up into tough young men and needed to pass government checkpoints. We still had a few workmen for whom this was a problem. The Rimah dig originated as a joint expedition of the School and the University Museum, Philadelphia. The practical organisation on site was inherited from Nimrud. There was a driver, Sa’id Khalaf of Tel’afar, a good friend and an essential lifeline for many purposes such as purchase of food and repair of cars. Domestically, Max and Agatha had always insisted that expedition staff should be well fed, and David maintained the tradition of employing a professional cook and one or two servants; Sandhu had arrived with the Indian army during the First

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World War, and was said to have been at the siege of Kut. On site, like most archaeologists in Iraq, we relied heavily on Shergatis, especially in our case on senior members of the Angud family. The Shergatis descended from men who had been trained to dig by Walter Andrae at Qal’a Shergat, ancient Ashur, before 1914. As master craftsmen (or as relatives of master craftsmen), they did most of the hard but sometimes delicate work of digging. Local workmen from Tel’afar carried the earth out of trenches and away to dumps. One of the most accomplished Shergatis was Muhammad al-Khalaf al-Musla, Abu Saleh. Cheerful and energetic, he was usually in charge of large operations, and had several ways of pushing the work forward. One was by example. For instance, at the very beginning of the dig in 1964 there was the question of how to provide enough water for the workmen. So Sa’id brought it by car in large metal barrels from nearby pools where rainwater had collected and tadpoles flourished; the barrels stood beside the trenches on site, with shallow bowls for drinking. As the pools dried or the barrels emptied, the proportion of tadpoles would increase. It was understood that, if there were too many tadpoles, then the water was dirty and had to be replaced, but it was not obvious when this stage had been reached, because a mere three or four tadpoles in one scoop were hardly worth counting. Abu Saleh would then call on my support. “Look”, he would cry in answer to a complaint, grasping my arm and thrusting a bowl of water and tadpoles to my lips, “of course there is no dirt. Drink, Ustadh, show them the water is clean!” We had in fact arrived at Tel’afar at a time when people’s living standards and expectations were taking a rapid step upwards. A large water tank had just been built on the edge of town, it was supplied from the Tigris, and by the second season this excellent fresh water, brought from town in a tanker trailer, was what both expedition staff and workmen were drinking (Fig. 10a). During the first season at Rimah we camped on the edge of Tel’afar, and hired the top floor of a house overlooking the market as working space (Fig. 10b). From 1965 on we had a dig-house at the site, built by Nicholas Kindersley who had first been at Nimrud in 1957; he provided expertise on many matters, especially machines, and once drove a 1930s Lagonda from England to Iraq, which proved invaluable when both expedition Land Rovers were out of order. Nicholas sensibly built the mudbrick house at Rimah in the standard village fashion; the roof consisted of mats supported by beams, with an outer layer of mud on top. When it rained this roof would gradually develop scattered leaks and it needed regular maintenance, but it also deteriorated over the years. I happened to be in charge when some very serious leaks appeared, and I was then persuaded to replace the top surface with a layer of impermeable gypsum, as used in some of the better houses in Tel’afar itself. This worked fine until shortly after my departure, when the gypsum abruptly cracked and (or so I was assured) an entire deluge came through at once. Our closest archaeological neighbours were first the Japanese at Thalathat, and then the Russians at Yarimtepe. The Russians were known for, among other things, their vodka flavoured with peppers and garlic, a much more powerful drink than the smooth arak we ourselves got from Syria. One May 1st I was paired with a young Russian, in an experiment to see which of us could successfully propose a greater number of toasts, “Long live friendship between the Soviet Union and the English-speaking peoples” and so on, but somehow, whereas my

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Fig. 10. A (above): Tell al-Rimah dig-house, with tanker trailer for water beside kitchen area. View from town-wall east towards Jebel Sheikh Ibrahim (photograph J.D. Hawkins, 1967). B (below): View across rooftops of Tel‘afar (photograph S. N. Shaw Reade, 1964). partner had a bottle of vodka, the bottle at my right hand had been filled with water. So my toasts were sincere but relatively sober, and I was able to take him tea in his tent at the end of the encounter before driving safely back to our own camp.

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Fig. 11. Hatra Temple. Entrance of Room 9 awaiting reconstruction (author’s photograph, 1966).

Fig. 12. Hatra Temple. Stones fallen from face of iwan, awaiting reconstruction (author’s photograph, 1966).

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A more serious experiment at Rimah itself concerned the preservation of mudbrick. The principal structure uncovered there during 1964–1967 was a large temple that had continued in use, with repairs and reinforcements, for some 600 years in antiquity. While made of the usual mudbrick, it was an exceptional monument, incorporating elaborate plastered facades and internal vaults that stood to a considerable height. So there was the familiar question, with ramifications: the building was well worth preserving if possible, but what was possible? In such cases one can aim at conservation (where the ruin is paramount), or at reconstruction (where appearance is paramount), or at some kind of compromise, and whoever takes responsibility is obliged to explain these distinctions, justify decisions, and procure finance for work and maintenance. Fuad Safar, and Feisal el-Wailly who was now Director-General, were obliged to consider issues like this repeatedly, at places like Babylon, Nineveh and Hatra (Figs 11–12). There were hopes that, for Rimah, it might be possible to devise a satisfactory answer. At that time Theresa Carter of the University Museum was assistant director of the expedition. Over two or three seasons she duly arranged for the collection of original samples of mudbrick, plaster and mortar, arranged analyses with scientists and construction companies in the US, and came back with new samples of materials intended as consolidants. Sadly the results were disappointing. If the mixture was sprayed on to a surface of plaster or mudbrick it failed to penetrate deeply enough, only strengthening an external skin that was then liable to peel away. An alternative was a version of jet-grouting. An unimportant wall was chosen for the test, and a pump and a large needle were used to inject the consolidant into the brickwork. On one occasion this seemed to be working. However, while David, Feisal, Fuad and others were watching the process of injection with cautious optimism, I wandered some distance away, and found the consolidant squirting out in a horizontal fountain from the other side of the wall, as if sprayed by a Baroque cherub: it had apparently followed the line of least resistance through mortar between the bricks. It was, I think, this particular experiment that ended with the entire wall collapsing into a heap of mud. To this day the problems involved in preserving large-scale mudbrick architecture, in anything other than digital form, remain intractable. While Feisal and Fuad were always welcome visitors at Rimah, the expedition was twice in danger of losing both them and some of its own members. The temple was located on top of the high central mound, and one afternoon we were inspecting the most recent discoveries. The weather was dry, but there was heavy cloud not far away to the west, and I gradually became aware of a slight tingling sensation on the top of my head. I then noticed that my hair, and other people’s, was beginning to stray up towards the sky. The first reaction was to pat the hair back into place; this is what we were all doing. After all, although none of us wished to be struck by lightning, none of us wished to be the first to retreat. In the end it was David, as the responsible expedition director, who suggested that it might be sensible to move downhill. So discretion triumphed over valour, and our hair settled back into place as we returned to the dig-house and the thunderstorm broke behind us. The other time we might have been lost, in a less dramatic but more humiliating fashion, was when Feisal and Fuad decided to drive to Tell Kotchek. This is a village on the interesting route, once followed by caravans, then by trains and now by the modern tarmac highway, that leads from Mosul to Qamishliyah and

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Nisibin. Tell Kotchek is in Syria, just across the border. A carload of us duly bowled along the road, discussing the history of the landscape, until we reached a point where a wide dirt track diverged down to the right towards a low building of official appearance. This, it later emerged, was the Iraqi border post, but meanwhile, further along the road, another official building was flying the Iraqi flag. Feisal was driving, and we continued. When we arrived at the next building, a soldier in unfamiliar uniform strolled over and asked for our passports. There then ensued the following brief conversation. “Are we in Syria?” “Yes!” “It was a mistake!” And we hastily turned round and drove back. Since relations between the two countries were tense, it might have been something of a triumph for the Syrian border guards to detain two senior Iraqi civil servants, together with some foreign archaeologists, but we escaped without protest or pursuit. The reason for the mistake had been that, while Iraqi and Syrian soldiers wore different uniforms, the two countries had at that time an identical flag. I noticed nothing else marking the border, which had of course been an AngloFrench creation of the 1920s with no cultural significance, but in the 1960s there was at least one linguistic distinction. Some of the terms used for the parts of a vehicle in Iraq were derived from English. Ball bearings, for instance, at least at Tel’afar (where the main language was Turkish), had transmuted into bulburinat, a feminine Arabic plural form; it is a word, redolent of nightingales (bulbul), which I have sought without success in the dictionaries. We were told that Syrian mechanical terminology in contrast derived from French, and that the differences were liable to cause confusion if a truck laden with contraband broke down off-road at night. One of the smugglers’ routes ran along the northern side of Jebel Sinjar, and it was here that we had an experience straight out of the Ottoman period. David and Fuad wished to visit Karsi, a Yezidi village which has an unusual location, approached from the north by a single track between two rock outcrops. The hope was to rediscover a milestone, marking a Roman road between Sinjar and Nisibin, which had reportedly been seen at Karsi in the 1920s. The Yezidis have had good reason to be suspicious of outsiders, and when we asked to see the chief person in the village, we were met with polite expressions of ignorance. However, we soon found ourselves in the care of a boy, maybe twelve years old, who escorted us all over the village to places of possible relevance. It seems that we were eventually identified as harmless, and he then delivered us to the house of the most important family, whereupon we realised that he was himself the son of the household, already practising how to defend his community from intrusive strangers. We did not find the milestone, but in 2009, much to my surprise, I found it standing straight in front of me, on display in the Erbil Museum. In 1967 I began an excavation of my own at Tell Taya, again near Tel’afar. Seton Lloyd had visited the site on a survey in 1938, and had listed it as Tall Teir, Mound of the Bird. The name seemed plausible enough, but Behnam Abu Soof and Tariq Madhloom, honouring me with a visit, were unconvinced. Besides uncertainty over the first word, which could be tall/tell (mound) or one of two or three words related to khirba (ruin), there were several options for the more important second word too. Fortunately my workmen included, besides Shergatis and Turkish-speaking Afaris, several local shepherds who were the ones best qualified to define the Arabic name. They lined up on top of the mound and

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answered questions till the matter was settled: the session ended with all of them, and Tariq as conductor, shouting the name together. So Tell Taya it was, and so it remains, though in 2004 the editors of a gazetteer of place-names opted to turn it into something else. Meanwhile, far away from Tel’afar, Iraqi politics continued on their established course. Between 1958 when the royal family was murdered, and 1968 when the Ba’th party took charge and eliminated its opponents, there was a series of successful or unsuccessful coups in Baghdad or elsewhere, amply multiplied by rumour. A common sign of trouble was the presence of tanks on street corners, with crews huddled sheltering from the sun under makeshift covers. In 1962, the year of my arrival, the government was in the hands of Abd-el-Kerim Qasim, “the faithful leader” as posters called him. He was killed in the spring of 1963; we watched from the School as planes swooped repeatedly on the Ministry of Defence upstream, and the shouts of a mob carried across the river. In 1966 I was a guest in the Department’s house at Samarra when the government, which often seemed to be conducting an aimless war against part of the Kurdish population led by Mullah Mustafa Barzani, announced a peace agreement, and the very next day there was an attempted coup. Driving back to Baghdad, we noticed a solitary tank that had its gun pointing towards Mosul, in case anyone should advance from that direction. We were prevented from passing the airport, which was then conveniently situated near the middle of town, and had to cross the Tigris by the suspension bridge upstream. This meant that I myself was dropped off at Bab al-Sharji. Walking back to the School, I crossed a bridge with a fine view towards the presidential palace downstream. I also had a fine view of a single plane repeatedly attacking it. It was said that the pilot had begun by destroying other planes on the ground, so that he should not be followed, and that he had then successfully fired a rocket into the president’s bedroom, but the president had been in the bathroom. During this performance a large crowd of spectators on the bridge maintained a continual loud tutting. I had heard this sound once before, when an Indian circus arrived in Baghdad and the performers were manifestly maltreating their horses. I personally always tried to avoid political discussions, but it was impossible not to hear the kind of remarks that were made. That tutting on the bridge was an eloquent expression of the disapproval and contempt with which people generally, outside a tight political circle, seemed to regard such destructive antics. Initially Iraqi politics hardly impinged on my own activities. It would have been understandable if they had done. After all, there was Britain’s long involvement with Iraq, with blood on both sides, and Britain had intervened to protect Kuwait in 1961. There was the British government’s habit of periodically criticizing Iraqi government behaviour, as if its own record in many places including most recently the Suez affair of 1956 had endowed it with a mysterious moral authority. Even Iraqis who agreed with the criticisms resented them, and the Iraq government used to retaliate by suspending the import of British goods such as spare parts. There was also the paranoid but long-established belief, which I heard expressed in several Middle Eastern countries, that virtually anything that ever happened anywhere, regardless of apparent consequences, must be part of a deep British plot.

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In practice, however, it seemed that foreign archaeologists were accepted as academics. Before 1968 we could enjoy the privileges of guests without worrying about politics and the secret police. If it was true that the ferryman outside the School was an informant, his reports must have been very dull. Although we had to jump through bureaucratic hoops to get travel permits for areas far from Baghdad or even to leave the country, the government did seem to be becoming more relaxed about some issues. I was unaware at the time that our archaeological work might itself be suspected of having political dimensions: I was engaged in research, for the plain love of knowledge, just as I might have been if researching molecular biology. Nor had I yet encountered the glib claim that any western study of an eastern civilization was itself somehow an imperialist distortion. It was true, however, that I had or rather that I developed another motive for visiting Iraq, besides the friendliness of its people and the intellectual challenges of its past. Like many people who had grown up in the restricted world of post-war England, I was restless; this mood fed the various social liberation movements of the 1960s. The reason I was unemployed before coming to Iraq in 1962 was not that there were no jobs available for graduates, there were plenty; but they mostly seemed to promise little more than a complacent life with opportunities for sport, gradual promotion and a wellpaid pension at the end. I lacked the initiative to create a more satisfying lifestyle at home, but I found it ready-made in Iraq. Somehow society there seemed more human. Whereas England was introducing a faceless bureaucracy, in Iraq one could usually locate a real person, or chain of people, involved in taking decisions. A pleasing example of this, which used to be recounted in the School, happened shortly before my own time there; it concerned Barbara Parker, who was to become Lady Mallowan after Agatha’s death. Barbara was a modest person, but she was tall and impossible to ignore and was widely respected. On one occasion she had booked a sleeper on the night train from Mosul to Baghdad. This was a most relaxing journey: the train travelled slowly and smoothly in order not to reach Baghdad too early in the morning. Barbara was dining with friends when she realised that she had missed the train, so she resigned herself to another night in Mosul. But then a messenger arrived from the stationmaster: it turned out that he was holding the train for her. In England I have observed railway passengers being treated with similar courtesy, but strict timetables make it far more difficult. Also, at least outside the cities, I could appreciate in Iraq an environment that was not only less crowded than England but also less regimented and less sanitized. Fieldwork was romantic and unpredictable. An important pleasure, for instance, was simply mastering a maze of unmarked earth tracks rather than tarmac streets. The tracks could be dreadful after rain and deceptive by night, but they were never dull. So I have another set of memories, “on the road”, like one afternoon at Baiji, where the Tigris cuts through a low range of hills. There I was alarmed by the sudden smell of petrol, but it was only seepage from a natural source at the base of the cliff, and fortunately no one was smoking a cigarette. Another summer evening we drove a few miles south from Hatra beside the dry valley of the Wadi Tharthar, to visit a dark cave on the west bank where hundreds of turtles clustered around a pool, waiting patiently for the next rainy season. One afternoon I took some friends

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to see the enormous mound of Karatepe near the gardens of Tel’afar; on our return a wide new irrigation channel was flowing across the track. Fellow passengers could add variety too. I myself once spent a few minutes driving after a giant gliding bird, I suppose a great bustard, near Qadisiyah, but not everyone adopted this peaceable approach. Driving back from one Friday excursion, I was puzzled by a popping noise just behind my head. On turning I found that our Department colleague Menhal Jabr, leaning forward, was resting his arm on the back of my seat and firing a pistol at the flocks of partridge beside the track. On another occasion I was the target, while foolishly walking at night near a small settlement: soon there were bullets whistling past, followed by the disconcertingly quiet popping of a rifle. One evening on the site itself, there was a more serious incident. After the workmen had gone, a student studying the day’s pottery found herself under fire, when the guard mistook her for a stray dog. She was unhurt, but such a thing should never have happened, and on occasions like this more regulation, more regimentation, did seem desirable. Actually, in these years, it was possible to watch the continuation of processes, loosely described as “progressive”, which had begun long beforehand, especially around 1870 under the Ottoman governor, Midhat Pasha. Other words used in this connection were “civilised” and “secular”. The people I knew in Iraq in the mid-1960s, in town and country alike, were fully aware of religious, sectarian and tribal issues, which had caused great violence and misery in the past, but I hardly ever heard them mentioned. I had the impression that educated people wished to dismiss such baggage, like old-fashioned clothes and veils, from the political debate. Once, when I was collecting money from a bank in Mosul, two young women entered, shabbily dressed, with scarves. They were European, probably British, from the notorious land known to the Afghans as Touristan, and were on a detour from the popular hippy trail between Turkey and Nepal. A bank clerk bitterly told me, after the women had left, that wearing such clothes was a betrayal of the civilised standards that he and his colleagues were attempting to promote. He was speaking of standards that seemed to him beyond dispute, like “progress” in some quarters of Victorian England. The “progressive” process seemed to culminate with the Ba’th coup of 1968. From then on, as it happened, I was spending less time in Iraq, but I became aware of a new atmosphere in the Department. It may have been in this period that the bismillah, which a devout president had placed on top of government stationery, was temporarily replaced by bismisha’b, “in the name of the people”. There was more of an emphasis on punctuality; I was praised for this “British” virtue despite having no high regard for it myself. There were fewer cups of tea. The shoeshine boy had more business. Everyone was required to have an academic volume from the library available, to read when there was no other work to do. To an outsider like myself, with a very superficial viewpoint, these developments looked like a “progressive” attempt to impose discipline, but much more was happening in the outside world. At the end of that year we were excavating at Taya. Up to then a system had existed whereby a member of the Department, usually one of the younger ones, was attached to every foreign expedition as government representative. He or she helped ensure that the excavation proceeded as it should and that there were

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good relations between the expedition and the local authorities and workmen. So far as I am aware the system worked well. The representatives were part of the team, the experience was helpful to them, and several went on to study in foreign universities and returned with postgraduate degrees. In 1968, however, I was asked to take (and pay for) two representatives rather than one, and after a while they appeared to be spending an inordinate amount of time listening to the wireless. It transpired that the government was broadcasting accounts of spy scares, show trials and public executions in Baghdad. The situation recalled events in Germany and Russia in the 1930s. I myself as a boy in the 1950s had followed with disgust, through newspapers, the highlights of the McCarthy era in the US. So these innovations in Iraq were progress of an unwelcome kind. For a while I hoped that they were an aberration, irrational vengeance for the failures of 1967 and the loss of Jerusalem. Next there did seem to be a respite, but the moment was short-lived. Even I, with no political involvement, gathered from occasional comments and press reports that things were not improving. In 1971 I became Wainwright Fellow in Near Eastern Archaeology at Oxford, which enabled me to continue visiting Iraq until my last season at Taya in 1972–3. We were accompanied then by a single government representative. It was during this time that I began to realise I was no longer a guest but a suspect. In Baghdad it had become inconsiderate to speak privately to Iraqi colleagues, let alone to friends, for fear that the contact might pollute or incriminate them. Even within the Department, it seemed that interest in Iraq’s heritage was diminishing. There were fewer people I knew: some had retired or moved to the university, but others had gone abroad. I once counted eight capable younger members of Iraq’s small archaeological community who left the country permanently in this general period. I still intended to return, but by 1975 I had a post at the British Museum in London. The collections there, acquired in the very different atmosphere of the nineteenth and the first half of the twentieth century, provided me with more than enough material to continue work on ancient history without further application to the Iraq government. I concluded that I should not return until there was a change of regime, which took much longer than hoped. When I finally did go it was as a guest of the very people who had suffered most in the intervening years. My wife Julie Anderson and I were invited in 2009 by the Kurdish Regional Authority to report on the prospects of renewing excavations at Shanidar and elsewhere; we were hosted by Kerwan Barzani. For a few days we were able to visit landscapes that had in the 1960s been, with brief interludes, virtually closed to foreign visitors. One of many friends I made in Iraq was Paolo Costa at the Italian Institute. He later had a post in the Sultanate of Oman, and introduced me to that country. The Oman government seemed to spend most of its limited resources on things like education, medical facilities, hospitals, roads, water supplies, sanitation and environmental protection; there was also some money for culture and heritage. The Emir of the neighbouring state of Sharjah had similar priorities. Both places offered refreshing contrasts to the situation in Iraq, and illustrated what more responsible governments in Baghdad with their own much greater resources might have achieved. A contemporary has remarked to me how, in the light of recent events in the Middle East, we had been dancing in all innocence on the surface of a cauldron.

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Sadly, as we are often reminded, no large society in the world is immune from such malignancy. I was fortunate to be there in a period of relative calm. Georgina, working with characteristic versatility in several countries, made wonderfully good use of the opportunities provided.

Carved ivory plaques from Megaron 3 at Gordion Elizabeth Simpson1 Abstract A group of fine ivory plaques was excavated at Gordion, Turkey, in 1959 by the University of Pennsylvania Museum under the direction of Rodney S. Young. The plaques were found in the ruins of a palatial building called Megaron 3, which was brought down by the fire that destroyed the Early Phrygian city in the late 9th or 8th century BC. New drawings of four of the best-preserved plaques are presented here to Georgina Herrmann, along with information on the identification of the ivory type used and a discussion of the contexts of the ivory plaques and their relation to numerous furniture fragments of wood and bronze from Megaron 3 as recorded by the excavators. The plaques are Phrygian in style and find no counterparts in the ivories from Nimrud or elsewhere in the Near East, but relate closely to the scenes on Phrygian pottery and wooden artifacts from Gordion. Excavations on the city mound at Gordion, Turkey, were conducted in 1900 by a German team, led by Gustav and Alfred Körte, and continued by the University of Pennsylvania Museum under the direction of Rodney S. Young (1950‒1973).2 A large building called Megaron 3 was excavated by Young’s team in 1959 and 1961 from the so-called destruction level of the Early Phrygian city, characterized by extensive burning and covered with a massive clay fill (Figs 1‒3). Megaron 3 (M3), considered by Young to be “the most impressive unit of the palace,” was built of mud brick, wood, and stone, with an anteroom leading into a larger hall called Room 3 (Young 1960, 237‒240; 1962a, 160‒163; 1962b, 8‒10; 1975, 37‒39). Two rows of posts ran the length of the building, supporting the roof as well as an upper gallery on three sides of Room 3 (Muscarella 2018, 111; Spirydowicz 2018, fig. 8.3). The I wish to thank John Curtis and Dirk Wicke for inviting me to contribute to this volume in honor of Georgina Herrmann, a great scholar and a wonderful colleague and friend. I also thank Gareth Darbyshire for providing me with the archival photographs of the ivory plaques discussed here, Krysia Spirydowicz for collaborating with me on the study of the ivory plaques, Anibal Rodriguez for his thoughts on the type of ivory used, Phoebe Sheftel for sharing parts of her manuscript (Sheftel forthc.), and A. J. Branch for facilitating my work after my move to Arkansas. Figs 1‒4, 8, 11‒12, and 15‒16 are courtesy of the Gordion Project Archive, Penn Museum. Figs 5‒7, 9‒10, 13‒14, and 17‒20 are © Elizabeth Simpson. 2 Following Young’s death in 1974, study, conservation, and excavations at the site have continued under the auspices of the University of Pennsylvania Museum. 1

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Fig. 1. Gordion City Mound, plan of the Early Phrygian “destruction level.” Megaron 3 is the large building labeled M3 near the center of the plan. Gordion Project, Penn Museum. objects from Megaron 3 were broken and fragmentary, dispersed in the debris of the destruction, and some had fallen to the ground floor in the collapse of the gallery. The most beautiful of the finds were a number of carved ivory plaques recovered near the east wall (Fig. 2). Severely damaged as a result of the fire, the plaques had broken into pieces and underwent extensive repair after their excavation. The fine detail was hard to capture in photographs, so drawings were made, although these have since been found to be inaccurate. I have redrawn the four best preserved of these plaques, as described below, and am pleased to present them, with affection, to Georgina Herrmann, who has long been interested in the Gordion ivories. The finds from Megaron 3 included numerous pottery vessels and corroded bronzes, of the same types as found in the Tumulus W, P, and MM burials (Young 1960, 239). Fragments of carbonized wood were all that remained of elaborate wooden furniture, some of it inlaid or decorated with bronze studs, recalling the furniture from Tumulus P and W. Unusual were two carved wooden panels depicting

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Fig. 2. Plan of Megaron 3, City Mound, Gordion. The ivory plaques were found along the east wall of the main room (Room 3), shown at the left in the plan, beyond the cross wall and past the first bedding for the floor beam. Gordion Project, Penn Museum, image no. 73623.

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Fig. 3. Megaron 3, City Mound, after excavation, 1959, looking southwest. The ivory plaques were found in the main room (Room 3) at the left beyond the cross wall and past the first bedding for the floor beam. Gordion Project, Penn Museum, image no. G-3915.

Fig. 4. Ivory plaques in situ in Megaron 3, as found in 1959. The plaques are represented by the light area of the photo; a plaque with concentric squares is visible near the right end of the group. Gordion Project, Penn Museum, image no. G-3508.

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processions of animals and mounted warriors (Young 1960, 240; Spirydowicz 2018, 149‒151). Groups of wooden fragments carved with geometric patterns were identified by the excavators as pieces of charred wooden bowls, although they may actually have belonged to decorative panels or the sides of boxes (Spirydowicz 2018, 151‒152). Similar patterns occur on the pottery and also on carbonized textile fragments from Megaron 3, which have recently been conserved and analyzed (Holzman 2019). The ivory plaques in question were found among the debris and appear to have been exposed to high heat in a reducing atmosphere, as suggested by the grayish blue color visible on most examples (Simpson 2013, 258; Baer et al. 1971). Covered by material from the collapsed building, the plaques were effectively baked, and not burned in the open fire. This was also the case with the carbonized wood (Spirydowicz 2018, 147). The ivories appear in excavation photos as light-colored squares, although the individual plaques are not readily discernable. They seem to be lined up in one or more rows, which may indicate their original disposition (Fig. 4). Young described their discovery as follows (Young 1960, 240): Also new were several pieces of ivory inlay found close against the east wall of the room in a mass of charcoal, the shapeless remains of a piece of furniture decorated with inlaid squares of carved ivory measuring 5 cm on a side. The decoration was of two types: a geometric ornament of diminishing squares, and relief carving showing animal and human figures. The plaques with the geometric decoration seem to have been fastened by iron pins set into dowel holes at the back, while the figured pieces show holes for bronze pins or dowels in the side faces. The three best-preserved of the figured plaques ... show a deer with its head turned back, a griffin holding a fish in its mouth, and a mounted warrior. The last wears a helmet which curves forward at the top like a Phrygian cap, and carries a small round shield. He is evidently a Phrygian warrior, and important as the first representation of a human figure that we have found in the pre-Kimmerian levels at Gordion. Plaques with geometric decoration Three plaques of the first type survived sufficiently to allow them to be repaired and catalogued as 5812 BI 343a–c.3 Several more were found in fragmentary condition and were not catalogued; there is possible evidence for as many as eight ivory plaques with geometric decoration.4 The design consists of a raised central Gordion catalogue numbers from Young’s excavations have three components. For ivory 5801 BI 332, for instance, 5801 is the number of this object in the running list of all finds, BI gives the category “bone and ivory,” and 332 indicates the number in the bone and ivory artifact series. Here, the initial running number may be dropped, and the shorter BI number used. 4 According to the catalogue card entry for 5812 BI 343a–c, five additional fragments of this type of plaque were found, “which can’t be from the same ones” as the three listed. “Many other fragments of backs and fronts from indeterminate remainder” is noted on the catalogue card. In addition, the entry mentions “evidence for eight” iron nails thought to go with these plaques. 3

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square surrounded by two raised borders (Figs 5‒6). In the back of each plaque is a square mortise that served as the bedding for an iron pin for attachment to a larger object. The pin extending from the back of BI 343b is quite corroded and was glued on after excavation (Fig. 5). The back of 343a has no pin but shows the mortise clearly, with iron residue present around the edges. The iron pin on BI 343c is not visible at the back but at the front, where it has protruded from the central square. The backs of BI 343a and b show a few light cut marks, and similar marks occur on the plaques with figural decoration. What these marks signify is unclear, but it is unlikely that they served to help adhere the plaques to some kind of backing. Evidence from the Nimrud ivories suggests that dense, overall scoring found on the backs of numerous plaques was used for this purpose (Herrmann 1986, nos. 1206‒1210, 1213‒1217, 1219‒1220, et al.). The same kind of overall scoring is found on the leaves of ivory writing boards from Nimrud, used to adhere the wax that formed the writing surface (Mallowan 1966, 149‒163, fig. 92). Light cut marks are found on the tenons of the wooden serving stands from Tumulus MM, along with inscribed Phrygian letters and small designs (Roller 2010; Simpson 2010, figs 63, 65‒66, pls 93‒94). These graffiti seem to have been test marks preparatory to the execution of the inlay work on the stands’ faces. Likewise, some of the cuts on the backs of the plaques from Megaron 3 may have served to gauge the sharpness of the artist’s knife; others may have facilitated the assembly of the pieces. Plaques depicting figures Numerous ivory plaques with carved figures were recovered in Room 3, although only three are essentially complete: BI 332, 333, and 334 (Figs 7‒17). A total of 11 were given catalogue numbers, although some of these consist of groups of fragments that may have belonged to more than one plaque. At least 12 plaques are accounted for in the following list: 5801 BI 332: griffin eating a fish; pin holes at sides, cut marks on back (Figs 10‒13). 5802 BI 333: mounted warrior; pin holes at sides, cut marks on back (Figs 14‒17). 5803 BI 334: deer with head turned back; pin holes at sides, cut marks on back (Figs 7‒9). 5804 BI 335: animal facing left; pin holes at sides, cut marks on back. 5805 BI 336: animal facing right; pin holes at sides, cut marks on back. 5806 BI 337: animal facing right; pin holes at sides, cut marks on back. 5807 BI 338: foot soldier with shield and horse, facing left; small fragment with no pin holes or cut marks preserved. 5808 BI 339 (seven fragments): on one fragment, the head of a deer, facing right; small fragments with no pin holes or cut marks preserved. 5809 BI 340a–e (five original fragments, two of which have now been joined): two animals back-to-back, facing to the left and right sides of the plaque; small fragments with no pin holes or cut marks preserved. The haunch of a third animal that must belong to another plaque is present on one of the fragments of this group.

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Fig. 5. Ivory plaque, 5812 BI 343b, Megaron 3. Front and back views. Scale 1:1. Photo E. Simpson, 2007.

Fig. 6. Reconstruction drawing of the ivory plaque 5812 BI 343a, Megaron 3. Front and back views; section. Scale 1:1. E. Simpson 2022.

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5810 BI 341a–c (three fragments): arm bent upright at elbow (?); not found in the Ankara Museum. 5811 BI 342: animal facing right; small fragment with no pin holes or cut marks preserved. The three well preserved plaques considered here, BI 332‒BI 334, are among the treasures of the Museum of Anatolian Civilizations, Ankara. They have long been on display in the Phrygian section of the museum, and permission to study them is not often given. I was able to see all the ivory plaques from Megaron 3 in 2007 for the purpose of making new photographs and drawings. As I discovered, BI 334, which shows a deer with its head turned back, was the easiest to understand, as it survives in much the same condition as found, although with some slight realignment of the fragments. I rephotographed the plaque in 2007 (Fig. 7) and made a new drawing to follow on that of Andy Seuffert (Fig. 8). Seuffert was an astute observer and expert illustrator, said to have used “a one-hair brush” for many of her drawings, which captured the spirit of the works although without reconstructing them as they had looked originally. This had the advantage of showing the objects in their present state, but tended to misrepresent the fine originals by incorporating distortions from damage that had occurred during burial. This can be seen in her drawings of the small wooden animals from Tumulus P, which show the works as somewhat misshapen but are otherwise charming depictions (Young 1981, 50, 53, 61). This type of archaeological illustration, which gives an impression of an object but is not necessarily accurate in all respects, was acceptable at the time. Seuffert’s drawing of BI 334 is quite good, as she was able to reconstruct most of the deer from the existing fragments. However, some details are incorrect, and the technique works against the personality of the elegant deer, with its full forms and eccentric features. Instead, I chose to make a line drawing with limited shading to define contours, which gives a more convincing impression of the animal, although some details were difficult to recover, such as the shape of the tail (Fig. 9). Plaques BI 332 and BI 333 presented a different situation. In 2007, I photographed these two plaques in the Ankara Museum, although I was not able to make new

Fig. 7. Ivory plaque, 5803 BI 334, Megaron 3. Deer, front and back views. Scale 1:1. Photo E. Simpson, 2007.

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Fig. 8. Ivory plaque, 5803 BI 334, drawing by A. Seuffert. Gordion Project, Penn Museum, image no. 51913.

Fig. 9. Ivory plaque 5803 BI 334. Scale 1:1. Reconstruction drawing by E. Simpson, 2022.

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drawings. Neither plaque looked as it had in photos taken after excavation, and when mentioning this to the museum staff I was told the reason. In 2004, while the case in which the plaques were displayed was being cleaned, a bronze vessel rolled off the top shelf and landed on the ivories, smashing them to pieces. They were expertly reconstructed by one of the museum’s conservators over a period of five months, but not all the details could be recovered (Spirydowicz 2007). The museum had restricted access to these plaques because of their extremely fragile condition, and I was not able to study or photograph the plaques on any subsequent occasion. I did not realize the extent of the damage until revisiting the project to draw the ivory plaques from my 2007 photographs. Although those photos were taken after the accident and repair, I was able to use them in conjunction with the Seuffert drawings and images in the Gordion archives that were taken after excavation. Each image showed something different, depending on the lighting, and all this information could be combined to produce a coherent picture.

Fig. 10. Ivory plaque, 5801 BI 332, Megaron 3. Griffin eating a fish. Scale 1:1 Photo E. Simpson, 2007.

Fig. 11. Ivory plaque, 5801 BI 332, drawing by A. Seuffert. Gordion Project, Penn Museum, image no. 51912.

Fig. 12. Ivory plaque, 5801 BI 332, Megaron 3. Griffin eating a fish, front and back views. Scale 1:1. Photo taken after excavation. Gordion Project, Penn Museum, image nos. GR-415-28, GR-415-29.

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BI 332 shows a griffin eating a fish, a motif also known from a small wooden sculpture from Tumulus P (Young 1981, pl. 24a–b; Simpson and Spirydowicz 1999, fig. 84). For this plaque, even the 2007 photograph shows that the Seuffert drawing is inaccurate (Figs 10‒11). Comparison between the 2007 photo and earlier images indicates the extent of the damage caused by the 2004 accident, noticeable at the right of the plaque and rendering of the rear legs of the griffin. Utilizing the archival photos, most of the details could be reconstructed for the new drawing, although I could not be certain of the markings on the head of the snake-like tail (Figs 12‒13). The most famous of all the ivory plaques is BI 333, depicting a mounted horseman. Regrettably, this piece was the most severely damaged in 2004, resulting in the loss of the features of the face of the horse and those of the rider. The plaque was cracked over the surface to begin with, making the form of the horse difficult to reconstruct in a drawing. Seuffert’s drawing incorporates areas of the cracked plaque that have moved out of alignment, resulting in a rather ungainly horse with a distorted neck and mane (Figs 14‒15). This drawing was used as the colophon for Young’s Three Great Early Tumuli, featured prominently on the title page (Young 1981, v), and in a simplified version for several

Fig. 13. Ivory plaque 5801 BI 332. Scale 1:1. Reconstruction drawing by E. Simpson, 2022.

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Fig. 14. Ivory plaque, 5802 BI 333, Megaron 3. Mounted warrior. Scale 1:1. Photo E. Simpson, 2007.

Fig. 15. Ivory plaque, 5802 BI 333, drawing by A. Seuffert. Gordion Project, Penn Museum, image no. 51912.

Fig. 16. Ivory plaque, 5802 BI 333, Megaron 3. Mounted warrior, front and back views. Scale 1:1. Photo taken after excavation. Gordion Project, Penn Museum, image nos. GR-415-30, GR-415-31. subsequent volumes in the Gordion series. Fortunately, photos in the Gordion archive reveal much about the original appearance of the piece (Fig. 16). The compact rider sits atop the stocky horse, holding a round shield on his left arm and grasping the reins with his right hand, which is positioned on the near side of the horse’s neck (Fig. 17). The remaining plaques are fragmentary, featuring scenes with animals, one of which shows a foot soldier with a round shield, standing in front of a horse (BI 338). On BI 340 are two back-to-back animals, disposed vertically and facing outward with their feet at the left and right sides of the plaque.5 All the figures on these plaques are recognizably Phrygian, finding counterparts in the small The plaques from Megaron 3 will be published in Phoebe Sheftel’s forthcoming monograph on the bone and ivory artifacts from Gordion (Sheftel forthc.) and in The Gordion Wooden Objects II (Simpson forthc.). 5

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Fig. 17. Ivory plaque 5802 BI 333. Scale 1:1. Reconstruction drawing by E. Simpson, 2022. wooden animals from Tumulus P and K-III, a carved wooden stretcher on a chair from Tumulus MM, and animals shown on contemporary pottery (Young 1981, pls 16‒17, 22‒24, 28; Simpson 1993 and 2010, fig. 77, pl. 104; Körte and Körte 1904, figs 18, 45, and pls 2‒3, 5).6 Young realized this at the time of discovery (Young 1960, 240): The ivory-carving, too, seems to be Phrygian. The style agrees with none of the known oriental schools of ivory carving and must be local. Characteristic are the diamond-shaped eyes. The griffin with its fish reminds us of the small wooden figure of a griffin eating found in Tumulus P and of the wooden figure from Koerte Tumulus III, an animal – probably a lion rather than a griffin – eating another, which served as the handle for the lid of a bronze cauldron. Several more ivory plaques carved with figures Contra Brian Rose, who attributes the ivory plaques from Megaron 3 to north Syria (Rose 2021, 35): “Megaron 3 ... contained a wealth of luxury items that included fine pottery, bronze vessels, and wooden furniture with inlaid ivory plaques that are likely imports from northern Syrian production centers.” 6

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were found, but in fragmentary condition. The finding of ivory at Gordion attests another link with the world of the orient, for the ivory itself must have been imported. Perhaps oriental ivory-carvers taught the Phrygians the technique of their craft; but the Phrygians had a style and tradition of their own which they could apply as well to ivory as to wood. These carved plaques were made locally and are the first products to be found which belong to a long-anticipated Phrygian school of ivory carving. We were not able to identify the type of ivory from the objects themselves, due to their damaged condition. However, Anibal Rodriguez has examined the 2007 photographs of the plaques and concluded that the “exfoliation” or flaking off of layers that occurred is consistent with ivory of the order Proboscidea family Elephantidae (elephant). On BI 335 he noted one diagnostic feature that identifies the material conclusively as elephant ivory: a series of parallel lines visible on the surface that are part of the Schreger pattern, although it does not appear here in cross-section (Rodriguez 2018, 647‒649, pl. 31.4; 2022; forthc.). Whether the ivory came from the Syrian, African, or Indian elephant is difficult to ascertain. Georgina Herrmann addressed this question regarding the ivories from Nimrud and suggested the African elephant (Herrmann 2017, 10‒11). The ivory used for the Megaron 3 plaques was imported, as Young had indicated, but we do not know the origin. Young’s “first piece of furniture,” Room 3 What, then, did these ivory plaques decorate? Found near the east wall of Megaron 3, Room 3, were wood and metal remains that Young characterized as three “heaps of charcoal,” which he took to be three separate pieces of furniture (Young 1959a, 35). The “first piece of furniture” was later catalogued in the “wood” series as 5817 W 83, although little of the wood was recovered. Near “the first mass” were found the ivory plaques, “burned to a greyish-blue color which extend for about 1.50 [meters] across the wall in an irregular line.” Some were found face up and others face down (Young 1959a, 35‒36). Associated items include the following: “long staples or heavy nails” (B 1188), “round-headed studs in two different sizes” (B1189), “corner clamp or binder strips pierced by staples with round heads” (B1186), a “shapeless mass of charcoal lumps” (W 83), “carbonized wood … rectangular in section and decorated on two faces with round-headed bronze studs” (W 90), and “a few scraps of burned cloth” (Young 1959a, 30‒31). Listed on the catalogue cards for W 83 are numerous wood fragments including pieces of inlay as well as “5 indeterminate chunks of wood clinging to melted sections of iron nails.” Young did not know what kind of furniture these represented or whether the ivory plaques were part of it. Bronze brackets and hemispherical studs are now the most recognizable remains, attesting to a wooden object that was reinforced at the corners and decorated with bronze tacks (Fig. 18). It is difficult to imagine how the ivory plaques may have related to such a piece. The “5 indeterminate chunks of wood clinging to melted sections of iron nails” might have been attached to the backs of the plaques with geometric decoration. The entire group of plaques as found extended for about 1.5 m in an irregular line, which is indicated by the

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light-colored area in the field photograph (Fig. 4). Near the right end of this area is one of the plaques with geometric decoration, but none of the other plaques can be identified in the photo.7 If the ivories did belong to the same piece of furniture as the other remains mentioned above, and this is by no means certain, then one can imagine a row or rows of ivory plaques decorating a wooden object 1.5 m in length; eight plaques with geometric decoration were somehow attached with iron nails. The corners were reinforced with bronze angle brackets, and the “first piece of furniture” was further embellished with wooden inlay and bronze studs.

Fig. 18. Bronze brackets, 5813 B 1186, and studs, 5816 B 1189, “first piece of furniture,” Megaron 3. Photos E. Simpson, 2007. Young’s “second piece of furniture” and other furniture fragments from Room 3 The second “mass of charcoal” lay a meter to the south of the first one and was composed of “loose and mostly shapeless lumps of charred wood” (Young 1959a, 36‒37). Named the “second piece of furniture,” it was catalogued as 5818 W 84. The remains included “cubes, wavy blocks, and one triangular bit” along with “a broken bit of wood mosaic of cubes and blocks, apparently laid to some design, probably in contrasting colors but now in a uniform state of charcoal” (Figs 19‒20). Young connected this “wood mosaic” with the design of the “Mosaic Table” from Tumulus P, which featured blocky inlay of concentric squares, crosses, and strips (Young 1981, 68‒70; Simpson and Spirydowicz 1999, figs 74‒76). The “second piece of furniture” was undoubtedly an inlaid table with a top made of boxwood inlaid with yew, as with the top of the Mosaic Table (Simpson and Spirydowicz 1999, 59; Blanchette 2008). Tumulus K-III had contained a similar inlaid table made of the same kinds of wood (Körte and Körte 1904, fig. 10). Numerous small pieces were catalogued as 5916 W 90, including fragments that appear to be the “wavy blocks” of Young’s description but are listed as “first piece of furniture” on Phoebe Sheftel believes this is BI 343a (Sheftel forthc.).

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the catalogue card (Fig. 19). These are clearly inlay, but it is less certain to what piece of furniture they should be assigned. Other wood remains from Megaron 3 include a “fragment of furniture with cutouts” (W85), “wooden inlay or attachment” in the form of an arrow (W 87), “burned wooden relief fragment: volutes” (W 88), and pieces of one or two carbonized panels carved in relief with “bulls and riders” (W 89) and “horsemen in armour” (W 108). These carbonized panels were found at the south of Room 3 and may have belonged to a wooden cabinet or some type of case furniture. They are discussed by Krysia Spirydowicz in her study of the conservation of the wooden objects from Megaron 3 (Spirydowicz 2018, 145‒146, 149‒151). A fragmentary ivory stool leg, incised on the top with a six-petalled rosette, was found in the “burned fill” of Room 3 (BI 355). Surviving, then, is evidence for several pieces of ornate wooden or ivory furniture from the main room of Megaron 3. These include furniture decorated with 20 or more carved ivory plaques; this or another wooden object studded with bronze tacks and fitted with bronze corner braces; a table with a boxwood top inlaid with yew in bold geometric patterns; one or two carved pieces featuring processions of bulls and mounted warriors; and a stool or chair with ivory legs. Ivory furniture from Megaron 3, Room 3 What can one say about the furniture that featured the beautiful ivory plaques? When searching for comparable Phrygian furniture, the inlaid table from Tumulus MM comes to mind, with its four-sided frame featuring square inlaid panels and metal corner attachments. These attachments were not functional metal braces, however, but decorative corner pieces that had sheathed the corner joints of the wooden frame. They were likely precious metal, removed from the table before its interment (Simpson 1996, fig. 2; 2010, 34, 39, fig. 21). The frame of the inlaid table measured ca. 59 cm x 67 cm, and the object represented by the ivory panels was 1.5 m in length, so it was likely not a table, unless a very long one – and no such long table is known from Gordion. Nor was it a serving stand. The stands from Tumulus MM were ca. 80 cm wide and 94 cm tall; the stands from Tumulus P and W were smaller (Simpson 1996, fig. 7; 2010, figs 50, 58; Simpson and Spirydowicz 1999, figs 94‒95). Furniture decorated with bronze tacks was found in Tumulus W (serving stand), Tumulus P (carved, inlaid stool), and Tumulus K-III (“Sarkophag” and “Sitzbrett”), but none of these pieces incorporated ivory (Simpson and Spirydowicz 1999, figs 67, 95; Körte and Körte 1904, figs 6, 9). The only candidate for ivory fittings is the inlaid table from Tumulus MM, which might have had ivory inlay in the handles, although the handle inlay was pried off the table before its burial along with the corner attachments (Simpson 2010, 35‒36, 39). Whichever bronzes belonged to the furniture with ivory decoration from Megaron 3, the piece has no apparent precedent from the tumulus burials at Gordion. It is unclear how the ivory plaques were arranged and assembled, but some indication can be gained from the in situ photograph (Fig. 4). Three plaques at the right end of the group are lying ca. 4‒5 cm apart, suggesting that they were spaced some distance from one another, recalling the panels of the Tumulus MM table. However, the plaques at the left end of the group seem to be lying in at least two rows and close together. The plaques with geometric decoration, one of which

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Fig. 19. Fragments of wooden inlay, 5916 W 90, first or second piece of furniture, Megaron 3. Photo E. Simpson, 2007.

Fig. 20. Fragments of an inlaid table, 5818 W 84, “second piece of furniture,” Megaron 3. Photo E. Simpson, 2007. appears at the right, were attached to an object with iron nails that extended from the back. The plaques depicting figures, on the other hand, were joined to each other or to some intervening material by means of pins in the sides. The mass of ivory at the left in the photo must have included these figural plaques. Did the two types of plaques belong to a “first piece of furniture” or were they perhaps employed on two different objects? Might the ivories represent a chair or throne with figural decorations, along with a footstool featuring geometric plaques? Could the ivory leg top with incised decoration (BI 355) have belonged to this chair or throne? A famous Phrygian throne is recorded in a passage by Herodotus (1.14), who reports that the throne of King Midas was on view in the sanctuary of Apollo at Delphi, the first foreign dedication at the site. One can speculate as to its appearance – and whether it incorporated ivory – but nothing of this throne has

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survived from antiquity (Simpson 2020). Did the ivory plaques from Megaron 3 decorate an actual Phrygian throne and footstool? Or were all the plaques affixed to a single object, such as a long table, a chest, or a bed? Concluding remarks The furniture remains from Megaron 3 surely do not represent all the items that once furnished the building. The objects that were buried beneath the debris of the collapse survived, albeit as fragments, while others were destroyed in the fire. Still, it is clear that some of the furniture from the building finds parallels in works from the Gordion tumuli, as noted above. This brings up the question of the date of the destruction of the Early Phrygian level, which is now taken to be ca. 800 BC. according to the new Gordion chronology (Rose and Darbyshire 2011). As this early date is not universally accepted (Muscarella 2003; 2008; 2018), it is worth mentioning that the furniture from Megaron 3 finds counterparts in the furniture from Tumulus P and Tumulus K-III and seems to be contemporary. These tumuli have long been thought to date to the 8th century BC., and, according to the new chronology, they still are: “Tumuli K-III and P have been assigned somewhat arbitrary dates of ca. 780‒770” (Sams 2011, 59). These burials were formerly dated prior to the destruction of the Early Phrygian city, and now they are said to be later. It goes without saying that the assignment of “somewhat arbitrary dates” to these tumuli cannot be considered conclusive. While the furniture in the tombs could be heirlooms, the correspondence remarked upon here should be brought into the discussion.8 Two other ivory plaques found at Gordion can be noted. One is a square plaque approximately the size of those from Megaron 3, depicting a bull and man holding one of its horns (BI 511). The style is not Phrygian but looks almost Assyrian, although its square format, subject matter, and style of carving suggest otherwise. A second, triangular ivory plaque is also non-Phrygian, depicting a horned animal in a palmette setting (BI 503). These plaques are difficult to date, as both come from a later context (DeVries 1990, 395, figs 31‒32). The two plaques have been characterized as “Near Eastern” (DeVries 1990, 395‒396) or “Syrian” (Sams 1993, 552, n. 36). They seem to indicate either the presence of foreign ivory carvers at Gordion or the import of these pieces from abroad. Other ivories found at Gordion were certainly imported, most notably a group of north Syrian horse trappings from the Terrace Building (TB 2). While the ivory plaques from Megaron 3 are Phrygian, they indicate the adoption of the Near Eastern elites’ propensity for the acquisition and display of fine ivory furniture (Sams 1993, 552). In regards to the ivories from Nimrud, so many of which have been studied and published by Georgina Herrmann, a great number are carved plaques that decorated all types of furniture. Found on these plaques are human figures, deities, animals, and composite creatures, as well as plant motifs, decorative patterns, and religious emblems. Hunt scenes occur as do animal combats, and luxury furniture itself is often depicted (Herrmann 1996). Many styles and types are represented among the thousands of Assyrian and imported ivories found at The dating of the destruction of Megaron 3 and its contents, a complex problem, will be further addressed in The Gordion Wooden Objects II (Simpson forthc.). 8

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the site, but there is little to suggest the Phrygians. Several small ivory plaques from Fort Shalmaneser are incised with concentric squares or rectangles, recalling the geometric plaques from Megaron 3, although they are not carved in relief and not quite comparable (Herrmann 1986, nos. 1248‒1249; 1992, nos. 67‒69, 83; Herrmann and Laidlaw 2013, nos. 793‒797). Like the wooden furniture from the Gordion tumuli, the ivories from Megaron 3 are uniquely Phrygian in style and personality, and spectacular in their workmanship. With their exquisite attention to detail, their tendency toward the abstraction of forms, and their subtle sense of humor, the small plaques from Megaron 3 are evidence of an ivory tradition unlike any other. As the collections from Nimrud suggest, the products of Phrygian ivory workshops were not subject to Assyrian import, trade, or appropriation.9 Perhaps for this reason very few of these fine ivories are now extant. The plaques from Megaron 3 that did survive indicate the exceptional quality of the ivory furniture enjoyed by the rulers of Gordion, and the magnitude of the loss of the Phrygian school of ivory carving from the archaeological record. Bibliography Baer, N. S., N. Indictor, J. H. Frantz, and B. Appelbaum 1971 The Effect of High Temperature on Ivory, Studies in Conservation 16, 1‒8. Blanchette, R. 2008 Wood Species Analysis, City Mound. Gordion Furniture Project Archives. Devries, K. 1990 The Gordion Excavation Seasons of 1969‒1973 and Subsequent Research, AJA 94, 371‒406. Herrmann, G. 1986 Ivories from Room SW 37, Fort Shalmaneser. Ivories from Nimrud IV. London. 1992 The Small Collections from Fort Shalmaneser. Ivories from Nimrud V. London. 1996 Ivory Furniture Pieces from Nimrud: North Syrian Evidence for a Regional Tradition of Furniture Manufacture. In: G. Herrmann (ed.), The Furniture of Western Asia: Ancient and Traditional. Mainz. 153‒164. 2017 Ancient Ivory: Masterpieces of the Assyrian Empire. London. Herrmann, G. and S. Laidlaw 2013 Ivories from Rooms SW 11/12 and T10 Fort Shalmaneser. Ivories from Nimrud VII. London. Holzman, S. 2019 Unfolding a Geometric Textile from 9th-century Gordion, Hesperia 88, 527‒556. Körte, G. and A. Körte 1904 Gordion: Ergebnisse der Ausgrabung im Jahre 1900. Berlin. Mallowan, M. E. L. 1966 Nimrud and Its Remains. London. As is well known, numerous Phrygian artifacts have been found at sites to the west of Gordion, although ivories are not among them (Muscarella 1989, 337‒342). 9

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Muscarella, O. W. 1989 King Midas of Phrygia and the Greeks. In: K. Emre, B. Hrouda, M. Mellink, and N. Özgüç (eds), Anatolia and the Ancient Near East: Studies in Honor of Tahsin Özgüç. Ankara. 333‒344. 2003 The Date of the Destruction of the Early Phrygian Period at Gordion, Ancient West and East 2, no. 2, 225‒252. 2008 Again Gordion’s Early Phrygian Destruction Date: ca. 700 +/– B.C. In: E. Genç and D. Çelik (eds), Aykut Çınaroğlu’na Armağan (Studies in Honour of Aykut Çınaroğlu). Ankara. 175‒187. 2018 Megaron 3: The 8th/Early 7th Century BC Palace of the Phrygian Kings at Gordion. In: F. Pedde and N. Shelley (eds), Assyromania and More: In Memory of Samuel M. Paley. Münster. 105‒127. Rodriguez, A. 2018 Ivory Identification. In: E. Simpson (ed.), The Adventure of the Illustrious Scholar: Papers Presented to Oscar White Muscarella. Leiden and Boston. 645‒661. 2022 Observations on the Ivory Plaques from Megaron 3 on the City Mound at Gordion. Gordion Furniture Project Archives. forthc. Observations on the Ivory Plaques from Megaron 3 on the City Mound at Gordion. In: E. Simpson, The Gordion Wooden Objects II. The Furniture and Wooden Artifacts from Tumulus P, Tumulus W, and the City Mound. Leiden/Boston. Roller, L. 2010 Graffiti on the Wooden Serving Stands from Tumulus MM. In: E. Simpson, The Gordion Wooden Objects I. The Furniture from Tumulus MM. Leiden/ Boston. 189‒195. Rose, C. B. 2021 Midas, Matar, and Homer at Gordion and Midas City, Hesperia 90, 27‒78. Rose, C. B. and G. Darbyshire (eds) 2011 The New Chronology of Iron Age Gordion. Gordion Special Studies 6. Philadelphia. Sams, G. K. 1993 Gordion and the Near East in the Early Phrygian Period. In: M. Mellink, E. Porada, and T. Özgüç (eds), Aspects of Art and Iconography: Anatolia and Its Neighbors, Studies in Honor of Nimet Özgüç. Ankara. 549‒555. 2011 Artifacts. In: C. B. Rose and G. Darbyshire (eds), The New Chronology of Iron Age Gordion. Gordion Special Studies 6. Philadelphia. 59‒78. Sheftel, P. forthc. The Bone and Ivory Objects from Gordion. Philadelphia. Simpson, E. 1993 A Carved Stretcher from the Big Tumulus at Gordion. In: M. Mellink, E. Porada, and T. Özgüç (eds), Aspects of Art and Iconography: Anatolia and Its Neighbors, Studies in Honor of Nimet Özgüç. Ankara. 569‒572. 1996 Phrygian Furniture from Gordion. In: G. Herrmann (ed.), The Furniture of Western Asia: Ancient and Traditional. Mainz. 187‒209. 2007 Report on the Conservation and Restoration of the Wooden Furniture from Gordion, Turkey, 2007. Gordion Furniture Project Archives.

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2010 The Gordion Wooden Objects I. The Furniture from Tumulus MM. Leiden/ Boston. 2013 An Early Anatolian Ivory Chair: The Pratt Ivories in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. In: R. B. Koehl (ed.), Amilla: The Quest for Excellence, Studies Presented to Guenter Kopcke in Celebration of His 75th Birthday. Philadelphia. 221‒261. 2020 The Throne of King Midas. In: L. Naeh and D. Gilboa (eds), The Ancient Throne: The Mediterranean, Near East, and Beyond, from the 3rd Millennium BCE to the 14th Century CE. Oriental and European Archaeology 14. Vienna. 135‒149. forthc. The Gordion Wooden Objects II. The Furniture and Wooden Artifacts from Tumulus P, Tumulus W, and the City Mound. Leiden/Boston. Simpson, E. and K. E. Spirydowicz 1999 Gordion Wooden Furniture (Gordion Ahşap Eserler): The Study, Conservation, and Reconstruction of the Furniture and Wooden Objects from Gordion, 1981–1998. Ankara. Spirydowicz, K. E. 2007 Ivory Plaques from City Mound at Gordion: Conservation Notes. Gordion Furniture Project Archives. 2018 The City Mound at Gordion: The Discovery, Study, and Conservation of the Wooden Fragments from Megaron 3. In: E. Simpson (ed.), The Adventure of the Illustrious Scholar: Papers Presented to Oscar White Muscarella. Leiden/Boston. 140‒159. Young, R. S. 1959a Gordion Field Book 78. 1959b Gordion Field Book 80. 1960 The Gordion Campaign of 1959: Preliminary Report, American Journal of Archaeology 64, 227–243. 1962a The 1961 Campaign at Gordion, American Journal of Archaeology 66, 153–168. 1962b Gordion: Phrygian Construction and Architecture II, Expedition 4, no. 4, 2‒12. 1975 Gordion: A Guide to the Excavations and Museum. Ankara. 1981 Three Great Early Tumuli. The Gordion Excavations Final Reports I. Philadelphia.

An unusual ivory panel from Samaria and the composition and realia of banquet scenes in the Iron Age Levant Claudia E. Suter Abstract A fragmentary ivory panel from Samaria, Israel, depicts part of a banquet scene, a motif attested on Levantine ivory carvings of the Late Bronze and Iron Ages, as well as Iron Age stone reliefs and containers. In token of Georgina Herrmann’s invaluable contribution to the publication of Nimrud ivories as well as to western Asiatic furniture, this article explores the composition of Late Bronze and Iron Age banquet scenes in order to suggest a possible scenario for the Samaria panel and discusses the particularities of its realia, especially the design of the banqueter’s throne, in light of Iron Age ivory carvings. It concludes that this banquet scene belongs to an indigenous Levantine tradition and can tentatively be attributed to the 8th century based on its Egytianizing details. One of the most intriguing ivory carvings from Samaria is a fragmentary openwork panel that apparently depicted part of a banquet scene (Fig. 1). Two larger fragments preserve most of an enthroned figure with an attendant behind the throne and a lotus bundle between them if arranged as suggested by Crowfoot and Crowfoot (1938, 26, pl. XI:1). Although one cannot be entirely certain of this arrangement, it seems the most logical in view of the alignment of the two large trapezoidal tenons on top and bottom.1 The Crowfoots noted that this panel would have formed part of a larger composition. In other words, it would have been combined with other sectional panels that completed the scene. At that time, they referred to the banquet scenes on an Iron Age ivory pyxis from Nimrud (Fig. 2) and Late Bronze Age ivory panels from Megiddo (Figs 5. 7), and for the throne to an ivory panel from Nimrud (IN 6 147) and the Late Bronze Age Mekal Stela (Rowe 1930, pl. 33). Unfortunately, the only pieces compatible with the fragmentary banquet panel among the thousands of mostly very broken ivories from Samaria are four tiny In an erroneously laterally reversed drawing, Annie Caubet (1993, 33 fig. 35) proposed to assign the two heads to the attendant and a hypothetical figure behind it rather than to the enthroned figure and its attendant. Today, she cannot recall the rationale for this (personal communication 1 Nov 2021). 1

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Fig. 1. Ivory panel from Samaria carved in openwork, H: 13 cm (photo by author, courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority) (cf. colour plate VIII). fragments, one of which might depict a lotus blossom, while the others do not preserve any intelligible imagery. Thus one can only make informed guesses about possible reconstructions of the scene. Today, however, there is much more comparative material to contemplate. I first review the comparatively few banquet scenes on Iron Age ivory carvings, followed by the handful of Late Bronze Age ivory carvings in whose tradition they stand, and comparable Iron Age stone reliefs, with a focus on composition, context, and realia.2 Then I explore the realia of the Samaria panel – in particular, the Despite some similarities, the banquet scenes on Iron Age metal bowls, mainly from Cyprus and the Aegean, underwent adaptations and transformations that are not relevant to the Levant (Markoe 1985, 56–59; Onnis 2009, 504–508). 2

Fig. 3. Ivory pyxis from Nimrud (CNI S.3) carved in relief, H: 6.7 cm (after Wicke 2008, pl. 56: Nim.20).

Fig. 2. Ivory pyxis from Nimrud (IN 6 234) carved in relief, H: 9.7 cm (after Wicke 2008, pl. 55: Nim.19).

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throne, but also attire and hairstyle – before considering possible reconstructions and addressing its particularities within the body of Iron Age ivory carvings. Banquet scenes on Levantine ivory carvings of the Iron Age On Levantine ivory carvings of the Iron Age, the banquet scene is mainly attested on cylindrical pyxides from Nimrud carved in relief, which have been treated in detail by Dirk Wicke (2008, 61–117, nos. Nim.19–24, Nim.46.1–3. 17–19). The best-preserved pyxis depicts a male figure on a sphinx throne, holding a cup in one hand and a lotus flower in the other (IN 6 234) (Fig. 2). Wearing a conical cap over long hair rolled up in a large curl at the neck and an ankle-length garment decorated with concentric diamonds and dotted lines, he sits at a table laden with food. At the other end of the table stands a similarly dressed but differently coiffured attendant pointing a whisk at the banqueter, while holding a spouted jar – doubtlessly with wine to serve – in his other hand; he wears a thin headband over neck-length, bouffant hair arranged in diagonal, wavy lines. Behind a tree, an identically coiffured man leads a bull toward the table, evoking a slaughter, probably both for an offering as well as food in the banquet (e.g., Sallaberger 2012). Back to back with this scene, an antithetically arranged scene depicts two men with similar hairstyles and garments as the attendants, each in front of an altar, on either side of a full-face winged female – probably a goddess – holding up a budding twig in each hand and wearing an ankle-length striped garment with a beaded border and a train and long hair ending in large curls on her shoulders. Separated from these two scenes by a band of leaves on either side stands an identically dressed and coiffured female without wings, yet holding up the same twigs, and flanked by a small palm on either side. The worship scene contextualizes this banquet within a cultic festival. The next best preserved pyxis shows a banqueter on an armchair with arched lateral sides (CNI S.3) (Fig. 3), who also sat at a laden table and was attended by a male at its other end, this time holding up a bowl of food, while another male, perhaps once with an animal, follows behind. The enthroned figure wears an anklelength garment with a simple diamond pattern, beaded hems, and rows of bulging folds over thighs and knees, while the attendants wear ankle-length garments with a diamond pattern or several parallel vertical folds, respectively, and neck-length, bouffant hair arranged in rows of curls reminiscent of Egyptian wigs. Back-to-back and separated from these attendants by a band of leaves, six figures face the throne’s back in a natural scenery indicated by trees and flowers. Four of them with the same hairstyle and attires as the attendants play musical instruments. This group is demarcated from the other two figures, of which only the lower bodies survive, by two large flower stalks. Therefore, the figure behind the throne wearing the garment with the vertical folds was more likely an attendant than a musician (contra Barnett 1957, pl. XVI), whereas the last figure’s striped dress with a train is reminiscent of the female figures on the other pyxis (Fig. 2). A number of pyxis fragments preserve only small parts of banquet scenes: an enthroned figure wearing an ankle-length garment with yet a different pattern of diamonds and dotted lines and neck-length hair arranged in rows of curls holds a cup – probably once also a lotus – and sits on yet another throne with massive legs and a low, curved backrest at a table with food, facing a whisking attendant at

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the other end of the table, of which only a tip of the whisk remains (CNI S.281b); tables with food (CNI S.33q–s); and musicians performing in a natural scenery (NR fig. 168; CNI S.9a–b. S.33a–c; IN 6 362). Parts of banquets survive also on a few panels carved in solid relief. Five panels of backrests from Fort Shalmaneser’s Room SW7 depict an abbreviated banquet of a female at a table with food against a floral background (IN 3 47–50, 51:3). She sits on a typical SW7 chair with an elaborately tasseled cushion, a high backrest, and four legs reinforced by a set of stretchers (Herrmann 1996, 156–158); three exemplars show a sphinx in profile below the stretcher. An incomplete panel from Til Barsip depicts a flutist in an ankle-length striped garment with beaded borders, preceded by probably another musician of whom only a fragmentary head remains, and succeeded by four male figures in Egyptiantype short striped skirts carrying fish, birds, pomegranates, and something else (Bunnens 1997, no. 4) (Fig. 4). All figures wear Egyptian-type wigs. Lotus stalks between them indicate a natural scenery.

Fig. 4. Ivory panel from Til Barsip carved in relief, H: 10 cm (after Bunnens 1997, fig. 6a). Two double-sided panels with the same imagery on either side, yet in reverse, preserve parts of scenes involving figures in striped, ankle-length garments with beaded borders and a chair or table, respectively. IN 4 947 preserves only the bottom of a seated figure with another figure standing behind the chair, which has legs en-ding in lions’ paws and the sides decorated with vertical slats between the seat and the stretcher. IN 4 946 is a unique sectional panel with an arched top preserving half of the table with a jug and part of another vessel on it, a robed leg in profile behind it, an arm embracing the jug from behind, and what appears to be the curly hair of this figure, whose face must have been rendered frontally, since the leg points in the same direction; this figure may have stood behind the table rather than sitting at it, since the legs of figures seated at the table do not overlap with it. Banquet scenes on Levantine ivory carvings of the Late Bronze Age A seated figure holding a cup in one hand and a lotus flower in the other, while being entertained with music and/or served, occurs on Late Bronze Age ivory panels from Tell el-Far’ah South and Megiddo, which may have veneered furniture or boxes. The panel from Tell el-Far’ah (Petrie 1930, pl. 55) and one from Megiddo

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(Loud 1939, no. 2) are incised, while the set of four panels from Megiddo (ibidem, nos. 159–162) is carved in low relief, but much eroded. The latter contextualizes the banquet as the celebration of a military victory in Mesopotamian tradition, depicting a battle, the return from battle, the king’s reception of prisoners and booty, and food preparations for the banquet (Ziffer 2003, 18–19; 2005, 150–151). The banquet itself involves several banqueters on elaborate stools with the king attended by two servants at a table laden with food and several noblemen attended by one servant next to a vessel on a stand – doubtlessly containing the wine for consumption – at the other end facing the king (Fig. 5). The king is highlighted not only by his prominent position in the scene, but also by a more elaborate cap decorated with circular ornaments, a larger drinking cup and the lotus held in his other hand.

Fig. 5. Ivory panel from Megiddo carved in relief, detail, H: 5.7 (after Loud 1939, pl. 32 no. 160c). The Tell el-Far’ah panel is indebted to Egyptian visual tradition, although some details betray local manufacture (Ziffer 2003, 17–18; 2005, 150; Fischer 2011) (Fig. 6). It depicts a man in the guise of an Egyptian nobleman, yet in a scene typical of the Amarna-period royal couple, which continued into the Ramesside period. The husband, who is here seated on a folding chair with a high backrest, is being served wine by his wife standing in front of him, with both spouses holding a lotus flower in their free hand. While an attendant stands behind the chair in front of a palm indicating natural scenery, musicians and a dancer entertain the couple. Behind the banquet follow scenes of fowling in papyrus marshes, which may contextualize the banquet as the celebration of a successful hunt, unless banquet and fowling were merely meant to represent typical elite activities. Fischer’s conclusion that these panels found in an Egyptian-type elite residence depicted an Egyptian nobleman rather than a Canaanite local ruler is not warranted in view of the well-attested elite emulation in Southwestern Canaan in this period: elite circles had interacted with the Egyptians for centuries and appropriated a broad range of their cultural practices (Koch 2018). The incised panel from Megiddo (Loud 1939, no. 2) combines elements of both just-described panels in a more Levantine manner (Ziffer 2003, 19; 2005, 151) (Fig. 7). The ruler on a sphinx throne sips from a cup with his wife standing in front of him and handing him a towel, while both spouses touch the same lotus flower. A lyre player entertains the couple, and two attendants stand behind the throne with a large pot – presumably of wine – topped by

Fig. 7. Ivory panel from Megiddo carved in incision, H: 5.9 cm (after Loud 1939, pl. 4 no. 2).

Fig. 6. Ivory panel from Tell el-Far’ah South carved in incision, H: 6 cm (drawing by Dirk Wicke after Fischer 2011, pl. 1).

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two smaller theriomorphic vessels between them. The banquet is followed by a scene depicting the ruler’s return from a successful military campaign, thus contextualizing the banquet as a victory celebration. A banquet of a royal couple in Egyptian tradition might also have been intended on an unfinished, damaged cylindrical pyxis from Ugarit next to a lion attacking a bull (Gachet-Bizollon 2007, no. 72). All that remains of it are the lower legs of two figures dressed in ankle-length garments: one is seated on a throne with legs ending in lions’ paws, placing its feet on a footstool, the other stands facing the enthroned figure. While Gachet-Bizollon (2007, 82f.) saw a worshipper before a deity, Wicke (2008, 121f. Uga.1) suggested a banquet. Banquet scenes on stone reliefs of the Iron Age In the Iron Age, banquet scenes are also carved in stone on the sarcophagus of Ahiram from Byblos on the one hand, and many funerary stelae, few orthostats, two cylindrical pyxides,3 and a kohl container of what James Osborne (2021) now calls the Syro-Anatolian Cultural Complex on the other hand. They add a new context, the funerary meal, possibly also a wedding feast, and enhance our pictorial material confirming a number of constants in these scenes: a table laden with food as on the Megiddo relief panel and the Iron Age ivory carvings; a whisking attendant as on some Iron Age ivory carvings; musical performances and carriers of provisions as on some Late Bronze and Iron Age ivory carvings. Moreover, they enrich the diversity of throne designs, attires and hairstyles. The sarcophagus of Ahiram, which is best dated around 1000 BC (Jenni 2015), depicts a funerary meal (Montet 1928f., pls. CXXVII–CXLI; Rehm 2004; Ziffer 2005, 154–158). The king sits on a sphinx throne in front of a laden table holding a cup and a drooping lotus. The latter indicates his deceased status, as do the drooping loti in the frieze atop the scene and the drooping lotus contrasting with an upright lotus held by the two large male figures carved on the sarcophagus’ lid; they obviously represent Ahiram and his son Ittoba’al, who had the sarcophagus made for his father. A man with a whisk and towel (?), two men with cups, and four men saluting in Egyptian manner approach Ahiram. The narrow sides depict rows of mourning women, while the other broad side shows a procession of two women and three men bringing along food provisions, including a goat for slaughter, followed by three saluting men. The close formal resemblance of this banquet’s core with that on the best-preserved ivory pyxis (Fig. 2) is striking (Muyldermans 1989). The banquets depicted on funerary stelae, which peaked in the 8th century BC, are reduced to either a heterosexual couple at either side of a laden table or a single man or woman at table, often with a standing figure facing him/her (Bonatz 2000, 2016). The banqueters hold the cup that signaled banquet in one hand and another attribute that related to the funerary repast, their gender, status and/or profession in the other hand, which only exceptionally is a lotus flower (e.g. Orthmann 1971, Zincirli K/2 = Gilibert 2011, Zincirli 90). Winfried Orthmann (1971, 391–393) observed that these banquets represented a development that filled a traditional image with a new meaning related to the funerary cult, a thesis that was further The Cleveland pyxis is not included here, since its authenticity is questionable (Wicke 2008, 368–370 no. KH.7). 3

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developed by Dominik Bonatz (2000) and has since been confirmed by the Katumuwa Stela, the inscription of which clearly states its purpose as a funerary monument and informs on the rituals expected to be regularly performed in its presence (Herrmann and Struble 2009). Two orthostats of the 10th/9th centuries BC also depict a heterosexual couple at table (Orthmann 1971, Zincirli B/3, Malatya B/3). The one from Zincirli’s Outer Citadel Gate also related to the commemoration of the dead as it formed a unit together with two adjacent orthostats depicting two men gesturing adoration, followed by a ruler, all approaching the banqueters (Gilibert 2011, 65f. Zincirli 14–16). Whether the same applied to the Malatya orthostat without recorded context, which probably represented a royal couple (Orthmann 1971, 291), remains unclear, as does whether the fragmentary cart on its broken right end was related to the banquet. Both orthostats show the banqueters sipping from a cup on either side of a laden folding table, the men sitting on plain chairs with high backrests, the women apparently on stools. The composition on an equally old orthostat from Carchemish’s Watergate is closer to those carved in ivory (Orthmann 1971, Karkemis Ab/4; Gilibert 2011, Carchemish 7): a banqueter on a folding stool at a laden folding table is attended by a whisk-holder behind the throne, a servant with a spouted jar at the other end of the table, and entertained by a lute player. Since the orthostat formed a pair with another one depicting offerings to a weather god (ibidem, Karkemis Aa/4 and Carchemish 6), the occasion of this banquet was probably a cultic festival as on ivory pyxides. Extended banquet scenes are carved on sets of orthostats from Zincirli’s Hilani IV and Karatepe’s South Gate dating to the end of the 8th century BC. At Zincirli, king Barrakib sits at table on a throne with arched lateral sides decorated with three rows of stylized palms, holding a cup and a lotus (?) flower (Orthmann 1971, Zincirli F/3–8; Gilibert 2011, Zincirli 68–73) (Fig. 8). Again there is a whisking attendant behind the throne and a servant at the table, while a band of seven musicians perform. In addition, two noblemen each flank the scene, which Alessandra Gilibert (2011, 85–88, 130f.) interpreted as a court ceremony.

Fig. 8. Orthostats of Barakib from Zincirli, H: 114 cm (after Voos 1985, fig. 15). The complete set from Karatepe, arranged in two registers, includes, in addition to the banqueter with two attendants, four musicians and ten men bringing provisions, including a bull (Orthmann 1971, Karatepe B1–2; Çambel and Özyar 2003, SVI 2–3) (Fig. 9). The banqueter with a cup sits on a chair with footstool, both decorated with a row of vertical slats. While another enthroned figure on a chair with two rows of slats and a whisk-holder behind occurs isolated across the same court (ibidem, Karatepe B/19 and SVr3), elements of the banquet – some misunderstood

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– were freely imitated on two fragmentary orthostats in the chamber to its right (ibidem, SKr 15–16). Whether the occasion of the well-preserved banquet was a cultic festival or a funerary feast is difficult to answer in view of the probable ruler figure turning its back on the bull-leader (Çambel and Özyar 2003, 98–104; Özyar in press, 492–495).

Fig. 9. Orthostats from Karatepe, H: 139 cm (after Çambel and Özyar 2003, pl. 142+144). The same applies to the banquets on stone pyxides. The Herzfeld pyxis depicts a banqueting couple, like the orthostats from Zincirli and Malatya, with which it is about contemporary (Wicke 2008, 364–365 no. KH.4). The pyxis found at Tell Tayinat in a temple of the Neo-Assyrian occupation with a terminus post quem of 672 BC combines a banquet with a slaughter (Osborne et al. 2019, 286f. with fig. 19.2) (Fig. 10). The banqueter, who squats on a chair and too-high footstool reminiscent of the Karatepe ones, drinks from a cup, like the banqueters on the Herzfeld pyxis and just-mentioned orthostats, while the attendant whisking air from behind touches a pot atop a stand, like his counterpart at Karatepe, also recalling the pot between the two attendants behind the throne on the incised Megiddo panel (Fig. 6). At the other end of the atypical table with column-shaped legs a figure raises one hand, while placing the other on a narrow stand. Back to back with this figure, two others slaughter a bull in front of a square table laden with breads. Osborne (2021, 126–128) sees a funerary meal and dates this crudely carved pyxis without compartments, unlike all other cylindrical stone pyxides (Wicke 2008, 45–60, esp. 49f.), which deserves a fuller treatment, to the 9th century BC. I find a cultic festival equally likely and suspect a date close to the time of its deposition.

Fig. 10. Stone pyxis from Tell Tayinat carved in relief, H: 3.1 cm (drawing by Fiona Haughey, courtesy of the Tayinat Archaeological Project).

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The kohl-container, dating to the late 8th century BC, combines in two registers a female standing and raising a cup before an enthroned figure also raising a cup with an en-face couple in bed (Muscarella 1995, 5 with fig. 4; Searight et al. 2008, 76 no. 523); the throne with its footstool are of the same type as those of the Karatepe banqueter. This combination suggests a wedding feast. The throne and other realia on the Samaria panel Neither Martin Metzger nor Eric Gubel include the Samaria throne in the catalogues of their monographs on furniture. Obviously they could not attribute it to a particular type, since both mention it in connection with vertical slats on the side of four-legged thrones with high backrests. Starting with the throne of El on a Late Bronze stela from Ugarit, which is modeled on Egyptian thrones with legs ending in lions’ paws but exhibits between the seat and the horizontal stretcher a row of large triangles above a row of 13 small vertical slats, Metzger (1985, 247–249 pl. 111) proposed that these vertical slats as well as those on the Samaria throne, the throne and footstool of the Karatepe banqueter, the stool on a stela from Marash (Orthmann 1971, Maraș D/3), the woman’s chair on the Herzfeld pyxis (on which the vertical slats appear to be an optical illusion), and chairs on three seals – one could add here the throne on IN 4 947 – were made of carved ivory and that this was a typical “Syrian” characteristic. He saw candidates for these slats in ivory panels with figurative scenes from Megiddo and Samaria, which, however, are horizontally rather than vertically oriented, while the one supposedly vertical candidate from Megiddo is a model pen case (Fischer 2007, 151–164). If such “slats” were inlaid ivory panels, they would probably have depicted geometric or floral designs as, for example, the vertical strips of guilloches on the backrest of Chair Gamma from Salamis (Çambel and Özyar 2003, 96 with fig. 123) or those of superimposed volute trees framed by thin rosette bands on the backrest IN 3 95; both designs alternate with plain strips of wood and ivory, respectively. Following Metzger’s thesis, Gubel (1987, 117–126) postulated a Phoenician chair Type IIf – “Four-Legged Chairs with Slatted Flanks” – with three attestations only (nos. 54–56): the scaraboid from Rhodes mentioned by Metzger, an unprovenienced scaraboid, and a metal bowl from Nimrud. He attributed the scaraboids to “North Syrian manufacture under strong Phoenician influence” based on the comparison with the more or less similar thrones on the orthostats from Karatepe. Arguing that many details of the Karatepe banquet recurred on North Syrian metal bowls that were exported, along with Cilician seals, to the Aegean, which seemed to tie in with stylistic affinities between his Type IIf objects and the Lyre-Player seals, he concluded that his Type IIf chair, prefigured on the El Stela from Ugarit, was limited to the 8th century BC and originated in “a late Hittite tradition kept alive in North Syria.” In this context, Gubel (1987, 122–124) states that he did not include the Samaria panel because it was of a mixed style. After attributing it to a “North Syrian origin” based on stylistic affinities in facial features with the isolated orthostat from Karatepe, which I cannot see, he considered the possibility that this throne with its low backrest might be an evolution of his Type IIf. Admitting,

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however, that Type IIf consists of three attestations only, he then considered as an alternative that the Samaria throne was influenced by the popular Phoenician ḥwt throne. This alternative, which the Crowfoots had envisioned, is more convincing than a “late Hittite” connection. The Egyptian ḥwt throne – a cubical block with a marked-out rectangle in the lower back corner recalling the hieroglyph ḥwt and a low backrest with a cushion thrown over it (Kuhlmann 2011, figs 1. 10) – and variations of it are attested in the Levant since the Bronze Age (Metzger 1985, 245–246, § 44, pl. 108) and also occur on 8th century BC ivory carvings (Gubel 1987, 129–168. 175–190; 1996, 147). The most frequent Levantine variant is the scale-decorated ḥwt throne with an ankh hieroglyph in the back corner, which occurs on strongly Egyptianizing panels carved in cloisonné (IN 4 1029, 1030?; 6 146–147), solid relief (IN 4 963. 969?) and openwork (IN 4 296). An ankh hieroglyph in the back corner also occurs with a variant decorated with a papyrus flower behind a cat or dog on another strongly Egyptianizing cloisonné panel (IN 4 1018). Four Egyptianizing panels with distorted Egyptian realia, all carved in solid relief, depict three more variants: a plain ḥwt throne with an unproportionally enlarged back corner (IN 7 165–166) (Fig. 11), and two variants with short legs and no back corner, one of which is decorated with scales (IN 3 77–81), the other with two rows of vertical slats inscribed with four pairs of crossed slats (IN 7 164) (Fig. 12). By comparison with the latter, the Samaria throne can be viewed as yet another variant on the ḥwt throne. Rather than combining Syrian and Phoenician elements (Gubel 1987, 124), the vertical slats might have been inspired by the Egyptian srḫ throne, which has the same general shape as the ḥwt throne, but the srḫ hieroglyph – a palace facade with a few horizontal lines atop numerous vertical lines – on its side (Kuhlmann 2011, figs. 6–7). Metzger (1985, 246) interpreted the throne on the Mekal Stela, which the Crowfoots compared to that on the Samaria panel, and which should be dated to the 13th/early 12th century BC (Levy 2018), as a srḫ throne. Not only the throne, but also the attire of the enthroned figure finds parallels on Egyptianizing panels with distorted Egyptian realia. The parallel vertical lines above the face stem either from a simplified Egyptian-type wig worn by anthropomorphic figures (e.g., IN 4 49–51. 64–67. 84; IN 5 141. 151. 305) or – in view of their fineness – a distorted nemes head cloth as worn by human-headed sphinxes (e.g., Crowfoot and Crowfoot 1938, pl. V; IN 4 112. 471; IN 5 124). The placement of the hem along the upper arm and, in a tiny part, just above the feet suggests a garment of the same common cut as the one worn, for example, by the pharaoh-like figure on IN 7 165 (Fig. 11), yet of a different fabric without stripes and triangular rather than semicircular tassels pending from the dotted band along the hem. The hairstyle of the figure behind the throne, on the other hand, is reminiscent of the crew cut hairstyle of the attendants behind the throne on the incised Late Bronze Age ivory panels (Figs 6–7),4 with the difference that the outline of the hairline is doubled. The lotus bundle, inspired by the Egyptian papyrus bundle, consists of three stalks bound together by a horizontal band, above which sits a lotus blossom flanked by a bud on either side. Similar bundles occur in scenes depicting the 4

On this hairstyle, see Fischer 2011, 155–156.

An unusual ivory panel from Samaria

Fig. 11. Ivory panel from Nimrud (IN 7 165), carved in relief, H: 7.8 cm (after Herrmann and Laidlaw 2013, pl. 33).

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Fig. 12. Ivory panel from Nimrud (IN 7 164), carved in relief, H: 7.8 cm (after Herrmann and Laidlaw 2013, pl. 33).

binding of papyrus (e.g., Fontan and Affanni 2018, nos 10–11) and a particular type of floral panel (e.g., IN 5 41–46), while the blossom’s shape is closer to Late Bronze than Iron Age loti (e.g., Figs 5. 7). Discussion The fragmentary banquet on the Samaria panel stands in an indigenous Levantine tradition, which adapted features of both Mesopotamian and Egyptian royal imagery of yet older visual traditions to its own purposes (Ziffer 2005, 158). In parallel with Late Bronze and Iron Age depictions, one can imagine the enthroned figure holding a cup and a lotus flower and representing a local ruler with an attendant behind his throne, possibly with a whisk touching the upper frame. The lotus bundle between them recalls the natural scenery of several banquet scenes. In fact, a small tree, of which only traces remain, also stood between the banqueter and the attendant behind the throne on the pyxis CNI S.3 (Fig. 3). The surviving panel most likely constituted the left end of the scene, since it seems unlikely that musicians or provision-carriers would have stood behind the banqueter on a flat, horizontal strip. By analogy with the extended Iron Age banquets, one would expect for the presumed sectional panels completing the scene a food-laden table in front of the banqueter with one or two servants at its other end, a musical performance, men carrying provisions, perhaps even a slaughter scene as on the Tayinat pyxis.

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On luxurious ivory furniture, such a banquet must have represented elite feasting, which cemented social relations, regardless of whether its occasion was a cultic festival, the celebration of a victory or yet another event (Hayden 2014). It was self-referential as such furniture was used in banquets. In this context, I would exclude a funerary meal as depicted on the Ahiram sarcophagus and funerary stelae, perhaps also a few orthostats. Despite its proliferation in the Syro-Anatolian world and formal similarities due to the shared meal, the funerary context cannot be transferred wholesale to all banquet scenes (similarly Wicke 2008, 79–88). The particularities of the Samaria panel lie in minutiae. While it shares the composition of an enthroned figure with an attendant behind the throne and a floral element between them with other Iron Age banquets, all its realia differ in details from those. The throne’s design presents a unique variant of the Egyptian ḥwt or srḫ throne, yet similar to other Levantine variants. So far this type is attested in Egyptianizing scenes featuring deities or pharaoh-like figures rather than in banquet scenes, which, however, feature a large variety of seats. The triangular tassels along the hem of the banqueter’s garment are not otherwise attested, yet its cut was common, altough usually with a striped rather than a plain fabric. His hairstyle or headgear is worn by diverse Egyptianizing figures, yet not any banqueter. More unexpected is the crew cut of the attendant, a hairstyle attested only on Late Bronze Age ivory carvings. The lotus bundle again recalls papyrus and other floral bundles, yet differs in the flower’s shape and does not occur in other banquets, which depict various plants and trees. The Egyptianizing details speak for an attribution of the Samaria panel to the large group of Iron Age ivory carvings that exhibit such details yet are more removed from Egyptian models than the strongly Egyptianizing group. Viewing the original regional styles more in terms of time than geography, I would attribute this group to the 8th century BC, as originally suggested, and interpret the many idiosyncrasies in minutiae in the context of a growing individualism in this period (Suter in press). Bibliography Abbreviations: CNI = Barnett 1957 IN 3 = Mallowan and Herrmann 1976 IN 4 = Herrmann 1986 IN 5 = Herrmann 1992 IN 6 = Herrmann et al. 2009 IN 7 = Herrmann and Laidlaw 2013 Barnett, R. D. 1957 A Catalogue of the Nimrud Ivories with Other Examples of Ancient Near Eastern Ivories in the British Museum. London. Bonatz, D. 2000 Das syro-hethitische Grabdenkmal: Untersuchungen zur Entstehung einer neuen Bildgattung in der Eisenzeit im nordsyrisch-südostanatolischen Raum. Mainz.

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2016 Syro-Hittite Funerary Monuments Revisited. In: C. M. Draycott and M. Stamatopoulou (eds), Dining and Death: Interdisciplinary Perspectives on the ‘Funerary Banquet’ in Ancient Art, Burial and Belief. Leuven. 173–193. Bunnens, G. 1997 Carved Ivories from Til Barsib, American Journal of Archaeology 101, 435–450. Çambel, H., and A. Özyar 2003 Karatepe-Aslantaş–Azatiwataya. Die Bildwerke. Mainz. Caubet, A. 1993 Les ivoires de Samarie, Le Monde de la Bible 80, 28–33. Crowfoot, J. W., and G. M. Crowfoot 1938 Early Ivories from Samaria. London. Fischer, E. 2007 Ägyptische und ägyptisierende Elfenbeine aus Megiddo und Lachisch. Inschriftenfunde, Flaschen, Löffel. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 47. Münster. 2011 Tell el-Farʿah (Süd). Ägyptisch-levantinische Beziehungen im späten 2. Jahrtausend v. Chr. Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 247. Fribourg. Fontan, E. and G. Affanni 2018 Les ivoires d’Arslan Tash. Décor de mobilier syrien, IXe–VIIIe siècles avant J.-C. Paris. Gachet-Bizollon, J. 2007 Les ivoires d’Ougait et l’art des ivoiriers du Levant au Bronze Récent. Ras Shamra-Ougarit XVI. Paris. Gilibert, A. 2011 Syro-Hittite Monumental Art and the Archaeology of Performance: The Stone Reliefs at Carchemish and Zincirli in the Earlier First Millennium BCE. Berlin. Gubel, E. 1987 Phoenician Furniture: A Typology based on Iron Age Representations with Reference to the Iconographical Context. Studia Phoenicia 7. Leuven. 1996 The Influence of Egypt on Western Asiatic Furniture and Evidence from Phoenicia. In: G. Herrmann (ed.), The Furniture of Western Asia: Ancient and Traditional. Mainz. 139–151. Hayden, B. 2014 The Power of Feasts from Prehistory to the Present. New York. Herrmann, G. 1986 Ivories from Room SW 37, Fort Shalmaneser. Ivories from Nimrud IV. London. 1992 The Small Collections from Fort Shalmaneser. Ivories from Nimrud V. London. 1996 Ivory furniture pieces from Nimrud. In: G. Herrmann (ed.), The Furniture of Western Asia: Ancient and Traditional. Mainz. 153–164. Herrmann, G., and S. Laidlaw 2013 Ivories from Rooms SW 11/12 and T10 Fort Shalmaneser. Ivories from Nimrud VII. London.

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Herrmann, G., S. Laidlaw, and H. Coffey 2009 Ivories from the North West Palace. Ivories from Nimrud VI. London. Herrmann, V. R. and E. J. Struble 2009 An Eternal Feast at Sam’al: The New Iron Age Mortuary Stele from Zincirli in Context, Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 356, 15–49. Jenni, H. 2015 Zu den phönizischen Inschriften des Grabes V in Byblos. Graffito im Grabschacht (KAI 2) und Inschrift auf dem Sarkophag (KAI 1) Aḥiroms. In: V. Golinets, H. Jenni, H.-P. Mathys and S. Sarasin (eds), Neue Beiträge zur Semitistik. Münster, 121–138. Koch, I. 2018 The Egyptian-Canaanite Interface as Colonial Encounter: A View from Southwest Canaan, Journal of Ancient Egyptian Interconnections 18, 24–39. Kuhlmann, K. P. 2011 Throne. In: W. Wendrich (ed.), UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology. Los Angeles, http:/escholarship.org/uc/item/8xc7k559 (accessed on 10 Oct. 2021). Loud, G. 1939 The Megiddo Ivories. Oriental Institute Publications 52. Chicago. Mallowan, M. E. L. and G. Herrmann 1974 Furniture from SW 7, Fort Shalmaneser. Ivories from Nimrud III. London. Markoe, G. E. 1985 Phoenician Bronze and Silver Bowls from Cyprus and the Mediterranean. Berkeley. Metzger, M. 1985 Königsthron und Gottesthron: Thronformen und Throndarstellungen in Ägypten und im Vorderen Orient im dritten und zweiten Jahrtausend vor Christus und deren Bedeutung für das Verständnis von Aussagen über den Thron im Alten Testament. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 15. Neukirchen-Vluyn. Montet, P. 1928–1929 Byblos et l’Egypte: Quatre campagnes de fouilles à Gebeil. Paris. Muscarella, O.W. 1995 Kohl Containers/Schminkdosen, Notes in the History of Art 14, 1–7. Muyldermans, R. 1989 Two Banquet Scenes in the Levant: A Comparison between the Ahiram Sarcophagus from Byblos and a North Syrian Pyxis found at Nimrud. In: L. De Meyer and E. Haerinck (eds), Archaeologia Iranica et Orientalis: Miscellanea in honorem Louis Vanden Berghe. Gent. 393–407. Onnis, F. 2009 Levantine Iconology: Was there a Conscious Figurative Programme in the Decoration of the ‚Phoenician Metal Bowls‘? In: J.-P. Thalmann (ed.), Interconnections in the Eastern Mediterranean: Lebanon in the Bronze and Iron Ages. Beyrouth. 499–514.

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Orthmann, W. 1971 Untersuchungen zur späthethitischen Kunst. Saarbrücker Beiträge zur Altertumskunde 8. Bonn. Osborne, J.F. 2021 The Syro-Anatolian City-States: An Iron Age Culture. New York. Osborne, J. F., T. P. Harrison, S. Batiuk, L. Welton, J. P. Dessel, E. Denel and Ö. Demirci 2019 Urban Built Environments in Early 1st Millennium B.C.E. Syro-Anatolia: Results of the Tayinat Archaeological Project, 2004–2016, Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 382, 261–312. Özyar, A. In press Signs beyond Boundaries: The Visual World of Azatiwataya. In A. Payne, Š. Velharticka, and J. Wintjes (eds), Beyond All Boundaries: Anatolia in the First Millennium B.C. Leuven. 476–516. Petrie, W.M.F. 1930 Beth-Pelet (Tell Fara). London. Rehm, E. 2004 Dynastensarkophage mit szenischen Reliefs aus Byblos und Zypern 1.1: Der Ahiram-Sarkophag. Forschungen zur phönizisch-punischen und zyprischen Plastik II, 1.1. Mainz. Rowe, A. 1930 Beth-Shan I: The Topography and History of Beth-Shan with Details of the Egyptian and Other Inscriptions found on the Site. Philadelphia. Sallaberger, W. 2012 Home-made Bread, Municipal Mutton, Royal Wine: Establishing Social Relations during the Preparation and Consumption of Food in Religious Festivals at Late Bronze Age Emar. In: S. Pollock (ed.), Between Feasts and Daily Meals: Toward an Archaeology of Commensal Spaces. Berlin, 157–177. Searight, A., J. Reade and I. L. Finkel 2008 Assyrian Stone Vessels and Related Material in the British Museum, Oxford. Suter, C. E. in press Stylistic Variation in Levantine Ivory Carving of the Iron Age: Possible Temporal Developments. In: V. Herrmann and E. Wagner-Durand (eds), Beyond Attribution?! Style and Communication in Visual Media of the Ancient Near East and Neighboring Regions. Tübingen. Wicke, D. 2008 Vorderasiatische Pyxiden der Spätbronzezeit und der Früheisenzeit. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 45. Münster. Ziffer, I. 2003 Symbols of Royalty in Canaanite Art in the Third and Second Millennia BCE, Bulletin of the Israel Academic Center in Cairo 25, 11–20. 2005 From Açemhöyük to Megiddo: The Banquet Scene in the Art of the Levant in the Second Millennium BCE, Journal of the Institute of Archaeology of Tel Aviv University 32, 133–167.

Images across media Comparative remarks on some Levantine ivories and metal bowls1 Dirk Wicke Abstract Ivory carvings and bronze vessels are generally considered as two rather different categories of objects. They not only differ in their use – mostly elements of furniture and various small scale objects versus vessels – but considerably more so in their material, and hence working and production. However, they share a large number of iconographic and stylistic details – and the largest collections of both derive from the same place: Nimrud. Numerous cross-references in motifs can be found between the two categories of objects and within the different stylistic groups. This indicates a use not as mere decorative patterns, but for deliberate choice of iconography. Moreover, a comparison calls for a new look at the interactions between craftsmen, not only between wood- and ivory-carving, but also metalsmiths and other crafts. This contribution adds to the suggestion that such interaction allows for mutual support in date and place of origin, hotly debated issues in particular for the Levantine craftwork during the Early Iron Age.2 Preliminary remarks Metal vessels and ivories are two most prominent media among Levantine crafts in the Early Iron Age. However, metal bowls and ivories are often studied separately

To meet Georgina Herrmann during my postgraduate studies at University College London in 1998 was – I can say without hesitation – the most important turn in my academic life for she opened up for me many doors and vistas and gave me her great affection for ancient ivories and Assyria. This contribution is only but a small token of my gratitude and of my esteem for her lifetime achievement. 2 Basic research for this study was carried out during a project at the University of Mainz funded by the German Research Foundation (DFG) between 2003–2008. I would like to thank Erika Fischer, Mainz, for sharing her insights into all things Levantine with me and her invaluable critical comments on this paper. I am particularly grateful for John Curtis’s advice not on only on my English, but also discussing many issues of the Nimrud bowls with me. All mistakes, of course, remain myself. 1

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for their different material and working.3 They not only differ in their use – mostly furniture elements and small objets d’art versus vessels – but considerably more so in their material, and hence working and production. Nevertheless, Nimrud metal bowls and Nimrud ivories share a number of peculiarities: both can be considered as precious, if not luxury goods. Both corpora have been studied most often for their aesthetic decoration executed by skilful craftsmen and their assumed status as luxury objects – and even more often as objects of economic interest, produced in an easy to sell manner (Aubet 1996, 106–108; Sommer 2002). A comparative discussion ought to reveal a number of similarities and differences between the media, which hint at interesting details that might help to understand artistic exchange and provide further clues to craft production in the Levant.4 The basic assumption remains that stylistically homogeneous groups were produced at about the same time and in a similar locale.5 The term “Levantine” here is preferred to the term Phoenician. It is employed in the first instance as a geographical allocation and purposely used to embrace products from the Late Bronze and Early Iron Age from the Eastern Mediterranean and to avoid the artificial academic distinction between Canaanite and Phoenician (cf. e.g. Moscati 1968, 21–26; Tubb 1998, 140–143; Aubet 1996, 5–21). Dussaud (1949) and Markoe (2003, 14–66), for example, use the term “Phoenician” from the mid-2nd mill. BC onwards.6 This contribution does not intend to be a full discussion of iconography, but can only be a brief overview with examples in order to indicate strands for future research. In the following, some striking connections between the media with an alleged “Syro-Levantine” origin will be mentioned in order to highlight the potential for further studies. Metal bowls In his seminal catalogue of 1985, G. E. Markoe assembled 83 bowls from an area reaching from Italy to Iran with an alleged Levantine background excluding the They appear frequently side by side in exhibitions such as “I Fenici”, Venice, Palazzo Grassi 1988 (Moscati 1988) or “Assyria to Iberia”, New York, Metropolitan Museum 2014/15 (Aruz, Graff and Rakic 2014). Many scholars like von Bissing (1923–1924), Barnett (1935; 1974, 21), Falsone (1985, 142), Matthäus (2000, 533f.) or Herrmann (IN VI, 98f.) frequently indicate connections between metal bowls and ivories, but do not elaborate much on that point. Almagro-Gorbea (2015) explicitly follows a stronger comparative approach. 4 Important contributions to this topic have been made more recently by E. Gubel (cf. in particular Gubel 2000a; 200b; 2005). 5 Undoubtedly, it remains difficult to detect whether variances in motif are due to geographical or chronological differences. Suter (2015) arguing with Feldman has sought to give up the interpretation of stylistic groups as geographical markers and has suggested instead to interpret these differences as indicators for chronological difference. Oddly, stylistic groups can point in both directions – time and space. 6 Onnis continues to use the designation “Phoenician” – albeit in inverted commas – throughout her publications for all Early Iron Age metal-bowls from Italy to Iran (e.g. Onnis 2014, 219), despite their obvious stylistic and iconographic differences. The PhDthesis by F. Onnis, defended in 2015 was not available to me. For a lengthy discussion on the term Levant cf. also Fischer 2007, 38 and Suter 2015 for a contrary opinion. 3

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finds from Nimrud.7 These so-called Nimrud bowls provide the largest number of objects in the overall corpus of Iron Age metal bowls so far.8 Their quick publication in colourful water drawings by W. Prentice already in 1853 still provides the most important source of information today.9 A quick overview clearly indicates the great stylistic variety of the bowls from Nimrud in particular in style, iconography and in vessel shape. The same holds true for the larger number of bowls discovered in Italy and the Eastern Mediterranean with their detailed figurative decoration. While the shapes and technical aspects are too general for further groupings or ascriptions,10 metal bowls have been clustered mostly by art historical criteria and technique, relating to their decoration.11 AlmagroGorbea provides a proficient recent overview of the current state of knowledge and offers a suggestion for eight groups, following broadly a geographic division into North-Syrian, Syro-Phoenician and Egypto-Phoenician – the latter includes both bowls found on Cyprus and in Italy (Almagro-Gorbea 2015, 64–74). In general, the following of major artistic strands for the Early Iron Age can be observed in the bowls: a very variable group of bowls with a strong connection to (North-)Syrian art, a high quality Levantine group with a strong relationship to Cyprus and Egyptian art, and a large group of lesser quality vessels with adopted Egyptian iconography.12

Only few Near Eastern finds such as the vessels from the Nimrud royal tombs or more recent Italian finds can be added to this corpus since Markoe’s publication; cf. Falsone 1985; 1992; Curtis 2008, 245–248. 8 While Layard (1853, 182–194) mentions more than 150 bowls and plates and about 17 “cups” found in the excavations, Barnett (1967, 2*) still refers to “seventy-odd” bowls, which were drawn by W. Prentice. For a concise description of the circumstances of their discovery cf. Barnett 1967, 1*f.; Curtis and Reade 1995, 134–136; Curtis 2013, 2–5. 9 The most prominent bowls have been studied more frequently, above all by von Bissing (1923–24), Poulsen (1912) and Barnett (1967; 1974) with excellent new photographs in Curtis and Reade (1995). I am very grateful to J. Curtis and the staff of the British Museum to be allowed to study the bowls in detail during a visit in 2005. 10 We are mostly dealing with simple, shallow to hemispherical bowls, sometimes with a slight central omphalos, rarely with a spike (Barnett 1974; Falsone 1985, 140f.). The plain, hemispherical to shallow, handleless bowls, in German specified as ‘Kalottenschalen’ have been recognized as the most common metal vessel shape of the Late Bronze and Early Iron Age in the Eastern Mediterranean (cf. Matthäus 1985, 71–104 with special references to Near Eastern finds on p. 100; Buchholz and Matthäus 2003). 11 Cf. Barnett 1967; Falsone 1985, 133–135; Onnis 2009. Almagro-Gorbea (2015, 62– 64) provides a brief overview of the previous literature; cf. Poulsen 1912, 6–20 and 21– 31; Bissing 1923–24; Gjerstad 1946; Barnett 1967, 2*–4*; Barnett 1974; Matthäus 1985, 160–178; Moscati 2001, 491–499 to mention just the most influential contributions. For a brief summary of the history of research cf. Falsone 1988, 237f.; Curtis and Reade 1995, 134–143; Onnis 2009, 139f. 12 This, however, leaves out Assyrian, Urartian and Iranian vessels with their distinctive appearances. For an overview of their shapes, possible provenances and further discussions cf. Luschey 1939; Howes-Smith 1986; Hasserodt 2009; Curtis 2013, 69–72. On Urartian bowls, which generally are of a shallow hemispherical shape, cf. Seidl 2004, 55–59. 7

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Ivory carvings Elaborately carved ivories were unearthed already during the early discoveries at Nineveh and Nimrud in the mid-19th cent. (cf. IN VII, 1–25; Herrmann 2017, 19–37). The publication of the ivory (and bone) carvings discovered in the storerooms of various late Assyrian palaces is still an ongoing task, which has been pursued above all by Georgina Herrmann now for many years. The publication series “Ivories from Nimrud” has resulted in seven catalogue volumes up to now, presenting more than 15,000 ivories of this vast and varied corpus (cf. Herrmann 2017). These publications have been a main source for manifold strands of research, ranging from iconographic studies to studies on craftsmanship and more recently on their social significance and use. Nevertheless many questions are still unsolved, mostly pertaining to the place and date of production of the carvings – and their meaning. A broad division into three major traditions has been established: Assyrian, Syrian and Phoenician/Levantine depending on their indebtedness to Assyrian, Syro-Anatolian or Egyptian art, the three main artistic trends from the Late Bronze Age onwards (Cecchini, Mazzoni and Scigliuzzo 2009; Wicke 2013; Herrmann 2017). These major traditions can be divided stylistically into sub-groups. In particular the Syrian tradition divides quickly into the much debated Syrian-Intermediate and North Syrian (cf. Wicke 2009; Herrmann and Laidlaw 2013).13 The use of ivory as applications for furniture, pieces of small vessels and various utensils appears to be more common once we look at the wider perspective and consider the broad spectrum of ivory and bone items together, for example at single sites (e.g. Gachet-Bizollon 2007 at Ugarit; Wicke 2010a at Assur; Rodziewicz 2007 at Alexandria). ‘Marsh-pattern’ bowls The so-called ‘marsh-pattern’ bowls represent the largest coherent group and were mostly found in Nimrud, with single specimens from the Idaean Cave, for example, or the art market. This group was initially assembled by R. D. Barnett for its distinctive garland-pattern (“marsh”) and labelled as such in his major contributions on the Nimrud bowls (Barnett 1967, 3*f.; 1974, 21f.).14 While some bowls are rather plain (Layard 1853, pls 58C. 58D. 68), others display quite distinctive Egyptian motifs (e.g. Layard 1853, pl. 63; Barnett 1967, fig. 2 or the important finds from Crete, Markoe 1985, Cr2 and Cr3; Matthäus 2000, 526; cf. Almagro-Gorbea 2015, 71). Bowls of this group frequently show a central ornament or rosette; very often the central point for the compass still is clearly visible. Marsh-pattern garlands are applied in concentric rings to the central part of the bowl. The remaining part of the rim could be left blank or embellished with figurative decoration, which also display Egyptian motifs (Fig. 1). A main figurative frieze can be seen in the larger, outermost register, in an emblematic or heraldic appearance. Alternatively rows For further discussion of terminology cf. Herrmann 2000; 2005; Wicke 2009; IN VI, 67f.; for a differing view cf. Suter 2015. 14 Barnett was reminded of the legend for marshes on British Ordnance Survey maps (Barnett 1967, 3*). 13

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c) Fig. 1. Marsh-pattern bowls from Nimrud: a) Bronze bowl N51 (photograph by author) (cf. colour plate IX) – b) Bronze Bowl WA 91420 (from Barnett 1974, fig. 2) – c) Bronze bowl WA 115505 (from Curtis and Reade 1995, No. 100).

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of smaller motifs are placed in single friezes; yet, many bowls with marsh-pattern garlands are devoid of any figurative decoration. This group frequently employs sphinxes and griffins in the decoration; characteristic are lean sphinxes with tall Egyptian double-crowns under a canopy as on N9 (Curtis and Reade 1995, no. 100), but also triple papyrus plants as figurative dividers. Two-winged scarabs figure prominently on marsh-pattern bowls, which is interesting to note, since this comes close to the Egyptian prototypes and contrasts strongly with illustrations on ivory. As for the marsh-pattern group, there are almost exact comparisons with ivory, in particular with the so-called ‘tall crown group’ (Fig. 2a) (e. g. IN V, nos 314– 318; IN VII, 87f. 179–183).15 In particular the elegant and tall sphinxes with all the regalia of Egyptian iconography find parallels in ivory carving. Stylistically, the upturned tail, the slender proportions of the animals, the high crowns, the dividing papyrus stalks or the slightly curving wings are comparable, but also the pharaonic beard. Such a design for sphinxes is in particular to be found among ivories of the Syrian-Intermediate Tradition, which largely employs Egyptian iconography, but apparently with a twist in meaning. An interesting detail on bowl N9 (WA 115505) is the ‘adorating’ gesture and kneeling position of the subjugated figure beneath the front paw of the falcon-headed griffin. A similar motif can be frequently found on ivories of the Syrian/Intermediate tradition. Here it is a falcon-griffin trampling over fallen enemies (Fig. 2b), but the enemy is instead lying in a twisted manner with the upper body slightly lifted and one hand raised with palm turned outwards as if in greeting.16 The kneeling position only rarely occurs on single plaques (cf. IN VII, nos 237–239), and is more usual as kneeling in support of standing sphinxes (Fig. 2c) (e. g. IN VII, nos 251–270).17 From an Egyptian point of view this is a complete misunderstanding of the originally intended meaning, depicting an overwhelmed enemy, who is now pleading for mercy. The raised arm and outwards turned palm of the hand does indeed resemble the typical gesture for adoration or greeting. The position of the front paw of the beast on top of the head of the kneeling figure might even be seen as ‘protective’ (cf. also Gubel 1993, 108; 2000a, fig. 17; 2005, 136). Looking at the single motif on ivory the figurative meaning remains obscure. The illustration on the metal bowls, however, reveals the full scope of the motif: two symmetrically arranged sphinxes and kneeling figures on either side of a standard topped by an aegis. This standard is the aim of the action and the gesture can indeed be interpreted as a sign of adoration or greeting. This provides a clear case for a Levantine reinterpretation of an Egyptian model, which happened both in bronze and ivory. In particular, Nimrud bowl N9 displays a strong Egyptian character in the use of canopies with Egyptian-style columns and two-winged scarabs with solar discs. The slender depiction of shapes and lofty arrangement of the images comes very This was also briefly mentioned by Barnett 1974, 21 n. 89. A number of plaques display a pharaonic figure with collar and Egyptian crown, kneeling and in adorating gesture (e.g. IN IV, nos 617. 1082. 1083, IN VII, no. 373) confronting a volute tree, which clearly expresses a form of adoration. 17 To be noted here are the two different positions of the supporting figure: actually kneeling on one leg, such as ND 11024 (IN VII, no. 251) or sitting with the legs bent parallel as on ND 12077 (IN VII, no. 253). 15 16

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Fig. 2. Ivory comparisons from Nimrud: a) ND 7616 / IM 61893 (IN IV, No. 527) – b) ND 7680 / ROM 959.91.6 (IN IV, No. 90) – c) ND11024 / MMA 62.269.5 (IN VII, No. 251). close to Egyptian art. Interestingly, two-winged scarabs are hardly to be found among the Nimrud ivories, which might indicate a deliberate choice and/or a different figurative prototype. Four-winged scarabs, however, are present on shieldshaped blinkers (IN I, nos 42–42), which are attributed to the Syrian-Intermediate tradition (Wicke 1999). According to Hawkes (1981, 38) four-winged scarabs do not appear before the 10th cent. BC and are a result of Phoenician influence in the royal imagery associated with the Omrid dynasty in Israel. If correct, this observation provides a possible clue for dating bowls and ivories – and a possible source of origin. Another interesting ornamental difference lies in the use of flowers. While marsh-pattern bowls frequently use derivations of the papyrus plant, e. g. Nimrud bowl N83 or bowls from the Idaean Cave (Barnett 1974, fig. 2 pls 11a. 13), this shape of plant is rather rare on ivory. It features prominently, however, on trapezoidal plaques of the Syrian/Intermediate tradition (especially IN IV, nos 186–249), which shows a particularly close motivic association to the metal bowls. The typical marsh-pattern garland, is never employed on ivory. This might have a simple, technical reason: the marsh-pattern is quickly produced by means of punches, which cannot be imitated so simply in ivory. In the case of ivory carving, frames or dividing bands are more often created by a simple cable-band in slight relief, which is normally executed by tubular drills – and in turn is less

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frequent on bronze. Also, the background of the ivories is mostly densely covered by plants on twisted stems. In particular à-jour carvings are almost filled with a grid of plants (cf. IN IV, nos 418–594), which undoubtedly served to stabilize the cut-out designs. These are examples of simple technical choices, which were made because of the material to be decorated. The decoration appears to follow technical needs and thus the material clearly influenced the choice of technique and motif. ‘Star pattern’ bowls A second, large group of shallow bowls displays an organisation of the inner decoration in narrow bands with an illustration of single motifs in small fields or ‘metopes’. Because of their central motif in the shape of stars, this group was labelled as ‘star-bowl group’ by Barnett (1967, 4; 1974, 23; Almagro-Gorbea 2015, 71) (Fig. 3). The space between the points of the star can be filled by round or squarish medallions sometimes highlighted by silver studs. The star, however, is not an exclusive feature and can also be replaced by rosettes. The general design consists of narrow decorative friezes, separated by foliate bands or rows of small rosettes, which are used as a dividing pattern. Characteristic of this group of bowls is that the background is often filled by simple stippling, making the motif, which was left blank, more prominent and more easily visible (cf. Onnis 2009, 141). The engraving of the design is mostly rather hastily done and imprecise and remains linear; punching or embossing is not employed. In particular these bowls follow an emblematic scheme rather than a narrative concept in their decoration. There are no continuous narrative friezes, but rather repetitive, separated spaces (‘metopes’), occupied with single motifs (Fig. 3b). The motifs display a distinctly Egyptian trait: kneeling figures with papyrus flowers, udjet-eyes with arms, sphinxes, griffins, four-winged scarabs, lion-headed aegis, etc., and clearly point to Egyptian prototypes. However, the motifs are partially misunderstood. Bowls like N45 (Layard 1853, Pl. 57B) feature scarabs, which are barely recognizable as such. A sub-group of bowls like N16 or N18, which do not display an arrangement in single metopes, nevertheless employs a similar array of miniature motifs such as stags, scarabs or aegaei. In particular the aegis, a sideways looking feline head above a frontally facing usekh-collar, can be reduced to a simple dot and halfmoon shape; the udjet-eye with outstretched arm is distorted to an ellipse with lines or bands (Fig. 3b). A very similar range of motifs can be observed in particular among the socalled “single plaque group” ivories of the Syrian-Intermediate tradition: single motifs are carved on small, slightly trapezoidal plaques (Fig. 4). Star pattern bowls not only share a similar kind of decorative layout, but also a similar kind of abstract Egyptianising design. Motifs such as the aegis, four-winged scarabs or kneeling youths are quite distinctive and almost suggest that both metal-craftsman and ivory carver were working from similar models – or the one copying the other. A variation of the udjet-eye is purposely applied to horse-blinkers (cf. Wicke 1999, 826; Gubel 2005, fig. 3–6). Naturally, the stippled background of the metal bowls is not repeated in ivory. The best decorative parallel can be found in the central star-pattern of a winged disc from Arslan Tash (Fontan and Affanni

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a)

b1)

b3)

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Fig. 3. Star pattern and metopic bowls from Nimrud: a) Bronze bowl N3 / WA 120404 (photograph by author) (cf. colour plate IX) – b) Details from various Nimrud bowls: 1) aegis from bowl N3, 2) scarabs from bowl N45, 3) scarab x aegis from bowl N632 (photographs by author), 4) from bowl N8 (after Layard 1853, pl. 59B).

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c) Fig. 4. Examples for single plaque ivories from Nimrud: a) ND 10636 (IN IV, No. 186) – b) ND 10634 (IN IV, No. 188) – c) ND 7808 (IN IV, No. 10).

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2018, no. 187). In turn, the illustrations on ivory are more detailed on account of their larger scale. The repertoire of motifs on the bowls, however, is not large. About 10 different motifs are employed either in single fields or in rows.18 The ivories by contrast display a much wider variety of illustrations, with about 30 different motifs showing more variation, for example in the kneeling adorant with flowers. One major difference between the ivories and the bowls is that while the aegis-motif and the four-winged scarab are frequently employed on the bowls, these motifs are rare on ivory. In turn, none of the more or less elaborate palmette-trees, which are frequent on ivories, are to be found on bowls of this group, which employ simpler illustrations of open papyrus flowers and buds (cf. Fontan and Affanni 2018, nos 235–240). Antithetic depictions, in particular of animals flanking trees, which are very common on ivory, are missing among the star bowls. At best, falcons are flanking scarabs as on bowl N45.19 A subgroup of the star pattern bowls is characterized by the illustration of multiple rows of small animals, notably bovids, caprids or cervids with lowered heads as if grazing (Barnett 1974, 23; Curtis and Reade 1995, no. 102).20 These shared features with the marsh-pattern bowls appear to suggest a common source of inspiration, if not close regional origin. Like the star-pattern bowls, the design appears as very linear, in part hastily engraved and with frequent “stippling” of the background.21 In terms of metalworking the design of these bowls is produced mostly by engraving and or chasing; punching or embossing, which would have produced a stronger relief and more volume to the individual images, is largely missing in contrast to other groups of bowls. This gives a general impression of mass-production in metal working. A similar impression of mass-production can be gained from the large number of ivories particularly in the Syrian-Intermediate tradition. In particular, grazing stags occur frequently on solid or openwork ivory plaques in a similar manner to bulls (e.g. IN IV, nos 278–282; IN V, nos 368–30; IN VI, nos 137–139; IN VII, nos 577–586; Fontan and Affanni 2018, nos 92–103) (Fig. 5). Solid or openwork plaques are frequently found together and have been manufactured in the same way, so that they might have been produced in the same or at least closely related workshops (IN VII, 91). Considering that such ivory plaques were applied to furniture, particularly bed-frames or chair-backs, a large number of homogenous plaques would be required. What appears striking at a first glance is the interchangeability of the iconography (bulls, cows with calves, stags) on the ivories of the allegedly Syrian It has to be borne in mind, that not all of the bowls could be studied by myself; in some cases I had to rely on Prentice’s drawings, which are not always accurate. 19 A group of inscribed seals with a layout in boxes or registers bears a close resemblance to the single motifs on the bowls (cg. Gubel 1993, 116–118), which attests to the multiple use of motifs across media. 20 In particular the images of cervids with plants might be inspired by North Syrian bowls, since similar illustrations with a wider pictorial context can be found on bowls such as the so-called “Pantheon-Bowl” (cf. Layard 1853, pl. 61B; Barnett 1974, pl. 17; Almagro-Gorbea 2015, Figs. 1. 5,1. 21 Examples of this group are illustrated in Layard 1853, pls 57B. 58E. 59B. 59E (and possibly further ones mentioned by von Bissing 1923–24, 208f.). 18

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Fig. 5. Grazing stags in an openwork inlay, ND 10582 (IN V, No. 368). Intermediate tradition (cf. Fontan and Affanni 2018, 58f. fig. 50). The motif of the hind suckling its young fawn, the equivalent to the cow and calf, is surprisingly absent in the world of ivory and metal alike, although it is known, albeit rarely used, in the imagery of the Iron Age, mostly on seals (cf. Keel 1980, 114–120). In these endless rows of animals on bowls and ivories, meaning cannot be sought within the individual beast. An interpretation of such iconography with reference to emblems of specific deities (cf. Almagro-Gorbea 2015, 82) appears less likely when looking at the repetitive contexts on metal bowls and furniture. The long rows of bull devalue the symbolic significance of the single animal. Instead of considering the bull to be an icon of the weather-god (cf. Falsone 1985; 1992, 88f.; Almagro-Gorbea 2015, 67–70), a much more general meaning should be sought. If it is not a single bull, which would appear as meaningful, but the amassing of a great number, the notion of a herd springs to mind. I wish to put forward the idea, that the bovid iconography should rather be considered as a very general symbol of wealth; cattle, which includes bulls, cows and calves, are the living capital of the local elite. The stag motif might rather be an icon of wild-life and hunting. In fact, the hunting of stags and bulls features from the 2nd mill. onwards in the pictorial legacy of the Levant (cf. Wicke 2008, 88–104 with related discussion).22 Yet, the stag is the object of hunting, not the motherdeer, which might account for their absence on the bowls. With this in mind, the decoration can be understood as another expression of royal privilege and perhaps point to respective festivities associated with hunting deer.23 Remarkably, there is one important motif missing on the Levantine bowls that is frequently to be found in particular on rectangular Syrian-Intermediate ivory plaques, but would otherwise perfectly fit the metopic layout of the bowls, and that is the woman at the window (most comprehensively Suter 1992; Rehm 2003). It features frequently in particular on ivories of the Syrian/Intermediate tradition Crepon (1981), Güterbock (1989) and Mazzoni (1997) refer to cultic activities in connection with stag hunts, which points to a possible religious connotation for the stag and for the stag hunt in general; cf. more recently Collins 2014. This appears to fit the argument for the omission of the hind with fawn, which was not subject to hunting. Collins (2014, 77) refers two Hittite parables apparently mentioning deer in the mountains which reminds us of illustrations such as on Nimrud bowls N6 and N65 (Barnett 1974, 23). 23 This does not negate the notion of motherly love and charity for the motif of cow with calf (cf. Markoe 1985, 43f.). The multiplicity of the motif, however, implies a less specific meaning. 22

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(e. g. IN V, nos 251–258; IN VI, nos 110–120), but is completely missing on metal bowls. The reason for this selective use of the motif might rest in its meaning. In particular Rehm (2003, 495–503) argued for its general apotropaic significance with good reasons. One explanation could be that the motif of a female protective spirit might not have been perceived to be appropriate on metal bowls that were possibly used by men.24 The illustrations of banqueting and dancing women as on bowls from Athens, Idalion or Sparta is set in a context of female elite, indicating that women, too, participated in similar feasts. It is therefore less likely that the motif refers to an issue of gender, but rather to its magical, apotropaic connotation, which invites further research. Bowls with strong Egyptian influence The Phoenician-Levantine tradition is without doubt that which most strongly adopts Egyptian iconography and design and displays at the same time the greatest expertise in the working of ivory (e. g. Herrmann 2002; IN VII, 26–56). This is paralleled in the large group of Cypro-Levantine metal bowls, which have been subject to much study since their discovery. A general trend away from Egyptian models towards stronger Greek influence and their imitation abroad over time has led to a corresponding typology (cf. Gjerstaed 1946; Markoe 1985; Matthäus 1985; Hasserodt 2009; Almagro-Gorbea 2015, 62–76). Two prominent examples of bowls with very strong Egyptian influence following a narrative decorative principle are the golden bowl of Yabâ (IM 105697), discovered in her tomb in Nimrud, and its counterpart, a silver bowl from Athienou (ÄM 14117).25 Both show a procession of boats in a swampy, Nilotic scene with birds, fishes and swimming maidens against a background of papyrus-plants. Water is indicated by a bunch of concentric zigzag-lines, which provides the baseline for the ships. A close inspection reveals a large number of antiquarian details within the scenery, which clearly derive from Egyptian genre-type scenes possibly referring to festivities allegedly taking place in Bubastis. Whether it is part of an Egyptian religious procession to the goddess of Bubastis or not, is difficult to discern.26 In any case, the iconography and stylistic traits of both bowls indicate

The woman at the window motif is likewise missing on the trapezoidal, slightly curving plaques, which have been considered as parts of vessel stands above. In this respect, this observation matches the notion of iconographically coherent environments created by the Levantine craftsmen. 25 For the golden bowl cf. Wicke 2010b. The silver bowl was allegedly found on Cyprus in the cemetery of Agios Jorgos close to ancient Golgoi, modern Athienou in 1866 or 67; for a summary cf. Barnett 1977; Meyer 1987; Wicke 2010b, 116–119. 26 Such interpretations of related Egyptian scenes as a religious travel to Bubastis were put forward by Brunner-Traut 1976, 265 followed e. g. by Gubel 2000a, 195; 2000b, 87; Aruz in Aruz, Graff and Rakic 2014, 116 and others, but remain highly speculative. An alternative interpretation for such boating scenes in a swampy surrounding was suggested by Tait, who referred to New Year’s festivities in Hermopolis (Tait 1963, 134. 138). For a summary and critical assessment cf. Wicke 2010b, 137f. 24

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a date of production probably as early as the 10th cent. BC.27 This group of bowls with a clear narrative content must not be conflated either with the probably later Phoenician or Cypro-Levantine bowls or with the Egyptian style of the metopic bowls.28 Moreover, this type of vivid narration is nowhere to be seen among the Nimrud ivories, which strongly indicates a strict separation of this type of bowl and the centres and periods of ivory working. Devoid of Greek influence and with a strong Egyptian impact is the bowl from Praeneste (Fig. 6). Emblematic depictions known from Egyptian pictorial sources figure clearly on this bowl. Yet, all scenic elements are kept separate and do not form a continuous narrative frieze but an emblematic addition of highly symbolic barques. The motifs are isolated, and the ships and papyrus thickets are displayed as single vignettes, not in a continuous frieze conjoined in narration. The central medallion showing pharaoh smiting his enemies is separated from the outer register by a band of hieroglyphs without coherent meaning; the double-feathers of Ma’at are rather used as a decorative element giving a certain rhythm to the signs. The Bernadini Tomb is commonly dated towards the end of the 7th cent. according to the context and other finds (cf. Markoe 1985, 189 f.; Almagro-Gorbea 2015, 76 with n. 274). Yet, the tomb only provides a terminus ante quem. The bowl itself could thus have been produced in the early 8th, in the 9th, or even 10th cent., a date which might be confirmed by the inscription which mentions a certain Ešmunya’ad. This parallels the Ešmunazar inscription from Sidon, which would give a faint hint regarding its place of origin: the central Levantine coast. Depictions of papyrus-boats with upturned ends carrying four-winged scarabs or a hemhem-crown find almost exact parallels on ND 10700 and ND 10701 (Fig. 7), deriving from the motif of the Egyptian solar barque (Hawkes 1981, 30–44). Even the female figure nursing her son within a papyrus thicket, a clear allusion to Isis raising Horus hidden from Seth, finds a good comparison on ivory plaques such ND 10509. Taken together, these scenes seem to illustrate episodes around Osiris, the major god of the Egyptian pantheon. Garbled hieroglyphic inscriptions, which appear as friezes as well as in three cartouches on the Praeneste bowl, are also a hallmark of the strongly Egyptianizing ivory groups such as the “Ornate” or “Egyptianzing” groups assembled by Herrmann (cf. IN IV, nos 974–1048; IN VI, 75–84). Scenes of papyrus boats with a hemhem-crown or four-winged scarab can be seen on single plaques, too. As such, the Praeneste bowl provides evidence for a combination of motifs which are separated on ivories. Any attempt to reassemble those ivory plaques found split apart in Nimrud needs to take into account the arrangement on such bowls (cf. Gubel 2000a, 195 for a similar line of argument). An almost identical illustration of the central scene with the smiting pharaoh can be found on the famous ivory IM 79516 (IN VI, no. 258). In particular, the figure following pharaoh and holding a presumably dead enemy and a fan is In particular the Yabâ bowl provides important evidence for the chronological range. The archaeological context and inscription clearly point to a deposition in the mid-8th cent. BC, but the imagery and stylistic execution rather point to a date before the 10th cent. BC (Wicke 2010b, 126–136). 28 Cf. Hölbl 1979, 306 or Matthäus 2000, 529. 27

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Fig. 6. Bronze Bowl from Praeneste, Villa Giulia 61574 (drawing by E. Wallet, from Markoe 1985, 274 E1). alien to Egyptian iconography and has to be considered a Levantine addition.29 Other bowls in the Cypro-Levantine group include, for example, a bowl from the Athenian Acropolis (cf. Markoe 1985, G2)30 and a bowl allegedly found in Idalion (AO 20134), which also illustrates pharaoh smiting his enemies and sphinxes or griffins trampling on enemies and heroes hunting and killing lions and griffins in two encircling registers (Markoe 1985, Cy2; Matthäus 1985, 165f. no. 432). Smaller fragments with hieroglyphic inscriptions may also belong to this group (Matthäus 1985, 168 nos 440. 441). Motifs are finely embossed and chased and incorporate hieroglyphs and Egyptian scenery. As for the Cypro-Levantine bowls with strong Egyptianizing features there are numerous connections with ivories of the Phoenician/Levantine tradition For the motif cf. Markoe 1985, 45f. with reference to Schneider-Hermann’s paper. This bowl was considered by Barnett (1974, 15) to be part of his “marsh-pattern group”. The type of open volute palmette, however, is not to be found on the “typical” bowls of this group. 29 30

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a)

b)

c) Fig. 7. Strongly Egyptianizing ivories from Nimrud: a) ND 10700 (IN IV, No. 989) – b) ND 10701 (IN IV, No. 991) – c) ND 10509 (IN IV, No. 1019).

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Fig. 8. Bronze bowl from Amathus, BM 123053 (from Matthäus 1985, No. 428). belonging to the Egyptianizing and Ornate groups in terms of both iconography and style.31 Closely related is a bowl allegedly discovered in Amathus (Fig. 8). It is less true to Egyptian prototypes, but displays a narrative quality in its figurative friezes that is rare in other toreutic products, combined with emblematic depictions with high symbolic value. The inner parts of this shallow bowl are divided into a number of registers illustrating various motifs. The middle register depicts scarabs, a child-god on a lotus flower and winged goddesses. The outer register, however, illustrates a war scene and the conquest of a city. Markoe’s suggestion of an Assyrian influence on this outer register is mostly argued by the absence of Egyptian traits (Markoe 1985, 102–105). However, while the subject itself – siege of a city – can be frequently found in Assyrian art, many details such as the round shields or the rearing horses are unfamiliar in Assyrian art and rather betray Greek influence, as Matthäus had made clear, which suggests a date from the 8th cent. onwards (Matthäus 1985, 173). A similar combination of Greek and Egyptian iconography can be seen on bowl AO 20135 (Markoe 1985, Cy1; Matthäus 1985, no. 431), showing scenes of genies killing lions and griffins in the middle register and hunting in the outer register. The introduction of Aegean or more specifically Greek influences in iconography and motif suggest a chronological development in the alleged Cypro-Levantine examples over time, that is from the late 9th to the 7th cent. BC (cf. Gjerstaed 1946; Matthäus 1985, 169–178), although Matthäus For a discussion of the “Ornate Group” cf. Herrmann 2002.

31

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pointed out that the relationships to non-Cypriote finds from Italy still needed to be discussed. The discovery of many bowls in this group on Cyprus was taken as an argument for the location of corresponding workshops on that island (e. g. Matthäus 1985, 355). Yet, it has to be borne in mind that Cyprus had been integrated into the Levantine koiné which comprises island and coast alike (cf. Barnett 1974, 25). Links between these bowls and ivories in particular of the strongly Egyptianizing Ornate Group are evident (Fig. 9). The child-god squatting on the lotus flower, guarded by winged female beings (Crowfoot and Crowfoot 1938, pl. 1; IN IV, nos 994–996. 1260–1264; IN VI, no. 157 with further commentary by K. Kitchen) is represented on the Amathus bowl, which also displays typical Egyptian motifs such as the four-winged scarab in its middle frieze. Very similar illustrations can be found in both media as has already been hinted at by Markoe (1985, 103f.). We may note the very similar elliptical shape of the sun-disc, worn by the sphinxes or the design of the cartouche with pseudo-hieroglyphic signs (Fig, 9b). In particular, on the Cypro-Levantine bowls there is a very distinct way of illustrating sphinxes or griffins trampling on fallen enemies. Their placement beneath the beasts’ paws has them reclining peacefully and is also to be seen on a number of ivory plaques, very unlike the Egyptian prototype. The kneeling position of the subjugated figure and its ‘greeting’ gesture known from the marshpattern group bowls (cf. above), however, appears to be absent within the CyproLevantine group, which might suggest different models. Concluding remarks The Nimrud corpora of metal vessels and ivories are assembled from finds almost exclusively from outside their places of production and places of initial use, that is in the Assyrian treasuries in the (former) capital, where they probably arrived as spoils of war, tribute or booty. The original use of the metal bowls is frequently given as banqueting and drinking and as such associated with the elite male world of the Levant, possibly continuing such practice from the Late Bronze Age onwards (cf. Barnett 1974, 30f.; Onnis 2014, 176–179; Feldman 2014, chap. 4). Illustrations of female figure in different contexts, however, could point to a use of such bowls by women, too. Their hoarding in magazines might have been a reason for such communal use on festive occasions. In addition, Buchholz and Matthäus (2003, 134; also Onnis 2014, 177) mention correctly that metal vessels could also have been used as a form of ‘capital’ or ‘currency’. Falsone pointed towards the polychalkos “copperrich” cities of Phoenicia as mentioned in Odyssey XV, 425, which supports the notion of metal vessels being esteemed not only for their artistic execution, but for their weight in metal. This stands beside the Homeric praise of vessels skilfully crafted by Phoenicians. The Assyrian counted the weight of metal in their lists of booty or tribute payment (cf. Walker 1988 with references to Assyrian tribute and booty lists, mentioning metal; Falsone 1988, 228). As such, the hoarding of metal vessels rather becomes a symbol of material wealth, the metal a resource which could easily be converted from vessel to weapon or plough. The actual use of metal bowls at the Assyrian court can be questioned: The distribution of ivories

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a)

b) Fig. 9. Comparison in ivory: a) Horus: BM 118180 (IN VI, No. 157 = CNI, No. C51) – b) Blinker: IM 79572b (IN VI, 255). across buildings and rooms appears to indicate a deliberate choice and suggests an inclination for single pieces or stylistic groups besides a clear preference of Assyrian style carvings in harmony with the Assyrian ‘artistic environment’ to create a homogeneous appearance of motifs and styles to serve an Assyrian representative ideology (cf. Herrmann 2003; Rehm 2005; IN VI, 108f. 113f.). As for metal bowls it is noticeable that Assurnasirpal II uses rather shallow bowls similar to the Levantine pieces in his libation scenes, while carinated bowls with lobed decoration appear on later reliefs, above all in Ashurbanipal’s ‘Garden Scene’ (cf. Curtis and Reade 1995, 122; Hrouda 1965, 78f.). This might indicate a change of shape and/or a change of fashion over time in Assyria. In any case, the amassing of finds in Nimrud should not be considered as a mode of collecting in the modern sense of collections to be displayed as argued by Thomason 2005 or Feldman (2014, 94f.), but rather as a skimming off of wealth in the Syro-Levantine territories, being part of Assyrian occupational

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strategy. A similar consideration holds true for Levantine ivory objects, which are connected to Levantine nobility by material, craftsmanship and iconology alike. Both corpora lack secure points of reference as to their place and date of manufacture. They are considered to be ‘genuinely Levantine’ and both media share common roots in the Late Bronze Age, which carried through to the Early Iron Age. Many studies have pointed to the continuity in artistic production between the 2nd and 1st mill. BC, in particular in the arts and crafts (e. g. Dussaud 1949, 11f.; Gubel 2000b, 69f.; Feldman 2006; Wicke 2008, 125–130; Aruz, Graff and Rakic 2014, 14–49; Onnis 2014; Almagro-Gorbea 2015, 58–60 to name but a few). The date of production of Levantine metal bowls and ivories is generally placed in the first quarter of the 1st mill. BC but with a certain amount of insecurity. As more recent contributions suggest, there are good arguments for a more specific chronology for the distinctive stylistic subgroups among the corpora, which leads to an interpretation of certain pieces, for example, as heirlooms or ‘antiquities’. Almagro-Gorbea (2015, 74–76) provides a split chronology for various sub-groups among the Levantine bowls, backed by find contexts and dated comparisons. Generally speaking, a flourishing Levantine craft-production should be expected in the 10th or even 11th cent., which is exactly the culmination of the economic power of city-states such as Tyre or Sidon (cf. Aubet 1996, chapt. 2). Finds like the bowl from Lefkandi, tomb 55 dating to around 900 BC showing sphinxes on a large volute tree appear to indicate an earlier date for such bronze bowls than previously thought (cf. Falsone 1988, 238). A similar range of dates should therefore be proposed for the ivories, too. Single finds as from Tel Miqne-Ekron (summarizing IN VI, 116; IN VII, 114f.), for example, attest to the possible transmission of arts and crafts from the 2nd to the 1st mill. BC with high probability. In particular for North Syrian ivories an early date of the 9th or even 10th cent. BC has been pushed forward, which might also hold true for the stronger Egyptianizing Levantine products with a wider temporal range (cf. Falsone 1988, 239f). Additional information about the possible source of the metal bowls can be gained from a small number of inscribed vessels (cf. Poulsen 1912, 3; Barnett 1974, 23; Markoe 1985, 72–74). The names being written in Phoenician, Aramaic and Hebrew indicate a general Levantine origin, and references to the gods El and Ba’al as the main gods of the Levantine pantheon support this general notion. Workshops in the Iron Age Levant are not yet archaeologically attested, either for metal bowls or for ivory and bone carvings (cf. Falsone 1988, 229; Wicke 2009, 36–44; IN VI, 69f.). However, speaking more generally, both media display clear indications of serial-production, in particular with reference to Syrian/Intermediate ivories and metal bowls. As objects produced on a larger scale, their working is more superficial. The carelessness with figurative details and in particular the miniature friezes of the metal bowls leads to a kind of iconic reduction of the motif. In particular star-pattern and metopic bowls are produced more simply by engraving and/or chasing, which is more quickly done and appears to point towards mass production (Fig. 3b).32 The application of silver studs on the shiny This observation confirms Sommer’s notion of Levantine art as mass-produced and commercial (Sommer 2002, 213f.). 32

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a)

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c) Fig. 10: Further iconographic comparison: a) Details from Idalion bowl (after Aruz et al. 2014, ) – b) ND 10706 (IN IV, No. 656) – c) ND 11132 (IN IV, No. 1113). golden bronze of the star pattern bowls might have been an attempt to create a higher value. Similarly, Syrian-Intermediate ivories are much less colourful and generally without inlays. The high number of fairly similar plaques clearly discloses serial production, too. Similarities between (immobile) stone sculpture and (mobile) ivory carvings have led to suggestions of possible regional artistic centres (e.g. Winter 1973;

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Herrmann 1989; Wicke 2005).33 The best evidence for allocating the finds to possible places of origins remains through their artistic execution even though it remains open for discussion whether stylistic differences should indicate chronological differences rather than regional varieties.34 Alas, both corpora share a certain recalcitrance to typological grouping, which is difficult to tackle. While it is the enormous number of ivory pieces, which among others Georgina Herrmann has included with admirable patience in her many catalogues, that provide a major obstacle to their grouping, it is on the contrary the small number of bronzes which is problematic, as they sometimes fall into groups or types of almost a single piece. Both crafts, metal- and ivory-working, appear to follow similar trends in this respect. Hence, an analogous typological grouping can be produced for bowls as for ivories based on this. I would like to argue that this indicates a similar area/ region of production if not the same centres. Similar suggestions have already been put forward by others.35 To date both, metal bowls and ivories, have been categorized and grouped by and large through their indebtedness to the overarching artistic traditions of Egypt, Syria or Assyria. Already distinctive Egyptian elements were noted by Perrot and Chipiez (1884, 738–749; cf. also Poulsen 1912, 6f.) Von Bissing recognized the strong Egyptian influence on a number of metal bowls and indicated a Levantine origin in the early Iron Age, even musing about manufacture in the Nile delta (von Bissing 1923–24). Looking at the degree of Egyptian influence we can find a similar “degradation” of this influence on the bowls as on the ivories. Among the corpora are groups that follow Egyptian iconography with more fidelity and a higher degree of precision such as the Egyptianizing marsh-pattern bowls and the Phoenician-Levantine ivory groups. At the same time there are bowls and ivories, where the Egyptian trait is a mere reflection of the original motif. This can be observed, for example, with bowls of the star pattern group and ivories of the Syrian-Intermediate tradition. Since a number of star-pattern bowls carry Aramaic inscriptions Barnett considered them to be made in southern Syria (cf. Barnett 1974, 23). It remains open to debate if these inscriptions could not have been added later. This is the more likely since we know, that metal vessels could quickly change hands. In an affirmative way, this supports Winter’s arguments for a localisation of artistic schools in the Damascene hinterland of the Levantine coast, which was not subject to immediate Egyptian influence (Winter 1981). In any case, the establishment of new chiefdoms and a new ruling class such as Israel or Aram would have required new forms of elite luxury products. This argument was put forward by Winter when promoting a South-Syrian style of ivory-carving to be located around Damascus (Winter Further fixed points for a geographic allocation might be found in stone sculptures from Jordan or Levantine scarabs, which were also produced in a typical style. 34 Feldman 2014, 17f. and Suter 2015, e. g., oppose the possibility of ascertaining regional traditions at all. Stylistic differences might also indicate differences in use, affordability or patterns of consumption. 35 For example Markoe (1985, 103): “The close correspondences in style, treatment, and choice of theme between these ivories and the Phoenician paterae strongly suggest that both groups derive from a common source of manufacture that, on the basis of the available evidence, should be localized in Cyprus itself.” 33

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1981, 130). The close similarity between ivories and Cypro-Levantine metal bowls could indicate a location of respective ivory working if not on the island, then at least in its artistic vicinity. The discovery of furniture embellished with Ornate-Style ivories in the tombs of Salamis thus appears as less of a surprise (IN IV, 35f.). The interesting overlapping array of figurative decoration invites a comparative iconographic study.36 When comparing motifs on metal bowls with ivories, many similarities can be found in works with an allegedly Syrian or Levantine origin. This obviously leads to the notorious question of artistic transfer, about the ways of the iconographic transmission between crafts and how general communication between craftsmen took place. The reference to the Phoenician craftsman Huram-abi who was sent from Tyre to aid Solomon’s temple-building in 2 Chron. 2, 12–13 is much quoted. Huram-abi is described as “… a skilled man, endued with understanding, […] He is trained to work in gold, silver, bronze, iron, stone, and in wood, and in purple, blue, and crimson fabrics and fine linen, and to do all sorts of engraving and execute any designs that may be assigned him.” If this quote should be taken literally, such craftsmen could easily design a complete artistic environment from building and furniture, to tapestry, cloths and dishes – in a manner still practiced by, for example, Henry van de Velde.37 On the contrary, this biblical reference could also be considered as an epic elevation, to boast Solomon’s glory. The exchange of artisans, however, was common practice, and the possibility of migrating craftsmen can still not be ruled out (cf. Bonatz 2002; Hoffman 1997; also Crummy 2001 for parallel cases). Traveling works of art are a frequent source of inspiration through all periods. In particular small portable objets d’art including carved ivories, jewellery, seals, illustrations on vessels, furniture, textiles or even papyrus scrolls might account for a transmission of Egyptian motifs into the Levant.38 Rare cases for the mobility of images across media are the imprints of – supposedly – ivory models in clay or pottery, probably transferred by moulds (cf. Curtis and Herrmann 1998; Gubel 1999 and 2000a with further examples for a transfer of motifs across media; Wicke 2009, 260f.), which might be applicable for the creation of designs on ivories and metal bowls alike. In any case, it demonstrates the ability and interest of workmen The many issues of style in the art-historical sense have been put aside for the time being, as the different media bronze and ivory naturally require different tools and methods of manufacture which, besides the medium, have a considerable effect on style; cf. Herrmann 2009, 98. We should bear in mind Winter’s comment that there was a ‘common pool’ of motives and themes shared by most Levantine cultures (Winter 1981, 105), which is an obstacle to clear cut interpretations. 37 Rare details may indicate such manifold training of craftsmen: the compass-rosette engraved on the back of ivory ND 14084 (IN VII, no. 321) is a decorative element unusual for ivory, but more frequent on metal bowls. 38 Cf. Herrmann in IN IV, 41f.; Wicke 2010b, 126–136 for further modes of artistic transfer. Eder 1995, 139 points to the exchange of jewellery, in particular bracelets and pectoralia, as the most likeliest means for an exchange of motifs, since those would have provided immediate models for the Levantine artisans not only for the motif, but also for its colouring. Boschloos 2009 particularly points towards figuratively decorated faience chalices as goods that are easy to transport. Gubel 2005 discusses bridle-harness decoration as a further example for a use of similar motifs on different objects. 36

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in such motifs.39 Polychrome and gilt works of ivory furniture gives proof to a cooperation or interaction between craftsmen using glass and semiprecious stones and jewellers. In particular when materials are worked in similar techniques, such as bone and ivory or stone and glass, it appears likely that they were worked by the same group of craftsmen (cf. Schmidt 2019, 66–68). Metalworking, glass and in part faience, however, require specific and separate pyrotechnical installations.40 Metal-fittings have rarely been used on carved ivory, but thin sheets of gold leaf would have been required for gilding. This might argue for separate premises and workshop set-ups. Yet, such a discussion needs a thorough look into ancient craft organisation like the Assyrian bīt mumme, which exceeds the scope of this paper.41 Stone-sculpture could have acted as a source for inspiration for the carvers and metal-workers, although it is lacking the same amount of detail sometimes to be seen in small-scale art. The frequently quoted pattern books remain the most obvious and at the same time most elusive means of artistic transfer.42 Markoe, strongly argued for such ‘sketch-books’ in the case of metal bowls, “illustrating an entire series of model episodes or scenes; in any event each of the motifs in the repertoire was governed by a set of specific iconographic formulae. Together these components comprise a form of pictorial vocabulary whose rules of application are governed by a grammar and system of syntax that is uniquely Phoenician.” (Markoe 1985, 71) Be that as it may, the use of floral decorative motives is a conspicuous distinction between metal bowls and carved ivories. Composite plants with open chalices, finger-shaped petals and lily-like flowers which appear in varied combinations on ivory, are rarely found on metal bowls. The bowl from Kourion (Markoe 1985, no. Cy8) as part of the Cypro-Levantine group is one of the rare exceptions with equally elaborate ‘plants’. The familiarity with iconographic details can be taken as evidence for a high degree of familiarity with the respective artistic language, in that case Egypt. In particular on Cypro-Levantine metal bowls one can detect single elements of longer narrative contexts, illustrated and at times repeated in variations in the small friezes. This notion of intimate knowledge of Egyptian iconography, however, is less likely with regard to the Syrian metal-bowls. The Egyptian ancestry of many motifs cannot be denied, but their meaning in the newly formed Iron Age beliefs remains questionable and hitherto mostly unsolved. The more expanded figurative contexts on the metal bowls can help to interpret the rather “abbreviated”

Gubel convincingly argued for a transfer and consecutive recombination of single motifs from bowls to seals (Gubel 2000a, 195). 40 Schmidt (2019, 153–157) stresses the distinction between primary hot and secondary cold-working production and deduces a close connection between glass objects and carved ivories for a high degree of similarity in motif, style and colouring. 41 For a further summary of metal craftsmen including previous literature and textual sources cf. Dalley 1988. 42 Eder (1995, 169), for example, argues for the distribution of pattern books by traveling Egyptians or Egyptian craftsmen in the 3rd and 2nd mill. BC as in Byblos. He explains, that “Die häufig zu beobachtende sinngemäße Verwendung der ägyptischen Motive und Elemente […] verlangt darüber hinaus einen intensiven und dauerhaften Direkt-Kontakt […].” 39

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illustrations on ivories.43 The often more detailed scenes in the circular friezes or central medallions of the metal bowls aid the understanding of the mostly isolated and singular framed depictions on the ivories. Hawkes (1981, 243) traces the choice of Egyptian motifs and suggests a true awareness and a deliberate use of Egyptian iconography. A selection of motifs was made since “these designs were further selected to represent a certain facet of Egyptian culture, the promotion and protection of the highest concepts Egyptian art defined, royalty and divine kingship” (ibid., 245). He stresses the solar connection to scarabs, Bes and winged discs (ibid., 253f.), although a one to one transfer of the (Egyptian) images to other works of art remains rare. In the image of pharaoh smiting the enemies we see clear elements of Egyptian royal ideology.44 Yet, while the themes are derived from Egyptian New Kingdom iconography, deviations in minor details and the hemispherical shape of the bowls points towards a Levantine origin. The same applies to the depiction of scarabs and Osiris-imagery or the child-god on lotusflower, which are clearly associated with royalty. Following Hawkes (Hawkes 1981, 38), the use of the four-winged scarab as a symbol for royalty in Israel is a further example of a deliberate use of Egyptian iconography in Levantine crafts, in particular in Samaria (for an introduction cf. Uehlinger 2005, 160–178). This might, in turn, argue for another centre of production (cf. Uehlinger 2005, 167–169). Rows of small-scale icon-like images such as the rows of stags and bulls on the star pattern bowls are frequently found on West-Semitic inscribed seals (Markoe 1985, 87–89; Gubel 1993). In particular the aegis-motif or the hieroglyphic signs appear almost as imitations from the seals. If the localization of this group of seals can be confirmed in the area of Israel/Palestine, this would provide additional support for a localization of respective workshops in this region. Their strong Egyptian appearance does not need to come as a surprise, since Egyptian artistic influence was particularly intense in the Southern Levant along the coast for a long time. Further stylistic comparisons can be made with depictions on seals, but that is beyond the scope of this discussion (cf. Gubel 2000a, 195f. fig. 16. 17). The frequent illustration of scenes of war and siege on the Cypro-Levantine bowls have an association with the victorious king, mirrored by mythical heroes killing griffins, sphinxes or lions. However, scenes on ivory never achieved a narrative quality similar to the metal bowls. Nevertheless, the association with royalty and (male) superiority is obvious in particular with the metal bowls (Onnis 2014, 222). The hunting of griffins is pursued on the bowls by mythical figures. This leads to the conclusion that the anthropomorphic figures on the ivories should be considered as non-human, too, although they mostly do not show any sign of mythical descent. In particular the bowls make it clear, that the mundane An important attempt to explain iconography by combining metal bowls and ivories was undertaken by R. D. Barnett (1935), who sought to identify single figures mentioned by Philo of Byblos and in Ugaritic texts. He himself considered such an undertaking “hazardous” (ibid., 201), but nevertheless clearly pointed to artistic relationships, cf. also Dussaud 1949 or Falsone 1989. For an ongoing discussion on Phoenician religious iconography cf. the numerous contributions, e. g., by E. Lipiński, E. Gubel or V. Boschloos. 44 Eder, OLA 71, 139 ebd. 143 argues that other representations of sphinxes also refer to royalty. 43

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hunt should be paralleled in the mythical world. Taken as such, we can envisage a certain iconographic repertoire that was deliberately employed on ivories as well as metal vessels in order to convey the ideas of Levantine nobility, aided by the use of precious and artistic goods. Despite its borrowing from foreign and previous artistic trends, the Levantine craft production during the early Iron Age clearly remains skilful and inventive in all sorts of different media. Due to its extremely wide distribution it had a major impact on cultures still to come. Bibliography General abbreviations IN I,1 J. J. Orchard, Equestrian Bridle-Harness Ornaments. Ivories from Nimrud I,1. London 1967. IN III M. E. L. Mallowan and G. Herrmann, Furniture from SW 7, Fort Shalmaneser. Ivories from Nimrud III. London 1974. IN IV G. Herrmann, Ivories from Room SW 37, Fort Shalmaneser. Ivories from Nimrud IV. London 1986. IN V G. Herrmann, The Small Collections from Fort Shalmaneser. Ivories from Nimrud V. London 1992. IN VI G. Herrmann and S. Laidlaw, Ivories from the North West Palace. Ivories from Nimrid VI. London 2009. IN VII G. Herrmann and S. Laidlaw, Ivories from Rooms SW11/12 and T10 Fort Shalmaneser. Ivories from Nimrud VII. London 2013. Almagro-Gorbea, M. 2015 Los cuencos decorados fenicios o ‘Phoenician Bowls’. In: J. J. Avila (ed.), Phoenican bronzes in Mediterranean. BibOiothecaArch.Hispana 45. Madrid. 57–90. Aruz, J. et al. 2008 Babylon and Beyond. Art, Trade and Diplomacy in the Second Millennium b.c. New York. Aruz, J., S. B. Graff and Y. Rakic (eds) 2014 Assyria to Iberia at the Dawn of the Classical Age. New York. Aubet, M. E. 1996 The Phoenicians and the West. Cambridge (Reprint). Barnett, R. D. 1935 The Nimrud Ivories and the Art of the Phoenician, Iraq 2, 179–210. 1967 Layard’s Nimrud Bronzes and their inscriptions, Eretz Israel 8, 1*–7*. 1974 The Nimrud bowls in the British Museum, Rivista di Studi Fenici 2, 11– 33. 1975 A Catalogue of the Nimrud Ivories with other Examples of Ancient Near Eastern Ivories in the British Museum (2nd ed.). London. 1977 The Amathus shield-boss rediscovered and the Amathus bowl reconsidered, Report of the Department of Antiquities of Cyprus 1977, 157–169. Bonatz, D. 2002 Fremde „Künstler“ in Ḫattuša. In: H. Blum et al. (eds), Brückenland Anatolien? Tübingen. 69–83.

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Boschloos, V. 2009 L’iconographie des calices en reliefs Égyptiens par rapport aux adaptations Phénicienns. In: S. M. Cecchini, S. Mazzoni and E. Scigliuzzo (eds), Syrian and Phoenician Ivories. Ricerche di archeologia del Vicino Oriente 3. Pisa. 285–305. Brunner-Traut, E. 1976 Die alten Ägypter. Stuttgart². Buchholz, H. and H. Matthäus 2003 Zyprische Bronzeschalen der geometrischen und archaischen Periode. Eine Studie zu Typologie, Chronologie, Epigraphik und kultureller Außenwirkung zyprischen Metallhandwerks des frühen ersten Jahrtausends v. Chr., Cahiers du Centre d’Études Chypriotes 33, 99–148. Cecchini, S. M., S. Mazzoni and E. Scigliuzzo (eds) 2009 Syrian and Phoenician Ivories of the Early First Millennium BCE. Chronology, Regional Styles and Iconographic Repertoires. Ricerche di archeologia del Vicino Oriente 3. Pisa. Cochavy-Rainey, Z. and C. Lilyquist 1999 Royal Gifts in the Late Bronze Age. Beer-Sheva. Collins, B. J. 2014 On the Trail of the Deer: Hittite kūrala-. In: G. M. Beckman and R. H. Beal (eds), Hittite Studies in Honor of Harry A. Haffner Jr. Winona Lake. 73–82. Crepon, P. 1981 Le theme du cerf dans l’iconographie Anatolienne des origines à l’époque hittite, Hethitica 4, 117–155. Crowfoot, J. W. and G. M. Crowfoot 1938 Early Ivories from Samaria. London Crummy, N. 2001 Bone-working in Roman Britain: a model for itinerant craftsmen. In: M. Polfer (ed.), L’artisanat romain. Actes du 2ième colloque d’Erpeldange (26– 28 Octobre 2001). Monographies Instrumentum 20. Montagnac. 97–109. Curtis, J. 2008 Observations on selected metal objects from the Nimrud Tombs. In: J. E. Curtis et al. (eds), New Light on Nimrud. Proceedings of the Nimrud Conference 11th–13th March 2002. London. 243–253. 2013 An examination of Late Assyrian Metalwork with special reference to Nimrud. Oxford. Curtis, J. and G. Herrmann 1998 Reflections on the four winged genie: a pottery jar and an ivory panel from Nimrud, Iranica Antiqua 33, 107–134. Curtis, J. and J. Reade (eds.) 1995 Art and empire: treasures from Assyria in the British Museum. London. Dalley, S. 1988 Neo-Assyrian Textual Evidence for Bronzeworking Centre. In: J. Curtis (ed.), Bronzeworking Centres of Western Asia c. 1000–539 B.C. London / New York. 97–110.

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Dussaud, R. 1949 L’art phénicien du IIe millénaire. Paris. Eder, C. 1995 Die ägyptischen Motive in der Glyptik des östlichen Mittelmeerraumes zu Anfang des 2. Jts. v. Chr. Orientalia Lovaniensia analecta 71. Leuven. Falsone, G. 1985 A Syro-Phoenician Bull-Bowl in Geneva and Its Analogue in the British Museum, Anatolian Studies 35, 131–146. 1988 Phoenicia as a Bronzeworking Centre in the Iron Age. In: J. Curtis (ed.), Bronzeworking Centres of Western Asia c. 1000–539 B.C. London / New York. 227–250. 1989 Da Nimrud a Mozia, Ugarit-Forschungen 21, 153–193. 1992 Nuove coppe metalliche di fattura orientale, Vicino Oriente 8/2, 83–112. Feldman, M. 2006 Diplomacy by Design. Chicago. 2014 Communities of Style. Portable Luxury Arts, Identity and Collective Memory in the Iron Age. Chicago / London. Fischer, E. 2007 Ägyptische und ägyptisierende Elfenbeine aus Megiddo und Lachisch. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 47. Münster. Fontan, E. and G. Affanni 2018 Arslan Tash Gachet-Bizollon, J. 2007 Les ivoires d’Ougarit et l’art des ivoiriers du Levant au Bronze Récent. Ras Shamra-Ougarit 16. Paris. Gershuny, L. 1985 Bronze Vessels from Israel and Jordan. Prähistorische Bronzefunde II, 7. Munich. Gjerstaed 1946 Decorated metal bowls from Cyprus, Opuscula Archaeologica 4, 1–18. Gubel, E. 1993 The iconography of inscribed Phoenician glyptic. In: B. Sass and C. Uehlinger (eds), Studies in the Iconography of Northwest Semitic Inscribed Seals. Orbis Biblicus et orientalis 125. Fribourg. 101–130. 1999 Notes on the Role of Moulds in the Propagation of Phoenician Iconography. In: R. Rolle and K. Schmidt (eds), Archäologische Studien in Kontaktzonen der antiken Welt. Göttingen. 477–488. 2000a Multicultural and multimedial aspects of early Phoenician art, c. 1200– 675 BCE. In: C. Uehlinger (ed.), Images as media. Orbis biblicus et orientalis 175. Fribourg. 185–214. 2000b Das libyerzeitliche Ägypten und die Anfänge der phönizischen Ikonographie. In: M. Görg and G. Hölbl (eds), Ägypten und der östliche Mittelmeerraum im 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr. Ägypten und Altes Testament 44. Wiesbaden. 69–100. 2005 Phoenician and Aramean bridle-harness decoration: Examples of cultural contact and innovation in the Eastern Mediterranean. In: C. Uehlinger and C. E. Suter (eds), Crafts and Images in Contact. Orbis Biblicus et

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Schmidt, K. 2019 Glass and Glass Production in the Near East during the Iron Age. Oxford. Seidl, U. 2004 Bronzekunst Urartus. Mainz. Sommer, M. 2002 Kunst als Ware. Bildproduktion und Fernhandel zwischen Levante und Griechenland. In: M. Heinz and D. Bonatz (eds), Bild – Macht – Geschichte. Berlin. 207–224. Suter, C. 1992 Die Frau am Fenster in der altorientalischen Elfenbeinschnitzkunst des frühen 1. Jahrtausends v. Chr., Jahrbuch der Staatlichen Kunstsammlungen in Baden-Württemberg 29, 7–28. 2015 Classifying Iron Age Levantine Ivories: Impracticalities and a New Approach, Altorientalische Forschungen 42, 31–45. Tait, G. A. D. 1963 The Egyptian Relief Chalice, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 49, 93– 139. Thomason, A. K. 2005 Luxury and Legitimation. Royal Collecting in Ancient Mesopotamia. Ashgate. Tubbs, J. 1988 Peoples of the Past: Canaanites. London. Von Bissing, F. W. 1923–24 Untersuchungen über die „phoinikischen“ Metallschalen, Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archäologischen Institutes 38–39, 180–241. Walker, C. 1988 Further Notes on Assyrian Bronzeworking. In: J. Curtis (ed.), Bronzeworking Centres of Western Asia c. 1000–539 B.C. London / New York. 111–118. Wicke, D. 1999 Altorientalische Pferdescheuklappen, Ugarit-Forschungen 31, 803–852. 2005 ‚Roundcheeked and Ringletted‘: Gibt es einen nordwestsyrischen Regionalstil in der altorientalischen Elfenbeinschnitzkunst. In: C. Uehlinger and C. E. Suter (eds), Crafts and Images in Contact. Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 210. Fribourg. 67–110. 2008 Vorderasiatische Pyxiden der Spätbronzezeit und der Früheisenzeit. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 45. Münster. 2009 „Intermediate Tradition“ – dreifach problematisch. In: S. M. Cecchini, S. Mazzoni and E. Scigliuzzo (eds), Syrian and Phoenician Ivories. Ricerche di archeologia del Vicino Oriente 3. Pisa. 239–284. 2010a Kleinfunde aus Elfenbein und Knochen aus Assur. Ausgrabungen in Assur F,3. Wissenschaftliche Veröffentlichungen der Deutschen OrientGesellschaft 131. Mainz. 2010b Die Goldschale der Iabâ – eine levantinische Antiquität, Zeitschrift für Assyriologie und Vorderasiatische Archäologie 100, 109–141. 2013 Elfenbeinschnitzereien in der Eisenzeit. In: W. Orthmann, P. Matthiae and

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M. al-Maqdissi (eds), Archéologie et Histoire de la Syrie I. Schriften zur Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 1,1. Saarbrücken. 549–592. Winter, I. 1981 Is there a South Syrian style of ivory carving in the early first millennium B.C.?, Iraq 43, 101–130.

Rock Reliefs

Naqsh-i Rustam 8: First attendant (from G. Herrmann, Naqsh-i Rustam 5 and 8. Iranische Denkmäler II,8. Iranische Felsreliefs D. Berlin 1977. pl. 13).

Further thoughts on Varegna, the royal falcon, and Verethragna, the victorious warrior god Vesta Sarkhosh Curtis Abstract Parthian and Sasanian period coins have an imagery which relates to the Iranian concept of the God-given Glory, the Avestan khvarnah. One of these motifs is the bird of prey, the royal falcon, which protects the khvarnah according to Avestan Yashts. Here, we also find a strong connection between the royal falcon and Verethragna or Bahram, the victorious warrior god. This paper examines some evidence from the Parthian period, including local kingdoms such as Elymais and Persis, and then moves on to the Sasanian period where the coinage of the early period in particular adopted motifs and symbols that existed on the coinage of Persis after the collapse of the Achaemenid empire in the 3rd century BC until the end of Parthian rule in the early 3rd century AD. Coins are one of the most important primary sources for the development of royal and religious iconography in these periods. Introduction This paper is a reflection on some of my previously published works on royal and religious iconography in the Parthian and Sasanian periods. I was very fortunate to have Georgina Herrmann as my PhD supervisor at the Institute of Archaeology. She directed my research, supported me throughout and encouraged me to finish my thesis on ‘The Parthian Costume: Origin and Distribution.’ She also opened my eyes to many outstanding questions in Parthian art and culture, some of which I have tried to address since then. She has been an inspiration to many of us with her thoroughness and depth of knowledge yet has remained humble and unpretentious. In the following brief discussion, I shall focus in particular on the role and importance of the symbol of the royal falcon or bird of prey on Parthian and Sasanian coins and its association with certain religious concepts and divine beings in the Iranian Zoroastrian concept of kingship.

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Parthian coins and symbols of kingship During the early Arsacid period, and particularly in the reigns of Mithradates I (c. 171–138 BC) to Mithradates II (c. 122/1–91 BC), a model for a royal and religious iconography was created. The concept of kingship and the ruler as the holder of the khvarnah or God-given Glory derived from a pre-Hellenistic ancient Iranian ideology embedded in Iranian and Zoroastrian religious thought, while the iconography used Hellenistic motifs combined with Iranian prototypes. The Greek language and script were also used for titles that were both Iranian as well as Hellenistic in origin, clearly reflecting therefore the political and cultural milieu of the period after the Macedonian conquest and the rise of the Seleucid dynasty in the late 4th century BC. Under Artabanus I (c. 127–123) BC and Mithradates II the Parthian costume and the tall tiara were introduced as a sign of Iranisation, as was the introduction of the title ‘Great King of Kings’ under the latter (Fig. 1) (Sarkhosh Curtis et al. 2020, 27–37). Both the iconography of the Arsacid kings and their royal titles as seen on coins were also adopted by regional and local rulers, as well as by the rulers of the later Sasanian dynasty who became the new King of Kings from AD 224–651.

Fig.1 a, b. Obverse and reverse of a Parthian silver drachm of Mithradates II (drawing by Rebecca Green). On their coins, the Arsacid Parthians used Hellenistic-inspired investiture scenes showing a goddess offering the king a diadem as a symbol of kingship. Sometimes this is complemented by a handshake, an Iranian gesture (Errington and Sarkosh Curtis 2011, 118). The scenes are accompanied by astral symbols and a bird of prey with or without a diadem or ring in its beak. All these motifs were used to legitimise the king’s rule and provided him with divine protection, the Iranian concept of khvarnah or God-given Glory. The multitude and variety of these symbols are impressive and suggest that the Arsacid king and his administration found it imperative to prove that the king was the chosen and legitimate ruler, who possessed and was protected by the Kingly Glory. This was particularly important in times of political upheaval and rivalry in the royal Arsacid family, as for example in the first century BC. The bird of prey and Parthian coins One of these symbols, which continued to play an important role in Sasanian coin iconography, is a bird of prey, the royal falcon, Persian shāhbāz.

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Such a bird appears for the first time on early Parthian coins attributed to Arsaces II (c. 211–191 BC) where it is seen on the obverse of a silver drachm in front of the seated archer below his bow (Sellwood 1980, Type 6.1). Also, around this time, the reverse of a bronze coin shows a bird of prey standing prominently upon a bull’s head (Faghfouri 2020, 114). On the reverse of bronze coins from Susa dated to Mithradates II (c. 122/1–91 BC) a bird of prey is found with its wings open (Fig. 2) (Sarkhosh Curtis et al. 2020, 71 Type 31), and tetradrachms of Phraates III (c. 70–57 BC) imitate the ‘Alexandrine tetradrachms’, including those of Seleucus I, where the reverse shows the god Zeus holding an eagle (Errington and Sarkhosh Curtis 2011, 35 fig. 36, 2–5). On his tetradrachms Phraates III (c. 70–57 BC) is elevated to divine status being described as the Great King Arsaces, the god (Sellwood 1980, Type 39.1).

Fig. 2. Reverse of a Parthian bronze coin of Mithradates II (drawing by Rebecca Green). In the second half of the 1st century BC a series of motifs associated with kingship and victory play an even more prominent role in Parthian coin iconography. Orodes II (c. 57–38 BC), the victorious king of the Battle of Carrhae in 54/3 BC where Roman standards were lost, continued to show on the reverse of his tetradrachms investiture scenes in the presence of a goddess (Sellwood 1980, Types 45.1–8, 46.1–7, 47.1–4, 48.1–8,). His silver drachms, on the other hand, place on the obverse a flying Nike-style goddess holding a ring behind the king’s head (Sellwood 1980, Type 42). Popular at this time are also astral symbols in the form of a star and/or moon crescent on the obverse (Sellwood 1980, Type 46.8–22, 47.5–34,48.6–10). Some bronze coins of this king show on the reverse a standing bird of prey turning right (Fig. 3) (Sellwood 1980, Type 47.35).

Fig. 3. Reverse of a Parthian bronze coin of Orodes II, Bibliothèque nationale de France (photograph by Chris Hopkins).

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The motif of the bird of prey becomes one of the most significant divine symbols associated with kingship on coins of Phraates IV (c. 38–2 BC). Here it is placed both on the obverse and on the reverse of silver and bronze coins (Sellwood 1980, Types 52.14; 52.39; 53; 54 7–14). Phraates IV, who had his father Orodes II and many of his brothers murdered, used predominantly the bird of prey on his silver drachms where it was placed behind his head holding a ring or a diadem in its beak (Fig. 4). In addition, astral symbols were also used around the royal head (Sellwood 1980, Type 53.3–17, 54.7–14). Phraates not only needed divine symbols linked to his khvarnah and Divine Glory for internal propaganda, but Roman advance into Parthian territories created an external threat. Mark Anthony’s arrival at Praaspa in 36 BC, the capital of Media Atropatene, and negotiations with Rome under Augustus and Tiberius in 26 BC, which resulted in the return of the lost standards of Rome in 20 BC, made it necessary for Phraates to boast about his political and military powers (Sarkhosh Curtis and Magub 2020, 28–29. 44–47). Silver tetradrachms of his minted at Seleucia-on-the-Tigris have an Athena-type goddess offering the seated Phraates a diadem on the reverse, and the king’s elaborate jacket on the obverse has a bird of prey placed on the left shoulder (Sarkhosh Curtis and Magub 2020, 31 fig. 41). The significance of the royal falcon with the diadem, a symbol of kingship, could not have been more appropriate than on coins of 24 BC.

Fig. 4. Obverse of Parthian silver coin of Phraates IV, American Numismatic Society (photograph by Chris Hopkins). A glance at the coinage of neighbouring regions shows a similar picture. In the 1st century BC coins of Armenia and Commagene use birds of prey on bronze coinage, and Mithradates I Kallinikos of Commagene wears a tall tiara with stars, lions and birds of prey on a relief from Arsameia on the Nymphaios (Errington and Curtis 2011, 112 fig. 91). Local kingdoms: Persis and Elymais The popularity of the bird of prey motif as one of the symbols of the Kingly Glory spread also to local kingdoms under Parthian rule, including Persis and Elymais. In Persis (Fig. 5) the appearance of the bird of prey on top of the royal standard or drafsh on coins of the Frataraka kings of the pre-Parthian period emphasizes the function of this motif as a symbol of kingship and its connection with the khvarnah. Here we also find a bird perching on top of the hat of the local king thus

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providing him with divine protection (Fig. 5) (Sarkhosh Curtis 2007, 424 fig. 15; Klose and Müseler 2008, 32 fig. 26). In the 1st century AD in Persis the bird of prey motif appears on its own on the reverse of the silver coins, sometimes holding a diadem in its beak (Sarkhosh Curtis and Magub 202, 82 fig. 125). During the late Parthian period at the beginning of the third century BC a royal tiara is terminated by a bird of prey on coins of Persis (Sarkhosh Curtis 2017, 66 figs 34 a–b & 35; Sarkhosh Curtis and Magub 2020, 83 fig. 128).

Fig. 5. Obverse and reverse of a silver coin of Persis, National Museum of Iran (photograph by R. Hodges). In Elymais, the bird of prey appears on the reverse of some early Parthianperiod coins (van’t Haaff 2007, 53 Type 2.7), but it is in the early to mid-2nd century AD that it becomes one of the most important symbols of kingship on the reverse of coins of this region (van’t Haaff 2007, 119–121 Types 14.2 & 14.3). It appears either on its own or it is shown with a diadem in its beak. Some Parthian-period reliefs in Elymais of the 1st century BC to the beginning of the 3rd century AD also use a bird of prey with a ring or a diadem in its beak as a symbol of kingship placing it next to the king. These include the equestrian relief at Hung-i Azhdar/Hung-i Nauruzi (Vanden Berghe and Schippmann 1985, pl. 2). The reclining relief from Tang-i Sarvak dating to the late 2nd/early 3rd century AD has the throne of the local ruler supported with birds of prey (Sarkhosh Curtis 1996, pl. 81a). Also of late Parthian date, but of unknown provenance, is a gold Parthian necklace which shows a bird holding a ring in its beak (Sarkhosh Curtis and Magub 2020, 30 fig. 38). The Avestan Varegna bird The significance of the bird of prey – the Varegna bird or royal falcon – and its association with the khvarnah is best described in Zamyād Yasht or Yasht 19 when it flies away from King Yima when he sins and ‘introduced falsehood’ (Malandra 1983, 91. 34–38): For the first time the Glory went away, the glory hastened away from Yima, the son of Vivasvant, in the shape of a bird of prey … (Hintze 1994, 34–35)

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The Avestan word for bird of prey is Varəgnahe / Vāregna (Hintze 1994, 34–35. 50). In Yasht 19,9, we read ‘We worship the strong Mazda-created kawyan Xhvarənah created by Mazdā, much praised, having superior skill, solicitous, having supernatural power, perceptive …’ (Malandra 1983, 89). The Avestan khvarnah or ‘Mazda-created Xhvarənah’, as described in the various Yashts, is looked after by a number of yazatas or divine beings, including Mithra (Yasht 10), Ardwi Sura Anahita (Yasht 5), Tishrtya (Yasht 8) and Ashi (Yasht 17), as well as Verethragna, the victorious warrior god who appears in many guises, including a falcon in Bahram Yasht (Yasht 14) (Malandra 1983, 82–88; Sarkhosh Curtis 1993, 12–17). Ahura-created Wərəthragna came driving to him a seventh time in the form of a falcon, seizing from below, crushing (?) from above (with its beak), who is the fastest of birds, the swiftest of those that fly forth. (Yasht 14, 19; Malandra 1983, 84). While we have no inscriptions on Parthian-period and Sasanian coins that name the various deities, coins of the Kushan kings of Bactria, who worshipped a mixture of Zoroastrian and Hindu gods, mention the deities by name on their coins. Coins of King Kanishka (AD 127–151) show on the reverse a standing figure whose headdress terminates in a bird of prey with open wings (Sarkhosh Curtis 2007, 425 fig. 17). The name Orlagno, the equivalent to the Iranian Zoroastrian Verethragna, appears in the coin legend thus confirming the close association between the bird of prey and Verethragna. A personification of the khvarnah appears also on these coins and is named Pharro in Bactrian (cf. Old Persian farnah, New Persian farr). Here, the figure wears a halo and sometimes holds a diadem in one hand. At other times, he wears a hat with bird’s wings (Sarkhosh Curtis 2007, 426 fig. 18; Sarkhosh Curtis 2016, 184 fig. 36c). Other named divine beings on Kushan coins include Miro or Mithra wearing a radiate crown and Mao or Mah, the moon yazata, with a crescent on either side of his head (Grenet 2006, 87–99; Sarkhosh Curtis 2017, 64 fig. 29). It is probably from Parthia that the image of the bird of prey associated with khvarnah (Pharro) and Verethragna (Orlagno) entered the world of royal Kushan iconography. Persis and the rise of the Sasanians At the very end of Arsacid rule, some Parthian bronze coins depict on the reverse a bird of prey with a ring in its beak (Sellwood 1980, Type 84.161), but it is from Elymais and in particular Persis that the symbol of the Varegna bird as protector of the khvarnah enters the royal and religious iconography of the Sasanians. As local kings of Persis in southern Iran, Papak and his two sons Shapur and Ardashir continued with a coin iconography that had been well-established for several centuries. When the Sasanian king Ardashir I successfully challenged Artabanus IV in AD 223/4 and put an end to the Arsacid dynasty, the new administration took over a religious iconography closely developed for the Zoroastrian religion of the kings of Persis. In addition to the bird of prey other religious motifs connected

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Fig. 6. Obverse and reverse of silver coin of Persis, National Museum of Iran (photograph by R. Hodges).

Fig. 7. Drawings of Sasanian coins (from R. Ker Porter 1821, pl. 58).

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with the Kingly Glory include worshipping scenes in front of a Zoroastrian fire altar (Fig. 6), a diadem, astral symbols, gods and godesses (Sarkhosh Curtis and Magub 2020, 82–83 figs 124–127). Also popular was the Parthian-type tiara with earflaps and decorated with moon and star motif. A coin of Mančihr III shows him on the obverse with a Mithradates II-type tiara, while the reverse depicts his father Mančihr II wearing a tiara terminating in a bird of prey (Klose and Müseler 2008, 70,5/15; Sarkhosh Curtis and Magub 2020, 83 fig. 128). The Parthian type of tiara is adopted by Papak, the king of Persis, as well as by his son Ardashir I (Fig. 7,5), and the latter wears such an elaborate headgear of this sort on his investiture relief at Naqsh-i Rustam near Persepolis (Göbl 1971, pl. 1, 1–8; Herrmann 1976, 90 top colour plate). On coins of the first Sasanian king the motif of the bird of prey with a diadem tied around its neck appears on the bejeweled Parthian-style tiara of Ardashir I (AD 224–241) (Alram and Gyselen 2003, 130, Type VI). Göbl (1971, 42 Table 1a, VI) sees it as a reference to the goddess Anahita, who was closely associated with Persis. Ardashir was also involved with the sanctuary of Anahita at Istakhr. However, Gyselen sees no confirmed association between Anahita and the eagle which is surely correct (Alram and Gyselen 2003, 202). Here, the bird of prey with a diadem tied around its neck seems more like Varegna, the royal falcon protecting the khvarnah. Ardashir’s son and heir, the future Shapur I is shown on early coins wearing a crown terminating in a royal falcon holding a pearl in its beak which Göbl (1971, 43) also regards as an indication of Shapur’s close association as high priest with the sanctuary of Anahita. Once again, it seems more likely that the motif of a bird holding a pearl symbolises the Veragna bird and the khvarnah, similar to the coins of the later Hormizd II (AD 303–309) (Fig. 8) where the royal headgear terminates in a majestic royal falcon holding a pearl in its beak (Tanabe 1993, 77; Sarkhosh Curtis 2007, 431–432 fig. 30). Hormizd II is also shown with his bird crown on the jousting relief at Naqsh-i Rustam (Fig. 9).

Fig. 8. Obverse and reverse of a Sasanian silver drachm of Hormizd II, private Johnson Collection (photograph by R. Hodges). Varegna and Verethragna, the victorious warrior god For Bahram II (AD 276–293), who is named after Verethragna or Izad Bahram the wings of the royal falcon become an essential part of his crown (Shahbazi 1989, 514), both on his coins and rock reliefs (Figs 10–12). Headdresses of those close to the king show a variety of divine symbols related to various divine beings and the khvarnah. One of the many crowns of his queen, Shapurdukhtak (Fig. 11), terminates in a boar’s head (Sarkhosh Curtis 2007, 430–431 figs 26–28; Alram and Gyselen 2012, 246–252. 380). ‘A ferocious wild boar with sharp teeth, with

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Fig. 9. Sasanian rock-relief of Hormizd II at Naqsh-i Rustam, Iran (photograph by Georgina Herrmann) (cf. colour plate X).

Fig. 10. Sasanian rock-relief of Bahram II at Naqsh-I Rustam, Iran (photograph by Georgina Herrmann).

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sharp tusks, …’ is the fifth guise of Verethragna according to Bahram Yasht/Yasht 14.15 (Malandra 1983, 83). On these types of multiple portrait coins (Fig. 11) there is sometimes a beardless figure offering a diadem and wearing a headdress terminating in a bird of prey (Sarkhosh Curtis 2007, 431 fig. 28). As the figure is holding a diadem towards the royal couple, it is unlikely that we have the image of Bahram’s heir, Bahram III, but much more likely that we are seeing a divine being who is in a position to offer a symbol of kingship. On the reverse of these coins (Fig. 11), a standing figure with a headdress terminating in a bird holds a ring in the right hand which is stretched out and held over the royal fire. The breasts suggest that we are dealing here with a female figure; perhaps she is the queen who stands opposite her husband on the other side of the altar (Alram and Gyselen 2012, 250–252 Types VIIa (1)/5a (1a, 1b, 2,2a), VIIb(1)/5a(1a)). In the past I have identified this female figure as the goddess Anahita, but the fact that she holds up a ring rather than a diadem suggests that she may be his queen and not a divine being (cf. Sarkhosh Curtis 2007, 429).

Fig. 11. Obverse and reverse of a Sasanian silver drachm of Bahram II, private Johnson Collection (photograph by R. Hodges).

Fig. 12. Obverse and reverse of a Sasanian silver drachm of Bahram II, private Johnson Collection (photograph by R. Hodges). A particularly significant silver coin of Bahram II in the private Johnson Collection (Fig. 12) brings together all the important iconographic elements of the king as the legitimate holder of the khvarnah (Sarkhosh Curtis 2007, 431 fig. 27; 2011, 76). Here, the Sasanian king wears a winged crown combined with his korymbos, thus clearly indicating that he is the holder of the Kingly Glory, the khvarnah. His wife and queen next to him wears a headdress terminating in a boar’s head, and the bust of a smaller beardless figure facing them is shown with a hat with wings and a boar’s head placed in between. Gyselen (2012, 249) describes the animal protome as a head of a winged lion. This does not seem to be the case, as the animal has a tusk and its snout is square like that of a boar on Sasanian stucco reliefs, as found, for example, in the rescue excavations at Saimareh in Luristan in western Iran (Hasanpour 2014, 465 fig. 2). The iconography

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of the headgear of the smaller figure, perhaps crown prince Bahram III, shows the khvarnah symbolized as the wings of Varegna, the royal falcon, who is closely associated with and protected by Verethragna, just as described in Yasht 14 (see below). Conclusion While the roles of Mithra and Anahita as protectors of the khvarnah are recognised, Verethragna remains undervalued and in the background. A study of the iconography of Parthian coins of the first century BC and coins of Persis shows the continuous representation of the bird of prey or royal falcon where it appears on the coins of the Fratraka rulers of Persis in the early third century BC and continues to occupy an important position to the beginning of the third century AD. The falcon was the seventh guise of Verethragna, and Varegna was the bird that flew away with Yima/Jamshid’s glory when he sinned. When the Sasanians came to power, Varegna continued to be popular in the coin iconography until the reign of Bahram II, a namesake of Verethragna (Shahbazi 1989, 514). Thereafter, only the wings of the royal falcon as symbols of the king’s glory remained on royal Sasanian crowns and Verethragna, the warrior god, seems to have lost his earlier importance particularly to Anahita, who according to the Paikuli inscription of Narseh, was instrumental in his accession to the throne after the death of his nephew Bahram II. The significance of the wings as a symbol of Verethragna was well understood by Robert Göbl (1971, 48). When discussing the various Sasanian crowns and in particular the winged crown of Bahram IV, he wrote that ‘His crown constitutes a safe combination of the crowns of two gods. The wings are taken from Verethragna, the merlon from Ahura Mazda (or also Anahita)’. Looking at the varied range of motifs associated with the king and his glory, we see that amongst these the bird of prey plays a prominent part both in Parthian as well as Sasanian iconography. Textual evidence from the Yashts supports the assumption that the bird of prey had an important role as the Avestan Varegna bird or the royal falcon (shāhbāz), a personification of Verethragna, who protected the khvarnah. 34. We worship Ahura-created Wərəthragna. Zarathushtra asked Ahura Mazdā: ‘Ahura Mazdā, most beneficent Spirit, righteous Creator of the material world! When I am much cursed verbally (or) mentally by hostile men, what is the remedy?’ 35. Then Ahura Mazdā said: ‘Find yourself the feather of a falcon with spread-out feathers, O Spitamid Zarathushtra. With the feather stroke yourself, with the feather countercurse (your) opponent.’ 36. Whoever carries either a bone of the swift bird or a feather of the swift bird – not even a clever man harms (him) nor drives (him) forth. The feather of the bird of birds brings him much (?) respect, (the feather) possessing much (?) xwarənah maintains support (for him). (Yasht 14, Malandra 1983, 85)

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Bibliography Alram, M. 1986 Nomina Propria Iranica in Nummis: Materialgrundlagen zu den iranischen Personennamen auf antiken Münzen. Vienna. Alram, M. and R. Gyselen 2003 Sylloge Nummorum Sasanidarum Paris – Berlin – Vienna. Vol. I – Ardashir I – Shapur I. Vienna. Alram, M. and R. Gyselen 2012 Sylloge Nummorum Sasanidarum Paris – Berlin – Vienna. Vol. 2 – Ohrmazd I. – Ohrmazd II. Vienna. Cereti, C. G. and G. Terribili 2014 The Middle Persian and Parthian Inscriptions on the Paikuli Inscription Tower, New Blocks and Preliminary Studies, Iranica Antiqua 49, 347– 412. Errington, E. and V. Sarkhosh Curtis 2011 From Persepolis to the Punjab. Exploring Ancient Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan, 2nd Edition. London. Faghfouri, M. 2020 Some Observations on Parthian Bronze Coinage. In M. Faghfouri (ed.), Ancient Iranian Numismatics in Memory of David Sellwood. University of California at Irvine. 113–127. Göbl, R. 1971 Parthian Numismatics. Braunschweig. Grenet, F. 2006 Iranian Gods in Hindu Garb: The Zoroastrian Pantheon of the Bactrians and Sogdians, Second to Eighth Centuries, Bulletin of the Asia Institute 20, 87–99. Hasanpour, A. 1393/2014 Negahi be yaftehha-ye me’mari va gach-boriha-ye hasel az nakhostin fasl-e kavosh-e nejatbakhshiy-e Qaleh Guri, Ramavand, Kuh Dasht, Lorestan (Looking at the Architecture and Stucco Finds from the First Season of Rescue Excavations at Ghaleh Guri, Ramavand, Kuh Dasht, Lorestan. In: H. Azizi Kharanaghi, M. Khanipour and R. Naseri (eds), Hamayesh-e baynolmelali-ye bastanshenasi-ye javan, Tehran, (Proceedings of the International Conference of Young Archaeologists), Tehran. 447–466. Herrmann, G. 1976 The Iranian Revival. Oxford. Hintze, A. 1994 Zamyād Yašt. Introduction, Avestan Text, Translation, Glossary. Wiesbaden. Ker Porter, R. 1821/2 Travels in Georgia, Persia, Armenia, Ancient Babylonia … 1817–1820. London. Klose, D. O. and W. Müseler 2008 Statthalter, Rebellen, Könige: Die Münzen aus Persepolis von Alexander dem Großen zu den Sasaniden. Munich.

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Malandra, W. W. 1983 An Introduction to Ancient Iranian Religion: Readings from the Avesta and Achaemenid Inscriptions. Minnesota. Sarkhosh Curtis, V. 1993 Persian Myths. London. 1996 Parthian and Sasanian Furniture. In: G. Herrmann (ed.), The Furniture of Western Asia. Ancient and Traditional. Mainz. 233–244 pls 78–82. 2004 s.v. ‘Investiture: ii. Parthian’. In: Encyclopaedia Iranica online. 2007 Religious Iconography on Ancient Iranian Coins. In: J. Cribb and G. Herrmann (eds), After Alexander. Central Asia before Islam. Oxford. 2008 Royal and Religious Symbols on Early Sasanian Coins. In: D. Kennet and P. Luft (eds), Current Research in Sasanian Archaeology, Art and History. Proceedings of a Conference held at Durham, November 3rd to 4th, 2001. Oxford. 137–147. 2016 Ancient Iranian Motifs and Zoroastrian Iconography. In: A. Williams, S. Stewart and A. Hintze (eds), The Zoroastrian Flame. Exploring Religion, History and Tradition. London. 179–203. 2017 Kingship and Religion in Ancient Persia. Mumbai. Sarkhosh Curtis, V., A. Magub, E. J. Pendleton and E. C. D. Hopkins 2020 Sylloge Nummorum Parthicorum Volume 2: Mithradates II. Vienna. Sarkhosh Curtis, V. and A. Magub 2020 Rivalling Rome. Parthian Coins and Culture. London. Sellwood, D. 1980 The Coinage of Parthia. London. Shahbazi, A. S. 1989 s.v. ‘Bahrām II’. In: Encyclopaedia Iranica, III/5, 514–522 (http://www. iranicaonline.org/articles/bahram-02). Tanabe, K. 1993 Silk Road Coins. The Hirayama Collection. Kamakura. Vanden Berghe, L. and K. Schippmann 1985 Les reliefs rupestres de’Elymaïde (Irān) de l’époque parthe. Gent. Van’t Haaff, P. A. 2007 Elymaean Coinage. London.

Some thoughts on the so-called ‘Gayomard seals’ Judith A. Lerner Abstract Among the variety of subjects in intaglios of the Sasanian period (224–651 AD), is one traditionally identified as ‘Gayomard’, a creation of Ahura Mazda and the first righteous individual to embrace Zoroastrianism. He appears in this glyptic art as a shaggily hirsute being, often reduced to linear abstraction, standing between two staves and often with a dog between his outstretched legs. Although numerous intaglios with this image are in museum and private collections of Sasanian seals, few have been documented in an archaeological context, and, except for one possible example, none seems to have been used as an actual seal, that is, impressed into clay. A survey of excavated or documented found ‘Gayomard’ seals suggests they may be regional in manufacture and that, instead of representing this primal human, their distinctive image refers to a being in popular belief imported many centuries earlier from a different religious-cultural tradition. Of the varied motifs that residents of territories under Sasanian political (and, to some extent, social) rule (224–651 AD) chose for their personal seals perhaps the most enigmatic is that designated by sigillographers as ‘Gayomard’.1 Characterized as a fantastic, shaggy-haired stick figure with outspread arms and legs, standing between or being supported by an upright stave held in each arm, usually depicted with a frontal head marked by parallel strokes to indicate a beard and sometimes shown as ithyphallic, this strange being occurs only on Sasanian intaglios. Sometimes it is rendered with its head in profile, and sometimes the figure is doubled to represent twins. Whether these intaglios are in a collection or associated with a site, as will be considered here (see Fig. 1 for a map of the sites), almost all engraved with this image are dome-shaped or ellipsoids (some pointed at the top), while the circular base into which the image has been engraved is often slightly convex. Generally, this class of intaglio is larger than most Sasanian seals in these shapes (see chart) as its height may be as great as 25 mm and the diameter of its base (the surface of the intaglio) as much as 34 or 35 mm. Space precludes how this figural motif has come to be identified with the “primordial giant”, the first man from whom humankind descends. See Cereti 2015. 1

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The stone used is typically chalcedony (or its “relation” agate) in a range of tonalities from smoky white to shades of yellow and those of golden brown; one, from Tepe Yahya in southeastern Iran, is rock crystal (cf. Table and Fig. 2). As part of a study-in-progress of excavated Sasanian seals2, in contrast to the thousands of unprovenanced ones in public and private collections, many of which are intaglios of this type, this essay honors Georgina Herrmann’s many contributions to our greater understanding of Sasanian culture and history.3

Fig. 1. Map with find spots of “Gayomard” intaglios (Drawn by Alireza Khounani) “Buried or Lost, Excavated or Found: Sasanian Seals from Archaeological Contexts” is the working title of this undertaking. 3 I offer here a fond memory of “Sasanian” and my first meeting with Georgina: as a recently minted PhD, I was in England during the scorching summer of 1976 and wrote to Georgina; she immediately and graciously invited me to Market Harborough in Leicestershire for dinner and to spend the night. My train was late so without delay, we (along with her husband, Luke, and their sons) sat down to eat. In the midst of our small talk (I think it was during the soup course), Georgina suddenly turned to me and demanded: “How do you spell ‘Sasanian’?” I may have gasped, but do recall blurting, “S-A-S-AN-I-A-N.” Upon hearing my single middle “s”, Georgina smiled, then said, “Good,” and we returned to our dinner and to whatever we had been chatting about. 2

Tepe Yahya

Siraf

Qasr-i Abu Nasr

IRAN

Site

Domical Domical

Gayomard

Gayomard

Ithyphallic/tail; holding Dome tops of staves; crescent & sun/star Shaggy head & legs; Dome dog between legs Pierced towards top

Magical figures & non- Ellipsoid sensical text in reverse Magical figures Achaemenid conical seal “Gayomard”? “Stone ring” but looks like flattened dome a) Figure between sta- Disc ves & smaller figure b) Quadruped

Abstract of Gayomard? Unknown

Domical

Rock crystal D: 16 mm

Chalcedony D: 16 mm

“Black stone” D: 11 mm Steatite D: 13 mm; Th: 6 mm

Chalcedony D: 40 mm Chalcedony D: 30 mm Chalcedony D: 22 mm Yellow chalcedony 20 x 17 mm

Milk chalcedony 16 x 20 mm (D)

Shape Material & (Bivar 1969, 142–145) Measurements (mm)

Gayomard

Description

“Partho-Sasanian Settlement”

Site B, Sasanian Fort

Dump from citadel

Citadel

Citadel

Citadel

Citadel

Citadel, E slope

Citadel, E slope

Find Spot

Documented Excavated/Found Sasanian Seals with Figure(s) between Staves

Harper 1973, 38 & Pl. 4:3 Harper 1973, 38 & Pl. 4:4 Harper 1973, 38–39 & Pl. 4:7 Harper 1973, 39 & Pl. 4:8 Harper 1973, 39 & Pl. 5:23 Harper 1973, 39 & Pl. 5:24; MMA 36.20.22; Whitcomb 1985, Fig. 69aa Whitehouse 1972, Pl. XIId; BM 2007, 6001.11101 Lamberg-Karlovsky 1970, 13 & Pl. 5 & Fig. 33:E

Harper 1973, 38 & Pl.4:1; MMA36.30.34 and Fig. 4 Harper 1973, 38

Reference

Some thoughts on the so-called ‘Gayomard seals’ 301

Klong Thom

THAILAND

nearly identical to that from Termez Dome

Dome

two figures between staves; inner legs

Nimrud

IRAQ

Termez Region

Varakhsha Bukhara Oasis

Between staves; a few Flattened dome; sl. parallel lines; indication convex sealing surface; of animal between legs pierced horizontally at base of stone (engraved surface) Between staves; angled Same shape and placelines to indicate shaggy ment as the Vardanzeh head and legs stone Between staves; shaggy head (hair; beard); animal (dog?) below

Yellow-brown chalcedony

Chalcedony 25 x 25 mm

Chalcedony 27 x 18 mm; D of suspension hole c. 2 mm Quartz

chance find

South East Palace

Ritter 2011, 75, Fig. 5 & 76

Bivar 1969, 59 & Pl. 6; BM 119991

Pugachenkova 1957, 151

Shishkin 1963, 66 & Fig. 27

Pozzi 2014, 144–145, Fig, 3

Beneath layers of Brown chalcedony 27 x 18 mm; D of sus- debris, E–W corridor pension hole c. 2 mm (pre-8th c.)

Reference

Lerner 2016, Cat. No. 52: 70, Fig. 1; 71, Fig. 2; & 73

Find Spot

Translucent chalcedony Herat 12.1 x 17.5 x 15.6 mm

Shape Material & (Bivar 1969, 142–145) Measurements (mm)

Figure between staves; Pierced dome head in left profile

Description

Vardanzeh (Vardana) Bukhara Oasis

UZBEKISTAN

Herat

AFGHANISTAN

Site

302 Judith A. Lerner

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Fig. 2. Rock crystal intaglio, Tepe Yahya (Iran), scale 2:1 (after Lamberg-Karlovsky 1970, Pl. 5). Among sigillographers and others in Sasanian studies, the conventional wisdom that these atypically large intaglios were not used as seals but solely amuletic may now be questioned by publication of a clay sealing in the Bandar Abbas Museum, impressed with one now-illegible seal and another the authors identify as “Gayomard” (Niknami and Naderi 2016, 99 no. 1390-190; unfortunately, the photograph is too small to be certain). Nevertheless, its absence otherwise from the numerous excavated and unexcavated clay sealings and bullae that bear the impressions of Sasanian seals strongly suggests that intaglios with this distinctive subject were not intended as seals, that is, not as markers of identity or of ownership. Their obvious amuletic purpose had been ably discussed in 1995 by Rika Gyselen in her Seaux magiques en Iran sassanide, in which she assembled all specimens of this type, then known in public and private collections. Within her classification system, these “Gayomard seals” come immediately after her initial sub-group of “magical seals”, the first, a square chalcedony amulet, engraved on both sides, and followed by two double-sided disks, one agate, the other serpentine. The first disk, in the Museum für Islamische Kunst (Berlin), displays on one side the frontal bust of a king, accompanied by a crescent and stars and encircled by several dense lines of text meant to be read in impression (Gyselen 1995, 26 fig. 2a); on the reverse, the “Gayomard” figure holds the staves; the dog crouches between his feet while other animals float in the field to either side. A single line of inscription runs around the perimeter on this side of the disc. The second disc, in the Museum of Fine Arts (Boston), is also inscribed, but carelessly and in mirror image (Gyselen 1995, 26 fig. 2b). In Gyselen’s typology, these discs are followed by those that resemble the excavated group under discussion. Most, if not all, the “Gayomard” stones are pierced for suspension; the two found at Vardana and Afrasiab are more hemispherical and pierced horizontally at their widest part like a bead, and may be a regional variant of the Bukhara Oasis (Figs 3 and 4), while that from Herat is an ellipsoid, now much abraded (Fig. 5). Other than stones cut as bezels or cabochons to be set in finger rings or some other mount, ellipsoid- and dome-shaped seals must have been worn on the body, similar to jewellery, or kept with one’s coins in a pouch or other securely-closed receptacle close to the body. That intaglios bearing this peculiar image typically have a small horizontal drill hole near the top of the stone indicates that they were strung and worn on the body, which is appropriate for a class of

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object that, unlike other Sasanian intaglio images, was amuletic in function.4 In addition to its association with these large domical intaglios, the frontal figure between staves occurs on at least three stone discs (all in museum collections); unlike the schematic figure on the domes, the features of these are more detailed; in addition to the dog, each figure is accompanied by an assortment of fauna (Gyselen 1995, 25–28). The stick figures on the domical intaglios certainly are related to those on the discs, as Gyselen does discuss in detail.

Fig. 3. Chalcedony intaglio, from Vardana in the Bukhara Oasis (Uzbekistan), scale 1:1 (after Pozzi 2014, 137 fig. 3).

Fig. 4. Drawing of chalcedony seal, elevation and face, from Varakhsha, scale 1:1 (after Shishkin 1963, 66 fig. 27). It was, I believe, Phyllis Ackerman (1936, 126) who first linked the religioliterary figure of Gayomard in the Pahlavi texts with the images of the intaglios by attributing this unshorn creature to “very ancient folk-lore that has been mangled in transmission through the generations,” yet remained “potent in the Sasanian

Most Sasanian intaglios with “portrait” busts are not large or carved finely enough to show their subject’s adornments other than earrings. Depiction of what a subject wears around his or her neck is usually a line of drill holes to indicate a bead or pearl necklace. But on such large and exquisite “portrait” seals as that of the official, Vehdin-Shapur (Bivar 1969, pl. 3:AD 1), we can easily see what might be his personal seal, held by a chain or narrow torque around his neck. For a recent mention of Gayomard as literary and iconographic motif, see Kłagisz 2022. 4

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period” by its appearance on the seals.5 Gayomard’s creation by Ahura Mazda and his subsequent deeds and misdeeds are recounted most fully in the Bundahišn where he is an opponent of Evil, embodied by Ahriman (Shaki 2000). In the Frawardīn Yasht (87) he appears as the first righteous individual who embraced the orders of Ahura Mazda and from whom developed “the family of Aryan lands”. From his seed grew the rhubarb plant which split in two and became the first human couple, Mašyā and Mašyāne, who Ackerman saw in the doubled glyptic images of this hirsute being. That the figure typically is accompanied by a dog not only renders him benign but in some of the literature equates him with the constellation, Orion.

Fig. 5. Chalcedony intaglio from Herat (blue ink is a modern addition), Herat Museum, scale 2:1 (in Lerner 2016, Cat. No. 52: 70 fig. 1) (cf. colour plate X). Although Philippe Gignoux had read ssn as “Sāsān” on one of the British Museum “Gayomard” intaglios (1977, 140; Bivar 1969, pl. 5: BF1; Fig. 6), the creature’s identification as Gayomard, the Primordial Man, seems to have been accepted by many scholars until Martin Schwartz (1996) identified him as Sesen, an ancient divinity with roots in the Syrian-Phoenician region of West Asia. Its “representation consonantally” by the letters ssn as part of theophoric compound names in Arsacid Parthian inscriptions had led to the assumption that this divine name is represented in Sāsān, as found in personal names and is thus the source of the “Sasanian” dynasty. But the eponym without the diacritics “cannot stand for Sāsān if … we equate this ssn with a name also spelled ssn [with variations] for the name of the god in the Sasanian inscriptions of the magical documents …” (Schwartz 1996, 253). Instead, Schwartz distinguishes between “(1) The personal name Sāsān (eponym of the Sasanian dynasty)...[and] (2) The divine name Sesen … from Aramaic *Sæsæn … continuing a divinity *Sasm- of great For discussion of this figure as Gayomard, “the primal man”, and the pertinent seals engraved with the figure in the Metropolitan Museum of Art collection, see Brunner 1978, 68–70. Yet the late Shaul Shaked’s account of Gayomard’s composite nature, e.g., (super-) human, animal and vegetal, but with no “sexual differentiation and contact”, seems to belie the visual image on the intaglios that Ackerman and others identified as Gayomard (Shaked 1987). For a recent mention of Gayomard as literary and iconographic motif, see Kłagisz 2022. 5

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Fig. 6. Impression of agate intaglio with inscription, scale 1:1. British Museum 119987. antiquity in the Near East.” As Schwartz explains, the first attestations of the form, ssn in the Aramaic sphere (which he traces to earlier theophoric names from the mid-second millennium BC) is the spread from this Aramaic sphere to the “realm of the Arsacids, spreading east to the capital Nisa, and further to Marv, etc.” Thus, “the Sasanian magical cult of Sesen may be regarded both as a continuation of the Parthian cult and an extension of the Late Antique East Mediterranean importance of Sesen in magic, itself developed and diffused by Aramaic culture” (ibid., 253f.). Given the western origin of this deity, it is surprising that only one seal (more accurately, intaglio) of this type has been “scientifically” excavated west of Sasanian Iran – that is, in Mesopotamia, Syria or along the Persian Gulf. It depicts “twin” Gayomards, and is listed on the British Museum website as excavated by Sir Henry Austin Layard at the South East Palace of Nimrud (BM 119991: https://www.britishmuseum.org/collection/object/W_N-1251). But, David Bivar, who noted the provenance or acquisition of each seal if it was available to him, does not include this information even though he cites other Layard finds in his catalogue (1969, 59 and pl. 6: BG 2). In contrast, the “Gayomard/Sesen” intaglios are documented from sites in southern Iran (Figs. 7 and 8), and, except for Nimrud, from regions to its northeast. (This may be fortuitous, but it could reflect some deeper religious or folk beliefs in these “Iranian” regions.)6 Until more intaglios of this type are excavated to allow for a full typology, it is not impossible that the intaglio found in Thailand, apparently lost by its owner, originated in southern Iran, although it is far less schematic in its form than the Siraf seal (Fig. 9). That the hairy anthropoid apparently has West Asian roots parallels the background of the divine colossus painted on a wall in the “ceremonial complex” at the ancient Chorasmian site of Dirk Wicke has kindly drawn my attention to his excavations at Gird-i Qilirkh/Gird-î Qalrakh in northeastern Iraqi-Kurdistan, which have yielded in its Parthian-early Sasanian levels (Area B) some unusual clay sealings (Wicke 2020, 467 and fig. 9b). Among them is a bearded male figure who grasps two upright elements, which could be staves; the one in his left hand ends in a conical shape. Although he wears a kilt and his torso, arms and legs are smooth, Wicke likens the figure to that of Gayomard but seems to reject the idea in light of the figure shown in left profile and with a flat hat resembling “the typical Parthian headdress“. In contrast, Alexander Tamm considers this personage to be facing the viewer, with hair bunched to each side of his head, and the vertical fold in the center of his kilt, apparently his large phallus (Haddad and Tamm 2019, 776). Although this seal impression is more-or-less contemporaneous with the “Gayomard” intaglios discussed here, I find little in common formally and stylistically between it and the Gayomard intaglios. 6

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Fig. 7. Impression of one of eight chalcedony intaglios from Qasr-i Abu Nasr (Iran) scale 2:1, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 36.30.34.

Fig. 8. Chalcedony intaglio, Siraf (Iran), scale 2:1. British Museum 2007, 6001.11101 (cf. colour plate X).

Fig. 9. Chalcedony intaglio found at Klong Thom (Thailand) (after Ritter 2011, 75 fig. 5) (cf. colour plate X). Atchakhan-kala in Karakalpakstan (northwestern Uzbekistan). Analysis of the figure’s dress and crown led Michael Shenkar (2018) to draw parallels with, if not identify, him as the Gad or protective deity of the city, the same role played in northern Syria and Mesopotamia by the Aramaic Gadde, who, like the Greek Tyche, protected a particular city, village or locale; of interest is that a Gad could also be associated with a group or even an individual.

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Evidence of the eastward migrations of other western minor deities comes from Merv, in present-day Turkmenistan, where, in its Parthian strata (but most likely made earlier in Hellenistic times), was found a “Baubo” pendant of Egyptian or East Mediterranean manufacture (Simpson 2004). Such pendants, along with others of similar origin (e.g., Bes, Serapis and other Egyptian minor deities associated with childbirth and healing) have been excavated at sites from Bahrein to Bactria. Most interesting among these adopted and adapted foreign deities is Bes, typically portrayed as a grotesque, bandy-legged dwarf with leonine mane and tail – this last feature often resembling a phallus. Within Achaemenid-influenced territories, Bes appears far east and north in Siberia, at Scythian Pazyryk (Lerner 1991; Abdi 2002).7 Perhaps his frontal, rugged image underlies the so-called Gayomard depictions. Returning to the intaglios that are the subject of this essay, the loss of one’s “Gayomard” intaglio must have been a source of consternation, perhaps even anxiety. Even if not considered as dire as the loss of one’s seal, which has been equated with the loss of a part of oneself (Cassin 1987 [reprint 1960] and Hallo 1983)8, being without one of these oddly decorated intaglios deprived their owners of “Gayomard’s” presumed apotropaic power.9 With this, I end my essay, wishing for Georgina the protective powers embodied by this unkempt yet benevolent creature. Bibliography Abdi, K. 2002 Notes on the Iranization of Bes in the Achaemenid Empire, Ars Orientalis 32, 133–162. Ackerman, P. 1936 The Iranian Serpentarius and Gemini, Bulletin of the American Institute for Persian Art and Archaeology IV/3, 126–129. Bivar, A. D. H. 1969 Catalogue of the Western Asiatic Seals in the British Museum. Stamp Seals: the Sassanian Dynasty. London. Brunner, C. J. 1978 Sasanian Stamp Seals in The Metropolitan Museum of Art. New York. Cassin, E. 1987 Le sceau: un fait de civilisation dans la Mésopotamie ancienne. In: E. de Waele and E. Cassin (eds), Le semblable et le différent. Symbolismes du pouvoir dans le Proche-Orient ancien, Paris. 267–279 (originally published in Annales ESC [1960]: 742–751). The “globalisation” of Bes into the Roman Empire and even, for a time, under Christianity is noted by Nagy 2014, 33. 8 Although both scholars were writing about Mesopotamia, I believe it also applies to the Iranian world. 9 Perhaps because of the way in which they were worn, loss of one’s “Gayomard” stone seems not uncommon given their unexcavated number; and three, possibly five depending upon one’s interpretation of their engravings, were found at Qasr-i Abu Nasr on the slope leading to the fortress and within the fortress itself (Harper 1973, 38 and pl. 4: 1, 3, 4. 39 and pl. 5: 23 and 24). 7

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Cereti, C. 2000 GAYŌMARD, Encyclopædia Iranica, online edition, 2015, http://www. iranicaonline.org/articles/gayomard. Gignoux, P. 1977 Cachets sassanides du British Museum. In: J. Duchesne-Guillemin (ed.), Textes et Mémoires V, Varia 1976. Acta Iranica 12. Leiden. 125–148. Gyselen, R. 1995 Sceaux magiques en Iran sassanide. Studia Iranica, Cahier 17. Paris. Haddad, L. and A. Tamm 2019 Sasanian Trade Networks and the Silk Road – A Case Study on Gird-i Qilirkh in the Sharezur Valley. In: Z. Bradosty and A. Zibare (eds), Proceedings of the 3rd International Scientific Conference. Archaeology and Heritage of Kurdistan, April 29th & 30th, 2019, Erbil. 756–796. Hallo, W. W. 1983 ‘As the Seal upon Thine Arm’: Glyptic Metaphors in the Biblical World. In: L. Gorelik and E. Williams-Forte (eds), Ancient Seals and the Bible. Malibu. 7–17. Harper, P. O. 1973 Seals and Finger Rings. In: R. N. Frye (ed.), Sasanian Remains from Qasr-i Abu Nasr. Seals, Sealings, and Coins. Cambridge, MA. 36–41. Kłagisz, M. M. P. 2022 Bābā-ye Dehqān in Central Asian Ethnogrpahy, and the Literary and Iconographic Motif of the Ploughman with Oxen in Sasanian Times. In: R. Gyselen (ed.), Sometimes Sasanian, Always Ēr. Res Orientales XXIX. 25-74 Lerner, J. A. 2016 Seals. In: U. Franke and M. Müller-Wiener (eds), Herat Through Time. The Collections of the Herat Museum and Archive. Ancient Herat 3. Berlin. 71–74. Niknami, K. A. and S. Naderi 2016 Sasanian Clay Sealings in the Bandar Abbas Museum. BAR International Series 2819. Oxford. Orosz, A. 2014 Scenes with Two Bes Figures from Nimrud and the Second Step of Bes Toward Globalisation. In: K. Geus and M. Geller (eds), Esoteric Knowledge in Antiquity. TOPOI – Dahlem Seminar for the History of Ancient Sciences I. 21–36. Pozzi, S. 2014 Sasanian-style Sealstones from the Bukhara Oasis (Uzbekistan), Rivista degli studi Orientali n.s. 87, 135–151. Pozzi, S., S. Mirzaachmedov and M. Sultanova 2019 Preliminary Results of Archaeological Investigations at Vardāna. In: C. Baumer and M. Novák (eds), Urban Cultures of Central Asia from the Bronze Age to the Karakhanids. Learnings and Conclusions from New Archaeological Investigations and Discoveries. Proceedings of the First

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International Congress on Central Asian Archaeology held at the University of Bern, 4±6 February 2016. Wiesbaden. 227–245. Schwartz, M. 1996 Sasm, Sesen, St. Sisinnios, Sesngen Barpharangēs, and ...“Semanglof”, Bulletin of the Asia Institute N.S. 10, Studies in Honor of Vladimir A. Livshits, 253–257. Shaked, S. 1987 First Man, First King. Notes on Semitic-Iranian Syncretism and Iranian Mythological Transformations. In: S. Shaked, D. Shulman and G. G. Strousma (eds), Gilgul. Essays on Transformation, Revolution and Permanence in the History of Religions. Leiden and New York. 238–256. Shaki, M. 2000 s.v. ‘GAYŌMART’, Encyclopaedia Iranica X/3, 345–347; and “GAYŌMART,” available and http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/ gayomartShenkar, M. 2019 The Chorasmian Gad: On the “Colossal” Figure from Akchakhan-kala. In: J. A. Lerner and A. L. Juliano (eds) New Research on Central Asian, Buddhist and Far Eastern Art and Archaeology (“Inner and Central Asian Art and Archaeology” II). Turnhuot. 9–30. Simpson, S. 2004 “Baubo” at Merv, Parthica 6, 227–233. Wicke, D. 2020 Results of the First Two Seasons of Excavations at Gird-î Qairakh, a Local Site in the Shahrizor-Plain (Iraqi-Kurdistan). In: A. Otto, M. Herles, and K. Kaniuth (eds), 11 ICAANE. Proceedings of the 11th International Congress of the Archaeology of the Ancient Near East. 02–07 April 2018, Munich. 2: Field Reports; Islamic Archaeology. Wiesbaden. 463–478.

Sasanians reimagined Four Qajar drawings Prudence O. Harper Abstract Four Qajar ink drawings in The Metropolitan Museum of Art have as their subject four early Sasanian reliefs located in Fars Province, southern Iran. Probably executed around 1812 (if one follows the inscription on one drawing) all four works are signed by Lutf ‘Ali Shirazi who cannot be the well-known artist of that name because of the early date of the drawings. The skill of the Qajar artist is evident in the portrayal of the Sasanian scenes but many details on the reliefs are omitted or misunderstood and the damaged Sasanian monuments are fully ‘restored.’ As a result, the scenes appear to be ‘illustrations’ of ‘heroes’ and ‘heroic’ events rather than accurate recordings of ancient monuments. In this sense, the Qajar works follow the model of Firdowsi and celebrate legend over a historical reality not yet fully understood. For those of us who study pre-Islamic art and archaeology, the name Georgina Herrmann elicits a sense of deep gratitude. Her valuable publications have provided detailed information and thoughtful commentary for students and scholars on subjects as disparate as the Assyrian ivory carvings of the early first millennium BC, excavated at Nimrud in Iraq and the Sasanian rock reliefs of the early first millennium AD, located in Iran. These wide-ranging interests have encouraged me to consider, in her honor and in grateful recognition of her many achievements, drawings of four Sasanian rock reliefs of the third century AD executed during the rule of the Qajar Dynasty (AD 1785–1925) in Iran (Figs 1–4).1 Gift of Sassan Mokhtarzadeh in 1998 (1998.6.1–4). An inscription on one drawing, 1998.6.1, gives a date of 1812. An artist’s name, Lutf ‘Ali Shirazi appears on the horses’ bodies in all four drawings. Presumably, this is someone other than the well-known Qajar artist of that name who lived between 1802/7 and 1871/75 (Fellinger and Guillaume 2018, 219). See the Acquisition Notes at the end of this article. Drawings mentioned with incorrect date in: Roxburgh 2017, 29 n. 14. While recognizing that Iran was called Persia during the Qajar Period, I will use the term Iran throughout. This article was largely written during the covid crisis in New York when library and museum access was limited. My apologies for any references or credits I have inadvertently overlooked or omitted. 1

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Carved on rock faces in Fars Province in southern Iran, the early Sasanian reliefs depicted in four Qajar drawings in The Metropolitan Museum of Art are separated by a millennium and a half from the beginning of the Qajar era.2 Yet the leap in time from the beginning of the first millennium AD to the end of the second millennium AD is not as great as it might seem since monuments of the Sasanian dynasty (AD 226–651) in Iran were easily accessible and familiar to the Qajar rulers. Fath ‘Ali Shah (r. AD 1797–1834) was influenced by the Sasanian rock carvings in Fars when he initiated a similar production of rock reliefs even as the identity of the figures portrayed on the earlier Sasanian works and the precise historical period in which the heroic, royal images were carved was still not widely understood in Iran (von Gall and Luft 2020; Luft 2001, 31–49; Lerner 1991, 31–45; Lerner 2017, 118 n. 27). Many Iranians in early Qajar times knew something of the ‘history’ of the Sasanian dynasty from Persian and Arabic sources but the Sasanian reliefs were enerally associated with legendary Kayanid kings, Avestan ancestors the Sasanians claimed as their own and prominent figures in Firdowsi’s Iranian epic, the Shahnameh (Amanat 2001, 28; Yarshater 1983, 359–477).3 Admired by both Aqa Muhammad Khan (r. 1785/9–1797), the first Qajar ruler, and Fath ‘Ali Shah, his successor, Firdowsi’s poem, completed around AD 1010, celebrated the ‘history’ of Iran from mythical times through the Sasanian era, and was a powerful expression of Iranian national aspirations and ideals (Yarshater 1983, 436–473; Levy 1967). By the nineteenth century, the Iranian epic was familiar in Iran, through oral as well as written transmission, to persons in all levels of society who not surprisingly associated the gigantic figures on the Sasanian reliefs with Firdowsi’s heroes and kings. Following Firdowsi’s model, Fath ‘Ali Shah, early in his reign, commissioned his own Qajar Shahanshahnameh and illustrated copies of this poem were dispatched as gifts to monarchs and other important individuals abroad (Diba and Ekhtiar 1998, 171–173; Fellinger and Guillaume 2018, 124– 125). Familiarity with Iran’s past through Firdowsi’s poem also led to the creation by the first two Qajar rulers of two different ‘Kayanid’ crowns (Amanat 2001, 17–30). Fath ‘Ali Shah’s crown (taj-i Kayani), depicted on numerous reliefs and in paintings, has the shape of a tall cylinder quite unlike a Sasanian headdress except for the pointed projections at the top which are reminiscent of the stepped crenellations on Achaemenid and Sasanian crowns, royal and divine (Diba and Ekhtiar 1998, 182 no. 38). In his return to the medium of rock reliefs to celebrate the new Qajar Dynasty, Fath ‘Ali Shah recognized both the impact and the permanency of the ancient monuments, accessible to all at many places in Iran. Members of his large family and the later ruler, Nasr al-Din Shah (r. 1848–1896), joined him in commissioning eight, immense rock carvings, the most important of which celebrate in image and extensive text, the new Qajar monarchy (von Gall and Luft 2020).4 The impressive images on these reliefs and in the paintings 2 Scholars in the field of pre-Islamic art and archaeology are deeply indebted to the German Archaeological Institute for its support of Georgina Herrmann’s project of recording the early Sasanian reliefs and for the recent publication of the Qajar reliefs by Hubertus von Gall and J. Paul Luft. Pre-Islamic art historians have made important contributions to Qajar studies, notably Hubertus von Gall and Judith A. Lerner. 3 For further discussions of the Shahnameh see: Amanat 2012, 1–33; Davis 2012, 37–48. 4 Diba (1998, 48 n. 71) seems to suggest that two other reliefs exist.

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of Fath ‘Ali Shah have been denigrated in our time as self-serving, pompous and grandiloquent. However, the portrayals of the early Qajar ruler who has a lengthy, full beard obscuring most of his face, were not intended to be life-like images but, rather, iconic symbols of a new Iran (Diba and Ekhtiar 1998; Fellinger and Guillaume 2018, 114–121). In this respect, the nineteenth-century Qajar reliefs and paintings are comparable to earlier Achaemenid and Sasanian standardized, dynastic images. On the Qajar rock reliefs the original paint is sometimes preserved but only in the royal paintings is the power of the brilliantly colored images fully felt. For those of us accustomed to working in the poorly preserved, monochrome world of Sasanian Iran, the effect is overwhelming.5 The detailed renderings of jeweled crowns, necklaces and armbands, sword, belt and mace in numerous, monumental, Qajar royal paintings are indeed blinding in their opulence. As Sir Robert Ker Porter (1821, I 325) wrote of an audience with Fath ‘Ali Shah in the second decade of the nineteenth century, “he was one blaze of jewels which literally dazzled the sight”. Similarly luminous in their effect, the portraits underscored the ruler’s association with past rulers of Iran, possessors of farr (MP farrah), the Royal Glory, an ancient Iranian concept mentioned frequently by Firdowsi and in the texts recorded on the Qajar reliefs (Diba 1998, 37; von Gall and Luft 2020, 26). The Qajar paintings were seen as potent illustrations of the Iranian national identity and a form of dynastic propaganda. Considered by many in Iran to be as powerful a presence as the ruler himself (Diba and Ekhtiar 1998, 42 fig. 12; Fellinger and Guillaume 2018, 118), the portraits were sent abroad as gifts to Europe and Asia where the message they carried of a newly vibrant Iran was often misunderstood or ignored. It is interesting to observe that the images of Qajar royalty, descendants of Turkish-speaking peoples from Central Asia (Amanat 1998, 15), illustrate many details which have prototypes not in the court arts of pre-Islamic Persia and Mesopotamia but in the art of eighth-century Sogd located northeast of Iran in present-day Tadjikistan.6 From the second century BC to the eighth century AD, waves of peoples, Saka, Huns, Turks and finally Arabs entered the Sogdian lands. These newcomers brought with them distinctive modes of dress and equipment not always adopted by the inhabitants of lands to the south and west. Wall paintings in the homes of wealthy Sogdian merchants and landowners in the last quarter of the first millennium AD provide evidence of elite figures who wear helmets topped by spikes, armbands (bazuband) and jeweled upper shoulder/chest coverings. Some carry maces as a significant sign of their high rank (Marshak 2002, figs 50. 57–59. 72. 95. 100). Many of these elite features became widespread through trade and cultural contacts from Central Asia to northern India, and are seen in late eighteenth-century Qajar court images (Diba and Ekhtiar 1998, 176–188; Fellinger and Guillaume 2018, 114–120. 156. 297). They are notably absent in renderings of the Sasanian monarchs of Iran. Georgina Herrmann comments throughout her publications on the probable presence of paint on the Sasanian reliefs while acknowledging that the existence of plaster does not, in itself, prove that the surfaces were originally painted. See also von Gall 1990, 24. 6 Firdowsi himself was from Khorasan in the northeast, and the lives and cultures of inhabitants in that broad geographical area are reflected in the Shahnameh (Davis 2012, 38; cf. also Azarpay 1981; Marshak 2002). 5

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There are both similarities and differences between the Qajar and Sasanian rock reliefs. In both cases, the carvings are monumental in size and chiefly sited along important roads or other significant locations. However, the subjects depicted are different. The primary Sasanian theme was the royal investiture (Figs 2 and 6), the monarch in the presence of Zoroastrian divinities receiving the diadem which symbolizes his authority as their representative in the human realm. Of comparable importance for the Qajar rulers is the enthronement scene (Von Gall and Luft 2020, 50–54. 72–89; Lerner 1991, 31–45). The monarch as head of the dynasty is surrounded by his numerous sons and in some instances by members of the court and foreign diplomats. No emphasis is placed on religion or on the ruler’s role as the leader and protector of his Muslim subjects. In the Qajar scenes on reliefs and in paintings, the ruler is seated on elaborately decorated, jeweled thrones, one of which is described by George Nathaniel Curzon, who travelled in Iran in 1889 and 1890, as “having a circular star of diamonds with scintillating rays, made to revolve by a piece of mechanism at the back” (Curzon 1892, I, 319; Fellinger and Guillaume 2018, 118. 119). This was a feature designed to underscore the cosmological associations claimed by the Qajar monarch and recalls descriptions in texts of the marvelous cosmic throne of the Sasanian monarch, Khosro II (AD 591–628), the Takht-i Taqdis, known only from post-Sasanian sources.7 Less frequently appearing on the Sasanian reliefs than on Qajar monuments are scenes of a royal hunt. The late Sasanian, seventh-century, hunting scenes on the side walls of the large iwan of Khosro II at Taq-i Bostan, near Kermanshah, were familiar to the Qajars.8 The earliest Qajar relief, a hunting scene carved in AD 1818 and located near Firuzkuh in northern Iran is often compared to the Sasanian hunts (von Gall and Luft 2020, 14–36). While it is true that the Sasanian scenes are similar to the later Qajar work in the complexity of the compositions and in the unusually lavish detail apparent in the jeweled and patterned royal dress, the Qajar and Sasanian hunting scenes are otherwise quite different in appearance. The Sasanian monarchs, particularly in the finished, boar-hunt scene, stand out as central super-images, the main subjects of attention in strictly ordered, multi-figural compositions. In the Qajar hunting scene at Firuzkuh, the images of Fath ‘Ali Shah and his numerous sons and retainers are a dynastic, rather than an individual statement. Although the ruler is larger in size, he is placed off center and shares the carved field with other members of the royal family who are scattered around and identified on the relief by inscriptions. The lack of order in the elaborate composition is confusing for the viewer. In both the Qajar and Sasanian periods there is a close association between the reliefs and written texts but with an important difference. The Qajar texts, poetry and prose, glorify the ruler and his family, compare them to historical and mythical/ legendary figures (many drawn from the Shahnameh), record current events and identify individuals in the scenes. The inscriptions both frame the Qajar reliefs and appear, as well, in the carved field. As von Gall and Luft (2020, 4) have observed In Qajar paintings the head of Fath ‘Ali Shah at times obscures the back of the throne where the ‘sun’, if present, is placed, an arrangement which suggests that the royal image is itself another ‘sun’, cf. Diba and Ekhtiar 1998, 174. 181 No. 38; Canepa 2018, 336–340; Diba 1998, 38. 8 Fukai and Horiuchi 1969, pls. XXXII. LXXXI. Taq-i Bustan is also the site of one Qajar relief, cf. Fukai and Horiuchi 1969, Pl. XXXI; von Gall and Luft 2020, 37–49. 7

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they are an integral part of the reliefs. On the early Sasanian royal monuments there are occasionally short inscriptions present naming rulers and their ancestors as well as the divinities represented (Back 1998, 281–283; Herrmann 1989, 16–17). However, the early Sasanian reliefs are essentially ‘illustrations’ of significant texts recorded elsewhere which celebrate the divinely-sanctioned rulers, define the roles of the royal family members, acknowledge and rank other significant personages in the realm and describe important victories (Back 1978; MacDermot 1954, 76–80). The rock reliefs are a separate but equally important medium for the expression of these same concepts.9 It appears likely from the inscription on one of the Qajar drawings (Fig. 4) that the group of three stylistically similar renderings (Figs 2–4) were executed around 1812, a few years before the earliest Qajar relief for which the date of 1818 is generally accepted. The date of 1812 places these three drawings (Figs 2, 3, 4), and probably the fourth as well (Fig. 1), in a period before the wide use of photography in Iran. Introduced in the mid-nineteenth century, photography only “came into its own” in Iran late in the nineteenth century and in the early twentieth centuries (González and Sheikh 2015, 133). While evidence of ‘shading’ on the drawings provides a sense of the three-dimensionality of the images, the ‘shading’ is unrealistically indicated by a grey wash along the major outlines so that the ‘shaded’ areas correspond to no single light source. It is also significant that in the Qajar drawings the relief scenes are ‘completed’, damaged areas being ‘restored’ by the artist. Other deviations from the Sasanian models include the absence in all of the Museum’s drawings of the rock cut frame of the scene, the identifying devices (nišan) on the headgear, some royal and divine fillets as well as the covered hands of figures. The leafy calyx enclosing the strands of the tassels falling from the horses’ saddles never appears in the drawings. Also absent is any indication of the Greek, Parthian and Pahlavi inscriptions on three of the reliefs (Figs 2. 3. 4) (Back 1978, 281–283; Herrmann 1989, 16–17). All the drawings display the artist’s interest in the eyebrows and the eyes of the figures as is common in Qajar art but the definition of the eyes in the drawing of the Firuzabad relief is distinctive. Georgina Herrmann (1969, 87) noted a development in the general appearance of the reliefs of Ardeshir (“simplicity”) and Shapur (“fluttering detail”). These differences in style are preserved in the Qajar drawings. Qajar drawing: Part of the Sasanian combat relief of Ardeshir I (AD 224– 241) at Firuzabad (Fig. 1; 1998.6.2). H. 16.5 cm, L. 26 cm. “Do not give to Persian figures a French tournure, like Chardin, nor a Dutch, like Van Bruyn, nor a German, or rather Danish, like Niebuhr, nor an English grace, like some of your countrymen”.10 The Sasanian relief at Firuzabad in southern Iran, carved in very low relief (4 cm to 7 cm), is the most difficult for the modern viewer to see of all the Sasanian monuments (Fig. 5) (Herrmann 1969, 71–74; von Gall 1990, 20–30). A notable The non-royal reliefs of the priest, Kerdir, are different as they have lengthy inscriptions immediately adjacent to them (Back 1978, 384–489; Hinz 1968, 189–228). 10 A. Olinen, President of the Russian Academy Arts, advice to Robert Ker Porter cited by Herrmann (1977, 16). 9

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Fig. 1. Qajar drawing of part of the combat relief of Ardeshir I, Firuzabad (MMA 1998.6.2). absence in the Qajar drawing (Fig. 1) is the most important subject, seen on the right end of the relief itself (Fig. 5), the Sasanian king, Ardeshir I, and his opponent, Ardavan (AD 216–224), the last ruler of the preceding Parthian, Arsacid Dynasty (238 BC–AD 224). On the right border of the Museum’s drawing, fine lines, perhaps the ends of two tassels are faintly visible. Below them is the hoof of a horse. The placement of these features suggests that they may be part of a nowmissing rendering of Ardeshir’s horse and that the drawing was once larger. For the Qajar artist the central subjects were the second and third pairs of warriors, the Sasanian crown prince and the ‘page’ behind him. Both figures wear tall divided caps, more Qajar than Sasanian in form. The Sasanian ‘page’ or noble attendant in the third pair of figures is shown in the Qajar drawing (Fig. 1) grasping his Parthian foe around the chest and neck. The Parthian adversary, whose horse is not shown on either the relief or in the Qajar drawing, wraps his right arm around the left arm of the Sasanian. Inaccurately, in the Museum’s drawing, the right hand of the Parthian warrior is shown grabbing a diagonal band on the garment of the Sasanian ‘page.’ Because of these distinctive poses as well as the absence of the Parthian’s horse and the omission, in the Qajar work, of all weapons associated with the battling figures, it seems that the Qajar artist ‘saw’ the contest as a legendary event, the two protagonists ‘wrestling’ in the final phase of an Iranian epic/heroic struggle.11 A striking omission in the Qajar drawing because of Von Gall suggested that the uncovered, loose hair of Ardeshir may have had “heroic” significance (von Gall 1990, 23, 94f). It is evident that the intention of the Sasanian artist was, as it was later in Firdowsi’s work, to record a ‘heroic’ contest rather than a realistic battle scene. 11

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their ubiquitous nature on the relief (Fig. 5) are the signs or devices (nišan) on the Parthian and Sasanian horses’ bodies. It may be that this omission is a reflection of early Qajar efforts to replace powerful tribal affiliations in Iran with a new emphasis on a communal Iranian identity (Amanat 2001, 26). Finally there is the question of how and where the Qajar artist made this drawing. The overall composition including two scenes of single combat, one preceding the other, closely follows the Sasanian design. Careful observation of the relief scene is also evident in the distinction between the different types of armor, Sasanian chain mail and the “banded” mail of both Sasanians and Parthians. Nevertheless, important details are missing or inaccurate. There is no reference in the Qajar drawing to the carved rock frame and the heavy features of the human heads in the Qajar drawing do not remotely recall Achaemenid or Sasanian models. The heads of the horses, small in size, recall eighteenth and nineteenth century, Iranian works of art rather than any Sasanian images. The long fillets, denoting the princely status of the central warrior, are absent as are the prestigious global forms rising from the Sasanian prince’s shoulders. This form does appear, accurately, above the head of the horse of the Sasanian crown prince and is repeated, inaccurately, above the head of the ‘page’s’ horse. These missing or incorrectly shown details suggest that the draughtsman left the site after laying out the composition in a sketch including some, but not all, features. Qajar drawing: Sasanian investiture relief of Ardeshir I (AD 224–241) at Naqsh-i Rustam (Fig. 2; 1998.6.3). H. 20.5 cm, L. 31.7 cm. de Bruyn (the Dutch artist Cornelis de Bruyn, 1652–1727) “was told that the relief commemorated how the last Achaemenid king, Darius (III), left his empire to Alexander the Great” (Coloru 2017, 92).

Fig. 2. Qajar drawing of the investiture relief of Ardeshir I at Naqsh-i Rustam (MMA 1998.6.3) (cf. colour plate XI).

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Georgina Herrmann observed that this Sasanian relief (Fig. 6) is a fully sculptural, high relief work, completely and finely finished, in contrast to the combat scenes carved at Firuzabad (Herrmann 1969, 69–71). The Qajar drawing (Fig. 2) and the two following drawings (Figs 3. 4) are stylistically quite different from the drawing of the Firuzabad battle (Fig. 1). In the Museum’s drawing (Fig. 2), the Zoroastrian god, Ohrmazd, extends his right arm toward Ardeshir presenting him with the ring signifying his divine right to rule. Balancing the composition, the monarch, correctly, extends his open, right hand toward the circlet. Each figure is seated on a short, stocky horse, a type denigrated by Curzon as “a sturdy Flemish dray horse,” but a prized breed in Achaemenid and Sasanian times, as Canepa and others have observed (Curzon II 1892, 122; Canepa 2018, 260). The proportions of the divine and human riders and their horses are distorted in the drawing perhaps as a result of the artisan’s position as he drew the scene from below the monument. The tail of the horse of Ohrmazd is accurately portrayed as twisted and tied, a fashion seen in Zand and Qajar art (Diba and Ekhtiar 1998, 166 fig. XI. 172 no. 33. 199 no. 50). Also correctly rendered in the Qajar work are the feet of the horses placed before, not on top of, the dead bodies, accurately shown with closed eyes. The piercing glance of the eyes of the other figures is a ‘Qajar’ detail present in all four drawings. Hard to see and not recorded here or even in Ker Porter’s rendition of the scene, is the forked beard of the dead Arsacid monarch, Ardavan, an identifying feature found also on his coins (Harper 2020, 176). Once again the absence in the Qajar scene of the rock-cut frame means that there is no indication that the model for the scene is a rock relief. Other notable omissions include the uncovered hair curls rising from the god’s head. This feature is rendered inaccurately as a covered dome within the crenellations of the crown. The artist may have been influenced by royal portraits of Fath ‘Ali Shah wearing the ‘Kayanid’ crown which encloses

Fig. 3. Qajar drawing of the relief of Shapur I and Romans at Naqsh-i Rustam (MMA 1998.6.4) (cf. colour plate XI).

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a similar low cap (Fellinger and Guillaume 2018, 118 no. 112). Ker Porter is also confused in his drawing of the god’s headdress which, in modern photographs, does not seem that hard to see. He refers to a “low semi-circular caul” covering the curls within the crown (Ker Porter I 1821, 549). The absence of a long ribbon extending from the investiture ring in the Qajar drawing is a detail also missing on crude images of this relief appearing on some Qajar glazed tiles (Scarce 2015, 252 fig. 6). The significance of this royal and divine attribute was, it seems, generally not appreciated or understood. As in the Firuzabad drawing (Fig. 1), the devices (nišan) on the caps of the page and Ardavan on this relief are not shown. Less visible to the naked eye and missing from the depiction of the relief are the snakes around the head of Ahriman and his animal ears. Nevertheless, the Qajar drawing is a reasonable rendition of the scene and appears to be the result of careful observations. Some of the inaccuracies mentioned above and other details such as the doubling of the pendant tassels falling from Ardeshir’s horse and the absence of the small ribbons from the harness of the horse of Ohrmazd suggest that, in spite of the artist’s close study of the relief, the drawing was probably finished away from the site. Qajar drawing: Sasanian relief of Shapur I (AD 241–272) and Romans, Naqsh-i Rustam (Fig. 3; 1998.6.4). H. 20.6 cm, L. 31.9 cm. “Seemyng to be the ymage of a boysterouse man, who they saie was Samson.”12 The Sasanian relief at Naqsh-i Rustam (Fig. 7) is one of the clearest in composition of all the Sasanian reliefs and most powerful in its effect on the viewer (Herrmann 1969, 77–78; Herrmann 1989). Its immensity is strikingly illustrated in an early twentieth-century photograph taken by Antonin Sevruguin (late 1851– 1933) (Bohrer 1999, frontispiece). The photographer casually rests on a boulder before and below the overwhelmingly dominant image of Shapur, superhuman in size and mounted on horseback. Not surprisingly, the heroic scene on this rock relief was attributed in earlier times to past figures such as Samson and Rustam whose strength and skills made them invincible. Further emphasizing Shapur’s primacy on the relief is the bold projection of the globe (korymbos) above his head through the upper line of the rock-cut frame (Fig. 7). In the Qajar drawing (Fig. 3) the significance of this feature is lost as the carved border framing the relief is omitted in the drawing. Other inaccuracies and omissions in the drawing are understandable if one remembers that it was not until the second half of the twentieth century when Georgina Herrmann and Rosalind Howell Caldecott undertook the huge project of photographing and drawing the reliefs that many details were finally ‘seen’. One such detail is the imperial laurel wreath encircling the head of each Roman figure. In the Qajar drawing, these wreaths become part of an odd hair style. The Qajar artist saw the difference between the Sasanian king’s hair and the hair styles of the two Romans but he did not associate the images with Shapur’s Roman victories (MacDermot 1954). Observed and recorded in the Qajar rendering is the distinctive appearance of the drapery worn by the kneeling Roman, identified by Georgina Herrmann, following B. C. MacDermot, as Philip (Herrmann 1989, 20). The cuirass-like heaviness of the short garment differs from the waviness of the Josefa Barbero 1472, cited by Herrmann (1977, 11).

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lighter fabrics represented, a fact Georgina Herrmann noted and which is reflected in the Qajar drawing (Herrmann 1969, 77f).13 Also accurately shown in the Qajar drawing is the twisted and tied tail of the horse. The left foot of Shapur in the drawing is horizontally shown as if placed in a stirrup, an error which is less pronounced in the Firuzabad battle scene (Fig. 1), described above. Unrepresented is the tied beard of the Sasanian monarch which was also not ‘seen’ by the Qajar artist on the relief of Ardeshir I at Naqsh-i Rustam (Fig. 2). The uncovered hands of the pleading Roman, standing before Shapur, represent another ‘error’ in this drawing and also in the drawing of the relief of Shapur and his sons at Naqsh-i Rajab (Fig. 4). The artist, curiously, had no understanding of the significance in Sasanian times of the practice of deferentially or submissively covering the hands, a common practice which, as Ker Porter observed, was still customary in the East (Ker Porter I 1821, 555). The Zoroastrian cleric (mobad), Kerdir, shown in the Qajar drawing as a bust behind the monarch’s horse, was an addition made to the relief during the reign of Bahram II (AD 276–293). In the Museum’s drawing, the figure is of ambiguous appearance and might be either male or female but the right hand raised in respect to the ruler is correctly drawn. As on the other Qajar drawings the identifying sign (nišan) on the tall cap does not appear. Qajar drawing: Part of the Sasanian relief of Shapur I (AD 241–272) his sons and court members: Naqsh-i Rajab (Fig. 4; 1998.6. 1), H. 25.5 cm, L. 32 cm. Inscribed: “the likeness of Rustam that in the age of Rustam was carved in stone”14 The king’s family members and high persons in his court as described in inscriptions from Shapur’s reign appear to be the subject of this scene.15 On the Sasanian relief (Fig. 8) (Herrmann 1969, 78–80), the heads of the figures have been defaced and little remains of the features but in the Qajar rendering (Fig. 4), all heads are ‘restored’ with intently piercing ‘Qajar’ eyes. What must have originally been the crenellated crown on the head of the king has also been ‘restored’ by the Qajar artist informed, one supposes, by the images of Shapur on other Sasanian reliefs. The diadems of five of the personages on the left side of the relief (Fig. 8), a sign of high rank, are partly visible, falling from the tall caps, and three of Shapur’s sons immediately behind the king have devices (nišan) on their headgear. These details are omitted in the Qajar drawing. On the relief (Fig. 8), the nine figures behind the king appear to be arranged in order of precedence, an order underscored by their placement in three descending groups framed by the sharply stepped upper border of the rock carving. The four figures nearest Shapur are arranged in a tight grouping overlapping each other. Of these, only one figure at the front, behind the monarch’s 13 It is evident in the Qajar drawing that the artist distinguished between the heads of an older (standing) figure and a younger (kneeling) one. These two figures are quite distinctive in appearance and differ from the Qajar artist’s renderings of the Sasanian monarch and other Iranians. 14 For the complete inscription see Acquisition Notes at the end of this article. 15 For Shapur’s court hierarchy, kings, princes, grandees, nobles, and the identification of figures on the relief see Back 1978, 372–378; Lukonin 1983, 698–707; Lukonin 1969, 67, 189. For references to other views cf. Herrmann 1969, 79 n. 78.

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Fig. 4. Qajar drawing of part of the relief of Shapur I, family and court, at Naqsh-i Radjab (MMA 1998.6.1). horse, appears full-length, and he is generally identified by his diadem and the device on his headdress as the son and heir apparent, Hormizd I (AD 272/273). Following this group to the left on the relief are two full-length, diademed figures, placed behind and slightly below the first group. Finally, two half figures of high rank, whose long diadems are partly visible, are placed on the relief (Fig. 8) at the extreme left below the other figures, their placement reflected in the pronounced downward step in the rock frame. These last two figures are omitted altogether in the Qajar drawing (Fig. 4), and there is no indication in the drawing of the carved upper border of the relief which, with its descending steps, emphasizes the ranking of the persons represented. In the drawing by Mrs Pat Clarke for Georgina Herrmann’s article in Iran the carved border was wisely shown (Fig. 8). Photographs of the relief show the sloping shape of the cliff surface which to some extent dictated the arrangement of the figures but both the site and the composition of the scene must have been approved by Shapur himself. In the Qajar drawing (Fig. 4) the relief scene has a different appearance. As noted, there is no indication of the upper, stepped border of the rock carving and the figures portrayed are arranged in a roughly horizontal composition, their heads, in all cases, below that of the monarch. The absence of identifying devices (nišan) and any indication of diadems further contribute to the anonymity of the figures portrayed. As in some of the other Qajar drawings the artist has not ‘seen’ or understood the covered hands of figures behind the king. He has also, mistakenly,

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Fig. 5. Relief: Combat scenes, Ardeshir I at Firuzabad (after von Gall 1990, Abb. 3).

Fig. 6. Relief: Investiture of Ardeshir I at Naqsh-i Rustam (drawing by Mrs Pat Clarke in Herrmann 1969, fig. 4). drawn a fly whisk before the head of the uppermost, bearded figure behind Shapur, probably influenced in this detail by his memory of the beardless image of the ‘page’ holding a fly whisk on the relief of Ardeshir at Naqsh-i Rustam (Figs 2, 6).16 The personage on the Rajab relief also has a device (nišan) on his cap but lacks the long diadems worn by others. The smaller head of a figure placed directly behind the king’s right arm has more prominence and definition in the drawing (Fig. 4) than on the relief itself (Fig. 8). In the Qajar drawing the head is, accurately, surmounted by a ball of uncovered hair but a slight beard, not apparent on the rock carving, has been added to the head, making the figure assuredly a male. In fact, some scholars have identified the figure as a female, Aturanahit, the daughter and wife of Shapur I (Lukonin 1969, 67). Also added to the head is a sort of fillet. If one allows for the artist’s ignorance of such conventions as diadems and covered hands as well as of the significance of the stepped arrangement, then the drawing is relatively accurate. The addition by the Qajar artist of the facial features, however, underscores his intention to provide an effective ‘picture’ rather than an exact record of the damaged rock carving. 16 The ‘fly whisk’ in the Qajar drawing is in fact the lower edge of Shapur’s wind-blown cloak.

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Fig. 7. Relief: Shapur I and Romans, Naqsh-i Rustam (drawing by Mrs Rosalind Howell Caldecott in Herrmann 1989, fig.1).

Fig. 8. Relief: Shapur I, family and court at Naqsh-i Rajab (drawing by Mrs Pat Clark in Herrmann 1969, fig. 9). The Sasanian rulers who commissioned the rock reliefs discussed above chose iconic/symbolic images over realistic historical renderings such as those seen in the art of their Roman contemporaries. The resulting message was a clear one, of military supremacy and divinely-sanctioned, dynastic rule. From this brief review of the Qajar drawings, it is evident that the Qajar artist was also not primarily concerned with realism. His intention was instead to provide restored, ‘historical’ pictures as illustrations of Iran’s ‘heroic’ past in the spirit

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of Firdowsi’s Shahnameh. The Qajar drawings are reflections of an environment in which the great Iranian epic and other familiar, ‘historical’ sources provided a background or context for the ancient monuments. It has been said that the “traditional mind set” of the Qajar rulers in Iran left them unprepared for the challenges of a newly modernizing world (Farmanfarmaian 2011, 241). While this is undoubtedly true, it was that “traditional mind set” which led them to claim Firdowsi’s ‘history’ as their own and to identify themselves and their people as descendants of kings and heroes in a past and present Iranian domain.17

17 Acquisition Notes: Gift of Sassan Mokhtarzadeh (Mansour Gallery, London). Sold at Christie’s, London in 1997 (Christie’s South Kensington 1997, 33 #342) and said to be from the collection formed in the first half of the twentieth century by Major Harold Amery and the Rt. Hon. Leopold Amery. Technical Notes: Three of the drawings (1998.6.1,3,4) are on creamy wove paper which has suffered some damage. The fourth drawing (1998.6.2) is on blue toned laid paper which is thin and transparent but in good condition. Inscriptions: Page numbers, in part hard to decipher, appear on two of the drawings, 1998.6.1,2 indicating that they were part of a larger work/album. nomreh [ye] 31 (Fig. 4, 1998.6.1) and nomreh [ye] 36 (1998.6.2): Maryam Ekhtiar. The same inscription giving the name of the artist, Lutf ‘Ali Shirazi, appears on the body of a horse in all four drawings (see footnote 1 above). I leave to other scholars, more qualified than I, any art historical commentary and evaluation of the drawings in the context of Qajar art as well as a consideration of the identity of the artist. A long inscription appears in the upper left corner of the drawing of Shapur’s relief at Naqsh-i Rajab (1998.6.1). The literal reading and the transcription of all inscriptions appearing in the Museum’s drawings is given by Dr. Maryam Ekhtiar, Curator, Dept. of Islamic Art, The Metropolitan Museum of Art to whom I extend most sincere thanks. Inscription on the upper right-hand corner of the Metropolitan Museum drawing in the Ancient Near East Department (1998.6.1), Maryam Ekhtiar.

Ruz-i se-shanbeh, bist-u-yekum-i Dhu’l Hijja 1226 Hijri-i muqadaseh- hasb al-farmudehyi ʿAlijah Aqa Jawhar Khan va Hajji Sayyid Ghulam Dakani, shabih-i Rustam keh dar ʿahd-i Rustam dar kuh-i Takht-i Jamshid bar sang kandehand naql bardashteh shud dar ʿayn-i chella-yi zemestan bar amadeh Khatt-i Haqir Karam ʿAli Khan “On Tuesday the 21st of the holy month of Dhu’l Hijja 1226 Hijri/January 6, 1812, by the order of his highnesses Aqa Jawhar Khan and Hajji Sayyid Ghulam Dakani, the likeness [portrait] of Rustam that in the age of Rustam was carved in stone in the mount of the Throne of Jamshid [Persepolis] was drawn in the dead of winter Written by the humble Karam ʿAli Khan” ARTIST’S NAME: All four drawings 1998.6.1-4 are signed: [Al-ʿAbd] Lutf-ʿAli Shirazi [the humble slave] Lutf-ʿAli Shirazi

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Bibliography Amanat, A. 1998 Qajar Iran. A Historical Overview. In: L. S. Diba and M. Ekhtiar (eds), Royal Persian Paintings. Brooklyn. 14–29. 2001 The Kayanid Crown and the Qajar Reclaiming of Royal Authority, Iranian Studies 34, 17–30. 2012 Introduction: Iranian Identity Boundaries. In: A. Amanat and F. Vejdani (eds), Iran Facing Others. New York. 1–33. Azarpay, G. 1981 Sogdian Painting. The Pictorial Epic in Oriental Art. London. Back, M. 1978 Die sassanidischen Staatsinschriften. Leiden. Bohrer, F. N. (ed.) 1999 Sevruguin and the Persian Image. Washington D.C. Canepa, M. P. 2018 The Iranian Expanse. Oakland. Christie’s South Kensington 1997 Christie’s South Kensington, Islamic and Oriental Works of Art, October 23. Coloru, O. 2017 Once were Persians: The Perception of pre-Islamic Monuments in Iran from the 16th to the 19th Century. In: R. Strootman and M. J. Verhuys (eds), Persianism in Antiquity. Stuttgart. 87–106. Curzon, G.N. 1892 Persia and the Persian Question I, II. London. Davis, D. 2012 Iran and Aniran. The Shaping of a Legend. In: A. Amanat and F. Vejdani (eds), Iran Facing Others. New York. 37–48. Diba, L. S. 1998 Images of Power and the Power of Images. In: Diba and Ekhtiar 1998, 30–49. Diba, L. S. and M. Ekhtiar (eds) 1998 Royal Persian Paintings: The Qajar Epoch 1785–1925. Brooklyn. Farmanfarmaian, F. S. 2011 An Iranian Perspective of J. B. Fraser’s Trip to Khorasan in the 1820s, Journal of the International Society for Iranian Studies 44, 217–242. Fellinger, G. and C. Guillaume (eds) 2018 L’Empire des roses. Lens. Fukai, S. and K. Horiuchi 1969 Taq-i-Bustan I. Tokyo. von Gall, H. 1990 Das Reiterkampfbild in der iranischen und iranisch beeinflussten Kunst parthischer und sasanidischer Zeit. Teheraner Forschungen 6. Berlin. von Gall, H. and J. P. Luft 2020 Die Qājārischen Felsreliefs. Archäologie in Iran und Turan 18. Berlin.

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González, C. P. and R. Sheikh 2015 From the Inner Sanctum: Men Who Were Trusted by Kings. In: J. Y. Chi (ed.), The Eye of the Shah. Qajar Court Photography and The Persian Past. New York. 132–157. Harper, P. O. 2020 Interpreting Sasanian Beards: Significant Images in an Interconnected World. In: J. Curtis (ed.), Studies in Ancient Persia and the Achaemenid Period. Cambridge. 175–198. Herrmann, G. 1969 The Dārābgird Relief-Ardeshir or Shāhpūr? A discussion in the context of early Sasanian sculpture, Iran 7, 63–88. 1977 The Iranian Revival. Oxford. Herrmann, G. and R. H. Caldecott 1989 The Sasanian Rock Reliefs at Naqsh-i Rustam: Naqsh-i Rustam 6, The Triumph of Shapur I. Iranische Denkmäler 13. Berlin. Hinz, W. 1969 Altiranische Funde und Forschungen. Berlin. Ker Porter, R. 1821, 1822 Travels in Georgia, Persia, Armenia, ancient Babylonia, 1817– 1819 I,II. London. Lerner, J. A. 1991 A Rock Relief of Fath ‘Ali Shah in Shiraz, Ars Orientalis 211, 31–45. 2017 Ancient Persianisms in nineteenth-century Iran. The Revival of Persepolitan Imagery under the Qajars. In: R. Strootman and M. Verhuys (eds), Persianism in Antiquity. Stuttgart. 107–119. Levy, R. (trans.) 1967 The Epic of Kings. Shah-Nama by Ferdowsi. London. Luft, J. P. 2001 The Qajar Rock Reliefs, Iranian Studies 34, 31–49. Lukonin, V. G. 1969 Kultura Sasanidskogo Irana. Moscow. 1983 Political, Social and Administrative Institutions, Taxes and Trade. In: E. Yarshater (ed.), The Cambridge History of Iran 3(2). Cambridge. 681–746. MacDermot, B. C. 1954 Roman Emperors in Sasanian Reliefs, Journal of Roman Studies 44, 76–80. Marshak, B. I. 2002 Legends, Tales and Fables in the Art of Sogdiana. New York. Roxburgh, D. J. 2017 The Harvard Qajar Album – From Cover to Cover. In: D. J. Roxburgh (ed.), An Album of Artists’ Drawings from Qajar Iran. Cambridge, Mass. 15–30. Scarce, J. M. 2015 Ancestral Themes in the Art of Qajar Iran, 1785–1925. In: D. Behrens Abouseif and S. Vernoit (eds), Islamic Art in the 19th century. Leiden and Boston. 231–256. Yarshater, E. 1983 Iranian National History. In: E. Yarshater (ed.), The Cambridge History of Iran 3(1). Cambridge. 359–477.

From rags to riches The development of the zone of transition in pre-Mongol Iranian dome chambers Robert Hillenbrand Abstract This paper is offered to Georgina Herrmann with respect, admiration and profound gratitude for her tireless efforts over several years to help me visit dozens of monuments in Turkmenistan and thus deepen my knowledge of medieval Central Asian architecture. I will tackle three topics. First, what kind of architectural forms of the squinch zone did the Muslims inherit? Second, what caused the radical changes in this zone in the Saljuq period (11th–12th centuries)? Third, what were these changes, and what are the key points in the evolution of the squinch zone in pre-Mongol Iran? Introduction Much ink has been spilled on what constitutes a squinch, which is basically an arch spanning a corner and helping to carry a dome. Conversely, the creation of a squinch zone, or a zone of transition, and what it implies for the elevation of a dome chamber as a whole, has attracted relatively little interest (the profound studies of bridging devices in Rosintal 1928 and 1938 ignore this issue; but see Shani 2012, 177–180 for a useful overview). Much the same can be said for the interplay between the zone of transition and the articulation of the lower walls of that domed chamber. The analysis of the squinch needs to be placed within this much wider context, considering also its geometry and its ability to carry both the weight of the dome and its outward thrust. The Islamic architecture of the Iranian world is basically curvilinear, privileging vaults and especially domes. Since the ground plans of the buildings thus covered are not circular but usually square, the method whereby a dome, with its circular base, can be placed over a square chamber (which it plainly does not fit) becomes crucial. Two principal means of addressing this problem have dominated the eastern Mediterranean world and the Middle East: the pendentive and the squinch. The first seeks to suggest rather than display; the second, to display rather than suggest. The squinch is the preferred Islamic solution: an arch bridging the corners of the square so as to create an octagon, a form which approximates much more

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closely to the circle. It is an engineering device that solves the problem of those awkward corners. But the immediate impression that it creates is conflict: the abrupt juxtaposition of opposing planes. It highlights, where the pendentive obscures, the problem of how the dome is to be supported. While the pendentive perfectly dovetails the dome and the square chamber which supports it, the squinch asserts the existence of an entire intermediate zone that has a lot of structural work to do. The more efficient pendentive creates no such intermediate zone. But what began as a problem-solving contrivance quickly took on a life of its own as a vehicle for aesthetic expression. For the historian of forms, then, the interest of the squinch lies far less in what it does than in how it looks, or in other words how it gradually became transformed into a focus of attention in its own right and how it came to operate at the interface between structure and decoration. From a mere hole in the corner device – and those words can be taken literally – it came to be the visually dominating accent in the interior of many a medieval Iranian dome chamber. This paper is an attempt to tell that rags to riches story. The squinch may be a small key, but let us see what it unlocks. What did the Muslims inherit in squinch construction? In two words, not much. So far as the continuous history of the squinch in Iran is concerned, the story begins with the early Sasanian period. While the relevant buildings are tolerably familiar, there is heated disagreement as to whether Sasanian squinches do any of the real work of supporting the dome. An Islamic perspective sets the evidence provided by four significant buildings of Sasanian style in a new light. The story can begin with a square domed structure of rubble masonry, probably Sasanian, at Baz-i Khur/Baza’ur or Ribat-i Safid near Turshiz in Khurasan (Wilber 1946; Hallier 1975; Huff 1989; Fig. 1). The bridging device used here is distinctly low-key; indeed, for most observers, this is not a squinch at all. The remains of wooden beams set across the corner (Wilber 1946, 24) create a platform to support the dome in this area, and this junction of planes is liberally plastered with mortar so as to form a smooth surface. Nothing could better betray a lack of confidence in the bearing power of an arch than this stopgap measure. There is an arch-like shape over the corner, but is it a true arch? If so, the architect had an imperfect grasp of its structural role. It is as if he had created this squinch form not as an arch that supported the dome and diffused its thrust, but had happened upon an arch-like form while removing redundant masonry from the corners. One senses that he regarded the wooden beams, not the arch above them, as the key load-bearing device. This tentative and primitive device is a squinch by accident. Suitably tidied up, with an elaborate superstructure and pairs of cells below, this same solution of bridging the corner by a lintel rather than an arch persisted into the Islamic period, for example in the tomb of Abu Huraira in eastern Syria, datable to c.1100 (Sarre and Herzfeld 1911, I: 133–134 and fig. 59). The wall surface at Baz-i Khur between the corners is broken by a rectangular window in the centre of each side roughly at the level of the visible beams. Thus one can recognise the principal components of a zone of transition – a bridging device

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Fig. 1. Baz-i Khur fire temple, bridging device (photograph by Bernard O’Kane). at each corner flanked by a window on each side. But here again the potential of that device, this time as a means of articulation, has not been recognised. There is not even a clear upper and lower demarcation of that zone. Clearly this is at the beginning of a long period of evolution. The next building to be discussed is the Qal‘a-yi Dukhtar, outside Firuzabad in Fars (before 224 AD; Huff 1993, 46; Fig. 2). Here the royal palace, which crowns a commanding crag, is singled out by a massive rubble masonry dome (note the primitive material used here) that probably marks the prince’s square audience chamber. Here there is an indubitable squinch arch, round-arched and roundbacked. The wall surface between each squinch is broken not by a blind arch of similar scale and profile, a device which would have ensured visual continuity, but by a narrow keyhole arch – there are Sasanian parallels at Takht-i Sulaiman (Herrmann 1976, 114f.) – whose back is recessed a couple of courses into the wall. So small is this arch, marooned as it is in a band of plain masonry and letting in only a modicum of light and air, and thus serving little practical purpose, that the much bigger squinches operate as it were alone with only a feeble sense of a distinct zone to which they belong. The keyhole arch serves at most to bring some life into an otherwise uncomfortably large expanse of unarticulated surface. But since it is set at the same level as the squinch it does create the beginnings of a zone. The top of this embryonic zone is lightly indicated by a single sawtooth frieze which begins

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at the fourth course above the squinch, and its base by no border at all, though the entire zone projects markedly from the wall below. That small but distinct break in plane again helps, like the keyhole arch, to mark off a distinct space. Nevertheless, the absence of a strongly delineated profile for the squinch itself is very marked. A narrow slit, more for ventilation than light, is set in the base of the dome directly above the crown of each squinch, and their regular sequence suggests the ghost of an upper zone. The result of all this is that the squinch zone – at least in its present state of preservation – is so timidly articulated that it seems to belong visually with the dome above, thus giving the whole interior a top-heavy impression. In other words, its mediating role is as yet scarcely apparent.

Fig. 2. Firuzabad, Qal‘a-yi Dukhtar, dome chamber, squinch (photograph by Bernard O’Kane). The third building for discussion is the palace of Ardashir at Firuzabad, securely datable to slightly after 224 AD. Its triple row of domed chambers reveals the improvements that the passage of only a few years, and the presence of a model close at hand, encouraged (Fig. 3). Is this the intelligent observation of failure? Thus the corner arches are larger than those of its sister building nearby, revealing quite unmistakably the essential form of a squinch. That word “form” is significant. For the next question is the crucial one: does it perform the actual work of a squinch? That seems unlikely. The dome is too huge, too thick, too badly built (Godard 1965, 189), and the squinch too small in relation to it, for the two elements to work smoothly in conjunction. Nevertheless, this squinch form fixes the germ of an idea in a way that the eye can at once apprehend, even if that idea did not bear fruit for many centuries. Perhaps this was because the squinch was plainly regarded as of minor importance in that it bridged a corner, rather than of major importance in that it clearly supported the dome. Moreover, the zone is too diminutive in scale, sandwiched uncomfortably between the dome above and the square chamber below, to exert a major impact on the interior elevation of this reception room (Huff 1971, 155). That space is

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dominated by the sheer bulk of the dome. This immediate visual impression is borne out by the proportions yielded by measurement. In the sequence lower wall: zone of transition: dome these can be rendered approximately as percentages of the whole elevation in the ratio 5:2:7. Clearly a zone of transition that occupied a mere one-seventh of the elevation had a long way to go.

Fig. 3. Firuzabad, palace of Ardashir, domed chamber with squinch (photograph by Georgina Herrmann). Part of the answer may lie in the extreme thickness of the bearing walls of many Sasanian buildings. It is they that do the real work, and they make an efficient transition zone unnecessary. The inner walls of the row of three domed chambers at Firuzabad, for example, are 4.7 m thick, while the diameter of the domes is 13.3 m. The same principle applies on the much smaller scale of the standard fire temple or chahar taq of Sasanian times. In short, the Sasanian archlike form that resembles a squinch is less the germ of a brilliant idea than an attempt to remove unwanted masonry at the corners, and to do so as elegantly and unobtrusively as possible. Finally, what of the enigmatic structure at Sarvistan, perhaps a 9th-century Zoroastrian religious building (Bier 1986, 61–67)? Its extremely conservative squinch zone (Bier 1986, 42f.) suggests that architects were content for several centuries to follow the solutions found at Firuzabad. Precious little has changed in all that time. Single sawtooth friezes mark the top and bottom of the zone,

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and the lost model behind Baz-i Hur seems to have been followed, in that the springing of the squinch arches is from the base of the zone and the crown of the squinch is again well below the top of the zone. The principal change is in the arches flanking the squinches, which are elliptical in profile and, though blind, are deeply recessed (Fig. 4). The result is to create a strong counter-balance to the squinches themselves. Now, at last, the zone begins to assert powerful spatial values. The dome is of brick; perhaps the squinch zone would have evolved more ambitiously if brick instead of rubble masonry had been used there.

Fig. 4. Sarvistan, transition zone (photograph by André Godard). Before leaving the Sasanian period, and by way of contrast, it is worth looking briefly at how the transition zone was handled in much smaller Sasanian buildings, such as the fire temple of Naisar (for its pre-reconstructed state, see Hardy 1938, 163–166; Godard 1965, 181. 183f.). Built of good-quality though irregularly drafted stone, this compact structure, curiously monumental despite its small size, has a zone of transition that is no more than four courses high (Fig. 5). Its upper and lower boundaries are again demarcated by an outset course, while its briskly simplified design comprises deep squinches with a strongly defined profile and a vertical slit of a window, half their height, between them on each side. Externally, the squinch zone is a plain square, not an octagonal drum, with the back of the squinch encased, indeed entirely concealed, in a mass of masonry. This monument is grossly overbuilt. A great deal of wasted space here. To summarise, then, the squinch zone was established in the Sasanian period but for centuries remained fossilised in its primitive state, with no development in the form of the squinch itself and little success in creating an integrated zone of transition with a smooth interaction between squinches and other elements. The

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Fig. 5. Naisar, fire temple (drawing by André Godard). octagonal squinch zone, which was a prerequisite for a clear division of volumes, is unknown. So the outlook for change was bleak. How was the squinch zone transformed in Islamic times? The principal novel factor was the radical move from rubble masonry to baked brick. This was not an instant change; there was an intermediate stage in which mud brick was widely used in Central Asia (and there generated several further solutions to the bridging problem) as well as in eastern and central Iran, as the early mosques in Damghan and Fahraj show (Finster 1994, 6f. 74f.; Anisi 2007, 145–151 and 162–168). This period of transition encompassed both the late Sasanian and the early Islamic period. It also saw experiments in huge baked bricks of between 35 to 40 cm square and 7–8 cm thick (used for example in the lower parts of the tomb of Sultan Sanjar at Merv), whose inspiration was clearly drawn from mud brick. Nevertheless, the weight of such massive blocks, whether of mud or baked brick, was crippling – at 24 kilos it is more than the permitted weight of hold luggage in an aeroplane. This weight alone was enough to prevent major rethinking of established forms in squinch construction, possibly because the squinch was such a small form that it gave little room for manoeuvre with such cumbersome building material. In other architectonic forms, however, from stepped vaulting to gadrooned facades, the use of mud brick seems to have fostered eager experiment (Herrmann 1999, 47– 94). Moreover, a new squinch form emerged, which was transformed by multiple recessions or steppings (Herrmann, Coffey, Laidlaw and Kurbansakhatov 2002, 13. 16. 41. 51. 55. 72f. 85. 90f. 94 and 120); compare the Parthian vaulting of Shahr-i Qumis near Damghan (Herrmann 1977, 37). Inevitably, the rejection of rubble masonry and the use of inordinately heavy baked bricks eventually led to attempts to devise a handier size in the same material. By the 10th century, as can be seen by the mausolea at Bukhara and Tim, a brick

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of some 24 cm square and 4 cm thickness (small local variations occur) had come into general use. What followed? Such bricks were expensive, for they required special kilns and huge quantities of fuel, and the need to reduce costs led to much hard thinking about how the building actually worked and thus how many bricks were needed. The sequence of experiments is largely lost to us (in contrast, say, to the mass of surviving evidence about the evolution of Gothic vaulting) but, as in northern France in the late 11th and early 12th centuries, a process of trial and error must have led to ever more precise calculation, and hence to the creation of ever wider spaces and ever thinner walls, vaults and domes. The small and modular size of the brick, easy to heft in the hand and to throw up to the masons as they were erecting the upper parts of a structure, and the concomitant use of fast-setting lime mortar, also contributed to this process. In much the same way, Byzantine architecture was transformed in the reign of Justinian, and there too the key to the change lay in the much bolder vaulting which relatively light baked bricks encouraged (Krautheimer 1965, 164f.). The relevance of all this to the zone of transition is patent. It can be encapsulated in a single comparison. The little Sasanian fire temple of Naisar has walls 3 metres thick carrying a low dome of 6.2 metres in diameter, while the early 12thcentury Friday Mosque of Qazvin has thinner walls (2.8 metres thick) carrying a lofty dome whose diameter, at 15.25 metres, was two and a half times wider than that of the Naisar temple. In that contrast, which can be summed up in the ratio of wall thickness to dome diameter of 1:2.06 as against 1:5.44 (Godard 1949b, 211; he notes that in the Friday Mosque of Rida’iyya the ratio is 1:5.88), lies the whole evolution of the squinch zone from Sasanian to medieval Islamic times. The structural knowledge embedded in the Qazvin mosque was not limited to an awareness that thinner bearing walls did not imperil safety. It included a radical re-assessment of the role of the zone of transition and of its interplay both with the dome above and with the chamber below; and that re-assessment catapulted this zone into unheralded prominence. The key points in the evolution of the squinch zone Thus changes in brick and mortar had the most far-reaching results, and the pace of change was rapid and uneven. The early stages of development have their full share of failed experiments and dead ends. Thus the celebrated Tomb of the Samanids in Bukhara (before 943) insistently invites speculation as to the role and the importance of the squinch back (Rempel’ 1935, 202; Stock I, 265–6; II, 236, and 253f.; III, 233f. 240 and 244; Fig. 6). For it boldly hollows out much of that space, as it were letting more air in. This spotlights the structural role of the arch itself rather than what lies behind it, and at the same time it emphasizes the role of the secondary rib-like arch (like a flying buttress) set at right angles to the crown of the squinch. One sees here an idea that is common enough in Iranian architecture, namely the familiar contrast between the facade, which acts as the visual focus, and the area behind it, where all the structural work is done (cf. Pope 1965a, pl.106 [front] with pl. 111 [rear]). Similarly, this masterpiece presages the later custom of minimizing the role of the zone of transition on the exterior: a gallery hides what is going on. What, one wonders, does this reveal about the

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priorities of the architect? Other buildings show how the squinch changes its nature according to the size of the zone of transition. Thus, if the zone is small, so is the squinch, but if the zone is big, then the squinch too is enlarged; indeed, in the 14th-century mausoleum at Mizdakhan (Pugachenkova 1983, 159) the zone of transition loses its distinct boundaries and merges both with the dome above and with the square chamber below. This is a unique variation.

Fig. 6. Bukhara, so-called Tomb of the Samanids, squinch (photograph by Bernard O’Kane). So too is the squinch in the Gunbad-i Surkh at Maragha (Pope 1965a, fig. 349), which sets off on its own in a totally unexpected direction, developing its own sexpartite vault within a slightly segmental arch. It is worth remembering that it was precisely in the relatively small spaces offered by the interior of mausolea that architects were at greater liberty to experiment in a way that would have been very much harder in the vast echoing spaces of the great mosque dome chambers of the Saljuq period. The massive weight of the brickwork in those huge buildings presented structural challenges that simply did not arise in the much smaller and much less lofty spaces of most mausolea. That explains the solution adopted at Yarti Gunbad of 1098 (Pugachenkova 1961, figs 4 and 5), which has an exquisitely executed trilobed squinch that is more a tour de force of stucco carving than a structural device; the top arch has a lobed profile and the brickwork of the side arches has deeply recessed joints, while the lower central arch has stucco carving around a medallion. Ribat-i Sharaf has a very similar trilobed squinch with the extra grace note of a painted Kufic inscription at its centre and sham painted brickwork decorating the outer surface of the trilobed arch (Godard 1949a, 45 and fig. 34). A squinch from Ribat-i Mahi contains a central cannular groove which not only marks the point of maximum stress in the squinch but also separates its two lobes; this feature, together with the tiny lobe at the apex of the groove, perhaps foreshadows the trilobed squinch (Hutt 1970, 205 and pl. Xb). But the bisection of the squinch

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(or an arch, as at Ribat-i Sharaf [Hutt and Harrow 1977, pl. 65]) by a broad or narrow rib is a well-established feature of Qarakhanid architecture (McClary 2020, 135. 143. 221 and 231) and was known before that under the Samanids (Rempel’ 1935, 202). At all events, Khurasan followed a trajectory different from that of the Isfahan oasis in this respect. Khurasan generated some unique types, such as those found in tiny rooms in Ribat-i Sharaf where the weight of the dome did not require significant support. Accordingly one of these rooms contains a bridging device which is either a skeuomorph of a wooden lintel with tiny arches at each end, or an actual wooden lintel disguised by a plaster coating (Godard 1949a, 53 and fig. 44), while the device in another such room, also casually tossed off, has a triangular head with a double sawtooth profile and a telltale crack in the masonry above the apex, a sure sign of its weakness (Godard 1949a, 51. 53 and fig. 43). All these variant forms underline that in Saljuq times this particular architectural element was in a state of flux, in Iran as in Central Asia (Pugachenkova 1963b, 120f. 124. 129. 131 and 136; eadem 1958, 170. 205. 227. 236f. 241. 266. 270. 282. 289. 300. 319 and 373 – a separate study in themselves). What distinguishes the squinches of the school of Greater Khurasan from those of the Isfahan oasis is that the former does not develop the squinch as a structural form, keeping it as a simple four-centred arch, and preferring to decorate it. That means, for example, adding a lobed or decorative profile to the squinch arch, as at Safid Buland and Kermine respectively (McClary 2020, 36 and 219), or marking its rectangular frame with a border of vertically laid bricks, and giving it a double profile, as at Uzgend (McClary 2020, 58 and 99), and devising ways of decorating the field of the squinch with brick patterns. These can be either flush with the surface, as at Ribat-i Sharaf and Sangan-i Bala (Godard 1949b, 271 and 272), which was the norm in 11th–12th-century monuments in Central Asia, or outset fret designs, as at Sangbast (Godard 1949b, 263). Sometimes the squinch – unlike its flanking arches – takes on triangular form and is filled with multiple recessed layers of brick in sawtooth formation, as in the so-called Zandan-i Harun near Tehran (Godard 1949b, 281). The third dimension makes only an occasional appearance, as in a narrow rectangular slot introduced at the bottom centre of the squinch as in the tomb of Imam Bakr in the Merv oasis (Herrmann, Coffey, Laidlaw and Kurbansakhatov 2002, 55). That said, the earliest dated trilobed squinch is found not in central Iran but in Uzbekistan, in the Arab-Ata mausoleum at Tim dated 977 (Pugachenkova 1963a; Fig. 7). This is already in fully mature form, which implies substantial earlier experiment. It features a clear division into four arched forms and even adds a graceful touch at each upper corner of the squinch: a slim colonnette crowned by a curved arched cell. The squinch zone itself is also developed, for its intermediate blind arches each displays a full-scale trilobed arch profile. By contrast, in Iran proper the earliest comparable form is primitive and on a miniature scale. It occurs in the spandrels of the entrance arch of the Gunbad-i Qabus (Godard 1949b, 330). But this promising beginning was destined to remain a dead end. The Sasanian period had seen a gentle learning curve in the development of both the squinch and the zone in which it was set. But from about the mid-10th century that curve became increasingly steep, reaching a peak in the 1080s. Experiment was at its most intense in Central Iran and it focused in particular on the trilobed squinch. The undoubted masterpiece in this vein is the squinch of the north dome

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Fig. 7. Tim, Arab-Ata mausoleum, squinch zone (photograph by Bernard O’Kane) (cf. colour plate XII). in the Isfahan jami‘ (1088), to be discussed shortly, which has been analysed in greatest depth by Schroeder (1938–9, 1004–1009), Pope (1965b) and Laleh (1989 I, 176–219; II, figs 35–76; III, 83–140). It is the jewel in the crown of a new kind of much-expanded “transition zone” – and what a weak term that is for all this splendour! That 1088 squinch builds on an earlier example of this type in the region, in the Davazdah Imam mausoleum of 1038 in Yazd (Anisi 2009; Fig. 8). But while the squinch in this mausoleum is an obvious forerunner of the great Saljuq domes built later in that century, the squinch zone as a whole is a disappointment. It is integrated neither with the area above – there is an abrupt and awkward disconnect between the top of the octagonal zone of transition and the circular base of the dome – nor with the area below, whose most original feature is the pair of narrow arched niches, one placed over the other, in the corners (a feature taken up in the dome chambers in the Isfahan jami‘: Hillenbrand 2012, figs 8.6 and 8.10); the central arch is flanked by expanses of blank wall, so that the lower elevation is only partly articulated (Anisi 2009, fig.1). As for the squinch zone itself, the trilobed squinches are flanked by simple arches; the earlier mausoleum at Tim had gone much further than this in the direction of an integrated zone of transition. The south and north dome chambers of the Isfahan jami‘ take the story to a satisfying conclusion so far as Saljuq architecture is concerned (apart from Schroeder, Pope and Laleh, see Grabar 1990, 38–40 and 50–54; Galdieri 1972, 372; Galdieri 1984, 25–29 and Hillenbrand 2012, 152–164). Perhaps the major change is the realization that the transition from octagon to circle could be made much smoother by a new intermediate zone, a hexadecagon. These two interiors, perhaps the work of the same architect (Schroeder 1938–9, 1005), understandably dominated the design of the great dome chambers of the following decades: Barsiyan (Smith 1937), Gulpayagan (Korn 2009, 252f. and idem, 2012), Ardistan (Godard 1936, 285–296; Shirazi A.S.H. 1359) and Zavara (Godard 1936, 296–298. 301– 5), all of them in the orbit of Isfahan. In the late 11th century the city was the

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Fig. 8. Yazd, Davazdah Imam mausoleum, squinch (photograph by Bernard O’Kane). capital of the Saljuq empire and therefore enjoyed unrivalled prestige. But what is interesting is that among this quartet of great buildings, only one – Gulpayagan – strikes out in a new direction (Schroeder 1938–9, 1013f.; Fig. 9), and its innovatory squinch is not an unqualified success. The other three stick rather tamely to the model of the Isfahan north dome, although not one of them exploits height to the same extent. This has to do with their dimensions. A comparison of the ground plans of all five of these chambers – those just mentioned plus the south dome in the Isfahan jami‘ – shows that all of them have a greater surface area than the north dome in Isfahan. It alone is able to capitalise on sheer height – hence perhaps the frequent comparisons made between this building and early Gothic architecture (Pope 1963, 20, quoting Herzfeld; Pope 1965b, 187–189; Fig. 10). This emphasis on loftiness (its height is twice its diameter) and on narrowness is the key to its energy, its aspiration, its concentrated expressiveness. Moreover, while it exhibits plenty of applied decoration, that ornament is kept firmly in its place. It plays second fiddle. The power of this elevation flows from the way it lays bare the structure of the monument. It is like lifting the bonnet or hood of

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Fig. 9. Gulpayagan, Friday Mosque, transition zone (photograph by Lorenz Korn).

Fig. 10. Isfahan, Friday Mosque, north dome, interior view (photograph by Sheila Blair and Jonathan Bloom) (cf. colour plate XII).

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a car and seeing the engine itself. Thanks to an acute sensitivity to nuance, this elevation – lower walls, squinch zone, dome, with the squinch itself at the very heart of the composition – works as one. Its component parts mesh smoothly; all is subordinated to the upward thrust of multiple arch forms, broad and narrow, lofty and short, building up to the climax of the dome and its apex, whose oculus permits symbolic entry to the world above and beyond. The multiple openings in the lower elevation let in air and light and foster a sense of interlocking spaces, while the equally multiple recesses set up a subtle rhythm of advance and retreat which invests the whole with a constant mobility. Narrow arches and still narrower engaged colonnettes coax the eye upwards. Superposed arches, tier upon tier, unite the central and lower zones and are enveloped by the brooding dome above. And when all three of these elements are measured against each other, it is the squinch zone that takes pride of place. Yet its height is marginally less than that of the dome which in turn is marginally less than that of the wall beneath the transition zone. Broadly speaking, then, the elevation is divided into three, and the height of the transition zone is slightly less than that of the components above and below it. The transition zone had come a long way since Sasanian times, from one-seventh of the elevation to all but a third. And there is more to the matter than mere measurement. For this is by a long way the most vividly articulated part of the elevation and thus dominates it. Unlike the lower walls below it, it is capable of being taken in at a glance, and unlike the more distant dome above it, its rich detail can be savoured with ease. And the eye is constantly drawn to the squinch itself, the engine which generates all this power. With its three levels and its intersecting planes, there is so much going on that this can truly be termed the beating heart of the monument. As for the lower elevation, although its articulation is simplified and reduced in comparison with the arrangement of the transition zone – compare the blank central arch below with the multiple sub-divisions of its equivalent directly above – it contrives to be more active and mobile than its parallels in any of the comparable Saljuq dome chambers. Schroeder wrote a profound and coruscating account of this interior almost a century ago which has still not been surpassed. The new features – they did not of course all come at once – are bewildering in their variety. They imply a settled fascination with the squinch zone as a workshop for solving structural problems; a re-interpretation of the domed interior which privileges that zone; and a delight in developing the decorative potential of architectonic forms. These topics deserve a paper to themselves, but it is worth sketching here the main headings of the enquiry. They include the multiplication of related themes in a cumulative build-up, an idea that foreshadows the muqarnas squinch; and indeed, this development leads one to reflect on what is lost in the later move from squinch to muqarnas. Plainly there is a loss of concentration, of a sense of hierarchy, of highlighting a key spot; it becomes too overall, too much of a piece. There is no necessary connection between the enclosing arch and what goes on within it. In that sense a simple squinch crammed with muqarnas cells is essentially the same solution as at Buzun (Pope, 1965a, pl. 348), where a round-backed squinch is filled with vegetal ornament. And applied ornament in the squinch, drawing the eye to it, is a subject in itself. Some squinches are

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filled with arabesques, some with geometry; occasionally there are competing fields or tiers of ornament. But it is noticeable that no squinches are filled with inscriptions, even though inscriptions figure to a small extent in the Isfahan north dome chamber squinch. Perhaps the scale was too restricted to allow inscriptions sufficient prominence. Besides, the Saljuq solution for the transition zone is too uncompromisingly structural (and structure itself was ornament, ornament with a built-in hierarchy) for the taste of later centuries. That taste increasingly favoured both more lavish decoration and unemphatic, smooth transitions (Rosintal 1937). Special interest attaches to the early experiments in introducing elements of the muqarnas into the transition zone. The earliest dated example (1114–1115) is at Gulpayagan (Godard 1949a, 67; Pope and Ackerman 1938–9, pl. 309; Korn 2012, 216f.; Shani 2012, 179f.) where a four-tier muqarnas system in the form of an equilateral triangle is inserted somewhat clumsily into a squinch enclosed by a four-centred arch. The urge to make much of the depth of the squinch is plain, but the flat spandrels that flank this muqarnas composition offer an uneasy contrast, as do the flanking blind arches, whose trilobed profile encloses top-quality decorative brickwork and inscriptions (Korn 2009, 252f. and Korn 2012, 221–223). In the context of contemporary transition zones, this muqarnas is an alien import, almost a cuckoo in the nest. In the Rida’iyya jami‘ (1277) the same theme recurs, but

Fig. 11. Merv, tomb of Sultan Sanjar, transition zone and dome (photograph by Laurence Elwell-Sutton).

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Fig. 12. Isfahan, Friday Mosque, north dome, section (drawing by Eric Schroeder). this time emphasizing breadth rather than height, with cells in the form of squat, lusciously curved, depressed pointed arches (Godard 1949b, 273). Still other felicities clamour for analysis. Chief among them is, as already discussed, the creation of entirely new shapes, principally the trilobed squinch, which generated experiments galore – thus both the transition zone and the dome base feature the trilobed form in the mausoleum of Sanjar at Merv (Fig. 11). Then there is the repeated sub-division of the squinch to secure internal contrast; the development of hierarchies within the squinch, for example centre versus periphery; an increase in the relative height of the squinch, with a resultant increase in visual richness and intensity; an emphasis on the central part of the squinch and its internal development, as at Tim, Yazd, Isfahan and numerous other sites; and the removal of much of the squinch back, as it were letting more air in. More

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generally, architects consistently attempted to integrate the squinch with the rest of the zone of transition. The trouble with much of the scholarly discussion to date, as noted earlier, is that it has focused on the squinch alone rather than on the interaction of the squinch with the zone of transition and indeed with the articulation of the lower walls of the domed chamber (Huff 1971, pl. 25/3). So its wider context is overlooked; and context is vital, for it explains how in Saljuq architecture the squinch zone becomes the natural focus of attention (Fig. 12). By contrast, the lower walls of the chamber are so near to the person standing inside the chamber that the eye is forced to absorb them only bit by bit, while the dome itself is so high up that its details are hard to determine. But the zone of transition is perfectly placed to be taken in at a glance wherever one stands, and it showcases the technical skill of the architect at the same time as its articulation and applied ornament draw the eye. And, to make the point yet again, context is vital: the subdivision of the bearing wall in so many Saljuq domed chambers is part of the same aesthetic as created the zone of transition; and such subdivisions are noticeably absent in the Sasanian fire temples and palaces. Moving the focus of attention from the squinches themselves to the rest of the transition zone reveals that the opportunities offered by the other four arches – the non-squinch arches – in the zone of transition are rarely taken up. To some extent, of course, they have to follow in the slipstream of the squinches themselves, so that they do not present too stark a contrast to the energy of the squinches; but their potential role as a foil is rarely exploited. In particular, their infill – if indeed they were mostly blind arches, for they often contained large windows – remained confined to a single plane. Admittedly it often displays elaborate brick patterning, as at Ribat-i Sharaf (Godard 1949a, 49); indeed, sometimes the squinch and its flanking arches are treated in an identical manner (Godard 1949a, 48). But for the most part there is an obvious preference to underline the flatness of the flanking arches in strong contrast to the powerful three-dimensionality of the squinches. Thus the theme of unity versus diversity, or the option of powerful syncopated rhythms, or rising and falling rhythms, are somewhat under-developed. But these are minor quibbles. The Saljuq squinch is stately; it has a marked sense of internal development while never losing its principal focus – the great enclosing arch. Thus internal complexity is controlled and kept within bounds by the unadorned framing arch. The strong emphasis of the upper and lower framing bands for that zone also served to make it a focus of visual attention, while the hexadecagon above underlines that the transition zone is a stage on the way to the circular base of the dome. The great achievement of Saljuq architects was that they consistently succeeded in integrating the squinch with the rest of the zone of transition. The result is to create a satisfying syncopated rhythm between the plain and the complex. It is that ambition, so triumphantly realized in the north dome of the Isfahan Friday Mosque, that brings together the architect and the creator of ornament. Neither one impedes the other. And as one takes in the sheer amount of space allotted to this transition zone – almost a third of the elevation – one has to recognize that within the interior of these dome chambers it challenges the dome itself for visual supremacy. That timid little Sasanian squinch, then, has come a long way.

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Bibliography Anisi, A. 2007 Early Islamic Architecture in Iran (637–1059). Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, University of Edinburgh. 2009 The Davazdah Imam mausoleum at Yazd: A re-examination, Iran 47, 57– 68. Bier, L. 1986 Sarvistan. A Study in Early Iranian Architecture. University Park and London. Finster, B. 1994 Frühe iranische Moscheen. Berlin. Galdieri, E. 1972 Isfahan: Masğid-i Ğum‘a I. Rome. 1984 Isfahan: Masğid-i Ğum‘a III. Rome. Godard, A. 1936 Ardistan et Zaware, Athar-e Iran I/2, 285–309. 1949a Khorasan. Ribat-i Sharaf, Athar-e Iran IV/I, 7–68. 1949b Voûtes iraniennes, Athar-e Iran IV/II, 187–360. 1965 The Art of Iran, tr. M. Heron, ed. M. Rogers. London. Grabar, O. 1990 The Great Mosque of Isfahan. London. Hallier, U.-W. 1975 Ribat-i Sefid (Khorasan), Archäologische Mitteilungen aus Iran N.F. 8, 143–166. Hardy, A. 1938 Le monument de Neisar, Athar-e Iran III/1, 163–166. Herrmann, G. 1977 The Iranian Revival. The Making of the Past. Oxford. 1999 Monuments of Merv: Traditional Buildings of the Karakum. London. Herrmann, G., H. Coffey, S. Laidlaw and K. Kurbansakhatov 2002 Monuments of Merv: a Scanned Archive of Photographs and Plans. London. Hillenbrand, R. 2012 Architecture and Politics: The North and South Dome Chambers of the Isfahan Jami‘. In: E. Herzig and S. Stewart (eds), The Age of the Seljuqs. The Idea of Iran. Volume VI. London and New York. 148–173. Huff, D. 1971 Qu’al‘a-ye Dukhtar bei Firuzabad, Ein Beitrag zur sasanidischen Palastarchitektur, Archäologische Mitteilungen aus Iran N.F. 4, 127–171. 1990 s.v. ‘Baza-kur’. In: Encyclopaedia Iranica IV, col. 20a–b. 1993 Architecture sassanide. In: Splendeur des Sassanides. Brussels. 45–61. Hutt, A. M. 1970 Islamic Monuments in Kirman and Khurasan Provinces, Iran VIII, 203– 205. Hutt, A. M. and L. W. Harrow 1977 Islamic Architecture. Iran I. London.

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Korn, L. 2012 Architecture and Ornament in the Great Mosque of Golpayegan. In: L. Korn and A. Heidenreich (eds), Beiträge zur Islamischen Kunst und Archäologie 3. Wiesbaden. 212–236. 2009 Saljuq Dome Chambers in Iran. A multi-faceted phenomenon in Islamic art, Archäologische Mitteilungen aus Iran und Turan 41, 235–260. Krautheimer, R. 1965 Early Christian and Byzantine Architecture. Harmondsworth, Baltimore and Ringwood, Victoria, Australia. Laleh, H. 1989 La Structure Fondamentale des Arcs dans l’Architecture Saldjukide de l’Iran. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Université de Paris. McClary, R. P. 2020 Medieval Monuments of Central Asia. Qarakhanid Architecture of the 11th and 12th Centuries. Edinburgh. Pope, A. U. 1963 Possible Iranian Contributions to the Beginning of Gothic Architecture. In: O. Aslanapa (ed.), Beiträge zur Kunstgeschichte Asiens. In Memoriam Ernst Diez. Istanbul. 1–29. 1965a Persian Architecture. London. 1965b Note on the Aesthetic Character of the North Dome of the Masjid-i-Jami‘ of Isfahan. In: G. Scanlon, C. Kessler, K. Brisch and R. ‘Abd al-Muttalib (eds), Studies in Islamic Art and Architecture In Honour of Professor K. A. C. Creswell. Cairo. 179–193. Pope, A. U. and P. Ackerman (eds) 1938–9 A Survey of Persian Art from Prehistoric Times to the Present. London and New York. Pugachenkova, G. A. 1958 Puti razvitiya arkhitektury yuzhnogo Turkmenistana pory rabovladeniya i feodalizma. Moscow. 1961 Yarti Gumbez, Epigrafika Vostoka 14, 12–22. 1963a Mavzolei Arab-ata (Iz istorii arkhitekturniye Maverannakhra IX–X vv.). Tashkent. 1963b Polev’ie issledovaniya Khoremzskoi (sic) Expeditskii v1958–1961 gg. II. In: Material’I Khorezmskoi Ekspeditskii, Vipusk 7. Moscow, 118–137. 1983 Pamyatniki Iskusstva Sovetskogo Soyuza Srednyaya Aziya. Spravochnik – Putevoditel’. Moscow. Rempel’, L. I. 1935 The Mausoleum of Isma‘il the Samanid, Bulletin of the American Institute for Persian Art and Archaeology V/4 (1936), 199–209. Rosintal, J. 1928 Pendentifs, trompes et stalactites dans l’architecture orientale. Paris. 1937 Le Réseau forme intermédiaire perse inconnue jusqu’à present. Paris. 1938 L’origine des stalactites de l’architecture orientale. Paris. Sarre, F. and E. Herzfeld 1911 Archäologische Reise im Euphrat- und Tigris-Gebiet, I. Berlin.

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Shani, R. 2012 The Muqarnas: Structure, Form, and Meaning. In: L. Korn and A. Heidenreich (eds), Beiträge zur Islamischen Kunst und Archäologie 3. Wiesbaden. 177–211. Shirazi, A. B. 1359 A.S.H. Masjid-i Jam‘i-yi Ardistan, Athar I/1, 5–51. Smith, M. B. 1937 Material for a Corpus of Early Iranian Islamic Architecture – II. Manar and Masdjid, Barsian (Isfahan), Ars Islamica IV/1, 7–41. Stock, G. 1989 Das Samanidenmausoleum in Bukhara I, Archäologische Mitteilungen aus Iran 22, 234–288. 1990 Das Samanidenmausoleum in Bukhara II, Archäologische Mitteilungen aus Iran 23, 231–260. 1991 Das Samanidenmausoleum in Bukhara III, Archäologische Mitteilungen aus Iran 24, 225–246. Wilber, D. N. 1946 The ruins at Rabat-i-Safid, Bulletin of the Iranian Institute VI/1–4 and VII/1, 22–28.

A Parthian manor on the Lower Zab John MacGinnis Abstract In this article we present a Parthian monumental building excavated at the site of Qalatga Darband in the western Zagros of Iraqi Kurdistan. The ground plan of the building, which we believe is best understood as a manor house of a member of the local elite, consists of eleven rooms with walls of dry laid stone standing up to 4 m high, above which was an upper storey of mudbrick. The walls and ceiling were colourfully painted, while the roof was made with terracotta roof tiles; this, together with the presence of what was once a considerable collection of sculpture, betrays a strong Hellenistic influence. Multiple lines of evidence date the structure to the early Parthian period. The context for the foundation of both the site and the building is taken to be the westward expansion of the Parthian Empire in the mid second century BC. After being heavily burnt once, the building was destroyed for a second time shortly afterwards while still in the process of being refurbished. After abandonment, the ruins of the building were used for secondary interments in the early Sasanian period. Introduction The excavation of the building discussed in this paper was undertaken within the framework of the Darband-i Rania Archaeological Project, an initiative inaugurated in 2016 in order to provide the platform for the field component of the British Museum’s ‘Iraq Scheme’ archaeological training programme. This work would not have been possible without the help and support of Kaify Mustafa Ali, General Director of Antiquities of Kurdistan, his predecessor in this post Abubakr Othman (Mala Awat), Kamal Rasheed Raheem, Head of the Directorate of Antiquities of Sulaimaniya, and Barzan Baiz Ismail, Head of the Directorate of Antiquities of Raparin, to all of whom we express our profound thanks. It is a pleasure to offer this study to Georgina, renowned champion of the Iranian revival! The project has involved investigations at three sites located in or near the Darband-i Rania, the pass through the Kewa Resh and Assos mountains, located at the northeast corner of Lake Dokan, which connects the Peshdar Pain to the

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Rania Plain (Fig. 1)1. Two of these – Usu Aska, a fort of Neo-Assyrian date (MacGinnis et al. 2020, 169–174), and Murad Rasu, a badly eroded mounded site with multiple occupations (MacGinnis et al. 2020, 166–168) – while important, are not germane to the present contribution. Our focus here is on Qalatga Darband. Although covering a very large expanse2, knowledge of the site has until recently been very limited. The site was not formally recognised until 1973, when the local historian Abdulraqib Yusuf began to record the various traces visible on the surface. A brief assessment was made in 2013 by Jessica Giraud in the course of the Sulaimaniya Governorate Archaeological Survey, involving the collection of diagnostic surface ceramics, preliminary analysis of which suggested that the site had significant occupation in the Seleucid and/or Parthian periods. Qalatga Darband is also recorded in a variety of satellite images. Most important is a Corona image from February 1960 which shows both the western city wall and a sizeable fort of classic Parthian square design (MacGinnis et al. 2020, 147–189).

Fig. 1. Map showing the location of the sites of the Darband-i Rania Archaeological Project. The British Museum fieldwork, undertaken over six seasons of excavation between 2016 and 2021, has established that Qalatga Darband is the site of an early Parthian fortified settlement, clearly built in order to command the western end of the Darband-i Rania pass. In addition to ceramics, surface materials include terracotta For previous summaries of the work of the project, see MacGinnis 2020 and MacGinnis et al. 2020. 2 While the total area of archaeological remains at Qalatga Darband is in excess of 60 ha, giving an exact figure is difficult due to the encroachment of the boundaries in modern times. 1

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roof tiles (see further below), ashlar masonry, parts of columns, and evidence for olive oil production in the form of the weights and bases of lever presses (MacGinnis et al. 2020, 143–144). This is an inventory of clear Hellenistic orientation. Additional large-scale (sub-surface) architecture has been discovered and mapped through the analysis of drone imagery, satellite photographs and geo-magnetic prospection. Many of these features have been investigated by excavation (Areas A–L) (Fig. 2), varying from ground-truthing trenches to open area exposures. It is a pleasure to record our debt to the many local people who have worked on these excavations, and also to the Kurdish and international members of the team who have facilitated and overseen these operations and worked on the materials generated, in particular Barzan Baiz Ismael, Sami Jamil Hamarashid, Halkawt Omer, Mustafa Ahmad, Julie Bessenay, Liam Devlin, Maria Gajewska, Alberto Giannese, Tina Greenfield, Guy

Fig. 1. Map showing the location of the sites of the Darband-i Rania Archaeological Project.

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Hazell, Floor Huisman, Ewout Koek, Ben Leigh, Andy Miller, Sophia Mills, Kate Morton, Sandra Mularczyk, Mathilde Mura, Virág Pabeschitz, Lucas Proctor, Sarah Ritchie, Charly Vallance, Craig Williams and Zozik Sabah Noori. The Area E monumental building The building to which we now turn our attention (Fig. 3) is located in the southern corner of Qalatga Darband, close to both the western and the southeastern sides of the main fortification wall. The location, designated Area E, consists of a massive mound of stone, standing around 4 m high and with a diameter of approximately 35 m. Prior to our investigations this mound appeared as simply a jumble of stone: no walls were evident on the surface or sides, and there was no indication of what it might be – suggestions included a dump from field clearance and a mound built by the British during the Mandate as a military point. It was, nevertheless, an obvious feature to investigate. The mound had been disturbed multiple times in the past years: local farmers have both deposited stones from the fields and taken stones for building, and in the Saddam period a trench measuring approximately 5 x 15 m had been cut into the eastern side. This cut formed a natural starting point for our investigations and, as it transpired, the damage, while regrettable, did not reach deeply stratified deposits or affect our overall understanding of the building.

Fig. 3. The Area E monumental building (cf. colour plate XIII). With the commencement of excavation it soon became clear that this mass of stones contained the remains of intact architecture. Over the six seasons of excavation a very substantial building has emerged, measuring 23 x 23 m with eleven rooms. The walls are very impressive, generally up to 1.9 m thick and standing up to 4 m high, dry-built with a slight battering (Fig. 4). The outer faces

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are composed of carefully laid rows of stones, the insides filled with small stones and rubble, and the interior faces finished with a white lime plaster. The roof was constructed with terracotta roof tiles and the façade relieved by alternating round and rectangular buttresses. The building was destroyed by fire, and then burnt down again while refurbishments were still taking place. The existence of two pre-existing building phases is evidenced by the remains of walls under the floor of the main building, preserved to foundation level only. In the western part of the building there is evidence for a later structure built above the ruins of the main building. After that the site fell out of use and was abandoned. In the very late Parthian and early Sasanian period the dilapidated remains were used for secondary burials of presumed Zoroastrian nature.

Fig. 4. View of Room 6 showing niches and the doorway into Room 3, as well as a wall of an earlier phase below the main floor (cf. colour plate X). The general stratigraphic sequence, evidenced in all rooms, is therefore, from the top: stone collapse (incorporating the Sasanian burials) – collapse of the mudbrick walls of the upper storey – ceiling and roof collapse containing large amounts of roof tiles, iron nails (and in some rooms baked bricks) – upper destruction layer overlying a laid floor – lower destruction layer overlying a laid floor – walls of earlier buildings. Sasanian secondary burials In eight of the rooms (1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 9, 10, 11), the upper stone collapse contained large quantities of disarticulated human and animal bones, in addition to jewelry (rings, earrings, bracelets), beads, coins and sherds of pottery and glass vessels.

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The material from Room 11 also includes equestrian tackle, evidently the equipment of a rider. The coins date to the late Parthian king Osroes II (190 AD) but otherwise to the early Sasanian period, from the reigns of Ardashir I (223–240 AD), Shapur I (240–270 AD), Ohrmazd I (270–271 AD), Bahram II (274–293 AD) and Shapur III (383–388 AD). The only plausible interpretation is that these materials are the remains of reburials of skeletons and accompanying grave goods that had been relocated from their original deposition. These must be Zoroastrian secondary interments. Osteological analysis has established that these burials represent the remains of at least 28 individuals. In most cases the sex cannot be assigned, though five could be identified as male and two as female. The age range (following the classification of Buikstra and Ubelaker 1994) encompasses infant (1), children (3), adolescents (6) and adults (18). In four of the contexts gnaw marks are indicative of rodent activity. The animal bones were quite well preserved and show evidence of butchery: preliminary analysis establishes the presence of a broad range of species, including sheep, goat, cattle, horse, donkey, fallow deer, roe deer, dog, cat, birds and frog – the diversity of taxa is impressive for such a small sample (Greenfield in MacGinnis et al. 2020, 152). It is of interest to note that an exact parallel for these burials is found at the site of Shahr-i Qumis

Fig. 5. Plan of the Area E monumental building.

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(ancient Hecatompylos) in northern Iran, where also the disarticulated remains of burials of Sasanian date are found redeposited in the ruins of a Parthian monumental building (Hansman and Stronach 1970, 42–49; 1974, 12–14; Simpson and Molleson 2014, 79; for a review of the evidence for Sasanian burials practices in Mesopotamia, see Simpson 2018). By the end of the fifth season the complete plan of the building had been recovered (Fig. 5), and by the end of the sixth season all eleven rooms had been excavated down to at least the burnt floor levels of the main phase. Room 1 Room 1, the entrance chamber, measures 6.40 m x 5.45 m, with walls preserved up to a height of 3.50 m. The room communicates with Room 11 to the southwest, Room 7 to the northeast and Room 3 to the northwest. Beneath the upper stone fall, the layers of mudbrick collapse were rich in pottery, animal bone and fragments of lime wall plaster, many painted with traces of yellow, red, blue, green and pink pigment. The inventory of small finds was extensive. Two turned alabaster pieces, together with studs, a piece of pierced strip and a miniature finial, all of copper-bronze, may have been elements of ornate furniture. Eight bimetal roundels, 3.5–5 cm in diameter, consisting of copper-bronze disks with simple concentric decoration on the front and the remains of a square iron shaft on the back, seem most likely to be furniture or door knobs. At least forty identifiable fragments of statues were recovered from Room 1, in addition to numerous other amorphous pieces of marble or alabaster which most probably also derived from smashed statuary. Other finds included a fragment of ivory inlay with a quatrefoil design, a bone ring, a fragment of a bone figurine, a ceramic disk (perhaps a token or gaming piece), a fragment of a baked clay token, a glass bracelet and copperbronze earrings. The collapse layers had been cut by a robber trench that ran from the main doorway northwest towards the doorway of Room 3. There were two principal phases to the occupation of Room 1: a floor surfaced with lime plaster was replaced by a pavement of 16 x 20 x 3 cm baked bricks, heavily robbed out shortly after the final destruction. A series of post-holes in the working surface below the first floor may be the imprint of scaffolding. Room 2 Room 2, which measures 4 x 4.20 m, is located on the northeastern side of the building. Conceptually, it is the innermost part of the complex – no less than six rooms away from open space light. The collapse layers from the upper storey include a large number of 28 x 28 x 6 cm baked bricks, perhaps indicating that the room above had been a bathroom or a kitchen. The walls are very well preserved, with a number of patches of white plaster still in situ. Lying on the floor were the remains of three pithoi which had been used to store white plaster, one indication that the building was still in the process of renovation when it was destroyed. Also on the floor were numerous fragments of sculpture, most spectacularly the torso of a seated girl (QD-1250) (Fig. 6), and also an arm, a leg, a wrist and a foot. In the middle of the room was a small pit with plaster trays and green residue at the bottom, interpreted as the location of a foundation offering.

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Fig. 6. Statue of a seated female. Room 3 Room 3, which measures 8 x 2 m, lies at the centre of the complex and serves as a connection between the entrance and the inner parts of the building. The room has niches in the northwestern, northeastern and southwestern walls, all of which show signs of burning. The ceramics on the floor included two small bowls containing paint, one yellow and one pink, as well as the left leg of the male statue from Room 4. The actual floor was a matrix of reddish clay and brick fragments. Below this were segments of walls from underlying phases, including a second floor with burnt deposit, and another foundation pit with plaster lining, with a plaster tray on the bottom, and a fill containing animal bones. Room 4 Room 4 measures 5 x 3.5 m. In the collapse from the upper storey were further remains of statuary, including the complete torso of a statue of a young man (QD-1369) (Fig. 7), as well as the upper part of a foot and the stump of a tree. These pieces lay just above a supra-floor deposit of black ash lying on a white plastered surface. These in turn overlay an earlier burnt suprafloor lying on a floor of red clayey material, as in Room 2. In this room it is clear that following an original fiery event a start was made on laying a new surface of white plaster. However the laying of this upper surface, which was itself covered in black ash, was never completed.

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Fig. 7. Statue of a naked male. Room 5 Room 5 measures 8 x 4 m. Finds in the collapse from the upper floor included two small pieces of alabaster statuary – the tip of a penis and an unidentified part, as well as iron nails and a large quantity of pieces of blue, white, red and yellow pigment. The floor itself was made of a light yellow-brown compact clay and covered the whole room. There were two heaps of lime powder on the floor, covered at the edges by the ashy deposit: this lime powder appeared to be of the same nature as that found in the jars in Room 2, and accordingly constitutes more evidence that the building was being refurbished when destroyed. Cut into the floor in the centre of the room was a pit, the fill of which consisted of a dark brown ashy deposit containing animal bones. Below the floor an earlier phase was evidenced by a short exposure of wall, also with an associated burnt surface, excavation of which in turn revealed a section of another short segment of walling from one further underlying phase. Room 6 Room 6, which measures 7.4 x 2.8 m, links with the entrance sequence of Room 1 and Room 3, the suite of Rooms 8–9–10–11 in the western part of the building, and the sequence of Rooms 5, 4 and 2 in the northern corner. The collapse from the upper storey in Room 6 contained a large quantity of baked brick fragments (and brick powder). This layer contained many small finds, including numerous pins,

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studs and thin pierced strips, all of copper-bronze, perhaps furniture fittings; also a possible coin and small fragments of brightly painted plaster. There were a number of interesting architectural features in this room, including niches in the northeast and southwest walls and a possible window in the northwest wall. Room 7 Room 7, a 5 x 5 m room in the eastern corner of the building, with a central stone pillar measuring 2.50 x 2.50 m, was the site of the stairs leading to the upper floor. On the southeastern side of the room were the lower steps of a staircase of baked brick. The steps led up anti-clockwise, but it is not clear how the main structure of the staircase was organised. Certainly it was not solid mudbrick. Most likely it was a wooden structure. This may or may not have been surfaced with baked bricks: while numerous fragments of baked brick were found, these were not evidently enough to have paved the whole staircase (a circumstance which could be due to robbing). Room 8 Room 8 measures 4.5 x 1.6 m. The uppermost mudbrick collapse contained a very large volume of broken and burned pithos fragments (Fig. 8). Removal of these deposits came down onto a mottled beaten earth surface which was badly damaged. This surface, together with the pithoi, must represent a re-use of the room following the destruction of the building but before the walls had collapsed. That this is correct is evident not only from a coin (QD-2729) of Pacorus II (78–105 AD) found on this surface, but also because the surface overlay another layer of packing characterised by pronounced zones of ash and containing a high volume of roof tiles, clearly resulting from the main destruction in which the building was set on fire and the roof collapsed. In the northern half of the room there was a small foundation pit below the lowermost surface, the contents of which must have been organic. A Parthian copper-bronze coin (QD-2815), attributable to the “unknown king from Media Atropatene” (probably second half of the first century BC), was found in the wall collapse in the corridor between Room 8 and Room 9. Room 9 Room 9 measures 5.65 x 4.35 m. Exceptionally, traces of a later building constructed over the remains of the main complex were recovered in this area. These consisted only of poorly preserved walls in the southern part of the trench, with no associated surfaces recovered, built directly above the main layer of stone collapse. It is interesting to note that the architects of the Upper Building reused some of the walls of the previous building as lateral supports for the walls of their new building. Below this Upper Building was the expected sequence of fallen stone masonry above mudbrick collapse. Finds in Room 9 included beads, a needle and copper-bronze strips. A Parthian copper-bronze coin was found in the wall collapse in the corridor between Room 8 and Room 9. Room 10 Room 10 measures 4.5 x 3.5 m. The most striking feature is that the doorway between Room 10 and Room 11 was completely preserved (Fig. 9) – the only

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Fig. 8. Excavating a smashed pithos in Room 8.

Fig. 9. The doorway between Room 10 and Room 11 (cf. colour plate XIII).

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location in the complex where this was the case. The fact that this doorway is both narrower and lower than any of the others in the building suggests that these rooms did not have a high status. Most probably Room 10 was another storeroom: while it did not contain pithoi (as in Rooms 8 and 9), the pottery did include a large quantity of storage vessels. The finds in this room included two coins dating to the reign of Orodes II in addition to a further coin which was not identifiable; also three needles and two sherds with blue pigment. A Sasanian burial was located in the corridor between Rooms 9 and 10. Room 11 Room 11 is a small chamber measuring 4.3 x 2.7 m. The collapse from the upper floor contained a number of pieces of sculpture, including a foot, together with a number of uncategorised or amorphous fragments. The pottery in the room contained a high amount of common ware vessels (mainly bowls and jars), in addition to a moderate amount of storage jars and just a small quantity of fine ware: an interpretation as an area for food preparation, with a limited storage function, seems possible. Entrance stairways The building in its final phase was approached by an impressive staircase leading up to the entrance, 2.4 m wide with four steps rising a height of 60 cm (Fig. 10). The staircase was needed due to the fact that this final phase of the main building was built on what was effectively a platform formed by the remains of the preceding phase. Roofing The Area E building was covered with terracotta roof tiles (Fig. 11), found in the collapse layers in every room (MacGinnis et al 2020, 154–155, fig 15, to which references add Keall 1982, 69. 71). These tiles belong to the Corinthian system. They comprise flat tiles (Greek solenes, Latin tegula) and gable-like cover tiles (Greek kalupter, Latin imbrex). It is of interest to note that very similar roof tiles have been found at Babylon, Susa, Failaka, Aï Khanoum and Qal’eh-i Yazdigird. Upper Floor The building had a fully built upper storey. This is inferred not simply from the presence of a staircase (Room 7) – which could, after all, have simply led up on to the roof – but from the thick layers of clayey material found in all rooms below the stone wall collapse – but above the ceiling collapse – which can only be the remains of fallen mudbrick masonry. The absence of large stones within these layers suggests that the internal structures of the upper floor were made primarily of wood, mudbrick and plaster. This sequence is therefore understood as the collapse of an upper storey of the building constructed out of mudbrick3. Evidently some of the upper rooms, for example those above Room 2 and Room 6, had baked brick paving, most likely indicating that they were bathrooms or kitchens.

This is a change from an earlier interpretation that these clayey layers were the result of deliberate infill (MacGinnis et al. 2020, 152). 3

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Fig. 10. The stairs leading up to the entrance of the main building in its final phase.

Fig. 11. Terracotta roof tiles.

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External Façade The external façade of the building was decorated with a sequence of alternating semi-circular and rectangular buttresses separated by regularly spaced alcoves approximately 40 cm deep and 1.20 m wide. Such a pattern of buttresses is reminiscent of building Y1 at Hatra (Andrae 1912, 89–90), as well as the Garaeus Temple at Uruk (Downey 1988, 138–143), both Parthian in date, so it is perhaps justified in thinking of this as a specifically Parthian style. Lighting With regard to lighting, a possible window high up in the northwestern wall in Room 6 suggests that this may be how the lower storey was lit. No direct evidence survives for the lighting arrangements for the fallen upper storey, but most probably this will have been by loop-hole slits in the mudbrick, as was the case, for example, with the Fort at Nush-i Jan (Stronach and Roaf 2007, 107–129). Internal decoration The interior of the building was finished with white lime plaster 5–10 mm thick on to which were painted designs in blue, white, yellow, orange, red, pink and green paint. The beams of the ceiling were similarly colourfully painted. The surviving evidence does not allow us to determine the nature of the design, but there is nothing so far to indicate figurative rather than geometric patterns. Sculpture A considerable inventory of sculpture has been recovered from the building. No piece is complete and most pieces are indeed relatively small fragments. In all 57 pieces are certain sculpture fragments, of varying sizes, with a dozen or so other pieces which very likely do derive from sculptures but which are too undiagnostic for the identification to be certain. Nevertheless, in two cases we have more substantial pieces, the quarter-size statue of a seated female (QD-1250, Fig. 6), and the half-size statue of a naked male (QD-1169+, Fig. 7) (MacGinnis et al. 2020, 153–154). Architectural analysis With the recovery of the complete plan of the building we are able to make some suggestions with regard to use. This analysis is based primarily on the architectural configuration – a major issue is that we only have the plan of the ground floor, and we cannot with certainty know the plan of the upper storey. Room 1 is the entrance chamber. To the northeast this gave on to the Room 7 staircase, and in the southwest to the sequence of storage rooms beginning with Room 11. In the northwest Room 1 gave on to a long sequence of rooms. The first of these is Room 3, an intermediate space serving as a transition to the inner rooms, perhaps used for storage for equipment relevant to the operation of the building. Rooms 5 and 6 are likely to be storerooms. The western side of the building was dedicated to food storage, with pithoi in Room 8 and Room 9, and smaller storage jars in Room 10. Room 11 may have utilised for the preparation of food. Room 2 appears to have been a space with a special status. This is evident from its position at the end of the long sequence leading from the entrance, the presence of statuary, and the fact

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that it was colourfully painted. Whatever the exact function of Room 2, Room 4 must have functioned as an ante-chamber (which does not rule out a secondary use, for example as a storeroom). Overall, the building is best understood as a strongly built manor house of a member of the local elite. A good parallel in terms of size, shape and internal organisation is the Fort at Nush-i Jan (Stronach and Roaf 2007, 107–129). Unfortunately we have no indication of who the building belonged to, though the governor of the city (and perhaps also the surrounding region) would be an obvious candidate. Dating The initial dating of the Area E monumental building to the early Parthian period (late second and early first century BC), based on ceramic analysis (MacGinnis et al. 2020, 157–166), is supported by the independent dating of the Hellenistic sculpture to exactly this period, radiocarbon dating indicating that the building was constructed in the mid second century BC and destroyed in the mid to late first century BC, and the recovery of coins of Orodes II and the “unknown king” from Media Atropatene. In historical terms, a plausible scenario is that the original construction of the building – and perhaps the genesis of the site of Qalatga Darband as a whole – corresponds to the occupation of Media Atropatene by Mithradates I in the mid 150s BC (Overtoom 2020, 259), a development which must have brought the western edge of Parthian territory up to some point in the sequence of passes in the Zagros mountains. But was the fortified settlement at Qalatga Darband a creation of the Parthians, built as a bulwark on the western edge of the Empire, marking and defending the border with the kingdom of Adiabene? Or was it, conversely, built by a king of Adiabene, in an attempt to defend that kingdom and prevent further Parthian expansion? In the absence of other decisive evidence, it seems that this question is best answered by the numismatics: the fact that almost all the coins recovered from the occupational phases of the building are Parthian issues, and not from the mint of Adiabene, strongly suggests that the building (and site) are Parthian foundations; the presence of the one coin from Media Atropatene does not necessarily contradict this. As mentioned, the building was destroyed in the mid to late first century BC. In fact, it was subjected to two destructive cycles, an initial burning followed, shortly afterwards, by a second burning while the building was still in the process of being refurbished. What was the cause of these destructions? An intriguing possibility is that they were the result of Roman forays in the region. We know, for example, that in 68–67 BC Lucullus conducted a campaign through Armenia and on into Adiabene (Sherwin-White 1992, 242–243; Palermo 2019, 72–74). While this could not be the scenario of the final destruction, which on the basis of the coins of Orodes II (57–37 BC) has to be slightly later, could it perhaps be the setting of the initial burning? The second destruction clearly has to be post 57 BC. Could this be a reflex of Anthony’s campaign into Atropatene of 36 BC (Debevoise 1938: 121– 142; Bivar 1983, 58–65)? Pre-existing architecture Contrary to earlier statements (MacGinnis et al 2020, 155; 2020b, 235), the Area E monumental building was not built on a virgin site, but overlies the remains of

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two earlier constructions, evidenced by segments of walls surviving below the main phase floor levels. These walls had generally been levelled to their foundations, just one course high, with the result that few associated floor surfaces were preserved. While the orientation is the same as that of that of the main building, these walls are narrower (65 to 140 cm in width) and the plans do not correspond. The main building therefore, while built over these remains, does not represent the exact rebuilding of a previously existing complex. It can be noted, though, that a coin of post-Alexander type (QD-2405, Fig. 12) hints at a preceding Hellenistic occupation of the site.

Fig. 12. Post-Alexander type coin QD-2405. Summary The Area E monumental building was constructed in the early Parthian period over the location of two earlier buildings. It was a truly impressive structure, measuring 23 m square, the ground floor walls made of stone with an upper storey of mudbrick, approached by a grand staircase and roofed with terracotta roof tiles. Up to the top of the upper storey the walls must have stood around 7 m high; including the pitched tiled roof the edifice must have been nearer 10 m in height. Many of the rooms were handsomely decorated, with colourful painted wall plaster and ornamental furniture; it may be imagined that wall hangings added to the decor. The many statue fragments fit with the well-known adoption of at least elements of Hellenistic culture by the Parthian elite. The main use of the building came to an end in a fiery event, evidenced by layers of thick ash in all rooms. In fact, there were two destruction horizons, evidently close together in time. The large storage jars containing lime plaster in Room 2, the dishes containing yellow and pink pigment in Room 3, and the incomplete replastering of floors in some rooms all suggest that the second burning took place while the building was still in the process of being refurbished from the original destruction. Following this, as far as we can tell the building was largely abandonned. The exception is the western corner, where there is evidence for later re-use, perhaps to be associated with a later building of which only fragments survive. The ruins of the complex were then used as site for secondary burials in the very late Parthian and early Sasanian period.

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Bibliography Andrae, W. 1912 Hatra. Wissenschaftliche Veröffentlichungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft 21. Leipzig. Bernard, P. 1973 Fouilles d’Aï Khanoum I (Campagnes 1965, 1966, 1967, 1968). Paris. Bivar, A. D. H. 1983 The political history of Iran under the Arsacids. In: E. Yarshater (ed.), Cambridge History of Iran I.1. Cambridge. 21–99. Buikstra, J. E. and D. Ubelaker 1994 Standards for data collection from human skeletal remains. Arkansas Archaeological Survey Research Series 44. Fayetteville. Debevoise, N. C. 1938 A Political History of Parthia. Chicago. Downey, S. 1988 Mesopotamian Religious Architecture: Alexander through the Parthians. Princeton. Ghirshman, R. 1962 Iran: Parthians and Sassanians. Paris. Hansman, J. and D. Stronach 1970 Excavations at Shahr-i Qumis, 1967, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 1970, 29–62. 1974 Excavations at Shahr-i Qumis, 1971, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 1974, 8–22. Henrickson, R. C. and M. J. Blackman 1999 Hellenistic Production of Terracotta Roof Tiles among the Ceramic Industries at Gordion, Oxford Journal of Archaeology 18, 307–316. Jeppesen, K. 1989 Ikaros. The Hellenistic Settlements. Volume 3. The Sacred Enclosures in the Early Hellenistic Period. Aarhus. Keall, J. E. 1982 Qal’eh-i Yazdigird: An Overview of the Monumental Architecture, Iran 20, 51–72. MacGinnis, J. 2020 The 2016 and 2017 seasons of excavations at Qalatga Darband. In: A. Otto et al. (eds), Proceedings of the 11th International Congress on the Archaeology of the Ancient Near East Vol. 2: Field Reports. Wiesbaden. 229–242. MacGinnis, J., K. R. Raheem, B. B. Ismael, M. Ahmad, R. Cabral, A. Dusting, T. Greenfield, G. Hazell, A. Iasonos, D. Kertai, A. Miller, V. Pabeschitz and M. Shepperson 2020 Excavations at the Darband-i Rania pass, Iraqi Kurdistan: Report on the 2016 and 2017 Seasons, Iraq 82, 139–178. Martinez-Sève, L. 2002 La ville de Susa à l’époque hellénistique, Revue d’Archéologie 33, 31–53.

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Mills, P. 2013 The Ancient Mediterranean Trade in Ceramic Building Materials: A Case Study in Carthage and Beirut. Oxford. Overtoom, N. L. 2020 Reign of Arrows. The Rise and Fall of the Parthian Empire in the Hellenistic Near East. Oxford. Palermo, R. 2019 On the Edge of the Empire: Northern Mesopotamia in the Roman Period. London. Rapin, C. 1992 La Trésorerie du palais hellénistique d’Aï Khanoum. Fouilles d’Aï Khanoum VIII. Paris. Schmidt, E. F. 1957 Persepolis II. Contents of the Treasury and Other Discoveries. OIP 69. Chicago. Sherwin-White, A. N. 1994 Lucullus, Pompey and the East. In: J. A. Crook, A. Linnott and E. Rawson (eds), Cambridge Ancient History, vol. IX. Cambridge. 229-273. Simpson, St J. 2018 Death in Mesopotamia: Archaeological evidence for funerary ritual and burial practice during the Sasanian period. In: S. Gondet and E. Haerinck (eds), L’Orient est son Jardin. Hommage a Remy Boucharlat. Acta Iranica 58. Leiden. 425–447. Simpson, St J. and T. Molleson 2014 Old Bones Overturned: New Evidence for Funerary Practices in the Sasanian Empire. In: A. Fletcher, D. Antoine and J. D. Hill (eds), Regarding the Dead: Human Remains in the British Museum. London. 77–90. Stronach, D. and M. Roaf 2007 Nush-i Jan I. The Major Buildings of the Median Settlement. London. Wetzel, F., E. Schmidt and A. Mallwitz 1957 Das Babylon der Spätzeit. Wissenschaftliche Veröffentlichungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft 62. Berlin. Wikander, O. 1988 Ancient Roof Tile-Use and Function, Opuscula Atheniensia 17 (15), 203– 216.

Sasanian royalty at Naqsh-i Rustam Documenting and interpreting rock reliefs Bruno Overlaet Abstract This short paper discusses some early travellers and photographers and the history of documenting Sasanian rock reliefs at Naqsh-i Rustam. As a case study, attention is paid to the documentation and the interpretation of two reliefs: the Investiture of Ardashir I (Naqsh-i Rustam I) and king Narseh with his family (Naqsh-i Rustam VIII). Although Sasanian rock reliefs are prominent monuments, many questions on their meaning remain unanswered. In the 1960s and 1970s, new details were regularly published leading to improved interpretations and occasionally also reliefs were discovered that had up to then escaped attention (Sarfaraz 1971, 1973; Ghirshman 1972: Tang-i Qandil; Roaf 1974; De Waele 1977: Naqsh-i Rustam; Vanden Berghe 1978: Darabgird). In the late 1970s Louis Vanden Berghe invited Georgina Herrmann to Ghent University where she talked about her work on the Bishapur sculptures and I remember it quickly became a lively discussion between the two scholars. As a young student, I could not have imagined to what extent their work and documentation would influence my own research and it is a joy to be able to dedicate this short contribution to Georgina. Most of us rely on photographs to study rock reliefs but photographs rarely show all the details as the changing light will bring out different areas at different moments. Moreover, reliefs can be very large and some are difficult or nearly impossible to reach, yet one has to be very close to distinguish all the details. Fully documenting rock reliefs requires a massive number of photographs, taken with different lighting conditions and from different angles. It was not a practical task in pre-digital times when photographic film was still expensive and had to be used economically. Furthermore, the results could only be assessed once the expedition had ended and films were developed. Georgina Herrmann used a method that was similar to the one which the Tokyo University team had introduced in the 1950s while studying the late Sasanian Taq-i Bustan reliefs. They had used scaffolding to gain close access to the reliefs and photograph them from different viewpoints to produce drawings and photogrammetric data (Fukai et al. 1972; 1983; 1984). Some of their drawings can be problematic, however, as details are occasionally incorrect which illustrates the difficulty of correctly “reading” Sasanian iconography

Fig. 1. Oblique aerial view of Naqsh-i Rustam (1936, after Schmidt 1970, fig. 2) with location of the Sasanian reliefs (drawings and photo after Herrmann et al. 1977; 1989; Vanden Berghe 1993; Roaf 1974).

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(see e.g. the sword suspension drawing in Fukai et al. 1984, fig. 64, corrected in Overlaet 1998, fig. 164). Herrmann focused on the Early Sasanian reliefs and added a new element, the study of the toolmarks left by the sculptors which allowed her to propose chronological sequences and recognise alterations or changes the reliefs had undergone (Herrmann 1981). She used scaffolding to gain close access to the reliefs and created a mosaic of overlapping photos as the base for the drawings that she and Rosalind Howell-Caldecott created. Large-scale detailed drawings were published together with a discussion and a relevant selection of photos in the “Iranische Denkmäler” series (Herrmann and Howell 1977; 1980; 1981; Herrmann, Mackenzie and Howell 1983; 1989). The drawing of one more relief, the investiture of Ardashir I at Naqsh-i Rustam, was completed but its full study was never published (fig. 5 was kindly made available by G. Herrmann and digitised with the support of the Iran Heritage Foundation). The importance of Georgina Herrmann’s contribution to Sasanian studies cannot be overestimated and it seems appropriate in this tribute to survey some of the earlier attempts to document (without attempting to be complete) and interpret her Sasanian reliefs, taking the Naqsh-i Rustam I (Investiture of Ardashir I) and VIII (Narseh with family) as case studies. At the same time, it is an occasion to return to some of the interpretations and discussions. The proximity of Persepolis and Naqsh-i Rustam (Fig. 1) to Shiraz meant that many European dignitaries, merchants and explorers passing through the city had the occasion to visit these sites. The monuments were illustrated, described and commented upon in numerous travel journals and reports (see Mousavi 2012, 95– 154) but the accuracy varied. A look at drawings of Naqsh-i Rustam I by travellers like De Bruyn, Niebuhr and Morier reveals striking inaccuracies and conflicting details (Fig. 2). De Bruyn’s drawing lacks the corpses underneath the horses, while Niebuhr only represents their heads. Morier shows them more correctly but adds a strange knot to the horses’ tails and puts a second “barsom” in the hand of the left rider. Other draughtsmen like Flandin (Fig. 3, top; Flandin and Coste 1843–1854, IV, pls 181–182) produced more accurate images but one had to await Georgina Herrmann’s work to have a truly reliable and complete drawing (Figs 4–5). Inaccuracies in the early drawings and descriptions also hampered the understanding of the texts on the horses. Silvestre de Sacy, who had never visited the site, mentioned that the inscriptions were according to some on the breast of the horse, while others stated that they were on the garments of the horsemen (de Sacy 1743, 29). Mordtmann knew of the trilingual inscription on the horse of Ardashir but was informed that there was one in four languages on the stallion of Ahura Mazda: Old and New Pehlevi, Greek and Hebrew (1880, 14–15). He only had inaccurate drawings of the inscriptions and in his attempt to translate the Hebrew text, he ended up suggesting a date that was the equivalent of 228 AD. This would have been a spectacular find had it been correct, which obviously it was not. Accurate drawings of the inscriptions had been made a few decennia earlier by Eugène Flandin but Mordtmann apparently had no access to them (Flandin and Coste 1843–1854, Vol. IV, pls 181ter, 182). Flandin and Coste had made no mention of a Hebrew inscription and since later photographs did not show this “fourth language” either, the matter was forgotten until a Hebrew text

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Fig. 2. Early drawings of the Naqsh-i Rustam I relief: top left by Cornelius De Bruyn (1711); top right by Carsten Niebuhr (1780) and bottom by James Morier (1818).

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Fig. 3. Drawing by Eugène Flandin (Flandin and Coste 1843–54, pl. 182) and photograph published by Franz Stolze (photo June 1878; Stolze 1882, 117).

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was rediscovered on Herrmann’s photomosaic. It turned out to be merely 18th century AD graffiti on the leg of Ahura Mazda (Overlaet 2011; Kwasman 2012). Photography was a gamechanger in archaeological and art historical documenting. As early as the middle of the 19th century, the first attempts were made to photograph Iran’s historical monuments. The earliest picture of Naqsh-i Rustam I we know of was made in 1858 by Luigi Pesce, an Italian in the service of the Qajar court (Mousavi 2012, 137–139). A salt print of his paper negative is now in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum (Accession nr 67.606.15). The use of glass instead of paper negatives drastically improved quality but it came with logistical problems; the negatives were heavy and fragile. Ellis was the first to use glass plates at Naqsh-i Rustam (1872) but it ended in complete failure. All his negatives got broken on their return, a risk all pioneers of this medium were worried about (Stolze 1880, 287. 311). The complexity of the task and the problems these early photographers had to overcome were massive and it becomes tangible when one reads the journal that Franz Stolze kept of his 1874–1878 Persian expedition. It was published in 1880 and 1881 as a sequel in the “Photographisches Wochenblatt – Zeitschrift für Photographie und vervielfältigende Künste” (which translates as “Photographic weekly – Journal for photography and the reproductive arts”). Stolze travelled to Persia to photograph the transit of the planet Venus on behalf of the German Government but stayed on to photograph archaeological sites. He made hundreds of photographs, including some stereo views (but no aerial images as is sometimes erroneously stated, see Sonnemann 2018). Stolze used the collodion-onglass technique and he had to transport not only his camera equipment but also a large stock of glass plates and the chemicals needed to develop them on site. Stolze had prepared some 400 dry glass collodion plates of various formats at his lodgings in Shiraz before travelling to Persepolis where he installed a base camp and met up with Franz Andreas. Stolze left Shiraz on horseback in June 1878 with two servants and 9 mules. Travelling by night to avoid the summer heat, he recounts: Although I had limited my personal belongings to a minimum, I needed for the transport of all the appliances and utensils etc. still 6 mules of which 4 were packed only with photographic equipment (photographic theodolites, camera, tripods, glass-plate cases, tent, changing cases, changing bag, chemicals, utensils for developing, dry plates, etc.). Three others carried my personal belongings, provisions, cooking equipment, the ”stable” and two servants, one of those was my cook, the other the stableboy and photographic assistant (translated from Stolze 1880–1881, 245). After work at Persepolis was finished, he spent a day at Naqsh-i Radjab where he took 6 photographs and a day at Naqsh-i Rustam where he captured 16 images. Both days, they left the Persepolis base camp at daybreak and returned in the evening of the same day to develop the plates (Stolze 1880–1881, 294–296). His Naqsh-i Rustam photographs feature in the first commercial photographic book on Persian monuments (Figs 3 and 8; Stolze 1882, pls 106–122). Photography remained a specialist’s work for the next decennia and it is common to find the same photographs of Persian monuments in various publications since most were obtained from a handful of commercial studios. The most successful in

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Fig. 4. Naqsh-i Rustam I and scaffolding to access the relief for detailed photography (photo G. Herrmann, 1970s).

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Fig. 5. Drawing of Naqsh-i Rustam I produced by Georgina Herrmann and Rosalind Howell-Caldecott based on a photo mosaic. Tehran was that of Antoine Sevruguin, active from the late 1870s to about 1934 (Vorderstrasse 2020). However, the gradual adoption of cellulose nitrate (roll) film as a replacement for glass plates in the early 20th century brought photography soon in reach of the individual researcher. In the 1970s, Herrmann used the medium to its full potential. All the details that had survived the more than 1500 years of natural wear (and the occasional deliberate damage) were documented in a systematic series of detailed photographs that were used to produce precise, large-scale drawings. Modern high resolution digital photography and computer processing now offer additional possibilities to document reliefs but the 1970s “photo mosaics” will always remain a crucial reference in the light of the unstoppable natural wear. Her documentation is now digitized and kept by the Iran Heritage Foundation in the British Museum, London. The above-mentioned Hebrew graffiti was just one of the many details of NRu I that were revealed by Herrmann. Another was the “frawahr sign” on the tail cover of Ahura Mazda’s horse. Although it had already been mentioned earlier, its importance for the identity of the horse rider was not fully considered. As we hope to demonstrate infra, it contradicts the identity provided by the inscription, that of Ahura Mazda. The naming was a later addition, however, that changed the identity of the rider and thus the whole perception of the relief. First, however, we need to revisit the evolution of Sasanian investiture scenes and how they were perceived over time (Overlaet 2013). Based on the absence or the presence of a barsom, on whether there is physical contact between the “deity” and the king (i.e. whether both protagonists or only one of them holds the beribboned ring) and especially on the presence of bystanders (family and dignitaries are out of place when a god would appear to the king), it is obvious that

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Fig. 6. Narseh relief: drawings from the travel accounts by Cornelius De Bruyn (1711), E. Kämpfer (1712) and Charles Texier (1842).

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Fig. 7. Narseh relief: photo by Antoine Sevruguin, neg. nr. 1649 (reproduced in William Jackson, 1906, 300f.). The photo predates the one taken by Stolze in June 1878 (fig. 8, top). the three earliest investiture scenes, all of Ardashir I, represent rituals performed by priests, not by Ahura Mazda or any other deity. Ardashir’s Firuzabad and Naqsh-i Radjab investitures capture an actual, realistic event: the king, in the presence of bystanders (a page, family and officials) takes the symbolic ring with ribbons from the hands of a priest with a barsom, a religious utensil that represents his office. In all probability the rite would have involved priests from the temples at Firuzabad or Istakhr. The Naqsh-i Rustam relief is an iconographic game changer; it is no longer simply the depiction of the ceremony. It is artistically and iconographically much more evolved and includes the introduction of novel symbolic elements: the king and his protagonist are both on horseback and trample their enemies. This is obviously a symbolic addition to the scene, not something that really happened during the ceremony. The royal horse steps on the fallen Artaban V, the last Parthian overlord of the Sasanians while the priest’s horse, in a kind of mirror image, steps on the representation of evil, a humanoid bearded creature with a snake diadem, pointed ears and snakeshaped feet. The “trampling of an enemy” was a familiar iconographic concept that represented power and victory. A contemporary example is the 2nd century AD equestrian figure of Marcus Aurelius in Rome. Originally, it stood outside the Lateran Basilica and showed the emperor on horseback while an enemy was cowering beneath the horse’s raised foreleg. After the fall of the Sasanian dynasty, the names of both horsemen were forgotten and the reliefs became part of local folklore. De Sazy lists some of these local stories (1743, 13f.): Niebuhr had mentioned that the protagonists were

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Fig. 8. Narseh relief, photographed by Stolze (June 1878, after Stolze 1882) and Antoine Sevruguin (neg. nr. 2801). Note the top layer of debris against the relief in Fig. 7 is now gone but left its trace on the relief.

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seen as Roustam Sal and Roustam Koladas; Kämpfer called them Roustami Saal and Roustami Koledeh; Chardin recounted the story as that of two kings named Rustam, one being the king of Persia, the other of India: … les gens du pays qui expliquent tout ceci par les contes de leurs poëtes, disent que ces deux personnages sont un roi des Indes & et un roi de Perse, tous deux héros célèbres, le premier nommé Rustam, fils de Zal le blanc, fils de Sam, fils de Noraymon, Indien; le second Rustam, fils de Tahmour, lesquels après une longue & sanglante guerre, convinrent de la terminer par un combat singulier; que ce combat consistoit à empoigner un anneau de fer & à l’arracher à son adversaire; que celui à la main duquel il restoit, étoit réputé vainqueur & donnoit la loi à l’autre, & que le roi de Perse qui est celui qui a la barbe longue, vainquit le roi des Indes. Corneille Lebrun was told a variant in which it was Darius who let go of the ring and thus ceded power to Alexander the Great … Everyone expected that the translation of the inscriptions on the Naqsh-i Rustam relief would have resolved this identity question. However, flawed copies initially led scholars to identify them as Alexander and Arsaces. When de Sacy had finally translated the names correctly as Ardashir and Ahura Mazda, the image of “Ahura Mazda” became (as could be expected) the reference to compare all other Sasanian reliefs and divine representations with. Except, of course, it is not because it is written in stone that it must be true. On Ardashir’s horse it is stated in Parthian, Middle Persian and Greek: This is the image of his Zoroastrian Majesty Ardashir, King of Kings from Iran, whose appearance derives from the gods, the son of his majesty, King Papak (Back 1978, 281). The phrase kē čihr az yazdān occurs on Ardashir coinage only from 226/227 or 227/228 onwards and is thus a good date reference (Gyselen 2009, 6–7. 14–15). The text on the protagonist’s horse is very different. It is a blunt statement, without any formalities or protocol … “This is the image of the God Ahura Mazda” (in Greek «Zeus»; Back 1978, 282). Although this should have cautioned scholars, it “finally” settled the identity discussion and it provided the (much needed) reference to interpret not only the later but unfortunately also the two earlier Sasanian reliefs. There is, however, sufficient reason to remain cautious. The true scene – priest with barsom installing Ardashir as the royal overlord by handing him the beribboned ring – was simply given a new meaning by adding a text that claimed the priest was Ahura Mazda. It created the prototype of a powerful dynastic image by remodeling the rite as a divine event (Overlaet 2013). In all probability this change was on the order of Ardashir’s successor Shapur I, who had a major impact on the Sasanian royal identity and its representations (see Canepa 2009, 51–78; 2010, 576), although it cannot be excluded either that the text was already added at the end of Ardashir’s rule. It is a significant detail that in the Ahura Mazda text, Middle Persian was placed above Parthian. This is

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Fig. 9. Narseh relief: the debris in front of the finished figures has been removed by Flandin and Coste but left in place in front of the far left, unfinished attendant. Photograph by Antoine Sevruguin (neg. nr. 429) and drawing by Flandin (Flandin and Coste 1843–54, pl. 186).

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also the case in the inscriptions from Shapur I’s reign; by then Middle Persian was the more important language of the two (Overlaet 2013, 332f. 347 pl. 8). Shapur’s (?) appropriation of the image created an iconic reference that was repeated over and over by Ardashir’s successors. They were careful, however, to remove all dubious elements that could conflict with the concept of a divine investiture. The barsom is an element of worship and makes no sense in the hands of the principal deity (it only reoccurs in the hands of secondary deities at Taq-i Bustan I, see Overlaet 2011, 137f.; and was probably also held by a priest next to Khusrow II at the same site, see Overlaet 2013, pl. 14). The bystanders at Ardashir’s investiture scenes at Firuzabad and Naqsh-i Radjab had already been omitted at Naqsh-i Rustam. Now, also the royal page with the fly-whisk, a royal court protocol familiar from Achaemenid court scenes at nearby Persepolis, had to be removed. Henceforth, only the king himself was represented in the presence of Ahura Mazda. Any other figure was a symbol, as in the case of the fallen enemies under the horses’ hoofs or the kneeling Roman emperors on the Shapur reliefs. Physical contact between the king and the deity was also to be avoided, and the investiture ring is no longer held by the two protagonists. It is offered by Ahura Mazda and the king merely reaches out to it, thus signalling his acceptance of the task and the bestowing of a divine blessing. Shapur’s transformation of the priest image into Ahura Mazda by adding the phrase “This is the image of the God Ahura Mazda” was obviously more successful than he could ever have hoped for. Since its translation, scholars have accepted the scene as a cornerstone of Sasanian iconography despite problems like the presence of the page, the barsom and also the Frawahr symbol on the horse’s tail cover. This symbol, sometimes described as an heraldic Nishan, or even as an image of the deity Apam-Napat, is also found on the horse caparison of Ardashir’s horse at Firuzabad, on a horse’s saddle belt and flank at Taq-i Bustan, on Sasanian headgear, and on coins. As an heraldic sign or a protective blessing it is in place on Sasanian horse gear (like on the king’s steed at Firuzabad) but it remains to be explained why it would be needed on the horse of Ahura Mazda (Overlaet 2013, 329, pl. 12). While the idea of the “This is the image of the God Ahura Mazda” inscription being a later addition is considered by some (Canepa 2010, 576), others oppose or ignore its possibility, yet without offering alternative explanations for the aforementioned fundamental iconographic changes that were made to all the later investiture scenes. Apparently, the idea that changes in religious (and political) beliefs and practices could occur in the formative phase of Sasanian society still seems confrontational to some schools of thought. Moreover, based upon the idea that a god (Ahura Mazda) invests the king, the crowned woman on Narseh’s relief at Naqsh-i Rustam is often declared to be a goddess too, in this case Anahita. Friedrich Sarre was the first to bring this idea into the mainstream, leading henceforth to another dogmatic view in Sasanian iconography in which female representations all too often conveniently became “Anahita” or an “Anahita priestess”. There are thus two opposite approaches, one starting the discussion from the premise that it must be a divine investiture, and given it is a woman standing next to the king, it can only be the goddess Anahita, the other looking at the scene

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Fig. 10. The complete Narseh relief: photo by E. Smekens (1970s) and drawing by Georgina Herrmann and Rosalind Howell (from Herrmann and Howell 1977).

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as a family representation with various attendants. The debate is unfortunately very much deadlocked and while the opposing arguments continue to be repeated over and over in an endless stream of often repetitive papers (a survey is provided by Weber 2022, in print), a genuine exchange of scientific arguments or actual discussions is now often lacking or even replaced by mere condescending remarks. “The Sasanians, … were not in the habit of leaving photo souvenirs in the wilderness” a reaction to Weber’s arguments to see the Narseh relief (at what is ultimately a major dynastic and cultic site) as a politically motivated family portrayal, is but one of such remarks (Soudavar 2012, 36). Before discussing the relief’s interpretation, it is useful to make a short survey of the various ideas that have been advanced over time. Many of the early comments were based on incomplete documentation, however, since the lower half of the sculptural panel was buried. A look at the early drawings and photographs shows how obscured the imagery really was. The “unfinished” dignitary on the left and sometimes also the child standing under the ring were often simply overlooked (Figs 6 and 9). It was Flandin and Coste who excavated the lower half to have a better idea of the relief but even they missed the unfinished figure on the left side (Fig. 9). On Sevruguin’s first photograph of the relief the situation was still unaltered (Fig. 7) but when Stolze (and also Sevruguin) photographed the relief a few years later, the lower half was buried again (Fig. 8). Schmidt re-excavated the relief in the 1930s but his report was not published until 1970, by which time photographs of the complete relief had been published in several scholarly works (Herzfeld 1941, pls CXXIV–CXXV; Vanden Berghe 1959, pl. 30; Ghirshman 1962, fig. 218). Georgina Herrmann was the first, however, to document the relief in all its details (Herrmann 1977). In light of the conflicting views and ongoing discussions, this is of crucial importance (Fig. 10). Her publication is the “go to” for objective and detailed data on e.g. the size of the figures, the position of the hands or fingers, the presence (or absence) of symbols and regalia, etc., details which had all too often been misunderstood, leading to misguided comments. Before Sarre identified the king as Narseh (293–302 AD) by comparing his crown with that on coins (Sarre and Herzfeld 1910, 84–88), the scene had been ascribed to Shapur I, Bahram III, Bahram V Gur and even Khusrow II. Ker Porter (1821–22, vol I, 533–537) recognized Bahram V with an Indian princess; Texier (1842, 228) saw Khusrow II and his Armenian consort Shirin; Mordtmann proposed Bahram II or III with his wife (1880, 41–43), and so on. Sarre identified the woman as Anahita, the child as the crown prince and the attendant as a “court official”. His arguments were straightforward: the ring indicated it was an investiture, other reliefs (such as Narseh’s investiture at Bishapur) demonstrated that an investiture is performed by a god, hence the woman had to be a goddess. Anahita was the most logical candidate since Istakhr was a centre of the Anahita cult and Narseh specifically mentioned Anahita in his Paikuli inscription. He stated that he took up power in the name of Ahura Mazda and Anahita: “when we saw the letter, then in the name of Ohrmazd and all the gods and Anahita, the Lady, we moved from Armenia towards Eranshahr” (Humbach and Skjaervø 1978, III 35). Sarre also stated that “Anahita” was depicted slightly larger than the king, which would have been done to show her exalted status.

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Herrmann’s drawing shows, however, that when leaving aside their respective crowns, they are in fact both of the same size. Sarre’s identifications were widely accepted and became “a cornerstone of Sasanian iconography – indeed, history” (Shahbazi 1983, 255). Shahbazi noted, however, that the “goddess” had her left hand hidden in the sleeve of her dress, a sign of subordination and that she did not hold a barsom. The obligation to conceal one’s hand in the presence of a king was already mentioned by Xenophon and the tradition was known to have survived in Sasanian court rituals (Shahbazi 1983, 261–264, figs 2–4). This meant that the woman could not be a goddess and Shahbazi identified her as Shapurdukhtaq, Narseh’s wife. Of the 12 women mentioned by Shapur I in his KZA, she was the fourth, emphasizing her importance among Sasanian nobility. Shahbazi suggested that her exalted position may have played a role in the support that was raised for Narseh’s claim to the throne. Her crown is a mixture of that of Shapur I (crenellated crown) and that of Narseh (the fluted band) (Shahbazi 1983, 265–268 Abb. 5). Although not all of Shahbazi’s initial arguments are that convincing, he made a strong case and his opinion was followed and elaborated upon by Choksy (1989, 132f.), Weber and Wiesehöfer (2010, 11), Weber (2012, 260. 270–272), MosigWallburg (2011, 460. 466), Overlaet (2013) and others. The Anahita identification does retain its fierce defenders, however, and the discussion continues to divide the scholarly community. Tanabe (1986; 2018), Soudavar (2003, 73–77; 2012, 12. 36–38), Shenkar (2013b, 633; 2014, 70–79) as well as many other colleagues hold on to the Anahita interpretation. Several more arguments against an interpretation as Anahita should be mentioned (hence the relief was not included in the discussion of investiture scenes in Overlaet 2013). First of all, the scene is not that of a woman presenting an investiture ring to the king. Although the king’s hand is damaged, it is clear that both are holding the ring and there is no “handing over” or “presenting” but rather a shared displaying of the ring. Still, even on this there is no consensus. The event is very different, however, from the investiture scenes on NRu I, Naqsh-i Radjab IV or Bishapur I where Ahura Mazda is holding the ring and the king is reaching out for it. Furthermore, the presence of other mortals in the scene (the child and the attendants) contradicts a divine investiture. As discussed above, courtiers and nobles had fully disappeared from the investiture scenes after Ardashir I, the only “exception” being made for defeated and killed enemies whose presence was well understood to be symbolic. The conundrum of including human bystanders in what should be the divine investiture/meeting between the king and the goddess is somehow resolved by Soudavar who now interprets all the attendants as gods. From left to right, they would be Mithra (unfinished), Tishtrya, king Narseh, the child Apam Napat and finally Anahita (Soudavar 2012, 36–38 fig. 8). He then dates the relief to circa 296 AD, i.e. before Narseh’s defeat by the Romans and the capture of his family and explains that work on the relief came to “an abrupt end” on Narseh’s defeat, because the relief had been in celebration of his (earlier) victories over the Roman empire. It fails to explain why the relief would not have been changed, adapted or somehow reused when Narseh later regained power. The unfinished state is much easier to explain by the end of Narseh’s reign in 302 AD.

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The identity of the two men next to the king and the child has also been debated. Sarre suggested the child was crown prince Hormizd and the attendants were important court officials. The animal headed cap is, however, often associated with the royal family and Shahbazi therefore suggested that not the child, but the attendant next to the king was the crown prince. He identified the child as the royal grandson, possibly Adhurnarseh (Shahbazi 1983, 268). Sarre had also speculated about the identity of the two attendants next to the king. He erroneously took a crack in the rock surface as a device or symbol on the hat (Sarre and Herzfeld 1910, 88 Abb. 39; also mentioned by Schmidt 1970, 134) and because of this concluded that it had to be an important court official. To explain the unfinished second attendant, he thought either the relief was not finished when Narseh’s reign came to an end or the second courtier had fallen out of grace and the figure was deliberately removed. Without written evidence, such identifications remain speculative but we cannot agree with Shahbazi’s interpretation of the child as the grandson and the first attendant as the crown prince. The regalia of both figures indicates that the child must have held the higher rank of the two, hence also his central position in the scene. Like the king and queen, he wears a necklace with large spherical beads and has a diadem with long folded ribbons, two important regalia that the attendant standing next to the king is missing. The general outline of the child’s headdress (unfortunately too damaged) resembles somewhat that of the king, but without its korymbos. It may very well have been a similar fluted crown or headdress but given the damage, this must remain undecided. This brings us to the raison d’être of this scene. Although not everybody will agree, but since this is not a divine investiture scene, the ring must represent a contract or covenant, a mithra (Kaim 2009, 407f.). One should think of a political statement by the king on the position of his queen and crown prince after their return from captivity. It would have been a declaration that their honour and position remained intact, that it was not to be questioned. The bent fore-finger, a widely used symbol of reverence, of the queen, the child, the attendant, and probably also of the king, would then be indicative of the sacred aspect of the proclamation. Given the relatively short time span between their return in 298 and Narseh’s death in 302 AD, it is imaginable that the work on it was simply halted upon his death, explaining the unfinished fifth person in the relief. References Back, M. 1978 Die sassanidischen Staatsinschriften. Acta Iranica 18. Leiden. Canepa, M. P. 2009 The Two Eyes of the Earth – Art and Ritual of Kingship between Rome and Sasanian Iran. Berkeley, Los Angeles, London. 2010 Technologies of Memory in Early Sasanian Iran: Achaemenid Sites and Sasanian Identity, American Journal of Archaeology 114, 563–596. Choksy, J. K. 1989 A Sasanian Monarch, His Queen, Crown Prince, and Deities: The Coinage of Wahram II, American Journal of Numismatics 1, 117–135.

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De Bruyn, C. 1711 Reizen over Moskovie door Persien en Indie, verrijkt met 300 Konstplaten, door den autheur zelf het Leven afgetekint. Amsterdam. De Sacy, A. I. 1743 Mémoires sur diverses antiquités de la Perse et sur les Médailles des Rois de la Dynastie des Sassanides; suivi de l’Histoire de cette Dynastie traduite du Persan de Mirkhond. Paris. De Waele, E. 1977 Nouvelles miettes de sculpture rupestre sassanide à Naqš-e Rostam, Syria 44, 65–88. Dieulafoy, G. N. 1884–89 L’Art antique de la Perse. Paris. Flandin, E. and P. Coste 1843–54 Voyage en Perse de MM. Eugène Flandin, peintre, et Pascal Coste, architecte, attachés à l’ambassade de France en Perse pendant les années 1840 et 1841 – Perse Ancienne – Planches (6 Vol.). Paris. Fukai, S. and K. Horiuchi 1972 Taq-i-Bustan II – Plates. The Institute of Oriental Culture, The University of Tokyo, The Tokyo University Iraq-Iran Archaeological Expedition, Report 13. Tokyo. Fukai, S., K. Horiuchi, K. Tanabe and M. Domyo 1984 Taq-i-Bustan IV: Text. The Institute of Oriental Culture, The University of Tokyo, The Tokyo University Iraq-Iran Archaeological Expedition, Report 20. Tokyo. Fukai, S., J. Sugiyama, K. Kimata and K. Tanabe 1983 Taq-i-Bustan III: Photogrammetric Elevations. The Institute of Oriental Culture, The University of Tokyo, The Tokyo University Iraq-Iran Archaeological Expedition, Report 19. Tokyo. Ghirshman, R. 1962 Iran, Parthes et Sassanides. Paris. 1972 Un nouveau bas-relief sassanide. In: J. Bergman (ed.), Ex orbe religionum: studia Geo Widengren (Mélanges G. Widengren II). Studies in the History of Religions 22. Leiden. 75–79. Gyselen, R. 2009 Sassanidische Kunst en de beeldtaal op munten: invloed en interpretatie. Van Gelder Lezingen 8. Utrecht. Herrmann, G. 1981 Early Sasanian Stoneworking: a preliminary Report, Iranica Antiqua 16, 151–160. Herrmann, G. and R. Howell 1977 Naqsh-i Rustam 5 and 8, Sasanian Reliefs attributed to Hormuzd II and Narseh. Iranische Denkmäler Lieferung 8 enthaltend Reihe II. Iranische Felsreliefs D. Berlin. 1980 The Sasanian Rock Reliefs at Bishapur: Part 1 – Bishapur III, Triumph attributed to Shapur I. Iranische Denkmäler Lieferung 9 enthaltend Reihe II. Iranische Felsreliefs E. Berlin.

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1981 The Sasanian Rock Reliefs at Bishapur: Part 2. Bishapur IV, Bahram II receiving a Delegation, Bishapur V, The Investiture of Bahram I, Bishapur VI, The Enthroned King. Iranische Denkmäler, Lieferung 10, enthaltend Reihe II. Iranische Felsreliefs F. Berlin. Herrmann, G., D. N. Mackenzie and R. Howell 1983 The Sasanian Rock Reliefs at Bishapur: Part 3. Bishapur I, The Investiture/ Triumph of Shapur I? Bishapur II, Triumph of Shapur I and Sarab-i Bahram, Bahram II enthroned, The Rock Relief at Tang-i Qandil. Iranische Denkmäler, Lieferung 11, enthaltend Reihe II. Iranische Felsreliefs G. Berlin. 1989 The Sasanian Rock Reliefs at Naqsh-i Rustam, Naqsh-i Rustam 6, The Triumph of Shapur I (together with an account of the representations of Kerdir), Description and Commentary, Kerdir’s Inscription (synoptic text in transliteration, transcription, translation and commentary). Iranische Denkmaler 13, enthaltend Reihe II, Iranische Felsreliefs I. Berlin. Herzfeld, E. 1941 Iran in the Ancient East. London. Humbach, H. and P. O. Skjaervo 1978 The Sasanian Inscription of Paikuli (3 vols.). Wiesbaden. Kaim, B. 2009 Investiture or Mithra. Towards a new interpretation of so called Investiture Scenes In Parthian and Sasanian Art, Iranica Antiqua 44, 403–415. Kämpfer, E. 1712 Amoenitatum exoticarum politico-physico-medicarum V, Descriptiones Rerum Persicarum et Ulterioris Asiae. Lemgoviae. Kwasman, Th. 2012 Hebrew Graffiti on Ardashir I’s Relief at Naqsh-i Rustam, Iranica Antiqua 47, 399–403. Mordtmann, A. D. 1880 Zur Pehlevi-Münzkunde, Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 34, 1–162. Morier, J. 1818 A Second Journey through Persia, Armenia and Asia Minor to Constantinople between the years 1810 and 1816, with a journal of the voyage by the Brazils and Bombay to the Persian Gulf, together with an account of the proceedings of his Majesty’s Embassy under His Excellency Sir Gore Ouseley, Bart. London. Mosig-Walburg, K. 2011 Das “sasanidische Kronengesetz”: Entstehung und Entwicklung eines modernen Konstrukts. Zugleich ein Beitrag zur Deutung des Reliefs Narses in Naqsh-i Rustam, Klio 93, 446–473. Mousavi, A. 2012 Persepolis: discovery and afterlife of a world wonder. Boston. Niebuhr, C. 1780 Voyage en Arabie & en d’autres Pays circonvoisins, par C. Niebuhr, tome second, Traduit de l’Allemand. Amsterdam and Utrecht.

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Ouseley, W. 1821 Travels in various countries of the East: More Particularly Persia II. London. Overlaet, B. 1998 Regalia of the Ruling Classes in Late Sasanian Times: The Riggisberger Strap Mountings, Swords and Archer’s Fingercaps, Riggisberger Berichte 6 (Entlang der Seidenstrasse, Frühmittelalterliche Kunst zwischen Persien und China in der Abegg-Stiftung), 267–297. 2011 Hidden in Plain Sight – The Hebrew inscription on Ardashir I’s rock relief at Naqsh-i Rustam, Iranica Antiqua 46, 331–340. 2013 And man created God? Kings, priests and gods on Sasanian investiture reliefs, Iranica Antiqua 48, 314–354. Porter, R. K. 1821–22 Travels in Georgia, Persia, Armenia, ancient Babylonia, during the years 1817, 1818, 1819, and 1820. London. Roaf, M. 1974 Two Rock Carvings at Naqsh-i Rustam, Iran 12, 199–200. Sarfaraz, A. 1971 The discovery of a rock relief, one of the most important and significant of the Sasanian period, Barrasiha-ye Tarikhi, 67–88. (in Persian) 1973 Discovery of a Sasanian Bas-relief, Barrasiha-ye Tarikhi – Historical Studies of Iran 2, 5–16. Sarre, F. and E. Herzfeld 1910 Iranische Felsreliefs – Aufnahmen und Untersuchungen von Denkmälern aus Alt- und Mittelpersischer Zeit. Berlin. Schmidt, E. 1970 Persepolis III: The Royal Tombs and Other Monuments. The University of Chicago Oriental Institute Publications 68. Chicago. Shahbazi, A. Sh. 1983 Studies in Sasanian Prosopography, Archäologische Mitteilungen aus Iran 16, 255–268. Shenkar, M. A. 2013 “Boginya ili Tsaritsa? K interpretatsij jenskogo personaja na rel’efe Narse iz Naqsh-e Rustama”. In: M. D. Bukharin (ed.), Scripta Antiqua, Vol. 3, Edward Rtveladze Felicitation Volume. Moscow. 615–634. (in Russian with English summary). 2014 Intangible Spirits and Graven Images: The Iconography of Deities in the Pre-Islamic Iranian World. Leiden / Boston. Sonnemann, T. F. 2018 Whodunit? On the confusion of the first active use of aerial photography at an excavation site. (Poster presented at the AARG - Aerial Archaeology Research Group Conference, Venice.) Available at: https://www.academia. edu/37422047/Whodunit_On_the_confusion_of_the_first_active_use_of_ aerial_photography_at_an_excavation_sites_2018_ Soudavar, A. 2003 The Aura of Kings: Legitimacy and Divine Sanction in Iranian Kingship. Costa Mesa.

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2012 Looking through The Two Eyes of the World: A Reassessment of Sasanian Rock Reliefs, Iranian Studies 45/1, 29–58. Stolze, F. 1880 Meine Aufnahmen der Ruinen von Persepolis, Photographisches Wochenblatt – Zeitschrift für Photographie und vervielfältigende Künste VI, 245–247, 253–255, 261–265, 269–271, 277–280, 285–287, 293–297, 301–304, 310–312, 316. 1882 Persepolis, Die achaemenidischen und sasanidischen Denkmäler und Inschriften von Persepolis, Istakhr, Pasargadae und Shâhpûr – zum ersten Male photographisch aufgenommen von F. Stolze; im Anschlusse an die epigraphisch-archaeologische Expedition in Persien von F. C. Andreas (Herausgegeben auf Veranlassung des fünften internationalen Orientalisten-Congresses zu Berlin mit einer Besprechung der Inschriften von Th. Nöldeke, Zweiter Band. Berlin. Tanabe, K. 1986 A Study of the Investiture of Narseh at Naqsh-i Rustam – Anahitah or Queen of Queens?, Orient 22, 105–119. 2018 Not the Queen Sabuhrduxtag but the Goddess Anahita: Identification of the Female Figure in the Investiture Scene of Narseh at Naqsh-i Rustam, Japan Society for Hellenistic-Islam Archaeological Studies 25, 9–26. Tavernier, J. B. 1712 Les six voyages de Jean Bapt. Tavernier, Ecuyer Baron d’Aubonne, en Turquie, en Perse, et aux Indes – Première partie où n’est parlé que de la Turquie & de la Perse. Utrecht. Texier, Ch. 1842 Description de l’Armenie, la Perse et la Mésopotamie. Paris. Vanden Berghe, L. 1959 Archéologie de l’Iran Ancien. Leiden. 1978 La découverte d’une sculpture rupestre à Darabgird, Iranica Antiqua 13, 135–147. 1983 Reliefs rupestres de l’Iran Ancien. Bruxelles. Vorderstrasse, T. (ed.) 2020 Antoin Sevruguin: Past and Present. Oriental Institute Museum Publications 40. Chicago. Weber, U. 2010 Zu den Felsbildnissen des Königs Narseh, Res Orientalis 19, 305–319. 2012 Narseh, König der Könige von Iran und Aniran, Iranica Antiqua 47, 153– 302. 2022 Narseh, König der Könige des Sāsānidenreiches (293 – 302 n. Chr.), Eine prosopographisch-historische Studie. Acta Iranica. Leuven. (in print). Weber, U. and J. Wiesehöfer 2010 König Narsehs Herrschaftsverständnis. In: H. Börm and J. Wiesehöfer (eds), Commutatio et Contentio – Studies in the Late Roman, Sasanian, and Early Islamic Near East in Memory of Zeev Rubin. Düsseldorf. 89–132. William Jackson, A. V. 1906 Persia, Past and Present, A Book of Travel and Research. London.

Aphrodite mit Eros in der sasanidischen Kunst Ursula Seidl1 Abstract Ausgehend von dem Relieffragment einer sasanidischen Silberschale wird vorgeschlagen, in einigen Darstellungen auf sasanidischem Luxusgeschirr Elemente aus der griechisch-römischen Ikonographie von Aphrodite/Venus zu erkennen. The figurative decoration on one fragment of a Sasanian silver dish suggests that iconographic elements pertaining to the illustration of Aphrodite/Venus can be recognized on Sasanian luxury vessels in general. In Erinnerung an die Freude, mit der Peter den Druck Ihrer sasanidischen Felsreliefs2, begleitet hat, und an die vielen Stunden, die wir bei köstlichen Speisen und guten Gesprächen mit Ihnen und Luke verbracht haben, möchte ich Ihnen wenigstens einen winzigen sasanidischen Splitter widmen. Das in Abb. 1 a und b gezeigte Bruchstück einer flachen Silberschale mit Resten eines Innenbildes befand sich um 1980 herum in Teheran; der private Besitzer konnte keine Angaben zum Fundort machen, vermutete aber, daß es aus dem nördlichen Iran stamme. Das Fragment ist allseitig von Bruchkanten begrenzt, die ohne gewaltsamen Einsatz von Werkzeugen entstanden sein dürften3. Es mißt ungefähr 60 zu 53 mm, die Dicke des Hintergrundes schwankt zwischen 0,7 und 1,0 mm und die im Inneren der Einsatzbettung erreicht bis zu 1,5 mm; das Gewicht beträgt 20 g. Die untere Bruchkante läuft parallel zu einer eingepunzten gebogenen Doppellinie, die zu einem Kreis ergänzt werden kann (Abb. 2). Solche doppelten Kreislinien verlaufen auf zahlreichen sasanidischen Schalen innen entlang dem aufgebogenen Rand und begrenzen das Innenbild der Schale. Zum Rand hin ist die Schale leicht aufgebogen. Die Rückseite ist glatt, ohne eigenen Dekor und ohne etwaige Spuren des gegenständigen Innenbildes.

Für Hilfen in Diskussionen und für Literaturhinweise danke ich vielmals Hermann Born, Peter Calmeyer†, Kai Kaniuth, Susanne Pfisterer-Haas und Hanna Philipp. 2 Herrmann 1977, 1980, 1981, 1989. 3 Ein erfahrener Teheraner Sammler erzählte mir, daß ihm einmal eine sasanidische Silberschale seiner Hand entglitten sei und auf dem Fußboden wie Glas in zahlreiche Bruchstücke zersprungen sei. 1

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b Abb. 1. a. Fragment einer flachen Silberschale (Foto: Barbara Grunewald). b. Fragment einer flachen Silberschale (Zeichnung: Cornelie Wolff).

Von der Darstellung erkennbar sind nackte Füße und Beine einer nach links gewandten Frau, vor ihr nach unten strampelnde Beine und Bauchansatz eines kleinen Knaben und der Zipfel eines Schals. Das Relief der Darstellungen ist von unterschiedlicher Höhe: der Stoffzipfel, die Füße, das linke Bein des Knaben und der rechte Unterschenkel der Frau erheben sich kaum über den Untergrund und die Beine sind glatt und nur ganz leicht aufgewölbt. Für höheres Relief der vordergründigen Partien sind nur noch die Bettungen erhalten, deren Einlagen verloren sind. Das Auflager wird von schmalen unregelmäßigen Facetten beidseitig einer Rippe gebildet und von einem Grat gerahmt, der mit einem stumpfen Meißel aus dem umliegenden Silber hochgeschlagen wurde und durch Umbörteln über dem Rand der Einlage diese hielt. An der Außenseite des aufgebörtelten Grats sind noch Spuren einer Vergoldung zu erkennen. Die Technik, höhere Reliefpartien im Schalenbild gesondert zu arbeiten und an den vorgesehenen Stellen einzusetzen wird sowohl im römischen Reich (Strong 1966, 180) als auch bei Silberschmieden in sasanidischen Gebieten angewandt, wie Dalton 1926 (1964 [2. Auflage], 60–64: Nr. 206. 208) anhand einer Schale im British Museum beschrieben hat. Der Untergrund für größere Einlagen ist meistens eben. Friedrich Sarre hat 1910 erstmalig eine solche in Form des Oberkörpers eines Speerschleuderers gegossene publiziert; bei ihr ragten Kopf und rechter Unterarm vollplastisch hervor. Eine ähnliche Einlage eines Bogenschützen veröffentlichte Dorothy Shepherd (1972, Abb. 14; Gibbons et al. 1979, 171–173, Fig. 20–23). Die bildlichen Reste können zu einer Tänzerin ergänzt werden, die mit einer Hand einen Amorknaben hält (Abb. 2b und 4: zweite von rechts). Der kleine Rest der Umrißlinie unter den Füßen der Tänzerin erlaubt die Rekonstruktion eines Bildfeldes von ungefähr 20 cm Durchmesser (Abb. 2a), das keinen Platz für eine weitere erwachsene Person bietet, allerdings offen läßt, ob kleinteiliger Dekor die Figur begleitete. Einen Hinweis auf die Entstehungszeit des Tellers bietet die Dekoration des Schleiers (Abb. 1 a. b, links unten): drei Punkte, manchmal drei Kreise, sind so zu einander angeordnet, daß außen tangierende Linien ein gleichseitiges Dreieck ergäben. Textilien mit solchen darüber gestreuten Elementen sind typisch für Darstellungen auf spätsasanidischen, vielleicht sogar schon nach-

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Abb. 2. a. Rekonstruktionsvorschlag des Innenbildes der Schale auf Grund der zweiten Frau von rechts auf der Flasche A.1 (b) (Zeichnungen: Cornelie Wolff). sasanidischen Silberwaren4. Bis jetzt ist mir kein weiterer Teller mit demselben Bildmotiv bekannt geworden, während die Herstellungstechnik eines solchen Tellers mit eingesetzten Reliefelementen gut belegt ist. Inhaltlich und technisch steht unserem Fragment am nächsten eine Schale in Cleveland (Abb. 3), die Dorothy Shepherd (1964, 78–83 Fig. 17:D) publizierte. Eine nackte Frau, die gleichermaßen im Tanzschritt steht, hebt mit erhobenen Armen zwei herabhängende Weinreben, die sich anscheinend in ihren Händen mit gewellten Wasserläufen verbinden, die über ihrem Kopf in einer Schleife verknüpft sind. Diese Tänzerin unterscheidet sich zwar thematisch von unserer mit dem Knaben, doch stehen beide einander in der Herstellungstechnik nahe: das Relief ist ebenfalls aus Einlagen zusammengesetzt und mit einem Goldamalgam überzogen worden. Shepherd (1964, 83) zählt sieben einzelne Einlagen auf: „head and neck, torso, lower body, each arm, and each leg“. Eine weitere Schale mit einer nackten Tänzerin, die fast die ganze Höhe des runden Bildfeldes einnimmt, befindet sich in der Sammlung Sarikhani (Franke u.a. 2021, 117 Abb. 8; 368 Kat.Nr. 100). Die „Tänzerin“ wird von zwei nackten, weg strebenden Knaben flankiert, die ihr das Gesicht zuwenden. Alle drei Gestalten scheinen zu schweben, um sie herum sind Fische und Enten verstreut a. Dionysos-Schale in Moskau: Ettinghausen 1972, Pl. III: Fig. 10; Marschak 1986, Abb. 174–176; b. Dionysos-Schale in der Freer Gallery: Gunter / Jett 1992, 121–127 no. 16; colorplate 37; c. Schale mit sitzendem Paar: ibidem 131–135 no. 18; d. Schale mit Feier einer Hochzeit(?): ibidem 161–165 no. 25; e. Schale mit 2 Frauen in der Abegg-Stiftung, Riggisberg: Harper / Meyers 1998, 226–230. 245; f. Schale mit Herrscher beim Mahl in der Ermitage, St. Petersburg: Marschak 1986, Abb. 193; g. Schale mit thronendem Herrscher und Mondwagen, ibidem: Marschak 1986, Abb. 195; h. Tasse mit Frauenkopf und Tierbezwingern, ibidem, Vanden Berghe /Overlaet 1993, 246 f. no. 95; i. Ovale Schale mit thronendem Herrscher in Baltimore: Harper / Meyers 1981, pl. 36; j. Schale mit Tänzerinnen in Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale: Pope 1938, Taf. 233a; Marshak 1998, Pl. XI A. 4

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Abb. 3. Schale mit Tänzerin in Cleveland (nach Postkarte Brüssel) (cf. colour plate X). und das Bildfeld wird von einer gewellten Linie gerahmt, was zusammen auf die Darstellung von Seestücken verweist, wie sie ausführlicher auf zwei Schalen in Tehran (Alram 2001, 284–288 Nr. 157) bzw. in der Sammlung Wyvern (Aimone 2020, 202–205 Nr. 53) wiedergegeben sind. Das Bildmotiv „Tänzerin, die einen kleinen Knaben am Arm gepackt hält“, wie auf dem Fragment in Abb. 1, scheint in keiner weiteren Schale überliefert zu sein, dagegen aber auf einigen sasanidischen Flaschen und Kannen (s.u. Liste), deren Relief im Unterschied zu dem der Schalen von innen, also von der Rückseite herausgetrieben wurde und deren Details dann von außen eingepunzt wurden. Liste der Darstellungen von Eros/Amor auf Flaschen und Kannen.

Abb. 4. Relief auf der Flasche A.1 (Zeichnung: Cornelie Wolff).

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A. Von einer der Frauen gehalten. A 1. Bauchige Flasche aus dem Perm-Gebiet, in der Ermitage Sankt Petersburg S-256. Dargestellt sind sechs Frauen unter Bogenstellungen, von denen eine mit der linken Hand den Amorknaben und in der rechten einen Granatapfel hält (Abb. 4). Orbeli / Trever 1935, XLIII, Taf. 46–47; Marschak 1986, Abb. 188; idem in: Vanden Berghe / Overlaet 1993, 234–236 Nr. 85. A 2. Schlanke Kanne aus dem Perm-Gebiet, verschollen, ehemals im Besitz Stroganoff. Nur die Ansicht einer Seite ist bekannt: Frau unter Bogenstellung, einen Knaben mit linker und eine Vogel mit rechter Hand haltend. Harper 1991, 77 f. Abb. 5. A 3. Flasche mit Ausfluß im Boden, in Cleveland Museum of Art no. 62.294. Dargestellt sind vier, paarweise gruppierte Frauen. Eine von ihnen hält den Amorknaben mit der rechten und in der linken Hand einen Granatapfel. Shepherd 1964, 79:C; 81. 84, Fig. 20–22; Carter 1974, 198 f. Pl. XIV: Fig. 13 a–d. A 4. Flasche, in Baltimore Walters Art Gallery. Dargestellt sind vier, paarweise gruppierte Frauen. Eine der Frauen hält mit ihrer rechten Hand den Amorknaben und mit der linken einen Vogel. Ettinghausen 1966, 465 f. Fig. 2. A 5. Flasche, in The Shelby White and Leon Levy Collection. Dargestellt sind vier, nach rechts gerichtete Frauen, eine hält mit ihrer Rechten den Amorknaben, der sich zur folgenden Gestalt wendet, und mit ihrer Linken eine konisch bedeckte Fußschale. Kawami 1990. A 6. Kanne, in Cincinnati Art Museum. acc.no.1966.1091. Dargestellt sind vier, paarweise gruppierte Frauen, eine hält mit ihrer Linken den Amorknaben und mit ihrer Rechten einen Vogel. Grabar 1967, 106 f. no. 19; Shepherd 1980, 60–64, Fig.10–13; al-Khamis 1998, 10: Fig. 3. A 7. Kanne, in Washington D.C., Arthur M. Sackler Gallery of Art no. S1987.118. Dargestellt sind drei, nach rechts gewandte Frauen in halb ovalen Bildfeldern; eine links neben dem Henkel hält mit ihrer Rechten den Amorknaben, der sich zur mittleren Gestalt wendet, und mit ihrer Linken eine Fußschale mit Früchten. Gunter / Jett 1992, 198–201. 45 (colorplate) no.36.

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A 8. Flasche, in Richmond, Virginia. Museum of Fine Arts. Deren Publikation durch R. Ettinghausen (in: Arts in Virginia 8, 1967–68, 29–41, fig. 1–4) ist mir unzugänglich. Shepherd 1980, Fig. 25b: 12. B. Zwischen den Frauen befindlich. B 1. Kanne in der Sammlung Wyvern, no.2349. Drei Frauen, jeweils auf einem eigenen niedrigen Sockel stehend, umziehen den Gefäßkörper der Kanne nach rechts. Die mittlere, unterhalb des Ausgusses, trägt auf ihrem Unterarm einen Pfau, dem sie eine Fußschale hinhält; ihr wendet sich ein Amorknabe im Knielauf zu, der sich auf der Standlinie, also unterhalb des Sockels der Frau befindet. Er greift sich mit seiner rechten Hand an die Stirn und hält mit der linken eine lang gestielte Blüte geschultert. Die Kanne steht sowohl stilistisch wie ikonographisch der oben unter Nummer A 7 aufgeführten in der Sackler Gallery sehr nahe, mit dem Unterschied, daß dort eine der drei Frauen den Amorknaben am Arm gepackt hält, der sich aber nach rückwärts der folgenden Frau mit Pfau im Arm zuwendet. Aimone, 2020, 206–208, no.54. B 2. Flasche in Paris, Musée du Louvre, MAO 426. Vier paarweise gruppierte Frauen; zwischen den einander zugewandten Frauen, Amiet 1970, Pl. VI:3 und VI:1, befindet sich im „Knielauf“ ein Knabe mit einem Vogel im Arm, die beide auf die Frau VI:1 gerichtet sind; die Frau selbst hält in ihren Händen einen Blattkranz und einen Eimer. Amiet 1970, 58–64, Pl. VI: 1–4; Overlaet 1993, 239 no. 88. Keine dieser Flaschen und Kannen wurde in einer wissenschaftlichen Ausgrabung gefunden; selbst Angaben zur Gegend ihres ersten Auftauchens sind meistens vage, doch scheint klar zu sein, daß sie in dem riesigen Sasanidenreich weit verbreitet waren. Als Herstellungsdatum wird allgemein die späte Herrschaft der Sasaniden und teilweise auch noch nachsasanidische Zeit angenommen. Die Frauen auf diesen Gefäßen berühren einander nie, sondern bilden von einander isolierte Einheiten, was manchmal durch trennende Säulen (A 1 und A 2) betont wird aber in jedem Fall dadurch unterstrichen wird, daß sie mit ihren Händen Objekte halten, die sie gelegentlich einem zugehörigen kleinen Tier hinhalten, nie aber einer der anderen Frauen. Und doch sind sie durch Kopf- und Körperhaltung zu einander in Verbindung gebracht. Von den vier Frauen auf A 3, A 4 und A 6 sind je zwei einander zugewandt, bei den vier Frauen auf A 5 sind die Füße nach rechts gerichtet, die Köpfe paarweise einander zugewandt die drei auf A 7 sind gleich gerichtet. Nur bei der Flasche von Perm (A 1, Abb. 4) ist die Zuwendung etwas komplizierter: jeweils zwei benachbarte Frauen neigen ihre Köpfe einander zu, doch ihre Beine geben eine andere Ordnung vor, indem fünf von ihnen nach rechts gerichtet sind und nur die Frau mit dem Amorknaben nach links. Dies könnte vielleicht eine Hervorhebung der Frau mit dem Knaben bedeuten.

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Die auf den Flaschen und Kannen dargestellten nackten oder leicht bekleideten Frauen erklärt Dorothy Shepherd (1980, 58–80) zu Anahita, die ihrerseits „Bacchus – and Artemis, Aphrodite, Juno, Gaia, Niké – all in the guise of Anāhitā“ seien; Literatur zur Auseinandersetzung mit diesem Vorschlag findet sich bei Carol Bier 1985,1011. Prudence Harper (1971) analysiert die Attribute in den Händen der einzelnen Frauen und benennt deren unterschiedliche Wurzeln, was sie erkennen läßt, daß diese sasanidischen Werke teilhaben an der koiné der Spätantike. Ich werde mich auf das Bild der Frau mit dem kleinen Knaben beschränken, wie es in der Schale in Abb. 1 und 2a, und auf den Gefäßen A 1 (Abb. 4) bis A 8 dargestellt ist. Das Motiv ist nicht innerhalb der orientalischen Kulturen entwickelt worden, sondern in der griechisch-römischen Welt, wo der Knabe Eros bzw. Amor genannt wird (Full 2008, 262–268). Den Eroten, die auf rotfigurigen Vasenbildern des 5. Jahrhunderts v. Chr. als schöne, schlanke Jünglinge mit Flügeln dargestellt sind, hat Adolf Greifenhagen (1957) eine Monographie gewidmet und er verabschiedet sich von diesen mit dem etwas wehmütigen Ausblick: „Zukunftsträchtiger aber waren die zierlichen Amoretten ..., welche Aphrodites Trabanten und ihrer Schönheit Diener sind.“ Seitdem Praxiteles im 4. Jh. v. Chr. das Kultbild der Aphrodite für Knidos als nackte Frau gestaltet hatte, begleiteten Eroten, inzwischen in der Gestalt von molligen Kleinkindern, sowohl die bekleidete als auch die nackte Aphrodite. Durch die Ausbreitung des römischen Reiches erreichten Venus und Amor auch Asien, wie Beispiele im Museum von Damaskus zeigen (Hill, 1968–1969; Weber 2006, 26, Nr. 3: Pl. 2 B–D; 67, Nr. 49: Pl. 36 A–D; 75 f., Nr. 59: Pl.43 C–E;76, Nr. 60: Pl.43 B). Ihren Zugang zur spätsasanidischen Ikonographie verdanken sie letztendlich wohl dem Dreikaiseredikt vom 28. Februar 380, in dem Theodosius, Gratian und Valentinian allen Völkern gebieten, die römisch-christliche Religion anzunehmen. Im Zusammenhang damit wurden Bildwerke und kultische Geräte der antik griechisch-römischen Religion zerstört oder entsakralisiert (Cancik 1986). Venus verlor zwar, wie alle antiken Gottheiten, ihren göttlichen Status, lebte aber als mythische Gestalt ohne die Fesseln einer Religion weiter und als solche hatte sie weiterhin Umgang mit Eros/Amor und den Grazien, wie es auf sasanidischem Silbergeschirr dargestellt ist, aber nicht nur dort sondern auch in Stuck: In dem von Massoud Azarnoush5 ausgegrabenen Herrenhaus in Hājiābād befanden sich in Wandnischen eines Raums Bildnisse vom Typ der Capitolinischen Aphrodite (Havelock 1995, 74–80 Fig. 18. 19) und im Schutt lagen Reliefs von Eroten. Neben die von Richard Ettinghausen (1972) herausgearbeitete Ikonographie des Dionysischen tritt also auch eine Aphrodisische6 in die sasanidische Bildkunst. Allerdings besteht unter Wissenschaftlern die Tendenz, diesen Gestalten Namen aus dem Pantheon der herrschenden Religion zu geben, so als gäbe es kein Leben außerhalb der Religion. Guitty Azarpay (1976. 2000) verweist auf ein Eigenleben der persischen Kunst außerhalb der Religion der Herrschenden und der gleichzeitig mit einander um Anhänger ringenden Religionen. Fast tausend Jahre später und am anderen Ende der Welt feierte das Bild von Aphrodite in Azarnoush 1994, 138–147. 161–163; Pl. XIX–XXIV. XXVI–XXVII; Alram 2000, 280– 284, Nr. 152–154. 6 Susanne Pfisterer-Haas verdanke ich diese Charakterisierung. 5

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Abb. 5. Primavera von Botticelli (nach U. Baldini, Der Frühling von Botticelli, 1986) (cf. colour plate XIII) der italienischen Renaissance erneut Triumphe, etwa auf Botticellis Primavera (Abb. 5), auf dem sie zusammen mit den Grazien und Amor zu sehen ist, während gleichzeitig die verschiedenen Richtungen der christlichen Religion einander hart bekämpften. Bibliographie Aimone, M. 2020 The Wyvern Collection. Byzantine and Sasanian Silver, Enamels and Works of Art. London. al-Khamis, U. 1998 An Early Islamic Bronze Ewer Reexamined, in: Muqarnas. An Annual on the Visual Culture of the Islamic World 15, 9–19. Leiden. Alram, M. 2000 Die Kunst im Sasanidenstaat, in: W. Seipel (Hrsg.), 7000 Jahre persische Kunst. Meisterwerke aus dem Iranischen Nationalmuseum in Teheran. Eine Ausstellung des Kunsthistorischen Museums Wien und des Iranischen Nationalmuseums in Teheran. Wien. 262–295. Amiet, P. 1970 Orfèvrerie Sassanide au Musée du Louvre, Syria 47, 51–64. Azarnoush, M. 1994 The Sasanian Manor House at Hājīābād, Iran. Florenz. Azarpay, G. 1976 The Allegory of DẼN in Persian Art, Artibus Asiae 38, 37–48. 2000 Sasanian Art beyond the Persian World, in: J. Curtis (Hrsg.) Mesopotamia

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and Iran in the Parthian and Sasanian Periods. Rejection and Revival c. 238 BC – AD 642. Proceedings of a Seminar in memory of Vladimir G. Lukonin. London. 67–75.

Bier, C. 1985 s.v. ‚Anāhitā in the Arts‘. In: Encyclopaedia Iranica 1, 1009–1011. Cancik, H. 1986 Nutzen, Schmuck und Aberglaube. Ende und Wandlungen der römischen Religion im 4. und 5. Jahrhundert, in: H. Zinser (Hg.), Der Untergang von Religionen. Berlin. 65–90. Carter, M. L. 1974 Royal Festival Themes in Sasanian Silverwork and their Central Asian Parallels, in: Commémoration Cyrus. Actes du Congrès de Shiraz 1971 et autres études rédigées à l’occasion du 2000e anniversaire de la fondation de l’Empire Perse. Leiden und Teheran. 171–202 (mit Taf. III–XIV). Dalton, O. M. 1964³ The Treasure of the Oxus with Other Examples of Early Oriental MetalWork. London. (unveränderter Nachdruck von 1926). Ettinghausen, R. 1966 Sasanian and Islamic Metal-work in Baltimore, Apollo, Christmas 1966: The Walters Art Gallery, 465–469. 1972 From Byzantium to Sasanian Iran and the Islamic World. Three Modes of Artistic Influence. Leiden. Franke, U., I. Sarikhani-Sandmann and S. Weber 2021 Iran – Kunst und Kultur aus fünf Jahrtausenden. Museum für Islamische Kunst. Berlin. Full, B. 2008 Aphrodite (lat. Venus); Eros. In: M. Moog-Grünewald (Hrsg.), Mythenrezeption. Der Neue Pauly Supplement 5, 97–114. 262–275. Gibbons, D. F., K. C. Ruhl and D. G. Shepherd 1979 Techniques of Silversmitting in the Hormizd II Plate, Ars Orientalis 11, 163–176. Grabar, O. 1967 Sasanian Silver. Late Antique and Early Medieval Arts of Luxury from Iran. University of Michigan Museum of Art. Ann Arbor. Greifenhagen, A. 1957 Griechische Eroten. Berlin. Gunter, A. C. and P. Jett 1992 Ancient Iranian Metalwork in the Arthur M. Sackler Gallery and the Freer Gallery of Art. Smithonian Institution, Washington, D.C. Washington. Harper, P. O. 1971 Sources of Certain Female Representations in Sasanian Art. In: Atti del convegno internationale sul tema La Persia nel Medioevo. Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei anno CCCLXVIII 1971, Quaderno N. 160. Roma. 503–515. 1991 The Sasanian Ewer: Questions of Origin and Influence. In: M. Mori (Hrsg.), Near Eastern Studies Dedicated to H. I. H. Prince Takahito Mikasa on the Occasion of His Seventy-Fifth Birthday. Bulletin of the Middle-Eastern

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Culture Centre in Japan 5. Wiesbaden. 67–84. Harper, P. O. and P. Meyers 1981 Silver Vessels of the Sasanian Period. vol. one: Royal Imagery. New York. 1998 Sasanian and Early Islamic Silver and Bronze Vessels. In: K. Otavsky (Hrsg.), Entlang der Seidenstrasse. Frühmittelalterliche Kunst zwischen Persien und China in der Abegg-Stiftung. Riggisberger Berichte 6. Riggisberg. 215–246. Havelock, C. M. 1995 The Aphrodite of Knidos and Her Successors. A Historical Review of the Female Nude in Greek Art. Ann Arbor. Herrmann, G. 1977 Naqsh-i Rustam 5 and 8. Sasanian Reliefs attributed to Hormuzd II and Narseh. Iranische Denkmäler 8. Berlin. 1980 The Sasanian Rock Reliefs at Bishapur: Part I. Bishapur III. Triumph attributed to Shapur I. Iranische Denkmäler 9. Berlin. 1981 The Sasanian Rock Reliefs at Bishapur: Part II. Bishapur IV, Bahram II receiving a Delegation. Bishapur V, The Investiture of Bahram I. Bishapur VI, The Enthroned King. Iranische Denkmäler 10. Berlin. 1983 The Sasanian Rock Reliefs at Bishapur: Part III. Bishapur I. The Investiture/ Triumph of Shapur I?. Bishapur II. Triumph of Shapur I and Sarab-i Bahram, Bahram II Enthroned. The Rock Relief at Tang-i Qandil. Iranische Denkmäler 11. Berlin. 1989 The Sasanian Rock Reliefs at Naqsh-i Rustam. Naqsh-i Rustam 6. Description and Commentary. Iranische Denkmäler 13. Berlin. Hill, D. K. 1968–1969 Venus in the Roman East, The Journal of the Walters Art Gallery 31–32, 6–12. Kaminski, N. 2008 Chariten (lat. Gratiae). In: M. Moog-Grünewald (Hrsg.), Mythenrezeption, Der Neue Pauly Supplement 5. Leiden. 184–190. Kawami, T. S. 1990 44. Silver-gilt Vase. In: D. von Bothmer (Hrsg.), Glories of the Past. Ancient Art from the Shelby White and Leon Levy Collections. New York. 60–61. Lukonin, W. G. 1967 Persien II. Archaeologia Mundi. Genf. Mars(c)hak, B. 1971 Sagdijskoe serebro. Englische Übersetzung auf S. 109 ff.; deutsche Übersetzung in : 1986, 42–85. 1986 Silberschätze des Orients. Metallkunst des 3.–13. Jahrhunderts und ihre Kontinuität. Leipzig. 1998 The Decoration of Some Late Sasanian Silver Vessels and Its SubjectMatter. In: V. S. Curtis, R. Hillenbrand and J. M. Rogers (Hrsg.), The Art and Archaeology of Ancient Persia. New Light on the Parthian and Sasanian Empires. London. 84–92. Meyers, P. 1981 = Harper and Meyers 1981, 143–183: Technical Study.

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Orbeli, J. and C. Trever 1935 Orfèvrerie Sasanide. Objets en or, argent et bronze. Leningrad. Pope, A. U. 1938 A Survey of Persian Art: from Prehistoric Times to the Present IV. London. Sarre, F. 1910 Ein Silberfigürchen des Sassanidenkönigs Narses im Kaiser-FriedrichMuseum zu Berlin, Jahrbuch der Königlich Preussischen Kunstsammlungen 31, 73–78. Seipel, W. (Hrsg.) 1999 Schätze des Orients. Meisterwerke aus dem Miho Museum. Wien. Shepherd, D. G. and R. Frye 1964 Sasanian Art in Cleveland, The Bulletin of the Cleveland Museum of Art 51/4, 66–95 (mit einem Beitrag von R. N. Frye, Inscriptions on the Sasanian Silver: ib. 92–93). 1972 Some Problems of Sassanian Silver. In: The Memorial Volume of the VIth International Congress of Iranian Art and Archaeology. Tehran – Isfahan – Shiraz, 11th–18th April 1968. Teheran. 326–352. 1980 The Iconography of Anāhitā. Part I, Berytus 28, 47–86. Strong, D. E. 1966 Greek and Roman Gold and Silver Plate. London. Trever, K. V. und V. G. Lukonin 1987 Sasanidskoye Serebro. Sobranie Gosudartsvennogo Ermitaja. Ghudojectvennaya Kultura Irana III–VIII Vekov. Moskau. Vanden Berghe, L. und B. Overlaet 1993 Splendeur des Sassanides. Lʼempire perse entre Rome et la Chine (224– 642). Brüssel. Weber, Th. M. 2006 Sculptures from Roman Syria in the Syrian National Museum at Damascus I. From Cities and Villages in Central and Southern Syria. Worms.

Merv

The Greater Kyz Kala viewed from the Lesser Kyz Kala (from G. Herrmann, Monuments of Merv. London 1999. Back cover).

‘Little Merv’ Notes on Marv al-Rud, or ‘Merv of the River’1 Warwick Ball Abstract Merv on the delta of the Murghab River in Turkmenistan is rightly regarded as one of the most important sites in Central Asia. Less well known is another Merv further upstream on the Murghab, known variously as Marv al-Rud, Marv-i Rud or Marud, ‘Merv of the River,’ or Marv-i Kuchik, ‘Little Merv,’ to distinguish it from Marv al-Shahijan, the main site. Marv al-Rud has been associated with two sites in present Afghan territory, Maruchaq and Bala Murghab, that have received little archaeological attention. The purpose of this paper is to summarise the evidence, refine its identification and evaluate its importance. Marv al-Rud in the historical sources Merv of the River was supposedly founded by Bahram Gur in the first half of the fifth century when its name in Middle Persian was Marvirot. According to some authorities, this was the original Merv rather than the better known one in the Murghab delta (Gaibov et al. 2019, 202, citing Khlopin 1983), but this is unlikely. According to a Middle Persian source, Marvirot was one of the twelve capitals of Sasanian Khurasan, along with such notable cities as Nishapur, Herat, Samarkand and others (Labbaf-Khaniki et al. 2020). By the middle of the sixth century its I had the pleasure of working alongside Georgina as part of the Nush-i Jan excavation team in the early 1970s, and then assisting her recording Sasanian reliefs in Fars in 1975. It is with added pleasure therefore that I can add these notes on ‘Little Merv’ as a footnote to her own work at ‘Greater Merv.’ The origin of this paper goes back to 1977. Since Merv was behind an Iron Curtain frontier, any investigation was completely out of the question. It was decided to investigate Little Merv instead. Accordingly the Royal Geographical Society, the Society for Afghan Studies and the Stein-Arnold Fund of the British Academy awarded grants to fund the field work. However, on reaching Kabul the Afghan authorities denied permission to visit the region, located as it was in a sensitive Cold War frontier area. The funds were used instead for archaeological investigations in the Ghur and Herat regions in western Afghanistan (Ball 2002). I am grateful to Leonard Harrow and Shivan Mahendrarajah for comments on this article, although all errors are my own. 1

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importance was such that it became the seat of a Nestorian bishopric known as Merv-i Rud (Bosworth 1999; Wilmshurst 2011, 77). Marv al-Rud was the last stronghold in Khurasan to fall to the Muslims in 652, but rose in revolt in 748 (Mottahedeh 1975, 64–65; Lassner 1982; Dunlop 1982). Continuity from the Sasanian period is shown by the Arab-Sasanian type dirhems that it continued to mint into the Umayyad period (Miles 1975, 367). Marv al-Rud continued to flourish throughout the early Islamic period as the most important city of the region between Herat, Merv and Balkh; indeed, there was a particular quarter in al-Mansur’s round city of Baghdad in the eighth century that was known as ‘Marvrudiya’ after the number of inhabitants from Marv al-Rud settled there (Kennedy 2011). Some early Islamic sources implied that it was rated second in importance in Khurasan only to Nishapur (Luther 1985; Daftary 1993). The city had four other towns subsidiary to it, all of which had Friday Mosques (i.e., a measure of their size and importance); it was ‘a pleasant and prosperous town’ (Ḥudūd al-cĀlam 1970, 105) surrounded by vineyards, fruit trees and gardens, and Qudama noted cave dwellings in the vicinity (Barthold 1984, 36). The city itself boasted a Friday Mosque with wooden columns (a regular feature in Central Asia) and had a large covered bazaar. In the eleventh century, the Seljuq sultan Malik Shah endowed it with ramparts measuring five thousand paces in circumference, presumably as a defence against the rising power of the Ghurids to the south. Despite this Marv al-Rud came under the Ghurids in the late twelfth century, and subsequently the scene of a Ghurid victory against the Khwarazm-shahs in 588 AH (Raverty 1881, 378. 391. 457). The city appears to have escaped the devastation of the Mongol invasions (see in general Le Strange 1905, 404–405; Bosworth 1999; Hussain Shah 1954).The city appears in Firdausi’s Shahnameh as Marv-i Rud. The first mention is in the story of Siyavush who ‘came towards Taliqan and Marv-i Rud’ when gathering an army to confront Afrasiab. The second concerns the twelfth year of Hurmuzd when there were soldiers ‘from the valley of Herat to Marv-i Rud.’ In both cases the name probably means little more than a convenient rhyme, although elsewhere Ibn Hauqal also associates Marv al-Rud with Taliqan (a town to the east of the Murghab in Faryab Province, not to be confused with the Taliqan in Badakhshan; discussed further below). Farid al-Din ‘Attar in the Tadhkirat al-‘Awliya also mentions Marv-i Rud in an account of the Sufi mystic Ibrahim Adham, who miraculously saved a man who had fallen from the bridge at Marv-i Rud from drowning.2 Hafiz-i Abru in the early fifteenth century does not mention Marv al-Rud (just Marv), but he does describe Maruchaq as a qasaba: i.e., a large town with subservient villages (synonymous with ‘well-populated place’). He lists Maruchaq under Murghab district, where Timur ordered the construction of irrigation channels, twenty of which he named (Krawulsky (ed.) 1982–4, vol. 2: 30; see also Aka 1996, 11–12. 13–14).3 When Clavijo passed through in 1403 on his way to Samarkand he described the region in glowing terms: ‘many channels of water passed through the place, which was well peopled, and full of gardens, and beautiful vineyards’ Firdausi 1905–23, Vol. 2, 228 and Vol. 8, 92 (in the Warner translation, in the Dick Davis translation the name is transcribed as ‘Marvrud’); Farid al-Din Attar 1905, 87; Arberry 1966, 69. I am grateful to Leonard Harrow for both these references. 3 I am grateful to Shivan Mahendrarajah for these references. 2

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(Clavijo 1928, 114). In other words the Maruchaq-Murghab region was thriving in the Timurid period. A native of Marv al-Rud, Husain Ali, was commander of the Samanid forces sent into Sistan in 300 AH (Raverty 1881, 35). Another native, al-Aghlab ibnSalim at-Tamimi, was appointed governor of the Maghrib during the conquest of Andalusia, but died in battle before Qairawan (Hitti 1916, 369). Khalid Ibn ʿAbd al-Malik from Marv al-Rud was a leading astronomer under Caliph alMaʾmun (d. 833), and Ibn al Fowati, also from Marv al-Rud, was the librarian of the famous observatory at Maragheh in western Iran in the thirteenth century (Pingree and Brunner 1987; Melville 1997). Marv al-Rud was also the birthplace in about 820 of the extraordinarily indecisive theologian, Abu Hasan Ibn alRawandi, the son of a Jewish convert to Islam; al-Rawandi was born a Muslim but then converted to Judaism, then became a Sunni Muslim, then a Mutazilite, then a Shi‘a Muslim and finally (one senses almost with relief!) an atheist (van Ess 1997; Starr 2013, 204–205). The two sites that are most often identified with Marv al-Rud are Maruchaq and Bala Murghab (Fig. 1 and 2).

Fig. 1. Map of the sites discussed. 711: Maruchak; 2122: Khan Ragab Tepe; 914 and 2215: Qarawal Khana; 1159: Tepe Abdullah; 2192 and 850: Qal’a-i Isma’il; 98: Bala Murghab; 2199: Qal’a-i Khwaja; 477: Jui Khwaja; 235: Darband-i Jaukar; 952: Rabat-i Yan Chashma (from Ball 2019, Map 44). Maruchaq Coordinates 35° 48’ 56.73212280 N, 063° 07’ 40.01627640 E. On the east bank of the Murghab River just before the Turkmenistan border. The site is a further

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Fig. 2. Map of the Murghab region by the Afghan Boundary Commission (from Peacocke 1887, 282–283) (cf. colour plate XV).

Fig. 3. Plan of Maruchaq (after T.H. Holdich 1887, Plan of Maruchak. Survey of India, Dehra Dun).

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two kilometres north-west of the modern town of Maruchaq, three kilometres east of Maruchaq ford. The remains of a sizeable town measuring approximately 700 by 600 metres surrounded by mud-brick ramparts and a ditch. The walls still stood about five metres high according to accounts by members of the Afghan Boundary Commission (ABC) in the 1880s and comprised 37 towers, with west and east gates. The west gate was still standing in the 1880s and led into the remains of a bazaar. There is an inner roughly circular citadel 250 metres in diameter on an artificial mound some thirteen metres high. Inside is a modern fort on the south-west side (Figs 3–6). A kilometre to the west are the remains of an elaborate ancient brick bridge with four arches, of which only three piers remain (Fig. 7). The town is surrounded by extensive fields growing wheat and melons in the ABC accounts, with traces of former vineyards (Ball 2019, Site 711, especially Peacocke 1887, 82–84 and 278–283).The site was visited by the Afghan-Soviet Archaeological Mission led by I. T. Kruglikova between 1968 and 1978 when 9th–13th century glazed ceramics were collected from the surface. In addition some Parthian material was recorded, as well as decorated ceramics dating to the early first millennium BC (Gaibov et al. 2019, 201). Bala Murghab Coordinates 35° 34’ 53.26360248 N, 063° 19’ 48.41682744 E. The administrative centre for Badghis Province on the east bank of the Murghab River on the road from Herat to Mazar-i Sharif. Members of the ABC passed through here frequently and wintered here on one occasion. However, there is only a brief report of an approximately ten metre high mound near the governor’s compound, surmounted by a modern fort, surrounded by traces of an ‘old town’ and old bridges (Fig. 8) (Maitland 1888, 207; Adamec 1975, 47; Ball 2019, Site 98). According to Kruglikova, ‘the medieval material consisted only of a few fragments of ceramics, the greatest majority of findings – decorated ceramics – dating from the first centuries of the first millennium BC’ (Gaibov et al. 2019, 202). Several artificial cave complexes, thought to be ‘Buddhist,’ were recorded at Jui Khwaja three kilometres south of Bala Murghab by members of the ABC, as well as the ruins of a fort (Ball 2019, Sites 477 and 2199). Other relevant sites A slightly earlier Russian traveller before the ABC, N. Grodekoff, mentioned extensive ruins in the vicinity of Bala Murghab but is unspecific about ‘vicinity’ and Maitland doubts that Grodekoff ever even saw Bala Murghab (Grodekoff 1880, 150; Maitland 1888, 207 footnote; Ball 2019, Site 98). Accordingly, at Qalʿa-i Isma’il, 6.5 kilometres north on the west bank, several mounds and extensive remains of ancient vine cultivation, as well as the remains of an old baked brick bridge, were recorded by the ABC. The main mound was approximately 200 metres square and seven metres high with a further mound some fifteen metres high, and more artificial caves were reported (Yate 1888, 223–224; Ball 2019, Site 850/2192).

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Fig. 4. Sections and plan of Maruchaq (from Peacocke 1887, 282–283).

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Fig. 5. Satellite image of Maruchaq (© 2017 DigitalGlobe, NextView License, Courtesy Afghan Heritage Mapping Program, Oriental Institute, Chicago).

Fig. 6. Watercolour of Maruchaq by Edward Durand (© The British Library Board. Durand 1884, ‘Fort Maruchak’, British Library, Prints and Drawings, BL, OIC, Prints and Drawings WD408) (cf. colour plate XV).

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Fig. 7. Maruchaq bridge (from Peacocke 1887, 82–84).

Fig. 8. Sepia-toned photo-lithograph of a wash sketch by the ABC, showing Bala Murghab from the north (© Phototheca Afghanica, Bubendorf, Switzerland). Another artificial mound recorded by the ABC is Tepe Abdullah on the east bank of the Murghab about thirteen kilometres north-west of Bala Murghab. This seems to have been confused with Tepe Gardan Burida by the AfghanSoviet Mission, described as a fairly large settlement 300 metres square with a central citadel about ten metres high and 200 metres in diameter, a description that corresponds to Tepe Abdullah in the satellite images; Tepe Gardan Burida is identified with smaller mound about a kilometre further east. Kruglikova recorded some medieval ceramics on the surface of the larger mound, but the majority were decorated ceramics dating from the early first millennium BC (Gaibov et al. 2019, 204f. 212f.; Hubbard in Gaibov et al. 2019, 222f. 228f.; Ball 2019, Site 1159).

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At the confluence of the Qalʿa-i Wali stream with the Murghab, thirty kilometres downstream from Bala Murghab, is the site of Qarawal Khana where the ABC recorded extensive brick ruins in the midst of which was the shrine of Shaikh Awliya. None of these remains showed up in the satellite imagery (Gaibov et al. 2019, 202f.; Hubbard in Gaibov et al. 2019, 220; Ball 2019, Site 914/2215). Further downstream on the right bank about seven kilometres above Maruchaq a low mound was recorded as Khan Ragab Tepe by the ABC, now heavily pitted according satellite imagery (Hubbard in Gaibov et al. 2019, 229; Ball 2019, Site 2122). Thirty kilometres downstream from Maruchaq in Turkmenistan is the town of Takhta Bazar (or Tagtabazar), formerly known as Panjdeh (Fig. 2). Bronze Age material of the Oxus Civilisation has been recorded from a cemetery here, in addition to five Neolithic sites (Salvatori 2003, 12; Joglekar 2006, 225; Biscione and Vahdati 2021, 530 fig. 19:3; Bonora 2021, 746). The most curious remains at Panjdeh are an elaborate series of artificial caves known as Yaki Deshik. These were surveyed by F. De Laessoë, one of the members of the ABC in the 1880s when Panjdeh was still a part of Afghanistan (but soon after annexed by Russia) (De Laessoë, Talbot and Simpson 1886). It consists of a long gallery some fifty metres long with nineteen smaller chambers leading off it. A staircase leads to a cruciform upper chamber with a dome over the crossing. The ABC officers assumed the cave complex to be ‘Buddhist’ on no real evidence, as they bear little resemblance to known Buddhist caves further east in Afghanistan; the domed cruciform chamber suggests a Christian function, although churches in the east tended to be basilical rather than cruciform (and the cruciform plan is not necessarily confined to Christianity) (see Ball 1986, 108; Bier 1986, 118–122). The location of Marv al-Rud The name Maruchaq ( which means ‘Little Merv’) appears as a separate toponym as early as 1251 and is specified in Sayfi’s History of Herat as one of the regions subject to the Karts of Herat, and Maruchaq became the preferred term for Marv al-Rud in the Timurid era (Sayfi 1943).4 Marv al-Rud was identified with Maruchaq by Henry Rawlinson based mainly upon the distances from Merv and Herat given in the early Islamic sources, which correspond exactly to the position of Maruchaq according to his calculations (Rawlinson 1885, 578–580). Thomas Holdich, chief surveyor of the ABC and subsequently president of the Royal Geographical Society, in following Rawlinson’s argument confirmed that ‘All our investigations in 1884 tended to prove beyond dispute’ the identification (Holdich 1910, 240–241). Subsequent commentators have almost all disagreed. Probably the first was another of the ABC officers who knew the ground first-hand, C. E. Yate. Yate rejected Maruchaq, first, on the grounds that Ibn Hauqal stated that the river ran between Marv al-Rud and the city of Taliqan (i.e., the modern site of Chichaktu, on the route to Maimana to the east) (Ball 2019, Site 199),5 so Marv al-Rud must be on the left bank while Maruchaq is on the right bank. And second, based on a calculation of the stages given by the Early Islamic sources for the distances from I am grateful to Shivan Mahendrarajah for this reference. See also Raverty 1881, 1009n, who also cites Ibn Hauqal’s description.

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both Herat and Balkh to Marv al-Rud: according to Yate this came to the junction of the Qaisar stream from the east (and the main route east to Maimana and Balkh) with the Murghab River, roughly halfway between Maruchaq and Bala Murghab. However, he pointed out that there were no remains answering to this description on the left bank of the river at this point, so speculated that it ‘might possibly’ be at Bala Murghab, despite Ibn Hauqal’s reference (Yate 1888, 193–195. 208). Hence, nearly all subsequent authorities have placed Marv al-Rud on the right bank, specifically at Bala Murghab. Probably the first to do so was Holdich (in an earlier work, before his later revision placed it at Maruchaq: see above), but it was Guy Le Strange’s pioneering study of the historical geography of the eastern Islamic lands, citing Yate, who firmly located it at Bala Murghab (Holdich 1901, 121; Le Strange 1905, 404–405; Ball 2019, Site 98). The most detailed analysis of the location was by W. Barthold who initially located it at Maruchaq but with the caveat of ‘more probably perhaps Bala Murghab’ (Barthold 1977, 79). He later argued persuasively however in favour of Bala Murghab, an argument regarded as conclusive by the Soviet team (Barthold 1984, 35–39; Gaibov et al. 2019, 202. See also Minorsky in Ḥudūd al-cĀlam 1970): Barthold did not seem to be aware of Rawlinson’s arguments. The artificial caves at Jui Khwaja just three kilometres upstream are suggested to be the caves mentioned by Qudama (Barthold 1984, 36). A dissenting voice was Willem Vogelsang who, while acknowledging Barthold’s and others’ locating Marv al-Rud at Bala Murghab, favoured Maruchaq as a more logical location (Vogelsang 1992, 57).The biggest objection to Bala Murghab is simply the lack of suitable remains and the almost complete absence of early Islamic material in contrast to the overwhelming early first millennium BC ceramics noted by Kruglikova. The nineteenth century descriptions just of a modern fort on a mound hardly answers to Marv al-Rud’s description as a large and flourishing city that minted coins, that had a ready supply of generals, theologians and astronomers for the Islamic east, that peopled an entire quarter in Baghdad and figured in Iran’s greatest epic. Maitland mentions the remains of a town around the fort, implying that it was not old. Edward Stirling, who passed through Bala Murghab in 1829, made no mention of any remains, and similarly General Ferrier in 1845, despite noting ancient remains throughout his travels (Stirling ed. Lee 1991, 260–261; Ferrier 1857, 195). Robert Byron, whose architectural and historical interests were those of a practising art historian, also noted no remains when he passed through in 1934 (Byron 1937, 267–268). The fort shows up on modern satellite images, but other remains (if any) are lost under the modern town (Hubbard in Gaibov et al. 2019, 220).Yet C. E. Yate’s (1888: 208) description of ‘a huge artificial mound of earth, measuring about 130 yards in length and 100 in breadth at the top, and say 50 feet in height … – encircled by a broad depression … forming the ruins of the outer walls, which stand some 20 feet high in places – and measures about 300 yards square’ seems at complete variance to the reports of remains (or lack of them) at Bala Murghab (Yate 1888, 208). It even disagrees with Yate’s own mention in a separate part of his account of the Bala Murghab mound being just ‘30 feet high’ (ibd., 223). This seems to closer to Tepe Abdullah, eleven kilometres to the north, or even Qalʿa-i Ismaʿil on the west bank 6.5 kilometres to the north where Yate does mention a mound fifty feet high.

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Might Yate be confusing the sites here? Both Tepe Abdullah and Qalʿa-i Ismaʿil are closer to where the Qaisar stream enters the Murghab from the east, hence the main route eastwards, which is closer to where the medieval accounts place Marv al-Rud as well as Yate’s own calculations. Qalʿa-i Ismaʿil is furthermore on the west bank, thus agreeing with Ibn Hauqal, and also has caves in its vicinity, thus agreeing with Qudama’s mention (Barthold 1984, 36). However, neither site, as with Bala Murghab, appears to fit with the descriptions of Marv al-Rud, a flourishing town – or city – enclosed by ramparts measuring five thousand paces. The only site that fits this description is Maruchaq (albeit less than ‘five thousand paces,’ however measurable and whoever’s ‘pace’ that might be). Maruchaq furthermore possesses the remains of a bridge large enough to be the scene of Ibrahim Adham’s miraculous rescue described by Farid al-Din, and is surrounded by the remains of gardens, canals and vineyards, tallying with the ancient accounts of Marv al-Rud. In identifying Bala Murghab with Marv al-Rud, Le Strange identifies Maruchaq with the castle of Qasr al-Ahnaf described as one league downstream from Marv al-Rud, but it appears anomalous that relatively minor remains such as Bala Murghab or Qalʿa-i Ismaʿil are identified with a major city, while a major urban site such as Maruchaq is identified as a mere castle (Le Strange 1905, 405). Barthold identifies Qasr alAhnaf with the site of Qarawal Khana on the Murghab opposite where the Qaisar stream enters (Barthold 1984, 35–36). However, the Ḥudūd al-cĀlam describes Qasr al-Ahnaf (which it calls ‘Diz-i Ahnaf’) as ‘in the desert’, which would put it below Maruchaq.6 According to Baladhuri (cited by Barthold 1984, 36 n. 3), the Murghab River disappears into the sands after Marv al-Rud, which also argues for a location at Maruchaq. Marv al-Rud is furthermore described as ‘a bow-shot from the bank of the Murghab’ (Le Strange 1905, 405) that approximates to Maruchaq’s position but not Bala Murghab’s, which is alongside the river (although the river might have changed its course). Holdich makes the point that ‘It is only about Maruchaq that the valley widens out sufficiently to admit of a large town,’ and that there were large numbers of remains downstream towards Panjdeh (Holdich 1910, 242). Clearly there is disparity in the sources, with disagreement on which bank of the river the city lies and disagreement on the number of stages distant from other cities. Of the number of stages from Merv there can be little dispute, but there is in any case no exact measurement of a ‘stage’, the length of which can vary considerably depending upon terrain. The number of stages from Herat and Balkh is even more uncertain, as the routes themselves can vary. One must remember too that the early Islamic geographers – Ibn Hauqal and others – careful scholars though they might have been, were not working on first-hand field-work but relying on reports at second- or third- or more hand, where accounts might be contradictory (and might be based on outdated sources). Even modern accounts with all the advantages of first-hand reports, technical expertise and surveying instruments can be contradictory as the ABC accounts above show.7 There is even confusion in the sources between Marv al-Rud and Merv itself (Holdich 1910, 240–247). Ḥudūd al-cĀlam, 105. ‘Diz’ is short for ‘Quhandiz,’ which accords with Qasr (palace, citadel, imposing building): Shivan Mahendrarajah, pers.comm. 7 A problem that plagued the present author in compiling the Archaeological Gazetteer (Ball 2019) when different accounts by supposedly reliable modern sources might place the same site many miles apart, a problem not solved until the advent of satellite imagery. 6

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Evaluation Regardless of whether Maruchaq is Marv al-Rud or not, it was a large walled town with a central citadel: the classic Central Asian shahristan and arg. With material from the Iron Age, Parthian and Early Islamic periods it is also a multiperiod site, with Achaemenid and Sasanian periods also assumed if the occupation was continuous. It is clearly a major urban site of considerable importance, a site furthermore on major routes of communication and so of more than local importance. That the main route between Herat and Balkh went through this part of the Murghab in antiquity is a fairly safe assumption: it is still the main route between those two centres today. It is the location of Maruchaq, as well as other sites dated to the Iron Age (mainly Tepe Abdullah and Bala Murghab), on these routes that led V. A. Gaibov, G. A. Koshalenko and G. V. Trebeleva in their reassessment of Kruklikova’s material to argue that this was the main route between Merv and Balkh in antiquity as well: up the Murghab River from Merv to its junction with the Qaisar stream coming in from the east, thence up the Qaisar via Maimana to Balkh, a route permanently well watered all the way (Gaibov et al. 2019, 215– 216). It thus lay at the junction of three major routes connecting three of the main cities of Central Asia/greater Khurasan. The preponderance of Iron Age material also led Gaibov, Koshalenko and Trebeleva to speculate on another exciting possibility: that the city of Nisaya or Nigaya mentioned in Ptolemy (6. 10. 4) lay in this region, hence the ‘Nisaya’ of the Avesta (Gaibov et al. 2019, 215). The actual text in the Vendidad is ‘The fifth of the good lands and countries which I, Ahura Mazda, created was Nisâya, that lies between Môuru and Bâkhdi.’ The translater, James Darmesteter, inserts a note to the effect that this may also be translated as ‘Nisâya, between which and Bâkhdi Môuru lies,’ suggesting that it might apply to Νίσαια, capital of Parthia: i.e., Nisa (Zend-Avesta 1880, 6). Nisaya is also located at Parthian Nisa by Ehsan Yarshater (Yarshater 1983, 438). But the first interpretation is preferred as located between ‘Margiana (Mourv) and Bactria (Bāxδī)’ by Gherardo Gnoli (1980, 62f. 89), and in an admirable analysis of the different interpretations of Avestan geography, Frantz Grenet confirms that this is at least a broad location (Grenet 2005). Identifying modern archaeological remains with names in ancient sources, particularly one as non-geographical as the Avesta, will always be problematic and the location of Avestan Nisaya at the upper Murghab must remain an open question. But the recording of several sites of the ‘Avestan period’ where none existed before by the Afghan-Soviet Mission – indeed, until the recent German excavations at the Herat citadel, none at all had been recorded for this period in north-western Afghanistan (Franke and Urban 2017, 744) – at once brings this area more into the centre stage for the Iron Age. The Murghab delta downstream has been the scene of massive archaeological investigations over the past century for both the Iron and the Bronze ages, where it has been identified as the centre of the Bronze Age Oxus Civilisation (see, e.g., Kurbanov 2018; Lyonnet and Dubova 2021). The source of the delta in the upper Murghab is conversely almost unknown territory in the archaeological record. While the only Oxus Civilisation site in the region so far identified is at Takhta Bazar just downstream from Maruchaq, the recent discovery of material from this period at Gulran north-west of Herat by the German team at

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Herat suggests that more remains are awaiting discovery (Franke 2008, 31 and Pl. 128; see also Ball 2019, Map 4). The upper Murghab region is clearly a crucial one, and Maruchaq, regardless of whether or not it is Marv al-Rud, is clearly a key site in the little known Afghan-Turkmenistan borderland. Bibliography Adamec, W. (ed.) 1975 Historical and Political Gazetteer of Afghanistan. Vol. 3: Herat and Northwestern Afghanistan. Graz. Aka, I. 1996 The Agricultural and Commercial Activities of the Timurids in the First Half of the 15th Century. Oriente Moderno, Nuova serie, Anno 15 (76), Nr. 2, La Civiltà Timuride come Fenomeno Internazionale. Volume I (Storia — I Timuridi e l’Occidente), 9–21. Arberry, A. J. 1966 Muslim Saints and Mystics. Episodes from the Tadhkirat al-Auliya“Memorial of the Saints”. London. ‘Attar, Farid al-Din 1905 Tadhkirat al-‘Awliya. Transl. R. A. Nicholson. London. Ball, W. 1986 Some Rock-Cut Monuments in Southern Iran, Iran 24, 95–115. 2002 The Towers of Ghur. A Ghurid “Maginot Line”? In: W. Ball and L. Harrow (eds), Cairo to Kabul. Afghan and Islamic Studies Presented to Ralph Pinder-Wilson. London. 21–45. 2019 Archaeological Gazetteer of Afghanistan. Revised Edition. Oxford. Barthold, W. 1977 Turkestan Down to the Mongol Invasion. EJW Gibb Memorial Trust. Oxford and Oakville. 1984 An Historical Geography of Iran. Transl. S. Soucek. Princeton. Bier, L. 1986 The Masjid-i Sang near Dārâb and the Mosque of Shahr-I Īj: Rock-Cut Architecture of the Il-Khanid Period, Iran 24, 117–130. Biscione, R. and A. A. Vahdati 2021 The BMAC presence in eastern Iran: State of affairs in December 2018 – towards the Greater Khorasan Civilization? In: B. Lyonnet and N. A. Dubova (eds) 2021, 527–550. Bonora, G. L. 2020 The Oxus Civilization and the Northern Steppes. In: B. Lyonnet and N. A. Dubova (eds) 2021, 734–778. Bosworth, C. E. 1999 s.v. “Marw al-Rūdh.” In: Encyclopaedia of Islam. CD-ROM Edition. Byron, R. 1937 The Road to Oxiana. London. Clavijo, R. G. de, (transl. C. R. Markham) 1859 Narrative of the Embassy of Ruy Gonzalez de Clavijo to the Court of Timour at Samarcand, A.D. 14036. London.

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Daftary, F. 1993 s.v. “DAʿĪ.” Encyclopaedia Iranica Online. Consulted 15 June 2021 http:// dx.doi.org/10.1163/2330-4804_EIRO_COM_7960 De Laessoë, F., M. Talbot and W. Simpson 1886 Discovery of Caves on the Murghab, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland, 18, 1, 92–102. Dunlop, D. M. 1982 s.v. “ʿAbd-al-Jabbār Azdī.” In: Encyclopaedia Iranica Online. Consulted June 2021 http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/2330-4804_EIRO_COM_4304 Ferrier, J. 1857 Caravan Journeys and Wanderings in Persia, Afghanistan, Turkistan, and Baluchistan. London. Firdausi 1905–23 The Sháhnáma of Firdausi Done into English by Arthur George Warner and Edmond Warner. 8 Vols. London. Franke, U. 2008 National Museum Herat – Areia Antiqua Through Time. Berlin. Franke, U. and T. Urban (eds) 2017 Excavations and Explorations in Herat City. Berlin. Frye, R. N. 1984 The History of Ancient Iran. München. Gaibov, V. A., G. A. Koshalenko and G. V. Trebeleva 2019 Material for the Archaeological Map of Northern Afghanistan. The Murghab River Valley, Afghanistan 2, 2, 195–232. Gnoli, G. 1980 Zoroaster’s Time and Homeland. A study on the Origins of Mazdeism and Related Problems. Naples. Grenet, F. 2005 An Archaeologist’s Approach to Avestan Geography. In: V. S. Curtis and S. Stewart (eds), Birth of the Persian Empire. London. 28–51. Grodekoff, N. 1880 Ride from Samarcand to Herat, through Balkh and the Uzbek states of Afghan Turkestan. Translated by Charles Marvin. London. Hitti, P. K. 1916 The Origins of the Islamic State. Being a translation of the Kitâb Futûh al-Buldân of al-Balâdhuri. New York. Holdich, T. H. 1901 The Indian Borderland. London. 1910 The Gates of India. London. Ḥudūd al-cĀlam 1970 ‘The Regions of the World.’ A Persian Geography 372 a.h.–982 a.d. Translated by V. V. Minorsky, V. Barthold and C. E. Bosworth. London. Husain Shah, M. 1954 Merve Rud, Afghanistan. 9, 3, 817; 9, 4, 1025. Joglekar, P. P. 2006 Subsistence Patterns in Protohistoric Afghanistan and its Adjoining

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Regions: a Brief Review, Annals of the Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute 87, 223–239. Kennedy, H. 2011 s.v. “Baghdad. i. Before the Mongol Invasion.” In: Encyclopaedia Iranica Online. Consulted online on 11 August 2021 http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/23304804_EIRO_COM_6367 Krawulsky, D. (Ed. and Tr.) 1982–84 Ḫorāsān zur Timuridenzeit nach dem Tārīḫ-e Ḥāfeẓ-e Abrū (verf. 817–823 h.), 2 Vols. Wiesbaden. Kurbanov, A. 2018 History of research of Early Iron Age sites in southern Turkmenistan during the Soviet period. In: J. Lhuillier and N. Boroffka (eds), A Millennium of History. Berlin. 715. Labbaf-Khaniki, M., et al. 2020 s.v. “Khorasan.” In: Encyclopaedia Iranica Online. Consulted online on 15 June 2021 http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/2330-4804_EIRO_COM_12453 Lassner, J. 1982 s.v. “ʿAbdallāh b. ʿĀmer.” In: Encyclopaedia Iranica Online. Consulted 15 June 2021 http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/2330-4804_EIRO_COM_4407 Le Strange, G. 1905 The Lands of the Eastern Caliphate. Cambridge. Luther, K. A. 1985 s.v. “Alp Arslān.” In: Encyclopaedia Iranica Online. Consulted 15 June 2021 http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/2330-4804_EIRO_COM_5250 Lyonnet. B and N. A. Dubova (eds) 2021 The World of the Oxus Civilization. Abingdon. Maitland, P. J. 1888 Records of the Intelligence Party, Afghan Boundary Commission. Vol. I: Diary of Major Maitland. Simla. Melville, C. 1997 s.v. “Ebn al-Fowaṭī, Kamāl-al-Dīn ʿAbd-al-Razzāq.” In: Encyclopaedia Iranica Online. Consulted June 2021 http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/23304804_EIRO_COM_8686 Miles, C. C. 1975 Numismatics. In: R. N. Frye (ed.), The Cambridge History of Iran IV: From the Arab Invasion to the Saljuqs. Cambridge. 364–377. Mottahedeh, R. 1975 The `Abbāsid Caliphate in Iran. In: R. N. Frye (ed.), The Cambridge History of Iran IV: From the Arab Invasion to the Saljuqs. Cambridge. 57–89. Peacocke, W. 1887 Records of the Intelligence Party, Afghan Boundary Commission. Vol. III. Diary of Captain Peacocke and Reports on Passes North of the Herat Valley. Simla. Pingree, D. and C. J. Brunner 1987 s.v. “Astrology and Astronomy in Iran.” In: Encyclopaedia Iranica Online. Consulted online on 15 June 2021 http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/2330-4804_ EIRO_COM_6030

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Raverty, H. G. 1881 Tabakāt-i-Nāsiri: A General History of the Muhammadan Dynasties of Asia by Maulānā, Minhāj-ud-Dīn. Calcutta. Rawlinson, H. C. 1885 Countries and Tribes bordering the Koh-i-Baba Range. – Discussion, Proceedings of the Royal Geographic Society 7, 577–583. Salvatori, S. 2003 Pots and peoples the Pandoras jar of Central Asia archaeological research. On two recent books on Gonur graveyard excavations (Margiana, Turkmenistan), Rivista di Archeologia 27, 520. Sayf (Sayfi) b. Moḥammad b. Yaʿqub Heravi, ed. Moḥammad Zobayr Ṣeddiqi 1943 Tārik-nāma-ye Herāt. Calcutta. Schützinger, H. 1988 s.v. “Baḡavī, Abu’l-Ḥasan.” In: Encyclopaedia Iranica Online. Consulted 18 June 2021 http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/2330-4804_EIRO_COM_6356 Starr, S. F. 2013 Lost Enlightenment. Central Asia’s Golden Age from the Arab Conquest to Tamerlane. Princeton. Stirling, E. 1991 The Journals of Edward Stirling in Persia and Afghanistan 1828–1829. Edited and with an introduction by Jonathan L. Lee. Naples. Van Ess , J. 1997 s.v. “Ebn Rāvandī, Abu’l-Ḥosayn Aḥmad.” In: Encyclopaedia Iranica Vol. VIII, Fasc. 1, 48–49. Vogelsang, W. 1992 The Rise and Organisation of the Achaemenid Empire. The Eastern Iranian Evidence. Leiden. Wilmshurst, D. 2011 The Martyred Church. A History of the Church of the East. London. Yarshater, E. 1983 Iranian Common Beliefs and World-View. In: E. Yarshater (ed.), The Cambridge History of Iran. Vol. 3 (1). The Seleucid, Parthian and Sasanian Periods. Cambridge. 343–359. Yate, C. E. 1888 Northern Afghanistan, or Letters from the Afghan Boundary Commission. Edinburgh and London. Zend-Avesta. Part I. The Vendidad. 1880 Translated by J. Darmesteter. Oxford.

A throne for Mithridates in Nisa? Ivory furnishings in Central Asia Antonio Invernizzi† Abstract An ivory piece of furniture found in the Square House of Parthian Old Nisa was deemed the leg of the throne of Mithridates I. However, it bears no evidence of any assembly device in a seat, so it probably had a different function. It is proposed here that the object was the support of either a censer or a portable altar, of which the respective brazier or libation bowl were worked separately. An ivory piece with similar ornamentation from Akchakhan-kala in Chorasmia and other items from Nisa are discussed in relation to the general aspects of ivory processing in Central Asia. The fortuitous discovery of a fragment of an Achaemenid terracotta plaque at New Nisa raises the question of the presence of artistic activities in the place already at that age. The excavations of the Square House in Old Nisa, which from a ceremonial building became the treasury of the dynastic complex (Invernizzi 2000), have brought to light a considerable number of figured rhytons and pieces of furniture, all of ivory, piled together on a clay bank in room XI. The rhytons were published by M. E. Masson and G. A. Pugačenkova in 1956 and 1959 (English translation in 1982). A new very detailed stylistic analysis of them by E. Pappalardo appeared in 2010. The furniture pieces – legs of seats, stools, klinai – were published in 1969 by G. A. Pugačenkova with section drawings and some photographs. P. Bernard commented these furniture items in 1970, advancing some interpretative corrections. Recently, N. Manassero and G. Affanni carried out a systematic and exhaustive study of the pieces preserved in the Ashgabat Museum (Manassero 2018).1

† Sadly, Prof. Antonio Invernizzi passed away on 1st December 2021 after submitting his contribution to this volume. We are much indebted to him for making this final effort, and to Dr Paola Piacentini. At the request of Dr Paola Piacentini, the article as published here is exactly as it was submitted by Prof. Invernizzi, with no editorial changes (the editors). 1 The catalogue (17–99) is by N. Manassero and G. Affanni, the paleo-ethnological study (101–124) by G. Affanni, the typological discussion and the general considerations on the corpus by N. Manassero (125–190). I would like to thank Paola Piacentini for her collaboration in biblio- and iconographic research.

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One artefact (Fig. 1) is unique in the group for its rich ornamentation. It was considered by Pugačenkova to be one of the legs of the throne of Mithridates I, who founded the royal citadel with the name of Mithridatkert. For her reconstructive drawing (Fig. 2) she adopted the high-backed Arsacid royal throne, which is well documented on the coins, albeit in very schematic forms.2 Manassero and Affanni have not examined the ivory, which is preserved in the Hermitage Museum3, nevertheless they have included it in their catalogue, with a new photograph by L. Kheifets (Fig. 3a), and a new section drawn by A. Kulish (Fig. 3b) (2018, 90–91), which corrects the inaccuracies of the old one.4

Fig. 1. Nisa, Pugačenkova’s “leg of the throne of Mithridates”. The object is c. 48 cm high and the new section shows that it was not carved from a single block of ivory, but was made with three pieces mounted one on the other.5 The upper piece consists of a smooth cylinder with a flat top and two protruding rings, the middle piece is divided into two further rings, while the lower one is modelled in high relief in the form of two rows of leaves and volutes on Mithridates II introduced this type of throne in coins, where it remained the favourite until Late Parthian times. Previously, the ideal image of the Arsacid king enthroned on the reverse of the coins was a low seat, connected with the omphalos of Seleucid Apollo. But of course the high throne may have already been in use at court during the reign of Mithridates I. Artabanus IV (V), the last Arsacid, sits on the high throne on the stele of the satrap Khwasak of Susa. 3 It has the excavation no. 42 in the general plan of the findings (Masson and Pugačenkova 1956, fig. off page, and 1982, 25 fig, 6; Manassero 2018, 10 fig. 9) and in Pugačenkova’s catalogue, the museum inventory number is SA-15047. 4 The study covers all the pieces subjected to conservative interventions in the Ashgabat Museum in 2005. The catalogue differs in many cases from that of Pugačenkova for the unavailability of some pieces, or for the difficulty of recognizing some originals, or for differences in the evaluation of typology and assembly. The extensive photographic documentation is by E. Ghio, the drawings by N. Manassero for the individual pieces and by G. Affanni for the extraction schemes from the tusks of the blocks to be carved. 5 The three separate pieces are illustrated next to the assembled object in Sarkhosh Curtis 1996, pl. 79:c–d, with the wrong indication of provenance from the excavations by A. A. Maruščenko. 2

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a lion’s paw resting on a bell-shaped element decorated in turn by leaves. Only faint traces of the latter decoration remain. The authors assume that the piece is complete, except for the small foot that distinguishes other legs of the group and that, inserted in the central hollow, would have better ensured the whole assembly and given full stability to the seat.

Fig. 2. Nisa, Pugačenkova’s “throne of Mithridates”.

a b Fig. 3a–b. Nisa, ivory support for censer or altar (photo: Leonard Kheifets; drawing: Alexey Kulish) (cf. colour plate XVI).

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Each number of the new catalogue has section drawings and figures showing the part of the tusk from which each piece was extracted, except the “leg of the throne of Mithridates”. From the section by Kulish it is nevertheless clear that the two lower hollow pieces were obtained from the hollow, central or upper part of the tusk, while the upper piece, partly solid and partly hollow, was extracted in the transition area to the solid tip of the tusk. The authors left the problem of the assembly system of the leg to the rest of the seat open, since they did not examine the item de visu. The problem is raised by the fact that there are no traces of a mortise for the connection to the horizontal elements of the seat, similar to those observed in numerous pieces of the group. Mortises are missing also in other pieces but, being incomplete and carved from a single block, they are considered of unfinished workmanship (2018, 42–47). So, the authors wonder whether the absence of mortise in the upper smooth cylinder of the throne leg may be due to conservative interventions, which may have masked it or, alternatively, whether in this case too we should speak of an incomplete processing stage. The surface of the piece is in part badly preserved, and the restoration has visibly integrated many gaps. The leaves and lion’s paw are considerably damaged, and the surface of the upper cylinder, expectedly the seat of a mortise, is integrated in several points. The definitive answer to the eventual responsibility of the restoration might only be provided by a renewed investigation by the conservators of the Hermitage. However, judging from the new photograph, which is also printed in colour on the cover of the book, the old photos, the 1969 drawings6, and especially the new section, the absence of mortise does not seem to be a consequence of the restoration, and indeed the authors seem inclined to believe the piece unfinished. The modelling however is not rough-hewn, the work as a whole seems finished, and it is conceivable that a mortise must have been opened before assembling the three pieces. So, if no devices were provided for mounting the item into a composite ensemble, it seems reasonable to argue that the article was not a seat leg.7 We can certainly imagine Mithridates sitting on a precious throne, but this ivory piece will hardly have been part of it. In all evidence the object, which is substantially complete, may have been a selfsupporting movable stand whose functional part was worked separately and, to use, placed on it. One possibility is that this relatively low and space-saving stand was the support of a portable perfume burner or altar. Its size seems compatible with a similar function. The laying surface on the ground is stable, but the addition of a slightly wider base, for example a tablet fixed to a tenon inserted into the central hollow in place of the small furniture foot, may have improved the balance of the whole. In the absence of the functional element on the top, it is impossible to determine whether the ceremonial function of the object was the generically secular one of censer, or the specifically religious one of altar for use in sacred rituals, and only formal and general technical aspects can be considered. The Parthian world offers The images in Pugačenkova 1969, 165 fig. 3 and 167 fig. 5, are republished by Bernard 1970, 331 fig. 3–4; Sarkhosh Curtis 1996, 234 fig. 1; Manassero 2018, 150 fig. 43. 7 Košelenko had already advanced a doubt in the caption “Fragment of an ivory furniture (royal throne?)” (1966, 42). 6

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wide evidence for both articles, especially in the western regions of the empire, in originals, including models (Invernizzi 1997a,b,c; 1998), and representations. The shapes are very different, the materials and use varied.

Fig. 4. Persepolis, relief from the Treasury. Support for a perfume burner? There are no known representations of censers at the Arsacid court, but earlier Achaemenid practice makes their use likely. The Persepolis perfume burner is very different in shape and material from the Nisa article, but can provide a generic functional parallel. In the two reliefs of the Treasury, two ringed censers stand on the floor between the enthroned king and the officer facing him (Schmidt 1953, pl. 121–123; Harper 2005, 50 fig. 1) (Fig. 4). A similar pair of articles is interposed between the same characters on the north portals of the Throne Hall (Schmidt 1953, pl. 98–99). The conical lid of the burner was worked separately and secured to the shaft by a chain. Their large or small format seems to fit the respective size of the king and officer8, that of the Nisean ivory is closer to the smaller censer of the second relief. Small censers were also used at the Assyrian court, which lent models to the Achaemenid one in various respects. In the relief of the banquet of Assurbanipal, two small censers are placed on the ground at the sides of the king’s bed. The decoration of their flared support, typologically distinct from that of the rich ivory furniture, suggests that the two objects were made of metal. The Persepolis censers were worked at least in two pieces. An original specimen of this Achaemenid censer is kept in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (von Bothmer 1984, 44 no. 68). Being 28 cm high and weighing 221 grams, it is small in size and easily transportable, like the censer with a slightly more elaborate shape, but of this same Achaemenid type, depicted on a fragment of a black-figure Ionic hydria from Klazomenai of 550–540 BC (Fig. 5).9 The different space available in the two reliefs has possibly conditioned the different proportions of the respective censers. By contrast, the author of the cylinder from the de Clercq collection in the Louvre has given an imposing burner to the censer next to the royal or divine lady (Goldman 1991, 92 fig. 17). 9 J. Neils, s.v. Priamos, LIMC VII (1994), 512, no. 36; Morris 2014, 8f. fig. 1. 8

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Fig. 5. Athens, National Museum, hydria from Klazomenai (from B. Philippaki [Hrsg.], Vases of the National Archaeological Museum of Athens [Athens 1973] 51 Abb. 19) (cf. colour plate XVI). The choice of ivory for items in this function seems inadvisable, but it should not be discarded in principle, since the ivory piece is only a support10, and the fumigation from a small metal brazier bowl placed on top of it or, better, on a small intermediate tablet would hardly have damaged the ivory shaft. Ivory is particularly abundant in Nisa, and the Arsacid king may have allowed himself a precious unicum. Support for an altar? The function of support for a portable altar can also be considered, and perhaps preferred, for the Nisa item, in which case a patera, a plate, a more or less deep bowl, perhaps with a small serving tablet, could have been placed on top for use during religious services. An old photograph without text commentaries but with the caption “Altar from Nisa, found at the entrance of the Square Hall” (Fig. 6), one of the ceremonial buildings of the complex (Košelenko 1966, 23), shows that altars were in use in the citadel, and rituals performed. The two pieces of which the object in the photo consists were later published in two separate images with the caption: “Excavations of the year 1935. SVS. Stone objects” (Fig. 7) (Pilipko 2001, 39 and 42, fig. 29). The text does not mention their function, and reports that in the campaign conducted by A. A. Maruščenko in 1935 “two small soapstone objects were found in room 3 south-east of the compartment with the khums” of the NE Building, (“Severo-Vostočnoe Sooruženie”, also called “Palace”), that is the group of rooms just north of the Square Hall. The original altar was clearly made of three parts, a stepped base, a biconic shaft with a central ring, and the missing altar table, which The use of separate supports is common practice in pre-Hellenistic Mesopotamia. Hollow ceramic cylinders such as those of Assur are believed to be supports for perfume burners (Andrae 1938, fig. 37; Pieńkowska, 2018, 318. 325 fig. 2:i–l), but of course they may have had other uses, such as supports for offering tables. 10

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was also worked separately and fixed by means of the two small pins visible in the photograph. Typologically, it is comparable to the monolithic stone altar from Kuh-e Khwaja, which has a stepped base, an almost biconic shaft and a reversed stepped top table (Herzfeld 1941, 301 fig. 397; Vanden Berghe 1959, pl. 15:c).

Fig. 6. Nisa, stone altar (Košelenko, G. A. Kul’tura Parfii. Moscow 1966).

Fig. 7. Nisa, stone altar (Pilipko, V. N. Staraja Nisa. Osnovnye itogi arkheologičeskogo izučenija v sovetskij period. Moscow, 2001). It cannot be established whether the stone altar from Nisa was used for a fire ritual or a libation. The figured documentation throughout the Parthian world concerns libation rituals largely referable to non-Zoroastrian sacred contexts.11 In the relief of the ‘Parthian Stone’ at Bisutun, an Arsacid king Vologeses performs a libation on a pillar altar (Invernizzi 2020, 73 fig. 45). Altars of different shapes and materials were used together in the same ceremonies. In the sacrifice of Conon and his family painted at Dura Europos, the priests use a movable metal altar, consisting of a deep cup on a flared support, and a pillar altar of a shape more common in stone specimens (Breasted 1924, pl. VIII–XIV). Hatra provides an especially varied and abundant exemplification of originals (Foietta 2019). 11

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A relief from Masjid-i Suleiman (Fig. 8) can give a rough idea of the small bowl that can be assumed to serve for the rite performed with the precious ivory support from Nisa. Perfectly frontal, the officiant has tripartite hairstyle, beard and moustache, long tunic, trousers and cloak, holds a horn of plenty in the left hand, and with the patera in the right pours the contents on a small out-of-scale altar suspended above the ground line (Ghirshman 1976, I, 241; II, pl. LXXIX:2, fig. 32: GMIS 35). The altar is described rather schematically with a wide base, a two-rolls shaft and an upper “table”, on which a shapeless small bowl lies.

Fig. 8. Louvre Museum, relief from Masjid-i Suleiman. Central Asian representations, although much later and destined for fire rituals, are more instructive on portable altars.12 A fixed pillar fire altar is represented on the ossuary from Molla-kurgan (Shenkar 2017, 200 fig. 5). In a wall painting from Penjikent, the small figure of a man kneeling next to the gigantic image of a deity raises an altar or censer with both hands. It is a lightweight portable article, composed of two or three separate sections, all probably of metal: a biconical shaft, a convex protective table and a bowl on top (Fig. 9) (Belenitski and Marshak The general category of supports also includes the two large torches depicted in a painting from Penjikent. Their silhouette with a high flared base, a long ring shaft and a small top tablet on which a fire tongue rises (Silvi Antonini 2003, 155 fig. 72), is comparable to the Achaemenid censers. 12

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Fig. 9. Penjikent, portable altar, mural painting. 1971, 30 fig. 4). The articles depicted at Penjikent, though probably made mostly of metal, serve for different uses in the same ritual context: on the long table of a monumental altar there are three conical supports for bowls only partially destined to the fire (Azarpay 1981, 31 fig. 6; Silvi Antonini 2003, 156 fig. 73). Other paintings from the site illustrate altars with conical shaft, service or protection table, and bowl in function: a small officiant kneeling next to the gods feeds the flame that burns in the bowl by pouring fuel with a spoon (Marshak 1990, 303 fig. 13; Silvi Antonini 2003, 159 fig. 76; Shenkar 2017, 197 fig. 2). In Penjikent I:10, the action takes place in the presence of several people and is particularly rich in detail due to the greater size of the figures (Fig. 10) (Azarpay 1981, 111 fig. 48; Silvi Antonini 2003, 128 fig. 50, cf. fig. 72). The altar is clearly composed of assembled pieces. A small cup with two rings and a flame fed by the officiant’s large spoon is on top of the conical stem, and an ornament in two bands, perhaps fretwork, hangs from the table, which is here slightly convex.13 Easy portability and composition with different pieces made in part separately characterize these altars, and are shared by the ivory stand from Nisa, which may well have supported a precious bowl for libations, perhaps placed on a small tablet. The decorative structure of the ivory support, unique in the complex of the Nisa finds, combines patterns derived from the Achaemenid tradition – the lion’s paw and groups of rings – and from the Hellenistic repertoire – the floral tuft recalling a Corinthian capital. As has been repeatedly noted, this ornamentation, made even The altar of a wall painting at Varakhša has the same shape as the less elaborate Penjikent altar (Šiškin 1963, pl. XIV; Silvi Antonini 2003, 192 fig. 95, pl. XXV:b; Lo Muzio 2009, 63 fig. 19). 13

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Fig. 10. Penjikent, fire altar, mural painting.

Fig. 11. Akchakhan-kala, ivory furniture.

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richer by a winged being, characterizes the extraordinary ivory piece of furniture found at Akchakhan-kala in Chorasmia (Fig. 11) in a sacral context datable from the 1st century BC to the 1st century AD (Betts et al. 2016, 190)14, a date later than the ivory from Nisa, which must go back to the 2nd to 1st century BC. The Chorasmian ivory is chipped in the foot and perhaps incomplete on top, where the inward obliquity may have served as a guide for inserting a completion piece made separately (Kidd 2011, 250). It was found completely blackened by fire and broken in two. The back side is not illustrated, but is said to be essentially flat, and since it is not concave, the rough block from which it was carved was likely extracted from the solid tip of the tusk, like many Nisean furniture legs of a similar size, clearly to be carved in the round. The ornamentation of the two works is very close, and the format is comparable, the incomplete Chorasmian piece being c. 35 cm high (with a diameter of almost 10 cm). But their functions would diverge, if the attribution of the Nisean piece to a throne comes to fall, while the Chorasmian ivory, which has been generically called column (Kidd 2011), cylinder (Betts et al. 2016), has recently been considered the prop or leg/prop of the throne of the local ruling dynasty (Minardi et al. 2017, 210; Minardi 2018; Sinisi et al. 2018; Minardi 2020). Unlike the ivory from Nisa, which had been withdrawn from use, the context of discovery of the Chorasmian ivory (Sinisi et al. 2018, colour pl. I) is believed to correspond to its area of use, as one of the throne legs located at the corners of the royal fire altar of Chorasmia, consisting of throne and altar in the manner inspired by the Sasanian image on the coin of Ardashir I. Prolonged exposure to the fire heat would have caused it to blacken. Of the original furniture the piece should be the only remnant, not removed when the building, upon abandonment, was stripped of all movable furniture items. Since it is reasonable to imagine that the four legs of the throne were made of the same material, pieces of at least four blocks of ivory of exceptional antiquity are expected to have been used in its manufacture, making the case even more exceptional. This is of course not impossible, however, without venturing into the problem of the reconstruction of the Akchakhan-kala sacred context15, the much more simple interpretation of the Chorasmian ivory as a single stand rather than a part of a canopy, throne, or other complex structure might perhaps be preferable. See the photograph and section drawing of the piece in Kidd 2011, 250 fig. 8; Betts et al. 2016, 193 fig. 4; Manassero 2018, 142 fig. 29; the photo in Minardi 2020, 199 fig. 5. 15 The excavation context is surprising and in some respects problematic. The heat of the fire of the altar reddened the whole surroundings, the altar platform, the floor, the walls, so much so that without the “burning doorways” – passages along the ceremonial way equipped with torches that affected the walls (Minardi et al. 2017, 209) – one would think of a destructive conflagration rather than of a revered everlasting flame. One nevertheless wonders how such a great fire was controlled for the safety of the officiants at the altar, and it is above all astonishing that ivory was chosen for furniture destined for such a close and continuous contact with the perennial fire, so much so that apparently the fire reached both the outside and the inside (to which the back side belongs). By contrast, no heat effects are mentioned on the colours of a wall relief in unbaked clay representing a ketos (Minardi 2016a, pl. 3), perhaps because placed at a greater distance from the fire. The excavation of the area is not finished, and it is hoped that its completion will better clarify the overall structure of the altar area and the functioning of the rites. 14

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The Chorasmian artefact is said specifically commissioned for the Chorasmian king (Betts et al. 2016, 195) to a Central Asian atelier, probably Bactrian. Bactria is often indicated as the place of training of the craftsmen of Nisa, and the import from Bactria is even proposed for the entire group of ivory rhytons (Bernard 1970, 342–343 and 1985; Minardi 2016b, 271), although in absence of documentary evidence to consider Hellenistic Bactria a centre of irradiation of ivory works. Nothing comparable to the Nisa rhytons has been found there, and the Begram corpus in Kapisa is much later. Bactria has been the Central Asian region for a long time most intensely investigated, but without lessening its central importance for Hellenistic and Hellenizing art, the progress of discoveries and especially of studies increasingly highlights the remarkable plurality of artistic centres active in Central Asia with their own characteristics even within a common stylistic orientation. Not only, a variety of results can sometimes be observed in the same centre. Central Asia was a manufacturing centre of ivory and bone objects since the Bronze Age. Gonur Depe in Margiana was a place of primary importance (Bakry 2016; Caubet 2016; Frenez 2018). The local carvers were skilled and the variety of artefacts remarkable. The basic technology of ivory and bone workmanship is relatively simple, but the techniques and models were particularly developed, and inlays were even used for wall decorations (Sarianidi, Dubova 2013; Veresockaja 2016; Dubova et al. 2019). In historical times, the desire for dynastic celebration was a very strong incentive to the demand for prestige artefacts and kings may well have been active not only in attracting artists and skilled craftsmen in their residences, but also in setting up workshops, open to artistic exchanges based on cartoons, sometimes transmitted by itinerant artisans. The architectural and artistic achievements known to date show that the kingdom of Chorasmia was one of the main centres of power in Central Asia. The affinity of the decoration of the Chorasmian ivory with the alleged leg of the throne of Mithridates is essentially typological, the two items have an analogous supporting function but are independent recreations of a common iconographic model, and differ for the style of execution, which is more plastic and full of contrasts at Nisa, more compact and linear at Akchakhan-kala. In principle, the on-site carving possibility must not be excluded for the Chorasmian ivory, although only one other ivory object was found at Akchakhan-kala, to date. This is a 7 cm fragment attributed to a rhyton of the same type of those from Nisa, with an original diameter of about 12 cm, and equally considered an import (Minardi 2016b, 268–272, fig. 4–8; Minardi 2018, 104–105).16 The fact that the ivory from the altar area was carved from a very ancient ivory block17, hoarded for a long time as a gift or purchase before being put into use, supports not only a local command but also a local manufacture, despite our lack of knowledge. Alternatively, the fragment may belong to the bell-shaped element of a piece of furniture of the type of the leg of Mithridates’ throne and other furniture of Nisa, in which bellshaped elements are common, and sometimes decorated with floral motifs (Pugačenkova 1969, fig. 1–3 = Manassero 2018, 150 figs 42–43 and 80–81. 82–83). 17 Scientific analyses of the ivory have shown that the piece is much older than the discovery context. The C14 test antedates it to the end of the 2nd millennium BC, but this “should be treated only as an indication of age” (Betts et al. 2016). 16

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If local workmanship is possible and even probable for the Chorasmian item, there is no reason to doubt that the Nisean stand was worked on-site along with the remaining pieces of furniture and the rhytons, by craftsmen skilled in the production of ivory objects, as the half-finished pieces in both groups suggest (Pappalardo 2010; Manassero 2018). These craftsmen mastered the iconographic repertoire and stylistic principles of Hellenistic art but were certainly of Central Asian training, like the artists who modelled the marble and clay statues (Invernizzi 2001; 2009; 2011). Only the material is obviously imported, perhaps from India, though it is not excluded that the larger pieces came from the African elephant (Affanni, in Manassero 2018, 120). Ivory craftsmen were certainly numerous in Nisa. The rhytons were manufactured, within common stylistic directions, by different hands, at work in different times and endowed with different qualities and skills (Pappalardo 2010).18 Other ivory and bone objects are known from the citadel. A circular pyxis or casket lid decorated in relief was found in room 15 of the SW Building (Fig. 12) (Lippolis 2010, 41 fig. 5). Two pairs of four leaves of different kind alternate in a purely ornamental way: large naturalistic acanthus leaves with folded tips comparable to those of the local terracotta assembled capitals (Invernizzi 1995, pl. I) rest on the centre line, while stylized heart-shaped leaves with thick edges and axes point to the centre. This type of leaf has numerous formal variants, and is often referred to as ivy – Dionysus is crowned with ivy garlands especially in archaic art – but this is also the aśvattha or pipal leaf of the architectural Gandharan scrolls, and is equally known to Kushan ornamentation.19 The stylized version of the leaf in the Nisean lid is traditional in Central Asia, and is particularly close to that widely represented in Bronze Age Margiana at Gonur Depe (Dubova et al. 2019, figs 5 and 19). The two traditions, Oriental and Hellenistic, seem to naturally converge in Central Asia, where the most suitable term is perhaps the oriental one.

Fig. 12. Nisa, lid of ivory casket. An interesting Dionysian inlaid scene was uncovered in the JuTAKE excavations at Nisa. Its style of execution differs from that of the rhytons, but only minute fragments of this large mosaic of small bone tesserae survive. Only two images are published, the first is a detail, Dionysus (Fig. 13) (Masson 1953, 155 fig. The later Parthian bone reliefs from Mele Hairam (Kaim 2010), where imported Indian style pieces are also known (Kornacka 2007), were manufactured locally. 19 Lyons and Ingholt 1957, fig. 463; Faccenna 1964, 122. 169. 173. 183, pls CCCLXXXVII, DXCIX, DCXIII, DCLV; Schlumberger et al. 1983, 118f. pl. 60. 18

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Fig. 13. Nisa, Dionysus, bone inlay.

Fig. 14. Nisa, Dionysian scene, bone inlays. 13; Suvorova 2018, 247 fig. 7:6); the second apparently gathers all the remaining plates of the composition (Fig. 14), but was published without comments (Pilipko 2001, 328 fig. 241). In the preliminary report of the 1951 campaign, Masson wrote: “The discovery of an artistic casket is of particular interest. The wooden parts are gone lost, but numerous ivory inlays of various types remain. There are narrow bands for frames and individual decorative features of all kinds: rosettes of all shapes, leaves and

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bunches of grapes, snakes, dog heads, eagle griffins, sileni; the figure of a Parthian Dionysus wrapped in Oriental robes, leaning with his right hand on a thyrsus, perhaps Ariadne, and a third character”. G. A. Pugačenkova believed the bone plates to be the decoration of a casket but, given the somewhat rough workmanship, she did not rule out that had belonged to the decoration of the wooden parts of the parade furniture found in the treasury (Pilipko 2001, 323f.). Unfortunately, the scene and its general decorative apparatus cannot be reconstructed, and not all the subjects mentioned by Masson can be identified in the photograph. However, what remains is of special interest due to the variety of iconographic motifs. Of the human figures only the one on the left, Dionysus holding the thyrsus high, is almost complete. In frontal pose, the god perhaps retains a pale reminder of the resting pose of the legs and of the slight hint of movement of the curly crowned head, but in his tunic and sumptuously draped large cloak he looks on the whole a flat filmy image. The fragments next to him belong to the densely draped tunics of other figures, of which only a slightly bent frontal face remains, likely female. While the robes of Dionysus appear heavy and with an almost baroque treatment, the dense thin pleating of the others, despite the mechanical execution, is in line with the fine, soft and light Hellenistic drapery of a clay statue fragment from the Round Hall (Invernizzi 2001, 144 fig. 6; Bollati 2008, 167–169 pls XXI–XXIV). The disparity in format of the individual subjects is considerable. The human figures of the main scene are smaller than most decorative features, which were supposedly placed in surrounding frames, and which also have different proportions from each other. There were probably several cornices around the central scene or on different sides of the casket. The frontal and flat sileni masks, the grapes without stems, and the rosettes of various shapes may have variously alternated in the same frieze or have been used in separate fields. The vine leaves are comparable to the scroll incised on rhyton no. 8 (Fig. 15) (Pappalardo 2010, 69–79 pls 100–104) and to a painting of Kazakly-yaktan (early denomination of Akchakhan-kala) (Kidd et al. 2004, 85 figs 12–13). The large unusual aculeate leaf does not seem to be strictly connected with the thorny acanthus, and is not clearly referable to the remaining details. The palmette made up of pipe-shaped plates is also particularly conspicuous, and was perhaps placed in a corner position.20 Also large are the daisy of lanceolate leaves21 and the single leaf22 placed in the The palmette recalls that of the architectural slabs of Nisa (Lippolis 2008, 233. 236 figs 272–273) and that on the sandal of the cult statue of the “temple à redans” at Ai Khanum (Grenet 1991, pl. LVIII:2; Silvi Antonini 2003, 53 fig. 2). 21 The motif is known in the Achaemenid inlays from Susa (Amiet 1972, 190 fig. 24). The rosette engraved on the bone handle from kurgan 1 at Gorelyj-I (Trejster 2019, 320f. fig. 3) is made up of similar leaves with tips alternating outwards and inwards. It is perhaps also possible that the leaves were tied in groups of three, as in Pfrommer 1993, 37 fig. 35; 142, no. 17; 184f. nos 69–70; Trejster 2018, 125f. 188 fig. 9:3–4. This motif is common in Parthian architectural decoration, e.g. in Seleucia on the Tigris (Hopkins 1972, 133 figs 44–46). 22 The leaf could have belonged to a rosette of the type of the silver cups (Pfrommer 1993, 118–123 nos 5–7, or 194 no. 75), but also to other subjects, such as the “tuft” of the silver cup in the Toledo Museum of Art (ibid., 34 fig. 30), or that from kurgan 28 at Zhutovo, Astrakhan (Trejster 2018, 122f. 185 fig. 6). 20

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Fig. 15. Nisa, frieze of rhyton no. 8.

Fig. 16. Kardailovo-I, kurgan 14, decoration of a dagger sheath. upper right corner of the photo under an intertwining motif that is particularly suitable for a cornice. At the left corner of the photo, the scroll of curvilinear pipal branches is instead a light and airy motif, comparable to the double scrolls on the Parthian bone plates of the dagger sheath of the 1st–2nd century from kurgan 24 at Kardailovo-I (Fig. 16) (Trejster 2019, 319f. fig. 3). The inlay technique and engraving style of these small flat plates are appropriate to the decorated object, for which a date between the end of the 1st century BC and the early 1st century AD seems convenient, judging from the stylistic diversity from the rhytons and the substantial frontal setting of the figures. Also the compositional contrast between the smaller figures in the central scene and the motifs in the surrounding frames, which is comparable to that of the Begram Indian caskets (Tissot 2006, 159–166), suggests a relatively late date. However, despite the different effect, the sileni masks seem to descend from the large and stocky faces of satyrs engaged in the sacrifice scene of rhyton no. 8 (Fig. 15) (Pappalardo 2010, 69–79, in particular pls 100:2 and 104:1). It is therefore likely that the authors of the casket decoration were formed in the wake of the earlier Central

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Asian Hellenistic tradition, partly working on old cartoons, but shared the new incipient sensibility characterized by frontality. The results of the excavations in the ceremonial complex show the privileged situation of the citadel of Old Nisa-Mithridatkert in the creation of Arsacid court art, those in the northern sector, the ostrakons in particular, its centrality in the economy of Parthia, those in progress in the southern area its implication in important administrative and productive activities, including the manufacture of artistic artefacts.23 Ivory workshops may have been active somewhere in the citadel, which was destined to be a thriving art centre for the Arsacids, but architects and artists were also active in the nearby city of New Nisa.24 Practically nothing is known here before the Parthian period, in particular during the rule of Andragoras, the satrap of Parthia and Hyrcania who rebelled against the Seleucids and declared himself independent. The place of Andragoras’ residence is unknown, and the gold staters and silver tetradrachms with his name, but without the title of king, are deemed the products of an uncertain mint, possibly Hekatompylos.25 However, the recent fortuitous discovery of a fragment of terracotta plate with the representation in relief of an Achaemenid royal guard, of which only the head remains26 (Muradov and Nikonorov 2018) (Fig. 17) raises the question of the existence of an administrative centre at New Nisa already in Achaemenid times. The extraordinary presence here of an artefact made in a pure Achaemenid court style has raised suspicions, but the authors of the publication defend with very good reasons its authenticity, against Lippolis’ doubts and Judith Lerner’s and Viktor Pilipko’s opinion as a modern work or a forgery.

Fig. 17. New Nisa, Achaemenid terracotta plate. Gypsum moulds for the production of a large size horse’s leg in the round and an acanthus leaf were found (Lippolis 2011, figs 3–4. 8). 24 Investigation on the site of New Nisa has been extremely limited, and information mainly concerns the Islamic period. However, the Ionic capitals moulded on terracotta plates of a funerary monument are an original contribution to Early Parthian architectural decoration (Pugačenkova 1958, 60–69 colour pl.; Invernizzi 1995, 5 fig. 1). 25 For the historical sources relating to Andragoras and his coins see especially Olbrycht 2013; 2018; 2020. 26 The fragment was found in 2015 by a local workman, employed in the Italian-Turkmen excavations at Old Nisa, in the moat of the northern ramparts of the city. The workman delivered it to Carlo Lippolis, director of the expedition, who in turn sent it to the Ashgabat Art Museum. 23

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The fragment is only 16 x 18 cm and has a smooth back surface. The kind of object and the type of decoration to which it belonged are hardly definable. If it was part of a wall decoration, this looked very different in size and technique from that of the Susa glazed bricks, and the authors suggest that it might have belonged to a box, a casket, or perhaps even an ossuary. The subject of the representation is also uncertain. The interpretation of the figure as a Persian royal guard cannot be doubted, despite the differences noted in the execution of a few details when compared with the reliefs of Persepolis (hairstyle, beard, tip of the spear, bird’s head of the upper terminal of the bow). Only the intriguing rhomboid grid patterns on the background are apparently without parallel. They are considered not to belong to a royal tent27, but are interpreted as a simple decoration like that which is common in the painted pottery of Bronze Age Parthia-Margiana, and still popular in Achaemenid and Hellenistic Iran. A purely ornamental motif would however be incongruent in the representational context of the royal guard, and the grids should rather portray features functional to the scene represented, difficult however to understand due to the incompleteness of the representation.28 The authors think of a Persepolitan origin of the plate, which may have been mass-produced from a mould for distribution in different regions of the empire, including Parthia. Even if the style is Persepolitan, there is no need to think about an import. Differences in details from the Persepolitan parallels may depend on the different size and material, clay versus stone, but mainly point to different hands and different ateliers, and possibly to the presence of craftsmen in New Nisa, engaged in the execution of works according to cartoons received by the court. The Achaemenid satrap may well have organized local workshops to increase the prestige of his office. A single figured shard is not enough to prove the existence of a regional centre of power here in an age prior to the Seleucid-Parthian period but, if so, Mithridates did not start from a situation of vacuum when he decided to found Mithridatkert and create the Arsacid imperial art precisely next to the city of New Nisa. Bibliography Amiet, P. 1972 Les ivoires achéménides de Suse, Syria 49, 167–191. Andrae, W. 1938 Das wiedererstandene Assur. Leipzig (rep. Munich 1977). Azarpay, G. 1981 Sogdian painting. The pictorial epic in Oriental art. Berkeley/Los Angeles/ London.

C. Lippolis made the comparison with a yurt. The large trap-cage for capturing animals in the hunting scene on the frieze of rhyton 76 (Pappalardo 2010, pls 170–171. 173) has a similar rhomboid structure, but the subject of the Achaemenid scene was very likely different. There is also no apparent connection between the design on the plate and the grid behind which an equestrian battle takes place in a Parthian painting from Old Nisa (Pilipko 2000, 73 fig. 2 and 2001, 276 fig. 195; Invernizzi 2001, 153 fig. 12 and 2011, 201 fig. 15). 27

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Bakry, A. 2016 Prehistoric contacts between Central Asia and India. In: Trudy Margianskoj arkheologičeskoj ekspedicii. 6. Pamjati V.I. Sarianidi. Moscow. 422–435. Belenitski, A. M. and B. I. Marshak. 1971 L’art de Piandjikent à la lumière des dernières fouilles (1958–1968), Arts asiatiques 23, 3–39. Bernard, P. 1970 Sièges et lits en ivoire d’époque hellénistique en Asie Centrale, Syria 47, 327–343. 1985 Les rhytons de Nisa. I. Poétesses grecques, Journal des savants, 25–118. Betts, A., J. Dodson, U. Garbe, F. Bertuch and G. Thorogood. 2016 A carved cylinder from Akchakhan-kala, Uzbekistan. Problems of dating and provenance, Journal of archaeological science, reports 5, 190–196. Bollati, A. 2008 Le sculture in argilla cruda dipinta. In: A. Invernizzi, C. Lippolis (eds), Nisa Partica. Ricerche nel complesso monumentale arsacide 1990–2006. Florence. 167–196. Bothmer, D. von 1984 A Greek and Roman treasury, Bulletin of the Metropolitan Museum of Art 42:1, 1–72. Breasted, J. H. 1924 Oriental forerunners of Byzantine painting. First-century wall paintings from the fortress of Dura on the Middle Euphrates. Chicago. Caubet, A. 2016 Gonur and the ivory road. Trudy Margianskoj arkheologičeskoj ekspedicii. 6. Pamjati V.I. Sarianidi. Moscow. 356–360. Dubova, N. A., Kovaleva, G. E. Veresotskaya and A. M. Yuminov. 2019 Mosaics from the Bronze Age necropolis in Gonur Depe, Turkmenistan. Bursa Uludağ University Journal of mosaic research 12, 17–35. Faccenna, D. 1964 Sculptures from the sacred area of Butkara I, part 3. Rome. Foietta, E. 2019 Movable altars and burners in stone from Hatra, Mesopotamia 54, 197– 218. Frenez, D. 2018 Manufacturing and trade of Asian elephant ivory in Bronze Age Middle Asia. Evidence from Gonur Depe (Margiana, Turkmenistan), Archaeological research in Asia 15, 13–33. Ghirshman, R. 1976 Terrasses sacrées de Bard-è Néchandeh et Masjid-i-Soleiman. Mémoires de la délégation archéologique en Iran 45. Paris. Goldman, B. 1991 Women’s robes, the Achaemenid era, Bulletin of the Asia Institute 5, 83– 103. Grenet, F. 1991 Mithra au temple principal d’Aï Khanoum?. In: P. Bernard, F. Grenet (eds), Histoire et cultes de l’Asie Centrale préislamique. Paris. 147–151.

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Harper, P. O. 2005 From earth to heaven. Speculations on the significance of the form of the Achaemenid censer, Bulletin of the Asia Institute 19, 47–56. Herzfeld, E. 1941 Iran in the ancient East. London/New York. Hopkins, C. 1972 Topography and architecture of Seleucia on the Tigris. Ann Arbor. Invernizzi, A. 1995 Corinthian terracotta assembled capitals in Hellenized Asia. In: A. Invernizzi (ed.), In the land of the gryphons. Florence. 3–12. 1997a Near-eastern incense-burners and pyraeums (I millennium B.C.–I millennium AD). Al-Rāfidān 18, 241–261. 1997b Coppe e bracieri da incenso nell’Oriente classico. In: A. Avanzini (ed.), Profumi d’Arabia. Atti del convegno. Rome. 121–146. 1997c Altari dell’Asia ellenizzata. In: E. Dabrowa (ed.), Donum Amicitiae. Electrum 1. Kraków. 51–67. 1998 Bruciaprofumi dalla Mesopotamia partica. In: Parfums d’Orient. Res orientales 11. Bures-sur-Yvette. 141–150. 2000 The Square House at Old Nisa, Parthica 2, 13–53. 2001 Arsacid dynastic art, Parthica 3, 133–157. 2009 Nisa Partica. Le sculture ellenistiche. Florence. 2011 Parthian art – Arsacid art, Topoi 17, 189–207. 2020 On the Post-Achaemenid rock reliefs at Bisutun, Parthica 22, 35–82. Kaim, B. 2010 Bone reliefs from fire temple at Mele Hairam, South-West Turkmenistan, Iranica Antiqua 45, 321–335. Kidd, F. 2011 Complex connections. Figurative art from Akchakhan-kala and the problematic question of relations between Khorezm and Parthia, Topoi 17, 229–276. Kidd, F., M. Negus Cleary, V. N. Yagodin, A. Betts and E. Baker Brite. 2004 Ancient Chorasmian mural art, Bulletin of the Asia Institute 18, 69–95. Kornacka, M. 2007 Ivory plaque from Mele Hairam, Turkmenistan, Ancient civilizations from Scythia to Siberia 13, 183–191. Košelenko, G. A. 1966 Kul’tura Parfii. Moscow. Lippolis, C. 2008 Lastre decorative. In: A. Invernizzi, C. Lippolis (eds), Nisa Partica. Ricerche nel complesso monumentale arsacide 1990–2006. Florence. 234–236. 2010 Notes on Parthian Nisa on the light of new research. Problemy istorii, filologii, kul’tury v čest’ 75-letija G. A. Košelenko 1 (27), 36–46. 2011 I cavalli di Mithradatkert. Matrici in gesso da Nisa Vecchia. In: C. Lippolis, S. De Martino (eds), Un impaziente desiderio di scorrere il mondo. Studi in onore di A. Invernizzi. Florence. 285–301.

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Working alongside Georgina, 1992–2000 Kathy Judelson At the beginning of the 1990s Peter Ucko announced that he wanted me to meet with Dr Georgina Herrmann to discuss her forthcoming trip to Turkmenistan, where she would be engaged in discussions concerning the Anglo-RussianTurkmen expedition to Ancient Merv, which she hoped to organise alongside Turkmen and Russian colleagues the following year. He knew that I had already been there and that I knew some of the Russians who would be involved, having done translating or interpreting work with them previously. The Russian scholar, without whom it would have been extremely difficult for any westerner to get such a project off the ground in those days, was Professor Vadim Mikhailovich Masson, who had been appointed in 1981 to head the Leningrad branch of the Soviet Union’s Institute of Archaeology (now using its original name again – the Institute for the History of Material Culture). Quite apart from his academic achievements, Professor Masson had been very active in promoting international exchanges and projects as soon as it had become easier for Soviet academics to do so in the late 1980s. The international archaeological conference in Southampton in 1986 had provided him with opportunities for expanding academic links with various West European countries. Not only was Professor Masson realistic and practical when it came to matters of organisation within a Central Asian context, which made life simpler for Georgina from the outset, but, unlike certain of his fellow Russians, he was consistently polite to the representatives of the local population with whom he interacted. Having grown up and spent the early part of his career in first Uzbekistan and then Turkmenistan meant that it was relatively straightforward for Professor Masson to enjoy positive and mutually enriching relationships with Turkmens from many different walks of life. Georgina, for her part, was also always polite and open in her conversations with Turkmens and despite language barriers this was something they were very aware of and always appreciated. The third crucial ‘building block’ which needed to be in place for the Merv project was Georgina’s Turkmen co-director, Murad Kurbansakhatov. He had earlier been selected by Professor Masson to come to Leningrad to further his archaeological studies, as had his future wife, Sonya Lollekova. These two Turkmen archaeologists had enjoyed opportunities to work under Masson’s father, Mikhail Masson, who had set up the Central Asian Department in Samarkand University and used to take Turkmen and Uzbek students to Merv each September for their fieldwork experience. Murad Kurbansakhatov had also participated in other excavations led by Professor Vadim Masson, including those at the sites of Anau and Jeitun.

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That was the ‘easy’ part and then came Georgina’s key task of putting together the non-Soviet part of the team for what came to be known as the “International Merv Project”. This involved selecting candidates for the endless list of specialisms required – topography, archaeobotany, architecture, fortifications, ceramics, stucco, numismatics, urban development, archaeological illustration, soil science, conservation – not to mention digging and recording progress at the various excavation areas. The prospect of this selection from among an ocean of possible recruits – some of whom Georgina already knew, some recommended by former colleagues and some familiar from their publications – would have flummoxed many a lesser mortal! There were no problems over selection of an interpreter, however, as no alternative candidates had been put forward! At last the Great Day came in the autumn of 1992 and our ‘merry band’ set forth in September of that year. The feat of getting from London to Ashkhabad (as it was still known then) was a major undertaking in those days, as there were not yet any direct flights from London to Turkmenistan and an overnight stopover in Moscow was unavoidable. Hospitable Russians put us up in Moscow in flats which were cramped for their ordinary residents let alone for an invasion of excited members of an international team, none of whom – apart from Georgina herself and St. John Simpson – had ever been to Turkmenistan before. After our arrival in the Turkmen capital the following day, a major task involving rapid and precise translation loomed, as around 20 individuals, who spoke no Russian and who were from a whole range of different countries, needed assistance all at once in order to fill out customs forms and have their luggage checked, so that they might enter the country. The task was further complicated by the fact that various members of the group had pieces of sophisticated technical equipment with them, much of which would have been unfamiliar not just to the customs officials but to the group’s interpreter as well! What made this adventure run relatively smoothly in conditions that could sometimes be full of the unexpected was Georgina’s immaculate preparation for this trip. She had striven to ensure that the team members were protected from as many potential setbacks as possible. It was crucial, in Georgina’s eyes, to ensure that the costly enterprise of getting this large group of people all the way to Turkmenistan and back, should not be derailed – even temporarily – by setbacks that were avoidable. Her team was there to excavate, collect data as efficiently as possible and make the best possible use of their time in the Karakum Desert. The visible epitome of this virtue was the ‘pharmacy’ suitcase, containing all manner of tablets, creams, ointments, powders and antiseptic lotions for the protection of Georgina and her team against all manner of an extremely wide range of potential health issues. Not only was she concerned for the welfare of individual team members but also very aware of the need to ensure that each person was in a state to make his or her maximum contribution to the team’s achievement. More or less the only thing Georgina was unable to protect team members against was their own absentmindedness, when they drank water from local taps instead of the boiled or bottled variety – an oversight which always had ‘dire’ consequences ... Georgina focused her attention not only on the health of the team but also on the food provided for them and their “rest-and-recreation” opportunities on Sundays. Vegetarians were difficult to cater for in a world where meat was the

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be-all and end-all for the local population. When asked to take their requirements into consideration, the extremely friendly Turkmen cook, Berdi, stressed that he had already been adapting to their needs by making sure that all the meat served to the vegetarians had had the fat removed in advance. Our day off on Sunday was not just for rest and recreation but it widened and stimulated our knowledge of Turkmenistan, both ancient and modern, through a whole series of ‘excursions’: to the Bronze Age city of Gonur a further 1½ hours deeper into the desert north of Merv, to the Karakum Canal ‘designed’ to irrigate Turkmenistan’s cotton crop by diverting water from the Oxus River (which in turn sadly contributed to the drying out of the Aral Sea) and to the museum of local history and crafts in the town of Mary – the regional capital half an hour south of Merv – to name but three. In preparation for our outings as a duo on official business, Georgina and I always had useful discussions in advance: Georgina would explain to me what she wanted to obtain from the impending meeting and I would, whenever possible, provide background information on the individual official (or group of officials) of the organisation to be visited. Keeping up with the rapid turn-around of regional governors, chairmen, mayors and other local politicians and functionaries was made increasingly difficult as the economy went downhill during the 1990s. The duration of any appointment was determined by the success or failure of the local cotton harvest. On average, a newly appointed regional official could reckon with only two years in post – i.e. surviving one cotton harvest and very occasionally two. This made reference to previous decisions fraught with unforeseen hazards and it was imperative, wherever possible, to focus on the present or immediate future rather than on the past. Georgina’s demeanour was perfect for these occasions, when she needed to negotiate with representatives of an almost exclusively male hierarchy. She stood out from all the local Russian women over fifty in that she did not dye her hair platinum blonde or overdo lipstick, but used a style of dress one might classify as ‘restrained elegance allowing for action’. This contrast worked to Georgina’s advantage as it made her and her negotiating skills stand out from the more familiar patterns in that part of the world and hence more memorable. The other thing Georgina was, and still is, remembered for was not raising her voice or losing her cool, despite being determined – wherever humanly possible – to achieve her aims both short- and long-term, without abandoning her principles. She was very keen for members of the team to be able to see the enormous scale of the city – or rather cities – of Merv from the air, so as to have a clearer feel for the scale of the site. By some miracle Georgina managed to persuade the regional authorities to persuade, in their turn, the locally based Russian military to lend us a helicopter complete with pilot – a Michael Caine look-alike – so that we could overfly the site. This made an indelible impression on her non-archaeologist interpreter and all the specialist team-members alike. Georgina’s approach to challenges was to rise to them – never to back away, if she thought bringing down a new barrier might create new opportunities for academic pursuits or social interaction. Far more difficult than reproducing in Russian the content of Georgina’s statements, enquiries or requests while interpreting for her was getting the tone right.

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Being a much more outwardly emotional person than she was, I needed to make RESTRAINT my watchword and constantly dampen my instinctive delight or indignation called forth by our Turkmen hosts in all kinds of situations and contexts! Settings in which Georgina was able to be much more relaxed were those, in which she saw very real opportunities for interacting with local people and benefiting from their often rich store of knowledge about Merv, its environs and its monuments. One such individual was a local history teacher on the staff of the Archaeological Park and some very happy mornings were spent driving with him and a young Turkmen architect to far-flung, lesser known, monuments in the oasis, so that Georgina might survey and later describe these in her volume Monuments of Merv: Traditional Buildings of the Karakum (1999). The routes to some of these were obscure to put it mildly and probably only known to a handful of individuals. I feel sure that those pleasant visits to buildings ‘off the beaten track’ in the early-morning cool provided some of Georgina’s happiest memories of Merv, its oasis and its inhabitants. They also enabled an interpreter to perform an additional function, one which was more practical than most! I was called upon many times to stand next to rather derelict walls and doorways, when Georgina was photographing them, thus providing an immediate rough indication of their relative heights! Her photographic activity has also meant that I have a rich collection of Merv photographs, which help me to remember the people and places I encountered during that memorable chapter of my life. When it came to the nitty-gritty of interpreting for Georgina, she made life very easy: she spoke clearly and not too fast, her sentences always had a beginning, a middle and an end and she delivered her greetings or arguments in ‘chunks’ of digestible length, so that it was virtually never necessary to ask her to repeat anything. Thank you so much, Georgina, for taking me to Merv, which enabled me to discover a new country, for introducing me to the whole region of Central Asia and to the myriad considerations which need to be thought through when an archaeological expedition is being planned and led. How else might I have ever had the opportunity to enable a British archaeobotanist and a Turkmen welder to construct a “flotation machine” required for capturing and then identifying ancient seeds thousands of miles from my home?! The Merv expedition enabled me to expand my vocabulary in Russian and French extremely rapidly and it led to interesting friendships with archaeologists from Turkmenistan, Russia and Austria and with an expert in earthen architecture from France, which are still intact nearly thirty years on. Languages have proved a route to many rich and interesting experiences for me both in Britain and abroad: archaeology has, however, fired my imagination, but it will have to wait for the next life …

Sasanian perspectives From antiquity to the medieval period Gabriele Puschnigg Abstract In recent years research on topics of Sasanian archaeology has advanced substantially. Over the past decades various new dedicated study programs have been organized across the territories of the Sasanian empire. Excavations by the International Merv Project to this day constitute a major contribution to our understanding of this period. One of the recurrent issues accompanying each field work project is that of Sasanian pottery and whether it shows common characteristics throughout the various associated provinces. Decoration and surface treatment are often regarded as an indicator in this regard. Taking a fresh look at the old evidence, this contribution explores the changing use of decorative features across the ceramic repertoire from Sasanian Merv. A brief comparison with selected data from other regions provides the basis to reconsider the question of a unifying quality of ceramics from Sasanian contexts. Sasanian art is among Georgina Herrmann’s key interests and the exploration of Sasanian occupation levels at Merv with its rich archaeological heritage under her directorship opened up the opportunity to gain a fresh viewpoint from the empire’s fringes. The excavations at Erk- and Gyaur Kala with their abundant ceramic evidence were the source of my engagement with Sasanian archaeology and the cultural developments in this period. Ceramics are often regarded as a separate group of evidence, still mostly valued for their quality as chronological indicators. A closer look at the longterm development, however, demonstrates that pottery reflects many aspects seen in other media or areas of cultural interaction. Roughly two and a half decades ago I first started to work on ceramic assem-blages from the Sasanian domestic areas at Merv. Over this period new excavations and surveys have taken place across the territories under Sasanian rule. The recent gains in knowledge merit a fresh look at how the ceramic design developed throughout this period. At this point we are still struggling to define the characteristics of Sasanian pottery. The question of common traits in the ceramic design resurfaces time and again in expert discussions as well as queries from interested scholars outside this field (Priestman 2013, 529f.; Puschnigg 2006, 163f.).

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Our experience with pottery assemblages from Sasanian levels, however, defies a simple search for analogous vessel types bringing strong regional differences to the fore. One aspect which often features in these discussions but was neglected in my original pottery study is the changing use of decorative elements and techniques in the ceramic repertoires through time. Yet, decoration and superficial appearance are frequently regarded as criteria for the identification of surface pottery as Sasanian. In this contribution, I will explore how decorative patterns emerge and develop in the pottery repertoires at Merv from late Parthian through early Islamic times, and to what extent they may qualify as Sasanian. Objectives and methodology: Variations in the use of decorative techniques and ornament are both chronological and regional and are subject to constant transformation (Puschnigg and Houal 2019, 135–137). Causes and catalysts for changes in ceramic decoration and style are manifold and may include changes in habits, moving crafts persons or fashion to name but a few (Khatchadourian 2018, 231). Most types of decoration on Sasanian pottery are not new; instead potters utilized conventional motifs in varying combinations. The techniques and ornaments I will focus on in my discussion are simple: horizontal raised ribs, incisions and impressions all constitute prominent elements on Sasanian ceramic vessels. Transformations are often subtle in detail, though occasionally, the surface appearance of a whole group of wares changes causing the repertoires of consecutive phases to look different (cf. Puschnigg 2006, 164). Based on the long stratigraphic sequence covered by excavations of the International Merv Project at Gyaur Kala, fortifications (MGK6) and domestic area (MGK5) and Erk Kala, the late Sasanian house (MEK1), we can reconstruct a chronology of pottery decoration for the city but are these patterns suitable as identifying criteria in a wider geographical area? My original assessment of Sasanian pottery chronology at Merv was based on quantitative statistical analyses, and due to this rigorous approach, a number of vessels groups and wares had to be excluded to avoid functional bias (Puschnigg 2006, 59–61). Tracing modifications in the use of ornaments, this short study takes a qualitative viewpoint at the expense of scientific rigour yet leaning on the basic chronological framework of the former analysis. Reconstructing the history of decorating ceramic vessels we have to integrate all forms of evidence at our disposition including material recorded from the international excavations as well as from previous works of the YuTAKE. This requires consideration of all vessel parts and ware groups as well as evidence from contexts previously not included in the pottery analysis. Our overview initially takes a diachronic perspective from the late Parthian to the early Islamic period and will then consider shifts in the use of decoration according to functional categories. Recent work in Iran and Eastern Arabia provides points of departure for a further contextualisation of our evidence within the Sasanian cultural sphere. 1. The chronological perspective Ceramic material from Parthian contexts excavated at the Gyaur Kala fortifications (MGK6) suggests that, aside of colour effects through firing or coating, decoration in this phase was sparsely applied. Single incised horizontal lines,

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grooves or ribs occasionally highlight the neck-shoulder junctions of closed vessels. This impression broadly coincides with evidence from previous excavations with the exception of one pottery type, a medium-sized neckless jar that is depicted in the archaeological reports with bands of incised decoration around the shoulder and upper body (Usmanova 1969, 24 fig. 6; Katsuris and Buryakov 1963, 126 fig. 6: 7). The shape is related to Hellenistic traditions in Central Asia (Puschnigg and Houal 2019, 124f.) and occurs similarly decorated at Bactrian sites, such as Ai Khanoum (Lyonnet 2013, fig. 85). Slightly later in the chronological sequence and probably towards the end of Parthian rule and the beginning of the Sasanian era, decoration is increasingly used on vessel necks, often marking the upper part of the neck, either in the shape of a horizontal rib or horizontal incised lines, roughly at the height of the upper handle attachment (Usmanova 1963, 170 fig. 6: 9; 1969, fig. 15 levels 10–13). Fragments of such vessel forms occurred in contexts of the Gyaur Kala fortifications dated to the early Sasanian period (Fig. 5: 1–3). Frequently, the rib is further embellished with regularly interspersed (nail-) impressions (cf. Fig. 5: 3). Another early trait of Sasanian pottery from Merv is the increased use of burnishing (cf. Puschnigg 2006, 144), which occurred already in early Parthian assemblages (Puschnigg, Daghmehchi, and Nokandeh 2019, 32) but is now more common. Burnished surfaces continue into the middle of the Sasanian era (Puschnigg 2006, 141). Around this stage, pottery assemblages begin to reflect considerable diversification in the decoration and surface treatment of vessels. Apart from ribs, with or without impressions, and horizontal incised lines, straight or wavy in various combinations, combed wavy decoration is noticeable on large open vessel forms around the rim or on the shoulder of thick-walled jars of medium size. Impressions are mainly arranged in horizontal rows and take either elongated or rounded shapes (cf. Figs 1: 1 and 6: 4). One distinctly characteristic feature for closed vessel forms from Merv and Margiana in this period is the fluted or rippled surface appearance. This fluting mostly concerns the upper part of the body, but occasionally extends almost across the entire vessel (Fig. 5: 10. 12; cf. Puschnigg 2022, 55–57 fig. 1: 6). Most likely, the fluting was produced by chattering, though some surfaces appear almost scratched. It is difficult to determine the first use of this technique with any precision. Some of the carinated goblets from early Parthian assemblages of the Gyaur Kala Fortifications show fluted surfaces on their lower bodies below the carination (Herrmann et al. 2001, 24). One of the finer bowl types from the Parthian period displays a narrow band of chattered decoration on the outside (Puschnigg, Daghmehchi and Nokandeh 2019, 33 fig. 9: 7). By the early Sasanian period, this technique of surface treatment had spread to closed vessels, mainly handled jars. Other forms of decoration, such as applied pellets on handles and vessel shoulders as well as thumb-stop knobs appear as a novelty in later Sasanian times but will not be discussed here in detail. 2. What sort of vessel – which kind of decoration? Describing pottery from Sasanian Merv the term ‘plain’ and ‘fancy’ equally applies. Despite the increasing variety in the combination of patterns, their distribution across pottery types indicates a fairly rigid system that gradually shifted over

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time. In this respect, different functional categories of the ceramic repertoire often follow distinct decorative schemes. 2.1. Household vessels Vessels for storage and/or transport: Containers for food storage constitute a large proportion of the ceramic repertoire and come in a range of different shapes and sizes. Most common are neckless jars or amphora-shaped vessels. Wide-mouthed jars are generally regarded as containers for solid food, whereas amphora-shaped vessels most probably served for the short-distance transport and intermediate storage of liquid or, in the case of short necked jars, possibly also dry or loose foodstuffs (cf. Gubaev and Loginov 1996, 56). Cooking pots are another group of vessels for household use, as are large open forms that might have served in the preparation of meals as well as their transport to the table. Small to medium sized neckless jars (8 to 11 cm in rim diameter) with everted rim and a globular body frequently showed a variety of incised or impressed motives on their shoulder consisting of horizontal bands of variously combined straight and wavy lines, as well as rows of impressions (Fig. 1: 1). Specimens with handle attachments (Fig. 1: 2) indicate that this shape belongs to a group of neckless but handled jars. Interestingly, these small jars are only documented from the middle Sasanian house. Slightly larger versions with upright, externally grooved rim (16–24 cm in rim diameter) occurred in the middle- as well as the late Sasanian house. Their vessel shoulder is also frequently incised, though the complete extent of the decoration or its pattern cannot be assessed from the vessel parts preserved in the assemblages (Fig. 1: 3–4), nor do they feature recognisably in the literature. Medium sized, thick-walled storage jars (up to/around 30 cm rim diameter) display incised wavy or combed decoration at least from the middle Sasanian period onwards (Fig. 2). Occasionally, more elaborate patterns cover the upper part of the vessels (Fig. 2: 1. 5). Similar designs are illustrated from YuTAKE excavations in Gyaur Kala (Katsuris and Buryakov 1963, 141 fig. 12: 5). Despite their striking appearance, it is difficult to judge, whether the decoration was a frequent part of this jar type, as evidence available to date is too sparse. Many storage vessel rims are not sufficiently preserved to judge possible decorative patterns. For this reason, their precise chronology equally remains vague. The jar with grooved and impressed rim and incised wavy decoration (Fig. 2: 1) occurred in a middle Sasanian context in structure C, Area 5, Gyaur Kala (Herrmann, Kurbansakhatov, and Simpson 1998, 58 fig. 3: 5). The fragment of a jar rim from a late Sasanian MEK1 context (Fig. 2: 2) shows traces of a similar zigzag motive, indicating that such patterns possibly stayed in use throughout the Sasanian period, though it is difficult to assess the exact date of an individual sherd. Some wavy patterns give the impression that the lines were incised individually rather than combed as they do not run parallel to each other (Fig. 2: 3–4). These fragments occurred in later Sasanian contexts, R331 (Fig. 2: 4) in the uppermost layers of Area 5 in Gyaur Kala and R148 (Fig. 2: 3) in Erk Kala, Area 1. Single jars display a more extensive combination of combed horizontal wavy bands and garlands (Fig. 2: 5). The example from Erk Kala, Area 1 has a counterpart

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Fig. 1. Small and medium sized neckless jars, scale 1:5. 1 & 2 – shape code R046, 3 – shape code R226, 4 – shape code R131 (drawings by K. Morton; courtesy of the Ancient Merv Project, Institute of Archaeology, University College London).

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Fig. 2. Medium sized storage jars, scale 1:8. 1 – shape code R202, 2 – shape code R348, 3 – shape code R148, 4 – shape code R331, 5 – shape code R150, 6 – shape code H14 (drawings by K. Morton; courtesy of the Ancient Merv Project, Institute of Archaeology, University College London).

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in the richly decorated vessel from YuTAKE Trench 6 in Gyaur Kala (Katsuris and Buryakov 1963, 141 fig. 12: 5). All fragments of this type of hole-mouth jar in our record derive from Area 1 in Erk Kala, the late Sasanian house. Consequently, a later date in the sequence appears plausible for these jars. Decoration is only documented for two vessels, though. A third specimen was recorded with handle attachment, demonstrating that some of these medium sized containers were furnished with handles. Examples illustrated from YuTAKE excavations support this observation (Katsuris and Buryakov 1963, 141 fig. 12: 1–4). The fragment of a thick-walled body sherd with incised wavy decoration and handle from Area 5 (Fig. 2: 6) could also belong to such a handled container. Large storage vessels, often over 1 m in height and 50–60 cm in rim diameter, were excavated at Sasanian domestic structures in Gyaur Kala, in YuTAKE Trench 6 as well as IMP Area 5, structure C (Katsuris and Buryakov 1963, 144–145, figs. 11–12; Herrmann, Kurbansakhatov and Simpson 1999, 3f.). These huge vessels were largely plain and lined the walls of storerooms within the middle Sasanian domestic structures. Fragments of a large storage container were also discovered in Erk Kala, Area 1, and could be reassembled to form a complete vessel (Herrmann, Kurbansakhatov, and Simpson 1996, 14 fig. 11: 8; Herrmann, Masson, and Kurbansakhatov 1993, pl. 13b). In contrast to its earlier and slightly taller counterparts, this jar was entirely covered with incised and combed decoration (Fig. 3: 1). Similar ornaments occurred also on vessels from the necropolis near Bayram Ali and in other late Sasanian contexts from Erk Kala (Fig. 3: 2–3). This evidence suggests that, in contrast to the smaller and partly handled jars, these large storage vessels became the subject of surface decoration only in the late Sasanian period and possibly beyond. Jars with perforations around the neck form a consistent part of the repertoire at Merv beginning at least from the early phases of Gyaur Kala (Filanovich 1974, 83 fig. 22: P1-IX) and continued into late Sasanian times (Fig. 4). These vessels were perforated at regular intervals, mostly four in number, below the rim. Jars of this type are documented at other Central Asian sites, as well. The early versions with lid-seated rim have parallels in Ai Khanoum (Lyonnet 2013, fig. 85: 4. 11), while Sasanian counterparts are illustrated for the ceramic assemblage at Akdepe, a site 83 km southeast of Ashgabat near the Iranian border and about 250 km northwest of Merv (Gubaev and Loginov 1996, 50f. pl. 5: 2. 6–11 pl. 6: 4–7). Lyonnet leaves the possible function of the perforations open (Lyonnet 2013, fig. 85) but Gubaev and Loginov suggest that they served the threading of strings to facilitate the vessel’s sealing with a lid and its transport over longer distances (Gubaev and Loginov 1996, 56f.). While the hypothesis to seal vessels for transport with the help of a tied lid appears highly plausible, their moving over long distances beyond the regional boundaries seems less likely, as all specimens appear to be of local manufacturing. Jars with perforations are probably the earliest example of a consistent and continuing scheme of decoration. Already early examples, as illustrated in the literature of the YuTAKE excavations, display horizontal bands of straight and wavy incised lines (Filanovich 1974, 83 fig. 22: PI–IX). The pattern remained unchanged also for perforated jars in the middle Sasanian period, though these vessels have a short neck and a smaller rim diameter (Fig. 4: 4–5) (cf. Puschnigg 2006, 138–139). Jars with four perforations around the neck at this

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Fig. 3. Large storage jars, scale 1:8. 1, 2, 3 – shape code R155 (drawings by K. Morton; courtesy of the Ancient Merv Project, Institute of Archaeology, University College London). time usually have a rippled surface that is additionally decorated with horizontal bands of incised straight and wavy lines (Puschnigg 2006, 139 fig. 6: 9). We cannot determine whether this change of surface treatment relates to the storage or transport of different foodstuff or had a merely decorative character. Examples of late Sasanian date found in YuTAKE excavations at Erk Kala show a grooved rim with perforations but have a plain undecorated body indicating that by this time the long-lasting decorative scheme of this vessel type had ended (Fig. 4: 6) (Puschnigg 2006, pl. 13).

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Fig. 4. Vessels with perforation, scale 1:5. 1 – shape code R240, 2 – shape code R265, 3 – R255, 4 & 5 – shape code R042, 6 – shape code Ref19 (drawings 1–5 by K. Morton, 6 by F. Vardy; courtesy of the Ancient Merv Project, Institute of Archaeology, University College London). Handled- or amphora-shaped jars have a long and continuous history in the vessel repertoire of the city. The well-preserved specimens show two handles, though some versions are too fragmented to securely reconstruct the complete shape. Single-handled jars or wide-mouthed jugs are illustrated for the Hellenistic and early Parthian periods at Merv (Katsuris and Buryakov 1963, 125 fig. 5: 1) and comparable forms occurred in respective contexts of the Gyaur Kala fortifications (Puschnigg, Daghmehchi and Nokandeh 2019, 35 fig. 11: 7). A fresh design with mostly two handles appears in the late Parthian to early Sasanian phase. Fragments of such vessels occur in Gyaur Kala fortification contexts of Phase 5 (Fig. 5: 1–3) assigned to the early Sasanian period (Zavyalov 2007, 326). In the Russian literature, the handled jar is dated to the 1st, but more often the 2nd to 3rd centuries AD (Usmanova 1969, fig. 5; Filanovich 1974, 84 fig. 23). To judge from the evidence so far, this new style might belong to a ceramic repertoire in use from the later Parthian to early Sasanian phase (Usmanova 1963, 170). This jar has a dropping or triangular, often externally grooved, rim and, in many cases, a decorated neck. The decoration primarily consists of a horizontal rib, often with impressions (Fig. 5: 1, 3). The remaining vessel appears to be mostly plain (Usmanova 1969, 23 fig. 5). In subsequent phases the decorated areas on handled jars gradually expanded to cover much of the neck and/or the upper part of the vessel (Fig. 5: 4. 10–11).

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Fig. 5. Handled jars and/or wide-mouthed jugs, scale 1:5, exc. 3, 12, 13. 1 – shape code R269, 2 and 3 – R239, 4 – R028, 5 – shape code R324, 6 – shape code R330, 7 – shape code R123, 8 – shape code R119, 10 – shape code Ref03, 11 and 13 – shape code R031 (drawings by K. Morton; photos by A. Feuerbach; courtesy of the Ancient Merv Project, Institute of Archaeology, University College London). Evidence from the Sasanian domestic structures in conjunction with illustrations from older reports suggest two different pottery types. One is a double-handled jar with loop-handles (Fig. 4: 10). Many specimens have one or two incised lines around the neck, a rib marking the neck-shoulder junction that often shows regularly interspersed (nail-) impressions and a rippled surface on the upper vessel body (Fig. 5: 10. 12) (Puschnigg 2006, figs 6.6–6.7). The other type is, unfortunately, not preserved as completely but is distinguished by a more densely decorated neck, including ribs with impressions and bands of incised horizontal and wavy lines (Fig. 5: 4–6). Some fragments show handle attachments below the rim (Fig. 5: 11). Their stratigraphic distribution suggests that these two types are roughly contemporary. Successive models of the amphora-shaped vessels are still recognisable in late Sasanian and even early Islamic assemblages (cf. Puschnigg 2006, pls 14–15) with little change to their distinct decorative scheme. Versions of the second type with decorated neck are equally traceable through the sequence of assemblages

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Fig. 6. Cooking pots, scale 1:5. 1 – shape code R221, 2 – shape code R059, 3 – shape code R191, 4 – shape code R051 (drawings 1–2 by F. Vardy, 3–4 by K. Morton; courtesy of the Ancient Merv Project, Institute of Archaeology, University College London). in Gyaur Kala, Area 5, as well as Erk Kala, Area 1 (Fig. 5: 8). Combed wavy decoration around the neck appears to be a rather late feature in the repertoire and occurred in assemblages of late Sasanian or in some cases possibly already early Islamic date (Fig. 5: 9). Relevant fragments either derive from contexts of Gyaur Kala, Area 5 or Erk Kala, Area 1. Vessels for food preparation: Cooking pots made of coarse ware fabrics and frequently showing traces of blackening on the outside around the rim and body show increasing diversity during the Sasanian period. Evidence so far suggests that cooking pots changed in fabric, shape and average rim diameter over time (Puschnigg 2016, 456). Early cooking vessels found in contexts of Seleucid to Parthian date were plain. Occasionally, ledge handles are found (Puschnigg 2016, 464 fig. 3) suggesting that at least some of the vessels had these features to help handling them over the fire. At least from early Sasanian times onwards cooking vessels changed fabric, though this development likely set in during the late Parthian period already, and over the following centuries a consistent set of decorative patterns emerged (Fig. 6). Cooking pots were mostly produced as jars with everted rim. Rim shape as well as size vary considerably. Two specimens from the Gyaur Kala fortifications illustrate a comparatively small type of jar, hand-shaped, with a single zigzag or wavy incised line below the slightly everted rim (Fig. 6: 1–2). The zigzag or wavy line, however, is a relatively rare motif on the Sasanian cooking ware vessels. Most specimens are decorated with a single row of impressions around the shoulder (Fig. 6: 3). Individual fragments displayed combinations of impressions and incised horizontal or wavy lines (Fig. 6: 4).

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Fig. 7. Decorated body sherds, scale 1:3 (photographs by A. Feuerbach; courtesy of the Ancient Merv Project, Institute of Archaeology, University College London).

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Fig. 8. Basins, scale 1:5. 1 & 2 – shape code R069, 2 – Shape code R082, 3 – shape code R074 (drawings by K. Morton; courtesy of the Ancient Merv Project, Institute of Archaeology, University College London). Decorative motives are occasionally analogous to fine ware vessels (Fig. 7). Single rows of impressions alone appear to be exclusively used on cooking pots. A group of flat lids mostly from late Sasanian contexts, often incised with combed wavy decoration might be associated with some of the cooking pots, as they show traces of soot or blackening around the rim edge. Our evidence at the moment is, however, too sparse and rim diameters do not exactly match. Richly decorated lids for cooking pots are well documented for early Islamic assemblages in the

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Bukhara oasis (Puschnigg and Bruno, forthcoming), and a similar link might be possible for the late Sasanian repertoire at Merv. Thick-walled basins are a regular part of assemblages at Merv. Decorated specimens on the other hand are rare. In YuTAKE reports, illustrations show an example from Gyaur Kala, Trench 6 (Katsuris and Buryakov 1963, 142 fig. 13: P-14/IX, M-15/IX). Parallels to these basins were revealed in the housing area in Gyaur Kala, Area 5 (Fig. 8: 3). The architectural remains of Area 5 generally date to the middle Sasanian period, though surface material and post-occupational features belong to late Sasanian and early Islamic times (Herrmann, Kurbansakhatov and Simpson 1996, 4–5). Undecorated specimens of the large, thick-walled basin occurred in middle- and late Sasanian contexts in Gyaur Kala, Area 5 Structure C, the Gyaur Kala Fortifications and Erk Kala, Area 1. Katsuris and Buryakov date the basins to the early Sasanian period (Katsuris and Buryakov 1963, 142 fig. 13) but based on the evidence from Area 5, a late Sasanian date appears more likely. A specimen with rounded rim and combed wavy decoration was found in late assemblages of Area 5 Structure C (Fig. 8: 1). Similar examples are documented from other structures of Area 5, as well (Fig. 8: 2). Such decorative patterns on basins might fall into the same date range as the medium sized storage vessels. A popular vessel form in the early to middle Sasanian period is a large bowl (28–31 cm in rim diameter) with everted decorated rim and handle attachments (Fig. 9: 3) (Puschnigg 2006, 127 fig. 6.2). Motifs on these bowls include all elements of incised, impressed and combed decoration. The vessel might have been used at the table or to transport food to the table. Assemblages from the middle Sasanian house in Gyaur Kala Area 5 also brought to light a smaller version, a medium sized bowl shape with incised wavy decoration around the rim (Fig. 9: 1–2) (Puschnigg 2006, 126). These medium sized versions certainly qualify as table ware, though their occurrences are rare and their potential role as serving dishes remains uncertain. To judge from the assemblages of structure C, the bowls are among the earliest evidence for the use of combed wavy decoration at Merv, possibly contemporary with the medium-sized storage jars and basins. 2.2. Table ware Other vessels designated for use at the table are not very abundant in Sasanian assemblages, either. In general, closed forms quantitatively outweigh open forms in Sasanian assemblages at Merv (Puschnigg 2019, 337 fig. 2). In the first centuries of Sasanian rule, jugs and small juglets or mugs often have a burnished surface (Puschnigg 2006, pls 7, 11). Most jugs also display a rib around the neck-shoulder junction, some with additional embellishments (Fig. 9: 6). Jugs of later Sasanian date mostly appear to be plain altogether (Puschnigg 2006, 163). Open forms are rarer. Only two bowl types of early to middle Sasanian time are decorated. These include the above-mentioned handled bowl with its smaller version and the bowl with waisted body profile (Puschnigg 2006, 132 fig. 6: 4), that is distinguished by an ornamental burnished decoration. Both shapes are linked to late Kushan and Kushano-Sasanian assemblages from Bactria (Houal 2020, 56 fig. 33). No decorated open form could be identified with late Sasanian assemblages at Merv.

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1 2

5

3

4

6 0

5

Fig. 9. Table ware, scale 1:5. 1 – shape code R189, 2 – R100, 3 and 4 – R013, 5 & 6 – Ref04 (drawings by K. Morton; courtesy of the Ancient Merv Project, Institute of Archaeology, University College London). 3. Discussion and contextualisation This brief survey demonstrates that different vessel categories were subject to distinct patterns of decoration. While the overall palette of techniques and motifs remains largely unchanged, considerable variation is noticeable regarding the combination of ornaments, their stylistic appearance and which part of the vessel they adorn. Two major changes stand out from the extant repertoire. Table ware vessels are increasingly plain and undecorated, as the burnishing of vessel surfaces as well as its decorative use on open forms gradually vanish in the middle Sasanian period. Large storage jars constitute an exceptional group, as well, as they are only decorated from the last phase of Sasanian rule and probably for a limited time thereafter. For the most part household vessels were the prime medium for decoration. Small to medium sized jars show a great variety of decoration in the middle Sasanian period, but lose their embellishments towards later phases. Double-handled or amphora-shaped jars and wide-mouthed jugs on the other hand develop an increasingly characteristic and long-lasting pattern of decorative features that endures well beyond the end of the Sasanian period (Zaurova 1962, 207f.). A comparison with contemporary ceramic repertoires in the neighbourhood reflects the immediate regional setting of Sasanian Merv. Its close links with Bactrian pottery design in the early Sasanian phase was already mentioned above. Turning west, the use of decoration in the repertoire of Akdepe, a site of Sasanian date in the Kopet Dag foothills near the Iranian border, shows close parallels to that of Merv (Gubaev and Loginov 1996, 48–51 pls 4–6). These concern in particular the incised motifs on the closed vessel forms of phase 5 of Akdepe, that appear to be analogous to some of the specimens from Merv (Gubaev and Loginov 1996, 48 pl. 3: 5–6. 50 pl. 5: 1. 51 pl. 6: 4–5). Another site with similar ceramic features is Khosrow Kala, about 16 km to the southeast of Akdepe (Marushchenko 1956).

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Both site assemblages also contain large, handled bowls in the third phases of their sequences (Marushchenko 1956, 151 pl. 6; Gubaev and Loginov 1996, 48 pl. 3: 16). Marushenko suggests a 3rd and 4th centuries AD date for this phase, while Gubaev and Loginov arrive at a similar though slightly broader chronological range (Marushchenko 1956, 184; Gubaev and Loginov 1996, 39). On the other side of the Iranian border, the site of Bandiyan, where a body sherd with the characteristic rippled surface was found, marks the western boundary of the regional sphere of Sasanian pottery design from Merv (Rahbar 2007, 463 fig. 11; Puschnigg 2022, 55–56). How then does this regional pattern compare to other territories in the Sasanian empire? Any answer depends equally on the angle and rigour of our evaluation as well as the available evidence. In recent years, comprehensive studies of ceramics from the Sasanian period were conducted along the northeast border zone at Gorgan (Priestman 2013; Daghmehchi et al. 2022). Some general trends identified in this research echo observations from the Merv assemblages, such as the discontinuation of burnishing in later Sasanian times as well as an increasing use of incised decoration in this phase (Priestman 2013, 528; Daghmehchi et al. 2022, 78 fig. 15:54). Another parallel emerges in the widespread habit of applying incised patterns to large storage vessels in later Sasanian times. Examples are documented from the Gulf area (Kennet and Krahl 2004, 13–15. 126 fig. 31: LISV; Priestman 2005, 178f.), from Qal’a-ye Dukhtar, Fars (Huff 1978, 145 figs 25–27) and Hajiabad (Azarnoush 1994, figs 174: f. 183: c). Interestingly, many of the cited examples show amongst other ornaments a stylised leafy spray, a popular motive on Hellenistic pottery (Jackson and Tidmarsh 2011, 3: 516 fig. 169) that is also known from Parthian painted wares in Iran (Rahbar et al. 2014, 318 pl. 7). The same motif occasionally also appears on the large, handled bowls at Merv (cf. Fig. 9: 3). In my original study on the Merv ceramics, I remarked that the open vessel types of early to middle Sasanian date, which are so close to Bactrian contexts, might have a common root in Hellenistic pottery shapes (Puschnigg 2006, 145). This connotation does not end in the early phases of Sasanian design, though. Many of the features that occur on late Sasanian vessels are equally known from Hellenistic and Parthian pottery, such as the applied pellets or twisted handles (Haerinck 1983, 86 pl. 4: 13–14), both features that are not documented in Parthian contexts at Merv. The pattern generated by double-twisted handles is even painted on the strap-handles of the famous Merv vase (Pugachenkova and Usmanova 1995, 71 fig. 21). Such elements continue into the Islamic period, as visible on a handle fragment from Darreh Shahr (Lakpour 2010, 528 figs 82. 631 84). These citations from antiquity appear to be a general element of ceramics from the Sasanian period. The above mentioned Merv vase, for instance, has an analogy in a 1st century AD amphora from the Athenian Agora (Rotroff 2006, 88 Form 6), only distinguished from its antique model through thumb-stop knobs, base shape and rippled surface. At the same time, we must be aware that these perceptions reflect much of our own scholarly backgrounds and the forms would most probably be regarded as entirely Sasanian by the contemporary audience. Yet, it is these two contrasting perspectives that make pottery from the Sasanian period so interesting, one historicising and orientated towards the past and one looking forward, as many features and decorative schemes cast their shadows well beyond the end of Sasanian rule.

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Bibliography Azarnoush, M. 1994 The Sasanian Manor House at Hājīābād, Iran. Monografie di Mesopotamia 3. Florence. Daghmehchi, M., S. Priestman, G. Puschnigg, J. Nokandeh, E. E. Intagliata, H. Omrani Rekavandi and E. Sauer 2022 Comparative Studies of the Sasanian Ceramics from Forts on the Great Wall of Gorgan and Fortifications in Its Hinterland’. In: E. Sauer, J. Nokandeh and H. Omrani Rekavandi (eds), Ancient Arms Race: Antiquity’s Largest Fortresses and Sasanian Military Networks of Northern Iran. A Joint Fieldwork Project by the Iranian Cultural Heritage, Handicraft and Tourism Organisation and the Universities of Edinburgh and Durham (2014–2016). British Institute of Persian Studies Archaeological Monograph Series VII. Oxford. 17–118. Filanovich, M. I. 1974 Gyaur Kala, Trudy Yuzhno-Turkmenistanskoi Arkheologicheskoi Kompleksnoi Ekspeditsii 15, 15–139. Gubaev, A. G., and S. D. Loginov 1996 Itogi Izucheniya Sasanidskogo Poseleniya Akdepe, Cultural Values, 36–60. Haerinck, E. 1983 La céramique en Iran pendant la période parthe (ca 250 av. J.C. à ca 225 après J.C.) typologie, chronologie et distribution. Iranica Antiqua Supplément 2. Gent. Herrmann, G., K. Kurbansakhatov and St J. Simpson 1996 The International Merv Project, Preliminary Report on the Fourth Season (1995), Iran 34, 1–22. 1998 The International Merv Project. Preliminary Report on the Sixth Season (1997), Iran 36, 53–75. 1999 The International Merv Project. Preliminary Report on the Seventh Season (1998), Iran 37, 1–24. Herrmann, G., K. Kurbansakhatov, St J. Simpson, P. Dare, V. A. Zavyalov, G. Puschnigg, N. Smirnova et al. 2001 The International Merv Project. Preliminary Report on the Ninth Year (2000), Iran 39, 9–52. Herrmann, G., V. M. Masson and K. Kurbansakhatov 1993 The International Merv Project, Preliminary Report on the First Season (1992), Iran 31, 39–62. Houal, J.-B. 2020 La Céramique Antique et Médiévale de Termez et de Khaitabad (Ouzbékistan): Regards sur l’Asie Centrale du IIIe Siècle Av. J.-C. du XVIIIe Siècle. Histoire et Archéologie. Paris. Huff, D. 1978 Ausgrabungen auf Qal’a-ye Dukhtar bei Firuzabad 1976, Archäologische Mitteilungen aus Iran 11, 117–147. Jackson, H. and J. Tidmarsh 2011 Jebel Khalid on the Euphrates. The Pottery. Vol. 3. Sydney.

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Katsuris, K. and Yu. Buryakov 1963 Izuchenie Remeslennogo Kvartala Antichnogo Merva u Severnykh Vorot Gyaur-Kaly, Trudy Yuzhno-Turkmenistanskoi Arkheologicheskoi Kompleksnoi Ekspeditsii 12, 119–163. Kennet, D. and R. Krahl 2004 Sasanian and Islamic Pottery from Ras Al-Khaimah: Classification, Chronology and Analysis of Trade in the Western Indian Ocean. Oxford. Khatchadourian, L. 2018 Pottery Typology and Craft Learning in the Near Eastern Highlands, Iranica Antiqua 53, 179–265. Lakpour, S. 2010 Dareh Shahr. Ilam. Lyonnet, B. 2013 La Céramique de La Maison Du Quartier Sud-Ouest d’Aï Khanoum’. In: G. Lecuyot et al. (eds), Fouilles d’Aï Khanoum IX, L’Habitat, 34. Mémoires de la Délégation Archéologique Française en Afghanistan. Paris. 179–191. Marushchenko, A. A. 1956 Khosrow-Kala (otchet o raskopkakh 1953 g.), Trudy Instituta Istorii, Arkheologii i Etnografii Akademii Nauk Turkmenskoi SSR 2, 107–159. Priestman, S. 2005 Settlement & Ceramics in Southern Iran: An Analysis of the Sasanian & Islamic Periods in the Williamson Collection. Durham. 2013 Sasanian Ceramics from the Gorgan Wall and Other Sites on the Gorgan Plain. In: E. Sauer, H. Omrani Rekavandi, T. J. Wilkinson and J. Nokandeh (eds), Persia’s Imperial Power in Late Antiquity: The Great Wall of Gorgan and the Frontier Landscapes of Sasanian Iran. British Institute of Persian Studies Archaeological Monograph Series II. Oxford and Oakville. 447– 534. Pugachenkova, G. A. and Z. I. Usmanova 1995 Buddhist Monuments in Merv. In: A. Invernizzi (ed.), In the Land of the Gryphons: Papers on Central Asian Archaeology in Antiquity. Monografie Di Mesopotamia 5. Florence. 51–81. Puschnigg, G. 2006 Ceramics of the Merv Oasis Recycling the City. Publications of the Institute of Archaeology, University College London. Walnut Creek. 2016 Continuity or Innovation in Coarse Wares at Early Hellenistic Merv? In: S. Japp and P. Kögler (eds), Traditions and Innovations. Tracking the Development of Pottery from the Late Classical to the Early Imperial Periods. 1st Conference of the International Association for Research on Pottery of the Hellenistic Period. Vienna. 455–464. 2019 Functional Variation in Pottery Repertoires from the Parthian and Sasanian Periods. In: P. B. Lurje (ed.), Proceedings of the Eighth European Conference of Iranian Studies, vol. 1. St. Petersburg. 330–349. 2022 Before the Great Conformity. Remarks on the Development of the Ceramic Industry in the Territories of Greater Khorasan from Late Sasanian to Early Islamic Times’. In: M. Labbaf-Khaniki (ed.), ḴORᾹSᾹN-NᾹMAK. Festschrift Dedicated to Rajabali Labbaf-Khaniki. Tehran. 53–65.

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Puschnigg, G. and J. Bruno Forthc. The Ceramics. In: R. Rante (ed.), The Oasis of Bukhara: The Material Culture. Leiden. Puschnigg, G., M. Daghmehchi and J. Nokandeh 2019 Correlated Change: Comparing Modifications to Ceramic Assemblages from Gorgan (Iran) and Merv (Turkmenistan) during Seleucid and Parthian Times, Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 381, 21-40. Puschnigg, G. and J.-B. Houal 2019 Regions and Regional Variations in Hellenistic Central Asia: What Pottery Assemblages Can Tell Us, Afghanistan 2 (1), 115–140. Rahbar, M. 2007 A Tower of Silence of the Sasanian Period at Bandiyan: Some Observations about Dakhmas in Zoroastrian Religion. In: J. Cribb and G. Herrmann (eds), After Alexander: Central Asia before Islam. 455–473. Rahbar, M., S. Alibaigi, E. Haerinck and B. Overlaet 2014 In Search of the Laodike Temple at Laodikeia in Media/Nahavand, Iran, Iranica Antiqua 49, 301–330. Rotroff, S. 2006 Hellenistic Pottery: The Plain Wares. American School of Classical Studies. Athens. Usmanova, Z. I. 1963 Raskopki Masterskoj Remeslennika Parfânskogo Vremenâ Na Gorodiŝe Gâur-Kala, Trydu ÛTAKE XII, 95–118. 1969 Novye dannye k arkheologicheskoi stratigrafii Erk-Kaly, Trudy yuzhnoturkmenistanskoi arkheologicheskoi kompleksnoi ekspeditsii 14, 13–55. Zaurova, E. Z. 1962 Keramicheskie Pechi VII–VIII vv. na Gorodishche Gyaur-Kala Starogo Merva, Trudy yuzhno-turkmenistanskoi arkheologicheskoi kompleksnoi ekspeditsii 11, 174–216. Zavyalov, V. A. 2007 The Fortifications of the City of Gyaur Kala, Merv. In: J. Cribb and G. Herrmann (eds), After Alexander: Central Asia before Islam. Oxford. 313–329.

Parthian coins from Merv held in the collection of the Pushkin Museum (Moscow) Nataliya Smirnova1 Abstract In 2011 the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts (Moscow) purchased collection of 721 coins from Mary (Turkmenistan). Among them about 190 Parthian coins were discovered by owner as surface finds in the cities of Old Merv. One group (47 items) were struck by Arsacid rulers in 2nd–1st BC in Margiana who established there and enlarged their posessions and influence to the east of Parthian State. Another group (142 ‘bronze drachms’) was minted in Margiana (mintmark П) belonged to the local Merv rulers from eastern branch of the Iranian Arsacids imitating their coin types and some kings of Indo-Parthian dynasty reigning in the 1st–2nd centuries AD. Scholars noticed many problems with ‘bronze drachms’ of Margiana, their possible identity of rulers and chronology (Sellwood 1980, type 93; Nikitin 1980, 16; Pilipko 1980, 119; Dobbins 1971, 135–138; Olbrycht 2016, 24 etc.). There are some iconographic parallels for Merv ‘bronze drachms’ preliminary classification such as royal portrait, king’s name in legend and tamga on reverse between certain eastern Parthian and Indo-Parthian issues. These give not enough evidence for dynastic connections, but just mark which issues were minted in Margiana at the end of Parthian period. In 2011 the Pushkin Museum acquired a collection of coins belonging to Georgii Volchev (1950–2016), a gas engineer and numismatist from Turkmenistan. The collection consisted of 721 coins dating from between the 3rd century BC to the 19th century AD. They had been discovered by the collector as surface finds in the cities of Old Merv. The collection included about 190 Parthian coins, which had for the most part been struck at the Margiana mint. The city sites of Merv are rich in surface finds. Many of the coins collected within the extensive territory of Old Merv would become part of museum and private collections. One of the finest of these collections in Russia, which numbered nearly three thousand coins, belonged to General Alexander Komarov (1830–1904), who had been put in charge of the Transcaspian Province of the Translation into English by K. Judelson.

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Russian Empire in 1883 and had also been well-known for his interest in antiquities. In 1885 he had carried out amateur excavations at Merv. Curators of the numismatic collections in the Hermitage – Alexei Markov, Vladimir Tizengauzen and Ivan Spasskii – were to write about Komarov’s collection. They published the most interesting coins in it and mentioned that part of his collection had been acquired by the Hermitage. Important contributions to the classification of Parthian coins found at Merv were made by Vadim Masson and Viktor Pilipko (V. Masson 1957, Pilipko 1980). Sergei Loginov and Alexander Nikitin published Parthian and Sasanian coins found during excavations in the city-site of Gyaur-kala at Old Merv and held in the archaeological repositories of the Institute of Archaeology of Turkmenistan (Loginov and Nikitin 1996). Numismatic material consisting of several hundred Parthian coins discovered during excavations and also as surface finds in the 1950s by the South Turkmenistan Multi-disciplinary Archaeological Expedition (YUTAKE) and later, in the 1990s by the multi-disciplinary expedition of the International Merv Project (1991–2000, led by Georgina Herrmann and organised by the London Institute of Archaeology in collaboration with the Turkmen Academy of Sciences and the Institute for the History of Material Culture in St. Petersburg and with the participation of the State Hermitage Museum) now held in Ashkhabad and constituted significant addition to the known data-bases on Arsacid coins (www.parthia.com, http://www.parthika.fr/T1.html, https://www. zeno.ru/showgallery.php?cat=1085 etc.). Parthian coins from the collection of Georgii Volchev make up two groups: 1) 47 drachms and bronze coins minted in the name of rulers from the dynasty of the Iranian Arsacids (mid-2nd century BC to 1st century AD); 2) 142 so-called ‘bronze drachms’ of local Parthian rulers of Merv (1st to 2nd century AD). The numismatic history of Merv started during the Hellenistic period, when Antiochus I (281–261 BC), son and co-ruler of Seleucus I, was appointed to rule over the eastern provinces, founded the city of Antiochia in Margiana and decreed that a wall should be built round the oasis (Strabo, XI, X, 2). At the local mint two emissions of his bronze coins were issued with new types of reverse: one with a goddess standing in front of an anchor and the other with Zeus seated on a throne. After Antiochus I, no coins of other Seleucid rulers are known to have been issued at the local mint in Margiana and a new period in the production of coins there is linked to Graeco-Bactrian rulers (Smirnova 2006, 378–381). In the middle of the 2nd century BC Margiana became a Parthian province, after it had been lost by the Graeco-Bactrian kings. Eucratides I (c. 170–145 BC) was the last Greek king who minted coins at Merv and – according to the written sources – the Bactrians lost two satrapies in the war with the Parthians (Justin, XLI, 6). This occurred during the reign of Mithridates I (171–138/7 BC), founder of the Parthian Empire. There is one bronze coin of Mithridates I (head of a goddess with a tower crown r./ standing goddess l. with a palm?) found by G. Volchev at Merv (Cat.1, 1), but we have no coins of Mithridates I, which might have been considered as having been minted in Merv (Loginov and Nikitin 1996, 40). This coin is similar to coins issued by Mithridates I in Suse (Le Rider 1965, pl. IX 95.14). It is possible that Mithridates minted some issues in Ecbatana with a depiction of the Dioscuri galloping on horseback to celebrate the victory over the Bactrians – i.e. with

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the same reverse as that which had been the main type for coins of Eucratides I (Le Rider 1965, pl. LXVIII, 17–19. 28f.). We might also recall the obols issued by Phraates II (138–127 BC), son of Mithridates, bearing a depiction of Dioscuri’ palms and pilei, like those found on the obols of Eucratides (Sellwood 1971, 15.3; Sellwood 1980, 15.4). Phraates II was the first Parthian king, who minted coins at Merv and included the monogram MAR – Margiana – on certain silver drachms (Cat.1, 2 – Sellwood 1971, 16.1: Ecbatana mint?). This shows that Mithridates I had seized Margiana in his struggle against Eucratides and that Phraates II established himself there, using Margiana as a base for his war against the ‘Scythians’, who were besieging the northern borders of the Parthian Empire between 140 and 130 BC (Justin, 42.1.4–5). The Merv mint became one of the main eastern mints for the Parthians, along with Rhagae and Nisa. The next Parthian ruler, Artabanus I (127– 123 BC) reigned only for a short time but at the very beginning of his reign he issued – precisely in Margiana – coins bearing the title Philellinou in the legend. His son, Mithridates II (123–87 BC) also used that title after Phraates II and Artabanus I, which shows the important role played by the Greek mercenaries, with whom the Parthian rulers were hoping to conclude an alliance against nomads or at least convince them not to support the nomads (Loginov and Nikitin 1996, 40). In the Volchev collection there are no Artabanus I coins, but Mithridates II coins were found by Volchev in the city-site of Gyaur-kala at Merv, where they were well represented (Cat.1, 3–7). Evidence pointing to activity of Parthian rulers in the East is provided by coins of an unnamed king “theopator evergetes” (87–80 BC), apparently predecessor and the co-ruler of Orodes I (80–78 BC), who also used the title Philellinou on coins (Cat.1, 8–11). After an interval, during which coins were not minted in Margiana, a regular issue of coins was established hear under Phraates III (70–57 BC) marked with monogram represented combination of Greek letters M and A. While he acted as co-ruler with his father Sinatruces, his image was depicted on coins wearing a diadem, as seen in his portraits on bronze coins from the Volchev collection (Cat.1, 12–13). The sons of Phraates III – Mithridates III (70–54 BC) and Orodes II (57–37 BC) – were also accorded the status of corulers. Mithridates III drachms minted in Margiana have been recorded, but the ruler’s sojourn there is likely only to have been a short one: soon after the death of Phraates, he was killed by his brother Orodes II. There are no Mithridates III coins in the Volchev collection, unless one of the bronze coins classified as one of those issued by Orodes II had not belonged to Mithridates III, who began to mint bronze coins in Mithridatkert (Cat.1, 24?). Orodes II coins were minted in Merv until the end of his reign with monogram Π – the modification of early Margiana’s monograms (Μ+Α or Μ) (Loginov and Nikitin 1996, 41). They are well represented in the collection (Cat.1, 14–24). The range of coins by the next ruler of Merv – Phraates IV (38–2 BC) – is quite a diverse one and although there are not many of these coins in the Volchev collection, each of the four specimens in it has its individual reverse type (Cat.1, 25–28). Coins of Phraates’ son, Phraataces (2 BC–4 AD) are rare finds in Merv. There is a bronze coin in the collection, which was possibly struck by Phraataces: on its obverse can be seen two silhouettes of Nike bearing a wreath – one on each side of the ruler’s head (Cat.1, 29). After the reign of Phraates IV, drachms minted in oriental mints had a reduced silver content. The Artabanus II (10–38 AD) drachm (650° silver

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samples) from the Volchev collection was minted in Mithridatkert (Cat.1, 30). Bronze Artabanus coins produced at Merv and Ecbatana mints are also represented in the Volchev collection (Cat.1, 31–40). It is possible that certain bronze series of Artabanus II coins served as prototypes for a whole range of late Margiana issues (Cat.2, 19–39). Examples of Vardanes I (38–47/48AD) coins were also struck in Merv (Cat.1, 41) and also served as a model for late issues of Margiana bronze ‘drachms’, as is possibly indicated by the style of the king’s portrait and by the crescent with a star above drawn in dots in front of his face (Cat.1, 42–48). This means that to judge from how the early period of Parthian history in Merv is represented in the Volchev collection, the minting of coins of Arsacid rulers there had been of a sporadic nature and was subject to political necessity resulting from military activity in the region. In the 1st and 2nd centuries AD the minting of coins in Margiana was influenced by the existence of political alliances – Indo-Scythian (c. 75 BC–50 AD) and Indo-Parthian (c. 32–110 AD), which retained to some extent the traditions of Greek coinage (Cribb 2014, 5). Most of the Parthian bronze coins found in Merv belong to emissions of local Parthian rulers or dynasty became independent of Iranian Arsacids (Nikitin 1998, 16). From the middle of the 1st century AD they were minted in keeping with the model provided by Parthian drachms, but they differed from their prototypes in that their depictions and legends were distorted. Among the finds of coins minted in Merv, specimens are often found on which the legends have been executed using an engraved Parthian script. Issues from the Margiana mint, which are typical for the period between the 1st century and the 2nd century AD, are those of local bronze coins, so-called Parthian ‘bronze drachms’ or ‘Margianas’ with the monogram “П” under a bow of seated archer (Cat.2, 1–142). These coins bore royal portraits similar in style to portraits typical for coins of Arsacid rulers of Margiana. Groups of coins which stand out on account of their similarity in type to coins of the rulers of Margiana are emissions of Orodes II (Cat.2, 1–7), Phraates IV (Cat.2, 8–13), Phraataces (Cat.2, 14–18) and Artabanus II (Cat.2, 19–27). Certain groups of ‘bronze drachms’ issued by rulers of Merv bore a tamga, imitating the generic sign of the Indian-Parthian ruler, Gondophares (c. 20–40 AD). This tamga ( ) and its late modification ( ) have been recorded as late bronze emissions from the Merv mint, which stood out on account of their distorted Greek legends or legends written in Parthian script. These are groups of coins similar in type to emissions of such rulers as Artabanus II, Gotharses II and Artabanus III (Cat.2, 28–39); those of Vardanes I (Cat.2, 40–44), Vologases I (Cat.2, 45–82), Vologases III (Cat.2, 83–102) and Mithridates IV (Cat.2, 103–120). These last groups are classified by scholars as coins of the Indo-Parthian rulers Sanabares (I) and Sanabares (II), whose names can sometimes be deciphered on them (Masson 1957, 36–41; Simonetta 1978, 161; Pilipko 1980, 105. 117–119; Boettcher 2016, 2–3). In the collection of G. Volchev there are also two specimens with a seated bowman depicted on the reverse with the Gondophares’ tamga ( ) (Cat.2, 121– 122). It could have been an imitation of Gondophares’ image, since the portraits on these coins are similar to those which that ruler issued (Pilipko1980, VI.6). Further coins, which belong to the last group of ‘Margianas’, are those with way in which the wide, thick beard is drawn and also the luxuriant hair: there also

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exist ‘late’ versions of this depiction – distorted portraits with an ‘ill-kempt’ beard (Cat.2, 123–141). Coins of this altered type of Pacores, on which the ruler’s image is distorted and on some coins the bowman on the reverse is facing left, should also be classified as belonging to late emissions of Margiana’s rulers however there are different identifications of certain late issues (Dobbins 1971, 138–139 fig. 5–6. 10. 12; Pilipko 1980, III.7, IV.2, V.2. 5–6, VI.2 and 4). This preliminary classification is based on some iconographic parallels for Merv ‘bronze drachms’ such as royal portrait, king’s name in legend and tamga on reverse between certain eastern Parthian and Indo-Parthian issues, but this is not still enough as evidences for dynastic connections (Nikitin 1998, 17 n. 11). Late issues just mark the end of the Parthian period in the minting coins at Merv.

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Nataliya Smirnova

Catalogue 1: Arsacid Coins from Merv no. type metal, denomination inv.no. weight size provenance, publication, literature Mithridates I (170–38 BC) 1. Head of a goddess with a tower crown r. / Goddess l. with a palm? Bronze, tetrachalkous 268430 4,77 17 MGK, Le Rider, pl. IX, 95.14. Phraates II (138–127 BC) 2. Diademed bust of king l. / Archer seated r. ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΜΕГΑΛОΥ/ ΑΡΣΑΚОΥ ΘΕΟΠΑΤОΡОYΣ Silver, drachm 268101 3,04 18 MGK 1992; Loginov & Nikitin, no. 2; Sellwood 16.1. Mithridates II (127–88/87 BC) 3. Diademed bust of king l. / Nike r. [ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩN / ΑΡΣΑΚОΥ ΜΕГΑΛОΥ ΕΠΙΦΑΝОΥΣ ΦΙΛΕΛΛΗΝОΣ] Bronze, dichalkous 267994 2,74 18 MGK; Loginov & Nikitin, no. 10; Sellwood 16.26. 4. Diademed bust of king l. / Human figure r. with r. hand raised [ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩN / ΑΡΣΑΚОΥ ΜΕГΑΛОΥ ΕΠΙΦΑΝОΥΣ ΦΙΛΕΛΛΗΝОΣ] Bronze, tetrachalkous 267995 3,08 19 MGK; Loginov & Nikitin, no. 12; Sellwood 16.27. 5. Diademed bust of king l. / Tripod / Legend erased Bronze, dichalkous 268460 2,71 16 MGK; Loginov & Nikitin, no. 8; Sellwood 16.28. 6. Diademed bust of king l. / Caduceus / Legend erased Bronze, chalkous 267993 0,99 11,5 MGK; Loginov & Nikitin, no.11; Sellwood 16.26 obv. 7. Diademed bust of king l. / Nike r. with palm / Legend erased Bronze, chalkous 267997 1,03 12,5 MGK 1989; Loginov & Nikitin,no.13; Sellwood 16.28 obv. Unknown king (87–80 BC) 8. Diademed bust of king l. / Horse r. [ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΜΕΓΑΛΟΥ ΑΡΣΑΚΟΥ ΘΕΟΠΑΤΟΡΟΣ / ΕΥΕΡΓΕΤΟΥ] Bronze, dichalkous 268452 2,80 16 MGK 1992; Loginov & Nikitin, no. 14; Sellwood 30.31. 9. As former 268509 2,82 16,5 Orodes I (80–77 BC) 10. Bust of king l. diademed and wearing tiara / Archer seated r. ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΜΕΓΑΛΟΥ ΑΡΣΑΚΟΥ ΑΥΤΟΚΡΑΤΟΡΟΣ ΦΙΛΟΠΑΤΟΡΟΣ ΦΙΛΕΛΛΗΝΟΣ ΕΠΙΦΑΝΟΥΣ Silver, drachm 267999 3,22 20 MGK; Loginov & Nikitin, no. 15; Sellwood 31.9. 11. As former / image and legend erased Bronze, chalkous 268474 1,28 10,5 MGK

Parthian coins from Merv

Mithridates I

Phraates II

1

2

Mithridates II

3

4

5

6

7 Unknown Ruler

8

9

Orodes I

10

11

469

470

Nataliya Smirnova

Phraates III (70–57 BC) 12. Diademed bust of king l. / image and legend erased Bronze, chalkous 268516 1,43 14 MGK; Sellwood 38 (obv.) losses 13. As former dichalkous 268605 2,11 15 Orodes II (57–38 BC) 14. Diademed bust of king l. / Eagle r. Monogram Π [ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΝ ΑΡΣΑΚΟΥ ΦΙΛΟΠΑΤΟΡΟΣ ΔΙΚΑΙΟΥ ΕΠΙΦΑΝΟΥΣ ΦΙΛΕΛΛΗΝΟΣ] (?) Bronze, chalkous 267992 1,95 14 MGK 1990; Loginov & Nikitin, no. 22; Sellwood 42.3. 15. Diademed bust of king l. / Horse r. Monogram Π / Legend invisible Bronze, chalkous 267988 1,80 12,5 MGK 1989; Loginov & Nikitin, no. 23; Sellwood 45.36. 16. As former but monogram l.: Μ Bronze, dichalkous 268527 2,80 14 MGK; Sellwood 45.36 17. Diademed bust of king l. / Pegasos r. Monogram Π / Legend invisible Bronze, chalkous 267987 1,14 14 MGK 1990; Loginov & Nikitin, no.32; Sellwood 43.13 18. As former Bronze, dichalkous 267989 2,23 15 MGK 1991; Loginov & Nikitin, no.33; Sellwood 43.13. 19. Diademed bust of king l. / image and legend erased / Monogram Π Bronze, chalkous 268529 1,69 12 MGK 20. Diademed bust of king l. / Crescent? / Legend erased / Monogram Π Bronze, dichalkous 267991 1,72 14 MGK 1989; Loginov & Nikitin,no.27; Sellwood 48.32? losses 21. Diademed bust of king l. / Star / Legend erased / Monogram Π Bronze, chalkous 268454 1,19 10,5 MGK 1992; Loginov & Nikitin,no.36; Sellwood 48.30 (?). 22. Diademed bust of king l. / Archer seated r. / Legend? / Monogram Π Bronze, dichalkous 268099 2,77 16 MGK 23. As former? Bronze, chalkous 268386 1,21 12,5 MGK 24. Diademed bust of king l. / image and legend? / Monograms: , Π Bronze, dichalkous 268606 2,23 15 MGK losses

Parthian coins from Merv

Phraates III

12

13

Orodes II

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

471

472

Nataliya Smirnova

Phraates IV (38-2 BC) 25. Diademed bust of king l. / Archer seated r. / Legend erased / Monogram Π Bronze, dichalkous 268455 2,48 14,5 MGK 1992; Loginov & Nikitin, no. 39; Sellwood 52.43 obv. 26. Diademed bust of king l. / Nike r. with wreath / Monogram Π / Legend erased Bronze, chalkous 267928 1,11 12 MGK 1990; Loginov & Nikitin, no. 40; Sellwood 52.44 losses 27. Diademed bust of king l. / star in front, eagle behind / Bow / Monogram Π / Legend erased Bronze, chalkous 267996 1,05 13 MGK 1990; Loginov & Nikitin, no. 44; Sellwood 53 obv. 28. Diademed bust of king l. / in front star above crescent / Image and legend? / Monogram Π Bronze, chalkous 268456 0,88 9,5 MGK 1990; Loginov & Nikitin, no. 45; Sellwood 54 obv. Phraataces (c. 2 BC–AD 4) 29. Diademed bust of king l. / each side of head Nike flying with diademe / Archer r. / Monogram Π/ Legend invisible Bronze, dichalkous 267943 1,64 17 MGK; Sellwood 57.14; losses on the edge Artabanus II (10–38AD) 30. Diademed bust of king l. / in front star above crescent / Archer r. / Monogram r.: , l. Legend? Silver, drachm 267998 1,96 18,5 MGK; Loginov & Nikitin, no. 46; Sellwood 63.13. 31. Diademed bust of king l. / Horseman r. / Ecbatana mint / Legend invisible Bronze, chalkous 268642 0,85 12,5 MGK; Loginov & Nikitin, no.47; Sellwood 63.21. 32. Diademed bust of king l. / in front star above crescent / Archer r. / Monogram Π / Legend invisible Bronze, dichalkous 267929 2,17 16 MGK 33. As former, but Nike behind king’s head(?) 268359 2,67 19 MGK 34. As former Tetrachalkous 267965 3,33 17 MGK 35. As former? Dichalkous 267970 1,82 17 MGK

Parthian coins from Merv

Phraates IV

25

26

27

28

Phraataces (?)

29 Arthabanus II

30

31

32

33

34

35

473

474

Nataliya Smirnova

36. As former 267938 2,69 17 MGK 37. As former Chalkous 268601 0,78 12,5 MGK 38. As former Tetrachalkous 268615 3,27 17,5 MGK 39. As former Dichalkous 267930 2,53 18 MGK 40. As former Tetrachalkous 268619 3,51 18 MGK; Sellwood 62.12. Vardanes I (38–47/48) 41. Diademed bust of king l. / Mail figure with cornucopiae r. / Ecbatana mint / Legend invisible Bronze, chalkous 267990 1,12 11,5 MGK; Loginov & Nikitin, no.48 ; Sellwood 64.40. 42. Diademed bust of king l. / in front star above crescent / Archer r. / Monogram Π / Legend erased https://www.zeno.ru/showgallery.php?cat=2848 nos. #78844-78845 Bronze, ‘drachm’? 267924 2,54 15,5 MGK, 43. As former 267978 2,95 17 MGK 44. As former 268352 3,18 15,5 MGK 45, As former 267967 2,89 17 MGK 46, As former 267973 2,80 15,5 MGK 47. As former 267938 3,52 16,5 MGK

Parthian coins from Merv

36

37

38

39

40 Vardanes I

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

475

476

Nataliya Smirnova

Catalogue 2: Parthian ‘bronze drachms’ dated 1st–2nd AD found at MGK no. attribution, type inv.no. weight size literature Orodes II type (?) 1. Diademed bust of king l. / Archer seated r. / Monogram Π / Legend erased 268361 2,28 17 2. As former 268475 2,84 18 3. As former 268354 2,63 15 4. As former 268351 3,08 15,5 5. As former 268548 2,18 14 6. As former 267948 3,24 15,5 7. As former 268543 3,29 15,5 Phraates IV type (?) 8. Diademed bust of king l. / Eagle behind? / Archer seated r. / Monogram Π / Legend erased 268369 2,11 18 9. As former 267934 2,51 18,5 10. As former / overstruck 267941 2,68 16 11. As former, but with star before head and eagle with wreath behind / Archer seated r. / Monogram Π / Legend erased 268384 2,56 14,5 Sellwood 53.19 (var.) 12. As former? 268362 2,93 17,5 13. As former 268630 3,00 15

Parthian coins from Merv

Orodes II type (?)

1

2

3

4

5

6

7 Phraates IV type (?)

8

9

10

11

12

13

477

478

Nataliya Smirnova

Phraataces type (?) 14. Diademed bust of king l. / Nike each side of head / Archer seated r. / Monogram Π / Legend is erased 267966 2,74 14 Sellwood 57.14 (var.) 15. As former 268379 2,81 16 16. As former 268626 2,81 15,5 17. As former 268620 3,16 14,5 18. As former? 268579 2,17 16,5 ? Artabanus II type (?) 19. Diademed bust of king l. / star above crescent before head? / Archer seated r. / Monogram Π / Legend is erased 268353 2,70 16 20. As former 267951 2,02 14,5 21. As former 267956 2,86 14 22. As former 268358 2,74 15,5 23. As former 268349 2,68 15 Sellwood 93.2 (Sanabar)? 24. Same type, but distorted king’s portrait and archer’s figure 268612 2,55 15 25. As former 268558 2,91 15 losses

Parthian coins from Merv

Phraataces type (?)

14

15

16

17

18 Artabanus II type

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

479

480

Nataliya Smirnova

Issues of the second century AD imitated of Artabanus II, Gotarzes II, Arabanus III types (?) 26. Diademed bust of king l. / Archer seated r. / Monogram Π / Tamga l. ? / Legend? 268624 3,45 16 27. As former 268609 2,74 17 28. As former 268377 2,50 14,5 29. As former 268491 2,25 15 30. As former 267985 2,41 14 31. As former 267944 3,01 15,5 32. As former 267962 2,86 13 33. As former 268373 3,38 16 34. As former 268375 2,88 14 35. As former 268622 5,29 16 36. As former 268372 3,90 17 37. As former 267923 2,07 15 losses 38. As former 267968 1,92 14,5 losses 39. Diademed bust of king l. / Archer seated l. / Monogram Π / Legend? 268493 4,7 19 Pilipko VI,4

Parthian coins from Merv

Issues of the second century AD imitated of Artabanus II, Gotarzes II, Arabanus III types (?)

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

481

482

Nataliya Smirnova

Vardanes I type (?) 40. Diademed bust of king l. star above crescent l.? / Archer seated l. / Monogram Π / Imitation of Greek legend? 267955 2,52 17 Le Rider, pl.XX, 231–234? 41. As former 267974 3,14 15 42. As former 268550 2,45 16 43. As former, but with tamga l.: on rv. 267936 2,92 16 44. As former 268621 2,89 15 45. As former? 268608 2,52 14,5 Sanabar (I) (?) [Vologases I type?] 46. Diademed bust of king l. / crescent before a head?/ Archer seated l. / Monogram Π / Legend: [ΒΑCΙΛΕΥ CΑΝΑΒΑΡΗC] 268350 1,93 16 Sellwood 71.4 (var.) Pilipko III.3–4 Dobbins fig. 4/S, 138–139 47. As former 267981 2,27 17 48. As former 268383 2,18 15 49. As former 268145 2,63 15 50. As former 268508 2,62 17 51. As former 267964 2,42 16 losses 52. As former 268513 3,04 16 53. As former 267927 4,34 16

Parthian coins from Merv

Vardanes I type (?)

40

41

42

43

44

45

Sanabar (I) [Vologases I type?]

46

47

48

49

50

51

52

53

483

484

Nataliya Smirnova

54. As former 268566 2,69 18 55. As former 268517 2,56 17 56. As former 268544 2,21 15 57. As former 268557 3,10 15,5 58. As former 267958 2,68 15 59. As former 268520 3,08 15 60. As former 267946 2,25 14 61. As former 268590 2,40 15,5 62. As former 267932 2,59 14 63. As former 268588 1,80 14,5 64. As former 267983 2,83 15 65. As former 268441 2,84 16,5 66. As former 268357 3,24 15 67. As former 267949 2,21 15,5 68. As former 267952 2,21 15 69. As former 268616 3,23 15,5

half a coin

half a coin

Parthian coins from Merv

54

55

56

57

58

59

60

61

62

63

64

65

66

67

68

69

485

486

Nataliya Smirnova

70. As former 268521 3,39 15,5 71. As former 268376 3,30 16 72. As former 267942 3,54 16 73. As former 267947 3,06 16 74. As former 268360 3,36 15 75. As former 268370 2,81 15 76. As former 268553 2,48 15,5 77. As former 267972 2,28 17 78. As former, but with tamga l. 267959 2,56 15 79. As former 267957 2,44 14,5 80. As former? 267937 3,01 16 81. As former 268440 2,78 15 82. As former 267931 2,78 15 [Vologases III type?] 83. Diademed bust of king l. / Archer seated l. / Monogram Π / Tamga l. / Legend? 268464 2,7 16x19 Sellwood 78 Pilipko V.4 84. As former 267933 2,81 16

Parthian coins from Merv

70

71

72

73

74

75

76

77

78

79

80

81

82 [Vologases III type?]

83

84

487

488

Nataliya Smirnova

85. As former 268564 2,92 15 86. As former 267976 3,34 14 87. As former 268363 2,44 14,5 88. As former 267977 2,80 14 89. As former 267984 3,38 14 90. As former 268367 2,86 15 91. As former 268364 2,74 14 92. As former 268366 2,31 15,5 93. As former 268627 2,25 15 94. As former 267986 3,34 14,5 95. As former 267935 2,69 15,5 96. As former 267971 2,55 15 97. As former 268610 3,67 14,5 98. As former 268534 2,35 15 99. As former 268356 1,65 14 100. As former 268584 2,51 15,5

Parthian coins from Merv

85

86

87

88

89

90

91

92

93

94

95

96

97

98

99

100

489

490

Nataliya Smirnova

101. As former 267960 4,39 19,5 Pilipko VI, 1, overstruck Sanabar (II)? [Mithridates IV type?] 102. Diademed bust of king l. / Archer seated l. / Monogram Π / Tamga l.: ? Legend? 267925 2,53 16,5 Gardner p.113, pl.XXIII, 11 Simonetta pl.III, 1; Pilipko III,3 103. As former 268382 2,41 16 104. As former 267979 2,51 15 105. As former 268385 2,69 14,5 106. As former 268586 3,61 15 107. As former 268374 3,37 15 108. As former 267969 2,92 15 109. As former 268378 1,72 14 110. As former 268560 3,19 15 losses 111. As former 268446 2,72 15 112. As former 268614 3,02 16 113. As former 268368 3,25 14 114. As former 268592 4,04 16 Pilipko V.5? 115. As former 268502 3,33 17

Parthian coins from Merv

101 Sanabar (II)? [Mithridates IV type?]

102

103

104

105

106

107

108

109

110

111

112

113

114

115

491

492

Nataliya Smirnova

116. As former 268623 3,73 17 117. As former 268380 3,19 15 118. As former 268381 3,10 15,5 119. As former 267961 3,01 15,5 losses Imitations of Gondophares? 120. Diademed bust of king full face, head l., / Archer seated l. / Tamga r.: / Legend is erased 268443 4,06 16 Gardner p.113, pl.XXIII, 9 (Ortagn) Pilipko VI.4 121. Bust of king wearing tiara l. / Archer seated r. / Tamga and legend are erased 267945 2,78 17 Gardner, pl.XXIII, 10? Imitations of Gondopharids? (Pacores type?) 122. Diademed bust of king l. / Archer seated l. / Monogram Π / Tamga and legend are erased (?) 268583 4,01 16 Gardner p.113, pl.XXIII, 8; Pilipko IV.2–V.2 123. As former 268519 3,05 15,5 124. As former, but monograms l. and below Π 267940 2,73 15,5 125.As former (?) 268355 2,27 15,5 126. As former (?) 268442 3,26 15,5 127. As former 268447 2,61 15,5 128. As former 267953 2,87 17 129. As former (?) 267975 2,44 15

Parthian coins from Merv

116

117

118

119

Imitations of Gondophares?

120

121

Imitations of Gondopharids? (Pacorres type?)

122

123

124

125

126

127

128

129

493

494

Nataliya Smirnova

130. As former 268371 2,97 16 131. As former (?) 267963 2,76 15,5 132. Diademed bust of king l. / Nike with wreath l. / Archer seated r. / Monogram Π / Tamga l.: / Legend erased 268444 2,81 16 Sellwood, type 93, 8–12? 133. As former, but monograms and below Π 267939 2,65 16 134. As former 268495 2,56 17 135. As former 268600 3,24 16,5 136. As former 267926 3,03 17 137. As former (?) 268365 2,37 18 fragment lost 138. As former 268572 3,17 17,5 139. As former 268000 3,09 16 140. As former 268445 2,71 15 141. Distorted portrait of king l. /Archer seated r. / Tamga l.: ? / Legend is erased 268497 2,42 15 142. As former (?) 267980 3,51 14

Parthian coins from Merv

130

131

132

133

134

135

136

137

138

139

140

141

142

495

496

Nataliya Smirnova

Bibliography Boettcher, Z. 2016 A chronology of overstrikes and debasement, Indo-Parthian Numismatics 2016, 1–22. Cribb, J. (with D. Jongeward and P. Donovan) 2014 Kushan, Kushano-Sasanian and Kidarit Coins. A Catalogue of coins from the American Numismatic Society. New York. Gardner, P. 1886 The Greek and Scythic kings of Bactria and India. London. Dobbins, K. W. 1971 Sanabares and Gondophares Dynasties, Numismatic Chronicle 7/11, 135– 142. Loginov, S. D. and A. B. Nikitin 1996 Parthian Coins from Margiana: Numismatics and History, Bulletin of the Asia Institute, New Series Vol. 10, 39–51. Masson, V. M. 1957 Vostochno-Parfianskii pravitel’ Sanabar (Eastern-Parthian ruler Sanabar). In: D. B. Šelov (ed.), Numizmaticheskii sbornik II, trudy GIM XXVI. Moscow. 34–43. Nikitin, A. B. 1996 Early Parthian Coins from Margiana. In: V. Sharkosh Curtis, R. Hillenbrand and M. Rogers (eds.), The art and archaeology of ancient Persia: new light on the Parthian and Sasanian empires. London. 14–19. Olbrycht, M. J. 2016 Dynastic connections in the Arsacid Empire and the origins of the House of Sāsān. In: V. Sharkosh Curtis (ed.), The Parthian and early Sasanian Empires: adaptation and expansion. Proceedings of a conference held in Vienna, 14–16 June 2012. Archaeological Monographs 5. Oxford. 23–35. Pilipko, V. N. 1980 Parfianskie bronzovye monety so znakom П pod lukom (Parthian bronze coins bearing the sign П under the bow), Vestnik Drevney Istorii 1980.4, 105–124. Le Rider, G. 1965 Suse sous les Séleucides et les Parthes: les trouvailles monétaires et l’histoire de la ville. Paris. Sellwood, D. 1971 An introduction to the Coinage of Parthia. London. 1980 Parthian Coin Types: online resource: https://www.parthia.com/parthia_ sellwood.htm. Simonetta, A. M. (with comments by F. Widemann) 1978 The Chronology of the Gondapharean Dynasty, East and West 28, 157– 187. Smirnova, N. 2007 Some questions regarding the numismatics of pre-Islamic Merv. In: J. Cribb (ed.), After Alexander. Central Asia before Islam. Proceedings of the British Academy 133. Oxford. 377–388.

Parthian coins from Merv

References for the Catalogues Dobbins: Dobbins 1971 Gardner: Gardner 1886 Loginov-Nikitin: Loginov and Nikitin 1996 MGK: Merv, Gyaur Kala city-site Pilipko: Pilipko 1980 Le Rider: Le Rider 1965 Sellwood: Sellwood 1980 https://www.zeno.ru/showgallery.php?cat=2848

497

Money on the Silk Road – twenty years on Helen Wang In the early 1990s, there was an evaluation of the relationship between the Institute of Archaeology, UCL, and the Dept of Coins and Medals at the British Museum, which indicated that UCL gained substantially more from shared activities, such as teaching and handling sessions, and that the imbalance might be rectified by providing PhD supervision to a member of staff in the department. As one of the youngest members of staff, I was the lucky recipient. At my interview for the job at the museum, I had been asked what I planned to do if I wasn’t offered the position. I said I was thinking of doing a PhD on textiles collected by Aurel Stein (a vague notion at the time), and as the job itself was just short of full-time, it was suggested that I do an additional few hours a week on the Stein collection of coins that was housed in the department. That project became the basis of my PhD, supervised by Georgina Herrmann and Richard Reece at the Institute of Archaeology. I had been to the Institute before – as a teenage prospective undergraduate, and I took Ian Glover’s course on Prehistoric Archaeology of South and South East Asia as an undergraduate at SOAS (I had wanted to do Chinese archaeology, and that was the nearest thing at the same). As a PhD student, I didn’t put in much of an appearance at the Institute (“Does she even exist?” asked the director, Peter Ucko). The collection, books and my closest colleagues in the field – Joe Cribb, Elizabeth Errington and Vesta Curtis – were at the museum, or at SOAS, or at home. At some point, tutorials moved in time and space from Georgina’s enormous sunny office opposite the lift or Richard’s more monochrome cubbyhole down the corridor to lunch at a nearby restaurant with neon lights. A friendly “We need something written from you” would inevitably be slipped into the conversation. Almost ten years, and two children, later, the PhD was finally completed, and published two years after that. Georgina’s no-nonsense advice at the outset had worked: “Think of it as the book you’re going to publish, and keep the contents page clear in your mind.” Exactly twenty years after graduating from my formal relationship with Georgina and Richard, I am still in the Department of Coins and Medals, and I still enjoy lunch with Georgina when we randomly spot each other in the BM canteen. I admire her tremendously, and it is an honour to be invited to contribute to this Festschrift on the occasion of her, frankly, unbelievable birthday. As I can contribute nothing of interest in her field, the editors kindly agreed that I might write about mine. The title of my thesis, and book, was Money on the Silk Road. The Evidence from Eastern Central Asia to c. AD 800 (Wang 2004). In a nutshell, it brought together the numismatic and contemporary documentary evidence from sites in

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Helen Wang

Xinjiang, Gansu and Inner Mongolia, collected and published by Stein and other foreigners in the early twentieth century, and since then by Chinese archaeological teams. It showed that coins were not the only form of money on the Silk Road, and that other things, especially textiles, needed to be considered. A summary article can be found in the proceedings of the conference After Alexander. Central Asia before Islam, organised and edited by Georgina and Joe (Wang 2007). I started with the coins. They conveniently fell into three main groups: Chinese tradition, Western tradition and local initiatives combining both. But what could I do with this collection that hadn’t been done before? Joe had been there before me (especially on the Sino-Kharoshthi coins), François Thierry, at the Bibliothèque nationale in Paris, was generously sharing his new work (on Byzantine and Sasanian coins found in China, and local issues of Chinese coins found in Central Asia), and Sascha Neymark was working on the Chinese-style coins of Sogd. The solution was to bring everything I could find together, produce an up-to-date survey, and explore the use of money in contemporary documents. Fortunately, there were important new publications on secular documents, and as I went through the Chinese, Kharoshthi, Khotanese, Tocharian, and Tibetan catalogues, relying on expert transliterations and translations of the often scrappy remains of everyday life, the project moved into a more confident stage, and on to completion. Just as Georgina and Richard had let me get on with it, so did my colleagues at the museum. In retrospect, I didn’t talk about it much, mainly because I needed to find my own way, but also because we were doing other things. At the time, the Department of Coins and Medals was a very dynamic centre of Silk Road research. Under Joe’s leadership, Liz, Vesta, Robert Bracey and I were all encouraged to pursue what we thought was important. It was a very supportive and productive environment (Wang et al. in press). In the early 1990s, after the massive geo-political changes, the world of Eurasia opened up, and “The Silk Road(s)” became a golden term, promising hope and opportunity, its simplicity masking the more complicated history and reality of the world beyond the Iron and Bamboo Curtains. At the museum, we received enquiries about Aurel Stein and his collections: was he a good archaeologist? – a valid question as his name did not appear in standard dictionaries of archaeology, and Chinese references to Stein were consistent in their use of the verb “plunder”. And where were his collections? When we realised that the same enquiries were going to several people in different institutions, we formed the Stein Curators’ Group – a small group of curators, librarians and archivists who were responsible for collections that included material from Aurel Stein and his expeditions. We met once a year, and in 1999 produced the Handbook to the Stein Collections in the UK (Wang 1999). For that volume I compiled a bibliography of Stein’s work, and a list of over 100 articles by or about him that had been published in The Times newspaper. I was curious to know if those articles would answer the question of whether Stein was a good archaeologist. He typically travelled in small groups, and the only person who published their own account of working with him was the Iranian Bahman Karimi. Perhaps The Times might have the answer – what did his contemporaries think of him? Slightly against the judgement of Andrew Burnett, then head of department, who sensibly questioned whether it would be worth the effort, I set about the

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laborious task of winding through The Times microfilm at the Guildhall Library, copying shorter entries in pencil, and putting coins in the slot to get print-outs of longer articles, then typing them up, annotating the entries, and eventually publishing Sir Aurel Stein in The Times (2002). It was a slow project that fitted in around other things. But it proved that Sir Aurel Stein was indeed a very highly respected archaeologist amongst his contemporaries, and earned the highest honours and medals in the field. An unexpected, and pleasing, result of that book was Peter Ucko’s discovery of the Petrie medal for archaeology, which he then researched and sought to revive (Ucko and Quirke 2006). Over the years, I’ve worked on a number of projects relating to Sir Aurel Stein, his collections and colleagues, and one project has often led to another. The Stein Handbook led to an invitation from Éva Apor, Head of the Oriental Section of the Library of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences to co-direct a UKHungarian project to catalogue the Stein Collections there. With solid teamwork from John Falconer, Ágnes Kárteszi, Ágnes Kelecsényi, and Lilla Russell-Smith, we produced the Catalogue of the Collections of Sir Aurel Stein in the Library of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences in 2002, and its Supplement (Apor and Wang 2002; 2007). The Catalogue and Sir Aurel Stein in the Times were both launched at a British Museum study day on Aurel Stein in March 2002, which included a paper by Vesta Curtis and Nasser Pazooki on Bahman Karimi’s experiences with Stein, and another by Seth Priestman, comparing the work of Aurel Stein and Andrew Williamson in Iran in the 1930s and 1960s, respectively. The proceedings were published in 2004, and included my catalogue of the Sir Aurel Stein Papers in the British Museum Central Archives (Wang 2004c). Not long after the publication of Money on the Silk Road I received, out of the blue, the kindest message from Valerie Hansen, Professor of History at Yale, whose book Negotiating Daily Life in Traditional China: How Ordinary People Used Contracts, 600–1400 (Hansen 1995) had been an inspiration to me. In 2006, we met for the first time at the Silk Roads Coins and Culture conference at the Shanghai Museum, where I asked her and Rong Xinjiang, Professor of History at Peking University, if they might be interested in working together on a project looking at textiles as money on the Silk Road. For me, it was an obvious followon project, but having spent so long on the thesis, and knowing that textile history is an entirely different specialist field, I was reluctant to head that way alone. At around the same time, Zhao Feng, Director of the China National Silk Museum and Professor at Donghua University in Shanghai, proposed a project on the Stein textiles in the British Museum, British Library, and V&A collections. My colleague, Carol Michaelson, suggested I take it on. The team comprised Zhao Feng, and his colleagues Wang Le and Xu Zheng on the Chinese side, and myself, Frances Wood (British Library), and Helen Persson (V&A) on the UK side. This was part of a major project to catalogue the silk textiles from the Buddhist caves at Mogaoku, Dunhuang, in collections around the world. Textiles from Dunhuang in UK Collections was published simultaneously in Chinese and English editions in 2007, and I remained the English editor for the subsequent volumes: French collections (2011), Russian collections (2014), the Dunhuang Academy (2021) and the Lushun Museum (2021). The UK volume was launched at the three-day “100 years of Dunhuang” conference that Frances and I organised in 2007, with

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support from the British Academy, to mark the centenary of Stein’s first visit to Dunhuang in 1907. The conference was too diverse for a cohesive volume of proceedings, although some papers were subsequently published in Sir Aurel Stein. Colleagues and Collections (Wang 2012). As Valerie, Rong Xinjiang, Zhao Feng and Wang Le were all planning to attend the “100 Years of Dunhuang” conference in 2007, and their international flights and London expenses were more or less taken care of, I applied for a small workshop grant from the Pasold Foundation, to discuss a potential Textiles as Money on the Silk Road project immediately after the conference. We agreed to work together, with Valerie and I directing, identified the topics we would each pursue, and met again to discuss our draft papers at Yale in 2009, and in Shanghai in 2010, thanks to funding from the Council on East Asian Studies and Donghua University, respectively. Angela Sheng, Xu Chang, Arakawa Masahiro, Wang Binghua, Duan Qing and Eric Trombert joined the project, and our discussions wove in and out of English, Chinese, Japanese and French, with expertise and jetlag steering the way, as we switched language or interpreted almost without realising. In 2013, after translation and editing, we published our papers in a themed issue of the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, essentially tracing the use of textiles from local tax payments to consciously modest Buddhist burials (Hansen and Wang 2013). Since then, I have continued to work on money, textiles and the Silk Road, although on smaller projects. Most recently, these have resulted in papers such as “The Fabric of Banknotes: textiles in and on paper money” looking at textiles as material, security feature and design (the metallic strips as in current banknotes originate from the silk threads embedded in American banknotes as a security feature) – and “Textiles and Money, the Silk Road on Banknotes” at the 5th Symposium of the International Association for the Study of Silk Road Textiles (IASSRT), in November 2021, in which I looked at the design of banknotes issued by the Central Asian republics since the 1990s, including the 2021 Great Silk Road series of Uzbekistan, and followed changes in the designs of the national emblems, including that of Turkmenistan, which has long featured cotton flowers, and in 1992 was redesigned to feature five carpet gul (medallions). Which brings me back to Georgina, her work at Merv in Turkmenistan, and her sunny office opposite the lift, with her big orange and grey rug, and perhaps our favourite shared memory, when I hurried out of the lift, put the baby on the rug, dashed to the bathroom, and came back to find Georgina with a wonderful smile on her face. He was fast asleep. Bibliography Apor, É. and H. Wang (eds) 2002 Catalogue of the Collections of Sir Aurel Stein in the Library of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences – compiled by John Falconer, Ágnes Kárteszi, Ágnes Kelecsényi, and Lilla Russell-Smith. Budapest. 2007 Supplement to the Catalogue of the Collections of Sir Aurel Stein in the Library of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences – compiled by John

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Falconer, Ágnes Kárteszi, Ágnes Kelecsényi, and Lilla Russell-Smith. Budapest. Cribb, J. and G. Herrmann (eds) 2007 After Alexander. Central Asia before Islam. Proceedings of the British Academy 133. London. Curtis, V. S. and N. Pazooki 2004 Aurel Stein and Bahman Karimi on old routes of western Iran. In: H. Wang (ed.), 2004a, 23–28. Hansen, V. 1995 Negotiating Daily Life in Traditional China: How Ordinary People Used Contracts, 600–1400. New Haven. Hansen, V. and H. Wang (eds) 2013 Textiles as Money on the Silk Road, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 23/2 (special volume) July. Priestman, S. M. N. 2004 Leave No Stone Unturned: Stein and Williamson’s Surveys Compared. In H. Wang (ed.) 2004a, 29–36. Ucko, P. J. and S. Quirke 2006 The Petrie Medal, Public Archaeology, 5:1, 15–25. Wang, H. (ed.) 1999 Handbook to the Stein Collections in the UK. British Museum Research Publication 129 (expanded and updated, with John Perkins, in 2008). London. 2004a Sir Aurel Stein. Proceedings of the British Museum Study Day, 23 March 2002. British Museum Occasional Paper 142. London. 2012 Sir Aurel Stein, Colleagues and Collections. British Museum Research Publication 184. London. Wang, H. 2004a Money on the Silk Road. The Evidence from Eastern Central Asia to c. AD 800. London. 2004b Sir Aurel Stein in The Times. London. 2004c Catalogue of the Sir Aurel Stein Papers in the British Museum Central Archives. In: H. Wang (ed.) 2004a, 37–62. 2007 Money in Eastern Central Asia before AD 800. In: J. Cribb and G. Herrmann (eds), After Alexander. Central Asia before Islam. Proceedings of the British Academy 133. London. 399–409. (in press) The fabric of banknotes – textiles in and on paper money. In: M. Shabahang, F. Zhao and M. L. Nosch (eds), Textiles and Dress of the Thematic Collection and the Interactive Atlas of Cultural Interactions along the Silk Roads (UNESCO and China National Silk Museum). Wang, H., J. Cribb, E. Errington, V. S. Curtis and R. Bracey (in press) Money on the Silk Road – research at the British Museum. In: X. Rong (ed.), Sichou zhi lu shang de Zhonghua wenming / Proceedings of the Chinese Civilizations on the Silk Road Workshop held at Peking University, 9–10 Nov 2019. Shanghai.

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Zhao, F. (ed.-in-chief) 2007 Textiles from Dunhuang in UK Collections. Shanghai. 2011 Textiles from Dunhuang in French Collections. Shanghai. 2014 Textiles from Dunhuang in Russian Collections. Shanghai. 2021a Textiles from Dunhuang in the Dunhuang Academy. Shanghai. 2021b Textiles from Dunhuang in the Lushun Museum. Shanghai.

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Georgina Herrmann at Merv (courtesy by Rolex).

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Caubet Fig. 9. Fragment of painted pottery jar, Ugarit, RS 90.5312+5367 (from Galliano 2004, 234.1).

Caubet Fig. 11b. Ugarit gold bowl, Louvre AO 17208 (photo by author).

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Cifarelli Fig. 9. Relief sculpture from Ashurnasirpal’s Northwest Palace in Nimrud. MMA 17.190.2079, Gift of J. Pierpont Morgan, 1917 (open access).

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Curtis Figs 1 and 2. Bronze lotus flower handle from Nimrud, British Museum 124602 (N622) (photographs by J. E. Curtis).

Curtis Fig. 4. Bronze lotus flower jug handle from Cyprus, Metropolitan Museum of Art 74.51.5461.

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Gubel Fig. 1. Lioness mauling a fallen Nubian, Nimrud NW Palace, Well NN, 9th century BC, Baghdad IM 56642 (ND 2547 stolen 2003) (from Herrmann, Laidlaw and Coffey 2009, pl. V).

Gubel Fig. 3. Lion(ess?) mauling a Nubian, Egyptian blue and gold, reign of Ramses II (? 1279–1213 BC) or later, Egypt (Eastern Delta: Qantir?) (New York, Metropolitan Museum, gift of the Norbert Schimmel trust, 1989.281.92).

Gubel Fig. 11. Frieze of “Nubian Cat sphinxes” on an ivory (bedhead?) panel, Nimrud, FS, SW12, 9th century BC, New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 62.269.4. (from Herrmann and Laidlaw 2013, 134 no. 38).

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Reade Fig. 1. Final publication of the 1940s excavations at Eridu, by Fuad Safar, Mohammad Ali Mustafa and Seton Lloyd. Iraq Ministry of Culture and Information (1982).

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Reade Fig. 6. British School of Archaeology, Baghdad. North corner of courtyard, with stairs to upper floor (photograph S.N. Shaw Reade, 1963).

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Suter Fig. 1. Ivory panel from Samaria carved in openwork, H: 13 cm (photo by author, courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority).

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Wicke Fig. 1a. Marsh-pattern bowl from Nimrud. Bronze bowl N51 (photograph by author).

Wicke Fig. 3a. Star pattern and metopic bowl from Nimrud. Bronze bowl N3 / WA 120404 (photograph by author).

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Sarkosh Curtis Fig. 9. Sasanian rock-relief of Hormizd II at Naqsh-i Rustam, Iran (photograph by Georgina Herrmann).

Lerner Fig. 5. Chalcedony intaglio from Herat (blue ink is a modern addition), Herat Museum, scale 2:1 (in Lerner 2016, Cat. No. 52: 70 fig. 1).

Lerner Fig. 8. Chalcedony intaglio, Siraf (Iran), scale 2:1. British Museum 2007, 6001.11101.

Lerner Fig. 9. Chalcedony intaglio found at Klong Thom (Thailand) (after Ritter 2011, 75 fig. 5).

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Harper Fig. 2. Qajar drawing of the investiture relief of Ardeshir I at Naqsh-i Rustam (MMA 1998.6.3).

Harper Fig. 3. Qajar drawing of the relief of Shapur I and Romans at Naqsh-i Rustam (MMA 1998.6.4).

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Hillenbrand Fig. 7. Tim, Arab-Ata mausoleum, squinch zone (photograph by Bernard O¶Kane).

Hillenbrand Fig. 10. Isfahan, Friday Mosque, north dome, interior view (photograph by Sheila Blair and Jonathan Bloom).

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MacGinnis Fig. 3. The Area E monumental building.

MacGinnis Fig. 4. View of Room 6 showing niches and the doorway into Room 3, as well as a wall of an earlier phase below the main floor.

MacGinnis Fig. 9. The doorway between Room 10 and Room 11.

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Seidl Abb. 3. Schale mit Tänzerin in Cleveland (nach Postkarte Brüssel).

Seidl Abb. 5. Primavera von Botticelli (nach: U. Baldini, Der Frühling von Botticelli, 1986)

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Ball Fig. 2. Map of the Murghab region by the Afghan Boundary Commission (from Peacocke 1887, 282–283).

Ball Fig. 6. Watercolour of Maruchaq by Edward Durand (© The British Library Board. Durand 1884, ‘Fort Maruchak’, watercolour, British Library, Prints and Drawings, BL, OIC, Prints and Drawings WD408).

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a b Invernizzi Fig. 3a–b. Nisa, ivory support for censer or altar (photo: Leonard Kheifets; drawing: Alexey Kulish).

Invernizzi Fig. 5. Athens, National Museum, hydria from Klazomenai (from B. Philippaki (Hrsg.), Vases of the National Archaeological Museum of Athens (Athens 1973) 51 Abb. 19).