Roman Artists, Patrons, and Public Consumption: Familiar Works Reconsidered [Illustrated] 047213065X, 9780472130658

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Roman Artists, Patrons, and Public Consumption

Roman Artists, Patrons, and Public Consumption Familiar Works Reconsidered

Edited by Brenda Longfellow and Ellen E. Perry

University of Michigan Press Ann Arbor

Copyright © 2018 by Brenda Longfellow and Ellen E. Perry All rights reserved This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, including illustrations, in any form (beyond that copying permitted by Sections 107 and 108 of the U.S. Copyright Law and except by reviewers for the public press), without written permission from the publisher. Published in the United States of America by the University of Michigan Press Manufactured in the United States of America c Printed on acid-­free paper 2021 2020 2019 2018  4 3 2 1 A CIP catalog record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data Names:  Longfellow, Brenda, 1972–­editor.  |  Perry, Ellen, 1965–­editor. Title:  Roman artists, patrons, and public consumption : familiar works reconsidered / edited by Brenda Longfellow and Ellen Perry. Description:  Ann Arbor : University of Michigan Press, 2017.  |  Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers:  lccn 2017037671|  isbn 9780472130658 (hardcover : alk. paper) | isbn 9780472123490 (e-­book) Subjects:  LCSH: Art and society—­Rome.  |  Art, Roman—­Themes, motives. dc23 Classification: LCC n72.s6 r64  2017 | DDC 701/.03—­ LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017037671 Cover illustration: Detail view of the Sleeping Hermaphrodite in the Palazzo Massimo, Rome. Courtesy of Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Roma.

Acknowledgments

We are grateful to the College of the Holy Cross and the University of Iowa School of Art and Art History for providing subvention grants. We would also like to acknowledge everyone at the University of Michigan Press for their support of this project. Special thanks go to Ellen Bauerle for her keen interest in the project from the beginning as well as her encouragement at every step of the process; the end result benefited greatly from her expert handling. Thanks also to Susan Cronin and Kevin Rennells at the Press for their dedication and professionalism throughout the publication process. We were fortunate to have the assistance of Sandra Gómez Todó, a graduate student at the University of Iowa with a keen eye for detail. She tracked down stray references, proofread the manuscript, and devised the index. We would also like to thank James McIntosh for his help. Finally, we offer our most sincere gratitude to all of the authors for their enthusiasm and careful scholarship. We dedicate this book to Elaine K. Gazda.

Contents

Abbreviationsix List of Illustrationsxi Introduction: Roman Art Reconsidered Brenda Longfellow and Ellen E. Perry

1



1. Beyond Surprise: Looking Again at the Sleeping Hermaphrodite in the Palazzo Massimo Jennifer Trimble

13



2. Dismembering a Sacred Cow: The Extispicium Relief in the Louvre Melanie Grunow Sobocinski and Elizabeth Wolfram Thill

38



3. The Salutaris Foundation: Monumentality through Periodic Rehearsal Diana Y. Ng

63



4. From Mystery Masterpiece to Roman Artwork: The Journey of the Aspasia Statue Type in the Roman Empire Lea M. Stirling

88



5. The Sebaste Apollo: Form, Function, and Local Meaning Elise A. Friedland

117



6. At Face Value: Painted Ladies on Pompeian Walls Bettina Bergmann

142



7. Marriage Divine? Narratives of the Courtship of Mars and Venus in Roman Painting and Poetry Molly Swetnam-­Burland

166

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8. Beyond High and Low: The Beauty of Beasts at the House of the Citharist in Pompeii Barbara Kellum

191



9. The Votive Relief from House V.3.10 in Pompeii: A Sculpture and Its Context Reexamined Jessica Powers

213

Contributors241 Index243 Plate illustrations following page 256

Abbreviations

Abbreviations of classical authors and texts follow those listed in The Oxford Classical Dictionary, edited by S. Hornblower and A. Spawforth, 3rd edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996). Abbreviations of secondary sources are those of the American Journal of Archaeology, with the addition of the following: FiE

Heberdey, R., G. Niemann, and W. Wilberg, eds. Forschungen in Ephesos. Vol. 2. Vienna: Alfred Hölder, 1912. GSc Giornale di Scavo dal Novembre 1899 all’Ottobre 1904. Soprintendenza archeologica di Pompei archive. NSc Notizie degli scavi di antichità. 1876–­. PPM Pugliese Caratelli, G., ed. Pompei: Pitture e mosaici. 11 vols. Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana, 1990–­2003.

Illustrations

Figures 1.1. Rear view of the Sleeping Hermaphrodite, Palazzo Massimo, Rome17 1.2. Front view of the Sleeping Hermaphrodite, Palazzo Massimo 17 1.3. Detail view of the Sleeping Hermaphrodite, Palazzo Massimo 25 2.1. Composite plaster cast of the Extispicium Relief, comprising all known original components, post-­antique restorations, scaled-­up sixteenth-­century drawings of lost fragments, and hypothetical sketches of missing elements, Museo della Civiltà Romana 39 40 2.2. Victim Relief (Louvre Ma 978), Musée du Louvre 2.3. Togati Relief (Louvre Ma 1089) 41 2.4. Inscription from the Victim Relief (Louvre Ma 978) 46 2.5. Scene 86 from the Column of Trajan, Museo della Civiltà Romana53 2.6. Relief with Victory and a dead bull (Louvre Ma 392) 56 2.7. Medallion of Trebonianus Gallus and Volusianus showing a sacrifice at the Temple of Fortuna Redux 56 3.1. Pre-­1979 installation of the Salutaris inscription fragments at the British Museum 64 3.2. Group base for silver images of Artemis, the tribe of the Teians, and Lysimachos 66 3.3. Relief of Artemis holding a torch, on a column from the city of Perge 73 82 3.4. Plan of the theater at Ephesos 4.1. Statue found in the Terme di Sosandra at Baiae 89

xii  •  Illustrations

4.2. Distribution of provenanced statues of Aspasia, the Discobolus, and the Omphalos Apollo 97 104 4.3. Four statuettes of “Aspasia” found in Corinth 4.4. Statuette of Aspasia found at the Athenian Agora 106 109 4.5. Head of statuette of Aspasia, Rijksmuseum van Oudheden 4.6. Statue with hairstyle resembling that of Faustina the Elder, found at Lappa 110 5.1. Apollo statue from Samaria-­Sebaste (front view and three-­quarter view)121 5.2. Apollo statue from Samaria-­Sebaste (left profile view)122 5.3. Apollo statue from Samaria-­Sebaste (detail of face)124 5.4. Apollo statue from Samaria-­Sebaste (right profile detail of head)125 5.5. Apollo Sauroktonos, Museo Pio Clementino 128 130 5.6. Apollo of Kassel, ca. 100 CE, Berlin, Antikensammlung 6.1. Reconstruction of the wall featuring Perseus and Andromeda flanked by “Sappho” and a male head, Regio VI, Insula Occidentalis, Pompeii 143 6.2. Figural capital depicting a silenus and a maenad from the west pier of the House of Figured Capitals, Pompeii 159 6.3. Figural capital depicting a man and a woman from the west pier of the House of Figured Capitals, Pompeii 159 7.1. Wall painting of Ariadne, Bacchus, and his retinue, House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto, Pompeii 167 171 7.2. Wall painting of the Courtship of Mars and Venus, Pompeii 7.3. Wall painting of Pero and Micon, House of 175 Marcus Lucretius Fronto, Pompeii 7.4. Wall painting of Pero and Micon, House of the 176 Abandoned Ariadne, Pompeii 8.1. Plan of the House of the Citharist, Pompeii 194 8.2. View of the fountain in the central peristyle of the House of the Citharist, with reproductions of the bronze snake, the boar and dogs, and the lion 195 8.3. Bronze boar and dogs from the fountain in the central peristyle, House of the Citharist 196 8.4. Bronze snake from the fountain in the central peristyle, House of the Citharist 197 8.5. Bronze lion from the fountain in the central peristyle, House of the Citharist 198

Illustrations  • xiii

8.6. Bronze deer from the fountain in the central peristyle, House of the Citharist 8.7. Painting of Hercules and Omphale above a predella featuring a boar and hunting dogs, House of Marcus Lucretius, Pompeii 8.8. Close to Home cartoon by John McPherson (2008) 9.1. Detail of marble relief depicting a goddess and worshippers, from House V.3.10, Pompeii 9.2. Reverse of marble relief depicting a goddess and worshippers, from House V.3.10, Pompeii 9.3. Plan of House V.3.10, Pompeii 9.4. Herm bust of a youthful Bacchus or maenad, from House V.3.10, Pompeii

199 208 210 217 220 222 225

Tables 2.1. Post-­antique alterations to the Extispicium Relief 4.1. Aspasia statues and statuettes, provenanced and unprovenanced

Plates 1.1. Wall painting of Pan and Hermaphrodite from the House of the Dioscuri, Pompeii 5.1. Apollo statue from Samaria-­Sebaste, back view, Department of Antiquities of Jordan 6.1. Wall painting depicting a woman traditionally identified as Sappho, found May 17, 1760, in Regio VI, Insula Occidentalis, Pompeii 6.2. Wall painting depicting a male, found May 17, 1760, in Regio VI, Insula Occidentalis, Pompeii 6.3. Bust of a woman, mosaic emblema from Shop VI.13.15, Pompeii 6.4. Mosaic emblema depicting Ninus and Semiramis, from the House of the Man of Letters, Antioch, ca. 200 CE 6.5. Mummy portrait inscribed Hermione grammatike 6.6. “Baker and His Wife” wall painting from the atrium of the House of T. Terentius Neo, Pompeii

48 90

xiv  •  Illustrations

6.7. Amor and Psyche wall painting from the atrium of the House of T. Terentius Neo, Pompeii 6.8. Layout (not to scale) of the busts and mythological panels in room R of the House of Golden Cupids, Pompeii 6.9. Wall painting of Venus from the garden peristyle of the House of the Marine Venus, Pompeii 6.10. Wall painting of a satyr and a maenad from the north wall of the tablinum in the House of L. Caecilius Jucundus, Pompeii 7.1. Wall painting of the Courtship of Mars and Venus, House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto, Pompeii 7.2. Wall painting of the Courtship of Mars and Venus, House of the Punished Love, Pompeii 7.3. Wall painting of Mars, Venus, and amores, House of Mars and Venus, Pompeii 9.1. Marble relief depicting a goddess approached by six worshippers and an attendant with a ram, from House V.3.10, Pompeii 9.2. Bronze statuette of Hermes, from House V.3.10, Pompeii 9.3. House V.3.10, Pompeii, garden, looking north (1964)

Roman Artists, Patrons, and Public Consumption

Introduction Roman Art Reconsidered Brenda Longfellow and Ellen E. Perry

In the last forty years, the study of Roman art has dramatically shifted focus from issues of connoisseurship, typology, and chronology to analyses of objects within their contemporary contexts and local environments. Partially underlying this shift is a growing number of challenges to the assumption that extant historical texts can be directly applied to material remains. In studies of domestic architecture, for instance, scholars are moving away from the traditional practice of labeling rooms in Pompeian houses with the names and accompanying functions of domestic spaces that are provided by Vitruvius, Varro, and Cicero in their discussions of elite houses. Rather than classifying a small room as a cubiculum or a large room at the back of the house as a triclinium or oecus, scholars are increasingly taking into account artifact assemblages found in such rooms and considering the possibilities that spaces were multifunctional. Moreover, studies of wall paintings and ideal statues have shifted the primary focus away from Kopienkritik, largely because that practice of searching for the lost original statues assumed to be the inspiration for Roman statues of divinities, heroes, and other inhabitants of the mythological realm often results in the dismissal of extant objects as perfunctory replicas. Now, Roman-­era statues, paintings, and mosaics are rarely treated as one-­to-­one copies of lost Greek or Hellenistic originals and are instead frequently discussed as objects that are worthy of study in their own right and that elicited a range of responses from a variety of contemporaneous viewers. The megalographic mural cycle in room 5 of the Villa of the Mysteries is consistently

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discussed within its Pompeian context rather than as a direct copy of a lost Hellenistic original; the Large Herculaneum Woman statue type is understood as a public statement of an individual woman’s social and familial identities rather than as an aesthetic reference to a particular Greek statue. Moreover, the traditional categories of Roman art—­portraiture, sarcophagi, historical reliefs, and elite architecture in Italy—­have been expanded to include the vast spectrum of objects in civic, religious, funerary, and domestic contexts and from communities across the Roman Empire. A major contributor to these dramatic changes in Roman scholarship has been Elaine K. Gazda, professor of classical art and archaeology at the University of Michigan and curator of Hellenistic and Roman antiquities at the Kelsey Museum of Archaeology. Gazda has spent her career modeling and advocating more nuanced interpretations of Roman art that take into account different kinds of social knowledge and local contexts. Not only has she published groundbreaking work on domestic spaces and ideal sculpture; she has also changed our understanding of individual ancient communities, from Karanis to Pisidian Antioch, by considering everyday objects and monuments first and foremost within their local contexts. In part, she achieved this influence by means of publications tied to exhibitions that she curated at the Kelsey Museum of Archaeology, a premier university museum with over one hundred thousand ancient and medieval objects. Indeed, Gazda has curated more than twenty-­five exhibitions there. A leader in the installation of the collection in that museum’s new William E. Upjohn Exhibit Wing, she has left her mark on the collection—­and those who study it—­for many generations to come. Gazda also influenced the direction of the field of Roman art through her partnerships with esteemed colleagues on exhibitions. She formed a pathbreaking alliance with Italian colleagues in the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Roma for the 1996 exhibition Images of Empire: Flavian Fragments of Rome and Ann Arbor Rejoined. The recent traveling exhibition Leisure and Luxury in the Age of Nero: The Villas of Oplontis near Pompeii, which originated at the Kelsey Museum, is based on innovative collaboration with John Clarke at the University of Texas at Austin; the Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Pompei, Ercolano, e Stabia; and the Oplontis Project at the University of Texas at Austin. Like the Images of Empire exhibition, the Oplontis exhibition has brought works from Italy that have never previously been seen in the United States. Gazda has served as the doctoral advisor for well over twenty students who are now active in the field of Roman art, and her influence on those

Introduction: Roman Art Reconsidered  • 3

students has been enduring. As she posed the questions and undertook the research projects that contributed to new notions about Roman art, she shared her investigations generously. Yet she never told her students what to think. Instead, pointing them in the direction of some good questions that had been occupying her, she guided them deftly and gently to appreciate those questions, find their own answers, and, ultimately, develop their own questions. When Gazda undertook to challenge the received wisdom about imitation in Roman art, her students first wrote dissertations and later wrote books on the subject. When she planned an exhibition on the Villa of the Mysteries, she invited her students to participate, and the interest they developed in the art and material culture of Pompeii marked their scholarship for years to come. When she planned an exhibit on Pisidian Antioch and again invited her students to participate, they discovered a lasting interest in the communities of the Roman Near East. As Gazda thought about and worked on a number of different scholarly projects over the years, there was a particular habit of thought that she imparted to her students: attention to detail. She trained them to return to the available evidence, to apply close visual analysis to the work at hand, and to place it in any and all relevant contexts—­historical, social, political, archaeological, and aesthetic. That may not sound like much, but few scholars insist, as a matter of habit (as opposed to theory), on that sort of scrupulousness with regard to evidence. Elaine’s students have found that a consistent application of the values she taught is remarkably productive. Gazda’s peers have likewise noted that her chief intellectual influence on them is the realization of just how much can be learned from examining an object closely and from posing questions about the choices made in its fabrication. This influence has been felt in many different scholarly contexts, including academic conferences, the 1994 NEH summer seminar for college teachers titled “The Roman Art of Emulation,” and her collaborative work with peers on exhibitions. In all of these contexts, both Gazda’s search for different angles from which to analyze a work of art and her propensity to slow down and let the work of art speak—­instead of speaking for it—­have inspired her collaborators. Gazda’s emphasis on close visual analysis and careful attention to context is featured in the essays that appear here. Several pick up on the theme of imitation in Roman art and demonstrate how attention to visual detail and context can offer deeper, more satisfying readings of what are, first and foremost, Roman sculptures. Jennifer Trimble’s essay in this volume, “Beyond Surprise: Another Look at the Sleeping Hermaphrodite in the Palazzo Mas-

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simo,” raises the question of what the Sleeping Hermaphrodite sculptural type might have meant to Romans in the second century CE—­the period for which we have the most examples. She considers the roles that artist, patron, and viewer might have had in investing this type with meaning, as well as the ways in which architectural settings may have shaped the reception of the type. Certain features of the type are nonnegotiable—­that it compels you to walk around it, for example, or that it was a replica type. But because Sleeping Hermaphrodite sculptures were produced by different artists, purchased by different patrons, and seen by different viewers in a variety of physical settings, there was, necessarily, no single “correct” meaning of the type. Similarly, the essay here by Melanie Grunow Sobocinski and Elizabeth Wolfram Thill, “Dismembering a Sacred Cow: The Extispicium Relief in the Louvre,” examines the evidence that has traditionally been adduced to date the famous Extispicium Relief to the second century CE and to associate it with the emperor Trajan. These two scholars argue that virtually all of that evidence fails to stand up to scrutiny: the argument in favor of the Forum of Trajan as the original display context of the Extispicium Relief is tenuous; the relief ’s inscription proves far less helpful than had previously been thought, since it does not clearly connect the relief to the Ulpii; and the subject matter seems anachronistic within the context of second-­century reliefs. Sobocinski and Thill suggest, instead, that the relief ’s closest comparanda are third-­century medallions of Volusianus and Trebonianus Gallus—­a case that they plan to make more fully in another publication. In chapter 3, “The Salutaris Foundation: Monumentality through Periodic Rehearsal,” Diana Y. Ng moves this book’s discussion to the Roman Near East, specifically to an inscription that dominated the Great Theater in Ephesus. The Salutaris Foundation is a well-­known Trajanic inscription that includes seven documents related to gifts made to the city of Eleusis by one man, Gaius Vibius Salutaris. His donations included statuettes—­of gods and members of the imperial family—­that were intended to be carried in festival processions. Based on her close reading of the physical nature and context of the inscription in the theater, Ng suggests that the ephemeral spectacle of these statuettes processing through Ephesus could be as memorable as architectural features seen on a daily basis. Indeed, the procession itself becomes a monument celebrating both the donor and Ephesian civic identity. Lea M. Stirling’s essay in this volume, “From Mystery Masterpiece to Roman Artwork: The Journey of the Aspasia Statue Type in the Roman Empire,” sets aside traditional and fundamentally dissatisfying attempts to

Introduction: Roman Art Reconsidered  • 5

identify the (presumed Greek) artist who produced the first “Aspasia” sculpture. Investigating the known findspots of sculptures that follow the formal elements of the sculptural type, Stirling discovers that it was particularly popular in the Hadrianic period and in the eastern provinces, and she suggests some reasons why this might be so. She also notes that this type sometimes served as the stock body for portraits, a fact that has not been widely noticed—­perhaps, she argues, because the portraits of women in the Roman Empire were not always individualized to the degree that we might have expected. Elise Friedland’s essay here, “The Sebaste Apollo: Form, Function, and Local Meaning,” takes a slightly different tack, pointing out that a sculpture known in only one version, the Sebaste Apollo, is not a replica of a statue by Praxiteles but, rather, an eclectic creation that draws significantly on the Kassel Apollo type without simply replicating it. Her attention to the findspot and cultural context of this sculpture has led her to note, among other conclusions, that the very presence of this statue in the Levant, a region with no marble quarries, required a buyer who could not rely on a well-­established market of stock types but must have ordered this particular work individually. The second half of this volume turns attention to case studies in Pompeii. The essays demonstrate how close visual analysis firmly rooted in local and temporal contexts can not only strengthen our understanding of ancient interactions with monuments but also shine a light on long-­held assumptions in scholarship. In chapter 6, “At Face Value: Painted Ladies on Pompeian Walls,” Bettina Bergmann focuses on the female heads adorning Pompeian walls that are identified sometimes as portraits and sometimes as mythological figures. Combining close visual analysis of the heads with a consideration of the other images painted on the same walls and with descriptions of women in contemporary Latin literature, Bergmann identifies a visual vocabulary that came to characterize women in imperial Pompeii and beyond. In chapter 7, “Marriage Divine? Narratives of the Courtship of Mars and Venus in Roman Painting and Poetry,” Molly Swetnam-­Burland combines an analysis of a scene of Mars and Venus known from paintings in three houses in Pompeii, including the House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto, with a discussion of which literary texts about that divine couple’s relationship were circulating and probably known by the patrons and viewers of those paintings. Nuancing the current reading of the scene as a correlation of Mars and Venus with the ideal husband and wife, Swetnam-­Burland argues that the scene calls for a polysemous interpretation, in which neither image nor text took precedence.

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This emphasis on recognizing multiple and simultaneous readings of a scene by patrons and audiences alike continues in chapter 8, “Beyond High and Low: The Beauty of Beasts at the House of the Citharist in Pompeii.” Barbara Kellum there contextualizes the range of associations one might make when interacting with the sculptural group in the House of the Citharist, from cultural references generally known to the Roman populace, like animal fables and the connotations of certain foods, to local references specific to Pompeii and the Popidii family. The emphasis she places on the spectrum of associations that might have been made by a viewer—­and on the very fact that multiple associations could simultaneously be made—­ helps illustrate how scholarship that assumes Trimalchian mentality for all freedmen (including the Popidii who owned this house) is out of sync with the material evidence and its cultural context. The final essay in the volume, “The Votive Relief from House V.3.10 in Pompeii: A Sculpture and Its Context Reexamined,” by Jessica Powers, again showcases how close visual analysis can effectively be combined with local context to illustrate the erroneous assumptions of accumulated scholarship and, simultaneously, to illuminate new ways of thinking about an object in its ancient context. The essay focuses on a relief of a goddess, worshippers, and an attendant with a ram. By assessing stylistic and iconographic elements as well as technical details, such as tool marks and traces from ancient mounts, Powers puts to rest the long-­standing argument that the object dates to the Classical period or was originally intended to be a votive. Rather, a consideration of the finds from the Pompeian house suggests that it was created with the tastes of Roman patrons in mind. A subtle but consistent theme of Elaine Gazda’s intellectual career has been her mentoring of and collaboration with women. Every essay in this volume was written by a woman, and the two editors are women also. This feature of the volume was not planned; yet surely it is not accidental. Gazda’s spirit and practice of collaboration with colleagues and students has offered an appealing alternative to the competitive discourse that can be common in the humanities. In addition, her practice of “letting the object speak,” often in opposition to received wisdom, has been a powerful tool in the hands of the many students whom she mentored: nothing builds confidence more than to realize, after deep and open-­minded consideration of all the available evidence, that the most fundamental assumptions made by renowned scholars, assumptions that may have been accepted for decades, might just be untrue—­might even, in some cases, be preposterous. It would be misguided to propose essentialist arguments to explain Gazda’s remarkable mentoring

Introduction: Roman Art Reconsidered  • 7

of women in the discipline; many women are perfectly comfortable with traditional structures and processes of academic inquiry as we have inherited them. But Gazda offered alternatives for students and colleagues who were not entirely comfortable with the values and practices of those inherited structures and processes. This book came into existence because of the appreciation of the University of Michigan Press, with which Gazda has been notably involved over the course of her career. She was a member of its Executive Committee (editorial board) for several years and is now the American Academy in Rome’s representative to the Press, helping to oversee the several AAR series that Michigan handles. She has edited and published two volumes with the Press, including Roman Art in the Private Sphere (now in its second edition in paper) and The Ancient Art of Emulation (a volume in the AAR series Supplements to the Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome).

Elaine K. Gazda: Publications and Exhibitions Books and Exhibition Catalogs 1977 1977 1978 1980 1983 1983

1987

The Gods of Egypt in the Graeco-­Roman Period. Ann Arbor: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology. 117 pp. Faculty editor. Roman Portraiture: Ancient and Modern Revivals. Ann Arbor: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology. 41 pp. Editor and contributor. Guardians of the Nile: Sculptures from Karanis in the Fayoum, c. 250 B.C.–­A.D. 450. With C. Hessenbruch, M. Allen, and V. Hutchinson. Ann Arbor: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology. 80 pp. The Art of the Ancient Weaver. Ann Arbor: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology. 35 pp. Editor. In Pursuit of Antiquity: Thomas Spencer Jerome and the Bay of Naples, 1899–­1914. Ann Arbor: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology. 26 pp. Editor and contributor. Karanis: An Egyptian Town in Roman Times. Ann Arbor: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology. 50 pp. Editor and contributor. 2nd ed., with new introduction and revised bibliography by T. Wilfong, 2005. The Roman Port and Fishery of Cosa: A Center of Ancient Trade. With A. M. McCann, J. Bourgeois, J. P. Oleson, and E. L. Will. Princeton: Princeton University Press. 492 pp. Coauthor.

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1991

1996

1997

2000

2002

2011 2016

Roman Art in the Private Sphere: New Perspectives on the Architecture and Decor of the Domus. With the assistance of A. E. Haeckl. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. 232 pp. Author of introductory essay and editor. 2nd ed., with a new introduction, 2011. Images of Empire: Flavian Fragments of Rome and Ann Arbor Rejoined. With A. E. Haeckl and R. Paris. Ann Arbor: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology; Rome: Soprintendenza archeologica di Roma. 60 pp. Coauthor. The Scientific Test of the Spade: Leroy Waterman and the University of Michigan Excavations at Sepphoris, 1931. With E. Friedland. Ann Arbor: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology. 21 pp. Coeditor and contributor. The Villa of the Mysteries in Pompeii: Ancient Ritual, Modern Muse. With the assistance of C. Hammer, B. Longfellow, and M. Swetnam-Burland. Ann Arbor: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology and University of Michigan Museum of Art. 250 pp. Editor and contributor. The Ancient Art of Emulation: Studies in Artistic Originality and Tradition from the Present to Classical Antiquity. Supplements to the Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome 1. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Author of introductory essay and editor. Building a New Rome: The Imperial Colony of Pisidian Antioch (25 BC–­AD 700). With D. Y. Ng. Ann Arbor: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology. 219 pp. Coeditor and coauthor of introductory essay. Leisure and Luxury in the Age of Nero: The Villas of Oplontis near Pompeii. With J. R. Clarke. Ann Arbor: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology. 288 pp. Coeditor and contributor.

Articles 1970

1973 1974

“Ancient Bronzes: Decline, Survival, Revival.” With G. M. A. Hanfmann. In Art and Technology: A Symposium on Classical Bronzes, edited by S. Doeringer, D. G. Mitten, and A. Steinberg (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press), 245–­70. “Etruscan Influence in the Funerary Reliefs of Late Republican Rome.” ANRW I.4:855–­70. “Two Roman Portrait Reliefs.” J. Paul Getty Museum Journal 1:61–­ 72.

Introduction: Roman Art Reconsidered  • 9

1978 1979 1980 1981 1981

1993 1994

1995 1995 2001

2002 2007

2008

2009

“Venus and a Roman Emperor.” Toledo Museum of Art Museum News 20: 43–­55. “Polydeukion.” In Eighty Works from the Collection of the University of Michigan Museum of Art: A Handbook, edited by S. Addiss (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Museum of Art), no. 30. “A Portrait of Polydeukion.” Bulletin: Museums of Art and Archaeology at the University of Michigan 3:1–­13. “Ganymede and the Eagle: A Marble Group from Carthage.” Archaeology 34:56–­60. “Ganymede and the Eagle: A Marble Group from the Age of Augustine.” Excavations at Carthage Conducted by the University of Michigan, vol. 6, 1977, edited by J. H. Humphrey, 125–­78. Ann Arbor: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology. “Roman Portraiture: Reflections on the Question of Context.” With A. E. Haeckl. Journal of Roman Archaeology 6:289–­302. “I frammenti del Kelsey Museum of Archaeology” and “Note sulla storia dei frammenti domizianei e del museo.” In Dono Hartwig: Originali ricongiunti e copie tra Roma e Ann Arbor, edited by R. Paris (Rome: Segedit Spa), 62–­73, 93–­95. “Reconsidering Repetition: Roman Sculpture and the Ethos of Emulation.” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 97:121–­56. “Roman Copies: The Unmaking of a Modern Myth.” Journal of Roman Archaeology 8:530–­34. “Cosa’s Contribution to the Study of Roman Hydraulic Concrete: An Historiographic Commentary.” In New Light from Ancient Cosa: Classical Mediterranean Studies in Honor of Cleo Rickman Fitch, edited by N. W. Goldman (New York: Peter Lang), 145–­77. “Mythological Marbles in Late Antiquity: The Artistic Circle of Aphrodisias.” Journal of Roman Archaeology 15:660–­65. “Replicating Roman Murals in Pompeii: Archaeology, Art, and Politics in Italy of the 1920s.” In Antiquity Recovered: The Legacy of Pompeii and Herculaneum, edited by V. Coats and J. Seydl (Los Angeles: Getty Publications), 207–­31. “Cosa’s Hydraulic Concrete: Towards a Revised Chronology.” In The Maritime World of Ancient Rome, edited by R. Hohlfelder. Supplements to the Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome 6 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press), 265–90. “The Hartwig-­Kelsey Fragments: A Pentelic Marble Case Study.” With I. B. Romano and S. Pike. In The Proceedings of the Associa-

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2010

2011 2014

2015

tion for the Study of Marbles and Other Stones in Antiquity (ASMOSIA) VIII (Aix-­En-­Provence: Maison Méditerranéene des Sciences de l’Homme), 273–90. “Domestic Art and the Instability of Cultural Meaning: Roman Art in the Private Sphere Revisited.” In Cultural Messages in the Graeco-­Roman World, edited by O. Hekster and S. T. A. M. Mols, BABesch Supplements 15 (Louvain: Peeters), 79–­91. “Replicas.” In The Classical Tradition, edited by A. Grafton, G. Most, and S. Settis (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press), 815–­18. “Villas on the Bay of Naples: The Ancient Setting of Oplontis.” In Oplontis: Villa A (“Of Poppaea”) at Torre Annunziata, vol. 1, The Ancient Setting and Modern Rediscovery, edited by J. R. Clarke and N. K. Muntasser (New York: ACLS E-­Book). “Domestic Displays.” In The Oxford Handbook of Roman Sculpture, edited by E. A. Friedland and M. G. Sobocinski, with consulting editor E. K. Gazda (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 374–­89.

Exhibition Brochures, Websites, and Touchscreen Programs 1977 1981 2012–­ 2013–­

Fortress of Faith: The Monastery of Saint Catherine at Mount Sinai. With G. H. Forsyth Jr. Ann Arbor: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology. Vaults of Memory: Jewish and Christian Imagery in the Catacombs of Rome. Exhibition by E. Brettman. Ann Arbor: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology. Editor. A Man of Many Parts: The Life and Legacy of Francis Willey Kelsey. Online exhibition. http://lw.lsa.umich.edu/kelsey/fwk/index.html Roman Villa Life. Touchscreen program, Kelsey Museum of Archaeology, Ann Arbor.

Exhibitions at the Kelsey Museum of Archaeology 1976 1977 1977 1977 1978

Greek Vases from Boston, c. 600–­300 B.C. With S. Herbert. The Gods of Egypt in the Graeco-­Roman Period. With the Museum Practices Seminar. Roman Portraiture: Ancient and Modern Revivals. Seleucia-­on-­the-­Tigris. With E. Savage. Fortress of Faith: The Monastery of Saint Catherine at Mount Sinai. With G. H. Forsyth.

Introduction: Roman Art Reconsidered  • 11

1978

Guardians of the Nile: Sculptures from Karanis in the Fayoum (c. 250 B.C.–­A.D. 450). With C. Hessenbruch, M. Allen, and V. Hutchinson. 1978 Islamic Art in the University of Michigan Collections. With P. Soucek. 1979 Carthage Then and Now. With J. H. Humphrey. The Art of the Ancient Weaver. With J. B. Bace, A. van Rosevelt, M. 1980 Haidler, and A. Rosenberg. 1981 Vaults of Memory: Jewish and Christian Imagery in the Catacombs of Rome. Loan from the International Committee for the Preservation of the Catacombs in Italy. 1983 In Pursuit of Antiquity: Thomas Spencer Jerome and the Bay of Naples (1899–­1914). With J. D’Arms, C. Finerman, and P. Reister. 1983 Karanis: An Egyptian Town in Roman Times. With A. Berlin and J. Royer. 1984 Roman Portraits on Coins. Image and Artifact: Ancient Art from the Detroit Institute of Arts. 1985 Loan from the Detroit Institute of Arts. 1985 Visions of Excellence: The Career of Francis W. Kelsey. With C. Finerman. Twenty-­Five Years of Discovery at Sardis. Loan from the Johnson 1986 Museum, Cornell University. Archaeology and the Aesthetic Eye of Esther B. Van Deman. With the 1991 Fototeca Unione and the American Academy in Rome. Dono Hartwig: Originali ricongiunti e copie tra Roma e Ann Arbor; 1994 Ipotesi per il Templum Gentis Flaviae. In collaboration with R. Paris, curator, Museo Nazionale Romano. 1996 Images of Empire: Marble Fragments in Rome and Ann Arbor Rejoined. In collaboration with the Museo Nazionale Romano, Soprintendenza Archeologica di Roma. 1997 Etruscan Antiquities in the Kelsey Museum. 1997 The Scientific Test of the Spade: Leroy Waterman and the University of Michigan Excavations at Sepphoris, 1931. With E. A. Friedland. Sepphoris in Galilee: Crosscurrents of Culture. Loan from the North 1997 Carolina Museum of Art. 2000 The Villa of the Mysteries in Pompeii: Ancient Ritual, Modern Muse. 2006 Building a New Rome: The Imperial Colony of Pisidian Antioch (25 BC–­AD 700). 2007–­9 Head curator for the installation of exhibits in the William E. Upjohn Exhibit Wing of the Kelsey Museum of Archaeology, Ann Arbor. New exhibits prepared: The Greek World (with L. Talalay);

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2010–­

2011 2012 2013 2016

Etruria; South Italy; Karanis Glass; Alexandria; Bay of Naples; Roman Baths and Bathing; Health, Adornment, and Entertainment; Villa of the Mysteries and Roman Villa Culture; Roman Funerary Practices; Roman Imperial Cult; Materials and Techniques of Roman Construction; The Roman Provinces (including Galilee, Syro-­Palestine, Roman Greece and Asia Minor, Roman Africa, Gaul and Germany); Roman Inscriptions; Roman Trade; Roman Sculpture; Roman Inscriptions. Open storage drawers: Roman black and red gloss pottery (with L. Banducci); Exotic Roman marbles (with L. McAlpine and L. Long); Excavations at Sepphoris in Galilee, 1931 (with J. Shaya); Excavations at Pisidian Antioch, 1924 (with N. High-­Steskal); Excavations at Carthage, 1925 (with R. Hughes and N. McFerrin, in progress). Envisioning Antioch: A Roman Colony in Asia Minor. A Man of Many Parts: The Life and Legacy of Francis Willey Kelsey. Section on Roman villas for Discovery, an exhibit at the Kelsey Museum of Archaeology curated by J. Richards. Leisure and Luxury in the Age of Nero: The Villas of Oplontis near Pompeii. In collaboration with the Special Superintendency for the Archaeological Heritage of Pompeii, Herculaneum, and Stabia and the Oplontis Project at the University of Texas at Austin.

one

Beyond Surprise Looking Again at the Sleeping Hermaphrodite in the Palazzo Massimo Jennifer Trimble

In the Palazzo Massimo in Rome is a sculpture of Hermaphrodite asleep (figs. 1.1 and 1.2).1 Carved from a single block of fine-­grained white marble, the figure twists around the long axis of the body, legs and hips resting on the right side while the chest is prone and the head turns to the right. The body is nude except where drapery wraps around the lower left arm and left ankle; the front of the torso shows both a breast and male genitalia. Found in 1879 on the Viminal Hill in Rome, this sculpture is dated to the Antonine period, between 130 and 150 CE, by the use of the running drill in the hair, the way the drapery is channeled, and the high polish wherever the marble depicts bare skin. This is one of eight known examples of the SleepWith this essay, I thank and honor Elaine Gazda, my doctoral advisor at the University of Michigan. Elaine insisted on the importance of looking closely at an artwork itself. She also demanded careful historical contextualization while modeling openness to new theoretical frameworks—­all in the pursuit of a deeper understanding of Roman visual culture. For incisive questions and helpful suggestions about earlier drafts of this essay, I thank Dillon Gisch, Matthew Loar, Brenda Longfellow, Carolyn MacDonald, Ellen Perry, and Gabrielle Thiboutot. 1.  Luni marble, 1.48 m long, 0.25 m high, Rome, Museo Nazionale delle Terme, Palazzo Massimo, inv. no. 1087; von Kieseritzky 1882; Helbig 1966, 3:151–­52, cat. no. 2243; Giuliano 1979, 123–­26, cat. no. 89; Di Mino and Bertinetti 1990, 143–­44, cat. no. 119; La Regina 1992, 116, cat. no. 165; La Regina 1998, 136–­39; Gasparri and Paris 2013, 260–­ 61. The left hand, the lower left leg, and a chunk of drapery along the right side were separately worked and are missing; also missing are the index and little fingers of the right hand.

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ing Hermaphrodite, all of them so similar in size and form that they must share a common model.2 Of these, the Palazzo Massimo Hermaphrodite is the most skillfully carved. The Borghese Hermaphrodite in the Louvre is more famous: that sculpture was found in 1608 in the Gardens of Sallust in Rome, displayed in the collections of the Cardinal Borghese, provided with a marble mattress by Bernini in 1619–­20, and brought to Paris by Napoleon in 1807.3 This sculpture in the Palazzo Massimo in Rome, however, is finer in its lively treatment of curves and twists through the body, its delicate fingers, and the virtuoso detailing of the hair (fig. 1.3). It was almost certainly painted, so that contrasting colors as well as textures set off the skin, drapery, hair, and facial features.4 How was this sculpture seen and understood in second-­century Rome? The existing scholarship has not explored this question, focusing on two other issues instead. One is the way the Sleeping Hermaphrodite structures a visual surprise. Commentators have noted the alluring, feminine lines of the sculpture when approached from the back and how these lines invite the viewer to move around to the front, only to be startled to discover both a breast and a penis.5 This analysis helps explain a first encounter with the Sleeping Hermaphrodite but not what happened after that. How did viewers interact with this sculpture in a second or third viewing, or if they already knew the figure’s identity? What happened beyond surprise? The second focus in the existing scholarship has been on the presumed Greek original, which does not survive. All eight replicas depict Hermaphrodite nude and asleep in the same twisting, curved position, lying in a framing pool of drapery. The lower legs and left arms are entangled in the cloth in the same way; the eyes are always closed, and the mouth is slightly open; and the sculptures are the same length, within one or two centimeters.6 The traditional assumption is that these replicas copy a Greek original 2.  A ninth example reflecting the common model is a statuette; a tenth is a Maenad in the same size and pose. All ten are listed in LIMC V.1:277, no. 56, s.v. “Hermaphroditos” (A. Ajootian). On the Hermaphrodite in Greek and Roman culture, see Delcourt 1966; Nugent 1990; Raehs 1990; Ajootian 1997; Brisson 2002; von Stackelberg 2014. 3.  Paris, Musée du Louvre, inv. no. MR 220 (= MA 231); Haskell and Penny 1981, 234. 4.  Abbe 2015 provides a valuable overview on the painted colors of ancient sculpture. On semitranslucent and other painted effects, see Skovmøller and Therkildsen 2012. 5.  E.g., Robertson 1975, 551–­52; Pollitt 1986, 149; Kondoleon and Segal 2011, 129, 204. 6.  Ajootian 1990, 277, with bibliography. The Palazzo Massimo example is 1.48 m long; an example from Velletri in the Louvre is 1.49 m; another in the Villa Borghese is 1.47 m; the St. Petersburg figure is 1.47 m. Other examples are restored or incomplete.

Beyond Surprise  • 15

carved in the second century BCE, whose fame and prestige motivated these Roman copies.7 Less consensus surrounds the name of the Hellenistic artist, although some scholars cite Pliny the Elder, who mentions a Hermaphroditus nobilis carved by one Polykles (HN 34.80).8 Interpretation has accordingly focused on that presumed original within the cultural context of the second-­ century BCE; much has been made of the Sleeping Hermaphrodite’s Hellenistic effects of theatricality and surprise. In recent years, Elaine Gazda and others have demonstrated many of the problems inherent in these assumptions.9 Very different concepts of artistic originality, innovation, and appropriation were in play in Roman visual culture. Replication could occur for a variety of reasons and in the absence of a motivating original. There was some direct copying of famous Greek artworks, but Roman sculptors and workshops also created new combinations of existing forms and deliberately archaizing works. The Greek artistic styles of earlier periods were adapted for different uses in Rome, with particular styles consistently employed to express semantic meanings.10 Most important for my purposes here, focusing on a presumed Greek original shifts the focus away from the actual artwork. The known full-­size Sleeping Hermaphrodites all come from Rome or nearby and cluster in the imperial period.11 Interpreting these sculptures in relation to an earlier time does not help us understand how viewers saw and responded then and there. In this essay, I explore the viewing and reception of the Palazzo Massimo Sleeping Hermaphrodite in second-­century CE Rome. First, I analyze the ways in which the sculptor(s) shaped viewing and movement, not only in a first look, but also after that initial surprise. Second, I review Roman ideas about hermaphroditism and Hermaphrodite: this representation oscillated between woman and boy and between eroticism and myth. Third, I reconstruct the sculpture’s physical and social setting in the peristyle of a richly 7.  Dierks-­Kiehl 1973, 90. Ridgway (1990, 329–­30) is convincingly skeptical. Only one surviving version seems to be preimperial, a statuette from Kos dated on stylistic grounds to the late Hellenistic period (Ajootian 1990, no. 56g). 8.  Von Kieseritzky 1882; Mansuelli 1958, 82–­83; Robertson 1975, 551–­52; Giuliano 1979, 124–­25; Pollitt 1986, 149; Kondoleon and Segal 2011, 129 (cat. no. 121), 204; Dierks-­Kiehl 1973, 90; contra Stewart 1990, 225 and figs. 819–­20. 9.  Gazda 1995, 2002b. The literature is growing: Anguissola 2015 is a valuable analytical overview. 10.  On semantic meanings, see Hölscher 2004. On these themes, see Landwehr 1985; Bergmann 1995; Landwehr 1998; Gazda 2002a; Perry 2005; Trimble and Elsner 2006; Marvin 2008; Kousser 2008; Trimble 2011; Hallett 2012. 11.  Ajootian 1990, 276, with a list of replicas on 277.

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decorated domus on the Viminal. This sculpture drew its full effects from knowledgeable viewings that occurred long after the initial surprise was in the past. Whatever its formal antecedents, the Sleeping Hermaphrodite was a sophisticated Roman artwork that entangled its viewers at the boundaries between representation and response, male and female, viewer and viewed.

Looking Closely at the Sleeping Hermaphrodite It is productive to begin by looking at how the sculptor(s) carved the body and with what implications for viewing and response.12 The back was apparently the dominant view (fig. 1.1); this side is carved in more detail. Seen from the back, the figure is rendered in long, flowing curves, its baseline created by a sweeping line that descends from the right shoulder along the right side and hip and rises upward to follow the right leg all the way to the foot. This curve invites the eye to move along the body in either direction, through the center of gravity at the hips and buttocks. Enough drapery survives below the right arm to show that deep channels and grooves framed the body and drew the eye along this same line of movement. Along the top of the body, a more sinuous curve complements the long baseline, running parallel down the back, diverging to frame the hips and buttocks, and meeting again at the left end. At either end of the sculpture, smaller volumes and more intricate details slow down the viewer’s eye: the facial features and hair at right, the entangled feet and drapery at left. The original paint must have heightened this effect, the long nude curves contrasting with a pileup of colors at both ends. At the same time, movement is not completely halted. The right arm, pillowing the head, points downward at a new but complementary angle, inviting the eye to follow it around the body. Toward the feet, the long curves of the figure are interrupted by a loop of cloth rising at the knees, wrapping around the left foot, and pointing upward and across the figure to the other side. Alternatively, the viewer’s eye can follow the extended right leg all the way to the foot, which strains against its framing drapery and bends downward and away—­again drawing the viewer around to the other side. What appears next depends on which way the viewer moves around the sculpture. Walking around the head reveals shifting angles through the length of the body and, 12.  Cf. La Regina 1992, 116. On reception aesthetics, concerned with the ways in which artworks structure their own viewing, see Iser 1974 (literature); Kemp 1998 (visual art). On the ways in which the viewers of Roman art were implicated in what they saw, see Platt 2002; Elsner 2007a, 2007b; Newby 2012.

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Fig. 1.1. Rear view of the Sleeping Hermaphrodite, Museo Nazionale delle Terme, Palazzo Massimo, inv. no. 1087. (Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Roma.)

Fig. 1.2. Front view of the Sleeping Hermaphrodite in the Palazzo Massimo, Rome. (Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Roma.)

eventually, an erect penis; this is a youth, perhaps having an erotic dream. Moving instead around the feet reveals different curves and, eventually, the left breast; this is a woman, restless in her sleep. The breast and genitals are partly hidden by the bent left arm and upper left thigh; only once the viewer has moved all the way around to look head-­on at the front of the figure (fig. 1.2) do the breast and penis become visible at the same time—­this is Hermaphrodite. Even beyond the breast and penis, the front of the figure is very different. The back was carved in flowing, curvaceous lines; on this side, all is choppy and angular. The drapery does not accompany the long lines of the body

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but dives directly into and under the waist, against the grain, interrupting and segmenting the body’s length. The head is turned away; the left arm is bent crosswise. The left knee bends sharply, and the (missing) left foot jutted out above the right calf. Below the left knee, the drapery rises in a short, angular line that crosses the long grain of the body and points back to the other side. Faced with this jarring assembly of short, choppy lines, the viewer is not invited to look and linger but is pushed away. The front of this sculpture offers more than surprise; it repels the viewer in the very moment of discovery. Simultaneous attraction and repulsion are familiar motifs in Roman images of Hermaphrodite interacting with a satyr or with Pan. A revealing example is a first-­century CE wall painting from the House of the Dioscuri, depicting two figures highlighted within a landscape of rocky formations, trees, and distant buildings (plate 1.1).13 At right is Hermaphrodite, identifiable by having both breasts and a penis, but also feminized by white skin, narrow shoulders, and unmuscled flesh. By contrast, Pan has masculine red-­ brown skin, broad shoulders, and a well-­muscled torso above his goat’s legs. Pan’s left hand grasps a fold of Hermaphrodite’s bluish drapery, revealing the penis; at the same time, Pan lurches away, right hand thrown up, fingers splayed against the sight. What sight? The viewer is asked to reconstruct events. The god has apparently approached a beautiful, reclining figure and lifted the drapery to expose more—­only to recoil. Hermaphrodite may have been asleep or resting, but now he turns and looks directly at the goat-­god, placing his right hand on Pan’s left.14 This painting plays with simultaneity and sequence, inviting the viewer to reconstruct a narrative from a single moment. In the erotic discomfiture of the ever-­horny Pan, there is humor 13.  From the atrium of the House of the Dioscuri (VI.9.6–­7), now in the Naples National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 27700; Richardson 1955, plate 23.1; PPM 4:889, fig. 57, s.v. “VI 9, 6.7 Casa dei Dioscuri” (I. Bragantini). On the findspot, see Richardson 1955, 15. Three Pompeian wall paintings of this scene are known, plus, perhaps, a badly preserved figurine (Ajootian 1990, 280, nos. 64–­68). On a similar painting from the House of the Vettii, see Fredrick 1995. 14.  I use masculine pronouns for Hermaphrodite (as Latin does), in an imperfect but historically grounded compromise. Katherine von Stackelberg points out that the neutral pronoun it removes the “frisson of sexual identification” that was part of Hermaphrodite’s ancient visual impact (von Stackelberg 2014, 395 n. 1). She accordingly employs the more capacious pronouns ze and hir, currently in use in English-­speaking intersex communities. However, Roman culture did not make affirmative space for people who were sexed differently from the binary norm (Gardner 1998; Brisson 2002); these were figures of tension and contradiction, an aspect at the core of my discussion here.

Beyond Surprise  • 19

but also a cheeky question: What is it that Pan is recoiling from: the shock of finding a penis on what he thought was a woman, two sexes in a single body, or Hermaphrodite’s desiring eyes, now looking back at Pan with intent?15 Where does the answer to this question leave the viewer, who is looking directly at what Pan cannot bear to see? The Palazzo Massimo sculpture is even cheekier, putting any viewer in the position of Pan. The viewer has perhaps approached (like Pan) from the rear, responding with desire (like Pan) to the figure’s sensuous curves. Just as desire drives Pan to lift the concealing drapery to see more, it invites the viewer of the sculpture to move around to the front to see more. In the painting, Pan backs away at the very moment of discovery; in the sculpture, the choppy lines of the front push the viewer away at the very moment of discovery. The painting leaves the story there, but the sculpture does not. Those choppy angles do not push the viewer completely away; instead, at either end of the front of the body, the sculpture’s lines become flowing again and invite the viewer to move back around to the other side. To the left, the diagonal folds of the cloth wrapped around the arm point the viewer’s eye toward the head; to the right, the lower legs are accompanied by long lines of drapery that invite the viewer down to the end and back around to the other side. The front of this sculpture pushes the viewer away but back toward the more welcoming rear view. Beyond surprise, the sculpture continues to play with the viewer, now with new questions: Were you duped, like Pan? Knowing, now, that the curves of the back belong to Hermaphrodite (fig. 1.1), do you look at them differently, though they have not changed? Interestingly, a viewer who first sees the front of this sculpture ends up in the same position. Starting at the front means seeing the female breast and male genitalia first, symmetrically framed and emphasized by the left arm and left thigh; this is Hermaphrodite, depicted first and foremost as a doubling of sex markers. Seen first from the front, this sculpture is akin to depictions of Hermaphrodite asleep on his back, with breasts and male genitalia revealed to the viewer, or of Hermaphrodite Anasyromenos, a standing figure lifting up his skirt to show male genitalia.16 Only then is the rest of the Palazzo Massimo sculpture revealed; as noted above, the front pushes the viewer away but with an invitation to move around to the other side. Once 15.  Commenting on a very similar scene in the House of the Vettii, David Fredrick (1995, 281) stresses the reversal of sexual agency for Pan, “from active penetrator to potential penetratee, both physically and visually.” Cf. von Stackelberg 2014. 16.  Ajootian 1990, 274–­76. On Near Eastern precedents for the Greek Anasyromenos images, see Ajootian 1997, 220–­28.

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there, the viewer faces the same question about responding to those long and flowing curves while knowing this is Hermaphrodite. For viewers looking closely and accepting this sculpture’s invitations, it delivers not only humor and surprise but also challenge and risk. Whatever the initial approach, the sculpture moves its viewers around, attracting and pushing away, always offering a return to the rear view and an invitation to linger there, to look again and again. The back of the Sleeping Hermaphrodite is thus the dominant side, in a repeating sense. But this encouragement to favor certain points of view raises a further question. If the only markers of Hermaphrodite’s identity are two carved details on the front, and if viewers are invited to look and linger anywhere but there, in what sense does this figure continue to represent Hermaphrodite? Below, I will suggest that the sculpture plays with this duality, shifting between its depiction of a specific mythological figure and a more generalized object of desire. The sculpture embodies tensions not only between back and front and between male and female; it also plays with identity (spotlighted and mythological) and effects (overall and ongoing). Viewers are thus invited to shape their own perceptions of the sculpture, choosing their own movements and points of view. But these movements must either follow the directions suggested by the lines of the sculpture or resist them; viewing is neither restful nor static. What changes in the course of these repetitions are not the lines and curves of the sculpture itself but what the viewer knows and does. Far beyond the initial surprise of the breast and penis on the front, this sculpture entangles its viewers in complex dualities of viewing and response.

Roman Views of Hermaphroditism and Hermaphrodite In the preceding section of this essay, I focused on effects created by the sculptor(s); in this section, I consider what Roman viewers saw in those effects. Modern observers have seen a powerful erotic impact. In his “Hermaphroditus” of 1863, Algernon Charles Swinburne responded to the Borghese Hermaphrodite in the Louvre with a poetic exploration of unfulfilled desire, forever caught between two sexes.17 The first scholarly publication of the Palazzo Massimo sculpture in 1882 saw in it the moment of orgasm, judging by the erect penis, open mouth, and straining right leg.18 For mod17.  Seagroatt (2002) interestingly explores links between Swinburne’s poetry and the sensationalism of mass literature in the 1860s. 18.  Von Kieseritzky (1882, 248–­49) sees here a “crisi voluttuosa.”

Beyond Surprise  • 21

ern viewers, the familiarity of the reclining female nude in Western art further shapes what we see.19 However, sexually explicit imagery in Roman contexts was not always about erotic experience, and gender constructions were quite different. For example, the images of Priapus seen at the main entrance of the House of the Vettii at Pompeii were less about sex than about good luck at the threshold of the house. Phalloi are frequently depicted in Roman urban culture and can have humorous, apotropaic, or other meanings.20 The nineteenth-­century removal of such material into the Museo Segreto of the Naples National Archaeological Museum—­and its return to public viewing in recent years—­demonstrates the historical specificity of concepts like obscenity and shows how different ancient and modern perceptions can be.21 In ancient Rome, ideas about hermaphroditism involved a particular relationship between the body and verification by looking. During the republic, the birth of a child with double or ambiguous sex organs was treated as a terrible omen, potentially signaling war, famine, or other social disasters and requiring expiation. The Etruscan diviners summoned to deal with one such case termed it a foul and disgusting portent (foedum ac turpe prodigium) and drowned the child (Livy 27.37.5).22 According to Pliny, this fear had eased by the imperial period, when hermaphroditic people were even displayed as entertainment.23 Still, a consistent theme is that there was no conceptual space for deviation from a binary sexual norm. Similarly, Roman legal writings show that inheritance and other matters depended on the classification of persons into male or female, a distinction ultimately dependent on the visual appearance of sex characteristics.24 In the case of the Sleeping Hermaphrodite, there is no sign that this sculpture connoted religious or social disaster or had any connection to legal concerns. However, the long Roman history of enforcing one sex or the other, with life-­changing consequences and with particular emphasis given to the sex organs as visual proof, shaped the ways in which this sculpture communicated meaning. In this context, the Sleeping Hermaphrodite’s sex organs are not ambiguous at all: the dou19.  Squire 2011. 20.  Clarke 1998. 21.  Barré, García y García, and Jacobelli 2001, 19–­26. 22.  Annie Allély (2003, esp. 136–­39) has connected this drastic treatment to the period after the Second Punic War and to the influence of Etruscan religion. 23.  Gignuntur et utriusque sexus quos hermaphroditos vocamus, olim androgynos vocatos et in prodigiis habitos, nunc vero in deliciis (Persons are also born of both sexes combined—­ what we call hermaphrodites, once called androgyni and classed as prodigies, but now as entertainments; Pliny, HN 7.34; translation from Gardner 1998, 38). 24.  Gardner 1998. I thank Dillon Gisch for this reference.

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bled details of breast and penis identified the figure as hermaphroditic in this particularly Roman sense. Against this background, mythology could explore the idea of a double-­ sexed being. In Greek culture, Hermaphrodite was the winged child of Hermes and Aphrodite, a god of sexual union, male-­female from the start.25 Ovid (Met. 4.276–­388) seems to have been the first to make Hermaphrodite’s duality the result of a transformation.26 In Ovid, Hermaphrodite begins as a teenager of unremarkable masculinity. The nymph Salmacis increasingly desires him when he comes to her spring and swims there. She eventually wraps herself around the youth’s body, praying to the gods to unite them forever, and her wish is granted: nec duo sunt sed forma duplex, nec femina dici / nec puer ut possit, neutrumque et utrumque videntur (they were no longer two but had a double form, such as could be said to be neither woman nor boy: they seemed to be neither and both; Met. 4.378–­79).27 Gender roles are inverted and interwoven throughout these lines; the youth’s beauty while bathing incites his rape by the nymph, whose focus on self-­adornment and active desire is not characteristic of her kind.28 In Ovid’s version, Hermaphrodite’s double sex is violently acquired; it embodies not seamless union but conflict and tension. Ovid’s tale powerfully influenced later Roman representations of Hermaphrodite.29 Martial, for example, mentions Hermaphrodite in three different epigrams (6.68, 10.4, 14.174), each time entangled with Salmacis.30 For the Palazzo Massimo sculpture, found in an elite second-­century residence in Rome, the story of Hermaphroditus’ transformation was surely the most immediate mythological referent for its viewing and reception. On the one hand, the Sleeping Hermaphrodite does not depict an episode known from 25.  Ajootian 1997, 228–­31; see also Delcourt 1966. The Greek attestations are discussed in Robinson 1999, 214 and n. 17. 26.  Barchiesi and Rosati 2007, 284, with bibliography. See also von Stackelberg 2014, 412–­18. I thank Matthew Loar for noting that Ovid’s poem itself flags this telling as a dulcis novitas (Met. 4.284), although this may or may not mean that Ovid’s version is, in fact, new (Bömer 1976, ad loc.; Loar, pers. comm.). 27.  Translation from Hinds 2007, 143. 28.  Nugent 1990. Matthew Robinson shows that by the time Hermaphrodite is finally named in line 383, the word is a triple pun, simultaneously referring to the double-­sexed god, an androgynous being, and an effeminate, sexually passive male (Robinson 1999). 29.  On later references, see Ajootian 1990, 269. On the play between Pompeian wall paintings and Ovidian myth, erotics, and vision, see Valladares 2011. On the complex interactions of poetry and visual representation in the Augustan period, see Barchiesi 2005. 30.  On Martial’s echoes of Ovid, see Hinds 2007; MacDonald 2015, 96–­100.

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any literary sources.31 On the other hand, it is a sophisticated sculptural representation of the transformed Hermaphrodite, with intricate and shifting sexual tensions depicted in a single and unmoving block of stone. This is not to say that the form itself was necessarily created in this period—­as we have seen, its antecedents may go back to the second century BCE—­but that the Palazzo Massimo sculpture was carved and seen with the tale of Hermaphrodite and Salmacis in mind. Looked at in this light, the breast and penis are only a first step: they identify the sculpture and also signal the viewer to pay attention to the complexities of gender unfolding through the rest of the body. The figure’s nudity, soft flesh, narrow waist and shoulders, curving hips, carefully dressed hair, and delicate face were all signifiers of femininity in Roman visual culture. The sculpture breaks up straight lines, creating curves and bends through the body instead; the passivity and vulnerability of sleep are also feminizing in Roman terms.32 Indeed, some scholars have seen this and other Sleeping Hermaphrodites as entirely feminine, except for the male genitalia. For ancient viewers as well, these characteristics eroticized the Sleeping Hermaphrodite as a young woman and invited a sexual gaze.33 At the same time, the Sleeping Hermaphrodite includes the characteristics of what Elizabeth Bartman has termed the “sexy boys” of Roman sculpture: statues of prepubescent or pubescent males depicted in a sinuous stance (frequently leaning on a support), with twisted torsos and crossed legs that interrupt any frontal planes, arms raised above the head or pulled behind the body, the head turned down and away, and elaborately curled and styled hair.34 Nude statues of Hadrian’s beloved Antinous are examples, as are depictions of Ganymede and similar figures in myth. These statues differ markedly from depictions of powerful Roman masculinity, which display an upright and frontal stance created by a restrained contrapposto, fully developed adult musculature (as in heroic nude portrait statues), gestures of the arm that do not descend below the hip or

31.  McNally 1985, 154; Ajootian 1990, 276; Robinson 1999. 32.  McNally 1985; Kampen 1996; Kousser 2008; Kondoleon and Segal 2011; D’Ambra and Tronchin 2015. 33.  On modern gaze theory and gender and power dynamics in Roman art, see Fredrick 2002, 1–­30; Severy-­Hoven 2012; Loar 2015. Scholars who see the Hermaphrodite as primarily feminine include von Kieseritzky (1882, 249), La Regina (1998, 136), and Ajootian (1997, 220, 231). 34.  Bartman 2002. On the Sleeping Hermaphrodite, see Bartman 2002, 263–­64n56.

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rise above the shoulder, and relatively short and kempt hair.35 By contrast, “sexy boy” sculptures typically have markers of exotic ethnicity or are removed to the mythical plane, and they employ a decidedly Greek stylistic idiom.36 In all these ways, they are depicted as objects of sexual desire. Bartman stresses that many of these “sexy boy” sculptures date to the second century CE and come from baths and villas; they were visual playthings within a midimperial world of elite Roman male leisure, sexuality, and visual representation. The Sleeping Hermaphrodite in the Palazzo Massimo is also a “sexy boy” sculpture. Here again is a slender, youthful body without defined musculature, in a curvaceous pose with the head turned away. There is no bodily or facial hair, but there is a fussy abundance of hair on the head, its elaborate rolls and braids once emphasized by a gem at the crown and long tendrils down the neck (fig. 1.3). On “sexy boy” sculptures, the clothing is often carved to emphasize the lines of the body and genitals; here, the drapery frames Hermaphrodite’s nude body for the viewer’s eye.37 Bartman stresses the aloofness or otherworldliness of these sculptures; this figure, too, is otherworldly in its mythological identity, aloof in sleep. Hermaphrodite has the characteristic face of a “sexy boy,” triangular and with heavy eyelids, a small and slightly open mouth, and an impossibly vertical profile joining brow and nose. Within the conventions of Roman visual culture, all these characteristics eroticized this Hermaphrodite as an adolescent youth and invited a sexual gaze. In other words, this sculpture offers to the viewer both a young woman and an adolescent boy, a dual object of desire. This erotic viewing is itself strongly gendered. Scholarship on Roman sexuality has shown that the gender of a man’s sexual partner was not considered all that important; what mattered was that he be the active, penetrating partner. The passive, penetrated role was considered feminizing and shameful.38 David Fredrick has explored these intersecting male-­female, active-­passive axes in mythological paintings at Pompeii, where Hermaphrodite crosses all boundaries, moving not only from female to male but also from passive to active (cf. plate 35.  On nude portrait statues of powerful Roman men, see Hallett 2005. Squire (2013) complicates gendered viewings of the powerful nude male body. 36.  Bartman (2002, 265) notes, “With their mythic subject, nudity, and particular formal or iconographic details, sexy boy statues looked Greek—­indeed so Greek that today they are frequently mistaken for copies of Greek originals.” 37.  Bartman 2002, 262; cf. Di Mino and Bertinetti 1990, 143–­44. 38.  Walters 1997; Williams 2010.

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Fig. 1.3. Detail view of the Sleeping Hermaphrodite in the Palazzo Massimo, Rome. (Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Roma.)

1.1).39 The sculpture in the Palazzo Massimo works differently, blurring distinctions between male and female but not between active and passive; this Hermaphrodite remains asleep. These observations cast the sculpture’s provocative initial challenge in a different light. How did viewers respond to its sensuous curves once they knew this was Hermaphrodite? A very Roman answer might be that it did not matter much at all. The interacting genders in this sculpture never threaten the penetrating male gaze, constructed as erotically responsive to either a boy or a woman. The sculpture’s play of either/or, neither/nor, both/and remains within that framework of power and desire. Yet the sculpture complicates matters. It configures not just the interplay of viewing and desire but Hermaphrodite himself—­represented not as 39.  Fredrick 1995, 281. Cf. Severy-­Hoven 2012 on taking into account the master gaze together with the male gaze.

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a seamless union of male and female but as a figure of unresolved duality and tension. A knowledgeable viewer could see the struggle of the male youth and female nymph in their shifting appearances throughout the body—­an effect heightened by the erection and the restlessness of the limbs, even in sleep. Moving around the sculpture could favor certain perspectives over others, but the desirable woman and the sexy boy also appear and disappear in a play of shifting and ambiguous genders.40 The back of the figure emphasizes womanly characteristics: narrow shoulders and waist, rounded hips, full buttocks. From other perspectives, as in the view up the body from in front of the feet, the hips are leaner and straighter, the thighs longer and less rounded, the shoulders more substantial; the youth appears instead. Meanwhile, certain points of view show only the left breast or penis but not both, and those sexual markers do not necessarily match up with the femininity or boyishness of the body on view in that moment. In this flickering, changeable mix-­up, the viewer cannot make the woman and the boy resolve into coherent figures. The image represents more than a hermaphroditic plaything; this is also Hermaphrodite, unsettled and unsettling.

The Social and Spatial Setting In this final section of this essay, I consider where and under what circumstances the Sleeping Hermaphrodite was seen in second-­century Rome. I have been assuming a single viewer, but this Sleeping Hermaphrodite and others were seen in places of collective viewing, strongly mediated by social constructions of space and visual access. In the preceding sections, I focused on the roles of the sculptor and the viewer; this section turns to the role of the patron. An additional dimension of viewing is that of the patron as he looked at other people who were looking at this sculpture. The Palazzo Massimo sculpture was found at the intersection of the modern Via Torino, Via Firenze, and Via Viminale in Rome.41 There, in February 1879, during construction of what is now the Teatro dell’Opera di Roma, an ancient street was found running from north-­northwest to south-­southeast along the top of the Viminal Hill, and on the west side of the street were 40.  Pseudo-­Lucian’s Erotes, in describing an encounter with the Aphrodite of Knidos, celebrates that statue’s erotic visual appeal to both lovers of boys and lovers of women (Erotes 13–­14). I thank Verity Platt and Jaś Elsner for this intriguing parallel, which, unfortunately, I was not able to explore before this essay went to press. 41.  Lanciani 1893–­1901, plate 17; the findspot is labeled “Domus C. Iulii Aviti. Scavi Costanzi IV.1879.”

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parts of a richly decorated domus, standing up to eight meters high in places.42 No plans or drawings were made, but the Notizie degli scavi di antichità reports on the discovery of part of a peristyle. Its brick columns were covered in stucco and painted red; they had marble bases on travertine dadoes. A lararium stood there, with a sacrifice to Jupiter painted on the wall above. Several sculptures were found, including the Sleeping Hermaphrodite.43 Brickstamps date the house to the mid-­second century CE.44 There are conflicting accounts of exactly where the Sleeping Hermaphrodite was found. Domenico Costanzi, the landowner and patron of the theater construction project, said the sculpture was found in the perimeter wall of the peristyle, in a niche that had been filled with earth and walled up.45 By contrast, Rodolfo Lanciani writes that it “was found carefully concealed between two walls, protected by a roof of stones, and lying like a corpse in his coffin.”46 Without additional information, neither account can be confirmed or dismissed. Either way, at some point, the sculpture was deliberately and permanently removed from view. We do not know why or when this happened, but evidence of ancient repairs suggests that the sculpture had previously been a valued display piece for some time.47 Other examples of permanently concealed sculpture excavated in ancient Rome suggest reasons of protection, storage, or the ritual deposition of religious objects.48 In the case of the Sleeping Hermaphrodite, protection 42.  It is described as “una nobilissima casa privata” (Fiorelli 1879, 38). 43.  The sculptures are discussed further later in this section. Fiorelli (1879, 38) notes that the finds of February 1879 included architectural fragments, utensils, furniture, bronze, iron and pottery vessels, coins, lamps, pins, needles, and so on. On two fragments of wall paintings from the peristyle, see BullCom 1879, 238, nos. 8–­9. 44.  A lead water pipe found in the house is inscribed with the name of C. Iulius Avitus, who may have owned the house in the late second century (CIL 15.7471; BullCom 1880, 22, no. 179; LTUR II:120, s.v. “Domus: C. Iulius Avitus” [W. Eck]). 45.  “Dalla narrazione del proprietario, sig. D. Costanzi, . . . risulta che essa fu ritrovata nel muro di cinta del peristilio, in una nicchia riempita di terra e murata” (von Kieseritzky 1882, 246). 46.  Athenaeum 2684 (April 5, 1879): 447, reproduced in Lanciani 1988, 61. Lanciani’s account was written within two months of the find and includes additional, verifiable details about the finds. However, as a building contractor, Costanzi presumably knew what a walled-­up niche looked like, and this was the most spectacular ancient find made at the site. Oddly, von Kieseritzky (1882) does not mention Lanciani’s version of the findspot. 47.  The left hand, the left leg, and a large piece of drapery on the right side were worked separately and attached with metal dowels; at least the latter two repairs were ancient (Di Mino and Bertinetti 1990, 144). 48.  Ambrogi 2011; I thank Paolo Liverani for this reference. See also Coates-­Stephens 2007; Donderer 1991–­92, 270, no. VI 9). I am grateful to Susanne Muth (pers. comm.)

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from Christian attacks on pagan imagery or from barbarian invasion seems unlikely; no evidence for such events later than the second century CE was recorded in the domus, and the find circumstances do not suggest haste. Long-­term storage does not require either the elaborate burial described by Lanciani or the walled-­up niche described by Costanzi, and there is no evidence for religious deposition in this case. It seems most likely that the Sleeping Hermaphrodite had outlived its suitability for display, perhaps because it had become too damaged or its paint was too faded, because the owners’ tastes had fundamentally changed, or for some combination of these reasons. At the same time, the elaborate disposition of the sculpture—­ whether in a walled-­up niche or carefully protected burial—­shows that its handling still elicited substantial respect and care.49 This evidence makes it likely that the Sleeping Hermaphrodite once stood within the peristyle garden of this wealthy domus on the Viminal. Large, marble sculpture is extremely heavy and difficult to move,50 and practicality alone suggests that this figure was not moved very far into its final position. The discoveries of February 1879 were concentrated in one part of the peristyle, and it is probable that this sculpture’s previous display location was also there or very close by. Other Sleeping Hermaphrodites are contextually similar. The famous replica in the Louvre lies on a lifelike marble mattress and pillow carved in 1619–­20 by Bernini.51 That mattress has tufted knots to distribute the stuffing, horizontal seams around the outside, and tiny creases and folds throughout that amplify the dynamism of the ancient carving. Bernini framed the figure’s curves within a soft geometry of puffy squares, and his intervention inspired at least two other restorations of Sleeping Hermaphrodites as lying on beds.52 However, these domestic, interior connotations are anachronistic. The ancient evidence places Hermaphrodite outside. In the wall painting from the House of the Dioscuri at Pompeii (plate 1.1), Hermaphrodite is lying on the ground in a rough, craggy landscape. The for the suggestion that placing the statue in a walled-­up niche could simply have been part of a remodeling of the peristyle. It is intriguing to note that some sarcophagi in Rome were made partially or entirely invisible, including through burial (Borg 2013, 229–­35); I thank Mont Allen for this parallel and Melissa Bailey for discussion of Byzantine parallels. 49.  There are no signs of blows with a hammer or similar signs of deliberate damage; it was not broken up for reuse as construction rubble or for the lime kiln; it was not removed from the premises altogether. 50.  Russell 2013, 137–­38. 51.  Haskell and Penny 1981, 234, with further references. 52.  These restorations are now in St. Petersburg and the Villa Borghese in Rome (Ajootian 1990, nos. 56f, 56e.

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Palazzo Massimo sculpture was originally inserted into a separate support, which does not survive, but several Sleeping Hermaphrodites have built­in bases that depict rocky ground.53 Almost certainly, then, our sculpture’s installation evoked an untamed exterior where one might well find a mythological being asleep. In keeping with this fantasy landscape theme, the Borghese Hermaphrodite in the Louvre was found in the Gardens of Sallust. Another example, from Velletri, was found in what was probably a Roman villa, and the replica now in St. Petersburg is said to have come from Hadrian’s Villa at Tivoli.54 These findspots—­a domus peristyle, one of the city’s great Horti, and two villas in the hills near Rome—­take us into the world of elite Roman gardens and cultivated leisure. Katherine von Stackelberg has argued that images of Hermaphrodite were closely connected to Roman garden spaces. For the early imperial period, she identifies strong visual or physical connections between gardens and individual sculptures and paintings of Hermaphrodite. For example, the image of Pan and Hermaphrodite from the House of the Dioscuri at Pompeii (plate 1.1) was painted onto the wall over the wide doorway that led south from the atrium into the large peristyle garden with fishpond, the painting’s theme of boundary crossing thus placed at an important threshold within the house. To explain this connection, von Stackelberg suggests that Roman gardens were themselves hermaphroditic spaces where gender roles could be challenged and reconfirmed.55 Within this peristyle, the Palazzo Massimo Hermaphrodite was part of a particular context of status display and social interactions. In an elite Roman house, peristyle gardens were among the most public reception spaces, meant to impress visitors with the social power of the owner and to provide a stage for the performance of intricate social relationships.56 Vitruvius famously distinguished between a grand house’s rooms that required an invitation to enter and those that did not: communia autem sunt, quibus etiam invocati suo iure de populo possunt venire, id est vestibula, cava aedium, peristylia, quaeque 53.  There is an example from Velletri that is now in the Louvre (Ajootian 1990, 277, no. 56a), another in Florence (no. 56b), a fragmentary example in Rome (no. 56d), and one now in Pittsburgh (no. 56h). 54.  Ajootian 1990, 277, nos. 56, 56a, 56f. On the Velletri find, see Neudecker 1988, 245–­46, no. 76.1. Other replicas also seem to be from Rome or nearby, but findspots are not recorded. 55.  Von Stackelberg 2014. 56.  The past three decades have seen transformative research on the social structuring of Roman houses, from Wallace-­Hadrill’s classic 1988 article onward. On the sculptural decoration of houses and villas, see the analytical overview in Gazda 2015.

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eundem habere possunt usum (The common rooms, on the contrary, are those entered by anyone, even unasked. Such are the vestibule, the atrium, the peristyle, and those that are for similar uses).57 At the same time, peristyle gardens provided access to triclinia and other grand reception rooms that did require an invitation to enter. Peristyles thus received a range of visitors in a variety of configurations, from crowds of clients, to mixed dinner parties, to small groups of high-­status friends. All these visitors experienced these spaces by the owner’s permission and on the terms of their relationships to the owner. Within peristyle gardens, wealthy owners typically combined sculpture, paintings, architecture, plantings, and water features to create multisensory experiences of light, smell, sound, form, and color.58 These combinations encouraged movement and looking, but the two were not the same; physical movement through the space was often quite restricted, while the eye moved more freely, along unfolding sight lines.59 Any one sculpture was an element of a larger architectural and decorative ensemble, although no single theme predominated; instead, sculptures helped structure sight lines and movement and created formal and thematic connections. These broader patterns help us understand the expectations that owners and visitors brought to their interactions, even if we do not know exactly where the Sleeping Hermaphrodite was placed. This peristyle included painted columns and walls, a lararium, and numerous sculptures of various kinds: the Sleeping Hermaphrodite, a hydria-­bearing youth configured as a fountain sculpture, a boy holding grapes in his hand, the personification of a river, a headless portrait bust, a herm bust of Ariadne, and fragments of other sculptures. The presence of a fountain sculpture suggests that the peristyle had a water feature as well. Notably, the theme of water is repeated in the river personification and in the fountain sculpture, carved, with semiotic excess, as a youth carrying water jars.60 If the Sleeping Hermaphrodite was installed near these figures and the fountain, knowledgeable viewers may have thought immediately of the spring of Salmacis. Like the sculpture itself, the contextual arrangement could play simultaneously with delight and discomfort: those waters were both inviting and unmanning. 57.  De Arch. 6.5.1; translation adapted from Gwilt 1826, 179. 58.  Von Stackelberg 2009. On sculptures in Roman garden ensembles, see Bartman 1988; Neudecker 1988; Bartman 1991; Bergmann 2002; Newby 2012; Gazda 2015. 59.  Von Stackelberg 2009, 65–­67, 101–­25. 60.  A programmatic perspective is considered in only one publication, where the authors suggest water and sleep as key themes (Di Mino and Bertinetti 1990, 143).

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All this raises questions about social as well as visual access to the Sleeping Hermaphrodite. Can we say anything about the sculpture’s placement in relation to viewers? Its state of preservation suggests that it was not exposed to the rain but was installed under cover. This points to a placement somewhere within the colonnade or another roofed space.61 The back of the figure is more carefully worked than the front (e.g., no navel is carved), suggesting some difference in the visibility of the two sides. These clues mean that we have to consider several different placements. One possibility is that the sculpture may have stood in a relatively accessible part of the peristyle, so that all visitors could move freely around it and see all sides—­as my discussion so far has assumed. Alternatively, perhaps only one side of the sculpture could be seen, presumably the more carefully worked back. This severely limited visibility may be startling to consider, given how powerfully the figure works in the round, but there are parallels in midimperial sculptural display,62 and Costanzi reported that the sculpture was found in a niche. If it could only be seen from the back, viewers could not identify Hermaphrodite simply by looking; they had to be told the identity by someone else or had to know it already from previous visits here or from seeing another Sleeping Hermaphrodite elsewhere. An intriguing third possibility is that the sculpture’s positioning shaped viewers’ access in some combination of visual, spatial, and social ways. For example, its placement could help define architectural transitions or different levels of access, if, for example, one side of the sculpture (the front?) was visible to all visitors from within the peristyle, while the other side (the back?) could be seen only from within a more privileged space that required an invitation to enter.63 All three of the possible placement scenarios I have proposed emphasize the intersecting roles of cultural knowledge and social access. On the one hand, the Sleeping Hermaphrodite was not an obscure mythological figure that required an erudite response.64 Not much knowledge was required to identify the breast and penis, and many people in Rome may have known about Hermaphrodite’s encounter with the nymph. Some may have seen other replicas, such as that in the Gardens of Sallust, which were accessible to the public. On the other hand, greater knowledge was required to comment aptly on, say, the location of the actual Salmacis spring in Asia 61.  Von Kieseritzky (1882, 247) saw water damage at the lower belly, penis, and some of the drapery. However, the more recent conservators concluded that the sculpture had not been exposed to the rain and weather in antiquity (Di Mino and Bertinetti 1990, 144). 62.  E.g., Bartman 1988; Retzleff 2007. 63.  I owe this intriguing idea to Gabrielle Thiboutot and Carolyn MacDonald. 64.  I thank Carolyn MacDonald for a stimulating discussion of this point.

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Minor, specific lines of Ovid’s Metamorphoses or other literary references, or the sculpture’s intricate visual workings. In all cases, the fullest viewing was available to those persons with the highest levels of access and knowledge. In other words, this was always a socially inflected viewing—­not only because it took place within an elite domus peristyle, but because specific viewings were shaped by who was circulating in the space, in what groupings, and under what circumstances. The stakes for the social display of cultural knowledge rose accordingly. Seeing and discussing this statue among fellow clients was very different from doing so in an elite group of the owner of the house and his friends. A visitor’s surprised first reaction to the Sleeping Hermaphrodite might be seen and enjoyed by viewers who were more knowledgeable, including the owner of the house. A more erudite response might provoke a very different conversation. As the ultimate shaper of the space, the owner manipulated and also appropriated for himself other people’s viewings, both their delight and their destabilization; in this sense, the Sleeping Hermaphrodite lets us observe how the patron might have looked at other people who were looking at the sculpture.

A Concluding Look In this essay, I have asked what might have happened after a viewer’s initial surprise upon seeing the Sleeping Hermaphrodite in the Palazzo Massimo and how this work was seen in second-­century Rome. My discussion focused successively on the contributions of sculptor, viewer, and patron, from the carving of particular sculptural effects, to the interactions of viewers with visual depictions of sex and myth, to the figure’s social and spatial framing within an elite peristyle in Rome. These three layers do not combine into a seamless whole but add up to interacting and sometimes contradictory effects. A sculptor might carve one suite of possibilities to be seen, but the sculpture’s owner had enormous influence over who could see those possibilities and under what circumstances. In turn, viewers might respond in these desired ways or others, resisting particular sculptural, social, or spatial frames. Essential elements of these effects were movement and replication, including the sculpture’s invitations to move around it and look again and again, as well as the repeated movements of clients, friends, and owner through the social and visual rituals of an elite domus. Far beyond surprise, the Sleeping Hermaphrodite drew its full effects from an intricate web of viewings.

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Exactly how the Palazzo Massimo sculpture related to earlier models remains obscure. This question is also relatively unimportant for its viewing and reception in the imperial period. It may have copied a famous Hellenistic original, as has always been assumed. Equally plausibly, it may be the outcome of a more indirect genealogy of form, with particular aspects of size, material, figural emphasis, and virtuoso detail taking shape only in relation to its metropolitan context in the imperial period. Neither the high quality of this work nor the number of replicas can be taken as evidence of the fame of a lost original. Both features testify instead to the particular cultural and social interests that shaped visual culture in second-­century Rome. In the Sleeping Hermaphrodite, we see a stylistic idiom and mythological iconography combined in particular ways for the interests and needs of that time and place. Now, in the early twenty-­first century, the sculpture in the Palazzo Massimo has lost some bits of marble and its original colors, and its viewing context is entirely changed. We see this artwork now thanks to the building boom of late nineteenth-­century Rome, within the modern institution of the archaeological museum, and through the lenses of changing scholarly frameworks. Even so, the Sleeping Hermaphrodite in the Palazzo Massimo continues to invite viewers into the remote worlds of myth and ancient Rome, entangling us in the pleasures and dangers of interpretation.

Works Cited Abbe, M. B. 1997. “The Only Happy Couple: Hermaphrodites and Gender.” In Naked Truths: Women, Sexuality, and Gender in Classical Art and Archaeology, edited by A. O. Koloski-­Ostrow and C. L. Lyons, 220–­42. London: Routledge. Abbe, M. B. 2015. “Polychromy.” In The Oxford Handbook of Roman Sculpture, edited by E. A. Friedland, M. G. Sobocinski, and E. K. Gazda, 173–­88. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ajootian, A. 1997. “The only happy couple: Hermaphrodites and gender.” In Naked Truths: Women, Sexuality, and Gender in Classical Art and Archaeology, edited by A. O. Koloski-­Ostrow and C. L. Lyons, 220–­42. London and New York: Routledge. Allély, A. 2003. “Les enfants malformés et considérés comme prodigia à Rome et en Italie sous la République.” RÉA 105.1:127–­56. Ambrogi, A. 2011. “Sugli occultamenti antichi di statue: Le testimonianze archeologiche a Roma.” RM 117:511–­66. Anguissola, A. 2015. “‘Idealplastik’ and the Relationship between Greek and Roman Sculpture.” In The Oxford Handbook of Roman Sculpture, edited by E. A. Friedland, M. G. Sobocinski, and E. K. Gazda, 240–­59. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Barchiesi, A. 2005. “Learned Eyes: Poets, Viewers, Image Makers.” In The Cambridge

34  •  ro m an a rtis ts , pat ron s, a n d p ublic consumption Companion to the Age of Augustus, edited by K. Galinsky, 281–­85. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Barchiesi, A., and G. Rosati. 2007. Ovidio, Metamorfosi. Vol. 2, Libri III–­IV. Rome: Fondazione Lorenzo Valla. Barré, L., L. García y García, and L. Jacobelli, eds. 2001. Museo Segreto. Pompeii: Marius Edizioni. Bartman, E. 1988. “Decor et Duplicatio: Pendants in Roman Sculptural Display.” AJA 92.2:211–­25. Bartman, E. 1991. “Sculptural Collecting and Display in the Private Realm.” In Roman Art in the Private Sphere: New Perspectives on the Architecture and Decor of the Domus, Villa, and Insula, edited by E. K. Gazda with A. E. Haeckl, 71–­88. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Bartman, E. 2002. “Eros’s Flame: Images of Sexy Boys in Roman Ideal Sculpture.” In The Ancient Art of Emulation: Studies in Artistic Originality and Tradition from the Present to Classical Antiquity, edited by E. K. Gazda, 249–­71. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Bergmann, B. 1995. “Greek Masterpieces and Roman Recreative Fictions.” In “Greece in Rome: Influence, Integration, Resistance,” edited by C. P. Jones, C. Segal, R. J. Tarrant, and R. F. Thomas, special issue, HSCP 97:79–­120. Bergmann, B. 2002. “Art and Nature in the Villa at Oplontis.” In Pompeian Brothels, Pompeii’s Ancient History, Mirrors and Mysteries, Art and Nature at Oplontis, and the Herculaneum “Basilica,” edited by T. McGinn, P. Carafa, N. de Grummond, B. Bergmann, and T. Najbjerg, 87–­120. JRA Supplements 47. Portsmouth, RI: Journal of Roman Archaeology. Bömer, F. 1976. P. Ovidius Naso, Metamorphosen Kommentar, Buch IV–­V. Heidelberg: C. Winter. Borg, B. 2013. Crisis and Ambition: Tombs and Burial Customs in Third-­Century CE Rome. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Brisson, L. 2002. Sexual Ambivalence: Androgyny and Hermaphroditism in Graeco-­ Roman Antiquity. Translated by J. Lloyd. Berkeley: University of California Press. Clarke, J. R. 1998. Looking at Lovemaking: Constructions of Sexuality in Roman Art, 100 B.C.–­A.D. 250. Berkeley: University of California Press. Coates-­Stephens, R. 2007. “The Reuse of Ancient Statuary in Late Antique Rome and the End of the Statue Habit.” In Statuen in der Spätantike, edited by F. A. Bauer and C. Witschel, 171–­87. Wiesbaden: Reichert. D’Ambra, E., and F. Tronchin. 2015. “Gender.” In The Oxford Handbook of Roman Sculpture, edited by E. A. Friedland, M. G. Sobocinski, and E. K. Gazda, 451–­67. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Delcourt, M. 1966. Hermaphroditea: Recherches sur l’Être double promoteur de la fertilité dans le monde classique. Brussels: Latomus. Dierks-­Kiehl, C. 1973. Zu späthellenistischen bewegten Figuren der 2. Hälfte des 2. Jahrhunderts. Cologne: Walter Kleikamp. Di Mino, M. R., and M. Bertinetti, eds. 1990. Archeologia a Roma: La materia e la tecnica nell’arte antica. Rome: De Luca Edizioni d’Arte. Donderer, M. 1991–­92. “Irreversible Deponierung von Großplastik bei Griechen, Etruskern and Römern.” ÖJh 61:192–­275.

Beyond Surprise  • 35 Elsner, J. 2007a. Roman Eyes: Visuality and Subjectivity in Art and Text. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Elsner, J. 2007b. “Viewing Ariadne: From Ekphrasis to Wall Painting in the Roman World.” CP 102.1:20–­44. Fiorelli, G. 1870. “Febbraio.” NSc, 29–­53. Fredrick, D. 1995. “Beyond the Atrium to Ariadne: Erotic Painting and Visual Pleasure in the Roman House.” ClAnt 14.2:266–­88. Fredrick, D., ed. 2002. The Roman Gaze: Vision, Power, and the Body. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Gardner, J. F. 1998. “Sexing a Roman: Imperfect Men in Roman Law.” In When Men Were Men: Masculinity, Power, and Identity in Classical Antiquity, edited by L. Foxhall and J. Salmon, 136–­52. London: Routledge. Gasparri, C., and R. Paris, eds. 2013. Palazzo Massimo alle Terme: Le Collezioni. Milan: Electa. Gazda, E. K. 1995. “Roman Sculpture and the Ethos of Emulation: Reconsidering Repetition.” In “Greece in Rome: Influence, Integration, Resistance,” edited by C. P. Jones, C. Segal, R. J. Tarrant, and R. F. Thomas, special issue, HSCP 97:79–­120. Gazda, E. K., ed. 2002a. The Ancient Art of Emulation: Studies in Artistic Originality and Tradition from the Present to Classical Antiquity. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Gazda, E. K. 2002b. “Beyond Copying: Artistic Originality and Tradition.” In The Ancient Art of Emulation: Studies in Artistic Originality and Tradition from the Present to Classical Antiquity, edited by E. K. Gazda, 1–­24. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Gazda, E. K. 2015. “Domestic Displays.” In The Oxford Handbook of Roman Sculpture, edited by E. A. Friedland, M. G. Sobocinski, and E. K. Gazda, 374–­89. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Giuliano, A., ed. 1979. Museo Nazionale Romano: Le sculture. Vol. I, 1. Rome: De Luca. Gwilt, J., trans. 1826. The Architecture of Marcus Vitruvius Pollio, in Ten Books. London: Priestley and Weale. Hallett, C. H. 2005. The Roman Nude: Heroic Portrait Statuary, 200 BC–AD 300. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hallett, C. H. 2012. “The Archaic Style in Sculpture in the Eyes of Ancient and Modern Viewers.” In Making Sense of Greek Art, edited by V. Coltman, 70–­100. Exeter: University of Exeter Press. Haskell, F., and N. Penny. 1981. Taste and the Antique: The Lure of Classical Sculpture, 1500–­1900. New Haven: Yale University Press. Helbig, W. 1966. Führer durch die öffentlichen Sammlungen klassischer Altertümer in Rom. Vol. 3. 4th ed. Tübingen: Verlag Ernst Wasmuth. Hinds, S. 2007. “Martial’s Ovid / Ovid’s Martial.” JRS 97:113–­54. Hölscher, T. 2004. The Language of Images in Roman Art. Translated by A. Snodgrass and A. Künzl-­Snodgrass. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Iser, W. 1974. The Implied Reader: Patterns of Communication in Prose Fiction from Bunyan to Beckett. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Kampen, N. B. 1996. “Gender Theory in Roman Art.” In I Claudia: Women in Ancient

36  •  ro m an a rt is ts , pat ron s, a n d p ublic consumption Rome, edited by D. E. E. Kleiner and S. B. Matheson, 14–­25. New Haven: Yale University Art Gallery. Kemp, W. 1998. “The Work of Art and Its Beholder: The Methodology of the Aesthetic of Reception.” In The Subjects of Art History: Historical Objects in Contemporary Perspectives, edited by M. A. Cheetham, M. A. Holly, and K. Moxey, 180–­96. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kondoleon, C., with P. C. Segal, eds. 2011. Aphrodite and the Gods of Love. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts Publications. Kousser, R. 2008. Hellenistic and Roman Ideal Sculpture: The Allure of the Classical. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lanciani, R. 1893–­1901. Forma Urbis Romae. Milan: Hoepli. Lanciani, R. 1988. Notes from Rome. Edited by A. L. Cubberley. Rome: British School at Rome. Landwehr, C. 1985. Die Antiken Gipsabgüsse aus Baiae: Griechische Bronzestatuen in Abgüssen Römischer Zeit. Berlin: Gebr. Mann. Landwehr, C. 1998. “Konzeptfiguren: Ein neuer Zugang zur römischen Idealplastik.” JdI 113:139–­94. La Regina, A., ed. 1992. Roma: 1000 anni di civiltà. Rome: Leonardo–­De Luca Editori. La Regina, A., ed. 1998. Museo Nazionale Romano: Palazzo Massimo alle Terme. Rome: Ministero per i Beni Culturali e Ambientali; Soprintendenza Archeologica di Roma. Loar, M. 2015. “Hercules at the Crossroads of Augustan Literature and Art.” PhD diss., Stanford University. MacDonald, C. 2015. “Looking Like a Roman, Looking Like a Greek: Viewing as Cultural Performance in the Late Republic and Early Empire.” PhD diss., Stanford University. Mansuelli, G. A. 1958. Galleria degli Uffizi: Le sculture. Vol. 1. Rome: Istituto Poligrafico dello Stato. Marvin, M. 2008. The Language of the Muses: The Dialogue between Roman and Greek Sculpture. Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum. McNally, S. 1985. “Ariadne and Others: Images of Sleep in Greek and Roman Art.” ClAnt 4.2:152–­92. Neudecker, R. 1988. Die Skulpturenausstattung römischer Villen in Italien. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Newby, Z. 2012. “The Aesthetics of Violence: Myth and Danger in Roman Domestic Landscapes.” ClAnt 31.2:349–­89. Nugent, G. 1990. “This Sex Which Is Not One: De-­constructing Ovid’s Hermaphrodite.” Differences 2:160–­85. Perry, E. E. 2005. The Aesthetics of Emulation in the Visual Arts of Ancient Rome. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Platt, V. 2002. “Viewing, Desiring, Believing: Confronting the Divine in a Pompeian House.” Art History 25.1:87–­112. Pollitt, J.J. 1986. Art in the Hellenistic Age. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Raehs, A. 1990. Zur Ikonographie des Hermaphroditen: Begriff und Problem von Hermaphroditismus und Androgynie in der Kunst. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang.

Beyond Surprise  • 37 Retzleff, A. 2007. “The Dresden Type Satyr-­Hermaphrodite Group in Roman Theaters.” AJA 111.3:459–­72. Richardson, L. 1955. Pompeii: The Casa dei Dioscuri and Its Painters. MAAR 23. Rome: American Academy in Rome. Ridgway, B. S. 1990. Hellenistic Sculpture. Vol. 1, The Styles of ca. 331–­200 B.C. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Robertson, C. M. 1975. A History of Greek Art. Vol. 1. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Robinson, M. 1999. “Salmacis and Hermaphroditus: When Two Become One (Ovid, Met. 4.285–­388).” CQ 49.1:212–­23. Russell, B. 2013. The Economics of the Roman Stone Trade. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Seagroatt, H. 2002. “Swinburne Separates the Men from the Girls: Sensationalism in Poems and Ballads.” Victorian Literature and Culture 30.1:41–­59. Severy-­Hoven, B. 2012. “Master Narratives and the Wall Painting of the House of the Vettii, Pompeii.” Gender and History 24.3:540–­80. Skovmøller, A., and R. H. Therkildsen. 2012. “On the High Gloss Polish of Roman Sculpture.” In Tracking Colour: The Polychromy of Greek and Roman Sculpture in the Ny Carlsberg Glyptothek; Preliminary Report 3, 2011, edited by J. S. Østergaard, 35–­46. Copenhagen: Ny Carlsberg Glyptothek. Squire, M. 2011. The Art of the Body: Antiquity and Its Legacy. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Squire, M. 2013. “Embodied Ambiguities on the Prima Porta Augustus.” Art History 36.2:242–­79. Stewart, A. 1990. Greek Sculpture: An Exploration. 2 vols. New Haven: Yale University Press. Trimble, J. 2011. Women and Visual Replication in Roman Imperial Art and Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Trimble, J., and J. Elsner, eds. 2006. “Art and Replication: Greece, Rome, and Beyond.” Special issue, Art History 29.2. Valladares, H. 2011. “Fallax imago: Ovid’s Narcissus and the Seduction of Mimesis in Roman Wall Painting.” Word and Image 27.4:378–­395. von Kieseritzky, G. 1882. “L’Ermafrodita Costanzi.” AdI 53:245–­73. von Stackelberg, K. 2009. The Roman Garden: Space, Sense, and Society. New York: Routledge. von Stackelberg, K. 2014. “Garden Hybrids: Hermaphrodite Images in the Roman House.” ClAnt 33.2:395–­426. Wallace-­Hadrill, A. 1988. “The Social Structure of the Roman House.” PBSR 56:43–­97. Walters, J. 1997. “Invading the Roman Body: Manliness and Impenetrability in Roman Thought.” In Roman Sexualities, edited by J. P. Hallett and M. B. Skinner, 31–­43. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Williams, C.A. 2010. Roman Homosexuality. 2nd ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Dismembering a Sacred Cow The Extispicium Relief in the Louvre Melanie Grunow Sobocinski and Elizabeth Wolfram Thill

The Extispicium Relief (Louvre Ma 978 and 1089; fig. 2.1) presents a problem. It is poorly published, with only four (primarily descriptive) articles devoted to the relief since its original publication in 1907.1 Few photographs This project has benefited from the help of many people. We thank Agnes Scherer of the Department of Greek, Etruscan, and Roman Antiquities at the Louvre for helping both authors study the Extispicium Relief in person on separate visits. Elizabeth Thill was also able to see Ma 392, for which she is very grateful. Additional thanks are due to Mme. Scherer and the Department of Greek, Etruscan, and Roman Antiquities for permission to publish our photos, as well as for access to the unpublished conservation reports on Ma 392, 978, and 1089 (Ibled 2005, 2011). Thill’s visit to the Louvre was made possible by an Indiana University New Frontiers Exploratory Travel Fellowship. We thank I. Shurygin for permission to publish his excellent photographs. We presented an early version of this research in January 2015 at the 116th Annual Meeting of the Archaeological Institute of America in New Orleans, Louisiana. We extend our thanks for the many helpful responses and suggestions that we received on that paper. Special thanks are due to Martin Beckmann and Steven Tuck for their perceptive observations, as well as to Alex Meyer for his help. Jennifer Lee, Jennifer Massey, Fred Naiden, and James Rives all offered helpful advice on the logistics of bovine sacrifice. Finally, we are grateful to the editors of this volume for their invitation to contribute to this project and for this opportunity to honor our mentor, Elaine Gazda, to whom we offer our ultimate and greatest thanks. Without her teaching and mentoring, we would not be the scholars that we are today. 1.  The original, definitive publication of the Extispicium Relief is Wace 1907. Since then, only a handful of articles (Sieveking 1925; Michon 1932; Tortorella 1988) have been specifically devoted to the relief. Leoncini 1988 presents drawings of it but does not evaluate the relief itself. The Extispicium Relief is also discussed briefly in a catalog of Roman

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Fig. 2.1. Composite plaster cast of the Extispicium Relief, comprising all known original components, post-­a ntique restorations, scaled-­up sixteenth-­century drawings of lost fragments, and hypothetical sketches of missing elements, Museo della Civiltà Romana, Rome (DAIR 77.1757). (Photograph by Rossa.)

of this piece are in circulation. Post-­antique alterations include inferior restorations of all foreground heads, competent but sometimes misleading restorations of most of the arms and some of the feet, and extensive reworking of most of the drapery and some of the background heads and hair. Some portions of the relief are known only from sixteenth-­century drawings, particularly the detailed depiction of the pediment of the Capitoline Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus in Rome. Despite these difficulties, the Extispicium Relief deserves our attention. It bears our only extant Roman illustration of the extispicium ritual (the readreliefs in the Louvre (Giroire and Roger 2007, 232–­33, cat. no. 159) and in the catalog of a special exhibition at the Capitoline (La Rocca and Parisi Presicce 2012, 57–­58, 214–­ 17, and cat. no. 4.1 at 330–­31). Otherwise, scholarship on it has been limited to passing mentions in broader studies of monumental reliefs: Ryberg 1955, 128–­31; Koeppel 1969, 146–­48; Gauer 1973, 335–­36; Koeppel 1985, 204–­12; Leander Touati 1987, 110; Grunow 2002, 53, 109–­11, 168–­69; Quante-­Schöttler 2002, 136–­55.

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Fig. 2.2. Victim Relief (Louvre Ma 978). (Photograph © I. Shurygin.)

ing of divine signs in a sacrificial victim’s liver); the most elaborate depiction of a dead sacrificial victim, itself a rare motif; and our only known artist’s signature on a monumental relief—­a signature that has been used to establish a Trajanic terminus post quem for the piece. The Extispicium Relief has seldom been the primary subject of research, but because it is purportedly a securely dated monumental relief, it appears regularly in studies of other Trajanic and Hadrianic reliefs, buildings, and historical events. However, the traditional date of the early second century CE has been assumed rather than argued, and discrepancies from other early second-­century reliefs have been ignored. In this essay, we deconstruct the evidence traditionally used to date the relief to the early second century, and we challenge that date, based on a close examination of the relief itself. Today the Extispicium Relief is preserved in two large fragments, both in the Louvre: Ma 978, henceforth here called the “Victim Relief,” in which the sacrificial attendants prepare to read the divine signs (fig. 2.2); and Ma 1089, henceforth here called the “Togati Relief,” in which six togate figures stand in front of a temple (fig. 2.3). The reconstruction illustrated in figure 2.1 includes casts of the two fragments in the Louvre and a now-­lost fragment

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Fig. 2.3. Togati Relief (Louvre Ma 1089). (Photograph © I. Shurygin.)

of a depiction of Victory (discussed below), supplemented by enlargements of sixteenth-­century drawings of the relief. Traces of three original edges are preserved on the Louvre fragments, so we need not posit extensive stretches of missing imagery to the left or right.2 2.  The bottom edge is best preserved, excepting the triangular restoration running from the left edge of the Togati Relief underneath the “emperor’s” feet. The left edge is preserved along the foot of the far-­left figure in the Victim Relief. A few inches of the right edge are

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The composition can be divided roughly into quadrants, which do not entirely coincide with the existing breaks in the marble (fig. 2.1). The lower-­ left quadrant portrays four sacrificial attendants—­three victimarii and a presumed haruspex—­grouped around a slain bovine, which lies on its back and with its head cranked at a ninety-­degree angle to its body, so that its head appears frontally (and upside down) to the viewer.3 A victimarius leans over the animal and pulls out its liver with his left hand, while his right arm reaches deeper into the carcass.4 Since the head of the victimarius and the arm of the haruspex are both restored, it is not clear how or even to what extent the two figures originally interacted.5 The inscription, which will be discussed below, is carved on the animal’s front left hoof. The second quadrant, encompassing the entire Togati Relief and part of the Victim Relief, originally featured a group of ten standing figures, most of them togate. All but the far-­left lictor are arranged to draw attention to the relief ’s central figure, who is further marked as important by his centered position beneath the architecture. The modern restored portrait reflects the general assumption that this figure represents the emperor, usually identified as “Trajan”; the original head was lost even before the late sixteenth century, the time of the first drawing we have of the relief.6 Drawings also reveal a distinguishable adjacent to the larger eagle in the Togati Relief. That the composition is essentially complete has not stopped various scholars from positing that the Extispicium Relief was once a part of the Great Trajanic Frieze or at least the same decorative program (Wace 1907, 244; Zanker 1970, 516–­17; Koeppel 1985, 154–­55). For a counterargument based on style and scale, see Leander Touati 1987, 110. 3.  The angle of the head reflects the reality that the victim’s spine was severed and its throat cut during earlier parts of the sacrificial act. See Aldrete 2014 on the practicalities of sacrifice. The relief does not clearly indicate the sex of the victim: the position of the victim’s legs and the disemboweling underway hide the critical anatomy from view. The oddly shaped flap of skin passing in front of the victim’s hooves is too high up on the belly to be genitalia and may represent a hole cut in the hide, through which the hooves were passed to hold the legs in place, much like a trussed chicken (we thank Jennifer Lee and Jennifer Massey for their help deciphering this imagery). 4.  The triangular blob beneath the back of the hand of the victimarius is probably the gall bladder. 5.  Cod. Vat. Lat. 3439 fol. 94 (reproduced in Wace 1907, plate XXIV, and in Leoncini 1988, 32, fig. 3) indicates the extent of the damage to the iconography in this area. 6.  Cod. Vat. Lat. 3439 fol. 83 (reproduced in Wace 1907, plate XX). We are grateful to M. Beckmann for his suggestion that this central figure was originally capite velato (pers. comm., 2015). Personal examination of the relief itself supports this conclusion: the relief slopes out toward the figure’s shoulders, forming a halo around where the figure’s head should be, as if something has been incompletely removed from the background. The architecture along this sloped section is more sketchily rendered than elsewhere, suggestive of recutting.

Dismembering a Sacred Cow  • 43

secondary point of focus on the foreground figure immediately facing the emperor. Now preserved at the far right of the Victim Relief and only from the waist down, this figure stood at the center of the composition and is the only togatus shown as bearded in the drawings, leading some scholars to identify him as Hadrian.7 A final figure of interest stands to the emperor’s immediate right in the middle ground of the relief, wearing the distinctive hat of a flamen Dialis, the special priest of Jupiter. Two lictors with axes bound into their fasces stand to the far left of the group; in the background, the left-­most lictor turns his head to watch the removal of the liver, forming a compositional link between the group of togate dignitaries and the attendants with the carcass. The remaining togate figures are presumably senators or members of the imperial family. The Capitoline Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus dominates the third quadrant of the relief. Today, the relief preserves the three-­door frontal facade of the temple up to the moldings supporting the pediment, as well as a short stretch of its flank. Sixteenth-­century drawings record that the relief also originally depicted the temple’s pedimental and crowning statuary. To the right, a small eagle appears on the cornice at the junction between the facade and flank architraves; apparently floating, this feature is particularly difficult to understand or reconcile with an obvious architectural feature. A freestanding column monument topped by a larger eagle can be seen to the far right, overlapping the flank architrave of the temple (fig. 2.1).8 The final quadrant of the relief depicts a flying Victory, now missing wings, her original head, and the attribute at the top of the long pole that she holds.9 She soars up and to the left, exiting the composition. Her toes 7.  This identification has been used as further evidence for the relief ’s supposed second-­ century date. This argument can be dismissed because Bonanno (1988, 157–­64) has demonstrated effectively that not every bearded portrait in Roman monumental reliefs references Hadrian. 8.  A casual observer (or one working from a small photograph) might assume that this column belonged to the temple’s flank, but it is clearly differentiated from the other columns, as its capital overlaps, rather than supports, the architrave. 9.  Wace (1907, 236–­37, plate XXX) published drawings of the Victory (which he assigned to a triumphal relief ) along with drawings of the Extispicium Relief. The whereabouts and scale of the Victory fragment were unknown at the time. Sieveking (1925, 161–­ 63) identified the “Bacchant” in the private collection of Valentin de Courcel at Cannes with the Renaissance drawings of the Victory published by Wace, and he argued for associating the Victory with the Extispicium, based on the scale of the fragment, the connecting fasces, and the way this fragment filled an otherwise empty portion of the composition (163–­65). Sieveking judged the style of the Victory (and thus the Extispicium Relief as a whole) to be Hadrianic (165). Michon (1932) gives the best photos and most extensive description of the Victory. Its current whereabouts are unknown.

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and drapery obscure the tips of the fasces that link the Victory fragment to the Victim Relief below.

The “Evidence” for a Second-­Century Date We turn now to the problem of chronology. Two main pieces of evidence underlie the traditional dating of the relief to the early second century. The first is the relief ’s reported findspot near the east hemicycle of the Forum of Trajan. The second is the inscription, commonly interpreted as an artist’s signature reading “Marcus Ulpius Orestes.” These two factors combined have led scholars repeatedly to attribute this piece to an imperial freedman of Trajan and to search for military events late in the reign of Trajan or early in the reign of Hadrian that might have inspired the relief. The Extispicium Relief can be connected to the east hemicycle of the Forum of Trajan through a series of references in the records of Antonio da Sangallo the Younger, who describes a number of sculptures discovered in that approximate area in 1540.10 Da Sangallo’s description of the depicted architecture goes into great detail, including the telling feature of the eagle on the cornice. From there, the Extispicium Relief, already in several pieces, went to the Capitoline Hill, where several artists sketched it before the restorations took place and while now-­lost portions of the relief were intact.11 Later, the Togati Relief and the Victim Relief were installed separately on the main facade of the Villa Borghese (probably around 1615–­19).12 After part of the Villa Borghese collection was sold to Napoleon in 1807, the Togati Relief and the Victim Relief were sent to the Louvre.13 The findspot in the Forum of Trajan can hardly be considered decisive, 10.  The provenance of the Extispicium Relief is traced in fuller detail by Michaelis (1891, 21–­23) and Wace (1907, 231–­32). 11.  See Leoncini 1988 and Wace’s summary table (1907, 230). 12.  A mid-­seventeenth-­century description of the Villa Borghese facade mentions these reliefs (Manili 1650, 46). In an unnumbered plate, Fabréga-­Dubert (2009) reconstructs the two large fragments as widely separated pendants on the facade flanking the main entrance to the Villa Borghese. The majority of the head and arm restorations and the extensive retooling probably took place in connection with this installation. 13.  At the Louvre, the Togati Relief and the Victim Relief were initially displayed as two different works (Clarac 1841–­53, 2.1:732–­33, 743–­44). Michaelis (1891, 21–­23, plate 3) identified the reliefs as belonging to the same composition on the basis of a sixteenth-­ century drawing.

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for several reasons. The Forum of Trajan has yielded a steady and prolific stream of sculptures since its abandonment sometime after the sixth century CE.14 Scholars have attempted to fit the fragments into a comprehensive Trajanic program, to which they have also attributed pieces only suspected of coming from the Forum of Trajan, such as other reliefs installed on the Villa Borghese and the monumental battle frieze fragments now on the Arch of Constantine.15 Yet, thus far, no one has suggested a convincing architectural setting within or near the forum for all of these reliefs, either in the form of a monumental frieze or as separate installments.16 This lack of an obvious physical setting seems suspicious. We suggest that the Extispicium Relief was not part of the original architecture of the Forum of Trajan. Indeed, the findspot in the Forum of Trajan provides only a terminus post quem for the Extispicium Relief. We know that the Forum of Trajan continued to be a favorite location for honorary statues as late as the fifth century CE.17 Relief fragments reported to have been found with the Extispicium Relief feature architecture reminiscent of third-­century sarcophagi, suggesting that reliefs, too, were added to the forum at later periods.18 Although such miscellany could indicate a marble stockpile or lime kiln, early reports of the relief fragments also mention an arch.19 To us, it seems likely that the Extispicium Relief belonged to a third-­or fourth-­century arch combining new and reused reliefs.20 As previously mentioned, the relief ’s inscription (CIL 6.29800; fig. 2.4) is often quoted as reading “Marcus Ulpius Orestes,” but it actually reads M. V[LPIUS] | ORE[S] | TES.21 The critical word “Ulpius” is a restoration. 14.  Wace 1907, 229–­57; Leander Touati 1987, 96–­111. 15.  See especially Wace 1907; Leander Touati 1987. 16.  Packer (2001, 58–­59) points out that earlier solutions have not been sustained and offers only a brief suggestion that the “Great Frieze of Trajan” was probably on “the north façade of the Basilica Ulpia” (198); see also Zanker 1970, 517. 17.  Chenault 2012; Weisweiler 2012. 18.  Cod. Vat. Lat. 3439 fols. 85, 86, 88 (reproduced in Wace 1907, plates XXI–­XXIII). Some of the recorded relief fragments are now lost, so their scale is impossible to determine. 19.  Wace 1907, 232–­33. 20.  The Arco di Portogallo reused Hadrianic reliefs (VanderLeest 1995; Liverani 2004). The Arcus Novus of Diocletian reused Julio-­Claudian reliefs from several different monuments alongside contemporary material (La Rocca 1994). The Arch of Constantine, still standing and the most discussed example of this genre, reused reliefs from several different periods alongside contemporary material. For bibliography on the Arch of Constantine and the practice of spoliation, see Elsner 2000; Marlowe 2004, 2010. 21.  A sixteenth-­century illustrator records an L after the V (accepted in Wace 1907,

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Fig. 2.4. Inscription from the Victim Relief. (Photograph by E. Thill, reproduced by permission of the Musée du Louvre Départment des A.G.E.R.)

The signature, in other words, could be restored as “MARCUS VIBIUS ORESTES.” This suggestion is as speculative as restoring the word Ulpius, but the point is that the signature does not read “Ulpius” and therefore is not definitively associated with Trajan’s family. Even if the signature were carved by a Marcus Ulpius Orestes, this nomenclature is not as chronologically or socially restricted as the prior literature on this relief presumes.22 The Prosopographia Imperii Romani (PIR)—­which does not include our M. V. Ore[s]tes under either “Orestes” or “Ulpius”—­ provides us with no fewer than fifty-­three additional members of the gens Ulpia that left literary or epigraphic traces. Quite a few of them sported the praenomen Marcus (M.), and members of the family continued to achieve prominence well into the third century.23 Only five M. Ulpii are specifically named as liberti. Even the name “Orestes” cannot be firmly tied to slave 238). Looking at the inscription as preserved today, it is not clear where this L would have been, unless there was unusually extended spacing between the V and the L, compared to the spacing in ORE[S] / TES. 22.  For instance, Claridge (2015, 118) notes, “Orestes was surely an imperial freedman and more conventionally has a Greek cognomen. Whether he was really a Greek . . . is anybody’s guess.” 23.  PIR 3:458–­466, nos. 533–­86.

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status: Greek names were in vogue in the Augustan period among elite families.24 In fact, an [Ore]stes was suffect consul in 85 CE.25 A tombstone of the wife of one M. Ulp. Orestes (CIL 06.26432) may or may not relate to the same individual as the signature on the Victim Relief but should be mentioned here.26 The tombstone is datable to either the second or third century on the basis of epigraphic style. In the event that we are dealing with the same individual, we have evidence here for a relatively long life (a fifty-­year-­old wife) and children, one of whom might have borne his father’s name. Ultimately, explicating the Extispicium Relief inscription proves less of a sure thing than was once promised. The name Ulpius not only is a restoration but also spans a broad chronological and social range. One-­to-­one correlations among the inscription, the reign of Trajan, and the artist who created this work cannot be upheld.

Objections to a Second-­Century Date Arguments against associating the Extispicium Relief with the Trajanic or Hadrianic periods can be derived from looking closely at the details of the relief itself. Pragmatically, stylistic analysis is difficult because the relief has been heavily restored and reworked (table 2.1).27 Stylistic analy24.  Wardle 1998, 112. 25.  PIR 5.3:459, no. 135. 26.  As recorded in CIL 6.26432, the inscription reads in full: “D M | SERVILIAE ACTE VI | XIT ANNOS L M III | D XXVIIII BEN ME | CON M ULP ORES | TES ET FILI.” The text omits occupations and other markers of social status. The tombstone is reported to have been found sometime before 1733 “della vigna del colombario de’liberti di Livia.” This findspot, too vague to be meaningful, should not be used to argue for a servile statue for either wife or husband, since it is unlikely that anyone living as late as the Trajanic period would have been buried in the Augustan imperial columbaria: see Bodel 2008, 207 n. 57. 27.  Areas showing post-­antique restoration are listed in Wace 1907, 238–­39. Ibled 2005, the report prepared for the Louvre in advance of conservation work on the relief, is the most recent and extensive information on the subject and includes several drawings. This report largely concurs with Wace’s list but is far more detailed and distinguishes between restoration media (plaster, marble, etc.). We thank Mme. Scherer for access to this unpublished report. The unusual thinness of the relief panel is probably due to the preparations for its baroque installation on the facade of the Villa Borghese. The atrocious restoration heads probably date to the same era (Rossi and Sandrelli 2011, 150). The arms and hands and other fixes are not nearly as bad as the heads.

48  •  ro m a n a rtis ts , pat ron s, a n d p ublic consumption Table 2.1. Post-­Antique Alterations to the Extispicium Relief Type of Alteration

Victim Relief (Ma 978)

Togati Relief (Ma 1089)

Reconstructed in plaster

#2: L arm below bicep #3: head #4: nose, R hand, handle of axe #5: nose, R foot from instep #6: nose, R foot from instep #7: heel, toe #8: middle section of both feet

#3: nose #5: nose #6: R arm at juncture with toga

Reconstructed in marble

Victim: snout #1: upper body, arm, head #2: head #4: wrist, hand #6: R arm from elbow down (including hand)

#1: face #2: head, both arms #4: head, R arm #6: head, R arm Triangular section at bottom of #1 and #2

Plaster patching

Patch running upward across middle of victim’s body and liver up to neck of #3 Victim: along snout #1: around marble inserts #2: between head and neck

#1: between face and back of head #2: between head and neck #4: between body and arm #6: between head and neck along edge of triangular section

Retouched / re-­carved

Background around #1 Victim: most of body, excepting head, hooves, lower legs, shoulder, lower half (tail etc.) #1: most of toga #2: outer R arm #3: left half #4: head, upper body, some of toga #5: neck, some of face #6: face, neck, some of toga, upper edge of L foot #7: lower toga #8: bottom and edges of toga

Door 1: along bosses on left side, upper right #1: neck, stomach area #2: most of toga, excepting along neck joint and bottom R corner #3: entirety of toga #4: chest area, L shoulder, L arm, most of lower body #5: head, shoulders #6: high relief areas, R leg

Source: After Ibled 2005. Note: Numbers refer to figures in each relief, counting from left to right (for the Victim Relief, #2 refers to the figure bending over, #3 to the figure in the background).

sis is methodologically problematic as well, due to the well-­documented Roman practice of stylistic pluralism: later reliefs often employed stylistic conventions developed centuries earlier and combined them in traditional or innovative ways. Therefore, we cannot expect all works from the same period to utilize the same artistic style.28 Given the solemn subject of the 28.  The figures of the extended spiral frieze of the Column of Marcus Aurelius, for example, look very different from the more traditional figures of the Aurelian panels now in the Palazzo dei Conservatori and incorporated into the Arch of Constantine. Removing

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Extispicium Relief, we would expect a traditional classicizing style regardless of date. Quality proves a more productive vein of exploration than style. In places where undamaged original carving is still evident, the carving is extremely shallow and sloppily executed, unlike other material more convincingly dated to the early second century. For example, the channels that indicate the doors of the temple are not straight, nor are the lines of the architrave. While we recognize that there were various qualities of art in all periods, art made for the emperors in Rome—­and this must be such a piece, based on its size29 and subject matter—­was generally of the highest quality available at the time. Subjectively, the composition is stiff and boring, and it contains elements that are not well integrated, particularly the Victory, who seems to be exiting the composition. The relief deploys its figures rather simplistically, in two rigid relief planes; in contrast to much of first-­and second-­century relief practice, this pattern is broken only by the single victimarius leaning down to extract the victim’s entrails.30 Other layout problems also date to the initial carving of the relief. The pose of the third togatus from the right on the Togati Relief is awkward. More significantly, his drapery swings out entirely too far at the bottom and is confused with the drapery of the togatus in the background to the right. In turn, this background figure’s feet and ankles are poorly aligned with his head and shoulders, being shifted too far to the right.31 The bottom of the emperor’s toga ends strangely, at nearly a right the heads of the latter panels makes it difficult to connect them to the squat soldiers of the column. Indeed, this is exactly what happened to the eight panels incorporated in the Arch of Constantine: the current portraits are of Trajan, since eighteenth-­century restorers removing the Constantinian heads that had replaced the original Antonine portraits judged the panels’ style to be Trajanic, a mistake not corrected until E. Petersen (1889, 317; 1890) connected the panels in the arch to panels in the Palazzo dei Conservatori that preserved their original portraits. 29.  The dimensions are as follows: Victim Relief, 1.63 m high, 2.28 m wide; Togati Relief, 2.03 m high, 1.72 m wide (Ibled 2005); Victory fragment, 1.47 m high, 0.67 m wide (Michaelis 1893, 173–­74, no. 5). 30.  Leander Touati (1987, 110) notes that “a feeble relief depth was chosen for the Extispicium relief.” 31.  Personal observation suggests that this drapery arrangement is original to the relief. This area does not have the heavy chisel marks present elsewhere on the relief, and, generally, retouching on the relief as a whole seems to have involved filing the surface down, rather than recarving the design. The unpublished diagram in Ibled 2005 does not mark this area as retouched, but it also reproduces the drapery lines inaccurately to correct the error seen on the relief.

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angle.32 No individual detail is precisely diagnostic, but we do have a large corpus of second-­century monumental reliefs, and all are of much higher quality than this. These sorts of problems, in other words, do not happen in the second century in this concentration, and no one has attempted to explain why this relief should date to the early second century despite them. The rendition of the temple in the background presents other oddities. First of all, examples of carefully rendered pedimental sculptures in securely datable monumental reliefs from the early second century are rare. Hadrianic reliefs, as preserved, do not provide good comparanda, but we have literally hundreds of examples of sculpted depictions of architecture in the Trajanic period—­from the Column of Trajan, the Arch of Beneventum, and the Great Trajanic Frieze—­and not one of them can be recognized as a particular building on the basis of a depicted sculptural program or unusual architectural features.33 While not definitive, such a pattern should not be ignored. In addition, in the Extispicium Relief, the artists have attempted to show the flank of the temple receding into the background, by slanting the architrave downward, away from the main facade’s architrave. This angling gives an impression of depth but diverges from normal Roman practice. In monumental relief, the flank architrave is angled upward from the facade archi32.  This area does not appear heavily altered and is marked as original in the unpublished diagram in Ibled 2005. 33.  The depictions on the Arch of Trajan at Beneventum have been identified as particular historical buildings based primarily on the hypothetical subjects of the relief panels, rather than on any features of the depictions themselves. Methodological problems of this approach aside (see Wolfram Thill 2012, 53–­92), only a building of the southwest right attic panel includes pedimental statuary, and the motif in question—­a shield with a lightning bolt—­is generic. Only four buildings on the Column of Trajan, three arches (Scenes 33, 79, 101) and a temple (Scene 79), include statuary, the latter case a nondescript cult statue. For the architectural depictions on the Column of Trajan as generic in general, see Wolfram Thill 2010. The only architectural sculptures on the Anaglypha Reliefs are the lion-­head keystones of the Adlocutio Panel basilica, despite the inclusion of three temples. The Vatican-­Terme relief showing a decastyle temple with elaborate pedimental statuary obviously would be an exception to this pattern (Goette 1983; Liljenstolpe 1996; Grunow 2002, 39) if it dates to the Trajanic/Hadrianic period (and it is not clear at all that it does). Carefully depicted renditions of recognizable buildings in monumental reliefs are more characteristic of the Julio-­Claudian and Flavian periods. They reappear in the Antonine period, with the best-­known examples being the Sacrifice Panel and Adventus Panel of Marcus Aurelius, now in the Palazzo dei Conservatori and on the Arch of Constantine, respectively (Sobocinski 2009). For the corpus of temple representations, see Grunow 2002; Quante-­Schöttler 2002; Kossatz-­Deissmann 2005; Wolfram Thill 2012.

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trave in nearly every example.34 Adding to the sense of architectural oddness are the inexplicable floating eagle on the architrave and the eagle-­topped column monument; while the latter reflects actual architectural practice, column monuments are otherwise not depicted in relief until the fourth-­ century Adlocutio Frieze on the Arch of Constantine in Rome. Another critical feature of the Extispicium Relief that deviates from the established pattern of second-­century monumental reliefs is its inscription. It is our only known example of an apparent artist’s signature from a monumental relief.35 The only somewhat comparable situation is the signature C. Vib(ius) Ruf(us) found on the upper surface of the plinth of one of the caryatids in the Forum of Augustus.36 The Extispicium Relief inscription is small, a mere three centimeters by three centimeters as preserved,37 much smaller than many artist’s signatures on ideal sculptures. The Orestes inscription is difficult to explain. Why was this artist alone allowed to mark an officially commissioned relief with his name? If it were a point of honor, why is the signature not more prominent and expressive? If this sort of expression of pride was frowned on for monumental relief, why was it placed where it could be seen at all, rather than, for example, on the bottom of the hoof? Perhaps the ultimate questionable feature of the relief is its subject matter. 34.  Grunow 2002; Wolfram Thill 2012. Exceptions to this broad pattern can be found in several buildings on the Column of Trajan (Scenes 44, 76). The exceptions, however, are very schematic renderings and some of the poorest on the frieze. The building in Scene 44, for example, lacks a roof, although it has a blank pedimental facade, and the flanks of one of the buildings in Scene 76 splay out in opposite directions, belying any sense of perspective. Roman coins also indicate depth by angling the temple flank upward or extending it at the same level as the architrave. 35.  It is worth raising the question of what the signature actually represents; in other words, was M. Ulpius Orestes a sculptor? The phrase “made it” is notably absent. Action verbs are characteristic of ancient artists’ signatures; for the use of such phrases, see Claridge 2015, 120. The names of private individuals also frequently appear on public artifacts such as water pipes, bricks, and marble blocks from the quarry, usually in reference to a contractor or supplier (see Pensabene and Gasparini 2015, 100, regarding inscribed quarry blocks). The Extispicium Relief ’s signature could be read in a similar way, perhaps as the mark of an individual responsible for collecting the relief as spolia (as suggested but rejected in Claridge 2015, 118); for a similar proposition regarding signatures of the so-­called Esquiline Group, see Erim and Roueché 1982; Smith 2011, 72–­74. For artists’ signatures in general, see Claridge 2015; Vollkommer 2015. 36.  Ungaro and Del Moro 2007, 159, fig. 214; Claridge 2015, 117. 37.  The measurements are by E. Thill. To give one example, the R in the inscription measures 1.0 cm high and 0.6 cm wide. This limited size makes it unlikely that the inscription could have been seen from ground level if the relief were at all elevated. We have no evidence on the latter point.

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Roman art is replete with images of sacrifice, but representations where the victim is already dead are exceedingly rare.38 Those that do exist provide poor comparanda for the Extispicium Relief, both in composition and concept. The earliest slain victims are also the least applicable. A series of numismatic and intaglio motifs from the republican period represent a military oath and feature the sticking of a pig.39 The scene typically takes place in front of a blank background and features two or three figures grouped around the unfortunate pig. This motif is distanced from the Extispicium Relief in terms of composition, chronology, medium, and, of course, the animal represented. The overall concept is broadly similar, in that both scenes involve a sacrifice and possibly war, but a military oath and the reading of the divine signs are both very specific—­and distinct—­rituals. In short, these republican victims shed little light on the relief and need not be considered further here. A closer point of comparison is Scene 86 on the Column of Trajan (fig. 2.5). This scene does show a dead bovine,40 but merely the head of the animal is visible, and its death is implied only by its position—­lying (upright) on the ground—­and its tongue sticking out. The Trajan’s Column scene is not exactly analogous in other respects: there is a theater in the background, not a temple; the scene takes place in some provincial town, not in Rome; and the emperor himself is depicted as the primary actor in the ritual, pouring a libation, rather than as a dignitary patiently awaiting the results of the diagnostic gutting.41 The dead victim in Scene 86 is prefigured by another bovine in Scene 80, shown with head and knees bent in front of a flaming altar but with no other elements of sacrifice.42 Most important, both the Column of Trajan and the Column of Marcus Aurelius avoid depicting any reading of the divine signs, even though our best testimony for this ceremony is from a military text from the first century CE.43 38.  Huet 2005; Elsner 2012. Images of dead victims are also rare in archaic and classical Greek art; see Van Straten 1995, especially 115–­53. 39.  See, e.g., Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum IX.B.899. 40.  Ryberg 1955, 126. 41.  One must make mention of the issue of visibility for the scene on the column: you would have to have very good eyes indeed to notice the animal’s head, let alone his tongue. The problems (both logistical and conceptual) for the visibility of the Column of Trajan frieze have seen extensive discussion; for good summaries and bibliography, see Dillon 2006, 259; Galinier 2007, 134–­63; Wolfram Thill 2011, 285. In short, visibility problems further compromise the applicability of Scene 86 as a direct comparison for the Extispicium Relief, whatever one’s position is regarding the relative chronology of the two. 42.  Huet 2005, 94 n. 17. Issues of visibility apply to this figure as well. 43.  Onosander, Strategikos 10.10.

Fig. 2.5. Scene 86 from the Column of Trajan (cast in the Museo della Civiltà Romana). (Photograph by E. Thill.)

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We have to jump forward almost a hundred years and to North Africa for our next dying victim. In a sacrifice scene on the Arch of Septimius Severus in Leptis Magna, the traditional trio of popa, kneeling victimarius, and bent bovine seems normal enough at first glance, until one notices that the right hand of the victimarius holds a knife seemingly inserted up to the hilt in the neck of the animal.44 This iconography is strange, not only for the apparently unique (and subdued) imagery of slitting the victim’s throat, but also because this combination would seem to contradict sacrificial practice: Aldrete has argued that to maintain the safety of the sacrificial attendants, as well as the critical illusion of the victim’s peaceful assent to the sacrifice, the popa would sever the spinal cord of the bovine before the throat was cut.45 Yet on the Leptis Magna arch, the popa’s arms are still raised in preparation for the blow. Two undated artworks feature prominently dead or dying victims. A very large mosaic from the pronaos of the Augusteum in the Barracks of the Vigili (II.V.1–­2) in Ostia shows a sacrifice scene with three bovines, with one tied and struggling victim at the center and with two prostrate or falling victims that are each flanked by a popa.46 The date of this mosaic is uncertain, but a Severan date seems likely.47 I. S. Ryberg has pointed out, however, that this scene is unusual in several respects: depictions of ruler cult were rare in Rome and its environs after the Julio-­Claudian period; the restrained victim contradicts the traditional Roman pretense of the willing victim; and the head of the priest is bare and laureate.48 The next undated dead victim is part of a monumental but fragmentary 44.  Bianchi Bandinelli et al. 1966, figs. 36, 41. This scene also has visibility issues. The exact date of the Severan Arch at Leptis Magna is uncertain, but it was probably erected in celebration of the emperor’s visit to the city between 202 and 204 CE (Bianchi Bandinelli et al. 1966, 67–­70). We thank Katherine Crawford for sharing with us her paper given at the 2015 meeting of the American Institute of Archaeology in New Orleans, which drew our attention to this sacrifice scene. 45.  Aldrete 2014. 46.  This mosaic is cursorily published (Carcopino 1907; Ryberg 1955, 96–­97). The figurative space of the mosaic measures 8.45 × 2.95 m, and the largest figure (second from the right) measures 1.40 m high (Carcopino 1907, 230). The lack of a ground line for the left victim leaves its exact situation unclear, but its legs are bent backward under its body, and at the very least, it is in serious trouble. 47.  The original building was heavily rebuilt in the Hadrianic period, and Ryberg (1955, 96 n. 50) assigned the mosaic to that building phase. Later research has determined that the pronaos in which the mosaic was placed was a Severan addition (Zevi 1970). 48.  Ryberg 1955, 96–­97, plate XXXI.

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relief (fig. 2.6).49 Once immured on the facade of the Villa Borghese, it, too, is currently in the Louvre (Ma 392).50 As preserved, the relief shows four figures standing against a blank background. Unfortunately, the heads have been excised almost completely. The far-­left figure is heavily draped and holds a large cornucopia. The next figure wears distinctive high boots and a short tunic that exposes her left breast; she is clearly either Roma or Virtus. The far-­right figure is a winged Victory moving forcefully to the right. In the background between Victory and Roma/Virtus, an unbearded togate figure turns slightly to the right. The limp head of a bovine victim can be seen at Victory’s feet, right before the relief (unfortunately) breaks off.51 Because the victim is positioned chin down, it seems unlikely that the removal of internal organs was part of the original composition. The closest comparanda for the Extispicium Relief can be found in rare third-­century medallions of Volusianus and Trebonianus Gallus (fig. 2.7).52 Like the Extispicium Relief, the medallions show a scene of sacrifice before a temple. In some specimens, a bovine head, with foreleg folded beneath, can be seen on the ground to the left of the altar. Two togate figures face each other across an altar, with their hands extended in sacrifice. Various additional figures bookend the composition. The hexastyle temple of Fortuna Redux in the background of the scene features a seated cult statue in the central intercolumniation, as well as prominent acroteria. Some examples include detailed pedimental statuary, while others feature only the standard 49.  E. Thill measures the relief at 0.95 m high and 1.20 m wide. 50.  Ryberg 1955, 156; Tortorella 1985, cat. no. 10, fig. 13. Ryberg suggests that Ma 392 is Trajanic; while she does not elaborate, her reasoning seems to be based on parallels with the dead victims of the Column of Trajan and the Extispicium Relief, which she also dates to the Trajanic period. Tortorella briefly comments on the relatively flat relief work and schematic drapery, notes unfinished details, and suggests, rather than argues for, a Hadrianic date for Ma 392. We find neither date convincing. 51.  Ryberg (1955, 156 n. 43) believed the head of the victim to be a restoration. Personal examination of the relief shows that the head is original: besides a lack of a clear break, the marble is clearly the same as the rest of the piece. The conservation report also indicates that the head is original (Ibled 2011). 52.  Only eight of these medallions are known (Sobocinski 2009, 142). Three feature the dead bovine to the left of the altar—­one in Paris (Cabinet des Médailles MED 474; Gnecchi 1912, 102); one in London (British Museum 1872,0302.12; Grueber 1874, 59, plate 46.3; Gnecchi 1912, plate 111.10); and one formerly in Gnecchi’s personal collection, now owned by the Museo Nazionale Romano in Rome (Gnecchi 1912, 102, plate 111.4). None of the medallions with the dead bovine include details of the pediment of the Temple of Fortuna Redux (Sobocinski 2009).

Fig. 2.6. Relief with Victory and a dead bull (Louvre Ma 392). (Photograph © E. Thill, reproduced by permission of the Musée du Louvre Départment des A.G.E.R.)

Fig. 2.7. Medallion of Trebonianus Gallus and Volusianus showing a sacrifice at the Temple of Fortuna Redux. (From Grueber 1874, pl. 46.3.)

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wreath and ribbons. In this scene on the medallions, as in the Extispicium Relief, we have two figures often identified as emperors, facing each other against the facade of a temple, in the presence of a dead victim. The moment is different, yet the iconography clearly overlaps. To summarize, dead sacrificial victims were rare in Roman art. The closest compositions to the Extispicium Relief are on third-­century medallions. The Ostia mosaic and the other relief in the Louvre are the next-­closest conceptual comparanda, in terms of emphasis on the imminent or accomplished death of the animal. Both are undated, but, notably, both may belong to the late second century or beyond. The Extispicium Relief is unusual not only in its inclusion of a dead victim but in the ritual that it depicts. While written sources tell us that reading the signs was a critical component of a departing military commander’s religious duties, this ritual never appears elsewhere in Roman art.53 None of the Roman scenes with dead or dying victims graphically illustrate the disemboweling of the victim or even show the animal flipped onto its back. Illustrations of reading the signs in the victim’s liver are found in some archaic Greek vases and Etruscan mirrors, but these show only the haruspex alone with the liver. The victim does not appear.54 In the Extispicium Relief, the dead victim dominates nearly a third of the foreground, and the focus is on the removal of its liver by the victimarius, while the haruspex waits at the edge of the composition. The Extispicium Relief thus stands alone in its emphasis on the logistical practices of divination. These radical breaks with tradition require an explanation. First-­and second-­century monumental reliefs are broadly homogenous, with few thematic surprises outside of the special circumstances of the Column of Trajan and the Column of Marcus Aurelius. The set of iconographic and thematic boundaries for sacrifice scenes is particularly well established and included a widely held taboo against showing the bloody part of the sacrifice in monumental reliefs. Therefore, the Extispicium Relief deviates profoundly from the usual themes, iconography, and composition of first-­and second-­ century sacrifice scenes in Roman art. 53.  See Livy 21.63.7–­9, 45.39.11; Caesar, Bell. civ. 1.6; Julius Obsequens 76; Lactantius, De morte persecutorum 10; Onosander, Strategikos 10.10; see also Ryberg 1955, 129 n. 25. For the critical relationship between imperium and auspicium, see Versnel 1970, 174–­95, 304–­75. 54.  De Grummond 2002, 69–­71. A highly fragmentary terra sigillata sherd from Arretium, dated to ca. 15 BCE, shows similar imagery as the Etruscan mirrors, with a haruspex looking at a liver (Torelli 2000: cat. no. 158).

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Conclusion The traditional date of the Extispicium Relief depends on flimsy, unsubstantiated assumptions. It is not a securely dated example of monumental relief, though a date has been long supposed. Neither the relief ’s findspot nor its inscription, the two main lines of evidence for an early second-­century date, hold up to careful scrutiny. Since the relief cannot be placed securely within the initial construction phase or a particular architectural setting of the Forum of Trajan, it is impossible to say when or how the relief came there. A secondary arch seems likely, although a composition as large as the Extispicium Relief could only have fit in the attic or passageway.55 The inscription cannot be definitively connected to the Ulpii, and even if it could, the life­ span of that family and of its individual members covers much more than the reign of Trajan or Hadrian. Reflexively assigning the Extispicium Relief to the early second century prompts scholars to overlook its aberrant features, from the sloppy rendering of drapery to the curious handling of architecture. Other differences are more conceptual and, thus, more significant. The inscription finds no comparison in the extensive corpus of monumental reliefs and seems to represent a significant anomaly. Finally and most important, it is hard to understand why, at the apparent height of the production of monumental reliefs, the Extispicium Relief would prominently break with an ancient tradition of avoiding the display of the bloody part of the sacrifice. Individually, these strange details are merely odd; taken together, they constitute a distinctive break with early second-­century patterns. These concerns are difficult to reconcile with a date in the Trajanic or Hadrianic periods. Evicting the Extispicium Relief from those periods, however, suggests another obvious question: if the relief ’s date is not the early second century, when is it? A full examination of that question is beyond the scope of this piece. In a companion project, we reappraise the Extispicium Relief as a hitherto-­unrecognized survivor from the troubled third century and argue that it reflects an attempt to use the imagery of Rome’s past greatness to secure tenuous political footing in a disputed empire. For now, the Extispicium Relief demonstrates both the perils of parroting past assumptions and the rewards of reexamining the apparently familiar. 55.  As a point of comparison, the sections of the Great Trajanic Frieze now in the attic and passageway of the Arch of Constantine average 2.95 m high and 4.6 m wide (Leander Touati 1987, 83).

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Works Cited Aldrete, G. S. 2014. “Hammers, Axes, Bulls, and Blood: Some Practical Aspects of Roman Animal Sacrifice.” JRS 104:28–­50. Bianchi Bandinelli, R., E. Vergara Caffarelli, G. Caputo, and F. Clerici. 1966. The Buried City: Excavations at Leptis Magna. New York: Frederick A. Praeger. Bodel, J. 2008. “From Columbaria to Catacombs: Collective Burial in Pagan and Christian Rome.” In Commemorating the Dead: Texts and Artifacts in Context, edited by O. P. Laurie Brink and D. Green, 177–­242. New York: De Gruyter. Bonanno, A. 1988. “Imperial and Private Portraiture: A Case of Non–­dependence.” In Ritratto ufficiale e ritratto privato: Atti della II Conferenza internazionale sul ritratto romano, Roma 26–­30 settembre 1984, 157–­64. Quaderni de “La ricerca scientifica” 116. Rome: Consiglio Nazionale Delle Ricerche. Carcopino, J. 1907. “La mosaïque de la caserne des Vigiles à Ostie.” MÉFRA 27:227–­ 41. Chenault, R. 2012. “Statues of Senators in the Forum of Trajan and the Roman Forum in Late Antiquity.” JRS 102:103–­32. Clarac, F. 1841–­53. Musée de sculpture antique et moderne; ou, Description historique et graphique du Louvre. 6 vols. Paris: Imprimerie Royale. Claridge, A. 2015. “Marble Carving Techniques, Workshops, and Artisans.” In The Oxford Handbook of Roman Sculpture, edited by E. A. Friedland, M. G. Sobocinski, and E. K. Gazda, 107–­22. Oxford: Oxford University Press. De Grummond, N. T. 2002. “Mirrors, Marriage, and Mysteries.” In Pompeian Brothels, Pompeii’s Ancient History, Mirrors and Mysteries, Art and Nature at Oplontis, and the Herculaneum “Basilica”, edited by T. McGinn, P. Carafa, N. de Grummond, B. Bergmann, and T. Najbjerg, 62–­85. JRA Supplements 47. Portsmouth, RI: Journal of Roman Archaeology. Dillon, S. 2006. “Women on the Columns of Trajan and Marcus Aurelius and the Visual Language of Roman Victory.” In Representations of War in Ancient Rome, edited by S. Dillon and K. Welch, 244–­71. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Elsner, J. 2000. “From the Culture of Spolia to the Cult of Relics: The Arch of Constantine and the Genesis of Late Antique Forms.” PBSR 68:149–­84. Elsner, J. 2012. “Sacrifice in Late Roman Art.” In Greek and Roman Animal Sacrifice: Ancient Victims, Modern Observers, edited by C. Faraone and F. Naiden, 120–­63. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Erim, K. T., and C. M. Roueché. 1982. “Sculptors from Aphrodisias: Some New Inscriptions.” PBSR 50:102–­15. Fabréga-­Dubert, M.-­L. 2009. La collection Borghèse au musée Napoléon. 2 vols. Paris: Musée du Louvre Éditions. Galinier, M. 2007. La colonne Trajane et les forums impériaux. CÉFR 382. Rome: L’École française de Rome. Gauer, W. 1973. “Ein Dakerdenkmal Domitians.” JdI 88:318–­50. Giroire, C., and D. Roger, eds. 2007. Roman Art from the Louvre. New York: Hudson Hills.

60  •  ro m a n a rtis ts , pat ron s, a n d p ublic consumption Gnecchi, F. 1912. I Medaglioni Romani. Vol. 2. Milan: Ulrico Hoepli. Goette, H. R. 1983. “Disiecta Membra eines traianischen Frieses.” AA, 239–­46. Grueber, H. A. 1874. Roman Medallions in the British Museum. London: British Museum Press. Grunow, M. D. 2002. “Architectural Images in Roman State Reliefs, Coins, and Medallions: Imperial Ritual, Ideology, and the Topography of Rome.” PhD diss., University of Michigan. Huet, V. 2005. “La mise à mort sacrificielle sur les reliefs romains: Une image banalisée et ritualisée de la violence?” In La violence dans les mondes grec et romain, edited by J. Bertrand, 91–­119. Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne. Ibled, D. 2005. “Rapport d’intervention (Ma 978 & 1089).” Musée du Louvre Départment des A.G.E.R. Ibled, D. 2011. “Rapport d’intervention (Ma 392).” Musée du Louvre Départment des A.G.E.R. Koeppel, G. 1969. “Profectio und Adventus.” BJb 169:130–­94. Koeppel, G. 1985. “Die historischen Reliefs der römischen Kaiserzeit.” Pt. 3, “Stadtrömische Denkmäler unbekannter Bauzugehörigkeit aus trajanischer Zeit.” BJb 185:143–­213. Kossatz-­ Deissmann, A. 2005. “Darstellungen von Kultorten: Zur Ikonographie sakraler Stätten in der antiken Bildkunst.” Thesaurus Cultus et Rituum Antiquorum 4:363–­408. La Rocca, E. 1994. “Arcus et Arae Claudii.” In Die Regierungszeit des Kaisers Claudius (41–­54 n.Chr.): Umbruch oder Episode? Internationales interdisziplinäres Symposion, Freiburg i.Br. 16–­18 Februar 1991, edited by V. M. Strocka, 267–­93. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. La Rocca, E., and C. Parisi Presicce, eds. 2012. L’Età dell’Equilibrio, 98–­180 d.C.: Traiano, Adriano, Antonino Pio, Marco Aurelio. Rome: Roma Capitale, Musei Capitolini, MondoMostre. Leander Touati, A.-­M. 1987. The Great Trajanic Frieze: The Study of a Monument and the Mechanisms of Message Transmission in Roman Art. SkrRom 45. Stockholm: Paul Åströms Forlag. Leoncini, L. 1988. “Due nuovi disegni dell’extispicium del Louvre.” Xenia 15:29–­32. Liljenstolpe, P. 1996. “The Vatican Procession Relief in Rome: Trajan Re-­dedicating the Temple of Quirinus?” AA, 527–­38. Liverani, P. 2004. “Arco di Onorio, Arco di Portogallo.” BullCom 105:351–­70. Manili, J. 1650. Villa Borghese fuori di Porta Pinciana. Rome: Lodouico Grignani. Marlowe, E. 2004. “‘That Customary Magnificence Which Is Your Due’: Constantine and the Symbolic Capital of Rome.” PhD diss., Columbia University. Marlowe, E. 2010. “Liberator urbis suae: Constantine and the Ghost of Maxentius.” In The Emperor and Rome: Space, Representation, and Ritual, edited by B. C. Ewald and C. Noreña, 199–­219. Yale Classical Studies 35. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Michaelis, A. 1891. “Storia della collezione Capitolina di antichità fino all’inaugurazione del Museo (1734).” RM 6:3–­60. Michaelis, A. 1893. “La raccolta de Courcel a Cannes.” RM 8:172–­83.

Dismembering a Sacred Cow  • 61 Michon, E. 1932. “‘Extispicium’ devant le temple de Jupiter Capitolin (Musée du Louvre).” Académie des inscriptions et belles-­lettres, Paris. Commission de la Fondation Piot. Monuments et mémoires. Paris 32:61–­80. Packer, J. 2001. The Forum of Trajan in Rome: A Study of the Monuments in Brief. Berkeley: University of California Press. Pensabene, P., and E. Gasparini. 2015. “Marble Quarries: Ancient Imperial Administration and Modern Scientific Analyses.” In The Oxford Handbook of Roman Sculpture, edited by E. A. Friedland, M. G. Sobocinski and E. K. Gazda, 93–­106. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Petersen, E. A. H. 1889. “I rilievi tondi dell’arco di Constantino.” RM 4:314–­39. Petersen, E. A. H. 1890. “Die Attikareliefs am Constantinsbogen.” RM 5:73–­76. Quante-­Schöttler, D. 2002. Ante aedes: Darstellung von Architektur in römischen Reliefs. Antiquitates. Archäologische Forschungsergebnisse 20. Hamburg: Dr. Kovač. Rossi, I., and E. Sandrelli. 2011. “Esporre l’antico: L’allestimento della villa da Scipone a Marcantonio Borghese.” In I Borghese e l’Antico, edited by A. Coliva, M.-­L. Fabréga-­Dubert, J.-­L. Martinez, and M. Minozzi, 148–­51. Milan: Skirta. Ryberg, I. S. 1955. Rites of the State Religion in Roman Art. MAAR 22. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Sieveking, J. 1925. “Römische Relieffragment.” RM 40:161–­66. Smith, R. R. R. 2011. “Marble Workshops at Aphrodisias.” In Roman Sculpture in Asia Minor: Proceedings of the International Conference to Celebrate the 50th Anniversary of the Italian Excavations at Hierapolis in Phrygia, Held on May 24–­26, 2007, in Cavallino (Lecce), edited by F. D’Andria and I. Romeo, 63–­76. JRA Supplements 80. Portsmouth, RI: Journal of Roman Archaeology. Sobocinski, M. G. 2009. “Porta Triumphalis and Fortuna Redux: Reconsidering the Evidence.” MAAR 54:135–­64. Torelli, M., ed. 2000. The Etruscans. New York: Rizzoli. Tortorella, S. 1985. “Relievi decorativi e rilievi storici nel Museo del Louvre.” In Forma: La città antica e il suo avvenire, 37–­43. Rome: De Luca. Tortorella, S. 1988. “Il rilievo dell’extispicium del Museo del Louvre.” ScAnt 2:475– ­95. Ungaro, L., and M. P. Del Moro. 2007. Il museo dei fori imperiali. Milan: Electa. VanderLeest, J. 1995. “Hadrian, Lucius Verus, and the Arco di Portogallo.” Phoenix 49.4:319–­30. Van Straten, F. T. 1995. Hiera Kala: Images of Animal Sacrifice in Archaic and Classical Greece. Religions in the Graeco-­Roman World 127. Leiden: Brill. Versnel, H. S. 1970. Triumphus: An Inquiry into the Origin, Development, and Meaning of the Roman Triumph. Leiden: Brill. Vollkommer, R. 2015. “Greek and Roman Artists.” In The Oxford Handbook of Greek and Roman Art and Architecture, edited by C. Marconi, 107–­35. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wace, A. J. B. 1907. “Studies in Roman Historical Reliefs.” PBSR 4:229–­76. Wardle, D. 1998. “Caligula and His Wives.” Latomus 57:109–­26. Weisweiler, J. 2012. “From Equality to Asymmetry: Honorific Statues, Imperial Power, and Senatorial Identity in Late-­Antique Rome.” JRA 25:319–­50.

62  •  ro m a n a rt is ts , pat ron s, a n d p ublic consumption Wolfram Thill, E. 2010. “Civilization under Construction: Depictions of Architecture on the Column of Trajan.” AJA 114:27–­43. Wolfram Thill, E. 2011. “Depicting Barbarism on Fire: Architectural Destruction on the Columns of Trajan and Marcus Aurelius.” JRA 24:283–­312. Wolfram Thill, E. 2012. “Cultural Constructions: Depictions of Architecture in Roman State Relief.” PhD diss., University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Zanker, P. 1970. “Das Trajansforum in Rom.” AA, 499–­544. Zevi, F. 1970. “Ostia—­Caserma dei Vigili: Scavo sotto il mosaico del vano antistante il ‘Cesareo.’” NSc 24:7–­4.

three

The Salutaris Foundation Monumentality through Periodic Rehearsal Diana Y. Ng

Over the course of his 1866–­68 excavations in the Great Theater at Ephesos, J. T. Wood uncovered and removed a lengthy inscription and transported it to England.1 One of the longest and best-­known texts originating from the eastern Roman Empire, Wood’s epigraphic discovery records, in a dossier of seven documents, a major benefaction by a man named C. Vibius Salutaris to the city of Ephesos in 103/4 CE. Since it came to light, this gift has been the subject of wide-­ranging scholarly interest. In this essay, I investigate how Salutaris’ endowment and its physical and ritual artifacts serve as a monument to its donor. Using findings from cognitive psychology research that establish the long-­term impact of repeated retrievals of knowledge on long-­ term retention, I argue that the tangible and ephemeral elements of the foundation were prompts for the recollection of Salutaris’ generosity and civic-­mindedness. In this way, the transitory events dictated by the benefactor effectively prolonged awareness of his public persona until it became indelible in the consciousness of the members of the demos and boule in Ephesos in the early second century CE.

The Inscription The Greek inscription of the Salutaris foundation was excavated from the Great Theater in 1866 largely in situ, covering the “whole of the eastern wall 1.  Wood 1877, 73–­87. The text and a translation of the inscription is in Wood’s appendix 1, “Inscriptions from the Great Theater,” no. 1.

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Fig. 3.1. Pre-­1979 installation of the Salutaris inscription fragments at the British Museum. (From Wankel 1979, pl. 35. Photograph used with permission of the Trustees of the British Museum.)

of [the southern] entrance” to the stage,2 or on the cavea-­side wall of the southern parodos (fig. 3.1). After Wood’s initial publication of the inscription in 1877, scholars diligently worked to reconstruct the many lacunae in the preserved text.3 They were aided in their efforts by a contemporary set 2.  Wood 1877, 73. 3.  See Rogers 1991, 34, nos. 65–­66, for editions of the inscription. Wankel 1979, no. 27, draws especially from Wood 1877; Hicks 1890, 117–­42, no. CCCCLXXXI; and Heberdey 1912 (Forschungen in Ephesos, hereinafter FiE), no. 27, pp. 127–­47. In appendix 1 of his monograph, Rogers (1991, 152–­81) provided updates to Wankel’s 1979 edition as well as his own English translation. Both of these draw on the previously mentioned editions as well as on the edition and English translation in Oliver 1941, 55–­85.

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of inscribed bases—­seven well preserved and two quite fragmentary—­that were recovered in later excavations in the theater (fig. 3.2).4 These bases supported small statues that Salutaris paid for as part of his benefaction. Each was just over 1 meter in height, 0.6–­0.7 meters wide, and about 0.4 meters in depth. The letters ranged in height from 3 centimeters at the beginning of the inscription on each base to 1 or 1.5 centimeters near the bottom. They provide important information about the cursus honorum of C. Vibius Salutaris and allowed scholars to restore names that were missing from the large inscription on the parodos wall. Editions of the inscription subsequent to Wood’s have devoted some attention to its physicality, providing measurements for the inscribed blocks and letters and diagramming the original layout of the lengthy text.5 Over 550 lines were inscribed across six columns on sixteen blocks of marble. Wood observed that the blocks were thick and heavy, and they were affixed to the wall of the parodos by means of iron clamps. The first three columns are now extremely fragmentary, while the last three, especially the fifth and sixth columns, are much more substantially preserved. The six columns were arranged to fit the sloping walls of the passageway; the one on the far left was shortest, at 208 centimeters, while the one on the far right was 430 centimeters in height. Together, the width of the columns is 494 centimeters. The letters of the inscription varied in size also, with larger letters of 3 and 4 centimeters near the top of the blocks, some at 2.5, most at around 1.5, and the smallest (from the third column of text) at 1.2.6 As Guy Rogers has pointed out, the placement of this inscription above eye level, the small size of its letters, and the length of the text were not conducive to it being read by Ephesians.7

4.  The more comprehensive editions of these inscribed bases include FiE no. 28a-­I, pp. 147–­49, and Wankel 1979, nos. 29–­35. Wood recovered and published one of these bases, dedicated to Artemis and the Karenaeon tribe (1877, app. 1, “Inscriptions from the Great Theater,” no. 2 = FiE no. 28d = Hicks 1890, 217–­18, no. DXCIV). 5.  See supra, n. 3. 6.  Wankel (1979, 167) describes the lettering as being even and uniform, with frequent use of punctuation and spatial breaks between the seven documents of the dossier. 7.  Rogers 1991, 20–­21. Weiss (2012, 59) believes that the inscriptions were important in “ensuring that traces of this civic performance became a permanent part of the built environment.” Because access to the upper levels of seats were provided via both paradoi at the theater, the inscription could—­in theory, if not in reality—­be read by the majority of the Ephesian demos; see Sear 2006, 335.

Fig. 3.2. Group base for silver images of Artemis, the tribe of the Teians, and Lysimachos. (From Wankel 1979,pl. 29. Photograph by ÖAI.)

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The Foundation The dossier of seven dated documents comprising the Salutaris inscription includes an honorific decree; a diataxis (deed of gift);8 two letters confirming the terms of the benefaction, one of them from the proconsul and one from the legatus pro praetore of Asia; two decrees outlining additional but limited terms; and an addendum in which Salutaris augments his original benefaction. This essay will briefly recapitulate the capital endowment, which stood at 21,500 denarii at the time when the inscription was erected in 104 CE, the same year in which all these motions were approved. The first document in the inscribed dossier is a decree by the boule and demos of Ephesos honoring C. Vibius Salutaris as a man “conspicuous by birth and personal worth,”9 who was zealous in his devotion to Artemis and “honored the city in every way”10 with his generosity, having built his fortune by the “gravity of his morals.”11 Salutaris is hailed as a holder of military commands and procuratorships, though specific details about his posts are left out of the decree. From the nine bases erected in the theater, we know that Salutaris spent his career as a tax farmer, grain supply contractor, military tribune, and subprocurator in places such as Sicily, Mauretania, and Belgica during the end of the first and beginning of the second centuries CE.12 The honorific decree from the foundation dossier describes this equestrian as holding both Ephesian and Roman citizenship and as a member of the boule of Ephesos. Salutaris was commended for “regulating his life as well as his father did,”13 indicating that his family had been established in the city from at least a generation before. The exact details of Salutaris’ benefaction are laid out primarily in the second document, the diataxis. Salutaris donated money for nine images of Artemis (apeikonismata)—­one a three-­pound gilded silver image, the other eight of silver—­and twenty additional silver images (eikones) that were to be paraded through the city in a circuit starting and ending at the Artemision.14 These twenty silver statuettes included depictions of the Roman emperors Trajan and Augustus, personifications of Ephesian tribes and bod  8.  For explanations of diataxis, see Hicks 1890, 136; Oliver 1953, 964.   9.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.15; translation from Rogers 1991. 10.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.19–­22; translation from Rogers 1991. 11.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.18; translation from Rogers 1991. 12.  See supra, n. 4. 13.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.16–­18; translation from Rogers 1991. 14.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.24, 48–­56.

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ies such as the Roman senate and the Ephesian boule, geographical personifications such as Pion, and images of rulers and heroes such as Lysimachos and Androklos.15 The last decree in the dossier, the addendum to the foundation, indicates that Salutaris pledged to add two more gilded silver statuettes—­one depicting Athena Pammousos, the other an image of the Sebaste Homonoia Chrysophoros—­to the host set up in the theater.16 These representations, though brilliant, were small, ranging from just over three pounds for images of Ephesian tribes to over seven pounds for a silver Artemis Lampadephoros (Torchbearer). These precious images and the entities they represent are listed and noted by their metallic weights rather than described; only a handful of the figures of Artemis merit more than just a name check.17 The gilded statuette of Artemis was to be flanked by two silver stags,18 while five of the silver statuettes of the goddess are designated as Artemis Lampadephoros. One of these Torchbearer statues is specifically described as “similar to the one in the exedra of the ephebes,”19 while another is said to be holding a phiale.20 The three remaining silver Artemis figures do not have any description at all; nor do any of the images of emperors, heroes, or personifications. The foundation called for the statuettes to be stored in the Artemision—­ with the exception of the statuettes of Trajan and Plotina, which were cared for by Salutaris at his home during his lifetime21—­and to be carried thence into the city through the Magnesian Gate to the intramural theater and from the theater through the Koressian Gate back to the Artemision.22 In the theater, these shining images would be set up in the cavea on nine bases grouped according to the seating of the boule, the gerousia, the ephebes, and each tribe of the city.23 This passage clearly refers to the bases that 15.  Rogers accepts Merkelbach’s restoration of the name Androklos at Wankel 1979, no. 27.183; Wankel (1979, 181, 230) notes that the inscription does not clearly preserve the name either here or on the statue base (Wankel 1979, no. 30.18) Merkelbach used for comparison in his restoration. While Cole (1993, 590) points to the weakness that this introduces to Rogers’ overall argument, the restoration is followed by Gebhard 1996, Yegül 2000, Ng 2007, and Weiss 2012. 16.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.465–­66, 470–­71. 17.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.150–­97. 18.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.158–­59. 19.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.168. 20.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.173–­74. 21.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.151–­56. 22.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.207–­12. 23.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.202–­7.

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were actually found in the theater’s orchestra in the late nineteenth century, the inscriptions on which confirm the groupings of images laid forth in the motions. Between the sanctuary of Artemis and the two city gates, the statuettes were handled by sacerdotal servants of Artemis;24 the annual ephebes of the city received the statuettes from these persons and processed the images through the city itself. This ritual was to take place “during the first new moon’s sacrifice of the archieratic year, and on the occasions of the twelve sacred gatherings and regular assemblies every month, and during the Sebasteia and the Soteria and the penteric festivals,”25 as well as “during all athletic contests, and if any other days are determined by the boule and demos.”26 Rogers has estimated the frequency of the procession to be every two weeks.27 Though the gift of statuettes and their procession through the streets of the city is attention grabbing, a substantial portion of the inscribed text is also devoted to the monetary distributions funded by the 9 percent interest from Salutaris’ capital endowment.28 These handouts coincided annually with the procession of statuettes, as they took place on the birthday of Artemis,29 in the pronaos of her sanctuary. The 1,935 denarii were divided into smaller pots—­always under 400 denarii and mostly under 125 denarii—­ and parceled out as small lottery prizes to subsets of civic or religious groups such as the boule, the gerousia, the phylarchs of the city, ephebes and the ephebarch, theologoi, paides and the paidonomoi, and the hymnodoi. The distributions varied in nature; for example, each member of the boule present at the distribution would receive one denarius, while the beadles and neopoioi who conveyed the precious statuettes to the ephebes received four and a half asses at each regular assembly. Additional sums were set aside to pay the caretakers of the statuettes and for the argyromatic earth with which the metal would be rubbed and cleaned.30 In only a few cases was there the 24.  The fifth document in the dossier (Wankel 1979, no. 27.414–­30) is a decree that gave the chrysophoroi of Artemis the right to carry the apeikonismata back and forth to the ephebes, with the help of other sacerdotal servants; the sixth document (Wankel 1979, no. 27.431–­46) then grants these carriers of the apeikonismata the specific seats in the theater that they had requested. 25.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.48–­56; translation from Rogers 1991. 26.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.213–­14; translation from Rogers 1991. 27.  Rogers 1991, 83. 28.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.65–­72, 220–­84, 485–­527. 29.  Two of the distributions took place on the day before the birthday of Artemis, and the money awarded was designated for the purchase of offerings to the goddess (see infra). 30.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.279–­84.

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additional stipulation that the money be put toward sacrificial provisions to honor Artemis on her birthday.31 To recognize Salutaris for his generosity toward Ephesos, it was resolved that he would be honored with the “most senior honors and with the setting up of statues in the temple of Artemis and in the most conspicuous places in the city, and to proclaim this man by a golden crown during the assemblies as being zealous and loving Artemis.”32 In addition, the dossier related to his gift was to be inscribed on the marble wall of its south parodos, where it was found by Wood, and in the Artemision “in a suitable place, on account of his munificence and virtue.”33 Provisions for circumstances such as the death of Salutaris or the sale of his estate were included, such that his heirs or purchasers of the estate would still be liable for the sum of the original endowment.34 Major financial penalties of twenty-­five thousand denarii each to the sanctuary of Artemis and the imperial fiscus for violating or attempting to alter the terms of the gift are repeatedly mentioned, in the original diataxis and in both letters from imperial officials.35 Such measures ensured that the wishes of Salutaris would be carried out precisely as he had wanted, for as long as the capital was—­as all undoubtedly hoped—­ably managed.36

Previous Scholarship on the Salutaris Inscription and Foundation The Salutaris inscription has long been studied from a variety of perspectives; only a sampling of the literature is necessary here to illustrate the range and trajectory of scholarly attention over the years. Ever since Wood’s account of his discovery of the inscription at the theater, scholars have noted the procession’s appeal to the donor’s vanity and desire for social advance31.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.240–­43, 492–­96. 32.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.85–­90; translation from Rogers 1991. Wankel suggests that one of the statues for Salutaris decreed in these lines was set up in the theater, as fragments of a white marble base found scattered in that building partially preserve an inscription (Wankel 1979, no. 37 = FiE no. 60, pp. 171–­72) addressed to him by the city of the Ephesians. 33.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.123–­26; translation from Rogers 1991. 34.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.284–­311. 35.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.106–­16, 315–­25, 358–­64. 36.  For reasons why Salutaris and other patrons wanted to include such penalty clauses, see Oliver 1953, 964.

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ment.37 White has interpreted Salutaris’ mandate for extravagant displays of Ephesian historical entities as a manifestation of a nonnative’s desire to achieve complete assimilation into the culture of the Asian metropolis.38 Likewise, Knibbe has argued that the rituals of the foundation—­with the directional reversal of the ancient procession from the Artemision to the Ortygian Grove on the goddess’ birthday—­were designed as ostentatious and rather gauche flattery of the donor, a man who spent his career outside Ephesos.39 Salutaris’ perceived self-­aggrandizing notwithstanding, the epigraphic record of his benefaction was quickly accepted as an important piece of evidence for civic governance,40 how endowments operated in antiquity,41 and Roman administration of its empire.42 Scholars like Price and Gebhard have also found important social and religious implications in the pairing of the statuettes of Roman emperors and political entities with Ephesian counterparts and their display among the citizenry in the cavea of the Great Theater. They see the matched sets of Roman and Ephesian bodies—­for example, the senate and the boule—­as a way for Ephesos to incorporate the worship of the Roman emperor into existing cultic frameworks or to communicate their loyalty to him.43 The parading of imperial likenesses to theaters or amphitheaters where they would be displayed to enhance the ruler’s divine aura finds parallels in other parts of the Roman Empire, including in Rome itself.44 However, the emphasis given to representations of the Ephesian tutelary deity Artemis and to local founders and tribes in the Salutaris foundation is unique. Less concerned with the imperial cult and the expression of loyalty to the emperor, Guy Rogers argues that the Salutaris foundation expresses a communal desire to maintain Ephesian Hellenic identity in the face of a “social identity crisis.”45 Because the ephebes of Ephesos were given the most prominent role in the procession, Rogers believes that the foundation was motivated by a wish to 37.  Wood 1877, 74. 38.  White 2004, 63–­64. 39.  Knibbe 2004, 154. See also Knibbe and Langmann 1993, 31; cf. Oster 1990. 40.  Hicks 1890, 73–­83, 135–­41; Oliver 1941, 22–­26. 41.  Laum 1914. 42.  Oliver 1953, 963–­64, 972–­76. 43.  Price 1984, 102–­4; Gebhard 1996, 121–­23. 44.  See Elkins 2014, especially 78–­81. Elkins notes that the imperial images processed in the pompa theatralis and pompa circensis were most probably set up in the orchestras of theaters and in the pulvinar of the amphitheater (rather than in the seating area), for maximum visibility. 45.  Rogers 1991, 142.

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educate the youth and the future leaders of Ephesos about their city’s history, traditions, and social order.46 The Salutaris foundation provides fascinating material for those interested in its extravagant visuality and movement through the city. Obviously, the gilded and silver statuettes themselves have not survived; nevertheless, attempts have been made to establish their original appearance. Hicks’ understanding of the use of the word apeikonismata for the statuettes of Artemis, versus eikones for the other twenty images in the original foundation, is that the former terminology “seems generally to describe a copy of a recognized type,” while the latter refers to images “left to the invention of the artist.”47 Though it would be logical to think that the golden Artemis with flanking silver stags might be modeled on the famous cult image of Artemis Ephesia,48 the inscription does not mention that cult statue. Likewise, whether the statue cited from the exedra of the ephebes was the basis for just one Artemis statuette or for all eight silver statuettes cannot be clearly established from the text itself.49 Though depictions of Artemis, such as a relief on a column in Perge in the second century CE (fig. 3.3), do often include a long torch,50 an Ephesian statue that could be called definitively the “original” has not been found. This has meant that scholars searching for the appearance of the statues resort to the often-­used and uncertain “Hellenistic model” as the basis for the Salutaris effigies.51 The portraits of Augustus, 46.  Rogers 1991, 140. More recently, Rogers (2012, 184–­85) has continued to argue that the Salutaris foundation was instrumental in extending the worship of Artemis beyond strictly religious rites and reinforcing the importance of her cult to Ephesian civic identity. Smith (2006, 425–­26) recapitulates the arguments made in Rogers 1991 but contextualizes the Salutaris rituals within broader trends of strategic exploitations of historical and legendary pasts by Greek cities and elites and the related blurring of or refusal to recognize strict boundaries between the Hellenic and the Roman. 47.  Hicks 1890, 135. 48.  Hicks 1890, 136; cf. Weiss 2012, 57. 49.  Hicks 1890, 136; Gebhard 1996, 123 n. 24. See Madigan 2012, 21–­22, on “some well-­known statue” possibly being the model for all the apeikonismata of Artemis the Torchbearer. 50.  See LIMC II:654–­62, nos. 407–­528a, s.v. “Artemis” (L. Kahil), for the Dadophoros or Torchbearer representations. 51.  See Gebhard 1996, 123 n. 24, for “a Hellenistic group” as model for the Artemis flanked by stags. Rogers (1991, 111) claims that “a statue of Artemis, probably holding a bow in her right hand and a large torch in her left proves an association from the early Hellenistic era” for the Artemis Lampadephoros statuettes, citing a small statue of a striding Artemis clad in a short chiton (Ephesus Museum, Selçuk inv. no. 1572), of which the left arm is lost from below the elbow along with any attribute held in the right hand; see

Fig. 3.3. Relief of Artemis holding a torch, on a column from the city of Perge. (Photograph by D. Ng.)

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Trajan, and Plotina were probably based on widely circulating types in Asia; certainly, there were colossal images of Augustus and Trajan in prominent public spaces in the city. The exact form of the images of the political bodies and tribes are also unknown.52 While iconographic and formal study of these statuettes has been stymied, scholars have traveled down other avenues in exploring the visual and sensorial effect of the Salutaris foundation. In particular, the impact of these portable images on Ephesians’ awareness of their history and of their urban environment has been of much interest since the 1990s. Rogers was the first to argue for the symbolic significance of the route of the procession, which presented a reversal of Ephesian chronology by entering the district of the city heavily developed in the first century of Roman rule, progressing up the street flanked by Hellenistic monuments, and turning toward the area of the city associated with its foundation.53 This journey was a literal retracing of the city’s history, with its alpha and omega at the sanctuary of Artemis, the prestige of which had long distinguished Ephesos from other cities in the Roman province of Asia.54 Along the way, the portable images passed by static statuary depicting many of the same figures—­the Fountain of Trajan on Kuretes Street, for example, featured sculptures of both Trajan and Androklos in its facade—­creating a sort of dynamic, stereoscopic display.55 Fleischer 1972. L. Kahil (LIMC II.1:646, no. 270, s.v. “Artemis”) puts this statue within the short chiton-­wearing huntress type, specifically, the Louvre-­Ephesos type. While most statues of that type hold a bow in the left hand and uncertain attributes in the right, it has been proposed that this statue might have been a souvenir copy of the fourth-­century BCE Artemis of Antikyra cult statue by Praxiteles, of which there are now only two later, disputed, and “freely represented” (my translation of Kahil) coin images from second-­century BCE Antikyra (LIMC II.1:656–­57, no. 434, s.v. “Artemis” [L. Kahil]). Pausanias (10.37.1) describes the Artemis of Antikyra only as being larger than life-­size, holding a torch in her right hand and wearing a quiver over her shoulders, and accompanied by a dog on her left. Because the statue cited by Rogers was found in the private context of Hanghaus II at Ephesos and might have been a souvenir of a Praxitelean masterpiece, it seems a tenuous model for the Artemis Lampadephoros images specified in the inscription, given the variety of representations of Artemis as torchbearer. 52.  Rogers 1991, 91–­95. 53.  Cole (1993, 590) and Walbank (1994, 90) both take issue with Rogers’ and hence others’ interpretation of the processional route as a symbolic return to civic origins. 54.  Ephesian claims based on the antiquity and prestige of its Artemis cult were made since the Julio-­Claudian period (e.g., Tac., Ann. 3.61, 4.55–­56). 55.  Rogers 1991, 112–­15; Yegül 2000, 152; Elsner 2007, 232; Ng 2007, 163–­67, 218–­ 32. Weiss (2012, 59–­61) emphasizes instead the sacral significance of the correspondence between this processional route and the Sacred Way from the Artemision and the religious

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In a recent essay, Weiss extends the discussion of the procession’s path through Ephesos to a consideration of movement through urban space. In doing so, she reminds us that the foundation of Salutaris depended fundamentally on human participation and that the physicality of the foundation was not restricted to the inscription or to the statuettes but was experienced both by the ephebes bearing the effigies through the city and by their spectators. Weiss’ study of the phenomenology of the procession uses anthropological and psychological models to argue that the recurring and ritualized movement helped to create and reinforce citizens’ awareness of historically significant districts of Ephesos in a process of “place-­making.”56 Via this process of repeated and predetermined interactions with space, Weiss proposes, the Salutaris procession inhabited Ephesos as “another kind of (ephemeral) monument.”57

Monumentality, Iteration, and Commemoration Both the previously mentioned studies of the Salutaris foundation and other recent work, such as Laird’s 2015 examination of the monuments of Italian augustales, emphasize the capacity of inscribed monuments and their paired rituals to create and sustain communal identities, to allow people to acknowledge and celebrate their membership in a specific segment of broader society58—­for example, here, to carve out a distinctive Ephesian identity as opposed to Roman or even Asian ones. Despite the long history of scholarship on the Salutaris foundation, its function as a monument to its elite patron—­rather than to collective Ephesian identity—­stands in need of further investigation.59 Aside from the rather dismissive assessments procession from the sanctuary to the Ortygian Grove on the goddess’ birthday. Regarding the iconographic correspondence between the statuettes of the Salutaris foundation and elements of public sculptural programs along the processional route, see Ng 2007, 218–­25. 56.  Weiss 2012, 52–­53, 61. 57.  Weiss 2012, 62. 58.  See Laird (2015, 169–­81) on how private donations of statues, banquets, and monetary donations by augustales in the first half of the second century CE primarily subsume the patron’s identity to that of the college of augustales. 59.  In reviews of Rogers 1991, van Bremen (1993, 245), Walbank (1994, 90), and Spawforth (1992, 383) all wonder why Salutaris would have chosen this form of benefaction on which to lavish his wealth, but they focus on the issue of how Salutaris’ ethnic identity and career outside Ephesos could be reconciled with Rogers’ argument that the foundation was expressive of collective Ephesian cultural identity.

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previously noted, this foundation is not usually thought of as a personal monument to C. Vibius Salutaris, as the perpetuation of elite identity is typically associated with architectural munificence. Buildings are thought to produce a much more lasting mark in the physical landscape—­tangible even now to archaeologists—­thereby impressing the patron’s public persona more durably in the minds of his fellow citizens.60 Benefactions of games, distributions, or spectacles such as the procession of statuettes established by Salutaris are, in contrast, ephemeral and irrecoverable. Consequently, the literature sometimes imparts a sense that these activities’ potential for creating long-­term memories of the donor was limited.61 The unfavorable comparison, however, may not be entirely valid, for it does not take into account the impact of recurring rituals and events on human cognitive processes. In the case of the Salutaris foundation, the shortcoming also includes the failure to consider how the periodic procession and distributions interact with the associated markers set up at the two static points of the spectacle. It is important to keep in mind that the information about the procession of images and lotteries was published in pendants to a decree honoring C. Vibius Salutaris for his generosity to the city and piety toward Artemis. How could the honorific content of the decree—­the praise of Salutaris’ “munificence and virtue”—­be imprinted on and reinforced in the minds of Ephesians? This information about Salutaris had to be learned and retained as knowledge before Salutaris’ commemoration could be successful. By mandating repetitive engagement with Salutaris’ generosity and with the materiality of his munificence, the citizens of Ephesos were being trained to know Salutaris’ importance and liberality.62 I here use the term know deliberately. Knowing, in terms of cognition, is defined by John Gardiner and Alan Richardson-­Klavehn as follows: Knowing refers to . . . experiences of the past, those in which we are aware of knowledge that we possess but in a more impersonal way. There is no awareness of reliving any particular events or experiences. Knowing includes the general sense of familiarity we have about abstract knowledge. Knowing also includes awareness of events that 60.  E.g., Reynolds 2000, 14, 19; Kokkinia 2012, 99; Champlin 1991, 165; Coleman 2008, 37; Mitchell 1987, 334; Ward-­Perkins 1985, 5, 12. 61.  Kokkinia 2012, 99–­100; Champlin 1991, 26. 62.  Rogers (1991, 83) believes that the biweekly recurrence might have dulled the “emotional impact” of the procession but allowed for better “internalization of the message” of civic and cultic history and identity. The commemoration of the donor was not considered.

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we have personally experienced when we are aware of those events as facts, without reliving them mentally.63 Knowing corresponds to what psychologists call “semantic memory.” For something to be part of semantic memory, one “obviously must have learned it, either directly or indirectly at an earlier time, but he need not possess any mnemonic information about the episode of such learning in order to retain and to use semantic information.”64 The information must have been learned, but to use that information, one does not have to remember the occasion on which the information was learned. The information is simply retained and recalled, in a mode of “just knowing” that seems reflexive, rather than reflective. For instance, even having lost the exact occasion on which one learned that 2 + 2 = 4, one can still use that semantic information. To return to the question of personal commemoration, the positive public image of an elite citizen should ideally be part of the semantic memory—­ knowledge—­of his peers, able to be retained and engaged automatically. Such would be the objective of successful commemoration. What would be the process leading to successful commemoration? Studies conducted over decades have confirmed that rehearsals or retrieval of knowledge at spaced intervals result in better retention of that information over time.65 Rehearsals or retrievals of information in this sense do not equate to cramming—­simple repetition within a compressed time frame. Students, teachers, and researchers all understand that cramming is only effective in the short term. In the study of knowledge retention, rehearsal or retrieval refers to being asked about information and having to bring it to mind, as a student would be asked to recall some fact during a test. Indeed, researchers call this phenomenon—­retention supported by regular rehearsal—­the “testing effect.”66 Furthermore, expanding the intervals of rehearsal leads to greater accuracy in recollection;67 material subject to testing at thirty-­day intervals was maintained longer in the mind than the same material subject to testing at one-­day intervals.68 Bahrick’s studies of 63.  Gardiner and Richardson-­Klavehn 2000, 229. 64.  Tulving 1972, 389. 65.  Landauer and Bjork 1978, 631. 66.  See Brown, Roediger, and McDaniel 2014 for a presentation of “testing effect” research and its pedagogical implications that is aimed at a general readership. 67.  Landauer and Bjork 1978, 631. 68.  Bahrick 2000, 351.

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long-­term maintenance of knowledge69 demonstrate that the effectiveness of spaced intervals of training (i.e., retrieval and testing)70 for the maintenance of learned information extends to several decades. Bahrick also found that knowledge stabilizes in the mind “within 3 to 5 years after training,” that recollection “performance then remains stable for approximately 25 years,” and, thus, that “the widely spaced, extended training yields content that withstands the normal processes of forgetting.”71 To use a previous example, if one is tested on the concept “2 + 2 = 4” at regularly spaced intervals for about three years, one will know twenty-­five years later that 2 + 2 = 4. The ramifications of these conclusions from cognitive science for the understanding of the potential of iterative spectacles and distributions to perpetuate the knowledge of elite identity are significant. Romans were not privy to modern cognition research, of course, but neither were they ignorant of mental training for the purpose of accurate recollection. Quintilian and Cicero both advocated for constant practice of speeches so that students of rhetoric could correctly learn a fixed text for recitation (Quint., Inst. 11.2.40–­44; Cic., De or. 2.87.357–­58).72 Quintilian especially perceived that passage of time—­he refers to the course of a day—­strengthened the ability to recall, as though there had been a “ripening and maturing during the time which intervenes” (Quint., Inst. 11.2.43).73 The ancient acceptance of repetitive engagement over time as a facilitator of learning allows it to be incorporated into systems of knowledge acquisition and retention that extend beyond rhetorical practice. The appeal to Salutaris—­and other benefactors—­of funding periodically recurring spectacles and distributions was the opportunity for their public personae to be 69.  Bahrick 2000, 347–­62. 70.  In Bahrick’s terminology (2000, 354), “training” is part of the acquisition or learning process, during which new material may continue to be introduced, so as to add to the base of knowledge, or may not be introduced, so as to enhance dexterity with the original content. Conversely, “[retrievals or] rehearsal interventions do not include new, additional content; their goal is not to improve performance, but rather to maintain it.” 71.  Bahrick 2000, 356. 72.  Small 1997, 82–­83. Small (3–­10) also points out that mnemotechnics such as those described by Cicero and Quintilian arose in response to the development of Roman literary culture, in which written texts allowed and necessitated the ability to grapple with immense numbers of words. What Quintilian and Cicero discuss as distributing rhetorical devices in a “memory house” to establish correct rhetorical sequence should not be confused with knowledge acquisition and retention; Quintilian himself believed that this method was of limited efficacy (Quint., Inst. 11.2.23–­26). 73.  Translation from Butler 1922.

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disseminated; retrieved at annual, monthly, or even biweekly intervals; and thereby reinforced in the minds of audience members.74 On the birthday of Artemis each year, the lucky recipients of the cash awards would be experiencing Salutaris’ generosity firsthand as they offered worship to Artemis at her sanctuary. Importantly, Salutaris specifies that only the boule members present at the distribution would be entitled to their one allotted denarius; nothing may be awarded in absentia.75 The requirement for distribution recipients to be at the Artemision and consciously abiding by the terms laid out by Salutaris equated to another opportunity for the patron’s generosity and will to be brought to the forefront of the beneficiaries’ consciousness. Most Ephesians probably did not have much to do with Salutaris in the course of their ordinary lives, but during the monthly regular assemblies, they would be witnesses to his patriotism and piety as embodied by the statuettes winding through the streets and resting on bases near their theater seats. While not one of the portable images represented Salutaris, their luxurious materials attested to his generosity and his devotion to Artemis.76 The statuettes elicited acknowledgment of Salutaris’ wealth and his use of it on behalf of the city. This picture of what kind of person Salutaris was and how he participated in civic life matched his verbal description in the massive inscriptions set up in the south parodos of the theater and at the Artemision. In the cavea, the installed effigies’ twinkling would also be echoed by the light shining back from the gold crown worn by Salutaris, whose very self would be mirrored by an honorific portrait set up in the theater.77 By the design of the patron and the demos and boule, these regularly spaced events formed visual and experiential cues by which the citizenry was prompted to retrieve their knowledge of Salutaris’ munificence and virtue. Because the building and retention of public knowledge about elite generosity and virtues are reinforced by spaced rehearsals over a span of time, the occasions for such rehearsals had to be ensured. I have noted that the documents of the dossier emphasize the financial penalties designed to discourage unauthorized alterations to the terms of the foundation. Such penalties and other measures—­such as the reversion of donated funds back to the heirs of benefactors—­were commonly stipulated with many foundations and bequests for periodic festivals, games, and distributions, so that there are 74.  Ng 2015, 16–­17. 75.  Wankel 1979, no. 27.226–­29. 76.  Lapatin 2015, 7–­9, 42. 77.  See n. 32.

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several passages devoted to their legal interpretation in the Digest.78 The legal opinion of jurists and emperors that such bequests were meant to continue in perpetuity not only preserved the cities’ flow of income and prolonged the favors to beneficiaries but also safeguarded the semantic memory potential of these legacies.79 Though we cannot verify the accuracy of Rogers’ estimation of a biweekly procession and do not know how many years the ritual persisted, these concerns should not be taken as detrimental to the memory-­ building capacity of the foundation itself.80 The nine bases corresponding to those specified in the inscription indicate that the silver statuettes were brought into the theater and installed around the cavea according to prescription immediately in 104 CE.81 We can also be relatively sure that the lotteries, at least, lasted for between three and six years.82 By that point, with the monthly and annual “tests” of processions and handouts, cognition research strongly suggests that knowledge of Salutaris would already have been stabilized in the minds of Ephesians, potentially for decades. Salutaris’ goal of personal commemoration thus would have been achieved, even if the cash distributions no longer continued. How did these periodic reminders of Salutaris’ generosity toward the city intersect with the most physically durable phenomenon of his benefaction, 78.  E.g., Scaevola, Dig. 33.2.17 (Replies, book 3); Modestinus, Dig. 50.12.10 (Replies, book 10). 79.  Modestinus, Dig. 33.1.6 (Replies, book 10); Marcian, Dig. 33.1.24 (Institutes, book 8), 33.1.23 (Institutes, book 6). For the legal protections for spectacular benefactions and the Roman perception of the commemorative potential of such gifts, see Ng 2015, 111–­16. 80.  The biweekly interval has been cited in reviews of Rogers 1991 and in subsequent scholarship without controversy; the question of overall longevity is raised in van Bremen 1993, 246. 81.  Rogers (1991, 102) argues that these bases “prove conclusively that the procession did in fact take place exactly as Salutaris had planned it,” but Weiss (2012, 58 n. 48) cautions against such a claim. See infra on further evidence regarding the implementation of the terms of the foundation. 82.  Several copies of a dedication dating to between 107/108 and 109/110 CE were found in the theater (Wankel 1979, no. 36A–­D = FiE no. 29, p. 150). The dedication indicates that Salutaris was responsible for a new commission of silver and gilded images (apeikonismata) of all the gods, financed by the money originally set aside for the lotteries to the six Ephesian tribes. In addition, twenty bases and further necessary equipment for the new statuettes were to come from Salutaris’ own expense. An implication of this dedication is that the endowment was still generating sufficient income to support the other cash distributions, activities, and maintenance of statuettes specified in Salutaris’ original foundation. Another implication is that these newly commissioned effigies and their bases would be joining the original host of statuettes from the 104 CE foundation.

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the inscribed honorific decrees and motions at the theater and the Artemision? The “visual congruence”83 between people, lotteries, statuettes, and text is, in itself, insufficient for the contents of the inscriptions to become ingrained in the minds of citizens. As mentioned previously, the copy of the inscription from the theater was, de facto, illegible, due to its height and small letters. Its placement in the parodos not only discouraged lingering to follow the minute lines of text but also meant that the inscription was not visible from the cavea. However, the documents’ legibility—­like that of other public inscriptions—­was less important than their visual symbolism in signifying the legitimacy of their contents, which were the rituals being enacted near them and the city’s praise for its benefactor.84 The information recorded in writing was already well known to the theater audience members comprising the demos and boule that accepted Salutaris’ gift to Ephesos and called for the relevant decrees and motions to be set up. It was not necessary for these people to study and reread the exact verbiage of the documents; the inscription—­like the statuettes—­became meaningful with the mental retrieval of the compact resulting from an exceptional proposal made by Salutaris, who likely would have been sitting in the theater with them (fig. 3.4). The symbiosis between physical artifacts, recurring ritual, and honorific practice transformed the theater and presumably the Artemision into environments of elite commemoration. The synergy between periodic rehearsals, representational objects, and textual display that made the Salutaris foundation a cognitively powerful monument to its benefactor is not unique to this particular instance.85 Studies of Roman portraiture often note the testamentary requests for heirs to tend periodically to a deceased’s portrait, though the physical object of the portrait is posited to be the agent that perpetuates the identity of its subject.86 One such legacy, that of L. Cassius Restutus from Auzia, in Mauretania Caesariensis, offers insight into statue-­associated rituals that are analogous to the behaviors compelled by the terms of the Salutaris foundation.87 The former 83.  Rogers 1991, 22. 84.  See Rogers 1991, 21–­24, regarding the Salutaris inscription specifically. On symbolic importance over the legibility of text more broadly, see Small 1997, 56–­57; Williamson 1987, 166–­72 (on the visual symbolism of Roman bronze legal tablets); Beard 1985, 139–­ 41 (for an example of a religious text). Cf., e.g., van Nijf 2000 on the importance of honorific language in conjunction with the location of the inscription in cities of the Greek East. 85.  See Laird 2015 for a study of the inscribed monuments donated by and erected in honor of the colleges of augustales in Italy in the first and second centuries CE. 86.  E.g., Fejfer 2008: 63–­70; Fejfer 2002: 250–­54; Stewart 2003: 79, 120, 267. 87.  CIL 8.9052. Further examples of inscriptions dating to the second half of the second

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Fig. 3.4. Plan of the theater at Ephesos, with the approximate location of the Salutaris inscription (A); the approximate locations of the bases for the silver statuettes of Artemis, tribes, and personifications, plus two more bases from the addendum (B); and the conjectural location of the honorific statue of Salutaris, with fragments of its base found scattered in the theater (C). (Plan adapted from Wood 1877, facing p. 68.)

decurion instructed his heirs to hold annual games in honor of his memory and that of his wife Clodia Luciosa and to make an annual distribution to the decurions on the couple’s birthdays. These distributions were to take place in front of the bases of the statues of the deceased and his wife, statues that would be cleaned, anointed with perfume, crowned, and lit up with candles specifically for each occasion. The melding of the ephemeral and the durable in this bequest shows that periodic events like the games and distributions were considered capable of preserving the memories of the deceased, century CE and calling for portrait statues of augustales to be cleaned and decorated annually and in conjunction with banquets and/or monetary distributions are discussed in Laird 2015, 1–­6, 184–­93. In Laird’s discussion, the duties assigned to the members of the college of augustales and the distribution of money specifically to them allowed this group to affirm their corporate and social identities.

The Salutaris Foundation  • 83

especially as the distributions were held on their birthdays. Furthermore, it reveals that the statues were given renewed significance each year, not because of any inherent durability, but because of scheduled interventions designed to make them especially noticeable not just to the eyes but to the nose as well. At other times of the year, between the mandated cleanings and the passing out of money, the statues were merely part of greater civic adornment and had no more power to draw one’s attention than had other objects that pedestrians would pass by as they proceeded to their destinations. It is not that the statues carried memories of L. Cassius Restutus and Clodia Luciosa that were activated during the games and the handing out of money; rather, the recurring spectacles restored attention to the objects and made them worth knowing—­and, in subsequent years, recallable—­to the people crowding around their bases.88 Restutus and Luciosa’s legacy naturally required the central involvement of their heirs, and other, similar examples both depended on and materially and socially benefited the surviving spouses or other members of the corporation to which the donor belonged, but Salutaris’ benefaction did not. Beyond requiring that his heir transfer possession of the icons of Trajan and Plotina from Salutaris’ home to Ephesos and that the heir or the purchaser of the estate fulfill the financial obligation of the foundation or face heavy fines, there is no other mention of Salutaris’ own private circle in the diataxis. Unlike in other, aforementioned situations, the diataxis in this dossier did not include provisions that would have compelled Ephesos to return his endowment to any heirs in the event of the city’s noncompliance.89 This minimal long-­term planning underscores the fact that this meticulously described convergence of statuettes, monetary distributions, and installations of inscribed text was designed to act immediately to effect the commemoration of Salutaris alone. The carefully considered plans by Roman elites not only to erect physical markers to themselves in the form of statues or public inscriptions but also to draw attention to such markers through experiences that were sensorially and financially gratifying to their targeted audiences indicate, once again, that though the elites were unaware of modern concepts such as testing effects and semantic memory, they nevertheless recognized that monumentality was processual and subject to reinforcement, rather than an instantly achievable goal accomplished solely by a stationary object. 88.  Eck 1997, 317. 89.  See supra, n. 78.

84  •  ro m a n a rtis ts , pat ron s, a n d p ublic consumption

Conclusion Since it came to light at the end of the nineteenth century, the Salutaris foundation has been studied as epigraphy, history, and, more recently, phenomenology. After such a monument’s dedication, as Laird has noted, a patron “relinquished control over its future use and, to a certain extent, its meaning.”90 The dry, legalistic words listing the weights, subjects, costs, participants, and sequence of events supported by Salutaris’ endowment have become paradoxically evocative of throngs of Ephesians parading through their city, statuettes sparkling in the sun, tribes sitting proudly behind precious emblems in shared governance. Yet the laudatory language used to describe Salutaris has not conjured the same level of interest. Used as biographical filler, sometimes dismissively, it has ceded its place to what has been perceived as a carefully constructed narrative of Ephesian history and identity. I have shown in this essay that this should not be so, that the foundation made by Salutaris for his city was no less a personal monument than a sculptured portrait of a prominent man or woman raised in the agora or along a colonnaded street. The effectiveness of Salutaris’ monument, like that of honorific statues, was dependent not merely on the blocks of white marble on which his gift was recorded or the bronze shaped in his likeness but on the mandates for periodic enactment of the decree’s terms in the presence of the text and the founder himself. Ephesians were prompted to recall the source of their lottery prizes every year, to think about the donor of the silver and gilded statuettes at the monthly regular assembly and other events. They could look to the man sitting a few rows away and wearing the gold crown, as well as to the columns of tiny words fastened to the theater’s entrance, to confirm their recollections. After months and a few years of these “tests,” the public’s awareness of Salutaris’ generosity and patriotism would be cognitively fixed, and Ephesians would “just know” that C. Vibius Salutaris was a man of virtue. Stone, precious silver and gold, and the parcels of money would have done their work, which was to build the monument of Salutaris in mental space.

Works Cited Bahrick, H. P. 2000. “Long-­Term Maintenance of Knowledge.” In Oxford Handbook of Memory, edited by E. Tulving and F. I. M. Craik, 347–­62. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 90.  Laird 2015, 13.

The Salutaris Foundation  • 85 Beard, M. 1985. “Writing and Ritual: A Study of Diversity and Expansion in the Arval Acta.” PBSR 53:114–­62. Brown, P., H. L. Roediger, and M. A. McDaniel. 2014. Make It Stick: The Science of Successful Learning. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Butler, H. E., trans. 1922. The “Institutio Oratoria” of Quintilian. London: William Heinemann. Champlin, E. 1991. Final Judgments: Duty and Emotion in Roman Wills, 200 B.C.–­A.D. 250. Berkeley: University of California Press. Cole, S. G. 1993. Review of The Sacred Identity of Ephesos: Foundation Myths of a Roman City, by G. M. Rogers. AJA 97:589–­90. Coleman, K. 2008. “Exchanging Gladiators for an Aqueduct at Aphrodisias (SEG 50.1096).” Acta Classica 51:31–­46. Eck, W. 1997. “Der Euergetismus im Funktionszusammenhang der Kaiserzeitlichen Städte.” In Actes du Xe congrès international d’épigraphie grecque et latine, Nîmes, 4–­9 Octobre 1992, edited by M. and O. Masson Christol, 305–­31. Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne. Elkins, N. T. 2014. “The Procession and Placement of Imperial Cult Images in the Colosseum.” PBSR 82:73–­107. Elsner, J. 2007. Roman Eyes: Visuality and Subjectivity in Art and Text. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Fejfer, J. 2002. “Ancestral Aspects of the Roman Honorary Statue.” In Images of Ancestors, edited by J. M. Højte, 247–­57. Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. Fejfer, J. 2008. Roman Portraits in Context. Berlin: De Gruyter. Fleischer, R. 1972. Artemisstatuette aus dem Hanghaus II. ÖJh Beiheft 2:172–­88. Gardiner, J., and A. Richardson-­Klavehn. 2000. “Remembering and Knowing.” In Oxford Handbook of Memory, edited by E. Craik Tulving and F. I. M. Craik Tulving, 229–­44. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gebhard, E. 1996. “The Theater and the City.” In Roman Theater and Society: E. Togo Salmon Papers I, edited by W. J. Slater, 113–­27. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Heberdey, R. 1912. “Inschriften.” In Forschungen in Ephesos, vol. 2, Das Theater in Ephesos, edited by R. Heberdey, G. Niemann, and W. Wilberg, 95–­203. Vienna: Alfred Hölder. Hicks, E. L. 1890. The Collection of Ancient Greek Inscriptions from the British Museum. Pt. 3. Oxford: Clarendon. Knibbe, D. 2004. “Via Sacra Ephesiaca: New Aspects of the Cult of Artemis.” In Ephesos, Metropolis of Asia: An Interdisciplinary Approach to Its Archaeology, Religion, and Culture, edited by H. Koester, 141–­56. Harvard Theological Studies 41. Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International. Knibbe, D., and G. Langmann. 1993. Via Sacra Ephesiaca. I. Berichte und Materialien, Österreichisches Archäologisches Institut 3. Vienna: Schindler. Kokkinia, C. 2012. “Games vs. Buildings as Euergetic Choices.” In L’organisation Des Spectacles Dans Le Monde Romain, edited by K. Coleman and J. Nelis-­Clément, 97–­130. Geneva: Fondation Hardt. Laird, M. L. 2015. Civic Monuments and the Augustales in Roman Italy. New York: Cambridge University Press. Landauer, T. K., and R. A. Bjork. 1978. “Optimum Rehearsal Patterns and Name

86  •  ro m a n a rtis ts , pat ron s, a n d p ublic consumption Learning.” In Practical Aspects of Memory, edited by M. M. Gruneberg, P. E. Morris, and R. N. Sykes, 625–­32. New York: Academic Press. Lapatin, K. 2015. Luxus: The Sumptuous Arts of Greece and Rome. Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum. Laum, B. 1914. Stiftungen in der griechischen und römischen Antike, ein Beitrag zur antiken Kulturgeschichte. Berlin: B. G. Teubner. Madigan, B. 2012. The Ceremonial Sculptures of the Roman Gods. Leiden: Brill. Mitchell, S. 1987. “Imperial Building in the Eastern Roman Provinces.” HSCP 91:333–­ 65. Ng, D. 2007. “Manipulation of Memory: Public Buildings and Decorative Programs in Roman Cities of Asia Minor.” PhD diss., University of Michigan, Ann Arbor. Ng, D. 2015. “Commemoration and Élite Benefaction of Buildings and Spectacles in the Roman World.” JRS 105:101–­23. Oliver, J. H. 1941. The Sacred Gerusia. Hesperia Supplements 6. Princeton: American School of Classical Studies at Athens. Oliver, J. H. 1953. The Ruling Power: A Study of the Roman Empire in the Second Century after Christ through the Roman Oration of Aelius Aristides. Transactions of the American Philosophical Society 43.4. Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society. Oster, R. 1990. “Ephesus as a Religious Center under the Principate.” Pt. 1, “Paganism before Christ.” ANRW II.18.3:1661–­1728. Price, S. R. F. 1984. Rituals and Power: The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Reynolds, J. 2000. “New Letters from Hadrian to Aphrodisias: Trials, Taxes, Gladiators, and an Aqueduct.” JRA 13:5–­20. Rogers, G. M. 1991. The Sacred Identity of Ephesos. New York: Routledge. Rogers, G. M. 2012. The Mysteries of Artemis of Ephesos: Cult, Polis, and Change in the Graeco-­Roman World. New Haven: Yale University Press. Sear, F. 2006. Roman Theatres: An Architectural Study. New York: Oxford University Press. Small, J. P. 1997. Wax Tablets of the Mind: Cognitive Studies of Memory and Literacy in Classical Antiquity. New York: Routledge. Smith, R. 2006. “The Construction of the Past in the Roman Empire.” In A Companion to the Roman Empire, edited by D. S. Potter, 411–­38. New York: Blackwell. Spawforth, A. 1992. “Review: Romanization at Ephesus.” CR 42.2:383–­84. Stewart, P. 2003. Statues in Roman Society. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Tulving, E. 1972. “Episodic and Semantic Memory.” In Organization of Memory, edited by E. Tulving and W. Donaldson, 381–­403. New York: Academic Press. van Bremen, R. 1993. Review of The Sacred Identity of Ephesos: Foundation Myths of a Roman City, by G. M. Rogers. JRS 83:245–­46. van Nijf, O. 2000. “Inscriptions and Civic Memory in the Roman East.” In The Afterlife of Inscriptions: Reusing, Rediscovering, Reinventing, and Revitalizing Ancient Inscriptions, edited by A. E. Cooley, 21–­36. BICS Supplements 75. London: Institute of Classical Studies, School of Advanced Study, University of London. Walbank, M. E. H. 1994. Review of The Sacred Identity of Ephesos: Foundation Myths of a Roman City, by G. M. Rogers. Phoenix 48.1:89–­91.

The Salutaris Foundation  • 87 Wankel, H. 1979. Die Inschriften von Ephesos. Pt. 1a, Nr. 1–­47. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 11.1. Bonn: Rudolf Habelt. Ward-­Perkins, J. B. 1985. From Classical Antiquity to the Middle Ages: Urban Public Building in Northern and Central Italy, AD 300–­850. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Weiss, C. F. 2012. “Bodies in Motion: Civic Ritual and Place-­Making in Roman Ephesus.” In Making Roman Places, Past and Present: Papers Presented at the First Critical Roman Archaeology Conference Held at Stanford University in March, 2008, edited by D. M. Totten and K. L. Samuels, 50–­63. JRA Supplements 89. Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology. White, L.M. 2004. “Urban Development and Social Change in Imperial Ephesos.” In Ephesos, Metropolis of Asia: An Interdisciplinary Approach to Its Archaeology, Religion, and Culture, edited by H. Koester, 27–­79. Harvard Theological Studies 41. Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International. Williamson, C. 1987. “Monuments of Bronze: Roman Legal Documents on Bronze Tablets.” ClAnt 6.1:160–­83. Wood, J. T. 1877. Discoveries at Ephesus, Including the Site and Remains of the Great Temple of Diana. Boston: James R. Osgood. Yegül, F. 2000. “Memory, Metaphor, and Meaning in the Cities of Asia Minor.” In Romanization and the City: Creations, Transformations, and Failures. Proceedings of a Conference Held at the American Academy in Rome to Celebrate the 50th Anniversary of the Excavations at Cosa, 14–­16 May 1998, edited by E. Fentress, 133–­53. JRA Supplements 38. Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology.

four

From Mystery Masterpiece to Roman Artwork The Journey of the Aspasia Statue Type in the Roman Empire Lea M. Stirling

A severe-­style sculpture type showing a woman wearing a heavy cloak rendered in simple but striking lines is recognized in thirty-­nine statues and statuettes, most of them dated to Hadrianic and Antonine times (table 4.1; fig. 4.1).1 The examples are so close in the distinctive pose and drapery that they must all refer to the same statue, a work in the style of ca. 470–­460 BCE. Studying the head alone, J. Bernoulli proposed in 1877 that it belonged to the age of Pheidias and could represent Aspasia, the famous mistress of Pericles.2 The name “Aspasia” caught on for the type and remains in use even though that identification is now discredited. I will use the name “Aspasia” in this essay because that name is recognized by scholars but noncommittal about an identity. Adolf Furtwängler proposed that the head could represent the Aphro1.  Throughout this essay, the statues and statuettes are identified by parenthetical numbers that refer to entries in table 4.1. For discussion of this statue type, see Amelung 1900; Orlandini 1950; Ridgway 1970, 65–­67; Lauter 1970, 115–­16; Guerrini 1974; Saletti 1999. Table 4.1 leaves out a veiled bust of Faustina in the Louvre (MA 1147; Fittschen 1982, 56 n. 13, plate 33.3), though Orlandini (1950, 95, no. 17) considered this an Aspasia statue reworked with Faustina’s portrait. Saletti (1999, 72 n. 36) argues that the folds are not a good match for the Aspasia type. 2.  Bernoulli 1877.

Fig. 4.1. Statue found at Baiae in the Terme di Sosandra (1), Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 1073236. (Koppermann, Neg. D-­DAI-­Rom 59.367.)

Naples, Museo Archeologico, inv. 137885 Rome, Museo Palatino, inv. 6433; formerly in Museo Nazionale delle Terme, inv. 56433 Rhethymno, Archaeological Museum, inv. 52676 Irakleion, Archaeological Museum, inv. 69

2

Ierapetra, Archaeological Museum

Argos, Archaeological Museum

Izmir, Archaeological Museum, inv. 535

6

7

8

5

4

3

Naples, Museo Archeologico, inv. 1073236

1

Current location and inventory number (where known)

Ephesus, 1927

Argos, 1973–­74

Hierapytna or environs, 1932 or earlier

Lappa (modern Argyropoulis), 1939 Gortyn, pre-­1900

Rome, 1892

Stabiae, 1907

Baiae, 1954

Findspot

Date

Complete statue with portrait head Head and neck of statue

Early Antonine (Guerrini 1974, 227) Mid-­second century (Romeo and Portale 1998, 239, no. 91)

Statue with head and Hadrianic body; parts of left hand (Guerrini 1974, 231–­33) and attribute missing Statue lacking head Before 79 CE (Ferrara 1999) Head of statue Hadrianic (Gasparri 1995, 178)

Condition

Statue preserved from midcalf to shoulder; may belong with no. 25 below (Guerrini 1974, 229) Body found in Roman Complete statue with Antonine (hairstyle) baths; head found in incised irises and hairsixth-­century fill in style similar to that of nearby well Crispina Kaisersaal of the Vedius Head and neck of statue Antonine Bath-­Gymnasium, above with incised irises and (Orlandini 1950, 94, the floor of the early pupils no. 12) fifth century CE

Central location in ancient town “Stadium” of Domus Flavia on the Palatine

Terme di Sosandra

Specific findspot (if known)

Table 4.1. Aspasia statues and statuettes, provenanced (nos. 1–­20) and unprovenanced (nos. 21–­39)

30 cm

Life-­sized

140 cm

32 cm

173 cm with plinth

22 cm

174 cm

187 cm

Height

Old Corinth, Archaeologi- Corinth, 1926 cal Museum of Ancient Corinth, inv. S-­3575 Old Corinth, Archaeologi- Corinth, 1934 cal Museum of Ancient Corinth, inv. S-­1897, S-­1904/S-­2446

Old Corinth, Archaeologi- Corinth, 1914 cal Museum of Ancient Corinth, inv. S-­1051 Athens, Stoa of Attalos Athens, pre-­1954 Museum, inv. S-­1790

Epidauros, inv. ME 170

Shahat (Cyrene), Museum Cyrene of Antiquities, inv. 14.286 Damascus, National Mu- Hama, 1931 seum of Damascus, inv. 5380 (= C 2711)

12

14

16

17

18

15

13

Old Corinth, Archaeologi- Corinth, 1999 cal Museum of Ancient Corinth, inv. S-­1999-­04

11

Epidauros

Thessaloniki, 1967

Thessaloniki, National Archaeological Museum, inv. 10117

10

Ephesus

Selçuk museum, Agora Depot, no inv.

9

In pit over ruins of sanctuary

Agora

Hellenistic or Roman (Sturgeon 2004, 151, no. 42)

Torso of statuette preHellenistic or Roman served from shoulders to hips Thin slice of legs, includ- First quarter of the ing knee, from statuette second century CE ca. half life-­sized (Katakis 2002, 93) Headless statuette, ca. Roman (Paribeni 1959, one-­third life-­sized 92, no. 237) Full statuette with head and body

Medieval layers above the Lower portion of statuSouth Basilica (lower); ette (plinth to midthigh; Mosaic House (upper) S-­1904/S-­2446); upper portion of statuette (neck to elbow; S1897) Medieval levels above the Left shoulder of statuette Julian Basilica of Aspasia

Body found in the Panayia Domus (room A9; head found in thirteenth-­century dumping over the domus Theater Statuette preserved from knee to shoulder

Plateia Dikastirion

57 cm without plinth 39.5 cm with plinth

26.5 cm

12.5 cm

10 cm

Lower: 21 cm with plinth; upper: 11 cm

21 cm

Right shoulder of statue, Second century CE 48 cm preserved from elbow to (Atalay 1989, 52, no. 49) shoulder Head and neck of Antonine 20 cm statuette ca. two-­thirds (Despinis, Stefanidou-­ life-­sized Tiveriou, and Voutiras 1997, 99, no. 71) Complete statuette First or early second 34.5 cm with plinth with plinth century CE (Stirling 2008, 93)

28

27

26

25

Pavia, Museo di Archeologia dell’Università, no inv.

Rome, Museo Nuovo dei Conservatori, inv. 1488 Venice, Museo Archeologico, inv. 32 Venice, Museo Archeologico, inv. 262 Venice, formerly in Grimani collection, now lost (drawing survives)

24

23

Possibly from Crete (Beschi 1972–­73, 488)

Rome, Capitoline Museums, inv. S 46 Rome, formerly in Giustiniani collection, now unknown

22

21

Garden of Museo Archeo- Baia logico dei Campi Flegrei Rome, Captoline Museums, inv. S 41

20

Findspot

Mediana (suburb of Naissus), 1972

Niš, Archaeological Museum, inv. 1000/R

19

Current location and inventory number (where known)

Table 4.1.—Continued

Condition

Date

Full statue body restored First century CE (La with unrelated head Rocca and Presicce 2010, 174) Full statue body restored Hadrianic (La Rocca and with unrelated head Presicce 2010, 192) Statue with portrait face, Antonine (Orlandini restored right arm; 1950, 94, no. 7) Orlandini (1950, 94, no. 7) judges that head belongs Head of statuette Roman (Mustilli 35–­36, no. 3) Head of statue Antonine (Lauter 1970, 115) Headless statuette Roman (Traversari 1974, 18–­19, no. 4) Statuette with head and body, on a molded plinth similar to no. 35 (Orlandini 1950, 96, no. 24, pl. 13.3) Head from a statue Antonine (Saletti 1999, 72)

In a side room of the Headless statuette fourth-­century Peristyle Villa Submerged area Full-­sized statue?

Specific findspot (if known)

31 cm

50 cm

36.5 cm

23 cm

7.5 cm

191 cm with head

195 cm with head

49 cm with plinth, 45 cm without

Height

39

38

37

36

35

34

33

32

Paris, Musée du Louvre, inv. Ma 2203 Paris, Musée du Louvre, inv. not known

New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, inv. 24.97.31 Bucharest, National Museum of Antiquities, inv. L1704 Paris, Musée du Louvre, inv. Ma 848

Berlin, Antikensammlung, inv. Sk 605 Munich, Antiquarium of the Munich Residenz, inv. Res. Mü. P. I 16 Leiden, Rijksmuseum van Possibly collected in Oudheden, inv. 1821: RO Greece, 1824–­26 III 90(?) St. Petersberg, Hermitage Museum, inv. A 1000

Purchased in Rome, 1900; said by dealer to be from Aquino

31

30

Aquileia, Museo Archeologico, inv. 336 Berlin, Antikensammlung, inv. Sk 1518

29

Headless statue of Aspasia Headless statue of Aspasia (Fröhner 1869, 357, no. 384; Amelung 1900, 181)

Head from statuette (Waldhauer 1936, 72, no. 331, figs. 82–­83) Headless statuette with “Europe” written on base in Greek letters Head designed to be set into a statue; incised pupils Head and neck of statue set into later bust

Upper half of head from statue under life-­sized

First half of the second century CE (Louvre 2015) First or second century CE (Louvre 2015)

Antonine (Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2000–­2015) Mid-second century (Bordenache 1969, 14)

Antonine (Santa Maria Scrinari 1972, 16) Full statue with portrait Second half of the second head century (Orlandini 1950, 92, no. 1) Head and neck of statue Hadrianic (Gasparri 1995, 178) Head and neck of statue, Hadrianic (Weski and heavily reworked Frosien-­Leinz 1987, 136)

Headless statuette

165 cm

45 cm with bust

38 cm; height of head: 34 cm

42 cm with plinth

5 cm

12 cm

26.5 cm

29.5 cm

197 cm

40 cm

94  •  ro m a n a rtis ts , pat ron s, a n d p ublic consumption

dite Sosandra of Kalamis, citing Lucian’s reference to a covered head, simple clothes, and modest smile for the piece (Imagines 6).3 In 1900, Walter Amelung proposed that a body type then known in six examples belonged with the Aspasia head type as a statue of an unknown goddess originally crafted in the second quarter of the fifth century.4 The discovery of a nearly intact statuette (18) at Hama in Syria in 1931 proved Amelung’s reconstruction to be correct.5 Only one complete full-­sized example with an ideal face (i.e., not a portrait) has been found, at Baiae (1; fig. 4.1).6 No surviving statue or statuette preserves the original left hand along with its presumed attribute in their entirety. One statuette now in New York (35) has a secondary inscription reading “Europe,” inscribed on its base in “Greek letters of the Roman period.”7 An unlabeled figure on a vase and a concentration of three representations of the statue on Crete are used as further support for identifying the statue type as representing Europa, the Cretan princess carried away by Zeus in the form of a bull.8 However, the question of identity seems unresolvable on current evidence. Most analysis of the Aspasia statue type in a Roman milieu has focused on the reception of the severe style in Rome.9 Nearly all examples of the Aspasia statue are stylistically dated to the Hadrianic or Antonine periods.10 Many of the full-­sized statues imitate bronzework closely in the finely striated hair and other details and are therefore linked to the Hadrianic vogue (seen at Tivoli and elsewhere) for marble statuary imitating bronzework.11 A sculptors’ workshop at Baiae known from its discarded plaster casts focused on early classical works and is thought to have been active in the Hadrianic period.12 Although Gasparri argued that the Aspasia statue type began abruptly in the Hadrianic period along with certain others, Antonio Ferrara has now shown that an Aspasia statue found at Stabiae in 1907 (2) lay below   3.  Furtwängler 1893, 115. See also Orlandini 1950, 92–­98.   4.  Amelung 1900.   5.  Ingholt 1934, 10–­11, 22–­25; Ploug 1985, 113, 122, 189–­92, fig. 16a. Only the left hand and its attribute were missing.   6.  Napoli 1954.   7.  Richter 1954, 25–­26 (25 for quote), no. 30, plate 29.   8.  Robertson 1957; Guerrini 1974; LIMC IV.1:89, no. 218, plate 47, s.v. “Europe I” (M. Robertson). See Stirling 2008, 137, on an Argolid concentration.   9.  Most recently, Germini 2008. 10.  Lauter 1970, 115–­16. 11.  Gasparri 1995. 12.  Landwehr 1985.

From Mystery Masterpiece to Roman Artwork  • 95

a thick volcanic layer representing the eruption of Vesuvius in 79 CE.13 One statue in the Capitoline Museums (21) is now considered Augustan based on stylistic comparison with the Stabiae piece.14 The Stabiae Aspasia is the only example of this statue type to be retrieved from a datable context earlier than the fourth century CE. The scholarly focus on the Greek artist and the statue’s identity has largely diverted attention from the fact that this very popular statue type clearly resonated with values in Roman society. As Elaine Gazda and others have shown, “Roman copies” were artworks of the Roman era, made for current interests in a Roman milieu.15 Furthermore, the past two decades have seen the discovery or publication of several new provenanced examples of the type; these finds enhance our ability to investigate it as an artwork of the Roman period.16 The corpus of examples has grown to thirty-­nine, twenty of them provenanced to a particular city and sometimes even to a specific building.17 Twenty-­two examples are life-­sized or larger; the other seventeen are statuettes, mostly with heights ranging around thirty to forty-­five centimeters.18 With a corpus that is now larger and better provenanced, the Aspasia type offers the opportunity to study the roles that a defined statue type could play in the Roman world. Given the new material and new theoretical approaches developed in recent scholarship, it is time to revisit the Aspasia statue type from a Roman perspective. I will view the type through three lenses: findspots, late antiquity, and recent scholarship on female statuary. Evaluation of the distribution 13.  According to Ferrara (1999, 170), who studied letters written at the time of the discovery, the description of the volcanic lapilli above the statue matches the fall from the eruption of 79 CE and could not represent the powerful eruption of 472 CE, which left a different signature in the region of Stabiae. 14.  La Rocca and Presicce 2010, 174–­77, Atrio 16. A terracotta plaque showing the Aspasia type in profile, part of a set showing severe-­style statue types, is dated to the Augustan period (Ridgway 1970, 111–­14, fig. 146). 15.  Gazda 1995, 2002. See also Ridgway 1984; Perry 2005; Kousser 2009; Anguissola 2015; and Longfellow and Perry’s introduction to the present volume. 16.  The last extended listing of examples of the Aspasia type is Guerrini’s 1974 list of twenty-­seven replicas. The present essay is the first work to introduce an unpublished statuette from the Athenian Agora (15) and to identify fragments in Ephesus (9) and Leiden (33) as belonging to the Aspasia type. Also included in the count is a statue from the submerged zone at Baiae (20), now in the garden of the Museo Archeologico dei Campi Flegrei (see La Rocca and Presicce 2010, 173 n. 3, citing information from C. Gasparri). 17.  A head and shoulder found separately in Ephesus (8, 9) may belong together. If they represent separate statues, there are twenty provenanced examples. 18.  A couple of statuettes reached about eighty centimeters.

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of Aspasia statues and statuettes around the Mediterranean and comparison with the distribution of related statue types demonstrates that the different types had individual trajectories. There is now more scope to study usage of the type, particularly for statuettes, which cluster in mainland Greece. Several of the provenanced statues and statuettes were found in late antique layers, allowing a look at the changing uses and expanding geography of the statue type. Finally, at least three Aspasia statues bore portrait heads in antiquity. Recent research on female portraits provides new ways to interpret statue composition and portraits that bear ideal faces.

Geographical Distribution This reinvestigation of the Aspasia type begins on a broad geographical level. Of the thirty-­nine surviving statues and statuettes, twenty are provenanced to a building or at least a city (1–­20; fig. 4.2). Taking statues and statuettes together, the strongest concentration of finds by far is found in mainland Greece, particularly in the Peloponnese. These finds are mostly statuettes. A hitherto unrecognized fragment of an Aspasia head now in Leiden (33; fig. 4.5) may furnish a further Greek example, since it appears to originate with a nineteenth-­century donor who collected antiquities in Greece.19 Smaller concentrations of three examples each appear in Campania and Crete. Campania, too, has Greek antecedents and connections, and Gasparri and others have argued that artists from Greece participated in the sculptor’s workshop there.20 With only one excavated example, the city of Rome is curiously underrepresented in this tally of provenanced pieces, but several of the statues now owned in old Roman, Italian, and European collections also undoubtedly came from the empire’s capital. In a general sense, the clusters of examples found in the Greek East and Italy suggest that the type particularly resonated with Romans at the core of the empire and with Greeks of the Second Sophistic era. If we look only at statue-­sized pieces, the balance shifts, with Campania and Crete as the strongholds of excavated finds. Thus, in mainland Greece, 19.  Bastet and Brunsting 1982, 250–­51, no. 476, plate 140. Though there is some uncertainty about the catalog number painted on the piece, the preface “RO” in the inventory number indicates that it comes from the collection of Col. B. E. A. Rottiers, who collected in Greece in 1824–­26 (e-­mail message to author from Ruurd Halberstma, curator of Greek and Roman antiquities, Rijksmuseum van Oudheden, Leiden, July 1, 2013). 20.  Guerrini 1974; Landwehr 1985; Gasparri 1995.

Fig. 4.2. Distribution of provenanced statues of Aspasia, the Discobolus, and the Omphalos Apollo. (Adapted from NordNordWest—­O wn work using World Data Base II data, CC BY-­SA 3.0, https:// commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=11416503)

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the interest in this statue type extended principally to small versions, mostly found in public and religious settings, possibly with a migration to domestic settings in late antiquity (see below). The pocket of statues in Crete (4–­6, from Lappa, Gortyn, and Hierapytna; fig. 4.6) shows a regional interest that may stem from very particular local factors and, in the case of portrait-­ bearing statues, the choices of influential women.21 Again, the city of Rome must have furnished some of the unprovenanced statue-­sized pieces in old collections and surely constitutes a third concentration of Aspasia statues, along with Campania and Crete. As for the statuettes, there is a concentration in the Greek mainland, with farther-­flung examples in Cyrene (still Greek; 17), Moesia (Mediana; 19), and Syria (Hama; 18).22 Mediana and Hama seem particularly distant as destinations, and the transportability of statuettes must play a role here. An unprovenanced statuette in the Metropolitan Museum in New York (35) has Greek writing on the plinth, but this does not guarantee a Greek findspot. Another way to evaluate findspots is to compare their distribution to those of two other severe-­style statue types popular in the Hadrianic period, the Omphalos Apollo (twenty-­nine examples) and the Discobulos (twenty-­ seven examples). In studies of the severe style, the Aspasia type is often discussed in conjunction with the Omphalos Apollo, an athletic nude with a characteristic long braid coiled around his head.23 Only three of the twenty-­ nine examples of the Omphalos Apollo are statuettes. The provenanced examples are weighted much more heavily to Rome than are those of the Aspasia, and only one provenanced example of the Omphalos Apollo comes from the Greek East (Athens; fig. 4.2). Two heads and two other fragments came from the Palatium in Rome, as did one Aspasia (3). One Omphalos Apollo was found at Baiae, in a different complex from the Aspasia (1), 21.  Jennifer Trimble (2011, 117) has made this argument for clusters of the Large Herculaneum Woman in Deva (Dacia) and Perge. Another example of a regional taste is the popularity of the Ceres type in North Africa. For the Gortyn statue, see Guerrini 1974, 228, plate 33; Romeo and Portale 1998, 236–­39, no. 91, plate 31b–­d. For the Hierapetra statue, see Marinatos 1933–­35, 69, fig. 30; Guerrini 1974, 228, fig. 1. For the Lappa statue, see Marinatos 1933–­35, 66–­69, plates 1–­2; Guerrini 1974, 227, plate 32. Luigi Beschi (1972–­73, 488) has argued that an Aspasia head now in Venice (25) came from Crete, because it is stylistically similar to other works from Crete in the same collection. Guerrini (1974, 229) further proposes that this head could belong with the body from Hierapytna (6). For the Venice head, see Traversari 1974, 18–­19, no. 4. 22.  For the Cyrene example, see Paribeni 1959, 92, no. 237, plate 123. See the discussions below on the examples from Mediana and Hama. 23.  Ridgway 1970, 61–­64; Guerrini 1974, 232–­33. For the most recent list of examples, see Pafumi 2002.

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and the Omphalos Apollo statue type is associated with the sculptor’s workshop at Baiae (though casts for it were not found there). Most copies of the Omphalos Apollo are considered to be Hadrianic. The Discobolus, attributed to Myron, was another highly recognizable statue type in Roman times.24 This type survives in twenty life-­sized examples and seven statuettes, nearly all of which are Hadrianic or Antonine. Findspots are heavily weighted to Rome and its environs and to sites with imperial patronage (Hadrian’s villa at Tivoli, the Baths of Caracalla; fig. 4.2). The Greek East is better represented by the Discobolus than by the Omphalos Apollo, with four provenanced examples of the former (two in Asia Minor, one in Athens, one in Cyrenaica). Interestingly, both the Aspasia (8) and the Discobolus were displayed in the Vedius Bath-­Gymnasium at Ephesus, and both were removed from display in the late antique renovations.25 From these broad comparisons, we see that ideal statue types, even those that shared stylistic features and had similar floruits at Rome, had quite different trajectories outside the capital. Patrons in Rome, especially emperors, account for a significant proportion of the provenanced examples of the Omphalos Apollo and the Discobolus. With such a predominance of finds in Rome, one may interpret individual finds of full-­sized statues elsewhere (often in baths or gymnasia) as the choices of wealthy local patrons who belonged to the international senatorial elite and thus had contact with the emperor and tastes at Rome. In using these sculptural types so popular in the city of Rome, patrons were aligning themselves with a shared international taste for Greek art more than with a local Greek identity. Attention to local myths and concerns played out in other sculptural choices and media, such as reliefs. The find of one Aspasia in the Palatium at Rome (3)26 hints at similarly elevated patronage for this type as well; again, some number of the unprovenanced pieces must have come from Rome. The Aspasia and the Omphalos Apollo share a connection to the sculptor’s workshop at Baiae, a workshop that Gasparri and others have linked to imperial patronage. However, the Aspasia type clearly held much greater appeal in the Greek East than did either the Omphalos Apollo or the Discobolus. There are life-­sized examples of the Aspasia from three Cretan cities (4, 5, 6) and Argos (7) and a two-­ thirds life-­sized example at Thessaloniki (10), in addition to the numerous statuettes in the Peloponnese (11–­14, 16) and one in Athens (15).27 The use 24.  For the artist and the type, see Ridgway 1970, 84–­86. Discussion of dating and the distribution of examples is drawn from Anguissola 2005. 25.  Auinger 2011, 74. 26.  Paribeni 1953, 53–­54, no. 91, plate 91; Gasparri 1995, 178, 181; Tomei 1998, 136. 27.  For the Thessaloniki Aspasia, see Despinis, Stefanidou-­Tiveriou, and Voutiras 1997,

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of the statue type for portraits, as seen at Argos (7) and Lappa (4; fig. 4.6), may partly account for its popularity at the larger scale (see below). The widespread use of Aspasia statuettes implies usage for personal or religious purposes, a hypothesis that is born out partly by examples at Mediana (19), Corinth (11; fig. 4.3), and perhaps Epidauros (16). By contrast, the similar display trajectories of the Omphalos Apollo and the Discobolus suggest that the Omphalos Apollo was understood as an athletic type rather than representing a divinity, as the Aspasia seems to have done. It is also instructive to compare the distribution of the Aspasia type with that of a statue type only used for portraiture, the Large Herculaneum Woman.28 With some two hundred surviving examples, this statue type was far more numerous than the ideal types just discussed. The Large Herculaneum Woman has a longer chronological trajectory than does the Aspasia; the former is well attested in the first century CE, reached its widest distribution in Antonine times, and saw some continued popularity into the third century. Likewise, though the distribution of the Large Herculaneum Woman is similarly concentrated in Italy and the Aegean (the heartlands of sculptural consumption), there is a significant halo of finds in other provinces, including at some inland sites. Unlike the Aspasia, the Large Herculaneum Woman does not appear in domestic contexts, and miniature versions were not made. The integral connection between the Large Herculaneum Woman and public portraiture explains these two absences. Several examples of the Aspasia were used for portraits, and some unknown portion of the statues with ideal faces may have served as portraits (see below), but this usage did not dominate the consumption of the statue type. Statues in the format of the Large Herculaneum Woman carried honorific messages about high-­status women rather than reference to a particular statue, whereas there are many circumstances in which the Aspasia type does seem to have carried a reference to a particular divinity or statue (even if we can no longer identify it).

Findspots of Statues For some statues and statuettes, there is further information about the building where they were found. Most are recorded from secondary or late 98–­99, no. 71, figs. 154–­57. For mention of the other examples listed here, see below and in table 4.1. 28.  Trimble 2011, 112–­17 (for distribution).

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antique contexts, a situation that limits the information on primary use. Only four of the life-­sized statues are provenanced to a building: three were found in baths at Argos, Baiae, and Ephesus (7, 1, 8; fig. 4.1) and one came from the imperial residence on the Palatine (3). Life-­sized Aspasia statues were found in baths at Argos, Baiae, and Ephesus (7, 1, 8; fig. 4.1). At Argos, the body of the statue was found in a bath building (probably private) east of the forum, while the head, with a fashion hairstyle resembling that of Crispina (wife of Lucius Verus), was found in a nearby well.29 The placement of the statue within the bath is not known. With its portrait head, this statue reminds us of the importance of baths as locations for honorific statuary. At Ephesus, a head of the Aspasia type (8) was found in the marble court (Kaisersaal) of the Vedius Bath-­Gymnasium, with fragments of some sixty other statues whose unity of style and workmanship indicates that they were all part of the original decor of the bath.30 The incised irises with bean-­ shaped pupils on the Aspasia head support an Antonine date, which is in keeping with the construction date for the bath. The sculptural decor included many well-­known statue types, including the Discobolus and the Hestia Giustiniani (both severe-­style works). Thus, the Aspasia may have been part of a gallery of well-­known ideal statues. Alternatively, the incised eyes of the Aspasia give it a rather individualized look, and it is possible it was used as a portrait, even without a fashion hairstyle. Recent excavations under the floors of the marble court and reevaluation of the finds from the building show that there was a major refurbishment of the baths in the early fifth century.31 Many statues were taken off display at this point and broken up for fill sealed under repairs to the opus sectile flooring of the marble court or stored in the propylon at the south of the palaestra. Nude female statuary seems to have been particularly selected for removal. Certain statues in relatively complete condition that had fallen in front of niches are interpreted as decoration for the new phase of the baths. Because the Aspasia statue had been broken up (only the head was found), it is believed that it was no longer on display.32 A shoulder of the Aspasia 29.  Kristallis 1967, 171–­72, plate 126d (body); Kritsas 1974, 223–­26, plate 156a–­b (head); Guerrini 1974, 230, no. 27. The well contained sixth-­century fill. Nothing further is known of the bath. 30.  Atalay 1989, 17–­18, no. 4, fig. 4; Orlandini 1950, 93, no. 12, fig. 9.3. For unity of style, see Auinger 2011, 75. 31.  Auinger and Rathmayr 2007, 243–­48; Auinger 2011, 71–­76. 32.  Auinger 2011, 74.

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type found somewhere at Ephesus (9) could belong with the head; if so, it provides further testimony of extensive breakage to the statue.33 A life-­sized statue of Aspasia with an ideal face and hairstyle was found in an elaborate terraced thermal complex at Baiae known as the Terme (or Villa) di Sosandra (1; fig. 4.1).34 The Aspasia statue lay under fallen vaulting in a room on the second level and appears to have been in a secondary location.35 Much of the surface is pitted with corrosion.36 The statue’s plinth and left hand show ancient repairs, and from the statue’s nearly complete condition (only the attribute is missing), it seems that it remained on display in the thermal complex until the complex went out of use, at an undetermined date perhaps in the fourth century.37 A Hermes was found in a room nearby. Thus, these statues may have been chosen to represent divinities in the bath building. Also found in a basement room of the Terme di Sosandra were the famous Baiae casts, broken up and discarded there at an unknown date (see discussion above).38 The fourth and final example of a life-­sized Aspasia (3) that can be associated with a particular building was found in the sunken oval known as the “stadium” of the Domus Augustana on the Palatine Hill, where it was part of a gallery of ideal statuary.39 The oval is interpreted as a type of luxury garden called a “hippodrome,” referred to by Pliny (Ep. 5.6.32) and others. Such gardens were often decorated with statuary, and numerous other ideal statues are recorded from this location, including a Doryphoros, an Apollo Anzio, a Hera Borghese, and a muse of the Dresden-­Zaghreb type.40 Gasparri links this statue to the workshop at Baiae.41 Hadrian added an exedra at the east side of the garden, and it is possible that the Aspasia was added during this refurbishment.42 33.  Atalay 1989, 52, no. 49, fig. 97. 34.  Yegül 1996; Di Luca 2009, 156–­61 (on the “Villa di Sosandra”). 35.  Napoli 1954, 1 n. 3. 36.  In the past, scholars have interpreted the statue as unfinished, but Landwehr (1985, 188) and Gasparri (1995, 176 n. 20) affirm that the rough surface displays corrosion rather than lack of finish. 37.  The complex underwent a series of reconfigurations, with the last one dating around the mid-­third to fourth century (Di Luca 2009, 160). 38.  Note that a heavily damaged Aspasia (20) found underwater at Baiae is said to be in the garden of the Museo Archeologico dei Campi Flegrei (La Rocca e Presicce 2010, 173 n. 3). 39.  Tomei 1992, 934–­37. 40.  Tomei 1992, 937; 1998, 129. 41.  Gasparri 1995, 178. 42.  For discussion of the garden and its finds, see Tomei 1992, 934–­37.

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At Ephesus and the Palatine, the Aspasia appears with clusters of other severe-­style statues, reflecting the vogue for this style in the mid-­second century CE. In a more general sense, displaying this statue with other ideal types suggests that the (now unknown) subject of the statue or its status as a famous type must have resonated for viewers. At the baths in Argos, by contrast, the portrait statue must have represented a benefactor. There may be one example of funerary usage, a portrait-­bearing statue in Berlin with heavy weathering (30).43 As a funerary portrait, this piece may have evoked both female virtue and the qualities of the unidentified divinity (consecratio in formam deorum).

Findspots of Statuettes In 1974, Lucia Guerrini observed regretfully that the context of use for small-­ scale examples of the Aspasia was not known.44 Forty years later, numerous new statuette versions have now been excavated or recorded from varying domestic, public, and votive contexts, showing that the statuette had many different applications. Although the archaeological contexts are often quite late, meaning that some uncertainty about the usage remains, a survey of these findspots shows considerable diversity. Four statuettes of Aspasia have been discovered at Corinth (fig. 4.3).45 The cluster at Corinth is striking, as is the mixture of public and domestic settings there. At Corinth, the Aspasia statuette was displayed in two late antique houses, in the theater, and perhaps in the Julian Basilica, a profile very different from the findspots of the Omphalos Apollo or Discobolus discussed above. One finely carved torso came from the theater (12).46 Such a small item must have stood in a niche or shrine where viewers could see it up close. The theater was abandoned sometime after the mid-­fourth century, and this piece may have remained on view until then. Fragments of two different statuettes of Aspasia were discovered in the area of the forum (fig. 4.3). A statuette found in medieval layers above the Julian Basilica (14) may have decorated that building, as Ridgway has sug43.  Wrede 1981. For the statue in Berlin (30), see Amelung 1900, 181–­83, figs. 1–­2; Orlandini 1950, 92, no. 1, plate 7.1; Schwarzmaier, Scholl, and Maischberger 2012, 216–­17, no. 121. For an Aspasia head in Berlin (31), see Orlandini 1950, 94, no. 10, plate 9.1–­2. 44.  Guerrini 1974, 231. 45.  The reconstructed heights of these statuettes range from thirty-­one to thirty-­six centimeters. They differ in carving technique. 46.  Sturgeon 2004, 151–­52, no. 42, plate 51.

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Fig. 4.3. Four statuettes of “Aspasia” found in Corinth, in the Panayia Domus (11), the theater (12), medieval layers above the Julian Basilica (14), and destruction fill over the Mosaic House (13), Archaeological Museum at Corinth, inv. nos. S-­1999-­04, S-­3575, S-­ 1051, and S-­1897. (Photograph by Ino Ioannidou and Lenio Bartzioti, American School of Classical Studies at Athens, Corinth Excavations.)

gested.47 Two pieces of a different statuette (13) were found in different spots—­the feet in medieval layers above the South Basilica, the upper torso in destruction fill over a late antique house (the Mosaic House) abutting the South Basilica (13).48 Thus, this statuette may have been a decoration in that house, which was occupied from the late second to the fourth centuries. The findspot of the statuette torso within the destruction fill may even imply that it remained on view at the time of the building’s destruction, apparently sometime in the late fourth century.49 Firm evidence for the presence of an Aspasia statuette in a late antique house comes from the Panayia Domus at Corinth (11; fig. 4.3).50 Constructed around the late third or early fourth century, the Panayia Domus was occu47.  Corinth notebook NB 78, p. 61; Ridgway 1981, 442. 48.  Corinth notebook NB 142, pp. 178 (S-­1897), 68 (S-­1904); NB 176, p. 89 (S-­2446); Ridgway 1981, 442; Sturgeon 2004, 151 n. 110. 49.  The fragment of statuette was found above, rather than on, the mosaic floor. 50.  On statuary in the Panayia Domus, see Stirling 2008, especially 93–­95, no. 1, fig. 3 (Aspasia).

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pied until sometime after the middle of the fourth century. The house held a retrospective collection of statuettes, mostly representing subjects that referenced quite specific statue types and cult statues. The Aspasia dates to the first or second century, and the other pieces range up to the early and middle parts of the fourth century CE. Though the statuettes must have originally formed part of the decor of the prestigious rooms of the domus, they were found tumbled in a small side room, where they may have served a private religious function or may simply have been stored en route to being discarded (all metal attachments were missing). Statuettes of Aspasia come from two further Greek sites. A statuette of Aspasia found in the Athenian Agora (15; fig. 4.4) may have originated in a public setting, although no precise provenance is recorded for the piece.51 Its sharp, detailed folds are carefully modeled. As with the fragment from the Corinth theater, the carefulness and crispness of the work suggests a Hellenistic or Roman date. Front and back are equally finished, and rasp marks show on the surface, which is well smoothed but not polished.52 An ancient dowel hole at the left wrist indicates that the hand was repaired or separately attached. A statuette of Aspasia found at Epidauros but without a known findspot (16) evidently played a votive role, or it may have decorated one of the buildings at the sanctuary, such as the theater.53 The final two provenanced statuettes of Aspasia come from clearly late antique settings in locations away from the mainland Greek heartland, where all the other provenanced statuettes have been found. At the site of Mediana, a suburb of Naissus in the province of Upper Moesia, a collection of statues and statuettes was found discarded in a side room of the peristyle of a suburban villa occupied in the fourth century.54 The assemblage included a headless statuette of Aspasia (19), several statuettes of Asklepios and Hygieia, and others. The pieces in this collection vary quite widely in marble type and date of manufacture, but most were under about seventy centimeters in height and depicted divinities and mythological figures. It appears that the statuettes were collected by a patron with the clout to acquire artworks from disparate sources.55 There is an extra Asklepios in the assemblage; perhaps the owner paired the Aspasia with it. 51.  Inv. no. S-­1790, unpublished. 52.  Indeed, the surface treatment and workmanship of the two statuettes (15, 12) are very similar. 53.  Katakis 2002, 93 (no. 92), 154, 269–­70, 324. 54.  Petrović, 1994, 59–­69, 82–­86. 55.  Stirling 2015, 139.

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Fig. 4.4. Statuette of Aspasia found at the Athenian Agora (15), inv. no. S-­1790. (American School of Classical Studies at Athens: Agora Excavations.)

A statuette of Aspasia from Hama in Syria (18) seems to have played a religious role. It was found standing upright, buried with two busts of Serapis (one of them also upright) over the ruins of a temenos wall of a sanctuary within the town. There is little evidence to narrow down the date of the disposal of the statuary, but Gunhild Ploug proposes a date in the second half of the fourth century or the early fifth century, suggesting that it was hidden in response to antipagan legislation.56 It could have come from a small shrine within the sanctuary or from a domestic shrine. 56.  Ploug 1985, 189–­92.

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This survey of findspots for statuettes of the Aspasia type, imprecise as some may be, shows a range of public, religious, and domestic contexts. Placement in a public building is suggested by findspots in the Athenian Agora (15; fig. 4.4), the theater at Corinth (12; fig. 4.3), and the Roman forum at Corinth (14, possibly 13; fig. 4.3). The statuette from Epidauros (16) may have had a votive role; a religious significance for the statuette buried over a sanctuary wall at Hama (18) seems assured. Domestic uses are well attested in late antiquity for some Aspasia statuettes (11, 19, possibly 13; fig. 4.3). None of the small-­scale pieces described above has portrait features or fashion hairstyles. Thus, they appear to be direct representations of a particular statue or its divinity.

Late Antiquity Continued usage of the Aspasia type in late antiquity is evidenced by three of the best-­documented contexts for Aspasia statuary: the domestic displays at Corinth (11; fig. 4.3) and Mediana (19) and the shrine-­like disposal at Hama (18). It is possible that a second Aspasia statuette from Corinth belongs with the Mosaic House and was still on display at the time of the destruction of the house, around the late fourth century (13; fig. 4.2). At the late antique houses at Mediana and Corinth, some or all of the statuettes appear to have served a religious role. At both Corinth and Mediana, in buildings that went out of use by the end of the fourth century, it appears that patrons prioritized high-­quality statuary on a miniature scale and were able to acquire it, even at Mediana, near the Danube frontier (fig. 4.2). By contrast, full-­sized statuary was discarded at the Vedius Bath-­Gymnasium at Ephesus in the early fifth century (8) and at the baths of Argos in the sixth century (7). The head of the Argos statue was tossed down a well. The head and body join, but a big chunk is missing from the front of the neck, raising the question of whether the statue was intentionally decapitated. There is some further evidence for curation or handling of some of the Aspasia statues after their initial carving. A statuette in the Metropolitan Museum in New York (35) has the inscription “Europa” in Greek letters on the base, with a palm branch following the name. The letter style is Roman rather than Greek, and it is clear that the word was added later. Palm fronds were a common motif in graffiti and epigraphy in imperial and late Roman times.57 Thus, it is possible that this is a late antique label. The name (in the 57.  For a Pompeian example, see Benefiel 2010, 79, figs. 23–­24. For a Christian mono-

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nominative) could refer to the statuette or may name an owner or donor. Some of the statues and statuettes have ancient repairs. There are metal dowels in the neck and left hand of the Metropolitan statuette (35). A drill hole shows that the nose of the Gortyn statue (5) was repaired at some point. On the Aspasia of Baiae (1; fig. 4.1), the left hand was restored in antiquity, and a corner of the plinth was worked separately and attached. Dowels to attach the left hands of statuettes in Athens (15; fig. 4.4), Corinth (12; fig. 4.3), and Hama (18) may reflect ancient piecework or repair.

Portraits Of the twenty surviving Aspasia statues of life-­sized or modestly larger scale, three have portrait heads with fashion hairstyles: a statue from baths in Argos with a hairstyle resembling that of Crispina (7), a statue from Lappa on Crete (ancient Argyroupolis) with a hairstyle similar to that of Faustina the Elder (4; fig. 4.6), and a statue possibly from Aquino with a hairstyle of the second half of the second century (30).58 Two Aspasias now in the Capitoline Museums (21, 22) were designed in antiquity to hold portraits by altering the mantle to leave the head bare; they are now displayed with ancient but separately attached heads that do not belong.59 One of these portrait faces (22) dates to the early fourth century and could represent a last, late antique usage of this body type with a portrait.60 The narrow face of a two-­thirds life-­sized head of an Aspasia in Thessaloniki (10) seems portrait-­ like, although the sculpture retains the classical hairstyle.61 Incised eyes and pierced ears on a head in Bucharest (36) may indicate that the piece acted as a portrait.62 The three portraits datable by fashion hairstyles are located in the second half of the second century, a little later than the Hadrianic zenith of the rediscovered severe style. Perhaps these choices for fashion hairstyles reflect the greater attention to imperial women in coinage of the Antonine graph and a palm branch added to a statuette of a plowman with oxen in the fourth or fifth century, see Grassinger, Pinto, and Scholl 2008, 298–­99. 58.  For the statue possibly from Aquino, now in Berlin, see Schwarzmaier, Scholl, and Maischberger 2012, 216–­17, no. 121. 59.  La Rocca and Presicce 2010, 174–­77, Atrio 16; La Rocca and Presicce 2010, 192–­95, Atrio 20. 60.  Last Statues of Antiquity (http://laststatues.classics.ox.ac.uk/), LSA-­962. 61.  Despinis, Stefanidou-­Tiveriou, and Voutiras 1997, 98–­99, no. 71, figs. 154–­57. 62.  Bordenache 1969, 14–­15, plate 23; Noelke 1969, 60–­62 (not Aspasia).

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Fig. 4.5. Head of statuette of Aspasia (33), Leiden, Rijksmuseum van Oudheden, inv. no. RO III 90. (By permission.)

and Severan era as compared to the reigns of Trajan and Hadrian. Widely disseminated coins such as those announcing the cult of Diva Faustina publicized the fashion hairstyles of the empresses.63 These statues stand as a reminder of the Hellenistic and Roman practice of adopting stock bodies when creating commemorative or honorific portraits of women. Indeed, with its veiled head and modest demeanor, the Aspasia statue type appears well suited for use as a female portrait, as noted by Brunilde Ridgway and others.64 While these stock bodies may once have seemed repetitive or uninformative, recent research has considerably 63.  Levick 2014 (Faustina I and II); Beckmann 2012 (coinage of Diva Faustina); Rowan 2011 (coinage of Severan women); Levick 2007 (Julia Domna). 64.  Ridgway 1970, 66; Richter 1954, 25–­26.

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Fig. 4.6. Statue with hairstyle resembling that of Faustina the Elder (4), found at Lappa (ancient Argyropoulos). (From Marinatos 1933–­35, pl. 2; by permission.)

changed our understanding of Greek and Roman female portraiture and public honors for women. In public settings, these portraits celebrated the magnanimity and social status of their subjects, while using a visual language that did not contradict traditional female virtues.65 Recent research has shown new ways to differentiate stock bodies for female portraits. Sheila Dillon and others distinguish “open” and “closed” poses.66 “Open” (or “active”) poses allow the arms to emerge from drapery and gesture or hold objects. While these arm poses are not as expansive as, say, the orator’s gesture seen on many male portraits, they do set the figure into action. Holding a patera, for instance, depicts a subject in sacrifice and thus as a priestess. By contrast, in “closed” (or “covering”) poses, the arms are held close to the body and are often enveloped in the mantle or occupied in holding it in place against the body. The Aspasia pose, interestingly, has characteristics from each format. 65.  Fejfer 2008, 333–­45; Trimble 2011, 150–­205; Davies 2013. On inscriptions, see Forbis 1990. 66.  Dillon 2010, 68–­92; Smith et al. 2006, 194–­96.

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At first glance, with its averted gaze, heavy drapery, and right hand only hinted at by tension in the drapery on that side, it fits into the “closed” and “covered” format. However, the left hand is held away from the body and emerges from the cloak to hold an unknown attribute in an “active” pose. Indeed, the left hand of the Baiae Aspasia (1; fig. 4.1) is pierced for a separately attached object and is tilted in a pose suitable for holding a patera. To a Roman viewer, a figure with a portrait face, covered head, and patera could become a priestess. Moreover, not all statues erected as portraits of women in the Roman period actually carried individualized faces, as Dillon and the sculpture team at Aphrodisias have demonstrated.67 At several sites in the eastern Mediterranean (Thasos, Perge, Aphrodisias), inscribed honorific bases carried stock portrait bodies with nonindividualized faces. The inscriptions and find contexts leave no doubt that the statues were intended as portraits, but the faces are generic. Indeed, at Perge, not just the forceful Plancia Magna but also imperial women were represented with idealized faces, in what Dillon has dubbed as a “not portrait” style of portraits. As we have seen, at least three examples of the Aspasia body carried individualized heads wearing fashion hairdos, but the identification of the “not portrait” option raises the possibility that other examples of the Aspasia statue type may have been used as portraits and identified as such by now-­lost inscriptions. Where were these portrait Aspasias used? Once again, the lack of provenance for so many statues is an obstacle. The statue from Argos (7) came from a bath building and was probably an honorific statue to a benefactor. More generally, honorific statuary to women appeared in public places such as forums, sanctuaries, theaters, baths, and city gates.68 The portrait Aspasia now in Berlin (30) has a heavily weathered surface, suggesting an outdoor location, quite possibly a tomb.

Conclusions In this study of the Aspasia type, I have set aside the probably unresolvable questions of identifying the figure shown in the statue or the name of the artist who created an assumed original bronze statue. I have instead 67.  Dillon 2010, 135–­63; Smith et al. 2006, 53, 65. 68.  Trimble 2011, 209–­16.

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investigated these marble statues as artworks made in Roman times for contemporary purposes. Thus, I have evaluated the geographical distribution of the Aspasia in comparison to other statue types, scrutinized the findspots of Aspasia statues and statuettes for evidence of their usage, documented their reception in late antiquity, and evaluated the Aspasia statue type as a stock body for portraits. Considerations of portraits, findspots, distribution, and usage in late antiquity can allow scholars to move beyond the Roman copy and recover the Aspasia statues and statuettes as Roman artworks filling the needs of Roman society. In a broad sense, the general concentration of Aspasia statues in Italy and the Greek East reflects overall trends in statuary consumption. The burst in popularity of the Aspasia in Hadrianic times fits with the Hellenizing tastes of that era and the vogue for severe-­style statuary.69 However, the trajectory of the Aspasia differs from that of two other popular types, the Omphalos Apollo and the Discobolus. The Aspasia type had significantly greater reception in the Greek East and in statuette format. I have suggested above that the popularity of classical statue types (the Aspasia, the Omphalos Apollo, and the Discobolus) in the city of Rome and in imperial circles meant that their distribution as statues in the empire reflected the spread of an international philhellenic taste. By contrast, the proliferation of Aspasia statuettes in the Peloponnese (or Greek-­speaking realms more broadly) seems more regional and may reflect an admiration for that specific goddess (regrettably not identifiable at present) or the particular bronze statue reflected in the statuettes. By late antiquity, the statuettes had moved further afield, and some are found in assemblages where they may be playing polyvalent roles as well as showing the connoisseurship of a learned collector. The Aspasia served sometimes as a stock body for female portraits, and recent advances in the study of female portraiture have shown new ways to read this portrait, as well as raising the possibility that even statues without individualized faces may have acted as portraits. Other full-­sized statues stood in galleries of ideal statuary (often depicting very specific types) in baths and the imperial residence on the Palatine.

69.  Guerrini 1974; Gasparri 1995.

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Works Cited Amelung, W. 1900. “Weiblicher Gewandstatue des fünften Jahrhunderts.” RM 15:181–­ 97. Anguissola, A. 2005. “Roman Copies of Myron’s Discobolus.” JRA 18:317–­35. Anguissola, A. 2015. “‘Idealplastik’ and the Relationship between Greek and Roman Sculpture.” In The Oxford Handbook of Roman Sculpture, edited by E. A. Friedland, M. G. Sobocinski, and E. K. Gazda, 240–­69. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Atalay, E. 1989. Weibliche Gewandstatuen des 2. Jhs. n. Chr. aus ephesischen Werkstätten. Denkshriften österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, philosophisch-­ historische Klasse 206. Vienna: Verlag der österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Auinger, J. 2011. “The Sculptural Decoration of Ephesian Bath Buildings in Late Antiquity.” In Archaeology and the Cities of Asia Minor in Late Antiquity, edited by O. Dally and C. Ratté, 67–­80. Kelsey Museum Publications 6. Ann Arbor: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology. Auinger, J., and E. Rathmayr. 2007. “Zur spätantiken Statuenaussattung der Thermen und Nymphäen in Ephesos.” In Statuen in der Spätantike, edited by C. Witschel and F. A. Bauer, 237–­69. Spätantike, frühes Christentum, Byzanz. Reihe B, Studien und Perspektiven 23. Wiesbaden: Reichert. Bastet, F., and H. Brunsting. 1982. Catalogus van het klassieke beeldhouwwerk in het Rijksmuseum Leiden. Corpus Signorum Classicorum Musei Antiquarii Lugduno-­ Batavi 5. Zutphen: Terra. Beckmann, M. 2012. Diva Faustina: Coinage and Cult in Rome and the Provinces. Numismatic Studies 26. New York: American Numismatic Society. Benefiel, R. 2010. “Dialogues of Graffiti in the House of Maius Castricius in Pompeii.” AJA 114:59–­101. Bernoulli, J. 1877. “Bildniss der Aspasia.” AZ 35:56–­58. Beschi, L. 1972–­73. “Antichità cretesi a Venezia.” ASAtene, n.s., 34–­35:479–­502. Bordenache, G. 1969. Sculture greche e romane del Museo Nazionale di Antichità di Bucarest. Bucharest: Casa Editrice dell’Accademia. Davies, G. 2013. “Honorific vs. Funerary Statues of Women: Essentially the Same or Fundamentally Different?” In Women and the Roman City in the Latin West, edited by E. Hemelrijk and G. Woolf, 171–­97. Leiden: Brill. Despinis, G., T. Stefanidou-­Tiveriou, and E. Voutiras. 1997. Catalogue of Sculpture in the Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki. Vol. 1. Thessaloniki: National Bank Cultural Foundation. Dillon, S. 2010. Female Portrait Statues in the Greek World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Di Luca, G. 2009. “Nullus in orbe sinus Bais praelucet amoenis: Riflessioni sull’architettura dei complessi c.d. ‘dell’Ambulatio,’ ‘della Sosandra’ e delle ‘Piccole Terme’ a Baia.” BABesch 84:149–­68. Fejfer, J. 2008. Roman Portraits in Context. Berlin: De Gruyter. Ferrara, A. 1999. “La Sosandra da Stabiae: Una testimonianza pre 79 d.C. dal centro urbano di Castellammare.” RStPomp 10:167–­75.

114  •  ro m an a rt is ts , pat ron s, a n d p ublic consumption Fittschen, K. 1982. Die Bildnistypen der Faustina minor und die Fecunditas Augustae. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht. Forbis, E. P. 1990. “Women’s Public Image in Italian Honorary Inscriptions.” AJP 111:493–­512. Fröhner, W. 1869. Notice de la sculpture antique du Musée National de Louvre. Vol. 1. Paris: Imprimeries Réunis. Furtwängler, A. 1893. Meisterwerke der griechischen Plastik: Kunstgeschichtliche Untersuchungen. Leipzig: Verlag von Giesecke und Devrient. Gasparri, C. 1995. “L’officina dei calchi di Baia: Sulla produzione copistica di età romana in area flegrea.” RM 102:172–­87. Gazda, E. K. 1995. “Roman Sculpture and the Ethos of Emulation: Reconsidering Repetition.” HSCP 97:121–­56. Gazda, E. K., ed. 2002. The Ancient Art of Emulation: Studies in Artistic Originality and Tradition from the Present to Classical Antiquity. MAAR Supplements 1. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Germini, B. 2008. Statuen des strengen Stils in Rom: Verwendung und Wertung eines griechischen Stils im römischen Kontext. BullComm Supplements 16. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. Grassinger, D., T. O. Pinto, and A. Scholl, eds. 2008. Die Rückkehr der Götter: Berlins verborgener Olymp. Regensburg: Schnell und Steiner. Guerrini, L. 1974. “Copie romane del tipo ‘Aspasia/Sosandra’ da Creta.” In “Studi in onore di Doro Levi,” vol. 2, special issue, CronCatania 13:227–­34. Ingholt, H. 1934. Rapport préliminaire sur la première champagne des fouilles de Hama. Archaeologisk-­kunsthistoriske meddelelser 1.3. Copenhagen: Ejnar Munksgaard. Katakis, S. E. 2002. Επίδαυρος: Τα γλυπτά των ρωμαϊκών χρόνων από το ιερό του Απόλλωνος Μαλεάτα και του Ασκληπίου. Athens: Library of the Archaeological Society in Athens. Kousser, R. M. 2009. Hellenistic and Roman Ideal Sculpture: The Allure of the Classical. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kristallis, K. 1967. “Αργολίς.” ArchDelt 22 Β′2:169–­72. Kritsas, C. 1974. “Αργολιδοκορινθία.” ArchDelt 29 Β′2:212–­49. Landwehr, C. 1985. Die antiken Gipsabgüsse aus Baiae: Griechische Bronzestatuen in Abgüssen römischer Zeit. Archäologische Forschungen 14. Berlin: Mann. La Rocca, E., and C. P. Presicce. 2010. Musei Capitolini: Le sculture del palazzo nuovo. Milan: Electa. Lauter, H. 1970. Zur Chronologie romischer Kopien nach Originalen des 5. Jhs. Berlin: Wasmuth. Levick, B. 2007. Julia Domna, Syrian Empress. London: Routledge. Levick, B. 2014. Faustina I and II: Imperial Women of the Golden Age. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Louvre. 2015. Atlas, base des oeuvres exposées. http://cartelfr.louvre.fr/cartelfr/ Marinatos, S. 1933–­35. “Ενάτη καί δεκάτη αρχαιολογική περιφέρεια Κρήτης.” ArchDelt 15:49–­83. Metropolitan Museum of Art. 2000–­2015. “Marble Statuette of a Woman.” Metropolitan Museum of Art, Collection Online. http://www.metmuseum.org/art/col lection

From Mystery Masterpiece to Roman Artwork  • 115 Mustilli, D. 1939. Il Museo Mussolini. Rome: Libreria dello stato. Napoli, M. 1954. “Una nuova replica della Sosandra di Kalamis.” BdA 39:1–­10. Noelke, P. 1969. “Zu einem Kopf des Museo Barracco in Rom.” RM 76:51–­65. Orlandini, P. 1950. Calamide. Bologna: L. Capelli. Pafumi, S. 2002. “Una nuova replica dell’Apollo tipo Omphalos da Siracusa: Osservazioni sulla tradizione copistica del tipo statuario.” BdA 122:55–­84. Paribeni, E. 1953. Museo Nazionale Romano: Sculture greche del V secolo, originali e repliche. Rome: Libreria dello stato. Paribeni, E. 1959. Catalogo delle sculture di Cirene: Statue e rilievi di carattere religioso. Monografie de archeologia libica 5. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. Perry, E. E. 2005. The Aesthetics of Emulation in the Visual Arts of Ancient Rome. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Petrović, P. 1994. Mediana, Residence of Roman Emperors. Belgrade: Académie serbe des sciences et des arts. Ploug, G. 1985. Hama, fouilles et recherches 1931–­38. Vol. 3.1, The Graeco-­Roman Town. Copenhagen: Fondation Carlsberg. Richter, G. M. A. 1954. Catalogue of Greek Sculptures in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Ridgway, B. S. 1970. The Severe Style in Greek Sculpture. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Ridgway, B. S. 1981. “Sculpture from Corinth.” Hesperia 50:422–­48. Ridgway, B. S. 1984. Roman Copies of Greek Sculpture: The Problem of the Originals. Jerome Lectures 15. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Robertson, M. 1957. “Europa.” JWarb. 20:1–­3. Romeo, I., and E. C. Portale. 1998. Le sculture. Gortina 3. Padua: Bottega d’Erasmo. Rowan, C. 2011. “The Public Image of the Severan Women.” PBSR 79:241–­73. Saletti, C. 1999. “L’Afrodite Sosandra di Calamide: La testa di Pavia.” Arte Lombarda 127.3:68–­73. Santa Maria Scrinari, V., ed. 1972. Museo Archeologico di Aquileia: Catalogo delle sculture romane. Rome: Libreria dello Stato. Schwarzmaier, A., A. Scholl, und M. Maischberger. 2012. Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Die Antikensammlung; Altes Museum, Neues Museum, Pergamonmuseum. Darmstadt: Philipp von Zabern. Smith, R. R. R., with S. Dillon, C. H. Hallett, J. Lenaghan, and J. Van Voorhis. 2006. Roman Portrait Statuary from Aphrodisias. Aphrodisias 2. Mainz: Phillipp von Zabern. Stirling, L. M. 2008. “Pagan Statuettes in Late Antique Corinth: Sculpture from the Panayia Domus.” Hesperia 77:89–­161. Stirling, L. M. 2015. “The Opportunistic Collector: Sources of Artwork for Collections in Late Antique Villas and Houses.” In Museum Archetypes and Collecting in the Ancient World, edited by M. Wellington Gahtan and D. Pagazzani, 137–­45. Leiden: Brill. Sturgeon, M. 2004. Sculpture: The Assemblage from the Theater. Corinth 9.3. Princeton: American School of Classical Studies at Athens. Tomei, M. A. 1992. “Nota sui giardini antichi del Palatino.” MEFRA 104:917–­51. Tomei, M. A. 1998. Museo Palatino. Rome: Electa.

116  •  ro m a n a rt is ts , pat ron s, a n d p ublic consumption Traversari, G. 1974. Sculture del V–­IV secolo a. C. del Museo Archeologico di Venezia. Collezioni e musei archeologici del Veneto 1. Venice: Alfieri. Trimble, J. 2011. Women and Visual Replication in Roman Imperial Art and Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Waldhauer, O. 1936. Die antiken Skulpturen der Ermitage. Vol. 3. Berlin: De Gruyter. Weski, E., and H. Frosien-­Leinz, eds. 1987. Das Antiquarium der Münchner Residenz: Katalog der Skulpturen. Munich: Hirmer. Wrede, H. 1981. Consecratio in formam deorum: Vergöttlichte Privatpersonen in der römischen Kaiserzeit. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Yegül, F. K. 1996. “The Thermo-­Mineral Complex at Baiae and De Balneis Puteolanis.” Art Bulletin 78:137–­61.

five

The Sebaste Apollo Form, Function, and Local Meaning Elise A. Friedland

Exciting new scholarship has begun to appear on statuary discovered in the Roman provinces from east to west, work focused on topics ranging from the economics of the trade in statuary to the role of sculpture in negotiating identity in the Roman Empire.1 Regions without indigenous “sculptural habits” (e.g., Gaul) or native sources of marble (e.g., the Levant) provide particularly rich opportunities for tracking local responses to Roman conquest and rule. As a contribution to that dialog and as part of the exploration of the role of religious statuary in the Roman world, this essay examines an approximately life-­size marble statue of Apollo discovered in 1931 within I thank Brenda Longfellow and Ellen Perry for inviting me to contribute to this volume, and I am delighted to be able to honor Elaine K. Gazda, who has done so much to support me, professionally and personally. Research for this essay was carried out thanks to a University Faculty Funding Grant from George Washington University. Permission to study this statue was graciously granted by Monther Jamhawi, director of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan. I am thankful to those who facilitated my study of the piece: Khairieh Amr, former deputy director for technical affairs at the Jordan Museum; Jihad Kafafi, curator at the Jordan Museum; Barbara Porter, director of the American Center of Oriental Research (ACOR) in Amman; and the staff of ACOR. I am also grateful to a number of colleagues with whom I consulted about various aspects of this research and who generously shared their expertise, including Khaled Al-­Bashaireh, Donato Attanasio, Andrea Berlin, Moshe Fischer, Lorenzo Lazzarini, Leah Long, Irene Romano, Ben Russell, R. R. R. Smith, Melanie Grunow Sobocinski, Lea Stirling, and Robert Tykot. All errors remain my own. 1.  E.g., for Roman statuary from Egypt, see Riggs 2015; from the Near East, Weber 2015; and from Gaul in the West, Cassibry 2015.

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the precinct of Kore at Samaria-­Sebaste, in the Roman province of Syria-­ Palaestina (figs. 5.1–­5.4; plate 5.1). Though the piece was documented in a brief catalog entry in the 1957 report The Objects from Samaria, noted in the 1996 article “Roman Copies Discovered in the Land of Israel,” included in the 1998 Marble Studies: Roman Palestine and the Marble Trade, and later mentioned in the 2001 article “The Cults of Isis and Kore at Samaria-­Sebaste in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods,”2 the statue itself has never been the focus of close study and, thus, has never been considered within its artistic, architectural, social, regional, and empire-­wide contexts. Careful study of the statue itself and its various contexts reveals not only that the piece was initially misattributed—­an error that, in later mentions of the work, has been perpetuated and exaggerated to the point of misidentification of the sculptural type—­but that the piece is best understood not as a Roman copy of a Greek sculptural type but as a Roman creation that draws on fifth-­ century styles and works whose associations reinforce its function and context, a religious sculpture that was imported (no doubt at great expense and with concerted effort) to operate within a cult center of the Greco-­Roman goddess Kore in a highly Romanized city of the Roman Near East.

Provenance of the Apollo from Samaria-­Sebaste The Sebaste Apollo was found at the west end of the precinct of Kore, approximately one meter west of the excavations of the temple (area Te), just after the team from Harvard University had left the field in 1931.3 The city of Samaria-­Sebaste, originally the capital of the Israelite kingdom in the ninth and eighth centuries BCE, later became “the principal outpost of Hellenism in the interior of Palestine,”4 after the settlement of a Macedonian colony at the site in 331 BCE in conjunction with Alexander the Great’s conquest of the Levant. It is thought that during that Hellenistic period, the spot where the Sebaste Apollo was discovered housed a shrine or temple to Isis and Sarapis.5 In 108–­7 BCE, Samaria-­Sebaste was largely destroyed by the Maccabees, and its population was deported. Just over fifty years later, 2.  Crowfoot, Crowfoot, and Kenyon 1957, 74; Gersht 1996b; Fischer 1998, 159–­60; Magness 2001, 161. 3.  Crowfoot, Crowfoot, and Kenyon 1957, 74. 4.  Crowfoot, Crowfoot, and Kenyon 1957, 4. 5.  Magness 2001 presents the evidence and argument for this shrine or temple.

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however, the site was refounded, with new walls built in 56 BCE. Ultimately, Herod the Great, who was given the site by Augustus, renamed the city “Sebaste” after the first emperor of Rome, built a new wall around it, erected an Augusteum, constructed a new temple to Kore (where the Sebaste Apollo was discovered), and settled six thousand colonists there. In 66 CE, during the First Jewish Revolt, Sebaste was burned to the ground by Jewish rebels as punishment for remaining loyal to Rome. After this destruction, recovery lagged, though by the mid-­second century and throughout the Severan period, Sebaste became thoroughly Romanized in its outward appearance, thanks largely to Septimius Severus, who rebuilt the city—­including the temple of Kore—­and elevated it to the status of a Roman colony around 200 CE.6 The statue of Apollo, discovered in the precinct of Kore, is associated with what is believed to have been one of the main religious cults of the city and with this final floruit of the site. The Sebaste Apollo is the sole largely-­ preserved marble statue to survive from the sanctuary, though other marble sculptures were clearly erected there, based on the handful of fragments found during excavations in front of the temple building, including pieces of a colossal statue (head, hair, beard, arm, and hand with forearm), two fragments of what look like grape clusters, a portion of an arm and elbow, a hand holding a bronze object, and a torso of a draped female figure.7 After its discovery, the Sebaste Apollo was placed in the Palestine Archaeological Museum (today the Rockefeller Museum), where it was still housed in 1957, when it was published as part of the third volume of the final reports on the Harvard University excavations of Samaria-­Sebaste.8 The piece must have been transferred to the Jordan Archaeological Museum on the Amman Citadel (opened in 1952 and designed by the same architect who had built the Palestine Archaeological Museum) sometime between its publication in 1957 and June 1967, when Israel assumed administration of the Palestine Archaeological Museum following Israeli takeover of the West Bank.9 The Sebaste Apollo remained in the galleries of the Jordan Archaeological 6.  Though Ulpian mentions Severus’ grant of colonial status to Sebaste (Dig. 50.15.1.7), he does not provide an exact date. As we lack other conclusive evidence, the date of the granting of colonial status is disputed, but it is generally believed to be either 199 or 201 CE: see Kushnir-­Stein 2000; Mahieu 2008. 7.  For a list of the fragments found in the excavations of the temple, see Crowfoot, Crowfoot, and Kenyon 1957, 75. 8.  Crowfoot, Crowfoot, and Kenyon 1957, 71. 9.  Kletter 2006, 191–­92.

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Museum until February 24, 2011, when the piece was moved from the Citadel Museum to the new Jordan Museum, where it now serves as one of the focal points of the galleries showcasing the classical period.

Apollo from Samaria-­Sebaste: Description, Date, and Reconstruction The Sebaste Apollo depicts a youthful male, with a straight left leg and a bent right leg, pulled slightly behind (figs. 5.1–­5.4; plate 5.1). Just under life-­ size, the piece stands 1.60 meters tall (including the plinth, which measures 0.11 m at its tallest point) and 0.48 meters wide. The well-­preserved statue lacks only the protruding portion of the nose, the right arm from the elbow down, the left wrist and hand, the attributes that the figure once held in the now-­missing hands, and portions of three struts that once stabilized the arms and attributes (one on the left shoulder, two on the outer portion of the right leg). Scratches appear over much of the surface, there is some pitting, and there are a few areas of damage to the piece. Most notable are the broken areas on the left eyebrow and eye, the break on the lower portion of the nose, and the pockmark at the center of the left cheek (fig. 5.3). The back of the chignon also seems damaged. On the torso, there are two chipped areas on the outer right side, level with the mid-­upper arm and overlapping the drilled division between the torso and the upper arm. Overall, however, the piece is otherwise intact. The figure turns his head toward the right, tilting it down: he casts his gaze outward but toward the ground. The ovoid face is topped with a flat forehead (fig. 5.3). There is no depression between the forehead and the top of the nose; rather, the face features a straight bridge. Eyebrows are indicated only by the ledges above the eyes, which are deep-­set and marked by puffy lids. The irises are delineated with single, thin chisel lines; the pupils were carved, as we know from the better preserved right eye; and tiny drill holes create tear ducts at the inner corners of the eyes. The upper lids extend somewhat beyond the lower lids. The smoothly modeled cheeks taper toward the lower, pointed portion of the egg-­shaped face, with cheekbones barely indicated. Below the now-­missing nose, the figure has pursed, puffy lips, further emphasized by the depression created underneath the lower lip by a somewhat bulbous, protruding chin. The rounded top of the head is emphasized by a voluminous hairstyle and wreath, which frame the face and encircle the lower two-­thirds of the

Fig. 5.1. Apollo statue from Samaria-­Sebaste, front view (left) and three-­quarter view (right). (Photographs by E. Friedland; courtesy of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan.)

Fig. 5.2. Apollo statue from Samaria-­Sebaste, left profile view. (Photograph by E. Friedland; courtesy of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan.)

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back of the head (figs. 5.3–­5.4; the hair on the top and upper portion of the back of the head is only cursorily worked and mostly would not have been visible to viewers). The hair is parted at the center and drawn along the sides of the head to cover the ears in wavy, undulating strands toward the back, where it is pulled into a summarily finished chignon centered on the lower portion of the back of the head. From this chignon, on both sides of the head, several locks of hair escape to fall down the back portion of the sides of the neck, over the shoulders, and onto the upper chest of the figure, ending in three long, thin, wavy strands. The central part and locks of hair are worked mostly with a chisel. The long curls descending onto the sides of the neck are delineated from the neck by deep drill channels that create dark areas on either side of the neck, and individual corkscrew curls are highlighted with a few drill channels (two on the right and three on the left); the ends of the curls resting on the shoulders, however, are delineated with fine chisel work and modeling, so that they appear to melt into the upper chest of the figure. The ample hair is crowned on the front and sides of the head by a laurel wreath, composed of successive rows of three leaves with their tips pointed toward the front of the head and with each space between them punctuated by a single berry (fig. 5.4). On the left side of the head are six rows of three leaves and two berries, while the right side has only four. The two sides of the wreath do not actually meet, stopping short of the central part and leaving the front of the head and hairstyle visible. The leaves of the wreath are delineated from the mass of hair mostly by chisel work but also with occasional drilling, while the berries were created by drill work. Below the pointy, bulbous chin, the figure’s somewhat thick, long, and smooth neck transitions to broad shoulders and a muscular upper chest. On the naked torso, modeling indicates pectoral muscles, swelling male breasts with clear indications of nipples, the rib cage, the central depression of the torso, pronounced pelvic bones, the outline of an elongated pelvic girdle, and rolls of flesh surrounding the pubes. The fully preserved pubes are carved to fall against the inner side of the upper thighs, though mostly toward the left thigh, from which they are delineated with a delicate chisel line. The figure stands with his weight on his straight, left leg and with his bent, right leg pulled back slightly and rotated outward, leaving the upper thighs pressed together. The figure has both feet flat on the plinth, although the plinth rises upward somewhat below the right foot, which is rolled inward toward the arch. Though the left hip is thrust outward slightly, the figure’s torso leans toward the right in conjunction with his rightward gaze. An adjacent tree trunk serving as support (63.5 cm high) runs much of the

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Fig. 5.3. Apollo statue from Samaria-­Sebaste, detail of face. (Photograph by E. Friedland; courtesy of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan.)

length of the figure’s left leg, and a thick, fully-­preserved strut runs between the legs just above midcalf (6 cm high, 3.5 cm wide). Two now-­broken struts remain on the outer side of the right thigh: one on the upper thigh (6.5 cm high, 4 cm wide) and another just above the knee (5 cm high, 4.5 cm wide). In terms of gesture, both upper arms are held alongside the figure’s torso, and the figure bends and extends his lower left arm outward toward the side. On the left, the base of a strut now broken away is preserved on the top front of the upper arm, and a fully preserved strut connects the figure’s wrist to the center of the left hip (3 cm high, 4.5 cm deep). On the right, the arm is missing from just above the elbow. Though both lower arms and both hands are now missing, remains of several attributes that the figure would have held are partially preserved on the support (fig. 5.2). The lower portion of an upright bow rests on the finished top of the tree trunk, its curved end hooking around a branch that projects out of the trunk at the back. A

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Fig. 5.4. Apollo statue from Samaria-­Sebaste, right profile detail of head. (Photograph by E. Friedland; courtesy of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan.)

quiver, carved in high relief against the outer side of the support, hangs from a strap looped around a branch that projects from the top of the outer side of the trunk. The tree trunk is otherwise fairly plain, though the front displays several horizontal cuts to provide details of the trunk and a small knot projecting outward just below its middle, while the back features two knots, one somewhat below the end of the bow and another toward the bottom of the trunk. The back of the tree trunk is more fully finished than much of the back of the figure. The plinth (0.48 m at its greatest diameter, 0.11 m high at its highest point in the back, and 0.08 m high at the front) appears round and regular from the front but is not level or perfectly circular; it rises up below the right foot (as noted above) and extends outward at the back on the left, to accommodate the rear portion of the tree trunk. The plinth has a molded profile on the front left side and front portion of the right side (the indented area is

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2–­3 cm high); the remainder of the right side is flat, with its center marked by two tenon holes (and bronze tenons preserved within); and the back face of the plinth is left flat. While the face, front of the torso, and fronts and sides of the arms and legs are smoothed and polished, the back of the arms, torso, thighs, and buttocks were not fully finished and retain marks of a flat chisel. Overall, the anatomy of the back is not carved realistically; for example, the back of the left arm is not completely delineated from the torso, and the axes of the spine and the division of the buttocks are misaligned (see below). The piece was thus meant to be viewed mainly from the front, with the viewer standing directly before the midline of the torso, so that the figure appeared to be turning his head toward the right and tilting it downward. In addition, the piece could have been approached in three-­quarter view from the right and perhaps in left profile (the right profile is less successful). Although the piece is remarkably well preserved, it is necessary to reconstruct the gesture of the right arm and any attributes it may have held. Based on the angle of the extended upper right arm, the positioning of the struts on the outer right thigh, and the size of these struts, it seems most likely that the right arm was bent at the elbow and extended outward and toward the right slightly, to hold some attribute. While the upper strut may have been meant to stabilize the right arm, its size and that of the lower strut make both seem more appropriate for attachment to an attribute (as does the positioning of the lower strut in particular). The presence of two struts that seem more likely to have stabilized an attribute would also indicate that this attribute was fairly large, perhaps a bigger, multipronged laurel branch.10 We have no secure absolute date for the Sebaste Apollo. The piece may be dated stylistically to the late second or third century CE, based mainly on the drilled pupils and nature of the cursory drill channels in the locks of hair on the front of the shoulders.

Attribution of the Piece: The Sebaste Apollo as a Roman Creation The Sebaste piece is clearly identifiable as an Apollo, based on the hairstyle with the wreath, chignon, and side locks falling onto the upper shoulders; 10.  Though Apollo is also known to have held his signature musical instrument, the lyre, I do not suggest this attribute here, for reasons that will be discussed below.

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the youthful, muscular torso; the nudity; and the remnants of bow and quiver hanging on the tree trunk serving as support. In terms of an identification of the specific guise of Apollo and sculptural type, one goal of this essay is to set the record straight, both as part of a thorough publication of the piece and to locate the meaning of the piece more fully within its architectural, social, regional, and empire-­wide contexts. Previously—­and erroneously—­the piece has been associated with Praxiteles and identified as a copy of the Apollo Sauroktonos. As will be demonstrated below, the Sebaste piece is better understood as a Roman creation that draws on earlier Greek styles and works, particularly the so-­called Kassel Apollo. For the Sebaste Apollo’s original publication, J. W. Crowfoot, the excavator responsible for the discussion of the statuary from the site, consulted Jocelyn Toynbee for an expert opinion on the Sebaste Apollo, and he quotes her assessment of the piece in his brief catalog entry, including her attribution of the work not only as “a second century A.D. copy of a fourth century B.C. bronze original” but also as “recall[ing] the work of Praxiteles.”11 In addition to “the stance, build of the body, and turn of the head,” Toynbee noted that “similar bars [i.e., struts] occur on the Hermes of Praxiteles at Olympia, on Vatican Apollo Sauroktonos, Vatican Aphrodite of Knidos, etc.”12 In her 1996 article “Roman Copies Discovered in the Land of Israel,” Gersht mentions the Sebaste Apollo briefly, noting Toynbee’s attribution; Gersht also compares the piece to the Apollo from Ephesos.13 In his 1998 survey of marble statuary found in Palestine, Fischer compares the Sebaste Apollo to the Apollo Chigi and the Apollo Sauroktonos.14 In her 2001 study “The Cults of Isis and Kore at Samaria-­Sebaste in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods,” Magness echoes Toynbee’s original association of the work with Praxiteles but conflates several of Toynbee’s points when she states that “the pose recalls that of Praxiteles’s Apollo Sauroktonos.”15 In fact, the Sebaste Apollo, while it has some admittedly Praxitelean features, is not comparable to the Sauroktonos type (fig. 5.5) in stance, posture, 11.  Crowfoot, Crowfoot, and Kenyon 1957, 74. 12.  Crowfoot, Crowfoot, and Kenyon 1957, 74. 13.  Gersht 1996b, 440. For the piece from Ephesos, see Aurenhammer 1990, 40–­41, no. 15; LIMC II.1:215, no. 261; LIMC II.2:205, no. 261, s.v. “Apollon” (W. Lambrinudakis, P. Bruneau, O. Palagia, M. Daumas, G. Kokkorou-­Alewras, and E. Mathiopoulou-­ Tornaritou). 14.  Fischer (1998, 159–­60) cites LIMC II.2:301, no. 52 (LIMC II.1: 377–­78, s.v. “Apollo Chigi”) and LIMC II.2:302, no. 53 (LIMC II.1:378–­79, s.v. “Apollo Sauroktonos”). 15.  Magness 2001, 161.

Fig. 5.5. Apollo Sauroktonos, Museo Pio Clementino, Vatican Museums. (Scala / Art Resource, NY.)

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gesture, or attributes. The Sebaste Apollo bears his weight on his left leg, the leg adjacent to the support, whereas the Sauroktonos’ weight is on his right leg, and his free left leg is adjacent to the tree trunk serving as his support. The Sebaste Apollo has both feet firmly planted flat on the ground, while the heel of the Sauroktonos’ free right foot is elevated. These very different stances make the overall postures of these two statues quite different: the Sauroktonos’ positioning of the free leg adjacent to the support means that he leans sharply toward that free leg and the adjacent tree trunk for support, creating a steep diagonal in the axes of his hips and shoulders and the pronounced S-­curved torso for which Praxiteles is so famous; the Sebaste Apollo has nearly horizontal shoulders and only a slight tilt in the axes of his hips. In addition, the Sebaste Apollo’s gesture is entirely different from that of the Sauroktonos, who is famous for stretching his left arm up above his head and leaning it against the tree trunk, which extends well above his full height. Moreover, the Apollo Sauroktonos holds a small rock in his right hand, while the Sebaste Apollo holds an attribute heavy enough to require two large struts on the right leg. Finally, the Sebaste Apollo preserves no evidence of the inclusion of the focal point of the Sauroktonos, the eponymous lizard climbing up the front of the tree trunk, toward which the Sauroktonos’ gaze is directed; on the contrary, the Sebaste Apollo turns his gaze away from the tree trunk. (It should be noted here that the iconographic type of Apollo as the “Lizard Slayer” has no textual source, and its meaning remains unclear.) Despite Gersht’s suggestion (noted above), the Sebaste Apollo is not comparable to the Ephesos Apollo. The piece from Ephesos has two supports, one on each side, and leans on the pillar adjacent to its right side, causing the axis of the shoulders to tilt far more than on the Sebaste Apollo and creating an S-­curved torso that is not found on the Sebaste statue. Some features of the Sebaste Apollo do appear in the Chigi type (e.g., comparable placement of the feet, equally horizontal shoulders, and a tree trunk serving as support). However, contrary to Fischer’s suggestion (noted above), the Sebaste Apollo also does not compare well to the Chigi Apollo. The head of the Chigi example turns in the opposite direction (toward the left) and features a short hairstyle, without long locks falling on the shoulders as are depicted on the Sebaste piece. Furthermore, the Chigi statue includes a snake and plant on the front of its tree trunk, neither of which accompany the Sebaste Apollo. In some of its features, the Sebaste Apollo might be compared to the

Fig. 5.6. Apollo of Kassel, ca. 100 CE, marble, height 199.5 cm, inv. no. Sk 3. bpk, Berlin, Antikensammlung, Museumslandschaft Hessen Kassel, Kassel, Germany. (Art Resource, NY.)

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well-­known Kassel type (fig. 5.6).16 For example, both pieces stand with their weight on their left legs and with their right legs free; both have their feet planted flat on the ground and held closely together; both right knees are bent sharply, so that both figure’s bent knees appear in front of the left leg from the left profile view; both statues have horizontal shoulders and the left hip raised slightly above the right; both hold their upper arms alongside the body and extend their lower arms outward; the Sebaste Apollo’s face is marked by severe-­style features (an austere expression, large eyes, thick eyelids, broad cheeks, full lips, and a rounded chin) also present on the Kassel type; and both statues feature a tree trunk adjacent to the left leg, rising to approximately midthigh, and including a quiver carved in relief. Also like the Sebaste Apollo, the Louvre version of the Kassel type features multiple struts, though only that between the legs echoes the placement of the struts on the Sebaste example. Despite these similarities, however, there are significant differences between the Sebaste Apollo and the Kassel type: the Sebaste Apollo’s right foot is pulled back half a step and turned sharply outward, while the Kassel Apollo’s right leg is advanced in front of the left and turned outward only slightly; the torso of the Sebaste Apollo has a more pronounced S curve than the Kassel Apollo, and the legs and torso of the Sebaste Apollo have much more torsion than the Kassel Apollo; the Sebaste Apollo’s pectorals are not nearly as developed as those of the Kassel type; the Sebaste Apollo turns his head toward the right, while the Kassel Apollo turns his head toward the left; and while certain features of the hairstyle are echoed (including the voluminous hairstyle used to frame the smaller face, as well as the spiraling locks that fall from behind the ears onto the front of the shoulders), the Sebaste Apollo has nothing of the complex, signature hairstyle of the Kassel type. That the Sebaste Apollo compares only in part to the Chigi and the Kassel types demonstrates that the piece is not a direct copy of a single Greek prototype but, rather, a Roman creation that draws on earlier works and styles. Most interesting about the Sebaste Apollo is its use of a stiffer pose—­ which retained something of the static nature of Archaic kouroi and was typical of early classical works—­and the early classical or severe-­style features of the face, both associated with the Kassel type. The meaning of these features within the statue’s architectural, social, and regional contexts is discussed 16.  Schmidt 1966; Frel 1974, 57; Ridgway 1981a, 184–­85; LIMC II.1:183–­327, s.v. “Apollon” (W. Lambrinudakis, P. Bruneau, O. Palagia, M. Daumas, G. Kokkorou-­Alewras, and E. Mathiopoulou-­Tornaritou); Gercke 1991; Institute of Classical Studies 2013.

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further below, but it is important first to understand the artistic origins of this variation of an early classical sculptural type.

Artistic Origins of the Sebaste Apollo: An Import, Perhaps from Asia Minor There is neither a native source of white marble anywhere in the entire region of the Roman Near East (i.e., in the areas of modern Syria, Lebanon, Israel, and Jordan) nor much evidence for established, large-­scale centers of production of white marble statuary carved in a Greco-­Roman style.17 Yet the Sebaste Apollo is made of imported white marble and displays several distinctly non-­Near Eastern artistic qualities. It is crafted in the (non-­Semitic) Greco-­Roman sculptural tradition, and the piece features multiple technical characteristics that are most often associated with the sculptural workshops of Asia Minor. It is not currently feasible to obtain a sample of the Sebaste Apollo’s marble, so we cannot depend on scientific tests to determine its probable quarry origin. But one notable feature of this piece’s material and its technical handling may assist in narrowing the possibilities. As can be seen in both the frontal and back views of the piece (fig. 5.1; plate 5.1), the block of marble from which the Apollo was carved contains a significant band of dark blue-­gray veining. The vein is most visible and at its largest on the back of the piece, where it begins on the left side of the chignon and forks into two veins that form an X atop the neck strut and run onto the upper back of the figure. The two veins then rejoin at the middle of the left shoulder blade and travel down the left side of the back in a single, broad band of dark blue-­gray. The vein disappears where the sculptor has carved more deeply into the block to create the sway of the lower back. Just above the buttocks, the broad, blue-­gray vein reappears and runs along the left side of the division in the buttocks and then down the left side of the back of the tree trunk. The front of the piece is where the sculptor has demonstrated his impressive technical skill and knowledge of his material. There, the vein appears as a streak of blue-­gray just above and just below the inner left eye and as four blue-­gray spots just to the left of center at the figure’s midchest. Then, in a tour de force of marble working, the sculptor planned the piece such that the vein runs in a thin blue-­gray line down the entire central axis 17.  Friedland 2012a.

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of the Apollo’s torso, beginning at his sternum and bisecting his navel and pelvic girdle, until it veers slightly to the left and travels down the center of the figure’s genitalia, before it runs off-­center down the inner side of the god’s left thigh. This type of blue-­gray veining, which is to be distinguished from the black-­and-­white bichrome materials known from the Göktepe quarries near Aphrodisias,18 is known to occur in quarries at Thasos and Paros in Greece as well as at Aphrodisias,19 Proconnessos, and Dokimeion in Asia Minor, where there were also long-­established sculptural traditions of working this nonhomogeneous material. Though it is not possible to associate the marble of this piece with one of those quarries specifically, several technical features link the Sebaste Apollo with the sculptural workshops of Asia Minor.20 Technically, the most diagnostic feature making that link is the neck strut, a rectangular area of marble that was never carved away from the back of the neck (fig. 5.4).21 This technical feature is thought by scholars to have been left on pieces to stabilize the weak point of the neck during transport.22 Another technical feature of the workshops of Asia Minor is the highly polished finish of the skin and its contrast to the less-­polished finish of the hair.23 The final notable technical detail associated with Asia Minor workshops is the rendering of the eyes, which have pointed inner corners and little indication of tear ducts except for occasional tiny drill holes.24 These artistic origins in the sculptural workshops of Asia Minor mean that the Sebaste Apollo was imported from Asia Minor to Samaria-­Sebaste fully carved, partially carved, or as a block of marble to be carved on-­site at Sebaste by a migrant sculptor from one of the Asiatic regional workshops. The technical associations of the Sebaste Apollo with the sculptural workshops of Asia Minor may allow us to further narrow the possible quarry origin of the marble. We know that sculptors more often worked material from their local quarries, though there are well-­known exceptions, as in the case 18.  Attanasio, Bruno, and Yavuz 2009. 19.  Long 2012. 20.  Though recent research does provide evidence for regional workshops in Caria (Aphrodisias), Asia (Ephesos), Pamphylia (Side and Perge), and Phyrgia (Dokimeion) that operated from the first through the third centuries CE and beyond, scholars also speak of a “unified Asiatic style”; see Friedland 2012b, 24, 31–­32 n. 21. 21.  For a full discussion and bibliography regarding this technical feature, see Friedland 2012b, 32 n. 23. 22.  Ridgway 1984, 88; Braemer 1990, 190. 23.  Ridgway 1981b, 444. 24.  Friedland 2012b, 24, 31–­32 n. 21.

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of Ephesian sculptors who carved imported Thasian marble for dedication at Ephesos.25 Therefore, it seems less likely that the marble for the Sebaste Apollo came from Thasos or Paros; instead, the piece’s association with the sculptural workshops of Asia Minor make the quarries of Aphrodisias, Proconnessos, or Dokimeion seem the most likely suppliers of the marble. A somewhat unusual technical feature of this piece is the misalignment of the spine and the division between the buttocks (plate 5.1). Though the sculptor clearly worked adroitly on the statue’s front to align the dark blue-­ gray vein inherent in the block of marble with the central axis of the Apollo’s torso (so that there is no question of this artist’s sculptural skill), the back of the piece reveals an unnaturalistic rendering of the figure’s axes: the spine, the division between the buttocks, and the separation between the upper thighs are carved on three, disparate axes, and those of the spine and the division between the buttocks are significantly misaligned. Such misalignments of axes on the back of a statue are not unknown. For example, two instances that occur on versions of the haggard Vatican Old Fisherman type—­that in the Vatican and that from Syracuse26—­may help support the meaning of that particular sculptural type. However, this “imperfection” of form on a depiction of a young, idealized deity, such as Apollo, is particularly notable.27 On the Sebaste Apollo, it seems most probable that this misalignment may be explained by the sculptural process. It is well established that Roman sculptors carving in three dimensions worked from the front of a block to the back. Thus, a piece originally meant to become a fully three-­dimensional statue but abandoned before completion might appear to be a relief.28 On the Sebaste Apollo, we may have a case of planning and measurements going a bit awry once the sculptor had carved his way to the point in the process of shaping and finishing the back. Still, the misalignment may not have proven problematic to the viability of the overall piece, because, as can be seen based on the neck strut and the lack of finish of the back of the head, wreath, figure, and base, the statue was clearly not meant to be seen from the back. It seems that the sculptor finished carving, smoothing, and polishing the Sebaste Apollo without concern 25.  Russell 2013, 330–­32. 26.  Ridgway 1990, 334–­37, especially n. 33 (for full bibliography); Laubscher 1982, 99 (no. 1a, Vatican), 101 (no. 1d, Syracuse). 27.  I thank R. R. R. Smith for bringing these examples of this misalignment of axes to my attention and for suggesting that this imperfection is especially at odds with a depiction of the body of a deity. 28.  Rockwell 1991; Hollinshead 2002.

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for the misaligned spine and division of the buttocks and that this piece was dedicated at the Sanctuary of Kore and there nestled against a wall or into a niche, where the “imperfection” would be obscured from worshippers.

Architectural and Social Contexts Although the Sebaste Apollo was not excavated, its discovery within the precinct of Kore makes it highly likely that the statue served as part of the religious sculpture of the precinct or temple. In addition, its recovery immediately following the first season of excavation of the third-­century CE temple and the stylistic date of the piece associate the statue with this later, Severan phase of worship at the sanctuary. The temple from the third century was the final religious building constructed at this site, where (as noted above) there is evidence for an earlier Herodian temple to Kore built in the first century BCE as well as a Hellenistic shrine or temple to Isis and Sarapis.29 The third-­century temple, located in the middle of the western portion of the temenos, is about 36 meters long by 15.5 meters wide, though we have only its foundations. Because we have neither preserved walls nor any evidence for statue bases, we know little about the specific architectural provisions for the display of statuary in either the temple or the temenos.30 Though we have no archaeological or epigraphic evidence for the precise display context, dedication, and function of the Sebaste Apollo, its scale and the unfinished nature of its back probably indicate that the piece was not a primary cult statue but functioned as a dedication either in the broader sanctuary or within the temple itself. As such, the piece still played an important role in ritual at the sanctuary, as demonstrated by recent research on the hierarchy of statues set up in Roman temples and sanctuaries (i.e., cult statues, votive offerings, and programmatic pieces, sometimes referred to as ornamenta): at sanctuaries, “statues set up among the ornamenta of a temple  .  .  . as property given to the gods  .  .  . participated also in the 29.  For the original publication of the Sanctuary of Kore, see Crowfoot, Kenyon, and Sukenik 1942, 62–­67; see also Magness 2001, 157–­60. 30.  While the final report notes that “an octagonal pedestal with a dedication to the Kore was found” (Crowfoot, Kenyon, and Sukenik 1942, 65), there is no mention of any pedestals in the 1957 publication The Objects from Samaria, though the publication of a hexagonal altar with a Greek inscription to Kore could be referring to the same object (37, no. 14, plate V.6; inscription not translated).

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sacrality of the shrine, which sheltered them.”31 In other words, visitors to a sanctuary would have honored not only the main deities to whom the temples were dedicated (through propitiation of their cult statues) but also the related deities who were represented by the numerous other images of gods and goddesses dedicated alongside the main deities. As such, the Sebaste Apollo documents the standard Greco-­Roman cult practice that occurred at Sebaste, which included human interaction with and offering dedications to three-­dimensional, anthropomorphic representations of deities.32 We must remember that for the Greeks and the Romans, these visualizations of their deities were animated, powerful objects. Literary sources document that such religious statues were viewed as far more than mere “representations” of deities but could serve as proxies for the gods themselves, who were often thought to inhabit these three-­dimensional likenesses “activated” by certain rituals and religious rites.33 In fact, ancient authors describe statues of the gods sweating, bleeding, weeping, turning, and moving.34 Thus, the votive and programmatic sculptures dedicated in a temple and sanctuary were not merely euergetistic veneer; they functioned as a central part of the Greco-­ Roman rituals at the sanctuary. At Samaria-­Sebaste, this highly Greco-­Roman nature of worship comes as no surprise. As noted above, though once the seat of the Israelite kingdom, the site was highly Hellenized from the appearance of Alexander in the region in 331 BCE. Further, as Magness has argued so convincingly, the Hellenistic cult of Isis and Sarapis, documented in an inscription found at the site, was replaced with the cult of Kore (and associated deities like Apollo) by Herod the Great, who, in the first century BCE, built on and (due to his own political leanings) redirected this Hellenism with his erection of the Sanctuary of Kore and the nearby Augusteum (among other amenities). The dedication of this imported, Greco-­Roman marble statue is entirely in keeping with the Severan renovation of Sebaste in the late second and early third centuries, a building campaign resulting from Sebaste’s siding with Septimius Severus in his struggles against Pescennius Niger.35 31.  Estienne 2010, 270–­71. 32.  Mylonopoulos 2010; Perry 2015. 33.  See Bussels 2012; Kristensen 2013. For a discussion of how individual statues become designated as “religious,” see Eliav 2008, 105–­7. 34.  Appianus, Bellum civile 2.5.36.13, 4.1.4.11 (sweating), 4.1.4.11 (bleeding); Augustine, City 3.11, 1.1 (weeping); Suetonius, Lives 8.5 (turning east); Cass. Dio 46.33, Tac. Ann. 14.32 (moving). 35.  Crowfoot, Kenyon, and Sukenik 1942, 36.

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This art historical study can contribute an even deeper understanding of the social context of the piece. It seems likely that the patron who “ordered,” paid to ship, and dedicated the Sebaste Apollo may very well have been literate in Roman quotations of Greek visual vocabulary and styles, choosing a work that would be especially at home in a sanctuary of Kore. Apollo was often worshipped alongside Kore in his guise as healer, an aspect of the god that echoes from Homer to Pausanias and beyond. Kore was the Greco-­Roman equivalent of Isis, and Apollo became associated with Sarapis, who was worshipped alongside Isis and, with her, responsible for curing the sick.36 The attributes of the Sebaste Apollo, the bow and quiver of arrows, are those most associated with Apollo as healer, since the deity is known for both sending plagues and disease via his arrows and curing them, whereas the lyre is more regularly associated with his aspect as musician and leader of the Muses.37 In terms of style, it may be that the archaic and early classical or severe features of the Sebaste Apollo noted above were meant to remind worshippers of the archaic nature and longevity of the cult of Apollo. At the same time, the dedication of a uniquely Roman depiction of Apollo that combined aspects of several earlier works and styles supports the distinctly Roman character of the sanctuary, expected in a city that had looked toward Rome since the advent of the empire, been rededicated by Herod to honor Augustus, and been granted colonial status and major urban renovations by Severus. Sebaste also had long-­standing connections with the locally stationed legions of the Roman army. Coins minted at the city between 71 and 79 CE and in 84/85 CE were countermarked by the Legio X Fretensis,38 and an inscription of the Legio VI Ferrata was found in a gateway at Sebaste.39 The site of Legio (near Tel Megiddo), where an impressive 36.  For Apollo as healer, see Graf 2009, 79–­102. For worship of Apollo and Kore in general and at Samaria-­Sebaste, see Magness 2001, 164 with n. 45. For worship of Kore and Apollo at Gerasa, see Gatier 1988, 151–­54, no. 5. For archaic Greek worship of Demeter, Kore, and Apollo on Naxos, see Lambrinoudakis et al. 2002. 37.  For Apollo as musician, see Graf 2009, 33–­51. As Graf describes (33–­34), while the Homeric Hymn to Apollo (131) does have the deity claim the lyre alongside the bow as his possessions, it is interesting to note that in one of Apollo’s appearances on Olympus in that same hymn, his bow and quiver cause some alarm among the assembled Olympians, and his mother, Leto, is quick to relieve the young deity of his bow and arrows, whereas in the second description of Apollo’s visit to Olympus (179–­206), the god’s role as musician is stressed. 38.  Howgego 1985, 127–­28, no. 117 (84/85 CE); 159, no. 291 (84/85 CE); 183, nos. 409 (71–­79 CE), 410 (84/85 CE); 254, no. 733 (84/85 CE). 39.  Reisner, Fisher, and Lyon 1924, 251, no. 1, plate 59f.

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Roman army base has recently been discovered,40 was situated just north of Sebaste and was connected to the city via a road most likely dated to the Hadrianic period.41 Thus, it seems reasonable to expect that the Sebaste sculpture’s very Roman representation of Apollo resonated with other worshippers beyond its patron.

Conclusion: The Regional/Provincial/Imperial Context Though Apollo is worshipped less commonly in the Decapolis cities and primarily in the context of interpretatio graecae,42 finds of sanctuaries and dedications to the god demonstrate that he was propitiated in various guises throughout the Levant,43 for which the Sebaste Apollo provides further evidence. The dedication of this uniquely Roman visualization of the deity also has several important ramifications for the study of classical statuary in the Roman Near East and the impact of Rome on the region. First, the Sebaste Apollo provides further support for the notion that the import of statues—­at least to this far-­flung eastern province—­was undertaken largely at the request of a specific buyer. Statues were not shipped from sculptural workshops merely to stock marble yards, where they would await buyers who might come shopping to select a piece from what was on hand; rather, the majority of marble statues that landed up in this marble-­bereft region must have been specifically, individually ordered by buyers who wanted to display them in the various contexts of the Roman Near East in which they have been discovered. Second, the Sebaste sculpture demonstrates that even in this remote, natively Semitic, provincial environment, the meaning or broader mythological associations of individual sculptural types and styles operated—­at least for some—­much as it did in more metropolitan contexts. Finally, the piece adds further evidence to the recent renewed interest in the significant Roman presence (especially via the army) in the Jezreel Valley, just north of Samaria, and it demonstrates that more careful study of the 40.  Ben Zion 2015. 41.   Avi-­Yonah 1950–­51, 59. 42.  Lichtenberger 2003, 282–­83. 43.  Ovadiah and Mucznik 2012. For evidence for the worship of Apollo at Ascalon and Gaza, see Ovadiah and Mucznik 2009, 19–­29; at Caesarea Maritima, Gersht 1996a, 317; at Daphnaios, Hadet, Baalbek, Palmyra, and Hierapolis, Hajjar 1990, 2586–­88. In addition, Magness (1990) has argued that the Roman temple at Kedesh was an oracular shrine to Apollo; see also Ovadiah, Roll, and Fischer 1993.

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material culture of this site and its surrounding region can add much to the understanding of the Roman impact on the Near East in general and the province of Syria-Palaestina in particular.44

Works Cited Attanasio, D., M. Bruno, and A. B. Yavuz. 2009. “Quarries in the Region of Aphrodisias: The Black and White Marbles of Göktepe (Muğla).” JRA 22:313–­48. Aurenhammer, M. 1990. Die Skulpturen von Ephesos, Bildwerke aus Stein: Idealplastik 1. Forschungen in Ephesos 10.1. Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Avi-­Yonah, M. 1950–­51. “The Development of the Roman Road System in Palestine.” IEJ 1:54–­60. Belayche, N. 2009. “‘Languages’ and Religion in Second-­to Fourth-­Century Palestine: In Search of the Impact of Rome.” In From Hellenism to Islam: Cultural and Linguistic Change in the Roman Near East, edited by H. M. Cotton, R. G. Hoyland, J. J. Price, and D. J. Wasserstein, 177–­202. New York: Cambridge University Press. Ben Zion, I. 2015. “In First, Imperial Roman Legionary Camp Discovered near Megiddo.” Times of Israel, July 7. http://www.timesofisrael.com/in-first-imperialroman-legionary-camp-uncovered-near-megiddo/ Braemer, F. 1990. “Les relations commerciales et culturelles de Carthage avec l’orient romain à partir de documents sculptés.” In Histoire et archéologie de l’Afrique du Nord: Actes du IVe colloque international réuni dans le cadre du 113e Congrès national des Societés savantes, Strasbourg, 5–­9 avril 1988, vol. 1, Carthage et son territoire dans l’antiquité, 175–­98. Paris: Editions du CTHS. Bussels, S. 2012. The Animated Image: Roman Theory on Naturalism, Vividness, and Divine Power. Studien aus dem Warburg-­Haus 11. Leiden: Leiden University Press. Cassibry, K. 2015. “Northern Gaul, Germany, and Britain.” In The Oxford Handbook of Roman Sculpture, edited by E. A. Friedland, M. G. Sobocinski, and E. K. Gazda, 471–­86. New York: Oxford University Press. Crowfoot, J. W., G. M. Crowfoot, and K. M. Kenyon. 1957. Samaria-­Sebaste: Reports of the Work of the Joint Expedition in 1931–­1933 and of the British Expedition in 1935. Vol. 3, The Objects from Samaria. London: Palestine Exploration Fund. Crowfoot, J. W., K. M. Kenyon, and E. L. Sukenik. 1942. Samaria-­Sebaste: Reports of the Work of the Joint Expedition in 1931–­1933 and of the British Expedition in 1935. Vol. 1, The Buildings at Samaria. London: Palestine Exploration Fund. Eliav, Y. Z. 2008. “Roman Statues, Rabbis, and Greco-­Roman Culture.” In Jewish Literatures and Cultures: Contexts and Intertext, edited by A. Norich and Y. Z. Eliav, 99–­116. Brown Judaic Studies 349. Providence, RI: Brown University. Estienne, S. 2010. “Simulacra deorum versus ornamenta aedium: The Status of Divine Images in the Temples of Rome.” In Divine Images and Human Imaginations in Ancient Greece and Rome, edited by J. Mylonopoulos, 257–­71. Leiden: Brill. 44.  For an important, nuanced study of the impact of Rome on Palestine via epigraphic evidence, see Belayche 2009.

140  •  ro m a n a rtis ts , pat ron s, a n d p ublic consumption Fischer, M. L. 1998. Marble Studies: Roman Palestine and the Marble Trade. Xenia 40. Konstanz: UVK, Universitätsverlag Konstanz. Frel, J. 1974. “A Hermes by Kalamis and Some Other Sculptures.” GettyMusJ 1:55–­60. Friedland, E. A. 2012a. “Marble Sculpture in the Roman Near East: Remarks on Import, Production, and Impact.” In Ateliers and Artisans in Roman Art and Archaeology, edited by T. M. Kristensen and B. Poulson, 55–­73. JRA Supplements 92. Portsmouth, RI: Journal of Roman Archaeology. Friedland, E. A. 2012b. The Roman Marble Sculptures from the Sanctuary of Pan at Caesarea Philippi / Panias (Israel). Archaeological Report Series 17. Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research. Gatier, P.-­L. 1988. “Inscriptions religieuses de Gerasa (II).” ADAJ 32:151–­55. Gercke, P. 1991. Apollon und Athena: Klassische Götterstatuen in Abgüssen und Rekonstruktionen. Kassel: Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Kassel. Gersht, R. 1996a. “Representations of Deities and the Cults of Caesarea.” In Caesarea Maritima: A Retrospective after Two Millennia, edited by K. G. Holum and A. Raban, 305–­24. Leiden: Brill. Gersht, R. 1996b. “Roman Copies Discovered in the Land of Israel.” In Classical Studies in Honor of David Sohlberg, edited by R. Katzoff, 433–­50. Ramat Gan: Bar-­Ilan University. Graf, F. 2009. Apollo. New York: Routledge. Hajjar, Y. 1990. “Dieux et cultes non héliopolitains de la Béqa’, de l’Hermon et de l’Abilène à l’époque romaine.” ANRW II.18.4:2509–­604. Hollinshead, M. B. 2002. “From Two to Three Dimensions in Unfinished Roman Sculpture.” In ASMOSIA 5: Interdisciplinary Studies on Ancient Stone; Proceedings of the Fifth International Conference of the Association for the Study of Marble and Other Stones in Antiquity, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, June 1998, edited by J. J. Herrmann Jr., N. Herz, and R. Newman, 225–­30. London: Archetype. Howgego, C. J. 1985. Greek Imperial Countermarks: Studies in the Provincial Coinage of the Roman Empire. London: Royal Numismatic Society. Institute of Classical Studies. 2013. “13. Apollo Kassel.” BICS 56:417–­32. Kletter, R. 2006. Just Past? The Making of Israeli Archaeology. London: Equinox. Kristensen, T. M. 2013. Making and Breaking the Gods: Christian Responses to Pagan Sculpture in Late Antiquity. Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. Kushnir-­Stein, A. 2000. “Septimius Severus and Cities in Samaria: Rewards and Punishments.” Scripta Classica Israelica 19:149–­54. Lambrinoudakis, V., et al. 2002. “Naxos—­Das Heiligtum von Gyroula bei Sangri.” Antike Welt 33:387–­406. Laubscher, H. P. 1982. Fischer und Landleute: Studien zur hellenistischen Genreplastik. Mainz: Philip von Zabern. Lichtenberger, A. 2003. Kulte und Kultur der Dekapolis: Untersuchungen zu numismatischen, archäologischen und epigraphischen Zeugnissen. Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palästina-­Vereins 29. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Long, L. 2012. “Marble at Aphrodisias: The Regional Marble Quarries.” In Aphrodisias Regional Survey: Special Studies, edited by C. Ratté and P. De Staebler, 165–­201. Aphrodisias Final Reports 5. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern.

The Sebaste Apollo  • 141 Magness, J. 1990. “Some Observations on the Roman Temple at Kedesh.” IEJ 40:173–­ 81. Magness, J. 2001. “The Cults of Isis and Kore at Samaria-­Sebaste in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods.” HTR 94:159–­79. Mahieu, B. 2008. “The Foundation Year of Samaria-­Sebaste and Its Chronological Implications.” Ancient Society 38:183­–­96. Mylonopoulos, J., ed. 2010. Divine Images and Human Imaginations in Ancient Greece and Rome. Leiden: Brill. Ovadiah, A., and S. Mucznik. 2009. Worshiping the Gods: Art and Cult in Roman Eretz Israel. Leiden: Alexandros. Ovadiah, A., and S. Mucznik. 2012. “Apollo and Artemis in the Decapolis.” Liber Annuus 62:515–­34. Ovadiah, A., I. Roll, and M. Fischer. 1993. “The Roman Temple at Kedesh in Upper Galilee: A Response.” IEJ 43:60–­63. Perry, E. E. 2015. “Human Interactions with Statues.” In The Oxford Handbook of Roman Sculpture, edited by E. A. Friedland, M. G. Sobocinski, and E. K. Gazda, 653–­66. New York: Oxford University Press. Reisner, G. A., C. S. Fisher, and D. G. Lyon. 1924. Harvard Excavations at Samaria, 1908–­1910. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Ridgway, B. S. 1981a. Fifth Century Styles in Greek Sculpture. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Ridgway, B. S. 1981b. “Sculpture from Corinth.” Hesperia 50:422–­48. Ridgway, B. S. 1984. Roman Copies of Greek Sculpture: The Problem of the Originals. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan. Ridgway, B. S. 1990. Hellenistic Sculpture. Vol. 1, The Styles of ca. 331–­200 B.C. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Riggs, C. 2015. “Egypt.” In The Oxford Handbook of Roman Sculpture, edited by E. A. Friedland, M. G. Sobocinski, and E. K. Gazda, 552–­68. New York: Oxford University Press. Rockwell, P. 1991. “Unfinished Statuary Associated with a Sculptor’s Studio.” In Aphrodisias Papers, vol. 2, The Theater, a Sculptor’s Workshop, Philosophers, and Coin-­Types, edited by R. R. R. Smith and K. T. Erim, 127–­42. JRA Supplements 2. Ann Arbor, MI: Journal of Roman Archaeology. Russell, B. 2013. The Economics of the Roman Stone Trade. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Schmidt, E. 1966. Der Kasseler Apollon und seine Repliken. Antike Plastik 5. Berlin: Gebr. Mann. Weber, T. M. 2015. “Near East.” In The Oxford Handbook of Roman Sculpture, edited by E. A. Friedland, M. G. Sobocinski, and E. K. Gazda, 569–­86. New York: Oxford University Press.

six

At Face Value Painted Ladies on Pompeian Walls Bettina Bergmann

The young woman holds the tip of a stylus to her lips and stares at the viewer pensively, apparently conceiving the words she is about to inscribe onto the wax tablet in her other hand (plate 6.1). Her pose and writing implement have inspired an identification as “Sappho,” after the legendary Greek poet, but her fashionable coiffure and jewelry point to a woman living in Italy in the first century CE. Like depictions of dozens of other anonymous faces found on the walls of buildings covered by the eruption of Vesuvius in 79 CE, this famous mural fragment in Naples lacks any identifying inscription (plate 6.2; fig. 6.1). It resides in a kind of historical limbo, its identity vacillating between a rare portrait of a famous woman and just one more decorative filler. Over one hundred female heads in fresco survive either in situ or as detached fragments in museums. Most were painted in the rooms in central Versions of this essay were presented in the session “What Is a Roman Female Portrait?” at the annual conference of the Archaeological Institute of America in December 1997 and at the University of Colorado, the State University of New York at New Paltz, the Institute of Fine Arts at New York University, and the École Normale Supérieure. I benefited from comments from the audiences of those presentations, as well as from helpful suggestions from Elizabeth Bartman, Kathleen Coleman, Michael Davis, Mimi Hellman, Nicholas Horsfall, Dana Leibsohn, and Barbara Kellum. Elaine Gazda, to whom this volume is dedicated, was especially supportive of this research project in its early stages.

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Fig. 6.1. Reconstruction of the wall featuring Perseus and Andromeda flanked by “Sappho” and a male head, Regio VI, Insula Occidentalis, Pompeii. (From Allroggen-­ Bedel 1974, 119, fig. 95b.)

Italy during the early decades of the empire, between about 10 BCE and 79 CE, but a few examples found outside Italy and made at a later date suggest that the subject was widespread in the Roman world. Like portraits in later periods of Western art, the images follow certain conventions. Normally shoulder or bust length and seen at a slight angle in near-­frontal view, the general type is particularized with details, while nuances of color, light, and shadow mold and animate the facial features. An arresting stare and active demeanor grab our attention, as if we are encountering a living person in the here and now. At the same time, emphatic picture frames contain and distance that person by introducing another level of reference: that of an isolated, portable panel created at another time and place. Such images raise the perennial question: Is it or is it not a portrait? But this question misses much of what is interesting about the human face as a subject in a prephotographic visual world. Scholars of ancient art have tended to treat media separately, asking different questions and employing different methods. A look at the distinct approaches to sculpture and wall painting is illuminating. Anonymous sculpted heads of women with contemporary coifs are often identified as either depictions of or somehow related to an empress, regardless of their degree of physiognomic idealization. But although “Sappho” wears a late Julio-­Claudian hairstyle and jewelry that has been found in contemporary contexts, her status remains enig-

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matic.1 There is, of course, a difference in intrinsic value: a life-­size marble head with painted hair and features (possibly with a body) cost far more than a craftsman’s quick rendering on a wet, plastered wall. Moreover, unlike public monuments, wall paintings were made not to communicate to large populations over time but, rather, to satisfy more local, personal desires. It seems to me that the primary issue is not one of cost but a matter of cultural difference between an ancient standard of decorum and our own. Art history has regarded wall surfacing as inferior to panel painting; in modern usage, the term “decorative” denotes something superficial and without content. It thus follows that because the fragment called “Sappho” served an interior design, it cannot depict an individual.2 Roman patrons, however, seem to have been concerned about the decor, decorum or appropriateness, of their homes’ appearance. Consider Cicero’s pleas for the proper statues to embellish certain parts of his villa or the choice of fresco as a preferred medium for early imperial residences, whose walls were rich with illusions of architecture, statues, and panel paintings—­without question, surfaces brimming with content.3 Equally foreign may be ancient perceptions of human likeness. For the Romans, it is clear that verisimilitude was not always the primary goal of a person’s representation. More important may have been a “visual genealogy” or resemblance to authoritative models such as Alexander the Great, noble Italic ancestors, and even gods. Looking like a famous character did not 1.  For a close parallel, see the painted marble head found in the House of the Citharist in Pompeii (Sampaolo and Hoffmann 2014, 119). 2.  The low value placed on the painted faces reflects negative attitudes about Pompeian wall paintings in general. Thompson (1979, 78–­93) names the heads in the side panels on Third-­Style and Fourth-­Style walls “faceless portraits” but sees a few that are bigger and more centrally placed as “unmistakable portraits”; in contrast, de Kind (1991) questions scholars’ habitual dismissal of the heads in lateral panels as “secondary,” noting that they appear at eye level and often in a prominent room. Fitzgerald Marriott (1895, 16) argues that many roundels are portraits of “ordinary and every-­day individuals, various in expression and character, and of every age and state.” Curtius (1929, 376–­84) notes the different functions of portraits in antiquity: for example, as votives dedicated to gods or as a worshipped ancestor image. Sampaolo (1992, 95–­98) acknowledges both that Pompeian painters used models and the difficulty in discerning a portrait; De Maria (1997, 47–­52) suggests that the busts were general signs celebrating the private domestic sphere. For an attempt to identify imperial portraits in murals from the Villa at Boscotrecase, see Anderson 1987. I was not able to see the 1983 thesis by Francis. 3.  Bergmann 1995, 98–­107. Admittedly, we do not know what roles elite or nonelite patrons played in the wall designs of their homes, but the sheer number of unique combinations would indicate some personal choices.

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dilute a person’s identity; it enhanced it.4 To be sure, in every culture, clothing, attributes, hairstyles, postures, and gestures can announce somebody’s gender, status, genealogy, political leanings, and so on; these features may lie, conceal, or disguise, depending on the setting and who is looking. Such nameless faces invite modern observers to project our own notions of selfhood, gender, and class, especially since we may lack fluency in the ancient vocabularies for self-­fashioning.5 Much could be gained, then, from considering the heads within their environments and, as much as possible, within a hypothetical spectator’s gaze. This essay approaches female heads within a few different contexts, or explanatory schemes. The first and most concrete context for mural fragments is the built surfaces that they adorn or once adorned. A second way of looking at these images is as reflections of other media, specifically lost portable panels bearing female likenesses. A third way is within a literary context—­namely, the cultural construction of women conveyed by authors of that period. No one frame of reference provides a definitive explanation for the painted women: physical context remains incomplete, much is lost in translating one medium into another, and there exists no perfect “literary match.” Yet I hope that the cumulative insights from this inquiry will shed light on a puzzling category of images in Roman art. As this discussion will show, female faces on walls present a medley of associations that bewilder and make us question what we think we see.

In Her Place: The Built Context One female image has never been questioned as a portrait, despite its lack either of an inscription or a male companion (plate 6.3). In a celebrated mosaic emblema, a veritable “painting in stone,” the bust of a woman emerges against a uniform background of tiny yellow and brown tiles. Her hairdo, parted in the middle and pulled back at both sides, is simple (the ribbon, possibly of another material, is now missing). Her white mantle is embellished with a gold and purple fringe, and she wears ornate gold 4.  Wrede 1981. 5.  Trimble (2011, 153–­57) reminds us that the notion of a fixed nature is a modern concept: Romans “disrupted, permeated, and extended the boundaries of individual identity” (154). D’Ambra (2007, 15–­16) comments that our subjective assumptions about what is masculine and feminine do not always align with the ancient evidence: “Romans were, no doubt, better at spotting the relative degrees of gender than we are.”

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and pearl earrings, with a matching necklace. The delicately modeled face, with its sharp nose and sagging eyelids, suggest a distinctive person, whose vivacity emanates from the gleam in her eyes. The lips are open, revealing her upper teeth, as if parted for speech. She seems to be captured in a split second, as a kind of “speaking likeness.”6 The tiny piece (only ten by eight inches) was expensive, for it is rendered in the finest republican opus vermiculatum. To modern viewers, it may seem odd that this jewel was seen on a floor. Sometime in the seventies CE, possibly as much as a century after it was made, the mosaic panel became the centerpiece of a small room, where it was placed inside a polychromatic, geometric marble floor design (an indication of its high value). The small chamber was located off the atrium of a cramped complex (VI.15.14), with a snack bar at its front. In the renovation, salvaged mural panels were also inserted into the red-­and-­white walls. Found here was a bronze candelabrum with rings for hanging objects, probably lamps for night dining.7 We can thus imagine the mosaic as a focal point for viewers who, lying on their sides, would glimpse the woman as they reached out from a couch for food or drink, just as they might lean back, at another moment, and gaze up at the painted ceiling. From below, in the flickering lamplight, the animated face must have caught the eye, inviting an exchange of glances, competing, in a sense, with the gaze of a live companion. The small size of the emblema invites consideration of the panel portraits that are now largely lost due to the fragility of wood, linen, and wax. Anecdotes abound about the role of small, handheld likenesses in everyday life that were taken along on trips, sent through the Roman mail, and even worn on the body.8 The handheld images, it was said, provoked such intense 6.  Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 124666, 25.5 cm high, 20.5 cm wide; PPM 5:696–­98, s.v. “VI 15, 13.15: Termopolio” (V. Sampaolo); Clarke 2003, 263–­ 64. Soon after its discovery, Sogliano (1898, 172–­73) published a photograph that shows missing tesserae and damage to the left side of the mosaic, the woman’s right shoulder, and the left side of the face; at some point, it must have been restored. 7.  There is confusion about the exact room where the mosaic was found. A record at the National Archaeological Museum in Naples states that it was in the tablinum (h) of House VI.15.14, but Sogliano (1898) and Della Corte (1965, 63) place it in the facing room south of the impluvium (m); Sampaolo (1992, 103) assigns it again to the so-­called tablinum, but later (1994, 696–­98) assigns the opus sectile pavement to the so-­called tablinum and the mosaic to room m. 8.  Writing a letter to his friend Atticus in 50 BCE, Cicero passed along some gossip about a freedman named Vedius Pollio, who, during his travels, had left his baggage at someone’s house. When the house’s owner suddenly died, an inventory done of the house and its contents revealed that Vedius’ luggage contained five ladies’ portraits in miniature (paintings or gems?), suggesting multiple affairs with aristocratic wives (Att. 6.1.25). An-

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reactions that loved ones would kiss and address the faces as if momentarily mistaking them for the real person. Just such an emotional bonding with a small portrait appears in a mosaic emblema that was laid in the so-­called House of the Man of Letters at Antioch in about 200 CE (plate 6.4). The picture shows the interior of a room, seen from above: two beds are placed at right angles to each other, suggesting a biclinium, the very type of room it decorated. On the left, a youth with short hair and wearing a white tunic reclines on one of the couches and holds up a framed, painted portrait. It is Ninus, the legendary founder of Nineveh, who gazes at the image of his young cousin Semiramus (the legendary queen of the Hanging Gardens), pining for his distant beloved.9 A person reclining on a couch in the space in third-­century CE Antioch that was decorated by this image could look down to the floor and see another dining room with another diner, Ninus, and could join him in contemplating the miniature female portrait. The creation of such portraits appears in a remarkable studio scene on a painted limestone sarcophagus of the late first century CE from the Bosporus, now in the Hermitage Museum. An encaustic painter sits at work on a female portrait and hangs finished products on the wall, including a rectangular pinax with a simple wooden frame, containing a frontal, staring bust of a woman.10 Exactly such small wooden panels survive from the desert sands of Egypt: a faded female portrait panel from Hawara, still set within a wooden frame, is only about eleven inches tall, exactly the size of the mosaic emblema in Pompeii; it is far too small to have been used on a mummy, but it must have been carried around or set up for display. Long regarded as a marginal, Egyptian phenomenon, the mummy portraits have been recognized, in recent years, as examples of mainstream painted portraiture of the other tradition is reflected in Greek epigrams, in which a woman writes about a portrait that she has painted and now dedicates to a deity; it may be a likeness of herself, her daughter, her mother, or another woman, and the epigrams were inscribed directly onto the images, rendering them “speaking portraits” that address the passerby (Page 1981, 181–­84; Gow 1965, 284; Gow and Page 1968, 19). On the high value placed on portable portraits by Romans, see Fejfer 2008, 153–­57. In a good overview, mostly based on literary evidence, Nowicka (1993, 121–­40) considers a few of the frescoes as reflections of lost wax panel portraits; see the review by Gazda and Haeckl 1997. Bettini 1999 treats the ancient literary descriptions in depth.   9.  The subject was identified by Doro Levi in 1937 based on a similar mosaic fragment from Alexandretta (now lost) where an inscription named the young man as Ninus (Levi 1944). The Antioch mosaic is now on display at the Marquand Library at Princeton University. The legend is documented from the fifth century BCE but is probably based on a first-­century BCE novel with a historical-­mythological subtext. 10.  Goldman 1999.

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Roman Empire (plate 6.5).11 These portraits of known individuals, identified by inscriptions and often by the mummified bodies themselves, offer potentially important parallels for the anonymous, painted faces of women on Pompeian walls. The visual similarities between the mosaic emblema, the first-­century CE Egyptian wax and linen portraits, and faces on frescoed walls are immediately obvious and more than superficial; they betray a shared set of conventions. The busts turn slightly toward their right and the light source that illuminates their features, casting shadows across the left side of the face. Many wear the same hairstyles and jewelry, like gold and pearl earrings, the exact likes of which were excavated in Herculaneum.12 In nearly all cases, the intent expressions and modish fashions link the eastern and western examples so clearly that a shared construction of Romanitas—­female Romanitas—­is hard to deny; that is, both the wax mummy portraits and the faces in Pompeian interiors emphasize those aspects of physical and mental cultus that come with the wealth of empire. Both corpora show clear distinctions among the identities of men and women. However, in their contexts, the painted female faces functioned very differently. Those on the surfaces of domestic interiors were rarely single images seen alone but, rather, were always perceived in relation to other images within an expansive, two-­dimensional design that embellished a three-­ dimensional space. A look at where and how the faces were seen can give a sense of what they might have expressed to an ancient viewer.13 Not surprisingly, in her original placement, “Sappho” had a representational status far removed from that of the singular icon she has become in touristic reproductions. This fragment was one of several pieces that were sawed from the walls of a building discovered on the northwestern edge of Pompeii in 1760 and either destroyed or scattered to collections. In 1974, Agnes Allroggen-­Bedel reunited a few of the fragments in the National Archaeological Museum in Naples to reconstruct one wall (fig. 6.1).14 11.  On the Hawara panel, see Walker and Bierbrier 1997, 121–­22; Walker 2000, 24–­25; Gschwantler 2000, 14–­22. 12.  Identical gold and pearl earrings from Herculaneum are now in the National Archaeological Museum in Naples (inv. no. 24626): see Sampaolo 1992, 70–­71; Walker 2000, 149–­56. On the importance of pearls and gold among Latin poets, see Griffin 1986, 12. 13.  Within the house, there seems to be little rhyme or reason to where faces appear. Female heads come into view above, below, and around the inhabitant (most often as pairs flanking a larger, narrative panel in the center of a wall) and occur in all rooms of the house. Often four or six per room, they can be seen both as pairs and as series. 14.  Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 9084; Allroggen-Bedel 1974,

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“Sappho” formed the pendant to a male head that, in contrast, is regularly identified as a “portrait,” because his narrow face and crooked nose seem more individualized (plate 6.2). Between the two heads was a square panel depicting a mythical pair, a seated Perseus and Andromeda, with the hero holding the gorgon’s head above his own and Andromeda’s (fig. 6.1). The reconstruction argues for a unified design; notice, for instance, how the male and female heads turn slightly toward each other in a way that echoes those of Perseus and Andromeda, the man on the side of Perseus, “Sappho” on the side of Andromeda. Looking out of the wall, the male and female heads bring us, the viewer, to the very center of the design and to the staring, decapitated gorgon’s face, possibly in a play on the creature’s infamous, lethal gaze that could turn an onlooker—­in this case, us—­to stone. The harmony of the pair is more than formal, for male and female complement each other with their festive attire and attributes of class and learning. The woman wears her brown hair in a distinctive style (with a central part and snail curls falling around the forehead and cheeks), gold earrings, and a hairnet of finely woven gold wires, all fashionable in the mid-­first century CE.15 In her hands, she carries a stylus and a wax tablet. The wreathed male raises a wrapped papyrus roll (volumen or rotulus), as if caught receiving a prize—­perhaps in a poetic competition, a recently popular pursuit of young men. The juxtaposition of these two forms of script is not incidental, for hinged wax tablets and cylindrical scrolls (some even with legible writing) appear independently as still lifes on painted walls.16 The tablet was the older medium, and its format was obviously more restrictive. The writer could etch letters into its wax surface with the point of a stylus and then erase them with the flat end, so a tablet could be reused frequently for daily jottings. On the more expansive papyrus rolls, writing was done with a reed or metal pen dipped into a solution of resin and soot or octopus ink. By the first century CE, papyrus rolls were increasingly used in bureaucratic practices (for letters) and literature and had become a symbol of formal education 118–­99; Pagano and Prisciandaro 2006, 33–­35. The findspot is vague, but it was identified in excavation reports as “VI ins.occ. Masseria di Cuomo” on the western edge of Pompeii. Extraordinary calendar medallions with heads of gods and personifications were also found in this area (Long 1992). For a clear summary of the complicated discovery and site, see http://www.pompeiiinpictures.com/pompeiiinpictures/R6/6%2017%2000.htm 15.  Two actual hairnets woven with gold thread have been found, one in a tomb at Vetralla and another from the Via Tiburtina. Both are now on view at the Palazzo Massimo in Rome (Biagotti 1990, 108, fig. 37). 16.  Meyer (2009, 569) lists fifteen examples of still lifes with writing paraphernalia.

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and government. Literacy, along with hairstyle, jewelry, and dress, belonged to the makeup of a cultivated Roman woman; wax portraits from Egypt also bear signs of learning, such as the portrait (still inside its mummy cover) of a woman identified by the inscription Hermione grammatike, “Hermione the literate” or “Hermione, teacher of Greek” (plate 6.5).17 Interestingly, the tablet and roll seem to distinguish gender roles in wall paintings of couples. This can be seen in the famous fragment from Pompeii alternately called “Baker and His Wife,” “Terentius Neo and His Wife,” and “Paquius Proculus and His Wife” (plate 6.6). Since its discovery in 1868, there has been little doubt that the square panel represents a local husband and his wife.18 The man’s large ears, wrinkled forehead, flat nose, and large lips seem to mark him as an individual, while the magistrate’s toga and papyrus scroll (sealed with his title, duumvir) communicate his social role. The woman, as is usual, appears younger than he and, like “Sappho,” stylishly up to date, with her hair gathered at the nape, tight curls on her forehead, pearl earrings, and a pearl necklace with a gold pendant. She, too, holds the stylus to her lips and a wooden tablet out before her, like a prestigious trophy. Because the people in this fragment are a couple and are depicted with such explicit signs, attempts have been made to identify the man, while the woman has been referred to simply as “his wife.” Were she alone, her status as a portrait surely would be less persuasive. Some scholars have seen the man as the lawyer Terentius Neo, who lived during the latest electoral campaigns in the city. Others, noting that the panel was found in a house joined to a bakery, argue that the man must be the wealthy baker Paquius Proculus.19 These identifications, however, are based on a shaky method of reading owners from their hairstyles, casual graffiti on facades, or signs of industry inside. Nevertheless, it is likely that the couple belonged to a class of Pompeian “subelites,” a group of varying social and economic status.20 17.  See Walker and Bierbrier 1997, 37–­39, on Hermione. 18.  Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 9058; PPM 6:485–­89, fig. 9, s.v. “VII 2,6 Casa di Terentius Neo” (V. Sampaolo). 19.  Terentius Neo’s name appears in a graffito inside the house, Paquius Proculus’ on an electoral inscription on an external wall. Della Corte (1926) claims the owner could not have been Proculus because the house belonged to the Terentii. Otherwise Clarke 2003, 261–­67. 20.  Curtius (1929, 379–­80) dates the couple, based on her hair, to the late Augustan or early Tiberian period, but others see it as typically Neronian: Clarke 2003, 263. We should question whether hairstyles in Pompeii followed imperial fashion at all, and if so, immediately or at a lag. According to Welch (2001), Pompeian portraits are not in sync with imperial ones. Schefold (1962, 136) suggests that the painting was done shortly before 79 CE because the room was unfinished.

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A significant fact about the couple is that shortly before 79 CE, their image was inserted, along with other fragments, into the white-­and-­yellow walls of a prominent exedra on the north side of the atrium of the small bakery complex (VII.2.6). Directly above the couple’s portrait appeared another recycled fragment of another couple, Amor embracing Psyche (plate 6.7).21 The juxtaposition can hardly be a coincidence. Just as the male and female heads on either side of Perseus and Andromeda posit a visual corollary between the mundane and mythic realms, the passions of Amor and Psyche inflect the couple with heightened emotion. Like the mosaic emblema, the fragment of the couple near the bakery either was salvaged from the room’s earlier decor or was transported there from elsewhere. Such recycling was not uncommon after the early sixties, when some scholars have suggested that earthquakes spawned an upheaval in real estate—­that old-­timers moved away and that a class of freed slaves stimulated a building boom. If this suggestion is true, it would make sense for cherished pieces to be taken along in a move. However, we have no way of knowing, as is frequently surmised, that these images represent ancestors of the current owners. They could just as well have been appropriated anew. Pliny claims, The painting of portraits [imaginum pictura], used to transmit through the ages extremely correct likenesses of persons, has entirely gone out  .  .  . so universally is a display of material preferred to a recognizable likeness of one’s own self. And in the midst of all this, people tapestry the walls of their picture-­galleries with old pictures, and they prize likenesses of strangers, while for themselves they imagine that the honour only consists in the price, for their heir to break up the statue and haul it out of the house with a noose. Consequently nobody’s likeness lives and they leave behind them portraits that represent their money, not themselves. (HN 35.2.4–­6)22 The recognition of an image in its setting and in relation to other images complicates our reading of it. In the case of the first example presented in this section, prolonged viewing while consuming food and drink must have made the glittering woman on the floor seem dramatically pres21.  Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 9195. Clarke (2003, 261–­67) points out that the couple would have been seen by someone in the passageway coming from the bakery and may thus represent the baker and his wife. 22.  Translation from Rackham 1984, 263.

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ent, even engaged. In the second example, in which a woman is paired with a man, the look and props of “Sappho” become more precise as signs of high-­class femininity. In the third example, the presence of the mythical pair of Amor and Psyche above the literate couple highlights the latter couple’s emotional bond. In each case, the immediate, experiential frame of reference fundamentally affects the expressive value of each female face. It also reveals the relative autonomy and fixity of figural images within buildings, whereby the faces change function and meaning depending on their place. That all three examples were part of the fabric of a wall or a floor and were later detached (“Sappho” upon its discovery in 1760 and the other two already in the first century CE) indicates their inherent potential as separate panel pictures.23 Ironically, more than 1700 years later, all three would find new lives as independent objects in a public museum, endlessly replicated in photographs.

Intersecting Realms As isolated panels, “Sappho” and the “Baker and His Wife” might suggest a binary opposition between male and female that resonates with modern ideas. This interpretation may be partly accurate. Looking at other, more completely preserved Pompeian rooms, however, shows the situation to be more complicated. Indeed, it may come as a surprise that the images of “Sappho” and her male companion are not unique. A nearly identical pairing, with a female wearing a golden hairnet and holding a stylus and with a male displaying a scroll, appears on the red-­ and-­yellow walls of an ornate room, often identified as a triclinium, in the House of L. Cornelius Diadumenus (VII.12.26).24 Just as the inclined heads of “Sappho” and her companion echo those of Perseus and Andromeda, these create a symmetrical balance, she on the left and he on the right of 23.  A similar situation can be seen in the House of Marcus Caesius Blandus (VII.1.40), where a tondo inserted into the wall of the atrium depicted a pair in the guise of Hippolytus and Phaedra, which some have seen as a “family portrait” of ancestors; its pendant couple is now too faded to make out: see PPM 6:386–­91, s.v. “VI 1,40 Casa di M. Caesius Blandus” (I. Bragantini); 12:770–­71, s.v. “La Volpe, Nicola” (V. Sampaolo). 24.  There were others. Meyer (2009, 583) lists eight examples of women with writing paraphernalia, five in tondi and three in rectangular frames. Two of the five tondi have a male pendant with a scroll. In four examples, the woman appears with other figures. A male holding a tablet appears only once.

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a large, square, mythological panel—­in this case, depicting Ariadne abandoned by Theseus on Naxos.25 The other walls continue the same design and theme, but the two roundels on the adjoining east wall contain busts of otherworldly, mythical figures: Paris, with a cupid looking over his right shoulder, and a satyr playing the syrinx. Between them is a panel depicting the nest of cupids in an outdoor setting, where a bejeweled young woman (Venus?) looks at a hunter (Adonis?) who reclines beside her and is engrossed by the two tiny winged bodies held in her hands. Once again, visual and thematic parallels link the heads with the central panel: Paris resembles the hunter in posture and expression, the cupid on his shoulder nods to the baby erotes in Venus’ hands, and his shepherd’s crook reappears in the hand of an onlooker at the right. Across the room, two more roundels (one of a woman, the other too faded to make out) flanked another amatory scene set in the woods—­namely, Jupiter transformed into Diana to seduce Callisto.26 The central panels, then, depict three aspects of love: love lost between a man and a woman who was to become a deity (Ariadne), budding love between a goddess and a mortal (the nest of cupids), and deceptive love between a god and a mortal woman (Jupiter in disguise). The six faces on three walls added to the expressions of the actors in these scenes but also looked out at the viewer and each other, thereby charging the space with myriad intersecting gazes among gods, mortals, demigods, heroes, and the living spectator(s). The designers of this house clearly fancied framed heads, for two more rooms (k and o) featured medallions with cupids and maenads and square panels with couples (a maenad and satyr and Hercules and Omphale). This taste was shared by neighbors in the contiguous House of Popidius Priscus (VII.2.20), whose atrium, painted at the same time, displayed tondi featuring another woman with a stylus, accompanied by a young female behind her; another Pan with an eros on his shoulder, though in a slightly different pose; and a present-­day woman with a smaller female servant (?) who is lifting her garment.27 Although not identical, the similarities in décor between 25.  The panel of Ariadne (Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 111437) was the first image in room h to be seen from the garden. This north wall is preserved only in old photographs, the panels and tondi in drawings: see PPM 7:570–­80, s.v. “VII 12,26 Casa di L. Cornelius Diadumenus” (I. Bragantini); 12:717–­18, 916 (color image of satyr), s.v. “La Volpe, Nicola” (V. Sampaolo). 26.  For drawings of the two mythological panels, the “Nest of Cupids” (lost) and “Jupiter and Callisto” (Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 111441), see PPM 12:715–­16, s.v. “La Volpe, Nicola” (V. Sampaolo). 27.  The tondi are preserved in drawings: see PPM 12:725–­26, s.v. “La Volpe, Nicola” (V. Sampaolo).

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the two houses are close enough to indicate a common workshop that followed the same pictorial models in general outline but varied the details. The more one explores painted faces within their rooms and beyond, in the decoration of an entire house and even the neighborhood, the more clear it becomes that they communicate far more than gender in contemporary dress. Other, more prominent axes of differentiation emerge. A room might feature women’s heads exclusively or alternate women with men; vivacious gods and racy hybrids sometimes appear alongside upright mortals; several figures may occupy one frame, such as a young woman with an elderly “nurse” or, far more often, a pair of Bacchic followers. No two ensembles are identical, but it is striking that nearly all depict women or young men; mature and older men are scarce. Most important, gods and mortals regularly share the same space and even the same props and hairstyles, a point to which I will return.28

Shifting Personae A provocative ensemble can still be seen on the yellow walls of the small room R in the House of the Golden Cupids in Pompeii (VI.16.7) (plates 6.8a–­b).29 Beneath an elaborate ceiling, the focal point of each of three walls is a square mythological scene in which a woman poses in near-­frontal nudity. On the back wall, Leda embraces a swan (Jupiter); on the right wall, Venus, turning out toward the viewer, sits fishing; and on the left, a nude Diana moves to cover herself from the gaze of Actaeon, who is hiding in the rocks behind. 28.  Among the many rooms combining mortals and immortals, de Kind (1991) notes one in the House of the Mosaic Atrium in Herculaneum with two present-­day female heads combined with four busts of maenads and satyrs (Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. nos. 9129, 9081). In addition to the “Baker and His Wife,” two rooms in the House of Terentius Neo displayed heads in tondi: on the north wall of the richly decorated triclinium h a young unbearded male in a red chlamys appeared beside a mythological pair (the female with a fancy hairstyle, earrings, and a blue chiton) identified as Atalanta and Meleager or Venus and Mars: see PPM 6:489–­90, s.v. “VII 2,6 Casa di Terentius Neo” (V. Sampaolo). In corridor i were pendants of Paris with an eros on his shoulder and a female wearing a golden diadem and a veil (Helen?) and, on another wall, tondi with a young male holding a spear beside a contemporary looking woman, all recorded in drawings: see PPM 12:746–­77, s.v. “La Volpe, Nicola” (V. Sampaolo); 6:491–­93, s.v. “VII 2,6 Casa di Terentius Neo” (V. Sampaolo). 29.  Seiler 1992, 56–­57, 104–­9, 113–­14; PPM 5:833–­45, s.v. “VI 16, 7.38 Casa degli Amorini Dorati” (F. Seiler); Davis 2006. Dates range from the thirties to the seventies CE.

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The goddesses, whose bodies are based on famous Venus statue types, look as if they have been caught, exposed, in our voyeuristic gaze. Indeed, Actaeon’s eye intersects with our own in the body of Diana. Cupids highlight the erotic tension: an eros beside Leda holds the upright torch of “enflamed love,” and two erotes accompany Venus as she fishes (a sexual motif )—­one grabbing a flapping fish by the tail, another a fish basket. Triads of mythological love stories are frequent in Pompeian rooms, but this combination is unusual, and even more so are the female busts whose inclined poses direct attention to the scenes.30 The women in the medallions are scantily dressed (one even has a breast exposed); loose curls fall to their shoulders; and jewels glitter from their fingers, necks, and ears. They carry Bacchic objects: a silver drinking kantharos, a thyrsos, an ivy wreath, a myrtle branch, and lyres (the last carried by two of them), all attributes of the wine god’s retinue, or thiasos, conjuring up the sensual pleasures of song (the lyre), drink (wine vessels), and revelry (wreaths) and identifying the women as maenads. Intriguingly, each maenad has physiognomic features that distinguish her from the others (a round or an oval face, a large nose, close-­set eyes), yet the maenads share hairstyles and jewelry with the goddesses in the central scenes. To all appearances, objects of the modern banquet enter mythological settings, and humans assume the poses and attributes of the thiasos.31 This crossing over of realms, seen in the mingling of Bacchic props with attributes of goddesses and personalized facial features, presents an interpretive problem for us today. Are the busts meant to be maenads who look like individuals because the painter has given them modish jewels and varying facial expressions? Or are they contemporary women mythically elevated through costume and attribute? Such either-­or questions miss the point. Think about a different sphere, the funerary, where the blurring of mortal and immortal identities was a deliberate representational device. The poet Statius from the late first-­century CE remarked that after her death, Priscilla, the wife of an imperial freedman under Domitian, was commemorated in one place with portraits, in many materials, showing her in the guises of goddesses like Ceres and Venus (Silvae 5.1.311–­15). 30.  There is, however, a very close parallel of the yellow room 16 in the House of Caecilius Jucundus (V.1.26), where female busts flank square panels depicting scenes related to love (Ariadne, Judgment of Paris). 31.  Dunbabin 2003, 8–­9, 52–­56. Although there may be no evidence that such masquerades actually took place in Pompeii, the images can still evoke such events. On Bacchic imagery at banquets, see Griffin 1986, 69–­73.

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Similarly, in her mausoleum of the early first century CE, Claudia Semne appeared five different times in sculptured reliefs—­once as herself sleeping, once carried aloft by cupids, and three times as Venus, Fortuna, and Spes.32 Embodying Venus ennobled portraits of freedwomen; the best-­ known examples are the Flavian and Trajanic statues in which a head with a veristic face and contemporary hairstyle are set on the body of a Venus Pudica, the very same type the painter of the yellow room in the House of the Golden Cupids used for the figure of Diana avoiding Actaeon.33 These are just two of many examples showing how patrons were clearly aware that a single, static image can never encapsulate a person’s shifting roles, so they assembled a variety, including the bodies of deities, to better capture and glorify the deceased’s multiple selves. The willful dissolution of boundaries between mortals and immortals also occurs in the secular, domestic, and literary spheres. Pliny the Elder tells us that in the first century BCE, Roman painters followed the practice of Praxiteles and began using real women as models for goddesses. An artist named Arellius “prostituted his art by a notorious outrage, by . . . painting goddesses . . . in the likenesses of his mistresses; and so his pictures include a number of portraits of harlots” (HN 35.37.119–­20).34 While artists in Rome were using living women as models for their images of deities, poets exalted their beloved’s beauty in comparisons with a goddess or with a painting by the most famous artists, whereby the loved one was in possession of a “beauty which owes nothing to jewelry, pure as the hues in paintings by Apelles” (Prop.1.2.22–­4).35 Such conceits were not restricted to elite poetry; graffiti on Pompeian walls echo the sentiment. There, one lover wrote, “Any32.  For a good discussion of the deceased in mythical guise and specifically of Priscilla and Claudia Semne, see Zanker and Ewald 2012, 191–­94. The often-­quoted example from Petronius’ Satyricon is relevant: in his own house, Trimalchio appeared in various relations to gods: as Mercury’s beloved, holding a caduceus in his hand; brought to Rome by Minerva; and as a steward raised up by Mercury on a lofty tribune, with Fortuna bearing the cornucopia and the three Fates twisting golden threads (Petr. 29.4). 33.  The connection with Venus was not just a frivolous one. Roman women participated in her cult’s rituals of bathing and care of the body for state and family (D’Ambra 1996). Venus was the patron goddess of Pompeii from 80 BCE and was ubiquitous throughout the city. Zanker and Ewald (2012, 192–­95) discuss how “glorifying portraits” of women combined recognizable heads with body formulas (dress, gestures, attributes) that connote virtues (the Venus Pudica modesty). 34.  Translation from Rackham 1984, 349. See Seiler 1992, 114 n. 708, on Arellius. 35.  Translation from Goold 1990. Catullus (68b.69) implicitly likens his Lesbia to an epiphany of Venus.

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one who has not seen the Venus painted by Apelles should take a look at my girl: she is equally radiant” (CIL 4. 6842). Another scribbled, “You are. Venus. Venus” (CIL 4.1625).36 Local women could thus assume divine status in daily life, if just for a fleeting moment. These sentiments illuminate a famous painting in the House of the Marine Venus (II.3.3). Gazing at an entering visitor from a distant garden wall there is a larger-­than-­life nude Venus floating on a shell, decked out in a gold diadem, earrings, a spiky gold necklace with a large red jewel, a serpent bracelet on her left wrist, finger rings, and anklets (plate 6.9). The erotic effect of gems and metals on exposed skin is just one of the seductive aspects of this figure. The goddess is in movement: her red mantle billows like a sail, guiding her toward our left. From behind, an eros, half hidden by the shell, propels her forward; an eros in front of her, on a dolphin and carrying what appears to be a sail, leads the way. The goddess must have looked familiar to Pompeians, for her Neronian coiffure brought her into the first century, making her more accessible as an object of fantasy for viewers, male or female. The image also recalls a famous masquerade. About a century earlier, in 41 BCE, Cleopatra floated on a golden barge down the Cydnus river toward Antony’s (aka Dionysus’) camp, reclining “beneath a canopy of cloth of gold, dressed in the character of Venus, as we see her in paintings, while on either side to complete the picture stood boys costumed as Cupids, who cooled her with their fans” (Plut., Antonius 2.2.195).37 Note that Plutarch compares Cleopatra’s staged epiphany with a painting. As in the queen’s pageant, cupids in the garden mural busily refresh the goddess, while she poses seductively for the viewer. The growing fascination with protean selves in the first centuries BCE and CE may well have been a response to changing social concepts of selfhood and femininity. Ovid’s Ars amatoria, written about 2 CE, ostensibly offers women strategies to seduce men with their cultus. Appearance (facies), he makes clear, is based on the art of pretense (ars dissimulata), and mortal women might well emulate a goddess in their dress or hairstyle—­for instance, by wearing a braid in the mode of Diana (Ars am. 3.101–­6, 143–­44).38 A few decades earlier, Lucretius warned of the made-­up look of women as simulacra, as figments of lovers’ imaginations, and as images of Venus that ensnare and blind lovers. It is telling that Lucretius points to banquets as the ambi36.  Varone 2001, 30. On erotic inscriptions, see Milnor 2005, 191–­206. On the idealization of female nakedness by Latin poets, see Griffin 1986, 103–­8. 37.  Translation from Scott-­Kilvert 1965, 293. 38.  On Ovid’s recommendations, see Bradley 2009, 165–­68.

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ance in which such illusions materialize. Wine, music, singing, and dancing created an atmosphere for role playing and altered states, thereby blending the present world with the euphoric realm of Bacchus (Lucr. 4.1101–­2, 1153–­ 59, 1185–­91).39 Pompeian wall paintings depicting scenes of such parties show excessive drinking and uninhibited affection among men and women, and, although they are hardly mirrors of what actually went on in these spaces, the painter inserted contemporary furniture and tableware to help project the viewer into such fantasies.40 It is in this context that we should consider the couples depicted by high-­relief busts found in a surprising location in Pompeii, on the pier capitals flanking the majestic entrance to the House of the Figured Capitals (VII.4.57) (figs. 6.2–­6.3).41 The busts of four couples were carved in tuff, as early as 120 BCE, and once painted in brilliant colors. The two pairs facing the street present frolicking Bacchic revelers, while the two pairs facing inward, toward the entrance of the house, show reserved mortal couples. On the west pillar, a drunken Silenus holding a wine bag throws his right arm over his head, while a maenad with errant locks and an ivy wreath slings her arm around his back. The inner side of the same capital presents a stark contrast. Here, a dignified Roman couple reclines on their left elbows as if at a banquet and behaving with utmost decorum. In contrast to the maenad’s thin, revealing fabric, the Roman woman wears a heavy short-­sleeved dress and has a mantle over her head. The man, who wears a crown (the corona tortilis), looks at her and, in a tender gesture, lays his right hand on her shoulder. To the outside world, the veiled woman quietly raises her arm in greeting, with the sign for have (welcome), a word that appears in mosaic on the threshold of the nearby House of the Faun (VI.12.2/5). The east pillar again presents an unrestrained, otherworldly pair next to a tranquil married couple.42 But in this case, they are all together at a 39.  Famous was the Banquet of Twelve Gods held by Octavian, with the host as Apollo (Suet. Aug. 70; D’Arms 1999, 302–­3, 306). 40.  See supra, n. 31. On life imitating art and vice versa in Augustan Italy, see Griffin 1986. 41.  Staub Gierow and Grunwald 1994, 48–­49, 73; PPM 7:67–­69, s.v. “VII 4, 57 Casa dei Capitelli figurati” (M. Staub Gierow); Clarke 2003, 247–­52; Pagano and Prisciandaro 2006, 145. 42.  The reclining couple is omnipresent in funerary art as a sign of prosperity and enjoyment of a life of otium (leisure), but there, as here, Roman women are more restrained and almost never depicted drinking (Zanker and Ewald 2012, 185–­90). Von Mercklin (1962, 70–­78) lists similar tuff capitals in Pompeii carved in the same period, mainly with Bacchic figures, noting that living figures are more unusual but that those in the House of Colored

Fig. 6.2. Figural capital depicting a silenus and a maenad from the west pier of the House of Figured Capitals (VII.4.57), Pompeii. (Photograph by J. Felbermeyer, Neg. D-­DAI-­Rom 43.404.)

Fig. 6.3. Figural capital depicting a man and a woman from the west pier of the House of Figured Capitals (VII.4.57), Pompeii. (Photograph by J. Felbermeyer, Neg. D-­DAI-­ Rom 42.1125.)

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banquet. We thus have an interpretive choice: we can see the pillars as a contrast of opposites or as flip sides of self-­representation, whereby both the reveling members of the thiasos and the (presumed) owners welcome visitors into their home, retaining a level of civility while offering a preview of the wanton pleasures that await inside. It is not a coincidence that just such Bacchic pairs proliferate on painted walls, as in the House of Caecilius Jucundus (V.1.26), where a satyr grasps the breast of a dazed nude woman wearing a golden crown, a necklace, and drop earrings (plate 6.10). When these beings of the demiworld accompany real-­looking couples, one wonders if they might be hinting at a before and after and might be encouraging a reenactment in this space.43

Final Thoughts We will never know how Pompeians viewed the female busts painted on their walls. It seems that the goal in representing a woman of the late republic and early empire was not to fix a particular likeness in a moment in time but, rather, to evoke the potential mutability of her appearance. Looking at the female heads as a group, apart from their contexts, two clear types emerge: on the one hand, the sophisticated literate woman who, like “Sappho,” is visually anchored in the historical moment by social signs of her community; on the other, a female inhabiting a liminal zone between “here” and “there.” Together, they present a paradox, for the images that have been considered portraits are recurring types, and the ones apparently depicting mythical women show more individuality and contemporary elements than one would expect. Capitals (VII.4.51) show no real portrait features and are idealized fantasies about the afterlife, perhaps by initiates in mysteries. 43.  Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 110590 (wall painting from the House of Caecilius Jucundus); cf. the depiction of Silenus and a maenad from Herculaneum, Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 9281. The juxtaposition of Bacchic and present-­day pairs appears in other Pompeian houses, some with individualized features. Hercules and Omphale and an unidentified embracing couple appear in the House of Spurius Mesor (VI.3.29); see PPM 12:724, s.v. “La Volpe, Nicola” (V. Sampaolo). Silenus and a maenad and Bacchus and Ariadne appear in the House of Epidius Sabinus (IX.1.22); see PPM 12:736, s.v. “La Volpe, Nicola” (V. Sampaolo). Zanker and Ewald (2012, 146–­48) describe the “thiasos in the dining room” as a way of “expanding real space to encompass the realms of the imagination.” On funerary portraits of couples as a mythological pair, including Hercules and Omphale, see Zanker and Ewald 2012, 190–­92.

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There seem to be suggestive parallels in the idealized young women created a few decades earlier by Augustan poets. Descriptions of the puella divina and the puella docta—­the learned girl skilled in poetry, music, and dance—­ apparently inspired living women to follow suit.44 According to Propertius and Ovid, the puella docta wrote love letters in her own hand, recited her lover’s poetry, sang him songs, and gave dramatic performances. Some were even nicknamed after famed poetesses, like “Sappho” (Catull. 35.16–­17). Ovid advises educated women to read famous authors like Menander, Virgil, Propertius, and himself and to know the stories that they tell (Ars am. 3.327–­47). It is very possible, then, that performances by women in public theaters and at private banquets included narrations of the very myths that are framed by literate males and females on painted walls. Might such “speaking likenesses” have prompted viewers in these rooms to narrate the stories themselves? Especially attractive in poetic descriptions of puellae doctae is their agency. Similarly, the painted women holding the stylus to their lips seem to show a mind at work. Ovid conveys a fascination with the creative thought process when he describes Biblis meditating on her letter to Caunus, a description that could serve as a caption for images like “Sappho”: “She puts her words together after long thinking, and her hand is trembling. Her right hand takes the pen, her left the tablet. She starts, and stops, and writes, and makes corrections, rubs out, and changes, frowns in disapproval, nods in approval, puts the tablets down and picks them up again, and does not know just what she wants, and nothing seems to please her whatever it is she is on the point of doing” (Met. 9.520).45 In real life, such expressive women enjoyed an ambiguous status. As a 44.  See Hemelrijk 2004, 79–­81, on the puella docta; Lieberg 1962; Lilja 1965, 133–­43; Griffin 1986, 27–­29; Miller 2013. Meyer’s 2009 article, which appeared since I first began working on this topic, gives a valuable analysis of the writing implements in still lifes and as props in “portraits.” Meyer argues that despite their “deceptive specificity,” the females cannot be “realistic” or indicate female literacy in Pompeii, because the similarities among them point to models and because the representation of tablets without hinges is generic and unrealistic. Following Schefold (1962, 136–­38), Meyer identifies the women as muses, noting that Clio and Calliope carry a tablet or a scroll in wall paintings. The muses, however, do not dress like “Sappho,” and this identification does not explain the males holding diptychs or scrolls. A second, more plausible suggestion is that living women are portrayed as muses in a “role playing tradition”; on sarcophagi, wives appear as muses to convey the ideal of learning (Zanker and Ewald 2012, 234–­37). 45.  Translation from Humphries 1983, 225. See Hemelrijk 2004, 81–­84. For accomplishments in music, poetry, and dance, see Ov., Ars am. 3.311–­52; for erotic attraction of women making music or dancing, 2.4.25–­32.

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rule, only aristocratic families could afford lessons for their wives, daughters, and slaves, but women of lesser means apparently began modeling themselves on their richer counterparts (who, in turn, were emulating models created by poets). “There are a few, very few, bright girls with a real education, some (perhaps) here and there, willing to give it a try. So, go ahead, praise both: the worth of the song matters little just so you can make it sound lovely while reading aloud” (Ov., Ars am. 2.281–­83).46 The puella docta walked a fine line: at a whim, she could be regarded more like an educated courtesan than a respectable upper class woman. On Pompeian walls, however, there is no hint of ambiguity. The educated puella docta and the erotic puella divina are optimistic images that create an atmosphere of joyful engagement. Performative in nature, they belong to the sensual sphere of Venus and Bacchus, as much as do the maenads, goddesses, and mythological heroines populating the same rooms. This essay has considered female heads as part of a lost tradition of portrait painting that shares conventions with images in wax or tempera on wood and linen. The resemblance between the first-­century CE faces in Pompeian murals and mummy portraits in Roman Egypt is indisputable, and the sophisticated puellae conceived by poets for an elite Roman audience resonate with the stylish women on domestic walls. Such likenesses do not, however, equate with meaning. We find a typology of female busts that represented a variety of characters and communicated a wide array of messages.47 Their true expressive value lay in their physical context and its imagery, in the kinds of events that took place there, and in the position and expectations of the spectator. The appeal of female faces on walls, unlike the lasting memory secured by mummy portraits, resides in their very indeterminacy. Like the poetry of the time, these images celebrate the fluid nature of women. Reflecting real life, the signs of identity in these 46.  Translation from Humphries 1957, 138. Hemelrijk (2004, 73–­75) sees “Sappho” and the “baker’s wife” as subelite women emulating young aristocrats like Julia or Poppaea. See Hemelrijk 2004 on the luxuria of educated women and on women aping poetesses (nn. 93, 129, 131), as well as on prejudice against educated women (84–­88). 47.  Concluding an excellent treatment of the problem of ancient female portraits, Dillon (2010, 166) argues that the “homogeneity of female portraiture is a result of the assimilation of women to the highly conventional and uniform visual language of female beauty.” Similarly, Zanker and Ewald (2013, 192–­95) note that representations of imperial women were less confined by tradition and more idealized than those of men, so that that empresses’ heads were placed on deities’ bodies long before their male counterparts were. In many ways, the idealized female faces in Pompeii resemble the paintings of “beauties” in the Renaissance (Cropper 1986; Simons 1995).

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images slip between categories yet remain visibly linked with the contemporary material world.

Works Cited Allroggen-­Bedel, A. 1974. “Herkunft und ursprünglicher Dekorationszusammenhang einiger in Essen ausgestellter Fragmente von Wandmalereien.” In Neue Forschungen in Pompeji und den anderen vom Vesuvausbruch 79 n.Chr. verschütteten Städten, edited by B. Andreae and H. Kyrieleis, 118–­99. Recklinghausen: Bongers. Anderson, M. 1987. “The Portrait Medallions of the Imperial Villa at Boscotrecase.” AJA 91:127–­35. Bergmann, B. 1995. “Greek Masterpieces and Roman Recreative Visions.” In Greece in Rome: Influence, Integration, Resistance, edited by C. P. Jones, C. Segal, R. J. Tarrant, and R. F. Thomas, 79–­120. Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 97. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Bettini, M. 1999. The Portrait of the Lover. Berkeley: University of California Press. Biagotti, L. 1990. Bellezza e seduzione nella Roma imperiale: Roma, Palazzo dei Conservatori, 11 giugno–­31 luglio 1990. Rome: De Luca edizioni d’arte. Bradley, M. 2009. Colour and Meaning in Ancient Rome. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Clarke, J. 2003. Art in the Lives of Ordinary Romans: Visual Representation and Non-­elite Viewers in Italy, 100 B.C.–­A.D. 315. Berkeley: University of California Press. Cropper, E. 1986. “The Beauty of Woman: Problems in the Rhetoric of Renaissance Portraiture.” In Rewriting the Renaissance: The Discourses of Sexual Difference in Early Modern Europe, edited by M. Ferguson, M. Quilligan, and N. Vickers, 175–­ 90. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Curtius, L. 1929. Die Wandmalerei Pompejis: Eine Einführung in ihr Verständnis. Leipzig: E. A. Seemann. D’Ambra, E. 1996. “The Calculus of Venus: Nude Portraits of Roman Matrons.” In Sexuality in Ancient Art, edited by N. B. Kampen, 219–­32. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. D’Ambra, E. 2007. Roman Women. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. D’Arms, J. 1999. “Performing Culture: Roman Spectacle and the Banquets of the Powerful.” In The Art of Ancient Spectacle, edited by B. Bergmann and C. Kondoleon, 301–­19. New Haven: Yale University Press. Davis, J. 2006. “Powers, Patrons, Houses, and Viewers in Pompeii: Reconsidering the House of the Gilded Cupids.” PhD diss., University of Michigan. de Kind, R. E. L. B. 1991. “Two Tondo-­Heads in the Casa dell’Atrio a Mosaico (IV 1–­2) at Herculaneum: Some Remarks on Portraits in Campanian Wall-­Paintings.” Jahrbuch für Vor-­und Frügeschichte 24:165–­69. Della Corte, M. 1926. “Publius Paquius Proculus.” JRS 16:145–­54. Della Corte, M. 1965. Case ed abitanti di Pompei. 3rd ed. Naples: Faustino Fiorentino. De Maria, S. 1997. “Pittura celebrativa in case private romane d’eta imperiale.” In I temi figurativi nella pittura parietale antica (IV sec. a.C.–­IV sec.d.C.): Atti del

164  •  ro m a n a rtis ts , pat ron s, a n d p ublic consumption VI Convegno internazionale sulla pittura parietale antica (Bologna, 20–­23 settembre 1995), edited by D. S. Corlàita, 47–­52. Imola: University of Bologna Press. Dillon, S. 2010. The Female Portrait Statue in the Greek World. New York: Cambridge University Press. Dunbabin, K. M. D. 2003. The Roman Banquet: Images of Conviviality. New York: Cambridge University Press. Fejfer, J. 2008. Roman Portraits in Context. Berlin: De Gruyter. Fitzgerald Marriott, H. P. 1895. Facts about Pompei: Its Masons’ Marks, Town Walls, Houses, and Portraits. London: Hazell, Watson, and Viney. Francis, K. J. 1983. “The Pompeian Bust Medallion.” Master’s thesis, University of Sydney. Gazda, E. K., and A. E. Haeckl. 1997. Review of Le Portrait dans la peinture antique, by M. Nowicka. BJb 197:505–­10. Goldman, B. 1999. “The Kerch Easel Painter.” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 62:28–­44. Goold, G. P., trans. 1990. Propertius, Elegies. Vol. 18. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Gow, A. S. F., and D. L. Page, eds. 1965. The Greek Anthology: Hellenistic Epigrams. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gow, A. S. F., and D. L. Page, eds. 1968. The Greek Anthology: The Garland of Philip and Some Contemporary Epigrams. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Griffin, J. 1986. Latin Poets and Roman Life. Reprint, Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Original ed., London: Duckworth, 1985. Gschwantler, K. 2000. “Graeco-­Roman Portraiture.” In Ancient Faces: Mummy Portraits from Roman Egypt, edited by S. Walker, 14–­22. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Hemelrijk, E. A. 2004. Matrona Docta: Educated Women in the Roman Elite from Cornelia to Julia Domna. Reprint, London: Routledge. Original ed., 1999. Humphries, R., trans. 1957. Ovid, “The Art of Love.” Bloomington: University of Indiana Press. Humphries, R., trans. 1983. Ovid, “Metamorphoses.” Reprint, Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Original ed., 1955. Levi, D. 1944. “The Novel of Ninus and Semiramus.” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 87:420–­28. Lieberg, G. 1962. Puella Divina: Die Gestalt der göttlichen Geliebten bei Catull im Zusammenhang der antiken Dichtung. Amsterdam: P. Schippers. Lilja, S. 1965. The Roman Elegists’ Attitude to Women. Annales Academiae Scientiarum Fennicae, ser. B, 135.1. Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia. Long, C. R. 1992. “The Pompeii Calendar Medallions.” AJA 96:477–­501. Meyer, E. 2009. “Writing Paraphernalia, Tablets, and Muses in Campanian Wall Painting.” AJA 113:569–­97. Miller, P. A. 2013. “The Puella: Accept No Substitutions!” In The Cambridge Companion to Latin Love Elegy, edited by T. S. Thorsen, 166–­79. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Milnor, K. 2005. Gender, Domesticity, and the Age of Augustus: Inventing Private Life. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Nowicka, M. 1993. Le portrait dans la peinture antique. Warsaw: Acadèmie Polonaise des Sciences.

At Face Value  • 165 Pagano, M., and R. Prisciandaro. 2006. Studio sulle provenienze degli oggetti rinvenuti negli scavi borbonici del regno di Napoli. Naples: Nicola Longobardi. Page, D. L., ed. 1981. Further Greek Epigrams: Epigrams before A.D. 50 from the Greek Anthology and Other Sources, Not Included in Hellenistic Epigrams or the Garland of Philip. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rackham, H., trans. 1984. Pliny, “Natural History,” Books XXXIII–­XXXV. Vol. 9. Reprint, Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Original ed., London: William Heinemann, 1952. Sampaolo, V. 1992. “Immagini di donne.” In Bellezza e lusso: Immagini e documenti di piaceri della vita (Roma, Castel Sant’Angelo, 31 marzo–­14 Aprile 1992), edited by R. Cappelli, 101–­6. Rome: Leonardo–­De Luca. Sampaolo, V., and A. Hoffmann. 2014. Pompeji: Götter, Mythen, Menschen. Munich: Hirmer. Schefold, K. 1962. Vergessenes Pompeji: Unveröffentlichte Bilder römischer Wanddekorationen in geschichtlicher Folge. Bern: Francke. Scott-­Kilvert, I., trans. 1965. Makers of Rome: Nine Lives by Plutarch. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Seiler, F. 1992. Häuser in Pompeji. Vol. 5, Casa degli Amorini dorati (VI 16, 7.38). Munich: Hirmer. Simons, P. 1995. “Portraiture, Portrayal, and Idealization.” In Language and Images of Renaissance Italy, edited by A. Brown, 263–­311. Oxford: Clarendon; New York: Oxford University Press. Sogliano, A. 1898. “XI. Pompei: Relazione degli scavi fatti nel mese di aprile 1898.” NSc, April, 171–­74. Staub Gierow, M., and O. G. Grunwald. 1994. Häuser in Pompeji. Vol. 7, Casa del Granduca (VII, 4, 56) und Casa dei capitelli figurati (VII, 4, 57). Munich: Hirmer. Thompson, D. 1979. “Painted Portraiture at Pompeii.” In Pompeii and the Vesuvian Landscape: Papers of a Symposium Sponsored by the AIA Washington Society and the Smithsonian Institution, 78–­92. Washington, DC: Archaeological Institute of America. Trimble, J. 2011. Women and Visual Replication in Roman Imperial Art and Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Varone, A. 2001. Eroticism in Pompeii. Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum. von Mercklin, E. 1962. Antike Figuralkapitelle. Berlin: De Gruyter. Walker, S., ed. 2000. Ancient Faces: Mummy Portraits from Roman Egypt. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Walker, S., and M. Bierbrier, eds. 1997. Ancient Faces: Mummy Portraits from Roman Egypt. London: British Museum Press. Welch, K. 2001. Review of Ritratti Romani da Pompei, by R. Bonifacio. Gnomon 73:537–­48. Wrede, H. 1981. Consecratio in formam deorum: Vergöttlichte Privatpersonen in der römischen Kaiserzeit. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Zanker, P., and B. C. Ewald. 2012. Living with Myths: The Imagery of Roman Sarcophagi. Translated by J. Slater. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

seven

Marriage Divine? Narratives of the Courtship of Mars and Venus in Roman Painting and Poetry Molly Swetnam-­Burland

The House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto (V.4.a), so named after a candidate endorsed in several dipinti on its facade, is a lavishly decorated residence in Pompeii. It looms large in the study of Roman painting, for the murals of the atrium and tablinum (room 7), are considered high-­quality examples of the late Third Style, dating to the early first century CE. In this essay, I focus on the panel painting from the north wall of room 7, which depicts Mars and Venus to the right of a vast and richly appointed bed and surrounded by several supporting figures (plate 7.1). The painting is notable partly because it is the best-­preserved (and best-­known) iteration of a type also attested in two other houses in Pompeii: House I.7.19 and the House of the Punished Love (VII.2.23). Katharina Lorenz has noted that all three variations decorated the walls of so-­called tablina. In the house of Marcus Lucretius Fronto, in her view, the combination of the Mars and Venus type and the painting on the facing wall, depicting Bacchus and Ariadne in triumphal procession (fig. 7.1), emphasized ideal Roman gender roles.1 I am pleased to offer this essay in honor of Elaine Gazda, a wonderful teacher, keen editor, insightful writer, and model of professionalism. I could not have asked for a better mentor, and strive to emulate her example in my writing and as advisor to my own students. I also offer many thanks to Brenda Longfellow and Ellen Perry, whose comments and suggestions improved this piece in many ways. 1.  Lorenz 2008, 429. See further discussion below. For a brief description of the pendant

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Fig. 7.1. Wall painting of Ariadne, Bacchus, and his retinue, House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto (V.4.a), Pompeii. (Photograph by M. Swetnam-­Burland, reproduced with the permission of the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­ Soprintendenza Pompeii. Reproduction or duplication is expressly forbidden.)

I take this interpretation as a point of departure for investigating Roman narratives, both visual and textual, regarding the marriage of Mars and Venus. That this painting type is known in several versions attests at once to the popularity of the tale with ancient audiences and to their ready ability to identify the episode depicted. Portrait sculptures, too, show that many Romans considered Mars and Venus to be a model husband-­and-­wife pair.2 Yet literary sources roughly contemporary to those Pompeian paintings that recount the story reveal deep ambiguities about the origin and nature of the relationship between Mars and Venus. According to these accounts, their painting, see LIMC III.1:556, no. 208, s.v. “Dionysus/Bacchus” (C. Gasparri). This painting was not a multiple and is unique in the corpus of Pompeian myth paintings, which favored a type in which Dionysus discovered Ariadne, prone and abandoned, on the island of Naxos. 2.  For discussions of the portrait sculptures, see, e.g., D’Ambra 1996; Kleiner 1981; Kousser 2007.

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union began as adultery, casting shame on all parties involved: Vulcan, the cuckolded husband; Venus, the unfaithful wife; Mars, the paramour “caught in the act” and derided in public. These accounts raise questions about the panel painting from the House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto: Did the scene take place in the house of Vulcan, where Mars and Venus consummated their then-­adulterous relationship and were caught in a trap set around the bed? Or did the bed depict the marriage bed, the lectus genialis, thus symbolizing the consummation of their relationship as legitimate? I argue that this very ambiguity helps explain the popularity of the paintings and the enduring power of Mars and Venus as idealized spouses: their story acknowledged the fragility of Roman marriage, often subject to dissolution by death or divorce, while justifying adulterous unions as legitimate and fruitful.

A Model Marriage? Multiples of Mars and Venus The panel depicting Mars and Venus from the House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto was located on the north wall of room 7 and served as the primary focal point of a complex mural scheme, set against a deep-­red ground color.3 The painting offers the viewer a glimpse into a richly appointed interior space, with columns and an open doorway visible in the background. The scene is dominated by a massive bed covered with cushions and lustrous purple textiles, which separates the figures in the foreground from those in the background. Mars and Venus appear at its foot: Venus perches on a high-­ backed chair also draped with textiles, her feet on a footrest. Both her posture and the chair, possibly a cathedra, recall depictions of Roman matrons.4 Mars stands behind Venus, resting one hand on the back of the chair and leaning forward to place his other hand on her breast. Venus reaches with her left hand to grab his arm and arrest his movement. Several other figures witness this interaction, with varying reactions. Amor appears at the center of the scene. Though he stands in a pronounced contrapposto, he is ready for action. His wings are held back behind his shoulders, and he holds a bow in both hands—­as if transferring it from right to left to enable him to take an arrow from the quiver slung across his shoulders. Behind the bed, a figure with two small wings at his brow also watches the couple; he holds his left 3.  For detailed descriptions of the mural scheme of room 7, see Peters 1991 and Peters and Moorman 1993, 182–­200; for excavations of the house, Wynia 1982. 4.  See, e.g., the seated matron from the Villa of the Mysteries. For the cathedra as a “woman’s chair,” see Hemelrijk 1999, 253 n. 174.

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hand to his face, resting his index finger on his lips in a gesture that may indicate surprise or concern.5 He is flanked by two women who appear to be attendants, one depicted in frontal view and one in profile. At the foot of the bed, two more attendants sit on a high box, adopting postures of repose. Though most of the figures in the scene gaze at or react to those around them, Venus and these women in the foreground turn to gaze beyond the frame, as if addressing the viewer head-­on. There is little scholarly agreement about the narrative moment depicted in the painting. Most literary sources that tell the story of the relationship of Mars and Venus focus on its inception: as will be discussed below, Mars seduced Venus while she was still married to Vulcan; Sol discovered their treachery and reported it to Vulcan; Vulcan laid an elaborate trap around the bed to catch them together. On one view of the painting, the setting is the house of Vulcan, and the bed serves as proof of the adultery. On another, the setting is the marriage chamber of Mars and Venus, and the bed alludes to the legitimate consummation of their marital union. There is also disagreement over the identification of the supporting figures, particularly the male figure behind the bed, variously identified as Mercury; Sol; Hymnaeus, the god of weddings; or Hypnos, the god of sleep—­because of the wings evident on his brow. The female figures have been sometimes seen as attendants to Venus, possibly Peitho and the Graces.6 Apparently, ancient viewers did not share modern scholars’ difficulty in identifying the scene, for it appears to have been a popular choice for domestic decoration in Pompeii. Two additional iterations of the type are known from Pompeian houses. One, from a small house connected to the grand House of the Ephebe (House I.7.19), is a near-­identical version of the paint5.  Quintilian (Inst. 11.103) talks about “movement of fingers to the mouth” as a natural gesture of surprise, but it is difficult to know if the gesture he describes is similar to the gesture in the Mars and Venus panel. 6.  For a summary and a full bibliography of the many interpretations of the scene, see Peters and Moorman 1993, 213–­16; Clarke 1991, 156–­57. For the view that the two are the mature work of the “Lucrezio Frontone Painter,” see Richardson 2000, 71–­76. For the scene as relating to the house of Vulcan and depicting the adultery of Mars and Venus, see Curtius 1960, 250, followed by Schefold 1957, 36. Maiuri, discussing the iteration from House I.7.19 (Della Corte 1929, 362–­64; Maiuri 1953, 77–­78), saw the scene as depicting the legitimate marriage between Mars and Venus and interpreted the other male figure as Hypnos; he also suggested that the seated handmaidens held an unlit taedos, or wedding torch. Strocka (1997) has also argued for the scene as conjugal, with the figures representing Hypnos, Peitho, and the Graces.

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ing, likely dating to the decade after 62 CE.7 Amor stands at the center of the scene, in front of the vast bed, training his gaze on Mars and Venus, who are to the far left. Seated figures to the right balance the composition (fig. 7.2). Another version of the scene, from the House of the Punished Love (VII.2.23) and likely dating to the early first century CE, depicts only the figures of Mars, Venus, and Amor, set within a hazy landscape (plate 7.2).8 Mars and Venus appear at the center of the scene, with Amor to the right and behind. A female attendant to the left bends to rummage in a small box. Despite the difference in composition, however, the figures of Mars, Venus, and Amor adopt the same poses in this scene as in the painting in the House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto. Though a dominant strain of past scholarship might have employed this series of related paintings to investigate the evolution of the type and its relationship with a lost original (in this case, hypothesized by W. J. Th. Peters as a Greek painting of the fourth century BCE),9 more recent work stresses the interpretation of each iteration of the painted scene as suited to and meaningful within its own physical and decorative context.10 Depending on the architectural and social setting and the sources of knowledge brought to bear on the scene by the audience—­whether literature, representations of the deities in the theater; or within the local, political, and religious landscape11—­ each version of the scene might elicit different associations. Two recent discussions of the Mars and Venus series have explored such context-­based readings. John Clarke pointed out that the patrons responsible for the paintings in the Third-­Style phase of the House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto had a strong predilection for narratives involving the relationships of Venus and Mars and, thus, were perhaps interested in the myth as told over several   7.  For a detailed description and date, see PPM 1:750, 766, s.v. “I 7,19: Casa annessa alla Casa dell’Efebo o di P. Cornelius Tages” (A. de Vos).  8.  For a detailed description and date, see PPM 6:665, 674, s.v. “VII 2, 23: Casa dell’Amore Punito” (V. Sampaolo).   9.  Peters and Moorman 1993, 216. The hypothesis is based on the style of the fulcrum and feet of the bed. 10.  For approaches to “copies” or multiples in painting, see especially Bergmann 1995. This line of scholarship owes much to the pathbreaking work of Elaine Gazda on issues of emulation (e.g., Gazda 1995, 2002). For specific case studies, see, e.g., Trimble 2002; Swetnam-­Burland 2015. 11.  E.g., for Mars and Venus in pantomime, see Kousser 2007, 687–­89; for perceptions of Venus in the popular culture of Pompeii, Varone 2002, 23–­31; for the local sanctuary of Venus, Carroll 2010.

Fig. 7.2. Wall painting of the courtship of Mars and Venus, House I.7.19, Pompeii. (From Della Corte 1929, pl. II.)

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linked episodes.12 Katharina Lorenz has argued, based on the association of tablina with the more public parts of a home, that the paintings reflect ideal Roman gender roles as embodied by Mars and Venus: virtus, auctoritas, and dignitas for men; castitas for women.13 The very fact that these paintings were multiples provides perspective on their appeal with Pompeian audiences. It has long been theorized that models for popular painted types were circulated in some form (perhaps in pattern books or outlines) that painters drew on when executing their work on-­site.14 Yet recent work focuses more on the variation in scenes than on their relationship with authoritative models. Multiples of mythological paintings often maintain the general configuration and posture of figures but also offered the patron who commissioned a work and the painter who executed it significant scope for altering details. There is often variation in the realization of the background, for example, and in the rendering of the dress and faces of the figures. In some instances, the general composition of a scene within a series is consistent, but figures appear in mirror image or are moved to different positions within the frame of the scene. Though subtle, the many differences evident in multiple series had the potential to create a unique emphasis within any individual iteration of a painted scene.15 The Pompeian multiples of the paintings of Mars and Venus reveal several such variations and, thus, suggest which features, beyond the representation of the protagonists, were of particular importance to patrons. Despite their general similarity, there are significant differences in the two “near-­exact” iterations of the scene, from House I.7.19 (fig. 7.2) and the House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto. In the former, the figures stand or rest their feet directly on the ground rather than on supports, and the space 12.  Clarke 1991, 156–­57. 13.  Lorenz 2008, 264–­69, 428–­29. Wallace-­Hadrill (1996, 109) offers a similar view of the meaning of the mythological scene, emphasizing the public nature of these tablina. A recent trend argues against using literary sources alone to understand the functions of rooms in Roman houses. A so-­called tablinum, understood as a room opening off an atrium and offering either visual or physical access to a garden or peristyle beyond, need not be understood as a room used by the paterfamilias for a ritual function or for storing records, as the name might suggest. Finds from these spaces indicate that they were multipurpose. Nevertheless, such spaces are associated with the more “public” and accessible parts of Pompeian homes. For literary sources on tablina, see, e.g., Vitr., De arch. 6.3.5; Pliny, HN 35.2.7. For discussion of the relationship between literary descriptions of tablina and Pompeian rooms, see Allison 2004a, 168. 14.  For sources, see Ling 1991, 229 n. A. 15.  Bragantini 2004; Bergmann 1995, 1996; Clarke 2008, 2010; Pearson 2015.

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between them is compressed relative to the composition in the other house. The result is that the eye is drawn more immediately to the primary figures of Mars and Venus, who appear closer to the center of the scene. In House I.7.19, Venus still adopts the demure gesture of draping herself with her palla, but in this iteration, the garment is diaphanous, calling attention to her body beneath. There are modifications to the supporting figures as well. The woman seated to the far right of the frame, for example, appears little changed in posture and gesture relative to the equivalent figure from the version of the scene in the House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto: she rests her left hand on her knee and turns her head to gaze toward the viewer. Yet, in the iteration in House I.7.19, she has been shifted to the far right (where her gaze, addressing the viewer, serves as complement to that of Venus at the far left). Her companion in this version is not another female attendant but, instead, a small child, seated at her feet and looking directly at Amor, who is in the center of the scene. Behind the bed, the posture of the two female attendants remains the same, yet they are more involved in the action surrounding the bed: each holds a corner of a coverlet, which they lift off the bed. The position of the male figure is a mirror image of his position in the painting from the House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto. With his head turned toward the viewer’s right, he appears to watch the women as they prepare the bed. In contrast to the paintings in the House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto and House I.7.19, the myth painting from the House of the Punished Love (plate 7.2) does away with nearly all of the supporting figures. To the right and slightly above the couple, Amor lunges to the right, as if about to draw his bow; to the left, a female attendant rummages in a box of belongings. What do these three versions of the same scene suggest about its wider reception? Taken as a series, these paintings suggest that the central elements of the scene were in circulation in some form over an extended period of time, from the beginning of the first century CE to 79 CE, for all three paintings were still on view at the time of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius and were, in that sense, contemporaries. As noted above, however, they were not painted at the same time. The painting from the House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto and that from the House of the Punished Love appear to be more or less contemporary, dating to the early first century CE. Both the commonalities and the differences between these versions can therefore be understood to reveal much about the audience’s expectations regarding the broader story. The two versions allowed the narration to be tailored according to individual tastes, and we must understand the selection of a specific scene as reflecting a deliberate choice made by the patron of the home. That

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Amor was present in the condensed version of the narrative from the House of the Punished Cupid suggests that his role is central to the events taking place. That the attendants in the version of the scene from House I.7.19 are in the process of lifting the covers underscores the bed as the locus of impending sexual action; the inclusion of the child in the lower right corner of the same scene may foreshadow the fruitfulness of whatever union the bed witnesses, whether conjugal embrace or adulterous passion. The Roman association of Mars and Venus with the ideal roles of husband and wife helps explain the appeal of this multiple series, but focusing on these two figures as allegorical, to the exclusion of the setting and supporting figures, risks minimizing the importance of the visual narrative as a whole. Indeed, that there was a second multiple series depicting Mars and Venus in an intimate moment underscores this point all the more. Eight known versions of the second scene, from Pompeii and Herculaneum, attest to its wide popularity. These panel paintings, exemplified by the version from the House of Mars and Venus in Pompeii (VII.9.47), show both Mars and Venus as seated (plate 7.3).16 Mars rests his left hand on Venus’ shoulder and reaches behind her with his right, lifting a garment to reveal her naked body beneath. Two amores join them, watching the proceedings and playing with Mars’ discarded helmet and scabbard. In other versions, the divine pair are joined by still more amores, holding Mars’ shield and Venus’ toilette or jewelry box. Several iterations of the scene decorated so-­called tablina, including that from the House of Mars and Venus, suggesting that the scene held a similar appeal to those from the House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto, House I.7.9, and the House of the Punished Love.17 Yet the action in this second series is more overtly amorous: whereas the Venus in the first series sits primly and lifts her hand to arrest Mars just before he is able to open her clothing, the Venus from the House of Mars and Venus relaxes into his embrace and makes no move to stop him. The strong contrast between the two types suggests that they appealed differently to Pompeian audiences despite their similarity of subject: the narrative, setting, and subsidiary characters were important. To understand this story as its audience would have, we must look beyond the paintings themselves, turning to those versions of the story in widest currency in the first century CE, which derive mainly from poetry. Though reading mythological paintings one-­to-­one with individual liter16.  For the series, see LIMC II.1:547, nos. 376–­376f, s.v. “Ares/Mars” (E. Simon and G. Bauchhenss). See also Strocka 1997. 17.  For iterations from tablina, see LIMC II.1:547, nos. 376, 376b, 377, s.v. “Ares/Mars” (E. Simon and G. Bauchhenss).

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Fig. 7.3. Wall painting of Pero and Micon, House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto (V.4.a), Pompeii. (Photograph by M. Swetnam-­Burland, reproduced with the permission of the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­Soprintendenza Pompeii. Reproduction or duplication is expressly forbidden.)

ary sources risks privileging textual narration over visual,18 a recent trend argues for a more fluid and mutually informing relationship between the literary and visual arts.19 In fact, one of the most compelling examples of the rich dialogue between poetry and visual imagery comes from the House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto. A painting of Pero and Micon from room 6, adjacent to the tablinum, included a professionally painted legend in verse, telling the story in a way that brought the motivations of its actors to the fore. The poem is not otherwise known from the literary tradition, though it employs language that recalls the version of the story told by the early imperial author Valerius Maximus.20 This case reveals both the power of text and a patron’s ability to tailor stock imagery, for the painting of Pero and Micon was itself a multiple (figs. 7.3–­7.4). It also reminds us of the many ways that stories circulated outside of the literary circles—­whether through 18.  E.g., Small 2004. 19.  Elsner 1996; Squire 2009. 20.  On this case, see Elsner 2007, 155–­56; Milnor 2005, 100–­102.

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Fig. 7.4. Pero and Micon (multiple of a scene from the House of M. Lucretius Fronto, lacking the painted text), House of the Abandoned Ariadne (IX.2.5), Pompeii. (Art Resource 174093.)

popular verse, education, drama, or the oral tradition. Yet, though literature was not the only source material available to ancient audiences faced with painted narratives, there can be no doubt that it was a powerful tool at times.21 Lacking purchase on the oral tradition, modern scholars would know little of myths without drawing on knowledge that ultimately derives 21.  See, e.g., Swetnam-­Burland 2015, for an instance of several graffiti associated with a mythological painting, some of which drew on literary material and some of which did not.

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from literature in one form or another. It is necessary, then, to approach the literary versions of the tale sensitively, not seeking a “key” to the painted narration (or, indeed, presuming a direct relationship between the verbal and the visual), but considering any given author’s treatment as reflecting a broader cultural context, testifying to the knowledge and associations of Pompeian audiences.

Greek Myth, Roman Narratives: The Courtship of Mars and Venus in Latin Poetry There is a rich and diverse literary tradition regarding the relationship between Ares/Mars and Aphrodite/Venus. The earliest extant version of the myth (and also the longest) appears in the Odyssey, as a story within the story, sung by the singer Demodocus. In this version, Ares seduced Aphrodite, who was married to Hephaestus at the time; their infidelity was witnessed by Helios. Upon being told of the betrayal, Hephaestus laid an ingenious snare of chains around the bed, in order to catch them in the act. When the trap was sprung and the adulterers were discovered, Hephaestus summoned an audience of all the male gods to his home, to serve as an impromptu jury to hear his complaints—­particularly that he was due the return of gifts he had given Zeus during the betrothal, as well as additional penalties from Ares as an adulterer. The gods, thus assembled, laughed at the pair, and Hermes made a joke at their expense. Hephaestus released them from the trap only when Poseidon offered to stand surety for Ares’ debt.22 Roman audiences were aware of the story in similar form: it appears in the Fabulae of Hyginus (a literary work dating from the first or second century CE), in a summary that focuses on the device of the trap and the reactions of the gods to the capture of Mars and Venus in flagrante.23 The 22.  Hom., Od. 8.260–­365. 23.  Hyg., Fab. 148. Because this text is difficult to find in translation, it is worth including here in full: Vulcanus cum resciit Venerem cum Marte clam concumbere et se virtuti eius obsistere non posse, catenam ex adamante fecit et circum lectum posuit, ut Martem astutia deciperet. Ille cum ad constitutum venisset, concidit cum Venere in plagas adeo, ut se exsolvere non posset. Id Sol cum Vulcano nuntiasset, ille eos nudos cubantes vidit; deos omnis convocavit; qui ut viderunt, riserunt. Ex eo Martem, id ne faceret, pudor terruit. Ex eo conceptu nata est Harmonia, cui Minerva et Vulcanus vestem sceleribus tinctam muneri dederunt, ob quam rem progenies eorum scelerata exstitit. Soli autem Venus ob indicium ad progeniem eius semper fuit inimica (When Vulcan came to learn that Venus was lying together in secret with Mars and that he was unable to oppose his virtus, he made a chain out of hardest metal and placed it around the bed so that he might catch Mars with cleverness. That one, when he had ar-

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presumed didactic nature of this text—­intended to be useful to students of art and literature and serving as a translation of Greek myths into Roman cultural terms24—­means that this version of the story was likely in wide currency. The story also appears, used to varying purposes, in Virgil, Ovid, and Statius. All their versions are useful for investigating the knowledge base of Pompeian audiences, as will be discussed below.25 The Augustan poets were widely read in the city and were quoted, for decades after the Augustan period in which their works were produced, in informal inscriptions on the walls of streets and houses;26 Statius was a native of Naples and spent much of his career writing and performing in the region. A closer look at these literary works reveals not only the narrative as Roman audiences understood it but also those audiences’ reception and understanding of the meaning(s) of the tale. All the works reveal the way in which the story related to contemporary mores and attitudes regarding marriage. Ovid’s versions of the story—­which he recounted twice, once in the Ars amatoria and once in the Metamorphoses—­are the longest narratives concerning the myth in Latin literature. In the Metamorphoses (4.171–­89), the narrative is embedded, as a story told by the nymph Leucippe to her sisters. It is thought that Sol was the first god to have seen the adultery [adulterium] of Mars and Venus: this god sees everything first. He was troubled by the deed and informed the husband [maritus] born of Juno [i.e., Vulcan] about the tricks of the pillow [torus] and about the place of the tricks. And both his mind and the smith’s work, which he was holding in his right hand, were lost. Right away he produced slim chains of bronze, nets and snares, of a kind able to trick the eyes. The very thinnest threads, which the spider hangs from the highest rived at the appointment, fell into the net with Venus to such an extent that he could not free himself. When Sol had announced this to Vulcan, he saw them lying together, naked; he called all the gods together; and then, as they saw [them], laughed. From this event, pudor terrified Mars, that he would do it. Harmonia was born from this conception, to whom Minerva and Vulcan gave the clothing colored with crimes for a gift, on account of which thing their progeny stand out as wicked. Venus, however, was always hostile to Sol [and] toward his progeny on account of the proof [indicium]). All translations are my own unless otherwise noted. 24.  See Fletcher 2013, 134–­35 and the sources cited in his n. 5. 25.  As narrative, the story is recounted in Ov., Met. 4.171–­89; Ars am. 2.581–­600; Virg., G. 4.345–­46; Stat., Silv. 1.2.51–­60. It appears, too, in Lucretius’ Prologue (1.29–­40), an extended description of Mars and Venus in embrace. 26.  Milnor 2009, 2014; Cooley and Cooley 2004, app. 2.

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beam, could not best this craftsmanship. He made it so that it would catch light touches and the least movements, and he laid it all around the bed with skill. When his wife [coniunx] and the adulterer [adulter] laid upon the pillow [torus], both, caught in embrace, remained fixed in the chains prepared by the husband’s skill in this novel fashion. The Lemnian immediately threw open the ivory doors and admitted the gods: and as they [i.e., Venus and Mars] lay bound together dishonorably, someone of the gods, not displeased, prayed that thus he might be made dishonorable too. The gods laughed, and this was—­for a long time—­the best well-­known tale in the entire heavens.27 Here, the story’s Homeric origins are evident: Mars instigates the affair, Vulcan learns of the indiscretion and creates an ingenious trap, and the pair are exhibited before a mostly disapproving audience of the gods.28 In the Ars amatoria, Ovid makes clear that Mars began the affair, saying that “father Mars was thrown into disorder by the uncontrollable love of Venus.”29 In both accounts, Ovid adapts the myth so that it appears to refer to Roman cultural practice. He describes Mars, Venus, and Vulcan in terms that equate them to a Roman husband, wife, and lover, at once stressing that the union of Venus and Vulcan had been a legal marriage and making clear the transgressive nature of its inception. This point is perhaps illustrated most clearly in the passage from the Metamorphoses: Ovid describes Vulcan and Venus as husband, maritus, and wife, coniunx, using words that emphasize, relatively formally, the status of spouses in relation to each other.30 The act itself is adulterium, and Mars is an 27.  primus adulterium Veneris cum Marte putatur | hic vidisse deus; videt hic deus omnia primus. | indoluit facto Iunonigenaeque marito | furta tori furtique locum monstravit, at illi | et mens et quod opus fabrilis dextra tenebat | excidit: extemplo graciles ex aere catenas | retiaque et laqueos, quae lumina fallere possent, | elimat. non illud opus tenuissima vincant | stamina, non summo quae pendet aranea tigno; | utque levis tactus momentaque parva sequantur, | efficit et lecto circumdata collocat arte. | ut venere torum coniunx et adulter in unum, | arte viri vinclisque nova ratione paratis | in mediis ambo deprensi amplexibus haerent. | Lemnius extemplo valvas patefecit eburnas | inmisitque deos; illi iacuere ligati | turpiter, atque aliquis de dis non tristibus optat | sic fieri turpis; superi risere, diuque | haec fuit in toto notissima fabula caelo. 28.  For Ovid’s use of his mythographic sources in this episode, see Castellani 1980; Buchner 1976, 70–­71. For his use of sources in the Ars amatoria, see Janka 1997, 416–­17. 29.  Mars pater, insano Veneris turbatus amore (Ov., Ars am. 2.563). 30.  Treggiari 1991, 6–­7. Coniunx can be used for either partner but is most often used for women. It derives from iugere (to join), thus defining the woman through the action of the marital relationship. Maritus indicates a legally married man.

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adulterer, adulter, the agent responsible for defiling a marriage.31 To describe the bed where the act took place, Ovid employs the word torus, literally indicating a pillow, but widely used as a metonym for the marital bed, the lectus genialis.32 Ovid subtly embeds a description of the adultery itself in the line in which the trap around the bed is sprung, ut venere torum coniunx et adulter in unum (4.182), for venere often was used as a euphemism for the sex act.33 That the bed was the scene of the crime symbolizes an incontrovertible violation of the institution of marriage as the means by which legitimate offspring are produced, and it underscores the moral depravity of the act: Roman law offered the greatest recoveries of penalties to husbands who caught adulterers in their own homes.34 As in the Homeric version, Ovid concludes the episode by having Vulcan make a public spectacle of Mars and Venus’ private act of lovemaking, leading one god to make a joke that he, too, would thus wish to be shameful, or turpis. Ovid thus plays on the dual meanings of the word turpis, referring at once to the kind of behavior that brings dishonor and to the sex organs, which create pleasure.35 Ovid’s version of the story in the Ars amatoria, similar in many regards, extends the narrative to reveal what happened after the dramatic confrontation around the bed. Reluctantly, he [Vulcan] sets the captive bodies free because of your prayers, Neptune. Mars takes possession of Thrace, she of Paphos. But, this done by you, Vulcan, that which they once hid they do more freely, for all shame [pudor] is gone. Often, for all that, you confess that you made [the trap] foolishly. They say that you have repented of your own skill. . . . And so do not set snares for a rival, nor catch secret letters [written] by his hand. Let husbands [viri] seize them—­those whom fire and water will make legitimate—­if they will even think those things should be seized. See [en], yet again I am a witness: here nothing is practiced as a sport unless it is a thing allowed by law; there is no flounce of a lady’s tunic in my jesting.36 31.  See OLD s.v. “adulter,” “adulterium” 1. 32.  Many poets used torus in this way: see OLD s.v. “torus” 5a–­b. 33.  Adams 1982, 176. 34.  Treggiari, 1991, 271–­75. 35.  For turpis used in this way, see Adams 1982, 55–­56. 36.  Ov., Ars am. 2.581–­600: Vix precibus, Neptune, tuis captiva resolvit | corpora: Mars Thracen occupat, illa Paphon. | Hoc tibi pro facto, Vulcane: quod ante tegebant, | liberius faci-

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Ovid uses the story as a cautionary tale to his readers about the dangers of jealousy. Those who pry into their mistress’ other relationships deserve what they may find.37 Before the tryst was exposed, Venus’ sense of sexual virtue, her pudor, at least kept her married to Vulcan; after, with Mars and Venus freed from all obligation to him, he is bereft and alone. Ovid’s use of the well-­known story appears to undermine traditional marriage as a worthwhile institution, for, however much he plays with the genre of didactic, he purports to instruct his readers in the arts of extramarital flirtation.38 Yet, at the same time, Ovid stops short of actually endorsing adultery, insisting—­however ironically, as indicated by the exclamatory en39—­that he himself adheres to the law. He also acknowledges the responsibilities of husbands: Roman brides were said to have offered fire and water, symbols of household prosperity, to their husbands during weddings.40 For these men, formally bound by ritual, custom, and law, Ovid implies it is right to lay traps, as safeguards for a man’s reputation and in order to protect a marriage. Thus, using the Mars and Venus episode as an exemplum for his readers, Ovid sets up the point that, in present-­day Rome as in the mythic past, a legal marriage has social and ritual power; without his marriage, Vulcan has nothing. Ovid’s innovation, in looking to the aftermath of the dramatic events and tracing the tale past its traditional conclusion, thus gives this old chestnut (in his own words, “this story, known best, is told throughout all heaven”41) a new and “modern” moral: ignorance is bliss where marriage is concerned. Statius, too, told the story, as part of a poem written on the occasion of his friend Stella’s wedding to a woman named Violentilla. He also adopts an after-­the-­fact perspective that emphasizes the positive outcomes for Mars and Venus. Released from Vulcan’s trap, they are themselves free to marry. unt, ut pudor omnis abest: | saepe tamen demens stulte fecisse fateris, | teque ferunt artis paenituisse tuae. | . . . Nec vos rivali laqueos disponite, nec vos | excipite arcana verba notata manu. | Ista viri captent, si iam captanda putabunt, | quos faciet iustos ignis et unda viros. | En, iterum testor: nihil hic, nisi lege remissum | luditur: in nostris instita nulla iocis. 37.  See especially Ovid’s introduction to the episode, Met. 4.553–­56. 38.  For Ovid’s use of pedagogy, see Kennedy 2000. 39.  See OLD s.v. “en” 2a, for the use of this interjection in setting up an ironic point. 40.  For the importance of fire and water in the ritual, see Hersch 2010a, 182–­85. 41.  Ovid begins one version of the story with this observation (Ars am. 2.561: fabula narrator toto notissima caelo) and uses it to conclude the other version (Met. 4.189: haec fuit in toto notissima fabula caelo).

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By chance, with night just driven back, where the milky region of the bright sky lies Venus was lying in her wedding chamber [thalamus], released from the harsh embrace of her Thracian husband [maritus]. A sweet flock of amores crowd the pillows and bedposts of the goddess. They seek her signals: where to bring the torches? which hearts might she command be pierced? whether she prefers them to rampage on land or among the waves or to disturb the gods or still to vex the Thunderer? But neither the will of her heart nor that of her mind was yet fixed. She lies, tired, on the covers, where once the Lemnian chains, knowing of the crime [culpa], crept over the bed.42 Here, Venus and Mars are legitimately husband (maritus) and wife. Indeed, the very couch around which Vulcan once set his snares serves as their marriage bed, put to frequent use, and is the seat of power from which Venus directs her armies of cupids to interfere with the hearts of gods and men alike. One of their victims is Statius’ own friend, whom her strongest son has recently shot, with not one arrow but his entire quiver.43 Venus herself has taken charge of his intended, bestowing her with so much beauty that she appears the likeness of Venus herself.44 Even in Statius’ rosy version of the story, however, the fact that Venus and Mars’ relationship began with adultery is present. Yet Statius refers to it simply as a culpa, a word that certainly may describe all manner of unacceptable behavior, including sexual misconduct, but is less charged than adulterium.45 Statius may have had specific reasons for choosing this particular myth to celebrate the impending wedding: this was the first wedding for his friend Stella but the second for his bride, who had been widowed at a very young age. Ruurd Nauta suggests that the selection of this myth therefore allowed Statius to subtly comment both on contemporary marriage practices and on the personal histories of the betrothed. He implies that Violentilla and Stella had been lovers before their official marriage, just as Mars and Venus had been.46 42.  Stat., Silv. 1.2.51–­60: Forte, serenati qua stat plaga lactea caeli, | alma Venus thalamo pulsa modo nocte iacebat | amplexu duro Getici resoluta mariti. | fulcra torosque deae tenerum premit agmen Amorum; | signa petunt quas ferre faces, quae pectora figi | imperet; an terris saevire an malit in undis, | an miscere deos an adhuc vexare Tonantem.| ipsi animus nondum nec cordi fixa voluntas: | fessa iacet stratis, ubi quondam conscia culpae | Lemnia deprenso repserunt vincula lecto. 43.  Stat., Silv. 1.2.74–­75. 44.  Stat., Silv. 1.2.107–­14, especially 113–­14, “Her sweet likeness to me bursts out” (mihi dulcis imago prosiluit). 45.  See OLD s.v. “culpa” 3b, for its application to sexual misconduct. 46.  Nauta 2002, 296–­97.

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Some commonalities emerge from canvassing the literary versions of the story of Mars and Venus in currency in the first century CE. These narratives follow the transformation of an immoral, adulterous relationship into a legitimate and fruitful marriage: the destruction of one union forms the foundation of another. Thus, one’s view of the characters, action, and setting shifts as the narrative progresses: to take one example, publicly humiliated at the start of the tale, Venus emerges as a matron at the end. By exploiting the narrative frame of the story, Roman authors could thus manipulate the reader’s opinions, and they often did so to a point, by adapting the story to comment obliquely on contemporary practices. Indeed, there is also evidence that educated Roman elites read the story in the original language similarly. An erudite guest in Athenaeus’ Deipnosophistae postulated that a function of the version of the tale included in the Odyssey was to caution its audience against amoral behavior.47 The Roman literary sources for the story also may suggest that it was particularly appropriate for audiences of or including women. Ovid’s version in the Metamorphoses (discussed above) was told by the nymph Leucippe to her sisters, to entertain them while they worked inside at their looms instead of going to a festival;48 Virgil also had a female nymph tell the story, to amuse a group of her sisters while they spun wool.49 These poets exploited the notion of weaving as women’s work: drawing on the trope of the elite Roman matron diligently working her loom to clothe her own family, they allowed their female narrators to spin tales as they enacted their femininity.50 That both poets selected this particular story is telling: its treatment of sexual intrigue will titillate the listeners, but its outcome renders the story relatively safe, for it upholds, rather than undermines, traditional values. This may explain, in part, why this myth was appropriate for poems intended to celebrate actual unions, like Statius’ poem written on the occasion of his friend’s wedding.51 Understood as a simile for real-­life 47.  Ath. 1.14c (part of a discussion of the role of bards at Homeric banquets and the meaning of their songs). The speaker also theorizes that the tale could have appealed to hearers lacking in morals, who would have enjoyed tales suited to their own licentious habits. 48.  For the nymphs as engaging in wool work, see Ov., Met. 4.34–­35, 54. 49.  Virg., G. 4.345–­46: Inter quas curam Clymene narrabat inanem | Vulcani Martisque dolos et dulcia furta (Among them, Clymene is telling of the futile attentions of Vulcan, and the guile and sweet deceits of Mars). For the nymphs spinning, see Virg., G. 4.335. 50.  In poetry, female narrators often use tapestries or figural reading as a manner of narration. See, e.g., Salzman-­Mitchell 2005, 117–­49. For the association of wool working and bridal imagery, see Hersch 2010b. 51.  Several later epithalamia, too, invoked this myth. On later epithalamia, see Roberts 1989; Horstmann 2004.

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relationships—­which were liable to dissolution by death, divorce, or, in the worst cases, adultery—­the tale of Mars and Venus acknowledged the fragility of marriage and treated it as something to be protected.52 Further, in a culture with high maternal mortality and in which divorces among elites were acceptable,53 this story validated new unions to which one or both of the partners brought a complicated personal history.

Conclusion: Mars and Venus in the House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto In conclusion, I return to the questions with which I began this essay: Did the panel paintings represent Mars and Venus’ relationship as adulterous, taking place in the house of Vulcan? Or did it take place around their marriage bed? No single source discussed above explains the narrative in full, and none of the accounts discussed above offer convincing explanations for the paintings’ most enigmatic features, such as the identity of the male figure with wings at his brow in the iteration from the House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto and House I.7.19 or of the kneeling attendant in the House of the Punished Love. Yet, taken together, several features of the literary discourse throw certain features of the painting series into higher relief, providing some perspective on these questions. First, the textual narratives offer perspective on the role of Amor, who is present in all three paintings of the series. The notion of romantic love, both in the abstract and as personification, was particularly germane to Roman retellings of the old Homeric tale of Mars and Venus. In the Ars amatoria, Ovid states that their union began in Mars’ “love beyond reason” for Venus, playing on the duality of the word amor both as an abstract concept, love, and as referring to Venus’ own son, to whom the narrator of the Ars amatoria directs his instruction.54 In Statius’ wedding poem, the now-­stable relationship between Venus and Mars allows Amor a platform from which to exercise his power over men and gods alike. In the paintings, then, Amor 52.  Feeney 2013 argues that many similes in Catullus’ wedding poems function similarly. 53.  On the prevalence of remarriage in Roman society, see Humbert 1972; Treggiari 1991, 393–­96, 499–­502. 54.  See above, n. 29, for amor insanus. For the play on Amor/amor in Ovid, see Park 2009. For Amor as the addressee of the Ars amatoria, see Ars am. 1.7–­9.

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can be understood not just as witness to the scene but as party to the action. In the versions of the scene from the House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto and House I.7.19, Amor occupies a prominent position at the center of the frame. Though scholars have focused on Mars and Venus as the protagonists of the tale, Amor’s prominent role in all three paintings of the series is telling: his presence alerts the viewer to the depth of the just-­kindled relationship (so strong that it has, as yet, needed no help from his arrows), while also assuring the viewer that he stands at the ready to ensure that the union between Mars and Venus will not falter. Second, the emphasis placed on the bed as the setting for the story in the accounts by Ovid and Statius helps explain its prominent position, as something more than simply furniture, in the paintings from the House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto and House I.7.19. The bed was both the site of Vulcan’s clever trap and the place where Mars and Venus consummated what was to become an ideal marriage, despite its unlawful beginnings. The power of this symbol, in poetry and painting alike, derived not from Greek myth but from Roman cultural practice: funerary inscriptions mention the bed as a symbol of long, productive marriages;55 funerary monuments, too, included representations of beds, symbolically sending the deceased to rest, but often also calling to mind the social power and prestige of marriage.56 Within these two paintings, the opulent bed, piled high with soft mattresses, pillows, and textiles, is more than just the setting for implied past or future action. Even if the scene recalled the infidelity of the divine couple for some viewers—­as, indeed, the poets’ accounts suggest that it would—­the bed also telegraphs the story’s happy ending. Third, these literary accounts suggest that rich ambiguities inherent in the narrative can help explain the appeal of this pair in painted scenes in the domestic contexts in which we find them. Reconsider, for a moment, the iteration of the type displayed in room 7 of the House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto. Though room 7 is often referred to as a tablinum, we know little of the precise use of the space or the identities of those who occupied it. Penelope Allison has argued that rooms of this architectural type sometimes served formal functions, but she also notes that they commonly contained cupboards for storing household goods, assemblages related to domestic 55.  Inscriptions particularly use the metonym torus. See above, n. 32, and, for an example from a funerary monument, CIL 6.11252.15. 56.  See Davies 2010, 193–­96, discussing the power of the bed as a symbol for marriage.

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production, and even beds.57 The finds from room 7 included door hinges, the remains of what may have been a large chest, and a stone mortar, all roughly resembling finds from comparable rooms of other dwellings.58 Thus, the painting’s setting was multipurpose, and its viewership was diverse, ranging from the elite and educated (e.g., the owner of the house and his guests) to the humble (e.g., the servants who entered the space to retrieve objects or to perform their daily tasks). Not all of these viewers would have responded to the paintings in the same way. Yet the decor of the surrounding rooms, particularly the panel painting of Pero and Micon from room 6, with its painted legend, suggests that the most educated viewers might have called poetry to mind in making sense of the myths or even might have composed their own verses on the topic. Whatever their background, close observers of the room’s decoration would have been met with many images that spoke comfortably of domestic prosperity and marital harmony. The nearly identical compositions of the paintings on the north and south walls included delicately painted representations of candelabra, still-­life scenes of freshly caught fish, and landscapes of maritime villas, speaking to an appreciation of elite, leisured lifestyles.59 Within this overwrought but repetitive frame, the myth paintings of Mars with Venus and of Bacchus with Ariadne drew the eye. As the only two points of difference between the two walls, they invited special scrutiny and set up thematic comparisons.60 I have advocated for an understanding of the panel painting of Mars and Venus that simultaneously establishes the pair as devoted spouses yet acknowledges the less-­than-­ideal (even dangerous) circumstances under which their relationship began. Its pendant, depicting the triumphant union of Bacchus and Ariadne, also depicted a divine marriage with ignominious origins, a celebration of Ariadne’s transformation from abandoned and bereft to a beaming bride.61 57.  Allison 2004a, 80–­82. 58.  Allison 2004b, house id. 17, room 7. 59.  On still-­life scenes, or the xenia motif, see Bryson 2001, 17—­60. On vistas of villas, see Bergmann 1991. 60.  On the polysemous reading of sculptural pendants, see Bartman 1988. For a case study of painted pendants, see, e.g., Swetnam-­Burland 2015, 125–­37. 61.  The literary tradition regarding Theseus’ broken promise of marriage to Ariadne and her subsequent union with Bacchus is too extensive and diverse to reprise here in full. That the topic was well known in the first century CE is attested by several myth paintings from Campania and by literary sources that recounted the story in ways that stressed Ariadne’s union with Bacchus as a legitimate marriage (e.g., Ov., Fasti 3.459ff.). The narrative moment adopted in this painting, however, is unusual for paintings, which more often depict the moment of Bacchus’ discovery of Ariadne and his immediate infatuation with her.

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Together, the paintings celebrated marriage as an institution in a way that recognized its fragility. Neither of the features of the famous painting of Mars and Venus from the House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto that I have emphasized here—­the inclusion of the child Amor in the scene or its narration in the presence of the massive bed—­allows us to pinpoint a single narrative moment. The question of whether the painting depicted Mars and Venus in the moment before their adultery or in the moment before the consummation of their legitimate marriage remains beguilingly open. Yet it is clear that the setting of the scene was critical to its moral, whatever that moral was understood to be. Contemporary literary accounts show that despite the widespread cultural construction of Mars and Venus as loving husband and wife, the origins of their affair were not far from the poets’ minds. The visual narrative of the panel paintings enhances this sense of ambiguity, collapsing, within a single frame, references to the affair’s shameful beginning and intimations of its comforting conclusion. On this view, the bed emerges both as a place of danger, where adultery is exposed to the public eye, and a private sanctuary, where a married couple may luxuriate in their own company. The narrative moment presented by the painting is not fixed but, rather, open to interpretation; each individual viewer had the potential to interpret the scene by bringing his or her own attitudes toward marriage to bear on it, whether one found a tale exploring the threat of adultery or saw a story promising the security of matrimony. Only by acknowledging the distressing fact that marriages are vulnerable can their true worth be validated.

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190  •  ro m a n a rtis ts , pat ron s, a n d p ublic consumption Peters, W. J. Th. 1991. “Die Wandmalereien des Vierten Stils im Hause des M. Lucretius Fronto.” KölnJb 24:135–­39. Peters, W. J. Th., and E. Moormann. 1993. “Le decorazioni parietali di III stile.” In La casa di Marcus Lucretius Fronto a Pompei e le sue pitture, edited by W. J. Th. Peters, 143–­278. Scrinium 5. Amsterdam: Thesis Publishers. Richardson, L., Jr. 2000. A Catalog of Identifiable Figure Painters of Ancient Pompeii, Herculaneum, and Stabiae. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Roberts, M. 1989. “The Use of Myth in Latin Epithalamia.” TAPA 119:321–­48. Salzman-­Mitchell, P. B. 2005. A Web of Fantasies: Gaze, Image, and Gender in Ovid’s “Metamorphoses.” Columbus: Ohio State University Press. Schefold, K. 1957. Die Wände Pompejis: Topographisches Verzeichnis der Bildmotive. Berlin: De Gruyter. Small, J. 2004. The Parallel Worlds of Art and Text. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Squire, M. 2009. Image and Text in Greco-­Roman Antiquity. New York: Cambridge University Press. Strocka, V. M. 1997. “Mars und Venus in Bildprogrammen pompejanischer Häuser.” In I temi figurativi nella pittura parietale antica: IV sec. a.C.—­IV sec. d.C.: Atti del VI Convegno internazionale sulla pittura parietale antica, edited by D. Scagliarini Corlàita, 129–­34. Bologna: University Press Bologna. Swetnam-­Burland, M. 2015. “Encountering Ovid’s Phaedra in Pompeii V 2, 10–­11.” AJA 119:217–­32. Treggiari, S. 1991. Roman Marriage: Iusti Coniuges from the Time of Cicero to the Time of Ulpian. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Trimble, J. F. 2002. “Greek Myth, Gender, and Social Structure in a Roman House: Two Paintings of Achilles at Pompeii.” In The Ancient Art of Emulation: Studies in Artistic Originality and Tradition from the Present to Classical Antiquity, edited by E. K. Gazda, 225–­48. MAAR Supplements 1. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Varone, A. 2002. Erotica Pompeiana: Love Inscriptions on the Walls of Pompeii. Studia Archeologica 116. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. Wallace-­Hadrill, A. 1996. “Engendering the Roman House.” In I, Claudia: Women in Ancient Rome, edited by D. E. E. Kleiner and S. B. Matheson, 104–­15. Austin: University of Texas Press. Wynia, S. 1982. “The Excavations in and around the House of M. Lucretius Fronto.” In La regione sotterrata dal Vesuvio: Studi e prospettive; Atti del Convegno Internazionale, 11–­15 novembre 1979. Naples: Universita degli Studi.

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Beyond High and Low The Beauty of Beasts at the House of the Citharist in Pompeii Barbara Kellum

Tranio: Do you see the picture, sir, where one crow is making game of a couple of vultures? Th.: Gracious, no, I don’t see it. Tranio: But I do, sir. Why, the crow is planted between the pair of vultures and he’s pecking at the pair of ’em in turn. For mercy’s sake, sir, look this way, toward me, to see the crow! Th.: I certainly do not discern any crow there at all. Tranio: Well, then, sir, look this way toward yourselves, and since you can’t distinguish the crow, see if you can’t, perhaps, discover the vultures. Th.: No picture of a bird at all do I perceive here, so have done with it! Tranio: All right, sir, I’ll let it pass, and make allowances. Your eyesight isn’t what it used to be.1 This lively exchange between the wily slave Tranio and his elderly master Theopropides in Plautus’ comedy Mostellaria (The Haunted House), from the early second century BCE, has the potential to reveal a great deal about I dedicate this essay to my dear friend Elaine, who introduced me to the study of Roman art and is my inspiration to this day. In celebratory fashion, this essay is structured as if it were a convivial conversation, so the argument comes into focus at a leisurely pace. 1.  Plaut., Mostell. 832–­40; translation from Nixon 1957.

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the comparability of animals and humans as well as about habits of viewership in the Roman world. Its humor establishes a framework for my discussion in this essay of the magnificent bronze beasts that once graced the curved fountain basin in the central peristyle of the House of the Citharist (Casa del Citarista) in Pompeii (I.4.5.25).2 Part of one of the earliest sustained descriptions of a house in Latin literature, this passage has always proved somewhat bewildering for the art historically inclined classicists who have ventured to discuss it, because the only known contemporary domestic paintings—­like that found in the second-­century BCE core of the House of the Citharist itself—­are in the austere Pompeian First Style, simulating blocks of varicolored marbles.3 However, in some of the finest examples of the First Style, the veining in the faux marble was manipulated to suggest figuration—­a bird, for instance, from the exedra of the Alexander mosaic at the House of the Faun (VI.12.2–­5), now known to us only in a nineteenth-­century drawing.4 A still-­extant later example offering a better visual sense of these images that are both there and not is the human profile that emerges from the veining on the side of the lararium of the House of the Golden Cupids in Pompeii (VI.16.7).5 Such ethereal images—­visible to some but not to others—­may have been a part of this repartee’s playfulness for audience members. This fictive picture exists in words alone and perfectly mirrors what has just transpired on the stage. To protect his wastrel young master, the ingenious slave Tranio has met the lad’s father, Theopropides, on the moment of Theopropides’ return from a three-­year mercantile venture, to convince Theopropides that the family house is haunted and that Theopropides’ son is in debt after purchasing the elegant house next door. When Theopropides, bursting with pride at his son’s nascent good business sense, demands to view the new property, Tranio must gull not one senex (old man) but two: he has to convince the henpecked next-­door neighbor Simo that Theopropides is planning to remodel his own house and considers Simo’s an exemplar. The tour has just begun when Tranio purports to see the painting of the crow making play of the two vultures—­the perfect avian equivalents of all three 2.  For a detailed account of the sculptural finds in the House of the Citharist, see Dwyer 1982, 79–­108; Sampaolo and Hoffmann 2014, 107–­11. 3.  See, e.g., Leach 1969, 327–­28 and n. 2. The description in Plautus’ play could, of course, refer to a panel picture (cf. Pliny, HN 35.81–­83). 4.  Laidlaw 1985, plates 75a, 194. 5.  PPM 5:759, no. 84, s.v. “VI 16, 7.38 Casa degli Amorini Dorati” (F. Seiler).

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of the characters on stage. Vultures were one of the quintessential birds of augury ever since Romulus claimed that twelve flew over his station on the Palatine at the birth of the city of Rome. They were also perfect for representing the old citizens in Plautus’ play, since vultures may be looming presences but are harmless ones, for they live off carrion and do not kill.6 In comparison, crows are a ubiquitous presence in animal fables and are both aggressive and garrulous, fitting Tranio to a tee. For a Roman audience, another part of the humor here was surely that it was the slave character, Tranio, who delineated this animal fable in the making, while his master repeatedly failed to see it. Since the sixth century BCE, animal fables were thought to be the creation of Aesop, a misshapen dwarf slave (shown in conversation with a fox on an Attic red-­figure kylix from the fifth-­century BCE); Phaedrus, a fabulist from the first century CE and a freedman of the emperor Augustus, claimed that the genre was invented to allow slaves to both speak their minds and evade punishment from their masters.7 Although they may have been the invention of slaves, animal fables were commonplace for Romans from infancy on: nurses introduced the tales to their charges, papyri from Roman Egypt show that schoolchildren learned to write by transcribing fables, and animal fables were the basis for the preliminary exercises in rhetorical training.8 For senator and commoner alike, the fable was everywhere. When Cicero wrote to his cultivated friend Atticus, his phrase equivalent to our “speak of the devil” was lupus in fabula, “the wolf in the fable,” and Phaedrus tells us that animal fables were even painted on tavern walls.9 That the beasts on the fountain in the House of the Citharist were famed in fables would have been recognized immediately by all its viewers—­for example, when the slaves Ikarus and Paris (known from graffiti on the columns of the middle peristyle of the house) paused in their labors to glance at the fountain or when one of the pampered guests of the house’s owners, L. Popidius Secundus and L. Popidius Ampliatus, reclined 6.  Livy 1.6–­7; Dion. Hal., Ant. Rom. 1.86–­87; Plut., Vit. Rom. 9.4–­7. 7.  Attic red-­figure kylix by the Painter of Bologna 417, Museo Gregoriano Etrusco, Vatican Museums 16552; Phaedrus, prologue to book 3, lines 33–­37. Evidence that animal fables were already in existence in the ancient Near East is a depiction of animals feasting and playing musical instruments that appears on an inlaid panel on the sound box of the ca. 2550 BCE Great Lyre from the Royal Cemetery at Ur, now in the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. 8.  See Quint., Inst. 1.9.1–­3, for nurses and fables in early phases of rhetorical training. See also Laes 2006, 898–­914. 9.  Cic., Att. 13.33a.1; Phaedrus 4.6.2.

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Fig. 8.1. Plan of the House of the Citharist (I.4.5/25), Pompeii. (After Mau 1902, 352, fig. 181.)

on a dining couch in exedra 18 and enjoyed the fountain from the optimal point of view, through the extra-­wide intercolumniation that enframed it (figs. 8.1–­8.2).10 What would these contemporary viewers have seen? To judge by the excavation report, four bronze animal groupings were found on the same day (August 1, 1861), juxtaposed around the semicircular fountain basin in 10.  For Ikarus, see CIL 4.2369, 2375; for Paris, 4.2370, 2376. For the house and its freedmen owners, see Franklin 2001, 115 (with n. 47), 169, 205. The fountain basin does not align perfectly with room 18, so it would appear that the most privileged point-­of-­view was reserved for the host and guest of honor. I thank Brenda Longfellow for this cogent observation.

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Fig. 8.2. View from exedra 18 of the fountain in the central peristyle of the House of the Citharist, with reproductions of the bronze snake, the boar and dogs, and the lion. (© Jackie and Bob Dunn, www.pompeiiinpictures.com)

peristyle 17.11 The largest sculpture ensemble—­the bristling wild boar with two hunting hounds, jaws agape, attempting to attack from either side—­was placed centrally and still glistens with traces of gilding on all three animals (fig. 8.3). In sunlight or by moonlight and lamplight, they must have been luminous and so vividly alive that one could almost hear the hounds baying in hot pursuit. The boar’s snout was equipped with a waterjet, adding yet another element of animation to this “you are there” experience. The coiled bronze snake poised for attack to the right of the boar group has a bronze pipe in its open mouth and spewed water into the basin below (fig. 8.4). The diminutive bronze lion to the left of the central boar group springs forward in full attack mode, with claws extended and maw open wide (fig 8.5). It had a lead pipe in its hollow body and served as yet another fountain figure. Only the bronze leaping deer—­prey rather than predator—­lacks any plumbing apparatus (fig. 8.6). All in all, this may seem something of a mis11.  Sampaolo and Hoffmann 2014, 109–­11.

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Fig. 8.3. Bronze boar and dogs from the fountain in the central peristyle of the House of the Citharist, 50 cm × 51 cm × 39 cm (modern base), Naples, National Archeological Museum, inv. nos. 4901, 4899, and 4900. (Photograph by L. Pedicini, reproduced with the permission of L. Pedicini and the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli.)

matched menagerie to eyes from the twenty-­first century, but it begins to come into focus through the lens of the animal fable. References for the central group of the boar and the hunting dogs include the tale of the boar who sharpened his tusks even when there was no fight at hand, just to be ready for the next one, and that of the hunting dog who has to share his prey with the stay-­at-­home guard dog because the master wills it (fig. 8.3).12 For the deer, there is the story about the one who prides himself on his speed and magnificent antlers but feels compelled to run each time he hears a dog bark (fig. 8.6).13 In one story, a bird catcher, intent on capturing a thrush, trips on a sleeping serpent, whose prey he, in turn, becomes (fig. 8.4).14 Finally, there is the tale in which a lion, invariably the king of beasts and always demanding the lion’s share, goes hunting with a donkey and a fox and ends up eating everything, including his erstwhile friend the donkey, because the donkey made three equal piles of prey when asked to divide the spoils (fig. 8.5).15 Given that all the animals were gathered along the rim of the fountain basin, surely a little cross-­referencing went on as well: there is 12.  Medici Aesop 1989, fols. 30v–­31r (boar), 49r–­v (dogs). 13.  Medici Aesop 1989, fol. 31r–­v (deer). 14.  Medici Aesop 1989, fol. 19r–­v (snake and bird catcher). 15.  Medici Aesop 1989, fol. 22r–­v (lion, donkey, and fox).

Fig. 8.4. Bronze snake from the fountain in the central peristyle of the House of the Citharist, height 42 cm (modern base), Naples, National Archeological Museum, inv. no. 4898. (Photograph by L. Pedicini, reproduced with the permission of L. Pedicini and the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­ Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli.)

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Fig. 8.5. Bronze lion from the fountain in the central peristyle of the House of the Citharist, height 38 cm (modern base), Naples, National Archeological Museum, inv. no. 4897. (Photograph by L. Pedicini, reproduced with the permission of L. Pedicini and the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­ Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli.)

the tale about the lion and the boar coming to a spring on a hot summer’s day and fighting one another, almost to the death, over who will have the first drink; only when they realize that the vultures are gathering do they decide to make their peace, concluding, “We had better be friends than food for vultures and crows.”16 Animal fables like these, thinly veiled commentaries on the inequities of the distribution of power and on the strategies of assertion and compromise necessary to survive, must have entered, on occasion, into the dinner con16.  Perry 1965, 484 (app.), no. 338.

Fig. 8.6. Bronze deer from the fountain in the central peristyle of the House of the Citharist, height 58 cm (modern base), Naples, National Archeological Museum, inv. no. 4902. (Photograph by L. Pedicini, reproduced with the permission of L. Pedicini and the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­ Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli.)

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versation in this home of two wealthy former slaves. Such conversation is all the more likely since these homeowners knew the ins and outs of power at both the imperial and the local level: L. Popidius Secundus was one of the Augustiani, the trained rhythmic claque of young men who supported the emperor Nero at his theatrical performances, and the like-­named son of L. Popidius Ampliatus was a candidate for the office of aedile in Pompeii in 75 CE.17 Surely someone in this power-­savvy company would have noticed that, as is perhaps most apparent to modern viewers from the industrial age, these homeowners decidedly did not have a taste for the manufactured matched set. The diminutive scale of the lion on the right in relation to the other creatures is marked and must have been the basis for many a joke (fig. 8.2). Although the pose is aggressive, the overbearing king of beasts in all the animal fables is here cut down to size, and the possibilities for comparisons with human protagonists were likely many. I do not want to suggest that animal fables were the sole frame of reference for construing these animal sculptures; they are just a useful frame for introducing what I believe were the quite distinctive ways in which Romans thought with regard to animals. Another aspect of the interactions of humans and beasts appears when one considers—­as I am sure Roman guests did—­that these miniature animal tableaus also presented for their delectation a safe, hero’s-­eye view, suspended in time. No already dead hunting bounty, as sometimes appears on magnificent sideboards in mid-­nineteenth-­ century American dining rooms, would do; this is live-­action theater frozen in time.18 Your perspective might be that of Meleager dispatching the Calydonian boar, and your loyal hunting dogs have the charging boar at bay (fig. 8.3). With a glance at the snake coiled to strike, you might be Cadmus at the Spring of Mars, confronting the serpent with a “wonderous golden crest” (fig. 8.4);19 it has killed your companions who have come seeking water, and, after an epic struggle, you will kill it, in turn. The dichotomy between man and beast is no more absolute here than in the animal fables, however. Cadmus is instructed by Minerva to sow the serpent’s teeth, from which armed men spring up to battle one another. Before becoming king of Thebes, Cadmus has to serve eight years as a slave of Mars in atonement for killing the serpent, and at the end of his life, he and his wife, Har17.  On the Popidii, see Franklin 2001, 115–­16, 169–­70. 18.  Ames 1992, 44–­96. 19.  Ov., Met. 3.32.

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monia, were transformed into serpents.20 The comparability—­indeed, the interchangeability—­between human and reptile is then absolute. This close identification of hero and beast is also a characteristic of perhaps the most famous hero of them all, Hercules, whose attribute was the flayed skin of the Nemean lion that he wore. Certainly, a clever guest would not have failed to observe that the four wild beasts represented in the fountain group corresponded to the first four of Hercules’ Labors: the Nemean lion, the Lernaean Hydra, the Erymanthian boar, and the hind of Ceryneia. This may seem an esoteric observation to us, but, like animal fables, the tales of the heroes were learned in childhood, as attested by a fragmentary papyrus of the tale of Hercules and the Nemean lion, replete with illustrations and an elementary text written in large letters and a simple style.21 Also, just like animal fables, the deeds of heroes were known by people from all walks of life. The most common oath for slave characters in the plays of Plautus, for example, was “By Hercules,” and the slave Toxilus begins the Persa with the line “The lover that first set out on the highways of love with an empty purse went in for harder labors than Hercules. Why, I had rather wrestle with the lion, or the Hydra, or the stag, or the Aetolian boar . . . than with Love.”22 With a glance to the bronze animals, something very similar might have been said by a reclining guest of the Popidii. Dining itself, of course, provided yet another potential frame of reference, since boar and venison were both certainly served in wealthy households. The boar and deer are on the domestic side of the ledger, as it were, in comparison to the more exotic lion and crested snake. The presence of the snake in a dining context must have sparked many a conversation, and although we can only speculate about what the figure may have meant, it has a wonderful ambiguity about it. On the one hand, it holds itself erect and poised to strike, like Pliny the Elder’s description of the basilisk (often compared to the cobra), which can spit its venom up to eight feet and aims at its victim’s eyes. That the snake’s mouth was fitted with a fountain spout must have added just a little extra frisson to this miniature domestication of the deadly (fig. 8.4).23 Yet this snake also resembles the crested snakes on household lararium shrines and the sacred snake receiving its annual barley cake from a young girl at the shrine of Juno Sospita in Lanuvium, as 20.  Ov., Met. 4.563–­603. 21.  P. Oxy. XXII.2331 (third century CE). See Cribiore 2001, 138–­39. 22.  Plaut., Persa 1.1–­5; translation from Nixon 1957. 23.  Pliny, HN 8.78–­79. See also Alexander 1963, 170–­81.

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depicted on a Roman denarius.24 Moreover, nonpoisonous snakes were kept as pets, and Seneca describes tame ones gliding over cups and diners’ laps at dinner parties.25 Whether or not the Popidii kept snakes, such animal lore may have entered into the conversation, and the bronze fountain statue must have occasioned more than one comparison with a guest wearing one of the exquisite gold snake bracelets that were popular in the last phase of the city’s existence. I hope to have persuaded you by now that the interrelations of humans and animals in the Roman world were both varied and multifaceted and that animal fables, hero tales, and dining lore all had a role to play in our understanding of them. Now I want to add two other frames of reference to the mix: experiences of wild beasts at the amphitheater and in the aristocratic animal park. Most often, readings inspired by these experiences have been presented as an antithetical pair especially in the interpretation of the large-­scale animal-­inhabited paradeisos scenes like the one at the House of the Ceii in Pompeii (I.6.15). The assumption has usually been that references to the amphitheater must be low culture—­the kind of thing the crude freedmen who dined with the obscenely rich Trimalchio in Petronius’ novel The Satyricon would have relished—­while the experience of the aristocratic animal park was high culture, decidedly for elite consumption. As with the animal fable and the tales of heroes, however, I argue that the appeal of both amphitheater and animal park crossed social classes and would have been a part of the cultural experience of any viewer. The balustrade that encircled the floor of the arena at Pompeii’s amphitheater was once painted with a series of scenes of animals pursuing one another. At least three of the beasts in our now-­familiar set—­a boar, a deer, and a lion—­appear in these paintings as they must have in the amphitheater itself.26 In addition to beast-­on-­beast combats, we know from the amphitheater advertisements in Pompeii that venationes—­contests between human hunters and beasts—­took place there.27 Given the cost of exotic animals alone, the carnage in this municipal setting was probably far less than the hundreds of animals slaughtered in Rome when emperors like Commodus took to the arena as venator, but even taking the imperial model into con24.  Crawford 1974, 1:439–­40, no. 412/1 (reverse of a denarius depicting L. Roscius Fabatus, ca. 59 BCE). 25.  Sen., De ira 2.31.6. 26.  PPM 11:105–­11, figs. 44–­54, s.v. “II, 6 Anfiteatro” (F. Morelli). 27.  CIL 4.3884, 7992, 1185, 7995, 1189, 1190 = Cooley and Cooley 2004, 50–­52, D11–­14, D16–­18.

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sideration, it is worth bearing in mind that both human and beast alike were often named in later representations—­as in the third-­century Magerius mosaic from Tunisia.28 Animals were raised and trained for the arena, including lions, the king of beasts in the amphitheater as in the animal fable. Statius wrote a lament on the death of one magnificent trained lion (brought down by another, lesser beast), who fought to the last just like a dying warrior and was mourned by his fellow lions, the emperor Domitian, the senate, and the people.29 Aulus Gellius, writing in the tradition of the dinner conversation, preserves the story of the runaway slave Androklos (Androcles) and the lion, which takes the form of a fable but is also an eyewitness account, from Apion’s now-­lost Wonders of Egypt, of an event that took place during a damnatio ad bestias at the Circus Maximus in Rome. The audience that day was drawn to the largest and most splendidly muscled of the lions, who had a deep roar and proved merciless, until he spotted from afar the condemned slave Androklos. The lion drew close to him quietly, wagged his tail like a dog, and then licked the terrified man’s hands and feet. Only at that point did Androklos have the courage to look at the lion, and then they exchanged joyful greetings. The crowd went wild with delight, and the emperor called Androklos to inquire why the fiercest of lions had spared him alone. As a runaway slave in North Africa, Androklos had taken refuge in the lion’s cave and tended to the beast’s badly wounded paw. He and the beast had lived together for three years, with the lion sharing the best of his daily prey, until Androklos made his ill-­fated attempt to return to civilization. The populace voted to free Androklos and give him the lion. Apion attests that he himself has seen Androklos with the lion, attached to a slender lead, making the rounds of the shops in Rome.30 This is a tale of happily ever after for both beast and human, and since Apion wrote during the Julio-­Claudian period, it could well have been told at the table of the freedmen Popidii, whose grand house sported its captive bronze lion that required no care or feeding. The story would have had equal resonance for the last distinguished member of the freeborn branch of the Popidii family, Numerius Popidius Rufus, who lived in another of Pompeii’s elegant houses, the House of the Marbles (VII.2.20, 21, 41), and who stood for the offices of aedile and duovir. Rufus was hailed in election notices as “unconquered in games,” because—­as a preserved advertisement makes clear—­he owned a family of gladiators who promised to perform a beast hunt and to provide an awning (vela) to shade 28.  Dunbabin 1999, 116, 319, fig. 118. 29.  Stat., Silv. 2.5.11–­15; Jennison 2005, 79–­81. 30.  Aul. Gell. 5.14.

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the crowd.31 The roots of this freeborn branch of the Popidii went back to the Oscan period, so they were the epitome of Pompeii’s office-­holding elite. Yet, at the same time, they were so fully invested in beast hunts in the arena as to own a gladiatorial troop. Since the time of Alexander the Great—­actually, far earlier in the ancient Near East—­the hunting of wild beasts in royal animal parks had been a primary marker of kingship. A striking evidence is the spirited scene that decorates a silver patera handle from the House of Menander in Pompeii (I.10.4), in which a central Alexander-­like figure on horseback closes in, with his hunting dogs and fellow hunters, on a lion.32 At the House of the Citharist, the two exuberant hunting dogs that flank the boar are an indication that the hunting park was a frame of reference, since the hounds imply the hunter (fig. 8.3). Their large scale in relation to the boar perhaps suggests their relative significance. Even for diners who did not know a Molossian hunting hound from a Laconian one, their at-­home counterparts—­the watchdogs of the animal fable—­were certainly a familiar sight, whether in representational or actual form. The boar that the dogs hold at bay was fitted with a spout, so it would have appeared to be perpetually foaming at the mouth (fig. 8.3). The future emperor Marcus Aurelius was an avid boar hunter as a young man and wrote in his Meditations of admiring “the foam dripping from the jaws of the wild boar,” something that could be appreciated in the House of the Citharist without ever having to leave the comfort of the dining couch.33 The game preserves of palatial villas were also invoked in the continuous frieze of villascapes that encircled the central peristyle of the House of the Citharist.34 These are representations of seaside villas like those that lined the Bay of Naples, and—­as with the bronze animals themselves—­it is through the power of the miniature that this world is evoked and possessed in all its timeless perfection. These fictive villas provide the perfect comparison for the luxurious house of the Popidii, as one telling visual parallel makes clear. Several of the painted villas in the frieze depict wee oscilla (marble garden decorations) hung in each of the intercolumniations of their porticoes, just as in the actual peristyle 17, where a set of eleven oscilla were found in situ. The most magnificent of these—­the one Eugene Dwyer, who has published 31.  CIL 4.1094 (“unconquered in games”), 1186 (advertisement for school of gladiators). See also Franklin 2001, 165–­69. 32.  Mattusch 2008, 123–­24, no. 30. 33.  M. Aur., Med. 3.2. 34.  PPM 1:141, nos. 41, 42a–­b, s.v. “I 4, 5.25 Casa del Citarista” (M. de Vos).

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the entire corpus, judges to be the best in the city and the product of a major Italian atelier—­depicts, on one side, a young satyr who raises the lid of a cysta mystica from which a snake emerges.35 Dwyer believes that this showpiece oscillum hung in the broad intercolumniation through which the fountain basin, with its animals, would have been viewed, so there would have been a dialogue, as it were, between the two snakes. One of the shield-­shaped oscilla from peristyle 17 features a rampant Nemean lion poised between the club of Hercules and a drinking cup (kantharos).36 Although we do not know exactly where in the peristyle it hung, the imagery clearly resonated with the lion of the fountain grouping. Certainly, once experienced, the fountain animals would have come to mind in viewing hunt imagery even in other parts of the house. One pair of hunters was to be seen in room 20, directly across the central peristyle from the fountain and its boar grouping. The painting features a sumptuously dressed, betrousered Eastern king flanked by two nude heroes. It is perhaps a representation of the Lydian king Croesus—­of “rich as Croesus” fame—­ persuading his guest-­friend Adrastus, descendant of Midas, to accompany his son Atys on a hunt to kill an enormous wild boar that had been ravaging the countryside.37 The story is tragic: Adrastus throws a spear at the boar, but the spear goes awry and kills Atys, fulfilling Croesus’ dream that his son would die from a wound made by an iron spear.38 For the wealthy owners of the House of the Citharist, perhaps this was a “there but for fortune go I” tale, providing good reason to enjoy the hunt vicariously. Matching images of hunters found in the house to the beasts of the fountain does not even begin to scratch the surface of how all-­pervasive the imagery of the beast hunt was in various arenas of life, especially the amatory one. Virgil’s stunning simile for Dido’s love of Aeneas is that of a deer wounded by arrows and desperately seeking throughout the Cretan countryside for the herb dittany, said to draw arrows from wounds. The deer in Roman animal lore always find the herb, but Dido does not; rather, the scene is set for her royal hunt with Aeneas at her side. When a sudden storm breaks, they seek shelter together in a cave.39 That moment of their coupling, with little 35.  Dwyer 1981, 261, no. 1. See also Sampaolo and Hoffmann 2014, 113. 36.  Dwyer 1981, 263, no. 9. 37.  Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 11472; Schefold 1957, 15. See Hdt. 1.34–­45; PPM 1:149–­50, no. 59, “I 4, 5.25 Casa del Citarista” (M. de Vos); Sampaolo and Hoffmann 2014, 138. 38.  See Chiasson 2003, 5–­35. 39.  For the deer simile, see Virg., Aen. 4.67–­73; for the hunt and cave scenes, 4.129–­72.

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Ascanius asleep nearby, is depicted in a mural from room 20 of the House of the Citharist,40 across from the animal fountain grouping, so the bronze deer and Dido were fully as comparable as the boar grouping with the Croesus scene. That such an analogy would be second nature to many was probable: the Aeneid was used as an elementary school text, and in the fourth century, Augustine admits that he wept over Dido when he was a schoolboy, as generations of schoolchildren before him must have.41 In his Ars amatoria, Ovid asserts that Rome itself is a game park, and he offers advice to the hunter/lover on the successful pursuit of girls.42 Women could also play at this game, as indicated by Sulpicia’s masterful deployment of hunting imagery in her poem to Cerinthus at the chase.43 Indeed, the flexibility of roles in the imagery of the art of venery is quite remarkable. In addition to the shifting identities of hunter and hunted, the role of the hounds might be adopted. In refusing her father’s attempt to convince her and her sister to give up on their absent husbands and remarry, Panegyris in Plautus’ play Stichus quips, “It is foolish, father, to lead unwilling hounds to hunt. The man that’s given an unwilling wife marries an enemy.”44 Likewise, recommending focusing on the little faults of one’s lover when exiting a relationship, Ovid observes in The Remedies for Love, “The boar is often held by a small hound.”45 One additional factor made hunt imagery particularly spirited: animal cognomens (surnames) were widespread, and the name Aper, “boar,” was one of the most common. Martial, for example, plays on the varying connotations of the name Aper in several of his epigrams.46 There were also visual puns, like the dead boar that lies at the feet of Titus Statilius Aper (Mr. Boar) on his large funerary altar. A building surveyor dead at the tender age of twenty-­two, the deceased was simultaneously the hero Meleager, with the boar by his side, and the dead boar itself. As the inscribed lament says, “Lo, you lie here, innocent Aper! Your side pierced by neither the wrath of the virgin nor the spear of fierce Meleager. Silent death crept up sudSee also Morgan 1994, 67–­68. For the animal lore of deer and dittany, see Pliny, HN 8.97, 26.142. 40.  Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 112282; PPM 1:151–­54, no. 61, “I 4, 5.25 Casa del Citarista” (M. de Vos); Provenzale 2004, 163–­78. 41.  August., Conf. 1.13. 42.  See Green 1996, 221–­63. 43.   [Tib.] 3.9.1–­4, 12–­14. 44.  Plaut., Stich. 139–­40. 45.  Ov., Rem. am. 422. 46.  For punning on the name Aper, see Mart. 7.59; Shackleton-­Bailey 1993, 125. See also Mart. 10.16, 11.34, 12.30, 12.70.

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denly, and brought destruction.”47 Anyone catching sight of the boar and saying the word aper would have intoned the name of the deceased once again in the world of the living. Aper was a freeborn individual, although his mother’s name—­Argentaria Eutychia (more or less meaning “fortunate silver money”)—­suggests that she could have been a wealthy freedwoman. Animal puns in naming, however, were to be found at all social levels. In the first century BCE, the “most learned of all Romans,” Terentius Varro, had made use of elite interlocutors named Scrofa (Mr. Sow) and Vaccius (Mr. Cow) in his treatise on agriculture, so, once again, the high/low dichotomy does not pertain.48 Since Pompeii’s commercial sphere, too, reveled in naming puns like these, it is also likely to have played a role in the table talk at the house of the Popidii.49 If we put aside for a moment yet another of those analytical dichotomies that are usually taken for granted—­the hierarchical divide between picture and frame—­then yet another visual pun on the animal hunt will, I think, become apparent. In the large room 16, which is traditionally identified as a triclinium, at the House of Marcus Lucretius (IX.3.5.24), a panel depicting a wild boar held at bay by dogs is directly beneath the large picture of Hercules and Omphale and provides a hilarious commentary on the situation in which the hulking hero finds himself: enslaved and enamored, Hercules has succumbed and surrendered his lionskin and club to Omphale, the queen of Lydia, while donning her diaphanous garments himself (fig. 8.7). The sexual union that is about to transpire in the impressive mural from the House of the Ship (VI.10.11) also has a boar held at bay by small dogs in the predella panel, this time including an enthusiastic winged amorino to the right of the group. Since the identities of the protagonists in the large panel—­possibly Zephyros and Chlorys—­remain uncertain, it is difficult to say whether the quarry is the sleeping beauty in the foreground or the beefcake being winged in from above, but the animal hunt imagery juxtaposed with the panel certainly has the flexibility to swing either way.50 One final example providing an identifiable and most intriguing pairing 47.  CIL 6.1975: Innocuus Aper ecce iaces non virginis ira, nec Meleager atrox perfodit viscera ferro: mors tacita obrepsit subito fecitq(ue) ruinam; translation from Koortbojian 1995, n. 46. See Helbig 1966, 2:59–­61, no. 1214; especially on the Meleager identification, see Koortbojian 1995, 35 and n. 46. 48.  For Varro as “the most learned of all Romans,” see Quint., Inst. 10.1.95. For the supposed story behind the cognomen Scrofa, see Varro, Rust. 2.4.1–­2; cf. Macrob., Sat. 1.6. 49.  Kellum 1999, 283–­99. Cf. a bronze brazier dedicated by M. Nigidius Vaccula in the Forum Baths in Pompeii; an image of a small cow (vaccula) functions for the dedicator’s cognomen in the inscription (CIL 10.8071, line 48). 50.  Mattusch 2008, 164–­65, no. 61.

Fig. 8.7. Painting of Hercules and Omphale above a predella featuring a boar and hunting dogs, from the east wall of room 16, House of Marcus Lucretius (IX.3.5.24), Pompeii. (After an 1860 rendering by Giuseppe Abbate reproduced in PPM suppl.:366, s.v. “Catalogo dei disegnatori: Abbate, Giuseppe” [V. Sampaolo].)

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is a Pompeiian oscillum that shows, on one side, the famous grouping of the Centaur Chiron and his pupil Achilles, whom he is ostensibly teaching to play the lyre; it is known also in mural form from Herculaneum.51 On the other side of the oscillum is the by-­now-­familiar grouping of a boar being held at bay by a small dog. The interpretive possibilities here are many. The centaur Chiron—­a hybrid creature of horse and man—­was the inventor of hunting and trained heroes in its practice.52 Ovid was well aware of this: at the beginning of his Ars amatoria, he explicitly compares himself to the centaur—­as Chiron has taught heroes to hunt, so Ovid will be Love’s teacher.53 In addition to the didactic interpretation, there is the homoerotic turn as well, since the aroused centaur is also the boar held by the small dog. The large wild boar at the House of the Citharist, caught in perpetuity between two barking dogs who are closing in on either side, thus bespoke the multiple possible fates of pursuer and pursued for humans of all sexual persuasions. The punning erotic imagery of the animal hunt, the spectacle of the amphitheater, the animal lore of the table, the heroic tale, and the animal fable—­all of these things and more, I think, were part of a fluid interpretive universe in which the possibilities for comparing animals and humans were many and protean. To conceptualize this possibility, it is necessary to look beyond the fixity of single meanings—­is it the amphitheater (low culture) or the aristocratic animal park (high culture); is it image or frame?—­and to risk conceiving of a world where, instead of interpretation being either/or, it is always both/and, a world where analogy, similitude, and resemblance were fundamentally a part of the semantic web. Arguably, the quest for a single definitive answer to the question “What do you think it symbolizes?” may be a peculiarly modern one that is not without potentially fatal consequences, as the two hapless archaeologists in a Close to Home cartoon are about to discover (fig. 8.8). In truth, I believe that the juxtaposition of the bronze snake, the boar and dogs, the deer, and the lion on the fountain rim at the House of the Citharist has the potential to destabilize our distinction between the Same and the Other, in a manner similar to Foucault’s encounter, in The Order of Things, with Jorge Luis Borges’ fiction of “a certain Chinese ency51.  Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 120529; Dwyer 1982, 131. The Herculaneum mural is after a statuary grouping from the Saepta in Augustan Rome, which, along with an Olympus and Pan grouping, were considered so valuable that the keepers had to answer for their safety with their lives, see Pliny, HN 36.29. 52.  See Green 1996, 222–­23, for Xenophon, Pindar, and other Greek sources. 53.  Ov., Ars am. 1.17.

Fig. 8.8. Close to Home cartoon by John McPherson, 2008. (Reproduced with the permission of J. McPherson.)

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clopaedia” where “animals are divided into: (a) belonging to the emperor, (b) embalmed, (c) tame, (d) suckling pigs, (e) sirens, (f ) fabulous, (g) stray dogs . . .”54 I am convinced that the categories of animal and human were far more permeable for the Romans than they are for us, and that is why I insist we take the beauty of beasts seriously as one means of gaining insight into the associative mechanisms for the making of meaning in this bizarre and ever-­fascinating visual culture.

Works Cited Alexander, R. McN. 1963. “The Evolution of the Basilisk.” G&R, 2nd ser., 10.2: 170–­81. Ames, K. 1992. “Death in the Dining Room.” In Death in the Dining Room and Other Tales of Victorian Culture, 44–­96. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Borges. J. L. 1964. “The Analytical Language of John Wilkins.” In Other Inquisitions, 1937–­1952. Trans. R. L. C. Sims. Austin: University of Texas Press, 101–­5. Chiasson, C. C. 2003. “Herodotus’ Use of Attic Tragedy in the Lydian Logos.” ClAnt 22.1:5–­35. Cooley, A. E., and M. G. L. Cooley. 2004. Pompeii: A Sourcebook. New York: Routledge. Crawford, M. H. 1974. Roman Republican Coinage. Vol. 1. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cribiore, R. 2001. Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Dunbabin, K. M. D. 1999. Mosaics of the Greek and Roman World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dwyer, E. J. 1981. “Pompeian Oscilla Collections.” RM 88:247–­306. Dwyer, E. J. 1982. Pompeian Domestic Sculpture: A Study of Five Pompeian Houses and Their Contents. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. Foucault, M. 2002. The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences. Reprint, New York: Vintage Books. Original ed., New York: Pantheon Books, 1971. Franklin, J. L., Jr. 2001. Pompeis Difficile Est: Studies in the Political Life of Imperial Pompeii. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Green, C. M. C. 1996. “Terms of Venery: Ars Amatoria I.” TAPA 126:221–­63. Helbig, W. 1966. Führer durch die öffentlichen Sammlungem klassischer Altertümer in Rom. 4th ed. Tübingen: Ernst Wasmuth. Jennison, G. 2005. Animals for Show and Pleasure in Ancient Rome. Reprint, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania. Original ed., Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1937. 54.  Foucault 2002, xv–­xxiv, 17–­45. Although Foucault identifies a passage of Borges as his source for “a certain Chinese encyclopedia,” that is all the information he provides. The essay is “The Analytical Language of John Wilkins” (Borges 1964, 101–­5), in which Borges ponders the elaborate taxonomies of Wilkins in the seventeenth century.

212  •  ro m an a rtis ts , pat ron s, a n d p ublic consumption Kellum, B. 1999. “The Spectacle of the Street.” In The Art of Ancient Spectacle, edited by B. Bergmann and C. Kondoleon, 283–­99. Studies in the History of Art 56; Center for Advanced Study in the Visual Arts Symposium Papers 34. New Haven: Yale University Press. Koortbojian, M. 1995. Myth, Meaning, and Memory on Roman Sarcophagi. Berkeley: University of California Press. Laes, C. 2006. “Children and Fables, Children in Fables in Hellenistic and Roman Antiquity.” Latomus 65.4:898–­914. Laidlaw, A. 1985. The First Style in Pompeii: Painting and Architecture. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. Leach, E. W. 1969. “De exemplo meo ipse aedificato: An Organizing Idea in the Mostellaria.” Hermes 97.3:318–­32. Mattusch, C. C. 2008. Pompeii and the Roman Villa: Art and Culture around the Bay of Naples. Washington, DC: National Gallery of Art. Mau, A. 1902. Pompeii: Its Life and Art. Trans. F. W. Kelsey. London: MacMillan. The Medici Aesop: Spencer MS 50 from the Spencer Collection of the New York Public Library. 1989. Facsimile ed. New York: Abrams. Morgan, G. 1994. “Dido the Wounded Deer.” Vergilius 40:67–­68. Nixon, P., trans. 1957. Plautus. Vol. 3, “The Merchant,” “The Braggart Warrior,” “The Haunted House,” “The Persian.” Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Perry, B. E., trans. 1965. Babrius and Phaedrus. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Provenzale V. 2004. “Coppie sedute di amanti: Enea e Didone a Pompei.” In Ad limina II: Incontro di studio tra i dottorandi e i giovani studiosi di Roma, Istituto svizzero di Roma, Villa Maraini, febbraio-­aprile 2003, ed. R. Burri, 163–­80. Alexandria: Edizioni dell’Orso. Sampaolo, V., and A. Hoffmann. 2014. Pompeji: Götter, Mythen, Menschen. Munich: Hirmer. Schefold, K. 1957. Die Wände Pompejis. Berlin: De Gruyter. Shackleton-­Bailey, D. R. 1993. Martial, Epigrams. Vol. 2. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

nine

The Votive Relief from House V.3.10 in Pompeii A Sculpture and Its Context Reexamined Jessica Powers

Among the most influential strands of Elaine Gazda’s scholarship, reflected in the work of many of her students, has been her insistence that Greek and Roman sculptures should be studied not in isolation but in relation to their ancient display settings. Applying this approach gives new meaning to an unusual sculpture found in Pompeii on September 12, 1901, leaning against the back wall of the garden in House V.3.10. The marble panel, carved in relief, depicts a large seated goddess approached by six worshippers and an attendant leading a ram (plate 9.1). Antonio Sogliano, reporting the relief ’s discovery in the Notizie degli scavi di antichità, identified the scene as a sacrifice to Aphrodite.1 In the years since, there has been disagreement 1.  Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 126174 (Sogliano 1901e, 400–­ 402). I am grateful to Paolo Giulierini, Teresa Elena Cinquantaquattro, Valeria Sampaolo, Floriana Miele, and Alessandra Villone for access to the collections and archives of the National Archaeological Museum in Naples, and to Massimo Osanna and Grete Stefani for facilitating my research in Pompeii. I also thank the staff who assisted me at the National Archaeological Museum in Athens, the Acropolis Museum, the Museum of the Ancient Agora in Athens, the Archaeological Museum of Piraeus, and the Archaeological Museum of Brauron, and I thank Ioanna Damanaki at the American School of Classical Studies at Athens for help in arranging these visits. Valeria Sampaolo kindly allowed new photography of the votive relief when it was at the San Antonio Museum of Art for the exhibition Aphrodite and the Gods of Love in 2013, and Anne Turkos assisted me in securing the pho-

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about the identity of the goddess, with some scholars proposing Demeter as more probable than Aphrodite, but the consensus, across more than two dozen publications, has been that the panel is an Attic votive relief of the late fifth or fourth century BCE.2 This interpretation, if correct, would make the relief particularly important, as one of few Greek sculptures of the Classical period to have been found on Italian soil. Under close inspection, however, very little of the rationale for the accepted understanding of the relief can be maintained. The overall composition of a family approaching a deity does have broad similarities to reliefs from sanctuaries in Attica, but careful examination of its stylistic and iconographic elements and technical details leads to a significant revision of its date. Rather than a creation of the Classical period, the panel was more likely made in the first century BCE or early first century CE. Although it may have been carved in Attica, it probably was never intended for dedication as a votive in a local sanctuary but instead was fashioned to appeal to the tastes of Roman patrons. My study therefore emphasizes not the panel’s relation to Greek votive reliefs but, rather, its role in its ultimate context in Pompeii. I focus on the relief’s setting in House V.3.10 and consider its place in relation to the house’s layout and overall decor. I then reconsider the identification of the goddess from the perspective of her viewers in Pompeii, who may have connected the offering scene to local rituals they had witnessed or in which they had even participated. Unlike previous studies, my approach treats the relief not as a unicum tograph from Wilhelmina Jashemski’s archive at the University of Maryland. I presented earlier versions of this material at the University of Iowa, the Getty Villa, and the San Antonio Museum of Art, and I would like to thank all three audiences and Bettina Bergmann, Elaine Gazda, Kevin Glowacki, Christine Kondoleon, Carol Lawton, Brenda Longfellow, Olga Palagia, Andrew Stewart, and Molly Swetnam-­Burland for sharing their thoughts on this perplexing panel. It is a pleasure to dedicate this essay to Elaine Gazda, whose scholarship has prominently featured many of the themes on which this discussion touches. We had several conversations about the relief analyzed in this essay, and she often asked where I would publish my work on it. Here, at last, it is. 2.  Harrison 1903, 310; Ruesch 1911, 40, no. 128; Grossman 1959, 241–­42, no. FR 2; Mylonas 1961, 200; Blanck 1969, 179 n. 24; Kraus and von Matt 1973, 193 n. 266; Froning 1981, 55 n. 37; Wegener 1985, 93, 285 n. 59; LIMC IV.1 (1988), 858, no. 126, s.v. “Demeter” (L. Beschi); Archivio Fotografico Pedicini 1989b, 148, no. 259; PPM 3:935, 937, s.v. “V 3, 10” (I. Bragantini); Jashemski 1993, 114–­15; Bonanome 1995, 209; van Straten 1995, 79, 291, no. R 69; Böhm 1999, 26; Edelmann 1999, 217, no. F 35; Baumer 2001, 89; Böhm 2004, 18; Comella and Stefani 2007, 33–­34; Comella 2008a, 184, 187, 189, 191; Comella 2008b, 53–­56, 58; Carrella et al. 2008, 78–­79, no. B13; Cirucci 2009, 52, 54, 58–­60; Guidobaldi and Guzzo 2010, 258–­59; Kondoleon 2011, 190, no. 19; Comella 2011, 40–­44, 96–­97, 105–­6; Shapiro 2012, 373; Cinquantaquattro, Capaldi, and Sampaolo 2014, 63, no. IV.23.

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but as part of an ensemble including other sculptures, paintings, floor pavements, and furnishings. Lastly, I look at this assemblage, in comparison with other houses from the immediate neighborhood, as a reflection of the tastes and aspirations of House V.3.10’s owners.

Historiography and the Relief ’s Date The question of when and where the relief was carved has two distinct facets: First, to what period should present-­day scholars assign its production? Second, what did its ancient owners in Pompeii believe about its age?3 In the initial publication of the relief, Sogliano suggested that the composition, which he praises, could go back to an original of the fourth century BCE, but he implied that the execution, which he characterized as rather negligent, particularly for the secondary figures, was indicative of a later date.4 Ruesch’s guide to the Naples National Archaeological Museum similarly considers the relief a later work based on fifth-­century models.5 This immediate assessment of the panel as derivative from unspecified Greek works reflects the Kopienkritik approach that long dominated the study of Roman mythological sculpture.6 Just two years after Sogliano’s report, Jane Harrison was the first to date the relief to “about the turn of the fifth and fourth centuries B.C.”7 Most subsequent scholars have repeated a date in the fifth or fourth century BCE (some noting that the treatment of the goddess’s drapery is similar to that on other reliefs of this period), and several have placed its production in Attica. The 1903 discovery of another Greek votive relief for Aphrodite in the House of the Gilded Cupids (VI.16.7) must have reinforced the accepted attribution of the relief in House V.3.10.8 3.  On the variance between ancient and modern perceptions of works of art, see Clarke 2003, 9–­15; cf. Swetnam-­Burland 2015, on Roman viewers’ understanding(s) of Egyptian-­ looking objects. 4.  “La composizione è senza dubbio buona, e può ben risalire ad un originale del IV sec. a. Cr., nel qual tempo cominciano ad esser frequenti le scene di sacrifizî. Ma la esecuzione . . . è abbastanza trascurata, specie nelle figure secondarie” (Sogliano 1901e, 401–­2). 5.  Ruesch 1911, 40, no. 128. 6.  The Kopienkritik method has been thoughtfully discussed and rebutted by this volume’s honorand (Gazda 1995, 2002). 7.  Harrison 1903, 310. 8.  Pompeii inv. no. 20469 (Sogliano 1907, 559). This relief, which shows Aphrodite standing between Eros and a thymiaterion in a cave-­like setting, is generally accepted as an Attic relief of the fourth century BCE (Seiler 1992, 123–­24).

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When considered without preconceptions of its date and origins, the relief reveals significant variations in style and iconographic details from fifth-­and fourth-­century BCE Attic votive reliefs. Carved from a white marble with fine crystals,9 the rectangular panel has, along its bottom edge, a raised border that forms a shallow and somewhat uneven groundline beneath the figures. The goddess, who has a serene expression, wears a peplos that clings to her breasts; the mantle wrapped around her legs falls over her low, rocky seat. A diadem crowns her wavy hair. Even sitting, she towers over the low altar at her feet and the approaching figures. First among these is an attendant who leads a ram and carries the kanoûn, a container with supplies for the sacrifice.10 Two children accompany the ram: a boy drapes his arm around the animal’s neck and turns back to the girl, who reaches toward him, in turn. A third, smaller child, nude except for a cloak draped over his left shoulder, follows them. Completing the group of worshippers are an adult man (bearded and carrying a small box), his wife, and another woman (probably a slave or nurse)11—­all three raising their right hands in a gesture of adoration. Surface wear and numerous shallow losses have obscured some details, including the facial features and hairstyles of the worshippers, particularly those of the adult man and the children, and the floral terminal of the goddess’s staff. Other elements, like the straps of the goddess’s sandal, must have been added in paint but are now invisible to the naked eye. Although the treatment of the goddess’s garments, face, and hair call to mind relief sculptures of the late fifth and early fourth centuries BCE,12 the three adult worshippers wear fixed smiles inconsistent with the solemn expressions of worshippers on Classical votive reliefs (fig. 9.1). Their smiles and the bulging eye of the leftmost figure are more typical of Archaic relief sculpture.13 The ram’s heavily tufted fleece is similarly unusual: fleece is normally smoother or, if textured, patterned with dimples or swirls.14 The low altar likewise differs from the more common rectangular type with moldings   9.  Several scholars (PPM 3:937, s.v. “V 3, 10” I. Bragantini; Carrella et al. 2008, 77–­ 78; Comella 2011, 40) label the marble Pentelic, though it has not to my knowledge been scientifically analyzed to confirm this attribution. 10.  Van Straten 1995, 162–­64. 11.  Edelmann 1999, 44–­45. 12.  Cf., e.g., Persephone’s head on the (admittedly much larger) relief from Eleusis (Athens, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 126; Kaltsas 2002, 100–­101, no. 180). 13.  Cf., e.g., the features of Athena on a votive relief from the Acropolis (Athens, Acropolis Museum, inv. no. 581; Edelmann 1999, 184, no. A14). 14.  Cf. Athens, National Archaeological Museum, inv. nos. 1333, 1407; inv. no. 1404 is more similar (Kaltsas 2002, 226, no. 475; 210, no. 426; 139, no. 266).

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Fig. 9.1. Detail of marble relief depicting a goddess and worshippers, Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 126174. (Photograph by Peggy Tenison, reproduced with the permission of the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­ Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli.)

at its base and top. The ambiguity of the space around it is also atypical: although the altar lies between the ram and the two children, the boy is easily able to wrap his arm around the animal, and the ram’s hooves have slid awkwardly onto the panel’s raised border. The uncertainty among scholars over the goddess’s identity results from further inconsistencies in comparison with other votive reliefs. Most scholars, especially those writing in relation to Pompeii or the Naples National Archaeological Museum, have followed Sogliano in calling her Aphrodite. This attribution has been challenged by a few who, approaching the panel from a background in Greek art, favor an identification with Demeter.15 Annamaria Comella sets forth this argument in the greatest detail, and her 15.  Grossman 1959, 241–­42, no. FR 2; Mylonas 1961, 200; LIMC IV.1 (1988), 858, no. 126, s.v. “Demeter” (L. Beschi); van Straten 1995, 79; Comella 2008b, 54–­55; 2011, 40–­44; Shapiro 2012, 373.

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conclusion is based on comparison of the goddess’s attire and rocky seat, as well as the choice of a ram as sacrificial animal, with fifth-­and fourth-­ century Attic vase paintings and votive reliefs and with Greek textual sources. But the evidence, as Demeter’s advocates admit, is not conclusive: on votive reliefs, other goddesses sit on rocks, and Demeter wears a polos crown at least as often as the stephane.16 Demeter is more likely than Aphrodite to receive the offering of a ram but is more often shown receiving a pig. She typically appears together with Persephone, not alone. More generally, few surviving Classical votive reliefs depict either Aphrodite or Demeter approached by a family of worshippers; this format seems not to have been used as often for them as for other deities, such as Asklepios and Artemis.17 The goddess on the relief seems to be deliberately unspecific, as if the sculptor were trying to create a generic goddess rather than any one in particular. The clothing and poses of the seven human figures draw on stock types but deploy them in a manner inconsistent with the conventions of Attic votive reliefs. The servant leading the ram, a tall youth wearing a himation, differs from the more frequent short, exomis-­wearing sacrificial attendant.18 The gesture of the boy who drapes his arm around the ram seems taken from the servant’s repertoire.19 Children not yet old enough to attend solemnly to the ritual are typically placed toward the back of the family group, but the chatting boy and girl lead the way here.20 The third child, fully nude save a mantle draped over his left shoulder and caught up in his right hand, is likewise unusual. Although he is presented as the smallest and therefore youngest child, his costume is associated with older boys who have reached puberty.21 Lastly, the adult woman wears a back-­mantle (awkwardly fastened at her armpit rather than on the shoulder), a garment ordinarily worn on 16.  Goddesses shown on rocks include Aphrodite (Rome, Museo Torlonia, inv. no. 433; Rosenzweig 2004, 85–­86, fig. 67); Leto (Rome, Museo Barracco, inv. no. 41; Lawton 2007, 52); Artemis (Brauron, Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 1153; van Straten 1995, 293, no. R75). For Demeter wearing a polos, see Paris, Louvre Museum, inv. no. 752 (van Straten 1995, 78, no. R67); Eleusis, Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 5085 (Comella 2002, 39). For Demeter wearing what may be a stephane, see Athens, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 1519 (Kaltsas 2002, 230, no. 484). 17.  Van Straten 1995, 77–­80; Edelmann 1999, 201–­8, 212–­18. 18.  Edelmann 1999, 44, 150. 19.  Cf. the gesture of the servant leading the ram in Athens, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 1407. 20.  Lawton 2007, 50. 21.  Lawton 2007, 58–­60.

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votive reliefs only by maidens or maiden goddesses.22 The sculptor seems to have been familiar with the stock figures represented on Classical Attic votive reliefs but not to have shared that period’s concern for precise usage of the types to convey social roles within the ritual occasion. Elements of the overall shape of the relief and carving technique also diverge from the norms for votive reliefs of the fifth and fourth centuries BCE. Greek votive reliefs were usually displayed on freestanding pillars erected outdoors in the sanctuary of the appropriate god. The panels were typically carved with a tenon that could be inserted into the stone support.23 The relief from House V.3.10 lacks a tenon, nor does it appear to have ever had one: point and tooth chisel marks cover the full width of its bottom edge, and there is no sign of recarving concentrated at the center where a tenon would have been. In addition, Attic votive reliefs of this height and width are usually thicker and roughly worked on the back. The back of our panel was instead finished nearly smooth (fig. 9.2). Together with the pin holes in its top, right, and left edges, these features suggest that the relief was intended, from the outset, for insertion in a wall, never for freestanding display on a pillar. Because so many of its elements differ from the norm for Classical votive reliefs, I propose that the panel from Pompeii should be dated much later, probably in the first century BCE or early first century CE. The ambiguity of the goddess and the unorthodox depictions of the mortal figures place it within a larger body of classicizing relief sculptures from the late Hellenistic and early imperial periods.24 The sculptor fashioned a work that draws on Classical motifs but in a format suitable for decorating the wall of a Roman house or villa. The panel may have been produced by a workshop in Attica but could also have been carved in Italy by a sculptor generally familiar with the figure types.25 But did its last owner in House V.3.10 consider the relief ’s age in the same way as present-­day scholars? Did the date of its creation even matter to him or her? The owner’s opinion of the relief may have depended on how it was 22.  Roccos 2000; Lawton 2007, 55–­56. 23.  Van Straten 1992, 248–­50. 24.  Böhm (1999, 2004) redates a number of votive reliefs previously considered either works of the fifth and fourth centuries BCE or forgeries to the late Hellenistic and early imperial periods, on account of similar stylistic, iconographic, and technical inconsistencies; see also Froning 1981. 25.  On these so-­called neo-­Attic workshops, a subject of much uncertainty and debate, see Cain and Dräger 1994; Fullerton 1998.

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Fig. 9.2. Reverse of marble relief depicting a goddess and worshippers, Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 126174. (Photograph by Peggy Tenison, reproduced with the permission of the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­ Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli.)

acquired—­as a family heirloom, as a souvenir of travel in Greece, or from a dealer in secondhand marbles in Pompeii or elsewhere in Italy. An often-­ cited sequence of letters in which Cicero is silent about the age or subject matter of the reliefs he asks Atticus to purchase for him in Athens suggests that such details were not of primary importance for some patrons.26 Anecdotes related by Statius, Martial, and Pliny indicate, however, that many Roman collectors took pride in owning works that could be described as vetus or antiquus and in telling their histories—­sometimes embellished or even wholly fabricated.27 For its owner and other viewers in Pompeii, this panel may have been valued for looking “old” or “Greek.” Their responses to the votive relief must have been conditioned by its presentation within House V.3.10, to which I now turn. 26.  Cic., Ad Att. 6.3–­4. 27.  Stat., Silv. 1.3.47–­51, 2.2.63–­69; Mart. 4.39, 8.6; Pliny, Ep. 8.18.11. Additional literary sources and legal texts indicating the value of “old” sculptures are collected in Vorster 1999.

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The Relief in House V.3.10 The house’s poor state of preservation and the fragmented recording of its object assemblage have doubly discouraged study of the relief in connection with its archaeological context. Located in the northern part of the city, House V.3.10 lies in the middle of its insula’s east side (fig. 9.3). The house was cleared between May and September of 1901, and the excavators returned on October 9, 1902, for a special excavation in room n, in the presence of the Ministro della Pubblica Istruzione.28 Although some efforts were made at conservation, including the partial reconstruction of collapsed walls, consolidation of the wall paintings, and patching of a post-­eruption tunnel cut through the walls from room n to room o, the house was only given a protective roof in 2016, as part of the Grande Progetto Pompeii. It was not systematically photographed until 1979, by which time many details noted for the wall paintings in the initial reports in the Notizie degli scavi di antichità had disappeared.29 The house’s deterioration has continued in recent years, with much of the plaster that remained in the 1970s having now fallen from the walls or weathered beyond recognition. Unsurprisingly, given its condition, the house has received little attention from scholars.30 Likewise, the publication of the finds across seven different reports in the Notizie and their disposition following excavation pose challenges for any attempt at understanding the material furnishings of the house as an ensemble. Although some objects were removed to storage in Pompeii and a few were sent to the National Archaeological Museum in Naples, the rest, including most of the ceramics, were not inventoried, must have been left in the house, and are now lost or destroyed.31 Thus it is hardly to be wondered at that most recent 28.  GSc, 67–­87, 123; Sogliano 1901d; 1901a; 1901c, 331–­33; 1901b, 362–­63; 1901e; Paribeni 1902a; 1902c, 566. Since the entryway numbers for the east side of Insula 3 of Regio V were not assigned until the fall of 1901, Sogliano’s reports on House V.3.10 describe it as the “casa con l’ingresso dal secondo vano sul lato orientale dell’ Is. III, Reg. V.” 29.  Bragantini et al. 1981–­86, 2:76–­78; PPM 3:929–­43, s.v. “V 3, 10” (I. Bragantini). 30.  The few exceptions include CIL 4.2.6710–­23; Moeller 1976, 39; PPM 3:929–­43, s.v. “V 3, 10” (I. Bragantini); Jashemski 1993, 114–­15; Eschebach 1993, 139; Cirucci 2009. My observations of House V.3.10 are based on study visits in 2008, 2011, and 2014, and do not reflect conservation work undertaken there in 2015–17 as part of the Grande Progetto Pompeii. 31.  As of October 2014, several fragmentary transport amphorae and a stone mortar remained in the kitchen (e), but the many sherds scattered on the ground throughout the house tell the unfortunate fate of most of the ceramics. The assemblage record may not be complete: some objects may have been disturbed or removed by whoever entered through the robbing tunnel, and others may have escaped the notice of the excavators from the early twentieth century (cf. Zaccaria Ruggiu et al. 2010, 115–­20). On the interpretation

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Fig. 9.3. Plan of House V.3.10, Pompeii, with the approximate findspots of the votive relief (1), the statuette of Hermes (2), and the table support (3). (Drawing by Rob Bishop and Jessica Powers, adapted from Zaccaria Ruggiu et al. 2010, 113, fig. 1.)

discussions of the relief do not consider it in relation to the other finds. In what follows, I give a brief overview of the house, highlighting its decorative elements, as a prelude to assessing the relief in this context. The owners’ pride in their home was spelled out for visitors and passersby in white tesserae set into the sidewalk immediately outside the entrance. Beneath the inscription of the greeting HAVETIS INTRO (You are welcome inside!),32 white tesserae forming vegetal designs surrounded a small piece of of household artifact assemblages in Pompeii, see Allison 2006; Berry 2007. In relation to sculpture assemblages in particular, see Dwyer 2012, 306. 32.  Paribeni 1902b, 274; Engelmann 1907, 117–­18. De Vos (1991, 42) dates the inscription to the republican period. I thank Tim O’Sullivan for the translation.

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marmo africano, a red-­and-­black marble quarried in Asia Minor.33 This use of the sidewalk put the house in the company of larger residences with similar attention-­grabbing inscriptions, like the House of the Faun (VI.12.2), while the display of the imported marble slab asserted the family’s resources and taste. Visitors entered directly into the large atrium (a), which was decorated with Third-­Style painting on the walls and an opus signinum floor pavement. On the far side of the impluvium (b), two masonry supports, painted to imitate colored marble, held a marble tabletop.34 Near this table were found a fluted marble pedestal (perhaps for a fountain basin) and a bronze statuette of a nude male figure (plate 9.2).35 The statuette, to which I return below, may have stood on the table, where it would have been prominently visible from the house’s entrance.36 A niche high in the west wall, between the doors to rooms h and o, probably served as a household shrine: it held a small bronze statuette of Venus; a male terracotta head with exaggerated, caricature-­like features; a pseudo-­alabaster statuette; and a mass of bronze needles, iron utensils, and a silver spoon.37 Many objects of daily household use were stored in cupboards along the atrium’s north and east walls. On the north side of the atrium was a wheeled brazier, still containing ash and charcoal, and near it was a strongbox (c), found empty.38 This assemblage probably indicates that the house was still inhabited at the time of the eruption and that the occupants were able to flee, taking the valuables from the strongbox with them.39 A stair (d) in the northwest corner of the atrium gave access to an upper floor, and a narrow doorway on its south side led to the kitchen (e), with a latrine (f ) and a lararium painting. The remaining rooms (g, h, o, and n), as well as the garden (i) and its portico (l), were all decorated with late Third-­Style wall paintings.40 Those 33.  See Pensabene and Bruno 1998, 8. 34.  Paribeni 1902a, 203; PPM 3:931, fig. 2, s.v. “V 3, 10” (I. Bragantini). 35.  Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 126170 (Sogliano 1901a, 299–­301). 36.  Dwyer 1982, 125; B. Fröhlich 1998, 283. Cf. Dwyer 2012 for other examples of bronze statuettes displayed in similar positions. 37.  Statuette of Venus, Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 129463; male terracotta head, Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 129464 (Sogliano 1901d, 282; Boyce 1937, 23 n. 1; Kaufmann-­Heinimann 1998, 216, no. GFV16). 38.  GSc, 69–­71; Sogliano 1901a, 302–­3. 39.  Cf. Allison 2006, 399–­405. 40.  Bragantini (PPM 3:929–­43) attributed the paintings in room h and the portico (l) to the late phases of the Third Style and those in rooms o and n and the garden (i) to the Third Style’s phase IIb, dated by Bastet and De Vos (1979) to the 30s and 40s CE. Their poor condition makes it difficult to assess whether any of the apparently Third-­Style

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in room o are noteworthy for an Egyptianizing frieze that topped the walls’ black, red, and yellow panels and added a stylish touch to the ensemble. The figures have now vanished but perhaps resembled the Egyptian gods and animals in the predella of the Villa of the Mysteries’ elegant black room.41 Room h’s antae, painted black with white and yellow lines to imitate fluting, emphasized its central position in the house. On its walls, like those of room o, black and red panels flanked yellow aediculae. Its furnishings included a small marble table with a graceful bronze support in the form of a cupid pouring perfume into a seashell.42 Near the table, the excavators made another remarkable find: an iron sword with an ivory pommel, in its sheath, one of only a handful of such weapons known from Pompeii and its vicinity.43 Both room h and the corridor (m) along its south side opened onto the porticoed garden at the back of the house, where the relief was found. The south wing of the portico (l) gave access to room n, a grand space whose fine decoration and furnishings suggest that it may have been used for entertaining guests. Its walls featured red and black panels adorned with garlands and, in the upper zone, ducks and fruit on the same alternating colors. A slender painted colonnette demarcated the room’s west end as an antechamber, and its signinum pavement, inlaid with white and black tesserae, was distinguished from that of the portico by a patterned band at the threshold.44 Its furnishings included at least one couch. Two small bronzes found here, a herm of Bacchus and a head of a griffin, may have decorated the couches or other pieces of furniture.45 The portico (l), supported by a single octagonal column, ran along the south and east sides of the garden (i). This narrow “garden” was completely paved in opus signinum except for a raised planting bed along its west wall (plate 9.3). Patterns in black and white tesserae in the portico’s signinum paintings could be later evocations of or repairs to the earlier style, as Schefold thought (1957, 82). 41.  Paribeni 1902a, 204. Cf. De Vos 1980 (9–­12 on the Villa of the Mysteries paintings); Söldner 2004; Swetnam-­Burland 2015, 53–­55. 42.  Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 126172 (Sogliano 1901c, 331–­ 33, figs. 2–­3). 43.  Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 126171 (GSc, 74, giving the length as 55 cm; Sogliano 1901c, 333). I have not been able to examine the sword. On other swords from the region, see De Carolis 2003, 137–­38. 44.  Paribeni 1902a, 204; Pernice 1938, 109, 131; PPM 3:939, s.v. “V 3, 10” (I. Bragantini). 45.  Bronze herm, Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 129535; bronze griffin, Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 129471 (Sogliano 1901e, 403). The feet of the herm appeared to have been connected to the head by a wooden shaft (Paribeni 1902c, 566). I have not been able to examine either object.

Fig. 9.4. Herm bust of a youthful Bacchus or maenad, from a table support, yellow marble (giallo antico), height 21.7 cm, Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 126175. (Reproduced with the permission of the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli.)

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floor distinguished it from the undecorated garden pavement.46 Above a black socle enlivened with flowering plants, the garden’s walls were painted in imitation of ashlar masonry, with rectangular white blocks alternating in each course with red, yellow, and blue squares. Carefully drawn lines in red (for the white blocks) and white (for the colored ones) delineate the drafted edges of each block, creating a pattern attested in only one other house in Pompeii.47 An upper-­floor balcony or catwalk seemingly ran along the middle stretch of the garden’s west wall.48 In addition to the votive relief, a colored-­marble table support with a herm bust of a youthful Bacchus or maenad was also found in this area, probably at the north end of the portico (fig. 9.4).49 A heap of glass and terracotta vessels found in the southeast corner of the portico may represent the contents of a cupboard. With them were found three marble bases for sculptures, and leaning on the portico’s south wall was a large marble panel, perhaps the top for the table support. In the northeast corner of the garden were found a lead cista (with relief decoration) and four transport amphorae.50 The owners’ display of the votive relief against the west wall of the garden—­the excavation reports do not specify exactly where, but probably at the end of the south portico—­placed it at a visual focal point for anyone walking along the portico to room n and gave it protection from the elements. Because it was found leaning on, rather than immured in, the wall, some scholars have proposed that this was an intermediary placement until 46.  Pernice 1938, 109, plate 48.3. 47.  Cf. the outdoor triclinium in the House of Trebius Valens (III.2.1); Jashemski 1993, 99–­101. A simpler pattern, in which all the blocks are square and lack the drafted edges, appears in the peristyles of the House of M. Lucretius Fronto (V.4.a) and of the Suburban Baths and on the street facades of a fullonica (IX.13.5–­6) and of the House of the Bicentenary in Herculaneum (V.15–­16): see Thomas 1995, 157. 48.  The middle section of the garden’s west wall is lower than the ends and topped by a stucco molding, above which remain two bricks, both projecting over the garden area and plastered on their lower surfaces. At the south end of the molding was a drainpipe that is now lost but is visible at left in photographs from 1964 (pl. 9.3; Paribeni 1902a, 204; cf. Jashemski 1993, 115, fig. 127). It is not clear whether this upper-­floor space was reached from House V.3.10 or from the neighboring House of the Ceiling (V.3.4). Cf. PPM 3:937, s.v. “V 3, 10” (I. Bragantini). 49.  Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 126175. GSc (85, 86) and Sogliano (1901e, 403–­404) record slightly different findspots, but both put it in this general area. The separately worked feet were found with the vessels in the portico’s southeast corner. The pilasters are now missing; an early photo of the garden (DAIR neg. 31.2693; PPM 3:935, fig. 12) probably shows a cast of the table support (cf. Moss 1988, 573). 50.  Sogliano 1901e, 403–­5. GSc (85) gives the now-­lost marble panel’s dimensions as 67.0 × 43.0 cm. On lead cistae, see Adamo Muscettola 1982.

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the panel could be properly installed.51 Marble reliefs in other houses, like those in the House of the Gilded Cupids in Pompeii and the recently discovered panels in the House of the Dionysiac Reliefs in Herculaneum, seem to have been installed in conjunction with the application of the wall plaster. These reliefs were all recessed into the plaster—­in the case of the large panels in Herculaneum, cavities for them were cut into the masonry walls—­and were secured with iron pins or clamps set into the masonry.52 There is no evidence to suggest that House V.3.10 was undergoing or in need of such substantial renovation to its walls at the time of the eruption, so the relief ’s placement against the wall, though unusual, seems to have been more than a temporary solution.53 Its visual prominence is consistent with the display of marble reliefs in other houses.54 Five reliefs in the House of the Gilded Cupids were aligned with the intercolumniations of the peristyle’s south portico, a rhythmic arrangement that enhanced their visibility from other parts of the peristyle, and a sixth was placed prominently in that portico’s west wall.55 In the House of the Dionysiac Reliefs, two panels placed above eye level served as the central features of the east and south walls of room m.56 Likewise, the votive relief in House V.3.10 seems to have been carefully positioned as both a striking accent to the faux masonry-­painted garden wall and a prelude to the impressive scale of room n. As the relief ’s owners must have known, its placement against the garden wall represented at least its second display setting. That the relief had previously been inserted in a wall is clearly indicated by traces of iron in the holes in its edges and of plaster along the edges.57 In addition, the panel’s back has been partly recut, perhaps to fit a predetermined wall cavity: its lower third 51.  Sogliano 1901e, 400; Jashemski 1993, 114; Comella and Stefani 2007, 33. 52.  Comella’s suggestion (2008a, 190–­91; 2011, 96) that the relief from V.3.10 could have been attached with metal pins to the wall’s surface (rather than set into the plaster) seems implausible, as such an installation would probably not provide sufficient support for its weight. 53.  Nothing in the excavation reports suggests that any of the wall paintings were unfinished. A broken vessel holding plaster, found in room n (Pompeii inv. no. 55205; GSc, 123), and a small container with traces of a yellowish powder that may be pigment, found in the upper layers near the garden’s west wall (Pompeii inv. no. 54793; Sogliano 1901e, 403), are hardly indicative of large-­scale repainting. 54.  See Guidobaldi and Guzzo 2010; Powers 2011. 55.  Pompeii inv. nos. 20462–­65, 20469, 20472 (Sogliano 1907, 558–­65; Seiler 1992, 43, 45, 122, 131–­33). 56.  Herculaneum inv. nos. 79613, 88091 (Guidobaldi, Esposito, and Formisano 2009, 79–­81). 57.  Sogliano 1901e, 402. The holes have been widened to accommodate the modern mount, and the iron traces are no longer present.

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is noticeably recessed from the smooth upper area and has large, irregularly spaced gouges from a point chisel (fig. 9.2).58 In their current state, the walls of House V.3.10 give no indication of a place where this relief could have been immured before its placement in the garden portico.59 If it was never set into the walls of this house, then where was it displayed? The homeowners may have purchased it secondhand, but the seemingly odd placement of the relief against the garden wall may, instead, reflect a long process of change in the house and the insula. At one time, House V.3.10 was part of a much larger complex. This property once communicated through room g and the kitchen (e) to House V.3.9 to the south, through a large opening in the west wall of the garden (i) to the garden area at back of the House of the Ceiling (V.3.4), and through one or more openings in room o to House V.3.11 to the north. In addition, room n’s east side once had a wide opening, divided by a pier, onto room g, and the south wall of room h abuts at its west end a blocked window onto the garden area. These openings were blocked before the application of the Third-­Style paintings in these rooms and the garden.60 Although the development of the insula is not yet fully understood, these and other structural modifications throughout the insula suggest that its units underwent significant changes in ownership or in the owners’ use of the lots in the course of the first century CE.61 I propose that in the course of these changes, House V.3.10 was carved out as a comfortable residential space, smaller than it previously had been but attractively decorated and furnished and still possessing large reception spaces in its atrium and room n.62 Perhaps the marble relief was once dis58.  Chisel marks across the bottom edge and the uneven right and left edges are probably the result of the same reworking. 59.  This conclusion is based on my examinations in 2008, 2011, and 2014. Admittedly, the extensive losses of plaster in the atrium (a) and room n and the damage caused by the robbing tunnel through rooms h, o, and n preclude certainty on this point. 60.  A team from the Università Ca’ Foscari di Venezia recently found evidence for two phases of reorganization and leveling of the House of the Ceiling’s garden, with an Augustan or Tiberian terminus post quem for the second leveling phase (Zaccaria Ruggiu et al. 2010, 116–­17, 129–­30). An extensive reworking of this area in the second quarter of the first century CE could be consistent with Bragantini’s dating of the wall paintings (see n. 40). 61.  See PPM 3:915–­43, s.v. “V 3, 8”; “V 3, 9”; “V 3, 10” (I. Bragantini); Zaccaria Ruggiu et al. 2010. The northwest part of the insula remains unexcavated. 62.  The ground floor of the house, at just under 200 m2 (approximately 2,000 sq. ft.), places it in Wallace-­Hadrill’s third quartile of Pompeii’s houses ranked by ground-­floor area (1994, 80–­82).

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played elsewhere in the earlier and larger complex in Insula 3 of Regio V and then moved into House V.3.10 following these changes, when this house became a more suitable setting for a fine sculpture than the now-­subdivided and apparently commercially oriented properties along the southern end of the insula. If this hypothesis is correct, the relief may have held a kind of heirloom status for its final owners.

Naming the Goddess in Pompeii This domestic setting provides a backdrop against which the question of the goddess’s identity can be reconsidered. In asking how the relief ’s Pompeian owner(s) and viewers named her, we are confronted with a problem similar to that faced in assessing its date: would they have identified her in the same way as present-­day scholars? The impact of the visual environment of Pompeii on their frame of reference for identifying her must surely have been stronger than that of earlier Attic votive reliefs. Regardless of the sculptor’s intentions, viewers in Pompeii may have seen her as Aphrodite or Venus, partly because images of this goddess were so prevalent throughout the city. Although Ceres had a public priestess and presumably a sanctuary (yet undiscovered) in Pompeii, she appears rarely, by comparison, in the visual arts of the city.63 In the few paintings depicting Ceres, she always carries a large torch, clearly distinct from a scepter, and she is closely associated with wheat, wearing a wheat crown or carrying sheaves.64 Aphrodite or Venus, however, appears repeatedly with a diadem and a scepter, not unlike the goddess on the marble panel.65 Scholars describing the goddess in the panel have consistently referred to her by the Greek names Aphrodite and Demeter, but it is not at all clear that Pompeian viewers would have done the same. While their official cults and 63.  CIL 10.812, 10.1036, 10.1074a, 10.1074b; Sogliano 1890, 333; Small 2007, 201 n. 2. 64.  Paintings of Ceres have been found in House V.3.7 (T. Fröhlich 1991, 270, no. L50), the House of Neptune (VI.5.3; PPM 11:329, fig. 137), the House of Meleager (VI.9.2; PPM 4:667, fig. 18), the House of the Dioscuri (VI.9.6–­7, Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 9454; Bragantini and Sampaolo 2009, 305, no. 132), the House of the Ship (VI.10.11, Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 9457; Archivio Fotografico Pedicini 1989a, 158–­59, no. 252), and on the facades of Insula VIII.3 (T. Fröhlich 1991, 330–­31, no. F60) and of House IX.11.1 (T. Fröhlich 1991, 335–­37, no. F66). 65.  See Dierichs 1998a, 1998b.

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priestesses invoke the Latin names Venus and Ceres, several graffiti attest to the use of the name Aphrodite among the city’s inhabitants.66 Name labels on wall paintings are more frequently written in Greek than in Latin, and three paintings of Aphrodite from Pompeii feature her name inscribed in Greek.67 The relief ’s owners may have preferred using Greek to describe their goddess, as a way to emphasize the age and Greekness of the sculpture and, by extension, their own sophistication. For the relief ’s ancient viewers, the image must have evoked their own religious rituals and their relationships with the goddesses worshipped in the city and home. The gathering of worshippers may have called to mind processions bringing offerings to Pompeii’s temples, like the one depicted in a painting from the House of the Wedding of Hercules (VII.9.47), which showed Venus in her temple, receiving a procession bringing offerings that included a bull and a lamb.68 The panel’s owners and others who saw it had probably seen and may even have participated in such processions. On a more intimate level, the scene must also have been reminiscent of the many occasions when members of the household gathered to make offerings at the lararium in the kitchen or at the niche shrine in the atrium’s west wall.69 The small bronze and pseudo-­alabaster statuettes found in the niche may have been venerated there as part of the household’s worship. The pseudo-­alabaster figure was weathered beyond recognition but probably represented a goddess,70 while the bronze portrayed Venus, fully nude, wearing a diadem, and reaching up to adjust her hair. The image of the worshippers approaching the goddess on the relief may have reminded the house’s occupants of their own devotional practice in relation to the deities represented by the two statuettes.71

66.  CIL 4.1589, 4.2096, 4.2411a, 4.2.5202. 67.  The three paintings are from the House of the Menander (I.10.4; Ling and Ling 2005, 245–­46), the House of Lesbianus (I.13.9; T. Fröhlich 1991, 311, no. F13), and the House of the Epigrams (V.1.18; CIL 4.2.3407). 68.  PPM 7:373, fig. 32. Cf. the procession approaching Cybele on the facade of IX.7.1 (T. Fröhlich 1991, 332–­33, no. F63). 69.  Cf. the household assembled for a sacrifice in the lararium painting in House I.13.2 (T. Fröhlich 1991, 261, no. L29). 70.  Cf. Pompeii inv. no. 2342 (Venus?; Boyce 1937, 30, no. 61); Oplontis inv. no. 71324 (Fortuna; De Caro 1987, 116–­18, no. 25). 71.  Cf. Böhm 2004, 19–­20, on the religious significance of classicizing votive reliefs.

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House V.3.10 and Its Ensemble With this reassessment of the panel in mind, let us now consider its role in the larger decorative ensemble of this house. Comella, discussing the relief on its own, described it as a single antiquarian object giving prestige to the house.72 Reintegrating the panel with the full object assemblage gives a much different and richer picture of the collection, the house, and its inhabitants. The relief ’s relation to the bronze statuette from the atrium is particularly striking, both because of the works’ separate but parallel historiographies and because of what each implies about the owners’ priorities. Like the relief, the statuette has been published repeatedly—­at least fifty times—­since its discovery. But despite the individual diffusion of these works in the scholarly literature, they have been published together only twice.73 As with the marble panel, scholarly debate has focused primarily on the statuette’s identity and date, rather than on its setting in House V.3.10. As in the case of the relief, it is reasonable to ask how ancient viewers’ perceptions of the statuette might have differed from those of the present day. The finely worked bronze statuette portrays a youthful man, who is fully nude except for a chlamys and a pair of winged sandals (plate 9.2). His chin strap and a flattened area with traces of lead at the crown of his head indicate that he once wore headgear, probably a traveler’s hat or petasos. One of his deeply set, inlaid eyes remained at the time of excavation.74 A half-­dozen identifications have been proposed, in various combinations: he represents a mythological figure (Hermes or Perseus), a Hellenistic ruler (Alexander I Balas, Antiochos VIII Grypos, or another monarch), a Roman private portrait in the guise of Hermes, or an athlete.75 Although his facial features do 72.  “. . . anche un unico ma prezioso oggetto d’antiquariato, qual era il rilievo dedicato verosimilmente a Demetra, doveva essere sufficiente a dare prestigio all’abitazione” (Comella and Stefani 2007, 34). 73.  “Importanti scoperte a Pompei,” L’Illustrazione italiana 29.50 (December 14, 1902) 470; Cirucci 2009, 58–­60. Cirucci also emphasizes the importance of considering the votive relief in relation to the other sculptures and their display context in House V.3.10; while Cirucci and I share an appreciation for the richness of the ensemble, our conclusions are based on very different understandings of the relief, which she considers an imported Attic work of the late fifth or early fourth century BCE. Höckmann (1994, 480 n. 57) mentions the relief briefly in a note to her discussion of the statuette, with perceptive observations about their similarity to the Mahdia wreck’s cargo. 74.  Sogliano 1901a, 299. 75.  Carlomagno (2011) recently summarized this debate. See now, in addition, Cirucci 2009, 59–­60; Melillo 2013, 60; Daehner and Lapatin 2015, 192–­93, no. 4.

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resemble those of coin portraits of Alexander Balas and Antiochos Grypos,76 it is not at all clear how residents of Pompeii would have made this connection or why they might want a portrait of either of these kings, who were hardly the most distinguished Hellenistic rulers. Nevertheless, the statuette is exceptional for Pompeii: regardless of their subject, both bronzes and portraits are relatively uncommon among the city’s domestic sculptures.77 The statuette is generally considered a Hellenistic work of the second century BCE or a Roman copy after a model of that period. Rather than copying a specific earlier work, however, the statuette is better understood as employing a popular male nude type, widely used from the Classical period for mythological figures, athletes, funerary portraits, and Hellenistic ruler portraits and then for both imperial and private Roman portraits.78 While many statues of this type are life-­size or larger and were destined for public settings, this statuette’s reduced scale indicates that it was probably deliberately created for display in a private house.79 It finds parallels in other statuettes of mythological subjects (more commonly in marble) found in the houses of Pompeii. In the marble relief and the bronze statuette, the owners of House V.3.10 acquired two works that evoke and depend on earlier Greek art forms but that have been adapted in crucial respects to become suitable for the domestic setting. Also in common with the relief, the bronze (or at least its base) had been previously used in another display. The openings in the base’s top surface and traces of lead solder found on it at the time of excavation indicate that it once held a different sculpture altogether.80 The statuette may also have had ancient repairs to its right foot and drapery, which suggest that it, like the relief, had been valued over a long period, perhaps by successive owners.81 Unlike the marble relief and the bronze statuette, the table support from the garden belongs to a genre represented well in Pompeii. It was a rather ornate work: the shaft consisted of two pilasters of imported colored marble—­red-­and-­black marmo africano in front, contrasting with orange-­ and-­white breccia corallina behind—­supporting a gray marble (bardiglio) 76.  Richter 1965, 3:271–­72. 77.  Cf. Dwyer 1982; De Franciscis 1951; Bonifacio 1997; Carrella et al. 2008. Smith (1988) identifies only four other possible Hellenistic ruler portraits from Pompeii and Herculaneum, apart from the herm portraits from the Villa of the Papyri. 78.  See Hallett 2005. 79.  Cf. Bartman 1992, 39–­48. 80.  Sogliano 1901a, 301; Pernice 1925, 2. 81.  Ippel 1939, 364–­65; B. Fröhlich 1998, 284.

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capital. The herm bust, depicting a youthful Bacchus or maenad (fig. 9.4), and its feet were carved from yellow marble (giallo antico).82 The inlaid eyes were already missing at the time of excavation. Even among the many herms and table supports depicting Bacchus and his followers, this example stands out. In addition to the customary ivy wreath with berries, the herm wears a double uraeus on a pair of twisted cords across the forehead (in place of the more familiar taenia) and a necklace entwined with yet another snake. Its embellishment with these loosely Egyptian features is, to my knowledge, without parallel among herm busts from this region. The herm calls to mind the Egyptianizing frieze in room o, and both works reflect their owners’ participation in the decades-­long Pompeian fascination with all things Egypt.83 The three marble bases found in the southeast corner of the portico (l) complete the house’s sculpture assemblage. These included a small rectangular base, a rectangular base in breccia with four lateral projections, and a square base with a molding. The last had been used previously: one corner was missing but had a hole in it for a pin, and the letter B was inscribed in its upper surface.84 Their size made the bases suitable for small-­scale sculptures, like the bronze statuette and the table support. Their placement in storage, possibly in a cupboard, speaks to the fluidity of the assemblage: the bases had been used before and were set aside, ready to be used again for new sculptures in the future. The bases illuminate the dynamic and organic nature of the sculpture ensemble, subject to change as the owners reworked the house, acquired new pieces, and sold or gave away old ones.85 Indeed, the owners may never have considered the collection complete or finished. Thus, to search for an overriding theme or program of a domestic sculpture assemblage, in this or other Roman houses in the region, is perhaps ultimately a futile endeavor. House V.3.10 is noteworthy as the only one in its insula decorated so extensively with Third-­Style paintings at the time of the eruption.86 When the paintings were in good repair, their stylistic unity and ornate details must have given the house a jewel box-like quality. In this respect, it resembles the better-­preserved House of M. Lucretius Fronto (V.4.a), just across the 82.  On this type of table support, see Moss 1988, 26–­30, 540–­624; on the marbles, see Pensabene and Bruno 1998. 83.  See Swetnam-­Burland 2015. 84.  The bases measured, respectively, 16.5 × 13.5 cm; 28.0 × 22.0 cm; and 31.0 × 31.0 cm (GSc, 86; Sogliano 1901e, 404). Their current location is unknown. 85.  Cf. Dwyer 2012; Tronchin 2012. 86.  PPM 3:929, s.v. “V 3, 10” (I. Bragantini).

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street and slightly to the south. That house is larger than House V.3.10, but there is a strong similarity between them, in the extensive late Third-Style painting and in the checkerboard pattern on their garden walls.87 Indeed, when their doors were open, passersby could have observed and compared the views through the atria and rooms beyond, to the two houses’ gardens. The age of the paintings suggests that the owner(s) of House V.3.10 or their family had resided there in style for a length of time and felt no urgency to redecorate according to the latest trends. This impression of the owners as comfortably established may have been augmented by the sword, if we can understand it as not just stored but displayed in room h. Perhaps itself an heirloom, the sword embodied the owners’ military connections and may have evoked the family’s past achievements. Thus the marble votive relief was not, by any means, the owner’s only prestigious possession but was one of several components of an elegant and distinctive display encompassing much of the house.

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Contributors

Bettina Bergmann is the Helene Phillips Herzig ’49 Professor of Art at Mount Holyoke College and coeditor of The Ancient Art of Spectacle. She has published a number of important works on Pompeian houses and wall paintings, both in anthologies and in the Art Bulletin, Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, and Studies in the History of Art. Elise A. Friedland is Associate Professor of Classics and Art History at George Washington University and the author of The Roman Marble Sculptures from the Sanctuary of Pan at Caesarea Philippi/Panias (Israel). She is coeditor of The Oxford Handbook of Roman Sculpture and The Sculptural Environment of the Roman Near East: Reflections on Culture, Ideology, and Power. Barbara Kellum is Professor of Art at Smith College and the author of book chapters on Pompeii, including “The Spectacle of the Street,” in The Art of Ancient Spectacle; and “Weighing in: The Priapus at the House of the Vettii” in Ancient Obscenities as well as articles on Augustan Rome in the Art Bulletin and Art History. Brenda Longfellow is Associate Professor of Art History at the University of Iowa and the author of Roman Imperialism and Civic Patronage: Form, Meaning, and Ideology in Monumental Fountain Complexes. Diana Y. Ng is Associate Professor of Art History at the University of Michigan–Dearborn. She is coeditor of Building a New Rome: The Imperial Colony of Pisidian Antioch and of the forthcoming volume Reuse and Renovation in Roman Material Culture: Functions, Aesthetics, Interpretations. 241

242  •  Contributors

Ellen E. Perry is Professor of Classics at the College of the Holy Cross and the author of The Aesthetics of Emulation in the Visual Arts of Ancient Rome. Jessica Powers is the Gilbert M. Denman, Jr., Curator of Art of the Ancient Mediterranean World at the San Antonio Museum of Art. Her publications include essays on the houses and villas of Roman Campania, on portraits of Antinous, and on the collecting and display of ancient art in museums. Melanie Grunow Sobocinski is an independent scholar and owner of Prof Organizer LLC. She is coeditor of The Oxford Handbook of Roman Sculpture. Lea M. Stirling is Professor of Classics at the University of Manitoba and the author of The Learned Collector: Mythological Statuettes and Classical Taste in Late Antique Gaul. She is coeditor of Mortuary Landscapes of North Africa and The Afterlife of Greek and Roman Sculpture: Late Antique Responses and Practices. Molly Swetnam-­Burland is Associate Professor of Classical Studies at the College of William and Mary and the author of Egypt in Italy: Visions of Egypt in Roman Imperial Culture. She is coeditor of the forthcoming volume Reuse and Renovation in Roman Material Culture: Functions, Aesthetics, Interpretations. Jennifer Trimble is Associate Professor of Classics at Stanford University. She is the author of Women and Visual Replication in Roman Imperial Art and Culture, and coeditor of Art and Replication: Greece, Rome and Beyond. Elizabeth Wolfram Thill is Assistant Professor of Classical Studies at Indiana University–­Purdue University Indianapolis (IUPUI). She is the author of a forthcoming book titled Negotiating Rome: Depictions of Architecture and the Construction of Cultural Identity in the Capital City.

Index

Achilles, 209 Actaeon, 154–­55, 156 Adonis, 153 Adrastus, 205 Aeneas, 205. See also Virgil: Aeneid Aesop, 193. See also animal fable agency, 19n15, 161 Alexander I Balas, 231–­32 Alexander the Great, 118, 136, 144, 204 Alexandretta, 147n9 Amman Jordan Archaeological Museum on the Amman Citadel, 119 Jordan Museum, 120 Amor, 151, 152, 168, 170, 173, 174, 184–­85, 184n54, 187. See also Eros amorino. See cupid amphitheater, 71, 71n44, 202–­3, 209. See also Pompeii Androklos, 68, 68n15, 74, 203 Andromeda, 149, 151, 152 animal fable, 6, 193, 193n7, 196, 198, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 209 animal lore, 202, 205, 206n39, 209 Ann Arbor University of Michigan, 2 Kelsey Museum of Archaeology, 2 Antikyra, 74n51 Antinous, 23 Antioch, 2, 3, 147, 147n9 House of the Man of Letters, 147 Antiochos VIII Grypos, 231–­32

Antonine period, 13, 49n28, 50n33, 88, 94, 99, 100, 101, 108 apeikonismata, 67, 69n24, 72, 72n49, 80n82 Apelles, 156–­57 Aphrodisias, 111 quarry, 133, 134 sculptural workshop, 133n20 Aphrodite, 22, 177, 213–­14, 215, 215n8, 217–­ 18, 218n16, 229–­30. See also Venus Aphrodite of Knidos, 26n40, 127 Aphrodite Sosandra of Kalamis, 88, 94 Apion, 203 Apollo, 117, 126–­27, 126n10, 134, 136–­38, 137n36, 137n37, 138, 138n43, 158n39 Apollo Anzio, 102 Apollo Chigi, 127, 129, 131 Apollo Sauroktonos, 127–­29 Ephesos Apollo, 127, 127n13, 129 Kassel Apollo, 5, 127, 131 Omphalos Apollo, 98–­100, 103, 112 Sebaste Apollo, 5 (see also chapter 5, 117–­41)   –­chignon, 120, 123, 126, 132   –­context, 118, 127, 131, 135, 137, 138   –­function, 118, 135–­36   –­marble, 117, 119, 127, 132–­34, 136, 138   –­wreath, 120, 123, 126, 134 Appianus, 136n34 Aquino, 108, 108n57 Archaic period, 52n38, 137, 216 archaizing, 15

243

244  •  Index Arellius, 156, 156n34 Ares, 177. See also Mars Argentaria Eutychia, 207 Argos, 99–­100, 107 baths, 101, 103, 107, 108, 111 Ariadne, 30, 153, 153n25, 155n30, 160n44, 166, 186, 186n61 Arretium, 57n54 Artemis, 65n4, 67, 68, 69–­70, 69n29, 71, 72, 72n46, 72n51, 74, 74n54, 76, 79, 218, 218n16. See also Diana Artemis Ephesia, 72 Artemis Lampadephoros, 68, 72n49, 72n50, 72n51, 74n51 Artemis of Antikyra by Praxiteles, 74n51 Artemis of the Louvre–­Ephesos type, 74n51 chrysophoroi of Artemis, 69n24 Ascalon, 138n43 Ascanius, 206 Asia Minor, 99, 223 sculptural workshops, 132, 133–­34 Asklepios, 105, 218 Aspasia, 88 Aspasia statue type, 4–­5, 88n1, 95n16, 98n21, 102n38, 103n43 (see also chapter 4, 88–­116) Baiae Aspasia, 94, 102, 108, 111 Stabiae Aspasia, 94–­95 Thessaloniki Aspasia, 99, 99n27, 108 Atalanta, 154n28 Athena, 216n13. See also Minerva Athena Pammousos, 68 Athenaeus, 183n47 Deipnosophistae, 183 Athens, 98, 99, 108, 220 Acropolis Museum, 216n13 Agora, 95n16, 105, 107 National Archaeological Museum, 216n12, 216n14, 219n16, 219n19 atrium, 18n13, 29, 30, 146, 151, 152n23, 153, 166, 172n13, 223, 228, 228n59, 230, 231, 234 Attic red-­figure pottery, 193, 193n7 Attic votive reliefs, 214, 215n8, 216, 218–­19, 229

Attica, 214, 215 sculptural workshop, 219, 219n25 attribute, 43, 72n51, 74n51, 94, 94n5, 102, 111, 120, 124, 126, 126n10, 129, 137, 145, 149, 155, 156n33, 201 Atys, 205 audience, 6, 79, 81, 83, 162, 167, 170, 172, 173, 174, 176–­79, 183, 192, 193, 203 augustales, 75, 75n58, 81n85, 82n87 Augustan period, 22n29, 47, 47n26, 95, 95n14, 150n20, 158n40, 161, 178, 209n51, 228n60 Augustine, 136n34, 206, 206n41 Augustus, 67, 72, 74, 119, 137, 158n39, 193 Aulus Gellius, 203, 203n30 Baalbek, 138n43 Bacchic, 154, 155, 155n31, 158, 158n42, 160, 160n44 Bacchus, 158, 162, 160n44, 166, 186, 186n61, 224, 226, 233. See also Dionysus Baiae, 94, 95n16, 98, 101, 102, 102n38 Baiae Aspasia, 94, 102, 108, 111 Museo Archeologico dei Campi Flegrei, 95n16, 102n38 sculptural workshop, 94, 99, 102 Terme (or Villa) di Sosandra, 102, 102n34 Belgica, 67 Benevento: Arch at Beneventum, 50, 50n33 Berlin, 103, 103n43, 108n58, 111 Bernini, Gianlorenzo, 14, 28 Biblis, 161 biclinium, 147 Boscotrecase: villa, 144n2 Bosporus, 147 boule, 63, 67, 68, 69, 71, 79, 81 braid. See hairstyle Brauron Museum. See Markopoulo Mesogaias Bucharest, 108 Cadmus, 200 Caesarea Maritima, 138n43 Callisto, 153, 153n26

Index  • 245 Calliope, 161n45 Calydonian boar, 200 Campania, 96, 98, 186n61 sculptural workshop, 96 Cardinal Borghese, 14 Caria sculptural workshop, 133n20 Cassius Dio, 136n34 Cassius Restutus, L., 81, 83 Catullus, 156n35, 161, 184n52 Caunus, 161 Ceres, 155, 229, 229n64, 230. See also Demeter Ceres type, 98n21 Cervidius Scaevola, Q., 80n78 character, 137, 144, 144n2, 157, 162, 174, 183, 193, 201 Chigi type. See Apollo: Apollo Chigi Chiron, 209 Chlorys, 207 Christian, 28, 107n57 chrysophoroi of Artemis. See Artemis Cicero, 1, 78, 78n72, 144, 193n9, 220n26 Epistulae ad Atticum, 146n8, 193, 220 Classical period (480–­323 BC), 6, 112, 120, 214, 232 Early Classical, 94, 131, 132, 138 classicizing, 49, 219, 230n71 Claudia Semne, 156, 156n32 Cleopatra VII, 157 Clodia Luciosa, 82, 83 clothing. See costume Commodus, 202 context, 1–­6, 15, 21, 29, 33, 74n51, 95, 100, 101, 103, 107, 111, 118, 127, 131, 135, 137, 138, 143, 145, 148, 158, 160, 162, 170, 177, 185, 201, 214, 221–­22, 231n73 copies and copying, 1–­2, 14–­15, 24n36, 33, 72, 74n51, 80n82, 81, 95, 99, 112, 118, 127, 131, 170, 170n10, 215, 232 Corinth, 100, 103, 107, 108 Julian Basilica, 103 Mosaic House, 104, 107 Panayia Domus, 104 Roman forum, 103, 107 South Basilica, 104

theater, 103, 105, 107 costume, 155, 218. See also drapery clothing, 24, 145, 174, 178n23, 218 dress, 150, 154, 156n33, 157, 158, 172 garment, 153, 173, 174, 207, 216, 218 courtesan, 162 Crete, 94, 96, 98, 98n21, 108 Gortyn, 98n21 Hierapytna, 98n21 Crispina, 101, 108 Croesus, 205, 206 cupid, 153, 153n26, 155, 156, 157, 182, 224 amor, 174, 182 amorino, 207 eros, 153, 154n28, 155, 157 cult statue, 50, 55, 72, 74n51, 105, 135–­36­ Cybele, 230n68 Cyrenaica, 99 Cyrene, 98, 98n22 Daphnaios, 138n43 decorum, 144, 158 deity, 4, 6, 71, 94, 100, 103, 107, 112, 134, 134n27, 136, 137, 137n37, 138, 144, 144n2, 147n8, 149n14, 153, 154, 155, 156, 157, 162, 162n48, 170, 180, 182, 184, 213–­14, 217–­18, 219, 229–­30. See also names of individual gods and goddesses Egyptian, 224 Demeter, 137n36, 214, 217–­18, 218n16, 229. See also Ceres Demodocus, 177 Deva (Dacia), 98n21 Diana, 153, 154–­55, 156, 157. See also Artemis diataxis, 67, 67n8, 70, 83 Dido, 205–­6 Dionysius of Halicarnassus, 193n6 Dionysus, 157, 167n1. See also Bacchus Discobolus. See Myron display, 27–­29, 31, 32, 58, 71, 74, 81, 99, 100, 101, 102, 107, 135, 147, 147n9, 151, 219, 223, 226, 227, 232, 234 display context (see context) display setting (see setting)

246  •  Index divinity. See deity Dokimeion quarry, 133, 134 sculptural workshop, 133n20 Domitian, 155, 203 domus, 16, 27, 28, 29, 32, 105 Doryphoros, 102 drapery, 13, 13n1, 14, 16, 17–­18, 19, 24, 27n47, 31n61, 39, 44, 49, 49n31, 55n50, 58, 88, 110, 111, 215, 232. See also costume dress. See costume drill, 13, 108, 120, 123, 126, 133

expression, 51, 71, 131, 144n2, 148, 153, 155, 216 Extispicium Relief, 4, 38n1, 42n2, 43n9, 44n10, 51n35, 55n50. See also chapter 2, 38–­62; Louvre alterations and restorations, 39, 41n2, 42, 44n12, 45–­46, 47–­48, 47n27, 55n51 date, 40, 43n7, 44, 47n27, 49–­50, 50n33, 54, 55n50, 58 inscription, 42, 44, 45–­47, 46n21, 47n26, 51, 51n37, 58 Louvre, 38, 39n1, 40–­41, 47n27 subject matter, 48–­49, 51–­52

Egypt, 117n1, 147, 150, 162, 193, 233 eikones, 67, 72 Eleusis, 4, 216n12 Archaeological Museum, 218n16 Ephesos, 4, 63, 67, 70, 71–­72, 74–­75, 74n51, 75n59, 76, 81, 83, 95n16, 95n17, 101, 102, 103, 134 Artemision, 67, 68, 70, 71, 74n55, 79, 81 Ephesos Apollo, 127, 127n13, 129 Ephesos Museum, Selçuk, 72n51 Fountain of Trajan, 74 Great Theater, 63, 71; Salutaris foundation, 4, 63 Hanghaus II, 74n51 Koressian Gate, 68 Magnesian Gate, 68 Ortygian Grove, 71, 75n55 sculptural workshop, 133n20 Vedius Bath–­Gymnasium, 99, 101, 107 Ephesus. See Ephesos Epidauros, 100, 105, 107 theater, 105 Eros, 215n8. See also Amor eros. See cupid eroticism, 15, 21 Erymanthian boar, 201. See also Hercules Etruscan diviners, 21 mirrors, 57, 57n54 religion, 21 Europa, 94, 107

Faustina I. See Faustina the Elder Faustina the Elder, 88n1, 108, 109n63 cult of Diva Faustina, 109, 109n63 femininity, 23, 26, 152, 157, 183 First Style of Pompeian wall painting, 192 Flavian period, 156 Florence, 29n53 Fortuna, 156, 156n32, 230n70 fountain, 30, 192, 193–­94, 194n10, 195, 196, 201, 201–­2, 205, 206, 209, 223 Fourth Style of Pompeian wall painting, 144n2 freedmen, 6, 44, 46n22, 146n8, 155, 193, 194n10, 202, 203 imperial, 44, 46n22, 155 freedwomen, 156, 207 frieze, 45, 48n28, 51n34, 204, 224, 233 funerary altar, 206 funerary statue, 103, 155, 158n42, 160n44, 232 Ganymede, 23 garden, 29, 30n58, 95n16, 102, 102n38, 102n42, 153n25, 157, 172n13, 204, 213, 223–­24, 223n40, 226, 226n48, 226n49, 227–­28, 227n53, 228n60, 232, 234 peristyle garden, 28, 29–­30 garment. See costume Gaul, 117, 117n1 Gaza, 138n43 Gazda, Elaine K., 2–­3, 6–­7, 15, 95, 170n10, 213

Index  • 247 gaze, 23, 23n33, 24, 25, 25n39, 111, 120, 123, 129, 145, 146, 149, 153, 154–­55, 169, 170, 173 gender, 23, 23n33, 24, 24n35, 25, 26, 145, 145n5, 154 gender constructions. See gender roles gender roles, 21, 22, 29, 150, 166, 172 Gerasa, 137n36 gesture, 23, 110, 124, 126, 129, 145, 156n33, 158, 169, 169nn5, 173, 216, 218, 218n19 gorgon, 149 Graces, 169, 169n6 graffiti, 107, 150, 156, 176n21, 193, 230 Hadet, 138n43 Hadrian, 23, 43, 43n7, 44, 58, 102, 109 Hadrianic period, 5, 40, 43n9, 45n20, 47, 50, 50n33, 54n47, 55n50, 58, 88, 94, 98–­99, 108, 112, 138 hairdo. See hairstyle hairnet, 149n15 hairstyle, 101, 102, 107, 108–­9, 111, 120, 123, 126, 129, 131, 143, 145, 148, 150, 150n20, 154, 154n28, 155, 156, 157, 216 braid, 24, 98, 157 coiffure, 142, 157 Hanging Gardens, 147 Harmonia, wife of Cadmus, 178n23, 200–­ 201 Hawara, 147, 148n11 Helen, 154n28 Helios, 177. See also Sol Hellenistic model, 1–­2, 72, 72n51, 232 Hellenistic monument, 74, 135 Hellenistic period, 1–­2, 15n7, 33, 72n51, 105, 109, 118, 136, 219, 219n24 Hellenistic ruler, 231–­32, 232n77 Hephaestus, 177. See also Vulcan Hera. See also Juno Hera Borghese, 102 Herakles. See Hercules Herculaneum, 148, 148n12, 160, 174, 209, 209n51, 227, 232n77 House of the Bicentenary (V.15–­16), 226n47 House of the Dionysiac Reliefs, 227

House of the Mosaic Atrium (IV.1–­2), 154n28 Villa of the Papyri, 232n77 Hercules, 153, 160n44, 201, 205, 207 labors of, 201 Hermaphrodite, 4, 14n2, 18n14, 21n23, 22n28, 23n33, 23n34. See also chapter 1, 13–­37 ancient sources on, 21–­23 Borghese Hermaphrodite, 14, 29 Greek original, 14–­15, 24n36 identity, 14, 20, 24, 31 obscenity, 21 replica, 4, 14–­15, 15n11, 28, 29, 29n54, 31, 32–­33 sculptural display, 21, 26–­32 visual surprise, 14, 15–­16, 18, 19, 20, 32 viewing and reception, 4, 14, 15–­16, 16n12, 20, 22, 24, 24n35, 25, 26, 32–­33 Hermaphrodite Anasyromenos, 19, 19n16 Hermaphrodite asleep. See Hermaphrodite hermaphroditism, 15, 21 Hermes, 22, 102, 177, 231. See also Mercury Hermes by Praxiteles, 127 “Hermione the literate,” 150, 150n17 Herod the Great, 119, 136, 137 Herodotus, 205n37 Hestia Giustiniani, 101 Hierapolis, 138n43 hind of Ceryneia, 201. See also Hercules Hippolytus, 152n23 Homer, 137, 177n22, 179, 180, 183n47, 184 Homeric Hymn to Apollo, 137n37 Odyssey, 177, 183 honorific, 67, 76, 79, 81, 81n84, 84, 100, 101, 109, 111 Hygieia, 105 Hyginus, 177n23 Fabulae, 177 Hymnaeus, 169 Hypnos, 169, 169n6 iconography, 33, 42n5, 54, 57 ideal statuary, 1, 2, 51, 99, 100, 101, 102, 103, 112

248  •  Index identity, 4, 14, 20, 24, 31, 71, 72n46, 75–­76, 75n58, 75n59, 76n62, 78, 81, 84, 88, 94, 95, 99, 117, 142, 145, 145n5, 162, 184, 214, 217, 229, 231 Ikarus (slave). See under Pompeii: House of the Citharist imperial cult, 54, 71 imperial family, 43 imperial freedmen. See under freedmen imperial period, 4, 5, 15, 21, 33, 150n20 early imperial period, 29, 143, 144, 150n20, 160, 175, 219, 219n24 mid imperial period, 24, 31 late imperial period, 107 imperial patronage, 99 imperial portraits, 71, 71n44, 108, 111, 144n2, 150n20, 162n48, 232 impluvium, 146n7, 223 Isis, 136, 137 Jerusalem: Rockefeller Museum (former Palestine Archaeological Museum), 119 jewel, 146, 155, 157, 233 jewelry, 142, 143, 148, 150, 155, 156, 174 Jezreel Valley, 138 Julia (daughter of Augustus), 162n47 Julia Domna, 109n63 Julio–­Claudian period, 45n20, 50n33, 54, 74n54, 143, 203 Julius Caesar, 57n53 Julius Obsequens, 57n53 Juno, 178. See also Hera Jupiter, 27, 43, 153, 153n26, 154. See also Zeus Karenaeon tribe, 65n4 Kassel type. See Apollo: Kassel Apollo Kedesh, 138n43 Kopienkritik, 1, 215, 215n6 Kore, 118, 135n30, 136, 137, 137n36 Kos, 15n7 Semaria-­Sebaste: Sanctuary of Kore, 118–­19, 135, 135n29, 136, 137 kouros, 131

Lactantius, 57n53 Lanuvium: shrine of Juno Sospita, 201 Lappa, 98, 98n21, 100, 108 lararium, 27, 30, 192, 201, 223, 230, 230n69 Large Herculaneum Woman, 2, 98n21, 100 late antiquity, 95–­96, 98, 99, 100–­101, 103, 104, 105, 107, 108, 112 Leda, 154–­55 Legio, 137 Leiden, 95n16, 96 Rijksmuseum van Oudheden, 96n19 Leptis Magna Arch of Septimius Severus, 54, 54n44 Lernaean hydra, 201. See also Hercules Lesbia, 156n35 Leto, 137n37, 218n16 Leucippe. See under Ovid: Metamorphoses Levant, 117, 118, 138 quarry, 5 Livy, 21, 57n53, 193n6 London: British Museum, 55n52 Louvre (Paris), 14, 14n3, 14n6, 29n53, 39n1, 55, 57, 88n1, 218n16 Artemis of the Louvre–­Ephesos type, 74n51 Borghese Hermaphrodite, 14, 29 Kassel Apollo, 5, 127, 131 Togati Relief, 40, 41n2, 42, 42n2, 44, 44n12, 44n13, 49, 49n29 (see also Extispicium Relief ) Victim Relief, 40, 41n2, 42–­43, 44, 44n12, 44n13, 47, 49n29 (see also Extispicium Relief ) Lucian, 94 Lucius Verus, 101 Lucretius, 157–­58, 178n25 Lydia, 207 Lysimachos, 68 Maccabees, 118 Macrobius, 207n48 maenad, 14n2, 153, 154n28, 155, 158, 160, 160n44, 162, 226, 233 Marcian, 80n79

Index  • 249 Marcus Aurelius, 50n33, 204, 204n33 Mark Antony, 157 Markopoulo Mesogaias: Archaeological Museum of Brauron, 218n16 Mars, 154n28, 174, 177, 177n23, 178n23, 179, 180, 183n49, 200. See also Ares; Mars and Venus Spring of Mars, 200 Mars and Venus, 169n5, 169n6, 170n11, 178n25. See also chapter 7, 166–­ 90 adultery, 168, 169, 169n6, 174, 177–­84, 187 ambiguity, 167–­68, 185, 187 marriage, 167–­68, 169, 169n6, 177, 178, 179–­80, 181, 182, 183, 184, 184n53, 185, 185n56, 186–­87, 186n61 popularity, 167–­68, 169, 172, 174 Martial, 22, 22n30, 206, 206n46, 220, 220n27 masculinity, 22, 23 Mauretania, 67 Mauretania Caesariensis: Auzia, 81 Mediana, 98, 98n22, 100, 105, 107 Mediterranean, 96, 111 Meleager, 154n28, 200, 206, 207n47 Menander, 161 Mercury, 156n32, 169. See also Hermes Micon. See under Pompeii: House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto Midas, 205 Minerva, 156n32, 178n23, 200. See also Athena Modestinus, 80n78, 80n79 Moesia. See Mediana monumental relief, 39n1, 40, 43n7, 50–­51, 50n33, 54–­55, 57, 58 mosaic, 1, 54, 54n46, 54n47, 57, 104n49, 145–­46, 146n6, 146n7, 147, 147n9, 148, 151, 158 Alexander mosaic (see under Pompeii: House of the Faun) Magerius mosaic (see Tunisia) mummy portraits, 148, 150, 162 Muses, 137, 161n45 Clio, 161n45

muse of the Dresden–­Zaghreb type, 102 Myron, 99 Discobolus, 99–­100, 101, 103, 112 mythological, 1, 5, 20, 22, 24, 29, 31, 33, 105, 138, 147n9, 153, 153n26, 154, 154n28, 155, 160n44, 162, 172, 172n13, 174, 176n21, 215, 231, 232 mythological setting. See setting Naissus. See Medina Naples, 142, 178. See also National Archaeological Museum (Naples) Bay of Naples, 204 Mount Vesuvius, 95, 142, 173 Napoleon, 14, 44 National Archaeological Museum (Naples), 18n13, 146n6, 146n7, 148, 148n12, 148n14, 150n18, 151n21, 153n25, 153n26, 154n28, 160n43, 160n44, 205n37, 206n40, 209n51, 214n1, 215, 217, 221, 223n35, 223n37, 224n42, 224n43, 224n45, 226n49, 229n64 “Jupiter and Callisto,” 153n26 Museo Segreto, 21 “Nest of Cupids,” 153n26 “Sappho,” 142, 143, 144, 148, 149, 150, 152, 160, 161, 161n45, 162n47; function, 148, 152; learning, 150, 161n45; literacy, 150, 161n45 narrative, 18, 84, 148n13, 167, 169, 170, 174, 176, 178, 178n25, 180, 183, 184, 185, 186n61, 187 Naxos, 137n36, 153, 167n1 Near East, 4, 132, 138, 193n7, 204 Roman impact on, 139 Roman statuary from, 117n1 Nemean lion, 201, 205. See also Hercules Neptune, 180. See also Poseidon Nero, 200 Neronian period, 150n20, 157 New York, 94 Metropolitan Museum, 98, 107–­8 Nigidius Vaccula, M., 207n49 Nineveh, 147 Ninus, 147, 147n9 North Africa, 98n21

250  •  Index nude, 13, 14, 16, 21, 23, 24, 24n35, 98, 101, 154, 157, 160, 205, 216, 218, 223, 230, 231, 232 nudity, 23, 24n36, 127, 154 Octavian. See Augustus Olympia, 127 Olympus, 137n37, 209n51 Omphale, 153, 160n44, 207 Onosander, 52n43, 57n53 Ostia, 57 Barracks of the Vigili (II.V.1–­2): Augusteum, 54 Ovid, 22, 22n26, 22n29, 22n30, 161, 161n46, 162, 178–­81, 178n25, 179n28, 179n29, 180n36, 181n37, 181n38, 181n41, 183n48, 184n54, 185, 186n61, 200n19, 201n20, 206n45, 209, 209n53 Ars amatoria, 157, 178–­79, 179n28, 180, 184, 184n54, 206, 209 Metamorphoses, 32, 178–­79, 183; Leucippe, 178, 183 Palestine, 118, 127 Palmyra, 138n43 Pamphylia: sculptural workshop, 133n20 Pan, 18–­19, 19n15, 29, 153, 209n51 Panegyris. See Plautus: Stichus Paphos, 180 Paris (France), 14. See also Louvre Cabinet des Médailles, Bibliothèque Nationale de France, 55n52; medallions of Volusianus and Trebonianus Gallus, 4, 55 Paris (mythology), 153, 154n28, 155n30 Paris (slave). See under Pompeii: House of the Citharist Paros, 134 quarry, 133 patron, 4, 5, 6, 26, 27, 32, 70n36, 75–­76, 75n58, 79, 84, 99, 105, 107, 137, 138, 144, 144n3, 156, 156n33, 170, 172, 173, 175, 214, 220 Pausanias, 74n51, 137 Peitho, 169, 169n6 Peloponnese, 96, 99, 112

Perge, 72, 111 sculptural workshop, 98n21, 133n20 Pericles, 88 peristyle, 15, 27, 27n43, 28, 28n48, 29–­30, 31, 32, 105, 172n13, 192, 193, 195, 204–­ 5, 226n47, 227 Pero. See under Pompeii: House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto Persephone, 216n12, 218 Perseus, 149, 151, 152, 231 Pescennius Niger, 136 Petronius. See also Trimalchio Satyricon, 156n32, 202 Phaedra, 152n23 Phaedrus, 193, 193n7, 193n9. See also animal fable phallos, 21 Pheidias, 88 Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, 193 Philostratus the Elder, 187n61 Phyrgia: sculptural workshop, 133n20 Pindar, 109n52 Pion, 68 Pittsburgh, 29n53 Plancia Magna, 111 Plautus, 191n1, 192n3, 193, 201, 201n22, 206n44 Mostellaria, 191; Simo, 192; Theopropides, 191, 192; Tranio, 191, 192–­93 Persa, 201; Toxilus, 201 Stichus, 206; Panegyris, 206 Pliny the Elder, 15, 21, 21n23, 151, 156, 172n13, 192n3, 201, 201n23, 206n39, 209n51 Pliny the Younger, 102, 220, 220n27 Plotina, 68, 74, 83 Plutarch, 157, 193n6 poetry, 20n17, 22n29, 156, 161, 161n46, 162, 174, 175, 183n50, 185, 186 Polykles, 15 Pompeii, 3, 5, 6, 24, 147, 148, 149n14, 150n20, 155n31, 156n33, 158n42, 161n45, 162n48, 169, 170n11, 174, 200,

Index  • 251 204, 207, 213, 214, 215, 217, 219, 220, 221, 221n31, 224, 226, 228n62, 229, 230, 232, 232n77 amphitheater (II.6), 202 fullonica (IX.13.5–­6), 226n47 Forum Baths, 207n49 House I.7.19, 166, 169, 169n6, 172–­73, 174, 184, 185 House I.13.2, 230n69 House V.3.7, 229n64 House V.3.9, 228 House V.3.10, 213, 214, 215, 219, 220, 221, 221n28, 226n47, 227, 228–­29, 231, 232, 232n73, 233–­34 House V.3.11, 228 House VI.15.14, 146n7 House IX.7.1, 230n68 House IX.11.1, 229n64 House of Caecilius Jucundus (V.1.26), 155n30, 160, 160n44 House of Caesius Blandus, M. (VII.1.40), 152n23; Hippolytus and Phaedra, 152n23 House of Colored Capitals (VII.4.51), 158n42, 160n42 House of Cornelius Diadumenus, L. (VII.12.26), 152 House of Epidius Sabinus (IX.1.22), 160n44 House of Lesbianus (I.13.9), 230n67 House of Marcus Lucretius (IX.3.5.24), 207 House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto (V.4.a), 5, 166, 168, 170, 172–­73, 174, 175, 184, 185, 187, 226n47, 233, 234n87; Mars and Venus (see Mars and Venus); Pero and Micon, 175 House of Mars and Venus (VII.9.47), 174 (see also House of the Wedding of Hercules (VII.9.47)) House of Meleager (VI.9.2), 229n64 House of Menander (I.10.4), 204 House of Neptune (VI.5.3), 229n64 House of Popidius Priscus (VII.2.20), 153 (see also House of the Marbles (VII.2.20))

House of Spurius Mesor (VI.3.29), 160n44 House of Terentius Neo (VII.2.6), 154n28   –­Amor and Psyche, 151, 152   –­“Baker and His Wife,” 150, 152, 154n28; “Paquius Proculus and His Wife,” 150; “Terentius Neo and His Wife,” 150   –­bakery, 150, 151, 151n21   –­Paquius Proculus, 150, 150n19   –­Terentius Neo, 150, 150n19 House of Trebius Valens (III.2.1), 226n47 House of the Ceii (I.6.15), 202 House of the Ceiling (V.3.4), 226n47, 228, 228n60 House of the Citharist (I.4.5.25), 6, 144n1, 192, 192n2, 193, 204, 205, 206, 209   –­Ikarus (slave), 193, 194n10   –­Paris (slave), 193, 194n10   –­Popidius Ampliatus, L., 193, 200   –­Popidius Secundus, L., 193, 200 House of the Dioscuri (VI.9.6), 18, 18n13, 28, 29, 229n64 House of the Ephebe (I.7.10–­12), 169 House of the Epigrams (V.1.18), 230n67 House of the Faun (VI.12.2), 158, 223; Alexander mosaic, 192 House of the Figured Capitals (VII.4.57), 158 House of the Gilded Cupids (VI.16.7) (see at House of the Golden Cupids (VI.16.7)) House of the Golden Cupids (VI.16.7), 154, 156, 192, 215, 227 House of the Marbles (VII.2.20, 21, 41), 203 (see also at House of Popidius Priscus (VII.2.20)) House of the Marine Venus (II.3.3), 157 House of the Menander (I.10.4), 230n67 (see also at House of Menander (I.10.4))

252  •  Index Pompeii (continued) House of the Punished Cupid (see at House of the Punished Love (VII.2.23)) House of the Punished Love (VII.2.23), 166, 170, 173–­74, 184 House of the Ship (VI.10.11), 207, 229n64 House of the Vettii (VI.15.1), 18n13, 19n15, 21 House of the Wedding of Hercules (VII.9.47), 230 (see also House of Mars and Venus (VII.9.47)) Suburban Baths, 226n47 Villa of the Mysteries, 1, 3, 168n4, 224, 224n41 Popidius Ampliatus, L. See Pompeii: House of the Citharist Popidius Rufus, N., 203 Popidius Secundus, L. See Pompeii: House of the Citharist Poppaea Sabina, 162n47 portico, 204, 223, 223n40, 224, 226, 226n49, 227, 228, 233 portrait, 2, 5, 23, 24n35, 30, 42, 43n7, 49n28,72, 79, 81, 82n87, 84, 88n1, 94, 96, 98, 100, 101, 103, 107, 108–­11, 112, 142, 143, 144n2, 145, 146–­48, 146n8, 147n8, 149, 150, 150n20, 151, 152n23, 155–­56, 156n33, 160, 160n42, 160n44, 161n45, 162, 162n48, 167, 167n2, 231–­ 32, 232n77 pose, 14n2, 24, 49, 88, 110–­11, 127, 131, 142, 153, 155, 170, 200, 218 Poseidon, 177. See also Neptune posture, 127, 129, 145, 153, 168, 169, 172, 173 power, 23n33, 25, 29, 83, 168, 175, 181, 182, 184, 185, 187n56, 198, 200, 204 Praxiteles, 5, 127, 129, 156 Apollo Sauroktonos, 127–­29 Artemis of Antikyra, 74n51 Hermes of Praxiteles, 127 Priapus, 21 Princeton University, Marquand Library, 147n9 Priscilla, 155, 156n32

Proconnessos: quarry, 133, 134 Propertius, 161 Pseudo–­Lucian: Erotes, 26n40 Psyche, 151, 152 puella divina, 161, 162 puella docta, 161, 161n45, 162. See also National Archaeological Museum (Naples): “Sappho” quarry, 51n35, 132, 133. See also individual cities Quintilian, 78, 78n72, 169n5, 193n8, 207n48 reception, 4, 16n12, 22, 29–­30, 33, 94, 112, 173, 178, 228 recycling, 151 republican period, 21, 52, 146, 160, 222n32 restoration, 28, 28n52, 39, 41n2, 44, 44n12, 45, 47, 47n27, 55n51, 68n15 ritual, 27, 32, 39, 52, 57, 63, 69, 71, 72n46, 75, 80, 81, 135–­36, 156n33, 172n13, 181, 181n40, 214, 218–­19, 230 role, 4, 24, 26, 31, 71, 95, 98, 105, 106, 107, 112, 117, 135, 137n37, 144n3, 146, 150, 156, 158, 161n45, 174, 183n47, 184–­85, 202, 206, 207, 214, 219, 231. See also gender roles Roma, 55 Roman copies. See copies and copying Roman creation, 118, 127, 131 Roman Empire, 2, 5, 58, 63, 71, 96, 112, 117, 137, 148 Rome, 14, 15, 21, 22, 26, 27, 28n48, 29, 29n53, 29n54, 31, 32–­33, 49, 52, 54, 58, 71, 94, 96, 98, 99, 112, 119, 137, 138, 156, 156n32, 181, 193, 202, 203, 206, 209n51 American Academy in Rome, 7 Anaglypha Reliefs, 50n33 Arch of Constantine, 45, 45n20, 48n28, 49n28, 50n33; Adlocutio Frieze, 51; Great Trajanic Frieze, 42n2, 45n16, 50, 58n55 Arco di Portogallo, 45n20

Index  • 253 Arcus Novus of Diocletian, 45n20 Baths of Caracalla, 99 Capitoline Hill, 44 Capitoline Museums, 39n1, 95, 108 Capitolium (see Rome: Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus) Circus Maximus, 203 columbaria, 47n26 Column of Marcus Aurelius, 48n28, 52, 57 Column of Trajan, 50, 50n33, 51n34, 52, 52n41, 55n50, 57 Forum of Augustus, 51 Forum of Trajan, 4, 44–­45, 58; Basilica Ulpia, 45n16 Gardens of Sallust, 14, 29, 31 Museo Barracco, 218n16 Museo Nazionale Romano, 55n52 Museo Torlonia, 218n16 Palatine Hill, 98, 99, 101, 102, 103, 112, 193; Domus Augustana, 102 Palazzo dei Conservatori, 48n28, 49n28; Adventus panel of Marcus Aurelius, 50n33; Sacrifice panel of Marcus Aurelius, 50n33 Palazzo Massimo, 14n6, 149n15; Museo Nazionale delle Terme, 13n1; Palazzo Massimo Hermaphrodite (see Hermaphrodite) Saepta Julia, 209n51 Soprintendenza Archeologica di Roma, 2 Teatro dell’Opera di Roma, 26 Temple of Fortuna Redux, 55, 55n52 Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, 39, 43 Velletri, 14n6, 29, 29n53, 29n54 Via Firenze (modern), 26 Via Torino (modern), 26 Via Viminale (modern), 26 Villa Borghese, 14n6, 28n52, 44–­45, 44n12, 47n27, 55 Viminal Hill, 13, 26 Romulus, 193 Roscius Fabatus, L. 202n24 running drill. See drill

sacrifice, 27, 42n3, 52, 54, 54n44, 55, 57, 58, 69, 110, 213, 216, 230n69 sacrificial victim, 40, 42n3, 49, 52, 52n38, 54–­55, 54n46, 55n50, 55n51, 57 Salmacis, 22–­23 spring of Salmacis, 30, 31 Salutaris. See Vibius Salutaris, C. Salutaris foundation, 4. See also chapter 3, 63–­87 as gift, 63, 67, 70, 81, 84 as monument, 4, 63, 75–­76, 81, 84 commemoration, 76, 76n62, 77, 80, 81, 83 inscription, 63–­65, 63n1, 64n3, 65n7, 67, 68n15, 69, 70, 70n32, 72, 74n51, 75, 79, 80, 81, 81n84 public reception, 76, 77, 79, 84 Sangallo the Younger, Antonio da, 44 satyr, 18, 153, 153n25, 154n28, 160, 205 sculptural workshop, 15, 138. See also individual cities Sebaste. See Syria-­Palestina: Samaria–­ Sebaste Sebaste Homonoia Chrysophoros, 68 Second Punic War, 21n22 self–­fashioning, 145 Semiramus, 147 Seneca, 202, 202n25 Septimius Severus, 119, 119n6, 136, 137 Serapis, 106 setting, 4, 15, 45, 58, 98, 103, 105, 110, 145, 151, 153, 155, 169, 170, 174, 181n39, 183, 185, 186, 187, 202, 214, 215n8, 229, 231, 232 display, 213, 227 mythological, 155 Severan period, 54, 54n47, 109, 109n63, 119, 135, 136 Severe style (480–­450 BC), 94, 98, 101, 103, 108, 112, 131, 137. See also Classical period severizing, 88, 95n14, 103, 112 sexual gaze, 23, 24. See also gaze sexuality, 24 Sicily, 67 Side: sculptural workshop, 133n20

254  •  Index Silenus, 158, 160, 160n44 Simo. See under Plautus: Mostellaria slave, 46, 151, 162, 191, 192, 193, 200, 201, 203, 216 Sleeping Hermaphrodite. See Hermaphrodite Sol, 169, 178, 178n23. See also Helios spectacle, 4, 76, 78, 83, 180, 209 Spes, 156 St. Petersburg, 14n6, 28n52 Hermitage Museum: Sarcophagus, 147; Sleeping Hermaphrodite, 14n6, 28n52, 29 Stabiae, 95n13 Stabiae Aspasia, 94–­95 Statilius Aper, Titus, 206–­7 Statius, 155, 178, 178n25, 181–­82, 182n42, 182n43, 182n44, 183, 184, 185, 203, 203n29, 220, 220n27 Silvae, 155; Stella, 181, 182; Viollentilla, 181, 182 status, 29, 30, 47, 100, 103, 119, 143, 145, 148, 150, 161, 179, 229 colonial, 119n6, 137 divine, 157 economic, 150 social, 47n26, 110, 150 Suetonius, 136, 136n34, 158n39 Sulpicia: to Cerinthus, 206 Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 20, 20n17 Syracuse, 134, 134n26 Syria–­Palestina Hama, 94, 98, 98n22, 106, 107, 108 Samaria–­Sebaste, 118, 119, 119n6, 133, 136, 137–­38, 137n36   –­Augusteum, 119, 136   –­Sanctuary of Kore, 118–­19, 135, 135n29, 136, 137   –­Temple to Isis and Sarapis, 118, 135 tablinum, 146n7, 166, 172, 172n13, 174, 174n17, 175, 185 Tacitus, 74n54, 136n34 Terentius Varro, 1, 207, 207n48 Terme (or Villa) di Sosandra. See Baiae

Thasos, 111, 134 quarry, 133 theater, 27, 52, 71, 71n44, 111, 161, 170, 200. See also individual cities Great Theater at Ephesos (see Ephesos) Thebes, 200 Theopropides. See under Plautus: Mostellaria Theseus, 153, 186n61 Thessaloniki: Thessaloniki Aspasia, 99, 99n27, 108 Third Style of Pompeian wall painting, 144n2, 166, 170, 223, 223n40, 228, 233, 234 Thrace, 180 Tiberian period, 150n20, 228n60 Tibullus, 206n43 Tivoli, 94 Hadrian’s Villa, 29, 99 Toxilus. See under Plautus: Persa Trajan, 4, 42, 44, 46, 47, 49n28, 58, 67, 68, 74, 83, 109 Trajanic period, 4, 40, 45, 47, 47n26, 49n28, 50, 50n33, 55n50, 58, 156 Tranio. See under Plautus: Mostellaria triclinium, 1, 30, 152, 154n28, 207, 226n47 Trimalchio, 156n32, 202. See also Petronius: Satyricon Tunisia: Magerius mosaic, 203 Ulpian, 119n6 Ulpius Orestes, M., 44, 45–­47, 46n22, 51n35. See also Extispicium Relief Ur: Royal Cemetery, 193n7 Valerius Maximus, 175 Vatican Museums, 134n26 Aphrodite of Knidos, 127 Apollo Sauroktonos, 127 Museo Gregoriano Etrusco, 193n7 Vatican Old Fisherman type, 134 Vatican–­Terme relief, 50n33 Vedius Pollio, 146n8 Venice, 98n21 Università Ca’ Foscari di Venezia, 228n60

Index  • 255 Venus, 153, 154–­55, 154n28, 155–­56, 156n33, 156n35, 157, 162, 168–­69, 170, 170n11, 173, 174, 177, 177n23, 178n23, 179, 181, 182, 183, 184, 223, 223n37, 229–­30, 230n70. See also Aphrodite; Mars and Venus Venus Pudica, 156, 156n33 statue type, 155 Vetralla, 149n15 Via Tiburtina, 149n15 Vibius Salutaris, C., 4, 63, 65, 67–­68, 69, 70, 70n32, 70n36, 71, 75n59, 76, 78–­ 79, 80–­81, 80n81, 80n82, 83, 84. See also Salutaris foundation victimarius, 42, 42n4, 49, 54, 57 Victory, 41, 43–­44, 43n9, 49, 49n29, 55 Vienna: Kunsthistorisches Museum, 52n39 viewing, 14, 15–­16, 16n12, 20, 21, 22, 24–­25, 26, 32, 33, 151, 186, 192, 205. See also viewership gendered, 24n35

Virgil, 161, 178, 178n25, 183, 183n49, 205, 205n39 Aeneid, 206 Virtus, 55 Vitruvius, 1, 29, 30n57, 172n13 votive, 6, 135, 144n2, 214 context (see context) relief, 216n13, 219n24, 230n71 (see also chapter 9, 213–­40) statue, 105, 107, 135, 136 Vulcan, 168, 169, 169n6, 177n23, 178–­79, 178n23, 180, 181, 182, 183n29, 184, 185. See also Hephaestus wreath, 57, 149, 155, 158, 233. See also under Apollo: Sebaste Apollo Xenophon, 109n52 Zephyros, 207 Zeus, 94, 177. See also Jupiter

Plate 1.1. Wall painting of Pan and Hermaphrodite from the House of the Dioscuri, Pompeii. Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 27700. (Fotografica Foglia.)

Plate 5.1. Apollo statue from Samaria-­ Sebaste, back view. (Photograph by E. Friedland; courtesy of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan.)

Plate 6.1. Wall painting depicting a woman traditionally identified as Sappho, found May 17, 1760, in Regio VI, Insula Occidentalis, Pompeii. Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 9084. (Photograph by MarieLan Nguyen (2011)/Wikimedia Commons, reproduced with the permission of the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli.)

Plate 6.2. Wall painting depicting a male, found May 17, 1760, in Regio VI, Insula Occidentalis, Pompeii, Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 9085. (Photograph by Olivierw/Wikimedia Commons, reproduced with the permission of the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli.)

Plate 6.3. Bust of a woman, mosaic emblema from Shop VI.13.15, Pompeii. Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 124666. (Photograph by B. Bergmann, reproduced with the permission of the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli.)

Plate 6.4. Mosaic emblema depicting Ninus and Semiramis, from the House of the Man of Letters, Antioch, ca. 200 CE, 166 × 97 × 13 cm, gift of the Committee for the Excavation of Antioch to Princeton University, inv. no. y1937–­264.

Plate 6.5. Mummy portrait inscribed Hermione grammatike, Girton College, University of Cambridge. (Photograph by Mark Vuaran, https://www.flickr.com/ photos/125838394@N07/16010979391/in/photolist-qoQsmP)

Plate 6.6. “Baker and His Wife” wall painting from the atrium of the House of T. Terentius Neo (VII 2.6), Pompeii. Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 9058. (Photograph by S. Sosnoskiy/Wikimedia Commons, reproduced with the permission of the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli.)

Plate 6.7. Amor and Psyche wall painting from the atrium of the House of T. Terentius Neo (VII 2.6), Pompeii. Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 9195. (Photograph by B. Bergmann, reproduced with the permission of the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli.)

Plates 6.8a–­b. Layout (not to scale) of the busts and mythological panels in room R of the House of Golden Cupids (VI.16.7), Pompeii. (Photographs by B. Bergmann, reproduced with the permission of the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­Soprintendenza Pompeii. Reproduction or duplication is expressly forbidden.)

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Plate 7.1. Wall painting of the courtship of Mars and Venus, House of Marcus Lucretius Fronto (V.4.a), Pompeii. (Art Resource 26531.)

Opposite page: Plate 6.9. (top) Wall painting of Venus from the garden peristyle of the House of the Marine Venus (II.3.3), Pompeii. (Photograph by B. Bergmann, reproduced with the permission of the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­ Soprintendenza Pompeii. Reproduction or duplication is expressly forbidden.)

Plate 6.10. (bottom) Wall painting of a satyr and a maenad from the north wall of the tablinum in the House of L. Caecilius Jucundus (V.1.26), Pompeii. Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 110590. (Photograph by Marie-Lan Nguyen (2011)/ Wikimedia Commons, reproduced with the permission of the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli.)

Plate 7.2. Wall painting of the courtship of Mars and Venus, House of the Punished Love (VII.2.23), Pompeii. (Art Resource 173911.)

Plate 7.3. Wall painting of Mars, Venus, and amores, House of Mars and Venus (VII.9.47), Pompeii. (Art Resource 173892.)

Plate 9.1. Marble relief depicting a goddess approached by six worshippers and an attendant with a ram, 46–­47.8 cm × 60–­62 cm × 4.5–­5 cm, Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 126174. (Photograph by Peggy Tenison, reproduced with the permission of the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli.)

Plate 9.2. Bronze statuette of Hermes, possibly a portrait, height (including base) 74 cm, Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 126170. (Reproduced with the permission of the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo—­ Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli.)

Plate 9.3. House V.3.10, Pompeii, garden (i), looking north, 1964. (Photograph by Stanley Jashemski; courtesy of Special Collections and University Archives, University of Maryland Libraries.)