Strings and Threads: A Celebration of the Work of Anne Draffkorn Kilmer 9781575066615

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S TR I NG S A ND THREA DS

Photo: Reuben Goldberg.

Anne Kilmer, viewing the Ur lyre in the University Museum, Philadelphia, in 1954. Photo courtesy University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology.

S TR I NG S A ND THRE A DS A Celebration of the Work of

Anne Draffkorn Kilmer

Edited by

W olfgang H eimpel and G abriella F rantz  - S zabó

Winona Lake, Indiana E isenbrauns 2011

© 2011 by Eisenbrauns Inc. All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America www.eisenbrauns.com Drawing on the cover and beneath the title on p. iii by Cornelia Wolff, Munich, after C. L. Wooley, Ur Excavations 2 (1934), 105.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Strings and threads : a celebration of the work of Anne Draffkorn Kilmer / edited by Wolfgang Heimpel and Gabriella Frantz-Szabó.   p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-57506-227-3 (hardback : alk. paper) 1.  Kilmer, Anne Draffkorn.  2.  Music—Middle East—History and criticism.  3.  Music archaeology— Middle East.  I.  Kilmer, Anne Draffkorn.  II.  Heimpel, Wolfgang.  III.  Frantz-Szabó, Gabriella. ML55.K55S77 2011 780.9—dc22 2011036676

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984. †Ê

Contents Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  vii Abbreviations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  ix Guitty Azarpay

The Imagery of the Manichean ‘Call’ on a Sogdian Funerary Relief from China . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  1

Dominique Collon

Chinless Wonders. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  19

Jerrold S. Cooper

Puns and Prebends: The Tale of Enlil and Namzitara. . . .  39

Richard L. Crocker

No Polyphony before a.d. 900!. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  45

Daniel A. Foxvog

Aspects of Name-Giving in Presargonic Lagash. . . . . . . . .  59

John Curtis Franklin

“Sweet Psalmist of Israel”: The Kinnôr and Royal Ideology in the United Monarchy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  99

Ellen Hickmann

Music Archaeology as a Field of Interdisciplinary Research. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115

A. Bernard Knapp

Sound of Silence: Music and Musical Practice in Late Bronze–Iron Age Cyprus. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121

Erle Leichty

A New Fragment of Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133

Sherry Lou Macgregor

Foreign Musicians in Neo-Assyrian Royal Courts. . . . . . . . 137

Scott B. Noegel

“Wordplay” in the Song of Erra . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161

Diana Pickworth

Dug Ubur-Imin: A Seven-Nipple Lid and Seven-Nipple Vessels . . . . . . . . . . 195

Eleanor Robson

The Discovery of Professor von Saalbrandt: A Philadelphia Story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 207

Jennifer C. Ross

Lost: The Missing Lexical Lists of the Archaic Period . . . . 231

Denise Schmandt-Besserat Spirits and Demons of All Times. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 243 David Stronach

A Pipes Player and a Lyre Player: Notes on Three Achaemenid or Near-Achaemenid Silver Rhyta Found in the Vicinity of Erebuni, Armenia . . 251

Richard L. Zettler

Banqueting and Music: An Early Dynastic I Sealing from Nippur . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 275

Bibliography of Anne Draffkorn Kilmer’s Works . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 287 Index of Anne Draffkorn Kilmer’s Works . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 295 v

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Preface For the academic year 1963–64, Anne Draffkorn Kilmer came as visiting lecturer in Assyriology to the Department of Near Eastern Languages of the Berkeley Campus of the University of California. Behind her were the Ph.D. from the University of Philadelpia, in 1959, with a dissertation on Hurrians and Hurrian at Alalakh, a topic dear to her Doktorvater, the eminent Assyriologist E. A. Speiser. Behind her were 4 formative years as research assistant at the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago (1957–61), where Benno Landsberger had made her a close collaborator on his project of editing lexical texts. Finally, behind her was a one-year research fellowship from the American Association of University Women, during which time she followed up on the topic of her dissertation. In Berkeley, Anne’s familiarity with lexical texts came to the fore again. Her interest in mathematics, animals, entertainment, and especially music soon concentrated on lists of the Sumerian and Akkadian designations of the strings found on stringed instruments. An article on “their names, numbers, and significance” was published in the Festschrift for Landsberger (1965), to be followed by the “discovery of an Ancient Mesopotamian theory of music,” published in the 1971 Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society. Her discoveries were spectacularly unexpected and dramatic. In her words: “it cannot have escaped the reader familiar with Greek theory that the order of the Babylonian (octave) species is the same as that of the Greek species in Ptolemy’s system when arranged in the order dictated by their names: Dorian, hypo-Dorian, Phrygian, and so forth.” This was not all. String notations in the text of a Hurrian cult song from Ugarit indicated to her that the song was accompanied by playing chords. To Anne, this suggested the existence of heterophony rather than homophony—the latter commonly supposed to be the only way music was played in classical antiquity and earlier. Anne’s suggestion of the use of “chords” and “heterophony” in her 1974 paper was not accepted by the small crowd of musicologists familiar with her work—but it was received by the rest of the world. In that year, Berkeley physicist Robert R. Brown built for her a replica of an ancient lyre, and the Berkeley musicologist Richard L. Crocker played the chords on that lyre at the occasion of a noon lecture, which came in two parts: on the first day was the lecture proper, followed a week later by a performance. In her words: After my first noon lecture, the University’s information office was telephoned by the local press, as it always is, and asked “what’s new on campus?” The man who was in charge of that office said “Well, we’ve just had an interesting lecture by Professor Kilmer on ancient Babylonian music.” The local press said “That’s exciting?” When they heard there would be a demonstration at the next noon lecture in Wheeler Auditorium, they sent a number of people from the press to Wheeler Auditorium where Crocker played, and somehow that got into the international media.

This is the part of Anne’s work that is reflected in the label “strings” in the title of this volume. The latest step in this still-evolving story is Richard Crocker’s contribution to this volume. The “threads” refer to another central part of Anne’s work, the intricate symmetry of composition of Mesopotamian narrative texts, which can be visualized as weaving a rug. vii

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In many of her articles, Anne observes things hitherto not considered, often starting with observations that have come from her students, which are always acknowledged. A spectacular case in point is the flood story as a tale of rebirth of life. The calculation of the number of days of the biblical flood computed by a doctoral student was 278 days to the day when the dove returned with a twig in its beak. Anne recalls: “I asked those biblical scholars present (at the rigorosum) whether anyone had noticed that the number of days is exactly the time for human gestation. . . . My query was met with surprise.” Another case is Anne’s recognition of the relevance of wordplay in the telling of one of Gilgamesh’s dreams that presages his friendship with Enkidu, which led “to a line of thinking that reverses the trend to reject the notion that there was a sexual relationship between Giglamesh and Enkidu.” Such gems are found in all of Anne’s writings; they are there for us all to find. More than most of us, Anne was fully engaged in the life and administration of the university, as curator of the Babylonian collection in the Lowie (now Phoebe Hearst) Museum, repeatedly as chair of the department of Near Eastern Studies, as dean of humanities, and as chair of the Berkeley Division of the Academic Senate. During my last visit to Anne’s office in Berkeley, I saw along the short side of her desk a neat line of labels with abbreviations. It was list of her writing projects. The line was long. Some are now published. Many are yet to be written. We did not cast a wide net when we started this volume, inviting friends and close colleagues of Anne. We all, contributors and editors, congratulate Anne for her outstanding contributions and thank her for being our colleague and friend. Wolfgang Heimpel and Gabriella Frantz-Szabó

Abbreviations A ActIr AfO AHw AO AoN AOAT ARET ArOr ASJ AT ATU BAM BaM BiOr BM BSA BSOAS CAD CANE CBS CDLI CM CNRS CT DAI ED ePSD

Siglum of objects in the Oriental Institute Museum Acta Iranica Archiv für Orientforschung Akkadisches Handwörterbuch Antiquités Orientales. Siglum of objects in the Musée du Louvre Altorientalische Notizen Alter Orient und Altes Testament Archivi Reali di Ebla Testi Archiv Orientální Acta Sumerologica D. J. Wiseman, The Alalakh Tablets. London, 1953. Archaische Texte aus Uruk F. Köcher et al., Die babylonisch-assyrische Medizin in Texten und Untersuchungen Baghdader Mitteilungen Bibliotheca Orientalis British Museum Bulletin on Sumerian Agriculture Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies Chicago Assyrian Dictionary Civilizations of the Ancient Near East Siglum of tablets in the Philadelphia University Museum Cuneiform Digital Library Initiative. http://cdli.ucla.edu/ Cuneiform Monographs Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique Cuneiform Texts from Babylonian Tablets in the British Museum Deutsches Archäologisches Institut Early Dynastic Electronic Philadelphia Sumerian Dictionary. http://psd.museum.upenn.edu/epsd/nepsdframe.html ÉRC Édition Recherche sur les Civilisations ETCSL The Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature. http://www-etcsl.orient.ox.ac.uk/ Hh ḪAR-RA ḫubullu (lexical series) HS Tablet Siglum of The Frau Professor Hilprecht Sammlung. HSS Harvard Semitic Studies ICTM International Council for Traditional Music IM Iraq Museum Iraq Iraq: Journal of the British School of Archaeology in Iraq Ist Istanbul Museums JAOS Journal of the American Oriental Society JBL Journal of Biblical Literature JCS Journal of Cuneiform Studies JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies JSOT Journal for the Study of the Old Testament K Siglum of tablets from Kuyunjik in the British Museum ix

x

Abbreviations

E. Ebeling, Keilschrifttexte aus Assur religiösen Inhalts (= Wissenschaftliche Veröffentlichungen der Deutschen Orientgesellschaft 50 [1927]) KBo Keilschrifttexte aus Boghazköy Kh Siglum of tablets excavated in Khafaji LAK A. Deimel, Liste der Archäischen Keilschriftzeichen (= Wissenschaftliche Veröffentlichungen der Deutschen Orientgesellschaft 40 [1922]) LB Siglum of tablets in the Collection de Liagre Böhl Msk. (Tell) Meskene. Siglum of objects excavated in Meskene MSL Materialien zum Sumerischen Lexicon. MSVO Materialien zu den Frühen Schriftzeugnissen des Vorderen Orients N Siglum of tablets in the Philadelphia University Museum NABU Nouvelles Assyrologiques Brèves et Utilitaires OA Old Assyrian OAkk Old Akkadian OB Old Babylonian OBO Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis OIC Oriental Institute Communications OIM Oriental Institute Museum OIP Oriental Institute Publications OLP Orientalia Lovaniensia Periodica Or. Dr. Original Drawing OSP Old Sumerian and Old Akkadian Texts in Philadelphia PAPS Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society PG Private Grave RA Revue d’Assyriologie et d’Archéologie Orientale RGTC Répertoire géographique des textes cunéiformes RIME The Royal Incriptions of Mesopotamia, Early Periods RlA Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie [Year dates of articles in RlA vols. 1–6 are cited by the date of the volume; in later volumes, by the date of the fascicle (Lieferung).] RS Siglum of objects excavated at Ras Shamra SEL Studi Epigrafici e Linguistici sul Vicino Oriente Antico SEPOA Société pour l’Étude du Proche-Orient Ancien SF A. Deimel, Schultexte aus Fara. Wissenschaftliche Veröffentlichungen der Deutschen Orientgesellschaft 43 [1923] SGL Sumerische Götterlieder SLT A. Chiera, Sumerian Lexical Texts = OIP 11 SOAS School of Oriental and African Studies StSem (NS) Studi Semitici (Nuova serie) TAPS Transactions of the American Philosophical Society TCL Textes Cunéiformes de Louvre TuL E. Ebeling, Tod und Leben nach den Vorstellungen der Babylonier UET Ur Excavation Texts UF Ugarit-Forschungen UM Siglum of tablets in the Philadelphia University Museum W Siglum of objects from Warka WdO Die Welt des Orients WF A. Deimel. Wirtschaftstexte aus Fara. Wissenschaftliche Veröffentlichungen der Deutschen Orientgesellschaft 45 [1924] WZKM Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes Yuval Yuval: Studies of the Jewish Music Research Centre ZA Zeitschrift für Assyriologie und Vorderasiatische Archäologie ZATU Zeichenliste der Archaischen Texte aus Uruk = ATU 2 KAR

The Imagery of the Manichean ‘Call’ on a Sogdian Funerary Relief from China Guitty Azarpay University of California, Berkeley

A glaring lacuna exists in imagery of the rich and dramatic Manichean myth, once strikingly illustrated in Mani’s Ārdhang—known later as the Aržang, the “Picture-Book”—that depicted the workings of Light and Darkness. 1 A glimpse into Mani’s arcane notions about the fate of the soul after death now finds visual imagery in a series of extraordinary reliefs uncovered in 2003 in China. The reliefs come from the walls of the stone sarcophagus of a Sogdian named Wirkak (Chinese name: Master Shi), identified in a bilingual epitaph written in Chinese and Sogdian on the lintel above the sarcophagus door. The epitaph states that Wirkak was from the state of Shi (Kesh in Sogdiana, present-day Shahr-i Sabz in Uzbekistan), that he had lived in the Western Regions but had moved to Chang’an (present-day Xi’an), that he was appointed sabao, or merchant chief, the head of his Sogdian community at Liangzhou during the Northern Zhou dynasty (557–581 c.e.) in China, and that he died in 579 at the age of 85 and was buried with his wife who died a month after him. They were interred a year later in the tomb built by their three sons. 2

The Decorative Scheme of the Sarcophagus Wirkak’s sarcophagus is a rectangular, house-shaped stone structure (255 × 155 cm, 158 cm high) built on a narrow stone platform, with a ledge decorated in low relief, with an inhabited vine scroll (figs. 1–2). Upright stone slabs support a slightly pitched roof in imitation of Chinese wooden houses with pillars that support an architrave with inverted V-shaped brackets and a hipped tile roof. 3 The sarcophagus was found inside a burial chamber with a passageway and a general plan that, like other Sogdian tombs in China, follows strictly Chinese models that differ from Zoroastrian funerary monuments in the Sogdian homeland. 4 The façade of the sarcophagus 1.  Gulácsi’s forthcoming book promises to present much new information on this topic; see Gulácsi 2009: 19–20; Asmussen 2000: 689–90. For a different explanation of the term Ārdhang, see Sundermann 2005: 383. 2.  Dien 2009: 42–50; Yang Junkai 2005a: 21–45; for the Chinese text, see Sun Fuxi 2005: 46–55; for the Sogdian, see Yoshida 2005: 57–72. On the function of the sabao and the origin of the term, see Dien 2009: 46–48; Dien 1962: 335–46; De la Vaissière 2005b: 148–52 and 161–62; Grenet 2007: 464–65. 3.  Yang Junkai 2005a: 21–45. This author describes the structure of the Chinese model of the sarcophagus as “mountaintop rest style.” See also Lerner 2005a: 154 n. 9. 4.  Grenet 1984; Rempel’ 1987: 46–54. For Sogdian house-shaped ossuaries, see also Chuvin and Béguin 1999: figs. 221–22, 229–33.

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is constructed from eight stone slabs decorated with five carved panels on the south wall, pierced in the center with double doors. The doors, which are reached by a flight of six steps above a threshold, are framed by pilasters that support a lintel with a stone panel engraved with the bilingual epitaph written in Sogdian and Chinese. 5 On each side of the door stands a large, frontal guardian figure carved in high relief, reminiscent of Chinese funerary imagery of the time (figs. 2, 5). 6 The sarcophagus doors open into the inner chamber that is raised on a stone platform on which were presumably placed the deceased couple, whose remains, however, were found scattered about as the result of the disturbance and plunder of the tomb by robbers in antiquity. 7 Whereas five panels decorate the wider north and south sarcophagus walls, the narrower east and west walls are each faced with only three panels. 8 The stone doors of the sarcophagus façade, carved to resemble double wooden gates with studs, serve as a gateway that opens inward into the inner chamber of the sarcophagus and outward to the virtual space of the decorated walls of the outer chamber. Indeed, the sarcophagus façade, like a codex cover that is read from right to left, folds back to the right to reveal one folio panel after another in sequential order. Unlike pictorial epics in Sogdian painting such as in murals from Panjikent where narrative sequences blend into each other in a seamless, scroll-like continuous format, the reliefs on Wirkak’s sarcophagus are generally presented as independent, consecutive compositions. 9 The reliefs on the sarcophagus walls are highlighted in gold leaf that is attached to the stone by an adhesive applied over a red base-coat, traces of which are now visible in areas where there is loss of the gold layer. The exposed red base-coat, evidently mercuric oxide (HgO), is a customary gold leafing material used to enhance the luster and color of the top layer of gold leaf or of amalgam. 10 A black base-coat that absorbs light may have been used to obtain variations in highlight effects in some gilded areas of the relief. A blue color is detectable on the carved swirls of water along the lowest level of several panels. If pigments other than the noted red, blue, and possibly black were used on the sarcophagus walls, they are not readily visible to the naked eye. 11 5.  Yoshida 2005: 57–72; Sun Fuxi 2005: 47–55. 6.  For Chinese prototypes of such tomb guardians, see Kageyama 2005: 263–67. 7.  Lerner 2005a: 160; Yang Junkai (2005a: 22) notes that the burial also contained skeletal remains of animals but does not identify the species nor indicate the exact place of their discovery. 8.  On the distribution of the scenes on the four walls of the sarcophagus, see Dien 2009: 43–46; Lerner 2005a: 151–56. 9.  The compositions in the panels on the sarcophagus are carefully planned and fitted within selfcontained, rectangular frames. In this respect, the latter differ from the cropped compositions found in a number of other Sino-Sogdian funerary reliefs, represented by those on the bed from Tianshui, Gansu, the beds of An Qie and Kang Ye in Xi’an, and the funerary reliefs at the Miho Museum, Shigaraki, Japan, which appear to have been copied from sections of horizontal scrolls or wall paintings. For a discussion of these reliefs, see Lerner 2005b: pls. 1–3, 5. The format of the relief panels on Wirkak’s sarcophagus recalls rather the small, rectangular compositions sometimes used in the dado below epic cycles in Sogdian murals from Panjikent. Compositions in the dado generally show conflated scenes with genre and folkloric themes, often with miraculous and moralizing overtones. See Azarpay 1981: 116–25; Marshak 2002: 61–67, 85–101, 130–41. This format may also be compared to that of illustrations adapted to the requirements of the codex in Early Christian manuscripts in which the codex had replaced the roll as the standard structure of the book between the 2nd and the 4th centuries. See Schapiro 1979: 49; Weitzmann 1970: 81–84. 10.  I wish to thank Professor Albert Dien for the identification of the red base-coat on the reliefs as mercuric oxide. 11.  De la Vaissière 2005a: 360 n. 9. The remains of red pigment on the headdresses of the Manichean Elect that De la Vaissière found puzzling may thus be attributed to the loss of the original gold leaf in that

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The Religious Imagery The strictly Zoroastrian interpretation of the religious scenes carved on Wirkak’s sarcophagus that had prevailed shortly after the publication of the monument was modified in 2005 by De la Vaissière, who ascribed the clearly non-Zoroastrian elements present in the religious scenes to a Manichean frame of reference. 12 Although Grenet had originally offered a Zoroastrian interpretation of the scenes of the judgment of the soul after death depicted on the East wall of the sarcophagus, he subsequently supported some elements of De la Vaissière’s Manichean explanation of those scenes. De la Vaissière and Grenet agree on a syncretic, Buddhist-Daoist-Manichean interpretation of panel 1 on the west wall of the sarcophagus, and both appear to conclude that certain Manichean themes were admitted into an otherwise generally Zoroastrian context. 13 In light of the subsequent consensus on the presence of Manichean themes in the reliefs on the Wirkak sarcophagus, this paper seeks to examine the function and meaning of an extraordinary motif carved on panels that flank the doors on the façade of Wirkak’s sarcophagus, represented by a bird-man at the fire-altar, the significance of which is not fully explored by De la Vaissière and Grenet in their studies of this artistic relic from China (fig. 3).

The Fire Ritual The two end panels on the sarcophagus façade are each pierced in the center by a blind mullion window flanked by carved images of a pair of attendants and topped with seated images of four performing musicians (figs. 1, 3, 5). At ground level below each window, facing the doors into the inner chamber, is carved the image of a bird-man in profile, performing the ritual function of a Zoroastrian priest at the fire-altar (fig. 1). Each bird-man tends the sacred fire with kindling wood (barsam) and protects it from pollution by his breath through the use of a breath-mask (  padām), customarily worn by Zoroastrian priests during the performance of the fire ritual. 14 At first glance, this scene appears to represent the sacred fire that is the chief Mazdean cult object and a symbol of righteousness, the living fire that requires regular maintenance with fuel, incense, and zōhr (fat). 15 In this context, fire acts as a medium of information exchange between human and god. It seizes the divine signals, hears the formulas, and materializes in the light that is the visible form of the gods. area of the sarcophagus reliefs. Although Grenet and Riboud refer to Wirkak’s sarcophagus as “lavishly decorated with painted and gilded reliefs,” other than the red base-coat and blue pigment preserved in some areas that show water, it is difficult to detect pigments in photographs of the reliefs, nor is there mention of them by Yang Junkai. The latter only refers to the presence of various pigments on the doors that sealed the passageway leading to Wirkak’s sarcophagus. See Yang Junkai 2005a: 21 and 2005b: 9–10. However, both gilding and painting are attested on other Sino-Sogdian funerary monuments such as those from the tombs of Yu Hong (see Zhang Qingjie in De la Vassière and Trombert 2005: fig. 1–2) and An Jia. See Marshak 2001: 245–51 and 2004: 16–31. 12.  De la Vaissière 2005a: 357–78; Grenet 2007: 463–78; Lerner 2005a: 151–62; Dien 2007: 103–15. 13.  For a concise account of the origin and basic tenets of the Zoroastrian (the Mazdayasnian) religion, and its similarities to and differences from Manicheism, see Skjærvø 1995 and 1997. For a bibliography and an overview of Manicheism, see Gnoli 2005: 5650–59. On the Manichean interpretation of the female image that encounters the soul of the deceased, depicted on the East Wall of Wirkak’s sarcophagus, see Azarpay 2011: 63–66, fig. 7. 14.  Carter 2002: 264–70; Kageyama 2005: 259. 15.  Boyce 1990: 61–70. In its spiritual form, fire is expected to destroy demons. See Boyce 1966: 101.

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Fig. 1.  The façade on the south wall of the sarcophagus of Wirkak (220 × 110 cm), Xi’an, China. Reconstructed drawing, Yang Junkai 2005: 19.

By its ascending movement toward heaven, the fire shows that he knows how to perform this journey. Going from men towards the gods, he is for the latter the conveyor who brings them the offerings, and for the former he who teaches the road leading to the dwelling of the gods and to the beyond. 16

Indeed, images of Zoroastrian priests in human form officiate at the fire-altar in both Sogdian funerary arts and on coins of the 6th and 7th centuries from the Sogdian homeland. 17 However, the Zoroastrian priests in these works are not depicted as bird-men, nor does the motif manifest the extraordinary attributes found in the Sino-Sogdian funerary monuments, as discussed below. That Manicheans had an intimate knowledge of the Zoroastrian fire-ritual is attested in the oft-quoted passage in which the Living Spirit speaks generally: 18 I am the fire which Zardrusht built, and which he bade the righteous build. From the seven consecrated, sweet-smelling fires bring to me, the fire, purified fuel. Bring clean firewood, and delicate and fragrant incense. Kindle me with knowledge, and give me clean zōhr. 19

However, Manichean rejection of the Mazdean fire ceremony is attested in the well-known polemic against the Zoroastrian offering of reverence to the sacred fire as “those sects that worship 16.  Kellens 2000: 108–09. 17.  Pugachenkova 1996: 235–36, 239–40, figs. 7, 14; Zeymal 1996: 368, figs. M31, M32. 18.  Boyce 1966: 100–101; BeDuhn 2000: 21–23. 19.  See M95.V. 1–12 in Andreas and Henning 1932–34: 319–20.

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Fig. 2.  Wirkak’s stone sarcophagus (246 × 155 × 158 cm), with parts of the east and south walls removed to display the inner chamber, Xi’an. Reconstructed drawing. Yang Junkai in De la Vaissière and Trombert 2005: Fig. 3.

fire, as their sacrifices are offered to fire,” in Kephalaion, chapter 6:33.16–17. 20 The Manichean element Fire, the Living Fire, is one of the sons of Primal Man and is identified in Coptic sources with the Maiden of Light, “His Maiden the Living Fire,” or the “Maiden” (who is his soul). 21 Thus, the fire that requests an empowering offering is for Manicheans the Living Self, a fire that is kindled with “knowledge” (d’nyšn/gnosis) . 22

The Bird-Man The motif of the bird-man shown performing the function of a Zoroastrian priest at the firealtar on Wirkak’s sarcophagus (fig. 3) is a variation on a theme found on other 6th to 7th century, 20.  Gardner 1995: 37. This may be inferred from the Manichean abhorrence of animal sacrifice that was part of the Zoroastrian fire ritual; see Boyce 1983: 1203 n. 3. As noted by BeDuhn (2000: 22–23), “Manichaeans explicitly interpreted Zoroastrian ritual ideology in light of the new revelations of Mani . . . and identified the Zoroastrian ritual rationale of purification and empowerment of nature with the Manichaean rationale of rescuing the Living Self.” 21.  Tongerloo 1997: 365. 22.  The Manichean concept of the Living Self or Soul refers to the life force—the light scattered in the world—identified with Jesus but also with the five elements that are the sons of Primal Man (modeled after the Zoroastrian Amesha Spentas), through which god has contact with the world. See Klimkeit 1993: 43–54; Hutter 2000: 312. On the origin, nature, and function of the Light-nous, see Sundermann 1995: 255–65.

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Sogdian funerary monuments uncovered in China. 23 Despite its hybrid body, the bird-man at the fire-altar is generally identified with a Zoroastrian priest on account of the figure’s posture and attendance at the fire-altar and because of the breath-guard (  padām) shown on the lower part of the bird-man’s face. The Zoroastrian significance of this Sino-Sogdian motif of the 6th and 7th centuries is not questioned in the publications of De la Vaissière, Grenet, and Marshak and is accepted with less certainty by Carter. 24 However, the absence of this motif in a strictly Zoroastrian context and its permutations in Sino-Sogdian art justify reexamination of its significance in the context of other imagery from Wirkak’s sarcophagus reliefs. The resemblance of the Sino-Sogdian bird-man’s plumage and talons to that of a cock are reasons for its identification by O. Skjærvø (apud F. Grenet) as a hypostasis of Srōš, the Zoroastrian god of discipline who judges the soul after death and aids it in its crossing of the Chinwad bridge. 25 But Zoroastrian priests appear only in human form, not as bird-men, in the eschatological scene on the east wall of Wirkak’s reliefs, where they clearly lack the spiritual attributes or hypostases of gods. In one Sino-Sogdian version of the motif, the bird-men have rods that are not used as fire tongs but are held above the head of a demoniac being that supports the base of the fire-altar (fig. 4). This fire-altar, moreover, has a long shaft entwined with a pair of nāgas, an attribute that is unthinkable as a reference to the fire ritual of the Zoroastrians for whom the serpentine, leonine dragons would have been regarded as Ahriman’s counter-creations. 26 M. Carter comments on the Indian and Buddhist cosmological overtones of this scene, which she compares to “Sumeru, the world mountain wound with nāgas around its center to form the cosmic churning stick for the Ocean of Milk in Indian mythology.” 27 M. Carter derives the image of the bird-man ultimately from Western Asiatic and Greek images of harpies or sirens and compares them with Indian human-headed kinara, kalavinka, and jiva-jiva birds that in turn inspired various Central Asian versions and images of the fanciful birds with female heads preserved in a Sogdian mural from Panjikent. 28 This author notes that the airborne, composite beings found in Chinese funerary art and the “Zoroastrian” deities of the hu tian shan cult popular in China in the early 6th century are derived from the mixture of religious notions from a variety of older traditions with those of heterodox, Central Asian Zoroastrianism of the Sogdians at that period. 29 The part-human flying figures “cavorting on Lady Yuan’s epitaph . . . belong to a type of imagery of supernatural beings and monsters popular during the Han dynasty, and resuscitated in 6th century China that bear little relation to what we know of any version of Zoroastrian imagery.”  30 Here, M. Carter suggests the possibility of their origin in a hybrid religious

23.  For a study of the motif in Sino-Sogdian reliefs and their possible prototypes, see Carter 2002: 263–87; Kageyama 2005: 259. 24.  De la Vaissière 2005a: 358 n. 5; Grenet 2007: 469–71; Marshak 2001: 244, 252; Carter 2002: 274–77. 25.  Grenet, Riboud, and Yang Junkai 2004: 278–79; Grenet 2007: 470–71; De la Vaissière 2005a: 358; Boyce 1971: 239. On the cock whose call puts darkness to flight as the sacred bird of Srōš, see Boyce 1971: 230 and 1977: 257. 26.  This image is depicted in the center of a marble funerary bed base of unknown provenance dated to the sixth to the seventh century, in a private collection on loan to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. See also Carter 2002: 264–65 figs. 2–3. 27.  Carter 2002: 265. 28.  Belenitskii and Marshak 1981: fig. 22; Carter 2002: 266–67. 29.  Carter 2002: 274–75. 30.  Carter 2002: 275.

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Fig. 3.  The bird-man at the fire-altar (ca. 60 × 60 cm), stone relief from the lower west panel, façade of Wirkak’s sarcophagus, Xi’an. Yang Junkai 2005: cover.

cult that combined vestiges of an ancient Indo-Aryan mythological tradition with the heterodoxy of Central Asian Zoroastrianism. 31 The Zoroastrian interpretation of the bird-man at the fire-altar has been extended even to images of the bird-man without the fire-altar, as in medallions stamped on two Sogdian ossuaries from Samarkand that show a male torso with a cap, breath-guard, wing, and a raised hand, but without the lower body of a bird and the fire-altar of the Sino-Sogdian motif.  32 Indeed, as noted earlier, images of Zoroastrian priests in human form officiate at the fire-altar in both Sogdian funerary arts and on coinage of the 6th and 7th centuries from the Sogdian homeland. 33 The absence in Sogdian art of parallels to the Sino-Sogdian priest-bird motif may suggest, instead, the transmission to Sogdiana from Central Asian and the Chinese environment of an innovation in the significance and imagery of the motif of the priests at the altar, as attested, for example, in the torch-bearing flying figures of the kinaras with cap and floating diadem that flank the Mithra image painted in the parabolic arch above the 38-meter Buddha at Bamiyan, destroyed by the Taliban in 2001. 34 A reason for the transformation of the funerary motif of priests in human form at the firealtar into “priest-birds” in Sino-Sogdian art is perhaps a special significance acquired by the motif in China. As in Mahāyāna Buddhism in China, where both the laity and the monastic community took part in the production of images and where innovation took place and some functions of iconography acquired special significance, so in the belief systems of itinerant and expatriate Sogdian communities along the Silk Road, in the 6th and 7th centuries, the “priest-bird” motif acquired a new protective and redemptive significance.  35 Like the torch-bearing bird-men in the 31.  Carter 2002: 275. 32.  Grenet 2003: 40, fig. 10. 33.  Pugachenkova 1996: 235–36, 239–40, figs. 7, 14; Zeymal 1996: 368, figs. M31, M32. 34.  Grenet 2003: 40–41; Grenet, Riboud, and Yang Junkai 2004: 275. For a drawing and a color photograph of this detail, see Rowland 1970: 84–87; Tarzi 1977: pl. A1. For other detailed images of these murals, see now Higuchi 1983–84: vol. 1. The most recent color photograph of this motif shows the bird-man with cap, diadem, and beard; see now Higuchi 2001: vol. 1, pl. 24:1. 35.  Compare the new significance attached to Indian Buddhist images in early medieval China manifested in the role of famous images as concrete links between China and India, the miraculous power of the image, and the political use of iconography as auspicious palladia that protect the state. See Zürcher 1995: 12.

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Fig. 4.  Detail showing bird-men at the fire-altar (ca. 38 × 37 cm), from a marble funerary couch of unknown provenance from China, late 6th–early 7th century. Loaned by a private collection, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, #L.2008.56. Image courtesy of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Mahāyāna Buddhist painting of Bamiyan and like later images of flying angels flanking the cross on a lotus pedestal, from Syrian Christian tombstones of the Mongol period from Quanzhou/ Zayton, China, the Sino-Sogdian priest-bird motif surely attests to the indigenization in China of a foreign, in this case Sogdian, funerary device. 36 36.  On the Bamiyan painting, see Grenet 2003: 40–41; Rowland 1970: 84–87; Tanabe 2004: 177–223. On the Christian tombstones from Quanzhou/Zayton, see Parry 2005: 232–46. Compare also Coptic and

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What, then, is the significance of the Sino-Sogdian bird-man at the fire-altar? In light of the Manichean interpretation of some religious scenes in Wirkak’s funerary imagery, a Manichean component in the genealogy of this motif may be contemplated. If viewed as a Manichean symbol, the bird-man, identified by his breath-guard as a priest chanting prayers at the fire ceremony, may be seen as an ingenious transformation of the original Zoroastrian model’s function. 37 “Suitably arrayed in the garment of Zoroastrian terminology,” the Mazdean priest here becomes a rooster-man with the plumage and talons of a cock. 38 As noted by Gardner, “the Manichees sought to stress the universality of the revelation as the summation of prior religions, together with their conceptual worlds. Therefore, it was logical, whether as missionaries or as a persecuted minority, for them to deliberately clothe their doctrines in the languages of other faiths.” 39 The “priest-bird” on Wirkak’s sarcophagus façade would have been understood by those familiar with the Manichean Middle Persian liturgical language of the Sogdians as a rebus, a visual reference to xrws ‘call’ and also ‘rooster’, and xrwštag ‘called’; the divinity ‘Call’. 40 However, the bird-man, like other half-human creatures in Chinese and Central Asian art, is not a literal illustration or a precise, text-dependent image. Rather, it is an artistic allusion to religious concepts that would have been intuitively grasped by the initiate, and hence its repetition in other Sogdian funerary reliefs of the 6th and 7th centuries in China. 41 The syncretic and ambiguous imagery used to portray Manichean notions in reliefs on Wirkak’s sarcophagus belongs to a period of Sino-Sogdian art that preceded the establishment of the Manichean community of Dēnāwars in Transoxiana at the end of the 6th century. 42 That event, followed by the adoption, in 762, of Manicheism as the state religion of the Uighur Turkish kingdoms, first in the Mongolian Steppe and subsequently in the Turfan region of the Tarim Basin, brought about the florescence of a new and distinctive artistic school, attested in the remains of Turfan Manichean book art and of paintings in other media, datable to the 8th to the 11th centuries. 43 For Sogdians in China, where different versions of the bird-man were subject to multiple interpretations, the motif may well have served as a visual metaphor for the concept of xrwštag, the divine Call that according to the Manichean myth had awakened Primal Man from his unconscious state and prompted him to respond with an Answer (  pdwāxtag). 44 Henceforth divinized, Xrwštag Byzantine images of angles flanking the cross that inspired the late Sasanian Christian seal in the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, see Lerner1977: no. 9, pl. 1:9, pp. 8–9. 37.  The priest-bird’s human head and breath guard serve both to identify the image as a religious figure and to avoid the negative implications of its identification with images of rooster-headed demons, such as that of the demoness with a human body and a cock’s head and talons, identified in its accompanying Khotanese inscription as Kaṇṭhapāṇī and as jiqiebanli in its Chinese inscription (from a 9th-century folio in the British Museum [Ch. 00217] from Dunhuang, Cave 17). See Maggi 1996: 133–34, pl. 2. 38.  For the use of this tactic by Mani in reference to the latter’s presentation of the Šābuhragān, his only book in Middle Persian, to Shapur, see Skjærvø 1997: 328. 39.  Gardner 1993: 273. 40.  Durkin-Meisterernst 2004: 364–65, 394; for xrows as ‘rooster’, see Boyce 1977a: 99. On the etymology of the term, see also, Mo‘īn 1963: 2:741. 41.  Carter 2002: 263–87; Kageyama 2005: 259. 42.  Boyce 1975: 3, 39–42 (text h). 43.  Gulácsi 2005: 19–20. On Manichean art of the Uigur Turks in the Mongolian Steppe (762 and 763– 840) and in the Tarim Basin around the Kocho, present-day Turfan, to the northwest of China (850–1250), see Gulácsi 2009, forthcoming. See also Klimkeit 1982, 1998a, 1998b. 44.  Klimkeit 1993: 10–12; Lieu 1985: 63. For a discussion of the multiple interpretations of the motif in China, see Carter 2002: 263–87.

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and Pdwāxtag, Call and Answer (Parthian xrwštag and pdwāxtag, Syriac qāryā and ʿānyā, Coptic tōmê and sōtmê  ) were to play an important role in the redemption of the soul in Manichean theology. 45 A Manichean hymn (Gāthā) from the Chinese Hymnscroll from Dunhuang, now in the British Museum, chanted at the conclusion of the Wishing during offering to the dead, addresses “the two great Lights, the five-fold Law-Body, the clean and pure Teacher-Priests, the great compassionate power,” and prays that they “rescue and lift that nature, free it from transmigration, the rough and hard bodies, the various hells, boiling water in cauldrons, and burning charcoal in furnaces. Pray may all Buddhas have pity on that nature, beget great compassion, and give it emancipation; conduct it themselves into the world of Light its original birthplace, and the peaceful and happy Land. . . .” 46 Mani is said to have left Babylon in order to “call out the Call” (xrws’n xrws) across the world, and the Manichean religion is referred to as the “great Call” (xrwsg wzrg) in the Turfan documents. 47 A class of Manichean clergy mentioned in the Turfan documents, with the title of xrōhxwān ‘one who makes the call (to prayer)’, Chinese huluhuan ‘cry the cry’, generally regarded as preachers, was charged with various services in the management of the Manichean monastery. 48 In the Manichean myth of the separation of the two principles, represented by light and darkness, man is made of dark matter but embodies some particles of light that had been devoured by darkness. Man’s goal in life, as reflected in the Manichean confessional text, the Xwāstwānīft (text XI A), is the liberation and restoration to heaven of the remaining light on earth (“after the angels gather and carry to heaven the light of the First Man’s five sons, the Fivefold God, and also that of Xrwštag and Pdwāxtag”). 49 Just as Primal Man was made conscious by the divine Call, the cry (xrwštag) to which he responded with an Answer (  pdwāxtag) that restored him to the realm of light, so humans may be redeemed by answering the Call of knowledge (  gnosis). The redemption of Primal Man awakened in the depths by the divine Call “is a mythological archetype, which is repeated in all its important elements, at the beginning of historical time.” 50 By responding to that 45.  Puech 1970: 301; 1979: 41, 65, 365; Lieu 1985: 63. 46.  Tsui Chi 1943–46: 241–45. 47.  Tajaddod 1990: 243. 48.  Durkin-Meisterernst 2004: 364; Skjærvø 2009: 282; Sundermann 2001: 204 n. 24, 241, 243; Zieme 1975: 335. The Uigur Monastery Scroll states that, when the high-ranking clerics are seated at the table to partake of the daily meal, the main part of the Manichaean communal life and ritual, then two xrwx’an (xrōhxwānān) in standing position offer food and drink to the ‘ytg‘ny żm’styk before they themselves sit at the table with the Elect. The alms are the gifts of the auditors who, being excluded from this most solemn ceremony of the Manichaean church, were obliged to present their offerings to a representative of the community of clerics, in this case, the xrwx’an, who then served the higher-ranked clerics. See Sundermann 2001: 23 n. 24. For a different interpretation of the term xrōxān in the Uigur Monastery Scroll, see Moriyasu 2004: 73. I thank Professor Sundermann for this reference. Takao Moriyasu’s book brings special attention to more recent excavations in the Turfan region that link the destruction of Manichean sanctuaries there with the conversion and rebuilding of those sanctuaries as Buddhist establishments in the 10th and the 11th centuries. Moriyasu’s critique (2004: 3–4 n. 9) of Boyce’s attribution of the depredation of Manichean remains in the Turfan area to Islamic forces ignores the fact that the results of the later Turfan excavations would not have been known to Boyce at the time of the preparation of her manuscript for the Cambridge History of Iran 3/2, published in 1983. For early reports of the later Turfan excavations, see Geng Shimin and Klimkeit 1985: 7–11; Sundermann 1991: 283–88. For references to later publications on these finds, see Gulácsi 2005: 4. 49. On Xwāstwānīft, a Parthian word used as the name of a confessional known primarily in Uigur or Old Turkish, see Asmussen 1965: 197; on the Manichean commandments, see Asmussen 1975: 59–77; SimsWilliams 1985: 573–82; De Blois 2000: 49–51. 50.  Gardner 1993: 263.

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Fig. 5.  Detail of the façade on the South wall of Wirkak’s sarcophagus, Xi’an, showing the bird-man at the fire-altar next to a gate guardian. Photo courtesy Patricia Bjaaland Welch.

Call, humans act toward restoration of the light particles bound in evil matter to their original source in paradise. 51 The proposed identification of the “priest-birds” on Wirkak’s sarcophagus with a reference to the Manichean divine Call, Xrwštag, that opens the door to heaven for Primal Man, would thus have the redemptive function of a “wake-up call” to the soul of the deceased. As Mani’s teaching is a concretization of the ‘Call’ from beyond, so it says of the god ‘Call’ (Xrwštag) in the graphic language of the Turkic Manichaica, that he opens “the door to the heaven of the gods, as he has opened the door for the god Xormuzta (Primal Man).” 52 From here it is only a step to the concept that the gods ‘Call’ and ‘Answer’ are themselves gates to the kingdom of Light (Kephalaion 291: 14–15.). Hence the saviour, too, being a concretization of the heavenly ‘Call,’ may be referred to as the door to life. . . . 53 51.  Heuser 1998: 82–86; Koenen 1990; Klimkeit 1993: 10–12, 224 n. 8; and 340–41 for a fragmentary Manichean text in Turkish that treats this myth. 52.  Klimkeit 1998a: 181; Le Coq 1912: 13. 53.  Klimkeit 1998a: 181.

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The motif of the bird-man at the door into Wirkak’s inner funerary chamber may have yet another Manichean redemptive significance. One of the qualities of the divine summons, the Call, is his ability to “open the door to the realm of the gods. As water opens the ‘door’ to vegetation on earth, so does the god Xrwštag open his door for the god Xormuzta [Primal Man] and (his sons), the Fivefold God” in heaven. 54 The door is a central symbol in Gnosticism, where the gates to salvation are guarded by evil powers and archons. The soul may pass through these gates only with the knowledge inherent in gnosis, as well as with prayers and passwords. 55 The gate is a key Manichean concept that refers to departure from life; it provides passage for the soul’s entry into a sphere of liberation and salvation. The opener of that gate is at once the Call from the world beyond and the soul’s guide to redemption. The identification of a Manichaean Call, Xwštag, and the Manichean concept of individual redemption with the image of the bird-man at the gate to the inner chamber of Wirkak’s sarcophagus proposed in this paper is an art-historical deduction that remains to be tested against new or overlooked archaeological or textual evidence.

Conclusion The foregoing analysis focuses on one of the religious themes depicted in reliefs on the stone sarcophagus of Wirkak, a Sogdian, identified in his bilingual epitaph written in Sogdian and Chinese, as sabao, or merchant chief and head of his Sogdian community at Liangzhou during the Northern Zhou dynasty (557–581 c.e.) in China. He died in 579 at the age of 85 and was buried with his wife, who had died a month after him. The un-Zoroastrian portrayal in these reliefs of both a positive attitude towards asceticism and transmigration of souls and of a negative view of the human body were reasons for their earlier, albeit unsatisfactory attribution to an unorthodox version of Zoroastrianism that prevailed among the Sogdians. A clue to the significance of some religious scenes depicted in Wirkak’s funerary reliefs emerged with De la Vaissière’s identification of the portrayal of a group of Manichean Elect in a congregation around a Buddha-like Mani image. This paper interprets a pair of bird-men at the fire-altar, carved on panels flanking the doors to Wirkak’s inner sarcophagus, as visual metaphors for the concept of xrwštag, the divine Call, the cry that according to the Manichean myth awakens Primal Man from his unconscious state in the Realm of Darkness. Just as Primal Man responds to the Call with an Answer (  pdwāxtag) and is restored to the Realm of Light, so individual salvation may be found by answering the Call of knowledge (  gnosis). By responding to the Call, humans serve toward restoration of the particles of light bound in evil matter to their original source in Paradise. The redemptive significance of the bird-men at the doors to Wirkak’s funerary chamber lies in the belief in the ability of the divine summons, the Call, to “open the door to the realm of the gods.” The emergence of the distinctive image of the bird-man as “priest-bird” at the fire-altar in Sino-Sogdian art of the 6th and 7th centuries is here attributed to the special significance acquired by the motif in the Chinese cultural environment where the image of the Zoroastrian priest at the fire-altar was subjected to a substantive transformation and indigenization. For itinerant and expatriate Sogdian communities in China, the formal metamorphosis of the Zoroastrian priest into a “priest-bird” at the fire-altar not only transfers the priest’s protective function to the hybrid motif but also invests the latter with a new, redemptive significance. The proposed identification remains a hypothesis to be tested by new or overlooked evidence on the funerary function of the ‘Call’ in man’s individual salvation. 54.  Klimkeit 1993: 340 fragment 3. 55.  Klimkeit 1998a: 173–75; Rudolph 1983: 167, 171.

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It gives me much pleasure to make a contribution to the present volume in honor of a valued colleague and friend. The imagery of the Manichean Call discussed in this paper seems a fitting theme to honor a colleague who, in her capacity as teacher and administrator during her academic career, is remembered for having herself made more than a few such Calls.

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Hutter, M. 2000 Manichaeism in Iran in the Fourth Century. Pp. 308–17 in Studia Manichaica, IV: Internationaler Kongress zum Manichäismus, Berlin, 14.-18. Juli 1997, ed. R. E. Emmerick, W. Sundermann, and O. Zieme. Berichte und Abhandlungen 4. Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Kageyama, Etsuko 2005 Quelques remarques sur des monuments funéraires de Sogdiens en Chine. Studia Iranica 34: 257–78. Kellens, J. 2000 Essays on Zarathustra and Zoroastrianism. Translated and edited by P. O. Skjærvø. Bibliotheca Iranica, Zoroastrian Studies Series 1. Costa Mesa, CA: Mazda Publishers. Klimkeit, H.-J. 1982 Manichaean Art and Calligraphy. Iconography of Religions 22. Leiden: Brill. 1993 Gnosis on the Silk Road: Gnostic Texts from Central Asia. San Francisco: Harper. 1998a The Gate as a Symbol in Manichaeism. Pp. 173–88 in M. Heuser and H.-J. Klimkeit, Studies in Manichaean Literature and Art. Nag Hammadi and Manichaean Studies 46. Leiden: Brill. 1998b On the Nature of Manichaean Art. Pp. 254–90 in M. Heuser and H.-J. Klimkeit, Studies in Manichaean Literature and Art. Nag Hammadi and Manichaean Studies 46. Leiden: Brill. 1998c Manichaean Art on the Silk Road. Pp. 300–13 in M. Heuser and H.-J. Klimkeit, Studies in Manichaean Literature and Art. Nag Hammadi and Manichaean Studies 46. Leiden: Brill. Koenen, L. 1990 How Dualistic is Mani’s Dualism? Pp.  1–34 in Codex Manichaicus Coloniensis. Atti del Secondo Simposio Internazionale. Cosenza: Marra. Le Coq, A. von 1912 Türkische Manichaica in Mittelasien I. Abhandlungen der (Königlich-) Preussischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Phil.-hist. Klasse. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Lerner, J. 1977 Christian Seals of the Sasanian Period. Nederlands Historisch-Archaeologisch Instituut in het Nabije Oosten te Istanbul 41. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. 2005a ‘Les Sogdiens en Chine–Nouvelles découvertes historiques et linguistiques’ and Two Recently Discovered Sogdian Tombs in Xi’an. Bulletin of the Asia Institute 15: 151–62. 2005b Aspects of Assimilation: The Funerary Practices and Furnishings of Central Asians in China. Sino-Platonic Papers 168. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Lieu, S. N. C. 1985 Manichaeism in the Later Roman Empire and Medieval China. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Maggi, M. 1996 “The Chinese Khotanese Excerpt from the Mahāsāhasrapramardani.” Pp. 123–37 in Convegno internationle sul tema: La Persia e l’Asia Centrale da Alessandro al X secolo. Istituto italiano per il Medio ed Estremo Oriente, Atti de Convegni Lincei 127. Roma: Academia Nazionale dei Lincei. Marshak, B. I. La thématique sogdienne dans l’art de la Chine de la deuxième moitié du VIe siècle. Pp. 227–64 2001 in Comptes rendus de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, scéances de l’anné 2001. Paris: Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres. 2002 Legends, Tales, and Fables in the Art of Sogdiana. Biennial Ehsan Yarshater Lecture Series. SOAS, University of London (May 10–17, 1995), 1. New York: Bibliotheca Persica Press. 2004 The Miho Couch and Other Sino-Sogdian Works of Art of the Second Half of the 6th Century. Bulletin of the Miho Museum 4: 16–31. Mo‘īn, M. 1963 Borħān-e-Qāte‘. Teheran: Ebn-e-sina. Moriyasu, Takao 2004 Die Geschichte des uigurischen Manichäismus an der Seidenstraße. Studies in Oriental Religions 50. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz

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The Iconography of the Christian Tombstones from Zayton. Pp.  229–46 in From Palmyra to Zayton: Epigraphy and Iconography, ed. I. Gardner, S. Lieu, and K. Parry. Silk Road Studies 10. Ancient History Documentary Research Centre, Macquarie University, NSW Australia. Turnhout: Brepols. Puech, H.-C. 1970 The Concept of Redemption in Manichaeism. Pp. 247–314 in The Mystic Vision: Papers from the Eranos Yearbooks. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. 1979 Sur le Manichéisme et autres essais. Paris: Flammarion. Pugachenkova, G. A. 1996 The Form and Style of Sogdian Ossuaries. Bulletin of the Asia Institute 8: 227–43. Rempel’, L. I. 1987 La Maquette architecturale dans le culte et la construction de l’Asie central préislamique. Pp. 81– 88 and pls. 46–54 in Cultes et monuments religieux dans l’Asie Centrale préislamique, ed. F. Grenet. Paris: CNRS. Rowland, B. 1970 The Art of Central Asia. Art of the World. New York: Crown. Rudolph, K. 1983 Gnosis: The Nature and History of an Ancient Religion. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark. Schapiro, M. 1979 Late Antique, Early Christian and Mediaeval Art: Selected Papers. New York: George Brazillier. Sims-Williams, N. 1985 The Manichean Commandments: A Survey of the Sources. Pp. 573–82 in Papers in Honour of Professor Mary Boyce. ActIr 25. Leiden: Brill. Skjærvø, P. O. 1995 Iranian Elements in Manicheism: A Comparative Contrastive Approach, Irano-Manichaica I. Pp. 263–84 in Au carrefour des religions: Mélanges offerts à Philippe Gignoux. Res Orientalis 7. Buressur-Yvette: Group pour l’Étude de la Civilisation du Moyen-Orient. 1997 Counter Manichean Elements in Kerdīr’s Inscriptions. Pp. 305–42 in Atti del terzo congresso internazionale di studi “Manicheismo e oriente cristiano antico” Arcavacata di Rende–Amantea 31 agosto–5 settembre 1993. Manichaean Studies III, ed. L. Cirillo and A. van Tongerloo. Leuven: Brepols. Reflexes of Iranian Oral Traditions in Manichean Literature. Pp. 269–86 in Literarische Stoffe und 2009 ihre Gestaltung in mitteliranischer Zeit: Kolloquium anlässlich des 70. Geburtstags von Werner Sundermann. Beiträge zur Iranistik 31, ed. D. Durkin-Meisterernst et al. Wiesbaden: Reichert. Sun Fuxi 2005 Investigations on the Chinese Version of the Sino-Sogdian Bilingual Inscription of the Tomb of Lord Shi. Pp. 42–72 in Les Sogdiens en Chine, ed. É. De la Vaissière and É. Trombert. Études Thématiques 17. Paris: École française d’Extrême-Orient. Sundermann, W. 1991 Completion and Correction of Archaeological Work by Philological Means: The Case of the Turfan Texts. Pp.  283–88 in Histoire et cultes de l’Asie Centrale préislamique, ed. P. Bernard and F. Grenet. Paris: CNRS. 1995 Who is the Light-νους and What Does He Do? Pp. 255–65 in The Manichaean νους: Proceedings of the International Symposium organized in Louvain from 31 July to 3 August 1991, ed. A. van Tangerloo and J. van Oort. Leuven: Brepols. 1996 A Manichaean View on the Resurrection of the Body. Bulletin of the Asia Institute 10: 187–94. 2001 A Manichaean Liturgical Instruction on the Act of Almsgiving. Pp. 200–208 in The Light and the Darkness: Studies in Manichaeism and its World, ed. P. Mirecki and J. BeDuhn. Leiden: Brill. 2005 Was the Ārdhang Mani’s Picture-Book? Pp. 373–84 in Il Manicheismo: Nuove prospettive della ricerca. Quinto congresso internazionale di studi sul Manicheismo. Atti, Dipartmento di Studi Asiatici Unversità degli Studi di Napoli “L’Orientale,” Napoli, 2–8 Settembre 2001, ed. A. van Togerloo and L. Cirillo. Manichaean Studies 5. Naples: Brepols.

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Tajaddod, Nahal 1990 Mani, le Bouddha de lumière: Catéchisme manichéen chinois. Paris: Éditions du Cerf. Tarzi, Zemaryalai 1977 L’Architecture et le décor rupestre des grottes de Bāmiyān I–II, édité avec le concours du Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique et du Collège de France. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1977. Tanabe, Katsumi 2004 Foundations for Dating Anew the 38-Meter Buddha Image at Bâmiyân. Silk Road Art and Archaeology 10: 177–223. Tongerloo, A. van 1997 Manichaean Female Divinities. Pp. 361–74 in Atti del terzo congresso internazionale di studi “Manicheismo e oriente cristiano antico” Arcavacata di Rende-Amantea 31 agosto–5 settembre 1993. Manichaean Studies III, ed. L. Cirillo and A. van Tongerloo. Leuven: Brepols. Tsui Chi 1943–46  Mo Ni Chiao Hsia Pu Tsan: The Sacred (Second?) Section of the Manichean Hymns. BSOAS 11: 174–219. Unvala, M. R. 1922 Dārāb Hormazyār’s Rivāyat. Bombay: British India. Weitzmann, K. 1970 Illustrations in Roll and Codex: A Study of the Origin and Method of Text Illustration. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Yang Junkai 2005a Carvings of the Stone Outer Coffin of Lord Shi. Pp. 21–45 in Les Sogdiens en Chine, ed. É. De la Vaissière and É. Trombert. Études Thématiques 17. Paris: École française d’Extrême-Orient. 2005b Excavations of Shi’s Tomb of the Northern Zhou Dynasty at Sabao near Xi’an. Wen wu (Cultural Relics) 3: 4–33. Yoshida, Yutaka 2005 The Sogdian Version of the New Xi’an Inscription. Pp. 57–72 in Les Sogdiens en Chine, ed. É. De la Vaissière and É. Trombert. Études Thématiques 17. Paris: École française d’Extrême-Orient. Zeymal, E. V. 1996 Münzen von der Seidenstrasse. Pp. 358–80 in Weihrauch und Seide: Alte Kulturen an der Seidenstrasse. Eine Austellung des Kunsthistorischen Museums in Zusammenarbeit mit der Staatlichen Ermitage in St. Petersburg, Kunsthistoriches Museum Wien, ed. W. Seipel. Vienna: Skira. Zieme, P. 1975 Ein uigurischer Text über die Wirtschaft manichäischer Klöster im Uigurischen Reich. Pp. 331– 38 in Researches in Altaic Languages: Papers read at the 14th meeting of the Permanent International Altaistic Conference, held in Szeged, August 22–28, 1971, ed. L. Ligeti. Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó. Zürcher, E. 1995 Buddhist Art in Medieval China: The Ecclesiastical View. Pp.1–20 in Function and Meaning in Buddhist Art: Proceedings of a Seminar Held at Leiden University 21–14 October 1991, ed. K. R. van Kooij and H. van der Veere. Gonda Indological Studies 3. Groningen: Egbert Forsten.

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Chinless Wonders Dominique Collon The British Museum, London

I first met Anne Kilmer in the mid 1970s when Dr. Richard Barnett, Keeper of the Department of Western Asiatic Antiquities in the British Museum, invited us both to tea because he knew we had interests in common. I had written my Ph.D. on the Alalakh seal impressions and Anne had written hers on Hurrian in the Alalakh tablets. 1 Furthermore, I had identified two cylinder seals in the Museum’s collections that showed the earliest depictions of the long-necked lute, and Anne was very interested in early Mesopotamian music. The upshot was that Anne invited me to Berkeley in the Fall of 1978 to stand in for a colleague (Guitty Azarpay) who was on sabbatical. My son and I lived with Anne and her family, and the children skate-boarded to and from the bus that took them to their school in Oakland. Anne had smashed her ankle several months earlier in a skiing accident and was still finding it very difficult to get around, but she let me use her car and we traveled around on the weekends and had a wonderful autumn. Anne and I collaborated on an article on the lute, and this led to an ongoing series of joint articles on musical instruments and music for the Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie in which Anne writes the philological section and I deal with the iconography. 2 I therefore have much pleasure in contributing these few lines to Anne, and I hope that although I only touch upon music and Alalakh, Anne will find the topic amusing. She has, indeed, written on many “peculiar” matters and has always had an eye for the unusual and incongruous— which is what makes her such fun to be with. In order to set the scene, I am starting with two musical banquets.

Karatepe During our investigations on music-related topics, the orchestras from Karatepe, located northeast of Adana in Turkey, have naturally attracted our interest. There are two of these orchestras, both accompanying banquets, carved on more than one basalt slab and set up near the gates of the city. Originally, one group was probably located at Domuztepe, across the Ceyhan river from Karatepe, and was later moved to Karatepe (Winter 1979). A second group is stylistically different, but the subject matter is very similar. For some reason, however, when the slabs were set up in their new locations by King Azatiwada, the orchestra of one group was placed alongside the 1.  A. D. Kilmer, Ph.D. dissertation at University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, PA, 1959; D. Collon, Ph.D. dissertation at Columbia University, New York, NY, 1973 (see Collon 1975). 2.  Kilmer (Philologie) and Collon (Archäologie) 1980, 1983a, 1983b, 1997, Kilmer 2004, and Collon forthcoming.

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Fig. 1a–b.  Musicians and banqueters from Karatepe in the earlier “chinless” style: second half of the 9th century b.c.e. Author’s photographs. See Çambel and Özyar 2003: Taf. 51 and 145.

banquet of the other group and vice-versa. Here the two groups have been reconstituted as they may originally have been intended to be viewed. The earlier group (Çambel and Özyar 2003: NVI7 and SVI3, pp. 73–77 and 100–104; pls. 50– 51 and 144–45), which probably originated in Domuz Tepe, is represented by two reliefs, both divided into two registers. The slab on the left (fig. 1a; H. 1.20 m) depicts an orchestra that consists, on the upper register, of a smaller figure who is playing a tambour, over whose head two women are holding an object shaped like a doughnut, perhaps a victor’s crown, as suggested by Çambel and Özyar (2003: 76). On the lower register, a man uses a plectrum to play a lyre, a figure dances, a small figure may be a child, another dancer, or an acrobat, and a second musician plays long double-pipes and uses a strap, known as a phorbeia, tied over his mouth to support the instrument. The slab that once stood alongside it (fig. 1b; H. 1.39 m) shows the main protagonist, probably an enthroned ruler, seated facing not only the orchestra, but a table loaded with food, beneath which sits a monkey. Behind the ruler is an attendant with a palm-frond fan held over a side-table on which stand a couple of jugs. On the left, an attendant brings a spouted vessel and fans with a palm-frond the food that stands in a large double “bowl” on the table. He is followed by a second attendant, who arrives with cup and a platter of food. Below, a figure wearing a shawl fixed by a fibula (probably a priest) leads a procession toward the left that consists of two figures pulling and pushing a reluctant bull, an attendant with a two-handled jar, and an attendant carrying a small animal across his shoulders. The animals are probably destined for sacrifice. The later set of slabs (Çambel and Özyar 2003: 98–100 and 113, pls. 142–43 and 204–7) is arranged much like the first, in two registers, with the musicians on the left (fig. 2a; H. 1.21 m) and the banquet on the right. Instead of being in two groups, however, the figures in the first slab

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Fig. 2a–b.  Musicians (a) and banqueters (b) from Karatepe in the later “square jaw” style: second half of the 8th century b.c.e. Author’s photographs. See Çambel and Özyar 2003: Taf. 143 and 206.

are all, with one exception, facing right, with attendants carrying food and drink on the upper register and musicians below playing a tambour, two types of lyre (one of which is played with a plectrum), and a player of double pipes, with the drawing on pl. 142 suggesting that he too may have used a phorbeia. The banquet scene (fig. 2b; H. 1.24 m) that probably accompanied this relief is badly damaged. The upper register shows the main protagonist seated on a throne facing right, so that the attendants and musicians on the adjacent slab are behind him. Two attendants of different size face him (or her?), holding vessels and, probably both, holding palm fronds. Between them is a similar bentwood table, also with a double “bowl” on it, a monkey beneath it, and a serving table behind. Of the scene in the lower register almost nothing survives with the exception of part of a bull, also with a rope tied to its horn, and a double-pipe player (whose head is badly damaged so that no phorbeia is visible), both facing left. The different styles of the reliefs are thought to have chronological implications. The ones depicted in fig. 1 represent an “earlier” style dated to the second half of the 9th century b.c.e., while the reliefs in the “later” style, shown in fig. 2, are probably a century later. The most diagnostic difference between the two styles is the way the heads of the figures are represented. The figures of the “later” style have square jaws, are bare-headed with a headband, and some are bearded. However, the figures of the “earlier” style are the “Chinless Wonders” I have used as a title for this paper. 3 The nose forms the apex of a triangle set at an angle, with the mouth along the lower 3.  According to http://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/92000.html, “chinless wonders” are “members of the upper classes . . . [who] often have minor genetic abnormalities like receding chins. This disparaging term is often used to describe members of the British upper classes and in particular the royal family.” The term is generally applied to men and is the direct antithesis of that other “genetic abnormality,” the so-called Habsburg chin.

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Fig. 3a-b.  Examples of male (a) (detail of fig. 1b) and (b) female “Chinless Wonders” from Karatepe: second half of the 9th century b.c.e. Author’s photographs. See Çambel and Özyar 2003: Taf. 145 and 25.

edge and the receding forehead forming the upper side of the triangle (fig. 3a and b: Çambel and Özyar 2003: pls. 145 and 25). 4 The eyes are large, outlined, and generally frontal on a profile face.

Did “Chinless Wonders” really exist? At Karatepe, the two physiognomic types certainly reflect chronological differences, and Çambel and Özyar (2003: 117–22) have also assigned the sculptures to two different workshops. A beardless figure from Islahiye, now in the Adana Museum, is also clearly chinless and must be assigned to the same “chinless” workshop (Orthmann 1971: Islahiye 1; Çambel and Özyar 2003: 118 and Abb. 143). Whereas the chinless Karatepe figures (fig. 1) do not have beards, their later counterparts (fig. 2) are bearded, and they clearly have square jaws. A group of reliefs at Carchemish, on what is known as the “Royal Buttress,” shows Kamanis and members of his immediate family and the regent Yariris. Two of the younger brothers play knucklebones (fig. 4: Hawkins 2000: pls. 34–35): both are beardless, have the same hairstyle and headband, and are identically dressed, but one is chinless, whereas the other has a square jaw like all the other members of his family. The inscription gives their names: Halpawaris and Yahilatispas (Hawkins 2000: 129 and pls. 34–35 [Ankara, Museum of Anatolian Civilizations]). It seems, therefore, that the differences may also reflect ethnic traits. These aspects will form the basis of further discussion of this “chinless” characteristic. When figures are bearded, it is difficult to see what their chins are like. Two reliefs from Tell Halaf, in northeastern Syria, now in the British Museum, show two bearded soldiers, one with a sling, the other an archer (fig. 5a–b): the soldier on the left may be “chinless” (BM 117103; H. 0.56 m) and the other may have a square jaw (BM 117000; H. 0.68 m), but the distinction is by no means clear, and the two must be chronologically contemporary. Closer to Karatepe, at Zincirli, the gate was also decorated with relief sculptures. A banquet is related to the Karatepe scenes, with a table bearing a stack of similar “bowls” (fig. 6; H. 1.15 m: von Luschan 1902: 214–15, Abb. 105, and Taf. XXXVII C). It depicts a feasting couple: the man is bearded and could be chinless, but his female companion has a square jaw. A bearded official with a staff also looks chinless (fig. 7; H. 1.17 m: von Luschan 1902: Abb. 107; Orthmann 1971: Taf. 57e and Taf. 72c). At Karatepe, there is a large statue of the storm-god on a base formed by two bulls (combined H. ca 3.45 m), but the face has been entirely reconstructed and it is not clear 4.  The only exceptions are the two figures identified as women by Çambel and Özyar (2003: 73) who are holding the “doughnut” in the upper register of fig. 1a.

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Fig. 4 (left).  Detail of two Carchemish princes playing knuckle-bones, ca. 800 b.c.e. Author’s photograph. See Hawkins 2000: pls. 34–35.

Fig. 5a–b (below).  Details of reliefs from Tell Halaf: 9th century b.c.e. (courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum). See Moortgat 1955: Taf. 18a and 11a.

how much, if any, of the square jaw is original (Çambel and Özyar 2003, S STW, pp.  114–15, pls. 218–20). At Zincirli, there is an even larger figure of a ruler standing on a base formed by two lions (figs. 8a–b; combined H. ca 3.96 m: Istanbul, Ancient Orient Museum); he seems to be chinless, and if his nose were not broken, he would look even more chinless (von Luschan 1911: 363, Abb. 261; Orthmann 1971: Taf. 62c–d). There are sporadic examples of indubitable “Chinless Wonders” from the second half of the 2nd millennium onward, becoming more frequent in the 1st millennium b.c.e. These “Chinless Wonders” are discussed here in probable order of appearance.

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Fig. 6 (left).  Banquet from the City Gate at Zincirli: early 8th century b.c.e. See von Luschan 1902: Abb. 105. Fig. 7 (right).  Processing figure from the City Gate at Zincirli: early 8th century b.c.e. See von Luschan 1902: Abb. 107; Orthmann 1971: Taf. 57e and 72c.

1. Idrimi of Alalakh A magnesite statue of King Idrimi of Alalakh was excavated at Tell Atchana in southern Turkey on the border with Syria, between Antakya and Aleppo (fig. 9; H. 1.35 m: BM 130738; Smith 1949: front page). Idrimi lived around 1500 b.c.e., and we have tablets written during his reign and bearing impressions of his seal. His statue shows him with large, outlined eyes that have glass pupils, wearing a round-topped headdress with neck-guard, and a robe with a narrow border draped over one shoulder. The statue bears a long inscription running from the side of his face to the bottom of his skirt (Smith 1949; the back is uninscribed). It tells how, due to a hostile incident, Idrimi and his family had had to flee from Aleppo to his mother’s family at Emar (now Meskene) on the Euphrates. Determined to save the family fortunes, Idrimi left Emar and went to Canaan, where he found other refugees from his father’s kingdom. He mounted a sea-borne expedition to recover his patrimony and eventually became a vassal of the Mitannian king Barattarna, who installed him as king in Alalakh around 1500 b.c.e. Later, he raided Hittite territory and used the booty to build his palace. He restored the towns in his kingdom and had been reigning thirty years when he had his statue inscribed by the scribe Šarruwa. But did Idrimi commission the statue and inscription? Sasson (1981) has suggested that, in fact, Šarruwa lived much later than Idrimi and carved the inscription to bolster national pride by providing evidence of the city’s glorious past at a time when the foreign domination of the Hittites was on the wane. Sasson based his arguments on the unusual autobiographical style of the inscription and on the fact that it is quite unparalleled for a scribe to claim authorship. Further-

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Fig. 8a–b.  Colossal statue from Zincirli (a): late 8th century b.c.e. and detail (b). See von Luschan 1911: 363 Abb. 261 and 267; Orthmann 1971: Taf. 62c–d.

more, Idrimi’s statue was not found in Level IV—the level of the palace—but in the Level IB temple (about 1250–1200 b.c.e.). Although the inscription may be later, there is no way of knowing whether or not Šarruwa inscribed an earlier statue. The dress is similar to that worn by rulers of Alalakh in the 18th and 17th centuries b.c.e., as depicted on their seals (Collon 1975: pls. 29–30). Most rulers in the 15th century b.c.e. claimed descent from forebears and reused earlier seals to stress continuity after a long Dark Age (Collon 1987/2005: 127–30), and Idrimi and his son Niqmepa did likewise (Collon 1975: 169–71). If Idrimi had commissioned a statue, it is highly likely he would have had himself depicted in dynastic dress. Even if the inscription is two centuries later, there is therefore every reason for thinking that the statue was contemporary with Idrimi and that it really did depict him. This, incidentally, would make the statue’s inlaid pupils a very early example of the use of glass. As noted above, it is sometimes difficult to tell whether a bearded figure is or is not “chinless.” I believe there can be no doubt in the case of Idrimi, because the profile view shows the beard curving inward from just below Idrimi’s lower lip, leaving no room for a square jaw.

2. The Tell Brak Cup This small face-vase (fig. 10; H. 12.5 cm) was excavated by Sir Max Mallowan, who conducted three seasons of excavation at Tell Brak in northeast Syria in 1937 and 1938 (Mallowan 1938; Mal-

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Fig. 9a–b.  Statue of Idrimi (a) and a detail of his profile (b): ca. 1470 b.c.e. Author’s photographs (BM 130738). See Smith 1949: front-page.

lowan 1947: 77, 185–86, pl. 40). It was wheel-made of light drab clay, with a small flaring foot and flaring rim, was shaped by hand into a chinless human head, and was decorated in black paint. The man has stubble around his mouth, which is closed, but the lips are curved upward in a smile. The ears are decorated with loops of black paint, and there are curls down the right side of the face that Mallowan proposed might be side-whiskers or the string that tied a mask “worn over the head for some ritual ceremony at which there was a pouring of libations to the gods.” Barnett (1939: pl. 7/2 and p. 12) suggested that the decoration of black triangles in one row across the forehead and down the sides of the face and in two rows round the back of the head “illustrates exactly the prototype of the later [feathered] headdress of the Philistine.” Mallowan described the back of the head below the triangles as “a kind of framework consisting of vertical struts with semi-circular tops.” He cited two other face-cups: one with a pointed beard and large ears from a Middle Bronze Age tomb at Jericho (Garstang and Garstang 1948: pl. 14) and one with a square jaw from Phaistos on Crete (Bossert 1923: Taf. 109a–b), but neither is relevant to the present study. The Tell Brak cup was found in a room with an altar, and among the associated pottery is a Nuzi-Ware cup (Mallowan 1947: pl. 77/1) that is decorated with birds above a chequer-board and can be dated around 1400 b.c.e. I would suggest that a closer parallel is provided by the Mycenaean boars’ tusk helmets (fig. 11a: Schofield 2007: 120–21, figs. 67, 69, 104); note the very shallow chins that have become a hallmark

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Fig. 10a–c.  The Brak cup: ca. 1400 b.c.e. Photographs taken by the British Museum for the Illustrated London News.

Fig. 11a (left).  Ivory head wearing a boars’ tusk helmet, from a chamber tomb at Mycenae: 13th century b.c.e. Author’s drawing. See Schofield 2007: 67. Fig. 11b (right).  An Aegean warrior on sherds from Boğasköy in central Turkey (ca. 1400 b.c.e.).

of the Mycenaeans and are attested throughout the period (ca. 1600–1200 b.c.e.). Because about 50 to 60 tusks were used for each helmet, these must have been elite pieces of equipment. The Tell Brak cup may show a stylization of the rows of tusks as triangles rather than crescents, conforming to a common Nuzi-Ware pattern (for example, Mallowan 1947: pls. 77:3, 6; 78:5, 6, 8, 11, 13; 79:4), and the vertical lines at the back of the cup could represent the soldier’s hair emerging from below the helmet both on the cup and on the ivory head. Furthermore, a similar stylisation in triangles of the helmet of a warrior, described as Mycenaean by Niemeier (2005: 19 and fig. 38),

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Fig. 12.  The Warrior Vase from Mycenae: ca. 1220 b.c.e. Photograph courtesy of Peter Clayton. National Museum, Athens.

was incised on fragments of a shallow clay bowl from Boğazköy, the Hittite capital in central Turkey, at precisely the same period as the Tell Brak Cup (fig. 11b; Bittel 1976: 11, figs. 2–3; Niemeier 2005: fig. 38).

3. The Warrior Vase from Mycenae This famous fragmentary krater was excavated at Mycenae by Heinrich Schliemann and is now in the National Museum in Athens (fig. 12; H. 41 cm: Schliemann 1878: 132–55; Schofield 2007: 120). On the well-preserved side, it shows a row of six Mycenaean soldiers marching toward the right (a woman with raised arm is barely visible on the extreme left). They wear a different type of helmet from that depicted on figs. 11a–b, but more closely related to fig. 11b. It is round, with two thin, curved horns in front and an appendage on top to hold a crest (horse-tail ?), and they wear long-sleeved jerkins, short tasselled skirts, leggings or stockings that reach above the knee, and boots. Each carries a spear, with its point upward, with a pennon attached, and a circular shield on his shoulder with an indented base. Most are bearded but one may be clean-shaven, with a prominent chin-strap. These warriors form a splendid procession of “Chinless Wonders.”

4. The Pazarlı Spearmen Phrygian relief tiles were used to decorate the façade of a small fortress at Pazarlı in central Turkey. The similarities between the marching spearmen on the Mycenanean Warrior Vase from Mycenae and those on some of the Pazarlı tiles are striking, but hundreds of miles and over half a millennium separate them. Indeed, Akurgal (1961: 100 and Taf. VIIc) believed the Pazarlı spearmen had little to do with Phrygia and were provincial copies of earlier Greek work. Here we note the fact that all these spearmen are “Chinless Wonders” (fig. 13).

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Fig. 13a.  Reconstruction in the Museum of Anatolian Civilizations in Ankara of the façade of a Phrygian building excavated at Pazarlı in central Turkey: second half of the 6th century b.c.e. Photograph by Georges Jansoone, reproduced from Wikimedia Commons, with permission.

5. The Boğazköy Spearman A procession of spearmen facing left was painted in dark red and black paint in a frieze on unstratified sherds from a Phrygian cauldron found at Boğazköy in central Turkey (fig. 14; H. 13 cm: E.-M. Bossert 1963: 65–66 with n. 40, Abb. 12; 2000: 53, Nr. 265, and Farbtafel (color plate) C). The soldiers carry spears and round shields, and all wear crested helmets. In this they resemble the Pazarlı spearman on the right of fig. 13b, although the style is completely different. The swirling design on their shields is also found on those of the Pazarlı spearmen at the top right of fig. 13a. Their features are almost bird-like and are quite different from those of the Pazarlı spearmen, but they too have no chin.

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Fig. 13b.  One of the painted tiles from fig. 13a. Adapted from Akurgal 1961: Farbtafel (color plate) VIIc.

Conclusions A. The Stylistic Argument Could the features of the “Chinless Wonders” discussed above be due to style? They are found on relief sculpture, sculpture in the round, on pottery, and on painted tiles from as early the 15th century b.c.e. for almost a millennium, and from Syria, Turkey, and Greece, so that it seems unlikely that style was responsible. One could perhaps argue that some of the examples cited might have been influenced by Mycenean painting on pottery, which tended to stylize the way the features were depicted as one fluid and continuous line of indents, generally omitting or minimizing the chin (fig. 15a–c). The increasing number of Mycenean pottery finds now known from Turkey demonstrates the popularity of these vessels, not only as exports from the Greek mainland but also as locally manufactured (compare Niemeier 2005: figs. 40 and 41). However, it seems unlikely that they would have influenced the way features were depicted using different tools on other materials over such a long period. Furthermore, the “Chinless Wonders” have very prominent, generally pointed noses, and this is not the case on fig. 15. The stylistic argument may only have a very local reality, geographically and chronologically, predominantly at Karatepe (compare figs. 1 and 2).

B. The Ethnic Argument 1. Mycenaeans At Karatepe, the reliefs in both gateways were accompanied by bilingual inscriptions incised in hieroglyphic Luwian and in Phoenician, and the front of the monumental sculpture of the

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Fig. 14.  Spearman painted on a Phrygian vessel from Boğazköy in central Turkey: first half of the 6th century b.c.e. Author’s drawing after Bittel 1976: 11 figs. 2–3. See E.‑M. Bossert 1963: Abb. 12.

Fig. 15a–c.  Details from painted Mycenaean objects of the13th century b.c.e.: (a) Spouted sieve-jug (Getty Museum, 85.AE.145); (b) Larnax from Tanagra in Boiotia (reversed); (c) Pictorial Style vase from Klavdia, Cyprus (BM Cat. Vases C399). Author’s drawings. Adapted from Schofield 2007: figs. 101, 114, and 78, respectively.

storm-god was similarly inscribed. These bilinguals led to tremendous advances in the decipherment of Luwian, and thence of Hittite (fig. 16:a–b; Çambel 1999: pls. 67–68). According to David Hawkins’s translation (Hawkins 2000: 45–58), the sculptures and inscriptions were set up in his new city by Azatiwada (the ruler of Karatepe), who had been promoted by Awariku, “the Adanawean king.” Azatiwada claims responsibility for the prosperity of the whole of the Adana Plain and eastern Cilicia, presumably after the exile of Awariku, who has been equated with Urikki of Que in the Assyrian texts, and is last mentioned in 710–709 b.c.e. In the Karatepe bilingual, the Luwian “city of Adanawa” (Adana) is equated with the Phoenician “people of dnnym.” Hawkins (2000: 39–40) has pointed out that the city name already appears in the Telepinus Edict ca. 1550 b.c.e., so that suggested links between Adana and the Danuna/ Dnyn, who moved into Cilicia after ca. 1200 b.c.e., must therefore be “accidental and secondary.” Awariku, spelled Awarika at Çineköy (Tekoğlu and Lemaire 2000: 968–89; Texte hiéroglyphique figs. 7–23), was descended from Muksas (Luwian) = MPŠ (Phoenician) (Hawkins 2000: 51 paragraph 21; Tekoğlu and Lemaire 2000: 974). The latter is equated with Mopsos, who is said to have founded Mopsuestia (modern Misis, about 20 km east of Adana on the Ceyhan river), and is also

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Fig. 16a–b.  Examples of the hieroglyphic Luwian and alphabetic Phoenician inscription from Karatepe: ca. 700 b.c.e. (?). Author’s photographs. Photography at Karatepe was strictly forbidden until 2004, when the ban was lifted and these photographs were taken. See Çambel 1999: pls. 67–68.

credited with founding cities in Pamphylia. The founder of Aspendos may well have been a forebear of Azatiwada, because the city bore the same name. Greek origins for the names Azatiwada, Awariku, and Mopsos have been suggested (Lipiński 2004: 120–22), but this is not certain according to Hawkins (personal communication), and the name Azatiwada is certainly Anatolian. The name Awariku, king of Adana, occurs not only at Karatepe but also at Çineköy, Incirli (see below), and in the form Urikki in Assyrian inscriptions of 738, 732, and 710–709 b.c.e. Could descendants of Mycenaean traders and participants in the Trojan War have inherited the “chinless” characteristic demonstrated by the warriors depicted in fig. 12? Might the Tell Brak cup (fig. 10) indeed depict a man wearing a helmet related to those depicted on figs. 11a–b? Were the “Chinless Wonders” on figs. 12–14 descendants of Mycenaeans? And do their “chinless” characteristics still survive in Turkey (fig. 20, p. 35)? It would have supported this argument very satisfactorily if the examination of the skeletal remains of those buried in Grave Circle B at Mycenae had shown them to be chinless, thus carrying this story back in time. Alas, this is not the case, as demonstrated by reconstructions of the heads carried out by a team in Manchester that consisted of archaeologists working with forensic experts. Both the examples illustrated by Schofield (2007: 35–38 and figs. 15–16) have splendid chins and are specifically described as having “strong jaws.” 5 This is hardly surprising, of course, 5.  See also Musgrave et al. 1995 and Prag et al. 1999 and the display in the Manchester Museum and Art Gallery.

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Fig. 17.  The storm-god facing King Warpalawas beside a spring at Ivriz in southern Turkey: ca. 738–709 b.c.e. Author’s photograph. See Hawkins 2000: pl. 292c.

Fig. 18.  The Ivriz bilingual stele showing the front, right edge, and the back, with the hieroglyphic Luwian inscription, below which is a very damaged part of the Phoenician inscription: ca. 739 b.c.e. See Hawkins 2000: pl. 300.

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since the chinlessness of “Chinless Wonders” is not due to bone structure but to the tautness of the muscles and skin.

2. Phoenicians The sudden appearance of “Chinless Wonders,” beginning with Idrimi in the 15th century b.c.e. (see fig. 9) could be connected with the influx of Aramaeans into northern Mesopotamia, Syria, and the Levant, and Idrimi’s Canaanite sojourn may indicate an Aramaean connection. Aramaic was first written using the Phoenician script, and many details of the accompanying reliefs are present in Phoenician art (Winter 1979). The bilingual inscription from Karatepe, referred to above (fig. 16), is not the only bilingual Phoenician inscription to have survived in southeastern Turkey. Within the last few years, three more have been discovered. At Ivriz, overlooking the Anatolian plain from the foothills of the Taurus Mountains near the northern end of the Cilician Gates, Warpalawa, King of Tuwana, had himself carved twice. One rock relief is up in the mountains above Ivriz; it may be unfinished and is uninscribed. The other rock relief is Fig. 19.  White limestone statue of the storm-god in by a spring and bears a Luwian inscription his gray basalt chariot. Part of the Luwian inscription that identifies him and the god he faces: the can be seen between the legs of the bull. Author’s photograph. storm god Tarhunza depicted as god of the harvest, with ears of wheat and a vine growing from his feet (fig. 17; H. ca. 4.2 m; see Hawkins 2000: pls. 292–95). Warpalawa’s reign can be dated thanks to references to him by the Assyrian kings Tiglath-pileser III (in 738 and 732 b.c.e.) and Sargon II (in 709–710 b.c.e.). In 1986, during the digging of an irrigation channel near the spring, the lower part of a bilingual stele was found under 7 m of river gravel (Dinçol 1994; part of a monumental head was also discovered). Because the stele was set up in honor of his father, Muwaharna, it probably belongs early in Warpalawa’s reign (Lipiński 2004: 134). What remains of the front shows the lower part of the storm-god Tarhunzas, including the wheat stalks and base of the vine as shown on the Ivriz relief, with a hieroglyphic Luwian inscription behind him and between his legs, on the upper part of the preserved right edge and upper part of the preserved back of the stele. An inscription in the Phoenician alphabet occupies the preserved left edge and the bottom part of the back, where it was very badly damaged when the stele was dragged across the gravel (fig. 18; preserved H. 1.30 m; see Hawkins 2000: pl. 300; now in Ereğli Museum, A.1991). The inscriptions are still being studied.

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Another Phoenician/Luwian bilingual was found in 1997 at Çineköy about 30 km south of Adana, on the base in the shape of a grey basalt bull-drawn chariot supporting a huge white limestone statue of the storm god (Tekoğlu and Lemaire 2000: 962, fig. 1 and 963, fig. 2; here, fig. 19). The inscription is related to that from Karatepe, but differs in that it refers to the Assyrians (Lipiński 2004: 127–28), and the king of Adana’s name is spelt Awarika rather than Awariku (Hawkins, personal communication). A fragment of the back of a similar chariot of much the same size was seen by the present writer outside Gaziantep Museum in 2004, but there was no trace of an inscription on the part that was visible. Lipiński (2004: 116, 118–19) also mentions a badly-preserved and so far, it seems, unpublished trilingual inscription in Phoenician alphabet, Luwian hieroglyphs, and Assyrian cuneiform from Incirli, east of Karatepe. It, too, is said to mention Awariku. The Phoenician presence is also apparent farther west. A Phoenician inscription discovered in 1980 was written on three sides of a block of stone found some 15 km east of Alanya at an altitude of about 750 m on Cebelireis Dağı, the site of the later Roman city of Laertes (Mosca and Russell 1987; Lipiński 2004: 128–30). It is interesting for two reasons: it mentions what is possibly a grandson and namesake of Awariku (the king of Adana whose name, as we have seen, occurs at Karatepe, Çineköy, Incirli, and in the form Urikki in Assyrian inscriptions) and is the record of the settlement of a longstanding boundary dispute, showing that “Phoenician scribes were active in various parts of Cilicia and also inland, in the Fig. 20.  Photograph of Mehmet kingdom of Tuwana” (Lipiński 2004: 139). Phoenician inscriptaken in Turkey in 2006 (courtesy tions have also been found at several other sites (see Lipiński of D. W. G. Matthews). 2004: 114–43 and map on p. 110), notably at Zincirli (ancient Sam’al), and at Hassan-Beyli, 13 km to the west of Zincirli, where a damaged stele (now in the Vorderasiatisches Museum in Berlin, VA 3011) probably deals with the Assyrian takeover of Que under Sargon II towards the end of the 8th century b.c.e. It is possible, therefore, that the Arameans, and among them the Phoenicians, may have been noted for being chinless and have carried this characteristic with them when they settled abroad. Many years ago, Olga Tufnell told me that chinlessness was prevalent among the inhabitants of Maaloula, north of Damascus, one of the few places where Aramaic is still spoken. I have been there twice but have failed to note any evidence of this and have searched internet photographs of Maaloula to no avail. So is the Turkish gentleman shown in fig. 20 a descendant of Mycenaeans or of Phoenicians? Perhaps DNA may one day reveal whether “Chinless Wonders” have indeed inherited an ethnic characteristic. If so, this might be described as a “recessive” gene!

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Bibliography Akurgal, E. 1961 Die Kunst Anatoliens von Homer bis Alexander. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Barnett, R. D. 1939 Phoenician and Syrian ivory carving. Palestine Exploration Quarterly: 4–19. Bittel, K. 1976 Tonschale mit Ritzverzierung aus Boğazköy, in Études sur les relations entre Grèce et Anatolie offertes à Pierre Demargne, 1. Revue Archéologique: 9–14. Bossert, H. Th. 1923 Altkreta. Berlin: Ernst Wasmuth (2nd edition). Bossert, E.-M. 1963 Die importierte Keramik aus den phrygischen Schichten von Büyükkale (Boghazköy). Mitteilungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft zu Berlin: 94: 53–71. 2000 Die Keramik phrygischer Zeit von Boğazköy: Funde aus den Ausgrabungenskampagnen 1906, 1907, 1911, 1931–1939, und 1952–1960. Boğazköy-Hattuša 18. Berlin: Zabern. Çambel, H. 1999 Karatepe – Aslantaş. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Çambel, H., and Özyar, A. 2003 Karatepe – Aslantaş, Azatiwataya: Die Bildwerke. Mainz: Zabern. Collon, D. 1975 The Seal Impressions from Tell Atchana/Alalakh. AOAT 27. Neukirchen/Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. 1980–83a  Laute. B. Archäologisch. RlA 6: 515–17. 1980–83b  Leier. B. Archäologisch. RlA 6: 576–82. 1987/2005  First Impressions:–Cylinder Seals in the Ancient Near East. London: The British Museum. 1997 Musik. I. B. Archäologisch. RlA 8.7–8: 488–91. Forthcoming Trommel. RlA. Collon, D. and Kilmer, A. D. 1980 The Lute in Ancient Mesopotamia. Pp. 13–28 in Music and Civilisation, ed. T. C. Mitchell. The British Museum Yearbook 4. London: The British Museum. Dinçol, B. 1994 Finds from Ivriz: A preliminary report. Tel Aviv 21: 117–28. Garstang, J., and Garstang, J. B. E. 1948 The Story of Jericho. 2nd rev. ed. (1st ed. 1940) London: Hodder & Stoughton. Hawkins, J. D. 1976–1980 Karkamiš. RlA 5: 426–446. 2000 Corpus of Hieroglyphic Luwian Inscriptions: Volume I, Part 1: Inscriptions of the Iron Age. Part 3: Plates. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Kilmer, A. D. 1959 Hurrians and Hurrian at Alalakh – An Ethno-Linguistic Analysis. Ph.D. dissertation. University of Pennsylvania. Lipiński, E. 2004 Itineraria Phoenicia. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 127. Leuven: Peeters. Luschan, F. von 1902 Ausgrabungen in Sendschirli. III. Thorsculpturen. Berlin: W. Spemann. 1911 Ausgrabungen in Sendschirli. IV. Berlin: G. Reimer. Mallowan, M. E. 1938 Humour in ancient Syrian ceramics: A face-vase of 1500 b.c. Illustrated London News, 15 January, p. 95. 1947 Excavations at Brak and Chagar Bazar. Iraq 9: 1–259. Mosca, P. G., and Russell, J. 1987 A Phoenician inscription from Cebel Ires Dağı in Rough Cilicia. Epigraphica Anatolica 9: 1–28.

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Musgrave, J. H., Neave, R. A. H., and Prag, A. J. N. W. 1995 Seven faces from Grave Circle B at Mycenae. The Annals of the British School at Athens 90: 107–36. Niemeier, W.-D. 2005 Minoans, Mycenaeans, Hittites and Ionians in Western Asia Minor. New Excavation in Bronze Age Miletus-Millawanda. Pp. 1–36 in The Greeks in the East, ed. A. Villing. London: The British Museum. Orthmann, W. 1971 Untersuchungen zur späthethitischen Kunst. Saarbrücker Beiträge zur Altertumskunde 8. Bonn: Habelt. Prag, A. J. N. W., and Neave, R. A. H. 1999 Making Faces. London: The British Museum. Sasson, J. M. 1981 On Idrimi and Šarruwa, the scribe. Pp. 309–24 in Studies on the Civilization and Culture of Nuzi and the Hurrians in Honor of Ernest R. Lacheman, ed. M. A. Morrison and D. I. Owen. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Schliemann, H. 1878 Mycenae: A Narrative of Researches and Discoveries at Mycenae and Tyrins. London: John Murray. Schofield, L. 2007 The Myceneans. London: The British Museum. Smith, S. 1949 The Statue of Idri-mi. Occasional Publication of the British Institute of Archaeology in Ankara, No. 1. London: The British Institute of Archaeology in Ankara. Tekoğlu, R., and Lemaire, A. 2000 La bilingue royale louvito-phénicienne de Çineköy. Comptes rendus de l’Académie des inscriptions, et belles lettres, année 2000: 960–1006. Winter, I. J. 1979 On the problems of Karatepe: The reliefs and their context. Anatolian Studies 29: 115–51. Woolley, C. L. 1955 Alalakh: An Account of the Excavations at Tell Atchana in the Hatay, 1937–1949. Report of the Research Committee of the Society of Antiquaries of London, No. XVIII. Oxford: Society of Antiquaries.

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Puns and Prebends: The Tale of Enlil and Namzitara Jerrold S. Cooper The Johns Hopkins University

In 1974, Miguel Civil, who had come to Chicago in 1963 to succeed Anne Kilmer as Landsberger’s assistant, published a Sumerian tale about Namzitara. The story begins when Namzitara, returning from serving his turn as gudu-priest in Ekur, the temple of the god Enlil, encounters that very deity. The upshot of this encounter is that Enlil blesses Namzitara by granting his descendants regular access to Enlil’s temple—that is, as Civil noted, a heritable prebend (temple office), “one of the most important sources of familial wealth in Old Babylonian Nippur” (Civil 1974: 65). 1 The text has since been treated by Vanstiphout (1980), Lambert (1989), Klein (1990), Kämmerer (1998), and extensively by Alster (2005). Enlil and Namzitara is one of the few Old Babylonian Sumerian literary texts to be transmitted in a Middle Babylonian version, and that version, known mainly from Emar, was the focus of the contributions of J. Klein and T. Kämmerer and taken into account in the discussion of B. Alster. 2 The tale’s primary pun is an explicit one: Namzitara’s name means “granted a good/reliable destiny,” and Enlil tells him that the blessing he gives him will be in accord with his name, so, as Vanstiphout labeled it, nomen sit omen (1980: 68). Sumerian namtar, as a noun (also nam alone), “destiny, fate,” and as a verb, “to determine/decide destiny/fate,” has been exhaustively treated by Polansky (2002; and see RlA “Schicksal. A. In Mesopotamien”), but its use in this text requires some comment. In the vast majority of cases, it refers to cosmic destiny or the not necessarily unalterable destiny or fate of a polity, ruler or individual, or even to the function or use of things. This is certainly the sense of the term in Namzitara’s name, which expresses the hope that his life course will be one of good fortune. But the term can also refer to granting a blessing or a wish, perhaps best known from Lugalbanda’s Return (Vanstiphout 2003), also known as Lugalbanda and Anzu (ETCSL). There, the mythic eagle Anzu is so pleased with how Lugalbanda has treated his chicks that he wants to converse with him and befriend him if he be a god, or, if a human, he will bless him (lú-ulu3 hé-me-en nam ga-mu-ri-ib-tar; Vanstiphout 2003: 140, line 108). Four times the bird blesses Lugalbanda—with agricultural bounty, with magic, with martial valor, and with abundant dairy products—and each time the blessing is refused. Finally, Anzu asks Lugalbanda what he wants—the power to travel speedily wherever he chooses—and grants it to him. 1.  For prebends, see now RlA “Pfründe.” The composition may, in fact, serve as an etiology for the heritability and alienability of prebendal functions. 2.  I had not seen the small fragment from Ugarit (Arnaud 2007: no. 47) when this contribution was first written.I thank Y. Cohen for bringing it to my attention.

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A similar use of namtar is found in Inana’s Descent. Enki has created two creatures whom he has sent to the Netherworld to revive and retrieve Inana, captive of the Netherworld’s queen, Ereškigal. Their kind words to Ereškigal cheer her, and, in nearly the same words that Anzu used for Lugalbanda, she offers conversation if they are gods, or a blessing if they are human ([lúulu3 hé-me]-en-zé-en nam-zu-ne ga-mu-ri-ib-tar; ETCSL line 270). They refuse two offered gifts—a river with all its water, a field with all its grain—and ask instead for Inana’s corpse, which they then revive. Like Lugalbanda, Enki’s creatures obtain blessings or the granting of a wish through sympathetic contact with a divine being (even if, in the latter instance, the contact was a deliberate deception). In neither instance is a general fate or destiny being assigned but rather a specific quality or gift, a blessing. In the cases of both Lugalbanda and Enki’s creatures, Anne Kilmer (1971) has taught us that the blessings can be understood as the hospitality obligation of host (Anzu, Ereškigal) to guest (Lugalbanda, Enki’s creatures). In Enlil and Namzitara, the reason for Enlil’s blessing is less clear. Namzitara, in my interpretation, insistently demands a blessing: “You’re Enlil! Bless me!” Why does he expect a blessing from Enlil? It can only be because he has recognized Enlil, seen through his disguise. 3 As Civil already noted, he does this by means of a pun: Enlil had disguised himself as a raven (uga), but Namzitara remembered that Enlil’s triumphant utterance on becoming the supreme deity contained the syllables u and ga. My interpretation depends on understanding what had been read in lines 16 and 22 as nam mu-tar-ra “the one who decides destinies,” thought to be an epithet of Enlil, as, rather, nam-mu tar-ra “Decide my destiny!” or, in this context, “Bless me!” Enlil, for his part, tries to avoid dispensing his blessing, first, in line 16, by challenging the identification, then, in lines 19–21, by citing the vanity of any material blessings he might offer. Yet, when Namzitara again claims the blessing (line 22), Enlil relents and blesses Namzitara with a heritable office in Enlil’s temple. But there is more. In the Old Babylonian period, prebends were designated by the Sumerian nam plus the name of the temple office in question. Namzitara’s gudu prebend was nam-gudu4 , the most common temple office in Old Babylonian Nippur. 4 Thus, when, in line 25, Enlil says that Namzitara’s blessing will accord with his name (mu-zu-gin7 nam-zu hé-tar-re), it means not only that his blessing/destiny (nam) will be good/reliable (zi ) but that the nam that is determined for him will itself be a reliable nam, the heritable namgudu office that his heirs will enjoy. The composition is one of a group of short “wisdom” compositions that are often found together on compilation tablets. 5 The translation below follows Civil’s line numbering, as have all subsequent treatments, but the constitution of the lines is somewhat arbitrary, since several of the manuscripts have short lines (from one to four short lines per long line as represented below), and the manuscripts with long lines do not always agree with one another. Four of the seven manuscripts identified by Civil remain unpublished. 6 3.  One of the inconsistencies of the text is that Enlil has already identified himself in line 11, yet in line 16 asks how Namzitara knows he is Enlil. Similarly, Enlil hails Namzitara by name in line 3, yet asks him what his name is in line 23. 4.  RlA “Pfründe” §2. 5.  Civil 1974: 67; Alster 2005: 275. For compilation tablets, see RlA “Sammeltafel” and the extensive discussion in Kleinerman 2009. 6.  Thanks to A. Kleinerman, P. Michalowski, E. Frahm, and B. Alster for their comments and suggestions. G. Rubio kindly made excellent photos of Civil’s ms. A for me (see the photos in Alster 2005: pls. 36– 39), and P. Jones photographed the manuscripts in the University Museum, which I subsequently collated. I will publish new photos of all the OB manuscripts, together with textual matrixes, in a forthcoming article.

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 1 Namzitara was passing by (mu-zal-le) Enlil, (and)   2 He (Enlil) spoke to him:   3 “Where (are you coming) from, Namzitara?”   4 [N:] “From the temple of Enlil—   5 “My turn of service has been completed.   6 “I serve with the gudu-priests and their sheep, (but now)   7 “I am going home.   8 “Don’t stand in the way!   9 “My journey is hurried! 10 “(And) who are you to be asking me questions?” 11 [E:] “I am Enlil!” 12 Enlil changed his appearance, (and) 13 After he had changed into a raven (uga), 14 He (Enlil) was making (bird-) calls. 7 15 [N.:] “You’re no raven, you’re Enlil! 16 “Bless me!” (E.:) “How do you know I’m Enlil?” 17 (N.:) “When Enmešara, your father’s brother, was captured, 18 “You carried off Enlilship saying, ‘As of this day (u), I shall (ga) assign destinies/ blessings!’ ” (u 4 -ne-en-gin 7 nam ga-zu-e-še) 19 (E.:) “You may acquire precious metals, you may acquire precious stones, you may acquire herds, you may acquire flocks, (but when) 20 “The time of a human being has come (al-ku-nu), 21 “Where will your acquisitions lead?” 22 [N.:] “You’re Enlil! Bless me!” 23 [E.:] “What is your name?” 24 [N.:] “Namzitara (‘given a good/reliable destiny/blessing’) is my name.” 25 [E.:] “You shall be blessed according to your name: 26 “Be outstanding (è-a) in the temple of your lord (é lugal-za-ka), (and) 27 “May your heirs pass through my temple on a regular basis!” It goes without saying that I have not solved all the problems that this composition presents. Lexically, there is the unusual usage of the verb zal in line 1, normally used for time passing, but hardly for humans. The appearance of the rare verb ku-nu in line 20 is a surprise, and è in line 26 is used perhaps as it is for the rising sun or moon or in the sense of pa-è, “to appear, shine,” the idea being that he is to continue to serve proudly and his heirs will inherit his prebend. 8 Syntactic ambiguity abounds, since changes of speaker are usually unannounced, and interpretive ambiguity is caused by the homonymy of first‑ and second-person forms (for example, den-líl-me-en can mean “I am Enlil” or “You are Enlil”). Cultural knowledge is taken for granted but leaves us wondering: What is the symbolism of the raven and its relationship to Enlil? 9 How did Enlil become

7.  For gù-dé used for bird cries, see Veldhuis 2004: Index. 8.  Others have understood the line to mean “leaving the house of your master” and saw Namzitara as a lowly servant whose status is raised by Enlil’s blessing. But we would then expect é-lugal-za-ta, and, in any case, Namzitara has already been described as completing a turn of service as a gudu-priest. 9.  For the raven in Sumerian literature, see Veldhuis 2004: 299–301.

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chief of the pantheon at the expense of Enmešara? 10 Why, exactly, did Namzitara have the right to demand a blessing from Enlil? Interestingly, it is precisely these very specific cultural matters that seem to disappear from the version of the tale circulated at Emar, but this is uncertain. The reconstruction of the Emar version by Kämmerer (1998: 222–25), followed by Alster (2005: 336–38), puts the initial confrontation of Enlil and Namzitara at the beginning of Msk. 74174a = Arnaud 1987 VI/4 No. 771, but the actual beginning must be, as Civil already pointed out (1989: 7), on Msk. 74238  l = Arnaud 1987 VI/4 No. 773. Since Civil showed there that the verb mu-zal-le in line 1 of the OB text appears on Arnaud No. 773 as mu-tal-[  ], Kämmerer’s restoration of [mu-zal-le] on Arnaud No. 771 obv. 8′ cannot be correct. Since lines 9′–10′ there correspond to OB 23–24, it is possible that the entire story of Enlil as raven, the conflict with Enmešara, and the demand for a blessing (cf. Arnaud No. 771 obv. 7′) might have been present in the gap between Arnaud Nos. 773 and 771. Whatever the case, at Emar, instead of a blessing, Namzitara gets an overly long disquisition on the “vanity theme” (for which see the excellent discussion in Alster 2005), in which the possible extent of a human life span is put at 120 years, and no more. 11 Upon hearing what should seem like a very optimistic limit to his existence, Namzitara, echoing lines 7–9 of the OB composition, announces that he’s going home and tells Enlil to get out of his way. Whether he has just lost patience with Enlil’s sermon or, with Alster (2005: 330), he has taken it so to heart that he is “preparing himself for his final destination, that is, death,” depends on one’s interpretive proclivities. I hope that our honoree, pun detective extraordinaire, will not react like Emar’s Namzitara, when I wish her many more years (to 120!) explicating the literature and music of our Babylonian forebears! 10. The little we know about Enmešara has been set forth by Civil 1974: 66–67, with comments in Lambert 1989 and Alster 2005: 328–29. I agree with those who see the transfer of power from Enmešara to Enlil as a succession myth rather than a foiled usurpation in the manner of Anzu or Ninurta and the Turtle. The name Enmešara itself, “Lord of Myriad Powers,” suggests that he was originally the legitimate ruler of the gods. The equation in first-millennium texts of Enmešara with Anu (Livingstone 1986: 190–91, line 2) supports this, and the equation of Enmešara with Kingu (Livingstone 1986: 198–99, rev. 2), from whom Marduk wrested the Tablet of Destinies, supports the notion of a succession myth. 11.  See Klein 1990. Setting the limit for human life at 120 (60 × 2) must be originally Babylonian, which says nothing about when the idea moved westward. Rather than translating níg-gig = ikkibu as “bane” (Klein) or “abomination” (Alster), I prefer to understand it in this context as an absolute limit, beyond which a human life is not allowed to extend.

Bibliography Alster, B. 2005 Wisdom of Ancient Sumer. Bethesda, MD: CDL. Arnaud, D. 1987 Recherches au pays d’Aštata. Emar VI/4. Paris: Éditions Recherches sur les Civilisations. 2007 Corpus des textes de bibliothèque de Ras Shamra-Ougarit (1936–2000). Aula Orientalis Suppl. 23. Barcelona: Editorial AUSA. Civil, M. 1974 Enlil and Namzitarra. AfO 25: 65–71. 1989 The Texts from Emar. Aula Orientalis 7: 5–25.

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Kämmerer, T. 1998 Šimâ milka: Induktion und Reception der mittelbabylonischen Dichtung von Ugarit, Emar und Tell elʿAmarna. AOAT 251. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Kilmer, A. 1971 How Was Queen Ereshkigal Tricked? UF 3: 299–309. Klein, J. 1990 The “Bane”of Humanity: A lifespan of One Hundred Twenty Years. ASJ 12: 57–70. Kleinerman, A. 2009 The Sumerian Epistolary Miscellany. Ph.D. dissertation. Johns Hopkins University. Lambert, W. G. 1989 A New Interpretation of Enlil and Namzitarra. Orientalia 58: 508–9. Livingstone, A. 1986 Mystical and Mythological Explanatory Works of Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars. Oxford: Clarendon Press; reprinted, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2008. Polansky, J. 2002 The Rise of the Sun-God and the Determination of Destiny in Mesopotamia. Ph.D. dissertation. University of Pennsylvania. Vanstiphout, H. 1980 Some Notes on ‘Enlil and Namzitarra.’ RA 74: 67–71. 2003 Epics of Sumerian Kings. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Veldhuis, N. 2004 Religion, Literature, and Scholarship: The Sumerian Composition “Nanše and the Birds.” CM 22. Leiden: Brill/Styx.

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No Polyphony before a.d. 900! Richard L. Crocker University of California, Berkeley

My first and simplest conclusion will be that the mark of imperative at the end of the title is to be replaced by a mark of interrogation, and this will be obvious to many readers. For the injunction is no longer taken seriously: during the second half of the 20th century, there has been increasing scholarly willingness to consider a wider spectrum of kinds of music and to question traditional definitions of music, even to question the possibility of definition. All of this springs from relativism as applied to music, to its manifestation in the world today, and to its history; in this relativism, there is no room for categorical restrictions such as this injunction. Nonetheless, the injunction has left traces in our thinking about music in antiquity. This injunction was delivered, con anima, to me and other graduate students of my generation. And when Anne Kilmer published in 1974 her transcription of the Hurrian song, using a succession of pitch pairs, it was summarily dismissed, on the basis of the injunction, by members of my generation, some of whom have continued to dismiss it as recently as 1994. 1 I myself, trained to the injunction, said to her in 1974, “Anne, we don’t do this sort of thing.” But then I thought about it for six months, and asked myself, “Why not?” With the help of an excellent and decisive article by Andrew Barker, 2 I want now to dismiss the dismissals and confirm Anne Kilmer’s transcription as possible. This possibility in itself may require acknowledgment of some dimly perceived truths, which, if not absolute, seem at least perennial through four or five millennia. Does this involve a contradiction? Or, rather, a paradox that we can come to understand? As a thorough-going relativist, I am struggling with these questions; here I can only raise them.

Polyphony “Polyphony” means “many sounds.” It is a Greek word, used in antiquity in a way parallel to “polychord,” used for instruments with several strings. The term polyphony is used occasionally in European music from the Renaissance on, although not with reference to a basic category of 1. A. D. Kilmer, “The Cult Song with Music from Ancient Ugarit: Another Interpretation,” RA 68 (1974) 69–82; M. West, “The Babylonian Musical Notation and Hurrian Melodic Texts,” Music and Letters 75 (1994) 161–79, especially p. 175. The song was published as “A Hurrian Cult Song from Ancient Ugarit,” in A. D. Kilmer, R. L. Crocker, and R. R. Brown, Sounds from Silence: Recent Discoveries in Ancient Near Eastern Music (Berkeley, CA: Bīt Enki Publications, 1976). The beginning is reproduced here by special permission. 2.  A. Barker, “Heterophonia and Poikilia: Accompaniments to Greek Melody,” in Mousike: Metrica Ritmica e Musica Greca: In memoria di Giovanni Comotti (ed. B. Gentili and F. Perusino; Studi di Metrica Classica 11; Pisa: Istituto Editoriali e Poligrafici Internazionale, 1990) 41–60. I am indebted to J. C. Franklin for calling this article to my attention.

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music. Such reference came around 1900 in systematic musicology to name a category of music that was separated from monophony by a dichotomy at a very high level of generality: music in practice could sound one pitch at a time, or more than one pitch at a time. All sounding music could be placed in one category or the other. European music presented itself in such a way as to suggest a historical succession of monophony, then polyphony; hence, some historians spoke of an Age of Monophony followed by an Age of Polyphony. 3 Furthermore, this historical schema coincided more or less with the kinds of music found recorded in musical notation in extant sources: the continuous record of European music (categorically called polyphonic), beginning around a.d. 1000, was preceded only by the notated fragments from ancient Greek music, and by the earliest sources of Gregorian chant, both of course monophonic. Hence, one could say, “No polyphony before a.d. 900,” since there was none recorded from before that date, and this would be because before that date polyphony did not exist. Such was the logic of injunction. The date, however, dependent as it was ultimately on accidents of preservation of sources, made the injunction only provisional. But in the application of the injunction, this fact was usually ignored, and the attempt was made to apply it absolutely. The level of generality between music with one note at a time and that with more than one at a time was too high for the distinction to be useful, since so little could be said in general about all the different kinds of music in either of these two categories. Hence, actual use of the term “polyphony” involved the next lower level of generality, as in this dictionary definition from the NHDM (1986), which is a reliable report on current use of this and other terms to be discussed here. 4 Polyphony [French polifonie; German Mehrstimmigkeit; Italian polifonia; Spanish polifonia]. Music that simultaneously combines several lines, as distinct from *monophony, which consists of a single melody; more narrowly, music combining several lines, each of which retains its identity to some degree, as distinct from *homophony, in which melodic interest is concentrated in a single line.

In both the broader meaning and the more narrow one used in this definition (these two are at essentially the same level), polyphony is here limited to a combination of lines. Explicitly essential to this definition is that there is more than one line; implicitly essential, but just as important, is that the combination is of lines, not, for instance, of pitches. Line itself is treated here as a prime term, without a defining entry in NHDM, although used frequently in it in basic functions. Line is indeed hard, perhaps impossible, to define: “succession of pitches from a single sound source” merely points to where a line may most easily be heard, for not all such successions will be judged to be lines. Line, like many other basic musical ideas, is in the mind, requiring a judgment about a perception. According to the definition quoted, in polyphony the lines must be judged to be different enough from each other so as to avoid being judged the same, which would be homophony (same-sounding). Here there is no dichotomy but rather a continuum, monophony—homophony— polyphony. In monophony sung by more than one singer, the lines are exactly the same, forming a succession of unisons. The distinction between polyphony and homophony, as well as between homophony and monophony, may depend upon individual judgment.

3.  For instance, H. E. Wooldridge, in The Oxford History of Music, Vol. II: The Polyphonic Period (Oxford: Clarendon, 1905). 4.  The New Harvard Dictionary of Music (ed. D. M. Randel; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1986), abbreviated NHDM in the following.

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Furthermore, the definition quoted has the effect (for reasons not needed here) of placing polyphony in the narrow meaning in a train of stylistic development and of locating it, as far as European music is concerned, in the Middle Ages and in the Renaissance. This placement involves further judgments, historical as well as musical. In any case, polyphony is no longer a simple category of music with more than one pitch at a time; yet from that original distinction, as from its support in the sources, there seems still to flow a persuasive force. Objections to the injunction gradually emerged. The most important ground for objection within the Mediterranean-European tradition was the acknowledgment that, in general, ancient music was performed without written records; if records were extant, they would have been prepared for some purpose other than performance, to be determined in each case. Hence, the absence of written records was not conclusive evidence that more than one pitch at a time was not and could not have been performed. (This applied most clearly to instruments that might accompany a sung melody.) Ethnomusicologists observed that even if the injunction held within the European tradition, it could not possibly hold outside that tradition. All such objections, exceptions, or limitations were met with the counter-objection, “No such practices could produce our kind of polyphonic music!” This seems a perfectly good counterobjection; in any case, it has been repeated, down to the present, in response to progressive refinements in what was defined as polyphony, such as those in the NHDM. Since these refinements have the effect of locating the kind of polyphony at issue ever more precisely in the historical development of style, the injunction ultimately becomes tautological: the kind of polyphony at issue could not exist until produced in the course of development. And our music being located at the end of the historical development of style, the injunction was focused more and more sharply on what was imagined to be the essence of that kind of music. For reasons not needed here, the focus has come to rest on harmony. In the process of objection and counter-objection, what persisted was the conviction that polyphony—and eventually harmony—was something that existed and could be defined; hence, as a product of culture, it had a beginning, before which time it could be said not to exist. So, getting past the problem of terminology, the problem can be cast in purely historical terms. How were pitches configured at all points on the historical continuum? But in times when there are no written records of music, the problem becomes one of trying to imagine how pitches were configured; the terms become those of historical imagination, and some configurations are more imaginable than others. One configuration, called melody and accompaniment, was so easily imaginable that it did not come under the injunction against polyphony.

Melody and Accompaniment The term melody-and-accompaniment is as a term different from polyphony. It is not a learned Greek term, one that might allow an objective, clearly limited definition; it is informal, lacking even a standard, invariant form (“with accompaniment”? “and accompaniment”? do we use hyphens?). The term itself is not an entry in NHDM; from elsewhere, we can gather that it involves line and background and that these are best understood intuitively and in relation to each other, much like figure and ground in graphic art. We may not easily define it in the abstract, but we know it when we hear it. Continuing to think about melody and accompaniment in an appropriately intuitive way, we can notice the different circumstances in performance that distinguish melody and accompaniment from polyphony as a combination of lines. We know about historical polyphony only in so

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far as it is recorded in musical notation; that is, if it was not so recorded, we can have no direct knowledge of it. (And therein lies a question at the goal of our inquiry—what if there were polyphony that was not notated and recorded?) Accompaniment for melody, in contrast, can be performed without being recorded in notation, either before or after the performance. The entry “Monophony” in NHDM allows that “Most folk song is also monophonic in principle, though it may often be sung with instrumental accompaniment.” We usually think of accompaniment for melody as being played on an instrument, or on a combination of instruments, and that is the most common practice, although accompaniment of a solo voice singing melody with a group of voices is by no means unusual. It seems clear that in melody and accompaniment there must be one line, to be identified as the melody, but line is here as before a primary term. There is an entry in NHDM for accompaniment, long and informative (but mostly exploring the ways in which musicians in European music have tried to make more out of the accompaniment than mere background). In effect, the accompaniment must appear to be background in relation to the one line that is the melody. In practical terms, the accompaniment must not be a line, that is, must not appear to have enough identity to be judged a line. However, if the accompaniment consists of, or includes, say, a good bass line, there would seem to be nothing to distinguish this from a combination of lines, each with some degree of identity. Melody and accompaniment, then, is a practice, not a category; the term specifies only that it is to have the effect of line and background, figure and ground. This essential difference of line and background is what makes it hard to call it homophony in the literal meaning of that term (same sounding); the NHDM does not do well to try to subsume melody and accompaniment under homophony. And it is the essential presence of something other, something different from a line, from a melody, that shows the importance of melody with accompaniment. It was a misstep in systematic musicology to modify the original dichotomy (monophony/polyphony) into one between music as single line and music as a combination of lines, for that did not take account of a combination of line with something else, as in melody and accompaniment. It was a misstep in historical musicology to make polyphony as a combination of lines the natural sequel to monophony as a single line, for this suggested that the single line was the only beginning of the development. Aside from the fact that the history of music can be read more easily without referring to a beginning, it is important to imagine the possibility of accompaniment along with melody. If Anne Kilmer’s transcription could be understood to involve a melody and an accompaniment, rather than a combination of two lines, it would not be subject to the injunction concerning polyphony in the broader sense given by NHDM. But there may not be enough difference between the two lines of her transcription so that one could be considered as accompaniment to the other; furthermore, neither of the two lines qualifies as having its own identity, so the transcription does not qualify as polyphony in the narrower sense. These would be easy arguments to validate the transcription as possible. But there are even easier ways to do this, ways that do not involve the slippery idea of musical line. As a sign that it avoided the injunction against polyphony, melody and accompaniment was allowed as a possible kind of performance for ancient Greek lyric in the 5th and 4th centuries b.c.e. Classicists could imagine a minimal accompaniment in which the instrumentalist played exactly the pitches sung by the voice—in other words, accompaniment at the unison. 5 Slight deviations on the part of the instrumentalist had to be allowed, however, because of the inescapable implica5. Barker, Heterophonia, 42–43.

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tions of a few short texts. These deviations were presumed to be so slight as to be mere embellishments, in no way giving the instrumental part its own identity. Put in terms of sameness and difference, the instrumental line in the presumed accompaniment was the same as the vocal line, forming with it essentially one line, not two. Together, voice and instrument did not constitute polyphony of any kind, and this the classicists were wont to state emphatically. Emphatic restatement was needed over the decades because, except for the absence of documentation, the argument restricting ancient Greek music to monophony never seemed completely convincing on its own merits and never explained a number of allusions in literary and theoretical texts that seemed to require or at least invite acknowledgment that two pitches could have been sounded—and heard—at the same time. Especially suggestive were the references to virtuoso performance on the big concert kithara; in addition to playing great numbers of pitches in rapid succession, the kithara virtuosi could easily be imagined capable of strumming two or more pitches virtually simultaneously. Aulos players, too, were credited with virtuosity; and furthermore, the aulos consisted of two reed pipes blown simultaneously. 6 Such references seemed to call for more than a simple doubling of the vocal melody by the accompaniment, with only discreet embellishment.

Heterophony It was well received, then, when Carl Stumpf, a comparative ethnomusicologist, identified a category, broadly represented in world music, that allowed two versions of one line sung and played at the same time. And the best part was that Stumpf got the name for this category, “heterophony,” from a text of Plato (Laws book VII 812D; see the Appendix), a text that Stumpf could read as including reference to this category of performance that he identified first in Siamese music, then in other, not necessarily similar cultures. 7 Never mind that it was a long way from what Plato said to what Stumpf wanted to read, nor that what Plato said was very different from the restriction to the practice of near-unison accompaniment that the classicists wanted to read. And never mind that, subsequently, two qualified scholars, in a study devoted to Plato’s use of the word heterophonia, concluded that this word, used by Plato in this sense only here, was not a technical musical term used for a conventional category of ancient Greek performance. 8 The important thing for current classical studies was that heterophony was a term used by Plato, then used by an ethnomusicologist to identify a non-polyphonic practice of musical performance, and usable to identify a presumed non-polyphonic practice of ancient Greek music. Classicists could speak with confidence of heterophonic accompaniment. The category of performance that Stumpf identified was recognized by musicologists in its own right, and the term heterophony was as good a way to refer to it as any other, regardless of

6.  On the aulos, see now S. Hagel, “Calculating Auloi: The Louvre Aulos Scale,” in Music-Archaeological Sources: Finds, Oral Transmission, Written Evidence. Papers from the 3rd Symposium of the International Study Group on Music Archaeology at Monastery Michaelstein, 9–16 June 2002 (ed. E. Hickmann and R. Eichmann; Studien zur Musikarchäologie 4; Rahden: Marie Leidorf, 2004) 373–90. 7.  As reported by J. Handschin, Musikgeschichte im Überblick (Luzern: Räber, 1948) 61. See C. Stumpf, “Tonsystem und Musik der Siamesen,” in Beiträge zur Akustik und Musikwissenschaft 3 (1901) 69–138. I am grateful to B. Brinner (Dept. of Music, University of California at Berkeley) for this reference. 8. H. Goegemanns and A. J. Neubecker, “Heterophonie bei Plato,” Archiv für Musikwissenschaft 33 (1966) 151–69.

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what it might have meant in ancient Greek music. Here is the definition that appeared in the NHDM, with an important qualification. Heterophony. The simultaneous statement, especially in improvised performance, of two versions of what is essentially the same melody (as distinct from *polyphony). It often takes the form of a melody combined with an ornamented version of itself, the former sung and the latter played on an instrument. The technique is widely found in musics outside the tradition of Western art music, especially in East Asia, South Asia, Southeast Asia, and the Near and Middle East. The term was coined by Plato in Laws book VII 812D, but whether his use of it coincides with the modern use of the term described here remains in doubt.

Heterophony in Plato The editorial remark with which the entry concludes suggests that the application of Stumpf’s category to the problem of ancient Greek music was not as convincing as had been hoped. At any rate, Reginald P. Winnington-Ingram, widely acknowledged as expert in knowledge of ancient Greek music and most cautious in judgment, gave a curiously oblique mention of heterophony in his summary article “Music” in the Oxford Classical Dictionary. 9 Actually, he did not use the term heterophony as a modern English name of a standard category; rather, he included it only in Greek font in a parenthetical reference of Plato’s use. There is evidence (Plutarch De musica 1137b) that an instrumental accompaniment played by a professional musician did not always follow the melodic line of the vocal part. How wide a liberty was permissible in such an accompaniment (ἑτεροφωνία, cf. Pl[ato] Laws 812 d) is unknown; but there is no reason to suppose that the instrument provided more than an embellishment.

The reference to the De musica of Pseudo-Plutarch is fair enough, that being one of the few fragmentary texts that has always suggested something more than unison accompaniment; but “did not always follow” is hardly the conclusion that can now be drawn from these texts. “How wide a liberty was permissible” puts the matter in such a backward manner as to be misleading. It presumes rules, in antiquity, limiting accompaniment to unison but allowing deviations; what is unknown, then, would be the degree of deviation allowed. Neither from Plato’s text nor from any other do we learn what these rules might have been. Yet from Plato’s text it is known absolutely how much deviation he (or his interlocutor) would permit—none whatsoever! And as to what actually happened in practice, Plato’s text lays out, by way of horrible example, the several important ways in which deviations between melody and accompaniment do occur, but without any limitation, that being irrelevant to Plato’s purpose. All this was perfectly clear in the notes provided by England to his edition of the Greek text in 1921; the relevant note is included in the Loeb edition of the text, with translation by Bury. 10 On this basis, there is good reason to suppose that the instrument could provide very much more than embellishment, even if without Plato’s approval. Winnington-Ingram’s observations, then, seem designed to lend as little support as possible to the idea of heterophony without actually challenging it as applicable to ancient Greek music. 9.  R. P. Winnington-Ingram, “Music,” in N. G. L. Hammond and H. H. Scullard, eds., The Oxford Classical Dictionary (2nd ed.; Oxford: Clarendon, 1970) 706–7. 10.  E. B. England, ed., The Laws of Plato (2 vols.; Manchester: The University Press, 1921); E. H. War­ mington, ed., Plato in twelve volumes, vol. 11: Laws, vol. 2, books VII–XII (English translation by R. G. Bury; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1968).

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The doubts expressed by the NHDM, then, were apparently shared by Winnington-Ingram. The clearest reason for doubt, however, had already been expressed in 1948 by the music historian Jacques Handschin, perhaps the keenest modern observer of ancient and medieval music. After some brief but incisive remarks on Laws book VII 812D and its musical implications, Hands­ chin concluded that Plato’s description of accompaniment practice could include polyphony in two parts (see n. 7 above). Hence, even though there could never have been any real basis for doubt concerning the meaning of Plato’s text (the reading of “essentially the same version” being a desperate attempt to keep polyphony out of ancient Greek music), still that real meaning needed to be acknowledged by a qualified classicist, and that acknowledgment has been provided by Andrew Barker. In two previous volumes entitled Greek Musical Writings, Barker had showed an impressively encyclopedic knowledge of the theoretical and literary sources for Greek music, reflecting in very extensive commentary on possible interpretations of every problematic passage, with an eye to constructing a consistent picture of the whole while still accommodating the apparent inconsistencies and contradictions of the ancient texts. 11 He tried hard to maintain, in reading Laws book VII 812D, the classicists’ idea of heterophonic accompaniment—that the instrumentalist played essentially the same line that the vocalist sang, with only slight occasional deviations that never exceeded embellishment. Then, in his article “Heterophonia and Poikilia,” he undertook a new reading of Laws book VII 812D, one that permitted him to conclude, “the simultaneous production of different notes by singer and accompanist was in fact quite common. . .”, and, more specifically, “heterophonic accompaniment, that is, accompaniment in something other than simple unison or octaves with the melody, was a perfectly familiar phenomenon in Greek musical practice from early times, and probably throughout its history.” In this decisive conclusion, it needs to be noted that the meaning of heterophonic accompaniment, said by classicists to be “essentially the same melody,” has been quite properly but quietly changed to “something other than simple unisons or octaves with the melody”—and it requires very little acquaintance with Greek to understand “something other” as the correct sense of “heterophony.”

Barker and Heterophony On the basis of Barker’s reading of Laws book VII 812D alone, Anne Kilmer’s transcription can be accepted as one musically possible reading of the tablet. Beyond that, Barker’s article is about accompaniment, as in melody-and-accompaniment, and he uses the word polyphony only casually. Nonetheless, his discussion throughout is decisive for the issues concerning polyphony addressed here. Referring to the editorial remark at the end of the NHDM entry on heterophony (quoted previously), I think I can speak for more than myself when I say how welcome are Barker’s authoritative readings of these problematic ancient texts, readings that confirm widely held suspicions and suppositions among music historians and musicologists who, like myself, could ponder and argue their meanings only in translations because of lack of expertise in Greek. In particular, the details of Barker’s discussion confirm three suppositions on basic points of ancient Greek music. First, the long debated question “Did ancient Greeks deal with two pitches sounding at once?” Barker refers (presumably for the last time) to the traditional answer by quoting Bruno Gentili, whom Barker otherwise admires: “Music for them was pure melody and 11.  A. Barker, Greek Musical Writings, Vol. I: The Musician and his Art; vol. II, Harmonic and Acoustic Theory (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989); see vol. 1, pp. 162–63. See also n. 2 above.

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excluded simultaneous combinations of sounds. . . .” 12 Music historians were assured of this axiom by classicists and did not question it—in print. But Barker, after suitable perusal of the relevant texts, concludes, “Simultaneous concord was therefore not only a familiar phenomenon, but one that was aesthetically recognized and appreciated in quite ordinary musical experience.” 13 This acknowledgment can mark a new beginning in our appreciation of ancient Greek music. In his discussion of a second point, more suggestive than conclusive, Barker explores the implications of several texts for the function of rhythm in the accompaniment. Discussing the possibility that accompaniments could provide rhythmic complexity ( poikilia), Barker has this fascinating suggestion: “Might it be that the function, or one important function of a heterophonic accompaniment, one perceived as forming concords and discords with the melody, was to give further emphasis in another auditory dimension to the articulation of rhythmic structure?” 14 The “auditory dimension” to which Barker refers is readily recognized by a student of classical music as “harmonic rhythm.” In that expression, “harmonic” refers to individual chords, or chordal functions; we need only imagine that the unit, the individual chord, is constituted differently in ancient Greek music to see how Barker’s suggestion can enlarge our understanding of what the accompaniment did to the melody. Perhaps most welcome of Barker’s clarifications is a third point concerning what Greek theorists discuss and what they do not discuss. It has regularly been bemoaned that Greek theorists were concerned only with abstract matters and did not discuss real music, either as conceived, or as performed, or as heard. A popular conclusion from this is the feeling that Greek theory was not about music as we know it and that Greek music was not perceived, certainly not conceived, as we perceive it and conceive it. More specific conclusions were drawn to support the injunction: the fact that the theorists did not talk about the practice of triadic harmony is taken as proof that such practice did not exist in ancient Greek music. To the contrary, Barker makes the general point that, for harmonics and rhythmics, the treatises are indeed abstract simply because that is the kind of study the writers wish to pursue; but that such abstraction concerns only the mode of study. For accompaniment, on the other hand, Barker shows that the specifics of performance are very much in the consciousness of ancient Greek musicians and listeners. 15 We can proceed with the assurance that Greek writers were talking about one or another aspect of music that was real to them, and could be real to us if we only had more of it to study. The most persuasive evidence for the injunction has always been the complete lack of written records of either accompaniment or of polyphony as a combination of lines. Now that we have a better understanding of the function of musical notation in antiquity (it was not used for performance), we can see that the lack of it, just like the lack of written theory, is no evidence of what sounded or did not sound in performance. The injunction is based on the presumption of textual criticism: the text, in the sense of web of words, is thought to exist primarily in written form. The ancient reality is that the web of pitches that makes song (Homer’s metaphor) exists only incidentally in written form. The fact that it is the written form that gives us, in these latter days, access to ancient music is irrelevant to the music in its own time. Having acknowledged that heterophonic accompaniment could include concords and discords, Barker pursues the essential point: What could a succession of concords and discords do for the 12. Barker, Heterophonia, 41. 13. Barker, Heterophonia, 52. 14. Barker, Heterophonia, 54. 15. Barker, Heterophonia, 57–58.

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melody? His conclusion here is specific and seems to me to be of the greatest importance. Discussing a passage in which pitches in a concord are said to blend while those in a discord can be differentiated, Barker moves to this conclusion. If we now take this point back to the Aristotelian writer’s thesis about unisons or octaves coming as more of a pleasure after painful differences, we can perhaps identify this ‘pain’ and ‘pleasure’ with something like disruptions or fragmentations of the musical sound, followed by its reintegration: diversity is resolved into a final, satisfying unity. 16

The last part of this sentence would be entirely appropriate to a good modern textbook on harmony. I have never before found such a statement applied to ancient Greek music; I rejoice in it and am grateful to Barker for finding the basis for it in the ancient Greek texts.

Harmony in Ancient Greek Music? The next paragraph in Barker’s article, however, brings the familiar disclaimer, “But not like our music!” In this article, this comes to me as a shock, for several reasons. First, because of the emphasis with which it is delivered; second, because of its reiteration, like a refrain, in this article; third, because, as always, this qualification of the injunction is cast in such careless diction, unjustifiably general and conclusive, peremptory in fact, with so little concern for precise reference to what might be involved in “our own music”—and so different from the careful, discriminating scholarship of the article as a whole. Here are the reiterations. 1. (p. 41, quoting B. Gentili): The Greeks were completely unfamiliar with harmony and polyphony in the modern sense of the term. 2. (p. 42): It seems safe to infer from these silences [in the theorists, concerning “harmonic progression, polyphonic voice-leading, and the rest. . .”] that polyphony and chordal harmony were indeed quite unknown. . . . 3. (p. 43): Though the commentators are certainly right in denying that the Greeks had any well-developed conceptions of polyphony, harmony, harmonic progression and so forth. . . . 4. (p. 53, following the paragraph ending with “unity,” quoted previously): It must nevertheless be emphatically repeated that we have no evidence at all to support the hypothesis that these fragmentations and reintegrations took place within the framework of anything like what we would call ‘harmonic progression.’ 5. (p. 58): But the central thought behind them (the views expressed by B. Gentili and G. Comotti) remains true and important, and it must govern the interpretation of any such modifications, my own or any other. The essential elements of Greek music were melody and rhythm, and it contained nothing comparable to modern ‘harmony.’ I want to comment on the comprehensive scope of these sentences, as well as on the casual way of referring to the realities of music; and on the effect of the reiteration of a sentiment that has echoed throughout the 20th century. First, however, I need to express complete agreement with the simplest sense of what is being posited. It is indeed not conceivable that a composition that would pass as a good representative piece of classical music would have appeared in the 5th century b.c.e. in Athens. Detailed study of the succession of European musical styles over the 16. Barker, Heterophonia, 53.

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millennium a.d. 1000–2000 has given me abundant confirmation that such return of the same form of musical utterance does not happen in the course of stylistic development; and it seems extremely unlikely that the same form would appear in two different trains of development separated in time and space. The reason (which Barker himself seems to understand well) is that a particular composition, or a specific style, is produced as the result of a long series of small incremental changes in a number of complex factors and relationships, such that a result is not reproduced in toto and exactly in any other series nor at some other point in the same series. (There happens to be a model for this in the calculation of musical intervals, as when the product of a series of fifths never coincides with the product of a series of octaves.) Hence, it may be simply tautological to assert that modern harmony, or whatever, could not occur in ancient Greek music, and this is why I find the reiteration curious. In the last quotation (no. 5 in my list), I want to comment on several points, and I italicize here the words that seem crucial. First, “must govern the interpretation of any. . . .” This reads like a prohibition against inquiring into the possibility that there were essential elements other than melody or rhythm. I think that such a prohibition is inappropriate to a scholarly discussion. Second, essential elements presumes a certain mode of inquiry, one that would regard the overall complexity of a musical performance as the product of those single features that could be identified as essential. This mode has served the development of European science well but has always shown, to a greater or lesser degree, its limitations, and never more so than in understanding melody. Third, the expression nothing comparable seems unacceptably impressionistic: “nothing” effectively disqualifies everything; and by “comparable” seems to be meant “similar,” restricting discussion to features of sameness or identity; but “comparable” would properly include consideration of differences, which would widen the discussion considerably. The overall effect of the sentence quoted is to try to close—nay, slam—the door on further discussion. In Barker’s use, there is a gradual focusing on harmony during the course of the article, without, however, becoming the least bit more specific about what harmony might involve. In fact, the opposite happens, the reference to harmony becoming more and more allusive. In the quotation numbered 5 in my list, Barker placed single quotation marks around the term, calling attention to his casual use of it (“—you know what I mean!”) and to the possibility that it might be subject, on closer inspection, to refinement. For Barker knows, as well as anyone and better than most, that the Greeks, in music and elsewhere, used the word harmonia to name a central idea; that they (Archytas?) developed a numerical expression for harmony in sound (the harmonic division), using it for the division of the octave by a pitch a fifth above the lower one and perhaps for other chords, sets of three pitches. So, speaking of the simplest instance of modern harmony—the harmony—the harmonic triad, the Greeks had it in theory, and in practice used something very comparable, the harmonic division of the octave. Hence, to maintain the idea that the Greeks had nothing comparable, the denial continues quite properly by shifting the meaning of “harmony” to something Barker well calls “framework of harmonic progression.” Ever since the 18th century, there has been a popular European conviction that our deepest, richest responses to music are to its harmony; but as a popular reference this was to harmonic practice, as defined and described by standard books of instruction (“harmonic progression, polyphonic voice-leading, and the rest . . .” [numbered 3 in my list]). Here, too, I share the conviction: the classical repertory is what I respond first and most to; but while I am ready to credit harmony with much, the systematic account of it standard since Rameau is not adequate. Descriptions of harmonic progression and polyphonic voice-leading may be good ways to treat the surface, but

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it is the “rest of it” that is rather responsible for the depth and richness of this music’s effect, and this has never received an account generally acceptable. An understanding of how harmony can contribute to our deepest, richest responses requires on the practical side all the intuitive resources we can bring to it, and on the theoretical side, a system of musical understanding not yet in evidence and perhaps not possible. I think Barker’s single quotation marks around harmony reveal his strong intuition that more must be involved. And his formulation, “framework . . . of harmonic progression” is a very good try toward the reality of what is going on. For “framework” can include anything and everything in the context of a composition of our kind of music, and it is in the relationship of all those things that is to be sought the source of those values we so treasure. But could not some of those things, and some of those relationships, be found also in other stylistic contexts—for instance, ancient Greek music—with effects something like those in our own music? I am suggesting that, given Barker’s exciting ideas about accompaniment in ancient Greek music, a comparison to modern harmony (and the rest) calls for new, perhaps equally exciting, ideas about modern harmony. Such a comparison would of course be alert for both different and identical features. It requires not much acuity to observe that, whatever the similarities, the differences would involve the way things were used in practice. Barker calls attention to important ways of performing accompaniments. I want to cite one instance—trivial, perhaps silly—of how ways of performing could serve to maintain a decent distance between ancient and modern use of a common element. Consider strumming on a seven-stringed kithara or lyre, tuned diatonic, and imagine the tuning F,G,a,b,c,d,e, a diatonic heptachord, even if not one of those to be assumed for Greek practice. The mode of performance is now widely agreed upon (and Barker acknowledges it): the strum is across all strings, while the fingers of the left hand damp some strings at performer’s choice. 17 Imagine that the four fingers (thumb not needed) damp the strings F,a,c,e; what will sound is G,b,d, a harmonic triad (over the muted thrubble of the damped strings). Now imagine that the performer shifts his left hand one string; what will sound is F,a,c,e, a harmonic triad with a seventh added, which is almost standard in 20th-century harmony. So these chords are very close to the kitharist’s hand. The result would depend upon use, which will be different. But is it accurate to claim that the result would be “nothing like” our own music? And actually the progression itself is not so unusual in music after 1900. All of this is not to say that ancient Greek music would have sounded similar in some substantial and specific way to our own music (has anyone seriously suggested that?) but rather that the presumed differences can be fruitfully explored in reflex to imagined similarities. My generation was sent into the woods to look for music that was different from the classical repertory. We found much early European polyphony, and when it was first performed, listeners certainly found it different, and did not much like it. During the course of the 20th century, with increasingly better performances, we all became more aware that some features were similar, and on the basis of those similarities, many listeners came to like it. In the case of ancient Greek music, however, there was so little actually remaining that listeners, not being able to hear any music, could not even imagine what it might have been like; and those few experts with knowledge of verbal accounts seemed reluctant to share what they could imagine. Winnington-Ingram, the best informed and most cautious, made the following observation, which came in the paragraph just before the 17.  M. Maas and J. McIntosh Snyder, Stringed Instruments of Ancient Greece (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1989) 63–64.

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one quoted previously in this article (concerning Laws book VII 812D, on p. 50). After speaking of the different sizes of intervals used in ancient Greek scales, Winnington-Ingram continues: We must listen to Indian, Arabian, or Chinese music if we wish to gain some impression of intervals different from our ‘tempered’ tone and semitone. Indeed, it is very probable that if we could hear a piece of ancient Greek music accurately performed, we should regard it as bizarre, uncouth, and possibly barbaric. 18

This last sentence has given me much to ponder over the years. We have listened to Indian, Arabian, and Chinese music, and at least some listeners have not found it “bizarre, uncouth, and possibly barbaric.” But what I find so saddening is the thought that, having given his life to the study of ancient Greek music, Winnington-Ingram felt forced to conclude that, however it might have sounded, modern listeners could have no access to it. And for a classicist to have to allow that Greek music could sound barbaric to a modern listener! Winnington-Ingram was talking about scales, but the same thought would apply to chords and harmony—if the Greeks had had chords and harmony! Here is where I find the source of the urgency of “nothing comparable. . .”. I imagine the train of thought (I do not say “logic”) to go like this. • If the ancient Greeks did not have harmony, any attempt to compose polyphony (of any kind) could result only in cacophony; • but the ancient Greeks would be aesthetically, ethically, incapable of performing cacophony as music; • therefore they could not have had harmony. Is this thought modeled on the wisdom, sometimes attributed to the Greeks, to the effect that the only thing better than dying young would be not to be born at all? I wish only to open windows on possible ways of imagining, with the help of Barker’s ideas, what could happen in Greek accompaniments; and on ways of hearing and understanding better what is happening in our own music. All of this calls for ever so much more discussion; but in the present paper, no discussion is needed to see that Anne Kilmer’s transcription is far simpler than the elaborate accompaniments Barker might allow. Barker himself goes back in history no further than Archilochus (7th century b.c.e.). M. West, in 1994, rejected Anne Kilmer’s transcription on the grounds that there could have been no two-part harmony of that kind. 19 But West simply misidentified—mistook—Anne Kilmer’s concords for harmonies; they are not harmonies, they are concords, and the transcription shows nothing like harmony or harmonic progression, so the rejection is irrelevant, even not taking into account what Barker has pointed out.

Polyphony in 1200 b.c.e.? My concern, obviously, has been to exorcize the ghost of the injunction against polyphony, and until I had finished with that job, I failed to notice a detail of logic that made the exorcism unnecessary. The original injunction, “[There is] no polyphony before a.d. 900!” presumed a categorical difference between monophony (one pitch at a time) and polyphony (two pitches at a time), and this difference happened to be coordinated with the absence of polyphony so-defined in the manuscript sources of ancient and medieval European music. When changes in the meaning of 18.  Winnington-Ingram, “Music,” 706–7. 19.  See n. 1 above.

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polyphony weakened the categorical force of the injunction, the best—the only real—support for it was in the sources. The injunction then depended, in fact, upon the nature of the extant sources: there was no document that contained two pitches at once. But such a document exists; it presents a series of names of pitch pairs. The document cannot logically be said not to exist, or its denotation of pitch pairs be changed, on the basis of an assertion (the injunction) whose validity depends on documents, or their absence. Hence, assertions that the document cannot mean what it says have no categorical force and require indirect evidence and argument. Barker has shown that such evidence and argument does not succeed in supporting the injunction as applied to accompaniment in Greek music of the 1st millennium b.c.e., and nothing in the discussion of Mesopotamian music of the preceding millennium suggests that the injunction holds there, either—in particular as applied to the very document that denies its generality. Rather than being dismissed as contrary to the injunction, as a reconstruction of polyphony from a monophonic document might be dismissed, the document demonstrates, by its denotation of pitch pairs, that the injunction is not supported by all documents. Anne should be congratulated as presenting a reading—the least problematic—of the first document that shows two pitches sounding at once in a musical composition; and I do that here.

Appendix Plato Laws book VII 812D according to England (see n. 10) ΑΘ.  Τούτων τοίνυν δεῖ χάριν τοῖς φθόγγοις τῆς λύρας προσχρῆσθαι, σαφηνείας ἕνεκα τῶν χορδῶν, τόν τε κιθαριστὴν καὶ τὸν παιδευόμενον, ἀποδιδόντας πρόσχορδα τὰ φθέγματα τοῖς φθέγμασι· τὴν δ᾽ ἑτεροφωνίαν καὶ ποικιλίαν τῆς λύρας, ἄλλα μὲν μέλη τῶν χορδῶν ἱεισῶν, ἄλλα δὲ τοῦ τὴν μελῳδίαν ξυνθέντος ποιητοῦ, καὶ δὴ καὶ πυκνότητα μάνοτητι καὶ τάχος βραδυτῆτι καὶ ὀξύτητα βαρύτητι ξύμφωνον [καὶ ἀντίφωνον] 20 παρεχομένους, καὶ τῶν ῥυθμῶν ὡσαύτως παντοδαπὰ ποικίλματα προσαρμόττοντας τοῖσι φθόγγοις τῆς λύρας, πάντα οὖν τὰ τοιαῦτα μὴ προσφέρειν τοῖς μέλλουσιν ἐν τρισὶν ἔτεσι τὸ τῆς μουσικῆς χρήσιμον ἐκλήψεσθαι διὰ τάχους. τὰ γὰρ ἐταντία ἄλληλα παράτοντα δυσμαθίαν παρέχει, δεῖ δὲ ὅτι μάλιστα εὐμαθεῖς εἶναι τοὺς νέους· τὰ γὰρ ἀναγκαῖα οὐ σμικρὰ οὐδ᾽ ὀλίγα αὐτοῖς ἐστὶ προστεταγμένα μαθήματα, δείξει δὲ αὐτὰ προϊὼν ὁ λόγος ἅμα τῷ χρόνῳ. ἀλλὰ ταῦτα μὲν οὕτω περὶ τῆς μουσικῆς ἡμῖν ὁ παιδευτὴς ἐπιμελείσθω· τὰ δὲ μελῶν αὐτῶν αὖ καὶ ῥημάτων, οἷα τοὺς χοροδιδασκάλους καὶ ἃ δεῖ διδάσκειν, καὶ ταῦτα ἡμῖν ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν διείρηται πάντα, ἃ δὴ καθιερωθέντα ἔφαμεν δεῖν, ταῖς ἑορταῖς ἕκαστα ἁρμόττοντα, ἡδονὴν εὐτυχῆ ταῖς πόλεσι παραδιδόντα ὠφελεῖν. ΚΛ.  Άληθῆ καὶ ταῦτα διείρηκας. ATH.  So, to attain this object, both the lyre-master and his pupil must use the notes of the lyre, because of the distinctness of its strings, assigning to the notes of the song notes in tune with them; 21 but as to divergence of sound and variety in the notes of the harp, when the strings sound one tune and the composer of the melody another, or when there results a combination of low and high notes, of slow and quick time, of sharp and grave, and all sorts of rhythmical variations are adapted to the notes of the lyre, — no such complications should be employed in dealing with 20. [καὶ ἀντίφωνον] bracketed by England. 21.  The notes of the instrument must be in accord with those of the singer’s voice. “The tune, as composed by the poet, is supposed to have comparatively few notes, to be in slowish time, and low down in the register; whereas the complicated variation, which he is condemning, has many notes, is in quick time, and high up in the register” (England).

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pupils who have to absorb quickly, within three years, the useful elements of music. For the jarring of opposites with one another impedes easy learning; and the young should above all things learn easily, since the necessary lessons imposed upon them are neither few nor small, — which lessons our discourse will indicate in time as it proceeds. So let our educator regulate these matters in the manner stated. As regards the character of the actual tunes and words which the choir-masters ought to teach, all this we have already explained at length. We stated that in each case they should be adapted to a suitable festival and dedicated, and thus prove a benefit to the States, by furnishing them with felicitous enjoyment. CLIN.  This, too, you have explained truly.

Aspects of Name-Giving in Presargonic Lagash Daniel A. Foxvog University of California, Berkeley

It is a pleasure to dedicate this study to my teacher Anne Kilmer, munus-balaĝ-di eden-na. For texts and publications cited here, see on the Web the “Abbreviations for Assyriology” page of the Cuneiform Digital Library Initiative (CDLI). In his examination of collective labor in Girsu-Lagash, K. Maekawa remarks that the Pre­ sargonic administrative texts “permit a detailed prosopography for the working personnel in the ‘house of the city-ruler’s wife’ that is rare in the study of ancient Mesopotamian society.” 1 The preserved remains of the well-known Girsu é-mí archive, together with a handful of contemporaneous texts from the nearby city of Lagaš, now number nearly 1,800 texts, 2 mostly dated or datable to the reigns of Enentarzi, Lugalanda, and Uruinimgina, 3 a period of around 23 years. The highly 1.  “Collective Labor Service in Girsu-Lagash,” in Labor in the Ancient Near East (ed. M. A. Powell; AOS 68; New Haven, 1987) 50. 2.  To the list of 1,752 administrative texts assembled by G. Selz in Untersuchungen zur Götterwelt des alt­sumerischen Stadtstaates von Lagaš (UGASL) (Philadelphia, 1995) 9–10, add D. Charpin and J.-M. Durand, Documents Cunéiformes de Strasbourg I (Paris, 1981) Nos. 1–10 (9 texts); D. Foxvog, JCS 46 (1994) 11–15 (1 text); B. Foster, ASJ 19 (1997) 53–62 (YBC 12130); J. Marzahn and H. Neumann, AoF 22 (1995) 110–16 (VAT 6121); G. Selz, ASJ 16 (1994) 207–29 (Eremitage 14004 and 14065). To the 16 Collection Böhl texts listed on UGASL p. 9, add no. 932; all are now available in CDLI under the museum siglum LB. An additional unpublished text is available in CDLI under the number P247598. Finally, copies of 98 VAT texts have since been published by Marzahn as VS 27 (NF 11) (1996). 3.  This spelling of the name rather than traditional Urukagina will be maintained here for convenience, while the familiar abbreviation Ukg will be retained for identifying regnal years. For consistency, the (emesal) value uru rather than (eme-gi 7 ) iri will also be used throughout. For a history of the problem of uru vs. iri and ka vs. inim in the royal name, see J. Bauer in Mesopotamien: Späturuk-Zeit und Frühdynastische Zeit (ed. P. Attinger and M. Wäfler; OBO 160/1; Freiburg, 1998) 435–36, 475–77, and add P. Attinger, ZA 88 (1998) 166 n. 11 to the discussion. Bauer intriguingly noted that some Lagaš geographical and personal names are Emesal forms and states: “Es drängt sich der Schluß auf, daß nicht die sumerische Hochsprache in Lagaš heimisch war, sondern daß man dort einen Dialekt sprach, der characteristische Züge des Emesal aufwies.” He concludes that Uruinimgina is the most probable reading, though Urukagina cannot be excluded. Edzard’s preference (AuOr 9 [1991] 77–79) for -ka- rather than -inim- gains some support from a name change recorded in this corpus by the fisherman lugal-ka-gi-na who, as will be demonstrated in a later section, after some point in Ukg 4 became known as lugal-ka-ge-du 10 . Such name changes were always minor in nature, suggesting that his earlier name was indeed to be read lugal-ka-gi-na rather than lugal-inim-gi-na. Accordingly, the existence of an Assyro-Babylonian god named d lugal-inim-gi-na adduced by W. G. Lambert (Or 39 [1970] 419) as one support of his preferred reading Uruinimgina loses some

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detailed ration lists, offering lists, tax rolls, listings of work assignments, issuings of field parcels, records of income or expenditures of commodities, fish, and animals, or manufactured items, inventories of household goods—in short, all manner of accounts and accountings—mention many of the same persons repeatedly, often over years, providing a rich source indeed of material for prosopographic and demographic analysis. The present study of selected aspects of Lagaš I personal names is based on a corpus of these texts combined with legal and epistolary texts from the same time and places. It draws from a sortable database of 25,500 entries recording all mentions of persons, whether by name or only by title—men, women and children of all ages—each entry provided with detailed prosopographic information designed to help identify discrete individuals. Each individual has been assigned a unique index number within the corpus, and each textual mention of an individual under this index number has been given a rating as to the reliability of the identification and the reasons for this rating: complete certainty, near certainty, or good likelihood, based upon such criteria as same or similar occupation or title, same filiation or foreman, occurrence within a regularly occurring group of persons, same text date or type, same ration amount, and so on. The several estimates below of numbers of various population groups within this corpus, along with counts of individuals bearing the same names and the linking of short names with their respective full forms, depend upon this method of prosopographic identification of individual persons and may be regarded as reasonably reliable, if not always completely certain.

Number of Individuals in the Corpus Within the text corpus as described above, 3,371 discrete individuals have been identified thus far—men, women, and children, named or unnamed. This is certainly somewhat higher than the true number, since an unknown number of sets of occurrences of a particular name may actually represent the same person but lack prosopographic criteria for declaring them identical. It must also be emphasized that this figure does not reflect the actual size of a particular é-mí household, since the data are derived from the households of the wives of three separate rulers over a span of 23 years and include as well references to personnel from temple households and other places outside of Girsu proper and from reigns of a few earlier rulers. This figure also does not include another 215 references to work-gangs or other groups of multiple unnamed persons identified only by occupation or foreman. Of the 3,371 individuals, 267 are unnamed wives referred to by their husbands’ names or titles. Another 159 are unnamed children (šà-du10) virtually all of whom are listed alongside their mothers in ration lists: 77 sons, 80 daughters, and 2 of uncertain gender. A further 18 are unnamed orphans (nu-siki): 10 males and 8 females. 4 Named royal personages total 53, including the 6 principal Lagash kings and queens of this period, nin-ĝiskim-ti the queen of Adab, si 4 ku4 the énsi of Uru 18 , and 45 relatives and dead ancestors. Unnamed royals include the énsi of

salience. P. Steinkeller’s last word on the subject again supports -ka- over -inim- (    JAOS 115 [1995] 541–42). It may be that the old reading Urukagina will ultimately turn out to be the best choice after all. Because of its equivocal inherent meaning, the reading of the parallel name niĝir-KA-gi-na in this corpus remains uncertain. 4. One anonymous female orphan reached maturity late in Ukg 2 and was subsequently known as ŠÀ.TAR; compare DP 112 xiv 1 with Nik I 1 xv 2.

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Adab, the Man of Umma, the Man of Uruk, 5 an infant daughter of Baranamtara, an ab-ba énsika, an ab-ba munus, and an énsi-gal (probably referring to Lugalanda). The corpus database features a raw total of approximately 1,700 names, including full names, short names, variant writings of the same name, and a small number of names the ends of which cannot be restored. The beginnings of 40 additional names are broken The following sections present selections of these names organized according to a variety of arbitrarily chosen topics. These do not by any means exhaust the total number of names or large range of name types contained in this corpus. 6

Most Popular Names Names borne by nine or more individuals each, with the number of persons indicated in parentheses, include: Ú-Ú (34) šubur (26) zà-mu (19) ur-ki (16) ur- d en-ki (15) lugal-ù-ma (13) ur-é-bábbar (13) íl (12) ses-tur (10)

amar-ezem (28) ur- d nin-ĝír-su (24) gala-tur (18) é-ki(-bé-gi 4 ) (15) ur-saĝ (14) d nin-ĝír-su-lú-ĝu 10 (13) ur- d nin-mar ki (13) silim-utu (12) ùšur-ra-sa 6 (10)

ur- d ba-ú (27) e-ta-e 11 (23) nam-mah-ni (16) lugal-šà-lá-tuku (15) za-na (14) ur- d dumu-zi (13) ad-da (12) sa 6 -sa 6 (10) ur-du 6 (9)

Gender-Specific Name Incipits Both men and women can bear names beginning, for example, with é ‘(ancestral) house, estate’, or ‘temple’, bára ‘dais, throne’, or ses  7 ‘brother’. But names with certain other initial elements tend to be gender specific, at least in this corpus. Names borne all or mostly by women begin with, for example: ama ‘mother’

21 different names borne by 25 females, 3 gender unknown (probably males) géme ‘maid, servant’ 9 names borne by 46 females 5.  DP 545 iii 3 (Ukg 4), referring either to Enšakušana of Uruk or his field commander, according to Bauer in OBO 160/1 (1998) 479–80. 6.  For an incomplete but still useful catalog of the Presargonic Lagash personal names see V. V. Struve, Ономастика раннединастического Лагаша (Moscow, 1984). I am currently preparing a full analytical listing. For studies of Sumerian onomastics in general, see especially M. Krebernik, “Zur Struktur und Geschichte des älteren sumerischen Onomastikons,” in Altorientalische und semitische Onomastik (ed. M. Streck and S. Weninger; AOAT 296; Münster, 2002) 1–74, and D. O. Edzard, “Name, Namengebung (Onomastik) A. Sumerisch” in RlA 9.1–2 (1998) 94–104, as well as H. Limet’s earlier L’Anthroponymie sumérienne dans les documents de la 3 e dynastie d’Ur (Paris, 1968). For Fara and Abu Salabikh personal names, see F. Pomponio, La Prosopografia dei Testi Presargonici di Fara (StSem NS 3; Rome, 1987) and “I nomi personali dei testi amministrativi di Abū Ṣalābīh,” SEL 8 (1991) 141–47. 7.  For ses rather than traditional šeš, see Bauer, AoN 21 (1985) 2 and se-ès = ŠEŠ in Proto-Ea 623 (MSL 14, 56).

62

Daniel A. Foxvog gan (var. of géme) nin ‘lady; sister’ 8

16 names (not variants of the above géme) borne by 20 females, 4 unknown (doubtless females) 121 names borne by 189 females, 4 males, 7 unknown

Names borne all or mostly by men begin with, for example:  a ‘father’ ad-da ‘father’ amar ‘calf’ diĝir ‘god’ en ‘lord’ lugal ‘king’ lú ‘man, person’ niĝir ‘herald’ saĝ ‘head, person’ 9 sipa ‘shepherd’ šubur ‘servant’ šul ‘youth’ Ú-Ú ‘?’ ur ‘dog (he, one)’ 10

 8  9  10

59 different names borne by 49 males, 6 females, 14 unknown 4 names borne by 15 males 28 names borne by 81 males 12 names borne by 22 males 72 names borne by 123 males, 1 female (en-hi-li-nu-til), 7 unknown 150 names borne by 302 males, 1 female (lugal-mu-tu), 22 unknown 20 names borne by 29 males, 11 unknown (probably males) 6 names borne by 18 males 18 names borne by 27 males 5 names borne by 5 males 9 names borne by 32 males 13 names borne by 16 males, 2 unknown (probably males) 1 name borne by 33 males and 1 female (a wool-worker) 138 names borne by 409 males, 21 unknown

Names beginning with certain deities also seem to be to some extent gender specific. Names borne predominantly by women begin with, for example:

8.  When nin does not represent later nin 9 , note that G. Marchesi in Or 73 (2004) 186–89 has argued that only in the relatively limited meaning ‘mistress’ (female master) or ‘proprietress’ (owner, possessor) does the sign have the value nin. In the meaning ‘lady’ or ‘queen’ it is always to be read ereš. 9.  In the elliptical saĝ- dDN-da construction specifically, represented in this corpus by four different names, Selz, UGASL 116 n. 434, translates ‘der Erste (bei/mit DN)’ but does not exclude ‘Sklave’ (rēšu) or ‘Geschenk’ (šeriktu). G. Farber in “saĝ as Pars Pro Toto for ‘Person’ and ‘Dead Body’,” in “An Experienced Scribe Who Neglects Nothing”: Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Honor of Jacob Klein (ed. Y. Sefati et al.; Bethesda, 2005) 110–11 translates ‘servant for DN’ in this construction, noting that “In the Ur III period the comitative postposition is normally dropped and the names are reduced to saĝ-dDN.” M. Krebernik, AOAT 296 (2002) 50, remarks that the syntax and meaning of the saĝ-X-da construction in general are unclear and that a literal translation ‘beim Haupte von X!’ probably only provokes false associations. 10.  Though it may seem an unhappy choice to the modern sensibility, ‘dog’ has become the consensus translation for this term in ur- dDN and related expressions. See the extended discussion of ur and its compounds (also téš) by A. Cavigneaux and F. Al-Rawi in Gilgameš et la Mort (CM 19; Groningen, 2000) 48–52, who favor the translation ‘dog’ at least in the context ur-dDN. They discount completely the earlier notion that ur may have been an archaic personal pronoun (‘he, one’), though the translation ‘der( jenige) von’ is maintained by Edzard in RlA 9.1–2 (1998) 95. Krebernik compares the use of amar ‘calf’ in personal names and assumes that the original meaning at least was literally ‘dog’. See AOAT 296 (2002) 11–12 for his review of the problem. G. Marchesi in LUMMA in the Onomasticon and Literature of Ancient Mesopotamia (Padova, 2006) 81 n. 464, likewise translates ‘dog’ and supplies additional references. Limet in L’Anthroponymie 64–68 noted parallels with lú-dDN names and translated ‘homme’. Selz, UGASL 17 n. 2, chose the translation ‘Held’ for convenience.

Aspects of Name-Giving in Presargonic Lagash Baʾu 11 Inana Ninšubur

17 different names borne by 23 females and 5 males 9 names borne by 6 females and 3 males 1 name (d nin-šubur-ama-ĝu 10 ) borne by 3 females and 1 male

Names borne only or mostly by men begin with, for example:  Nanše Ninĝirsu Dumuzi Enki Enlil Mesandu Utu

63

 11

6 different names borne by 9 males 8 names borne by 30 males 2 names borne by 2 males 8 names borne by 11 males 5 names borne by 5 males 2 names borne by 2 males 12 names borne by 22 males and 1 female 12

Short Names 

 12

It is difficult to identify, in this corpus, hypocoristic names in a strict sense—that is, consciously childish or pet names borne by adults in adult settings, although certain names ending in ‑tur or ‑bànda da might qualify as kinds of diminutives, and a number of other names could indeed be described owing to their form or content as caritative or affectionate or as nicknames based on physical characteristics. More common is a kind of shortened name that could be characterized as an informal or casual name perhaps comparable in degree of formality to English “Rob” or “Ed” derived from formal or legal “Robert” or “Edward” but not as affectionate or childish as “Bobbie” or “Eddie.” These short names are usually mechanically truncated forms of longer full names. 13 Some 164 short names that can be prosopographically securely linked with full names in the corpus are attested. Another 53 occur alongside possible full forms that have, however, no prosopographical features in common. Many other names look like short names but have no obvious source forms 11.  For arguments in favor of the reading d ba-ú or the like rather than d ba-ba 6 , see most recently Marchesi, “On the Divine Name dBA.Ú,” Or 71 (2002) 161–72. 12.  (d) Utu-ama-ĝu10 . Contrast this female name with its interesting gender mismatch with the corresponding name (d) Utu-a-ĝu 10 borne by two men. Another kind of gender switch is seen with a female deity in the case of two women named d Nin-mar ki -ama-ĝu 10 and d Nin-mar ki -ama-pa 4 -pa 4 contrasting with two men named d Nin-mar ki -lú-ĝu 10 ‘Ninmar is my Man/Person’. Selz, ASJ 16 (1994) 221, suggests instead that this “religionsgeschichtlich problematische” name is perhaps better interpreted as (d) šerda x (UTU)ama-ĝu 10 ‘Šer(da) (ist) meine Mutter’, basing this reading on the unique variant writing ur- d-šè-šer 7 UTUda from Nik I 125 vii 5 for standard ur- d-šè šer 7 -da. 13.  Other common patterns of abbreviation of Sumerian names exist, especially deletion of an initial subject noun or adverbal phrase. See below for several examples, as well as Limet, L’Anthroponymie 97–99. Limet attempts (pp.  91–99) to distinguish between “phrases incomplètes”—our short names—and “hypocoristiques.” Many of the former, he suggests, are inspired by literary passages—for example, kur-ĝìrini-šè ‘Le pay étranger à ses pieds’. Others are fragmentary allusions to religious ceremonies—for example, lugal-má-gur 8 -re ‘Le roi vers le bateau’, or lugal-NINA ki -ta ‘Le roi (venant) de Nina.’ A hypocoristic, on the other hand, is “un nom agréable, de caractère moins sévère que le nom véritable, qu’il est destiné à remplacer dans la bouche des parents et des familiers de l’enfant.” His examples include ka 5 -a-ĝu 10 ‘Mon renard’ or sila 4 -ĝu 10 ‘Mon agneau’—in other words, affectionate or caritative names, German Kosenamen. In the body of his book, Limet usually speaks merely of “abbreviated” names. Edzard, RlA 9.1–2 (1998) 95, recapitulates and summarizes Limet’s distinctions.

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Daniel A. Foxvog

in this corpus. Securely linked short names include, in addition to the special types that are discussed separately: a-ba-sá(-ì-bé) ad-da(-šu-sikil) an-na(-bí-kúš) e-gi(-a-na-ak) é-eden-né(-si) é-inim(-si-sá) é-úr-(bi-du 10) en-ĝìri(-na-sè) d en-líl-bàd(-ĝu 10) en-né-(mu-na-áĝ) en-lú(-sa 6-ga) en-šu(-gi 4-gi 4) géme-šu(-ga-lam-ma) ĝìri-ni(-ba-dab 5) i 7-lú(-dadag) igi-mu(-an-šè-ĝál) d inana-men(-zi-pa 4-pa 4) inim- den-líl(-lá-an-dab 5) ki-gub(-ba-ni) kiš-a(-bí-tuš) lugal-á-na(-gub) lugal-da(-nu-me-a) lugal-ka(-gi-na) lugal-nam(-gú-sù) lugal-ra(-mu-gi 4) lugal-ú(-tag 4) maš(-tur) me-lú(-nu-DU) ne-saĝ(-ĝá-ni-du 10) nin-é-unu ki -ga(-nir-ĝál) saĝ-ĝá(-tuku-a) ses-da(-gal-di) šul- d en-líl-le(-ki-áĝ) ur-bára(-si-ga) ur-ká(-tur) ur-saĝ(-tur) úr-bi-šè(-ba-ak) d utu-igi-du(-lugal-an-da) zi-ĝu 10(-an-da-ĝál)

a-lú(-si-sá) a-gúb(-ba-ni-du 10) ama-ab(-é-ta) ama-bi(-a-rá-nú) d ba-ú-ama(-da-rí) bára-nam(-tar-ra) e-ta(-e 11) é-bára(-da-rí) é-hi-li(-sù) é-igi-íl(-eden-na) é-ki(-bé-gi 4) é-me(-lám-sù) en-bi(-šà-ga) en-da(-gal-di) en-ki(-šár-ra) en-kù(-a-rá-nú) en-lú(-sa 6-ga) en-na(-na-me) en-kù(-a-rá-nú) en-ku 4 (en-kur-ra-a-rá-nú) en-na(-na-me) en-né(-mu-na-áĝ) gala(-tur) gan-ki(-kù-ga) géme-tar(-sír-sír-ra) gi-num(-é-šà-ga) gù-bi(-du 10) gu 4-si(-kisal) igi- dba-ú(-šè) igi-bar(-lú-ti) igi-zi(-bar-ra) IM-NI(-PA) inim-du 11(-du 11-ga-ni-an-dab 5) inim-ma(-ni-zi) ka-kù(-ga-ni-mu-ba) ki-bùru(-a-bí-ti-le) ki-ti(-la-ni-lú-me-PI) lú-kur(-ré-bí-gi 4) lú-na(-nam) lugal-an-da(-nu-huĝ-ĝá) lugal-gána(-zú-lum-ma-gub) lugal-ĝá(-ab-e) lugal-igi(-an-na-ke 4-su) lugal-ki(-gal-la) lugal-kur(-dúb) lugal-nì(-ĝá-ni) lugal-piriĝ(-tur) lugal-sur x (ERIM)(-ré-ki-áĝ) lugal-šà(-lá-tuku) lugal-ùšur(-ra-nú) ma-al-ga(-sù) me-kisal(-le) me-lem 4(-kur-ra) d nam-mah(-ni) nanše-da(-nu-me-a) nì-lú(-nu-du 10) niĝir-KA(-gi-na) d nin-ĝír-su-bàd(-ĝu 10) qí-bi(-ba-la-ṭì) sig 4-ki(-bé-gi 4) šà-ĝá(-lú-bi) šu-na(-mu-gi 4) šul-bí(-nu-um) šul-me(-šár-ra-túm) ú-zi(-šà-ĝál) ur-har(-sar-ra) ur-hi-li(-ĝar-ra, var. -e-ĝar) ur-ki(-sal 4-la) ur-pu 6(-saĝ) ur-sila(-sír-sír-ra) ur-šu(-ga-lam-ma) uru-inim(-gi-na) uru-ki(-du 10) utu-lú(-sa 6-ga) zi-li(-li)

Possible short name and full name pairs contained in the corpus for which, however, no prosopographic links can at present be established include:

Aspects of Name-Giving in Presargonic Lagash a-ne-da(-nu-me-a) am 6-ma(-ni-UD-BA) é-e(-a-na-ak, -ba-ta-e 11-dè) é-utu(-gin 7-è, -ĝu 10) en-na(-u 4-ĝu 10) en-úr(-ni) IM-su(-su-ĝá) ki-ni(-mu-su) lugal-bára(-ga-ni-du 10) lugal-mu(-da-rí, -pà, -tu) mes-bára(-si) nin-ezem-ma-né(-ki-áĝ) ur-absu(-bànda da ) ur-lugal(-eden-na)

ab-ba(-nir-ĝál, -zi-le) du 11-ga-ni(-mu-gi-na) é-ĝissu-bi(-du 10) é-zi(-šà-ĝál) en-ra(-gub) gu-ni(-DU) ka-ka-rí(-tah) LAM.SAG(-dù) lugal-uru(-bar) lugal-šà(-sù) nin-bur(-šu-ma) saĝ-en(-né-su) ur-an(-ta-sur-ra) ur-saĝ(-pa-è)

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al-mu(-ni-du 11) é-an-né(-mud) é-nam(-zu-šè) en-an-na-túm(-sipa-zi) en-u 4-da(-na) gub-ba-ni(-an-na-sa 6) ki-gub(-ba-ni) lugal-an-né(-ki-áĝ) lugal-lú(-du 10, -ni, -ti-ti, -zi) lum-ma(-bàd-gal, etc) nin-é-ni-šè(-nu-kár-kár) túl-ta(-pà-da) ur-ki(-ga-ra, -HAR-ra)

Speaking of similar abbreviation of Akkadian personal names, J. Stamm wrote: Die Verkürzung der Namen kann sinnvoll geschehen, so daß der verkürzte Name noch immer ein sinnvolles, aus sich verständliches Ganzes darstellt, oder aber sie kann rein mechanisch gehandhabt werden und dann dazu führen, daß der übrigbleibende Bestandteil grammatisch unvollständig wird” and further that the resulting name is “aus sich heraus nicht mehr verständlich.” 14 The situation is very much the same for Sumerian names. A cursory examination of the above forms immediately reveals the difficulty of discerning the correct meaning of most short names without prior knowledge of the underlying full form of the name. A translation ‘The King is a Mountain’ or the like for the short name lugal-kur is a far cry from lugal-kur-dúb ‘The King Makes the Mountains Tremble’, and an attempt such as ‘Fine Food’ or ‘Food of Life’ for ú-zi has only a basic idea in common with ú-zi-šà-ĝál ‘(Having) Life-giving Food’. In some instances, the full form of a name occurs so rarely as to seem fortuitous. In this corpus, compare the 136 occurrences of inim-du 11 versus the 3 of inim-du 11-du 11-ga-ni-an-dab 5 ‘He Seized All the Words He/She Spoke’, 15 the 67 occurrences of a-ba-sá versus the 3 of a-ba-sá-ì-e/bé ‘Who is Equal He/She Says’, the 66 occurrences of gi-num versus the single occurrence of gi-num-é-šà-ga ‘Honest One of the Inner Chamber’, the 30 occurrences of en-bi versus the single occurrence of en-bi-šà-ga ‘That Lord in the Heart’, or the 27 occurrences of igi-zi versus the single occurrence of igi-zi-bar-ra ‘Looked Upon Rightly’. 16 Added confusion arises from the fact that a short name can derive from more than one underlying full form. In the present corpus, one finds the following short names securely linked with two or three different source names: bára-zi(-šà-ĝál) ĝír-nun(-ki-du 10) lugal-me(-gal-gal)

bára-zi(-kur-ra) ĝír-nun(-zi-šà-ĝál) lugal-me (= lugal-mè-tur-šè-nu-še-ge)

14.  Die Akkadische Namengebung (Darmstadt, 1968) 111, 112. 15. With this unique name compare the equally unique inim- d en-líl(-lá)-an-dab 5 ‘He Seized the Word of Enlil’. 16.  The converse can also be the case. Compare the 83 occurrences of saĝ-ĝá-tuku-a ‘Taken By/At My Head’ versus the single occurrence of saĝ-ĝá, a man who clearly preferred to be addressed by his full, formal name.

66

Daniel A. Foxvog lugal-mu(-da-kúš) lugal-mu(-šè-ĝál) lugal-šùd(-dè-ba-gub) lugal-šùd(-du 10-ga) lugal-tigi x (É.BALAĜ)(-mete)  lugal-tigi x (É.BALAĜ)(-ni-du 10) me(-an-né-si) me(- dnin-ĝír-su) mu-ni(-kalam-ma) mu-ni(-na-ga-me) d šubur(- ba-ú) šubur(-tur) šubur(-utu) ur-é(-bar 6-bar 6) ur-é(-gíd-da) ur-é(-mùš) ur-šu(-ga-lam-ma) ur-šu(-íl-la) ur-igi(-ama-šè) ur-igi(-ĝál) zà-mu(-ba-ni-mah) zà-mu(-ba-ni-ús)

Short names may feature unexpected writings that further mask their source names. Note in particular occurrences of an unexpected loss of /n/ from the pronunciation of an underlying AN sign: 17  18 a-ku 4  /kur 9 (a-kur-ra) bára-a 18 (bára-an-né) en-ku4 (en-kur-ra-a-rá-nú) lugal-me (lugal-mè-tur-šè-ge) mu-a (mu-an-né-nu-še-ge)

amar-ku 6 /kua (amar-kuara ki ) en-ĝíri (en-ĝìri-na-sì) lú-ku4 (lú-kur-ré-bí-gi 4) me-a (me-an-né-du 10) mu-a (mu-an-né-du 10)

Divine determinatives are sometimes omitted in personal names, again masking source names, particularly in the case of short names (the last examples, marked with asterisks, are guesses based on form, not secure links):  19  20  21  22 gan-ba (gan- d ba-ú) ur-ĝiš (ur- d ĝiš-bar-è) ur-níĝ (ur- d nin-ĝír-su) 19 ur-šùš 20 (ur- d šùš- d ba-ú) ur-dumu 22 (ur- d dumu-zi)* ur-nu (ur- d nu-muš-da)*

géme-ba (géme- d ba-ú) ur-igi (ur- d igi-ama-šè) ur-šul (ur- d šul-pa-è) puzur 4 -su 21 (puzur 4 - d suen)* ur-mes (ur- d mes-an-DU)*

17.  A value /a/ for AN does not occur in Proto-Ea or its branches. 18.  Since bára-an-né is most likely already a short name, this is a doubly shortened name, perhaps a true hypocoristic? 19.  With Bauer, AoN 1–4 (1976) 5 ad OIP 14, 57 ii 3 with parallels CT 50, 29 i 6 and CT 50, 30 ii′ 9, who compares the Fara period writings ur- dníĝ-ĝír-su in RTC 5 i 2, v 2 and dníĝ-nisi for dnin-nisi in RTC 8 ii 6. See Bauer on these writings again in OBO 160/1 (1998) 435, 505, but with the latter name read as dnim 5mú, a proposed assimilation that he believes confirms the reading mú in the divine name rather than older sar or more recent nisi, for which see A. Cavigneaux, Beiträge zur Kulturgeschichte Vorderasien: Festschrift für Rainer Michael Boehmer (ed. U. Finkbeiner et al.; Mainz, 1995) 65. In BiOr 50 (1993) 178, Bauer remarked: “Es ist umstritten wieviele Gottheiten sich hinter der Graphie dnin-SAR verbergen, und wie sie zu lesen sind.” 20.  The reading šùš rather than traditional kuš 7 is still uncertain for early periods. See Visicato and A. Westenholz in Studi sul Vicino Oriente antico dedicati alla memoria di Luigi Cagni (ed. S. Graziani et al.; Naples, 2000) 1112. 21.  The link with puzur 4- dsuen is affirmed by Selz, FAOS 15/2, 559, who cites abbreviations for dsuen assembled by H. Waetzoldt in NABU 1990, 73 (No. 95). 22.  Compare ur- ddumu in Böllinger 1:15 (Sargonic Umma), “wohl Abkürzung von ur- ddumu-zi-da” according to C. Wilcke, AfO 25 (1974–77) 85.

Aspects of Name-Giving in Presargonic Lagash

67

A small amount of variation is seen in the construction of short names. Compare the following alternate short names for the same person together with the number of times each occurs in the corpus:   23 bára-nam (1) é-me (11) gan-ki (1) ka-kù (3) ki-ti (4) lú-ku4 (3) lugal-a (3) lugal-šùd (5) lugal-ùšur (1) nam-šita (4) ur-har (1)

bára-nam-tar (1) é-me-lem 4 (1) gan-ki-kù (1) ka-kù-ga-ni (1) ki-ti-la-ni 23 (1) lú-kur (4) lugal-a-a-GÚG-a-ni (1) lugal-šùd-dè (4) lugal-ùšur-ra (18) nam-šita-ĝu 10 (10) ur-har-ra (1)

bára-nam-tar-ra (379) é-me-lem 4-sù (76) gan-ki-kù-ga (4) ka-kù-ga-ni-mu-ba (2) ki-ti-la-na-lú-me-PI (1) lú-kur-ré-bí-gi 4 (47) lugal-a-a-GÚG-a-ni-nu-si (1) lugal-šùd-dè-ba-gub (1) lugal-ùšur-ra-nú (18) nam-šita-ĝu 10-bí-du 11 (33) ur-har-sar-ra (4)

There are many more short names in the corpus for which no long forms are registered. For some of these, one can easily imagine one or more possible long forms based on patterns of existing parallel names, for example, den-líl-da(-nu-me-a/-gal-di). On the other hand, while it is a bit disconcerting to be confronted with Sumerian utterances that take the form of nominal chains that are not connected with a following predicate in a fuller construction, it is at least conceivable that some such names could be true sentence fragments rather than truncated forms of longer, original names. A large number of these remaining short names end in adverbal case markers, and all the cases are represented, for example: ergative: lugal-zi-dè ‘By the Righteous King’ ama-i 7 -dè ‘Mother By the Canal’ dimensional locative-terminative: gú-bé ‘Next to the Riverbank’ lugal-eden-né ‘King By the Desert’ lugal-u4-dè ‘King By the Storm’ adverbial locative-terminative: aš 10 -a-né ‘Alone’ gig-bé ‘Sickly’ min-na-né ‘Doubly’ locative: lagas ki -ĝìri-na ‘Lagaš At His Feet’ maš-du 6 -a ‘Goat Among the Mounds’ mes-u4-ba ‘Vigorous Youth in That Storm’ d en-líl-da ‘With (Thanks to) Enlil’ comitative: mu-ni-da ‘With His Name’ ablative-instrumental: á-ni-ta ‘By His Strength’ du 6 -ta ‘From the Mound’ gu4-ta ‘With a Bull’ ki-ta ‘From the Earth’ kèš ki -ta ‘From Keš’ 23.  Not a strict truncation of the full form in view of the slight grammatical modification (deletion of the locative case or replacement with the locative-terminative). Compare the form ur-har-ra, at the bottom of this list, where the genitive of the end of the full form is applied to the short form ur-har to make it more comprehensible.

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Daniel A. Foxvog me-kuara ki -ta ‘Divine Powers from Kuara’ an-zà-šè ‘To the Limits of Heaven’ terminative: bára-u4-sù-šè ‘Throne Unto a Far Time’ igi-lugal-šè ‘Before the King’ kur-ĝìri-ni-šè ‘Land Unto His Feet’ nam-uru-na-šè ‘Because of His City’

Finally, a kind of short name rare in this corpus modifies a full name not by truncation of following elements but by deletion of a head noun: en-ra-gub ‘He Stands Before the Lord’ for a-en-ra-gub ‘Father Stands Before the Lord’ me-zi-da ‘She of the Righteous Divine Powers’ for nin-me-zi-da ‘Lady of the Righteous    Divine Powers’ ha-ši ‘He Was Indeed Careless’ for a-ha-ši ‘Father Was Indeed Careless’ 24

Theophoric Names Sumerian theophoric names in standard patterns such as ur-DN, amar-DN, géme-DN, DNa-ĝu 10, DN-ama-ĝu 10, DN-diĝir-ĝu 10, DN-téš-ĝu10, DN-da-nu-me-a and the like are well represented in this corpus. 25 Some 69 different divine names appear in personal names. The most popular divinities are, as one might expect, the principal deities of the Lagaš state pantheon. In the following list, the number of distinct persons bearing a name in which one of these most popular divine names appears is given in parentheses: the city gods of Girsu Baʾu (75) and Ninĝirsu (38); the water-god Enki (15), his daughter Nanše (22) and her consort Nindara (9) together with their daughter Ninmar (19); the air-god Enlil (30), his son Utu (51) the sun-god and god of justice, and his daughter the Venus goddess Inana (17) together with her consort Dumuzi (13). The remaining deities appear less frequently in names, most having only one to three attestations. They include: d ab-Ú ama-ĝeštin aš 8 -gi 4 d dumu-zi erra x (KIŠ) ra dèš-ir-nun (d) d d gírid (ki) ĝiš-bar-è ĝiš-zi-da d d d hendur-saĝ igi-ama-šè ištaran d d kù- sù sugx(PA.SIKIL)  - ga lamma  26 lum-ma ma-ma dme-dar-an-na

d ašnan bìl-àga-mes d gašam gibil 6 d d GUR8 -x ha-ma-zi d d kínda-zi kù-nun(-na) d d li 9 -si 4 lugal-bànda da d mes-an-DU nagar-šà

d

d

d

d

24.  Limet discusses the hypothetical pattern of Ur III diĝir-ĝu 10-ma-an-šúm with “hypocoristic” maan-šúm in L’Anthroponymie 81–82, 97–99, although he does not rigorously demonstrate that his examples are prosopographically linked. A more complex pattern is seen in UET 3, 1288, where line 6 reads kìšib ga-ti-e ‘seal of Ex-voto’ while the seal impression itself gives his full name as lugal-ga-ti-e-ki-áĝ ‘The King Loves the Ex-voto’. 25.  See R. A. Di Vito, Studies in Third Millennium Sumerian and Akkadian Personal Names: The Designation and Conception of the Personal God (Studia Pohl, Series Maior 16; Rome, 1993), particularly pp. 26–32, and M. Krebernik in AOAT 296 (2002) 1–74, for catalogs and Presargonic Lagaš examples of these common name types. See also Selz, UGASL, for an exhaustive study of all the deities found in these texts. 26.  There are four persons named lum-ma in this corpus, and 16 other names feature this term as a theophoric element, ruler’s name, or verbal adjective equated with Akk. unnubu. These meanings and names are sorted out in Marchesi, LUMMA, especially pp. 65–118.

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d d d d nám-nun nin-a-su nin-dar nin-dub nin-gublaga d ki d  27 d nin-kilim nin-mar nin-MI-dam nin-MUŠ×MUŠ-da-ru d d d d nin-nisi nin-piriĝ nin-šára  28 dnin-šubur nin-ti d d d d nin-tu nin-uru-a-mu-DU nin-zadim nu-muš-da d d d d d PA pa-bìl-saĝ saĝ-ku 5 sàman si-bí d d-šè d d suen šer 7-da šùba šul-pa-è (šubur) 29 d d šul-MUŠ×PA  30 tílla  31 dutu za-ra d d

Nineteen men bear 11 different names beginning with the element diĝir, which may refer to the so-called personal god: 32 diĝir-a-ĝu 10 diĝir-ama-ĝu 10 diĝir-ì-kúš diĝir-mu-dah diĝir-sukkal diĝir-téš-ĝu 10

God is My Father Goddess is My Mother God Concerned Himself God Added Him God is Minister God is my Dignity

diĝir-al-sa 6 diĝir-bàd diĝir-kal-ga diĝir-sipa diĝir-ses-ĝu 10

God is Gracious God is a City Wall Strong God God is Shepherd God is my Brother

Names Referring to Temples The element é “temple” begins the names of 199 persons bearing 67 different names, and other names feature é in other constructions. This type of name was equally popular in Ur III and even more so in Fara; the catalogs of Limet and Pomponio register more than 90 and 150 distinct examples, respectively, of names beginning with é. To judge from the epithets employed, virtually none of the names in this corpus seems to refer to a mundane, residential “house” or patrimonial “estate.” Furthermore, few of these names mentions any particular deity directly; it is the temple itself that is invoked. A sample of the religious sentiments found in such names includes:

27.  This rare deity occurs once in the name ur- d nin-MI-dam (Nik I 40 ii 2). Compare the name uren-MI-dam in DP 32 iv 19 from the time of Enmetena as well as the Fara deity d MI-dam. See Selz, UGASL, 261. 28. Reading with Selz, UGASL 264, but see N. Veldhuis, CM 22 (2004) 273–75 for a reading dninimma x . 29.  See n. 43. 30.  See the criticism of the conventional reading dšul-utul 12 by W. G. Lambert, Or 64 (1995) 135–36, also P. Mander, Il Pantheon di Abu-Ṣālabīkh (Napoli, 1986) 66 for the deity dMUŠ×PA (= lahšu x ). 31.  See Selz, UGASL 282–83. R. di Vito, Studies in Third Millennium Sumerian and Akkadian Personal Names, 30 reads NAB in the names gan-tilla x (AN.AN) and géme-tilla x even though both are more often written with unequivocal tílla(AN.AŠ.AN); an example is DP 114 vi 5 where tílla is clear on the CDLI photo. W. G. Lambert, Or 64 (1995) 134, states that in these names this term is “certainly to be read nab, perhaps the Elamite noun napi ‘god’.” Bauer, perhaps following Lambert, also claims that a god Nab was venerated in Lagaš (OBO 160/1 [1998] 498 and 510–11). 32.  Although it is not common practice to translate Sumerian personal names, in this and most of the following sections attempts at translations will be given in order to provide a small glimpse into the flavor of Sumerian daily life via the terms of address of, for the most part, ordinary people going about ordinary tasks. These translations should be regarded as essays only, especially in view of the high frequency of potentially misleading short names found in this corpus.

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Daniel A. Foxvog é-an-na-túm é-an-né-mud é- (an) ánzu mušen é-bára-šu-du7 é-e-a-na-ak é-ĝeštin-sù é-ĝissu-bi-du 10 é-gu4-gin7-sahar-ra é-gù-nun-di é-hi-li-sù é-ì-gára-sù é-i7-da-diri

Fit for the Eanna Temple 33 Temple Created By An Anzu-Bird Temple 34 Temple With a Perfect Dais What Was Done for the Temple Temple Filled 35 With Grapevines Temple Whose Shade is Pleasant 36 Temple Like a Bull in the Dust Temple Making Loud Sounds Temple Full of Allure Temple Sprinkled With (or Which Sprinkles) Fat and Cream Temple Floating On a Canal

33.  For a recent discussion of túm = šūluku ‘to be fit, suitable for’ see Å. Sjöberg, “Notes on the Ebla Vocabulary (IV)” in Literatur, Politik und Recht in Mesopotamien: Festschrift für Claus Wilcke (ed. W. Sallaberger et al.; Wiesbaden, 2003) 263 and n. 29. See Selz, UGASL, 23 n. 23, for previous translations of this short form usually thought to be derived from the full royal throne name é-an-na- d inana-ib-gal-ka-ka-a-túm, which Selz translates ‘Ins E’anna der Inanna von Ibgal hat/habe man/ich (ihn/ihr) gebracht’. Marchesi, LUMMA, 2 n. 7, suggests that the short form is a “defective writing for /hay’(/y)annâbtum/ < {hay’an.’a-’a.b.i.tum}” (a novel modern analysis) and that the full name was instead “a ceremonial name derived from É-an-na-túm” (p. 3 n. 9). 34.  Since in this corpus the ÁNZU sign may be written with or without an initial AN sign, the standard Borger AbZ signlist value can be misleading. R. Borger, Mesopotamisches Zeichenlexikon (AOAT 305; 2003) 171 (No. 641) now recommends the transliteration an anzu for AN.IM.DUGUD and ánzu for IM.MI, leaving one free to transliterate unambiguously the full Presargonic writing AN.IM.MI as an ánzu. 35.  The interpretation of sù in such names, in final position where no consonantal Auslaut is preserved, is frequently problematic. The frequent syntagm hi-li-sù, for example, has been interpreted in different ways. Compare Limet’s ‘dont le charme (s’exerce) au loin’ (L’Anthroponymie 296) with R. Kutscher’s ‘Sprinkled With Charm’ (ASJ 5 [1983] 61) and M. Civil’s ‘full of (sexual) charm’ (AuOr 5 [1987] 26). The Akkadian scribes were themselves somewhat perplexed, rendering the expression with kuzbu combined with verbs meaning ‘to sprinkle, overlay’ on the one hand and ‘to fill’ on the other. Omitting from discussion sù(g) ‘to be empty’ and sù(g) ‘to sink’, one clear alternative in certain names is sù(d) ‘to be distant, far-reaching, prolonged’. A second is sù either ‘to sprinkle’ (elēḫu, salāḫu, zarāqu) or ‘to decorate, adorn’ based upon the OB equivalence sù = ul-lu-hu-um of Proto-Ea Secondary Branches No. 7 i 28 (MSL 14, 119) and that meaning of the D stem of elēhu found in Neo-Babylonian contexts; AHw offers ‘etwa (ver)zieren mit, reich ausstatten’. More to the point, doubtless the same sù is also equated with zânu ‘to overlay, plate or stud with precious stones, to decorate, embellish’ (CAD). See, for example, Marchesi in Studi sul Vicino Oriente Antico dedicati alla memoria di Luigi Cagni (ed. S. Graziani et al.; Napoli, 2000) 672–79, where the participle sù-sù is translated ‘adorned’ in a number of literary contexts. The reduplication often seen with this term may indicate the repeated action of studding or applying embellishments upon an object. Note that ePSD cautiously registers no consonantal Auslaut for its lemma sù ‘to sprinkle, to adorn’, contrary to the citation form sud found in several of the pertinent CAD or AHw entries. A last alternative is the sù(g) that is a by-form of si(g) = malû ‘to be full’; see A. Falkenstein, SGL 1 (1959) 75 for basic references. This term is seen in such literary passages as é-engur-ra šà hé-ĝál(-la) sù-ga(-àm) ‘Temple of the Deep with an interior filled with abundance’ (Enki’s Journey to Nippur 50, cf. 88); d en-líl nì galam-ma galam-mazu nì-me-ĝar sù-ga ‘Enlil, your many clever things are full of awesomeness’ (Enlil in the Ekur 131, cf. Dumuzi’s Dream 18, Lugalbanda Epic I 362, Gilgameš and Huwawa A 73); ĝéštu-ĝu 10 nì galam-ma sùga-àm ‘my mind is full of clever things’ (Šulgi Hymn B 54). Given this variety of possibilities, translations of names involving the term sù should generally be viewed as tentative. 36.  Explicit copulas are virtually non-existent in personal names. In this corpus, a notable exception is a second-person form in the slave-name ama-ĝu 10-me You Are My Mother (VS 25, 69 x 13).

Aspects of Name-Giving in Presargonic Lagash é-ib-zi é-igi-ĝá-téš-bi é-igi-íl-eden-na é-ir-nun é-kù é-me-lem4-kur-ra é-me-lem4-sù é-me-nam-nun é-men-eden-na é-mu-bi-du10 é-še-è é-šeg12(SIG4 )-zi-dè é-ú-íl-sù é-u4-gin7-è é-úr-bi-du10 é-zi-šà-ĝál

71

Righteous Niche/Oval Temple Temple That is the Dignity of My Eye Temple That Lifts its Face Over the Desert Temple With Princely Fragrance Holy Temple Temple With the Divine Radiance of a Mountain Temple Filled With Divine Radiance Temple Having the Divine Power of Nobility Temple That is the Crown of the Desert Temple Whose Name is Pleasing Temple That Makes the Barley Come Forth By the Temple With Fine Brickwork Temple That Carries and Fills With Food Temple Come Forth Like Daylight Temple Whose Base is Pleasing Temple Having the Wherewithal For Life

Examples of other references to sacred places and objects or divine phenomena include: absu-kur-gal absu-pa-è a-absu-si ama-absu-si mes-absu giš ti-absu ur-absu ur-absu-bànda da dug-ru-ma-da-áĝ é-dam-si èš-kur-gal géme-é-dam géme-niĝar géme-šu-ga-lam-ma géme-ub 5 -kù-ga ĝír-nun-ki-du10 ĝír-nun-zi-šà-ĝál ĝišgal-ir-nun ĝišgal-le-si ib-mud lugal-ki-gal-la

The Apsu is a Big Mountain The Apsu Coming Forth Radiantly Father Occupies the Apsu Mother Occupies the Apsu Vigorous Youth of the Apsu Arrow of the Apsu Dog of the Apsu Dog of the Smaller Apsu (Temple) The Dugru Temple (of Ninĝirsu) Measured Him/It Out To Me The One Who Occupies the Temple of the (Divine) Spouse The Shrine is a Big Mountain Servant of the Temple of the Spouse Servant of the Cella Servant of the Šugalam (Gate) 37 Servant of the Holy Drum(s) The Girnun (Noble Procession Road) is a Pleasant Place The Girnun is the Wherewithal for Life Socle With Princely Fragrance That Which Occupies the Socle The Creative Oval/Niche (Temple) King of the Great Place 38

37.  The main gate of the Eninnu, temple of the city-god Ninĝirsu. See W. Heimpel, “The Gates of the Eninnu,” JCS 48 (1996) 17–29, especially 20–21. Compare the male name ur-šu-ga-lam-ma. 38.  ki-gal can refer to the pedestal or socle of a statue, for example, ki-gal alan d šu- d suen in ITT 2, 795:5. It can also be understood as a euphemism for the netherword. The Akk. loan kigallu has the same two senses. For a number of other early names featuring the term, see F. Pomponio, SEL 8 (1990) 144. Ur III examples are discussed by Limet, L’Anthroponymie, 263. In this corpus, the term is seen once again in the name lum-ma-ki-gal-la.

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Daniel A. Foxvog me-an-né-du10 me-an-né-si me-kisal-le me-kuara ki -ta me-lem4-kur-ra me-mah-pa-è me-niĝar-ta me-dnin-ĝír-su me-sàg-nu-di me-su-an-da me-unu ki -si niĝar-mud ur-an-ta-sur-ra ur-bára-ru-a ur-bára-si-ga ur-é-bábbar ur-é-dam ur-é-mùš ur-éš-dam nin-éš-dam(-me)-ki-áĝ ur-niĝar ur-igi-ĝál ur-kara6 ur-sila-sír-sír(-ra) ur-šà-pà-da ur-ses-e-ĝar-ra ur-šu-ga-lam-ma ur-šubur ur-TAR-SAR-a ur-ti-ra-ás ti-ra-ás-a uru-kù-a-bí-lu5

Divine Powers Good Against the Sky Divine Powers Filling the Sky Divine Powers (Filling) the Courtyard Divine Powers From Kuara Divine Radiance of the Mountains Exalted Divine Powers Come Forth Radiantly Divine Powers From Within the Cella Divine Powers of Ninĝirsu Divine Powers Which Cannot Be Dissipated Your Divine Powers (Are Equal) With (Those of) Heaven 39 Divine Powers Filling Uruk The Creative Cella Dog of the That Which Dripped From Heaven (Temple) Dog of the Placed Dais Dog of the Placed Dais Dog of the White Temple Dog of the Temple of the Spouse Dog of the Temple of Holy Space(?) Dog of the Tavern (Shrine) Lady Who Loves (or is Loved By) the Tavern 40 Dog of the Cella Dog of the Wisdom (Temple) 41 Dog of the Grain Store Dog of the Narrow Streets (Temple) Dog of the (Temple) Chosen By the Heart (of Nanše) Dog of the (Temple) Established By (Ninĝirsu) the Brother Dog of the Šugalam (Gate) Dog of Earth(?) 42 Dog of the TAR-SAR-a (Offering Place) Dog of the Tiras (Temple) He of the Tiras She Tended 43 Him in the Holy City

39.  J. Krecher, ZA 63 (1973) 211, translates the Fara parallels me-zu/zu5-an-da as ‘deine me (, o Gott­ heit x,) wetteifern mit den me des An (-sá-a ergänzt)’. 40.  Since éš-dam is an impersonal noun, -e can of course represent either the ergative or the locativeterminative, depending upon the interpretation. See Limet, L’Anthroponymie, 265–67 for active vs. passive uses of -ki-áĝ in Ur III names, and compare Selz, UGASL 22 and n. 36. 41.  The temple of Nanše in Guʾaba, see Selz, UGASL 183 and n. 836. 42.  With Selz, UGASL 264 and n. 1283 s.v. dnin-šubur, following Falkenstein, ArOr 30 (1966) 108. A chthonic netherworld reference? Note, however, that this name, frequent in all periods, has a rare variant (Fara, Ur III) ur- dšubur(-ra). 43. In this name, as well as in the elsewhere attested name kiš-a-bí-LUL, P. Steinkeller (ThirdMillennium Legal and Administrative Texts, 24–25) suggests a reading tuš x (LUL) based on the parallel name kiš-a-bí-tuš and his assumption that “the root lu 5 (k) is restricted to the singular subject of the class of animals.” Å. Westenholz doubts this reading in JAOS 115 (1995) 536, and our names lu 5 -ka Tended One and a-lu 5 ‑lu 5 Father Tends Well would indeed seem to demonstrate a less restricted semantic domain—for

Aspects of Name-Giving in Presargonic Lagash

73

Finally, the names nin-ma-al-ga-sù Lady (that is Baʾu) Who Fills (with) Understanding and ma-al-ga(-sù) She Who Fills With Understanding certainly feature an eme-sal reference to the é-ĝalga-sù Temple That Fills With Understanding, an epithet (or shrine) of the é-sila-sír-sír-ra temple of Baʾu in Girsu. 44

Names Based on Personal Characteristics Names possibly referring to a person’s size, strength or other personal characteristics, including likely hypocoristics: hur-saĝ kur-ra-á-ĝál lú-gíd šu-ni-al-dugud ur-saĝ-tur úr-kiši17-dù-a úr-mah

Mountain Range kal-ga-ni Having Strength in/of the Mountains Tall Man šu-mah His Hand is Heavy ur-saĝ Little Hero Thighs (Trunk) of an Upright Acacia (m.) Large Thighs (m.) úr-mud ama-tur ku-li-tur munus-tur sal-la za-na ze x -na

His/Her Strong One Large Hands Hero

Creative Thighs (m.)

ad-da-tur dìm-tur lúgud-da nì-bàn-da tur-tur zàbar-tur (f.)

Little Father Little Figure 45 Shorty Small Thing Tiny Little Bronze 46

Little Mother Little Friend Little Woman Delicate (or Skinny) Doll Palm Midrib (f.) 47

ki-áĝ mes-zi nir-ĝál

Beloved ki-ni-mu-su He Knew His Place Steadfast/Vigorous Youth nì-šu-du11-ga-ni What She Accomplished Trustworthy One nita-zi Steadfast Male

Referring to beauty or graciousness: 48 a-sa6 sa6-ga

Handsome Father The Beautiful One 49

al-sa6 munus-sa6(-ga)

She’s Beautiful Beautiful Woman

personal names, in this corpus at least. Note Steinkeller’s earlier reading of the common Sargonic name a‑bí-lu 5 (k) with translation ‘Father-has-pastured/taken-care-of’ in WZKM 77 (1987) 193. 44.  See Falkenstein, Die Inschriften Gudeas von Lagaš (AnOr 30; Rome, 1966) 146 + n. 10; Sumerian Temple Hymns line 265 with comments of Å. Sjöberg, TCS 3 (1969) 105; and A. George, House Most High (MesCiv 5; Winona Lake, 1993) 89. 45.  Compare 1 dìm ĝiš taskarin tur ‘1 small boxwood figure’, RTC 19 i 3. Bauer, RlA 7.3–4 (1988) 179, translates ‘Püppchen’. 46.  Compare lugal-urudu The King is Copper and nin-zàbar The Queen is Bronze. 47.  Var.: ze x(ÁB.ŠÀ.GE)-na, the midrib of the palm frond (without leaves) according to B. Landsberger, The Date-Palm and Its By-Products (AfO Beiheft 17; Graz, 1967) 25–27, Ur III zé-na, Akk. zinû; see Selz, FAOS 15/2 (1993) 533f. for additional references. Is the image one of suppleness, or thinness? 48. Selz, UGASL 28 n. 80 argues sensibly that in personal names sa 6 must have a meaning ‘gut, gnädig’ rather than ‘beautiful’ when said of a deity as in diĝir-al-sa 6 The God is Gracious. In other contexts, however, the meaning need not be so limited. 49. Marchesi, LUMMA, 113 n. 577, assumes that at least in a name such as ur-sa 6 -ga Dog of the Beautiful One in this corpus “the appellative sa 6 -ga is likely to designate the goddess Bawu.”

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Daniel A. Foxvog sa6-sa6 Most Beautiful One ka-sa6 igi-si4 Fiery Eyes (m) 50 igi-huš šembi-zi Colorful Eyes (m.) 51 igi-gùn Charming (m.) mul-la la-la nam-ku-li-ni-du10   His Friendship is Pleasant

Pretty Mouth Brown Eyes Fine Kohl Radiant (m.)

Referring to a disability or negative quality: èh èh-tur háb-ba (f.) igi-diš saĝ-háb(-ba) su6-mú

Cripple 52 èh-gu-la Little Cripple gig-bé Smelly(?) hal-hal One Eye sa-nu-ĝál  54 Smelly Head/Person(?) (m.) Growing a Beard (f.) 55 šu-àš

Big Cripple Sickly Shy (or Groveling?) 53 Has No Muscles Six(-Finger) Hand 56

and perhaps gan-UM Woman with a Birthmark(?) kù-sàg-du 11-ga Scattered Silver lú lil-nam-šita-sù  Fool With Far-Reaching(?) Prayers Animal comparisons, both wild and domestic: buru5mušen Bird buru5mušen -tur Little Bird Big Ox gu4-si-par4(KISAL) Ox of the s.-Implement 57 gu4-gu-la  58 ka5-a Fox HAR-ti ?  59 maš-dà Gazelle lugal-piriĝ-tur Little Lion King Goat of (the god) Ašgi 60 maš-du6-a Goat Among the Mounds maš-aš8-gi4 50.  Considered an abbreviation of lugal-igi-huš by W. G. Lambert, NABU 1996, 111 (No. 126), which is the name of one of Ninĝirsu’s personified harps (Selz, UGASL, 105 n. 379). 51.  A popular Fara name, including that of a géme-kar-kid in WF 71 vii 5–6. 52.  Unless simply a Lallname ku-ku. 53.  Compare dàra hal-hal-la ‘scheuer Steinbock’, Heimpel, RlA 4.6–7 (1972–75) 419, citing B. Landsberger, Fauna 99–100. 54. Steinkeller, ZA 71 (1981) 26–28 prefers túl to háb because of the sense. Likewise Selz, FAOS 15/2 (1993) 312f., leaves the reading open “da das semantische Feld von háb (= bīšu, ì-háb = ikūku) schlecht zu einem PN zu passen scheint.” But compare the MB Akk. name ikkukku, perhaps connected with ikūku ‘illsmelling oil’ (Stamm, Namengebung 268, CAD s.v.). 55. Steinkeller, Third-Millennium Legal and Administrative Texts in the Iraq Museum, Baghdad (MesCiv 3; Winona Lake, 1992) 19–20, provides references for “Sum4-mú ‘Bearded’, which is characteristically a feminine name.” 56.  Understood as an abbreviation for šu-si-àš ‘six fingers’. See R. Barnett, “Six Fingers and Toes: Polydactylism in the Ancient World,” Biblical Archaeology Review 16/3 (May/June 1990) 46–51. 57.  If not more simply gu4-si-kisal Horned Bull of the Courtyard, compare Enki and the World Order 319: nun-gal d en-ki-ke4 gu4 si-par 4 ús-a ba-an-šúm ‘The great prince Enki gave to them oxen which follow the . . .’ and see ePSD references for si-par 4 ‘type of implement’. 58.  A qualification of cattle according to Bauer, AfO 36/37 (1989–90) 88, citing OSP 1, 101 ii 1. 59.  The name of this fisherman is regularly shortened to lugal-piriĝ, which seems to exclude a reading lugal-nemurx(PIRIĜ.TUR) ‘Leopard King’. Lugal-nemurx is indeed, however, possibly the name of the sanga é-bábbar or the simug, for whom no shortend variants are registered. 60.  Compare amar- d aš8-gi4 in the AbS Names and Professions List 209, OIP 99, 68.

Aspects of Name-Giving in Presargonic Lagash maš-gur-ra maš-gu-la (f.) Big(ger) Goat maš-tur (f.) Little Goat MUNUS.U8 -tur MUNUS.U8 -sig-ama-ĝu10  Weak Ewe is My Mother 61 Mountain Lion sila4-tur (f.) piriĝ-kur-ra Little Swallow sún-ama-ĝu10 sim-tur (f.) TAR-Bird 62 TARmušen

75 Fat Goat Little Ewe Little Lamb A Wild Cow is My Mother

The 28 distinct names based on amar ‘calf, young animal’ are probably not strictly animal metaphors but rather forms comparable to the popular names based on ur, originally ‘dog’ (see n. 10). 16 names take the form amar-DN, mainly invoking lesser deities such as dašnan, dhendur-saĝ, d nin-kilim, dsàman, or dšùba. Others invoke localities such as amar-é-gibil Calf of the New Temple, amar-é-gal Palace Calf, amar-gírid ki Calf of Girid, or amar-kuaraki Calf of Kuara. Could the extremely popular name amar-ezem Festival Calf refer to the occasion of the owner’s birth or conception? 63

Birth and Family of the Child References to a child’s birth or origin may include: al-mu-ni-du11 d ba-ú-mu-tu diĝir-mu-dah ĝá-ka-na(-nam)-hé-ti (f.) ha-ma-ti (m.) kešda-gin7-tu (m.) mu-an-né-du10 nin-šà-su-ĝu10 (f.) pu6/túl-ta-pà-da šeg12(SIG4 )-ĝe26-na-gi4 (f.) ti-la ì-ti-e

I Desired Him Baʾu Caused Him to Be Born (My) God Added Him May He Live For My Sake He Lived For Me! Born Like One (Still) Attached(?) (With) a Name Made Good by An 64 The Lady was My Midwife Found In the Well-Pit He Decided to Return to My Brick 65 The One Who Lived He Lives!

and perhaps ba-zi dab5-ba-ni (var. dab5-ba-an)

He Stood Up Hold Onto Him!

61.  Selz, CM 7 (1997) 173 and n. 157, understands MUNUS.U8 -sig ‘Young Ewe’ as a deified animal. 62.  See Veldhuis, CM 22 (2004) 286, for this unidentified bird, Akk. ṣibārum. 63.  Compare the Akk. name mār i-si-ni Son of the Festival and similar names cited by J. Stamm, Die Akkadische Namengebung (Darmstadt, 1968) 271–72, under the heading “Bezeichnungen nach Tag oder Monat der Geburt.” 64.  With Bauer, OBO 160/1, 515, meaning “daß An das Wesen des Neugeborenen wohlgestaltet hat.” 65. The translation follows Bauer’s ‘Auf meine Ziegel ist (es, das Kind) zurückgekehrt’, AfO 36/37 (1989–90) 80–81 and OBO 160/1, 556f., who compares the AbS name šeg12-ĝe26-tu Born on My Brick (IAS No. 298 i 11). If indeed referring to the “brick of birth,” for which see A. D. Kilmer, JNES 46 (1987) 211–13, the meaning of the name of this brewery worker with two sons remains obscure. Selz, FAOS 15/2, 233, suggests that the following names from this corpus also refer to the brick of birth: šeg12- d en-líl-le, šeg12-ki(bé-gi4), šeg12-kur, and šeg12-zi, though references to a city’s protective brickwork seem more reasonable.

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Daniel A. Foxvog nì-DU7-pa-è zi-nì-ba-ĝu10

A Fitting Thing Come Forth Radiantly Life Was My Gift

A number of the 21 names beginning with the term ama ‘mother’ feature sentiments more appropriate to a deity than to an actual human being, for example: ama-abzu-si ama-bára-si ama-en-tu ama-numun-zi

Mother Occupying the Apsu Mother Occupying the Throne Mother Bearing the Lord Mother is the Good Seed

and nearly all of those ending with the expression -ama-ĝu10 ‘is my mother’ refer either to a goddess or once to the wife of king Enentarzi in the name NI-a-a-ama-ĝu10. In the name of the female slave ama-ĝu10-me You Are My Mother, ama perhaps refers to an owner. Still, names referring to a birth-mother might conceivably include: ama-da-nu-sá ama-sa6-ga ama-téš-ĝu10

There is None Equaling Mother Beautiful Mother Mother is My Dignity 66

References to the father may include: a-agrig-zi a-anánzu mušen a-bàd-ĝu10 a-da-gal-di a-ĝeštin a-giri17-zal a-hi-li-nu-til a-ì-nun a-ir-nun a-kiši17-gal

Father is a Trusty Steward Father is an Anzu Father is my City Wall Excels With (Thanks to) the Father Father is a Grapevine 67 Father is a Joy The Father With Endless Charms Father is (Like) Ghee 68 Father is/has Princely Fragrance 69 Father is a Big Acacia 70

66. This translation of téš (Akk. baštu) in this context is for convenience, relying on CAD baštu 2. ‘dignity (personified as a protective spirt)’. See Selz, FAOS 15/2 (1993) 176; Marchesi, LUMMA, 71 n. 361; F. Wiggermann, RlA 9.1–2 (1998) 46–47. More recently Selz, ArOr 72 (2004) 43 and n. 49 and in Von Sumer bis Homer: Festschrift für Manfred Schretter (AOAT 325; Münster, 2005) 583, has preferred ‘Lebenskraft’ with AHw bāštu 3. 67.  Note the parallel name lugal-ĝeštin. Could the reference instead be to (the sweetness of) grapes? Also possibly syllabic for ʾà-ĝeštin; compare the name é-ĝeštin-sù in this corpus or Ur III é-ĝeštin for example in UET 3, 1202:3. Both a-ĝeštin and ses-ĝeštin are frequent in Fara. 68.  This is a rare name. Parallel lugal-ì-nun is more frequent and is also found in Fara, OAkk., and Ur III. Both are easily confused with a-ir-nun and lugal-ir-nun respectively. For example, the two Fara instances of lugal-ì-nun are emended to lugal-ir!(NI)-nun by Pomponio, Prosopografia, 157. 69.  Ukg 4 x 11–13 shows ir-nun used concretely: 1 sìla ir-nun, ereš-diĝir-ré ba-de6 ‘1 quart of princely perfume was taken away by the e.-priestess’, for which H. Behrens and H. Steible, FAOS 6 (1983) 177, cite the late lexical equivalent ir = armannu ‘(a tree and aromatic substance obtained from it)’ (CAD). Selz, UGASL, 133 n. 538, therefore translates ‘Der Vater (ist mit) fürstlichem Parfüm (gesalbt)’. Within names, the term otherwise appears only in connection with places: bára-ir-nun, é-ir-nun, d èš-ir-nun, ĝišgal-ir-nun. 70. The name is found also in Fara and in the Abu Salabikh Names and Professions List, OIP 99, 67:188. See Marchesi, LUMMA, 112, on the alternate readings of (ĝiš) UL4 -gal “likely to denote a thorny

Aspects of Name-Giving in Presargonic Lagash a-lú-du10 a-lu5-lu5 a-me-da-nú a-men a-mes a-pa-è a-sa6 a-zex-ze x (ÁB.ŠÀ.GE)

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Father is a Good Person Father Tends It Well 71 Sleeping With Our Father 72 Father is the Crown Father is a (Fruitful) mes Tree 73 Father Came Forth Radiantly 74 Handsome Father Father is (a Bunch of) Palm Midribs.

Negative references may include: a-ha-ši (var. ha-ši) a- lúlil-la a-nu-su

Father (var. He) Was Indeed Careless Father is a Fool 75 Doesn’t/Don’t Know the Father

Clear references to royal fathers include: a-kur-gal Father is a Big Mountain (the son of the dynasty founder  Ur-dNanše) a-šurmin Father is a Cypress 76 (the wife of Enanatum) Father Responded to the Lord a-en-ra-mu-gi4 a-en-né-ki-áĝ Father is Loved by the Lord a-en-ra-gub Father Serves the Lord (apparently three names of a son of  Uruinimgina) Some references to siblings may include: ses-tur nin-tur nin-ses-ra-ki-áĝ ses-a-ĝu10 ses-á-nu-kúš ses-kiši17-gal ses-da-gal-di

Little Brother Little Sister Sister Who Loves (Her) Brother The Brother is My Father (f.) Brother With Untiring Arms 77 Brother is a Big Acacia Excels With (Thanks to) the Brother (f.)

plant or tree” in names and literary texts and its possible use as a metaphor for protection. 71.  Assuming the verb is lu5(k). See n. 43. 72.  Compare Fara a-da-nú Sleeping With the Father or a-da-tuš Staying With the Father. 73. Alternately translate Father is a Vigorous Male. For this meaning of mes, contrasted with šul ‘young/youthful one’, see Marchesi, Or 73 (2004) 191–93, also p. 197 n. 253 for the mes tree as “a symbol of fruitfulness.” 74.  Unless syllabic for é-pa-è, common in OAkk and Ur III but absent from this corpus. Both a-pa-è and é-pa-è are frequent in Fara. 75.  Unless a genitive construction to be translated Father of a Fool (so Bauer, BiOr 50 [1993] 179), the form shows the variant lú lil-la of more usual lú lil seen elsewhere in this corpus in the name lú lil-namšita-sù. OAkk lú lil-la appears in RTC 246:5 (Girsu) and lú lil-[la (x)] in CT 50, 77:6. Compare OAkk lúlillum in AAS 2 rev. 1 (Umma) and lil-la in TMH 5, 16:9 (Nippur), also Ur III lil-la in SAT 3, 1342: 3 etc. For the OAkk, OA, and OB name Lillum, see CAD lillu A d. 76. Marchesi, Or 73 (2004) 197 n. 253, reads ája- šu-mešurmen x (EREN) and translates ‘the Father is (as great/luxuriant as) a cypress’. 77.  See F. Pomponio, SEL 8 (1990) 145, for early parallels, including pa 4 -á-nu-kúš (AbS), dumu/en/ lugal-á-nu-kúš (Fara) and munus-á-nu-kúš (Sargonic).

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A Brother In His Place Brother is a Good Person Handsome Brother Brother is my Dignity (f.)

Names Connected with Occupations Occupational terms employed as personal names include: am-ma He of the Aurochs 78 Domestic Servant 79 àr-dú Scribe (CT 50, 29 iii 5, 30 rev. i 3) dub-sar gala-tur Little Gala gala (possibly always a short name for gala-tur) íl Porter mu6-sùb Herdsman 80 nagar-šà Interior Carpenter 81 Musician nar (narx) 82 niĝir-si Paranymph 83 ú-du Herdsman um-me Wet Nurse  84 URI x (LAK 526) ? zur-zur One Who Treats With Care 85 The term niĝir ‘herald’ serves as the initial element of five names: niĝir-absu niĝir-amax(ENGUR)-na niĝir-èš-a-du niĝir-KA(-gi-na) niĝir-zi

Herald of the Apsu Herald of His Mother(?) 86 Herald Who Goes Into the Shrine 87 Herald With True Words (or Mouth) Trusty Herald

78.  With Bauer, AfO 36/37, 85; see also p. 86 for nagar-šà and niĝir-si. 79.  While the occupational term is very common, this term is used as a name only once in this corpus (DP 128 iii 7). Compare more frequent Fara àr-dú, àr-dú-tur, àr-dú- d sùd and the Ur III name written ìr or ir11. On the meanings of àr-dú, géme, and ir11 (unequivocally ‘slave’) in this corpus, see Selz, FAOS 15/1 (1989) 138–39 and FAOS 15/2 (1993) 209–11. 80.  Selz translates ‘Pferde- Zugtierführer o. ä.’, FAOS 15/1 (1989) 342–43. See further Krecher, ZA 63 (1973) 202. 81. For another possible early example see Krecher, ZA 63 (1973) 257 and compare en-nagar-šà (Fara) and nagar-šà-ga (Ur III). 82.  See C. Mittermayer, Die Entwicklung der Tierkopfzeichen (AOAT 319; Münster, 2005) 72, for RSP 468 and its variants in this corpus, also Krecher, ZA 63 (1974) 198. 83. Akk. susapinnu. See L. Sassmannshausen, BaM 26 (1995) 181–82, who translates ‘Brautführer’. 84.  A kind of agricultural worker according to Å. Westenholz, ECTJ 14 ad 5:1. 85. Akk. kunnû, kutennû. See Selz, FAOS 15/2 (1993) 588, who translates ‘(Tier)pfleger’. 86. For ENGUR as an early form of the ama sign, compare amax(ENGUR)-a-zu5 in AnNip 42: 2 (H. Steible, FAOS 5, Teil II [1982] 249), and see Bauer, WdO 24 (1993) 163, for other references, especially the ses-ENGUR-na of OIP 104, 112 No. 37 rev. i 10. 87.  See Selz, FAOS 15/2 (1993) 274, citing P. Steinkeller’s reading of the occupation èš-a-ab-du, contra older ab-a-ab-du, in FAOS 17 (1989) 81 and n. 238.

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A few names that may reflect an individual’s occupation include: amar-gù-du10-ga gù-bi-du10 nin-tigi x (É.BALAĜ)-ni-du10 ur-sal

Calf With a Sweet Voice (a gala) Its Voice is Sweet (a gala sold as a slave) Lady Whose Praise Hymns 88 are Sweet (a gala) Delicate Dog (a gala)

perhaps also gù-du10-ga ùšur-ré-du10

He With a Sweet Voice (a boatman) Good to Neighbors (a merchant)

Both a cattle herder (sipa g u4) and a goat shepherd (sipa uzud) are named ur- d dumu-zi.

Names Referring to Localities Like temples and other holy sites, towns and other localities are often featured in personal names. A common pattern takes the form GN-ki-du10 GN is a Pleasant Place, in which the determinative for places, ki, is invariably omitted from the geographical name itself. 89 The localities so named are: ĝiš-šà, gú-ab-ba, he-en-da, ki(-nu)-nir, kuara, niĝin x (NINA), sìrara, SAHAR, umbin, uru, and uru11. Other names mentioning localities include: ég-ga-né gan-gírid (ki) géme-du6 géme-ĝanun géme-gú-en-na géme-i 7-eden-na géme-ki-sal 4 -la i7-mud kèš ki -ta

By His Levee Servant of Girid Servant of the Mound Servant of the Storehouse Servant of the Throne Room Servant of the Desert Canal Servant of Kisalla Creative River From Keš

88.  There is some confusion in the literature concerning the reading of É.BALAĜ. The parallelism of Šulgi Hymn D 366–367 favors a reading tigi x : si-im á-lá-e šeg12 mu-na-ab-gi4, É.BALAĜ šìr [du10ge-eš (?)] mu-na-ab-[du 11 (?)] ‘The šèm and á-lá drums roared for him, the tigi drums [played] songs [finely] for him’. See note to line 367 by J. Klein, Three Šulgi Hymns (Ramat-Gan, 1981) 120. This reading was followed by W. Sallaberger, Der Kultische Kalender der Ur III-Zeit (UAVA 7/1; Berlin, 1993) 142 n. 668, as support for a reading tigi y for a compound NAR.É.BALAĜ understood as a variant of standard tígi(NAR. BALAĜ) in the Šū-Suen historical text Civil, JCS 21 (1967) 34 xii 12–14: šìr-kù nam-šub, mu-na-an-du12, NAR.É.BALAĜ nì du10-ge, si mu-na-ab-sá ‘Holy songs and incantations he played for him, tigi-hymns, fine ones, were performed for him.’ Compare tigi nì du10-ge si ha-ba-ni-sá in Šulgi Hymn A 54 or the syllabic parallel in Gudea Cyl B x 9: ti-gi 4 nì du10-ga si sá-a-da. Either an error or some different justification must underlie the reading of the Fara personal name É.BALAĜ as é-tigi x in the catalogs of Pomponio, StSem ns 3 (1987) 93, and Visicato, Indices of Early Dynastic Administrative Tablets of Šuruppak (Naples, 1997) 36. The reading tigi x for the BALAĜ sign alone was further carried over to the profession balaĝ-di ‘harp player’ by Visicato in ASJ 19 (1997) 256 n. 60, who reads tigi x -di for the profession and é munustigi x -di for a women’s institution found in the Sargonic Ešnunna text MM 497 ii 5’ (AnOr 7, No. 342), read more cautiously as É SAL.BALAĜ.DI by its editor M. Molina in AuOr 9 (1993) 142 with earlier references including those assembled by Steinkeller in Or 51 (1982) 367–68. 89.  In other times and places, the determinative is present for example in the Sargonic Nippur name adab ki -ki-du10 (OSP 1, 102 ii 4) or the Ur III Lagaš names ĝír-su ki -ki-du10 and lagaš ki -ki-du10 (Limet, L’Anthroponymie, 262).

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Daniel A. Foxvog kísig (ki) -a-bí-tuš I Had Him Live in Kisig I Had Her Live in Kiš 90 kiš-a-bí-tuš Lagaš (is) at His Feet lagaski -ĝìri-na The King of/to Keš 91 lugal-kèš ki (With) Divine Powers From Kuara me-kuara ki-ta (With) Divine Powers Filling Uruk me-unuki-si ki Lady Who is Sovereign in the Uruk Temple nin-é-unu -ga-nir-ĝál Lady Whose (City) Uru is Pleasant nin-uru18-ni-du10 Shepherd Who Concerns 92 Himself (or is Content) with sipa-uru-da-kúš   the City Shepherd Loved By Lagaš sipa-lagaski-e-ki-áĝ Sirara Come Forth Radiantly sìrara-pa-è Dog of the Hill 93 ur-du6 Dog of the Desert’s Edge ur-gú-eden-na ur-ká-tur Dog of the Small Gate Dog of Kisalla ur-ki-sal4-la Dog of the Well-Pit ur-pu6-saĝ (He of a) Well-Pit 94 (an abbreviation of the previous) pu6-saĝ (var. pú-saĝ)

90.  See the critical comments regarding the reading and interpretation by Å. Westenholz, JAOS 115 (1995) 536. 91.  Bauer, OBO 160/1 (1998) 512, translates ‘der König (ist nach) Keš (gegangen)’. 92. Use of comitative -da- with the verb of emotion kúš can be confusing. Intransitively, the verb has the sense ‘to be troubled or concerned with’ (Akk. anāḫu) or ‘to be content with’; see T. Balke, Das su­merische Dimensionalkasussystem (AOAT 331; Münster, 2006) 104, 106, ‘zufrieden sein (mit), sich kümmern (um)’. With šà as object, the verb has the sense ‘to make the heart content, soothe the heart’ and with comitative ‘to take counsel, consult with’; see now F. Karahashi, Sumerian Compound Verbs With Body-Part Terms (Ph.D. diss., University of Chicago, 2000) 147. 93.  A popular name here, borne by nine individuals, but not found in Fara. Perhaps a short form of ur-du6-kù-ga Dog of the Holy Hill, attested in Ur III, and thus possibly a literary allusion to the cosmological residence of the primeval gods. Compare, for example, the d a-nun-na du6-kù-ga-ke4-ne of the Sumerian debate Sheep and Grain 30/33, and see the discussion of B. Hruška, “Zum ‘Heiligen Hügel’ in der altmesopotamischen Religion,” WZKM 86 (1996) 161–75. Note further line 245 of Sumerian Temple Hymn No. 20 to the é-ninnu of Ninĝirsu: šeg12 du6-kù-ta nam tar-re-da, hur-saĝ-gin7 sa7-ga ‘brickwork where the fates are to be determined from the holy hill, beautifully formed like a mountain range’. On the other hand, Bauer, OBO 160/1 (1998) 439, points out that field names reveal the existence of at least seven named du6 (tells) in the vicinity of Girsu. 94. Akk. šatpu ‘pit, well, excavated soil’. M. A. Powell in The Origins and Ancient History of Wine (ed. P. E. McGovern et al.; Amsterdam, 1996) 106 describes “a structure, loosely associated with irrigation, called in Sumerian pu or pu sang . . . which may denote a reservoir together with the earth that is thrown out of it. . . . The pu of a garden is also said to be ‘heaped up’ with baked brick, and, occasionally, it is said to produce lal and geštin, that is grape syrup and either grapes, raisins, must, wine, or perhaps all of these.” These two names were fairly popular, borne by nine and five persons, respectively. See Limet, L’Anthroponymie, 290, for Ur III ur-pú-saĝ and géme-pú-saĝ. Note that Steinkeller, Third-Millennium Legal and Adminstrative Texts, 20, reads túl-saĝ, written either LAGAB×U or LAGAB×TIL, according to period. See Selz, FAOS 15/2 (1993) 175–76, for discussion.

Aspects of Name-Giving in Presargonic Lagash uru-inim-gi-na uru-na-a-na-gu-lu5

81

City of True Words 95 What is More Clever In His City 96

Three names might be loosely described as gentilics: niĝin8-bar sud-áĝ ti-ra-ás-a

(He of the) Outer District, 97 (He of) Electrum (or Amber) 98 He of the Tiras (Temple)

With the last two, compare more explicit ur-sud-áĝ and ur-ti-ra-ás in this corpus.

Names Honoring the King As G. Marchesi has stated: Whether the term lugal in the onomasticon refers to the king (that is the earthly ruler) or the divine lord of a given city-state remains a disputed mattter. . . . In point of fact, lugal can refer to either the human king or the divine lord depending upon the name-pattern and, more importantly, on whether another more specific theophoric element is or is not present. 99

By these criteria, it seems likely that many if not most of the personal names in this corpus that begin with lugal invoke the secular ruler rather than the national god Ninĝirsu, although one could reasonably argue that names such as lugal- anánzumušen The King is an Anzu-Bird or lugal-megal-gal King With All the Great Divine Powers do indeed refer to that god, or that, for example, lugal-itu-da-tu King Born Monthly might refer instead to the moon-god Suen, 100 or, indeed, 95.  Compare D. Edzard’s reading iri-ka-gi-na and translation ‘Stadt des zuverlässigen Mundes (Ausspruchs)’, AuOr 9 (1993) 79. The name is a genitive compound, as shown, for example, by Ukg 41 or 43 (Steible, FAOS 5, Teil I [1982] 350–51). 96.  Based on nì-galam-ma, nì-gu-lu-da = ni-ki-il-tu Nabnitu VII 169–170 (MSL 16, 110), Steinkeller, SEL 1 (1984) 16, posits a variant /gulud/ of galam ‘ingenious, clever, skillful’ and cites the parallel names from this corpus a-na-ĝu10-gu-lu5 What of Mine is (More) Clever and nin-ra-a-na-gu-lu5 What is More Clever Than the Lady, as well as Ur III gu-lu5 Clever One. 97.  Usually read ušur-bar or usar-bar, but see Powell, Or 43 (1974) 400 for niĝin8(LÁL×SAR) or niĝin9(LAL×SAR) = nagû ‘district’ and 401 n. 16 for the Ur III name lú-niĝin9-bar-ra Man of the Outer District with which compare lugal-niĝin8-bar-ra in MVN 6, 535 i 4. See also Selz, UGASL 45 and n. 201. According to Civil in Dumu-é-dub-ba-a: Studies in Honor of Åke W. Sjöberg (ed. H. Behrens et al.; Philadelphia, 1989) 58–59 niĝin8-bar was “a riverain [sic] locality, a stop in the ceremonial trip of the boat of Nanše and Nindara,” according to AO 4209:13 (NFT p. 185, Ur III). 98.  See Selz, FAOS 15/1, 309 ad Nik I 92 i 3. Sud-áĝ occurs between the temple name é-bábbar and the divine name dnin-gublaga in the gala-list DP 159 iii 2 and is taken as a temple name by A. Falkenstein, AnOr 30 (1966) 30 and 37, followed tentatively by RGTC 1, 147. But see also references for dsud-áĝ, a later Sumerian name for the goddess Aja, in T. Richter, Untersuchungen zu den lokalen Panthea Süd- und Mittelbabyloniens in altbabylonischer Zeit (AOAT 257; Münster, 1999) 299–301 and n. 1216. 99.  LUMMA 72 n. 381 with references and illustrations. Compare Edzard, RlA 9.1–2 (1998) 96: “Bei Namen mit lugal ‘König, Herr’ und nin ‘Königin, Herrin’ ist von Fall zu Fall zu entscheiden, ob eine Gottheit oder ein Mitglied des Herrscherpaares gemeint ist.” Di Vito comes to a similar cautious conclusion in Studies in Third Millennium Sumerian and Akkadian Personal Names, 86–87. On the other hand, Westenholz, speaking of Sargonic Nippur names, concludes (OSP 1 [1975] 6) that “in most, if not all cases, lugal refers to the human king.” 100.  Suggestion of Selz, UGASL 99 n. 358. But compare also the 12th stanza of OB Inana Hymn E: ‘And so, for you (Inana), Heaven shall beget him (anew) each month on the day of the new moon, like the Moon (himself), and king Amaʾušumgalana, the beloved of your heart, they shall praise like the risen Sun’,

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that in some instances lugal might refer to the bearer of the name or, in the case of a slave, to the master. See further below for the contrast with names beginning with the term en. Names describing the king’s physical characteristics, including comparisons from nature: lugal-á-na-gub lugal-á-šúm-ma lugal-á-zi lugal-ad-nì-du10 lugal-kiši17-gal lugal-eden-né lugal-(GÁNA-)zú-lum-ma-gub lugal-ĝeštin lugal-gu4 lugal-i7-da lugal-id5-mah lugal-nemur x (PIRIĜ.TUR) lugal-šu-mah lugal-tir-a-gub lugal-urudu

King Standing in His Strength King Given Strength King With a Steadfast Arm King With a Sweet Voice The King is a Big Acacia The King By the Desert King Standing Among the (Tracts of) Dates 101 The King is a Grapevine Bull King King of the River The King is a Great River Leopard King King With Great Hands The King Stands (to Serve) in the Forest 102 The King is Copper

Names of praise and flattery: lugal-al-sa6 lugal-aš10-né lugal-dalla lugal-èn-tar-sù lugal-gi16-sa lugal-hé-ĝál-sù lugal-hi-li lugal-ì-nun lugal-igi-huš lugal-ka-gi-na lugal-inim-zi-da lugal-ka-ge-du10 lugal-ki-áĝ lugal-lú-du10 lugal-lú-zi

The King is Handsome The King Alone Manifest King King Who Inquires Afar Enduring King King Replete With Abundance Charming King The King is (Like) Ghee King With Fiery Eyes 103 King With a True Mouth 104 King With Righteous Words The (Word) King is Sweet to the Mouth Beloved King The King is a Good Man The King is a Righteous Person

probably referring to Šulgi of Ur. See D. Foxvog, “Astral Dumuzi,” in The Tablet and the Scroll (ed. M. Cohen et al.; Bethesda, MD, 1993) 105. 101.  Or, reading -túm, The King is Fitting for the Date (Tracts). For zú-lum ‘date’ as a synecdoche for ‘date palm’, compare the occupation šu-ku6 zú-lum-ma ‘fisherman of the dates’ (DP 174 i 4, VS 27, 95 ii 1). Compare also the temple name é engur-ra zú-lum-ma Temple of the Engur of the Dates from Ent 1 ii 7 with variant é engur-ra GÁNA! zú-lum-ma Temple of the Engur of the Date (Palm) Tract from the parallel Ent 44 ii 4f. 102.  Or, reading -túm, The King is Fitting for the Forest. 103.  See n. 49. 104.  This fisherman changed his name to lugal-ka-ge-du10 sometime in Ukg 4. Since name changes tended to involve only minor changes (see other examples in a later section), the value ka rather than inim is more likely in this earlier name.

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King By Himself lugal-mete-na King With a Lasting Name lugal-mu-da-rí lugal-mùš-me-ki-áĝ King With a Loving Countenance lugal-nita-zi The King is a Righteous Man 105 King Come Forth Radiantly lugal-pa-è lugal-saĝ-kal Foremost King lugal-si-sá Just King Handsome (or Gracious) King lugal-sa6-ga The King is the Foundation lugal-temen lugal-tigix(É.BALAĜ)-ni-du10 King Whose Praise Hymns are Sweet lugal-tigix(É.BALAĜ)-mete King With Fitting Praise Hymns By the Righteous King lugal-zi-dè Names celebrating the king as leader and protector of the land: lugal-àga-zi lugal-bàd lugal-bára-ga-ni-du10 lugal-da-nu-me-a lugal-ég-gi lugal-ég-pa5-mah lugal-en-nu lugal-ĝíri lugal-ĝiš-búr lugal-ig-gal lugal-kur-dúb lugal-má-tab-ba lugal-mè-tur-šè-nu-še-ge   (var. -šeg12-ge) lugal-men lugal-nam-gú-sù lugal-nì-á-zi-nu-ak lugal-nì-lu-lu lugal-nám-ma-kalam lugal-sa-š u4-gal lugal-si-ĝar

King With a True Crown The King is a City Wall King Whose Throne is Good Not Without the King The King is a Secure Levee 106 The King is a Great Levee and Ditch The King is Guardian 107 The King is/has a Dagger King With a Crook The King is a Great Door 108 The King Makes the Mountains (or Foreign Land) Tremble, The King is a Double(?) Boat The King Does Not Agree to (or Cry Out for) Small Battles King With the Diadem King is Full of Oppressiveness The King Does No Violent Act The King Makes Things Abundant The King is the Everything(?) of the Land The King is a Great Net The King is a Bolt 109

105.  Or possibly lugal-uš-zi The King Makes the Foundation Platform Right, following Bauer, ZA 79 (1989) 9 n. 7 and BiOr 50 (1993) 177. Compare in this corpus utu-nita-zi and nita-zi. 106. Steinkeller, Third-Millennium Legal and Administrative Texts, 46, translates Sargonic lugal-ég as ‘King-of-the-Dike’, citing the divine name d lugal-ég-ga (Steible, FAOS 5/2, 345, Anonym 10) and Sargonic ur-ég-ga. Compare Ur III lugal-ég and lugal-ég-zi. 107.  En-nu represents (lú-)en-nu-ùĝ ‘guard, watchman’ with loss of the final nasal; see references in Marchesi, LUMMA, 91–92 and n. 512. See also Pomponio, SEL 8 (1990) 145, for Sargonic diĝir/lugal/ nin-en-nu and Fara nin-en-nu-ĝu10    , among other parallels. 108.  The name is found from Fara through Ur III. Names formed with the syntagm ig-gal are listed and discussed by Selz, UGASL, 145 n. 598. 109.  The king as a fortified city wall, a great door, and a gate-bolt are, of course, all related images. The metaphors are remarked upon by Limet, L’Anthroponymie, 331, who cites the Ur III parallels lugal-si-ĝar and nin-si-ĝar.

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Daniel A. Foxvog lugal-sipa lugal-sur x (ERIM)-ré-ki-áĝ lugal-sur x (ERIM)-ra-sa 6 lugal-ti-úš-da-kúš lugal-ù-ma lugal-ùĝ-ĝe26-du10 lugal-ùri lugal-uru lugal-uru-bar lugal-uš-sux(MUŠ) lugal-ùšur-ra-nú

The King is the Shepherd The King is Loved By the Teams The King is Best Among the Teams The King Concerns Himself With Life and Death Victorious King The King is Good to the People 110 The King is a Standard 111 King of the City King of the Outskirts The King Makes the Building Plot Reach Far(?) 112 The King Sleeps Among the Neighbors (or Junior Wives) 113

Names referring to the king’s relationship to the gods: lugal-absu-a-gal-di lugal-AN-da-nu-huĝ-ĝá lugal-an-na-túm lugal-an-né-ki-áĝ lugal- anánzu mušen lugal-é-ni-šè lugal- d en-líl-da lugal- d en-líl-le lugal-eriduki-šè lugal-èš-du10-ga lugal-ĝiparx(KISAL)-a-gub lugal-igi-an-na-ke4-su lugal- dištaran

The King Excels in the Apsu King Who With An(?) Was Not Soothed 114 King Fit for Heaven King Loved by Heaven The King is an Anzu-Bird 115 The King to His House The King With Enlil The King (was Known) by Enlil The King to Eridu King of the Good Shrine The King Serves in the Gipar 116 The King Known to the Eye of An The King is (like) Ištaran

110.  For the choice of case, compare lugal-ùĝ-ĝe26 dumu dinana-ur-saĝ from TMH NF 5 1 iii 3 (Sargonic Nippur) with variant lu:gal-ùĝ-e dumu d inana-u[r-saĝ] from TMH NF 5 171:3, cited in Westenholz, OSP 1 (1975) 91. 111.  In this corpus, ùri(n) ‘gate post, standard’ also appears in: mu-ni-ùri His Name is a Standard, d nanše-ùri Nanše is(?) a Standard, ses-ni-ùri His Brother is a Standard, ur-ùri-maš Dog of the Goat Standard, and ur-ùri-ru-a Dog of the Placed Standard. Lugal-ùri and mu-ni-ùri are both found in Fara. 112.  Translation follows Selz, FAOS 15/2, 109, to whose references for sux(MUŠ) add J. Krecher, Šulmu 4 (Poznan, 1993) 194. 113.  See Powell, Or 43 (1974) 309–402, for ùšur = šēʾu, šeʾītu ‘neighbor, secondary wife’. Compare the female counterpart nin-ùšur-ra-nú The Queen Sleeps Among (Her) Neighbors. Other names in this corpus featuring this term include ùšur-ama-ĝu10, ùšur-ra-sa6, ùšur-ré-du10 , and en-ùšur-ré. 114.  The sense of this full name of the Lagash king remains uncertain. The comitative can also indicate an indirect object with emotive verbs like húl ‘to rejoice over’ or ní te ‘to be afraid of’, and so perhaps intended here is a notion such as ‘to be pacified, appeased, regarding An’. Selz has translated ‘Der König, der sich für An nicht beruhigt’, UGASL 24 n. 55, 232 n. 1135. Bauer, OBO 160/1 (1998) 475, prefers the alternative interpretation of huĝ: ‘Ist der König nicht mit An inthronisiert worden?’ Note that Marchesi, LUMMA, 68 n. 319, now reads lugal-diĝir-da without translating. Compare the short name lugal- d en-lílda in this section. 115. Parallel names include dinana/ dnin-ĝír-su/ dutu- anánzu mušen as well as a- anánzu mušen and an é- ánzu mušen. 116. In this name as well as in ama-KISAL-si, en-KISAL-si, and nin-KISAL-šè either kisal or ĝiparx(KISAL) would be possible, depending upon interpretation. See Bauer, AfO 36/37 (1989–90) 80.

Aspects of Name-Giving in Presargonic Lagash lugal-itu-da-tu lugal-kèški lugal-ki-gal-la lugal-lagaski lugal-me-gal-gal lugal-mu-pà lugal- dnanše-mu-tu lugal-pà-da lugal-šà-pà-da lugal-šùd-dè-ba-gub lugal-šùd-du10-ga

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King Reborn Monthly King of Keš King of the Great Place King of Lagash King With Many Great Divine Powers The King Chosen by Name(?) King Whom Nanše Bore Chosen King King Chosen by the Heart The King Stood (Serving) at Prayer 117 King of Pleasing Prayers

Names referring to the king as protector of the individual: lugal-a-ĝu10 lugal-ab-ba-ĝu10 lugal-diĝir-ĝu10 lugal-ĝá-ab-e lugal-ì-kúš lugal-éb-ta-ni-è lugal-igi-tab lugal-lú-ni lugal-lú-ti-ti lugal-ma-túm lugal-mu-da-kúš lugal-mu-šè-ĝál lugal-nì-ĝá-ni lugal-ra-mu-gi4 lugal-šà-lá-tuku

The King is My Father The King is My Elder The King is My (Personal) God 118 I (Will) Speak About My King 119 The King Concerned Himself The King Sent Him Out Here from It The King is (My) Blinkers The King is His Man The King Keeps Persons Alive The King Suits Me The King Concerned Himself with Me The King Made It Be to Me(?) The King Is His Thing He Responded (or Turned Back) to the King The King Has Pity

Names Honoring the City Goddess Baʾu When not used as a writing for later nin9 ‘sister’, nin ‘lady, queen’ as the initial element in personal names seems to refer primarily to the goddess Baʾu, to judge from the nature and exuberance of the sentiments contained in them, although some epithets could as well apply to a different Sumerian goddess. For example, since nin-ĝiskim-ti The Reliable Lady is the name of the queen of Adab, nin there may refer to the patron goddess of that city or the queen herself, 117.  The same structure is seen in the name é-di-dè-ba-gub The Temple Stood By the Verdict/Case. Selz (FAOS 15/2, 383) compares such Ur III short names as lugal-di-dè, niĝir-di-dè, and d utu-di-dè (Limet, L’Anthroponymie, 224). 118.  Compare the corresponding female name pa4-pa4-diĝir-ĝu10 Papa is My Goddess, referring to Queen Baranamtara, the wife of Lugalanda. 119.  For the use of the locative here, see n. 133 concerning parallel nin-ĝá-éb-e with reference to Baʾu. Note that a number of the names in this section in fact have parallel forms referring to Baʾu, for which see the corresponding section below. One should probably draw the conclusion that the king is being invoked as a powerful, god-like protector, although one cannot rule out the possibility that these names refer instead to Baʾu’s consort Ninĝirsu.

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and nin-uru16-šè-nu-kár-kár She Does Not Permit Insults to the Lady of Calm Waters (f.) must refer to Nanše, who is regularly called nin-uru16 in royal inscriptions. Some instances of less exalted descriptions might also refer instead to wives of the rulers of Lagaš, for example, nin-é-galle-si Queen Who Occupies the Palace or nin-ùšur-ra-nú Queen Sleeping Among Neighbors, with its male counterpart lugal-ùšur-ra-nú, but identifying them with any certainty is usually difficult. In ordinary textual contexts the royal wives are normally referred to either by name, by their rare short titles discussed later, or by the term munus The Woman. Except for the three marked as belonging to males, all the following names are borne by women. Names referring to the appearance, attributes or qualities of the goddess: nin-àga-zi Lady With a True Crown The Lady is Exalted nin-al-mah The Lady is Beautiful nin-al-sa6 d ba-ú-al-sa6 Baʾu is Beautiful 120 nin-an-da-ĝál The Lady Being There With An nin-an-né-si Lady Who Fills the Sky d ba-ú-ama-da-rí Baʾu is the Eternal Mother nin-ba-ba Lady Who Does the Allotting nin-bábbar (m.) Bright Lady nin-bára-da-rí Lady With an Everlasting Throne nin-bára-ge Lady Upon the Throne nin-bur-šu-ma Lady Matriarch 121 nin-e-rib-ba-ni-gin7-munus-zi The Lady is a Righteous Woman Like Her Sister-in-law 122 nin-eden-né Lady By the Desert nin-gáeš The Lady is a Trader nin-gal-lam The Lady is Great gal-lam She is Great nin-GÁNA-zi The Lady is a Fertile Field Enduring Lady nin-gi16-sa d ba-ú-gin7-a-ba-sa6 Who is as Beautiful as Baʾu nin-hé-ĝál-sù Lady Full of (or Who Fills With) Abundance nin-hi-li-sù Lady Full of Charm d ba-ú-ig-gal Baʾu is a Big Door Lady Known By the Eye of An nin-igi-an-na-ke4-su nin-igi-du Lady Going at the Fore nin-inim-zi-da Lady of Righteous Words nin-kal-diri Exceedingly Precious Lady 120.  Selz (UGASL 98) translates ‘Baba erweist Gnade’. In addition to these three instances, the stative prefix al- occurs in five other names: al-sa6, al-tuš, diĝir-al-sa6, lugal-al-sa6, šu-ni-al-dugud. Only a few rare examples are to be found in Ur III names, according to Limet (L’Anthroponymie 83), replaced by the neutral prefix ì- as in nin-ì-mah or lugal-ì-ša6. 121.  An epithet of the goddess Nanše in the later Nanše Hymn A 59. This name could therefore refer to Nanše rather than Baʾu. 122.  Baʾu, as the wife of Ninĝirsu, is the sister-in-law of Nanše who is called munus zi in Nanše Hymn A 62/63 and Nanše Hymn C Segment A 17. Baʾu is compared to a munus zi in Gudea Cyl B v 10–11: dba-ú á-mi-ni-šè ĝen-na-né, munus zi é-a-ni-šè šu ĝá-ĝá-dam ‘When Baʾu went to her women’s quarters, she was like a righteous woman about to take charge of her household’.

Aspects of Name-Giving in Presargonic Lagash nin-kara6 nin-kas4-íl-íl nin-lagar nin-lum-ma-ki-áĝ nin-ma-al-ga-sù nin-me-du10-ga nin-me-sikil-an-na nin-me-zi-da nin-nam-tág-nu-tuku nin-nam-mu-šub-e nin-nì-hi-li-túm nin-pà-da nin-ra-a-na-gu-lu5 nin-sa6-ga nin-si-ĝar-ab-ba nin-si-sá nin-šà-sa6-sa6 nin-šer7-zi nin-šu-gi4-gi4 nin-ù-ma nin-ul-gùru

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The Lady is a Grain Store 123 The Lady is a Runner and Bearer The Lady is a Lagar Priestess Lady Loved by Lumma Lady Who Fills With Understanding 124 Lady of Good Divine Powers Lady With the Pure Divine Powers of An Lady With Steadfast Divine Powers The Lady Has No Sin Does the Lady Not Cast It(?) Forth 125 Lady Fit for Charming Things The Chosen Lady What is More Clever Than the Lady Beautiful Lady The Lady is the Bolt of the Sea Just Lady The Lady With a Most Beautiful Heart Brilliant Lady 126 Lady Who Requites Victorious Lady 127 Lady Bearing Flower Buds 128

Baʾu and the palace and temples of Lagaš: nin-é-gal-le-si nin-é-gi6-na/né nin-é-mùš-šè nin-é-ni-šè-nu-kár-kár nin-é-unu ki -ga-nir-ĝál nin-éš-dam-e-ki-áĝ nin-ezem-gal

Lady Who Occupies the Palace Lady In/By Her Dark Temple The Lady To the Emuš Temple Lady Does Not Permit Insults to Her Temple Lady Who is Sovereign in (Her) Uruk Temple 129 Lady Who Loves the Ešdam Shrine Lady of the Great Festival 130

123.  See Marchesi, LUMMA 111 and n. 569, for this reading of GURU7 in the meaning ‘silo, granary’ and references for parallel names such as lum-ma-kara6 and lugal-kara6-gal. In this corpus, note also ur-kara6. 124. Compare dba-ú ma-al-ga sù-ge uru-inim-gi-na-ra ki-gub mu-na-pà mu-bi ‘Baʾu who fills (with) understanding revealed the (cultic) standing-place to Uruinimgina is its name’, Ukg 57, 1–4 (Steible, FAOS 5, Teil I [1982] 357). 125. The name occurs again in OSP 1, 23 iv 7, 37, vii 13 (Sargonic Nippur); compare lugal-nammu-šub-e in 24 iii 2. Both have variant writings: nin-nam-mu-šub-bé, H. Martin et al., The Fara Tablets (Bethesda, 2001) no. 48 i 2, and lugal-nam-mu-šub-bé, NFT p. 263 SR 118 v 3′. If nam-mu- is not a writing for na-mu-, then perhaps a back-formation from, if not the source of, nam-šub ‘incantation’, in which case, translate The Lady Casts the Fates? 126.  See Bauer, ASJ 12 (1990) 354, who cites an Adab parallel nin- šè šer7-zi. 127.  Compare lugal-ù-ma Victorious King in this corpus. 128.  Or Lovable Lady? Compare ul-gùr-ru = minûtu ‘lovable’ OBGT XI v 11 and see Akk. menû. 129.  For this temple of Baʾu and Ninĝirsu in Uruk, see Selz, UGASL 35 and n. 121, Heimpel, JCS 48 (1996) 20, and Sallaberger, Kultische Kalender I, 298. 130. Marchesi, LUMMA 110, posits a value asilalx for EZEM in 3rd-millennium texts, suggesting the translation The Lady is Great Joy and comparing lugal- a asilalx(EZEM) in DP 135 v 13.

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Daniel A. Foxvog nin-ezem-ma-né-ki-áĝ nin-ĝipar x (KISAL)-šè nin-uru-ni-šè-nu-kár-kár

Lady Who Loves Her Festival 131 The Lady To the Gipar The Lady Does Not Permit Insults to Her City

Names referring to Baʾu as protector of the individual: nin-a-su d ba-ú-ama-ĝu10 nin-ama-ĝu10 nin-ama-na nin-bàd-ni-du10 d ba-ú-da-nir-ĝál nin-da-nu-me-a d ba-ú-diĝir-ĝu10 nin-e-an-su nin-e-ki-áĝ nin-ĝá-éb-e nin-ĝu10-da-nu-me-a (m.) nin-hé-gúr-gúr d ba-ú-ì-kúš nin-ì-kúš d ba-ú-ì-su nin-igi-ĝá-téš-bi nin-igi-tab-ĝu10 nin-ka-ĝá-inim-bi nin-lú-ĝu10 d ba-ú-lú-ti nin-lú-ti-ti

The Lady (is a) Physician 132 Baʾu is My Mother The Lady is My Mother The Lady of Her Mother The Lady Whose City Wall is Good Trusting in Baʾu Not Without the Lady Baʾu is My (Personal) Goddess The Lady Knew Him Loved By the Lady I (Will) Speak About My Lady 133 Not Without My Lady May the Lady Watch Over Baʾu Concerned Herself The Lady Concerned Herself Baʾu Knew Him/It The Lady is the Dignity of My Eye The Lady is My Blinkers ‘Lady’ is the Word of My Mouth The Lady is My Person Baʾu Makes a Person Live The Lady Keeps Persons Alive

131.  Certainly meant is the major end-of-year festival and month name called ezem dba-ú, the occasion, depending upon the regnal year, of the 11th or 12th monthly barley ration allotments for the lú ituda ‘monthly persons’ or the fourth barley allotments for the lú šuku dab5-ba ‘persons who take (quarterly) subsistance portions’. See T. Maeda, ASJ 16 (1994) 306. 132.  If the reference is indeed to Baʾu, this might be an early indication of the later syncretism of Baʾu with the healing goddess Gula explicitly stated, for example, in the 1st-millennium Gula Hymn of Bulluṭsarabi 139–48, B. Foster, Before the Muses (Bethesda, 1993) 497. 133.  The use of the locative here is noteworthy. See Attinger, Eléments de linguistique sumérienne (Göttingen, 1993) 247 and 408, for the locative with du11/e in the meaning ‘to speak (apropos) of something’ or rarely ‘to speak to or for something’. Compare Fara nin-ĝá-ab-e and Sargonic and Ur III nin-ĝá-bí-du11 I Spoke About (To?) My Lady. The latter form and several parallels such as diĝir-ĝá-bí-du11, den-líl-lábí-du 11 and an-na-bí-du11 were discussed by Limet, L’Anthroponymie 86, 87, and nn. 1 and 234. Limet assumed that the locative replaced the dative and translated ‘J’ai expliqué à ma Dame (à mon dieu)’, etc., and remarked that “Le locatif qui, théoriquement, ne peut affecter que des mots de la classe des choses, se rencontre néanmoins avec des noms de la classe des personnes en néosumérien. . . . On peut s’étonner que nous n’ayons aucun exemple avec le datif dans les anthroponymes.” Compare Steinkeller, FAOS 17 (1989) 15, who speaks of the “locative-dative -a” which can replace dative -ra in constructions with the verb sa10 in Ur III sale documents. M.-L. Thomsen notes that “From NS on the locative sometimes replaces the dative”; see The Sumerian Language (2nd. ed.; Copenhagen, 1987) 98 for some additional comments.

Aspects of Name-Giving in Presargonic Lagash nin-ma-túm d ba-ú-men-zi-pa4-pa4 nin-mu-da-kúš d ba-ú-mu-tu d ba-ú-na-na nin-nì-ĝá-ni nin-nì-ĝu10 nin-nu-nam-šita nin-ra-mu-gi4 (m.) nin-saĝ-ĝe26-tuku nin-šà-lá-tuku nin-šà-su-ĝu10 d ba-ú-téš-ĝu10 nin-um-me-da nin-úr-ni d ba-ú-utu-ĝu10 d ba-ú-zi-ĝu10

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The Lady Suits Me 134 Baʾu is the True Tiara of Papa (Baranamtara) The Lady Concerned Herself With Me Baʾu Caused Him to Be Born It Really is Baʾu The Lady is Her Thing The Lady is My Thing The Lady is a Person of Entreaty He Responded (or Returned) to The Lady Having the Lady at My Head The Lady Who Has Pity The Lady was My Midwife Baʾu is My Dignity The Lady is a Nurse The Lady’s Lap (is Pleasing) 135 Baʾu is My Sun Baʾu is My Life

It is unclear whether Baʾu, as a source of plenty, is meant in the name of the brewery worker nin-nì-u-ĝu10 ‘My Lady (or Sister?) With Ten Things!’ identified as a literary reference by C. Wilcke apud G. Selz, FAOS 15/2, 234. Compare: ama-ugu-ĝu10 dnin-sún-ra, dumu nì-iá nì-u-ni ĝe26e-me-en ‘For Ninsuna, my birth mother, I am her son with five things, with ten things’ (Šulgi Hymn B 112–113); ama-ĝu10 nì-iá-àm gù hé-em-me, ama-ĝu10 nì-u-àm gù hé-em-me ‘Let my mother (Duttur) call out: Five Things! Let my mother call out: Ten Things!’ (Dumuzi’s Dream 10–11); ama-ĝu10 nì-iá-mu gù hé-em-me, ama-ĝu10 nì-u-mu gù hé-em-me ‘Let my mother (Duttur) call out: My Five Things! Let my mother call out: My Ten Things!’ (Eršemma 88, 49–50); nin9 lú nì-iá ma-ra-de6-a-ĝu10, nin9 lú nì-u ma-ra-de6-a-ĝu10 ‘My sister to whom I have brought five things, my sister to whom I have brought ten things’ (Dumuzi-Inana C 23–24); muss[a nì-iá m]ussa nì-u ‘(You are) the son-in-law with five things, the son-in-law with ten things’ (DumuziInana G 9). On these passages see Y. Sefati, Love Songs in Sumerian Literature (Ramat-Gan, 1998) 84–85 and B. Alster, Mesopotamia 1 (Copenhagen, 1972) 85–87. Though he provided only a few possible Ur III illustrations, H. Limet remarked that “L’anthroponymie sumérienne a d’autre part trouvé une source d’inspiration dans la liturgie, les hymnes, les inscriptions royales.” 136

134. This translation assumes that nin is grammatically a subject rather than an unmarked agent; nin-ma-gub The Lady Stands for Me is likewise also grammatically possible. On the other hand, the Ur III parallels nin-ma-a-túm or dba-ú-ma-a-túm) argue for a translation ‘The Lady Brought Him to Me’ (so Limet, L’Anthroponymie, 309). P. Attinger, Eléments de linguistique, 220, provides other illustrations that show that in Ur III orthography ergative “[n] pouvait disparaître avec allongement compensatoire de la voyelle précédente.” Compare the parallel name lugal-ma-túm above. For a Sargonic example of nin-ma-túm see W. G. Lambert, “An Old Akkadian List of Sumerian Personal Names,” in A Scientific Humanist: Studies in Memory of Abraham Sachs (ed. E. Leichty et al.; Philadelphia, 1988) 253 line 15. 135. See parallel en-úr-ni below, and compare the popular (seven persons) and very abbreviated name úr-ni in this corpus. OAkk and Ur III attest lugal/nin-úr-ra-ni. Limet, L’Anthroponymie, 313–14, assumes an archetypal name of the form *lugal-úr-ra-ni-du10 and compares Ur III úr-ra-ni-du10 and úrni-du10(‑ga). 136.  L’Anthroponymie 91–92.

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Names Honoring Ninĝirsu the God of the Nation In the Lagaš royal inscriptions, Ninĝirsu may be referred to as lugal-ĝu10 ‘my master’, or lugal ki-áĝ-ni ‘his beloved master’, or lugal ba-gára ‘master of the Bagara temple’, for example, but he is relatively rarely called directly lugal ‘king’. Several exceptions are Gudea Cyl A x 13: dninĝír-su lugal išib an-na ‘Ninĝirsu, king, lustration priest of An’, lugal a-ma-ru d en-líl-lá ‘king, flood of Enlil’, or lugal u4 gù-di d en-líl-lá ‘king, noisy storm of Enlil’. Instead, in the royal inscriptions, Ninĝirsu is normally called en ‘lord’. See the several early Lagaš examples cited in Behrens and Steible, FAOS 6 (1983) 110, and compare later Gudea Cyl A i 2, i 18, vii 1, etc. Similarly, in our administrative texts, most of the personal names beginning with the term en appear to be invoking the god Ninĝirsu. 137 The epithets employed in them seem more austere than those seen in names invoking his consort the goddess Baʾu or the earthly king, as perhaps befits a more distant high god of the city and the nation. Note that there are substantially fewer names attested beginning with the god’s name or the term en in comparison with the names invoking the king or Baʾu listed in the previous two sections, and while the common name-type ur- dnin-ĝír-su ranks high in the list of most popular Lagaš personal names, it was a bit less popular than ur- dba-ú. Names referring to Ninĝirsu’s attributes, qualities, or relationships to other gods: en-absu-a-túm en-absu-si en-an-na-túm en-an-né d nin-ĝír-su- (an)ánzu mušen en-dalla en-é-nu[n-né]-si en-eden-né en- d en-líl-le en-èn-tar-zi en-gi16-sa en-ĝišgal-a-túm en-gù-ra-a-né en-hi-li-nu-til

Lord Fit for the Apsu Lord Who Occupies the Apsu Lord Fit for Heaven The Lord by An Ninĝirsu (is) the Anzu Manifest Lord Lord Who Occupies the Princely Temple 138 Lord by the Desert The Lord by Enlil The Righteous Inquiring Lord Enduring Lord Lord Fit for the Pedestal Lord at Whose Roar The Lord With Endless Charm

137.  There are very few possible references to en as a religious title in the é-mí archive and none to the en of a particular deity. If the lugal-šùd-du10-ga, en, of VS 14, 65 ii 8–9, RTC 27 iii 4–5, MAH 15856 iv 2–3 (Genava 26 [1948] 57–59), and DP 519 iii 3–4, is indeed an en rather than the son or employee of an en, with Selz UGASL 35 n. 119 contra J. Bauer, Altsumerische Wirtschaftstexte aus Lagasch (Studia Pohl 9; Rome, 1972) 508, then he has a dual occupation, since there, as in other attestations, he is also a sipa ‘shepherd’. Otherwise, leaving aside the field designation nì-en-na, the term occurs only in the unusual title en kalam-ma of DP 92 v 5 (Enz 4), with which compare the AbS profession [e]n kal[am] of OIP 99, 63:15; in the term é en-na ‘house of the en’ which is a recipient of offerings in DP 54 viii 4, VS 74 vii 6; and probably also in DP 82 v 2–3, where an unnamed gudu4 priest seems to receive an offering sheep for the é en. 138.  The reading é-nun in this hapax name seems preferable to the uncertain term agrun, which refers to the shrine of Ningal in Ur. The moon-god Nanna-Suen and his consort Ningal were apparently not venerated in Presargonic Lagash-Girsu; neither Nanna nor Ningal is attested, and references to Suen are rare. See Selz, UGASL 274–75. P. Michalowski, The Lamentation Over the Destruction of Sumer and Ur (Mesopotamian Civilizations 1; Winona Lake, 1989) 105–6, reads the name of the Ur shrine more cautiously as É.NUN. é-nun occurs again in this corpus in the short name é-nun-né borne by a female weaver and an igi-du8 ‘seer’. En-é-nun-né-si and é-nun-né are of course very similar, and the former might well be the full name underlying the latter, though no prosopographic link between them can be demonstrated.

Aspects of Name-Giving in Presargonic Lagash nin-ĝír-su-ig-gal en-ig-gal d nin-ĝír-su-igi-du en-ki-šár-ra en-ĝiparx(KISAL)-si en-kù-a-rá-nú en-kur-ra-a-rá-nú d nin-ĝír-su-men-zi en-mussa-zi en-mu-du10-ga en- dnanše-ki-áĝ en-še-ku4 en-šu-dadag (var. sikil) en-šu-gi4-gi4 en-mete-na en-šul-túkur en-u4-da-na en-zi(-da) d

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Ninĝirsu is a Big Door The Lord is a Big Door Ninĝirsu Goes at the Fore Lord of the Entire Earth Lord Who Occupies the Gipar Holy Lord Who Sleeps Upon the Way(?) Lord of the Mountains Who Sleeps Upon the Way(?) 139 Ninĝirsu With the Righteous Diadem Lord Righteous Son-in-Law 140 Lord With a Pleasing Name Lord Loved by Nanše Lord Who Brings In the Barley Lord With Pure Hands Lord Who Requites Lord in His Own Right 141 The Lord is an Important Youth Lord In His Storm Righteous Lord

Names referring to Ninĝirsu as protector of the individual: nin-ĝír-su-bàd-ĝu10 di-en-né-mu-ku5 en-da-gal-di en-da-nir-ĝál en-diĝir-ĝu10 en-ĝìri-na-sì en-ku-li d nin-ĝír-su-lú-ĝu10 en-né-a-na-ak en-né-mu-na-áĝ en-ra-gub en-šà-kúš d

Ninĝírsu is My City Wall The Verdict was Rendered by the Lord Excels With (Thanks to) the Lord Trusting in the Lord The Lord is My (Personal) God The Lord Places at His Feet The Lord is Friend Ninĝirsu is My Person What Was Accomplished By the Lord The Lord Measured It Out to Him 142 Serving Before the Lord Lord Who Soothes the Heart

139.  The meaning of a-rá here remains uncertain. Other names featuring this syntagm include: a-ránú He Who Sleeps Upon the Way, ama-bi-a-rá-nú That Mother Who Sleeps Upon the Way, bára-a-rá-nú Ruler Who Sleeps Upon the Way, eden-ba-a-rá-nú He Who Sleeps Upon the Way in That Desert, lugal-ará-nú King Who Sleeps Upon the Way, and mes-a-rá-nú Vigorous Youth Who Sleeps Upon the Way. Compare the also uncertain nin-a-rá-ti Lady Living Upon the Way, saĝ-a-rá-ba-šúm He Hurried Out to the Way, and šà-ge-a-rá-bí-du11 The Heart Spoke Regarding the Way. The term is generally read a-DU without translation; see Bauer, AfO 36–37 (1989–90) 80, who cites Krecher, ZA 63 (1973) 198–99, also Pomponio, SEL 9 (1990) 141 n. 1, and Attinger, Eléments de linguistique, 371. A literal or figurative meaning of the Akk. equivalent alaktu ‘road, way, course; behavior, customary ways’ (CAD) seems most likely. 140. The sky-god An was Baʾu’s father and thus Ninĝirsu’s father-in-law. See Selz, UGASL, 102 and n. 369. 141.  Compare lum-ma-en-mete-na and see Marchesi, LUMMA, 83, for other contexts in which this epithet occurs. 142. Limet, L’Anthroponymie 81, argues that áĝ in Ur III lugal/nin-ĝu10-ma-áĝ is an abbreviation for ki-áĝ. In this corpus, compare nin-ma-da-áĝ, nin-ĝu10-ma-da-áĝ, and dug-ru-ma-da-áĝ, where a presumed ablative -*ta- would seem to exclude an abbreviated -ki-áĝ.

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The Lord’s Lap (is Pleasant) The Lord (Good) to Neighbors (compare ùšur-ré-du10) Ninĝirsu is My Dignity The Lord is My Sun

Reduplicated Names For general remarks on reduplicated names, see Limet, L’Anthroponymie, 99–106, B. Foster, Or 51 (1982) 302–303, and Edzard, RlA 9.1–2 (1998) 96 §3.2. Forms of the types AA and ABB can be found in this corpus. Examples of the first type may include: da-da, du-du, dun-dun, dur-dur, me-me (f.), na-na (f.), pa4-pa4 (f.), Ú-Ú, um-um, ur-ur, ze-ze. Two possible examples of type ABB are: ad-da-da and ag-ga-ga. Baranamtara, the wife of Lugalanda, possessed a short name or title pa4-pa4 (var. pa4-pa4a in TSA 10 vii 11), and 13 women had pa4-pa4 as a component of their names. 143 Likewise, Sasa, the wife of Uruinimgina the succeeding king, may have been referred to as me-me, based on DP 70 rev. ii 1 and parallel references to the ĝanun pa4-pa4 and ĝanun me-me in DP 503 i 4 and ii 3. Their predecessor Dimtur, the wife of Enentarzi, likewise had a name or title NI-a-a which appears in the name NI-a-a-ama-da-rí Niʾaʾa is the Eternal Mother, used by three different men, and in the female name NI-a-a-ama-ĝu10 Niʾaʾa is My Mother. 144 All three of these short names defy confident translation.

Non-Sumerian Names As J. Bauer has remarked: “Die Suche nach elamischen PN in den as. Urkunden aus Girsu ist enttäuschend.” In addition to the names he has suggested, 145 namely ha-ne and mi-DU from Nik I 11 and bu-da-ši-ir, ka-ka-rí-tah, lú-ta-li, LAK 497-na-gir and PI-en-x from Nik I 310, other names identified in texts by the term elam that are at least possibly neither Sumerian nor Semitic include ab-ba, al-la, ha-ba-ra-du-ne, KA-za, KUM-tuš-šè and ra-bí. Further, DP 339 lists igi-nu-du8 ‘blind’ agricultural workers described as dumu uru-az ki -ka-me ‘citizens of Bear City’, a town thought to be Elamite, thus possibly blinded Elamite prisoners of war. Names in that text that are not necessarily either Sumerian or Semitic include: ab-um-BALAG, BU-su-e, gal-BALAG, KAM-ba-e, ku-ku, and PUZUR4-ma-DÙL. The “banana” name zi-li-li (with a short name variant zi-li) may also be Elamite, according to R. Zadok, SEL 8 (1990) 232. See Selz UGASL 294 n. 17 for a list of ca. 33 likely Semitic names found in this corpus, to which might be added: HAR-TU, 146 da-du-lu5, EN-kí-num, ìl-su13-ibni (DÙ), 147 im-ni, 148 im-ni-i, la-la, 143.  For the possible meaning of this term and a complete listing of these names, see Selz, UGASL 272–73. See also Marchesi, LUMMA, 68 n. 319, who reads the queen’s name as Paranamtarra, for further discussion and references . 144.  See discussion by Selz, UGASL, 212 145.  AfO 36/37 (1989–90) 82. 146.  Generally read àr-dú but as a personal name at least, Krebernik (OBO 161/1 [1998] 263 n. 267) suggests: “vielleicht warx-tu zu lesen und als Lehnwort aus akk. zu erklären,” noting that a value /war/ for HAR exists at Ebla. 147.  Reading uncertain, one of the the female(!) saĝ sa10-a ‘purchased slaves’ serving as weavers in HSS 3, 23 viii 8. 148.  Perhaps from Akk. menû ‘to love, become fond of’ (CAD). Compare Ur III Im-ni-dAdad, Adad Became Fond (of Me), Ma-ni-dAdad Loved By Adad, etc., I. Gelb, MAD 3 (1957) 179.

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LUGAL-bí-nu-um, su4-SAR, ŠUL-bí-nu-um, and zi-la-la. Note that the a-lum-dan of DP 116 v 17 is the same person as the ì-lum-dan of DP 117 v 12 and five other parallel ration texts. That the a-lum-BA of DP 116 v 1 and four other texts and lum-BA of DP 117 v 5 and Nik I 20 v 6 are likewise the same person also presents a problem. 149

Name Changes Thanks to the carefully detailed nature of various series of monthly ration-lists and other accounts in which the work-lives of individuals can be followed over a number of years, it can be shown approximately when—though rarely why—a few persons made certain generally minor changes to their names. The dating of the attestations of each pair of names in the following examples is by regnal year and monthly ration period where pertinent. While the prosopographic link is not completely secure, it is likely that the female servant known as dba-ú-al-sa6 Baʾu is Beautiful in Ukg 1–2 (DP 133 iv 8) became the virtually synonymous nin-al-sa6 The Lady is Beautiful by Ukg 2/8 (DP 113 viii 13) and remained so through Ukg 6/12. En-šu-dadag Lord With Clean Hands from Enz 2 to early Lug 1 (DP 615 iii 4) became en-šugi4-gi4 The Lord is One Who Requites sometime in Lug 1 (DP 657 i 2), possibly celebrating his having newly become chief oil maker (ka-šakan) at the beginning of Lugalanda’s reign. This second name was used at least until Lug 4 (VS 14, 173 i 5), alongside the short name en-šu as late as Lug 6, though apparently this person was also once mistakenly called en-šu-sikil Lord With Pure Hands in Lug 2 (DP 622 iii 2). The worker known as géme- dlamma in Ukg 4 (Nik I 15 i 2) used the variant form of the name gan- dlamma from Ukg 5/3 through Ukg 6/9 (VS 25, 69 i 9). The potter known as KASKAL.LA.NI from Ukg 2 through Ukg 4/6 (Nik I 2 xiii 13) became KASKAL.GA.NI in Ukg 4/7 (TSA 15 xiv 20) and thereafter. The fisherman known as lugal-ka-gi-na King of the True Mouth from Ukg 3 to Ukg 4 (HSS 3, 28 v 1) adopted the more flattering name lugal-ka-ge-du10 150 (The Word) ‘King’ is Sweet to the Mouth sometime in Ukg 4 (TSA 47 ii 4). The surveyor of Ninĝirsu called lugal-šà-lá-tuku The King Has Mercy from Lug 2 to Lug 5 (DP 59 ix 13) became lugal-šà-sù in Lug 6 (RTC 44 v 6), a name of perhaps calculated ambiguity: The King with a Far-Reaching Heart (sud), or The King Fills the Belly (sug4), or even The King is Emptiness/Hunger (šà-sug4). It is almost certain that the net-casting sea-fisherman lugal-tigix-ni-du10 The King Whose Praise Hymns are Sweet of Enz 2 (DP 283 iv 3) became lugal-tigix-mete King With Fitting Praise Hymns by Lug 2 (DP 278 iv 2), with a short name lugal-tigix attested once in Lug 1 (DP 191 ix 2). A subtle play on words possibly reflecting a change in work status might be seen in case of the female barber of the household of prince Aʾenekiʾaĝ, who was known as ninigi-ĝá-téš-ĝu10 The Lady (Mistress?) In Front of Me is My Dignity through Ukg 3/5 (HSS 3, 26 ix 8), but became nin-igi-ĝá-téš-bi The Lady (Baʾu) is the Dignity of My Eye by Ukg 3/9 (FAOS 15/2 No. 124 viii 12). The female brewery worker nin-mu-da-kúš The Lady Concerned Herself With Me of Ukg 1 (DCS 4 r. v 4′, HSS 20 r. i 7) became nin-uru-da-kúš The Lady Concerns Herself With the City by Ukg 2/9 (HSS 3, 21 xi 18). Since no difference whatsoever in her employment 149.  Marchesi (LUMMA 88–89) interprets this name as ʾālum-yiqīš ‘The City Has Donated(?)’, comparing ì-lum-BA in OSP 1, 23 xiv 3. See Bauer in RlA 7.3–4 (1988) 168–69 s.v. “LUM-ma” §1.1 and 1.4 who compares the An:Anum synonym list alternation dlum-ba : ma from CT 25, 28 b 3. 150.  A double adjective can not be ruled out entirely, lugal-ka-gi-du10 King With a Good True Mouth, but compare mu-ka-ge-du10 Name Sweet to the Mouth in Nik I 38 iii 4. For the reading ka-ge rather than the grammatically unsupportable earlier reading du11-ge in these names or in Ur III names such as mu/ lugal/nin-ka-ge-du7  , see Attinger, Eléments de linguistique, 371.

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is recorded between the two dates, perhaps the change reflected some unhappiness in her personal life. The female porter known as nin-ses-da The Sister (. . .) With the Brother from Lug 6 through Ukg 3/6 (CT 50, 36 iv 17) became nin-ses-ra-ki-áĝ The Sister Loves the Brother in Ukg 3/10 (HSS 3, 17 iv 18). The chief plowman known as ses-lú-du10 The Brother is a Good Person from Ukg 3 through Ukg 4/4 (Nik I 16 v 4) became a-lú-du10 The Father is a Good Person by Ukg 4/7 (DP 116 vi 2), perhaps indicating either the birth of a brother’s child or some friction between two brothers. If two separate princes are not involved, the son of Uruinimgina known as a-enra-mu-gi4 from Ukg 2 to Ukg 3/5 became a-en-né-ki-áĝ from Ukg 3/9 to Ukg 6. The situation is complicated by the appearance of another prince’s name a-en-ra-gub in Ukg 2–3, which Selz has suggested may a Nebenform of a-en-ra-mu-gi4. 151 Finally, four women had pa4-pa4, a short, possibly caritative name or title of Lugalanda’s queen Baranamtara (or Paranamtara), as the initial element of their names in the last year of that king’s reign through the first (énsi) year of his successor Uruinimgina. They then removed pa4‑pa4 from their names in view of the arrival of the new queen Sasa. Pa4-pa4-diĝir-ĝu10 Papa is My Goddess became dba-ú-diĝir-ĝu10 Baʾu is My Goddess, pa4-pa4- dba-ú-mu-tu Baʾu Caused Papa To Be Born became just dba-ú-mu-tu Baʾu Caused Her To Be Born, pa4-pa4-dinana-dagal-di Papa Excels With (Thanks to) Inana became just dinana-da-gal-di She Excels With Inana, and the pa4-pa4-ama-da-rí Papa is the Eternal Mother of Lug 6/9 through Ukg e 1 went a step further and in Ukg e 1/5 became NI-a-a-ama-da-rí, replacing the title pa4-pa4 of the old queen with the short name or title of the new queen Sasa.

Grammatical Variants Several kinds of grammatical variation are seen in these texts, doubtless attributable in large part to orthographic practice. Among the simplest is presence or absence of the nominalizing suffix -a on adjectives or participles. Attested variants of the same person’s name include: a‑gúb(‑ba)-ni-du10, diĝir-kal(-ga), kù-ge-pà(-da), lú-nì-bàra(-ga), lugal-šùd-du10(-ga), nin-inim-zi(-da), nin-me-zi(-da), nin-pà(-da), and saĝ-háb(-ba). Genitive -ak is typically, though not always, omitted on alone-standing names. 152 Names with at least one variant that shows the genitive include: amar-gírid ki (-da), amar- d nám-nun(-na), amar-NI-lam(-ma), gan-ki-kù(-ga), inim- den-líl(-lá)-an-dab5, ur-har(-ra), ur-i7(-da), urd kù- sù sugx(PA.SIKIL)(-ga), ur- dnám-nun(-na), ur- dnin-dar(-a), ur- dnin-mar ki (-ra), ur-silasír-sír(-ra). Conversely, contrast the writing ur- d-šèšer7 twice in DP 614 i 3/ii 3 (Enz 3) with the 98 later instances of the plene writing of the name of the foreman ur- d-šèšer7-da Dog of the Dawn Goddess in texts from Lug and Ukg. 153 The postposition -e is slightly more often present than absent in name variants such as: ambar(-ré)-si, ĝišgal(-le)-si, lugal-surx(ERIM)(-ré)-ki-áĝ, lugal-šùd(-dè), me-kisal(-le), nam-nin(-e)-an-na-gúr-gúr, nin-éš-dam(-me)-ki-áĝ, sipa-lagas ki(-e)-ki-áĝ, tir-kù(-ge)-si. 151.  FAOS 15/2 (1993) 712. 152.  Edzard observes: “Die für das Sumerische im Prinzip verbindlichen morpho-syntaktischen Regeln werden im PN teilweise außer Kraft gesetzt. Betroffen sind hier vor allem die Genitivzusammensetzungen, bei denen die Anzahl der Genitivmorpheme (-ak-) gegenüber der Norm reduziert sein kann. . . . Diese Erscheinung ist so häufig, daß man sie kaum nur der Nachlässigkeit einzelner Schreiber anlasten darf” (RlA 9.1–2:96 [1998]). 153.  See Powell, “Aia ≈ Eos” in Dumu-e2-dub-ba-a: Studies in Honor of Åke W. Sjöberg (ed. H. Behrens et al.; Philadelphia, 1989) 448 n. 6, on the short form of the divine name, a loan /šerd/ from Akk. šērtu ‘morning’. Šerd(a) was the consort of Utu the sun god.

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Locative -a is absent in two out of seven writings of the name of the orchardman lugal-ùšur(-ra)-nú. Four names that usually feature non-finite participles each have single variants made finite with a prefix ì-: uru-inim-gi-na- d en-líl-le(-ì)-su, uru-inim-gi-na- dnanše(-ì)-su, uru-inimgi-na- dnin-ĝír-su-ke4(-ì)-su, and šul- den-líl-le(-ì)-su. The first three persons always occur together and are doubtless related. The difference in meaning ì- conveys is minimal but not completely insignificant, approximately: ‘Uruinimgina Was (Once) Known by DN’ vs. ‘Uruinimgina Whom DN Knows’. 154 One name shows a variant that explicitly marks an object with infixed -b- in a finite imperfective verb: a-ba-sá-ì-bé Who is (His) Equal I(?) Say 155 (DP 195 iv′ 1′) for a-ba-sá-ì-e (2 instances). One name shows a variant of the comitative infix: a-ba-mu-dì-ni-e Who Speaks With Me About Him(?) (VS 25, 89 iv 7) for a-ba-mu-da-ni-e (4 instances).

Orthographic Variants Syllabically written variants include: a-gi16-sa (HSS 3, 21 xi 5) for ʾà-gi16-sa, a-ša4-né for aš10a-né (and aš10-ša4-né), lugal-mè-tur-šè-nu-šeg12(SIG4)-ge (4 instances) for lugal-mè-tur-šènu-še-ge (1 instance), 156 ur-é-muš for ur-é-mùš, and ze-na for zex(ÁB.ŠÀ.GE)-na. 157 A gunû variation is seen in šeg12-ĝá-na-gi (CT 50, 33 vii 10, DP 112 ix 9, TSA 10 viii 7) for šeg12-ĝá-na-gi4. A šeššig by-form da x (Á)-na appears instead of da-na in Nik I 6 iii 13 (clear in photo). Signs whose writing is in flux include variants pú and pu6 in pú-saĝ and ur-pú-saĝ; pù and pu11(Ú) in pùza; tílla and tillax(NAB) in gan-tílla, géme-tílla and tílla-ig-gal; the variants of NAR (see RSP 468, 468bis and 468ter); the variants of the URI/kínda complex of signs (see RSP 379, 380 and 380bis); and ušur4 for ùšur in, for example, DP 112 x 4 or DCS 3 rev. ii 4, as well as the variant intermediate between the two seen, for example, in DP 129 rev. ii 7. Other alternate writings include: anachronistic lugal-id5(A)-mah for lugal-i  7-mah in DP 136 iv 5 and um-mi for um-me in DP 160 ii 8. The significance of sux(MUŠ) in the names lugal-uš-sux and nin-uš-sux remains elusive. 158 Non-significant gemination of consonants in the same person’s name is seen in: e-ba-an-ni for e-ba-ni, lugal-ĝá-ab-bé for lugal-ĝá-ab-e, mu-na-tam-me for mu-na-tam-e, and ninéš-dam-me-ki-áĝ and nin-éš-dam-me-e-ki-áĝ for nin-éš-dam-e-ki-áĝ. Loss of /n/ is seen in en-e-tar-zi for en-èn-tar-zi the king in DP 39 ii 4 and the letter FAOS 19, asGir 1 i 4 (CIRPL p. 46). Compare absence of copular /m/ in ĝá-ka-na-hé-ti (CT 50, 33 x 9 and DP 230 obv. vi′ 3) for ĝá-ka-nam-hé-ti (DP 112 viii 20 and seven other instances).

154.  Compare B. Foster’s contrast between Sargonic names of the type DN-šag5 vs. DN-ì-šag5: “it is hard to see a difference in meaning, unless ì-šag5 refers to a specific good deed (birth of a child) whereas šag5 is a general qualification” (   JAOS 115 [1995] 538). 155.  B. Jagersma, AfO 42/43 (1995–96) 223, reads a-ba-di-i-e/bé and translates “Who will pronouce judgement?” 156.  Selz finds in this alternation of še and SIG4 instead an example of “alte Übergänge š > s” as in the writing lagaš ki-sa of DP 43 i 11; see “Nissaba(k), ‘Die Herrin der Getreidezuteilungen’ ” in Dumu-e2-dub-ba-a, 492 n. 6. 157.  On the other hand, a reading mí-sàg-nu-di for me-sàg-nu-di in DP 135 i 11 which, according to Krebernik, AOAT 296 (2002) 14 n. 43, proves the existence of a Presargonic sign value mí, is slightly suspect and needs collating. 158.  See Bauer, ZA 79 (1989) 9.

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Determinatives other than those for deities (dDN) and places (GNki) are rare in personal names, and even then they are often omitted: for example, en-ki-téš-ĝu10 or ur-igi-ama-šè. Two names feature a wood determinative: ĝiš ban Bow and ĝiš ti-absu Arrow of the Apsu. A phonetic complement a is seen once on pa4-pa4a -diĝir-ĝu10 in TSA 10 vii 11 and also possibly on lugala asilal x (EZEM) in DP 135 v 13 (so Marchesi, LUMMA, 110). An apparent phonetic complement gal precedes the name ĝišgal-si in MAH 15855 iv 3 (Genava 26, 67 No. 1); all other attestions omit it. Since a reading galgàl-si seems unlikely, the complement either refers to the second syllable of ĝišgal or is an unerased error anticipating the gal-ùĝ in the next line. Compare é‑ memete, either a unique variant (VS 14, 183 iii 2) of the well-attested name é-mete, or more likely an unerased lapsus calami.

Significant Errors Producing often quite lengthy and detailed personnel lists must have been exacting work, and it is natural that some scribal errors more significant than the usual sorts of careless mistakes can be found among these names. An apparent grammatical error is nam-uru-ni-šè (1 instance) instead of nam-uru-na-šè (15 instances). Near-synonym replacements include ur- dba-ú for lúd ba-ú in DP 115 i 12 159 and perhaps ur-bára-ru-a for ur-bára-si-ga in TSA 47 i 2. A personal pronoun was incorrectly added in nin-uru16-ni-šè-nu-kár-kár for nin-uru16-šè-nu-kár-kár in Nik I 2 xi 5 and repeatedly in nin-uru-ni-šè-nu-kár-kár for nin-uru-šè-nu-kár-kár in DP 113 iv 1, DP 114 iv 1 and iv 10. 160 A personal pronoun was deleted in nin-ma-da-áĝ in Nik I 45 i 4, which is an error for nin-ĝu10-ma-da-áĝ. More serious lapses are en-ku4 for en-kù the porter in VS 25, 71 v 4, géme-é-dam for géme-é-zi-da in VS 25, 69 iii 10, lú-éš-gíd for lú-gíd in DP 171 ii 8, lugal-an-da-nu-me-a for lugal-da-nu-me-a in VS 27, 4 iii 1, nam-šita-ĝu10-bí-di for nam-šita-ĝu10-bí-du11 in HSS 3, 15 vii 15, niĝir-èš-ma-túm for niĝir-èš-a-túm in DP 177 iv 6, nin-bi-a-rá-nú for ama-bi-a-rá-nú in TSA 10 i 10, sig4-bé-gi4 for sig4-ki-bé-gi4 in DP 59 ii 2, ses-a-ĝu10 for dam-a-ĝu10 in Nik 1, xv 11, and ùšur-ra-nú for ùšur-ra-sa6 in VS 25, 14 rev. ii 3. A minor lapse was saĝĝa(SANGA)-ĝá-tuku-a for saĝ-ĝá-tuku-a in RTC 68 ii 5. The names saĝ-ĝá-tuku-a Taken By/At My Head and saĝ-ĝu10-ab-tuku I was Taken By/At My Head were virtually synonymous and easily confused. 161 The very frequently attested head plowman saĝ-ĝá-tuku-a was twice called saĝ-ĝu10-ab-tuku (HSS 3, 8 v 9 and 11 v 7) and once called saĝ-ĝá-ab-tuku (RTC 74 v 2), while the barber saĝ-ĝu10-ab-tuku was once called saĝ-ĝátuku-a (HSS 3, 26 v 12). Standard epithets were often confused. The donkey-team shepherd lugal-diĝir-ĝu10 of DP 119 i 8 (Ukg 2/4) or HSS 3, 26 (Ukg 3/5) was twice called lugal-a-ĝu10 in the successive ration lists BIN 8, 359 i 12 (Ukg 2/10) and HSS 3, 25 i 12 (Ukg 2/11)—probably a harried scribe merely 159.  Such a juxtaposition of ur-DN and lú-DN names led Limet to prefer the translation “homme” for ur in this context (L’Anthroponymie 65). 160.  Uru (iri) and uru16 certainly look like graphic variants in the same basic name, but the spellings are kept carefully distinct for the two pairs of women who bear these two names. Compare Nik I 2 iii 15 and iv 7 versus xi 5. 161.  According to Selz (FAOS 15/2, 205): “Beides scheinen nur Spielformen ein und desselben Namens zu sein.” The name may be the expression of a religious sentiment. Compare the OB Uruk Lament H 36–37: d lamma ĝá-la nu-dag-ge saĝ-ĝá-na tuku-bí-íb, nam-tar-ra-né inim?-zi du11-ga-a-ba ‘O ceaseless guardian angel, take that one by his head, say a good word for his fate!’ Any connection with saĝ-tuku = ašarēdu ‘foremost’ seems grammatically impossible.

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copying a previous error, since the correct name reappears again in later parallel lists. The female servant of queen Dimtur dba-ú-ama-ĝu10 of DP 110 v 4 and DP 176 rev. i 2 is called dba-ú-téš-ĝu10 in DP 111 iii 7. The cupbearer dnin-ĝír-su-téš-ĝu10 of DP 115 vii 10 or HSS 3, 18 v 11 is called d nin-ĝír-su-lú-ĝu10 in DP 114 vii 14, and the female porter nin-téš-ĝu10 of MVN 3, v 8 is called nin-diĝir-ĝu10 in DP 228 iv 9. The female wool-worker known as dam-téš-ĝu10 in Ukg 4 (Nik I 6 iv 19 and BIN 08, 344 iv 17) became nin-téš-ĝu10 in Ukg 5 (TSA 12 iv 17 and HSS 3, 22 iv 17), only to re-emerge as dam-téš-ĝu10 in Ukg 6 (VS 25, 69 iv 8 and HSS 23 i 7). While a temporary name-change cannot be ruled out, especially since nin ‘lady’ and dam ‘spouse’ both probably invoke the goddess Baʾu, a scribal copy error is possible. Finally, the shepherd lugal-mè-tur-šè-nu-še/šeg12-ge of, for example, VAT 4459 ii 3 (Or SP 20, 28) had a short name written lugal-me which can be seen in RTC 27 ii 2. The scribe writing MAH 15856 (Genava 26, 70 No. 7) created an erroneous full name lugal-me-gal-gal for this person in ii 5, probably based on prior knowledge only of the short name. VAT 4459 and MAH 15856 are similar in structure and content and all three texts probably date to Lug 4. The same cause may lie behind a similar error in BIN 8, 381 iii 2, where the donkey shepherd šul- den-líl-le-su of DP 114 xiii 13 is called šul- den-líl-le-ki-áĝ, the name of a lú-é-šà-ga ‘man of the inner chamber’ who is more often known by his short name šul- den-líl-le as in the same text DP 114 viii 8. Another dozen such errors could be adduced, but the above are representative of the types encountered among the personal names in this corpus.

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“Sweet Psalmist of Israel”: The Kinnôr and Royal Ideology in the United Monarchy John Curtis Franklin University of Vermont

I am very happy to offer this paper in tribute to Anne Kilmer—the Fairy Godmother of Ancient Near Eastern music. Her work on the cuneiform musical texts—a brilliant series of philological insights, which she once referred to (both modestly and exactly) as “almost uncanny”—led to the resurrection of a classical Mesopotamian tonal system and a complete reorientation of ancient musicology. 1 Music has remained central to her own research, and she has encouraged many others in this direction. I will always be grateful to her for promptly responding to my somewhat groping inquiry about the Akkadian word pitnu; inviting me to visit Berkeley, she patiently helped me ponder a possible semantic connection with Greek harmonia (both are carpentry terms applied metaphorically to “tonal construction,” for which see Franklin 2002: 67). From then on, she offered endless personal and professional encouragement and support—too many occasions to list here. I am proud to call her my friend and hope she will enjoy seeing her influence in this paper.

The Musical Apparatus of David and Solomon The Bible and Josephus offer detailed descriptions of musical organization under David (ca. 1005–965) and Solomon (ca. 968–28). 2 These have been considered anachronistic, a retrojection of the Second Temple’s sophisticated musical arrangements back into the golden age of the First Temple. 3 Certainly, some statements in the Chronicler and Josephus are likely to be mythologized exaggeration. Yet, comparative material for the royal management of official music-making in the Near East strongly suggests that traditions about the First Temple were built on a solid historical core. 4 The pre-biblical evidence for the knr within the West Semitic world and its periphery confirms the Bible’s own representation of the instrument as very ancient and widespread, with 1.  Kilmer 1971. Abbreviations of Greek and Roman authors are those of the Oxford Classical Dictionary, 3rd ed., when possible (except that Josephus, Antiquitates Judaicae = Ant.); otherwise, Greek authors are abbreviated according to Liddell/Scott/Jones (eds.), A Greek-English Lexicon, 9th ed. (Oxford, 1940), or not abbreviated. Others are found in Dietrich et al. 1995. 2.  1 Chr 6:1–32 and 25:1–31; see Josephus Ant. 8.94.1–5 §3.7; 8.176.4–6 §7.1. See, generally, Engel 1870: 277–365; Behn 1954: 53–62; Kraeling and Mowry 1957; Wegner 1950: 38–44; North 1964; Sendrey 1969; Sendrey 1974: 98–103; Polin 1974: 49–76 passim; Braun 2002. 3.  Kraeling and Mowry 1957; Weitzman 1997: 101–2. 4.  Franklin 2007.

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the figure of Jubal implying that it was cultivated by professional groups dedicated to temple service—and other musicians too, of course—from time out of mind. 5 The Ugaritic material especially prompts several biblical parallels. The organization of that city’s “guilds” exhibits structural sympathies with those of David (discussed further below). The semi-titular nʿm is applied to royal and cultic singers in the Ugaritic texts; a cognate appears in connection with David himself—an appropriate designation both for Saul’s lyre-playing favorite and for David’s later role, when king, of praise-singer for Yahweh himself (see further below). 6 The tradition of women’s victory singing, well attested in the Bible, probably also reflects a more widespread practice in the region. 7 These points alone already justify the view that the United Monarchy’s musical apparatus grew organically out of a larger cultural matrix, rooted in the palace-temple complexes of the Late Bronze Age. 8 Indeed, it is at just this time that Jewish society—at least the higher tier conspicuous in the biblical narrative—most closely resembles that of other Near Eastern states. The matter is put expressly thus when the Israelites are portrayed as importuning Samuel for a king: “That we also may be like other nations.” 9 A king who aspired to be a respected player on the international scene required a royal apparatus equal to that of his rivals, complete with palace, temple, and all the specialized artisans and functionaries needed to build and staff them. Conversely, the fall of Jerusalem at the hands of Nebuchadnezzar in 586 meant the dismantling of these same institutions. 10 The cosmopolitan standards of royal ideology and cultural attainment that David, Solomon, and their successors strove to emulate can be traced back in part ultimately to the last centuries of the 3rd millennium, when the dynasties of Akkad and Ur III established perennial models of kingship and empire. It is symptomatic that the Hebrew words for “palace/temple, throne,” and “scribe” are all ultimately Sumerian in origin. 11 Solomon, especially, appears as a typical Near Eastern monarch. The wide array of precious gifts he gave and received indicates his full membership in a Club of Powers. 12 It was largely through such exchanges that he built the First Temple in Jerusalem. Hiram of Tyre gave both materials and labor for the time-consuming project, which lasted a conventional seven years; in return, Solomon sent annual consignments of grain and oil, payment for the workers, and “twenty cities in the land of Galilee.” 13 At this point in history, the use of Lebanese cedars must have been de rigueur, their acquisition by conquest or exchange virtually a royal rite-of-passage. 14 Clearly, the temple was a cosmopolitan construction to rival other royal cult centers.

5.  Gen 4:21; see Franklin 2007: 36. 6.  See Koitabashi 1996: 223–24; Tsumura 1973: 189–90. 7.  Exod 15:20; Judg 5 (Song of Deborah) and 11:34; 1 Sam 18:6; Jer 31:4. See Poethig 1985 passim; Meyers 1991: especially 21–27, elucidating a Canaanite tradition of terracotta figurines of women framedrum players; well represented on Cyprus following the period of Phoenician colonization (see Poethig 1985: 33–35). One may also note the “tympanon” that is a regular attribute of the Anatolian goddess Cybele. Its presence in the iconography of Atargatis, the “Syrian Goddess” of Hierapolis, is due, according to Lightfoot (2003: 19, 21, 29–30, 32) to the influence of Cybele in her Hellenized representation. 8.  Albright 1956: 125–29; Levine 1963b: 211–12; Tsumura 1973: 176–78. 9.  1 Sam 8:20; see also v. 5. 10.  2 Kgs 24:13–25:21. 11.  See Ellenbogen 1962: 67, 78–79, 89; Metzger and Coogan 1993, s.v. “Temple;” Dalley et al. 1998: 61. 12.  1 Kgs 10:11–25. For the dynamics of royal gift exchange, see generally Liverani 1990. 13.  1 Kgs 6:37–38; 9:11. 14.  1 Kgs 5, with cedars at 6–10, 18 (acquired through gift exchange); 6:15–16; 7:2; 9:10–14; see 2 Sam 7:7; 1 Chr 17:6; 22:4 (David’s provision for “cedar logs without number” acquired from the Sidonians and

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Solomon’s splendid qualities, enumerated in 1 Kings 4, are strikingly reminiscent of Shulgi’s self-portraits. 15 The passage is effectively a completed checklist in the application for Great Kingship. A roster of subordinate kings and princes demonstrates his imperial status, while his occupation of an “imperial” center of the world is established by the claim that all the world’s kings came to hear his wisdom, which excelled that of “all the children of the east country, and all the wisdom of Egypt.” 16 He was indeed “wiser than all men.” And more musical. Like Shulgi, he is said to have exceeded his own seers, singers, and priests. He coined three thousand proverbs, composed fifteen hundred songs, and discoursed endlessly on botanical, zoological, and geographical matters, answering the “hard questions” of the Queen of Sheba. 17 His range of learning, as S. Dalley has noted, “echoes mainstream Babylonian texts studied by scribes in Mesopotamia and beyond.” 18 The catalogue of Solomon’s achievements, though incredible for a single man, becomes perfectly believable as symbolizing the combined cultural achievements of his reign. In this especially, Solomon follows closely in Shulgi’s footsteps and provides an important parallel for the similar achievements of Kinyras. 19 Solomon’s “harem” is also very revealing. 20 His seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines must be excessive. But they are not unthinkably gross. The reported origins of these women—Egypt, Moab, Ammon, Edom, Sidon, and Hatti—seem a quite realistic reflection of Solomon’s political and diplomatic reach: extensive but not unlimited, historical confidence is inspired by their modesty. The evidence from Mari, Nuzi, and elsewhere confirms that such “collections” were actively developed; the geographical reach of Mari’s musiciennes was comparable to Solomon’s. 21 Moreover the Mari “letters” show that the harem was an important locus of cosmopolitan musicality: anything foreign or exotic was carefully recorded, as though essential to an accurate inventory. 22 The cultural influence of such royal women also extended to the religious sphere when they imported native deities to their new home. One may compare the Hittite kings’ wholesale adoption of Hurrian and other gods, both from foreign wives and conquered peoples. This phenomenon has potential musical importance, because these deities may have been accompanied by the appropriate cult personnel and ritual repertoire. Solomon is said to have built cult-places for all (!) his wives’ gods including, famously, the Astarte (Ashtoreth) of Sidon. 23 It was this datum that prompted S. N. Kramer’s hypothesis that the Song of Songs was in fact a sort of sacred marriage text deriving from this cult. 24 A major state needed a system for the training and management of musicians. Traditionally, this was inaugurated by David to accompany the Ark’s removal to Jerusalem and was perpetuated in service before the Tabernacle at its new home. 25 The “singers” were divided into families Tyrians). Cedars in the palace of David: 2 Sam 7:2; 1 Chr 17:1; palace of Solomon: 1 Kgs 7: 2–3, 11–12. Cedars from Lebanon, paid for by Cyrus the Great, were also used for the Second Temple: Ezra 3:7; 6:4. 15.  Kramer 1991. 16.  1 Kgs 4:30; see 10:23. 17. 1 Kgs 4:31–33; 10:1–3. In later tradition, the Song of Songs, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and many psalms were attributed to Solomon. See Kramer 1991: 193. 18.  Dalley et al. 1998: 74. 19.  See, for now, Franklin 2006. 20.  1 Kgs 11:1–3. 21.  For the ideology, see especially Ziegler 1999b. 22.  See Ziegler 1999a passim; Franklin 2007: 31–33. 23.  1 Kgs 11:4–8. 24.  Kramer 1963; against this, see recently Westenholz 1995. 25.  2 Sam 6:5; 15; 1 Chr 6:1–32; 15:16–24; 28; 25:1–31; 2 Chr 7:6; see Josephus, Ant. 8.94.1–5 §3.7, 8.176.4–6 §7.1; Zonarus, Epitome Historiarum 1.116.3 (Dindorf). The whole matter is well discussed by

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that specialized in specific instruments: the major groups were strings (kinnôr, nēbel), cymbals (mĕṣiltayīm) and trumpets (šôfār). 26 One recalls the designation of Ugaritic guilds, including perhaps singers, as “sons of” (bn), and the Bible’s representation of Jubal as an ultimate musical ancestor of kinnôr-players. 27 The managerial structure of the First Temple along quasi-hereditary lines is reflected in the traditional attribution of certain psalms to the “sons of Korah,” where Korah’s relative obscurity in the Bible itself tends to support the attribution. 28 The later belief that the psalms were produced during the monarchic period is doubtless true for individual songs, if not the whole corpus. The attribution of some to David himself, as well as to Solomon and Asaph, cannot be verified of course. But it has at least important symbolic value. David was also remembered as building instruments and instructing the Levites in their use. 29 One recalls the royal order for instruments, including the kinnāru, at Mari. 30 Solomon, too, is called an instrument-builder: Josephus preserves an extra-biblical tradition in his vivid portrait of forty thousand lyres (knr and nbl  ) made of precious woods, stones, and electrum, commissioned for the Levites to sing the Lord’s praises. 31 Some of the names of singers chosen by David indicate an authentically early date. 32 They were apparently under the management of a certain Chenaniah (Kenaniah; Chonaniah in the Septuagint), who “was to direct the music, for he understood it.” 33 The exact interpretation of his position vis-à-vis the Levitical guilds remains controversial; but some definite musical function seems guaranteed by the Septuagint, where he is called “leader of the singers.” 34 While it is elsewhere stated that he and his sons were “officials and judges” outside the Temple, this actually resembles the Chief Musician of such states as Mari, whose duties were not limited to the strictly musical but comprised important civic functions. 35 David himself, in the court of Saul (ca. 1025– 05), had occupied an analogous position. There was not yet an elaborate musical bureaucracy for him to preside over, but he was evidently a royal singer and favorite confidant of the king, at least

Klei­nig 1993. David’s original organization is also invoked by the Chronicler in the context of Hezekiah’s reign, as well as Ezra and Nehemiah in describing the reorganization of music in the Second Temple, after the restoration from exile: 2 Chr 29:25; Neh 12:27–47; see Ezra 2:41; 64; 3:10–13. 26.  For the nēbel see Bayer 1968; Braun 2001: 528–29. A nbl may be attested at Ugarit in CAT 1.101:13 (see Koitabashi 1998: 374), and now probably appears in the phrase “by the sound of the nbl ” in the new Astarte song: see Pardee 2007: 31–32. 27.  At Ugarit, actual heredity must often have been operative, but a metaphorical sense of “sons” was probably equally common. See Levine 1963b: 211–12. The possible attestation of “sons of the singers” (bn šrm) at Ugarit is in CAT 1.23:2. See Tsumura 1973: 24–25 and 174–75; Koitabashi 1998: 367. 28.  “Sons of Korah”: 2 Chr 20:19; Ps 42; 44–49; 84–85; 87–88. See West 1997: 92. Their Levitical descent: Num 16:1–11 (but see 31–33); 1 Chr 6:22; 9:19; 9:31. 29.  1 Chr 23:5; 2 Chr 7:6; 29:26; Neh 12:36; Amos 6:5; Josephus Ant. 7.305.4–306.6 §12.3. 30.  J. Bottéro in Dossin et al. 1964: 39, text 20, lines 5, 7, 11, 16 with brief comment on text 162; see Ellermeier 1970: 77; Schuol 2004: 97 and n. 196; Dalley 1984: 58; Bardet et al. 1984: 174–75 text 180:12; Limet 1986: 169–70 text 547 rev. 9. 31. Josephus Ant. 8.94.1–5 §3.7, 8.176.4–6 §7.1. See 1 Kgs 10:12, Solomon’s lyres from the exotic, still unidentified, almug wood. See Burgh 2006: 24. 32.  Albright 1956: 125–29; see Levine 1963b: 208, 211–12. 33.  1 Chr15:22; see v. 27. 34. Septuagint: ἄρχων τῶν ᾠδῶν. The musical function is accepted by the editors of the New Revised Standard Version. For the controversy, see, recently, with further literature, Kleinig 1993: 44–51; Leithart 2003: 59–62. 35.  1 Chr 26:29.

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initially. His catharses of Saul’s “evil spirit” suggest something not unlike the purification-priests of Mesopotamian tradition. 36 Although David is treated in the biblical narratives as a musical pioneer, his actions only make sense against an older Canaanite tradition of temple music. This explains, first, the very concept of musicians organized notionally and/or literally by families. But even the Bible’s own narratological scheme implies the existence of musical resources on which David could have drawn for the training and outfitting of the Jerusalem clergy. It may be that some Levites had themselves already cultivated such traditions within “family” groups, which were simply redeployed in the new cultic environment. The same Canaanite musical background is also assumed in Saul’s earlier performance with the musical prophets. Samuel foretells that the young king-elect will have a remarkable encounter at Gibeath-elohim (“Hill of God”): You will meet a band of prophets coming down from the shrine with nēbel, frame-drum (tof   ), pipes (ḥalil), and kinnôr playing in front of them; they will be in a prophetic frenzy.  37 Then the spirit of the Lord will possess you, and you will be in a prophetic frenzy along with them and be turned into a different person. 38

Elsewhere I have discussed this and other biblical evidence for musical prophecy and its special connection with the kinnôr. 39 Important here is that the ensemble’s make-up, built around the kinnôr and nēbel, is not dissimilar to what David’s musical “guilds” will offer. 40 One may comfortably posit it also for the Ugaritic “singers” on the basis of the Rāpiʾu text and the economic documents. 41 This array has been called a “Canaanite (temple) orchestra,” although the Ugaritic material shows that the broader “Levantine” would be a better term.  42 The famous cult-stand with musicians from Ashdod is a happy parallel here, given the Bible’s statement that there was a Philistine garrison at Gibeath-elohim. 43 The players match 1 Samuel closely: lyre, double-pipes, framedrum, and perhaps cymbals. Similar ensembles are often represented, with minor variations, in the corpus of Cypro-Phoenician bowls ( paterai), ranging from the 10th century to the 6th. 44 So there is plenty of comparative material to show the inherent plausibility in the musical organization credited to the First Temple by tradition. Given the royal ambitions of David and Solomon, it is hard to believe that Yahweh would have lacked such honors.

The Divine Lyre Against this backdrop, we may consider several aspects of the Jewish kinnôr and its possible connections with an older phenomenon of divinized lyres, explicitly attested at Ugarit by the god 36.  1 Sam 16:23. 37.  For the pipes see Braun 2001: 525. It may be significant, as noted by Sellers 194: 41, that this is its first biblical attestation. 38.  1 Sam 10.5–6. 39.  Franklin 2006: 64–66. 40.  Note that this is the same ensemble that Isa 5:11–12 attributes to the drinking parties of Jerusalem’s dissolute inhabitants, “who do not regard the deeds of the Lord.” The prophet offers a musical illustration of the moral condition: an “orchestra” which would be proper to sacral performance is being used profanely. 41.  See generally Koitabashi 1996 and 1998. 42.  Bayer 1982: 32; Poethig 1985: 19, 23–27. 43.  1 Sam 10:5. Cult-stand: Bayer 1982: 32; Poethig 1985: 23–27. 44.  Cypro-Phoenician bowls: Markoe 1985; Matthäus 1985.

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Kinnaru and by the multiform figure of Kinyras, legendary king of pre-Greek Cyprus, whose mythological portfolio includes a number of mainland connections, too. 45 Naturally, a lyre-god cannot be seen directly. Already in the Davidic period, the Jews had begun to distinguish themselves sharply from their neighbors, despite a shared religious heritage. And the narratives relating to the United Monarchy were shaped by the concerns of the later theologians who reworked traditional materials into the forms we now possess. Most familiar perhaps is the anti-monarchic bias of the post-exilic period, when the earlier defeat of Israel and Judah, and the destruction of the First Temple, had to be explained; this had a major impact on the redaction of traditional materials and consolidation of a canon. 46 Even so, there are many cases where an older Canaanite environment is more or less evident. 47 It is perfectly conceivable, therefore, that beliefs and practices that in the Late Bronze Age would have been connected to the cult of a lyre-god should have found their way into the Bible, surviving in altered form and contexts. Soon after Kinnaru was discovered at Ugarit, A. Jirku hypothesized that the various “magical” effects attributed to the biblical kinnôr—for example, David’s purification of Saul’s “evil spirit”— would have been seen as the “Einwirkung des Gottes Kinaru” (sic). 48 A. Cooper later objected that “the case for relating the use of the lyre to any purported function of [the divine knr] is tenuous.” 49 More recently, however, N. Wyatt has given some credence to the idea that the prophetic and exorcistic uses of the biblical kinnôr “may faintly echo the old theology, albeit long reinterpreted.” 50 Wyatt notes the direct invocation of the kinnôr in Psalm 57:8–9: Awake, my soul! Awake, kinnôr and nēbel! I will awake the dawn. I will give thanks to you, O Lord, among the peoples; I will sing unto thee among the nations. This, he suggests, may echo “an older usage when minor gods of the pantheon were called upon to glorify their overlord.” Wyatt is careful to note that this passage could be explained away as a simple poetic apostrophe. 51 Yet, given that a divine knr is known to have existed within an institutional framework that predicts many features of the First Temple, how can one really distinguish between “simply poetic”—if such an idea is even valid for this period—and a more potent “ritualpoetic?” A final vestige suggested by Wyatt is that “the instrument appears to be credited in the tradition with the ability to enable communication between the spiritual and natural worlds.” 52 This power is much like that possessed by the Sumerian balaĝ-gods. 53 45.  See for now Franklin 2006: 44–47. I must cite here the stunning material in Étienne de Lusignan, who, in his Chorograffia, refers several times to “il dio Cinara” whom he distinguishes from a later king of the same name (8a; 17; 19a–21: see Papadopoulos 2004: vol. 1). This is the only source for Kinyras that explicitly calls him a god (the historian excised this material from his later revision, the better known Description de tout l’isle de Cypre, 1580: Papadopoulos 2004: vol. 2). But it must reflect a genuine tradition (the spelling Cinare may or may not derive from mainland Syrian influence). I have never seen this material cited in discussions of Kinyras. I shall give it detailed discussion in a book provisionally entitled Kinyras: The Divine Lyre. 46.  An accessible introduction is Friedman 1987. 47.  See, for example, Albright 1968; Smith 1990. 48.  Jirku 1963. 49.  Cooper 1981: 385. 50.  Wyatt 1995: col. 912. 51.  Ibid., adducing the Rāpiʾu text as a parallel. 52. Ibid. 53.  Franklin 2006; Heimpel 1998; Gabbay forthcoming: 42–44.

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So a more detailed exploration of how this communication was conceived and executed on the kinnôr itself will be useful here, both generally and for understanding the potency of David as a symbolic figure in his own right and a royal performer in his own historical drama. Music and prophecy are frequently linked in the Bible. Some of the Davidic musical groups were appointed expressly to prophesy variously to the music of kinnôr, nēbel, cymbals, and trumpets, recalling the diversity of the band of prophets met by Saul. 54 Yet other passages show that the kinnôr was the prophetic instrument par excellence. The Saul episode is important here for attesting the practice of musical prophecy by (soon-to-be) royalty. This ability, apparently in a quasi-ecstatic state, is taken as a sign of divine favor, a power given to a rightful king, who is possessed by the “spirit of the Lord.” Importantly, however, this is carried out in conjunction with a musical ensemble, apparently instrumental in establishing the appropriate ecstatic state. One may compare the situation at Ugarit, where divinatory inquiries were made by the king in conjunction with the performance of cult officials. 55 As Saul falls from grace, his increasing affliction by an “evil spirit” is balanced by the passage of “the spirit of the Lord” to David, whose ascent to kingship then becomes inevitable. 56 It is remarkable that this transfer of divine favor is effected precisely through the kinnôr. It is because Saul suffers from the “evil spirit”—having lost God’s favor—that he is advised to summon a kinnôrplayer. And because David can play the kinnôr so well, he is summoned. 57 It is crucial that the advice to Saul is generic: Let our lord now command the servants who attend you to look for someone who is skillful in playing the lyre: and when the evil spirit from God is upon you, he will play it, and you will feel better. 58

Here one catches an echo of the “old theology.” On one narratological level, David has already been chosen by God. From Saul’s perspective, however, it is a generic type that is needed—a lyre player with the necessary powers. So, evidently, the desired cathartic power resided in the kinnôr itself. 59 Gregory of Nazianzus, archbishop of Constantinople in the later 4th century c.e., in listing David’s youthful virtues, refers to “the power of his kinura”—where Greek dunamis has connotations of “capacity” and “potential”—and describes the lyre itself as “even overcoming the Evil Spirit with its enchantment (katepaidousa).” 60 But this power existed only as “potential energy” (to adapt Jirku’s Einwirkung) because it could only be released by a “skillful player” in performance. David is nominated because “the Lord is with him.” 61 This is a brilliant ambiguity, for while the phrase clearly alludes to the transfer of divine favor that marks the promotion of David as chosen king, 54.  See Exod 15:20–21; Deut 31:19–22 (of Moses); 1 Sam 19:20–24; 1 Chr 25:1 (“David and the officers of the army also set apart for the service the sons of Asaph, and of Heman, and of Jeduthun, who should prophesy with kinnôr, nēbel, and cymbals”); 1 Chr 15:16–24 (David’s appointment of musicians from the Levites) and 25:3–6; 2 Chr 5:12; 20:21–23. Musical prophecy may be implicit at 1 Sam 19:20–24; Ps 49:2–5 (where the kinnôr is probably assumed); Ezek 40:44–46. See generally Sendrey 1969: 481–489, 507–15; Shiloah 1993: 58–59. 55.  See Wyatt 2007. 56.  See 1 Sam 16:14 “Now the Spirit of the Lord departed from Saul, and an evil spirit from the Lord tormented him.” 57.  1 Sam 16:14–23. 58.  1 Sam 16:16. 59.  Lyre catharses are well-attested in the Greek tradition with Orpheus, Pythagoras, etc.: see Franklin 2006: 59–60; Provenza: forthcoming. 60.  Gregorius Nazianzenus, Funebris oratio in lauden Masilii Magni Caesareae in Cappadocia episcopi 73.2.7 (Boulenger 1908: 216): πρὸ τῆς βασιλείας ἡ τῆς κινύρας δύναμις, καὶ πονηροῦ πνεύματος κατεπᾴδουσα. 61.  1 Sam 16:18.

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from Saul’s perspective it means only that here was a qualified—that is, “inspired”—kinnôr-healer. But this ambiguity may have a deeper, more essential force than would appear on the narratological surface here. For the two planes of meaning would neatly intersect if one may suppose that a “qualified king” is precisely an “inspired kinyrist.” In any event, the episode of David’s selection clearly presents the idea that a ritual lyrist is only effective when divinely empowered. The Bible of course recognizes a single legitimate god. But one may reverse the terms of the relationship: a lyrist is effective only when empowered by his god. In the old theology, this was the god of lyrists. Here, then, Yahweh appears to have absorbed the powers of a lyre god, and David is the “kinyrist” who instantiates him. Certainly, the biblical narratives present music, and in particular the kinnôr, as a kingly virtue. But whereas Saul merely prophesies among the musicians, David himself wields the lyre, as though this put him “in closer touch” with God. David himself of course was regarded as prophetic. Interesting here are the last words attributed to him in 2 Samuel: “The Spirit of the Lord speaks through me, his word is upon my tongue.” 62 The kinnôr is close at hand here. Yet David’s own agency is eclipsed by the epiphanies that his inspired performances effect.

The Praise of a Lyre King We are now in a better position to consider the most magnificent kinnôr performance on record. David’s establishment of a new capital, and his centralization of political and religious control, was acutely symbolized by the transfer of the Ark to Jerusalem—“a brilliant maneuver that effectively galvanized the loose confederation of Israelite tribes into a monarchical state.” 63 To be epoch-making, this needed to be a stunning public event, a massive display of solidarity unifying the divided tribes behind a new king. The accounts of 2 Samuel, 1 Chronicles, and Josephus, though closely related, are not identical. 2 Samuel is considered basic to the others. 64 But the event clearly left a deep and somewhat varied impression on the written and oral traditions, so that unique details from the Chronicler and Josephus may indeed have equal claim to consideration. 65 The shared narrative structure for all three is as follows. David had consulted with the country’s leading men. 66 He drew up the new musical groups of string-players, cymbalists, frame-drummers, and trumpeters, and it was arranged for “the whole people” to assemble. 67 The Ark was borne out on a river of sound. Yet not all was clockwork: there was a three-month delay en route after a driver tried to stabilize the Ark but was struck dead for touching it. After the Lord’s anger seemed to abate, David offered appropriate sacrifices, and the whole troupe, now reassembled, set out again with the same pomp and circumambulation. There follows the curious incident of Saul’s daughter Michal, David’s wife, who saw the king “leaping and dancing before the Lord; and she despised him in her heart.” 68 The ritual closed with sacrifices 62.  2 Sam 23:2. 63.  Seow 1989: 1. 64.  Seow 1989: 2. 65.  Full account: 2 Sam 6; 1 Chr 15–16; Josephus Ant. 7.78.1–89.4 §4.2. For the probable allusion in Ps 132, see Seow 1989: 145–203. 66. Josephus Ant. 7.78.1–3 §4.2: ἔδοξε Δαυίδῃ συμβουλευσαμένῳ μετὰ τῶν γερόντων καὶ ἡγεμόνων καὶ χιλιάρχων μεταπέμψασθαι τῶν ὁμοφύλων ἐξ ἁπάσης τῆς χώρας  πρὸς αὑτὸν. 67. Josephus Ant. 7.79.3 §4.2: συνελθόντος οὖν τοῦ λαοῦ παντός, καθὼς ἐβουλεύσαντο. The expression is ambiguous, equally supporting the idea of a staged event and/or spontaneous popular movement. 68.  2 Sam 6:16 (quotation), 20–3; 1 Chr 15:29; 7.86–9; Josephus Ant. 7.85.4–89.4 §4.2.

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once the Ark was positioned in the Tabernacle, where David’s musical groups would continue to observe the cult. 69 When Michal confronts David for his full or partial nudity before his maid­ servants and the general indignity of his musical performance, she is afflicted with barrenness. The direction of any deeper interpretation will depend on one’s own relationship with these sources. I see an obvious element of propaganda and media staging, and probably the narrative of David’s divine favor, which structures our accounts, was already being formulated on the ground. 70 How far this cynicism should extend, however, is not clear. The massive musical procession, with its jubilant atmosphere, is clearly a sort of victory march. C. L. Seow convincingly reads it as a ritual drama in which David enacts Yahweh as the triumphant divine warrior; the basic structure reflects (he argues) the mythology of Baal on that of Yahweh, Baal’s cult having made this impression while the Ark was housed at Qiryat-Yeʿarim for about twenty years. 71 Equally, however, this elaborate ritual display seems an apotropaic gesture, intended to forestall divine wrath at an intervention in the cultic status quo. It seems very likely that David and his advisers felt a very real sense of apprehension. The incident of the driver, however, is suspicious: it seems designed to demonstrate Yahweh’s presence at the dangerous and enormous undertaking, and ultimately, when no further disaster befalls, to confirm the divine approval of David’s actions. 72 Regardless, the traditions about the musical nature of the ritual are of considerable interest. The three accounts basically agree on its guildic nature, with massed ranks of lyrists, frame-drummers, cymbalists, and horn-players. Apparently, the song and dance was executed by these same performers (at least those whose mouths were free), with the gathered host joining at least in the song. The Chronicler is of interest for specifying the involvement of Chenaniah, the “Chief Singer” (see above, p. 102). But Josephus paints the most vivid picture of David’s own participation: The king led the way, and with him was the whole multitude, hymning God, and singing every kind of local song, and leading the Ark into Jerusalem with a complex din of instrumental playing and dances and psalms and even of trumpets and cymbals. 73

More interesting still are the details he adds when describing the parade’s resumption: He brought the Ark to his own house, with the priests carrying it, and seven choruses which the king had drawn up leading the way, and himself playing on the kinyra. 74

Note first this very striking example of seven-magic in a practical musical context. Indeed, the whole event was apparently buttressed by sevens. A sacrifice of seven bulls and seven rams mentioned by the Chronicler presumably corresponds to the oxen and fatlings which, according to 2  Samuel, David offers before taking his seventh step after resuming the procession. 75 Sevennumerology is of course ubiquitous in the literature of the Ancient Near East and Egypt. Yet, it 69.  2 Sam 6:13–17. 70.  See Seow 1989: 97–104, who also detects a “blatantly clear . . . propagandistic intent” (102). 71.  Seow 1989: especially 207–9, with review of earlier interpretations on pp. 2–8. 72.  Seow (1989: 97–104) connects Yahweh’s wrath and the killing of “Uzzah with a “dramatization of . . . mythological combat,” comparing “reenactments of cosmogonic battles . . . in state-sponsored rituals in Mesopotamia” (p. 99). 73. Josephus Ant. 7.80.1–81.1 §4.2; 2 Sam 6:5 states only that “David played” but is more specific as to orchestration. 74. Josephus Ant. 7.85.1–3 §4.2: τὴν κιβωτὸν πρὸς αὑτὸν μετακομίζει, τῶν μὲν ἱερέων βασταζόντων αὐτήν, ἑπτὰ δὲ χορῶν οὓς διεκόσμησεν ὁ βασιλεὺς προαγόντων, αὐτοῦ δ” ἐν κινύρᾳ παίζοντος. 75.  2 Sam 6:13; 1 Chr 15:26.

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is not merely a literary convention, a “convenient number” signifying totality. Many ritual texts from throughout the entire region, from all periods, show that sevens were an important structuring device for ritual and magic. Many examples are found in the Ugaritic texts. 76 We also possess a detailed prescriptive ritual from Emar governing the “enthronement” of the high priestess of Baal, which contains numerous instructions based on the number seven. 77 The Emar text is also important for specifying ritual actions to be executed by a group of liturgical singers (zammārū), notably heading processions every time the scene of action had to change. 78 Similarly, in Babylonia, a corps of singers led a processional during the Akitu-festival. 79 This was doubtless a regular function of temple-singers throughout the whole region. As I have argued for Sumerian material, seven-numerology takes on a special interest in musical contexts, especially those involving stringed-instruments. 80 It is especially suggestive outside of Mesopotamia, where it furthers the likelihood that the heptatonic-diatonic tone-system was locally known—as indeed it was at Ugarit—and was endowed with the same magical properties implied by several Sumerian texts. Many marginal examples are best not pressed. 81 But tending in the right direction is Solomon’s transfer of the Ark into the Temple during Ethanim, the seventh month of the year, and that the ritual involved massed musical praise to induce God to enter his new home. Much clearer, however, are the pious measures taken by Hezekiah (715–687) to restore the Temple from its neglect during the reign of his father Ahaz. 82 The ritual included sacrifice of seven bulls, seven rams, seven lambs, and seven male goats. Cult musicians were present “with cymbals, nebel-lyres, and kinnôr-lyres,” and the music is carefully coordinated with the sacrifices: “When the burnt offering began, the song to the Lord began also, and the trumpets, accompanied by the instruments of King David . . . all this continued until the burnt offering was finished.” 83 The music was surely seen as bathing the proceedings in wave upon wave of magical sevenness.

76.  See Wyatt 2001: 92–94 and 2007: 54, in view of the Ugaritic ritual texts: “evidently the number seven was of symbolic significance . . . no doubt with broad cosmological and ontological echoes.” 77.  While other numbers are naturally also present, the intentional concentration of sevens is obvious. There is an offering of one ox and six sheep (lines 11;36–37); seven dinner-loaves, seven dried cakes (line 11); seven and seven ḫamšaʾu-men eating (lines 12–13); an unknown action lasts seven days (line 26); sevenfold wine and beer offerings (and some other non-seven offerings) are to be consumed by the seven qidašu and ḫussu-men (lines 27–28, 38); the priestess is given a “seven-shekel silver tudittu-pin as her gift” when enthroned (line 44); a sacred axe is placed on a statue for seven days (line 46); various offerings are made over a seven-day period; some are consumed by the “seven and seven ḫamšaʾu-men” (lines 49–59, see line 54); each singer receives a share of sacrifice, sheepskins, and a dinner-load and jug of beer for seven days (lines 79–83). Text and analysis: Fleming 1992. 78.  Processions are mentioned in lines 8, 29–36; 45, 62–64. Additionally, two hymns were specified (lines 33A, 73) and the singers’ share of offerings and their payment were stipulated (lines 79–84). For singers at Emar generally, see Fleming 1992: 92–94. The ritual also involved lamentation, probably for the death of the old priestess (Fleming 1992: 173). There are other references at Emar to singers leading processions, as well as mention of female singers, zammirātū (p. 93). 79.  Fleming 1992: 93 n. 81. 80.  See Franklin 2006: 58. 81.  For example, that David was selected for kingship after his seven older brothers had been rejected (1 Sam 16:10) is most simply explained as a narratological device and folklore motif; while it does derive special interest from David’s training as a lyrist, the two details are not connected in the text itself. See also, for example, 2 Chr 5:3, 11; see 1 Kgs 8:2. 82.  2 Chr 29:21–28. 83.  2 Chr 29:27–28.

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This last case especially, with its invocation of Davidic precedent, encourages a similar interpretation for the less explicit examples of David and Solomon. The parallels from Emar, Ugarit, and elsewhere for musical parades and the ritual use of sevens indicate not only that David’s procession to Jerusalem is perfectly plausible as a historical event but that the surviving accounts may well preserve actual details from the occasion. 84 They amount to, and/or derive from, what in Ugaritic studies has been called a “descriptive ritual,” an account of “what transpired on special cultic occasions.” 85 One may compare the detailed ritual actions that are incorporated into a text such as Aqhat. 86 By contrast, the Emar ritual is strictly prescriptive. 87 Yet, descriptive rituals are not mere literary productions. They were also functional, “quasi-canonical models, or manuals for the operation of the temple cults.” 88 That some such account of the Davidic ritual was composed at an early date would explain both the existence of the Bible’s more literary narratives, for which it could have been a source at however many removes, and their incorporation of divergent yet compatible details. It would also provide an attractive practical explanation for why the ritual actions of Solomon and Hezekiah share key structuring elements with those of David. All three rituals include seven-magic alongside song-acts governing the establishment, building, or maintenance of the cult center. Moreover, the continuity between these events is made explicit. Solomon’s completion of the Temple is seen as the fruition of David’s own vision, the Levites ministering “with instruments for music . . . that King David had made for giving thanks to the Lord.” 89 The Hezekiah episode is justified by appeal to liturgical procedure “according to commandment of David” (and the will of God, as communicated through the royal seers). 90 So here, too, one may view the Davidic narratives as reflecting a descriptive ritual that provided his successors with a blueprint for their own undertakings. Of course, it may well be that David’s own actions were based upon an earlier Canaanite ritual of this kind, a product of the same cultural environment that inspired, or dictated, his musical reorganization. With this, we may consider more closely the musical dimension of David’s own performance. The king sings, dances, and plays the kinnôr before Yahweh, at the head of all his subjects, in front even of his own priests, musicians, and chief singer. As a victory procession for Yahweh, David plays the role of royal praise-singer, a position he had actually held under Saul. Equally, however, as a victorious king, this was David’s own triumph: he assumes a position analogous to that of Yahweh. From this perspective, the ritual is an astonishing practical application of what appears to be, in the Sumerian texts, a rather poetic conceit: the king who excels his own singers and singlehandedly executes state rituals. It perhaps encourages a more “faithful” reading of the Sumerian material. And it fleshes out what one supposes at Ugarit, where the king appears as the dominant actor in the ritual texts, and yet one must suppose the full involvement of the cultic establishment. In view of the foregoing analysis of the effective mechanisms of such performances, David’s royal kinnôr performance is as close as we are likely to come to witnessing an actual ritual involving the Divine Lyre. Here more than anywhere the kinnôr is a powerful royal symbol and, specifically, a symbol of the king’s favor in the eyes of “God”—or the chief god in the “old theology.” But the 84.  For the same conclusion on other grounds, see Seow 1989: 209. 85.  The Ark narratives closely match all generic criteria laid out by Levine 1983; see Levine 1963a: 105 (quotation). 86.  See Wright 2001. 87.  Fleming 1992: 70. 88.  Levine 1983: 473. 89.  2 Chr 7:6. 90.  2 Chr 29:25.

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practical dimension of the lyre tradition makes the kinnôr more than a symbol. It was the actual instrument by which the king could cross the chasm separating gods from men. With it, he could receive and communicate divine instructions and channel divine power toward specific ends. Why does Michal react against this performance? That she found it strange is important: such a ritual was evidently unprecedented in some way. This can be connected with the equal newness, from the Jewish perspective, of the musical groups that were initiated for the same ceremony. Yet, because this organization was modeled on the temple music traditions of the Bronze Age, David’s own “novel” performance probably derives from the same sphere. Indeed, the two are clearly of a piece. It seems that David is putting on the mantle of palatial kingship, and conducting a ritual which is both his royal right and duty—publicly demonstrating divine favor, while simultaneously seeking to secure it. His actions are in accord with the people’s desire that “we also may be like other nations,” the request that led to the original appointment of Saul. The popular nature of David’s rite is clear: it is repeatedly stressed that “all the people” are present. In gratifying the crowd to this extent, David goes far beyond any royal display credited to Saul, and thereby shows himself to be “more kingly.” Significantly, it is Michal, the last vital link between David and her deposed father, who voices an objection to this new model of kingship. David, in his rejoinder, takes up the contrast with Saul, and asserts that the performance is his divinely-approved royal prerogative: David said to Michal: “It was before the Lord, who chose me in place of your father and all his household, to appoint me as prince over Israel, the people of the Lord, that I have danced before the Lord.” 91

To conclude, David’s kinnôr is an integral part of the narratives treating the rise of the United Monarchy. It serves in part as a narratological structuring device. But this itself derives from the instrument’s more ancient potency in the royal cults of the wider region. Even there, the kinnôr was never merely a symbol but intimately embedded in liturgy and ritual. It is perfectly probable, therefore, that the portrait of king and kinnôr offered by these narratives is a genuine reflection of musical conditions in the time of David and Solomon. 91.  2 Sam 6:21.

Bibliography Albright, W. F. 1956 Archaeology and the religion of Israel. 4th ed. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. 1968 Yahweh and the Gods of Canaan: A Historical Analysis of Two Contrasting Faiths. Garden City, NY: Doubleday. Bardet, G., et al., eds. 1984 Archives Administratives de Mari I. Archives royales de Mari 23. Paris: ÉRC. Bayer, B. 1968 The Biblical Nebel. Yuval 1: 89–131. 1982 The Finds That Could Not Be. Biblical Archaeology Review 8: 20–33. Behn, F. 1954 Musikleben im Altertum und frühen Mittelalter. Stuttgart: Hiersemann. Boulenger, F. 1908 Grégoire de Nazianze: Discours funèbres en l’honneur de son frère Césaire et de Basile de Césarée. Paris: Picard.

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Braun, J. 2001 Biblical Instruments. Pp. 524–35 in vol. 3 of The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians. 2nd edition, ed. S. Sadie. London: Macmillan. 2002 Music in Ancient Israel/Palestine: Archaeological, Written, and Comparative Sources. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Burgh, T. W. 2006 Listening to the Artifacts: Music Culture in Ancient Palestine. New York: T & T Clark. Cooper, A. 1981 Divine Names and Epithets in the Ugaritic Texts. Pp.  333–469 in vol. 2 of Ras Shamra Parallells: The Texts from Ugarit and the Hebrew Bible, ed. L. R. Fisher. Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum. Dalley, S. 1984 Mari and Karana: Two Old Babylonian cities. Reprinted, Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias. Dalley, S., et al. 1998 The Legacy of Mesopotamia. Oxford: Longman. Dietrich, M.; Loretz, O.; and Sanmartín, J. 1995 The Cuneiform Alphabetic Texts from Ugarit, Ras Ibn Hani and Other places (KTU). Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Dossin, G. et al. 1964 Textes divers: Transcrits, traduits et commentés. Archives royales de Mari 13. Paris: Geuthner. Ellenbogen, M. 1962 Foreign Words in the Old Testament: Their Origin and Etymology. London: Luzac. Ellermeier, F. 1970 Beiträge zur Frühgeschichte altorientalischer Saiteninstrumenten. Pp. 75–90 in Archäologie und Altes Testament: Festschrift für Kurt Galling, ed. A. Kuschke and E. Kutsch. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Engel, C. 1870 The Music of the Most Ancient Nations. London: Murray. Fleming, D. E. 1992 The Installation of Baal’s High Priestess at Emar: A Window on Ancient Syrian Religion. Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press. Franklin, J. C. 2002 Diatonic Music In Greece: A Reassessment of its Antiquity. Mnemosyne 56: 669–702. 2006 Lyre Gods of the Bronze Age Musical Koine. Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 6: 39–70. 2007 The Global Economy of Music in the Ancient Near East.” Pp. 27–37 in Sounds of Ancient Music, ed. J. G. Westenholz. Jerusalem: Keter. Friedman, R. E. 1987 Who Wrote the Bible? Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Gabbay, U. Forthcoming  The Balag̃ Instrument and its Role in the Cult of Ancient Mesopotamia. In Sounds from the Past: Music in the Ancient Near East and Mediterranean Worlds, ed. Y. Maurey, E. Seroussi, and J. Goodnick Westenholz. Yuval 8. Jerusalem: Magnes. Heimpel, W. 1998 Harp Gods. Unpublished paper circulated by the author via Anne Kilmer. Jirku, A. 1963 Der kyprische Heros Kinyras und der syrische Gott Kinaru(m). Forschungen und Fortschritte 37: 211. Kilmer, A. D. 1971 The Discovery of an Ancient Mesopotamian Theory of Music. PAPS 115: 131–49. Kleinig, J. W. 1993 The Lord’s Song: The Basis, Function, and Significance of Choral Music in Chronicles. Sheffield: JSOT Press.

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Koitabashi, M. 1996 Musicians in the Ugaritic Texts. Pp. 221–32 in Essays on Ancient Anatolia and Syria in the Second and Third Millenium b.c., ed. Prince T. Mikasa. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. 1998 Music in the Texts from Ugarit. Ugarit-Forschungen 30: 363–96. Kraeling, C. H., and Mowry, L. 1957 Music in the Bible. Pp. 282–312 in vol. 1 of The New Oxford History of Music: Ancient and Oriental Music, ed. E. Wellesz. London: Oxford University Press. Kramer, S. N. 1963 Cuneiform Studies and the History of Literature: The Sumerian Sacred Marriage Texts. PAPS 107: 485–527. 1991 Solomon and Šulgi: A Comparative Portrait. Pp. 189–195 in Ah, Assyria . . . Studies in Assyrian History and Ancient Near Eastern Historiography Presented to Hayim Tadmor, ed. M. Cogan and I. Ephʾal. Jerusalem: Magnes. Leithart, P. J. 2003 From Silence to Song: The Davidic Liturgical Revolution. Moscow, ID: Canon. Levine, B. A. 1963a Ugaritic Descriptive Rituals. JCS 17: 105–111. 1963b The Netênêm.” JBL 82: 207–12. 1983 The Descriptive Ritual Texts from Ugarit: Some Formal and Functional Features of the Genre. Pp. 467–75 in The Word of the Lord Shall Go Forth: Essays in Honor of David Noel Freedman in Celebration of His Sixtieth Birthday, ed. C. L. Meyers and M. O’Connor. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Lightfoot, J. L. 2003 Lucian, On the Syrian Goddess. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Limet, H. 1986 Textes administratifs relatifs aux métaux. Archives royales de Mari 25. Paris: ÉRC. Liverani, M. 1990 Prestige and Interest: International Relations in the Near East ca. 1600–1100 b.c. Padova: Sargon. Markoe, G. 1985 Phoenician Bronze and Silver Bowls from Cyprus and the Mediterranean. Berkeley: University of California Press. Matthäus, H. 1985 Metallgefässe und Gefässuntersätze der Bronzezeit, der geometrischen und archaischen Periode auf Cypern. Munich: Beck. Maurey, Y., Seroussi, E., and Goodnick Westenholz, J., eds. Forthcoming  Sounds from the Past: Music in the Ancient Near East and Mediterranean Worlds. Yuval 8. Metzger, B. M., and Coogan, M. D. 1993 The Oxford Companion to the Bible. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Meyers, C. L. 1991 Of Drums and Damsels: Women’s Performance in Ancient Israel. Biblical Archaeologist 54: 16–27. North, R. 1964 The Cain Music. JBL 83: 373–89. Papadopoulos, T., ed. 2004 Étienne de Lusignan. Chorograffia: Description de toute l’isle de Cypre. 2 vols. Nicosia: Bank of Cyprus Cultural Foundation. Pardee, D. 2007 Preliminary Presentation of a New Ugaritic Song to ʿAṯtartu (RIH 98/02). Pp. 27–40 in Ugarit at Seventy-Five, ed. K. Lawson Younger. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Poethig, E. B. 1985 The Victory Song Tradition of the Women of Israel. Ph.D dissertation. Union Theological Seminary. Ann Arbor, MI: University Microfilms. Polin, C. C. J. 1974 Music of the Ancient Near East. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press.

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Provenza, A. Forthcoming  Soothing Lyres and ἐπῳδαί. Music Therapy and the Cases of Orpheus, Empedocles, David. In Sounds from the Past: Music in the Ancient Near East and Mediterranean Worlds. Yuval 8. Schuol, M. 2004 Hethitische Kultmusik: Eine Untersuchung der Instrumental- und Vokalmusik anhand hethitischer Ritualtexte und von archäologischen Zeugnissen. Rahden: Marie Leidorf. Sellers, O. R. 1941 Musical Instruments of Israel. Biblical Archaeologist 4: 33–47. Sendrey, A. 1969 Music in Ancient Israel. New York: Philosophical Library. 1974 Music in the Social and Religious Life of Antiquity. Rutherford, NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson University. Seow, C. L. 1989 Myth, Drama, and the Politics of David’s Dance. Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press. Shiloah, A. 1993 The Dimension of Music in Islamic and Jewish Culture. Aldershot, VT: Variorum/Ashgate. Smith, M. S. 1990 The Early History of God: Yahweh and the Other Deities in Ancient Israel. San Francisco: Harper & Row. Tsumura, D. T. 1973 The Ugaritic Drama of the Good Gods: A Philological Study. Ph.D. dissertation, Brandeis University. Wegner, M. 1950 Die Musikinstrumente des alten Orients. Münster in Westfalen: Aschendorff. Weitzman, S. 1997 Song and Story in Biblical Narrative: The History of a Literary Convention in Ancient Israel. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. West, M. L. 1997 The East Face of Helicon. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Westenholz, J. G. 1995 Love Lyrics from the Ancient Near East. Pp. 2471–84 in vol. 4 of CANE. Wright, D. P. 2001 Ritual in Narrative: The Dynamics of Feasting, Mourning, and Retaliation Rites in the Ugaritic Tale of Aqhat. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Wyatt, N. 1995 Kinnaru. Pp. 911–91 in Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible, ed. K. van der Toorn et al. Leiden: Brill. 2001 Space and Time in the Religious Life of the Near East. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. 2007 The Religious Role of the King in Ugarit. Pp. 41–74 in Ugarit at Seventy-Five, ed. K. L. Younger, Jr. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Ziegler, N. 1999a Le harem de Zimrî-Lîm: La population féminine des palais d’après les archives royales de Mari. Mémoirs de NABU 5. Florilegium Marianum 4. Paris: SEPOA. 1999b Le harem du vaincu. RA 93: 1–26.

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Music Archaeology as a Field of Interdisciplinary Research Ellen Hickmann Hannover

At the conference of the International Musicological Society at Berkeley (1977), one of the round tables was designated “Music and Archaeology” (Heartz and Wade 1981). My friend Anne Kilmer had discovered and deciphered an ancient Mesopotamian musical notation. Together with a maker of instruments and a musicologist, she had reconstructed an ancient Sumerian lyre. At the round table in Berkeley, she explained the procedure used to reconstruct the instrument and the recovery of the sounds of a Hurrian song (Crocker, Brown, and Kilmer 1976). This event was the starting point of the “Study Group on Music Archaeology” (Hickmann 2000), and Anne can be called its initiator. Experts in early Near Eastern, Chinese, Meso-american, prehistoric northern European, and Pharaonic Egyptian music and musical instruments demonstrated with their papers and discussions at the round table that music archaeology could be a promising international field. Yet, from the very beginning, problems of an exact definition revealed themselves. They have increased with new generations of researchers treating musicoarchaeological themes. In Hickman and Lund 1984, we proposed a definition of “archaeomusicology,” as the field was formerly called, as interdisciplinary research that attempts to survey, describe, and interpret music and the practice of music in prehistoric and historic epochs. In the latter case, archaeomusicological artefacts and pictorial representations constituted the primary source material. Archaeomusicology of historical periods has split into specialized fields, such as “medieval archaeomusicology, historical archaeomusicology,” and so forth. We understood archaeomusicology to be the study of sound-producing instruments not currently in use and sound production in past societies. The methods of research employed derived from archaeology and philology, in addition to musicology and history. Investigations combining musicology and archaeology may be compared with similar interdisciplinary researches, providing, for example, evidence on the question whether recent music cultures might be derived from prehistorical forerunners, or on problems of continuity and change of musical culture. Music archaeology, on the other hand, studies ancient instruments as primary source material. In the 19th century, for example, the musicologist Francois-Joseph Fétis recommended including “les recherches archéologiques” in the study of musical instruments of antiquity (1869: 9). 115

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In the 20th century, the ethnomusicologist Zygmund Estreicher wrote a review about the monumental work of Curt Sachs, “The Rise of Music in the Ancient World East and West” (1943), and concluded that it was “an important contribution to music archaeology” (Estreicher 1948). The musicologist Emanuel Winternitz called “music archaeology” a “little-cultivated field” (1979: 185). So the term was only reluctantly included in musicological discussions. An exception were publications from Swedish scholars, because archaeological remains of musical materials are extant from a long span of Swedish history (De Geer 1985 and, passim, Lund 1980), making it possible to address historical problems with the aid of musical archaeology. “Historical” chronology was derived from prehistory—namely, from the system of the three primary periods, the stone, bronze, and iron ages—for many centuries. But operating in this way, no music history can be created—only a sequence of sound-producing devices. With few exceptions, melodies and rhythm are lost forever. Anne Kilmer’s Hurrian hymn is, however, an exception. It remains the earliest musical notation yet found. Some Greek notations have survived but are difficult to interpret and, of course, later. Greek and Roman inscriptions as well as cuneiform and ancient Egyptian signs and texts can be important sources. Depending on the perception of the archaeological musical past and present, various strands of tradition can be detected. The object may date from the same time as the written testimony. The author elucidates the find, and the find illustrates the author. One example is Heron of Alexandria and Vitruvius of Rome, both of whom described the hydraulic organ in detail in the first century c.e. A short while later, the instrument became known from mosaics and wall paintings from various locales, and a piece of one was found in archaeological excavations at Hungarian Acquincum dated c.e. 228. Several organs have been reconstructed on the basis of these fragments. The Roman historian Ammianus Marcellinus attests the use of the organ in the circus. We also find authors who did not know the instruments they were describing and so made mistakes. Missionaries of late antiquity and other writers of that time belong here, as well as chroniclers of the conquista in Latin America. There are additional groups of relevant written sources, such as treatises about the theory of music or its philosophy. I will not discuss them here (for the time being, see Hickmann 2003). In addition, the role of ethnomusicology is in need of explanation. If the way of life in a recent culture seems to be equal to a prehistoric one or one of its elements, such as a musical instrument, we call this element an “ethnographic analogy” or “actualized comparison.” One example is Sardinian launeddas—triple clarinets that resemble the oriental instrument of the clarinet type. In Egypt, this wind instrument appeared already in the Old Kingdom. Musicologically, the instruments are completely alike. Mendívil (2004) demonstrates that such analogies can also be found in the Andean region for an Indian flute. This method can be applied to many early instruments and helps us classify them. In order to form an idea about sound, sound-production, music, and music-making, we need more—and different—sources. From the beginning of our work, big rocks with cup-marks (perhaps man-made, with a musical function) and stone formations were included (see Purser 2000), and later architectural structures were also considered. Vitruvius, a scholar who wrote about architecture in the 1st century c.e., discussed the relationship of sound-reflecting walls of theatres as intentionally constructed. He describes how architects scrupulously planned the locations in a theater for the placement of big metal vessels intended to trap and amplify the sounds. He noted that, by experimenting with the pitch of the sounds, it was possible to accentuate a certain sound or even several of them, depending on the segments that the musicians wanted to be stronger

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than others (Fensterbusch 1991: 221–26). As far as I know, no one has examined and interpreted these acoustic features recently. Acoustimetric studies of ancient architectures and stone chimes have been quite fashionable in recent music-archaeological studies, but they involve much wishful thinking and fantasy on the part of researchers, whose interests sometimes have little to do with reality. Other related fields have rarely been treated by us, such as musical images in rock art. In one recent issue of the journal Rock Art Research, an article “Music and Rock Art in the Sahara” was published (Achrati 2006). The author pointed out that “the relationship between Rock Art and music is complex and has been studied from many angles,” which is in my opinion not quite correct. Competing interpretations of the relationship, including shamanism, animism, art for art’s sake, and ethnographic parallelism have been suggested. This is once more a wide and promising field, a real challenge with many aspects. Rock art from other parts of the world have attracted our interest and come into our purview, namely, art from Africa and Australia, where little or no music-archaeological artifacts are extant. With the insight that music occurred in every culture, past and present, we have arrived at the fact that every culture has its own relics of musical activity, depending only on the availability of materials for making musical instruments and information that allows to interpret its witnesses. So we had—and still have—to develop various research models. In fact, every culture and even every music-archaeological item, whether it be an instrument or another element, requires its own research model. Several research models have been developed and have been used since the 1980s (Lund for Scandinavia, Olsen for Pre-columbian flutes of Colombia, Lawson for Nordic lyres and bone flutes). Both (2009) quite recently developed a research model on the basis of his definition of music archaeology, explaining that “in its broadest sense, music archaeology is the study of the phenomenon of past musical behaviours and sound.” In my opinion, the inclusion of the behavior aspect as practiced by Lawson (2004) is doubtful, because we no longer are able to ask the people of past centuries about their music behaviors. In ethnomusicology, this aspect is important, but in music archaeology, the questions are different. Both’s model (2009: fig. 1) is a global one. We need to work with it to see whether it will prove practicable. The aim of all the aforementioned endeavors should be a holistic music-archaeological perspective on the relevant cultures or elements. To achieve it, all of the fields of research mentioned above should be utilized. As I said before, our subject is a multifaceted one, but discovering origins by a unique procedure is not—or not yet—our aim. Music is composed of melody, rhythm, modes, monophony and polyphony, musical instruments, and so on, all of which have had their own historical beginnings as distinct from their origins. We have distanced ourselves from the problems of “origin,” which is primarily a theme of bio-musicology and evolutionary musicology (see Wallin, Merker, and Brown 2000). Instead, we study the beginnings of musical matters whenever they occurred within a culture. Our study group has grown considerably. It now includes researchers from all over the world who come to our conferences every two years. A new series of publications was created by Ricardo Eichmann of the German Archaeological Institute (DAI), Studien zur Musikarchäologie, of which volume 7 is in preparation. We have come a long way from Anne Kilmer’s Hurrian hymn. She has participated in many of our meetings, presenting her papers (Smith and Kilmer 2000, Kilmer 2000, 2002, 2004, 2006), enriching our discussions, and helping with the editions of our conference reports.

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Bibliography Achrati, A. 2006 Rock Art and Music: A Saharan Note. Rock Art Research 23: 71–78. Both, A. A. 2009 Music Archaeology: Some Methodical and Theoretical Considerations. Yearbook for Traditional Music 41: 2–22. De Geer, I. 1985 Earl, Saint, Bishop, Skald—and Music: The Orkney Earldom of the Twelfth Century: A Musicological Study. Uppsala: Institutionen für Musikvetenskap. Estreicher, Z. 1948 Ein Versuch der Musikarchäologie. Schweizerische Musikzeitschrift 88: 344–55. Fensterbusch, C. 1991 Vitruv, Zehn Bücher über Architektur. 5th edition. Darmstadt: Primus. Fétis, F.-J. 1869 Histoire générale de la musique, vol. 1. Heartz, D., and Wade, B., eds. Heartz, D., and Wade, B., eds. 1981 Musik und Musikarchäologie. Pp. 844–69 in Report of the Twelfth Congress of the International Musicological Society, Berkeley 1977. Kassel: Bärenreiter. Hickmann, E. Music Archaeology: An Introduction. Pp. 1–4 in Stringed Instruments in Archaeological Context: Pa2000 pers from the 8th Symposium of the Study Group on Music Archaeology (ICTM), Limassol 26–30 August 1996, and other Contributions, ed. E. Hickmann and R. Eichmannn. Studien zur Musikarchäologie 1. Rahden: Marie Leidorf. 2003 Musikarchäologie: Forschungsgrundlagen und Ziele. Die Musikforschung 56: 121–30. Hickmann, E., and Lund, C. 1984 Report on the Round Table, New York 1983 (Aug. 8–16). Music and Dance in Prehistoric Cultures: Reconstructing and Expanding the Boundaries of Tradition. 27th Congress of the International Council for Traditional Music. Music-Archaeological Bulletin 1: 2–4. Kilmer, A. D. 2000 Continuity and Change in the Ancient Mesopotamien Terminology for Music and Musical Instruments. Pp. 113–19 in Music Archaeology of Early Metal Ages: Papers from the 1st Symposium of the International Study Group on Music Archaeology at Monastery Michaelstein, 18–24 May, 1998, ed. E. Hickmann, I. Laufs, and R. Eichmann. Studien zur Musikarchäologie 2. Rahden: Marie Leidorf. 2002 Modal Music, Tonality and Genre in Mesopotamien Musical Performance. Pp. 481–68 in The Archaeology of Sound: Origin and Organisation. Papers from the 2nd Symposium of the International Study Group on Music Archaeology at Kloster Michaelstein 17–23 September 2000, ed. E. Hickmann, A. D. Kilmer, and R. Eichmann. Studien zur Musikarchäologie 3. Rahden: Marie Leidorf. 2004 Memorizing the Names of Things, from Oral to Written: Mesopotamian Musical Instruments. Pp. 275–80 in Music-Archaeological Sources: Finds, Oral Transmission, Written Evidence: Papers from the 3rd Symposium of the International Study Group on Music Archaelogy at Monastery Michaelstein, 9–16 June, 2002, ed. E. Hickmann and R. Eichmann. Studien zur Musikarchäologie 4. Rahden: Marie Leidorf. 2006 How the Mesopotamians Did or Did Not Express the Concept of the Octave. Pp.  275–80 in: Music Archaeology in Context: Archaeological Semantics, Historical Implications, Socio-Cultural Connotations: Papers from the 4th Symposium of the International Study Group on Music Archaeology at Kloster Michaelstein, 19–26 September 2004, ed. E. Hickmann, A. A. Both, and R. Eichmann. Studien zur Musikarchäologie 5. Rahden: Marie Leidorf. Kilmer, A. D., Crocker, R. L., and Brown, R. R. 1976 Sounds from Silence: Recent Discoveries in Ancient Eastern Music. LP with text. Berkeley: Bīt Enki Publications.

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Lawson, G. 2004 Music Internationality and Tradition: Identifying Purpose, and Continuity of Purpose in the Music-Archaeological Record. Pp. 61–97 in Music Archaeological Sources: Finds, Oral Transmission, Written Evidence, Papers from the 3rd Symposium of the International Study Group on Music Archaeology IV, ed. E. Hickmann and R. Eichmann. Studien zur Musikarchäologie 4. Rhaden: Marie Leidorf. Lund, C. 1980 Methoden und Probleme der nordischen Musikarchäologie. Acta Musicologica 52: 1–13. Mendívil, J. 2004 Flutes and Food for the Ancestors: From the Tradition of Discoveries to the Discovery of Traditions. Pp. 107–16 in Music-Archaeological Sources: Finds, Oral Transmission, Written Evidence. Papers from the 3rd Symposium of the International Study Group on Music Archaelogy at Monastery Michaelstein, 9–16 June, 2002, ed. E. Hickmann and R. Eichmann. Studien zur Musikarchäologie 4. Rahden: Marie Leidorf. Olsen, D. A. 1988 The Magic Flutes of El Dorado: A Model for Research in Music Archaeology as Applied to the Sinú of Ancient Columbia. Pp. 305–28 in The Archaeology of Early Music Cultures, ed. E. Hickmann and D. Hughes. Third International Meeting of the ICTM Study Group on Music Archaeology. Bonn: Verlag für systematische Musikwissenschaft. Purser, J. 2000 The Sounds of Ancient Scotland. Pp. 325–336 in Music Archaeology of Early Metal Ages: Papers from the 1st Symposium of the International Study Group on Music Archaeology at Monastery Michaelstein, 18–24 May, 1998, ed. E. Hickmann, I. Laufs, and R. Eichmann. Studien zur Musikarchäologie 2. Rahden: Marie Leidorf. Smith, J. C., and Kilmer, A. D. 2000 Laying the Rough, Testing the Fine. Pp. 127–40 in Stringed Instruments in Archaeological Context. Papers from the 8th Symposium of the Study Group on Music Archaeology (ICTM), Limassol 26–30 August 1996, and other Contributions, ed. E. Hickmann and R. Eichmannn. Studien zur Musik­ archäologie I. Rahden: Marie Leidorf. Vitruvius  See Fensterbusch 1991. Wallin, N. L., Merker, B., and Brown, S., eds. 2000 The Origins of Music. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Winternitz, E. 1979 Musical Instruments and Their Symbolism in Western Art. New Haven: Yale University Press.

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Sound of Silence: Music and Musical Practice in Late Bronze–Iron Age Cyprus A. Bernard Knapp Cyprus American Archaeological Research Institute

And in the naked light I saw Ten thousand people, maybe more. People talking without speaking, People hearing without listening, People writing songs that voices never share And no one dared Disturb the sound of silence.

Simon and Garfunkel, Sound of Silence, 1965

Introduction Among Anne Kilmer’s many contributions to the fields of Assyriology and the ancient Near East, the study of music and musical practices stands out (for example, Kilmer 1971, 1974, 1992, 1997). This is especially the case in my mind, no doubt because as her occasional research assistant at U.C. Berkeley, I found myself poring through various transliterations of obscure Hurrian and Hittite texts, searching for musical, mathematical, or dance terms and filling out detailed index cards for each occurrence. Although I have long since lost any competence in cuneiform studies per se, as a prehistoric archaeologist I have nurtured an interest in material culture and social practices. In this study, dedicated to Anne in thanks for her unwavering support of my various distractions in pursuit of a Ph.D. degree at Berkeley, I turn my attention to what might be called the materiality of musical performances on Late Bronze–early Iron Age Cyprus. This includes in particular several representations of musicians and musical instruments depicted on clay figurines, bronze stands, pottery vessels, seals, and bronze or silver bowls (Meerschaert 1991; Kolotourou 2005; V. Karageorghis 2006). In the attempt to interpret these representations, I call into question long-standing assumptions that music and musicians in Cyprus were associated primarily with ritual or religious activities, in particular with “fertility cults” (on Cyprus, for example, see Averett 2002–4; J. Karageorghis 2005: 227–28; Kolotourou 2005). Instead, I single out their performative role as musicians, dancers, celebrants — and much more — in both large spectacles (not least feasting) and more mundane contexts, all of which might usefully be termed social and “ceremonial” activities rather than specifically religious or “ritual” ones (see also Knapp 1996). 121

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Music and Musicians in Ancient Cyprus On Cyprus, between the Late Cypriot (LC) and Cypro-Archaic periods, there are literally hundreds of images of musicians and the instruments they played, portrayed on diverse clay objects and represented on bronze stands, painted pottery, seal stones, and metal bowls. Here, I limit my discussion largely to the LC II through the Cypro-Archaic I period (about 1450–600 b.c.e.), mainly to keep the work within reasonable limits and because my own expertise draws to an end by the mid-1st millennium b.c.e. The earliest musical instruments known from Cyprus are awl-shaped rattles made of terracotta found in several LC sites, including Enkomi and Hala Sultan Tekke, typically in mortuary contexts (Buchholz 1990). Another horse-shaped rattle was recovered from a Late Cypriot tomb (Tomb 2) at Kazaphani (V. Karageorghis 1993: 18, H2, pl. 14:5). Clay rattles in the shape of pomegranates, pigs, and bottles are also known from Cypro-Geometric through Roman times, again often from funerary contexts (Buchholz 1966). From the end of the LC IIC period (ca. 1200–1150 b.c.e.), a bronze hoard excavated in the external courtyard of a fortified residential building at Pyla Kokkinokremos contained a small pair of cymbals (Karageorghis and Demas 1984: 38 no. 68, 56–57 pl. 36:68). Another pair of cymbals comes from a slightly later context at Kourion Kaloriziki, Tomb 40 (Catling 1964: 142–46, although H. Catling defined them as shield “bosses”). Finally, a single bronze cymbal was found in a Cypro-Geometric II tomb (Tomb 64) at Palaepaphos Skales (V. Karageorghis 1983: 153 no. 7, 154 n. 163, fig. 120, pl. 81). From the Late Cypriot IIA–B period (ca. 1450–1200 b.c.e.) come two female figurines executed in the Base-ring style, one playing a tambourine and the other clapping hands (V. Karageorghis 1993: 10 pls. VII/2–3, nos. A.vi.1 [Musée du Louvre AM 1] and A.vi.2 [National Archaeological Museum, Athens, no number]). V. Karageorghis (2006: 86) suggested that the “rhythmical music” played or accompanied by these nude females would have taken place in sanctuaries, and that the figurines as a class “are considered to be associated with the idea of fertility and regeneration” and “may represent priestesses or simply worshippers of the Great Goddess.” Kolotourou (2005: 188–89, 192) suggests an even more elaborate interpretation, linking tambourines (Greek tympanon) with the “Mother Goddess” and related deities, as well as with birth and fertility. Elsewhere, I have critiqued such interpretations at length (Knapp 2009), above all the assumption that these figurines represent a goddess of fertility, much less a precursor to or model for Greek goddesses such as Aphrodite or Demeter. There is no contextual, material, or iconographic reason to think that these figurines represent a deity or a priestess rather than, say, individual women, mothers, dancers, or celebrants at a feast or some other type of celebration, such as a birth or death or a rite of passage. By the LC IIIB period (about 1100–1000 b.c.e.), the acknowledged hybrid iconography and contextual associations (ceremonial) of the “goddess with upraised arms” might also be considered in the present context. V. Karageorghis (1993: 1, 60–61) suggested that these so-called psifigurines were used either as votive offerings to a divinity or as votive gifts for the dead. Webb (1999: 215) similarly argued that they were used in rituals for worshiping one or more female deities, whilst D’Agata (2005: 14) saw them as prestige objects related to ritual practices. To my mind, the diverse contexts in which these figurines were produced and displayed indicate multiple functions and usages and suggest instead that both female and male representations served a performative role that occasionally involved music and dance. We might also consider more carefully than scholars have in the past what kinds of gender information were being broadcast by the gestures, postures, dress, ornamentation, and color used in these images and whether they

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Fig. 1.  LC IIIA decorated bronze stand with seated harp player in front of stylized tree. V. Karageorghis 2006: 82–83 Figs. 68–69, no. 58 (British Museum no. 1920.12–20.1). Courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum.

might have been reserved for domestic, public, private, or ritual practices. It seems too restrictive to assume that all Cypriot figurines were involved in “religious” or “cultic” practices. Many of the LC II–IIIB figurines depict females, but males are also represented along with images that defy placement in traditional sexual categories. On two decorated bronze stands from the LC IIIA period (about 1200–1100 b.c.e.), both of uncertain provenience and now held in the British Museum, three musicians — two harp players and a lyre player — are depicted (V. Karageorghis 2006: 82–83 figs. 68 [no. 58 BM 1920.12–20.1] and 69 [no. 59 BM 1946.10–17.1]). On the first stand (no. 58; fig. 1 here), a harp player sits on a stool in front of a stylized tree, while on the second (no. 59) a harpist, again seated on a stool, faces a standing figure who plays a lyre; behind them, another standing figure holds a kylix in his left hand and a jug in his right. Both scenes have been interpreted strictly in ritual terms as a feast or religious festival in which music as well as material goods were offered to some unspecified divinity (V. Karageorghis 2006: 82). From the Cypro-Geometric period (about 1050–750 b.c.e.), two free-standing “horse-andrider” figurines depict the rider holding a lyre in his left hand (V. Karageorghis 2006: 89–90 figs. 76 [no. 67, Palaepaphos Skales Tomb 52.2, Kouklia Museum] and 78 [no. 68, Cyprus Museum no. 1992/I-20/1; fig. 2 here]). Amongst several free-standing terracotta figurines of lyre players

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Fig. 2.  CyproGeometric “horse and rider” Figurine holding a lyre in his left hand. V. Karageorghis 2006: 90 Fig. 78, no. 68 (Cyprus Museum 1992/I-20/1).

(V. Karageorghis 1993: 82 nos. LGA[iii] 5–7), we might single out a small, painted example with the musician again holding the lyre in his left hand (V. Karageorghis 2006: 101 fig. 88 [no. 76, Cyprus Museum no. B33]), and another, unique house model within which a seated human figure holds a lyre in his left arm (V. Karageorghis 2006: 103 fig. 90 [no. 78, Cyprus Museum no. B220]). During this same period, we find some musicians painted on pottery vessels. One example is a large amphora in White Painted style with a lyre player seated on a large chair (V. Karageorghis 2006: 102 fig. 89, no. 77 [Archbishopric of Cyprus collection]); another is an amphora in Bichrome II–III style with a standing male figure holding a lyre (V. Karageorghis 2006: 104 fig. 92b, no. 79 [Kourion Kaloriziki, Tomb 11 no. 5, Kourion Museum; fig. 3 here]). Dancers, both male and female, are represented on a terracotta figurine and a circular disc, on a Bichrome Ware amphora, and on a shallow, decorated bronze bowl from Idalion, the last also with musicians playing a harp, pipes, and tambourine (terracottas: V. Karageorghis 2006: 106–13; bronze bowl: Markoe 1985: 171–72, 246–47, Cy3 [Metropolitan Museum of Art no. 74.51.5600]). J. Karageorghis (2005: 58–59, fig. 46) sees the scene on the bronze bowl (Cy3) as a representation of musical and dance ceremonies that honored Aphrodite. Dunn-Vaturi (2003: 109–10 with figures) illustrates further representations of Cypriot “ring dancers” standing on round, flat ceramic discs, with their arms linked or in upraised position. Predictably, these dancers have been interpreted as participants in feasts or other ceremonies being held in a “sanctuary,” in honor of some (typically female) deity. None of these authors, however, offers any reason why we should see these depictions of human figures holding hands or with upraised arms, accompanied by a suite of musicians, as anything other than people dancing and clapping in a musical performance or at a (secular) banquet.

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Fig. 3.  Cypro-Geometric Bichrome II-III amphora with standing male figure holding a lyre. V. Karageorghis 2006: 104–5, fig. 92b, no. 79 (Kourion Kaloriziki, Tomb 11 no. 5). Kourion Museum.

From the Cypro-Archaic I period (about 750–600 b.c.e.), several free-standing figurines depict tambourine, cymbal, lyre, and flute players (V. Karageorghis 2006: 144–48 nos. 118–26). Both females and males are represented. Kolotourou (2005: 197) suggests that two of the figurines, identified as tambourine players (V. Karageorghis 2006: 146 nos. 121–22), should instead be regarded as cymbal players. Two scaraboid seals of Cypro-Archaic date and disputed origin (perhaps local Cypriot copies of Levantine originals) depict a lyre player (Reyes 2001: 68–69 figs. 97 [no. 74] and 98 [no. 75]); one of them (no. 74) also portrays a woman with a tambourine. Singers and dancers are depicted in terracotta figurines and on terracotta plaques (V. Karageorghis 2006: 149–52 nos. 127–31). One frequently cited terracotta group of ring-dancers has a tambourine player in the center of the group (Flourentzos 1991: 42 pl. III.3; V. Karageorghis 1993: 65, G-D3, pl. XXVIII:11; 2006: 150–51, no. 129, fig. 144 [Cyprus Museum C350]; Averett 2002–4: 16–17 fig. 3; Kolotourou 2005: 191 [Cyprus Museum no. C350; fig. 4 here]). A recently published female tambourine (tympanon) player dated to the Cypro-Archaic II period (about 600–480 b.c.e.) is said to have been produced at a workshop “specifically as a votive offering for the Cypriot Goddess”; the tambourines themselves are argued to have been played primarily by women in “rituals associated with women, fertility, birth, and rebirth” (Averett 2002–4: 14 figs. 1, 15, 21). Commenting on a group of tambourine and lyre playing figurines from Lapithos, J. Karageorghis (2005: 204–5, figs. 271–72, 276–79) states that “they give us a very clear image of the cult of the Cypriot goddess.” Below I argue that all such statements are not just conjectural but unsupported by the archaeological evidence itself, both in terms of style and context. Burgh (2004) and Kolotourou (2005) have highlighted and discussed several representations of sexually ambiguous dancers and musicians on ceramic and ivory objects, in relief sculpture, and on seals from the Bronze and Iron Age Levant, western Asia, and Cyprus. Singers and dancers along with musicians (flute, lyre, and tambourine players) are represented on two metal bowls from Cyprus (Cypro-Geometic III), one fragmentary and made of silver, the other complete and made of bronze (V. Karageorghis 2006: 140–43 nos. 115 [Metropolitan Museum of Art no. 74.51.4557] and 116 [British Museum no. 1892,0519.1; fig. 5 here]). Whereas the terracotta singers and dancers and the bronze bowl are interpreted mainly in terms of their ritual role and association with some deity (V. Karageorghis 2006: 143, 149, 152), the silver bowl, at least, is regarded by some as a

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Fig. 4.  Cypro-Archaic I terracotta group of ring-dancers with tambourine player in center. V. Karageorghis 2006: 150–51, no. 129, fig. 144, (Cyprus Museum no. C350).

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representation of feasting among the urban and royal elites of this period (V. Karageorghis et al. 1999; cf. Hermary 2000). In attempting to interpret the role of musicians and musical instruments in ancient Cypriot society, scholars have linked them to ritual, fertility, religion, gods, and goddesses — in particular the “Great Goddess” — whatever that may mean. For example, in the case of another decorated bronze bowl (MMA no. 74.51.5700), we find that: “The seated figure may be a goddess, probably Astarte herself, or her priestess. It is important that all figures of participants in the ritual feast are female, servants of the Great Goddess, who is entertained with music, dancing, and is offered food and drink” (V. Karageorghis 2006: 113 no. 84). Or, to take another example, regarding the female figurine in Base-ring style noted above (Musée du Louvre AM 1): “It is reasonable to suggest that the female Base-ring ware tambourine player represents a ritual action ensuring fertility” (Kolotourou 2005: 192). These examples could be multiplied many times over in virtually every publication that deals specifically with music and musical practices on Cyprus and in numerous others dealing with female figurines or representations of women. Bolger (2003: 99–100) has argued firmly, and correctly in my opinion, that we should not adopt modern religious concepts to discuss prehistoric society on Cyprus, nor should we see goddesses in every female figurine or other representation. If we cannot determine the function of these figurines and related images by their (often elusive) contexts or (typically diverse) styles, then we at least need to acknowledge that what present-day scholars often regard as distinctive

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Fig. 5.  CyproGeometric III bronze bowl depicting three musicians and a female dancer. V. Karageorghis 2006: 142–43, no. 116 (British Museum no. 1892, 0519.1). Courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum.

aspects of ancient cultures — social, political, economic, religious — may have been intimately connected in prehistoric and protohistoric societies. How can we get round this kind of interpretive deadlock, not at all uncommon in prehistoric archaeology?

Music, Musicians, and Dancing in the Ancient Near East One way to reassess all these interpretations of Cypriot musicians and musical practice is to compare them with the ways in which the same phenomena are viewed in other, contemporary, often literate societies of the neighboring ancient Near East. Cuneiform documentary evidence related to music and musical practices within contemporary societies in Mesopotamia, Anatolia, and the Levant is most instructive here. I am not suggesting that Late Bronze and early Iron Age Cypriot society (and the music performed there) can be compared directly to Babylonian, Hurrian, or Hittite society and musical practices. I would argue, however, that what we do know about these contemporaneous cultures calls into question most assertions that have been made about the ritual or religious nature of Cypriot music, musicians, and musical practices. As Anne Kilmer (1995–97: 463) wrote in her masterful summary in RlA, music was one of the “powers” (me) of Mesopotamian arts and culture. Although the god Ea/Enki served as its patron deity (and also personified the fourth musical string or note), information about music, musicians,

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and musical practice can be found in virtually every category of cuneiform text: lexical texts, scholarly tablets on music theory, poetic texts and hymns, food rations for musicians, and descriptions of religious as well as political ceremonies. Such texts demonstrate that musicians in the ancient Near East played a wide variety of stringed, wind, and percussion instruments accompanied by cymbals, rattles, clappers, and bells (Kilmer 1997: 463–67). Performers included anyone who played an instrument (pipe, stringed, drum), and there are several terms for professional “musicians” (nar/nâru; nârūtu ‘female musician’), including lamentation singers, solo singers, group singers, professional mourners, and specialists in non-liturgical songs. In Proto-l  ú lists (Sumerian lú means ‘people, man’) of the early 2nd millennium b.c.e., entertainers, musicians, and musical instruments were recorded alongside more technical music vocabulary. The corresponding later lists contain more than 90 terms for musicians amongst various other types of entertainers. Some composers or performing musicians are known by name, the best known being Enheduanna, daughter of Sargon, king of Akkad in the mid-3rd millennium b.c.e., and Ur-Nanshe of Mari, from the early 2nd millennium b.c.e. (Kilmer 1997: 469, 472). When we envisage the vast array of types of music, musicians, and musical performances listed or discussed in cuneiform texts, we arrive at the very heart of my concerns over the presumed function of music on prehistoric and protohistoric Cyprus. In the ancient Near East, simple songs and music were performed in a wide variety of locations: in the home, in workshops, and in agricultural fields one could hear lullabies, work songs, and herders’ lays accompanied by pipes (Kilmer 1997: 467). More complicated musical performances were, indeed, held in and around the temples, but the palaces also served as a venue for feasting and musical entertainment involving pipes, a harp or lyre, percussion, and dancers. Literary catalogues and song repertoires list work songs, battle songs, funerary songs, and love songs; there were hymns of praise, magical incantations, laments, prayers, and devotional compositions performed by orchestras; the Nanshe Hymn even lists precisely where individual instruments should be positioned in the orchestra (Heimpel 1981: 84). There are also depictions of portable platforms where performances were carried out and of folding seats reserved for harpists and lyrists. The Middle Assyrian Song catalogue (KAR 158) lists some 360 song titles in Sumerian and Akkadian and sorts them into 31 different types of songs. Song, music, and dance also accompanied the performance of magical rites, royal ceremonies, wedding parties, and “circus”-like acts by people and animals. They were heard and seen in taverns and on “sexually explicit” scenes involving the lute, drums, and dance. Students practiced at school the musical compositions they learned to read and play. Blind children were trained in the musical arts and in special singing styles. More elaborate, professional musical performances seem to have been conducted in special halls, whether religious, political, or cultural in nature. For example, lyric poetry epics and myths were sung by various different singers and accompanied by instrumentalists. Music was used when oaths were taken and on potentially ominous occasions such as eclipses, the disappearance of the moon, at childbirth or on the deathbed, and during mortuary ceremonies. Musicians are found among palace personnel who received rations, and some royal courts may have promoted musicians through music schools (Rashid 1984: 16). Royal correspondence from the site of Mari on the Euphrates indicates that popular singers and instrumentalists accompanied the army on its field operations and that some foreign captives — women, in particular — were trained to become vocalists. On the lighter side, we learn in one Sumerian letter that a performing monkey complained about being locked up and underfed in the chief musician’s house (Powell 1978).

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Ancient Musical Performance and Practice: Discussion and Conclusion Why do most scholars who have studied musical representations and musical practices on prehistoric or protohistoric Cyprus maintain that there is a virtually exclusive connection between musical performance and religious ceremonies, fertility rituals, and cult? What leads otherwise careful scholars who have studied their materials thoroughly to proclaim, for example, that “hand drums were played primarily by women in Eastern Mediterranean rituals associated with women, fertility, birth, and rebirth” (Averett 2002–4: 15)? Perhaps so, but if we turn to consider ethnographic and archaeological evidence from other parts of the world, it is evident that drumming can also be associated with rites of transition, funerary processions, incantations to ward off diseases or pestilence, or simply singing and dancing (Needham 1967; Moore 2006; Houston 2006). Music enables us to experience our bodies, heighten our emotions and the sense of the moment, renew our energies, and incite us to action; it can make our feelings richer than simply using words to express them (Younger 1998: 51–52). Contemporary research in biomusicology suggests that rhythmic patterns — along with repetition and synchronism — facilitate human bonding and interaction and lead to cognitive and emotional responses that condition group behavior (Kolotourou 2005: 184, citing Wallin, Merker, and Brown 2000). Rhythm, in fact, is one of the most primordial expressions of human life, felt from the very beginning in the beating of the mother’s heart (Dissanayake 2000) and later in life through bodily experience (McClary 1991). In both the humanities and social sciences, the study of “performance” — which embraces several different levels of music, dance, and “spectacle” more generally — forms an important theme, while archaeologists increasingly realize the potential of this approach (for example, Morris 1995; Pearson and Shanks 2001; German 2005; Inomata and Cohen 2006). Musicians and musical performances form an integral part of many different types of social, cultural, political, and ritual or religious events (or “spectacles”). In Mayan society, for example, musicians and musical practices, as well as dancing and other public performances, are depicted not only on stelae and other stone monuments in the ritualized contexts of ceremonial plazas and pyramids, but also in elite residences, which contained musical instruments such as drums, clay flutes, whistles, and conch horns (Inomata 2006: 197–209). In classical Greece, music had not only “ethnic” but also ethical value; both Plato and Aristotle discussed its impact on contemporary society (West 1992: 356–72). In his detailed survey of Bronze Age Aegean music and musical instruments, in part contemporary with the situation on Cyprus, Younger (1998: 46–47) noted that representations of musicians, instruments, and dance in several different media and in diverse contexts indicate not just religious ceremonies but also funerary, economic, and administrative practices. Musical instruments represented or, in some cases, actually preserved in the Bronze Age Aegean include harps, lyres, kitharas, auloi (a reed instrument, not unlike a clarinet or oboe), pipes and triton shell trumpets, rattles (sistra), and cymbals. Some professional musicians are named by title in a Linear B tablet from Thebes, and Minoans seals likely depicted musical instruments to signal the occupation of the seal bearer. Among the 72 Bronze Age Aegean musical instruments or depictions of music and musicians catalogued by Younger (1998: 61–80), two of the best-known objects come from Crete. They are (1) the Harvester Vase, which shows three men singing and a sistrum-shaker in front of them (Warren 1969: 88), and (2) the Ayia Triada sarcophagus, which shows a man playing a phorminx (a type of lyre) in what is presumably a funerary scene with two women carrying large vases (“buckets”) and three men carrying representations of calves and of a boat (Long 1974; Younger 1998: 66–68, pls. 10–11).

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To summarize: the settings for music and musicians in the Bronze Age Aegean, as well as in Homer, include not only “religious” and funerary events but also military processions, feasting activities, harvesting, weddings, epic performances, athletic contests, and all sorts of private occasions (Younger 1998: 46–48). In a strictly material setting such as that of prehistoric or protohistoric Cyprus, without documentary evidence to guide us, it can be very difficult to disentangle just what kind of people or events were involved in ancient musical performances. Context is all important, but a large percentage of the Cypriot objects discussed in this study lack specific provenience, and those that have a provenience often stem from mortuary settings, rarely from buildings that have been identified — seldom with sound reason — as “sanctuaries” (see Knapp 2008: 206–11 for further discussion). With respect to style, the fact that musicians and musical instruments are portrayed on so many different media (pottery, bronzes, seals, terracottas) makes it very difficult to assert some level of coherence that might reflect specific function(s). In any case, from other artistic representations and literary sources, as well as personal experience, there is little doubt that the rhythms of music provide atmosphere for everything from making love to making war, worshiping gods to weaving carpets, hunting animals to harvesting grains, reciting poetry to pledging allegiance, celebrating births and deaths, and much more. Thanks in no small part to the painstaking efforts of Anne Kilmer, who has portrayed so well the contemporaneous practices of music and musicians in the ancient Near East, there seems to be little basis for interpreting musical practices on Bronze–Iron Age Cyprus strictly in ritual or religious terms. This brief review of hundreds of cuneiform records, and of music and musicians in other cultural contexts, makes it apparent that we should not be identifying all female figurines as representations of Astarte, Ishtar, Hathor/Isis, Aphrodite, or Artemis, and that we should not be associating every singer, dancer and musician with worshipers or priests and priestesses of such divinities.

Bibliography Averett, E. W. 2002–4 Drumming for the Divine: A Female Tympanon Player from Cyprus. Muse 36–38: 14–28. Bolger, D. 2003 Gender in Ancient Cyprus: Narratives of Social Change on a Mediterranean Island. Walnut Creek, CA: Altamira. Buchholz, H.-G. 1966 Tönerne Rasseln aus Zypern. Archäologischer Anzeiger 1966: 140–51. 1990 Kyprische Eulenrasseln. Archaeologia Cypria 2: 33–51. Burgh, T. W. 2004 “Who’s the Man?” Sex and Gender in Iron Age Musical Performance. Near Eastern Archaeology 67: 128–36. Catling, H. W. 1964 Cypriot Bronzework in the Mycenaean World. Oxford: Oxford University Press. D’Agata, A. L. 2005 Cult Activity on Crete and Cyprus at the End of the Late Bronze Age and the Beginning of the Early Iron Age. Pp. 1–17 in Cyprus: Religion and Society from the Late Bronze Age to the End of the Archaic Period, ed. V. Karageorghis, H. Matthäus, and S. Rogge. Möhnesee-Wamel: Biblipolis. Dissanayake, E. 2000 Antecedents of the Temporal Arts in Early Mother-Infant Interaction. Pp. 389–410 in The Origins of Music, ed. N. L. Wallin, B. Merker, and S. Brown. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

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Dunn-Vaturi, A.-E. 2003 Dancers in the Louvre: The Iranian and Cypriot Collections. Near Eastern Archaeology 66: 106–10. Flourentzos, P. 1991 Wind Musical Instruments from Cyprus. Pp. 41–47 in vol. 1 of Acta Cypria: Acts of an International Congress on Cypriote Archaeology held in Göteborg (22–24 August 1991), ed. P. Åström. Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology and Literature, Pocket-book 107. Jonsered: P. Åström’s Förlag. German, S. 2005 Performance, Power and the Art of the Aegean Bronze Age. British Archaeological Reports, International Series 1347. Oxford: Archeopress. Heimpel, W. 1981 The Nanshe Hymn. JCS 33: 65–139. Hermary, A. 2000 Déesse plutot que reine? A propos d’une coupe d’argent de la Collection Cesnola. Cahier d’Études Chypriotes 30: 67–78. Houston, S. D. 2006 Impersonation, Dance, and the Problem of Spectacle among the Classic Maya. Pp. 135–55 in Archaeology of Performance: Theaters of Power, Community and Politics, ed. T. Inomata and L. S. Cohen. Archaeology in Society 2. Lanham, MD: AltaMira Press. Inomata, T. 2006 Politics and Theatricality in Mayan Society. Pp. 187–221 in Archaeology of Performance: Theaters of Power, Community and Politics, ed. T. Inomata and L. S. Cohen. Archaeology in Society 2. Lanham, MD: AltaMira Press. Inomata, T., and Cohen, L. S., eds. 2006 Archaeology of Performance: Theaters of Power, Community and Politics. Archaeology in Society 2. Lanham, MD: AltaMira Press. Karageorghis, J. 2005 Kypris: The Aphrodite of Cyprus. Ancient Sources and Archaeological Evidence. Nicosia: A. G. Leventis Foundation. Karageorghis, V. 1983 Palaepaphos-Skales: An Iron Age Cemetery in Cyprus. 2 vols. Alt-Paphos 3. Konstanz: Universitätsverlag. 1993 The Coroplastic Art of Ancient Cyprus II: Late Cypriote II-Cypro-Geometric III. Nicosia: Leventis Foundation. 2006 Aspects of Everyday Life in Ancient Cyprus: Iconic Representations. Nicosia: A. G. Leventis Foundation. Karageorghis, V., and Demas, M. 1984 Pyla-Kokkinokremos: A Late 13th Century b.c. Fortified Settlement in Cyprus. Nicosia: Department of Antiquities. Karageorghis, V., Hendrix, E., and Neumann, G. 1999 A Cypriot Silver Bowl Reconsidered. Metropolitan Museum Journal 34: 13–35. Kilmer, A. D. 1971 The Discovery of an Ancient Mesopotamian Theory of Music. PAPS 115: 131–49. 1974 The Cult Song with Music from Ancient Ugarit: Another Interpretation. RA 68: 69–82. 1992 Musical Practice in Nippur. Pp. 101–12 in Nippur at the Centennial: Papers Read at the 35e Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Philadelphia, 1988, ed. M. deJong Ellis. Occasional Publications of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund 14. Philadelphia: University Museum, University of Pennsylvania. 1995–97 Musik. A. I. In Mesopotamian. RlA 8.5–6/7–8: 463–82. Knapp, A. B. 1996 Power and Ideology on Prehistoric Cyprus. Pp. 9–25 in Religion and Power in the Ancient Greek World, ed. P. Hellström and B. Alroth. Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis 24. Uppsala: Ubsaliensis S. Academiae. 2008 Prehistoric and Protohisoric Cyprus: Identity, Insularity and Connectivity. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 2009 Representations: Female Figurines and Social Identity on Protohistoric Cyprus. Medelhavsmuseet. Focus on the Mediterranean 5: 137–44.

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Kolotourou, K. 2005 Music and Cult: The Significance of Percussion and the Cypriote Connection. Pp. 183–204 in Cyprus: Religion and Society from the Late Bronze Age to the End of the Archaic Period, ed. V. Karageorghis, H. Matthäus, and S. Rogge. Möhnesee-Wamel: Biblipolis. Long, C. 1974 The Ayia Triadha Sarcophagus. Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology 41. Göteborg: P. Åström’s Förlag. McClary, S. 1991 Feminine Endings. Music, Gender, and Sexuality. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Markoe, G. 1985 Phoenician Bronze and Silver Bowls from Cyprus and the Mediterranean. University of California Classical Studies 26. Berkeley: University of California Press. Meerschaert, C. 1991 Les musiciens dans la coroplastie chypriote de l’époque archaïque. Pp. 183–92 in Cypriote Terracottas: Proceedings of the First International Conference of Cypriote Studies (Brussels–Liege–Amsterdam, 29 May–1 June 1989), ed. F. Vandenabeele and R. Laffineur. Nicosia: Leventis Foundation. Moore, J. D. 2006 “The Indians were much given to their Taquis:” Drumming and Generative Categories in Ancient Andean Funerary Processions. Pp.  47–79 in Archaeology of Performance: Theaters of Power, Community and Politics, ed. T. Inomata and L. S. Cohen. Archaeology in Society 2. Lanham, MD: AltaMira Press. Morris, R. C. 1995 ALL MADE UP: Performance Theory and the New Anthropology of Sex and Gender. Annual Review of Anthropology 24: 567–92. Needham, R. 1967 Percussion and Transition. Man (new series) 2: 606–14. Pearson, M., and Shanks, M. 2001 Theatre/Archaeology. London: Routledge. Powell, M. A., Jr. 1978 Ukubi to Mother . . . The Situation is Desperate: A Plaidoyer for Methodological Rigor in Editing and Interpreting Sumerian Texts with an Excursus on the Verb taka: dax-dax (tag4). ZA 68: 163–95. Rashid, S. A. 1984 Musikgeschichte in Bildern, Band II: Musik des Altertums, Lieferung 2: Mesopotamien. Leipzig: Deutscher Verlag für Musik. Reyes, A. T. 2001 The Stamp Seals of Ancient Cyprus. Oxford University School of Archaeology, Monograph 52. Oxford: Oxford University School of Archaeology. Wallin, N. L., Merker, B, and Brown, S., eds. 2000 The Origins of Music. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Warren, P. M. 1969 Minoan Stone Vases. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Webb, J. M. 1999 Ritual Architecture, Iconography and Practice in the Late Cypriote Bronze Age. Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology and Literature, Pocket-book 75. Jonsered: P. Åström’s Förlag. West, M. 1992 Ancient Greek Music. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Younger, J. G. 1998 Music in the Aegean Bronze Age. Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology and Literature, Pocketbook 144. Jonsered: P. Åström’s Förlag.

A New Fragment of Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi Erle Leichty University of Pennsylvania

Shortly after A. D. Kilmer, then Anne Draffkorn, arrived in Chicago to take up a post as Professor Benno Landsberger’s assistant she proudly presented each of us with an offprint of her first publication entitled Ilāni/Elohim. 1 Not too long after that, while reading LKA in a class taught by Professor Erica Reiner, I was fortunate enough to identify the first few lines of Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi, which I published as my first article, and I was able to reciprocate Anne’s gift with my own offprint. 2 Now, in the course of cataloging the Babylonian collection in the British Museum, I have come across another very important fragment of Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi. I would like to claim that I was the first to discover this tablet, but I cannot. The identification of its contents had already been made and I had only to confirm them. It is a great pity that this tablet was not made available to W. G. Lambert when he was compiling his definitive text edition of Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi for his book, Babylonian Wisdom Literature. At that time it was the policy of the department of Western Asiatic Antiquities, as it was then known, to deny students access to any tablets that were not publicly cataloged. As a consequence, all of us who were preparing text editions missed very important source material buried in the Babylonian collection. Anne Kilmer spent much of her scholarly life researching Mesopotamian music and lexical texts, but she was also known to forage in the literary corpus occasionally. I hope she will enjoy the text presented below and the short commentary following it. It is a great privilege to honor a wonderful friend and colleague with this modest contribution to her festschrift. BM 34650 Obverse 1. [be-lí ú-pa]-áš-ši-ḫa-[an-]ni 2. [be-lí ú-ṣa]-am-mi-da-an-ni 3. [be-lí] i-ṭi-ra-an-ni 4. [be-lí ú]-bal-li-ṭa-an-ni 5. [ina ḫaš-ti e]-ki-ma-an-ni 6. [  ]-x-pa-an-ni 7. [ina ka-ra-še-e id]-ka-an-ni 8. [x x x ina ḫu-bur iš]-du-da-an-ni 9. [x x (x)-ti qa]-ti iṣ-ba-at 1.  JBL 76 (1957) 216–24. 2.  “Two New Fragments of Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi,” Orientalia NS 28 (1959) 361–63.

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10. [šá im-ḫa]- ṣa-an-ni 11. [dmarduk ú]- ša-qa ri-e-šú 12. [im-ḫa-aṣ rit-ti ma-ḫi]- ṣi-ia 13. [ú-šad-di GIŠ.TUKUL-šu d]marduk 14. [ina pi-i gir-ra a-ki]-li-ia 15. [id-di nap-sa-ma d]marduk 16. [dmarduk šá mu-kaš]-ši-di-ia 17. [i-kim as-pa-šú as-suk-ka]-šú ú-saḫ-ḫi-ir 18. [  ] i-kip 19. [  ] ki-sur-ri 20. [  ] ú-šak-kin 21. [  ] ú-ma-al-li 22. [  ] ku x [  ] Reverse 1′. [ -m]a [  ] 2′. [  ] li [  ] 3′. [  ] ni-is [  ] 4′. [  ] ba-ʾu-ú-ma [  ] 5′. [mŠub]-ši-meš-ra-a-d[GÌR ] 6′. [  ] ma-ʾi-ir [  ] 7′. [  ] mu-ra lip-pa-ṭir a-ra-an-šú 8′. [  ] na-mur-ta-šú liš-tap-šiḫ 9′. [  ] 15-šú li-kab-bit-su 10′. [  ] im-šul ma-man 11′. [  ] -šú li-kab-bit-su 12′. [ -t]a-ma-aʾ u4-mi-šam 13′. [šá ] mŠub-ši-meš-ra-a-dGÌR 14′. [  ] ta-nit-ta-ka ṭa-bat 15′. [lud]-lul EN né-me-qí GIM LIBIR-š [ú] SAR 16′. [ d]marduk A-šú šá m[  ] A m[ ] 17′. [Traces] Because W. G. Lambert did not have access to BM 34650 for tablet IV of Ludlul, he had to work with sources that were not only difficult, but, occasionally, could not even be proven to belong to that literary work. The fourth and final tablet of Ludlul could not be reconstructed with certainty, but various scholars had identified sources that they thought belonged to tablet IV. Lambert struggled with this problem because parts of these sources seemed to fit but other parts were more dubious. In the end, Lambert chose to be inclusive and err on the side of too much rather than too little. Lambert has given us extensive and cogent reasons as to why these sources should be included or why they might better be excluded. 3 BM 34650 now solves the problem definitively. The beginning of tablet IV was correctly identified by Lambert as being preserved on the obverse of source “u” (= VAT 9442). BM 34650 almost certainly contains lines “q” and “r” 3.  Babylonian Wisdom Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1960; reprinted, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1996) 21–27.

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of the commentary. Lambert’s objections to this identification based on the traces in source “u” are probably the result of damage to that source or scribal error, since Lambert is extraordinarily skilled in reading traces and seldom if ever misreads them. 4 I would explain his grammatical objection by reading a!-[kili]-ia giving the “KIL” sign a value of “kili.” Unfortunately the reverse of source “u” with its duplicates, sources “t” (= VAT 9303), “v” (= VAT 10538), and “w” (= SU 1952, 212+291 with 302) cannot be reconciled with BM 34650. It appears that source “u” has Ludlul IV on the obverse but a different composition on the reverse, a situation that, although rare, is not unprecedented. Lambert has noted in his excellent discussion of the problems with Ludlul IV that the last line on the reverse of source “u” appears to be a catchline. This fits with the interpretation offered here. I have no idea what this unidentified composition is, but it obviously is closely connected with Marduk and Babylon. The mention of the various gates of Babylon led Andrew George to discuss this literary passage at some length in his book on TIN.TIR.KI, but he does not believe it is part of that composition. 5 4.  Ibid., 24 n. 1. 5.  Babylonian Topographical Texts (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 40; Leuven: Peeters, 1992) 85.

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Foreign Musicians in Neo-Assyrian Royal Courts Sherry Lou Macgregor Berkeley, CA

Evidence for foreign musicians in the royal courts of Assyria exists in the documents and artifacts found in and around the Assyrian heartland. Materials excavated in the past 165 years, whether on clay tablets or stone reliefs or ivory carvings, indicate that foreign musicians were highly valued as exotic and high-end commodities in ancient Assyria. Counted among the prestigious spoils of war or tribute received from neighboring rulers, foreign musicians seemingly were well treated after their arrival in Assyria. Certainly they were carefully distinguished in the archival materials and the visual depictions found in Neo-Assyrian capital cities. The foreign musicians discussed in this article were both instrumentalists and vocalists. In fact, it seems that, in the terminology used by the Neo-Assyrians, it is very difficult to distinguish which is meant. Logograms LÚ.NAR/MUNUS.NAR, Akkadian nāru/nārtu (male/female), seem to have been used in documents for either a singer or instrumentalist. In addition, the Neo-Assyrians also used the term zammāru/zammārtu when referring to musicians/singers. 1 Musical instruments played by foreign musicians for the Neo-Assyrians were typical of those found elsewhere in the ancient Near East in the 1st millennium b.c.e. The musical instruments were blown into, struck, plucked, or shaken to produce a sound. Modern musicologists classify musical instruments according to how the sound is produced. 2 Chordophones are instruments with strings that are plucked or bowed or strummed. Aerophones are instruments that produce sound when air is blown through them. Membranophones produce a sound when a skin or hide stretched over a frame is struck. Idiophones produce a sound if shaken or beaten. Visual depictions of all four types of instruments played by foreign musicians are known: from frame drums to double-pipes, from harps and lyres to cymbals. References to and visual depictions of foreign musicians are found from the 9th through the 7th centuries b.c.e., from the reigns of the Neo-Assyrian kings Assurnasirpal II (883–859) through Assurbanipal (668–631). This evidence for foreign musicians was located in the Neo-Assyrian capital cities of Kalhu and Nineveh. Author’s note:  This study is written in appreciation for the guidance and friendship that Anne Kilmer so generously has given to me over the years. Like many others, I have been inspired by her scholarship and dedication and have enjoyed her mischievous sense of humor. 1.  Kinnier Wilson (1972: 76) notes that “in contrast to nāru as the presumed literary word for a singer or musician of the period, we are concerned rather with zammāru attested for the vernacular. . . .” 2.  Sachs 1940.

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Textual Evidence Much of the textual evidence indicates that foreign musicians largely arrived in the Assyrian courts either as a result of being part of the tribute sent from a neighboring ruler or as part of the spoils of war. This information has been found on clay tablets, in administrative archives, on cylinders and prisms, on obelisks and carved on stone pavements and bulls set in the doorways of important buildings. As highly valued goods, musicians seemed to have been part of a package sent to get the Assyrian king and his soldiers and government off the backs of their neighbors. The musicians were mentioned along with other valuable tribute items such as multi-colored textiles, servants, and even the foreign king’s daughters and palace women. When the Assyrian king ransacked the palace in a foreign capital of a troublesome neighbor, he might mention that among the spoils taken were the female and male musicians. Because this information appeared in the annals of the kings of Assyria, some of which were inscribed in public spaces, clearly the acquisition of such valuable items as foreign musicians was something to be quite proud of and to advertise. Interestingly, textual references also reveal a seeming preference for foreign female musicians. Two Neo-Assyrian kings, Assurnasirpal II and Sennacherib (704–681), proudly state in their royal inscriptions that female musicians were received as tribute from foreign rulers, with no mention of male musicians at all. In a few other instances when both female and male musicians are mentioned together, it is noteworthy that the genders are distinguished. 3 These examples illustrate the high regard with which female musicians were held by the Neo-Assyrians. In the 9th century b.c.e., Assurnasirpal II in his royal inscriptions mentions tribute he received from foreign rulers. The tribute appears to have come from areas not directly under Assyrian control, which would indicate a delicate balancing act for those states that were independent but also had to acknowledge Assyria’s suzerainty. In his annals, Assurnasirpal lists 10 female musicians received as tribute from the royal city of Kunulua ruled by Lubarna, the Patinu. He states: Lubarna . . . to save his life he laid hold of my feet. 20 talents of silver, one talent of gold, 100 talents of lead, 100 talents of iron, 1,000 head of cattle, 10,000 sheep, 1,000 garments made of brightly colored wool . . . beds which were sumptuously inlaid, many tables of ivory and of boxwood . . . 10 female musicians, [his brother’s daughter with her rich dowry] . . . I received from him as his tribute, and I had mercy upon him. 4

As a result of these lavish gifts, Lubarna apparently was well treated by Assurnasirpal. One copy of Assurnasirpal’s annals with this information was carved on the pavement slabs of the entrance to the Urta Temple in Kalhu, truly a public space. 5 Another inscription of the king is found on the Rassam Obelisk, which was erected in a prominent position on the citadel in Kalhu. 6 Assurnasirpal mentions that he received female musicians 3.  Cheng (2001: 56) believes that “the clear identification of female musicians when a more ambiguous plural could have sufficed is a conscious choice that reflects the significance and symbolic importance of female musicians.” 4.  Grayson 1991b: 217–18; Luckenbill 1926–27: vol. 1, p. 165. 5.  Luckenbill 1926–27: vol. 1, p. 165. 6.  There is a strong likelihood that the obelisk was originally placed in a plaza on the citadel with other free-standing monuments. The installation of the monument would have occurred between 873–867 and 859, during the reign of Assurnasirpal II. However, the obelisk was deliberately destroyed in antiquity, and today less than half of the pieces are known, so there is much that cannot be known with certainly. See Reade 1980: 2, 21.

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along with multicolored linen garments and male servants as part of unidentified tribute. He does not, however, mention from whom or where this tribute was received. 7 In the late 8th and early 7th centuries Sennacherib twice mentions receiving male and female musicians based on two campaigns he and the Assyrian army fought. His first campaign was against Merodach-baladan in Babylonia and his third campaign in Syria–Palestine involved the siege of Jerusalem, where Hezekiah was king. In the first case, spoils of war were taken from the royal palace in Babylon, and in the second case, tribute was sent by Hezekiah to Sennacherib. During his first campaign in Babylonia, Sennacherib states that in the plain of Kish, in the midst of the battle, Merodach-baladan, leaving battle equipment behind, ran away to save his life. This left Sennacherib the opportunity to enter Merodach-baladan’s capital city of Babylon. Into his palace which is in Babylon, joyfully I entered. I opened his treasure-house: –gold, silver, vessels of gold and silver, precious stones of every kind goods and property without limit, heavy tribute, his harem, courtiers and officials, singers, male and female, all of his artisans, as many as there were, the servants of his palace I brought out, I counted as spoil. 8

As a result of Sennacherib’s third campaign waged in the west, Hezakiah, the king of Judea, decided to send tribute to appease Sennacherib. With 30 talents of gold, 800 talents of silver and all kinds of treasure, he sent his daughters, his palace women, his male and female singers, to Nineveh, and he dispatched his messenger to pay the tribute. 9

It is worth noting that, even when the annals were condensed in the later years of Sennacherib’s reign, the king still specified that part of the tribute sent to him by Hezakiah was: “his male and female singers.” While there are many copies of the annals, at least half a dozen are known to have been carved on the monolithic bulls that guarded entrances in Sennacherib’s palace, particularly the façade of the building. 10 These bull texts were carved under the belly and behind the legs of the bull in full view of anyone who walked by. In the 7th century, it is known that Assurbanipal acquired male and female singers on his eighth campaign in Elam. He captured the territory of Gambulu ruled by Dunanu and took from him valuable spoils of war. Dunanu (and) his brothers I brought forth alive from the midst of that city. His wife, his sons, his daughters, his concubines, his male and female singers, I brought out and counted as spoil. Silver, gold, goods, the treasure of his palace, I brought out and counted as spoil. . . .” 11

Again, the Neo-Assyrian king is very specific in mentioning that he acquired male and female musicians from Dunanu of Gambulu. Among the imperial administrative records from Nineveh are lists of female personnel in the royal palace. Most of these records are thought to date from the 7th-century reigns of Esarhaddon (680–669) or Assurbanipal. 12 Female musicians were included on these lists. On one list (ADD 7.  Grayson 1991b: 343. Reade (1980: 18–19) has suggested that these female musicians may be the same ones received by Assurnasirpal from Patinu, even though the name of the ruler sending the tribute is missing on the obelisk. 8.  Luckenbill 1924: 24; 1926–27: vol. 2, p. 116. 9.  Luckenbill 1924: 70. 10.  Russell 1999: 128–30. 11.  Luckenbill 1926–27: vol. 2, p. 334. 12.  Fales and Postgate 1992: p. xiv.

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827), among temple stewardesses, female scribes, female smiths and stone-borers, a female barber and a female baker were 61 female musicians. While it is not clear where all of the 61 female musicians were from, the list very specifically states that 3 were Aramaean, 11 were Hittite, 13 were Tyrian, and 9 were Kassite women. 13 A further source of information on foreign musicians comes from a group of texts called the Nimrud Wine Lists. Found in three separate rooms, SW6, NE48, and NE49 at Fort Shalmaneser (the ekal māšerti ) in Kalhu, they list the specific allotments of wine disbursed to persons, professional groups, and personnel in the royal household. 14 In some cases personal names are given, in others the professional titles, while for foreigners often only place-names are provided. There has been considerable discussion on the dating and purpose of these texts, and it is now thought that they date to the 8th century. 15 The texts record the wine distributed for a ceremonial occasion that occurred once a year around the time of the vernal equinox. 16 Wine, it seems, was a commodity that denoted rank and status and came to be counted as a telling element in the expression of royal authority. 17 How much and to whom it was apportioned in the administration and court was therefore carefully recorded in the royal archives. From the date of its founding in the 9th century in the reign of Assurnasirpal II, Kalhu was an international capital city that contained many foreigners. They formed a large contingent in the capital city that had actually been “built and maintained by displaced persons from distant parts of the Assyrian empire.” 18 It is therefore not inconsistent that 26 different groups of foreigners are recorded in the wine lists, and among these are 7 groups of foreign musicians. 19 The foreign musicians mentioned in the wine lists are both male and female and come from areas to the north, west, and south of Assyria. Hittite musicians from Anatolia, Kassites from Babylonia, and Arameans from Syria are mentioned, along with musicians from Arpad in northwestern Syria, Tabal in Anatolia, Kummuhaya in northern Syria, and Kaldaya in Chaldea. A further group of foreign musicians receiving an allotment of wine is merely called “musicians of the several countries.” 20 There was considerable variation in the quantities of wine allotted to the various groups of people mentioned in the Nimrud Wine Lists. When the quantities are known, foreign musicians received from 1 to 9 qû (Kinnier Wilson estimated the liquid measurement for 1 qû to be equal to 10 cups). 21 While the wine allotments for musicians may not be large in comparison with some of the other groups of people, they do confirm that there were considerable numbers of foreign musicians in the royal household. The royal household itself is estimated to number as many as 13.  Fales and Postgate 1992: 34. 14.  In 1957, 11 tablets were found in the wine magazine SW 6. In 1961, 46 tablets and fragments were found in NE 48 and NE 49. See Kinnier Wilson 1972: 1. 15.  Dalley and Postgate 1984: 24. 16.  Fales 1994: 370. 17.  Stronach 1995: 177. 18.  M. Mallowan in Kinnier Wilson 1972: xi. 19.  These groups “range from Palestine through Syria, Anatolia, and Iran: Gutians, Elamites, Arameans, men of Sumaria, Egyptians, Kushites, Medes, and Mannaeans figure among them. . . .” (M. Mallowan in Kinnier Wilson 1972: ix). 20.  Two terms for musician in the Nimrud Wine Lists are not included here. Assyrian musicians who received wine allotments are not part of this paper and unfortunately the term “musicians of the royal cloth” does not indicate where the musicians were from. 21.  Kinnier Wilson 1972: 117.

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6,000 people. To even be included on the wine lists and be a part of the hierarchy in the royal household is in itself significant for foreigners and for musicians.

Visual evidence Pictorial examples of foreign musicians on objects of Assyrian manufacture have been found carved on stone reliefs in royal palaces and on decorative ivory objects. The dates for these carvings range from the 9th through the 7th centuries b.c.e. Foreign musicians typically performed in small groups. They are depicted performing in various situations or venues for the Assyrians both in their own lands and in Assyria proper. For the most part, foreign musicians performed on musical instruments similar to those of the Neo-Assyrians. Visual depictions show them playing vertical and horizontal harps, lyres, doublepipes, drums, and cymbals. They can also be seen clapping their hands to music and possibly singing and dancing as well. Foreign musicians can be viewed in military situations on battlements, as captives, or welcoming the Assyrian conquerors. In a non-military scene, they are shown in a procession in a garden.

Military Scenes There are numerous military scenes in Assyrian art, but only a few contain musicians. Interestingly, the musicians never appear in scenes when a battle is taking place. Instead, the majority of the scenes occur in post-battle situations when enemy musicians either voluntarily or involuntarily must welcome the Assyrian victors. There are at least six known visual examples of foreign musicians in military contexts.

Three Phoenician (?) Musicians — Stone Relief (fig. 1) On a carved relief from the Southwest Palace of Sennacherib on Kuyunjik at Nineveh (BM 124947) is a scene showing three foreign male musicians playing lyres, followed by an Assyrian soldier. This relief was found by Rassam in the spring of 1853, regrettably with no evidence of its original position. 22 Based on the caps that two of the musicians wear and the style of lyres they play, the three musicians are certainly from the west of Assyria. They are most likely Phoenician musicians, with the distinct possibility that they are Judean. 23 The landscape supports this geographical identification because it matches up quite nicely with other scenes from Sennacherib’s third campaign to the west of Assyria. The three musicians and the Assyrian soldier walk along a stream in a wooded mountainous area. Three distinct mountaintops seen above the figures indicate a high horizon, and the trees, complete and partial, demonstrate that the area is wooded. The traditional scale pattern that represents rough, rocky ground covers nearly the entire height of the stone slab. Thus, the terrain literally overwhelms the four figures. 22.  There is a drawing by Hodder, Or. Dr., VI, xxvii, but it has no more exact designation than “Old Palace, Kouyunjik.” It does, however, show that the three lyre players are met by two Assyrian soldiers armed with shields and spears. See Gadd 1936: 176. 23.  It has been surmised that these musicians may be part of the orchestra given as tribute to Sennacherib by Hezekiah, King of Judah, but there is no sure identification. Reade (1983: 50) remarked that the dress of these three musicians differs from that of the men of Lachish (a city 20 miles southwest of Jerusalem) depicted in Room 36 in Sennacherib’s palace in Nineveh.

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Fig. 1.  Detail of relief of three Phoenician or Judean musicians playing lyres, Southwest Palace, Nineveh (BM 124947; photograph courtesy of The Trustees of The British Museum).

The three musicians appear to be prisoners, because they are being escorted by an Assyrian soldier through this landscape. One can surmise that they are either booty or tribute now in possession of the Assyrian king. Their body postures and facial expressions certainly convey their feelings of dejection and surrender and defeat. The scene brings to mind the Psalm from the Bible: “those who carried us off demanded music and singing.” 24 The musicians are barefoot and wear short-sleeve, calf-length tunics with a wavy border design. They have closely-cropped curly hair and short beards, and two of the three men wear a closelyfitted cap. It is their body posture, however, that is most striking about their appearance. They 24.  Psalm 137:3.

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are hunched over and give the impression of being uncomfortable and anxious as they march through the mountains. Their postures suggest that their current situation is new and probably unacceptable and humiliating to them. These three Phoenician musicians are instrumentalists and all three play the same instrument, the lyre. The lyre consists of a resonator, crossbar supported by two arms and usually 3 to 11 strings depending on the size of the musical instrument. The strings, which are of gut or sinew, are arranged either parallel or fan-shaped and pass over the crossbar and are attached to the resonator. 25 In Neo-Assyrian art the lyre is held on the left side of the body and kept in place by the left elbow so that both hands are free. It is usually held at a more-or-less 45 degree angle and is played with a plectrum or the fingers. The strings can thus be plucked or strummed and may produce the melody or the accompaniment. In this particular example the plectrum is visible in the right hand of each musician. The lyres in this relief are roughly trapezoidal in shape. The two arms are straight although not exactly parallel to each other; the crossbar also is straight although the two ends curve back on themselves. The lyres appear to be of a kind introduced into Assyria in the 1st half of the 2nd millennium and, according to J. Rimmer, were certainly Western or Levantine. 26 This again fits in nicely with the western identification of the musicians. These three musicians are most likely being led away from their homeland by the Assyrian army. If there were battles, they have already been fought. Or perhaps tribute, which would include the musicians, was offered as a way to prevent bloodshed. At this juncture their fate is unknown but whether taken by force or given freely the result is banishment from the known and familiar for the musicians.

Four Arab Musicians — Stone Relief (fig. 2) On a carved relief from the North Palace of Assurbanipal on Kuyunjik at Nineveh (Louvre AO 19908) is a scene showing four male musicians facing each other, playing musical instruments. The relief, which evidently had fallen from an upper room, was discovered by Loftus in 1854. 27 The musicians face each other in a two-by-two formation. On the left, one musician beats a frame drum and the other plays a lyre, while on the right one musician plays a lyre and the other clashes two cymbals together. They also appear to be in movement, possibly dancing. Based on their hair styles, the four musicians are thought to be Arab. Although there is no landscape around the musicians, they are definitely playing music in an Assyrian military situation. In the register above the musicians, soldiers are singing and clapping their hands as they march along. In the register below the musicians are cavalry and archery units engaged in battle. The musical quartet is positioned behind a groom who leads “four restive, unharnassed horses.” 28 Because no further reliefs were found in Room 5, nothing further is known about these scenes. Assurbanipal and previous Assyrian kings had constant problems with the Arabs and fought various campaigns against them. While there is no way of knowing when these Arab musicians were acquired by the Assyrians, Assurbanipal continued to mention in his annals the two campaigns he and his soldiers fought against the Arabs. His first campaign was around 651–650 and 25.  Rimmer 1969: 13. 26.  Rimmer 1969: 34. 27.  There is also a drawing by Boutcher, Or. Dr., VI, 57. See Gadd 1936: 204. 28.  Parrot 1961: 310.

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Fig. 2.  Relief of Four Arab musicians, North Palace, Nineveh (Louvre AO 19908; photograph courtesy of The Louvre Museum).

the second campaign ca. 644. 29 He emphatically states that he dispatched his troops, defeated the Arabs, plundered their encampments, and captured and then dispersed Arab prisoners and animals among the Assyrians. These musicians could have been among the people captured on one of Assurbanipal’s Arab campaigns. The appearance of the four male Arab musicians is quite striking. Their hair is dressed in horizontal curls tightly sprung from the front to the back of the head. It is undeniably a foreign hairstyle. All four men have beards, although the beards of the two men on the left are considerably shorter and are squared off, while the beards of the two men on the right are longer, with the ends cut at a diagonal. They wear short-sleeved tunics that are belted at the waist and have fringes at the ankles. The belts of the two men on the right are more complex than those of the other two. 30 The musicians are all barefoot. The postures of the four musicians indicate that they are in movement, with the distinct possibility that they are doing a dance to the music. 31 This is particularly evident with the two musicians on the right. Their torsos lean forward. Their front legs are bent and positioned a considerable distance in front of the back legs. The back feet themselves have the heels high off the ground 29.  Grayson 1991a: 155. 30.  The pair of musicians on the left wear sashes, while the pair on the right have “what looks like geometrically decorated incised belts of metal” (Cheng 2001: 74). 31.  Today, it is quite common for marching bands to perform both dance routines and precision drill while playing energetic and rousing music.

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illustrating that forward movement is taking place. It is very conceivable that the two pairs of musicians are moving rhythmically to the music they are playing, possibly changing places. The four Arab musicians play two percussion instruments and two string instruments. The first musician on the left plays a circular frame drum. This type of drum has a skin stretched over a wooden frame. It is small and lightweight and can easily be held in one hand in front of the drummer. In this example, the drum is held with the left hand on the lower edge while the right hand beats out the time and the rhythm. One of the musicians on the right plays a pair of small, flat, circular cymbals. Each cymbal is held by a handle in the center of the exterior surface on the disk, and they are then clashed together vertically. The two lyres, while unalike, are both held on the left side of the body and kept in place by the left elbow. However, they have different shapes, different numbers of strings, and are played differently. The lyre played by the musician on the left is almost rectangular in shape and has five strings. Although the instrument is partially obscured by the frame drum, enough of it is visible to suggest that the crossbar, which has knobs at either end, is slightly longer than the resonator. The strings appear to be parallel to the arms of the lyre and are of equal length. While the left hand is not visible, the right hand is. It is thrust forward horizontally, and a plectrum can be seen between the thumb and fingers. The lyre is held at a 45-degree angle from the musician’s body. In contrast, the lyre played by the musician on the right is held almost horizontal and is of a very different shape. Although the resonator is rectangular, the instrument itself is not. Both arms are curved but of decidedly different lengths. This means that the crossbar is not parallel to the resonator, the strings are not of equal length, nor are they parallel to the arms. This lyre has eight strings. Both the right and left hands of the musician are positioned over the strings plucking or strumming them. Thus, two entirely different techniques of playing the lyre are demonstrated by these two musicians. It would seem that subtle messages are being conveyed in this relief scene. The lyre on the left is an Assyrian-style lyre and the one on the right is foreign. As J. Rimmer has pointed out, using a plectrum on any string instrument means “a brighter and more energetic and carrying sound than the finger-plucked variety.” 32 Part of the message, then, could be to illustrate the superiority of the Assyrian-style lyre and the sound produced by it. However, the musician playing the Assyrian-style lyre is not an Assyrian but a foreigner and most likely a captive. This scene then also illustrates Assyrian might that could force a foreign musician to play an Assyrian instrument, possibly play Assyrian music, and accompany Assyrian soldiers on their military campaigns and maneuvers. Because the four Arab musicians wear Assyrian clothing but their hairstyle is foreign, they may also represent “a mid-process state in which the individuals are accepted in Assyrian society but still depicted with ethnic features.” 33 Or, these four could illustrate the success of the empire’s desire to “Assyrianize” foreigners. In this relief scene, these musicians are not in an enemy procession, they do not have a guard, and they are not being harassed or intimidated by the soldiers around them. They do not look afraid. Instead, they merely seem intent upon performing.

A Persian Musician in a Military Procession — Stone Relief (fig. 3) A carved relief fragment from the North Palace of Assurbanipal on Kuyunjik at Nineveh (Ist 6339) shows parts of two registers. The upper register shows two bare feet facing left, while the 32.  Rimmer 1969: 30–31. 33.  Cheng 2001: 74.

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lower register contains the upper body of a bearded male double-pipe player wearing a feathered headdress. Based on the feathered headdress the musician wears, he is most certainly foreign, possibly Persian. The relief fragment with the musician is one of a group of fragments found in Room S that is thought to have fallen from an upstairs room. The other fragments show a military procession that is moving from left to right. Exactly who these men are and where and for whom they move in procession is not evident in what remains of the scene. It is, however, noteworthy that the double-pipe player is facing left, the opposite direction. He must be Fig. 3.  Relief fragment of a musician in a military facing the procession and is therefore not procession, North Palace, Nineveh (6339 EŞEM; actually a part of it. Conceivably, the music photograph courtesy of The Istanbul Archaeology he plays provides the rhythm and pace necesMuseum). sary for an orderly procession. The feathered headdress is the focus of attention in this military scene. Curiously, the headdress worn by the musician is slightly different from the feathered headdresses worn by the others in the procession. It has an extra feather that projects forward. Yet the big question is: who are the people who wear the feathered headdresses in the Assyrian reliefs? Suggestions have included Persians, Philistines, Elamites, Egyptians, and even men who are not necessarily foreign but are wearing a badge of distinction, possibly in a cultic context. However, the most likely candidate, based on precedents in Luristan and antecedents at Persepolis, according to R. Barnett, is that the feather-wearing men are Persians. 34 The musician is playing a double-pipe. It is possible to see both hands: the left hand is closer to the mouth end of one pipe, while the right hand is closer to the end of the other pipe. According to Rimmer, all double-pipes in the ancient world were reed instruments. This means that, regardless of the material of the tubes — which could be animal horns, cane, bamboo, wood, metal, bone, and, rarely, ivory — they were sounded by the vibration of a single or double reed that the musician activated with his breath. The pipes could be short or long, of equal or unequal lengths, divergent or parallel. 35 Unfortunately, there is much that is not known about the sounds produced from these pipes. Was the number of finger holes on each of the double-pipes the same or different? 36 Could more than one octave of music be produced on this instrument? There is much that is unclear about this musician and his role among the other figures wearing feathered headdresses. Even the context in which the procession takes place is unknown. Perhaps it is a reference to a specific Assyrian military victory or it may represent the unspecified satisfaction of having exotic foreigners available to look at and listen to. However, it does confirm what 34.  Cheng 2001: 71–72. 35.  Rimmer 1969: 34; Kilmer 1995–97: 464. 36.  The silver pipes from the 3rd millennium found at Ur were not the same in tuning. One pipe had four finger holes and the other only had one. There is, thus, the strong possibility that one was a melodyplaying pipe while the other was a drone pipe with a one-note change. See Rimmer 1969: 35.

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Fig. 4.  Drawing of a relief of Babylonian musicians with Assyrian soldiers cutting down date palms, Room 69, slabs 1–2, Southwest Palace, Nineveh (BM WAA, Or. Dr., IV 56; photograph courtesy of The Trustees of The British Museum).

many sources state: that music and musicians were a popular and constant presence in Assyrian court life.

Babylonian Musicians — Stone Relief (fig. 4) On slabs 1–2 in Room 69 in the Southwest Palace of Sennacherib on Kuyunjik at Nineveh (BM WAA Or. Dr., IV 56 ) was a relief scene showing four foreign musicians creating music while Assyrian soldiers chop down palm trees. It was discovered by Layard in the early 1850s. Today, it is known only from a field drawing. 37 The musicians are standing outside the city walls. The first two musicians are men carrying frame drums, while the last two figures are women who appear to be clapping their hands. Most likely, they are the inhabitants of this southern Mesopotamian city who have been pressured into entertaining or motivating the Assyrian soldiers to keep up their work. In the palace reliefs of Sennacherib, the Babylonian landscape is quite distinctive, with its rivers and canals lined with palm trees. 38 It is this exact landscape that is on view in this relief scene. A waterway replete with fish runs across the lower portion of the relief. Above are numerous date palms, many of which are being cut down by Assyrian soldiers. The palm trees and soldiers encompass most of the scene. To the right is a three-tiered city that also contains date palms inside the walls that are being cut down by Assyrian soldiers. On the lower level, outside the walls, stand the four musicians. Behind them is a huge cauldron on a base in the image of an animal. Most likely this is a scene from Sennacherib’s first campaign in Babylonia, which occurred some time between 704 and 702. 39 Sennacherib was intent upon quelling a rebellion led by Merodachbaladan and reasserting his authority over this important region directly to the south of Assyria. In siege warfare, the Assyrians practiced many different techniques to subdue their enemies. In numerous royal inscriptions as well as on palace reliefs are references to or depictions of the destruction of orchards. It was an obvious way to diminish resources and to practice psychological warfare on the enemy. It was also an aggressive and violent maneuver to illustrate Assyrian wrath 37. “Or. Dr., IV, 56; unsigned pencil drawing, probably by A. H. Layard or F. C. Cooper, on brownish paper, enhanced with white” (Barnett, Bleibtreu, and Turner 1998: 131). 38.  Russell 1991: 153. 39.  J. A. Brinkman dates the first campaign from late 703 to early 702, while Levine dates it from late 704 through 703. See Russell 1991: 153.

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and retribution on their enemies. In Babylonia, where there were extensive groves of palm trees, the date palm was known as the “tree of wealth.” 40 As a major food product and source of revenue, they would be fitting victims to Assyrian displeasure. In this particular relief scene, the Assyrian soldiers cutting down the palm trees dominate the pictorial space. However, on the right is the outline of a city with musicians and a cauldron outside the walls. It suggests that a ceremony or perhaps a celebration may be taking place. Or even more likely is the possibility that the musicians are beating out a rhythm with the drums and their hands to aid the tasks of the soldiers. Drums and hand-clapping keep a rhythm going and provide a momentum and energy for many types of work. Because the figures are so small in the drawing, it is difficult to discern distinct details. However, the first two figures have beards and short hair while the second two figures have more pronounced chests and a different hair style, with long hair flowing down their backs. While there is no consensus on the gender of the second group of figures, Layard described the scene as “Men beating drums . . . and women clapping their hands in cadence to their song.” 41 The two male figures carry frame drums. Because each drummer faces left, the left hand holding the drum is visible, while the right hand that strikes the drum is not. The drum is also held in a rather awkward position. Although held on an exterior edge by the left hand, it is held on the right side of the body. This, of course, could be merely artistic license. Each drum is held more or less perpendicular to the musician’s chest. The drums have an interesting shape: flat at the top and curved at the bottom. It is certainly not uncommon to see drums in scenes of war and conquest, nor in work scenes. Behind the drummers are two women with their arms held out in front of their chests in a position indicating that they are clapping their hands. The message of this relief scene rings out loud and clear. The Assyrian soldiers are performing an extraordinarily destructive activity, that of destroying the agricultural productivity and wealth of this southern city. It seems that the Babylonian musicians were required to encourage this activity by setting the pace and tempo to energize the soldiers. This scene also suggests that using those defeated to help destroy their own livelihood was part of the Assyrian policy of humiliating the losers. Finally, it is worth noting that there is a noticeable discrepancy in the size of the various figures in this scene. The Assyrian soldiers chopping down the date palms are the main focal point, and they are much larger than the musicians, or even the city. While this may show perspective and clarify that the city is farther in the distance, it also nicely delineates who and what are most important to the Assyrians in the scene.

A Group of Elamite Musicians — Stone Relief ( figs. 5–6) In Room 33 in the southwest wing of the Southwest Palace on Kuyunjik at Nineveh are relief scenes portraying a battle between Assurbanipal and the Elamites and its aftermath. On slabs 5–6, male and female Elamite musicians accompanied by women and children greet the Assyrian victors outside their city walls. Room 33 was lined with a distinctive speckled fossiliferous limestone. 42 It was discovered by Layard on his second expedition or, rather, by his workmen during 40.  Cole 1997: 30. 41.  A. H. Layard 1853: 588; Barnett, Bleibtreu, and Turner 1998: 131. 42.  “The stone was brought by Sennacherib down the Tigris from the Judi Dagh, near Cizre in modern Turkey, where he had observed it on campaign. Several Assyrian kings note with pride their imports of unusual materials such as this” (Curtis and Reade 1995: 77).

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Fig. 5.  Detail of relief of a procession of Elamite musicians, Room 33, slab 6, Southwest Palace, Nineveh (BM 124802; photograph courtesy of The Trustees of The British Museum).

the summer of 1850. 43 The original stone relief (BM 124802) and Layard’s field drawing (BM WAA Or. Dr. II 6) both exist today (see fig. 6). The relief scenes in Room 33 depict Assurbanipal’s campaign against Elam in ca. 653. 44 The epigraphs on slabs 5–6 provide military, political, and geographical information regarding these events. One epigraph identifies Assurbanipal as the Assyrian king who conquered and humiliated his Elamite enemies. Another identifies Ummanigash as the Elamite fugitive who was appointed by Assurbanipal to be the new ruler. A third epigraph identifies the city behind the musicians as Madaktu, an Elamite city thought to be approximately 30 kilometers to the northwest of Susa. 45 The landscape surrounding the procession shows the Elamite musicians walking beside the Ulai River, which is filled with dead human bodies (some decapitated), floating horse carcasses, and damaged military equipment. At a considerable distance from the procession is the walled city of Madaktu, which is depicted with many precise details. It has equidistant towers and gates on its walls, flat-roofed houses within, and more houses with palm groves and gardens outside the 43.  Gadd 1936: 180. 44.  Barnett, Bleibtreu, and Turner 1998: 94. 45.  Parpola and Porter 2001: map 16.

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Fig. 6.  Drawing of a detail of relief of a procession of Elamite musicians, Room 33, slab 6, Southwest Palace, Nineveh (BM WAA, Or. Dr., II 6; photograph courtesy of The Trustees of The British Museum).

walls. Two different rivers surround the city and its suburbs. The larger river filled with fish has two additional fortified structures on its banks. These reliefs clearly show what happened to those with the audacity to fight the Assyrians and their inevitable subsequent capitulation. There is evidence of death and destruction throughout the relief scenes. Elamite males make gestures of submission before the Assyrian army and the musicians participate in a welcoming ceremony for the victorious Assyrians.

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In the musical procession, 5 male instrumentalists, 6 female instrumentalists, and then 6 women and 9 children move from right to left. The last group of women and children appear to be clapping to the music. There is one woman with her hand to her throat; she seems to be singing or possibly ullulating. The 5 figures in the front of the procession are taller and have flat chests and more musculature on their arms than the other figures. Four of them have beards. Their tunics, which are belted, ankle-length, and with a vertical stripe on the side, are slightly different from those of the women. The hairstyle of all of the instrumentalists is identical: short curls that reach the nape of the neck held in place by a headband that ties at the back of the head. The 6 figures in the second group of instrumentalists are noticeably shorter and, where visible, have pronounced breasts and considerably less musculature on their arms. Their tunics, also belted, have necklines with collars (or perhaps the women are wearing necklaces) and elbowlength sleeves with a stripe that runs from the shoulder to the cuff, which is also striped. The hems of their skirts are slightly higher in the front but ankle-length in the back. The women and the children at the end of the procession wear similar attire to the women instrumentalist, although the children wear much shorter-length tunics that end around the knees. The hairstyles of the last 6 women range from short-cropped hair to long hair that either touches the shoulders or is worn in a knot at the back of the head. Only one woman wears a headband. The hairstyles of this last group of women indicate that there was no need for conformity, and considerable variety was therefore possible. The contrast between the uniform appearance of the instrumentalists and the women and children who follow them points to the possibility that the first group was professional musicians and the latter a more casual group of sound-makers. Possibly, the instrumentalists were Elamite court musicians who, when they performed, dressed identically. The disparate appearance of the final group of women and children may indicate that they were commoners hastily assembled for this occasion. However, what all 26 figures in the procession do have in common is that they are barefoot. Seven of the 11 instruments played by the male and female musicians are vertical harps. They are played by the lead musicians of each group and greatly outnumber any of the other musical instruments. Vertical harps were clearly a popular instrument throughout the centuries in the ancient Near East, perhaps because they had the largest pitch-range of any musical instrument. 46 The sound-box is sharply angled from the string-carrying arm, with approximately 18 strings in between. The box rests under the left elbow but is also supported by the right wrist. Both hands pluck the strings although the right hand had less mobility, while the left hand could move over the full-range of strings. This means that the quality of sound produced by each hand would have been quite different and the instrument would certainly have sounded polyphonic. The sound would also have differed from the horizontal harp or the lyre, which generally was produced by the use of a plectrum. The only visible difference between the vertical harps played by the female and male musicians is decorative. The strings hanging from the lower horizontal arm of the men’s harps are knotted or beaded only at the end while on the women’s harps they have knots or beads from the top to the bottom. Only the very last woman has a harp that has no decorations on the strings.

46.  Rimmer 1969: 32.

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The other musical instruments in the Elamite procession are one horizontal harp, two divergent double-pipes and one cylindrical drum. 47 The horizontal harp appears to be a gender-specific musical instrument both in Elam and Assyria and is only played by male musicians. It extends horizontally from the musician’s waist, and there is probably a shoulder-strap holding it in place. In this depiction, the left hand can be seen near the strings, while the right hand, not visible, would pluck the strings with a plectrum. There are, however, distinct differences between the Assyrian and Elamite horizontal harps. Both harps have vertical posts, but the Assyrian version has one shaped like a forearm with an open hand while the one on the Elamite harp is plain. The Assyrian horizontal harp is shown with 7 or 9 strings, while the Elamite version is strung with 10 strings. The base of the Elamite instrument is also different, with a rounded bottom that is decorated with circles, possibly sounding holes. 48 Finally, the Assyrian horizontal-forearm harp is almost always shown being played in pairs, while the Elamite horizontal harp was played singly, which suggests a different technique of playing. Of the remaining instruments, one set of pipes is played by a male musician and the other by a female musician. The cylindrical drum is played by a female musician. Concerning the instrumentalists, it is noteworthy that three of the men at the beginning of the procession appear to be doing some sort of dance-step: they are balanced on their back legs, and their front legs, with bent knees, are high in the air. Because much more energy is expended in this type of movement, the hems of their skirts are flung up near their right knees. H. Frankfort suggested that the men “are pervaded by the rhythm of their music and fall into a dance-step.” 49 Certainly, it is not unusual for marching musicians to play music and do a dance-step as part of their performance. This relief scene nicely illustrates that many elements in society were required to greet the Assyrian victors when they approached a defeated city. In this case, because they are bringing the new ruler, it is much more festive, with music and dancing, than it might ordinarily have been. However, there are intriguing and probably unanswerable questions regarding this scene. Were these instrumentalists court musicians and, if so, was it unusual or possibly demeaning for them to be performing outside the city walls and in public? Did Elamite male and female musicians commonly perform together? What was acceptable interaction between the sexes in Elam, and did it differ considerably from what was permissible in Assyria? 50 This relief scene is one of the few that shows in great detail foreign musicians on their own soil. The details include vegetation, rivers, architecture, Assyrian and Elamite soldiers, civilians, and musical instruments, to name a few. The surface of the relief cluttered with objects and figures is typical of the reliefs of Assurbanipal, which are noted for their density. Even the overlapping of figures, especially in the procession, adds to the intensity and complexity of the situation.

47.  Because this relief was already damaged when it was discovered by Layard and then further damaged in transit to The British Museum in London, it has been inconclusively reconstructed several times. See Mitchell 1980: 33–36, pls. 14–25. 48.  Cheng 2001: 26. 49.  Frankfort 1970: 181. 50.  It has been noted that, in Assyrian depictions of deportations, the Elamite men and women walk together, and sometimes the men carry the children on their shoulders. Albenda (1987: 19) has suggested that the Elamite males may have had a more active role in child-rearing than Assyrian males and that these relief scenes might hint at their different social structure.

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Fig. 7.  Two views of an ivory pyxis of musicians on the battlements, private house, Kalhu (ND 3599; photograph courtesy of The Metropolitan Museum).

Musicians on the Battlements – Ivory Pyxis (fig. 7) Three carved fragments from an ivory pyxis (ND 3599) contain a scene of the battlements of a city, with four female musicians high on the city walls, while outside the walls stands an Assyrian warrior in full regalia. These fragments are part of a group of ivories discovered by M. Mallowan in a private house on the acropolis at Kalhu in 1953. They were in a disturbed upper level of Room 43 of TW.53, which had been reoccupied briefly by refugees after the sack of the city in 614 b.c.e. Mallowan thought the ivory pieces had been acquired in this later period from damaged or even looted furniture. 51 The scene on the ivory pyxis appears to be set in an area to the west of Assyria, probably a Phoenician, Syrian, Israelite, or Hittite city. Both the headgear worn by the women and the architectural details suggest this location. Different people in the west are known to have worn this floppy-style cap. 52 The city walls, portrayed in great detail, closely resemble those of two North Syrian cities depicted on the Balawat Gates. 53 They have double doors in an arched gateway that are flanked by two towers with elaborate crenellations. Decorated battlements and towers of different heights also project from the main city wall. Additional scenes from the Balawat Gates of Shalmaneser III (859–824) also help determine the date of the ivory pyxis. Women on the battlements of fortified cities were common during the military campaigns of Shalmaneser III, while the spiked shield carried by the warrior was found throughout the reign of Shalmaneser III but not after. 54 These references indicate that the ivory pyxis dates to the 9th century. Ivory pyxides were engraved in three different styles: Phoenician, Syrian, and Assyrian. Although it cannot be stated definitively that Assyrian-style pyxides were engraved by Assyrian artists, this conclusion seems highly probable. Many motifs go back to 2nd-millennium traditions, and some ivories show the influence of Middle Assyrian glyptic art. In addition, the iconography and technique utilized in Assyrian style ivories are consistent with those found on the wall reliefs of Neo-Assyrian palaces. Assyrian style ivories were cut or scratched with a fine metal tool or carved in relief. This ivory pyxis consists of three lightly engraved fragments, two of which join, is approximately 4.8 cm in height, and has three circular dowel holes drilled into the pieces. 51.  Mallowan and Davies 1970: 7. 52.  Wäfler 1975: Abb. 35–42, 47, 54–56, 63, 64, 87. 53.  King 1915: pl. 25, band V.1. and pl. 27, band V.3. 54.  Mallowan 1966: 195; King 1915: pl. 16, band III.4.; pl. 63, band XI.4.; pl. 77, band XIII.6.

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High on the battlements are four female musicians, three beating frame drums and one clapping her hands. Three of the women are on one fragment. The woman on top of the city gates faces left and beats the drum, which is held at chest level. The other two women, each in their own tower, face right, with arms raised. One woman beats a drum while the other woman claps her hands. On a separate fragment, the final musician is partially visible, beating a drum. Beneath her and outside the city walls, also facing right, is a warrior armed with mace, sword, bow, and spiked shield. The women all have long hair that falls past their shoulders and they wear the floppy caps. They wear belted dresses with short sleeves. One dress has distinctive patterns visible, and one belt seems to have a fringe. The armed warrior, who may be the king, has a beard and what looks like a helmet on his head. He wears an elaborately patterned, ankle-length tunic with a fringe at the hem. He also wears a shawl, diagonally wrapped around his upper body. He is disproportionately large, the same height as the city walls behind him. The frame drums played by the three female musicians are small and appear to be light-weight. Interestingly, the hand farthest from the viewer holds the drum while the nearer hand hits the drum surface. This is true regardless of the direction the musician faces. While this could indicate that one musician is left-handed, it is more likely an example of artistic license. The enormous size of the Assyrian warrior in relation to the fortified walls of the foreign city definitely emphasizes the ideology in 9th-century Neo-Assyrian art. 55 As the victor, the warrior is shown in his entirety and in glorious detail, while the foreign female musicians are only small, partial figures, high on the city walls. It is unclear whether a battle has taken place or been avoided, but it is very clear who is the victor. Both textual and visual sources reveal that musicians accompanied soldiers on campaigns and performed for them in celebrations when they returned to Assyria. While on foreign soil, local musicians were also required to perform for the Assyrian military. Whether on the palace relief scene showing the Elamite musicians welcoming the Assyrians outside the city of Madaktu or on this ivory pyxis at a city somewhere to the west of Assyria, foreign musicians voluntarily or involuntarily made music to celebrate Assyrian victories.

Garden Scenes There are only a few garden scenes in Assyrian art, and only one scene shows foreign musicians. These outdoor scenes seem to occur on the grounds of the palace or in royal parks that were in proximity to it. They depict vegetation, waterways, pavilions, lakes with boats, and sometimes humans enjoying their surroundings. In one situation, Assyrian female musicians serenade the king and queen, while in another a procession of foreign musicians, accompanied by a lion, play music as they walk among the trees.

A Persian Musician in a Garden — Stone Relief (fig. 8) On the southeast wall of Room E in Assurbanipal’s North Palace at Nineveh is a scene showing a procession in a garden. On slab 5 (BM 118916), a tame lion walks alongside two musicians. On another slab close by (BM 118914) are a lion and lioness, relaxing amid lush vegetation, suggesting 55.  According to Mallowan (1978: 20), among the carved ivories found in Assyrian capital cities, those from the 9th century best convey the Assyrian concept of majesty.

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Fig. 8.  Relief of a lyre player and harpist with lion, Room E, slab 5, North Palace, Nineveh (BM 118916; photograph courtesy of The Trustees of The British Museum).

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that these scenes may take place in a zoological garden in a royal park. This room, called the Garden Room, was found by H. Rassam in 1854. 56 There are three figures on this slab: two male musicians and a lion. The lion must be tame, because he is walking quietly next to the second musician. Something behind him has caught his attention, because he has his head turned back over his right shoulder. The first musician plays a vertical harp, while the second musician plays a lyre. A very small portion of a third figure can be seen, and he may also be playing a lyre. The musicians are walking beside trees and vines. Between the two musicians is a tree with a vine wound around it. The vine is laden with bunches of grapes and grape leaves. Behind the second figure is a palm tree. The scene, which looks very calm and orderly, may be a ceremonial occasion. In a single-file procession, the musicians play music as they walk together in a very peaceful setting. The musicians, walking from left to right, wear shoes and ankle-length tunics with short sleeves. The tunic of the first musician has a fringe at the lower hem, while the second musician appears to wear a belt over his tunic. Both musicians have the same hairstyle: curly hair pulled behind their ears and falling onto their shoulders. The front musician wears two headbands. One appears to be a ribbon, and the other is comprised of some sort of circlets, small balls, or pom-poms. Both have ends that trail from the back of the head part way down the musician’s back. The second musician wears a feathered headdress that looks as if it is tied at the back of the head, with ribbons falling down his back. The feathers, which project vertically from the band, go all the way around his head. This second headdress has elicited much comment and confusion. As discussed earlier, there are only a few known figures in Assyrian reliefs wearing feathered headdresses, and they are difficult to categorize. Suggestions as to who they are include Egyptians, Philistines, Elamites, Persians, or even Assyrians in some sort of cultic event. There is nothing about the musician’s hairstyle, clothing, or even the musical instrument he plays that has specific characteristics that enable his identification. The musician of particular interest to this study carries a lyre on the left side of his body. The almost-horizontal playing position may be due to the asymmetrical shape of the lyre. Because the relief is damaged, it is not possible to view the placement of his left hand nor is it possible to determine if the right hand near the strings holds a plectrum. However, what can be seen of the instrument reveals it to be a unique portrayal of a lyre in Assyrian art. The resonator, partially visible, is likely of trapezoidal shape, while the crossbar has a slight outward curve. The arms are of unequal length. The lower arm is only partially visible, while the upper arm forms an elegant S-curve that is tightly coiled at the top. The curvature of the crossbar means that the strings are of slightly unequal length. This, in turn, produces the different tones when each string is struck, although it is not possible to determine how many strings there are. This musical instrument has caused much confusion. It is thought by some to have a Mediterranean shape and style and therefore possibly be of Phoenician or Syrian origin. But because this style of lyre was eventually used over a wide area, there is nothing that can definitively tie the instrument or even the musician to a particular place or culture. 57 This relief scene suggests that a pleasant event is taking place. The posture of the musician indicates that it is peaceful and non-stressful. The proximity of the lion to the musicians is somewhat 56. There is no drawing, because the room was found just after the time Hodder fell sick, and if Boutcher drew it, his work is at present lost (Gadd 1936: 190–91). 57.  Rimmer 1969: 34.

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curious but seems to be no occasion for alarm. It appears that a procession of musicians is playing music in an outdoor setting, very probably a royal park. Throughout the Neo-Assyrian period, from the 9th through the 7th centuries, Assyrian kings were justifiably proud of their royal parks. Royal inscriptions mention the exotic plants brought back from foreign lands that the Assyrians had visited or conquered. Whether this garden scene contained a large or small group of musicians, a formal ceremony or informal occasion, music and musicians were an integral part of it.

Conclusion Both Assyrian textual references and visual depictions attest to the fact that foreign musicians were a welcome addition to the situations and occasions sponsored by Assyrians. Foreign musicians were male and female, although the Assyrians seem to have had a preference for female musicians. Textual information on foreign musicians survives from Assyrian court records as well as their propaganda accounts. Personnel lists and the Nimrud Wine Lists provide information on foreign musicians in the Assyrian royal courts and capitals. In their annals, Assyrian kings loftily proclaimed how foreign musicians had been acquired as tribute or spoils of war from other rulers. These royal inscriptions were often inscribed in public spaces as a general advertisement of the Assyrian king’s ferociousness and abilities in hostile foreign territories. Visual propaganda is evident on the palace reliefs that portray foreign musicians of both sexes. Musicians from the areas surrounding Assyria — Phoenicians, Syrians, Hittites, Arabs, Babylonians, Elamites, and possibly Persians — are depicted on the reliefs. They can be viewed as prisoners, welcoming Assyrian troops, assisting in the destruction of their own lands, or even as partially assimilated performers. While it is not always clear whether the participation of the foreign musicians was voluntary or required by the Assyrians, they performed with obvious skill and dexterity. In some instances, this was to ameliorate their circumstances, because in military situations the foreigners were always the losers and the Assyrians were always the victors. Nevertheless, an unanswerable question remains as to whether foreign musicians eventually were assimilated into Assyrian culture or whether they remained forever separate. Because there is so little information available, no firm conclusions can be drawn. A clue, however, may be that much of the music, musical styles, and even a few of the musical instruments were culture specific; for example, the Elamite horizontal harp can be clearly differentiated from the Assyrian horizontal harp. 58 It seems likely that each musical ethnic group would be appreciated in its own right and always make music together. The Neo-Assyrian court surely must have appreciated the musical variety. 58.  For instance, today one would have little trouble distinguishing the music played by the Spanish guitarist Paco de Lucía and the American folk musician Bob Dylan. The musical instrument is essentially the same but the music is different, the playing styles are different, and the pleasure and response of the audience listening to either musician is most certainly different.

Bibliography Albenda, P. 1987 Woman, Child, and Family: Their Imagery in Assyrian Art. Pp. 17–21 in La Femme dans le ProcheOrient Antique, ed. J.-M. Durand. Paris: ÉRC. Barnett, R. D., Bleibtreu, E., and Turner, G. 1998 Sculptures from the Southwest Palace of Sennacherib at Nineveh. London: The British Museum.

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Cheng, J. 2001 Assyrian Music as Represented and Representations of Assyrian Music. Ph.D. dissertation. Harvard University. Cifarelli, M. 1998 Gesture and Alterity in the Art of Ashurnasirpal II of Assyria. The Art Bulletin 80: 210–28. Cole, S. W. 1997 The Destruction of Orchards in Assyrian Warfare. Pp. 29–40 in Assyria 1995, ed. S. Parpola and R. M. Whiting. Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project. Curtis, J. E., and Reade, J. E. 1995 Art and Empire. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Dalley, S., and Postgate, J. N. 1984 The Tablets From Fort Shalmaneser. Cuneiform Texts from Nimrud 3. London: British School of Archaeology in Iraq. Fales, F. M. 1994 A Fresh Look at the Nimrud Wine Lists. Pp. 361–80 in Drinking in Ancient Societies, ed. L. Milano. History of the Ancient Near East/Studies 6. Padua: Sargon SRL. Fales, F. M., and Postgate, J. N. 1992 Imperial Administrative Records, Part I. State Archives of Assyria 7. Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. Frankfort, H. 1970 The Art and Architecture of the Ancient Orient. New Haven: Yale University Press. Gadd, C. J. 1936 The Stones of Assyria. London: Chatto and Windus. Gerardi, P. 1992 The Arab Campaigns of Assurbanipal: Scribal Reconstruction of the Past. State Archives of Assyria Bulletin 6/2: 67–103. Grayson, A. K. 1991a Assyria 668–635 b.c.: The Reign of Ashurbanipal. Pp. 142–61 in vol. 3/2 of The Cambridge Ancient History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 1991b Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium b.c. (1114–859 b.c.). The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Assyrian Periods, Volume 2. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Herrmann, G. 1986a Ivories From Room SW37 Fort Shalmaneser: Commentary and Catalogue. Ivories from Nimrud, 1949– 1963, Fasc. IV, part 1. London: The British School of Archaeology in Iraq. 1986b Ivories From Room SW37 Fort Shalmaneser: Plates. Ivories from Nimrud, 1949–1963, Fasc. IV, part 2. London: The British School of Archaeology in Iraq. Kilmer, A. D. 1995–97 Musik. A. I. In Mesopotamien. RlA 8.5–6/7–8: 463–82. King, L. W. 1915 Bronze Reliefs from the Gates of Shalmaneser, King of Assyria, b.c. 860–825. London: The British Museum. Kinnier Wilson, J. V. 1972 The Nimrud Wine Lists: A Study of Men and Administration at the Assyrian Capital in the Eighth Century b.c. Cuneiform Texts from Nimrud 1. London: The British School of Archaeology in Iraq. Layard, A. H. 1853 Discoveries in the Ruins of Nineveh and Babylon. London: J. Murray. Livingstone, A. 1989 Court Poetry and Literary Miscellanea. State Archives of Assyria 3. Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. Luckenbill, D. D. 1924 The Annals of Sennacherib. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. 1926–27 Ancient Records of Assyria and Babylonia. 2 vols. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.

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Madhloom, T. A. 1970 The Chronology of Neo-Assyrian Art. London: The Athlone Press. Mallowan, M. E. L. 1966 Nimrud and Its Remains. 2 vols. London: Collins. 1978 Nimrud Ivories. London: The British Museum. Mallowan, M. E. L., and Davies, L. G.. 1970 Ivories in Assyrian Style. Ivories from Nimrud 1949–1963, fasc. 2. London: The British School of Archaeology in Iraq. Manniche, L. 1991 Music and Musicians in Ancient Egypt. London: The British Museum. Mitchell, T. C. 1980 An Assyrian Stringed Instrument. Pp. 33–42 in Music and Civilisation, ed. T. C. Mitchell. The British Museum Yearbook 4. London: The British Museum. Oates, J., and Oates, D. 2001 Nimrud: An Assyrian Imperial City Revealed. London: British School of Archaeology in Iraq. Parpola, S. 1976 Review of The Nimrud Wine Lists by J. V. Kinnier Wilson. Journal of Semitic Studies 21: 165–74. Parpola, S., and Porter, M. 2001 The Helsinki Atlas of the Near East in the Neo-Assyrian Period. Helsinki: The Casco Bay Assyriological Institute and The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project. Parrot, A. 1961 Nineveh and Babylon. London: Thames and Hudson. Reade, J. 1980 The Rassam Obelisk. Iraq 42: 1–22. 1983 Assyrian Sculpture. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Rimmer, J. 1969 Ancient Musical Instruments of Western Asia in the Department of Western Asiatic Antiquities, The British Museum. London: The British Museum. Russell, J. M. 1991 Sennacherib’s Palace Without Rival at Nineveh. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. 1999 The Writing on the Wall: Studies in the Architectural Context of Late Assyrian Palace Inscriptions. Mesopotamian Civilizations 9. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Sachs, C. 1940 The History of Musical Instruments. New York: Norton. Stronach, David. 1995 The Imagery of the Wine Bowl: Wine in Assyria in the Early First Millennium b.c. Pp. 175–95 in The Origins and Ancient History of Wine, ed. P. E. McGovern, S. J. Fleming, and S. H. Katz. Philadelphia: Gordon and Breach. Wäfler, M. 1975 Nicht-Assyrer neuassyrischer Darstellungen. AOAT 26. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Winter, I. J. 1976 Carved Ivory Furniture Panels from Nimrud: A Coherent Subgroup of the North Syrian Style. Metropolitan Museum Journal 11: 25–54. 1981 Royal Rhetoric and the Development of Historical Narrative in Neo-Assyrian Reliefs. Studies in Visual Communication 7: 2–38.

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“Wordplay” in the Song of Erra Scott B. Noegel University of Washington

Introduction The literary elites of the 1st millennium b.c.e. appear to have held the song of Erra in very high regard. According to Luigi Cagni, whose fundatmental studies of the song provide a starting point for any study, the text had few peers in antiquity. With respect to content, size, and state of preservation, the poem of Erra is the most noteworthy work of Mesopotamian literature in the Akkadian language, after Atraḫasīs, Gilgameš, Enūma eliš, and the Descent of Ištar to the Nether World. That the poem enjoyed a similar fame in the Ancient Near East is proven by the fact that it was diffused in unaltered editions, and with perhaps extraordinary rapidity, in the Mesopotamian cities of Nineveh (the library of Assurbanipal), Assur, Babylon, Ur, etc. and was known even in Sultantepe, near ancient Harrān. Not even Gilgameš had such circulations, as far as we know, in the 1st millennium b.c.e. 1

Nevertheless, despite the importance of the song, the text has received surprisingly little scholarly attention after the initial publications by Cagni. 2 Aside from a few surveys and translations, its interesting literary features have been the focus of only a handful of works. 3 It is rather surprising that no comprehensive literary study of Erra has appeared. While I cannot give the topic exhaustive attention here, I offer instead a comprehensive treatment of one literary feature in the song of Erra—that of “wordplay.” 4 I do so in honor of my dear friend and colleague, Anne Kilmer, 1.  Cagni 1977: 4. 2.  Cagni 1969; 1970; 1977. These works represented considerable advances from the earlier treatments of Ebeling 1925 and Gössmann 1956. 3.  Surveys and translations: Labat et al. 1970: 114–37; Bottéro 1977–78: 107–64; Bottéro and Kramer 1989: 680–727; Dalley 1989; McCall 1990: 60–62; Müller 1994: 781–801; Foster 1995: 132–63; 2005: 880– 911; 2007: 65–67. Literary features: Most notably Machinist 1983: 221–26; Bodi 1991. The latter work is a revised and expanded version of Bodi 1987. It also was built on previous article-length contributions on the subject by R. Frankena, J.-G. Heintz, M. Anbar, and B. Maarsingh, which are all cited in Bodi 1991: 14 and nn. 12–15. See also Bodi 1993: 1–23. There is, of course, also Hirsch 2002, but this book primarily treats the song’s verbal system. 4.  The term “wordplay” is highly problematic and can be applied to ancient Near Eastern texts only for its heuristic value (hence my quotation marks). There is little that is playful about punning in ancient Near Eastern texts, and it is debatable whether the “word” constitutes the most basic element of the device, especially in nonconsonantal writing systems. For a detailed discussion of the problem of terminology, see Noegel 2007b; Noegel and Szpakowska 2006: 193–212.

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whose seminal works on the subject of “wordplay” in Akkadian texts and many thought-provoking conversations have long inspired my thoughts on the subject. 5

About the Text The song was composed or redacted on five tablets by Kabti-ilāni-Marduk, a scholar known to us from the famous catalogue of texts and authors found in the library of Assurbanipal. 6 The date of the song is debated, but generally it is understood to have been composed sometime during the 9th to the 8th centuries b.c.e.  7 The text has been classified with some inconsistency as either “myth” or “epic,” neither of which has gained a great deal of acceptance.  8 Others have pointed out that some of the text’s features connect it more closely to “wisdom literature.” 9 For the purpose of this contribution, which shall focus primarily on the text’s acoustic qualities, I find it most helpful to refer to the tablets, as I have done already, by its emic designation as a “song” (zamāru in tablet V 49 and 59) or as an “incantation.” 10 Since Assyriologists are generally familiar with the song’s contents, I am content to paraphrase them briefly as follows. The song details the destructive exploits of Erra, a warrior god of famine, who aims to annihilate humankind and disturb the cosmic order. After Marduk temporarily allows Erra to occupy his throne, Erra causes such massive destruction that it causes Marduk to lament and compels Ishum, Erra’s own herald, to curb Erra’s lust for violence. Convinced by Ishum’s pleading, Erra returns to his own throne, and violence is averted. Also featured in the song are the Sibitti, seven evil demons who do Erra’s bidding, and the god Anum, who is referenced ten times in the song in contexts that place him primarily in the background. Other deities also appear in the song, but they are mentioned parenthetically. 11 With regard to the song’s overall meaning, B. Foster opines: “The denunciations of violence are so eloquent and lengthy that this poem can scarcely be read as anything but a condemnation of civil strife as a violation of the cosmic order.” 12 In a fascinating twist, the song closes by informing us that the text contains prophylactic powers and that its author received the entire text in a divine dream, which he rendered faithfully upon awakening. Thus, the incantation claims to be a divine revelation, which connects it to the tablets on which it is inscribed. The tablets do not merely talk about the revelation; they are the 5.  See, for example, Kilmer 1982: 128–32; 1996: 127–39; 2000: 89–101; 2006: 209–19. 6. The text employs the words kāṣir kammīšu, which have been understood both as “author,” for example, by Bodi 1991: 56 nn. 24–25, and as “compiler,” for example, by Van der Toorn 2007: 41–42. On Kabti-ilāni-Marduk, see Lambert 1962: 59–77. On the historical reliability and questions of textual authority implicit in the attribution of the song of Erra to Kabti-ilāni-Marduk, see Van der Toorn 2007: 42–44. Bodi 1991 52–54 nn. 1–13 provides a useful bibliography on the history of publication regarding the various tablets and fragments of the Erra song. 7.  See the survey of hypotheses in Bodi 1991: 54–56. 8.  On the application of these terms to Erra see Cagni 1977: 5–14 and Bodi 1991: 59–62. On the term “epic” in Mesopotamian literature generally, see Noegel 2004: 233–45. 9.  Cagni 1977: 13. See also the comments of Machinist 1981: 403. 10.  Machinist (1983: 226) fittingly refers to the song of Erra as an “incantation.” Several copies of the fifth tablet of the “song” in amuletic form have been found. Apparently, they were hung upside down to ward off famine. See King 1896: 52–62; Reiner 1960: 148–55. An image of one such amulet appears conveniently in McCall 1990: 61. I also note that Mesopotamian incantations often conclude by stating that they derive not from the human stylus, but from the mouths of gods. So, too, does this text make that claim (V 42–45). 11.  For example, Adad, Dagan, Ea, and Enlil. 12.  Foster 2007: 67.

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revelation. Thus, the incantation serves as a mise en abyme for the physical tablets and participates in the self-referential nature of the text. 13 Since ancient Near Eastern incantations and dream texts often employ allusive language and punning, it thus seems wholly appropriate to study the song of Erra for evidence of “wordplay.”  14

Organization of Study I divide my treatment of the topic of into the following sections: I. Alliteration and Assonance, II. Punning, III. Geminate Parallels and Clusters, IV. Allusive Imagery, V. Numerical Devices, and VI. Ambiguous Subjects. Afterward, I offer a few words in conclusion about these devices in the song of Erra. Before providing the evidence, some remarks about each category are in order. Under Alliteration and Assonance, I collect cases in which the author repeats the same consonantal sounds (alliteration) or vowels (assonance) in proximity. Though we do not fully understand Akkadian vowel length or quality, a few passages nevertheless demonstrate rather obvious cases of assonance. Often times, alliteration and assonance lend a passage greater coherence and/ or serve to link different words and concepts. The section on Punning focuses on devices of meaning and sound—that is, cases where one word resounds another or can be read as another (polysemy). In some cases, this also involves polygraphy—that is, signs that permit the multiple readings of words. When punning involves the resounding of one word in another, it necessarily also constitutes alliteration. Nevertheless, since punning involves entire words and not just consonants, and since it also is a device that deals with meaning, I treat them here separately. In the third section, I examine Geminate Parallels and Clusters, which I have described elsewhere as follows: My use of the word “geminate” is not restricted to the grammatical geminate forms, that is those forms derived from roots whose second and third radicals are identical, but includes any verb or noun derived from roots that contain any two identical root consonants, whether second and third, first and third, or even more rarely first and second. Since reduplicated and some quadraliteral forms also constitute gemination of this sort I include them as well. The device has as its primary characteristic the clustering of geminate forms in close proximity, often, but not strictly, in parallelism. I say “not strictly,” because the main aim of the device appears to have been a general sense of ballast, and unlike word-pairs which are employed as parallels of sense or meaning, geminate clusters belong generally to the realm of sound devices, and serve to balance one stich’s use of gemination with gemination in another. 15

In the fourth section, on Allusive Imagery, I illustrate how Akkadian literati sometimes exploited the aspects or associations of various gods by employing lexemes that evoke or allude to their natures. For example, as I have discussed elsewhere, the author of Enūma Eliš often uses words that evoke water when referring to Tiamat and words that suggest fire when focused on 13.  On the self-referential nature of some Akkadian texts, with special reference to Gilgamesh, see Foster 1991: 17–32; 1997: 63–78; Noegel 2007b: 73–74. The self-referential aspect of Akkadian texts should be examined in conjunction with a similar feature found in Mesopotamian art, which has been referred to as “circular referentiality” by Bahrani (2003) and “object self-portraits” by Cheng (2007: 437–47). 14.  On the relationship between incantations, dream texts, and punning, see Noegel 2007b, Greaves 1994: 165–67, and recently Ford 2008: 585–95. On the poetics of incantations, see Veldhuis 1990: 27–44; 1991; 1998: 35–48. 15.  Noegel 2005: 2.

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Marduk. 16 This tradition continues in our song with regard to Erra and Ishum, whose very names mean “scorched earth” and “fire,” respectively. 17 The fifth section, on Numerical Devices, focuses on the sophisticated ways that the author of Erra exploits numerical values and associations. This section builds on a growing body of work on numerical punning found elsewhere in ancient Near Eastern texts. 18 In the sixth and final discussion, on Ambiguous Subjects, I turn my attention to three cases in which the poet makes reference to a god without citing him by name. Each of these occurs at a critical juncture in the story, and each serves similarly to overlap the identities of the gods in question. As I argue, the reasons for this ambiguity are as much religious as they are literary.

I. Alliteration and Assonance I7 i-ta-mi a-na kakkē-šú lit-pa-ta i-mat mu-u-ti He (Erra) says to his weapons “Smear yourselves with deadly venom!” This line illustrates alliteration of the /m/ and /t/ phonemes. Note how the alliteration connects Erra’s ritually performative pronouncement (i-ta-mi) with the deadly venom (i-mat mu-u-ti), and how the /t/ sound is further reinforced with the word lit-pa-ta. I 23–24 la šá-na-an šu-un-na-ta i-lu-su-un i-lit-ta-šú-nu a-ḫat-ma “Their nature is quite different, their origin is strange.” This brief reference to the Sibitti alliterates the /l/ (3×), /n/ (5×), and /š/ (3×) phonemes. Further, the sibilant /s/ in i-lu-su-un alliterates with /š/. I 42–43 “And your heart is driven to cause annihilation, the dark-headed (people) to kill (šu-mut-ti), to slaughter (šum-qu-tu) the herds of Shakkan).” I have reflected the chiasm in my translation in order to illustrate that the words šu-mut-ti and šumqu-tu are immediately adjacent on the tablet, thus strengthening the alliteration of the sounds /š/ and /t/. I 49 ki-i la a-lik ṣe-ri ni-ik-ka-la a-kal šin-niš “Like those who do not stride into the battlefield, must we eat women’s bread”? 16.  Noegel 1995: 82–87. In Enūma Eliš VI 55–56, we are told: “When Marduk (d AMAR.UTU) heard this, like the day (UD-mu) his features shone (im-me-ru) brightly. The statement constitutes a pun on Marduk’s name, for the logogram UTU is also read as UD (= ūmu). Enūma Eliš VI 127 also refers to Marduk as ma-ru d UTU-ši ‘son of the Sun’, and Marduk later receives the name d MIN-dnam-ru ‘Light’ (VI 155–56). For ancient commentaries that similarly link gods to elements, see Livingstone 1986: 74–76. 17.  Roberts 1971: 13. Machinist states (1983: 223–24, but see also 224 n. 16): “The effect of all this is to emphasize the intertwined nature of their personalities—something apparent even from the etymologies of their names—or more precisely, it is to show the importance of Išum in defining the range of Erra’s behavior.” 18.  On numerical devices and punning in ancient Near Eastern texts, see Hurowitz 1998: 44–46; 2008b: 104–20; Kilmer 2006; Noegel 2007c: 26–27.

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The alliteration of /k/ and /l/ in this passage connects the words ‘like’ (ki-i), ‘not’ (la), ‘stride’ (a‑lik), ‘eat’ (ni-ik-ka-la), and ‘bread’ (a-kal). I 136 “Lo! The government (ši-piṭ) of heaven and earth dissolved (up-ta-ṭi-ru). Springs became few (im-ta-ṭi-ma), the overflow receded. Again did I gaze (a-tur a-mur-ma). One could hardly sate oneself (im-tar-ṣa).” The alliteration in this line occurs with repeated /t/ and /m/ phonemes. This is enhanced by assonance between the first two syllables of im-ta-ṭi-ma and im-tar-ṣa and the second two syllables of up-ta-ṭi-ru and im-ta-ṭi-ma. Note also how the phoneme /ṭ/ appears in the words ši-piṭ and im-ta-ṭi-ma, and how the /p/ an /ṭ/ sounds connect ši-piṭ and up-ta-ṭi-ru. A similar alliteration joins ši-piṭ and up-ta-aṭ-ṭir in I 133. I 151 iṣ-ṣu el-lu eṭ-lu ṣi-i-ru “That pure tree, the august youngster. . .” This remarkably brief and rhythmic phrase contains alliteration of the /ṣ/ and /l/ phonemes, as well as assonance of the /i, e/, and /u/. I 156 na-áš pa-áš šá-aš-ši “Who carries the golden axe?” This short phrase again offers a strong case of alliteration (of /š/) and assonance (of /a/). I 170 “I shall rise from my seat and the government (ši-piṭ) [of heaven and earth] will be dissolved (up-ta-aṭ-ṭar).” This line repeats the alliteration of the phonemes /p/ and /ṭ/ as discussed above in I 136. I 171–73 [mê] il-lu-nim-ma [i-maš-šá]-ʾu [m]a-a-tu [u4-m]u nam-ru a-na da-u[m-m]a-ti [i-ta-ar] [me-ḫ]u-ú i-te-eb-ba-a[m-m]a kakkabāniš šá-m[a-mi ikattam] The waters will swell and devastate the country. The shining day will turn into deep darkness. The storm will rise and blot out the sky. These three lines emphasize the /m/ sound (11×), perhaps to echo the sound and name of mê ‘water’. Additional alliteration occurs between da-um-mat-ti and ma-a-tu and between i-te-eb-ba-a[m m]a and kakkabāniš. I 181 “Until you enter (ter-ru-bu-ma) that house, prince (rubû) Marduk, and Girra purifies (ub-ba-buma) your garment, and you return to your place. . .” Alliteration of the bilabials /b/ and /m/ and assonance of the /a/ and /u/ appears in ter-ru-bu-ma, rubû, and ub-ba-bu-ma.

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I 186 “I shall brandish (uš-za-za) my fierce (ez-zu-ti) weapons over them.” This brief line illustrates alliteration of the /z/ and connects the brandishing of the weapons with their fierceness. II C 8–10 He entered ([i-ru]m-ma) Emeslam, occupied (ir-ta-mi) his seat. He ponders within himself (ra-ma-nu-uš) that work. His heart rages (ra-um-ma), gives him no answer. These three verses demonstrate alliteration of the /r/ and /m/ phonemes, which is reinforced by the assonance of the /a/ and /u/. II C 13 “The day is nearing its end (iq-ta-tu-ú), the appointed time is done (i-te-ti-iq).” The alliteration of the /q/ and /t/ in this verse places emphasis on the finality of the pronouncement by linking the ‘end’ (iq-ta-tu-ú) with the act of completion (i-te-ti-iq). II C 14 I say “I shall quench (ú-šam-qa-ta) the rays of Shamash (dšamši).” This verse continues the alliteration of the /q/ and /t/ in the previous verse while also connecting the act of quenching to the sun god by way of the sound /šam/. II C 31 “I shall not let Shakkan’s herds nor the wild animals (nam-maš-šá-a) go (ú-maš-šá-ra) to. . .” This line alliterates the /m/ and /š/. In fact, the words for “wild animals” and “go” repeat the sound sequence /maš-ša/ in quick succession. II C 33 “A son will not care (i-šá-al) for his father’s health (šu-[ul  ]-mu), (nor) a father for his son’s.” Though not apparent in the English translation, the Akkadian text underscores the alliteration of the /l/ and /š/ in this verse by placing the words i-šá-al and šu-[ul]-mu side by side. II C 35–43 “I shall get into (ú-še-rab) the abode (šu-bat) of the gods, there where the evil man has no   access. At the abode (šu-bat) of princes (ru-bé-e), I shall let the rogue (is-ḫab-ba) dwell (ú-še-šá-ab). The beasts (ú-ma-am) [nam-si-ka . . .] I shall let in (ú-še-er-rab). The city in which they appear (in-nam-ma-ru), I will deprive (ú-za-am-ma) of (everyone)    who enters (e-ri-ba). I shall send all the beasts (ú-ma-am) of the mountain down. They will devastate the places where (e-ma) they set foot. The beasts (ú-ma-am) of the steppe will not [. . .] I shall let run about in the squares of the   city. Omens I shall make bad (ú-lam-man-ma). The centers of worship I shall la waste (ú-nam-me). Into the abode (šu-bat) of the gods [. . .] I shall make (the demon) Saghulḫaza enter   (ú-še-rab).”

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Two sets of extensive alliteration mark this pericope. The first set echoes the phonemes /r/, /b/, and /š/ in the words ú-še-rab (3×), šu-bat (3×), ru-bé-e, is-ḫab-ba, ú-še-šá-ab, and e-ri-ba. The second set employs the sounds /m/ and /n/ in the words ú-ma-am (2×), nam-si-ka, 19 in-nam-ma-ru, ú-za-am-ma, ú-lam-man-ma, and ú-nam-me. II C 44 ekal š[arri] [. . .] ú-šal-la-ka kar-mu-ta “I shall make a ruin of the king’s palace.” The four words in this fragmentary verse offer a concatenation of the sounds /k/, /š/, /l/, and /r/. III A 11–12 “I shall cause them to speak ill and they will forget their god (at-ma-ši-na ú-lam-ma-na-ma   i-maš-šá-a ìl-ši-in). (And) speak gross blasphemy (šil-la-tu) to the goddess.” The alliteration in these lines exploits the phonemes /l/, /m/, /n/, and /š/. III A 24 “In vain will the sick man be craving (ir-riš-ma) after some roast meat (ši-i-ri) for his    voluntary offering (bi-bil lìb-bi-šú).” Two sets of alliteration characterize this verse. The first contains the /r/ and /š/, and the second /b/ and /l/. Note also that the words ir-riš-ma and ši-i-ri are virtually palindromes of each other (minus /ma/), as are also bi-bil and lìb-bi-šu (minus /š/). 20 III D 5–7 tam-tam-ma dal-ḫa-ta šad-de-ma gam-ra-ta nišī-ma re-da-ta bu-lam-ma re-ʾa-a-ta é-šar-ra-ma pa-nu-uk-ka é-engur-ra-ma qa-tuk-ka The oceans you convulse, the mountains you finish off. Men you govern, the herds, you shepherd. Esharrama is before your face, Engurrama is in your hands. In addition to offering textbook examples of alliteration, especially of the phonemes /m/ and /t/, these verses also illustrate remarkable assonance. Note how every word ends in /a/, with every other word (starting with the first) in the entire passage ending in /ma/, every other word (starting with the second) in the first two lines ending in /ata/, and every other word in the final line ending with /ukka/. The passage is in essence a rhyme. In addition, this verse illustrates a skillful use of idioms involving body parts, in this case of “face” and “hands,” a device known elsewhere in ancient Semitic literature. 21 III D 12 “Enlil gives you his favor. Without you, is there hostility (ul-la-nu-uk-ka-ma nu-kúr-tu)?”

19.  It is unclear what is meant by the word nam-si-ka, for which another recension has a variant na-si-ka, perhaps meaning ‘sheik, tribal leader’. 20.  A similar pun between ‘crave’ (erēšu) and ‘meat’ (šīru) appears in The Poor Man of Nippur. See Noegel 1996a: 177–78. 21.  See Noegel 2011.

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This line equates Erra, who is addressed here, with enmity by alliterating the /n/ and /k/, thus echoing the sounds for the words ‘without you’ (ul-la-nu-uk-ka-ma) in the word ‘hostility’ (nu-kúr-tu). IV 6–7 “The sons of Babylon, who like reeds in a reed thicket, had no overseer, all of them   (nap-ḫar-šú-nu) thronged (ip-taḫ-ru) around you. He who knows nothing of weapons, his sword ( pa-tar-šú) is unsheathed.” The poet here alliterates the sounds /ḫ/, /p/, /r/, and /t/. Each of the words highlighted in this verse contains three of the four phonemes, and one of them (ip-taḫ-ru) contains all four. IV 23–24 “The heart of the governor (šak-ka-nak-ki), the avenger of Babylon, was kindled with fury. As if they were to loot (šá-la-li) the loot of the enemy (šal-lat na-ki-ri), he gives orders to his   army.” The phonemes /k/, /l/, and /š/ here provide the alliteration between the words šak-ka-nak-ki, šá-la-li, and šal-lat na-ki-ri. IV 29 “Neither suckling (e-niq ši-zib) nor child, spare (te-ez-zi-ba) nobody!” The alliteration of the sounds /b/, /z/, and /š/ in this verse allow the word ši-zib ‘milk’ to anticipates the sounds in the word te-ez-zi-ba ‘spare’. IV 40–42 “Ah, Babylon (Bābili), whose top I had made as luxuriant as a palm tree, but the wind has   dried (ub-bi-lu-šú)! Ah, Babylon (Bābili) that I had replenished with seed like a pinecone, but whose fullness   (la-lu-šú) I could not sate myself (lā áš-bu-ú). Ah, Babylon (Bābili) that I had tended like a thriving orchard, but whose fruit (inib-šú) I    could not taste (lā a-ku-la).” The alliteration of the /b/ and /l/ in the words la-lu-šú, lā áš-bu-u, inib-šu, and lā a-ku-la reinforces the same sounds in the thrice-mentioned name Babylon. IV 49 “In the expanse of the broad sea—water for a hundred double hours (bēru)—may they propel (li-bi-ku) the boat of the fisherman (bāʾiri) with the pole (pa-ri-su)!” This verse contains alliteration of the bilabials /b/ and /p/, which appear in each of the four highlighted words, three of which also are followed by /r/. IV 58–59 “Who, to delight Ishtar’s heart, give themselves to forbidden actions (i-tak-ka-lu a-[sak-ka]). An arrogant, pitiless governor (šakkanakku) you placed (taš-k[un]) over them.” The poet has taken advantage of the /k/ and /š/ sounds in the word šakkanakku already (see IV 23– 24). Here again we see a similar alliteration that exploits the proximity to i-tak-ka-lu and taš‑k[un], and also the /k/ and sibilant /s/ in a-[sak-ka]. IV 68 “Like foam (ḫu-bu-uš) on the surface of the water, you silenced their noise (ḫu-bur-ši-na).”

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The alliteration of the /b/, /ḫ/, and /š/ and the assonance of the /u/ in the words ḫu-bu-uš and ḫubur-ši-na is obvious and serves to connect the “noise” with the “foam” to which it is likened. 22 IV 78–80 “Him (šá) whom the enemy has not plundered, the thief (šar-ra-qu) will kill. Him (šá) whom the thief (šar-ra-qu) has not killed, the king’s weapon will hit (kakki šarri   i-kaš-šad-su). Him (šá) whom the king’s weapon has not hit (kakki šarri lā ik-tal-du), the prince will strike   down.” Here we find alliteration of the phonemes /k/, /q/, /r/, and /š/ in the repeated relative pronoun ša (3×) and the words šar-ra-qu (2×), kakki (2×), šarri (2×), and kašādu (2×). IV 97–100 “The son I shall deliver unto death and his father will need to bury him (i-qa-ab-bir-šu). After that I shall deliver his father unto death and he will have no burier (qé-bi-ra). He who built (i-pu-šú) a house and exclaimed (i-qab-bi) ‘(This is) my dwelling. I built it (e-te-pu-uš-ma) myself, I shall rest (a-pa-áš-šá-ḫa) in it (qer-bu-uš-šu).’ ” The alliteration of the /b/, /r/, and /q/ in the i-qa-ab-bir-šu, qé-bi-ra, and qer-bu-uš-šu is enhanced by the /b/ and /q/ in i-qab-bi as well as the bilabial /p/ in i-pu-šu, e-te-pu-uš-ma, and a-pa-áš-šá-ḫa. The latter words also alliterate the /š/, which also appears in i-qa-ab-bir-šu and qer-bu-uš-šu. IV 108 “The enu-priest who hastened (mu-šaḫ-miṭ) to bring the offerings to the gods, you killed   (tuš-ta-mit).” The phonemes /m/, /š/, and /ṭ/ in the word mu-šaḫ-miṭ are especially resonant, because this line is one of eight in succession that concludes with the word tuš-ta-mit (IV 104–11). IV 118 “I want to wrench the mooring-pole, so that the ship (eleppu) drifts away (lit-te-eq-lep-pa-a).” Alliteration of the /l/ and /p/ in eleppa and lit-te-eq-lep-pa-a is abetted by assonance of the /a/ and /e/. IV 120–22 “I want to root out (lu-uš-ḫu-uṭ-ma) the mast (tim-ma), I want to tear out (lu-us-su-ḫa) its   rigging. I want breasts (tu-la-a) to dry up (lu-šá-bil-ma) so that babies will not survive (ul i-bal-luṭ). I want to silt up (lu-uḫ-ṭim-ma) springs so that the little canals will no longer carry (ul ub-ba-la)    the water of abundance.” This passage demonstrates a sustained alliteration of the phonemes /b/, /ḫ/, /l/, /m/, /š/ and /ṭ/. Note, for example, how the sounds /ḫ/, /l/, /m/, and /ṭ/ connect lu-uš-ḫu-uṭ-ma and lu-uḫ-ṭim-ma. The /m/ and /ṭ/ further reverberate as /m/ and /t/ in the word tim-ma. The /ḫ/, /l/, and sibilant /s/ in the word lu-us-su-ḫa also provide linguistic refrain for the /ḫ,/ /l/, and sibilant /š/ in lu-uš-ḫu-uṭ-ma in the same line. In the Akkadian, the word lu-us-su-ḫa follows immediately after lu-uš-ḫu-uṭ-ma. Similarly, alliteration obtains in the words tu-la-a, lu-šá-bil-ma, ul i-bal-luṭ, and ul ub-ba-la, each of 22.  On the ironic use of “noise” in this song, see Machinist 1983: 224.

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which contains /l/ and two of which contain /b/. The alliteration is enhanced also by way of assonance, especially of /u/. IV 123–25 “I want to make the Irkalla quake (lu-un-niš-ma). May the heavens (šá-ma-mi) roll too! As for (šá) Shulpae, I want to annihilate (lu-šam-qit-ma) its brilliance (šá-ru-ru-šu). I want to do    away with (lu-šam-sik) the stars in the heavens (šá-ma-mi). As for (šá) the tree, I want to cut its roots (šu-ru-us-su) so that it sprouts cannot shoot   (i-šam-mu-ḫa).” The highlighted words above illustrate alliteration of the sounds /m/ and /š/. Note also that šáma-mi (2×), lu-šam-qit-ma, lu-šam-sik, and i-šam-mu-ḫa each contains the sound šam. The word lu-unniš-ma comes close with the sound /šma/. The alliteration of the /r/ and /š/, as well as the assonance of the /u/ in šá-ru-ru-šu and šu-ru-us-su also is striking. IV 135–36 “A house the (other) house, the man the (other) man, the brother (aḫu), the (other) brother   (aḫa) must not spare! May they slay each other (a-ḫa-miš). And afterwards (ar-ka), may the Akkadian (ak-ka-du-ú) rise. May he annihilate them all and    rule them all.” Alliteration in this passage is based on the phonemes /ḫ/ and /k/. The former ties the words aḫu, aḫa, and a-ḫa-miš. The latter binds ar-ka and ak-ka-du-u. I also note that this passage is the final and climactic part of an extended terrace pattern in IV 135–35. 23 The extended terrace construction is also known in Ugaritic texts and in the Hebrew Bible. 24 V 5–6 “Pay attention, all of you. To my words, listen (lim-da). Certainly (mìn-de-e-ma) at the time of the former sin I plotted evil (lemuttim).” The words lim-da, mìn-de-e-ma, and lemuttim are connected by way of alliteration of the phonemes /l/ and /m/. Repetition of the dentals /d/ and /t/ strengthens the alliteration. V 7–8 “My heart was burning (a-gu-ug-ma) with wrath and I laid low the people. Like a hireling (a-gir) I removed the leading ram from the flock.” The repetition of the sound /g/ in a-gu-ug-ma and a-gir is made prominent by the assonance of the /a/ vowel that precedes both words. V 14–15 “Where would your provider (za-nin-ku-nu) be? Your enu-priest (e-nu-ku-nu)! Where   (a-a-in-na)? Where be your food offering (nin-da-bi-ku-nu)? You would no longer smell incense   (qut-rin-na).” 23.  The extended terrace is noted by Watson (1986: 212). Given the performative nature of this text, perhaps we should see the terrace pattern acting like a chain in incantations. On this feature, see Veldhuis 1993: 41–64. 24.  See, for example, Hos 2:23–24, Joel 1:3–4, Isa 24:18. Noted and discussed by Watson (1986: 211– 13).

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These queries contain a plethora of /n/ sounds, specifically in the words za-nin, e-nu, a-a-in-na, ninda-bi, and qut-rin-na. Note also that both line end in -na. Adding to the alliteration is the pronominal suffix kūnu, which connects za-nin-ku-nu, e-nu-ku-nu, and nin-da-bi-ku-nu. V 22 He (Erra) entered (i-ru-um-ma) Emeslam (é-mes-lam) and occupied (ir-ta-me) his seat. This line exploits the sounds /m/ and /r/ and links the acts of Erra’s entering and taking his throne with his temple. V 26–27 “May short (ku-ru-u) and tall (ar-ki) alike (ki-ma) tread its road! May the weak (a-ku-ú) Akkadian (Akkadû) throw down the mighty Sutean!” The song here alliterates the /k/ sound five times in this brief passage. V 30–31 “You shall take (šal-lat-su-nu) massive booty (tu-ša-la-la) from them (and put it) in Shuanna. You shall restore (tu-šal-lam) the gods of the country, who were angry, to their abodes.” Alliteration appears in these verses by way of the sounds /l/, /š/, and /t/, which resound in šal-latsu-nu, tu-ša-la-la, and tu-šal-lam. The sound /š/ also appears in Shuanna. V 37–39 “May the Tigris and Euphrates carry (li-šá-bi-la) the water of abundance. As to the provider of the Esagila and of Babylon (Bābili), may the governors of every city,    all of them bring (li-bi-lu) him (tribute). For years without number (lā ni-bi), may the praise of great lord (bēlī rabi) Nergal (and) of    the warrior Ishum (last).” The poet has resounded the name of Babylon already (see IV 40–42). Here again we find the phonemes /b/ and /l/ echoed in li-šá-bi-la, li-bi-lu, lā ni-bi, and bēlī rabi.

II. Punning I 2–3 Ḫendursanga (ḫendur-sag-gá), the first born of Enlil. . .[ ] Holder of the holy scepter (na-áš ḫaṭ-ṭi), herdsman of the dark-headed (SAG) people,    shepherd to [human beings]. Regardless to whom the epithet Ḫendursanga belongs, 25 its literal meaning as ‘lofty scepter’ (PA = ḫendur = GIDRU = ḫaṭṭu) is given an etymological pun in the next line by calling the god the na-áš ḫaṭ-ṭi ‘holder of the holy scepter’. The line also permits a pun between the phonetic sign sag in the name ḫendur-sag-ga and the logogram SAG (= qaqqadu ‘head’) in “dark-headed people.” I4 Ishum, zealous slaughterer ( ṭá-bi-ḫu na-aʾ-du), whose hands are fit to wield fierce weapons.

25.  On the ambiguous identity of this god, see Cagni 1977: 27 n. 1.

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As Cagni and others have observed, this verse gives the god Ishum the epithet ‘zealous slaughterer’ ( ṭābiḫu naʾādu), which punfully provides an etymological gloss of the Sumerian I (= naʾādu ‘worship’) and ŠUM (= ṭabāḫu ‘slaughter’).  26 I 21 O Engidudu, lord who goes about the night (bēlu mut-tal-lik mu-ši), who always is a guide to    the prince[s] (mut-tar-ru-u ru-bé-e). In this line, the poet again provides a punning etymology of a name, specifically for Engidudu (d en-gi 6 -du-du), which is glossed as ‘lord who goes about the night’ (bēlu mut-tal-lik mu-ši).” 27 With regard to this line R. Labat comments: “Nouvelle épithète d’Ishoum et nouveaux jeux sur les significations possibles de la graphie du nom.” 28 S. Tinney has espied another erudite pun suggested by the signs gi6 and du-du in the name d en-gi 6 -du-du. In particular, he has shown how gi 6 evokes gi 7 (= ru-be-e ‘prince[s]’) by homophony, and how du-du suggests DU.DU (= mu-ut-tar-ru-ú ‘guides’). 29 As Tinney points out, the use of the word ru-bé-e ‘prince[s]’ is ambiguous as to whether it is singular or plural, and thus naturally evokes prince Marduk: “When one remembers that Marduk himself is practically always referred to in Erra as rubû Marduk it becomes clear that this epithet is a key point in the intertwining of the roles and characters of Išum, Erra and Marduk. . . .” 30 To these observations I add that a visual pun obtains between the sign gi 6 in d en-gi 6 -du-du and the goddess d ma-mi mentioned in the previous line, for gi 6 and mi are identical signs (GI 6 = mūšu ‘night’). I 26 ul ir-ru a-na šá-a-šú “They dare not go near it.” This line describes the fear that humans feel toward Erra by saying “they dare not go near it (Erra’s breath = fire). 31 The verb ir-ru here offers a pun on the name Erra (dèr-ra). I 28–29 Anum (da-nu-um), king of the gods, fecundated (ir-ḫe-e-ma) Earth. She bore seven gods (sibit ilāni) to him, and he named them Sibitti. The signs used to spell Anum permit several anticipatory puns. The logogram A suggests aplu ‘heir’ and the the sign UM can suggest ummu ‘mother’, each of which anticipates Earth conceiving and giving birth to the Sibitti.

26.  Cagni remarks (1977: 27 n. 4): “The author of Erra enjoys these etymological games. . . .” According to Labat (1970: 117 n. 1), “le poète joue sur les multiples possibilités étymologiques que paraît suggérer le nom d’Ishoum, ou plus précisément, la graphie de son nom: I-Shoum.” Bodi states (1991: 59 n. 36 ): “The use of some recondite etymologies implying the knowledge of Sumerian (for example, IŠUM ṭābiḫu naʾādu) indicates that the poet addressed himself to a highly educated public fully conversant with the possibilities of wordplays based on Sumerian cuneiform signs.” Bodi cites Wilcke 1977: 198. 27.  As observed also by Cagni 1977: 27 n. 8. 28.  Labat 1970: 117 n. 3. 29.  Tinney 1989. 30.  Tinney 1989: 4. 31.  As suggested by Cagni 1977: 27 n. 9.

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Another etymological pun, this time on the divine name Sibitti appears in I 29, where we are told that the union between Erra and the Earth produced ‘seven gods’ (sibit ilāni); hence the name the Sibitti (“the Seven”). 32 I 33 To the second he said ‘burn like a fire, blaze like a flame’ (kīma dGirri ku-bu-um-ma ḫu-muṭ   kīma nab-li). Following the birth of the seven Sibitti, Anu commands the second of them to ‘burn like a fire, blaze like a flame’ (kīma dGirri ku-bu-um-ma ḫu-muṭ kīma nab-li). The fiery command connects the Sibitti to Erra, to whom Anu will later give the Sibitti (I 40), by way of the etymology of Erra’s name, that is ‘to scorch, char’ (ḥ̣-r-r). 33 For additional allusions to Erra’s fiery nature, see below pp. 184–185 under Allusive Imagery. I 42–43 “And your heart is driven to make (šá-kan) annihilation, to kill the dark-headed (people), to slaughter the herds of Shakkan (GÍR = dŠákkan). I have discussed the alliteration in these lines above. Here, I point out an example of punning between the word for ‘make, establish’ (šá-kan) and the divine name dŠákkan. There may be an additional pun in the name dŠákkan since the reading GÍR also can refer to Nergal (the god with whom Erra is identified). 34 I 45–46 They are furious (ez-zu-ma). Their weapons are upraised (te-bu-ú). They say to Erra: “Arise! To work (te-bi i-zi-iz-ma)!” Here obtains a pun between the words ‘furious’ (ez-zu-ma) and ‘work’ (i-zi-iz-ma). As P. Machinist has observed, an additional pun occurs here between the word ‘upraised’ (te-bu-ú) ‘arise’ (te-bi) in battle. 35 Though these words derive from the same Semitic root, their different usages in reference to weapons and people demands we see this as a case of antanaclasis. I 47 “Why are you staying (tu-šib) in town like a miserable old man (ši-i-bi)”? The poet here exploits the similarity in sound between the word ‘staying’ (tu-šib) and ‘old man’ (ši-i-bi). I 52 “Though he be a prince, he who remains (a-šib) in the city will not be satisfied (i-šeb-bi) with food.” The poet continues the punning begun in I 47 by this time connecting the roots wašābu ‘stay, dwell’ and šebû ‘be satisfied, full’. I 59 “A palace (ekal) on a foundation terrace is not comparable to a shelter.” 32.  Cagni 1977: 27 n. 11. 33.  Roberts 1971: 13. 34. For d GÍR as Nergal, see Leichty 1970: 78. 35.  Machinist 1983: 224.

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The appearance of the word ‘palace’ (ekal) here puns upon a litany of previous references to ‘going out’ (alāku, 44, 51, 54, 56), ‘eating’ (akālu, 49), and ‘bread’ (akal, 49, 52, 57). I 70 “May billowy (  gal-la-ti) seas hear it. . .” The use here of the word ‘billowy’ (  gal-la-ti), recalls in a punning way the use of ‘demons’ (  gal-lu-ú) just mentioned in I 67. I 74–75 “May the herds tremble (li-ru-ur-ma) and return to clay. May the gods, your fathers, see (li-mu-ru-ma) and praise your valor.” The pun between the words ‘tremble’ (li-ru-ur-ma) and ‘see’ (li-mu-ru-ma) provides the poet with an opportunity to connect the differing reactions of mortals and gods to Erra’s might. I 86 “Because of his flocks, the shepherd cannot rest by day (ur-ra) or night, but entreats you   (Erra).” The Sibitti’s address to Erra here puns on Erra’s name by way of the word ‘day’ (ur-ra). I 94–95 He (Erra) then opened his mouth and said to Ishum (di-šum): “Why, having heard (še-ma-ta-ma), do you sit speechless?” By reminding Ishum that he has heard (še-ma-ta-ma) the Sibitti’s cry for battle, Erra’s linguistically indicts Ishum for his lack of immediate reaction by punning on his name. I 100 Ishum (di-šum), on hearing (še-mi-šú) such a thing. . . The puns on Ishum’s name in I 94–95 are reinforced in I 100. 36 I 112 “Among the herds, I am the striker (ma-ḫi-ṣa-ku), on the mountains, the ram.” Erra (èr-ra) here offers an erudite etymological pun on his own name. Note how the second sign in his name, that is RA, is also a logogram for the verb maḫāṣu ‘strike, defeat’, with which Erra identifies. Thus, “striker” is literally part of Erra’s name. I 115 ki-i šá-a-ri a-za-qu “Like the wind I blow.” Erra’s claim punfully recalls his previous statement in line 110 “In the country I am king (šar-ra-ku). Among the gods, I am the furious one (ez-za-ku).”

36.  This is the way the verse appears in manuscripts K 8751 and S. U. 52/166. The variant manuscript VAT 9162 makes the pun even clearer by placing the two words immediately adjacent, as in “Ishum heard (iš-ma-e-ma di-šum) that speech of his. . .” For manuscript information, see Cagni 1977: 50–57.

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I 124–25 The warrior then turned his face (  pa-ni-šú) toward Shuanna (šu-an-na), the city of the king of   the gods. Entered Esagila (é-sag-íla), the palace of heaven and earth, and stood in his presence    (literally before his face [  pa-nu-uš-šú]). I have drawn attention to the subtle use of idioms employing body parts above (see III D 5–7). The device appears again in conjunction with two puns here. Note how the two-fold mention of the “face” puns upon the ‘hand’ (ŠU = qātu) in šu-an-na and the ‘head’ (SAG = rēšu) in é-sag-íla. 37 I 133 “I (Marduk) rose from my seat and the government (ši-piṭ) of heaven and earth dissolved   (up-ta-aṭ-ṭir).” I have discussed the alliteration in this verse above. Of note here is the polysemous word šipṭu, which means ‘governance’ and ‘destruction’. P. Machinist comments: Lastly, there is the ‘šipṭu (= “governing order”) of heaven and earth,’ which, as we have observed, dissolves if Marduk leaves his seat (I 132, 170). So when Erra promises, in taking Marduk’s place, that he will keep this šipṭu strong (I 182), we are treated to the patent irony that Erra does indeed maintain šipṭu – but the šipṭu of ‘destruction’, as is made explicit later (IV 76–77; V 53, 58). 38

I 137–42 “The offspring (šik-na-at) of the living diminished, and I did not restore them.” Until, like a farmer, I seized (aṣ-ba-tu) their seed in my hand (qa-ti-ia).” I built myself a house, wherein I settled. (As for) my attire, which had been overrun by the deluge (a-bu-bu) and its appearance   (ši-kin-šá) was dimmed. I ordered Girra to restore the sheen of my features and to purify (ub-bu-ub) my garments   (ṣu-ba-ti-ia). When he had completed (ú-qat-tu-ú) the work for me, having made my attire splendid    again. . .” The complexity of the passage’s puns requires that I discuss several lines together. See, for example, how puns connect the words ṣu-ba-ti-ia ‘my garments’ (I 141) and aṣ-ba-tu ‘I seized’ (I 138), šik-na-at ‘offspring’ (I 137) and ši-kin-šá ‘its appearance’ (I 140), as well as qa-ti-ia ‘my hand’ (I 138) and ú-qat-tu-ú ‘completed’ (I 142). In addition, the pun between ‘deluge’ (a-bu-bu) and ‘purify’ (ub‑bu-ub) is reinforced in I 144 when kingship is restored to Marduk and his countenance once again expresses haughtiness (tub-bu-ú-ma), thanks to the men who survived the deluge (a-bu-bi [I 145]). I 150–52 “Where is the mēsu-tree, the flesh (šir) of the gods, the ornament of the king (šàr) of the   universe? That pure tree, that august youngster (eṭ-lu) suited to supremacy. Whose foundation reaches as deep down (i-šid-su ik-šu-du) as the bottom of the    underworld. . .” 37.  See Noegel 2011. 38.  Machinist 1983: 224–25.

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In addition to the obvious pun between šir ‘flesh’ and šàr ‘king’, the passage also contains an erudite code. As Cagni remarks: “Here we have another etymology and equation game, a play on words dear to Kabti-ilāni-Marduk, between Sumerian MES and the corresponding Akkadian mēsu.” 39 Indeed, the sign MES is a logogram for the word eṭlu ‘youngster’. However, what Cagni does not note is that the sign MES appears again in the very next line in the words ‘its foundation’ (i-šid-su), but there it is read phonetically as šid. Note also the pun between i-šid-su ‘its foundation’ and ik-šu-du ‘reaches down’. Moreover, the MES sign is suggestive of d MES, which stands for Marduk, who is speaking these lines to Erra. I 155 “Where is Ninildu (d nin-IGI.NAGAR.BU), the great woodcarver (nagar-GAL) of my   godhead?” Continuing his penchant for etymological and visual punning, the author employs the logograms IGI.NAGAR.BU (= íldu), thus providing a visual pun on NAGAR (= nagāru) ‘woodcarver’. I 158 “Where is Gushkinbanda (d guškin-bàn-da), the maker (ba-an) of god (ili) and man, whose    hands are [pure (el-la)]?” The poet here offers several learned puns on the name of the apkallu Gushkinbanda. The first obtains by way of the word ba-an ‘maker’, which puns on the sound of bàn in d guškin-bàn-da. Second, the reference to Gushkinbanda as a maker of gods (ba-an ili) is reinforced visually by the logogram AN (= ilu), which appears as the determinative for Gushkinbanda and as the phonetic sign an in the word ba-an ‘maker’. Third, the sign bàn in d guškin-bàn-da is a logogram for DUMU (= mār) ‘son, descendant’, which anticipates the reference to him as a creator of man (amēli). Finally, I point out that if the reconstruction of ‘pure’ (el-la) is correct, then this also constitutes a punning reference to the composite sign guškin, the first sign of which KÙ is the logogram for elēlu ‘be pure’. I 159 “Where is Ninagal (d nin-á-gal), who carries the upper millstone and the lower one?” Though the overall meaning of this line is a bit unclear, 40 the reference to the apkallu Ninagal as someone who is able to carry something as heavy as a millstone, suggests that it registers her great strength. 41 If this is the case, then the reference perhaps offers an exegetical and learned pun on the signs á-gal in her name, for if the scribe has in mind the logograms Á.GÁL (a pun on á-gal) the signs may be read as lēʾû ‘strength’. I 160 “Who chews hard copper (e-ra-a) like leather, who forges tools?” The word e-ra-a ‘copper’ is an obvious pun on the name of the god Erra. Moreover, the word erû also can mean ‘grindstone’, thus connecting it with the previous line. The reference to precious

39.  Cagni 1977: 35 n. 45. Dalley (1989: 314 n. 22) also notes that the same pun appears in the late 3rdmillennium poem Shulgi King of Abundance, and cites Klein 1981: 11. 40.  In agreement with Labat 1970: 122 n. 6, who notes that this line is ambiguous. 41.  The account of the woman of Thebez in Judg 9:52–53 (see 2 Sam 11:21) might be analogous.

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stones and a crown in the line that follows permits us to see this line as the centerpiece in a Janus Parallelism. 42 I 162 “Where are the seven apkallū (NUN.ME) of the Apsu (ZU.AB), pure (eb-bu-te) purādū (carps) who like Ea (dé-a) their lord, are exalted of wisdom, perfect, appointed to the cleansing (mu-ub-bi-bu) of my body?” The author again offers etymological puns by referring to the apkallū as pure and wise purādū-fish, thus connecting them to the signs NUN (suggesting nūnu ‘fish’), ME (mê ‘water’ and IŠIB = ellu ‘pure’), ZU (= mūdû ‘one who knows’), and AB (tâmtu ‘sea’). The poet also has chosen to spell Ea phonetically rather than use one of the many possible logograms so as to permit readers to see d é-a as suggestive of the logograms É (= bītu ‘abode, house, temple’) and A (= mû ‘water’), an appropriate place for the apkallū. I 188 “In the house you are to enter (ter-ru-bu), prince (rubû) Marduk.” This verse anticipates Marduk’s title rubû ‘prince’ with the words ter-ru-bu ‘you are to enter’. II B 18 “Where the god does not go (i-ir-ru), they draw near.” Here again we find a pun upon the name Erra in the word i-ir-ru ‘go’. The pun is especially potent since Ea has just mentioned Erra in the previous line, and since Ea is well known for his punning speech. 43 II B 19 “He (Marduk) endowed (i-din-šú-nu-ti-ma) those ummānu with a vast heart and [made firm]    their foundations (iš-di-šú-nu).” Here we find a pun between the words i-din-šú-nu-ti-ma ‘endowed’ and iš-di-šú-nu ‘their foundations’. II B 22 The warrior Erra (dèr-ra), night and day (ur-ra) stands before it without intermission. The word ur-ra ‘day’ constitutes a pun on the name Erra, with which it is in close proximity. The poet has exploited the same pun in I 86 above. II C 8 He entered ([i-ru]m-ma) Emeslam (é-mes-lam), occupied (ir-ta-mi) his seat. In this line the words [i-ru]m-ma ‘he entered’ pun upon Erra’s name. In the previous line Ishum had referred to the god by epithet only (as apil denlil ṣi-i-ru ‘Enlil’s most exalted son’), thus anticipating the punning reference to his name. The use of the sound /ir/ in ir-ta-mi immediately afterwards bolsters the pun.

42.  Janus Parallelism is now a well-attested feature of ancient Semitic poetry. See Noegel 1996b and 2007b: 27 n. 94 for publications on the topic since 1996. 43.  For Ea as a punster, see Noegel 2007b: 28.

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There is an additional pun here involving the sign mes in é mes-lam. As we have seen in I 150–51, this sign was exploited for its value as a logogram. Here it is again suggestive of d MES, that is Marduk, and serves to remind us that Erra has taken Marduk’s seat (I 180–82; II 1). II C 35 “I shall get into the house of the gods where the evil man has no access (iʾ-a-ru).” The tablet continues its puns on the name Erra by again employing the word iʾ-a-ru ‘access, enter’. III A 7–8 “I shall cut off the life (napšat-su) of the man who acts as intercessor. The evil man, who cuts throats (na-piš-ti), him I shall put in the highest places.” The use of napaštu for both ‘life’ and ‘throat’ constitutes a fine example of antanaclasis. III C 9–10 “He swore: he shall not drink the water (mê  ) of the river. He fears their blood (dāmē-šú-nu) and he does not want to enter the Ekur.” The poet here connects the river’s water with blood by punfully connecting mê with (dāmē, thus reinforcing what Ishum says about Erra in III C 5: “You slashed their veins and made the river flow (bloodstained).” III D 4–6 “You dominate the whole (  gam-ma-ra-ta) earth. You lord it over the country. The oceans you convulse, the mountains you finish off (  gam-ra-ta). Men you govern (re-da-ta), the herds, you shepherd (re-ʾa-a-ta).” Underscoring the completeness with which Erra annihilates is a pun between gam-ma-ra-ta ‘whole’ and gam-ra-ta ‘you finish off’. The pun between re-da-ta ‘govern’ and re-ʾa-a-ta ‘shepherd’ also constitutes a rare rhyme (see above under Alliteration and Assonance). IV 2 “You have undone the bond of Dimkurkurra (Dim-kur-kur-ra), the city of the king of the gods, the bond of (all) countries (ri-kis mātāti).” As observed by Cagni, the poet here again demonstrates his interest in etymological punning by offering a literal Akkadian translation of the Sumerian name Dimkurkurra in ri-kis mātāti ‘the bond of (all) countries’.  44 IV 42 “Ah, Babylon that I had tended (az-qu-pu-šú-ma) like a thriving orchard, but whose fruit I    could not taste.” I discussed the alliteration in this passage above. Here I note a case of antanaclasis, specifically with the verb zaqāpu ‘tend, plant’ in the form az-qu-pu-šú-ma ‘I had tended’. Only ten verses prior the poet used the same root in reference to bearing swords (IV 32 za-qip pat-ru ‘the sword is drawn’ and IV 33 kak-ke-šú-nu ta-za-qáp ‘you made them bear weapons’). The same root appears again in V 9 where it is used in reference to pruning an orchard, though clearly as a metaphor for unrestrained violence. 44.  Cagni 1977: 49 n. 114.

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IV 55–56 “They rose up (in) Eanna, the cultic actors and singers (i-sin-[ni]). In order to strike people with religious awe, whose manhood Ishtar turned into womanhood   (sin[nišūti]).” The pun between i-sin-ni ‘singers’ and sin[nišūti] ‘womanhood’ draws attention to Ishtar’s power to invert gender, which is the subject of these lines. IV 59 “A pitiless (lā ba-bil pa-ni) governor you placed over them.” The alliteration in this passage has been discussed above. Here I point to the words lā ba-bil pa-ni ‘pitiless’ (literally ‘forebear the face’), which evoke the name Babylon. The pun serves to connect the behavior of the governor of Uruk with that of the governor of Babylon, which this passage evokes. Cagni observes: “The behavior of the governor of Uruk has some analogy with that of the governor of Babylon (IV 23 ff.), but it is presented as arrogant and as hostile to the cults of Ištar (lines 59–60), so much so as to cause the vendetta of the goddess against the city (lines 61–62).” 45 IV 76 “He who has not died in the struggle will die in the destruction (šip-ṭi). He who has not died in the destruction (šip-ṭi), the enemy will plunder.” The polysemy of the word šipṭu ‘destruction’ and ‘government’ has been discussed above. Here again the word evokes both meanings, this time as a link in a long literary chain of consecutive acts of destruction (IV 76–86). This device is another example of an “extended terrace.” IV 92 “Its people (are) the herds, their god (is) the striker (ma-ḫi-ṣu).” Ishum’s reference to Erra as ‘the striker’ offers a subtle pun on one of the signs that comprise the name of Erra, for the sign ra read as the logogram RA can mean maḫāṣu ‘strike, beat’. We have seen this subtle visual pun in I 112. IV 120–22 “I want to root out (lu-uš-ḫu-uṭ-ma) the mast, I want to tear out its rigging.” I examined this passage above for its extensive alliteration. Polysemy also obtains in the word luuš-ḫu-uṭ-ma, which can mean ‘I will root out, remove’ or ‘I will become angry’. 46 Since the context of the passage details acts of Erra’s anger, the polysemy is particularly apt. IV 124 “As for Shulpea, I want to annihilate its brilliance (šá-ru-ru-šu). I want to do away with the    stars in the heavens.” The extensive alliteration in this passage has been discussed above. Here I point out that the poet has employed the words šá-ru-ru-šu ‘his brilliance, rays’ as an etymological pun on the name of the astral deity Shulpaea (d šul-pa-è-a), whose Sumerian name is rendered into Akkadian as eṭlu šūpû ‘youth who appears brilliant’ ( Jupiter). 45.  Cagni 1977: 53 n. 134. He does not note the pun. 46.  From homophonous roots. See CAD Š 92–95 s.v. šaḫāṭu B and CAD Š 95 s.v. šaḫāṭu C.

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V 18–19 “That is all very well, but now be appeased! We stand before you (ma-ḫar-ka). One the day of your wrath, where is he who can withstand you (ma-ḫir-ka)?” Ishum’s punning words to Erra contrast the gods’ obedience and presence before him (ma-ḫar) with the inability of anyone to withstand (ma-ḫir) Erra’s ire. V 20–21 Like a bright shining day, his (Erra’s) features broadened (uḫ-tam-bi-ṣu). The poet cleverly uses the polysemous verb ḫabāṣu here since it can mean ‘broaden, dilate (with joy)’ and ‘smite down, pulverize’, thus bringing into relief Erra’s thirst for violence. V 33–35 The mountains, their abundance, and the sea too, you shall bring forth its yield (bi-lat-su). (From) the fields (qer-bé-e-ti), which were laid waste, you shall bring forth produce (bil-tu). May the governors of all the cities draw their massive tribute (bi-lat-su-nu) into (qé-reb)   Shuanna. These three lines offer two cases of antanaclasis. The first is the root qerbu, which the poet uses for ‘fields’(qer-bé-e-ti) and the ‘interior’ (qé-reb) of the temple. The second case is the use of biltu for ‘yield, produce’ from the sea and field, as well as for ‘tribute’. V 42–45 Kabti-ilāni-Marduk, the son of Dabibi, (is) the composer of this tablet. He (a god) revealed it to him during the night (in a dream), and in the morning, when he   recited (id-bu-bu) it, he did not omit (ul iḫ-ṭi) a single line. Nor a single line (šu-ma) did he add (ú-rad-di) to it. Erra (dèr-ra) heard it (iš-me-šu-ma) and approved it. The end of the tablet offers us the name of its author. It also puns upon this name by employing a device that scholars have dubbed a “subtle colophon.” 47 Of course, some exemplars of this text contain different colophons, but this one claims to be the first and has become part of the text itself. Note how V 43 follows the mention of the name mkab-ti-ilani-dmar-duk mār da-bi-bi by employing the pun id-bu-bu ‘he recited’. This will be the first of several puns on this eponym. This passage puns in other ways as well. Two words in V 43 make the line ambiguous. The first is šumu, which can mean a “single line of text” or more generally “name, reputation.” Since the text has placed a great deal of emphasis on gods’ names (for example, I 121 and near the end of the song in V 51, V 56, V 61 [the final word!]), the poet also may be telling us that he did not omit any important names from the text. The second ambiguous phrase in V 43 is ul iḫ-ṭi, which usually is translated ‘he did not omit’. The verb ḫaṭû is polysemous and can refer to ‘omission’ but also to ‘bad dreams’. Thus, the line can refer to the dream itself, by informing us that it was a favorable one, that is a good omen. This then would reinforce the reading of V 47 as “All the gods, together, extolled its omen (it-ti-šú),” rather than “. . .with him (it-ti-šú).”

47.  See Garsiel 1990: 1–8; Hunger 1990: 33–36. More recently, see Hurowitz 2008a: 69–88 (in Hebrew).

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The passage contains two additional puns. The first is the verb for ‘add’ (ú-rad-di), which puns upon the name Erra. The second is iš-me-šu-ma ‘he heard it’, which puns upon šu-ma.

V 51–52 “May the king (šarru) who extols (ú-šar-bu-ú) my name rule the world. May the prince (rubû) who proclaims (i-dab-bu-bu) the praise of my valor have no rival.” Erra emphasizes here the importance of royalty extolling his name by drawing a punning connection between the ‘king’ (šarru) and ‘extol’ (ú-šar-bu-ú). Note also that the causative stem of the verb rabû anticipates rubû ‘prince’. The poet’s use of the root dabābu here constitutes a case of antana­ clasis with V 43, where it was used for ‘recite a text’ and also resounds the scribe’s own name. In this way, the text subtly extols the scribe along with Erra.

V 53 “The singer who chants it will not die in the destruction (ina šip-ṭi).” We have seen several instances where the polyseme šipṭu is used to convey ‘destruction’ and ‘government’. Here I suggest there is another level of punning. The same signs that read šip-ṭi ‘destruction’ also can be read šip-ti4 ‘incantation’. Thus, the line also may be interpreted: “The singer who chants it will not die by means of the incantation.” In fact, we are soon told that this text serves as a talisman to ward off evil (V 57–58).

V 54–57 “To the king (šarri) and prince shall his word be welcome. The scribe ( ṭupšarru) who commits it to memory shall escape the enemy country (and) shall    be honored (i-kab-bit) in his own country. In the sanctuary (a-šìr-ti) of the sages where (a-šar) they constantly mention my name, I will    grant them wisdom. To the house in which (a-šar) this tablet is placed—however furious Erra may be, however    murderous the Sibitti may be. . .” This passage continues punning on šarru ‘king’ in the words ṭupšarru ‘scribe’, a-šìr-ti ‘sanctuary’, and the relative pronoun a-šar (two times). These puns reinforce the previously discussed passage in which the poet subtly connects the king’s praise of Erra with himself. Moreover, note how the poet’s use of the verb kabātu ‘honor’ in reference to future scribes who receive honor for memorizing the text also recalls Kabti-ilāni-Marduk, who claims to have memorized the dream song. 48

V 58 “The sword of destruction (šip-ṭi) will not come near (i-ṭe-ḫi-šu-ma): salvation (šá-lim-tu) shall    alight on it!” Yet another punful allusion obtains in this line. We have just seen how the signs read as destruction (šip-ṭi) also can be read as ‘incantation’. This time, the poet exploits the nuance of the verb ṭeḫû ‘draw near, approach’, which is also used of plagues and diseases. This is especially powerful 48.  It is likely that our author was one of the sages. See Cagni 1977: 61 n. 170.

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as it allows us to read šip-ṭi as šibṭu ‘plague, epidemic’. 49 The word for salvation (šá-lim-tu) also may be understood as ‘good health’. In this way, the tablet promises also to ward off disease. Thus, we also may interpret the line: “The sword of the plague (šib-ṭi) will not approach (i-ṭe-ḫi-šu-ma): good health (šá-lim-tu) shall alight on it!” V 59–60 “May this song last forever (ma-ti-ma)! May it endure for eternity! May all the countries (ma-ta-a-ti) hear it and celebrate my valor.” The pun between ma-ti-ma ‘forever’ and ma-ta-a-ti ‘countries’ underscores the temporal and geographic totality evoked in this passage.

III. Geminate Parallels and Clusters I 43–46 “To kill (šu-mut-ti) the dark-headed (qaqqadi) (people and) and to slaughter (šum-qu-tu)   Shakkan’s herds, Let them be your fierce weapons (kakkū), let them march (lil-li-ku) beside you!” They are furious. Their weapons (kakkū) are upraised. They say to Erra: “Arise! To work! (i-zi-iz-ma)” I have discussed this passage above for its alliteration, but I note here that it also illustrates the device known as geminate clustering. Each of the words highlighted above geminates a consonant (qaqqadi, kakkū, lillik, izizma). A pseudo-gemination also occurs in I 43 which places the words ‘kill’ and ‘slaughter’ side by side (not apparent in English), thus geminating the sound /šum/. I 132 “Long ago (ul-tu ul-lu) I got angry (a-gu-gu-ma). I rose from my seat and contrived the deluge   (a-bu-bu).” The gemination clusters obtains here with the sounds /ul-ul/, /gu-gu/, and /bu-bu/, each in quick succession.

I 140–41 (As for) my attire, which had been overrun by the deluge (a-bu-bu) and its appearance was   dimmed. I ordered Girra to restore the sheen of my features and to purify (ub-bu-ub) my garments. The alliteration in this passage is reinforced by a geminate parallel between the words a-bu-bu ‘deluge’ and ub-bu-ub ‘purify’. I 162–63 “Where are the seven apkallū of the Apsu, who like Ea their lord, are exalted of wisdom,   perfect (šuk-lu-lu), appointed ([m]u-ub-bi-bu) to the cleansing of my body?” The warrior Erra heard him and paced forward ([iz]-zi-iz).

49.  On the relationship between Erra and disease, see Cagni 1977: 15–16. It is perhaps worth noting that “fire” also can refer to “fever” brought on by sickness. See Lambert 1970: 39–45.

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This passage contains three lexemes that form a geminate cluster: šuk-lu-lu, [m]u-ub-bi-bu, and [iz]-zi-iz. III C 40–42 “You are acquainted with the decision of the Igigi (dì-gí-gí) and with the counsel of the   Anunnaki (da-nun-na-ki). To the Dark-headed (qaqqadi) people you give orders, you grant wisdom. Why then are you (at-ta) prattling (ta-ta-me) like an ignorant man?” The geminate cluster here joins the Igigi and Anunnaki, also found elsewhere in parallelism, with qaqqadi and ta-ta-me. The latter geminates are enhanced by the word ‘you’ at-ta, which in the Akkadian comes immediately after ta-ta-me. IV 11–12 “The cripple (ḫaš-ḫa-šú) overtakes the swift-footed man, the weak man overwhelms the   strong one. Against their governor (šak-ka-nak-ki), the provider of their centers of worship, they utter    grossly insolent words.” A geminate parallelism appears here in the words ḫaš-ḫa-šu ‘cripple’ and šak-ka-nak-ki ‘governor’. IV 117 “I want to destroy the gigunû (gi-gu-na-šá) of the sanctuary (and) the wall’s battlement   (ki-lil-šú), and the sustenance of the city I want to turn to nothing (lu-ḫal-li-qa).” This geminate cluster is formed by bringing into close proximity the words gigunû and ki-lil-šu. Reinforcing the geminated /l/ sound in the latter word is the repeated /l/ in lu-ḫal-li-qa. IV 124 “I want to annihilate the brilliance (šá-ru-ru-šu) of Shulpae. I want to do away with the stars   (kakkabāni) in the sky.” The pun on the name Shulpea has been explained above. Note here that the poet has imbedded a geminate parallel as well, specifically with the words for ‘brilliance’ (šarūru) and ‘stars’ (kakkabāni). IV 143 Mount Ḫeḫe (ḪI.ḪI) he razed to the ground (qaq-qar-šu). A geminate cluster appears in this single line in Ḫeḫe and qaq-qar-šu. IV 150 He cursed (i-ru-ur-ma) the herds and turned them into clay ( ṭi-iṭ-ṭi). Another one-line geminate cluster appears here with i-ru-ur-ma and ṭi-iṭ-ṭi. V 6–7 “Certainly at the time of the former sin I plotted (aḫ-su-sa) evil. My heart was burning (a-gu-ug-ma) with wrath and I laid low the people.” The passage’s alliteration has been discussed above. Here I draw attention to the geminate parallelism formed by the words aḫ-su-sa and a-gu-ug-ma.

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V 33–35 The mountains, their abundance, and the sea too, you shall bring forth (tu-šá-áš-šá-a) its yield. (From) the fields, which were laid waste, you shall bring forth (tu-šá-áš-šá-a) produce. May the governors (šak-ka-nak-ku) of all the cities draw (liš-du-du) their massive tribute into   Shuanna. As I have shown above, the poet has skillfully employed puns in this passage. However, he also has formed a geminate cluster by twice using the causative form of the root našû ‘lift’, which geminates the /š/, and by following them with the words šak-ka-nak-ku and liš-du-du. V 57 To the house in which this tablet is placed—however furious (li-gug-ma) Erra may be, however   murderous (liš-gi-šú) the Sibitti may be. . .” This brief line contains two geminated forms: li-gug-ma and liš-gi-šú.

IV. Allusive Imagery In this section, I dispense with rendering the entire passage and simply make reference to the allusions that connect Erra and those associated with him to fire. I5 In this verse the poet describes Erra as making “his sharp spears flash (šub-ruq).” ‘Flashing’ is suggestive of fire and light. 50 I 10 Erra speaks to his herald Ishum by saying: “You are ‘Torch’ (di-pa-ru-um-ma), on your light (nuúr-ka) men focus.” Such references to fire and light are fitting of a god whose name is “Fire.” I 22 In this passage Erra is said to lead all young men and women to good health and make them ‘shine like daylight’ (it-ta-nar-ru-u ú-nam-ma-ru kīma u4-mi). In essence he makes them shine like himself (see the puns between Erra and urru ‘daylight’ in I 86 and II B 22, above, pp. 174, 177). 1 33 When naming the second of the Sibitti demons, Anum says: “Burn like a fire, blaze like a flame (kīma dgirri ku-bu-um-ma ḫu-muṭ kīma [n]abli).” These are fitting characteristics for a demon whom Anum gives to Erra as a personal weapon. I 113 After the Sibitti provoke Erra to battle, the god turns to Ishum and boasts: “In the reed thicket I am the fire (dgirra-ku).” I 116 The author continues his allusions to heat and light when Erra likens himself to the sun in I 116: “Like the sun (dŠamši), I survey the entire orbit of the world.” I 128 In this passage Erra asks Marduk: “(What happened to) the crown of your lordship, which made Ehalanki as bright (ú-nam-ma-ri) as Etemenaki? Its surface is shrouded over (kàt-mu)!” 50.  CAD B 103–5, s.v. barāqu.

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Since Erra’s motive is to take Marduk’s place, his words bring into contrast the two gods in such a way as to suggest that if Marduk’s lordship were truly strong, he would shine like Erra. The verbs namāru (> nawāru) and katāmu both can refer respectively to the ‘shining’ and ‘darkening’ of light. I 172 “The shining day ([u4-m]u nam-ru) will turn into deep darkness.” Marduk suggests that his departure from the throne will cause chaos. The words remind us of what Erra had said of Marduk in the passage discussed above. II C 28 In this verse, Erra likens himself to Girru, the god of fire by claiming: “I shall devastate reed and rush thickets and like fire (dgirri) I shall burn them.” II C 46 “. . .like fire (  gir-ra-niš), the enemy country.” The passage is broken, but Erra’s likening to fire is clear. III C 68 This line to is broken, but clearly refers to Erra’s sword as šub-ruq “flashing.” IV 141–143 In this passage we are told that the warrior (Erra) and the Sibitti reached Mount Ḫeḫe (ḪI. ḪI) and razed it to the ground. It is fitting that this mountain is attacked in the song, for the signs that comprise its name ḪI.ḪI also can be read as a logogram for barāqu ‘flash, lighten, shine’. IV 149 He devastated reed and rush thickets and burned (them) like fire (dgirri). It is unclear whether the warrior undertaking the destruction here is Erra or Ishum, 51 but either way the connection to fire makes perfect sense. V 20–21 Erra heard him (Ishum) and his face shone (im-me-ra). Like a bright shining day (u4-me na-par-de-e), his features broadened. Here, again, Erra’s actions associate him with fire and light.

V. Numerical Devices III C 63–64 “One was placed and you [    ] seven. Seven of them you killed and would not spare a single one (e-da).” Though the first of these lines is broken, the beginning and end of the verse are extant and it is possible to see that line 63 begins with the number “one” and ends with “seven,” and that line 64 begins with the number “seven” and ends with the word ēdu (> wēdu) ‘single one’, thus creating a chiasm of numbers and words at the start and end of the verse. 51. Cagni 1977: 57 n. 154 discusses the ambiguity. On the purpose of the ambiguity, see below, pp. 186–189.

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IV 50 “As to Sippar the primeval city, through which the lord of (all the) countries did not let the    deluge pass because she was the darling of his eyes.” Marduk’s words here refer to the chief god Enlil, though he remains unnamed. Since Enlil’s name can be written d50, it is fitting that he appears here in line 50 of the tablet. Our distinguished honoree has discovered similar numerical devices involving Enlil in other texts. 52 Here I add that there is great propriety in having Marduk speak these words, since Enūma Eliš tells us that Marduk had fifty names, one of which was ḫamšā ‘Fifty’ (Enūma Eliš VI 121).

IV 75 “I shall stir up the seven (sibit) old wind(s) on this one (ištēt) country.” The numerical play on the numbers 7 and 1 is obvious and recalls III C 63–64, discussed above.

V 12 “Where (a-šar) one (iš-te-en) is raging, another (šá-nu-ú) cannot advise him.” This brief line contains the word for ‘one’ (iš-te-en) and the word for ‘two’, the latter in the sense of ‘other, another’. In this context, the use of the relative pronoun (a-šar) evokes the number ‘ten’ (ešer).

V 28 “May one (ištēn) drive away seven (sibitti), as if they were sheep.” In the Akkadian, the seven follows immediately upon the one. One wonders also if there is an additional allusion to the Sibitti here.

VI. Ambiguous Subjects B. Foster has observed that the song of Erra shows “signs of literary experimentation.” 53 Though he refers primarily to the text’s use of first and second person dialogues, innovation is noticeable also in the author’s clever use of ambiguity to mask the identities of gods at key moments in the story. I offer three examples. The first appears in Tablet Four, where the author leaves it unclear whether Erra or Ishum marched off to devastate the Suteans on Mount Ḫeḫe. The relevant passage, IV 141–43, reads: The warrior (qurādu) reached Mount Ḫeḫe. He raised his hand and leveled the ground. Mount Ḫeḫe he razed to the ground.

Since Erra is called qurādu ‘warrior’ throughout the song, we are apt to think it is he who initiates the campaign. However, since just previously Erra has said: “Go, Ishum, the matter of which you

52.  See Kilmer 2006: 210 n. 3, who cites Hurowitz 1998: 44–46. 53.  Foster 2007: 66.

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spoke, do as you please” (IV 140), we are inclined to see Ishum as leading the charge. As Cagni astutely remarks: “It is not possible to decide whether the hero (qurādu) is Erra or Išum.” 54 The ambiguity, I assert, is deliberate. By leaving us to ponder whether Erra or Ishum is the subject, the author allows both gods to share the same linguistic space, thus blending their identities. P. Machinist’s comment on the song’s patterns of rest and violence applies equally well to the ambiguity of our warrior in this passage: “The effect of all this is to emphasize the intertwined nature of their personalities—something apparent even in the etymologies of their names—or more precisely, it is to show the importance of Išum in defining the range of Erra’s behavior.” 55 In addition to blending their identities, a subject to which I shall return later, the device has a literary effect in that it allows us to bring the two gods into comparison and contrast. At this juncture in the story we already have learned of Erra’s wanton destruction and have witnessed Ishum’s intervention and call for Erra’s compassion. We already know that Ishum is a kind and peaceful god (I 3, I 21). The distinction between the two divine personalities is so stark that choosing one or the other as leading the battle against Mount Ḫeḫe necessarily impacts how we interpret that event. It must be remembered, too, that the campaign against Mount Ḫeḫe is the most meaningful in the entire song for it represents an attack against the Suteans—the Babylonians’ archenemies. If we see Erra as leading the battle, then the passage portrays him as excessive, unrelenting, and battle-blind despite Ishum’s pleas. After needlessly destroying most of the world, Erra only now turns his attention to the only battle of relevance for Babylonia. However, if we understand Ishum as marching against Mount Ḫeḫe, then he alone receives credit with the only purposeful battle in the song. 56 The next two examples in which the poet uses ambiguity to mask the identity of gods are related and occur at the start and end of the song, thus forming an inclusio. The first appears in I 1: “O king of all inhabited lands, creator of the world.” The epithets here compel us to wonder whether they invoke Marduk, Erra, or Ishum. Some see the line as referring to Marduk, because the epithet appears for him elsewhere. 57 Others see the line as referring to Erra, because the next line invokes Ḫendursanga, another name for Erra’s herald, Ishum. 58 Still others have seen the mention of Ḫendursanga as evidence that the epithets invoke Ishum. 59 I assert that the ambiguity again is deliberate and that it accomplishes two things. First, as with Erra and Ishum above, it allows Marduk, Erra, and Ishum to share the same space, thus overlapping their identities and bringing the gods into contrast. Second, it provides a linguistic clue from the onset of the song that the roles and destinies of Marduk, Erra, and Ishum will interconnect. The final and related example of this device appears at the end of the story where the poet tells us that a god revealed the entire song in a dream to Kabti-ilāni-Marduk, without giving us 54.  Cagni 1977: 57 n. 154. 55.  Machinist 1983: 223–24. 56.  The situation is reminiscent of 2 Sam 12:26–29, in which David’s military commander Joab states that he will lay claim to the city of Rabbah and put his name upon it if David does not come to the siege. 57.  For example, Foster 1995: 133. Moreover, neither Ishum nor Erra is associated elsewhere with kingship and creation of the world. 58.  For example, Dalley 1989: 313 n. 1, and Cagni, who also provides an outline of the debate (1977: 27 n. 1). 59. Machinist (1983: 222–23), suggests the subject is Ishum because he is invoked in line 4. Müller (1995: 349–60), shows also how the interpretation of the opening lines was not uniform already in antiquity. Butler (1998: 34) is non-comittal “he (Erra/Ishum caused him to see (the text). . . .”

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the god’s name. The wording of the divine revelation is careful so as to avoid an explicit subject: ina šat mu-ši ú-šab-ri-šu-ma “during the night, he revealed to him” (V 43). While some scholars have argued that Erra revealed the dream, because he approved it, or Ishum revealed it because he is a god of the night, Marduk is a better candidate. Unlike Erra, Marduk is attested elsewhere as a sender of dreams. 60 He also is invoked in other dream incantations. 61 In addition, it is Marduk who is most closely associated with the creation of incantations that put angry gods to rest, and these are the very claims that the author makes for the divine song (V 55–58).  62 Moreover, we are nowhere told that Erra receives praise as the song’s author. Instead, we are told only that Erra and the gods praised the song: Erra heard and approved it. It pleased Ishum, his herald. All the gods, together, extolled with him (it-ti-šú) (V 45–47).

The pronoun šu “it” in V 47 leaves little doubt that it can refer only to that which Erra approved. Even if we read the word with Foster as ittu “sign or omen,” and thus as a reference to the text’s prophylactic powers, the word “its” (šu) must refer to the text. 63 Regardless of how one reads the word ittu, all the praise that Erra receives in V 49–61 issues from his own mouth and in any event does not credit him for the incantation. This is significant for the interpretation of the song, for by praising the song rather than Erra, and by having Erra join the other gods in praise, the author implies that Erra is not the source of the ultimate revelation. Implicit in this is that the revelation must have come from a higher deity that Erra, in this case Marduk. Another clue suggesting that Marduk is the source of the dream text appears at the end of the song where we are told: “Kabti-ilāni-Marduk, the son of Dabibi, (is) the composer of this tablet” (V 42). Throughout the entire song the poet has drawn attention to the importance of recognizing the meanings of names. 64 Consequently, one is compelled to translate his name when he provides it, and in doing so realize that “Marduk is the most honored of the gods.” 65 Regardless of whether we accept such clues as evidence to the identity of the dream source, it is clear that the author has made it difficult to determine whether Marduk or Erra is the ultimate author. Thus, as we must from the start of the song, so must we also at its end bring Marduk and Erra into a single frame. Here again, the device allows us to compare and contrast the two gods. 60.  Erra: Cagni 1977: 61 n. 169. Ishum: Bottéro and Kramer 1989: 706; Bodi 1991: 57 n. 26, recognizes the ambiguity in this passage, but he does not consider whether it might be deliberate. Marduk: See Lūdlul III 39–47; Lambert 1960: 50–51; Butler 1998: 16–18 and 155. Marduk also can send his dream messenger Anzagar (ibid. p. 84). 61.  Butler 1998: 57–59, 131–32, 135–37, 238–39. 62. In Enūma Eliš VII 9–14 Marduk (as d TU.TU) is credited with the power of putting angry gods to rest by means of an incantation: “TU.TU is he, who effects their restoration. Let him purify their shrines that they may have ease ( pa-áš-ḫu). Let him devise an incantation (ÉN = šiptu) so that the gods may be at rest (li-nu-ḫu). Should they rise in anger (ag-giš), let them turn back. Truly, he is supreme in the assembly of the gods. No one among the gods is his equal.” The ancient commentary on Enūma Eliš connects the incantation to his name by noting that reading TU as if it were TU 6 = šip-tum. 63.  Foster (1995: 162), translates “his sign.” Even this reading implies that the song is an omen for Erra. 64.  The importance on names is seen also in that the very last word of the song is šumi “my name.” See also Ishum’s description of Erra’s overindulgence as a sin against Marduk: “It is you, warrior Erra, (who) did not fear prince Marduk’s name” (IV 1)! 65.  Whether Kabti-ilāni-Marduk is a “pen name” serving a literary and theological agenda or a real name exploited for its meaning cannot be determined.

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By the end of the song the portrait of Erra is apparent. He is ruthless, attacks with abandon, and indiscriminately engages in battles of cosmic importance. Conversely, Marduk remains restrained and supreme, as B. Foster observes: “Marduk, as chief Babylonian deity, plays a major role in the poem. He is portrayed as remote and all-wise; he knows Erra’s plans even before Erra arrives at his temple. He speaks in a sonorous, scholarly diction. There is never any doubt that he is king.” 66 Thus, just as the author has allowed us to reflect on the differences between Erra and Ishum in the battle against Mount Ḫeḫe, the ambiguous reference to the divine author of our text allows us to contemplate the possibilities. Is Erra or Marduk or some other god the source of the divine incantation? Given the significance that ancient Mesopotamians placed on knowing the identity of the god who brings a dream and the importance that a god’s identity must have upon the revelation’s veracity and power, this is rather vital information for the author to leave ambiguous.  67 Nevertheless, as with the battle at Mount Ḫeḫe, the author has made the god’s identity here nearly impossible to decide. We are left to ask why. I believe the solution to this conundrum lies in the sophisticated religious system of the Babylonian literati.

Conclusion In an important contribution to the study of Babylonian religion, W. G. Lambert drew attention to a god list of the type AN = Anum that focuses solely on the god Marduk. 68 Among the gods appearing in that list and identified as various manifestations of Marduk, is the following: “Nergal is Marduk of Battle.” In the song of Erra, Nergal’s name occurs twice, each time as another name for Erra (III C 31 and V 39). In addition, Mami, who is normally the spouse of Nergal, is said to be Erra’s wife (I 20). According to Cagni, these references denote that Erra “assumes in himself and surpasses, or at least expresses in a new way, all the characteristics of Nergal.” 69 Thus, if Erra and Nergal’s identities have fused, we must consider Erra also as a manifestation of Marduk. Reflecting on the song in this way allows us to see the ambiguous references to gods as reflecting a sophisticated form of polytheism or perhaps monism. 70 Indeed, when viewed through this lens, a number of other intriguing aspects of the song receive fuller explanation. For example, it explains why Erra and Ishum share a number of epithets. 71 It informs the account of Erra’s 66.  Foster 1995: 132. This in contrast to the ways others have understood Marduk in the song. For example, Jacobsen (1976: 227) described Erra as aiming “to fast-talk Marduk—depicted as an old fuddy-duddy— into leaving him in charge of the universe while Marduk went off to have his crown jewels cleaned. . . .” According to Black and Green (1992: 129), “Marduk is presented, perhaps with humorous intent, in a very uncharacteristic form as a bumbling and old incompetent whose insignia need repairing and cleaning.” 67.  See Oppenheim 1956. 68.  CT 24 50 (BM 47406) obverse. See Lambert 1975: 197. 69.  Cagni 1977: 45 n. 100. 70.  Lambert (1975: 198) sees the list as evidence of monotheism, but does not consider monism as an alternative model. The religious framework that informs this text and others from this period, is often simplistically referred to as syncretistic, but is in reality far more complex. It is clear from a number Neo-Assyrian ritual and expository texts that Marduk also was equated with Ninurta, who himself could be described as a composite of other gods: “(Ninurta) your teeth are Sibitti, who fells evil ones. The area of your cheeks, lord, is the apperance of the stars of [. . .] Your ears are Ea and Damkina, the sages of wisdom. [. . .] Your head is Adad who [. . .] heaven and underworld like an artisan. Your forehead is Shala, the beloved spouse who makes rejoice [. . .] Your neck is Marduk, judge of heaven and earth, the flood [. . .].” Erra also was associated with Ninurta. See Livingstone 1986: 101 and 154. On the difficulties of labeling and comparing polytheisms in the ancient Near East, see Noegel 2007a: 21–37, especially 35–37. 71.  See Machinist 1983: 223.

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occupation of Marduk’s throne (II A–II C 8). Erra sits on the throne justifiably, even if temporarily, as a manifestation of Marduk in battle. 72 Reading the text as reflecting the sophisticated polytheism of its author also explains why the song connects Erra and Ishum to Marduk by way of fire imagery. The actions of Erra in the song also share a thematic affinity with those of Marduk in Lūdlul, as P. Machinist has espied: “Indeed, just as Marduk turns the social world of the individual suffered upside-down in Tablets I-II (in Lūdlul), only to right it in III and especially IV, so Erra does the same to the whole of Babylonia in Tablets II–IV and then V (in the poem of Erra). 73 In the song of Erra, Erra and Ishum essentially are woven into the larger fabric of divinity of which Marduk is the grand design. When seen from this perspective, the song is as much about Marduk as it is about Erra and Ishum. The many literary devices examined above confirm the observation of J. Bottéro who referred to the song as a work of “erudition vertigineuse.” 74 The author has seamlessly integrated alliteration, assonance, punning, geminate parallels and clusters, allusive imagery, numerical devices, and deliberate ambiguity into a powerful and gripping story that balances patterns of rest and violence and portrays a sophisticated polytheistic system in which Marduk rests at the top. 75 Most of the devices employed by the poet represent a technical repertoire long familiar to the scribal elites of Mesopotamia. 76 Others, like ambiguous references to divinities, represent a more innovative approach that reflects the constructions of identities, relationships, and hierarchies with which the poet contemplated the divine world. 72.  Is it possible that the notion of Erra as Marduk’s weapon informs the ritual use of the ēru-wood weapon in dream rituals involving Marduk? See Butler 1998: 213. In this light one wonders whether there may be similar import in Erra’s words: “Like the storm (dAdad) I thunder. Like the sun (dŠamši), I survey the entire orbit of the world” (I 115–16). 73.  Machinist 1981: 403. 74.  Bottéro 1977–78: 161. 75.  Machinist 1983. 76.  For example, the poet’s puns on the meanings of names follows in the tradition of Enūma Eliš, which places great importance on knowing the meanings of divine names, especially that of Marduk (VI 121–VII 144). See Böhl 1936: 191–218; Bottéro 1977: 5–28; Noegel 2007b: 24–26; Andrea Seri 2006: 507– 19. On punning on Akkadian names generally, see Hurowitz 2008a.

Bibliography Bahrani, Z. 2003 The Graven Image: Representation in Babylonia and Assyria. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Black, J., and A. Green. 1992 Gods, Demons, and Symbols of Ancient Mesopotamia. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. Bodi, D. 1987 Terminological and Thematic Comparisons between the Book of Ezekiel and Akkadian Literature with Special Reference to the Poem of Erra. Ph.D. dissertation. New York Union Theological Seminary. 1991 The Book of Ezekiel and Poem of Erra. OBO 104. Freiburg: Universistätsverlag. 1993 Le livre d’Ézéchiel et le Poème d’Erra. Études Théologiques et Religieuses 68: 1–23. Böhl, Franz M. T. 1936 Die fünfzig Namen des Marduk. AfO 11: 191–218.

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Bottéro, J. 1977 Les noms de Marduk, l’écriture et la ‘logique’ en Mésopotamie ancienne. Pp. 5–28 in Essays on the Ancient Near East in Memory of Jacob Joel Finkelstein, ed. M. deJong Ellis. Memoirs of the Connecticut Academy of Arts & Sciences 19. Hamden, CT: Archon Books. 1977–78 Antiquités assyro-babyloniennes (l’Épopée d’Erra). Annuaire de l’École pratique des hautes études IV 110: 107–64. Bottéro, J., and Kramer, S. N. 1989 Lorsque les dieux faisaient l’homme: Mythologie mésopotamienne. Paris: Gallimard. Butler, S. A. L. 1998 Mesopotamian Conceptions of Dreams and Dream Rituals. AOAT 258. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Cagni, L. 1969 L’Epopea di Erra. Studi Semitici 34. Roma: Instituto di Studi del Vicino Oriente. 1970 Das Erra-Epos Keilschrifttext. Studia Pohl 5. Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum. 1977 The Poem of Erra. Sources from the Ancient Near East 1.3. Malibu: Undena Publications. Cheng, J. 2007 Self-Portraits of Objects. Pp. 437–47 in Ancient Near Eastern Art in Context: Studies in Honor of Irene J. Winter by Her Students, ed J. Cheng and M. H. Feldman. Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 26. Leiden: Brill. Dalley, S. 1989 Myths from Mesopotamia: Creation, the Flood, Gilgamesh and Others. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ebeling, E. 1925 Der akkadische Mythus vom Pestgotte Erra. Berlin: Im Selbstverlag des Herausgebers. Ford, J. N. 2008 Wordplay in the Lamaštu Incantations. Pp. 585–95 in Birkat Shalom: Studies in the Bible, Ancient Near Eastern Literature, and Postbiblical Judaism Presented to Shalom M. Paul on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday, ed. C. Cohen et al. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Foster, B. R. 1991 On Authorship in Akkadian Literature. Annali dell’Istituto Orientale di Napoli 51: 17–32. 1995 From Distant Days: Myths, Tales, and Poetry of Ancient Mesopotamia. Bethesda, MD: CDL. 1997 Gilgamesh: Sex, Love, and the Ascent of Knowledge. Pp.  63–78 in Gilgamesh: A Reader, ed. J. Maier. Wauconda, IL: Bolchazy-Carducci. 2005 Before the Muses: An Anthology of Akkadian Literature. Bethesda, MD: CDL. 2007 Akkadian Literature of the Late Period. Guides to the Mesopotamian Textual Record 2. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Garsiel, M. 1990 Implicit Puns upon Names as Subtle Colophons in the Bible. Pp. 1–8 in Haim M. L. Gevaryahu Memorial Volume, ed. J. J. Adler. Jerusalem: World Jewish Bible Center. Gössmann, P. F. ed. 1956 Das Erra-epos. Würzburg: Augustin. Greaves, S. W. 1994 Wordplay and Associative Magic in the Ugaritic Snake-Bite Incantation RS 24.244. Ugarit Forschungen 24: 165–67. Hirsch, H. 2002 Gilgamesch-Epos und Erra-Lied: Zu einem Aspekt des Verbalsystems. AfO Beiheft 29. Vienna: Selbstverlag des Instituts für Orientforschung der Universität Wien. Hruška, B. 1974 Zur letzten Bearbeitung des Erraepos. Archiv Orientalni 42: 354–65. Hunger, H. 1990 Playful Writings in Cuneiform Colophons. Pp. 33–36 in vol. 2 of Haim M. I. Gevaryahu Memorial Volume, ed J. J. Adler. Jerusalem: World Jewish Bible Center. Hurowitz, V. A. 1998 Advice to a Prince: A Message from Ea. State Archives of Assyria Bulletin 12: 39–53.

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2008a As His Name Is, So is He: Word Play in Akkadian Texts. Pp. 69–88 in Jubilee Volume for Avi Hurvitz, ed. S. E. Fassberg and A. Maman. Jerusalem: Hebrew University. [Hebrew] 2008b ‘Shutting Up’ the Enemy: Literary Gleanings from Sargon’s Eighth Campaign. Pp.  104–20 in Treasures on Camels’ Humps: Historical and Literary Studies from the Ancient Near East Presented to Israel Ephʿal, ed. M. Cogan and D. Kahn. Jerusalem: Magnes. Jacobsen, T. 1976 The Treasures of Darkness: A History of Mesopotamian Religion. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Kilmer, A. D. 1982 A Note on an Overlooked Word-Play in the Akkadian Gilgamesh. Pp. 128–32 in Zikir Šumim: Assyriological Studies Presented to F. R. Kraus on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday, ed. G. Van Driel et al. Leiden: Brill. 1996 Fugal Features of Atra-Hasis: The Birth Theme. Pp.  127–39 in Mesopotamian Poetic Language: Sumerian and Akkadian, ed. M. E. Vogelzang and H. L. J. Vanstiphout. CM 6. Groningen: Styx. 2000 More Word Play in Akkadian Texts. Pp. 89–101 in Puns and Pundits: Word Play in the Hebrew Bible and Ancient Near Eastern Literature, ed. S. B. Noegel. Bethesda, MD: CDL, 2000. 2006 Visualizing Text: Schematic Patterns in Akkadian Poetry. Pp. 209–21 in If a Man Builds a Joyful House: Essays in Honor of Erle Verdun Leichty, ed. A. K. Guinan et al. CM 31. Leiden: Brill. King, L. W. 1896 New Fragments of the Dibbara-Legend on Two Assyrian Plague-tablets.” ZA 11: 52–62. Klein, J. 1981 The Royal Hymns of Shulgi, King of Ur: Man’s Quest for Immortal Fame. TAPS 71. Philadelphia, PA: The American Philosophical Society. Labat, R. et al. 1970 Les religions du Proche-Orient asiatique. Paris: Libarie Arthème Fayard/Denoël. Lambert, W. G. 1957–58 Review of F. Grössman, Das Era-Epos. AfO 18: 398–400. 1960 Babylonian Wisdom Literature. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Reprinted, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1996. 1962 Catalogue of Texts and Authors. JCS 16: 59–77. 1970 Fire Incantations. AfO 23: 39–45. 1975 The Historical Development of the Mesopotamian Pantheon: A Study in Sophisticated Polytheism. Pp. 191–200 in Unity and Diversity: Essays on the History, Literature, and Religion of the Ancient Near East, ed. H. Goedicke and J. J. M. Roberts. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Leichty, E. 1970 The Omen Series: Šumma Izbu. Texts from Cuneiform Sources 4. Locust Valley, NY: Augustin. Livingstone, A. 1986 Mystical and Mythological Explanatory Works of Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars. Oxford: Clarendon. Machinist, P. 1981 Review of L. Cagni, The Poem of Erra. JAOS 101: 401–3. 1983 Rest and Violence in the Poem of Erra. JAOS 103: 221–26. McCall, H. 1990 Mesopotamian Myths. Pp. 60–62 in vol. 2 of World of Myths, ed. M. W. F. Fernández-Armesto. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. Müller, G. G. W. 1994 Ischum und Erra. Pp. 781–801 in Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments: Weisheitstexte, Mythen und Epen 3/4, ed. O. Kaiser. Gütersloh: G. Mohn. 1995 “Wer spricht?” Betrachtungen zu Ischum und Erra. Pp.  349–60 in Vom Alten Orient zum Alten Testament: Festschrift für Wolfram Freiherrn von Soden zum 85. Geburtstag am 19. Juni 1993, ed. M. Dietrich and O. Loretz. AOAT 240. Noegel, S. B. 1995 A Flare for Style and Depth of Allusion: The Use of Fire and Water Imagery in Enūma Elish Tablet I. Journal of the Association of Graduates in Near Eastern Studies 5: 82–87.

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1996a Word Play in the Tale of the Poor Man of Nippur. ASJ 18: 169–86. 1996b Janus Parallelism in the Book of Job. JSOT Supplement 223. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. 2004 Mesopotamian Epic. Pp. 233–45 in The Blackwell Companion to Ancient Epic, ed. J. M. Foley. London: Blackwell. 2005 Geminate Ballast and Clustering: An Unrecognized Literary Feature in Ancient Semitic Poetry. Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 5: 1–18. 2007a Greek Religion and the Ancient Near East. Pp. 21–37 in The Blackwell Companion to Greek Religion, ed. D. Ogden. London: Blackwell. 2007b Nocturnal Ciphers: The Allusive Language of Dreams in the Ancient Near East. American Oriental Series 89. New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society. 2007c “Word Play” in Qoheleth. Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 7: 2–27. 2011 Bodily Features as Literary Devices in the Hebrew Bible. Pp. 509–31 in Studies in Bible and Exegesis Presented to Samuel Vargon, ed. M. Garsiel et al. Studies in Bible and Exegesis 10. Ramat-Gan: Bar Ilan University Press. [Hebrew] Noegel, S. B., and Szpakowska, K. 2006 “Word Play” in the Ramesside Dream Manual. Studien zur altägyptischen Kultur 35: 193–212. Oppenheim, A. L. 1956 The Interpretation of Dreams in the Ancient Near East: With a Translation of the Assyrian Dream Book. Transactions of the American Philosophical Society 46/3. Philadelphia, PA: American Philosophical Society. Reiner, E. 1960 Plague Amulets and House Blessings. JNES 19: 148–55. Roberts, J. J. M.. 1971 Erra: Scorched Earth. JCS 24: 11–16. Seri, A. 2006 The Fifty Names of Marduk in Enūma eliš. JAOS 126: 507–19. Tinney, S. 1989 d en-gi 6 -du-du: muttarû rubē: A note on Erra I 21. NABU 1989 no. 3. Van der Toorn, K. 2007 Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Veldhuis, N. 1990 The Heart Grass and Related Matters. OLP 21: 27–44. 1991 A Cow of Sin. Library of Oriental Texts 2. Groningen: Styx. 1993 The Fly, the Worm, and the Chain. OLP 24: 41–64. 1998 The Poetry of Magic. Pp. 35–48 in Mesopotamian Magic: Textual, Historical, and Interpretive Perspectives. Studies in Ancient Magic and Divination 1, ed. T. Abusch and K. Van der Toorn, K. Groningen: Styx. Watson, W. G. E. 1986 Classical Hebrew Poetry: A Guide to its Techniques. JSOT Supplement 26. 2nd edition. Sheffield: JSOT Press. Wilcke, C. 1977 Die Anfänge der akkadischen Epen. ZA 67: 153–216.

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Dug Ubur-Imin: A Seven-Nipple Lid and Seven-Nipple Vessels Diana Pickworth University of California, Berkeley

Anne D. Kilmer’s research has embraced a broad range of subjects: her work on clay and its deep significance to the ancients was one such subject. Anne was ever willing to learn about ancient South Arabia. This paper bridges two ancient cultures. It is presented as a tribute to her scholarship, her kindness and generosity to me. The clay mead vessel is filled to the brim and overflowing; bring the golden straws!

Introduction A singular “vessel” was excavated by B. Vogt at the site of Ṣabr, in the Lahj Governorate of the Republic of Yemen, and was briefly published in the catalogue that accompanied the touring exhibit “Yemen: the Land of the Queen of Sheba” (Vogt and Sedov 1998: 129–33, fig. 150, Katalog no. 114) (fig. 1 here). The extensive Bronze Age site produced a vast pottery assemblage that had earlier been misread by both Lankester Harding (1964) and Doe (1965–69), neither of whom was willing to accept the antiquity of the site. Whereas the former made comparison with late Levantine assemblages, the latter considered the assemblage to be unique and rejected 3rd-millennium comparisons from the Levant. The recovered pottery assemblage from the joint German-Russian Expedition was extensive. The “vessel” I wish to discuss (S5C L60 V39) was found within the Ṣabr 5 level of “Burnt Building” 5C, a spacious building with an exterior courtyard. The excavators suggested that it was either a temple or palace complex (fig. 2). The curious piece is not a “vessel.” It is round, with a solid slanting top, in the center of which is a spouted opening, and around the central opening are seven nipples angled slightly outward. They are different in form from the central spout (fig. 3). The carination between the upper surface and the short slanting sides is marked by a clay ridge. The “vessel,” which is in the museum of al-Hawta in Lahj, Republic of Yemen, is 22.5 cm. high and 41 cm. in diameter. The piece has no base. I propose that it is a special type of lid used over beer vessels for use on special cult occasions. B. Vogt also proposed a collective beer drinking function for the “vessel.” I wish to demonstrate a possible origin for the custom and to present earlier comparata that demonstrate a long distance diffusion of a ceremonial cultic activity associated with local production of a vessel having early origins in southern Babylonia. Author’s note: Many people have helped with this paper, which has been on my mind for years. I thank all of them, especially Dr. Burkhard Vogt, who kindly provided the images for figs. 1–3, 7. Any errors are mine.

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Fig. 1.  Vessel Ṣabr 5C Loc. 60 V39, profile. Courtesy of Deutsches Archäologisches Institut.

Pottery and Its Function The use of pottery to date sites using seriation has a limited application. This is especially true in conservative cultures, where forms may persist for hundreds of years without change. When pottery is used by archaeologists as a tool to define cultures, a supposition is made that leads to an even more critical response from anthropologists. Indeed, to discuss pottery as though it has nothing to do with the people who use it, nor with those who make it, can no longer be supported. The very earliest classical ceramic research dealt with pottery as an “art form” dislocated from people, time, and place. This led to the unfortunate result that plain undecorated wares were disregarded and understudied. Modern analysis of clay has led to a greater depth of study of these plain wares. Nonetheless, a bias in collection practice continues today, with the unfortunate result that the data are not always representative of the whole assemblage. Plain ware was invariably viewed as less important. The function of vessels is central to their understanding and offers a rewarding perspective (Ciuk and Keall 1996). Recent methodological practice in pottery research has expanded to include scientific analysis. In the field of Yemeni studies, we have seen modern analysis disprove long-held views that only long-distance trade was involved, when discussing amphoras. It has now been demonstrated by A. Porter that amphoras were locally produced in Yemen (Porter 2004). The scientific analysis of pastes, glazes, and especially residues introduces parameters unimagined twenty years ago (McGovern and Michel 2000; and Mason et al. 1989). Today the modern town of Sheikh Othman, located a little closer to the coast than ancient Ṣabr, continues as a pottery production center and was referred to by S. Posey in her study of modern Yemeni pottery (1994: 30–32 and pl. 20). The quality of the pottery made today is inferior, due to very low firing temperatures. Eighteenthcentury reports of dense woodland in the Wadi Tuban mock the present arid surrounding area, because most of the trees have been cut down for modern charcoal making. This negatively affects kiln management, because the high temperatures necessary for quality firing cannot be attained with dung. That ancient Ṣabr was a major pottery production center, with a ready supply of fuel, cannot be doubted. Distribution patterns of medieval pottery were discussed by Symonds 2003. She demonstrates that the distances over which pottery could be transported were directly affected by the method

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Fig. 2.  General view of Ṣabr 5C Locus 60 (square structure in foreground) and Ṣabr 5A ( just behind). On left side of 5C is a vast courtyard with pits and ceramic deposit. Courtesy of Deutsches Archäologisches Institut.

of transportation. Riverine and, I would suggest, ocean transportation afford a vastly greater distance and facility for the movement of vessels. An ox-drawn cart can travel 2 km per hour, a horse-drawn cart 4 km per hour, both pulling a finite weight limit, and with a maximum distance in poor conditions of 20 km per day. By river, the distances are extremely variable, depending on the water’s velocity and perhaps tides and current but always farther than by land, sometimes as much as twice as far each day, with a much greater weight-carrying capacity. Eighty percent of pottery production sites are within 5 km of a river or a road, with a higher percentage of correlation between roads and kilns. The weight of pottery carried by a man, a pack animal, or on a cart remains finite and limited when terrestrial transportation is in consideration, whereas for sea-going vessels the weight limit is hardly a consideration, and the same applies to the distance that can be traveled. Thus, the Bronze Age “sea-oriented” perception of the Ṣabr culture must be given sufficient weight in considerations of distribution. Red Sea sailing and Arab Gulf coastal trading during the Bronze Age have only recently become better understood due to recent studies. A clear coastal orientation is proposed by Vogt and Sedov (1998), and Ṣabr is seen as the main site within the culture spread, but further detailed comparison of the ceramic assemblages of the component sites might help to clarify a directional expansion of the “Ṣabr culture.”

Connections Between Southwest Arabia and Southern Mesopotamia The location of Ṣabr could have been reached and contacted by sea-going coastal transport that traveled all the way from the Diyala down the Tigris River, via the Shatt al-Arab, through the

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Fig. 3.  Vessel Ṣabr 5C Loc. 60 V39, top view. Courtesy of Deutsches Archäologisches Institut.

Arabian Gulf, into the Indian Ocean and along the Gulf of Aden. A Sumerian clay vessel with seven nipples, the dug ubur-imin, appears to be the prototype for the South Arabian Ṣabr lid (fig. 4). The Ṣabr lid is an equally unique example among the Yemeni assemblage. We cannot prove that it is of local production, but the clay type appears similar to that of all other vessels in the assemblage. Failing any external influence and contact with Mesopotamia, only a “blueprint development”—that is, identical creations occurring simultaneously in different areas—can explain the existence of the seven-nipple vase. While seven is a magical number that could have inspired the creation of the vessels and the lid in both places simultaneously, I suggest that contact existed between Mesopotamia and South Arabia and that the Ṣabr lid derives from the Mesopotamian vessels.

The Ancient Mesopotamian Vessels Potts (1997: 138–63), referring to Mesopotamian pottery studies, criticized modern field archaeologists for their lack of integration of the Ur III texts that provide a wealth of information about pottery production, including the Sumerian and Akkadian names of pottery vessels, into their research. Quoting D. Potts: “lists of nine-thousand seven-hundred entries make clear that the system of nomenclature is based upon either the volumetric capacity of the vessel or its intended use.” 1 There are ten basic shapes, named for specific liquids, and beer is in this list. Spouted beer vessels were especially noted by Delougaz (1952) and the straight-spouted vessel is the archaic sign for beer. Further details about production costs during the Ur III period inform us that a seven-nipple vessel, the dug ubur-imin (Akkadian ṣurṣuppu), took one-and-a-half days to make and that only 1.  I am aware of the exemplary work done by the team from the Royal Ontario Museum on the Islamic vessel collection from Zabid.

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Fig. 4.  Dug ubur-imin, Khafaje, a seven-nipple pot. OIM A17817. Courtesy of the Oriental Institute, University of Chicago.

one other vessel type took as long. Moreover, only one of this vessel type was made (Potts 1997: 157). These specifications are reflected in lists from two cities: Umma and Girsu (Waetzoldt 1971: 171). These were industrial pottery-production systems, where clusters of potters existed, obviously close to clay resources. Men were apprenticed, and production was not a small family activity. Potters were also attached to brewing establishments during the Ur III period. Potts (1997: 158) concludes by observing that the dug ubur-imin is one vessel-type missing from the exhaustive Diyala collection published by Delougaz (1952). Fortuitously, his statement is mistaken, because he was unaware of a small round vessel with seven nipples of the Protoliterate period, excavated by the University of Chicago and now in their Oriental Institute Museum (fig.  4). 2 From there, I begin to trace its function, origins, and development (Delougaz 1952: pl. 24, e C654 222). A second earlier example of the vessel also exists. It was excavated at Telloh (ancient Girsu). A drawing, but no photograph, was published by de Genouillac (1934: pl. III, 5481) (fig. 5 here). 3

Function of the Vessel What, I may ask, was the purpose of a seven-nipple vessel in the ancient world? B. Vogt, in his discussion of the Ṣabr “vessel,” hypothesized that it was used in a ritual banquet where beer was drunk (Vogt and Sedov 1998: 151). He also suggested that no other “vessel” like it had been found. J.  Oates, referring to a tall ring-based vessel with a broad central opening and six surrounding nipples (dug 3-tab-ba), a three double-nipple vessel that was excavated at Tell Brak (ancient Nagar), also thought their sample to be unique (Oates, Oates, and McDonald 2001: 182 2.  I would especially like to thank the Museum Director G. Emberling and his staff for their help and for making the beautiful new photographs. 3.  The material from this excavation was divided between Paris and Istanbul, but I do not know where the vessel is now, and I would like to thank Prof. Niek Veldhuis for the information.

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Diana Pickworth no.1423, fig. 213) (fig. 6 here). Both were correct, because these known exemplars are slightly different; the Tell Brak vessel is a named type and therefore not derivative of the dug ubur-imin. I suggest that the Ṣabr “lid” has an ancestry in the Telloh (ancient Girsu) and Khafaje (ancient Tutub) dug ubur-imin vessel type.

Excavation Evidence The use and location of the sevennipple vessels appears to be sacred, as evidenced by both the literary and the archaeological evidence. Delougaz (1952: 38, 43) notes that theriomorphic vessels are found in a ritual context. Yet, the dug uburFig. 5.  Telloh, seven-nipple pot. De Genouillac 1934: imin from Khafaje, to which he makes pl. 2, no. 5481. no reference, was also from a sacred location—that is, the Sin Temple of level IV in locus Q-42: 24 (Delougaz 1952: pl. 24e). It was excavated during the 1935–36 season, has the registration number Kh(afaje) VI 329, and dates from the Protoliterate period. P. Delougaz suggested that libating is a normal use of spouted vessels but made no attempt to interpret the seven-nipple vessel, which surely could not be used for libating. Spouted vessels were often associated with snake imagery in the Protoliterate period, the snake being a symbol of renewal. The vessels are of fairly hard, well-fired, buff, yellow or reddish fabric. Samples of the Ṣabr paste can be similarly described and the quality is superior to that of the Diyala vessels. The six-spouted vessel from Tell Brak (ancient Nagar) referred to above was excavated from area FS, level 2, room 4. The vessel has a buff surface and ring base and is dated to Period N, which is post-Akkadian and contemporary with Ur III in southern Mesopotamia (fig. 6). The vessel was found in a pit, thus giving nothing but a terminus post quem date. Close by was a grave containing a ritually deposited skeleton of a yellow-fin bream. These fish skeletons are only found in ritual grave contexts in Mesopotamia, and their only native habitat is the Arabian Gulf, whence it must have come (Izquierdo and Muniz 2001). There is no direct connection between the vessel and the fish skeleton; the area FS level 2 at Tell Brak is a level of non-temple architecture, but the earlier levels in this area are temple locations that had been ritually filled in. Several other spouted vessels were found in the area. This suggests that the vessel was possibly part of a temple assemblage prior to being put into the pit. The fish skeleton demonstrates long-distance interaction, but whether the fish arrived dried and salted by an overland route or by maritime trade through the Gulf is unknowable. It raises a question that we are in no position to answer yet. How were these trade links and resulting cultural contacts between Mesopotamia and South Arabia made? The Ṣabr lid was excavated in a clean situation in locus 60 (fig. 7) in association with a reed-based straw. This and associated snake imagery, together with a large ceramic deposit, suggests a repository for sacred vessels in a cult location similar to those in southern Mesopotamia and the Diyala.

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Textual Evidence The dug ubur-imin is referred to in a text as being located in the sacristy or the cult eating room and was used as part of the New Year Festival. The name dug ubur-imin in Sumerian, ṣurṣuppu in Akkadian, translates directly as ‘seven-nipple vessel’. Furthermore, analogies with breasts and udders are made and the relationship to fecundity is significant and must have been integral to a New Year Festival ceremony in Mesopotamia. 4 Salonen (1965: 237), in an early study of vessels, makes reference to the vessel, but one hears in his reference to an Alalakh text his doubt of its utility. He suggests that the “nipples” were just knobs, but in the Ur III texts the translation ‘nipple’ is firm. W. Sallaberger thirty years later (1996: 108) expands on the textual evidence. We are clearly discussing a vessel known both to the temples of Sumer and to the administration and accountants of the Ur III pottery workshops. As stated earlier, we learn that Fig. 6.  Tell Brak, three doublethe vessel was not made in large numbers; only one was recorded nipple pot. Oates, Oates, and as made in the Umma text. In the Girsu text referred to above, McDonald 2001, no. 1432. it is noted that it takes a day and a half to make it. This is the longest production time for this and one other named vessel; the other vessels take much less time to produce. Sallaberger (1996: 60) compares two texts from Girsu that confirm the vessel’s presence, but no indication is given of the function or content of the vessel. It is defined purely by its form. I should note that one vessel called dug dúr-bùr in Sumerian, attested in an Umma text, is specifically stated to be a beer vessel and to have no base floor (Sallaberger 1996: 73). This is understood by M. Civil to be a fermenting vat (1964: 82). Illustrations make clear that it is not similar to the Ṣabr lid. ETCSL, the on-line text corpus of Sumerian literature, has five references to the seven- nipple vessel. Nothing is really clear about the vessels. So far, we know that they were possibly associated with beer, possibly were cult vessels of unique and special nature, and rarely made. Yet, a royal poem gives us a breakthrough in understanding the vessel. The beauty of the vessel dug uburimin is extolled in an Old Babylonian copy of an inscription of the king Ibbi-Sîn. In his inscription, the king dedicates a gold vessel of the type excavated by P. Delougaz in humble clay, in the translation of D. R. Frayne: Ibbi-Sîn . . . dedicated to him (Nanna), for his own life, a golden ṣurṣuppu vessel, whose lip overflows with sweetened water, whose golden (drinking) reed is an artfully (made) main conduit, which is suitable for the sacristy, . . . abundant for the hero Suen without end (RIME 3/2.1.5.3).

While the textual evidence refers to the Ur III period, the Sumerian origins and cultic use of the round-bottomed seven-nipple vessel in temple settings are sure. A priest-king with his consort used golden straws to enact cultic practices that involved drinking mead as they supplicated the god in an annual spring festival. 4.  African folk stories of origination and generation refer to breast vessels and associated stick-like phallic trees. They perhaps compare with the nipple vessels and associated drinking straws of Mesopotamia.

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Fig. 7.  Ceramic deposit Locus 60, general view. The smaller circular post-holes belong to a former wooden colonnade on which many vessels were placed. The wooden construction burned down (see section in background profile) and buried the ceramic deposit underneath. The vessels from the top of the colonnade and from the deposit underneath are thus from the same chronological context. Courtesy of Deutsches Archäologisches Institut.

Glyptic Evidence The drinking celebration scene referred to above is dated by D. Collon to her period IId and IIe, 3000–2334 b.c.e., the late ED II and ED III period (refining Frankfort’s division of ED I, II, and III) (Collon 1987: 20). The banqueting scenes are further divided into those where drinking straws are used and those where cups are used. This is helpful in dating, because in the present study we are interested in the use of drinking straws, which predates the use of cups. The period in question in Mesopotamia is from 2667–2334 b.c.e. A golden straw similar to the one referred to by Ibbi-Suen was excavated by C. L. Woolley in the royal tomb of Pu-Abi (Woolley 1935; and illustrated in 1956: pl. 70a, b, c, d). Seals with ritual banquet drinking scenes belong to a discrete period that can be politically related to temple-dominated economies utilizing agrarian production for wealth agglomeration. This scenario can also be applied to the rich site of Ṣabr, which is located 25 km inland in a valley of rich farmland irrigated by the Wadi Tuban, which is fed by mountain streams. The Mesopotamian celebratory scene may have accompanying musicians (Collon 1987: 30, fig. 91; 152 figs. 660 and 668), and frequently a boat or chariot is associated. Collon (1987: 27) suggests that the king and the queen are representing the gods as they celebrate and travel to different temples. On a seal, a surface find, from Khafaje (Collon 1987: 30 fig. 94), is a fine representation of this festival.

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Fig. 8.  Vessel Ṣabr 5C Loc. 60 V39, section. Courtesy of Deutsches Archäologisches Institut.

Several of the seals show the standard with the crescent symbol of the god Nanna rising from the central hole in the vessel. Not only are humans depicted drinking through straws, but an Akkadian–Ur III seal from Tell Asmar (As 32-1200) shows two animals, a lion and an onager, drinking through straws (Frankfort 1934: 37). It has been suggested that these animal scenes are depictions of life after death (A. D. Kilmer, personal communication. A rare sample of a rolled copper drinking straw, 71 cm long and 1.4 cm in diameter, with fine perforations at the base, was found in a hoard of copper objects hidden in a vessel and embedded in the walls of a temple. It has been suggested that the hoard represented the service for a ritual event: lamps, cups, and four strainers were among the 60 copper bowls in the collection. All of the straws excavated are approximately one meter in length and are constructed on an inner reed core that was decorated with gold or copper foil and, in one case, with rare stones. A reed-like object was also found associated with the Ṣabr vessel.

Continuity and Change The Sumerian vessel is symbolic of the renewal of life as used in cult practice by the PriestKing in his role in the New Year festival. Its presence continues to be known through the Late Uruk to the Ur III periods. As the Late Uruk assemblage changes, reflecting differences in social practices, we see an Akkadian pottery corpus in Mesopotamia that only rarely has spouts. A relic vessel excavated in Tell Brak was found in post-Akkadian Hurrian levels and dated to 2100–1900 b.c.e. A clay ridge at the shoulder refers back to the Late Uruk shape and the composite construction technique discussed by Sürenhagen (1978: fig. 49). In Ṣabr, a 1500 b.c.e., C14 dated, sevennipple vessel with a shoulder ridge and definite Uruk composite-construction technique appears to be still in use, and an associated straw was found in the assemblage. The vessel in Ṣabr is clearly derivative and not a container but rather a special cover to be used over vessels of beer, perhaps in an effort to minimize breakage of a costly vessel by limiting the use of the fragile upper part to ceremonial, not storage, use (fig. 8).

From Mesopotamia to South Arabia Our knowledge of the Bronze Age in South Arabia unfolds slowly but our evidence for its presence in the southern coastal areas of Arabia is clear. While inshore coastal trading routes

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may have been a conduit for cultural diffusion, earlier wetter climatic conditions may have made possible overland mule and donkey travel and allowed trade in wool from the highlands of Arabia into Mesopotamia. The interesting connection with the Diyala assemblages might point to sea travel down the Arabian Gulf beyond the Hormuz Straight and around the southern coast of Arabia. The presence of the Tell Brak vessel suggests a northern Levantine contact with Mesopotamia, deriving from a Late Uruk presence in northern Mesopotamia. That vessel, however, represents a vessel that the texts attribute to a different use and it thus cannot be said to be derivative. Whether the influence in Arabia was part of a population exodus in the early second millennium or a result of cultural trading interconnection is unclear, but the Ṣabr vessel is a last-known exemplar of a long Mesopotamian tradition.

Bibliography Civil, M. 1964

“A Hymn to the Beer Goddess and a Drinking Song.” Pp. 67–89 in Studies Presented to A. Leo Oppenheim June 7, 1964. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 1996 ḪAR-ra = ḫubullu: Tablet X dug = karpatu. Pp. 129–59 in Sallaberger 1996. Ciuk C., and Keall E. J. 1996 Zabid Project Pottery Manual 1995: Pre-Islamic and Islamic Ceramics from the Zabid area, North Yemen. BAR International Series 655. Oxford: Archaeopress. Collon, D. 1987 First Impressions: Cylinder Seals in the Ancient Near East. London: The British Museum / Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Delougaz, P. 1940 The Temple Oval at Khafaje. OIP 53. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. 1952 Pottery from the Diyala Region. OIP 63. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Doe, D. B. 1965–69 “Pottery Sites Near Aden.” Department of Antiquities Publication, Bulletin Number 5. Aden: Government Printer, HM Stationery Office. (The article was first printed in Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland of 1963.) Frankfort, H. 1934 Iraq: Excavations of the Oriental Institute 1932/33: Third Preliminary Report of the Iraq Expedition. OIC 17. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Genouillac, H. de 1934 Fouilles de Telloh: Tome I: Époques présargoniques. Paris: Geuthner. Izquierdo, E. R., and Muniz, A. M. 2001 “Fish Offerings from Tell Brak? Comments on an Articulated Specimen found in the 1990 Season.” Pp. 335–52 in Excavations at Tell Brak, Vol 2: Nagar in the Third Millennium b.c.e. David Oates, Joan Oates, and Helen McDonald. Cambridge: British School of Archaeology in Iraq–McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. Lankester Harding, G. 1964 Archaeology of the Aden Protectorates. London: HM Stationery Office. Lunde, P., and Porter. A. 2004 Trade and Travel in the Red Sea Region. Society for Arabian Studies Monographs No 2. Proceedings of Red Sea Project 1, Held in the British Museum October 2002. BAR International Series. Oxford: Archaeopress. Mason, R. B., Hallett J. R., and Keall E. J. 1989 Provenance Studies of Islamic Pottery from Yemen: INAA and Petrographic Analysis. Archae­ ometry: Proceedings of the 25th International Symposium, ed. Y. Maniatis. Amsterdam: Elsevier.

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McGovern, P. E., and Michel, R. H. 2000 “The Analytical and Archaeological Challenge of Detecting Ancient Wine: Two Case Studies from the Ancient Near East”. Pp. 57–65 in The Origins and Ancient History of Wine, ed. P. E. McGovern, S. J. Fleming, and S. H. Katz. Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach. Oates, D., Oates, J., and Mcdonald, H. 2001 Excavations at Tell Brak 2: Nagar in the 3rd Millennium b.c.e. Cambridge: British School of Archaeology in Iraq–McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. Porter, A. 2004 “Amphora Trade between South Arabia and East Africa in the First Millennium bc: A Reexamination of the Evidence.” Proceedings of the Seminar for Arabian Studies 34: 261–75. Posey, S. 1994 Yemeni Pottery: The Littlewood Collection. London: The British Museum. Potts, D. T. 1997 Mesopotamian Civilization: The Material Foundations. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Sallaberger, W. 1996 Der Babylonische Töpfer und seine Gefässe nach Urkunden Altsumerischer bis Altbabylonischer Zeit sowie Lexikalischen und Literarischen Zeugnissen. Mesopotamian History and Environment, Memoirs volume 3. Ghent: The University of Ghent. Salonen, A. 1965 Die Hausgeräte der Alten Mesopotamier: nach sumerisch-akkadischen Quellen, Teil II: Gefässe. Eine Lexicalische und kulturegeschichtliche Untersuchung. Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia. Sürenhagen, D. 1978 Keramikproduktion in Habuba Kabira-sud: Untersuchungen zur Keramikproduktion innerhalb das SpätUrukzeitlichen. Siedlung Ḫabūba-Kabira-Süd in Nords Syrien. Berlin: Hessling. Symonds, L. A. 2003 Landscape and Social Practice: The Production and Consumption of Pottery in 10th Century Lincolnshire. BAR British Series 345. Oxford: Archaeopress. Vogt, B., and Sedov, A. 1998 “Die Sabir-Kultur und die jemenitische Küstenebene in der 2. Hälfte des 2. Jahrtausends v. Chr.” Pp. 128–33 in Jemen: Kunst und Archäologie im Land der Königin von Saba’, ed. W. Seipel. Ausstellungskatalog des Kunsthistorischen Museums Wien. Vienna: Skira. Waetzoldt, H. 1971 Zwei unveröffentlichte Ur III Texte über die Herstellung von Tongefässen. WdO 6 (1970) 7–41. Wiseman, D. J. 1962 Catalogue of the Western Asiatic Cylinder Seals in the British Museum, 1: Cylinder Seals Uruk–Early Dynastic Periods. London: The British Museum. Woolley, C. L. 1934 Ur Excavations, vol. 2: The Royal Cemetery: A Report on the Predynastic and Sargonic Graves Excavated between 1926–1931, Part I and Part II. London and Philadelphia. 1935 The Development of Sumerian Art. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons.

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The Discovery of Professor von Saalbrandt: A Philadelphia Story To Helen Jastrow, with respectful regards of the perpetrator

Eleanor Robson Department of History and Philosophy of Science, University of Cambridge

In what follows I present and analyze a previously unpublished typescript, held in the archives of the University Museum in Philadelphia, which sheds new light on one of the great scandals of early 20th-century Assyriology. 1 I offer this small study to Anne Kilmer, who has been so kind and generous to me since I was a graduate student in the early 1990s and who is the antithesis of the pomposity, greed, and intellectual dishonesty represented by the main characters here. I hope she enjoys the author’s wry deflation of both sides and, like me, finds amusement in the fact that the first half of the author’s name is almost a compound of elements of our own.

The Discovery of Professor Von Saalbrandt Part I Professor von Saalbrandt arrived at Wakefield University the year that the football team was barred from playing by the Intercollegiate Association. His appearance on the scene had a gratifying suggestion of spontaneity. He hailed from some inland German town consisting of a band, a beer-garden, and a biological laboratory. You go there if you chance to want any one of those things — otherwise you stay away. Now as the tastes of the little town of Wakefield did not lie in the direction of malt, music, nor minutiae, it happened that nobody had encountered the Professor upon his native heath. He dawned, glittering, upon the horizon, clad in affability and learning. He was genially prepared to admire our women, to shed tears at the sight of Niagara, to write a testimonial for the beer that made dyspepsia famous, and to take our great pork-killing establishments für besser, für würst. This interest in the country was taken as tribute to our wider scholarship and higher ideals of culture; and the distinguished visitor was immediately presented with the honorary degree of Ph.D. from Gingerville College, Missouri (1901 Foundation). Von Saalbrandt was a huge, puffy man, with moustachios like the horns of an aurochs, and plenty of sentiment in his conversation. At the reception given in his honor, he wore an order 1.  I am very grateful to Alessandro Pezzati, Archivist of the University Museum, for permission to publish this document. In transcribing it, I have silently entered all the handwritten corrections to the typescript but have otherwise kept spelling and punctuation unchanged, even where it seems a little ungainly.

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presented by the Jam of Jat on the occasion of his discovery, through excavations, that the Jam was directly descended from Ham, son of Noah. 2 The difference in the letter was due entirely to Grimm’s law, as the Professor explained, and the incident was most curious and instructive. 3 The first fortnight of von Saalbrandt’s arrival was devoted to the social amenities of the situation. He was at once made a member of the Philobiblon and the Philomathean Societies: 4 the Jungler [sic] Deutscher Verein gave him a serenade of fifty male voices, 5 and he was asked to read before the Philomorpheum Club, his paper showing how he proved, by the system of Bertillon measurements, that the whale which he had personally dissected at the Mole of Aden, had once contained the prophet Jonah. 6 But the dulcet music of social admiration never once for Wolfgang von Saalbrandt, drowned out the trumpet call of duty. He knew what he had been sent for, although as requested he kept it dark; and he intended to make some discovery — (that is, when they told him what discovery they wanted him to make) which should carry to posterity the name of Wakefield University. Gutturally, but fervently, he assured the Trustees that he perfectly understood the situation, and that, for the proper honorarium, he meant to do his best. This assurance was highly reassuring to the Board of Trustees, who congratulated each other when they met at the Legal Club, (for obviously, most of them were lawyers) on having chanced upon a savant with a business sense. “Not one of your unpractical, uncertain, idealistic learned chaps,” as Mr. P. Vavasour Smyth said to his friend Charlie Andrews the banker, “but a man of the world, who can be calculated upon to produce results.” Mr. Smyth, if he did have the vanity to part his mane on the side where it grew thickest, was by no means a foolish person in other regards. “Smythie,” as the Bar affectionately called him, had had a various political — financial — legal career, which had lent him a mouth-ful of rotund commonplaces, and a sense of dignity as toughly resilient as the best rubber-tyre. It was in his office the meetings of the Board of Trustees were usually held, and there the first conference with 2. An invented title, perhaps intended to sound like a ruler of one of the princely states of 19thcentury India, such as the Khan of Kalat and the Wali of Swat. Jam was a title of the rulers of the Jamot tribe of Sindh and Baluchistan, while the Jat people were of the Punjab region (see Ramusack 2004). By coincidence, the 12th-century Persian chronicle Majmal al-Tawarikh wa al-Qasas, ‘Assembly of Histories and Tales’, also identifies the Jats as the descendants of Ham, but as there was no modern edition of this work until 1939—published in Persian, in Tehran—there is no way that the author could have known that in 1905 (Dwivedi 1989: 7). 3.  Grimm’s Law, setting out the rules of consonantal change from Proto-Indo-European to the Germanic languages, does not in fact describe a shift h–j, but this does not detract from the satirical point. 4.  Many American universities had and have such societies. The Philomathean Society of the University of Pennsylvania is “the nation’s oldest continually existing literary society: an outlet for free thought and creative expression since 1813” (http://www.philomathean.org/Welcome_to_Philo! accessed 28.xii.2008). The Philobiblon Club of Philadelphia was founded in 1893 with William Pepper, Provost of the University of Pennsylvania, as its first president (http://philobiblonclub.org/index.php?page=history, accessed 28.xii. 2008). The Philomorpheum Club is, of course, a joke. 5.  At the turn of the 20th century, Philadelphia boasted “an impressive array of German social clubs and singing societies” of which the most prominent was the Cannstatter Volksfest-Verein, with membership of more than 1,000 at that time (Kazal 2004: 17, 99–100). The name of this one, however, is a fabrication. 6.  Bertillon measurements, or anthropometry, was a systematic means of recording the vital statistics of criminals, invented by the Frenchman Alphonse Bertillon in the early 1880s (Hecht 2003: 160–66). The “Mole of Aden” is an invented geographical term, “mole” being a technical term for a large harbor pier, causeway, or breakwater.

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the Professor took place. The other persons present were the Dean and the vice-Dean, who had been previously advised by Mr. Smyth to leave the talking to him; and Charlie Andrews, who sat by the ticker, 7 in a very checked suit of clothes, chewing a large cigar and looking all that was most business-like and practical. “You see the situation, Professor, don’t you?” Mr. Smyth pursued, with his cheerfully-assertive manner. “There is no doubt, as the Dean will tell you this football business has been unfortunate. A number of undergraduates have left us to complete their course elsewhere. Perhaps, under modern conditions we can hardly blame them, youth will always find an interest in —- er —- athletic contest. And personally — as a preparation for the wider field of the forensic arena — the interest is —- er —- no doubt justifiable. But the fact has caused us to reflect that the moment is ripe for Wakefield to assert its —- er —- scholastic side.” “Its always a mistake to be apologetic when you get it in the neck,” observed Andrews, through the cigar, “better try an entirely new tack.” Mr. Smyth came up to the surface and blew, as it were, before he resumed. “The Dean has pointed out,” he waved his hand graciously toward that meek little gentleman, “that practically no scientific research is being contributed today by our American Academic Institutions. The moment is ripe for such a work as we propose. It is the fit vehicle for our energies;” he raised his voice to the conclusion, “and it will doubtless increase our post-graduate attendance.” He paused, and glanced at the Professor, who nodded. “I have before this as you know already research undertaken,” he observed doubtfully, speaking fair English, “and it is the most expensive of scientific operations. I cannot tell you, how it is expensive!” “We were in a measure prepared for that objection,” Mr. Smyth replied firmly, and glanced at his colleague Mr. Andrews. “There’s a fellow here in town who will put up the cash,” explained the banker, in a loud, manly voice, “providing that we name the expedition after him, and perhaps, later on see that he gets an honorary degree of D.D.S. or something. Of course, you understand, he will expect results. They all do that,—over here, anyhow. No man wants to put up his good money for nothing.” “Natürlich,” acquiesced the Professor. “Ideals; scientific dreams; ambitious phantoms — all such visions are charming, charming!” here Mr. Smyth lowered his voice with an accent which he had believed would be very impressive some future day when he used it in summing up upon the Bench, “but in this practical, hardheaded times, this busy world, what counts — is the result.” “But you have not what line of research the University should prefer determined,” objected von Saalbrandt anxiously, “there is the classic, always. Italy, it is a beautiful country; und climate healthy the winter during to excavate. A little quinine pill, now and then — but ach! Then for your museum a pretty collection to gather; potteries, statues, ach tiles! and perhaps frescoes! You have the names Helbig and Lanciani heard — not?” 8 Mr. Smyth slowly shook his head. 7.  That is, a machine that printed out the latest stock exchange prices, transmitted by telegraph, onto ticker tape. See http://www.ieeeghn.org/wiki/index.php/Stock_Ticker (accessed 29.xii.2008) for a brief history. 8.  Wolfgang Helbig (1839–1915) and Rodolfo Lanciani (1845–1929) were both prolific and well-known Classicists. Helbig had particular interests in Pompeiian wall paintings and Homeric epic (Bates 1916: 358), while Lanciani was especially noted for his series of maps of ancient Rome published in the 1890s (Heffner and McCown 1930: 62).

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“We feel that Italy has been overdone,” he remarked; “we have, so to speak, no particular affinity here in Wakefield for Roman or Italian curiosities. Isn’t there something a little more antique you could suggest, Professor?” “Everybody’s tired and sick of Pliny and Cicero,” declared Mr. Andrews grumpily, the tape between his fingers. “Personally, I had hoped for a line of discovery similar to what you carried through so brilliantly at Aden,” suggested Mr. Smyth, “confirmation of the Scriptures, you know. That line is always popular, and I know people who can be guaranteed to help us keep it up indefinitely once we got started. Why, we might even squeeze out of them a new Gymnasium,” he finished, not without enthusiasm. “Mounds in Asia Minor there are always remaining,” admitted the savant reluctantly, “but ach! it is for the liver schrecklich, Asia Minor.” “That disadvantage would not be forgotten in the —- er —- arrangements,” Mr. Smyth urged, “and we do not forget that in the probable event of your discovering anything of importance, the University will assume the publication of your great work of elucidation.” “They’ll do it in a decent style with plates and photogravures,” chimed in Andrews, “a ribbonmarker to each volume, and Japan paper. I’m back of a publishing-house, you see,” he avowed modestly. “But suppose I go — und I dig — und we find nothings?” objected von Saalbrandt, who was only German after all. Andrews blew a laugh and tilted his chair. “I guess I wouldn’t go then,” he replied scornfully. “I don’t see Sam Cassell putting up half-a-million for nothing!” 9 “Half-a-million?” echoed the great antiquarian. “We could get all that if we needed it,” the banker assured him. “Marks?” “No sir, dollars.” “Ach, then I think we go where we get somethings!” decided the Professor, and twisted his moustachios. Just at this crisis, the Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Mr. Smyth saw him in time. “Best leave this discussion in the hands of counsel, doctor,” he observed, across the desk in a sort of confidential basso, and then aloud to the Professor, “We hoped,” he added approvingly, “that you’d come to see it that way.” “There are mounds; und in the mounds there are bricks mit inscriptions deep down buried lying,” explained von Saalbrandt, “and all the languages on such inscribed bricks are not yet decided oder understood. Five hundred t’ousand dollars! First we will the bricks find und home bring, und then inscriptions read und decipher.” “But are there plenty of them left out there?” Mr. Andrews inquired with a touch of anxiety, “enough to make it worth our while?” “I explain,” said the Professor, his eye kindling, “I make clear. All expeditions not enough money have, deep down for results to dig and excavate. The ancient civilizations on bricks write mit der stylus, und the bricks under earth remain. Bunches und bunches of bricks mit inscriptions.” The rapid adaptability of the American business man to ideas of culture was strikingly exemplified by the enthusiastic way in which Mr. Andrews struck his knee. 9.  $500,000 in 1905 would be worth nearly $10,000,000 today, calculated using the GDP deflator at http://www.measuringworth.com/uscompare/ (accessed 30.xii.2008).

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“Of course there must be — whole libraries,” he declared, delighted as a boy, and Mr. Smyth also smiled and rubbed his hands. “Andrews has the idea exactly,” he proclaimed with satisfaction. “The temples no doubt had libraries attached to them, great store-houses of ancient wisdom. That’s our objective point, Professor, that’s what you’re to find for us. Sounds well, doesn’t it? The Cassell Expedition of Wakefield University’s Somebody or other’s Library! That’s it, exactly.” “I find him,” said the Professor, modestly, but firmly, for he was a great man. It may readily be conceived that a conversation so happily opened would proceed with perfect satisfaction to both parties. Minds of the first order, however different in calibre, are capable of mutual understanding to a degree which the mediocre can never grasp. It was admirable to see how quickly Smyth and Charlie Andrews absorbed the scientific point of view, and discussed the sociological characteristics of the Chaldeans; whereas the Professor’s astuteness when it came to terms and contracts was a development no less extraordinary. To each of the persons present his part in the great work was allotted. The Dean, acting under the advice of counsel, was permitted to sign his name to a letter or so, and go home to luncheon. Charlie Andrews promised to get the cheque from Sam Cassell at the earliest possible moment: and Mr. Smyth, self-constituted advertising-agent to the expedition, prepared an interview with the Professor for the morning paper. Hard and hurried as his day had been, Smyth willingly sacrificed his entire evening to this task. And yet nations claim that we have no inherent love or reverence for things of the mind! Would they have organized such an expedition? The reply is in itself a refutation. The banquet tendered as a farewell to von Saalbrandt was elaborate and costly. The coldstorage plants of the country had been ransacked for unseasonable delicacies. The centrepiece for the table was an American eagle with the inspiring motto, “Go up, thou bald-head!” If one had any doubts as to the supremacy of Wakefield University in the educational world, they must have vanished on hearing the assertions on that occasion by the afterdinner speaker. Could one deny that it possessed the largest campus, the greatest acreage of buildings, the most thoroughly equipped osteopathic laboratory, the deepest swimming-pool, and the most complete library of minor poets, of any institution in the city, or, probably, even in the state? And as for science, what about the Cassell expedition? —-“Let us not forget,” said the speaker in question (it was Mr. Smyth) “when we are tempted to depreciate and undervalue our native institutions — let us not forget the Cassell Expedition.” And with the expression of one who had successfully conquered the aforesaid temptation for the time at least, Mr. Smyth resumed his seat. The guests now joined in the chorus of “Gaudeamus igitur,” set to the theme of Yankee Doodle; and then separated in that condition of saturated self-satisfaction, which is the raison d’être of such occasions. “Among the galaxy of beauty and fashion, who gazed on the animated scene from the boxes,” (we quote from an official record), there sat one person to whom the affair had a deeply-personal significance. This was Miss Lucinda Birkenbine, the only sister of Dean Birkenbine, and first and foremost in every public movement. She was President of the Woman’s Federation for Rapid Franchise, and the author of a course of lectures entitled “Little Scampers in the Suburbs of Philosophy,” which she had contributed to the University Association for the Expansion of Third Rate Information. As is an inevitable deduction from the election of the Dean, the Birkenbines were in the most comfortable circumstances. Miss Lucy’s purse was as well-stocked as her head, and fuller hitherto than her heart. Indeed, she had been heard to observe that there were only a few really great men at the University, and most of these had inconsiderately married young. She had been from the first impressed by the appearance and manners of the famous von Saalbrandt. He was a widower and a German, and Miss Birkenbine had been touched to hear him describe

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how he had spent his summer holiday picnicking upon the grave of his wife. This characteristic combination of the festive and the mortuary, was a revelation to Lucinda. But the strength of her character and the power of her ideals determined her conduct at the crisis. She had sworn to give her hand and fortune, she told the Professor, only to one who accomplished a great work for the University of Wakefield. She would await in patience and prayer, his successful return. And her lover could not shake this determination. A fortnight later, standing wistfully upon the deck of an outgoing steamer, von Saalbrandt felt the consecration and dedication of the moment descend upon him. Overcome by emotion, or by the first onslaught of ocean billows, he staggered to the dining-saloon and ordered eels in jelly. The mention of this private correspondence is necessary because it is chiefly through Miss Birkenbine that the Cassell Expedition was heard from during the ensuing ten months or so. To the University the Professor’s despatches had only the modest brevity of a soldier at the bivouac. Seated upon a train of twenty camels the expedition had vanished into the interior of Asia Minor whence only an occasional letter with a Trojan postmark came to tell Lucinda Birkenbine of her hero’s existence. Sensibility forbids our probing into the more deeply tender portions of these epistles but the noble Lucy had all possible selections typewritten for Mr. Smyth and the newspapers. The Professor’s handwriting had grown too cuneiform to be readily legible, but fortunately both Miss Birkenbine and Mr. Smyth possessed the intuitive imagination. “From my tent, 3 o’clock A. M. Herzliebste This week has not been without achievement in our work of excavation. Hardly a day has gone by that some object of deep interest has not rewarded our toil. On Monday we unearthed a fragmentary statue of the Fish-God Dagon, broken in a peculiar manner, which you will find entirely accounted for in I Samuel V 4. 10 Later on, a very perfect tablet was brought me in my tent, inscribed in an ancient and possibly non-existent Chaldaic dialect. I had only to glance hastily over its contents however, to see that they were of peculiar significance. It was addressed “to Lushtamar”: (You remember her, do you not, as an intimate friend of Sarai) and it throws much light upon the scandal connected with Hagar and her son, together with other details of Abraham’s household management which are of singular value to the Higher Criticism. 11 The presence of this very ancient tablet in this particular spot,—which I must confess surprised me — 10.  The first four verses of 1 Samuel 5 read, in the American Standard Version of 1901: 5:1 Now the Philistines had taken the ark of God, and they brought it from Eben-ezer unto Ashdod. 5:2 And the Philistines took the ark of God, and brought it into the house of Dagon, and set it by Dagon. 5:3 And when they of Ashdod arose early on the morrow, behold, Dagon was fallen upon his face to the ground before the ark of Jehovah. And they took Dagon, and set him in his place again. 5:4 And when they arose early on the morrow morning, behold, Dagon was fallen upon his face to the ground before the ark of Jehovah; and the head of Dagon and both the palms of his hands lay cut off upon the threshold; only the stump of Dagon was left to him (online at http:// ebible.org/asv/1Sam.htm, accessed 26.xii2008). In the early 20th century, before the discovery of incontrovertible cuneiform evidence to the contrary, it was still widely supposed that Dagon was a fish-god whose name derived from the Hebrew word dag (for example, Moore 1899b; but see Jastrow 1898: 208–9, who identifies him as the god of agriculture). 11.  This is an allusion to Genesis 16, which begins in the American Standard Version of 1901: (1) Now Sarai, Abram’s wife, bare him no children: and she had a handmaid, an Egyptian, whose name was Hagar. (2) And Sarai said unto Abram, Behold now, Jehovah hath restrained me from bearing; go in, I pray thee, unto my handmaid; it may be that I shall obtain children by her. And Abram hearkened to the voice of Sarai. (3) And Sarai, Abram’s wife, took Hagar the Egyptian, her

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together with its juxtaposition to the well-preserved jaw-bone of an ass (sex unknown) convinces me that we are on the city of some ancient temple museum. I can repeat confidently that I am on the brink of a most important discovery!”

This letter had not been a fortnight in the Dean’s hands, before it was followed by a cable-message: “Have packed and shipped in 12 cases, private library of high priest of the temple of Ashtaroth. 12 I follow by the next steamer.” von Saalbrandt.

We omit, reluctantly, details of the Professor’s return, it was a triumph inferior only to that of his departure. The immediate presentation of a large freight-bill confirmed the good news. The twelve zinc-lined cases were laboriously carted to the University and placed in the cellar: and the Professor went at once into complete seclusion and announced to an expectant world the forthcoming appearance of volume 19 of his great work.

Part II This history has so far been but a chronicle of success, of that success, indeed, on which our American ideal insists. That its brilliancy should arouse in this altruistic society the ugly emotions of envy and distrust, was not perhaps to be avoided. Volume 19, when published in very complex German, was largely an account of the expedition, remarks on the flora and fauna of Asia Minor, descriptions ethnological and social of the Arab tribes, while the analysis of the tablets themselves proved to contain trifling points of difference with previous assertions. This of course simply displayed the scientific caution of the author, yet first on the one hand and then on another, were heard murmurings, dissensions and contradictions. Like the large, single drops of a shower they followed one another, the envious underlings of the expedition added a splash here and there, till at length fell a positive downpour of accusation upon the heads of the University. What should von Saalbrandt reply when confronted by the public statement of his own companion that the 12 cases were filled with the residuum of a disused Mohammedan brick-yard; that the tablets from which he had quoted had been purchased in Paris from the same old and reliable fin [?] which had forged the tiara of Saetaphernes; 13 and that the Professor had spent most of his time when in Asia Minor on his tent-bed, fanning himself and turning discouragedly from calomel to chlorodyne? 14 handmaid, after Abram had dwelt ten years in the land of Canaan, and gave her to Abram her husband to be his wife (online at http://ebible.org/asv/Genesis.htm, accessed 26.XII.2008). The Bible, of course, makes no reference to any Lushtamar; rather this was the (male) addressee of an Old Babylonian letter at the heart of the Peters-Hilprecht controversy (Hilprecht 1908; Ritterband and Wechsler 1981). Perhaps the author was struck by that name’s resemblance to Tamar, the female protagonist of Genesis 38. 12.  At the turn of the 20th century, the worship of Ashtaroth/Ashtoreth was seen as the epitome of licentious paganism in the Old Testament. A widely used biblical encyclopaedia stated that her name derived from Hebrew bosheth ‘scandalous thing’ and that her cult was “saturated with . . . abominations” (Moore 1899a). 13.  The tiara of Saitaphernes was purchased by the Louvre in 1896 as a Scythian artefact of the 3rd century b.c.e. In 1903, it was revealed that it had been commissioned by fraudsters from a Russian jeweller in 1895, who had been told that it was a present for an archaeologist (Paul 1994). 14.  Calomel (mercury(I) chloride) was a widely-used laxative and diuretic until the late 19th century (Haller 1981: 77–90). Chlorodyne was a patent anti-cholera medicine whose active ingredients included laudanum, cannabis, and chloroform, wildly popular until at least the 1930s (Silbermann 2006).

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Fortunately for von Saalbrandt, chance had placed at his elbow an adviser who could tell him what to reply to such accusations; and that man was P. Vavasour Smyth. Mr. Smyth was profoundly disgusted at the necessity, he fully recognized that it implied a fiasco; and no one knew better than he the inconvenience to business of public interference, but he was not daunted. He believed that a brass trumpet strongly blown, will drown out the martial music of the public fife; and he was a master in the art of counterpoint. But what amazed Smyth was to find that there were yet persons in our advanced civilization, who placed the negative qualities of truth and accuracy before the positive benefits of expediency and worldly prudence. Is our social improvement after all so shallow that men still live to whom the glory of their native institutions, the sounding pomposity of Deans and Trustees, and above all, the fact of money spent, count as nothing in comparison to that Truth, of which Pilate washed his hands? 15 Truth, indeed, whose place it is the ambition of every American citizen to supply when and where possible, by a sentiment, or a platitude? Mr. Smyth himself had early in life followed the example of Pilate, and his modesty had led him to suppose that the practice was general. The disillusion of Smyth was one of the minor incidents of this painful affair. Hurt to the core of his faith in human nature, Mr. Smyth hastily assembled a Committee of Academic Whitewash to meet the crisis. “The awkward part of this thing is,” he explained to his friend Andrews, “that Sam Cassell is beginning to sit up and wonder if his beef is canned.” 16 “Can you trust this German to say the right thing when they get at him?” the banker asked seriously, but he did not know Smyth. “My dear boy, I haven’t practiced twenty-five years at the Bar for nothing,” rejoined the lawyer, a little wearily. “You may trust me. I’ve had it all typewritten, and he’s sitting up learning it by heart. He has nothing to do but add the accent and he can’t help doing that.” It is therefore to this intrepid man that the chief glory of Professor von Saalbrandt’s speech of defense is due. The century has not lacked its mots de crise. From the suave “you may fire when you are ready, Gridley” 17 and the more trenchant “Buy me a thousand Met. and I will shake the plum-tree,” 18 must hereafter be added the sublime Smyth-von-Saalbrandt answer to the gathered representatives of the University and the Associated Press. “Did you gentlemen expect me,” said the Professor with dignity, “to be accurate, in a book intended for popular reading? No. Was it your intention that I should be truthful when I embarked 15.  This is an allusion to the New Testament book of John, chap. 18, where Pontius Pilate is trying Jesus prior to crucifying him. In the American Standard Version of 1901: (37) Pilate therefore said unto him, Art thou a king then? Jesus answered, Thou sayest that I am a king. To this end have I been born, and to this end am I come into the world, that I should bear witness unto the truth. Every one that is of the truth heareth my voice. (38) Pilate saith unto him, What is truth? And when he had said this, he went out again unto the Jews, and saith unto them, I find no crime in him (http://ebible.org/asv/John.htm, accessed 26.XII.2008). 16.  That is, whether he has paid for an expensive commodity and got a cheap one in return. 17.  Legendarily spoken by Commodore George Dewey to Captain Charles V. Gridley, commander of the USFS Olympia, thereby commencing the Battle of Manila Bay early in the Spanish-American War of 1898 (for example, Beede 1994: 161 and 307). 18.  Telegram from Senator Matthew Stanley Quay to the chief cashier of the People’s Bank of Philadelphia on 11 February 1898, illegally ordering him to purchase stocks in the Metropolitan Railroad of New York. The stock failed, causing the bank to collapse, with the loss of $1,000,000 of public investment (for example, Beers 1980: 47).

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upon this enterprise? No! Has it ever been your policy to place mere accuracy of statement above the glory of your University? I repeat confidently, No.” During the sensation this firm and unshaken stand created and while some-one was hastily despatched for another phonographic record, Mr. Smyth was seen to nod with satisfaction. “He didn’t learn that badly,” he murmured, and raising his voice he addressed the savant. “By way of explanation, Professor, would you be good enough to give these gentlemen some particulars as to the functions and worship of the Goddess Ashtaroth?” he asked, “it may serve to enlighten them as to your reasons for a prudent delay.” “Ashtaroth — known as As-to-reth, as Ishtar, and as Istar,” began von Saalbrandt fluently, “is a Goddess corresponding to the Aphrodite of the Greeks.” He spoke for seventeen minutes; and we refer the curious mind to Rawlinson’s Ancient Monarchies for the substance of his information. 19 Suffice it to say that he made perfectly clear why it would be of doubtful public benefit to translate the probable contents of the High Priest’s tablets from the possible Chaldaic dialect in which they may have been composed, to the pure English of modern reformed spelling and the Sunday newspaper. When he had made an end, a deep and agitated silence possessed the limits of Mr. Smyth’s office. Dean Birkenbine heaved a sigh of relief that he had not brought Mrs. Birkenbine. A reporter hastily scribbled a head-line “Startling revelations concerning the goddess Ashtaroth!” In the pause, Mr. Smyth slowly rose to his feet and laying his hand emotionally upon his waistcoat, announced the general sentiment in a deep, forensic tremolo: “Gentlemen,” he said, “Professor von Saalbrandt is completely exonerated. Gentlemen, the Court is adjourned.” The Dean, looking still a good deal worried, remained behind the others for a word with his counsel. “I cannot but feel,” the Dean sighed, “however splendidly you’ve handled this matter, Smyth, that it will hurt the University in the eyes of the Academic world. And, have you considered, what on earth are we to do with all those bricks?” “Why, aren’t they just what we need for the fire-place of the new Athletic Club?” suggested his colleague, “they’re tough enough for that, no doubt. And I wouldn’t worry, if I were you. It is always awkward to have the public butting into things it doesn’t understand. If the University is a bit discredited, all the more reason for us to have a new football field. And that’ll fix it all right.” His reassuring words did not serve at once to raise the little Dean from his depression. “Do you think, in confidence, von Saalbrandt’s conduct was quite —- er —- quite —- er —- sincere?” he asked doubtfully. “I don’t think he’s at all a bad chap,” Mr. Smyth briskly declared. “We paid the money, he produced the goods. Some sense of business obligation there, you see! Suppose he did buy a couple of tablets — hadn’t he tried to get them by digging? Could he decently come home without ’em? You know, Birkenbine, he has done no more than any man does on a hunting or fishing trip. And it’s all nonsense, this expecting a chap to write a popular book of science as if every word of it was intended to be true!” The Dean shook his head mournfully.

19.  Rawlinson (1875: 90) conveniently notes that “Ishtar’s aphrodisiac character, though it can scarcely be doubted, does not appear very clearly in the inscriptions.” George Rawlinson, an Oxford classicist, was Henry Creswicke Rawlinson’s younger brother (Bayne 2004).

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“You take it all much too hard, my dear sir,” Smyth reproached him. “After all, people will have forgotten it in a week. Von Saalbrandt will go back to Germany, and we’ll never see him again, which on the whole, speaking frankly, will be rather a good thing.” “But that’s just it!” exploded the little Dean with vehemence, “that’s it exactly. He’s — he’s not going back to Germany. He’s engaged, if you please, to my sister Lucinda! And she told me that now after what he calls his ‘martyrdom,’ they both expect the University to create him a chair!” “Phew!” whistled the lawyer, in real dismay; and there was a long pause. Mr. Smyth was the first to recover. “Well, the lesson to be learned from this affair,” he said philosophically enough, “is to give up importing these foreign savants. They come high, and half the time they turn sour on your hands. Moreover, I believe in protecting American industries. The next time, Birkenbine, the University needs a learned attraction, let us get a native one — home-baked — the kind that Mother used to make!” The End. Anna Robeson Brown Burr 246 South 23rd Street, Philadelphia, Penna.

Commentary and Analysis For readers familiar with the history of our discipline, it is easy to identify this narrative as a roman à clef, a simplified retelling of the famous Peters-Hilprecht controversy of 1905, in which the former accused the latter of falsely claiming to have discovered a temple library during their excavations at Nippur for the University of Pennsylvania at the end of the 1890s. Those events have been comprehensively rehearsed several times now (Ritterband and Wechsler 1981; Kuklick 1996; Robson 2002), and it is not my intention to revisit them in detail here. Rather, I wish to use this previously unpublished typescript, held in the archives of the University Museum in Philadelphia, as a means of exploring what the scandal meant at the time to Philadelphians on the periphery of this cause celebre. Although the document is undated, it must have been written shortly after Hilprecht’s official exoneration in May 1905. Here I focus in particular on women—their presence and absence from the narrative and their roles as author and dedicatee—and on race, culture, and German-American identity. All the characters can be equated with their real-life counterparts with some degree of confidence. Let us examine them in order of appearance.

Professor Wolfgang von Saalbrandt The equation of von Saalbrandt and Hermann Hilprecht (1859–1925) needs little justification. 20 To judge from the surviving photographs, Hilprecht was, like von Saalbrandt, “a huge, puffy man, with moustachios like the horns of an aurochs” (for example, Hilprecht 1909: frontispiece; Kuklick 2000). Von Saalbrandt’s fears for his health—“Ach! it is for the liver schrecklich, Asia Minor”—are also an echo of Hilprecht’s well documented hypochondria. 21 The name von Saalbrandt 20.  See Anonymous (1911) and Foster (2000) for short biographies of Hilprecht. 21.  See for instance Hilprecht’s letters to the historian of mathematics David Smith in 1907–09, which are full of complaints about the state of his eyes, teeth, fingers, etc. (Robson 2002: 246–53). For a fascinating insight into Hilprecht’s dream life, see Drabelle (2009).

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is not, to my knowledge, a bona fide German surname. Rather, it seems to be concocted from Saal Brandt “Brandt Hall,” perhaps a venue in one of turn-of-the-century Philadelphia’s many German social clubs (see Kazal 2004: 30–32). However, von Saalbrandt’s pre-Wakefield career seems rather more illustrious—or at least more attention-seeking—than Hilprecht’s early life. In fact, he arrived in Philadelphia in 1886 at the age of 27, a few years out of his doctorate with just a little German university teaching under his belt (Anonymous 1911: 83). However, from the perspective of twenty years later, when he had accrued an armful of German and Turkish medals and an honorary doctorate of law from Princeton (Anonymous 1911: 85), Hilprecht’s humble American beginnings as Oriental editor of the Sunday School Times are likely to have been long forgotten. 22 The Peters-Hilprecht scandal erupted in the wake of Excavations in Bible Lands (Hilprecht 1903b), which purported to be a popular account of archaeological work all over the Middle East but in fact was disproportionately devoted to Hilprecht’s interpretation of the excavations at Nippur (Kuklick 1996: 127). In Burr’s story, “volume 19 of [von Saalbrandt’s] great work . . . in very complex German” is a composite creation. Volume 10 of the series Babylonian Expedition of the University of Pennsylvania, Series A: Cuneiform Texts had come out in 1904—in fact written by Hilprecht’s long-suffering assistant Albert Clay under Hilprecht’s editorship (Clay 1904), volumes 1 and 9 having preceded it. As for the “complex German,” a lecture that Hilprecht had “delivered before German court and university circles” (Hilprecht 1903a; 1904) had recently been issued in both German and English versions, with 57 photographs and a gilded maroon cover. (Compare Andrews’s offer to von Saalbrandt of publications with “plates and photogravures, . . . a ribbonmarker to each volume, and Japan paper.”) The objections of the lead excavator, John Punnett Peters, rested on two points. The first was that Hilprecht claimed he had discovered a temple library in the fourth season at Nippur in 1899, although the tablets had actually been excavated by the then director John Haynes while Hilprecht was in Constantinople and still remained unopened in their crates. Further, three tablets photographed and captioned in the book as if they were from the “temple library”—including the famous “letter to Lushtamar” which von Saalbrandt mentions to Lucinda—had in fact been purchased in Baghdad in 1888 (Hilprecht 1908: 244; Kuklick 1996: 128). No one ever officially claimed that Hilprecht had purchased all his tablets “at the store” (Robson 2002: 236) or that they were Parisian forgeries or “the residuum of a disused Mohammedan brick-yard” as von Saalbrandt’s detractors have it. But the given that the tablets had not yet been seen, let alone studied, it is not surprising that such rumors circulated. In April 1905, the University of Pennsylvania convened an ad hoc Committee of Enquiry into Hilprecht’s conduct, whose lengthy proceedings he later published in full (Hilprecht 1908). On 27 April, after Peters and others had made their cases, Hilprecht read a statement of defence to the Committee. Its rhetorical qualities do not begin to match “the sublime Smyth-von-Saalbrandt answer” but its substance is essentially identical: If any of the readers, whether laymen or scientific scholars, of my writings which are the subject of discussion before you, have received, from reading the text and looking upon the objects therein pictured, the impression that I have meant thereby to indicate that the objects thus described and portrayed came from or were excavated at Nippur and formed a part of a library existing there, which I call a Temple Library, THEY HAVE RECEIVED PRECISELY THE IMPRESSION WHICH IT WAS MY DESIGN AND INTENTION THEY SHOULD RECEIVE. If, on the other hand, any of 22.  To judge from its self-aggrandizing tone, it seems highly likely that this biographical sketch was penned by the subject himself.

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Eleanor Robson these readers have received the impression, from seeing these pictures and reading the words referring to or appearing near them, that I intended to indicate one or more periods of time when the objects thus reproduced, or any of them, were excavated or found, or to assert that any particular expedition of the University of Pennsylvania found or unearthed them, or any of them, they have received an impression of an assertion by me which I have never made or intended. . . . I did not consider, and do not now consider, such details important in the writings which have been criticised. (See Hilprecht 1908: 174–75 and Kuklick 1996: 128–29.)

History does not record whether Hilprecht then regaled the Committee with salacious accounts of the sex-lives of Babylonian goddesses as von Saalbrandt seems to do, but like his fictional counterpart he was officially exonerated (Hilprecht 1908: 267–71) and remained in Philadelphia until 1911, leaving amid rumors that “he was negotiating the sale of the Nippur library to German institutions” (see Kuklick 1996: 159).

Mr. P. Vavasour Smyth, Lawyer and Adviser to the Dean “Smythie’s” real-life counterpart is also easily identifiable. Joseph Levering Jones (1851–1920) was a Philadelphia native, a graduate of the Law School of the University of Pennsylvania and, from 1901, a Trustee of the university. 23 That he was an extremely successful lawyer can be deduced from the elegant mansion he commissioned in the Chestnut Hill area of Philadelphia in 1902. 24 He was a member of the Trustees’ Committee of Enquiry into Hilprecht’s conduct in 1905 and often dominated the hearings (Hilprecht 1908: 55–265 passim). However, he was by no means a neutral party. As Kuklick (1996: 132) notes, Hilprecht and Jones “met at length” before the enquiry began in order to “strengthen our position.” Whether Jones really did write Hilprecht’s statement to the enquiry, as Smyth does for von Saalbrant, is a moot point, but the anti-Hilprecht faction clearly thought that the two men were far too close. Rhymes and cartoons linking them also circulated. 25 The fact that Smyth/Jones looms so large in contemporary informal commentary suggests that he was a far more important figure in Hilprecht’s absolution than historians have hitherto recognized.

Mr. Charlie Andrews, Banker The remaining members of the Committee of Enquiry were Edgar F. Smith, S. F. Houston, Joseph S. Harris, and Robert G. LeConte (Hilprecht 1908: 271). Which of these was the prototype for Charlie Andrews? Edgar Fahs Smith (1854–1928), a professor of chemistry, was Vice-Provost of the University 1899–1910 and then succeeded Harrison as Provost (Kauffman 2000). He must thus be the “vice-Dean” who is silently present at the start of the story. Robert Grier LeConte, MD (1865–1924), was a surgeon who joined the American Philosophical Society in 1905 (Anonymous 1910: 11); the robustly anti-intellectual Andrews is therefore unlikely to have been based on him. Joseph S. Harris (1836–1910), by contrast, was not university educated but had worked his way up in the railway industry to become President of the Philadelphia and Reading Railroad in 1893. His obituary in the New York Times (3 June 1910) described him as “prominent in Philadelphia business circles and a power in the anthracite coal trade.” However, at age 69 in 1905 and some 15 years Jones’s senior, he is unlikely to have been the sort of sidekick that the story describes. That 23.  See his obituary in the New York Times, 26 November 1920. 24.  Photograph at http://www.brynmawr.edu/cities/archx/gtp/gtp94on.html (accessed 23.xii.2008). 25.  See, for instance, the satirical dinner card portraying Jones and Hilprecht (Robson 2002: 236).

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leaves us with Samuel Frederic Houston (1866–1952) who, like Jones, was trained as a lawyer at Penn but whose “primary [student] interest . . . was sports.” He later became a real estate entrepreneur in wealthy areas of Philadelphia such as Chestnut Hill (where Jones built his house) and was elected a Trustee of the university in 1902, just a year after Jones. 26

Dean Birkenbine of Wakefield University Charles Custis Harrison (1844–1929), Provost of the University of Pennsylvania from 1895 to 1911, was by no means as weak as his fictional counterpart Dean Birkenbine. Indeed, he has been described as “the greatest showman to lead Penn since Franklin” (Thomas and Brownlee 2000: 77). It was Harrison who instigated the Board of Enquiry into Hilprecht and it was he who decided its composition. The published proceedings show that he led much of the questioning of witnesses (Hilprecht 1908: passim). Educated at Penn, and on its Board of Trustees since 1876, Harrison derived his wealth and power in large part from the Franklin Sugar Company, which he had founded. Building on his contacts and reputation in the Philadelphia business community, he “reach[ed] out . . . to the new financiers whose self-aggrandizement troubled Old Philadelphians . . . and made them a prime objective of his fundraising” (Thomas and Brownlee 2000: 78). He also brought many of his fellow industrialists onto the Board of Trustees and understood the need to market the university in the popular media, especially through sporting success (Thomas and Brownlee 2000: 81–85). One of Harrison’s flagship projects, Franklin Field athletics ground was inaugurated in 1895, just as the first phase of University Museum was going up on the opposite side of South Street. 27 Although at that point it was “only a cinder track with a wooden grandstand on the south side” and not the enormous football stadium it is now (Thomas and Brownlee 2000: 224), the two contrasting projects must have been a potent symbol of the oppositions of academia and athleticism in the growing university. We shall return to this theme of Burr’s narrative below.

Mr. Sam Cassell, Sponsor of the Expedition In reality, and as is well known, the Babylonian Expedition had always had two sponsors since its inception in the late 1880s, although by 1905 one of them was dead. Brothers Edward White Clark (1828–1904) and Clarence Howard Clark (1833–1906), scions of a prominent Philadelphia banking family, had also endowed the Clark Research Professorship in Assyriology for Hilprecht in 1902 (Kuklick 1996: 26–27, 90). 28

Miss Lucinda Birkenbine, the Dean’s Sister The real-life Lucy was no relation to Provost Harrison. Hilprecht’s first wife, Ida Haufe, died in 1902. A little over a year later, he married again, to Sallie Crozer Robinson (1856–1929), a widow 26.  http://www.archives.upenn.edu/people/1800s/houston_saml_fred.html (accessed 23.xii.2008). 27.  On the early history of the University Museum, see Zettler (1992); Conn (1998: 82–112). 28.  There is a short biography of Edward at http://www.archives.upenn.edu/faids/upt/upt50/clark_madeira.html and one of Clarence at http://www.archives.upenn.edu/histy/features/wphila/exhbts/grubel/who​ .html. It was Clarence who gave Clark Park, on Baltimore Avenue, to the city in 1895. Photographs of his magnificent house and grounds at 42nd and Spruce Streets, where the Divinity School now stands, can be found at http://www.brynmawr.edu/iconog/king/k68d.jpg and http://americanart.si.edu/collections/search/ artwork/?id=34330 (all Web sites accessed 28.xii.2008).

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with two young adult sons. 29 Robinson was from a highly-regarded local family: her grandfather, John P. Crozer, had founded Crozer Theological Seminary in Upland, Pennsylvania, in 1868 with income from his textile mills; her father Samuel had been President of the Delaware County National Bank and still sat on the Seminary’s Board of Trustees. 30 It is not known whether she gave amateur lectures on philosophy, as her fictional counterpart does for “the University Association for the Expansion of Third Rate Information,” but she was apparently “well known as a musician and critic of musical composition and was instrumental in securing regular sessions of grand opera in Philadelphia” amongst other social accomplishments (Anonymous 1911: 86). As Foster (2000) notes, Robinson’s “wealth and social standing made possible for [Hilprecht] a way of life not typical of a university professor of the time. They traveled extensively in Europe and the Far East and collected ancient bronzes, Greek vases, Chinese ceramics, and other objects d’art.” The marriage thus took Hilprecht into the same social class as Harrison, Jones, and the other Trustees. Because Hilprecht’s marriage took place some while after the fateful Fourth Expedition of 1899–1900, von Saalbrandt’s correspondence to Lucy has no real-life counterpart (although Hilprecht presumably wrote from Constantinople to his first wife Ida). In fact, Hilprecht wrote weekly reports to Edward Clark from the field, when he finally got there in March 1900, as well as letters to Harrison; he also kept a day-book (Kuklick 1996: 215 nn. 28–36). However, it was Haynes’s “brief and uninformative” weekly bulletins that first announced the discovery of a “library” on Tablet Hill in the early months of 1900 (Kuklick 1996: 85–87). We shall return to Burr’s unsympathetic portrayal of Lucy, the narrative’s only female character, below. However, we first need to consider the story’s dedicatee and its author.

Helen Jastrow, the Dedicatee Helen Bachman Jastrow (ca. 1867–1940) is the least documented of the people involved in this story. Her husband, Morris Jastrow (1861–1921), was Hilprecht’s long-standing Assyriological rival at Penn (Kuklick 1996: 125; Wechsler 2000); the date of their marriage is not known to me. Whereas Morris was a first-generation immigrant, Pennsylvania had been a Bachman stronghold for many decades. U.S. Censuses record that in 1840 68 of the 87 Bachmans living in the U.S.A. were in Pennsylvania , with 1,112 out of 3,239 by 1880. 31 Morris’s obituary gives his place of death as “the home of his brother-in-law F. H. Bachman of Jenkintown, a suburb [of Philadelphia],” 32 which suggests that Helen did indeed belong to a local family. A brief death notice describes Helen as “collaborator with late husband, Dr. Morris Jastrow, on works on history of ancient religions” (see Schneiderman 1940: 480). Their collaboration is most visible through their work on Selected Essays of James Darmesteter (Darmesteter 1895), which she translated and he introduced. 33 But he often had occasion to praise her editorial contributions 29.  See geneaological information at http://www.pennock.ws/surnames/fam/fam43496.html (accessed 28.xii.2008) and obituary in the New York Times, 28 April 1929. 30. For short biographies of the Crozer family men, see http://www.oldchesterpa.com/biographies. htm#c (accessed 28.xii.2008). 31. See, for instance, http://www.ancestry.com/facts/Bachman-family-history.ashx?fn=&yr=1880 (accessed 28.xii.2008). 32.  New York Times, 23 June 1921. 33.  James Darmesteter (1849–94) was a Jewish French Iranianist (Barbier de Meynard 1894; Cordier 1895). The volume’s essays have the following titles: The religions of the future; The prophets of Israel; Afghan life in Afghan songs; Race and tradition; Ernest Renan; An essay on the history of the Jews; The supreme God in the Indo-European mythology.

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to his work (for example, Jastrow 1898: xi; 1911: ix). In 1922, the widowed Helen saw to press her late husband’s translation of the Song of Songs in an elegant limited edition for the Book Cub of California ( Jastrow 1922). Helen’s editorial talents were also deployed outside her marriage, if not for remuneration then certainly to a professional standard. For instance, in 1908 one L. S. Rowe, professor of political science at Penn, thanks “Mrs. Morris Jastrow, Jr., for the careful reading of the manuscript” of Problems of City Government (Rowe 1908: preface). There are similar acknowledgments in 1922, from the grandson of the Shakespeare scholar Horace Howard Furness (1833– 1912), for help in choosing the contents of his edited letters (Furness 1922: vii). And, in 1910, she headed the editorial committee of the official History of the Young Women’s Union of Philadelphia, 1885–1910, a pamphlet documenting the growth and influence of a girl’s educational charity that had begun as a kindergarten for Jewish immigrant children (Kaufman 2006: 899). Remnants of Helen’s correspondence in the archives of her more eminent acquaintances also allow us glimpses into her social and intellectual world. On 13 December 1904, the novelist Henry James accepted an invitation to dinner at 248 South 23rd Street and promised not to be late. 34 After the First World War, letters to Carey Thomas (1857–1935), first female president of Bryn Mawr College, show her campaigning for the United States to join the League of Nations. 35 She corresponded with the Philadelphia pharmaceutical entrepreneur and philanthropist Albert  C. Barnes (1872–1951) in 1925 and congratulated the prominent Philadelphia Quaker Charles James Rhoads (1972–1956) on his appointment as United States Commissioner of Indian [Native American] Affairs in 1929. 36 Through these fragments of professional and social networks, we can begin to see something of Helen Jastrow’s character and person. She was closely involved in her husband’s career but was also a respected academic editor in her own right. Later in life, if not earlier, she associated with progressive local notables. She was inevitably involved in the Peters-Hilprecht controversy, given her husband’s central accusatory role in the affair, yet it is not immediately obvious why anyone should have addressed a satire on the subject to her. To solve that puzzle we need to identify the author.

The “Perpetrator”: Anna Robeson Brown Burr Anna Robeson Brown Burr (1873–1941) was Helen Jastrow’s best friend and next-door neighbour (Uehlenbrock 2004: 7). She was also a published author, with nine novels to her name already in 1905 (fig. 1). By the end of her life she had notched up a dozen more, plus six well-regarded books of biography and non-fiction (see Bibliography). However, like Helen’s, her life remains relatively unresearched. The most detailed account is from Jamie Uehlenbrock’s biographical sketch of her eldest daughter, the classical archaeologist Dorothy Burr Thomson (1900–2001): 37 Dorothy Burr was born into a family of privilege on August 19 1900, in the cool mountain air of Delhi, New York, where her parents had retreated in order to escape the oppressive summer heat of Philadelphia. Her father Charles Henry Burr, Jr., came from a prosperous old Philadelphia family 34.  http://www.invaluable.com/auction-lot/james,-henry.-autograph-letter-signed,-to-mrs.-mo-1-c-vs3nc​4​ b​7l8 (accessed 28.xii.2008). 35.  http://www.brynmawr.edu/Library/speccoll/guides/thomaspersonal.shtml (accessed 28.xii.2008). 36. http://www.barnesfoundation.org/ead/acb_frameset.html and http://www.amphilsoc.org/library/ mole/r/rhoads.xml (both accessed 28.xii.2008). 37.  There is very brief biographical outline in Anonymous (1943: 171) and a family tree of the Brown family at http://homepages.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~marshall/esmd12.htm (accessed 29.xii.2008).

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Anna’s second daughter Pamela became a professor of English literature at Robert College in Istanbul (Uehlenbrock 2004: 8; P. Burr 1951). Interviews with surviving family members (Uehlenbrock 2004: 58) give an impression of Anna from her daughters’ point of view: Working in the morning hours at home, Anna distanced herself from family matters in order to devote herself to writing, and the children understood that she was not to be disturbed. Her reviewers consistently noted her colorful descriptions of characters and engaging plots, aspects of Anna’s works that also impressed the children. Their mother’s successful literary career must have indelibly imprinted on the daughters the concept of a woman naturally managing a dual role, professional and domestic (Uehlenbrock 2004: 7).

However, as Uehlenbrock explains, Anna was not the only literary and academic influence on the young Dorothy. Charles wrote on constitutional affairs (for example, C. H. Burr 1912) and Fig. 1.  Anna Robeson Brown (Burr), on a promotional postcard for her novel Truth and a Woman was also a keen Classicist, while “uncle” Mor(Burr 1903b). Reproduced with the permission of ris Jastrow gave her a cuneiform tablet and an New York Public Library (image ID 1129828). ancient Egyptian amulet as presents (Uehlenbrock 2004: 5, 7). Both encouraged her in her academic ambitions and doubtless supported Anna’s writing career, too. Although Anna’s works were wildly popular at the time—she was regularly reviewed in the New York Times and her 1909 study of autobiography ran to seven editions—she has left few traces in the history of American literature. On the rare occasions that contemporary academic authors do engage with her work, it is more often to critique her scholarship (for example, Breashears 2003 on Autobiography [1909]) than to study her as an author (for example, Cohen 2006: 187–89 on The House on Charles Street [1921]). Now that we know a little more about the women who concocted and savored “The discovery of Professor von Saalbrandt,” it is possible to get a richer understanding of the story’s underlying themes and concerns.

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Academia and Athleticism Burr places the tension between scholarship and sport at the heart of her story: it is clear where her sympathies lie. As the story opens, von Saalbrandt has been brought to Wakefield to compensate for and distract from some “unfortunate football business” which has resulted in a dramatic decrease in student numbers. In the real world, Harrison’s creation of a strong sporting culture at Penn had faltered in 1901 when the hitherto highly successful football team started to lose spectacularly. A real crisis arose, with much student protest, and the head coach was forced to resign mid-season (Gutowski 2006). However, despite rivals’ long-standing grumblings about Penn’s inappropriately professional training regime (Thomas and Brownlee 2000: 83), to my knowledge they were never expelled from their league as the Wakefield football team are. Smyth’s hesitant advocacy of sport as “preparation for the wider field of the forensic arena” foreshadows a prominent public statement of similar sentiments at Penn the following year. In 1906, to mark the inauguration of a new engineering building, the prominent Philadelphia engineer and management consultant Frederick Winslow Taylor was awarded an honorary doctorate. His acceptance speech “used football as a model for the type of teamwork and training that was the framework for modern business,” arguing that sporting endeavour was among “the most useful elements in the college course” (Thomas and Brownlee 2000: 83). Smyth expresses the hope that the public’s interest in von Saalbrandt’s discoveries will be such that “we might even squeeze out of them a new Gymnasium.” At the end of the story Smyth quite literally salvages his failed plan by suggesting that von Saalbrandt’s bricks be redeployed for “the fire-place of the new Athletic Club.” At Penn, the Weightman Hall gymnasium had been completed in 1904 on the 33rd Street frontage of Franklin Field, just around the corner from the museum, while next door the J. William White Training House, including dormitories for the university’s semiprofessional athletes, was beginning construction in 1905 (Thomas and Brownlee 2000: 221). Just when Penn’s academic credibility was being debated, even in the New York Times, the university’s athletic ambitions were reasserting themselves just outside the Museum’s front door.

Race and Class The Jastrows and Burrs were comfortably off but—living in row houses on South 23rd Street, just on the other side of the river from the Museum—theirs was a very different world to the mansions and parks of the industrialist philanthropists whose philistine, money-grubbing fictional counterparts Burr so despises. This is perhaps not surprising: the “Old Philadelphia” disdain for “new money” is well documented (and not confined to Philadelphia). More shocking, on first reading, is the gross caricaturing of von Saalbrandt’s Germanness, from his sentimental romanticism to his ostentatious learning to his patterns of speech. One then becomes even more uncomfortable as one realises that Helen Jastrow is herself of German Jewish stock and that Philadelphia at that time had a significant American-German population. As Russell Kazal (2004: 19) shows, in 1900, Philadelphia had nearly 160,000 first- and secondgeneration German immigrants, some 15% of the city’s population. Over half were blue-collar skilled workers, typically cabinetmakers, bakers, brewers and maltsters (Kazal 2004: 23). “Old stock” German Pennsylvanians—the descendants of 18th- and early 19th-century immigrants— were careful to distinguish themselves from the newcomers through language, class, and social relations (Kazal 2004: 21, 120–28). But if Helen Bachman Jastrow was probably of relatively “old stock” German Jewish descent, then Hilprecht was certainly not a typical artisanal immigrant

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either. Rather, Smyth’s anxieties about von Saalbrandt are an expression of wider concerns about American academia’s dependence on German models and talent (Kuklick 1996: 196–97; Foster 2006: 48–51, 56–58). A decade earlier, the Assyriologist David Lyon had noted that: “Delitzsch founded a school [in Leipzig], and the great expansion of the subject in Germany and America is directly due to him. Nearly all the teachers of Assyrian in these two countries, and there are many, have been trained either by him or by his pupils (Lyon 1896: 132).” Hilprecht, too, was Leipzig trained. The fact that twenty years after his arrival in the United States Burr could convincingly portray his fictional analogue as a recent newcomer shows how little he had naturalized himself into local academic life, which by now had become much more Americanized. The Peters-Hilprecht affair only alienated him further. Just 2 of the 16 Orientalists who complained about Hilprecht to the American Oriental Society in 1906 (Lanman 1907) were German immigrants: Paul Haupt and Hans Oertel (Richard Gottheil was British). When a retaliatory festschrift was organized for Hilprecht shortly afterward, the only U.S.-based contributor was Hugo Radau, also German-born, who was currently his research assistant (Hilprecht 1909). 38 In any case, on second reading, it becomes apparent that Burr casts her gaze no less critically on archetypical Americans—among whom she archly includes her reader and herself. Where von Saalbrandt’s home-town comprises “a band, a beer-garden, and a biological laboratory,” the best that Wakefield has to offer is “the beer that made dyspepsia famous” and “our great pork-killing establishments.” Charlie Andrews sits riveted by the latest stock prices “in a very checked suit of clothes, chewing a large cigar.” She ironically gestures to “our wider scholarship and higher ideals of culture” and—after von Saalbrandt’s triumphal return— to “the success . . . on which our American ideal insists.” The “ugly emotions of envy and distrust” that this success arouses were, in real life, the questions of Hilprecht’s academic integrity voiced by Helen’s husband and his colleagues. As the “Committee of Academic Whitewash” is convened, Burr’s most vicious satire is reserved for Smyth, not von Saalbrandt. Smyth is “hurt to the core of his faith in human nature” by those who “placed the negative qualities of truth and accuracy before the positive benefits of expediency and worldly prudence,” whereas von Saalbrandt is merely Smyth’s pawn, parroting his prepared answers. As Smyth reminds us at the end, von Saalbrandt has done no more or less than what was asked of him: “We paid the money, he produced the goods. Some sense of business obligation there, you see!” Von Saalbrandt has played by the rules; and those rules are of the Americans’ making. If “native learned attractions” are to be preferred it is only because they are cheaper and lower-profile.

Women and Men No men come out of this story well: von Saalbrandt is a gullible fool; the Dean and his Trustees value research only in relation to money and student numbers, and solely when sporting prowess fails; all are easily distracted into “a deep and agitated silence” by titillating revelations of the sexlives of ancient goddesses. But Burr is equally damning of her only female character. Sentimental, desperate Lucinda flings herself at von Saalbrandt to help bolster her own academic pretensions to “scamper in the suburbs of philosophy.” She stands in stark contrast to Anna, and to Helen, with their serious writerly activity, independent of their husbands’ work. Academic careers were not yet easily achievable for women of Anna and Helen’s generation. Although the women-only 38.  The American historian of mathematics David Eugene Smith was a “Member of the Committee of Publication” but his actual involvement with the book was minimal at most (Robson 2002).

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Bryn Mawr College had been founded twenty years earlier, ten miles west of Philadelphia, and offered both undergraduate degrees and Ph.D. programs, at Penn women were admitted only to take “certificates” in a limited range of subjects (Thomas and Brownlee 2000: 105). As we have seen, Helen did her utmost to encourage both her daughters into academic life. Why then did she not celebrate the involvement of the two women who did play a material and honorable role in the Nippur Expedition and the Hilprecht affair? 39 It is unlikely that either Anna or Helen knew Cassandria Artella Haynes personally. She had accompanied her husband John on the Fourth Expedition to Nippur in 1898–1900, making substantial domestic and administrative contributions as well as adding to the unhappy, febrile atmosphere among the team (Hilprecht 1908: 128–29; Kuklick 1996: 83–89). By 1905, Haynes was seriously ill and unable to attend the Enquiry; Cassandria, although no longer living with him, attended in his stead to give evidence on the find circumstances of the so-called library (Hilprecht 1908: 124–42). At the beginning and end of her testimony, she stated that she had “no charges to make against Dr Hilprecht” (Hilprecht 1908: 124), yet her responses to the questions put to her were unequivocal. She was certain that “after [Hilprecht’s] arrival [at Nippur on 1 March 1900] there were very, very few tablets found—just an occasional one; just one here and there” and that all but about fifteen had already been “boxed and marked and labeled . . . all ready for shipment” (Hilprecht 1908: 130, 128). By contrast, Helen—and thus, presumably, Anna—knew the other female protagonist well. Sara Yorke Stevenson (1847–1921) was an anthropologist and Egyptologist, a central figure in the creation of the University Museum, and a long-standing enemy of Hilprecht’s (Conn 1998: 93–105; Lesko 2004; Kuklick 1996: 80). She and Morris Jastrow had just produced an updated English translation of a popular German history of the ancient Near East ( Justi et al. 1905)—a rival, perhaps, to Hilprecht’s now infamous Excavations in Bible Lands. At the start of the Peters-Hilprecht controversy, she was President of the Museum’s Board of Managers and “wanted both to vindicate [the Museum’s] authority and to put Hilprecht in his place” (Kuklick 1996: 129). Her efforts resolve the dispute while avoiding public scandal were ingenious and exhaustive but ultimately ineffective. Stevenson finally resolved to remove Hilprecht from his curatorship. She was overruled by Hilprecht’s cronies amongst the University Trustees and resigned in protest as the Committee of Enquiry began (Kuklick 1996: 130). Her moral stance on the Hilprecht affair thus cost her her high-status academic career (Lesko 2004). So why did Burr not fictionalize either of these two admirable women? Perhaps because they would not have served her purpose. The story is a comedy of hubris and venality: it has no room for sympathetic characters. Von Saalbrandt’s detractors are referred to in passing merely as “envious underlings” and “his companion” on the expedition. There was no need to fictionalize Peters, Stevenson, or Haynes because Anna’s—and Helen’s—feelings about them were positive and manageable. Burr’s aim was to vent her rage about Harrison, Jones, and Hilprecht—to belittle them and satirize them in order to come to terms with what had happened.

39.  It is unlikely that either woman would have known much about the mega-wealthy New York philanthropist Catherine Lorillard Wolfe (1828–87), who in 1884 sponsored the first American archaeological mission to the Middle East—the direct precursor of the Nippur Expedition. An unassuming woman, she was “nearly forgotten” after her death, which occurred as Peters was putting the first Nippur Expedition together (Zalesch 2000; Kuklick 1996: 25–26).

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Conclusion I do not claim Burr’s short story as a lost masterpiece, any more than her published works are unjustly neglected literary treasures. But it is a fascinating insight into the emotions engaged by the Peters-Hilprecht Controversy and the wider university politics at play by an astute peripheral observer. Many of the themes it touches on—student retention, the tensions between management and faculty, recruitment of academic stars to boost research ratings, the lures and pitfalls of highprofile externally funded projects, publication ethics, etc.—are still live issues in academia today. Just as interestingly, however, it allows us a glimpse of women’s involvement in Assyriology in the generation before they became professional participants (Foster 2006: 60–69). For centuries, intelligent educated women had been active participants in scientific endeavors but rarely acknowledged as legitimate historical actors (Fara 2004). Cassandria Haynes, serving as the dig director’s assistant at Nippur in the first year of her marriage, has at least been written into the history of that sorry episode. But Helen Jastrow’s considerable editorial endeavors on her husband’s behalf— which he acknowledged without fail in his publications—have gone so unnoticed by posterity that her existence is not even mentioned in Morris’s ANB biography (Wechsler 2000). It is no wonder that she and Anna Burr railed so wittily and so angrily against self-important men and the silly women who encourage them.

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Kazal, R. A. 2004 Becoming Old Stock: The Paradox of German-American Identity. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Kuklick, B. 1996 Puritans in Babylon: The Ancient Near East and American Intellectual Life, 1880–1930. Princeton: Princeton University Press. 2000 ‘My Life’s Shattered Work!’ The Strange Ordeal of Hermann Hilprecht. Archaeology Odyssey 3/3: 26–39. Lanman, C. R. 1907 The Hilprecht Case. American Journal of Semitic Languages and Literatures 24: 92–94. Lesko, B. S. 2004 Sara Yorke Stevenson 1847–1922. In Breaking Ground: Women in Old World Archaeology, ed. Margaret Sharp Joukowsky and Barbara S. Lesko. Online at http://www.brown.edu/Research/ Breaking_Ground/ (accessed 29.xii.2008). Lyon, D. G. 1896 A Half Century of Assyriology. The Biblical World 8: 124–42. Moore, G. F. 1899a Ashtoreth. Pp. 336–39 in vol. 1 of Encyclopaedia Biblica: A Critical Dictionary of the Literary, Political and Religious History, the Archaeology, Geography, and Natural History of the Bible, ed. T. K. Cheyne and J. Sutherland Black. London: Adam and Charles Black. 1899b Dagon. Pp. 983–85 in vol. 1 of Encyclopaedia Biblica: A Critical Dictionary of the Literary, Political and Religious History, the Archaeology, Geography, and Natural History of the Bible, ed. T. K. Cheyne and J. Sutherland Black. London: Adam and Charles Black. Paul, E. 1994 Die «Tiara des Saitaphernes»: Hintergründe eines Kunstfälschungs-Skandals. Antike Welt 25: 266–72. Ramusack, B. N. 2004 The Indian Princes and their States. Vol. 3/6 of The New Cambridge History of India. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rawlinson, G. 1875 The Seven Great Monarchies of the Ancient Eastern World or, the History, Geography and Antiquities of Chaldaea, Assyria, Babylon, Media, Persia, Parthia, and Sassanian, or New Persian Empire. Chicago: Belford, Clarke. Ritterband, P., and Wechsler, H. S. 1981 A Message to Lushtamar: The Hilprecht Controversy and Semitic Scholarship in America. History of Higher Education Annual 1: 5–41. Robson, E. 2002 Guaranteed Genuine Originals: The Plimpton Collection and the Early History of Mathematical Assyriology. Pp. 245–92 in Mining the Archives: Festschrift for C. B. F. Walker, ed. Cornelia Wunsch. Dresden: ISLET. Rowe, L. S. 1908 Problems of City Government. New York: D. Appleton and Company. Online at http://www.archive. org/details/problemsofcitygo00roweiala (accessed 28.xii.2008). Schneiderman, H. 1940 The American Jewish Year Book 5701: October 3 1940 to September 21 1941. Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America. Silbermann, H. C. 2006 The Many Aspects of Chlorodyne, Part 1: The Years 1846–1880. Pharmaceutical Historian 36/2: 27–31. Thomas, G. E., and Brownlee, D. B. 2000 Building America’s First University: An Historical and Architectural Guide to the University of Pennsylvania. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.

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Uehlenbrock, J. 2004 Dorothy Burr Thompson 1900–2001. Breaking Ground: Women in Old World Archaeology, ed. Margaret Sharp Joukowsky and Barbara S. Lesko. Online at http://www.brown.edu/Research/Breaking_Ground/ (accessed 28.xii.2008). Wechsler, H. S. 2000 Jastrow, Morris. In American National Biography Online, http://www.anb.org/articles/20/20–00511. html (accessed 29.xii.2008). Zalesch, S. E. 2000 Wolfe, Catharine Lorillard. In American National Biography Online, http://www.anb.org/articles/​ 17/17–00942.html (accessed 29.xii.2008). Zettler, R. L. 1992 Excavations at Nippur, the University of Pennsylvania, and the University’s Museum. Pp. 325–36 in Nippur at the Centennial: Papers Read at the 35 e Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Philadelphia, 1988, ed. Maria DeJong Ellis. Occasional Publications of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund, 14. Philadelphia: The University Museum.

Lost: The Missing Lexical Lists of the Archaic Period Jennifer C. Ross Hood College

The lexical genre emerges, seemingly fully-grown (like Athena from the head of Zeus), in the Late Uruk and Jemdet Nasr periods (ca. 3300–2900 b.c.e.), the first phase of written documentation in Mesopotamia. Lexical texts of the Uruk IV paleographic stage comprise mainly vocabulary and word lists, but also a few apparent mathematical tablets and exercise texts (Englund and Nissen 1993). 1 The number of lexical texts multiplied in the next phase, Uruk III, and the individual lists (Animals, Metals, Vessels, etc.—to call them by their conventional names) then survived nearly intact into the Early Dynastic (ED) period, despite a significant gap in time and a movement to new geographical centers of literacy and scribal education. The next significant phase of lexical development, the Old Babylonian (OB) period, represented a time of radical change: the previous thematic lists were updated and reorganized, presumably to fit new needs and strategies of scribal practice, and new types of lexical documents were introduced. My goal here is to explore several vocabulary lists that do not appear among the Archaic (Late Uruk and Jemdet Nasr) lexical lists but seem to be introduced only with the ED and OB corpora, specifically, lists of stones, reeds, leather goods, and gods. I hope to show that these were not so much “absent” earlier, as they were “hidden”; quite possibly, these list segments were close to becoming full-blown texts, but were still being developed when literacy declined in Mesopotamia around 2900 b.c.e. Author’s note:  This article had its genesis in a graduate course on lexical texts, taught at Berkeley by Anne Kilmer, which provided my first exposure to Ur5-ra=ḫubullu (henceforth, by custom, Hh). Coursework in Sumerian and my dissertation research, under the direction of Wolfgang Heimpel, introduced me to the complexities of the Archaic texts from Uruk and contemporary sites. My other training, in archaeology, has taught me to appreciate and be attentive to “missing evidence”—its potential, and its pitfalls. I hope both the honoree and the editors will recognize their contributions to this article (but forgive its faults!), and the spirit of serious playfulness in which it is offered. 1.  The Archaic texts from Uruk and contemporary sites are published in the series Archaische Texte aus Uruk (ATU) (1936- ) and Materialien zu den frühen Schriftzeugnissen des Vorderen Orients (MSVO) (1991- ). The Cuneiform Digital Libraries Initiative (CDLI) at UCLA provides photographs, line drawings, and transliterations of the majority of the Uruk texts (as well as other significant corpora of cuneiform tablets), at http:// cdli.ucla.edu. The Digital Corpus of Cuneiform Lexical Texts (DCCLT) (http://oracc.museum.penn.edu/dcclt) offers transliterations and some translations of lexical lists of various periods, both composite texts and individual tablets. These two online resources, as well as the ePSD (http://psd.museum.upenn.edu/epsd/), have been enormously helpful in my research.

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Stones That stones were included in the earliest lexical lists from Uruk is actually quite clear: three lines at the end of the Archaic Metals List (preserved in a single witness, W 22104,0; ATU 3, pl. 73) contain the sign NUNUZa1, a forerunner of the NA4 sign, the latter most often used as a determinative for stones and stone objects in later periods. 2 By the ED period, NUNUZ and NA 4 were distinct signs, the former written HI×DIŠ over HIxDIŠ, the latter NI.UD; the two signs are found in sequential entries in OIP 99, 33 obv. iv 3’-4’ (Biggs 1974: pl. 15). In Archaic texts, NUNUZ took the form of a pair of round objects connected by a short line. In other Archaic lexical lists (specifically, Tribute, also called Word List C), as well as a number of contemporary administrative texts, NUNUZ meant “egg”; it appears alongside the names of various types of birds. But at the end of the Metals List, NUNUZ instead either signifies (egg-shaped or ovoid) stone beads on a string, or is to be read /za/, a component of many later stone names. NA 4 is unknown as a distinct sign in the Archaic texts; it is first used in the ED version of Lú B (SF 70), in the entry lú na 4 lagab (rev. iii 3), a “man of the stone block,” or “stone-breaker.” The specific stone entries at the end of the Archaic Metals List are as follows (Englund and Nissen 1993: 141): A1 A2 A3

X NUNUZ ŠE+SAR NUNUZ KUR NUNUZ

These lines are difficult but not impossible to interpret. Not enough of the first (A1) remains to recognize the sign designated “X”; it seems to be a large sign, perhaps a compound. ŠE+SAR, in A2, may be a color; SAR, in later periods, can be read “nisig,” equated with Akkadian arqu (green), and appears in plant and tree names as early as the Archaic period. Given the following entry, it would be convenient to read ŠE+SAR as a writing for /gul/, interpreting the entry as za‑gul x (carnelian), but this assertion is difficult to make, given the sign-form. A3, however, is clear: the KUR sign writes gin 3; from ED IIIA onward, the sign combination za-gin 3 means both “blue” and “lapis lazuli” (Englund 1998: 98). To find stone objects at the end of a list of metal items is not surprising. The Archaic lists belong to the earliest stages in lexical composition, and many contain items of more than one raw material. Most telling is the inclusion of cheeses and textiles in the Vessels List, but other instances occur. Interestingly, the stone entries at the end of the Archaic Metals List are not preserved in the ED Metals List, from the next stage of lexical development, despite the fact that the ED lists sometimes seem slavish copies of those from Uruk. The final lines of the ED list (ll. 125–28; OIP 99: nos. 13, 14, and 16) diverge from the previous lines, but return to metal tools, instead of moving to a new topic entirely. No known Archaic tablet or tablet fragment whose entries all begin 1N1 (the typical mark of a lexical list) has more than one line with NUNUZ a1, so no direct contemporary parallels with the three lines from the Metals List exist. But substituting the A sign for NUNUZ a1, a substitution that appears to take place in a number of the Archaic texts (both have a phonetic reading of /za/; see Green and Nissen 1987: 261), yields at least one possible candidate: the lexical list Unidentified 44 (ATU 3: pl. 91, W 20266,81), in which most the entries end with the A sign. These include 2. Sign-names here follow the designations in Green and Nissen 1987; see reviews and improved readings in Edzard 1993; Steinkeller 1995.

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[ ] AMA A, AN MÙŠ AMA A, MA UD 5 A, ALIM A, NAR DÚR ŠÈ A, RAD A, and HAL ZATU751 A. There is no uniform meaning to these lines; some relate to animals, one contains the name of the goddess Inanna (AN MÙŠ), while others are more easily interpreted if A is taken to mean “water,” its most common meaning. Thus there appear to be no other candidates in the Archaic period for lexical stone lists, and no clear or consistent references to stones in administrative texts. This situation seems to continue into the Early Dynastic period. As noted above, the lines at the end of the Archaic Metals List were reinterpreted or substituted for in ED as additional metal tool types. In this phase, NUNUZ continued to be used to write the word nunuz “egg.” Not until the Old Babylonian period does it appear with the NA 4 determinative, meaning “egg-shaped stone bead” (Akkadian erimmatu); this occurs in the OB version of Ur5-ra from Nippur (Ur5-ra 4, Seg. 1, 139; MSL 10, 59), and in Inanna’s Descent to the Netherworld, in which the goddess removes, and later retrieves, her necklace of NUNUZ stones. The use of NA 4 as a determinative for stone objects begins in ED III administrative texts; these texts also provide the earliest evidence for use of NA 4 as a designation of weight stones. Only in Ur III is there clear evidence for NA 4 as a determinative for types of stone; this occurs especially in literary texts. The NA sign also appears in ED texts with a meaning of “(stone) stele,” particularly in royal inscriptions, such as the Eannatum stele (Frayne 2008: 125–40). So no “stone list” appears among the ED lexical texts, and stones remained limited in their occurrence in ED administrative records. With the reorganization of the thematic lists in the Old Babylonian period (Veldhuis 1997: 18; Cavigneaux 1980–83), types of stone were incorporated to a much greater degree, appearing in a lengthy list in Nippur Ur5-ra tablet 4, Segment 1 (lines 1–206); on this tablet, stones are followed by plants, fish, birds, and textiles. Tablet 4 of Nippur Ur5-ra provides the earliest evidence for NA 4 as a determinative in lexical literature (though, as noted above, it occurs earlier in Ur III texts), used for types of stone and for stone objects. The first preserved line of this section of Ur5-ra is na 4 ka-gi-na, hematite. The two-hundred-plus lines of stones are organized into sections by variety of stone (hematite, diorite, alabaster, etc., but also faience, na 4 duḫ-ši-a, suggesting that manufactured materials with stone-like properties were considered “stones”). In each section, an entry with the type of stone alone is followed by additional lines listing objects made of this stone. Although there is a great deal of repetition of objects from one type of stone to another, there is also meaningful variation. For instance, while hematite, alabaster, a 2 -šuba, and other stones could be fashioned, according to the text, into seals and blocks, other stones, like lapis lazuli and carnelian, show much more variety in form. This suggests that the scribes who shaped the content of the list were aware of different properties and usages of the various stones. The list also includes stones grouped by color and by weight, as well as a number of non-stone materials (faience, as noted above, and various shells). The list continues in the same form and even the same order of entries, with additional types of objects, into the 1st millennium, where an entire tablet of canonical Hh, Ur5-ra 16, is devoted to stones. Stones are incorporated into other lists and literature of the second and first millennia. In each phase in the development of Hh, the stone list became longer; in the Old Babylonian and Middle Babylonian phases, different sites seem to have had slightly different versions of the list (MSL 10, 51–64 and 37–50). The Sumerian myth Lugale (van Dijk 1983; also MSL 10, 74–75), which celebrated the victory of Ninurta over the demon Asag, lists 49 stones among the children of Asag. These children divided their loyalties between Ninurta and their father, and were accordingly blessed or cursed by the hero. Lists of stones also existed in a variety of medical reference works of the 1st millennium, as amulets or stone types capable of magical protection (see BAM,

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passim). Abnu šikinšu, a 1st-millennium text preserved in Babylonia and Sultantepe, provides a list of stones, describes them, and gives an alternative (Akkadian) name, or a particular use (Reiner 1995: 119–32). 3 This list, together with a section of stones from the “pharmaceutical series” Uruanna (Kinnier Wilson 2005; also MSL 10, 69–73), derived from the corpus of scholarly treatises that would be part of the library of a 1st-millennium ruler, temple, or medical/magical expert. The manipulation of stones in medical and magical procedures was a specialty that went back to the OB period, if not earlier. Healers needed to understand and manipulate the properties of a variety of stones to protect and cure a patient. 4 Finally, a stone-list of the Neo-Babylonian period, postdating the others described here, includes “stones” (with na 4 determinative) such as ivory (zu 2 ), silver, gold, and copper, as well as more typical entries on lapis lazuli, etc. (MSL 10, 65–68). This indicates that the compilation of such lists went on into the mid-1st millennium, but without the same sort of reasoning applied to the earlier lexical lists. Given the prevalence of manufactured goods among the Archaic lexical lists, one might expect a list of stones and/or stone objects to have been compiled by the early scribes. This is particularly so, given the antiquity of stone technologies, the earliest archaeologically-attested technologies in the world. During the Uruk period, stones had a wide range of uses. At Uruk itself, stone was used for architecture, sculpture, tools of many types, personal ornament such as beads and pendants, vessels, seals, tokens, and even tablets (Becker 1993; Limper 1988; Pedde, Heinz, and Müller-Neuhof 2000; Eichmann 2007). Both local stones (limestone and gypsum) and imported ones (obsidian, carnelian, lapis lazuli, and rock crystal) were known, and stone workers had already developed a sophisticated understanding of the working properties (hardness, durability, texture) of the different stone types. Based on finds of cores, tools, and flaking debris, it can safely be asserted that stone tool production took place at Uruk, even within the Eanna complex itself (Eichmann 1986). The further development of a number of stone lists attested from the Old Babylonian period onward also suggests that we should expect the earliest lexical lists to include some stone. Stone was clearly central to the Mesopotamian mindset, and necessary to everyday life. At the same time, it is this very centrality that might argue against the existence of an Archaic stone list. The Archaic lexical lists included compilations of finished or manufactured goods, such as the Metals and Vessels Lists (the latter including, as noted above, processed animal products— textiles and cheeses), as well as other categories of realia of concern to daily life, such as birds, domesticated animals, and fish. But the overall focus of these lists was already on those items that would be of greatest concern to administrators (that is, scribes): the raw materials, products, and animals that passed through the city’s public spaces, and would end up in the possession of its workers (those very people, perhaps, listed in the Archaic Lú and Officials Lists). Stone, on the other hand, was a common-enough item and not purely under the control of the administration, except in the case of the rarest of materials, such as lapis lazuli. Significantly, it is lapis that is most clearly present in the lines at the end of the Metals List. At Uruk, then, we may have a situation very similar to Ebla, where, despite the richness of the administrative textual material, some types of goods, such as clay vessels, are simply not attested (Archi 1993). Uruk’s scribes, who must have encountered stone objects on a daily basis, may have seen it as too common a material to be of 3.  See Schuster-Brandis 2008 for a new edition of abnu šikinšu and a thorough discussion of the use of stones in magical and medical practice in Mesopotamia. 4.  See Farber 1989, Scurlock 2006, and Maul 1994 for examples of such prescriptions.

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much concern to them. When stone objects began to have more specialized and more administratively desirable (and noticeable) uses, however, the OB scribes quickly adapted the format of other sections of OB Ur5-ra, and added stone.

Reeds Most of the other “missing” lexical texts of the Archaic period can be dealt with at less length. Reeds and rushes (GI) and objects made from them comprise over two hundred lines at the beginning of OB Nippur Ur5-ra 2 (MSL 7, 177–96), following wood and wooden objects in tablet 1, and followed on tablet 2 by vessels. Like stones, then, it is clear that the OB scribes found plenty of potential use for a list of reeds. Archaic period scribes frequently used the sign GI in their accounts. Most often, this sign appears to have been an administrative term meaning “delivery” in tandem with barley or some commodity, and frequently juxtaposed with another verb of administration, BA (“distribution”) (Englund 1998: 70). At least one Archaic administrative text included GI in an account of commodities. IM 74345 (CDLI P004430) records the disbursement of commodities to a number of individuals and/or officials; among the items given to each (including U 4 DARA 4 , NE, GÙN, ÙR, and ŠUBUR) are GI 6 GI, ostensibly “black (or dark) reeds.” This designation does not appear in other Archaic texts, nor is it found in OB Nippur Ur5-ra. Among the Archaic lexical texts, the scribes did not create a list for reeds, but reeds appear in several related lists. Archaic Wood includes three lines that probably are reeds: 24 25 26

GIŠ GI BU a BU a ZATU 633a GIŠ GI BU a MES a GIŠ GI

Here, line 24 is probably the equivalent of later giš gi-gid 2 , a type of reed or tree. The other lines are not so certain, though they seem to be variants on 24; line 26 is probably a kind of mēsu tree. This inclusion of GI in a list of wood reoccurs in OB Nippur Ur5-ra tablet 1, where GI is part of a number of tree names, and where the word for reed stylus, giš gi-dub, is included. The Archaic Tribute List is clearer: lines 64–66 provide the series GI, GI ZI, and GI ZI ÉŠ. By ED, this had changed slightly (lines 66–68), to gi, ZI&ZI.LAGAB, and ZI&ZI.ÉŠ, the latter two terms also indicating types of reeds or rushes. Other lines in Tribute listing reeds include the following: 72 77 79 81

GI AL? X (not in the ED version) GI (same in ED) ZI GI (ZI&ZI.LAGAB in ED) ZI GI [  ] (ZI&ZI.ÉŠ in ED)

The unusual character of Tribute remains unexplained (unlike other lexical texts, many of its entries begin with numbers other than 1, and groups of lines are repeated; see Veldhuis 2006), but these lines were certainly understood as reed types or objects. As a non-standard lexical text, we cannot assert that Tribute provides a true “reed list”; rather, it appears to parody or extract a typical set of administrative terms. Several other Archaic tablets might have contained parts of a “Reed List.” Unidentified 48 (ATU 3: pl. 93, W 20859,1), a tablet fragment with parts of two columns preserved, includes the

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entry GI [  ] in column I, and the series GI×ÉŠ ? [  ], GI [ ], and GI X [  ] in column II. Since GI×ÉŠ is not found in Archaic Wood or Tribute, this may be a distinct list from those two. There are other tablet fragments from Uruk and elsewhere that may derive from lexical lists (in which all entries begin with the N1 sign) but none is devoted solely to GI-related items. These include W  9123,u2 (ATU 5: pl. 37), W 14370 (ATU 6: pl. 46), W 14731,y (ATU 6: pl. 51), and KU 42 (MSVO 4,42). The OB list of reeds in the Nippur version of Ur5-ra begins, not with GI by itself, but with gi gašam(NUN.ME.TAG), also meaning “reed.” By line 6, with gi-izi-lá (“torch”), the list turns from general terms for reeds to objects. The following 200-plus lines mainly list containers (baskets and boxes) made from reeds, although additional lines on parts, qualities, and types of reeds are intermingled. OB Nippur Ur5-ra 2 then turns to (clay) vessels, a not-unrelated category of containers. Also of significance to this paper are terms for reed-workers, and the chronology of their usage. The term lú-gi-zé, for “reed cutter,” is found only in the dispute poem, “Winter and Summer,” and is thus not a standard professional title. More common is ad-KID, “weaver,” but also “basket- and mat-maker.” This title is found in lexical texts as early as the Fara period, in ED Lú B and the ED Officials List. It has not been discovered, however, in Archaic texts, either in the lexical corpus (in Lú A or Officials) or the administrative texts. With reeds, then, the situation is somewhat similar to stones. Reeds are incorporated, to a very limited degree, in the earliest lexical vocabulary lists (here in “Wood,” though also in other contexts), and rarely in the administrative texts, implying that they were items of which the Uruk scribes were aware, but not overly concerned. Some reed use is attested in the Late Uruk levels at Uruk, largely comprising the impressions of woven reed mats and reed bundles (van Ess and Pedde 1992: 253–56). By the OB period, the scribes needed to compile a distinct list of reeds, perhaps to reflect increased official uses of baskets and other types of containers. While basketmaking is typically a cottage industry, cross-culturally (Wendrich 1999), it may be that the increased use of reeds in a variety of jobs (not just basketry, but also architecture, boat-making, and carpentry), led to the incorporation of reed-workers into the administrative make-up of cities. In the OB Isin craft archive, reed workers constituted the largest group or team of workers, and received deliveries of significant numbers of reed bundles (van de Mieroop 1987). Similarly, Uruk’s Archaic period administrators may have commissioned and/or purchased objects made of reeds from private workers, or employed reed workers on an ad hoc basis.

Leather Like stones and reeds, leather goods may have been incorporated as a small portion of a longer lexical list in the Archaic period, and eventually came to comprise a lengthy list within OB Ur5-ra (Nippur Tablet 2, ll. 339–475; MSL 7: 209–28; Watanabe 1987) and canonical Hh (the beginning of tablet XI [MSL 7: 121–38]). In dealing with leather or hide, the first philological problem is to determine the meaning of the Archaic sign SU, which in later periods could be read kuš, “leather” (Akkadian mašku), or su, “meat, flesh” (Akkadian šīru, more often written with the sign UZU). The use of the SU sign in the earliest texts, and the subsequent development of those texts into OB and canonical Ur5-ra, is similarly indeterminate. In the Archaic period, SU was included in the Grain List (also called “Food” or “Word List D”), as well as in Fish, Wood, Vessels, Cities, Geography, and several unidentified lexical texts. A

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group of (probably) seven lines appears on just one (ATU 3: pl. 75, W 21916,1) of the eight tablets that preserve parts of the Grain List, a text that otherwise, as the name suggests, registers various grains and processed grain products. They are the following: D1 D2 D3 D4 D5 D6 D7

[. . .] AB 2 ? SU 1N57 AB 2 ? SU 1N57 UDU SU 1N57 GUKKAL SU ŠAH 2 ×1N57 SU 1N57 ANŠE SU 1N57 X

These lines are followed by several compounds built on the SILA3 sign, probably a vessel containing foodstuffs. Leather appears to be out of place in this list of foods, and in fact, by ED, these lines had been interpreted as dried or salted cuts of meat, su-la 2 , Akkadian muddulu (Civil 1982, 1984). In both, SU 1N57 or su-la 2 is followed by the name of an animal. In the Archaic period, these are the main domesticated animals: cattle, sheep, fat-tailed sheep, pig, and donkey. In ED, this basic list was expanded to 23 lines, including both domesticated and wild animals and sometimes specifying males or females. But by OB, the lines had again been reinterpreted, in Nippur Ur5-ra 2, as leather, this time starting with the SU sign read as kuš, by itself. The order of the first entries in OB Ur5-ra follows that in the Archaic list: cattle (here gu 4 rather than ab 2 , ox rather than cow), sheep, and fat-tailed sheep; billy-goats and nanny-goats follow. This text includes over 40 types of animals and their hides, then turns to manufactured leather goods for another nearly 100 lines. The same structure holds in canonical Hh XI. In contrast, in both OB (Nippur Tablet 6) and canonical Hh (tablet XV) food lists, “meat” is indicated by the sign UZU, and accompanied by terms for body parts (head, ribs, etc.) rather than by the type of animal from which the meat derives. It seems, then, that whether the Archaic list intended meat or leather with the SU sign, by the OB period, the scribes had reinterpreted the nature of the sign combination SU+animal to indicate the hide of a specific animal. The other occurrences of SU in the Archaic lexical texts are less revealing of the nature of the Archaic SU sign, and do not appear to be lists of hides or leather goods. Possible exceptions are in the Vessels List, where among the containers at the beginning is a group that includes the SU sign: 15 16 17

SU NI 4N57 (variants: 2, 3, 5 and 7) SU NI É SU NI

The Vessels List also begins with the NI sign, which in the Archaic period stood for oil or dairy fat (later read ì), and for the small container that held it (Englund 1991, 1995). Lines 15–17, then, describe a variety of oil vessels, perhaps made of, or augmented with, leather or hide (perhaps with a leather cover or carrying strap). The numbers in line 16 probably denote capacity or size, while the É in 17 may be a variant shape, or a larger capacity. Later in the text, in the “textiles” section, line 109 registers SU TÚG; this is most likely an early writing for the garment type aktum 1/2,

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later written A.SU or SU.A. Whether an aktum garment originally had a leather component, as suggested by its writing, is unknown, though “skin-clad” (kuš-lá) priests are included among those established by Ningirsu in Gudea Cylinder B (vi 19; Edzard 1997: 92). Other entries with SU among the Archaic lexical lists are less helpful. SU KU 6 , in Fish, line A2 (ATU 3: pl. 33, W 20266,49), could refer to a kind of fish, its skin, or its meat. List Unidentified 50 (ATU 3: pl. 94, W 20921) includes a line that mentions a “lion skin” (perhaps): 3N57 SU É PIRIG. The SU sign appears in over 100 administrative texts of the Archaic period, from Uruk as well as Jemdet Nasr. In many texts, it is found with animal names, including SILA 4 , KU 6 , UDUNITA, PIRIG, and MUŠEN; it must be admitted, however, that it also appears with signs that do not designate animals or objects. In several texts, SU is a subcategory of GU 7, a ration or distribution, in which case it probably indicates “meat.” This seems especially the case when the line also includes the sign GIBIL, perhaps meaning “cooked.” Other common cooccurrences, including SU PAP, SU EN, and SU NAR, may be professional titles. Leather, though seldom preserved archaeologically, would have been an important product of Mesopotamian workshops; texts of the Ur III and Old Babylonian period attest to the integration of leatherworkers (ašgab) into workshops run by state authorities, though at times the degree of integration is in question (Sigrist 1981; van de Mieroop 1987). Leather was a major component of items such as containers, footwear, and some clothing and was used in the creation of a variety of furniture types, vehicles, weapons, and covers (Sigrist 1981: 176–90; van de Mieroop 1987: 37–42). The leatherworker is also attested in ED administrative and lexical texts; it is likely that leatherworkers would also have been known to the scribes at Uruk and that their products were familiar to and needed by the administration. As with reeds, leather and hides seem to have been incorporated, to a limited degree, into the Uruk lexical corpus; scribes of later periods adapted the short list already available to them to suit their new and more complex administrative requirements.

Gods A final list that appears in the ED period, but is as yet undetected at Uruk and contemporary sites, is a god-list, recognizable through the repeated use of the AN, or dingir, sign. AN is attested frequently in the Archaic texts, particularly the administrative texts of Uruk, where the sign combination AN MÙŠ refers to the goddess Inanna, her property and her cult (Szarzyńska 1993). This is to be expected, given the findspot of the majority of Uruk’s Archaic tablets in the Eanna complex, dedicated to the goddess. The absence of a god-list among the texts from the Archaic period is surprising given their common occurrence in later periods, beginning in ED. Lists of gods are attested from Fara and Abu Salabikh, each several hundred lines long (Krebernik 1986; Mander 1986; Alberti 1985). From the Old Babylonian period, at least four different god-lists survive, suggesting a divergence of traditions as political organization became more complex and as Mesopotamian power expanded into new geographical areas, each with its own religious traditions (Litke 1998: 2). The OB Nippur god-list begins with An and Antum, and extends 269 lines (SLT 122–24; MSL 9: 51); a different list from the same period, AO 5376 (TCL 15, 10), begins with Enki and has over 450 entries. By Middle Babylonian and the 1st millennium, these divergent lists were reunited, and a major canonical list, AN = dA-nu-um, comprised seven columns and over 2,000 entries (Litke 1998). These lists of divinities must have functioned in ways that went beyond the requirements of cult.

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While it is quite clear that scribes of the Early Dynastic period possessed lists of gods and that the Archaic scribes of Uruk regularly wrote the name of at least one god using the AN sign, no God-List has been identified among the Archaic lexical texts. The AN sign appears in a number of the lexical lists, including Officials, Swine, Wood, Tribute, Plants, Metals, Cities, and Geography. The occurrence of AN in these lists is dependent on, and explicable by, several factors. In some situations, it probably has the general meaning “god” (dingir); this is the best explanation for its presence in several lines of the Officials List, where the title or office in question is connected to religious service or to the temple institution. It is also probably the case for the following entries in Tribute: 2 85

ABRIG U 4 AN AD AN DI

In both cases, the entries include signs for functionaries (ABRIG and DI, the latter perhaps connected to NÁM.DI, found in Archaic Lú A), probably connected to temples; line 2 may even include the name of the god Utu (U 4 AN). In other lists, AN seems to mean “high” (from its basic definition, “sky”), or something closer to “bright” or “shining.” This could explain the AN sign in entries relating to wood and plants, although a sense of these items being dedicated to or intended for a god is not out of the question. In the Metals List, lines with the AN sign alternate with lines in which it was omitted; this is probably a precursor to the later use of AN in words denoting metal types (an-bar, an-na, an-ta-sur-ra). In the context of the Metals List, the entries with AN most likely denote objects made from a metal (copper) alloy (Ross 2010; Englund and Nissen 1993: 34). Two entries in Tribute, both listing 4 AN GÍR (lines 16 and 44), are also of this type. Closest in appearance and function to a true god-list are several geography-related lists, which include the names of gods in place names. As many of the early towns in Sumer grew up around a temple or earlier shrine, it is no surprise that a god’s name should be incorporated into the name or writing of the city or town itself; examples include Nina (written AB×KU 6 , also the writing for Nanše) and Nippur (EN.KID, also writing the name of Enlil) (Englund 1998: 92). A number of entries in the Cities List (at least 7 of its preserved 76 lines) include the AN sign; a number of other entries contain divine names without the determinative. Other lexical texts of the Archaic period, particularly those classified as “Unidentified,” also include entries with the AN sign, perhaps divine names, but without the AN sign throughout the text. These include Unidentified 7 (ATU 3: pl. 85, W 15773,q), 44 (ATU 3: pl. 91, W 20266,81), 44× (ATU 3: pl. 91, W 20266,176), 46× (ATU 3: pl. 93, W 20713,1), 73 (ATU 3: pl. 98, W 21924,1), and 78× (ATU 3: pl. 99, W 24013,5). Unidentified 44 includes the name of Inanna in the line AN MÙŠ AMA A; 46×, similarly, lists AN MÙŠ ZATU651+AN UNUG and AN MÙŠ KÁR GI 6 UNUG, both lines having to do with Inanna’s temple or its administration in Uruk. 78× is another possible geographic list, with the following lines: AN TE PAP AN U 4 KI AN PAP [ ]

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These various attestations of gods or their cities within the lexical lists at Uruk may indicate that the Archaic scribes were on the brink of developing a god-list, one that may have had as its origin lists of geographic terms. The linkage of gods and places is significant, and provides further evidence for the grounded (in locale and in actual productive land) nature of divine power. As the Cities and Geography Lists of the Archaic period make clear, and as the presence of Uruk colonies and other places of contact across the Near East attest, the geographical knowledge of the administrators of southern Mesopotamia was accruing rapidly during the Late Uruk and Jemdet Nasr periods; that lists of gods would soon reflect that development is attested with certainty in the ED god-lists. Since the majority of new ED lists were built on Archaic period predecessors (such as Lú B, C, D, and E, and the list of wild animals [Animals B]) it seems likely that an incipient god-list was under development in the Uruk period.

Conclusions Scholars studying the ancient Near East understandably privilege the Uruk period, given the large number of “firsts” it furnishes: first cities, first writing, first representations of a ruler, first colonies. The period is a bright dividing line from the obscurity of prior periods. But study of the Mesopotamian lexical corpus encourages us to think in a different way, about cumulative knowledge and building on prior achievements. The lexical genre experienced a number of stages of “punctuated evolution,” in which existing lists were reconfigured and added to, to account for new needs and for the development of writing and language, both administrative and vernacular. Even tablets of the Uruk III paleographic stage, dating only a couple of generations after the Uruk IV stage, represent a significant development both in existing lists (Lú, Metals, Vessels, Grain, and Cities) and in the creation of new lists. The very existence of a lexical genre at the advent of writing suggests some prior recognition of a need for a set of related vocabulary terms, and a means of developing graphic equivalents for them. The lexical lists of the Archaic period represent a combination of administrative and educational needs, ideological speculation, and experimentation. While they stand at the beginning of written documentation, they also preserve previous stages of the development of knowledge, and lead into further phases, stages that cannot be predicted strictly on the basis of what existed at Uruk. Each period of development deserves study both in its synchronic context of contemporary needs and knowledge, and in diachronic terms to reveal continuities and changes. The study of these early texts is not without challenges, as may be all too obvious from this paper. But I hope this will be a fitting tribute to Anne Kilmer, whose great talent has been to take up the “impossible,” and make it both possible and persuasive.

Bibliography Alberti, A. 1985 A Reconstruction of the Abū Salābīkh God-list. SEL 2: 3–23. Archi, A. 1993 Trade and Administrative Practice: The Case of Ebla. Altorientalische Forschungen 20: 43–58. Becker, A. 1993 Uruk. Kleinfunde I. Stein. Ausgrabungen in Uruk-Warka. Endberichte 6. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Biggs, R. 1974 Inscriptions from Tell Abū Ṣalābīkh. OIP 99. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

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Cavigneaux, A. 1980–83 Lexikalische Listen. RlA 6: 609–41. Civil, M. 1982 Studies on Early Dynastic Lexicography. I. Oriens Antiquus 21: 1–26. 1984 Studies in Early Dynastic Lexicography 2. 3. Word List D 50–57 (ARET 5 No. 23). ZA 74: 161–63. Edzard, D. O. 1993 Review of Zeichenliste der archäischen Texte aus Uruk, by M. W. Green and Hans J. Nissen. ZA 83: 136–41. 1997 Gudea and His Dynasty. RIME 3/1. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Eichmann, R. 1986 Die Steingeräte aus dem ‘Riemchengebäude’ in Uruk-Warka. BaM 17: 97–130. 2007 Uruk. Architektur I. Von den Anfängen bis zur frühdynastischen Zeit. Ausgrabungen in Uruk-Warka. Endberichte 14. Rahden: Marie Leidorf. Englund, R. K. 1991 Archaic Dairy Metrology. Iraq 53: 101–04. 1995 Late Uruk Period Cattle and Dairy Products: Evidence from Proto-cuneiform Sources. BSA 8: 35–50. 1998 Texts from the Late Uruk Period. Pp. 150–233 in Mesopotamien. Späturuk-Zeit und frühdynastische Zeit, ed. P. Attinger and M. Wäfler. OBO 160/1. Fribourg: Universitätsverlag. Englund, R. K., and Nissen, H. J. 1993 Die lexikalischen Listen der archaischen Texte aus Uruk. ATU 3. Berlin: Gebr. Mann. Farber, W. 1989 Schlaf, Kindchen, schlaf! Mesopotamische Baby-Beschwörungen und -Rituale. Mesopotamian Civilizations 2. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Frayne, D. R. 2008 Presargonic Period (2700–2350 b.c.e.). RIME 1. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Green, M. W., and Nissen, H. J. 1987 Zeichenliste der archäischen Texte aus Uruk. ATU 2. Berlin: Gebr. Mann. Kinnier Wilson, J. V. 2005 Notes on the Assyrian Pharmaceutical Series URU.AN.NA: maštakal. JNES 64: 45–51. Krebernik, M. 1986 Die Götterlisten aus Fāra. ZA 76: 161–204. Limper, K. 1988 Uruk. Perlen. Ketten-Anhänger. Grabungen 1912–1985. Ausgrabungen in Uruk-Warka. Endberichte 2. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Litke, R. L. 1998 A Reconstruction of the Assyro-Babylonian God-lists, AN: dA-nu-um and AN: Anu ša amēli. Texts from the Babylonian Collection 3. New Haven: Yale Babylonian Collection. Mander, P. 1986 Il Pantheon di Abu-Sālabīkh. Contributo allo studio del pantheon sumerico arcaico. Naples: Istituto Universitario Orientale, Dipartimento di Studi Asiatici. Maul, S. M. 1994 Zukunftsbewältigung. Eine Untersuchung altorientalischen Denkens anhand der babylonisch-assyrischen Löserituale (Namburbi). Baghdader Forschungen 18. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Pedde, F., Heinz, M., and Müller-Neuhof, B. 2000 Uruk. Kleinfunde IV. Metall- und Steinobjekte im Vorderasiatischen Museum zu Berlin. Ausgrabungen in Uruk-Warka. Endberichte 21. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Reiner, E. 1995 Astral Magic in Babylonia. TAPS 85, part 4. Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society. Ross, J. C. 2010 The Scribal Artifact: Technological Innovation in the Uruk Period. Pp. 80–98 in Agency and Identity in the Ancient Near East: New Paths Forward, ed. S. R. Steadman and J. C. Ross. London: Equinox.

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Schuster-Brandis, A. 2008 Steine als Schutz- und Heilmittel: Untersuchung zu ihrer Verwendung in der Beschwörungskunst Mesopotamiens im 1. Jt. V. Chr. AOAT 46. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Scurlock, J. A. 2006 Magico-Medical Means of Treating Ghost-induced Illnesses in Ancient Mesopotamia. Leiden: Brill. Sigrist, M. 1981 Le travail des cuirs et peaux à Umma sous la dynastie d’Ur III. JCS 33: 141–90. Szarzyńska, K. 1993 Offerings for the Goddess Inana in Archaic Uruk. RA 87: 7–28. Steinkeller, P. 1995 Review of Zeichenliste der archäischen Texte aus Uruk, by M. W. Green and H. J. Nissen. BiOr 52: 689–713. Van de Mieroop, M. 1987 Crafts in the Early Isin Period: A Study of the Isin Craft Archive from the Reigns of Išbi-Erra and Šū-Ilišu. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 24. Leuven: Departement Orientalistiek. Van Dijk, J. 1983 Lugal ud me-lám-bi nir-gál. Leiden: Brill. Van Ess, M., and Pedde, F. 1992 Uruk: Kleinfunde II. Metall und Asphalt, Farbreste, Fritte/Fayence, Glas, Holz, Knochen/Elfenbein, Leder, Muschel/Perlmutt/Schnecke, Schilf, Textilien. Ausgrabungen in Uruk-Warka. Endberichte 7. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Veldhuis, N. 1997 Elementary Education at Nippur: The Lists of Trees and Wooden Objects. Groningen: Rijksuniversiteit. 2006 How Did They Learn Cuneiform? Tribute/Word List C as an Elementary Exercise. Pp. 181–200 in Approaches to Sumerian Literature: Studies in Honour of Stip (H. L. J. Vanstiphout), ed. P. Michalowski and N. Veldhuis. Leiden: Brill. Watanabe, Kazuko 1987 Freiburger Vorläufer zu HAR-ra=ḫubullu XI und XII. ASJ 9: 277–91. Wendrich, W. 1999 The World According to Basketry: An Ethno-archaeological Interpretation of Basketry Production in Egypt. Leiden: Research School of Asian, African, and Amerindian Studies (CNWS), Universiteit Leiden.

Spirits and Demons of All Times Denise Schmandt-Besserat The University of Texas at Austin

A unique symbolic assemblage distinguishes Ain Ghazal from other Near Eastern sites. The Neolithic symbols take the shape of clay tokens to count goods and animal figurines to practice magic. The symbolism of the supernatural, however, most often had a human form as statues, busts with one or two heads, stone statuettes, clay figurines, and plastered human skulls. In this paper, I focus on a particular type of small conical human clay figurines and the symbolic role they may have played in the community. This essay is most affectionately dedicated to Anne D. Kilmer who has practiced the art of good collegiality to its fullest.

Ain Ghazal: The Site At about 7000 b.c.e., Ain Ghazal was a small village that stretched for a few acres along the steep banks of the Zarqa River in Jordan. The 800 or so people that lived there dwelt in onestoried rectangular houses built of undressed stones. 1 Each house had one or two rooms used as living, kitchen, or storage areas. Inside, the walls and floors with a sunken hearth were thickly coated with white lime plaster and often decorated with red paintings. 2 Daily life at the site was much the same as in other Levantine villages of the time. People farmed. They tended flocks of goats and tilled fields of pulses and cereals, as shown by the lentils and chickpeas recovered in storerooms and a token collection of cones, spheres, and disks, standing for quantities of grain. 3 A token in a crescent shape unknown elsewhere suggests that Ain Ghazal produced some unique goods. 4 The sickle blades, mortars, querns, and pestles that still show traces of processing the grain were much the same as elsewhere. 5 Bone awls and needles were identical to those of neighboring settlements. Acknowledgments: This study was sponsored by a grant from the Council of American Overseas Research Centers (CAORC) and The American Center of Oriental Research, Amman, Jordan, (ACOR). 1.  G. O. Rollefson and Z. Kafafi, “The Rediscovery of the Neolithic Period in Jordan,” in Crossing Jordan: North American Contributions to the Archaeology of Jordan (ed. T. E. Levy, P. M. M. Daviau, R. W. Younger, and M. Shaer; London: Equinox, 2007) 212–13. 2.  G. O. Rollefson, “The Neolithic Period,” in Jordan (ed. R. B. Adams; London: Equinox, 2008) 78. 3.  A. H. Simmons and G. O. Rollefson, “Neolithic ʿAin Ghazal ( Jordan): Interim Report on the First Two Seasons, 1982–1983,” Journal of Field Archaeology 11 (1984) 390. 4.  H. Iceland, “Tokens: A Formal and Technological Analysis,” in Symbols at ʿAin Ghazal (ed. D. SchmandtBesserat; Ex Oriente; Berlin: Free University Press, forthcoming) Table 1. For now, see http://menic.utexas. edu/ghazal. 5.  A. H. Simmons and G. O. Rollefson, “Neolithic ʿAin Ghazal ( Jordan): Interim Report on the First Two Seasons, 1982–1983,” Journal of Field Archaeology 11 (1984) 391.

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The Anthropomorphic Figurine Collection The full archaeological analysis of the 49 human figurines excavated at Ain Ghazal can be summarized as follows. During the Neolithic Period, in the late 8th and early 7th millennium b.c.e., the people of Ain Ghazal made and used in the privacy of their homes small human figurines in a great variety of shapes, including females with wide or thin hips, small figures with big eyes wearing a flat headdress, and a female provokingly presenting her breast. A group of 13 figurines, however, represents the most popular type and consists of a simple two-legged cone. Their usual height, between 2 and 5 cm, gives them the distinction of being the smallest artifacts excavated at the site. These figurines have no eyes, no face, no head, no shoulder, no chest, no waist, and no sex. The two legs pinched from the base of the cone may be round or pointed, of equal or different size, straight or folded under, open or joined together. The gender is a mystery. The objects were made of local clay. They were not baked and show minimal esthetic concern. What seemed important in their manufacture was to provide a large, flat, stable, circular base to enable a steady upright posture. Groups of figurines made of an identical paste and found in the same area suggest that several examples were occasionally needed for the same event. Traces of fingerprints and impressions of strings show that the objects were used while wet. On the other hand, red and black marks on a number of specimens indicate that fire was also involved in their handling. A deep thumbprint left by tearing apart one of the figurines reveals intentional breakage. The figurines were recurrently found mixed with ashes and charcoals in the ruins of abandoned houses and in the vacant areas where they were discarded. The common presence of such figurines in Jordanian, Syrian, as well as Anatolian and Iranian sites show that they do not represent a local tradition but were widespread in the Neolithic Near East. The archaeological data allow to narrow down the possible function of the figurines. That the objects were not fired, were used while wet, and that some were torn before they had dried rule out all uses that required durability, such as cultic or toys. The minuscule size of the figurines, the ordinary material they were made of, and the lack of surface treatment make them improbable for decoration. On the other hand, the cheap material of which the figurines are made, their small size, the intentional breakage, the fire marks, and the disposal in deserted places match the criteria identified as denoting a magic function. 6 The figurines can be viewed, therefore, as being part of magic paraphernalia. It is beyond the reach of archaeology to reconstitute the rituals to dispel evil or attract felicity for which the figurines were used. This is why archaeological method advocates turning for comparison to accounts of more richly documented analogous magic rituals. 7 In the ancient Near East, there is no need to search for data in far afield exotic islands, because the cuneiform literature provides a trough of information on the ancestral magic traditions in the region.

6. C. A. Tuttle, The Nabataean Coroplastic Arts: A Synthetic Approach for Studying Terracotta Figurines, Plaques, Vessels and Other Clay Objects (Ph.D. diss., Brown University, 2009) 246–50 and 328, Table 1; P. Ucko, “The Interpretation of Prehistoric Anthropomorphic Figurines,” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 92 (1962) 47–48; M. M. Voigt, “Catal Höyük in Context: Ritual at Early Neolithic Sites in Central and Eastern Turkey,” in Life in Neolithic Farming Communities (ed. Ian Kuijt Kluwer; New York: Academic/Plenum Publishers, 2000) 261 and 263. 7.  S. Mithen, “From Ohalo to Catalhöyük: The Development of Religiosity during the Early Prehistory of Western Asia, 20,000–7000 bce,” in Theorizing the Past (ed. Harvey Whitehouse and L. H. Martin; New York: Altamira, 2004) 18.

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The Written Near Eastern Tradition The ancient Near Eastern cuneiform texts reveal that the act of modeling clay was associated with the ultimate power: the creation of life. For instance, the goddess Nammu requested clay from the abyss to create the first humans. Also, when it was time to provide a match to Gilgamesh, the goddess Aruru washed her hands, took a ball of clay, and after she had kneaded it, Enkidu was born. 8 Five of the so-called “magic texts” summarized below illustrate that not only gods but also the people of the ancient Near East turned to clay in their quest to control supernatural forces. In the course of domestic rituals, they formed clay figures that, with appropriate words and gestures, could drive away demons, undo the effects of sinful actions, counteract threatening omens, protect against the activities of sorcerers, increase sexual potency, or secure the favor of loved ones. 9 According to the needs, one or several figurines stood for a protective deity, a beloved, a ghost, a witch, a disease, and even a demon. In the latter case, the figurines had to be schematic because, as described by the texts, the demons were featureless “like clouds, now amassing and now dissolving.” 10 In some cases, the most important role of the figurines was not so much their creation but their destruction and with them the evil they represented. 11 Following specific instructions, the figures were stamped upon, burned, thrown in the river, or buried in deserted places. 12 The first text presents a ritual to expel a ghost from a man’s body. 13 The ceremony was to start at sunset by sweeping the area and sprinkling it with holy water. After building a reed altar and making offerings of bread, water, and beer, the priest “nipped off clay,” shaped it into a figurine representing the harassing ghost, and placed it in an upright position over tamarisk wood. After reciting an incantation, the patient was instructed to describe his suffering to the gods and pray them to use their divine powers to expel the ghost from his body. According to the second text, a ritual meant to avert nightmares and their evil influence, the affected individual was to manufacture male and female figurines, recite an incantation seven times, and place them at his head “before lying down.” 14 The third text describes a ritual to cure an epileptic performed by a priest in the presence of the patient. 15 After presenting offerings to Shamash, the priest made a clay figurine representing the disease and dressed it in a wedding gown. During the marriage ceremony that followed, the figurine was wedded to a piglet while the patient prayed “Any evil to which I have been married 8.  M.-T. Barrelet, Figurines et Reliefs en Terre Cuite de la Mesopotamie Antique (Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1968) 7–11. 9.  J. Black and A. Green, Gods, Demons and Symbols in Ancient Mesopotamia (Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, 1992) 125. 10.  E. Reiner, “Magic Figurines, Amulets, and Talismans,” in Monsters and Demons in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds: Papers Presented in Honor of Edith Porada (ed. A. E. Farkas, P. O. Harper, and E. B. Harrison; Mainz: Phillip von Zabern, 1987) 30. 11.  E. A. Braun-Holzinger, “Apotropaic Figures at Mesopotamian Temples in the Third and Second Millennia,” in Mesopotamian Magic: Textual, Historical, and Interpretative Perspectives (ed. T. Abush and K. van der Toorn; Groningen: Styx, 1999) 149. 12.  S. Rollin, “Women and Witchcraft in Ancient Assyria (c. 800–600 bc),” in Images of Women in Antiquity (ed. A. Cameron and A. Kuhrt; London: Croom Helm, 1983) 42. 13.  J. A. Scurlock, Magical Means of Dealing with Ghosts in Ancient Mesopotamia (Ph.D. diss.; University of Chicago, 1988) 260–68 (prescription 62). 14.  S. A. L. Butler, Mesopotamian Conceptions of Dreams and Dream Rituals (AOAT 258; Münster: UgaritVerlag, 1998) 294–95. 15.  M. Stol, Epylepsy in Babylonia (Cuneiform Monographs 2; Groningen: Styx, 1993) 99.

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in your presence . . . remove it from my body. Oh Shamash, in your presence I made it take in marriage a piglet. . . .” The sick man’s garment was then cut three times at the hem to symbolize his divorce from the disease. The next text, intended to dispel the effects of witchcraft, prescribed “You place a brazier before Shamash . . . You bind these figurines; you light a torch . . . and put it inside the brazier. . . .” After reciting an incantation three times, and when the figurines were burned, they were cooled in water while reciting a second incantation “You, Water. . . .” The figurines were to be burned again and their remains thrown into an uninhabited place. 16 According to this text, also meant to counteract evil magic, figurines of clay mixed with flour were made to represent a warlock and a witch. They were placed in a ½ liter (sìla) container, sprinkled with fish oil, and burned while the officiator recited three times the incantation “I raise up the torch and burn your statues. . . .” Then the figurines were stamped upon before burying their remains in an uninhabited place. 17 Of course, no one will assume that such rituals were performed in the same way in Neolithic Ain Ghazal. But, the texts are as valid for analogies as any ethnographic report on 19–20th-century exotic cultures that tried to harness occult forces with abracadabra formulas. First, recent anthropological models of religious behavior, based upon research in cognitive sciences, allow us to regard the Mesopotamian rituals not as the bizarre behavior of a remote past but as a timeless and universal religious phenomenon. 18 Second, the rituals have the added advantage of having, no doubt, their roots deep in prehistory and, because rituals are among the most long-lived human creations, they probably still echo some of the magic that took place in the Near East in a far more distant past.

The Relevance of the Textual Data The Mesopotamian magic texts are invaluable for reconstructing the use of human clay figurines in cultic activities. They help inject life, movement, and sounds into the scanty material remains left behind. In particular, they give a sense of the sequence of the events that took place, the timing of the rituals, the number and quality of individuals involved, the kind of gestures, and actions performed and the type of incantations pronounced. For instance, they explain how the rites often started with the presentation of offerings to a god, continued with the creation of the figurine(s), the repetition of incantations for a fixed number of times and ended with the prescribed disposal of the figurines. The texts note that sunset was stipulated as a propitious time to conduct a particular ceremony; that the performance of rituals generally involved one or two persons, a patient/petitioner alone or with a priest; finally, on occasion, the area where the ritual took place was to be cleaned and sprinkled with water. Far more importantly, the texts corroborate the archaeological evidence collected in excavation, and by doing so, they lend support to the interpretation and make the conclusions more plausible. For example, the texts verify the following informtion:

16.  T. Abusch, “An Early Form of the Witchcraft Ritual maqlū and the Origin of a Babylonian Magical Ceremony,” in Lingering Over Words: Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Literature in Honor or William L. Moran (ed. T. Abusch, J. Huehnergard, and P. Steinkeller; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990) 45. 17. Ibid . 18.  P. Boyer, Religion Explained (New York: Basic Books, 2001) 231.

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The Manufacture/Style • The observation that no specific instructions were given for the manufacture of the objects beyond “nipping the clay,” explains the stylistic and technical diversity in the figurine assemblage. • The manufacture of the figurines by a patient, or a priest, supports the contention that they were not the product of specialists. • The depiction of real people and unreal supernatural beings explicates the extreme schematization of some figurines and the more explicit shape of others. • The usage of figures in a variety of rituals pursuing vastly different ends, such as the riddance of ghosts or regaining potency, proves that, indeed, each type of figurines had its own purpose.

The Usage • The fact that a patient was to place the figurines above his head before lying down, substantiates that the figurines were dealt with in the privacy of a home. • The timing of modeling the figurines at the beginning of the ritual explains why they were handled wet. • The different number of figurines required for each ritual validates that groups of figurines sharing the same clay composition were probably used in a same event. • The fact that some figurines were to stand upright justifies the large flat base of the objects. • The prescribed holding of the figurines during the recitation incantations may account for the fingerprints left on their surface. • The burning of figurines elucidates the fire marks. • The impressions of strings find a plausible explanation in the description of figurines being bound together or dressed up.

The Disposal • The burial of figurines in inhabited places clarifies the deposition of the objects in or about the ruins of abandoned houses. The two combined sources of information, archaeological artifacts and ancient texts help visualizing the cultic use of figurines in antiquity. At the same time they raise new questions. Among them, can the various rituals elaborated for such different ends as ghost or demon riddance; counteracting witchcraft; securing sexual potency or averting portended evil, explain the diversity of forms of figurines?

The Meaning Each iconographic feature, and in the case of the conical figurines, the absence of features, may be interpreted as communicating information on the figure they symbolized. 19 For example, the lack of head, face, or chest magnified the genderless character of the conical figurine by suppressing any possible dimorphic marker such as a beard, shoulders, breasts, or waist. The conical 19.  C. A. Tuttle, Nabataean Coroplastic Arts, 324.

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form may also be viewed as a concern for restraining the figure. For instance, with no face and no eyes, the thing could not stare, glance, or have eye contact with any one; without bust, arms and hands, the creature was prevented from touching, pushing or grabbing. The legs devoid of thighs, knees, calf, or feet denied the figure any mobility. It could not stand, walk, or, definitely, run away. Reduced to a human trunk, with a flat base in lieu of buttocks, it could only remain still. The conical figurines, therefore, should no longer be considered as awkward technological misfits. Instead, they can be understood as the purposeful representations of fearful faceless, limbless, and genderless entities. They may be considered as picturing evil immaterial beings such as pestering ghosts or wicked demons suspected of spreading diseases and other calamities. In fact, the conical figurines can be considered the “naturalistic” depiction of demons such as those alluded to in the following spell and incantation: “Neither female are they, nor are they male; They are the ones who keep flitting around. They have no spouse, never bore a child, They do not know the result of their actions, nor do they pay attention to prayer and offering. In the street, they stir up a storm, they keep roaming about in the throughfare. They are seven, of seven seven times seven.” 20

Or: “Whether you be the evil Ala who has no mouth; Whether you be the evil Ala who has no limbs; Whether you be the evil Ala who hears not; Whether you be the evil Ala who has no countenance. . . .” 21

In this perspective, we may anticipate that the conical figurines served in rituals intended for the riddance of immaterial entities such as diseases, ghosts, or demons. As it is spelled out in the magic texts, the purpose of depicting in clay the malevolent creatures was to make evil symbolically solid and tangible so that it could be “caught,” destroyed, or at least expelled.

Conclusion The anthropomorphic figurines from Ain Ghazal contribute a new, fresh understanding of the genesis and evolution of the genre, so prolific and enduring in the ancient Near East. Unlike the previous Epipaleolithic culture who carved symbols in stone, the Neolithic innovated by turning to clay to create figurines. Because clay proved easy to secure and to work, figurines had a first flowering ca. 7000 b.c.e., when they were used to cope with the shadowy Neolithic world filled with a multitude of invisible spirits. Because clay is so malleable, it opened infinite possibilities to create an imagery of the supernatural world. Some figurines symbolized beneficent spirits that brought prosperity and were to be propitiated. Others embodied mischievous or downright evil demons to be annihilated. The conical figurines occupy a special place among the anthropomor20.  W. Farber, “Witchcraft, Magic and Divination “ in CANE, vol. 3 (ed. Jack Sasson, 1995) 1896. 21. M. J. Geller, Forerunners to Udug-hul: Sumerian Exorcistic Incantations (Freiburger Altorientalische Studien 12; Wiesbaden: Steiner, 1985) 137.

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phic symbols of Ain Ghazal. They are the smallest and most modest compared to the statues, the stone statuette, and the plastered skulls. They are also the least carefully done and the most schematic of the anthropomorphic clay figurines. They were the most private and even intimate use of symbols in their time, since they were entrusted with the ability to overcome evils of human life. They also may have been the most beneficial in bringing hope and serenity in households, thereby releasing communal social tension.

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A Pipes Player and a Lyre Player: Notes on Three Achaemenid or Near-Achaemenid Silver Rhyta Found in the Vicinity of Erebuni, Armenia David Stronach University of California, Berkeley

Introduction The site of Erebuni, located near the southeastern limits of modern Yerevan, stands on an imposing sixty-meter-high rock outcrop that marks the east end of the fertile Ararat Valley. It was here that the formidable Urartian ruler, Argishti I (ca. 785–760 b.c.e.), founded a major citadel in 782; and many elements of the existing site are indeed known to date from his reign or at least from within the span of the Urartian occupation, which probably lasted down to ca. 600 b.c.e. 1 Finds of note of substantially later date are few in number, although two Milesian silver coins— recovered from Erebuni’s long-lived Susi Temple (and dated no later than 478 b.c.e., for which see Sarkisian 1998:12)—have been seen for some time to be one possible reflection of a significant Achaemenid presence at this key site. It is, in fact, this rarity of closely datable later materials that provides one of many reasons for this excursus on a number of silver drinking vessels of Achaemenid or near-Achaemenid date that chanced to come to light during building operations that took place in 1968 close to the base of Erebuni’s towering rock outcrop. 2 The present article will explore the nature of each of the three silver rhyta, even if one very particular focus of the enquiry will be on two musicians who appear in the figured decoration on the latest of the rhyta. But in order to set the vessels in context, it may be useful to look initially at the possible antecedents of what is likely to have been the oldest of these distinguished, but nonetheless unexcavated, objects: namely a silver rhyton with a horse protome (fig. 1). 3 As is well known, vessels of precious metal played a prominent role in court life, and in regal gift-giving, throughout much of the ancient Near East from at least the early 2nd millennium (see Moorey 1985: 34) down to the middle of the 1st millennium b.c.e. It is not a little surprising, therefore, to find that the more exuberant types of rhyta, replete with eye-catching animal Author’s note:  It is a particular pleasure to be able to offer these notes to Anne Kilmer, a close friend and esteemed colleague for many years. 1.  For a date of ca. 600 b.c.e. for the final years of an extramural Urartian settlement that stood on the Southeast Hill at Erebuni, see, most recently, Stronach et al. 2009: 195. It is only appropriate to note that F. Ter-Martirossov, A. Ayvazian, W. Collins, C. Demos, and S. Ghanimati are co-authors of the foregoing article. Special thanks are also due to A. Farahani for technical assistance while the present article was in preparation. 2.  Arakelian 1971: 143. 3.  For further remarks on the less than fully documented nature of the discovery, see also n. 57 below, p. 270.

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Fig. 1  The silver rhyton from Erebuni with a horse protome.

protomes, only make their debut, at least in the context of metalwork associated with Iran, toward the very end of this long interval. To choose a somewhat arbitrary starting point for the present exploration, various animalheaded vessels of the 9th century or later that come from Iran and Neo-Assyria are among those that seem to stand in a relatively close ancestral relationship to the evolved rhyta of subsequent Achaemenid date. In this connection, a sensitively modeled horse-headed rhyton is representative of one of the finer bronze objects known from Hasanlu IVb—a major settlement in northwestern Iran that was probably destroyed at a date near 800 b.c.e. 4 Possibly not too long thereafter, and, at any rate well within the span of the 8th century, Assyrian metalsmiths began to produce a type of capacious lion-headed receptacle with a free-swinging loop handle (best defined as a bucket or situla). 5 The popularity of such vessels in the reign of Sargon II (722–705 b.c.e.) is documented 4.  See, conveniently, Porada 1965: 118 and pl. 32. For further discussion, see, for example, Muscarella 1988: 24–26; Stronach 1995: 185 n. 14; Curtis 2000: 202–03. Note also that, while the term “rhyton” (from the Greek rhysis, or ‘flowing’) is often used (here, as elsewhere) to refer to zoomorphic drinking vessels, a true rhyton is a vessel with a small aperture (or very often a short spout) near its lower extremity through which a jet of wine could issue. See especially Ebbinghaus 1999. 5.  See Curtis 2000: 193.

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in visual terms by E. Flandin’s exquisite drawings of certain no-longer-extant stone reliefs from Dur Sharrukin (modern Khorsabad). 6 In these reliefs, eunuch cup-bearers can be seen to use lionheaded situlae both to draw and to serve wine to groups of sometimes seated, bearded notables. Furthermore, the latter individuals hold lion-headed beakers (that is, deep cups without a handle) that are depicted raised to the level of the face in what appears to have been a moment of solemn ceremony. 7 The only animal-headed bronze situlae of 8th-century date to have been found in natura consist of two markedly fine, well-preserved examples—one lion-headed and the other ram-headed—that were discovered, far indeed from Assyria, among the otherwise predominantly Phrygian grave goods in Tumulus MM at Gordion. 8 But, as the excavator, R. Young, observed from the first, the “animal form and . . . style” of the two situlae spoke for “another source of inspiration.” And, while he most certainly entertained the possibility of a Phrygian origin, and even an Urartian origin (inasmuch as the two objects could have originally comprised part of the loot emanating from Sargon’s capture of Musasir in 714 b.c.e.), he eventually concluded that they were most likely to be of Assyrian manufacture. 9 In this single instance, in other words, these particular objects may provide a telling illustration of the vigor of Assyria’s metal industry—and the ways in which the royal workshops of Assyria served, not least, to meet the needs of regal, diplomatic gift-exchange. 10 The probable Assyrian origin of the two situlae in question is also supported by references in Neo-Assyrian texts, including the Nimrud wine lists, to metal lion-headed situlae and/or lionheaded beakers. 11 Furthermore, if we keep in mind the fact that one of these vessels was made of silver, and the fact that the metal tableware from the Queens’ tombs at Nimrud consisted of nothing but gold items, it would seem safe to presume that most of Sargon’s own precious plate was of gold. 12 In terms of vessels of more modest value, various clay versions of the ram-headed beaker also begin to appear, at least by the 7th century, at both major and minor sites in Assyria. 13 Only one clay rhyton with a lion’s head as opposed to a ram’s head has so far been recovered from Assyria proper and very few variant forms of any kind are known from areas that once stood within the bounds of Assyrian authority. 14 It would therefore appear that contemporary clay rhyta with more varied animal heads largely existed beyond the limits of Assyria’s borders. One outstanding example comes from the late Urartian site of Bastam, located ca. 100 km to the north of Lake Urmia, where an incomplete gazelle-headed cup, of early to mid-7th century date, bears witness to the continued vitality of Urartian craftsmanship at this approximate date. 15 6.  For which see, conveniently, Albenda 1986: pls. 47, 89, 121, and 123. 7.  For further reflections on these singular ceremonies, in which “the drink of choice . . . was none other than wine,” see especially Alvarez-Mon 2008: 139–41 with figs. 6 and 7. 8.  Young 1981: 121–23 with pls. 3 and 4. 9.  Young 1981: 123. Since the mid-1960s, Young’s view has been very generally seconded (Mallowan 1966: 206; Muscarella 1998: 153; Stronach 1995: 182; Alvarez-Mon 2008: 139), although a north Syrian attribution (for example Muscarella 1989: 340) has also been proposed. 10.  On Assyria’s significance as a major center of bronze production, not least from the 9th to the 7th centuries b.c.e., see Curtis 1988. 11.  Deller 1985: 328–34. 12.  For the one silver vessel, see Curtis 2000: 194; for gold items, see Damerji 1999: figs. 31–32. 13.  Curtis 2000: 195–200. 14.  Curtis 2000: 202. 15.  Calmeyer 1979: pls. 45,1, 46, and fig. 1.

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In the late 7th and early 6th centuries telling evidence for both continuity and change in elite drinking habits can be seen to come from the Arjan tomb—that is to say, from the intact tomb of a certain Kiddin-Hutran, who appears to have ruled a small, presumably vassal kingdom of this approximate date, located in the folds of the southern Zagros at a point almost midway between Anshan and Susa. 16 In line with the degree of influence that Assyrian imagery seems to have exerted on southwestern Iran soon after (and even long after) the fall of Nineveh in 612 b.c.e., one of the engraved scenes in the outer register of Fig. 2.  Reconstruction of a column capital from Palace S at Pasargadae (ca. 540 b.c.e.). Addorsed lion-griffin the bronze Arjan bowl (Majidzadeh 1992: protomes flank a weight-bearing central saddle (after fig. 2) arguably portrays Kiddin-Hutran Herzfeld 1941: fig. 344). imbibing wine in a setting reminiscent of earlier Assyrian banquets. It is striking, for example, that the scene includes the depiction of an elaborate pot-stand. This Assyrian-inspired item of banqueting equipment very clearly served to accommodate large jars in an upper register and vertically aligned ram-headed beakers in a lower register. 17 At the same time, an actual bronze beaker from Kidin-Hutran’s tomb illustrates the fact that, at least within Iran, a new sense of experiment was beginning to emerge among locally active metalsmiths in or near the first quarter of the 6th century. Thus, the Arjan beaker (now the subject of an admirable new study) is distinguished, in its upper section, by an engraved horizontal register depicting six ostriches of identical character and, in its lower section, by a wholly new design. 18 As J. Alvarez-Mon has pointed out, the creator of the beaker took the long-familiar concept of a single animal-headed vessel “to a more ambitious level of artistic accomplishment” by introducing a design in which four juxtaposed lion heads can be seen to share a common mane, while at the same time biting down on a rosette that originally covered the rest of the base of the vessel. 19 I myself would only take issue with Alvarez-Mon’s suggestion that the manufacture of beakers of this kind was matched by “an increasingly bulbous projection towards the base” that in turn led to the initial appearance, in the Achaemenid period, of the first rhyta with fully evolved animal protomes. As far as I can see, the lower part of the Arjan beaker is not appreciably more bulbous than the lower part of the impressive 8th century lion-headed situla from Gordion (now handsomely re-illustrated in Alvarez-Mon 2008: pl. 5a) and, as I am about to explain, there could be a rather more convincing explanation for the sudden introduction of rhyta with animal protomes at a date near 500 b.c.e. Following his dramatic capture of Sardis in the mid-540s, Cyrus II (559–530 b.c.e.) was able to introduce tightly jointed stonework (based on the latest available refinements in Lydo-Ionian b.c.e.,

16.  See, for example, Stronach 2005: 179–80 and Alvarez-Mon 2008: 129–30. 17.  Compare Mallowan and Davies 1970: 18 with pl. 5, 7. 18.  Alvarez-Mon 2008: 130–39. 19.  Alvarez-Mon 2008: 135 with pls. 1 and 2a.

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masonry) in each of the main buildings erected at his new capital, Pasargadae. 20 The traditional wooden columns of Iron Age Iran gave way to towering stone columns composed of multiple drums and, most importantly in the present context, Cyrus’ architects devised a new form of stone column capital with a weight-bearing central saddle that was flanked by addorsed animal protomes (fig. 2). It is true, as Roaf (1996: 28) has indicated, that one inspiration for this interest in animal protomes may have come from earlier non-architectural Assyrian models, where “the attached foreparts of animals” were commonly used “in furniture and on other minor works, such as the handles of tools or weapons.” 21 But addorsed protomes would in any case have had a strong appeal in the Achaemenid period, when there was an abiding interest in balanced, complementary elements. Somewhat surprisingly, however, column capitals of this bold new form do not appear to have exerted any discernible influence on the shape of Achaemenid metal vessels until after the “blueprint” for the carved reliefs associated with the staircases of the Apadana at Persepolis had been finalized in or near 500 b.c.e. One important clue to this effect comes from the reliefs themselves, where rhyta are conspicuous by their absence. 22 This chronological observation is also supported by closely dated evidence from quite another quarter. As Hoffmann (1961: 21) has noted, the presence of Persian animal-headed rhyta in precious metals among the rich spoils that were exhibited at Athens following the defeat of the Persians at the battle of Plataea in 479 b.c.e. instantly led innovative Greek craftsmen to introduce local, albeit ceramic, copies of the form. Accordingly, the initial appearance of Achaemenid “court style” rhyta (with or without the introduction of actual animal protomes) has to be placed, in all probability, within the first two decades of the 5th century. It may also be useful to note that, from the 5th century onward, Achaemenid “rhyta” are customarily divided into three categories: a rhyton with an animal protome set at roughly right angles to the tall horn (the “bent rhyton”); a more gently curved or horn-shaped rhyton that also ends in an animal protome (the “horn-shaped rhyton”); and an animal-headed cup with a relatively short “neck” or horn. The protomes in the first, very popular type of rhyton exhibit a number of attributes that underscore their major debt to canons of design that are present in the flatbased protomes that grace virtually every Achaemenid stone capital. As a result, the Achaemenid bent rhyton clearly possessed a significant advantage over the animal-headed vessels of Assyria in that the latter could only remain upright if they were either held in the hand, carried by a loop handle or supported in a pot-stand. More than this, the Achaemenid metalsmith can be seen to have followed the lead of his colleague, the stonemason, in introducing many of the same natural or mythical creatures with a like respect for the new prescriptions that had come to govern their depiction. 23

20.  See, most recently, Stronach 2008. 21.  Another source of inspiration could very well have come from Elam, where faience, protome-like knob figurines depicting bulls and other subjects may have been mounted on temple walls at Susa during at least the 8th–7th centuries b.c.e. See especially Heim 1992: 210. 22.  See Moorey 1985: 34. 23. For example, the metalsmith duly followed the never-to-be-neglected rule that dictated that the forelegs of bulls should be folded and that the more robust forelegs of lions (or mythical creatures with leonine legs) should be extended.

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The Silver Rhyton from Erebuni with a Horse Protome With these introductory observations in mind, it is more than time to turn to the nature of the above-mentioned silver rhyton with a horse protome (fig. 1). 24 Surprisingly, this piece still remains the only known example of an Achaemenid rhyton with a protome of this presumably once popular type. This classic example of a bent rhyton is composed, as Ter-Martirossov (1996: 197) has indicated, of two parts soldered together. The protome includes the head, chest, and forelegs of a finely modeled horse. The realism with which the head is depicted extends to the pricked ears, flaring nostrils and open mouth. The front of the mane is arranged in such a way that a fringe covers part of the forehead. Elsewhere, the rest of the quite long mane falls evenly on each side Fig. 3.  A Scytho-Achaemenid bronze bridle attachment in the shape of a horse protome (after of the neck. While the bar-like, slightly curving cheek-pieces are clearly shown, the straps of the Curtis and Kruszyski 2002: fig. 46). headstall are just barely indicated (seemingly by the lines of small roundels or discs that can be understood to have decorated them). The strap-crossings, on the other hand, are marked by relatively large, circular strap-dividers. A separate lower strap also serves to support a single bell at the mid-point of the chest. The musculature of the thighs of the folded forelegs is illustrated (in keeping with a well-known Achaemenid convention) by a prominent “tulip pattern” on each upper leg and a bare, circular opening is presently visible at the base of the animal’s deep chest. The horn-shaped container (hereafter the “horn”) has a vertically fluted body with a plain horizontal register located directly below the rim. The possibility that the ears of the horse were at one time gilded (cf. Melikian-Chirvani 1996: 97) appears, from direct inspection, not to have been the case. Also, as Ter-Martirossov’s (1996: 197) description of the rhyton makes clear, it was originally equipped with the kind of short tubular spout that is otherwise attested—not least in one local parallel—on a ceramic bull-headed rhyton of Achaemenid date from Armavir (see, for example, Karapetian 1996: 175). 25

24.  Erebuni Museum no. 19. Height 21 cm. Warm thanks are due to Dr. Ashot Piliposyan, the former director of the Erebuni Museum, for permission to study and record the rhyta in question. The photographs of the rhyta that appear in these pages are owed to Maryam Karim, the photographer of the UC Berkeley Expedition to Erebuni. Special thanks are also due to Merhdad Fakour, another member of the team, for his many contributions to this endeavor. 25.  In accord with Melikian-Chirvani’s (1996: 97 n. 72) comment, it is indeed apparent that at some point between the time when Ter-Martirossov composed his detailed description of the rhyton (which refers to the presence of a short tubular spout), and the time when the rhyton came to be photographed for publication (Ter-Martirossov 1996: illustration on p. 176), the vessel somehow lost its separately made spout.

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;·-\

···~·---¥-••·---·-

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Fig. 4  The Armenian delegation on the east side of the Apadana at Persepolis. While one member of the delegation holds the reins of a bridled stallion with a tufted forelock and a clipped mane, a second individual displays a sumptuous beak-spouted, griffin-handled vessel (after Koch 1997: 58, upper illustration).

In terms of design and style, the rhyton can hardly be other than Achaemenid in date. Apart from the characteristic way in which the musculature of the thighs is indicated, the horses in the Apadana reliefs have a broadly similar appearance. It is notable, moreover, that the proffered stallions at Persepolis each sport a single bell suspended from a strap across the chest (for example, Schmidt 1953: pl. 29b). While there is no extant evidence to show how the legs of a horse protome in an Achaemenid column capital would have been represented, it is logical to assume that the slender forelegs of a horse, like those of a bull, would also have been folded at the knee. 26 Indeed, the folded legs in the present rhyton, and the parallel treatment of the legs of a horse in a striking bronze harness attachment of Achaemenid date from an unknown context in the high Caucasus (fig. 3), may each help to affirm this view. From the somewhat “ram-headed” appearance of the head of the Erebuni horse, together with the evident thickness of the arched neck (fig. 1), it is possible to surmise that it was the artist’s intent to produce a true likeness of a horse of the famed Nisaean breed: a type of horse that was prized above all others in the Achaemenid world. Thanks to Herodotus (VII.40.3), it has long been known that such horses were called Nisaean “because there is in Media a wide plain of that name, where the great horses are bred.” Arrian (Anabasis VII.13.1) adds that 150,000 mares were pastured there. And inasmuch as Strabo (XI.13.8; XI.14.9) states that both the Medes and the Armenians supplied tribute horses to the Persians—a claim that is not in any way contradicted by the well-known depictions of delegations 1 and 3 (fig. 4) in the Apadana reliefs (for which see also Schmidt 1953: pls. 27a and 29b)—there seems to be a distinct possibility that more than a few of these redoubtable horses were raised, not only in Iran, but in the verdant pastures of Armenia as well. With reference to the present rhyton, it may be pertinent to enquire whether or not it contains any specific features that might help to affirm the likelihood of this last suggestion. And while possible hints to this effect can be no more than indirect, it is quite striking, in fact, to find that 26.  No portion of the body of the single known horse-capital—that from Pasargadae—has chanced to survive. See, for example, Herzfeld 1941: 240 with pl. 39b and Stronach 1978: 61–62 with fig. 29 and pl. 55.

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Fig. 5.  A detail of the second silver “bent rhyton” from Erebuni. The illustration shows the exceptional horse-and-rider motif that distinguishes the lower part of the vessel. Drawing by T. Nersesyan (UC Berkeley Expedition to Erebuni).

the erect, clipped mane and the tufted forelock, such as are more or less regularly exhibited by horses depicted in the Achaemenid “hegemonic style,” are not attested. 27 Instead, the horse’s flowing mane, which can be seen to fall in long locks on each side of the neck, and the forelock that covers part of the forehead, could very possibly be interpreted as a local salute to the natural attributes of the great horses that constituted one of the chief resources of the Armenian highlands. Indeed, this acknowledgment even seems to echo the earlier delight of the Urartians in the quality and beauty of a horse’s ample mane and forelock. 28 As far as this particular type of “exception” is concerned, it is perhaps hard to imagine that it would have been permitted at any time during 27.  For further notes on the term “hegemonic style,” see Dusinberre 2008: 87. 28.  See, for example, the fine bronze head of a horse of mid-7th century date excavated at Karmir Blur, which clearly demonstrates a lively appreciation of these same two features. (Piotrovskii 1967: figs. 24 and 25.) Ter-Martirossov (1996: 197) also suggests that the artist’s decision to introduce quite rarely employed vertical, as opposed to horizontal, fluting on the horn of the vessel (fig. 1) could have been dictated by a wish to complement the vertical accents that are present in the long mane of the horse.

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Fig. 6.  The silver rhyton from Erebuni with a horseand-rider motif.

the reigns of Darius I (522–486 b.c.e.) or his immediate successor, Xerxes (486–464 b.c.e.). On the other hand, this alternative (and age-old) way of representing the mane and forelock of a horse may well have become more acceptable throughout the empire during the second half of the 5th century, let alone in the seemingly more relaxed conditions that obtained after 400 b.c.e. 29

The Silver Rhyton from Erebuni with a Horse-and-Rider Motif Within the known range of Near Eastern rhyta, the second rhyton from Erebuni—itself a variant form of the bent rhyton (with a less than vertical horn)—has no exact parallel. While the horn has a plain surface, the lower part of the vessel depicts an elite rider on a great horse (fig. 6). 30 Indeed, from the uncompromising depiction of the rider’s heavy frame, it is difficult to imagine that a “generic horseman” is represented, and it is tempting to suppose that we are dealing with something close to a portrait of a once well-known historical personage. As a number of prior commentators (for example Tiratsian 1988: 53; Ter-Martirossov 1996: 198; Hačatrian and Markarian 2003: 12) have stressed, this elegantly attired, mature horseman could well have been a satrap of Armenia or a person of at least comparable rank. 29.  Note especially the untrimmed manes of the four horses in the gold chariot group from the socalled Oxus Treasure. Tallis 2005: pl. 399. See also Boardman’s (2000: 156) observation that, at least in the case of seals, adherence to the Achaemenid court style became “looser with time.” 30.  Erebuni Museum #20. Height of the horse-and-rider motif: 20.5 cm. The line drawing of this striking motif (fig. 5) is owed to Tatevik Nersesyan, whose drafting abilities have contributed significantly to each of UC Berkeley’s recent field seasons at Erebuni.

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A number of detailed descriptions of this silver horse-and-rider composition have been published since the time of its discovery. 31 Still, a fresh account may not be out of place. As a new drawing of the lower part of the rhyton (fig. 5) makes plain, the innovative designer of the piece was more than willing to exaggerate—or diminish—the scale of different elements in his composition if it suited his purposes to do so. For example, the rider’s head and headdress were depicted at a greatly enlarged scale (figs. 6 and 7), the height of the robust body was compressed, Fig. 7.  A detail of the rider’s head and headdress. and the relatively short arms can be seen to offer a sharp contrast to the distinctly long legs. More than anything else, however, the horse was depicted at a much reduced scale. Apart from other conceivable reasons for this circumstance (such as, say, considerations of cost), this may have been chiefly in order to give the artist every opportunity to elaborate on the rider’s salient features. To mention only the most notable attributes of this singular equestrian figure, he wears a high, tapering hat (or helmet)—a form of headgear that only exhibits a hemispherical outline when it is viewed in profile (fig. 7). As one possible indication of a connection with the Achaemenid royal house, which was pointed out by Tiratsian (1988: 53), the image of an eagle adorns each side of the helmet—and a small ring at the back of the headdress was no doubt used to attach a plume or a ribbon. The rider’s ears were also pierced (fig. 8), presumably so that they could be fitted with earrings of precious metal. 32 As to the rider’s carefully delineated facial features, these can be seen to include prominent eyes and eyebrows, a long, thin nose, a moustache that terminates in meticulously rendered curls, and a beard of triangular shape that appears to have had up to five rows of curls. Indeed, a beard of this appearance could very well have alluded to the rider’s royal or near-royal lineage. As far as the rider’s dress is concerned, he is clad, effectively, in the eminently practical riding costume of an armed Achaemenid noble. This was a costume that was worn, not least, by Persians, Medes, Armenians, and Cappadocians; in short, it should no longer be associated with the Medes alone. 33 The rider’s long-sleeved belted tunic can be seen to have had embroidered zig-zag patterns along parts of the lower hem, at the wrists, at the elbows, as well as on the upper arms and shoulders, while also exhibiting still other patterns on the chest (fig. 8). His rather conspicuous trousers are marked by an overall lozenge pattern and his short sword or akinakes is suspended from his belt, where it rests against his right thigh. 34 31.  See, for example, Arakelian 1971: 145–48; Arakelian 1976: 42; Ter-Martirossov 1996: 197–200; Ha­ ča­trian and Markarian 2003: 9–15. 32.  On the other hand, his bracelets are not gilded; in fact, the very presence of visible bracelets is debatable. 33.  See especially Stronach 2009: 220–22. 34.  For tentative reconstructions, in color, of such exuberant Achaemenid garments, see Sekunda and Chew 1992: pl. E.

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Fig. 8.  A frontal view of the rider and his horse.

A protruding, gilt silver loop appears on the rider’s opposite, left side at a point a little below the line of his belt; and, while there is no longer any trace of the presumably precious metal object that was once suspended from this feature, there can be little doubt that it consisted of a scale model of a gorytus: the combined bow case and quiver of an Achaemenid horseman. Support for this contention comes, in part, from the miniature clay horsemen of broadly Achaemenid date that are customarily referred to as “Persian” riders. In at least certain cases, these widely

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distributed terracotta figurines are known to have not only sported a clearly indicated akinakes on their right side, but a separately modeled gorytus on their left side. 35 As has already been mentioned, the horse in fig. 5 was depicted at a much smaller scale than its all-important rider. Unfortunately, however, this deliberate disparity in scale (something that is often encountered in the context of Achaemenid art on occasions when humans and animals are shown together) was not always kept in mind, particularly with reference to a number of earlier studies of this same item. Thus, Tiratsian (1988: 53) and Ter-Martirossov (1996: 198) each refer to the horse’s small stature, and the latter goes so far as to suggest that the animal in question was a “trotter” from the steppes of Central Asia that was renowned for its endurance. In fact, the ramheaded shape of the head, the strong, arched neck (see Arakelian 1971: fig. 1) and the deep chest should each alert us to the possibility that this was in fact a Nisaean (a constant symbol of status and rank from Achaemenid to Sasanian times) depicted at a notably reduced scale. 36 It should also be stressed that, even if the horse’s elegant breast-strap did not serve to support a bell in the customary position, the precise place of the bell was very probably taken—in the rhyton’s original condition—by a short protruding spout (and not a mere open, circular aperture) through which the owner of the rhyton would have been able to sample his wine. Because of the horse’s drawn-up legs, it has also been suggested that it was depicted in a recumbent posture. 37 Once again, however, an alternative reading of the composition may well make more sense. As fig. 5 indicates, and as at least one early photograph of this once partly crushed item would seem to affirm (Arakelian 1971: fig. 1), the rider was originally given the slight forward lean of an active horseman. Indeed, with the assistance of this particular clue, and with an appreciation of the constraints that the design as a whole necessarily imposed on the artist, most ancient observers would very probably have at once grasped the intended message: they were viewing a skilled rider mounted on a thoroughbred horse that was moving at speed. 38 With reference to the detailed characteristics of the horse and its accoutrements, these may all be said to find good parallels in the Achaemenid period. While, for example, the clipped mane is perhaps cut a bit shorter than usual, the swept-back forelock (fig. 6) finds a ready parallel in the case of the above-mentioned gold “Oxus” horses. The horse-cloth also exhibits two of the main diagnostic features of this distinctive Achaemenid item—that is to say, a tufted border marks the lower edge of the cloth and stepped lappets mark the rear edge. The couchant ibexes that are distributed across the main field of the cloth (fig. 5) also illustrate anything but a rare motif in

35.  See Moorey 2000: pl. 2. See also Ter-Martirossov 1996: 198 and Stronach 2009: 217. 36. In a somewhat similar misunderstanding, Tallis (2005: 222) compares the size of the four gold horses that pull one of the model chariots from the so-called Oxus Treasure to the size of the chariot and the chariot’s human occupants and concludes that the horses are “pony-sized animals,” even if they can other­wise be seen to have “the appearance of ram-headed Nisaeans.” In short, it should not be forgotten that necessary but costly “accessories” were frequently reduced in size (or depicted at a reduced scale, in the case of, say, a cylinder seal or a relief, in order to fit within the height of a given field or register). As to the true size of Nisaean horses, one of the best indications comes from Timothy of Gaza, a writer of the 6th century c.e.), who refers to their “great size and feet that shake the earth.” See Anderson 1961: 27. 37.  See Harper 1978: 29. 38.  The rider’s hollowed, clenched hands (fig. 5) also indicate that, as an active rider, he was originally seen to grip reins of gold or silver wire. It is a scenario that at once brings to mind the similarly hollowed hands of the unquestionably active “gold horseman” from the “Oxus treasure” (Tallis 2005: fig. 408)—an equestrian figure whose headdress, beard, and costume are each comparable in various ways.

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Fig. 9.  An animal-headed, partially gilt silver cup from Erebuni with prominent, figured decoration on the horn.

Achaemenid art—and their stately presence in the present context could even allude to the “object of the chase.” 39 If the first of the two bent rhyta from Erebuni is most likely to date from somewhere between the second half of the 5th century and ca. 330 b.c.e., the second, with its barely concealed hints of high political ambition, could either date, in my view, from say, the last seven decades of the Achaemenid period or, perhaps even more logically, to a time directly following the collapse of Achaemenid power. The latter possibility has the considerable merit, needless to say, of falling within a period when prior Achaemenid stipulations (such as would seem to have largely prohibited the manufacture of anything less than “regal” equestrian sculpture) would at last have been a thing of the past. 40 Finally, a close examination of the surface of the horse-and-rider composition reveals that it was not made in one piece. Even if the solid-looking head and helmet were not necessarily made independently from the rest of the figure of the rider, there are clear indications that the horse was manufactured separately from the horseman. Evidence to this effect includes traces of solder along the junction where the lower part of the body of the rider rests on the seat of the horse and where, above all, the long legs of the rider engage the rounded sides of the body 39.  Within the known range of Achaemenid rhyta, evidence for stone inlays of the kind that presumably once stood in the circular metal settings in the knees of the stallion’s sharply bent forelegs (fig. 8) is rare. In Ter-Martirossov’s (1996: 200) estimation, the stone inlays in the Erebuni rhyton would have had a clear apotropaic value; and for Hačatrian and Markarian (2003: 14), the presence of such insets is one of several possible indications that the Erebuni vessel dates from the first half of the 4th century b.c.e. Also exceptional, needless to say, is the emblematic eagle that appears on the helmet. Without wishing to press the issue too far, the citation of this “regal” element looks as if it could very possibly be associated with a key moment in Armenia’s long history. Finally, a leaf-shaped design, engraved on the underside of the horse, between its rear legs (fig. 5), is understood by Hačatrian and Markarian (2003: 11) to represent a “tree of life.” Given the rather telling position of this anomalous feature, it may be preferable, however, to suppose that it was introduced in order to serve as a suitably decorous “fig-leaf.” 40.  On the still less than perfectly understood conventions that governed the depiction of equestrian figures in the round during the years of Achaemenid rule, see Stronach 2009: 230. See also Boardman 2000: 134.

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Fig. 10.  The figured scene on the animal-headed, partially gilt silver cup from Erebuni (see fig. 9). Drawing by R. Hall, on behalf of the UC Berkeley Expedition to Erebuni.

of the horse. In other words, a hitherto-neglected explanation involving understandable structural factors could very well account for the surprising length of the rider’s legs.

The Repoussé Gilt Silver Animal-Headed Cup from Erebuni The third “rhyton” from Erebuni consists of an animal-headed cup (fig. 9) that appears to have reached Armenia from the west. 41 The head is that of a young calf. Now damaged in several places, the eye sockets of the animal (bordered by finely engraved eyelashes) are no longer inlaid—and the separately made, once inset ears are missing. On the other hand, this handsomely bearded calf-head is still distinguished, not least by one well-preserved incipient horn as well as by a striking engraved design that represents the small tufts of hair—the “curly poll”—on the young animal’s forehead. 42 Nevertheless, the principal interest of the vessel has to be said to reside in the partially gilt figured decoration that is found on the rhyton’s short, vertical horn. Here one male and three female figures (two of whom are musicians) each appear to be participants in the same festive 41.  Erebuni Museum no. 21. Height 25 cm. 42.  For a broadly similar tufted poll that appears in a very fragmentary, decorative architectural element from 3rd century Pergamum, see Umholz 2008: fig. 11. Interestingly enough, this fragment is thought to come from the Sanctuary of Asclepius at Pergamum. Also, for a close parallel to the general appearance of the head of the calf, Arakelian (1976: 45) has drawn attention to a silver calf-headed cup of early 4th-century date from Porojna in Rumania (for which see, for example, Marazov 1996: figs. 85 and 86). Somewhat remarkably, the horn of this latter vessel is also very like the horn of the Erebuni cup in not only exhibiting two standing and two seated figures, but in also possessing a tongue-patterned rim. In addition, the seated figures in the design happen to be depicted (as is just conceivably the case with reference to the lyre player in fig. 15) with crossed legs.

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Fig. 11.  A detail of Dionysus, seated on his throne. Note also that, at least from this angle, the last two fingers of the right hand look to be notably curled.

occasion (fig. 10). 43 The mature, bearded, very conceivably divine male figure at the heart of the composition (fig. 11) is, without doubt, the main protagonist. With a more or less bare upper body (but with hints of clothing appearing in the vicinity of his left shoulder and with distinct traces of gilding on the clothing that covers his lower body and his legs), he is portrayed in a seated, moreor-less frontal pose that still allows significant portions of his throne to be seen. Among other intimations of authority, he holds a staff in his left hand, and his partly open right hand reaches 43.  The drawing in this illustration is owed to R. Hall. It is based, in part, on drawings prepared in the field by T. Nersesyan.

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out to receive a proffered bowl of wine. Further, as the likely arbiter of the music selected for the occasion, he appears to turn his head slightly to the left in order to catch the strains of the melody issuing from the instrument closest to him. His throne is embellished in diverse ways. The visible portion of the chair back possesses a finely modeled finial in the shape of a swan’s head (fig. 10) and another part of the seat is decorated, for example, by a palmette. As far as at least one close parallel is concerned, a similar swan-head finial marks the back of the chair of an Achaemenid dignitary, who is shown at a ritual meal. 44 The woman (figs. 12 and 10) who is shown immediately to the left of the seated man offers him (it would seem safe to assume) a bowl of wine. 45 As far as can be made out, the bowl is a somewhat clumsily rendered version of a phiale: a long-familiar type of drinking bowl of chiefly Achaemenid date that is well attested in various materials (including precious metal) in, among other places, western Anatolia. 46 In a gesture that recalls precedents of longstanding, the bowl is displayed on the fingertips of the woman’s upturned right hand. 47 Both the woman’s dress and her pose present a singular combination of Attic and Achaemenid features. Thus, while her upper body appears in a near three-quarter view, her legs are shown in profile in a seemingly Achaemenid-related standing pose. In fact, Fig. 12.  A woman carrying a the pleats in the lower part of her costume seem to be loosely modbowl of wine. eled after the folds that are customarily encountered in the voluminous multi-pleated Achaemenid court dress. In addition, her role as an attendant, and the manner in which the lower part of her costume is drawn tightly across parts of her shapely figure, can be compared, as Boardman has noted (2000: 187), to the appearance of females in Persian dress who appear in seals or sealings of Achaemenid date from chiefly western portions of the realm. 48 Specifically Greek features include the treatment of the ends of the vertical folds in the upper part of her dress. 49 Also Greek in character is the almost transparent quality of parts of her costume. 50 So are her bare feet and her slightly disordered hairstyle that ends in either a ponytail or a bun—and which is admittedly constrained, in part, by a diadem rather than by a headband. If it can be assumed that the three women in the composition were most probably equipped with the same kind of jewelry, each of them appears to have worn a diadem, earrings, and brace44.  For an impression of the cylinder seal in question, see Boardman 2000: chapter 5, fig. 8. 45.  In one prior publication of note (Boardman 2000: 187), the two photographs that include this attendant are, in fact, reversed. 46.  See especially Dusinberre 1999. 47.  Compare Haran 1958: 21–22; also Stronach 1995: 177 with fig. 12.1. With reference to such conventions, it has also been convincingly proposed that the position of the main participant’s right hand (fig. 11) is an indication that he was planning to receive the bowl in the refined “three-finger hold” (Miller 2011: 105). 48.  See, for example, Bakker 2007: 208. 49.  Such pleat-ends may be compared, for example, to the appearance of the pleat-ends in a girt chiton. 50.  See, for example, Boardman 1996: pl. 204.

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Fig. 13.  A woman playing double pipes.

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Fig. 14.  In this detail from a South Italian red figure vase, a young woman is shown playing double pipes for Dionysus. Early 4th century b.c.e. (after Boardman 1996: fig. 207). See also n. 52.

lets. But it is also apparent that, just as a diadem was anything but a standard item of Achaemenid finery, neither the design of the choker necklaces nor the form of the single exposed earring (fig. 10) can be counted as typically Achaemenid in character. A second woman (fig. 13) stands at the right edge of the scene. In terms of her participation in the festivities, she is engaged in playing double pipes. She wears a costume that only partly accords with the one just described. The greater part of her dress, which includes that covering the lower part of her body and her legs, has a diaphanous quality that was clearly intended to be at least somewhat revealing. Also, in contrast to the decorated sleeve exhibited by the cup-bearer, which possibly cites earlier Greek treatments of drapery on the arm and shoulder (see Boardman 1996: fig. 129), her one visible sleeve appears to have been of a design that called for a long, loose cut. Further, in a dramatic gesture that was probably intended to stress the level of her commitment to her art, she appears to have hitched-up her sleeves to close to shoulder height (fig. 13). 51 Double pipes have a long history in the Near East (see below, p. 271), but relevant models for the pose of the musician in fig. 13 seems to come more or less directly from the realm of Greek 51.  Whether or not the inspiration for this rendering of her long sleeves can be said to come directly from Achaemenid sources, it is certainly not dissimilar to the way the sleeves of the intent “royal hero” were customarily depicted in, for example, doorway reliefs at Persepolis. See, for example, Schmidt 1953: pl. 114.

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painting. Indeed, the designer of the present composition appears to have tried to base the figure of the musician on the kind of image that occurs, for example, in a South Italian red figure vase of early 4th-century date from Tarentum, where a young woman with prominent bracelets (and a headband) can also be seen to play the pipes for Dionysus. In this accomplished study by the Karneia Painter (fig. 14), a partly three-quarter view of the instrument clearly documents the use of divergent pipes, a single mouthpiece, and the kind of lively fingering that would have been a normal complement to the widely spaced finger holes in the pipes. 52 Unfortunately, however, the complexity of the subject led, with reference to the present pipes player, to a number of less than happy consequences. Inter alia, the two (presumably divergent) pipes are simply shown one above the other (fig. 10); the proportions of the pipes look too thick and two short to be accurate; and there is no indication that the two pipes shared a common mouthpiece. In addition, there seems to be no attempt to portray any kind of credible fingering. In a pose that completes a rhythmic pattern of alternating standing and seated figures (fig. 10), the second female musician sits on a chair while playing a lyre (fig. 15). The expression on her face, and the carriage of her head, do much to capture her absorption in her role. In contrast to the other female celebrants, her ankle-length costume exhibits a loose, generous cut. It is also noticeable that promiFig. 15.  A woman playing a lyre. nent piping is visible on her dress—and that the material that was used for her costume possesses the same unobtrusive, overall pattern of minute dots that occurs in the partially gilded clothing of the seated man. Note, too, that parts of her costume, her chair, and her lyre were each gilded. The lyre that she holds is roughly rectangular in shape. The box-like resonator, which appears to be approximately half the size of the instrument as a whole, is held adjacent to the upper part of her body. The not exactly parallel “arms” of the lyre served to anchor the yoke. The horizontal, open strings are six in number (whether for reasons of design or in accord with accuracy) and the outer ends of the strings are very clearly wrapped around the yoke. Opposed knobs at each end of the yoke also suggest (correctly or, perhaps, incorrectly!) that the tension of the strings was altered in a single operation by turning the yoke. As is only to be expected, the plectrum with which the instrument was played was held between the thumb and forefinger. With reference to prior views concerning the date and the source of origin of this richly decorated vessel, Tiratsian (1988: 54–55) opts for an Achaemenid date and an Ionian workshop. Boardman (2000: 187), without offering an express opinion on the date of the piece, simply 52.  Fig. 14 appears courtesy of the Ministry of Cultural Affairs, Apulian Regional Office, and the Superintendant for Archaeological Heritage, Apulia.

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observes that it is “surely from the west.” Ter-Martirossov and Deschamps (2007: 70) propose a probably Achaemenid date within the 4th century b.c.e., and Ter-Martirossov (1996: 201) makes a further suggestion that the object could have been manufactured in either Cappadocia or Armenia. Ž. Hačatrian and A. Z. Markarian, who appear to have been among the first to contemplate a possible date in the 3rd century b.c.e., seem, in the end, to advocate a late 4th-century to early 3rd-century date. 53 Furthermore, these last two authors clearly support the now prevalent view that the piece originally emanated from somewhere within the orbit of western Anatolia. Past interpretations of the figured scene under consideration have varied widely. Tiratsian (1988: 54–55) thought the scene could depict the funerary banquet of an Achaemenid satrap. In a more elaborate interpretation, Ter-Martirossov (1996: 200–201) suggests that the scene depicts the funerary banquet of a hero who, at the end of his appointed days, is about to receive the gift of immortality—a gift that comes in the form of a draught of ambrosia presented to him by the goddess, Spandaramet. For Hačatrian and Markarian (2003: 18), the main protagonist is Asclepius, who is depicted, it is suggested, in the company of his wife and daughters. Arakelian (1971: 149), on the other hand, was already of the view, close to forty years ago, that the participants in the banquet had to be Dionysus and three of his female attendants. This latter interpretation remains the most convincing, not least since the weight of evidence in favor of the other proposals is, in the main, not overly strong. 54 Still more to the point, slightly earlier images from various locations, stretching from Thrace to southern Italy, regularly depict Dionysus as a mature, bearded figure, who customarily sits, or reclines, on a relatively low throne, while either holding, or being offered, a bowl of wine. On many occasions, moreover, Dionysus is shown being regaled with music; and, in certain depictions, he even turns his head slightly to one side in order to give his full attention, it appears, to the tune. 55 Last but not least, it seems more than likely that his rather sinuous staff (fig. 10) represents his vine. 56

Discussion Given the scarcity of undisturbed deposits that might still provide an opportunity to shed fresh light on the precise nature of the post-Urartian occupation of Erebuni, not a few commentators have drawn attention to the potentially significant chronological implications of these three silver vessels. As a result, it may be as well to return to the dates that can be suggested for each item—namely, from the second half of the 5th century down to ca. 330 b.c.e. for the horse rhyton, 53.  See especially Khachatryan 2001–2: 85 and Hačatrian and Markarian 2003: 20. 54. Strictly in brief, Tiratsian’s interpretation can almost certainly be ruled out on chronological grounds; Ter-Martirossov’s “goddess” appears to be no more distinguished in either her dress or her various accoutrements than any of the other women in the composition; and, with reference to Khachatryan and Markarian’s thoughtful suggestion, it is still difficult, on the whole, to understand why Asclepius and his immediate family should be thought of as more likely subjects (notwithstanding a vague hint of possible evidence to the contrary in n. 42 above) than the Greek god of wine and his maenads. 55. Compare, for example, the image of Dionysus on a figured silver jug-rhyton from the Borovo Hoard—a hoard from northern Bulgaria that can be ascribed to the first half of the 4th century b.c.e. (Marazov 1996: fig. 70, top right). 56.  With reference to the figured scene as a whole, it is perhaps a matter of particular interest that an artist who seems to have had an at least passing acquaintance with the conventions of Achaemenid art should have been ready to take up the considerable challenges posed by this manifestly classical theme. If nothing else, however, this could be a straightforward commentary on the demands of the marketplace in western or northwestern Anatolia at the approximate time that the vessel was made.

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ca. 400–300 b.c.e. for the rhyton with the horse-and-rider motif, and from the late 4th to the early 3rd century b.c.e. for the calf-headed rhyton. In keeping with other available evidence, such as that provided, for example, by the two above-mentioned Milesian coins, these items might therefore be said to lend very possible substance to the belief that Erebuni remained an active site through much of the 5th and 4th centuries—and, very possibly, into the early 3rd century as well. 57 The recovery of these silver vessels from the near vicinity of one of Armenia’s major sites also raises questions that relate to the nature of Persian imperial tributary requirements. As Zournatzi (forthcoming) has recently noted, it may not be correct, after all, to suppose that the diverse goods that are displayed in the Apadana reliefs were simply “gifts” brought to show fealty to the Great King. Instead, such objects could have been part of the required tribute demanded of the various tributary peoples and, as such, they could have been subject to detailed specifications. 58 With this perspective in mind, it is tempting to view the griffin-handled, beak-spouted vase that is prominently displayed by a member of the Armenian delegation in the Apadana reliefs (fig. 4) as part of the required tribute from Armenia. 59 And, if this was the case, the vessel was no doubt made in Armenia in accord with exact specifications related to its material, design, and weight— specifications that would assuredly have been known to each of the principal local workshops. Another no doubt local product is the elegant horse rhyton from Erebuni. As has already been suggested, however, it is difficult to know exactly how it should be interpreted. On the one hand, it could be viewed as an object that was at least partly designed to respond to strongly rooted local tastes; and, on the other hand (as an object that was almost certainly made at a somewhat later date than the griffin-handled vase), it could quite possibly have stood within the accepted bounds of imperial taste at the time that it was produced. 60 The rhyton with the horse-and-rider motif is, of course, a very special case. Indeed, whatever circumstances may have chanced to bring about its creation, it is safe to say that it was not designed to correspond to the artistic expectations of the Achaemenid court. There is also an inter57.  In this last respect, Israelian (1971: 40) and Hačatrian and Markarian (2003: 20) are among those who have advanced a not implausible suggestion that the vessels in question could have been at some point among the contents of a treasury that was associated with Erebuni’s venerable Susi temple. At the same time, it is necessary to stress, once again, that the rhyta were not recovered from a controlled context. In sum, however likely it may be that these vessels, as well as a fourth vessel—a silver jar with a somewhat hemispherical body and a long neck (and with a secondary hole in the lower part of the vessel from which wine could issue)—were all part of a single hoard, it has to be remembered that the exact circumstances of the discovery remain uncertain. (For prior observations related to this last, relatively plain vessel, see, for example, Arakelian 1971: 151; Khodjash et al. 1979: 146; Tiratsian 1988: 54; Hačatrian and Markarian 2003: 15–16 with fig. 5.) 58.  In returning to this frequently explored issue, Zournatzi draws particular attention to Postgate’s (1974: 121–27) observation, based on textual evidence, that part of the tribute required by the Assyrians included “small, valuable items, and probably horses” and the related fact that the tribute processions depicted in Assyrian reliefs show items of just this kind being brought to the Assyrian court by representatives of the subject peoples. Further, Zournatzi stresses that Postgate goes on to draw a direct comparison between the Assyrian tribute processions and the celebrated procession on the plinth of the Apadana at Persepolis. 59.  See also Roaf 1990: illustration 218, bottom left. 60.  Note, for example, a limestone relief of great quality from Palace H at Persepolis that appears to depict the head of a Nisaean horse with an untrimmed mane and forelock (Tallis 2005: fig. 58). On the other hand, in the case of the untrimmed manes of the horses associated with delegations 11 and 17 (Schmidt 1953: pls. 37 and 43), it is perhaps possible to think that these two exceptions were intended to draw attention to the specific presentation of regional breeds.

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esting possibility that the bold design of the piece was partly inspired by innovative compositions that Greek workshops were producing for the Scythian elite market. I think in particular of the elaborate finials of a gold torque from Kul’ Oba in the Crimea, dated to the 4th century b.c.e. In this memorable object a Scythian horseman, his gold wire reins still in hand, sits astride each of the torque’s elongated horse-protome finials. 61 As far as the calf-headed rhyton is concerned, multiple reasons might be found to account for the fact that it found a relatively early home in Armenia. Its very novelty in its new abode, and perhaps even the relatively demure deportment of the maenads, could have counted in its favor. As is well known, moreover, lyres and double pipes were by no means only associated with the Greek world in the mid-1st millennium b.c.e. Such instruments could have already gained a footing in Armenia by this date. Support for this tentative suggestion derives from the long history of these two instruments in ancient Mesopotamia. 62 It is confirmed by the still more relevant fact that lyres and double pipes appear to have been well represented in 8th/7th century Assyria as well as in not-too-distant 6th-century Phrygia. 63 Apart from all else, however, the vicinity of the Ararat Valley presumably offered a very natural “habitat” for a vessel that so clearly celebrated both wine and music—two sources of keen delight that enjoyed, it could be said, an enduring, local repute. 64 61.  Piotrovskii 1975: pl. 19. 62.  Rimmer 1969: 12–19. 63.  Rimmer 1969: 33–36 and 45–46. In a stone monument of this date from Bogazköy, for instance, the figure of the goddess Cybele is flanked by one musician who plays the lyre and by another who plays the double pipes. Akurgal 1961: fig. 55. 64.  As McGovern (2003: 25) has observed in his engaging account of the ongoing search for the beginnings of viniculture, singularly important early evidence is now beginning to emerge from the valleys immediately to the north and to the south of the Lesser Caucasus Mountains. Also, in the Urartian period alone (and with exclusive reference to sites associated with the once vineyard-rich Ararat Valley), McGovern notes that the 400 huge jars that were found at Karmir Blur could have contained up to 35,000 liters of wine; that the “cellars” at Armavir appear to have held as much as 400,000–500,000 liters of wine; and that the “masses of grape seeds” found during Ter-Martirossov’s recent excavations on the north flank of the citadel at Erebuni are “astounding.”

Bibliography Akurgal, E. 1961 Die Kunst Anatoliens von Homer bis Alexander. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Albenda, P. 1986 The Palace of Sargon King of Assyria. Paris: ÉRC. Alvarez-Mon, J. 2008 “Give To Drink, O Cup-Bearer!” The Arjan Beaker in the Context of Lion-Headed Drinking Vessels in the Ancient Near East. Iranica Antiqua 43: 127–52. Arakelian, B. N. 1971 A Treasure-Trove of Silver Items from Erebuni. Sovietskaya Arkheologiya 1: 143–58 (in Russian). 1976 Notes on the History of Art in Ancient Armenia (6th century b.c.e.–3rd century a.d.). Yerevan: The Publishing House of the Academy of Sciences of the Armenian SSR. [Armenian] Bakker, J. 2007 The Lady and the Lotus: Representations of Women in the Achaemenid Empire. Iranica Antiqua 42: 207–20.

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Boardman, J. 1996 Greek Art. 4th ed. New York: Thames and Hudson. 2000 Persia and the West: An Archaeological Examination of the Genesis of Achaemenid Art. London: Thames and Hudson. Calmeyer, P. 1979 Zum Tongefäss in Form eines Gazellenkopfes. Pp. 195–201 in Bastam I, ed. W. Kleiss. Teheraner Forschungen 4. Berlin: Reimer. Curtis, J. E. 1988 Assyria as a Bronzeworking Centre in the Late Assyrian Period. Pp. 83–96 in Bronzeworking Centres of Western Asia ca. 1000–539 b.c.e., ed. J. E. Curtis. London: Kegan Paul. 2000 Animal-Headed Drinking Cups in the Late Assyrian Period. Pp.  193–207 in Variatio Delectat: Iran und der Westen: Gedenkschrift für Peter Calmeyer, ed. R. Dittmann et al. AOAT 272. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Curtis, J. E., and Kruszyski, M. 2002 Ancient Caucasian and Related Material in the British Museum. London: The British Museum. Damerji, M. S. B. 1999 Gräber Assyrischer Königinnen aus Nimrud. Mainz: Verlag des Römisch-Germanischen Zentral­ museums. Deller, K. 1985 SAG.DU UR.MAH, Löwenkopfsitula, Löwenkopfbecher. BaM 16: 327–46. Dusinberre, E. R. M. 1999 Satrapal Sardis: Achaemenid Bowls in an Achaemenid Capital. American Journal of Archaeology 103: 73–110. 2008 Circles of Light and Achaemenid Hegemonic Style in Gordion’s Seal 100. Pp. 87–98 in Love for Lydia: A Sardis Anniversary Volume Presented to Crawford H. Greenewalt, Jr., ed. N. D. Cahill. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Ebbinghaus, S. 1999 Between Greece and Persia: Rhyta in Thrace from the Late 5th to the Early 3rd Centuries b.c.e. Pp. 385–425 in Ancient Greeks: West and East, ed. G. R. Tsetskhladze. Leiden: Brill. Hažatrian, Ž., and Markarian, A. Z. 2003 I rhyta di Erebuni nel contesto dell’arte achemenide e greco-persiana. Parthica 5: 9–20. Haran, M. 1958 The Bas-Reliefs on the Sarcophagus of Ahiram, King of Byblos. Israel Exploration Journal 8: 15–25. Harper, P. O. 1978 The Royal Hunter: Art of the Sasanian Empire. New York: Asia House Gallery. Heim, S. 1992 Glazed Objects and the Elamite Glaze Industry. Pp. 202–10 in The Royal City of Susa: Ancient Near Eastern Treasures from the Louvre, ed. P. O. Harper, J. Aruz, and F. Tallon. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Herzfeld, E. 1941 Iran in the Ancient East. London: Oxford University Press. Hoffmann, H. 1961 The Persian Origin of the Attic Rhyta. Antike Kunst 4: 21–26. Israelian, M. A. 1971 History of the City-Fortress of Erebuni. Yerevan: Hayastan Press. [Armenian] Karapetian, I. 1996 Rhyton à tête de taureau. P. 175 in Arménie: Trésors de l’Arménie ancienne des origines au IVe siècle, ed. J. Santrot. Paris: Somogy Editions d’Art. Khachatryan, Zh. 2001–2 Representations of Music on Armenian Terracottas and Toreutics (Second Millennium b.c.e. – Third Century a.d.). Imago Musicae 18–19: 85–98.

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Khodjash, S. I., Troukhtanova, N. S., and Hovhannissian, K. L. 1979 Erebuni. Moscow: Izdatel’stvo “ISKUSSTVO.” [Russian] Koch. H. 1997 Persepolis: Haupstadt des achämenidischen Grossreichs. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Majidzadeh, Y. 1992 The Arjan Bowl. Iran 30: 131–44. Mallowan, M. E. L. 1996 Nimrud and Its Remains. 2 vols. London: Collins. Mallowan, M. E. L., and Davies, L. G. 1970 Ivories in Assyrian Style. London: British School of Archaeology in Iraq. Marazov, I. 1996 The Rogozen Treasure. Sofia: Secor. McGovern, P. E. 2003 Ancient Wine: The Search for the Origins of Viniculture. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Melikian-Chirvani, A. S. 1996 The Iranian Wine Horn from pre-Achaemenid Antiquity to the Safavid Age. Bulletin of the Asia Institute 10: 85–139. Miller, M. C. 2011 ‘Manners makyth man’: Diacritical Drinking in Achaemenid Anatolia. Pp. 97–134 in Cultural Identity in the Ancient Mediterranean, ed. E. S. Gruen. Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Research Institute. Moorey, P. R. S. 1985 The Iranian Contribution to Achaemenid Material Culture. Iran 23: 21–37. 2000 Iran and the West: The Case of the Terracotta “Persian” Riders in the Achaemenid Empire. Pp. 469–86 in Variatio Delectat: Iran und der Westen; Gedenkschrift für Peter Calmeyer, ed. R. Ditt­ mann et al. AOAT 272. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Muscarella, O. W. 1988 Bronze and Iron: Ancient Near Eastern Artifacts in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. 1989 King Midas of Phrygia and the Greeks. Pp. 333–44 in Anatolia and the Ancient Near East: Studies in Honor of Tahsin Özgüç, ed. K. Emre et al. Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu. 1998 Relations between Phrygia and Assyria in the 8th Century b.c.e. Pp. 149–57 in XXXIVème Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, 6–10 VII 1987, Istanbul. Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu. Piotrovskii, B. B. 1967 Urartu: The Kingdom of Van and Its Art. London: Evelyn Adams and Mackay. 1975 From the Lands of the Scythians: Ancient Treasures from the Museums of the U.S.S.R., 3000 bc–100 bc New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Porada, E. 1965 Ancient Iran: The Art of Pre-Islamic Times. London: Methuen. Postgate, J. N. 1974 Taxation and Conscription in the Assyrian Empire. Studia Pohl Series Maior 3. Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute. Rimmer, J. 1969 Ancient Musical Instruments of Western Asia in the Department of Western Asiatic Antiquities, the British Museum. London: The British Museum. Roaf, M. 1990 Cultural Atlas of Mesopotamia and the Near East. New York: Facts On File. Sarkisian, H. V. 1998 On the earliest data on monetary circulation in Armenia. Armenian Numismatic Journal 24: 11–14. [Armenian] Schmidt, E. F. 1953 Persepolis I. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Sekunda, N., and Chew, S. 1992 The Persian Army, 560–330 b.c.e. London: Osprey.

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Simpson, St. J. 2005 The Royal Table. Pp. 104–31 in The Forgotten Empire: The World of Ancient Persia, ed. J. E. Curtis and N. Tallis. London: The British Museum. Stronach, D. 1978 Pasargadae: A Report on the Excavations Conducted by the British Institute of Persian Studies from 1961 to 1963. Oxford: Clarendon. 1995 The Imagery of the Wine Bowl: Wine in Assyria in the Early First Millennium b.c.e. Pp. 175–95 in The Origins and Ancient History of Wine, ed. P. E. McGovern, S. J. Fleming, and S. H. Katz. Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach. 2005 The Arjan Tomb: Innovation and Acculturation in the Last Days of Elam. Iranica Antiqua 40: 179–96. 2008 The Building Program of Cyrus the Great at Pasargadae and the Date of the Fall of Sardis. Pp. 149–73 in Ancient Greece and Ancient Iran: Cross-Cultural Encounters, ed. S. M. R. Darbandi and A. Zournatzi. Athens: National Hellenic Research Foundation. 2009 Riding in Achaemenid Iran: New Perspectives. Eretz Israel 29: 216–37. Stronach, D., et al. 2009 Erebuni 2007. Iranica Antiqua 44: 181–206. Summerer, L. 2006 Bemerkungen zum silbernen Kalbskopfrhyton in der Eremitage. Pp. 135–43 in Pontos Euxenos: Beiträge zur Archäologie und Geschichte des Antiken Schwarzmeer- und Balkanraumes, ed. S. Conrad et al. Langenweissbach: Beier & Beran. Tallis, N. 2005 Transport and Warfare. Pp. 210–35 in Forgotten Empire: The World of Ancient Persia, ed. J. E. Curtis and N. Tallis. London: The British Museum. Ter-Martirossov, F. 1996 Un peuple convoité: l’etat armenien et les Achéménides, les Evandides, les princes hellénistiques et les empereurs romains (Ve siècle avant J.-C.–IVe siècle après J.-C.) Pp. 176–249 in Arménie: Trésors de l’Arménie ancienne des origines au IVe siècle, ed. J. Santrot. Paris: Somogy Editions d’Art. Ter-Martirossov, F., and Deschamps, S. 2007 Données récentes sur l’Arménie et l’empire perse achéménide. Les Dossiers d’archéologie 321: 68–73. Tiratsian, G. A. 1988 Culture of Ancient Armenia: 6th Century b.c.e.–3rd Century a.d. Yerevan: Academy of Sciences of the Armenian SSR. [Russian] Umholz, G. 2008 Architectural Ornament Fit for a Queen: Feminine Piety and Early Hellenistic Boukrania. Pp. 99–110 in Love for Lydia: A Sardis Anniversary Volume Presented to Crawford H. Greenewalt, Jr., ed. N. D. Cahill. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Young, R. 1981 Three Great Tumuli. University Museum Monograph 43. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania. Zournatzi, A. Forthcoming The Vouni Treasure and Monetary Practices in Cyprus during the Persian Period. In Proceedings of the International Conference Coinage/Jewellery: Uses-Interactions-Symbolisms from Antiquity to the Present (Ios, 26–28 June 2009), eds. K. Liampi and D. Plantzos. KERMA. Athens.

Banqueting and Music: An Early Dynastic I Sealing from Nippur Richard L. Zettler University of Pennsylvania

Anne (Draffkorn) Kilmer’s research has focused on a wide range of topics over decades in Assyriology, but she is arguably best known for her interest in music and musical instruments, a fascination perhaps spawned by an early visit to Penn Museum (Kilmer 1998: 18). Anne published more than 20 articles and reviews on the subject, including important encyclopaedic entries in Reallexikon der Assyriologie and Musik in Geschichte und Gegenwart. She even produced, with her colleagues Richard L. Crocker (Music) and Robert R. Brown (Physics) from the University of California, Berkeley, a recording of ancient Near Eastern music using Royal Cemetery of Ur replica instruments (Kilmer, Crocker, and Brown 1976; Kilmer 1998). It is particularly appropriate, then, to include a clay sealing from Nippur with one of our earliest depictions of a musical performance, featuring a double-cow/bull lyre, in this volume celebrating her remarkable career. The fact that the musical performance on the sealing is associated with banqueting gives it particular resonance for me, recalling many good times shared with Anne (and other colleagues and friends) in a memorable year I spent teaching at UC Berkeley, where weekend hikes were invariably followed by convivial gatherings, always with outstanding (California) wines. The sealing 8 N 186 (A32241), which is the object of this study, is a triangular lump of clay, unfired when excavated, but baked in the field. It is 7.4 cm long, 5.2 cm wide, and 3.5 cm high, somewhat smaller today than when initially measured on site. The sealing was found in Inanna Temple (IT) Level XI (fig. 1). The Inanna Temple excavations have yielded the longest continuous archaeological sequence to date for Mesopotamia, with more than 20 building levels spanning the Middle Uruk (mid-4th millennium b.c.e.) through the late Parthian era, 2nd century a.d. Level XI encompassed ca. 500 m2. The single structure uncovered, built with plano-convex bricks, was bounded by narrow streets on the southwest and east. The building’s two main phases of occupation, dubbed XIB and XIA, included a substantial central courtyard (IT 290+296), with smaller courtyards to the northwest (IT 291+389) and southeast (IT 306), but no podia or offering Author’s note:  I would like to thank Karen L. Wilson (Oriental Institute) for checking and rechecking 8 N 186 against my drawing and for extracting the plan of IT XI from the Inanna Temple excavation archives in Chicago, as well as for reading a draft of this article. I am also grateful to Flemming Højlund and Terp Laursen for providing me with photographs of stamps seals from Danish excavations at Failaka Island and Moesgård Museum for permission to use them in this publication. I am equally indebted to Flemming Højlund for calling my attention to the KuwaitiSlovak Archaeological Mission’s excavations on Failaka Island.

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+

c

~

+

Fig. 1.  Plan of Inanna Temple, Level XI. Oriental Institute, University of Chicago, Nippur Archives.

~LEVEL XI A ~ LEVEL XI A a B ~LEVEL XI B --5 ~0

tables identifying it as a temple. 8 N 186 was found in IT 391, a small room to the southwest of IT 291+389, on floors or in fills associated with the building’s initial (XIB) phase of construction. Ceramics date IT XI to Early Dynastic I, 2900–2750 b.c.e. While the preceding IT XII yielded a few ceramic forms typical of Early Dynastic I in the Diyala, rim-lugged vessels and vats became common in IT XI and the number of solid-footed goblets increased dramatically (Hansen 1965: 208–9; Wilson 1986: 63). Other typical Early Dynastic I types first appeared in IT XI—for example, jars with broad beveled-ledge rims, plastic, excised or incised bands and upright, wing-shaped lugs on the shoulder; incised and excised wares; fenestrated stands; and, hollow stoppers. These Early Dynastic I types continued in the succeeding levels IT X–IX, whose plans resembled that of IT XI. IT IX included podia and offering tables typical of temples, making it the first definite exemplar in the sequence of Inanna Temples (Hansen 1971; Gibson, Hansen, and Zettler 2001: 552–53). 8 N 186’s reverse confirms its Early Dynastic I date. The reverse shows that it had been broken off a jar that had leather stretched over the mouth and neck and secured by a cord. The jar had

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Fig. 2.  High-resolution photograph of 8 N 186 taken May 14, 2009. Author’s photograph.

a short neck, with an outer diameter of 12–14 cm. The flat shoulder was decorated with a band of alternating horizontal and oblique incisions, ca. 3.0 cm from the base of the neck. Incisions on the shoulder are characteristic of jars with an upright wing-shaped lug, an index fossil of Early Dynastic I. Since the clay had been pressed against the underside but did not cover the top of the rim, the jar’s exact profile cannot be determined. Jars with upright wing-shaped lugs usually have overhanging beveled ledge rims. It is possible that the leather stretched over the mouth of the jar masked the contours of the rim, but if it roughly approximated the shape of the jar that 8 N 186 sealed, the vessel would have had a thickened beveled rim perhaps not unlike the scarlet-ware jar Kh VI: 69 (Delougaz 1952: pl. 9, 55a, C.526.373). 8 N 186 was one of 43 clay sealings, with impressions of 13 different seals, recovered from the Early Dynastic I levels of the Inanna Temple in the 8th (1962–63) season of excavations at Nippur (Hansen 1971; Zettler 2007). 8 N 186 was the earliest, the others being from IT IX. D. P. Hansen noted that their style, composition, and iconography were comparable to sealings from the lower Seal Impression Strata at Ur, suggesting their contemporaneity and confirming P. Amiet’s suggestion (1980: 47–51) that the Early Dynastic I glyptic repertoire as H. Frankfort defined it based on the Diyala excavations was unlikely to account for developments in the succeeding Early Dynastic II–III periods (Hansen 1971: 53–54). Two sealings, both from the latest phase of IT IX (IXA), depicted animal contests that pointed to the developed Fara-style, usually assigned to Early Dynastic II, suggesting its emergence by the end of Early Dynastic I. Hansen concluded that the Inanna Temple’s architecture and finds suggested that Early Dynastic I was not an époque de transition, as Amiet had characterized it, but a period “rich and important in itself” (Hansen 1971: 54). As noted, D. P. Hansen, a colleague and friend of Anne Kilmer’s from their post-graduate days at the Oriental Institute, first published the Early Dynastic I sealings from the Inanna Temple. In describing the scene on 8 N 186 he recognized a “recumbent, large horned bull flanked on either side by large human figures on bended knee,” but curiously failed to identify the recumbent bull as the soundbox of a lyre (Hansen 1971: 53). P. Amiet recognized the impression as depicting a

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Fig. 3.  Revised drawing of 8 N 186 from the author’s photograph. Inking by K. Leaman.

“scène de musique,” with an instrument in the form of a recumbent bull (Amiet 1980: 205). He redrew the seal, apparently from the field photograph Hansen published, showing the uprights and strings of the lyre, and included it in the 2nd revised edition of La Glyptique mésopotamienne archaïque (Amiet 1980: no. 1704). But his drawing is not accurate in all details. Many years ago, when compiling a catalogue of artifacts from the Inanna Temple, I reexamined the clay sealings from the excavations housed in the Oriental Institute. I greatly benefited at the time from Hansen’s keen eye. As might be imagined, he took a particular interest in 8 N 186. His comments and suggestions sent me back to the sealing time and again and necessitated more than one redrawing. I identified a standing bull on the back of the recumbent bull, but could not make out other details of the composition. Confronted with the challenge of saluting Anne Kilmer with an article reflecting her research interests, I decided to return to 8 N 186, taking highresolution digital photographs (fig. 2), which I enlarged and enhanced in Adobe Photoshop®. I think I can now provide an accurate drawing (fig. 3) and more detailed description of the seal impression. The cylinder seal rolled on 8 N 186 was ca. 7 cm high and 1.7 cm in diameter, taller than most of the seals from the lower Seal Impression Strata at Ur but comparable to them in diameter. The bottom of the scene carved on the seal is not preserved on 8 N 186 and the upper edge is indistinct. The composition of the scene is in two registers, but without a clear division between them. The figures in the lower register are a little smaller in scale than those above. The lower register shows (from left to right) the head of a female (?) with chignon, facing left; an oval; two spouted jars with high neck, the uppermost of which has a ring base; a seated (?) bald

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Fig. 4.  Impression of “great lyre” (U.10556) from PG 789 (UE 2, pl. 106a). Pennsylvania Museum Archives.

male holding a goblet, facing left; a spouted jar with high neck; a bald male facing right holding a spouted jar with high neck in raised hands; a seated human figure facing left holding a cup or goblet, apparently the same female whose head is preserved on the left edge of the impression. The lower register, then, depicts a banquet, with a seated female and a male, both raising goblets in their right hands. Though shown one behind the other, the two banqueters were doubtless to be read as seated side by side. A male attendant standing in front of the female pours from a spouted jar, like those scattered in the field, which might be taken as “empties,” suggestive of the scale of consumption at the banquet. The upper register depicts a musical performance at the center of which is a large lyre in the form of a recumbent cow/bull, with a standing cow/bull on its back. A kneeling female (?) with chignon plays the lyre from behind (to the right). She extends her left hand grasping the back upright of the lyre and raises her right hand, presumably to pluck the strings. Above the lyre player’s head is an indistinct rectangle that might include the end of the yoke (?) and the lower portion of a jar (?). Immediately to her right is the back of the figure to the left of the lyre whose posture and actions are more difficult to describe. The figure, with hair in a chignon, appears, on first glance, to be balanced on the right knee, kicking the left leg in the air. It seems more likely, however, that he/she is intended to be seen seated on the ground with the right leg bent behind and the left leg bent forward, cradling a small square box. The posture prefigures that of the Bassetki statue, dated to the time of Naram-Sin. Wrestlers on the Early Dynastic Badra relief and nude bearded heroes holding gateposts on Akkadian cylinder seals probably show the same seated posture in two dimensions (Suter 2000: 223; Hansen 2003: 195). He/she strikes the box, presumably a drum, with crossed sticks held in the left hand and holds an ovoid object or objects in the right hand, which is raised. Above the musician’s head is a jar with high neck like those in the field of the banquet scene below. The scenes depicted in 8 N 186’s upper and lower registers are components of a single event, a banquet accompanied by music. The larger scale of the musical performance in the upper register

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Fig. 5.  Woolley’s field drawing of U.12353. Ur Archives. Courtesy of the Department of the Middle East, British Museum.

marks it as the focus of the event and the seal carver has purposely positioned it in the field so that the banqueters would be seen viewing it in a long continuous rolling. The earliest banquet with music has been reconstructed from fragmentary clay sealings uncovered at Chogha Mish in southwestern Iran (Delougaz and Kantor 1996: 147–48). It dates to the later 4th millennium b.c.e. and shows an “orchestra” performing before a human figure, probably a female, seated on a cushion, whom an attendant serves a drink. The orchestra, which includes a harp, a drum, and horns (or clappers; see Collon 1997: 489), accompanies a singer, who holds one hand at the mouth. Several sealings featuring banquets and music come from the lower Seal Impression Strata at Ur (Legrain 1936: nos. 169, 371, and 373) and are, therefore, contemporary with 8 N 186. These include an amusing animal parody, which Legrain (1936: 384) dubbed a “banquet in fableland.” The scene shows a lion, seated on a stool, holding a tumbler. Two attendants, a caprid and an equid, standing on their hind legs, offer the lion food and drink from provisions piled in front of and above him. Two additional equids play a harp and clappers. Smaller animals enliven the action. Two, hard to identify with any specificity, sing and dance, while an equid holds a long pole with a triangular head divided into four prongs, perhaps a broom or brush. Above the equid, a lion kills a gazelle or small bovid with a knife. If 8 N 186 has an undeniable interest as an early and elaborate attestation of iconography that will become more common in the later Early Dynastic period, Anne Kilmer will doubtless find it of greater interest for the musical instruments it features: drum and drumsticks, the enigmatic ovoid object(s), and, particularly, the double-bull lyre. As described above, the figure to the left of the lyre plays a drum with the left hand, using a pair of sticks, and raises an ovoid object(s) in the right hand. The drum is likely a square or round frame drum. If the human figure playing it is in fact seated on the ground, it would have been ca. 30 cm by 30 cm (or 30 cm in diameter and 30 cm high).

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Fig. 6.  Stamp seal from Failaka/Dilmun depicting double-animal lyre (Kjaerum 1983: 268). Reproduced courtesy of Flemming Høylund and Moesgård Museum.

The ovoid object(s) raised toward the lyre could be a pair of small cymbals. While larger cymbals are shown on a late-3rd-millennium b.c.e. relief (Barnett 1960: pl. 27a) and an Old Babylonian terracotta plaque from Senkereh/Larsa being played with two hands (van Buren 1930: 103 and fig. 139), smaller cymbals such as those known from Nimrud (Rimmer 1969: 39–40 and pl. 21 c–d) could presumably have been played with one hand, like castanets. It seems more likely, however, that the object was a tambourine that could be struck with a stick, as illustrated on an Early Dynastic I scarlet-ware vessel from Tell Agrab (Delougaz 1952: pl. 12; Rashid 1971: 90–91), with the hand (Rashid 1971: 89–97; Spycket 1972: 180–81), or, presumably, even slapped against the body. The object might equally have been a rattle drum—that is, a double-headed frame drum with pellets inside. The lyre, which is arguably the central feature of the scene carved on the seal, is difficult to describe in detail because its upper portion is not preserved. The base of the instrument is a recumbent cow/bull, rendered with a certain anatomical reality, as evident in the slope of its neck and back, the curve of the belly behind the animal’s rib cage, etc. The back upright rises from the rump. The outline of body and back upright closely match the impression (fig. 4) left in the soil by the large lyre from the Royal Cemetery of Ur’s PG 789 (Woolley 1934: pl. 106a), a correspondence reinforced by the concave curve of the front of the animal and the PG 789 lyre. The head, upper chest, and shoulders of the cow/bull are shown as a single piece; a raised band outlines the animal’s body. As K. Wilson (Oriental Institute) suggested to me, these features

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probably show that the soundbox had an attached cow/bull’s head and was outlined by mosaic inlays like those of the lyre with gold bearded bull’s head from PG 1237, the Great Death Pit (fig. 5). A large standing cow/bull occupies the whole of the recumbent cow/bull’s back, from its sloping neck to the rump and back upright. The animal’s size suggests that it is not decorative, but an integral part of the instrument. Amiet (1980: no. 1704) mistakenly took the front legs as the upright of the lyre, but there is no trace of the front upright or the instrument’s strings. The front upright must have been anchored to the back of the standing bull and the strings would have run from the yoke, which is not preserved, to its back or side, though I cannot see any trace of them. The musical instrument shown on 8 N 186 is a forerunner of double-animal lyres depicted on a relief from Tello (De Sarzec 1884–1912: pl. 23), commonly dated to the time of Gudea, but perhaps earlier (Suter 2000: 184–85), and on Dilmun-type stamp seals (Kjaerum 1983: nos. 267–68), dated to the first quarter of the 2nd millennium b.c.e., recovered from Danish excavations on Failaka Island (Kjaerum 1980). However, a closer look at these double animal lyres reveals that while they are superficially similar, only one is structurally identical to 8 N 186. 1 The lyre depicted on 8 N 186 anticipates the lyre on Kjaerum 1983: 268 (fig. 6). The lyre on that stamp seal consists of a lower sound Fig. 7.  Fragment of Gudea (?) relief (AO 52) debox in the form of a gazelle surmounted by a picting lyre with bull strut (from Ernest de Sarzec, standing gazelle approximately the same size. Découvertes en Chaldée, pl. 23). The back upright is anchored to the lower sound box. The front upright and strings are attached to the upper standing animal, whose rump and tail abut the back upright. On 8 N 186 and Kjaerum 1983: 268, then, the upper animal acted as the resonator, while the lower soundbox would, perhaps, have amplified the sound. 1.  In addition to seals from Danish excavations, the Kuwaiti-Solvak Archaeological Mission recovered some 70 seals from al-Khidr on Failaka Island, one of which depicts a free-standing gazelle lyre on the back of a gazelle. See preliminarily www.kuwaitiarchaeology.org/al-Khidr-finds.html#gallery (last consulted March 29, 2010)

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Fig. 8.  Stamp seal from Failaka/Dilmun depicting double-animal lyre (Kjaerum 1983: 267). Reproduced courtesy of Flemming Høylund and Moesgård Museum.

The lyre shown on the Gudea relief (AO 52) has a sound box with an undulating base, a rounded rear, and a flat angled front decorated with a bull’s head (fig. 7). The raised flat front of the top of the sound box provides a base for a small striding bull. The back upright is anchored to the sound box. And the lyre’s eleven strings run from the yoke to its underside. The front upright is anchored to the back of the standing bull (de Sarzec 1887–1912, pl. 23; Suter 2000: 352–53). As Spycket long ago recognized (1972: 176–77), a similar stringed instrument occurs on a Dilmuntype seal (Kjaerum 1983: 267; fig. 8 here). The lyre consists of a large lower sound-box in the form of a gazelle, surmounted by a smaller standing gazelle. The back upright and four (?) strings are attached to the lower gazelle; the front upright is anchored to the back of the upper animal. In the case of both of these lyres, the lower animal is the instrument’s resonator. The smaller upper animal is a decorative strut supporting the front upright. Bovine lyres were common in the 3rd millennium b.c.e. but disappear in the early 2nd millennium b.c.e., replaced by box and bowl lyres (Kilmer 1983: 572). The four instruments just described are the only double-animal lyres known. It is puzzling that 8 N 186 predates the others by 500–1000 years, with no comparable instrument even in the rich assemblage of musical instruments from the Royal Cemetery of Ur or in depictions on late Early Dynastic period plaques, seals, etc. Perhaps the largely decorative rampant stag on Penn Museum’s silver boat-shaped lyre

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(de Schauensee 2002: 17–49), and, indeed, A0 52 and Kjaerum 1983: 267, are vestiges of functional double-animal instruments.

Conclusion Anne Kilmer and colleagues have done much to decipher and synthesize our limited evidence bearing on music and musical instruments in Mesopotamia. The sealing 8 N 186 adds a unique instrument to sources at hand, but much work remains to be done. For one, it is critical to integrate archaeological and documentary data—for example, matching the myriad names of musical instruments that appear in the textual record with real instruments and their depictions. Though her research has focused largely on the documentary record, Anne Kilmer has always been acutely aware of this necessity, as she showed in an article in honor of her UC Berkeley colleague J. J. Finkelstein more than thirty years ago. We can only hope that future generations will follow Anne Kilmer’s baton and make the mute material remains of Mesopotamia’s “dead civilization” resound once again.

Bibliography Amiet, P. 1980 La Glyptique mésopotamienne archaique, 2nd edition. Paris: CNRS. Barnett, R. D. 1960 Two Chance Finds from Ur. Iraq 22: 172–73. Collon, D. 1995–97  Musik. I. B. Archäologisch. RlA 8.7–8: 488–91. Delougaz, P. 1952 Pottery from the Diyala Region. OIP 63. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Delougaz, P., and Kantor, H. J. 1996 The First Seasons of Excavations 1961–71. OIP 101. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. De Sarzec, E. 1884–1912  Découvertes en Chaldée. Paris: Ernest Leroux. De Schauensee, M. 2002 Two Lyres from Ur. Philadelphia: University Museum, University of Pennsylvania. Gibson, McG., Hansen, D. P., and Zettler, R. L. 2001 Nippur B. Archäologisch. RlA 9.7–8: 546–65. Hansen, D. P. 1965 The Relative Chronology of Mesopotamia, Part 2: The Pottery Sequence at Nippur from the Middle Uruk to the End of the Old Babylonian Period (3400–1600 b.c.e.). Pp. 201–13 in Chronologies in Old World Archaeology, ed. R. W. Ehrich. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 1971 Some Early Dynastic I Sealings from Nippur. Pp.  47–54 in Studies Presented to George M. A. F. Hanfmann, ed. D. G. Mitten. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. 2003 Art of the Akkadian Dynasty. Pp. 189–98 in Art of the First Cities, ed. J. Aruz. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Kilmer, A. D. 1977 Notes on Akkadian uppu. Pp. 129–38 in Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Memory of J. J. Finkelstein, ed. M. De Jong Ellis. Hamden, CT: Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences. 1983 Leier A. Philologisch. RlA 6: 571–76. 1998 The Musical Instruments from Ur and Ancient Mesopotamian Music. Expedition 40: 12–19. Kilmer, A. D., Crocker, R. L., and Brown, R. R. 1976 Sounds from Silence: Recent Discoveries in Ancient Near Eastern Music. Berkeley: Bit Enki Productions.

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Kjaerum, P. 1980 Seals of the “Dilmum-Type” from Failaka, Kuwait. Proceedings of the Seminar for Arabian Studies 10: 45–53. 1983 The Stamp and Cylinder Seals, Failaka/Dilmun: The Second Millennium Settlements, vol. 1/1. Aarhus: Moesgård. Legrain, L. 1936 Archaic Seal Impressions. Ur Excavations, vol. 3. London: The British Museum. Rashid, S. A. 1971 Zur Datierung der mesopotamischen Trommeln und Becken. ZA 61: 89–105. Rimmer, J. 1969 Ancient Musical Instruments of Western Asia in the British Museum. London: British Museum. Spycket, A. 1972 La Musique instrumentale Mésopotamienne. Journal des Savants 3: 153–209. Suter, C. 2000 Gudea’s Temple Building. Groningen: Styx Publications. Van Buren, E. D. 1930 Clay Figurines of Babylonia and Assyria. Yale Oriental Series, Researches 16. New Haven: Yale University Press. Wilson, K. L. ˇ amdat Nasr Assemblage. Pp.  57–89 in G ˇ amdat 1986 Nippur: The Definition of a Mesopotamian G Nasr: Period or Regional Style? ed. U. Finkbeiner and W. Röllig. Wiesbaden: Ludwig Reichert. Woolley, C. L. 1934 The Royal Cemetery. Ur Excavations 2. London: British Museum. Zettler, R. L. 2007 Clay Sealings from the Early Dynastic I Levels of the Inanna Temple at Nippur: A Preliminary Analysis. Pp. 343–62 in Studies Presented to Robert D. Biggs, ed. M. T. Roth, W. Farber, and M. W. Stolper. Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago.

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Bibliography of Anne Draffkorn Kilmer’s Works

Books and Articles 1. ILĀNI/ELOHIM. Journal of Biblical Literature 76 (1957) 216–24. 2. Hurrians and Hurrian at Alalakh: An Ethno-Linguistic Analysis. Ph.D. dissertation. University of Pennsylvania, 1959. 3. Was King Abba-AN of Yamhad a Vizier for the King of Ḫattuša? Journal of Cuneiform Studies 13 (1959) 94–97. 4. Revision of the ḪAR-gud Commentary to ḪAR-ra = ḫubullu Tablets VIII–XII. Pp. 57–172 in B. Landsberger, Materialien zum Sumerischen Lexikon, vol. 7. Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum, 1959. 5. Two New Lists of Key Numbers for Mathematical Operations. Orientalia 29 (1960) 273–308. 6. Materialien zum Sumerischen Lexikon, vol. 8. First part: The Fauna of Ancient Mesopotamia. Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum, 1960. In cooperation with Benno Landsberger and Edmund I. Gordon. 7. Materialien zum Sumerischen Lexikon, vol. 8. Second part: The Fauna of Ancient Mesopotamia. Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum, 1962. In cooperation with Benno Landsberger. 8. The First Tablet of “malku = šarru” together with its Explicit Version. Journal of the American Oriental Society 83 (1963) 421–46. 9. The Use of Akkadian dkš in Old Babylonian Geometry Texts. Pp. 140–46 in Studies Presented to A. L. Oppenheim. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1964. 10. The Strings of Musical Instruments: Their Names, Numbers, and Significance. Pp. 261–68 in Studies in Honor of Benno Landsberger on His Seventy-Fifth Birthday, April 21, 1965. Assyriological Studies 16. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1965. 11. Additions and Corrections: “The First Tablet of ‘malku = šarru.’ ” Journal of the American Oriental Society 85 (1965) 208. 12. Old Babylonian and Standard Babylonian Lists of Diseases. Pp. 77–102 in Benno Landsberger and Miguel Civil, Materialien zum Sumerischen Lexikon, vol. 9. Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum, 1967. 13. The Discovery of an Ancient Mesopotamian Theory of Music. Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 115 (1971) 131–49. 14. How was Queen Ereshkigal Tricked? A New Interpretation of the Descent of Ishtar. UgaritForschungen 3 (1971) 299–309. 15. The Mesopotamian Concept of Overpopulation and Its Solution as Reflected in the Mythology. Orientalia 41 (1972) 160–77. 287

288

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16. Symbolic Gestures in Akkadian Contracts from Alalakh and Ugarit. Journal of the American Oriental Society 94 (1974) 177–83. 17. A Bibliography of B. Landsberger’s Works. Journal of Cuneiform Studies 26 (1974) 183–94. With Johannes Renger. 18. A. Leo Oppenheim, 1904–1974. Assur 1 (1974) 3–4. With Giorgio Buccellati. 19. The Cult Song with Music from Ancient Ugarit: Another Interpretation. Revue d’Assyriologie et d’Archéologie Orientale 68 (1974) 69–82. 20. Report on Grant No. 7203: Akkadian Synonym Lists. Yearbook of the American Philosophical Society 1975: 560. 21. Benno Landsberger’s Lexicographical Contributions. Journal of Cuneiform Studies 27 (1975) 3–129. With Daniel A. Foxvog. 22. Speculations on Umul, the First Baby. Pp. 265–70 in Kramer Anniversary Volume: Cuneiform Studies in Honor of Samuel Noah Kramer, ed. Barry E. Eichler. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 25. Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker, 1976. 23. The Akkadian Flood Myth. The Flood Myth: An Inquiry into Causes and Circumstances. University of California Extension Media Center Audiorecordings, taped lectures. Berkeley, 1976. 24. Music. Pp. 610–12 in The Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible, Supplementary Volume. Nashville: Abingdon, 1976. 25. Sounds from Silence: Recent Discoveries in Ancient Near Eastern Music. A demonstration recording with explanatory book. Record: 12′′ stereo. Book: 24 pages, 33 illustrations. Berkeley: Bīt Enki Publications, 1976. With Richard L. Crocker and Robert R. Brown. 26. Henry Ludwig Frederick Lutz, 1886–1973. Pp. 150–51 in In Memoriam. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1977. With Leonard H. Lesko and Ruggero Stefanini. 27. Notes on Akkadian uppu. Pp. 129–38 in Essays on the Ancient Near East in Memory of Jacob Joel Finkelstein, ed. Maria deJong Ellis. Memoirs of the Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences 19, 1977. Hamden, CT: Archon Books. 28. A Note on the Babylonian Mythological Explanation of the Lunar Eclipse. Pp. 372–74 in G. Azarpay, The Eclipse Dragon on an Arabic Frontispiece-Miniature. Journal of the American Oriental Society 98 (1978) 327–74. 29. The Archaeological Contribution to the Reconstruction of Ancient Music. Contribution to Archaeology: Past, Present and Future. Audio-visual Centenniel Travelling Exhibit of the Archaeological Institute of America, December 1979. 30. The Lute in Ancient Mesopotamia. Pp. 13–28 in The British Museum Yearbook 4: Music and Civilization, ed. T. C. Mitchell. London: The British Museum, 1980. With Dominique Collon. 31. Remarks on R. D. Barnett, “Bringing the God in the Temple.” P. 20 in Temples and High Places in Biblical Times. Jerusalem: Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion, 1981. 32. Representations of the Ancient Mesopotamian Instrumentarium (Summary). P. 847 in International Musicological Society. Report of the Twelfh Congress, Berkeley 1977, ed. Daniel Heartz and Bonnie Wade. Basel: Bärenreiter, 1981. 33. The Study of Foreign Languages in Ancient Mesopotamia. Northern California Foreign Language Newsletter 32 (1982) 6–8.

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34. A Note on an Overlooked Word-Play in the Akkadian Gilgamesh. Pp. 128–32 in Zikir Šumim: Assyriological Studies Presented to F. R. Kraus on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday, ed. Gerard van Driel et al. Leiden: Brill, 1982. Reprinted in Studies in Homosexuality: A 13 Volume Anthology of Scholarly Articles, ed. by Wayne R. Dynes and Stephen Donaldson, vol. 1: Homosexuality in the Ancient World. New York, NY: Garland Publishing, 1993. 35. Lamma/Lamassu. Pp. 446–53 in Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie, vol. 6, Lieferung 5/6, 1983. With Daniel Foxvog and Wolfgang Heimpel. 36. Inanna Exalted: Introduction and verse translation of Enheduanna’s “Exaltation of Inanna.” Pp. 111–18 in Women Poets of the World, ed. Joanna Bankier and Deirdre Lashgari. London: Macmillan, 1983. 37. Laute. A. Philologisch. Pp. 512–15 in Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie, vol. 6, Lieferung 7/8, 1983. 38. Leier. Pp. 571–76 in Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie, vol. 6, Lie­ ferung 7/8. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1983. 39. A Music Tablet from Sippar(?): BM 65217 + 66616. Iraq 46 (1984) 68–81. 40. The Fragmentary Music Text from Nippur. Iraq 46 (1984) 81–85. With Richard. L. Crocker. 41. Music. Pp. 665–71 in Harper’s Bible Dictionary. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1985. With Daniel A. Foxvog. 42. Music. Pp. 436–49 in International Standard Biblical Encyclopedia. San Francisco, CA: Harper and Row, 1986. With Daniel A. Foxvog. 43. Old Babylonian Musical Instructions Relating to Hymnody. Journal of Cuneiform Studies 38 (1986) 94–98. With Miguel Civil. 44. The Symbolism of the Flies in the Mesopotamian Flood Myth and Some Further Implications. Pp. 175–80 in Language, Literature, and History: Philological and Historical Studies Presented to Erica Reiner, ed. Francesca Rochberg-Halton. American Oriental Series 67. New Haven: American Oriental Society, 1987. 45. Le Symbolisme des Mouches dans l’Histoire du Déluge Mésopotamienne et la Relation avec l’Ancien Testament. Université de Strasbourg (in ms., distributed privately). 46. The Mesopotamian Counterparts of the Biblical Nĕpīlîm. Pp. 39–43 in Perspectives on Language and Text: Essays and Poems in Honor of Francis Ian Andersen’s Sixtieth Birthday, July 28, 1985, ed. Edward W. Conrad and Edgar G. Newing. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1987. 47. The Brick of Birth. Pp. 211–13 in Guitty Azarpay, The Architectural Module as a Proportional Guideline in Near Eastern Art. Journal of Near Eastern Studies 46 (1987). 48. “About Prof. Benno Landsberger, 1890–1968: An Evening of Reminiscences,” with Miguel Civil, Samuel Greengus, Hans G. Güterbock, Thorkild Jacobsen, Anne Kilmer, E. Merzbacher; moderated by Jack M. Sasson. 200th Meeting of the American Oriental Society, Atlanta, Mar. 25, 1990, 8:00 to 10:00 P.M. Ann Arbor: American Oriental Society [1:54:00 VHS video tape cassette]. 49. Sumerian and Akkadian Names for Designs and Geometric Shapes. Pp. 83–91 in Investigating Artistic Environments in the Ancient Near East, ed. Ann C. Gunter. Washington: Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, 1990.

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50. Musical Practice in Nippur. Pp. 101–12 in Nippur at the Centennial: Papers Read at the 35 e Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Philadelphia, 1988, ed. Maria deJong Ellis. Philadelphia: University Museum, 1992. 51. An Oration on Babylon. Altorientalische Forschungen 18 (1991) 9–22. 52. George Franklin Dales, Jr. 1927–1992. Pp. 22–26 in In Memoriam. Berkeley: A Publication of the Academic Senate, 1992. With Padmanabh S. Jaini, J. Mark Kenoyer, and David B. Stronach. 53. Games and Toys in Ancient Mesopotamia. Pp. 359–64 in vol. 4 of Actes du XIIe Congrès International des Sciences Préhistoriques et Protohistoriques, Bratislava, 1–7 Septembre 1991, ed. Juraj Pavúk. Bratislava: Institut Archéologique de l’Academie Slovaque des Sciences, 1993. 54. Nuzi Texts. Journal of Cuneiform Studies 46 (1994) 105–22. With John W. Carnahan and Kent G. Hillard. 55. Music and Dance in Ancient Western Asia. Pp. 2601–13 in vol. 4 of Civilizations of the Ancient Near East, ed. Jack M. Sasson. New-York: Scribner’s, 1995. 56. Fugal Features of Atraḫasīs: The Birth Theme. Pp. 127–39 in Mesopotamian Poetic Language: Sumerian and Akkadian, ed. Marianna E. Vogelzang, Herman L. J. Vanstiphout. Proceedings of the Groningen Group for the Study of Mesopotamian Literature, vol. 2. Cuneiform Monographs 6. Groningen: Styx, 1996. 57. Verse Translation of Adapa (Amarna Version). Appendix 1 to S. Izre'el, Mesopotamian Literature in Contemporary Setting: Translating Akkadian Myths. Pp. 111–14 in Mesopotamian Poetic Language: Sumerian and Akkadian, ed. Marianna E. Vogelzang, Herman L. J. Vanstiphout. Proceedings of the Groningen Group for the Study of Mesopotamian Literature, vol. 2. Cuneiform Monographs 6. Groningen: Styx, 1996. 58. Old Babylonian Music Instruction Texts. Journal of Cuneiform Studies 48 (1996) 49–56. With Steve Tinney. 59. Crossing the Waters of Death: The “Stone Things” in the Gilgamesh Epic. Festschrift für Hans Hirsch zum 65. Geburtstag gewidmet von seinen Freunden, Kollegen und Schülern. Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes 86 (1996) 213–17. 60. Hurrian Documents from Ugarit and Boghazkoi. P. 41 in Near Eastern and Aegean Texts from the Third to the First Millennia bc, vol. 2, ed. A. Bernard Knapp. Sources for the History of Cyprus. Altamont, N.Y.: Greece and Cyprus Research Center, 1996. With Ruggero Stefanini. 61. Musik. A. I. In Mesopotamien. Pp. 463–82 in Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie, vol. 8, Lieferung 5/6–7/8. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1995–97. 62. Mesopotamien. Columns 133–74 in vol. 6 of Musik in Geschichte und Gegenwart: Allgemeine Enzyklopädie der Musik begündet von Friedrich Blume. 2nd ed. Translated by Bo Lawergren. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1997. 63. Correction to Kilmer/Tinney “Old Babylonian Music Instruction Texts” JCS 48 (1996). Journal of Cuneiform Studies 49 (1997) 118. With S. Tinney. 64. Nuzi Texts in the Hearst Museum, Additions and Corrections. Nuzi Notes: 36. P. 189 in General Studies and Excavations at Nuzi 10/2. Studies on the Civilization and Culture of Nuzi and the Hurrians 9. Bethesda, MD: CDL, 1998. With John W. Carnahan.

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65. The Musical Instruments from Ur and Ancient Mesopotamian Music. Expedition 40 (1998) 12–19. 66. An Ideal Animal Totem/Model for Inanna/Ištar? Problems of Geography and Time. Pp. 53–61 in vol. 3 of Landscapes, Territories, Frontiers and Horizons in the Ancient Near East: Papers presented to the XLIV Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale. Venezia, 7–11 July 1997, ed. Lucio Milano et al. History of the Ancient Near East / Monographs 3/3. Padova: Sargon, 2000. 67. Laying the Rough, Testing the Fine. (Music Notation for CBS 10996). Pp. 127–40 in Stringed Instruments in Archaeological Context, ed. Ellen Hickmann and Ricardo Eichmann. Studien zur Musikarchäologie I. Orient-Archäologie Band 6. Rahden: Marie Leidorf, 2000. With Janet C. Smith. 68. Continuity and Change in the Ancient Mesopotamian Terminology for Music and Musical Instruments. Pp. 113–19 in Music Archaeology of Early Metal Ages, ed. Ellen Hickmann et al. Studien zur Musikarchäologie II. Orient-Archäologie Band 7. Rahden: Marie Leidorf, 2000. 69. More Word Play in Akkadian Poetic Texts. Pp. 89–101 in Puns and Pundits: Word Play in the Hebrew Bible and Ancient Near Eastern Literature, ed. Scott B. Noegel. Bethesda, MD: CDL, 2000. 70. Mesopotamia. Pp. 480–87 in vol. 16 of The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians. 2nd ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 2001. 71. Notation. I. General. P. 74 in vol. 18 of The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians. 2nd ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 2001. 72. Modal Music, Tonality and Genre in Mesopotamian Musical Performance. Pp. 481–86 in The Archaeology of Sound: Origin and Organization, ed. Ellen Hickmann et al. Studien zur Musikarchäologie III. Rahden: Marie Leidorf, 2002. 73. Guillemin, Marcelle. Pp. 384–85 in vol. 11 of Encyclopedia Iranica. New York: Columbia University, Center for Iranian Studies, 2002. 74. The Evolution of Collegiality: 1800 B.C. to UCB. Pp. 18–25 in The Idea of a Community of Scholars: Essays in Honor of the Centenniel of The Faculty Club of the University of California at Berkeley (1902–2002), ed. John E. Coons. Berkeley: University of California, 2002. 75. The Investiture of Enkidu in the Epic of Gilgamesh Tablet III. Pp. 283–88 in Sex and Gender in the Ancient Near East. Proceedings of the XLVIIe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale Helsinki, ed. Simo Parpola and Robert M. Whiting. Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project., 2002. 76. The Earliest Documentation of Musical Contacts between the Ancient Near East and the More Distant East. Pp. 50–51 in The Silk Road Project: Arts and Humanities Programs at Cal Performances, University of California, Berkeley, April 2002. Berkeley: Cal Performances, 2002. 77. Pauke und Trommel. A. In Mesopotamien. Pp. 367–71 in Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie, vol. 10, Lieferung 5/6. Berlin: de Gruyter, 2004. 78. Memorizing the Names of Things, from Oral to Written: Mesopotamian Musical Instruments. Pp. 139–41 in Music-Archaeological Sources: Finds, Oral Transmissions, Written Evidence, ed. Ellen Hickmann and Ricardo Eichmann. Studien zur Musikarchäologie IV. Rahden: Marie Leidorf, 2004.

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79. A. Leo Oppenheim’s Children of the Institute. Pp. 187–96 in From the Upper Sea to the Lower Sea: Studies on the History of Assyria and Babylonia in Honour of A. K. Grayson, ed. Grant Frame. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 2004. 80. Nos. 63–64. Akkadian Synonym Lists: Malku = šarru. Pp. 249–56 in Cuneiform Tablets in the Metropolitan Museum of Art II: Literary and Scholastic Texts of the First Millennium B.C., ed. Ira Spar and Wilfred G. Lambert. New York: Brepols, 2005. With Daniel A. Foxvog and John W. Carnahan. 81. Visualizing Text: Schematic Patterns in Akkadian Poetry. Pp. 209–21 in If a Man Builds a Joyful House: Assyriological Studies in Honor of Erle Verdun Leichty, ed. Ann K. Guinan et al. Leiden: Brill, 2006. 82. Pukku und mekkû. P. 111 in Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie, vol. 11, Lieferung 1/2, 2006. 83. How the Mesopotamians Did or Did Not Express the Concept of the Octave. Pp. 275–80 in Music Archaeology in Context: Archaeological Semantics, Historial Implications, Socio-Cultural Connotations, ed. Ellen Hickmann et al. Studien zur Musikarchäologie V. Orient-Archäologie 20. Rahden: Marie Leidorf, 2006. 84. Of Babies, Boats, and Arks. Pp. 159–66 in Studies Presented to Robert D. Biggs June 4, 2004, ed. Martha T. Roth et al. From the Workshop of the Chicago Assyrian Dictionary, vol. 2. Chicago, IL: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 2007. 85. The Horses and Other Features of Marduk’s Attack Chariot (Ee IV) and Comparanda. Journal for Semitics 16 (2007) 672–79. 86. Music in Ancient Mesopotamia. Pp. 24–26 in Catalogue for the Exhibit and Conference “Sounds from the Past: Music in the Ancient Near East and Mediterranean Worlds,” ed. Joan Goodnick Westenholz. Bible Lands Museum, Jerusalem, January 2008: Sounds of Ancient Music, 2007. 87. More Old Babylonian Music-Instruction Fragments from Nippur. Journal of Cuneiform Studies 61 (2009) 93–96. With Jeremy Peterson. 88. Ea balatka liqbi! Repertories and Genres of Vocal Musical Compositions. In vol. 3 of Genre and Type in the Mesopotamian Literatures, ed. B. Roest and Herman L. J. Vanstiphout. Proceedings of the Groningen Group for the Study of Mesopotamian Literature. Leiden: Brill/ Styx, forthcoming. 89. A Brief Account of the Development of the Field of Music Archaeology. In Sounds from the Past: Music in the Ancient Near East and Mediterranean Worlds. Yuval 8. 90. Mesopotamian Music Theory since 1977. In Sounds from the Past: Music in the Ancient Near East and Mediterranean Worlds. Yuval 8.

Reviews 1. Mythologies of the Ancient World, ed. Samuel N. Kramer. Chicago: Quadrangle Books, 1961. Review in Bibbia e Oriente 5 (1963) 119–20. 2. S. Lloyd, Mounds of the Near East. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1963. Review in Journal of the American Oriental Society 87 (1967) 73.

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3. George Giakumakis, The Akkadian of Alalaḫ. The Hague: Mouton, 1970. Review in Journal of the American Oriental Society 93 (1973) 400–401. 4. Bernard. F. Batto, Studies on Women at Mari. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1974. Review in Journal of Biblical Literature 96 (1977) 278–79. 5. S. A. Rashid, Musikgeschichte in Bildern. Band II: Musik des Altertums. Lieferung 2: Mesopotamien. Leipzig: VEB Deutscher Verlag für Musik, 1984. Review in Journal of the American Oriental Society 110 (1990) 758–60. 6. On Drums and Strings and Trumpet Blasts. Journal of the American Oriental Society 122 (2002) 788–96. Review article on J. Braun, Die Musikkultur Altisraels/Palästinas: Studien zu archäologischen, schriftlichen und vergleichenden Quellen. Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 164. Fribourg: Universitätsverlag, 1999. 7. J. Braun, Music in Ancient Israel/Palestine: Archaeological, Written, and Comparative Sources. Translated by Douglas W. Stott. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2002. Review in Journal of the American Oriental Society 123 (2003) 257–58. 8. M. Schuol, Hethitische Kultmusik: Ein Untersuchung der Instrumental- und Vokalmusik anhand hethitischer Ritualtexte und von archäologischen Zeugnissen. Orient-Archäologie 14. Rahden: Marie Leidorf, 2004. Review in American Journal of Archaeology 110 (2006) 669–70.

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Index of Anne Draffkorn Kilmer’s Works *

Prepared by Wolfgang Heimpel Sumerian 77: 369b 27: 132–33 77: 369b 9: 140 n. 2 50: 104 68: 115; 77: 369b 72: 483 55: 2609 13: 143 n. 61; 19: 70–71 61: 471b 61: 471b 10: 263–64 37 30 50: 103 77: 369a 27: 135–36 77: 369a 5: 299 n. 1; 68: 113 10: 265–67; 13: 132; 68: 113 50: 105; 68: 113 10: 264 n. 26 50: 104 50: 104 10: 264 n. 27 50: 106 55: 2609 37: 514b 37: 512b 27: 136

á-lá ÁB in names of drums al-g ˜ ar BA.SÁ.E for ÍB.SÁ.E square root bal-bal-e balag ˜ harp or drum bí-za-za as name of a balag ˜ instrument du 7 -du 7 descriptive of circle dances gaba-ri = miḫru antiphone g ˜ iš gag zà-mí wooden tuning pegs gi-šu nar-ra baton gíd-i to tighten a string g ˜ iš gù-dé lute g ˜ iš gù-di lute ki-šú cadence lilis lipiš meze/me-zé sa pitnu string sa note or interval (on the musical scale), dichord sa mode: scale, tuning sa-di fore (string) sa-g ˜ ar-ra sa-gíd-da sa-uš = šamūšu sag ˜ (of a song) SÙH.SÙH dance sur pick?, drumstick? ša-u 18-ša 4 shausha noise šà-sìg

* Publications are cited in bold according to the number assigned them in the bibliography.

295

296

Index of Anne Draffkorn Kilmer’s Works 77: 368b 50: 104 13: 143 n. 62 13 140 n. 48 13: 147 n. 77 10: 265 n. 34 13: 147 n. 77; 83: 276 10: 263–64; 13: 139 n. 43 49: 90 n. 6 22 27: 132–33; 77: 368b 38; 68: 116 44: 180

šèm, šem4 ŠID = enû to change šìr tag and tag-tag to play (an instrument) téš unison tigi tigi-7 tu-lu to loosen a string U aperture of the ear u4-mu-ul ùb = uppu g ˜ iš zà-mí lyre zubi scythe

Akkadian a-ba-nu-ú < Éa bānû Akkadian name of the fourth string altarru anzalīlu apkallu apsammikku assinnu male prostitute aškuttu wedge? būṣu hyena dakāšu indent and derivatives da/dikištu, dikšu as mathematical terms dappu board game? dikšu as mark on a liver embūbu trachea embūbu pitch pipe? embūbu spread of word emdu/imdu/indu from emēdu enû to change eṭemmu gabaraḫḫu ša 15 gennum test gišru lifter gūštu whirling dance ḫuppû acrobat ilāni in context of communal and individual law in Nuzi ina appi šadādu indu from nadû inu lute kezru male prostitute kinnāru lyre kiṣru ball labābu to be angry

10: 264 n. 28 11 51: 17–18 46 38; 49: 91 n. 18 34 27: 130 66 9 53: 361 9: 145–46 13: 139 n. 34 72: 484; 83: 277 72: 484 75: 283 50: 104 15: 164 49: 91 n. 16 58: 53–55; 68: 115 27: 130 55: 2609 55: 2609 1 16 75: 286 37 34 38 34 27: 135

Index of Anne Draffkorn Kilmer’s Works lilissu maḫāṣu play a musical instrument malḫu plucked? mekkû miḫru mušnādu nakādu beat, said of the heart nesû to draw a circle around a circle ni-ši-lu-ú nīd qabli nissatu tremolo? nīš GABA.RI = nīš tuḫ-ri nišilû pān Ḫumbaba passu gamepiece pismu octave? pitnu as equivalent of sa “string” and furniture part pītu pukku and mekkû ball and stick qablītu raqādu dance, skip raqqidu dancer riqdu dance riqittu dance sabītu/šebītu, zabītu a harp or a tambour sadīdu first string and vanguard sammû lyre sanānu sâru to do a circle dance siḫpu s/zennum interval? ṣarṣaru cricket called “harp of the field” šēru song, song category, and musical mode širku a class of temple servants šiṭru a song category šūt abnī tarāku beat, said of the heart tigidlû bird and musical instrument tillu timbuttu ṭēmu uppu sound of heartbeat uppu socket uppu latch-socker, join-socket uppu socket-joint of the body uppu socket-like container/cylinder/applicator uppu cavity containing apical meristem of date palms

297 27: 135 72: 483 37: 512b see pukku 83: 276–77; see gaba-ri 3: 95 27: 135 9: 142 51: 13 n. 7 13: 135 n. 20; 68: 114; 83: 277 56: 138 83: 276–77; 87: 95–96 51: 18 49: 84 53: 360–61 13: 144; 68: 114; 83: 276 10: 262; 13: 133 n. 16; 68: 113 13: 139 n. 38 33; 34; 82 83: 277 55: 2609 55: 2609 50: 2609; 51: 19–20 55: 2609 38: 573b 10: 265 38 43: 97 55: 2609 40 43 72: 483 13: 143 n. 62, 147; 87: 95 75: 285–86 13: 147 59 27: 135 72: 483 75: 286 77: 369b 15: 163–65 15: 163; 27 27: 130–32 27: 130–31 27: 131 27: 131–32 27: 132

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uppu pit, hole, concavity uppu hand frame-drum uppu drum-head urram name of a musical interval zannaru ear-shaped harp zennum tune ZÌR-tu

27: 132 27: 132–33 27: 135 87: 95 38: 573 58: 53–55; 68: 115 13: 144 n. 69

Hurrian ašhu high ewuru ḫapšema kinnaruḫuli Lyre player pent right/straight? turi low

13: 144 1: 219 13: 144 38: 573b 13: 144 13: 144

Hebrew elohim in context of communal and individual law in the Covenant Code nĕpilîm pʿm ruaḥ teraphim

1 46 27: 135 n. 15 84: 161 1

Subjects, Including Scholars Abubu, flood monster Adapa adoption, father/brother/sonship aerophones apkallu ark astragal Aṣušunamir Atrahasis baby banter beat Biblical parallels bird trap, in connection with the harp birth control boat as metaphor of fetus bovine lyres

56: 127 46: 40; 57 16 55: 2602–3; 61: 464–65 46 56; 84 51: 20 14 22: 267–68 22 51: 13 56: 134 1; 46; 84 68: 115–16 15: 172 84: 163 72: 483

Index of Anne Draffkorn Kilmer’s Works “breast” songs brick of birth cadence carnelian: marker of feminity? carnival categorization in lexical texts chordophones churn clay, red coefficients (key numbers) compositions concept of self-propagation concordant music counting lines as compositional element creation Dales, George Franklin dance designs on tablets dice dicords, see intervals Dorian drum drum gods drumstick dyad Ea/Enki Enheduanna Enkidu’s investiture fetus flood, length of flood in Genesis = length of human gestation fly Gamelan music games geometric shapes gestures Gilgamesh (the person) Guillemin, Marcelle half-points in literary compositions harmony harp heptadiatonic heterophony homophony homosexuality homosocial pairs hospitality Hurrian texts

299 13: 138 n. 24 47 55: 2607 84: 164 51: 22; 55: 2610 78 55: 2601; 61: 463–64 38: 572 47: 212 5 61: 470–71 15: 165–66 n. 28 72: 482 56: 137 56 52 55: 2608–11 81: 213 53: 360 55: 2606; 56: 133; 68: 114 77 77: 368a 77: 370b 19: 75 and 81 68: 114 36 75; 81: 215 47: 212 84 44 56: 136–37 51; 53 38: 574b; 49 27: 133 34 73 75: 287 55: 2608 38: 571, 573 72: 482 55: 2608 55: 2608 34; 69: 94–97 75: 285–86 14 60

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hyenas Hypodorian Hypolydian Hypophrygian idiophones Inana/Ishtar, see sexuality Indian music, performance intervals on the musical scale intervals, names of intervals as descriptions of songs irony kedging (moving a craft through shallow water) kettle drum key words in poetic texts Kurgara and Galatura Lamassu Landsberger, Benno lapis lazuli: marker of masculinity? law practices in Nuzi and the Bible line of poetic text = musical measure love songs lunar eclipse myth lute, lute player Lutz, H. L. F. Lydian lyre lyrics, matching to mucical notations Malku = Šarru synonym list mathematical terminology melody membranophones Mentor Mixolydian monody multi-modalism music, cyclical theory of music, connection with Indian music music in context of mathematics music in Mesopotamia musical instruments musical notation musical scales musical performance musical performance instructions musical performance style musical terminology compared to terminology of birdtraps

66 43: 96; 55: 2606 43: 96; 55: 2606 43: 96; 55: 2606 55: 2604; 61: 467 50: 105–6 10: 265–66; 13; 19: 73; 55: 2607 10: 267; 13: 143; 39: 79; 67: 138 10: 267–68 15: 170 n. 140 59 77 81: 210 14 35 17; 21; 48; 91 84: 164 1 56: 136; 81: 210–11 13: 138 and 146 28 30; 37 26 55: 2606; 56: 133; 68: 114 25: 20–23; 38; 65 19: 78–79 8; 11 9 55: 2608 55: 2603; 61: 465–67 75: 286 43: 96; 55: 2606 55: 2608 55: 2606 13: 138 13: 139 n. 30 13: 132 61 61: 463–67 50: 107–8; 61: 476–79; 71 10: 265; 13: 138–39; 61: 469–70 and 472–76 61: 467–69 55: 2607 65: 15 72: 484

Index of Anne Draffkorn Kilmer’s Works neck ornaments noise, as theme in Atrahasis number 7 in musicological context numbers placed after interval designations octave, diatonic (Mesopotamian) and chromatic Oppenheim, Leo oral and written compositions orphans overpopulation parturation customs Phrygian poetic pattern polyphony praise songs primal man prostitute puns, see also wordplay punting pole rainbow repetitive nature of literary compositions rhythm sages, ante- and postdiluvian Sanskrit musical terminology scale, ascending or descending self-enslavement sexuality singing song types, number sound, descriptions of sound, of drums stage, performance platform stick games sticks with functional device at one end strings of musical instruments strings, number of strings of harps amd lyres strings 4 and 5 symbolic gestures symmetry in Akkadian poetry synonym lists tablature tambour temple gates tempo (in music) theriomorphism timbrel toys

301 75: 284 56: 128–29 13: 147 n. 77 19: 75–82 58: 56; 67; 68: 114–15; 83 18; 79 81: 215–16 75: 284 15 47: 213 55: 2606 81 61: 480 38: 574b 22: 268 75: 284 15: 164; 34; 38: 572a; 51: 16–17; 56: especially p. 138; 69 59 44: 179–80 56: 127; 81: 210 55: 2608; 61: 479–80 46 83: 277–78 68: 113–14 1: 223 66 61: 471–72 72: 485 10: 263 77: 370 51: 20 34: 129–30 78: 140 5: 298–300; 10 19: 72 n. 1 68: 114 16 81 20 67 27: 134–35 31 55: 2608 66 27: 134–35 53

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trees, in connection with sages tritone tune and test = zennum and gennum tuning tuning terminology Umul Utanapishtim war chariot women poets Ziusudra war against mankind weaving as metaphor for composing music and poetry wordplay, see also puns wordplay, musical clues

46: 43 58: 56 67: 135–38 25: 9–11; 50; 58: 56 n. 4; 65: 18; 67; 68: 114 61: 471b 22 22: 267–68; 68: 114 85 36 22: 267 44: 177 72: 483; 81: 211–13 and figs. 69; 84: 165 56: 135–36

Texts Edited,* Quoted, Discussed A 3553* Adapa and the Southwind Agushaya Hymn AT 16 AT 92 AT *456 ( JCS 12, 124–29) Atrahasis Atrahasis I 214–39 Atrahasis I 260–72 Atrahasis I 305–39 Atrahasis III v 46–47 and vi 2–4 Atrahasis II vii 37 BM 59484 BM 65217 + 66616 BM 85194 I 37–50 CBS 10996* CT 15, 19:19–25 CT 16, 19–23 CT 25, 16–18 K 2100 Elevation of Ishtar IV B Enki and Ninmah Enuma Elish I 80–81 Enuma Elish IV 51–52 Examination Text A: 24 Exodus 21:6 and 22:7–10 Genesis 6:1–5 Genesis 6:4 Genesis 7–8

5: 273–78 14: 306; 46: 39 n. 2; 57 66: 54 16: 177 16: 178 3 15; 56; 81: 211 27: 129 22: 266 22: 266 44: 175 27: 132 50: 108–9 19: 81; 39: 72–77 9: 144 5: 278–83; 10: 266; 13: 132–33; 67: 127 44: 178–79 28 8: 423 51: 15 15: 165 n. 28; 22 81: 209 85 50: 102 1: 216 n. 1 46: 40 46: 41 n. 5 84

Index of Anne Draffkorn Kilmer’s Works Genesis 7:18 and 24 Genesis 8:4–14 Gilgamesh III Gilgamesh X and XI, poetic structure Gilgamesh XI 162–65 Gilgamesh XII Hh VII B Hh VII B 64–68 and 81–92 Hh VII B 119–34 HS 1893 HSS 14 108 Inana C (Inninšagurra) 115, 115–21, 139, 157, 159, 164 Inanna’s descent to the Netherworld Inanna’s descent to the Netherworld 123–24 Inanna’s descent to the Netherworld 255–263 Inanna’s descent to the Netherworld 284–292 Inanna’s descent to the Netherworld 402–5 Ishtar and Ṣaltu Ishtar’s descent to the Netherworld, storyline Ishtar’s descent to the Netherworld, poetic structure Ishtar’s descent to the Netherworld 93–102 KAR 8 KAR 158 KAR 158 VIII KBo XXXIII 14 King list, antediluvian section LB 1821 Lipit-Ištar B LKA 32 Malku = šarru Mari Ištar Ritual III 15–29 N 3020 N 3354 N 3354 + N 3355 N 7679 + 7745 Nabnitu XXIII 5–8 Nanshe Hymn 40–44 Nuzi texts in Berkeley Return of Ninurta to Nippur 51–62 RS 15.30+ (Ugaritica 5: 463–64) RS 15.92 and 16.344 RS 24.274 TuL 2 UET 5 864 UET 6/1 22:30–31 UET 7 74 UET 7 126 (U. 3011, see now MSL 16, 251)

303 84: 161 84: 162 75 81: 214–15 44: 175 34: 130–31 78 38: 573a 30: 17 51 1: 220 51: 13–14 14 14: 302 n. 18 14: 303 14: 302 n. 20 44: 178 66: 54 14 81: 214 14: 302–3 51: 11 39: 70–71; 72: 484–85 10: 267; 13: 138 60 22: 268–69 9: 142–43 50: 102 51: 11 8; 80 51: 15–16 see UM 29–15–357; 63 43; 50: 101 58; 87 87 81: 212 38: 574a 54; 64 85: 673 19; 25: 12–17; 39: 72 16: 180 60 51: 12 9: 140 50: 105 39: 71–72 5: 274; 10: 264; 13: 133–34; 39: 70; 40

304 UM 29–15–357 + N 3020 UVB 18, 39–62

Index of Anne Draffkorn Kilmer’s Works 58; 87: 95–96 46: 40–41