The Art of Empire in Achaemenid Persia: Studies in Honour of Margaret Cool Root (Achaemenid History) 9042939214, 9789042939219

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Achaemenid History • XVI

The Art of Empire in Achaemenid Persia Studies in Honour of Margaret Cool Root Edited by

Elspeth R.M. Dusinberre, Mark B. Garrison and Wouter F.M. Henkelman

Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten – Leiden Peeters – Leuven 2020

THE ART OF EMPIRE IN ACHAEMENID PERSIA

ACHAEMENID HISTORY XVI

series editor Wouter F.M. Henkelman editorial board Rémy Boucharlat, Pierre Briant, Michael Jursa, Amélie Kuhrt, Margaret C. Root, Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg (†) and Josef Wiesehöfer

ACHAEMENID HISTORY XVI

THE ART OF EMPIRE IN ACHAEMENID PERSIA STUDIES IN HONOUR OF MARGARET COOL ROOT

EDITED BY

ELSPETH R.M. DUSINBERRE, MARK B. GARRISON AND WOUTER F.M. HENKELMAN

NEDERLANDS INSTITUUT VOOR HET NABIJE OOSTEN LEIDEN PEETERS LEUVEN 2020

A catalogue record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN 978-90-429-3921-9 eISBN 978-90-429-3922-6 D/2020/0602/52 © 2020, Peeters, Bondgenotenlaan 153, B-3000 Leuven, Belgium E.R.M. Dusinberre, M.B. Garrison, W.F.M. Henkelman (eds.), The Art of Empire in Achaemenid Persia. Studies in Honour of Margaret Cool Root. Achaemenid History 16, Leiden & Leuven 2020. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval devices or systems, without the prior written permission from the publisher, except the quotation of brief passages for review purposes.

Margaret Cool Root in 2015

TABLE OF CONTENTS Preface (E.R.M. Dusinberre and M.B. Garrison) . . . . .

IX-XII

Abbreviations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

XIII-XXI

Margaret Cool Root, bibliography 1973-2018 . . . . . .

1-4

Pierre Briant THE DISCOVERY OF PERSEPOLIS IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY: FROM THE ACCOUNTS OF TRAVELLERS TO THE CABINET’ . . . . . . . . . . . . .

‘ÉRUDITS DE . . . . .

5-39

Rémy Boucharlat ARRIVING AT PERSEPOLIS, AN UNFORTIFIED ROYAL RESIDENCE

.

41-71

Ali Mousavi VISUAL DISPLAY AND WRITTEN RECORD: REFLECTIONS ON SOME OF XERXES’ INSCRIPTIONS AT PERSEPOLIS . . . . . . . .

73-79

Shahrokh Razmjou FORGOTTEN UNDER THE SHADOW: AN UNIDENTIFIED STRUCTURE AT PERSEPOLIS

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

81-112

Alexander Nagel PRESERVING THE ACHAEMENID PERSIAN LEGACY: ASPECTS OF CONSERVATION, TECHNOLOGY, POLYCHROMY, AND MATERIAL . . . . . . . . . . . . . CULTURE IN PERSEPOLIS

113-136

Ann C. Gunter REVISITING THE IMAGERY OF GIFT-GIVING.

. . . . . . .

137-166

Mark B. Garrison and Wouter F.M. Henkelman SIGILLOPHOBE SUPPLIERS AND IDIOSYNCRATIC SCRIBES: LOCAL INFORMATION HANDLING IN ACHAEMENID PRSA

. . . . .

167-286

. . . . .

287-308

Henry P. Colburn SEAL PRODUCTION AND THE CITY OF PERSEPOLIS

VIII

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Deniz Kaptan .

309-328

. .

329-459

. . . . .

461-465

THREE SEAL ARTIFACTS FROM UYLUPINAR IN THE KIBYRATIS

Christopher Tuplin SIGILLOGRAPHY AND SOLDIERS: CATALOGUING MILITARY . . . . . ACTIVITY ON ACHAEMENID PERIOD SEALS

Maria Brosius A BRIEF NOTE ON THE CHILDREN OF THE EMPIRE

Bruno Jacobs and Robert Rollinger KUNST- UND KULTURHISTORISCHE ANMERKUNGEN ZUR SCHALE AUS ARN .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

467-484

Margaret C. Miller OF THRONES, GRIFFINS AND SEALS: THE ICONOGRAPHY OF THE THRONE OF THE PRIEST OF DIONYSOS ELEUTHEREUS, ATHENS .

485-513

Karen A. Laurence READING PERSEPOLIS IN DELPHI

. . . . . . . . . .

515-563

Björn Anderson LINES IN THE SAND: HORIZONS OF REAL AND IMAGINED POWER IN PERSIAN ARABIA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

565-600

Lori Khatchadourian FROM COPY TO PROXY: THE POLITICS OF MATTER AND MIMESIS IN ACHAEMENID ARMENIA

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

601-633

Amélie Kuhrt MARGARET AND ACHAEMENID IMPERIAL ART .

. . . . . .

635-640

PREFACE

This volume has been compiled in honour of Professor Margaret Cool Root of the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor and celebrates her remarkable work. Margaret established a pioneering research agenda that in many ways charted a new course in the study of Achaemenid Persian visual culture. When she was working on her dissertation at Bryn Mawr in the 1970s, the discussion of Achaemenid art still consisted largely of people talking about superior Greek artists squelching their natural freedom, dynamism, and excellence in order to create stiff and stilted gures for parochial Persians, whether in the form of hackneyed Graeco-Persian gems or despotic sculptures at the imperial capital of Persepolis. Indeed the discourse was dominated by descriptions of Achaemenid art as a “frozen Greek style,” or “provincial Greek art where a certain foreign element is noticeable” (G.M.A. Richter, Archaic Greek Art…, New York 1949: 194). The important publication by Margaret’s mentor, Carl Nylander, Ionians in Pasargadae: Studies in Old Persian architecture (Uppsala 1970) established some space for new reection on Achaemenid architecture. In a meticulous study of various architectural details large and small, his analysis carefully articulated what was clearly Greek in the architecture of Cyrus’s imperial capital. At the same time this study showed that there were many features of this architectural programme that were not demonstrably Greek. The publication of Margaret’s seminal book, The king and kingship in Achaemenid art: Essays on the creation of an iconography of empire (Leiden 1979), based upon her doctoral dissertation, in many ways built upon the foundation of her mentor. Her careful and systematic analysis of sculptural details large and small was set within an a priori assumption that the sculptural programme at Persepolis existed within the context of a polyethnic imperial framework. Her analysis clearly showed that the principal models for the visual expression of empire lay not in Greece, but in Assyria, Babylonia, and Egypt. Her study demanded that the scholarly world readjust its understanding of Achaemenid Persia, the visual language of the Persian empire, and its relation to the social history of the ancient world much more broadly. Seldom has a single book had such an impact on the scholarly world. In this case its publication meant the creation of a discipline. In a postdoctoral period in the late 1970s as a visiting assistant professor at the University of Chicago, Margaret turned her attention from the world-famous architecture and sculpture of Persepolis to the small-scale evidence offered by seals used on the administrative documents of the Persepolis Fortication archive. Here, too,

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ELSPETH R.M. DUSINBERRE AND MARK B. GARRISON

she devised a new methodology for an entire eld, working rst alone and then together with Mark Garrison to establish how to approach, record, analyse, interpret, and publish the thousands of seals represented by their impressions on the tablets of the Fortication archive. The articles and books that she has written on these and related glyptic topics are noteworthy for their exploration of new questions, creation of new research methods, and challenging of pre-existing assumptions. In 1978 Margaret began her tenure as a professor of Classical and Near Eastern Art and Archaeology at the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor. In her time there she introduced thousands of students to the visual culture of the ancient Near East. She served as curator and acting director of the Kelsey Museum of Archaeology, mounted numerous exhibitions, published detailed catalogues of the Kelsey’s collections, and introduced many to the art of museum curation and study. She served as chair of the Department of History of Art. She has led tours for the Archaeological Institute of America to Iran as well as participated in its national lecture series and societies. Her work has been recognized by numerous awards and grants, including an American Council of Learned Societies fellowship, multiple National Endowment for the Humanities fellowships, and a Guggenheim fellowship, among others. She participated in and co-organized several of the remarkable Achaemenid History Workshops and their resultant publications. The dedication she has shown to her students and their learning through the years is incredible. Margaret has created a legacy through her students and her collegial interactions with scholars all around the world – and she has done this at the same time that she has raised, with her husband Larry, two wonderful and remarkable children, Katherine and Ben, and nurtured a succession of truly lovely dogs. The papers that make up this volume in Margaret’s honour demonstrate a wide range of methodology and topics, highlighting some of the most important trends in recent scholarship on the visual and material culture of the Achaemenid Persian empire. The contributions address: new evidence on the site of Persepolis; the use of glyptic imagery to understand identity and the priorities of those living in the Achaemenid empire; interpretations of the diaspora of Achaemenid notions of empire and imperialism. These studies contribute meaningfully to understanding the eld, its diverse methodologies, and current trends in its investigation. They build on ideas and directions begun and fostered by Margaret herself. The rst part of this book focuses on the site of Persepolis itself. Pierre Briant, The discovery of Persepolis in the eighteenth century: From the accounts of travellers to the ‘érudits de cabinet’ focuses on European reception and perception of Persepolitan architecture and art through paintings, drawings, and written descriptions of the earliest travellers to the site. Rémy Boucharlat, Arriving at Persepolis, an unfortied royal residence, draws upon old and new excavation and survey of the region immediately surrounding the Takht at Persepolis to articulate something of the landscape which the famous structures overlooked. Ali Mousavi, Visual display and written record: Reections on some of Xerxes’ inscriptions at

PREFACE

XI

Persepolis, highlights the dynamic tensions between public inscription, art, and architecture – and what happens when inscriptions are removed from their primary location. Shahrokh Razmjou, Forgotten under the shadow: An unidentied structure at Persepolis, takes a careful look at the remains, visible on the Persepolis terrace today, just to the west of the Palace of Darius and reconstructs a previously unrecognized building that may have been used for water-based purication rituals. Alexander Nagel, Preserving the Achaemenid Persian legacy: Aspects of conservation, technology, polychromy, and material culture in Persepolis, focuses on an important, but previously under-studied, aspect of Achaemenid visual culture: the use of colour on sculpture. Ann C. Gunter, Revisiting the imagery of giftgiving, examines the Apadana reliefs at Persepolis within the background of recent research on Egyptian and Assyrian imperial art. She explores the symbolic dimensions of the gifts brought, the multiple audiences for whom the reliefs were sculpted, and the interface between cultures, stereotypes, gift-givers and their offerings, and Achaemenid court protocol. Seals, their use and imagery, have formed an important core of Margaret’s research and gure large in this volume. Mark B. Garrison and Wouter F.M. Henkelman, Sigillophobe suppliers and ideosyncratic scribes: Local information handling in Achaemenid Prsa, dives into the complexities and rich informational possibilities of the Persepolis Fortication archive, considering the actions and seals of those individuals who supplied food commodities. Henry P. Colburn, Seal production and the city of Persepolis, uses the seals represented via impressions on the Persepolis Fortication archive as sources of demographic information and attempts to calculate the population of Persepolis and its surrounding region in the late sixth and early fth centuries BCE. Deniz Kaptan, Three seal artifacts from Uylupnar in the Kibyratis, moves to a group of seals recovered from looted tombs at a site in southwestern Turkey and re-contextualizes them in their historical and cultural settings thanks to the work done on excavated seals from elsewhere (notably Persepolis and Seleucia). Christopher Tuplin, Sigillography and soldiers: Cataloguing military activity on Achaemenid period seals, takes on the monumental task of collecting and presenting the large number of seals from throughout the empire that display human combat. Maria Brosius, A brief note on the children of the empire, considers a particular rare image type – children – and suggests an Elamite origin for the motif of gift-giving to a child. The last group of studies concerns various issues relating to Achaemenid visual culture outside of Persepolis. Bruno Jacobs and Robert Rollinger, Kunst- und kulturhistorische Anmerkungen zur Schale aus Arn, examine the extraordinary bowl from the Arn tomb and place its decorated friezes within the transnational creative and political landscape of the rst half of the sixth century BCE, when multiple centres of power competed and communicated with each other in richly productive ways. Such uid cultural interactions mark the remaining contributions to this volume, all of which focus on Achaemenid imperial interfaces and ex-

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ELSPETH R.M. DUSINBERRE AND MARK B. GARRISON

changes with people within and outside the empire. Three studies focus on European Greece in this context. Margaret C. Miller, Of thrones, grifns and seals: The iconography of the throne of the priest of Dionysos Eleuthereus, Athens, explores the intriguing possibility that glyptic themes may have been the source of some of the imagery that appears on a marble throne, reserved for the priest of Dionysos, in the Theatre of Dionysos in Athens. Karen A. Laurence, Reading Persepolis in Delphi, considers the appearance of Persepolitan-style architectural elements in the Stoa of the Athenians at Delphi and explains the impact they would have had on ancient viewers. Two studies investigate the impact of imperialism on people living within the generally accepted boundaries of the empire – and push our understanding of those boundaries as well as the extent of impact. Björn Anderson, Lines in the sand: Horizons of real and imagined power in Persian Arabia, takes on the knotty questions of boundaries and hegemony as regards Arabia in the Achaemenid period. Lori Khatchadourian, From copy to proxy: The politics of matter and mimesis in Achaemenid Armenia, seeks to articulate the materiality of the Achaemenid empire in the provinces, a topic of long concern within the discipline. She raises important questions concerning use and purpose and meaning and intentionality in the material record. Lastly, Amélie Kuhrt, Margaret and Achaemenid imperial art, reviews the impact of Margaret’s work in the discipline. Achaemenid visual culture, Achaemenid ideologies of empire, Achaemenid interactions with other cultures, Achaemenid bureaucracy and governance, Achaemenid religion, gender studies within the Achaemenid empire, Achaemenid history altogether – these are all elds that today would look entirely different without Margaret’s path-breaking contributions. This volume is offered in honour of and gratitude to her remarkable work. Elspeth R.M. Dusinberre Mark B. Garrison

ABBREVIATIONS

1. Bibliographic abbreviations AA AAE AAH AASOR ÄAT ABAW AbIr AchHist 4 AchHist 6 AchHist 7

AchHist 8 AchHist 10 AchHist 11 AchHist 12 AchHist 13

ACSS ADAJ AE AfO AHw AI

Archäologischer Anzeiger Arabian Archaeology and Epigraphy Acta Antiqua Academiae Scientarum Hungaricae Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research Ägypten und Altes Testament, Wiesbaden Abhandlungen der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften (phil.-hist. Klasse), ns. Abstracta Iranica (supplements to StIr) H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg & A. Kuhrt (eds.), Achaemenid History 4: Centre and periphery, Leiden 1990 H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg & A. Kuhrt (eds.), Achaemenid History 6: Asia Minor and Egypt, old cultures in a new empire, Leiden 1991 H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg & J.W. Drijvers (eds.), Achaemenid History 7: Through travelers’ eyes: European travelers on the Iranian monuments, Leiden H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg, A. Kuhrt & M.C. Root (eds.), Achaemenid History 8: Continuity and change, Leiden 1994 P. Briant, Achaemenid History 10: Histoire de l’empire perse, de Cyrus à Alexandre, Leiden 1996 (also published by Fayard, Paris) M. Brosius & A. Kuhrt (eds.), Achaemenid History 11: Studies in Persian history, essays in memory of David M. Lewis, Leiden 1998 D. Kaptan, Achaemenid History 12: The Daskyleion bullae, seal images from the western Achaemenid empire, Leiden 2002 W.F.M. Henkelman & A. Kuhrt (eds.), Achaemenid History 13: A Persian perspective, essays in memory of Heleen SancisiWeerdenburg, Leiden 2003 Ancient Civilisations from Scythia to Siberia Annual of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan Archaiologik Ephmeris Archiv für Orientforschung W. von Soden, Akkadisches Handwörterbuch, Wiesbaden 1959-81 Acta Iranica, Encyclopédie permanente des Études Iraniennes, Leiden; Leuven

XIV

AION AJA AJAH AJSL AK AMI(T) AnAnt AncSoc ANES ANMED Annales ESC AnSt AntDenk AntW AOAT AOS ArOr ArsOr ARTA ArtAs AS ASJ ASMOSIA AthM AUWE AWE BAAIA BABesch BAI BaM BAR BASOR BCH BCSMS BÉFAR BiAr BICS BiMes BJ BMCR

ABBREVIATIONS

Annali dell’Istituto Universitario Orientale di Napoli, Napoli American Journal of Archaeology American Journal of Ancient History American Journal of Semitic Languages and Literatures Antike Kunst Archäologische Mitteilungen aus Iran (und Turan, ns.) Anatolia Antiqua Ancient Society Ancient Near Eastern Studies Anadolu Akdenizi Arkeoloji Haberleri / News of Archaeology from Anatolia’s Mediterranean Areas Annales: Économies, Sociétés, Civilisations Anatolian Studies Antike Denkmäler Antike Welt Alter Orient und Altes Testament, Kevelaer – Neukirchen-Vluyn American Oriental Series, New Haven Archív Orientální Ars Orientalis Achaemenid Research on Texts and Archaeology (online journal) Artibus Asiae Assyriological Studies, Chicago Acta Sumerologica Japonica Association for the Study of Marble and Other Stones used in Antiquity, Proceedings Athenische Mitteilungen Ausgrabungen in Uruk-Warka – Endberichte, Mainz Ancient West and East Bulletin of the Australian Archaeological Institute at Athens Bulletin Antieke Beschaving Bulletin of the Asia Institute Baghdader Mitteilungen British Archaeological Reports, International Series, Oxford Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research Bulletin de Correspondance Hellénique Bulletin of the Canadian Society for Mesopotamian Studies Bibliothèque des Écoles Françaises d’Athènes et de Rome, Rome Biblical Archaeologist (continued as NEA) Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies Bibliotheca Mesopotamica, Malibu Bonner Jahrbücher, Düsseldorf – Mainz Bryn Mawr Classical Review [online journal]

ABBREVIATIONS

BMEJ BMUSUM BSA BSLP BT CA CAD CAH CANE CDAFI CDLJ CÉFR CHANE CHI CII CleO CP CRAI CRRAI CSCA DÖAW EAHSBC

EncIr ÉPAHA ERC EW FdD FdX GOF HANE-M/S HdO HMAR

XV

Bulletin of the Middle Eastern Culture Center in Japan, Wiesbaden Bulletin of the University of Michigan Museums of Art and Archaeology Annual of the British School at Athens Bulletin de la Société Linguistique de Paris Babylonische Texte, Leipzig Classical Antiquity The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, Chicago 1956-2010 The Cambridge Ancient History, Cambridge 1970- [third edition] J.M. Sasson et al. (eds.), Civilizations of the Ancient Near East, 4 vols., New York 1995 Cahiers de la Délégation Archéologique Française en Iran Cuneiform Digital Library Journal Collection de l’École Française de Rome, Rome Culture and History of the Ancient Near East, Leiden Cambridge History of Iran, Cambridge 1968-1991 Corpus Inscriptionum Iranicarum, London 1955Classica et Orientalia, Wiesbaden Classical Philology Comptes Rendus des Séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-lettres, Paris Compte rendu de la Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale California Studies in Classical Antiquity Denkschriften der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften (phil.-hist. Klasse), Wien Entretiens d’Archéologie et d’Histoire, Musée archéologique départemental de Saint-Bertrand-de-Comminges, Saint-Bertrand-deComminges E. Yarshater (ed.), Encyclopaedia Iranica, London – Boston 1972Études de Philologie, d’Archéologie et d’Histoire Anciennes, Institut historique belge de Rome, Bruxelles Edition Recherche sur les Civilisations, Paris W. Hinz & H. Koch, Elamisches Wörterbuch, 2 vols. (AMI Erg.Bd. 17), Berlin 1987 Fouilles de Delphes, Paris 1902Fouilles de Xanthos, Paris 1958-1992 Göttinger Orientforschungen, Göttingen History of the Ancient Near East (Monographs/Studies), Padua Handbuch der Orientalistik, Leiden Histoire et Mémoires de l’Académie Royale des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, Paris

XVI

HSAO IJCT IrAnt ISMEO IstF IstM JA JAS JCS JDAI JEA JESHO JFA JHS JIA JKSU JMEWS JNAA JNES JQR JRA JRAS JRGZ JRS JS JSA JSAH JWarb KES LIMC MDOG MDP MEFRA MémAcad Berlin MH MMJ MüJb

ABBREVIATIONS

Heidelberger Studien zum Alten Orient, Heidelberg International Journal of the Classical Tradition Iranica Antiqua Istituto italiano per il Medio ed Estremo Oriente, Reports and Memoirs, Roma Istanbuler Forschungen, Berlin Istanbuler Mitteilungen, Istanbul Journal Asiatique Journal of Archaeological Science Journal of Cuneiform Studies Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Journal of Egyptian Archaeology Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient Journal of Field Archaeology Journal of Hellenic Studies Journal of Irish Archaeology Journal of King Saud University – Tourism and Archaeology Journal of Middle East Women’s Studies Journal of the Numismatic Association of Australia Journal of Near Eastern Studies Jewish Quarterly Review Journal of Roman Archaeology Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland Jahrbuch des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums, Mainz Journal of Roman Studies Journal des Savants (continues Journal des Sçavants) Journal of Social Archaeology Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes Kavkazskii Etnograficheskii Sbornik Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologicae Classicae, Zürich 19812009 Mitteilungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft Mémoires de la Délégation française en Perse, Paris [continued as Mémoires de la Délégation Archéologique en Iran] Mélanges d’Archéologie et d’Histoire de l'École Française de Rome: Antiquité Mémoires de l’Académie royale des Sciences et des Belles-Lettres de Berlin, Berlin Museum Helveticum Metropolitan Museum Journal Münchener Jahrbuch der bildenden Kunst

ABBREVIATIONS

NABU NC NEA OBO OIC OIMP OIP OJA ÖJhBeibl OLA OPBF OrSu PBS PCP PEQ PIHANS PQu PSAS QS RA RAr RÉA RhM RLA RömM SAA SAAS SAOC SBÖAW SDB SHAJ SMEA StIr SVEC TAD TAVO TehF

XVII

Nouvelles Assyriologiques Bréves et Utilitaires Numismatic Chronicle Near Eastern Archaeology (continues BiAr) Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis, Fribourg – Göttingen Oriental Institute Communications, Chicago Oriental Institute Museum Publications, Chicago Oriental Institute Publications, Chicago Oxford Journal of Archaeology Jahreshefte der Österreichischen archäologischen Instituts in Wien, Beiblatt Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta, Leuven Occasional Publications of the Babylonian Fund, Philadelphia Orientalia Suecana Publications of the Babylonian Section, Philadelphia Pacific Coast Philology Palestine Exploration Quarterly Publications de l’Institut Historique-Archéologique Néerlandais de Stamboul, Leiden – Istanbul The Philosophical Quarterly Proceedings of the Seminar for Arabian Studies, London Quaderni di storia Revue d’Assyriologie et d’archéologie orientale Revue Archéologique Revue des Études Anciennes Rheinisches Museum für Philologie E. Ebeling, B. Meißner et al. (eds.), Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie, Berlin 1928-2017 Mitteilungen des deutschen archäologischen Instituts, Römische Abteilung State Archives of Assyria, Helsinki State Archives of Assyria Studies, Helsinki Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization, Chicago Sitzungsberichte der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften (phil.-hist. Klasse), Wien Supplément au Dictionnaire de la Bible, Paris 1928Studies in the History and Archaeology of Jordan Studi Micenei ed Egeo-Anatolici Studia Iranica Studies on Voltaire and the Eighteenth Century, Oxford Türk Arkeoloji Dergisi Tübinger Atlas des Vorderen Orients, Tübingen Teheraner Forschungen, Berlin

XVIII

TMH TTKY UAVA UE UMM VDI VT WO WZKM ZA ZBK ZDPV

ABBREVIATIONS

Texte und Materialien der Frau Professor Hilprecht Collection of Babylonian Antiquities im Eigentum der Universität Jena, Leipzig Türk Tarih Kurumu Yaynlar, Ankara Untersuchungen zur Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie, Berlin Ur Excavations, Oxford – Philadelphia University Museum Monograph, Philadelphia Vestnik Drevnej Istorii Vetus Testamentum Die Welt des Orients Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes Zeitschrift für Assyriologie und vorderasiatische Archäologie Zeitschrift für bildende Kunst Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins

2. Other abbreviations ad loc. AP ARR Av. BCE ca. CE cf. ch. cm conj. c.s. d. DN ed., eds. e.g. el. (subscript) esp. et al. f. g(s). Gk. GN ha

ad locum Anno Persarum (šamš ) Anno Regis Regorum (Š hanš h ) Avestan Before Common Era circa Common Era confer chapter centimetre conjugation cum suis day divine name editor(s) exempli gratia Elamite month name especially et alii folio (i.e., and the following page) gure(s) Greek geographical name hectare

ABBREVIATIONS

HIH i.a. ibid. i.e. km l. l., ll. l.c., ll.cc. LEd m m. mm ms., mss. Mt. NMI n., nn. n° ns. o.c. OIr. OP, OPers. PFA PTA pl. pl., pls. PN p., pp. q.v., qq.v. rev.ed. scil. sg. s.l. s.n. s.v., s.vv. su. (subscript) vel sim. vol., vols. vs. v., vv. viz

XIX

His Imperial Highness inter alia ibidem id est kilometre litre(s) linea, lineæ loco citato, locis citatis left edge destroyed (Fortication tablets) metre month millimetre manuscriptum, manuscripta mount The National Museum of Iran, Tehrn (formerly Muzeh-ye Irn-e Bstn) footnote, footnotes numero (also used for pl., numeris) nova series (also for ‘neue Folge,’ ‘new series,’ etc.) opere citato Old Iranian Old Persian Persepolis Fortification Archive Persepolis Treasury Archive pluralis plate(s) personal name pagina, paginae quod vide, quae vide revised edition scilicet singularis sine loco sine nomine sub voce, sub vocibus ‘Susian’ month name vel simile, vel similia volume(s) versus verse(s) videlicet

XX

ABBREVIATIONS

3. Sigla ABL

ANE AO ARV b (subscript) BAPD BE BM BN CBS DB DBe (DBb, p, a) DS e (subscript) EKI Fort. #

Fort. #-# GR IRS MDP MMA NM NN

Texts in R.F. Harper, Assyrian and Babylonian letters belonging to the Kouyounjik Collection of the British Museum, 14 vols., London – Chicago 1892-1914 Tablets and other artefacts in the collections of the British Museum, Ancient Near East (now Middle East) Department Tablets and other artefacts in the collections of the Musée du Louvre, department of Antiquités Orientales Greek vases in J.D. Beazley, Attic red-figure vase-painters, 3 vols., Oxford 1963 [2nd.ed.] Babylonian (in sigla for the royal inscriptions, as in ‘DBb’) Artefact entries in the Beazley Archive Pottery Database [beazley.ox.ac.uk/pottery/default.htm] Cuneiform texts in The Babylonian Expedition of the University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia Tablets and other artefacts in the British Museum, London Artefacts in the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris Tablets and other artefacts in the collection of the University Museum in Philadelphia, Babylonian Section Darius I, Bsotn, main inscription idem: Elamite (Babylonian, Aramaic) version Daskyleion Seal published in AchHist 12 Elamite Texts in W. König, Die elamischen Königsinschriften (AfO Beiheft 16), Graz 1965 Persepolis Fortication tablet in the National Museum of Iran published by A.M. Arfaee, Persepolis Fortification tablets, Fort. and Teh. texts (Ancient Iranian Studies 5), Tehran 2008. Unpublished Persepolis Fortication tablet edited by M.W. Stolper Inscriptions and other artefacts in the collections of the British Museum, Department of Greek and Roman Antiquities Elamite and Akkadian texts in F. Malbran-Labat, Les inscriptions royales de Suse, Paris 1995 Tablets and other artefacts in Mémoires de la Délégation française en Perse, Paris Artefacts in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Inscriptions and other artefacts in the National Archaeological Museum, Athens Unpublished Persepolis Fortication tablet edited by R.T. Hallock and prepared for publication by W.F.M. Henkelman

ABBREVIATIONS

p (subscript) PBS PF PFa PFAE PFAT PFATS PFATS #* PFATS #s PFS PFS #* PFS #s •PFS PFUT PFUTS PFUTS #* PFUTS #s PT PT 1957 PTS PTS #* PTS #s RB 1-7 Sb TADAE TTM U UCP YOS

XXI

Old Persian (in sigla for the royal inscriptions, as in ‘XVp’) Texts in University of Pennsylvania, Publications of the Babylonian Section, Philadelphia Persepolis Fortication tablet published in R.T. Hallock, Persepolis Fortification texts (OIP 92), Chicago 1969 idem, published in R.T. Hallock, CDAFI 8, 1978: 109-36 Persepolis Fortication Aramaic Epigraph Persepolis Fortication Aramaic Tablet Persepolis Fortication Aramaic Tablet Seal idem, inscribed seal idem, stamp seal Persepolis Fortication seal idem, inscribed seal idem, stamp seal idem, seal on left edge of tablet Uninscribed tablet from the Persepolis Fortication archive Seal on uninscribed tablets from the Persepolis Fortication archive idem, inscribed seal idem, stamp seal Persepolis Treasury tablet published in G.G. Cameron, Persepolis Treasury tablets (OIP 65), Chicago 1948 idem, published in G.G. Cameron JNES 17, 1958: 161-76 Persepolis Treasury seal (numbers in Schmidt, OIP 69, 1957: 441, pls. 2-14) idem, inscribed seal idem, stamp seal Clay bullae first published in V. Scheil, Revue Biblique 10, 1901: 567-70 Tablets and other artefacts from sites in the Susiana in the collections of the Musée du Louvre, Paris Texts in B. Porten & A. Yardeni, Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt, 4 vols., Jerusalem 1987-1999 Middle Elamite texts from Malyn in M.W. Stolper, Texts from Tall-i Malyan, vol. 1 (OPBF 6), Philadelphia 1984 Tablets and other artefacts from the Ur excavations (field numbers) Texts in University of California Publications in Semitic Philology, Berkeley. Texts in Yale Oriental Series, New Haven

MARGARET COOL ROOT BIBLIOGRAPHY 1973-2018 1973, An Etruscan horse race from Poggio Civitate, AJA 77: 121-37. 1976, The Herzfeld archive of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, MMJ 11: 119-24. 1978, review of U. Schneider, Persepolis and ancient Iran, Chicago 1976, JSAH 37: 201-02. 1979, The king and kingship in Achaemenid art: Essays on the creation of an iconography of empire (AI 19), Leiden. –––– Faces of immortality: Egyptian mummy masks, painted portraits, and canopic jars in the Kelsey Museum of Archaeology, Ann Arbor. –––– review of J. Duchesne-Guillemin (ed.), Acta Iranica, vols. 1-7, JNES 38: 39-42. –––– review of L. Trümpelmann, Das sasanidische Felsrelief von Sar Mashad, Berlin 1975, JNES 38: 223-24. 1980, The Persepolis perplex: Some prospects borne of retrospect, in: D. SchmandtBesserat (ed.), Ancient Persia: The art of an empire, Malibu: 5-13. 1981, A funerary relief bust from Palmyra, BMUSUM 4: 1-11. –––– review of L. Jakob-Rost, Die Stempelsiegel im Vorderasiatischen Museum, Berlin 1975, JNES 40: 59-61. –––– review of M.A.R. Colledge, Parthian art, Ithaca 1977, JNES 40: 153-54. 1981, review of J. Lerner, Christian seals of the Sasanian period, Istanbul 1977, JNES 40: 61-62. 1982, Wondrous glass: Reflections on the world of Rome, Ann Arbor. –––– The Samuel A. Goudsmit collection of Egyptian antiquities: A scientist views the past, Ann Arbor. –––– review of McG. Gibson & R. Biggs (eds.), Seals and sealing in the ancient Near East, Malibu 1977, JNES 41: 58-60. –––– review of E. Porada (ed.), Ancient art in seals, Princeton 1980, AJA 86: 302-303. –––– review of O.W. Muscarella, The catalogue of ivories from Hasanlu, Iran, Philadelphia 1980, Archaeology 35.5: 76-77. –––– review of S. Fukai, Persian glass, New York 1977, JNES 41: 306-308. 1983, review of I.J. Winter, A decorated breastplate from Hasanlu, Iran: Type, style, and context of an equestrian ornament, Philadelphia 1980, AJA 87: 282. 1984, The art of seals: Aesthetic and social dynamics of the impressed image from antiquity to the present, Ann Arbor. –––– review of P.O. Harper, Silver vessels of the Sasanian period, vol. 1: Royal imagery, New York 1981, AJA 88: 96-97. 1984/85, An Apulian volute krater by the Gioia del Colle Painter: Aspects of context, attribution and iconography, BMUSUM 7: 1-25.

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1985, The Parthenon frieze and the Apadana reliefs at Persepolis: Reassessing a programmatic relationship, AJA 89: 103-20. –––– s.vv. Pasargadae, Persepolis, Encyclopedia Americana. 1986, review of M. Roaf, Sculptures and sculptors at Persepolis, AJA 90: 113-14. 1986/87, Tappan, Bismarck and the bitter connection: Reflections on men and their dogs in the artful memory, Rackham Reports 1986/87: 17-46. 1988, Evidence from Persepolis for the dating of Persian and Archaic Greek coinage, NC 148: 1-12. 1989, The Persian archer at Persepolis: Aspects of chronology, style, and symbolism, in: R. Descat (ed.), L’or perse et l’histoire grecque = RÉA 91: 33-50. –––– Cameron’s squeeze, Archaeology 42.3: 22. –––– The power that was Persia, review of H.W.A.M. Sancisi-Weerdenburg & A. Kuhrt (eds.), AchHist 1-3, Times Literary Supplement 4515 (Oct. 13, 1989): 1126. 1990, Crowning glories: Persian kingship and the power of creative continuity, Ann Arbor. –––– Circles of artistic programming: Strategies for studying creative process at Persepolis, in: A.C. Gunter (ed.), Investigating artistic environments in the ancient Near East, Washington: 115-39. 1991, From the heart: Powerful Persianisms in the art of the western empire, in: AchHist 6, Leiden: 1-29. –––– Seals in the ancient Near East: The authority of word-image synthesis, in: M.L. Allen & T.K. Dix (eds.), The beginning of understanding: Writing in the ancient world, Ann Arbor: 19-26. 1992, Persian art, in: D.N. Freedman (ed.), The Anchor Bible Dictionary, vol. 1, New York: 440-47. 1993, Contextualizing ancient Near Eastern art: A review article, Topoi 3: 217-45. 1994 [H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg, A. Kuhrt & MCR], Achaemenid History 8: Continuity and change, Leiden. –––– Lifting the veil: Artistic transmission beyond the boundaries of historical periodisation, in: AchHist 8, Leiden: 9-37. –––– review of B.H. Fowler, The Hellenistic aesthetic, Madison 1989, JNES 53: 145. 1995, Art and archaeology of the Achaemenid empire, CANE 4: 2615-37. –––– review of D.M. Reynolds (ed.), Selected lectures of Rudolf Wittkower: The impact of non-European civilizations on the art of the West, Cambridge 1989, JNES 54: 144-46. 1996, s.v. Achaemenid art, in: J. Turner (ed.), The dictionary of art, vol. 1, London: 115-19. –––– s.v. Persepolis, in: J. Turner (ed.), The dictionary of art, vol. 24, London: 481-84. –––– The Persepolis Fortification tablets: Archival issues and the problem of stamps versus cylinder seals, in: A. Invernizzi & M.-F. Boussac (eds.), Archives et sceaux du monde hellénistique (BCH supplément 29), Paris: 3-27. –––– [M.B. Garrison & MCR], Achaemenid History 9: Persepolis seal studies, an introduction with provisional concordances of seal numbers and associated documents on Persepolis Fortification tablets 1-2087), Leiden [2nd rev.ed. 1998]. 1997, Cultural pluralisms on the Persepolis Fortification tablets, in: M.-F. Boussac (ed.), Recherches récentes sur l’empire achéménide (Topoi Suppl. 1), Paris: 229-52. –––– [S. Miller-Collett & MCR], An Achaemenid seal from the Lower City, Studia Troica 7: 355-62.

BIBLIOGRAPHY 1973-2018

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1997-2000 [2000], The Adams (ex-Herzfeld) collection of prehistoric stamp seals: Prospects and quandaries, BMUSUM 12: 8-40. 1998, Pyramidal stamp seals: The Persepolis connection, in: AchHist 11, Leiden: 257-89. –––– [A.C. Gunter & MCR], Replicating, inscribing, giving: Ernst Herzfeld and Artaxerxes’ silver phiale in the Freer Gallery of Art, ArsOr 28: 3-38. 1999, The cylinder seal from Pasargadae: Of wheels and wings, date and fate, in: R. Boucharlat, J.E. Curtis & E. Haerinck (eds.), Neo-Assyrian, Median, Achaemenian and other studies in honor of David Stronach, vol. 2 = IrAnt 34: 157-90. 2000, Imperial ideology in Achaemenid Persian art: Transforming the Mesopotamian legacy, BCSMS 35: 19-27. –––– Encyclopedic encounters: A review article on E.M. Meyers (ed.), The Oxford encyclopedia of archaeology in the Near East, ArsOr 30: 131-38. 2001 [M.B. Garrison & MCR], Seals on the Persepolis Fortification tablets, vol. 1: Images of heroic encounter (OIP 117), Chicago. 2002 (ed.), Medes and Persians: Reflections on elusive empires = ArsOr 32. –––– Medes and Persians: The state of things, in: M.C. Root (ed.), Medes and Persians: Reflections on elusive empires = ArsOr 32: 1-16. –––– Animals in the art of ancient Iran, in: B.J. Collins (ed.), A history of the animal world in the ancient Near East (HdO 1.64), Leiden: 169-209. –––– review of C. Uehlinger (ed.), Images as media: Sources for the cultural history of the Near East and the eastern Mediterranean (1st millennium BCE), Fribourg 2000, JESHO 45: 376-80. 2003, Hero and worshiper at Seleucia: Re-inventions of Babylonia on a banded agate cylinder seal of the Achaemenid empire, in: M. Roaf, D. Stein & T. Potts (eds.), Culture through objects: Ancient Near Eastern studies in honour of P.R.S. Moorey, Oxford: 249-83. –––– The lioness of Elam: Politics and dynastic fecundity at Persepolis, in: AchHist 13, Leiden: 9-32. 2004, Women of the field: Defining the gendered experience, in: G.M. Cohen & M.S. Joukowsky (eds.), Breaking ground: Pioneering women archaeologists, Ann Arbor: 1-33. 2005 (ed.), This fertile land: Signs + symbols in the early arts of Iran and Iraq (Kelsey Museum publications 3), Ann Arbor. –––– Prismatic prehistory: Ernst Herzfeld on early Iran, in: A.C. Gunter & S.R. Hauser (eds.), Ernst Herzfeld and the development of Near Eastern studies, 1900-1950, Leiden: 215-59. 2006, review of L. Bakhtiar & B. Rose, Helen of Ts: Her odyssey from Idaho to Iran, Chicago 2002, JMEWS 2.2: 139-43. 2007, Reading Persepolis in Greek: Gifts of the Yauna, in: C. Tuplin (ed.), Persian responses: Political and cultural interaction with(in) the Achaemenid empire, Swansea: 177-224. 2008, Reading Persepolis in Greek, part two: Marriage metaphors and unmanly virtues, in: S.M.R. Darbandi & A. Zournatzi (eds.), Ancient Greece and ancient Iran: Crosscultural encounters, Athens: 195-221.

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–––– The legible image: How did seals and sealing matter in Persepolis?, in: P. Briant, W.F.M. Henkelman & M.W. Stolper (eds.), L’archive des Fortications de Persépolis: État des questions et perspectives de recherches (Persika 12), Paris: 87-148. 2010, Palace to temple – king to cosmos: Achaemenid foundation texts in Iran, in: M.J. Boda & J.R. Novotny (eds.), From the foundations to the crenellations: Essays on temple building in the ancient Near East and Hebrew Bible (AOAT 366), Münster: 165210. 2011, Embracing ambiguity in the world of Athens and Persia, in: E.S. Gruen (ed.), Cultural identity in the ancient Mediterranean, Los Angeles: 86-95. –––– Elam in the imperial imagination: From Nineveh to Persepolis, in: J. Alvarez-Mon & M.B. Garrison (eds.), Elam and Persia, Winona Lake: 419-74. –––– Jane Dieulafoy et Gertrude Bell: L’archéologie au féminin, Qantara 81: 40-43. 2012, Oleg Grabar and the University of Michigan, ArsOr 42: 11-14. 2013, Defining the divine in Achaemenid Persian kingship: The view from Bisitun, in L.G. Mitchell & C.P. Melville (eds.), Every inch a king: Comparative studies on kings and kingship in the ancient and medieval worlds, Leiden: 23-65. 2015 [L.E. Talalay & MCR], Passionate curiosities: Tales of collectors & collections from the Kelsey Museum, Ann Arbor. –––– Achaemenid imperial architecture: Performative porticoes of Persepolis, in: S. Babaie & T. Grigor (eds.), Persian kingship and architecture: Strategies of power in Iran from the Achaemenids to the Pahlavis, London: 1-63. 2016, Tales of translation: Leroy Waterman, biblical studies, and an Achaemenid royalname alabastron from Seleucia, in: C. Rédard (ed.), Des contrées avestiques à Mahabad, via Bisotun: Études offertes en hommage à Pierre Lecoq (Civilisations du Proche-Orient 3.2), Paris: 1-17. 2018 [MCR & H. Dixon], Blue from Babylon: Notes from the curatorial trenches, in: E. Simpson (ed.), The adventure of the illustrious scholar: Papers presented to Oscar White Muscarella (Culture and history of the ancient Near East 94), Leiden: 780-808. –––– A response: Scaling the walls of Persepolis toward an imaginal social/material landscape, in: S.R. Martin & S.M. Langin-Hooper (eds.), The tiny and the fragmented: Miniature, broken, or otherwise incomplete objects in the ancient world, Oxford: 188216. –––– Style, in: A.C. Gunter (ed.), A companion to ancient Near Eastern art, Hoboken: 75101.

THE DISCOVERY OF PERSEPOLIS IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY: FROM THE ACCOUNTS OF TRAVELERS TO THE ‘ÉRUDITS DE CABINET’ Pierre Briant (Paris)

1. New documentation on ancient Persia It is now a well-known fact that H.C. Rawlinson’s ground-breaking research of copying and decipherment of the rock-cut inscription at Bsotn opened a completely new chapter on the history of the Achaemenid dynasty and empire. This observation does not, of course, in any way diminish the even more impressive advancements, both in the short- and long-term, that were afforded to historians of ancient Mesopotamia by the decipherment of the cuneiform script. At the same time, we ought not to forget another stage, also decisive, which preceded by many centuries the communications made by Rawlinson to the Royal Asiatic Society in 1846. I refer here to the reports and drawings delivered and published in Europe by travellers who had been visiting Persia since the 15th century. The accounts of these travellers made available, for the rst time, to scholars and antiquarians sources of information other than that provided by the Graeco-Roman writers. These GraecoRoman literary sources, which had been edited since the Renaissance, had served as the foundation for the only published synthesis of Achaemenid royal institutions, that by Barnabé Brisson in 1590. In addition to the Classical sources, one must note also the ‘Oriental’ authors (Arab and Arabio-Persian) whose works had been known in Europe since the 17th century.1 Travel accounts and the prints that accompanied them allowed for the study of the material evidence from Persia, principally in the form of the visible architectural remains and inscriptions carved in stone (granted, in an unknown script then called ‘persepolitan’). For the rst time, one could not only employ ancient archaeological and iconographic evidence that came from Persia itself, but also compare different sources; for example, there was absolutely no doubt, for the grand majority of travellers and observers, that the magnicent site in southwestern Iran was none other than Persepolis, the city described at length by Diodorus Siculus during his account of Alexander’s campaigns of 1

They are most often cited via B. d’Herbelot, Bibliothèque orientale (1697), a work known throughout Europe.

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conquest. Indeed, one of the challenges presented by the new archaeological sources was precisely to understand better Diodorus’ text.2 There are numerous modern studies devoted to European travellers in Persia, their interpretations of the ruins, their drawings and engraved prints.3 In addition, numerous studies address the ‘vision’ of the Orient that developed from these travellers’ accounts.4 The role that this new source played, however, in the emergence and the initial development of what one would later call ‘Achaemenid history’ has yet to be articulated and analysed.5 In what follows, I present some preliminary remarks on this subject. These observations are part of a larger body of research that I have undertaken on Achaemenid historiography and on the history of Alexander at the time of the Enlightenment, research that has previously appeared in various articles and books as well as lectures that I delivered at the Collège de France in the years 2010-12.6 It is a great pleasure to offer this contribution to Margaret Root, whose book, King and kingship in Achaemenid art (1979), had such a signicant impact on Achaemenid studies; in continuing the studies of Carl Nylander, her work marks a decisive phase in the process of the emergence of Achaemenid History as a fully self-dened discipline (in opposition to one dened solely through the Classical sources). I have previously had the opportunity, on several occasions, to remark on

2 3

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5

6

See, e.g., De Sainte-Croix 1773; idem 1774; idem 1775: 286f. For the ‘voyage en Perse,’ one may consult the remarkable book by Invernizzi (2005), which assembles all relevant biographical and bibliographical data for every documented traveller, transcribes their written descriptions, gives reproductions of their drawings (sometimes previously unpublished, e.g., De Silva y Figueroa 1667, gs.38-46), and includes, moreover, an introduction on the ‘érudits de cabinet.’ Invernizzi’s book is an absolutely indispensible tool. In an interesting article, Allen (2007) discusses some of the issues that I address here, but from a very different perspective; on the subject see also Sancisi-Weerdenburg & Drijvers (eds.) 1991, in particular the introduction (pp. 1-35), as well as the catalogue accompanying the exhibition organized at Groningen (Sancisi-Weerdenburg 1989); more recently, see Mousavi 2012: 95-112. See, e.g., Chaybany 1971 and Tafazoli 2006; on the other hand, the theme is largely absent from the famous book of Said, Orientalism (1978 [2003]). For an analogous methodological context, see the volume edited by Royo et al. (eds.) (2011), even though it does not concern specically travellers in Persia. See, e.g., Briant 2000: 6-10; idem 2010; idem 2012. I have also discussed the issues presented here in an unpublished communication presented on 14 October 2007 at the colloquium IMAGINES: La Antigüedad en las artes escénicas y visuales / The reception of antiquity in performing and visual arts (Logroño, Universidad de la Rioja), under the title “Visions, réceptions et interprétations de Persépolis en Europe au XVIIe siècle” (for summaries of my Collège de France lectures see college-de-france.fr/site/pierre-briant/ resumes.htm; see also college-de-france.fr/site/pierre-briant/_audiovideos.jsp).

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how much her book inuenced my own thinking.7 The study that follows, by contrast, explores an earlier stage of the development of the discipline.

2. Travellers and érudits: discussion and polemic In 1686, the antiquarian scholar Charles-César Baudelot de Dairval (1648-1722) published a book, one destined to become very famous, under the title De l’utilité des voyages et de l’avantage que la recherche des antiquités procure aux savants (g.1). In a manner which may seem paradoxical, Baudelot, who had never left France and who would never, indeed, travel far, opened his remarks with a Lettre à un Ami sur les voyages (1686, 1: 1-9), followed by a chapter where he collected together and clearly explained all the conditions which, according to the author, contribute to make travel successful not only for the traveller himself, but also for those who would read his work (pp.9-69). The paradox is readily apparent; while Baudelot acknowledges that “he would be stepping well beyond the boundaries of his ‘cabinet’ in instructing a traveller” (“qu’il faut avoir été plus loin que son cabinet pour instruire un voyageur” [p.2]), he is equally convinced, by practice, that the “savant de cabinet” is greatly enriched by the traveller, who makes available to him engraved stones and coins that they have been able to collect, copy, or draw in the course of their travels. In sum, if the traveller himself is g.1: Charles-César Baudelot de well informed about the antiquities that he Dairval, De l’utilité des voyages et will encounter on his travels, his work is de l’avantage que la recherche directly related to that of the “savant de des antiquités procure aux savants, cabinet.” This very idea is conveyed by the title page of the 1727 edition (anonymous) author of the Preface of the new edition of 1727 (1: v-vi):8

7

See Briant 1981; idem 2000: 17-26; idem 2005: 270-72.

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The work is very useful not only for those who want to make the most of their travel, but also for those who, without leaving home, apply themselves to the study of Antiquity. […] With the aid of books and a good library, it is possible to advance considerably one’s understanding of Antiquity and even to make discoveries that 9 those who travel are not always in a position to discern.

A reection on this theme was reprised by Anquetil-Duperron almost a century later. In the Preface to his Zend-Avesta (pp.x-xvi), he conceived of a grandiose, and highly impracticable, plan. Challenging the investigative research of missionaries and traders (while acknowledging their merits), he proposed to create around the world “Académies ambulantes,” in which would work “Savants voyageurs.” These “Académies ambulantes” would thereby combine in one place the ‘on the ground’ knowledge of the travellers with the library-based knowledge of the “savants de cabinet.” Even though Baudelot concentrated his research on classical antiquity (particularly through the study of coins), his methodological observations on the rapport between travellers and “savants de cabinet” apply equally to works about ancient Persia, works that had proliferated in Europe during the Enlightenment. A large number of European travellers had been visiting or passing through Persia since the beginning of the 17th century (Da Silva y Figueroa, Della Valle, etc.), and they had reported often lengthy and detailed descriptions of what was then known as ehel Men r (Persepolis).10 These travellers always attempted to interpret what they saw in light of the Alexander historians whom, of course, they knew extremely well. The pace of publication did not diminish over the course of the following century, marked in its early years by successive publications of two Voyages that became the basis for almost all future research concerning the site of Persepolis. I refer, of course, to the Voyages of Jean Chardin (1686) and those of Cornelis de Bruyn/ Corneille le Brun (1711; idem 1718), whose accounts are accompanied by numerous plates and drawings (gs.2-3).11 It is from the accounts and drawings of these two travellers that, throughout the century, scholars worked to resolve re-

8

9

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This edition was published at Rouen, by Charles Ferrand; the author of the Preface mentions that the work of 1686 had been translated into English “six ans plus tard” (i.e., 1692). I have found no trace of this English translation in any library catalogue. “L’ouvrage […] est d’une grande utilité non seulement pour ceux qui veulent proter de leurs voyages, mais aussi pour tous ceux qui, sans sortir de chez eux, s’appliquent à l’étude de l’Antiquité. […] Avec le secours des livres et d’une bonne bibliothèque, on peut avancer considérablement dans la connaissance de l’Antiquité, et y faire des découvertes que ceux qui voyagent ne sont pas toujours en état de pouvoir faire.” I have made no attempt to regularize the various transcriptions of this toponym cited by European travellers and scholars. For Chardin, see Invernizzi 2005: 303-27; for De Bruyn, see ibid. 409-37.

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curring questions about Persepolis, e.g., its function (temple or palace?), the characteristics of its engraved sculpture, and even the short- and long-term consequences of Alexander’s destruction of the site in 330 BCE. The scholarly disputes were often the result of researchers who had no experience ‘on the ground’ as it were. In Germany, there is an excellent example of this phenomenon in the exchange of letters, arguments, and polemics between Johann-Gottfried Herder and Arnold Heeren. The “Persepolitan letters” of the former were addressed to more than ten German savants, among whom one nds, in addition to Heeren, very famous historians (e.g., Gatterer, Heyne), travellers (Carsten Niebuhr), and orientalists g.2: J. Chardin, Journal du voyage du (Tychsen, Eichhorn, etc.).12 chevalier Chardin en Perse & aux Indes As for the French, a particularly reOrientales, etc., presentative example is the Mémoire sur title page of the 1711 edition Persépolis published in 1801 by Antoine Mongez, an antiquarian who had visited neither Persia nor any ‘Oriental’ country (Invernizzi 2005: 582-93). He divided his work into ve sections, whose titles are quite evocative: 1. Histoire de Persépolis (pp.213-46); 2. Auteurs modernes qui ont parlé de Persépolis (pp.246-55), specically the accounts published from between the time of J. Barbaro (1471) to that of W.W. Franklin (1786-7); 3. Description de Persépolis et des monuments de Nakschi-Roustam (pp.256-69); 4. Les édices dont on voit les ruines à Tchehelminâr n’ont pas été bâtis par une colonie égyptienne (pp.270-89); 5. Les ruines de Tchehel-minâr sont les ruines d’un palais, et non d’un temple (pp.289-302). In conclusion, the author claims

12

See the monograph of Herder (1787); his Persepolitanische Briefe are reproduced in his Sammtliche Werke, vol. 1 (1827: 113-294). Heeren’s polemics with Herder are found in different editions of his magnum opus, Ideen über die Politik, den Verkehr, und den Handel der vornehmsten Völker der alten Welt (Heeren 1817, 1: 450-8), such as the 1833 English translation (Heeren 1833, 1: 401-13, “Some observations on Herder’s Persepolis”). On the theses of Herder and their context see Calmeyer 1991.

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… that Cyrus built the palace at Persepolis, of which Alexander burned only a part, and that the city of Persepolis, modern Issthakar, was destroyed only later by the 13 generals of Ali at the time when Islam expanded into Persia.

So as to achieve more assured results, the author expressed a wish with a patriotic accent characteristic of an epoch marked by constant competition between France and England, a competition including, of course, the elds of exploration and discovery, and the acquisition of antiquities (Briant 2012: 386-454): Would that the French, rivals of Wood, Daukings, etc. be able to travel to Persia, and to give us a description of Tchehel-minâr as exact and detailed as those of Palmyra, Balbek, Spalato, etc.! The signicance of this work for architecture will 14 without doubt be as great as the discovery of Paestum.

Mongez’s anxiety evokes clearly those expressed by J.-G. Legrand some years later: With respect to architecture, ‘Le voyage de Perse’ remains unnished; and if some French artist does not hasten to undertake it and publish it with illustrations, we shall 15 be overtaken by the English, who eagerly undertake such inquisitive enterprises.

Mongez’s wish would be largely fullled, but his hopes were at the same time cruelly thwarted: in the rst decades of the 19th century, the travellers and collectors in Persia were primarily English.16 These controversies, which I have only briey noted, and to which I shall return shortly, were not the monopoly of the ‘érudits de cabinet.’ The travellers themselves were concerned with the same issues: after having travelled through ancient sites, on their return they regularly ventured hypotheses in opposition to those of 13

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“… que Cyrus bâtit le palais de Persépolis, qu’Alexandre n’en brula qu’une partie, et que la ville de Persépolis, aujourd’hui Issthakar, ne fut ruinée que par les généraux d’Aly, à l’époque où l’islamisme se répandit dans la Perse” (Mongez 1801: 302). “Puissent des Français, émules des Wood, des Daukings, etc., faire le voyage de Perse, et nous donner de Tchehel-minâr une description aussi exacte et détaillée que celles de Palmyre, de Balbek, de Spalato, etc.! Le résultat de ce travail procurera des secours à l’architecture, pour laquelle il serait sans doute aussi utile que l’a été la découverte de Pestum” (Mongez 1801: 246). The reference in the rst line is to Wood & Dawkins 1753. For ‘Spalato’ (Spoleto/Split) see Spon 1678 [2004]: 106-111 and Corneille 1708: 490 s.v. Spalatro (referring to the Voyage of Spon). Legrand (1806: 71) notes: “Le voyage de Perse reste donc encore à faire sous le rapport de l’architecture; et si quelque artiste français ne se hâte de l’entreprendre et de le publier avec des planches, nous serons devancés par les Anglais, qui recherchent avec empressement ces curieuses entreprises.” See, e.g., Vaux 1850: 286-323; Curzon 1892: 115-96; Errington & Curtis 2007: 3-12, 153-78; Hagerman 2009; Briant 2012: 399-410.

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their predecessors. In the Preface to his publication, De Bruyn denounced “several travellers [who] have published descriptions without a due examination of what they saw. For which reason their accounts have more the air of romance than of any reality.”17 He states that “neither of them continued long enough at Chelminar to examine and trace out all the antiquities and curiosities of that place with the circumspection that was requisite.” These accusations, although quite general and routine, must be connected to the charge levelled by De Bruyn against Chardin in an appendix titled “Remarks of Cornelius Le Bruyn on the plates of the ancient palace of Persepolis published by Sir John Chardin and Mr Kemper” (1737, 2: 198214).18 This appendix is followed by g.3: Cornelis de Bruyn, Reizen over another written by an (anonymous) proMoskovie, door Persie en Indië, etc., ponent of the theories and interpretations Amsterdam 1711, title page of De Bruyn (“A Letter written to the author on the subject of his remarks, by a lover of Antiquity,” ibid. pp. 215-23). De Bruyn continually insists on the specicity of his work, which, he claims, aimed to unfold those antiquities which have not been placed in their true light by any person before me. […] I present myself as the rst person who had placed them in the full light and rendered justice to them. (De Bruyn 1737, 2: 214)

17

18

The quotes are from the English translation of 1737 (De Bruyn/Le Brun 1737). Another translation was published some years later (1759); this translation explicitly presents itself as a more accurate one (A new and more correct translation than has hitherto appeared in public), but the translator (who remained anonymous) explains in no place what improvements/corrections he made. The French text of the critique against Chardin is reproduced in Invernizzi 2005: 427-34; the original Dutch version was published separately (De Bruyn 1714). All travellers routinely state that they, in opposition to their predecessors and competitors, have sought to render ‘true’ in opposition to ‘novelized’ accounts and descriptions. For “Mr Kemper,” one needs to read Engelbert Kaempfer (1651-1716), who had published in 1712 his own description of Persepolis; cf. Invernizzi 2005: 364-77 (esp. pp.370-75).

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The assurances of the author are strenuously supported by the anonymous “lover of Antiquity,” who states with conviction “that every reader of taste and judgment will prefer the account of [Le Bruyn’s] travels, in that particular, to that of Sir John Chardin” (ibid. p. 223). Many other examples could be cited, but this is not my aim here. What I do want to emphasize is that the accounts and drawings of travellers did not constitute what one can characterize as sources of controlled and uncontested information. The authors were not content simply to report what they had seen (or what they believed that they had seen); via words and images, they sought to articulate their own interpretations and convictions to readers. These readers included the ‘érudits de cabinet,’ who would themselves discuss, indeed argue, from evidence that, although based upon ‘eye-witness’ accounts, was often contradictory.

3. Diffusion and reproduction of travellers’ images As celebrated travellers (such as J. de Thévenot or J. Chardin) noted in the introductions to their accounts, and as the large number of collections in all European countries attest, travel narratives were widely distributed and achieved great popularity in Europe during the Enlightenment.19 Travel accounts of Persia in particular were especially popular in this period owing to European fascination with the ‘wisdom’ of the ‘Orient’ and the person of Zoroaster. Among the many works of this genre, I highlight in particular the wide-spread diffusion of the Voyages of De Bruyn/Le Brun, including versions in Dutch (1711), French (1718), and English (1737, 1759; g.3). The dissemination of travel accounts with their plates and drawings in what we would call today the mass market may be measured rstly in their sometimes lengthy citations within dictionaries, whose vogue continued unabated throughout the 17th-18th centuries.20 Let us take for example the Dictionnaire universel géographique et historique by Thomas Corneille, published in 1708. The full title (Le tout recueilli des meilleurs livres de voyages) clearly indicates the magnitude of the debt vis-à-vis travellers, to whom the author pays homage in his Preface (cf.

19 20

De Thévenot 1663: 1; Chardin 1687, Preface (unpaginated). In the beginning of his Preface, T. Corneille (1708) addresses at one and the same time “those who devote themselves to the study of belle lettres in their early years […] and those who, owing to arduous employment or need to care for their business, are incapable of undertaking lengthy readings” (“ceux qui se sont adonnés à l’étude des belles lettres dès leurs premières années […] et à ceux que de pénibles emplois, ou le soin de leurs affaires mettent hors d’état de faire de longues lectures.” On these themes, cf. Briant 2012: 283-88, 304-307.

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n.20 above). The entry for “Persépolis” (1708, 3: 107-10), consisting of six dense columns of text, offers very detailed descriptions of the site, its buildings, and sculpture. The author does not fail to cite his source (p.110): “The whole of this description is from the Ambassade en Perse de Don Garcias Silva de Figueroa.”21 Corneille takes up again the principal theses concerning the identication of the site as Persepolis. Among the most famous dictionaries in Europe one should obviously include the Encyclopédie of Diderot-d’Alembert.22 Among philosophers in general, ancient and modern Persia had given rise to numerous reections concerning politics and religion – reections often relying heavily upon the accounts of travellers (for example, Chardin in Montesquieu).23 It is the same in the Encyclopédie. Persepolis was well represented, particularly in two entries dated from 1765 and signed by the Chevalier de Jaucourt.24 The one on “Ruines” referred to ruins situated “near Shiraz in Persia” (“près de Schiraz en Perse”); this was “a famous temple or palace, which the antiquarians say was built by Ahasverus and which the Persians call today Tchelminar.”25 Referring to Pietro della Valle, the author made allusion to inscriptions “in unknown characters” (“en caractères inconnus”).26 The remains, as a whole, “reveal the magnitude and magnicence of ancient architecture” (“décèlent la grandeur et la magnicence de l’architecture antique”). The article “Persépolis” was extensive with clearly indicated sources: All these ruins of Persepolis have been described in several books and copied in many prints. […] I think that it is Le Brun and Thévenot who have given us the most precise accounting. There is no doubt but that the ruins which they have described are those of a wonderful palace which was decorated with magnicent porticos, galleries, columns, and other splendid ornamentation. Moreover, it is undisputed that 21

22

23 24

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“Toute cette description est tirée de l’Ambassade en Perse de Don Garcias Silva de Figueroa.” The article of Foroughi 2008 is rather disappointing. Consultation of the Encyclopédie is greatly facilitated by the website encyclopedie.uchicago.edu. Cf., e.g., Briant 2007. On this individual and his role in the publication of the l’Encyclopédie, see Briant 2012: 307-12. “… un fameux temple ou palais, que les antiquaires disent avoir été bâti par Assuérus, & que les Persans nomment aujourd’hui Tchelminar” (Jaucourt 1765b). See also the entry “Runiques ou runes, caractères,” where the author, the baron d’Holbach, recounts in the following terms the opinion of a commentator (1765: 438), “There are no characters which more resemble those runes than those which are still found in the inscriptions accompanying the ruins of Persepolis, or Tchelminar, in Persia” (“Il n’y a point de caractères qui ressemblent plus à ces runes que ceux que l’on trouve encore dans les inscriptions qui accompagnent les ruines de Persépolis ou de Tchelminar en Perse”).

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the ruins of Chilminar, its location, the remains of the building, the gures, their clothing and ornaments, and everything that is to be found there, correspond to the fashions of the ancient Persians, and agree in many ways with the description that 27 Diodorus Siculus gives of the ancient palace of Persepolis.

The Encyclopédie also included an entry on “Chelminar ou Tchelminar,” where the author (Blondel) gave a description of the ruins and, not without a few inaccuracies, identied his sources in the following manner: The travellers and historians have given very detailed descriptions of the chelminars, among others Gratias de Sylva, Figroa [sic], Pietro della Valle, Chardin, and Lebrun. […] This monument is now a refuge for wild animals and birds of prey; this has not prevented Lebrun, owing to his natural curiosity, from undertaking the journey to 28 Persia in order to see the remains of this magnicent edice.

Among the studies of ancient history, some transmit phantasmagoria that circulated widely.29 In contrast, scientic interest in the discoveries at Persepolis is well 27

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29

“Toutes ces ruines de Persépolis ont été décrites dans plusieurs livres, & copiées dans plusieurs estampes. […] Je crois que c’est à Le Brun & à Thévenot que nous en devons la relation la plus exacte. On ne saurait douter que ces ruines qu’ils ont décrites, ne soient celles d’un palais superbe qui était décoré de magniques portiques, galeries, colonnes, & autres ornements splendides. De plus, il est constant que les ruines de Chilminar, sa situation, les vestiges de l’édice, les gures, leurs vêtements, les ornements, & tout ce qui s’y trouve, répond aux manières des anciens Perses, & a beaucoup de rapport à la description que Diodore de Sicile donne de l’ancien palais de Persépolis” (Jaucourt 1765a). “Les voyageurs & les historiens ont donné des descriptions fort circonstanciées des chelminars, entre autres Gratias de Sylva, Figroa [sic], Pietro della Valle, Chardin, & Lebrun. […] Ce monument sert à présent de retraite aux bêtes farouches & aux oiseaux de proie; ce qui n’a pas empêché Lebrun, par une curiosité qui lui était naturelle, d’entreprendre le voyage de Perse dans le dessein d’y voir les restes de ce somptueux édice” (Blondel 1753). See, for example, Guyon (1736), who, citing De Silva y Figueroa (1667), d’Herbelot (1697), and De Thévenot (1663), but not Chardin or De Bruyn/Le Brun, describes the place that he calls Chilmanor. Speaking of what we know today to be the Gate of Xerxes, he writes: “on one side of the gate […] is an elephant of monstrous size, and, on the other, a rhinoceros that neither the re nor time have been able to destroy” (“… d’un côté de la porte […] est un éléphant d’une grosseur monstrueuse, et, de l’autre, un rhinocéros que le feu et le temps n’ont pas encore pu détruire”). The description is borrowed from Herbert cited in Invernizzi 2005: 229, g.68. Curiously, Guyon ends by noting that “there still remains enough to occupy a draftsman more than three months to represent all of these beauties” (“il y aurait encore de quoi occuper un dessinateur plus de trois mois pour représenter toutes ces beautés”), that is to say, exactly the time that De Bruyn claims to have spent at Persepolis in 1704.

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illustrated in the very famous Universal History, which, launched at the initiative of George Sale and George Psalmanazar, received enormous critical acclaim across Europe, including from scholars.30 Chapter 9 of volume 5 (Sale et al. 1748) is titled The History of Persia, and its rst section The Description of Persia. After describing the different regions, as well as their climates and natural resources, the authors deal with the “articial rarities,” among which Persepolis claims the lion’s share (pp.95-118) owing to its quality as “one of the most august cities in the world.” The text is illustrated by two engravings taken from Le Brun’s Travels. Many other accounts of travellers are also utilized, as the authors make clear at the beginning of a very long note (‘S’) to which they refer the reader (p.103): … in order to give the readers some idea of the difculty we have met in collecting this article, we shall insert a concise account of such authors as have written on the subject, and whose descriptions we have perused.” (Sale et al. 1748: 96)

The note, which spans several pages (pp.96-99), is itself extended by another, shorter note (‘T,’ pp.101f.). There are references to a large number of travellers, among whom, however, the authors have chosen to give pre-eminence to Chardin and De Bruyn/Le Brun. They are fully aware of the accusations made by De Bruyn against Chardin, but they refrain from any details except in a note (‘S’), for, they state, “our business is to give a succinct account of what has been said of Persepolis by authors ancient and modern.”31 Although defending Chardin from De Bruyn’s harsh criticism, which, they argue, “seem to have been commenced out of vanity” (n. ‘S,’ p.98, n. ‘T,’ p.101), the authors admit nevertheless that “in the description in our text, we have adhered pretty closely to M. Le Brun, and that for many reasons” (n. ‘T’). In fact, those reasons are the very same ones that De Bruyn/Le Brun himself presented in his criticism of Chardin. The authors also occasionally take a stand; for example, rather than a temple, they deem it preferable to consider “that these ruins are the sad remains of the ancient palace of Persepolis” (p.107). As for the meaning of the sculptural processions, the reader is referred to the very long and detailed Section 3, devoted to religion (pp.143-67). Nor are Persepolis or travellers absent from the historical novel that had probably the most extensive inuence of its genre, that is to say the Voyages du jeune Anacharsis (Travels of Anacharsis the Younger), written and published in Paris by abbé Barthélemy in 1786, then translated into all major European languages. The author (speaking through Anacharsis himself) never fails to note 30

31

See Briant 2012: 176f., 659 n.4. The passage on Persepolis analysed here is cited very favourably in the “mémoire spécialisé” of the baron de Sainte-Croix (1773), who refers to the opinion of “des savants auteurs de l’histoire universelle” (p.20 n.41). The ancient testimonia are presented and even quoted in full in n. ‘V,’ pp.108-13; the modern Persian narratives are refuted on p.108.

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the admiration that he has for “the tombs excavated to a prodigious elevation and the palace of the Persian Kings.” He judges that the palace “was built under the reign of Darius,” and that there are found innumerable columns, some seventy feet in height; large blocks of marble, sculptured in bas-relief and containing an innite number of gures; subterranean passages, in which are deposited immense sums: all display magnicence and fear, for this palace serves at the same time as a citadel (Barthélemy 1825: 413)

As the basis of this description, Barthélemy refers in a footnote to the description of Persepolis by Diodorus and to the accounts of Chardin and De Bruyn. Another quite surprising book testies to the diffusion of images of Persepolis. It is titled Persepolis Illustrata and was published anonymously in London in 1739 (g.4).32 It contains a short text accompanied by twenty-one copper plates; each plate is identied with a legend, followed by the citation “Published according to act of Parliament.” The text itself extends over some eight pages under the heading “Particular remarks concerning Persepolis and the Ancient authors who have written upon the subject” (g.5). The author bases his account on the ancient sources (particularly Diodorus Siculus) to assert that the ruins are indeed those of Persepolis. Among contemporary accounts, only two are cited: Thomas Hyde, since his work concerns discussions of a religious nature (pp.6f.), g.4: Sir William Strickland, Persepolis Illustrata: or the ancient and royal palace of but principally the Spanish ambassador Persepolis in Persia destroyed by Alexander Garcias de Silva de Figueroa, who also had placed great importance on the Great, etc., London 1739, title page Diodorus’ description (pp.2, 5).33 The 32

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The work is rarely cited and equally rarely found in libraries (with the exception of those in England). See De Silva y Figueroa 1667: 114-64. The ambassador was accompanied by a painter (ibid. 158). On the text and drawings from the ambassador’s accounts, see Invernizzi 2005: 205-21 (Spanish text), gs.38-46.

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g.5: Sir William Strickland, Persepolis Illustrata, etc., London 1739

author refers to engravings in speaking of “my plates” but says nothing of his sources of inspiration. It is clear, nevertheless, that many are taken directly from Chardin (n° 2, 8) and Le Brun (n° 3-4, 9, 12) and that the others seem to be fairly close adaptations (g.6). Persepolis Illustrata documents the diffusion of images by travellers/artists and the necessity to reproduce those images from the moment that discussions of the interpretations of travellers commenced.34 It was certainly thus not surprising that 34

On this theme (but without the reference to Persia), see the very interesting catalogue Musées de Papier (Decultot 2011: 8), “These ‘musées de papier’ [illustrated compendia of antiquities] have indeed facilitated and fuelled a series of major events in the

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papers on the subject were accordingly presented at meetings of scholarly societies. A wonderful illustration of this phenomenon is the debate over Persepolis in the Académie Royale des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres between the comte de Caylus (1692-1765) and the baron de Sainte-Croix (1746-1809).35 On 2 May 1758, the former presented a paper titled “Sur les ruines de Persepolis,” which was subsequently published, in the form of a resumé, in 1764. In this paper the author developed his favourite theory, namely that not only were the buildings of Persepolis marked by clear Egyptian inuence, but even that “Persepolis was an Egyptian colony” (“Persépolis était une colonie égyptienne”).36 A collector, scholar, and traveller (but not to Persia), the comte de Caylus relied on earlier studies (Hyde for

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history of 18th century art: the growing taste for the Antique and the Neoclassical mode, the birth of the historiography of art, the expansion of the notion of the Antique to new cultural horizons” (“Ces musées de papier ont de fait préparé et alimenté une série de phénomènes majeurs dans l’histoire de l’art du XVIIIe siècle: essor du goût pour l’antique et mode néoclassique, naissance de l’historiographie de l’art, élargissement de la notion d’Antiquité à des aires culturelles nouvelles”). The character of the comte de Caylus and his work have been the subject of numerous studies; see, e.g., Aghion 2002 and the on-line resources at caylus-recueil.tge-adonis.fr/ spip.php?article3. The “travaux perses” of the comte are presented in Invernizzi 2005: 475-84. See also his publication of an alabaster vase with an ‘Persepolitan’ inscription; the author sees this as conrmation of the thesis presented in his paper of 1758 (Caylus 1762: 79-81, pl.30 = Invernizzi 2005, g.255); see also the important article by Fumaroli 1995.

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g.6: Sir William Strickland, Persepolis Illustrata, etc., London 1739, pl.1

example) and especially on the accounts of travellers (he cites Garcias de Figueroa, Thévenot, Chardin, Gemelli, Kaempfer, and De Bruyn, stating his preference for the last two). The two plates of drawings associated with his article are reprises of the drawings of De Bruyn (g.7).37 Fifteen years later, and eight years after the death of the comte de Caylus, the baron de Sainte-Croix replied without concession.38 He turned also to the testimonies of travellers, adding Carreri to the list given by the comte de Caylus. He gave priority to De Bruyn since “he describes [Persepolis] more carefully, and his drawings seem to us done with much intel-

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These same plates are assigned erroneously to the study of Bourguignon d’Anville (1764) by Invernizzi (2005, gs.240-41); the confusion results from an error in the page layout of the collection published by the Académie in 1764. On Sainte-Croix, see Briant 2012: 125-72, 653 nn.3-6 (awaiting the appearance of the biography announced by S. Montecalvo). The unpublished manuscript of 1773 has been edited with a commentary by Montecalvo in 2004 (Sainte-Croix 1773 [2004]; the date explains its absence in Invernizzi 2005). The argument against the comte de Caylus is found ibid. 29-40, “There are contradictions and errors on which the love of truth and the deserved reputation of the illustrious academician obliged us to remark” (“On y trouve des contradictions et des erreurs que l’amour de la vérité et la réputation méritée de l’illustre académicien nous engagea à relever”). Sainte-Croix challenged in particular the thesis concerning the Egyptian origin of Persepolis. The texts of the two papers deserve a detailed commentary that I am unable to undertake here.

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ligence.”39 Sainte-Croix (p. 22) adds the important clarication: “We have had them [the drawings] copied and ask that you pay careful heed to them.”40 The drawings have not been found, but the copy conrms that the reproduction of the drawings of travellers by artists was a common practice. Not all commentators necessarily referred to the original drawings. In speaking of Persepolis, Voltaire, for example, makes it clear that “the ruins [are] described in many books, and copied in several prints” (1777: 31).41 He repeatedly referred to sculptures and statues. To establish his g.7: Anne-Claude-Philippe de Pestels de Lévis de conviction in a Persian beTubières-Grimoard, comte de Caylus, lief in the immortality of the Sur les ruines de Persépolis, HMAR 29, 1764: 148, pl.1 soul, he wrote in a work of 1769 (God and Human Beings), in chapter 8 (On the Persians and Zoroastrians): Although we have proofs of this in the book of Sadder, which contains the ancient Persian doctrine, it would be convincing enough just to glance at the ruins of Persepolis of which we have many very precise drawings. Here we see tombs from which heads stick out, each one accompanied by a pair of extended wings; they are all taking ight toward heaven (Voltaire 1769 [2010]: 37)

Does it necessarily mean that he consulted directly the accounts of travellers? This is not certain. It seems more likely that he was informed through re-interpretations 39

40 41

“Il décrit [Persépolis] avec plus de soin, et ses dessins nous paraissent avec beaucoup d’intelligence.” “Nous les avons fait copier et nous prions d’y porter une attention scrupuleuse.” I note in passing that, in a philosophical tale published by Voltaire in 1748 (Babouc ou le monde comme il va; Babouc, or, the world as it goes), Persepolis is a metaphorical representation of Paris.

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g.8: PierreFrançois Hugues d’Hancarville, Recherches sur les Antiquités de Persépolis, etc., London 1785, pl.16

of Hyde (1760: 307f.), who had interpreted the façade of one of the tombs at Persepolis relying on the accounts and drawings of Jean de Thévenot, Johann Albrecht von Mandelslo, and Sir Thomas Herbert (ibid. Tab.6). The liberty taken in modifying the drawings of travellers was not limited to Hyde alone. One can mention also the very curious ‘baron’ d’Hancarville (17191805).42 A friend of Winckelmann and assistant of Sir William Hamilton, he has been described in a recent study as “[a] brilliant but disreputable polymath who combined the learning of Diderot with the slipperiness of Casanova, [and] a picturesque savant, [to whom] Hamilton had entrusted the catalogue of his rst vase collection” (Redford 2008: 114). A follower of a theory according to which “all art is grounded in religion, and all religion is grounded in sexuality,” he published in 1786 his Recherches sur les Antiquités de Persépolis, a work accompanied by numerous plates borrowed and adapted from travellers, among whom he established a hierarchy (p.122): 42

See the brief notice in Invernizzi 2005: 534; Haskel 1987; Moore 2008.

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g.9: Marie Gabriel Florent Auguste, comte de Choiseul-Goufer, Voyage pittoresque de la Grèce, vol. 1, Paris 1782, pl.66

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g.10: Pierre-Adrien Pâris, Études d’architecture faites en Italie pendant les années 1771, 1772, 1774 et 1774, ms. Bibliothèque d’étude et conservation de Besançon, pl.6

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Le Bruyn understands better drawing, […] but to judge things according to his drawings, it is important to correct what he has failed to show, through the observations made after him by Mr. Niebuhr and by Chevalier Chardin. The latter seems more accurate and more enlightened in his research, more judicious in his remarks, more aware of the matters in which he is occupied; his mind was much more able to judge, 43 because he was more modest, and much less decisive than Corneille Le Bruyn.

Based on the authority of Chardin, d’Hancarville postulated that the buildings of Persepolis, including the structures that we now know to be the royal tombs at Naqš-e Rustam and Persepolis, were temples. Following an orientation that was not unique to him, d’Hancarville intended to use the drawings of travellers to reconstitute the religious beliefs of the Persians.44 He presented an (at last!) original drawing (pl.16; here g.8), accompanied by a commentary no less surprising (p.190): We see the Mihir, the Spirit, the Breath, or Love, on a rainbow. He has near him a human gure in the act of worship; he appears mounted on steps to indicate that he is raised to him through contemplation. To the left of the Mihir, there is an altar on which there is a re, Symbol of the Primitive Being, known among all peoples. [Below we see] the generations of living beings indicated here by human gures placed the ones upon the others. Their arms intertwine so as to support in unison the 45 signs of Gods, to which they owe their origins.

Another category of scholars and practitioners gave sustained attention to the drawings and descriptions of travellers. If we set aside an artist such as Serlio (14751554), who, based solely on his imagination, had proposed idiosyncratic recon43

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“Le Bruyn entendait mieux le dessin, […] mais pour juger des choses d’après ses dessins, il importe de corriger ce qu’il a négligé de détailler, par les observations faits depuis lui par Mr. Niebuhr & par celles du Chevalier Chardin. Ce dernier semble plus exact & plus éclairé dans ses recherches, plus judicieux dans ses remarques, plus au fait des matières dont il s’occupe; son esprit était bien plus capable de juger, parce qu’il était bien plus modeste, & bien moins décisif que celui de Corneille Le Bruyn.” See equally Diderot 1755, “The symbolic gures that still remain amongst the oldest ruins of the world, those of Persepolis, […] represent the principles of an ecclesiastical and civil government” (“Les gures symboliques qui subsistent encore au milieu des plus anciennes ruines du monde, celles de Persépolis, […] représentent les principes du gouvernement ecclésiastique & civil”). “On y voit le Mihir, l’Esprit, le Soufe, ou l’Amour, sur un Arc-en-ciel. Il a près de lui une gure humaine dans l’acte d’adoration: elle paraît montée sur des degrés pour indiquer qu’elle s’est élevée jusqu’à lui, par la contemplation. Au côté gauche du Mihir, il y a un autel sur lequel est le feu, Symbole de l’Être Primitif, conservé chez tous les peuples. [Au-dessous, on voit] les générations des êtres vivants marquées ici par des gures humaines placées les unes sur les autres. Leurs bras s’entrecroisent, pour supporter ensemble les enseignes des Dieux, auxquels ils doivent leurs origines.”

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structions of buildings at Persepolis, one may consider that architects in general were very interested in commenting upon the ruins of Persepolis, as shown, for example, by the statements of A. Mongez in 1801 and P. Legrand in 1806.46 Mongez devoted a chapter (pp.54-7), rather poorly informed, to Persian architecture. He cited at length d’Hancarville (pp.58-73); nevertheless, he remained cautious and stated that before one could take a rm position, one had to wait for an architect, versed in the knowledge of Antiquity, carefully to study these ruins and produce measured drawings of ne delity. Picturesque views are not sufcient to the task […]. The ‘voyage de Perse,’ as regards architecture, thus remains an un47 nished project.

These statements were inserted in the introduction that Legrand drafted for the collection of celebrated scale models of buildings displayed in Paris (in 1807), executed under the direction of L.-F. Cassas (himself a famous traveller/draftsman).48 These plaster models, indeed, were of a value innitely superior “to the best-made drawings, the most carefully done prints.”49 The models exhibited included one of the tombs of Naqš-e Rustam, under n° 13 (pp.72f.); the reproduction was presented, however, with the reservation that De Bruyn’s and Chardin’s drawings were true to their source.50 Let us add that the drawing of the tomb by De Bruyn was well known, since it had been used by Choiseul-Goufer (1752-1817), who noted its similarity to a rock-cut tomb at Telmessos in Lycia in his Voyage en Grèce (vol. 1, g.66; here g.9). Although citing the account of comte de Caylus on Persepolis, Choiseul-Goufer had a more nuanced approach to the issue of Egyptian inuence; he gauged that “the analogy was more striking” (“l’analogie est 46

47

48 49 50

See Invernizzi 2005: 112, gs.19-20. Cf. equally Sale et al. 1748: 101 n. ‘T’, “The fame of these ruins has for the two or three last centuries been so great, and the desires of the virtuosi to see exact plans of them so strong, that some have ventured to publish the conceptions of their own brains for the antiquities of Chelminar. Such was the view of Persepolis sent into the world by Sebastian Serlio, an Italian architect, in his account of noble buildings ancient and modern. […] The forty columns [are] adorned with capitals of the Corinthian order which no traveller had the happiness to see.” In this, the authors have reprised the critical remarks presented already by Chardin (cited in Invernizzi 2005: 310). For Mongez and Legrand, see above §2. “… qu’un architecte, versé dans la connaissance de l’Antiquité, ait examiné scrupuleusement ces ruines, et en ait relevé des dessins géométriques très dèles. Des vues pittoresques ne peuvent sufre pour en décider […] Le voyage de Perse reste donc encore à faire sous le rapport de l’architecture” (Mongez 1801: 65, 76). See, e.g., Gilet in Royo et al. 2011: 59-78. “…aux dessins les mieux faits, aux gravures les plus soignées” (Legrand 1806: xi). “… de croire à la délité de Corneille Le Brun et de Chardin, qui en ont donné le dessin.” The work is, unfortunately, devoid of plates.

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beaucoup plus frappante”) with the royal tombs at Naqš-e Rustam. He concluded in the end that “the monument [at Telmessos] is of Greek workmanship, imitating the Persians and Egyptians.”51 Legrand was one of the rare architects who became acutely interested in ancient monuments and archaeology. Pierre-Adrien Pâris (1745-1819) was another, even more celebrated. A specialist in Roman monuments, he left hundreds of drawings that he bequeathed to his hometown of Besançon.52 The rst volume of the Études d’architecture faites en Italie pendant les années 1771, 1772, 1774 et 1774 contains the (Roman) antiquities. Pâris placed at the beginning some Egyptian monuments (drawings taken from Norden’s Voyage) as well as ve Persepolitan plates, all derived and/or adapted from De Bruyn’s Voyages: N° 4, “Details of architecture of the ruins of Persepolis, today Chelmenar.”

53

N° 5 (overview of the terrace), “This view is taken from Point A on the plan, looking 54 to the south.” N° 6, “Plan of the best preserved part of the ruins of the palace of the kings of Persia at Persepolis, drawn according to the description, views, and dimensions that Corneille le Brun gave in his Voyage en Moscovie et en Perse, Tome II, p. 261 and 55 following.” N° 7, “Tomb of the kings of Persia cut into the rock behind their palace at Perse56 polis.” N° 8, “Detail of the exterior decoration of the tombs of the ancient kings of Persia at 57 Persepolis.” 51

52

53 54 55

56 57

“L’édice [de Telmessos] est un ouvrage des Grecs, travaillant à l’imitation des Perses et des Égyptiens” (Choiseul-Goufer 1782: 119f.). On the author, see Barbier 2010. On the individual and his work, see Pinon 2007 and the catalogue of the exposition Le Cabinet de Pierre-Adrien Pâris (Guigon, Ferreira-Lopes & Balcar 2008), which contains many photos and additional information. The drawings introduced here are unpublished. I wish to offer many thanks to H. Ferreira-Lopez (Conservateur de la Bibliothèque d’Étude et Conservation de Besançon) for allowing me access to this documentation (archived as vol. 476, n° 4-8; cf. also culture.besancon.fr). The brief presentation that I make here will be followed elsewhere by a more thorough analysis, and the photos will be available on-line at www.achemenet.com. “Détails d’architecture des Ruines de Persépolis, aujourd’huy Chelmenar.” “Cette vue est prise du Point A sur le plan en regardant vers le Sud.” “Plan de la partie la plus conservée des ruines du palais des rois de Perses à Persépolis, tracé d’après la description, les vues et les dimensions qu’en a données Corneille le Brun dans son Voyage en Moscovie et en Perse, Tome II, p.261 et suivantes.” “Tombeau des Rois de Perse taillé dans le roc derrière leur palais à Persépolis.” “Détail de la décoration extérieure des tombeaux des anciens rois de Perse à Persépolis.”

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Setting aside n° 5, which is nothing other than a colorized version of the print of De Bruyn/Le Brun, granted a very elegant watercolour, Pâris’ primary objective was to apply his skills and architectural knowledge to a critical reading of the text and drawings of the Dutch traveller. From this perspective, the most elaborate plate is n° 6 (here g.10), where Pâris attempts to reconstruct the plan of the principal buildings on the terrace. He notes the inadequacy of the information gathered and transmitted by De Bruyn: Le Brun says in his description that the eastern building contains 30 or 40 columns of which the remains are in place, but he does not indicate their position (…); it is clear that Le Brun was not an architect and did not have, it seems, even an idea of a plan; it is not surprising that he did not recognize clues that would have sufced a 58 man who had some knowledge of architecture.

4. The ruins of Persepolis and the discussion of beauty In the years 1630-40, Jean-Baptiste Tavernier visited Persepolis, apparently in very bad spirit to judge from his comments. He relays the opinion of the Dutch draftsman Angel, who then accompanied him and who apparently felt that he had wasted his time, “for, in the end, these are just some old columns […] and some very badly made gures, etc.”59 Tavernier adds a disparaging remark by way of explanation: “There was in former times nothing but a temple of false gods” (“Il n’a été autrefois qu’un temple de faux dieux”). This judgment is rather exceptional, for, among travellers, the sentiment of admiration for the site is widely shared; certainly this was the opinion of Della Valle, Figueroa, Chardin, and De Bruyn, not to mention Niebuhr and his successors. Of course, Tavernier was more interested in diamonds than antiquities! In any case, one may observe that the publication of the accounts and drawings of travellers introduced a new element in the often passionate discussion concerning ‘art’ and ‘beauty.’ A question then naturally arose: among the material evidence coming from the cities and palaces of Antiquity, where, exactly, did Persepolis and the Persians t? While Greece was more than ever the ultimate reference, perhaps even what one might call a paradise lost and (partially) refound, 58

59

“Le Brun dit dans sa description que l’édice de l’Est contenait 30 ou 40 colonnes dont les débris sont sur place, mais il n’en indique pas la position.” (…) “On observe que Le Brun n’étant pas architecte et n’ayant même, à ce qu’il paraît, aucune idée d’un plan, il n’est pas étonnant qu’il n’ait pas reconnu des indices qui auraient suf à un homme qui aurait eu quelque connaissance en architecture.” Tavernier 1676: 657f., “car enn ce ne sont que de vieilles colonnes [...] et quelques gures très mal faites, etc.”

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and Italy remained the privileged reserve of the followers of the Grand Tour, the territorial, commercial, and cultural expansion of Europe had considerably enlarged the perspectives and the range of knowledge of European cultural élites. When J.-F. Cassas prepared models of the celebrated monuments, exhibited in Paris at the beginning of 1807, he made … the intelligent choice of the most beautiful, most celebrated monuments, the most characteristic of Egyptian, Indian, Persian, Greek, Palmyrene, Etruscan, Mexican, 60 Roman, Gothic, Moorish, Italian architecture, etc.

Each of these was analysed in separate chapters (including Persepolis and Naqš-e Rustam, pp.54-73); the author did not fail to note reciprocal inuences, for example between Persia, India, and Egypt (p.39).61 It is clear that, in this global context, the opinions of commentators, scholars, or philosophers on Persepolis were in general innitely more reserved (indeed in some cases outright critical or dismissive), than those of travellers. While the editors of articles in dictionaries or encyclopaedias generally reiterated the glowing judgments of the travellers, other authors were more negative. In the entry for “Chelminar” in the Encyclopédie, Blondel referred to “the most beautiful and magnicent ruins that survive for us from Antiquity,”62 but his colleague Jaucourt ended the entry “Persépolis” with the following dismissive citation: But could a palace erected at the foot of a chain of barren rocks be a masterpiece of art? The columns, which are yet standing, cannot surely be reckoned, either of just proportion, or of an elegant design. The capitals are loaded with foolish ornaments, and nearly as high as the shaft. All the gures are heavy and hard, as those which unluckily disgrace our Gothic churches. They are monuments of grandeur, but not of 63 taste.

60

61

62

63

Legrand 1806: x, “… le choix raisonné des monuments les plus beaux, les plus célèbres, les plus caractéristiques de l’architecture égyptienne, indienne, persane, grecque, palmyrénienne, étrusque, mexicaine, romaine, gothique, mauresque, italienne, etc.” See equally Niebuhr 1799: 320, judging that the sculptures of India “are ner than the bas-reliefs from the ruins of Persepolis.” Blondel 1753, “… les plus belles et les plus magniques ruines qui nous restent de l’Antiquité.” Jaucourt 1965a, “ ‘Mais étoit-ce un chef-d’oeuvre de l’art, qu’un palais bâti aux piés d’une chaîne de rochers arides? Les colonnes qui sont encore debout ne sont assurément ni dans des belles proportions, ni d’un dessein élégant. Les chapiteaux sur chargés d’ornemens grossiers, ont presque autant d’hauteur que le fût des colonnes. Toutes les gures sont aussi lourdes que celles dont nos églises gothiques sont encore malheureusement ornées. Ce sont en un mot des monuments de grandeur; mais non pas des monuments’ de goût.”

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Jaucourt did not mention the author, but contemporaries could easily recognize him, namely Voltaire, more precisely chapter 4 (“Of Persia, Arabia and Mahomet”) of his Essay on Universal History (1977, 1: 31f.). The philosopher saw in Persia conrmation of his idea that there are “no more than four ages in the annals of the world, those of Alexander, Augustus, the Medicis, and Louis XIV.” This perspective allows us to understand also his comment that “the Louvre is a masterpiece compared to the palace of Persepolis, whose situation and ruins attest only to a vast monument of opulent barbarism.”64 Voltaire often repeated the same formula: “We nd nothing but the remains of barbarism, as has been in another place observed, in the ruins of Persepolis, built by the Persians.” He wrote elsewhere that wherever in the Orient one nds “masterpieces of architecture” (Baalbeck, Palmyra), it is because “the sovereigns of these countries called in Grecian artists” (1766: 117). Voltaire’s point of view was hardly original. In 1733 abbé Dubos celebrated g.11: Abbé Jean-Baptiste Dubos, Critical the superiority that, since Alexander, reections on poetry and painting, vol. 2, the Europeans had displayed against London 1748 [translated from Dubos 1733] “the natives of the [conquered] lands” (“aux naturels du pays [conquis]” – cf. g.11). This military supremacy was accompanied by an even greater superiority in the elds of literature and art, as the example of Persepolis proved: It is now thirty years ago since Sir John Chardin has given us the designs of the ruins of Persepolis. We may see by these that the kings of Persia, notwithstanding their immense opulence so much boasted of in ancient history, had but very indifferent workmen. Probably the Greek artists were not so ready to go and seek their fortunes 64

Voltaire 1770: 355, “Le Louvre est un chef-d’œuvre en comparaison du palais de Persépolis, dont la situation & les ruines n’attestent qu’un vaste monument d’une riche barbarie.”

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in the Persian service as the Greek soldiers. Be that as it may, one is not all surprised, after seeing those designs, that Alexander set re to a palace, whose ornament and furniture appeared coarse and indifferent to him, in comparison with what he had seen in Greece. The Persians under Darius were what those that inhabit the same country are at present, that is, extremely patient and able workmen, with respect to their manual labor, but void of genius to invent, and of talents to imitate 65 the most engaging beauties of nature.

In the end, the Persians, with regard to the Greeks, were in a situation comparable to that of the indigenous peoples of Peru and Mexico with regard to the Spanish: while certainly skilful with their hands, “they had no genius; they were, in spite of all their dexterity, very coarse artists” (Dubos 1748: 119). Dubos was not the only observer to suggest or effect a comparison between the Persians and the Incas, and between Persepolis and Cuzco. In his communication to the Académie Royale in May 1758, the comte de Caylus had compared the art of Persepolis not only to Egyptian art, but also Incan. He knew of Incan art via the Commentaires royaux of Garcilaso de la Vega (1539-1616), which he cited at length, but he must also have been aware of the accounts of ‘savants voyageurs,’ for example Charles Marie de la Condamine, who had compared Garcilaso’s account to the standing ruins that he had visited at Cuzco (1748). “Far from regarding these [Incan] monuments as barbaric” (“Bien éloigné de regarder ces monuments [incas] comme barbares”), Caylus thought that the account of Garcilaso encouraged a comparison with the ruins of Persepolis, “as to the general ideas of sculpture” (“quant aux idées générales de la sculpture” [1764: 131]). The interpretive musings by the comte de Caylus were harshly attacked by the Dutch philosopher Cornelis de Pauw (1739-99), a somewhat odd character who was convinced that the indigenous armies facing the Spanish “were composed of men who were beyond even poltroons, possessing an unspeakable cowardice; the only plausible explanation for this state of affairs is the degeneration of the human race in this part of the world [America].”66 He therefore attached absolutely no credibility to Garcilaso and considered the ruins of Cuzco as nothing more “than a pile of monstrously carved stones” (“que des tas de pierres monstrueuses et gurées”), arranged with no rhythm or reason. Accordingly, he was extremely outraged that the comte de Caylus could “prefer these majestic buildings [Cuzco] to the more exquisite achievements that Greece and Italy have produced” (“préférer ces 65

66

Dubos 1748: 117f. (for the original French see idem 1733: 158f.). Note that the rst edition of Dubos’ work appeared already in 1719. De Pauw 1768: 62, “… étaient composées d’hommes plus que poltrons, et d’une lâcheté inexprimable, dont on ne peut assigner d’autre cause plausible que l’abâtardissement de l’espèce humaine dans cette partie du globe [Amérique].” On De Pauw and the European philosophical debates, see Duchet 1971: 199-206.

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bâtiments majestueux à tout ce que la Grèce et l’Italie ont produit de plus achevé”). He did not understand, therefore, how this comparison could bring the comte de Caylus to be so indulgent vis-à-vis Persepolis: One would have expected, at least, a more equitable judgment on his part concerning the ruins of the so-called Persepolis; the drawings and accurate plans that Chardin and Bruin have given us forever prove that they [the ruins] are the remnants of a confusing and irregular construction, one raised by the barbaric magnicence of Asian despots among whom the corruption of good taste is the rst fruit of absolute 67 power.

This opinion was in harmony with that of Voltaire in the insurmountable contrast/opposition that it erected between the Europeans and the Asiatics (or the Americans of De Pauw). It got to the point that some travel accounts regularly incorporated such claims as part of the standard commentary of their visit to Persepolis. Thus the comte de Ferrières-Sauveboeuf in his travel memoires could write (1790: 33f.): The curious traveller who thinks that he will nd at Persepolis the remains of a magnicent and sumptuous architecture will be greeted only with a mass of ruins and vaults bounded by walls of extraordinary thickness, with a huge pile of enormous, poorly proportioned columns and boorishly worked capitals. The Bacchanalian feast in which torches were lit to destroy the Palace of Darius was the cause of remorse for Alexander; but it would not appear, from what remains, that this vast 68 and solid building was a masterpiece.

It is clear that, beyond the purely formal description of the columns and sculptural reliefs at Persepolis, what was at stake was the grand contrast between Greece, idealized by travellers and philosophers, and a fantastical Orient, one marked by its immutability and its technical and artistic backwardness (Briant 2012: 513-66). The unequalled supremacy of Greece became an article of intangible faith in En67

68

“On se serait au moins attendu à un jugement plus équitable de sa part sur les ruines de la prétendue Persépolis; les dessins et les plans dèles que nous en a donnés Chardin et de Bruin, prouveront à tout jamais que ce sont des restes d’une construction désordonnée, irrégulière, élevée par la magnicence barbare des despotes asiatiques en qui la corruption du goût est le premier fruit du pouvoir absolu” (De Pauw 1768: 325f.). “Le voyageur curieux qui croit trouver à Persépolis les restes d’une architecture magnique et somptueuse, n’y voit qu’une suite de ruines et de voûtes contenues par des murs d’une épaisseur extraordinaire, avec un amas de colonnes énormes mal proportionnées et de chapiteaux grossièrement travaillés. Le festin bachique où des torches furent allumées pour détruire le palais de Darius fut cause de remords pour Alexandre; mais il ne paraît pas, d’après ce qui en reste, que ce bâtiment vaste et solide pût être un chef d’œuvre.”

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lightenment Europe, as shown (among many) by Legrand in his conspectus of the principal expressions of architecture: Greek architecture [… presents] rejuvenated masses, and with such new and harmonious proportions that it seems to have created everything, imagined everything, and it seems to have enriched other nations with its original concepts, to have tapped into their very essence. Everything is feeling, spirit, imagination, nesse, and yet 69 simplicity among that guiding nation.

This debate is too complex to be treated in this venue. And yet how, in closing, are we not to invoke the imposing gure of J. Winckelmann?70 As early as 1764, in his seminal Geschichte der Kunst des Altertums (g.12), he asserted that “I have sought to execute this design in regard to the art of each nation individually, but specially in reference to that of the Greek” (1873: 149). While he certainly did not fail to treat the Egyptians, Phoenicians, and Persians (vol. 2), he remarked that “… Greek art is the principal point which this History has in view.”71 His views on Persian art had already been partially articulated in his analysis of small-scale objects (gems and coins).72 In that study he compared imagery on gems and coins with elements of architecture and sculpture from Persepolis, which he knew from the engravings of De Bruyn.73 From this evidence, Winckelmann developed a theory concerning what he called “the slight progress of art among the Persians.” On the one hand, the Persians, with the Egyptians and the Phoenicians, fell within one category of the “Orientals,” namely those who lived under absolute monarchy, which, by its very nature, was not conducive to the development of the “individual artist.” “The 69

70

71 72

73

Legrand 1806: 89f., “L’architecture grecque [... présente] des masses rajeunies, et avec des proportions si neuves et si harmonieuses qu’elle semble avoir tout créé, tout imaginé, et qu’elle paraît plutôt avoir enrichi les autres nations de ses conceptions originales, qu’avoir puisé dans leur propre fond. Tout est sentiment, esprit, imagination, nesse, et cependant naïveté chez ce peuple instituteur, etc.” The studies on Winckelmann (of which I am not a specialist) are so numerous that a single footnote could hardly sufce; I mention only that I have proted enormously from the work of Pommier (esp. Pommier 2003). If I may be allowed a comment, it would only be to note that, unless I have overlooked something, Winckelmann’s thoughts/comments on the art of ancient Persia have never been the focus of an extended study. Cited from the English translation, Winckelmann 1783: 162. See Winckelmann 1760: 28-31, a work to which he refers in idem 1764: 311f. His description of a silver coin (ibid. p.312) shows that Winckelmann was in fact looking at an example of the famous coinage of Sidon that depicts a man dressed as the Great King riding in a chariot. Winckelmann 1760: 30 and idem 1764: 312.

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artist’s conceptions were, therefore, far more limited than among the Greeks, and his genius was tied by superstition to adopted forms” (Winckelmann 1764: 317). On the other hand, as with all cultures, art was the expression of their customs and their mode of life. Two specic traits blocked, however, the development of Persian art. On the one hand, “it was apparently contrary to Persian ideas of propriety to represent gures in a nude state, [so that] the loftiest aim of art, the conformation of the nude, was not attempted by their artists [contrary] to the Greeks” (ibid. pp.312f.). On the other hand, “their religious service was by no means favourable to art, for they believed that g.12: Johann Joachim Winckleman, the gods could not or must not be Geschichte der Kunst des Altertums, gured in human form” (ibid. p.314). vol. 1, Dresden 1764, title page All in all, “Persians loved a profusion of ornaments [with the result that] their edices, splendid in themselves, lost much of their grandeur,” and they were unable “to give sufcient elegance to their columns, as gures also were wrought in relief on the upper part of them” (ibid. p. 315). Moreover, “the Persians themselves seem to have been aware of the imperfection of their artists; this may have been the reason why Telephanes, a sculptor of Phocis, in Greece, worked for two Persian Kings, Xerxes and Darius” (ibid. p.316). The nal reections of Winckelmann were exceptionally pessimistic, denying any hope that future discoveries would substantially alter what was then known: From the little which has been adduced and said of the art of the ancient Persians, we can draw this conclusions at least: that art would not have proted much, even if more documents had been preserved. (Winckelmann 1764: 315)

To my knowledge, the baron de Sainte-Croix was the sole dissenter to the communis opinio. In the conclusion of his memoire of 1773 (pp.39f.), citing the declaration of Winckelmann, he admitted that “the buildings of Persepolis, and indeed all Oriental architecture, sin by this abundance of ornamentation” (“les édices de Persépolis, et même tous ceux de l’Orient, pèchent par cette abondance d’ornements”). And yet, while appropriating certain sentiments of Winckelmann, he nevertheless refused to accept the idea that new discoveries would not prove to be useful; future discoveries, he reasoned, might actually “reveal the infancy, the

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adulthood, and the old-age of art among the most ancient and most powerful nation of the world” (“montrer le berceau, l’âge viril et la vieillesse de l’art chez la plus ancienne et la plus puissante nation du monde”). He also doubted that “the imitation of nature, the real object of all the arts” (“l’imitation de la nature, l’objet réel de tous les arts”) was conned solely to the Greeks. Although he was extremely critical of him, Sainte-Croix eventually came over to the comte de Caylus’ opinion “that no people so loved sculpture and relief, or practiced with more care the quarrying and cutting of marble [as the Persian people]” (“qu’aucun peuple n’a tant aimé la sculpture et les reliefs, ni pratiqué avec plus de soin […] la fouille et la coupe des marbres [que le peuple perse]”). It is, however, the theories of Winckelmann and many other of his contemporaries that have prevailed. From such mind-sets emerged the phantom Telephanes, who would come to haunt the writings of archaeologists and art historians for generations.74 This sculptor, associated with the Persian court in one sentence in Pliny, became the poster-child in many studies for the activities of Greek artists in the heart of Persia; even as late as the 1970s, Telephanes could still impede any serious reections on the autonomous dynamics of Achaemenid art (as Carl Nylander and Margaret Root have so well demonstrated).75 Thus the ‘certitudes’ created in the heart of the 18th century came to be transmitted for a long period of time, despite the progress realized in knowledge of the land and sites of ancient Persia. As an example one may conclude with the thoughts of James Darmesteter (in his inaugural lecture at the Collège de France in 1885), recalling, as they do, so exactly the judgments of Voltaire and Cornelius de Pauw: “The ruins of Persepolis express the caprice of an all-powerful dilettante with a taste for the grandiose”!76

74 75

76

To the sources generally cited, add Heuzey 1887. Cf. Nylander 1970: 14-8; Root 1979: 9-12; see also my remarks in Briant 2000: 17-9, idem 2005: 270-2, and idem 2001: 101. Darmesteter 1885: 18f., “Les ruines de Persépolis [sont l’expression] du caprice d’un dilettante tout puissant et qui a le goût du grandiose.”

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CHAYBANY, J. 1971, Les voyages en Perse et la pensée française au XVIIIe siècle, Paris – Téhéran. CHOISEUL-GOUFFIER, M.G.F.A. de (Marie Gabriel Florent Auguste, comte de ChoiseulGoufer) 1782, Voyage pittoresque de la Grèce, vol. 1, Paris. CORNEILLE, T. 1708, Dictionnaire universel géographique et historique contenant la description des royaumes, empires, etc., 3 vols., Paris. CURZON, G.C. 1892, Persia and the Persian question, 2 vols., London. DARMESTETER, J. 1885, Coup d’œil sur l’histoire de la Perse, Paris. DECULTOT, E. (ed.) 2011, Musées de papier: L’Antiquité en livres 1600-1800, Paris. DE LA CONDAMINE, C.-M. 1748, Mémoire sur quelques anciens monuments du Pérou, du temps des Incas, MémAcad Berlin 1746: 435-56. DE BRUYN, C. (sive Le Brun) 1711, Reizen over Moskovie, door Persie en Indië verrykt met driehondert konstplaten, vertoonde de beroemste lantschappen en steden, ook de byzondere dragten, beesten, gewassen en planten, die daer gevonden worden: Voor al derzelver oudheden, en wel voornamentlyk heel uitvoerig, die van het heerlyke en van oudts de geheele werrelt door befaemde Hof van Perspolis, by de Persianen Tchilminar genaemt, Amsterdam. –––– 1714, Aanmerkingen over de printverbeeldingen van de overblyfzelen van het oude Persepolis, onlangs uitgegeven door de Heeren Chardin en Kempfer, waer in derzelver mistekeningen en gebreken klaer worden aengewezen door Cornelis de Bruin, mitsgaders het oordeel over dezelve, vervat in een Brief van een liefhebber der oudheid, Amsterdam. –––– 1718, Voyages de Corneille le Brun, par la Moscovie, en Perse et aux Indes Orientales, etc., Amsterdam [translated from the 1711 Dutch edition]. –––– 1737, Travels into Muscovy, Persia and part of the East-Indies, etc., 2 vols., London [translated from the 1718 French edition]. –––– 1759, A new and more correct translation than has hitherto appeared in public of Mr. Cornelius Le Brun’s travels into Moscovy, Persia, and divers parts of the East-Indies, etc., London [translated by “a gentleman of Oxford”]. DE PAUW, C. 1768, Recherches philosophiques sur les Américains ou mémoires inté– ressants pour servir à l’histoire de l’espèce humaine, vol. 1, Berlin. DE SILVA Y FIGUEROA, G. 1667, L’ambassade de D. Garcias de Silva Figueroa en Perse contenant la politique de ce grand empire, les mœurs du Roy Schach Abbas, & une relation exacte de tous les lieux de Perse & et des Indes où cet Ambassadeur a esté en l’espace de huit années qu’il y a demeuré, Paris [translation by A. de Wicquefort]. DE THÉVENOT, J. 1663, Relation d’un voyage fait au Levant dans laquelle il est curieusement traité des États sujets du Grand Seigneur, des mœurs, religions, forces, gouvernements, politiques, langues & coutumes des habitants de ce grand Empire, etc., Paris. D’HANCARVILLE, P.-F.H. (called baron d’Hancarville) 1785, Recherches sur les Antiquités de Persépolis; sur la Religion des Anciens Perses avant le temps du premier Zoroastre; sur les monuments de Mithras, in: P. d’Hancarville, Supplément aux recherches sur l’origine, l’esprit et les progrès des arts de la Grèce, sur leur connexion avec les arts et la religion des plus anciens peuples connus, sur les monuments antiques de l’Inde, de la Perse, du reste de l’Asie, de l’Europe et de l’Égypte, London: 113-75.

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MOLAINVILLE, B. 1697, Bibliothèque orientale, ou dictionaire universel, Paris. DIDEROT, D. 1755, s.v. Égyptiens (Philosophie des), in: D. Diderot & J. Le Rond d’Alembert (eds.), Encyclopédie ou dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des métiers, vol. 5, Paris: 436. DUBOS, J-B. (abbé Jean-Baptiste Dubos) 1733, Ré
exions critiques sur la poésie et la peinture, vol. 2, Paris [rev.ed.]. –––– 1748, Critical re
ections on poetry and painting, vol. 2, London [translation of the 1746 5th ed. in French, by T. Nugent]. DUCHET, M. 1971, Anthropologie et histoire au siècle des Lumières, Paris. ERRINGTON, E. & CURTIS, V. (eds.), 2007, From Persepolis to the Punjab: Exploring ancient Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan, London. FERRIÈRES-SAUVEBOEUF, L.F. de (Louis-François, comte de Ferrières-Sauveboeuf) 1790, Mémoires historiques et géographiques des voyages faits en Turquie, en Perse et en Arabie depuis 1782 jusqu’en 1789, avec des observations sur la religion, les mœurs, le caractère & le commerce de ces trois nations, vol. 2, Maestricht. FOROUGHI, H. 2006, La Perse dans l’Encyclopédie, Recherches sur Diderot et l’Encyclopédie 40-41: 127-42. FUMAROLI, M. 1995, Le comte de Caylus et l’Académie des Inscriptions, CRAI 139: 225-50. FRANCKLIN, W. 1790, Observations made on a tour from Bengal to Persia in the years 1786-7 with an account of the remains of the celebrated palace of Persepolis and other interesting events, London. GUIGON, E., FERREIRA-LOPES, H. & BALCAR, N. (eds.), Le cabinet de Pierre-Adrien Pâris, architecte, dessinateur des menus-plaisirs, Paris. GUYON, C.-M. (abbé Claude-Marie Guyon) 1736, Histoire des empires et des républiques depuis le déluge jusqu’à Jésus-Christ, etc., vol. 4, Paris. HAGERMAN, C. 2009, In the footsteps of the ‘Macedonian Conqueror’ – Alexander the Great and British India, IJCT 16: 344-92. HASKELL, F. 1987, The baron d’Hancarville, in: F. Haskell (ed.), Past and present in art and taste, New Haven: 30-45, 230-32. HEEREN, A.H.L. 1817, Ideen über die Politik, den Verkehr, und den Handel der vornehmsten Völker der alten Welt, 5 vols., Wien [rev.ed.]. –––– 1833, Historical researches into the politics, intercourse, and trade of the principal nations of antiquity, Oxford [translated from the German edition by G. Bancroft]. HERDER, J.-G. 1787, Persepolis, eine Muthmassung, Gotha. –––– 1827, Sammtliche Werke zur Philosophie und Geschichte, vol. 1, Stuttgart. HEUZEY, L. 1887, Un artiste grec au service de la Perse: Téléphanès de Phocée, Revue Bleue (3è série) 12: 661-63. HOLBACH, P.-H. d’ (Paul-Henri Thiry, baron d’Holbach) 1765, s.v. Runiques, ou runes, caractères, in: D. Diderot & J. Le Rond d’Alembert (eds.), Encyclopédie ou dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des métiers, vol. 14, Paris: 437-38. HYDE, T. 1760, Veterum Persarum et Parthorum et Medorum religionis Historia, Oxonii [2nd ed.]. INVERNIZZI, A. 2005, Il genio vagante: Babilonia, Ctesifonte, Persepoli in racconto di viaggio e testimonianze dei secolo XII-XVIII, Alessandria. D’HERBELOT DE

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JAUCOURT, L. de (Louis, chevalier de Jaucourt) 1765a, s.v. Persépolis, in: D. Diderot & J. Le Rond d’Alembert (eds.), Encyclopédie ou dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des métiers, vol. 12, Paris: 426-7. –––– 1765b, s.v. Ruines, in: D. Diderot & J. Le Rond d’Alembert (eds.), Encyclopédie ou dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des métiers, vol. 12, Paris: 433. KAEMPFER, E. 1712, Amoenitatum exoticarum politico-physico-medicarum fasciculi V: quibus continentur variae relationes, observationes et descriptiones rerum Persicarum et ulterioris Asiae, Lemgoviae. LEGRAND, J.-G. 1806, Collection de chefs-d’œuvre de l’architecture des différens peuples exécutés en modèles, Paris. –––– 1806, Notice des chefs d’œuvre de l’architecture des différents peuples, Paris. MONGEZ, A. 1801, Mémoire sur Persépolis, Mémoires de l’Institut National des Sciences et Arts – Littérature et Beaux-Arts 3: 212-302. MONTECALVO, S. 2002, Il progetto di viaggio ‘au Levant’ di G.-E.-J. de Sainte-Croix, QS 55: 219-32. MOORE, J. 2008, History as theoretical reconstruction? – Baron d’Hancarville and the exploration of ancient mythology in the eighteenth century, in: J. Moore, I. MacGregor Morris & A.J. Bayliss (eds.), Reinventing history: The Enlightenment origins of Ancient History, London: 137-67. MOUSAVI, A. 2012, Persepolis: Discovery and afterlife of a world wonder, Berlin. NIEBUHR, C. 1778, Reisebeschreibung nach Arabien und andern umliegenden Ländern, vol. 2, Kopenhagen. –––– 1799, Travels though Arabia and other countries of the East, vol. 2, Perth [translation by R. Heron]. NYLANDER, C. 1970, Ionians in Pasargadae: Studies in Old Persian architecture, Uppsala. PINON, P. 2007, Pierre-Adrien Pâris (1745-1819), architecte, et les monuments antiques de Rome et de la Campanie (BÉFAR 278), Paris. POMMIER, E. 2003, Winckelmann, inventeur de l’histoire de l’art, Paris. REDFORD, B. 2008, Dilettanti: The Antic and the Antique in eighteenth-century England, Los Angeles. ROOT, M.C. 1979, The King and kingship in Achaemenid art: Essays on creating an iconography of Empire (AI 19), Leiden. ROYO, M. et al (eds.), 2011, Du voyage savant aux territoires de l’archéologie: Voyageurs, amateurs et savants à l’origine de l’archéologie moderne, Paris. SAID, E. 1978 [2003], Orientalism, New York [rev.ed.]. SAINTE-CROIX, G.E.J. de (Guillaume-Emmanuel-Joseph de Guilhem de Clermont-Lodève, baron de Sainte-Croix) 1773, “Observations sur les ruines de Persépolis,” con una Nota di Stefania Montecalvo, QS 59: 5-57. –––– 1774, Lettre à Messieurs les auteurs du Journal des Sçavans, sur un passage de Diodore de Sicile, JS 1774: 427-30. –––– 1775, Examen critique des anciens historiens d’Alexandre le Grand, Paris [earlier circulated as manuscript submitted for the Prix de Pâques, 1772]. SALE, G., CAMPBELL, J., BOWER, A., PSALMANAZAR, G., SWINTON, J. & SHELVOCKE, G. 1748, An universal history from the earliest account of time compiled from original

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authors and illustrated with maps, cuts, notes &, with a general index to the whole, vol. 5, London. SANCISI-WEERDENBURG, H.W.A.M. (ed.) 1989, Persepolis en Pasargadae in wisselend Perspectief, Groningen – Leiden. SPON, J. 1678 [2004], Voyage d’Italie, de Dalmatie, de Grèce et du Levant 1678, Genève. STRICKLAND, W. (Sir William Strickland) 1739, Persepolis Illustrata: Or the ancient and royal palace of Persepolis in Persia destroyed by Alexander the Great about two thousands years ago, with particular remarks concerning that Palace and an account of the ancient authors, who have wrote thereupon, London. TAFAZOLI, H. 2006, Der deutsche Persien-Diskurs von der frühen Neuzeit bis in das neuzehnte Jahrhundert, Bielefeld. TAVERNIER, J.-B. 1676, Les six voyages de Jean Baptiste Tavernier, qu’il a fait en Turquie, en Perse et aux Indes, pendant l’espace de quarante ans et par toutes les routes que l’on peut tenir, etc., Première partie, où il n’est parlé que de la Turquie & de la Perse, Paris. VAUX, W.S.W. 1850, Nineveh and Persepolis: An historical sketch of ancient Assyria and Persia with an account of the recent researches in those countries, London [2nd ed.]. VOLTAIRE (François-Marie Arouet, called Voltaire) 1766, The philosophy of History, Glasgow [translated from the French]. –––– 1769 [2010], God and Human beings, New York [translation M. Schreve]. –––– 1770, s.v. Antiquité, in: [Voltaire], Questions sur l’Encyclopédie par des amateurs, vol. 1, [s.l.]: 339-55. –––– 1777, An essay on universal history, the manners and spirit of nations, from the reign of Charlemaign to the Age of Lewis XIV, vol. 1, Edinburgh [rev.ed.; translation by T. Nugent]. WINCKELMANN, J.J. 1760, Description des pierres gravées du feu Baron de Stosch dédiée à son eminence Monseigneur le Cardinal Alexandre Albani, Florence. –––– 1764, Geschichte der Kunst des Altertums, vol. 1, Dresden. –––– 1873, The history of ancient art, Boston [translation by G.H. Lodge]. WOOD, R. & DAWKINS, J. 1753, The ruins of Palmyra, otherwise Tedmor, in the desert, London.

ARRIVING AT PERSEPOLIS, AN UNFORTIFIED ROYAL RESIDENCE Rémy Boucharlat (Lyon)

Introduction When Darius and his advisors were planning the construction of Persepolis, their primary interest would have been in projecting imperial glory and splendour, creating a place to impress the court and visitors, not in providing physical protection. To see the terrace and buildings at Persepolis as a stronghold is probably misleading, despite Diodorus Siculus’ description of three ramparts and some modern reconstructions. The vision of Persepolis suggested in this paper is based upon recent investigations at Pasargadae, Cyrus’ imperial capital, which remained an important site of royal ceremony throughout the Achaemenid period. Pasargadae is not a walled residence. It consists of a park within which there was a central well-planned garden surrounded by a few elegant buildings. The circumstances and details of the layout of Pasargadae suggest that Cyrus’s principal intentions concerned expressions of control/dominance over nature. The residential and working city itself was located outside of the park, probably beyond the stone platform known today as the Tall-e Takht. At Persepolis Darius also emphasized the landscape, selecting the mountain as an impressive background for the huge terrace (Takht) situated at its foot. According to recent archaeological and geophysical surveys, the immediate surroundings of the Takht were left empty, lying within a modest enclosure wall which has been only partially excavated. Beyond this limit to the west, there are no important buildings. There are large built-up areas for the population living at Persepolis and vast empty spaces probably left for gardens and orchards. The residences of the élite, residences that employed stone architecture, were clustered in a zone three kilometres to the west of the Takht as well as in other smaller quarters set elsewhere. Arriving at Persepolis, the visitor did not enter directly into a built environment, but rst went across an unfortied, green, and well-watered plain in which there were, in some quarters, small stone ‘palaces’ set within gardens. In the last kilometres leading to the Takht, there were poorly constructed mud brick dwellings, presumably for artisans and workers. These mud brick structures did

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not, however, obstruct the view of the columned buildings standing on the Takht. In this way, the city and the Royal Quarter reect the image that Darius would like to present, an image of a peaceful empire that was not endangered in any way because protected by the power of the king.

1. Approaching Persepolis With the construction of the terrace at Persepolis, Darius certainly aimed at impressing his attendants as well as his guests. The grandiosity of the structure as such has often been emphasized; the terrace is enormous, some 14 m in height, set on top of which are even taller monuments, some rising for another 20 m. Reconstructions help us to imagine the great height of the architecture on the Takht; but as things stand, we do not have sufcient information to place the monumental ensemble within its urban environment. These pages dedicated to Margaret Cool Root will try to assemble the scattered pieces of information about the terrace and its surroundings up to a distance of 4 to 5 km in order to propose a general view of the landscape around the terrace at the time of the Achaemenids. I do not presume to identify or – even less – to describe the city of Persepolis, which still awaits discovery.1 The image of royal power that Darius sought to convey at the height of his power at Persepolis differs a bit from the image that Cyrus had carefully arranged at Pasargadae. At both sites power is characterized by dominance over nature, but it extends over a much larger area at Pasargadae. There, the monumental architectural program is integrated into but at the same time scattered over the domesticated/ subdued landscape; at Persepolis it is grandiose but more concentrated. In neither case is there any hint that the kings aimed at fortifying the sites. The residences and their immediate environment are barely protected. As Pasargadae, so, too, Persepolis, I suggest, was not fortied. This lack of fortication includes not only the Takht itself, but also the surrounding city; it seems difcult, thus, to dene the residence as a stronghold.

1

The scattered information, parts of which are discussed in the analysis that follows, has been summarized on several occasions in the past and in the course of a recent IranianFrench program (2005-2008) supported by the Parsa-Pasargad Research Foundation and the French Ministry for Foreign and European Affairs. A preliminary account is available in Boucharlat et al. 2012, and, much more detailed, in Gondet 2011: 143-454. My warm thanks go to Pierre Briant for his methodological remarks and for various pieces of information, and to Sébastien Gondet for numerous results that I have used here and for his comments on these pages. My thanks also to Brigitte Finkbeiner, Obersteinbach, who translated my text into English. Any remaining errors are mine.

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The study by A. Mousavi (1992), the most complete one of the evidence for fortications of the Royal Quarter, indeed describes Persepolis as a “stronghold.” He holds that “the purpose of building the Platform of Persepolis was to create a strong military fortress in the heart of the homeland of the Achaemenians (…)” (ibid. 225). My hypothesis is opposed to that statement.2 Like others before him, Mousavi was searching the terrain for the three ramparts that are mentioned in the famous passage by Diodorus Siculus (XVII.71.3-8). Although the ancient literary sources will not be considered here, it bears noting that an analysis of this passage or others by Diodorus – or any other ancient author – requires understanding the full context of the narrative.3 Using textual sources at face-value to interpret archaeological evidence is a perilous exercise requiring a double competence. I restrict myself to the presentation of the evidence offered by the terrain, and I express the wish that the ancient texts – Diodorus among them – may soon be restudied. Only then will the specialists from diverse disciplines be able to judge whether and how one may combine the two types of documentation. The fact remains that the Royal Quarter of Persepolis – residences, treasure-house, storage places – was certainly not open to just anybody but well shut off and protected by an enclosure wall. Inside that district, access to each building must have been strictly controlled. Since the earliest descriptions of Persepolis by visitors, especially those from Europe, the traveller arrives in front of the terrace either from the west when he comes from Shiraz, or from the north, when he comes from Esfahan. In both approaches, the visitor eventually is led to the western façade of the terrace.4 What was the view that offered itself to the ancient visitor before he had reached the terrace, or even before he had the rst glimpse of the terrace and its monuments? What was the nature of the landscape in the last kilometres leading up to the Takht? Was it built-up? Were there walls? Today the visitor sees the terrace from a distance of several kilometres above the uniform dark-green mass of the articial forest, planted around the mid-twentieth century. After passing the forest 2

3

4

In his book on the history of research in Persepolis, Mousavi (2012: 55) takes his hypothesis up in a cursory manner only. He maintains in that study that Persepolis gradually lost its military signicance with the pacication of the empire and turned into a ceremonial or symbolic place. As early as the late nineteenth century, G.N. Curzon (1892, 2: 187f.), in his excellent description of Persepolis, was very cautious with Diodorus’ ‘testimony’ about the triple ramparts. For the same reason, Diodorus’ ‘description’ of the residences and houses plundered by Alexander’s army in Persepolis will not be adduced when discussing the archaeological evidence surrounding the terrace (cf. §3). Such was certainly the situation in antiquity both when the terrace was accessed only from the south and after the construction of the great double stairs on the west. One had at rst to pass the sector which is today called the Southern Quarter.

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he is confronted, at about 100 meters from the terrace, by the great wall of the terrace, built of large stones and rising from the at and bare ground. Above this mostly smooth, sombre, and massive wall, at a higher level, the monuments become visible. The backdrop for this architectural ensemble is the mountain, which rises for more than 100 m above the terrace. The archaeological evidence – or rather the lack of archaeological evidence – around the Royal Quarter suggests that the view of the contemporary visitor at close range to the terrace is not much different from that enjoyed by the visitor in antiquity. The drawings by travellers before the advent of photography were made from one of two perspectives: the view towards the terrace from the west at ground level, as for example E. Kaempfer in 1685, or an articial view from the distance as if from an elevation, always much higher than the 14 m of the retaining wall, in order to show the monuments on the terrace.5 Those two perspectives coexisted from the seventeenth century onwards (gs.1-2). In the nineteenth century, architects and professional draftsmen rendered more precise drawings that enabled a view of the overall plan of the monuments. One perspective was from the west at a height of several dozen meters, for instance the drawing by Flandin and Coste in 1841 (g. 3).6 Another was an elevated position from the north-northeast, the “Perspective à vol d’oiseau, restitution par Ch. Chipiez” (Perrot & Chipiez 1890, 5,

5 6

For Kaempfer see Invernizzi 2005a, gs.145-6. On the other hand, the view from the south, from the top of the unnished tomb, is realistic, as is also the view from the north, taken from a distance (Flandin & Coste 1843-54, 2: pls.69-70).

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g.1: realistic view of the Persepolis terrace seen from the west at ground level: J. Grelot’s drawing for A. Bembo in 1674 (Invernizzi 2005b, pl.26)

pl.10). Since the twentieth century that perspective is easily achieved by aerial photography, rst realized by E.F. Schmidt in 1935 (1940: i-vii). Before Schmidt, the rst photos taken from the west allowed a view of the terrace and the monuments only from below, as the photo by M. Dieulafoy taken in 1881, or the engraving made after a photo and published by his wife Jane Dieulafoy (g.4).7 These initial photographic views from the distance are interesting because they show that despite the high and imposing terrace wall, the monuments on the terrace are quite as impressive as in the articial views offered by earlier prints and drawings. What all these perspectives preceding the modern installations have in common is the bareness of the surrounding ground, an absence of any built or ‘landscaped’ features. The only exception is one of the buildings that today, with half a dozen others, makes up the ‘Southern Quarter.’8 The lack of any built or landscaped 7

8

See Dieulafoy 1884-89, 2, pls.4-7. Before Dieulafoy, the rst photographic record is that by Stolze and Andreas in 1874 (Stolze & Andreas 1882), but the very rst photographs of Persepolis are those by Luigi Pesce, an Italian ofcer in the service of the Qajar king; in 1858 he ofcially handed his album over to Mozaffar ad-D n Š h (Adle & Zoka 1983: 256). See also Krefter (1971, Beilagen 30-31, 34). Regrettably, the most recent three-dimensional models and reconstructions do not take into account the ensemble of structures at the foot of the terrace, which constitute the Southern Quarter, excavated by Tadjvidi from 1969 to 1971 (Mousavi 2012, pls.15-6).

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g.2: view of the Persepolis terrace from an imagined raised persective highlighting the location of the palaces, drawn by A. Daulier-Deslandes in 1664 (Invernizzi 2005a, g.62)

features in the zone immediately surrounding the terrace serves to emphasize the abrupt rise of the platform and provides also for views of the structures on the terrace; even today these structures, although for the most part in ruins, are perfectly visible. These introductory remarks are not new, but they have not been sufciently emphasized in the discussion about the outward appearance of Persepolis and its supposed fortications. The opinion that the site of Persepolis, indeed any visual conception of Persepolis, must not be limited to the terrace was articulated by several early travellers, including C. Niebuhr during his stay in 1765 and Flandin and Coste. Flandin later clearly expressed a similar sentiment:9 Persépolis, c’est la ville par excellence, la Ville Royale. Ce nom, qui devait, dans l’esprit des auteurs anciens, s’appliquer à la capitale dans toute son étendue, s’est restreint peu à peu, et ne désigne plus aujourd’hui conventionnellement que le groupe des monuments qui représentent l’immense palais des rois de Perse. On ne peut disconvenir que cette restriction irrationnelle laisse un peu de confusion dans l’esprit au sujet de ces ruines, et qu’en adoptant la désignation de Persépolis pour les palais seuls, on s’expose à faire croire qu’il n’y avait là autrefois qu’une résidence royale, et qu’on ne doit y chercher que ces vestiges.

By evoking the structures and other possible installations around the terrace, among them the hypothetical enclosure walls, one can try to reconstruct the view of the visitor in antiquity during the last hour and covering the nal parasang (ca. 5.5. 9

See Niebuhr 1776-80, 2: 98; Flandin & Coste 1843-54, 5: 73; citation from Flandin 1851, 2: 145.

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km) before arriving at the terrace in Persepolis. Due to the twentieth-century installations and the levelling caused by modern agriculture, we know very little about the appearance of the landscape in antiquity. The immediate surroundings of the terrace today consist of forest to the south of the road leading to the terrace and elds to the north of it. Fortunately some sectors a few kilometres away from the terrace are better known, because they were built up with permanent architecture and are therefore better preserved. Only very few travellers or specialists have taken an interest in the surroundings of the terrace. Noteworthy among these individuals is H. Weld-Blundell. In his search for the city he tried to localize the “three ramparts” mentioned by Diodorus Siculus. Although based upon his measurements by theodolite, his plan is nevertheless rather schematic and his reconstruction very hypothetical.10 E. Herzfeld, in his preliminary study, also took notice of the surroundings of the terrace (1929-30, plan). Later, during his excavations (1931-34), he showed a certain interest in the foot of the terrace, conducted investigations in the southwest and excavated the socalled fratarak complex in the northwest. E.F. Schmidt, who eventually published some of Herzfeld’s observations, also explored the environs of the Takht, excavating a portion of the Persepolis Spring Cemetery north of the terrace. After World War II, A. Sami and then A. Tadjvidi conducted excavation off the terrace. Tadjvidi in particular emphasized the broader context of the terrace within a more expansive ensemble of architecture.11 The accidental discoveries in the plain made in the 1970s and studied by G. and A.B. Tilia were certainly tangential to their primary research goals; but we are grateful to them for documenting the stone remains and producing what was the rst map localizing the Achaemenid structures in a 5 km radius to the west and northwest of the terrace (Tilia 1978). Around the same time W. Sumner surveyed the complete Marvdašt, a survey which later resulted in a study on the occupation of the region in the Achaemenid epoch (1986). In the area close to the terrace he localized and dened residential areas and clusters of small low mounds resulting from occupation by common people, a view substantiated by the nature of the potsherds discovered on the surface and by the absence of traces of architecture.12

10 11

12

Weld-Blundell 1893: 547-56, gs. on pp.550. This interest emerges clearly in the rst chapter of Tadjvidi’s “Studies on the City of Parsa” (1976), in which he mentions scattered traces in a radius of several kilometres to the north, west, and south of the terrace; of course, he chose the Southern Quarter and the fortications on the K h-e Rahmat for his excavations. The reections and the very schematic map which I published a few years ago were based on those ndings – at the time the only ones available (Boucharlat 2007: 460-62 and g.7).

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Within the framework of UNESCO’s World Heritage recommendations, the ParsaPasargad Research Foundation has initiated a variety of investigations, activities to which an Iranian-French mission contributed surveys between 2005 and 2008 (see n.1), followed by an Iranian-Italian mission that from 2008 has undertaken very promising soundings and an extended excavation. Starting from those partial or sometimes still preliminary results, I try here to paint an impressionistic picture of the Persepolitan landscape in Achaemenid times.

2. The rst ‘circle’ Only towards the close of the twentieth century did an archaeologist propose a view of the Royal Quarter that was not restricted to the terrace (g.6). W. Kleiss was the rst to attempt to modify the prevailing image of Persepolis: he repeatedly published a plan showing the terrace as just one of several elements forming the Royal Quarter, which also included the slope of the Kh-e Rahmat and the ridge crowned by the rampart, as well as the little valley to the south and the many

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49

g.3: reconstructed view of the terrace by Flandin and Coste in 1841 (1843-54, pl.66)

important buildings that A. Tadjvidi and others had excavated some years before. Kleiss did not propose reconstructing any walls west of the terrace, and he was wise enough to leave aside Diodorus Siculus’ three enclosure walls. A. Mousavi attempted to gather all hints of possible walls, giving credit to the work of H. WeldBlundell.13 Evidently inuenced by Diodorus, Mousavi pointed to elements that supposedly added up to a wall running north-south, parallel to the western retaining wall of the terrace; he interpreted that wall as one of Diodorus’ ramparts but was more cautious concerning the possibility of another wall further to the west.

13

Mousavi 1992: 217-20, g.2; idem 2002: 220-2; see also idem 2012, g.7.15.

g.4: one of the first photographs of the terrace taken at ground level (Dieulafoy 1884-89, 2: pls.4-7)

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g.5: southwestern part of the original plan of the ruins of Persepolis in 1923 as drawn by E. Herzfeld (1929-30, fold-out)

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g.6: map of the Royal Quarter at Persepolis (Kleiss 1980, pl.9) with the Terrace, the Southern Quarter on the right, the Fortification line on the Kh-e Rahmat; segments of the ‘enclosure wall’ running east west alongside the western wall of the Terrace are preserved

2.1. The ramparts on the terrace Based on the work by E. Herzfeld, F. Krefter reconstructed mighty ramparts on the north side of the terrace (partially excavated by Herzfeld) and on the west side. Those on the west he extended to the Apadana, which otherwise had no protective walls.14 A short rampart also extends from the southwestern corner to the mountains in the east in Krefter’s drawing. In addition he reconstructed a great wall 14

Herzfeld 1941, g.327 and pl.51.

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behind the eastern stairs – strangely connected with the Gate of Xerxes. Later, Krefter used the image of ancient cities in explaining his view of Persepolis: Es gibt keinen Zweifel daran, daß Persepolis eine Feststadt war. (…) Aber ebenso war Persepolis, wie alle antiken Städte, Festung, wenn auch seine Bedeutung als Festung im strategischen Sinne gering war. Darius gebraucht in dem elamischen Abschnitt seiner Stadtinschrift fünfmal das Wort Festung, er sagt auch, daß hier früher keine Festung war, und daß er sie sicher und schön und stark baute. (Krefter 1971: 44)

The inscription containing the term did to which Krefter refers in fact is not from Persepolis, but Susa (DSe). The semantic range of the term is also wider than implied by the German Festung (English “fortress”). R. Hallock dened its Elamite transcription, tidda, as (…) a place for storing grain, according to PF 1857. Evid. LW from did, “wall,” “stronghold,” “fortress.” (Hallock 1969: 761 s.v. tidda)

Lecoq regards did as meaning, in the rst place, a (big or small) wall, which would be the case in DSe, and, by extension, “citadelle” or “un ensemble de murailles” in Bsotn.15 P. Briant, for his part, points out that the residences and treasure-houses were guarded by a garrison and, consequently, protected by a wall or an enclosure, but suggests “fortress” is probably not the right term by which to describe all those establishments (1982: 202-6). The terrace is raised; it is equipped with a strong brick wall that is reinforced with towers only on the north and east sides, due to the topography of the land.16 The west side, which is the highest and best visible one when viewed from off the terrace, and the south side, where, originally, the entrance lay, had no fortication above the oor level of the terrace itself. In the west – as E.F. Schmidt already noticed – there is a course of a retaining wall, but without buttresses; it is not suitable for military defence (1953: 61f.). Nor do the grand stairs convey any intention of defensive functions. Schmidt stated clearly that there are no traces of fortication to the east of the grand stairs, à la Krefter’s reconstruction.17 The Gate of Xerxes should rather be seen as a free-standing gatehouse, such as the Gate R in Pasargadae and the Gate of Darius in Susa. 15

16

17

Lecoq 1997: 111. In Darius’ famous inscription in Susa, DSf §11, the same term did corresponds to the decorated walls of the palace, not to an outer wall. In the north, the terrace rises barely above the level of the valley and the oor lies even below the top of the quarry. In the east, the wall is needed to complete the rectangle of the terrace at the foot of the Kh-e Rahmat, without including the slope with the two royal tombs and other installations. Schmidt 1953: 64, g.25. Schmidt could not resist, however, the temptation to reconstruct the outer face of such a fortication (1953, g.26).

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g.7: the Southern Quarter at the foot of the terrace after the excavations (photograph by kite, B.-N. Chagny 2004, Iranian-French Mission at Persepolis)

On the retaining wall along the Apadana there is no room for a rampart, as noted already by E.F. Schmidt and later conrmed by A.B. Tilia.18 There was, however, very probably a low protection wall to prevent accidents! In the southwestern corner, the terrace is bordered by a simple railing – certainly decorative rather than defensive. The discovery, in 1964 and 1968, of dozens of fragments at the foot of the terrace allowed the Tilias to reconstruct a stone parapet – very narrow (0.36 m), and maximally 2.20 m high – surmounted by a pair of horns.19 The retaining wall south of that corner is not very high. Thus, on the west and south sides the buildings on the terrace were well visible above that decorative parapet – probably just the effect desired.

2.2. An enclosure wall west of the terrace Traces of a wall running north-south, south-southwest of the terrace, were mentioned as early as Flandin and Coste; Herzfeld and Schmidt also noted the feature.

18 19

Schmidt 1953: 62; Tilia 1978: 18f. Tilia 1969; see also Tilia 1978: 61, 243.

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Flandin and Coste wrote of a wall but without providing details or a precise localization: [on returning from the unnished tomb] on y voit encore parallèlement à la montagne, les restes d’un mur construit en maçonnerie sur une longueur de deux cent trente mètres. Mais on ne saurait dire s’il appartient au même temps que les monuments [ruins of Building E] dans le voisinage duquel il se trouve. (Flandin & Coste 1853-54, 5: 132)

Herzfeld mentioned a “city wall” (Stadtmauer) in this sector as well as “at several other places” (g.5).20 On his plan he placed the wall about 100 m to the west of the unnished tomb and had it extending north-south for over 90 m, with a bend at right angle towards the east. He described and illustrated a double wall, the two components of which were divided by a ditch. His plan showed yet another wall – not mentioned in the text – the course of which takes the shape of a bayonet. Mousavi cites a passage from a Persian guide to Persepolis edited by H. Basiri, the rst inspector of the excavations conducted by the Oriental Institute, conrming the traces of walls close to the unnished tomb (Mousavi 1992: 218). Tadjvidi excavated a wall provided with niches, southwest of Building B in the Southern Quarter.21 In addition, quite a bit further north, some 100 m to the west of the terrace, Tadjvidi found a wall running north-south that would elongate the wall in the south.22 The location of this wall is perhaps indicated by the low mounds at some distance from the foot of the retaining wall, which gure on certain engravings (cf. gs.1-3) as well as on the plans by Weld-Blundell, and later by Herzfeld (cf. g.5). According to Tadjvidi, at least two segments of this wall still exist (g.7): a wall built with dressed stones and a foundation of unworked stone blocks with mortar supporting mud brick courses (1976: 69f., gs.25-6). The author also mentions a double wall, to the west of the terrace and Building E. Those walls are so narrow that they cannot be elevated to a great height; one is tempted to regard them as a border enclosing an area rather than a veritable rampart. According to Tadjvidi the walls are perhaps lining a canal, or, according to Herzfeld, a moat, at least in places. A canal calls forth the impression of circulating water (cf. §4), while a moat suggests a defensive structure – which is to be doubted. Obviously, the traces observed here and there do not all belong to the same wall; above all, none of these walls has the bulk required to support a true rampart.

20 21 22

Herzfeld 1929-30: 18 and folding plan. Tadjvidi 1976: 70, g.25; Mousavi 2012, g.1.8. Mousavi 1992, g.2. The wall described here does not include the niched wall which is the terrace wall of Building B in the Southern Quarter.

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The outermost of Diodorus’ three walls has been imagined further west. A. Sami, for instance, identied a mud brick wall lying at ca. 500 m to the west of the terrace as the outermost wall – without offering the slightest hint of its existence. Mousavi cites Sami and indicates the hypothetical location of the wall (Mousavi 1992: 217, g.2). At present, the topography – admittedly much disturbed – does not reveal a single trace of such a wall. As far as I know, no evidence for this wall has yet to be revealed despite the extensive digging in this area necessitated by the construction of the large modern road and the repeated works along that road for water discharge and electricity, house-building, and agricultural activities. A recent hypothesis based on remote sensing techniques also sought to nd Diodorus’ wall. Its authors reconstruct an enclosure fortied by towers on three sides of the terrace. Situated in the west at a distance of ca. 500 m from the terrace, this wall would stretch to the unnished tomb in the south and pass the very bottom of the valley before joining the mud brick enclosure on the ridge of the mountain (Aminzadeh & Samani 2006; cf. gs.5-6). According to Gondet (2011: 175), however, the method that the authors adopt is not applicable to this kind of task (cartography of a wall) nor effective in this environment. It also seems as if the results had not been veried in the eld; they have obviously been adapted to known facts, such as the rampart north of the terrace (Aminzadeh & Samani 2006). One cannot absolutely deny the possibility that an exterior wall existed; one can only stress that there are no traces of such a wall. If there was a mark in the landscape at several hundred meters to the west of the terrace, perhaps one should think not of a wall but of the traces of a watercourse. Such a course has remained visible down to the twentieth century, as written reports and the rst aerial photographs indicate (cf. §4; g.10). In any case, the existence of at least one wall – if it really dates to the Achaemenid epoch – or even of a double wall (Herzfeld) does not sufce to prove the construction of a veritable rampart west of the terrace. Although imsy, the wall may have served as an enclosure wall to delimit particular sectors in the general organization of the area to the west of the terrace. As there are no structures west of this wall, the image of an isolated Royal Quarter is deeply impressed upon the visitor. The same sense of isolation will denitely have applied to a view of the terrace, most of which was elevated and two sides of which lined a large brick wall. Ramparts do exist in Persepolis. The terrace wall was fortied by towers on the north and east, and fortications regularly marked by towers winds along the mountain ridge. These walls obviously served to protect the Royal Quarter and hindered any intruders from entering – even if those intruders were primarily shepherds approaching with their herds from the mountainside.23 23

Some archaeologists maintain that this wall was abandoned well before Alexander and that Diodorus could not have taken it for a rampart. The argument is that the galleries

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2.3. The Southern Quarter While the area south of the terrace certainly belongs to the Royal Quarter, it is even less protected than the terrace. The north-south enclosure wall, already mentioned, provides a boundary; to the west no other structures have been discovered. The surface area of the Southern Quarter consists of some 10 ha; Building E, which lies isolated in the north, and the remaining group of structures in the south take up less than 2 ha of this space. There is no doubt concerning the aristocratic, even royal, character of the architecture in this area (plans, royal inscriptions, the extension of some halls, elaborate column bases, stone railing, paintings, etc.). Recently, A. Mousavi has provided a good analysis, based upon the reports and publications of the Iranian excavations conducted by A. Sami, then, above all, by A. Tadjvidi from 1969 to 1972 (Mousavi 2012: 26-41, 207-12). The diversity of the plans, and, doubtless, the functions – reception, residence, storage – is remarkable (ibid. g. 1.8). Mousavi highlights the presence of unroofed spaces as well: one, east of Building C, could be a courtyard or a garden; another, south of Building F, may have served for the storage of water (ibid. gs.1.7-8). Most signicant is the vast empty space of some 200 m that extends between the southern wall of the terrace and the northernmost group of structures in the Southern Quarter (g.7).24 In the 1960s archaeologists, principally Iranian, explored this zone between the southern terrace wall and the Southern Quarter and found no structures. Throughout the area, particularly around Buildings A-H, the excavators noticed considerable displacements of material such as rubble, broken bricks, gravel, and stones for the purpose of levelling the terrain and creating platforms at different levels (Mousavi 2012: 26). The absence of any traces of buildings between those platforms and the southern wall of the terrace has given rise to the hypothesis that this area was at risk of ood; the topography could have been made serviceable for the installation of a large basin.25 The basin would have been supplied by the waters streaming down from the small valley in the east and from the drainage network under the terrace. So far, there is no proof that such a basin existed, but the hypothesis remains plausible. Another hypothesis concerning this empty zone between the terrace and the Southern Quarter suggests that it was a

24

25

and thus also the embrasures had been blocked, making the fortication useless (Mousavi 2012: 41, citing Tadjvidi 1976: 206). An alternative answer could be that such an operation was necessary to prepare a further elevation of the rampart, which required a solid, lled-up ground oor. Some 150 m between the southern wall of the terrace and the closer-lying hypostyle Building E; see Mousavi 2012, pl.3. Herzfeld (1929-30, plan) suggested that there was a corner of a Fundament some 60 m to the east of Building E. Mousavi 1992: 219, citing Hakemi 1970: 4f.

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camp ground for tents; the question of lodging at Persepolis (the royal family, the court etc.) has not yet been answered. Regarding the rst hypothesis, this empty zone would certainly enhance the visual effect of the terrace. It would emphasize the whole of the southern side of the terrace, the retaining wall of which was higher than it is today and – according to the excavations – descended for an additional 6 m below the present oor (Mousavi 2012: 213, g.9.13). In addition, it may be noted that the original access to the terrace was from this south side and that the important inscriptions DPd, DPe, DPf, and DPg were placed on one enormous block at the top edge of the stone bastion for the southern terrace. We do not know how long that original access remained open, but probably for all or most of the Achaemenid epoch as it allowed communication between the Southern Quarter and the terrace (Tilia 1978: 16).

2.4. North of the terrace Evidence at this point indicates that there were never any royal structures in the small valley immediately to the north of the terrace. This may be explained by the fact that when standing in front or on top of the grand stairway, the view to the left (north) is blocked by the mud brick rampart (not excavated in that part). The quarry (still visible) immediately to the northwest of the terrace may indicate that the whole of the valley was given over to industrial activities. Herzfeld had already noted blocks coming from a quarry, two unnished double bull capitals, glazed baked bricks, as well as a small elevation of soil reddened by re, perhaps an oven, of uncertain date.26 In the course of the geomagnetic surveys in 2003-2004, the measurements taken at certain points were so strong that they surely indicate very magnetic materials (metal or baked bricks or blocks of stone lying in the ground?), while at two other points straight-lined anomalies were recorded.27 The sector is not empty, but in view of the research results one would attribute to this small valley in the north an industrial rather than a residential character. No royal construction is to be expected here.

2.5. West of the terrace The strip between the modern forest and the retaining wall is ca. 100 m wide and today covered by asphalt, concrete, lighting, etc. From the time of the travellers’ engravings until the Oriental Institute’s excavations, this sector seems to have been 26 27

Herzfeld 1929-30: 33; Schmidt 1953: 55f.; Kleiss 1980, g.9. Aminpour 2006, gs.1-2; Gondet 2011: 189-92, g.5-3.

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free of any architectural traces. The only excavations here were those by Tadjvidi, where he discovered his “second wall.”28 The Tilias’ work that led to the retrieval of the decorative parapet (in fragments) revealed no structures in situ (Tilia 1972: 243-52). In 2007, geophysical surveys were undertaken to the southwest and the west of the terrace. Although diverse methods were employed, the results were disappointing (Gondet 2011: 192-204, gs.5.4-9). The geomagnetic maps produced by B. Aminpour in 2004-2006 are in fact badly disturbed by modern activities (levelling, canalization) and metals (electric cables, lamp posts, etc.). Other geophysical methods that we have tested, such as ground penetrating radar and electromagnetometry, have produced similar mixed results. Until other methods may provide new data, I provisionally suggest that the space immediately west of the terrace was free of any permanent constructions in the Achaemenid period.

3. The second ‘circle’ The area extending from the immediate neighbourhood of the terrace 4-5 km towards the north, west, and south has long since been considered the location of the ‘city’ of Persepolis – without any quality reection on what exactly we mean by the ‘city’ of Persepolis, or even any plan of its layout. The suggestions that follow are based on the research by W. Sumner in 1969, the mostly accidental discoveries by the Tilias, and recent research, mainly surveys done on foot and geophysical surveys, soon to be published.29 The following remarks are quite general, articulating the ‘blocks of occupation’ separated by empty spaces. We call this zone extending outwards 4-5 km from the terrace the Persepolis Settled Zone. The empty spaces, perhaps gardens or parks, also added to the landscape of Prsa. In brief, our research indicates that Persepolis does not t the classical image of an ancient city, either by its general layout or by the distribution of its quarters (g. 8). First of all, its limits are invisible; it is almost certain that the Persepolis Settled Zone was not protected by a enclosure/defensive wall.30 Absolutely no traces of 28 29 30

Schmidt 1940, pl.2; idem 1953, pls.2-4, 6, 8. See Sumner 1986 and Tilia 1978. If I am right, the only monument that has sometimes been identied as a city-gate is the enigmatic construction of big blocks of dressed stones south of the ancient city of Estakhr. Documented by Flandin & Coste (1843, pls.59-60), it has been interpreted as the gate to the Achaemenid city – based on the hypothesis that the city of that period lay under the tell of Estakhr. Schmidt’s excavations identied, however, no pre-Sasanian installation in that tell (Schmidt 1939: 109). The construction, be it a gate, bridge, or water gate, remains enigmatic and as yet undatable.

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such a wall have ever been documented in the environs of Persepolis. The visitor coming from the – probably cultivated – countryside thus simply passed gradually into an urban environment. Within the Persepolis Settled Zone, there is not one single occupational space, but several distinct areas containing structures, some employing dressed stone architecture and/or baked or glazed bricks. Such materials, dressed stone masonry and baked bricks, strongly suggest that the buildings and installations were important, most likely commissioned by the élite, members of the court, or even the sovereign himself.31 The most well-known of these areas is that which Tilia called B -e Fr z, lying some 3-4 km to the west of the terrace (1978: 80-5). Traces of stone architecture are found on the site, today spread over several small tells lying 150-300 m from each other (Gondet 2011, pls.28-9). These architectural traces may represent royal residence(s) or houses of the élite; the construction materials were certainly valuable. There must have been, of course, secondary buildings and utility constructions, made of sun-dried brick. Such fragile materials would have fairly rapidly decayed and thus cannot be detected on the modern surface (Boucharlat et al. 2012: 264-67). Further geophysical survey extending beyond the limits of the tells (ibid., g.13) may detect some of these buildings and – even more likely – the walls enclosing the properties and canals. The impressionistic image we gain of this area is probably also valid for other, less well known and apparently less extended sectors within the Persepolis Settled Zone.32 Takht-e Rustam is yet another sector with dressed stone architecture within the Persepolis Settled Zone. A large columned hall has survived, rectangular in plan (as at Pasargadae), and a two-stepped socle made of stone, usually interpreted as the base of a tomb comparable in conguration to the tomb of Cyrus. At the present state of knowledge, the ensemble of structures at Takht-e Rustam is regarded as having a special function, perhaps constructed by the king or a member of the royal family.33 31

32

33

The monumental gate under excavation at Tol-e or by the joint Iranian-Italian team of Persepolis is probably an example of royal construction. The mud brick core is contained within a thick baked-brick thick faced with decorated glazed bricks (Askari Chaverdi, Callieri & Gondet 2013). For instance, between the Southern Quarter and Tall-e B k n there lies a construction which Tadjvidi excavated (1976: 14f., g.8). It may be a pavilion or a larger building of which at least a hall with several two-stepped square plinths survived. Another accidental discovery was that of a stone torus (Tilia 1978: 80): it reinforces the image of a sector occupied by the élite (Persepolis South in Sumner’s terms, who estimates it to extend over more than 8 ha). For several reasons (plan of the hall, form of the column bases, almost total lack of toothed chisel marks), this ensemble is dated to the Early Achaemenid period. The traditional interpretation of the stone socle, which Herzfeld excavated, is that it is the

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The way the rich constructions are distributed leads to three observations: 1) there were two or perhaps more distinct sectors within the Persepolis Settled Zone for members of the ruling élite; 2) those sectors are not close to the Royal Quarter, but, on the contrary, lie several kilometres distant; 3) B -e F rz is situated a few hundred meters distant from the river Polv r, suggesting that availability of water played a critical role in the placement of these élite constructions. These remnants of élite structures raise, however, two questions. One concerns dating. Tilia underlined the similarity of form and technique of stone working at B -e F rz with those at Dašt-e Gohar and Pasargadae (1978: 80). She noted, for example, the absence of toothed chisel marks – the rst instances of which are traditionally dated to the beginning of Darius’ reign. The dating of structures by the absence of toothed chisel marks is, however, exceptionally precarious. Firstly, the toothed chisel was not used systematically in the constructions dating to the reign of Darius and his successors at Persepolis. Secondly, the investigation of the partially exposed constructions at B -e F rz was certainly not thorough enough that one could claim the complete absence of toothed tool marks.34 Finally, one may add that even if a number of the structures at B -e F rz are earlier than or contemporary with the erection of the terrace at Persepolis, they would very probably continue to be occupied during the reign of Darius and his successors.35 Despite the radical transformations of the landscape in modern times, Sumner’s surveys, as well as more recent ones, have identied occupied areas based upon the density of the pottery-sherd scatters in the Persepolis Settled Zone.36 There are, however, no traces of large-scale architecture in those areas. For this reason we see them as common domestic quarters, perhaps also workshops. While the geophysical surveys have only covered a small portion of the surface in the Persepolis Settled Zone, some dozens of hectares, the results of those surveys nevertheless permit us to add some details to the overall picture of the landscape (g.8).

34

35

36

unnished tomb of Cambyses (see Stronach 1989: 484). That view has been called into question in recent years. A review of the evidence by Bessac & Boucharlat (2010: 103), arrived at a dating of the monument to the end of the sixth century BCE; they regard the monument as nished (ibid. 26-8). Compare the situation of the platform at Takht-e Rustam where the toothed tool marks are very rare but denitely ascertained (Stronach 1978: 99f., pl.187b). The glazed brick decoration of the recently discovered platform at Tol-e or points to a date early in the Achaemenid period. The technique is closer to the Neo-Babylonian glazed bricks of Babylon and different from the glazed panels in the Palace of Darius at Susa. Of course, the density of pottery-sherd scatters in the Achaemenid epoch is relatively low in all of the Persepolis plain.

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g.8 (above): map of the Persepolis Settled Zone showing the exact area for clusters of the élite residences and common people’s quarters, drawn by S. Gondet (Boucharlat et al. 2012, g.21) g.9 (right): analytical geophysical map of an area northwest of the Persepolis terrace, drawn by S. Gondet (Boucharlat et al. 2012, fig.12); the grid of rectilinear anomalies is not regular; the anomalies probably correspond to ancient ditches

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One sector stands out with regard to its dimensions, namely the sector which Sumner designated Persepolis West; it consists of 25 ha characterized by a series of small and very low mounds. Actually, this sector extends quite a bit further to the north and east, eastward up to the modern parking-lot only several hundred meters away from the terrace (Boucharlat et al. 2012: 260-64). The geophysical surveys have not shown any urban structures with trafc routes or house plans, but only a grid of more or less dense lines following an orientation similar to that of the constructions in the Royal Quarter. The dimensions of the cells vary from 0.5 to several ha (g.9). A rst interpretation sees them as traces of ditches. Do they correspond to an irrigation system for cultivated lots? Are they the boundaries of modest properties? Ceramic nds support the hypothesis of inhabited areas. Houses made of sun-dried bricks would not leave vestiges visible in the geophysical survey, while canals for irrigation or drainage would be visible as marks in the ground. The ceramic material indicates a date in the Achaemenid epoch, perhaps including the succeeding period – a dating that is conrmed by the soundings conducted in those same sectors by the Italian-Iranian mission in 2008-2010. Persepolis West may be the most extended sector of common domestic structures so far discovered, but it is certainly not the only one. Another such sector has been identied south of the aristocratic quarter at B -e Fr z (cf. g.8). Obviously, the picture of the Persepolis Settled Zone remains very vague and is far from complete. The areas studied are those that are today accessible and that preserve something of the ancient landscape. Because of the forest, the whole area southwest of the terrace as yet has not been explored; of course, one assumes that if stone constructions had existed there, they would have come to light in the course of the forestation activities. Other sectors that have been profoundly disturbed by mechanical cultivation are probably lost forever, with the exception of accidental discoveries that are necessarily isolated. The facts adduced here suggest the following concerning the Persepolis Settled Zone: 1) there is no contiguous stone architecture; 2) the sectors attributable to different social classes are not organized in concentric circles starting from the terrace. The members of the élite are not closest to the terrace, but instead at a distance; nor are they concentrated in a single ‘rich quarter,’ B -e Fr z, but live in several areas (as, e.g., Persepolis South). Zones of common domestic structures and/or workshops lie, on the other hand, at a distance of only a few hundred meters to the northwest of the terrace. In this manner, the terrace is not surrounded by tall stone buildings; rather the stone mass of the terrace and the structures upon it are easily distinguished from a distance, rising above the modest low constructions made of ordinary materials.37 37

The question of the so-called fratarak temple is left aside here due to the uncertainty of its date, very likely to the post-Achaemenid period in its present state. It stands at some 300 m northwest of the corner of the terrace. A geomagnetic prospection carried

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We maintain that all of the Persepolis Settled Zone was loosely occupied. The apparent vacant areas were probably as important as the built ones. Taking Pasargadae as a precedent, we may see large empty spaces as intended for various types of gardens, perhaps, in case of the largest spaces, even for parks. The visitor passed, in fact, a staged landscape, where buildings retreated behind areas of parks and gardens. There was thus no increase to be noticed in the abundance of architecture when approaching the Royal Quarter. The image of Persepolis, suggested by various types of eld research combined with some hypothetical speculation, is that of a well-irrigated and green place from which arises the powerful terrace with its lofty structures. Perhaps this vision reects Darius’ intention: instead of his military power in the shape of high walls, the king decided to demonstrate his total mastery over a rich and pacied empire.

4. Water in Persepolis Concerning the hypothesis of gardens and cultivated spaces between the different built-up areas in Persepolis Settled Zone, the question of water beyond the simple needs of people and animals is crucial. Of course, the issue of how the terrace itself was supplied with water has often been raised, but has not yet received a satisfactory answer.38 The important point here is the critical need for the circulation of water within the Persepolitan landscape. A stone-cut canal carries water from Estakhr but arrives at a level below that of the terrace oor.39 The source of ešmeh Al must also be mentioned; until a few years ago it had quite an important output, but it has since dried up – surely be-

38

39

out by S. Gondet in 2013 has revealed another important building nearby but it cannot be dated without soundings (Gondet et al., forthcoming in ARTA) Water supply on the Takht is certainly a major issue for future research. Apart from the stone-cut cistern between the terrace and the slope of the K h-e Rahmat, the very elaborate network of canals, and perhaps of cisterns, under the oors of the buildings have sometimes been linked with the water needs on the Takht. This network is, however, primarily a drainage system for rainwater coming down from the mountain. The square-shaped reservoir in the Southern Quarter and the hypothetical large basin between that Quarter and the terrace have sometimes gured in the discussion of water resources. An image from Persepolis Illustrata is reproduced in Mousavi 2012, g.6.2. The partly constructed stone-cut canal coming from S vand and Estakhr (Moradi-Jalal et al. 2010: 94) and running some 800 m north of the terrace is not to be seen anymore; it lies almost 20 m below the terrace oor (Boucharlat et al. 2012: 273-79). The canal could have served some of the areas north and west of the terrace, perhaps even Persepolis West.

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cause of motorized pumps. One or another water resource may have been tapped in the surroundings of the terrace. Getting water from the river Polvr would have been problematic; today the river-bed is deeply incised, and recent geomorphologic studies tell us that the situation was not different in Achaemenid times. Exploiting that river would have required a water-lifting device or a dam of which, as far as I know, there are no traces. On some early engravings a watercourse is indicated; the enigmatic Persepolis Illustrata, published in 1739, shows a considerable watercourse designated in the legend as the river Araxes; the upstream part of this river is obviously fanciful.40

g.10: map of the terrace within the plain showing the stream coming from Estakhr and running at some 500 m west of the terrace (Flandin & Coste 1843-54, 2, pl.64, detail)

On the plan in Flandin and Coste (g.10) a stream runs some 300 m west of the terrace, as it does, a century later, ca. 1938, on Schmidt’s plan.41 It clearly shows on the aerial photo taken by Schmidt in 1937 (1940, pl.2). On the plans by Flandin and Coste and by Schmidt’s the stream branches off from the river Polvr upstream of Estakhr. The archaeological activities undertaken in the twentieth century have 40

41

This curious little work, published anonymously in London in 1739, contains a number of the engravings by C. le Brun, ones that had been published in his English edition several years before in 1720. The engraving of a view towards the west strongly resembles, however, Chardin’s engraving (cf. Invernizzi 2005a, g.77); the watercourse called Araxes in Persepolis Illustrata does not appear in Chardin’s engraving. The reasons which caused this edition to be “published according to Act of Parliament” – as the legend for the illustrations runs – remain unknown. See also Briant, this volume. Schmidt 1953, g.13. In Flandin & Coste 1843-54, pl.65 the relation between the course of the river and the terrace is more precise.

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not revealed any trace of the branch or a dam that would have been required to raise the waters of the Polvr, which lay several meters incised below/ deeper than the plain level.42 If this articial watercourse did exist in Achaemenid times, it would have been a visible mark in the landscape of the Persepolis Settled Zone, perhaps serving as a boundary between two areas with different functions or as a watercourse placed intentionally in the midst of an area of parks or gardens, as at Pasargadae.43 At Pasargadae, the waters needed for purposes of irrigation and pleasure required serious planning and investment not only at the site itself, but also dozens of kilometres upstream (the construction of dams using advanced technology).44 In the plain of Persepolis, the Persian kings constructed important hydraulic works, dams, and canals in order to make the terrain cultivable.45 Most likely they also planned and even realized important hydraulic works close to the city in order to supply the inhabitants with water and to irrigate the gardens.

5. Conclusion The image of the Persepolitan landscape remains extremely vague. Conceived as a whole, terrace and surrounding monuments (Royal Quarter) and Persepolis Settled Zone, the site does not take on the form of a traditional capital city in the ancient Orient. The only feature that Persepolis and older cities have in common is the existence of a well-dened centre of power, namely the Royal Quarter at the foot of the mountains. The city of Persepolis existed in two distinct sections. One is situated at a certain height, visible from afar, and quite impressive, the massive terrace that supports tall structures. The ensemble is not hidden to inhabitants or visitors, but is, on the contrary, quite visible. There are no defensive walls to north, west, or south. A simple enclosure wall at the west certainly did not act as shield or block the view of terrace as a visitor approached. Indeed, the space between the terrace and that simple enclosure wall was intentionally left free of major built structures so as to enhance the majesty of the massive terrace. Domestic quarters, élite and common, were loosely distributed over several square kilometres. 42

43

44

45

Schmidt 1939, g.2 (map), 4 (photograph). The geomorphologic study should extend to the banks of the Polvr from Estakhr until Fr z and beyond. Note that this course is close to, or corresponds to, that of the ‘rampart’ reconstructed by Aminzadeh & Samani 2006 and also close to A. Sami’s hypothetical wall (cf. §2). See Benech, Boucharlat & Gondet 2012: 9-11; De Schacht et al. 2012; Wilkinson et al. 2012: 165-7. The vestiges of water management have been noted since the time of Herzfeld (Bergner 1937) and were pointed out again by W. Sumner (1986); recent studies have provided more details (Boucharlat et al. 2012: 269-80).

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In Susa, construction of which was contemporary with that at Persepolis, similar objectives prevail. Instead of building up the dozens of hectares that were available for constructions in the area known today as the ‘Ville Royale,’ Darius preferred to concentrate on the Apadana. He had the surface enlarged (but not above the level of the neighbouring hill) and put his palace at the edge of the hill. His elevated residence and, especially, the Apadana thereby struck the eye of visitor approaching from the north or the east. The Apadana was, on its part, dominated, however, by the old citadel (the tell known today as the Acropole), situated more than 20 m higher than the Apadana – just as the terrace at Persepolis was dominated by the mountain and its fortication. The arrangement of the Royal Quarter and the place assigned to the domestic quarters at Persepolis is a bit less surprising when one calls to mind Pasargadae, the older imperial residence.46 For instance, the construction that Cyrus must have planned on top of the Tall-e Takht would have rested on a platform made of dressed stones, but appears in no way like a work of defence. Here, too, the raised parts are only meant to impress. At Pasargadae, in the plain, the entrance to the site is marked by Gate R, a symbolic passage which is not fortied. From there, an immense extent of verdure is spread out before the visitor, in contrast with the rather barren environment. The main part in the centre is not raised, but emphasized by the straight lines of the very regular garden around which there rose some columned buildings. The quarters for habitation or administration lie at some distance, perhaps 2 km to the north, in an enclosed area of 20 ha. At Persepolis, too, the rich and the common quarters are situated far from the centre, not jammed inside an enclosure wall.47 Much remains to be done before we are able fully to grasp the plan of Darius and later rulers for the surroundings of their residences; the evidence currently available indicates, however, that they broke with the traditional forms of urbanism that had prevailed in the Near East. Perhaps this new imperial ‘urban’ image reects a concept of power different from that which previous empires sought to convey. A (potential) political motivation may account for the nature of the disposition and appearance of the royal residences, Pasargadae, Persepolis, and Susa, and perhaps also for the satrapal residences.48 Whether such a political calculus was applied to the planning of any of the other towns of the empire is, however, less clear.

46 47

48

Although, of course, there are differences between the two sites. In that regard, Susa remains an enigma. The 70 ha of the ‘Ville Royale’ have a visual boundary, not a rampart, but a slope rising to a height of 15 to 18 m. According to the archaeologists, the area inside the slope is free of any “permanent constructions” (Perrot 2010: Fig. 108). Dahan-e olmn in S stn and now Kara amirli in Republic of Azarbaijan appear as élite or satrapal residences.

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Bibliography ADLE, C. & ZOKA, Y. 1983, Notes et documents sur la photographie iranienne et son histoire, StIr 12: 249-80. AMINPOUR, B. 2006, Dar mohavateh -ye b st n p r mn-e Takht-e amš d, goz reš-e mot le’ t moqadam t / Archeogeophysics and magnetometry survey in ancient Sites around Persepolis, Bastanpazhui 1: 5, 18-21 [in Persian, with English summary]. AMINZADEH, B. & SAMANI, F. 2006, Identifying boundaries of the historical site of Persepolis using remote sensing, Remote Sensing of Environment 102: 52-62. ASKARI CHAVERDI, A., CALLIERI, P. & GONDET, S. 2013, Tol-e jori: A new monumental building in P rsa: Preliminary cross interpretations from recent surveys and excavations works around Persepolis (2005-2012), ARTA 2013.006. BENECH, C., BOUCHARLAT, R. & GONDET, S. 2012, Organisation et aménagement de l’espace à Pasargadae: Reconnaissances archéologiques de surface, 2003-2008, ARTA 2012.003. BERGNER, K. 1937, Bericht über unbekannte achaemenidische Ruinen in der Ebene von Persepolis, AMI 8: 1-4. BESSAC, J.C. & BOUCHARLAT, R. 2010, Le monument de Takht-e Rustam, près de Persépolis dit ‘tombeau inachevé de Cambyse’ – note technique et reconsidérations, ARTA 2010.003. BOUCHARLAT, R. 2007, Achaemenid residences and elusive imperial cities, in: A. Luther, R. Rollinger & J. Wiesehöfer (eds.), Getrennte Wege? Kommunikation, Raum und Wahrnehmung in der Alten Welt (Oikumene 2), Frankfurt a.M.: 454-71. BOUCHARLAT, B., DE SCHACHT, T. & GONDET, S. 2012, Surface reconnaissance in the Persepolis Plain (2005-2008): New data on the city organisation and landscape management, in: G.P. Basello & A. Rossi (eds.), Dariosh studies, vol. 2: Persepolis and its settlements: Territorial system and ideology in the Achaemenid state (Università degli Studi di Napoli “L’Orientale,” Dipartimento Asia, Africa e Mediterraneo, series minor 78), Napoli: 123-66. BRIANT, P. 1982, Rois, tributs et paysans: Étude sur les formations tributaires du MoyenOrient ancien (Annales littéraires de l’Université de Besançon 269), Paris. –––– 2002, From Cyrus to Alexander: A history of the Persian empire, Winona Lake. CURZON, G.N. 1892, Persia and the Persian question, vol. 2, London. DE SCHACHT, T., DAPPER, M. DE, ASADI, A., UBELMANN, Y. & BOUCHARLAT, R. 2012, Geoarchaeological study of the Achaemenid dam of Sad-i Didegan (Fars, Iran), Géomorphologie: relief, processus, environnement 1: 91-108. DIEULAFOY, J. 1887, La Perse, la Chaldée et la Susiane, Relation de voyage, Paris. DIEULAFOY, M. 1884-89, L’art antique de la Perse, 2 vols., Paris. FLANDIN, E. 1851, Voyage en Perse de mm. Eugène Flandin, peintre, et Pascal Coste, architecte, attachés a l’ambassade de France en Perse pendant les années 1840 et 1841: relation de voyage, 2 vols., Paris. FLANDIN, E. & COSTE, P. 1843-54, Voyage en Perse (…): Perse ancienne, 5 vols., Paris. GONDET, S. 2011, Occupation de la plaine de Persépolis au Ier millénaire av.J.-C. (Fars central, Iran), (diss. Université Lyon 2).

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HAKEMI, A 1970/1349 AP, b-e Takht-e amš d dar zamn-e Hakhmaneš yn az ko ta’m n m šode?, Barressh y-e T rkh 5: 1-6. HALLOCK, R.T. 1969, Persepolis Fortication tablets (OIP 92), Chicago. HERZFELD, E. 1929-30, Rapport sur l’état actuel des ruines de Persépolis, et propositions pour leur conservation, AMI 1: 17-40. –––– 1941, Iran in the ancient East, London. INVERNIZZI, A. 2005a, Il Genio Vagante: Viaggiatori alla scoperta dell’antico Oriente (secc. XII-XVIII) (Mnème 5), Alessandria. –––– 2005b, Ambrogio Bembo: Viaggio e giornale per parte dell’Asia (1671-1675), disegni di Joseph Guillaume Grelot (Orientalia 10), Torino. KLEISS, W. 1980, Zur Entwicklung der achaemenischen Palastarchitektur, IrAnt 15: 199211. KREFTER, F. 1971, Persepolis Rekonstruktionen: Der Wiederaufbau des Frauenpalastes, Rekonstruktionen der Paläste, Modell von Persepolis (TehF 3), Berlin. LECOQ, P. 1997, Les inscriptions de la Perse achéménide, Paris. LE BRUN, C. 1725, Voyage de Corneille Le Bruyn par La Moscovie, En Perse, Et aux Indes Orientales, nouvelle édition, vol. 3, Paris. MORADI-JALAL, M., ARIANFAR, S., KARNEY, B. & COLOMBO, A. 2010, Water resource management for Iran’s Persepolis Complex, in: L.W. Mays (ed.), Ancient water technology, Berlin: 87-102. MOUSAVI, A. 1992, Parsa, a stronghold for Darius: A preliminary study of the defence system of Persepolis, East and West 42: 203-26. –––– 2002, Persepolis in retrospect: histories of discoveries and archaeological exploration at the ruins of ancient Parseh, ArsOr 32: 209-51. –––– 2012, Persepolis, discovery and afterlife of a world wonder, Berlin. NIEBUHR, C. 1776-1780, Voyage en Arabie et d’autres pays circonvoisins, 2 vols., Paris. PERROT, J. (ed.) 2010, Le palais de Darius à Suse: Une résidence royale sur la route de Persépolis à Babylone, Paris. PERROT, G. & CHIPIEZ, C. 1890, Histoire de l’art dans l’antiquité, vol. 5: Perse, Phrygie, Lydie et Carie, Lycie, Paris. SCHMIDT, E.F. 1939, The Treasury of Persepolis and other discoveries in the homeland of the Achaemenians (OIC 21), Chicago. –––– 1940, Flights over ancient cities of Iran, Chicago. –––– 1953, Persepolis, vol 1: Structures, reliefs, inscriptions (OIP 68), Chicago. STOLZE, F.C. & ANDREAS, F. 1882, Die achaemenidischen und sassanidischen Denkmäler und Inschriften von Persepolis, Istakhr, Pasargadae, Shâhpûr, 2 vols., Berlin. STRONACH, D. 1978, Pasargadae: A report on the excavations conducted by the British Institute of Persian Studies from 1961 to 1963, Oxford. –––– 1989, The royal garden at Pasargadae: Evolution and legacy, in: L. De Meyer & E. Haerinck (eds.), Archaeologia Iranica et Orientalis: Miscellanea in honorem Louis Vanden Berghe, Gent: 475-502. SUMNER, W.M. 1986, Achaemenid settlement in the Persepolis Plain, AJA 90: 3-31. TADJVIDI, A. 1976/2535 ARR, D nestanh -ye novn darb reh-ye honar va b st nšen s-ye asr-e hakh maneš bar bony d-e k vošh -ye pan s leh-ye Takht-e amšd, Tehran.

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TILIA, A.B. 1969, Reconstruction of the parapet on the terrace wall at Persepolis, south and west of Palace H, East and West 19: 9-43. –––– 1972, Studies and restorations at Persepolis and other sites of Frs, vol. 1 (ISMEO 16), Roma. –––– 1978, Studies and restorations at Persepolis and other sites of Frs, vol. 2 (ISMEO 18), Roma. WELD-BLUNDELL, H. 1893, Persepolis, in: E.D. Morgan (ed.), Transactions of the ninth International Congress of Orientalists, vol. 2, London: 537-59. WILKINSON, T.J., GILLMORE, G., BOUCHARLAT, R., ERTSEN, M.W., DE SCHACHT, T., MAGEE, P., REZAKHANI, K. & KENNET, D. 2012, From human niche construction to imperial power: Long-term trends in ancient Iranian water systems, Water History 4: 155-76.

VISUAL DISPLAY AND WRITTEN RECORD: REFLECTIONS ON SOME OF XERXES’ INSCRIPTIONS AT PERSEPOLIS Ali Mousavi (Los Angeles)

1. Introduction There are a number of inscriptions from the reign of Xerxes (486-65 BCE) that were found in inconspicuous places at Persepolis; several exist in multiple exemplars and are today quite well know, such as the ‘Harem’ and ‘Daiv’ inscriptions. A number of additional fragmentary documents have been discovered in various areas of the site and its vicinity. Of these, only one was found in its original context; the others had been either re-used as construction materials or randomly abandoned across the site. A re-examination of their archaeological context may shed light on different phases of construction activities and the history of the site of Persepolis. The Oriental Institute excavations in the eastern fortication of the terrace, in what Schmidt called room 16 of the Garrison Quarter, revealed the rst series of these inscriptions in the form of seven stone tablets which had been (re-)used to form a bench (g.1).1 Of these, three bear the text known as the ‘harem’ inscription (XPf), while four others belong to the famous series of the ‘Daiv’ inscription (XPh). An eighth stone tablet, bearing the Elamite version of XPh, was found in fragments placed on a mud-brick wall between room 5 and courtyard 14 (Schmidt 1953: 210, g.87d-e). The missing fragment of this copy was discovered years later, in 1956, in Sami’s excavations in the eastern fortication of the terrace.2

2. The ‘Harem’ inscription (XPf) The ‘Harem’ inscription of Xerxes has survived in a total of ve exemplars, four in Old Persian, and one in Babylonian.3 Friedrich Krefter (in 1932) discovered the 1 2 3

Schmidt 1939: 10, g.9; idem 1953: 209. Sami 1967: 74; for the text see Cameron 1959: 470-76. One Babylonian and one Old Persian exemplar were found in the Southeast Palace (the ‘Harem’); three other Old Persian exemplars were found in the Garrison Quarter along

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g.1: discovery of Xerxes’ inscriptions in room 16 of the Garrison Quarter (photograph courtesy Oriental Institute, University of Chicago)

rst Old Persian version of this inscription under the foundation walls of the Southeast Palace (later named erroneously by Herzfeld as the Harem of Xerxes). It is an inscribed stone slab measuring 58 × 52 × 11 cm. In this inscription Xerxes articulates his lineage and describes how he was chosen by his father, Darius I, to become the crown prince of the empire.4 Without providing any illustration, Herzfeld described the ndspot of the inscription as follows (1932: 1): When rebuilding the southwest corner of that palace, Mr. Krefter, the architect of the expedition, thought it necessary not to use the remains of the ancient wall but to renew the corner from its foundation. Hence the old sun-dried bricks, preserved to a

4

with other inscriptions. Two of these (PT 139, PT 140 in Schmidt’s nomenclature) bear masons marks similar to those found on the staircases of the Apadana and the Central Palace, an important point for their date (Schmidt 1957: 51; Roaf 1983: 51, 62f., 85). For the text and its translation, see Herzfeld 1932: 1-5. A new translation is given in Schmitt 2000: 81-5. The Elamite version of the inscription has never been found.

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height of about 1 meter, were taken away. Below appeared the usual deposit of small stones and rubble with which the Achaemenian architects leveled the uneven surface of the rock terrace. And directly under the lowest course of bricks, among those small stones, there was lying, on a bedding of small pieces of crystalline sulphur and remains probably of some fragrant wood, a block of calcareous stone measuring about 52 × 58 cm and from 6 to 11 cm thick, shaped like a Babylonian clay tablet and wholly inscribed with 48 lines of Old Persian cuneiform.

Herzfeld interpreted the text as indicating that Darius, after making Xerxes coregent, abdicated the throne in favor of his son (1932: 7f.): The main contents of our ofcial document, then, are the three irregularities in the succession of Xerxes, every single one an expression of the will of Ahuramazda. This god, whom the king glories in the opening paragraph, makes the grandson king instead of the grandfather, the younger son instead of the elder, and the son king within the lifetime of his father. He does not care for custom and tradition; he is revolutionary. Behind that the unexpressed secret of this strange inscription must be concealed. That creator of the world and chooser of kings is in name the ancient god of the Aryans, but in essence a new god into whom Zarathustra has instilled a new meaning. He does not care for old customs, for he chooses his closest adherents.

Herzfeld’s rather exquisite argument was later refuted by Kent, who published a detailed study of the text.5 We may assume that the one Old Persian exemplar of XPf was found in its original place, i.e., deposited in the foundation of the building, but apparently without accompanying exemplars in Babylonian and Elamite. The one surviving Babylonian exemplar suggests that an Elamite version also existed (cf. n.1 above).

3. The ‘Daiv’ inscription (XPh) The ‘Daiv’ inscription has survived in ve exemplars, three Old Persian, one Elamite, and one Babylonian.6 Two of the Old Persian exemplars were unearthed in the remains of the Garrison Quarter of the terrace. The Elamite exemplar was found in two pieces “on an early wall remnant or bench between room 5 and courtyard 14 in the Treasury.” Another fragment of this stone was found in Ali Sami’s excavations in the area to the east of the Treasury in 1957.7 The third Old Persian exemplar, in a fairly complete shape, was later discovered at Pasargadae, where it had been reused in the construction of a channel. As Stronach remarks, the

5 6 7

Kent 1933: 44f.; Schmidt 1957: 51. Lecoq 1997: 256-58; Schmitt 2000: 88-95. Sami 1967: 74; Cameron 1959: 470-76.

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tablet in question “can hardly be said to add anything fresh from a linguistic point of view. Its signicance lies instead in what it tells us about Pasargadae during the reign of Xerxes (486-65 BCE) as an independent testimony to the attention that continued to be paid to Pasargadae long after the death of Cyrus” (1978: 152, pl. 161). The archaeological context of the tablet has been dated to Period II of the Tall-e Takht. Stronach dates the destruction of this level to the early years of the third century BCE, associated with the death of Seleucus I in 280 BCE (ibid. 155). It seems that this XPf tablet was reused as construction material at a time that ranges from the end of the Achaemenid period to the death of Seleucus. One should also mention another inscription of Xerxes, now labeled XPl, which was found in “a cultivated eld, within two kilometers of the Persepolis ruins, near the highway which leads to Esfahan and Tehran.”8 The text, in Old Persian, repeats 9 DNb:1-49. The nd spot of the tablet is near Naqš-e Rustam, but it is quite possible that the tablet had been kept originally in the archive rooms of Persepolis. Fragments of an another Old Persian exemplar of XPl were found in Herzfeld’s excavations of the fratarak complex near Persepolis.10

4. Discussion Of the texts mentioned here, the ‘Daiv’ inscription (XPh), given its striking content, has become the object of much discussion and scholarly debate.11 Herzfeld was the rst to translate the text and to draw attention to its content. Without paying much attention to the ndspot of the various exemplars, he interpreted Xerxes’ ban of this cult as the failure of his policy to suppress the worship of Daiv (1937: 77). In two long articles Abdi attempts to date the removal of the inscription from Persepolis to Pasargadae rst to the reign of Artaxerxes II (Abdi 2006/07: 72), who is erroneously said to have introduced the cult of Anhit and Mi ra in Persia, and then to the reign of Xerxes’ son and successor, Artaxerxes I (idem 2010: 284). One cannot nd convincing reasons as to why Artaxerxes I might have removed such an important text issued by his famous father. The interpretation of the content of XPh is beyond the scope of this paper, but I would like to point out the differences between the Old Persian and Elamite versions. The Elamite versions of Achaemenid royal inscriptions are typically more

8 9 10 11

Gharib 1968: 54, pls.15-7; Hinz 1969: 45-52. See Schmitt 2000: 99-105 for a new translation. For a full discussion and bibliography see Schmitt 2000: 99. For a full discussion and bibliography see Herrenschmidt & Kellens 1993: 599-602.

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informative and less ambiguous than the Old Persian version.12 A well-known instance is the Elamite version of the inscription of Darius the Great at Bsot n. XPh gives a list of the countries of which Xerxes is the king. The rst two are Media and Elam. The Old Persian version (ll.28-35) continues as follows: Proclaims Xerxes, the king: When I became king, there was among those countries which (are) inscribed above (one, which) was in turmoil. Afterwards, Ahuramazda brought me aid; by the favour of Ahuramazda I defeated that country and put it in its proper place. (Schmitt 2000: 93)

The Elamite version (ll.24-8) of the same passage reads as follows: King Xerxes says: when I became king, there was, in the country, cited before (the others), confusion. Afterwards, Ahuramazda brought me aid; by the favour of Ahuramazda I defeated it and put its (inhabitants) on their proper place. (after Vallat 1977: 210-2; idem 2010: 70)

Vallat’s translation, which diverges from common understanding of the passage, allows him to think of a reference to the (rst) country listed previously, i.e. Persia. He accordingly assumes that the Elamite version makes allusion to a war of succession that followed Xerxes’ accession to the throne.13 Would this then be a reemergence of the Magi, whom his father, Darius, had combatted 35 years ago? Had Xerxes decided to eliminate this socio-religious threat by issuing such a decree, as Vallat suggests? Or rather, as noted by Briant (based on the Old Persian version), the king “makes no allusion to a rebellious country or to royal activities specically located in space and time,” and this inscription simply “illustrated the permanence of his power” and the heritage of his father (2002: 553)? Be that as it may, all the exemplars of XPh were discovered in secondary contexts where they had been reused, as Schmidt reports, in “a very profane manner” in the construction of a mud-brick bench. As for the date of the deposit, he writes: However, we did not succeed in tracing a denitive oor layer corresponding to the level of the tops of the slabs. So our original assumption may be correct: that the discarded royal records, as well as the bricks, had simply been used to face a bench or benches of mud. (Schmidt 1953: 209)

Xerxes left versions of fourteen different inscriptions at Persepolis, some of which come from the royal buildings outside the terrace of Persepolis. The inscriptions from off the terrace rst appeared in Sami’s excavations of a columned hall to the south of the terrace (Columned Hall F in Tadjvidi’s nomenclature). Inscribed column bases indicate that this hall was constructed under Xerxes. The inscriptions 12 13

An example is given by Vallat 2010: 58-62; see also Stolper 2004: 63f. Vallat 2010: 69-71. For the details of Xerxes’ accession see Briant 2002: 524.

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all carry the same text (XPm): “Says Xerxes, the king, I built this tacara.”14 According to Godard, in employing the title “king,” rather than “king of kings,” Xerxes was indicating that he was only crown prince, not king (Darius still being alive).15 Forty complete or fragmentary inscribed column tori were also found in various parts of a large residential building known as Complex H, south of the terace. The trilingual inscription is the same as those dis16 g. 2: Persepolis, Building B, inscribed torus made of one covered by Sami (XPm). According to Tadjvidi, most of an exemplar of XPf (Akkadian version), obverse of these inscribed tori had (after Tadjvidi 1976, pl.52) intentionally been broken at the time of the capture of the city in 330 BCE (1976: 158f.). The last inscription excavated from the area south of the terrace is a fragment of the Babylonian version of XPf; the stone had been reshaped and reused as a torus. It was found in Building B, a four-columned hall with a series of corridors and rooms, including a courtyard (g.2). The building is equipped with water conduits and baked brick pavements. A number of poorly preserved Greek and Seleucid coins were found in the excavations, indicating that the building was re-used in later times.17 This brief re-examination of the archaeological context of a selection of Xerxes’ inscriptions suggests that virtually all of them were deliberately removed from their original context, broken, and reused in a ‘profane’ manner after the fall of the city. This cannot have anything to do with religious reforms or the passing of the throne from one king to another as has been suggested in some previous publications. The reason for their treatment in this manner remains an intriguing subject for further study. 14 15 16

17

Lecoq 1997: 103, 261; Schmitt 2000: 106. Godard 1954: 17; see also Sami 1952: 53f.; Mousavi 2012: 79. Tadjvidi 1976: 157f., n.7, gs.102-3; Mousavi 2012: 36, g.1.18; for the text see Steve 1972: 20f.; Lecoq 1997: 259-61. Tadjvidi 1976: 108f., g.52; for the text see Steve 1972: 22.

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Bibliography ABDI, K. 2006-2007, The ‘Daiv ’ inscription revisted, N me-ye Ir n-e B st n 6/1-2: 45-74. –––– 2010, The passing of the throne from Xerxes to Artaxerxes I, or how an archaeological observation can be a potential contribution to Achaemenid historiography, in: J. Curtis & StJ. Simpson (eds.), The world of Achaemenid Persia: Art and society in Iran and the ancient Near East, London: 275-84. BRIANT, P. 2002, From Cyrus to Alexander: A history of the Persian empire, Winona Lake. CAMERON, G.G. 1959, The Daiva inscription of Xerxes in Elamite, WO 2: 470-76. GHARIB, B. 1968, A newly found Old Persian inscription, IrAnt 2: 54-69. GODARD, A. 1954, The newly found palace of prince Xerxes at Persepolis and sculptures which the architects rejected, Illustrated London News, 2 January 1954: 17-19. HERZFELD, E. 1932, A new inscription of Xerxes from Persepolis (SAOC 5), Chicago. –––– 1937, Xerxes Verbot des Daiva-Cultes, AMI 8: 56-77. HINZ, W. 1969, Altiranische Funde und Forschungen, Berlin. KENT, R.G. 1937, The Daiva-inscription of Xerxes, Language 13: 292-305. LECOQ, P. 1997, Les inscriptions de la Perse achéménide, Paris. MOUSAVI, A. 2012, Persepolis: Discovery and afterlife of a world wonder, Berlin. ROAF, M. 1983, Sculptures and sculptors at Persepolis = Iran 21, London. SAMI, A. 1952, K vošh -ye dav zdah s le-ye bong h-e elmi-ye Takht-e amš d, Goz rešh y-e B st nšen s 2: 17-112. –––– 1967, Persepolis (Takht-i Jamshid), Shiraz [5th ed.]. SCHMIDT, E.F. 1939, The Treasury of Persepolis and other discoveries in the homeland of the Achaemenians, Chicago. –––– 1953, Persepolis, vol. 1: Structures, reliefs, inscriptions (OIP 68), Chicago. –––– 1957, Persepolis, vol. 2: Contents of the Treasury and other discoveries (OIP 69), Chicago. SCHMITT, R. 2000, The Old Persian inscriptions of Naqsh-i Rustam and Persepolis (CII 1.1.2), London. STEVE, M.-J. 1975, Inscriptions des Achéménides à Suse (n), StIr 4: 7-26. STRONACH, D. 1978, Pasargadae: A report on the excavations conducted by the British Institute of Persian Studies from 1961 to 1963, Oxford. TADJVIDI, A. 1976/2535 ARR, D nestan h -ye nov n darb reh-ye honar va b st nšen s -ye asr-e hakh maneš bar bony d-e k vošh -ye pan s leh-ye Takht-e amš d, Tehran. VALLAT, F. 1977, Corpus des inscriptions royales en élamite achéménide (unpublished diss. Paris). –––– 2010, Darius: Le Grand Roi, in: J. Perrot (ed.), Le palais de Darius à Suse: Une résidence royale sur la route de Persépolis à Babylone, Paris: 50-71.

FORGOTTEN UNDER THE SHADOW: AN UNIDENTIFIED STRUCTURE AT PERSEPOLIS Shahrokh Razmjou (Tehran)

1. Introduction Thanks to the scientific excavations conducted at Persepolis since the 1920s, many buildings and structures have been unearthed, allowing for increasing understanding of the complex in antiquity.1 Although most of the buildings and structures on the platform of Persepolis have been excavated already, some areas remain unexplored and/or understudied. Studying these places and their remains provides more evidence for a better understanding of the function of Persepolis. One of the important buildings at Persepolis is the Tachara (OP tacara), also known as the Palace of Darius (gs.1-2). This structure was built by Darius the Great and was one of the first royal structures planned and built on the Persepolis platform.2 Although it was begun during the reign of Darius, its inscriptions make clear that it was completed, with some changes, during the reign of his son, Xerxes. More than a century later, a double-sided staircase was also built on the western side of the building by Artaxerxes III, as described in his inscription in the middle of the staircase.3 The Tachara is located on a higher level on the platform of Persepolis, making it clearly visible from the facing plain. The fact that it was better preserved than many of the surrounding buildings meant that it attracted many visitors and much attention throughout history – even more than other ruins at Persepolis. This is shown by the many inscriptions and grafti carved on the stones of this palace, from the inscriptions of Sasanian dignitaries and early kings of the Islamic Period to almost contemporary inscriptions, including a nineteenth century Qajar prince

1

2 3

The author studied the unidentied structure discussed below in the 1990s. The results of those investigations became the subject of an MA thesis (Razmjou 2002) and were subsequently incorporated into a Ph.D. thesis (Razmjou 2008: 239-41). Schmidt 1953: 40; Shahbazi 2004: 137; Roaf 1983: 157. 3 b A Pa : Kent 1953: 114, 156; Schmidt 1953: 224; Schmitt 2000: 114-8.

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g.1: the Tachara at Persepolis, seen from the north-west (photograph Sh. Razmjou)

who reported a royal visit and his excavation at that spot.4 Indeed, the building can be seen as a huge historical album of grafti, carvings and calligraphy. Because it stood so exposed and noticeable, the Tachara suffered more from architectural looting than some of the other buildings at Persepolis and is even now missing its column bases (unlike the Treasury Hall, which was buried and left mostly unseen). But despite the long-standing interest in it, the Tachara still possesses unidentied aspects and evokes important questions for study and interpretation. One feature of the Tachara that has previously been left almost unremarked is the presence of architectural remains outside the north-west corner of the building (g.3). Here, the remains of a vanished structure are visible on the ground. The remains are next to the northern wing of the western staircase of Artaxerxes III and consist of scattered plain stone fragments, two carved stone blocks, a stone basin, and also a stone drainage channel stretching through the western courtyard to the southern courtyard. This structure has never been drawn or shown on any published map of Persepolis – it is even missing from the precise site plan drawn by Krefter (1971). It is perhaps due to the unclear status of its remains that it attracted but little attention. 4

Mostafavi 1978: 224, 227. Even some architectural elements were removed from the site by a Buyid king in the early Islamic period to be installed in another place, known as Qasr-e Ab-Nasr. The pieces were later returned to Persepolis by the restoration team of Persepolis; see Tilia 1972: 55, pl.204, g.165; also Shahbazi 2004: 149.

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g.2: the Tachara on the Persepolis platform, with view of the Marvdašt (photograph Shahrokh Razmjou)

g.3: architectural remains at the north-west corner of the Tachara (photograph Shahrokh Razmjou)

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2. History of research In the drawings by earlier travellers such as Flandin, the western side of the Tachara seems to be completely buried. However, Flandin and Coste cleared the walls of the platform down to some level in 1841, work which was later continued by Andreas and Stolze.5 It was only during the excavations by the Oriental Institute that the remains of the vanished structure were recovered.6 Prior to this author’s study of the area, six scholars had noticed the remains and mentioned the area briey in their notes and publications. A brief overview will help to illuminate the history of the area’s study. The rst was Ernst Herzfeld, who excavated some parts of Persepolis, including said area, in the 1930s. He drew a sketch of the western façade of the Tachara (g.4) together with the stone remains in one of his booklets.7 This shows that Herzfeld was aware of the architectural remains; perhaps they simply interested him less than other more spectacular and less ambiguous features at Persepolis. Herzfeld’s successor, Erich Schmidt, mentioned the area briey (1953: 222): There is a hollowed-out stone – a drip stone for roof drainage – connected with a section of a stone channel in the courtyard west of Room 8.

This brief description focuses only on the stone basin that Schmidt identied as a “drip stone for roof drainage.” His suggestion is apparently based on the existence of the stone basin and drainage channel, but there is no reference to the other remains. About four decades after Herzfeld’s excavations, the area was again noticed by the Tilias, who worked on the Persepolis restoration project. They did not follow Schmidt’s identication of the stone basin as a drip stone for roof drainage. Instead they suggested that the basin was perhaps “an outlet for water from a water-basin, which served for ablutions before entering the palace or for collecting blood from a sacrice enacted there” (Tilia 1972: 56). They correctly noticed the existence of two vanished walls, which suggested the presence of an open room of some sort (ibid.). Giuseppe Tilia also made a quick sketch of the remains, although he never published it (g.5).8

5 6 7

8

Flandin & Coste 1843-54, 2: 176-81; Schmidt 1953: 222. Flandin & Coste 1843-54, pls.66-7; Tilia 1972: 56. I am grateful to the Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, for allowing me to study the sketchbook of Herzfeld (sketchbook XXII, p. 22) and to use a copy of Herzfeld’s sketch from the west side of the Tachara. This sketch was in the archive of the Technical Ofce at Persepolis. I am grateful to Hasan Rahsaz, former head of Technical Ofce, for giving me a copy of Tilia’s sketch and permission to use it.

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g.4: Herzfeld’s sketch of the north-west corner of the Tachara (sketchbook XXII, p.22, Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery Archives)

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g.5: G. Tilia’s sketch of the stone remains, basin, and drainage channel (Archive of Technical Ofce of Persepolis)

In 1976, Shahbazi briey mentioned the remains. His description of the area and its function was based on the Tilias’ explorations. Shahbazi agreed with the Tilias’ ritual interpretation; however he also made an extra suggestion:9 To the north of the staircase, remnants of a certain structure are scattered on the ground. A small basin hewn from a block of stone leads into a water channel; the course of this channel runs several meters westward, turns at a right angle, and continues more than 40 m southward, until it reaches the water channels of the southern courtyard of the “Tachara.” The basin and the immediate section of the water channel are surrounded by the remains of walls, indicating that there was once a chamber here. It is not clear if this water basin was intended for religious rites or for everyday usage.

Although Shahbazi referred to the remains of walls that indicated the existence of a chamber here, he provided no further details. Dutz is the last commentator to have mentioned the area (1977: 100). Like the Tilias and Shahbazi, Dutz suggested a ritual purpose for the remains, but he proposed that the function might lie specically with the activities of the king as he approached the Tachara. Thus he rejected Schmidt’s idea: The sacricial stone and blood drain are visible. This is not a roof drain, it is the only such stone in Persepolis; were it a roof drain, it would be pitted by rain from its 220 years of use and not be in such perfect condition. (Dutz 1977: 82)

In addition, he suggests a ritual procession of the king towards the Tachara: At the site of the sacricial stone and drain, still visible today, a large animal, either a bull or a ram, was slain and bled. The king stepped over the streaming blood owing through the drain, onto the stairs of the private Palace, which are adorned with gures of his personal servants. (ibid. 100)

Although Dutz seems to agree with the Tilias about the possible ritual and sacricial function of the spot, his suggestion is apparently based on his own observa9

Cited from the revised 2004 edition (Shahbazi 2004: 141f.).

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tion and examination of the remains at the site. He related the remains to the cult of Mithra, by comparison with Mithraea in Europe (ibid.; also gure caption). However, Dutz did not provide supporting evidence for this ritual procedure or the hypothesis. What is common in the works of these scholars, despite their different approaches, is the brevity of their discussion of the remains; some are not more than a sentence and the longest does not exceed a couple of paragraphs. This seems insufcient for an unknown and inadequately understood structure next to one of the most important buildings at Persepolis. Perhaps these brief and speculative references to the vanished structure result from lack of evidence and excavation, causing a vague and incomplete understanding and interpretation. As the remains at the site are fragmentary and ambiguous, it may have been difcult to study the area and to speculate about its function. Another likely reason is the confusing situation of the courtyard at this area. There is a clear elevation difference between the ground level of the Tachara’s western courtyard on which the structure was built and the ground level of the vanished southern and g.6: Schmidt’s reconstructed plan of the Tachara (1953: 219, g.92); the western western porticos of the neighbouring Great Columned Hall (the so-called staircase is drawn symmetrically, not shoApadana). The incomplete excavations wing the 90 degree turn of the north wing failed to nd an answer or provide enough evidence to account for the difference in the elevation between these two areas. Thus, for various reasons the scattered remains next to the Tachara of Darius remained unstudied and, eventually, forgotten. What attracted the attention of the author to this area, in addition to the stones themselves, was an interest in explaining why the two sides of the western staircase of Artaxerxes III are not symmetrical (gs.5-6).10 In the Achaemenid period, sym10

Curiously, all published plans of Persepolis, except one, portray the staircase as symmetrical. See, e.g., the reconstructed plans of the Tachara by De Mecquenem (1947: 107, g.70), Schmidt (1953: 219, g.92 [here g.6]), and Hakemi (in Mostafavi & Sami 1955) show a symmetrical staircase. Compare, however, G. Tilia’s unpublished

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metrical design and antithetical arrangements in art and architecture were very common, especially at Persepolis, and were followed by the architects and designers as a golden architectural rule. The unparalleled asymmetrical turn in the angle of the western staircase remained unnoticed by almost all previous scholars.

3. Physical indications for the existence of the structure The rst clue is the northern wing of the western staircase of the Tachara. Unlike the southern wing, it does not reach the ground level of the courtyard directly (gs. 7-8).11 The northern wing reaches the courtyard level with a sudden 90 degree turn to the west. Although the lower part of the staircase is missing today, the turning point (half of the landing stone) and the foundation of the staircase still exist and clearly show the 90 degree turn to the west (g.7). Even the reliefs of the individuals carved on the Tachara podium as if ascending the staircase are arranged in accordance with the turn, and the band of rosettes that were carved to frame the reliefs also stop here (g.8). Perhaps the turn in the staircase was built because there was an obstruction there that prevented it reaching the ground level directly in a straight line like the southern wing (g.9).12 In fact, there was one obstruction. A close examination shows traces of a vertical rough chiselled surface on the podium of the Tachara next to the landing stone (g.8). In addition to that, there is a scatter of cobble- and small boulder-size stones on the ground; these stones appear to be the foundation of a now vanished structure (g.11). These provide clear evidence for the existence of a wall and a oor at this spot, prior to the construction of the western staircase. The staircase thus had to be angled by the architects, simply because there was a wall and a structure in front of it, blocking its direct access to the ground. The Tachara podium retains traces of a 1.20 m wide vertical band of roughlychiselled surface, right next to the turning point of the staircase (g.8). To the north of this roughened zone on the wall is a polished surface; farther to the north, at the north-east corner of the Tachara podium, another roughly-chiselled vertical surface can be identied, where the projection of the podium in that corner is completely removed (gs.3, 10). In fact, two roughly chiselled vertical surfaces bracket a polished surface (g.13). This type of roughly-chiselled surface occurs at Persepolis

11

12

sketch plan (g.5), which clearly indicates that the southern stair is longer than the northern one. The plan drawn by Krefter is the only published plan showing the correct form of the staircase, but without any reconstruction for the vanished structure. Krefter (1971: 74) correctly noticed the turn of the staircase with a landing stone and three steps, but he did not refer to the reason of this unparalleled design of the staircase. As also suggested by Tilia 1972: 56f.

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in some plain façades or in those places where a mud brick wall adjoined a stone surface. Thus the roughly-chiselled surfaces provide evidence that two mud brick walls were attached to the west side of the Tachara podium at these two points. The width of the rough-chiselled trace next to the staircase, which is the clearer of the two, shows the thickness of the wall to have been 1.20 m.13 The roughly chiselled surface at the corner of the podium (g.10) indicates the location of the other wall framing the north side of the space. Although the width of this roughly chiselled surface is not as clear as the one next to the staircase, it seems to have been the same (i.e., 1.20 m).14 The surface of the podium between the two roughly chiselled surfaces that mark the mud brick walls is well polished (gs.10, 13). This polish is unusual for external surfaces of building podia at Persepolis or plain façades that bear no reliefs.15 Indeed, at Persepolis a polished surface without reliefs generally indicates internal space. It is thus clear that there was an architectural space or a room in this area enclosed by two mud brick walls at its north and south. The polished surface of the podium façade of the Tachara itself formed the internal eastern wall of the vanished room. That polished façade measures 5.60 m; together with the two rough-chiselled surfaces (traces for the mud brick walls at north and south), the exterior length of the room would have measured 8.00 m north-south (5.60 + 1.20 + 1.20 = 8.00 m). There must have been, accordingly, a western wall for this structure. The stone fragments of the foundation on the ground prove that the oor extended to the west (gs.3, 5, 11). Dening the exact east-west length of the structure is difcult due to the unclear situation of the half-buried scattered foundation stones, but its measurement can be suggested. The western extension of the foundation stones for the oor is about 8.00 meters. We therefore propose that the western wall lay along this line. This would yield a mud brick structure with a square plan 8.00 m on its exterior sides (gs.25-26).

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14

15

The landing stone of the staircase seems to have been placed 18 cm inside the mudbrick wall. This may imply a thickness of about 1.02 m, but the upper traces and where the reliefs stop clearly show a 1.20 m thickness for the wall. The roughly chiselled area in this corner is wider. But considering a missing foundation block of the oor proves the existence of a ca. 1.20 m thick wall. It should be noted that the external plain body of the Tachara’s podium (also evident in the Hadish), is originally semi-roughly chiselled. The artisans left the rough-chiselled surface for the joining wall of the structure and polished the inner space in between. The roughly chiselled surface is left unpolished or even roughened up more, to provide a suitable surface for the joining walls.

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g.7: half of the landing stone and foundation for remaining steps, northern wing of the western staircase (photograph Shahrokh Razmjou)

g.8: rough-chiseled band on the wall of the Tachara podium, next to the turning point of the staircase (photograph Shahrokh Razmjou)

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g.9: straight access of the southern wing of the western staircase with reliefs added to the podium (photograph Shahrokh Razmjou)

g.10: rough-chiseled part of the podium corner (removed projection) and the second remaining foundation block (photograph Shahrokh Razmjou)

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g.11: remnants of foundation stones (photograph Shahrokh Razmjou)

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4. External reconstruction The height of the building can be estimated from the thickness of the walls. A 1.20 m thickness could have supported a wall more or less between 7-10 m high. Although a building of this height seems quite tall, it would in fact have been slightly shorter than the Tachara and much shorter than the neighbouring Great Columned Hall. A pair of minor columned buildings built on the western corners of the Great Columned Hall, particularly the south-western one, which was very close to the vanished structure and partly in front of it, provide an appropriate parallel. Krefter’s calculations suggested a height of 8.76 m for those columned buildings.16 Although the exact height of the vanished structure to the west of the Tachara is uncertain, it may perhaps have been as tall as those minor buildings, or perhaps with its thick walls even as tall as the Tachara itself. Whether it reached that height or was slightly shorter, the visitor’s angled view from the plain (off the platform) would have made it seem similar in height to the Tachara without disturbing the architectural harmony of this area. Although it is not clear whether the height of the vanished structure matched the Tachara, its roof-line was probably decorated with the same parapet design that Krefter reconstructed for the roof-line of the Tachara.17

4.1. Doorway How was this structure entered? The eastern side of the building was in fact the stone Tachara podium and its mud brick superstructure, so there was no access to the building from the east. The southern side was attached to the spot where the landing of the western staircase turned to reach the courtyard, so any entrance from the south would have been blocked by the staircase or situated right next to it, which would have been very unusual. The northern side of the building faced the gigantic wall of the south-western tower of the Great Columned Hall; with only about a meter between the buildings (Schmidt 1953: 222), this narrow corridor makes an unlikely entrance to the room. That leaves only the western side, which opened to the western courtyard of the Tachara with a view of the Marvdašt (g.2). The doorway’s scale might have followed those in the Tachara. I suggest a 1.40 m width for the doorway of the structure, like the doorway of the western staircase.18

16 17

18

Krefter 1972, Beilagen 3-5, 18, 20, 30, 34. For the reconstructed crenelated parapet design of the Tachara see Krefter 1971, pls.3 and 11. For the dimensions of the Tachara doorways, see Schmidt 1953, gs.93A-D.

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g.12: projection of the south-west corner of the Tachara (photograph Shahrokh Razmjou)

g.13: rough-chiseled marks indicating the wall and polished area behind it, representing the internal wall (photograph Shahrokh Razmjou)

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g.14: central stone fragment (below, right), possibly used as a foundation for an external staircase (photograph Shahrokh Razmjou)

g.15: leveled blocks and basin stone (photograph Shahrokh Razmjou)

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The level of the courtyard (as dened by the western staircase of the Tachara) was lower than the oor of the structure (as dened by chisel marks, described below); the depth suggests the existence of two or three steps (calculated by considering the average height of steps at Persepolis).19 This indicates that a small staircase (either internal or external) was needed in front of the building’s doorway. To match the façade of the Tachara and the western staircase, the small staircase might have been designed with the standard parapet layout of staircases at Persepolis (perhaps with two pairs of parapets). Close examination of the extant foundation stones suggests a small external staircase existed outside the western wall: a comparatively larger stone at the centre of the wall’s original exterior side could have been a possible foundation for a small staircase (g.14). It should be noted that this suggestion is based on the stone and its present location, but it can be only conrmed by excavation. Whether the structure had windows is unknown; however, lower windows for eastern, northern, and southern sides seem to be implausible for similar reasons applied for the doorway (facing the wall, facing the stairway, etc.).

5. Internal reconstruction Although the external shape of the structure seems to have been a square shape (8.00 × 8.00 m), its internal plan was rectangular (6.80 × 5.60 m). This was because the eastern side of the room directly abutted the podium of the Tachara, adding some 1.20 m to the east-west space of the room. The evidence allows us to reconstruct three original features within the structure: oor, stand, and basin.

5.1. Floor The visible remains suggest that the oor of the structure consisted of three different layers: 1) a foundation, 2) a middle layer, 3) the main oor surface (Razmjou 2002: 33f.). The foundation formed the lowest layer of the oor; due to the scale of the project, it was necessary to use stones to construct a secure foundation. These are the stones that are still partly visible on the site today (gs.5, 11, 14): uncut und semi-uncut pieces of plain stone, levelled at the top to receive the carved stones of the second layer. The middle layer consisted of carved stone blocks that were placed on the lower foundation of plain stones; two of these carved stone blocks are still in situ, resting 19

Compare the three steps from the landing stone, calculated by Krefter 1971: 73f.

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along the podium wall of the Tachara (gs.3-5, 10, 14). Their length and width are not entirely consistent: the block next to the basin is 0.83 × 0.71 m; the other 0.80 × 0.72 m. If the other blocks were about the same size, this layer of the oor might have been made up of about 64 blocks, but considering the other stone fragments in the same layer (basin and channel) I suggest a gure of between 50 and 60 blocks in total.20 The basin and its channel (gs.3, 5, 11, 14-15), discussed below, were also installed in the second layer over the foundation stones. The main oor surface (an upper layer resting upon the foundation blocks) has completely vanished, but there are vestigia indicating its existence and thickness. Traces of where the main oor surface originally lay are still visible as a horizontal zone of chiselling on the western façade of the Tachara below the polished area (g.16). These chisel marks indicate that the thickness of the main oor was approximately 10 cm.21 The blocks of the middle layer of the oor and the stone basin were thus not visible. The evidence for the thickness of the uppermost oor level suggests three initial possibilities for its composition and appearance: 1. a coloured mortar oor, like those found in the Tachara and other buildings at Persepolis (Schmidt 1953: 159, 222) 2. a stone pavement (if the slabs with rosette design may be considered as pavement; Schmidt 1953: 74, 93 g.37E, 155 g.81E) 3. a brick or mud brick pavement

Brick pavements at Persepolis are generally 6-6.5 cm thick; mud brick pavements generally 13-14 cm thick; stone slabs are 12-14 cm thick (Schmidt 1953: 74). A coloured mortar oor is a possible solution, particularly as it was also used to create the red oor of the neighbouring Tachara (g.17). It is noteworthy that similar chiselled marks on the bottom of the walls demark the oor level inside the Tachara; right above those marks is a polished surface. The oor of the structure could, however, have been something of a hybrid, consisting of a brick oor overlaid with coloured mortar. If this was the case, the bricks were most likely the same size (0.33 × 0.349 m) as those that covered the stone drainage channel in the courtyard (Tilia 1972: 56). Since part of this drainage channel was installed under the oor, the rest of the oor was probably overlaid with the same bricks. This suggests that a hybrid reconstruction, bricks overlying the stone blocks with an uppermost surface of coloured mortar about 3.5 to 4 cm thick (hence about 10 cm in total), is the most likely solution. Such a oor would require roughly 320 bricks. 20

21

The estimated 64 blocks would be for the whole oor. Yet, some blocks can be omitted from this calculation given space taken by the basin and the stone drainage channel. Consequently, the top of the main oor surface was approximately 10 cm above the level of the stone blocks and the basin still in situ today.

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g.16: traces of chisel marks, showing the level of the missing oor (photograph Shahrokh Razmjou)

g.17: red-colored mortar oor of the Tachara with polished surface above (photograph Shahrokh Razmjou)

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5.2. Stand There is evidence for the existence of some type of stand at the end of the room. The evidence for this stand is a stone block, measuring 0.83 × 0.71 m., that lies embedded in the middle layer of the oor (gs.15, 18-20). This stone block is situated between the Tachara podium (the eastern wall of the structure) and the stone basin with its drainage channel (gs.19-20). The upper surface of this block

g.18: traces of chiseled recess on the remaining central block indicating the existence of a missing stand (photograph Shahrokh Razmjou)

has a chiselled recess measuring 0.20 × 0.45 m (g.18). The block and chiselled recess on it show that there must have been another similar block attached to it to the north, now missing. The joining point between the two blocks is at the exact centre of what would have been the eastern wall (i.e., the podium of the Tachara), thus on the central east-west axis of the room (g.5). This chiselled recess may have held a stand with a square base (0.40 × 0.45 m), standing on both blocks and situated 0.38 m from the eastern wall. Perhaps this stand had a wider top, which needed an extra space from the wall, like the design on the top of certain Achaemenid re altars.22 Interestingly, the stone basin (see below) is exactly in front of the stand, implying a close connection (gs.19-20). 22

Razmjou 2008: 240, gs.116-17. It is not clear that it was a re altar because of its proximity to the wall, but the shape and design are suggestive of such form.

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5.3. Basin The basin is a rectangular stone (1.33 × 093 m) with its top surface hollowed out (gs.19-20).23 As described above, it was located about 0.10 m below the upper oor surface; therefore, it was not visible or open as suggested by previous scholars. The type of carvings and chisel marks on the basin (g.20) indicate that it was designed for a stone piece (probably a plinth or an external basin) to be installed on top of it (Razmjou 2002: 35f., g.54). Thus the bottom of the proposed plinth would have rested over the basin approximately 0.10 m under the upper surface of the oor. This is reminiscent of the lower parts of column bases in Achaemenid architecture, which also rested on blocks concealed under the uppermost oor level. The basin is connected to an L-shaped stone channel (originally under the oor) about 47 m long that crossed under the vanished southern wall of the structure and led to a vertical shaft in the southern courtyard of the Tachara (gs.5, 15, 1920).24 The basin was most probably designed to collect lig.19: stone basin and channel quids from the proposed in(photograph Shahrokh Razmjou) stallation on top of it. The liquids would ow through the proposed installation down to the underground basin slab and thence away by the stone channel. The proposed installation might have 23 24

Schmidt 1953: 222; Tilia 1972: 56. For the length of the channel see Tilia 1972: 56. The shaft is linked with the extensive underground drainage system of Persepolis. The Tilias only followed it to where it disappeared under the remains of a wall, but they do not speak about the shaft (Tilia 1972: 56).

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g.20: detail of the stone basin and channel (photograph Shahrokh Razmjou)

had a wider basin on the top and a vertical channel leading down to the underground basin for collecting the liquid (see the hypothetical reconstruction, g.21). The internal space of the structure thus included a brick and coloured plaster oor, a stone stand in the centre at the east end of the room, and another stone installation above the basin right in front of it. Such a design suggests that the main purpose of the structure was focused on the central stand (shrine?) and the basin (altar?) in front of it. As there are no traces of foundations for columns, the structure seems unlikely to have had any internal supports.25 It also seems unlikely that the room had a portico, as that would make the interior space very small.

25

Having four columns seems impossible, as one column base would have been placed on top of the fragile stone channel without any foundation. The existence of two small columns also cannot be demonstrated and for now it seems wisest to reconstruct the room as having no columns at all.

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g.21: reconstruction of the basin altar and underground settings with oor levels (drawing Shahrokh Razmjou)

6. Date The best information for dating the vanished building comes from the royal inscriptions. According to the inscriptions carved on the walls of the Tachara, three Achaemenid kings carried out building works in this place. The rst was Darius, who founded the building and called it a Tachara (tacara; written inside sixteen window frames and niches of the central hall; Shahbazi 2004: 147). The second was Xerxes, who made major changes to the building and called it a Hadish (hadiš; written on the outside of the building).26 During the reign of Xerxes, the building was subject to a major renovation. Reliefs were carved on the southern façade and inscriptions naming Xerxes were added to the building.27 The third and last king to make changes to the structure was Artaxerxes III, who constructed the western staircase, adorned with reliefs and an inscription.28

26

27

28

Undoubtedly, there must have been a difference between these two terms, but exploring this lies beyond the scope of the present contribution. In his inscription (XPca-c), carved on the east and west antae of the south portico and the façade of the south portico, Xerxes refers to what has been built by him or his father (Kent 1953: 149; Schmidt 1953: 223f.; Shahbazi 1985, pls.13-18; Schmitt 2000: 68f., 71-4). Herzfeld (Sarre & Herzfeld 1910: 126), Schmidt (1953: 228), and Krefter (1971: 74) believed that the staircase was originally designed under Darius, but the carvings were made at the time of Artaxerxes III. Tilia (1972: 56, n.2) rejected the idea and demonstrated that there was no staircase in the original design of the palace. According to Tilia: “(…) the palace was probably from the beginning planned to be closed to the west, as is shown by the incised line in the podium edge for the mudbrick walls, which can be observed all along the western side right under the stairway landing.”

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Since the vanished building was not part of the original plan of the Tachara at the time of Darius, it cannot have been built by him (Razmjou 2008: 240). Moreover, the structure caused an alteration in the Tachara itself. The Tachara had projections at each of its corners when it was built during Darius’ reign (g.12); the original projection from the northwest corner of the Tachara was chiselled away to allow for the construction of this later building (g.10). The structure was clearly in place by the time Artaxerxes III constructed his staircase, since, as we have suggested, it blocked the northern wing of the staircase and its southern wall necessitated the unusual angle to the northern wing of the stair.29 It thus seems most likely that this structure was built by Xerxes, a king whom we know, through his many inscriptions, to have engaged in multiple building projects at Persepolis.

7. Function As the evidence shows, Schmidt’s interpretation of the basin slab as a “drip stone for roof drainage” cannot be correct. Tilia, Shahbazi, and Dutz suggested a ceremonial/ritual function for the space because of the basin, but no detailed description of the area or supporting evidence was given in their studies.30 There is also no reference to the central stand behind the basin, an important element in this space. The observations gathered here provide evidence for possible functions of the vanished structure. Its elaborate drainage system may suggest daily usage as a bathroom or sanitation system (suggested by Shahbazi), or it may have functioned as a ritual place (Shahbazi 2004: 142). The suggestion that the building functioned as a bathroom or sanitation system seems unlikely. There is no evidence for such permanent installations within royal spaces in ancient courts.31 Architectural and archaeological evidence does not conrm the existence of any bath or sanitation system on the Persepolis platform.32 Tajvidi reported a bathroom in his excavations at Persepolis South, but that is a

29

30

31

32

Tilia (1972: 57) correctly noticed the existence of a wall immediately to the north of the stairway. See also the discussion above. Notably, there is no evidence conrming the proposed suggestion by Dutz for the ritual procedure of the king stepping over the blood on his way towards the Tachara. Indeed, such facilities were portable all the way up till the early twentieth century courts such as that of the Qajars. According to Schmidt 1953: 222, “Square holes of roof drains were noticed at several points, but there are no indications of bathroom facilities or drainage therefrom, either in Darius’ Palace or in any of the palatial buildings of the site.”

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different design, installation, and space.33 There is, of course, a sophisticated underground drainage system at Persepolis, designed and built prior to the construction of the major buildings at the site. These channels, almost fully explored, were connected with the roofs through shafts inside the walls and were apparently designed explicitly for diverting water from the roof after rain. Moreover, a bathroom or sanitation xture would not need a separate building of such a scale as the vanished structure (with 1.20 m thick walls) – particularly one situated next to the royal building, facing an open courtyard with visiting dignitaries or international delegations and enjoying an open view towards (and from) the landscape of the Marvdašt. The second suggestion, that the structure had a ritual function, seems very likely. The internal plan of the building, a central plinth at the end of the room and a basin in front of it, is a typical layout for a sacred space with a shrine and altar, particularly in the Achaemenid period.34 For instance, the well-known relief from Daskyleion depicts two worshippers standing before a low plinth or altar (basin?, the horizontal lines perhaps representing branches or material of oral origin) supporting the heads of a sacriced bull and possibly a ram (g. 22).35 The worshippers have covered mouths and chins and hold barsom bundles while performing a ritual ceremony – usually considered indications of the magi.36 The use of g.22: Daskyleion, worshipping magi (stanbul branches or plants in sacricing Arkeoloji Müzeleri; photograph S. Razmjou) 33

34

35

36

Tajvidi 1976/2535: 171 g.121, 173-76; idem 1975/1354: 10f. He rejected the idea of a bathroom in the Tachara (idem 1976/2535: 140). Here the design is compared to the re altars, but it is not possible to believe it was a re altar in such close distance to the wall. Dutz 1977 refers to the sacrice of a large animal, either a bull or a ram, at the spot of the vanished building by the Tachara. Although he did not mention the relief from Daskyleion, he might have had that in mind for his suggestion. Moorey 1988: 47f., n° 45; Ghirshman 1964: 347, g.440.

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ceremonies is also known from Classical sources.37 To the left of the device supporting the animal heads is part of a door-frame; the structure may represent a sacred shrine or a tomb. The low plinth depicted in the scene could also match the installation in the vanished building by the Tachara. An Achaemenid seal now in the Ashmolean Museum offers another representation of sacrice associated with a plinth (g.23). The scene represents two worshippers with covered mouths standing on either side of a sacricial altar, holding barsoms and performing a ritual ceremony (Moorey 1976: 222, g.3B). The design of the altar between the two worshippers is similar to Achaemenid stepped re altars except for the top, which seems to be a basin in which the body of a sacriced animal is g.23: seal image showing a sacriced placed. The basin on top of this altar is scene (Ashmolean Museum; after shown as if from above, I suggest, in order Moorey 1976: 222, g.3B) to show the body of the animal, while the altar is shown in prole. The plinth of the altar has the usual vertical design like Achaemenid re altars (Garrison 1999). I believe that the installation on the top of the basin in the vanished structure was probably something close to the altar shown on the seal in the Ashmolean Museum (g.23); my reconstruction (g.21) is an attempt to visualize such an installation.38 It is clear that the plinth above the basin slab and the L-shaped stone channel must have provided drainage for removing liquid from the room. This liquid could have been the blood of sacriced animals or perhaps wine or some other liquid libation. The ritual payment texts in the Persepolis Fortication archive refer to both animal offerings and libations.39 It is noteworthy that the drainage channel from this structure stretches about 47 m to the other side of the Tachara, even though an underground water channel of the Tachara was just a few meters away. The reason for constructing a separate channel rather than connecting the drainage to the closer channel is not known. It is now clear that the drainage channel of the vanished room is connected to the main underground water channels of Persepolis and its drainage. 37

38

39

For the use of branches in a sacricial ceremony by the magi, see Hdt. I.132; also Strabo XV.3.14. I am grateful to the late Roger Moorey for showing me the original seal in the Ashmolean Museum as a comparison to my reconstruction. Razmjou 2004: 104-6, 111, 113; idem 2008: 167, 171; Henkelman 2008: 237.

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The fact that the vanished structure was built against the Tachara suggests that the two structures probably had a related function. To understand fully the purpose of the vanished structure, then, it is necessary to consider that of the Tachara. This is a complicated undertaking and warrants further study, but a brief overview of the Tachara and its function will help illuminate the vanished structure that adjoined it. The Tachara has often been interpreted as a private palace of Darius, particularly by early scholars and archaeologists.40 The archaeological, architectural, and iconographic evidence do not, however, provide any proof for this interpretation. The internal design of the building does not suggest a residence; rather, it suggests a ritual space. 41 Schmidt was the rst to note the resemblance between the plans of the Tachara and the Hibis Temple in Egypt (constructed under Darius) and to suggest that the latter had influenced the former.42 Furthermore, the main façade of the Tachara, facing south, served as a model with the same measurements for the tomb façades of the Persian kings from the time of Darius to the end of the period.43 This was not just for a simple decorative reason; the Tachara itself must have been considered a sacred space with a connection to the other world or heaven. The word tacara was previously translated as “palace” or “winter palace,” after a similar word used in the Islamic period.44 The word occurs, however, in preIslamic Middle Persian texts of Sasanian date meaning “temple” or “sacred space.”45 Furthermore it is still in use in Georgian and Armenian as a loan word meaning “temple” or “sacred place.”46 Since there is already a general term for 40

41 42

43 44

45

46

Razmjou 2010: 233. The suggestion that the Tachara’s reliefs show bathroom servants or eunuchs has also been refuted; see Schmidt 1953: 222; Tajvidi 1976/2535: 140; see also Razmjou 2008: 233. For bathroom servants, see Basiri 1946: 35; Mostafavi & Sami 1955: 37; Dutz 1977: 84; Dutz & Matheson 2000: 70f. Extensively described in Razmjou 2008: 238-45; see also idem 2010: 233-42. Schmidt 1953: 26f.; Root 1979: 125-8. The upper cornice of doors, used in the Tachara onwards, is a Persianised Egyptian design, used in the Hibis Temple. However, Schmidt’s account is more about the resemblance of plans. Schmidt 1970: 81; Porada 1985: 813. Dehkhoda 1951/1330 s.vv. 
, 
,
. For a philological analysis of the word tacara, see Wüst 1966: 94–95). The term is uzdes tachr, “the temple of idols” or Götzen-tempel (Wüst 1966: 127). *uzdasa literally means “a showing for/icon” and is used for “idol” (Boyce 1982: 227; Farahvashi 1979/1358: 567). Mackenzie (1971: 85 s.v. uzds) lists this word as ~zr, “idol-temple” (see also Razmjou 2008: 243). In Armenian, djr or ttchr (

), which derives from Old Persian tacara, means “temple.” In Georgian, there is a word for temple or sacred place, tadzari (

), still in use (personal communications, Y. Gagoshidze and K. Khimshiashvili; see also Chkeidze 2001: 488).

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temple in Old Persian (yadana-; Kent 1953: 169), tacara may refer to a specic form of sacred space or a part of it, perhaps a sanctuary. The reliefs associated with the Tachara may also suggest that the vanished structure was a place for sacricing animals. Small animals are carried by the gures ascending the staircases of the Tachara, mostly carved at the time of Xerxes when he calls it a Hadish (g.24). These gures, previously thought to be servants carrying food for the royal table, now are considered to have some ritual associations. As I have suggested in a separate study, these gures wear priestly headdresses. This indicates that the gures are not kitchen servants, but priests or ritual attendants who bring animals for ritual offerings or sacrice.47 This evidence strongly suggests that Persepolis was a multi-functional site, but some buildings (as, e.g., the Tachara and Hadish) were probably spaces for cult rituals, not residential.48 For reasons that at the present cannot be determined, just g.24: southern staircase of the Tachara: such a building for sacrice and/or one of the ascending gures liquid libations was added onto the carrying a small animal northwestern corner of the Tachara (photograph Shahrokh Razmjou) in the reign of Xerxes.49

47

48

49

Razmjou 2010: 233. The delegations depicted on the façade of the western stairway on the Tachara clearly indicate, however, that the building at the end of the Achaemenid period had different or multiple functions (see Razmjou [forthc.]). A tacara does not appear independent from a hadiš. Both names appear together in the same buildings at Persepolis (three locations so far), perhaps indicating different denitions or spaces of one building. As far as can be determined, the structure did not exist in the original plan of the Tachara. Xerxes calls the Tachara a Hadish, and adds gures of animal-bearers on the

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There is evidence for a possible similar structure on the western side of the Palace of Xerxes (also called a Hadish by Xerxes in his inscriptions XPda and XPdb), probably prior to the construction of the Palace of Artaxerxes I (Palace H). There are traces of a polished surface and two roughly chiselled zones with a carved edge

g.25: reconstructed plan of the vanished structure (Sh. Razmjou and P. Sookiasian)

on the upper part on the podium of the Palace of Xerxes. If there was a structure to the west of the Palace of Xerxes, it was apparently larger than the one on the western side of the Tachara.50 Some of the reliefs in the Palace of Xerxes include gures leading animals. The situation, plan, and function of the potential structure to the west of the Palace of Xerxes are, however, still unclear. If these structures were intended to be places for sacricing animals at a ritual ceremony, it may explain why they were constructed as separate from the main building. The procedure of sacricing would have been a messy affair, involving blood, odour, and noise. The animals might have been only offered in the buildings, but the sacrice took place later in a separate place.

50

staircases. Perhaps one may infer from this evidence that animal offerings were not a part of the original ritual function of the Tachara. Nothing remains of this potential structure owing to the construction of Palace H.

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g.26: proposed reconstruction of the vanished structure, western staircase and Tachara (drawing Shahrokh Razmjou)

8. Problems of reconstruction Reconstructing a vanished building with limited evidence is not easy. There are still many aspects of this structure that remain uncertain – for example, its exact height, windows, internal and external decorations, conguration of the stand and basin-altar plinth, and the form of the staircase. The reconstructions offered here (gs.25-26) accordingly must be considered as highly provisional.

9. Conclusion A close analysis of the still-visible remains demonstrates the existence of a previously unidentied building at the northwest corner of the Tachara. It is clear that the vanished structure was not part of the original building of the Tachara. Evidence places the date of the construction of the vanished structure prior to the time of Artaxerxes III (based upon the manner in which the construction of the Tachara’s western stairway, built by Artaxerxes III, appears to have had to accommodate a pre-existing structure). It is our hypothesis that the vanished structure was added to the Tachara during the reign of Xerxes. Three walls of the vanished structure, most likely of mud brick, measured 8 × 8 m on the outside, forming a rectangular room inside (6.80 × 5.60). There was a small staircase (two or three steps) in the centre of the western wall leading from the western courtyard into the door of the structure (gs.24-25). The room had a three-layered oor, probably with bricks and coloured mortar (perhaps reddish) forming its uppermost surface. A stone stand that probably

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served as a shrine was installed at the central end of the room (east side), and a basin-altar was right in front of it. The upper part of the altar had a drainage hole leading to an underground basin and drainage channel that were situated 10 cm below the oor level. The underground channel stretched to the southern courtyard of the Tachara, ending in a drainage shaft. The vanished building most likely served a ritual function. The relief from Daskyleion and the Ashmolean seal, depicting ritual scenes with a sacricial altar and magi, may provide some insights into the types of activities that took place within the structure and the conguration of the cultic devices. It may be that the structure was built as an extension to the Tachara to support the ritual activity associated with the Tachara from the time of Xerxes. Everything points to this vanished structure having been designed for ritual ceremonies involving sacrice or libations. Thus, although Tilia, Shahbazi, and Dutz took different approaches, their suggestions about the ritual function of the area seem to be correct. Regardless of its function, with the information from the remains it is now possible to prove the existence of a vanished structure at the spot, one that should be added to the plan of Persepolis. This small but important area on the platform was forgotten under the shadow of the magnicent building of the Tachara, the Great Columned Hall, and other buildings next to it. What becomes clear from a detailed study of the remains is that this vanished structure possesses important clues for a better understanding of Persepolis, its appearance and functions.

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Bibliography BASIRI, H. 1946, R hnam -ye Takht-e amšd, Tehran. BOYCE, M. 1982, A history of Zoroastrianism, vol. 2: Under the Achaemenians (HdO 1.8.1.2.2a.2), Leiden. CHKEIDZE, T. 2001, s.v. Linguistic contacts with Iranian languages, EncIr 10: 470-80. DEHKHODA, A.A. 1951/1330 AP, Loghat Name-ye Dehkhoda, 50 vols., Tehran. DE MECQUENEM, R., 1947. Contribution à l’étude du palais achéménide, in: R. de Mecquenem, G. Contenau, R. Pster & N. Benaiew (eds.), Archéologie susienne (MDP 30), Paris: 1-119. DUTZ, W.F. 1977, Persepolis and archaeological sites in Fars, Tehran. DUTZ, W.F. & MATHESON, S.A. 2000, Parsa (Persepolis), Tehran. FARAHVASHI, B. 1979/1358 AP, Farhang-e zab n-e Pahlav, Tehran. FLANDIN, E. & COSTE, P. 1843-54, Voyage en Perse (…): Perse ancienne, 5 vols., Paris. GARRISON, M.B. 1999, s.v. Fire altars, EncIr 9: 613-19. GHIRSHMAN, R. 1964, The arts of ancient Iran: From the origins to the time of Alexander the Great, London [translation by S. Gilbert & J. Emmons]. HENKELMAN, W.F.M. 2008, The other gods who are: Studies in Elamite-Iranian acculturation based on the Persepolis Fortication texts (AchHist 14), Leiden. KENT, R.G.,1953, Old Persian: Grammar, texts, lexicon (AOS 33), New Haven [rev.ed.]. KREFTER, F. 1971, Persepolis Rekonstruktionen (TehF 3), Berlin. MACKENZIE, D.N. 1971, A concise Pahlavi dictionary, London. MOOREY, P.R.S. 1976, Aspects of worship and ritual on Achaemenid seals, in: Akten des VII. Internationalen Kongresses für Iranische Kunst und Archäologie (AMI Erg.Bd. 6), Berlin: 218-26. –––– 1988, Religion and rulers, in J. Boardman (ed.), Persia, Greece and the western Mediterranean, c. 525 to 479 BC (CAH, plates to vol. 4), Cambridge: 45–50. MOSTAFAVI, M.T. 1978, The Land of Pars: The historical monuments and the archaeological sites of the province of Fars (Society for the Protection of National Monuments 48), Chippenham (translation by N. Sharpe). MOSTAFAVI, M.T. & SAMI, A. 1955, Takht-e amšd, Shiraz. PORADA, E. 1985, Classic Achaemenian architecture and sculpture, in: I. Gershevitch (ed.), The Median and Achaemenian periods (CHI 2), Cambridge: 588-609. RAZMJOU, S. 2002, Reconstruction of an unknown building at Persepolis (MA thesis, Azad University, in Persian). –––– 2004, Lan ceremony and other ritual ceremonies in the Achaemenid period: Persepolis Fortication tablets, Iran 42: 103-17. –––– 2008, Ritual practices at Persepolis [diss. University of London], London. –––– 2010, Persepolis: A reinterpretation of palaces and their function, in: J. Curtis & StJ. Simpson (eds.), The world of Achaemenid Persia: History, art and society in Iran and the ancient Near East, London: 231-45. –––– [forthcoming], The last days of Persepolis. ROAF, M. 1983, Sculptures and Sculptors at Persepolis (= Iran 21), London. ROOT, M.C. 1979, The king and kingship in Achaemenid art: Essays on the creation of an iconography of empire (AI 19), Leiden.

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SARRE, F. & HERZFELD, E. 1910, Iranische Felsreliefs: Aufnahmen und Untersuchungen von Denkmälern aus alt- und mittelpersicher Zeit, Berlin. SCHMIDT, E.F. 1953, Persepolis, vol. 1: Structures, reliefs, inscriptions (OIP 68), Chicago. SCHMITT, R. 2000, The Old Persian inscriptions of Naqš-e Rustam and Persepolis (CII 1.1.2), London. SHAHBAZI, A.S. 1976, Persepolis illustrated, Tehran. –––– 2004, The Authoritative Guide To Persepolis, Tehran. TAJVIDI, A., 1975/1354 AP, Darb re-ye Šahr-e P rseh, G hv re-ye Tamaddon Derakhš n o Ebh m-angz, Honar o Mardom 156, Tehran: 2-11. –––– 1976/2535 ARR, D nestan h -ye nov n darb re-ye honar va b st nšen s -ye asr-e hakh maneš bar bony d-e k vošh -ye pan s le-ye Takht-e amš d, Tehran. TILIA, A.B. 1972, Studies and restorations at Persepolis and other sites of F rs (ISMEO 16), Rome. WÜST, W. 1966, Altpersische Studien: Sprach- und kulturgeschichtliche Beiträge zum Glossar der Achämeniden-Inschriften, München.

PRESERVING THE ACHAEMENID PERSIAN LEGACY: ASPECTS OF CONSERVATION, TECHNOLOGY, POLYCHROMY, AND MATERIAL CULTURE IN PERSEPOLIS Alexander Nagel (Washington DC)

1. An introduction: watching the stars above On a clear bright night in August 2010, Margaret, Larry, Katherine, Ben, the dogs, and I were lying in the grass in the yard of Margaret’s house in Ann Arbor in Michigan, watching a dark blue sky and meteor showers above us.1 After a day of exciting and intense discussions on polychromies, paints, and the organization of artisans’ workshops of Achaemenid Persia, we had just nished watching the movie The Lives of Others. This movie brought us back to 1984 in East Berlin, Germany, where I grew up. I was lucky that others had helped lift the veil and tear down the wall for a generation eager to enjoy the freedom of traveling and seeing the wonders of the world. If they were not preserved in color photographs, my fond childhood memories of growing up in East Berlin would have been distant black and white memories. Back in the late 1960s, when colourful clothing symbolized the rebellion against injustice and the struggle for peace among progressive young people in the United States, there was a war in Vietnam – a war Margaret and Larry strongly opposed. Around the same time Mohammad Rez Pahlav prepared to celebrate a megalomaniacal party at Persepolis in 1971. Margaret told me about the rst time she encountered the majestic and impressive ruins of Takht-e amš d in the Polv r River 1

I am deeply indebted to the many people who shaped my understanding of the Polv r River region in Iran, especially the staff of the conservation ofce, in the museum, in the library, and in the archives at P rsa or Takht-e amš d, ancient Persepolis. I owe particular thanks to Hassan and Maryam Rahsaz, Mehrnaz and Keramat Bordbar, Ali Asadi, and Mohammad-Hassan Talebian. I also would like to thank John Larson (Oriental Institute, Chicago), Sven Stefano, and Oscar Nalesini (Istituto Italiano per l’Africa e l’Oriente, Rome), and Alessandro Tilia, Angela Bizzarro, Pierfrancesco Callieri, and Adriano Rossi. Thanks also go to my colleagues who believed a dialogue between archaeology, art history, and conservation science might be interesting. I wish to express my sincere thanks to Elspeth Dusinberre and Mark Garrison for inviting me to participate in this volume and for their subsequent editorial expertise.

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region in Frs around this time. As a student along with Larry and his long sideburns – quite the ‘in’ thing back then – Margaret met Giuseppe Tilia (19312001) and Ann Britt Peterson Tilia (1926-1988), who worked on the preservation and archaeological history of the palaces at the site for many years. I remember how I experienced the ruins of Persepolis on my rst visit, in grey grandeur on a bright summer day in 2007. I met dedicated Iranian colleagues who worked tirelessly in their efforts to preserve the site for future generations and who would become wonderful friends. Margaret and Larry’s passion for justice in the colorful late 1960s, my own memories of Berlin captured in faded color photographs and memories, and our shared interest in understanding ancient Persepolis reveal the necessity for studying images of color as we study the past. Color matters in memory and experience, and Margaret always inspired me to think beyond the simple fact of explaining aspects of original polychromies and paint in Achaemenid Persia in my dissertation.2 By introducing past approaches to preservation of knowledge and material culture in Persepolis, the goal of this contribution is to show how strategies of documentation have caused unintended damage to the evidence for polychromy in the material record.3 Understanding the history of archaeological eldwork and conservation efforts on Persepolitan materials – for the monuments on the site as well as for those scattered throughout museums and private collections around the world – is essential in determining a viable research plan for future research on polychromy. I will rst single out a specic case study related to the Hundred Column Hall. In the second part of the paper, I discuss and contextualize the habit of squeezetaking and molding. I will review the challenges related to the development of modern discourse (or rather lack thereof) on issues of polychromy and the history of preservation efforts on the site throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. I must state from the beginning that this is a very preliminary survey of the evidence. Since 2008, I have been fortunate enough to study the photographic archives of Giuseppe and Ann Britt Tilia held at the Istituto Italiano per l’Africa e l’Oriente in Rome. Many other modern archives remain unexplored in terms of their information on conservation practices on Persepolitan materials in museums and on the Takht’s monuments. I am optimistic that more documents and materials will be found in the future. In the end, aspects of conservation, restoration, and documentation, in both ancient and modern times, are inextricably linked to an understanding of the experience visitors had when visiting the palaces of the great kings at Persepolis. 2

3

For a precise denition and the use of the term polychromy in modern approaches to Achaemenid Persia see Nagel 2013: 597-99. For a discussion concerning maintenance, restoration, and attempts to preserve the paints at Persepolis in ancient times see Nagel [forthc. 1].

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g.1: fragments of the head and body of the eastern bull from the north portico of the Hundred Column Hall in 1933 (University of Chicago Photographic Archive [apf3-01707], Special Collections Research Center, University of Chicago Library)

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g.2: fragments of the head and body of the eastern bull from the north portico of the Hundred Column Hall in 1933 (University of Chicago Photographic Archive [apf3-01708], Special Collections Research Center, University of Chicago Library)

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g.3: head of the western bull from the north portico of the Hundred Column Hall, 1933 (University of Chicago Photographic Archive [apf3-01710], Special Collections Research Center, University of Chicago Library)

2. In/outside: Persepolis in Persepolis and Persepolis in Chicago In 1933, two colossal stone bull heads were excavated in the debris directly in front of the northern portico of the Hundred Column Hall in Persepolis (gs.1-3).4 Their discovery occurred in the same weeks during which Ernst Herzfeld’s team excavated the famous clay tablet archives in the northwestern fortications (Dusinberre 2005). The bodies to which the colossal stone heads originally belonged had long been standing in situ, anchoring the two ends of the northern portico of the Hall. Standing some 63.00 m. apart, each bull – almost 6.00 m. in height – mirrored its opposite and was elevated on a stone socle. Earlier travelers reconstructed the colossal bodies as belonging to human headed lamassus.5 4

5

Schmidt 1953: 129-55, g.58, pls.92-93. According to the epigraphic evidence available today, construction of the Hundred Column Hall began under Xerxes I (486-465 BCE) and continued at least until Artaxerxes I (465-24 BCE; A¹Pa 17-22). See, e.g., Perrot & Chipiez 1890: 724, pl.7.

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g.4: Donato Bastiani (1869-1953), Oriental Institute Museum restorer, and Watson Boyes (1883-1962), secretary of the Oriental Institute, during restoration of the eastern bull in Chicago (University of Chicago Photographic Archive [apf3-01724], Special Collections Research Center, University of Chicago Library)

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g.5 (above): Bastiani working on the head of the eastern bull after it had been transferred to Chicago (University of Chicago Photographic Archive [apf3-01715], Special Collections Research Center, University of Chicago Library) g.6 (below): head of the western bull from the north portico of the Hundred Column Hall, as restored back to the body in 1967 (photograph: Alexander Nagel, 2009)

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A series of photographs preserved today in an unpublished photographic diary by Ernst Herzfeld in the Oriental Institute Archives depicts the moment after the earth was shoveled away, when the monumental heads rst became visible again.6 Today it is unknown when, why, and how the heads, each with a weight of some six tons, were separated from the bodies. The massive amount of debris accumulated around the portico indicates that this happened at some point in antiquity. The ears and horns, which had originally been added separately, have not been found. Very much like other pairs of guardian gures in the ancient Near East, the two stone bulls protected the entrance to this Hall, the original meaning and function of which is still unclear.7 Once excavated, the monumental heads must have made an enormous impression on the visitors of the excavation site. They certainly inspired Herzfeld to inaugurate their reconstruction on the site. An unpublished letter sent by Herzfeld to the sponsoring Chicago Oriental Institute from June 17, 1933 states: In front of both sides of the 100 Column Hall stand two colossal bulls; of one we have found the head, measuring over 2.5 meters and it is perfectly well preserved. We would like to place it back on its body. It will look marvelous.8

Herzfeld’s wish to restore the head onto the body of the bull was not fullled in his lifetime. A photograph taken on November 19, 1934, more than one year after the discovery was made, shows Herzfeld with Gustav Adolf, crown prince of Sweden, in front of the head that originally belonged to the bull on the western anta, still detached from the body.9 Only in May 1967, some twenty years after Herzfeld’s passing, was this western bull’s head in Persepolis restored back to the original body under the guidance of the Italian conservator-architect Giuseppe Tilia.10 The surface of the western bull’s stone head appears remarkably different today from the heavily restored and polished stone head from the eastern anta, brought to the Oriental Institute Museum in Chicago some three years after excavation in 1936.11 6 7

8

9

10 11

Chicago, OIM P 12870, P 12872 (33.483, 486). See, e.g., Schmidt 1953: 129; Root 1979; Razmjou 2010. Of course, the perceived functions of these buildings may have changed through time. “Vor der 100-Säulen-Saal Front stehen beiderseits zwei kolossale Stiere, von dem einen haben wir den über 2,5m hohen Kopf in prachtvoller Erhaltung gefunden, den wir wieder auf den Rumpf setzen wollen: das wird wundervoll aussehen.” The English translation is by the author. I am grateful to J. Larson (Oriental Institute Archives) for his help in locating these documents. Mousavi 2002: 232, g.14. The photograph is preserved in the Bernadotte Library, Stockholm. Zander 1968: 41, gs.97, 99; Tilia 1972: 49f., gs.99-103, pls.44-46. University of Chicago, OIM A 24065.

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g.7: detail, head of the western bull from the north portico of the Hundred Column Hall (photograph: Alexander Nagel, 2009)

A series of photographs preserved in the University of Chicago Library, Special Collections Research Center, shows how the eastern bull’s stone head fragments were ‘restored’ by the Italian conservator Donato Bastiani (1869-1953). Bastiani had been a member of the Oriental Institute Museum technical staff since 1929, and his role in reconstructing the original appearance of the stone bull and other fragments remains to be explored in the future (gs.4-5).12 It is at present unclear what materials and tools Bastiani employed in his efforts to restore the head and

12

Bastiani is said to have been the rst conservator in the Oriental Institute museum. A poster presentation at the annual meeting of the American Institute of Conservation in 2010 introduced Bastiani as arriving in the US from Italy to work for the World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago in 1893. Though not much documentation is preserved on Bastiani’s early work – or in fact that of the many other people who were working as staff members doing early conservation work at the Oriental Institute museum – he is part of a larger group of Italian conservators and artists who came to the United States in the late 19th century. Their role in the museal presentation of ancient monuments in the New World remains to be explored.

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how he treated the surface of the monument.13 Future research in the archives of the Oriental Institute museum or close-up investigations on the bull’s head using now standardized modern imaging techniques may possibly yield further information. At this point, however, no remains of original paint residue or other surface decoration are preserved on the surface of the head in the Oriental Institute museum; we must assume that the head was cleaned at some point between or during excavation at Persepolis and installation in Chicago. While the surface of the Chicago head appears to the museum visitor today almost black, the surface of the lower part of the bull to which it belongs, as well as that of the head still in situ at Persepolis, has a bright gray coloring (gs.6-7). Our investigations on the head of the western bull in Persepolis in 2008 revealed that the uppermost layer of the limestone surface preserves traces of a ne layer of blue paint (g.8).14 In some areas this layer is still up to 1 mm thick, while in others only faint indications of an earlier polychromy can be observed. Today, this coating is very shiny, almost glassy in appearance, and it appears to be of a crystalline structure. Macrophotography reveals that this coating layer appears aky. The pigment structure resembles those preserved on other structures and in paint bowls excavated at Persepolis.15 It is likely that a semi-vitreous substance like Egyptian blue was employed (see below). The good state of preservation of parts of the surface of the head of the western stone bull in Persepolis allows for reconstructing parts of the surface of the bull’s head in blue. It is unclear, however, whether this coating originally covered all parts of the surface of the body. Pigments are also found on other parts of the western bull’s head in Persepolis. A red coloring appears in the nostrils. The left eyeball of the western bull’s head preserves abundant traces of a red pigment, most likely ochre. The same red pigment can be found in the tear duct and on eyelids of other stone bulls at Persepolis.16 In retrospect, it is surprising that Herzfeld, Bastiani, and Tilia did not document any traces of paint on the heads. Why did the surface coatings escape their attention? Why did Tilia, despite a lengthy article on “Colour in Persepolis” (1978), fail to recognize any traces of paint on the bull’s head? Pigments have also been attested on the interior of the Hundred Column Hall, most notably on the surface of the doorjambs carved at the southern side, some of

13

14 15 16

Author interviews with Laura D’Alessandro, head conservator of the Oriental Institute Museum, January 2014 and November 2015. Nagel 2010: 182-90; idem 2011. Nagel 2010; idem 2013. As Tilia (1978: 36) argued previously, however, this ochre layer served as a foundation for a nishing layer. An important contribution to the discussion on ground layers at Persepolis has now been published by Askari Chaverdi et al. 2016.

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which were documented by Herzfeld, Lerner, and Tilia.17 In 1936, when Schmidt was clearing the reminder of the debris in the portico, he excavated a fragment of small limestone teeth with traces of a reddish pigment, which must have originally belonged to another zoomorphic sculpture.18 While we lack information regarding the condition of the surface of the stone bulls when they were excavated, it should be clear that they were exposed to environmental challenges like atmospheric pollution, salt crystallization, and bio-deterioration for centuries after they were carved from local limestone by the craftsmen (and painted) in the fth century BCE. During display, investments must have been made in order to preserve their surface coating and appearance.

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g.8: eye and eyelid from the head of the western bull sculpture; arrows mark traces of an original blue surface decoration (photograph: Alexander Nagel, 2009)

3. Ruinenschicksale Controversies around modern cleaning methods and techniques have prevailed for many decades among practitioners in conservation practice. I have found the papers in Stanley-Price, Kirby Talley & Melucco Vaccaro 1996 particularly useful. Melucco Vaccaro, for instance, stated that in the past: (…) art historians and curators of major museums were the very ones responsible for destroying traces of (…) color, patination and toning layers. (…) The ravages of time and pollution have been nothing compared to the damage done by restorers: removal of the surface and violent cleaning with hot water and ashes, or washing with sponges soaked in nitric acid, have almost completely destroyed any traces of polychrome nish spared by the effects of time.19

17 18 19

Lerner 1971; idem 1973. OIM A 23408 = PT 4 1105; Schmidt 1957, pl.41.18. Melucco Vaccaro in Stanley-Price, Kirby Talley & Melucco Vaccaro 1996: 369.

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Publicizing reports of conservation efforts conducted on the monuments at Persepolis throughout the 19th and 20th centuries is crucial. It will help us understand where we might still nd pigments and where a search might likely be unsuccessful given various methods in modern surface treatments. In returning to the two bulls from the portico, the discrepancy between the complete absence of any traces of paint on the head in Chicago and the traces of paint preserved on the one in Persepolis should not come as a surprise. Some cleaning efforts on the Apadana reliefs must have begun with Herzfeld’s eldwork at Persepolis. While not explicitly stated in the preserved records, a documentary movie lmed in 1933 shows workmen involved in cleaning the reliefs with brushes and sponges.20 Erich Schmidt (1953: x), who was Herzfeld’s successor in supervising the work at Persepolis after a hiatus in 1934, refers to only one expert in charge of restoring “damaged columns and other stone parts of the structures” at Persepolis, Signor Dante. It would be important to locate documentary materials to Dante’s work on the site. The trend in conservation practices during the 1930s was to clean sculptures much more aggressively than what is considered best practice today. The best known case is probably that of the notorious ‘cleaning’ of the Parthenon marbles from the Athenian Acropolis in the British Museum’s Duveen Galleries.21 Currently, there are energetic efforts to unite disseminated ndings of ancient polychromy, at least for the Parthenon on the Athenian Acropolis. A challenge we have yet to overcome is a deeply entrenched lack of communication between those trained in scholarly academic disciplines and those trained in conservation and maintenance of archaeological sites, those who work on the curation of artefacts in museums, and those on the sites.22 While architectural conservation is in itself a developing eld with its own ethics, philosophy, and theories, it is impacted by a lack of communication (or interest in an exchange) between archaeologists, architects, art historians, and conservation specialists; the resulting confusion becomes apparent when laymen and visitors to the site ask, “Yes, but what did they really look like?”23 Here, it is worth delving deeper into histories of modern perception and reconstruction. Modern fascination with the civilizations of Achaemenid Persia and Periklean Athens is nowhere more powerfully manifested than on the restored edices on the palace platform at Persepolis and on the Acropolis at Athens. In 1985, 20 21

22

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persepolistablets.blogspot.com/2010/06/persepolis-sequence-from-human.html (9:30). St. Clair 1998; Jenkins 2001. This cleaning took place about the same time as the bull’s head was shipped from Persepolis to Chicago (1936). See, e.g., Kouzeli et al. 1991; Orlandos 1978: 645-48; Williams et al. 2007; Vlassopoulou 2008; Bouras et al. 2012; Papakonstaninou-Ziotis 2012. See, e.g., Jokilehto 1999; idem 2009; Orbasli 2007; Muñoz-Viñas 2005: 117-19.

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Margaret Root published an important article comparing various aspects of the sculptural decoration of these iconic symbols of Eastern and Western civilizations. In 2018, perhaps we ought to consider ways of uniting the exploration of polychromy at both sites as part of our collective agenda in reconstructing experiences of polychromy in the ancient world. It is worth looking back at parallels and divergences in the modern preservation and reception of past polychromies on both sites and on fragments from the sites dispersed in museums around the world. It also helps us to contextualize such finds as the bowls with paints that were excavated at both sites, in closest proximity to the buildings as if donated to them by the painters of the monuments themselves.24 Yalouri (2010: 147) remarks on the modern psychology behind the whitewashing of ancient monuments at the Athenian Acropolis: White is used as a color signifying purity, and as such it has been connected with several efforts to keep the Acropolis ‘clean’ of alien elements. (…) Whiteness was often associated with seriousness, and seriousness with authority.

Can such a presumed ‘authority approach’ also account for the cleaning of the surfaces of ancient monuments at Persepolis? Is it indeed a matter of monochromy versus polychromy that provides authority to an ancient site or monument? Reviewing my own academic training at Berlin’s Humboldt-Universität and the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor, it took me very long to understand the implications of the fact that polychromy was mentioned nor referred to in the handbooks and standard course-books we used. As for Achaemenid Susa, the French explorer Jane Dieulafoy (1851-1916) already complained about the idea of a rhetorical whitewashing of ancient monuments: Would you deny the important role of color, in default of having understood it and being able to give it in architecture the place which it merits? By what, you moderns of degenerate mind, do you dare to accuse the monumental painting of Elam and of Hellas of brutality and barbarism? (…) Behold then, aroused from among the dead, this antique polychromy, denied, exalted, and contested with violence in the archaeological tournaments! (Dieulafoy 1890: 218-22)

As stated above, a detailed documentation of the work of conservators accompanying the various excavation campaigns at Persepolis would be the rst necessary step for a reassessment of the problem. Conservation cannot be a technical activity ancillary to archaeology. It is a key element in tracing the modern historiography of the study of polychromy in Persepolis. Since early work on the Takht of Persepolis is reected mostly through the writings of Europeans, it is also 24

Persepolis: Nagel 2010: 108f., 136-40, g.4.10; Athens: ibid. 201; idem [forthc. 2].

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important to contextualize European approaches to conservation within a historical perspective before evaluating European approaches to the polychromy of Achaemenid Persia’s material culture. Sadly, past practices of pilfering have also had an impact on any such study. It appears that most of the fragments that have been transported from the Hundred Column Hall, the Apadana, and other monuments in Persepolis have been cleaned at least once in modern times.25 The rst documented removal of limestone sculptures from the Takht in modern times occurred in the early eighthteen century; by 1811 almost the entire upper half of the top row of reliefs on the northern façade of the Apadana had been removed (Nagel 2010: 237f.). The removal of parts of the sculpted façades from this building continued until the twentieth century; it creates challenges for the preservation of evidence of the building as a whole and reconstructions of aspects of polychromy specically.26 When the Tilias were working on the monuments in Persepolis, they were certainly aware of the impact of color on the original appearance of the monuments, despite the fact that earlier generations of restorers had been less careful in documenting traces of polychromy.

4. The way to Persepolis and back: Achaemenid Persia becomes history An important, but often overlooked aspect of early work on the site of Persepolis involved the making of latex squeezes and molds. At least from the eighteenth century onward, squeeze- and mold-making were methods of recording ancient monuments (especially carved inscriptions, but also stone sculptures), including those at Persepolis, for study off-site.27 Its goal was laudable; but its results were often highly problematic. Squeeze- and mold-making, by their very nature, endanger evidence for polychromy (see below). The practice of taking wet squeezes and making molds from monuments on the Persepolis Takht was extensive and continued well into the twentieth century.28 25 26 27

28

There are few notable exceptions: Nagel [forthc. 1]. Compare Barnett 1957: 57; Allen 2013. Throughout the nineteenth century, plaster casts were made from negative molds taken from original ancient sculptures. Almost everywhere in Europe large collections were formed. In fact, many European antiquarians went to Athens and Egypt to take casts from the monuments, long before they collected original monuments. Already in 1783, the French had to obtain permission to take casts of the Parthenon sculptures, and Lord Elgin’s original intention was to take casts of the monuments as well (Connor 1989: 187f.). The travelers in earlier centuries had taken draftsmen with them, who recorded antiquities in a non-invasive way (see also Briant, Boucharlat [this volume]). The general value of such squeezes for Achaemenid Persia was brought home by Root (1989), who resurrected latex squeezes of the Bsotn monument in western Iran,

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The details of the procedures used were seldom documented, and most of the squeezes and molds are lost today, some deliberately destroyed. One early report of mold-making in Persepolis gives a vivid idea of one method that was used. A report by J. Alexander states that in 1826 the Irishman, Ephraim Gerrish Stannus (1784-1850): (…) made several long shallow boxes of wood, in which he put quicklime, applied them to the sculptures, and allowed them to remain until thoroughly dry. (…) The case was then taken off and sent to Bushir, containing the impression, from which the casts were again taken in lime.29

Grateful as we are for this early description of a mold-making process, it would be helpful to know exactly what type of quicklime Stannus applied. Calcium oxide (CaO), for instance, turns into calcium carbonate (CaCO3) over time. This affects the condition of the surface of limestone reliefs considerably. An investigation (or reconstruction) of other practices of mold-making at the time would help us today to understand how much these episodes are likely to have caused changes to the surface of the reliefs – changes that now affect our ability to retrieve ephemeral evidence of polychromy. In 1844, the young Frenchman Lottin de Laval (1810-1903) came to the Takht to make molds for the productions of casts destined for France. He treated the reliefs with water and a sponge before applying thin papers onto the stone to make the negative impressions.30 The casts from these squeezes are today in the Musée de Bernay and the Musée du Louvre. From the preserved documents we learn that molds of relief sculptures and inscriptions made by de Laval were taken from several places: the then-visible reliefs of the north stairway (eastern wing) of the Apadana, the reliefs on the stairways of the Palace of Darius, details of gures depicted in the standing doorjambs of the Hundred Column Hall, and from several inscriptions from the site. Only a few decades later, the Englishman Cecil Harcourt Smith (1859-1944) recommended that a more complete set of casts be commissioned for the British Museum “since so much of the monuments in Persepolis faced destruction due to the subsequent looting” (The London Times, September 9, 1892). This new episode of mold-making took place in early 1892, producing the largest set of replicas ever made at Persepolis. The results are still to be seen in the British Museum. Working

29 30

squeezes that had been made by the late George Cameron (1905-79). Even though most of the squeezes were in a state of decay, it was possible to make a modern cast, which has been on display in the new wing of the Kelsey Museum of Archaeology in Ann Arbor since 2009. Alexander 1827: 97f.; compare Simpson 2007: 159. The technique used by de Laval is described in detail by Zapata-Aubé (1997: 35f.).

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on behalf of the British mission, the Italian Lorenzo Giuntini (1844-1920) made papier mâché molds from the relief façades of the Apadana (north stairway), the door jambs in the Hundred Column Hall, and the reliefs at the Palace of Darius.31 After their return to England, the molds were used to make multiple casts, which were then sold to institutions including the Nottingham Museum and Art Gallery, the Musée du Louvre, the then Kaiser-Friedrich-Museum (now Bode Museum) in Berlin, and the Smithsonian Institution in Washington DC.32 The molds themselves were deliberately destroyed soon afterward to ensure that the casts derived from them would remain a limited edition (Simpson 2007: 353). The London Times for September 9, 1892 notes with regard to one of Giuntini’s molds from Pasargadae: The Cyrus monument is in itself a striking proof that Mr. Cecil Smith’s expedition has not come before it was needed; already, since this mold was taken, the monument has been thrown down and broken; in a few years probably no trace of it will remain. It is, therefore, to be hoped that, while there is yet time, the work will be continued until every fragment of Persepolitan sculpture within reach has been molded, and so placed, in a measure, beyond the reach of absolute destruction [emphasis added, AN]. The rst set of casts from the new molds will be presented to the British Museum, the second will go to the great museum of casts now being formed in New York, to the committee of which Mr. Cecil Smith is indebted for nancial co-operation.

Throughout the later decades of the 19th century, it became increasingly difcult for museums to obtain casts or molds made from monuments in distant lands. Perhaps ironically, these difculties stemmed in part from a discovery related to events involving Achaemenid Persia and Greece some 2,400 years before, in the early fifth century BCE. In the winter of 1885/86 a rst group of perfectly preserved polychrome stone sculptures were excavated in the so called Perserschutt on the Athenian Acropolis. The group, created before ca. 490 BCE, had been standing for less than one generation on the precinct before being buried. Until 1891, many more polychrome sculptures were excavated on the Athenian Acropolis, and ofcial measures were taken to avoid mold-making of the monuments in order to safeguard the abundant evidence of original color.33 31

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Weld-Blundell 1892; Smith 1893; idem 1932a-b. Giuntini also made molds from monuments at Pasargadae. Simpson 2007; Nagel [forthc. 1]. Compare the well preserved examples of polychromy on the so called Chios Kore (Athens, Acropolis Museum, inv.n° 675) and the so called Peplos Kore (Athens, Acropolis Museum, inv.n° 679): Koch-Brinkmann, Piening & Brinkmann 2014. Between 1860 and 1891, an Italian company owned by Napoleon Felice Martinelli had exclusive rights to mold monuments in Athens for distribution in museums worldwide (Kader 2009: 240; Jenkins 1990).

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g.9: squeeze-making of inscriptions from the southern façade of the Persepolis Takht, November 1923 (Ernst Herzfeld Archives, Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, Washington DC, Photo Files Subseries 4.5.2 Neg. 4071)

While there was ever more sensitivity to the damage that the process of molding could cause to the surfaces of the sculpture and particularly to vestiges of polychromy, this growing awareness was not reected in the practices deployed in Persepolis and other Achaemenid Persian sites, where mold making continued well into the twentieth century. In 1924, Alfred Lucas (1867-1945), an expert on the conservation of Egyptian monuments, warned: Stone objects, which bear inscriptions, must on no account be wetted until the painted surface has been protected from the action of water, or the paint will probably be destroyed. The necessary protection may be given by spraying or otherwise treating the surface of the stone with some materials that is insoluble in, and unacted upon by, water. (Lucas 1924: 105)

A photograph from 1923 shows Herzfeld’s team making impressions of the great inscription of Darius (DPe-h) on the south wall of the Takht (g.9).34 Herzfeld’s documentation of the monuments also included taking squeezes of a number of inscriptions on the façade of the Tomb of Darius I at Naqš-e Rustam. He made squeezes not only from the inscriptions but also from several details of the sculpted reliefs of the Naqš-e Rustam tomb façade, the Apadana at Persepolis, and the gure of the winged genius from Gate R in Pasargadae.35 Numerous of these squeezes are 34

35

Ernst Herzfeld Papers, Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery Archives, negative n° 4071 and 4072. Compare Nagel 2014b. The Museum für Islamische Kunst in Berlin has nine casts made from the squeezes that Herzfeld took; the molds appear to have been destroyed. Interview by the author with Jens Kröger, April 2012.

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now in the Herzfeld Archive in the Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery of Art, and some of them contain pigments (g.10).36 As already mentioned, Herzfeld did not comment on the pigments that came off in the squeeze process, yet they are visible on many squeezes, and, ironically, they provide additional proof for us today that the original inscriptions preserved on the site were indeed colored in blue. The pigments captured on Herzfeld’s squeezes offer further prove that pigments can be lost during the process of mold-making and squeezing (not to mention the subsequent destruction of squeezes and molds).37 Although it has been often stressed that casting does not remove traces of paint, the doubts of g.10: Egyptian Blue pigments on squeeze many conservation experts have been from Naqš-e Rustam in the Ernst Herzfeld repeatedly substantiated by traces of Archives as identified by the author in 2009 paint adhering to squeezes and molds.38 (photograph: Alexander Nagel) In retrospect, it is striking and almost paradoxical to read the words of Herzfeld from a lecture held in Tehran on August 13, 1925: To prevent the vandalizing of historical remains, the government should establish appropriate regulations, and forbid the destruction of historical monuments. (…) One should get the people interested in their national heritage and its preservation.39

Some six years earlier, Rez Khn, the future Rez Pahlav , had organized a Society for National Heritage.40 After he had visited Persepolis in the fall of 1922, he complained about the poor condition of the ruins (Mousavi 2005: 458). Herzfeld’s original plan for the monuments on the Takht was, therefore, strongly 36 37

38 39 40

Nagel 2010; idem 2013; idem [forthc. 1]. In August 1934, Hans von Busse mentions photographing some fty sheets of squeezes each measuring 60 × 80 cm. The present location of these squeezes is unclear. Blueprints of squeezes of inscriptions from the Old Persian inscription on the Takht’s south façade as well as from inscriptions on the Apadana, Palace of Darius, and Palace of Artaxerxes are kept in the Herzfeld Archives in the Freer and Sackler Gallery, n° 60113. It may well be that these are the blueprints of the photographs taken by Busse. For the claim that mold-making does not affect polychromy, see, e.g., Jenkins 2001: 17. Cited from the translation given in Mousavi 2005: 450f. The various names of this institution such as Society for the Protection of National Monuments or Committee for the Preservation of National Heritage bear interesting insights into the political/cultural agendas driving the institution: Mousavi 2005: 449f.

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focused on “conservation” (Herzfeld 1928). He explicitly named two sets of reasons for the lamentable state of the site: the re caused in the sacking by Alexander of Macedon (the “main reason”) and damage from earthquakes, water, plants, and human impact (“secondary reason”).41 He suggested various measures that ought to be employed on the site, including that (…) large stones still standing must be protected on their upper surface by a thin layer of cement, or if we cannot get real cement, any material which may replace it. The cracks within the large blocks must be treated in the same way.42

Conservation of the monuments on the Takht was repeatedly emphasized and advertised. Even in 1933, Herzfeld stated that one of his main aims was the preservation of the architectural sculpture and “protection against damage by rain, frost and man.”43 It is not clear whether Herzfeld or Schmidt after him made certain that there was a conservator present during the excavations conducted from 1931 to 1939. Aside from the above-mentioned Dante, the preserved records do not indicate the presence of any such staff member, though pottery mending was one of the main on-site activities. The omission of any discussion of the earlier pillaging and the lack of commentary on conservation efforts was addressed in a review by Barnett of the rst excavation volume on Persepolis.44 Following the era of Herzfeld and Schmidt, Iranians actively began to supervise eldwork at the site. H. Ravanband, director of the excavations in 1939, was followed by Ali Sami (1910-1989), who worked on the site until 1961, establishing the Scientic Institute of Takht-e amšd in 1941 and conducting excavations and restoration work, the details of which have yet to be analyzed. Once the Iranian authorities had complete responsibility for the protection of the monuments, a roof was constructed to protect the eastern façade of the Apadana from the repeated 41

42

43

44

Herzfeld 1928: 34, “Enn, récemment, les voyageurs soi-disant scientiques, enlevaient des pièces de sculptures avec leurs mains sacrilèges, pour les ensevelir dans les musées d’Europe.” Translated from Herzfeld 1928: 35, “Les grandes pierres encore debout doivent être protégées sur leur surface supérieure par une mince couche de ciment, ou, si l’on ne peut se procurer de vrai ciment, par quelque matériel qui peut le remplacer. Les ssures des grandes blocs aussi doivent être traitées analoguement. Il semble être à propos de donner un petit prol saillant à cette couche supérieure pour empêcher les eaux de couler en bas et de toucher la surface des bas-reliefs.” Herzfeld 1933: 407; Dusinberre 2005. As Mousavi (2002: 225) has summarized, it “is not clear how the initial work of preservation and restoration was subsequently transformed into a real archaeological excavation.” Barnett (1957: 57, 60) commented that it “is strange that the excavators have not attempted this relatively simple task [scil. to identify the dispersed sculptures from Persepolis in Western museums].”

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impact of weathering (in 1954; see Mousavi 2002: 245). The years between 1965 and 1979 produced a remarkable body of work and documentation in the elds of conservation and technical studies on the site. The Italian conservation team tested various methods on how to strengthen and to stabilize the relief surfaces. A 1965 photograph shows a series of tests of a special wax extract on the reliefs of the eastern stairway on the Apadana.45 The Italian restoration program included the training of Iranian conservation specialists on the site. Once the Italian methods for conservation and documentation were established, they were continued by Hassan Rahsaz, who became the director of the conservation programs carried out on the site following the 1979 Iranian Revolution. The monuments on the Takht continue to be exposed to the environmental elements, causing ongoing threats to their survival. A recent study has documented the present state of bio-deterioration on the reliefs of the northern stairway on the Apadana (Mohammadi & Krumbein 2008). As the site is understandably on the itinerary of almost every visiting tour to Iran and an attractive site for Iranians, it faces serious challenges. In the summer of 2009, glass façades were placed in front of fragile stretches of reliefs to protect them from anthropogenic deterioration.

5. Creating Achaemenid Persia on the site, in the classroom, and in the museum The intention in conserving and restoring monuments is to safeguard them no less as works of art than as historical evidence. (Art. 3, Venice Charter 1964)

A full history of archaeological conservation and modern engagement with the polychromy of the façades and sculptures of Persepolis remains to be written. My goal here has been to bring attention to only some aspects and to inspire avenues for future research. While we certainly should not judge early efforts and treatments of Persepolitan monuments by today’s standards of conservation and documentation, the modern history of two colossal stone bulls from the Hundred Column Hall and the habit of taking squeezes and molds from the stone façades present interesting lessons for the history of the site and the preservation of monuments. Documentation of paint residues on the reliefs on the site and those dispersed in collections around the world is important as it opens up new research agendas related to the preservation of the Achaemenid Persian heritage. Only then can we attempt to answer questions like the following: what processes were involved in stabilizing the surfaces of the stone monuments once they were painted?

45

ISiAO Archive, Rome, negative roll 3379/5(-C.C. 65/11). Often materials used in previous conservation treatments have left some traces on the reliefs.

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Who was responsible for keeping the colors in place and for recoating the surfaces in case paint faded?46 When did people stop painting the palaces and their façades? As I hope to have shown in my paper, those who have acted in the name of documentation and conservation also altered irreplaceable works of art. The examples provided here deserve our attention, not simply as illustrations of a clash between art historians, archaeologists, and those preserving past monuments from a purely conservation point of view (as expressed so vividly by Melucco Vaccaro), but as a call for collaboration. By their very nature pigments and the analysis of pigments ought to belong to the eld of the conservation specialists. However, their study should be fully integrated into the teaching curriculum in the classroom of archaeologists and art historians too. No one should be surprised anymore to hear that all of the buildings were once brilliantly painted, even if we can only partially reconstruct that polychromy. Art historians and archaeologists should study this aspect of material culture too, especially if they are interested in preserving the legacy of the cultures they study. Only a collaborative effort will bring us closer to understanding aspects of the polychromatic landscapes of Achaemenid Persia. With her profound knowledge and her training of students who are dedicated to a better understanding of the art history of the Achaemenid Persian Empire, Margaret Root has helped to keep the memory of Persepolis alive. Let us collaborate in caring for the monuments on the site as well.

46

Similar questions are now being asked for painted surfaces in the ancient Mediterranean: see, e.g., Bourgeois 2014.

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Bibliography ALEXANDER, J. 1827, Travels from India to England: Comprehending a visit to the Burman Empire, and a journey through Persia, Asia Minor, European Turkey, etc. in the years 1825-26, London. ALLEN, L. 2013, From silence: A Persepolis relief in the Victoria and Albert Museum, V&A Online Journal 5 [vam.ac.uk/content/journals/research-journal/onlinejournal/fromsilence-a-persepolis-relief-in-the-victoria-and-albert-museum]. ASKARI CHAVERDI, A., CALLIERI, P., LAURENZI TABASSO, M. & LAZZARINI, L. 2016, The archaeological site of Persepolis, Iran: Study of the nishing technique of the bas reliefs and architectural surfaces, Archaeometry 58: 17-34. BARNETT, R.D. 1957, Persepolis, Iraq 19: 55-77. BOURAS, C., IOANNIDOU, M. & JENKINS, I. (eds.), 2012, Acropolis restored, London. BOURGEOIS, B. (ed.) 2014, Thérapéia: Polychromie et restauration de la sculpture dans l’Antiquité = Technè 40, Paris. CONNOR, P. 1989, Cast-collecting in the nineteenth century: Scholarship, aesthetics, connoisseurship, in: G. Clarke (ed.), Rediscovering Hellenism: The Hellenic inheritance and the English imagination, Cambridge: 187-235. DIEULAFOY, J. 1890, At Susa, the ancient capital of the Kings of Persia: Narrative of travel through western Persia and excavations made at the site of the lost City of the Lilies, 1884-1886, Philadelphia [translation from the french by F. Weienkampf]. DUSINBERRE, E.R.M. 2005, Herzfeld in Persepolis, in: A. Gunter & S. Hauser (eds.), Ernst Herzfeld and the development of Near Eastern studies: 1900-1950, Leiden: 137-80. HERZFELD, E. 1928, Rapport sur l’état actuel des ruines de Pérsepolis, et propositions pour leur conservation, AMI 1: 17–40. –––– 1933, Xerxes in ancient Persian art, The Illustrated London News April 8, 1933: 48889. JENKINS, I. 1990, Acquisition and supply of casts of the Parthenon sculptures by the British Museum, 1835-1839, BSA 85: 89-114. –––– 2001, Cleaning and controversy: The Parthenon sculptures 1811-1939, London. JOKILEHTO, J. 1999, A history of architectural conservation, London. –––– 2009, Conservation principles in the international context, in: Richmond & Bracker (eds.): 73-83. KADER, I. 2009, ‘Taeuschende Spielereien’ – Kolorierte Abgüsse im 19. und frühen 20. Jahrhundert, in: V. Brinkmann (ed.), Bunte Götter: Die Farbigkeit antiker Skulptur, Frankfurt a.M.: 234-46. KOCH-BRINKMANN, U., PIENING, H. & BRINKMANN, V. 2014, Girls and goddesses: On the costumes of Archaic female statues, in: J. Stubbe Østergaard & A.M. Nielsen (eds.), Transformations: Classical sculpture in colour, Copenhagen: 116-39. KOUZELI, K., DOGANI, Y. & BELOGIANNIS, N. 1991, Study of the remaining colour on the architectural surfaces of the Parthenon, in: G. Biscontin & S. Volpin (eds.), Superci dell’architettura: Le niture, Padova: 241-43. LERNER, J. 1971, The Achaemenid relief of Ahura Mazda in the Fogg Art Museum, Cambridge, Massachusetts, BAI 2: 19-35. –––– 1973, A painted relief from Persepolis, Archaeology 26: 116-22.

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LUCAS, A. 1924, Antiquities: Their restoration and preservation, London. MOHAMMADI, P. & KRUMBEIN, W. 2008, Biodeterioration of ancient stone materials from the Persepolis monuments (Iran), Aerobiologia 24: 27-33. MOUSAVI, A. 2002, Persepolis in retrospect: Histories of discovery and archaeological exploration at the ruins of ancient Parseh, ArsOr 32: 209-51. –––– 2005, Ernst Herzfeld, politics and antiquities legislation in Iran, in: A. Gunter & S. Hauser (eds.), Ernst Herzfeld and the development of Near Eastern studies: 1900-1950, Leiden: 445-75. –––– 2012, Persepolis: Discovery and afterlife of a world wonder, Berlin. MUNOZ VINAZ, S. 2005, Contemporary theory of conservation, London. NAGEL, A. 2010, Colors, gilding and painted motifs in Persepolis: Approaching the polychromy of Achaemenid Persian architectural sculpture, c. 520-330 BCE (diss. University of Michigan), Ann Arbor. –––– 2011, Das farbige Persepolis: Neue Forschungen, in: B. Helwing & P. Rahemipour (eds.), Tehran 50: Ein halbes Jahrhundert deutsche Archäologen in Iran, Darmstadt: 171-72. –––– 2013, Achaemenid art and architecture: Polychromy and pigments, in: D.T. Potts (ed.), The Oxford handbook of Iranian archaeology, Oxford: 596-621. –––– 2014a, Colour in ancient Near Eastern and Egyptian sculpture, in: J. Stubbe Østergaard & A.M. Nielsen (eds.), Transformations: Classical sculpture in colour, Copenhagen: 54-69. –––– 2014b, Squeeze of foundation inscription of Darius I at Persepolis, in: C. McCarty & M. McQuaid (eds.), Tools: Extending our reach, New York: 100-101. –––– [forthc. 1], Pigments and power: Approaching the polychromies of Achaemenid Persepolis, c. 520 to 330 BCE, Paris. –––– [forthc. 2], Painters and painters’ workshops in the ancient Near East: Some considerations and a reassessment, in: S. Gondet & E. Haerinck (eds.), “L’Orient est son jardin,” Hommages à Rémy Boucharlat, Leuven. ORBASLI, A. 2007, Architectural conservation: Principles and practice, Oxford. ORLANDOS, A.K. 1978,       , 3 vols., Athens. PAPAKONSTANINOU-ZIOTIS, E. 2012, Surface conservation, in: C. Bouras, M. Ioannidou & I. Jenkins (eds.), Acropolis restored, London: 57-64. RAZMJOU, S. 2010, Persepolis: A reinterpretation of palaces and their function, in: J. Curtis & StJ. Simpson (eds.), The world of Achaemenid Persia: History, art and society in Iran and the ancient Near East, London: 231-45. RICHMOND, A. & BRACKER, A. (eds.) 2009, Conservation: Principles, dilemmas and uncomfortable truths, London. ROOT, M.C. 1985, The Parthenon frieze and the Apadna reliefs at Persepolis, AJA 100: 103-15. –––– 1989, The Cameron squeeze from Behistun: Salvaging a record of Persian art and history at the Kelsey Museum of Archaeology, Archaeology 42:3: 22. SCHMIDT, E.F. 1953, Persepolis, vol. 1: Structures, reliefs, inscriptions (OIP 68), Chicago. –––– 1957, Persepolis, vol. 2: Contents of the Treasury and other discoveries (OIP 69), Chicago.

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SIMPSON, StJ. 2007, Pottering around Persepolis: Observations on early European visitors to the site, in: C. Tuplin (ed.): Persian Responses: Political and cultural interaction with(in) the Achaemenid empire, Swansea: 343-56. SMITH, C. 1893, Catalogue of casts of sculptures from Persepolis, London. –––– 1932a, Catalogue of casts of sculptures from Persepolis and the neighbourhood: Illustrating the art of the Old Persian empire from 550-340 BC, London. –––– 1932b, Photographs of casts of Persian sculptures of the Achaemenid period, mostly from Persepolis, London. SMITH, R.R.R. & LENAGHAN, J.L. (eds.) 2008, Roman portraits from Aphrodisias, Istanbul. ST. CLAIR, W. 1998, Lord Elgin and the Marbles: The controversial history of the Parthenon sculptures, Oxford. STANLEY-PRICE, N., KIRBY TALLEY, M. & MELUCCO VACCARO, A. (eds.) 1996, Historical and philosophical issues in the conservation of cultural heritage, Los Angeles. TILIA, A.B. 1968, New restoration work at Persepolis, East and West 18: 67-108. –––– 1972, Studies and restorations at Persepolis and other sites of Fars, vol. 1 (ISMEO 16), Roma. –––– 1978, Studies and restorations at Persepolis and other sites of Fars, vol. 2 (ISMEO 18), Roma. VLASSOPOULOU, C. 2008, Neue Untersuchungen zur Farbigkeit des Parthenon, in: V. Brinkmann (ed.), Bunte Götter: Die Farbigkeit antiker Skulptur, Frankfurt a.M.: 144147. YALOURI, E. 2010, Between the local and the global: The Athenian Acropolis as both national and world monument, in: A. Stroulia & S. Buck Sutton (eds.), Archaeology in situ: Sites, archaeology and communities in Greece, Lanham: 131-58. WILLIAMS, D., HIGGS, P., OPPER, T. & TIMSON, M. 2007, A virtual Parthenon metope: Restoration and colour, in: V. Brinkmann, (ed.), Gods in color: Painted sculpture of Classical Antiquity, s.l.: 112-17. WILSMORE, S. 1988, What justies restoration?, PQu 38.150: 56-67. ZANDER, G., (ed.) 1968, Travaux de restauration de monuments historiques en Iran, Roma. ZAPATA-AUBÉ, N. (ed.) 1997, Lottin de Laval: Archéologue et peintre orientaliste, 18101903, Bernay.

REVISITING THE IMAGERY OF GIFT-GIVING Ann C. Gunter (Evanston)

1. Introduction Margaret Cool Root’s The king and kingship in Achaemenid art, published in 1979, has long been appreciated as a watershed. Challenging the prevailing view that marginalized Persepolis and other imperial monuments as derivative pastiches, Root urged instead an understanding of Achaemenid art as informed and programmatic, comprising both an original, distinctive style and a primary historical source for Achaemenid kingship. Among the book’s manifold enduring contributions is its careful and convincing demonstration that the designers of Persepolis knowledgeably drew upon, yet utterly transformed, Egyptian and Mesopotamian themes and artistic traditions to create an Achaemenid imperial iconography. Root’s analysis of the gift-giving processions on the Apadana’s northern and eastern stairway façades well encapsulates this crucial conclusion. Responding to a visual tradition often associated in Egypt and especially in Mesopotamia with military or political subjugation and the afrmation of inequality, Root persuasively argued, the Apadana reliefs reworked expectations: they introduced specic elements that profoundly altered the representation of the gift-giving enterprise and, by extension, the relationship between ruler and subject. She has recently returned to the Apadana delegations, investigating anew relationships between material culture and collective identity and probing issues of audience and gender. She invites us to consider that the reliefs’ designers anticipated the response of various subject peoples in selecting the precise constellation of goods and commodities they are shown to present. The vessels the Yaun delegation carries, she observes, are their Achaemenid forms, not the classicizing versions produced in Athens.1 To an imaginary Athenian citizen of the classical period viewing the reliefs, other gifts, such as folded textiles representing sets of their own clothing, would have connoted the female world. While the Apadana program sought to incorporate all subject peoples in imperial afrmation, did its designers perhaps also intend for potential viewers to feel disparaged or insulted by these group representations (Root 2007: 190f.)? Root (2011) has also analyzed the Achaemenid construction of ‘Elam,’ 1

Root 2007. Rollinger & Henkelman (2009) discuss the Yaun in cuneiform sources.

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which she argues was itself in part a response to the Neo-Assyrian construction of ‘Elam.’ Both in Assurbanipal’s reliefs and in the Apadana processions, allegorical narratives of lions, weapons, and wealth portray ‘Elam’ as an imperial construct. Implicit in her analysis is a dialogue with Neo-Assyrian palace art. Here I imagine a conversation with her contributions that explore the Apadana processions in dynamic response to available models in Egypt and especially in Assyria. A rich recent literature on tribute and its representation both for NeoAssyrian imperial art and the Dynasty 18 Theban tombs furnishes substantial new resources for a fresh discussion of several questions Root’s provocative work has prompted. Was there a symbolic dimension to the gifts offered by foreign delegations in these representations, and, if so, how can we get at those meanings? Can we discern multiple audiences among the intended viewers? What was the role of imperial representations in constructing cultural imaginaries and formulating group stereotypes? These issues also touch importantly on the question of continuity between Neo-Assyrian and Achaemenid administrative practices and court protocol. I am particularly interested in exploring the relationship between the gift-givers and their offerings, and in this respect Sargon’s reliefs at Khorsabad furnish an especially intriguing set of images in light of which to contemplate the Apadana delegations. With deepest appreciation and admiration, I offer this small tribute to the scholar and friend to whom I owe a lifelong debt for inspiration, example, and encouragement.

2. Gift-giving at Persepolis The Apadana processions have been extensively described and illustrated, and their basic features and organization are well known (g.1).2 The building itself, a large, elevated structure whose main hall measures 60.5 m square, lies opposite the southern doorway of the Gate of All Lands in the most publicly visible and accessible part of the Persepolis terrace. The trilingual texts (DPh) and associated coins in the building’s two foundation deposits together date the beginning of construction no later than 515 BCE. Its sculptural program was certainly planned during the reign of Darius I (522-486 BCE), although work continued under Xerxes (486-65 BCE).3 On both north and east stairway façades, three carved registers of courtiers, spearmen, and horsemen stand behind and face a central panel; on the opposite side of the panel, three registers show twenty-three delegations, each led by an usher. In the central panel that originally occupied each façade appeared the enthroned king accompanied by the crown prince, giving audience to an ofcial. In their entirety, 2 3

Schmidt 1953: 70-106, 162-69; Root 1979: 86-96, with bibliography. Root 2007: 177, with bibliography.

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g.1: delegation XV (Parthians or Bactrians); limestone, Persepolis, Apadana, eastern stairway (photograph Oriental Institute, Chicago P 28999)

the reliefs on each stairway façade depict the moment before the delegations from all over the empire are led forward to offer their gifts to the king. The reliefs on the two façades are essentially mirror images of each other, although there are internal differences both in composition and detail. Those on the eastern stairway are considerably better preserved, having been concealed by debris until their excavation by Ernst Herzfeld in the 1930s (Schmidt 1953: 70). Root explored possible thematic and formal prototypes for the Apadana processions among Dynasty 18 Theban tombs, Neo-Assyrian imperial monuments, and Elamite rock-reliefs (1979: 240-62). While Achaemenid art drew many of its themes and images from Neo-Assyrian and Egyptian traditions, she concluded that the Apadana processions largely rejected available gift-giving models, departing signicantly from them not only in composition but also in message, tone, and nuanced gesture. In Egypt and especially in Assyria, gift-giving scenes typically underscore hierarchy, if not outright submission and inferiority. By contrast, the Apadana reliefs communicate a rhetoric of inclusion, unity, and collaboration, emphasizing the dignity of the assembled delegations and suggesting a lack of ranked order among them. Root argued for their primarily metaphorical meaning in expressing a vision of imperial wholeness and voluntary association, without excluding the possibility of reading them on another level as a documentary source. The altogether different character of the Apadana scenes also resulted from the introduction of well-known iconographical elements associated with religious or funerary imagery in Mesopotamia, Egypt, and Elam. On the Apadana, an usher holds each delegation’s lead gure by the hand, in preparation for presentation to the king. Root argued persuasively that a long tradition of Mesopotamian presentation scenes, preserved and disseminated especially through glyptic, was the source for this intimate gesture, which dramatically endowed the gift-giving processions with the aura of divine encounter between worshiper and divinity or between two

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divinities (ibid. 267-70). In Babylonia, unlike Assyria, even the king required priestly intervention with the divine (g.2).4 Root also analyzed the hand-holding gesture’s allusions to Egyptian funerary imagery, in which the god Anubis leads the deceased toward the enthroned Osiris for the nal judgment (Root 1979: 270-72; here g.3). The ritual notion that the deceased was escorted by the hand to a last judgment seems also to have belonged to Elamite tradition (idem 2013: 56). For some of the Greek and Hellenized peoples in the empire’s western regions, by contrast, the introduction scene was associated with the iconography of another divine encounter: Athena leading Herakles by the wrist into the presence of Zeus at Olympus. Archaic Greek art also employed the gesture in scenes of mythological marriage and abduction (idem 2008: 209-11). The designers of the Apadana processions thus selected, from multiple locations within the new empire, specic imagery that was traditionally and powerfully connected with divine encounter and judgment.

3. Tribute and gifts at Persepolis Although collectively these scenes on the Apadana are often described as ‘tribute processions,’ this label properly applies primarily to certain representations of the theme in Neo-Assyrian art and does not accurately characterize the Persepolis reliefs. In his study of the Apadana delegations, Walser recognized that the constellation of offerings overlaps considerably with those that classical sources describe as gifts given by the king: vessels (presumably of precious metal), jewelry, clothing, weapons, and animals (1966: 103). At least eleven delegations present vessels, nine carry swords or another type of weapon, ve offer items of clothing, and all but two bring animals.5 While the Apadana sculptures distinguish consistently among many features of the gures’ headgear and footwear, the vessels offered by multiple delegations exhibit far less diversity, as Schmidt observed and Calmeyer subsequently elaborated (g.4).6 Even among delegations from widely dispersed geographical regions, the vessels’ range of shapes is highly restricted: beakers, deep carinated bowls, and spouted amphorae. The distinctive carinated vessel known as the Achaemenid bowl provides a good example, appearing with gures in Delegations V (Babylonians), VI (Lydians), VIII (Assyrians), XII (Yaun), and XV (Parthians or Bactrians; see

4 5

6

Woods 2004; Waerzeggers 2011: 733-37. Sancisi-Weerdenburg 1989: 136f. On tribute and gifts in the Achaemenid empire see Briant 2002: 309-19, 388-415; Bedford 2007; Klinkott 2007 (all with bibliography). Schmidt 1957: 95; Calmeyer 1993.

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g.2: Sun-god tablet of Nabû-aplu-iddina, Sippar, 9th century BCE; gray schist, 29.5 × 17.8 cm (British Museum ME 91000; copyright Trustees of the British Museum)

gs.1, 4).7 Schmidt reasoned that the similarity among vessel types resulted either from deliberate stylizing of the sculptural representations “or, less plausibly, that the approximate forms (and weights?) of the tribute vessels were determined by decree” (1957: 95). Calmeyer suggested instead that the similarities reected the vessels’ geographically extensive distribution through the mechanism of gift-exchange among the empire’s élite (1993: 160). In his view, this realistic aspect of the images conveyed also ideological messages about the homogeneity of Achaemenid rule and, simultaneously, its vast extent over strange and distant peoples.8

7 8

Calmeyer 1993: pls.44-45, 49-50. Miller 2007: 45-47; idem 2010: 868.

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g.3: Book of the Dead of Hunefer, Egypt, 1307-1196 BCE; papyrus; 87.5 × 40 cm (British Museum EA 9901,3; copyright Trustees of the British Museum)

g.4: delegation VI (Lydians) holding vessels; limestone; Persepolis, Apadana, eastern stairway (photograph Oriental Institute, Chicago P 29002)

4. Tribute and gifts: Dynasty 18 Egypt (ca. 1550-1307 BCE) Egypt’s expansion northward into Syria and Palestine and southward to Nubia achieved military conquests, followed by imperial demands for agricultural commodities, nished works made of valuable materials, women, and children. A wide range of goods and commodities also reached Egypt through trade and diplomatic gift-exchange. Recent studies of the relevant vocabulary as employed in ofcial inscriptions, temple administrative texts, and private tombs supply substantial new

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information.9 In the Annals of Tuthmosis III (1479-25 BCE), the term inw, “that which is brought,” designates gifts from rulers of independent countries – Babylonia, Hatti, and Assyria, among others – as well as the compulsory gifts sent by Retenu, a subjugated area of Syria extending to Palestine. Retenu also delivered agricultural products as tax (šmw), the same term used for the compulsory contributions from Djahy, a region of Palestine. Rememen, an area roughly corresponding to Lebanon, sent “produce” (b3k), while the Nubian provinces of Kush and Wawat annually delivered “products” (b3kw), chiey gold, cattle, and slaves.10 Representations of foreign gift-givers appear in the tombs of high ofcials throughout much of Dynasty 18, from the reign of Tuthmosis I (1504-1492 BCE) through that of Tutankhamun (1333-23 BCE).11 The basic form of the tombs was the inverted T-shaped chapel, the walls of whose outer part, the transverse (broad) hall, contained scenes from the deceased’s professional life.12 In all, some thirtyseven scenes of foreigners presenting valuable objects intended for the pharaoh occur in twenty-seven Theban tombs. Most frequently depicted were the peoples who actually were politically subject to Egypt: Syrians/Palestinians (twenty-four examples) and Nubians (eleven). Although extensively discussed by Aegean specialists, gures labeled “Keftiu” and “Isles in the Midst of the Great Green (Sea),” designating respectively Crete or Cretans/Minoans and the Aegean islands, in fact comprise only a small subset (eight examples) and a relatively brief chronological span, chiey the reigns of Hatshepsut and Tuthmosis III (ca. 1473-1425 BCE).13 Foreigners from other politically independent countries include the people of Punt (in four tombs), Hittites (two), and Mittani (one).14 Müller-Wollermann held that the objects offered by subject Syrians/Palestinians and Nubians in the tomb paintings correspond closely to those presented by independent peoples, likewise sharing in their exotic, valuable character: metal vessels, animals, and weapons (1983: 87). Moreover, as Panagiotopoulos has observed, they overlap only minimally with the tribute goods enumerated in the Annals of Tuthmosis III and the Amarna letters, which consisted instead of raw materials and agricultural products (2001: 271). In her monograph, Hallmann argued that the items represent neither tribute nor gifts but trade goods, conventionally represented as offerings made to the Egyptian king by foreigners in a position of subjugation (2006: 324-34). 9 10 11 12 13

14

Hallmann 2006: 239-52 (review of the literature); Kubisch 2007: 74-82. Panagiotopoulos 2006: 372-77; Hallmann 2006: 291-301. Panagiotopoulos 2001; idem 2006; idem 2011; Hallmann 2006; Anthony 2017. Snape 2011: 185-92, with bibliography. Wachsmann 1987; Panagiotopoulos 2006: 380-84, 392-94; Koehl 2006: 246-53, 34245 (all with bibliography). Panagiotopoulos 2001: 267f.; Hallmann 2006: 268-72, 276-9.

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g.5: tribute bearers in the tomb of Sobekhotep, Thebes, TT63, ca. 1400-1390 BCE; stone and plaster; 1.50 × 1.22 m (British Museum EA 37991; copyright Trustees of the British Museum)

g.6: Assyrian scribes recording booty, Niniveh, Southwest Palace, ca. 645 BCE; alabaster; height: 99.06 cm (British Museum ME 124782; copyright Trustees of the British Museum)

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An abundant literature debates the historicity of these scenes, especially the representations of Aegean (and other politically independent) peoples who offer vessels and other valuable goods and commodities to the pharaoh.15 Many scholars have argued for the ‘propagandistic’ aims of the tomb depictions, in which economic or diplomatic transactions are rendered as foreigners paying tribute to the Egyptian king. Within an Egyptian cultural and historical context, however, the scenes suggest specic royal occasions at which the tomb owner was not only a privileged participant but in which he himself also received special honors. In Aldred’s view, “the idea which these pictures intended to convey was the functioning of the tombowner in his ofcial capacity before the king ‘who had made him’ at the moment of that monarch’s rst ceremonial appearance when he received the homage of all his subjects” (1970: 113). More recently, Panagiotopoulos has emphasized anew the Egyptian context of these scenes, arguing that they reect not a distortion of events or political relationships by the tomb owner or his artisans, but instead the ofcial Egyptian view of the gift-bearing foreign delegations: “they constitute an accurate record of the manipulation of historical truth in the Egyptian court.”16 Formal features of the representations seem intended to stress not only the quantity but also the diversity of the items presented. Often, as in the tomb of Sobekhotep (g.5), the gift-givers hold two objects, one in each hand; typically the gifts are different items rather than a pair of duplicates. Scholars observe that the foreigners’ appearance, dress, and gifts occasionally are ‘hybrid’ constructions, in which artisans apparently combined elements taken from multiple diverse sources or displaced features from one stock scene to another.17 Correspondingly, foreigners may carry Egyptian-style objects along with vessels whose form or decoration is associated with a particular geographical or cultural region, such as the Aegean. Syrian gift-givers in the tomb of Sobekhotep, for example, carry a lotiform chalice, a characteristic New Kingdom vessel, along with a grifn-shaped rhyton that was apparently ‘transferred’ from a stock scene of Aegean gift-bearers (see g.5).18 Yet the co-existence of nonlocal and Egyptian products in the hands of foreign giftgivers could be explained as deliberate, rather than the result of artistic practices. Panagiotopoulos argues that this ‘leveling’ of foreign and domestic items signals the Egyptian view, which emphasized the act of giving over what was offered or its place of origin (2012: 55). 15 16 17 18

Wachsmann 1987: 1-3, with bibliography. Panagiotopoulos 2001: 275; see in general idem 2001, idem 2006, idem 2011. Wachsmann 1987: 4-12, with bibliography. Wachsmann 1987: 59f. Despite these limitations, scholars have nonetheless often approached the tomb representations as reliable sources for the chronology and degree of Aegean contacts with Egypt (Wachsmann 1987, esp. 103-25; cf. Panagiotopoulos 2001; idem 2006: 388f.).

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5. Tribute, booty, and gifts in the Neo-Assyrian empire A wealth of recent studies treating both textual and representational sources has signicantly elaborated the nature and delivery of tribute and diplomatic gift-giving in the Neo-Assyrian empire. Tribute was imposed on both regions brought under Assyrian control by conquest and those that had voluntarily submitted. By contrast, areas formally incorporated into the empire as provinces made payment through taxation; the obligation to pay tribute therefore connoted the political status of client (vassal) state. Royal inscriptions distinguish between regular tribute (biltu or maddattu) and the more or less voluntary, seemingly intermittent gifts known as audience gifts (tmartu or nmurtu). In this context, ‘gifts’ may designate items occasionally sent by rulers of distant countries, beyond the empire’s frontiers: from the king of Dilmun to Sargon and Sennacherib, from Gyges of Lydia to Assurbanipal.19 The administrative texts suggest further that maddattu and nmurtu together constituted compulsory, scheduled payments. Tribute encompassed several forms of wealth or (mostly raw) commodities, typically gold, silver, horses, livestock of various other types, textiles, sh, and oil. ‘Audience gifts’ apparently overlapped considerably with the repertory of resources furnished as tribute, usually including those prestige materials among them: silver, linen, horses, sheep, oxen, and wine. Gold, in the form of nished objects, was given as nmurtu. Silver, calculated in minas, was given as tribute.20 Finished goods mentioned in letters and administrative texts include bowls (kappu), occasionally specied as “tribute bowls” (kappi maddatte), which sometimes weighed about one mina and therefore comprised a standard unit of precious metal (Fales & Postgate 1992: xxiv). With a few exceptions, such as sh and papyrus, tribute goods were remarkably uniform, regardless of geographical source. Moab, for example, apparently supplied the same categories of tribute as did the Levantine client states: horses, precious metal, and textiles.21 The collecting of tribute was heavily, although not exclusively, centralized. Assyrian ofcials in the western Zagros provinces traveled regularly to collect horses as tribute, as correspondence from the reigns of Sargon and Esarhaddon attests.22 Perhaps beginning in the reign of Assurnasirpal II (883-59 BCE), at least the

19 20

21 22

Zaccagnini 1989; Frahm 1999. Bär 1996: 30-56. A letter from the crown prince Sennacherib to Sargon II is a key document for investigating these distinctions (Zaccagnini 1989: 197f.; Bär 1996: 21-26; Radner 2007: 216). For this text (SAA 1 34 = Parpola 1987: 35f.), see also Bagg 2011: 134, with bibliography. Routledge 2004: 206f.; Bagg 2011: 129-49. Fuchs & Parpola 2001: XXVIII-IX. Lanfranchi (2003) elaborates the special status of the Zagros élites.

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most valuable items of tribute were ordinarily brought to the Assyrian capital by emissaries who were themselves important persons. Their presentation to the king was highly ritualized, conducted as an annual event involving envoys sent by all of the client states.23 The crown prince was apparently involved in coordinating the delivery of tribute (and audience gifts) for envoys traveling to the royal centers, as a letter from Uluyayu (later Shalmaneser V, 726-22 BCE) to the commander-inchief (turtnu) indicates: “the emissaries of Commagene, Carc[hem]ish, Ma[r]qasa, Sam’al, Ashdod and Moab have come, but they have passed through Til-Barsip and Guzana without my permission.”24 There is scant but certain evidence for paintings or reliefs depicting related themes in provincial cities in the west, for example, at north Syrian Til Barsip and adatu (Arslanta). Bär has convincingly proposed that the scenes at these two centers depict tribute demanded on the occasion of surrender during military campaigns (Feldzugtribut), delivered to the local palace.25 At least some goods presented either as audience gifts or as part of the regular tribute were subsequently redistributed to palace personnel, and even to client envoys and their servants. Within the palace, shares of tribute and audience gifts were given to individuals ranging from the queen and crown prince to the highest ofcials and other ofces, such as the palace superintendent and scribe. These included silver, garments made of valuable fabrics, iced sh, and other commodities; they apparently formed a signicant portion of high ofcials’ income (Mattila 2000: 144f.). Beginning at least as early as the ninth century BCE, Assyrian kings also gave gifts of personal ornaments, clothing, and weapons to military ofcers and highly placed courtiers as signs of esteem. Ordinarily these consisted of silver rings, distinguished as “arm rings” and “wrist rings,” which were sometimes set with semiprecious stones or made of gold inlaid with ivory (Postgate 1994). These same ornaments, together with luxury textiles (purple-dyed linen or wool) and items of clothing, were presented both to foreign emissaries who brought tribute to the Assyrian king and to other members of their delegations, including servants. Urartian envoys received shoes, garments, and scarves, along with torcs and silver tribute bowls.26 In her analysis of Assyrian tribute processions Root identied key features of the tradition and its development from Assurnasirpal II to Sargon II, anticipating some of the conclusions that Bär later reached independently in his detailed 23 24

25 26

Bär 1996: 13-19, with further references; Radner 2007: 217-19. SAA 19 8 = Luukko 2012: 10. The letter from the crown prince to Sargon II mentioned above (n.20) refers to shipments of audience gifts to the palace from western clients (SAA 1 34; Radner 2007: 217, with bibliography; also SAA 1 33 = Parpola 1987: 33-5, tribute of Commagene). Bär 1996: 182-93; see also Gerlach 2000. Gunter 2009: 171f., with further references.

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study.27 In most cases, the presentation of tribute occurs within an extended narrative devoted to a military campaign and its successful outcome, corresponding to the ‘spot tribute’ often received on the occasion of surrender.28 The presenting of tribute is visually quite clearly distinguished from the collecting of booty, which Assyrian soldiers often transfer out of conquered cities or Assyrian scribes record (g.6). By contrast, tribute is formally offered to the king by a procession of gures (Bär 1996: 5). While many of the best-known tribute processions appear on the carved orthostat reliefs lining palace interiors, tribute scenes also decorated other kinds of monuments, such as obelisks. With their embossed and chased bronze ttings depicting campaigns and the presentation of ‘spot tribute,’ the Balawat Gates of Shalmaneser III (858-24 BCE) relocated this set of imperial themes to the exterior of a structure – moreover, one with a highly charged signicance in the Assyrian urban layout (Schachner 2007: 263f.). Tribute processions may also have adorned gate- or door-ttings at other royal centers, including Khorsabad, and they certainly appeared in palace wall paintings.29 The theme is correspondingly common among the decorated ivory furniture panels carved in the Assyrian tradition, found at Nimrud mostly in or near ceremonial areas: throne rooms, storehouses serving throne rooms, and reception suites.30 Sargon’s tribute scenes are the last known Assyrian examples, surely in large measure because of the empire’s evolving administrative structure. By the end of this king’s reign, most client states had been transformed into provinces. Bär has suggested that we should also look to changes in imperial ideology beginning in Sargon’s reign, when royal inscriptions began to emphasize the punishment of rebellious or disloyal clients.31 The palace reliefs of Sennacherib and Assurbanipal at Nineveh stress the conquest of distant places and peoples through detailed narratives of major military campaigns, especially in Judah, Babylonia, and Elam.32 With the conquest of Egypt, Assyria gained new client rulers and imposed tribute accordingly, while letters, administrative texts, and royal inscriptions attest the giving of audience gifts to later kings. But these events never became a subject for palace decoration.

27 28 29 30

31 32

Root 1979: 252-62; Bär 1996; idem 2007: 231-54. Bär 1996: 241; Yamada 2000: 236-39. Bär 1996: 196; Curtis & Tallis 2008. Mallowan & Davies 1970: 13f.; Bär 1996: 144-47, 166-76, 179-81; Herrmann & Laidlaw 2009: 102f. Bär 1996: 230f.; idem 2007: 253f. Barnett 1976; Russell 1991; Barnett, Bleibtreu & Turner 1998; Seymour 2016.

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6. Gift-giving at Khorsabad As Root and Bär both observed, the tribute scenes in Sargon II’s palace at Khorsabad depart signicantly from those of his predecessors. Instead of episodes contained within an extended campaign narrative, they appear in separate rooms without direct connection to the inscribed scenes of military conquest, and they manifestly imply ceremonial occasions at the Assyrian court itself. Another divergence from earlier representations is the extremely limited range of tribute items.33 Encouraged by Root’s recent reections on the Apadana delegations and their gifts, I reconsider some of these novel features. Foreigners bearing gifts appear in Sargon’s palace at Khorsabad in two rooms (6, 11), a corridor (10), and a court façade (N).34 Room 6 – The king receives three separate processions of tributaries, bearded and dressed alike in a long, fringed garment and coat-like over-garment with decorated border, wearing a turban (Albenda 1986: 71-73, pls.66-69; Bär 1996: 196-200). A le of ten gures: three carry small boxes of jewelry (earrings, bracelets), four or ve each hold two hemispherical bowls, and two carry a sack on the shoulders. B Five gures, of whom three hold pairs of recognizable objects: a pair of lionheaded situlae and hemispherical bowls. C A le of twelve gures: two each hold a single mural crown; two each carry a pair of lion-headed situlae; two each hold two hemispherical bowls; and four carry a sack on the shoulders. One of the four holding a sack has a bula pinned to his overcoat. A

Room 11 – The king receives two groups of foreigners bearing gifts, all dressed like the gures in Room 6 (Albenda 1986: 73f., pl.71; Bär 1996: 200f.). A le of six gures: two carry sacks, two each hold two mural crowns, two each hold a pair of hemispherical bowls. B A le of six gures, of which only the last four are well preserved: each carries a sack on the shoulders. A

Corridor 10 – Each wall of the corridor is lined with two les of tribute bearers in two horizontal registers, representing at least two different groups of foreigners distinguished by dress. One group wears boots and fur cloaks (A, lower registers); the second group, a long fringed garment (B, upper registers; Albenda 1986: 67-71, pls.27-34, gs.45-55; Bär 1996: 202-6). 33 34

Root 1979: 261; Bär 1996: 243. I follow Bär’s (1996: 196-208) catalogue of reliefs and locations. Albenda (1986: 72) and Bär (1996: 197) note discrepancies between Flandin’s drawings and extant reliefs, especially for the Room 6 tributaries.

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g.7: tribute bearers from the Zagros region, Khorsabad, palace of Sargon II (721-705 BCE); alabaster; height: 1.40 m (Oriental Institute Museum A 7365; courtesy of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago) In the lower register on one side, a le of nineteen gures and twelve horses: those leading horses carry one or two spears; three hold a mural crown. In the lower register on the opposite wall, eighteen gures lead sixteen horses. B In the upper register on the southwest wall, a le of thirty tribute bearers arranged in seven units, each led by a gure who holds a mural crown in the left hand and raises the right arm with st clenched. The other gures carry a sack, pairs of hemispherical bowls, and a single mural crown; three lead dromedaries. In the (damaged) upper register on the northeast wall, twenty-seven tribute bearers preserved at least in part; seven carry a single mural crown. A

Façade N – A le of tribute bearers wearing long garments, over-coats, and turbans, like the gures in Rooms 6, 11, and some of those in Corridor 10, but with boots like the fur-clad foreigners in Corridor 10. The eight gures carry mural crowns and hemispherical bowls, both in pairs, and two each a single sack; two lead horses (Albenda 1986: 66f., pls.19, 24; Bär 1996: 206f.)

Unlike the enemies depicted in detailed campaign narratives elsewhere in Sargon’s palace the gift-givers bear no identifying cuneiform labels, and scholars debate their identication. A large bula of Phrygian type decorates the garment of one gure in Room 6, signaling to some the Phrygian identity of this group (Muscarella 1998). Yet it is surely puzzling that Sargon and his advisers would have singled out

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g.8: drawing of figures carrying mural crowns and lion-headed situlae, Khorsabad, palace of Sargon II (721-705 BCE), Room 6 (after Botta & Flandin 1846-50, 2, pl.103)

Phrygians for easy recognition through characteristic personal ornament, and it is uncertain that by this time the ornament was distinctively ‘Phrygian.’ Through Assyrian inuence, bulae became popular over a wide area of southwest Asia in the eighth and especially the seventh century BCE (Curtis 2013: 114f.). Phrygian bulae (and no doubt also garments) were exported to Anatolia’s west coast and points farther west (Bär 1996: 199f.). Other foreign gift-givers (in Rooms 6, 11, Corridor 10; see, e.g., g.7) wear toggles of a widely distributed type, stone and bronze examples of which were found at Nimrud and ivory versions as far aeld as the royal tombs at Salamis on Cyprus.35 It seems most likely, as others have concluded, that the gures in Room 6 represent client states in Anatolia or northern Syria.36 The fur-clad tribute bearers in Room 10 resemble in dress, hairstyle, and headgear the enemy shown elsewhere at Khorsabad defending impressive fortied cities that accompanying inscriptions locate in the western Zagros (Wäer 1975: 26682). In Wäer’s view, they represent a stereotypical image of Zagros inhabitants dating from Akkadian times, well known from the stele of Narm-Sîn. The generic Zagros gure, he suggested, simultaneously distanced these primitive peoples from the Assyrians and homogenized a culturally diverse population that in actuality extended over a considerable geographical expanse. By contrast, he observed, 35 36

Curtis & Reade 1995: 168; Karageorghis 1967: 43f. Bär 1996: 199f., with further references.

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Sargon’s representations of enemy soldiers and tribute bearers from western regions exhibit considerably greater differentiation. Roaf pointed out that by the late sixth century BCE Medes wore a different, unrelated garment, as shown on the Achaemenid monuments (Roaf 2005: 310f.). Drawing on Wäer’s observation, he stressed the artistic stereotype of the uncivilized “Zagros inhabitant.” The use of such a visual stereotype raises intriguing questions about potential viewers and the function of the palace scenes, and could be interpreted in more than one way.37 Sargon’s tributaries carry a limited repertory of gifts, chiey vessels. Multiple gures hold hemispherical bowls that may correspond to the ‘tribute bowls’ mentioned earlier, constituting a standard unit of silver in the form of nished objects (Fales & Postgate 1992: xxiv). Strikingly, a number carry drinking vessels: lionheaded situlae (g.8). Deller (1985: 327-34) has assembled and discussed the few references to these distinctive objects (SAG.DU UR.MA or kaqqad nše). Two occur in the Nimrud Wine Lists, a group of eighth-century texts recording the distribution of wine to courtiers, high-ranking military and administrative ofcials, and foreign envoys, probably on the occasion of an annual feast (Fales 1994: 370). A letter dating to Sargon’s reign mentions a silver example along with gold and silver vessels, including silver ‘tribute bowls’ (kappu), in a list of precious items of tribute or audience gifts (SAA 1 158 = Parpola 1987: 124f.). The other references to lion-headed vessels occur in a letter to a king (probably Esarhaddon) describing a ritual, and a text dating to the reign of Esarhaddon or Assurbanipal that concerns a religious ceremony (Deller 1985: 332-34). With the sole exception of Sargon’s tributaries, only Assyrians hold lion-headed situlae in Neo-Assyrian art, and representations are rare.38 Elsewhere in Sargon’s palace, in banquet scenes, Assyrian courtiers carry pairs of lion-headed situlae (Room 2, Façade L) or hold animalheaded cups (Rooms 2, 7, g.9).39 Both Sargon’s reliefs and archaeological nds of ceramic or metal examples conrm the geographically widespread production of animal-headed cups and situlae, certainly in ceramic and also in metal versions.40 Citing metal examples from Samos and Gordion, along with the Khorsabad representations, Ebbinghaus has 37

38

39

40

Fales (2009: 273-84) thoughtfully discusses the issue of audience(s) for the Assyrian reliefs, with bibliography. On the Balawat Gates, an Assyrian holds a pair of situlae (Bär 1996: 235 n.1803; Deller 1985: 342). Reade 1995: 44-46; Stronach 1995: 180-84; Curtis 2000: 194f. More recent contributions addressing the banqueting scenes at Khorsabad include Álvarez-Mon (2008: 134-41) and Winter (2013), both with previous literature. A Middle Assyrian text describing a royal banquet provides a detailed account of the requisite procedures and protocol, in which a series of rituals reafrms the hierarchical order of court society (Barjamovic 2011: 40f., 43f.; Villard 2013: 219f., 227f.). Stronach 1995: 180-84; Curtis 2000.

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suggested that the broad distribution of these vessels resulted at least in part from their status as appropriate gifts to the Assyrian court, and consequently their circulation in élite exchange networks (Ebbinghaus 2008: 184-86). As noted above, gifts of vessels and personal ornaments the Assyrian king presented to client envoys were sometimes taken from stores of tribute. Perhaps this emphasis on drinking equipment reects the important role that banqueting, and especially winedrinking, now played in many areas of the empire and beyond its frontiers. By the late eighth century BCE, as the distribution of drinking bowls and strainers indicates, wine-drinking involving a standardized set of equipment extended over a wide area of southwest Asia (Stronach 1995: 185-88). Sidespouted jugs and drinking bowls recovered from the queens’ tombs at Nimrud show that it included females, or at least royal women (Curtis 2008: 244-49). Some of the sacks that foreigners in Sargon’s reliefs (and other Assyrian tribute scenes) carry on their shoulders may be wineskins. They vary in size and manner of transport, however, probably signaling more than one g.9: Assyrian courtier carrying lion-headed type of ‘container.’ Occasionally they situlae, Khorsabad, palace of Sargon II (721must represent a large cloth or leather 705 BCE), alabaster; height: 2.87 m (Musée sack lled with multiple articles.41 du Louvre AO 19881; courtesy Réunion des Another remarkable feature of the Musées Nationaux) Khorsabad scenes is the large number of tributaries – notably, from widely divergent geographical regions – who bring mural crowns (g.10). A text from Sargon’s reign helps establish that these objects indeed probably represent mural crowns made of precious metal, rather than clay or metal models of fortied cities (Stadtmodell) as they are often described. A gold mural crown occurs twice in a letter from the crown prince listing luxury items identied as audience gifts, sent to the palace by clients from locations that are un-

41

Bär 1996: 232f. with n.1799.

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g.10: tribute bearers with mural crowns, from the Zagros region, Khorsabad, palace of Sargon II (721-705 BCE); alabaster; height: 1.52 m (Musée du Louvre AO 19887; courtesy Réunion des Musées Nationaux)

known but that certainly lie west of Assyria.42 The mural crown appears on nearly all images of Assyrian royal women, including Assurbanipal’s queen Libbališarrat.43 As an item presented as tribute (or audience gift), as far as I know, it is otherwise found on only two works, both from Nimrud. On the thronebase of Shalmaneser III, a gure in a tribute procession carries a mural crown as his sole gift.44 On a fragmentary ivory panel incised with gural decoration in the Assyrian tradition, a tiny mural crown sits alongside vessels on a tray held aloft by a tribute bearer in a procession (g.11, at the left edge of the tray).45 As a group, the representations indicate variations in size: large crowns carried singly, smaller versions held one in each hand and carried in pairs. Börker-Klähn has also noted an example depicted among the booty collected from the Sealand following Sennacherib’s second campaign against Marduk-apla-iddina (1997: 230-32; here g.12). At Khorsabad, the gifts shown in the reliefs correspond closely to the ‘diplomatic currency’ of tribute and audience gifts, some of which – bowls and personal ornaments – were also given as royal gifts to client envoys. Three gures in Room 6 hold small boxes containing personal ornaments, including arm rings and wrist rings of the type mentioned in texts as royal gifts to courtiers and client envoys (Postgate 1994). Two of the distinctive objects brought by Sargon’s gift-givers – lion-headed situlae and mural crowns – are mentioned in approximately contemporaneous texts as tribute (or audience gifts) sent to the palace, although they are not listed among gifts from the king to courtiers or client envoys. 42 43 44 45

SAA 1 34 = Parpola 1987: 35f.; Bär 1996: 21-25; Radner 2007: 216f., with references. Börker-Klähn 1997: 227-29; Ornan 2002: 469-77. Mallowan 1966, 2: 447 (“a model of a city”), 449f. Curtis & Tallis 2012: 112f., n° 40.

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g.11: tribute bearers holding tray with mural crown and other objects, Nimrud, Northwest Palace, 8th 7th cent. BCE, ivory; 26 × 8 cm (British Museum ME 118099; copyright Trustees of the British Museum)

Sargon’s reliefs therefore claim a limited repertory of objects offered as gifts even by peoples from widely divergent geographical regions – a repertory that overlaps with textual descriptions both of tribute and audience gifts and of royal gifts to client envoys and their delegations. The representations thus negotiate collective identities, combining the authenticity of the gifts with the ‘inauthenticity’ of group dress. For both groups of tributaries, the realia of dress and headgear suggest a stereotypical or generic ‘eastern’ or ‘western’ foreigner. But if we consider the gifts they offer, another identity emerges. From this perspective, the Khorsabad reliefs imply a shared material culture of deference among all who acknowledged Assyrian rule. Moreover, they assert a striking and exceptional correspondence between certain objects (presumably made of precious metal) brought by foreigners and those carried by Assyrian courtiers. Client envoys who appear to hail from western regions carry lion-headed situlae identical to those held by courtiers and in precisely the same manner, the Zwei-Situlen-Traghaltung that Deller inferred must represent actual Assyrian court etiquette (1985: 342; here gs.8-9). As Root and Bär observed, Sargon’s reliefs posit a standardization in the repertory of gifts quite unlike the tribute processions on earlier Assyrian monuments, which often draw attention precisely to the exotic or unfamiliar and the diversity of both raw materials and nished objects. A comparison with the tribute of Jehu as represented on the Black Obelisk is instructive (g.13).46 Here, several gures carry an object in each hand, but unlike Sargon’s gift-givers they do not hold symmetrical pairs of identical objects. Unlike the Achaemenid gift-giving delegations, of course, the Assyrian tributaries are by denition not ‘Assyrian,’ not part of the ‘land of Assur.’ And Sargon’s client envoys seem intended to be understood as the most geographically (and culturally?) distant of all earthly inhabitants that acknowledged Assyrian rule, perhaps peoples from newly conquered regions on the imperial periphery. As an Assyrian 46

Yamada 2000: 192f., with further references.

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g.12: scribes record booty, including mural crown, Nineveh, Southwest Palace, ca. 640-20 BCE; gypsum; 1.52 × 1.63 m (British Museum ME 124955-56; copyright Trustees of the British Museum)

royal center, Khorsabad lacks an advantageous location, observes Reade; it was “presumably founded as an ideal, ideological statement by a king, Sargon, who wished to be presented as a unique, universal emperor” (2011: 118). Assyrian imperial mechanisms, including royal gift-giving, had already achieved a widespread distribution among the empire’s ruling élite of precious metal vessels in a restricted range of shapes, along with ceremonial weapons and items of personal ornament. Royal gift-giving to non-Assyrians displayed ‘correct’ behavior, including generosity and hospitality to foreign delegations.

7. Creating an iconography of empire: foreign artisans and the role of the King Root’s 1979 study established that Achaemenid art drew deliberately and knowledgeably on existing visual traditions in Egypt and southwest Asia in its careful reworking of architectural features, imagery, and gesture, arguing that the most exalted royal circles must have exercised this programmatic selection and dynamic response. Scholars had traditionally credited the stonemasons and sculptors of Achaemenid monuments with decisive creative authority, shaping both content and

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style of art and architecture for a new imperial enterprise that lacked – and found itself in desperate, clueless search of – an appropriate visual language.47 In Root’s reinterpretation, Darius himself played a leading role in the design and planning of the new royal center, working in concert with knowledgeable advisers: “in terms of the burden of creative responsibility for the iconographical program, the king and his circle of advisors were central.”48 She pointed to Mesopotamian and specically Neo-Assyrian evidence for royal participation in the design of imperial monuments, both visual and literary, as a precedent for the Achaemenid model.

g.13: Black Obelisk, tribute of Jehu, Nimrud, reign of Shalmaneser III (858-24 BCE); limestone; height of register: 15 cm (British Museum ME 118885; copyright Trustees of the British Museum)

New editions of royal inscriptions, correspondence, and administrative texts published over the last few decades have furnished substantial material conrming precisely such a paradigm for the Neo-Assyrian empire. The king and his learned advisers exercised detailed decision-making authority concerning royal monuments and dedications, including the planning, construction, and embellishment of palace and temple installations. The court scholars known as “masters” or “experts” (ummânu), including astrologers/scribes, diviners, exorcists, physicians, and lamentation singers, oversaw the planning, execution, and maintenance of many works of art or places where they were housed or displayed.49 In the case of divine statues, for example, high-ranking cult personnel who reported directly to the king super47 48

49

Root 1979: 5-15 reviews the literature. See also Álvarez-Mon 2010. See Root 1990: 128. The king’s central role in the creation of Achaemenid art extended, of course, to other imperial monuments, such as the Bsotn relief (Root 1979: 182-226; idem 2013). Parpola 1993: XIII–XXVII; Ataç 2010: 147-201; Radner 2011: 361-63.

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vised each step – from acquiring raw materials to manufacture, inscribing, and installation (SAA 15 184 = Fuchs & Parpola 2001: 123). Mar-Issar, scribe and agent of Esarhaddon (680-69 BCE) in Babylonia, oversaw the rebuilding of temples and the reinstitution of cultic services in Babylon, Borsippa, Akkad, Uruk, and other Babylonian cities. His letters to the king describe the status of the many projects under his supervision, including the fashioning, inscribing, and dedicating of cult images, and the administrative duties of assigning workers and arranging for the delivery of materials. Mar-Issar occasionally cites specic royal instructions on materials for images or the text of an inscription; he reports having inscribed the pedestal of the statue of the goddess Tašmetu with a text previously communicated by the king.50 Letters that Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal (668 – ca. 630 BCE) exchanged with their respective court scholars also document consultation with the king on details of royal images (Cole & Machinist 1998: xiii–xiv): We have now sent two ro[yal im]ages to the king. I myself sketched the royal image which is an outline. They fashioned the royal image which is in the round. The king should examine them, and whichever the king nds acceptable we will execute accordingly. Let the king pay attention to the hands, the chin, and the hair. As for the royal image which they are making, the scepter is lying across his arm and his arm is resting on his thighs. I myself do not agree with this and I will not fashion (it so). I could speak with them about features – about anything whatever – but they wouldn’t listen to me. On their own volition [they ......]. (SAA 13 34 = Cole & Machinist 1998: 36f.)

Assyrian palace art may itself have constituted a signicant, potent space for scholarly engagement with both texts and images that in association dened and sustained the mythological dimensions of kingship. Ataç has traced features in the palace relief iconography of Assurnasirpal II that must have required the direct participation of specialists in esoteric knowledge (Ataç 2010, esp. 85-201). On one level, the images of conquest and royal ritual would have been read as political and propagandistic, intended for an audience of king, court, and foreign visitors. On another level, the images were created by and intended for ‘informed insiders,’ the court scholars and master craftsmen and – depending on the individual ruler – the king himself. Moreover, the court ‘experts’ were not conned to specialists in Mesopotamian scholarly traditions, but also included those of other regions under imperial control. Radner (2009) has drawn attention to the presence of scribes and ritual experts from Egypt and, from the eighth century BCE onward, augurs from the north Syria/Anatolia region. 50

SAA 10 359 = Parpola 1993: 296f. Another letter acknowledges receipt of gold and serpentine from the king and the queen mother, with instructions to use them for the tiara of the Nabû image at Borsippa (SAA 10 348, 353 = Parpola 1993: 283f., 289-91).

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Sargon himself supervised the construction of his new royal center at Khorsabad (Dr-Šarruk n), as Parpola has elaborated on the basis of letters and administrative texts.51 A substantial portion of the king’s surviving correspondence concerns this vast undertaking, conrming his close attention to every stage of resource acquisition and labor recruitment. These texts have also detailed the far-ung origin of materials and other resources, along with laborers and skilled artisans. Many of the workers were deportees, foreign captives sent to the royal centers for building projects or relocated as part of the ofcial policy of mass deportation begun in the mid-eighth century BCE. From within the empire, governors of northern and northeastern provinces reported to Sargon on their efforts to procure and transport stone and timber for construction, and fruit trees for the royal park. Provincial governors also had to provide the labor force, each assigned a particular “work sector” or “work share” (pilku) of building the city wall calculated by the king and his treasurer (masennu), Tab-šar-Ashur, who managed the construction of Dr-Šarruk n, supervised building projects elsewhere in Assyria (Cala/ Nimrud, Assur, and arran), and oversaw the use of precious materials such as metals and jewels (Mattila 2000: 26-28). Noteworthy in the Assyrian evidence are the international makeup of the workforce – both skilled and unskilled – and the empire-wide scale of the enterprise. Final decision-making authority, however, rested with the king, who consulted directly and often with his experts and high ofcials. By analogy, the role of learned advisers emerges as key in reconstructing how programs of decoration such as the Apadana reliefs could allude or respond, deliberately and knowledgeably, to highly nuanced and contextualized iconographical traditions in different regions of the new Achaemenid empire. Such a process would have required not simply access to sufciently well-preserved ruins, but deeply informed access to and understanding of available models.

8. The ‘availability’ of Neo-Assyrian and Egyptian gift-giving models Root noted that some of the Assyrian royal monuments, including palace decoration at Khorsabad, could have been available to Achaemenid planners in the late sixth century BCE (1979: 25, 296). Newly available textual and archaeological evidence for the end of the Neo-Assyrian empire, the Neo-Babylonian empire, and signicant revisionist scholarship on the Median period furnishes abundant material concerning the question of continuity in administrative practices and court protocol, including access to gift-giving iconographies and actual ceremony. Left incomplete at Sargon’s death in 705 BCE, Khorsabad was occupied throughout the 51

Parpola 1995; see also SAA 15 280-83 = Fuchs & Parpola 2001: 176-78.

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seventh century, and artifactual evidence suggests that occupation continued into the Achaemenid period.52 Alternative models include carved orthostats on ofcial buildings in north Syrian centers such as adatu (Arslanta ), which employed the local tradition of architectural façades decorated with gural scenes (Bär 1996: 189-93). Roaf contends that an Assyrian governor’s palace with interior wall decoration probably existed in western Media at a site such as ar ar; if it continued in use after the fall of the Assyrian empire, it would have provided the setting for actual court ceremony (Roaf 2003: 15f.). Neo-Babylonian practices – some of which surely preserved Assyrian court ceremony – very likely served as the direct antecedent of Achaemenid protocol, assuming that precise models were necessary.53 Citing several examples of Late Period reuse of New Kingdom monuments, Root pointed out that Dynasty 18 tomb scenes of gift-givers were also theoretically available as models for early Achaemenid monuments (1979: 245f.). An especially well-studied example of such reuse, she noted, is the tomb of Montuemhat, mayor of Thebes and governor of Upper Egypt (656 BCE). Montuemhat and his artists drew on several Dynasty 18 Theban monuments, including Hatshepsut’s temple at Deir el-Bahri and the tomb of Rekhmire.54 Tellingly, this Late Period revival of Dynasty 18 models took place in a period of intensied contacts between Assyria and Egypt following the invasions led by Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal. Several scholars have identied Egyptian features specically in seventh-century Assyrian palace art. Reade suggested that the convention of “value perspective,” by which the king appears larger than his ofcials, was owed to Egyptian models, and Thomason proposed that Assurbanipal’s reliefs depicting the recording of booty borrow from Egyptian art the trope of stacking items to show clearly their type and quantity (g.12).55 Esarhaddon’s rock relief carved at Nahr el-Kalb in Lebanon, along with its nearby but unattributable predecessors, relates dynamically to the neighboring relief of Ramses II (Feldman 2004: 141-43). There may be a Neo-Assyrian precedent for the creative inuence of New Kingdom monuments even on well-established indigenous genres, such as the palace reliefs. Kaelin has argued convincingly that reliefs depicting Assurbanipal’s battle at Elamite Til-T ba in the Southwest Palace at Nineveh reect an Assyrian artistic experiment with pictorial features and narrative technique strongly inuenced by a Dynasty 19 representation of the Battle of Kadesh – quite specically, the version depicted on the Ramesseum at Thebes.56 As noted earlier, Egyptian ritual experts 52 53 54 55 56

Kuhrt 1995; Curtis 2003: 161; idem 2005: 185-87. Jursa 2003: 174-79; idem 2010: 93-99. Teeter 2003: 80f., 135f.; Der Manuelian 1994: 7-59. Reade 1979: 343; Thomason 2004: 160. Kaelin 1999: 64-92; see also Watanabe 2008.

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and scribes, probably specialists in hieroglyphic script, were brought to the Assyrian court following Esarhaddon’s conquest of Egypt in 671 BCE.57 Booty and prisoners captured from Memphis and Thebes during Assurbanipal’s campaigns to Egypt in 667/66 and 664/63 BCE were taken to Nineveh (Onasch 1994).

9. Epilogue However widespread the imposition of tribute in the ancient territorial states of southwest Asia, in ofcial artistic representations the theme of its formal delivery was exceptional. As a group the images discussed in this article conjoin a set of related issues, among them metaphor, historical accuracy, and the roles of patron and artisan in the creative enterprise. Moreover, they are intriguingly linked not only by their common theme, but also by the shared ways in which scholars have traditionally approached them. A documentary interest often prevails, in pursuit of which the images are compared with textual sources and evaluated as potentially valuable complementary evidence for items of tribute, the protocol of delivery, and ideological messages of power and ‘otherness.’ Studies of the associated realia of foreigners and their gifts have often operated with implicitly static, ‘nationally’ bounded notions of artifact style and narrowly dened ties between material culture and ‘ethnic’ or cultural groups. Root’s pioneering analysis of the Apadana delegations has steered us in new directions, exploring the representations as fertile ground for novel perspectives emphasizing complex, problematic relationships between material culture and the construction of collective identities. In Dynasty 18 Egypt, scenes of foreign gift-givers show a mixture of Egyptian, non-Egyptian, and culturally entangled objects. In Sargon’s reliefs at Khorsabad, tribute bearers from the farthest edges of the empire bring a closely related constellation of vessels, ornaments, and crowns that are mentioned in contemporaneous texts as items of tribute and audience gifts or gifts from the king to couriers and client envoys. In these representations, seemingly discrete subject communities on the empire’s frontiers who are by denition ‘not Assyrian’ are reimagined in new congurations and dynamically connected with the imperial center, the Assyrian king and court.

57

See Radner 2009: 223-26. Ataç (2004: 71) compares images of demons with daggers in the palaces at Nineveh with New Kingdom Egyptian representations of demons guarding the Netherworld.

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SIGILLOPHOBE SUPPLIERS AND IDIOSYNCRATIC SCRIBES LOCAL INFORMATION HANDLING IN ACHAEMENID PRSA Mark B. Garrison* & Wouter F.M. Henkelman**

1. Introduction Greek sources, starting with Herodotus, marvelled about the Persian royal roads and the speed of travel and communication they permitted within the vast Achaemenid expanse. Much has been written about this vital network, the spine of empire: about the degree of connectivity it afforded, about the courses of the roads, the people who travelled on it, and the advantages that Alexander and his armies drew from it. The same Greek sources were much less interested in the logistic operation behind the network, with the notable exception of a passage in PseudoAristotle’s Oeconomica, where Antimenes, a high administrator and Alexander appointee, is said to have bidden “the satraps replenish, in accordance with the law of the country, the storehouses/granaries ( ) along the royal roads.”1 Though offering little detail, this statement opens a view on the efforts necessary to maintain the way stations with sufcient supplies in our, wine (or beer), fodder and, in the case of halting places for express messengers, fresh horses.

* **

1

Trinity University, San Antonio. École Pratique des Hautes Études / Université PSL. The authors extend their gratitude to the Persepolis Fortication Archive Project at the University of Chicago and its director, Matthew Stolper, for permission to reproduce the images printed herein. Much of the seal data in this paper goes back to original identication and collations by Christina Chandler, Erin Daly, and Emma Petersen. Jebrael Nokandeh, director of the National Museum of Iran, generously granted permission to Henkelman to work on Fortication tablets in Tehran. The passage from Ps.Arist. (Oec. 2.2.38; cf. ibid. 2.2.34; translation adapted from G.C. Armstrong) has notably been commented upon by Briant in reference to the travel texts in PFA, the Arad ostraca and other sources (Briant 2002: 364f., 452-54; idem 2009: 16567; idem 2012: 188 with nn.4-5, 195-97). See also Henkelman 2017a: 75-77 with nn.45, 49 and Müller 2005 (designation and duties of Antimenes, with bibliography).

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The Persepolis Fortication archive (hereafter PFA) affords a more detailed view on the logistics side of travel in the Achaemenid empire, not only in terms of supplies but also with regard to accounting and control. More specically, the archive allows micro-analysis of a number of well-attested district storehouses that doubled as way stations. Study of the use of specic seals and sealing protocols, of the occurrence of personal names and designations, and of a multitude of phenomena subsumed under the header of individual and local scribal tactics informs detailed proles of these various locations and their main personalities. In focussing on four ‘super-user’ suppliers at storehouses/way stations, this paper seeks to extend previous analyses on data handling as reected in PFA. It will draw up administrative proles of the selected suppliers, reect on the imagery of their seals in relation to their rank and activity, and comment on district and regional hierarchies and the principles of ‘matrix management.’ Most crucially, however, it will focus on tablet formats, technical formulae, content structure, patterns of (non-)seal application, and other issues of local bureaucratic practice as situated between the extremes of centrally-imposed standards and idiosyncrasies at the local and individual level. We are honoured to offer this contribution to Margaret Root, whose own work on tablet formats, glyptic, and ‘glyptic behaviour’ at Persepolis has provided a constant source of inspiration for us. Given the focus in PFA on provisioning food rations, it is not surprising to nd that the transaction it most frequently records is that of supplying or allocating food commodities. Ofcials in charge of handling the commodities, the actual storekeepers and the more elevated district suppliers (and possible intermediate ranks), are recognisable by the term kurman, which is not a title or designation, but a marker of agency. Other, higher-ranking ofcials occasionally stepped into this role, if the circumstances required so (see §3.3). Suppliers generally impressed their personal or ofce seals on the attened left sides of a standard tongue-shaped tablets. Other surfaces were available for (an)other seal impression(s), commonly from the seal of the beneciary acknowledging receipt. Up to six distinct seals could be impressed on a single tablet, though the most regular pattern in case of transaction between supplier and recipient involves only two seals (counter sealing; cf. below). One of the most distinctive and easily recognized types of transactions that involve the supplier’s agency is the travel ration. Indeed, travel ration texts are the most frequently occurring type of transaction recorded in PFA. They concern the payment of daily rations, mostly on subsistence level, to individuals traveling on ofcial business on a satrapal or sub-satrapal section of the imperial road network. The rations typically consist of our, sometimes supplemented with wine or beer, rarely with other commodities. Allocation of each commodity is separately documented in a memorandum, sealed or unsealed, or in an entry in larger registers or ‘journals’ (compiled from the memoranda). In this paper, journal entries and

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memoranda alike will be counted as individual texts. While editorial work on PFA is on-going, texts relating to travel already amount to at least 1300 items. Whereas Herodotus (V.52-53) only knew of a ‘royal road’ between Sardis and Susa, this road not only continued to Persepolis and from there as far as India, but also was just one of several main arteries connecting the Achaemenid lands. This network was known, at least in general layout, to ofcials at way stations throughout the empire. Such people, it may be argued, made the empire in their daily routine of welcoming travellers from all corners of the known world and providing them with rations upon verication of travel authorisations issued by far-away administrators. This perspective may demonstrate the pertinence of a microanalysis of storehouse/way stations in PFA for Achaemenid studies at large. Our own knowledge of the road network is limited, though fortunately not as much as that of Herodotus. Certain complicating factors obscure our view, such as the circumstance that regions commonly offered parallel possibilities to travel from A to B (summer/winter roads, mountain shortcuts, viae militares, etc.). It is well possible, and in some cases likely, that two (or more) alternate trajectories were recognized as ofcial routes, hence lined by way stations, guarded by local garrisons, and in the care of road inspectors and maintenance teams. The available evidence, certainly that from PFA, mostly does not make such alternatives explicit. It may serve to illustrate the extent of our ignorance that it remains unclear whether the route between Susa and Persepolis, arguably the most important connection of the empire, consisted of one or two (or more) of such ofcial branches, not to mention the number and absolute location of the way stations. Despite limitations of various kinds, the travel ration dossier in PFA remains the richest and most comprehensive source on ofcial travel within the Achaemenid empire, if only because it corrects the common Greek perspective and its emphasis on the western half of the empire. As PFA abundantly shows, Persepolis (and Susa) lay at the centre of the royal road system, the eastern half of which was as important as its western counterpart.2 The travel-ration memorandum NN 0859 (g.1) may serve as a typical example of a travel ration and the role of the supplier:

2

Surveys: Briant 1991; idem 2002: 357-62, 364-77, 927; idem 2012; Seibert 2002; Kuhrt 2007: 730-62; Colburn 2013; Velázquez Muñoz 2016; Henkelman & Jacobs [forthc.]. Travel, travel provisions and related matters in PFA: Hallock 1969: 40-45; Koch 1986; idem 1993; Giovinazzo 1994; Graf 1994; Aperghis 1997a; idem 1999; Briant 2002: 448; idem 2010; Henkelman 2008a: 67 n.153 (bibliography), 113-15, 143; idem 2017a: 63-80; idem [forthc. 1]; Garrison 2017: 43f. Route(s) between Persepolis and Susa: Arfa’i [Arfaee] 1999; Henkelman 2008a: 113f.; Speck 2002; Potts 2008: 280-83.

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0859 Seals: PFS 0024 (g.19; left edge), PFS 2885 (reverse) NN

Obverse (01) 3 BAR 2 QA ZÍD.DAMEŠ Lower edge (02)
kur-mán HALmi-
ra-ia-u-
da-na (03) HALma-u-da-ud-da
hi-še Reverse (04) du-šá hi-su-ud-
da (05) ½ du-šá 18 HALpu-
hu (06) un-ra 1 QA tan du-šá (07) hal-mi HALEŠŠANA-na ku-iz (08)
AŠbar-ri-ka4-na (09) [pa]-ráš ANITIMEŠ Upper edge (10) [ANmi]-ia-ka4-na(11)
iš-na (01)

32 l. our, (02) allocation from Mirayauda, (03-04) (a person) named Maudadda received; (04-05) he himself received 5 l., (05-06) 18 servants each received 1.5 l. (07) He (Maudadda) carried a sealed document (travel authorization) from the King, (08-09) he went to Barrikana (*Parik na-), (09-11) twelfth month.

This travel text records an allocation of our from Mirayauda (kurman PN-na) to Maudadda and his aides who were en route to a province of Arachosia. The transaction is dated to the twelfth month, a year date is not given. Maudadda was traveling to Susa carrying a halmi issued by the King’s chancellery. The crucial term used, halmi, literally “seal,” had the derivative meanings “seal impression,” “sealed document,” “letter order,” and “travel authorisation.”4 In NN 0859, as usual in records on travel provisions, it is used in the sense of “travel authorisation,” but this does not imply that the original connection to seals and sealings had been obliterated. The sealed bulla attached to the leather travel documents constituted an essential component, completing and conferring the necessary authority to the record and adding a seal image that suppliers and other ofcials throughout the empire had learned to recognise.5 3

4 5

texts are cited from collated editions by Henkelman, based on published or manuscript editions by R.T. Hallock. All translations are by Henkelman. Seal drawings published in this paper are by Garrison. See survey, with references, in Henkelman [forthc. 1] §2. For a discussion of travel authorisations and those empowered to issue them see Henkelman [forthc. 1]. Elamite miyatukkaš renders OIr. *viytika-, “viaticum, travel

PFA

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Seals mattered to the Achaemenids: this was true on an imperial level, as our remarks on halmi indicate, but certainly also on the regional or satrapal level of the institution documented by PFA. The two seals impressed on NN 0859 would guide any reasonably well-trained ofcial or clerk within its network. Thus, the seal applied to the left edge, PFS 0024, represents the supply authority (kurman ofcial) and would be recognisable by auditors and others reviewing the record. Although the location or district in which the particular transaction recorded in NN 0859 is not specied, it would likewise be obvious to anybody familiar with the image of PFS 0024 (see §4.4.1). The seal applied to the reverse, PFS 2885, represents the receiver, Maudadda. Travellers like him were required to carry a seal to acknowledge their daily receipts of provisions. To omit counter-sealing was not an option; in the very rare instances that the traveller had no seal at hand he impressed a coin or an earring in the clay as a seal surrogate.6 While the above and other aspects of the transaction between Mirayauda and Maudadda merit further discussion, this paper is particularly concerned with the administrative activity represented by the formula kurman PN-na, “allocation from PN.” It focuses on a handful of the most frequently named supply ofcials, their relation to the road network, the seal praxis associated with their activity, and the imagery of those seals. Although the analyses that follow are based upon the examination of hundreds of texts, they by no means exhaust the subject of suppliers and the seals that they use, a topic that grows more daunting the more one familiarizes oneself with the intricacies of PFA.7

6

7

authorisation” (Tavernier 2007: 410f. [4.4..3.19]); it is a partial equivalent to Elamite halmi. The latter has a broader meaning and was the preferred term among Fortication scribes, underlining the importance of the sealings attached to the travel authorisations. For the Aramaic viaticum handed out by Arš ma, satrap of Egypt, to his subordinate Nakhtor for travel to Egypt (TADAE A6.9) and the status of this document see Dalley 2014, Tuplin [forthc.], and Henkelman [forthc. 1]. The seal used by the satrap Arš ma was an heirloom of a presumed forebear, also by the name of Arš ma; it has recently been identied on two documents in PFA (see Garrison & Henkelman [forthc.]). The earring is impressed on the reverse of NN 2543 (previously mentioned by Jones 1990). For other surrogates see Root 2008: 91 (with references). Other high-occurrence supplier seals include PFS 0021 (Karma at Kurdušum; Koch 1986: 144; idem 1990: 128 n.562, 174, 304; Arfaee 2008: 19; Garrison 2017: 70), PFS 0026 (g.22; Barušiyatiš at Parmadan; Arfaee 2008: 11), PFS 0005 (Parru at Šurkutur; Koch 1990: 156, 299f.; Aperghis 1998: 46, 52; idem 1999: 165, 171-76, 189), and PFS 0033 (Hidali and Liduma district; Koch 1986: 145; Tuplin 1998: 106 n.116; Garrison & Root 2001: 321f.; Henkelman & Stolper 2009: 312 n.139; Henkelman 2017c: 282f.).

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2. The Persepolis Fortication archive 2.1. Scope The Persepolis Fortication archive was discovered in March 1933 in the casemate system of the northeastern fortication wall of the Persepolis terrace. It was not dumped there, but stored, to keep it available for later consultation. The archive, even though woefully incomplete, can be regarded as a single antique artefact that preserves in part its own internal logic and coherence. The available archaeological documentation on the nd of PFA is less than satisfactory, but does provide a secure provenance, viz an imperial centre. The archive as a whole and most individual tablets can be precisely dated, showing that it belongs, by and large, to the middle years of the reign of Darius I, one of the most critical, formative periods in the whole of the history of ancient Western Asia. This places both the textual and the glyptic evidence from PFA right in the heart of Achaemenid studies.8 The excavated corpus represents a partial cross-section of a complex bureaucracy, a frozen image showing manifold operations as they were being carried out, documented, or accounted for at the time the extant part of the archive was deposited. These operations are those of a large, centralized, and institutional household economy covering a territory dened by modern Nrz (Narezzaš/*Nar a in PFA) in the southeast and, presumably, the R m Hormoz or Behbah n region in the northwest, hence roughly coinciding with the modern province of F rs. The administration of the Persian heartland was responsible for large-scale, centralized (but not-all embracing) systems of agriculture, animal husbandry, food processing, textile, and craft production. It may also have controlled natural resources such as sh, fowl, game, and minerals (such as iron and salt). It fed a labour force of tens of thousands of dependent workers and impressive numbers of craftsmen, specialists of numerous capacities, and administrative ofcials. As an effective machine it could organize large irrigation and building projects; as a protable organization it increased its own capital, partly in animals, partly in silver and valuables hoarded in central treasuries. It appears to have been responsible for taxation and was involved in feeding military garrisons at various strongholds.

8

The discovery of the archive is reported in [Anonymous] 1934: 231f. and Herzfeld 1941: 226. For discussion of the nd circumstances and the status of the archive (perhaps best described as ‘dormant’) see Garrison & Root 2001: 23-29; Jones & Stolper 2008; Henkelman 2008a: 69-71, 172-79; Stolper 2017a: xxxvii-xlii; idem [forthc. 1]. For surveys of PFA see, i.a., Garrison & Root 2001: 1-60; Briant 2002: 42248, 938-43; Kuhrt 2007: 763-814 (select texts with commentary); Henkelman 2008a: 65-179; idem 2013a-b; idem [forthc. 2]; Azzoni et al. 2017; Garrison 2017: 15-116.

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The household economy thus described was the instrument for managing and developing Achaemenid Prsa. As such it was not an isolated phenomenon and even less an ex nihilo creation by Darius I: it echoed an earlier system in midseventh century Elam, it rooted in earlier highland structures, and it was paralleled by sister-households in Achaemenid Susa/Kh zestn and possibly Ecbatana/Media, Taoce (Persian Gulf littoral), Gabae (bdeh or Izadkhst region), and elsewhere. Most critically, it appears to have served as a template for developing outlying regions with no or little pre-existing bureaucratic and administrative structures, such as Bactria and Arachosia.9 Of all the activities and responsibilities here described, only a fraction is visible in PFA. By far the largest part of the texts concerns rationing in broadest sense: fodder for animals, rations (and regular bonuses) for dependent workers and craftsmen, daily provisions for authorized travellers on the royal roads, wages for ofcials, compensations received by the (administrative) élite and members of the royal house, and sacrices for the gods. The term gal, “share, portion, ration,” is used in all these contexts and may be regarded as the central key to understanding PFA (cf. Henkelman 2008a: 211f. n.459). Administrative branches such as the organization of actual agricultural activity, wool harvesting and processing, or craft production fall outside the scope of PFA. Some branches are indirectly indicated, e.g., herding (referred to in periodic stocktaking), hunting (wild fowl appear when captive and being fattened at bird farms), or weaving (special rations for female leaders of textile workshops). The archive is also limited in time: the vast majority of Elamite and Aramaic documents date to a sixteen-year period in the middle reign of Darius I, 509-493 BCE, although a few recently-edited texts extend the beginning of this range back to 518/17 BCE (Stolper [forthc. 1]). The earlier date underlines the above observation that PFA and the institutional household economy behind it were not created from scratch by the re-founder of the Persian empire. Another recent text nd suggests that the archive, though dormant, could be consulted as late as May 487 BCE (ibid.). This brings it chronologically close to the smaller Persepolis Treasury archive (hereafter PTA), which represents a subsidiary branch of administration (silver payments in the Persepolis region stricto sensu). The existence of this archive and its referencing of high administrators, successors to the general directors mentioned

9

For identication of administrative ‘provinces’ on the Iranian plateau and beyond as well as for the possible template role of the Persepolis economy see Henkelman 2017a: 80-174; on Taoce and Gabae see idem 2008b (with additions in idem [forthc. 1] §5; idem [forthc. 3]). Apart from the Neo-Elamite institutional household economy centred on Susa and documented by the so-called Acropole Archive, there are also indicators of early administrative structures in the highlands, on which see idem 2018a: 810-16.

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in PFA, shows that the same structures continued at least down to year 7 of Artaxerxes I (457 BCE), some sixty years after the earliest dated PFA texts.10 The Fortication archive, despite its functional and chronological limitations, remains large in comparison with other surviving ancient archival corpora. Tablets and fragments written in Elamite cuneiform alone stem from 15,000 or more original tablets; of these at least ca. 7000 are legible and analytically meaningful.11 It is important to recognize, however, that the surviving corpus is only a fragment, and probably a very small fragment, of the original archive.12 Of this fragment, an edited corpus of ca. 6700 texts lies at the basis of this study.13

2.2. The languages of PFA Tablets inscribed in Elamite cuneiform script and language are the most common type of document in PFA; they represent some 95% of all inscribed tablets. Some 86% of the Elamite tablets are sealed. Besides the Elamite tablets, two other larger categories of clay tablets exist: those inscribed in Aramaic script and language, almost always sealed (PFAT); those that carry no text, only the impressions of seals (PFUT). A small part of the Elamite tablets carries Aramaic epigraphs (PFAE).14 10

11 12

13

14

For the principal publication of the texts from PTA, see Cameron 1948; for the seal impressions, see Schmidt 1957: 4-41, pls.1-14. For subsequent bibliography see Azzoni et al. 2017. See also Garrison 2014a; idem 2017: 71-77. Henkelman 2008a: 79-82, 177-79, based on Jones & Stolper 2008: 37-44. Henkelman has estimated (2008a: 79, 177-79) that there may have been 100,000 or more Elamite tablets in the original archive (509-493 BCE); the 7000 or more legible Elamite tablets would constitute only ca. 7% of these. Most PFA tablets remain on loan at the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago; 2236 Elamite, 23 uninscribed tablets, and ca. 35,000 smaller fragments were returned to Iran in 1951, 2004, and 2019. These are now in the National Museum of Iran (Razmjou 2004; Stein 2004; Nokandeh & Woods 2019). Our research corpus consists of the tablets edited by R.T. Hallock in 1969 (PF) and 1978 (PFa), tablets edited by Hallock and available in manuscript editions (NN 00012595), tablets edited by G.G. Cameron and Hallock and published by A.M. Arfaee in 2008 (Fort., as in ‘Fort. 1017,’ and Teh.), and tablets edited by C.E. Jones (NN 25962680). All of these have been collated by Henkelman in Chicago and Tehran and are being prepared for (re-)publication. About 1700 texts edited by M.W. Stolper (Fort., as in ‘Fort. 2338-102’) have not as yet been systematically analysed, but are included in this study as much as possible (critical passages collated by Henkelman). There are a few unique texts in the archive, one each in Greek, Babylonian (probably extraneous to PFA), Phrygian, and vernacular Old Iranian (Stolper & Tavernier 2007: 34, 23-5, with previous bibliography). To these one, possibly two, text(s) written in Demotic script and language can now be added (Azzoni et al. 2019; cf. §4.3.4).

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The main surface languages of the archive are Elamite and Aramaic, but the inuence of (various dialects of) vernacular western Old-Iranian is pervasive in both of these. Not only are Iranian loanwords legion in the Elamite and Aramaic texts, but Iranian was also the mother tongue of the majority of scribes writing in Elamite and of some writing in Aramaic. By and large the majority of the actors in the administration must have been iranophone (see Henkelman 2011b: 586-95, 614-22). Yet, the ‘language’ most omnipresent in every part of PFA is unmistakably that of the seals impressed on the tablets. Just over 4000 distinct and legible seals have been identied to date on the documents from PFA.15 The sheer scale of imagery that is preserved in PFA is perhaps unmatched by any other corpus of visual imagery coming from a single site in ancient western Asia.

2.3. Avenues of research: Persepolitan glyptic Sealing mattered at Persepolis not only as a vital part of administrative protocol but also (via the seal images) as a medium of signication on a variety of levels. While one may explore the manner in which seals served as tools in the functioning of the administration represented by PFA and seek to understand the signicance of the glyptic imagery as such within the context of Achaemenid visual landscape, PFA offers the rare opportunity to link administrative protocols (specic people, places, and administrative functions) and glyptic imagery so as to move toward a social history of art.16 This is due to the fact that the seal images are linked to texts that often name the ofcials and ofces using these seals and provide – sometimes detailed – insights into the administrative and social positions of those seal users. Glyptic imagery at Persepolis is thus embedded in a complex network of social and administrative relations among hundreds of individuals mentioned by name, ofce, and/or title in the archive. Those individuals using seals at Persepolis range in rank and status from ground-level team leaders to satraps, direct representatives of the Great King, and members of the royal family.

15

16

This gure updates that in Garrison 2017: x; the total number of distinct and legible seals (on tablets selected for study) may eventually reach 4300-4500. Previous approaches to Persepolitan imagery as such, encompassing issues of composition, iconography, and style, have already produced signicant modications to our understanding of Achaemenid art. See the overview of research in Garrison 2017: 1523, 49-71, 75-103.

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In PFA there are distinct categories of ofcials, demarked by the types of actions they were authorized to perform, the jurisdictions in which they operated, the administrative contexts in which they appeared, the nature and amount of commodities that they received as wages, and/or the designations and (honoric) titles that they bore. Studies on the role that seal images played in the lives of administrators at Persepolis have hitherto focussed on the very highest levels of the élite at court and/or the administrative structure represented by PFA.17 One goal of the present study is to explore the glyptic imagery of a class of ofcials, those responsible for the physical allocation of ration commodities, who inhabit an administrative echelon less rareed than the highest levels of the socioadministrative élite at Persepolis.

2.4. Tablet format and tablet circulation In this study, as elsewhere, Elamite documents on single transactions, such as the allocation of barley rations to a group of workers or of sacricial livestock to a priest, are dened as ‘memoranda.’ Such single transaction receipts are normally written on tongue-shaped tablets formed around a piece of knotted string. Some tablets preserve fragments of string bre in their core, but in most cases all that is visible is the two string holes on either side of the attened left edge. The precise function(s) of the continuous loop of string that was part of every tongue-shaped tablet remains opaque; it is clear, though, that the strings in general provided an additional functionality to the clay tablet format: they allowed either the addition of text or seal impressions on a separate lump of clay at any desired moment, or attachment to other clay tablets (bundling) or to other media. In both circumstances the greater functionality of Aramaic documents on leather or papyrus has to be kept in mind as a possible reference, given the widespread use of Aramaic in the Achaemenid empire. On the other hand, the format had a long preAchaemenid history and is attested in Sukkalmah-period Susa.18

17

18

See Garrison 1991; idem 1998; idem 2007; idem 2014a-b; idem 2017: 333-85; Henkelman 2010; Garrison & Ritner 2010; Garrison & Henkelman [forthc.]. A few seals from PFA belong to users known from the Greek and Roman historiographers and Achaemenid imperial inscriptions (see, e.g., Hallock 1985: 590f.; Lewis 1985: 110f.; Garrison 2014b: 496-507; Garrison & Henkelman [forthc.]; Henkelman [forthc. 1]). The term ‘memorandum’ for the tongue-shaped tablets (apart from letter-orders, although of the same format) was introduced by Cameron 1948: 25, 48. See also Henkelman 2008a: 102f.; Jones & Stolper 2008: 29f.; Garrison 2017: 33-38, 42-44; Stolper 2017b. On the knotted strings see Henkelman 2008a: 154-61; idem 2018a: 803.

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The tongue-shaped memoranda are the smallest independent units within the Fortication archive or, in terms of archival science, the most succinct records in the sense that they record a unique, non-repeatable combination of time, place, and commodity and unequivocally express the jurisdictions involved. All of these elements may be explicit in the text, but often some, such as the name of the locality, are implied by the seals used. The texts can thus occasionally be terse, but in combination with the seals they will still form a full archival record. In being autonomous records, the Elamite tongue-shaped memoranda are different from the uninscribed tablets, impressed with up to four seals according to patterns that may be intricate and can vary greatly, but that in the end are repeatable and thus per se unsuited to document unique combinations of time, space, and commodity. The sealed Aramaic texts are closer to the Elamite memoranda, but tend to be much terser and often leave out core data such as the amount or the date (Azzoni 2008; Azzoni & Dusinberre 2014). In general, and like the uninscribed tablets, the Aramaic tablets are not records in the full sense of the word. At the same time it is to be noted that Aramaic and uninscribed documents were written on tongue-shaped or triangular tablets with string holes, hence formed around a knotted string and similar to the Elamite memoranda (though generally a bit smaller).19 Their format, in combination with their seal impressions (expressing jurisdiction), probably implies a similar legal status within the bureaucracy. But their format may also be an important clue to their physical function: they may originally have been tied to other pieces of documentation, e.g., a (sealed or unsealed) Elamite tablet. In that case, the Aramaic and uninscribed tablets could be understood as parts of full records (cf. §4.3.4). The tongue-shaped Elamite tablets appear to have been drafted locally, i.e. at the many nodal points in the institutional landscape such as way stations, granaries, fortresses, bird farms or fruit plantations (‘paradises’). There is near-consensus that they were periodically collected by roaming accountants, plausibly in the context of a rst audit on the spot, put in sealed containers (bags or jars), and transported to Persepolis for further processing. The memoranda were meant to be ephemeral: upon delivery at Persepolis, they were scrutinized and summarized in rectangular registers and subsequently discarded and recycled. The registers, more commonly but less precisely known as ‘journals’ typically pertain to a single commodity at a single locality (and its satellites) during a single year. They were, in their turn, used for drafting accounts, in combination with other data (perhaps from the roaming accountants). The accounts, of different rectangular formats, state the income, expenses, and balance carried over of a given commodity at a given place during a single year (or several years in separate 19

On the shapes of the uninscribed and Aramaic tablets see Azzoni 2008: 34, 36; Garrison 2008: 154-57; idem 2017: 45.

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sections of the account). A third step in the auditing may have followed, as Aramaic epigraphs on journals and accounts suggest, but this phase largely eludes our view. The process here outlined implies that the excavated memoranda represent documents that – for reasons that largely escape us – were never processed. Presumably they had lost their practical, day-to-day function, but retained their legal status and function (documenting accountability) and therefore had to be preserved, hence their secured deposit in the northeastern Fortication.20 The system proposed here above does not pretend to be more than a general model; a number of notable exceptions to it exist. One of the most striking of these is that not all memoranda are written on sealed, tongue-shaped tablets: a smaller group is written on conical, conoid, sub-rectangular, ellipsoid, or ovate tablets. Virtually all of these are unsealed. The vast majority of the irregularly-shaped tablets have a single string hole in the left or right edge (rather than two in the left edge). There exists therefore, as Margaret Root emphasized some years ago, a clear opposition in which tablet format and seal-use are correlated:21 tongue shape + 2 string holes + sealed vs. irregular shape + 1 string hole + unsealed

The irregularly-shaped tablets are not evenly distributed over all groups of memoranda (records of deposit, records of outlays); there is a noticeable concentration of such tablets in the corpus of memoranda dealing with rations for travellers. About 21% of these are unsealed and irregularly shaped.22

20

21

22

On document circulation and processing in PFA see Henkelman 2008a: 136-46; see Stolper [forthc. 1] on consultation of PFA after its deposit in the Fortication in Dar.28 and idem 2017b on irregularities (and the system’s capacity to deal with them). Azzoni & Stolper (2015) discuss possible further processing of administrative data into (now lost) Aramaic documents as evidenced by the repeated Aramaic epigraph ns(y). Root 2008: 97-101, 112-16; see also idem 1996: 10f.; Henkelman 2008a: 103f., 157-59. Only nine irregularly-shaped memoranda with one string hole are sealed: PF 0811, PF 1647, NN 0620, NN 0627 (?), NN 0953 (?), NN 1248, NN 1308, NN 1924, Fort. 1626-102. To these the letters-orders PF 1840 and PF 1854 may be added. About 9% of all edited memoranda carry no seal. Compare Root (2008: 97-101, 11216), who concludes (ibid. 101) that “practical, functional aspects of artefact type (as well as text subject matter) deserve to be considered in the construction of a notion of how the various features of the Fortication archive interact. Perhaps the anomalous unsealed tablet forms that appear in Hallock’s Q text category were secondary documents of some sort that performed a different physical and administrative purpose that is currently elusive to us.” Virtually all dated unsealed memoranda have Old Iranian rather than Elamite month names (possible exceptions: PF 1569, NN 2575) due to chance preservation or, perhaps, redaction in Persepolis (cf. Henkelman 2008a: 104).

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2.5. Text categories and archival reconstruction Hallock (1969: 13), in his edition of 2187 Elamite Fortication texts, tentatively distinguished 32 categories largely based on formal textual criteria, notably the recurrence of certain key terms. At that time, when exploration of the archive was still in its pioneering state, the criteria he used were probably the most cautious and most practical to go by. Nevertheless, his (ibid.) claim that his system “succeeds fairly well in bringing like texts together” holds only true if text groups are narrowly dened on the basis of text layout, structure, and the occurrence of particular verbs or technical terms. Though terminology-oriented categories have their merit, Hallock’s system tends to obscure the fact that several types of transaction may relate to the same subsection of administrative activity. Thus, memoranda would be drafted stating the deposit of food commodities in preparation of the Table of the King at a certain place at a certain date; other memoranda would document their receipt and consumption at the court.23 These two categories differ in formal characteristics, but relate to aspects of the same event and plausibly were part of the same ancient le. The same is true for travel rations: those for humans are gathered in Hallock’s category Q (“travel rations”), but allocations of fodder for their pack animals are grouped in another (S3, “travel rations for animals”); occasionally élite travellers (entitled to higher rations) occur in yet another category (P, “daily rations”). The texts all belong to the same clearly delineated sphere, that of way stations where commodities where issued to ofcial travel parties. Another complicating factor is that the same operations could be organized or described in more than one way: references to cultic activity may be found in texts on deposit, exchange, utilization for offerings, or receipt of rations by ofciants.24 In all these contexts the prime action is unambiguously sacrice. Not only do thematically-related tablets appear in different formal categories, but the reverse situation also occurs: texts with quite different content are grouped together in a single category. To cite the most glaring example, the criterion for inclusion in category E (“utilization”), is nothing more than the occurrence of the ‘Allerweltsverbum’ hutta-, “to make, process, use.” This category involves such divergent contexts as deposit of goods for the royal court, rationing for special 23

24

See Henkelman 2010: 729-31. The texts on transport and deposit of commodities as ukpiyataš (*upayta-), a royal table tax, occur in categories A (“transportation of commodities”), B (“delivery of commodities”), E (“utilization”); consumption of these commodities at the same places is documented in receipts in J (“royal provisions”). Categories A (“transportation of commodities”), C1 (“deposits with zikka- and da-”), C5 (“exchanges”), D (“general receipts”), E (“utilization”), G (“providing of provisions”), H (“receipts by ofcials”), and K1 (“rations for individuals with religious functions”).

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groups of workers, making prepared food, brewing, oil pressing, and preparing sacrices. Another case is that of category T (“letters”), which includes real letters as well the functionally and diplomatically fundamentally distinct letter-orders. The last example reveals a second general weakness of Hallock’s model: it does not acknowledge, or not acknowledge enough, the importance of document status and tablet format. As Root pointed out previously, Hallock’s 1969 edition does not systematically recognize or distinguish between sealed, tongue-shaped memoranda and unsealed, irregularly-shaped memoranda, though there is no doubt that the document status and legal authority of each of these groups is quite different.25 With the increased knowledge of the Fortication archive, afforded not in the last place by Hallock’s ground-breaking work, it is now possible to adopt any of three alternative approaches: thematic, archival-historical, or formal-diplomatic. Using thematic classiers as organisational principles would be akin to the system developed by Hallock, but can and should be more rigorously content-based (livestock inventories, cultic activity, travel, etc.). The second, archival-historical approach, would seek to restore ancient document les as they functioned in the Persepolis bureaucracy. The recent identication of a small batch of Fortication tablets in the reserves of the National Museum of Iran with a succinct nd context (separately excavated, apparently by Ali Sami) conrmed the suspicion that memoranda were categorized by location, year, and commodity, that they were physically kept together and, as a le, served as a Vorlage for the journals. Henkelman’s forthcoming (re-)publication of the PF, NN, and other Elamite texts from the archive strives to group individual documents as much as possible within reconstructed les, while also paying due attention to document format. This third approach will be more important in the present study. It proposes a typology by formal characteristics, based on tablet format, seals, and document status; in outline, it contains the following categories:

25

Hallock (1969; idem 1977) does mention (irregular) tablet formats and the presence of one or more string holes, but not systematically. Compare Root 2008: 100f., 112-16.

LOCAL INFORMATION HANDLING IN ACHAEMENID P RSA A. PRESCRIPTIVE DOCUMENTATION A.1.

26

Full records

A.1.1. A.1.2. A.1.3. A.2.

181

*Aramaic administrative, interregional correspondence *Aramaic travel authorizations *Aramaic or Elamite herding contracts

Other (supportive) documentation

A.2.1. A.2.2. A.2.3.

*Aramaic drafts of letter-orders kept on le *Elamite or Aramaic running rosters of personnel, wages, etc. Elamite operative labels (as, e.g., “let PN deliver this our”)

B. DESCRIPTIVE DOCUMENTATION B.1.

Full records

B.1.1.

*Aramaic administrative, interregional correspondence

B.1.2.

Primary records on single transactions Elamite memoranda, tongue-shaped and sealed

B.1.2.1. B.1.3. B.1.3.1. B.1.3.2. B.1.3.3. B.1.4. B.1.4.1.

26

27

28

Secondary records of synopsis and control Elamite ‘journals’ (registers; mostly sealed) Elamite accounts (mostly sealed) 27 *Aramaic digests or fair copies of Elamite accounts Tertiary records on the administrative process 28 Elamite letter-reports dealing with irregularities

See generally Henkelman 2008a: 102-109, 136-62; Azzoni & Stolper 2015; Garrison 2017: 45-67. The entries marked by asterisk (*) are not extant in the deposited and edited corpus, but their existence in antiquity can be inferred from indirect evidence in PFA and other sources such as the Aršma correspondence. See Azzoni & Stolper 2015 on the Aramaic epigraph ns(y), presumably “copied,” on some Elamite journals and accounts (B.1.3.1-2). Another sub-group of Aramaic epigraphs (B.2.2) suggests a triage and processing of sealed memoranda dealing with provisions for the court (A. Azzoni, pers.comm). There is a small corpus of such reports, most of which have only recently been identied. Some of them pertain to investigations carried out a local district centres, particularly in case of missing documentation. See discussion in Stolper 2017b.

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MARK B. GARRISON & WOUTER F.M. HENKELMAN B.2.

Other (supportive) documentation

B.2.1. B.2.1.1. B.2.1.2. B.2.1.3. B.2.1.4. B.2.2. B.2.2.1. B.2.2.2. B.2.2.3. B.2.2.4.

C.

C.1.2. C.1.3. C.2.

*Elamite or Aramaic reports from roaming accountants Elamite interim lists of commodities (underlying accounts) Aramaic epigraphs on Elamite tablets Supplementary Aramaic texts on Aramaic tablets

C.2.2. C.3.

30

*Retroacta *Textual reference tools (cultic calendar, lists of ofcials) *Glyptic reference tools (collection of seal impressions)

Archival categorisation

C.2.1.

Elamite bag labels Elamite shelf/basket/jar labels

Safe deposit

C.3.1.

31

Auxiliary texts

‘Dienstbibliothek’

C.1.1.

30

Aramaic tablets (sealed, yet with terse texts) Elamite memoranda, irregularly-shaped and unsealed 29 Elamite letter orders, tongue-shaped and sealed Uninscribed, sealed tablets (expression of jurisdiction only)

ARCHIVAL INSTRUMENTS C.1.

29

Incomplete or partial records

*Door sealings

31

Letter orders are listed as descriptive documents following Henkelman 2008a: 143-46. They were directives issued by select high-rank administrators and sent to named individuals, yet found at Persepolis, suggesting that they were turned from prescriptive into descriptive records. This could be achieved by the impression of seals on an additional lump of clay (attached to the loop of string) or by a seal impression attached to the bag in which the tablets were gathered; in both cases the now-missing seal impression(s) would acknowledge effectuation of the transaction ordered in the letter order. It has been suggested that the so-called Persepolis Bronze Plaque, found in the Persepolis Treasury, represents a retroact record, kept for reference. See Henkelman 2008a: 172 n.376; idem 2011a: 124; Basello 2013: 257f.; idem 2017: 368f. For the concept of a ‘Dienstbibliothek’ see Van den Hout 2005: 283f. A possible door sealing is PFUT 0577-401: the object is formed around a rod but the preserved surfaces do not carry a seal impression. Root 1996: 9 already assumed the existence of door sealings in PFA context.

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2.6. Matrix management and its jargon As stated previously (§2.1), Elamite memoranda, sealed and unsealed, typically concern gal, “portion, ration, wage, offering.” A smaller but still considerable number of such documents deals with deposits of commodities, hence relating to a stage preceding their allocation to animals, men and gods. What binds the two types of memoranda is not only the handling of commodities, but also the circumstance that they were drafted by the storekeepers or district suppliers and their staff. At the other end of the document hierarchy, letters on irregularities in the system (B.1.4.1) tend to focus on missing information in terms of expenses and balances carried forward; they appear to be based on audits at district supply centres (Stolper 2017b). This should not be taken to imply that PFA reects a commodity-oriented branch of administration. The thrust of the archive is unambiguously on rationing; the supply system, as visible to us, is largely geared towards this purpose. Not only memoranda dealing with the allocation of commodities belong to the sphere of rationing, but many of the records of deposit do so as well. Allocating commodities as rations (in widest sense) involves two jurisdictions: that of an administrative branch one could call ‘logistics & rationing’ and one that was charged with ‘storage & supply’ (Henkelman 2008a: 126-29). Suppliers typically acted at the direction of logistics ofcers, but the ‘paperwork’ the former had to produce (memoranda on deposit and outlay) simultaneously created a check on the discretion of the latter. Aperghis, in a seminal study on “storehouses and systems at Persepolis,” recognized this set-up as a form “matrix management,” evoking a model adopted by some business companies in the 1970s and 1980s as a way to improve their organisational design (1999: 192). The ‘logistics & rationing’ branch of the administration centred on Persepolis can be characterised by two key terms, šarama(n)na and dama(n)na. There is nearconsensus that these terms refer, respectively, to the ofces and ofcers with oversight of rationing of animals and workers and to those responsible for assigning workers to specic tasks and animals to herds or grazing grounds. Morphologically, šarama(n)na and dama(n)na can probably best be described as III.Conj. supines (or to-innitives), with the modal extension -ma attached directly to the verbal root: [šara.ma.na] and [da.ma.na]. Comparable cases can be found in the royal inscriptions and in the Fortication archive, such as XVe 23-4, DIŠ ú še-ra [AŠDUB]MEŠ tal-li-ma-na (“I ordered to write the inscription / the inscription to be written”), and NN 0657, (barley) PN du-iš AŠkan-ti GN1-na-mar GN2 ku-te-ma-na (“PN received barley from the storehouse of GN1 to bring to GN2 / to be brought to GN2”). It deserves emphasis that nearly all attestations of šarama(n)na

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and dama(n)na end on -a (i.e., šá-ra-man is extremely rare; *da-man or *da-ma-an does not occur), underlining the modal and subordinate nature of the forms.32 Hallock rst recognized šara- as a verb with primary meaning “to cut,” as in MEŠ DBe II.58, SAG ap-pi-ni šá-ra, “I cut off their heads.” From this, he assumed a derivative meaning “to divide, to apportion.” He did not pursue the earlier history of the word, though Middle Elamite s/šari- and šarra-, “to cut, to level, to mould, to deduct” is quite likely the precursor of Achaemenid Elamite šara.33 As for da-, the meaning “to send, to place, to establish” is undisputed. Uses of damanna and šaramanna reveal that both are fossilized and elliptical expressions. PN damanna is probably to be understood as “(whose work is for) PN to assign,” whereas PN šaramanna may mean “(whose rations are for) PN to apportion” (vel sim.).34 The related agent nouns šarara (sg.) and šaramap (pl., with -ma) would then mean “apportioner(s).”35 Seventy years ago, George Cameron hesitantly interpreted the formula PN šaramanna from the contexts in which it occurs as “[P]N is responsible” (1948: 50f.). Subsequent publications by Hinz sought to underpin this tentative proposal by linking šaramanna to a Middle and Neo-Elamite postposition šara, “under.” Hinz’s suggestion that the verb šara- means “to down” whereas PN šaramanna means “in Unterstellung dem PN” supposes an improbable semantic development. One could solve this difculty by reading PN šaramanna as “being under PN,” but that would leave the agent nouns šarara and šaramap (not: “underling(s)”) unexplained. Moreover, Stolper’s analysis of the cognate form šarnuppu (*šarnup) and its context in ABL 281 conrm the meaning “to apportion” suggested by Hallock. 36 32

33

34

35

36

For analysis of damanna and šaramanna see Cameron 1948: 50f.; Hallock 1960: 90; idem 1965a; idem 1965b: 122 (also on the rarity of the form šá-ra-man). For a survey of the discussion see Henkelman 2008a: 128 n.285 and idem [forthc. 2]. See, e.g., sa-ri-ih, “I cut/levelled (the mud brick walls of the temple)” (EKI 32:3 = IRS 40), šar-ra-ah, “ditto” (EKI 59:4), ša-ri-ih, “I sculptured/moulded (a golden statue of Sîn)” (EKI 10c:3-4 = IRS 30), šar-ra-ka4, “deduced/disbursed” (TTM 71:7; cf. ZI.GA in TTM 70). For discussion see Stolper 1984: 104; Malbran-Labat 1995: 74, 82, 181, 183; Gassan & Vallat 2004. In Achaemenid Elamite šara-, “to cut, to apportion,” occurs alongside sari-, “to level, to destroy” (see, e.g., DBe I.48-9) continuing and perhaps distributing the semantic range of the Middle Elamite variants šarra- and s/šari-. PN šaramanna cannot mean “PN apportioned (it),” as suggested by Aperghis 1998: 47; “(whose rations were for) PN to be apportioned” is admissible, however. If correctly analysed, these forms are close, at least in literal meaning, to an Iranian loanword in Babylonian, pitipabaga (*pifabaga-, “distributor of rations”). Compare also Aramaic ptpkn (*pifakna-, “provider of rations”). See Stolper 1985: 55-59; Tavernier 2007: 410 [4.4.3.15], 429f. [4.4.7.91-92]; Naveh & Shaked 2012: 55, 209. The meaning “under” for the postposition šara was rst established by Friedrich (1949: 15-29) and referenced by Hinz in his explanation of šaramanna (1950a: 294-97; idem

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The above should not be taken to imply that Cameron’s intuition was entirely wrong, however: from PFA contexts it is abundantly clear that šaramanna ofcials as a rule were not personally engaged in distributing rations, but kept oversight over the rosters and issued directives to suppliers. Their role as ofcers charged with the logistics of labour and its remuneration, their rank vis-à-vis the suppliers, and the jurisdiction expressed by their seals support translating PN šaramanna as “under responsibility of PN,” hence in a developed sense from the more literal “(whose rations are for) PN to be apportioned.”37 As Hallock recognized, šaramanna and damanna do not, or not primarily, register rank or occupation, but administrative function. Accordingly, the term damanna can be used in reference to the general director, Parnakka, and with the chief treasurers of the Persepolis region, Karkiš and Šuddayauda, but also with lower-rank individuals, subordinated to a šaramanna ofcial. In this second usage, damanna appears to refer to people close to the actual teams of workers and presumably present at the location or in the district of their activity.

37

1950b: 351). Hinz (1950a: 296-301) believed that Achaemenid Elamite šara- was unrelated to Middle Elamite šarra- (and cognates). Hallock (1965a: 272) recognized that PN šaramanna cannot mean “in Unterstellung dem PN” if the verb šara- is taken as “to down,” but rather should be something like “PN downing” or “PN beating down” (Hallock’s doubts, ibid. 271f. on Friedrich’s interpretation of the unrelated, homonymic postposition šara as “under” are unwarranted). In subsequent publications, Hinz rejected Hallock’s arguments and reiterated his analysis of PN šaramanna as “dem PN untergestelt” (see, e.g., Hinz 1971: 282). The dictionary by Hinz and Koch follows this position for a number of forms (EW s.vv. šá-ra2, šá-ra-ma, šá-ra-ma-ap, šá-ra-man-na, šá-ra-man-nu, šá-ra-mi-na, šá-ra-ra2), but allowed for “zuteilen, verbuchen” in other cases, apparently assuming a semantic development from “to take down (from the reserve)” to “to apportion” (ibid. s.v. ša-ra(?)-áš; see also s.vv. šá-ir-ma-ak, šá-ir-rama-ak, šá-ir-ra-qa, šá-rák2, šá-rák-qa, šá-ra-na, šá-ra-qa, šar-ra-áš, šar-ra-qa). This untenable position additionally ignores the decisive arguments advanced by Stolper 1978, commenting on ana parsu ša lúšarnuppu, “for apportionment to *šarnup persons (persons entitled to apportionment)” in ABL 281, a letter describing the NeoElamite centralized redistribution system. See Henkelman 2008a: 128 n.285 for the suggestion that some PFA scribes may have understood a construction like PN1 … PN2 šarara (see, e.g., PF 0043, Fort. 6575), as “PN1 being under / under responsibility of PN2” (hence analogous to constructions like [DN ir šara.r] in older Elamite), rather then “PN1, (for whom) PN2 is the apportioner.” As for the rare variant PN šara, occurring in contexts where šaramanna is expected, two alternative analyses are possible: 1) a I.Conj. (rather than III.Conj.) supine, without -ma; 2) interpretation of šara- as postposition (“under”), here used without secondary gender sufx. Attested cases are PF 1092, PF 1368, NN 0193, NN 0759:8 (šarama in l.14), NN 1914, NN 1932, Fort. 1337-102:04-05 (?), and Fort. 1425-101:02-03.

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Similarly, the highest administrators, including Parnakka and chiefs of dependent workers (kurdabattiš < *gdapatiš) in the Persepolis, K mf rz and Fahliy n administrative regions (or provinces), could be qualied by the term šaramanna, but ofcers lower or much lower in the hierarchy could as well. The former are unlikely to have been locally present and their overarching authority is clear from the observation that they sealed memoranda in the single seal protocol (by-passing the supplier). Apart from the chiefs of dependent workers, other top-end ofcers who may occur with the term šaramanna are the aforementioned chief treasurers, the cattle chief, the chief equerry, and further department heads. Other individuals mentioned in the PN šaramanna formula served at less exalted altitudes and may have been connected to districts; these still comprised a number of settlements and typically had a number of separate teams of workers. More than one šaramanna ofcer could be active in a particular district; in such cases, as Aperghis demonstrated, these individuals held separate ‘accounts’ at the storehouses in the area of their jurisdiction.38 The administrative partner of the šaramanna ofcer within the institution’s ‘matrix organisation’ was the supplier or supply ofcer, recognisable by the term kurman (discussed in more detail in §3). As with šaramanna and damanna, kurman is not a designation, but an indicator of function, more precisely a marker of agency. Thus, the formula kurman PN-na can be translated “for allocation by PN” and “allocation from PN,” depending on the context: in the rst (records of deposit) commodities are stored, in the second (records of outlay) they are issued. Memoranda and journal entries documenting such transactions often indicate, by explicit mention and/or by the seals impressed (in case of memoranda), the šaramanna ofcer at whose directives the commodities are to be apportioned (deposits) or at whose order an allocation has taken place (outlays). The initiative therefore typically came from the šaramanna ofcer, who by default outranked the supplier. The control exercised by the latter was a passive and indirect one, based principally on the scrutiny of his records in the external accounting procedure.

38

After Cameron’s tentative estimation of šaramanna ofcials as responsible for “the discipline of the workmen or with paying them their wages” (1948: 51), the scope of activities implied in damanna and šaramanna was notably discussed by Hallock (1969: 27f.). See also Aperghis 1999; Henkelman 2008a: 126-31 (the diagram on p.129 illustrates ‘matrix interaction’ between šaramanna and kurman ofcials) and Garrison 2014b: 494f. In Henkelman [forthc. 2] leading šaramanna ofcials are listed and the proles of Karkiš and Šuddayauda are discussed, including the designation kurdabattiš, “chief of workers” (not “majordomus,” despite Hinz 1971: 280 and Tavernier 2007: 424 [4.4.7.56]). In the same publication, it is argued that the organisation of sacrices and travel also belongs to the sphere of šaramanna ofcials. For multiple šaramanna ofcials holding accounts at the same storehouses see Aperghis o.c. 158-60.

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187

Roaming registrars, inspectors, and auditors and their superiors in Persepolis may have formed a third administrative branch. To this sphere belongs the titikaš, perhaps a “(labour) supervisor” (OIr. *didka- or *didyaka-), known in Elamite as tidda huttira, perhaps “(labour) report maker.” People with these designations were responsible for the regular bonuses issued to workers; they must have interacted with the šaramanna ofcials (who held the labour rosters) and the suppliers.39 Since šaramanna, damanna, and kurman refer to functions, the same individual may variously occur with different terms. Especially top-level administrators may sometimes occur with damanna and in other contexts with šaramanna. Sometimes, a šaramanna ofcer would step into the role of supplier, appearing in the kurman PN-na formula (“allocation from PN”). One particular situation that provoked this bureaucratic change of roles was provisioning for the royal table, a situation that required a higher authority than that of the average supplier (cf. §3.3 below). It is possible, if not plausible, that the hierarchy of people working in the ‘logistics & rationing’ branch and that of those in ‘storage & supply’ was formalised in a series of ranks. Perhaps the workforce (and taxation) management operated a system of decuries, centuries and chiliarchies, but only the rst two of these are occasionally mentioned in PFA and their use is far from transparent. 40 More is known about the status of some of the ofcers involved. A number of individuals associated with the term šaramanna – not only the department heads and regional directors – held landed estates (irmadim) or sergeanties (appišdamanna), presumably granted as remuneration for their service. Although it would be erroneous to think of the šaramanna ofcials as a homogeneous class, they were typically senior administrators with not only a different prole and rank, but also with a socio-economic status higher than that of the average supply ofcial. Some administrators connected with the term šaramanna had court titles. Neither estates nor titles are ever attested with supply ofcials in the strict sense. This broad distinction among various ofcials agrees with the numbers in which they occur: at least 150 individuals are attested with the term šaramanna and 40 with damanna against at least 700 with kurman.41 In the absence of consistent indicators of their rank and status, this paper seeks to describe the administrative proles of a number of suppliers or supply ofcers, charting the scope of their activities, their use of seals, and their administrative context as an attempt to better understand their world. This tour through the archive necessarily starts with the key term within the suppliers’ dossier, kurman. 39

40 41

titikaš and tidda huttira: Hinz 1973: 98-101; Koch 1983: 30f.; Tavernier 2007: 419f. [4.4.7.33]; Henkelman 2010: 702f. n.135; idem 2017a: 158f. n.169; idem 2017b: 313f. See Aperghis 1999: 177-83, 191 and Henkelman [forthc. 2]. On šaramanna ofcials, their estates and titles see Henkelman 2018b: 40-49; idem [forthc. 2]; Garrison & Henkelman [forthc.] §7.4 ad ll.10-11 (Napumalika).

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3. Suppliers in the Fortication archive: origin and uses of Elamite kurman The number of over 700 currently known named suppliers is necessarily incomplete, but still a powerful reminder of the vast scope of the infrastructure at hand. People working or acting as supplier are recognisable by the term kurman, one of the essential keywords of the Fortication archive. Given its importance and lingering uncertainties about its meaning a treatment – long overdue in PFA studies – of its origins in pre-Achaemenid administrative contexts and uses in Achaemenid administrative texts follows here.

3.1. The origin(s) of Achaemenid Elamite kurman As stated, kurman (kur-mán, occasionally kur-man, rarely kur-mánMEŠ) is not a title or designation, but a marker of agency.42 It relates to the verb kurma- (cf. below), though the direction of derivation and its grammatical form are not evident. Most commentators have taken kurman as a verbal noun (kurma- + inanimate sufx -n) or as an undeclined III.Conj. participle (kurma- + conjugational extension -n). In the second case, one has to assume that the form had become fossilized and was actually used by most scribes as an inanimate noun. The ubiquitous attributive construction kurman PN-na, “kurman of/for PN,” underlines this nominal interpretation, as do rare variant forms such as kur-me.43 For reasons explained below, the now common translation “allocation” for kurman is retained here. Besides kurman, the verbal base kurma- was productive as shown by such forms as kurmaš (Im.Conj. 3 sg./pl.), “he/they allocated” and kurmaka (IIm.Conj. sg.), “it was allocated.” It appears to have the common verbal extension -ma

42

43

Earlier treatments of the term include Poebel 1938: 133 n.9 (reading kur-muk0); Cameron 1948: 48f.; Hallock 1969: 10-12; Aperghis 1998: 44-47, 59; idem 1999: 15559, 188f.; Henkelman, Jones & Stolper 2006: 13-16; Henkelman 2008a: 127-29; Tuplin 2008: 365-67; Basello 2011: 69-74; idem 2012: 152f. n.29; Garrison 2017: 32-44. Compare Basello (2011: 69) for a similar morphological interpretation, including reference to kur-me (PF 0285, PF 0417), kur-mi (PF 0248), and kur-me-
in? (NN 1346). The rst two of these forms may be analysed as [kur.m], an abstract inanimate noun built on *kur, “hand” (cf. below), hence “handing” (pace Hallock 1969: 11, who thought of innitives). The third form, if read correctly, may be an attempt to render the pronunciation /kurmen/ for kurman. A fourth case, kur in NN 0127, is probably a simple error for kur‹-mán›. Note that the absence of forms on -a (*kur-mán-na or *kur-ma-na; cf. šá-ra-man-na, etc.), already noted by Hallock (1965b: 122), is another argument for the nominal interpretation of kurman.

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(originally an auxiliary verb).44 The simple base kurra- is attested in the Fortication archive in contexts that allow for, and sometimes positively suggest, a meaning similar to that of kurma-. The intermediate form kurramanba (IIIm.Conj. 3 pl.) suggests that kurma- resulted from (regular) elision of the second syllable (kurra- + -ma- > kurma). As discussed below, however, the possibility of backformation should be considered (kurma- > kurra- > kurrama-).45 The variation between kurra- and kur(ra)ma- in turn permits comparison with kurpi, “hands,” in the Bsotn inscription. In DBe III.62-63. Darius praises Auramazd for driving the rebel kings into his clutches: AN

u-ra-mas-da kur-pi DIŠú-ni-na-ma ap-pi-in hu-ut-taš

Auramazd made them in my hand(s) = Auramazd put them at my mercy

46

If *kur means “hand,” kurra- and kur(ra)ma- may be interpreted as “to handle” and kurman as “handling” or, in developed sense, “allocate” and “allocation.”47 The above reconstruction underlies most treatments of PFA material, although it has never been made fully explicit. In broad lines it may well reect how the 44

45

46

47

The main treatment of the element -ma (durative, iterative, declarative) is MalbranLabat 1986; cf. Stolper 2017b: 769f. on quotational correlatives with forms of ma-. The form kurraka (II.Conj. sg.) occurs in, e.g., PF 1956:20 (grain at the storehouse, year 21, kurraka, “allocated”); it may occur side by side with kurramanba, “they are/were allocating” (PF 1968, PF 1969, PF 2077, Fort. 1346-101, Fort. 2166-101). The form kurrašda (I.Conj. 3 sg. + t) occurs in barley accounts (PF 1973, PF 1977, Fort. 00Z2101, Fort. 0139-101): after mention of the year, the location (always a halmarriš, “fortied place”), and the ambarabarraš, “storekeeper” (§7.1), it is stated that taššubeikmar inni kurrašda, “he did not allocate (anything) from the people.” The phrase suggests that the storekeeper did not take in, store, or distribute revenue produced by free landholders (contrast tašsubbe-ikmar kurraka, “it was allocated from/by the people,” in Fort. 1255-101, Fort. 2003-102). kurrašda also occurs in Fort. 1310-102 (barley allocated to? Bakaparna; cf. PF 1977, PF 1978, PF 1980) and Fort. 1665-103 (cattle). The form kurranra (III.Conj. 3 sg.) occurs only in PF 0323; see n.57 below. In principle, kurpi may be singular (as man dastay, DBp IV.35) or plural (cf. the dual ana qt ya, DBb 96); the form would work well as an animate plural of an unattested singular *kur ([kur.p]). The same form is restored in DNbe 28 and occurs in unclear context in NN 1352. On the relevance of the Bsotn passage for interpreting kurman see already Cameron 1948: 48f. (two other passages are cited by Cameron in out-dated reading and no longer relevant), Hallock 1969: 10-12, and EW s.vv. kur-mín, kur-pi. Elamite *kur would have plausible cognates in various Caucasian languages, such as Avar kwer, “hand, arm,” which are subject of detailed treatment in Bavant [forthc.]. As Grillot (1986: 149) remarked, Akkadian ša qt (and ina qt) as well as Aramaic lyd (as used in the Aramaic administrative notes on the green chert items in the Persepolis Treasury) provide semantic parallels to kurman.

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average scribe in the Persepolis bureaucracy understood and deployed kurman and its cognate forms. Ancient perceptions of a technical term do not, however, necessarily accurately reect its older background and original use. A main reason for caution is that kurman is written with SAL = mán in 99% of over 4000 attestations; the use of SAL = mán (or mín) is conspicuous as it is otherwise rarely attested in Achaemenid Elamite.48 The three attestations of the spelling kur-mánMEŠ (PF 0333, PF 0354, NN 1029) underscore this observation as they suggest that some scribes felt, and wanted to make explicit, that kur-mán was a (pseudo-)logogram, a historical spelling, or an otherwise remarkable notation. A third noticeable aspect is that the term kurman does not occur until the later NeoElamite period. Its presumed precursor in earlier administrative contexts was the syntagm PI+PÍR (in the formula PI+PÍR PN), of uncertain reading and phonetic realization in Elamite; the connection between the two terms has hitherto remained opaque. The question arises whether the origin of kurman lies in a logographic notation, perhaps in connection to its presumed precursor PI+PÍR. Some commentators sought such a solution in the reading of PI+PÍR as GIR and of kur-mán as GÌR (implying GIR > GÌR). These proposals have raised important issues, but are debilitated by palaeographic concerns; in addition they do not address the use of SAL = mán. 49 48

49

The value SAL = mín (preferred by Cameron and Hallock) does not help here: if the Persepolis scribes had wished to emphasize the pronunciation /kurmin/ one would expect the variant spelling *kur-mi-in (cf. za-u-mi-in). Vowel colour in CVC signs is anyhow indifferent in (later) Elamite. The notation kur-mán is also unlikely to be a means to avoid confusion with the name of Kermn (AŠkur-man-na, AŠkur-ma-an; the two words occur together in, e.g., PF 1289) as kurman already occurs in documents from Neo-Elamite Susa whereas Kermn is not mentioned before the Achaemenid period. The syntagm PI+PÍR PN (once PI+PÍR PN-na) is known from the late Middle Elamite administrative texts from Malyn; there are also isolated occurrences in Neo-Elamite. After his original suggestion (1984: 10-12), Stolper expressed doubts about this explanation but reiterated his position that the PI+PÍR PN formula expresses the administrative handling of materials, hence still broadly comparable to the later kurman PN-na formula (idem 2003: 206f.). His original explanation remains the most attractive one. Against Stolper, Vallat (1987) claimed that PI+PÍR should rather be read as a “graphie locale de GIR,” which in turn would be an Elamite variation of Mesopotamian usage of GÌR, “sous la responsabilité de, sous le contrôle de, via” (apparently referring to GÌR = špu, “foot,” with the derivative sense of “routing”). Stolper refuted this conjecture by pointing out that the sign GÌR does occur in Malyn whereas GIR does not; the local syllabary avoids homophony (Stolper l.c.). Most critically, the signs constituting PI+PÍR are exactly paralleled by the forms of PI and PÍR in the texts from Malyn; by contrast, it is still a far stretch from the attested Middle Elamite inscriptional forms of GIR (even if inscriptional conservatism is taken into account) to

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Stolper (1984: 10-12) tentatively took PI+PÍR as a graphic variant of IGI+PÍR (SIG5, kurum7) = piqittu (“provisioning, inspection”). The suggestion is palaeographically attractive and evokes a further possibility: Elamite scribes may have pronounced IGI+PÍR as /kuru(m)/ (as pseudo- or adapted logogram) and conated its meaning with that of kurum6 (PAD) = kurmatu, kurummatu (“food allocation, ration”). As for KUR+SAL, this could be a rebus notation based on the Elamite reading mu(h)tu, “female” for SAL. If so, KUR+SAL could be a notation for *kur-mut0 or *kur-mat0, hence a rendering of a word loaned from Akkadian, kurmatu or kurummatu. As stated, this word may also be the Elamite reading of PI+PÍR/IGI+PÍR. The tentative solution here outlined has the advantage of uniting ‘PI+PÍR’ and kurman under a single lexical heading with a meaning (“allocation”) that ts all contexts. It is weakened by some of its assumptions (notably kuru6 = kuru7) and complicated by its consequences for the understanding of kurman in later Elamite. For if an original KUR+SAL was a notation for *kurmutu or *kurmat, one necessarily has to assume that the same syntagm came to be read as kur-mán in the later Neo-Elamite period and was lexicalized as [kur.ma.n]; that this process led to the occasional variant spelling kur-man; that it led to the conception of a verbal base kurma-; that this verbal base, by backformation, led to the conception of the simple verbal base kurra-; and perhaps that the unrelated noun *kur, “hand,” was conceived to be the root of kurman.50

PI+PÍR

50

at Malyn. When the sign GIR re-emerges in the Achaemenid period (PFA), it is relatively close to the Middle Elamite forms, leaving little room for a ‘local variant’ similar to PI+PÍR (ibid.). A related matter, recently highlighted in Basello’s treatment of the term kurman (2011: 69-74), is Scheil’s provisional reading of kur-mán in the late Neo-Elamite ‘Acropole’ archive as GÌR (GIR in his transcription; Scheil 1907: 3f.). GÌR does indeed occur in this archive, but has a form clearly distinct from kur-mán (or KUR+SAL). The (partly implicit) idea in Basello’s (and Vallat’s) treatment appears to be that the origin of kurman lies in GÌR, occasionally written GIR, “under responsibility,” which came to be understood as KUR+SAL and subsequently pronounced and lexicalized as kurman. The evolution from *kur-mut0 or perhaps *kur-mat0 to kur-mán may have been facilitated by lexicalization: the former as [kur.ma.t], the latter as [kur.ma.n]. Both -t and -n are inanimate gender sufxes in Elamite. M.W. Stolper (pers.comm) suggest an alternative solution, that Middle Elamite PI+PÍR was read as kurum, that this was adapted to Elamite morphology with inanimante -n (kuruman > kurman) and that the logographic notation eventually gave way to a syllabic spelling. While elegant in its simplicity, this solution leaves the near-consistent use of SAL = mán unexplained.

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3.2. The uses of Achaemenid Elamite kurman The possible logographic background of kurman remains of limited value for understanding the term in its Achaemenid contexts. As Hallock (1969: 11) recognized, and as Basello recently emphasized (2011: 74), the semantic range of kurman may be established from context and from the occurrence of nite forms of the verb kurma-; its etymology is of little help for this purpose. In the over 4000 attestations in the Fortication and Treasury archives, the kurman PN-na formula occurs almost invariably as apposition to the statement of commodity, putting it squarely on the distribution side of the system. The following example illustrates the ubiquitous use of kurman (NN 1951:01-04): 01

12 mar-ri-iš 02 GIŠGEŠTINMEŠ kur-mán du-uk-ka4 du-iš-da

HAL 02

ia-ma-ak-še-ud-

03

da-na

HAL

hi-in-

04

120 l. wine, (being) kurman of Yamakšedda, Hindukka received

Within the kurman PN-na formula, the logical agent of kurman is the personal name. It is marked with the attributive sufx -na, which has kurman as its (inanimate) referent. The agent is sometimes qualied with an appellative or can be identied by prosopographic analysis with a person bearing such a designation. Attested qualications include kantira, “storekeeper,” tumara, “grain master,” and batera, “herdsman, livestock master” (these designations are discussed in §7). The emphasis on the material side of transaction becomes evident in a variant to the kurman PN-na formula: kurman PN-na GN-mar, “kurman from PN1 from GN (PN2 received).” In some texts with the extended formula commodities are transported to another site, but many lack such a context or state explicitly that the issued commodity was used in the place of issue. The implicit reference therefore seems to be to commodities leaving a storage facility.51 Contexts and internal analysis of the kurman PN-na formula point to the handling of commodities as central focus, not (or not primarily) to the oversight or responsibility exercised by the storekeeper. Here, as elsewhere, the translations “allocation” and “to allocate” are adopted for kurman and kurma- respectively. The interpretation aims to accentuate the handling or administrative transfer of 51

See, e.g., PF 0743, “120 (l.) our, kurman from Mazamanna, from Kaupirriš, Nakkunda received as offering for the lan-sacrice at Kaupirriš …” The extended formula occurs in over 150 cases; some other examples are PF 0306, PF 0430, and PF 0447. PF 0054:0110 has the formally incorrect variant PN-na GN-ikkamar (-ikkamar marks separation from animates, -mar from inanimates). The use of the extended formula may have been informed by the need to distinguish between homonymic individuals. See also Hallock 1969: 11 on another (rare) variant, kurman PN-ikmar, which led him to conclude that the kurman formula “simply identies the immediate source of the commodity.”

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commodities (hence in analogy to older ‘PI+PÍR’). Of course, the agents identied by the kurman PN-na formula had a particular jurisdiction and accountability; the occasional translation “under the responsibility (of PN)” is therefore in principle admissible as a free rendering of kurman.52 It would, however, invite confusion with renderings of the terms šaramanna and damanna, terms that put a marked stress on responsibility or administrative oversight. Moreover, kurman could sometimes be used as a summary term for various transactions listed in a journal or account and in such cases the translation “under the responsibility” cannot apply as the case of PF 1953:49f demonstrates:53 mu-ši-in hi kur-mán HALman-e-iz-za-na AŠ be-ul 18-um-me-man-na

AŠ

kur-pu-un

HAL

[kar-ki]-iš šá-ra-man-na

This is the account of allocations of Manezza, (at) Kurpun, under responsibility of Karkiš, 18th year.

Ofcials identied by the terms šaramanna and damanna typically had a higher jurisdiction than the agents identied by the kurman PN-na formula; sometimes the latter are explicitly said to be under the oversight of the former.54 This does not mean that all kurman ofcials were of equal rank or had exactly the same function in the overall system. In the simplest and most transparent context the kurman ofcial was the administrator of a storage facility for either grain, wine, or another commodity. He would work in close consultation with, and often upon the direct orders from, the šaramanna ofcial(s) responsible for the labour logistics in his area (cf. §2.6 above) or in response to letter orders, travel authorizations, and other 52

53

54

See, e.g., Vallat 1994: 272f.; Giovinazzo 1989; Basello 2012: 152 n.29. Note that the interpretation “under responsibility (of PN)” is not in the rst place based on contextual analysis of kurman but on the doubtful reading of its supposed Middle and NeoElamite precursor PI+PÍR as GIR (Vallat 1987; cf. n.49 above). Independently from Vallat, Hinz proposed to translate kurman as “Verfügung” (and kurma- as “verfügen), yet without offering arguments in support (Hinz 1970: 422; cf. EW s.v. kur-mín). In this example mu-ši-in hi kur-mán PN-na is an abbreviation for mu-ši-in hi GEŠTIN kur-mán PN-na, “This is the account of wine allocations of PN,” a common formula at the end of journals and accounts. Compare NN 1018:06f., HALLÚMEŠ AŠhal-
mi kur!-mán
HALtur-ru-man-na-na tin-gi-man-ra!, “the man who is bringing the sealed documents of the allocations from Turrumanna…” The clearest case is NN 0875, (455 l. barley) kur-mán HALda-a-na-ak-ka4 GIŠ
GEŠTINMEŠ
hu-ut-ti-ra AŠmur-ka4-zí-iš! HALir-še-na šá-ra-ma-ik-ka4-mar HALpa-tar-na hi-še AŠabbe-KI+MIN hu-ut-ti-ra AŠmur-ka4-zí-iš HALir-še-na šá-
ra-ma du-iš!-da, “allocation from Danakka the wine maker at Murkaziš, for whom Iršena is responsible, (a person) named Patarna, food producer at Murkaziš, for whom Iršena is responsible, received.” NN 0675 provides a similar case.

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sealed documents prepared by ofcials with overarching authority. Yet, there were also kurman ofcials with a broader competence, responsible for storage facilities at various locations in what may tentatively be called a district. The kurman ofcial’s administrative handling of commodities could, in a simplied rendering, take either of two forms, each requiring a particular interpretation of the kurman PN-na formula. The transfer could take the form of revenue or transport (from another storage) entrusted to the storekeeper (“for allocation by PN”) or of commodities distributed by him (“allocation from PN”). The following two examples illustrate these two sides of the handling of commodities and the respective interpretations of the kurman PN-na formula: 1. PF 0551 Seals: PFS 0029 (left edge); PFS 0195 (reverse) Obverse (01) 1 ŠI 2 ME 60! (02) ŠE.BARMEŠ ha-du-iš! (03) ha du-ka4 AŠ (04) i-še-ma! kur-mán (05) HALam-ma-mar-daLower edge (06) na ANbe-ul Reverse (07) 19-um-me-na (08) HAL.ANšá-ti-ANMAN! (09) šá-ra-man-na 01-02

12,600 l. barley was received as revenue 03-04 (at) Hišema 04-06 for allocation by Ammamarda. 06-07 19th year, 08-09 under responsibility of Šati-Šimut.

2. PF 0356 Seals: PFS 0029 (left edge); PFS 0190 (reverse) Obverse (01) 5 ŠE.BARMEŠ kur-mán (02) HALam-ma-mar-da(03) na HALum-mu!-ur(04)
da-ik hi-še du(05) šá ANna-apLower edge (06) pi-na ha ut-

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Reverse (07) taš-da ANbe(08) ul 18-um-me(09) na AŠi-še-ma 01

50 l. barley, 01-02 allocation from Ammamarda, 03-04 (a man) named Ummurdak received. 04-07 He used it for the gods. 07-09 18th year, 09 (at) Hišema.

The agents of transactions, like Ammamarda in the above example, managed one or several storage facilities in administrative sense; they represented nodes in an intricate hierarchy and probably spent much of their time interacting with other parts of the system (receiving instructions, documenting income and outlays, reporting, etc.). The physical transport, intake, storage, and distribution of commodities were in the hand of another ofcial (presumably assisted by a number of anonymous aides), the ullira, “delivery man.” PF 2001, a wine account, makes the close cooperation between the two ofcials explicit by exceptionally including both in the kurman PN-na formula (ll.8-12): 08 AŠ

ka4-me-nu-iš AŠpi-lu 09 HALEŠŠANA-na-ma AŠbe-ul 20-na kur-mán HALhar-ru- 10 be ap-pír-na-bar-ra a-ak HALba-ka4-ba-
áš- 11 šá AŠul-li-ri-ri-na HALma-ra-za šá-
ra12 ma AŠ

08

(wine at) Kamenuš, 08-09 at the royal wine store, 09 year 20, 09-11 allocations from Harrube the wine master and Bakabašša his delivery-man, 11-12 under responsibility of Maraza

3.3. Variations in the agency expressed by kurman Individuals otherwise acting as šaramanna ofcials occasionally stepped into the role of supplier and would in such cases occur in the regular kurman PN-na formula. This notably happened in case of deliveries for the mobile royal court. The heightened responsibility of providing the court with the immense quantities of grain, wine, etc. it required may have been the main reason why the agency of administrative transfer was lifted from the hands of the regular supplier to the higherplaced šaramanna ofcial. In addition, since the royal court comprised an intricate administrative service of its own and since commodities issued to it would disappear from the purview of the PFA administrators, such transfers were essentially external or semi-external; they may have required an authority higher than that of the average supplier for reasons of accountability. Finally, there appears to have been an expectation that highly-placed ofcials would contribute to the royal table from their own houses and districts (the line between public and personal assets often being blurry). Though such obligations were a form of taxation they may have been wrapped as gifts and as such conveyed social prestige on the donor.

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The case of Irtuppiya, (sub-)regional director of the western part of the Fahliyn region, provides an instructive example: 1. Fort. 6767 2. l. honey, allocation from Irtuppiya, was consumed at the King’s court, (at) Umpuranuš, 22nd year. 2. PF 0709 7000 l. barley, allocation from Irtuppiya, horses consumed at the King’s court, (at) Umpuranuš, 22nd year. Mirayauda (was) the grain master (tumara). 3. NN 1843 2580? l. our, allocation from Irtuppiya, was consumed at the King’s court, (at) Mašunkurda, 19th year. Turpiš (was) the grain master (tumara). 4. Fort. 7864 25,370 l. our, allocation from Irtuppiya, was consumed at the King’s court, (at) Mašunkurda, 19th year. Parnadadda and Kamišdana (were) the grain masters (tumap). Included in this (allocation was) 40? l.? gs?, (as) they said (conrmed orally).

As shown in the texts cited, Irtuppiya took charge of allocations of barley and our, but also of honey. Elsewhere, he additionally supplies cheese (banura) and cereal products (abbe-abbe ŠE.BAR-na). If this array of commodities is already atypical for a supplier, the range of places where the allocations are made – besides Umpuranuš and Mašunkurda also Ankatizzan, Dašer, Kurkašuš, Rappišbena, Šumarakše, and Zakzaku – is very unusual. It betrays Irtuppiya’s well-documented position as (sub-)regional director. That this same Irtuppiya had an estate at one of the places just listed, Ankatizzan, is probably no coincidence: he may well have contributed to the royal table from his own coffers.55

55

Aperghis (1999: 158, 175, 181-86) argued on the basis of texts with Irtuppiya as (nominal) supplier that he was a district commander and perhaps chiliarch in the ‘storage & supply’ hierarchy, hence responsible for a series of storehouses. Irtuppiya’s prole and the way his seal, PFS 0002* (g.16), is used make it clear, however, that he belongs to the šaramanna sphere. See Hinz 1971: 286f.; Hallock 1977: 131; idem 1985: 597, 600; Koch 1986: 140, 146; idem 1990: 241f., 299, 307; Garrison 1991: 12f., 24, 26f.; Arfa’i 1999: 36, 42; Garrison & Root 2001: 66f. n° 3. Henkelman (2008a: 119) has suggested that PFS 0002 represents a ‘(sub-)regional seal’ associated with the regional ofce seal PFS 0004*. For the estates of Irtuppiya see Henkelman 2018b: 40f., 45f.

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Royal visits to the area of Irtuppiya’s jurisdiction apparently were handled as Chefsache and required him to step into the role of (nominal) supplier.56 The chancellery in Persepolis would, of course, know this when they reviewed the memoranda produced under Irtuppiya’s auspices as they would in similar cases involving the royal court. A few particularly industrious scribes preferred to play safe, however, adding the phrase PN tumara, “PN (was) grain master” (texts 2-3) or its plural PN1 ak PN2 tumap, “PN1 and PN2 (were) the grain masters” (text 4). Given that tumara was a designation borne by grain suppliers (§7.1) and observing that all individuals named so (Mirayauda, Turpiš, Parnadadda, and Kamišdana) are elsewhere mentioned as allocating commodities (kurman PN-na), it becomes clear that Irtuppiya was only de jure charged with the royal supply, whereas the individuals marked as tumara/tumap were the de facto suppliers whose granaries contributed to the King’s dinner.57 Put concretely, since Irtuppiya sometimes ‘supplied’ grain at the same place, in the same year, yet from various suppliers (as in texts 3-4) he appears to have taken a coordinating role in the supply process.58 If the organization behind the Persepolis Fortication and Treasury archives was built on the principle of ‘matrix management’ (§2.6), so as to assure maximum and mutual control, it simultaneously retained enough elasticity to allow for certain nonstandard modes of operation triggered by particular circumstances. These included executive seizure of the role of supplier, notably in the context of court provisions, but also, more rarely, ad hoc solutions by the supplier himself. The supplier could, for example, ‘supply’ a quantity of barley to himself and then hand it to a third party directly rather than handing it to a šaramanna ofcial or his 56

57

58

There are 18 texts in which Irtuppiya appears in the kurman PN-na formula in royal context, including another case of a tumara mentioned besides Irtuppiya as nominal supplier (NN 0554). Apart from these, there are about 35 other texts in which he appears as de jure supplier and which mention a range of toponyms. Most of these texts deal with rations for dependent labourers, some or perhaps all specialized craftsmen. Compare PF 0323, in which the same two roles of nominal and actual supplier are expressed as follows: “1800 l. our, 22nd year, (which) Šandupirzana has been allocating (kurranra), Mišuradaša received … (at) Kurrimišda, allocation from Dutukka (kurman PN-na).” Here, the scribe avoided using the term kurman for Šandupirzana, elsewhere a known šaramanna ofcial, and reserved it for the actual supplier, Dutukka, who is well attested as a grain supplier (see, e.g., PF 1759). On this particular case see Potts & Henkelman [forthc.] §2. Other cases of higher-placed ofcials acting as the de jure supplier and occurring besides several de facto suppliers in the context of royal provisions include Da’ukka (NN 0324, NN 0857; our, barley), Da’uriša (PF 0704, PF 0705, Fort. 1649-001; our, barley), Irištimanka (PF 0699, Fort. 1005-101, Fort. 2329-104; our), Irmada/Rumada (PF 0692, 0693, PF 0702, NN 1525; our, livestock, cattle), Mipanda (PF 0703, NN 0117; our), Uštanna (NN 0919, Fort. 1533-101; our).

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agents for distribution. This procedure, whereby the supplier essentially steps into the role of the logistics ofcial, is notably attested in a small range of texts on horses for whom a certain Hiumizza was responsible (PN šaramanna); a number of suppliers allocated barley to themselves and gave it to animals otherwise fed by Hiumizza and his representatives, perhaps during their absence.59 Here, the administrative transfer implied in the kurman PN-na phrase is ctional, but the scribes nevertheless maintained expression of the roles of supplier and recipient acting on behalf of the logistics ofcial. Through their exceptional status the Hiumizza texts therefore demonstrate the solidity of the matrix system.

4. Proles of select suppliers 4.1. Pirratamka at Uzikurraš Pirratamka (*Frdauka-) occurs in 78 edited memoranda, four letter orders, and possibly in a number of accounts and journal entries. Of the memoranda, 63 are travel-related. In terms of size and composition, the dataset is comparable to that relating to Mirayauda (§4.4), which comprises at least 101 memoranda, 59 of which concern travel. As discussed below, however, the peculiarities of the two les are quite different, meaning that local proles can be described. Pirratamka’s assignment probably comprised supervision over the intake of grain, its storage, the (laborious) grinding, and the allocation of our rations at a place called Uzikurraš.60 Of these roles, the issuing of rations – for travellers and for other purposes – is the only one securely attested.

59

60

See PF 1688 (Šarišda supplies to Šarišda and Bakašakka, for horses), PF 1691 and PF 2064 (Pukdamira to Pukdamira, for horses), NN 1765 (Anzamanna to ditto = Anzamanna, for horses), and NN 2328 (Ubarauda to Ubarauda, for horses). All texts mention Hiumizza as šaramanna ofcial and have impressions of PFS 0063 (in single- or counter-seal protocol); the seal may belong to Hiumizza’s ofce and express his jurisdiction and accountability, even in absentia. Other texts in the series have Hiumizza himself (PF 1690, NN 1327) or, presumably, his agents (PF 1687, PF 1689, PF 1774, NN 0008, NN 0930; perhaps Fort. 0314-105) as recipients and feeders of equids. So already Hallock 1977: 132. For the Old Iranian form of Pirratamka’s name see Tavernier 2007: 181 [4.2.581]. Attested spellings are HALpír-ra-da-u-ka4, °du-ka4; °dukaš, °du-uk-ka4, °tam0-ka4, °tam0-uk-ka4, °tam0-mak0-ka4, °dím-ka4, and HALba-ra-tamka4. The name of Uzikurraš is written AŠú-zí-kur-ráš, °kur-ra-iš, °kur-ra, °ik-ráš, °ik-ri, AŠ hu-zí-ik-ráš, and AŠmuz0iz-zí-kur-ráš (on the last spelling see n.79 below). All forms reect *(h)ujkara- (Tavernier 2007: 383 [4.3.97]).

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Uzikurraš is mentioned in more than half of the 78 memoranda mentioning Pirratamka; no other place name is associated with him in these texts. It also occurs in the four letter-orders addressed to Pirratamka.61 The place belonged to the K mfrz region, the central one of three subdivisions (provinces) of ancient P rsa, the territory under purview of the Persepolis administration. Uzikurraš’ location in this region is suggested by the repeated collocation of the toponym with PFS 0003, the seal used by the regional director. The town was a stop on the royal road between Susa and Persepolis and must have been situated roughly in the centre of the territory covered by PFA.62 It also served as the halting stop for the royal court in at least two years (Dar.22, 25; Henkelman 2010: 729f.). Pirratamka also supplied our as wages for high ofcials and for sacrices, and barley as animal fodder, rations, and bonuses for workers. Local bureaucratic procedure differed sharply between the two main competences: whereas nearly all travel-related memoranda are written on unsealed tablets (document type B.2.1.2), non-travel contexts are documented on regular tongue-shaped tablets with two string holes and sealed with one, two, or three seals (B.1.2.1). Pirratamka’s activity as supplier is attested in memoranda dating between the start of Dar.22 and the second month of Dar.25. Some account and journal texts mention Pirratamka, but since these date to earlier years, mention different toponyms and sometimes different commodities, it is uncertain whether they speak of a different person, or refer to earlier stages in Pirratamka’s career. By contrast, three texts in which he is referred to as tumara may pertain to the same Pirratamka,63 since the appellative describes ofcials exclusively dealing with grain and our (cf. 61

62

63

The letters are PF 1813, NN 0939, NN 1848, and NN 1870. NN 1848 deals with a šumar (Henkelman 2003), the other three texts deal with rations for two groups of workers. Hallock 1985: 597; Arfa’i 1999: 40; Henkelman 2008a: 486; idem 2011b: 136; see also Koch 1990: 152-3 (assuming six rather than three regions). The texts are NN 2294 (account, barley), Fort. 1405-102, and Fort. 1953-101 (journals, barley). NN 2294 centres on the place Hisuš, while also mentioning Antarrantiš; it refers to grain harvested and consumed in Dar.18-19. Pirratamka is also mentioned as supplier at Hisuš in barley account Fort. 1955-101 (probably Dar.15, 16, 17); here the designation tumara is not preserved. Hisuš/Hišiš was in the vicinity of Appištapdan (NN 0988), the place on which the second text, Fort. 1405-102, centres. This journal also mentions allocations in nearby Tikraš; it pertains to Dar.17, 18, 20. Pirratamka’s connection to Appištapdan is also documented in PF 1941 and Fort. 1298-101, journals including entries on transport of barley to Appištapdan and receipt by Pirratamka. Fort. 1953-101 centres on Mapirrakkaš but refers to transactions in Tikraš; it must therefore be situated in the same area. Preserved portions of the journal refer to Dar.18, 19 and 20. Pirratamka recurs as supplier at Mapirakkaš (without the designation tumara) in account Fort. 1271-102 (Dar.15, 16, 17). Tikraš and Appištapdan are unambiguously located in the Persepolis region (Henkelman & Stolper [forthc.], with references).

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§7.1). The texts pertain to years Dar.15-20 and relate to a cluster of places in the Persepolis region; they may reect an earlier appointment of Pirratamka. As explained below (§7.4), the rare designation kantira, “storekeeper,” could be used as an alternative to tumara. In PF 0699, Pirratamka (misspelled ‘Pirrakamka’) occurs as kantira, the text is a receipt for our taken by the royal court at Uzikurraš in Dar.25. Irištimanka, elsewhere known as a šaramanna ofcial, acts as de jure supplier, but the scribe spelled out the role of Pirratamka as de facto supplier (cf. §3.3). Despite the date and misspelling of Pirratamka’s name, there is little doubt that he is the same as the ubiquitous grain supplier at Uzikurraš. His designation, in turn, connects him with the tumara of earlier years.64

4.1.1. Pirratamka: non-travel contexts For practical reasons, non-travel memoranda in which Pirratamka occurs are treated here rst. The following texts mention him as supplier:65 text

seal(s)

NN 0779 PFS 0011* (LEd.) Fort. 1595-101 •PFS 0016*

supplier(s)

I/22

tongue tongue

Pirratamukka Uzikraš Pirratamka Uzikraš

II/[…]

locality

•PFS 0536 •PFS 0536

VII/21 IX/21

tongue tongue

Pirratamka Pirradukka

0963

•PFS 0003

I-II/22

tongue

0964 0744 PF 1665 Fort. 0644-101 Fort. 2353-104

•PFS 0003 •PFS 0003 •PFS 0003 •PFS 0003 PFS 0003 (LEd.)

XII/22

Uzikurraš Uzikurraš Uzikurraš Uzikurraš Uzikurraš

Fort. 0479-101

PFS

Uzikurraš

NN PF

PF PF

PF

65

shape

1108 1110

NN

64

date

0965

0003 (LEd.)

•PFS 0030

VII/[…]

tongue

Darizza (&) Pirraduka Pirratamka Pirratamka Pirratamka Pirr[atamka] [Darizza] & [Pirra]tamka Pirratamka

Ø/23

tongue

Pirratamka

tongue tongue III-IV/23 tongue IX/23 tongue I-II/25 tongue I-XII/23

/ / Uzikurraš

Uzikurraš

The name HALpír-ra-kam-ka4 occurs only in PF 0699; Hallock (marginalia to idem 1969: 744) suspected a mistake, but Tavernier 2007: 181 [4.2.583] took the form as a separate name. The spelling error may have resulted from an aural mistake by a court scribe unfamiliar with the name; this would also explain the unusual spelling AŠú-zí!-ik-ri. Seals on the left edge are marked with a bullet (as in “•PFS 0003”); “LEd.” indicates tablets with a destroyed left edge.

LOCAL INFORMATION HANDLING IN ACHAEMENID PRSA

1104 66 1147 PF 1235 PF PF

•PFS 0142; PFS 0143s; •PFS 0144 •PFS 0142; PFS 0143s; •PFS 0144 •PFS 0142; PFS 0143s; •PFS 0144

(6m.)/23 tongue (6m.)/23 tongue Ø/23 tongue

Pirraduka Pirratamka Pirratamka

201 Uzikurraš Uzikurraš Uzikurraš

Though all of these tablets are tongue-shaped and sealed, there are differences among them. The rst twelve each have impressions from only one seal (singleseal protocol), indicating the involvement of an overarching authority. PFS 0011* and PFS 0016* are the seals Ziššawiš and Parnakka, deputy-director and director of the Persepolis household economy. Both regularly toured the administrative territory for which they were responsible and received daily ‘rations’ (also feeding their personal retinue) while doing so; the memoranda acknowledging receipt for these were written by their own staffs. Given the overarching authority of Parnakka and Ziššawiš, counter-sealing by the supplier was unnecessary.67 The same was apparently true for the holder of PFS 0536, presumably the Basakka mentioned in the texts as high-level recipient.68 The two tablets involved, NN 1108 and NN 1110, are easily recognisable among the ones listed above: they are relatively big and written in a distinct hand, perhaps indicating that Basakka travelled with his own scribe (g.2).

66

67

68

0142 and PFS 0144 are both impressed on the left edge of PF 1147; the table in Garrison 2008: 163 should be corrected accordingly. AŠ NN 0779 has [ ú]-
zí-ik-ráš for Uzikurraš; since three out of four letter-orders addressed by Ziššawiš to Pirratamka (PF 1813, NN 1848, NN 1870) have the same spelling (the fourth, NN 0939, having AŠhu-zí-
ik-ráš), it points to a scribe from Ziššawiš’ professional entourage rather than a local one. Another indication to this effect is the name of Pirratamka, spelled consistently DIŠpír-ra-tam5-uk-ka in letters from Ziššawiš (NN 1870:01 is partly broken). On the letters cf. n.61 above. Although at rst sight NN 1108 and NN 1110 appear to be travel texts, the connection with Basakka indicates that they are not. Basakka seems to have been a high ofcial who toured the heartland with an entourage of professional aides (puhu, lit. “boys”) in a way not dissimilar to Parnakka, the general director. Basakka is receiving rations in PF 0824, PF 1253, PF 1254, NN 1024, NN 1108, and NN 1110; he allocates a herd of ten oxen and donkeys in PF 0291. In PF 0824, his name is preceded by the personal determinative DIŠ, which in PFA is only used in letters (nearly always for the addressee and regularly for the addressor) and occasionally in ration memoranda with high-level recipients. In contrast to its neutral use in inscriptional context, DIŠ in administrative texts thus seems to serve as a polite and respectful alternative (“Sir”) to the standard determinative AL. See, e.g., PF 0658, PF 0825, NN 0781, NN 0937, NN 1463, NN 1895, NN 1946, and compare Giovinazzo (1989), who surmises that the use of DIŠ in non-epistolary contexts may go back to a local custom. Perhaps the same Basakka occurs in PF 1255 and NN 1624. Basakka the grain supplier in PF 0552 and other texts seems to be a different individual (on this person see Aperghis 1999: 159, 166-68). PFS

202

MARK B. GARRISON & WOUTER F.M. HENKELMAN

Seven tablets are sealed with PFS 0003 (g.3), the seal mentioned earlier as the one belonging to the regional director of the Kaupirriš subdivision or administrative province to which Uzikurraš belonged. Such ‘regional seals’ again represent a high-order authority, and thus did not require counter-sealing by the supplier. PFS 0030 (PF 0965) is another regional seal for the K mfr z region, also used with the single-seal protocol.69 The tablets with PFS 0003 are easily recognisable among other tablets in Pirratamka’s le: they are written in the same hand, with rather tiny wedges that slant slightly to the right. The tablet format is also distinct: the height tapers slightly towards the left edge and the text follows this curve. Here, too, a separate scribe may be assumed. Another small cluster of ration texts naming Pirratamka as supplier are sealed by PFS 0142, PFS 0143s, and PFS 0144 (g.4). This group is written in yet a different hand, with signs more distinctly separated and slanting less to the right. Also, the three seals are each time applied in exactly the same way.70 One of the features in this pattern is that two seals, PFS 0142 and PFS 0144, are impressed on the left edge. Such pairing of seals on the left edges of ration memoranda is exceptional; normal convention is to have only one seal placed on the left edge.71 Since PFS 0142 and PFS 0144 also occur individually, in the regular counter-seal protocol involving only two seals, they behave like supplier seals. PFS 0144 may also be paired with other seals on a memorandum’s left edge: PFS 0039s or PFS 2376. One would therefore suspect that PFS 0144 represents a higher-level authority associated with several subordinate suppliers. This is also suggested by the observation that PFS 0142 and PFS 0144 occur not only with cereals, but also with wine allocations (NN 2014, Fort. 0703-101).72 Such a combination of different commodities indicates that PFS 0142 and PFS 0144 are actually atypical as supplier seals. The table below lists the occurrences of PFS 0144. Three occurrences of PFS 0142 in regular counter-sealing protocol are included as well:

69 70

71

72

On the regional ofce seals, see Henkelman 2008a: 118-20; Garrison 2017: 36-41. PFS 0143s is stamped twice on each reverse, with the top of the seal facing the left edge. Below this, following the lower edge of the reverse, but upside down with regard to the text, is a fairly complete rolling of PFS 0142 (see Root 2008: 132 for an illustration). A selection from the middle part of this seal is rolled on the left side of the left edge as well. On the right side of each left edge a selection of PFS 0144 (a rampant lion) is impressed. The third seal, PFS 0143s, belonged to Bakaradduš, a person directing various teams of workers in the K mfr z region and sealing on behalf of them. PFS 0144 is also found with beer (NN 1550, NN 1734), but this is not uncommon for seals of cereal suppliers.

LOCAL INFORMATION HANDLING IN ACHAEMENID PRSA

text

seal(s)

203

date

comm.

supplier(s)

locality

PF

I/22

PF

I/22

our our our

Minduka Minduka Pirradauka

/ / /

1370 •PFS 0142; PFS 0187s 1371 •PFS 0142; PFS 1296 Fort. 2053-102 •PFS 0142; PFS 3328 1104 73 1147 74 PF 1235 PF PF

•PFS 0142; PFS 0143s; •PFS 0144 •PFS 0142; PFS 0143s; •PFS 0144 •PFS 0142; PFS 0143s; •PFS 0144

NN 2014 •PFS 0142; PFS 0143s; •PFS 0144 Fort. 0703-101 •PFS 0142; PFS 0143s; •PFS 0144 NN PF

1084

1236

PFS

0143s; •PFS 0144

•PFS 0144; PFS 0216

Ø/[…]

(6m.)/23 barley (6m.)/23 nukdu Ø/23 ŠE.GIG+ mitli (6m.)/23 wine Ø/23 wine

Pirraduka Pirratamka Pirratamka

Uzikurraš Uzikurraš Uzikurraš

Miššabada Miššabada

Uzikurraš Uzikurraš

III-V/23

our

Tarpi[...]du?

I/23

ŠE.GIG+

Marduka

Matannan Matannan

Kansan

ŠE.x NN

0279

•PFS 0144; •PFS 2376; 0095; PFS 2377 PFS 0095; •PFS 0144; PFS 3015 PFS 0143s; •PFS 0144

I-VI/23

our

Marduka

III/23

beer beer

Turrakdama Matannan Turrakdama Matannan

barley barley barley barley

Mazamanna / Mazamanna / Mazamanna Kaupirriš Mazamanna Kaupirriš

PFS NN NN

1550 1734

0735 0165 NN 2102 NN 0990 NN NN

Ø/24

•PFS 0039s; •PFS 0144; PFS 0216 III/22 •PFS 0039s; •PFS 0144; PFS 0216 III/22 •PFS 0039s; PFS 0143s; •PFS 0144 […]/22 •PFS 0039s; •PFS 0144; XI/23 PFS 0095; PFS 0143s

0144 is associated with four different localities and is therefore likely to represent an ofce with district competence. The supplier seal linked with Uzikurraš itself is PFS 0142, used by Pirratamka (cereals) and Miššabada (wine).75

PFS

73

nukdu(š) seems to be a (by)product of barley (NN 0910, “barley including nukduš”); as nu-ik-du rightly surmises, the addition of a nal -š makes it likely that the word is a loan from Old Iranian. mitli is a cereal product (cf. PF 0298); EW s.v. mi-ut-li suggests “Kornschrot(?),” apparently on the basis of the combination mitli ŠE.BARMEŠ-na, “mitli (made) of barley” (NN 0421; cf. ŠE.GIGMEŠ mitli in NN 1291), which in turn leads to the amusing interpretation of the personal name Mitlišep as “in Kornschrott vernarrt, verliebt(?).” For ŠE.GIG, plausibly “wheat,” see Henkelman 2010: 751f. NN 2014 and Fort. 0703-101 (Miššabada as supplier at Uzikurraš), have PFS 0142, PFS 0143, and PFS 0144 applied in the same way as memoranda with Pirratamka (cf. above). Miššabada the wine supplier recurs in PF 0753, NN 0556 (both at Harbuš), PF 1281, PF 1553, and PF 1554. The last two are sub-rectangular, unsealed memoranda dealing with travel provisions. All sealed texts with Miššabada are non-travel memoranda; this pattern essentially repeats that of Pirratamka (cf. below). EW s.v.

74

75

204

MARK B. GARRISON & WOUTER F.M. HENKELMAN

It is also used by one Minduk(k)a, whose location is unknown, but who might have been active at Uzikurraš or one of its satellites.76 The particular connection of PFS 0142 (rather than PFS 0143) with Uzikurraš is of some importance, since the seal also occurs on a number of Aramaic tablets: text

seal(s)

PFAT

0286

0057 0194 PFAT 0332 PFAT 0573 PFAT 0251 PFAT 0652 PFAT 0222 PFAT 0393 PFAT 0088 PFAT PFAT

date

commodity

•PFS 0142

Ø/23

?

our

•PFS 0142; PFATS 0034s •PFS 0142; PFATS 0218 •PFS 0142; PFATS 0327 •PFS 0142?; PFATS 0846s •PFS 0142; PFUTS 0081 •PFS 0142; PFUTS 0081 •PFS 0142; PFUTS 0974 •PFS 0142; PFUTS 0974 PFS 0142; PFUTS 1128s

Ø/23 [(…)]

Ø

Ø

[(…)] Ø

Ø

our [(…)] grain

Ø

Ø

Ø

grain

Ø Ø/23

Ø

(…)

As usual, the Aramaic texts (document type B.2.1.1) yield little in terms of local operations: the supplier or the location never seem to be mentioned. Some, but not all texts suggests a travel context, but it is hard to understand the particulars. This is even more true for the 35 uninscribed tablets (B.2.1.4) with an impression of PFS 0142.77 What can be observed, though, is that attestations of the seal on uninscribed and Aramaic tablets outnumber by far those on the Elamite tablets. This particular distribution may suggest that the holder of PFS 0142 had a responsibility that lay primarily in the initial or nal stages of local documentation, i.e. before or after (unsealed?) memoranda were drafted (cf. §4.3.4).

76

77

The Mindukka who is grain supplier in an account text (PF 1969) may be the same; if so, he is located at Kurakka(n). Minduk(k)a’s name also occurs on two unsealed ovate tablets (PF 1372, PF 1373). All Minduk(k)a’s memoranda are related to travel. For Fort. 2053-102 (PFS 0142, Pirraramka), see §4.1.2 below. Some uninscribed tablets have seal combinations also known from the Aramaic tablets: PFUT 0687-104 (•PFS 0142; PFUTS 0081), PFUT 0680-203 (•PFS 0142; PFUTS 0974). Cf. Garrison 2008: 162f., 227; Dusinberre 2008: 245. Some seals occurring in combination with PFS 0142 on uninscribed tablets are known from Elamite memoranda. All of these appear to be recipient seals used by travellers or travel parties: PFS 1616s (PFUT 0903102, PF 2053); PFS 1367s (PFUT 1059-101, PF 1468); PFS 1386s (PFUT 1054-104, PFUT 1058-105, PF 1489); PFS 2968 (PFUT 1054-105, NN 1311, NN 2483); PFS 3058 (PFUT 1052-101, NN 0985, NN 2443). Cf. §4.3.4 below on uninscribed tablets with PFS 0048 and counter seals that can be connected to travellers and travel.

LOCAL INFORMATION HANDLING IN ACHAEMENID P RSA

205

4.1.2. Pirratamka: travel contexts In contrast to the non-travel receipts, nearly all travel ration memoranda mentioning Pirratamka are written on unsealed tablets (B.2.1.2). Though other cases of eschewal of seal impression in travel context are known, no other supplier shows such a consistent pattern.78 With 60 unsealed travel memoranda, Pirratamka alone is responsible for about a quarter of all such texts. All the tablets referred to here have a single string hole, but its location varies, dening two main form categories. The rst is that of small cones, oval or sub-circular in section and with a single hole in the right tip (g.5). With 28 tablets this is the most common form among the unsealed tablets mentioning Pirratamka. Two variations of the cone-type exist, both of which are atter in section, but still with a single hole on the right. The rst (11x) is roughly triangular, sometimes approaching a tongue (g.6). The second sub-type (7x) is almost rectangular in outline, with only slightly curved corners on the right (g.7); it is labelled here subrectangular (s.rect.). Tablets of the two sub-types tend to be a little bigger, perhaps the reason for their divergent shape. The second main form category of unsealed tablets has a single hole on the left rather than on the right. In this case there is no clearly recognizable basic shape, but only two alternative types. The rst (7x) is roughly ellipsoid, but with a vestigial left edge, in the middle of which the single hole is located (g.8). The second (5x) could be called ovate (although tear- or leaf-shaped may be more precise): it is rounded at right and with a perforated blunt tip on the left (g.9). Five tablets fall outside these categories. PF 1427 is triangular (attened cone) in shape, yet with the perforated tip to the left of the text. NN 1092 looks tongueshaped, but with the left edge broken it is hard to establish whether it has regular features. NN 2632 and Fort. 2053-102 certainly are tongue-shaped tablets. Fort. 1626-102 belongs to the sub-rectangular type, with the difference that it is sealed. When organized by form, according to the format typology given here, a number of patterns emerge among the unsealed tablets mentioning Pirratamka: text

seal(s)

date

authorisation

format

supplier(s)

locality

1411 1630 PF 1412 PF 1414 PF 1415 PF 1416 PF 1418 PF 1419

no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal

Ø/22

miyatukkam PN-na kuzza miyatukkam PN-na kuzza miyatukkam PN-na kuzza miyatukkam PN-na kuzza miyatukkam PN-na kuzza miyatukkam PN-na kuzza miyatukkam PN-na kuzza miyatukkam PN-na kuzza

cone cone cone cone cone cone cone cone

Pirratamka Pirratamka Pirratamka Pirratamka Pirratamka Pirratamka Pirratamka Pirratamka

Uzikurraš Uzikurraš Uzikurraš Uzikurraš Uzikurraš Uzikurraš Uzikurraš Uzikurraš

PF

NN

78

Ø/22 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23

Hence Hallock’s description of Pirratamka as “sigillophobe” (1977: 132).

206

MARK B. GARRISON & WOUTER F.M. HENKELMAN

1420 1422 NN 1305 NN 1307 NN 1636 NN 1746 NN 1804 NN 1824 NN 2323 NN 2407 NN 2416 79 Fort. 6830 Fort. 6833 Fort. 0599-101 Fort. 1221-101 Fort. 1537-103 Fort. 1652-103 Fort. 1653-101 PF 1425 Fort. 2326-103

no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal

Ø/23

PF 1426 Fort. 0294-101 PF 1417 PF 1421 PF 1424 NN 1252 NN 1518 80 Fort. 6181 Fort. 1799-102 Fort. 0765-101 PF 1436

no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal

V/23

1428 1429 PF 1430 NN 0381 Fort. 1636

no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal

VIII/24

PF PF

PF PF

79

80

Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/Ø Ø/[x]

VII/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 X/24 Ø/Ø

miyatukkam PN-na kuzza cone miyatukkam PN-na kuzza cone miyatukkam PN-na kuzza cone miyatukkam PN-na kuzza cone miyatukkam PN-na kuzza cone miyatukkam PN-na kuz[za] cone miyatukkam PN-na kuzza cone miyatukkam PN‹-na› kuzza cone / cone miyatukkam PN-na kuzza cone miyatukkam PN-na kuzza cone miyatukkam PN-na kuzza cone miyatukkam PN-na kuzza cone […] cone / cone miyatukkam PN-na [kuz]za cone miyatukkam PN-na kuz[za] cone miyatukkam PN-na ku[zza] cone miyatukkam PN-na kuzza cone / cone

Pirratamka Uzikurraš Pirratamka Uzikurraš Pirratamka Uzikurraš Pirratamka Uzikurraš Pirratamka Uzikurraš Pirratamka Uzikurraš Pirratamka Uzikurraš Pirratamka Uzikurraš Pirratamka Uzikurraš Pirratamka Uzikurraš Pirratamka Uzikurraš Pirratamka Wuzzikurraš? Pirratamka Uzikurraš Pirratamka Uzikurraš Pirratamka / Pirratamka Uzikurraš [Pirra]tamka Uzikurraš Pirratamka Uzikurraš Pirratamka Uzikurraš Pirra[tamka] /

/ […] miyatukkam PN-na kuzza miyatukka PN-na PN-ikkimar miy.a kuzda / / PN-ikkamar miy.a kuzda miyatukkam PN-na kuzza miyatukkam PN-na […] miyatukkam PN-na kutiš

triang. triang. triang. triang. triang. triang. triang. triang. triang. triang. triang.

Pirraduka Pirratamka Pirratamka Pirratamka Pirratamka Pirratamka Pirratamka Pirratamka Pirratamka Pirraduka Pirraduka

/ / Uzikurraš / Uzikurraš / / / Uzikurraš [(…)] /

s.rect. s.rect. s.rect. s.rect. s.rect.

Pirradauka Pirradauka Pirradauka Pirradauka Pirradauka

/ / / / /

halmi PN-na kutišša halmi PN-na kutišša VIII/24 halmi PN-na kutišša VIII/24 [hal]mi PN-na kutišša IX/24 halmi PN-na kutišša VIII/24

In ll.13-14, Cameron (ms.) read AŠzir0-zí-iš, Hallock (ms.) AŠmuz0-zí-iš, and Arfaee (2008: 197) AŠú!-
iz-zí-kur!-ráš. Collation in Tehran showed that the rst sign is not written over erasure (pace Arfaee) and that Hallock’s muz0 is the more likely reading. The following iz (omitted by Cameron and Hallock) is probably a phonetic complement, hence AŠmuz0iz-zí-kur!-ráš (/wuzikurraš/). Also in Fort. 6830 (l.3), the name of the recipient was read HALnap-
pa-tam5-ka4 by Hallock (followed by Arfaee), but Cameron’s reading rak0 is clearly preferable, giving HALnap-rak0!-ka4. Instead of ku-iz-da, Arfaee (2008: 199) reads ku-iz-iš (excluded by collation).

LOCAL INFORMATION HANDLING IN ACHAEMENID PRSA

Fort. 0847-105 no seal NN 0086 no seal

IX/24

1413 1423 PF 2051 NN 2034 NN 1192 Fort. 0704-101 PF 1435

no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal

Ø/23

1191 1433 Fort. 0849-104 PF 1434 NN 1633

no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal

XI/24

PF PF

NN PF

PF 1427

Ø/[x]

Ø/23 Ø/23 Ø/23 IX/24 XI/24 Ø/Ø

81

halmi PN-na-ma? s.rect. halmi P[N-na] ku[tiš(ša)] s.rect.

Pirradauka Pirradauka

miyatukka kuzza miyatukkam PN-na kuzda / PN-ikkamar dun kutišša / halmi PN-na halmi PN-na kuz

ellips. ellips. ellips. ellips. ellips. ellips. ellips.

Pirratamka Pirratamka Pirratamka Pirratamka Pirradau‹ka› Pirradauka Pirradukka

ovate ovate ovate ovate ovate

Pirradauka Pirradauka Pirradauka Pirratamka Baratamka

/ / / / /

/ halmi PN-na kuzzi /

inv.triang. Pirraduka tongue? Pirradauka tongue Pirraduka

/ / /

halmi PN-na kuz[…]

tongue

Pirradauka

/

(PN-ikkamar …laka)

s.rect.

Pirratamka

/

PN-na

halmi PN-na kuzzida halmi PN-na kuzda ? XII/24 halmi PN-na kuz[…] Ø/Ø halmi PN-na Ø/Ø halmi PN-na kuz XII/24

no seal X/23 LEd. XI/24 LEd.; Ø/23 PFS 0853 Fort. 2053-102 •PFS 0142 Ø/[…] PFS 3328 Fort. 1626-102 PFS 1373 Ø/23

1092 NN 2632 NN

207 / / / Uzikurraš / / / / /

As appears from the above table, the mention of a place name (Uzikurraš) is concentrated among cone-shaped tablets. In these tablets, the name of Pirratamka is spelled HALpír-ra-tam5-ka4. The seven sub-rectangular tablets, by contrast, all have the spelling HALpír-ra-da-u-ka4, suggesting a different scribe; the same spelling occurs a few times with ellipsoid and ovate tablets (and on the irregular NN 1092). A second diagnostic feature is that of authorisation formulae, where variations in terminology and verbal forms occur. Within PFA, Elamite and Old Iranian terms often can be used indiscriminately; the choice was at the scribe’s discretion. The terms used in the texts associated with Pirratamka are Elamite halmi (lit. “seal,” hence “sealed document, authorisation”) and miyatukka(m) (*viytika-, “travel authorisation”).82 The verb is always the same (kuti-, “to carry”), but its forms vary: kutiš, kutišša, and the contracted forms kuz, kuzzi, kuzzida, kuzda and kuzza.83

81

82

83

The tablet is too bulbous for the regular tongue-shaped format, but a string impression is visible in the break and seems to be directed to the lower corner of the lost left edge. The nal -m in miyatukkam is a generalized accusative ending which, like nal -š, marks loans from Old Iranian; -m usually occurs with inanimate nouns. Cf. n.5 above. In morphological analysis: kutiš [kut(i).š], kutišša [kut(i).š.a], kuz [kut(i).š], kuzzi [kut(i).š], kuzzida [kut(i).š.t(a)], kuzda [kut(i).š.t(a)], kuzza [kut(i).š.t(a)] (the last ve forms are contracted).

208

MARK B. GARRISON & WOUTER F.M. HENKELMAN

Although no perfect match between tablet form and text formula is found, a correlation is discernable. First, the use of miyatukka(m) is largely restricted to triangular tablets and cones, whereas the occurrence of halmi is limited to sub-rectangular, ellipsoid, and ovate ones. Sub-groups appear within this general distinction. The formula miyatukkam PN-na kuzza, “he carried (showed) an authorisation by PN,” occurs almost exclusively with cone-shaped tablets. Its equivalent halmi PNna kutiš(ša) occurs exclusively with sub-rectangular tablets, conrming the suspicion that these tablets are the work of a single scribe. In general, the alternative formulae may be due to individual scribal choices, since there is no difference in meaning. The same is probably true for more rare formulae, such as PN-ikkimar miyatukka kuzda, “from (separative) PN he carried an authorisation.” Since there is a discernable correlation between text formula and tablet form, the form appears, to some extent, to have been at the discretion of the individual scribe. This is not to say that a given scribe could have used any format, but within the category of unsealed memoranda he or she could use a conical, triangular, subrectangular, ellipsoid, or an ovate tablet at will, provided that the tablet would have a single string protruding from either the left or the right side. In other words, unsealed memoranda (B.2.1.2) of the form types listed here are functionally and legally equivalent and belong to same tablet format. Characteristics are 1) the absence of a seal and 2) the presence of one string hole. That all of them are nontongue shaped is another factor, but less critical than the other two (cf. §4.3.3). That only three of Pirratamka’s travel rations are sealed, that he is addressed directly in letter-orders by Parnakka and Ziššawiš, and that Aramaic and uninscribed tablets are connected with the Uzikurraš storage demonstrates the complexity of Pirratamka’s dossier. It agrees with his earlier assignment as tumara in the Persepolis region (if this is the same individual), where he was involved in the handling of grain in a range of places. As a kantira at Uzikurraš his geographical range may have been more limited, but his tasks no less complex. One eyecatching aspect is that PFS 0142, a seal connected with Uzikurraš and perhaps with Pirratamka himself, occurs frequently among the Aramaic and uninscribed tablets from the Fortication archive. One is tempted to connect this broad use of PFS 0142 with the many unsealed Elamite tablets Pirratamka’s scribes produced. This, the apparently local use of Aramaic, and the various local protocols show the intricacy of Achaemenid administration even at cellular level.

LOCAL INFORMATION HANDLING IN ACHAEMENID P RSA

209

4.2. Haturdada at Kurdušum Associated with four different supplier seals, the le of Haturdada (*td ta-) is as complex as that of Pirratamka.84 A our (grain) supplier at Kurdušum and some nearby places, Haturdada was stationed in the western part of the so-called Fahliyn region, itself the westernmost subdivision (province) of the administrative territory.85 He is mentioned by name as supply ofcial in 66 memoranda; 54 of these are travel texts. In striking contrast to Pirratamka, most of Haturdada’s tablets are sealed – only two travel texts are unsealed. The four main seals (impressed on the left edge of memoranda) associated with Haturdada are PFS 0010, PFS 0023, PFS 0055, and PFS 0107 (gs.10-13). There are some cases where another supplier’s name is associated with these seals. The most transparent protocol involves Ummanana, Haturdada’s deputy or associate responsible for beer brewing and beer allocations at Kurdušum. Regularly, PFS 0010, PFS 0023, PFS 0055, or PFS 0107 occur with no mention of a supplier’s name at all, presumably because the seals sufced to identify the supplier or his ofce. Only in the case of PFS 0107, non-mention seems to have a specic (‘marked’) function (see §4.2.1). It is common for a supply ofcial to be associated with multiple seals.86 Several possible explanations may apply. One is that some or all of the seals were personal seals that the ofcial used concurrently (in different administrative capacities or places) or successively (one seal replacing the other). Another possibility would be that some or all seals were ofce seals representing an institutional authority (rather than an individual) and thus be used by more than one of its representatives. Especially at larger centres, such as Kurdušum, the number of ofcials and the amount of documentation they had to produce may have necessitated concurrent use of multiple ofce seals representing the same authority or the same competence or division of competences between the supplier’s seal-holding subalterns. In the case of Haturdada, the use of multiple seals is most likely explained as a chronological phenomenon, despite a small overlap between PFS 0107 and PFS 0010. For reasons that will be discussed below, the four seals were probably ofce

84

85

86

Attested forms of the name are HALha-tur-da-da, °da-ad-da, °da-ud-da, HALha-tur-raud-da, HALha-tar-da-da, and °da-ad-da (cf. Tavernier 2007: 124 [4.2.189]. ‘Haturrada,’ considered a different name by Tavernier (ibid. 125 [4.2.194]), sometimes refers to the same person (notably PF 1574, NN 1609; both with PFS 0107). In most cases, however, ‘Haturrada’ refers to different individuals (cf. Henkelman & Stolper [forthc.]). Hallock 1977: 132; idem 1985: 598f.; Koch 1986: 143 n.26, 145; idem 1990: 178, 208, 300, 304; Henkelman 2008a: 503 n.1170; idem [forthc. 1] §3; Arfaee 2008: 2. See, e.g., the comments of Aperghis 1999: 166f.

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MARK B. GARRISON & WOUTER F.M. HENKELMAN

seals rather than personal seals. Their attested chronological order may be represented as follows (correcting Hallock 1977: 132): PFS 0107

II/21

PFS 0010

XI/21

PFS 0055

I/27

PFS 0023

I/28

– – – –

22 (no month dates) IV/23 I/28 XI/28

4.2.1. Haturdada: PFS 0107 PFS 0107 (g.10), the

earliest attested seal associated with Haturdada, occurs twelve times on travel receipts; in seven or eight cases Haturdada is named in the text: text Fort. 2122-107 PF 1307 PF 1574 NN 1320 NN 1609 NN 1616 NN 1684 PF 1536 NN 1126 NN 1733 NN 2516 PF 1545 NN 2387

seal(s)

date

no seal preserved •PFS 0107; PFS 1253 •PFS 0107; PFS 1458 •PFS 0107; PFS 2870 •PFS 0107; PFS 2312 •PFS 0107; PFS 2995 •PFS 0107; PFS 1354 •PFS 0107; PFS 1430 •PFS 0107; PFS 2178 •PFS 0107; PFS 3030s •PFS 0107; PFS 1442 PFS 0107 •PFS 0107; PFS 3055

? Xel. /20

Ø/21 Ø/21 Ø/21 Ø/21 Ø/21 Ø/21 Ø/21 Ø/21 Ø/21 Ø/21 Ø/22 Ø/Ø

shape tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue

supplier(s)

locality

?

/ / / / / / / / / / / / /

Hatardada Haturdada Haturrada Haturdada Haturrada Haturdada Haturdada / / / / / Haturdada

In these texts, the collocation of the name Haturdada and seal PFS 0107 points to our allocations.87 When no supplier is named, other commodities are at stake: beer or ŠE.SA.A, “roasted barley.”88 Because Ummanana is elsewhere responsible 87

88

The commodity is not mentioned in PF 1574 and NN 1320, but may be assumed from the dry measure stated in the text and from context. Beer: PF 1536, PF 1545, NN 1126, NN 1733, NN 1883; roasted barley: NN 2516. On ŠE.SA.A, Akk. laptu or qaltu, “roasted barley” and its presumed Elamite reading halar see CAD L 96-7 s.v. laptu B; Hallock 1969: 20; idem 1978: 111, 115; EW s.vv. ha-la-ir, ŠE.SA.A.lg. In PFA, roasted barley is made from ŠE.BAR, “barley” (PF 0430); it is a rare bonus ration for workers (see, e.g., PF 0786), is sometimes received by élite Persians (see, e.g., NN 1359), may be fed to fowl (see, e.g., PF 1754), may be “royal” (NN 2120), and exists in various grades of renement (see, e.g., PF 0839). Producers of roasted barley occur several times and, as skilled workers, were sent from one place to another to do their work (PFa 12 ~ PF 31:17-20; NN 1276; NN 2041:08-10; NN 2504). One Yaunaparza, leader of a group of 12 barley roasters in NN 2504 (cf. NN 2041:08-10), is re-

LOCAL INFORMATION HANDLING IN ACHAEMENID PRSA

211

for beer allocations at Kurdušum, his agency may be implied in the beer texts, but this is probably not true for the roasted barley. The pattern of the marked absence or presence of Haturdada’s name continues in the two remaining texts with PFS 0107. These document receipts in non-travel contexts:89 text

seal(s)

date

shape

supplier(s)

NN 1883

•PFS 0107; PFS 3020 •PFS 0107; PFS 0923s

IIel./21

tongue tongue

/ /

PF 0795

Ø/21

locality Kurdušum /

NN 1883 is the only text sealed by PFS 0107 to state a location and also the only one to give a month date in addition to the year date. It does not mention Haturdada and again concerns beer (gratuities for mothers). PF 0795 is an oddity in the le: Haturdada is mentioned, but only as the person who delivered (lišda) 5 litres of oil for one Aksasul, who prepared food with it.90 The divergent phrasing may imply that the oil was not pressed at the facility directed by Haturdada, but that he supplied the basis (presumably sesame) for it and subsequently issued the oil directly from the press. At any rate, the text indicates yet another type of cereal processing associated with PFS 0107 in addition to grinding, brewing, and roasting.

4.2.2. Haturdada: PFS 0010 Among the edited texts, PFS 0107 is rst attested in II/21; it continues to be used until year 22 (once: PF 1545). The earliest attestation of PFS 0010 (g.11) dates to XI/21, but all texts relating to travel date from V/22 or later. Perhaps, then, PFS 0010 did become the full replacement of PFS 0107 during the rst months of Dar.22. There are 43 known travel texts sealed with PFS 0010; 32 date to Dar.22, nine to Dar.23, one has no preserved date. The abundance of memoranda with PFS 0010 (in comparison to PFS 0107) is a function of the general build-up of the archive, in which there are three times more preserved memoranda for Dar.22 than for Dar.21 (see Henkelman 2008a: 173-77).

89

90

ferred to in a closely related text (PF 1549) as pišdakurra, i.e. *pistakara-, “our-maker, miller” (Tavernier 2007: 429 [4.4.7.89]). This suggest that roasting barley and perhaps other ways of processing grain could be the responsibility of a miller. Elamite month names are indicated under “date” with subscript “el.” The seventh (?), so-called ‘Susian,’ month Rahal is indicate with superscript “su.” ba-ba-MIN in PF 0795 is a variant for regular (AŠ)ab-be-KI+MIN (also ab-be-be, ha-beha-be, etc.), “food, prepared food” (see EW s.v. ab-be-KI+MIN; Henkelman 2010: 67).

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MARK B. GARRISON & WOUTER F.M. HENKELMAN

Of the 43 travel ration receipts with PFS 0010 only ve mention a supplier (Haturdada) and ve a place name (Kurdušum): text

seal(s)

1519 1366 NN 1713 PF 1477 PF 1499 PF 1507 PF 1534 NN 2403 PF 1309 PF 1310 PF 1311 91 PF 1461 NN 1268 NN 1325 NN 1694 NN 2504 NN 2511 NN 2582 PF 1365 PF 1462 PF 1493 NN 1204 PF 1523 PF 1540 NN 2503 Fort. 7859 PF 1361 PF 1485 PF 1488 PF 1522 NN 2018 NN 1389 PF 1451 92 PF 0785

•PFS 0010; PFS 1414s Vel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 1292s VIIsu./22 ? •PFS 0010; PFS 3028 VIIsu./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 0298s VIIIel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 1396; PFS 1690 VIIIel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 0270s VIIIel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 0270s VIIIel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 3056s VIIIel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 1254 IXel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 1255s IXel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 1256 IXel./22 •PFS 0010 IXel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 2961 IXel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 2974 IXel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 3029 IXel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 1440 IXel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 2878 IXel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 3090 IXel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 1689 Xel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 1359 Xel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 1390s Xel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 2956 Xel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 1419 XIel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 1433 XIel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 3083s XIel./22 XIel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 0248 •PFS 0010; PFS 1290s XIIel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 1382 XIIel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 1385 XIIel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 1418 XIIel./22 •PFS 0010?; PFS 3072 XIIel./22 •PFS 0010; PFS 0853 (28d.)/22 •PFS 0010; PFS 1346 Ø/22 •PFS 0010; PFS 0049 Iel./23

PF PF

91

92

date

format

supplier(s)

locality

tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue

/ / / / / / / / Haturdada / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / Haturdada / / / / / Haturdada / /

/ / / / / / / / Kurdušum Kurdušum Kurdušum / Kurdušum / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / Kurdušum / /

The fact that PF 1461 has only one seal is highly unusual for a travel text; its contents offer no clues as to the circumstances that caused the deviation from regular protocol. Despite Hallock 1969: 232, PF 0785 does relate to travel. The text records a high ration for Abbatema from Hinduš, but does not mention a travel authorization. Other parts of the same dossier (PF 1317; PF 1318; PF 1398; PF 1556; PF 1548; PF 1558; PF 1704; PF 1785; NN 0794; Fort. 0068-103; Fort. 0170-006; Fort. 1161-101) reveal that it pertains to a journey in the rst three months of Dar.23. The seal most clearly connected with it

LOCAL INFORMATION HANDLING IN ACHAEMENID P RSA

1478 1496 PF 1520 NN 1421 NN 1592 NN 1930 PF 1401 PF 1474 Fort. 2250-101 PF PF

•PFS 0010; PFS 1374 •PFS 0010; PFS 1394s •PFS 0010; PFS 1415 •PFS 0010; PFS 2978 •PFS 0010; PFS 2993s •PFS 0010; PFS 3044 •PFS 0010; PFS 0251 •PFS 0010; PFS 1371 •PFS 0010; PFS 3316

Iel./23 Iel./23 Iel./23 Iel./23 Iel./23 Iel./23 IIIel./23 IVel./23 […]/[…]

tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue

/ / / Haturdada / / / / Haturdada

213 / / / / / / / / /

If PFS 0010 was the replacement seal for PFS 0107, it did not inherit the bureaucratic protocol or habits associated with its predecessor. Whereas travel texts with PFS 0010 are almost invariably dated to month and year, those with PFS 0107 state only year dates (or no date at all).93 The name of Haturdada is left out more often than not in case of PFS 0010. As opposed to PFS 0107, there is no clear pattern: texts without the name of Haturdada may treat both our and beer allocations.94

93 94

is PFS 0049; the travel guide Išbaramištima used it to acknowledge receipt on behalf of Abbatema. In PF 1318 this is made explicit in the seal caption below the impression of HAL PFS 0049, iš-ba-ra-mi-iš-du-ma pár-ri-iš-da-ma-še-e hal-mi HALKI+MIN ha-ri-ka4, “Išbaramištima (is) his guide (*paristvana-); the seal (of) the same has been impressed (on this document)” (cf. Garrison & Root 2001: 95f.; Henkelman 2008a: 96; idem [forthc. 1] §2; Stolper 2017b: 763). As agent of Abbatema, Išbaramištima sometimes used PFS 0049 in the single-seal protocol, indicating the overarching authority of his master (PF 1556; probably NN 0794; perhaps PF 0827, Fort. 0170-006; cf. PFAT 0518, PFAT 0807, PFUT 0192-201). Other texts with PFS 0049 are PF 1316 (Išbaramištima, Xel./27), NN 0455 (idem; no date), and PFUT 0112-202. Išbaramištima also occurs as travel guide with HALab-ba-da-a-hu-iš (PF 0686; PF 0687) and HALab-ba-da-aú-iš (Fort. 0226-03). The time frame is the same as with Abbatema (HALab-ba-te-ma, *Apadaiva-; Tavernier 2007: 106 [4.2.57]). Despite the different etymology given by Tavernier (ibid. [4.2.56]), HALab-ba-da-hu-iš and °ú-iš seem variant spellings for Abbatema, with the signs U and Ú expressing /v/ or even /va/, and with the generalized nominative ending -š used to mark Old Iranian nouns and proper names in Elamite (see also Giovinazzo 2000/01: 70). On Abbatema, see Lewis 1977: 5; Bivar 1988: 205f.; Koch 1986: 138, 140f.; idem 1993: 37f.; Tuplin 1998: 95 nn.83-4; Giovinazzo 2000/01: 68-72; Seibert 2002. The high rations received by Abbatema are not a decisive argument for making him the satrap of India (as Brosius 2006: 57). Among travel texts in general, absence of a month date occurs in roughly 25% of cases. Beer: PF 1534, NN 2504, PF 1540. The commodity of NN 2503 broken, but a parallel text (PF 1540) suggests that it may have been beer too. Note that PF 1507 and PF 1534 form a pair mentioning our and beer for a group of Arabs coming from Susa (both VIII/22). Such pairs are relatively rare (cf. Henkelman 2008a: 245f. with nn.536-37).

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The same is true for the seven non-travel receipts sealed with PFS 0010: text PF

1081

95

PF 0685 NN 1199

1397 PF 1170 Fort. 1812-102 NN 0175 Fort. 1801-102 NN

seal(s)

date

shape

supplier(s)

locality

•PFS 0010; PFS 1036s •PFS 0010; PFS 0853 •PFS 0010; PFS 1036s •PFS 0010; PFS 1036s •PFS 0010; PFS 1107 •PFS 0010; PFS 0164* •PFS 0010; PFS 2181 •PFS 0010; PFS 3329

XI-Iel./21-2

tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue

Haturdada Ummanana / Haturdada Ubabana Ubabana Haturdada Ummanana

/ / / / Kurkatuš Kurdušum Kurdušum /

Xel./22 XIel./22 XIIel./22 Ø/22 (3m.)/22 (7?m.)/Ø Xel./22

In these texts, the name of Haturdada occurs when our is issued. Beer allocations (PF 0685, Fort. 1801-102) are issued by Ummanana, who is regularly associated with this commodity and its production (cf. below). Otherwise, PFS 0010 is used twice with an allocation of hamara, a cereal product:96 once the supplier’s name is not mentioned (PF 1199), in the other case (PF 1170) it is one Ubabana. The same person also issues beer (Fort. 1812-102); he may have been an adjunct whose main basis was Kurkatuš, presumably a satellite of Kurdušum.97 Finally, there are seven texts in which our is delivered (PN ullašda, “PN delivered”) at Kurdušum; Haturdada is mentioned six times as recipient (PN dušda, “PN received”) and seal PFS 0010 is impressed on the left edge:

95

96

97

The text is dated “months XI, XII, I, year 22.” In such cases, the year mentioned is that of the last month in the series (see Henkelman 2008a: 125 n.281). PF 1069 (X/19; PF 1070 probably from the same month) and NN 0409 (XII-II/20) deal with rations for the same group, the composition of which remains exactly the same. It changes in subsequent years (NN 0287, PF 1071). This conrms that the formula “months XII-II, year 20” in NN 0409 refers to Dar.19-20. The product hamara (*hvara-; see Tavernier 2007: 456 [4.4.19.5]) occurs among other produced foodstuffs such as kudagina (Henkelman 2010: 743), mitruša (ibid. 747f.), honey, and roasted barley (PF 0136; PF 0298; PF 1575). In NN 1060, barley is issued for making hamaram. In general, it is a rare commodity, usually given to special individuals or as bonus rations to specic groups such as the dappurap, “Tapyri,” of NN 2458 (Henkelman 2011c: 13-15). PF 1765 mentions consumption by horses – which could suggest that it is porridge or bread (on the use of these products for horses see Gabrielli 2006: 42f.). In PF 0298, Ubabana is again mentioned as supplier at Kurkatušša (Kurkatuš), this time for a range of food products, including hamara(m). On the place see Arfaee 2008: 22; Henkelman & Stolper 2009: 312 n.139.

LOCAL INFORMATION HANDLING IN ACHAEMENID P RSA

text

seal(s)

Fort. 2287-101 98 NN 1738

•PFS 2613 •PFS 2613

PF

0083

NN 0316

99

NN 2152 100 Fort. 8626 PF 0087 Fort. 2066-101

?

•PFS 0010; PFS 0239 •PFS 0010; PFS 0239 •PFS 0010?; PFS 0239 •PFS 0010; PFS 0239 •PFS 0010; PFS 0239 •PFS 0010; PFS 0239

215

date

shape

recipient(s)

Ø/21

tongue tongue

Haturdada, Parru-kitin Kurdušum / Kurkatuš

tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue

Haturdada Haturdada, Parru-kitin Haturdada Haturdada / Haturdada

Ø/22 Ø/22 Ø/22 Ø/22 Ø/22 Ø/Ø Ø/Ø

locality

Kurdušum Kurdušum Kurdušum Kurdušum Kurdušum Kurdušum

Since PFS 0010 occurs mostly as the supplier seal used at Kurdušum by Haturdada and his staff, it follows that the last six texts listed here relate to our deposited at his facility for future allocation; it is for this reason that they state that Haturdada has received the commodity. In parallel texts from other districts the expression kurman PN-na occurs, which, in this context, means “for allocations by PN” (cf. §3.2). The deposit texts with PFS 0010 therefore reveal an important principle: that an apparently nal recipient may in fact be a supplier even if the term kurman is not used. In such cases, only the impression of his seal on the left edge, rather than the reverse (as usual for recipients), reveals his true role.101 This phenomenon underscores the role of seals as decisive markers of agency and jurisdiction.

98

99

100

101

Fort. 2287-101 (if the seal is correctly identied) and NN 1738 concern our transports under an overarching authority (PFS 2613, single-seal protocol). The Parru-kitin mentioned alongside Haturdada as recipient in NN 0316 and Fort. 2287101 elsewhere occurs alongside Ummanana (a brewer, cf. above) at Kurdušum (PF 0117, PF 0118). Another or the same Parru-kitin occurs in NN 1282 and Fort. 8862. The commodities issued in Fort. 8626 are galli (elsewhere “portion, ration”) and šiman(na), certainly a kind of grain and perhaps a word for, or qualication of, our (cf. Henkelman 2017a: 120 n.106). Six of the seven tablets listed here have, besides PFS 0010, an impression of PFS 0239. This seal carried some special authority (perhaps causing the omission of the term kurman) as appears from its use in the single-seal protocol on PF 0390 and PF 0423 (both relating to Kurdušum). Haturdada is recipient of barley in PF 0423, and he seems to be delivering aššana (a rare commodity) in PF 0390 (the reading of his name is to be emended to HALhar‹-tur›-da-ud-da). The barley and aššana are used as ukpiyataš (*upayta-), a tax in kind for the table of the king and, by extension, the stores of commodities collected as such (Henkelman 2010: 688, 710f., 729-31; cf. Jursa 2010: 655). This élite context and the single-seal protocol betray the high rank of the holder of PFS 0239. It could explain why Haturdada, though implicated in PF 0423 and PF 0390, did not seal these tablets. Contrast PF 0795: Haturdada again acts as delivery person, now of oil (cf. above), but this time he does seal (with PFS 0107), presumably because the context was more mundane than that of PF 0390 and PF 0423.

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4.2.3. Haturdada: PFS 0055 Following the last attestation of PFS 0010 in IV/23, there is a gap until the rst month of Dar.27, the rst time seal PFS 0055 (g.12) occurs: text

seal(s)

date

2472 •PFS 0055; PFS 3082s I/27 1313 •PFS 0055; PFS 1258 Iel./27 NN 1766 •PFS 0055; PFS 3034 VIIel./27 102 ! PF 1329 •PFS 0055; PFS 1272 VIIIel./27 PF 1314 •PFS 0055; PFS 1259s Xel./27 PF 1315 •PFS 0055; PFS 1260s Xel./27 103 PF 1316 •PFS 0055; PFS 0049; PFS 1261s Xel./27 Fort. 2131-101 •PFS 0055; PFS 3330 Xel./27 ? NN 1076 •PFS 0055; PFS 3057 Xel./27 ? Fort. 0738-101 •PFS 0055 Xel./27 Fort. 0805-101 •PFS 0055; PFS 3331s Xel./27 PF 1319 •PFS 0055; PFS 1263s XIel./27 NN 0127 •PFS 0055; PFS 2227 XIel./27 NN 0196 •PFS 0055; PFS 2237s XIel./27 104 Fort. 1709 •PFS 0055; PFS 3198s XIel./27 NN 0917 •PFS 0055; PFS 2892 XIIel./27 NN 2045 •PFS 0055; PFS 3052s XIIel./27 NN 2556 •PFS 0055; PFS 3087 XIIel./27 Fort. 2292-101 LEd; PFS 3332s XIIel./27 Fort. 1822-101 •PFS 0055; PFS 3333 Ø/27 […]/27? Fort. 0844-107 •PFS 0055; reverse destroyed NN 2107 •PFS 0055; PFS 2892 Iel./28 + Fort. 1565-101 •PFS 0055; PFS 3317s Xel./20 NN PF

shape

supplier(s)

locality

tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue

Haturdada Haturdada Haturdada Haturdada Haturdada Haturdada Haturdada Haturdada Haturdada Hatardada? Hatur[dada] Haturdada Haturdada Haturdada Haturdada Haturdada Haturdada Ummanana Ummanana Haturdada Haturdada / Haturdada

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / (estate) / / (estate) / (estate) / /

As in the case of PFS 0010, PFS 0055 occurs with Elamite month names, a reection of the area where Haturdada and his colleagues were active, the Fahliyn region, where Elamite as a spoken language seems to have been relatively strong. The pattern is not entirely the same as that of PFS 0010, however: an Old Iranian month name occurs once (NN 2472) and instead of Rahal, a rare Elamite name for the seventh (?) month, the more regular Elamite name Manšarki is used.105 Other than 102

103 104

105

Hallock (1969: 376) read the year date in this tablet as “28,” but the left lower wedge slants in a way suggesting that it is actually the tail of one of the upper wedges. The travel guide Išbaramištima (PFS 0049) may explain the use of three seals (cf. n.92). This text, Fort. 1709 and Fort. 0844-107 mention an appišdamanna, a particular kind of estate, perhaps “serjeanty,” the implications of which are discussed in §4.2.5. On Rahal see Steve 1992: 160 and Basello 2002: 21f., 24. Note that ra-halMEŠ is not a logogram (as the writing ra-hal-la in PF 0321 shows), but a word with historical spelling (silent h); it is for this reason the determinative MEŠ is used. Neither Rahal’s

LOCAL INFORMATION HANDLING IN ACHAEMENID PRSA

217

that, the name of Haturdada is mentioned in almost every case, suggesting a bureaucratic practice or scribal habit different from that associated with PFS 0010. In the travel texts sealed by PFS 0055, Haturdada is consistently responsible for our allocations; only once his name is omitted from such a context (NN 2107). The one text sealed with PFS 0055 dealing with beer, NN 2556, mentions Ummanana as supplier.106 Though there are less occurrences than for PFS 0010, the pattern is comparable: 1) mention of Haturdada’s name coincides with our allocations, 2) mention of other names points to other commodities, 3) absence of a supplier’s name is unmarked. As stated, this is different from the apparent earlier practice (with PFS 0107) at Kurdušum, whereby absence of Haturdada’s name marked nonour allocations. Only three other texts, all on our deliveries, sealed by PFS 0055 are known.107 They belong to the same date range and rmly connect the seal to Kurdušum: text PF

0085

PF 0107 NN 2254

seal(s)

date

shape

recipient(s)

•PFS 0055; PFS 0384s; PFS 0385 •PFS 0055; PFS 0384s; PFS 0385 •PFS 0055; PFS 0384s; PFS 0385

Ø/27

tongue tongue tongue

Haturdada Haturdada Haturdada

Ø/27 Ø/27

locality Kurdušum Šarukur Kurdušum

These texts follow the pattern of the delivery receipts with PFS 0010: they mention the name of Haturdada as recipient and have the seal of his ofce impressed on the left edge. Though the kurman PN-na formula is not used, this particular set of markers expresses his activity and jurisdiction as master of the Kurdušum storage facility. In this case one catches a glimpse of a local network of towns: in NN 2254 a particular kind of our is delivered at Kurdušum from the place Rappišbena; in PF 0107 barley is delivered at Šarukur from the baribara, the store facility at Kurdušum (cf. §4.2.5). Logically, these places were not far removed from each other; they probably belonged to the Kurdušum district.

106

107

presumed position as seventh month in the Neo-Elamite calendar at Susa nor its presumed continuity at that place in the Achaemenid calendar are certain. PFA contexts for nine known attestations indicate that the second and sixth months are possible alternatives, with a slight preference for the former (cf. Henkelman [forthc. 1] §3). Cf. above on PF 0685 with PFS 0010. In Fort. 2292-101, also mentioning Ummanana, the name of the commodity is not preserved. On Kurdušum as a way station requiring frequent replenishment, notably in the context of the express messenger service, see Henkelman 2017a: 34 n.52; idem [forthc. 1] §3.

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MARK B. GARRISON & WOUTER F.M. HENKELMAN

4.2.4. Haturdada: PFS 0023 PFS

0055 is chronologically concentrated in year 27, with one outlying tablet from 108 PFS 0023 (g.13), starting in I/28, would therefore seem to be its successor:

Ø/28.

text

seal(s)

date

shape

supplier(s)

1300 1320 PF 1321 PF 1322 PF 1323 PF 1324 NN 2029 NN 2569 Fort. 2303-101 PF 1325 PF 1326 PF 1327 NN 2392 PF 1328 PF 1465 NN 1361 NN 1515 Fort. 1543-102 109 NN 0081 PF 1505 Fort. 2314-103 PF 1784 PF 1490 PF 1508 NN 1181

•PFS 0023; PFS 2969 •PFS 0023; PFS 1264s •PFS 0023; PFS 1265 •PFS 0023; PFS 1266s •PFS 0023; PFS 1267 •PFS 0023; PFS 1684 •PFS 0023; PFS 3051s •PFS 0023; PFS 3088s LEd; PFS 3318S •PFS 0023; PFS 1268s •PFS 0023; PFS 1269s •PFS 0023; PFS 1270s •PFS 0023; PFS 3089s •PFS 0023; PFS 1271s •PFS 0023; PFS 1363 •PFS 0023; PFS 1363s? •PFS 0023; PFS 2988 LEd; PFS 3334s •PFS 0023; PFS 2048s •PFS 0023; PFS 1401 •PFS 0023; PFS 3319 •PFS 0023; PFS 1563 •PFS 0023; PFS 1387 •PFS 0023; PFS 1404 •PFS 0023; PFS 2502s

I/28

tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue

Haturdada / Haturdada / Haturdada / Haturdada / Haturdada / Haturdada / Haturdada / Haturdada Kuba[…]? Haturdada / Haturdada / Haturdada / Haturdada / Haturdada / Haturdada / / / Ummanana / Haturdada / Haturdada / Mi[…]mardadda? / / / Haturdada / / / / / / / Haturdada /

NN PF

II/28 II/28 II/28 II/28 II/28 II/28 II/28 II/[28

?

]

III/28 III/28 III/28 III/28 IVel./28 VIel./28 VIel./28 VIIIel./28 VIel./28

?

VIIIel./28 IXel./28 IXel./28 IXel./28 Xel./28 XIel./28 Ø/20

+

?

?

locality

One again, the familiar pattern applies: mention of the name of Haturdada coincides with our allocations, that of Ummanana with beer.110 Receipts without a supplier’s name may refer to allocations of our, or to barley for horses (PF 1784). As with PFS 0010 and PFS 0055, the suppression of the supplier’s name appears to 108

109

110

The reason cannot be the general rarity of memoranda dating to Dar.28, since those from Dar.27 are actually even more rare. Cf. n.102 on the year date of PF 1329. Hallock (ms.) read the year date of NN 0081 as
20(+)4?; collation shows that the second digit is too big for ‘4’ and more probably should be read ‘8.’ The supplier’s name in the same text is
HALmi-x-mar?-da-ad-da; the sign following MI seems to be written over an erasure and could be DU. NN 1361 and PF 1465 are dated to VI/28 and document travel rations for Hašina: beer in NN 1361, our in PF 1465. Both have seal PFS 0023. This illustrates the different competences of Haturdada (though not mentioned by name in PF 1465) and Ummanana.

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have been an unmarked feature. Once a different supplier’s name occurs, but the name is damaged (NN 0081). Most intriguing is the change from Elamite to Old Persian month dates, suggesting a different scribe. Unlike the other seals associated with Haturdada, PFS 0023 does not occur outside the travel dossier.

4.2.5. Haturdada: additional local protocols There are three unsealed travel memoranda (B.2.1.2) with the name of Haturdada: text

seal(s)

date

shape

supplier(s)

locality

1308 1519 NN 2396

no seal no seal no seal

Ø/21

rotated tongue rotated tongue rotated tongue

Haturdada Haturdada Haturdada

/ / /

PF

NN

Ø/21 Ø/21

These documents are tongue-shaped tablets with two string holes, but the texts on the obverses run parallel (rather than perpendicular) to the left edge. The width of the tablets is less than common (g.14). The absence of a seal is what marks these tablets as different, a circumstance that the scribe clearly wanted to emphasize by rotating the tablet and writing on the obverse in a way that would alert other users. His idiosyncratic solution may betray that he was inexperienced with the regular format of unsealed memoranda. Indeed, these are the only three unsealed tablets associated with Haturdada (and Kurdušum), suggesting that bureaucratic practice at his facility was somewhat different from, e.g., that of Pirratamka and his district. There is a handful of other tablets which relate to Haturdada and which illustrate additional aspects of bureaucratic practice. Three of these have the impression of only one seal, which appears to be the seal of a higher šaramanna ofcial or another individual with overarching authority. If such a person sealed, a counter seal by the supplier was generally not necessary.111 One other isolated case may be mentioned. In PF 0084 (Ø/23), Haturdada receives a delivery of our at Kurdušum; the tablet has PFS 0040 (g.15) on the left edge. Elsewhere, this seal is connected with Ummanana and/or beer and its main ingredient, tarmu (perhaps emmer; see Henkelman 2010: 751-53), at Kurdušum. Since there are two parallel cases (PF 0083; NN 2152), in which Haturdada receives

111

has ‘Haturrada’ as supplier of ŠE.GALMEŠ (a kind of grain, perhaps rice) at Dašer (Fahliy n region); it is uncertain if Haturdada is meant (cf. n.84 above). The two impressions of the seal provisionally labelled PFS 2603 are largely illegible, but it may well have belonged to Appuya, mentioned in the text as šaramanna ofcial (the name is written HALap-pu-hi-ia-
iš?) and elsewhere connected with Kurdušum (NN 1161). For PFS 0239 in the single seal protocol on PF 0390 and PF 0423 see n.101 above. NN 1152 (Ø/27)

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our deliveries but uses one of his regular seals (PFS 0010),112 it would seem that PF 0084 reects a situation in which Haturdada’s staff did not have access to his seal and used that of Ummanana instead.113 The reverse situation, collocation of Ummanana with one of the seals regularly associated with Haturdada, occurs more frequently (PFS 0010 [2x], PFS 0055 [2x]; PFS 0023 [1x]). If anything, this suggests that Ummanana was a subordinate of Haturdada and operated under his general authority. Other individuals, presumably all of secondary rank, could be associated with one of Haturdada’s seals. Thus, PFS 0107, PFS 0010, PFS 0055, and PFS 0023, though normally used by Haturdada or his scribes, were actually ofce seals that expressed the authority vested by the crown in the team of ofcials working at the Kurdušum storehouse. Haturdada was the director and rst responsible, but he shared this responsibility with his subalterns, as visible in the use of the ofce supply seals. By the same principle Haturdada’s staff could, if the situation demanded so, use the seal of one of his aides. An intricate picture emerges from the proposed reading of the Haturdada/ Kurdušum le. Four main seals are used for transactions of our and other cereal products. Haturdada is responsible for our, beer is in the hands of Ummanana; different products, such as roasted barley, are covered by yet others. Oil (from sesame) is also produced at Kurdušum, which must have been a centre with millings stones, ovens, large beer-brewing jars, an oil press and, obviously, storage facilities. Bureaucratic protocol remained largely the same: in the vast majority of cases a tongue-shaped tablet was sealed according to the counter-seal protocol. Unsealed tablets seem to have been rare at Kurdušum. In a few cases, when a higher authority was involved, the single-seal protocol was used; in these cases none of the ofce seals belonging to the Kurdušum storehouse was impressed on the tablet. These features are unremarkable in the wider context of PFA. A few others stand out simply because they have not been observed yet in other les. One is the dating system: from hardly any month dates (PFS 0107) to Elamite ones including the mysterious Rahal (PFS 0010) to Elamite ones without Rahal but intermixed with a 112

113

In PF 0083 and NN 2152, as in PF 0084, the our delivered is made from barley that came from Liduma. The delivery person, Parruna, is the same in all three texts. Other texts mentioning a Haturdada include PF 1466 (VII?/23) and Fort. 0920-102 (X/23), both mentioning him as traveller, heading for Kerm n and India respectively. It would not seem plausible that the same individual is at stake, but note that PF 1466 is dated to Rahal of Dar.23 (using the month name occurring twice with PFS 0010 but otherwise very rare) and that Fort. 0920-102 is sealed with PFS 0040 (Ummanana at Kurdušum; cf. above). NN 0227 mentions a Haturdada in the phrase “in the century of Uštana, in the decury of Haturdada” (HALsa-tuk-ba!-um HAL
ú-iš-da-na-na HALda-sa-baum HALha-tur-da-ad-da-na); enticing as this sounds, the seals impressed on the tablet (PFS 0155, PFS 0156) cannot be connected to the area of Haturdada’s activity.

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single Persian month (PFS 0055) to the use of Old Persian names in the rst three months followed by Elamite names for the rest of the year (PFS 0023). The activity of scribes with varying linguistic backgrounds may explain this range. The implications are potentially signi cant: the change of seals appears to correlate with to the arrival of a new scribe. Another feature attested in the Haturdada/Kurdušum le is that in case of depositions of commodities at the store (attested with PFS 0010, PFS 0055) the technical term kurman may be replaced by the simple “he received.” In such cases the recipient is the storekeeper (and future supplier) who impresses his supplier seal on the left edge of the tablet. The storehouse at Kurdušum had its own local network. Barley from its stores was delivered at Šarukur (PF 0107) and our was received from Rappišbena (NN 2254). Travel rations could be issued at an estate (NN 2556, Fort. 1709, Fort. 0844107). The texts also provide some glimpses on the storehouse as such. First, PF 0107 speaks of the baribaraš at Kurdušum; it is tempting to identify this as a reference to the facility headed by Haturdada. The word baribara(š/m) (*paribra-) could, given its etymology, denote a speci c kind of roofed silo, but also an enclosed precinct (cf. Av. pairivra-, “enclosure” and MP parwr, “wall, fortress, surroundings”) and thus a storehouse complex. Since baribara in PFA can also be a locality for the storage of wine, it would seem that the second interpretation is the more likely.114

114

Partially subterranean, circular, domed structures dating to the Achaemenid period are known from o Mš (probably not far from Kurdušum), from several sites in southern Palestine, and perhaps from
Seyitömer Höyük in Phrygia (on the signicance of these nds see Henkelman 2017a: 84-97). The structures could t the rst meaning of *paribra- very well, but it is equally possible that the beehive granaries were known as tikrakkaš, re ecting *tigraka-, “pointed (structure).” As for *paribra-, this word may well underlie Hebrew and Aramaic prbr as Hinz rst surmised (Hinz 1970: 436; idem 1973: 86; idem 1975: 79; Tavernier 2007: 440 [4.4.8.18]). The word occurs in 1 Chron. 26:18, in the Temple Scroll (11QT 35.10, 37.11-2, 42.1, 4, 8, 9 [prwr]) and in the Aramaic version of the Lydian-Aramaic bilingual from Sardis (Donner & Röllig 2002 260 B:3.5). Lipiski, focusing on the last text and the occurrence of laqrisa in the Lydian version, concluded that prbr should mean “dromos, entrance corridor” (1975: 156-57). Yet, the Lydian and Aramaic versions do not run exactly parallel and the meaning of Lyd. laqrisa itself remains uncertain (cf. the doubts expressed by Kelder 2011). Whereas meaning “silo, storage complex” could t 1 Chron. 26:18 (the preceding verse also speaks of a storehouse, sf and the prbr is adjacent to the mslh, “highway” at the West Gate [but see Dorsey 1985 on mshl]), this is not true for the Temple Scroll passages, which may refer to a columned courtyard. See discussion in Runnalls 1991; Toloni 1996. See also Naveh & Shaked 2012: 218 on C6:2.

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Finally, the repeated references to the appišdamanna, “estate,” of Mištanna/ Huštanna merit commenting. Haturdada twice supplies our to people who have been sent there by the King (Fort. 1709, Fort. 0844-107) and his adjunct Ummanana once supplies beer for the same purpose (NN 2556). All texts are sealed with PFS 0055 and squarely belong to the le treated here, but they stand out for the mention of appišdamanna, a kind of estate and perhaps something approaching a “serjeanty.” The term appears as travel destination, perhaps implying that appišdamanna could be the ofcial seat of a regional administrator; it clearly denotes a specic type of landed property, hence only partially overlapping with irmadim, the common term for estate.115 In PFA, 25 individuals are said to hold an irmadim and three an appišdamanna. As has recently been pointed out, at least ten or eleven of these were leading šaramanna ofcials (another was a damanna ofcial); others may be identied with individuals in comparable high-ranking positions. This phenomenon probably points to ex ofcio usufruct by the crown’s leading administrators, which would explain the explicit mention of the estates and their implication in the general network of PFA. It appears that the estates were subjected to taxation and other obligations. In two of the above-mentioned texts (NN 2556; Fort. 0844-107), the appišdamanna of Mištanna/Huštanna is visited by karamarašbe, “registrars,” and once these are said to have “written down people” (HALtaš-
šu-íp [tal]-li-iš-
da, NN 2556), i.e. presumably made a registry of landholders on the estate and/or their produce.116 The limited visibility of an appišdamanna in the le of Haturdada is a reminder of the limitations of the evidence at hand. It is unknown what percentage of the local economy the estate of Mištanna/Huštanna represented, but it may have been signicant. The estate-holder may be identied Mištanna/Huštanna/Uštanna, a powerful šaramanna ofcial active in a larger part of the Fahliyn region. It is possible that this person and his colleague Irtuppiya were both responsible for half of the administrative subdivision, as the toponyms in their respective portfolios almost never overlap. Irtuppiya was important enough to have an appišdamanna (also mentioned as travel destination) and several irmadims; Mištanna/Huštanna/

115

116

For discussion of appišdamanna see Henkelman 2018b: 50f.; Garrison & Henkelman [forthc.] §7.4 ad PF 0734:09f.). Fort. 1709 has AŠ !ha-
pi-iš-da-
u-na HALhu-iš-tan-nana-ma (“at the estate of Huštana”); NN 2556 AŠha-pi-iš-da-u-
na HAL
mi-iš-
tan?-na?na-ma (“at the estate of Mištanna”); Fort. 0844-107 AŠha-pi-
iš-da-ma-na HALmi[-iš]tan-na-na-
ma? (coll. Henkelman; “at the estate of Mištanna”). For estates (especially irmadim) and šaramanna ofcials see Henkelman [forthc. 2]. Tuplin 1987: 135-37 discussed some of PFA land-holders in the wider contexts of Greek and Babylonian evidence on such individuals. On estates in the archive see also Henkelman 2017a: 165-67; idem 2018a; Tuplin [forthc.] ad A6.9-10. For karamarašbe see Stolper 1977: 263f.; Henkelman 2017a: 74f. n.44, 159 (with further references).

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223

Uštanna held an appišdamanna and at least one irmadim.117 In other words, the Kurdušum storage facility and way station not only was the centre of its own district, but was included in a regional division, in turn part of the ‘Fahliy n’ region, which was one of the administrative provinces of the satrapy of P rsa.

4.2.6. Haturdada: glyptic evidence Given the importance of the authority at the Kurdušum storehouse, it is not surprising that its ofce seals exhibit distinctive features. The rst in chronological order, PFS 0107 (g.10) has two rampant animals in what is either an animal combat or simply an animal le. One animal has two long horns. The design is rendered in a distinctive abstracted cutting style characterized by extensive use of the drill and le. The style occurs with some regularity in Persepolitan glyptic, most commonly in scenes showing the so-called Late Babylonian worship scene. The Babylonian worship scenes rendered in the style exhibit a very different visual dynamic, quiet and subdued, than that seen in PFS 0107. A few other animal les, a relatively rare compositional type at Persepolis, are rendered in the same style (PFS 1462, PFS 2746, PFATS 0108, PFUTS 0843). The style is a direct inheritance of Assyro-Babylonian glyptic.118

117

118

2071, “a lengthy, obscure and ill-preserved” letter (Hallock 1969: 53) mentions an irmadim of Uštanna at Attam. No clues as to the location of the estate are given or preserved except the Elamite name of the locality and of one of the ofcials stationed there (Šumama), which may point to the Fahliy n area. Although the name Uštanna and its variants (Uštana, Hušdana, Huštanna, Mišdana, Mištanna, etc.) was used by a number of individuals in PFA, there is clear evidence for a powerful šaramanna ofcial in part of the Fahliy n region whose name could be spelled Mištanna, Huštanna, and Uštanna (see Garrison & Henkelman [forthc.] §7.4 ad PF 0734:09f., despite Tavernier 2007: 211 [4.2.831] and 354 [4.2.1931], who gives separate etymologies). The spellings HALmi-iš-tan-na, HALhu-iš-tan-na, HALú-iš-tan-na may seem erratic, but consistently render the second name element, *stna-, as °(i)štanna and may do so on purpose (i.e. to distinguish the bearer of the name from the many other Uštanas in PFA). Mištanna/Huštanna/Uštanna and/or his personal seal, PFS 0043*, are collocated with, among others, Bessitme, Hišema, Ibariš, Ibat, Šurkutur, Tašpak, Zakzaku, Zappi, and Zila-Humban. Of these localities, Zakzaku is regularly collocated with Kurdušum (NN 1145, NN 1261, NN 2570, perhaps NN 0180). On the relative topography of some of the places mentioned here see Henkelman 2008a: 484 n.1105, 501-504. For the Assyro-Babylonian style, see Collon 2001: 3f. On the style in Persepolitan glyptic, see Root 1998; idem 2003; Garrison 2017: 79, 141, 158f., 341, 381 n.941. PF

224

MARK B. GARRISON & WOUTER F.M. HENKELMAN

PFS 0010 (g.11) appears to be a very unusual heroic encounter (Garrison & Root 2001: 361f. n° 251). An individual holds a long curved weapon behind his body while reaching out towards a composite winged creature that has a bull’s head and a sh body. In the eld between the hero and the creature there is a dot; in the upper eld there is a diamond-shaped device with horizontal projection. The placement of the gures in the eld is unusual, the inclusions of ller designs rare, and the composite creature anomalous. While the carving style shows some connections to the local Fortication Style, one is hard-pressed to describe this carving as a local one (see also the comments below). PFS 0055 (g.12) is a more conventionally rendered heraldic animal display. Two rampant caprids are disposed around an elaborate plant device. The design, as is often the case in heraldic scenes at Persepolis, is artfully construed. The animals turn their heads back, creating a secondary heraldic display centred on a star, one of the most ubiquitous elements in Persepolitan glyptic, in the lower zone of the terminal eld. The cutting style is mainstream local Fortication Style. The design on PFS 0023 (g.13), the last seal in chronological order, shows two rampant bulls(?) posed heraldically with a plant disposed in the terminal eld. Heraldic animal designs are very common in Persepolitan glyptic; various types of plants, stylized or naturalistic, are a common feature in such scenes. The seal is cut, however, in an interesting blended style that combines an abstracted geometric approach to the rendering of animal heads (with extensive drill work) with a more conventional volumetric rendering of animal bodies. The style is fairly common at Persepolis. The carving is very close to one of the most commonly occurring seals in the archive PFS 0002 (g.16), a seal used by Irtuppiya (see §§3.3, 4.2.5). In many ways the outlier among these four seals is PFS 0010. Thematically, the three other seals are linked by the fact that their scenes contain only animals; in two cases they are heraldic. This coincidence of scene types seems more than simply fortuitous. PFS 0010, as noted, is unique within the archive owing to its scene (an unusual version of the heroic encounter), winged creature (unique among myriad composite animal creatures in Persepolitan glyptic), and cutting style (perhaps a rather unusual version of the Fortication Style; the human gure appears to be executed in this style, but the elaboration on the body of the creature is distinctively non-Fortication Style). The manner in which the wing is decorated as a series of rounded masses laid out in a linear grid-like manner is reminiscent of the treatment of wings and animal manes and fur on a handful of Assyrian seals.119

119

See, e.g., Collon 2001, n° 207, 292, 345-47, which the author (2001: 176f.) suggests may represent a Babylonian workshop in Assyria.

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225

4.3. Bakumira and Katukka at Pirdatkaš Bakumira and Katukka directed a grain storehouse at Pirdatkaš, at the eastern edge of the Fahliyn region. The ofce seal connected to their storage facility was PFS 0048 (g.17), always placed in the middle of the left edge.120 It also occurs on Aramaic and uninscribed tablets and on one recently discovered Demotic tablet.121 Dated sealed tablets suggest that Katukka succeeded Bakumira as holder of PFS 0048 in the rst month of Dar.23. There is also evidence, however, for shared responsibilities – the two ofcials seem to have worked side-by-side for at least a few years before (VIII/20 – XII/22). This last aspect is demonstrated by the many unsealed tablets that have the name of Bakumira or Katukka (cf. Henkelman 2008a: 158). The weight of unsealed tablets in the Bakumira/Katukka dossier (ca. 55% of the Elamite texts) is second after the extreme case of Pirratamka (ca. 80%).

4.3.1. PFS 0048: non-travel contexts From about 90 tablets sealed with PFS 0048, at least 19 are Elamite memoranda on transactions other than the allocation of travel provisions:122

120 121

122

For the placement of PFS 0048 cf. Garrison 2008: 153, 160, 162, 165, 169, 182, 184. For Bakumira, Katukka and Pirdatkaš see Hallock 1978: 110; Koch 1986: 139; Arfa’i 1999: 39; Henkelman 2008a: 373 n.870, 506; idem 2017b:311f.; Henkelman & Stolper 2009: 314 n.147; Azzoni et al. 2019: 13-15, 18. The association with Pirdatkaš is clearest in Fort. 1403-101, where Katukka allocates barley for sacrices at this location; in PFa 10 Bakumira acts as supplier and barley is said to have been delivered from Pirdatkaš; Fort. 0325-101 is fragmentary but appears to document a our allocation by Katukka at Pirdatkaš. The recipient seal on PFa 10 (belonging to an ofcial responsible for several teams of workers), PFS 0853, recurs on NN 1389, with the toponym Kurdušum (also in the Fahliyn region; §4.2). PFS 0175, a recipient seal repeatedly found in the Bakumira/Katukka le (cf. below), occurs on Fort. 2510, with Bakumira, in connection with Zappi and on NN 0876, without supplier’s name, with Irmuš. Of these two places, Zappi is known as a place in the Fahliyn region. The name of Bakumira (*Bakavra-; Tavernier 2007: 142f. [4.2.303]) is spelled HAL ba-ku-mi-ra or HALba-ka4-mi-ra. More variation exists in the case of Katukka, whose name may be written HALka4-da-ak-ka4, °da-ka4, °tuk-ka4, °sa-ak-ka4, °za-ak-ka4, °za-ka4. Tavernier 2007: 184f. [4.2.616], 222 [4.2.907] groups these spellings under two different names, *Gadaka- and *Ka aka-, but there can be no doubt that both forms can refer to the same individual. NN 0366, NN 0318, and Fort. 2336-103 in the list below are published in Henkelman 2017b: 307, 309, 344-46.

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MARK B. GARRISON & WOUTER F.M. HENKELMAN

text

seal(s)

shape

supplier(s)

locality

0336 0766 123 Fort. 3543 NN 0366 NN 0108 NN 0650 PF 0337 PF 0340 NN 0318 Fort. 1403-101 Fort. 2336-103 Fort. 0325-101

•PFS 0048; PFS 0234 Ø/19 •PFS 0048; PFS 0890 I-XII/20 •PFS 0048; PFS 2060s XII/20 •PFS 0048; PFS 0234 Ø/20 •PFS 0048; PFS 2060s Ø/20 •PFS 0048; PFS 2073 Ø/20 •PFS 0048; PFS 0587 Ø/22 •PFS 0048; PFS 0234 Ø/22 •PFS 0048; PFS 0587 Ø/22? •PFS 0048; PFS 3320 Ø/28 •PFS 0048; PFS 0587 Ø/Ø LEd; PFS 3321 (12m.)/23

tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue

Bakumira Bakamira Miramana Bakumira Bakamira Bakumira Bakumira Bakumira Bakumira Katukka Katukka [Ka]tukka

/ / Mt. Izziran / Kamutname / / / / Pirdat[kaš] / [Pird]atkaš

1232 Fort. 2153-103 Fort. 7253 PF 1696 NN 0025 PF 0315 124 Fort. 2510

•PFS 0048; PFS 0175 •PFS 0048; PFS 0175 •PFS 0048; PFS 0175 •PFS 0048; PFS 0175 •PFS 0048; PFS 0175 •PFS 0048; PFS 0560s •PFS 0048; PFS 0175

(1m.)/Ø (7m.)/Ø (93d.)/Ø (124d.)/Ø Ø/Ø Ø/Ø Ø/Ø

tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue

(Šumira) (Šumira) (Šumira) (Šumira) (Šumira) (Šumira) (Bakumira)

PFa

•PFS 0536; PFS 0853; 3086 •PFS 0048; PFS 0175 •PFS 1014; PFS 0175

(4m.)/21

tongue

Bakamira

PF PF

NN

10

date

/ / / / / / Zappi (from Pirdatkaš)

PFS

Fort. 0259-101 1038

PF

(I, VI-VII)/[…] tongue (12m.)/Ø tongue

Bakumira (Bakamira)

/ /

There is a distinctive pattern in this group of texts: all that identify the supplier in the regular kurman PN-na formula are receipts relating to cultic activity.125 Those who do not use this formula, but instead have PN-ikmar (“from PN”) relate to barley 123

124

125

Instead of expected AŠKURMEŠ, “Mount,” the text has AŠKUR.KUR. For mountains as loci of cultic activity see Henkelman 2008a: 222-26, 392f., 536-39; idem [forthc. 5] §3.2. The supplier’s name is written HALba-ku!-mi-ra (coll.; the tablet has TUK for KU); Arfaee 2008:83 prints HALba-ráš-mi-ra without reference to Bakumira; Hallock 1969: 759 had assumed HALšu-mi-ra (with erasure following ŠU). Fort. 0325-101 is tentatively added based on its contents; it does not preserve an impression of PFS 0048 (cf. Henkelman 2008a: 506 on the texts on cultic activity). The seals on the reverses are noticeable: according to the general pattern of counter-sealing, they should be the recipients’ seals, which seems true for, e.g. PFS 0587 (three times with Bakabana as recipient and ofciant). Other seals appear to be shared by more than one ofciant: presumably the same Bakabana (PF 0336, NN 0366) occurs with PFS 0234, as does Anbaduš (PF 0340). Šudakka (Fort. 3543) and Katukka (NN 0108) both occur with PFS 2060s. As ofciants were integrated in the administrative system, their shared use of ofce seals would be unsurprising, but other explanations (involvement of a coordinating authority) are also possible. Note that Katukka the šatin (cultic expert, ofciant) of NN 0108 (Dar.20) may be the same as later supplier (cf. Henkelman l.c.).

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227

acquired for subsequent transactions. The last three tablets in the table are added for the sake of completeness; their divergent seal patters and phrasing may point to exceptional circumstances.126 When the kurman PN-na formula occurs, it is mostly Bakumira who takes the role of supplier, in a few cases it is Katukka and once Miramana (Fort. 3543). It may be that Miramana was (another) adjunct to Bakumira – in any case he was apparently entitled to use PFS 0048 if the situation demanded so.127 As for the texts omitting the kurman PN-na formula, at least ve of these state that the recipient acquired (ummaš) barley, and perhaps rice, from Bakumira and from Šumira.128 All indicate the origin of the commodities issued with the formula 129 PN-ikmar, “from PN,” which is generally rare. Month and year dates are not given; in all but one text PFS 0175 is used as counter seal. Some of these peculiarities may be scribal idiosyncrasies,130 others may point to a different administrative setting. The repeated use of PFS 0175, which is not a regular recipient seal,

126

127

128 129

130

Fort. 0259-101 (barley, horses) and PF 1038 (idem, workers) use a hybrid formula, kurman PN-ikmar; one suspects an error for PN-ikmar, as used with Bakumira in Fort. 2510 (and six times with Šumira; cf. below on NN 0664 and NN 0666). The use of seal PFS 1014 on PF 1038 (instead of PFS 0048) remains mysterious; the seal is not attested elsewhere. The seal on the left edge of PFa 10, PFS 0536, belongs to a high-placed person named Basakka, who also occurs with Pirratamka (cf. §4.1.1 above). The text is a receipt for rations given to dependent workers (kurtaš), yet in an unusual setting: the barley is set to have been delivered from Pirdatkaš by Babba and his colleague(s). None of the individuals named Miraman(n)a can presently be identied with the Miramana in Fort. 3543. The person involved in a large delivery of wine to the temple (ziyan) at Hakurtiš (NN 2240; see Henkelman 2008a: 471f., 547f.) may seem an attractive choice, as Fort. 3543 also deals with commodities for sacricial purposes. Hakurtiš does not seem to have been located in the Fahliy n area, however. For similar reasons the Miraman(n)a who repeatedly occurs as grain supplier and tumara (PF 2043, PF 2075:12-13, NN 1431, NN 1432, NN 2160) is probably a different person. NN 0025 is fragmentary; Fort. 2153-103 apparently has no verb expressing transaction. Except for the seven texts mentioned, only nine memoranda with the PN-ik(ka)mar formula replacing the kurman PN-na formula are known: PF 0782, PF 1153, PF 1223, PF 1225, NN 0231, NN 1106, NN 1758, NN 2399, and Fort. 3568. Many of these are peculiar in terms of contents or seal use (single-seal protocol: PF 1223, PF 1225, NN 1106). Some features in the language of the texts could point in this direction. The unit of measure hamaziš (no certain etymology) occurs in PF 1696, NN 1232, and Fort. 2153103, but in no other text. Another rara avis in PF 1696 is the word daduya (*dav(i)ya-), “tenth (of a measure).” It occurs only here, in NN 0664 and NN 0666, not coincidentally tablets with seal PFS 0048.

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would seem to suggest the implication of another authority.131 In addition, the recipients mentioned were not regular consumers, but intermediary agents, who took the grain for storage or for feeding horses. The term used in all but one of the seven texts is umma-, “to acquire” (not du-, “to receive”), which accentuates the fact that the individuals mentioned were not the ultimate recipients.132 Fort. 2510 is explicit in this regard: one Tindabada acquired barley from Bakumira, “he stored it (at) Zappi) (for) kurtaš, it was sent to the balum (storage complex).”133 The scribe of the seven texts apparently needed to mark the special setting of the transactions; probably for this reason he omitted the usual kurman PN-na formula and identied the people who issued the grain in a different way. One of these was Bakumira, the storekeeper regularly connected with PFS 0048, the other Šumira, who may have been an adjunct. Marked avoidance of the term kurman can also be observed in the le on Haturdada (§4.2.2).

4.3.2. PFS 0048: travel contexts A second group of tablets sealed with PFS 0048 deals with travel; Bakumira or Katukka occur in the kurman PN-na formula. The latter is rst mentioned in the rst month of Dar.23:

131

132

133

PFS 0175 occurs twice more, on uninscribed tablet PFUT 0711-205 (with PFS 0017) and on NN 0876 (storage [of barley?] for/from three named individuals), in the single-seal protocol. This last feature suggests overarching authority. “Acquiring” (umma-) means, in PFA, something else than “receiving” (du-): its subject is not the ultimate recipient, but an agent who has to deliver, transfer, etc. GIŠRUMEŠ in Fort. 7253 may be an idiosyncratic abbreviation for regular rumiziš/miriziš (*vrziš), “rice” (so Henkelman 2010: 735). Of the recipients ‘acquiring’ grain, three are attested elsewhere. Kinnadadda (PF 0315, acquiring barley, no purpose mentioned) recurs in Fort. 2075-102, now acquiring beer for workers at Dašer (most of the other occurrences of ‘Kinnadadda’ refer a homonymous person at Antarrantiš in the Persepolis region who was closely connected to Udusa/Atossa; see Stolper 2018, esp. 452f.). Tindabad(d)a (Fort. 2510, acquiring barley for kurtaš) recurs in NN 0383, where he acquires and transports wine. Bakabaš(š)a (PF 1696, acquiring barley for horses) probably returns in the same role in Fort. 0259-101 (HALba-ka4-ba‹-šá›). Arfaee (2008: 83) reads kur-mán at the end of l.1 (kur-min in his transcription), but am!, “now,” is preferable, as Hallock and Jones/Stolper had in their unpublished editions. His reading kur-taš? (better ‹HAL›kur-taš!) in ll.4-5 is conrmed by collation.

LOCAL INFORMATION HANDLING IN ACHAEMENID PRSA

229

text

seal(s)

date

shape

supplier(s)

1621 134 0445 135 PFS 1288 PF 1360 PF 1362 NN 2320 Fort. 0230-101 NN 0664 NN 0666 NN 0686 NN 0385 NN 0944

•PFS 0048; PFS 1276 •PFS 0048; PFS 1276 •PFS 1235; PFS 1234s •PFS 0048; PFS 0192s •PFS 0048; PFS 1291s •PFS 0048; PFS 3078s •PFS 0048; PFS 1291s •PFS 0048; PFS 2864 •PFS 0048; PFS 2865 •PFS 0048; PFS 1373 •PFS 0048; PFS 1339s •PFS 0048; PFS 2938

I/22 […]/[22?] VIII/Ø I/23 I/23 I/23 + I/20 V/23 […]/Ø IX/23 XI/23 XII/23

tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue

/ Bakamira Bakamira Kazaka c.s. Kazaka c.s. Kazaka c.s. Kazaka c.s. Katukka-ikmar Kadaka-ikmar Katukka Katukka Katukka

/ / / / / / / / / / / /

•PFS 0048 •PFS 2822

III/28

bullet triangular

Katukka Katukka

/ /

NN NN

NN NN

1308 1248

IV/28

locality

Katukka, predominant in this list, is introduced as supplier in three different ways that appear to be successive. In the rst sub-group, dating to the beginning of Dar.23, allocations are said to be from “Kazaka (Katukka) and his associates” (kurman PN ak akkayaše-na), perhaps a way to express shared responsibility.136 Next are two cases of the hybrid formula kurman PN-ikmar, combining the kurman 137 PN-na formula with the separative -ik(ki)mar sufx. Lastly, three texts from the last months of Dar.23 have regular kurman PN-na (NN 0686, NN 0385, NN 0944). Apart from the divergent formulae used, the travel le also special for two eyecaching oddities: two tablets that are sealed but do not have the usual tongue-shape format of sealed memoranda (B.1.2.1). Both have a single string hole in the right side, normally a dening characteristic of unsealed memoranda (B.2.1.2). NN 1248 134

135

136

137

0445 and NN 1621 pertain to the same travel party. In NN 1621, the group is coming from Kermn and going to Susa (I/22), in NN 0445, it is returning to Kermn (date broken). The return journey may have been in the same year, Dar.22. PF 1288 is included despite the different seal on the left edge, PFS 1235. Its impression is fragmentary (a bull marchant) and poorly preserved. Nonetheless, it appears in a striking manner to emulate PFS 0048. The bull on PFS 1235 faces to the right (as opposed to PFS 0048), but otherwise it appears to be very similar in theme and style. It is especially noteworthy that: 1) a scene of an isolated bull carved on a cylinder seal occurs only on these two seals; 2) the carving style on both PFS 0048 and PFS 1235 is a rare version of the Persepolitan Modelled Style (see §4.3.6 on the carving style of PFS 0048). The seals are certainly related; both appear to belong to Bakumira or his ofce. The formula kurman PN ak akkayaše-na is indicated in the table as “Kazaka c[um] s[uis].” Although associates are often mentioned, it is rare for suppliers. Apart from the texts mentioned here, the only other known cases are PF 2025, NN 1453, and NN 2240. The tablets are NN 0664 and NN 0666; see n.126 above for the same hybrid formula used on two non-travel memoranda sealed with PFS 0048. NN

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approaches what was earlier described as a attened, roughly triangular cone (§4.1.2); it is included here, although it does not have an impression of PFS 0048. The other tablet, NN 1308, is what Hallock sometimes labelled a “bullet,” i.e. a perfect cone (circular in section; fig.18). Most such ‘bullets’ are unsealed, but a few of these have one seal impressed on their basis (left edge). If sealed, such tablets are always prescriptive labels (A.2.3), except in the case of NN 1308, which is a descriptive record.138 Given the vast evidence for a near-consistent distinction between unsealed/irregularly shaped and sealed/tongue-shaped among the memoranda, special circumstances must be behind NN 1308 and NN 1248; this is also borne out by the observation that both are sealed in the single-seal protocol.

4.3.3. Bakamira and Katukka: unsealed tablets The third, large group of items in the le of Bakamira and Katukka is that of unsealed memoranda with irregular shapes. All of the 42 texts relate to travel suggesting, as in the case of Pirratamka (§4.1), an alternative bureaucratic handling that could be applied to receipts for travel rations, but not to memoranda recording other types of transaction: text 139

0431 1286 NN 0739 NN 1213 NN 0271 NN 0980 Fort. 6769 NN 0317 Fort. 2335-106 PF 1287 NN 0839 PF 1363 NN 0405 NN 0499 PF 1345 PF 1346 NN 0878 NN 0801 NN 0498 NN PF

138

139

seal(s)

date

shape

supplier(s)

no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal

X/20

‘tongue’ (1 hole) ovate ovate triangular reverse ovate ovate ‘tongue’ (1 hole) triangular reverse ovate reverse ovate ovate triangular triangular ‘tongue’ (1 hole) triangular triangular triangular triangular triangular

Katukka Bakamira Bakamira Bakumira Bakamira Bakamira Katukka Katukka Bakamira Bakamira Bakamira Kasakka Katukka Katukka Katukka Katukka Katukka Katukka Katukka

II/22 II/22 III/22 V

?

/22

IX/22 X/22 X/22

?

XI/22 XII/22 XII/22 III/23 III/23 VII/23 VIII/23 VIII/23 VIII/23 IX/23 IX/23

?

locality / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

The cones or ‘bullets’ with a seal on the base all use the word lišni, “let him deliver.” On this group see Henkelman 2008a: 108f., 134, 145f. Text published in Henkelman 2017a: 187-90.

LOCAL INFORMATION HANDLING IN ACHAEMENID PRSA

1347 1348 NN 1235 NN 0765 PF 1349 NN 0487 Fort. 1642-103 PF 1350 NN 2468 NN 1798 PF 1351 PF 1352 PF 1353 PF 1646 PF 1354 NN 2324 NN 1673 PF 1693 Fort. 1812-101 PF 1355 PF 1356 PF 2056 NN 0382 PF PF

no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal no seal

X/23 X/23 X/23 XI/23 XII/23 XII/23 I/28 II/28 II/28 IV/28 V/28 V/28 V/28 V-XII/28 VI/28 VII/28 VIII/28 IX-XII/28 X/28 X/28 XI/28 XI/28 Ø/Ø

triangular ‘tongue’ (1 hole) triangular ‘tongue’ (1 hole) ‘tongue’ (1 hole) ‘tongue’ (1 hole) triangular bullet bullet triangular triangular ‘tongue’ (1 hole) bullet triangular triangular bullet ‘tongue’ (1 hole) ‘tongue’ (1 hole) ‘tongue’ (1 hole) bullet bullet triangular ‘tongue’ (1 hole)

Katukka Kadaka Katukka Katukka Katukka Kadaka Katukka Katukka Katukka Katukka Katukka Katukka Katukka Katukka Katukka Katukka Katukka Katukka Katukka Kadakka Katukka Katukka Kazaka

231 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Scribes at Pirdatkaš used their own versions of the various possible shapes of unsealed memoranda while retaining the essential features belonging to this format. Some striking correlations appear, notably that between the name of Bakumira and use of the ovate and reverse ovate (with the perforated tip on the left) tablets.140 The name Katukka is found with various formats, but all are sub-categories of the broader range of cone-shaped tablets. As for the ‘tongues’ listed here, they are, like the bullets and triangular tablets, not sealed and have a single string hole in the right tip. They are therefore clearly different from regular sealed tongue-shaped tablets, even if their creator omitted to accentuate this in their shape.141 Their existence once again underlines that the single string hole and the absence of a seal impression are decisive in the unsealed memoranda format.

140

141

In addition, the tablets with Bakumira are the only ones to use the verb sa-, “to proceed, go,” in the travel formula (travelling from GN1 to GN2): PF 1286, PF 1287, NN 0739, NN 0839, Fort. 2335-106. NN 0980 and NN 1213 have a form of the verb par-, “to pass, go” (the verb is not preserved in NN 0271). Also, two of the tablets have text written on the left edge (PF 1348, NN 0765; also bullet PF 1355), reserved for a seal impression in the case of regular tongue-shaped tablets.

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4.3.4. PFS 0048: uninscribed, Aramaic, and Demotic tablets The number of 42 unsealed memoranda mentioning Bakumira or Katukka strikingly correlates with 46 uninscribed tablets sealed with PFS 0048; indeed, PFS 0048 is one of the most commonly occurring seals on the uninscribed tablets: text PFUT

0699-101

PFUT 0259-205 PFUT 0296-202

1008-101 1008-102 PFUT 1008-103 PFUT 0324-202 PFUT 0546-201 PFUT 0414-201 PFUT 0389-202 PFUT 0268-203 PFUT 1116-104 PFUT 0391-204 PFUT 0000-102 PFUT 0414-202 PFUT 0543-201 PFUT 0850-105 PFUT 0683-103 PFUT 0687-101 PFUT 0688-102 PFUT 0694-102 PFUT 1006-009 PFUT 0164-203 PFUT 0252-202 PFUT 0259-201 PFUT 0262-203 PFUT 0311-201 PFUT 0324-201 PFUT 0421-202 PFUT 0840-105 PFUT 0929-101 PFUT 0929-102 PFUT 0939-103 PFUT 0945-101 PFUT 0989-111 PFUT 0992-101 PFUT 0992-103 PFUT 0997-101 PFUT 1006-102 PFUT 1006-003 PFUT 0389-203 PFUT PFUT

seal(s)

date

shape

supplier(s)

•PFS 0048; PFS 0168 •PFS 0048; •PFS 0192s •PFS 0048; •PFS 0270s •PFS 0048; PFS 0802 •PFS 0048; PFS 0802 •PFS 0048; PFS 0802 •PFS 0048; PFS 1090 •PFS 0048; PFS 1189 •PFS 0048; PFS 1291s •PFS 0048; PFS 1367s •PFS 0048; •PFS 1386s •PFS 0048; PFS 1387 •PFS 0048; PFS 1405 •PFS 0048; PFS 1616s •PFS 0048; PFS 2950 •PFS 0048; PFS 3032 •PFS 0048; PFUTS 0004 •PFS 0048; PFUTS 0072 •PFS 0048; PFUTS 0079 •PFS 0048; PFUTS 0083 •PFS 0048; PFUTS 0103 •PFS 0048; PFUTS 0264* •PFS 0048; PFUTS 0492s •PFS 0048; PFUTS 0624s •PFS 0048; PFUTS 0662 •PFS 0048; PFUTS 0688s •PFS 0048; PFUTS 0855 •PFS 0048; PFUTS 0872 •PFS 0048; PFUTS 0938s •PFS 0048; PFUTS 1049 •PFS 0048; PFUTS 1088s •PFS 0048; PFUTS 1089 •PFS 0048; PFUTS 1103 •PFS 0048; PFUTS 1120 •PFS 0048; PFUTS 1136 •PFS 0048; PFUTS 1141 •PFS 0048; PFUTS 1144 •PFS 0048; PFUTS 1158s •PFS 0048; PFUTS 1188s •PFS 0048; PFUTS 1189s •PFS 0048; PFUTS 1281

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

locality / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

LOCAL INFORMATION HANDLING IN ACHAEMENID PRSA

1208-004 1215-201 PFUT 1670-201 PFUT 1799-201 PFUT 1831-203 PFUT PFUT

•PFS 0048; PFUTS 1281 •PFS 0048; PFUTS 1281 •PFS 0048; PFUTS 1281 •PFS 0048; PFUTS 1281 •PFS 0048; PFUTS 1281

/ / / / /

tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue

/ / / / /

233 / / / / /

Although it would be hazardous to suggest a one-to-one connection between the unsealed travel memoranda and the sealed uninscribed texts bearing impressions of PFS 0048, their correlation is statistically meaningful. The fact that both sets are drawn from corpora of about the same size (total number of legible uninscribed tablets; total number of legible Elamite memoranda) underscores the statistic relevance of this correlation. One explanation for the correlation between uninscribed sealed tablets and unsealed Elamite memoranda in the le of Bakumira and Katukka is that the two document types were physically bound together to form a single complete record in terms of content (text) and expression of jurisdiction (seals; cf. §2.4 above). That such a hypothesis is viable is shown by analysis of seals that occur on Elamite tablets and collocate with PFS 0048 on the uninscribed tablets. Some seventeen seals known from impressions on Elamite memoranda occur with PFS 0048 on the uninscribed tablets: seal PFS

memoranda

PFUT

0168

PFUT

0699-101

PFS 0192s

PFUT 0259-205

0270s 0802

PFUT 0296-202

PFS PFS

1008-101, 1008-102, PFUT 1008-103 PFUT 0324-202 PFUT 0546-201 PFUT 0414-201 PFUT PFUT

142

1090 PFS 1189 PFS 1291s PFS

PFS

1367s

PFS 1386s

143

1387 1405 PFS 1616s PFS 2950 PFS 3032

142 143

PFUT

1116-104 0391-204 PFUT 0000-102 PFUT 0414-202 PFUT 0543-201

PFS

PFUT

PFS

PFUT

PFS PFS

0389-202

PFUT 0268-203

seal prole

1667; NN 1663; NN 1974 supplier; horses Katukka); PF 1475, recipient; travel PF 1538; NN 0901; NN 1681; Fort. 2293-104 PF 1507; PF 1534 recipient; travel PF 0595; PF 1653; NN 0854; recipient?; revenue, NN 1135 (single seal) workers, horses, messengers PF 1139; NN 0772 recipient, travel PF 1247; NN 0516 (single seal) recipient, travel PF 1362 (supplier: Katukka); NN 2584; recipient, travel Fort. 0230-101 (idem) PF 1468 (single seal) recipient?, travel PF 1489 recipient, travel PF 1490 recipient, travel PF 1509 recipient, travel PF 2053 recipient, travel NN 1118, NN 1653 recipient, travel NN 1716, NN 2214 recipient, travel PF

PF 1360 (supplier:

1090 also occurs on PFAT 0036 and PFAT 0056. 1386s also occurs on PFAT 0709.

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MARK B. GARRISON & WOUTER F.M. HENKELMAN

As this lists demonstrates, seals occurring with PFS 0048 on uninscribed tablets are elsewhere typically attested as recipient seals used by individual travellers, travel guides or travel groups. The two seals with different proles still belong to the travel sphere as they occur with fodder for horses (PFS 0168) and wine rations for horses and messengers (PFS 0802). In other words, the uninscribed tablets with PFS 0048 are – judging from the seals for which seal proles can be drawn up – heavily focussed on travel, exactly the domain to which a comparable number of unsealed Elamite memoranda belong.144 The material linked to PFS 0048 affords an exceptional view into the potential uses of the uninscribed tablets. There are, however, a few observations that inspire caution against the simplistic idea that all unsealed tablets were bound (by their single string) to unsealed Elamite memoranda (which had a loop of string). For one, three of the above-listed memoranda mention Katukka as supplier, meaning that there are travel parties for which there are sealed memoranda and uninscribed tablets. Moreover, a one-to-one connection would overlook the role of Aramaic tablets sealed with PFS 0048: text

seal(s)

date

shape

supplier(s)

0221 0192 PFAT 0219 PFAT 0400 PFAT 0542 PFAT 0543 PFAT 0675 PFAT 0700 PFAT 0703 PFAT 0392 PFAT 0177 PFAT 0242

•PFS 0048; PFATS 0031s •PFS 0048; PFATS 0217s •PFS 0048; PFATS 0249s •PFS 0048; PFATS 0386* •PFS 0048; PFATS 0437 •PFS 0048; PFATS 0520s •PFS 0048; PFATS 0602 •PFS 0048; PFATS 0618 •PFS 0048; PFATS 0622 •PFS 0048; PFATS 1022 •PFS 0048; PFUTS 1128s •PFS 0048; PFUTS 1128s

/ / / / / / / / / / / /

tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue

/ / / / / / / / / / / /

PFAT PFAT

locality / / / / / / / / / / / /

These texts, like most Aramaic documents in the archive, are relative terse. All lack dates; none mentions a supplier or locality. In terms of content they add little to our knowledge of the uses of seal PFS 0048. Two peculiarities stand out, however. First, as far as the texts are legible, they all seem to be dealing with travel. Second, in all cases except PFAT 0400 and PFAT 0675, the text is not written in ink but incised in the clay, perhaps with an instrument normally used for writing cuneiform.145

144 145

On the linkage with travel, see the comments by Garrison 2008: 180-84; idem 2017: 32. The information on Aramaic tablets listed here was kindly provided by Annalisa Azzoni. She also notes (pers.comm.) that PFAT 0675, one of the two texts written in ink, seems to be the only one indicating the quantity of the commodity issued.

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235

Aramaic tablets with PFS 0048 at most state the recipient’s name, the number of his companions, and the direction of their travel; other texts have even less information than that. As stated (§2.4), such elliptical texts cannot be regarded as records in the full sense; they must have functioned in tandem with other documents in order to be meaningful in a bureaucratic and archival context. This, in turn, suggests, that other physical pairs of documents, beyond sealed uninscribed + unsealed Elamite, may have existed. The essential point, however, is that physical combinations of pairs of tablets by means of their strings must be considered seriously. It is very likely that at least a signicant portion of the uninscribed sealed tablets (B.2.1.4) functioned in tandem with unsealed inscribed tablets (B.2.1.2).146 In short, even a local storehouse such as that of Pirdatkaš operated complicated procedures to handle data, involving a range of mutually distinctive instruments: sealed and unsealed Elamite memoranda, sealed uninscribed tablets and Aramaic documents. The local context for the use of Aramaic moreover suggests that some of the scribes who wrote in Elamite may have mastered Aramaic as well. That most Aramaic texts were incised in the clay may also point in this direction. At the same time, the more regular writing in ink also occurred. The empire of many tongues made itself felt at Pirdatkaš. If the above were not enough to demonstrate the potential intricacies of local bureaucracy in Achaemenid P rsa, the recent discovery of a tablet possibly inscribed in Demotic and bearing an impression of PFS 0048 (Fort. 0839-401) certainly should. The tablet has only one recognisable sign, but its identication as Demotic is supported by the existence of a second Demotic tablet (Fort. 2131-401; Azzoni et al. 2019). As the editors notice, the frequent occurrence of Egyptians in PFA provides a setting for the use of the script, which adds another layer of complexity to the intricate uses of PFS 0048 and the le of Bakumira and Katukka. While the permanent presence of Demotic scribes at Pirdatkaš is perhaps not likely, the local staff minimally knew how to handle such a document.

4.3.5. Bakumira and Katukka: local protocols The le dened by PFS 0048 and by the names of Bakumira and Katukka documents at least ve distinct bureaucratic protocols, each presumably corresponding to particular settings. A rst is that of allocations for cultic purposes, recorded on regular memoranda with PFS 0048 and with mention of Bakumira, Katukka and, 146

See already the suspicions formulated by Henkelman (2008a: 154-61) at a time that much less uninscribed tablets had been studied. In that provisional assessment, Aramaic texts were still regarded possible full records, but on-going research has revealed that most of them are too terse to meet that standard.

236

MARK B. GARRISON & WOUTER F.M. HENKELMAN

once, Miramana in the kurman PN-na formula. Bakumira and his presumed adjunct Šumira also appear as suppliers in other non-travel contexts, but here the kurman PN-na formula is avoided; the people taking the allocations are not ultimate recipients, but intermediaries. A third recognisable bureaucratic protocol is that dened by sealed travel receipts; in these Katukka may be introduced in three different ways, seemingly in chronological sequence and reecting either a developing supplier’s prole or alternating scribal habits. A fourth protocol, perhaps used by Bakumira’s and Datukka’s staff in their absence, implied the issue of unsealed memoranda with distinct formats for each of the two suppliers. A fth and a sixth protocol, plausibly used in conjunction with the fourth, are characterised by the use of sealed uninscribed and Aramaic tablets. Dated, sealed memoranda suggest that Katukka succeeded Bakumira in the rst month of Dar.23, but unsealed texts show an overlap of a few years. It is therefore possible that Katukka started as an adjunct to Bakumira. The way he is initially referred to in sealed travel memoranda (“Katukka and his associates”) could point to a subordinate position (with shared responsibility). Like Miramana and Šumira, he was in any case entitled to use PFS 0048. Little can be said about Bakumira and Katukka as individual actors within the PFA machinery beyond what has already been written in the preceding pages. Allocations by Bakumira are referred to once in cryptic context; other occurrences of the name probably refer to different individuals.147 Katukka, as suggested above (n.125), might be the same as the šatin (cultic expert, ofciant) receiving our for the god Humban (NN 0108), especially since his ofce (with PFS 0048) is connected with cultic activity.148

147

148

1462 refers to hal-mi [HAL]
mar-du-ka4 hi-iš-šá-ma
kur-mán HALba-ka4-mi-ra-na [a]-
ak HALuk-kaš?-ra-na, “sealed document(s) (of) Marduka including (records/ summaries) of allocations from Bakumira and Ukkašra?.” The travelling Bakumira of PFa 29:60' and Fort. 1988-101:29' is probably a different person; the same may be true for the Bakumira exercising oversight (šara[manna]) over barley transactions in the Tirazziš area (Fort. 1539-101). Possibly the same Katukka occurs in PF 0015 (transporting barley; IVel./21; Fahliyn area), Fort. 05897 (receiving barley for workers; V-VIel./22; idem), PF 0279 (exchange of barley and wine; Ø/Ø; idem). There is no positive evidence to link the Katukka “(of) the century (of) Uštana” (AŠsa-da-ba-um HALú-iš-
da-na, PF 0143) to the supplier at Pirdatkaš (cf. n.113 above). The name of Katukka recurs in a number of other texts, but appears to refer to other individuals. NN

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237

4.3.6. Bakumira and Katukka: glyptic evidence The design of PFS 0048 (g.17) supports the view that the ofce it represented was of special status. The seal is very large by Persepolitan standards and impressively carved. As far as can be determined, the scene is a single animal, a humped bull, marchant to the left.149 Cylinder seals with a single animal/creature are very rare in Persepolitan glyptic.150 PFS 0048 is also noteworthy owing to its carving style, a baroque version of the Persepolitan Modelled Style wherein volumetric mass is emphasized by deep carving and nervous musculature. The carving is exceptionally ne; its closest parallel, stylistically, is the monumental PFS 0016*, the second seal of Parnakka, the director of the Persepolis economy.151 In sum, the imagery and carving on PFS 0048 belong to a rather special glyptic artefact.

4.4. Mirayauda at Umpuranuš The grain supplier Mirayauda (*Vrayauda-) worked at Umpuranuš in the eastern part of the Fahliy n region.152 In contrast to some of his colleagues, he scarcely suffered from sigillophobia: only four of almost 60 travel memoranda are unsealed.

149

150

151 152

Every impression of PFS 0048, and there are many of them, is carefully rolled so that the bull is centred almost perfectly on the left edge of the tablet. No impression of the seal allows us to determine denitely whether there is more to the scene or, if just a humped bull, the spacing in the terminal eld. By contrast, single animal/creature studies on stamp seals occur by the hundreds in Persepolitan glyptic. A seal in the Treasury archive, PTS 041 (Schmidt 1957: 33, pl.11), is strikingly similar to PFS 0048, both in theme, a humped bull marchant, and in carving style. Of the few cylinder seals that show a single animal/creature, PFS 1235 and PFUTS 0256 are noteworthy. Both scenes are, like PFS 0048, a bull marchant but moving to the right. Although poorly preserved, PFS 1235 is large and employs a modelled style of carving (cf. n.135 above). PFUTS 0256 exhibits a calligraphic and nervous musculature similar to that of PFS 0048. All three seals may come from the same workshop. A very popular thematic category at Persepolis is a single animal/creature paired with an inscription. Those seals are generally rendered in a modelled style of carving. In some cases, the modelling is as exaggerated as on PFS 0048. See Garrison & Root 2001: 92-94 n° 22; Garrison 2014b: 496-500, g.7. The name of Mirayauda is mostly spelled HALmi-ra-ia-u-da, rarely °ia-ud-da, °ud-da, or HALmi-ri-ia-u-da; for the underlying Old-Iranian form see Tavernier 2007: 350f. [4.2.1907]. On the supplier, his seals, and Umpuranuš see Koch 1986: 141f.; idem 1990: 129 n.569, 135-40, 293-96; Garrison & Root 2001: 82f., 421f.; Henkelman 2008a: 504-506; Arfaee 2008: 21, 25; Garrison 2017: 69f., 112f. n.346, 192, 337.

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As explained earlier (§3.3), high-level oversight ofcials sometimes stepped into the role of supplier if the circumstances required so. This the case with PF 0709 (sealed by the royal provisioner with PFS 0007*), where Irtuppiya occurs in the kurman PN-na formula (de jure supplier), but Mirayauda is mentioned as tumara (de facto supplier). The special context – 7000 l. barley for the horses of the King’s court – thus reveals Mirayauda’s designation, “grain master.”153 Though Mirayauda himself is associated with a range of different seals, there are only two with which he is frequently collocated: PFS 0024 and PFS 0018. The rst occurs with one dated text mentioning Mirayauda (NN 0667), pointing to its use in Dar.19; the seal is also found in a text dated to Dar.23 (PF 0348), but under different circumstances (cf. below). Seal PFS 0018 is better datable and occurs with Mirayauda between IX/20 and XII/23 (without supplier’s name it occurs as late as VII/28 [NN 2512]). In the following survey it is tentatively assumed that Mirayauda’s ofce switched its primary seal from PFS 0024 to PFS 0018 in the course of Dar.20.154 Two other seals can be identied with some condence as supplier seals held by Mirayauda (PFS 0914, PFS 0915); a few other connections are uncertain.

4.4.1. Mirayauda: PFS 0024 Known memoranda documenting provisions received by travellers and sealed with 155 PFS 0024 (g.19) amount to 20 or 21 texts; all of these name Mirayauda: text

seal(s)

date

shape

supplier(s) locality

0667 0792 PF 1384 156 PF 1385 NN 0256 NN 0946

•PFS 0024; PFS 2866 •PFS 0024; PFS 2875 •PFS 0024; PFS 1307 •PFS 0024; •PFS 1308* •PFS 0024; PFS 3063 •PFS 0024; PFS 2939

Ø/19 x+3?/I/Ø 16/I/Ø I/ Ø IV/Ø IV/Ø

tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue

Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda

NN NN

153 154

155

156

/ / / / / /

See also Koch 1990: 135 and Aperghis 1999: 158 on PF 0709. For tumara see §7.1. So already Koch (1986: 141f.; compare idem 1990: 293f.), based on NN 0667. Apart from NN 0667 and PF 0348 only two other texts with PFS 0024 have year dates: PF 0595 and PF 0537, dated to Dar.18 and Dar.19 respectively. These texts mention no supplier. Mirayauda himself is found in texts dating from Dar.19 through Dar.28. PFS 0024 also occurs on uninscribed tablet PFUT 0691-105 (alongside PFUTS 0129); as argued above, many uninscribed tablets appear to relate to travel (§4.3.2). PF 1385 presents a rare case of a tablet with two different seals on the left edge: PFS 0024 is over-rolled by PFS 1308* (see Garrison & Root 2001: 422; Garrison 2011b: 38790). This deviation of the counter-sealing protocol may relate to the status of the recipient Bakabadada (Garrison, ibid.). Since PFS 1308* also occurs on the reverse and upper edge of PF 1385, it may be that the single-seal protocol was intended here.

LOCAL INFORMATION HANDLING IN ACHAEMENID P RSA

0663 1388 PF 1248 PF 1389 NN 0850 PF 1390 NN 0852 NN 0954 NN 0975 NN 0069 PF 1393 NN 0859 PF 1394 NN 1113 NN PF

Fort. 1587-102

157

239

•PFS 0024; PFS 2863 •PFS 0024; PFS 1311s •PFS 0024; PFS 1190 •PFS 0024; PFS 1312s •PFS 0024; PFS 2883 •PFS 0024; PFS 1313s •PFS 0024; PFS 0162 •PFS 0024; PFS 3065 •PFS 0024; PFS 2492 •PFS 0024; PFS 2035 •PFS 0024; PFS 1315s •PFS 0024; PFS 2885 •PFS 0024; PFS 1316 •PFS 0024; PFS 1316

V/Ø 13/VI/Ø (10d.)/VI/Ø VII/Ø 5/IX/Ø 6/IX/Ø 6/IX/Ø IX/Ø 5/X/Ø X/Ø XII/Ø XII/Ø Ø/Ø Ø/Ø

tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue

Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / /

LEd; PFS 3322

[…]/XI/Ø

tongue

[Mir]ayauda?

/

What is particularly striking about these texts is the consistency with which the name of Mirayauda is mentioned and spelled. Month names are all Old Iranian and they are mentioned in almost every text. By contrast, there is a nearly complete eschewal of year dates. Day dates, otherwise rare, occur a few times; their occurrence correlates with subtle variations in tablet form and in scribal hand.158 Another subtle variation is visible in PF 1394 and NN 1113. Both are almost triangular in shape; the texts are written in small, careful hand; the same recipient seal (PFS 1316) occurs on the reverse of both tablets.159 The remainder of the tablets sealed with PFS 0024 are non-travel memoranda; all are tongue-shaped. They include various outlays and deliveries of grain.

157

158

159

The name of the recipient in Fort. 1587-102, Nuššizza, not attested elsewhere. Tentative assignment of the text this list is tentative is based on the occurrence of Mirayauda’s name (partly restored) and the verbal form duš, “he received,” which is common with PFS 0024 but rare with PFS 0018 (cf. below). NN 0850, NN 0852, NN 0975, PF 1388, and PF 1390 are all relatively straight, with less curved edges than average tongue-shaped tablets; the left edge is slightly concave. All ve have 6-7 lines of script on the obverse, clearly in the same hand. PF 1384 and NN 0792 are on smaller tablets with rounder tips and written in a smaller hand. PF 1394 concerns our for Battišša and his company of 27 men who are driving horses, NN 1113 barley for those horses (on Battišša see n.173 below). In both texts, the animals are qualied as bariya(š), which, like its contraction bariš, may transcribe *briya-, “pack-” (so Tavernier 2007: 412 [4.4.5.5]). Four out of eight occurrences of the form bariya(š) are in texts relating to our Mirayauda: PF 1394, PF 1781, NN 1113, NN 1803 (unsealed; see below). NN 0069 and NN 0975 are another couplet of texts sealed with PFS 0024; they name the same recipient, Maušudda, and month date (X). They may stem from different years, though, as the recipient seals are different.

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The list below shows a rst sub-section non-travel memoranda sealed with PFS 0024. All texts document commodities issues for cultic purposes. A few closelyrelated texts are added for reasons explained below: text

seal(s)

commodity

date

shape

supplier(s)

locality

1679 0978 160 PF 0350

•PFS 0024; PFS 2320 •PFS 0024; PFS 2296 •PFS 0024; PFS 0598

530 l. barley 1000 l. barley 600 l. barley

Ø/Ø

tongue tongue tongue

Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda

/ / /

Ø/23

tongue tongue

Parsauka Parsauka

NN NN

Fort. 0251-101 •PFS 0137; PFS 3182s 40 l. wine 161 PF 0348 •PFS 0137; PFS 0024 30 l. wine ?

Ø/Ø Ø/Ø VII/21

/ Uratukka

0349

•PFS 0018; PFS 0596

600 l. barley

Ø/23

tongue

/

/

NN 0613

•PFS 2288; PFS 2287 •PFS 2290; PFS 2289 •PFS 0914; PFS 2294

530 l. barley 530 l. barley 600 l. barley

Ø/22

tongue tongue tongue

Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda

/ / /

PF

NN 0679 NN

0893

Ø/Ø Ø/Ø

The rst three texts here listed deal with signicant barley allocations for sacricial feasts known as bakadaušiya, which ostensibly involved the participation of large groups of kurtaš.162 The following two texts offer a little insight in the organisation of bakadaušiya as they document wine issued for the same purpose, once with PFS 0024 on the reverse (PFS 0348) and once with another counter seal (Fort. 0251101). The left-edge seal in both cases, PFS 0137, belongs to Parsauka, a known wine-supplier.163 All this suggests that the ofce of Mirayauda coordinated the organisation of bakadaušiya and may have collected the necessarily wine before delivering it, alongside the barley, to the acting priest. The involvement of Mirayauda’s ofce for bakadaušiya is also documented in PF 0349, drafted in the period seal PFS 0018 was in use; a strong continuity becomes evident here as the text is essentially a duplicate of the earlier memorandum PFS 0350 (PFS 0024). Along the 160

161 162

163

0350 does not mention the word bakadaušiya but certainly belongs here as comparison with the almost identical text PF 0349 (with bakadaušiya) shows. Uratukka was probably a satellite of Umpuranuš (Henkelman 2008a: 506 with n.1181). On *bagadauçiya-, “(feast) belonging to the offering for a god,” see Henkelman 2008a: 380-83; idem 2011: 104 (comparison with šip); idem 2012: 40 (ideological aspects); idem 2017b: 306-19 (complete analysis). Text, apart from those in the table, naming Parsauka (also Pardukka, Partukka) as supplier are: PF 0348 (wine, PFS 0137), PF 1115 (idem), NN 0282 (fruit, PFS 0137), NN 1497 (wine, PFS 0137), Fort. 0251-101 (idem), PF 1555 (wine, unsealed), NN 2215 (idem), Fort. 2125-102 (idem), PF 1556 (wine, PFS 0049 [single-seal protocol]), Fort. 0068-103 (wine, PFS 0137). As this series demonstrates, PFS 0137 was the personal or ofce seal of the wine (and fruit) supplier Parsauka (it also occurs on PFUT 0156-201). In PF 0621 (wine, PFS 0137) no supplier is mentioned, but the place name Umpuranuš is; it recurs in PF 1115 (wine, Parsauka), with a certain Maumišša as recipient. The same recipient occurs in PF 1095, PF 1096, and NN 1693 (our, Mirayauda). PF

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241

same lines the last three texts listed above unambiguously belong to the same dossier, even though their seals are different and not attested elsewhere (NN 0613, NN 0679, NN 0893). Not only the amounts of barley issued, but also the receiving ofciants are the same as those in tablets sealed with PFS 0024 (NN 1679, PF 0350). In summary, the granary at Umpuranuš had standing orders, perhaps derived from a cultic calendar, to organize bakadaušiya for a variety of divinities (served by a series of priests). It coordinated this task with the wine storage headed by Parsauka. In doing so, it could use PFS 0024 and PFS 0018 as well as other seals, with no discernable difference. Other non-travel memoranda with seal PFS 0024 concern staff, dependent workers, and horses. One related text, NN 1203, is added to this sub-section: PF 0788 NN 0854

164

NN 1691 PF 1653 NN 0907 NN

1203

•PFS 0024; PFS 0916 •PFS 0024; PFS 0802 •PFS 0024; PFS 2468

(12m.)/Ø (1m.)/Ø (6m.)/Ø

tongue tongue tongue

Mirayauda Miradda Mirayauda

/ / /

•PFS 0024; PFS 0802 •PFS 0024; PFS 0068

IV-VII/Ø tongue (4m.+24d.)/Ø tongue

Mirayauda Mirayauda

/ /

•PFS 0068

IX-XI/19

Mirayauda

/

tongue

In comparison with the allocations for cultic purposes, the periods of distribution in the texts listed here are longer, but the eschewal of year dates continues. Conspicuous among the rst three texts, with human consumers, is Rumada the ullira, “delivery man,” plausibly a member of Mirayauda’s staff. Ration texts concerning local administrative and logistic personnel are relatively rare. As for the following two texts on horses sealed with PFS 0024, one actually concerns express horses kept available at the way station (PF 1653), the other “royal horses,” perhaps also relating to the organisation of travel (NN 0907). The counter seals on both texts refer to the ofces of oversight ofcials: PFS 0802 and PFS 0068 (g.21).165 The second of these belongs to Irtuppiya or one of his aides and could be used in the single-seal protocol as demonstrated by the sixth text, NN 1203 (also on horses). Three last texts sealed with PFS 0024 concern storage and transport of grain:

164 HAL

165

mi-ra-ud-da in NN 0854 must be an error or contracted form of the name of Mirayauda (cf. n.152 above). No Miradda occurs elsewhere as a supplier. For PFS 0068 see §4.4.2. The holder of PFS 0802 was responsible for local groups of kurtaš, (express) horses and messengers (cf. §4.3.2). Apart from three uninscribed texts (ibid.), PFS 0802 occurs, with PFS 0024, on PF 0595, PF 1653, and NN 0854. On NN 1135 it occurs in the authoritative single-seal protocol. The contexts show that the seal holder was a šaramanna ofcial: deposit of revenue (PF 0595), responsibility for express horses, messengers (PF 1653, NN 1135), and a group of kurtaš (NN 0854).

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text

seal(s)

date

shape

supplier(s)

recipient(s)

0595 0537 PF 0313

•PFS 0024; PFS 0802 •PFS 0024; PFS 0068 •PFS 0024; PFS 0557

Ø/18

tongue tongue tongue

/ / Hašizza

/ / Kaika

PF PF

Ø/19 Ø/Ø

locality / / /

A with the previous subsection of tablets sealed with PFS 0024, the counter seals in this group belong to oversight ofcials. Their involvement in storage and transport of commodities probably means that these were at their disposal for future transactions. Contrary to the case of Haturdada (§4.2.2), the texts do not mention the name of the recipient (being the future supplier) or use the kurman PN-na formula. The amounts stated give an impression of the scale of the Umpuranuš district: a harvest of 53,120 l. of barley is booked in year 18 (PF 0595), the following year 15,000 l. is stored as seed (PF 0537). Since 1:10 yields were not uncommon in Achaemenid Prsa, the district may well have produced as 150,000 l. per annum, the deposit of 53,120 l. being only part of the total for year 18. The third text, PF 0313, records the receipt of 2000 l. of barley by Kaika; the grain is allocated by Hašizza. Both actors are otherwise unattested, but the relatively important amount of barley suggests an internal transfer between granaries or a delivery to a logistics ofcial (or his representative) for further distribution.166 In the rst situation Kaika could be an otherwise unattested staff member who accepted the grain on behalf of the Umpuranuš granary in the same way the supplier Haturdada at times appears as recipient (§4.2.2). The other hypothesis would imply that Kaika was a local šaramanna ofcial coordinating a deposit of grain for the people under animals under his responsibility with the Umpuranuš granary. In both cases, the formal involvement and jurisdiction of the grain master is implied by the use of PFS 0024.

4.4.2. Mirayauda: PFS 0018 As stated, the chronological and administrative distribution of PFS 0024 and PFS 0018 is uncertain, not in the last place on account of the near-absence of year dates in texts sealed with PFS 0024. The frequent use of PFS 0018 (g.20) in dated texts 166

Perhaps identity with Kakka, responsible for horses and their caretakers in an area including Umpuranuš, Kurdušum, and Zakzaku, should be considered (so Koch 1990: 129 n.569, 140; Tavernier 2007: 223 [4.2.911-12] gives different etymologies for Kaika and Kakka). Kakka occurs as recipient in PF 1685 (PFS 0018 [Umpuranuš]; allocation from Mirayauda; the counter-seal is PFS 0068 [§4.4.2]); NN 1842 (PFS 0226 [Kurdušum, Zakzaku]); NN 2551 (PFS 0157 [Kurdušum, Zakzaku]). Hallock read the name Hašizza in PF 1591 (HALha-ši-
iz-za), but collation has shown this to be incorrect (read HALha-ši-
ia).

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243

from IX/20 onwards may suggest that the ofce headed by Mirayauda had adopted it as primary seal sometime in Dar.20 (or late in Dar.19). PFS 0024 was still in use by Dar.23 (PF 0348), but under different circumstances: as counter seal with an allocation of wine by Parsauka at a place called Uratukka (probably a satellite of Umpuranuš). This may signal that PFS 0024 had been given to an adjunct member of staff; his task included coordination of preparations for sacricial feasts between the granary and the wine storage.167 As in the case of PFS 0024, sealed travel memoranda with PFS 0018 as a rule mention Mirayauda by name, though there are two exceptions. The list below includes a few travel texts mentioning Mirayauda and dated (or datable) to the years in which PFS 0018 was used, yet sealed with other seals:

167

168

169

170

text

seal(s)

date

shape

supplier(s)

locality

Fort. 0828-101 PF 1575 NN 1215 Fort. 0402-101 PF 1247 PF 1374 PF 1375 168 NN 0885 PF 1376 PF 1377 PF 1379 169 Fort. 2314-102 NN 2584 PF 1381 NN 1297 NN 1585 170 Fort. 1637 PF 1383 NN 2512 PF 1386 NN 0183 NN 2383 PF 1392

•PFS 0018; PFS 2857 •PFS 0018; PFS 1459 •PFS 0018; •PFS 2772 •PFS 0018; PFS 3324 •PFS 0018; PFS 1189 •PFS 0018; PFS 1297 •PFS 0018; PFS 1298 •PFS 0018; PFS 2889 •PFS 0018; PFS 1292s •PFS 0018; PFS 0223 •PFS 0018; PFS 1302s LEd; PFS 1475 •PFS 0018; PFS 1291s •PFS 0018; PFS 0295 •PFS 0018; PFS 2967s •PFS 0018; PFS 2992 •PFS 0018; PFS 0906 •PFS 0018; PFS 1306s •PFS 0018; PFS 3084 •PFS 0018; PFS 1309s •PFS 0018; PFS 2236 •PFS 0018; PFS 3080s •PFS 0018; PFS 1314s

(2d.)/IX/20 IV/21 IX/21 19/V/[22?] (40d.)/V-VI/22 IX/22 IX/22 IX/22 XII/22 I/23 III/23 [V?]/23 VII/23 IX/23 X/23 X/23 X/23 XII/23 VII/28 III/Ø III/Ø III/Ø X/Ø

tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue tongue

Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda / Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Cf. Henkelman 2008a: 505 n.1180. The reason for the switch to PFS 0018 was in any case not that PFS 0024 had been lost (as Koch 1986: 142 suggests, ignoring PF 0348). Text published in Henkelman 2017a: 190f.; cf. ibid. 73f. nn.43-44 on the recipient, Bakadad(d)a. The restoration of the month name in Fort. 2314-102 is based on the occurrence of the name Tiriya (recipient, travelling with taššup, “troops”) and occurrence of seal PFS 1475; the same recipient and seal occur on PF 1596 and PFa 20, both dated to V/23. The year date is not Dar.22 (as Arfaee 2008: 193), but 23 (collated).

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MARK B. GARRISON & WOUTER F.M. HENKELMAN

PF 1261 •PFS 0018; PFS 1202 171 LEd; PFS 3326 Fort. 0785-102 Fort. 0793-101 •PFS 3335; PFS 3325s

1689 1378 172 PF 1395 NN PF

173

1503 NN 1402 174 PF 1249 NN

171

172

173

174

Ø/Ø tongue […d.?]/[…]/Ø tongue […]/[(…)] tongue

/ Mirayauda Mirayauda

/ / /

•PFS 0016* •PFS 1300 •PFS 1317

(2d.)/III/22 I/23 Ø/Ø

tongue tongue tongue

Miriyauda Mirayauda Mirayauda

/ / /

•PFS 2894; PFS 3095 •PFS 2823; PFS 2977 •PFS 1191; PFS 0162

(3d.)/Ø XII/23 (8d.)/XII/Ø

tongue tongue tongue

Miriyauda Mirayauda Mirayauda

/ / /

Fort. 0785-102 does not appear to have a year date; a day date is perhaps indicated by pirkana. The recipient, the traveller Bakapukša, occurs in dated texts Dar.22-23 (PF 1255, PF 1271, NN 1542, NN 2434). Fort. 0793-101 is very fragmentary. In PF 1395 Šati-dudu receives a high 3.5 l./day ration and acknowledges receipt in the single-seal protocol (using PFS 1317, otherwise unattested). He may tentatively be identied with the Šati-dudu who is leading troops from Sagartia to Elam sometime in Dar.22 (NN 2040:04-06; the same person may be referred to in PF 0820 [no year date]). Assignment of NN 1503 to the time in which PFS 0024 was used is tentative and essentially based on the rare spelling of the name of Mirayauda (HALmi-
ri-ia-u-
da), which otherwise only occurs in NN 1689 (III/22, above). The contents of NN 1503 allow for no more precise date since the traveller, Battišša (HALba-tu4!-šá; Hallock: HALba-tešá), is regularly found on the road between Susa to P rsa, with horses (as here), with men, or with both. The earliest reference, journal entry PF 1942:19-22, is datable to XII/19. Other texts date to Dar.21 (NN 1148), Dar.23 (PF 1570, NN 1334, perhaps PF 1357) and Dar.28 (PF 1356). Three undated (or fragmentary) texts belong to the same dossier: NN 0726:53'-55', NN 1656, and NN 1803. The last of these mentions Mirayauda as supplier (the tablet is unsealed; see below). It is one of four texts that bring Battišša and Mirayauda together, the others being NN 1503 (the present text, undated), NN 1113 (undated) and PF 1394 (idem). The circumstance that NN 1113 and PF 1394 both carry an impression of PFS 0024 only means that Battišša was already frequenting the Umpuranuš way station in the timeframe covered by this seal; it does not necessarily imply that NN 1503 (or NN 1803) should be dated to this time. PF 1249 documents travel provisions for Matiša and his three servants. This Matiša is sometimes called daubattiš, a title of transparent etymology (*dahyupatiš; Tavernier 2007: 418 [4.4.7.23]), but unclear implications in Achaemenid context (area commander, governor, district chief, etc.); he occurs principally with seals PFS 0162 and PFS 0853. Texts mentioning Matiša are, when dated, from Dar.20, 22, and 23. In Fort. 1636-102 (II/23), NN 0433 (V/23), 0427 (IX/23), and probably NN 1107 (XI/23), he appears in the same company of three servants and receiving the same rations as in PF 1249. This text can therefore tentatively be assigned to the same year, but there is a caveat: seal PFS 0162 occurs once with PFS 0024, on a record naming Mirayauda (as supplier) but not Matiša. Texts with PFS 0162 are never dated, but the connection with PFS 0024 could point to a time before Dar.20 (cf. above). On the other hand, other texts with PFS 0162 that do mention Matiša (PF 0825, PF 1902) t in a series of high-end

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245

In comparison with seal PFS 0024, there is a clear change in protocol: mention of year dates becomes the norm in records sealed with PFS 0018. Almost all dated texts are from the period of IX/20 through XII/23, with the exception of NN 2512, which dates to VII/28. Perhaps not coincidentally this last text does not mention the name of Mirayauda; the same is true for the undated text PF 1216. All these travel texts with PFS 0018 are fairly uniform in their format, key elements, and language. A scribal habit may be visible in the nearly consistent use of the form duša for “he received,” whereas travel texts sealed with PFS 0024 vary between three different forms (duša, duš, dušda).175 All texts deal with the regular provisions in our, except PF 1575, which documents the exceptional allocation of roasted barley, mitli and hamaram, illustrating the range of cereal products available at Umpuranuš.176 In a few cases other seals occur with travel texts mentioning Mirayauda and dated (or tentatively datable) to the period in which PFS 0018 was used. Three such records are sealed, according to the single seal protocol, with NN 1689 (PFS 0016: Parnakka), PF 1378 (PFS 1300: Bakašakka, a relative of the King), and PF 1395 (PFS 1317: general Šati-dudu).177 Whereas the omission of PFS 0018 (or PFS 0024) in

175

176

177

ration payments dating to Dar.20 (ARTA 2006.001 4 = Jones & Stolper 2006: 10-12), Dar.22 (PF 0685, PF 0826, NN 1389), and Dar.23 (NN 2632). The same Matiša also occurs in PF 1487 (rations for malup, XI/23?) and Fort. 2009-102:05'-06' (daubattiš; date lost). On Matiša see Koch 1983: 44; idem 1990: 139; Giovinazzo 1989: 214. Only two out of 23 texts certainly sealed with PFS 0018 use a different form. PF 1247 has dumaš, here a durative form as the ration period is 40 days (on the text and its wider context see Henkelman 2002: 22-25; Azzoni & Dusinberre 2014: 6). PF 1261 has ummaš, “he acquired,” suggesting that the recipient passed part of the ration to fellow travellers (the text does not name Mirayauda and has the form hal-man, a rare spelling for halmi, “seal, sealed document”). The preferred use of duša by the scribe working for Mirayauda conrms that such forms on -a cannot be rigidly explained as marking subordination in Achaemenid Elamite. Even if it is taken as a general connective sufx, forms on -a often cannot be explained in their context, as was already observed by Hallock 1959, esp. p.5. See discussion, with references, in Stolper 2004: 82. For hamaram see Tavernier 2007: 456 [4.4.19.5], for mitli see EW s.v. mi-ut-li, Koch 1990: 49 (“Kornschrot” [uncertain]). For Šati-dudu see n.172 above. Baka(n)šak(k)a, called the ištiri of the King in NN 1556 (with PFS 1300), may be identical with   () son of Artabanus, commander of the Thracian Bithynians in Hdt. VII.75.2 (the variants preserved in the mss.,   and  , seem corruptions; on the name see Mayrhofer 1971: 14; Schmitt 1979: 33; idem 2011: 155-57; Tavernier 2007: 136 [4.2.268], 139 [4.2.282]). Herodotus does not state explicitly that Bagasaces’ father, Artabanus, was the brother of Darius I (yet VII.75.2 is followed by a hiatus, as rst observed by Cornelis de Pauw), but the connection seems likely (cf. Vannicelli 2017: 387). In PF 0784 a woman named

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such cases – involving overarching authority – is unproblematic, the last three texts listed above (NN 1503, NN 1402, PF 1249) are much more difcult to explain. The seals on their left edges are illegible (PFS 2823) or otherwise unattested (PFS 2894, PFS 1191); their occurrence remains mysterious. Non-travel memoranda sealed with PFS 0018 fall into a number of subgroups dened by the counter seal used (or lack thereof): text

seal(s)

date

0297 1735 NN 1544 178 PF 1685 PF 0541 Fort. 0208-103 179 Fort. 0398-101 PF 1095 NN 1693 PF 1096 Fort. 2563 Fort. 0403-102 PF 1101

•PFS 0018; PFS 0068 •PFS 0018; PFS 0068 •PFS 0018; PFS 0068 •PFS 0018; PFS 0068 •PFS 0018; PFS 0068 •PFS 0018?; PFS 0068 •PFS 3323; PFS 0188b* •PFS 0018; PFS 1053 •PFS 0018; PFS 1053 •PFS 0018; PFS 1054 •PFS 1053 •PFS 1053 •PFS 1058; PFS 1056; PFS 1057; PFS 1059

VI-VIII/21

tongue tongue (3m.+5d.)/22 tongue (4m.+10d.)/22 tongue Ø/22 tongue ? Ø/22 tongue Ø/Ø tongue (3m.)/21 tongue (3m.)/21 tongue (6m.)/22 tongue (3m.)/21 tongue (3m.)/21 tongue (3m.)/28 tongue

Mirayauda / Mirayauda / Mirayauda / Mirayauda Irmuš / / Mirayauda / Mirayauda Irmuš Mirayauda / Mirayauda / Mirayauda / Mirayauda Umpuranuš Mirayauda Um[puranuš] Mirayauda Umpuranuš

•PFS 0018; PFS 0596 •PFS 0018; PFS 0648s

Ø/23

tongue tongue

/ Mirayauda

•PFS 0018 •PFS 0018 •PFS 0018

Ø/23

tongue tongue tongue

/ / /

NN PF

PF PF

0349 0408

PF 0089 Fort. 0867-102 NN 1988

178

179

shape

XI-XII/22

Ø/22

Ø/23 Ø/23

?

recipient(s)

locality

/ / Susa Susa Susa

Pandušašša is introduced as the wife of (irti-ri; cf. Middle Elamite rutu) Bakanšakka. The high ration she received could mean that she was Darius’s daughter and Baka(n)šak(k)a therefore son-in-law of the King (EW s.v. iš-ti-ri; Brosius 1996: 26, 72), implying a marriage between siblings. The dossier, expanded with recently edited texts, needs critical re-assessment, however. See Henkelman 2008a: 509 n.1198; idem [forthc. 6] (full analysis); Stolper [forthc. 2] (on Fort. 2020-101:46-48). Kakka, recipient in PF 1685, took the barley to Irmuš (also Irmuzan). Barley for horses is once more transported to Irmuš in Fort. 0398-101. Collocation of this toponym with seal PFS 0175 in NN 0876 provides a connection with Bakumira and Šumira (PF 1696, NN 0025, NN 1232, Fort. 2510, Fort. 7253, Fort. 0259-101, Fort. 2153-103), suppliers at Pirdatkaš (§4.3). Irmuš therefore must have been situated in a wider area including Umpuranuš and Pirdatkaš, perhaps somewhere in between the two district centres. See also n.179 below on Fort. 0398-101 and PFS 0188b*. Fort. 0398-101 is similar to PF 1685 (transport of fodder for horses at Irmuš). Its counter seal PFS 0188b* refers, like PFS 0068, to an overarching authority. Apart from Fort. 0398-101 it is attested on PF 0086 (single seal; our delivery at Kurdušum), PF 1764 (wine for horses; with PFS 0017), and NN 1655 (ŠE.GAL for horses; with PFS 3194).

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Tablets sealed with PFS 0018 and PFS 0068 (g.21) concern barley issued as fodder for animals, except PF 0541. That text, on barley stored as seed, nds a close parallel in PF 0537, with the same subject yet with PFS 0024 as supplier seal.180 Both texts omit the name of Mirayauda, but they nevertheless provide the best evidence for the chronological succession of PFS 0024 and PFS 0018.181 PFS 0068, attested on a total of thirteen tablets, presents a dossier typical of šaramanna ofcials working with suppliers in a particular district. In the case of Umpuranuš, this meant collaboration with Mirayauda or the ofce represented by seals PFS 0024 and PFS 0018 (grain), but also with Parsauka, the wine supplier at the same place using PFS 0137 (cf. above). For this reason PFS 0068 is also found, with PFS 0137, on PF 1115, a record one wine supplied by Pardukka (Parsauka) for workers at Umpuranuš under the oversight of Irtuppiya (PN šaramanna). In other words, the holder of PFS 0068 could direct the grain master and the wine master at Umpuranuš to issue commodities for workers or animals under his responsibility, and would then ‘sign’ (counter seal) for the receipt.182 PF 1115 is the only tablet sealed with PFS 0068 mentioning the name of a šaramanna ofcial, suggesting that it belonged to Irtuppiya or one of his aides in an ofce that purveyed a larger part of the Fahliy n region (cf. §3.3 with n.55). The importance of the seal also appears from the fact that it could be used in the single-seal protocol, also in transactions involving Mirayauda.183 Whereas PFS 0068 occurs with PFS 0024/PFS 0018 notably on records pertaining to fodder for animals, a second seal representing a šaramanna ofcial’s ofce, PFS 1053, is used only in the contexts of monthly our rations for dependent workers (kurtaš). A certain Maumišša receives the small gratuity for a group of 92 workers for two three-month periods in Dar.21 (PF 1095, NN 1693); he recurs with presumably the same group (shrunk to 91) in the next year but now the counter seal is 184 PFS 1054 (PF 1096). As for PFS 1053, it recurs with a second group, this time of 116 workers and explicitly said to be deployed at Umpuranuš (Fort. 2563; Fort. 0403-102). The rations are the same, but no recipient on behalf of the workers is 180

181 182

183

184

A third tablet, PF 0538 (Ø/21), has PFS 0068 alongside PFS 0763, an otherwise unattested seal. The text is similar to PF 0537 (Ø/21) and PF 0541 (Ø/22) and may well belong to the Umpuranuš le. In that case, PFS 0763 is another seal associated with the local granary. PFS 0024 and PFS 0068 are also collocated on NN 0907 (horse fodder; undated; §4.4.1). PFS 0068 and PFS 0137 (left edge) are collocated, on PFUT 0156-201, with PFUTS 0514 (otherwise unattested). On PFS 0068 and its holder see also Koch 1990: 140. See PF 0652 (intake of harvest of ŠE.GAL, perhaps “rice,” Ø/21) and NN 1203 (ŠE.GAL for young horses, IX-XI/19). The second text names Mirayauda as supplier (cf. above). PF 1115, discussed above, pertains to the same group: wine, received by Maumišša, for 90 kurtaš at Umpuranuš. This tablet has PFS 0068 as counter seal (Irtuppiya). The case demonstrates that the responsibilities of šaramanna ofcials in a particular district could overlap, presumably on account of the regional hierarchy (cf. below).

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mentioned; instead, the assigning ofcial (PN damanna), Iršena, is referred to by name. This Iršena is likely the regional director of the Fahliy n subdivision, hence the superior of Irtuppiya in the ‘logistics & rationing’ hierarchy. The group deployed under his general responsibility at Umpuranuš recurs (shrunk to 105) in PF 1101, a document that may carry as many as three different counter seals.185 Confusing as it may be to the modern eye, the web of four or ve seals surrounding just two work teams deployed in the same district in a narrow time-frame actually underlines the solidity of the underlying ‘matrix management.’ The expression of this structure could – to a certain degree – vary exactly because the actors and ofces involved were known and their responsibilities clear.186 PFS 0018 is thrice attested in the single seal protocol, which is very unusual for seals used by suppliers and their ofces (PF 0089; NN 1988; Fort. 0867-102). The tablets form a recognisable unit in that they concern our transports to Susa in Dar.23 and all mention the (Susan?) ofcial Parru. Some other records dealing with transports to, or deliveries at, Susa are also sealed according to the single-seal protocol. One suspects that the particular circumstances of the contacts between the economic systems of Elam and P rsa played a role, but the intricacies of such contacts await further exploration (cf. Henkelman 2017a: 123-29).

4.4.3. Mirayauda: additional seals Several seals other than PFS 0024 and PFS 0018 that occur on the left edge of records in conjunction with the mention of Mirayauda have already been noticed. Most are attested only once and therefore defy analysis (PFS 1191, PFS 2288, PFS 2290, PFS 2894). Two others, PFS 0914 and PFS 0915, occur always with Mirayauda as supplier. The transactions vary as much as those associated with PFS 0024 and PFS 0018 do (travel provisions, sacricial commodities, rations and bonuses for

185

186

Of the four impressions on PF 1101, ‘PFS 1059’ (right edge) is in fact illegible. PFS 1058 recurs on PFUT 0684-101; PFS 1056 and PFS 1057 are attested only here. PF 1101 is different from Fort. 2563 and Fort. 0403-102 in three ways: it mentions Iršena as oversight ofcial (PN šaramanna, not PN damanna); it mentions “Bakša and his colleagues” as recipients on behalf of the workers; it uses the verb ummašša, “they acquired.” It appears that Bakša c.s. were acting as intermediaries between the granary and the representative of Iršena and all sealed the tablet to express their shared accountability. Of two remaining tablets sealed with PFS 0018 in the counter sealing protocol, PF 0349 concerns 600 l. barley for a bakadaušiya for Humban (cf. §4.4.1). The counter seal, PFS 0596, may belong to the ofciant, Pidaka, or the ofce of a higher religious or other authority. The other record, PF 0408, also has a counter seal attested only here, PFS 0648s. The text may relate to the production of leather (Potts & Henkelman [forthc.]).

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workers). PFS 0914 and PFS 0915 appear to be subsidiary supply seals used by the ofce of Mirayauda, but note that they once occur together (PF 0787): text

seal(s)

date

shape

supplier(s)

locality

PF

1774 1250 NN 0893

•PFS 0914; PFS 2240 •PFS 0914; PFS 1649 •PFS 0914; PFS 2294

(12m.)/19 (6d.)/XII/Ø Ø/Ø

tongue tongue tongue

Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda

/ / /

0787 0858 NN 0219

•PFS 0915; PFS 0914 •PFS 0915; PFS 2884 •PFS 0915; PFS 2240

I-XII/20

tongue tongue tongue

Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda

/ / /

NN

PF

NN

I/ Ø

(12m.)/Ø

Finally, four unsealed tablets mention the name of Mirayauda; all are relatively small, attened cones. All relate to travel, including PF 0829, despite the fact that this text does not explicitly mention journey or direction: text

seal(s) 187

1781 188 0829 189 NN 1803 190 PF 1396 PF PF

no seal no seal no seal no seal

date

shape

supplier(s)

locality

3/VIII/Ø

cone cone cone cone

Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda Mirayauda

/ / / /

IX/Ø XII/Ø Ø/Ø

As noticed at the beginning of this section, the ofce of Mirayauda can hardly be accused of sigillophobia. The very modest number of unsealed tablets associated with his storage facility at Umpuranuš correlates with the near-absence of his seals among uninscribed tablets: none for PFS 0018, only one for PFS 0024 (PFUT 0691105). Aramaic tablets sealed with PFS 0024 or PFS 018 have not been identied at all. The observation e contrario supports the tentative conclusion reached in the case of Bakumira and Katukka (§4.3.4): many uninscribed tablets and a number of Aramaic tablets relate to travel and corresponded to unsealed memoranda belonging to the same sphere. This leads to another inference in the case of Mirayauda: the relatively high number of supply seals associated with him and his ofce correlates with the apparent avoidance of unsealed tablets.

187

188

189 190

The recipient, Šakšaka (PF 1781), is perhaps the same as the homonymic travelling Indian of PF 1511 (XI/23). In both texts the travel direction is from P rsa to Susa. In PF 0829, Bakabada receives 140 l. our from Mirayauda; NN 0922 (X/Ø) concerns the same man but species that only 2 l. our is for him, the rest for 120 servants (puhu). Other texts with similarly high rations may refer to the same travelling Bakabada: PF 1562 (2 l. wine/d.), PF 1272 (2 l. beer/d.; IXel./23), PF 1438 (4 l. our [2d.?]). For the traveller Battišša (NN 1803) and his dealings with Mirayauda see n.173 above. Identity of Bakabada in PF 1396 with the lance-bearer receiving our from Mirayauda in NN 0885 (PFS 0018) is uncertain (cf. §4.4.2).

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4.4.4. Mirayauda: glyptic evidence The seal image of PFS 0018 (g.20) is a heroic encounter.191 The hero grasps winged, human-headed lions by a foreleg; the creature at right is ithyphallic. The hero wears trousers with a double-belt at the waist; diagonal folds (?) are indicated on the forward leg. The cutting style is mainstream Fortication Style. A particular characteristic of the carving on PFS 0018 is the exaggerated manner in which the human and animal heads are detached from the bodies. This trope is a common technique in the Fortication Style. The pants are a noteworthy, but by no means unusual, feature. PFS 0024 (g.19) is an unusual scene, a hybrid blend of the heroic encounter and hunt.192 The ‘hero’ grasps a rampant winged lion by a foreleg (at left) while stabbing with a spear a second such creature (at right). Only a handful other scenes exhibits a similar combination of the ‘hero’ grasping and spearing creatures. PFS 0026 (g.22) and PFUTS 0998, both executed in the Fortication Style as PFS 0024, are particularly close in compositional detail, although in PFS 0026 the winged creature being speared moves away from the ‘hero.’ All three seals have a prominent object(s) in the eld, stars on PFS 0026 and PFUTS 0998 (perhaps also on PFS 0024; the exact nature of the arrow-like device in the upper eld is unclear), a forked device on PFS 0024. On all three seals the creatures are rampant, and one or both of the creatures have exaggerated strides. The seals in fact may all come from the same workshop. PFS 0130 is another hybrid, but the dynamics of the scene are very different. The ‘hero’ on PFS 0024 appears to wear a long garment that carries three sets of diagonal lines on its lower part. The pointed extensions to either side of the torso on the upper part of the garment would seem to indicate a Persian court robe, sleeves pushed up to reveal the bare arms, but the treatment of the lower part of the garment would suggest some other type of garment. The scene on PFS 0024 is also notable for the forked object (bird in ight?) in the eld between the hero and the creature at right. The cutting style on PFS 0024 is conventional local Fortication Style. In summary, the two principal seals linked with Mirayauda, PFS 0018 and PFS 0024, are executed in the same cutting style, the Fortication Style, have somewhat similar scenes, and exhibit some unusual features of iconography (especially the garments).193

191 192 193

For PFS 0018, see Garrison & Root 2001: 82 n° 15. For PFS 0024, see Garrison & Root 2001: 421f. n° 298. The imagery on the two secondary seals associated with Mirayauda, PFS 0915 (animal combat?) and PFS 0914 (human with an animal), is very poorly preserved. See also the comments in §§6.2-3.

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5. Local information handling in Achaemenid Prsa: summary remarks Antimenes’ order to replenish the storehouses/ granaries along the royal roads, cited at the beginning of this paper, only offers a glimpse of an operation that was, in Achaemenid times, of undreamt complexity. If the resources the way stations drew from their hinterland were a burden, the logistic effort necessary to replenish all those administrative nuclei along the roads must have been the real challenge. That the stations sometimes doubled as district storehouses should be seen in this context and probably was a means to take pressure from the system. The Persepolis Fortification archive affords quantitative analyses on the volumes of staple commodities issued at (and previously made available to) each way station/storehouse, but also on other aspects of the royal roads dossier. The intensity of travel on certain stretches of the network can be calculated as can its variation throughout the year as a function of seasonal conditions and the presence or absence of the royal court. A third issue, that of information handling and accountability at the local centres, has been the focus of the preceding pages. Four locations were subject to detailed analysis, yielding profiles that are at once unique and local as well as revealing of general procedures and hierarchies. In view of the circumstance that sister-household comparable to that reflected by the Fortification archive existed elsewhere (§2.1), the results hold a certain predictive value for Achaemenid administration across the Iranian plateau and even beyond.

5.1. Form follows function Hallock’s tentative categorisation of Fortification texts based on both thematic and formal criteria obscures administrative elasticity (information can be presented or handled in several ways) and formal rigour (physical tablet formats relate directly to document status). The alternative approach here offered is not the only one possible, but has the advantage of marking the opposition between prescriptive and descriptive documentation and between full records and supportive documents (§2.5). Tablet format is an important factor in this approach and its pertinence is amply demonstrated in the four administrative profiles drawn up here. An old and thorny problem in the research on the Fortification archive is opposition between sealed tongue-shaped memoranda with two string holes and unsealed memoranda of various shapes and with a single string hole (§2.4). The fact that there are less than ten exceptions (single seal hole, yet sealed) in the entire edited corpus illustrates the importance of the distinction. Within the opposing categories, however, there was room for variation (conical, conoid, sub-rectangular, ellipsoid, ovate; single hole on the left or right side), which sometimes yield additional diagnostic features (§4.1.2). Unsealed memoranda produced at Pirdatkaš, for one, have a different shape for each of the joint suppliers Bakumira

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(ovate) and Katukka (conical; §4.3.3). Even the tongue-shaped form could be used, provided that it had one single string hole instead of two and was left unsealed (ibid.). In an extreme case, a scribe unaccustomed to the unsealed format used tongue-shaped tablets but rotated the text 90 degrees so as to mark them as different (§§4.2.4-5) The problem of the two tablet formats is aggravated by the existence of Aramaic and uninscribed tablets; these are tongue-shaped, but not full records (§§2.4-5). A hypothesis tested in this paper is that the tongue shape has a categorical value pointing to full descriptive records, yet that this status sometimes was realized only after the bundling of two documents by means of their strings. The case of the Pirdatkaš way station is the most pertinent one for this question. Bakumira and Katukka, the suppliers, issued tablets sealed with PFS 0048, but also unsealed tablets, the latter category exclusively relating to travel. Analysis of uninscribed (PFUT) and Aramaic (PFAT) tongue-shaped tablets sealed with PFS 0048 showed that these, too, relate to travel. The suggestion is therefore that tongueshaped Aramaic or uninscribed tablets were at some point bundled with unsealed memoranda providing key information, thus becoming full records (§4.3.4). Other cases offer support: the staff of the grain supplier at Uzikurraš, ‘sigillophobe’ Pirratamka, exclusively issued unsealed Elamite memoranda for travel provisions and used sealed tongue-shaped tablets for all other transactions. PFS 0142, a seal associated with Pirratamka and Uzikurraš, occurs regularly on uninscribed and Aramaic tablets. Of these, the second group again relates to travel (the uninscribed tablets in this case do not offer enough clues; §§4.1.1-2). A contrary case is also at hand: the small number of unsealed tablets issued by the storage facility at Umpuranuš correlates with the near-absence of the local supply seals PFS 0018 and PFS 0024 from uninscribed and Aramaic tablets (§4.4.3). This shows that way station staffs had different ways to cope with the bureaucratic demands. Use of unsealed tablets was not a must and Aramaic was perhaps not used at every way station. Moreover, much of the use of unsealed vs. sealed memoranda still eludes us, such as the near-absence of Elamite month names among the unsealed tablets (§2.4). That even Demotic could be used (§4.3.4) illustrates both the complexity of the system and the level of our ignorance.

5.2. Idiosyncratic scribes The material at hand shows a constant negotiation between centrally-imposed standards and local/individual idiosyncrasies. In the latter category some features are accidental, others perhaps intentional; both provide useful diagnostic features. Important officials travelled with their own staff. This was already known for Parnakka and Ziššawiš, director and deputy director of the Persepolis economy (§4.1.1), but it also applies to Basakka (ibid. n.68), Battišša (§4.4.1. with n.159,

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§4.4.2 n.173) and the holder of regional seal PFS 0003 (§4.1.1). All were highranking Persians on official duty. When touring their administrative region or travelling for specific purposes they had their own scribes with them and these issued tablets with form and ductus that set them apart from the local range of memoranda. In some cases the tablets have only a single seal, in others they follow the counter-seal protocol involving the local supplier’s seal. In both cases the staff of the grandee would essentially take control of local procedure, either issuing a tablet on their own account (single-seal protocol) or asking the supplier to role his seal on the tablet they were preparing (counter-seal protocol). As for local scribes, individual habits are detectable among both the sealed and unsealed memoranda. In the case of Pirratamka, for example, unsealed memoranda in the form of a cone 1) mention the place name Uzikurraš, 2) mention the supplier’s name in the spelling HALpír-ra-tam0-ka4, and 3) use the formula miyatukkam PN-na kuzza, “he carried a travel authorisation from PN.” Sub-rectangular unsealed tablets, by contrast, 1) do not mention the place name, 2) spell Pirratamka’s name as HALpír-ra-da-u-ka4, and 3) use the different but equivalent formula halmi PN-na kutiš(ša) (§4.1.2). Although such scribal habits were probably unintentional, they presumably would have enabled local staff, but not outsiders, to tell which scribe had produced a given tablet, if that question would arise. Perhaps the desire to distinguish between different scribes underlies the rapid succession of four different seals at another way station, that of Haturdada at Kurdušum. Four seals, PFS 0107, PFS 0010, PFS 0055, and PFS 0023 were used there in chronological sequence. Each change of seal is correlated with a different set of scribal habits including marked/unmarked suppression of the supplier’s name, use of Old Persian, Elamite, Elamite-‘Susian’, or no month names, etc. (§§4.2.1-4). In the case of Mirayauda at Umpuranuš, there is a succession of two main seals (PFS 0024, PFS 0018), again coinciding with different scribal habits such as the choice of particular verbal forms (§§4.4.1-2). Such differences, as in the case of Pirratamka, appear to have been unintentional and have no consequences for the bureaucratic process, but they do point to the arrival of new scribes. The correlation of new scribes with the introduction of new seals is surely not coincidental, but its implications as yet uncertain. Given the abundant evidence for seals impressed on the tablet’s left edge as tokens of the agency and authority of the supplier or his office, it is unlikely that the seals used at Kurdušum and Umpuranuš were brought by each new scribe as more or less personal seals. More likely, Haturdada and Mirayauda commissioned office seals and handed these to members of their staff, apparently with the intention to demarcate the term and output of each scribe or team of subalterns. That does not explain, however, why scribes arrived in such rapid succession at Kurdušum. Were they rotated on purpose?

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5.3. Matrix management and its elasticity Although the outlines of Persepolitan ‘matrix management’ have been know for some time, the present research adds a number of observations, notably on hierarchies, subsidiary protocols and the degree of elasticity the system could tolerate. The centralized household economy centred on Persepolis operated a matrix setup to monitor the flow of commodities and the involved officials at various levels in an intricate hierarchy. Officials of the ‘logistics & rationing’ branch typically outranked those of ‘storage & supply,’ but the paperwork the latter produced nevertheless provided a check on the former. Additional control was exercised by roaming auditors and by central review of local memoranda. The formulae PN šaramanna, “for PN to apportion” (i.e. under responsibility of PN) and PN damanna, “for PN to assign,” are markers of agency pointing to logistic oversight officials whose designations and ranks varied (§2.6.). Such officials could instruct several suppliers in the same district to issue commodities, as demonstrated by the case of seal PFS 0068 (§4.4.2). More than one šaramanna official could be active in the same district. Like šaramanna and damanna the term kurman is not a designation but a marker of agency; unlike šaramanna and damanna, which are probably supines, kurman is a nominal apposition to the stated commodity and emphasizes the material side of the transaction (§3.1). Whereas šaramanna and damanna mark administrative oversight, kurman signifies administrative transfer (§3.2). As such, late Neo-Elamite and Achaemenid formula kurman PN-na, “allocation for/from PN,” is akin to older PI+PÍR (or IGI+PÍR) PN. As for the background of kurman, the ubiquitous spelling kur-mán (99% of over 4000 cases) could point to an original logographic notation KUR+SAL for *kur-mut(u)0 or *kur-mat0, a rendering of Akkadian kurmatu, kurummatu (“food allocation, ration”), which perhaps was also the Elamite reading of PI+PÍR. According to this hypothesis, the understanding of the form kurman as [kur.ma.n] and the appearance of the cognate verb kurma- are the result of lexicalisation and back formation (§3.1). Individuals occurring in the kurman PN-na formula greatly outnumber those marked by šaramanna or damanna (§2.6.). The reason is that different officials would be responsible for stores of grain, wine, etc.; a single storage facility could have several suppliers, often with a clear division of responsibilities. Thus Haturdada and Ummanana were colleagues at the granary of Kurdušum, but Haturdada typically issued flour, whereas Ummanana was in charge of beer. Illustrating their close cooperation, Ummanana could act under the office seal of Haturdada or under his own seal; occasionally Haturdada would borrow Ummanana’s seal (§4.2.5.). Other forms of local cooperation are also in evidence. The granary at Umpuranuš, for example, coordinated the delivery of both grain and wine for the sacrificial feast known as bakadaušiyam; in order to express this bureaucratically,

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the grain supplier Mirayauda exceptionally impressed his seal on the reverse of a memorandum carrying the seal of the local wine supplier Parsauka (§4.4.1). Some supply officials had broader competences and were connected to more than one storage facility. Indications for hierarchies in the ‘storage & supply’ branch also appear from analysis of the designations borne by suppliers, such as grain master, wine master, and fruit master (§§7.1-3). The hierarchy, moreover, was not static: there are a few glimpses of career paths of suppliers (§§4.1 with n.63, 4.3.2, 4.3.5). There is a possibility that the ranks of suppliers and logistics officials were formalized in a territorial hierarchy characterised by terminology – decury, century, chiliarchy – borrowed from military context, but more research is necessary to corroborate this suspicion (§2.6). That there was some kind of territorialadministrative hierarchy is not in doubt, however, as the case of Kurdušum shows. This place was the centre of a small district, which was part of a larger division for which a certain Mištanna/Huštanna/Uštanna was responsible (šaramanna), in turn included in an administrative province known as the Fahliy n region, which was a subdivision of Achaemenid P rsa. The appišdamanna, a particular kind of estate, held by Mištanna/Huštanna/Uštanna, perhaps was the administrative centre of the second territorial level (§4.2.5). Standard procedure could be altered when the circumstances demanded so. This was the case, among others, when provisions for the itinerant royal court had to be issued. In that context, a logistics official could act as de jure supplier and be mentioned as such in the relevant memoranda; the scribe could make the special procedure explicit by noting the name of the de facto supplier and his designation (such as tumara, grain master; §3.3). Another such notation involved a form of the verb kurma-, “to allocate,” for the de jure supplier and the usual kurman PN-na formula for the actual supplier (ibid. n.57). A different, more exceptional procedure could be deployed when commodities had to be delivered, but the responsible šaramanna official could not receive them on behalf of a group of workers or animals. In such cases, a supplier could do an allocation to self and his staff would issue a record for the fictitious transaction (§3.3). This divergent notation once more shows that the system had a certain elasticity which allowed it to accommodate unusual situations. In yet other cases, local scribes sometimes opted to adapt standard notation to signal a particular area in the supplier’s regular duties. They could suppress the kurman PN-na formula and instead introduce the supplier as recipient or as origin (PN-ikmar) of commodities transported to or from his stores. Confusion was excluded, as the official supplier seal was still impressed on the tablet’s left edge (§§4.2.2-3, 4.3.1). The bureaucratic notation was an optional precision; other storage centres used the kurman PN-na also in case of transports. More than anything else, the review of four important way stations and storage centres has shown how granular and complex the network of such places was.

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Kurdušum, produced roasted barley, sesame oil, beer, and flour, a profile that justifies the translation “storage complex” for baribaraš, the term for the local facility. Pirdatkaš routinely produced Elamite and Aramaic documents, but could also process Demotic ones. Other way stations may have been simpler, but participated in the same connected world of protocol and procedure. This study has focused on local and idiosyncratic ways of information handling, but the bigger picture remains the underlying uniformity that existed across wide distances.

6. Suppliers in Prsa: glyptic synopsis The ve high-occurrence supply ofcials/ofces discussed in this study are represented by seven principal seals and two secondary seals. Pirratamka rarely used a seal, while Haturdada and Mirayauda used multiple seals: Pirratamka Haturdada Barušiyatiš and Katukka Mirayauda

(PFS 0142?) PFS 0010; PFS 0023; PFS 0055; PFS 0107 PFS 0048 PFS 0018; PFS 0024 (secondary seals: PFS 0914; PFS 0915)

In considering the seals of these kurman ofcials/ofces within Persepolitan glyptic as a whole, several patterns emerge.

6.1. Seal matrix With the exception of PFS 0048, the seals are smallish cylinders typical of Persepolitan glyptic as a whole.194 It seems signicant that none of the seals, principal or secondary, are stamp seals. Cylinder and stamp seals occur on all three document types in PFA, Elamite, Aramaic, and uninscribed: stamp seals constitute approximately 14% of the legible seals on the Elamite documents, 34% of the legible seals on the Aramaic documents, and 29% of the legible seals on the uninscribed documents.195 The lack of stamp seals among these nine seals associated with the high-occurrence supply ofcials/ofces included in this study seems thus not 194 195

See the comments in Garrison & Root 2001: 471-83. These gures modify those in Garrison 2017: 51f. The higher percentage of stamp seals on Aramaic and uninscribed tablets may indicate that these document types are closely related. A high percentage of the stamps seals that occur on the Elamite documents belong to travellers (46% in case of the Elamite documents published by Hallock 1969; see Garrison 2008: 181f.). Compare the remarks above, §4.3.4, on the relation between unsealed memoranda and sealed uninscribed or Aramaic tablets.

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fortuitous. The phenomenon would appear to reect the preference on the part of the vast majority of seal users who are administrators entrenched within the agency (as opposed to individuals passing through the system) for cylinder seals.196

6.2. Style Five of the seals representing supply ofcials/ofces, PFS 0055, PFS 0024, PFS 0018 (gs.12, 19-20), PFS 0914, and PFS 0915, are executed in the local Fortication Style. The remaining four each represents a different carving style. PFS 0107 (g.10) is executed in an abstracted cut-and-led style. PFS 0023 (g.13) represents an interesting blended style incorporating a slightly more modelled version of the local Fortication Style with an abstracted cut-and-drilled rendering of the animal heads. PFS 0010 (g.11) is executed in a style difcult to qualify within the context of Persepolitan glyptic, perhaps Fortication Style but with an overlay of elaborate detailing that is reminiscent of some Assyrian seals (§4.2.2). Lastly, PFS 0048 (g.17) is executed in a rich version of the Persepolitan Modelled Style. The Fortication Style is by far and away the most common cutting style in Persepolitan glyptic, representing approximately 50-70% of seal designs.197 The substantial number of seals cut in the Fortication Style among the seals of the high-occurrence supply ofcials/ofces is perhaps then to be expected. That only one seal, PFS 0048, is executed in the Persepolitan Modelled Style, the second most commonly occurring cutting style at Persepolis, is noteworthy. Moreover, the version of the Persepolitan Modelled Style on PFS 0048 is a rather elaborate and baroque one, rarely documented in the glyptic from PFA and having close stylistic associations with one of the most striking seals in the archive, PFS 0016*, the seal of the director Parnakka. It is just as important to note what cutting styles we do not see among these seals. With the notable exception of PFS 0048, the Modelled Style is not present; the Court Style is completely absent. 196

197

Garrison (2017: 51f.) discusses in more detail the use of stamps seals in PFA. The statement concerning the preference for cylinder over stamps by administrators entrenched within the agency is a general one. Exceptions exist. There are, e.g., a few supplier seals that are stamps. The most commonly occurring ones are PFS 0039s, associated with a granary at Kaupirriš (Aperghis 1998: 46; Henkelman 2017a: 93), PFS 0070s, associated with a granary at Pirraššetaš (Aperghis 1998: 46; Koch 1990: 92, 268, 272; Henkelman 2010: 705 n.142), and PFS 0087s, associated with a granary headed by Zinini. Note also PFS 0857s, apparently the personal seal of Kambarma (Gobryas), a large and magnicently carved stamp seal (Root 1990: 130f., g.13); Gobryas was not ‘entrenched’ within the local PFA economy (Garrison 2017: 64). See the comments of Garrison & Root 2001: 491-96.

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6.3. Composition A range of compositional formulae are encountered in the nine seals linked with the high-occurrence supply ofcials/ofces here studied.198 The most common compositional formula is the heroic encounter (PFS 0010, PFS 0018, PFS 0024). There are additionally one animal combat (PFS 0915), two heraldic animal scenes (PFS 0023, PFS 0055), one animal le (PFS 0107), a and one fragmentary scene with a human and an animal (PFS 0914). The distribution of scene types, as with cutting style, among the supply seals shows a few irregularities when compared to Persepolitan glyptic as a whole. The heroic encounter (of the control and combat sub-types) is the most popular compositional type in Persepolitan glyptic, representing at least 18% of the legible seals. The three heroic encounters among the nine supplier seals here studied thus would seem in keeping with expectations (although a higher percentage than in the archive as a whole). Heraldic animal scenes are very popular at Persepolis; thus, PFS 0055 and PFS 0023 (gs.12-13) seem right at home. Animal les, as on PFS 0107 (g.10), are rare. Even more rare are single animal studies on cylinder seals such as we see on PFS 0048 (g.17). Perhaps most noteworthy among the compositional types of these nine seals are 1) the relatively few animal combats (denitely only on PFS 0915); 2) the complete absence of archer scenes; 3) the complete absence of cultic scenes. Animal combats are almost as numerous as the heroic encounter in Persepolitan glyptic. Archers and cult scenes are, after the heroic encounters, the two most popular scene types that include human gures in Persepolitan glyptic. Several of the scenes of the nine supply seals exhibit unusual compositional features. PFS 0010 (g.11) is oddly congured and the combination of a hero with a sh-creature is, moreover, unique. The hero who holds and spears creatures in the design on PFS 0024 (g.19) is extremely rare within the corpus of heroic encounters in Persepolitan glyptic. Lastly, as noted, PFS 0048 is almost exceptional among cylinder seals, both within the seals of the supply ofcials here studied and Persepolitan glyptic as a whole, owing to its composition: a single hump bull marchant.

6.4. Iconography Overall, the iconography of the nine supply seals is very much in keeping with what we see in Persepolitan glyptic. Human gures are bearded and generally wear the Assyrianising garment that leaves the forward leg exposed. This Assyrianising garment is by far and away the most common garment type in Persepolitan glyptic. 198

The exception being, again, PFS 0048 (see below).

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Unusual are the trousers worn by the hero on PFS 0018 and the long garment worn by the hero on PFS 0024. Most of the animals/creatures are typical of the menagerie documented in Persepolitan glyptic. The sh creature on PFS 0010 is, however, unique; the various devices disposed in the eld on PFS 0010 are also unusual within Persepolitan glyptic. The humped bull (as distinct from bulls without humps) on PFS 0048 is extremely rare. Perhaps the most interesting observation concerning the seals representing the high-occurrence supply ofcials/ofces here studied is the complete lack of any court-centric iconography such as Persian court robes, dentate crowns, quivers, date palms, winged symbols, human-headed bulls, and winged bulls.199 While this absence may seem to be purely a reection of the lack of the Court Style engraving among this group of seals, it is in fact quite common for court-centric iconography to occur in seals executed in various Persepolitan glyptic cutting styles, especially the Fortication Style and Mixed Styles II (Garrison & Root 2001: 19). Lastly, none of the supplier seals here studied carries an inscription. Inscribed seals are generally rare in Persepolitan glyptic (6% of the seals in the corpus).200

6.5. Seal imagery and socio-administrative hierarchies As noted previously (Garrison 2014b: 491-95), Elamite documents from PFA contain several metrics for determining socio-administrative hierarchies, including: – ration level received by administrators – linkage with historical personalities (inscriptions, Graeco-Roman tradition) – issuance of halmi, “sealed document(s), letter order(s)” – designations (kurdabattiš, “chief of workers,” tumara, “grain master,” etc.) – indications of administrative role (kurman PN-na, PN šaramanna, etc.) 201 – seal protocols (counter sealing vs. singe-seal protocol) – linkage with one, several, or many place names – general complexity (or lack thereof) of administrative prole

It is absolutely clear that there existed within Persepolitan glyptic distinct types of imagery that signalled high rank/status seal users.202 Diagnostic features include specic types of carving styles, compositions, and iconographic formulae. Previous 199 200

201 202

Cf. the comments of Garrison 2010; idem 2011a; idem 2013; idem 2014a. On inscribed seals in Persepolitan glyptic, see Garrison 2000: 127-29; idem 2006: 7072; idem 2011a: 57-61; idem 2017: 61, 77, 102, and index s.v. inscribed seals. See Garrison 2014: 495, with references to previous discussions of sealing protocols. Garrison (2014a; idem 2014b) explores this linkage of glyptic imagery and socio-administrative rank/status in more detail (expanding an initial exploration in idem 1991).

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studies have been able to identify distinct ‘glyptic proles’ for at least two groups of high-end seal users: members of the royal family and the families that had been involved in Darius’s rise to power; high-rank administrators who have no apparent blood/conjugal connection to these families. Despite the critical and highly visible role that supply ofcials proper play within PFA, the general (at times unexpressed) consensus among commentators has been that the individuals who staff these supply ofces were not of high administrative rank.203 Our study of ve high-occurrence supply ofcials has shown that while there is a good deal of variation in the scope of their responsibilities, in general they would best be characterized as mid-level managers. This administrative prole would seem to be conrmed by the metrics listed above to identify ofcials of high rank in the Elamite texts. None of the ve high-occurrence supply ofcials here studied receive high rations, can be linked with individuals named in the Graeco-Roman sources or Achaemenid royal inscriptions, issue letter-orders, or take positions of logistic oversight (PN šaramanna, PN damanna). The designations linked with supply ofcials (grain master, wine master, fruit master, storekeeper; cf. §7) appear to be used in a hierarchy, but that hierarchy belongs to the mid-levels of administration, not to the higher echelons. Also, only a handful of tablets exhibit the single-seal protocol with known supplier seals implying that their users were not normally authorized to secure transactions on their own account. The glyptic prole of the principal and secondary seals of the ve highoccurrence supply ofcials is, with one exception (PFS 0048), very consistent and conventional. These supply seals are small cylinder seals. Most of them are cut in the local Fortication Style. While some features of the imagery may be attempts to make some of these seals stand out, e.g., the unusual compositions on PFS 0024 and PFS 0026, the sh creature on PFS 0010, etc., overall the imagery is quite standard within the corpus of Persepolitan glyptic. This glyptic prole is distinct from the glyptic proles of the high rank/status individuals articulated in previous studies. Of the many characteristic features of seals used by those within the upper socio-administrative spectrum, the most striking ones that are missing among the seals of the high-occurrence supply ofcials include: large size of the seal matrix; oft-times complex and/or unique compositions; use of heirloom seals; strongly Assyrianising elements of iconography, style, and/or composition; Modelled Style carving; Court Style carving; court-centric iconography; inscriptions.204 Exceptional among the seals of the high-occurrence supply ofcials is PFS 0048 (g.17). As noted, the theme, a single humped bull marchant, executed on a cylinder seal is unique within Persepolitan glyptic as a whole and the carving style, 203 204

See §3.3 above on šaramanna ofcials who step into the supplier’s role. See Garrison 2014a-b. These features do not all appear on any one seal, but constitute a range of items encountered in the imagery deployed by these high-end seal users.

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a baroque version of the Persepolitan Modelled Style, is distinctive. Such accomplished carving in this particular idiom calls to mind the carving style of PFS 0016*, a seal belonging to Parnakka, the director of PFA. The unique theme in combination with its carving style would then seem to associate PFS 0048 with the glyptic proles of seals belonging to individuals of high socio-administrative rank/status. The dossier on PFS 0048 indicates that, while it certainly represents a supply authority, it has a relatively complex administrative application. It occurs with pronounced frequently on the Aramaic and uninscribed documents. The two individuals associated most often with the seal, Katukka and Bakumira, may have divided the administrative portfolio of their storehouse among themselves, Katukka being predominantly associated with travel, Bakumira mostly with non-travel contexts. Lastly, the facility where PFS 0048 was used exceptionally produced a tablet inscribed in Demotic. All in all, the prole of PFS 0048 and the administrators associated with it suggest relative importance and complexity in comparison with other dossiers on suppliers and their seals. It seems thus more than fortuitous that the most exceptional authority among this group of high-occurrence supply ofcials/ofces is represented by a most exceptional seal, PFS 0048.205 The size, cutting style, and almost unique imagery link PFS 0048 with the seals of individuals of very high socio-administrative rank/status. Both textual and glyptic evidence indicates that the administrative authority represented by PFS 0048 would appear to have been quite substantial. It may be signicant that, in considering seals associated with supply activity in PFA as a whole, the great majority of them appear to be ofce seals rather than personal seals (cf. Garrison 2017: 67-71). This certainly seems to be the case for the majority of the high-occurrence supply seals here studied. The wealth of data linking seal imagery with specic individuals within the Fortication and Treasury archives offers the potential to collate hierarchies of imagery with hierarchies of rank and status (cf., e.g., Garrison 2014a-b). The case study of ve high-occurrence supply ofcials indicates that it may be possible, through an analysis of the quality and characteristics of glyptic imagery, to identify administrative, social, and/or political hierarchies well below the highest levels of the social spectrum at Persepolis. Similar analyses may be possible for certain tight clusters of ofcials for whom we have extended documentation. Within Persepolitan glyptic, preliminary analyses of seals representing accounting ofcials, a particularly circumscribed type of activity in PFA, and seals belonging to ofcials exercising logistic oversight, individuals who wield various types of oversight authority on work-groups, are yielding encouraging results along these lines.206 205

206

Certainly, in reading seals on tablets from the archive, PFS 0048 literally leaps off of the surface and is instantaneously recognized. Mikoajczak 2010; Garrison & Henkelman [forthc.].

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7. Appendix: designations of suppliers Concluding summary statements in journals and accounts in PFA typically state the local hierarchy jointly responsible for the information recorded. The name of the supplier is a standard part of this and is cited in the kurman PN-na formula, with a specic designation, or both. The designations for suppliers are rare in memoranda, as the kind of commodity in combination with the kurman PN-na formula would make their mention superuous. Exceptions occur where confusion needed to be avoided. The most prominent of such contexts is that of the provisions for the royal court, which may state the names of the de jure and the de facto supplier (cf. §3.3). Hallock, recognizing the importance of the summary statements of the journals and accounts, identied the following designations for suppliers:207 tumara “grain handler” GEŠTIN-kutira “wine carrier” ~ apparnabara (ukba)hamitiya “(assistant) fruit handler” ~ miktam huttira/kutira, “fruit maker/carrier”

Hallock additionally recognized ambarabarraš as a general term for “storekeeper,” pointing out that ofcials with this designation handled a variety of commodities. He did not include a term for suppliers of livestock, although certain royal provision texts suggest the use of batera, lit. “herdsman,” hence “livestock master.”208 The use of the supplier designations is illustrated by PF 1980, a report-account on stores at a ‘fortress’ or fortied settlement (halmarraš) named Hištiyanuš. The text is divided in three sections naming, respectively, Maturza the GEŠTIN-kutira in connection to wine (ll.1-11), (Uk)šušturra the tumara in connection to barley (ll.1120), and Maraza the ukbahamišiya in connection to fruit (ll.21-31).209

7.1. Grain master Ofcials qualied as tumara are unambiguously associated with the handling of grain (notably barley and our), hence Hallock’s tentative “grain handler.”210 No

207

208 209

210

See Hallock 1969: 57f.; see also Hinz 1971: 285-97, Koch 1990: 219, Aperghis 1999: 155, 157f., and Tamerus 2016: 267. See PF 0692, PF 0693, NN 0506, NN 1525, and Fort. 1642-001. On the text see Grillot 1987: 69-71; Aperghis 1997b: 279, 284-87; Kuhrt 2007: 850f.; Tamerus 2016: 273f., 280-88; Stolper 2017b: 755. A closely similar text is NN 2289. The word is usually spelled (HAL)tu-ma-ra, rarely AŠ/GIŠtu-ma-ra, HALtu-mar-ra, HALtu4ma-ra; plural forms are HALtu-ma-ip, HALtu4-ma-ip. No cognates or pre-Achaemenid attestations are known; an etymology is not at hand. Hinz 1971: 287f. proposed “Cerealien-Kommissar” (cf. EW s.v. hh.tu-ma-ra), Grillot 1987: 70f. “préposé aux grains.”

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Old-Iranian equivalent is attested in PFA, but *yavavara-, lit. “barley carrier,” known in Aramaic transcription, appears to be a functional synonym.211 The term tumara occurs in memoranda on royal provisions and in summary statements of journals and accounts.212 Beyond that, it is attested only sporadically. A transport of barley to Dutaš is said to have been received by Zisukka the tumara who elsewhere occurs as grain supplier at Dutaš and a few nearby places. Similarly, a number of individuals named as tumara in connection to royal provisions at certain places can be identied with homonymous individuals acting as grain suppliers at those sites.213 The same applies to persons mentioned in journals and accounts as tumara, sometimes in the formula kurman PN tumara-na, “allocation(s) from PN the grain master.”214 It does also occur, however, that a separate supply

211

So Henkelman 2010: 751 n.306 and Tuplin 2017: 642 in reference to ywbr in document (ll.2f., 20, 35, 59) in Naveh & Shaked 2012: 198-212 (see ibid. 26, 28, 206 and Tuplin o.c. 662-69 for discussion). Koch’s suggestion that the Iranian equivalent to tumara is ambarabarraš (*hambrabara-; Tavernier 2007: 425 [4.4.7.58]), “storehouse manager” (Koch 1990: 112 n.474, 219; EW s.vv. am-ba-ra-bar-ráš, hh.tu-ma-ip) rests on a) the occurrence of a certain Makuš as tumara (PF 1945:20f.) and ambarabarraš (PF 1974); b) on the general occurrence of both terms in the same position in summary statements in journals and accounts. As Hallock (1969: 57f.) pointed out, persons designated as ambarabarraš deal with various commodities; those known as tumara do not. If the ambarabarraš had a broader and perhaps overarching authority, it would not surprise that the word sometimes occurs where otherwise tumara is found. The purported match of Makuš the tumara and Makuš the ambarabarraš is doubtful as the geographical contexts are different and two homonymic individuals may be at stake. Zisukka, tumara receiving barley at Dutaš: NN 1435; exchanging a barley surplus at Dutaš: NN 0460; barley supplier (kurman PN-na) at named locations: PF 0945, Fort. 1647-102 (Dutaš), Fort. 2343-101 (Dutaš & Uššakampan), Fort. 0427-101 (Uranduš). The following four cases are the clearest among texts on royal provisions: Miššabada, tumara at Persepolis (PF 0701) = grain supplier at Persepolis and Matezziš (NN 1601, NN 1602, NN 1935); Haturka, tumara at Bessitme (PF 0708) = grain supplier at Bessitme (PF 0670, PF 1037, PF 1332, NN 1495); Mirayauda, tumara at Umpuranuš (PF 0709) = grain supplier at Umpuranuš (PF 1101, Fort. 2563; cf. §4.4); Parru, tumara at Bessitme (NN 0919) = grain supplier at Bessitme (PF 0009). A clear case is that of Šaššukba, supplier and tumara at Dautiyaš (NN 0576:20-22, kurman PN tumara-na) who recurs as grain supplier at the same place (PF 0244, kurman PN-na). Harzakka, tumara (PN tumara) at Ibat (NN 2658:35-36) is the same as the grain supplier (kurman PN-na) at Ibat (PF 0459, PF 0460, PF 1670, PF 1707, NN 0288, NN 0388, etc.). The Šedda who occurs as tumara (PN tumara) at Kurakka (NN 2658:35-36) and once more as supplier and tumara at the same place (PF 1968:13, PN tumara; ibid. l.20, kurman PN-na ) can be connected with homonymic supplier (kurman PN-na) in PF 0376, PF 0587, NN 1723 (see Henkelman 2005: 161 n.51; idem 2008a: 312f. n.718). C4

212

213

214

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ofcial (kurman PN-na) is mentioned besides the tumara, which presumably points to a hierarchy between various ofcials in the ‘storage & supply’ chain.215

7.2. Wine master One of several compound terms with the agent noun kutira, “carrier,” a GEŠTINkutira is not so much a “wine carrier” but rather an ofcial in charge of handling and storing wine, a “wine master.” Not only do virtually all texts mentioning the term involve wine, but the connection is also borne out by specic contexts such as the deployment of a GEŠTIN-kutira at a royal wine storage.216 The compound itself supports this view as -kutira is a calque on Old Iranian -bara-, lit. “carrier, carrying,” which may form appellatives denoting people charged with a particular task such as *ganzabara-, “treasurer,” or *dtabara-, “judge.”217 Hallock (1969: 57) hinted at the possibility that the Iranian loan apparnabara is the functional equivalent to GEŠTIN-kutira since both denote ofcers dealing with wine. There is one case of a wine supplier variously denoted as apparnabara and GEŠTIN-kutira. The one-time occurrence of a hybrid form, appirnam-kutira, offers additional support, especially since the individual involved may be identied as a

215

216

217

Bakaparna, tumara at Kurakka (PN tumara; PF 1969:22) may be the same as the grain supplier active at Kušan (NN 1302), Uššakampan (NN 1776), and Harrutiš (NN 2274). See, e.g., NN 2487:27f., kur-mán HAL
ba-ad-da HALmar-ka4-zí-
ia-na HALmar-ka4-šá HAL tu-ma-ra, “…allocations from Badda of Murkaziš, Markaša (being) the grain master” (NN 2290:33-34, NN 2487:27-28 are similar) and NN 2211:37f., kur-mán HAL pár-ru-da-sa-na [AŠ]
an-man-taš a-ak HALsa-man-da HALtu-ma-ra-na, “… allocations from Parrudasana (at) Anmantaš and of Samanda the grain master.” For the royal wine storage (AŠpi-lu HALEŠŠANA-na) see PF 2001. The exception to the ubiquitous connection between GEŠTIN-kutira and wine is journal PF 1949 in which quantities of piripiri (perhaps a kind of gs) and pit (perhaps dates; Henkelman [forthc. 4]) are allocated by Kapruš the GEŠTIN-kutira (cf. n.219 below on apparnabara and fruit). On the term and functions of the GEŠTIN-kutira see also Koch 1990: 28, 219. It is possible that the travelling šapi-kutira of NN 1192 was a “grape carrier” (if šap means “grape,” as Hinz 1971: 295 proposed); if so, the word could be a functional equivalent to GEŠTIN-kutira. The name of the šapi-kutira, Atti, recurs as that of a wine supplier (kurman PN-na; PF 0258, PF 0613, PF 1171, PF 1616, PF 1617). Another hapax is the GEŠTIN-huttira, lit. “wine maker” of NN 0875, probably denoting another function than that of GEŠTIN-kutira. For more examples see Tavernier 2007: 414-37. On -bara- and -kutira see Henkelman 2011b: 592 n.52.

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wine supplier.218 Note, however, that the etymology of apparnabara is uncertain, and the term is relatively rare, being virtually conned to journals and accounts.219 Unlike apparnabara, GEŠTIN-kutira is attested in memoranda and letter orders, though not in connection with royal provisions. In a single memorandum and a few journals it is used in the kurman PN-na formula.220 In other cases it is used to identify individuals directed to issue wine (letter orders), receiving a transport of wine (memoranda), or being part of the trio of ofcials involved in local accounting (journals and accounts). A fair number of these individuals can be identied as wine suppliers in other texts, leaving little doubt that GEŠTIN-kutira, “wine master,” denotes supply ofcials handling and storing wine.221 Having said so, it deserves 218

In NN 0709 wine is qualied as kur-mán HALú-ba-a-ú-
na [GIŠ]ap-pár-na!-ba-ráš-na
har-iš-na-an, “allocation from Uba’una, apparnabara (at) Harišnan.” Compare HAL uk-ba-ia-
u-na hi-še GIŠGEŠTINMEŠ-ku-ti-ra, “a wine master named Ukbayauna,” in AŠ NN 0704, who is stationed in the same place ( ha-ir-šá-na; for the personal name see Tavernier 2007: 332 [4.2.1751]). The hybrid term ap-pír-na-am-ku-ti-ra occurs in NN 1018, a letter from Datapparna to Zinini and Napukka; there it denotes a certain Bakabadda. A wine supplier (kurman PN-na) of the same name occurs in PF 1773, allocating wine to Zinini, perhaps the same as in NN 1018. Bakabad(d)a as wine supplier also occurs in PF 0300, PF 1012, NN 0522:33' (journal), NN 0668, NN 1615 (mentioning Datapparna), and NN 1879. Other bearers of the designation apparnabara cannot easily be traced in the archive. Hinz 1973: 94 (also idem 1975: 33) surmised from the available contexts that apparnabara (HALap-pír-na-ba-ráš, AŠap-pír-na-bar-ra, HAL/GIŠap-pár-na-bar-ra, GIŠappár-na-ba-ráš, GIŠap-pár-nu-ba-ra, HALab-ba-ir-na-bar-ráš) must be connected with the handling of wine. He further suggested that the occasional use of the determinative GIŠ indicates a wooden object, but this argument is awed as Achaemenid Elamite GIŠ is broadly used for materials and material objects. His interpretation “Faßwart” for *p nabara- (i.e. *-p na-bara-) is unwarranted since cognates of *p na- mean simply “full.” Hinz recognized that the word is used in a developed sense, but his “Kellermeister” (ibid., cf. Tavernier 2007: 415f. [4.4.7.8], “head of the wine cellar”) appears too fanciful in reference to staff at rural sites in F rs. Two accounts on GIŠMAMEŠ, “gs?” (cf. Henkelman [forthc. 4]) mention Kullala apparnabara as supplier (PF 1983, PF 1984), perhaps pointing to syrup or another (semi-)liquid product from the fruit. kurman PN GEŠTIN-kutira-na in memoranda: NN 0675 (‹-na›); journals: PF 1949:16-17 (‹-na›), PFa 30:30, Fort. 0304-102:05-06 (kurman PN1 GEŠTIN-kutira PN2 ulliriri-na). Identiable suppliers include Nariyamana, GEŠTIN-kutira at Pasargadae (NN 2210) ~ supplier (kurman PN-na) in NN 0561, NN 0685, NN 1911 (Tikraš) and recipient in Fort. 2046-102:03-05 (Pasargadae); Ušaya, GEŠTIN-kutira in NN 1453 (Parmadan) ~ supplier (kurman PN-na) in PF 0674, PF 0675, PF 1114, NN 0306, NN 0784, NN 0870, NN 1844 (all Parmadan; other memoranda concern a series of other places); Datapparna, GEŠTINkutira and addressee in letter order PF 1788 ~ Datapparna addressee in NN 1093 (Persepolis) ~ supplier (kurman PN-na) in PF 0881, NN 0275, NN 0278, NN 1082, NN AŠ ha

219

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notice that some addressees of letter orders (Maraza, Yamakšedda, Šiyana) are connected to a range of locations and appear to have a more elevated status.222 As in the case of grain, the handling of wine appears to have had its own hierarchy.

7.3. Fruit master The terms hamišiya/°tiya and ukbahamišiya/°tiya occur exclusively in accounts and in connection with fruit. Hallock’s suggestion (1969: 57) that they may denote a “fruit handler” and an “assistant fruit handler” respectively is attractive, but remains uncertain in the absence of a convincing etymology.223 His further suggestion that hamišiya/°tiya may describe a function equivalent to miktam-kutira, lit. “fruit carrier,” and/or miktam-huttira, lit. “fruit maker,” needs qualication. By analogy with GEŠTIN-kutira (§7.2) the hybrid Iranian-Elamite form miktamkutira may have denoted people responsible for the administrative handling of fruit. The problem is that the term occurs only once and in a context that does not reveal its scope. The term miktam-huttira, by contrast, is more likely to denote people who were actually processing fruit, as is known from other contexts.224

222

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224

1091, NN 1846 (all Matezziš, near Persepolis) ~ GEŠTIN-kutira in journal Fort. 1355101:13' (Karakušan, Persepolis region). Maraza is addressed in PF 1806, PF 1807, and at least twelve more letter orders; these give him the designation GEŠTIN-kutira (cf. Henkelman 2017c: 289f.); he is probably the same as the Maraza who supplies wine at a range of places in the Persepolis region including Antarrantiš (NN 1330), Mandumattiš (PF 0905, Fort. 0254-102?), Matezziš (PF 0760, NN 1138, NN 1140), Rakkan (PF 0906, PF 0907, NN 1666, etc.). Similar proles apply to Yamakšedda and Šiyana (cf. Henkelman 2008a: 491f. nn.1136, 1139). The terms are spelled HALha-mi-ši-ia, °ti-ia, °da and (HAL)uk-ba-ha-mi-ši-ia, HALuk-baha-mi-ti-ia (HALha-me-ši-ia in Fort. 0121-101:16' and HALha-maš-ši-ia in Fort. 1784101:07'-14' may not belong here). Hinz (1971: 294f.; idem 1975: 28, 242) thought of *migya, “Obstler, Obstwart” and *upa-migya, “Vize-Obstwart,” but his proposal has met with scepticism (see Tavernier 2007: 506 [5.3.4.21-22], 510 [5.3.4.58-59]). On the two terms see also Koch 1990: 219. A travelling GIŠmi-ik-da-um-ku-ti-ra appears in PF 1305 as recipient of provisions in our. Because of the travel context he may literally be a “fruit carrier” (charged with transport of fruit; cf. the apple transporters of PF 1300), but the analogy with GEŠTINkutira remains more attractive. A miktam-huttira occurs in ve texts, four times as recipient of barley (PF 1941:11-12 [GIŠmi-ik-dím ‹hu-ut-ti-ra›], PF 1945:04-05, NN 1007:01-02, 12-13), once of MA, perhaps “gs” (NN 2486:23'). Linguistically equivalent to the hybrid form is the Iranian compound GIŠmi-ik-
da?-kur?-ra?, lit. “fruit maker” (*migda-kara-), which occurs only in Fort. 2050-101:11-14 (receipt of wine). Compare receipts of barley, tarmu, our and wine for preparing (with) fruit (miktaš ha huttašda, “he processed it with fruit”) such as PF 0413, PF 0414, PF 0415, and PF 0416.

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As for hamišiya/°tiya and ukbahamišiya/°tiya, both occur with the kurman PN-na formula and some bearers of the designations can be identied as fruit suppliers.225 It may therefore be assumed that the hamišiya/°tiya and ukbahamišiya/°tiya denoted ofcials charged with the responsibility for handling and storing fruit in the ‘storage & supply’ branch of the institutional organization. The existence of a deputy position (ukbahamišiya/°tiya) once again points to an internal hierarchy, but caution is in place here: two individuals are referred to as ukbahamišiya/°tiya in years after they were labelled as hamišiya/°tiya. The solution is probably that the central director of a fruit handling department (of an administrative region or ‘province’) was a hamišiya/°tiya and that all the local ofcials nominally were ukbahamišiya/°tiya, yet could also be called hamišiya/°tiya in scribal shorthand.226

7.4. Storekeeper The infrequent term kantira is largely limited to two contexts: receipts for provisions to the royal court, sealed by the royal commissioner (PFS 0007*) and short balance-statements texts sealed by a particular accounting ofce (PFS 0131).227 Its use thus appears to depend on the (higher) register of the scribes 225

226

227

In Fort. 2064-001:44 fruit is qualied as kurman Battikka hamišiya‹-na›, “allocations for/from Battikka.” Presumably the same Battikka occurs as fruit supplier (kurman PNna) in PF 0253. Similarly, Rumanda the hamida (kurman PN hamida‹-na›) in Fort. 2064-001:11) recurs as fruit supplier in NN 1962. Nappupu the hamišiya at Turrukurtiš (Fort. 1872-101, kurman PN hamišiya-na) may be the same as the supplier of MA, perhaps “gs,” at Ibariš (NN 0478, NN 1328; without GN: PF 1630, PF 1631, PF 1632). Kuntukka the hamišiya handling fruit in Anzamannakkaš (NN 2269, kurman PN hamišiya‹-na›) may have been the same as the wine supplier at Uyakkan near Anzamannakkaš (NN 2275, kurman PN-na), suggesting a dual role. For the exceptional case of Maraza, who appears to have been of a higher rank than most fruit handlers (despite his mention as ukbahamišiya/°tiya in PF 1979, PF 1980) and exercised oversight (PN šaramanna) over fruit as well as fruit trees, see Henkelman & Stolper [forthc.]. Harišnuya occurs in PF 1990 (Dar.15-17) as hamišiya, but in NN 1015 (Dar.18) as ukbahamitiya ([HAL]
uk[-ba]-
ha[-mi]-ti-ia); Battikka is mentioned as hamišiya in Fort. 2164-001:44 (Dar.15-17) and as ukbahamišiya in NN 2208 (Dar.20; HALuk-ba-ha ‹-mi›-ši-ia). Compare the uses of *ganzabara, “treasurer” and *upaganzabara, “deputy treasurer” in Achaemenid Arachosia and P rsa (Henkelman 2017a: 102-109, esp. n.84). Relevant royal provisions with PFS 0007* (and sometimes PFS 0066a/b/c*, the seals of the royal miller) are PF 0699, PF 0700, PF 0706, NN 0174, NN 0554, and NN 0797. In all these contexts, the kantira is the second man, mentioned after the de jure supplier (kurman PN-na; cf. §3.3). Balance statements with PFS 0131 are PF 0235, PF 0249, and NN 0198 (all single-seal protocol). The only other text with kantira is PF 0006, where kantira is used in apposition to the name of the supplier (kurman PN-na kantira-

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involved. This is also borne out in the comparison with kanti (AŠkán-ti, °du), the name of a storage locale, from which the agent noun kantira is derived. As opposed to kantira, kanti occurs regularly in PFA. Commodities stored at a kanti could be fruit (15x), grain (32x), and, perhaps, wine (NN 1861, reading uncertain).228 Individuals mentioned as kantira are without exception involved in the handling of grain. Most of them can be found in other contexts in the kurman PN-na formula, again in connection with grain.229 Given, however, the broader use of kanti as a locale where grain and fruit could be stored, kantira is probably a broad term for “storekeeper,” which partly overlapped with, and could therefore occasionally substitute, tumara, “grain master.” Two individuals known as kantira may be equated with namesakes mentioned as tumara.230

228

229

230

ikkamar, “allocations from PN the kantira”). The kandara of PF 1139 and NN 0431 is not a storekeeper (i.e. not a variant spelling of kantira), but an ethnonym (see Henkelman & Stolper 2009: 303; Henkelman 2017a: 58, 187-90, 210f.). Hallock (1969: 666, 674, 708) identied kanti as a synonym for balum and ambaraš (*hambra), both terms for storage locales; PFA contexts do not provide clear support for this (Henkelman 2008a: 398f.). On balum (perhaps a cognate of BAL/*palû in OldBabylonian Susa) see Henkelman 2008a: 398-400, Henkelman & Stolper [forthc.]; on ambaraš see Stolper 1977: 252-54. The following cases are reasonably certain: Nappupu, kantira (PF 0235, Šursunkiri) ~ supplier (kurman PN-na) in PF 0014, PF 0110, PF 0393, etc. (Liduma) and PF 1229 (Šursunkiri); Irdubama, kantira (PF 0249, Hidali?) ~ supplier (kurman PN-na) in PF 0360 (HALir-du-ip-ma), PF 0471, NN 0707, NN 1522 (all without GN); Kinimur, kantira (NN 0198, Rappišbena) ~ supplier (kurman PN-na) in PF 0055 (Liduma, Rappišbena), NN 1926 (Hunar), NN 2426, Fort. 0938-101, Fort. 1542-101, Fort. 2206-101 (all without GN). Appiyama, kantira (PF 0700) recurs only in NN 0354, where he receives roasted barley, probably in his capacity as supplier. For Muška and Zitrina see below, n.230; for ‘Pirrakamka’ (Pirratamka; PF 0699) see n.64 above. The Kar[…] who is kantira at Dašer in NN 0554 could be Karkiš (cf., e.g., PF 0476, PF 0479), Karru (cf., e.g., PF 1055), Karma (cf., e.g., PF 0423), or another person. Zitrina, kantira in NN 0174 (Irdunuttiš, here spelled AŠru-
du-in-
ma-ut-ti) is probably the same as the tumara in Fort. 0424-106:32, 35 (Marriš; see also Fort. 1892-101:21). Muška/Mišku, kantira in NN 0797 (Rudunmatti/Irdunuttiš) and PF 0706 (Irdunuttiš) may be the same as the tumara in grain account NN 0101 (no GN). Muška is also attested as grain supplier in PF 0004 (Persepolis), PF 0241, NN 0320, Fort. 0292-101 (Irišdumaka), PF 0250 (Makarkiš), NN 2583 (Hadamakaš), NN 0152 and NN 0720 (no GN preserved).

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g.1: NN 0859, obverse (2x), left edge, lower edge, reverse (2x), upper edge, and obverse

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g.2: NN 1108, obverse and NN 1110, obverse

g.3 (below): PF 1665, left edge (with PFS 0003) and obverse; composite seal drawing of PFS 0003

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PFS

0144

g 4: PF 1235, left edge (PFS 0142, PFS 0144), obverse, and reverse (2x; PFS 0143s, PFS 0144); composite seal drawings

PFS

0143s

PFS

0142

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g.5: PF 1411 (left edge, obverse, right tip); PF 1415 (obverse) and PF 1418 (reverse); PF 1419 (obverse) and PF 1420 (reverse); NN 2323 (reverse) and NN 2407 (obverse)

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g.6: PF 1421 (obverse, right tip) and PF 1426 (obverse, right tip)

g.7: PF 1428 (left edge, reverse, right tip) and PF 1429 (left edge, obverse, right tip)

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g.8: PF 1413 (left edge, reverse, right edge), and PF 1435 (left edge, obverse, right edge)

g.9: PF 1433 (left tip, reverse, right edge) and PF 1434 (left tip, reverse, right edge)

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g.10: composite seal drawing of PFS 0107; PFS 0107 on NN 2516

g.11: composite seal drawing of PFS 0010; PFS 0010 on PF 1519 (left edge)

g.12: composite seal drawing of PFS 0055; PFS 0055 on PF 0107 (left edge)

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g.13: composite seal drawing of PFS 0023; PFS 0023 on NN 2392 (left edge)

g.14: PF 1308, obverse (2x), left edge, reverse

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g.15: composite seal drawing of PFS 0040

g.16: composite seal drawing of PFS 0002

g.17: composite seal drawing of PFS 0048; PFS 0048 on PF 0315 (left edge)

g.18: PF 1350 (left edge, obverse, right tip) and PF 1355 (left edge, obverse, right tip)

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g.19: composite seal drawing of PFS 0024; PFS 0024 on PF 0313 (left edge)

g.20: composite seal drawing of PFS 0018; PFS 0018 on PF 1095 (left edge)

g.21: composite seal drawing of PFS 0068

g.22: composite seal drawing of PFS 0026

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–––– 1965b, The verbal nouns in Achaemenid Elamite, in: H.G. Güterbock & T. Jacobsen (eds.), Studies in honor of Benno Landsberger on his seventy-fth birthday April 21, 1965 (AS 16), Chicago: 121-25. –––– 1969, Persepolis Fortication texts (OIP 92), Chicago. –––– 1977, The use of seals on the Persepolis Fortication tablets, in: Gibson & Biggs (eds.), 127-33. –––– 1978, Selected Fortication texts, CDAFI 8: 109-36. –––– 1985, The evidence of the Persepolis Tablets. in: CHI 2: 588-609. HENKELMAN, W.F.M. 2002, Exit der Posaunenbläser: On lance-guards and lance-bearers in the Persepolis Fortication archive, ARTA 2002.007. –––– 2003, An Elamite memorial: The šumar of Cambyses and Hystaspes, in: AchHist 13, Leiden: 101-72. –––– 2005, Animal sacrice and ‘external’ exchange in the Persepolis Fortication tablets, in: H.D. Baker & M. Jursa (eds.), Approaching the Babylonian economy (Studies in the Economic History of First Millennium Babylonia 2 = AOAT 330), Münster: 137-65. –––– 2008a, The other gods who are: Studies in Elamite-Iranian acculturation based on the Persepolis Fortication texts (AchHist 14), Leiden. –––– 2008b From Gabae to Taoce: The geography of the central administrative province, in: Briant, Henkelman & Stolper (eds.): 303-16. –––– 2010, ‘Consumed before the King’ – The table of Darius, that of Irdabama and Irtaštuna, and that of his satrap, Karkiš, in: B. Jacobs & R. Rollinger (eds.), Der Achämenidenhof (CleO 2), Wiesbaden: 667-775. –––– 2011a, Parnakka’s Feast: šip in Prsa and Elam, in: J. Álvarez-Mon & M.B. Garrison (eds.), Elam and Persia, Winona Lake: 89-166. –––– 2011b, Cyrus the Persian and Darius the Elamite: A case of mistaken identity, in: R. Rollinger, B. Truschnegg & R. Bichler (eds.), Herodot und das persische Weltreich (CleO 3), Wiesbaden: 577-634. –––– 2011c, Of Tapyroi and tablets, states and tribes: The historical geography of pastoralism in the Achaemenid heartland in Greek and Elamite sources, BICS 54.2: 1-16. –––– 2012, Une religion redistributive : Les sacrices perses selon l’archive des Fortications de Persépolis, Religions & Histoire 44: 36-41. –––– 2013a, s.v. Persepolis tablets, in: R.S. Bagnall et al. (eds.), The encyclopedia of ancient history, Chichester: 5179-5181. –––– 2013b, Administrative realities: The Persepolis archives and the archaeology of the Achaemenid heartland, in: D.T. Potts (ed.), The Oxford handbook of Iranian archaeology, Oxford: 528-46. –––– 2017a, Imperial signature and imperial paradigm: Achaemenid administrative structures across and beyond the Iranian plateau, in: Jacobs, Henkelman & Stolper (eds.) 2017: 45-256. –––– 2017b, Humban and Auramazd: Royal gods in a Persian landscape, in W.F.M. Henkelman & C. Redard (eds.), Persian religion in the Achaemenid period (CleO 16), Paris: 273-346. –––– 2017c, Egyptians in the Persepolis archives, in: M. Wasmuth, Ägypto-persische Herrscher- und Herrschaftspräsentation in der Achämenidenzeit (Oriens et Occidens 27), Stuttgart: 273-99, pls.4-11.

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–––– 2018a, Elamite administrative and religious heritage in the Persian heartland, in: J. Álvarez-Mon, G.P. Basello & Y. Wicks (eds.), The Elamite World, London: 803-28. –––– 2018b, Precarious gifts: Achaemenid estates and domains in times of war and peace, in: F. Jullien (ed.), Guerre et paix en monde iranien: Revisiter les lieux de rencontre (Cahiers Studia Iranica 62), Paris 13-66. –––– [forthcoming 1], Nakht or in Persepolis, in: C.J. Tuplin & J. Ma (eds.), Aršma and his world: The Bodleian letters in context, vol.3: Aršma and Persepolis, Oxford. –––– [forthcoming 2], Local administration: Persia, in: B. Jacobs & R. Rollinger (eds.), A Companion to the Achaemenid Persian empire. –––– [forthcoming 3], This Wide Earth with Many Lands in it: Satrapal networks, royal roads, travel and transport in the Achaemenid empire. –––– [forthcoming 4], The fruits of Prsa, in: S. Balatti (ed.), Proceedings Kiel conference. –––– [forthcoming 5], Practice of worship in the Achaemenid heartland, in: B. Jacobs & R. Rollinger (eds.), A companion to the Achaemenid Persian empire. –––– [forthcoming 6], The pilpi of Gobryas: Achaemenid élites between Herodotus and the Persepolis Fortication archive. HENKELMAN, W.F.M. & JACOBS, B. [forthcoming], Roads and communication, in: B. Jacobs & R. Rollinger (eds.), A companion to the Achaemenid Persian empire. HENKELMAN, W.F.M., JONES, C.E. & STOLPER, M.W. 2006, Achaemenid Elamite administrative tablets, 2: The Qar-i Abu Nar tablet, ARTA 2006.003. HENKELMAN, W.F.M. & STOLPER, M.W. 2009, Ethnic identity and ethnic labelling at Persepolis: The case of the Skudrians, in: P. Briant & M. Chauveau (eds.), Organisation des pouvoirs et contacts culturels dans lese pays de l’empire achéménide (Persika 14), Paris: 271-329. –––– [forthcoming], Counting trees around Persepolis [contribution to a Festschrift]. HERZFELD, H. 1941, Iran in the ancient East: Archaeological studies presented in the Lowell Lectures at Boston, New York [reprint New York 1988]. HINZ, W. 1950a, Elamisches, ArOr 18: 282-306. –––– 1950b, review of G.G. Cameron, Persepolis Treasury Tablets (Chicago 1948), ZA 49: 347-53. –––– 1970, Die elamischen Buchungstäfelchen der Darius-Zeit, Orientalia 39: 421-40. –––– 1971, Achämenidische Hofverwaltung, ZA 61: 260-311. –––– 1973, Neue Wege im Altpersischen (GOF 3.1), Wiesbaden. –––– 1975, Altiranisches Sprachgut der Nebenüberlieferungen (GOF 3.3), Wiesbaden. JACOBS, B., HENKELMAN, W.F.M. & STOLPER, M.W. (eds.) 2017, Administration in the Achaemenid empire – Tracing the imperial signature (CleO 17), Wiesbaden. JONES, C.E. 1990, Document and circumstance at the city of the Persians [unpublished lecture presented at Ancient Art for the Twenty-First Century, San Antonio Museum and Trinity University, San Antonio]. JONES, C.E. & STOLPER M.W. 2006, Fortication texts sold at the auction of the Erlenmeyer Collection, ARTA 2006.001. –––– 2008, How many Persepolis Fortication tablets are there?, in: Briant, Henkelman & Stolper (eds.): 27-50.

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JURSA, M. 2010, Aspects of the economic history of Babylonia in the rst millennium BC: Economic geography, economic mentalities, agriculture, the use of money and the problem of economic growth (AOAT 377), Münster. KELDER, J. 2011, A new reading of Lydian laqrisa as “words” or “inscription” (?), NABU 2011/37. KOCH, H. 1983, Zu den Lohnverhältnissen der Dareioszeit in Persien, in: H. Koch & D.N. Mackenzie (eds.), Kunst, Kultur und Geschichte der Achämenidenzeit und ihr Fortleben (AMI Erg.bd. 10), Berlin: 19-50. –––– 1986, Die achämenidische Poststraße von Persepolis nach Susa, AMI 19: 133-47. –––– 1990, Verwaltung und Wirtschaft im persichen Kernland zur Zeit der Achämeniden TAVO Beih. 19), Wiesbaden. –––– 1993, Achämeniden-Studien, Wiesbaden. KUHRT, A. 2007, The Persian empire: A corpus of sources from the Achaemenid period, 2 vols., London. LEWIS, D.M. 1977, Sparta and Persia (Cincinnati Classical Studies ns. 1), Leiden. –––– 1985, Persians in Herodotus, in: The Greek historians – Literature and history: Papers presented to A.E. Raubitschek, Saratoga: 101-17. LIPISKI, E. 1975, Studies in Aramaic inscriptions and onomastics (OLA 1), Leuven. MALBRAN-LABAT, F. 1986, Le ‘semi-auxiliaire’ -ma, une nouvelle approche: Essai de dénition d’un champ sémantique, BSLP 81: 253-73. –––– 1995, Les inscriptions royales de Suse: Briques de l’époque paléo-élamite à l’empire néo-élamite, Paris. MAYRHOFER, M. 1971, Aus der Namenwelt Alt-Irans: Die zentrale Rolle der Namenforschung in der Linguistik des Alt-Iranischen (Innsbrücker Beiträge zur Sprachwissenschaft, Vorträge 3), Innsbruck. MIKOAJCZAK, T.K. 2010, Seals on journal and account tablets in the Persepolis Fortication archive (unpubl. MA thesis, University of Chicago). MÜLLER, H. 2005, Hemiolos: Eumenes II., Toriaion und die Finanzorganisation des Alexanderreiches, Chiron 35: 355-84. NAVEH, J. & SHAKED, S. 2012, Aramaic documents from ancient Bactria (fourth century BCE) from the Khalili Collections, London. NOKANDEH, J. & WOODS, C. (eds.) 2019, Persepolis, Chicago, Tehran: The world of the Persepolis Fortication Tablets, [Tehran]. POEBEL, A. 1938, The names and the order of the Old Persian and Elamite months during the Achaemenid period, AJSL 55: 130-41. POTTS, D.T. 2008, The Persepolis Fortication texts and the royal road: Another look at the Fahliyan area, in: Briant, Henkelman & Stolper (eds.): 275-301. POTTS, D.T. & HENKELMAN, W.F.M. [forthcoming], On animal hides and (pre-)tanning in the Persepolis Fortication archive [contribution to a Festschrift]. RAZMJOU, S. 2004, Project report of the Persepolis Fortication tablets in the National Museum of Iran, ARTA 2004.004. ROOT, M.C. 1990, Circles of artistic programming: Strategies for studying creative process at Persepolis, in: A.C. Gunter (ed.), Investigating artistic environments in the ancient Near East, Washington: 115-139.

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––– 1996, The Persepolis Fortication tablets: Archival issues and the problem of stamps versus cylinder seals, in: M.-F. Boussac & A. Invernizzi (eds.), Archives et sceaux du monde hellénistique (BCH supplément 29), Paris: 3-27. –––– 1998, Pyramidal stamp seals: The Persepolis connection, in: AchHist 11, Leiden: 25789. –––– 2003, Hero and worshipper at Seleucia: Re-inventions of Babylonia on a banded agate cylinder seal of the Achaemenid period, in: T. Potts, M. Roaf & D. Stein (eds.), Culture through objects: Ancient Near Eastern studies in honour of P.R.S. Moorey, Oxford: 249-83. –––– 2008, The legible image: How did seals and sealings matter at Persepolis, in: Briant, Henkelman & Stolper (eds.): 87-148. RUNNALLS, D. 1991, The parwr: A place of ritual separation?, VT 41: 324-31. SCHEIL, V. 1907, Textes élamites-anzanites, troisième série (MDP 9), Paris. SCHMIDT, E.F. 1957, Persepolis, vol. 2: The contents of the Treasury and other discoveries (OIP 69), Chicago. SCHMITT, R. 1979, The Medo-Persian names of Herodotus in the light of new evidence from Persepolis, AAH 24: 25-35. –––– 2011, Iranische Personennamen in der griechischen Literatur vor Alexander d. Gr. (Iranisches Personennamenbuch 5.5a = SBÖAW 823), Wien. SEIBERT, J. 2002, Unterwegs auf den Straßen Persiens zur Zeit der Achämeniden, Iranistik 1: 7-40. SPECK, H. 2002, Alexander at the Persian Gates: A study in historiography and topography, AJAH ns. 1.1: 7-234. STEIN, G.J. 2004, Persepolis Fortication tablets, The Oriental Institute 2003-2004 Annual Report 2004: 121-4. STEVE, M.-J. 1992, Syllabaire élamite: Histoire et paléographie (Civilisations du ProcheOrient, Philologie 1), Neuchâtel STOLPER, M.W. 1977, Three Iranian loanwords in Late Babylonian texts, in: L.D. Levine & T.C. Young (eds.), Mountains and lowlands: Essays in the archaeology of Greater Mesopotamia (BiMes 7), Malibu: 251-66. –––– 1978, šarnuppu, ZA 68: 261-69. –––– 1984, Texts from Tall-i Malyan, vol. 1: Elamite administrative texts (1972-1974) (OPBF 6), Philadelphia. –––– 1985, Entrepreneurs and empire: The Murašû archive, the Murašû rm, and Persian rule in Babylonia (PIHANS 54), Leiden. –––– 2003, Three stray Elamite tablets from Malyan, in: N.F. Miller & K. Abdi (eds.), Yeki bud, yeki nabud: Essays on the archaeology of Iran in honor of William M. Sumner (Cotsen Institute of Archaeology Monographs 48), Los Angeles: 201-208. –––– 2004, Elamite, in: R.D. Woodard (ed.), The Cambridge encyclopedia of the world’s ancient languages, Cambridge: 60-94. –––– 2017a, The Oriental Institute and the Persepolis Fortication archive, in: Jacobs, Henkelman & Stolper (eds.) 2017: xxxvii-lix. –––– 2017b, Investigating irregularities at Persepolis, in: Jacobs, Henkelman & Stolper (eds.) 2017: 741-823.

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–––– 2018, Atossa re-enters: Cyrus’s other daughter in the Persepolis Fortication texts, in: S. Gondet & E. Haerinck (eds.), L’Orient est son jardin: Hommage à Rémy Boucharlat (AI 58), Leuven: 449-66. –––– [forthcoming 1], The chronological boundaries of the Persepolis Fortication archive, in: P. Goedegebuure & J. Hazenbos (eds.), Festschrift for Theo van den Hout, Chicago. –––– [forthcoming 2], Numbered tablets in the Persepolis Fortication Archive. STOLPER, M.W. & TAVERNIER. J. 2007, From the Persepolis Fortication Archive Project, 1: An Old Persian administrative tablet from the Persepolis Fortication, ARTA 2007.001. TAMERUS, M. 2016, Elusive silver in the Achaemenid heartland: Thoughts on the presence and use of silver according to the Persepolis Fortication and Treasury archives, in: K. Kleber & R. Pirngruber (eds.), Silver, money and credit: A tribute to Robartus J. van der Spek on the occasion of his 65th birthday (PIHANS 128), Leiden: 241-90. TAVERNIER, J. 2007, Iranica in the Achaemenid period (ca. 550-330 BC): Lexicon of Old Iranian proper names and loanwords attested in non-Iranian texts (OLA 158), Leuven. –––– 2008, Multilingualism in the Fortication and Treasury archives, in: Briant, Henkelman & Stolper (eds.): 59-86. TOLONI, G. 1996, A proposito di *parwr / parbr, AION 56: 441-57. TUPLIN, C. 1987, The administration of the Achaemenid empire, in: I. Carradice (ed.), Coinage and administration in the Athenian and Persian empires (BAR 343), Oxford: 109-66. –––– 1998, The seasonal migration of Achaemenid kings: A report on old and new evidence, in AchHist 11, Leiden: 63-114. –––– 2008, Taxation and death: Certainties in the Persepolis Fortication archive?, in: Briant, Henkelman, Stolper (eds.), 317-86. –––– 2017, Serving the satrap: Lower-rank ofcials viewed through Greek and Aramaic sources, in: Jacobs, Henkelman & Stolper (eds.) 2017: 613-76. –––– [forthcoming], Commentary, in: C.J. Tuplin & J. Ma (eds.), Aršama and his world: The Bodleian letters in context, vol. 1, Oxford. VELÁZQUEZ MUÑOZ, J. 2016, Los caminos reales del Imperio Persa Aqueménida, Madrid. VALLAT, F. 1987, Le signe PI+PÍR dans les textes élamites de Malyan, NABU 1987/8. –––– 1994, Deux tablettes élamites de l’Université de Fribourg, JNES 53: 263-74. VAN DEN HOUT, T.P.J. 2005, On the nature of the tablet collections of attuša, SMEA 47: 277-89. VANNICELLI, P. 2017, Erodoto, Le Storie, vol. 7: Libro VII, Serse e Leonida, [Milano].

SEAL PRODUCTION AND THE CITY OF PERSEPOLIS* Henry P. Colburn (New York)

1. Introduction This paper is a tribute to Margaret Root as both a scholar and a teacher. Among her many achievements as a scholar her work on the seals preserved in the Persepolis Fortication archive stands out, not only for its comprehensive and ambitious scope, but also because of her determination to use the seals of this corpus as a means of studying the social conditions of Persepolis itself. This paper is a small contribution to this same undertaking. It is also a testament to her abilities and generosity as a teacher and mentor, since it is written by one of her latest students utilizing the dissertation research of her earliest. In other words, this paper could not have existed without both her scholarship and her teaching. The city of Persepolis is well known as an imperial capital, palatial complex, and administrative center for the Achaemenid Persian empire. Yet the extent to which it was an urban center, home to a large resident population as is typical of capital cities past and present, remains unclear. The remains of monumental structures, including a palace and pavilions, have been found in the plain directly below the Persepolis Takht (its citadel), but little in the way of domestic or residential buildings have yet been discovered. Furthermore, Rémy Boucharlat has argued in his contribution to this volume that aside from these structures the area leading up to the terrace was deliberately kept free of buildings in order to create a specic visual effect. Various explanations for this apparent absence of a residential quarter have been proposed over the years. In particular, scholars have wondered aloud if Persepolis was really a city at all, and have proposed instead that it was solely a ‘ritual city’ where certain religious rites were performed by the Great King, or a dis-embedded royal residence which, like Versailles, was located some distance from the nearest urban center. *

I am grateful to Mark Garrison and Beth Dusinberre for their invitation to contribute to this volume and their editorial feedback; to Margaret Root, Don Jones, Eric Olijdam, Ryan Hughes, and Judith Weingarten, as well as audiences in Ann Arbor and Seattle, for their advice and assistance on various aspects of this paper; and to Margaret Root and Mark Garrison for providing the images used in the gures.

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Ongoing eldwork in the Persepolis plain shows much promise for elucidating the city’s residential and production zones.1 This paper takes a complementary approach to the question by exploring the implications of the seals of the Fortication archive for understanding the urban character of Persepolis. Over three thousand individual seals are attested on these tablets, many of them carved in local styles particular to Persepolis. The diversity of this corpus is consistent with models of independent craft production, i.e., multiple independent workshops supported primarily by the sale of seals. If this assessment is accurate, there must have been a large enough demand for seals at Persepolis to support multiple workshops in the area. Although not everyone who acquired a seal at Persepolis necessarily lived there, those who purchased and used the seals on the Fortication archive probably represented only a fraction of the total population. This suggests that in addition to being an imperial capital Persepolis was a major residential city, even in its early years. This paper, thus, is a thought experiment, intended to show how theoretical considerations might assist in the interrogation of a data rich corpus like the Fortication archive.

2. The Persepolis perplex In an article memorably entitled “The Persepolis perplex: Some prospects borne of retrospect,” Margaret Root (1980) articulated one of the fundamental conundrums of Persepolis: the apparent absence of a city (see also Root 2015). Specically lacking is any evidence for a high population concentration, which, according to the criteria developed by Gordon Childe (1950: 9-11), is one of the crucial traits that distinguishes an ancient city from a village or other smaller settlement. Much of the early exploration and excavation of the site focused on the buildings on top of the Takht itself and various other palatial structures.2 These are typically what come to mind when one thinks of Persepolis. These structures are monumental in nature and presumably related to the activities of the Great King and his court. Certainly nothing about these remains suggests a residential function, at least not for the mass of people living and working in the area. The only possible exception is the garrison quarters identied by Schmidt at the eastern end of the Takht at the foot of the Kh-e Rahmat. But they are nothing on the scale of a residential quarter 1

2

See Boucharlat, this volume, for the most up-to-date discussion of recent eldwork at Persepolis. Mousavi 2012: 16-26; for early eldwork at Persepolis see idem 2012: 123-92. Herzfeld and Schmidt were apparently both interested in the environs of Persepolis (see Herzfeld 1928; Schmidt 1939: vii–ix, 98-129; idem 1953: 3); however, it seems both focused the bulk of their efforts on the Takht.

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and their function seems very much in keeping with other structures on the Takht, i.e., linked with the activities of the royal court (Schmidt 1953: 207-10). In general, less attention has been given to the areas immediately below the Takht, where a residential quarter might be expected. The buildings to the south of the terrace excavated variously by Ernst Herzfeld, Ali Sami, and Akbar Tajvidi are large and characterized by columned halls.3 If they were residential in nature they were inhabited by decidedly élite residents. Column bases from two of these buildings, H and F, feature Old Persian inscriptions (XPl and XPm respectively) naming Xerxes. One of them, XPm, states straightforwardly “King Xerxes declares: I made this tacara” (Lecoq 1997: 105-7, 259-61). This is the same as the text of XPj, recovered from the Treasury; the term tacara implies a palatial structure (idem 1997: 259). These inscriptions may suggest that these two buildings (at a minimum) in the Southern Quarter were associated with the royal complex on the Takht. Surveys in the vicinity of the Takht using a variety of techniques, including surface reconnaissance, magnetometry, and ground penetrating radar, have yet positively to identify a residential quarter, though there are tantalizing hints of settlement, such as occasional column bases and other worked blocks.4 In his contribution to this volume Boucharlat argues that the apparent absence of archaeological remains was deliberate and served to impress visitors to Persepolis by providing an unimpeded view of the terrace. The plain to north, west, and south of the Takht were kept free of large buildings and were instead planted with gardens, a visual strategy also apparently employed at Susa and Pasargadae. The most likely sites of habitation are the small clusters of mounds at Persepolis West (approximately one kilometer west of the terrace) and B-e F r z (another three kilometers further west). These mounds are datable to the Achaemenid period on account of ceramics and architectural fragments found on the surface.5 A joint Iranian-Italian project has recently begun work at Persepolis West; some of their preliminary results are suggestive of residential and industrial contexts. However, the only building published thus far is clearly monumental, and the pottery kiln discovered there has been dated to the second century BCE.6 Also, F r z has been identied with the toponym Matezziš, attested in the Fortication archive as being near Persepolis.7 One or both of these sites may have been the primary locus of residential activity at Persepolis for the city’s populace, whereas the Takht was site 3 4

5

6 7

Mousavi 2012: 26-41; Boucharlat, this volume. Tilia 1978: 73-91; Boucharlat, this volume; Boucharlat et al. 2012; Gondet 2011; Gondet et al. 2009. Tilia 1978: 73-91; Sumner 1986: 8-10; Gondet 2011: 185-303; Boucharlat et al. 2012: 259-68. See Askari Chaverdi et al. 2013; Askari Chaverdi & Callieri 2012. Sumner 1986: 20f., 23; Boucharlat 2003: 263.

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of the imperial palaces and courtly activity. Although the nearby mound of Estakhr, some ve kilometers north of the Persepolis Takht, was initially thought to have been a residential quarter for the city, little or no material of Achaemenid date has been recovered there.8 Finally, it is worth noting that in his description of the Macedonian sack of Persepolis following the battle of Gaugamela, Diodorus Siculus makes reference to private houses there: It was the richest city under the sun and the private houses (  ) had been furnished with every sort of wealth over the years. The Macedonians raced into it slaughtering all the men whom they met and plundering the residences; many of the houses belonged to the common people and were abundantly supplied with furniture and wearing apparel of every kind. (Diod. XVII.70.2; translation C.H. Oldfather)

Diodorus wrote some three centuries after the events he describes here, and aspects of his description of Persepolis are clearly wrong (Boucharlat, this volume). His remarks are too generic to be of much use for identifying residential areas and provide no specic information about the nature of Persepolis as a city. The seeming absence of a signicant population concentration at Persepolis has prompted alternate explanations of its purpose. One of these explanations, as said, is that Persepolis was a ‘ritual city,’ the site of important imperial and religious ceremonies, especially Nowr z, the Iranian New Year’s celebration.9 According to this interpretation during the rest of the time, when the king was absent, the site was not in use and thus largely vacant. This interpretation was informed primarily by a misreading of the reliefs on the Apadana. Prior to Margaret Root’s (1979) pioneering study of Achaemenid imperial art, these reliefs were understood to represent a specic event when delegates from throughout the empire were received by the Great King. Because the representation of this purported event was the main feature of the decorative program of the Apadana, it was assumed that it was paramount to Persepolis’ meaning and purpose. This idea is also informed to some extent by the fact that in the classical sources Greek envoys always met the Great King at Susa, whereas Persepolis was never mentioned, implying that the king and court were not normally there.10 The Nowr z hypothesis has now been thoroughly rejected for a variety of reasons.11 That rituals and ceremonies took place at Persepolis is undeniable, as such 8 9

10

11

Schmidt 1939: 105-21; Whitcomb 1979; Gondet 2011: 317-22. Pope 1957; Ghirshman 1957; Erdmann 1960; Razmjou 2010; references and discussion in Mousavi 2012: 52-54 and Root 2015: 11-14. Wackernagel (1925: 36-44) argues that the Greek phrase    actually refers to Persepolis, rather than going “to the Persians” more generally. See Root 1979: 278f.; Sancisi-Weerdenburg 1991; Wiesehöfer 2009.

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things occur at every ancient capital. But it is certainly overstating the case to suggest that such rituals were the site’s only purpose. Moreover, the contents of the Fortication archive demonstrate the existence of a much broader administrative apparatus than would be necessary only to facilitate seasonal royal visits for specic events and holidays, especially as the tablets indicate year round activity (Henkelman 2008: 124f.). And it is worth noting as well that the Great King’s presence in Persepolis (or Susa for that matter) does not appear to t any seasonal pattern (Tuplin 1998). Another explanation of the site has been that Persepolis was primarily a royal residence, far removed from the nearest urban center and really only inhabited when the Great King was present.12 This theory is not unreasonable, as there are many parallels for it in more recent history. The Palace of Versailles, for example, was built some twenty kilometers outside Paris. But as will be shown below this theory does not adequately take into account the evidence of the Fortication archive, which implies a great deal of activity, more consistent with a city than with a mere residence.

3. Seals in the Fortication archive The tablets of the Persepolis Fortication archive have been known since their excavation by Ernst Herzfeld in 1933, yet it is only recently that it has become possible to exploit them to write the social history of Persepolis the city. The archive was discovered by Herzfeld in the casemate wall of the Persepolis Takht, hence the modern appellation ‘Fortication archive.’13 By the most recent and thorough estimate, it consists of between 15,000 and 18,000 individual documents in the form of clay tablets (Jones & Stolper 2008). Around 70% of them are in Elamite, approximately one quarter are uninscribed but sealed, and about 5% are in Aramaic; additionally individual tablets in Old Persian, Akkadian, Greek and Phrygian have also been found.14 The documents that include dates span the years 509 to 493 BCE, early in the site’s history. The archive likely represents only a small fraction of the total documents produced in this sixteen year period; Henkelman (2008: 177-79) estimates that the Persepolis administration produced as many as 100,000 documents during this time. Presumably similar documents continued to be produced after 493 BCE, perhaps even until the site’s destruction in

12

13 14

Boucharlat 1997; idem 2007. Boucharlat has since revised this view considerably in light of new research; see idem, this volume. Garrison & Root 2001: 23-32; Razmjou 2008: 51-55; Henkelman 2008: 69-71. Henkelman 2008: 93-95; Garrison 2017.

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330 BCE.15 These documents record transactions, especially the disbursement of rations, though there are other types of documents as well. The procedure seems to have been for transactions to be recorded on tablets and sealed at the actual location of issuance, and then for the documents to be collected and brought to Persepolis for processing (Henkelman 2008: 136-71). These transactions took place at locations throughout the modern Iranian province of Frs, a region which appears to have been administered directly from Persepolis.16 The tablets of the Fortication archive preserve impressions of over 3500 seals.17 In 1988 Mark Garrison completed a doctoral dissertation at the University of Michigan in which he subjected 356 of these seals, those on the tablets published by Hallock (1969) featuring the heroic encounter motif, to a hand attribution study.18 As an analytical methodology hand attribution is better known for its application in the elds of Renaissance painting and Greek painted pottery. It has, however, also been used in studies of both Aegean and Near Eastern glyptic, primarily to identify stylistic groups as a means of elucidating stylistic developments and creating relative chronologies. Garrison’s work on the Fortication archive is distinct from these other studies in that his corpus has narrow temporal boundaries that are based on external chronological markers, meaning the artists and workshops he identies all operated roughly contemporanously. This makes it possible to use the results of his hand attribution study to consider the population of Persepolis. Although hand attribution is a technique familiar to most art historians and classical archaeologists, it is worth reconsidering briey how it works, since it is often criticized as being subjective, unscientic, or consisting primarily of value judgments. In essence hand attribution is the identication of patterns of isochrestic variation, i.e., variation in non-functional physical features, among individual objects.19 In the case of Greek painted pottery, these features are usually compositional and iconographic details and stylistic mannerisms that have no direct bearing on the scene depicted. On the theory that these variations result from habit, training, and muscle memory, patterns in these variations are then attributed to individual artists and craftsmen, or to groups, often referred to as ‘workshops,’ by 15

16

17

18 19

The tablets in the Persepolis Treasury archive, dating to the years 492-457 BCE, are part of a different but related branch of the administration; they attest, however, to continued seal use down to the middle of the fth century BCE (Garrison 2017). The precise administrative remit of the agency represented by the Fortication archive remains uncertain; see Henkelman 2008: 110-20. See also Garrison & Henkelman, this volume. This is the count of distinct seals as of the writing of this text; future research will certainly increase this number (Garrison, pers. comm., 2018). Garrison 1988; idem 1996a; the seals are published in Garrison & Root 2001. Morris 1993: 42-47; Garrison 1996a: 32-38.

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analogy with the organization of painters during the European Renaissance. It is crucial to recognize that even the most detailed attributions are modern constructs; the ‘Pig Painter,’ for example, represents a corpus of decorated ceramics that certain observers consider to have been painted by a single individual. There is no evidence for the existence of this individual beyond this corpus, and the attributions of individual objects to him is a matter of consensus, not of proof. But even if the individual attributions are not completely secure, this technique does provide a quantiable estimate for the size of a given artisanal population by measuring the overall degree of variation within that population. In his dissertation Garrison identies eight carving “styles,” fteen stylistic “groups” and seventy-three “subgroups.”20 His criteria for these groupings are explicit. For example, a subgroup which Garrison labels the “Artist of the Pendant Robe” includes six seals (PFS 0052, PFS 0095, PFS 0102, PFS 0301, PFS 0632, PFS 0741). These seals feature distinctive renderings of the Achaemenid “court garment” worn by the hero that features a thin, elongated torso anked by two swags of drapery; the heroes’ heads have curved jaw lines and large round eyes.21 The animals depicted on these seals are characterized by a distinctive S shape to their bodies and swells in their necks. Garrison associates thirty-ve of these subgroups with individual artistic personalities.22 This number provides a useful minimum estimate for the total number of seal carvers active during this period. Garrison also suggests that the fteen stylistic groups are probably best understood in the context of individual workshops (1988: 189-91). Not every group necessarily equates to an actual workshop. But this number provides a quantiable estimate for the size of the seal carving industry.23 Most of these workshops were probably located at Persepolis itself. Approximately half of the seals in Garrison’s subset are carved in what he has termed the “Fortication Style,” a style of seal carving known almost exclusively from the archive; the second most prevalent style, called “Persepolitan Modeled,” also seems to be largely specic to Persepolis.24 It is quite possible that some of these

20 21 22

23

24

Garrison 1988: 185-470; idem 1996a: 38-45; Garrison & Root 2001: 16-20. Garrison 1988: 363-68; idem 1996a: 39-42. Garrison 1988: 191; idem 1996a: 39. The rest are groups of similar seals, or miscellaneous seals that do not t into other subgroups within a broader stylistic group. Indeed, Garrison (1988: 190f.) writes that “in the case of a very large Group (…) it is impossible to know whether we have one very large workshop setting, or a close association of several smaller ones. In this case the individual workshops would show up at the next level, the Subgroup.” Thus fteen is perhaps best considered to be a minimum for the overall number of workshops in the years 509-493 BCE. See Garrison (2000; idem 2014a; idem 2014b) for various groups within the Persepolitan Modeled Style.

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workshops were located elsewhere in the region. Root (1999: 186f.) suggests there may have been a workshop at Pasargadae, since the lone cylinder seal excavated there appears to have been discarded before the carving was complete. Furthermore, the documents labeled by Hallock as category ‘Q,’ which record the disbursement of travel rations at stations along the royal road, attest to the use of seals outside of Persepolis. There is no reason to assume that all of these seals were made and sold at Persepolis itself, though, as discussed further below, craft specialization generally requires a signicant population in order to be economically feasible. Given the relative absence of other large population centers in the vicinity of Persepolis, it stands to reason that most of the workshops were located there.25 The documents in the Fortication archive refer to the movement of individuals between Persepolis and a wide variety of places throughout the empire, and presumably these individuals carried their seals with them wherever they went.26 Few Achaemenid seals have been excavated from controlled contexts, so it is difcult to determine their distribution throughout the empire (Dusinberre 2000: 163). There are a number of extant sealed archives from around the empire, but in general they include only a small number of seals carved in any of the Persepolis styles.27 This suggests that the seals produced at Persepolis were made primarily for a local market, rather than for export to other parts of the empire. This is signicant because the size of that local market is a valuable indicator of the size of the population of Persepolis. In order to get a rough sense of the size of this market, it is necessary rst to consider the nature of the operation of these workshops.

4. Contexts of seal production The archaeological study of craft production typically focuses on certain parameters, namely the degree of specialization, i.e., household vs. workshop pro25

26 27

See Henkelman (2012: 935-39) for a succinct overview of the archaeology of the imperial heartland. See Colburn (2013) for travel and movement in the empire. Overview in Garrison 2017. The well-known London Darius Cylinder in the British Museum (ANE 89132) now appears to be very similar to, if not identical with, PFUTS 0603 (Garrison 2014b: 90); however, its provenance (“Lower Egypt”) is by no means certain. PFS 0007*, a seal of the Court Style, occurs on a tablet from Susa (Garrison 1996b), and another Court Style seal, DS 2, appears in the Dascylium bullae (Kaptan 2002, 1: 107). An unprovenanced group of clay ‘tags’ (Henkelman et al. 2004) carry seals carved in what may now be identied as the imperial Achaemenid Modeled Style (Garrison 2017). In the case of these tags and of the Dascylium bullae, however, it is impossible to say where the act of sealing actually took place, so these documents do not attest to the use of certain seals in specic locations.

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duction, organization, i.e., independent vs. attached to an institution, such as the royal court, and scale, i.e., annual output and the size of a given production operation (Costin 2005). The evidence for seal production at Persepolis comes only from the impressions preserved on the tablets of the Fortication archive (and to a much lesser extent the smaller archive discovered in the Treasury). So it is useful to consider seal production in the Near East and the Aegean more generally. There is no particular reason to believe that the nature of seal production varied signicantly with time and place, though of course the generalizations made here need to be considered in light of the specic circumstances of Persepolis itself. The specialized nature of seal production in the Near East is suggested by the existence of words in Sumerian (BUR.GUL) and Akkadian (purkullu) for “seal carver.” These terms can refer to other sorts of stoneworkers as well, though it is probably the carving of stone vessels, an activity Porada has associated with the origin of the cylinder seal in Mesopotamia.28 The use of craft professions as identiers for individuals, as per a tablet from Alalakh naming carpenters, stonemasons, carpet weavers, leather workers, smiths, and a seal cutter, further implies the specialized nature of these activities (Dietrich & Lorentz 1970: 121). A Babylonian tablet dating to the reign of Cyrus records an apprentice contract wherein a slave belonging to a member of the Egibi family is entrusted to another slave (apparently of Cambyses himself), who was to teach him “the stones pertaining to the whole of the seal-cutter’s craft” for a period of four years.29 A Neo-Assyrian copy of an Old Babylonian school text makes reference to the “tongue” of the seal carver, presumably a reference to the profession’s technical jargon (Sjöberg 1975: 143). Seal workshops have been excavated at Mallia on Crete, Enkomi on Cyprus, and Nippur; additionally, a workshop for the production of steatite (or more accurately chlorite) objects including seals and vessels has been discovered at the site of Mleiha on the Oman peninsula.30 The Mallia, Enkomi, and Mleiha workshops are small, consisting of only one or two rooms of a few meters on a side; the one at Nippur is in a larger building, but it appears to have shared space with an administrative ofce of some kind. All four have higher quantities of uncut and unnished seals than the other buildings around them, suggesting they are indeed workshops. Likewise, sets of seal carvers’ tools have been recovered from Tell Asmar, Larsa,

28 29 30

519-21 s.v. purkullu; Porada 1977; see also Edzard 1959/60: 24; Loding 1981. Strassmaier 1890: 325; Porada 1968: 145 n.25; Lambert 1979; Dandamaev 1984: 285. For Mallia see Poursat 1996: 7-22; for Enkomi see Dikaios 1969-71: 99f.; for Nippur see Stone 1987: 78f.; for Mleiha see Mouton 1999. Schaeffer-Forrer (1983: 165 n.2) reports the discovery of a seal workshop at Ugarit, but apparently it has yet to be published. Sir Arthur Evans identied a workshop at Knossos on Crete, but this identication has since been refuted convincingly by Younger (1979).

CAD P

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and Ur.31 These tools, all of which were discovered in discrete containers, were designed for ne carving and drilling, which is consistent especially with seal cutting. The set from Ur was found in a grave, presumably that of its owner who was buried with the tools from which he derived his livelihood and his professional identity. All of this indicates that seal production was a specialized craft, requiring extensive training and specic tools, and therefore was likely to have taken place principally at the level of the production center (rather than the household). The evidence for the organization of seal production at Persepolis is mostly negative, but it does seem to point towards independent rather than attached production. The tablets in the Fortication and Treasury archives are equivocal; they include references to sculptors, woodworkers, and artisans, all of whom draw rations, but there are no specic references to seal carvers per se (Roaf 1980). And even if seal carvers were included among these artisans, this would only indicate they were employed by the palace on specic occasions. Moreover, the diversity of seal carving styles, as well as the fteen different groups identied by Garrison, is more consistent with independent craft production, as opposed to the more homogenous output of a single, centralized workshop under palace control (Costin 2001: 301-3). That said, one or more of these workshops, such as those producing seals in the Court Style and especially the royal name seals of Darius (Garrison 2014b), may well have been under the direct control of the palace. Meijer (2010) has recently compared seal carvers in the Ur III period to the painters of the Italian Renaissance, arguing that their work was commissioned by the royal court and other élite patrons, but that they were independent craftsmen. This is a reasonable scenario for Persepolis as well. That the seal carver and his apprentice mentioned above were both slaves does not change this, since at Babylon there is ample evidence for slaves operating essentially as independent craftsmen, with their owners simply taking a large share of the prots (Dandamaev 1984: 279-307). As for the scale of production, if the small size of the workshops excavated at Mallia, Enkomi, and Mleiha is any indication, seal carving operations were small, probably consisting of a master and a few assistants or apprentices. Certainly the physical dimensions of these workshops would have inhibited the presence of large staffs. Their actual output is impossible to gauge with any certainty. Modern experiments using copper tools have shown that quartz can be engraved reasonably swiftly using copper tools and an emery abrasive paste. Sax et al. (1998: 9) were able to le a 4 mm line on quartz in two to three minutes, and drill a hole in two

31

For Tell Asmar see Frankfort 1933: 47; for Larsa see Arnaud et al. 1979; for Ur see Woolley 1934: 206f.

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g.1: composite line drawing of PFS 0016* (courtesy M.B. Garrison & M.C. Root, Persepolis Seal Project)

minutes.32 As reconstructed from their impressions in the Fortication archive, Achaemenid cylinder seals are generally small, between 1.4 and 2.0 cm in height and between 0.8 and 1.1 cm in diameter (Garrison & Root 2001: 471-83). Based on this information a single cylinder seal could conceivably be carved in a day. Of course the seals in the Fortication archive vary greatly in terms of their elaborateness and complexity. For example, PFS 0016* (g.1), a seal belonging to Parnakka, the chief administrator at Persepolis, features deep carving, heavily modeled gures, and an inscription in Aramaic (Garrison & Root 2001, n° 22). The carving of the seal is incredibly detailed. The hero wears a fringed, double-belted Assyrian garment, and the lions have manes, musculature, dewlaps, and joints. Most seals in the archive, however, were nowhere near this elaborate. PFS 0573s (g.2), for example, is a stamp seal, approximately 1 cm wide, featuring an image of a creature of some kind. The creature’s eye and mouth are outlined, and perhaps also some antlers or horns, g.2: composite line but on the whole the seal is very simple. It could certainly drawing of PFS have been produced in a single day. There is no straight0573s (courtesy M.B. forward means of measuring the relative complexity of the Garrison & M.C. Root, seals in the Fortication archive, but in general most of the Persepolis Seal Project) seals fall in between these two extremes. Even if a cylinder seal could be produced in a day’s time, this does not necessarily mean that every seal carver (or even every workshop) produced 365 seals 32

Of course based on impressions alone it is impossible to determine what the Fortication archive seals were made of. According to Sax (2005: 144-46), more than half of the Achaemenid cylinder seals in the British Museum are made of quartz.

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per year. First, as noted above, some seals certainly would have required longer than a day to carve. This is very likely the case with PFS 0016*. Second, even though seal carving was a highly specialized profession requiring years of training, it is still possible that these carvers worked only part time. They may, for example, have also worked for the royal court on the extensive sculptural program on the Persepolis Takht (Garrison 1988: 190). The apprentice contract discussed in the previous section contains no mention of an off-season. Presumably if seal carvers were only active for part of the year, the contract would spell out what part of the year the apprentice was expected to learn his new trade and what he should do the rest of the time; but this contract reects conditions in Babylonia rather than Persepolis, where circumstances may have been different. The seal workshops operating at Persepolis between 509-493 BCE should be conceived of as small, independent operations, each employing a handful of specialized craftsmen to produce seals. It is not clear whether this production was year round or seasonal, full time or part time; but if Garrison’s stylistic groups are in fact separate workshops, even on a part time basis the output of fteen different workshops would still represent a signicant number of seals being produced and sold at Persepolis. As discussed further in the next section, this implies the presence of a sizable population there.

5. Demographic implications In The Wealth of Nations Adam Smith wrote that “the division of labor is limited by the extent of the market,” i.e., a craftsman can specialize in the production of a single product only if the market for that product is large enough to support him.33 According to this logic, if there were indeed multiple independent seal workshops at Persepolis, the market for seals there must have been large enough to support them. In other words, the output of these workshops was roughly commensurate with the demand for seals there. This demand was no doubt fueled by the extensive use of seals in the Persepolis regional administration, so most of the people who bought seals at Persepolis probably played some role in that administration.34 These people in turn must have been only a fraction of the city’s total population.

33 34

Smith 1774, Book I, chapter 3; see further Zhou 2004. The Fortication and Treasury archives are the records of governmental agencies, and therefore contain no clear evidence for private activity. The Akkadian document from the Fortication archive (Fort. 1786) records the sale of a slave at Persepolis during the reign of Darius I (Stolper 1984). Unfortunately its seal impression is illegible, but the very fact that it was sealed points to the possibility that there were seal users at Persepolis who were not necessarily associated with the administration.

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The seals used in the Fortication archive include both personal and ofce seals (Garrison [forthc.]). In general a person would only have one personal seal at a time. This is implied by the colophons on PF 2067 and PF 2068, which announce the replacement of Parnakka’s old seal (PFS 0009*) with his new one (PFS 0016*): “Also the seal that formerly (was) mine has been replaced. Now this seal (is) mine that has been applied to this tablet.”35 This was clearly a deliberate replacement; in general, seals, being made of hard stones such as quartz, did not easily wear out. Some seals in the Fortication archive continued to be used despite being chipped or otherwise damaged.36 Occasionally a single individual might use two seals at once. A lance-bearer named Zamuš appears to have used PFS 1189 on Elamite tablets recording the disbursement of rations and PFATS 0011 on Aramaic ones recording the disbursement of fodder for his animals (Azzoni & Dusinberre 2014: 6). Ofce seals were used by multiple people on behalf of an administrative unit. Some of these people would also have had personal seals of their own. PFS 0001* is an ofce seal used rst by Karkiš and then by Šuddayauda, who continued to use his personal seal, PFS 0032*, at the same time.37 But ofce seals must also have been used by people who did not have their own seals. PFS 0021 was used primarily by a kurman ofcial (supplier) named Karma to supply grain and/or our, but it was also used on a few occasions by the kurman ofcials Kabba and Puška on tablets referring to the disbursement of beer and of grain allocated for brewing.38 It may be that many of the regional storehouses that issued travel rations had only one or two ofcial seals, which were used by the entire staff as needed. At any rate, between personal and ofce seals it seems there were at least as many seal users as seals. Not all of these seal users lived and worked at Persepolis itself. As shown by the travel rations, the agency represented in the Fortication archive was responsible for a network of storehouses throughout the region. Over a hundred towns and settlements are mentioned in the Fortication archive. None, however, seem to 35 36

37

38

Hallock 1969: 639f.; Garrison 2014a: 504. Root 1999: 184f. Wallenfels (1996: 119) argues that at Hellenistic Uruk signet rings were used for an average of seven to eight years before being replaced. The reason for this seemingly high frequency of replacement is not clear and may have to do with practical, social, or cultural factors specic to that time and place. Garrison & Root 2001, n° 180, 182. Koch (1981) argues that there were two different people, both named Šuddayauda, one of whom used PFS 0001* as an ofce seal and the other of whom used PFS 0032* as a personal seal. Garrison 2017: 531-33. Garrison suggests that PFS 0021 may have been Karma’s personal seal, but came to be used by Kabba and Puška as an ofce seal, as their authority derived from Karma’s. This illustrates the difculty of distinguishing between personal and ofce seals in the Fortication archive, especially as this distinction may not have existed in antiquity. See also Garrison & Henkelman, this volume.

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have been signicant urban centers, and some of the more important sites, such as Hidali, have not yet been identied (Potts 2008: 291). Archaeological surveys in southwestern Iran suggest low population density in the region, especially compared to the second millennium BCE.39 So while the countryside was certainly inhabited, there is no reason to expect a large population of seal users in rural areas. Persepolis, on the other hand, was an administrative center as well as an imperial capital, and as such it likely had a high number of seal users in the form of bureaucrats and other ofcials. Some seals surely did leave the Persepolis region altogether. The recipients of travel rations recorded in the category ‘Q’ texts were often coming from or going to places much further aeld than the local area (Colburn 2013: 34). Some of them were likely not permanent residents of Persepolis and brought seals they had purchased from other areas. But as discussed earlier in this paper, the relatively low occurrence of Persepolitan seals in other sealed archives elsewhere in the empire suggests that the majority of these seals were used in the vicinity of Persepolis. At the same time some of the seals in the Fortication archive were clearly made elsewhere in the empire. For example, PFUTS 0143s*, PFUTS 0155s, PFATS 0300s*, and PFATS 0424s* all appear to be scarabs or scaraboid seals most likely produced in Egypt (Garrison & Ritner 2010). Additionally, antique or heirloom seals, such as PFS 0093*, the famous seal naming “Kuraš of Anzan, son of Šešpeš,” were also used at Persepolis.40 The seal users resident at Persepolis were only a fraction of the city’s total population, but it is difcult to say how large a fraction they were. The texts demonstrate ration disbursements might be made to an individual responsible for a larger group of dependent workers (kurtaš) or other people.41 The role and status of these workers in the social and economic life of Persepolis remains uncertain; they may have been slaves, war captives, conscripts, or even employees. They were supported by the administration and presumably worked on imperial projects of various kinds. But since the only evidence for their activities comes from the Fortication archive itself, there is naturally no record of their private actions, whatever those might have been. Some of them may well have had their own seals. Most of these groups contained fewer than twenty men, in addition to women and children, though some were considerably larger.42 For example, in PF 1262 Daddapirna receives 875 BAR (ca. 8750 l.) of our on behalf of a group of 118 ‘gentlemen’ and 173 servants (Hallock 1969: 360). Since their status is unclear, it 39

40 41 42

Henkelman 2012: 935-39. This low density may result at least in part from uncertainties in the identication of Achaemenid-period ceramics. Garrison & Root 2001: 17f. For PFS 0093* see Garrison 2011. Aperghis 2000; Henkelman & Stolper 2009. See tables in Uchitel 1989: 133-35.

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is arguable whether or not the workers in a kurtaš group should be considered part of the general population of Persepolis. But the frequent occurrence of texts in which one individual acts on behalf of a larger group provides some indication of the relative need for seals, at least as far as the Fortication archive is concerned, and it seems that only a certain subset of people required seals. Others may have owned and used seals too, but there is no evidence to indicate how and when this happened.

6. Summary To review, there are good reasons for supposing that seal users at Persepolis were only a fraction of the city’s overall population (g.3). First, the seals that were used/made there were either personal or ofce seals (or sometimes both). Usually, but not always, an individual owned only one personal seal at a time, and ofce seals were used by one or more people, depending on the ofce. A signicant portion of these seals were used at the storehouses, way stations, and other sites throughout the region; the remainder were used at Persepolis itself, where the regional administrative apparatus was headquartered, as was the royal g.3: schematic representation of the relationship court and presumably other between seal users in the Fortication archive and the administrative agencies as population of Persepolis; not drawn to scale. well. At Persepolis only a subset of the population needed seals on account of their positions within the administrative hierarchy; for every seal user there were other people who did not have or regularly use seals. Finally, with very few exceptions the seal users attested in the Fortication archive are men. Adult men normally constitute approximately one quarter of a given population, so the total population of Persepolis was presumably quadruple the combined number of men with seals and men without

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them.43 Considering, then, that there were multiple workshops producing and selling seals at Persepolis, and that seal users were only a fraction of the overall population there, it stands to reason there was a signicant resident population. The relationship between seal production and population is perhaps best illustrated by means of some quantiable estimates. These estimates are presented only for the sake of argument; they should not be treated as suggestions as to the scale of seal production or the size of the city. They do provide, however, a useful demonstration of the demographic signicance of the seal workshops at Persepolis. Garrison identied fteen stylistic groups, which he suggested might be the output of separate workshops. Assuming two of these workshops were located elsewhere in the region, there were thirteen operating at Persepolis itself. The output of a single workshop is impossible to gauge. Many of the simpler seals in the Fortication archive could probably have been carved in a single day, but it remains uncertain how often seal carvers worked at their craft. An output of twenty-ve seals per workshop per year (about one seal every two weeks) accommodates the possibility that these workshops operated on a part time or seasonal basis. A full time workshop would likely have a higher output, especially if its products were only as elaborate as, for example, PFS 0573s (g.2). Based on this estimate, thirteen workshops would have produced 5200 seals in the sixteen year period covered by the Fortication archive. If one quarter of these seals remained at Persepolis itself (the rest being used out in the broader region or going elsewhere in the empire), there were some 1300 seal users at Persepolis. For the sake of simplicity no distinction will be drawn between personal and ofce seals, but as noted above ofce seals could be used by multiple people, which would increase the overall number of seal users. These 1300 seal users were a subset of the total adult male population. It is impossible to say how large a subset they were. But the scanty evidence from the Fortication archive suggests there were people whose status inhibited seal use or made it unnecessary. Without getting into bigger questions of who these people were, it sufces to observe that they seem to have outnumbered seal users. If, for the sake of argument, one out of every three adult men at Persepolis had a seal, the adult male population was approximately 3900. Quadrupling this number to include women and children brings the total up to 15,600 people. This is a deliberately conservative estimate. Based on their approximate surface areas, Sumner (1986: 11f.) argues that the populations of the ancient settlements at Frz and Persepolis West were 24,000 and 2500 respectively. If these sites were indeed the location of the residential quarter at Persepolis, the estimate of 15,600 residents given here is too low. By comparison, the population of late Achaemenid Babylon has recently been put at 50,000, and Memphis in the Late Period likely did

43

See Akrigg 2011 for a discussion of ancient population structures.

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not exceed 36,000 people.44 This estimate also makes Persepolis’ population roughly commensurate with that of Umma during the Ur III Period, when it had become a provincial center rather than a major political power; Umma’s population at this time has recently been estimated as 20,000 (Adams 2008). All estimates of ancient populations are tenuous in various ways, but these comparisons suggest that the estimate derived from the seals in the Fortication archive is at least reasonable. In 493 BCE, Persepolis had only been in existence for about two decades, and even 15,600 people in twenty years would be an astronomical rate of growth for an ancient city. It is possible that much of Persepolis’ early population relocated from Pasargadae; and capital cities, in antiquity as in the present day, always attract immigrants because of the opportunities they offer and because they are typically also sources of charismatic authority. Rome is the most obvious ancient example of this principle. The population estimate itself is unimportant. The purpose of this thought experiment has been to show how hand attribution and a consideration of the contexts of craft production can contribute to a better understanding of Persepolis as a city. The diversity of carving styles and techniques in the seals of the Fortication archive are consistent with a sizable community of independent craftsmen, one which could only be supported by a large urban population. Though it is not readily apparent as yet where exactly this population lived, the working hypothesis must be that Persepolis, like most ancient capitals, was a major city in its own right and not solely a site for performing rituals of kingship or an isolated imperial residence that was occupied only seasonally. Indeed, the recent eldwork at Persepolis shows promise of locating and uncovering the city’s residential quarters. The seals of the Fortication archive, and their implications for the size of the city’s population, attest to the merits of this undertaking.

44

For Babylon see Boiy 2004: 229-34; for Memphis see Hassan 1993: 563f.

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COSTIN, C.L. 2001, Craft production systems, in: G.M. Feinman & T.D. Price (eds.), Archaeology at the millennium: A sourcebook, New York: 273-327. –––– 2005, The study of craft production, in: H.D.G. Maschner & C. Chippindale (eds.), Handbook of archaeological methodologies, Lanham: 1032-1105. DANDAMAEV, M.A. 1984, Slavery in Babylonia from Nabopolassar to Alexander the Great (626 to 331 BC), DeKalb. DIETRICH, M. & LORETZ, O. 1970, Die soziale Struktur von Alala und Ugarit (IV): die É = btu-Listen aus Alala IV als Quelle für die Erforschung der gesellschaftlichen Schichtung von Alala im 15. Jh. v.Chr., ZA 60: 88-123. DIKAIOS, P. 1969-71, Enkomi Excavations, 1948-1958, Mainz. DUSINBERRE, E.R.M. 2000 [2002], King or God? Imperial iconography and the ‘tiarate head’ coins of Achaemenid Anatolia, in: D.C. Hopkins (ed.), Across the Anatolian Plateau: Readings in the archaeology of ancient Turkey (AASOR 57), Boston: 157-71. EDZARD, D.O. 1959/60, Neue Inschriften zur Geschichte von Ur III unter Ssuen, AfO 19: 1-32. ERDMANN, K. 1960, Persepolis: Daten und Deutung, MDOG 92: 21-47. FRANKFORT, H. 1933, Tell Asmar, Khafaje and Khorsabad: Second preliminary report of the Iraq expedition (OIC 16), Chicago. GARRISON, M.B. 1988, Seal workshops and artists in Persepolis: A study of seal impressions preserving the theme of heroic encounter on the Persepolis Fortication and Treasury tablets (diss. University of Michigan), Ann Arbor. –––– 1996a, The identication of artists and workshops in sealed archival contexts: The evidence from Persepolis, in: M.-F. Boussac & A. Invernizzi (eds.), Archives et sceaux du monde hellénistique (BCH Suppl. 29), Athènes: 29-51. –––– 1996b, A Persepolis Fortication seal on the tablet MDP 11 308 (Louvre Sb 13078), JNES 55: 15-35. –––– 2000, Achaemenid iconography as evidenced by glyptic art: Subject matter, social function, audience, and diffusion, in: C. Uehlinger (ed.), Images as media: Sources for the cultural history of the Near East and the eastern Mediterranean (rst millennium BCE) (OBO 175), Fribourg: 115-63. –––– 2011, The seal of “Kuraš the Anzanite, son of Šešpeš” (Teispes), PFS 93*: Susa – Anšan – Persepolis, in: J. Álvarez-Mon & M.B. Garrison (eds.), Elam and Persia, Winona Lake: 375-405. –––– 2014a, The impressed image: Glyptic studies as art and social history, in: B.A. Brown & M.H. Feldman (eds.), Critical approaches to ancient Near Eastern art, Berlin: 481511. –––– 2014b, The royal-name seals of Darius I, in: M. Kozuh, W.F.M. Henkelman, C. Woods & C.E. Jones (eds.), Extraction and control: Studies in honor of Matthew W. Stolper (SAOC 68), Chicago: 67-104. –––– 2017, Sealing practice in Achaemenid times, in: B. Jacobs, W.F.M. Henkelman & M.W. Stolper (eds.), Die Verwaltung im Achämenidenreich – Imperiale Muster und Strukturen / Administration in the Achaemenid empire – Tracing the imperial signature (CleO 17), Wiesbaden: 517-80. GARRISON, M.B. & RITNER, R. 2010, From the Persepolis Fortication Archive Project, 2: Seals with Egyptian hieroglyphic inscriptions at Persepolis, ARTA 2010.002.

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GARRISON, M.B. & ROOT, M.C. 2001, Seals on the Persepolis Fortication tablets, vol. 1: Images of heroic encounter (OIP 117), Chicago. GHIRSHMAN, R. 1957, Notes iraniennes, 7: À propos de Persépolis, ArtAs 20: 265-78. GONDET, S. 2011, Occupation de la plaine de Persépolis au Ier millénaire av. J.-C. (Fars central, Iran) (diss. Université Lumière Lyon 2), Lyon. GONDET, S., DHEMAIED, A., MOHAMMADKHANI, K. & REJIBA, F. 2009, Geophysical investigations in the vicinity of the Persepolis royal terrace (Fars province, Iran), in: C. Benech, D. Fabre, A. Schmidt & A. Tabbagh (eds.), Mémoire du sol, espace des hommes (ArchéoSciences Suppl. 33), Rennes: 69-72. HALLOCK, R.T. 1969, Persepolis Fortication tablets (OIP 92), Chicago. HASSAN, F.A. 1993, Town and village in ancient Egypt: Ecology, society and urbanization, in: T. Shaw, P. Sinclair, B. Andah & A. Okpoko (eds.), The archaeology of Africa: Food, metals and towns, London: 551-69. HENKELMAN, W.F.M. 2008, The other gods who are: Studies in Elamite-Iranian acculturation based on the Persepolis Fortication texts (AchHist 14), Leiden. –––– 2012, The Achaemenid heartland: An archaeological-historical perspective, in: D.T. Potts (ed.), A companion to the archaeology of the ancient Near East, Chichester: 93162. HENKELMAN, W.F.M., JONES, C.E. & STOLPER, M.W. 2004, Clay tags with Achaemenid seal impressions in the Dutch Institute of the Near East (NINO) and elsewhere, ARTA 2004.001. HENKELMAN, W.F.M. & STOLPER, M.W. 2009, Ethnic identity and ethnic labelling at Persepolis: The case of the Skudrians, in: P. Briant & M. Chauveau (eds.), Organisation des pouvoirs et contacts culturels dans les pays de l’empire achéménide (Persika 14), Paris: 271-329. HERZFELD, E. 1928, Rapport sur l’état actuel des ruines de Persépolis, et propositions pour leur conservation, AMI 1: 17-40. JONES, C.E. & STOLPER, M.W. 2008, How many Persepolis Fortication tablets are there?, in: P. Briant, W.F.M. Henkelman & M.W. Stolper (eds.), L’archive des Fortications de Persépolis: État des questions et perspectives de recherches (Persika 12), Paris: 2750. KAPTAN, D. 2002, The Daskyleion Bullae: Seal images from the western Achaemenid empire, 2 vols. (AchHist 12), Leiden. KOCH, H. 1981, ‘Hofschatzwarte’ und ‘Schatzhäuser’ in der Persis, ZA 71: 232-47. LAMBERT, W.G. 1979, The training of a seal-cutter, RA 73: 89. LECOQ, P. 1997, Les inscriptions de la Perse achéménide, Paris. LODING, D. 1981, Lapidaries in the Ur III period: Written sources concerning stoneworkers (c. 2000 BCE), Expedition 23.4: 6-14. MEIJER, D.J.W. 2010, Seal cutters and palaces: A forced relationship?, in: P. Matthiae, F. Pinnock, L. Nigro & N. Marchetti (eds.), Proceedings of the 6th international congress of the archaeology of the ancient Near East, vol. 1, Wiesbaden: 849-62. MORRIS, C. 1993, Hands up for the individual! – The role of attribution studies in Aegean prehistory, Cambridge Archaeological Journal 3: 41-66. MOUSAVI, A. 2012, Persepolis: Discovery and afterlife of a world wonder, Berlin.

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MOUTON, M. 1999, Le travail de la chlorite à Mleiha, in: M. Mouton (ed.), Mleiha, vol. 1: Environment, stratégies de subsistance et artisants (Travaux de la Maison de l’Orient 29), Lyon: 227-43. POPE, A.U. 1957, Persepolis as a ritual city, Archaeology 10: 123-30. PORADA, E. 1968, True or false? Genuine and false cylinder seals at Andrews University, Andrews University Seminary Studies 6: 134-49. –––– 1977, Of professional seal cutters and nonprofessionally made seals, in: M. Gibson & R.D. Biggs (eds.), Seals and sealings in the ancient Near East (BiMes 6), Malibu: 7-14. POTTS, D.T. 2008, The Persepolis Fortication texts and the royal road: Another look at the Fahliyan area, in: P. Briant, W.F.M. Henkelman & M.W. Stolper (eds.), L’archive des Fortications de Pérsepolis: État des questions et perspectives de recherches (Persika 12), Paris: 275-301. POURSAT, J.-C. 1996, Artisans minoens: Les maisons-ateliers du Quartier Mu (Études Crétoises 32), Athènes. RAZMJOU, S. 2008, Find spots and nd circumstances of documents excavated at Persepolis, in: P. Briant, W.F.M. Henkelman & M.W. Stolper (eds.), L’archive des Fortications de Persépolis: État des questions et perspectives de recherches (Persika 12), Paris: 51-58. –––– 2010, Persepolis: A reinterpretation of palaces and their function, in: J. Curtis & StJ. Simpson (eds.), The world of Achaemenid Persia: Art, history and society in Iran and the ancient Near East, London: 231-45. ROAF, M. 1980, Texts about the sculptures and sculptors at Persepolis, Iran 18: 65-74. ROOT, M.C. 1979, The king and kingship in Achaemenid art: Essays on the formation of an iconography of empire (AI 19), Leiden. –––– 1980, The Persepolis perplex: Some prospects borne of retrospect, in: D. SchmandtBesserat (ed.), Ancient Persia: Art of an empire (Invited Lectures on the Middle East at the University of Texas at Austin 4), Malibu: 5-13. –––– 1999, The cylinder seal from Pasargadae: Of wings and wheels, date and fate, , in: R. Boucharlat, J.E. Curtis & E. Haerinck (eds.), Neo-Assyrian, Median, Achaemenian and other studies in honor of David Stronach, vol. 2 = IrAnt 34: 157-90. –––– 2015, Achaemenid imperial architecture: Performative porticoes of Persepolis, in: S. Babaie & T. Grigor (eds.), Persian kingship and architecture: Strategies of power in Iran from the Achaemenids to the Pahlavis, London: 1-63. SANCISI-WEERDENBURG, H. 1991, Nowruz in Persepolis, in: AchHist 7, Leiden: 173-201. SAX, M. 2005, The seal materials, their chronology and sources, in: P.H. Merrillees, Catalogue of the Western Asiatic seals in the British Museum, cylinder seals, vol. 6: PreAchaemenid and Achaemenid periods, London: 143-51. SAX, M., MCNABB, J. & MEEKS, N.D. 1998, Methods of engraving Mesopotamian cylinder seals: Experimental conrmation, Archaeometry 40: 1-21. SCHAEFFER-FORRER, C.F.-A. 1983, Corpus des cylindres-sceaux de Ras Shamra-Ugarit et d’Enkomi-Alasia (ERC synthèse 13), Paris. SCHMIDT, E.F. 1939, The Treasury of Persepolis and other discoveries in the homeland of the Achaemenians (OIC 21), Chicago. –––– 1953, Persepolis, vol. 1: Structures, reliefs, inscriptions (OIP 68), Chicago. SJÖBERG, Å.W. 1975, Der Examenstext A, ZA 64: 137-76.

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SMITH, A. 1776, An inquiry into the nature and causes of the wealth of nations, 2 vols., London. STOLPER, M.W. 1984, The Neo-Babylonian text from the Persepolis Fortication, JNES 43: 299-310. STONE, E.C. 1987, Nippur neighborhoods (SAOC 44), Chicago. STRASSMAIER, J.N. 1890, Inschriften von Cyrus, König von Babylon (538–529 v. Chr.), (BT 7), Leipzig. SUMNER, W.M. 1986, Achaemenid settlement in the Persepolis Plain, AJA 90: 3-31. TILIA, A.B. 1978, Studies and restorations at Persepolis and other sites of Fars, vol. 2 (ISMEO 18), Roma. TUPLIN, C.J. 1998, The seasonal migration of Achaemenid kings: A report on old and new evidence, in: AchHist 8, Leiden: 63-114. UCHITEL, A. 1989, Organization of manpower in Achaemenid Persia according to the Fortication archive, ASJ 11: 225-38. WACKERNAGEL, J. 1925, Griechische Miszellen, Glotta 14: 36-67. WALLENFELS, R. 1996, Private seals and sealing practices at Hellenistic Uruk, in: M.F. Boussac & A. Invernizzi (eds.), Archives et sceaux du monde hellénistique (BCH Suppl. 29), Athènes: 113-29. WHITCOMB, D. 1979, The City of Istakhr and the Marvdasht Plain, in: Akten des VII. internationalen Kongresses für Iranische Kunst und Archäologie (AMI Erg.Bd. 6), Berlin: 363-70. WIESEHÖFER, J. 2009, Nouruz in Persepolis? Eine Residenz, das Neujahrsfest und eine Theorie, in: E. Dbrowa (ed.), Orbis Parthicus: Studies in memory of Professor Józef Wolski (Electrum 15), Kraków: 11-25. WOOLLEY, C.L. 1934, Ur excavations, vol. 2: The Royal Cemetery, London. YOUNGER, J.G. 1979, The lapidary’s workshop at Knossos, BSA 74: 259-70. ZHOU, H. 2004, The division of labor and the extent of the market, Economic Theory 24: 195-209.

THREE SEAL ARTIFACTS FROM UYLUPINAR IN THE KIBYRATIS Deniz Kaptan (Reno)

1. Introduction Objects have always been carried, sold, bartered, stolen, retrieved, and lost. People 1 have always given gifts. It is how you tell their stories that matters.

In one of her many seminal publications, Margaret Cool Root explored the biographical narratives of a cylinder seal in cut and drilled style from Seleucia-on-theTigris in the Kelsey Museum of Art (2003: 249-79). By drawing inferences from the rich history of the cylinder from Seleucia, I will venture on a few possibilities to reconnect a small group of seal artifacts to their long-lost social contexts. On display in the Burdur Archaeological Museum in inland southwestern Turkey are two stamp seals and a pendant which catch the visitor’s eye as they have been displayed prominently with attractive Iron Age and Greek Archaic Period pottery in the same glass case. All are labeled as from Uylup nar by Lake Gölhisar in the Kibyratis.2 Some of the objects in the display case, including the stamp seals and the pendant presented in this paper (gs.1-3), are recovered items

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De Waal 2010: 348. It is with deep admiration and gratitude that I contribute to this volume celebrating Margaret Cool Root’s scholarship. Her thought-provoking approaches have been a source of inspiration for me. Margaret’s kind personality, generosity, and influential work will always matter most. This paper, an early version of which was read at the Kibyratis Conference in October 2012 in Vienna, benefited greatly from the painstaking work of Thomas Corsten in the region discussed here and his invaluable comments on an earlier draft. I am also thankful to the editors of the volume for their imput. Any errors or misrepresentations are solely mine. All photographs and drawings presented here are by the author. I would like to extend my heartfelt thanks to Hac Ali Ekinci, director of the Burdur Archaeological Museum, for granting permission to study this material, and to Alime Çankaya for her assistance during my work in the museum. The site of Uylup nar is being surveyed as a part of the Kibyratis Project by an interdisciplinary team under the directions of Thomas Corsten and Oliver Hülden. The site has also been explored by E. Dökü of Mehmet Akif Ersoy University, Burdur (Ekinci et al. 2009; Dökü 2013).

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from the looted burials of Uylupnar, a site that was pillaged by the local inhabitants extensively in the 1970s. I will rst briefly address how the artifacts were acquired by the museum and provide introductory information about Uylupnar, and then attempt to place them in their plausible historical and cultural settings.

2. The testimony of the museum records According to the museum records the ellipsoid, BrS 1 (g.1a), and the pyramidal seal, BrS 2 (g.2a), were acquired on June 12th, 1974 from Hüseyin Aksoy, a resident of Uylupnar and then mukhtar of the village, acting in liaison with the authorities when illicit excavations on the necropolis site were reported.3 Along with the seal artifacts, BrS 1 and BrS 2, Mr. Aksoy delivered nineteen additional objects consisting of ceramic unguentaria, askoi, gurine fragments, loom weights, glass beads, and a bronze bracelet, noted in the museum records as “predominantly from the Roman period.”4 The pendant with gold wire suspension, BrS 3 (g.3), was acquired a year later, on 30 June 1975, from Ismail Eraslan, also a resident of Uylupnar. Unfortunately, there is no other associated material received by the museum on the same date from Mr. Eraslan.

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g.1a: BrS 1 from Uylupnar (Burdur Archaeological Museum, B 248 20 74) seal prole and back

g.1b: seal face and drawing after a modern impression of BrS 1

The abbreviated reference numbers assigned to the artifacts are as follows: BrS 1 = Burdur seal n° 1 (Burdur Museum accession number: Burdur 248 20 74); BrS 2 = Burdur seal n° 2 (Burdur 249 20 74); BrS 3 = Burdur seal n° 3 (Burdur 216 64 75). Personal communication H.A. Ekinci, director of Burdur Archaeological Museum (09.04.2013). Unfortunately, I have not had the opportunity to view this material.

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3. Uylup nar: a summary of the current state of research The Burdur Museum seal artifacts have been studied as a part of a survey of the Achaemenid period seals in the museums of Turkey.5 Any research dealing with objects that have not been systematically excavated confronts a series of problems: the attributed origin of the artifacts may be dubious (leading to erroneous hypotheses concerning them); the attributed origin of the artifacts may lack precision regarding the circumstances of their deposition; the artifacts in any case are completely severed from their surrounding archaeological contexts.6 Nevertheless, as archaeological sites continue to be looted, and illegally excavated objects frequently surface, it is impossible to deny their presence. The three artifacts presented in this paper partly belong to this category as they were also illegally excavated, but in this case the origin of the objects is known: the village Uylupnar on the shores of Lake Gölhisar in ancient Kibyratis, where extensive looting of the burials was reported in the 1970s. Currently the site is referred to as Old-Kibyra.7 The majority of the burials close to the village is spread over the hillsides on the northeast of a promontory, overlooking the lake.8 Many are rectangular cist graves incorporated into the bedrock.9 In the 1970s, after an extensive plundering of the necropolis site, K. Dörtlük, then director of the Burdur Archaeological Museum, led a one-season salvage excavation. This, however, could not bring an end to the illicit excavations in the area (Dörtlük 1977: 10-32). Ironically, as noted during the salvage excavations, the plundering was not limited to recent times. At least two out of nine burials excavated during that season had been robbed already in antiquity. Of a tumulus burial nothing remains of the architecture; only a small fragment of a bronze vessel and scattered pottery sherds occur on the surface (Corsten & Hülden 2012: 27-30, g.14). There are indications of other destroyed 5

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The project of seals of the Achaemenid period in the museums of Turkey has been generously supported by the Iran Heritage Foundation and the Soudavar Memorial Foundation. On the problems of studying unexcavated objects and looted artifacts, see, e.g., Muscarella 1980; Özgen & Öztürk 1996: 11-30; Gunter & Root 1998: 3-16; Baughan & Özgen 2012: 81-5. Corsten and Hülden (2010a: 144f.; idem 2010b: 68-70) refer to the site as Old-Kibyra based on the Lydian characteristics of the surface finds and a passage from Strabo (XIII.4.17), who describes the people of Kibyratis as the “descendants of the Lydians,” speaking four languages (Pisidian, Solymian, Greek, and Lydian). Previously, the site had been identified as ancient Sinda (Hall 1994: 48-52). Part of the promontory was an island during antiquity. The hills that have been intermittently exposed to illegal excavations over the years are known to the locals as Gâvurdam,Topraktepe, Kabak Kr and Ilgn Mevkii. Dörtlük 1979: 9; Corsten 2003: 27; Corsten & Hülden 2012: 27f.

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tumuli to the south of the village (ibid. 30f., gs.15-6). No doubt, the objects and pottery from Uylupnar on display in the museum currently represent only the tip of the iceberg compared to what might have been looted at several stages throughout history. The seal artifacts discussed in this paper appear to be only a very small fraction of large quantities of plunder from the cemeteries. Dörtlük’s excavation report (1979) and a more recent study of the material from the cemeteries (Çokay-Kepçe 2008), both of which also include some material acquired by the museum from the locals, focus principally on the ne painted pottery. These publications illustrate an array of Southwest Anatolian, East Greek, and Lydian pottery, as well as some Corinthian and Attic, all dated to the seventh and sixth centuries BCE. The rich Iron Age pottery sequence, revealed by recent eldwork at the site, shows the site’s close connections with Lydia.10 The regional bichrome, black on red, and black on buff pottery is particularly impressive, and its abundance has also been noted in the preliminary results of the recent surveys of other sites in the region.11 Still, the possible continuation of these pottery traditions, which would have been adapted to the demands of the new era, during the Achaemenid period requires more study. A comprehensive analysis of the regional pottery production during the fth and fourth centuries BCE, especially in northern Lycia, Milyas, Pisidia, and the Kibyratis, would help greatly to dene the framework of land use and social organization during the Achaemenid period.12 Reminiscent of the Elmal plain, the fertile land to the northeast of Uylupnar is dotted with tumuli, in particular en route to the Tefenni/Yeilova area.13 H.A. Ekinci, 10 11

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Gebauer apud Corsten & Hülden 2012: 67, 70-72, 77-79. Kibyratis: Gebauer apud Corsten et al. 2010a: 146f.; idem 2010b: 74-6, gs.8-9; Corsten & Hülden 2012: 73f. Pisidia: Hürmüzlü 2009. Çaltlar, northern Lycia: Momigliano et al. 2011. In general, our knowledge of local pottery traditionally relies on the chronology based on imported Attic pottery. While there is a relative abundance of imported pottery from the fourth century BCE, the pottery use and consumption during the fth century still needs to be explored. Thanks to Dusinberre’s important study (1999), a specic category, the deep Achaemenid bowl, locally produced in numerous sites of Anatolia, can now be traced. In contrast to the major administrative centers, Daskyleion (Görkay 1999; Tuna-Nörling 1999; idem 2001) and Sardis (Dusinberre 2003: 172-95), the ceramic sequence of many other settlements and rural areas where imported Attic pottery of the fth century is scarce remains poorly understood. See also Toteva 2007 for Gordion pottery (focusing on the fourth century contexts) and Berlin & Lynch 2002 for Atticizing pottery production in northwestern Asia Minor. Corsten & Hülden 2012: 33-48 provide a detailed report of the sites, of which many have been vandalized. The list includes Çavdr, Yuvalaktepe, Karamanl (ÇetepeHarmankaya) and Bademli (Üç Tümülüsler) near Lake Karata (see n.14 below and www.burdurmuzesi.gov.tr/yuvalak_tumulusu.htm).

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g.2b (below): director of Burdur Ardrawing after a chaeological Museum, modern seal conducted salvage impression of excavations of many BrS 2 of the tumuli burials and reports nds dating from the sixth through second centuries BCE.14 At present, the most eyecatching evidence for occupation during the Achaemenid period within the territory of Uylupnar is a funerary monument standing on the eastern sector of the site, locally known as Gâvurg.2a: BrS 2, from Uylup nar dam. It presents an (Burdur Archaeological Museum B 249 20 74), elegant rock-cut tomb seal profile and back (A, B, D); seal face (C) of Lycian type dated to the fourth century BCE.15 Based on the Lycian type of rock-cut tombs, Corsten suggests the presence of close ties with the Lycian dynast Perikle of Limyra during this period (Gay & Corsten 2006: 56-8). Even though the social organization in the region during the Achaemenid period has yet to be fully explored, the six rock-cut tombs of Lycian type, one right in the territory of Uylupnar, and tumulus burials in the region indicate the presence of an affluent élite during the Achaemenid and Lydian periods. The Graeco-Roman urban center, Kibyra, is located a relatively short distance away, about 20 km to the northwest of the lake. Another town is to the north, close to the modern town Karamanl (possibly ancient Alassos), which yielded pottery datable to the periods “from Pre-Hellenistic to late Antiquity” as well as wine and

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The material has not been fully published yet. For preliminary reports see Ekinci 2003; 62; idem 2006: 143-45. See also Hülden 2011: 506f. Dörtlük 1975: 11, 28-31, pls.6-9; Gay & Corsten 2006: 1-3, 10-12. A total of six rockcut tombs, ve of Lycian type dating from the fourth century BCE, have been documented in the area (Gay & Corsten 2006). For a typology and dating of the Lycian rock-cut tombs based on the Limyra necropoleis see most recently Kuban 2012.

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oil presses still visible on the surface.16 The survey team suggests that Alassos could have been a market center where regular periodic fairs and markets were held (Corsten 2005: 23-25). Recently, Corsten extensively discussed the inscriptions concerning estates of the Roman period in the region, their administration and relationship to the city of Kibyra and other settlements including Alassos.17 Several inscriptions contain indications of the signicance of agricultural and other types of production in the villages. Corsten identies two large estates owned by Roman families in the second and third centuries CE. The extremely large estate owned by a certain Ummidii family, related to the emperor Marcus Aurelius, was divided into three parts and rented out to indigenous local farmers (Corsten 2005: 27). These tenants were not poor, as lists of donations indicate. They retained their traditional and religious lives during the Roman period. The inscriptions also show the presence of Roman businessmen (negotiatores) in the territory of Kibyra who had connections with business partners in the cities as well as with people in the countryside. Clearly the urban centers and the villages were in close contact.

4. Description of the artifacts Of the three artifacts, two are stamp seals, and one is a pendant with no engraved image. The rst seal, BrS 1, is an extremely well preserved serpentinite/hematite ellipsoid stamp. It measures 2.20 cm in height, 2.75 cm in length and 1.75 cm in width (gs.1a-b). The face, measuring 2.18 × 1.65 cm, carries the intaglio. A bronze wire extends to both sides to grip the bead through the relatively large perforation. It is bent into a loop at the top. Apart from an abrasion around the perforation, the wire, too, is in good condition. The impression of the seal design shows the head of a ram facing right over a pair of wings that emerge from a quadrangular base. The wings are slightly curved on the tip; feathers are indicated by parallel horizontal lines, and a long, deeply cut line runs along the upper edge of each. There are four striations on the neck. The horns, each cut in a continuous deep single line, the right slightly larger, curve gracefully in mirror image. The muzzle is bulging; the eye is indicated as a slightly elongated hemisphere. The second seal, BrS 2, is a octagonal chalcedony pyramidal stamp, light brown with milky streaks, with low translucency. It measures 3.15 cm in height, 2.41 cm in length, and 1.40 cm in width; it has a slightly convex seal face (gs.2a-b). There 16

17

Corsten & Hülden 1012: 41-45 and most recently www.klass-archaeologie.unimuenchen.de/projekte/englisch/ergebnisse/furthersettlements/index.html Corsten 2005; idem 2006; Corsten & Hülden 2012: 38-40.

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is some wear along the edges of the seal face and around both sides of the perforation, but otherwise the seal image is well-preserved. The design represents a typical Babylonian worship scene rendered in a schematic carving style: a bearded standing gure facing right extends his arms towards a spear-like spade of Marduk and the double stylus of Nabû, the latter connected by a horizontal bar, mounted together on a pillared pedestal. The third artifact, BrS 3, is a conoid pendant, cut out of a well polished red, white, and brown veined opaque stone, with a gold wire loop suspension (g.3). It is a beautiful, well preserved object. The stone measures 1.40 cm in height, 1.40 cm in length, and 1.21 cm in width. The gold suspension wire is 2.38 cm in height, extending on both sides to grip the bead. The top of the wire is bent into a circular loop that would conveniently allow a chain to pass g.3: BrS 3, from Uylupnar through. Despite the presence of all the features of a (Burdur Archaeological pendant stamp seal, the bead lacks a seal image; the Museum, B 216 64 75) face is flat and completely blank.

5. Discussion 5.1. BrS 1: the ellipsoid stamp seal (gs.1a-b) The ellipsoid shape of the hematite stamp is typical of Sasanian seals (Gyselen 1976; idem 1993: 166). With the bronze wire suspension loop still intact it stands out as an exceptionally well-preserved artifact. The seal image, carved in intaglio representing a ram head placed on a winged base, lls the entire surface. The style of cutting involves deeply cut lines and some modeling on the ram’s head; the feathers of the wings are shown in straight incisions. Four parallel lines articulate the neck. The image overall conveys a well-rounded relief quality in its impression. The subject of the seal and its cutting style nd counterparts among Sasanian seals in various collections.18 Beyond classifying this artifact as Sasanian (224-651 CE), 18

Brunner 1978: 91f. notes the ram was a symbol of royal fortune and a game animal in the Sasanian period. For rams in royal hunting scenes represented on silver vessels see Harper & Meyers 1981: 64-8, 79-81, pls.17-9, 27-8. For counterparts see: Delaporte 1920, pl.57, n° 19b (R 1 = AO 5859); idem 1923, pl.110, n° 51, 55 (A 1402, A 1406); Bivar 1969: 89, pl.17.1, n° 108800 ER 1; Brunner 1978: 94f., n°; Gyselen 1993, pl.32,

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it is difcult to suggest a more precise date of production.19 Even though this broad dating places the seal in a chronologically distant orbit from the other two artifacts, the brief discussion below offers a view that closes the chronological gap.

5.2. BrS 2: the pyramidal seal (gs.2a-b) Unlike the Sasanian ellipsoid, the octagonal pyramidal seal shows some wear around the edges of its face, and surface of the stone around the perforation is slightly flaked off. This wear, however, affects only a very small portion of the seal image, visible above the head of the worshipper; otherwise all the other elements of the scene are clear. Its lost suspension setting must have been similar to one of the various types ranging from more complex forms to simple wires that have been found intact on numerous pendant stamp seals, including glass ones such as those excavated at Achaemenid period contexts at Dülük Baba Tepesi/Doliche.20 The seal face shows a Babylonian worship scene. The carving style is schematic. The spade of Marduk and the double stylus of Nabû are well-dened vertical elements. The spade terminates in a spherical shape with a protrusion on top. The robe of the worshipper is a solid rectangular shape, wheel-cut, slightly tapering towards the back; the arm is appended to the body as a diagonal line. The rest of the gure is dominated by unmasked drill-work: round or oval drill holes articulate the top of the head, forehead, hair, and beard, as well as the shoulder and lower back. The diagonal seal border bisects the lower part of the body. Originating from workshops in the Neo-Babylonian period, this schematic carving style and distinctive scene type have long been recognized as continuing into the Achaemenid period.21 There is much evidence not only that the design type

19

20 21

n° 30.Y.11-20, pl.56, n° 49. Lerner (2009: 83-5) dates an ellipsoid showing a recumbant stag to the fourth-fth centuries based on overall style of carving. The “bulbous muzzle, oval eye, and strokes indicating the esh on the neck” share similarities to the ram head on BrS 1. The chronology of Sasanian seals remains debated because very few seals are from controlled excavations (Gyselen 1993: 63f.; idem 2007: 18-20; Azarpay 2001: 139; idem 2009). Bivar (1969: 24) developed a sequence drawn from the seal shapes. Gyselen (1993: 32f.) rejects this approach. Her argument is based on palaeographic evidence and seal shapes observed on dated bullae. See also Porada (1980: 224), who noted the signicance of the study of Sasanian seal impressions from excavated contexts in establishing a chronological sequence. Schachner 2008, pls.10.3, 11; idem 2010, colour pls.1.1, 1.3, 1.6-7, 1.10, 1.12, 3.5. Schmidt (1957: 47-9) classied ve stamp seal designs from the Persepolis Treasury (492-58 BCE) as Neo-Babylonian, “presumably from the Achaemenid period.” Two of them are in the cut and drilled style. Lambert’s (1979: 35-7) categorization of seals of

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continued into this period but that it was widely dispersed within the greater world of the empire.22 Some of these seals may have been heirloom items used in the Achaemenid period; heirlooms on their own cannot, however, account for the wide availability of this design type in the empire. Root suggests that their frequent appearance in Achaemenid contexts could indicate the production of new seals stemming from the Babylonian tradition during the Achaemenid period, a process well demonstrated by almost 100 discrete seals representing variations of the Babylonian worship scene in the cut and drilled style or modeled styles of carving on the Persepolis Fortication tablets (509-493 BCE).23 In Persepolis, the Babylonian worship scene was also rendered in cross cultural hybrid compositions.24 The cylinder seal found in a late Parthian period archaeological context at Seleucia demonstrates the scene in a hybrid composition (“a double image scene”) combining the worship with heroic encounter in a reductive cut and drilled style (Root 2003). The Babylonian worship scene is also present in the preserved glyptic corpora from major Achaemenid centers of Anatolia – Sardis, Daskyleion, Gordion – but

22

23

24

this type as “Late Neo-Babylonian” is confusing. Following the same trend in an expansive doctoral dissertation, Balzer (2007, 1: 14 and passim) uses “spätbabylonisch” for the “Zeit der Chaldäer, Achaimeniden und Seleukiden.” Zettler (1979: 257-70) provides a survey of the use of the “Neo-Babylonian” seals on dated tablets from the Achaemenid period; Buchanan and Moorey (1988: 56, 60-4) choose a straightforward category “Neo-Babylonian and Achaemenid Drilled and Cut Styles.” Ehrenberg (1999: 2), aware of the shortcomings of Lambert’s denition, notes in her introduction: “Even though the cultural climate of Babylonia remains essentially Late Babylonian in the early Persian years, the products of this time are here labeled early Achaemenid in keeping with a historically determined nomenclature.” For a thorough discussion see Root 1998, idem 2003, and Garrison [forthc. 1]. Root 1998: 258f., pls.10-2; idem 2003; Garrison 2000: 142f.; idem [forthc. 1]. Most recently Schachner (2008; idem 2011) presented a rich assemblage of stamps representing schematic Babylonian worship scenes and other cult images and amulets and beads from the sanctuary at Dülükbaba tepesi/Doliche near Gaziantep. The Babylonian worship scene type is also documented in the Murašû archive from Nippur (Bregstein 1996: 58f., g.5, pl.9) and the Eanna archive from Uruk (Ehrenberg 1999). See also tablets with seal impressions from the Achaemenid period in the British Museum: Mitchell & Searight 2008: 128-63; Kaptan (in preparation) discusses a seal impression associated with the Aršma documents from Egypt showing similarities to the abstract designs of the Neo-Babylonian type of seals from the Achaemenid period. Garrison (pers.comm.), updating the accounting of the image type in Root 2003: 25862. There are an additional ve seals with Babylonian worship scene in the Persepolis Treasury archive (492-58 BCE); see Schmidt 1957: 47-49. Garrison 2000: 142f.; idem [forthc. 1] 48f.; Root 1998: 261-65; idem 2003: 264-6; idem 2008: 94.

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unsurprisinsingly in much smaller numbers compared to the Fortication archive. A version of the scene type on a pyramidal stamp from Sardis is not schematically rendered; it may be an original Mesopotamian product.25 Moreover, in the Sardian tomb where the seal was deposited was a chalcedony pyramidal stamp bearing the representation of a lion-grifn, a typical western Achaemenid koin production.26 Gordion yielded a chalcedony conoid that carried the schematic version of the Babylonian worship scene. Dusinberre refers to the associated artifacts of the same ndspot and dates it to the period of Achaemenid control of the settlement.27 The seal displays a very similar style to the Uylupnar seal, particularly in the heavy unmasked drill work. The Babylonian worship scene was represented on two kinds of artifacts from Daskyleion, seal impressions and an actual chalcedony pyramidal seal. A seal impression from an octagonal-faced seal, DS 1, occurs on a well preserved bulla and displays a schematic, cut and drilled style of carving (Kaptan 2002: 106f., pls.3-4). The seal image shows a human gure standing at the left, before the spade of Marduk and stylus of Nabû, and a four-rayed star in the upper eld. A large drill hole represents the torso, a small one the head of the human gure. Two tubular lines render a long neck, and a third diagonal shows the beard. Parts of the cult symbols are preserved, the upper portion of the spade and the double stylus. In this abstract rendering the spade is simply a hemisphere with a short projection on top. The same way of rendering the top of the spade also occurs on an actual pyramidal seal of grey chalcedony from Daskyleion (Bakr 2001: 176, 180, g.13). On this design the double stylus is replaced with a lamp, generally recognized as the symbol of the god Nusku (Black & Green 1992: 116). There is a second seal image from Daskyleion (DS 179) that may also be associated with the Neo-Babylonian worship scene (Kaptan 2002: 106, pls.460-1). The very small surviving portion of the impression shows a well-rendered head of a human facing right, stylistically reminiscent of the Babylonian worshippers before cult symbols. Even though the representation is very fragmentary, it suggests the possibility that the Daskyleion archive might have contained numerous seals in the Babylonian tradition, the styles of which were not necessarily limited to the cut 25

26

27

Dusinberre (2003: 168, 276, g.95) suggests that the winged disk hovering above the Babylonian cult symbols is a later addition to the scene, possibly added during the Achaemenid period. Garrison [forthc. 2] notes that there are examples of the occurrence of the winged symbol in the Babylonian worship scene on seals from Persepolis as well as on seals occurring on tablets dated to the Late Babylonian period. Curtis 1925: 45, n° 115; Dusinberre 2003: 153, 273, g.89. Additionally, there are two pyramidal seals in the cut and drilled style showing the Babylonian worship in the Ashmolean Museum that were “bought [at] Sardis” (Buchanan & Moorey 1988, n° 389, 393; Root 1998: 264). Dusinberre 2005: 58f., n° 38, g.48a-b; idem 2010: 330, g.31.9.

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and drilled style.28 The archive in Daskyleion was active for over a century, beginning during the reign of Xerxes (486-65 BCE) and continuing well into the fourth century BCE.29 A recently excavated site in southeastern Turkey, Dülük Baba Tepesi, has so far yielded hundreds of cylinder and stamp seals, many of which represent abstract versions of Neo-Babylonian worship scene, related cult objects, and symbols.30 Schachner notes that the seals were found together in a ll associated with a large structure; two coins dating from the second half of fth century BCE were also found in the ll (Schachner 2008: 70f.). This site thus provides valuable stratigraphic data that conrms occurrence of the Babylonian worship scene on seals used during the fth century BCE. An exceptional source from Mesopotamia should also be noted before concluding this section. A hoard of impressions on lumps of clay found in a cofn at Ur provides some details concerning aspects of artistic production during the Achaemenid period.31 These lumps of clay, red in antiquity, included over 200 impressions of seals, coins, and other objects; the general consensus is that the impressions were probably collected to serve as an artist’s pattern book. The variety of images – ranging from Mesopotamian deities to Greek gods and heroes – provides a good cross section of artistic diversity in Mesopotamia in the Achaemenid period. Based on the numismatic evidence, e.g., an Athenian tetradrachm, the collection was certainly created after the 460s BCE. Classical Greek seals in the collection suggest a fourth century BCE date.32 Unsurprisingly, variations of the Neo-Babylonian worship scene are present on several impressions in the collection, possibly as models for a new product.33 In sum, the Neo-Babylonian worship scene circulated widely in the empire. The occurrence of the scene type on a seal from Uylupnar is thus not at all surprising, and the ‘Babylonian’ character of the imagery has no bearing whatsoever on the ethnicity of its owner/user. Texts accompanying seal impressions on Persepolis 28

29

30 31 32

33

The representation may have been part of a hybrid image in which old and new elements would be blended, similar to a double image on a cylinder, DS 19, in the Daskyleion corpus. DS 19 combines the motif of a seated gure, an ancient Mesopotamian type, with an Achaemenid heroic encounter scene (Kaptan 2002: 28-31, pls.98-99). Two seals, known from a large number of impressions, bear cuneiform inscriptions with the name of Xerxes. The seal impressions in late Classical Greek styles found together with fourth century Attic sh plates set the end date of the archive (Kaptan 2002: 27). Schachner 2008: 74-6, pls.10.2-14, 11.1-2; idem 2011: 27f., colour pls.1-2. Legrain 1951: 47-53; Porada 1960; Collon 1996. Legrain 1951, n° 722, 742; Porada 1960: 230f., n° 1a-2c; Collon 1996: 66, 78, gs. 11a, 13b. Legrain 1951, n° 743-44, 750-52; Collon 1996, g.1g-j.

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tablets provide information about this issue. Based on the textual information from the Persepolis Fortication archive, Root (2003: 274) notes In some cases where we are able to establish a link between the seal and a specic individual, we have a clear case of a person with a Babylonian name using a late Babylonian type worship seal. In some other instances, we nd individuals with Iranian names using this type of seal.

We may never know whether the Uylupnar seal was used as a sealing device, but, like the pendant discussed below, it might also have invoked certain apotropaic and magical meanings for its owner.

5.3. BrS 3: the conoid pendant (g.3) The conoid-shaped pendant is a well-polished pinkish brown- and cream-veined opaque stone. The stone was a popular one in the Achaemenid period. The material is similar to the jasper plates and dishes found in the Persepolis Treasury, at Daskyleion, and in burials in western Anatolia.34 Small fragments and chunks of pinkand brown-veined white jasper were excavated in the Lydian ll of the terrace at the sector referred to as ByzFort at Sardis.35 These fragments quite possibly belong to the debris from a workshop in the settlement. Natural deposits of the stone are known around the Tmolos mountain range, Salihli, and the Uak area.36 The material of a scaraboid dated to the Achaemenid period from Gordion is probably of the same kind (Dusinberre 2005: 63, n° 44). Thus, the pendant seems to have been a product of the western Anatolian/Lydian milieu, probably in use during the Achaemenid period. The conoid-shaped bead has a fully rounded, nearly spherical back and a slightly oval, flat base. The perforation for the suspension wire is close to the center of the sides. Some comparable ‘Neo-Babylonian’ stamps are conoids with high backs that are rounded towards the tip, with the perforation close to the top; the shape became quite common during the Achaemenid period. Unprovenanced conoids of this type, bearing a variety of seal images that are quite typical of the Achaemenid period, including the ‘Neo-Babylonian’ worship scene, are numerous in museum collections.37 Among those with Babylonian imagery coming from ex34

35 36 37

Persepolis: Schmidt 1957, pl.57 n° 5-7, pl.62 n° 5, 9, 11; Curtis & Tallis 2005, n° 146. Daskyleion: Özdemir 2007. kiztepe (Uak-Güre): Özgen & Öztürk 1996: 130, n° 85; Özgen 2010: 317. Greenewalt et al. 1987: 80; Cahill 2010: 535. Özgen & Öztürk 1996: 130. For mineral deposits see Pernicka et al. 1984. See, e.g., Boardman 1970: 20, g.1; Jacob-Rost 1997: 64f., nº 473-6, 479-80, 482; Buchanan & Moorey 1988, nº 436, 448-50, 464, 469; Curtis & Tallis 2005, nº 204, 206.

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cavated contexts of the Achaemenid period are one from the cemetery at Devehöyük near Carchemish and a few from the sanctuary at Dülük Baba Tepesi/ Doliche near Zeugma.38 Unlike the Uylupnar bead, however, the backs of all these conoids are relatively high, their bases convex. The closest parallel is from a central Anatolian site, Kaman-Kalehöyük. The settlement mound at this site yielded two stamps, excavated at the latest phase (IIa) of its Iron Age levels: a quartz conoid with the image of the Persian hero lifting up two lions and an ivory conoid showing two recumbent animals (Omura 1995: 44f., gs.5-7). The ivory conoid has a fully rounded spherical back, pierced through close to the center, and a flat base overall quite close in shape to the Uylupnar bead (Omura 1995, g.5). What we observe here is clearly a regional Anatolian version of the conoid. The gold suspension of the Uylupnar pendant is a simple wire bent into a circular loop on top. Four pendants with gold suspensions, with relatively complex attachment methods, were deposited in the kiztepe burial in western Anatolia: a pyramidal seal, two beads, and a gold nugget.39 A barrel-shaped onyx bead pendant with a gold suspension was excavated in a cist grave at Sardis from the Lydian period, dated to the sixth century BCE. Its gold suspension shows an elegant wire setting bent and soldered into a large circular loop.40 The Uylupnar suspension wire was crafted in a similar, but simpler, design with no sign of soldering. Lacking an intaglio carving on the face, the Uylupnar artifact would have been used solely as an amulet and perhaps also as a decorative piece of jewelry. One of the four pendants from the kiztepe burial mentioned above is a gold nugget. Özgen and Öztürk have observed that the suspension wire abraded the upper part of the perforation, indicating that the pendant had been worn for some time before it was deposited in the burial (Özgen & Öztürk 1996: 30, 137 n° 92, g.37). Such a practice suggests that this object was much more than a burial offering: it was an artifact that had long use before it was deposited. One important function of seals and beads was wide-ranging amuletic power.41 Even though certain stones and materials seem to have been associated with specic magical powers and meaning, the reasons for an individual’s preference for a specic kind of stone and material are not easy to determine; amuletic objects 38

39

40

41

Devehöyük: Buchanan & Moorey 1988, n° 96; Moorey 1980, n° 471, g.19. Dülük Baba Tepesi: Schachner 2008, pl.10, n° 4, 11; idem 2011, pl.1, n° 3, 10. Özgen & Öztürk 1996: 137-40, n° 92-5. The wire passes through the perforation twice, the central part of which is thicker, and is twisted to form a loop. The ends of the wire are wound six to four times around the loop. The editors (Özgen & Öztürk 1996: 137) note that this method is an oddity for the Lydian and Achaemenid periods. Greenwalt 1972: 125, pl.10.2; Waldbaum 1983: 134, n° 883, pl.50; Baughan 2010: 299, g.27. Goff 1954: 18, 38f.; Cassin 1987.

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carried ‘unverbalized’ messages that were meaningful to people during their own time and space.42 As a result, we may never know or comprehend exactly what meaning or power the Uylupnar pendant was believed to have possessed when it was in circulation.

6. Comments on the provenience and further thoughts Against the above background several questions arise about the archaeological contexts and the time period when the artifacts from Uylupinar were in use. How are we to explain the presence of a specic type of seal that is known to have been widely in use during the Achaemenid period with objects that are from the Roman period? An easy interpretation would be that these objects were collected at various locations on the site, compiled together, and were subsequently brought to the museum. The description of the group consisting of unguentaria, glass beads, and a bronze bracelet, however, is quite consistent with what one would reasonably expect from a single burial. In that case the more plausible option would be that the pyramidal seal, BrS 2, which we associated with the Achaemenid period, and the ellipsoid, BrS 1, belonged to a single lot looted from a late period tomb, and for some reason the group ended up in the mukhtar’s hands instead of those of the antiquity dealers. If the twenty-one objects noted above brought to the museum truly belong to a single lot, an additional hypothesis is possible: the late period burial also contained an antique seal, BrS 2. The possession of antique seals and their reuse is a long-recognized practice.43 The fth century BCE double-image cylinder in cut and drilled style from Seleucia noted above was excavated in a late Parthian archaeological context (Root 2003: 253f.). An Old Babylonian cylinder seal was found in a Byzantine period deposit in Daskyleion (Yaylal 2005). An Achaemenid stamp seal found in Troy was reworked during Roman/Sasanian times.44 There are numerous seals in the Persepolis corpus noted as antiques.45 A Hellenistic period grave in Nimrud yielded one Akkadian and nine Assyrian cylinder seals. Parker mentions that Hellenistic period villagers of Nimrud “conducted extensive excavations to obtain stone and baked

42 43

44

45

Goff 1954: 23-39; Collon 1987: 119; Salje 1997. See, e.g., Collon 1987: 120-22, 131, 138f.; Garrison & Root 2001: 18. Miller and Root (1997: 357, 390) observe that a sketchy bird image similar to those on Sasanian seals was incised on the back of the seal. For Sasanian additions of secondary motifs and inscriptions on seals see Gyselen 1991: 203-10, pls.21-3; idem 1993: 26. Root 1979: 120, n.234; Garrison 1991: 3-7; Garrison & Root 2001: 17f., 163f. See also the comments by Porada (1961: 69) on Schmidt (1957: 42-46) regarding the ‘antique/ heirloom’ seals found on the Persepolis terrace and in the treasury.

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paving bricks from Assyrian levels and in the course of these excavations found a number of seals.”46 A comparable practice was observed during the salvage excavations at Uylupnar: some of the burials at the Uylupnar cemeteries had been robbed during the Roman period (Dörtlük 1979: 9). Perhaps in a similar manner, the pyramidal seal, BrS 2 (g.2a), was rst excavated by looters late in the Roman period and subsequently deposited in a burial along with BrS 1.

7. Conclusion Owing to the lack of secure information about the archaeological contexts of the three artifacts from Uylupnar in the Kibyratis, I have attempted to reconnect them to their cultural histories through comparanda. In this small group, two artifacts are Achaemenid in date: BrS 2, a pyramidal stamp seal with a schematic Babylonian worship scene, and BrS 3, a pendant, a local product of western Anatolia. The third artifact, BrS 1, is from Sasanian times. One possibility is that BrS 2 was deposited as an antique, perhaps an heirloom item together with BrS 1 in a late burial. In any case, whether these two seals were interred separately or together, their accession to the museum collection as looted artifacts from the cemeteries of Uylupnar links their histories despite the chronological gap in their production date. Signicantly, these artifacts stand as witnesses to the region’s connectivity to the wider world during the Achaemenid period and later. The results of the ongoing systematic archaeological eldwork in the region will help us better understand the mortuary evidence, settlement patterns, land use, and communication networks during the Achaemenid period and later. The study of the Roman-period inscriptions from the region establishes a crucial baseline to understand the overall history of the region. Despite limitations due to the nature of their recovery, the objects presented in this paper suggest multiple avenues for future research in the Kibyratis. We may regard the three seal artifacts from Uylupnar as testimony to the socio-cultural lives of people from western Anatolia in the interconnected world of the Lydian, Achaemenid, and Roman periods.

46

Parker 1962: 27, pls.13-7; Collon 2001: 2.

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CORSTEN, T. & HÜLDEN, O. 2012, Zwischen den Kulturen: Feldforschungen in der Kibyratis – Bericht zu den Kampagnen 2008–2011, IstM 62: 7-117. CORSTEN, T., HÜLDEN, O. & GEBAUER, J. 2010a, Kibyratis Ara trmalar / Research in the Kibyratis, ANMED 8: 143-47. –––– 2010b, Forschungen in der Kibyratis im Jahre 2009, in: A.N. Toy & C. Keskin (eds.), 28. Arat rma Sonuçlar Toplant s , stanbul. ÇOKAY-KEPÇE, S. 2009, Pottery from Uylupnar Necropolis, Adalya 12: 29-76. DELAPORTE, L.J. 1920, Catalogue des cylindres, cachets et pierres gravées de style oriental, vol. 1: Fouilles et missions, Paris. –––– 1923, Catalogue des cylindres, cachets et pierres gravées de style oriental, vol. 2: Acquisitions, Paris. DE WAAL, E. 2010, The hare with amber eyes: A hidden inheritance, New York. DÖKÜ, F.E. 2013, Uylupnar yerle mesi (erken Kibyra) ve çevresi yüzey ara trmas 2012, ANMED 11: 239-49. DÖRTLÜK, K. 1977, Uylupnar kaz raporu 1975, TAD 24.2: 10-32. DUSINBERRE, E.R.M. 1999, Satrapal Sardis: Achaemenid bowls in an Achaemenid capital, AJA 103: 73-102. –––– 2003, Aspects of empire in Achaemenid Sardis, Cambridge. –––– 2005, Gordion seals and sealings (Gordion Special Studies 3 = UMM 124), Philadelphia. –––– 2010, Achaemenid seals from Sardis and Gordion, in: J. Curtis & StJ. Simpson (eds.), The world of Achaemenid Persia: History, art and society in Iran and the ancient Near East, London: 322-35. EHRENBERG, E. 1999, Uruk: Late Babylonian seal impressions on Eanna tablets (AUWE 18), Mainz. EKINCI, H.A. 2003, Burdur Karamanl Çe tepe tümülüsü, in: 13. Müze Çalimalar ve Kurtarma Kaz lar Sempozyumu, Ankara: 61-68. EKINCI, H.A., ÖZÜDO RU, . & DÖKÜ, E. 2009, Kibyra 2008 Yl Kaz Çal malar, ANMED 7: 32-39. –––– 2006, Burdur Karamanl Üç Tümülüsler Kurtarma Kazs / Rescue excavations at the Üç Tümülüsler in Karamanl Burdur, ANMED 4: 143-45. GARRISON, M.B. 1991, Seals and the elite in Persepolis, ArsOr 21: 1-21. –––– 2000, Achaemenid iconography as evidenced by glyptic art: Subject matter, social function, audience and diffusion, in: C. Uehlinger (ed.), Images as media: Sources for the cultural history of the Near East and the eastern Mediterranean (1st millennium BCE) (OBO 175), Fribourg: 115-63. –––– [forthc. 1], Visual representation of deities and demons in Achaemenid Iran: Old problems, new directions, in: C. Uehlinger & F. Graf (eds.), Iconography of ancient Near Eastern religions, vol. 1: Pre-Hellenistic periods, introductory essays, Leiden. –––– [forthc. 2], The gure in the winged disk in Persepolitan glyptic: Select new evidence, in: K. Abdi (ed.),  Šbuhr k ihr az yazdn dšt: Essays in memory of A. Shapur Shahbazi, Tehran and Persepolis. GARRISON, M.B. & ROOT, M.C. 2001, Seals on the Persepolis Forti cation tablets, part 1: Images of heroic encounter, 2 vols. (OIP 117), Chicago.

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GAY, K.A. & CORSTEN, T. 2006, Lycian tombs in the Kibyratis and the extent of Lycian culture, AnSt 56: 47-60. GOFF, B. 1956, The role of amulets in Mesopotamian ritual texts, JWarb 19: 1-39. GÖRKAY, K. 1999, Attic black-gure pottery from Daskyleion, Asia Minor Studien 34: 1100. GREENEWALT, C.H. 1972, Lydian graves, CSCA 5: 113-45. GREENEWALT, C.H., RAUTMANN, M.L. & CAHILL, N.D. 1987, The Sardis campaign of 1985, in: W.E. Rast (ed.), Preliminary reports of ASOR-sponsored excavations 19821985 (BASOR Suppl. 25), Baltimore: 55-92. GUNTER, A.C. & ROOT, M.C. 1998, Replicating, inscribing, giving: Ernst Herzfeld and Artaxerxes’ silver phiale in the Freer Gallery of Art, ArsOr 27: 2-38. GYSELEN, R. 1976, Une classication des cachets sassanides selon la forme, StIr 5, 139-46, 311-12. –––– 1991, Réemploi de sceaux à l’époque sassanide, StIr 20: 203-10. –––– 1993, Catalogue des sceaux, camées et bulles sassanides de la Bibliothèque Nationale et du Musée du Louvre, vol. 1: Collection générale, Paris. –––– 2007, Sasanian seals and sealings in the A. Saeedi Collection (AI 44), Leuven. HALL, A. 1994, Sinda, in: D.H. French (ed.), Studies in the history and topography of Lycia and Pisidia: In memorian A.S. Hall, London: 48-52. HARPER, P.O. & MEYERS, P. 1981, Silver vessels of the Sasanian period, vol. 1: Royal imagery, New York. HÜLDEN, O. 2011, Considerations on the tumuli of Lycia in the pre-Classical period, AnAnt 19: 495-514. HÜRMÜZLÜ, B. 2009, Remarks on cultural interactions in the earlier periods of northwest Pisidia, in: R. Einicke et al. (eds.), Zurück zum Gegenstand: Festschrift für A.E. Furtwängler, 2 vols. (Schriften des Zentrums für Archäologie und Kulturgeschichte des Schwarzmeerraumes 16), Langenweißbach: 493-500. JACOB-ROOST, L. 1997, Die Stempelsiegel im Vorderasiatischen Museum, Berlin [2nd ed.]. KAPTAN, D. 2002, The Daskyleion Bullae: Seal images from the western Achaemenid empire, 2 vols. (AchHist 12), Leiden. KUBAN, Z. 2012, Die Nekropolen von Limyra: Bauhistorische Studien zur klassischen Epoche (Forschungen in Limyra 4), Wien. LAMBERT, W.G. 1979, Near Eastern seals in the Gulbenkian Museum of Oriental Art, University of Durham, Iraq 41: 1-45. LEGRAIN, L. 1951, Ur Excavations, vol. 10: Seal cylinders, Philadelphia. MILLER-COLLETT, S. & ROOT, M.C. 1997, An Achaemenid seal from the Lower City, Studia Troica 7: 355-62. MITCHELL, T.C. & SEARIGHT, A. 2008, Catalogue of the Western Asiatic seals in the British Museum: Stamp seals, vol. 3: Impressions of stamp seals on cuneiform tablets, clay bullae, and jar handles, Leiden. MOMIGLIANO, N., GREAVES, A., HODOS, T., AKSOY, B., BROWN, A., KIBIROGLU, M. & CARTER, T. 2011, Settlement history and material culture in southwest Turkey: Report on the 2008-2010 survey at Çaltlar Höyük, AnSt 61: 61-121. MOOREY, P.R.S. 1980, Cemeteries of the rst millennium BC at Deve Hüyük near Carchemish, salvaged by T.E. Lawrence and C.L. Woolley in 1913 (BAR 87), Oxford.

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MUSCARELLA, O.W. 1980, Excavated and unexcavated Achaemenian art, in: D. SchmandtBesserat (ed.), Ancient Persia: The art of an empire (Invited Lectures on the Middle East at the University of Texas at Austin 4), Malibu: 23-42. OMURA, M. 1996, Stamp seals from Kaman-Kalehöyük dated from the 1st millennium BC, in: HIH Takahito prince Mikasa (ed.), Essays on ancient Anatolia and its surrounding civilizations (BMEJ 8), Wiesbaden: 43-57. ÖZDEMIR, H.F. 2007, Daskyleion’da Ta Kaplar, Olba 15: 13-58. ÖZGEN, . 2010, Lydian Treasure, in: Cahill (ed.): 305-38. ÖZGEN, . & ÖZTÜRK, J. 1996, Heritage recovered: The Lydian Treasure, Ankara. PARKER, B. 1962, Seals and seal impressions from the Nimrud excavations, 1955-1958, Iraq 24.1: 26-40. PERNICKA, E., SEELIGER, T.C., WAGNER, G.A., BEGEMAN, F., SCHMITT-STRECKER, S., EIBNER, C., ÖZTUNAL, O. & BARANYO, I. 1984, Archaeometallurgische Untersuchungen in Nordwestanatolien (JRGZ 31), Mainz: 533-99. PORADA, E. 1960, Greek coin impressions from Ur, Iraq 22: 228-34. –––– 1961, review of E.F. Schmidt, Persepolis, vol. 2: Contents of the Treasury and other discoveries (Chicago 1957), JNES 20: 66-71. –––– 1980, Alt-Iran: Die Kunst in vorislamischer Zeit, Baden-Baden [3rd ed.]. ROOT, M.C. 1979, The king and kingship in Achaemenid art: Essays on the creation of an iconography of empire (AI 19), Leiden. –––– 1998, Pyramidal stamp seals: The Persepolis connection, in: AchHist 11, Leiden: 25089. –––– 2003, Hero and worshipper at Seleucia: Re-inventions of Babylonia on a banded agate cylinder seal of the Achaemenid empire, in: M. Roaf, D. Stein & T. Potts (eds.), Culture through objects: Ancient Near Eastern studies in honour of P.R.S. Moorey, Oxford: 246-83. –––– 2008, The legible image: How did seals and sealing matter in Persepolis?, in: P. Briant, W.F.M. Henkelman & M.W. Stolper (eds.), L’archive des Fortications de Persépolis: État des questions et perspectives de recherches (Persika 12), Paris: 87148. SALJE, B. 1996, Siegelverwendung im privaten Bereich: Schmuck – Amulett – Grabbeigabe, in: E. Klengel-Brandt (ed.), Mit sieben Siegeln versehen: Das Siegel in Wirtschaft und Kunst des alten Orients, Berlin: 125-37. SAX, M. 2001, The seal materials, their chronology and sources, in: Collon 2001: 18-34. –––– 2005, The seal materials, their chronology and sources, in: P. Merillees, Catalogue of Western Asiatic seals in the British Museum: Cylinder seals, vol. 6: Pre-Achaemenid and Achaemenid periods, London: 143-51. SCHACHNER, A. 2008, Babylonier und Achämeniden auf dem Dülük Baba Tepesi: Kulturelle Vielfalt in der späten Eisenzeit im Spiegel der vor-hellenistischen Funde, in: E. Winter (ed.),     PP : Neue Funde und Forschungen zwischen Taurus und Euphrat (Asia Minor Studien 60), Bonn: 69-96. –––– 2011, Die Welt des östlichen Mittelmeers in kleinen Bildern: Weitere Beobachtungen zu den Siegeln und Kleinfunden der späten Eisenzeit vom Dülük Baba Tepesi, in: E. Winter (ed.), Von Kummu nach Telouch: Historische und archäologische Unter-

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suchungen in Kommagene (Dolichener und Kommagenische Forschungen 4 = Asia Minor Studien 64), Bonn: 19-46. SCHMIDT, E.F. 1957, Persepolis, vol. 2: Contents of the Treasury and other discoveries (OIP 69), Chicago. TOTEVA, G.D. 2009, Phrygian Gordion in Achaemenid context, in: Ç.Ö. Aygün (ed.), Proceedings of the XI symposium on Mediterranean archaeology (BAR 1900), London: 380-35. TUNA-NÖRLING, Y. 1999, Daskyleion, vol. 1: Die attische Keramik (Arkeoloji Dergisi 6), zmir. –––– 2001, Attic pottery from Dascylium, in: T. Bakr, H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg, G. Gürtekin, P. Briant & W. Henkelman (eds.), Achaemenid Anatolia: Proceedings of the rst international symposium of Anatolia in the Achaemenid period (PIHANS 92), Leiden: 109-22. WALDBAUM, J.C. 1983, Metalwork from Sardis: The nds through 1974 (Archaeological Exploration of Sardis Monograph 8), Cambridge MA. WARTKE, R.B. 1997, Materialen der Siegel und ihre Herstellungstechniken, in: E. KlengelBrandt (ed.), Mit sieben Siegeln versehen: Das Siegel in Wirtschaft und Kunst des alten Orients, Berlin: 41-61. YAYLALI, S. 2005, An Old Babylonian cylinder seal from Daskyleion in northwestern Anatolia, ANES 42: 299-311. ZETTLER, R. 1979, On the chronological range of Neo-Babylonian and Achaemenid seals, JNES 38: 257-70.

SIGILLOGRAPHY AND SOLDIERS: CATALOGUING MILITARY ACTIVITY ON ACHAEMENID PERIOD SEALS Christopher Tuplin (Liverpool)

1. Introduction In a couple of publications, I have had occasion to refer to an unpublished check list of Achaemenid era seal images of human combat.1 Several colleagues have been kind enough to suggest that it would be useful for this list to be made public, and I am delighted to have the opportunity to respond to this suggestion here. Categorically speaking the subject matter could hardly be more appropriate when honouring a scholar whose immense contribution to the understanding of Achaemenid iconography has come to be so heavily linked with the study of glyptic. I cannot match Professor Root’s skills in the viewing and assessment of seals and seal-impressions (few of us can), and everything that follows must be understood in that light. I come to this material as a historian in search of evidence. Whether one is talking about the Realien of warfare or its place in ideological representation (to take just two topics of interest), seal images with military content must be taken into account and, as with any evidence-stream, it is desirable for this to be done with a proper sense of the size and general character of the relevant data-set. The purpose of this essay is to facilitate that process by presenting the data-set relating to human combat in a comprehensive manner. The undertaking has two components. The first involves identification and description of the salient material, and is represented by §§1-3 and the Catalogue (§6). The second consists of an analysis and contextualisation of the images found on the 65 items assembled in the catalogue, and is represented by §§4-5. No such catalogue has been drawn up previously, and this is consequently the first time that all of the glyptic material involved has been subjected to systematic analysis. Refinement and extension will be possible (there is, for example, more to be said about the relationship to other artistic material: the treatment in §4.4 abbreviates a fuller unpublished discussion) and it is my intention that this essay should be the basis for further work by students of seal-manufacture, glyptic and non-glyptic 1

Tuplin 2010a-b (these references are superseded by the present publication).

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iconography, military history and Achaemenid ideology.2 In the meantime, I hope our honorand will detect the spirit of admiration and gratitude in which I offer to her what is in effect the start of a new conversation.

2. Historiography Military seal images in general and combat images in particular tend to get little attention in general presentations of seals such as those by Boardman (1970) or Zazoff (1983). Among more focused presentations of glyptic material, that of Deniz Kaptan conjoins combat and hunting images for the purpose of general analytical comment (2002, 1: 74-99); yet, while there are good reasons (iconographic and ideological) for considering the interaction of such images, hunting and warfare are distinct categories of activity (represented by very different numbers of seal-images) and their images ought not to (appear to be) simply elided. Balzer (2007) does pick out human combat images, but, of course, they represent a small percentage of his Babylonian database. The same goes for Schmidt (1956), and will go for the full publication of Persepolis Fortication archive seals in due course. And that indeed is the reason for the phenomenon in general. The items are not common. But they are not negligibly rare either, at least for the historian – something that becomes most apparent when one is not focusing on particular glyptic sub-groups – whether dened by archaeological provenance, current museum location, or artistic style – but rather on the entirety of Achaemenid era glyptic as a source for a particular category of image. It deserves stress at the outset that, by the standards of earlier ancient Near Eastern or contemporary mainstream Greek glyptic, the items we are concerned with are actually remarkably numerous.3

3. Establishing the Catalogue The Catalogue (§6) as currently constituted contains 65 numbered items, in principle representing 65 distinct sealstones (on n° 20-22 see §3.4). Determining 2

3

Wu 2014 (which drew on a version of the unpublished check-list) may be noted here. Wu (2005; 2010) had already addressed some salient issues in relation to a small selection of images. A number of combat scenes on Persepolitan seals are discussed in Garrison & Henkelman [forthc.] in connection with the Aršma seal (n°1). The sealimages is placed in a wider discussion of Achaemenid attitudes to war in Tuplin 2017. Comparison with other glyptic environments: Merrillees 2005: 36; Balzer 2007, 1: 156; Wu 2010: 548. The famous heirloom seal of Kuraš of Anzan (PFS 0093*) is a precursor to the Achaemenid type; the incompletely preserved PFS 2091 perhaps originally carried a combat scene reminiscent of PFS 0093* in content, style, and age.

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what should be in the Catalogue and where it should go is not always straightforward, and I start with comments and explanations about this. The essential criteria for inclusion are that 1) ghting is going on between human combatants, 2) at least one combatant can be classied as a Persian gure, and 3) the seal is a product of the Achaemenid era. We are dealing normally with sealstones or seal impressions. I have included one item (n° 10) that is the impression (on a jar) of something larger than a standard sealstone, because it seemed over-articial not to do so. Comments and explanations are required about some of the ways in which these criteria have been applied.

3.1. Date Denitely excluded, despite its fame in discourse about seals in the Achaemenid world, is PFS 0093*, the seal of Kuraš of Anzan, because, although in use in early Achaemenid Persepolis, it had been made long before.4 From the other end of the Achaemenid time-frame, I have included n° 30 (despite suggestions that it involves a Galatian) and some possibly post-Achaemenid Bern group items because they are closely related to the core repertoire. But I have excluded Boardman 1970: 321 (g.309) = 455 (335) because the unambiguously Celtic soldiers denitely fall outside the repertory of proper Catalogue items, even if there is a Persian allure to one gure (Persian dress, but Greek helmet and cloak).5

3.2. Prisoners A number of images of combat that also include prisoners unarguably belong in the Catalogue. Excluded are eight items that involve prisoners but do not show combat. Some look like truncated versions of known combat scenes,6 others do not7 – 4

5 6

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Balzer’s (2007, 1: 163) notion that it might be of early Achaemenid date and even that it names an otherwise unknown prince Cyrus from the reign of Darius and records to ghting with Elamite usurpers in 522/521 BCE is not one that I am inclined to follow. Galling (1941, pl.11.171) oddly puts the item in the fth century. Artašat sealing: Wu 2010: 553, 555 (g.51.11); idem 2014: 250 n.76, 253 (g.9b). Moscow seal: Root 1979, pl.34b; Schmitt 1981: 36f. (SA3b), g.5. Ward 1048: Ward 1910: 327, g.1048. U 17243.20 (Ur): Balzer 2007 A3b.2. Wu (2014: 250) thinks the similarity of n° 18-19 and the Moscow seal is a sign that the same event is being referenced. On identication of specic historical events in our corpus see §4.5.3. Bregstein 194: Bregstein 1993: 591; Balzer 2007 A3b.3; Wu 2010: 553, 556 (g. 51.12). Three unpublished Persepolis items, knowledge of which I owe to Mark Garrison, are: PFS 1156 (see also Root 2013: 30-2 n.21), PFS 2218, and PFUTS 0305*.

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indeed three are more closely related to an audience scene model. In any case considerations of space preclude their full presentation here, although some will be referred to from time to time.

3.3. Nippur sealings A notable (provenanced) contribution to the Catalogue is made by sealings from the Nippur Murašû archive. Bregstein (1993: 80f.) categorizes items 183-99 in her catalogue as military seals. Of these 184-90 are certainly Persian combat seals and duly appear in the Catalogue (n° 8, 24-25, 27, 32, 36, 38). The others, however, do not. Bregstein 195 (hunting scene) and 199 (unarmed man walking with a horse) are not military scenes at all, while Bregstein 194 is a non-combat prisoner scene (see n.7). Bregstein 191, 196-98 do not demonstrably involve Persians (see n.24).

3.4. How many originals? Some Catalogue items that are represented by ancient impressions, not surviving actual seals, are uncontroversially derived from more than one impression. However, there are seven items associated with Persepolis that present a somewhat less clear situation, viz PTS 28 (itself an image inferred from several impressions),8 Tadjvidi 1976, gs.140-42, Boston 1989.159, Boston (unnumbered), and Tehran 6580 (Curtis & Tallis 2005 424).9 What is at issue is both how many distinct bullae there are and how many distinct original sealstones.

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9

I assume, for the sake of argument, that this reconstruction is uncontroversial. Once the possibility that there might be multiple originals involved arises (prompted by the separate Tadjvidi nd), Schmidt’s willingness to infer a single original for his bullae could theoretically come back under consideration. I also assume that all the items here do represent one or more versions of an image that involved prisoners: that is, I assume that Tadjvidi 1976, g.141 and Tehran 6580 are truncated impressions of an original or originals that had the full scene, rather than representatives or one or more originals bearing a different, two-gure scene. There have been hints at an eighth item. Briant (2002: 973) cites unpublished information from Bregstein and Stolper about a Babylonian impression that is nearly identical to PTS 28, while he himself (2002: 1025) cites the same sources for a Babylonian seal with quasiBsot n scene (several prisoners led by a victor) resembling the Artašat sealing and Moscow seal. These are presumably meant as references to the same item. But the inconsistency between the allusion to PTS 28 (which indicates Greek adversaries and an actual combat element) and the allusions to the Artašat and Moscow items (which point in

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Straightforward inspection establishes that PTS 28 (or strictly speaking the three bullae that represent it), Boston 1989.159, the unnumbered Boston item, and Tadjvidi 1976, gs.140-42 are all separate bullae, and no one has claimed otherwise.10 Curtis and Tallis (2005) do, however, appear to link Tehran 6580 (their g.424) to Tadjvidi 1976, gs.140-42. But it is denitely not identical with g.140 or g.142, as the latter have captives and the former does not, and, although it might theoretically be identical with g.141 (which does not have captives), inspection of the photographs makes clear that this is not the case (consider, e.g., the different state of preservation of the Persian gure’s feet; the state of the Greek’s lower right arm also distinguishes it from Tadjvidi g.141).11 So, we do have seven distinct bullae to assign to a debatable number of original seals. PTS 28 and Tehran 6580 are said to be from cylinder seals, whereas Boston 1989.159 is apparently from a stamp seal. That already guarantees at least two original seals. For simplicity’s sake I assume that the other (unnumbered) Boston item (also from a stamp seal but otherwise an unknown quantity) is from the same original as Boston 1989.159. So we have one cylinder seal and one stamp seal. Tadjvidi 1976, gs.141-42 resemble one another and differ from g.140, Boston 1989.159, Tehran 6580, and PTS 28 in the appearance of Greek’s right arm. The soldier’s right arm is bent at the elbow (at the point where the Persian grasps it) and the forearm hangs vertically; as a result there is a pronounced Y-shaped feature at the centre of the design. But in Tadjvidi 1976, gs.141-42, although there is a mark on the impression where the hanging forearm would be, it is rather indistinct when compared with its appearance on Tadjvidi 1976, g.140, Boston 1989.159, Tehran 6580, and PTS 28 (the rest of the Y – i.e. the King’s forearm and the soldier’s upper arm – is very clearly present). It is as though the seal used to make Tadjvidi 1976: gs.141-142 was damaged at this point. Theoretically, of course, the damaged seal might have produced Tadjvidi 1976, g.140 and the other seals before it was damaged, in which case there would or could still be only one seal. But it seems equally defensible to hold that Tadjvidi 1976, gs.140-42 represent at least two original items (140; 141-42), one of which was damaged. That is a different pair of distinct seals from the pair represented by the distinction between PTS 28 and Tehran 6580 (on the one hand) and the two Boston items (on the other) – suggesting a potential total of four seals. But since A) Boston

10 11

other directions on both issues) leaves the character of the item uncertain, and it seems safest to set it to one side. The entirely different nd-spot of the Tadjvidi items is also relevant. Shahrokh Razmjou has kindly conrmed this conclusion. Dr. Razmjou also tells me that the item actually displayed in London was not the one listed in the catalogue. I am further indebted to him for a translation of the relevant portion of Tadjvidi (1976).

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1989.159 might come from the same original as Tadjvidi 1976, g.140,12 B) Tadjvidi 1976, g.142 looks as though it is from a (different) original from ibid. g.140 (because of the treatment of the Greek’s arm: see above),13 and C) there is no compelling reason to postulate that PTS 28 and Tehran 6580 represent different cylinder seals, we may have, not four, but three different originals – one cylinder (PTS 28; Tehran 6580), one stamp (Boston 1989.159; Boston [unnumbered]; Tadjvidi 1976, g.140) and one of uncertain form (Tadjvidi 1976, gs.141-42).14 I have congured the Catalogue in accordance with this necessarily tentative conclusion, dividing the seven items between three different (subdivided) numbers (n° 20.1-2, 21.1-3, 22.1-2) and describing them separately. The signicance consists in the fact that we have evidence for at least two, possibly three (and still conceivably more than three) distinct stones bearing an almost identical image.

3.5. Interpretative difculties A number of items certainly belong in the Catalogue but leave room for doubt about what exactly is going on in the scene. I mention two cases here that are particularly troublesome; full discussion appears in the Catalogue. In the case of n° 23, I take the view that the Persian is spearing the standing Greek, but am much less certain about the relationship between the Persian and the Greek kneeling in front of him. N° 38 appears to present a scene in which one of the two Persians spears the kneeling Greek adversary while the other grabs him: in other words, whereas a number of combat gures both seize and stab their adversary, in this image the functions are divided between two gures. This conclusion would fall if one interpreted the opaque features behind the right-hand Persian as a raised hand with a weapon: in that case both Persians would be attacking the kneeling gure. But I think this unlikely.

12

13

14

The general appearance of Tadjvidi 1976, g.140 rather recalls the Boston item. The image differs inasmuch as g.140 has all three captives (whereas Boston has only the front of the rst) and lacks the Greek’s shield, but it is not inconceivable that they are both impressed from the same (stamp seal) original. Tadjvidi 1976, g.142 is also directly dissimilar to the Boston item inasmuch as the Greek soldier’s shield is not visible on Tadjvidi, g.142, though that might be because of a different manner of impression. Dr. Razmjou observes of the Tadjvidi cache as a whole that the stamp/cylinder issue is hard to resolve without the sort of proper study that has not yet happened.

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3.6. Hunting or ghting? There are two items (n° 13, 14) where the question arises whether the armed human gures are ghting one another or hunting (co-operatively or competitively) an animal that is also present in the scene.15 In n° 13 we have (reading left to right) a Persian archer ring right, with a lion and a bull-hoofed canine above one another facing right, an axe-wielding Central Asian facing left and (behind him) a diminutive gure with what looks like a walking stick. To read this as a hunt one would presumably have to identify the lion as the quarry (lions are common hunting quarry; and the bowman’s arrow is pointing straight at the back of its head). But the dog/bull can hardly be seen as the sort of dog proper to glyptic hunting scenes:16 quite apart from its odd physiognomy, the composition means that it is not in a reciprocally hostile relationship with the lion; and the contrast between the lion’s semi-crouching posture and the dog’s more mobile stance hardly establishes the contrary. The two animals have more the appearance of the archer’s ‘companions’ in a conict with the Central Asian gure (who has his own diminutive and puzzling ‘companion’). The adversary’s axe is also an odd weapon for hunting: it does not feature on huntingseals, and I doubt that its presence on the Xenophantus vase or the Alexander Sarcophagus entirely mitigates the problem.17 To my eye the two armed gures are far more immediately visually prominent than the two animals between them, and this makes it much more natural to see the archer as aiming at his human counterpart rather than at the (closer) lion. I therefore judge this to be a human combat with some slightly mysterious, presumably symbolic, additions. There is a dog in n° 14 too, and this one tells more strongly in favour of hunting, since it is uncomplicatedly analogous to the dogs that appear on seals in unambiguously hunting scenes. The rampant pose of the caprid between the two human gures is also quite suitable to a hunting context. The fact that both archers seem to aim above the caprid (so at each other?) and the right-hand gure is ring while half-turning back (as though retreating?) may tell the other way.18 Moreover, paired hunters on seals pursue lions (ve times) or boars (once) rather than more 15 16

17

18

Merrillees (2005: 36) poses this question about n° 13. There are at least thirteen examples in the relevant data set (see n.63), including some in lion hunts (Collon 1987 422 = Legrain 1951 759; Buchanan 1966 688). Xenophantus Vase (St Petersburg, Hermitage P 1837.2): see, e.g., Miller 2003; Llewellyn-Jones 2012: 320-24. Alexander Sarcophagus: von Graeve 1970. A turning-back foot-archer appears in a multi-gure combat context on n° 17 but is not a feature of the six images known to me of pairs of men hunting together on foot. Boardman 1970: 452 (179; pl.904) and 453 (226; pl.929) do provide equestrian ‘Parthian shots’ in single-hunter scenes, but it begs questions so assume that equestrian tropes can be transferred to non-equestrian scenes.

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innocuous caprids. One might wonder, then, whether the Persian gure is actually protecting the caprid against the Scythian – as happens on a number of Fortication archive seals, where an archer protects a caprid from lion attack, or Porada 1948 832, where an archer res over the head of a caprid at a rearing lion and the caprid whom he is protecting looks back at the lion, just as the caprid on n° 14 looks at the Scythian.19 On this reading a trope from the hunting repertoire (the defended animal) has been used to give an extra twist or bite to a Persian-Scythian combat scene, implicitly casting the Scythian as a wild animal. But one must admit that the position of the dog is barely consistent with this view: he looks like a huntsman’s companion and, as such, the thing he is hunting is the caprid, not the Scythian. I have left the item in the Catalogue, but with considerable uncertainty.

3.7. Ethnic identity In the majority of cases the images are categorized as involving Central Asian, Greek, or (much more rarely) Egyptian adversaries (for general remarks about these categories see §4.5.3). Sometimes the assignment of an image to the Central Asian group is not entirely straightforward: this is true of n° 13 and n° 15, as will be clear from the Catalogue entry in each case. A small number of adversaries resist rm identication (n° 40-41, 62).20 It is crucial for an item’s inclusion that at least one combatant can be held to be Persian. This has been held not to be true in n° 2 and 11, the images being interpreted instead as clashes between different East Iranian or Central Asian peoples. I think that this is incorrect, as is explained in the salient Catalogue entries. On n° 12 the archer is wearing an ‘Assyrian garment,’ whose characteristic feature is that the forward leg is left exposed. Strictly speaking, therefore, this seal does not provide an image of Persian combat. But given the ubiquity of the Assyrian garment in the PFS repertoire on gures performing tasks that are also performed by wearers of Persian garb, one may feel entitled to regard the item as (at least) Persian by proxy.21 The (otherwise Persian) horseman on n° 50 has a crested pointed (pilosstyle) helmet. This is one of a small group of quite similar items (from Boardman’s 19

20

21

There are also protective scenes involving spear-bearing hunters, certainly Henkelman et al. 2004 RB 5, RB 6 (where the lion is attacking the other animal); less (even much less) certainly Gordon 1939: 32 (108); Delaporte 1920/23, pl.91 (A789); Krückmann 1933, pl.99 (XXXVI). See also the Catalogue entry for n° 39. That is also true of Ward 1048, PFS 1156, PFS 2218, and PFUTS 0305* (see nn.6-7). Kaptan’s reading of n° 39 creates a problem about one of the gures on that seal; see the relevant Catalogue entry. I have not spotted a precise parallel for the quiver with tassel among currently published seal images from the Persepolitan archives.

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so-called Bolsena group), but whereas the rest have a pilos-wearing Greek infantryman and a Persian horseman with standard headgear, this one gives the infantryman a normal Greek crested helmet and assigns a pilos to the horseman. It would appear that the die-cutter was deliberately playing around with the design, and there is no question that n° 50 belongs in the Catalogue.22 That is much less certain in the case of n° 65, which I have only included with some misgivings.23

3.8. Beyond the Catalogue An alternative would be to put n° 65 with the nine or ten other items that show or imply combat but do not demonstrably involve Persian participation – and in two cases denitely involve a combat between two Greek gures.24 Such items – whose comparative rarity in the general class of glyptic combat scenes of Achaemenid date is worth note – stand beyond the boundaries of the Catalogue. Further beyond those boundaries are other (much more numerous) supercially military items that deserve mention by way of contextualisation (the fact that Kaptan counts some of them as combat images underlines the need to draw distinctions). There are two categories which I name Ambiguous Military and Other Military. Ambiguous Military designates scenes in which a Persian foot-soldier or horseman is wielding weapons, but does so against an unseen opponent. This includes 1) scenes which are only partially preserved and contain no surviving hint of a human adversary and 2) wholly preserved scenes which are studies of a 22

23

24

If one wished to argue that it is not an artistic sport, one might point to the quasiconical headgear on the lost Yeniceköy stele (Nollé 1992: 37f. [F V], pl.15), the similar object that someone lost at Marathon (Head 1992, g.17[a]) and Xenophon’s reference to white crests (Cyr. VII.1.2). N° 64, put in the same category as n° 65, is another matter. I think there is no doubt that either of the gures can be taken as Persian. The problem is deciding which is the victor and whether we might actually be dealing with a combat between Persians. Equestrian, Brussels 1458: Speleers 1917: 2.182 (1458); Adana 1184: Poncy et al. 2001: 15 (42); Bregstein 196: Bregstein 1993: 593, Balzer 2007 U4x.5; Bregstein 197: Bregstein 1993: 594, Donbaz & Stolper 1997, g.60, Balzer 2007 U4x.4; Bregstein 198: Bregstein 1993: 595, Balzer 2007 Ux4.3; Bregstein 626: Bregstein 1993: 1031, Balzer 2007 A1x.2. Infantry, DS 160: Kaptan 2002, 2: 143f. (160), pls.421-22; ANE 124014: Dalton 1964: 30f. (113), g.62, Boardman 450 (54), pl.851; Bregstein 191: Bregstein 1993: 588, Balzer 2007 A1x.1. It is debatable whether a jar seal impression from Kiuzelig’ir (Wu 2005: 125 [2.33], g.29b) is meant to show combat. If it does, its composition recalls 1) scenes where two infantry combatants confront one another over a dead body (n° 1-3, 7, 15, 31-32, 34, 37?) or a prisoner (n° 23-24) and 2) the scene on n° 17 – the only example of two soldiers ghting against two adversaries.

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military gure in aggressive motion, not just one who is quietly walking or riding. The problem in both cases is that the victim of the aggression might be animal, not human. There are some 20 items in this category. Other Military designates clear representations of armed gures whom we know not to be engaged in combat with any sort of enemy because 1) the whole scene is preserved and no such adversary is present or 2) the armed gure is either at rest or walking or riding in a nonaggressive manner and so not doing anything obviously describable as ghting. There are over 30 items in this category including, incidentally, the images of warships on PTS 32 and Amiet 1973: 42 (73). Naturally one wonders about the relationship between these and items included in the Catalogue. Items in the Other Military category by denition cannot be part of combat scenes (whether accidentally or deliberately truncated), so the issue is whether there are any residual gure-design features of combat-seal type. The answer is essentially no, except for the slightly special case of PTS 58, which carries a Type III daric/siglos design. This does not count as Ambiguous Military because the gure’s weapons are not in use, but it may derive a hint of aggression from the Knielauf pose and does have some relevance to certain combat seals (cf. §§4.3.2, 4.4.2). In the case of Ambiguous Military Persian gures what we should like to know is whether we are looking at accidentally truncated combat scenes or extracts from combat-scene images and whether, if so, design and compositional features match or clash with the unambiguous combat-scenes. But there are no unambiguously positive answers. The kneeling archer on Boardman 1970: 449 (9) = pl.827 is probably a (standard) hunting gure. The three equestrian archers25 are also probably (standard) hunters: none resembles the sole equestrian archer in the Catalogue (n° 64), and the one on another facet of the gem bearing n° 44 appears to be deliberately distinguished in appearance from the military horseman. One item involving infantry spearmen (Bregstein 192) is more interesting. Bregstein described it as a row of three standing Median-style soldiers holding swords (?) or battle-axes (?) in raised hands. That does not evoke any hunting tropes and might be (effectively) an extract from a larger and more complicated combat scene – one, moreover, without a direct analogue among items included in the Catalogue. But Balzer (2007, 2: 6 D4c.1) reads the scene as one in which three men are hunting a horse (not preserved on the impression) with a lasso or an axe – a reading based on an analogy with Bregstein 193 = Balzer l.c. (D4c.2), where there is a comparable single gure and the presence of a horse is indicated by a bit of its tail. So the case must be regarded as uncertain. And in all other cases there is simply no reason to make a judgment one way or another.

25

Zettler 1979: 260 = Balzer 2007, 2: 3 (D1a.5); Francfort 1975: 220 g.5; DS 71.

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3.9. Future possibilities The Catalogue may contain items that perhaps should not be there. It may not contain ones that should be. And, even if that is not the case now, it may well be in the future. For example, it is not impossible that more will come from the Persepolis Fortication archive. Items from that source, though rare, gure more in the Catalogue than would have seemed likely even comparatively recently.26 There is room for doubt about PFS 2415, but PFS 2214 may turn out to deserve a place, and we certainly cannot rule out the emergence of still other items.27 The recent discovery of an impression of the Aršma seal (n° 1) in the archive is a stunning example of its unpredictable riches (see Addenda).

4. Analysing the Catalogue’s contents 4.1. Non-homogeneity The set is non-homogeneous in various ways.

4.1.1. Dates The dates (sometimes constrained by terminus ante quem arguments drawn from use of seals on dated documents, but often entirely dependent on stylistic considerations) range from the late sixth century BCE to the end of the Achaemenid era. Depending on how one makes various decisions it might turn out that the date range for items with Greek (and Egyptian) adversaries starts slightly later than that for Central Asian, but the effect is, at best, slight (the predominance of Greek topics on stamps tends to skew the gures).

26 27

Garrison 2000: 134-41, 148-50; Wu 2005: 57 (citing M. Root). “PFS 2124 may be a combat scene. The engraving is very coarse, denitely not local. There are at least three gures, one apparently holding a spear above his head” (M.B. Garrison per epist.). I thank Mark Garrison for this information about PFS 2415 and PFS 2124, and for alerting me to other salient PFS items. I thank him also for enabling me to make use of Balzer 2007 (notably valuable as a source of photographs of sealings) during the later stages of work on this chapter.

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4.1.2. Style Stylistic characterization is to some extent a subjective matter (categorizations in the Catalogue come from various sources and are perhaps not always entirely reciprocally consistent), but there is plainly a big gap between, e.g., the heartland styles of Persepolitan Fortication or Treasury material and the world of Bern group stamps. There is, however, some pattern to this stylistic diversity. Put crudely, infantry combat tends to be represented in styles that are classied as Persian or predominantly Persian, whereas equestrian combat tends to be represented in styles that are classied as a Graeco-Persian mix or even as purely Greek. Since the equestrian images are characteristically representations of Persian victory over a Greek opponent, the Hellenic allure of the style clearly sits in no straightforward relationship to the identity of the commissioner or owner of the seals in question. But it is remarkable that this type of military scene is so little associated with the artistic style (and indeed cylinder format) of the imperial heartland. Moreover, an exception such as n° 64 is also iconographically quite out of line with the normal Persian horseman vs. Greek infantryman model. The existence of both infantry and equestrian scenes in Kaptan’s Persianising style (n° 29, 34, 42, 46, 48, 63), Porada’s mixed style (n° 13, 50) and Boardman’s Greek style (n° 28, 30, 53, 58-59, 61-62) does somewhat mitigate the sense of stylistic disjunction between the two types of scene: we can, if we choose, say that the inclination to make images of Persian infantry victory travelled west from the heartland environment (i.e., that an iconographic choice transcended stylistic boundaries). But we have much less reason to claim something similar about the equestrian equivalents. This does raise questions about our entitlement to treat the entire data-set as a single entity. At the same time, the very low incidence of Achaemenid era glyptic depiction of human combat, whether infantry or equestrian, that is not also depiction of Persian victory suggests that, whatever its discontinuities, our data-set is in the end historically coherent.

4.1.3. Provenance Only about a third of actual seals (cylinder or otherwise) have even an alleged provenance, and no plainly interesting patterns seem to emerge: items with Greek adversaries can turn up in the far east, those with Central Asian adversaries in Anatolia (the fact that very few items with a Central Asian topic are provenanced at all must at least in part reect the simple fact that Greek topics are more common). Most seal impressions are, of course, provenanced because they appear on provenanced documents (that does not apply to n° 4, part of a collection of labels which is only speculatively connected with Telloh in Mesopotamia; note also that the seal was not necessarily applied in the place where the document was even-

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tually found).28 The documents’ provenances range from Persepolis to Nippur and Dascylium, with small outliers in Egypt, Cilician Porsuk (an exceptional case because the carrier is a ceramic vessel, not a document), and Phrygian Seyitömer. Remarkably one and the same seal (n° 1) is attested in use both in Persepolis and, a half-century or more later, at whatever was the location of composition of the Aršma letters now housed in the Bodleian library (Garrison & Henkelman [forthc.]). In terms of document type those two uses probably belong in similar settings (letters written by members of the Iranian élite), but, viewed globally, the archives of the Persepolitan economy, the Murašû enterprise (at the join between state and commercial activity), and the satrapal administration certainly represent distinct environments. Something they share, of course, is the relative paucity of combat seals. Even so, while they are almost vanishingly rare in the Fortication Archive, the six Dascylium items represent 3.3% of the relevant data-set (185 seal images), and the gure rises to 5.2% for the Persepolis Treasury archive (77 seal images). These are tiny gures, but are they too small for statistical signicance? The contrast between Fortication and Treasury sets (which are chronologically successive) might suggest a change in taste – and Wu (2014: 269) goes further and speaks of a change of policy.29

4.1.4. Object type The Catalogue contains 36 cylinder items (17 actual cylinders and 19 attested only by impressions), 25 non-cylinder items (19 actual stamps or sealstones and 6 attested only by impressions), 3 impressions from objects of uncertain type, and one item of entirely unknown character. The distinction between cylinder and noncylinder seals is certainly in principle a culturally signicant one, and image types do turn out to be distributed unevenly in relation to it. Greek-equestrian images are almost only found on stamps (there is little equestrian material of any sort coming from elsewhere). The exceptions (n° 46, 51) are in Persianising or mixed style; n° 51 is thought to be quite late in date. 28

29

The same is true of many Persepolis Fortication texts. It also applies to, e.g., the document carrying n° 24, which was written in Susa, far from its Nippur nd-spot, and the Aršma bullae carrying n° 1, some or all of which were impressed outside Egypt. Strictly speaking this would involve ensuring that the 77 PTA items are compared only with the appropriate seals in the very much larger and more diverse Fortication environment. But I doubt that, even if a way of doing that could be agreed, it would make much difference. Garrison & Henkelman [forthc.] detect a shift in the representation of human combat at Persepolis. between n° 1, 2, and 3 (in Darius’ reign) and n° 20 and 41 (in Xerxes’ reign), with n° 40 as a transitional stage.

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By contrast, Greek-infantry items are virtually absent from surviving stamps (there are only two examples) but are well represented on cylinders and cylinderimpressions – and two of the stamped impressions are also closely related in style/type to some of the cylinder-impression items, as are most of the relevant impressions of uncertain type. At the same time (as with the rare Greek-equestrian cylinders), the surviving cylinders with Greek-infantry images are mostly stylistically remote from heartland court style, and one (n° 30) may even be post-Achaemenid. The cylinder repertoire for this image-type is therefore not homogeneous. Meanwhile, Central Asian-infantry images (the dominant sort: there are only two equestrian items, or three if one counts n° 62) are also almost conned to cylinders and cylinder-impressions. Among exceptions the Porsuk item (n° 10) is exceptional anyway (being on a ceramic vessel), n° 8 might be from a cylinder seal, and the image on the stamp n° 43 is very similar to that on the (possible) cylinder n° 42. This time the stylistic language is more inclined to that of the heartland (though, e.g., n° 14 is an exception). N° 6 is a rather peculiar item. Here, then, we get not just a de facto lack of homogeneity but (to state it extremely) a sense that there are two sets of material (infantry and equestrian) which are joined by the fact that we are dealing with sealstones and human combat but nonetheless remain rather distinct. Generalizations about sealstone combatimages that cross that division require extra care.

4.2. The relationship between Catalogue items Most of our items involve a combat between just two individuals. That visual core can be A) extended or B) varied in various fashions. Exposition of this fact allows one to see something of both the diversity and the uniformity of the data-set.

4.2.1. Extension of the core image There are two distinct ways in which the core image of a military duel can be extended. 4.2.1.1. Additional animals and non-animate paraphernalia – Untenanted horses appear on n° 1 and 40 (two Aramaic-inscribed seals originating in the imperial heartland). These are not horses from which someone in the scene has fallen; this is particularly clear on n° 1, where each horse is attached by a long rein to one of the combatants, and we are plainly viewing a symbolic, not a naturalistic, image – and one whose symbolic force is rather opaque. Other animals appear occasionally. On n° 7 a lion stands semi-erect behind the Scythian adversary, compositionally balancing the bound prisoner behind the Persian gure and resting his front legs on

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the body of a fallen (dead?) Scythian. This is another symbolic scene (we are not being invited to imagine lions roaming the battleelds of Central Asia). But what is the message? Is the lion the Persian’s companion, giving extra force to his military dominance? Or is the lion associated with the Scythian? In that case his presence alludes to the trope in which a ‘royal hero’ confronts a rampant lion or other monster in exactly the way in which here the (crowned) Persian confronts his Scythian adversary (§§4.3.2, 4.4.3, 4.5.1). The way that the animal puts his feet on the fallen Scythian perhaps favours the former option. Other lions appear on n° 13, a problematic item (§3.6), which may also link lion and Persian victor, and n° 11 (in a separate but symbolically linked scene; see §4.2.1.2). The rearing caprid on n° 14 is part of another problematic scene (§3.6). The category of non-animate paraphernalia includes the bow and what is perhaps a hat ‘oating’ above one of the dead bodies on n° 1, presumably lost by defeated enemies (though it is not clear that anyone present has lost a hat; the situation is different from n° 15b). An already discharged arrow sticks in the ground (or perhaps in a corpse) on n° 12 and a spear on n° 55 and perhaps n° 59 (§4.2.1.2). 30 Normally, however, by-products of ghting of this sort are not shown. Landscape is evoked by rocks on n° 7 and (in a very different stylistic setting) n° 58; and the oval shapes that mark the ground-line on n° 60 are perhaps intended to suggest a rocky landscape. There are also palm trees on n° 7, 18, 19, and 33 (as well as on some non-combat prisoner scenes).31 In other seal contexts palm-trees are associated with royal-name seals and are therefore generally regarded as a marker of high status32 – by which is meant (perhaps) a marker of an image that is making a specially strong ideological statement. That is perhaps appropriate here, though, if so, its appearance on n° 33 – stylistically “more Greek than oriental” (Boardman) – means that someone was aping a court-style effect. There are also symbols of various sorts: star (n° 65, perhaps n° 32); crook (perhaps n° 32); crescent (n° 1, 13, 65);33 winged ring-and-disk/disk (always placed centrally with respect to the image);34 a three-quarters gure in a wingless ring (n° 15b), placed centrally and beneath a separate winged ring-and-disk and looking

30 31 32

33 34

There are also some in the adversary’s body on n° 12; see §4.2.1.2. The Moscow seal, PFS 2218, and PFUTS 0305* (cf. nn.6-7). But note that royal-name seals are not used by the very highest status people in Persepolitan seal praxis. Note also the crescent-like quality of the lower side of the ring on n° 15b. N° 1, 4, 15b, 16-17, 26-27, 29, 31, 35, 37, 42. It is also seen on Ward 1048. The presence of a winged symbol on 33 is uncertain; see Catalogue entry. Here and below I use the terminology of Garrison [forthc.]. For further details about each case (as, e.g., the presence/ absence of tail-feathers, tendrils and yoke or uncertainties about the distinction between ring-and-disk and disk) see the relevant Catalogue entries.

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in the same direction as the victorious Persian; a half-gure in winged ring/disk, sometimes centrally placed (n° 3), sometimes not (n° 7, 15a, 40), but always looking towards the victorious Persian; and (most strangely) what seems to be a ying insect (bee?) on n° 8, looking towards the victorious Persian and therefore (on the evidence of these few items anyway) substituting a gure in winged ring/ disk, not a gure in a ring. Note that winged symbols – and the gure in a wingless ring – are almost exclusively found on infantry images; the only exception is n° 42. Despite the royal associations of such symbols, most of the victorious Persians with which they are associated on seals are not royal gures, the only certain exceptions being n° 7, 8, 31 and Ward 1048. This is, of course, in line with the general preponderance of non-royal victor gures. Another sort of symbol is the seal inscription. These appear in Old Persian on n° 16 and on the Moscow seal (above n. 6) – both naming King Artaxerxes – and in Aramaic on n° 1, 3, 23, 30, 40 and 46 (Legrain thought there were Aramaic letters on n° 32 as well). Apart from the plausible restoration of “Aršma son of the house” on n° 1 (a label that originally referred to a different Aršma from the seal’s eventual and now more famous user), these Aramaic items are either more or less illegible or produce readings that shed as much darkness as light (n° 40 is a possible exception; see Catalogue entry). The various items covered in this category of addition to the core can co-exist, though this never happens in a scene with a Greek adversary, and indeed there are relatively fewer additional paraphernalia (conned to winged symbols, palm trees and inscriptions) in any Greek scenes.35 It is perhaps relevant that so many Greek scenes are on stamps, which provide less room than cylinders. 4.2.1.2. Additional human gures – On 15b (infantry), n° 42-43 (cavalry), and 62 (chariot) one Persian ghter confronts two active adversaries; on n° 37 and 39 (infantry) two Persians confront a single adversary (but see the Catalogue entry); and on n° 16-17, 38, and 41 (all infantry) there are two ghters on each side. N° 38 is a slightly odd case (if correctly interpreted; see §3.5), since the two Persian gures appear to share functions that might both have been carried out by a single gure. Another way in which the number of combatants is increased is by the presence of dead bodies – three on n° 1 and 15 (though in the latter case they are spread over two scenes, one in n° 15a and two in n° 15b), and one in each of n° 2 (probably), 3, 7, 12 (perhaps), 31-32, 34, 37 (infantry) and 45-46, 63 (cavalry). Multiple live ghters and dead bodies only coexist therefore on n° 15b and 37. On n° 15 the 35

N° 7: palm-tree + gure in winged ring-and-disk + lion; n° 1: horses + winged ring-anddisk + inscription; n° 13: animals + crescent; n° 40: horse + inscription; n° 15: gure in winged ring-and-disk + winged ring-and-disk + gure in ring – though this is a by-product of combining two distinct scenes (see §4.2.1.2).

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corpses actually constitute the scene’s ground line in a fashion not paralleled elsewhere. Garrison and Henkelman [forthc.] suggest that the bodies on n° 1-3 act as pedestal creatures, a feature whose function in Persepolitan glyptic is to elevate the scene into a numinous space and thus give it special symbolic force. If such an idea is to be entertained, it could arguably apply just as well to n° 15 (a non-Persepolitan item) – or even better, since n° 15 offers a more perfectly articial treatment of the idea that ghting occurs amidst the bodies of those who have already fallen than what we see in n° 1, 2 and 3 or elsewhere. It would hardly work on n° 7 (where the defeated Scythian straddles the fallen body) or n° 31 (where the two ghters seem to be in front of – i.e. closer to the viewer than – the body), but could perhaps apply to n° 32 and 33, which share with n° 1 and 3 the trope of the victor placing one foot on a corpse. An alternative view would be that that trope is adequately and exhaustively explained as symbolic of the victor’s superiority. Scenes are also extended by the addition of live non-combatants. An odd case is n° 34, where a smaller female gure stands between the combatants, facing the Persian attacker and raising a hand in (apparent) supplication. The notion that she represents Lydia, being defended from Greek attack in the Ionian Revolt, may seem fanciful, but the lack of uncontested parallels makes judgment difcult – and that lack should be noted in its own right (but see the Catalogue entry on n° 39). Combat images are normally quite uninterested in depicting what the combatants are ghting about. They do, however, depict one type of consequence (other than death, that is), viz the acquisition of prisoners. These appear in various ways: behind the combatant and roped to him, either singly (n° 6) or in a group (n° 17-18, 19-21); in front of the combatant, either as a single kneeling gure over whose head he strikes a standing adversary (n° 23-24) or as a pair of standing gures separated from him by the kneeling unbound gure who is the object of his attack (n° 7) or, in an image that combines the roles of prisoner and object of attack, kneeling and about to be executed with a battle-axe (n° 11); once, both in front of and behind the combatant (n° 23), in a composition that combines the tropes of n° 7 and 24/25 – though, because the combatant is spearing his adversary and the prisoner is not of diminutive size, the effect is rather more like n° 18, 19, 20-22, despite the fact that there is only a single prisoner behind the combatant.36 It is worth stressing that an image that shows both a duel between armed men and a prisoner or prisoners under the control of one of the armed men is not a naturalistic one. 36

Related non-combat prisoner seals also have prisoners behind (Artašat sealing, U 17243.20, Moscow seal, Ward 1048, PFS 1156, PFS 2218) and in front of (Bregstein 194, PFUTS 0305*) those who lead or shepherd them. Images in which prisoners are brought before an enthroned gure (PFS 1156, PFS 2218, PFUTS 0305*) use a trope not found – for obvious reasons – in combat-scenes.

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N° 11 stands out for its depiction of the brutal consequences of imprisonment: the slaughter of a helpless captive is not attractive to modern sensibilities, and the rarity of the image perhaps suggests it was not entirely attractive to ancient ones either. The conjunction of this scene with a rather elaborate Master-of-Animals icon (the royal hero stands on pedestal winged grifns and holds up a lion by its rear leg in each hand) is worth noting here. This conjunction is quite exceptional (as Porada 1979: 86 already noted) and, since there is a clear associative contrasting parallel between the court-robe clad Master-of-Animals and the rider-dressed combatant-executioner, one may wonder whether the point is to confer on the act of human brutality as much of a symbolic or mythic quality as possible. The combat scene, whether with two or more human gures present, characteristically provides a single (more or less naturalistic) moment in time, frozen for our contemplation.37 The presence of previously discharged weapons on n° 12, 55, and perhaps n° 59, especially when, as on n° 12, some of them are stuck in the body of the still-running adversary (conferring upon him an almost berserk-like quality; but see below, n.62), does invite thought about moments in the battle before that which is actually depicted, but only in a couple of cases might it be said that we are be given two different moments. On n° 16 we see two distinct duels (contrast the case of four gures engaged in a single ght as on n° 17, 38 and 41), but they still constitute a single moment. N° 15 also has two distinct ghts (one involving two, the other three gures), but this time they are separated from one another by a vertical line and each has its own gure in winged ring-and-disk or winged ring-and-disk + gure in wingless ring (whereas all of n° 16 is played out beneath a single winged ring-and-disk). Here, then, there are denitely two scenes. Merrillees (2005: 36) and Wu (2010: 548) see the second scene as the consequence of the rst, the stricken adversary being the same in both, so that the image as whole represents a succession of moments. But they do not explain who has shot him in the leg (the arrow is seen in n° 15b but not 15a), how (after being speared in n° 15a) he has got his bow out of its case (he holds it in his hand in n° 15b, but not 15a) or where his companion in n° 15b has come from so suddenly. It is surely just as easy to see the two scenes as separate episodes from a battle. N° 15 is one of the three most complex scenes in our data-set, the others being n° 1 and n° 7. These are the scenes with multiple gures and a concatenation of other paraphernalia. Despite being fashioned from similar building blocks they are still in the end decidedly dissimilar in visual effect – a testimony to the diversity of which the repertoire is capable.38 One thing they do have in common is a Central Asian subject, and this is no surprise. Although dead bodies are (very slightly) 37 38

For further comments on narrative and time see Garrison & Henkelman [forthc.]. Of course, in terms of population of a military seal-image with human gures, they still come nowhere near Boardman 1970: 321 g.309.

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more common on Greek than non-Greek images, other additions to the core (animals, non-animate paraphernalia, combatants, prisoners) are generally more common in non-Greek scenes – at least if we take into account the non-combat prisoner items (§3.2). Such scenes also offer a larger number of one-off variants on the core representation of people ghting one another (cf. §4.3.2). To some extent at least this must be an epiphenomenon of the fact that so many Greek scenes are on stamps, not cylinders, and were therefore being conceived within a more limited space (most exceptions are indeed from cylinders). It is not necessarily a sign that there were different underlying Persian attitudes to non-Greek (especially Central Asian) and Greek conict (the difculty of deciding whether there is a greater inclination to produce demeaning images of Greek defeat, §4.3.2, points in the same direction) – even making the assumption that underlying Persian attitudes can properly be deduced across the corpus in the rst place.

4.3. Variation of the core image The visual core (the actual combat between two participants) can take a variety of forms. A major variable is the presence or absence of horse-riding combatants. There are also issues about weaponry (and its use) and the precise way in which the encounter is composed. I start with equestrian scenes.

4.3.1. Equestrian scenes In comparison with infantry images, equestrian ones are, generally speaking, much simpler (i.e. add fewer things to and/or deviate less from the core) and more uniform. Notable variations from the model in which a horseman confronts a footsoldier are rare: there are a couple of cases of equestrian adversaries and one with a chariot (these also being rare examples of non-Greek enemies), and two unusual images that are, however, of debatable status (n° 64, 65). One visually notable distinction is the posture of the horse. Virtually all combat images contain horses that are in extended gallop or are about to rear.39 The only 39

I follow the denitions in Kaptan 1996: 86-90. Extended gallop: hind legs about to lift off ground and stretched back, forelegs raised high and slightly bent. Flying gallop: an exaggerated form of extended gallop in which fore-and hind legs are widely spaced back and forwards and raised high into air. About to rear: largely self-explanatory (Kaptan’s model example is the horse on DS 89, a bear hunt scene). Boardman (2000: 171f.) suggested that the story of Artybius’ horse in Hdt. V.111-2 was a side-product of images of foot-soldiers and rearing horses, but also expressed doubts as to whether a Greek racon-

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ying gallops are on n° 51 (all feet off the ground-line dened by running infantryman) and n° 63, where the hind legs are well above ground level of the dead body. There are three non-standard items on which the horse’s feet are all on the ground. On n° 56 the back legs are bent and the impression is of the horse coming to a halt, even though the horseman dominates the image and is clearly militarily speaking on top; the posture is actually like that of a rearing horse except for the fact that front legs are still rmly on the ground.40 On n° 54 (where there is a slight suggestion of the rear feet being slightly off the ground) the animal is forwardly mobile, not rearing or shying, while on n° 64 it is as though it is walking away from the adversary, while its rider shoots an arrow at him. Equestrian scenes are largely ones in which the adversary is Greek. There are only three straightforward cases in which this is not true, n° 42, 43, and 62 (on 63 the adversary is unknown; 64-65 are of debatable status). The straightforward cases all involve eeing equestrian adversaries and are three of only four cases in which a horseman’s adversary is in ight (the fourth is n° 44). The overall preference for Greek infantry adversaries is notable and will be commented on later (§5). The dominant equestrian weapon is the spear: one (?) Persian rider uses a bow (n° 64) and the weapon used on n° 59 (if any) is obscure. N° 64 is iconographically unlike anything in the rest of the repertoire (that would also be true of n° 65, if that does, after all, show a sword-wielding rider; see Catalogue entry), but n° 59 broadly ts the normal pattern for a confrontation of horseman and Greek infantryman, differing only inasmuch as the horseman’s arm is in an unexpected position for spear use (and no spear or any other weapon is shown), while the infantryman’s posture rather suggests someone who is preparing to deliver a slashing blow with a sword. The only analogy to this in the repertoire is the gure on n° 61, though it is not clear that he actually has a sword in his hand. The only Greek who certainly wields a sword is the fallen warrior on n° 53, who is sticking it in his adversary’s horse’s belly. The lance-like feature stuck in the ground (leaning slightly towards the Greek) is a further peculiarity. All in all, n° 59 looks like a deliberate exercise in slight divergence from a well-established model. The horseman’s spear is almost always used as a weapon thrust diagonally downwards towards or into the adversary’s body (on n° 58 it is remains very far from that body). It is always held one-handed, but there is some variety in the position of the hand on the spear shaft (at various points from the middle to the

40

teur would have thought such an image unfamiliar or un-Greek enough to merit narrative response. But it does not matter whether the image might have existed in a purely Greek context; the point is whether it existed sufciently prominently or frequently in a context that seemed to entail Persian superiority to prompt a response. The posture resembles that on Raeck 1981 578.

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butt-end) and in relation to the head (occasionally behind, normally in front). Kaptan (2002, 1: 142) compares the horseman’s pose on n° 46 (extended gallop, spear held in middle in front of face) with Legrain 1925 985 (which belongs in my Ambiguous Military category) and Boardman 1970, pl.925 (a boar hunting scene), and perhaps this is fair, particularly for the precise angle of the spear; but it is essentially similar to a string of other combat images: n° 43, 44 (that has a longer spear), n° 45, 50, 57, 60, and even n° 51-52, 56, 62. Only n° 55 denitively shows a Persian horseman throwing a spear. Our equestrian combat scene repertoire thus has no link with the Cyrus heirloom seal (PFS 0093*) – though even there the suggestion that the horseman is throwing a spear mainly arises from the fact that a spear is already stuck in his standing adversary rather than very decidedly from the posture of the horseman. Non-glyptic combat images have no clear example of a spear-throwing horsemen; the claim of Cahn (1989) to discern this on an Adramyttium coin of Tissaphernes is debatable. N° 55 also supplies the only certain hint of a horseman carrying more than one spear, assuming that it is the horseman who has thrown the spear now stuck in the ground (there may also be a spear stuck in the ground on n° 59, but since it is leaning away from the horseman it is not natural – though perhaps not completely impossible – to interpret it as one that he had thrown earlier). For a Persian horseman carrying two spears (as literary sources suggest might be possible) see the non-combat gures on MMA 93.17.17 (Sekunda 1992: 25, Head 1992, g.24c) or Naples 3251 (Head 1992, g.28). 41 The eeing non-Persian adversary on n° 44 carries two spears as well. Equestrian adversaries ee, but infantry ones do not, and the great majority confront their attacker standing on their two feet. Only n° 53 and 61 show fallen infantry-men or (therefore) approach the cavalry-infantry trope familiar from, e.g., the Dexileos monument – though to different degrees, as they are somewhat dissimilar one from another. The man on n° 53 is completely beneath the horse’s hooves and is more totally defeated than the one on n° 61 – though he is making a more effective, if still perhaps too belated, riposte by stabbing the animal in its belly. Among the four images with eeing equestrian adversaries, n° 42 (damaged) and n° 43 are quite closely connected, the other two (n° 44 and 62) less so. On one reading n° 64 involves a eeing equestrian. If so, he is eeing from an infantry archer, which, of course, makes for a radically different image. But, whichever way it is viewed, n° 64 is without parallel in the repertoire. N° 42 has been said to resemble n° 43 “[so closely] that they are likely to represent a popular seal motif in Anatolia” (Wu 2010: 563 n.36). One cannot 41

Literary sources: Xen. Anab. I.5.15, 8.3, Hell. III.4.14, Eq. 12.12, Cyr. I.2.9. Contrast Cyr. VI.2.16, VII.1.2, VIII.8.22.

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compare the details of the attacker as he is missing on n° 42. The details of the victims do differ. N° 43 has no gorytus or saddle cloth, the two riders are both looking back, whereas on n° 42 the one further from the viewer looks forward, and is holding a bow, and their two horses overlap more closely than those on n° 43. Moreover, whereas there is a distinction in prole between the Persian and nonPersian horses on n° 43, no such distinction is plain on n° 42. All the same, the situation is striking, especially as these are the only equestrian combat images involving Central Asia adversaries. There can be no real analogue among Greek equestrian images, since none has a pair of victims and only one (n° 44) has a (putative) mounted Greek at all. On this exceptional item the eeing adversary half-turns back towards his pursuer and grasps the attacker’s spear: this differs in detail from n° 42-43, where the fugitives turn fully round and their held-out hands do not grasp the spear (though are closely adjacent to it); but there is plainly some community of iconography. On n° 62 the object of pursuit is a two-man chariot, whose occupants also look back. It is not clear that either of them holds out a hand. Among the standard images of confrontation with infantry – i.e. images other than n° 53, 55, 59, 61, 64-65 – variations can be seen in the orientation of the gures and the posture of the horse and the adversary. Six items have the standing infantry adversary on the left. Five of them (n° 45, 48-50, 57) are really quite similar in the front-foot stance of the infantryman and the visual effect of the interior of his shield and of the horseman’s spear going past it to approach or enter his body. The stylistically disparate n° 54 differs in having an infantryman standing more erect, but rather on the back foot, holding his shield out in front of him (so that it is seen side-on) and brandishing a spear above his head (on the other items when his spear is seen it is being used underarm). The horse’s posture is also unusual, whereas on the other items it is always in extended gallop or (once) rearing. Seven items have the standing infantry adversary on the right, though in one case (n° 46) this gure is not preserved and further comment is impossible. The remaining six (n° 47, 51-52, 56, 58, 60) show rather more diversity than the previous group. The infantryman is variously stepping forward (n° 47, 58), on the back foot (n° 60), running towards the horseman (n° 51), erect and apparently inactive (n° 55), and erect and wielding a spear above his head (n° 51). The strange erectly inactive gure of n° 55 coexists with an unusual horse posture (the other horses show a slight preference for extended gallop over rearing). Two of the rare cases in which the horseman holds his spear behind his head occur here (n° 47, 58); the others are on the non-standard n° 53, 55 and 61. This iconographic disparity reects the greater stylistic disparity. Four of the six items in the previous set are assigned by Boardman to his Bolsena group and only the Bern group n° 54 really stood out. In the present set we have (in Boardman’s terms) two Bern group items, one described as related to the Bern group (though decidedly less peculiar in

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appearance than real Bern group items), a purely Greek gem (n° 58), and one each of the Bolsena and Pendants groups. Ironically the design similarities between n° 47 and 58 involve seals of wholly dissimilar style. The distinction in orientation is therefore in the end more a stylistic than an iconographically substantive issue, and features recur irrespective of orientation: the extended gallop over a dead body on n° 45 is quite similar to that on n° 46; the spear-brandishing gures on n° 52 and 54 (both Bern group) are similar; the frontfoot stance of n° 46 and the comparable Bolsena pieces recurs on n° 47 and 58. So it is better, perhaps, to sort (all) equestrian items primarily in terms of the horseman’s behaviour (full galloping charge or otherwise) and the adversary’s deportment – or, to put it another way, to assess the extent to which the victor is represented as dominant. He is clearly dominant in the cases where his adversaries ee, and this is reected additionally in the contrast between the horses involved on n° 43-44. The situation is more complicated on n° 62, where the bulk of the eeing chariot rather dominates the visual eld. He is also very much on top, literally and metaphorically, in n° 53 and 61. Yet the fallen man’s sword thrust into the horse’s belly on n° 53 and the disproportionately larger size of the victim on n° 61 and the fact that the attacker’s weapon has not yet struck him redress the balance somewhat in different ways. Whatever else they represent, these images have elements of heroic resistance. On n° 64-65 it is quite hard to assess which party is the victor (or indeed the Persian), which at least guarantees that there is some equipollence between the two parties; the proportionately larger size of the archer contributes to this effect on n° 64. In all the scenes where the horseman attacks at extended gallop his adversary seeks to resist, erect and brandishing a spear (n° 52) or at a run (n° 51) – a gesture given extra force here by the gure’s disproportionately large stature – or on the front foot and thrusting a spear at the horse (n° 45, 47-50). In these last cases the horseman has normally landed a spear-thrust on the adversary’s body (though not in n° 47), but the image is certainly not demeaning to the foot-soldier. In two of the scenes where the horseman is not attacking at full gallop but, instead, is on a rearing horse we encounter the same front-foot resistance (n° 5758). On n° 58 the Greek soldier is in a peculiarly solid stance and the horse rears in a decidedly nervous manner. Stylistically speaking n° 58 is a purely Greek product, so perhaps style and substance go together here. On n° 60 (Mixed style: Bolsena group) and n° 59 (Greek style), on the other hand, the Greek warrior is on the back foot.42 But the fact that the horse is rearing does mitigate any sense of victimhumiliation, and the mysterious vertical linear feature on n° 59 (spear stuck in ground?) has the slight effect of separating the gures and diminishing the sense of 42

The pose of the infantryman on n° 59 is unparalleled on combat seals but recalls that of Persian ghters on Raeck 1981 557, 562, 577, and 604.

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actual combat. In three further items we have erect foot-soldiers confronting rearing or actually hesitant horses. N° 55 offers a rather balanced confrontation between spear-wielding gures, the one on foot being depicted disproportionately large to assist the effect. The strange posture of the horse on n° 54 (the relationship of front and back legs is as for a rearing horse, but the front legs are on the ground and the back ones are not) taken in conjunction with the upright (or slightly backwards-leaning) stance of the spear-brandishing infantryman gives the impression that the horseman has been brought to a halt by the rmness of his adversary’s resistance, though his spear does seem to have hit the adversary. That of the horseman on n° 56 has certainly done so: it is thrust into the face of a standing gure who holds a shield but appears otherwise entirely inactive. This inactivity makes it rather strange that the horse gives the impression of having come to a halt and being about to rear, and this impression is in turn somewhat at odds with the vigorous spear-thrust. This is altogether an odd scene: is one to be impressed by the foot-soldier’s heroic impassivity or simply see him as a rather completely defeated adversary?

4.3.2. Infantry scenes When we move to infantry scenes, one distinction presents itself that is absent in equestrian cases: the Persian ghters may be ‘royal’ (i.e. wear dentate crowns and the court robe) or non-royal (i.e. have some other form of headdress, even if they wear the court robe). The former appears on only eight items (n° 7-8, 13, 28, 3134), less than a quarter of the relevant data-set. Even infantry combat images do not inhabit an environment where it is important, let alone mandatory, to make an explicit association between military success and kingship.43 Victory is Persian more than it is royal, and to identify the victor in each of the scenes on n° 15 as a king who just happens not to be wearing a crown (Boardman 2000: 159) is unnecessary.44 As already noted, images with a single pair of combatants are much more common than those with more than one pair, the latter including both cases where there are two separate pairs in combat (n° 15-16) and cases where there is a single ght involving more than one gure on one or both sides (n° 17, 37-39, 41). Each of the items in the second category is as it stands a unique composition, but the 43

44

A similar observation could be made about glyptic images of lion-hunting: this is an activity that is not treated as necessarily royal. At the same time it is misguidedly literalist of Merrillees (2005: 37) to infer from the non-royal victors that the seal might refer to putative on-going actions against European Scythians after Darius’ departure (on Megabazus see §4.5.4).

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components may have analogies in single-pair items, and I do not prioritize the distinction for the purposes of this discussion. Instead I highlight two distinctions that divide the repertoire almost exactly equally, but in differing ways. The rst is whether the attacker lays hold of an adversary. There are 20 combats (on 18 seals) involving an attacker grabbing hold of some part of the adversary as well as striking, or preparing to strike, him with a weapon.45 Grabbed enemies always face the attacker or have body (n° 15, 20-22) or head turned towards him (n° 18, 19). N° 30 is quite exceptional in that the victim faces towards the viewer.46 The weapons used are swords, spears, and (once) an axe. There are no bows, except those carried on the back of the victor gure in n° 15, 18-22, in the waist gorytus of the victor in n° 11, or in the hand of the victim on n° 8. Swords generally go with standing opponents, spears with falling/fallen/kneeling ones. There are only three exceptions (sword: n° 8; spear: n° 5, 29); the exceptional kneeling gure facing a swordsman in n° 8 does still make a gesture of resistance like all the standing adversaries of swordsmen. This does mean that sword items and spear items respectively have a considerable immediate visual homogeneity: the identity of weapon and adversary pose are as powerful factors for unity as differences in victor clothing are factors for diversity. The great majority of sword items also involve grabbing by some part of the head; the upper arm on n° 16a is in practice (given the gure’s precise pose) so close to the neck that it ts rather than diverges from the pattern. N° 16a is, however, a little out of kilter in having (perhaps) a slashing sword attack and an adversary who, though standing, is slightly less than erect. The posture is reminiscent of n° 15a; the combination on a single sealstone

45

46

Central Asian (spear), simple scene: n° 5; complex scene: n° 15a, 15b, 16b. Central Asian (sword), simple scene: n° 9-10; prisoner scene: n° 7-8; other complex scene: n° 16a, 17. Scythian (axe), simple scene: n° 11. Egyptian (spear), prisoner scene: n° 19. Greek (spear), simple scene: n° 29-30; prisoner scene: n° 20-22; split between two attackers: n° 38. Greek (sword), simple scene: n° 35-36. Other examples exist of attackers striking or grabbing something near to an adversary. On n° 40 the Persian apparently grabs his adversary’s shield rim; the left-hand warrior on n° 39 holds out a hand towards the kneeling victim, but does not hold him (perhaps there is an allusion to the grabbing trope; there is no other case of a Persian reaching without grabbing; the Greek spearman on n° 34 does so). The attacker on n° 28 does not grab the adversary, but the way the scene is composed brings his bent left elbow very close to the collapsing Greek’s head, and at rst glance one has the impression that the attacker is seizing his chin – the physical proximity of attacker and victim is as close as (perhaps closer than) on any attacker-grabs-adversary image. We still have nothing like the Oborzos coin image: Alram 1987, Klose & Müseler 2008: 27, 36. For the gure compare also Alexander Sarcophagus C5/6 (von Graeve 1970, pl.34.2) and Gable C (ibid., pls.67-68).

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of an image of this sort and one in which the adversary is positively falling/fallen is another feature shared by n° 15 and 16. Three of the images/image-sets with prisoners in the background (n° 18-22) have kneeling unresisting adversary-gures in a similar quasi-Knielauf posture – one that does not occur elsewhere in the repertoire. The closest approach is the central gure of n° 15b, who is also being speared in the neck by an attacker who has seized him by the arm; but he is actually kneeling on one knee – and falling backwards slightly – not in a pseudo-running posture, and might as properly be compared with the victims on n° 30 or 33 or, among equestrian victims, n° 61. The other two attacker-grabs-adversary items with prisoners (n° 7-8) are quite differently congured; three further images with prisoners (n° 23-25) are variants on a different trope, that of the spearman confronting a standing hoplite. N° 30, where (by contrast with other spear items) the attacker’s spear has not yet struck the adversary, is the spear equivalent to n° 7, 10, and 35 (where the attacker holds his sword by his side or behind is body), because, although the spear point is a good deal closer to its target than any of the swords, it is as far away as it could reasonably be without running the risk of producing an image that was either awkward or un-dynamic. N° 30 is rather far stylistically – and perhaps in date – from the generality of what is catalogued here. The attacker is dressed in a very Hellenic notion of Persian clothing, and the adversary’s fully frontal posture is exceptional in this repertoire.47 N° 38 complicates the attacker-grabs-adversary trope by splitting the attack between two gures. N° 35 complicates it by inserting an extra (smaller and female) gure between attacker and adversary. The trope is reconciled with this at the expense of some unnatural elongation of limb and forelock; the engraver was evidently particularly interested in using it. Why that might be can only be a matter of speculation, as is the identity of the female gure (cf. §4.2.1.2). The trope clearly recalls an image in monumental and glyptic art in which a socalled royal hero seizes a standing/rampant mythical monster and stabs or prepares to stab it with a weapon. Across all the salient examples the ‘hero’ gure is dressed in various fashions (royal and non-royal), seizes the monster by various parts of the body (forelock, horn, chin, neck, arm), is himself seized in turn by the arm or (more rarely) chest or leg, and wields a dagger/sword or spear or even (perhaps) a slashing-weapon (PFS 0073, PFS 1406). Most of the variants found in the human combat scenes have analogies in their mythical counterparts, though not necessarily in similar proportions: for example, the spear is more prominent in human combat scenes than in the mythical repertoire. Another feature of the mythical repertoire is that the hero-gure sometimes has a bared leg, a detail that 47

As is frontal posture of any sort. Very occasionally horses seem to look out of the image at the viewer: n° 47-48, 59.

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seems to recur on n° 15, 17-18, 36, and perhaps n° 20-22. There can be no doubt that producers of combat-seals were (with whatever degree of consciousness) drawing on this symbolic representation of a clash between good and evil. We can see the effect in at least one ‘real-world’ combat image in another medium: the central gure of the Tatarl battle is of this type – and he even has the rolled-up sleeves of the canonical monumental Persepolitan version.48 I doubt that the recurrence of versions of this trope in various images (n° 7, 9, Tatarl) is a reliable sign that some single event lies behind those images.49 The second major distinction among infantry images is that they split fairly evenly between Greek (20) and non-Greek (mostly Central Asian; 21) adversaries. The categories are not iconographically hermetically sealed (for example, we have already seen that grab scenes occur with all ethnicities and that the prisoner-queue sub-group occurs in very similar form with Egyptians and Greeks), but there are unique images in each category. Among Greek items one notes n° 38 (§§3.5, 4.2.1.2), n° 39 (two Persians surround an adversary, and, taking dress into account, neither the archer nor the spearman is exactly like any other gure in the repertoire50), and n° 34 (where the Persian shoots at a standing spearman).51 The non-Greek data-set is richer in one-off images. Among these, n° 11 offers a unique combination of battle-axe execution with mythological scene (cf. §4.2.1.2). There are three distinct variants on the image of a Persian shooting at an adversary, n° 12 (non-royal gure shooting at a running adversary), n° 13 (royal gure shooting at axe-holding adversary, with animals in attendance), and n° 14 (royal [?] gure shooting at an archer adversary, with animals in attendance). The shooting poses may be roughly similar (though n° 14 shoots slightly upwards) but these are three quite different images – and they are also different from any of the other scenes that include Persians ring bows (n° 34, 39, and the outer gures on n° 17). There are two examples of combat with two participants on each side, but on one (n° 41) the Persians both probably (if not certainly) have spears and are shown

48

49 50

51

Tatarl: Summerer 2007, idem 2009, idem 2010. Possible cases at Limyra (Khuwata tomb: Borchhardt et al. 1985) and Trysa (Heroon B3: Eichler 1950, pl.12) are less secure. Rolled back sleeves seem to feature on n° 3, a scene that does not use the hero-monster trope (there is also a bared leg, though the proximate cause is that the victor has raised his leg to tread on an enemy corpse, causing his court robe to ride up). Pace Wu 2014: 241. N° 37, of course, may be similar, albeit only with spears, but no details are available. For an alternative reading of n° 39, see the Catalogue entry. N° 34 is the only pure image of what Greeks sometimes saw as the ideological confrontation of spear and bow. The Greek on n° 39 has no weapon at all; and in images where a Persian has both bow and spear (n° 31-33) the bow is not used.

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almost entirely overlapping (as are their adversaries), whereas on the other (n° 17) one Persian has a spear and the other a bow, and none of the gures overlap at all, so the visual effect is entirely different. In the second scene, the central confrontation is a version of the grabbing trope discussed above. In the rst, if the Persian gures are spearmen, the scene has little in common with other images involving non-Greek adversaries and is more reminiscent of n° 25 or even (for the implied position of hand on spear-shaft) n° 26. If they are not wielding spears, there are no obvious parallels. Meanwhile, the adversary gures’ combination of shield held out in front and arm raised up and back recalls certain infantry adversaries on equestrian scenes (n° 52, 54); the arm position by itself has plenty of parallels.52 Also unique because of their particular way of handling multiple combatants are n° 15 (two distinct scenes; see §4.2.1.2) and n° 16, though there is some resemblance between n° 15b and 16b and the actual combat icon at the heart of n° 18, 19, and 20-22 (the adversary is seized and stabbed in the neck). We have already noted that the use of the sword on n° 16a is not quite the norm (§4.3.2). Finally, n° 40 is unusual in involving a Persian spearman who is acting alone, does not hold his spear two-handed, is not also holding a bow, is not grabbing his adversary, and is not facing a statically inactive adversary. Perhaps suitably, the (unidentied) adversary in question is also of particularly unusual aspect. There are some repeated iconographic patterns that are only found in one ethnic category. N° 1, 2 (probably), 3, and 4 all involve a Persian who wields a long spear in both hands.53 In each cases the combatants are well separated and the centre of the visual eld is dominated by a lengthy spear-shaft running diagonally (n° 1-2, 4) or horizontally (n° 3) across it and is unencumbered by intervening elements, at least above ground level (there are dead bodies in some cases). N° 2 and 3 (in both of which the adversary is using a bow) are quite similar, but the angle of the spear and the different postures of the participants differentiates them to some degree. By contrast, n° 4 is particularly reminiscent of the central part of n° 1:54 a gure in riding costume on the left holds a spear in two hands and thrusts diagonally downward at a Central Asian enemy, though the stance of the adversary is different. The other seals with Persian spearman ghting Central Asians differ in (at least) the attacker’s dress-type and/or the way or angle of holding the spear. N° 1 and 4 still differ from one another in that the victim on n° 1 wields a sword,

52

53

54

See the adversary on n° 31, 34, 36, 40 (Greek), 17 (Scythian), and the Persian on n° 29-33 (Greek) and 11 (Scythian). Garrison & Henkelman [forthc.] note that n° 1, 2 and 3 (all represented at Persepolis) have a number of points in common. See also n.29 and §4.5.4. For a spear wielded two handed on an entirely different similar scene cf. n° 28. N° 6 may also be noted. Unusually long spears wielded one-handed appear on n° 5 and 33. Already noted by Henkelman et al. 2004: 34.

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whereas the one on n° 4 has no visible weapon. Henkelman et al. (2004: 34) posited a spear, although one could just as well imagine a sword; but in any event the gure is not wielding it in any usefully aggressive fashion, and is therefore unlike the man on n° 1. For similarity in that respect (i.e. the wielding of a weapon that is not, as on n° 2-3, a bow) one could look to n° 40-41. In these a Persian gure (or gures) attack(s) with a diagonally directed spear and the adversary/ies respond(s) with a weapon in a raised hand. N° 33 and 40 are also united by the adversaries’ use of a shield – a rare phenomenon among non-Greeks. But there is no great similarity between the dress of the adversaries in n° 4, 40, and 41, and the weapon is different on n° 1 (sword) and n° 40, where it looks like a club (the adversaries’ weapons on n° 41 may be sword or spear). N° 4, like the Aršma seal (n° 1), is a high-class glyptic object, but of somewhat later date. One could perhaps see it as a rather close derivative of the Aršma design. Another repeated pattern (this time with Greek adversaries) is that in which a Persian spearman confronts an inactive upright soldier carrying crossed spears (n° 24, 26-27), a single spear (n° 32), or no spear (n° 23, 25). It is possible that n° 38 originally also had such a gure at the right-hand side, but only the shield has come out on the impression. N° 27 stands out in this group as an unusually widespaced and unencumbered scene.55 There is a particular contrast with items where the basic trope is combined with the inclusion of an intervening prisoner (n° 23-25, 38) – a trope not found on seals with non-Greek adversaries.56 The closest to an inactive (but not captive) non-Greek adversary is perhaps n° 13 (where the Scythian holds a battle-axe up vertically) – an item of debated status (see §3.6). Merrillees (2005: 36) says of n° 26 that it is “more the presenting of arms at the beginning of a duel... than an on-going ght.” One sees what she means, but the Persian is denitely already on the attack and has stuck his weapon into his adversary. It is better, perhaps, to say that the image of combat is unusually symbolic. A third slightly less frequent repeated pattern (only involving Greeks) is one in which the Persian carries both spear and bow (n° 31-33). But, it must be said, the Greek adversaries provide three different variants: active standing (n° 31), inactive standing (n° 32), and fallen (n° 33). Note that the standing and actively resisting Greek on n° 31 is almost unique among the Greek adversaries in non-equestrian combat scenes; the only comparable gures are those on n° 34 (who, unlike the man on n° 31, does not carry a shield) and perhaps n° 29 and 36 (both of which are incompletely visible). All the rest are either strangely inactive (the set of images 55

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This remains true when the seal is placed in a wider context. Elsewhere the visual eld is apt to be lled with weaponry (cf. n° 1, 12, 31) or other gures or animals (in two problematic Scythian items, n° 13-14). It is interesting that the one non-Murašû item, viz n° 23, was reportedly acquired in Baghdad and so may also have been in use in a Mesopotamian environment.

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discussed above, to which on this point one might add n° 35, though it is otherwise iconographically distinct, indeed idiosyncratic) or are decidedly defeated. These facts mean that the issue of victor-dominance comes out rather differently in non-equestrian images from equestrian ones. In the latter category most of the victims are Greek infantry and their representation tends to avoid real humiliation of the defeated party. In non-equestrian images only half the victims are Greek, and their representation covers a wider gamut.57 The situation on n° 31 and 34 is reasonably even-handed, and only slightly less so on n° 29 (where the Greek has been physically seized). N° 36 has a decidedly demeaning element: the Greek is naked and somewhat pot-bellied, a fact that stands in sharp (deliberately comical?) tension with the image’s particularly clear allusion to the Royal Hero vs. Monster trope.58 But he is still standing and raising an arm in some sort of gesture of resistance. In other cases the Greek victim is fallen and pretty much entirely helpless (n° 20-22, 28, 30, 33, 39), and the effect is once again demeaning, if not normally (n° 39 may be called an exception) in quite the disdainful fashion of n° 36.59 And then there are the strangely inactive gures discussed above (n° 23-27, 32). Does their impassivity connote resigned heroism in face of Persian superiority (as one might conceivably think with n° 26-27, 32 – though the slightly bent legs of the man on n° 32 do him few favours) – or just complete incapacity (as seems more likely in other cases)? How does all of this compare with the representation of non-Greek victims? The inactive category just mentioned is absent. Whatever is meant to be conveyed by these statue-like Greek warriors is peculiar to the Greek environment. N° 20-22 are iconographically as well as substantively closely paralleled for Egyptians on n° 18 and 19.60 But we also have Scythian items with similarly completely helpless gures albeit in different compositions (n° 8, 11). 57

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Judgments made in what follows cannot be wholly objective, but they do depend on assessing the victims in relation to, e.g., size proportionate to attacker, posture (standing/ kneeling, erect/non-erect), whether they have been struck and/or seized, whether they still have the use of weapons, and what sort of resistance they are offering. This does not presuppose that the hero/monster trope normally confers positive dignity on the victims to which it is applied (though some readings of n° 7 might contemplate it there); but there is a certain solemnity about it. Zazoff (1983: 172) justly compares the way the defeated Greek’s stretched-out leg presses against the image-edge on n° 28 with the depiction of the wounded Achilles on the Sosias Cup. But the n° 28 Greek is a less heroic gure. The adversary gures on n° 18-22 have a similar quasi-Knielauf posture; the Greek victims differ in carrying a shield and looking away from attacker. The shield is an ethnic marker not a symbol of possible resistance (the same goes for the Scythian’s bow on n° 8); it does not mitigate the sense of complete defeat or create any distinction between Greek and Egyptian cases.

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Visually speaking n° 28, 30, 33, and 39 are mutually dissimilar representations of total Greek defeat (though three of them are Greek in style; n° 39 by contrast is western Achaemenid koin). They have eeting resemblances to the four scenes of comparably heavy central Asian defeat on n° 15-16. N° 30 is an adversary-grab scene as are all of those on n° 15-16. The victims on n° 15b and n° 33 have fallen backwards.61 N° 15b and 39 both have three-gure compositions, although the roles of the gures are different. But in essence n° 15 and 16 are sufciently different from the Greek items to make assessment of the relative degrees of victor dominance or victim humiliation a rather subjective matter. N° 28 and 39 are probably the least attering Greek items (I am assuming that we stress the heroic quality of the nudity on n° 30). N° 16 strikes me as harsher than n° 15 (the differentiated cuirassed victors are more coldly realistic than the two near identical quasiSusa guards on 13, the victims’ postures are more degrading, and the sword-blow seems especially brutal) or any of the Greek images. But harsher may not mean more contemptuous. At the other end of the scale the even-handedness of Greek n° 31 and 34 can be paralleled in non-Greek n° 3 and 41. But there is then a series of other Scythian items in which the adversaries, though they have (usually) been struck a blow by the victor, are not represented in a conspicuously unkind fashion (n° 1-2, 4-7, 9-10, 12, 17, 40 [excluding the prisoner]), whereas on the Greek side we have only n° 29 and (perhaps) n° 35.62 If we are to mitigate a sense that, across the piece, Greeks are treated in a somewhat worse way than non-Greeks, it will depend on taking a benign view of all those inactive, statue-like Greeks.

4.4. The relationship of Catalogue items to other artistic material Our combat-image sealstones do not exist in a vacuum. I have already noted the images of armed men in the Ambiguous and Other Military categories. But one can 61

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This is especially true for n° 33. The adversary’s posture on n° 15b is, if anything, more reminiscent of the Knielauf of the speared gures on n° 18-22. He is accompanied by a still standing, albeit weaponless and rather ineffective, companion, which mitigates the visual effect of collapse. I assume that the jaunty run of the Central Asian on n° 12 and the slightly mercurial aspect of the one on n° 2 are not interpreted as contemptuous. The running gure of n° 12 already has three arrows in him, so the image may evoke a certain desperate courage (see §4.2.1.2) – unless the scene is more symbolic than that, with the arrows indicating the outcome of his running attack, rather than a running attack that carries on even after he is hit. The phenomenon occurs on the Tatarl battle-scene (see n.48), but the fact that that is a much more heavily populated image does not necessarily mean it is more naturalistic and therefore favours the rst option.

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look further aeld, not only to other types of glyptic image (hunting), but also to military images in different media, whether prima facie similar (coins) or more completely distinct (relief carvings, frescoes). Considerations of space preclude a full presentation, so I conne myself to some brief remarks.

4.4.1. Sealstone hunting images Fighting animals (i.e. hunting) and ghting men share certain characteristics as a matter of fact, and anyone leang through the relevant seal-images (a data-set already more than twice as large as that of combat seals, and very much larger once the full range of PFS material is available) will sense some broad iconographic similarities.63 More detailed inspection does, however, reveal differences. To summarize rather bluntly, hunting seals show a lower incidence of deviation from the single combat norm and of victors grabbing hold of their defeated quarry, but a higher incidence of landscape hints, equestrian participation, archery, and, in the case of non-equestrian hunters, shooting from a kneeling posture (something quite absent in combat seals), horizontal or underarm spear-use, eeing adversaries, and protection of weaker third party. As a result, despite the intrinsic parallels between attacking humans and animals and despite the role of hunting as a training for (and ideological parallel to) warfare, visual representation of the activity on sealstones preserves its own characteristics. That this is true across a range of styles may, incidentally, be an indication that global content analysis of stylistically diverse glyptic products is not necessarily illegitimate.

4.4.2. Coins The parallel between coins and seals as a medium may seem at least as obvious as that between hunting and ghting as activities, but it is at least as comparably misleading. Infantry combat never appears on coins, and non-combatant images of infantry-soldiers do not normally evoke participants in sealstone combat scenes,64 though the royal gures with bow and spear on n° 31-33 do slightly recall type III darics and sigloi (despite the absence of the Knielauf schema) and there is a certain 63

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My data-set here has over 140 items (I exclude hunting from chariots as quite unlike anything in the combat repertoire). Standing Iranian soldiers: Debord 1999, pl.VIII.6; Casabonne 2004, pls.2.4-5, 8-9, 11. Arrow tester: Mildenberg 1993, pl.11.92; Casabonne 2004, pl.3.23; Starr 1977, pl.XVId (Nablus Hoard 36); Meshorer & Qedar 1999 4, 5, 45. Kneeling defensive Greek: Casabonne 2004, pls.2.20-27 (Tarsus).

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similarity between the royal gure on n° 34 and some Mausolan coins (Debord 1999, pl.IV.6). The slightly bent-knee pose on n° 34 (absent on other standing combat-scene archers) recurs in a non-royal gure on a late Achaemenid issue of Ariarathes and a gure of arguable status on the (also late period) Sabaces coin.65 It is, of course, very likely that all of these coins postdate n° 33. Equestrian combat does appear once. Meshorer & Qedar 1999 123 has a scene in which a horseman spears a fallen adversary lying entirely beneath his horse. The position of the adversary (who may or may not still be trying to resist) recalls the Dexileos monument, although the horse is in extended gallop, not rearing. The ill-preserved image on n° 63 might once have looked like this.66 Other coins only offer isolated Persian riders. Some are irrelevant because they wield no weapons or the wrong weapons or the right weaponry in the wrong way.67 But the images on a Tissaphernes coin from Adramyttium and on Mildenberg’s “Late Imperial Money” do perhaps evoke the horsemen of combat-image sealstones (once again at least some seal images must predate most of this coinage).68

4.4.3. Other media The comparanda here are rather varied: relief carvings or paintings (on wood or as fresco) from Western Anatolia, the North Levant (specically the Alexander Sarcophagus from Sidon) and Macedonia (specically the Kinch tomb painting), Attic vase-paintings, and the Miho torque-pectoral. The Western Anatolian and Levantine material is perhaps what is most often thought of when the idea of Achaemenid-era depictions of Persians at war is mooted. 65

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Other standing combat-scene archers: n° 12-14, 17, 39. Their least poor resonance is with certain Sidonian issues (Mildenberg 1993, pl.12.100; Deutsch & Heltzer 1997, pl. 4). Ariarathes and Sabaces coinage: Debord 1999, pl.III.18; Curtis & Tallis 2005 372. The early Hellenistic coins of the Paeonian King Patraos (and some of his successors) offer many variants on a quasi-Dexileos combat; see Wright 2011 and idem 2012. The item illustrated in Lefebvre des Noëttes (1931, g.241) as Thessalian, and cited by Anderson (1960: 8) in a discussion of parameridia, is relevant too. One wonders what inuence Achaemenid seal images had upon these issues, especially as the horseman sometimes seems to wear trousers (but he almost always wields his spear underarm, in contrast to the overarm method on Achaemenid items). I am indebted to Nicholas Wright for a copy of his 2011 paper and further information about and discussion of Patraos’ coinage. No weapons: Debord 1999, pls.I.14, II.19 (probably), III.19, VII.13-15, VIII.1-3; Casabonne 2004, pls.2.9-13, 20-27; Gitler & Tal 2006 XXV2Da. Wrong weapons: Meshorer & Qedar 1999 15, 40. Spear held horizontally by the butt end: ibid. 125, 197. Cahn 1989, pl.I.3; Debord 1999, pl.I.13; Mildenberg 1993.

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Both on sealstones and elsewhere, images involving an equestrian element show horsemen who rarely throw spears and almost always ride horses that are rearing or in extended gallop. But there are also many contrasts. Again summarizing very bluntly, the data-set in other media has a lower incidence of eeing equestrian adversaries, but a higher incidence of horsemen being accompanied by other horsemen and/or infantry, physical overlapping of horseman and adversary, combat with multiple infantry, use of a weapon other than the spear, use of a spear held other than overarm and diagonally downwards, and ineffectively resistant infantry adversaries. The overall effect is a distinct visual repertoire of equestrian ghting, a phenomenon not entirely due to the fact that the other media often provide considerably more space. Salient entirely non-equestrian comparanda are elusive. Vase-paintings provide some images of comparably restricted scope. But in non-glyptic media there are few purely infantry combats that involve Persians. Larger-scale items with Persians always have horses as well as infantry. Sometimes pieces of purely infantry combat within the bigger scene can in principle be compared with glyptic items (this works for the central gures at Tatarl; cf. above n.48), but the modalities will generally be affected by the larger environment; it is hard to nd many items pitting Persian infantrymen against any other infantrymen. So (apart from the vase-paintings) we are left with the Nike frieze and the Alexander Sarcophagus.69 These provide contexts in which Persians are on the losing side, so the general iconographic environment inevitably looks rather different. There are no analogies for Persian infantrymen ghting non-Greek adversaries, and next to none for Persians infantrymen defeating Greeks70 or at least making some shift at resistance (Alexander Sarcophagus C1-2) – except (interestingly) on certain vase-paintings.71 Raeck 1981 558 was probably made for export to the empire, but no such explanation seems available for the other cases and they are anyway mostly ones where we need not imagine the resistance will be successful. There is little here that evokes sealstone iconography. The equipollence of the gures on Raeck 1981 555, 558b might recall the particularly balanced scene on n° 31, but nothing else about the three cases makes them signicantly similar. The apparently defeated gure on the Nike North Frieze has not fallen quite as far as the losing Greek adversaries on sealstones (perhaps one could better compare him with the Central Asian on n° 4). Another possibility is to compare the non-glyptic infantry repertoire of Greek victory in reverse (so to say) with that of Persian victory on sealstones, to see 69

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Athenian Nike Frieze: Harrison 1972. Alexander Sarcophagus: von Graeve 1970. The Mausoleum is, largely speaking, not preserved in a useful fashion. Possibly relevant are a damaged item from the Nike North Frieze and Nike South Frieze Block O (right-hand end). Raeck 1981 555, 557, 558b, 562, 577, 580, 587, 602.

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whether there are any shared tropes. Since many Greek losers on sealstone infantry items are entirely inactive (different from Persian losers on non-glyptic items), reverse comparison of this sort would (so far as Greek sealstone items go) at best involve n° 20-22, 28-31, 33-36, and 39. The comparison can be extended to Persian victories over non-Greeks, since we are in effect simply comparing compositional tropes. All non-equestrian combat images tend to have a rather static character that is quite unlike the balletic quality of Greek battle-friezes and (at least some) Greek vases. This is, of course, a stylistic issue, but it does make comparison difcult and rather unnatural. In any case there are few resonances. The attack on a fallen enemy seized from behind encountered on the Alexander Sarcophagus C5/6 (von Graeve 1970, pl.35) is quite without sealstone parallel; the face-to-face grabbing of an adversary that is a feature of sealstone infantry combat (see §§4.2.1.1, 4.3.2, 4.5.1) is largely absent from the non-glyptic repertoire.72 The slashing-sword pose of the Greek on Alexander Sarcophagus C2 (ibid. pl.34.1) does not recur among the few sealstone sword-wielding Persians, and the pose of the Persian adversary in that scene also has no sealstone analogue; mutatis mutandis this applies to Raeck 1981 560 too. The gure of the fallen Persian with one leg stretched out on Nike Block O (left-hand end) and Raeck 1981 552, 581, 600, and 604 is, it is true, reminiscent of n° 28, 30, and 33. But since n° 28, 30, and 33 are all stylistically speaking decidedly Greek products, we have not perhaps learned very much more. It is not impossible to nd individual glyptic and non-glyptic items that resemble one another (one can, e.g., compare the Çan sarcophagus combat or Alexander Sarcophagus C3/4 or the Uzebeemi stela with n° 53 or 61, despite several differences in detail), but, taken overall, the sealstone combat repertoire is distinct from that of other media – and this is indeed almost inescapable, given the general absence in the latter of A) Persian combat with non-Greek adversaries (Tatarl is a remarkable exception here – and one that, apart from the duel icon at its centre, has little resonance with seal images) and B) the confrontation between Persian horseman and standing Greek ghter that is so common on sealstones.

72

Apart from Tatarl, the closest analogy is perhaps Trysa B3 (cf. n.48) where a possibly Persian-dressed gure plunges a dagger into the neck of an adversary in a scene slightly reminiscent of n° 18-22 (though the weapon is wrong).

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4.5. Connecting combat images to the outside world 4.5.1. Artistic connections It is sometimes suggested that what is seen on seals might once have been seen in larger scale on walls. The audience scene on DS 4, which plainly reects a design familiar from Persepolis, might be adduced as a paradigm example – one where, exceptionally, both sides of the relationship are preserved.73 In this vein (though not with specic reference to DS 4) Boardman (1970: 311) has noted the spirit of monumental narrative on n° 61 (“one thinks even of the Alexander Mosaic”) and speculated (1976: 54) about a monumental equivalent for Boardman 1970: 321 (g. 309) – though since these items belong at or beyond the end of the Achaemenid era and bear a strong Greek imprint, their signicance for the combat-image data-set as a whole would be open to debate. Discussion so far has stressed a disjunction between sealstone images and external comparanda, whether of comparable or larger scale. That does suggest that, if any of them are reective of a repertoire in other media, it is an otherwise largely lost repertoire belonging to a tradition dissimilar to that represented by surviving monuments. That is an exciting prospect, but one whose vulnerability should not be underestimated. Can anything more specic be adduced in its support? Wu (2010: 558) has suggested that the scene-dividing vertical line on n° 14 (cf. §4.2.1.2) is a relic of the entire seal’s derivation from a wall-relief composition in which a number of scenes were depicted next to one another in distinct panels. That does provide an explanation for an exceptional feature of n° 15, but that exceptionality cuts both ways. Dandamaev (1976: 87) appeared to treat n° 15 as a descendant of the B sot n image – which is odd given that there are no prisoners and the scene is dominated by (two) bits of fairly violent combat, something notoriously absent at B sot n and other examples of monumental art from the imperial heartlands. Perhaps Dandamaev had in mind an indirect connection via some other sealstone images that do have a stronger prima facie link to B sot n,74 viz those on which we see a row of prisoners, whether in the context of combat (n° 18-22) or not.75 The neck-rope and hands tied behind the back do certainly evoke the (standing) Liar Kings of B sot n. But the prisoners are behind (not in front of) the principal gure, the slightly bowed posture of the B sot n gures is not certainly 73

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Winter (2000, esp. 64-83) discusses interpretative questions raised by some NeoAssyrian examples of the same phenomenon. I am referring to the prisoner images, evoked by the half-fallen quasi-Knielauf gure with a spear stuck in his shoulder and perhaps by the presence of as many as three living adversaries (unique in the sealstone combat images). Artašat sealing, Moscow seal, Ward 1048 (see n.6).

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reproduced, and (of course) the spearing of an adversary represents a major divergence.76 The bent posture does recur on n° 8, and this time the prisoners are in front of the principal gure. But they are separated from him by the kneeling gure whom he is stabbing – so we are still divided from Bsot n by a signicant distinction. We could express that distinction by saying that a human combat derivative of the hero vs. monster icon (cf. §4.2.1.1, 4.3.2, 4.4.3) has been added to a greatly truncated version of Bsot n – an analysis that can be extended to n° 18-22. Of course, the frequency with which the human combat derivative of the hero vs. monster icon occurs in other combat seals already establishes a connection of sorts between what is known to occur in monumental art (and on seals) and the sealstone combat repertoire. But strictly speaking none of these facts about combinations and derivatives demonstrate anything about actual direct monumental analogues. Our best bet is perhaps to stress the occurrence of the hero/monster derivative at the heart of the large-scale Tatarl battle-scene (of which, therefore, various seal images could be regarded as a heavy abbreviation) and our knowledge that Bsot n was abbreviated to t a Babylonian stele (Seidl 1999a-b), and that the Tatarl procession frieze and several West Anatolian stelae stand in an extension/abbreviation relationship (Summerer 2009). These facts tend to authorize belief in lower level monumental environments where what is seen on seals might appropriately have appeared. But it would still be imprudent to assume that any particular (seal) image did so appear. The publication of a chariot hunting fresco from Dahan-e olmn (Sajjadi 2007) is worth noting here. On published sealstone images of chariot hunting the quarry seems always to be a lion or a fantasy creature. At Dahan-e

olmn it is a wild boar – a quarry that is, of course, very common in equestrian and (especially) pedestrian hunting sealstone images. Perhaps we are entitled to be at least as impressed by the general analogy (chariot hunting) as by the particular difference. But the acid test is this: do we allow ourselves to say that, because an (in detail unparalleled) scene of chariot hunting in a local artistic style can adorn a major building in eastern Iran, something like the famous Darius hunt seal must have appeared somewhere in larger format? The question matters not just in its own right but because of the temptation to suppose that the larger (so, perhaps, more public) the format for which we infer an iconography from the sealstone data-set, the more important the ideological message of which that iconography might be thought to be a carrier. And that matters because we should like to know how signicant a counter-indication the seals are to the absence of human combat from the walls of Persepolis and Susa. 76

The posture (bent from the waist, but with straight legs; contrast n° 15a, 16a) is absent on n° 18-19. The situation is not entirely clear with n° 20-22. In the drawing of Ward 1048 two of the gures are slightly slanted forwards, but not bent from the waist. How reliable this is one cannot know.

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The fact that their provenance extends into the heart of the empire gives them special importance here because it guarantees that military iconography is not (as it could seem if one attended only to other media) just a western phenomenon. But their small size may seem to pull the other way.

4.5.2. Military conict: equipment Whatever the truth about that, the seal images may have things to say about Persian military Realien and the history of Persian conict with the outside world.77 It is certainly inescapable that they should be interrogated about such matters. Victors wear the court robe (infantry only), sometimes combined with a heavy cuirass, or trousers (both infantry and cavalry), again sometimes combined with a heavy cuirass.78 On n° 30 (infantry), 58, and perhaps 59 (cavalry) trousers go with a belted chiton – this reects the Greek style of these items, as perhaps does the billowing cloak of the horsemen on n° 62 and 63.79 In the matter of headgear, the court robe goes with dentate crown, various types of tall hat, a Susa-guard style headband, or (often in conjunction with a heavy cuirass) a close-tting hat of rounded prole.80 This last type of headgear is also worn with trousers on n° 26 (an

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This applies to some seals more than others: most Bern group or Bern group related items are essentially useless for clothing details, i.e. n° 47, 52, 54, 55; n° 51 is little better. Of course, there is also information about non-Persian military Realien, especially for Central Asians, though there is more of a vicious circle in that case between identication of the ethnic groups involved and description of their equipment/clothing. Court robe: n° 2?, 3, 7-9, 13, 15, 18-22, 24-25, 28, 31-33, 34?, 35-36, 38-39a. Decoration is visible on part of robe on n° 15, 18. Robe and cuirass: n° 16-17, 23 (in the latter two cases there is also an axe inserted in the back of the cuirass, a feature only found with infantry gures: it recurs on n° 26 [with trousers] and n° 40 [lower garment unclear]). Trousers, infantry: n° 1, 4, 5, 12?, 39b; cavalry: n° 51, 56, 58, 62. Trousers with cuirass, infantry: n° 26, 29?; cavalry: n° 43-46, 49, 57, 60 (in most cavalry cases pteryges seem to be shown). There are some possible cases of cuirasses without neck-guard: n° 48 (but it may be there), n° 50 (are the over-size shoulders a feature of a piece of armour?), n° 56 (the torso looks rather solid). Some items are unclear. N° 40 (trousers or robe?); n° 53 (is what at rst sight is an unusual saddle cloth actually part of the rider’s clothing – an effect resembling Raeck 1981 558?); n° 14 (simply opaque). Dentate crown: n° 7, 8, 13, 28, 31-34. Tall hat: n° 9, 18-19, 21.1, 22.2. Susa-guard headdress: n° 6?, 15, 39?. Close-tting rounded headgear: n° 16-17, 23-25, 40 (the cuirass is not apparent in n° 24-25). All of these gures are infantry. The suggestion that the Persian on n° 2 is bareheaded may be a misreading of this sort of close-tting headgear. It is hard to know how to read n° 12.

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infantry gure), but trousers normally go with an upright dome-like hat (infantry), a at-top close tting one (cavalry: often with heavy cuirass), or something of looser (bashlyk) or more indeterminate shape.81 Exceptional are the crested piloslike object worn on n° 50 (prima facie more at home on a Greek gure; cf. §3.7) and the perhaps misleading suggestion of a sort of visor on n° 51 (both of these are cavalry items). The left-hand gure in n° 14 is strange – which is another reason, perhaps, to worry about the status of that seal image (cf. §3.6). The idea that the court robe was actually worn on real battle-elds is hard to believe: there is, one suspects, an element of symbolism in such depictions. On the other hand, the representations of a heavy cuirass with neck-guard worn by cavalry (along with at top headgear) as well as infantry (with rounded headgear) are likely to be an important and reliable indication that (Greek) stereotypes opposing Greeks and Persians in the matter of body armour are not entirely accurate. 82 On the matter of protective armament one may note that there is no sign of a prometopidion and no unambiguous example of a prosternidion 83 The question of 81

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Upright dome: n° 1, 4, 11, 39b. Flat-top close tting hat, with cuirass: n° 43-46, 49, 57, 60; without cuirass: n° 56, 59, 62 (the angularity and solidity of the overall effect do vary). Bashlyk: n° 5, 9, 53, 58. Indeterminate: n° 30. It is a species of evidence not called upon in discussion of the matter in, e.g., Hyland 2011: 272f. or Charles 2012. The consistent distinction in headgear between infantry and cavalry is striking (the Çan horseman also has rmly rectilinear headgear). An Iranian term for the distinctive neck-guard was (it has been claimed) *grvapna (Rundgren 1957: 47-51; Szemerenyi 1974: 156). A different Iranian term (*kurapna-) has been detected by some (Widengren 1956: 149-151; Rundgren 1957: 51; AHw q.v.; CAD q.v.) in Akkadian krapnu (UCP 9/3 269-277 = Joannès 1982: 17-18), also interpreted as ‘neck-protector.’ But it does not gure in Tavernier 2007. I see no peytrel on n° 56 (pace Richter ad loc.), just the protruding ends of two straps running back towards the saddle cloth. The four-stranded feature protruding forward from the horse’s chest on n° 65 seems decorative, not protective. The vertical lines covering the horse’s neck and body (in front of the rider’s leg) on n° 54 could perhaps be a poor shot at scale-armour. In both n° 49 and 62 there is something solid (seen in prole) covering all or part of the horse’s front: it resembles a very at dome on n° 62; the pictures of n° 49 in Furtwängler (1900, 1, pl.XI/9) and Gow 1928, pl.10.8 give inconsistent impressions, respectively of a at plate or something of spherical prole, and the new photograph from the Grassi museum (g.43) does not really resolve the issue. In any event, one can hardly be sure these are for protection. The circular feature in the middle of the chest (seen frontally) of a hunting horse on Amiet 1973 72 looks decorative (compare Boardman 1970, pl.889, a spherical feature seen hanging on the end of a strap from the withers). The linear feature (in prole) on two other hunting horses on Merrillees 2005 12 and Boardman 1970, pl.886 is hard to interpret. On Eisen 1940 104 (another hunter) a somewhat similar feature exists together with some patterning on the horse’s shoulder beneath the line of the reins which looks decorative, but that may prove nothing. I doubt that the three vertical lines on the

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the parameridion is slightly more complicated. In a number of cases a more voluminous (often vaguely trapezoidal) or complex feature than seems reasonable for a simple trousered leg is seen below the rider’s torso; some of these cases have occasionally been seen as depictions of some form of leg protection.84 Few, if any, are close to what I would regard as canonical examples of the parameridion, viz what is shown on the Payava sarcophagus, the Yeniceköy stela, and the Karaburun combat fresco.85 In particular, some might more readily be thought of as a broader covering worn over the ordinary trousers rather than a separate object afxed to the horse. Armoured trousers have sometimes been claimed on certain non-combat images, but there is no suggestion of the relevant patterning on our seals, and the putative armoured trousers are not characterized by a voluminous prole.86 Such a prole is on the other hand sometimes encountered on hunting seals – which may mean that, whatever it is that we are seeing here, it is not always a distinctively military piece of equipment. Perhaps it never is: after all the bear-hunter on DS 89 has something across his thigh which might (perhaps a little optimistically) be described as a cross between the Karaburun and Payava parameridion models. Persian ghters use spears, axes, swords, and bows. The spears are generally quite long (up to 30% taller than a man), though those on n° 6 and 15 break the trend. Some have a spherical feature or a hook or a sharp point at the butt end, but most are plain.87 There is a lateral projection where the shaft joins the blade on n° 24 and n° 56. I have already commented briey on modes of use (see above, §§4.3.1-2, 4.4.1-2). Bows are not common in the hands of Persians, and sigma-

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chest on Furtwängler 1900, pl.XII/9 are signicant (compare the front of the boar on the same item). Salient items are n° 43-45, 49-50, 57?, 49-50, 60. Judging from the photograph (Kaptan’s drawing is not supportive) some such thing may be present on n° 63. N° 51 is another conceivable case, though Ward’s drawing (1910, g.1055) is not supportive. In n° 59, by contrast, what we see is a belted chiton spreading over the upper leg. On n° 46 I doubt that the feature is prominent enough to count. Payava Sarcophagus (Demargne 1974, pls.33.1-3, 40-41; Polat 2001: 133 gs.3-4); Yeniceköy (Nollé 1992: 37f. [F V], pl.15); Karaburun (Mellink 1972, g.23). These items are not identical: the Karaburun one is not as long or as large as the other two. But all are objects that are quite distinct from the rider’s clothing. Casabonne (2000: 100) cites the arrow-testing gure on Tarkumuwa coins, a Tel Mazar seal (Yassine 1984: 106f. [184], g.9.6, 57.186; Collon 1987 741), an Amazon on a redgure vase (Bologna Museo Civico 289), and the Uak hunt-scene stele. Spherical butt: n° 2 (allegedly), n° 4-6, 15-16, 18, 24, 26 (infantry), n° 44, 49 (cavalry). The same feature occurs on the Greek’s spears on n° 26 and perhaps the Scythian’s (?) on n° 12. Hook-like effect: n° 1 (g.1). Sharp point: n° 30 (infantry), n° 56? (cavalry). Impossible or difcult to assess: n° 3, 23, 25, 32, 38 (infantry), n° 43, 48 (cavalry). All other spears seem to have plain butts.

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shaped ones are rarer than plain ones.88 Both the shoulder-quiver and the gorytus worn at the hip are attested, the former slightly more frequently. Despite the apparent absence of Persian horse-archers, a couple of horsemen seem to have a gorytus (n° 53, 59). Swords are normally short (akinaks-type), the plain exception being n° 16a; the sword on n° 17, though used to stab an adversary, has the prole of a slashing sword. Apart from n° 11, where a Persian is about to execute a prisoner with an axe, Persian axes only appear being carried inserted into a neckguard cuirass (n° 17, 23, 26, 40). N° 11, with its bulbous hammer and long pickaxe point, lacks obvious parallel. The cuirass axes tend to be shown rather cursorily, with the blade component reduced to little more than a plain bar either crossing the shaft or perching on its top (to produce a T effect), and for that there are occasional analogies, though not necessarily in Persian hands.89 Glyptic and non-glyptic representations of Central Asian axes are apt to have non-glyptic Persian analogies. The slightly rounded head prole that is characteristic of Persian horses is present on n° 1, 40, 43, 45, 57, 60 and (perhaps) n° 49-51.90 This contributes to a visual contrast between victors’ and adversaries’ horses on n° 1 and 43. Such a contrast is also seen on n° 62, where the Persian’s horse does not have a markedly rounded prole but that of the adversaries’ chariot horses is decidedly concave. On n° 44 the contrast is not a matter of face-prole but of the apparent size and solidity of the animal. In both cases, of course, the victor’s horse is also marked out as Persian by the presence of a saddle cloth and the decoration of the tail – features that recur frequently on other items. The tail decorations come in various forms: some predominantly give the impression of a Y or a bun, while others are more diverse.91 88

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Sigma: n° 13, 17 (echoes the Central Asian adversary bowman), n° 39b (which, on Kaptan’s reading, is not unequivocally a Persian gure anyway: see Catalogue entry); plain: n° 12, 31-34 (these are also presumed in cases where they are associated with shoulder quivers: n° 15, 18, 19, 21.1). This resembles the bow of infantrymen at back of the Tatarl Persian army (see n.48), which is distinguished both from the Saka bows and from bows used by mounted Persians. Indeterminate: n° 3 (incomplete image), n° 14. Compare the axe of Artaxerxes I at Naqš-e Rustam (Schmidt 1970, pl.51); Apadana delegation XVII North (Schmidt 1953, pl.43; Walser 1966, pl.24); perhaps Central Building delegation 22 (Schmidt 1953, pl.80); Miho pectoral (Bernard 2000); Oxus Treasure 84 (Dalton 1964: 23f., pl.XV). Slightly rounded head prole, cf. Schmidt 1953, pl.52 (the prole does also occur on horses associated with Apadana delegations III, IX, XI, XVI, and XVII). On n° 42, 44, 53, 56, 58, 62 Persians ride horses that do not display this prole. The prole is also not uncommon (but far from universal) in salient hunting scenes. Y-shaped: n° 46, 50-52, 57, 60, 62. One normally assumes that the effect is due to the trailing ends of something tied round the tail near the end. But the Vezirhan horse

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They may merit further analysis; one may certainly wonder whether the variations are as casual as they appear. Saddle cloths are generally rectilinear, have different decorative features on the rear and bottom edges and are sometimes internally subdivided (that is, there are lines within the saddle cloth area that run parallel to the rear and/or bottom and/or front edge and in effect create a border).92 They are apparently held in place by a strap passing round the horse’s chest.93 Much the same is seen on non-combat sealstones (hunting-scenes and occasional isolated dismounted horses) and in other media.94 There may be scope to undertake further investigation of the exact varieties of decoration/design found in Achaemenid-era saddle cloths. I do not attempt that here. Instead I draw attention to an odd feature on one of the images, n° 55. Saddle cloths are usually rectangular in shape, but on n° 56 there is an unusual triangular extension. In fact, it is as though there are two superimposed saddle cloths: the one underneath is presumably entirely square, and its rear edge has trailing merlons in a usual fashion. But on top is a smaller cloth, squared at the rear but with a downward triangular extension at the front. The triangular feature has a parallel of sorts on one of coins of the Paeonian king Patraos, though it is problematized by the curious positioning of the rider’s leg.95 There is also arguably a vestigial parallel on BN 404 in the powerful vertical feature in front of the rider’s leg, which resembles the leading edge of the feature on n° 56. But this feature on BN 404 is not part of anything larger (and the photograph does not clearly disclose

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(where the tail itself is plaited into two sections) may suggest this is not (always) true (Asgari 1983 B.146). Bun: n° 53, 58; cf. the Çan sarcophagus horses, especially the hunter (Sevinç et al. 2001, g.6). Other: n° 47, 49, 54, 56, 63, 65. I have not collected data about horse-manes, another feature of Persian horses. The forehead decoration seen on some Persepolitan horses (a sort of semi-circular prole topknot) is absent from my data set (it is not present in whatever n° 51 is attempting to show). N° 43-45, 48?, 49-51, 56-58, 60, 62. The editors claim one on n° 61. The adversary’s horse has one on n° 42. Bittner (1985: 240) afrms that saddle cloths were secured by a broad belt under the horse as well as a narrower one round the front. But the former is not clearly present on any of the (few) items Bittner cites, and is not a feature of any of the 50+ sealstone or other items that I have been able to review. It does appear on a Sasanian silver horse-rhyton now in the Cleveland Museum of Art (inv.n° 64.41). By contrast the (unmounted) horse on Merrillees 2005 12, though Persian in other respects, has a saddle cloth with semi-circular prole that is apparently held on by a strap running vertically round the horse’s belly. A similar strap seems to appear on the Karaburun war-horse. Another exceptional saddle cloth appears on Merrillees 2005 6-7, where it hangs way below the belly of the horse. See n.66. The relevant item is Wright 2012, g.7. What seems to be the edge of a saddle cloth then passes over the rider’s leg. This must be an error by the die-cutter.

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any saddle cloth features at all). If there are meant to be two saddle cloths (the strapping reinforces this impression; see below), it is not a situation that is easily paralleled. At rst sight, Legrain 1951 841 looks a possible case, but this probably shows the marking off of a smaller area within the saddle cloth, not the superimposition of two distinct objects. There are two distinct and widely spaced straps passing across the horse’s chest in front of the saddle cloth area on n° 56. The normal situation on sealstone images is that we have either a single linear feature or two parallel but fairly closely positioned linear features (perhaps to be understood as the edges of a single broad belt – that is specially tempting when the two lines are not very close together) or what is clearly a single broad belt (clear because it is a broad solid raised feature or because there is decoration between two linear features forming its edges). These norms apply whether the vertical leading edge of the saddle cloth is single (as on n° 56 and the majority of sealstone depictions of saddle cloths) or double. In both cases the linear feature(s) representing a belt or belts normally terminate at the leading edge of the cloth. More surprisingly, perhaps, the depiction is often consistent with the view that the belt(s) pass(es) underneath the leading edge of the cloth. This phenomenon is matched in representations of saddle cloths and their attachments in other media, so should be taken seriously. Indeed it is quite rare to be convinced of the opposite – i.e. that a strap is attached directly to the leadingedge, though (among normal depictions) Boardman 1970: 450 (39) = pl.843 is a possible example, as is, perhaps, n° 45. The fact that one linear feature on n° 56 appears to go underneath the leading edge is therefore not unusual, but that the other one seems to be attached to it may be. What is certainly unusual is that the two linear features are so far apart and, because they behave differently at the cloth end, cannot be meant to represent a single broad belt. There are some other deviations from the norm (all on hunting images).96 But none of these deviations taken as a whole is like n° 56. One has a single broad belt and the other have two parallel and closely positioned lines; so all three correspond to the norms for the presentation of saddle cloth attachments in a way that n° 56 does not. None of them show the eccentrically shaped saddle cloth of n° 56. Two 96

Boardman 1970: 453 (222) = pl.927: two lines relatively close to one another, and a cloth with double leading edge; the upper line crosses the rst edge and stops at the second, the lower stops at the rst, and in both cases one might take it that the line (strap) is joining the edge directly. Boardman 1970: 452 (179) = pl.904: a single broad belt appears to cross the single leading edge and then disappears beneath the rider’s leg. Boardman 1970: 452 (180) = pl.905: two lines close to one another, and a cloth with single leading edge; the upper line certainly crosses it and disappears beneath the rider’s leg, while the situation with the lower one is not entirely clear on the photograph (it may join the leading edge and/or pass over it). A different sort of deviation is the apparent withers-strap on n° 58.

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do have a saddle cloth with a single leading-edge, but in both cases the belt seems to cross that edge. Boardman 1970, pl.927 may resemble n° 56 in having straps that look as though they attach directly to the saddle cloth leading-edge, but it is a double leading-edge and both straps attach directly to one of the leading edges, whereas n° 56 has only a single leading edge and one strap passes underneath it. One might (with Richter 1956 ad loc.) seek to explain n° 56’s upper strap as simply a mis-cut rein – mis-cut both in not going to the rider’s hand on the withers (the hand is not seen but must be presumed to be in that position) and in not quite actually reaching as far as the horse’s head (though it does protrude further beyond the horse’s chest than the lower strap).97 This is not an available explanation for the other deviant representations (where the reins are clearly present separately), but, since in other respects too they do not parallel n° 56, that is not a decisive consideration. What gives one pause is precisely that the upper strap coexists with, and seems directly attached to, what is certainly a saddle cloth of unparalleled shape. It is hard to see that as merely an inadvertent error: I think we are looking at a genuine, if iconographically unusual, piece of Realien.

4.5.3. Military conict: ethnicity and events The Egyptians of n° 18, 19, and the Moscow Seal (n.6 above) are unmistakable and require no further comment. Greeks are also comparatively straightforward, because of weaponry and/or clothing and/or the absence of clothing (there are several more or less naked Greeks). The adversaries on n° 24-25, 32, and 38 whom Bregstein (1993: 80) labels “Assyrian” are best seen as Greek. The items do clearly belong together and the fact that the shield-and-crossed-spears trope on n° 24 co-exists with unambiguously Greek gures on n° 26 and 27 favours categorizing n° 25, 32 and 38 as Greek as well, even though other aspects of their representation are somewhat unclear. There are perhaps some other arguable cases. There is the question about the Greek/ Galatian on n° 30 (cf. §3.1). Criteria for infantry Greeks include shield, crested helmet, nudity, spears, but some items are categorized as involving Greek adversaries on only one criterion: n° 23 by virtue of a crested helmet (the rest of the clothing is unclear), n° 29 by virtue of a shield (the headgear is not specially supportive), n° 35 and 36 – both of them, in different ways, unusual images – by virtue of nudity. Calling the opponent on n° 34 Greek is as much guesswork as anything. More positively there are observations to make about the association of equipment with scene types. First, several targets of equestrian attack have the crested

97

For the expected situation see, e.g., n° 60.

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pilos-type helmet (when one can judge).98 Only n° 50 and 51 plainly show something different. But this pointed helmet is not favoured in infantry scenes. Secondly, among cavalry images there is little or no sign of signicant body armour on Greek victims, and sometimes there is positive nudity.99 Among infantry images, only n° 30, 35-36, and 39 seem to have nude Greeks. The Greek victim in n° 20-22 is perhaps meant to be in body armour. Elsewhere a shield often entirely occludes the upper body, but the gure in n° 31 has a corselet with pteryges; and the one on n° 33, though hard to make out, seems to have greaves. In other words, there is a tendency for Persian horsemen to ght unarmoured Greeks with piloi, while Persian infantrymen ght (or confront) Greeks who are a bit closer to a conventional hoplite model. I fancy that non-glyptic evidence is not inconsistent with that pattern. Since narrative sources preserve the claim that organized Greek hoplites could stand up to Persian cavalry attack (and non-Persian cavalry attack as well), there may be an element of realism embedded in this iconographical choice. Other adversaries, denable negatively as not looking Egyptian or Greek and (possibly) wearers of trousers, require a little more comment. The adversary on n° 40 looks very different from any of the other adversaries for whom useful detail is provided at all.100 If he actually has a naked torso and wears a skirt, one might even think of an Indic opponent – which would ll a gap in a pattern. But the premise is uncertain, and the pattern is necessarily speculative (cf. §4.5.3). By contrast, the gures on n° 41 do seem more at home in the broadly Iranian environment that predominates in non-Greek/non-Egyptian material, and are largely problematized (if at all) by their shields.101 Their quasi-domed headgear provides little support for Wu’s (2005: 67f.) identication of them as Chorasmian. Mutatis mutandis that is also true of n° 62, though here the problematic element is more extravagant, viz the chariot. But n° 62 is a late product, perhaps even early post-Achaemenid, and the combination of quasi-Central Asians and a chariot may simply represent a piece of Greek artistic fancy. N° 40 and 41 are more seriously interesting to, and tantalizing for, the historian, so too the people in the prisoner image on Ward 1048 (cf. n.6). They are bearded, wear trousers (and perhaps a belted tunic), and have laces on their shoes just like those of the Persian soldier leading them; but the headgear does not evoke Iran. The allure is Egyptian, if anything. The seal is lost, so we are dependent on Ward’s drawing, but it would be facile simply to dismiss the item on that ground. Like n° 40 and 41, it is a problem awaiting resolution. 98 99 100 101

N° 44-45, 48-49, 56?, 57-58, 60 (without crest). Head’s rendering of n° 57 includes torso-armour, but that is of uncertain authority. So not n° 64-65 (combat), PFS 0116, PFS 2218, PFUTS 0305* (non-combat prisoner scenes). One should also recall here the problematic case of n° 64 (cf. n.23 above), where there is a possibility that both combatants are Persians.

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Among adversaries with trousers the two with pointed hats (n° 7, 13) are naturally seen as Sak tigraxaud and in both cases the body clothing conforms with the fact that the Apadana Sak tigraxaud have a belted tunic, not a cut-away coat. N° 12, where a separate triangular feature sits on top of the gure’s hat, might perhaps be a slightly odd attempt at evoking the tigraxaud; the body clothing cannot be made out, so there is no check from that direction.102 The prisoner on n° 7 seems to have a llet round his head (and there may even be the suggestion of a hair bag), whence Wu’s suggestion that he is Bactrian (cf. the Bactrians on the tomb of Darius I and in Apadana Delegation XV).103 But the cut-away coat he wears tells against that, and his identity must remain uncertain. It is, of course, clear in any case that he is of different origin from the Sak tigraxaud adversary in the same image. The Persians are confronting two different Central Asian enemies here – which is not a normal thing in our data-set. There is a similar problem with the adversaries on n° 15 – gures who raise several difculties (see Catalogue ad loc.) – but they must surely be Central Asian. For the rest, trouser-wearers have a bashlyk with a slight frontal peak or (in the case of the nearly identical n° 42-43) a double peak. In terms of the Darius Statue gures (Roaf 1974, esp. 94-145) the single peak version is most reminiscent of the Sogdian (ibid. 111), who has a marked quiff-like effect at the front of his hat (by contrast the Saka has a bent point rising from the crown of the hat; other Eastern peoples have nothing pertinent). This sort of headgear can be regarded as analogous to that of Apadana Delegation XVII (Schmidt 1953, pl.43; Walser 1966, pl.24); there is certainly no other Apadana hat that is remotely as relevant to the glyptic cases. As for the double peaked version, some on the Apadana have a triple fold/bobble feature at front of bashlyk, but it is not particularly similar. Slightly closer, perhaps, is the double fold on one of the throne-bearer gures on the Central Building and Hundred Column Hall (16/E8), very tentatively identied by Roaf (1974: 149) as Sagartian. But the resemblance is not strong, and I am not wholly convinced that the feature in this (effectively) single image really takes us far away from the norm elsewhere.104 Where precisely that is remains debatable. Delegation XVII is variously associated in modern identications with Sogdians and/or Chorasmians and/or Sak haumavarg – a hedging of bets that reects the fact that these are the most salient parallels among the tomb-gures. Wu tends to favour a Sogdian/Chorasmian rather than Sak haumavarg identication and sometimes seems to want to focus specically on Sogdians. I am not sure that there is any 102

103 104

Note also Oxus Treasure 84 (Dalton 1964: 23f., pl.15), where an apparently separate feature on top of the basic hat produces an overall shape resembling that seen on the tigraxauda gure on the throne-bearer image; the gure is wearing a belted tunic. Schmidt 1970, g.41.6; idem 1953, pl.41; Walser 1966, pl.22. Wu (2005: 74) is of the same view, identifying the gure as Sogdian or Chorasmian.

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strong reason to do so. In any case, this is the sort of question that is more my purpose to highlight than try to answer.105 In any event, it has to be said that the great majority of combat and combatrelated scenes which admit of comment do involve Greek, Egyptian, or Central Asian adversaries. These are not surprising categories since Achaemenid history (even as known to us) contained its share of ghting against such people, at least some of which was successful from a Persian point of view.106 But the categories do not look entirely random, since there is plainly a pattern of stress on peoples at the edges of the empire – and if n° 40 did represent an Indic opponent (see above) we should actually have a full equivalent to the four-corners trope used to summarize the empire in certain royal inscriptions. It would be a non-identical equivalent, because the royal inscriptions have Sak , Kush, Sardis and India whereas the combat images would have Saka, Egypt, Greece and India, but that is not a particular problem since it is plausibly a simple matter of fact that the Persians fought Greeks and Egyptians more frequently than Lydians and Kushites. From this perspective one might say that the primary message of combat and prisoner images was about imperial success in policing the edges of what is otherwise implicitly a peaceful space. The question is what impact the existence of n° 41 and Ward 1048 (and n° 40, if the adversary is neither Indic nor canonically Central Asian) has on such a pattern. A purely trope-driven pattern should properly admit of no exceptions. So, if there are occasional exceptions, do they establish that all of the images are primarily reections of the fact of actual ghting – reections that occasionally include events that do not belong at the extremities – or are they consistent with the ideological reading outlined above? Or is the question ill105 106

Potts (2012) recently sought the origins of Delegation XVII further to the east in Siberia. Greeks require no further comment – save that the Greek record does not, of course, draw much attention to Persian victories. In Egypt we have the original conquest, and the suppression of rebellions in or after 522/1 (an obscure matter), ca. 485 (a notably ill-attested incident, apt to be ignored when people debate the putative precise reference of one or other glyptic image), the 450s, and (after prolonged autonomy) 343 BCE. The shadowy disturbances in the Arš ma correspondence are not perhaps sufciently substantial to be salient here. In Central Asia, after the successes implicit in the listing of Central Asian peoples as subjects from the Bsot n inscription onwards, we see only Darius’ campaign against the Sak tigraxaud (Bsot n), the stories (also about Darius) in Polyaenus VII.11.6 and 7.12, and the ghting against the Bactrians and their satrap Artabanus in the 460s in Ctesias F14 §5. By contrast, there is no known Central Asian ghting either at the accession of Xerxes (Plut. Mor. 173b-c, Just. II.10) or when Masistes defected, because he was intercepted and eliminated before he reached his satrapy (Hdt. IX.113), although in the latter case this is sometimes ignored when scholars seek real world events to associate with glyptic images (see, e.g., Wu 2005: 89; idem 2010: 546). Perhaps the assumption – not necessarily unreasonable – is that Herodotus got this bit of the story wrong.

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formed in postulating too sharp a distinction between response-to-specic-events and ideological motivations? It is not as though we are analysing a homogeneous corpus that is the direct product of one environment. At best we are seeking to use an assemblage of comparable items from different productive environments (and the fact that it is just items of this sort and no others that emerge when one looks for human combat in a particular set of glyptic images) to infer something about artistic choices within those parts of the empire that created salient products in the rst place. That is such an abstract process that the answer perhaps has to be abstract, without prejudice to the possibility that individual seal-cutters thought of themselves as responding to particular events. In fact there may have been reciprocal feedback between the response to particular events and the sense that certain events had a particular generic signicance. Since in the end (and so far as our evidence goes) the images produced strongly tended to be of particular sorts, it looks as though the choices being made were constrained by something other than the objective range of possible conicts that could have been depicted. That would only not be true either if we had good reason to suspect our data-set of being fundamentally misleading and/or if the range of possible conicts (as dened by the ethnic characteristics of non-Persian adversaries) was as a matter of fact as limited as it now appears in glyptic material. The rst possibility cannot be wholly excluded. The fact that two of three welldened uncertain items (n° 40-41) come from the Persepolis Treasury archive, and that the Fortication archive contains a number of somewhat ill-dened incerta, does raise the possibility that, if our data-set gave us better direct access to seal use after the mid-fth century BCE in the regions represented by these archives, we might nd a larger and longer history of non-Greek, non-Central Asian and nonEgyptian combat and combat-related images. For there is no guarantee that the seal images we actually have from the second half of imperial history precisely reect heartland practice. But one can do little more than register this uncertainty. As for the second possibility: even setting aside the era of Cyrus (since no relevant glyptic repertoire survives before the reign of Darius) and discounting military conict with rebellious satraps or with would-be alternative Great Kings (where, in simple terms, the adversaries would have been other Persians), this is plainly not true.107 Babylonian astronomical diaries reveal otherwise unknown fourth century BCE military activity that does not belong to the western and eastern extremities highlighted in the glyptic repertoire (Sachs & Hunger 1988, -440, -373, -369, -366, -362). There were new conquests in Thrace (Hdt. IV.144, V.2, 15) and India (IV.44). There were the non-Iranian rebels in 522/21 BCE as well as later in 107

Possible Persian adversaries only potentially arise in our data-set with n° 64 (cf. n.23 above) and perhaps n° 41 (cf. §4.5.3). The absence of distinctively Scythian headgear on the adversary might make one add n° 6 to the list.

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Babylon (484 BCE), Phoenicia (340s; Diod. XVI.40-45) and (perhaps) Media (though truthfully what lies behind Xen. Hell. I.2.9 is hard to say).108 There was intermittent conict with Mysians, Pisidians and Carduchi.109 There were also several wars with the Cadusians110 – people on or just beyond a frontier, but not a frontier known to be highlighted in glyptic sources. Even if perchance one or other of our problem items (n° 40-41, Ward 1048) reected one of these contexts (a rather long shot, and never likely to be demonstrable), there is clearly a surplus of theoretical possibilities – even from our necessarily limited information. So it still seems reasonable to believe that the general limitation of the sealimage repertoire to certain contexts is signicant. Going beyond this to link particular seals to particular events is a delicate issue.111 In principle we can ask the question whether, when a seal-cutter (or indeed any gurative artist) sets out to make an image, he is prompted to do so by (and/or is signicantly conscious of the existence of) a particular specic real-world event (recent or not) or has simply decided that making the image he has in mind is appropriate for more generic reasons. In practice it is not straightforward. For one thing there is the complicating question of who has commissioned the product. For another, there is the fact that we know either about too many (Greek events) or too few (Egyptian and, especially, Central Asian events) potentially relevant episodes for the exercise to be at all easy. For a third, our grasp of the date of production of the various seal images is at best rather inexact (a terminus ante quem from dated use is the most we can hope for; otherwise we are reduced to stylistic judgments), and so we cannot aspire to tell very precise stories of cause and effect – or at any rate expect to carry conviction if we do so.112 No one has yet claimed to nd in any of these images the sort of uniquely distinctive military detail that might tie a picture very closely to a particular event.113 It is not inconceivable that such a detail 108

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I assume that Hdt. I.130 reects events in 522/21 BCE. There were also Carians involved in the Ionian Revolt. Pisidians: Xen. Hell. III.1.13; Anab. I.1.11, 2.1, 6.7, 9.14, II.5.13, III.2.23; Mem. III.5.26; Diod. XI.61.4, XV.90.3; Nep. Dat. 6; Polyaen. VII.21.7, 27.1; Front. I.4.5; Arr. Anab. I.24.6, 27-28. Carduchi: Xen. Anab. III.5.16. Xen. Hell. II.1.13; Diod. XV.8, 10; Plut. Art. 24f; Trog. Prol. 10; Nep. Dat. 1.2; Just. X.3.3; Diod. XVII.6. The matter is discussed in Wu 2010 and, at greater length, in idem 2014. It is salutary to note that we now know the Aršma seal (n° 1) was in use before 494 BCE, long before the period (454-436/29) which it previously seemed reasonable to identify as the time-frame for the event to which it might refer (Garrison & Henkelman [forthc.]). The case of a Central Asian image on n° 16 celebrating an Egyptian victory (cf. §4.5.4) would also be a warning, but it is (of course) a very speculative case. For Wu (2005: 89, idem 2010: 546) the putative conjunction of Bactrian and Sacan adversaries in n° 7 is perhaps a case in point, pointing at events associated with Masistes.

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might be present somewhere, but it seems likely that, if it is, we are not in a position to decode it. Mere complexity is no guarantee of specic circumstantiality.114 So, in practical terms, historical interpretation of the images individually or collectively must largely be generic or ideological. It is probably safe to infer that ghting in Central Asia played a larger part in the Persian monde imaginaire than one might suppose from the Greek historical tradition – and even that it did so because there was more actual ghting there than that tradition knows of.115 But it would perhaps be dangerous to assume that the part played by ghting against Greeks was necessarily as much larger as the number of Greek-subject seal images is greater than non-Greek ones; the point made above about the absence of the equivalent of Persepolis Fortication and Treasury material in the empire’s last century or so has a bearing here as well. It is still, of course, hard not to be struck by the fact that six different images of Greek combat were in use in Babylonia in 423-17 BCE, especially given the comparative paucity of Scythian images in the same place and time frame (just n° 8) and the entire absence of such things in earlier Babylonian seal contexts.116 We do not know when the seals were made, though there is no particular reason to think that all or any of them were particularly old at the time of use.117 But one is still hesitant about formulating a reason why images of Greek defeat should become fashionable among relevant makers and users in (say) the last third of the fth century BCE. For Greek historians the last third of the fth century BCE corresponds to the Peloponnesian War, but – at least as we normally see things – that only acquired a signicant Persian dimension after these seals had been made. Nearly twenty years before the war, conventional wisdom posits a peace treaty and heterodoxy may concede a de facto disengagement between Persians and Athenians following the petering out of Cimon’s last campaign in Cyprus. But can we really write this into the story of seals in use in Babylonia a quarter century later? Can we say that the combination of that background with the spectacle of Greeks falling to ghting one another in 431 BCE – and even investigating the possibility

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But the Bactrian identication is rather debatable, and the hook to the reference to Bactrians and Sacae in Hdt. IX.113 is rendered problematic by the fact that, for Herodotus, there was no actual Bactrian-Sacan military activity (cf. n.106 above). Though some pictures are more denuded of additional elements beside a pair of combatants than others, the presence of additional elements is not necessarily a sign of historical specicity. “The problems caused by the east … were probably no less troublesome than those caused by the Greeks in the west” (Wu 2010: 547; cf. ibid. 560). There is also the non-combat prisoner scene on Bregstein 1993 194. We must wait a further 50 years for the next such item on U 17243.20. In general we cannot document use of the same seal over very long periods of time: Bregstein 1993: 365.

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of the Great King’s intervention, if Thucydides and Aristophanes are to be believed118 – gave new impetus to an anti-Greek seal iconography that already existed and would have a further history in the later fth and fourth century BCE when (if not always by strictly military methods) the Persians did successfully claw back some of what had been lost in 479?119 None of this involves equating any image with a single specic military event, but, even so, it may seem unconvincing.120 Moreover, if we are going to think in this sort of way, we should perhaps not simply deploy the Central Asian items as a way of underlining the frequency of the Greek ones and then forget about them. Although rare, they are still novel for the Babylonian context. But it would certainly be debatable methodology to regard the fact that we know far less about the Central Asian historical environment than about the Greek one as entitling us to conjure some specic unrecorded event into existence to explain n° 8 and Bregstein 1993 194, when we are disinclined to do anything comparable for their Greek-subject equivalents.121 Rather we might consider the explanation for the appearance of both Greek and Central Asia images adumbrated in Wu (2014: 271), viz that it reects an environment in the earlier part of Darius II’s reign in which military values had acquired an increased importance. This state of affairs was a consequence of the complex violence that had surrounded Darius’ acquisition of the throne – a set of events that prompted recollection of what had happened a century earlier (compare the making of a copy of the Aramaic text of Bsotn at Elephantine at this time) but also made it desirable to think about violence directed against external enemies.122 On this view none of the images need refer to a (new) specic event at all. Instead, they are merely the recycling of existing tropes for ideological purposes – and mutatis mutandis that remains the safest reaction to all combat images.

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Thuc. II.7, 67, IV.50; Aristoph. Ach. vv.61-124, 647-51. Boardman (2000: 159) perhaps hints at a different sort of reason for the appearance of Greek combat images later on when he remarks à propos of n° 30 (where a naked Greek is being defeated) that there were many Greek mercenaries in the Persian empire. Does he mean to imply that people liked images that kept the Greeks’ military quality in perspective (lest the system might seem too dependent on them)? Mutatis mutandis the same goes for speculation (cf. §3.4) about the putative popularity of an image of Greek defeat in the Treasury archive. Thus Wu 2005: 90 infers that n° 8 reects “conicts related to the accession of Darius.” Elephantine Bsotn copy: Tavernier 1999, but see also Mitchell 2017.

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4.5.4. Ownership In an ideal world one sort of context for understanding combat-image seals would be through the identity of their owners. People have sometimes speculated rather wildly about the ownership of particular items. Merrillees (2005: 36) wondered – on very tenuous grounds – whether n° 15 might have belonged to Megabazus. Hinz (1979: 31) said that n° 18 belonged to Megabyzus – a slightly less tenuous idea, since the seal does celebrate mastery over Egypt, but arbitrary nonetheless. Much less arbitrary but still uncertain is the proposition (Garrison & Henkelman [forthc.]) that the similarity in design between n° 1 and 3 (in both of which a Persian gures defeats a nomad adversary using a long spear that dominates the centre of the icon) and the absence of parallel for such a design among other seals created early enough to be in use in the Fortication archive suggests that n° 3 may have been created for someone of comparably high status to Darius’ son Arš ma (the original owner of n° 1). The only points at which we can certainly match our data – even extending it to include non-combat prisoner scenes and other items beyond the boundaries of the Catalogue (cf. nn.6-7, 24) – to individual seal owners are A) the items from Nippur and Ur (through documentary use), B) the Arš ma seal (n° 1, through inscription and documentary use), and C) PFS 1156 (assignable to one Šimumu through documentary use). By contrast, although n° 12, 40 and PFS 2218 are used on written documents, their content affords no way of identifying an owner.123 “Under Artaxerxes” on n° 16 does not assert royal ownership. If this is Artaxerxes III and if the cartouche indicates an Egyptian origin or connection, the phrase will perhaps be an assertive comment about the Persian reconquest of Egypt – even though the image is Central Asian. But there are obvious uncertainties here. One should not assume that “I [am] Artaxerxes” on the Moscow seal is a different matter. In the seal praxis of the Fortication and Treasury archives royal name seals are used by ofcials, not by the king, and the ofcials in question are not of the absolutely highest rank. The inscriptions of n° 3 and 23 are respectively incompletely preserved and obscure. That of n° 46 may give us an Iranian seal-owner (but no indication of status) or a status (“re-priest”) without a name. N° 30 carries a putative owner’s name (DLNT), but the name admits of no certain interpretation and cannot be linked to any known person. None of this gets us very far. Nor are we helped in more than general terms by the (in itself perfectly good) observation that some of the cylinder seals are quite large and may therefore have been the property

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Seal praxis means that the owners of the rst two will not be among those named in the documents. I have no information about the document to which PFS 2218 is attached.

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of high-ranking individuals.124 The most tantalizing case is n° 40, which may be inscribed with the name *Darg yauš. Since someone of that name is attested as a treasury-ofcial in the early years of Xerxes (year 4 is the latest preserved date), it is not inconceivable that it was he who applied his seal to two memoranda about payments from the treasury (PT 30, PT 32) in year 16 of Xerxes’ reign. But the gap of over a decade is a little worrying.125 Returning to the cases where seal owners can be unequivocally identied, Eriba-aplu, owner of the seal that made U 17243.20, is someone about whom we know (I think) nothing. About Šimumu, owner of PFS 1156, we know that he supplied wine at Harima in 499/98 BCE (23 Darius I), for it was on the document recording this (PF 1209) that the seal was impressed; and we may note that the name recurs in seven other documents from years 21-23, though never in a context of wine supply (unless the name be restored in NN 0847). On at least two occasions (PF 0556, NN 2301) the name is that of an apportioner, so someone a little way up the hierarchy, but not someone in any sort of very special category. The Arš ma seal (n° 1), an impression of which appears in the Persepolis Fortication archive, looks to have belonged originally to a son of Darius. It is then found used also in conjunction with letters from a homonym (and presumably relative) who was satrap of Egypt in the mid-fth century BCE. These are men of very high status, and both of them may have been involved in military events. But the direct evidence is problematic and unconnected with Central Asia, so any idea that the seal was cut to commemorate the owner’s activities there would be entirely arbitrary – and to my eye the features of the victor, though distinctive, are not those of the young man Darius’ son was when the seal was made.126 124

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Arš ma’s seal (n° 1), comparable in size to the royal name seal, PFS 0007*, the largest seal represented in Garrison & Root 2001, is a certain case. One might compare n° 15, 17, 26, and (making allowance for its incomplete preservation) n° 16. For comparably large noncombat seals see, e.g., Curtis & Tallis 2005 205, 208, 287, 289, 417. Treasury ofcial: PT 10, PT 10b, PT 13, PT 15, PT 16, PT 18, PT 19, PT 1957-1 (in this context the man involved uses PTS 01*, a royal name seal). The *Darg yauš who appears two or three times in 23 Darius as co-issuer of a halmi under which winesupplies are given to workers at Pittannan (NN 0010, NN 0035 and perhaps NN 0347) is, as a halmi-issuer, surely already of too high a status in late 499 to be readily identied with someone merely issuing treasury-memoranda some 30 years later. The possibility should be considered that he is the man named in exactly the same month in the nal line of PF 1988, where there is also an allusion to karamaraš people (inspectors) and the non-application of a seal. But that does not help us with seal n° 40. Of course, it begs questions to think that there is an intended element of portraiture in the rst place. Before the seal’s age was established it was tempting to recall the satrap Arš ma’s letter about the ‘image-maker’ Hinzani. Porten and Yardeni (1986: 120 = TADAE A6.12) saw it as evidence for Arš ma’s special interest in artistic production and connected

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Of the Nippur items in the Catalogue two belong to šaknus (n° 27, 32), and one each to a man collecting rent for the ofcer in charge of the left side of the Sîn Canal (n° 38), a Persian-named Sîn-Canal judge (n° 25), an ustarbaru (n° 24), and a rb ummu (n° 8), while one owner is untitled (n° 36). Among items just beyond the boundaries of the Catalogue we nd a further ustarbaru (Bregstein 1993 198), the ardu (servant) of one Ea-bullissu (Bregstein 1993 197), and three untitled individuals (Bregstein 1993 194, 196, 626) – one of whom has an Egyptian name and patronymic. Canal-ofcials dealt with a crown resource vital to the well-being of Babylonian agriculture, ustarbaru was an Iranian status-title (see below), šaknus were in charge of the a rus into which certain types of land-holding were grouped, and the rb ummu may possibly have had a military function.127 Since it is rather hard to judge how strongly a šaknu would have thought of himself as connected with the military establishment (that is just part of a larger question about how to envisage the link between the scal character of a ru-land and actual military activity), and since the function of the rb ummu remains debatable, it is unclear whether there is much substantive overlap between the functions of titled owners of combat-image seals and the military character of those seals. In any case there is certainly nothing like a complete overlap.128 By way of contextualisation of the combat scenes in their Nippurian environment we may start with Bregstein’s (1993: 114) judgment that, globally speaking, their users belong with the 43% of seal-users who are title-holders or the servants of title-holders. This puts them with people who have a statistical preference for contest, hunting, and narrative scenes as against the scenes with worship, animals (winged or otherwise), and monsters for which untitled people have a statistical preference in the Murašû archive – and with people who have some ofcial standing in Achaemenid Babylonia. But what is the place of combat-scenes within that 43% of seal-users? The short answer is that fewer than 4% of titled seal-users had combat or combat-related

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this with the high quality of his personal seal (the letter even refers to horses, and there are horses in the seal image). But such fancies are out of place now we know the seal was not cut for the satrap. We could, of course, still say that inheritance of such a ne seal helped re his artistic interests, but that is piling fancy upon fancy. MacGinnis 1998: 180; Stolper 2001: 106f. Wu 2010: 553 renders it ‘inspector’ which, though vague, is perhaps misleading. The debate is complicated by subordinate dispute about the identity or distinction between ummu and other similar-looking words. In my view ummu should be kept separate, and that tends to favour a military explanation. Among attestations of the title the most indicative of this explanation are PBS 2/1 196, YOS 3.171, BM 64707 and Sachs & Hunger 1988: 366, but all work by association, not direct statement, and are susceptible of debate. Note that MacGinnis 2012: 31 is more non-committal on the function of the rb ummu than idem 1998.

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scenes: they are not a particularly popular option. The slightly longer answer is that (according to Bregstein’s gures) such scenes are absent among functionaries connected with satraps or with royal or élite estates (i.e. among the functionaries most directly involved with the Persian royal family and aristocracy) but present in the environment of canal- and a ru-management (both of which could be characterised as concerned with the exploitation of Babylonian resources for the purposes of the state as distinct from aristocratic beneciaries) as well as in the hands of two otherwise undened ustarbarus. Since ustarbaru is a term that implies a certain social position or a particular status but not a specic ofce (Jursa 2011: 168), these last two individuals are of uncertain location, not least as between the world of (fairly direct) royal service (where ustarbarus are certainly in place, e.g., as agents within queen Parysatis’ estate) and that of, e.g., a ru-management, attested in the case of one Bl-bullisu in BE 9.102 (a man with an Iranian patronymic). It might be a rather neat (if possibly paradoxical?) proposition that pictures of Persian military victory were preferred by those who were serving the imperial state as distinct from the imperial aristocracy. But: 1) that distinction might be judged debatable; 2) the fundamental rarity of the image-category does make calculations (and particularly apparent null classes) very vulnerable to small glitches in the survival rate of salient items; 3) the essence of the title ustarbaru (which succeeded the ša rši title of Neo-Babylonian and early Achaemenid times) is something like courtier-status, i.e. by default it entails a relationship to the royal environment; and 4) the two ustarbarus who use combat seals do so on documents that are respectively drafted in Susa and concerned with property that once belonged to the prince Arbareme (= *Arbarva-; the Arbarius of Ctesias) and now belongs to his servant Grparna’ (= *Grafarn) – in other words, they turn up in contexts with a somewhat special allure.129 The apparently uneven distribution of combat-images among titled seal-users may, therefore, be somewhat misleading.130 Finally, we should also not entirely lose sight of the fact that nearly as many combat-related seals are used by untitled people as by titled people at Nippur. It is held to be unlikely that many of these were people who actually had a title that just happened not to be reported in the relevant document (Bregstein 1993: 186), so we must accept that debating the different behaviour of different types of title holder is only part of the issue. At the same time, it should also be noted that a mere 2% of non-titled seal-users had combat-related seals, whereas over a third of them went for the contest and hunting images that Bregstein identies as preferred options of 129

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Arbareme: Stolper 1985: 96; Tavernier 2007: 111. Grparna’: Tavernier 2007: 190. Grparna’ replaces the reading Girtunâ found in Cardascia 1951: 168. There is also at least an outside chance that Bregstein 1993: 197 belonged to a servant (ardu) of Ea-bullissu and that the Ea-bullissu in question was queen Parysatis’ paqdu. If so, the case would belong in the apparent null class.

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title-holders. The seepage of title-holder taste into the ranks of non-title holders (if that is how one should view it) did no favours to combat images. They remained very much a minority taste in whichever constituency. Some might regard this as bolstering their status as a choice of functionaries. Others may think it just shows they were pretty unpopular with everyone. The particular motivation(s) of those who bucked the trend remain opaque. Earlier we wondered about the (relative) popularity of Greek-subject combat images in the Babylonia of Darius II (cf. §4.5.3); approaching things from the perspective of known individual owneridentity cannot be said to improve understanding of the phenomenon. Wu (2010: 557f.) has urged the importance of considering unknown individual owner-identity. That is, she has argued that we should take the presence of distinctive physical features in the depiction of some victors (those on n° 1 and 40) and the relative iconographic diversity of Central Asian combat-images as signs that particular seals are linked to particular events – not to events that were distinctive in a purely military sense (i.e. that involved something special about strategy or tactics or other circumstances) but to events that mattered to a particular individual, viz the seal owner/commissioner, who had participated in the event and won special kudos from it. That is an idea that is not necessarily inconsistent with the stress that I laid above on the generic/ideological reasons underlying the general limitation of combat images to conict on the frontiers. For one could hold that special kudos was more likely to attach to sterling performance in such contexts, especially if the bestowal of kudos is envisaged as a royal act (as it is in Wu’s model). But many will feel that the imputation of an element of portraiture to some seals is a very subjective argument, and without it there is nothing that directly makes the crucial link between event, image, and individual. The greater iconographic diversity of Central Asian images is a real phenomenon (§§4.2.1.2, 4.3.2), but there is a stylistic and technical component to this contrast, and it remains unclear that it can be used to authorize the sort of personalized conclusion that Wu wishes. The hope that this and other such questions can be addressed by a wider constituency is, of course, one of the things that has animated the current collection and presentation of material.

5. Conclusion I end with a number of observations that revisit and highlight points made in the course of the earlier discussion. The corpus as a whole is iconographically homogeneous, if measured by comparison and contrast with other potentially similar corpora such as coin designs, glyptic hunting scenes, or non-glyptic human combat scenes (§§4.4.1-3). But there are also signicant general iconographical contrasts within the corpus – e.g., that between infantry and equestrian images (§§4.3.1-2), a contrast that maps on to the

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distinction between stamps and cylinders and on to contrasts of style (§§4.1.2, 4.1.4) – as well as a great deal of more detailed diversity.131 At the extreme this includes occasions on which seal-cutters seem to play fancifully with the basic tropes of the genre132 as well as (perhaps unsurprisingly in a small corpus) the appearance of various sorts of unica or near-unica.133 The overall dissimilarity between the three most complex images (n° 1, 7, 15) is a nice symbol of the diversity of which the corpus is capable. The clearest case of very similar images being present on more than one sealstone is provided by the material in n° 20-22. Some of Boardman’s Bolsena group items (n° 49, 50, 57, 60) are also quite similar one to another (they sit distinctively within a wider environment of equestrian images where one is consistently torn between seeing similarity and difference; cf. §4.3.1); and the feeling that n° 42-43, though differing in detail, reect an underlying template is understandable.134 N° 4 might be seen as an extract from something like n° 1 (cf. §4.3.2)135 – but by this point on the spectrum of inter-relations between images we are really dealing with individual scenes, not repetitions, and that is, in truth, overwhelmingly the normal situation in the corpus as a whole. That does not mean, of course, that there are not repeated patterns within scenes (§4.3.2). 131

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Iconographical similarities can nonetheless cross stylistic boundaries, a phenomenon also seen in hunting glyptic (cf. §4.4.1). See §3.5 (division of action between two Persians on n° 38), §3.7 (the Bolsena item with pilos-wearing Persian), §4.2.1.1 (insect in lieu of winged symbol), §4.3.1 (a deliberate slight divergence from standard models in n° 59), §4.3.2 (the naked and potbellied gure), §4.5.3 (the artistic fancy of Scythians in chariot), ibid. (the quasiEgyptian hat with Persian garb on Ward 1048). One may add that Bregstein 1993 191 (which resembles n° 24 or 25), DS 160 and ANE 124014 (which resemble n° 28 or 30) can be seen as variants on Greek-Persian infantry combat in which the Persian is replaced by another Greek. See §3.6 (n° 13, 14), ibid. (people ghting about a caprid?), §4.2.1.2 (execution of helpless prisoner), ibid. (dead bodies forming ground-line), ibid. (woman as prize of combat?), §§4.2.1.2, 4.5.1 (vertical scene divider on n° 15), §4.3.1 (n° 64-65), ibid. (equestrian Persians? using bow), ibid. (Greek on equestrian image using sword), ibid. (Persian horseman clearly throwing a spear – and perhaps one of two spears), ibid. (infantryman on n° 59), §4.3.2 (more than one gure on both sides), ibid. (face-toviewer posture on n° 30), ibid. (various items), ibid. (Persian bowman vs. Greek spearman), §4.4.2 (Dexileos trope), §4.5.2 (saddle cloth feature on n° 56), §4.5.3 (adversary on n° 40). N° 44 is a more distant congener; n° 62 an even more distant one. One can also regard some non-combat prisoner items as extracts from a combat scene (§3.2) – unless, indeed, one reverses the perspective and sees the combat ones as an extension of the other.

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Our data-set embraces material that belongs to the real world inasmuch as it depicts human combatants, provides some access to the Realien of military equipment, and reects some wider military realities: cavalry is not over-privileged (and is characteristically used against lighter-armed Greeks: cf. §4.3.1). The repertoire challenges Greek literary stereotypes about heavy-armoured spear-wielding Greeks ghting unarmoured bow-wielding Persians – the solid cuirass with neck-guard (worn by both foot soldiers and horsemen, and associated with different headgear in each case) and the comparative rarity of bow use being notable features of sealstone combat imagery. But it is, of course, selective (cf. §4.5.3 on the limited range of adversaries, ethno-culturally speaking) and sometimes unnaturalistic or even downright symbolic.136 One notable fact is that, whether as cavalry or infantry, the Persian victors almost always confront foot-soldiers, even when their adversaries are Central Asian nomads and might be expected to be found on horseback.137 The data-set apparently encodes a feeling that to achieve real victory one has to bring an enemy to a proper formal battle and defeat his infantry. Whether one calls that a matter of military realism or symbolic representation is a nice question. The repertoire is made up of images of victorious Persians – which in itself is another species of selective unrealism. It is not in the end clear that a substantial difference in attitude to different sorts of adversary is encoded in way in which those adversaries’ defeat is represented (§§4.3.1-2) – though the range of tropes is not identical. There is, for example, no Central Asian equivalent to the impassive statue-like Greeks (§4.3.2). But the fact that we are always dealing with Persian victory is a major justication for treating the seals not only as homogeneous but as a corpus that has its ultimate origin among Persians and, despite diversity of style and provenance, that can in some sense express a Persian viewpoint. This might sound like a petitio principii. But since sixth to fourth century BCE glyptic contains so little human combat imagery that certainly does not involve Persian partici136

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Repeated features: §§4.2.1.1, 4.3.2, 4.4.3, 4.5.1 (hero vs. monster trope), §4.2.1.1 (dislodged headgear), ibid. (the presence of winged symbols), ibid. (palm trees as ideological markers), §4.2.1.2 (combat plus prisoner-queue), §4.3.1 (disproportionate size of gures), §4.3.2 (inactive statue-like Greek adversaries), §4.5.2 (combatants wearing court robe), §4.5.3 (Greek nudity). The fact that, on the (relatively rare) occasions when two or more infantry ghters are shown on one or other side, they are not of distinct types, means that the symbolism of a simple contrast between adversaries is preferred to the reality that armies contain disparate troop-types. On royal combatants see below. One-off features: §3.6 (extra symbolic gures), ibid. (a Scythian gured as dangerous animal?), §4.2.1.1 (horses attached to ghters), §§4.2.1.1-2 (symbolic role of Master-of-Animals trope), §4.2.1.1 (symbolic lion), n.62 (running gure). The exceptions are n° 42-44, 62, perhaps 64 (but I incline to see the horseman as Persian victor) and n° 65 (which is of arguable status).

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pation (cf. §3.8), we are not guilty of simply selecting a mere sub-category of material – combat scenes involving Persian ghters – and then (in a circular argument) conferring historical signicance upon our arbitrary selection.138 Our corpus may not be particularly large, but it entirely dominates the relevant eld (i.e. human combat on sealstones); in that context its stylistic range arguably increases, rather than dissipating, its signicance. The non-accidental fact that (generally speaking) Persians defeat Greek horsemen on stamps and Central Asian infantry on cylinders (with both categories of victim being capable of being treated sympathetically and unsympathetically) tends to underline the afrmation of Persian power shared by the relevant user-groups. The inference that our sealstones reect a genre of large-scale painted or carved images of human combat can be little more than speculative – and may be made no easier by the stylistic disjunction between infantry and equestrian items (§4.1.2). I am also sceptical that there is a demonstrable relationship between sealstone human combat images and specic real-world events. It seems more likely that ideological choices about the sort of combat (and the sort of adversaries) to be represented have a preponderant impact (§4.5.3). I remain strongly inclined to believe that there is a deliberate message about the defence of imperial peace in the empire’s frontier-lands (§4.5.3): the heartlands of the empire are peaceful (as indeed they appear on the walls of Persepolis) and it is only at its edges that war is necessary. The victorious Persians come in various forms but, notably, most of them are not gured as royal, i.e. do not wear a dentate crown. The exceptions are n° 7-8, 13, 28, and 31-34. There is a slight preponderance of Greek adversaries in this subset, but I doubt that that it is a signicant one. That might just be seen as a matter of realism: most ghting was not personally done by the King. But that is not the sort of realism with which the repertoire is greatly concerned. If ideological reading is valid at all, then it must be signicant that Persian victory does not have to be visually the King’s (if there are overtones of kingship in the riderless horses 138

There are nine or ten items “without (proven) Persian participation” (see n.24 above), although three are a barely more than implicitly combat images anyway (Bregstein 1993 196-198). Of the others, three certainly (DS 130, ANE 124014) or probably (Bregstein 1993 191) represent Greeks ghting Greeks and four represent ghters who cannot be safely classied (Kiuzeli-g’ir jar seal impression, Brussels 1458, Adana 1184, and Bregstein 1993 626). In the Other Military and Ambiguous Military categories (§3.8) there are a few items with Greek gures; but it would beg questions to make them a basis for postulating larger numbers of Greek vs. Greek combat scenes. Moreover, any such move would logically permit or require us to increase the putative haul of Persian combat scenes on the basis of Other Military and Ambiguous Military items involving Persian gures, so the proportion of Persian combat would remain very high – indeed become higher, if anything.

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of n° 1 and 40 [§4.2.1.1], they are deliberately oblique). King Darius invited readers of his tomb-inscription (DNa §4) to look at the throne-bearers and understand that the spear of the Persian man had gone far and the Persian man has fought far from Persia, while the Susa statue would demonstrate that the Persian man held Egypt (DSab §2).139 The ‘Persian man’ both includes and transcends the King. Put another way, the Persian man’s existence as a rhetorical trope acknowledges the fact that not all ghting is done by the King (DPe puts it differently again, afrming that the Persian kra supports the King in making lands fear him). Pretty much all the Persian ghters on combat seals have in principle fought far from Persia (because their adversaries belong at the empire’s edges), and the preference for non-royal gures (often wielding a spear) can be seen as one way of visually encoding Darius’ ‘Persian man.’ A different way can, of course, be seen on the obverse of darics and sigloi. But the world of coins is not that of seals, so that is another story.

139

So Kent (1953; cf. Lecoq 1997) for DNa §4. Schmitt (2000: 30) translates “repulsed the enemy far away from Persia.”

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6. Catalogue PURELY INFANTRY SCENES A.

(n° 1-41)

Central Asian adversaries (n° 1-17)

A.1.

Single pair of combatants (n° 1-14)

A.1.1.

Persian with spear (n° 1-6)

1. Oxford: Bodleian Library (Aršma seal) = PFS 2899 (g.1) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder (impressions on two tablets, seven parchment bullae). Persepolis and Egypt. Used 1) in or before 494 BCE and 2) in the later fth century BCE Mixed Styles I (Garrison & Henkelman [forthc.]). Driver 1954, pl.XXIII; Moorey 1978: 149, g.8; Boardman 2000: 164f., g.5.21; Wu 2005: 77-81 (Cat.1.8) and g.15; Garrison & Henkelman [forthc.].140

Description – A standing gure in riding dress (domed headgear, belted thigh length tunic, trousers, gorytus at left waist) facing right thrusts a spear (with spherical shaft-end) with both hands into a standing adversary (with smaller gorytus), who faces him, grasps the spear and raises his other hand in (presumably) an imploring gesture. The combatants are well separated, but the attacker’s spear has entered the victim’s body. The gure of the attacker is proportionately larger and undoubtedly dominant. Three dead lie on ground, one in the space between the two standing adversaries and one under each of two unmounted horses framing the scene. In the eld between the two adversaries are a discarded sigma-bow and (?) a piece of headgear. Nevertheless, all the gures are wearing headgear, whereas none is holding a bow. All the adversary gures wear a cut-away coat and a bashlyk with frontal peak. Only the horse next to the victor has the upright (T-shaped) Persepolitan forelock and a trace of the distinctive round-nosed face prole. Each horse appears to be attached to one of the standing gures by a rein (?), running either to the belt (the victor) or the right elbow (standing adversary). A winged ring-anddisk (with yoke and tail but no tendrils) hovers above the centre of the scene (over the point where the spear enters the adversary’s body) with a crescent to its left (over the victor). An Aramaic inscription above the victor’s horse perhaps reads “seal of Aršma son of the house (royal prince).”

140

Bibliographic entries are not intended to be comprehensive.

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Other comments – The clay of the Bodleian bullae is unusually ne, and the seal that made the impressions was rather large, with estimated dimensions of 3 cm (height) x 1.80 (diameter). Garrison & Henkelman [forthc.] stress that it is an exceptional glyptic product. Already recognized as stylistically earlier than the late fth century BCE date of the Bodleian documents, the seal is now known to be used on NN 0958 and Fort. 0965-201, at 498/97 BCE and perhaps before (Garrison & Henkelman [forthc.]). Balzer (2007, 1: 162) claims that the form of the winged ring-and-disk requires a date in or after 500/499 BCE. For dead bodies cf. §4.2.1.2; for the unmounted horses cf. §4.2.1.1.

2. PTS 29 (g.2) Type Provenance Date: Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder (ve label impressions). Persepolis (Treasury Room 33 and Hall 38). Used in the reign of Xerxes (486-67 BCE). Court style (Balzer 2007, 3: 79). Schmidt 1956: 11, 17, 29 (29), pl.9; Wu 2005: 65f. (Cat.1.2).

Description – An apparently bare-headed spearman (body clothing disputed; see below) coming from the right directs a spear diagonally downwards towards the body of a shooting archer, but the point has not yet entered the body. The attacker holds the spear by its extreme bottom end (near the spherical shaft-end) and perhaps also near the middle (the left arm is incompletely preserved, but an otherwise unexplained feature on the spear-shaft may be the remains of the left hand). The archer leans forward slightly as he is about to release an arrow. The bow itself is barely visible. He wears a cut-away coat (but see below), trousers (some horizontal creases), and headgear with a curved prole and a slight knob at the front peak (perhaps due to material folding forward). There may be a dead enemy on the ground between the combatants. The combatants are well separated. Other comments – Schmidt (1956: 11, 29) says the spearman wears a tucked kandys and trousers. Wu (2014: 244) thinks he is wearing a “vest similar to that on PTS 30” (“typical Persian battle attire”) over a cut-away coat. The comparison with PTS 30 (n° 40, which clearly shows a cuirass with back projection of a sort that is not present here) is puzzling, and what we are looking at on PTS 29 is most probably just a representation of the court robe. See also comment on n° 62. An alternative view of the archer’s clothing is that he has a bow case attached to his waist (which is what gives the impression of a cut-away coat) and wears an ordinary tunic; see Garrison & Henkelman [forthc.].

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3. PFUTS 0273 (g.3) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder (two tablet impressions). Persepolis. Used in or before 494 BCE. No specic comment known to me. Unpublished: information from M.B. Garrison.

Description – A gure wielding a long spear (butt-end not preserved) and coming from the right attacks a standing archer, holding the spear horizontally in both hands. The spear has entered the adversary’s body. The archer has drawn his bow to re. A dead body lies on ground, and the spearman has stepped forward on to it with one leg (see also below). The archer apparently wears trousers. There is a narrow feature hanging down from the waist/rump separately from the trousers but without any clear sign that this is part of a separate overgarment. The same feature appears on the dead body. I take this to indicate a cut-away coat. Garrison also tentatively postulates a pointed hat, and it is possible that the spearman originally had a curved prole bashlyk coming to a point at the front. The spearman wears a court robe with sleeves rolled back (for the possible associations of this see n.48) and has a gorytus at his hip on the side closest to the viewer; a wrist-bracelet is indicated. His headgear is opaque. A half-gure in winged ring or disk hovers above the centre of the scene, facing towards the spearman and apparently holding out a ring. The winged symbol has tail feathers and tendrils, but whether there is a ring-and-disk or just a plain disk is left indeterminate in the drawing. One letter survives of an inscription in Aramaic. Damage to the terminal eld leaves open the theoretical possibility that there was a second corpse. The combatants are well separated. This is a combat between two solidly upright and rm gures of comparable dignity. The spearman’s superiority is betokened by his treading on the dead body.

4. Leiden: NINO LB 894 and Paris: Louvre AO 29963 (g.4) Type Provenance

Cylinder (four impressions on two clay tags). Allegedly from Telloh (Girsu), but “skepticism … remains appropriate” (Henkelman et al. 2004: 16 n.19). Date First half fth century BCE. Stylistic categorization Court Style. Bibliography Henkelman et al. 2004: 34f., gs.32-35 (RB 7); Wu 2005: 46.

Description – A warrior on left wields a spear, which has a spherical shaft-end and is held diagonally downwards in right and left hands. It is just about to penetrate the body of a gure falling slightly away from him (body bent) and vainly warding off attack with his raised right hand. Henkelman et al. (2004: 34-35) suggest there

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might have been a spear in his lowered left hand, but there is no apparent sign on the photograph. Both gures have bow case at hip on the side away from viewer (so in reality on different hips). The attacker is either barehead or has rounded upright headgear and wears a knee length garment and (presumably) trousers. The victim has a bashlyk (pointed front) and baggy trousers. His overgarment (judging from photograph) comes to his thigh/knee level like his opponent’s, but it appears torn or parted over left leg (which is visible nearly to the top). Perhaps it should be recognized as a type of cut-away (Henkelman et al. 2004: 34f. do not comment). A winged symbol with tail feathers hovers above the centre of the scene. There is no gure involved, but whether we have a ring-and-disk or a plain disk is not very clear; Henkelman et al. (l.c.) speak of a “winged disk.” The gures of the combatants (which are rather thin and elongated) are well separated. The adversary has been struck, wields no weapon and is falling. Other comments – Henkelman et al. (2004: 53) assess the group of sealings of which this is one as made by cylinders that were “large, nely worked and valuable.” Garrison and Root (2001: 36) write that “they must derive from a highlevel courtly context [and] would classify as Court Style products” and suggest a date about a generation later than the Court Style items of the PFS corpus. RB 7 appears on fewer tags than the others and never in conjunction with another seal, but in what sense (if any) this singles it out as of special status is unclear.

5. Aylesbury: AYBCM 2003.91.109 = Hartwell 1526 = Lee 10 (g.5) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder seal (red jasper). Unknown. ca. 500 BCE (Thorn & Collon). No comment known to me. Thorn & Collon 2013: 132f. (109).

Description – Two warriors confront one another. Both wear a belted tunic with trousers and bashlyk-style headgear. The clothing of the right-hand gure is slightly bulkier, and there is a double crease both at the trouser-bottoms and at the wrist of the one fully visible arm, a feature absent in the left-hand gure. The headgear of the right-hand gure has a slight peak at the front (characteristic of nomad gures), whereas that of the other gure is smooth at the front but creased at the rear because the material of the crown of the hat has fallen backwards. We can condently identify the victorious gure on the left as Persian, the defeated one on the right as a nomad. The Persian wields a spear which has a spherical shaft-end and is held pointing diagonally downwards. It is presumably meant to be in the warrior’s right hand but the spear-shaft passes behind his head. With his other hand he reaches out to grasp the front of his adversary’s headgear. The point of the spear is not shown because (one assumes) lodged in the adversary’s torso – although one can-

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not see the entry point and the visual effect is more as if the weapon was passing behind the adversary. The adversary stretches out one hand (presumably the left) towards, but does not touch, the Persian’s face. In his other hand he holds an axe (with T-shaped head), the shaft of which passes behind his thigh; he is apparently making no effort to use it aggressively. Both gures stand on a rm ground-line. Other comments – There is no doubt who is the victor, but there is nothing particularly demeaning about the gure of the nomad: he remains upright and leans forward in supplication towards the Persian barely more than the Persian leans forward towards him in attack.

6. Paris: Bibliothèque Nationale Sceau Chandon, collection Y 23455bis (g.6) Type Provenance

Presumably stamp. Unknown (bequeathed to the Bibliothèque Nationale by Francois Chandon de Briailles, 1892-1953, pers.comm. M. AvisseauBroustet). Date Unstated. Stylistic categorization No comment known to me. Bibliography www.achemenet.com/fr/item/?/musee-achemenide/musees-etinstitutions/bibliotheque-nationale-de-france/sceaux/3045038.

Description – A bearded gure in sketchily depicted Persian robe faces left and wields a spear (with an elongated spherical feature at the butt end) which he holds in both hands and aims diagonally downward towards his adversary. The latter is half kneeling (back on his haunches, rather than in a true Knielauf position) and holds a bow in what is presumably meant to be his left hand. The string is away from his body and towards the Persian, so he is not attempting to shoot with it. His right arm (bent at the elbow) appears to pass behind the left arm – though, if so, it is greatly out of proportion and the hand ends up looking like the head of a bird with open beak. An alternative possibility is that the bird-head feature is one end of an object held in the gure’s right hand – perhaps an arrow, held by the tip, or an axe? Protruding from behind the gure’s body is what may be a gorytus, attached to his left hip. His clothing is ill-represented; there appears to be a belt above which are two short rib-like features. His headgear is not dissimilar to that of his robed adversary (though slightly more rounded in prole), and he is perhaps wearing trousers. Unlike his adversary, he appears to be clean-shaven. Other comments – The robed Persian’s adversary is probably intended to belong in the Central Asian nomad category, though he is a somewhat unusual example. There is considerable disproportion between the two gures: even half-kneeling the bowman bulks much larger than his Persian adversary; standing he would tower over him (note also that the two gures occupy the impressed space peculiarly fully, giving the item a distinctive appearance in comparison with other items in the

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catalogue). Nonetheless, the Persian counts as the victor, as he has stuck his spear into his opponent’s body and is himself unscathed. Whether the seal-cutter intended the opponent’s size to give him a monstrous quality is debatable.

A.1.2. Persian with sword (n° 7-10) 7. London: British Museum ANE 132505 (g.7) Type Provenance

Cylinder. None stated; authenticity is not assured (Bernard 2000: 1401 n.59, Balzer 2007, 1: 162). Date Stylistically from the reign of Darius I (Dandamaev); some speculations about historical association put it later. Stylistic categorization Achaemenid: Early/Mature (Merrillees), Court Style (Balzer 2007, 3: 80). Bibliography Ward 1910: 328, g.1052; Junge 1939, pl.II.2; Root 1979: 182; Collon 1987 747; Merrillees 2005: 69 (65); Curtis & Tallis 2004: 228 (415).

Description – A gure in dentate crown and court robe (no quiver) has a single prisoner tied to his belt or dagger-hilt. The prisoner’s hands are tied behind his back, and he wears a cut-away coat and rounded headgear. The royal gure faces right and confronts an adversary, seizing him with his left hand by a tuft of hair (despite the fact that he is wearing headgear) and preparing to plunge a dagger into him (the dagger is in his drawn back right hand). Another (similar) adversary lies at his feet, face-down, and a rampant lion rests its forelegs on the body. The standing adversary is wearing a pronouncedly pointed hat and has a gorytus at his right hip. He holds an axe (one end pointed, the other broad but of uncertain precise character) in his right hand in front of his body and seizes the attacker’s arm with his left hand. He does not seem to be wearing a cut-away coat, and there is a vertical line of circles (buttons?) down the tunic and a diamond pattern on the trousers; the ‘buttons’ on the adversary’s tunic rather oddly seem to continue across the gorytus, perhaps the result of artist error. At the edge of the scene (but framing it in a fully rolled impression) is a palm tree (cf. 4.2.1.1). Above it is a royal half-gure emerging from a winged ring-and-disk (with tail feathers) facing towards the combat scene and looking in the same direction as the Persian victor. There are a couple of features on the ground that might be meant to be rocks. The victor gure dominates the scene, erect and straight-backed unlike the other standing gures, and the presence of captive and dead body underline his mastery. But the contrast between victor and adversary is not gross. The defeat is not humiliating, and allusion to the hero vs. monster icon perhaps confers some dignity on the adversary.

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Other comments – The garment of the adversary is quite different from that of the captive. The former is a Saka tigraxaud (this is clear from the headgear, and the belted tunic is quite appropriate), the latter problematic. Wu (2014: 257) suggests that he is “possibly a Bactrian.” The gure’s headgear could be variously compared with Apadana delegations XIII-XV – associated in modern identications with Bactria, Gandhra, Parthia, Drangiana, Arachosia – but the cut-away coat points away from any of these peoples. The throne-bearers from the royal tombs, Central Building, and Hundred Column Hall produce nothing more propitious. Dandamaev (1989: 140) associates the image with Darius’ defeat of the Sak tigraxaud in 519 BCE. Wu (2005: 167) was prepared to envisage a link with events in 479 or the 460s BCE.

8. Bregstein 189 (g.8) Type Provenance Date

Cylinder (two impressions). Nippur. Used on BE 10.101 on 18.7.5 Darius II (419 BCE) and CBS 1594 on 22.12.9 Darius II (414 BCE). Stylistic categorization Persian (Court-)Style (Balzer). Owner Minû-ana-Bl-dnu, rb ummu (see n.127). Bibliography Bregstein 586 (189); Stolper 2001: 103-11; Wu 2005: 73f. (1.5); Balzer 2007 A3b.1.

Description – A gure in dentate crown and court robe confronts a kneeling adversary, grabbing him by the head (see below) and stabbing a sword into his body. The adversary raises his right arm, touching the attacker’s left arm in the process (see below), and holds a bow behind his body in his lowered left hand. This gesture recalls the adversary on n° 16a, but the present gure here may also be holding some arrows in the same hand (so Stolper 2001: 108). Two other adversaries stand in slightly bowing posture behind the rst one with their hands (apparently) tied behind their backs. All adversaries wear a (fairly) at-top bashlyk with a point at front, but their body clothing is rather indistinct (see below). A giant insect hovers at the centre of the scene above the principal adversary (see below). Other comments – Bregstein said the attacker seized his victim by a lock of hair. This is not much more obvious on CBS 5144 (the impression on BE 10.101, which she was using) than on CBS 1594. She also sees the adversary’s hand gesture as supplication, but in the rst instance it is simply a feature of the underlying hero vs. monster trope. The front adversary has a horizontal pattern at his waist, perhaps a belt (Bregstein). Wu detects cut-away coats, but they are not very obvious (not observed by Stolper 2001). The headgear is, however, appropriate to Central Asia. Where one might expect a winged symbol we seem to have a giant insect (wasp?; bee?). An exactly similar creature appears on Ehrenberg 2000: 67-69,

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hovering over a passant lion. Stolper (2001: 111) canvasses the possibility of a reference to the association of bees and Egyptian kings – which does not seem very likely to be salient. The association of Persians and bees would perhaps be more to the point (Pomeroy 1984, Roscalla 1998).

9. Persepolis sealing (Tadjvidi A) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Unclear (several label impressions). Persepolis, fortication wall on the Kh-e Rahmat.141 Presumably fth century BCE (broadly contemporary with PTS). No specic comment known to me. Tadjvidi 1970: 187; idem 1976, g.143; Rahimifar 2005, pls.17-8.

Description – A gure apparently in tall head-dress and court robe (on the left) grasps an adversary with his left hand (by the chin?) and plunges a dagger into his belly (the weapon has perhaps not quite entered the body). The adversary (shorter in stature than his attacker) bends slightly forward and holds up his left hand (to grasp his attacker’s left arm). He wears a rounded bashlyk with point at the front top and has a gorytus on his left hip. It is possible that he wears a cut-away coat. Other comments – In 1970 Tadjvidi spoke of a Persian with uted ‘tiara’ confronting a Scythian, whom he grasps with both hands and forces to knee. This does not describe g.143 in his 1976 publication, but I hesitate to suppose that the hoard actually included a sealing with this distinct image. There are other problems with the identication of Tadjvidi’s items. See above, §3.4.

10. Porsuk vase imprint Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Stamp, rectilinear (on ceramic vessel). Porsuk (probably ancient Tuna alias Dana). Late 5th/early 4th century BCE. No specic comment known to me. Casabonne 2007 (improving on Beyer et al. 2006).

Description – In this two-gure scene, the gure on the right seizes an adversary on the left by the collar or neck (Casabonne: “encolure”) and prepares to stab him with a sword held in left hand by the side of his body. Both gures wear bashlyks, that of the victim being slightly more pointed.

141

“In one of the towers of the north-eastern Fortication wall on the Kh-e Rahmat” (Henkelman 2008: 170) – a different location from that of the Fortication archive.

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Other comments – The imprint is on a fragment of a Late Iron Age ware ceramic vessel, and is too large (5 × 3 cm) to be from an ordinary seal. It must be conceded that identifying attacker and victim as specically Persian and Scythian is somewhat presumptuous.

A.1.3. Persian with battle-axe (n° 11) 11. Tehran: olim Foroughi Collection (g.9) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder. None stated. No specic comment known to me. No specic comment known to me. Porada 1979: 83, 86, g.45.

Description – In this double scene a royal hero holds lions by their legs while standing on winged bulls; a right-facing gure wearing domed headgear, gorytus, thigh length belted tunic and diamond-patterned trousers holds a kneeling bound prisoner with his left hand apparently by the hair (although he also seems to be wearing a hat). He is about to strike him with a battle axe raised behind his head. The prisoner’s hands are tied behind his back, but his clothing is indistinct. This is an unequivocal victory, rather brutally humiliating the vanquished gure. Other comments – Porada suggests that the victor is Scythian, comparing the victim in n° 6 (axe; diamond patterned trousers). But the headgear is denitely not Scythian in type. His clothing is in sharp contrast to the canonical (Persian) ‘royal’ gure in the rst scene (as also to the gure of the victim) and this contrasted pairing encourages one to see the victor in the second scene as Median or Persian. Nothing about the victim precludes understanding him to be Scythian.

A.1.4. Persian with bow (n° 12-14) 12. PFS 2454 (olim 2286; g.10) Type Cylinder (three impressions on one tablet). Date Used in 503 BCE. Stylistic categorization “A coarse and sketchy cutting style” only rarely found at Persepolis (Garrison). Bibliography Stolper 2010: 87; unpublished information from M.B. Garrison.

Description – Archer shoots from left at alien-looking enemy who runs towards him from the right, with three arrows already stuck into him, one in the head, the other two in the chest. The archer is in ‘Assyrian garment’ and has a tasselled

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quiver. The enemy’s headgear involves a small-base pyramidal feature mounted directly on the hair or on a thin cap. At his left hip (facing the viewer) is an elongated object whose surface is marked by three circles. What looks like the top of a bow sticks out of it, making it an open bow-case. His left arm is held back behind his body, and in his hand he holds a shortish spear with a spherical shaftend – or possibly a long sword, the spherical feature being a pommel. A similar object appears at a diagonal in the space between the two gures. It is presumably stuck into the ground or into a corpse that is not visible in the surviving rolling of the seal (see Garrison & Henkelman [forthc.]). There is a marked contrast between the solid archer and the almost jauntily running (but multiply hit) adversary. The effect is slightly reminiscent of n° 2. Other comments – The seal is on the reverse of NN 1478, a document recording delivery of the hides of 37 sheep/goats to the treasury in 18/11 = 504/03 BCE by Bakadušda and Kakištiparra. The running gure is “Scythian” (Garrison) or from a “steppe background” (Wu 2014: 268). He is not straightforwardly in line with normal representations of such people.

13. London: British Museum ANE 129569 (g.11) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder (red and brown dolomitic limestone). None stated. No specic comment known to me. Persepolitan linear style (Merrillees). Merrillees 2005: 60f. (38), pl.15; Curtis & Tallis 2005: 228 (414).

Description – A gure in a dentate crown and court robe (no quiver) stands facing right and about to shoot with a recurved bow. A bearded gure with a conical hat rising to a point faces left holding a long-handled battle axe vertically in front of him.142 He has a plain top (though with two bulbous strips that do not simply relate to the one arm that should be visible), diamond patterned skirt (see below), and horizontally creased trousers. He also has an oversized gorytus on his right side. Between them are a semi-couchant snarling lion and (below him) a dog-like animal with studded collar and bull’s hooves (so Curtis and Tallis), both facing the axebearer. Behind the latter is a dwarf-gure (monkey?) leaning on short staff and, above and behind the axe-bearer’s head, a crescent. The gures are of equal height

142

The pictures in Merrillees and Curtis & Tallis 2005 give different impressions of the upper part of the hat. In that of Curtis and Tallis, but not that of Merrillees, a somewhat separate thinner erect feature seems to surmount the main body of the hat.

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and there is no sense of subservience or defeat in the axe-bearer except that implicit in the difference of weapons. Other comments – The axe-bearer’s ‘skirt’ might be the lower part of a tunic if the upper part is understood to be covered by some other plain garment (or even a cuirass?). Either way the diamond pattern lacks direct analogues; we have diamond pattern trousers in n° 7 (perhaps Saka tigraxaud) and on n° 11, and a diamond pattern solid cuirass on n° 23. The gures on n° 11 and ANE 129569 both have a gorytus and battle-axe; but the gure on n° 11 has an upright domed hat, and the presence of diamond pattern in different bits of clothing does not really mitigate this distinction. The identity of the present gure has to be determined otherwise. The least distant congeners for the hat on ANE 129569 are those of Apadana delegation XI and Artaxerxes Palace gure XI (generally seen as Saka tigraxaud) and Darius Palace VI, XI, and Artaxerxes Palace XIV (hesitantly linked with Sogdians or Chorasmians in Roaf 1974). If one interprets the gure’s body garment as a belted tunic (with different decoration above and below the belt), it corresponds in broad terms to the rider-dress clothing of Apadana XI and Artaxerxes Palace XI: it is a distinguishing feature of the tigraxaud on the Apadana, Central Building, and Hundred Column Hall depictions – though not the tomb gures – in that they wear a tunic, not a cut-away coat. On balance, therefore, it seems safest to include this item in the Scythian category, even though the general impact of the gure is certainly rather different from that of most of the other gures in the same category. On the disputed combat status of this image see §3.6.

14. New York: Pierpont Morgan Library 830 (g.12) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder. None stated. No specic comment known to me. Mixed style, with strong Greek elements (Porada). Porada 1948: 104f., pl.CXXV 830e.

Description – A gure with a quiver on his back is about to re from the left with a recurved bow. Another gure shoots backwards from the right. He wears a bashlyk with front point, has a gorytus on the far side of his body and (perhaps) a dagger stuck in belt; his body-clothing is unclear. Between the gures is a rearing caprid which turns back to face the right-hand gure. The left-hand gure is accompanied by a rearing dog. Other comments – Merrillees (2005: 61) writes of the Persian thus: “…curiously robed Achaemenid (? – but note the headdress and neo-Assyrian type of beard).” Porada calls his dress a Greek chiton, and highlights the Greek posture of the Scythian, describing his clothing as that of Scythians on Attic red-gure vases.

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These are certainly gures dissimilar from most of those in the current catalogue (the Persian’s tip-toe stance is eccentric as well). The rearing posture of the goat resembles that of the caprids on Merrillees 2005 7 (89507) or 8 (89694), Moortgat 1966 774 and Spier 1992 133, all unambiguously (equestrian) hunting scenes, or the cervids on Weber 1920 522, Boardman 1970, pls.863, 973, Moortgat 1966 770, von der Osten 1934 461, or Teissier 1984 288 (a mixture of equestrian and non-equestrian hunt-scenes). The animal on the present seal has its two front legs widely splayed, at almost a 180 angle. The cervid on Weber 1920 522 provides only a partial parallel, the angle there being only some 90, as it also is in various rampant lion gures (Merrillees 2005 9; Buchanan 1966 688; Bordreuil 1986 125; Delaporte 1920/23 A789; Boardman 1970, pl.844). On the disputed combat status of this image see above, §3.6.

A.2.

More than one pair of combatants (n° 15-17)

A.2.1.

Persians with spear (n° 15)

15. London: British Museum ANE 124015 = OT 114 (g.13) Type Provenance Date

Cylinder (blue chalcedony). Northern Bactria. Early fth century BCE (Wu 2005: 83, comparing n° 20); not before 22 Darius = 500/499 BCE (Balzer 2007, 1: 162). Stylistic categorization Court Style (Wu 2005: 83; Balzer 2007, 3: 79). Bibliography Pope 1938, pl.124X; Dalton 1964: 31f. (114), pl.XVI, g.114; Collon 1987 574; Boardman 2000, g.5.5; Curtis & Tallis 2005 413; Merrillees 2005: 70 (66), pl.25; Wu 2005: 81-3 (1.9). Bleibtreu (1998) publishes a modern copy of the image on a gold sheet in Vienna.

Description – There are two scenes separated by vertical line (cf. §§4.2.1.2, 4.5.1). In the rst, a Susa-guard-style spearman with back-knotted diadem, court robe (one leg part bare) and tasselled shoulder quiver grabs adversary by the beard. The adversary, who has bent knees and leans forward (compare and contrast the adversary’s posture on n° 32), is speared near-vertically in the back/shoulder (the spear has a spherical end). He wears high laced boots and a belted thigh-length cut-away jacket with an opening/ridge down the middle. He has a dagger in his right hand, and a open bow-and-arrow-case is attached to the far side of his body at shoulderlevel. The two gures stand on a dead body (dressed in the same way as the defeated adversary) that forms the ground-line of the scene. A small half-gure emerging from a winged ring-and-disk (with tail feathers and tendrils) hovers above the falling adversary facing the victorious attacker.

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In the second scene, another Susa-guard-style gure (one leg also partly bare) grabs an adversary (dressed like the adversary in the rst scene) by the right hand. He falls back (already down on one knee), turning away, and is speared nearvertically in his right shoulder (the spear has a spherical end). An arrow is lodged in his right leg. He holds a dagger in his right hand (which points towards himself; the attacker is perhaps imagined as having forced his hand that way around in order to protect himself) and a recurved bow in his left; a bow-arrow-case shows above his right shoulder. A colleague standing behind him holds him by the left shoulder and raises his own left hand. Wu (2014: 232) thinks he is trying to lift his companion off the ground; but perhaps he is simply supporting him while raising his other hand in a gesture imploring the attacked for mercy. A hat appears above his head. It apparently faces right and downwards – the opposite direction to the gure’s head just below and to the left; no such hat is worn by the other adversarygures, who (indeed) appear, like the present gure, to be hatless (cf. Summerer 2007: 9), with hair gathered in a bun at the back. Two dead adversaries form the ground-line of the scene. Above the falling gure are a winged ring-and-disk with tail feathers and tendrils and, below it, a three-quarters royal gure in a plain (wingless) ring facing in the same direction as the attacker. The ring is slightly thickened at the lower side, evoking a crescent. Figures in crescents occurs on PFS 0105s, PFS 0244s, PFUTS 0082s, but the closest analogies to the present item are on PTS 16 and PTS 17, where gures entirely enclosed in circles – but with some thickening at the bottom – are apparently the object of adoration by armed gures standing to each side. It is striking to nd such a thing in a narrative scene, as Kaptan (2002, 1: 47) observes. Perhaps it would be over-dramatic to speculate that the entire scene of victory is construed as an act of adoration to the encircled gure. There is no doubting the superiority of the victor gures in both scenes, though in the second scene the victor gure is smaller than in the rst and not much larger than his adversaries. Other comments – Wu variously identies the adversaries as Sogdian/Chorasmian (2005: 83) or Bactrian/Parthian (2005: 88). Balzer (2007, 1: 162) speaks of Areia/Drangiane/Arachosia. Merrillees reports an unpublished suggestion of P. Amiet that they are Elamites, on the ground that the headgear falling off the head of one of the gures resembles something recovered by an Assyrian soldier in the Til Tbu (Ulai) battle-relief after the decapitation of King Te-Umman (Frankfort 1970, pl.208; Reade 1976, pl.21.2) – a piece of headgear Te-Umman has not actually been wearing elsewhere in the picture, and which Reade describes as peculiar. She adds that the laced boots would be appropriate to an Elamite setting. One might further add that a shoulder quiver is not very resonant of central Asian nomads. On the other hand, the gures’ body-garments lack Elamite allure (and the cut-away coat positively points to Central Asia). Also, the boots are not laced on the foot like the Elamite items on Apadana delegation II, have a pronounced turned-up toe that recalls Apadana VI (Lydians), VII (Drangianians), or XV (Par-

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thians), various tomb gures (Areian, Drangianian, Arachosian plus some versions of Skudr and Sak beyond the sea), or gures 4/W2, 6/W4, 23/W12 and 12/E6 of the Central Building and Hundred Column Hall carvings. The shoes are furthermore tied with a string-and-tassel just below the knee which is hard to parallel. The closest approach, but not close enough, is gure 8 = E4 on Central Building/Hundred Column Hall, identied by Roaf (1974: 149) as Assyrian. It is hard to know what to make of the headgear. It is probably meant to be a bashlyk-like item, but why is it shown only once and oating free (and reversed) above the head of an adversary? A bashlyk is not the sort of hat one easily thinks of as falling off in the middle of combat, so, even within the generous limits of images of this sort, this does not seem very naturalistic. A crucial question is how far its presence militates against the conclusions one would otherwise draw from the treatment of the adversaries’ heads. Wu sees an analogy with Apadana delegations XIII and XV (generally associated with Bactria or Parthia), but if the adversaries are really meant to be wearing bashlyks that does not work, and their cutaway coats tell against it as well (the problem is similar to that raised by n° 7). Essentially, the adversaries’ basic clothing is consistent with Central Asia, while some other accoutrements are not. On balance this justies leaving the item in the Scythian/Central Asian category.

A.2.2.

Persians with spear and sword (n° 16)

16. Yale University: Newell Collection 453 (g.14) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder (Agate). Perhaps Egypt, in view of the cartouche. Perhaps reign of Artaxerxes III. Court Style (Balzer 2007, 3: 79). von der Osten 1934 453, pl.31; Pope 1938, pl.123E; Nagel 1963: 131 (10); Schmitt 1981: 34f. (SA3a), g.4; Wu 2005: 45 n.191.

Description – Two separate pairs of ghters are seen, with the victims in the centre of the overall space. The victors wear a close-t round prole hat or helmet, a cuirass with a modest neck-guard extension and court robes; they use spear (with spherical shaft-end) or sword. The victims’ headgear (with pointed peak) resembles that of other nomad gures, and there is nothing inconsistent about the rest of their dress, though there are no clear details. The gure on the right moves left and plunges a spear vertically into his kneeling adversary’s neck or shoulder. The latter seems to have something in his right hand that the attacker is grasping as well, but its identity is unclear (perhaps it is a poorly delineated bow or a very small shield). The gure on left moving right grabs his adversary by the upper arm or shoulder and attacks him with a sword (see below); the victim’s head is bent back from the

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403

line of his forward-leaning torso. He holds a bow in his right hand (behind his body; cf. n° 8). A cartouche (topped by addorsed falcons wearing an Egyptian double-crown) contains, in four horizontal lines, the (Old Persian) words “under Artaxerxes.” A winged ring-and-disk (with tail feathers, tendrils and a yoke) hovers above the two victims at the centre of the combat. This is a rather brutal icon of defeat (§4.3.2). Other comments – One can see the whole of the left-hand attacker’s sword, even though its point is behind the victim’s torso; so it has not yet been stuck into the adversary, and the attacker may be about to behead his opponent. The apparent shape of the hilt is consistent with a slashing weapon. The Egyptian cartouche does not match the ethnicity of the enemy or the inscribed language, making this a puzzling item. Schmitt presumes an Egyptian gemmaker and, noting that the text partly corresponds to A2Sa 4 (“under Artaxerxes, my grandfather”), suggests that the inscription is in effect borrowed from some such source. This tends to suggest a late date (Artaxerxes II, III, or IV). But the argument is not entirely secure. Balzer (2007, 1: 162) keeps open the possibility of a date in the reign of Artaxerxes I; Wu (2014: 252f.) associates the item stylistically with the fth century BCE items n° 40 and, putatively, n° 17.

A.2.3.

Persians with bow and sword (n° 17)

17. Paris: Bibliothèque Nationale 403 (g.15) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder. None stated. rst half fth century BCE (see below). See below. Delaporte 1910 403; Ward 1910: 327, g.1051; Gow 1928, pl.IX/4; Ghirshman 1964, g.331; Collon 1987 744; Bernard 2000, g.21; Wu 2005: 75-78 (Cat.1.7).

Description – Two Persians face two adversaries in a single scene, with the handto-hand ghters framed by archers. Both Persians wear a round prole close hat, a cuirass with neck-guard and inserted axe, and court robes (with one bared leg). One has a sword (apparently slashing type, but used here for stabbing), the other a recurved bow and a shoulder quiver with arrows showing. The adversaries have a belted jacket with an opening or ridge down the front middle and rather baggy vertically striped trousers. Their headgear is relatively close tting with a attish upper prole and rising to a slight knob at front (i.e., it resembles other putative nomad gures in this catalogue). Both wear an open bow-and-arrow case at the waist; that of the right-hand gure contains a bow even though he is already ring one. The front Persian grabs his adversary’s hat knob with his right hand and stabs

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him in the chest with his left; his victim grabs the sword-holding hand with his right hand and raises a double-pointed battle axe in his left. The outer gures are about to re an arrow (they use identical recurved bows). A winged disk (with tail feathers, tendrils and yoke) hovers above the centre of the scene. All gures are upright on the same (purely virtual) ground-line, though the Scythians are marginally smaller. The overall image does not demean the adversaries (contrast n° 15 and 16). Other comments – Wu (2005: 77; idem 2014: 252) nds n° 40 stylistically close, and perhaps created by the same artist/workshop, suggesting a date in the rst half of the fth century BCE; she adds n° 16 to the stylistic group (2014: 252), though it has a different composition. This date is in stark contrast to Schmitt’s dating of the inscription to the 4th century BCE. Balzer (2007, 3: 79) assigns the item to Persian Court Style and dates it not before 22 Darius = 500/499 BCE.

B.

Egyptian adversaries (n° 18-19)

B.1.

Single pair of combatants (n° 18-19)

B.1.1.

Persian with spear (n° 18-19)

18. St. Petersburg: Hermitage 19499 (Zvenigorodsky seal; g.16) Type Provenance Date

Cylinder. Kerch (Crimea). No comment known to me, save for what is implicit in speculative connections with historical events. Stylistic categorization Western Achaemenid koin (Kaptan), Court Style (Balzer 2007, 3: 80). Bibliography Ward 1910: 327, g.1049; Porada 1979, g.46; Dandamaev 1976, pl.XV; Boardman 2000, pl.5.6; Briant 2002: 215, g.18ab.

Description – A Persian gure (court robe, dotted decoration on sleeve and hem, tall uted headgear, bow and shoulder-quiver with tassel) leads four Egyptian bareheaded prisoners (with elaborate dress and hands apparently tied behind their backs) by a rope tied to their necks and attacks a semi-kneeling adversary, grabbing him by the right elbow and thrusting a spear (with spherical shaft-end) nearvertically into his neck. The adversary wears an Egyptian crown and garments that leave part of his body uncovered (by contrast with the entirely wrapped prisoners). He looks back and raises his left arm, producing a quasi-Knielauf effect. Ward’s (1910) drawing gives him a beard, which is not abundantly apparent on available photographs. The scene includes a palm tree immediately behind the prisoners.

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405

Other comments – For Balzer (2007, 1: 163) the Persian gure is not the king (which is probably correct) but specically a Maraphian (after von Gall 1972). The entire image (composition and component gures) is very closely paralleled on n° 18. The component gures are closely related (in a slightly different composition) to those on the non-combat Moscow seal (cf. n.6). It is possible that the latter was directly derived from the former, and by a seal-cutter who did not entirely understand his model (Wu 2014: 250).

19. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art 1999.325.114 Type Provenance Date

Cylinder. None stated (formerly Kelekian collection). No comment known to me, save for what is implicit in speculative connections with historical events. Stylistic categorization Western Achaemenid koin (cf. previous item). Bibliography metmuseum.org/collection/the-collection-online/search/327710 (last accessed 7 December 2017).

Description – A Persian gure (court robe, tall uted headgear, bow and shoulderquiver with tassel) leads four Egyptian bareheaded prisoners by a rope tied to their necks and attacks a semi-kneeling adversary, grabbing him by the right elbow and thrusting a spear (with spherical shaft-end) vertically into his neck. The adversary wears an Egyptian crown. The scene includes a palm tree behind the prisoners. Other comments – This is very close to n° 18. It is not clear from the image on the museum website (showing only the upper two-thirds of the scene) how the clothing of the prisoners compares in detail. The seal has not been fully published.

C.

Greek adversaries (n° 20-39)

C.1.

Single pair of combatants (n° 20-36)

C.1.1.

Persian with spear (n° 20-30)

20.1. PTS 28 (g.17) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder (ve label impressions). Persepolis (Treasury Room 33). Used in the reign of Xerxes (486-67 BCE). Court Style (Balzer 2007, 3: 80). Schmidt 1956: 17, 29, pl.9.

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Description – A Persian gure moving right leads three captives on a rope (tied from his belt to their necks and with their hands apparently tied behind their backs) and, seizing a kneeling Greek by his right arm, spears him in the neck. The helmeted Greek turns his head away. He has a shield on his left arm. The overall pose is a mirror-image of that of the adversary on n° 18 and 19. The Persian wears a court robe and has a quiver on his back. His headgear is uncertain (Schmidt considered that he might be bareheaded). Other comments – Schmidt (o.c. 18) rst identied the original seal as cylinder. The representation of overlapping gures (i.e. the three captives) recalls n° 41. The effect is much less pronounced on n° 18, 19, and the Moscow seal (n.7).

20.2. Tehran: National Museum of Iran 6580 Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder (impression; see Curtis & Tallis 2005: 231). Persepolis. Of comparable date to PTS 28 (n° 20.1). Similar to PTS 28 (n° 20.1). Curtis & Tallis 2005: 231 (424).

Description – A Persian gure moving right seizes a kneeling Greek by his right arm and spears him in the neck. The helmeted Greek turns his head away. A shield is fully visible on the left arm. The pose corresponds to that on PTS 28 (n° 20.1). The Persian wears a court robe. His quiver and headgear are unclear. Other comments – See separate discussion above, §3.4.

21.1. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts 1989.159 (g.18) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Stamp seal (impression). Persepolis. Of comparable date to PTS 28 (n° 20.1). No comment known to me. mfa.org/collections/object/bulla-with-stamp-seal-impression164620 (accessed October 28th, 2017).

Description – A Persian gure moving right seizes a kneeling Greek by his right arm and spears him in the neck. The helmeted Greek turns his head away. He has a shield on his left arm. His pose corresponds to that on PTS 28 (n° 20.1). The Persian wears a court robe and a tallish head-dress, and has a quiver on his back. Behind him is the head and torso of a captive attached by rope to the Persian’s waist. Other comments – This bulla is said to be from Persepolis Treasury Room 33. I do not know (but rather doubt) that that report is in any useful sense independent of

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407

the fact that the PTS 28 bullae were found in room 33. There is apparently another similar item in Boston (not illustrated on the museum web-site): see n° 21.2.

21.2. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts (unnumbered) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Presumed stamp seal (impression). Presumably Persepolis. Of comparable date to PTS 28 (n° 20.1). No comment known to me. mfa.org/collections/object/bulla-with-stamp-seal-impression164620 (accessed October 28th, 2017).

Description – Reported as similar to Boston 1989.159 (n° 21.1). No other details are provided. I assume for the sake of argument (or simplicity) that it is another bulla from the same stamp-seal as Boston 1989.159.

21.3. Persepolis sealing (Tadjvidi B.1) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Presumed stamp seal (impression). Persepolis. Of comparable date to PTS 28 (n° 20.1). No comment known to me. Tadjvidi 1976, g.140.

Description – A Persian gure moving right leads three captives on a rope (tied from his belt to their necks and presumably with hands tied behind their backs) and, seizing a kneeling Greek by his right arm, spears him in the neck. The helmeted Greek turns his head away. The shield on his left arm is only very partially present. The pose corresponds to that on PTS 28 (n° 20.1). The Persian wears a court robe and has a quiver on his back. His headgear is likely to resemble that on Boston 1989.159 (n° 21.1) or Tadjvidi B.3 (n° 22.2). Other comments – See separate discussion above, §3.4.

22.1. Persepolis sealing (Tadjvidi B.2) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Uncertain (impression). Persepolis. Of comparable date to PTS 28 (n° 20.1). No comment known to me. Tadjvidi 1976, g.141.

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CHRISTOPHER TUPLIN

Description – A Persian gure moving right seizes a kneeling Greek by his right arm, spears him in the neck. The helmeted Greek turns his head away. The shield on his left arm is fully visible. The pose corresponds to that on PTS 28 (n° 20.1). The Persian wears a court robe. His quiver is only vestigially present. His headgear is unclear. Other comments – See separate discussion above, §3.4.

22.2. Persepolis sealing (Tadjvidi B.3) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Uncertain (impression). Persepolis. Of comparable date to PTS 28 (n° 20.1). No comment known to me. Tadjvidi 1976, g.142.

Description – A Persian gure moving right seizes a kneeling Greek by his right arm and spears him in the neck. The helmeted Greek turns his head away. The pose corresponds to that on PTS 28 (n° 20.1). The Persian wears a court robe and a tallish headdress (cf. Boston 1989.159 = n° 21.1 and Tadjvidi B.1 = n° 21.3), and has a quiver on his back. Behind him are the head and torso of a captive attached by rope to the Persian gure’s waist. Other comments – See separate discussion above, §3.4.

23. New York: Pierpont Morgan Library 833 (g.19) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder (carnelian). Acquired in Baghdad. Reign of Darius or Xerxes (Furtwängler). Mixed style (Porada), Persian Court Style of Babylonia (Balzer 2007, 3: 80). Ward 1886: 155, g.16; Furtwängler 1900, 3: 121, g.82; Ward 1910: 328, g.1053; Porada 1948: 104f., pl.125 (833); Briant 2002: 687.

Description – The image involves a non-royal Persian (similar to n° 40, with court robe, solid diamond-pattern cuirass with neck-guard and inserted battle-axe) and three Greeks, all with crested helmets. The helmet crest is on a short stalk: compare n° 27, 32, and also 25 (a very low one, more reminiscent of the present item than n° 32). One Greek stands behind the Persian gure; his hands are tied behind his back and a rope attaches his neck to the Persian’s waist. A second Greek kneels in front of him. The third Greek stands upright, carrying a shield that hides his torso, facing the spearman. A spear crosses the centre of the image (see below). Ward

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409

thought the rst two Greeks naked (apart from their crested helmets), though there is some patterning on their torsos. A vertical Aramaic inscription (read as kntn) appears at the edge of the scene.143 Other comments – Two clarications are required about what appears in front of the Persian warrior. There is a spear between the standing Greek gure and the Persian (above the head of the kneeling gure). Furtwängler took it to belong to the Greek and interpreted him as a guard acting in alliance with the Persian against other Greeks (for Persian-Greek co-operation on a seal-image one might adduce the procession of alternating Greek and Persian infantrymen on ANE 141641 = Eisen 1940 103).144 If so, the Persian’s gesture in seizing his spear is presumably one of solidarity or afrmation. But all the iconographic parallels (diagonal downward spearing of enemies being commonplace) favour assigning the spear to the Persian and seeing the standing Greek as a shield-carrying but (by contrast with, e.g., n° 24, 25, or 26) unarmed static opponent. Porada’s photograph makes it clear that this is right, because there is a spherical feature on the shaft-end nearest the Persian’s hand and the blade must therefore be in the Greek’s body. In Ward’s 1886 drawing the spherical feature is wrongly depicted as a spear-point; on his 1910 drawing the feature is not registered at all, but there is a blunt feature at the other end of the shaft, which was absent on the earlier drawing. Ward (1886; followed by Furtwängler l.c.) says that the kneeling Greek’s hands are tied behind his back and that there is a rope round his neck, the end of which is held by the Persian. But the impression created by Ward’s (1910) drawing is that the kneeling gure is holding the Persian’s hand (or the Persian is grabbing his arm). Examination of Porada’s published photograph and (more helpfully) the photograph currently displayed alongside the seal in the Pierpont Morgan Library makes clear the reasons for the uncertainty. On the one hand, the most prominent bent feature between the kneeling Greek and the spear-wielding Persian seems to be too solid (as well as being wrongly related to the kneeling Greek’s body/neck) to be a rope and therefore seems to be one of the kneeling gure’s arms. Moreover, there is a less prominent feature beneath the prominent one (i.e. the putative arm), and this could be a rope running from the spearman’s waist to the captive’s neck, though the point of juncture with the neck is hidden from view (admittedly this putative rope is much slighter than the undisputed one joining the spearman to the standing captive on the left). On the other hand, the feature near the lower end of the kneeling gure’s undisputed arm (the one behind him) exactly resembles that seen in the standing captive and in each case ought to represent the bond tying the 143 144

kntn could perhaps theoretically mean “associates” or “our associate.” Oddly Merrillees (2005: 36) regards this as an image of Graeco-Persian hostility. Neither the British Museum items from her own catalogue nor Collon 1987 648, 651 (which she cites in support of the claim) point in this direction.

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captive’s hands together behind his back (the posture one would expect, given his unarmed and helpless state) – in which case the feature in front of the kneeling man cannot be one of his arms. We may have to conclude that the artist has simply mistakenly combined two tropes: the captive holding out a suppliant hand to his attacker and the captive with hands tied behind his back.

24. Bregstein 186 (g.20) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Owner Bibliography

Cylinder (one impression). Nippur. Used on PBS 2/1 128 at Susa on 10.12.6 Darius II (417 BCE). Persian (Court-)Style (Balzer). Rbat, an ustarbaru (cf. §4.5.4). Bregstein 1993: 583 (186); Balzer 2007 A1a.4.

Description – Only the upper part of the image is preserved. A gure at the right wearing a court robe and somewhat unclear headgear (see below) holds a long spear fairly near the spherical shaft-end pointing downwards diagonally towards (but not yet into) the midriff of a soldier standing at the left who holds a round shield and a crossed pair of spears, but whose head is poorly preserved (Bregstein detected a long pointed beard). Between them kneels a soldier of whom only the head is preserved (bearded, and wearing what may be intended as a helmet with a long low crest) facing left. The parallel with n° 25 speaks for assuming that the kneeling gure was bound and tethered. The attacker’s spear has a pronounced horizontal feature where shaft meets blade. Something similar is visible on the spear of the horseman on n° 56. Other comments – Bregstein ascribes the standing Persian a “pointed” hat (with ear-aps), but the drawing in Balzer detects a rounded close tting hat, of a sort encountered on some heavy-cuirassed warriors (cf., e.g., particularly pertinently, n° 26-27). There is certainly a pointed feature visible on the photograph; the question is whether it is really part of the headgear. The drawing also suggests that a cloak (kandys?) hangs loosely from the shoulders, but this is not very apparent on the photograph. It is possible, but I think unlikely, that the court robe is being combined with a cuirass of some sort. On the ethnicity of the adversaries see §4.5.3.

25. Bregstein 187 (g.21) Type Provenance Date

Cylinder (two impressions). Nippur. Used on BE 10.118 on 13.1.7 Darius II (417 BCE) and Stolper 1985 111 (CBS 12985) on -.-.7 Darius II (417/16 BCE). Stylistic categorization Persian (Court-)Style (Balzer).

SIGILLOGRAPHY AND SOLDIERS

Owner Bibliography

411

urdtu, “judge of the Sîn Canal.” 10.118; Stolper 1985 111; Bregstein 1993: 584 (187); Balzer 2007 A1a.3. BE

Description – A gure (court robe; curved prole close-tting headgear) faces right towards two adversaries who look towards him. The one in the centre is kneeling, apparently has his hands tied behind his back and has a tether round neck held by the Persian (so Bregstein; not plain on the photograph of CBS 12985). The other (on a larger scale) stands behind, holding a round shield over the side of his upper body but no weapon. Both wear crested headgear, but their lower body clothing is obscure, and perhaps not indisputably Greek. The Persian has raised his right arm (above the head of the kneeling gure) to spear diagonally downwards at the standing gure’s midriff, though the weapon is barely visible, and it is not absolutely clear whether it has entered the adversary’s body. There is a thin ground-line. Other comments – On the ethnicity of the adversaries see §4.5.3.

26. London: British Museum ANE 89333 (g.22) Type Provenance Date

Cylinder (chalcedony). None stated. Relatively early (Furtwängler 1900, 3: 121); not before 22 Darius = 500/499 BCE (Balzer 2007, 1: 160). Stylistic categorization Achaemenid: Archaic/Court Style (Merrillees); Graeco-Persian (Balzer 2007, 3: 79). Bibliography Pope 1938, pl.124A; Wiseman 1959 117; Collon 1987 745; Head 1992, g.14b; Curtis & Tallis 2005 423; Merrillees 2005: 69 (64), pl.25.

Description – A Persian with round prole close tting headgear (helmet?), fringed cuirass with back protuberance and inserted axe, thigh length tunic (decorated with two pairs of vertical stripes and a two-stripe hem-line) and trousers confronts a Greek armed with shield, crossed spears, crested helmet and greaves, and wearing a pleated skirt, perhaps intended as the pteryges of his unseen corslet (for the shield and crossed spears cf. n° 24, 27). The Persian spears diagonally downwards (using a spear with a spherical shaft-end) at the Greek; the spear has presumably entered his chest out of sight behind his shield (which is held face outwards to the viewer and affords him no protection). A winged ring-and-disk (with tail feathers) hovers over the scene. The Greek’s spears, held crossed behind his shield, have spherical shaft-ends and have a horizontal feature where the tip joins the shaft. The gures stand on a solid ground-line. Both gures (which are of the same size, the Greek, if anything, being taller) are erect and immobile, especially the Greek, who neither makes an effort to protect himself nor reacts to being stabbed.

412

CHRISTOPHER TUPLIN

27. Bregstein 190 (g.23) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Owner Bibliography

Cylinder (one impression). Nippur. Used on BE 10.67 on 13.6.3 Darius II (421 BCE). Persian (Court-)Style (Balzer). Kuura, son of Nanâ-iddin (šaknu of the banaikanu). Bregstein 1993: 587 (190); Balzer 2007 A1a.2.

Description – The image is only partially preserved. At right (facing left) is the top half of a soldier wearing a crested helmet (with a hair-bun at rear), carrying a shield on his left arm (which hides his body from view) and holding a crossed pair of spears in his left hand which appear behind the shield (for the crossed-spears see n° 24 and 26; the helmet crest is perhaps meant to be raised on a short stalk). His other hand is held out in front holding a small unclear object. Above and in front of him is a winged ring-and-disk (with tail feathers, tendrils and yoke). At the left edge of the image (and beyond the winged symbol) a spear point is visible pointing diagonally downwards towards (but still some distance from) the soldier. The person carrying this spear is entirely lost, but the presence of the winged symbol makes it reasonable to assume the missing gure was Persian. The overall composition is likely to have resembled n° 26 or 32, except that the attacker’s spear is well away from the adversary. The exceptional separation invites the idea that there was once a dead body between the standing gures (there cannot have been a kneeling one, since his upper part would have been preserved).

28. Olim Arndt Collection A1410 (g.24) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Scaraboid (onyx). Reportedly from Caria. No specic comment known to me. Greek style (Boardman); Graeco-Persian (Balzer 2007, 3: 79). Boardman 1970: 450 (47), pl.849; Porada 1979: 89, g.47.

Description – A gure with a dentate crown, court robe and shoulder quiver (with tassels) uses both hands to thrust a spear into the midriff of a Greek armed with shield and spear and wearing a crested helmet. The victim collapses, left knee buckled, into a crouching position, and looks away from his attacker and out at the viewer. His right leg is stretched out past the attacker’s body. The diagonal feature crossing the image top right-bottom left and passing behind the Persian is presumably a spear belonging to the victim. The gures are located on a thin groundline. This is a rather aggressively triumphalist image.

SIGILLOGRAPHY AND SOLDIERS

413

29. DS 64 (g.25) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Uncertain (one impression). Dascylium. 479-375 BCE (Kaptan’s termini for all Dascylium bullae). Persianising: Group 19, Warriors (Kaptan). Kaptan 2002, 1: 140f.; 2: 87f. (64), pls.195-96.

Description – A foot-soldier advances left, extending his left hand straight ahead as though to grasp an adversary’s chin and doing what looks like an overarm spearthrust with his right hand. Neither the spear nor any other weapon is visible, so we cannot tell whether the adversary has been struck yet. He wears trousers (evidently) and a half-sleeved cuirass, decorated with small circles (Kaptan 2002, 1: 141, “stippled with pellets”), perhaps indicating scale-armour. His headgear is indistinct: Kaptan discerns a tassel hanging from its back (also done in pellets), but the feature is at least as much attached to the corselet as to the hat and should perhaps be seen as a version of the neck-guard feature. The other combatant warrior (only partially preserved) has a helmet and a circular shield with patterned (with pellets) rim. He holds out a hand towards the attacker’s left arm. It is reasonable, but not inevitable, to count him as Greek. The remains (Kaptan: “tail and appendages”) of a winged symbol hover above.

30. Paris: Bibliothèque Nationale Seyrig 1972.1343.5 (g.26) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder. None stated. Third century BCE (Bordreuil). Greek style, but probably made on Levantine coast (Boardman). Bordreuil 1986: 106 (139); Boardman 2000: 159f., pl.5.7.

Description – A Persian infantryman coming from left is about to spear a half kneeling nude soldier. He is dressed in a belted (and buttoned?) chiton over creased trousers; he wears a rather close-tting soft hat. His spear is relatively short and the shaft-end is designed to be stuck in the ground; he holds it in his raised right hand preparing to strike down diagonally (the point is still well away from the adversary’s body). With his left hand he grasps the adversary’s helmet-crest. The adversary wears a semi-circular prole helmet with crest (running ear-to-ear), carries a very large shield (which, however, affords him no protection), and seizes the attacker’s upper left arm as he falls away from him onto his left knee. Each gure has his own ground-line, that of the victim being slightly higher. An Aramaic inscription of uncertain signicance runs above the victim, ldlnt. The victim is fully defeated, and the quasi-perspective created by differentiated ground-lines foregrounds the victor. The victim’s frontal pose is exceptional in this catalogue.

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CHRISTOPHER TUPLIN

Other comments – Bordreuil thought the victim might be Galatian; Bernard (2000: 1401 n.58) wrongly reports him as thinking this of the victor. He had perhaps considered this, but was persuaded otherwise by F. Grenet. Boardman does not appear to regard the seal as Hellenistic.

C.1.2. Persian with spear and bow (n° 31-33) 31. St. Petersburg: Hermitage cylinder (ABC XVI.3; g.27) Type Provenance Date

Cylinder. Kerch (Panticapaeum). 525-465 BCE (Zazoff); Persian Wars era (Furtwängler); not before the reign of Xerxes (Balzer 2007, 1: 160). Stylistic categorization Graeco-Persian Court-Style (Zazoff), Graeco-Persian (Balzer 2007, 3: 79). Bibliography Reinach 1892, pl.16.3; Furtwängler 1900, 3: 121, gs.83-4; Minns 1913: 411, g.298; Zazoff 1983: 168, g.48c.

Description – A gure wearing a dentate crown and court robe comes from left wielding his spear (diagonal downward thrust, holding spear near the shaft-end, which is not spherical) and holding out a bow vertically in front of him (for this spear-and-bow trope cf. n° 32-33). He is faced by a Greek warrior (crested-helmet, corslet with pteryges, round shield) wielding a spear (diagonal downward thrust, holding spear near butt end). The two spears nearly meet, well in front of their respective owners. A dead Greek lies on the ground (marked by a ground-line). A substantial winged ring-and-disk (with tail feathers, tendrils and yoke) hovers over the scene. The dead Greek guarantees which side is victorious, but the live gures are of equal dignity.

32. Bregstein 184 (g.28) Type Provenance Date

Stamp, circular (two impressions). Nippur. Used on PBS 2/1 6 on x.2.1 Darius II (423 BCE) and BE 10.107 on x.5.6 Darius II (418 BCE). Owner Iltammeš-barakku, son of Nidintu-Bl. Stylistic categorization Persian (Court-)Style (Balzer); Persianised style (Wu 2014: 243). Bibliography Legrain 1925: 995; Bregstein 1993: 184, pl.581; Balzer 2007 A2a.1.

Description – A gure in dentate crown and court robe (and carrying a quiver on his back) spears diagonally downwards (overarm, holding spear near butt end) towards a Greek soldier armed with shield and spear (held near upright, and not in

SIGILLOGRAPHY AND SOLDIERS

415

use), and wearing a helmet with crest on stalk. The Persian treads on a fallen opponent as he steps forward and bares his lower leg. He holds a plain bow vertically in his left hand (its lower tip rests on his advanced foot) as well as steadying the spear with the same hand (for this spear-and-bow trope cf. n° 31, 33). Two marks behind the Persian are variously understood as a star and crook (?; Bregstein) or Aramaic letters (Legrain). The Greek gure’s slightly leaning and bent-knee stance is rather as though he has jerked his lower torso backwards to avoid the spear that has not quite yet struck his genital region. Compare and contrast the slightly more extreme posture of the adversary on n° 15a, who is being pushed down from above. Other comments – On the ethnicity of the adversary see §4.5.3. Wu (2014: 248) detects unspecied Graeco-Persian stylistic traits and speculates that the seal was cut in Anatolia.

33. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art Moore Collection 102 (g.29) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization

Bibliography

Cylinder (milky chalcedony). None stated. Last third of the fth century BCE (Rehm 2011: 110f., 115). Greek style (Boardman); “more Greek than oriental” (Eisen); Greek workmanship (Porada 1979: 91 n.79); Graeco-Persian (Balzer 2007, 3: 79). Pope 1938, pl.124D; Eisen 1940: 54f., pl.XI.102; Boardman 1970: 450 (48); Rehm 2011.

Description – A gure (with disproportionately large head) wearing a dentate crown and court robe strides right with spear in right hand (diagonal downward thrust), holding spear quite near the shaft-end (which is not spherical) and bow (held out vertically in front) in left hand (for this spear-and-bow trope cf. n° 31-30). The spear is aimed at a Greek hoplite who has fallen right back (apparently) onto his shield, and raises his right hand; his head is barely preserved. The spear has passed behind or through one leg and into the other. The scene unfolds between two palm trees. Other comments – A feature at the top right of the left-hand palm tree in Eisen 1940, pl.XI.102 does not seem to t with the leaves and looks like part of the lefthand tendril of a winged symbol. But there is no suggestion that the rolling illustrated is incomplete or that the seal has lost its upper part; also, one would expect to see other parts of disk (and the right-hand tendril). The non-central position would not necessarily be a problem in the light of the winged symbols of n° 7, 15a, 40, though all of those involve gures emerging from the symbol as well. Rehm 2011: 112 postulates a West-Anatolian satrapal owner on the grounds of Graeco-Ionian style and the presence of (royal) palm trees.

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CHRISTOPHER TUPLIN

C.1.3. Persian with bow only (n° 34) 34. DS 63 (g.30) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder? (two impressions). Dascylium. 479-375 BCE (Kaptan’s termini for all Dascylium bullae). Persianising: Group 19, Warriors (Kaptan). Kaptan 2002, 1: 140f.; 2: 86f. (63), pls.192-94.

Description – A gure wearing a dentate crown and court (?) robe stands – with slightly bent and bared (?) knee – about to shoot his bow to the right towards a warrior wearing a helmet (so Kaptan) and knee-length tunic who thrusts a spear overarm diagonally downwards towards the archer (holding the spear one-handed quite near the butt end). A body lies between them, also in a tunic, with one leg bent at knee. Both combatants appear to tread on the body. The adversary’s features are fairly indistinct, but categorization as Greek seems reasonable.

C.1.4. Persian with sword only (n° 35-36) 35. Basel: Historical Museum (g.31) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Pyramidal stamp-seal (chalcedony). None stated. First half fth century BCE (?; Boardman). No specic comment known to me. Boardman 1976: 48-49, g.7.

Description – A gure in court robe (headgear uncertain) with a dagger in his left hand (held back behind the body) faces left and reaches out with his (absurdly elongated) right arm towards his adversary’s hair (also elongated). The adversary is nude (and presumed Greek for that reason). He in turn grasps the hair of a smaller female gure standing between himself and the robed gure. He is also wielding a knobbed stick – a mace or club, rather than a sword (so Boardman; the photograph is unclear) in his other hand, which is raised above his head. The female gure has long loose hair and wears a thigh-length skirt. A winged symbol (with tail feathers) surmounts the scene. The wings are curved in Phoenician manner, not straight as on Lydian stamp seals, perhaps suggesting Levantine manufacture (Boardman 1976: 49, citing E. Porada). There is a strong ground-line on which all gures stand – except that the ground-line breaks off in front of the nude’s right foot. Other comments – The woman is apparently not Persian (she conforms to none of the norms for Persian women on sealstones) but raises a hand in presumed sup-

SIGILLOGRAPHY AND SOLDIERS

417

plication to the robed gure. Boardman suggests (a little fancifully?) that she represents Lydia, the object of Greek attack and Persian defence in the Ionian Revolt.

36. Bregstein 188 Type Provenance Date Owner Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder (one impression). Nippur. Used on PBS 2/1 201 on 28.6.4 Darius II (420 BCE). Nidintu-Bl, son of Rbat. Persian (Court) Style (Balzer). Bregstein 1993: 585 (188); Donbaz & Stolper 1997, g.39; Balzer 2007 A1b.1.

Description – A gure in court robe (headgear not preserved) facing left holds a bearded man by the hair with his right hand and stabs him in the belly with a sword held in the left. The victim is nude (and taken as Greek for that reason), has a pointed beard and a hair-bun at the back of his head (cf. n° 27), and is somewhat potbellied. His genitals are shown. He reaches out his left hand towards the Persian. His right arm is held up and back behind his head, but the sealing is incomplete so we cannot see what, if anything, he held in his right hand. The top of the Persian gure’s head is missing, but the headgear could be consistent with a royal gure. Donbaz & Stolper 1997, g.39 represents the gure’s right leg as bare to the knee.

C.2.

More than one pair of combatants (n° 37-39)

C.2.1.

Persians with spear (n° 37-38)

37. Private collection (Rabenou) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Unstated. Unknown. Unknown. None reported. Merrillees 2005: 43 n.9.

Description – “Two protagonists in Median [viz rider] dress [ght] Greek soldiers (one already lying naked on ground) with a spear, with a winged disk above” (Merrillees l.c.). In the absence of illustration or other information no further comment is possible.

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CHRISTOPHER TUPLIN

38. Bregstein 185 (g.32) Type Provenance Date Owner Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder (one impression). Nippur. Used on PBS 2/1 72 on 26?.11.3 Darius II (420 BCE). Iddin-Nabû, son of Bl-ittannu (collector of Sin-canal rent). Persian (Court-)Style (Balzer). Bregstein 1993: 582 (185); Balzer 2007 A1a.1.

Description – On the extreme left is a gure probably in a court robe. On the right are two soldiers facing left. One has fallen (to his knees?) with a spear in his chest (this spear is wielded by the Persian gure on the left, who holds it in his right hand a little way down from the butt and with his hand in front of his face).145 He has a crested helmet and round bossed shield, and he holds out his right hand (see below). The other is standing behind this gure and carries a similar shield, but no other features are preserved. Between the gure on the left and these two soldiers is a more problematical fourth gure facing right. Two things are clear: he holds out a hand to grasp the headgear of the kneeling adversary; he is a bearded gure whose clothing is comparable with that of the extreme left hand (Persian) gure. He is therefore a colleague of the left-hand gure, not (as Bregstein apparently thought) his prisoner. But there are problems. First, to whom does the arm between the fourth gure and the kneeling gure belong? Second, what are we to make of the indistinct features lying behind the head and upper torso of the fourth gure? As to the rst issue, the arm could probably belong to either gure (though may be a trie low to be the fourth gure’s). If it belongs to the fourth gure, he is presumably stabbing the kneeling gure (the weapon being hidden behind the latter’s shield). This is slightly odd, since it would have to be his left hand, but a parallel is available in n° 36. The absence of manual reaction from the kneeling gure would be unparalleled among salient glyptic parallels, but that might be thought tolerable.146 If the arm is the kneeling gure’s then we have the expected manual reaction (whether supplication or attempted resistance), but the Persian who has seized his head is not visibly attacking him – as the same salient parallels suggest he should be doing. That might be thought less tolerable. But the force of the salient parallels is complicated by the fact that they are in any case distinguished from n° 38 by the fact that the gure on the extreme left of n° 38 is certainly 145

146

For the posture (with the spear-shaft entirely above the wielder’s head) cf. n° 24-26, 40. The position and angle of what we see of the spear precludes any possibility that it was originally considerably longer and was held additionally or alternatively in the gure’s upraised left hand (compare and contrast n° 1-4, 32, 34, 39; also n° 28, 30, 33). Cf. n° 7-11, 15a, 16, 17 (middle), 28-30, 36. A shield is involved in n° 28-30. The cases of n° 15b, 16b, 18-19, and 20-22 (which lack manual reaction) are dissimilar enough in other respects not to constitute a valid counter-argument.

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419

thrusting a spear into the kneeling gure (the spear’s contact with his body is hidden behind his shield). The best solution, then, is probably to ascribe the arm to the kneeling gure and understand that, while the fourth gure seizes the victim, it is his companion that delivers the expected blow.147 In other words, the two elements of the seize-and-stab trope have been divided between two agents (Balzer appears to share this view). As to the second problem, the features are placed wrongly in relation to the fourth gure’s upper torso and head to be a bow and/or quiver carried on his back, and the traces are in any case not propitious. Bregstein saw a bow in the hands of the left hand gure. Presumably this is her reaction to a curved feature behind the fourth gure’s head and shoulders and near the point where the left hand gure’s hand holds the spear. The curvature would be appropriate for a bow, but the fact that what we see behind the fourth gure’s head is a double feature (i.e., there are two slightly diverging curves) makes that identication problematic. Another possibility is that we have 1) the fourth gure’s arm raised behind his head holding a weapon with which to strike the kneeling gure, 2) the side view of a vertically held bow, the bottom tip of which lies in the rather indistinct feature behind the fourth gure’s waist, while the top tip is lost in the missing top part of the impression. This bow would have to be held by the extreme left-hand gure either by the lower tip (there is a vestigial trace joining his body to the lower tip which could be an arm) or somewhere near the middle and in the same hand holding the spear. Neither of these is an entirely attractive possibility in terms of relevant parallels. This interpretation does also entail a disturbing similarity in appearance between an arm and part of a bow. A variant would be to interpret the whole of the double-feature as the fourth gure’s upraised arm but this entails assuming a rather broad sleeve (and one with a strange depression in the middle) and eliminates the possibility of explaining the indistinct feature further down – behind the fourth gure’s waist – as part of a bow (one might then be reduced to the tassel of an otherwise hidden Susa-guard-style quiver). In this case autopsy (see n.147) did not produce any decisive illumination, and I remain undecided about what is depicted. Other comments – On the ethnicity of the adversaries see above, §4.5.3.

147

After the rst draft of this paper was written I was able to examine the impression in Philadelphia (an opportunity for which I thank Wu Xin), and this left little doubt that the hand belongs to the kneeling Greek.

420 C.2.2.

CHRISTOPHER TUPLIN

Persians with spear and bow (n° 39)

39. Seyitömer Höyük seal 3 (g.33) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder (two impressions on a single tag). Seyitömer Höyük (Phrygia). No specic comment known to me. Western Achaemenid koin (Kaptan). Kaptan 2010, 1: 365-67, gs.33.4-6; idem [forthc.]; Kaptan & Cokun [forthc.].

Description – A naked gure is framed by two armed individuals. One of them, wearing the court robe (with bared arms), comes from the left with a spear, which he holds near the shaft-end (which is not spherical) and aims diagonally down at the naked gure’s midriff (though the blade has not quite struck him). He has no clear headgear (perhaps we assume a Susa-guard llet?). He holds his left hand out towards his adversary’s helmet-crest without actually grasping him. The other armed individual wears a domed hat and comes from the right with a bow which he is about to re (his bow and arrow-point are nearly touching the back of the victim’s head). The naked adversary, who wears a Greek crested helmet, kneels between the two, facing left (towards the gure in the court robe) and holds out both arms imploringly, palms outwards and ngers upwards, and with his elbows bent. A small shield may be attached to the right side of his body (so largely hidden from view). No weapon is visible. The image represents humiliation for the Greek whose nakedness is, in the context of his posture, hardly heroic. Exactly how the image is read depends on one’s understanding of the right-hand attacker. There are two views. The rst is that the domed head-dress guarantees that he is meant to be a Median gure (by contrast with the spearman in a Persian court robe). In this case the Greek victim is surrounded and overwhelmed by the two basic types of Iranian adversary, spearman and archer, and we have a remarkable image of Persian dominance, and one without analogy in the present dataset. The second view is that the muscular contours of the right-hand attacker’s legs seem at odds with the expectation that a Median gure will wear trousers: instead, it is as though the legs are bare (Kaptan 2010, 1: 365). Perhaps, then, he is not a Mede and is ghting against the court robed Persian spearman. He could be doing so as an ally of the Greek: in that case we have a variant on images of a single Persian warrior confronted by two or more adversaries (cf. n° 8, 15b, 24-25). But Kaptan [forthc.] sees him as a threat to the Greek against whom the spearman is offering protection: the trope derives from images in which a human gure (usually an archer, not a spearman) protects a weak animal against a animal aggressor. As analogies for the application of this trope to human combat one might adduce n° 14 (Persian ghting a Scythian to protect a caprid) and n° 35 (Persian ghting a Greek to defend a woman). But to

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sustain either version of the second view a positive identication and explanation of the right-hand warrior is needed, and none has yet been offered. I have therefore privileged the rst view in determining where this item sits in the catalogue.

D.

Adversaries of debatable identity (n° 40-41)

D.1.

Single pair of combatants (n° 40)

D.1.1.

Persians with spear (n° 40)

40. PTS 30 (g.34) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder (two impressions). Persepolis (Treasury Room 33 and Hall 38). Used in 16 Xerxes (470/69 BCE) on PT 30 and PT 32. Court Style (Balzer 2007, 3: 79). Schmidt 1956: 29 (30), pl.9; Head 1992, g.14a; Wu 2005: 64f. (1.1); idem 2010: 551.

Description – A spearman coming from left with close-tting headgear, lozenge pattern cuirass (with high neck-guard and inserted battle axe) and uncertain but perhaps belted garb beneath the waist (the preserved image breaks off) has plunged a plain-ended spear (held one-handed near the middle) diagonally downwards into his adversary, while grasping the latter’s shield with his left hand. The spear appears to enter the left shoulder but is presumably meant to pass behind that shoulder into his chest, hidden from view by his posture. The adversary has a naked torso or is wearing a very tight garment, trousers or skirt, and carries a semicircular prole shield (held well out in front) and club or sword or battle-axe (brandished in upraised hand, in a manner not dissimilar from the axe-wielding gure on n° 17 or the sword-wielding one on n° 1). His headgear is unclear: either a curved prole bashlyk or just a full head of hair. A horse (with upright forelock decoration and rounded face prole) stands behind the Persian and presumably belongs to or with him (rather than the enemy). The animal’s rump is partially visible at the right-hand edge of the impression. A gure emerging from a winged ring (looking right) hovers between the horse and the Persian warrior (this is indicated in Schmidt’s description; it is not particularly clear on the photograph). Remnants of an Aramaic inscription appear above the actual combat. Annalisa Azzoni has read it as d rgw š, perhaps transcribing *Dargyuš (Tavernier 2007: 168; see Garrison & Henkelman [forthc.]). The gures are well separated, but the attacker does seize his opponent’s shield rim. Other comments – Wu (2005: 64) tentatively identies the adversary as Scythian, while noting that, if he is bareheaded, this might evoke Bactrian or

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Parthian associations (ibid. 70f.). Both ideas are problematic, not least because of the presence of the shield: the gure’s dress provides no rational reason to think of the only shield-carriers on the Apadana frieze, i.e. Gandhrans (XIV) or Skudr (XIX), and has no unequivocal resonance with Scythic or other gures there or elsewhere. It is safer to regard him as of unidentied ethnic origin (Wu 2010: 551 speaks more non-committedly of a Central Asian adversary). This is the only Persepolitan item that shows the neck-guard cuirass.

D.2.

More than one pair of combatants (n° 41)

D.2.1.

Persians with spear (n° 41)

41. PTS 31 (g.35) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder (six impressions). Persepolis (Treasury Hall 38, Rooms 45 and 47). Made in 492-436 BCE (Schmidt). No specic comment known to me. Schmidt 1956: 30 (31), pl.9; Wu 2005: 67f. (1.3), 70.

Description – The photographed impression is unclear. There are two closely overlapping pairs of combatants. Two gures coming from left, wearing a “Persian tiara” (Schmidt) and hard-to-discern dress, confront two gures with domed headgear and uncertain dress (see below). Both of the gures on the left raise an arm in front of their faces in a posture that could be appropriate for thrusting a spear towards the curved-prole shields their adversaries hold out in front of themselves (they are seen from the side, as on PTS 30 = n° 40) – though they are so close to those shields that the spears would have to be very short or held rather close to the blade end, and there must be some residual doubt about their weaponry. The adversaries also raise their hands behind their heads in a posture appropriate for spear-use (and with plenty of space this time) but also perhaps for wielding a mace or battle-axe (no weapons are actually visible on the impression). The left-hand gures stand slightly higher than their opponents but there is no conspicuous difference in dignity between the two sides: this is a confrontation between equals. Other comments – By “Persian tiara” Schmidt means the non-dentate element of a dentate crown (a “dentate tiara” in his usage; cf. the baked-clay sculpted head on Schmidt 1956, pl.32, described, ibid. p.68, as wearing something “close to a Persian tiara”), but the photograph is too poor for independent assessment. Wu says the gures on the right have a V-necked garment and compares their headgear to the rounded and close-tting headgear of the Chorasmian on the Darius Statue. To my eyes the headgear is more like a slightly at-topped version of that

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423

of the principal gure on the Aršma seal (n° 1, the rider-dress headgear); what can be seen of the body-garments would not be inappropriate to that headgear. The presence of the shield does not encourage us to look to a nomadic or Central Asian environment, but the gure’s dress provides no rational reason to think of either the Gandhrans (XIV), the Skudr (XIX), or the Carians (?; XXI), the only shield-carriers on the Apadana frieze. As with n° 40 it is safer to regard the adversaries as of unidentied ethnic origin. For the use of overlapping gures cf. n° 20.

EQUESTRIAN SCENES A.

(n° 42-65)

Central Asian adversaries (n° 42-43)

A.1.1.

Persian horsemen vs. Scythian horsemen (n° 42-43)

42. DS 91 (g.36) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Uncertain, perhaps cylinder (single impression). Dascylium. 479-375 BCE (Kaptan’s termini for all Dascylium bullae). Persianising: Group 23, Bear (Kaptan). Kaptan 2002, 1 : 80, 152; 2: 111, pls.272-3; Wu 2005: 74f. (Cat. 1.6).

Description – Only half of the scene survives. The horse’s head and part of the spear survive belonging to an otherwise lost attacker coming from the left. His target is two horsemen eeing to right (extended gallop). The foreground horseman wears a rounded two-peaked bashlyk and looks back, reaching out his arm (?) in supplication, as the attacker’s spear enters his body. A gorytus hangs on the far side of his horse; he has a saddle cloth whose edge is marked off but not fringed. The background horseman faces front and carries his (sigma-shaped) bow upright. His headgear seems to have a different, plainer prole from that of his companion. There are remnants of a winged symbol (with tail feathers and tendrils) over what would have been the centre of the scene. None of the horses has a notably rounded prole. The attacker can be assumed to be Persian, in view of the winged symbol and the close resemblance to n° 43.

43. St. Petersburg: Hermitage 375 (g.37) Type Provenance Date

Scaraboid (chalcedony). Reportedly from Asia Minor. Presumably fourth century BCE.

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Stylistic categorization Mixed style: Bolsena group (Boardman), but ascribed by Zazoff to the Cambridge Hunt-Scaraboid workshop (Boardman’s Cambridge group, named for Boardman 1970 220). Bibliography Maximova 1928, 650, g.3; Boardman 1970: 314, 451 (121), pl.882; Zazoff 1983: 182, pl.42.6; Bernard 2000, g.22.

Description – A mounted gure coming from the left spears at two eeing horsemen who look back and hold out a hand in (presumed) supplication. Both parties’ horses are in ying gallop. The attacker has a neck-guard cuirass (with pteryges?) and a at-top close-tting cap or bashlyk. The material of his sleeves is markedly creased. The eeing horsemen wear headgear with a rounded prole and slight peak at front. By contrast with n° 41 no gorytus is visible. The butt-end of the attacker’s spear is lost, so its nature is unknown. Its blade-end has entered the adversary’s body. His horse has a trailing-merlon saddle cloth, but no visible tail or mane decorations. There is a sharp contrast between the rounded Persepolitan faceprole of the attacker’s horse and the straight proles of the others (for such contrasts cf. n° 1, 61). Other comments – There are four horizontal lines on the side of the Persian’s horse’s chest. The top one is certainly a rein, clearly joined to the horse’s mouth. The second one is also attached to the horse’s mouth and is perhaps the other rein, wrongly shown as passing on the viewer’s side of the horse’s neck (for this compare, perhaps, n° 50). The third and fourth perhaps represent the two edges of a broad strap holding the saddle cloth (cf. §4.5.2). Wu (2005: 63) suggests that the awkward dress of the Greek gure (for which see Boardman 1970: 314) is a sign that the seal-cutter was not Greek.

B.

Greek adversaries (n° 44-61)

B.1.

Persian horseman vs. Greek horseman (n° 44)

44. Private collection (g.38) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Decahedric cachet. Acquired in Kabul in 1972; reportedly from Northern Afghanistan. See below. Francfort attributes the seal to the same workshop as the eleven cachets published in Seyrig 1952. Francfort 1975.

Description – A Persian cavalryman rides to left (horse in extended gallop) attacking a eeing horseman. The Persian wears a cuirass with neck-guard, pteryges, and closely tting headgear with at-top prole (Francfort speaks of a bashlyk tied at chin). He may be wearing leg-protectors (cf. §4.5.2) and sits on a

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425

saddle cloth (with trailing strands) and wields a rather long spear (with a spherical shaft-end) in his left hand, holding it around its middle. The spear tip nearly reaches the face of the eeing horseman (who has grasped the spear shaft with his left hand). This horseman wears a helmet with a crest (shown misleadingly as though it ran parallel to the plane of the face) and a cuirass with pteryges (Francfort: “cuirasse à lambrequins”). The Persian’s horse has a tied tail and some sort of plume on its forehead. It is unclear whether the bobbly or scaly effect on the rider’s upper leg (unremarked by Francfort) signies anything. He carries two shortish spears in his right hand but is making no attempt to use them. The victim’s headgear resembles that of the victorious rider on n° 50 and the victim infantryman on n° 48. Francfort also mentions Payava in this context. There is a decided contrast between heavy Persian cavalry and a lighter Greek foe. But the Persian’s horse does not have a particularly ‘Persian’ appearance, and the treatment of the tail does not entirely conform to a standard Persian type. Other comments – One of the stone’s other faces has a charging Persian horseman. He shoots a bow at an undepicted target but is probably a hunter if one can judge from the fact that his clothing is lighter and less military than that of the warrior on the principal face (so Francfort). The dating is tied up with the dating of n° 49, 50, and 60. N° 49 and 50 are among a set of eleven cachets studied by Seyrig (1952). Seyrig assigned them on grounds of uniform style to the same region and even the same workshop (“atelier”), though not entirely to the same artist because his items 3 and 4 are of inferior workmanship (1952: 198). Francfort (1975) assigns the Kabul stone (n° 44) to the same set/workshop (“atelier”), and Bloch (1955: 69f.) associated n° 60 with Seyrig’s cachets on grounds of iconographic similarity to 119 and 120. Seyrig was condent that item 6 in his catalogue (Richter 1949, pls.31.4-32.2; idem 1956 138, pl.23; Boardman 1970: 317, g.295, 452 [151]) could be dated (via its representation of a bull) by reference to a coin-type from Heraclea Pontica allegedly current in 394-64 BCE (Francfort 1975 reports this as a dating to ca. 370 BCE). Bloch (1953: 48) dated Boardman 1970 117 to the start of the fourth century BCE or more vaguely the pre-Alexander fourth century BCE (idem 1955: 70). But Richter (1949: 296; cf. idem 1956: 35) had put Seyrig 6 in the second half of the fth century BCE (by reference to Furtwängler 1900, pl.XI/31 and a Thurian cointype), a date she also assigned to Seyrig 5 (Richter 1956 139, pl.XXIV, idem 1949, pls. 32.3-8 = Boardman 1970: 315 g.290, 451 [113]). Boardman (1970: 314) describes Seyrig 5 as “still fth century” (so late in the century?). Furtwängler (1900, 3: 123f.) puts Seyrig 7 (Boardman 1970: 453 [226], pl.929) and 8 (Boardman 1970: 452 [150], pl.893) among “jüngeren Steiner,” in his terms perhaps consistent with the late fth century BCE. Francfort (1975), having associated the Kabul stone with the Seyrig set and followed Seyrig in dating Seyrig 6 to ca. 370 BCE, does not formally limit possible dates for the Kabul item more narrowly than to 480-334 BCE, though he does intimate that the match between the Greek horse-

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man and Xenophontic military equestrian norms suggests a fourth century BCE date – an argument that begs some questions. The upshot is perhaps that we can assign a fourth century BCE date (earlier rather than later to acknowledge Boardman’s view of Seyrig 5?) to n° 44 and to n° 49, 50, and 60. But there is clearly some uncertainty.

B.2.

Persian horseman vs. Greek infantry (n° 45-61)

45. Basel: private collection (g.39) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

White veined marble conoid. None stated. No specic statement known to me. Mixed style: Bolsena (Boardman). Boardman 1970: 314, 451 (123), pl.883.

Description – A Persian horseman rides left (extended gallop) over the body of a dead adversary and attacks with his spear a presumably Greek gure who is attempting to stand up to him (and is on his front foot). The spear has not quite struck him. The live soldier wears pilos-like headgear, carries a shield on his left arm, and wields a spear represented as though held in his right hand but in such a way that it passes behind his body and behind the shield. The Persian wears a solid cuirass, perhaps with neck-guard and pteryges, and rather baggy trousers or perhaps leg-protectors (cf. §4.5.2). He seems to have a squared, at-top bashlyk (cf. n° 43, 60). The horse’s head-prole seems slightly rounded, and there is a saddle cloth with trailing merlons; tail and mane decorations are less clear. Other comments – There is a signicant resemblance to n° 48-50 and, with a different horse-posture, n° 57 (§4.3.1). The horseman also resembles those on n° 43 and 60. Wu (2005: 63) suggests that the awkward dress of the Greek gure (for which cf. Boardman 1970: 314) is a sign that the seal-cutter was not Greek.

46. DS 65 (g.40) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder (?; one impression). Dascylium. 479-375 BCE (Kaptan’s termini for all Dascylium bullae). Persianising: Group 20, Chariot (Kaptan). Kaptan 2002, 1: 141f., 203f.; 2: 88f. (65), pls.197-98.

Description – A Persian horseman rides to right (semi-extended gallop). He wears a at-top prole bashlyk, cuirass with neck-guard (faintly visible on Kaptan’s photograph, though not captured in her drawing) and loose trousers, and his horse

SIGILLOGRAPHY AND SOLDIERS

427

has a tied tail. The spear in his raised right hand points diagonally downwards off the edge of the (damaged) bulla. His live adversary is not preserved. A corpse lies beneath the horse (apparently on a shield), right leg bent at knee, right arm over head (this resembles n° 53). There is an Aramaic inscription next to the horseman (see below). I infer that the missing adversary was a Greek infantryman from the fact that his dead companion is lying on a shield. Compare n° 52 and, more generally, the association of shields with Greek infantry on equestrian combat-seals (the non-Greek shield users on two non-equestrian combat seals, n° 40 and 41, are not a signicant counter-indication). Other comments – Aramaic inscription: see W. Röllig apud Kaptan 2002, 1: 203f. The most plausible readings are rt y or trw, of which the former might be *rta-xaya- (a PN) and the latter *rav, interpreted either as the function-title “re-priest” (Lemaire, cited by Röllig) or the same word used as a PN (cf. Tavernier 2007: 127).

47. Oxford: Ashmolean Museum 1892.1596 (g.41) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Scaraboid (jasper). Said to be from Ephesus. Late Achaemenid or early Hellenistic. Other Styles: Bern group (Boardman). Furtwängler 1900: 1, pl.XII/17; Boardman 1970: 320f., 455 (353), pl.974.

Description – A horseman with spear (plain shaft-end) moves from left against an infantryman, who has a helmet with cheek-piece (apparently), a shield, and a spear. The horseman’s spear strikes his adversary’s shield, which is held out upright (seen in prole) in front of his body. The infantryman delivers an underhand spear-thrust. There is a dead body beneath the horse (partly lost in damage to the stone). The sketchy depiction (typical of Bern group items) admits no useful comment on clothing, but the adversary is reasonably counted as Greek by Bernard (2000: 1401 n.58). He is in upright pose, stepping forward onto his left leg.

48. DS 86 (g.42) Type Provenance Date

Stamp (tabloid or prism; three impressions). Dascylium. 479-375 BCE (Kaptan’s termini for all Dascylium bullae), more precisely (cf. 2002, 1: 150) the decades either side of 400 BCE. Stylistic categorization Persianising: Group 22, Shield (Kaptan). Bibliography Kaptan 2002, 1: 80, 149f.; 2: 106f., pls.257-60.

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CHRISTOPHER TUPLIN

Description – A horseman moving left (apparently in extended gallop; the rear of the horse is lost) wearing trousers, cuirass (perhaps with pteryges: Kaptan) and bashlyk has thrust his spear (held by the butt-end) into the chest of an opponent in a knee-length chiton and conical tasselled helmet who carries a large round shield (the internal hand-grips are shown clearly) which has afforded him no protection. There are traces of a saddle cloth. Representation of the adversary is not particularly demeaning: he is on the back foot, but he has stood his ground. Other comments – There is a signicant resemblance to n° 45, 49-50, and, with different horse-posture, n° 57 (cf. §4.3.1). The adversary resembles not only those on some of these other seals (though not n° 50) but also various warriors or hunters on Lycian reliefs (Kaptan 2002, 1: 80). For his helmet compare Borchhardt 1970, g. 25, idem 1976a, pls.20-22, and other Lycian monuments listed at Kaptan 2002, 1: 81 n.322. N° 44 (equestrian victim), 50 (victorious horseman), and ANE 124014 (attacking infantryman in a purely Greek scene) are also pertinent (ibid. 150).

49. Leipzig: Grassi Museum for Applied Arts 1952.55/531S (g.43) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Tabloid (six faceted, chalcedony). None stated. See comments on n° 44. Mixed style: Bolsena group (Boardman). Furtwängler 1900: 1, pls.XI/9; 2: 55-6; 3: 122; Gow 1928, pl.10.8; Boardman 1970: 451 (120). Head 1992, g.25c erroneously omits the neck-guard, but damage to the Greek gure and every other feature of the gem are exactly reproduced.

Description – A horseman charges left (horse in extended gallop), wielding a spear against an infantryman. The horseman wears a very solid cuirass with pronounced neck-guard and pteryges and solid-looking at-top prole headgear. He may also have leg-protectors (cf. §4.5.2). His adversary has a crested pilos-helmet and carries a large shield and (perhaps) a spear. The horseman holds his spear onehanded near the butt-end and aims diagonally down; the point has nearly reached the adversary’s throat, passing inside his ineffective shield. The spear apparently has a plain shaft-end. The horse’s tail appears tied (but right by the rump), but its face-prole is at best very slightly rounded. There is a saddle cloth, its front and rear edges marked by a double line, its lower edge fringed. The photographs in Furtwängler and Gow tempt one to discern a prosternidion on the horse’s chest. The new photograph from the Grassi Museum is less clear; the feature may actually be an imperfection in the impression (the original sealstone is now lost). The Greek is on the front foot, and seems to be thrusting a spear at the horse’s face. Other comments – There is a signicant resemblance to n° 45, 48, 50, and, with a different horse-posture, n° 57 (cf. §4.3.1). For the horseman compare n° 43, 60.

SIGILLOGRAPHY AND SOLDIERS

429

50. Paris: Bibliothèque Nationale Seyrig 1973.1.502 (g.44) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Stamp (blue tabloid). Near Massyaf (Syria). See comments on n° 44. Mixed style: Bolsena group (Boardman) Seyrig 1952, pl.XXXI/1; Boardman 1970: 314f. g.291, 451 (119); Head 1992, g.25b; Bernard 2000: 1405 (M. Avisseau-Broustet kindly informed me of the item’s acquisition by the Bibliothèque Nationale).

Description – A horseman charges left wielding his spear (the shaft-end has no visible sphere) against a Greek infantryman. The spear has perhaps not quite struck home; the infantryman’s shield has afforded no protection. The horseman may have leg-protectors (cf. §4.5.2) and wears rather pointed headgear with a long crest. His shoulders are rather over-size on Boardman’s drawing, reecting the presence of some sort of solid body-armour or cuirass, but with no suggestion of a neckguard. The horse has a tied tail, and (perhaps) a saddle cloth. The face-prole is at best very slightly rounded. The infantryman wears a crested helmet and carries a large round shield and a spear. He is on the front foot and seems to be thrusting a spear at the horse’s face. This is not a demeaning image. Other comments – There is a signicant resemblance to n° 45, 48-49, and, with a different horse-posture, n° 57 (cf. §4.3.1). The horseman also resembles those on n° 43 and 60 – be it that his headgear on the present seal is different from all others. It resembles that of various Greek or Lycian gures: see the comment about the adversary in the entry on n° 48. This does raise a question about his identication as a Persian (but see §3.7).

51. New York: Pierpont Morgan Library 834 (g.45) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization

Bibliography

Cylinder. None stated. Late Achaemenid or early Hellenistic. Mixed style, with strong Greek elements (Porada); Other Styles: Related to Bern group (Boardman). The image is somewhat less odd in appearance than other Bern-group style items in this catalogue, i.e., n° 47, 52, 54-55. Ward 1910: 328, g.1055; Porada 1948: 105, pls.125, 834; Boardman 1970: 456 (371).

Description – A horseman rides right (horse in ying gallop) towards an infantryman running energetically to meet him from the right. The horseman, who seems to wear a helmet with a visor and may have leg-protectors, has thrust his spear downwards into the adversary’s midriff. His nude (and comparatively much larger) ad-

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CHRISTOPHER TUPLIN

versary has a shield (held out in front, but of no use), spear (which he is not deploying), and extravagantly crested headgear (he is counted as Greek by Bernard 2000: 1401 n.58). The horse (with a very slightly rounded prole) has a tied tail and a saddle cloth. The impression of a feather-like decoration on its head is perhaps misleading. There is a partial ground-line. The Persian has struck the Greek, but the immediate visual impression is of the Greek as the dominant gure. Other comments – As the horseman’s headgear Ward’s drawing indicates a bashlyk with rolled forward material at the front (which is not really how it appears on Porada’s photograph, and would not go with a visor); it also records the striations on the facial area that are visible on the photograph and are what prompted thoughts of visors.

52. Baltimore: Walters Art Gallery 130 (g.46) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Stamp (blue tabloid). None stated. Late Achaemenid or Early Hellenistic. Other styles: Bern group (Boardman). Boardman 1970: 321, g.310, 456 (370).

Description – A horseman is in combat with infantryman. The horseman thrusts a spear diagonally downwards toward his adversary. The latter, who carries a shield (which may yet deect the blow), brandishes his spear horizontally above his head. The horse has a tied tail. The sketchy depiction admits of little comment on clothing, but the adversary is counted as Greek by Bernard (2000: 1401 n.58).

53. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art 41.160.653 (g.47) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Plasma scaraboid. None stated. 450-400 BCE (Richter); perhaps fourth century (Boardman). Greek style (Boardman). Richter 1949: 294, pl.34/2; idem 1956 135 (pl.22); Boardman 1970: 311, g.282, 450 (50).

Description – A horseman galloping right spears a Greek soldier who in turn stabs a sword into the horse’s belly. The Greek (with chiton and helmet) has fallen back into an almost horizontal position on top of his shield and beneath the horse’s front feet and midriff. The top of a gorytus (misread as a sword hilt by Richter) is visible on the far side of the Persian’s stallion, which has a tied tail, hogged mane, and (perhaps) a peytrel on its chest (so Richter). Its face prole is not rounded. If there is a saddle cloth, it is not of the usual square-with-trailing-merlons type (but see

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431

below). The rider wears a attish bashlyk with very long lappets. His upper torso has a somewhat bulbous appearance, but it is debatable whether this suggests the presence of body-armour (see below). He is perhaps meant to be wearing high boots. He holds his spear by the very end (so one cannot tell whether there it is spherical). The Greek’s sword has already just entered the horse, whereas the Persian’s spear is still short of the Greek’s body. It is doubtful that this will save the Greek, but it slightly redresses the balance in an image that is otherwise very victor-dominant. Other comments – What looks like a non-standard saddle cloth may actually be part of the rider’s clothing (cf. Raeck 1981 558), though it is not visible on his torso, as it should be. Richter discerned a long-sleeved tunic and belted jacket. He may actually wearing a cuirass over the top part of a (sleeveless) pleated garment.

54. Berlin: Staatliche Museen zu Berlin F 185 Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Stamp (blue tabloid). None stated. Late Achaemenid or early Hellenistic. Other styles: Bern group (Boardman). Furtwängler 1900: 1, pls.XI/15; 2: 56; Boardman 1970: 456 (369); Zazoff 1983, pl.45.1, g.51b.

Description – A horseman rides left (with all the horse’s feet apparently on ground) towards a standing infantryman. The horseman thrusts a spear horizontally at his adversary past his shield, though it has not quite hit its target yet. The infantryman brandishes a spear above his head. The sketchy depiction (Furtwängler: “sehr roh und uchtig”) admits of no useful comment about the combatants’ clothing, though the horseman is probably wearing some sort of bashlyk and the adversary is counted as Greek by Bernard (2000: 1401 n.58). The whole of the horse’s neck and front quarters (in front of the rider’s legs) is marked with vertical lines, rather as if completely covered in long hair. The tail and rear legs are marked with globules. The Greek is on the back foot, but the horse is not in unrestrained gallop, and the Greek gure is the same height as the mounted enemy, so there is a certain visual balance between the two.

55. Los Angeles: Getty Museum 122 (g.48) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Stamp (mottled jasper tabloid). From Iran. Late Achaemenid or early Hellenistic (fourth century BCE: Spier). Related to the Bern group (Spier). Spier 1992: 62 (122).

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Description – A horseman rides right against an infantryman who is running towards him, though not quite as energetically as on n° 51. The horseman is about to throw a spear (held horizontal in his up- and back-raised right hand), which is unusual in this repertoire. Another spear is stuck in the ground, and a third is in the air above the infantryman: either he has just thrown it or it is an earlier cast by the horseman. The infantryman advances towards the horseman, holding a small shield out in front of his face and with his right arm raised. The depiction is sketchy, and nothing useful can be said about clothing or horse decorations. The infantryman is moving forward, while the horse is, if anything, coming to a halt. Neither combatant has achieved a hit on the other.

56. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art 49.43.8 Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Black jasper scaraboid. None stated. Second half of the fth century BCE (Richter). Mixed style: Pendants group (Boardman). Richter 1949: 294, pl.34/4; idem 1956 134 (pl.XXII); Boardman 1970: 451 (131).

Description – Persian horseman facing right spears a foot-soldier (ill preserved and barely visible) in the face. The spear’s shaft-end is not spherical; if anything it is pointed. There is a long curved feature between the shaft-end and the rider’s face of uncertain signicance (it is the wrong position for a throwing-strap). There is also a much smaller curved feature just before the blade that resembles something seem on the (infantry) Persian’s spear on n° 23. The Persian wears a close-tting bashlyk with a attish top and slight back projection; the Greek has helmet and shield. It is conceivable that the Persian’s rather solid looking torso is meant to be a solid cuirass; but there is no neck-guard, despite the faint mark behind the rider’s shoulder. The horse has a saddle cloth and a tied tail. Richter detects a peytrel on its chest, but there is no clear feature here; all we see on the front of the chest area are protruding ends of the two straps running back towards the saddle cloth (see below). The horse’s face prole is not rounded. The horse’s feet are all on the ground, and its posture (unusual in this repertoire) is as of one hesitating or coming to a stop before a barrier. The adversary is a strangely elongated and very static gure. He holds a relatively small shield straight out in front of him (it is seen in strict prole). Whether the marks behind and in front of the shield are meant to indicate that he is spearing the horse in the chest is not clear. Other comments – The saddle cloth and its apparent attaching straps raise various problems; see §4.5.2.

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433

57. St. Petersburg: Hermitage 4297 Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Scaraboid (chalcedony). None stated. No specic comment known to me. Mixed style: Bolsena group (Boardman). Maximova 1928: 649f., g.2; Boardman 1970: 451 (122); Head 1992, g.24b is an inaccurate mirror-image drawing of this item.

Description – A horseman coming from right wields a spear (held between middle and butt-end) against an infantryman, thrusting downwards towards his face/neck (the spear-point has not quite reached its target). The horseman wears a solidlooking cuirass with neck-guard and at-top prole bashlyk. Head (1992, g.24b) represents these features slightly differently. But his drawings are not always wholly accurate – see on n° 49 – and divergences from what seems to be visible on Maximova’s photograph are not authoritative. The horse may have a slightly rounded face prole, and its tail is tied. It is unclear whether there is a forehead decoration, but there appears to be a saddle cloth with trailing merlons. The Greek adversary has a pilos-like hat with (apparently) a neck-ap, a shield (indicated by a semi-circular linear feature), and somewhat indistinct clothing. Head (1992, g. 24c) detects a cuirass over an armless chiton, which may be right. But his representation of the pilos with a slight backward curve is inaccurate. The Greek thrusts a spear underarm into the horse’s head. His right hand is on the butt-end of the spear, so he is also holding it with his left hand. But his left hand should also be gripping a strap or handle at the rim of the shield. How this works is not clearly visible. The infantryman is on the front foot, while the horse is rearing rather than galloping. Other comments – There is a signicant resemblance to n° 45, 48-50, though the horse posture is different here. The horseman also resembles those on n° 43 and 60.

58. New York: Rosen Collection (g.49) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Blue chalcedony barrel. None stated. Late fth century BCE. Almost purely Greek style (Boardman). Boardman 2007: 399, pl.1062.

Description – A horseman coming from left on a rearing (even shying) horse holds a spear (plain end) in his back-raised hand, preparatory to attacking a Greek infantryman. The heavily bearded horseman wears a bashlyk with lappets, a sleeved tunic, trousers, and a cloak-like garment (which seems not to cover the chest). There is no obvious armour. His horse has a tied tail and neat mane; there is a saddle cloth with trailing merlons. The Greek wears a crested pilos but is otherwise

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CHRISTOPHER TUPLIN

naked. A halyard crosses his body from right shoulder to left waist with a dagger (?) attached to it, and he carries a shield and spear. There is a solid ground-line. The Greek gure is upright, indeed stepping forward, his left foot on a low rock placed on the solid ground-line. This is an image of rm resistance, which seems to be having some effect upon his attacker’s horse.

59. Paris: Musée du Louvre Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Scaraboid. None stated. Fourth century BCE (Furtwängler). Greek style (Boardman). Furtwängler 1900, 1, pls.XII/18; 2: 59 (18); 3: 121; Maximova 1928, g.10; Boardman 1970: 450 (49).

Description – A horseman rides right against an infantryman. The horseman wears a bashlyk (at-top prole) and a belted garment. There is a hint of stippling on his torso, and the tip of a gorytus may be just visible above the horse’s back. Other features are obscure, though the animal is perhaps looking out of the scene at the viewer. The rider holds his right arm out horizontally, but no weapon is discernible (Furtwängler assumed he was ring a bow, but none is visible, and it hardly makes sense of the right arm being extended). The adversary has a circular shield and has raised his right arm, with elbow bent as though to deploy a (not visible) weapon. There is a long straight feature rising at an angle from the ground-line between the horse and the Greek soldier (see below). The infantryman is on the back foot, but so is the horseman’s mount, which might be regarded as shying rather than rearing. Other comments – Furtwängler took it that the Greek was eeing and had abandoned his spear (“die Lanze fahrend lassen”), i.e., the straight feature stuck in the ground. He is not eeing, the posture is rather one of – perhaps relatively hopeless – resistance (compare the Greek on n° 61, in an even less propitious situation, or the Persians on Raeck 1981 557, 562, 577). On the other hand, perhaps he has set down his spear to use a sword instead. Another possibility is that the spear is one thrown earlier by the horseman. The posture of the latter’s arm (unusual for this repertoire) could represent the moment just after the release of a missile and, although the angle of the putative spear (leaning away from the horseman) is not what one immediately expects, it is not necessarily inconsistent: a thrown spear might topple forwards a little after sticking in the ground. On the last view the horseman is in effect seen some time before he was as closely adjacent to the Greek as he appears on the seal, making their conjoint depiction unusually symbolic if not incoherent (it is also a question whether the horse’s stance is consistent). In any event and more important, the putative spear does seem rather long for an equestrian javelin.

SIGILLOGRAPHY AND SOLDIERS

435

60. Rome: Villa Giulia (Boardman 1970 117; g.50) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Scaraboid. Bolsena (Etruscan tomb). See comments on n° 44. Mixed style: Bolsena group (Boardman). Bloch 1953: 48; idem 1955: 68-70, pl.III.4; Boardman 1970: 451 (117), pl.881; Head 1992, g.24a.

Description – A horseman coming from left attacks a Greek infantryman. He has a spear (plain end), fairly close-tting at-top prole headgear, creased sleeves, a cuirass with neck-guard and pteryges. The spear is just short of the adversary’s face. His adversary is naked apart from a pilos and carries a shield, which has afforded no protection. The attacker’s male horse is rearing (and might even be said to be shying), its tail is tied, and it has a neat mane. There is a saddle cloth, with a broad strap attaching it round the animal’s chest. There may be a decorative feature on the front of the chest. The ground is indicated by ve at oval features in two different alignments. The Greek is on the back foot but standing his ground.

61. London: W.F. Cook Collection 174 Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Scaraboid (cornelian). None stated. End of the fth century BCE (Smith and Hutton). Greek style (Boardman); “very delicate Ionian-Greek work” (Smith and Hutton). Smith & Hutton 1908: 41 (174), pl.7; Boardman 1970: 450 (71).

Description – A horseman rides right against an infantryman. Smith and Hutton speak of the horseman being in “full Persian costume” and compare him with a (non-equestrian) Persian gure on Smith & Hutton 58 (pl.3), but the illustrations are too small and indistinct to permit independent comment. The infantryman, who carries a shield and is not naked (Smith and Hutton detect crestless helmet, cuirass and short chiton), has fallen backwards on his left knee and raised his right arm (bent at the elbow next to his head) as though to wield a sword. Smith and Hutton think the Greek raises arm simply to ward off a blow – and certainly no sword is plainly visible – but the back-over-the-head posture is not quite appropriate to that (compare n° 59 and vase-paintings cited there). The horseman seems to be spearing downwards at his adversary, though the spear is rather perfunctorily shown and does not extend below the rider’s waist. The horse lacks a rounded prole, and other features cannot be seen clearly on the tiny published image (Smith and Hutton claim a saddle cloth). There is a double ground-line.

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CHRISTOPHER TUPLIN

Adversaries of debatable identity (n° 62)

62. London: British Museum GR 1911.4-15.1 (g.51) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Scaraboid (cornelian). Reportedly from Iraq (Baghdad). later fourth century BCE (Boardman); early Hellenistic (Bernard). Greek style (Boardman, Bernard). Walters 1926 (435); Boardman 1970: 311, 450 (72), pl.864, colour pl.3; Pfrommer 1998, pl.15.2; Bernard 2000: 1403f., g. 23; Curtis & Tallis 2005: 225 (407).

Description – A mounted warrior (square-prole bashlyk, ying cloak, creased body garments, akinaks at waist) with plain-end spear comes from the left against a eeing two-wheeled chariot which he has partially overtaken. His rearing horse has a saddle cloth with trailing merlons and tied tail (mane decoration unclear). There may be a leg-guard and even chest protection (cf. §4.5.2). The horse does not have a pronouncedly rounded prole, but there is a contrast with the concave proles of the chariot horses. The charioteers, looking back towards the attacker, have rounded helmets or (more likely) soft caps and long-sleeved tunics with creased arms. The one in front carries a small recurved bow; the top of his hat has slight bobble. The other’s headgear seems to have a L-shaped feature on top (clearest in Pfrommer’s photograph). He seems to have seized the shaft of the spear that is about to hit him or may already have done so (the point is hidden by the adversary’s arm). They are clearly non-Greek (cf. Bernard 2000: 1403), but use of a chariot rather deters one from calling them Scythian. The chariot has an eight-spoke wheel and is supercially of Persian type, but the “front of box … open at top with double fenestration … possibly owes more to East Greek styles of vehicle” (Curtis and Tallis). The chariot wheels and horses’ rear legs are on a rm ground-line. Other comments – Pfrommer (1998: 173) says that civil war is depicted on n° 62 and also on the Miho pectoral, without explaining what he exactly he means by civil war. Wu (2005: 84) detects a combination of Central Asian cut-away coat and Persian cuirasses on the Miho image and infers that pro-Persian Central Asians are ghting other (anti-Persian) Central Asians.148 But that still need not amount to civil war in any useful sense of the term. As for n° 62, Pfrommer may have gured that adversaries with chariots were too high status to be mere foreign enemies. But 148

The Miho infantryman (who has a simple cuirass) does seem to have a cut-away thing underneath. I am less clear about what is intended in the case of the cavalryman, but the infantryman may be enough to make the point. Wu’s claim (2005: 66, 84) that something similar appears on n° 2 depends on a reading of the victor’s garments that seems to me to be uncertain. Nor should one think of assimilating n° 11, where the victor should be seen as Median or Persian, not, e.g., as some sort of Scytho-Median cross.

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437

they do not look entirely like Persians either. A less bad candidate for civil war (given the visual similarity between adversaries) might be n° 63.

D.

Adversary of unknown identity (n° 63)

63. DS 72 (g.52) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Stamp (scaraboid; one impression). Dascylium. 479-375 BCE (Kaptan’s termini for all Dascylium bullae). Persianising: Group 21, Fox (Kaptan). Kaptan 2002, 1: 145; 2: 97f., pls.223-24.

Description – A horseman moves in ying gallop to left over a dead body on the ground. The horseman wears a rather showy cloak that billows in the wind (a similar cloak appears on DS 73 in a scene which may or may not be the remnants of a combat scene). The rest of the horseman’s clothing is undetectable, and there is no guarantee that it was Persian in character; it is possible that he has legprotectors. The horse’s tail is plaited. The leftmost part of the image is lost, and the nature of the adversary is therefore necessarily unknown. The dead body guarantees that this is a combat scene.

E.

Equestrian items of uncertain status (n° 64-65)

64. PFUTS 0251 (g.53) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder seal (impression). Persepolis. Presumably used in or before 494 BCE. Persepolitan Modelled Style. Unpublished: information from M.B. Garrison.

Description – A standing archer in indeterminate clothing res from left at a horseback archer who turns round to re as his horse moves to the right – a unique scene (Garrison). The standing gure is using a simple bow, the rider a recurved one. The rider is perhaps wearing a garment that hangs loose from his shoulders. Both gures are indistinct, but there is no specic cause to identify either as Scythian and probably no cause to regard them as of markedly distinct type one from another. The type in question is compatible with the description ‘Persian.’ Interpretation of the archer as the victor gure entails taking the horseman to be eeing. But his horse is not in particularly rapid motion, and one might wonder whether the ‘Parthian shot’ is a deliberate tactic, not an act of desperation. In that

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case neither gure is plainly the victor, but the horseman, as the larger (and higher) gure in the scene, might be regarded as dominant. Given the absence of differential clothing detail, we can in any event regard any victory here as a Persian one.

65. Beirut: Chiha Collection 196 (g.54) Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Cylinder (white agate). Acquired in Lebanon. No specic comment known to me. No specic comment known to me. Doumet 1992: 93 (196).

Description – A kneeling (non-crowned) archer is about to re right towards a cavalryman who is charging at him (extended gallop) from the right, brandishing a spear horizontally above his head. In the background is a six-pointed star and another symbol (two oval shapes intersecting at a near 180° angle), perhaps intended as a crescent. The horse (which does not have a rounded prole) has a braided tail and something attached around its neck that looks decorative rather than militarily functional. The depiction is sketchy, though there may be some distinction in headgear between the two gures. Doumet compares the archer with Marcopoli 288, but although the posture is similar, the sketchiness of the Chiha item makes the comparison otherwise fairly unilluminating. There is nothing specically to suggest that we are dealing with Central Asians, and perhaps not much that is distinctively Persian. That goes for the horse’s features as well: the horse-tail ‘braiding’ consists of three slightly rounded features at the tip and immediately above it which do not conform with the depiction of tail-ties in other images. Two at oval features on the side of the horse’s neck are perhaps the attachment for a four-nger-shaped feature in the space below the head and in front of the neck. This can hardly be interpreted as a piece of armour. It is hard to say which of the gures, if either, is meant to be the victor. The fact that the archer is proportionately larger may or may not be signicant. Other comments – I was initially inclined to see the horseman’s weapon as a sword. But the fact that it is held at one end does not rule out a spear (cf. n° 48-49, 58), and the general posture is more in favour of that interpretation.

SIGILLOGRAPHY AND SOLDIERS

ADDENDA

439

(n° 33bis, 51bis)

The prediction that the Catalogue as laid out above is incomplete proves to be true. I note here two items already available in the literature for some time which only came to my attention belatedly. It has not been possible to incorporate them into the analytical discussion. They add no entirely new elements to the iconography, but neither of them is exactly similar to any other individual item.

33bis. Warsaw: National Museum 148377 MNW Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Scaraboid. None stated. Fifth century BCE. Graeco-Persian. Reiche 2011: 325, 327 g.18.

Description – A Persian foot soldier strides to the left, stretching out one hand to seize the front of his adversary’s helmet and raising the other to strike. One expects him to wield a spear and there is a line in the expected position, but it seems oddly faint. He wears a belted chiton (pronounced horizontal folds) over tunic (creased sleeves) and trousers. His bashlyk is close-tting, with an almost helmet-like aspect. The adversary (naked but wearing a crested helmet) falls back, one leg stretched out, the other bent under itself, so that he sits on his heel. One arm reaches out to touch the Persian’s arm, the other is carrying a sketchily represented shield. No weapon is apparent. Other comments – The posture of Greek recalls the Greeks on n° 30 (but he is not as frontally presented as that one), n° 33 (but he has not collapsed so completely: this is not an image of abject defeat), and the Central Asian on n° 6. A similar disposition of legs appears in the Greek victim of an equestrian attack on the Munich item described immediately below. The posture of the Persian resembles the left hand gure on no 39, although his clothing is different.

61bis. Munich: Staatliche Münzsammlung (Beckenbauer Collection) 2000/404 Type Provenance Date Stylistic categorization Bibliography

Milky blue chalcedony scarab. Reportedly Trysa (Lycia). 420-400 BCE. Greek style. Knauss & Franke 2001.

Description – A Persian horseman (rounded bashlyk with long lappet; belted chiton over trousers) on a rearing horse attacks a naked Greek warrior who has fallen

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backwards on to his shield under the horse’s forelegs. The top of a gorytus is visible on the far side of the Persian’s horse, which has a knotted mane and a tied tail, but no trace of a rounded facial prole; there is no saddle cloth. The attacker is wielding a spear, though the weapon passes behind his body and is barely visible. The Greek’s helmet has come off (presumably because of the shock of the attack) and oats in the eld above his head. He has also dropped his sword, which lies between his legs. Other comments – The general effect is a cross between n° 53 and 61, but this Greek, who turns his head away from his attacker, is more totally defeated than either of them. Knauss and Frank speculate that the sealstone belonged to a Lycian ruler.

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SIGILLOGRAPHY AND SOLDIERS

g.1: n° 1, Bodleian Library, seal of Aršma (composite seal drawing M.B. Garrison)

g.2 (left): n° 2, PTS 29 (after Schmidt 1956, pl. 9)

g.3 (right): n° 3, PFUTS 0273 (composite seal drawing M.B. Garrison)

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g.4: n° 4, Louvre AO 29963 (after Henkelman et al. 2004, g.33)

g.5: n° 5, AYBCM 2003.91.109 (image Aylesbury County Museum)

g.6: n° 6, Bibliothèque Nationale, Sceau Chandon, Y 23455b (image Achemenet.com)

SIGILLOGRAPHY AND SOLDIERS

g.7: n° 7, British Museum ANE 132505 (image British Museum)

g.8: n° 8, Bregstein 189 (after Balzer 2007 A3b.1)

g.9: n° 11, olim Foroughi Collection (after Porada 1979, g.45)

443

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CHRISTOPHER TUPLIN

g.10: n° 12, PFS 2454 (composite line drawing M.B. Garrison)

g.11: n° 13, ANE 129569 (image British Museum)

g.12: n° 14, Pierpont Morgan Library 830 (after Porada 1948, pl.125 830e)

g.13: n° 15, ANE 124015 = OT 114 (image British Museum)

SIGILLOGRAPHY AND SOLDIERS

445 g.14: n° 16, Newell Collection 453 (after von der Osten 1934, pl.31)

g.16 (below): n° 18, Hermitage 19499 (after Boardman 2000, pl.5.6)

g.15: n° 17, Bibliothèque Nationale 403 (after Collon 1987 744)

g.17: n° 20.1, PTS 28 (image Oriental Institute, Chicago)

g.18: n° 21.1, Boston Museum of Fine Arts 1989.159 (image Boston Museum of Fine Arts)

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CHRISTOPHER TUPLIN

g.19: n° 23, Pierpont Morgan Library 833 (after Porada 1948, pl.125)

g.21: n° 25, Bregstein 187 (after Balzer 2007 A1a.3)

g.23: n° 27, Bregstein 190 (after Balzer 2007 A1a.2)

g.20: n° 24, Bregstein 186 (after Balzer 2007 A1a.4)

g.22: n° 26, ANE 89333 (image British Museum)

g.24: n° 28, olim Arndt A 1410 (after Boardman 1970, pl.849)

SIGILLOGRAPHY AND SOLDIERS

g.25: n° 29, DS 64 (after Kaptan 2002, 2, pl.196)

447

g.26: n° 30, Bibliothèque Nationale, Seyrig 1972.1343.5 (after Boardman 2000, pl.5.7)

g.27: n° 31, Hermitage ABC XVI.3 (after Zazoff 1983, g.48c)

g.29: n° 33, Metropolitan Museum of Art, Moore Collection 102 (after Pope 1938/39, 8, pl.124D)

g.28: n° 32, Bregstein 184 (after Balzer 2007 A2a.1)

g.30: n° 34, DS 63 (after Kaptan 2002, 2, pl.194)

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CHRISTOPHER TUPLIN

g.32: n° 38, Bregstein 185 (after Balzer 2007 A1a.1) g.31: n° 35, Historisches Museum Basel (after Boardman 1976, g. 7)

g.33: n° 39, Seyitömer Höyük Seal 3 (after Kaptan 2010, g.33.6)

g.34: n° 40, PTS 30 (image Oriental Institute, Chicago)

SIGILLOGRAPHY AND SOLDIERS

449 g.35: n° 41, PTS 31 (image Oriental Institute, Chicago)

g.36: n° 42, DS 91 (after Kaptan 2002, 2, pl.273)

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CHRISTOPHER TUPLIN

g.37: n° 43, Hermitage 375 (after Boardman 1970, pl.882)

g.38: n° 44, private collection (after Francfort 1975, g.1)

g.39: n° 45, private collection (after Boardman 1970, pl.883)

g.40: n° 46, DS 65 (after Kaptan 2002, 2, pl.198)

g.41: n° 47, Ashmolean Museum 1992.1596 (after Boardman 1970, pl.974)

g.42: n° 48, DS 86 (after Kaptan 2002, 2, pl.260)

SIGILLOGRAPHY AND SOLDIERS

g.43: n° 49, Grassi Museum 1952.55/531S (image Grassi Museum)

g.45: n° 51, Pierpont Morgan Library 834 (after Porada 1948, pl.125)

g.47: n° 53, MMA 41.160.653 (image Metropolitan Museum of Art)

451

g.44: n° 50, Bibliothèque Nationale Seyrig 1973.1.502 (after Boardman 1970, pl.291)

g.46: n° 52, Walters Art Gallery 130 (after Boardman 1970, pl.310)

g.48: n° 55, J.P. Getty Museum 122 (after Spier 1992: 62)

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CHRISTOPHER TUPLIN

g.49: n° 58, Rosen Collection (after Boardman 2007, pl.1062)

g.50: n° 60, Villa Giulia (after Boardman 1970, pl.881)

g.51: n° 62, British Museum GR 1911.4-4-5.1 (after Boardman 1970, colour pl.3)

g.52: n° 63, DS 72 (after Kaptan 2002, 2, pl.224)

g.53: n° 64, PFUTS 0251 (composite seal image M.B. Garrison)

g.54: n° 65, Chiha Collection 196 (after Doumet 1992: 93, item 195)

SIGILLOGRAPHY AND SOLDIERS

453

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LECOQ, P. 1997, Les inscriptions de la Perse achéménide, Paris. LEFEBVRE DES NOËTTES, R.J.E.C. 1931, L’Attelage, le cheval de selle à travers les ages: Contribution à l’histoire de l'esclavage, 2 vols., Paris. LEGRAIN, L. 1925, The culture of the Babylonians from their seals in the collections of the museum (PBS 14), Philadelphia. –––– 1951, Seal cylinders (UE 10), London. LLEWELLYN-JONES, L. 2012, The Great Kings of the fourth century and the Greek memory of the Persian past, in: J. Marincola, L. Llewellyn-Jones & C. Maciver (eds.), Greek notions of the past in the Archaic and Classical eras, Edinburgh: 317-46. MACGINNIS, J. 1998, BM 64707 and rikis qabli in the Ebabbara, WZKM 88: 177-83. –––– 2012, The arrows of the sun: Armed forces in Sippar in the rst millennium BC (Babylonische Archive 4), Dresden. MAXIMOVA, M.E. 1928, Griechisch-persische Kleinkunst, AA 1928: 648-77. MELLINK, M. 1972, Excavations at Karata-Semayük and Elmal, Lycia, 1971, AJA 76: 25679. MERRILLEES, P. 2005, Catalogue of the Western Asiatic seals in the British Museum: cylinder seals, vol. 6: Pre-Achaemenid and Achaemenid periods, London. MESHORER, Y. & QEDAR, S. 1999, Samarian coinage, Jerusalem. MILDENBERG, L. 1993, Über das Münzwesen im Reich der Achämeniden, AMI 26: 55-79. MILLER, M.C. 2003, Art, myth and reality: Xenophantos’ lecythos re-examined, in: E. Csapo & M.C. Miller (eds.), Poetry, theory, praxis: The social life of myth, word and image in ancient Greece, Oxford: 19-47. MINNS, E.H. 1913, Scythia and the Greeks: A survey of ancient history and archaeology on the north coast of the Euxine from the Danube to the Caucasus, Cambridge. MITCHELL, C. 2017, Berlin Papyrus P.13447 and the library of the Yehudite colony at Elephantine, JNES 76: 139-47. MITCHELL, T.C. & SEARIGHT, A. 2007, Catalogue of Western Asiatic seals in the British Museum: Stamp seals, vol. 3: Impressions of stamp seals on cuneiform tablets, clay bullae, and jar handles, Leiden. MOOREY, P.R.S. 1978, The iconography of an Achaemenid stamp-seal acquired in Lebanon, Iran 16: 143-54. MOORTGAT, A. 1966, Vorderasiatische Rollsiegel: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Steinschneidekunst, Berlin. NAGEL, W. 1963, Datierte Glyptik aus alte Vorderasien, AfO 20: 125-40. NOLLÉ, M. 1992, Denkmäler vom Satrapensitz Daskyleion: Studien zur graeco-persischen Kunst, Berlin. PFROMMER, M. 1998, Chronologie und Komposition des Alexandermosaiks auf antiquarischer Grundlage, Mainz. POLAT, G. 2001, Das Grabdenkmal des Autophradates, in: Bakr et al. (eds.) 2001: 123-33. POMEROY, S.B. 1984: The Persian king and the queen bee, AJAH 9: 98-108. PONCY, H., CASABONNE, O., DE VOS, J., EGETMEYER, M., LEBRUN, R. & LEMAIRE, A. 2001, Sceaux du musée d’Adana: Groupe du ‘Joueur de lyre’ (VIIIe siècle av. J.-C) – Sceaux en verre et cachets anépigraphes d’époque achéménide – Scaraboïdes inscrits – Scarabées et sceaux égyptisants, AnAnt 9: 9-37.

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POPE, A.U. 1938/39, A survey of Persian art: From prehistoric times to the present, 6 vols., Oxford. PORADA, E. 1948, Corpus of Near Eastern seals in North American collections, vol. 1: The collection of the Pierpont Morgan Library, 2 vols., New York. –––– 1979, Achaemenid art monumental and miniature, in: R. Ettinghausen & E. Yarshater (eds.), Highlights of Persian art, Boulder: 57-94. PORTEN, B. & YARDENI, A. 1986, Textbook of Aramaic documents from ancient Egypt, vol. 1: Letters, Jerusalem. POTTS, D.T. 2012, A ‘Scythian’ pick from Vaske (Gilan) and the identity of the XVIIth delegation at Persepolis, in: H.D. Baker, K. Kaniuth & A. Otto (eds.), Stories of long ago: Festschrift für Michael D. Roaf (AOAT 397), Münster: 459-70. RAECK, W. 1981, Zum Barbarenbild in der Kunst Athens im 6. und 5. Jahrhundert v. Christ, Bonn. RAHIMIFAR, M. 2005, Mo‘are-ye barkh az bar asbh-ye gel -ye Takht-e amš d, Bstn Šens 1: 72-76, 10 [with English summary]. READE, J.E. 1976, Elam and Elamites in Assyrian sculpture, AMI 9: 97-105. REHM, E. 2011, Von triumphierenden Persern und fallenden Griechen: Ein Satrapensiegel aus West-Kleinasien, Boreas 34: 103-12. REICHE, A. 2011, Die altorientalischen Denkmäler in den Museen in Polen: Geschichte und Bestand, in: E. Cancik-Kirschbaum, M. van Ess & J. Marzahn (eds.), Babylon. Wissenskultur in Orient und Okzident, Berlin: 317-46. REINACH, S. 1892, Antiquités du Bosphore cimmérien, réédités avec un commentaire nouveau et un index général des comptes rendus, Paris. RICHTER, G.M.A. 1949, The late ‘Achaemenian’ or ‘Graeco-Persian’ gems, Hesperia Suppl. 8: 291-98. –––– 1956, Catalogue of engraved gems: Greek, Etruscan, Roman, Roma. ROAF, M.D. 1974, The subject peoples on the base of the statue of Darius, CDAFI 4: 73-160. ROOT, M.C. 1979, The king and kingship in Achaemenid art: Essays on the creation of an iconography of empire (AI 19), Leiden. –––– 2013, Dening the divine in Achaemenid Persian kingship: The view from Bisitun, in: L. Mitchell & C. Melville (eds.), Every inch a king: Comparative studies on kings and kingship in the ancient and medieval worlds, Leiden: 23-66. ROSCALLA, F. 1998, Presenze simboliche dell’ape nella Grecia antica, Florence. RUNDGREN, F. 1957, Iranische Lehnwörter im Lateinischen und Griechischen, OrSu 6: 3165. SACHS, A.J. & HUNGER, H. 1988, Astronomical Diaries and related texts from Babylonia, vol. 1: Diaries from 652 BC to 262 BC (DÖAW 195), Wien. SCHMIDT, E.F. 1953, Persepolis, vol. 1: Structures, reliefs, inscriptions (OIP 68), Chicago. –––– 1956, Persepolis, vol. 2: The contents of the Treasury and other discoveries (OIP 69), Chicago. SCHMITT, R. 1981, Altpersische Siegel-Inschriften (Veröffentlichungen der Iranischen Kommission 10 = SBÖAW 381), Wien. –––– 2000, The Old Persian inscriptions of Naqsh-i Rustam and Persepolis (CII 1.1.2), London. SEIDL, U. 1999a, Ein Monument Darius’ I. aus Babylon, ZA 89: 101-14.

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–––– 1999b, Ein Triumphstele Darius’ I. aus Babylon, in: J. Renger (ed.), Babylon: Focus mesopotamischer Geschichte, Wiege früher Gelehrsamkeit, Mythos in der Moderne, Saarbrücken: 297-306. SEKUNDA, N. 1992, The Persian army, 560-330 BC, London. SEVINÇ, N. et al. 2001, A new painted Graeco-Persian sarcophagus from Çan, Studia Troica 11: 383-420. SEYRIG, H. 1952, Cachets achéménides, in: G.C. Miles (ed.), Archaeologica orientalia in memoriam Ernst Herzfeld, Locust Valley: 195-202. SMITH, C.H. & HUTTON, C.A. 1908, Catalogue of the antiquities (Greek, Etruscan, and Roman) in the collection of the late Wyndham Francis Cook, Esquire, London. SPELEERS, L. 1917, Catalogue des intailles et empreintes orientales du Musées Royaux du Cinquantenaire, Bruxelles. SPIER, J. 1992, Ancient gems and nger rings: Catalogue of the collection, Malibu. STARR, C.G. 1977, Greeks and Persians in the fourth century: A study in cultural contacts before Alexander, part 2: The meeting of cultures, IrAnt 12: 49-115. STOLPER, M.W. 2001, Fifth century Nippur: Texts of the Murašûs and their surroundings, JCS 53: 83-132. –––– 2010, Persepolis Fortication Archive project, in: G.J. Stein (ed.), The Oriental Institute 2009-2010 Annual Report, Chicago: 83-91. SUMMERER, L. 2007, Picturing Persian victory: The painted battle scene on the Munich wood, in: A.I. Ivantchik & V. Licheli (eds.), Achaemenid culture and local traditions in Anatolia, southern Caucasus and Iran: New discoveries = ACSS 13.1-2, Leiden: 3-30. –––– 2009, Imaging a tomb chamber: The iconographic programme of the Tatarl wall paintings, in: S.M.R. Darbandi & A. Zournatzi (eds), Ancient Greece and ancient Iran: Cross-cultural encounters, Athens: 265-300. –––– 2010, Wall paintings, in: L. Summerer & A. von Kienlin (eds.), Tatarl: Renklerin Dönü ü, Istanbul: 120-85. SZEMERENYI, O. 1974, The origins of the Greek lexicon: Ex oriente lux, JHS 94: 144-57. TADJVIDI, A. 1970, Persepolis, Iran 8: 186-87. –––– 1976 [1355 AP], D nestanh -ye novn darb re-ye honar va b st nšen si-ye ar-e hakh maneš bar bony d-e k vošh -ye pan s le-ye Takht-e amšd, Tehran. TAVERNIER, J. 1999, The origin of DB Aram., NABU 1999/86. –––– 2007, Iranica in the Achaemenid period (ca. 550-330 BC): Lexicon of Old Iranian proper names and loanwords attested in non-Iranian texts (OLA 158), Leuven. TEISSIER, B. 1984, Ancient Near Eastern cylinders from the Marcopoli Collection, Berkeley. TUPLIN, C.J. 2010a, Dareios’ Scythian expedition revisited, in: J. Nieling & E. Rehm (eds.), The Achaemenid impact in the Black Sea: Communication of powers (Black Sea Studies 11), Aarhus: 281-312. –––– 2010b, All the King’s horse: In search of Achaemenid Persian cavalry, in: M. Trundle & G.G. Fagan (eds.), New perspectives on ancient warfare, Leiden: 100-82. ––— 2017, War and peace in Achaemenid imperial ideology, in: F. Muccioli et al. (eds.), Looking East: Iranian history and culture under western eyes (Electrum 24), Cracow: 31-54.

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OSTEN, H.H. 1934, Ancient Oriental seals in the collection of Mr Edward T. Newell (OIP 22), Chicago. VON GALL, H. 1972, Persische und medische Stämme, AMI 5: 261-83. VON GRAEVE, V. 1970, Der Alexandersarkophag und seine Werkstatt (IstF 28), Berlin. WALSER, G. 1966, Die Völkerschaften auf den Reliefs von Persepolis: Historische Studien über den sogenannten Tributzug an der Apadanatreppe (TehF 2), Berlin. WALTERS, H.B. 1926, Catalogue of engraved gems and cameos, Greek, Etruscan and Roman in the British Museum, London. WARD, W.H. 1886, Two seals with Phoenician inscriptions, AJA 2: 55-56. –––– 1910, The seal cylinders of Western Asia, Washington. WEBER, O. 1920, Altorientalische Siegelbilder, 2 vols., Leipzig. WIDENGREN, G. 1956, Recherches sur la féodalisme iranienne, OrSu 5: 79-182. WINTER, I. 2000, Le palais imaginaire: Scale and meaning in the iconography of NeoAssyrian seals, in: C. Uehlinger (ed.), Images as media: Sources for the cultural history of the Near East and the eastern Mediterranean (1st millennium BCE) (OBO 175), Fribourg: 51-88. WISEMAN, D.J. 1959, Cylinder seals of Western Asia, London. WRIGHT, N.L. 2011, Who’s killing whom on the coinage of Patraos of Paionia?, JNAA 22: 19-49 –––– 2012, The horseman and the warrior: Paionia and Macedonia in the fourth century BC, NC 172: 1-26. WU, X. 2005, Central Asia in the context of the Achaemenid Persian empire (diss. University of Pennsylvania). –––– 2010, Enemies of empire: A historical reconstruction of political con
icts between Central Asians and the Persian empire, in: Curtis & Simpson (eds.): 545-63. –––– 2014, ‘O young man… make known of what kind you are’ – Warfare, history, and elite ideology of the Achaemenid Persian empire, IrAnt 49: 209-300. YASSINE, K. 1984, Tel el-Mazar, vol. 1: Cemetery A, Amman. ZAZOFF, P. 1983, Die antiken Gemmen, München. ZETTLER, R.L. 1979, On the chronological range of Neo-Babylonian and Achaemenid seals, JNES 38: 257-70. VON DER

A BRIEF NOTE ON THE CHILDREN OF THE EMPIRE Maria Brosius (Toronto)

1. Introduction Much of Margaret Cool Root’s exceptional scholarly work has been dedicated to the study of Achaemenid seals and seal impressions. It seems appropriate, therefore, to honour her in the following small contribution with a topic close to her heart. The subject matter of this brief study is children. They may not be the most obvious choice amidst the wealth of motifs preserved in glyptic from Persepolis and across the empire, yet we have a few examples which, in my view, merit our attention.

2. The Persepolis Fortication archive The texts of the Persepolis Fortication archive have contributed in a unique fashion to bring the sheer existence of children in the royal capital to our attention. Most likely differentiated by age to assign food amounts, boys and girls are recorded among the work groups in and around Persepolis in the ration payments for labourers. These children worked alongside adult male and female workers, their numbers regularly in proportion to the number of male and female workers, suggesting that entire families worked at a specic place.1 More surprising is the group of special rations for mothers, who receive such rations for having given birth. This is an intriguing custom, as is the fact that mothers who gave birth to a son receive twice the special ration amount in comparison to those who gave birth to a girl.2 The obvious interpretation would be to identify a preference for boys over girls, though the imbalance between the numbers of boys and girls as babies and as young workers is so minor that we cannot allege infanticide among new-born girls. An alternative suggestion would be to argue that mothers of new-born boys were thought to require more food and nutrition than mothers of girls. 1 2

For the labour forces including children see Hallock (1969), especially his category L. Hallock 1969, category N; Naster 1980: 19-27; Brosius 1996: 171-78.

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A further unusual aspect of these texts is that most mothers, who are part of the otherwise anonymous labour force recorded in the Persepolis texts, are identied as individuals, referred to by their personal names (Brosius 1996, table 10). This is the case for all mothers, regardless of the baby’s gender. They all receive a combined ration of liquid (wine or, less frequently, beer) and food (our, less often grain).

3. Royal children In comparison to the workers’ children, our knowledge about royal children is even rarer. Information about royal offspring reaches us at a stage when a son becomes the designated heir to the throne, when other adult royal brothers compete for the throne, or when royal daughters are being given by the king in marriage to a Persian noble. Beyond that Plato comments on the negative effect of the education of young royal sons in the female quarters of the palace, a practice that he thinks contributed to the weakness and effeminacy of Persian kings (Leg. III.695a). With the typical brevity of an economic text, a Babylonian document informs us about the existence of an otherwise unknown daughter of Xerxes, called Rataša, who must have been an infant when she was being cared for by a wet-nurse, Artim, in 486 BCE (Evetts 1892, Appendix 2; cf. Brosius 1996: 29). The document records Artim’s payment of 6 kur barley (1,080 l.). Besides her name, the text also reveals the ofcial form of address for the princess as mrat šarri, daughter of the king.

4. Glyptic evidence Archaeological evidence for children in the Achaemenid empire is more or less non-existent – a fact which makes their appearance on two Lydo-Persian seals most surprising. The motifs depicted on these stones do not seem to derive from a Greek artistic subject, but they are equally unusual in Near Eastern art. The best-known artefact featuring a child is a carnelian pendant from Cyprus (Boardman 2001, pl.891). On one side it depicts a man and woman, both wearing Persian clothing, standing facing one another; the other side shows a woman and little girl in Persian dress (g.1). The woman is seated on a stool or high cushion. In her left hand she holds a ower, in her right a small bird which she seems to show to the little girl. The girl, with braided pony tail, is reaching for the animal. Both glyptic images belong to the group of domestic scenes, as identied by Boardman. Without doubt they both reveal intimate family scenes, but the intriguing question here is where the child motif originates: notably the depiction of a little girl is quite exceptional. The value of the stone and its carefully crafted motifs allow us to assume that the pendant was most likely commissioned by a member of the Persian élite of western Asia Minor. As much as it appears to be a unique, in-

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dividual scene, it nonetheless seems to have been a ‘natural’ motif for the artist, if not for the owner who commissioned the stone to be carved, to depict such a private moment on a precious stone. A perhaps less elegantly executed stone, a doublesided chalcedony scaraboid, has a comparable scene depicting a child g.1: BM 1368493001, carnelian pendant from Cyprus (Boardman 2001, pl.964). (image courtesy Trustees of the British Museum) with On one side of the image is modern impression (left, after Boardman 2001, pl.89) a seated woman in Persian dress holding a large bird on her outstretched arm as if to show it to the child standing before her. Wearing trousers and tunic, the child is obviously a boy. Without comparable material it is difcult to interpret the scene. If a suggestion may be made, perhaps the scene captures the moment when a mother gives her son his rst bird of prey (which is not impossible to suggest, judging from the size of the bird). Perhaps it commemorates the moment when the boy had become old enough to hunt. This may not be as far-fetched as it appears: if it was the case, as Plato claims, that boys remained with their mothers until they were old enough to begin their training in riding, archery, and hunting (Plato, Leg. III.694d-695b), the gift of a bird of prey might signal the boy’s end of his childhood in the women’s quarters and the beginning of a new phase outside it. The other side of the chalcedony scaraboid depicts a seated woman in Persian dress playing a harp which is resting on her lap. In front of her stands a dog, identied by Boardman as a Maltese (2001, pl.964). The images of children on both seals reect private, domestic scenes, but, intriguingly, in both cases they are recipients of birds from the hand – presumably – of their mothers. As these are the only two images of this kind that have come down to us, any conclusions we can draw are limited. It is difcult to assess to what extent they were a ‘common’ artistic subject applied to seals produced in Western Asia, or even in the Achaemenid empire. We may conclude that, while they may not have been a common motif in the Persian or Persianising art produced at the local level by local craftsmen for a (possible Persian) élite, the fact that they were produced at all allows a glimpse into the social values of that élite and the effort and expense they expended to channel these values into artistic expression.

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g.2: BM 113886, blue chalcedony gem, provenance unknown (image courtesy Trustees of the British Museum) with line drawing (after Amiet 1966: 445)

If we look for an answer regarding the possible artistic background of such scenes, it might be worth reminding ourselves of the Elamite inuence on Persian and Achaemenid art. The motif of a seated gure holding a gift in his hand, with a second gure standing opposite, does occur in Elamite art (g.2).3 Before the seated gure stands a girl in a long-sleeved dress, wearing shoulder-length hair and a diadem. Her hands are raised towards the male gure. The scene is exceptional both for its image and its inscription, the latter of which explains the entire scene to us. It reads: “I, Šilhak-Inšušinak, Enlarger of the Empire, this piece of jasper from (the land of) Puralsiš, I offer. That, which I have made with care, I show it here and I give it to Bar-Uli, my beloved daughter.”4 However exceptional this seal may have been, it certainly attests to the presence of the motif of a seated gure with a child standing before him or her as the recipient of a gift in Elamite art. In addition to the scene on this particular seal, scenes of seated figures holding either a bird or children occur on Elamite reliefs. We therefore may surmise that this motif originates in Elamite art and found its way into the artistic corpus of Achaemenid artwork in the same way other elements of Elamite art are known to have done, as Margaret Cool Root has shown so conclusively.5 3

4

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For Elamite seals showing a seated figure with a bird, see, e.g., the seal impressions of the ‘Anšanite’ type in the Rosen collection (cf. Potts 1999: 153, n° 3, 8). BM 113886. For the seal and inscription see Amiet 1966: 445, n° 340. Bar-Uli is mentioned along with her other siblings in a building inscription from Susa (EKI 54; Potts 1999: 240). Cf. Malbran-Labat 1995: 174. The depiction of a royal daughter can be found on a rock relief at Šekaft-e Salmn. The relief depicts a Middle Elamite ruler, Hanni, and his queen, their child standing between them (see Amiet 1966: 553). See, e.g., Root’s (1979: 272-76) recognition of the hand-over-wrist gesture on the aforementioned Hanni relief, or on the bronze gure of Napir-Asu from Susa (Louvre Sb 2731), dated to the 14th century BCE.

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Bibliography AMIET, P. 1966, Elam, Auver-sur-Oise. BOARDMAN, J. 2001, Greek gems and nger rings, London. BROSIUS, M. 1996, Women in ancient Persia 559-331 BC, Oxford. EVETTS, B.T.A. 1892, Inscriptions of the reigns of Evil-Merodach (BC 562-559), Neriglissar (BC 559-555), and Laborosoarchod (BC 555) (Babylonische Texte 6b), Leipzig. HALLOCK, R.T. 1969, Persepolis Fortication tablets (OIP 92), Chicago. MALBRAN-LABAT, F. 1995, Les inscriptions royales de Suse, Paris. NASTER, P. 1980, Geboortepremies en tewerkstelling von jongeren te Persepolis (van Darius I tot Artaxerxes I), in: A. Theordorides, P. Naster & J. Ries (eds.), L’enfant dans les civilisations orientales, Leuven: 19-29. POTTS, D. 1999, The archaeology of Elam: Formation and transformation of an ancient Iranian state, Cambridge. ROOT, M.C. 1979, The king and kingship in Achaemenid art: Essays on creating an iconography of empire (AI 19), Leiden.

KUNST- UND KULTURHISTORISCHE ANMERKUNGEN ZUR SCHALE AUS ARN Bruno Jacobs (Basel) und Robert Rollinger (Innsbruck)

1. Fundkontext und Datierungsrahmen der Schale Das Grab von Ar n, das im Jahre 1982 entdeckt und anschließend ausgegraben wurde,1 stellt innerhalb der materialreicheren prae-achämenidenzeitlichen Fundplätze insofern einen erfreulichen Sonderfall dar, als – im Gegensatz etwa zu Z v yeh2 und der Kalmkarra-Höhle3 – sowohl die Dokumentation des Fundortes an sich als auch die Aufnahme des Grabinventars verlässlich sind. Der Fund ist eng verbunden mit der Person eines gewissen Kidin-Hutran, Sohnes des Kurluš, der in Inschriften auf vier der zum Grabinventar gehörigen Objekte genannt ist. Über Kidin-Hutran ist weiter nichts bekannt. Wohl aber begegnet der Name Kurluš, den sein Vater trägt, in neu-elamischer Zeit noch einige Male. So wird ein Kleiderlieferant dieses Namens auf Tontafeln aus Susa genannt, und ein gewisser Parsirra nennt sich auf einem Siegel vom selben Ort Sohn eines Kurluš. F. Vallat bezieht diese Dokumente sämtlich auf dieselbe Person.4 Ob es sich bei Kidin-Hutran um einen lokalen Potentaten handelt oder um ein nicht-fürstliches Mitglied der Elite, ist letztlich unklar,5 doch scheint angesichts der Bildthematik auf der hier zu behandelnden Schale ersteres wahrscheinlicher. Bei näherer Betrachtung erweist sich das Ensemble von Grabinventar und -beigaben als recht heterogen (vgl. auch Henkelman 2008: 31f.). Der große Bronzesarg gehört zu einer Gruppe von Behältnissen, für die J. Curtis eine Prove-

1

2 3 4 5

Towhidi & Khalilian 1983; sehe nun die umfassende Behandlung von Álvarez-Mon 2010. Muscarella 1977; idem 2000: 76-81, 364-77. Henkelman 2003: 214-27; vgl. Muhly 2004. Vallat 1984: 3-4; vgl. Potts 1999: 303, Fig.8.7.2. Henkelman 2008: 42f., nennt Kidin-Hutran „König“. Allerdings gibt der Grabherr in seinen Inschriften keinen Titel an; deshalb abwägend Potts 2010: 122, und ÁlvarezMon 2010: 272.

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nienz aus dem assyrischen Kerngebiet nahelegt.6 Auch der bronzene Tierkopfbecher verweist insofern in einen assyrischen Kontext, als vergleichbare Gefäße bevorzugt auf assyrischen Orthostatenreliefs der Zeit Sargons begegnen (ÁlvarezMon 2008: 139-42, Pl.6-7). Eine Gruppe weiterer Bronzebehältnisse wurde dagegen von E. Carter mit Gefäßen aus Grab 693 in Susa verglichen,7 was regionale Provenienz impliziert. Auch die als goldener „Ring“ bekannte Beigabe mit einer Inschrift des Kidin-Hutran steht typologisch in lokaler Tradition;8 sein Dekor aus zwei antithetisch dargestellten Adlergreifen ist deshalb bemerkenswert, weil er zwar ein in Elam verbreitetes Motiv aufgreift, zugleich aber bereits deutlich auf Achämenidisches vorausweist.9 In dem Bronzeständer, der wiederum eine Inschrift des Kidin-Hutran trägt, verbindet sich, wie D. Stronach treffend analysiert hat, dieselbe Tradition abermals mit assyrischen Elementen.10 Die stilistische Vielschichtigkeit des Befundes hat zu sehr unterschiedlichen Datierungen geführt (vgl. Álvarez-Mon 2010: 273), wobei die assyrischen Elemente bisweilen Frühdatierungen Vorschub leisteten. A. Alizadeh setzte die Schließung des Grabes in die 1. Hälfte des 8. Jh. v.Chr. (1985, bes. 67f.), E. Carter an das Ende desselben (1994: 73). Y. Majidzadeh votierte für eine Datierung in die Mitte des 7. Jh. v.Chr. (1992: 141f.). Schon früh schloss jedoch F. Vallat aus paläographischen Gründen auf einen zeitlichen Ansatz zwischen 646 und 525 v.Chr. für „Kidin-Hutran, Sohn des Kurluš“ (1984: 4). Ganz ans Ende dieser Zeitspanne, etwa in die Jahre zwischen 560 und 520 v.Chr., datierte M.B. Garrison das Grabinventar auf Grund seiner Nähe zu voll entwickelter achämenidischer Kunst (2002: 97 Anm. 67). D. Stronach empfahl für zwei der beschrifteten Objekte, den „Ring“ und den Bronzeständer, eine Datierung ins 2. Viertel des 6. Jh. v.Chr. (2003: 253). J. Álvarez-Mon wies darauf hin, dass die Inschriften des Kidin-Hutran durchaus nachträglich auf den entsprechenden Objekten angebracht worden sein könnten, also keineswegs eine einheitliche Datierung der signierten Stücke implizierten, und empfahl mit 630-550 v.Chr. einen etwas breiteren Datierungsrahmen (2010: 271273). In diese Zeitspanne müsste sich auch die große, heute im National Museum of Iran in Teheran aufbewahrte Bronzeschale einordnen lassen, die das Hauptstück 6

7 8

9

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Curtis in Curtis & Granger-Taylor 1983, bes. 93. Zu demselben Schluss kommt Álvarez-Mon 2010: 23-29, der einen Werkstattzusammenhang mit Stücken aus Nimrud, aber auch aus Ur und Zinçirli postuliert. Carter 1994: 72f.; Potts 1999: 303-306; Stronach 2003: 252-53. Ausführlich zu diesem Stück Álvarez-Mon 2011, mit Verweis auf Vergleichsstücke aus Susa und o Zanbl (2011: 305f., Fig.21-26). Stronach 2003: 253. Stronach ibid. äußert Sympathie für Alizadehs Auffassung, dass die älteren Belege für das Greifenmotiv nach Nord- oder Nordwestiran wiesen (Alizadeh 1985: 63-5). Stronach 2003: 253; idem 2005: 183f., Fig.4.

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Abb.1: Schale aus dem Grab von Arn, Umzeichnung R. Vatandust (nach Majidzadeh 1992, Abb.1)

unter den Beigaben bildet (Abb.1).11 J. Álvarez-Mon setzt sie ebenso wie den Ring und den Ständer um 600 v.Chr. an (2010: 277). D. Stronach ist der Ansicht, dass, wenn das Grabinventar insgesamt spätelamisch IIIb (605-539 v.Chr.) zu klassifizieren sei, innerhalb dieser Zeitspanne der „Ring“ zu den jüngsten, die Schale jedoch zu den ältesten Stücken gehören müsse (2003: 254). Beide votieren demnach für eine Datierung der Schale um die Wende vom 7. zum 6. Jh., gehen folglich davon aus, dass sie etwa ein halbes Jahrhundert vor der Schließung des Grabes geschaffen worden sei.

11

Sarraf 1990; Majidzadeh 1992; Stronach 2004; Álvarez-Mon 2004.

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2. Anmerkungen zu Komposition und Inhalt der Friese Bei der Schale handelt es sich um ein Gefäß mit einem Durchmesser von 43,5 cm und einer Tiefe von 8,5 cm, das auf seiner Innenseite mit fünf konzentrischen Bildfriesen verziert ist, die durch Flechtbandmuster voneinander getrennt sind.12 Im Zentrum des Gefäßbodens befindet sich eine Rosette. J. Álvarez-Mon hat die Darstellung als eine imago mundi interpretiert.13 In diesem Bild der Welt sei im äußeren Fries die Fremde in Gestalt eines abweisenden Gebirgslandes dargestellt, im Folgenden die Umgebung der Stadt und in den nächsten beiden Friesen der Bereich im Innern von Stadt und Palast. Der Rapport von Löwen und Stieren im innersten Fries könnte, wie Álvarez-Mon vorsichtig vorschlägt, entweder auf den ewigen Kreislauf der Jahre zu beziehen sein oder pointiert die Tagundnachtgleiche als wichtiges Datum innerhalb dieses Kreislaufs bezeichnen; und mit der Rosette im Zentrum sei schließlich die Welt der Götter erfasst.14 Zumindest für den transzendenten Teil dieses mutmaßlichen Bildprogramms bleibt die Grundlage allerdings recht spekulativ, zumal die zentrale Rosette ein überaus geläufiges Motiv vergleichbarer Schalen ist, deren Dekoration aber meist keinen Anlass zu derart komplexen Deutungen gibt.15 Zudem suggeriert diese Interpretation eine Einheitlichkeit des Konzepts, welcher der Eindruck thematischer Inkohärenz in manchen Friesen widerspricht. Insbesondere ein die beiden äußeren Friese jeweils einen der inhaltlicher Konnex ist nämlich nicht ohne weiteres auszumachen. Der 1. Fries wurde von J. Álvarez-Mon so gedeutet, dass am Rande der Welt, symbolisiert durch Gebirge, eine Jagd heroischer Dimension mit anschließendem Dank an die Götter in Form eines Festes stattfinde (2004: 212-16). Nun scheinen, wie bereits Y. Majidzadeh beobachtet hat, die schon durch ihre stattliche Körpergröße auffälligen männlichen Gestalten im 1. Fries Tiere zu tragen, die noch lebendig sind, darunter sogar eine Löwin.16 Dies aber wäre – wenn nicht schon die übermenschliche Kraft der Träger Grund genug ist – ein Anlass, das Geschehen in einer mythischen Sphäre zu verorten. Und dafür, dass in der gegenüberliegenden, durch die Gebirgsdarstellungen abgetrennten Szene den Göttern für eine erfolgreiche Jagd gedankt werde, gibt es keinen konkreten Hinweis. Dargestellt ist ein Fürst, der, vor seinem Zelt sitzend, an einem Gelage teilnimmt. Gleichwie man jedoch zur Frage der Deutung steht, wirkt

12

13 14 15

16

Die Nummerierung der Bildfriese folgt Majidzadehs Zählung (1992) von außen (1) nach innen (5). Álvarez-Mon 2004; idem 2010: 122-43. Álvarez-Mon 2004: 210-32, bes. 228f. Markoe 1985: Abb. S.240f., 248f., 260-2, 271f., 312-4, 320-2, etc.; vgl. dagegen Ignatiadou 2008. Majidzadeh 1992: 134; Álvarez-Mon 2004: 216.

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der Fries inhomogen; der assyrisch inspirierten Gelageszene steht die Reihe der weit ausschreitenden Tierträger gegenüber, für die Parallelen am ehesten im äußeren Fries einer phönizischen Schale aus Idalion zu finden sind.17 Der zwischen sie und einen Mann mit einem Equiden am Ende des Zuges eingeschobene Streitwagen wirkt wie ein Fremdkörper. In vergleichbarer Weise scheinen sich in derjenigen Hälfte des 2. Frieses, die sich zur Rechten der Festung entwickelt, Szenen aneinanderzureihen, zwischen denen ein inhaltlicher Bezug nur mühsam,18 eine kompositorische Abstimmung gar nicht auszumachen ist. Auch die gegenüberliegende Hälfte dieses Frieses bietet eine Addition inhaltlich kaum miteinander zu verbindender Szenen, nämlich eine, die wohl Fischfang an einem Gewässer darstellt, und eine weitere, die Leute bei der Dattelernte zeigt (Álvarez-Mon 2004: 219-21). Beide werden getrennt durch das symmetrische Bild zweier Männer, die einander bei ihrem jeweils linken Arm zu fassen scheinen, während sie mit ihrem rechten Arm den Fuß ihres angewinkelten rechten Beines berühren oder festhalten. Im Gegensatz dazu kennzeichnet die Friese 3 und 4 eine im Vergleich zu den beiden äußeren ungleich höhere Figurendichte und größere inhaltliche Kohärenz. Fries 3 zeigt eine Tributszene, Fries 4 ein Fest mit reichlichen Speisen, Musik und akrobatischen Vorführungen, beides in Anwesenheit eines Herrschers.

3. Anmerkungen zu kunsthistorischer Einordnung und Ikonographie Die kunsthistorische Einordnung des Stücks ist schwierig. A. Gunter hat kürzlich in einer grundlegenden Studie die zahlreichen Faktoren beschrieben, die das Aussehen von Objekten prägten, die während der neuassyrischen Epoche auf assyrischem Reichsgebiet entstanden. Innerhalb seiner ausgedehnten Grenzen fanden zahlreiche, vielfältig motivierte Bewegungen von Personen und Objekten statt, die letztlich die große Diversität im Erscheinungsbild des uns bekannten Materials bedingten (Gunter 2009: 124-77). Am Beispiel einer Schale aus Grab 37 der Nekropole von amahz M mah19 spielt Gunter exemplarisch die Möglichkeiten durch, die als Voraussetzungen für den Fund eines solchen Objektes in West-Iran in Betracht kommen: Theoretisch könne es sich um einen Import handeln oder um das Werk eines in die Region gewanderten oder deportierten Handwerkers, es könnte aber auch eine lokale Arbeit sein, die direkt oder indirekt durch phönikische

17 18 19

Schale in Paris, Louvre, AO 29134 (Markoe 1985: 107f., Cy2, Abb. S.244f.). Siehe wiederum den Deutungsversuch von Álvarez-Mon 2004: 218f. Teheran, NMI: Markoe 1985: 212f., Ir9 Abb. S.336f.; Haerinck & Overlaet 1998: 25, Fig.37, Pl.58-61; Gunter 2009, Fig.22.

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Vorlagen beeinflusst wurde, oder ein aus dem Westen importierter „Rohling“, der erst vor Ort verziert wurde.20 An Import denkt in Zusammenhang mit der Schale aus Arn offenbar Y. Majidzadeh, wenn er sie als „an excellent example of Phoenician art“ und als Werk eines Phöniziers, der mit assyrischen Traditionen in Berührung gekommen sei, einstuft.21 In der Tat rückt sein Dekorationsschema das Gefäß in die Nähe der bekannten kypro-phönikischen Schalen.22 Der dominierende Einfluss in den Darstellungen ist jedoch assyrisch, sei es in den Wagenszenen im 1. und 2. Fries, der Mahlszene im 1., den Tributbringern im 3. und den Musikern im 4. Fries (vgl. Majidzadeh 1992: 133-6). Die Raumaufteilung und die idyllische Atmosphäre der Marschlandschaft mit fliegenden Vögeln im 2. Fries erinnert dann wieder an phönikische Schalen. 23 Die Kopfbedeckungen vieler Dargestellter sind dagegen, so J. Álvarez-Mon, typisch elamisch, geben also einheimische Tracht wieder.24 Und das Nebeneinander einer Festung im 2. und einer Jurte im 1. Fries hat man unmittelbar auf die Fundregion des Gefäßes bezogen.25 Von W. Henkelman wurden Stadt und Zelt darüber hinaus explizit mit einer dimorphen, halb sesshaften, halb mobilen Pastoralismus betreibenden Gesellschaft in Verbindung gebracht (2008: 42f.). Gegenüber der Annahme eines antiken Nomadentums auf dem Iranischen Hochland hat sich jüngst allerdings D. Potts sehr reserviert gezeigt und sie als wissenschaftsgeschichtliche Rückprojektion zurückgewiesen (Potts 2011). Wie auch immer man dies bewertet, die Kombination von Festung und Yurte nimmt das Nebeneinander von dauerhafter Architektur und großen Zeltstädten, wie es sich in den achämenidischen Residenzen während der Anwesenheit der Herrscher beobachten ließ, gleichsam en miniature vorweg.26 Eine ähnliche Mittlerposition hat die Audienzszene im 3. Fries. Der Mann, der sich in gebeugter Haltung und mit zum Mund erhobener Hand dem Herrscher nähert, greift in gewisser Weise dem *hazahrapatiš der Schatzhausreliefs und der Laibungsreliefs in den Nordtüren des Hundertsäulensaals in Persepolis vor.27 M. Roaf hat seinerzeit ein solches Bindeglied zwischen assyrischen und achämeni20 21

22 23

24 25 26 27

Gunter 2009: 81. Majidzadeh 1992: 142. Eine ähnliche Einschätzung vertritt auch Álvarez-Mon 2004: 208-10. Majidzadeh 1992: 142; Stronach 2005: 185. Silberschale aus Kourion in New York, MMA 74.51.4552 (Markoe 1985: 179f., Cy11, Abb. S.262). Vgl. auch den untersten Fries der Silberschale aus Praeneste, Tomba Bernardini, in Rom, Villa Giulia, Inv.n° 61566 (Markoe 1985: 191f., E3, Abb. S.286f.). Álvarez-Mon 2004: 210f. und passim. Stronach 2004; idem 2005: 185-94. Briant 1988, bes. 267-9; Boucharlat 1997: 220-3; Jacobs [im Druck]. Stronach 2003: 254f.; idem 2005: 188-90; Álvarez-Mon 2004: 222, Fig.6.

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dischen Audienzdarstellungen gefordert, suchte es allerdings in der medischen Kunst (2003). In jüngerer Zeit hat sich jedoch die Kunst der neuelamischen Epoche in vielerlei Hinsicht als Wegbereiterin achämenidischer Kunst erwiesen. In diese Strömung dürfte auch die vorliegende Szene einzuordnen sein.28 Dass sie dem Wunsch des Auftraggebers entsprach und lokales Hofzeremoniell wiedergibt, läge dann auf der Hand. Angesichts des lokalen Kolorits einiger Darstellungen und insbesondere des außergewöhnlichen Durchmessers des Gefäßes – die Schale aus Ar n erreicht mehr als das Doppelte der Durchschnittsgröße üblicher phönikischer Schalen und dürfte sich als Trinkgeschirr kaum mehr haben benutzen lassen29 – ist im vorliegenden Falle nicht nur Import der fertigen Schale als Option auszuschließen, sondern auch der Import des Gefäßes in unbearbeitetem Zustand zur späteren Verzierung. Man muss vielmehr – ebenso wie bei der oben erwähnten Schale von

amahz Mmah30 – von einer lokalen Entstehung des Stücks ausgehen.31 Nun wissen wir zum einen insbesondere aus dem frühgriechischen Bereich, dass innerhalb des Assyrerreichs entstandene Prestigeobjekte außerhalb seiner Grenzen bisweilen ein langes „soziales Leben“ führten (Gunter 2009: 124-54). Damit haben wir in gleicher Weise im Osten und auch über das Ende des Assyrerreiches hinaus zu rechnen, also mit der Verfügbarkeit von Objekten, die als Vorlage für das Dekorationsschema, für die Ikonographie und die Thematik einzelner Szenen auf der Schale dienen konnten. Und zum anderen können auch fremde Handwerker ihre andernorts erworbenen Kenntnisse im Raum um Hidali angeboten haben.32 Ob nun letzteres der Fall ist oder ob wir mit einem einheimischen Handwerker, der mit solchen Prestigeobjekten auswärtiger Provenienz vertraut war,33 zu rechnen haben, dürfte allerdings kaum zu entscheiden sein.

28

29

30

31

32 33

Rollinger 2011: 37f. mit Anm.108, mit Verweis auf ähnliche Szenen auf den Reliefs von Kl-e Farah. Der übliche Durchmesser phönizischer Schalen liegt zwischen 15 und 20 cm (ÁlvarezMon 2004: 209f. mit Anm.27). Stronach 2005: 193, schloss insbesondere aus der Größe der Schale auf „a certain vanity in Kidin-Hutran’s character“. Siehe Anm.34. Das Bild des knienden Bogenschützen dieser Schale steht in lokaler Tradition; vgl. die zahlreichen Darstellungen auf Tropfenbechern „aus Luristan“ (Calmeyer 1973: 46-57; zur Herkunftsbezeichnung „Luristan“ siehe Álvarez-Mon, Garrison & Stronach 2011: 15, mit weiterer Literatur). Markoe 1985: 109f., hält die Entstehung aller bei ihr verzeichneten Schalen aus dem Iran (Ir1-9, 1985: 209-13) in einer einzelnen lokalen Werkstatt für möglich. Zu Hidali Henkelman 2008: 41f. Álvarez-Mon verweist in diesem Zusammenhang auch auf die lokalen Traditionen im technischen Bereich der Bronzeverarbeitung (2010: 274f.).

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In jedem Falle folgt die Schale von Arn typologischen und ikonographischen Vorlagen, die bereits ein höheres Alter hatten. So lief die Gattung der kyprophönizischen Schalen deutlich vor dem Ende des 7. Jh. v.Chr. aus.34 Die Schale von Arn wurde höchstwahrscheinlich zu einem späteren Zeitpunkt von einem Handwerker gefertigt, der dabei auf nach dem Untergang des Assyrerreiches weiterhin greifbare Traditionen zurückgriff. Eine Analyse der in die Friesdarstellungen eingeflossenen künstlerischen Elemente bietet jedenfalls die Möglichkeit, die in dieser sich politisch neu formierenden Welt lebendigen kulturellen Einflussfaktoren zu erkennen und näher zu bestimmen.

4. Die Akrobatendarstellungen im 4. Fries – eine Verbindung nach Urartu? Die ikonographischen Wurzeln der Mehrzahl der in den Friesen der Schale wiederkehrenden Motive hat J. Álvarez-Mon in seinem wiederholt zitierten Beitrag aufgezeigt.35 Dies unterblieb jedoch bei den Akrobatendarstellungen im 4. Fries, die in eine bislang kaum zur Sprache gebrachte Richtung weisen. Gemeinsam mit den beiden auf einem Bein agierenden Männern im 2. Fries eröffnen sie die Möglichkeit, Sport und Spiel, Artistik, Tanz und Musik übergreifend als Teile altorientalischer Festkultur zu behandeln. Die nämlichen Tätigkeiten haben zwar in sakralem und in profanem, in offiziellem und in privatem Kontext ihren Platz, doch ist ihre bildliche Wiedergabe von den jeweils bestimmenden Darstellungskonventionen abhängig und seltener, als man vielleicht erwarten würde. Auf der Schale von Arn findet der Themenkomplex jedoch ausführliche Berücksichtigung, und zwar in Bildern, die teilweise ohne Parallele sind. Beginnen wir bei den beiden Männern im 2. Fries: Für sie bieten sich grundsätzlich zwei Interpretationsmöglichkeiten an. Entweder man deutet ihr Tun als einen Tanz, wie Y. Majidzadeh dies getan hat,36 oder man sieht darin eine Art Spiel, bei dem sich zwei Protagonisten in ihrer Geschicklichkeit messen.37 In letzterem Falle könnte man von einem „hopping-on-one-leg game“ sprechen (Álvarez-Mon 2010, Pl.68), von einem „contest or game of balance in which one male tries to knock the other down“ (ibid. S.132). Im ersteren wäre in der Tat von einem „foot-clutch dance“ auszugehen (ibid.). Wie auch immer die Darstellung letztlich zu deuten ist,

34 35 36

37

Um 625 v.Chr.: Markoe 1985: 149-56; Stronach 2005: 192f. Álvarez-Mon 2004; idem 2010: 122-43 und passim. Majidzadeh 1992: 136, der auf Vergleichsbeispiele aus Ägypten verweist. In Seidl 2012a bleibt die Schale aus Arn unberücksichtigt. Álvarez-Mon 2010: 132f., kann sich letztlich nicht zwischen den Interpretationen als Tanz und Wettkampf entscheiden, will das Geschehen aber jedenfalls in einen kultischen Kontext eingebunden wissen.

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J. Álvarez-Mon hat die ikonographischen Parallelen auf Rollsiegeln der altbabylonischen, mittelelamischen und neuelamischen Zeit (ibid. mit Pl.68) zusammengetragen und so die Tradition umrissen, in der dieses Sujet steht. Die Darstellungen im 4. Fries zeigen Verbindungen in eine ganz andere Richtung. Dies lässt sich feststellen, obwohl die bisher publizierten Bilder und Umzeichnungen der einzelnen Szenen nach wie vor zahlreiche Fragen offen lassen.38 Immerhin sind die in diesen Umzeichnungen erkennbaren Szenen so weit verständlich, dass sie sich in einen größeren Kontext einordnen lassen. Sie offenbaren einmal mehr den kulturgeschichtlich interessanten Konnex von Sport, Spiel und Musik mit Festen, wie er uns in zahlreichen anderen altorientalischen Quellen begegnet.39 Etwa die Hälfte des Frieses wird von der Darstellung der Zubereitung von Speisen und Getränken eingenommen. Inmitten dieser Szene sitzt der Fürst, kompositorisch nicht weiter herausgehoben, auf einem Thron; hinter ihm stehen ein Wedelhalter und ein weiterer Bediensteter. Dahinter wird gekocht, worauf zwei dampfende Kessel schließen lassen; vor dem Fürsten befindet sich ein Gefäß auf einem Ständer, womöglich ein Räucher-, vielleicht aber auch ein Trinkgefäß. Weiter links steht unter anderem Trinkbares bereit, wie ein großes Gefäß auf einem Untersatz erkennbar macht, aus dem ein großes Trinkrohr heraushängt.

Abb.2: Schale aus Arn, Fries 4, Umzeichnung Y. Majidzadeh (nach Majidzadeh 1992, Abb.3d)

Die andere Hälfte des Frieses nehmen Musiker und Akrobaten ein (Abb.2). Rechts an die Kochszene schließen zunächst zwei sich aufeinander zubewegende Männer an, deren Tun schwer zu deuten ist. Es folgen nach rechts hin zwei Männer im Laufschritt in kurzen Gewändern, die offenbar bestrebt sind, auf eine ihnen vorausgehende Gruppe von Musikern aufzuschließen; der vordere trägt eine große Leier (Collon 1980-1983b), der hintere vermutlich Klappern.40 Die genannte 38

39

40

Die beste Umzeichnung stammt von R. Vatandust und ndet sich in guter Qualität reproduziert bei Majidzadeh 1992: 132 als Fig.1, von der unsere Abb.1 genommen ist. Die Umzeichnungen und Photos bei Álvarez-Mon 2010, Pl.64-7, sind dagegen kaum brauchbar. In diesem Zusammenhang lässt sich auf eine große Zahl von Denkmälern verweisen, angefangen von frühdynastischen Weihplatten (Boese 1971, passim) über die althethitischen Vasen von nandk und Hüseyindede (Özgüç 2002: 248-53; Sipahi 2000: 78) bis hin zu Denkmälern wie der berühmten sasanidischen Schale in der Sackler Gallery in Washington (Gunter & Jett 1992: 161-65); siehe hierzu die Zusammenstellung der einschlägigen Denkmäler bei Rollinger 2012. Vgl. zu diesen „sickle clackers“ Kilmer 1995: 2611.

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Gruppe von Musikern besteht aus zwei Harfespielern in langen Gewändern, einem Flötisten und einem Lautenspieler.41 In ungewöhnlicher räumlicher Überschneidung mit der beschriebenen Musikergruppe sieht man einen Mann, der vermutlich bereits zu den sich an die Musiker anschließenden vier Gruppen von Akrobaten gehört. Hände und Füße am Boden, steht er mit durchgedrücktem Rücken in der „Brücke“. Direkt anschließend sieht man zwei Dreiergruppen von Personen, die sich, wie die Musiker, nach rechts zu bewegen scheinen. In ihnen stellen zwei Stelzenläufer ihre Geschicklichkeit zur Schau, unterstützt von je zwei Helfern, die kurze Stöcke in die Höhe halten, an denen sich die Akrobaten festhalten können. Vor den beiden Stelzenläufern befindet sich eine weitere Dreiergruppe, über deren Tun man allerdings nur spekulieren kann. Zwei einander zugewandte Personen tragen einen Gegenstand, auf dem eine – bedingt durch die Frieshöhe wesentlich kleinere – dritte Figur steht und vermutlich Kunststücke vollführt. Die Akrobatengruppen werden abgeschlossen durch zwei Männer im Handstand. Mit durchgebogenem Kreuz und nach vorn gestreckten Beinen bewegen sie sich auf ihren Händen nach rechts, wie die Schrittstellung der Arme beim rechten der beiden Männer erkennen lässt. Die Speisezubereitung vor und hinter dem Thron, Musiker und Akrobaten lassen den Fries insgesamt als Darstellung eines großen Festes verstehen, in dem neben Essen und Trinken auch Akrobatik und Spiel einen wichtigen Platz einnahmen. Die Präsenz des Thronenden rückt das Geschehen insgesamt in den höfischen Bereich. Nun gibt es vier mit den Darstellungen der Arn-Schale eng vergleichbare Akrobatendarstellungen in der Gruppe der schmalen urartäischen Bronzegürtel. Diese bilden eine eigene Objektgruppe, die ins 9. und 8. Jahrhundert v.Chr. zu datieren ist42 und sich dadurch auszeichnet, dass sie in erster Linie Szenen aus der Welt der Frauen zeigt (Ziffer 2002). Die Gürtel weisen deutliche Gebrauchsspuren auf, und ihre Länge lässt vermuten, dass sie von Frauen getragen wurden, die über einen entsprechend geringen Taillenumfang verfügten. Dargestellt ist auf ihnen stets eine thronende Frau vor einem Speisetisch, umgeben von Dienerinnen, Musikantinnen, Tänzerinnen sowie Gabenbringerinnen. Festliches Treiben, Musik und Tanz sowie die Zubereitung und der Verzehr von Speisen, bestimmt die Bilder. Bemerkenswert ist nun, dass sich unter die Tänzerinnen und Musikantinnen hin und wieder auch Akrobaten mischen, die ihrem Geschlecht nach allerdings nicht genauer zu bestimmen sind.43 Auf dreien dieser 41 42

43

Stauder 1972-1975; Collon 1980-1983a. Seidl 2004: 133-50, sm-31, sm-31a, sm-36, sm-37. Vgl. Ziffer 2002: 645, mit Datierung ins 8. und 7. Jh. v.Chr. Seidl 2004: 137, spricht in Bezug auf den Gürtel in Münchner Privatbesitz (hier Abb. 4a-b) von einer „akrobatischen Tänzerin“. Andernorts spricht sie von „Akrobatinnen“,

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Bronzebleche (Abb.3-5) ist zwischen je zwei Musikantinnen ein(e) Akrobat(in) zu sehen, der/die, wie auf der Ar n-Schale, einen Handstand ausführt. Die betreffenden Personen tragen gegürtete, knie- bis knöchellange Gewänder. Der Handstand ist mal stärker, mal weniger gestreckt, doch in jedem Falle befinden sich die Füße deutlich jenseits des Kopfes. Bei dem Blech in der Münchner Archäologischen Staatssammlung ist die Darstellung der Übung vergleichsweise statisch, so dass man annehmen möchte, die dargestellte Person stünde auf ihren Händen (Abb.3).44 Die beiden anderen Darstellung wirken dynamischer, und auf dem Stück in Tel Aviv sind die Arme zudem in Schrittstellung wiedergegeben, so dass man annehmen möchte, dass der/die Akrobat(in) auf den Händen läuft (Abb.4-5).45 Eine ganz einzigartige Parallele zu den Darstellungen auf der Ar n-Schale zeigt ein weiteres urartäisches Gürtelfragment, das sich in Istanbul befindet (Abb. 6).46 Es zeigt, eingerahmt von zwei Musikantinnen, einen Stelzengeher, der allerdings, abweichend von der Schale aus Ar n, keine Gehilfen hat, die ihn mit Stöcken unterstützen. U. Seidl hält ihn für ein Kind,47 doch kann die Größe der Figur abermals durch die geringe Höhe des Frieses bestimmt sein. Die betreffende Person hält ein Musikinstrument in Händen, das große Ähnlichkeiten mit dem „apulischen Sistrum“ aufweist, das in einem aus dem 8. Jahrhundert v.Chr. stammenden Grab in Francavilla Marittima in Kalabrien gefunden wurde.48 Ihr gegenüber befindet sich auf Augenhöhe ein weitere Person,49 die auf den Schultern der rechten Musikantin mit dem Schellenbaum steht. Das Stehen auf den Schultern findet eine Parallele auf einem Orthostatenrelief aus Zincirli, wo ein bartloser (jüngerer?) Tamburin-Spieler auf den Schultern eines bärtigen (älteren?) Kollegen steht (8. Jh. v.Chr.).50 Jedenfalls hält auch der zweite Akrobat auf dem urartäischen Gürtel ein Musikinstrument in seinen Händen; es entspricht den „sounding bowls“, die sich auch sonst häufig auf den Gürtelblechen finden (Seidl 2012b: 164).

44

45 46 47 48 49

50

von einem „kleinen Mädchen“ bzw. von einer „akrobatischen Tänzerin“ (vgl. idem 2004: 142; idem 2009: 607; idem 2012b: 164, 166). Kellner 1991, n° 282, Taf.70-1; Seidl 2004, Falttafel A3, Taf.44e; idem 2012b: 167, Fig.1. Seidl 2004, Falttafel A4, Taf.45d; idem 2012a: 448f., Abb.2; idem 2012b: 167 Fig.2g, k. Seidl 2004: 141, Abb.99; idem 2012b: 167, Fig.2c. Seidl 2009: 609, „Kind in kurzem Rock“; idem 2012b: 164, „child in a short skirt.“ Vgl. Seidl 2009: 609; idem 2012b: 165. Bei Seidl 2004: 136 (ad sm-31), 142; idem 2012b: 164, wird diese(r) zweite Akrobat(in) nicht erwähnt. Er/sie wird lediglich in idem 2009: 611 genannt und dort als „kleines Mädchen, das auf der Schulter einer tanzenden Musikantin balanciert“ bestimmt. Hübner 1992: 104f., Abb.54; Schuol 2004: Taf.13, Abb.40.

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Abb.3: München, Archäologische Staatssammlung, Urartäischer Bronzegürtel, Ausschnitt (Umzeichnung, nach Seidl 2004, Falttafel A3)

Abb.4a: München, Privatbesitz, Urartäischer Bronzegürtel, Ausschnitt (Umzeichnung, Seidl 2004, Falttafel A4)

Abb.4b: München, Privatbesitz, Urartäischer Bronzegürtel, Fragment (nach Seidl 2004, Taf.45d)

5. Ergebnisse Betrachtet man den 4. Fries auf der Schale aus Arn vor dem geschilderten Hintergrund, wird ein wichtiger Aspekt des Gefäßes evident. Sie ist ein herausragendes Zeugnis für die Bedeutung von Akrobatik als Bestandteil altorientalischer Festkultur. Manche Kunststücke wie der Stelzenlauf mit Stöcke haltenden Begleitern und die Übung auf einem Balken oder einer Stange finden sich nur hier.

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Anderes wie der Handstand oder das Stehen in der „Brücke“ fügt sich bestens in den Kanon akrobatischer Vorführungen, den wir von anderen Bildzeugnissen Vorderasiens kennen.51 Noch wichtiger als ihr Zeugniswert für die Festkultur des 2. Viertels des 1. Jahrtausends v.Chr. sind aber die Auskünfte, die die Schale über die zur Zeit ihres

Abb.5: Tel Aviv, Eretz Israel Museum, Urartäischer Bronzegürtel, Fragment (Aufnahme und Umzeichnung, nach Ziffer 2002, Fig.4)

Entstehens in Elam wirksamen Kulturkontakte gibt. Dies betrifft weniger den Gegenstand der Darstellung selbst – Akrobaten hat es gewiss in ganz Vorderasien gegeben – als die ikonographische Umsetzung des Themas. So deuten sowohl die Darstellungen von Personen im Handstand als auch die Stelzenläufer – über die aus der Zeit des Assyrischen Reiches fortlebenden Traditionen hinaus – eine Verbindung nach Urartu an.52 In Urartu sind Vorführungen derartiger Kunststücke in 51 52

Vgl. etwa Rollinger 2012. Verbindungen zwischen Stücken aus dem Grab von Ar n und Urartu erwog auch Álvarez-Mon 2010: 190-93.

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Abb.6: Istanbul, Sadberg Hanm Mus., Inv. ARK 608-12181, Urartäischer Bronzegürtel, Fragment (Umzeichnung, nach Seidl 2004, Abb.99)

Darstellungen aus der Frauenwelt integriert und mit Musik- und Tanzszenen verbunden (Abb.4-6). Große Gefäße, aus denen vereinzelt Flüssigkeit geschöpft wird, deuten auf ein Bankett voraus (Abb.6). Fast obligatorisch erscheinen auf den urartäischen Gürteln außerdem Festungen, außerhalb derer das festliche Treiben stattfindet (Abb.4a-b).53 All diese Komponenten finden sich auf der Schale aus Arn wieder. Auch das im 4. Fries dargestellte Fest mag im Freien stattgefunden haben, doch dienen Musik und akrobatische Vorführungen hier der Unterhaltung des Herrschers. Das aus Urartu bekannte Motiv wäre vom Künstler demnach in einen anderen Kontext übernommen worden. Dass mit großer Wahrscheinlichkeit davon ausgegangen werden kann, dass hier die Kenntnis urartäischer Vorlagen einfloss, legt aber nicht nur die beschriebene ikonographische Ähnlichkeit einzelner Motive nahe, sondern auch, dass die Vorlagen, auf die man zurückgriff, derselben Gattung, der Toreutik, angehören, und zudem auf Bildträgern zu finden sind, für die die Friesform charakteristisch ist. Schließlich suggeriert die Tatsache, dass auf den Gürteln zwei grundsätzlich unterschiedliche Formen der Bildwiedergabe zu finden sind, nämlich die in Bildfeldern auf den sogenannten Metopengürteln und die in der mehr „erzählenden“ Form des durchlaufenden Frieses, den Gedanken, dass die Kenntnis urartäischer Vorlagen auch in dieser Hinsicht für die Schale prägend war. Auch auf ihr finden sich nämlich, wie sich zeigte, sowohl Friese von großer inhaltlicher Kohärenz als auch solche, in denen verschiedene Themen mehr oder weniger unverbunden nebeneinander stehen. Die Beziehung zu Urartu mag, wenn sie denn zutreffend beobachet wurde, gerade im Hinblick auf die oft beschworenen, aber so schwer zu konkretisierenden

53

Zur Deutung vergleiche Seidl 2004: 145-47.

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Verpflichtungen achämenidischer Kunst gegenüber der urartäischen54 einen interessanten Verbindungsweg andeuten. Sollte die Kunst der Phase spätelamisch 55 III hier der – oder zumindest ein – Vermittler gewesen sein? Für die Datierung der Schale sind diese Beobachtungen ohne Konsequenzen. Die Zugehörigkeit zum Grabfund und die Inschrift des Kidin-Hutran sind für sie die konkretesten Anhaltspunkte. Es besteht folglich keine Notwendigkeit, das Stück von der Schließung des Grabes abzurücken und anzunehmen, dass KidinHutran nicht der Auftraggeber gewesen sei, sondern lediglich nachträglich seine Inschrift darauf angebracht habe. Der Handwerker, der seinen Wünschen gerecht zu werden suchte und dieses eigenwillige Objekt schuf, verband nun assyrische, phönizische und urartäische Elemente mit den speziellen Wünschen seines Auftraggebers. In der Diversität des Grabinventars insgesamt und der ikonographischen und thematischen Heterogenität der Schale im Besonderen mag sich die materielle Kultur als ein Spiegel der politischen Formationsprozesse erweisen, die sich in der 1. Hälfte des 6. Jh. v.Chr. in jenem Raum vollzogen. Verschiedene größere und kleinere Machtzentren standen in Konkurrenz zueinander, und ihre Eliten suchten nach individuellen Ausdrucksformen. In dieser Konkurrenz setzten sich die „Könige von Anšan“ schließlich durch und begründeten das persische Großreich. Bei ihrem Vorhaben, ihren politischen Erfolgen repräsentativen Ausdruck zu geben und eine Hofkunst zu etablieren, konnten sowohl Kyros d. Gr. als auch Dareios I. auf das Bildrepertoire jener Übergangszeit zurückgreifen.56

54

55

56

Vgl. hierzu Seidl 1994; Stronach 2012; und jüngst Schmitt 2014 (siehe insbes. das ibid. 195-98 gebotene Resümee). Erste Gedanken in diese Richtung nden sich bereits bei Amiet 1973: 10. Grundsätzliche Überlegungen zur Stellung der neuelamischen Kunst formulieren ÁlvarezMon, Garrison & Stronach 2011. Vgl. Henkelman 2008: 31f.; Álvarez-Mon, Garrison & Stronach 2011.

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Bibliographie ALIZADEH, A. 1985, A tomb of the Neo-Elamite period at Arjân, near Behbehan, AMI 18: 49-73. ÁLVAREZ-MON, J. 2004, Imago Mundi: Cosmological and ideological aspects of the Arjan bowl, IrAnt 39: 203-37. –––– 2008, ‘Give to drink, o cup-bearer!’ – The Arjan beaker in the context of lion-headed drinking vessels in the ancient Near East, IrAnt 43: 127-52. –––– 2010, The Arjn Tomb: At the crossroads of the Elamite and the Persian empires (AI 49), Leuven. –––– 2011, The golden griffin from Arjn, in: J. Álvarez-Mon & M.B. Garrison (eds.), Elam and Persia, Winona Lake: 299-373. ÁLVAREZ-MON, J., GARRISON, M.B. & STRONACH, D. 2011, Introduction, in: J. ÁlvarezMon & M.B. Garrison (eds.), Elam and Persia, Winona Lake: 1-32. AMIET, P. 1973, La glyptique de la fin de l’Élam, Arts Asiatiques 25: 3-45. BOESE, J. 1971, Altmesopotamische Weihplatten: Eine sumerische Denkmalsgattung des 3. Jahrtausends v.Chr. (UAVA 6), Berlin. BOUCHARLAT, R. 1997, Camp royal et résidences achéménides, in: M.-F. Boussac (ed.), Recherches récentes sur l’empire achéménide (Topoi Suppl. 1), Paris: 217-28. BRIANT, P. 1988, Le nomadisme du Grand Roi, IrAnt 23: 253-73. CALMEYER, P. 1973, Reliefbronzen in babylonischem Stil: Eine westiranische Werkstatt des 10. Jahrhunderts v.Chr. (ABAW 73), Berlin. CARTER, E. 1994, Bridging the gap between the Elamites and the Persians in southeastern Khuzistan, in: AchHist 8, Leiden: 65-95. COLLON, D. 1980-1983a, s.v. Laute – B. Archäologisch, RLA 6: 515-17. –––– 1980-1983b, s.v. Leier – B. Archäologisch, RLA 6: 576-82. CURTIS, J. & GRANGER-TAYLOR, H. 1983, Late Assyrian bronze coffins, AnSt 33: 85-95. GARRISON, M.B. 2002, The ‘Late Neo-Elamite’ glyptic style: A perspective from Fars, BAI 16: 65-102. GUNTER, A.C. 2009, Greek art and the Orient, Cambridge. GUNTER, A.C. & JETT, P. 1992, Ancient Iranian metalwork in the Arthur M. Sackler Gallery and the Freer Gallery of Art, Washington. HAERINCK, E. & OVERLAET, B. 1998, Chamahzi Mumah: An Iron Age III Graveyard (Luristan Excavation Documents 2 = AI 33), Leuven. HENKELMAN, W.F.M. 2003, Persians, Medes and Elamites: Acculturation in the NeoElamite period, in: Lanfranchi, Roaf & Rollinger (eds.): 181-231. –––– 2008, The other gods who are: Studies in Elamite-Iranian acculturation based on the Persepolis Fortification texts (AchHist 14), Leiden. HÜBNER, U. 1992, Spiele und Spielzeug im antiken Palästina (OBO 121), Fribourg. IGNATIADOU, D. 2008, Psychotropic plants on Achaemenid style vessels, In: S.M.R. Darbandi & A. Zournatzi (eds.), Ancient Greece and ancient Iran: Cross-cultural encounters, Athens: 327-38. JACOBS, B. [im Druck], Residences, in: B. Jacobs & R. Rollinger (eds.), A companion to the Achaemenid Persian Empire, Chichester.

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KELLNER, H.-J. 1991, Gürtelbleche aus Urartu (Prähistorische Bronzefunde 12.3), Stuttgart. KILMER, A.D. 1995, Music and dance in ancient Western Asia: Visual and performing arts, CANE 4: 2601-13. LANFRANCHI, G.B., ROAF, M. & ROLLINGER, R. (eds.) 2003, Continuity of Empire (?) – Assyria, Media, Persia (HANE-M 5), Padua. MAJIDZADEH, Y. 1992, The Arjan bowl, Iran 30: 131-44. MARKOE, G. 1985, Phoenician bronze and silver bowls from Cyprus and the Mediterranean (University of California Publications in Classical Studies 26), Berkeley. MUHLY, J.D. 2004, Review of Lanfranchi, Roaf & Rollinger (eds.) 2003, BMCR 2004.11.11. MUSCARELLA, O.W. 1977, ‘Ziwiye’ and Ziwiye: The forgery of a provenience, JFA 4: 197219. –––– 2000, The Lie Became Great: The forgery of ancient Near Eastern cultures (Studies in the Art and Archaeology of Antiquity 1), Groningen. ÖZGÜÇ, T. 2002, Die Keramik der althethitischen Zeit, in: [s.n.] (ed.), Die Hethiter und ihr Reich: Das Volk der 1000 Götter, Bonn: 248-55. POTTS, D.T. 1999, The archaeology of Elam: Formation and transformation of an ancient Iranian state, Cambridge. –––– 2010, Monarchy, factionalism and warlordism: Reflections on Neo-Elamite courts, in: B. Jacobs & R. Rollinger (eds.), Der Achämenidenhof / The Achaemenid Court (CleO 2), Wiesbaden: 107-37. –––– 2011, Nomadismus in Iran von der Frühzeit bis in die Moderne: Eine Untersuchung sowohl aus archäologischer als auch historischer Sicht, Eurasia Antiqua 16: 1-19. ROAF, M. 2003, The Median Dark Age, in: Lanfranchi, Roaf & Rollinger (eds.) 2003: 1322. ROLLINGER, R. 2011, Herrscherkult bei Teispiden und Achaimeniden: Realität oder Fiktion?, in: L.-M. Günther & S. Plischke (eds.), Studien zum vorhellenistischen und hellenistischen Herrscherkult (Oikumene 9), Berlin: 11-54. –––– 2012, s.v. Sport und Spiel, RLA 13: 6-16. SARRAF, M.R. 1990,  m-e boronz -ye K d n-Htr n az Ar n Behbah n, Athar 17: 4-61. SCHMITT, R. 2014, Urartäische Einflüsse im achaimenidischen Iran, vor allem in den Königsinschriften, in: M. Krebernik & H. Neumann (eds.), Babylonien und seine Nachbarn in neu und spätbabylonischer Zeit: Wissenschaftliches Kolloquium aus Anlass des 75. Geburtstages von Joachim Oelsner (AOAT 369), Münster: 195-218. SCHUOL, M. 2004, Hethitische Kultmusik: Eine Untersuchung der Instrumental- und Vokalmusik anhand hethitischer Ritualtexte und von archäologischen Zeugnissen (Orient-Archäologie 14), Rahden. SEIDL, U. 1994, Achaimenidische Entlehnungen aus der urartäischen Kultur, in: AchHist 8, Leiden: 107-29. –––– 2004, Bronzekunst Urartus, Mainz a.R. –––– 2009, Musik und Tanz in Urartu, in: H. Sa lamtimur et al. (eds.), Altan Çilingirolu’na armaan yukar denizin kysnda Urartu krall’na adanm bir hayat / Studies in honour of Altan Çilingirolu: A life dedicated to Urartu on the shores of the Upper Sea, Ankara: 607-17. –––– 2012a, s.v. Tanz – B. In der Bildkunst, RLA 13: 448-51.

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–––– 2012b, Rattling and clapping Urartian girls: Idiophones in Urartu, in: P. Avetisyan & A. Bobokhyan (eds.), Archaeology of Armenia in regional context, Yerevan: 163-69. SIPAHI, T. 2000, Eine althethitische Reliefvase vom Hüseyindede Tepesi, IstM 50: 63-85. STAUDER, W. 1972-1975, s.v. Harfe, RLA 4: 114-20. STRONACH, D. 2003, The tomb at Arjan and the history of southwestern Iran in the early sixth century BCE, in: N.F. Miller & K. Abdi (eds.), Yeki bud, yeki nabud: Essays on the archeology of Iran in honor of William M. Sumner, Los Angeles: 249-59. –––– 2004, Notes on a fortified building and a ‘yurt’ in adjacent registers of the Arjan bowl, in: A.G. Sagona (ed.), A view from the highlands: Archaeological studies in honour of Charles Burney (ANES Suppl. 12), Louvain: 711-28. –––– 2005, The Arjan tomb: Innovation and acculturation in the last days of Elam, IrAnt 40: 179-96. –––– 2012, Urartu’s Impact on Achaemenid and pre-Achaemenid architecture in Iran, in: S. Kroll et al. (eds.), Biainili-Urartu (AI 51), Leuven: 309-20. TOWHIDI, F. & KHALILIAN, A. 1983, Gozreš-e barres -ye ašiy-e rmgh-e Ar nBehbahn, Athar 7-9: 232-86. VALLAT, F. 1984, Kidin-Hutran et l’époque néo-élamite, Akkadica 37: 1-17. ZIFFER, I. 2002, Four new belts from the land of Ararat and the feast of the women in Esther 1:9, in: S. Parpola & R.M. Whiting (eds.), Sex and gender in the ancient Near East, vol. 2 (CRRAI 47), Helsinki: 645-57.

OF THRONES, GRIFFINS AND SEALS: THE ICONOGRAPHY OF THE THRONE OF THE PRIEST OF DIONYSOS ELEUTHEREUS, ATHENS Margaret C. Miller (Sydney)

1. Introduction The Near Eastern glyptic specialist wandering into the orchestra of the Theatre of Dionysos on the south slope of the Acropolis in Athens might experience a sudden shock of recognition: sculpted on a panel of a marble throne at front and centre of the seating is an image readily familiar as ‘heroic encounter’ – man and lion-grifn (g.1).1 From the moment of its discovery in the massive campaigns at the Theatre of Dionysos in the spring of 1862, that central throne stood out. Everything – location, scale, form, and decoration – distinguished it from all other honoric seats in the rst row of the Theatre (g.2). An inscription “Of the priest of Dionysos Eleuthereus” clinched its identication as the designated seat of the priest of the god in whose honour competitive performances were annually held there.2 The Near Eastern character of the grifn panel image was early recognized, but amidst the many controversies raised by the throne – so very unusual for Classical Athens – in the past 150 years, the grifn scene and its nuances have largely been neglected.3 1

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For reasons that will become clear below, I here adopt the usefully inclusive term in the title of Garrison & Root 2001. I am most grateful to the editors for inviting me to take part in this celebration, and for their specialist advice and encouragement. I thank also Eric Csapo for advice on matters theatrical and more, Hans Goette for so kindly allowing me to use his excellent photographs of the Theatre, and Christine Papastamativon Moock for insight into architectural matters and their explanation in situ; her forthcoming publications on various aspects of the fifth- and fourth-century Theatre of Dionysos will be very valuable. The research for this paper was expedited by the Centre for Classical and Near Eastern Studies of Australia. For collated line drawings of seals I am most indebted to M.B. Garrison, M.C. Root and the Persepolis Seal Project. The discovery was quickly reported throughout Europe in a number of archaeological newsletters of the 1860s and 1870s; a plaster cast was promptly made and installed in the library of the Sorbonne in Paris (Beulé 1862; Risom 1913, n.1). The latter, if available, may offer details now lost through acid rain but I have yet to discover its fate. As recognized already by Perrot 1888: 23f.

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g.1: Athens, Theatre of Dionysos, throne of the priest of Dionysos Eleuthereus, detail of panel and inscription below the seat (photograph H.R. Goette)

In this paper I try to explore the context and resonances of the throne and its encounter scene in light of developments in the history of the Theatre and cult of Dionysos. To gain an understanding of the iconography, we need to consider: the throne’s physical and diachronic context, in design and imagery (§2); the panel as a component of throne construction (§3); vehicles of imagery transmission from the Persian world to Greece (§4); Athenian visual literacy (§5). In the course of the exploration, I hope to exemplify some ways in which Margaret Root’s groundbreaking research has affected elds far outside her own and to express my personal sense of deep indebtedness to her and her work.

2. The throne: shape and imagery Bordering on the circular orchestra in the Theatre of Dionysos at Athens, a row of marble seats with back rests provided relatively comfortable accommodation for those Athenian priests and ofcials who had the honoric right of prohedria – the use of a front row seat to watch the competitions in honour of the god (g.3).4 All others who thronged the Theatre during the festival for days of choral performance, tragedy, satyr-play, and comedy, sat on stone benches farther up the slope. Most scholars associate the row of marble seats now visible with the so-called ‘Lycur-

4

Maass (1972) offers a complete overview of the archaeological, epigraphic, and literary evidence; Papastamati-von Moock (2014), in the course of her discussion of the date of the ‘Lycurgan’ building, includes an excellent outline of the history of excavation of the Theatre, with bibliography, and argues that a fully stone theatre was planned in the fth century BCE but not completed.

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gan’ theatron (auditorium), which was completed in the middle of the fourth century BCE, long before the ‘Lycurgan period’ (330s-320s).5 Almost all the seats of the rst row, usually called ‘thrones’ in token of their prestigious accommodation, took the form of the klismos, the elegant curved-leg wooden chair with no armrests, familiar from interior scenes in Attic vase-painting (Richter 1966: 33-7). Inscriptions, occasionally altered, announced the designated occupant of each marble chair (Maass 1972: 33-59). Although the seats in the prohedria appear uniform in style, the letter-forms in their inscribed labels are of widely different dates, ranging from Hellenistic to Roman imperial; the fact indicates that the process of inscription was haphazard and independent of the original creation of the prohedria. Vischer supposed that inscriptions g.2: early drawing of the Throne, signed “Günonly appeared when painted labels ther Großrücker, Wien” (after Julius 1878: 196) faded (1863: 44). The seat of the priest of Dionysos Eleuthereus was located dead centre in the theatron. Generally rectilinear and equipped with armrests, it is no klismos but a thronos.6 From its fully zoomorphic lion’s paw feet to the near-arabesque decorating the backrest, its larger scale and greater elaboration distinguished it from all the other stone seats around it. The sitting surface is elevated 10 cm above its neighbours (gs.4-5), necessitating that its user be provided with a stone footstool whose cuttings remain. Only the thronos of the priest of Dionysos (hereafter 5

6

Evidence: Csapo 2007, esp. p.212; Csapo & Wilson 2014. Architecture: Papastamativon Moock 2014. Richter 1966: 13-28. The fundamental work on the thronos now is Kyrieleis 1969, though the author unfortunately excludes this throne, doubtless considering it outside his chronological range (pp.131-39, 154-62). Regarding the origins of his type A and type B legs, see now Baughan 2013, adding the Anatolian evidence for klinai. Richter (1966: 28-33) with useful illustrations surveys what she terms thronoi with solid sides; on the Athenian throne (pp.31f.) she follows Risom (1913).

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termed simply ‘throne’) was adorned with relief sculpture: on the backrest, the armrests, and in a panel below the seat. The throne’s initial high prestige did not save it from (or perhaps even provoked) brutal recutting of the armrests at some later date and the removal of the upper part of the backrest. The restored drawing of the throne made by Risom (1913) is very likely accurate in its general outline, especially in the restoration of an upper back of a height roughly equal to the surviving lower backrest (g.4).

g.3: Athens, Theatre of Dionysos, central prohedria beside orchestra; the throne of the priest of Dionysos is mid-field, amidst marble klismoi (photograph H.R. Goette)

For his reconstruction of the Athenian throne, Risom made use of two similar marble thrones, one discovered in the Olympieion in Athens and the other then recently excavated on Delos. The latter had a backrest preserved to a slightly higher point and was found in the synagogue whither it had at some point been taken from the Theatre (Risom 1913: 259). Recent restudy of the extensive epigraphic record pertaining to the theatre of Delos now offers a rm architectural and historical context for the Delian ‘synagogue’ throne: theatre construction began in 305 BCE and the marble seats with backs ( ) were in place in 297 BCE. The marble-backed seats include the throne found in the synagogue and a similar but simpler one found in a nearby house (Fraisse & Moretti 2007: 73-5, pls.39-40). The similarity of the Delos throne to the throne in Athens has impressed all observers; Moretti and Fraisse (so, too, Mauss 1972: 75) take the Delian throne as a copy of the prestigious Athenian model, made in the context of deliberate emulation of the

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g.4: throne of the priest of Dionysos, restored drawings by Risom of front and side (after Risom 1913, pl.11)

Athenian cult of Dionysos in fourth-century Delos. The secure dating of its imitation in Delos (between 305-297 BCE) conrms a prior classical-period date for the throne in Athens.7 Even after 150 years of study and discovery, the Athenian throne of the priest of Dionysos remains without clear antecedent in either the Greek or the Near Eastern tradition of furniture. On the throne, the sculptural quality of the front legs terminating in lion’s paws especially strikes the eye: along the entire leg with its swelling curves four longitudinal grooves continue the line of the four delineated gaps between the lion’s toes, as a single organic unit, in prole a continuous curve, terminating in a scroll below the seat (gs.5-6). The incorporation of a lion’s paw within, or as, a terminus for furniture legs and smaller furnishings such as footstools, tripod stands, lamp-stands, and chests had a long prior tradition in Archaic and Classical Greece and was in origin an idea imported from the ancient Near East.8 In all earlier painted or sculptural representation of furniture that includes a lion’s paw, a clear distinction is made between the paw and the other elements that comprise the rest of the furniture leg; actual lion’s paws from furniture have occasionally survived, often equipped with tangs or cuttings to indicate an original use in combination with other components. Such compound leg construction is visible also in representations of Persian thrones and stools, where the lion’s paw, when it occurs, is a discrete element within a clearly articulated sequence, quite unlike the continuous swelling curve from paw to leg of the Athenian throne. 7

8

This ended a long debate that privileged the (late) letter styles of the prohedria over any other consideration. Maass 1972 rebutted all arguments for construction in the rst century BCE on stylistic grounds (Risom 1913; Möbius 1926: 121; Fiechter 1935: 70). Richter 1966: 15f.; Kyrieleis 1969: 12-15.

490 g.5: throne of the priest of Dionysos, frontal view (photograph H.R. Goette)

g.6: throne of the priest of Dionysos, left side, with winged youth, acanthus spray and bird head terminus (photograph H.R. Goette)

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Already in the fth century BCE the old wooden construction of the theatre of Athens had labelled prohedria for its priests and elected ofcials. The evidence lies in a low stone base made of rectilinear porous limestone blocks that presumably fronted on a rectilinear orchestra.9 On their lateral face are inscriptions that appear to be descriptors (one says “priest”) and vertical cuttings that appear to delineate horizontal space, though the interval between the incisions (i.e., the space allowed for each seat to be placed on top) is not clear. Also in the fth century, iconographic evidence attests to the use of wooden klismoi in the prohedria.10 Evidently the klismoi were set on the stone base and ofcials could nd their proper place with the aid of those inscribed labels. It is presumed that the wooden klismoi were kept in storage most of the year, to be taken out and set in place for the duration of any festival. In fourth-century Greece, a general trend to construct permanent stone seats made theatre management simpler (Moretti 2014: 123). The general view that the mid fourth-century stone theatre in Athens included the petrication of the pre-existing wooden prohedria is more obvious in the case of the klismos-shaped seats. But what of the central throne, so very novel in its design and elaborations? A number of considerations related to shape and decoration make it likely that the present stone form similarly represents a petrication of a prior perishable seat. In fact, some of the details that have seemed to be late Hellenistic may reect, rather, a tradition of working in wood: those anomalous legs with longitudinal grooves arising from lion’s toe interstices; on the side the botanical ourishes of the acanthus fronds; the ‘swan’ head terminus visible below the winged youth (g.6). Similar longitudinal grooves from a lion’s paw foot are depicted in a symposion scene on a mid fourth-century Attic red-gured krater from Pydna.11 Here a small tripod footstool tucked below a klin presents the same mode of continuous-curve furniture leg nished with grooves; the stool is in this case best interpreted as having wooden legs, each carved from a single piece, in contrast with the composite construction of most lion-paw furniture. The general prole of the lion’s foot and leg on the Athenian throne is paralleled by the throne of “Demos” on a later fourth-century Athenian honorary decree relief (Lawton 1995, n° 167, pl.87). The botanical handling of the acanthus fronds at the corner of the backrest on the sides (g.6), initially considered an expression of a Roman imperial aesthetic, is now known be paralleled in a range of fourth-century minor arts, including 9

10

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Each block measured at least 1.74 m long, 0.65 m deep, and 0.24 m high. Evidence conveniently summarized in Moretti 1999/2000: 382-85; see also Pohlmann 1981. The ‘Anavyssos chous’ (also ‘Vlastos chous’): Athens, NM  518, Attic red-gured chous, Group of the Perseus Dance (name vase), ca. 420 BCE. References in BAPD 216566 (Csapo & Slater 1995, pl.4, I 131; Csapo 2014, g.1.10). Makriyialos 44: Besios 2010: 185; Paspalas & Miller [forthc.], pl.3.

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pebble mosaic as well as red-gured vase painting. The ‘swan’ head terminals at the junction of seat and armrests at the side are not so easily paralleled in Greece, but are familiar in the decorative arts of Achaemenid Anatolia.12 It would be overhasty to imagine that a wooden thronos with organic legs prototype came to Athens from Anatolia, where there is no hint of an analogous item in the stone furniture from Anatolian tombs.13 In fact, a ‘goose’ head is attested the terminal of the sternpost on a Dionysiac ship-cart on a late sixth-century Attic skyphos in London that seemingly bears witness to contemporary procession practice, and on Dionysos’ ship on an Attic amphora in Tarquinia of the same period.14 Maass’s general conclusion, that the throne was conceptually a new creation, designed to elevate the priest of the cult of Dionysos Eleuthereus during the festival that especially honoured the god, is at present best retained (Maass 1972: 73-75). At the sides in front of the throne are two cuttings (g.5), which Dörpfeld and Reisch identied as for the supports of a baldachin.15 The idea is attractive, but the lack of corresponding cuttings to the rear and the realisation that a baldachin here would interfere with the view of those behind (not to mention the comfort of the occupants of the immediately adjacent seats) made Risom reject the suggestion (1913: 263). His proposed explanation for the cuttings as receptacles for priestly standards, like thyrsoi, has not been generally accepted.16

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The aquatic bird head was identied as a swan on discovery (Julius 1878: 198; Fiechter 1935: 65), though Risom (1913: 259) called it a duck. In view of the Anatolian evidence, it may be preferable to re-identify it as a duck. For Anatolia, see, e.g., within the silver and bronze vessels of the ‘Lydian Treasure’ (references to Özgen & Öztürk 1996), the handle terminals of the side-spouted sieve dish (60), the strainer terminal (64), spoon handle (67), and alabastron lugs (75-8, 228). All of these are described as ‘duck heads’ though some share the elongated neck of the throne. Similar spoon handles from Sinope and Panderma: Athens NM St 216 (Summerer 2003: 21) and Berlin 30149b (Platz-Hortser 2005, gs.3-4). Yet we may compare the upper frame of the throne backrest of Persephone and Hades on a terracotta pinax from the sanctuary of Persephone at Locri (MN Reggio di Calabria 813), which terminates with an aquatic bird head (in contrast with a lion-head protome at the side by the seat). Admittedly, Baughan (2013) focuses on klinai, but the overall kinship of klin construction to the corpus of thronos construction, initially established by Kyrieleis (1969), rather than something like the throne of the priest of Dionysos, is clear. London BM B79, Theseus Painter, recently discussed in Wachsmann 2013: 120-23, with g.3.43B (with prior bibliography); see also BAPD 4319. Tarquinia 678: Nati 2012, pl.69; Wachsmann 2013, g.3.47. Dörpfeld & Reisch 1896: 46, accepted by Müller 1916: 41; Bieber 1920: 17; PickardCambridge 1946: 142. Pickard-Cambridge (1946: 143f. n.1) is cautious; Maass (1972: 60f.) accepts.

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The incorporation of relief sculpture on the throne enhanced its sense of luxurious distinction and to this day remains nearly unparalleled in the furniture of classical Greece, though the actual iconography employed ts comfortably into the late fth century BCE. Not surprisingly, from the rst, attempts were made to read the throne’s iconography through a Dionysian lens: on its discovery, Rousopoulos led the way with his broad characterisation of the decoration as “Dionysiac mythology” (1862: 96). The three zones of decoration each present a bilaterally symmetrical image. On each of the outer faces of the armrests a winged youth attends a cockght (gs.3, 4b, 6), making an intriguing parallel with a scene on a Boeotian krater of ca. 400 BCE, where two winged youths watch ghting cocks.17 The cockght on the throne was initially often read as a reference to a ‘historical’ event – the institution of cockghting in the Theatre to instil manly courage – but now accumulated evidence permits a more nuanced metaphorical reading.18 As Csapo has observed, in Classical Athens “the symbol for dramatic competition was the cockght.” Cockghting appears on the throne as cocks became “a symbol of the larger agon of the dramatic competition itself” (Csapo 2006/07: 21; idem 1992: 5). Most importantly, winged youths start to replace Nikai (Victories) in the imagery associated with Dionysiac victory in Attic art of about 435 BCE (Csapo 2010, n° B11, B18). The whole composition, of a winged youth attending a cockght, obliquely alludes to contest and victory. On the backrest two satyrs, back-to-back but separated by a central hanging bunch of grapes, raise their arms as if to support something, atlas-style (gs.2, 4a, 5). They have been seen as supporting a grape vine from which the bunch of grapes descends between them. Risom restored an elaborate palmetto above, on the analogy of a fragment from the Delos throne, though he did note “peut-être pourrait-on penser aussi à un relief dionysiaque” (1913: 261). Indeed, focus on the satyrs as Dionysiac creatures neglects the long framing arcs with thickened and rolled upper and lower termini (see, e.g., Müller 1886). Their shape and placement suggests that they, too, support the satyrs’ burden, perhaps a tripod, the prize of victory in the choral competitions for Dionysos. Images of satyrs, sometimes book-ended like this, linked with prizes for or celebrations of Dionysiac victory, can be found in

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Athens 12597, Boeotian red-gure krater: Ure 1958, pl.107; Csapo 2006/07, g.18. The winged youth type on the throne was variously interpreted as Eros (Linder 1865: 138; Julius 1878: 198; Müller 1886: 95 n.8) and Agn, the personication of competition (Beulé 1862: 350; Risom 1913: 259f.), the latter more plausibly. Note that the physical type of winged youth is adopted for a variety of personications in Attic art, for which see Shapiro (1993, passim), who does not discuss the winged cock-ghter. Literal reading, based on Ael. VH II.28, of dubious historicity: Beulé 1862: 350; Julius 1878: 198; Müller 1886: 77 n.5.

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fth and fourth century Attic art.19 In fact, in some choregic imagery, the tripod is supported by a central element as well as its three legs.20 If on the throne the armrests convey the competition, the backrest perhaps alluded to the award of victory in honour of Dionysos. Reading the throne imagery as ‘Dionysian’ is less of a challenge for the satyrs of the backrest and the cock-ghts on the armrests, but the image below the seat has eluded explanation, both formal and interpretative (gs.1-2, 5). Müller described the scene with comparative accuracy as “Two gures in Median dress who battle lion-grifns,” but he expressed puzzlement over its meaning.21 More recent scholarship reads them as Arimasps, but with no gain in explanatory value.22 Formally, the bilateral symmetry of the backrest and armrests is translated here into a doubled image of a gure in Persian rider dress with a Persian grifn. Rather than a simple paratactic repetition, the group is mirrored from one side to the other.23 The bearded male gures kneel, with one knee advanced, before a lion-grifn. Each grasps the grifn’s throat with his further hand and draws back a weapon in the near hand as if preparing to thrust. The gures wear a tiara with lappets hanging on the chest and something ying out to the rear,24 a jacket girt by a belt, trousers, and shoes. The weapon is difcult to identify; it has a curved projection like a bill-hook at the thrusting end and a anged terminal at the other (the terminal visible especially in the left pair). It has been termed a harp, but it bears no clear relationship with a known weapon (the dorydrepanon should be longer-hafted).25 The relief – both the subject and the style – has contributed to the uncertainty regarding the throne’s date: Schoppa, for example, excluded the throne from his discussion of Persians in Greek art on the grounds that its antithetical composition 19

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Examples from reliefs from choregic monuments (erected for victory in men’s chorus competition, for which a tripod was the prize), for which I am indebted to Eric Csapo, are: Athens 3496+3497+3498, ca. 400-375: two book-ended satyrs heave a krater (Csapo 2010, n° A.3); Athens NM 1490, ca. 350: satyr places tripod on stepped base (the slab is broken along the right, so that the base and tripod only partially survive; ibid. n° A4, g.8.4). For example, London BM E 284: Attic red-gured belly amphora of ca. 450 attributed to the Nausikaa Painter, where there are two tripods (Csapo 2010, n° B.9; BAPD 214645). See my proposed reconstruction drawing in Miller 2017, g.10. Müller 1886: 95 note; see also Julius 1878: 198. Delplace 1980: 165; Gorbunova 1997. Maass 1972: 62. The relief is differentially weathered, but enough survives to ensure condence that details from one half can be presumed in the other. These near horizontal rear lappets are very unconventional for Greek art and not explicable in Persian; perhaps they relate to cords tying the kidaris, like those seen on delegation XI at Persepolis, where they are tightly tied. For the harp, see Beulé 1862: 350; Julius 1878: 198.

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was better paralleled in Roman art than Greek.26 The apparent stylistic dissonance between the ‘Lysippan’ classicizing of the satyrs on the backrest and the winged youths on the sides and the at, almost hieratic image on the front was also said to be a late trait, showing late Hellenistic or Roman syncretism, with no place in the classical period.27 The very presence of the lion-grifn with its tightly curving wing (so clearly derived from the Persian prototype in contrast with the dominant grifn form in Greek art, the eagle grifn with its angular wing), has seemed to Maass to indicate a late fourth-century or later date, after Alexander’s conquests, when the wealth of Asia poured into Macedon, shaping tastes anew (1972: 76). It is true that the Persian lion-grifn is not well attested in Classical Greece, though over the years a number of discoveries in later fth- and fourth-century Greek contexts have relieved the throne’s beasts of their splendid isolation.28 The earliest is perhaps the lion-grifn in the hunt scene of Xenophantos’ aryballos of the late fth century, within a quasi-narrative context.29 The name vase of the Painter of the Lion-Grifns should date not long after.30 Other early lion-grifns have a more decorative/heraldic character, like the late fth century grave stele with rampant lion-grifns now in London (Paspalas 2008, g.3). In some ways the most important is found in the battered remains of a pebble mosaic ‘doormat’ from Olynthus introduced to the discussion by Paspalas.31 As the town was destroyed by Philip of Macedon, there is no question that its Persian grifn antedates the conquests of Alexander. Another important lion-grifn in Greece is from the well-

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Schoppa 1933: 43f. Maass’s (1972: 65f.) compelling arguments against this position, utilizing a larger evidence base, do not need repetition here. Linder 1865; Perrot 1881: 23; Möbius 1926: 131 (late, based on earlier original); Fiechter 1935: 72; Lippold 1951: 29; Kraus 1954: 41. Paspalas (2008) usefully and exhaustively collects lion-grifns in Greece, in continuing the argument of Paspalas (2000) that the bulk of Persian ideas in Macedon dates postconquest, though there is evidence for pre-conquest contact and actual imports of artefacts and ideas throughout the fourth century BCE. St. Petersburg, Hermitage P 1837.2 (ST 1790), Attic red-gured and relief squat lekythos (ARV 1407.1, BAPD 217907). Lezzi-Hafter (2008: 179) attributes it to the Eretria Painer-Aison-Meidias Painter (EAM) workshop and dates it to 400 BCE; cf. Miller 2003. St. Petersburg, Hermitage P 1863.14 (ST 1873), Attic red-gured pelik, Painter of the Lion Grifn, name vase (ARV 1473.1, BAPD 230402). Cf. Delplace 1980, g.138; Miller 1997, pl.28; Gorbunova 1997, n° 11, pl.341. This pelik, usually read within the tradition of Arimasps battling grifns, offers one of the best evocations of Persian liongrifns in Greek art and the closest parallel to the throne’s grifn stance; its formal qualities were of greater interest to the pot-painter than any narrative its accompanying gures may seem to suggest. Robinson 1933: 7-9, pl.14A; Salzmann 1982, pl.16.2, n° 80.

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preserved mid-fourth-century pebble mosaic suite discovered at Sikyon.32 On the ‘doormat’ a splendid creature paces, one paw raised. Distinctive inset red panels convey the stylized musculature of the Persian model, though the proportions are somewhat more svelte. Such lone gures of pacing lion-grifns occur with some frequency in Achaemenid stamp seals of western Anatolia and are attested also on stamp seals at Persepolis (cf. g.16).33 The Sikyon mosaic suite offers even further insight: the ‘doormat’s’ at panels of red and white on black contrast vividly with the main pavement of the chamber inside, whose exuberant acanthus oral pattern creates a near-chiaroscuro effect in its three-dimensionality (Dunbabin 1999, g.8). Such stylistic dissonance was manifestly acceptable in mid fourth-century Greece. Although the Persians and grifns on the throne’s panel are not immediate ts into standard Dionysian iconography, their presence does not interfere in any way with an interpretation of the throne as a product of the Theatre’s renovation in the mid-fourth century BCE, decades before the conquests of Alexander. The question remains whether the marble throne was created as an act of invention in the midfourth century or a replication of a prior piece of furniture in other media.

3. The panel as a component of throne construction In assessing furniture types, one is constantly faced with the problem of the perishabiIity of most materials used in furniture construction and the fact that furniture tends to be composed of a number of elements rather than cut from ‘whole cloth.’ The more luxurious the item, the greater the potential range of composite manufacture.34 We are fortunate to have representations of furniture in relief sculpture and painting, and from time to time replication of furniture in stone. Stone replication in free-standing sculpture or tomb furnishing appears to render the basic forms of the perishable model as closely as possible, within the limitations of the weight and bearing capacity of the new medium, so far as can be judged from comparison with surviving furniture fragments. This fact means that in order to understand the components of furniture, study of replicas in other media can offer assistance.

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Discovered in 1940, though it was not widely known until a photograph was published by Lawrence (1967, pl.24). Paspalas (2008: 309-11) suggests that it may be downdated to the later fourth century on social grounds, but Dunbabin (1999: 9) is content with a mid-fourth century date. See Salzmann 1982, n° 118, colour pl.101. See, e.g., from Sardis: Istanbul 4528, 4642, 5134 (Dusinberre 2003, gs.84, 87, 89). Schmidt 1957, pl.14 (PT 6101, seal n° 68). An excellent overview of the extant remains of luxurious furniture (notably ivory) is found in Baughan 2013, chapter 1 (valuable even if her focus is on klinai), incorporating new evidence since Richter (1966) and Kyrieleis (1969).

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For the grammatical range of decorative possibilities, petried furniture in tombs is very valuable to supplement the small corpus of surviving furniture parts. The material excavated from Macedonian tumuli in recent decades provides especially useful documentation, as it covers the full gamut from prestigious furnishings in rich materials (ivory and gold, notably the klinai from the Great Tomb at Vergina discovered in 1977), to elaborate renderings in marble of perishable furniture, whose surface treatment includes gilding (the throne of ‘Eurydike’s Tomb,’ discovered in 1987) and less detailed marble furniture, whose makers cut corners in suggesting complex elements and substituted yellow paint for gilding (Bella Tumulus, tombs 1-2).35 The design of the stone thrones of the fourth and third century Macedonian tombs admittedly differs from that of the throne in Athens, but it can offer insight into details of construction and decorative practice. Most importantly for our purposes, Macedonian stone thrones testify to the use of appliqués in the decoration of secondary inset panels, such as at the point below the weightbearing horizontal element (below the seat on thronoi or the mattress support of the klin of Bella Tomb 2). The painstakingly made and detailed decoration of the Kyrieleis Type B marble throne of ‘Eurydike’s Tomb’ (dated by its contents ca. 340 BCE) offers valuable evidence, especially in view of its excellent state of preservation.36 Three main decorative elements are rendered in marble and paint: an ambitious composition of a four-horse chariot team and Hades and Persephone painted on the wide backrest, caryatid statuettes below armrests and backrest, and recessed panels with relief decoration below the seat.37 The seat platform is itself painted to look as though a Persian textile hangs down over it. The horizontal recessed panels below, bordered at the bottom by a wide llet, are decorated with relief friezes of gilt gures on a red ground: on the two sides, lions attack a stag, anked on either side by a Greek eagle grifn with angular wings. On the centre of the front panel two Greek grifns attack a stag; the group is anked by opposed pairs of grifns, of which one (the outer grifn) is Greek style and the other (the inner) is a Persian lion-grifn with 35

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Andrianou (2009: 30f.) catalogues five marble thrones, three in Vergina and two at Eretria, with full references; of these the ‘Tomb of Eurydike’ (her n° 9) is earliest at ca. 340, and most luxurious. For excellent photographs see Brecoulaki 2006, pls.1.2, 3-9 (Tomb of Eurydice), 58.2 (Rhomaios Tomb), 59.1 (Bella Tomb 1), 61.2-3 (Bella Tomb 2, klin). See now also the illustrations available on-line: Kottaridi 2013: 123, 140–43 (Tomb of Eurydike); 353 (Bella Tomb 1, throne); 357 (Bella Tomb 2, klin). Kottaridi 2013: 140-43, with excellent illustrations, accessible as an e-book at the Latsis Foundation website. See also Miller 2017, g.12. Similar incorporation of statuettes to enrich the visual effect can be observed in Assyrian art, e.g., the throne of Sennacherib at the siege of Lachish, ca. 700 BCE, at Nineveh, South West Palace, Room XXXVI, London BM 124911 (Kyrieleis 1969, 64-71; Barnett & Lorenzini 1975, pl.76).

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curled wings. The deliberate collocation of Greek and Persian grifns is rare and evocative,38 but for present purposes the importance of the band is its implication that this marble throne copies a wooden model enlivened in its different zones by gold relief appliqués set on a red background in addition to sophisticated panel painting and small ivory atlantid gures. The evidence indicates that furniture appliqués could be made of a variety of materials, each doubtless with its own prestige value. The gold quoted on the ‘throne of Eurydike’ would be pretty high-end, like the actual ivory klin appliqués preserved from the Great Tomb of Vergina dated somewhat later. Gilt terracotta grifns are reported from a regular tomb, Pydna necropolis  514 (Brecoulaki 2006: 54 n.4). The placement of gural imagery on a at panel below a seat is not easily found in prior representations of furniture, Near Eastern or Greek, and contrasts with the metopal aesthetic attested by the ivory plaques associated with the late eighth century throne from Salamis Tomb 79 (Throne ) and depictions in Assyrian painting and sculpture (notably the upper leg of Assurbanipal’s couch from Nineveh, North Palace, possibly from Syria, BM 124920).39 In the Persian sphere, representations of thrones suggest construction in luxurious media, and textile cushions that might have been elaborated, rather than gural decoration as such. It is possible that the fourth-century marble throne of the priest of Dionysos in Athens similarly included (and, one might suspect, retained) elements from a prior wooden or mixed media version (Maass 1972: 74). We may recall that the intriguing entries in the lists of ‘treasure’ stored in various locations on the Athenian Acropolis include thronoi. While the fth-century listings of six thronoi stored in the Parthenon give no indication of design, material, or decoration, in the fourthcentury lists for the Hekatompedon more detail is sometimes given for the thronoi

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It is seen also on the third-century stone double klin of the Bella Tumulus Tomb 2, Aigai/Vergina (Brecoulaki 2006, pl.61.2-3; Kottaridi 2013: 357). For Throne , see Karageorghis 1973/74: 11, 91f., pls.345, 62-3. One possibility is perhaps the Type A throne on a mid-seventh century terracotta plaque (metope?) with three seated goddesses from the Temple of Apollo at Thermon. The original painting has faded. Sotiriades’ restored watercolour of 1908 has a frieze panel in this location, decorated with svelte grifns anking a bucranion (Kawerau & Sotiriades 1908: 5f., pl. 50.2, reproduced in Richter 1966, g.65 and, in Kawerau’s restored drawing, pl.49.1). It is not at all clear how accurate the watercolour reproduction was, but it is certainly plausible. Sotiriades was bothered by some details of the image, which he explained by positing a touching up of the damaged painting rather later, in the third century BCE (some of those details could nd a home in the sixth century, but the slender grifns and bucrania do indeed look third century). The difculties of the painting are so many that it would be unwise to insist on the Thermon metope as evidence for such a throne decoration in the Archaic period, however tempting it may be.

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stored there. Some thronoi, at least by 382/1 BCE, are wood inlaid with ivory.40 The provision of such prestigious furniture for the cult of Athena on the Acropolis provides a good context for the cult of Dionysos on the south slope. It is very likely that the grifn panel below the seat of the marble throne of the priest of Dionysos reects a tradition of appliqué decorations (in gold, ivory, or gilt or painted terracotta) set on wood; or wood-carving, enlivened by paint or gilding.

4. Vehicle of imagery transmission: textiles and seals Since von Lorentz’s important paper of 1937, the role of textiles has often been posited, surely correctly, as a vehicle of visual communication between the Persian Empire and Greece in the sixth through fourth centuries BCE; some clear instances have been identied (Boardman 1970). In the case of the throne of Dionysos, where cushions perhaps enhanced comfort (cf. Aeschin. III.76.1), it might be reasonable to suggest that the grifn frieze imitated an imported textile. Yet the evidence from Macedon that a decorated inset panel was part of the solid construction of a throne below the seat and that a ‘cushion’ element above related more naturally to textile presents an articulated distinction between frieze panel and textile. If not itself a ‘petrication’ of a textile, the throne panel’s imagery perhaps arrived in Athens by means of textile.41 Here considerations of composition come to the fore: the throne panel comprises a mirror-image rendering of a two-gure group: a ‘hero’ in rider dress seizes with one hand the throat of a marchant liongrifn while drawing back a weapon in his other. The evidence for decorated textiles in the Persian world, though scanty, speaks rather to broad carpet scatter and to linear uni-directional friezes of repeated elements.42 It is easier to see rows of rosettes, pacing lions, or lion-heads with radiate mane as elements from textile subjects (or bracteates on textiles), than the throne’s bilaterally symmetrical image of men and lion-grifns.

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Harris 1995: 93f., 137f. Some thronoi seem to have had three-dimensional ivory statuettes, reminiscent of the composition of ‘Eurydike’s throne.’ See Harris (1995: 52) on the Opisthodomos listing in 371 of        , “ivory gurines from the thrones” (chapter 2, n° 40). See also Hamilton (1996), observing that this may be the same item as the Hekatomedpon entry for 349,        , “pieces of ivory from the thrones: 5” (Harris 1995, chapter 5, n° 126). So, Vollmoeller 1901: 351; Bieber 1920: 17; Lippold 1951: 29; Maass 1972: 62. The statement is based on a systematic examination of the range of evidence for Persian textile patterning in the second chapter of my book in progress. A major source is the evidence of guidelines for painting on the relief sculptures of Persepolis, for which see Tilia 1978: 31-69, esp. 53-57; Krefter 1989: 131f.; Jacobs 1994: 126-34.

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g.7: composite drawing of PFS 1155 (courtesy M.B. Garrison and M.C. Root, Persepolis Seal Project, and the Persepolis Fortification Archive Project)

g.8: composite drawing of PFS 0067 (courtesy M.B. Garrison and M.C. Root, Persepolis Seal Project, and the Persepolis Fortification Archive Project)

g.9: composite drawing of PFS 0120 (courtesy M.B. Garrison and M.C. Root, Persepolis Seal Project, and the Persepolis Fortification Archive Project)

g.10: composite drawing of PFS 1076 (courtesy M.B. Garrison and M.C. Root, Persepolis Seal Project, and the Persepolis Fortification Archive Project)

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g.11: composite drawing of PFS 0196 (courtesy M.B. Garrison and M.C. Root, Persepolis Seal Project, and the Persepolis Fortification Archive Project)

g.12: composite drawing of PFS 1428s (courtesy M.B. Garrison and M.C. Root, Persepolis Seal Project, and the Persepolis Fortification Archive Project)

g.13: composite drawing of PFS 0931* (courtesy M.B. Garrison and M.C. Root, Persepolis Seal Project, and the Persepolis Fortification Archive Project)

g.14: composite drawing of PFS 0146 (courtesy M.B. Garrison and M.C. Root, Persepolis Seal Project, and the Persepolis Fortification Archive Project)

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The composition of the throne panel suggests, rather, that a different medium, glyptic, was the vehicle of image-dissemination. Not only is the imagery of heroic control and heroic combat best documented in Persian glyptic (indeed, heroic encounter demonstrably comprised a signicant proportion of all the glyptic production in the Near East during the Persian empire), but the principle of bilateral symmetry is well known, if not always employed; it is especially prominent in the royal name seals of Darius I.43 Thanks to Garrison and Root’s sophisticated publication of the voluminous corpus of PFS heroic encounter imagery, it can be seen that most of the individual components of the throne’s panel can be paralleled in cylinder or stamp seals denitely in use at Persepolis in 509-493 BCE. The counter-curved tails of the two winged lion-grifns dene the centre of the throne panel. Though in posture marchant, the grifns touch the ground line only with their rear legs. Each raises the further foreleg to the man’s arm (extended to their throat) and with the near foreleg seems to tread upon the man’s forward thigh. The marchant stance contrasts with that of quadrupeds in most heroic encounter imagery in Achaemenid glyptic, where the rampant format is preferred for both control and combat, in effect counterpoising the creature against the erect human. Although the human dominates in these, the rampant creature may make insistent contact with up to three paws, at arm, chest, and knee. Insistent contact emphatically appears in monumental art as combat encounters on select doorjambs at Persepolis (Palace of Darius, ‘Harem,’ and Throne Hall), but also in the control scene of cylinder PFS 0981* (Garrison & Root 2001, n° 87).44 The marchant stance adopted on the throne can be seen from time to time, in Persepolitan glyptic, as on the control scene of PFS 1155 (n° 190) where an erect hero in a robe seems to grasp by the beard two marchant human-headed winged bull creatures, each with one raised fore-leg (g.7). A closer parallel is seen in the combat image of PFS 0067 (n° 293), in which the hero, on one knee, tackles a marchant winged creature again with one leg raised (g.8). The raised leg appears also on stamp seals and other minor arts from the western empire.45 Its semantic function is not clear; perhaps it is intended to animate the subject, like the wide-mouthed roar. The two quasi-rampant anking lion-grifns in the double control image of PFS 0120 (n° 49) raise both their forelegs in a manner roughly akin to those of the throne, though not actually touching the hero (g.9). The marchant grifns of the throne, in making emphatic multiple-point contact with the men, deviate from the norm for marchant 43 44 45

Proportion: Garrison & Root 2001: 54-56; royal name seals: Garrison 2014. Doorjambs: see the analysis by Root (1979: 303-8, with pls.16, 28, 30). Some examples: facing bearded male sphinxes with curved wings on gold clothing appliqué from Silifke (Dusinberre 2013, g.107); the same on a conoid stamp from Methymna, Lesbos, current location unknown (Miller 1997: 43, g.10); single liongrifn on glass seal from Gordion (Dusinberre 2013, g.148).

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groups in the Persian seals. One may ask: is this horizontal translation of the insistent contact of rampant imagery deliberate or accidental? The men on the throne’s panel wear a clearly delineated rider dress of sleeved jacket secured by a belt; the line at the ankle should signal the top of the shoe. The predominant garb of the heroes in Persian glyptic control scenes and combat scenes, to judge from the Persepolis corpus, is the Assyrianising garment (less commonly the court robe) that exposes the forward leg. The rider dress is but rarely attested, as on the control image of PFS 1076 (Garrison & Root 2001, n° 193) with its clear distinction between upper garment and trousers (g.10). While the weapon depicted is highly irregular, the manner in which it is wielded is quite conventional. We may note, for example, how on PFS 0196 (n° 224) a gure wearing the court robe grasps a lion by its forelock with his rear hand and while pulling back a sword for the strike in his near hand (g.11). Grasping the beast’s throat with the free hand, as on the throne, is seen for example on the stamp seal PFS 1428s (n° 230; here g.12).46 The most irregular part of the throne panel is the posture of the men, who seem to kneel, both knees to the ground, before their grifns. One early interpreter even took the composition to mean that the men are to be read as subject to the grifn (Linder 1865: 138). When defending the kneeling posture on the panel, Maass (1972: 6) thought of the employment of the (semi-)kneeling archer on the daric (Type II) which was certainly known to Athenians. He suggested that the throne’s modied composition, with the full kneeling stance (on two knees) and the paw on the thigh, is deliberate, intended to suggest the desire of the grifn to ascend and the superiority of the ghter who keeps him down. The use of the half-kneeling stance is very common in Persian glyptic imagery of archers (of a variety of forms), shooting at a variety of opponents, usually bestial. The stance occasionally also occurs heroic encounter imagery in glyptic, as for example in the heroic combat of PFS 0067 (Garrison & Root 2001, n° 293) and the heroic control of PFS 0120 (n° 49), in which possibly the rider dress is also worn (gs.8-9). Garrison, in considering the quotation in Persian Type II coinage of the half-kneeling archers from Persepolitan imagery, convincingly suggests that they embody dynamic pro46

Other examples of throat-grasp with weapon at the rear: stamp seal PFS 1367s (Garrison & Root 2001, n° 211; Fortication style; both rampant, wears Assyrian garment); PFS 0139 (n° 222; Broad and Flat Styles; rampant); PFS 0260 (n° 225; Fortication Style; curved sword, rampant); PFS 1582 (n° 232; Mixed Styles; rampant). The range of style is worth noting. I am most indebted to Mark Garrison for clarication regarding the relative frequency of combat modes in the whole Persepolitan corpus. Imagery with the weapon held down and back, as here, comprises more than two-thirds of the corpus, greatly outnumbering instances with the weapon held up and behind the head or with actually stabbing the animal.

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tection (2010: 356); but the full kneeling stance on the throne would connote something different. The overall composition of the throne’s grifn panel, with its employment of strict bilateral symmetry, is paralleled by stamp seals from the western empire, such as opposed seated grifns with one raised paw on a pyramidal stamp seal from kiztepe and opposed crowned male sphinxes with raised paw from Lesbos.47 The restricted surface of stamp seals, however, often limits the composition to two elements, with sometimes a third, central focal point. The four-element structure of the throne panel evokes, rather, a complete rolled impression of a cylinder, centred on the intriguing pattern of counter-curved grifn tails. The principle of mirrorimage symmetrical balance is not often seen on cylinders, though it plays an important signifying role in the royal arts of Persepolis, and is preferred for the royal name seals of Darius.48 One complex image of heroic encounter on a Persepolitan cylinder, PFS 0931* (Garrison & Root 2001, n° 270), is bilaterally symmetrical (g.13). A closer parallel to the composition of the throne panel is the unique near mirror-image double heroic encounter with winged human-headed creatures of PFS 0146 (n° 275), whose curving tails provide an analogous centre-point (g.14). The fact that a number of Persian stamp and cylinder seals have evidently been recovered in Greece offers proof, if proof be required, of the transportability abroad of these “bearers of meaning” (to borrow out of context John Onian’s 1988 evocative book title). It is especially interesting when cylinder seals are found in Greece, in view of the utterly foreign sealing practice they represent; one cylinder with heroic combat allegedly comes from Marathon (g.15).49 One stamp seal, allegedly found at Sparta, offers a ne Persian lion-grifn (g.16).50 The idea that imported 47

48 49

50

kiztepe: Uak 1.70.96, Özgen & Öztürk 1996, n° 95; Dusinberre 2013, g.37. Methymna, Lesbos: above, n.45. Royal arts: Garrison 2011: 62-65; royal name seals: idem 2014. Zazoff (1983: 167f. n.24) reports three chalcedony cylinder seals found in Greece, of which two are said to be from Marathon. One, BM 89781, shows a heroic combat with crowned rampant male sphinx, palm and rampant ibex (purchased in 1772 from the Hamilton Collection, with an alleged provenance of Marathon; Wiseman 1959, pl.104; Collon 1987: 90f. n° 421; Merrillees 2005: 62). The second was formerly in the collection of Ludwig Ross in Halle and shows a heroic combat with rampant lion (Menant 1886: 46, g.45). The third, Berlin, Antikensammlung FG 180, shows a Persian horse under winged disk and is said to be from Attika (Zwierlein-Diehl 1969, n° 195, pl.42). Of these three, the latter two are more likely to have been genuinely from Greece; the Hamilton Collection was principally amassed in Italy. Berlin FG 188: light blue-grey chalcedony scaraboid, Persian grifn marchant, said to have been found at Sparta (Zwierlein-Diehl 1969, n° 203, pl.43). See also Berlin FG 189, a light green glass scaraboid, said to have been found in Athens in the nineteenth century and showing a Persian male sphinx marchant (ibid., n° 206, pl.43).

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g.15: grey chalcedony cylinder seal, London BM 89781 (1772, 0315, GR.4190), with modern impression (courtesy The Trustees of the British Museum)

Near Eastern glyptic from time to time assisted in the formulation of images made in Classical Athens underlay discussions of a table support made of Hymettian marble, the ‘Kamini relief’ from the Mouseion Hill (initially incorrectly dated to the Hadrianic period and now more generally seen as very early Hellenistic).51 Imported seals may lie behind other unusual subjects in classical Attic red-gured painting, as well as the appearance of the single lion-grifn in various Greek art forms of the later fth through third centuries BCE noted above.52 It is clear from the wide variety of compositions and combatants in Persepolitan glyptic that parallels for many of the elements of the throne seat panel composition can be found somewhere in Persian glyptic. Yet the tout ensemble does not seem quite right: the ‘hero’ is on two knees; the grifn’s forepaws, resting on the hero’s lower thigh as well as touching the extended arm, create an unusual (for seals) formal relationship between the two where, if anyone, it is the hero who treads on a

51

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Athens NM 1487: Perrot 1881; Menant (1886: 177f.); Delplace (1980: 163, g.196). Bivar (1970) wanted to date it to the second half of the fourth century, contemporary with the activities of Mazaios of Syria, whose imagery he suggested it reected. However, the construction of this form of table (rectilinear marble slabs supporting marble top) is not readily dated before early Hellenistic, as established by Richter (1966: 71f., Type 5); Andrianou (2009: 52-54) adds a table from the House of Hermes, Delos. See Boardman (2000: 182, g.5.64, n.120) on Olga Palagia’s suggestion of a possible association with Demetrios Poliorketes’ Macedonian garrison on the Mouseion hill in 292 BCE, near the nd-spot of the Kamini relief. The change of date does not vitiate the original observation of indebtedness to glyptic imagery. Schoppa 1933: 38f.; Miller 1997: 56-59; idem 2003: 36-38; for single lion-grifns see Paspalas 2008.

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g.16: light blue-grey chalcedony scaraboid stamp seal, Berlin FG 188 (courtesy Antikensammlung, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin)

creature (g.13).53 The end result with its notable parallelism of the human limbs and grifn forepaws (raised forepaw to raised arm, lower forepaw to forward leg) may be signicant: the gures are balanced, but in combat. Garrison and Root (2001: 59) eloquently articulate the nuances of the distinction between heroic control and heroic combat: Generally speaking, the control encounter as we witness it through seals used on the PF tablets suggests a hieratic equilibrium – a balancing of forces – that is really quite different from the combat encounter, with its suggestion of aggression either held at bay or actively thwarted through the imminent or realized smiting of the hero’s antagonist.

On the Athenian throne, part of the effect of that kneeling posture and contact is to make the image seem almost a conation of the heroic control and combat types. Is this a case of deliberate creation in an act of cultural translation or an accidental misunderstanding? In view of the clever employment of space on the other decorated elements of the throne, it is unlikely that the details of the composition are merely a result of spatial limitations.

5. Visual literacy It is one thing to establish the combat/control of lion-grifn image as generally consonant with Persian glyptic, and that such glyptic was imported into Classical Greece, where it might provide a model for a composition to adorn furniture (in this case, appliqués on a wooden prototype of the marble throne). It is something else to explain or justify the presence of such an image on such a piece of furniture. Did the quotation of this manifestly foreign ingredient have a specic semantic quality to contribute to the image system of the throne of the priest of Dionysos, or is it to be read as merely decorative, evocative of the rich furnishings of the Persian 53

Schoppa (1933: 43f.) especially protests at the irregularity of the two-knee stance. For foot-resting on a creature, see, e.g., the archer and winged caprid of PFS 0390* (Garrison 2010, gs.32.7d, 32.8d).

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empire? The latter would be consonant with Maass’s interpretation of the Persian theme as related to Persian textile in the context of “verstärkten orientalischen Einuss in der Folge des Alexanderzuges” (1972: 76). But we are now in a position not to need to date the throne after Alexander, and in fact have strong reasons for dating it signicantly earlier. A few attempts at explanation of the choice of theme have been made. Linder, not long after the throne’s discovery and believing that the date was Hadrianic in view of its apparent ‘syncretism,’ read the grifn as standing for the god Dionysos engaged in the conquest of the East, itself embodied in the kneeling Persian (1865: 138). He read the paw resting on the man’s leg as a statement of domination. The idea was implicitly rejected by most subsequent scholars who saw the image’s relationship with Dionysos as not yet established.54 The recognition, by 1888, of the debt to Near Eastern art (Perrot) showed the absurdity of the interpretation. Yet in a more metaphorical sense, the eastern associations of the subject matter might be more broadly thought to symbolize the ‘triumph of Dionysos in the East.’ A vague sense that somehow Dionysos went with grifns owes much to the Hellenistic period (Delplace 1980: 164). Despite the hint of the god’s emergence from the Orient in Euripides’ Bacchae, the theme was especially developed later, in the Hellenistic and particularly Roman periods in keeping with specic political agendas of the day. A ‘triumph of Dionysos’ interpretation has unwanted chronological correlates. Many modern observers from the Classical side, steeped in Greek art and culture, automatically read a combat between a man and a grifn as a grypomachy with Arimasps.55 It is not clear what Athenians would have made of the image: would they have viewed the grifn-ghters as Persians or Arimasps? In a recent study, Lenfant has made the important point that in view of the extensive evidence for contact between the Greek world and the Persian empire, it is unreasonable to presume visual ‘misunderstanding’ of Persian images in Athens (Lenfant 2013). In this context, the question would be slightly rephrased: just because the Greeks had a mythological narrative in which Arimasps – imagined to be an eastern people56 – battled grifns for gold, would Greeks, or more specically, Athenians, have blindly read any image of a combat with a grifn as necessarily relating to that 54 55 56

So Julius 1878 and Müller 1886. Starting with Beulé 1862: 350; see also Delplace 1980: 164; Gorbunova 1997. If we can take the ‘Scythian’ preparing to strike a grifn with an axe on the far side of an Attic black-gured lip cup as an Arimasp, Arimasps were depicted in Iranian mode from just after the mid sixth century (Angers, Musée Pincé NTC 1006 [285-20], Gorbunova 1997, pl.340). Certainly from the end of the fth century the series with Iranianising garb in Attic red-gure painting commences (summary: Delplace 1980: 124-37; Gorbunova 1997). Maass (1972: 67) protested that the throne panel composition is too unlike Attic red-gure grypomachies for the subject to be Arimasps.

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tale? Or were Athenian patrons and artists sufciently cognizant of Persian formulae to manipulate them? Could Athenian viewers recognize the throne panel as a form of quotation? To the last question, the circumstances in general invite the answer ‘yes.’ Not only was the heroic encounter one of the most common subjects of glyptic in the Persian period and so most likely to have been known to Greeks (notably one of the three Persian cylinder seals that survived the centuries in Greece is a heroic combat; g.15); there is a good chance that Greeks might have seen the image as authority laden, even royal. Root has drawn attention to the important fact that ten of the fteen seal types inscribed with the name of an Achaemenid king have the combat or control composition (the recent addition of one more royal name seal increases the proportion).57 The realisation that the seals were wielded not by the king himself but by men at a certain level of seniority in the administration does not impair their authority-laden character. The monumental employment of the heroic combat on Persepolitan doorjambs (and elsewhere?), redolent with imperial authority, was possibly even known to Greeks. The curious modications to the subject made by the sculptor of the throne make no more visual sense in Greek narrative art than in Persian convention, but they result in a balanced composition that stresses a connection between man and beast: a heroic encounter. The conclusion is inescapable. The pose of the male gures on the throne more readily ts a Near Eastern ‘encounter’ than a Greek mythological battle: it represents a conscious and recognisable use of Persian power imagery. Some time ago, Bivar generally observed of heroic control imagery that “the iconographic type (…) possessed a stability of its own, but (…) in different periods it received an interpretation in harmony with the prevailing (…) associations of the day” (1970: 46). Within the general theme of power, the image was an empty vessel, capable of exible reading dependent on circumstances of time and place. Every detail of the throne of the priest of Dionysos was carefully thought out. Whoever made the decision to include this image on the throne chose a composition that was able obliquely to evoke a quality in a parallel manner to the allusive messages of the other components: competition through a cock-ght, victory through a processed tripod, and authority through heroic encounter.58

57 58

Root 1979: 303, catalogued 118-22; expanded with PFUTS 0018* by Garrison 2014: 75f. It should be noted that Bieber (1920: 17) read the theme generically: “Orientals ghting grifns” as a doublet, a probable “symbol of the Agon in the orchestra.”

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6. Conclusion The marble throne of the priest of Dionysos Eleuthereus in the Theatre of Dionysos at Athens was extravagantly heterogeneous. It may have been an original production in marble in the mid-fourth century BCE, but a number of features suggest, rather, that it, like the klismoi around it, was modelled after a prior wooden prototype. Iconographic parallels would place that wooden prototype somewhere between 435 and 380 BCE. There is no way at present to choose which end of the spectrum, though in the brief period of intense creativity that was Periclean Athens, bolstered by the power of wealth and the condence of empire, experimentation was manifest in many areas of artistic production.59 The iconography on the throne would be very radical, but not impossible, for 430 (indeed, the throne might have set the trend for such imagery); it would be well within the range of mainstream production for, e.g., 380 BCE. The designer of the throne wanted to make an impression. The thronos type was new; within a recognized grammar of thronos production already known in Greece in the seventh century BCE, it combined in eclectic fashion a number of elements perhaps never before combined. Through a well-constructed series of sculptural allusions, the designer was able to evoke a range of the facets of the cult of Dionysos Eleuthereus whose priest oversaw the competitive performances in honour of the god. The designer deliberately did not take a Persian throne as its model. What he did do, though, by quoting age-old Near Eastern power imagery in a way that encapsulated two ideas in one formulation, was obliquely underscore the authority of the priest and the god by enhancing the ‘thronic’ quality of the throne. The adoption of an element of Persian iconography in the throne’s decorative scheme is interesting as an extremely rare and clear example of recognizably foreign quotation on an Athenian public monument, indeed an artefact that is otherwise wholly Greek in its function, location, shape, and iconographic program. It is very likely that the vehicle of inspiration was imagery from the glyptic tradition of cylinder seals, like PFS 0146 with its mirror-image central gure (g.14); but for the throne’s image to have been recognized and appreciated in Athens, it must have resonated within an established visual repertoire. Even if the precise meaning of the mirrored lion-grifn control image in this context may elude us, its very presence on this throne at this time suggests a high level of iconographic reception and adaptation. The level of visual literacy necessary for comprehension perhaps owes much to the ready portability and intrinsic value of seal stones.

59

One thinks, for example, of the exciting new developments in shaping interior space in the Parthenon.

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SUMMERER, L. 2003, Achämenidische Silberfunde aus der Umgebung von Sinope, Ancient Civilizations 9: 17-42. TILIA, A.B. 1978, Studies and restorations at Persepolis and other sites of Fars, vol. 2 (ISMEO 18), Roma. URE, A.D. 1958, The Argos Painter and the Painter of the Dancing Pan, AJA 62: 389-95. VISCHER, W. 1863, Die Entdeckungen im Theater des Dionysos zu Athen, Neues Schweizerisches Museum 3: 1-13, 35-77. VOLLMOELLER, K.G. 1901, Über zwei euböische Kammergräber mit Totenbetten, AthM 26: 333-76. VON LORENTZ, F. 1937,    E, RömM 52: 165-222. WACHSMANN, S. 2013, The Gurob ship-cart model and its Mediterranean context, College Station. WISEMAN, D.J. 1959, Cylinder seals of Western Asia, London. ZAZOFF, P. 1983, Die antiken Gemmen, München. ZWIERLEIN-DIEHL, E. 1969, Antike Gemmen in deutschen Sammlungen, vol. 2: Staatliche Museen Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Antikenabteilung Berlin, München.

READING PERSEPOLIS IN DELPHI Karen A. Laurence (Cleveland)

1. Introduction The monuments crowning the Takht of Persepolis provide our most complete vision of Achaemenid Persian architecture, political/ritual/ceremonial space, and sculptural representation.1 Western scholarly tradition on the aesthetic and experiential phenomena preserved through these glorious ruins (and on the art produced in the service of the Persian empire more generally) was dominated through most of the twentieth century by a focus on Persian indebtedness to the Greek world. This indebtedness was seen as the result of a total dependency rather than an assertive choice, and it supposed a dependence on Greek input for all manner of creative and symbolic initiatives as well as for formal solutions to challenges of representation and technique. The dependency was seen as pervasive: on the monumental scale as well as on the small scale of portable arts production. Emphasis has shifted increasingly in recent decades to considerations of multiple traditions and associations of the Persians that led to the formation of Achaemenid art as a programmatic endeavor driven by motivations and energies much more complex than anything that can be captured by a notion of unidirectional inuence. Furthermore, explorations have emerged that approach ways of understanding how the Greek world (including, not least, Athens) reverberated in its own right from cultural encounters with the creative energy of the Achaemenid empire. Yet, from my perspective as a scholar in Greek archaeology today, I am keenly aware of the persistence of the old attitude, both by explicit statement and by what is left unmentioned and unexplored.2 Within many circles of classical studies, it con1

2

This paper resulted from a seminar entitled Reading Persepolis, conducted by Margaret Cool Root at the University of Michigan in Winter 2007. In this seminar, the other participants and I explored issues of Achaemenid inuence throughout the Mediterranean from the vantage point of Persepolis. I thank Margaret Cool Root for all of her invaluable comments and guidance in the original writing of this paper and in its subsequent revisions. Any remaining errors are my own. This old attitude is more and more being rectied. See, e.g., Miller 2004 and Raafblaub 2009, as well as, of course, Root 1985.

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tinues to propagate a restricting notion of what cross-cultural inuence involved in the Greater Mediterranean of the rst millennium BCE. Persia is repeatedly invented as empty vessel in relation to a Greece overowing with creative output. For many, Persia remains the needy recipient in a one-way ow of cultural prowess. This paper introduces one more case study to the growing scholarship that seeks to look at Greek-Persian cultural interaction differently. In doing so, it revives, expands upon, and redirects some considerations that have been made in specialist studies but which have not found a substantial place in generalist publications. The focal point of my inquiry is the Stoa of the Athenians at Delphi – a fth century

g.1: the Stoa of the Athenians at Delphi (photograph author)

monument much debated among historians and archaeologists (g.1). I shall examine the Stoa of the Athenians with three intertwining ambitions in mind. First, I present an overview of the problems posed and approaches already engendered by this intriguing edice and the architectural features in Persepolis to which it relates. Section 2 focuses on the stoa and is geared to a broad readership of Achaemenidists who may wish to explore some of the history of scholarship of the stoa. It is my hope that the overview will also be useful to classicists. For although the structure has been the subject of great debate, contested issues in the scholarship have revolved around the date of the stoa’s construction and historical context rather than functional and architectural issues, including symbolic aspects of its

BCE

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form and positioning. Section 3 offers a short commentary on the architecture of Persepolis and related Achaemenid installations that share similarities with the stoa. Here, the goal is to stimulate ideas coming from readers of varying academic and eld backgrounds. I try not to burden my paper with too much detail and too many in-depth investigations of secondary issues. There are numerous places in this section that raise issues that deserve further investigation. Secondly (§§4-5), I lay out possibilities of Athenian architectural quotations of Persepolis embedded in the stoa. Such deliberate quotations, intended to serve particular goals of meaning in Delphi, would have derived from the familiarity of the stoa’s patrons with the grand architectural formulae of empire created for the heartland Persian capital of Persepolis and disseminated also to regional administrative (satrapal) centers. This section considers variant competing interpretive approaches to cross-cultural transmission between Greece and Persia from the second half of the twentieth century to the present. Thirdly (§6), I consider ways in which a look at the Stoa of the Athenians through the lens of Persepolis helps to appreciate more fully signicant symbolic and formal features of the Athenian structure in its own sanctuary context.

2. The Stoa of the Athenians: overview of context, description, and date 2.1. Dening a pan-Hellenic sanctuary: piety, politics, economics The sanctuary of Apollo at Delphi (g.2) was one of the most important religious centers of Greece in antiquity, being the center for the cult of divination related to the worship of this god.3 It was established in the eighth century BCE, and it rose to special prominence in the era of colonization around the Mediterranean chiey because interpretations of the oracular utterances of Apollo could be used as political tools in the manipulation or reinforcement of agendas of city states (poleis) in their formative development and expansionist strategies.4 By the sixth century, Delphi had become one of the most important pan-Hellenic shrines. It was famous not only for its oracular services, but also for the Pythian Games, celebrated there once every four years. Like other pan-Hellenic sanctuaries, Delphi attracted (and promoted) lavish displays by afuent individuals and states. Individuals participated in athletic competitions and gave elaborate private dedications of material offerings. States also constructed and maintained dedications, including treasuries, small but often highly decorated buildings that housed both private and state offerings. 3 4

See most recently, Scott 2014 as well as Johnston 2008 and Stoneman 2011. Morgan 1990: 154. Cf. Bowden (2005), who emphasizes a more traditional perspective that stresses the religious importance of Delphi and the oracle.

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g.2: plan of the sanctuary of Apollo at Delphi: 5. Treasury of the Siphnians; 6. Treasury of the Athenians; 7. Sphinx monument of the Naxians; 8. Stoa of the Athenians; 10. Temple of Apollo; 15. the Sacred Way (after Pedley 2005, g.71)

2.2. Dening a Stoa: form and function A stoa in the ancient Greek world was a roofed structure, open on one long side to create a deep portico.5 Typically, the Greek stoa of the archaic and classical periods was constructed as a multi-purpose shelter (whether lavish or humble in form and setting). It might serve primarily as a gathering place, ofce area, or shopping center in the agora (a city’s market and civic area). Simultaneously, a stoa in the agora 5

For a standard overview, see Coulton 1976. There are numerous publications about both the general development of Greek stoas and individual cases. For a sampling, see Broneer 1954; Kuhn 1985; Winter 2006: 51-70.

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might contain some sculptural or other display, including spoils of war. The fthcentury Stoa Poikil (painted stoa) in the Athenian agora is a good example. It housed victory dedications in addition to interior monumental paintings that celebrated Athenian victories over the Persians. Stoas also served administrative functions.6 In a sanctuary context, the stoa might serve as a place to hold pious dedications and to provide dormitory-like shelter for visiting pilgrims. The pious dedications sometimes displayed within sanctuary stoas might also include spoils of war, but were by no means restricted to them. The Stoa of the Athenians in the pan-Hellenic sanctuary of Apollo at Delphi is unusual in the single-purpose nature suggested by its inscription, which indicates that it was specically erected to serve as a protective arcade for the display of Athenian trophies of war.7 The anomalous function of this building in the history of the Greek stoa is paralleled by its anomalous architectural form. In particular, its setting and the forms of its back wall and column bases raise important questions about the message meant to be signaled here in relation to its specialized and politically-charged function.

2.3. Setting and formal features of the Stoa of the Athenians The Stoa of the Athenians (g.3) is located high up along the steep ascent of the Sacred Way of Delphi, just below the terrace wall supporting the Temple of Apollo (g.2). It is, in fact, afxed directly onto this terrace wall, framing a section 31.6 m in length. The expansive façade of the terrace wall is formed of irregular, polygonally-shaped blocks, with edges that are predominately curvilinear. This sub-type of polygonal masonry is called ‘Lesbian’ in Greek archaeology, after a term coined in antiquity with reference to the Island of Lesbos.8 Its roof, which has not survived, was once attached along its back edge to the terrace wall and was supported at the front edge by eight monolithic columns of Parian marble with Ionic utes. The portico was 3.7 m deep. The column shafts are

6 7

8

For overview of use and functions of stoas, see Coulton 1976: 9-13. Pomtow (1894) stands at the early end of the ongoing scholarship on the Stoa of the Athenians. Houssoullier (1881) and Kohler (1891) are some of the earliest descriptive and interpretive contemplations of the monument previous to the systematic French excavations at the site. The excavation of the stoa was published by Amandry (1953), with follow-up studies in 1987 and 1998. See also Walsh (1986) for an alternative interpretation of the date of the stoa. Of course the Stoa of the Athenians could have multiple functions, but it is unique in the history of Greek stoa construction for its intended erection as a victory monument. Frederiksen 2011: 65-68; Scranton 1941: 25-44.

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g.3: reconstruction drawing of the Stoa of the Athenians at Delphi, with the Temple of Apollo above (after Amandry 1953, g.7)

quite slender (with a lower diameter of only 39 cm). Because they are so widely spaced as well as so slender, the entire entablature must have been quite light – presumably constructed of wood.9 The columns themselves are no longer preserved to their full height. No remnants of column capitals at the site of the stoa can be securely linked to it, but remains of an Ionic volute capital have been found at some distance from the shrine of Apollo. These fragments, like the bases and shafts, are carved from Parian marble. Amandry believed that they belonged to the stoa largely because of the match in material and because of their appropriate scale in relation to the stoa’s column shafts.10 The column bases do, however, remain in situ. They have a large horizontallyuted convex torus molding above a distinctive bell-shaped (campaniform) base. The base ends at the bottom in a half-round convex prole (g.4a-b). This form is rare in the Greek architectural tradition, prompting one specialist in Greek architecture to state with unvarnished simplicity, “The bases are remarkable” (Robertson 1969: 127).

9 10

Axis-to-axis, the columns stand 3.58 m apart (Amandry 1953: 40, 82, pl.24). Amandry 1953: 46. There is no mention in the site report of any column capitals found closer to the stoa. Also, no photographs taken either before or after the excavations document any possibilities that have gone unmentioned in the written record of the excavations.

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g.4a: column base from the Stoa of the Athenians (after Summer 2008: 234) g.4b: rendering of a column base, with prole, from the Stoa of the Athenians (after Amandry 1953, pl.24)

g.5: inscription on the stylobate of the Stoa of the Athenians (after Amandry 1953, g.7)

On the front of the topmost platform step (the stylobate), which creates the oor of the stoa, an inscription is carved prominently in large letters. The text identies by whom the structure was commissioned and for what purpose it was intended (g.5). It reads:11 The Athenians dedicated the stoa, the hopla, and the acroteria, having seized [these spoils] from their enemies.

These words make explicit the link between the construction of the stoa and its function as a display-place for spoils of victory. Indeed, the slender, widely-spaced aspect of the columns certainly must have facilitated maximal view of the trophies secured against the back wall.

2.4. Date of the Stoa The construction of the back wall of the stoa is, of course, linked to the construction phases of the platform supporting the Temple of Apollo. An earlier temple on this spot was destroyed by re in ca. 548 BCE (Jacquemin 1999: 247f.).

11

Walsh 1986: 320f. The hopla refer to cables and the acroteria to stern ornaments of enemy naval ships, removed to put on display. See, e.g., Hdt. III.59, Paus. I.40.5.

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The replacement temple was built between 513 and 486 BCE.12 Design and construction were undertaken and largely nanced through the politically-motivated patronage of the wealthy Athenian Alcmaeonid family. The Alcmaeonids were operating in exile at the time, using their lavish expenditures of nance and piety in Delphi as part of a bid for re-entry into Athens (Neer 2004: 68f.). Because the new temple was planned on a grander scale than its predecessor, the terrace upon which it would stand had to be extended. Thus a new retaining wall was built for this expanded terrace (Scott 2010: 56-59). This new wall (the one that we see on the site today) must have been initiated at the outset of the Alcmaeonid project, i.e., in the last decade of the 6th century.13 The construction date of the stoa per se is still not resolved. On the basis of the history of the retaining wall, it cannot have been built before approximately 500 BCE. The issues become much more complex when we try to determine when, after ca. 500, the architectural elements that create the stoa were added to the wall. The excavator, Pierre Amandry, was keenly aware of the ambiguities of the possible date offered by varying aspects of the evidence. Some elements tend to suggest an archaic date and others a more ‘evolved’ classical date (Amandry 1953: 101). Taking everything into account, he believed that the stoa per se was built between 478 and 470 BCE, based on the style of the architecture and the letterforms of the inscription, the latter of which are consistent with a late Archaic date.14 Amandry also called upon aspects of the historical context of the structure as well as a particular interpretation of a historical reference made in the inscription to support his dating. His dating is accepted by many but not all commentators.15 12

13

14

15

For the specicity of the dates: the terminus post quem of 513 BCE marks the year in which the contract was settled for the Alcmaeonids to re-build the temple (Hdt. II.180, V.62.2-3); the terminus ante quem of 486 BCE is established by a Pindaric ode (Pythian 7) that refers to the temple as a fait accompli. See also Athanassaki 2011. Manumission inscriptions were carved into some blocks of the wall; these were, however, added centuries later and do not relate to the date of construction (Amandry 1953, esp. 61-71). The letter-forms of the stoa’s inscription do not provide an absolutely secure resolution to the ambiguities of the dating of the structure. For instance, Pedley (2005: 144), speaking from the vantage point of a specialist in Greek epigraphy as well as archaeology, is unequivocal in his characterization of the “late archaic lettering.” There does not seem to be any idea of a consciously archaizing deployment of late archaic forms in Walsh’s (1986) alternative hypothesis. Rather, his argument rests on the plausibility of a lingering archaic lettering style used here despite developments documented by this time in other inscriptions. Among others, Lawrence (1957: 186) accepted Amandry’s date, as does Pedley (2005: 144), concurring on the late archaic letter forms of the inscription. Dinsmoor (1973: 142) acknowledged Amandry’s date as “very plausibly” correct, but, apparently for

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Amandry’s dating of the stoa to the 470s makes the stylobate inscription refer to spoils taken from the Persians during the Persian Wars. He argued that the colonnade was intended, moreover, specically to house the great bronze stern-ornaments of captured Persian ships as well as the rope cables of king Xerxes’ bridge that spanned the Hellespont for the invasion of Europe in 480 BCE. Greek tradition created an epic trope out of Xerxes’ bridge over the Hellespont, turning it into an act of quintessential tragic pride (hubris). According to Herodotus (IX.121), the cables of Xerxes’ bridge were seized by the Athenians after the battle of Mycale. It would seem tting from an Athenian viewpoint to display these cables in a panHellenic sanctuary as a potent symbol of Xerxes’ hubris (Walsh 1986: 320). The display would be particularly appropriate here in the sanctuary of the god Apollo, for Apollo, in Greek belief, was the embodiment of moderation – the antithesis of hubris. If built in the wake of Athenian victories over Xerxes, the stoa could be interpreted as a grand dedicatory statement implicitly comparing the positive qualities of the Greek god Apollo to (perceived) negative ones of the Persian king. The ostentatious celebration of this early fth century Athenian victory would also be appropriate in view of Athenian political aspirations to broker more power at the edges of the Achaemenid empire by becoming the protectors of those Ionian sectors recently cut loose from Persian rule. Amandry’s synthesis of archaeological, epigraphic, and historical data is contradicted (or at least complicated) by the travel-writer Pausanias’ description of the monument. Pausanias, writing in the second century CE, was, of course, many centuries removed from the original construction of the stoa. Sorting fact from ction in Pausanias’ account, and determining his sources (in some cases local guides), are often complicated undertakings.16 His description (X.11.6) runs as follows (transl. Jones & Omerod 1935): The Athenians also built a portico [ ] out of the spoils they took in their war against the Peloponnesians and their Greek allies. There are also dedicated the gureheads of ships and bronze shields. The inscription on them enumerates the cities from which the Athenians sent the rst fruits: Elis, Lacedaemon, Sicyon, Megara, Pellene in Achaia, Ambracia, Leucas, and Corinth itself. It also says that from the spoils taken in these sea-battles a sacrice was offered to Theseus and to

16

reasons of historical preference rather than archaeological evidence, preferred to see the dedication commemorating an Athenian naval victory of 497 BCE, and thus dating the construction of the stoa not long afterwards. In the past decades, a wealth of scholarship devoted to Pausanias and his role in the Second Sophistic have been published. For most recent work and accompanying bibliography see Alcock, Cherry & Elsner 2000; Frateantonio 2009; Habicht 1998; Hutton 2005; Pirenne-Delforge 2008.

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Poseidon at the cape called Rhium. It seems to me that the inscription refers to Phormio, son of Acopichus, and to his achievements.

Pausanias states here that the Athenians built the stoa in Delphi specically to house war booty. He does not actually comment upon the inscription carved on the stylobate of the monument itself. Nevertheless, his naming of the Athenians as the builders of the stoa and the reasons that he gives for its creation (as a showcase for Athenian trophies of war) conforms in general terms to what the inscription on the stylobate states. From there, however, Pausanias provides information that 1) contradicts the early form of the lettering on the stylobate and 2) raises other tensions between types of evidence for dating the construction of the stoa and its original historical context. Going far beyond the generic terms of the stylobate text, Pausanias specically links the stoa to spoils taken during the Peloponnesian War that pitted Greeks against Greeks in a prolonged struggle (431-404 BCE). And if the stoa was indeed built to celebrate the specic naval battles of Athens vs. Sparta, it must have been constructed sometime after 429 BCE. Some modern commentators have in fact preferred a date in the last half of the fth century BCE. Walsh, for example, rejects the notion that the word “enemy” in the inscription on the stylobate refers specically to the Persians, citing the inscription associated with the archaic Treasury of the Athenians at Delphi (Walsh 1986). Built soon after the battle of Marathon (490 BCE), the Treasury of the Athenians contained an inscription carved on a pedestal in its triangular court. The inscription reads (Meiggs & Lewis 1969, n° 19; Amandry 1998): The Athenians to Apollo as offerings from the battle of Marathon, taken from the Mede.

Walsh highlights that this inscription refers explicitly to the Persians (through the common appellation “the Mede”) rather than to some generic enemy. He considers it implausible that the way of referring to the Persians would differ so radically between two Athenian monuments built in the same sanctuary to commemorate victories against the same foe (albeit in different episodes of the Persian Wars, separated by a decade). He notes that the Athenians made a habit of direct reference to the Persians (as ‘Mede’) when this was the enemy intended.17 In Walsh’s view, the stoa was built to commemorate victories not over the Persians during the Persian Wars, but rather over the Spartans during the Peloponnesian War. The use of the word “enemy” on the stoa would thus be, he suggests, a political discretion on the part of the Athenians within the context of a panHellenic sanctuary. Greeks, he proposes, were less willing to boast explicitly about

17

See Tuplin (1994) for a detailed discussion of the Greek usage of ‘Mede(s)’ in reference to the Persians.

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their victories over other Greeks in such a pan-Hellenic setting than they were willing to boast about victories over the eastern ‘barbarian.’18 The use of the term “the enemy” in the inscription on the Stoa of the Athenians does not, however, necessarily disqualify an intended reference to the Persians; nor does it necessarily mean that the stoa’s inscription must refer specically and exclusively to a victory of one Greek state over another. Amandry’s dating of the stoa to the 470s still has considerable appeal. This is especially the case when one considers that the Athenians of the 470s were on the verge of pursuing their own empire in the east after the withdrawal of Persian forces from the mainland. Could they have been wary of naming the Persians (‘the Mede’) as the quintessential foe in such an ostentatious international setting? There were major differences in mood between the post-490 construction of the Treasury of the Athenians and the post480/79 era that Amandry posits for the construction of the stoa. Part of the ‘Persian’ forces the Athenians had engaged during Xerxes’ invasion of the mainland may have been made up of Ionian Greeks (see, e.g., Miller 1997: 101-5). Some of these Ionians were now (in the wake of Xerxes’ withdrawal) being brought back into the embrace of Athenian power, and the Athenians were highlighting their kinship with the Ionian Greeks as justication for the Delian League.19 Already by the 470s, it would perhaps have been considered impolitic to name names. It might have been more commanding in some sense to let the enemy be whatever he needed to be at the moment – given the evident ux of situations in the Greater Mediterranean in this era.20 It is also possible that the Athenians desired (in a more visionary way) to designate their stoa in Delphi as a monument intended for the display of spoils of victory from any and all wars, present and future. We may perhaps read Pausanias’ description as evidence that this is how the stoa was in fact used. The victory dedi18

19

20

Walsh’s reasoning has some merit taken in the context of another monument where a similarly-motivated discretion may have been deployed. In this other instance, a sculpture of Nike (Victory), carved by Paeonius, at Olympia, was dedicated by the Messenians and the Naupactians to commemorate their victory (with Athenian help) over the Spartans at the battle of Sphacteria (425 BCE). The inscription associated with this monument makes no specic mention of the Spartans as the defeated enemy. It is thought that the discretion in this case was prompted by the dependence of the priesthood at Olympia on Spartan patronage (for an interesting discussion of the politics of this piece see Stewart 1990: 89-92). Hall 1997: 51-56. For example, Euripides’ Ion (vv.408-13) presents Ion, mythical founder of the Ionian League, as the son of the god Apollo and the Athenian princess Creusa. Zacharia (2003: 48-54) argues that the play stressed the Athenian role in the Ionian migration. There are many excellent works that document this period in ancient Greek history. See, e.g., Low 2008; Rhodes 2010; Samons 2007

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cations he notices on display in the stoa in the second century CE might well be secondary additions placed within the portico either alongside Persian and other trophies of earlier eras or in their place. Pausanias’ remarks cannot be used to dictate the date and historical circumstances of the initial construction and inscribing of the structure. The form of the columns of the stoa might be a key to narrowing the date, since they are, as noted above, so unusual. This highlights important issues about the date and the quality of innovative, non-traditional forms used for this monument. It is generally considered that Ionic elements were not introduced into Athenian (as opposed to eastern Greek) architecture until the mid-fth century BCE.21 The Parthenon and the Propylaea on the Athenian Acropolis, for instance, famously utilized Ionic elements in their construction as an allusion to the Athenians’ role as the lead Ionian city. Thus, if we accept Amandry’s dating of the stoa to the 470s, it represents one of the earliest known uses of the Ionic order for all of Athenian architecture (of any building type).22 Simultaneously, this would make it the very rst stoa constructed on the Greek mainland with exterior columns bearing Ionic elements (Coulton 1976: 99). The Doric order continued to be used for the exterior columns of stoas on mainland Greece long after the introduction of the Ionic order in architecture more generally on the mainland. Indeed, no fth century stoas with exterior columns in the Ionic order are known even from Asia Minor or the Aegean islands. 23 A crucial point here is this: no matter when in the fth century the Stoa of the Athenians is dated, the use of the Ionic order remains a striking departure from norms within the conservative trajectory of trends in stoa construction. The use of column bases is itself, of course, a feature of the Ionic order. The style of the column bases from the Stoa of the Athenians has been categorized by Greek archaeologists as belonging to the ‘Attic’ (or ‘Attic-Ionic’) Style, dened by a very small group of buildings in Attica (of which Athens is the center) or sponsored by Athenian patronage elsewhere (as, e.g., the Stoa of the Athenians at Delphi itself).24 Other Athenian buildings displaying a signicantly similar type of column base are most notably (and to my knowledge exclusively) the Temple of Athena Nik on the Athenian Acropolis and the closely related Temple on the Ilissos River in Athens (g.6; Merrit 1969: 189). A third temple with bell-shaped column bases in Greece is the Temple of Apollo at Bassae in Arcadia. This temple, 21 22

23

24

Dinsmoor 1973: 184-96; McGowan 1997. I use the term ‘Athenian architecture’ here to embrace monuments built as commissions of the Athenian polis whether at home or (as at Delphi) in another place. Very early stoas in Ionia, such as those at the sanctuary of Hera on Samos, were made of wood and so nothing survives of their superstructure. Dinsmoor 1973: 156f.; Merrit 1969: 188f.

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g.6: rendering of the Temple of Athena Nike in Athens, including columns with campaniform bases (after Robertson 1969: 126, g.53)

although not located in Athens, was designed by Ictinus, one of the famous architects of the Parthenon. Thus, the temple has important Athenian associations. The interior engaged Ionic columns at Bassae have campaniform bases without the distinctive large horizontally-uted torus present on the stoa and the two temples in Athens (g.7; Cooper 1996b, pls.14-5, 24-5). The temple at Bassae may have been completed between 429 and 400 BCE.25 The dates of the two temples in Athens with campaniform bases and horizontally uted torus moldings above the bell have themselves been ercely debated, but only within a narrow range in the late fth century. Relatively recent reviews of the evidence propose a date of 435-30 BCE for the Temple on the Ilissos River and 424/23-418 BCE for the Nike Temple.26

25

26

Cooper 1996a: 379. Dinsmoor (1973: 154-59) suggest a date around 425 BCE; Ridgway (1981: 94) suggests it could have been completed after 400 BCE. For the Ilissos Temple, see Miles 1980: 310; for the Nike Temple, see esp. Mark, Mellink & McCredie 1993: 69-92. See also Hurwit (1999: 209-13) and Wesenberg (1981) for various issues in the building history of the temple.

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The Ionic order of the stoa places it at the vanguard of Athenian work, whether it dates to the 490s (Dinsmoor), the 470s (Amandry and the majority of scholars), or even the midfth century BCE (Walsh). Scholars have characterized the column bases of the Stoa of the Athenians, then, depending on the alternative early and late datings, either as a developmental precursor to what we see in the two late fth century temples in Athens or as an additional example of the fullblown ‘Attic Style’ seen on these two temples.27 Both alternatives are based upon a traditional assumption in classical archaeology that accounts for change in Athenian art and architecture via a progressive, evolutionary model driven largely by internal aesthetic strivings.28 Without needing to abandon the notion of progressive development completely, we may open up the possibility of additional cultural phenomena leading to the creation of the small corpus of ‘Attic-Ionic’ structures. There may be more complex systems of reference at work here, some of which relate to stylistic choice rather than stylistic evolution. g.7: rendering of interior engaged columns of the Temple of Apollo at Bassae with campaniform bases (after Rhodes 1995, g.7)

27

28

Precursor: Dinsmoor 1973: 142, reinforced by, e.g., Rhodes 1995: 201 n.10; fullblown: Merritt 1969: 188. This concept was articulated with particular elegance and humanistic emphasis in the work of Rhys Carpenter in the rst quarter of the twentieth century (see, e.g., Carpenter [1959], a slightly revised version of an original monograph published in 1921). For more recent studies on the evolution of Greek sculpture see Boardman 1985a-b; Ridgway 1981; idem 1997; Spivey 1996; idem 2013; Stewart 1990.

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The Nike Temple on the Akropolis, for instance, while being erected during the Peloponnesian War of Greeks against Greeks, looks back to an age of Greek unity in deance of the Persians.29 The building, the very name of which refers to Athena as Victory, is replete with imagery explicitly commemorating battles of the Persian Wars (the frieze) and (on the temple’s exterior balustrade) personications of Victory coming into the presence of Athena. Sometimes the Victories carry Persian weapons (such as shields and quivers), and they are occasionally interspersed with trophies in the form of Persian military assemblages hung from tree trunks: the Iranian riding costume, shields, and perhaps other paraphernalia that are now difcult to discern.30 In the context of architectural features, we return briey to the terrace wall against which the stoa is xed. Lesbian-style masonry was used especially for fortication walls in Greece (Scranton 1941: 25; Frederiksen 2011: 65-8). In terms of regions of use, it was apparently employed in Ionia and on the Aegean islands, and 29

30

So Carpenter 1929. Various commentaries on the architectural aspects of these temples can be found in handbooks: Dinsmoor 1973; Lawrence 1957; Robertson 1969; Rhodes 1995; Spawforth 2006. For an appraisal of the sculptural as well as the architectural evidence of the Ilissos Temple, see Picón 1978. Mattingly (1982) provides a reassessment of issues surrounding the Nike Temple. Some discussion of the poorly preserved sculptural programs occurs in handbooks on Greek sculpture; see Boardman (1985b: 148f.) on the Nike Temple, for whom the Temple of Apollo at Bassae is outside the scope of study. Ridgway is exceptionally helpful in characterizing challenges and possibilities inherent in these monuments for the study of style and to some extent iconography to that date (1981: 88-91, 94-96, and the very informative bibliographic notes at pp.102f., which allow the researcher to penetrate further into issues of iconography). See more recently Palagia (2005) on aspects of the sculptural program of the Nike Temple and Hurwit (1999: 209-15) for an excellent overview on the entire temple and its sculptural program complete with helpful illustrations. But by and large the architecture of these anomalous structures has captured far more attention than has the representational imagery adorning them. In works aiming to present interpretive overviews of thematic concerns including allusive agencies relating to the Persians (rather than stylistic analyses) of ofcial Athenian sculpture of the fth century, it is usually the Parthenon that dominates (see, e.g., Castriota 1992 and idem 2000). Indeed, one monument of exactly this sort lends tremendous support to the argument that the bell-shaped column bases of the Stoa of the Athenians were connected in the Athenian imagination with icons of victory over the Persians. A great tripod cauldron from among the Persian spoils after the battle of Plataea was once set atop a bronze column in the form of intertwined serpents. It was dedicated at Delphi by the Athenians and other Greeks who were victorious over Xerxes (Hdt. IX.81). The serpent column was eventually moved to Constantinople. Signicantly, a bell-shaped column base found at the Delphi sanctuary has now been established as belonging to the serpent column, which remains in Turkey (g.19; Amandry 1987: 102-5; Miller 2004: 36).

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on the eastern shore of Attica and Thessaly. Fifteen examples of such walls in this style have been documented between Athens, Eleusis, and Delphi alone (Scranton 1941: 159-61). Although its use was quite widespread geographically, its temporal range was limited. Its deployment in the Greek sphere seems to stop by the close of the sixth century BCE, when it was replaced by a modular ashlar masonry style of rectilinear blocks. The retaining wall at Delphi was thus built near the end of this particular tradition of Greek masonry, and it was noteworthy in deploying the style in a non-fortication context.31 The reasons for the deployment of this particular masonry style in the terrace may have carried symbolic associations: fortication and defense against the depredations of human enemies. Certainly, fortications would have been the traditional context in which Greek viewers would have encountered Lesbian-style masonry. This symbolic aspect may have acquired enhanced meaning within the context of the Stoa of the Athenians, as a backdrop for the trophies garnered from the Persians. Athenian resonances with memories of victories over Persia lead us now to P rsa itself.

3. Persepolis The city of P rsa (Gk.   ) was founded by king Darius I early in his reign (522-486 BCE) after the quelling of revolts in his rst year and immediately on the heels of his commanding re-conquest of Egypt in 518.32 This ritual, ceremonial, and administrative capital in southwestern Iran was at the spiritual heart and the geographical center of Darius’s vast empire. It is best known to us today for the 31

32

Although the retaining wall exhibits a hybrid aspect of Lesbian masonry that included a limited use of rectilinear polygonal masonry, the majority of the blocks are curvilinear. Since the date of the wall is solidly based on the historical evidence, it provides one xed point for the deployment of this masonry style on the Greek mainland as late as the last decade of the sixth century BCE. Lawrence sees this hybrid aspect of rectilinear and curvilinear masonry as a possible indication of a transition point in an evolution away from use of Lesbian masonry in Greece (1957: 289). In-depth commentary on the history of Greek masonry styles for fortications is beyond my capacities here. But, from Wrede (1933) to Scranton (1941) and beyond, it seems that fortications qua fortications may sometimes obey different directives than Greek architecture of public buildings. It may be that attempts to apply methods of stylistic evolution to such phenomena are misplaced because of regional, functional, and symbolic considerations that may complicate the situation. Metzger (1963: 1-8, esp. 8) makes important points on the myriad special issues that can inform the making of a fortication wall. Schmidt 1953: 39-43; Roaf 1983; Root 1986/87; idem 1989; see also idem 1979: 83-86.

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dramatic ruins with soaring columns splendidly preserved atop a once-fortied platform. Evoking the wondrous nature of the site, this platform came in later ages and up to the present day in Iran to be called Takht-e amšd (“Throne of Jamshid,” the hero of later Persian epic).

3.1. The Takht and the Apadana: dates and brief description The Takht is a high stone terrace rising off the plain backing up against Mount Rahmat (g.8). It is visually dynamic not only because of its placement but also because it is faced with colossal blocks of polygonal masonry. Fitted together perfectly without mortar, the face of the terrace wall creates a massive ‘jigsaw puzzle’ effect.33

g.8: view of the Persepolis Takht, at the ceremonial staircase on the west side (photograph M.C. Root)

The earliest inscriptions at Persepolis are carved on the south side of the Takht wall. They express aspects of Darius’s vision in the strategic foundation of this new city of P rsa.34 The Takht fortress is specically singled out as a major feature on this inscription (Root 1990: 118). The Takht wall may have been completed well 33 34

As Root (1990: 118) has described it. For DPd and DPe (in Old Persian), see Schmitt 2009: 12f., 115-19; for translations of the accompanying Elamite (DPf) and Akkadian (DPg) texts, see Lecoq 1997: 227-30. See also Root (1990) and idem [forthc.] for commentary on the inscriptions in the context of the intentionality of Darius as patron of the Persepolis vision.

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g.9: plan of Persepolis: I. south wall of the Takht, with inscriptions of Darius; J. ceremonial stairway ascent to the Takht through the Gate of All Lands; K. Apadana; F, G, H. service entrances to the Takht (image courtesy M.B. Garrison and M.C. Root)

before ca. 515 BCE in order to accommodate the beginning of construction of the Apadana and other early structures upon it. One of the major architectural features of both Persepolis and the other great Persian centers is the use of hypostyle halls, which had a long history in the region (Gopnik 2010; Stronach 2001: 97). The most famous of these halls is the so-called Apadana (or Throne Hall) at Persepolis (g.9). It sits atop its own platform, making it the highest building on the Takht.35 It incorporates deep porticoes (each with two 35

When I speak of the Takht here, I am referring specically to the stone terrace faced with polygonal masonry and inscribed by Darius. See Tilia (1978: 3-27) for a preliminary empirical study of technical features and stages in the construction of the Takht. The stages of construction of the superstructure of mudbrick fortications along the Takht perimeter and their continuation as ramparts up behind the Takht along the

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rows of six columns) on three sides. On the north and east, the porticoes of the Apadana are reached by double staircases decorated with carved reliefs that depict the Persian guard and nobility amassed behind the king on one side, with delegations of twenty-three peoples/lands controlled by the Persian king lined up on the other side to bring him gifts.36 This is the hall in which the king would have presumably welcomed such gift-bearing delegations in actuality as well as in representation. Darius’s inscriptions in the foundation deposits of the great audience hall suggest a date of about 515 BCE for the beginning of this building.37 The columns of the Apadana porticoes and subsidiary rooms have distinctive bell-shaped bases.38 Bellshaped column bases are found in other structures on the Takht, including the Gate of All Lands (gs.1011). This ceremonial entrance building may have been planned during the reign of Darius, but Xerxes claims credit for it in the inscription carved on all four interior walls (XPa: Schmitt 2009: 19, 152-54). Characteristic of this Achaemenid column-base form is a smooth torus molding that progresses to a bell shape. The bell-shaped element is adorned with variations on an inverted oral-petal motif. Sometimes the oral motif is ornately representational and sometimes reductive to the point of geometric abstraction. Below

36

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38

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g.10: composite Achaemenid capital, Gate of All Lands, Persepolis (after Dutz et al. 1998: 31)

crown of Mt. Rahmat are a different matter, and one that is not directly relevant to my paper. See Mousavi 1992 for preliminary analyses of these features based on multiple excavations to that time and idem 2002 for issues of the Prsa fortications in historiographic context. The Apadana was completed during the reign of Xerxes (486-65 BCE); see XPb (Schmitt 2009: 19, 154-56) and XPg (ibid. 20, 163f.). The main work was, however, not only designed but completed in the reign of Darius I. There is a wealth of scholarship about both the Apadana and the reliefs. See, e.g., Root 1979 and idem 2007; Sancisi-Weerdenburg 1991; Tilia 1978. See Schmidt (1953: 70, 79) for brief reporting on the nd and contents; Schmitt (2009: 13, 119f.) for the text and translation (DPh); Root (1986; idem 1987) for the chronological implications of the text and associated nds. See also Stronach (2001, n.40) supporting this late sixth century BCE date rather than proposals for a down-dating. The columns of the main hall of the Apadana have bases in the form of a doublestepped square crowned by a smooth torus (Schmidt 1953: 80, g.39A). This base-type is also a hallmark Achaemenid form, but we will not pursue it further here.

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the tips of the petals, the base terminates in a collar that was intended to be below oor-level. Thus, the columns (as originally set into the ooring) appeared to rest on the tips of the inverted oral elements. The iconographical program of these bases deserves in-depth study. Their pervasiveness within Achaemenid court environments must be signicant. The complex column-types of Achaemenid tradition nd echoes across the landscape of the empire. They surely had great meaning within the courtly Persian social environment; they also must have been recognized in antiquity around the Greater Mediterranean as distinctive projections of Persian imperial ethos.39 By the same token, for modern archaeologists working within the Achaemenid empire, the campaniform base in its variations of prole and adornment has become emblematic of ‘Persian presence’ in the architectural record dating from the reign of Darius onward. Wherever the base type (and variants) is documented within the imperial domain, it is seen as a sign of Achaemenid Persian cultural connection emanating ultimately from the Iranian heartland nexus of Persepolis-Susa-Ecbatana.40 We see variations on the form at Babylon and g.11: rendering of a campaniform column, numerous other sites in Mesopotamia west portico of the Apadana, Persepolis and beyond.41 (after Schmidt 1953: 95, g.391)

39

40

41

Onians (1988) explores aspects of the meaning of column forms – not specically related to the monuments we are dealing with here, but relevant as an approach to column forms as vehicles of symbolic association. Still poorly understood for the Achaemenid period archaeologically, the northern capital at Ecbatana (modern Hamadan) and its environs have yielded signicant remnants of bell-shaped bases even though none has yet been found still in situ and they currently have no bearing on the earliest date at which the form develops (Boucharlat 2005: 252-3). For the base type as a diagnostic of Achaemenid presence in peripheral regions, see, e.g., Knauss 2001. Like the bell-shaped bases, the addorsed animal-protome column capitals of Persepolis and Susa are likewise a hallmark of the Achaemenid tradition that was replicated at peripheral installations around the empire; the capitals, like the column bases, have become for archaeologists an indicator of Achaemenid presence. See Haerinck (1997) for a partial list.

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4. Persepolis and Delphi: inuence and intent Does Achaemenid tradition (as we witness it most spectacularly in Prsa) speak at all to the Stoa of the Athenians at Delphi? We have already noted the very unusual nature of the campaniform bases of the stoa within the canonical norms of Greek architecture. We have also noted the dramatic effect created by the placement of the stoa against the masonry of the temple’s terrace wall, with its apparent evocation of earlier archaic fortication walls in the Lesbian polygonal style. Likewise at Persepolis, campaniform column bases and the eye-catching polygonal masonry façade of the Takht are critical features of the visual experience. Let us look rst at the column bases and then at the bases in combination with the masonry style as possibly interrelated aspects of a cultural discourse between Athens and Persia.

4.1. Campaniform column bases: issues of inuence – time Chronologically, the Achaemenid bell-shaped bases appear earlier than those of the stoa. In Persepolis they were an established phenomenon, in the Apadana, by 500 BCE. At Susa, the bell-shaped base is likely to have been designed and deployed even earlier in the reign of Darius I – perhaps by about 520/19.42 Even if we opt for 42

Documentation from Susa is frustrating in terms of compelling evidence for the earliest bell-shaped Achaemenid column base (earlier than Persepolis). It is compromised by poor methods and record-keeping in the nineteenth century excavations (cf. Boucharlat 1990). Also, the construction history of the site has caused problems that would challenge even the most seasoned excavators of today. Darius I began putting his stamp on the ancient city of Susa at the very beginning of his reign. In Stronach’s (2001: 103) view, this was essential as the fulllment of an “urgent political need” (see also Muscarella 1992: 216-18, esp. n.2). Root (1979: 76 n.98) notes that a fragmentary inscription in baked brick from Susa preserves the name Otanes (a key co-conspirator with Darius I, mentioned at B sot n and also in Herodotus’ version of the events). This inscription may be yet more evidence for the early date of Darius’s work at Susa. Darius turned his attention to the creation of a new city-foundation in Prsa only secondarily, and probably (as previously suggested) in the glow of his re-conquest of Egypt in 518 BCE. Unfortunately, Darius’s early Apadana at Susa was devastated by re in the reign of Artaxerxes I. A rebuilt structure by Artaxerxes II is what remains on the site today. It has three porticoes of elaborate columns with bell-shaped bases, just as at Persepolis (Boucharlat 1997: 59). We cannot be certain, thus, that the Apadana of Artaxerxes II precisely replicates the architectural features of Darius’s Apadana. Some hint that this may be so (and that bell-shaped bases had been designed for Susa at the beginning of Darius’s reign) derives from fragments of a bell-shaped column base found among debris associated with the rubble of the original Apadana (Schmidt 1953: 33).

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Dinsmoor’s idiosyncratic high date in the 490s for the Stoa of the Athenians, there is no way that its bases could have provided the specic model for the ones at Persepolis. In the abstract, it would have been possible for the Persepolis columns to have been born partly of a direct quotation of some important Athenian monument. But in this precise instance, Achaemenid precedence is absolutely clear.

4.2. Campaniform column bases: issues of inuence – direction If there is any direct quotation involved between the Stoa of the Athenians and Achaemenid courtly architecture, such a quotation must go from east to west. It must be an Athenian quotation of a column form that had already become rmly entrenched as a hallmark of Persian imperial court identity. Amandry’s compelling case for the stoa’s construction in the 470s gives the Achaemenid form signicant time to achieve its emblematic stature – especially in view of the excitement about things Persian generated by the cultural stimulus of the Persian Wars (see, e.g., Miller 2004).

4.3. Campaniform column bases: issues of inuence – a shared craft tradition In his excavation report on the Stoa of the Athenians, Amandry commented on the unusual shape of the column bases and noted that their closest comparanda come from the Persian palaces of Susa and Persepolis (Amandry 1953: 97). This remarkable similarity, he suggested, might have been the result of a shared architectural tradition via the circulation of artisans and architects. Amandry’s thinking on this issue related to his thoughtful consideration of important inscriptional evidence much discussed at the time. An inscription of Darius discovered in multiple copies at Susa (the so-called Susa Foundation Charter, DSf) lists the roles of select non-Persian peoples in the construction of Darius’s palace there.43 In the litany of services and materials rendered to the royal project it gives a prominent (although not unique) role to Lydians and Ionians as workers of stone. Read literally, DSf lent encouragement, in the midtwentieth century, to an already prevalent tendency among Greek archaeologists to dismiss Achaemenid art and architecture as the derivative creation of foreign (and especially Greek) workmanship. A seminal article by Richter stated the case.44 The approach articulated by her (both in 1946 and in handbook form in 1949) faci43 44

Schmitt 2009: 14f., 127-34; Lecoq 1997: 111-14, 232-37. Richter 1946; see Root (1979: 1-42, esp. 5-15) for an important study refuting this long-lived perspective.

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litated the ongoing tendency to mute possibilities of an overarching Achaemenid Persian vision and ideology driving the choices in planning. The Achaemenid ideological ambitions of the text have since been emphasized strenuously as a counterpoint to Richter’s perspective.45 Ongoing research continues to consider additional nuanced complexities of Achaemenid intent embedded in DSf.46 In sum, DSf was not intended as a strictly factual account of which peoples were working at Persepolis and in what capacities. It reects the longstanding importance of circulating craftsmen in the ancient world – both as captives of conquest and as itinerants operating somewhat more autonomously. To be sure, there are reections of actuality in DSf in the citation of certain well-attested expertises of specic groups; there are, however, additional reections of a metaphorical expression of Achaemenid ideology about imperial power and control over subject lands, peoples, and resources of skill and material. Within the Richterian discourse on DSf described above, Amandry’s explanation of the similarity between the column bases of the Stoa of the Athenians and the hallmark Achaemenid campaniform column base type was in some ways very forward-looking. He did not emphasize a notion of one-way Persian dependency on western culture. Rather, he saw transmission of architectural expression as part of the legacy of shared experience among itinerant workforces in the Greater Mediterranean. His acknowledgment of this factor opens up a vision of a large world of possibilities in intercultural communication and transmission of ideas and techniques. In a later study of a number of bell-shaped bases for tripods or other freestanding dedications discovered at Delphi, Amandry again highlighted the similarities with Achaemenid architectural forms (1987: 96f.). Here, he asserted the possibility that the similarities between the Delphi bases and the Achaemenid column bases were so striking (“si frappante”) that one was led to ask whether a direct connection might have existed between the column bases of the Persian palaces and those of Delphi. Amandry posed two hypothetical scenarios that might have created the conditions for such Persian inuence at Delphi: 1) that the Greeks attempted to emulate the look of the columned porticoes of the tent of Xerxes which they had captured at the battle of Plataea or 2) the introduction at Delphi of architectural ideas that had been gleaned by craftsmen exposed to Persian sites in Asia Minor. He stopped short of offering any commentary on why Greeks might have seen t to emulate Achaemenid forms at the sanctuary of Apollo. Nevertheless, his frank and assertive statement of the importance of direct quotation of Persian columns as models is valuable. 45 46

See particularly Nylander 1970, Root 1979 and idem 1990. See, e.g., Briant 2002: 168, 172; Stronach 2001, 101f., n° 108; Vallat 1971; idem 2013: 283f.; Root [forthc.].

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From our vantage point today, the limitation of Amandry’s signicant contemplations of 1953 and 1987 lies in its hesitation to consider an additional layer of possible mechanism generating the appearance of a Persianizing column-base form at Delphi in the 470s. This additional layer is that of a patron mandate. We will return to this point soon. First, we must review an alternative hypothesis championed by some Greek archaeologists to explain the similarity of the column bases of the Stoa of the Athenians and those of Achaemenid architecture far and wide.

4.4. Persian copying of Greek portable arts? In his often-cited treatise on the origin and development of column forms in antiquity, Wesenberg elaborated upon the suggestion that the Achaemenid campaniform column base may have imitated forms developed in Greece for turned furniture legs (1971: 104-11). Such forms, once developed in a posited Greek woodworking tradition, were then, Wesenberg suggested, transferred to the medium of Greek bronze luxury vessels. In this secondary portable medium, the bell-shaped feature appeared as the foot of the vessel. According to this hypothesis, such luxury vessels of Greek workmanship found their way to the Achaemenid court of Darius. From this exposure to bronze vessels with a bell-shaped foot, the idea was generated to rework the form as the base of the complexly designed, soaring columns at Persepolis, Susa, and other Achaemenid centers across the empire. The actual bronze vessel typically used to support this elaborate hypothesis is the so-called Vix Krater (g.12). It was discovered in 1953 in an unlooted Celtic tomb in France. The interment has been dated to sometime around 500 BCE (Rolley 2003). Its foot is campaniform and decorated with a oral motif. Both the date of the Vix Krater and its place of manufacture are disputed. Dating has ranged across most of the sixth century (compare, e.g., the very early g.12: detail of the Vix Krater, date suggested in Pedley with its campaniform stand (after Greenhalgh) 2005: 190f. and the late date used by Boardman 1985a: 104). The situation is complicated by the fact that the vessel is formed of numerous separate parts, not necessarily of the same date.47 47

Thus, the foot is actually a stand into which the enormous vessel is set for stability.

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Scholars debate a Laconian vs. a Western Greek manufacture on various grounds. Assessments of the place of the various parts of the Vix Krater within the scheme of relative stylistic development (upon which so much of the chronology of archaic Greek art rests) are complicated by the regional workshop question. Extraordinary as this vessel is, we must treat with great caution attempts to build a case for it as an exemplar of a specic artifact type that itself was inspired by Greek furniture forms and secondarily went on to inspire an entire Persian architectural tradition.48 Boardman, among others, supports Wesenberg’s postulated two-stage mechanism of the derivation of the Achaemenid column base from Greek forms (furniture to vessels to column bases). He invokes Herodotus’ mention of the gifting by the Laconians to Persia of a bronze krater (I.70). From there he argues that the Vix Krater was precisely the kind of vessel Herodotus was describing (2000: 68). As for the bell-shaped column bases of the Stoa of the Athenians, Boardman sees these as reecting a totally independent Athenian adaptation of the original Greek furniture forms posited by Wesenberg. For the Greek situation, there is apparently no need to imagine gifted bronze vessels mediating between furniture and columns. The approach advocated by Wesenberg and Boardman completely insulates Greek culture from any possible inspirations from Persia, while Persia remains safely framed as a cultural dependency of Greece.49 This perspective reinforces the notion that Persian forms cannot have been developed to express patron-mandated, expressive intent coming from within the cultural imperatives of Persian culture and royal ideology. Almost any other explanatory model (no matter how circuitous) would be preferable. No comprehensive formal and iconographical study of the hallmark Achaemenid columns with bell-shaped bases and complex capitals has yet been undertaken. The ultimate inspirations for the ornate Achaemenid composite column capital (with Egyptianizing and Ionicizing elements fused with the crowning Iranian addorsed animal protome member) obviously emanated from multiple sources.50 Cross-fertilization between architecture and the portable luxury arts of metalware

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50

Further assessment of the Vix Krater is far beyond the scope of this paper. Studies collected in Rolley (2003) offer a useful array of specialist studies dealing with many areas of research on the problems posed. These issues relate closely to discourse on ‘Graeco-Persian’ art. See, e.g., Gates (2002) for a strong statement of the problems posed by the rigid binary model of GreekPersian cultural communication, as well as Miller (2004) and Raaaub (2009) regarding Greek cultural dependency on Persia. Boardman (2000: 62-77) offers a convenient and well-illustrated overview of formal aspects from the perspective of Greek archaeology.

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and furniture is not far-fetched in terms of modalities of artistic process.51 Such cross-fertilization certainly included models reworked from the Greek sphere. A rich interplay of cultural impulses came together in the planning of the architectural canon under Darius I; but, as with Achaemenid representational sculpture, the columns must have been designed with meaning and allusiveness in mind. The creative process that eventuated in the Achaemenid bell-shaped column base needs more study. One thing, however, is certain: once established (in the early years of Darius I), the Achaemenid column embarked on its own life, had its own impact on the contemporary world and registered meanings that could be subject to reworking in a variety of cultural settings for varying purposes.

4.5. Cross-cultural exchange: a direct approach I suggest that the campaniform bases of the Stoa of the Athenians were, as Amandry cautiously hinted, connected in a direct way to Achaemenid architecture. But how did knowledge of the Achaemenid form reach Delphi? As already noted, Amandry imagined the distinct possibility of information on Achaemenid architecture reaching mainland Greece through exposure of circulating craftsmen to cities in Asia Minor that were under Persian control (1987: 97). Perhaps there were even more direct connections. I am not, by any measure, suggesting that Persians came to Delphi to carve the columns for the Stoa of the Athenians. The important point is not the ethnicity of the stone-carvers in this situation.52 Rather, the point is that the designers of the Athenian monument were actively quoting a signature feature of Achaemenid palatial architecture that was worth quoting because of the special force of the model. What model would have provided this special force?

4.6. Informed patrons for column bases and masonry styles The accessibility of Persepolis to Greek visitors is still much contested. Diodorus (in Roman times) was the rst western writer whom classicists understand to have mentioned Persepolis by this particular name (Diod. XVII.66–73). But this does not prove that Athenians or other Greeks were unaware of its existence and had never 51

52

See Miller (2007) for case studies in cross-referencing of architectural motifs on luxury vessels from the ‘Lydian Treasure.’ The issue of ethnicity of the artist as a crucial factor dening the style and iconography of commissioned work is a controversial one in Achaemenid studies. Contrast Roaf (1983) and commentary by Root (1986). Again, Gates (2002) offers important observations on this problem.

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been there. The name P rsa was used by the Persians themselves to connote both the region and the capital city within the region. Similarly, Greek sources may reect ambiguity between references to Persepolis and to Persia.53 Athenians, including Miltiades, traveled to Persia during the years following the Persian Wars to negotiate with the Achaemenids. It is possible that some of them came to the king when he held court in Persepolis. The issue of sheer distance to Persepolis is cited by many to suggest the improbability of access. This is a real consideration.54 But the roads to Susa and eastward to Persepolis and beyond were well-traveled, as we know from the Persepolis Fortication archive. They were, furthermore, dotted with way-stations where élite personages in addition to the royal entourage may have been welcome to stay. The installation in western F rs near N r b d (at nn) comes to mind, with (incidentally) its elaborate orally-decorated bell-shaped column bases.55 Why could travelers like Miltiades not have been captivated by the elaborate Achaemenid columns, with their elegant bell-shaped bases? Why could Greek visitors not have come home with stories to tell of these beautiful forms? The same tradition that sees Achaemenid art as the result of Greek workmanship and creative impact also sees Persepolis as a place almost never reached by Greeks before Alexander.56 We are asked to imagine (with Boardman and others) a vessel like the Vix Krater brought as a diplomatic gift from Greece to the Achaemenid court; but we are actively discouraged by the same discussants from seriously engaging with the implications of the presence of such diplomatic couriers there. We are not encouraged to consider that bearers of such vessels from Greece would have noticed and been affected by the architectural splendor of the royal environment around them.

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Root 1980; idem 1985; Henkelman 2013. Similarly, Achaemenid texts do not differentiate between Lydia and Sardis, using the same word for both (Dusinberre 2003: 7 n.24). Miller (2004), although extremely invested in open channels of emulation between Greece and Persia, considers the distance factor a daunting impediment. Boucharlat 2001: 235f.; Potts 2008; Henkelman 2013. For specic case studies, see: Askari Chaverdi & Callieri 2009: 27-32; Boucharlat 2005, 245f.; Atai & Boucharlat 2009; Potts, Asgari Chaverdi et al. 2007; idem 2009. See commentary in Root 1980 and idem 1985. In Root 2007 a case is made to consider the interpretation of the gift-bearing delegation of the Yaun (Greeks) from a Greek (Athenian) viewpoint precisely because, in Root’s belief, the Achaemenid planners intended their sculptural program to address various regional groups in targeted ways. This in itself would imply Achaemenid expectation of access by a variegated ‘world’ viewership, including Greeks (and Athenians among them) at the time of planning of the Apadana. Garrison and Root (2001: 9-16) emphasize the importance of the Persepolis Fortication archive for rectifying the old view of Persepolis as a ‘hidden’ city.

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The Athenians may thus have deliberately quoted the Achaemenid bell-shaped base in order to create symbolic associations with aspects of the Persian court landscape. Additionally, although there were certainly western satrapal capitals that could have provided models for the bell-shaped column base, it is important to consider the possibility of direct exposure to Persepolis itself. In part this exercise facilitates a deeper understanding of the range of meaning that any satrapal environment further west will have been reecting in its own echoing of the imperial center. The column bases of the Stoa of the Athenians are plain and abbreviated versions of the bell-shaped column bases found at Persepolis, Susa, and other cities within the empire. There is great variation in base proles even within the heartland Persian repertoire of preserved bell-shaped bases.57 Furthermore, the Delphi bases’ horizontally-uted torus member makes them into a hybrid Achaemenid and Ionic base that is not, to my knowledge, replicated on any extant Achaemenid column with bell-shaped bases. In sum, the stoa’s columns are not exact copies of any one specic known Achaemenid bell-shaped base. They are, nevertheless, evocative of the genre and, in the fth century BCE, the Achaemenid bell-shaped column base as a type (and as a type subject to manifold variations) was an identity-symbol of the Persian imperial landscape.58 In addition to the bell-shaped bases, another striking feature of the Persepolis Takht was the polygonal façade. Its completion by about 515 BCE predates by at least a few years the earliest possible date (513 BCE) for the initiation of work on the Lesbian polygonal terrace wall below the Alcmaeonid Temple of Apollo at Delphi. There is no way that the Persepolis masonry was specically meant to emulate the wall at Delphi. It is, however, possible chronologically that the Delphi wall was intended to quote the Persepolis Takht, but the timing is very tight.

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Remnants of bell-shaped bases found about 30 km west of Hamadan (ancient Ecbatana) have no decoration. It has been postulated that perhaps they were unnished (Boucharlat 2005: 252), but they may simply preserve one more variant of the form (closer to the Delphi bases) deployed right in the imperial heartland. The horizontally-uted torus is seen at Pasargadae, Palace P – but in conjunction with the base in the form of a stepped square plinth. See Nylander (1970: 106-10, g.36), who notes that this horizontally-uted torus is a distinctly Greek form, known outside of the Greek sphere only at Pasargadae, Palace P. Additional documentation of Palace P, incorporating Nylander’s analysis, is found in the comprehensive excavation report Stronach 1978: 78–87. See also Curtis 1993, g.2; Curtis & Razmjou 2005: 51, 60f.; Stronach 1985, g.1. In this, the column bases and the animal protome column capitals also echoed around the empire were part of a larger scenario of cultural adaptation of core Achaemenid Persian cultural manifestations and social practices (see Dusinberre 2003 on gural imagery in seals and on the adoption of the Achaemenid bowl and concomitant dining behaviors).

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g.13: view of the Persepolis Takht, northwest, with the Gate of All Lands above (photograph A. Nagel)

It may very well be that the Persepolis Takht was intended by its Achaemenid planners to make a reference to the polygonal walls of certain archaic Greek fortications. Lawrence noted that the polygonal masonry style we see in Persepolis has no precedent in Iran. For this reason, he categorized it as “Greek to all appearance” (1951: 112). If Lawrence is correct, the affectation of polygonal fortication masonry at the sanctuary of Apollo at Delphi and in Persepolis would stem from a similar range of (Greek) models. The Takht masonry is a dramatic departure from the masonry style used by Darius’s predecessor, Cyrus II, for the earlier citadel platform at Pasargadae (gs. 13-15). The Pasargadae Takht deliberately celebrates an appropriation of a Lydian/ Ionian ashlar masonry style used in much earlier sixth-century BCE religious and funerary monuments (Nylander 1970, esp. 83-86). The appropriation of this masonry style acted as an allusion to Cyrus’ power to command the traditions and expertises of an important conquered culture to the west (ibid. 75-91; Stronach 2001: 97). The Persepolis Takht makes a formally different but symbolically related statement through its evident quotation of fortications of the Greek world. In addition, the Persepolis Takht is layered with other symbolic associations that relate to an internal ideological discourse of empire.

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g.14: view of the Persepolis Takht, west (photograph A. Nagel)

g.15: view of the Pasargadae Takht (photograph M.C. Root)

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Root has suggested that the style of the Persepolis wall was intended to make a visually metaphorical statement of Darius’s hegemony over many lands of many different kinds of peoples – of his ability, after the shaky beginning of his rule, to hold this consolidated empire together (1990: 118). In this visual statement, she argues, the masonry style echoes the rhetoric of Darius’s inscription on the south wall, which conveys the same message in explicit terms. Garrison takes this thought a step further. The Takht wall not only supports the institutions of Achaemenid kingship in a literal sense; it also raises on high the ceremonial, ritual, and military/administrative citadel of Persepolis in a symbolic sense. By extension, it raises on high the Great King in his majesty (Garrison [forthc.]). If we accept Root’s and Garrison’s metaphorical reading of the polygonal masonry style, we can posit that the polygonal vision here is an abstract rendering of the differentiated peoples of Darius’s realm – analogous in content to sculptural depictions of the king raised on high by human-form personications of the lands of the empire (g.16).59 Like the Achaemenid campaniform column bases, a full study of the history of the origins of the Persepolis Takht masonry style in relation to its closest formal parallels and functional antecedents across the ancient world has yet to be made.60 It should be acknowledged, 59

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g.16: door jamb relief, Persepolis, Central Building (photograph M.C. Root)

For this motif, see Root 1979: 130-60. This correlation comes full circle in the application of the Persian word Takht (throne) retrospectively in Persia to signify the high terraces in Persepolis (and Pasargadae). This shows that some symbolic linkage was made by local peoples in Frs over hundreds of years between the idea of the citadel platform and the idea of the symbolic bearing or lifting up of the person of the king. An analysis of this sort is well beyond my scope. It will require a full, systematic reassessment of evidence available from within multiple traditions across the range of Achaemenid experience (not limited to the Greek sphere). Mousavi (1992) and Tilia

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nonetheless, that the Takht at Persepolis might have been meant simultaneously to quote the style of fortication walls of the Greek world for symbolic affect and the metaphorical raising on high of the king. There is no reason why multiple agendas of intent cannot have been operative at the same time in the designing of this important vision of Achaemenid power. As with the bell-shaped column, we must understand that 1) the ultimate ‘origin’ of the polygonal style of the Takht wall might emanate from within Greek tradition, but that 2) the Persepolis wall may have become an iconic monument in its own right, able to generate its own offspring driven by ambitions to be associated with the evocative physicality and metaphorical power of the Achaemenid paradigm. Indeed, the Persian-period acropolis wall at the Lycian city of Xanthos

g.17: segment of the Persian-period acropolis wall, south side, at Xanthos (after Metzger 1963, pl.10.2)

in Anatolia is in a polygonal style very similar to that of the Takht at Persepolis (g.17).61 The use of a similar and distinctive architectural form at Xanthos must be a deliberate emulation of the architecture of the capital of the Achaemenid empire – no matter what origins in earlier Greek or other masonry styles may inform the Achaemenid model. Lycia (and Xanthos particularly) had a uid relationship to the competing powers of the Achaemenid empire and the Athenian confederacy (Bryce 1986: 99-114). The Persian-period acropolis wall was, however, part of its acknowledgment of Persian allegiance at the time of its construction

61

(1978) are both preliminary and are focused on technical documentation rather than historical/interpretive issues. What we need for the Persepolis Takht is a close and multi-faceted analysis similar to that to which Nylander (1970: 22-46) subjected the Takht at Pasargadae. Courtils & Cavalier 2001: 151; see Metzger 1963, esp. 1-8, for the primary report.

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around the mid-fth century BCE. The decision, in the Persian period, to make this wall polygonal was a specically determined one that was not a simple continuation of some indigenous practice; nor was it a continuation of some imported Greek tradition. Here, as in many other examples, there are multiple directions of inuence and reception.62 For those who simply cannot accept the direct accessibility of Persepolis to the west, it is enough to cite the pervasiveness of Achaemenid architectural formulae deployed widely in western regional centers. The difculties of the archaeological situation at so many sites in the western reaches of the empire (not to mention the difculties of Susa and Ecbatana) leave much unanswered. Thus, we cannot at present stipulate a specic site in the western part of the empire where the landscape of polygonal wall and bell-shaped column bases comes together in preserved remains in the way that they do so powerfully at Persepolis. Yet Persian-period Xanthos, with its polygonal acropolis wall, hints at the kinds of possibilities of which we must continually be aware.63 I believe that aspects of the Stoa of the Athenians, specically its columns and the fact that it was built onto the previously existing polygonal wall, were also constructed in reference to Persia, and, specically, to Persepolis. These aspects were

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See Hermerén (1975) and Miller (2004) for important discussions of aspects of the mechanics of inuence with the many social dimensions embedded in that unfortunate word. Another example also serves to illustrate the way in which double inuence can occur – where a Persian monument that initially quotes a model from the west later goes on to establish its own stature as a model for emulation in the west. The tomb of Cyrus in Pasargadae relies upon calculated quotation of Lydian architecture for some of its key formal elements. It also blends a formal dynamic reminiscent of the Babylonian ziggurat (Nylander 1970: 91-102). Yet the result becomes an iconic early Persian imperial monument that determines its own prodigious legacy. This legacy, when it is invoked, draws upon ties to the legacy of Cyrus, not to a putative nostalgic reminiscence of any idea that Lydian aesthetic and technical know-how helped in the original design or execution of the monument. The tomb of the Persian satrap Mausolus, at Halicarnassus (ca. 355 BCE), is one such quotation of the Cyrus tomb. This fourth century BCE project itself employed Greek architects and deployed numerous sculptural themes emerging from Greek tradition. Yet the core linkage is with the Persian prestige embodied by the tomb of Cyrus (Nylander 1970: 93; Spivey 1996: 192). Xanthos is well known for its sculpturally decorated monuments of the Persian period displaying hybrid traditions of great cross-cultural complexity (Childs 1978). In this context, the fourth century Nereid Monument (an elaborate chamber tomb) is particularly interesting (Coupel & Demargne 1969, for the documentary record). The sculptural frieze aggressively quotes the iconography and compositional formulae of Achaemenid court art, but it is carved in a Hellenizing style (see Root 1979: 280f.).

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certainly not literal copying of the landscape of Persepolis but were meant to evoke the architectural experience of that city.

4.7. Motivations for Athenian quotation of Persia Why quote Persia? We laid the groundwork earlier for a consideration of the special political meaning of the Stoa of the Athenians within the pan-Hellenic sanctuary at Delphi. The stoa is, as we have explained, a radical departure from precedent in several ways – making the motivations for its innovative features worthy of scrutiny. Its incorporation of the earliest of the known Athenian iterations of the Achaemenid campaniform base is a critical aspect of its innovation. It is highly signicant that the later group of Athenian temples incorporating some version of this base type is small and tightly interconnected by polis-patronage and other ties. The quotation of the Achaemenid column in these Athenian temples perhaps stems from the Stoa of the Athenians. I have argued that it was created in the aftermath of the expulsion of Xerxes in the mainland and that the stoa itself became an iconic monument that spawned its own imitators in the so-called Attic-style temples. Alternatively, the close-knit cluster of late fth-century temples that we have discussed may quote Achaemenid forms as part of an independent (but motivationally related) reference to Persia. The unusual departure from norms evinced by these temples urges us to appreciate that whichever mechanism was foremost, the relationship to Persian forms was neither coincidence nor a natural outcome of stylistic evolution in architecture. The innovation we see was accomplished deliberately in order to instill some calculated message in the mind of the beholder. It would seem that we are witnessing the deliberate quotation of Persian imperial forms in two stages. For the stoa, the motivation involved laying claim to a cultural icon of Persia, whose military might Athens had twice repelled in the recent past of the early fth century. For the late temples, the motivation involved a return to this motif of laying claim, as part of a strategy of nostalgia. I cannot pursue further in this context the issues raised by these temples. But the appropriateness of the form taken by the stoa as a victory statement quoting Persia in order to enhance triumph over it deserves more contemplation. The architectural sculpture of Persepolis presented a very clear and consistent message of the authority of the king, the strength of his army, and the loyalty of his subjects.64 Messages were also embedded in architectural form. In fact, architec-

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See Root (1979, passim; idem 1980) for her early articulations of iconographical programming that are developed further in many subsequent works; see Stronach (2001) for a short synthesis of some of these ideas.

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tural forms and arranged spaces demand reading and interpreting for their systems of message just as do the representational arts per se.65 Architectural forms and stylistic behaviors can be read, not least, as symbolic statements of appropriation of the technical expertise, the human and material resources, and the political/cult centers of prestige of conquered peoples. Beyond the functional aspects of architecture, aesthetic and ideological expressions are part of a planned architectural experience in ofcial contexts of state grandeur.66

5. Persepolis and Delphi in a new light Architecture manipulates a visitor’s access to and visual understanding of a site. This is demonstrably the case in liturgical space (Sinding-Larsen 1984). Flights of stairs are important producers of these effects. In Egypt and Mesopotamia, for instance, such restrictive vertical access alluded to the separation between the mortal and the divine and a progression toward the heavenly realms. The ceremonial entrance up onto the Takht was a monumental double-reversed stairway that was built onto the west side of the high and vast polygonal façade of the terrace wall (g.18).67 The steps are broad and shallow. The nature of the step and the zigzag plan of the stairway as a whole were designed to force those entering the ceremonial and ritual space on the Takht to proceed at a very controlled, slow pace. This slow pace reinforced the dramatic tension of ascent and emphasized the symbolic majesty of Persepolis and the power of its ruler, to “exploit the differences between the king and the peoples of his realm” (Root 1990: 116, 118). Similarly, the Sacred Way of Delphi was a double-reverse path following the elevation of Mt. Parnassos. The steep ascent forced the worshipper to move slowly up the path, noting the treasuries, monuments, statues, and other dedications along the pathway to the Temple of Apollo and its altar. This path created dramatic viewsheds as monuments and dedications appeared and were hidden from view as one progressed. The dynamic of approach and ascent staged against the vista of a polygonal masonry backdrop is shared at Persepolis and Delphi. The scale of the Takht blocks is enormous by comparison with those of the Delphi wall; but in relation to the overall size of the two installations supported (the entire citadel at Persepolis, the 65

66 67

See Root (1990), with some pertinent commentary on relevant comparative possibilities for appreciating architectural iconography. Nylander 1983: 266; Knapp & Ashmore 1999. There were also service entrances to the Persepolis citadel, used not least as access points to business ofces housed within the casemate fortication walls at the northeast corner of the platform (Garrison & Root 2001: 5).

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g.18: reconstruction rendering of the Persepolis Takht staircase and wall, with mudbrick fortications restored above (after Krefter 1971, Beilage 1)

Temple of Apollo precinct at Delphi) there is a proportionality. The feeling of rugged and closely joined, labor-intensive power is exuded in both instances. In both instances, the irregular shaping of the masonry blocks reads vividly from a distance.

6. Delphi – sanctuary politics Greek religious sanctuaries often served as politically-charged repositories of trophies and/or war memorials. Most monuments of this type were in the form of treasuries, statues, or other freestanding dedications (such as tripods).68 In studies of the Siphnian Treasury and the Treasury of the Athenians at Delphi, Neer demonstrates that treasuries were a way for city-states to nationalize their dedications.69 Each treasury was identied with a specic city-state. Its installation at 68

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The early archaic pillar of the Naxians crowned by a sphinx statue is a famous example of a freestanding victory monument. It originally stood just to the viewer’s left on the ascent toward the Stoa of the Athenians (restored in this position in g.2 here). Neer 2001 and idem 2005. See also Scott 2007 and idem 2008.

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a major pan-Hellenic sanctuary, and its purposeful housing of offerings associated singularly with that specic city and its citizenry, gloried and differentiated that patron-city and its citizens (Neer 2004: 65). The Stoa of the Athenians at Delphi must be seen as part of this same conceptualization of sanctuary patronage. Like a treasury (in particular like the Treasury of the Athenians at Delphi), the somewhat later Stoa of the Athenians also reects the intimate complicity of prideful city-state ambition and pious observance of divine agency. Indeed, the Stoa of the Athenians is a treasury-in-stoa-form by virtue of its stipulated purpose as a display arena for trophies of victory. As far as I know, the Stoa of the Athenians is the only stoa built explicitly as a victory monument in a Greek sanctuary. The innovative deployment of the Ionic order for the columns of a stoa in the fth century BCE (including the capitals, in whatever aspect they originally appeared) suggests that the Stoa of the Athenians was deliberately referencing the forms of treasuries, with their more conservative designs and their emphasis on decorative treatments. Along with this mechanism of patron mandate, the Stoa of the Athenians may also have acquired the innovative Ionic order as a politically-motivated allusion to Ionia, championing itself as an Ionian city in the pan-Hellenic sanctuary of Delphi. The innovation might mark Athenian ambitions of incorporation in its campaigns of eastern expansion in the wake of Persian departure from mainland Greece and their relinquishment of imperial control over some territories in Asia

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Minor. Such an allusion would, once again, supersede mechanisms of progressive stylistic development as the modus operandi sparking non-conformity. I am particularly intrigued by the location of the Stoa of the Athenians in relation to the Treasury of the Athenians. Neer (2004) points out that a visitor’s rst view of the Athenian Treasury on the passage up the Sacred Way coincides with his rst glimpse of the Temple of Apollo. Furthermore, he notes, both the temple façade and the entire treasury were built with expensive Parian marble.70 Neer interprets the sightlines thus established by these roughly contemporaneous buildings combined with their shared use of Parian marble as deliberate self-referential links meant to reinforce the Athenian identity of both structures. He also considers the interesting political position of the island of Paros as the source of the marble. The people of Paros had supported Darius’s invasion of Greece with the donation of a trireme; and they had been able to withstand a punitive mission by Miltiades after the battle of Marathon. Miltiades was forced to return to Athens in ignominy, leaving Paros within the control of the Persian empire. We might take this argument a g.19: campaniform column base at Delphi associated with step further to ask if the the serpent-column celebrating the victory at Plataea importation of Parian (photograph author) marble here was meant as a symbolic statement by Athens of its dominance – its ability to deploy a natural resource of this island despite its allegiance to Persia in political actuality. Although Neer does not discuss the Stoa of the Athenians, his analysis raises points applicable also to it – again in terms of both positioning and material. During the period of the stoa’s construction, whether it is dated in the 470s or as late as 420, the Temple of Apollo already soared above. The only structures known 70

See Palagia and Herz (2002) for material studies on the marbles used in the Delphi sanctuary. The political use of different types of marbles is not attested for Greece as much as it is for Rome, but Neer argues that the use of Parian marble for the Achaemenid façade of the Temple of Apollo, rather than the local limestone, and then again for the Treasury of the Athenians could have been intended to make a political statement.

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to have been present and visible along the Sacred Way below the temple and on the path between the Treasury of the Athenians and the stoa were the Treasury of the Knidians and the Naxian Sphinx (g.2). Quite a bit of sanctuary real estate remained, in those days, open for the development of a relatively small stoa. Thus we may posit that the placement of the stoa where we see it today was a calculated one made with other options readily available. I suggest that the use of this wall was part of a deliberate aim 1) to exploit a prime sightline-position between the Treasury of the Athenians and the Alcmeonid Temple of Apollo and 2) to appropriate the polygonal wall behind it for symbolic purposes. The positioning of the stoa places it in spatial conversation with the treasury (g.1). The inscriptions on the two monuments talk to each other literally as part of this conversation. Both speak of Athenian victory. The Treasury of the Athenians proclaims: The Athenians to Apollo the rst fruits of the Mede from the battle of Marathon.

The Stoa of the Athenians, higher up, continues: The Athenians dedicated the stoa, the hopla, and the acroteria, having seized [these things] from the enemy.

g.20: long view of the retaining wall of the Temple of Apollo, with the Stoa of the Athenians (photograph author)

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g.21: reconstruction rendering of the Takht façade, west side, showing the west portico of the Apadana above (after Krefter 1971, Beilage 3)

Umholtz has noted the strategic placement of the stoa inscription on the steps of the structure (2002: 270). The inscription greets the visitor at eye level with full force as he ascends the Sacred Way toward the temple on its high terrace. She suggests that this placement was a feature calculated conspicuously to enhance the Athenian display here. The Athenians, she observes, exploited the landscape of the sanctuary in order to advertise their victories to the fullest. The physical relationship of the stoa to the terrace wall of the temple transforms the stoa into an extension of the Temple of Apollo itself. The construction of an Athenian stoa for the display of war trophies, appended to the polygonal terrace wall (with its allusions to fortication masonry style), conveyed a proprietary message of Athenian dominion over the sanctuary (g.20). The ascent up the Sacred Way to the Treasury of the Athenians, then further up to the stoa, and nally to the Temple of Apollo, is similar to the staged access to the Persepolis citadel with its broad, double-reversed stairway (g.21).71 The steep 71

Kuhn (1985) has suggested that the stoa was also partly used as a place for Athenians to rest and watch processions making their way up the Sacred Way. He makes no reference to the possibility that this itself may have been an allusion to Persian imperial porticoes as royal viewing stations. But this idea could be an important consideration worthy of much more contemplation. The exploitation of sight-lines has a long tradition in architectural landscapes of authority and identity, especially combining essential elements of the worldly and the religious. Lumsden (2001: 35) remarks upon such stra-

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advance of the Sacred Way likewise doubles back upon itself. On the way to the altar and temple of the god, the viewer did not achieve visual access to the Stoa of the Athenians until he had made his way to the Treasury of the Athenians and turned the corner to proceed on toward the Temple of Apollo. This would have had the same results of delayed gratication toward arrival at the Gate of All Lands as Root describes for Persepolis (1990). I am not suggesting that the whole vision and layout of the sanctuary of Apollo was built in order to emulate Persepolis. Obviously this was not the case. I am, however, saying that the effect would have been intriguingly similar. This implies a comparative relationship of shared functions of space and manipulations of psychological positioning of visitors within that space rather than a relationship based upon historical causation. It is possible, however, that the Athenians did consider the preexisting topography of the sanctuary site to create a desired psychological effect that was evocative of Persepolis.

tegies in relation to the palatial installation set on high at Nineveh to create a particular scenic context, a set of sight-lines of power for the notion of imperial center. When we look back at Persepolis once more, we remember that the western portico of the Apadana was open to the plain below. Here, along this segment of the great polygonal Takht wall, the contiguity of massive irregularly-shaped blocks of stone and elegant Achaemenid columns with bell-shaped bases came together visually in antiquity for the visitor about to make his way up into the sacred and also worldly space of the Persepolis citadel. The Temple of Apollo is placed on its own platform on top of the retaining wall, with one long side of its colonnade looming above the landscape, much as the western portico of the Apadana does.

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7. Conclusions It has been commented that, “[u]nlike pottery, and to a lesser extent sculpture, architecture can not normally convey ideas by being itself exported” (Coulton 1983: 453). I believe that this case study raises interesting possibilities that architecture, like other ancient media, can be used to track inuence across cultures in the ancient world. It might be harder to extricate meaning and cultural exchange through the built environment, but I think that it is certainly there. Just as pottery and sculpture cannot be looked at in a vacuum, so neither can architecture. I hope that I have demonstrated here that architectural ideas and the messages they may convey are ‘exportable’ and mutable cultural phenomena. In this, the Stoa of the Athenians is a case study illustrating the serious possibilities of direct inspirational connection between Persia (and indeed Persepolis itself) and the sanctuary at Delphi. The bell-shaped column bases of the stoa work in tandem with the pre-existing polygonal wall and dominant presence of the temple above. In combination with their setting along the Sacred Way they are evocative of the built landscape of Persepolis and features of its choreography of reception. The similarities characterized here between Delphi and Persepolis are noteworthy. It is important to remember, though, that just because two objects are similar does not guarantee that they have an historical connection (Nylander 1970: 73). If one wants to argue for historical connection through the similarity between two monuments, it is necessary to show some cause or explanation for the comparison. It has been demonstrated repeatedly that the Athenians, for all of their literary appeals against the Persians, actually did emulate them in various ways. Root (1985), for example, makes a compelling case for conscious Athenian adaptation of metaphorical structure from the Apadana reliefs for the Parthenon frieze.72 In the same article, she argues that the procession for the City Dionysia in Athens was an actualized emulation and adaptation to Athenian conditions of Achaemenid ceremonies of tribute presentation. Miller discusses the Athenian Odeion (an auditorium) commissioned by Pericles in terms of its emulation of the grand tent of Xerxes seized by the Athenians after the battle of Plataea (Hdt. IX.58-75). While she argues that the Odeion must not have looked very much like an actual Persian tent, it looked Persian to the Greeks on account of its many columns, pyramidal roof, and elaborate façade (Miller 2004: 239). The reason for the emulation, again, was the desire to produce an imagery of power by deliberately replicating a “specic message of imperial majesty for the Persian kings” (ibid. 241). The tent of Xerxes clearly had great

72

As part of an Athenian program to develop an allusive visual language of representation in which to cast imperial power.

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symbolic value to the Greeks, and its story reinforces the idea that vistas of columned porticoes proclaimed a Persian court identity in the west. The city of Athens emulated and retooled (for various new meanings) elements of Achaemenid imperial formulae of presentation. And they did this not only through representational imagery, but also through the non-representational vehicle of architecture. Signicant similarity is a delicate issue because the meanings behind styles or motifs inspired by one culture and received by another may acquire drastically different messages in the new host environment. In the instance of our case study here, there are obvious alterations of message for the reworking of Achaemenid visions in Delphi. Yet in both places, a marriage of ceremonial/sacral and political/ economic motivations created environments that share certain strategies of architectural landscaping.

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Bibliography ALCOCK, S., CHERRY, J.F. & ELSNER, J. (eds.) 2000, Pausanias: Travel and memory in Roman Greece, Oxford. AMANDRY, P. 1953, La Colonne des Naxiens et le Portique des Athéniens (FdD 2.6), Paris. –––– 1987, Trépieds de Delphes et du Péloponnèse, BCH 111: 79-131. –––– 1998, Le ‘socle Marathonien’ et le Trésor des Atheniens, BCH 112: 75-90. ASKARI CHAVERDI, A. & CALLIERI, P. 2009, Achaemenid and post-Achaemenid remains at TB 76 and TB 77, ARTA 2009.004. ATAI, M.T. & BOUCHARLAT, R. 2009, An Achaemenid pavilion and other remains in Tang-i Bulaghi, ARTA 2009.005. ATHANASSAKI, L. 2011, Songs, politics, and cultural memory: Pindar’s Pythian 7 and the Alcmaeonid temple of Apollo, in: L. Athanassaik & E. Bowie (eds.), Archaic and Classical choral song: Performance, politics, and dissemination, Berlin: 235-68. BOARDMAN, J. 1985a, Greek art, London [rev.ed.]. –––– 1985b, Greek sculpture: The Classical period, New York. –––– 2000, Persia and the West: An archaeological investigation of the genesis of Achaemenid art, New York. BOUCHARLAT, R. 1990, Suse et la Susiane à l’époque achéménide: Données archéologiques, in: AchHist 4, Leiden: 149-75. –––– 1997, Susa under Achaemenid rule, in: Curtis (ed.): 54-67. –––– 2001, The palace and the royal Achaemenid city: Two case studies, Pasargadae and Susa, in: Nielsen (ed.): 113-24. –––– 2005, Iran, in: P. Briant & R. Boucharlat (eds.), L’archéologie de l’empire achéménide: Nouvelles recherches (Persika 6), Paris: 221-92. BOWDEN, H. 2005, Classical Athens and the Delphic oracle: Divination and democracy, Cambridge. BRIANT, P. 2002, From Cyrus to Alexander: A history of the Persian empire, Winona Lake [translated from the 1996 French edition]. BRONEER, O. 1954, The South Stoa and its Roman successors (Corinth 1.4), Princeton. BRYCE, T.R. 1986, The Lycians in literary and epigraphic sources, Copenhagen. CARPENTER, R. 1929, The sculpture of the Nike Temple parapet, Cambridge. –––– 1959, The esthetic basis of Greek art of the fth and fourth centuries BC, Bloomington [rev.ed.]. CASTRIOTA, D. 1992, Myth, ethos, and actuality: Ofcial art in fth century BC Athens, Madison. –––– 2000, Justice, kingship, and imperialism: Rhetoric and reality in fth-century BC representations following the Persian Wars, in: Cohen (ed.): 443-79. CHILDS, W.A.P. 1978, The city-reliefs of Lycia, Princeton. COHEN, B. (ed.) 2000, Not the Classical ideal: Athens and the construction of the other in Greek art, Leiden. COOPER, F.A. 1996a, The Temple of Apollo Bassitas, vol. 1: The architecture, Princeton. –––– 1996b, The Temple of Apollo Bassitas, vol. 3: The architecture, illustrations, Princeton. COULTON, J.J. 1976, The architectural development of the Greek stoa, Oxford.

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–––– 1977, Ancient Greek architects at work: Problems of structure and design, Ithaca. –––– 1983, Greek architects and the transmission of design, in: [s.n.] (ed.), Architecture et société: De l’archaïsme Grec à la n de la République (CÉFR 66), Paris: 453-70. COUPEL, P. & DEMARGNE, P. 1969, Le monument des Néréides: L’architecture (FdX 3), Paris. COURTILS, J. & CAVALIER, L. 2001, The city of Xanthos from Archaic to Byzantine times, in: D. Parrish & H. Abbasolu (eds.), Urbanism in western Asia Minor: New studies on Aphrodisias, Ephesos, Hierapolis, Pergamon, Perge and Xanthos (JRA Suppl. 45), Portsmouth: 149-71. CURTIS, J.E. 1993, William Kennet Loftus and his excavations at Susa, IrAnt 28: 1-56. CURTIS, J.E. (ed.) 1997, Mesopotamia and Iran in the Persian period: Conquest and imperialism, 539-311 BC (Lukonin Memorial Seminar 3), London. CURTIS, J. & RAZMJOU, S. 2005, The palace, in: J. Curtis & N. Tallis (eds.), Forgotten empire: The world of Achaemenid Persia, Berkeley: 50-103. DINSMOOR, W.B. 1973, The architecture of ancient Greece: An account of its historic development, New York [rev.ed.]. DUSINBERRE, E.R.M. 2003, Aspects of empire in Achaemenid Sardis, Cambridge. FRATEANTONIO, C. 2009, Religion und Städtekonkurrenz: Zum politischen und kulturellen Kontext von Pausanias’ Periegese, Berlin. FREDERIKSEN, R. 2011, Greek city walls of the Archaic period: 900-480 BC, Oxford. GARRISON, M.B. [forthcoming], Visual representation of deities and demons in Achaemenid Iran: Old problems, new directions, in: C. Uehlinger & F. Graf (eds.), Iconography of ancient Near Eastern religions, vol. 1: Pre-Hellenistic periods, introductory essays, Leiden. GARRISON, M.B. & ROOT, M.C. 2001, Seals on the Persepolis Fortication tablets, part 1: Images of heroic encounter, 2 vols. (OIP 117), Chicago. GATES, J.E. 2002, The ethnicity name game: What lies behind ‘Graeco-Persian’?, in: M.C. Root (ed.), Medes and Persians: Reections on elusive empires (= ArsOr 32): 105-32. GOPNIK, H. 2010, Why columned halls?, in: J. Curtis & StJ. Simpson (eds.), The world of Achaemenid Persia: History, art and society in Iran and the ancient Near East, London: 195-206. HABICHT, C. 1998, Pausanias’ guide to ancient Greece, Berkeley [rev.ed.]. HAERINCK, E. 1997, Babylonia under Achaemenid rule, in: Curtis (ed.): 26-34. HALL, J.M. 1997, Ethnic identity in Greek antiquity, Cambridge. HENKELMAN, W.F.M. 2013, Administrative realities: The Persepolis archives and the archaeology of the Achaemenid heartland, in: D.T. Potts (ed.), The Oxford handbook of ancient Iran, Oxford: 528-46. HERMERÉN, G. 1975, Inuence in art and literature, Princeton. HOUSSOULLIER, B. 1881, Le portique des Athéniens et ses abords, BCH 5: 1-19. HURWIT, J.M. 1999, The Athenian Acropolis: History, mythology, and archaeology from the Neolithic era to the present, Cambridge. HUTTON, W. 2005, Describing Greece: Landscape and literature in the ‘Periegesis’ of Pausanias, Cambridge. JACQUEMIN, A. 1999, Offrandes monumentales à Delphes (BÉFAR 304), Athènes. JOHNSTON, S.I. 2008, Ancient Greek divination, Malden.

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JONES, W.H.S. & OMEROD, H.A. 1935, Pausanias, Description of Greece, vol. 4, London. KNAPP, A.B. & ASHMORE, W. 1999, Archaeological landscapes: Constructed, conceptualized, ideational, in: A.B. Knapp & W. Ashmore (eds.), Archaeologies of landscape: Contemporary perspectives, Malden: 1-30. KNAUSS, F. 2001, Persian rule in the north: Achaemenid palaces on the periphery of the empire, in: Nielsen (ed.): 125-43. KOHLER, U. 1891, Die Halle der Athener in Delphi, RhM 46: 1-8. KREFTER, F. 1971, Persepolis Rekonstruktionen: Der Wiederaufbau des Frauenpalastes, Rekonstruktionen der Paläste, Modell von Persepolis (TehF 3), Berlin. KUHN, G. 1985, Untersuchungen zur Funktion der Säulenhalle in archaischer und klassischer Zeit, JDAI 100: 169-444. LAWRENCE, A.W. 1951, The Acropolis and Persepolis, JHS 71: 111-19. –––– 1957, Greek architecture, Harmondsworth. LECOQ, P. 1997, Les inscriptions de la Perse achéménide, Paris. LOW, P. (ed.) 2008, The Athenian empire, Edinburgh. LUMSDEN, S. 2001, Power and identity in the Neo-Assyrian world, in: Nielsen (ed.): 33-52. MARK, I.S., MELLINK, J. & MCCREDIE, J.R. 1993, The sanctuary of Athena Nike in Athens: Architectural stages and chronology (Hesperia Suppl. 26), Princeton. MATTINGLY, H.B. 1982, The Athena Nike Temple reconsidered, Hesperia 86: 381-85. MCGOWAN, E.P. 1997, The origins of the Athenian Ionic capital, Hesperia 66: 209-33. MEIGGS, R. & LEWIS, D.M. 1969, A selection of Greek historical inscriptions to the end of the fth century BC, Oxford. MERRIT, L.C. 1969, The geographical distribution of Greek and Roman Ionic bases, Hesperia 38: 186-204. METZGER, H. & COUPEL, P. 1963, L’Acropole lycienne (FdX 2), Paris. MILES, M.M. 1980, The date of the temple on the Ilissos River, Hesperia 49: 309-25. MILLER, M.C. 2004, Athens and Persia in the fth century BC: A study in cultural receptivity, Cambridge. –––– 2007, The poetics of emulation in the Achaemenid world: The gured bowls of the ‘Lydian Treasure,’ AWE 6: 43-72. MORGAN, C. 1990, Athletes and oracles: The transformation of Olympia and Delphi in the eighth century BC, Cambridge. MOUSAVI, A. 1992, Parsa, a stronghold for Darius: A preliminary study of the defense system of Persepolis, East and West 42: 203-26. –––– 2002, Persepolis in retrospect: Histories of discovery and archaeological exploration at the ruins of ancient Parseh, in: M.C. Root (ed.), Medes and Persians: Reextions on elusive empires (= ArsOr 32): 209-51. MUSCARELLA, O.W. 1992, Achaemenid art and architecture at Susa, in: P.O. Harper, F. Tallon & J. Aruz (eds.), The royal city of Susa: Ancient Near Eastern treasures in the Louvre, New York: 216-41. NEER, R.T. 2001, Framing the gift: The politics of the Siphnian Treasury at Delphi, CA 20: 273-344. –––– 2004, The Athenian Treasury at Delphi and the material of politics, CA 23: 63-93.

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NIELSEN, I. (ed.) 2001, The royal palace institution in the rst millennium BC: Regional development and cultural interchange between East and West (Monographs of the Danish Institute at Athens 4), Aarhus. NYLANDER, C. 1970, Ionians in Pasargadae: Studies in Old Persian architecture (Boreas 1), Uppsala. –––– 1983, Architecture grecque et pouvoir Persan, in: [s.n.] (ed.), Architecture et société: De l’archaïsme Grec à la n de la République (CÉFR 66), Paris: 265-70. ONIANS, J. 1988, Bearers of meaning: The classical orders in antiquity, the Middle Ages, and the Renaissance, Princeton. PALAGIA, O. 2005, Interpretations of two Athenian friezes: The temple on the Ilissos and the temple of Athena Nike, in: J.M. Barringer & J.M. Hurwit (eds.), Periklean Athens and its legacy: Problems and perspectives, Austin: 177-92. PALAGIA, O. & HERZ, N. 2002, Investigations of marbles at Delphi, in: J.J. Herrmann, N. Herz & R. Newman (eds.), Interdisciplinary studies on ancient stone (ASMOSIA 5), London: 240-49. PEDLEY, J.G. 2005, Sanctuaries and the sacred in the ancient Greek world, New York. PICON, C. 1978, The Ilissos temple reconsidered, AJA 82: 47-81. PIRENNE-DELFORGE, V. 2008, Retour à la source: Pausanias et la religion grecque (Kernos Suppl. 20), Liège. POMTOW, H. 1894, Zur Datierung der Halle der Athener zu Delphi, RhM 49: 627-29. POTTS, D.T. 2008, The Persepolis Fortication texts and the royal road: Another look at the Fahliyan area, in: P. Briant, W.F.M. Henkelman & M.W. Stolper (eds.), L’archive des Fortications de Persépolis: État des questions et perspectives de recherches (Persika 12), Paris: 275-301. POTTS, D.T., ASGARI CHAVERDI, A. et al. 2007, The Mamasani Archaeological Project, stage two: Excavations at Qaleh Kali (Tappeh Servan/Jinjun [MS 46]), Iran 45: 287300. –––– 2009, Further excavations at Qaleh Kali (MS 46) by the joint ICAR – University of Sydney Mamasani Expedition: Results of the 2008 season, IrAnt 44: 207-82. RAAFLAUB, K.A. 2009, Learning from the enemy: Athenian and Persian ‘instruments of empire,’ in: J. Ma, N. Papazarkadas & R. Parker (eds.), Interpreting the Athenian empire, London: 89-124. RHODES, P.J. 2010, A history of the classical Greek world, 478-323 BC, Chichester. RHODES, R.F. 1995, Architecture and meaning on the Athenian Acropolis, Cambridge. RICHTER, G.M.A. 1946, Greeks in Persia, AJA 50: 15-30. –––– 1949, Archaic Greek art against its historical background: A survey, New York. RIDGWAY, B.S. 1981, Fifth century styles in Greek sculpture, Princeton. –––– 1997, Fourth-century styles in Greek sculpture, Wisconsin. ROAF, M. 1983, Sculpture and sculptors at Persepolis (= Iran 21), London. ROBERTSON, D.S. 1969, Greek and Roman architecture, Cambridge [rev.ed. of A handbook of Greek and Roman architecture]. ROLLEY, C. 2003, La tombe princière de Vix, 2 vols., Paris. ROOT, M.C. 1979, The king and kingship in Achaemenid art: Essays on the creation of an iconography of empire (AI 19), Leiden.

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LINES IN THE SAND: HORIZONS OF REAL AND IMAGINED POWER IN PERSIAN ARABIA Björn Anderson (Iowa City)

1. Introduction Achaemenid records document the inclusion of Arabia within the empire; it is listed amongst the dahyva (subject lands) in several Persian inscriptions, imperial reliefs include labeled Arabian gures, and the Persepolis Fortication archive documents Arabian envoys who merited audiences with the King.1 Herodotus, in his catalogue of Achaemenid taxation and administrative units, mentions the Arabians as well, adding a rather cryptic commentary that they were tax-exempt and yet gave enormous annual ‘gifts’ of frankincense to the King (III.89-94, 97). He provides several other anecdotes about Arabia during Achaemenid times, but his account is rmly rooted in a widespread Mediterranean preconception about peripheral (and especially desert) regions. This paper will evaluate Persian Arabia from Persian and Greek perspectives, additionally examining the few scraps of archaeological evidence from Arabia that may speak to Achaemenid involvement there. It will be argued that Persian and Greek sources give very different accounts of Arabia, and that the Persians portrayed it as a regular, unremarkable subject land. Images of a remote, separate, or somehow specially treated Arabia are only seen in Greek sources and likely the product of an intermingling of report, rumor, and imagination.2 1

2

I wish to thank Elspeth Dusinberre and Mark Garrison for inviting me to contribute to this volume, as well as for the many helpful suggestions they made for improving the text. I am most pleased to have the opportunity to honor Margaret Cool Root, whose mentorship during my graduate years has left a lasting impression on my work. I would also like to thank David Graf for many helpful conversations about Achaemenid Arabia, as well as the directors and staff at the American Center for Oriental Research for encouraging and assisting me in numerous visits to Jordan. Finally, I would like to thank the University of Iowa’s School of Art & Art History, Studio for Digital Arts and Humanities, and International Programs, as well as the Council for American Overseas Research Centers and the American Center for Oriental Research for providing support to make this research possible. There is one possible hint of a special status of Arabia in the late Achaemenid empire, as represented by the torque worn by the Arabian personication on the tomb of Arta-

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By and large, Arabia of Achaemenid experience was conned to the region immediately bordering Mesopotamia, Syria, and Egypt, although there may have been limited interaction within the heart of the Peninsula as well.3 The paper concludes with a brief examination of how the Achaemenid empire and its subject lands have been represented in the maps of selected publications.

2. Classifying ‘Arabia’ in Achaemenid terms A major problem faced in the study of Achaemenid Arabia is the inconsistency, even confusion, in ancient texts that treat the region. Put simply, the concept of Arabia as a landscape dened by the Arabian Peninsula has little traction in antiquity (g.1).4 Throughout the rst millennium BCE, Arabia was a uid entity, a landscape dened at times by the presence of the ‘arab, or “Arabs” (a term which itself shifted in use and meaning), at times by its desert character, and at times by specic (but chronologically variable) geographic features such as mountain ranges or bodies of water.5 It is doubtful that the major empires that engaged Arabia or the Arabians ever penetrated very deeply into the Peninsula itself, with the famous exception of the neo-Babylonian king Nabonidus (556-39 BCE) who took up residence at the oasis town of Taym for a decade near the beginning of his reign.6 Even those who, like Nabonidus, entered the Peninsula likely stayed close to roads and oases; the Roman campaign of Aelius Gallus in 25 BCE showed just how perilous the uncharted stretches of Arabia could be to an invading army.7 As a

3

4

5

6

7

xerxes III at Persepolis. If this indeed speaks of a special status, it was likely a later evolution; there is nothing from the sixth or fth centuries BCE to suggest a favored status in Persian sources. For discussion, see below, §3.3. This need not mean that there were two distinct Arabian populations, but rather that the majority of imperial needs could be met much closer to home; cf. Graf 1990a: 139. We today are generally accustomed to conceptualizing Arabia as the Peninsula. The Oxford English Dictionary, e.g., denes Arabia as “a peninsula of SW Asia, largely desert, lying between the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf and bounded on the north by Jordan and Iraq.” By contrast, Retsö (2003: 579) has argued that there were at least eleven differently dened ‘Arabias’ in the ancient literary corpus. For discussion see, e.g., Eph’al 1982: 4-9, 192-214; Retsö 1989-90; idem 2003: 578-83; Graf 1990a; idem 1990b; Hoyland 2001: 8. The reasons for Nabonidus’ stay at Taym remain unclear, although it is suggested that exerting control over the lucrative trade routes may have been as important, if not more so, as the religious reforms outlined in the Verse Account of Nabonidus. See Bawden, Evans & Miller 1980: 71f. On the campaign of Gallus and its disastrous results, see Strabo XVI.4.23-24, discussed in Anderson 2005: 76-9; idem 2009; idem 2010.

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g.1: location of principal sites referenced in the text

result, the inner reaches of the Arabian Penisula were likely largely unknown to the outside world, accessible primarily through the reports of travelers and emissaries.8 It is difcult to ascertain what exactly the Persians meant when they referred to Arabia, and we cannot be condent that their use of the designation was consistently applied or that it reected an actual state of affairs. In addition, the ideological importance of subject lands clouds the matter signicantly. These observations may well seem discouraging, and Briant’s warning about a “pointless exercise” is well taken (2002: 761). Nevertheless, the Persians did engage Arabia, and they did count the Arabians as part of their empire. Classical sources (especially Herodotus) likewise deal with Arabia as an Achaemenid province (Hdt. III.97). It is therefore worthwhile to explore these sources in further detail.

8

This is not to say that Arabia was devoid of settlement during the rst millennium BCE. Inscriptions attest to numerous small kingdoms and tribal confederations, notably the Lihyanites, Mineans, Qedarites, and others. Alas, we have little evidence of Achaemenid interactions with these specic groups.

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3. Arabia: the Persian sources 3.1. The Dahyva lists For the Achaemenids, as with the Neo-Babylonian and Neo-Assyrian empires that preceded them, Arabia (Arabya) was primarily composed of the broad swath of land stretching westward from Mesopotamia to Egypt (Dandamaev 1986: 229). Lists of dahyva (subject lands), such as Darius’ inscription from Naqš-e Rustam (DNa), seem carefully structured in geographic terms: Es kündet Dareios, der König: Nach dem Willen Ahuramazdäs, – dies (sind) die Länder, die ich in Besitz genommen habe außerhalb von Persien; ich habe über sie geherrscht; mir brachten sie Tribut; was ihnen von mir gesagt worden ist, das taten sie; das Gesetz, das mein (von mir) (ist), – das hielt sie (fest): Medien, Elam, Parthien, Areia, Baktrien, Sogdien, Chorasmien, Drangiana, Arachosien, Sattagydien, Gandra, Indien, die amyrgischen Saken, die spitzmützigen Saken, Babylonien, Assyrien, Arabien, Ägypten, Armenien, Kappadokien, Lydien, Ionien, die Saken jenseits des Meeres, Thrakien, die schildtragenden Griechen, die Libyer, Nubier, Mekräner, Karer. (DNap 15-30, cited after Schmitt 2009: 102; emphasis added)

Following mention of the three states of the Iranian heartland (Media, Elam, and Parthia), the territories begin in the east with Aria and Bactria and move west through the central provinces, ending with peripheral territories such as Ethiopia, Maka, and Caria. Arabia is placed squarely between Babylonia/Assyria and Egypt, which spatially corresponds to what is now Jordan, Syria, Palestine and the Sinai. Territories in Asia Minor (Armenia, Cappadocia) abut Arabia to the north, although whether they served as a boundary cannot be judged with certainty. Signicantly, there is no subject land to the south of Arabia.9 The context of these lists makes their interpretation as reliable records of imperial administration problematic at best. The above-cited inscription graces the royal tomb of Darius I at Naqš-e Rustam and as such stands as a multivalent testament of his reign and legacy. Likewise, the list of dahyva at Bsotn (DB) is part of a highly-charged narrative combining image and text into what Root has termed a “creation of triumphant piety” (1979: 189). The lists of dahyva on these and other monuments are part of a larger programmatic formula, prefaced by the King’s divine appointment by Ahuramazd and his lineage as an Achaemenid. The core message is one of legitimacy, and the inclusion of the dahyva lends credence to the King’s authority. These lists are ideologically motivated and symbolic, and as such may well represent an imagined, rather than actual, empire (ibid.). 9

Compare Hdt. III.107, Arabia is “furthest to the south of all the world” ($) ’ ( MM &" % , 'M# "## &).

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On the basis of these inscriptions, Jacobs argues that the dahyva lists are accurate representations of the empire’s hierarchical structure. In his reading, the empire is divided into ‘minor,’ ‘main,’ and ‘great’ satrapies; minor satrapies are administered by main satrapies, which are themselves overseen by the great satrapies. The lands that comprise the ofcial dahyva lists are explained as both main and great satrapies. Arabia is classed as a main satrapy, part of the great satrapy Egypt.10 This is not met with universal acceptance, however; Petit omits Arabia from his catalogue of satrapies, Graf sees little evidence for a Persian satrapy in Arabia, and Knauf suggests limited Persian control of populated sites (such as oases) in Arabia without claiming a formal satrapy.11 Arabia’s satrapal status is crucial to Jacobs’ reading of the dahyva lists as reliable documentation of the empire’s administrative organization; his argument hinges on the existence of an Arabian satrapy (cf. §5 below).

3.2. Arabians in the Persepolis Fortication tablets: beer and bread The Persepolis Fortication tablets document Arabians as visitors to Persepolis.12 Four related texts, PF 1477, PF 1507, PF 1534, and PF 1539 document the rations disbursed to travelers led by the guides Išbakatukka and Ramakara, and the men of the group are specically identied as Arabians. Probably we see the same party traveling in year 22 of the reign of Darius I.13 1.75 BAR (of) our Išbakatukka received, and 8 men received each 2 QA, 1 man received 1½ QA. (They are) Arabians. He carried an authorization of Bakabana. (PF 1477) They went to the King. 22nd year, eighth (Elamite) month. 2.55 BAR (of) our Ramakara received, and 12 Arabian men received each 2 QA, 1 man received 1½ QA. Eighth (Elamite) month, 22nd year. He carried an authorization of Bakabana. They went to the King. (PF 1507)

10 11

12

13

Jacobs 1994: 166-8; idem 1999; idem 2003: 323-32; idem 2006. Cf. Roaf 1974: 78. Petit 1990; Graf 1990a: 141; Knauf 1990: 203-07; cf. Briant 1996: 781f. For positive assertions of an Achaemenid satrapy in Arabia, see Bartlett 1990: 30. In addition to the texts discussed below, see also PF 1011, a ration list concerning perhaps slaves, and PFa 17 and PFa 29, both of which discuss rations for an Arabian workforce (Hallock 1978: 122, 27-30). Mark Garrison, personal communication August 2014. Garrison points out that three of the four tablets (PF 1477, PF 1534, PF 1507) are sealed with PFS 0010, an important ‘supplier seal’ used at Kurdušum in the west (see also Hallock 1969: 44). The last tablet, PF 1439, is sealed with PFS 0056, an ofce supply seal at Pirraššetaš.

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1.2 marriš (of) beer Ramakara received, and 12 Arabian men received each 1 QA. He carried a sealed document of Bakabana. They went to the King. 22nd year, eighth (Elamite) month. (PF 1534) 7 QA (of) beer Išbakatukka received, and 7 men received each 1 QA. He carried a sealed document of Bakabana. They went to the King. Eighth month, 22nd year. (PF 1539; translations cited from Hallock 1969)

Both Išbakatukka and Ramakara are probably Persian escorts or agents.14 The rations are high for eight of the party (presumably the Arabians?), which may signal an important group of travelers; Išbakatukka receives fewer rations than the Arabians he leads. Ramakara’s 1.2 marriš (approximately twelve litres) would roughly supply 1 QA (approximately one litre) of beer to each of the twelve Arabians, although that would leave none for himself and does not account for the extra half-litre one of these men (perhaps the leader of the Arabians) received.15 PFa 17 clearly shows this practice in action, as one Mitranka received 16 BAR 2 QA of our from Karma, and then “gave (it) to the Arabians” (Hallock 1978: 122). These Arabians, bearing sealed documents from the important Persian administrator Bakabana (on whom see Hallock 1969: 41f.), are clearly signicant gures who merit an audience with the king. Only 16 of the 88 travel ration documents published by Hallock (1969) document travellers who went to the king; most of the travelers attested in the corpus simply went to a particular city. “They went to Persepolis” or “they went to Susa” are more commonly seen. These two groups of Arabians were therefore members of a select minority whose business merited royal attention. Sadly, the nature of this business is not preserved, although, as discussed below, it is certainly possible that the delegations were representatives of Arabian tribes – either discussing security arrangements in the desert or bringing the highly sought-after luxury aromatic frankincense to the king. Alternatively, they may have been couriers, for the two men in PF 1315 who went to the king are noted to be “fast messengers” (Hallock 1969: 372).

3.3. Arabians in royal Achaemenid art Besides the dahyva lists (§3.1), subject peoples were also an important part of the visual environment at Persepolis and nearby Naqš-e Rustam, and the Arabians were therefore among those depicted.16 Only two of the monuments have labels 14 15 16

Hallock 1969: 44. Hallock denes Ramakara as the “agent” of the Arabians. For metrology, see Kuhrt 2007: 545f. For a catalogue of the depictions of subject peoples on Persian monuments, see Roaf 1974: 78-92. For discussion of the identication of certain groups and their reception to different audiences, see Root 2007: 179-83; idem 2008: 208-14.

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that identify the individual subject people, the tomb of Darius I at Naqš-e Rustam and tomb V at Persepolis (traditionally attributed to Artaxerxes III).17 On the other monuments that depict subject peoples (but without labels), such as the Apadana staircase at Persepolis, specic identication is often difcult.18 The Arabians were surely represented in some or all of these representations; their invariable inclusion in the dahyva lists makes it clear that they were an important part of the Achaemenid vision of empire.19 A monumental greywacke statue of Darius, originally commissioned and displayed in Egypt, and later moved to Susa either by Darius I or Xerxes I, is another important piece of evidence tied to the dahyva, and once again the Arabians are included.20 The statue, originally erected in Pithom, was a powerful testament to Darius’s control of Egypt. It utilizes traditional Egyptian honoric and theophoric titles as well as a number of deeply ingrained Egyptian artistic conventions.21 At the same time, it employs a number of specically Persian features, including the King’s dress, titles (which are a blend of Persian and Egyptian), and, at the base of the statue, a series of cartouches that designate the personication of subject nations (Razmjou 2002: 85). The cartouches are surmounted by gures with arms upraised, either in a gesture of deference or to signify their role as ‘bearers’ of the king, a familiar visual theme at Persepolis and Naqš-e Rustam.22 Since the inscription is in Egyptian, in hieroglyphic script, the familiar Arabya does not occur as an indicator of the Arabians. Instead, one group among the subject peoples is labeled H-g-r, the Egyptian word for northwest Arabia (Roaf 1974: 135f.). Knauf 17

18

19

20

21

22

For DNe see Schmitt 2009: 112-4; for A3Pb ibid. 198f. Note that DNe, on the tomb of Darius I, is damaged; 18 labels, including that for ‘Arabian,’ are now destroyed. Schmidt (1953: 89, pl.46) identies the camel-bearers on the Apadana staircase as – potentially – the Arabian delegation, but is cautious in his attribution. The question of whether or not these lists were accurate representations of satrapal structure or more imaginative ideological constructions of empire is irrelevant here; the reliefs document what Root (1979: 282) calls an “idealized vision of the conceptual structure of the Achaemenid Empire,” and the dahyva lists are tied to this structure either materially or conceptually. For the most recent and comprehensive treatment of the statue, see Yoyotte 2013a; idem 2013b. See also Yoyotte 1972; Roaf 1974; Luschey 1983; Calmeyer 1991; Razmjou 2002; Colburn 2014a: 245-52; idem 2014b: 784-8. Darius is “King of Upper and Lower Egypt (…) The Great, the King of of Kings, the Supreme Chieftain of the Earth [in its totality, the son of the] father of a God Hystaspes, Achaemenes, who rose as King of Upper and Lower Egypt on the throne of Horus the living” (Yoyotte 2013a: 260). “The personications on the base turn the bound enemies of traditional Egyptian iconography into supporting cooperative agents in a harmonious imperial enterprise” (Razmjou 2002: 85).

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(1990b: 56-58) and Graf (1990: 203) connect it to Hagar and the Ishmaelites (legendary ancestors of the Arabians), as well as place names such as Hegra and Gerrha. Hegra, modern Meda’in Saleh, was an important Nabataean settlement near Dedan, and boasts a number of crenelated Nabataean tombs.23 Graf’s connection of H-g-r to Gerrha, located in northeast Arabia, is contested, but the general connection between the H-g-r of the statue base and Arabia is generally accepted.24 The omission of the Arabians from the statue base, in any event, would be unprecedented in the context of list of subject peoples in Achaemenid royal inscriptions; also, H-g-r is the only candidate for identication with the Arabians. The inclusion of the Arabians amongst the dahyva, therefore, seems to have visual support in Achaemenid art. Admittedly the number of securely labeled contexts are few, but whenever subject peoples can be identied, Arabians are amongst them.25 There is one additional detail regarding the Arabians which may suggest a ‘favored’ status late in the Achaemenid period, although this is far from certain. On the Tomb of Artaxerxes III at Persepolis the Arabian is subject people no. 18.26 It may be signicant that this gure wears a special necklace on this relief; only one other gure, no. 24, the Sak paradraya (usually identied as a Scythian), wears a similar one.27 Schmidt identied the necklace as an honoric torque, signifying favored status with the king (1970: 111, 16). Magnicent gold torques are known from the Oxus Treasure, and, if indeed the Arabian is wearing such a torque, it must have been a prominent signal of elevated status, possibly even bestowed by the king in a public ceremony.28 It should be noted that none of the tribute bearers on the Apadana wear torques, although many of the Persian escorts are adorned with heavy necklaces. This can probably be explained by the awarding of torques being a later development, instituted long after most of the reliefs at Persepolis were completed (perhaps even during the reign of Artaxerxes III). Like the Arabians, the Scythians were generally nomadic; they may have served as a de facto wilderness police force and given special status as a result.29 23

24 25

26 27

28

29

On Hegra more generally, see Schmidt-Colinet 1987; Healey & al-Theeb 1993; al-Fassi 1997; al-Talhi 2000; Nehmé et al. 2006; Nehmé (ed.) 2015. Roaf 1974: 135f.; Grabbe 2004; Potts 2010; Yoyotte 2013b: 278; The damage to the labels on Darius’ tomb at Naqš-e Rustam likely obliterated the name “Arabian,” as discussed above, n.17. 3 A Pb 18, iyam Arbya (Schmitt 2009: 198). See Schmidt 1970, pl.75. On the connection between the Sak paradraya and the Scythians, see Yoyotte 2013b: 276. The honoric status of torques in Celtic Europe is well established, and these torques seem to have come into use in Europe during the Achaemenid period, possibly via Scythia. See Strabo IV.4.5; Diod. V.27; Avery 1997: 85. On the role of Arabians as agents of imperial control in the desert, see, e.g., Knauf 1989: 60f.; Anderson 2005: 30.

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The Persian evidence, therefore, shows the Arabians as regular members of the empire, and, like all the dahyva, the portrayal of Arabians legitimized the king’s authority and contributed to the vision of a harmonious and well-ruled empire. There is nothing exceptional about the Arabians amongst the subject peoples, unless the late addition of the torque bears meaning; throughout the height of the empire they are included conventionally in the royal inscriptions and monumental reliefs.30 They were not, as might be presupposed, some ancillary, foreign, exotic outsiders, although this perspective certainly held traction in later Greek and Roman literature (cf. §4). Root’s groundbreaking assessment of Achaemenid art paints a picture of a cohesive, pious empire governed by a divinely appointed king who upheld the Truth and rewarded his loyal subjects, highlighted by “harmonious ecumenical interactions of the subject peoples in cooperative praise and support of the King of Kings” (Root 1979: 311). She highlights the importance of participation by the subject peoples in the king’s ideological vision, whereby they exalt and glorify the king, and through this act of exaltation, themselves “acquire an elevated status as courtiers moving through [his] sphere” (idem 2000: 22). The carefully crafted programmatic message of kingship depended upon the full inclusion of Arabia as a regular subject land (Briant 2002: 183). The Greek evidence, principally the account of Persian administration provided by Herodotus (III.89-97), paints a rather different picture of Achaemenid Arabia. In Herodotus’ narrative, the Arabians are separated out as a special people, giving (very onerous) annual ‘gifts’ of frankincense rather than paying the regular silver tribute. There are myriad historiographical problems encountered when attempting to harmonize the Greek and the Persian sources, and in this instance the discrepancy between them is particularly interesting. What, if any, reliable historical information may Herodotus’ version contain?

4. Arabia: the Greek sources Before launching into the specics of Herodotus’ treatment of Persian Arabia, it is worthwhile to point out that Classical literature in general employs several tropes regarding desert landscapes and peripheral regions. They are far-off, fantastic places lled with wild (often mythological) animals as well as strange people with bizarre (and uncivilized) customs. This is especially true of Arabia, which is both a desert and a peripheral land, “furthest to the south of all the world” (Hdt. III.107).

30

As noted above, most of the reliefs do not label the gures, but where we nd labels we nd the Arabians.

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4.1. Peripheries Classical texts (both Greek and Latin) frequently employ a Hellenocentric (or Romanocentric) view of the known world, whereby the center (Athens or Rome) is the heart of civilization and culture. The further one moves away, the less civilized and cultured the world becomes. Strabo’s treatment of the oikoumen is perhaps the best example of this literary approach: his approach to the wider world with all its strange customs and peoples ultimately justies Rome’s right to conquer and rule it.31 ‘Barbarians’ of different avors frequently occupy the peripheries, be they bloodthirsty warriors like the Celts, luxurious despots, or transient nomads.32 The Celts, with whom Classical authors had a special fascination, are discussed at length by several sources: they are characterized by ferocious appetites for food and alcohol (Diod. V.26), ritual beheading, and human sacrice (Strabo IV.4.5), recklessness (App. Gall. III; note the comparison to Roman science and endurance), and of course their strange religious practices overseen by the druids.33 The Celts provide a tting parallel for the Arabians: peoples with whom the Romans were in regular contact (as with the Nabataeans), who inhabited the edge of the known world, whose customs were foreign and frankly frightening, and who lived in forbidding, difcult to navigate landscapes.34

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32

33

34

For discussion of Strabo’s approach to the oikoumen, see Clarke 1997; Dueck 2000: 115; Anderson 2009: 395f.; Connors 2011. On nomads, see the classic works of Brent Shaw, who has explored the Roman approach to the ‘nomad menace’ in North Africa (Shaw 1982; idem 1983; idem 2001). The Achaemenid Persians were often entangled in this general classical approach to far-off places. The Persians gure prominently in Greek literature of the classical period, and although their customs were generally more familiar than those of the Celts, Indians, Arabians, or Ethiopians, nevertheless their perceived despotic nature and legendary luxury gure prominently, even as the butt of jokes (Ar. Ach. vv.46-125). The Greek view of Persians is an enormous subject and far beyond the scope of this paper. For an introduction to the subject, with bibliography, see Bichler & Rollinger 2002. Strabo IV.4.4; Diod. V.31; Tac. Ann. XIV.30; Plin. NH XVI.95, XXIV.63, XXIX.52; Caes. Gal. VI.13. The forests of Germany posed particular problems for the Romans, as evidenced by the disastrous battle of the Teutoburg Forest in 9 CE. For a literary view of the Gallic forests, see Luc. Phar. III.399-418. In the lands even further aeld, people exhibit even more bizarre human characteristics, both physical and behavioral. Thus the Ethiopians have black semen (Hdt. III.97), the Indians (who also have black semen) copulate in public (III.101), and the Arabians have sex with their mothers (Strabo XVI.4.25). Strabo’s comment on Arabian incest is discussed below, §4.5.

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Not only were the people of the periphery often wild and uncivilized, but so were the landscapes and fauna. Herodotus delights in the bizarre creatures seen at the edge of the world: ants “lesser than dogs but larger than foxes” (III.102), winged serpents (III.107), eye-eating birds (III.110), and other such creatures. This is paralleled in contemporary and later art, especially the popular Nilotic mosaic type (widely attested across the Roman empire), depicting an Egypt which grows increasingly wild and savage as it moves southward away from Alexandria.35

4.2. Deserts and deserted places The Greek word  E means an empty and desolate place, and was regularly used for deserts, mountains, and wilderness (Latin desertus has a similar range of meanings). In both biblical texts and Classical literature,  E is often used as a literary device to denote far off, unknown, and wild places. It is variously innite (Diod. XVII.49.3), destitute (Vitr. V.1.2), desolate (Strabo VII.3.14), difcult (Diod. XVII.106.1), savage (Hdt. IV.173.1, Virg. Aen. IV.31), and downright bizarre (Hdt. III.102.2, Plut. Thes. 1.1, Paus. VIII.22.4). The special character of the  E lends it to certain literary tropes – it is place of punishment (Hom. Od.  v.265; Ps. 107:33), a place of spiritual passage (Lk. 5:16, 8:29), a place for thieves (Jos. Bell.Iud. IV.398), a place for the mad (Jos. Vita 7, Ant.Iud. X.216), a place of refuge (Ovid. Ars v.636, Mark 6:32). Perhaps most relevant in the context of this analysis, the  E is often seen as a place in between, an intervening nothingness between populated places (Strabo XI.5.2, 7.1, 8.3) and as the very end of the earth, a place beyond the reach of civilization (Cic. Man. 15.44).

4.3. Arabia in classical sources Any description of Arabia and the Arabians coming from the classical world is burdened by the said tropes and expectations to some degree. There are three main sources that treat the geography and ethnography of Arabia: Herodotus, Diodorus Siculus, and Strabo. Herodotus’ account is explored in full below, but both Diodorus and Strabo (writing much later than Herodotus and the Persian empire, of course), merit a brief commentary, as their depictions shed light on how the classical perspective on peripheries and deserts played out in Arabia.36 35

36

My thanks are due to Maria Swetnam-Burland for giving me an advance draft of her book, which discusses this matter in chapter 4 (Swetnam-Burland 2015). See also Versluys 2002: 32-34, 436-40. Other classical sources treating Arabia include the lost Arabika of Uranius (fragments

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4.4. Diodorus Siculus on Arabia Diodorus’ Bibliotheca Historica, written sometime between 36 and 30 BCE, is a sweeping universal history. Diodorus freely epitomizes a number of now-lost sources, including (for Arabia) the account of Hieronymus of Cardia, a contemporary of the Diadochi who wrote an account of the campaign of Antigonus I Monophthalmus against the Nabataeans in 312 BCE.37 The Nabataeans held the independent kingdom centered at Petra in Jordan, which emerged in the aftermath of Alexander’s campaign against Persia, and ourished (under an increasingly watchful Roman eye) via the incense trade until Trajan annexed Arabia in 106 CE.38 Diodorus’ reliance on Hieronymus results in an anachronistic portrait of the Nabataeans, one better suited to the late fourth century BCE. He stresses their nomadic lifestyle and their involvement in the incense trade as well as their adamant refusal to hold property, to the extent that “It is their custom neither to plant grain, set out any fruit-bearing tree, use wine, nor construct any house; and if anyone is found acting contrary to this, death is his penalty” (XIX.94). It is doubtful that the Nabataeans (even in the fourth century BCE) ever implemented such drastic measures; more likely this portrait of aggressively enforced nomadism is a product of the standard classical perception about peoples on the fringes. Indeed, it sets the Arabians in direct opposition to the ‘civilized’ Greek world; they thus become an Other and a convenient foil to the narrative of Hieronymus.

4.5. Strabo on Arabia Strabo, writing only decades later than Diodorus, provides a much different portrait of the Nabataeans. It should be noted that his work, the Geographica, is far different from Diodorus’ universal history. The Geographica explores the known

37

38

preserved in the Ethnica of Stephanus of Byzantium, sixth century BCE), as well as Josephus (Nabataea and Nabataean politics play a key role in Herod’s biography), Dio Cassius (LIII.19.3-8), Tacitus (Hist. V.6-8), Ammianus Marcellinus (XIV.4.1-7), Procopius (Pers. I.19.1-16, .23-26, I.20.1-13), and the anonymous Periplus Maris Erythraei. Several fragmentary texts are presented in Casson 1995 and Bowersock 1997. For discussion, see Casson 1989; Bowersock 2003; Retsö 2003: 235-62. Hieronymus, as an active participant in the campaign (who may have had some culpability in the defeat of Antigonus’ forces at the Dead Sea) had a denite agenda in his approach to the Arabians, one which likely exaggerated their erceness and military prowess. See Bosworth 2002: 187-209. The origins of the Nabataeans are controversial; for discussion see Milik 1982; Knauf 1989; Graf 1990b; Retsö 1999; Parr 2003. For the general history of Nabataea, see Starcky 1955; idem 1966; Bowersock 1983.

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world, the oikoumen, its lands, ora, fauna, people, and customs (cf. n.31 above). He engages the Nabataeans (XVI.4.21-26) in their contemporary sedentary context at Petra, noting that they are sensible, well-governed, and democratic. They nevertheless exhibit a certain penchant for exuberant displays of luxury, as might be expected of an author writing in the climate of Augustus’ recent demonization of Antony and Cleopatra as Oriental despots. Thus, Strabo describes their elaborate feasting practices (drinking eleven cupfuls of wine, each from a different golden chalice), also noting their apparent lack of basic respect for the dead.39 In the midst of his account of Nabataean practice, Strabo recounts (XVI.4.22-24) the ill-fated expedition of Aelius Gallus, the Roman general, into Arabia in 25 BCE. In brief, Gallus led an expedition of some ten thousand troops into the desert. There, owing to the duplicitous nature of his Nabataean guide, he was continually led into trackless and waterless places, with the result that he fought a few battles and then victoriously retreated (with much loss of life along the way) back to the Nabataean port of Leuk Kom.40 Signicantly, Gallus was Strabo’s patron in Alexandria, and passages such as “the Arabians are not very good warriors even on land, rather being hucksters and merchants, to say nothing of ghting at sea” (XVI.4.23) and “for they used their weapons in an inexperienced manner, being utterly unt for war” (XVI.4.24) doubtless owe something to Gallus’ close interest in Strabo’s account. Anything Strabo wrote about Arabia would be carefully screened to please him. Thus, when describing the Arabians who live to the south of Nabataea, he tells us that: One woman is also wife for all; and he who rst enters the house before any other has intercourse with her, having rst placed his staff before the door, for by custom each man must carry a staff; but she spends the night with the eldest. And therefore all children are brothers. They also have intercourse with their mothers; and the penalty for an adulterer is death; but only the person from another family is an adulterer. (Strabo XVI.4.25, translation H.L. Jones)

Given the circumstances of authorship and the prejudices toward desert dwellers (especially those on the fringes of the civilized world), this passage is most likely fantasy, a projection of foreignness that contrasts sharply with Roman values.

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40

The note that they treat the dead as dung has been suggested to be a mistranslation by Strabo of Aramaic kpr, “tomb,” into Greek  , “dung” (Wright 1969; Perry 2002). For full discussion of Gallus’ campaign, see Anderson 2005: 78f.; idem 2009.

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4.6. Taxing times: Herodotus’ account of Arabian gifts and tribute Herodotus’ Historia dates ca. 430 BCE and stands as the most comprehensive ancient Greek account of Persia and the Persian Wars. Herodotus’ enthusiasm toward contextualizing his narrative resulted in rich and variable discussions about the life and customs of the known world. It is not only a universal history, but also a geography, an ethnography, and a mythology. As such, it is an invaluable source through which to evaluate how the Greeks engaged and understood the world around them. But as an accurate or objective historical narrative, it is highly problematic.41 This is especially true of his account of Achaemenid Persian administration; the satrapal tribute lists (III.89-97) are argued to be “as incompatible with the lists of the Achaemenid inscriptions as with those of the Alexander historians or with the numerous attestations of the Greek and Latin authors” (Jacobs 2006). To be sure, efforts to harmonize the account of Herodotus with the Persian inscriptions have been made, but the current scholarly consensus is that such attempts are largely futile.42 Thus Herodotus, whatever his sources and intentions, presents us with a highly problematic account of Achaemenid Arabia. I will divide my analysis of Herodotus into two sections: rst, an exploration of Arabian’s tax-exempt (yet gift-giving) status, second, an attempt to untangle what he means by Arabia and where he places the Arabians. Describing the fth satrapy (III.91), Herodotus lists the tax assessment as 350 talents, but with the following caveat: “always omitting the Arabians, who were not subject to tax.”43 This special dispensation may have resulted as a thanksgiving for assistance rendered to Cambyses as he crossed Arabia on his way to Egypt, as Herodotus (III.4-9, 91) notes, although it may also have arisen from the difculty in reliably collecting taxes from nomads. While the Arabians were apparently taxexempt, they were not entirely released from tribute. Herodotus (III.97) provides an appendix to his account of the satrapal tax structure, listing particular groups who “are not ordered to pay any taxes, but contribute gifts. These include the Ethiopians, the Colchians, and the Arabians, who ‘gifted’ a staggering thousand talents of frankincense per year.” 41

42

43

The historicity of Herodotus is a subject that exceeds the scope of this paper. For a comprehensive overview of Herodotus, his history, and his treatment of Persia, with extensive bibliography, see Rollinger 2003. For discussion, with extensive bibliography, see Rollinger 2003; Jacobs 2006; see also idem 2003. Note that Herodotus’ satrapal structure differs signicantly from the listing of dahyva in Old Persian inscriptions, a listing which Jacobs argues to reect the actual Persian satrapal structure. Thus he places the Arabians within the fth (Syrian) satrapy, while Jacobs (2006) places it in the (coincidentally) fth great satrapy of Egypt. Compare Xen. Cyr. VIII.6.7 (commissioning of an Arabian satrap by Cyrus).

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The question of how Herodotus’ statement about tax-exempt and gift-giving Arabians can be reconciled has been the subject of considerable scholarly debate. Eph’al and Briant argue that the gift-giving ts into the tax-exempt status of the Arabians, whereby they were titularly freed from paying taxes but were still expected to contribute to the empire.44 A gift in kind, especially one consisting of highly-valued luxury aromatics, could well have been a more practical arrangement than the regular collection of silver. The differentiation between ‘gift’ and ‘tax’ may therefore be entirely honorary; in actual fact the annual payment of 1000 talents (30 tons!) of frankincense would have been a staggering burden.45 Graf interprets the situation differently, seeing the tax-exempt and gift-giving Arabians as two separate groups (1990a: 138f.). Reasoning that the Arabians’ compulsory annual gifting on such a grand scale was to all effects a tax levy, he determines that Herodotus must be speaking of a second set of Arabians when he emphatically states that they paid no taxes (III.91). He connects the taxpayers with the Hagarites, descendants of the biblical Ishmael, Abraham’s elder son born of the slave Hagar.46 The tax-exempt Arabs, in Graf’s view, are most likely the Qedarites, a large and powerful tribal confederation in northwest Arabia during the Iron Age. The Qedarites are known from Assyrian annals, biblical accounts, and epigraphic remains; they may have contributed to the formation of the Nabataean kingdom in the post-Achaemenid period.47 Whether these particular groups can be identied as those implied by Herodotus remains a matter of debate, but it does seem possible that the Persian kings forged different economic relationships with the largely sedentary Arabians in the north and the more difcult to control groups in the south (cf. below). Knauf’s suggestion of an alliance whereby the Arabians served as a sort of desert police has merit as well; it is possible that the kings contracted with the nomads to control their hinterland in exchange for special tax exemptions (1989: 60f.). In any event, the entirety of the Herodotean account is historically suspect; we should be careful drawing conclusions about Persian contacts with Arabia on the basis of his presentation of the tax status of the Arabians.

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47

Eph’al 1982: 208; Briant 2002: 69. On the tribute more widely, see Mauss 1954: 1-7; Root 1979: 227-29; Gunter & Root 1998. Herodotus’ numbers are surely inated, but even so he seems to be underscoring the point that the ‘gifts’ of the Arabians were excessively large. Textual evidence for this group is found in I Chron. 5:10-22, in which the Reubenites, Gadites, and half-tribe of Manasseh waged a major campaign against the Hagarites, described as inhabiting the land east of Gilead (one of the biblical names for Jordan). The ancient name for the important Nabataean settlement in the Hejaz was Hegra, and the base of the statue of Darius from Susa names H-g-r as one of the subject peoples, a label Graf connects to the Hagarites and hence the gift-giving (tax-paying) Arabians. Knauf 1989: 59-61; Graf 1990b: 139-46; Zarins 1997: 637.

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4.7. Arabia or Arabias in Herodotus? As discussed above, the Persians seem to have generally placed Arabia in what is now Syria and Jordan: the stretch of desert between Mesopotamia and Egypt. While the southern boundary of Arabia is undened, the inclusion of Maka (m-c-iy-a) in dahyva lists (see, e.g., DNap 30) provides an important point of clarication (Schmitt 2009: 102). Maka is convincingly placed by Potts in the Oman Peninsula (the ancient land of Magan), and it seems therefore clear that southeastern Arabia was regarded by the Persians as a separate entity from Arabya.48 Indeed, the entire Arabian coast of the Persian Gulf is and was easily accessible by sea from Iran, and there are Achaemenid-era archaeological remains in Bahrain (Dilmun), including ceramics in the familiar shape of the ‘Achaemenid bowl,’ a glass seal showing a contest scene between a royal hero and a winged bull in the Court Style of Persepolis, and a large palatial residence.49 How the northern Persian Gulf coast t into the satrapal structure remains uncertain, although Potts argues that the Mykoi of Herodotus III.93 are likely the same as the inhabitants of Maka.50 In any event, it seems to be the case that both the dahyva lists and Herodotus treat the Persian Gulf coast of Arabia as a separate entity from satrapal Arabia, a rare moment of consistency between the sources. The majority of contact between Persians and Arabians would have taken place in the northern region between Mesopotamia and Egypt; it is doubtful that the Persians (nor indeed any non-Arabians) made many incursions into the heart of the Peninsula.51 Here too there may be some common ground with the Greek sources; Xenophon notes that he “marched through Arabia, keeping the Euphrates on his right” (Anab. I.5.5); Herodotus (II.11) seems to indicate the Negev when he speaks of “Arabia, not far from Egypt,” or at least the area immediately bordering the Gulf of Aqaba. Elsewhere, he refers to Sennacherib as “King of the Assyrians and Arabians” (II.141), which may indicate that he envisions an Arabia in close proximity to Assyria. If this is indeed the case, it shows that Herodotus employs a similar denition of Arabia as that expressed in the Persian inscriptions, a denition which seems to have been fairly widespread (if uid) throughout antiquity in general.52 48

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50

51 52

Potts 1990: 393-400. Maka comes near the end of the list; probably this owes to its role as a peripheral, rather than central, region. On Achaemenid bowls generally, see Dusinberre 1999. For contextual discussion of the seal impression and the remains from Bahrain, see Potts 2010: 525. Potts 2009: 529. Here again the problem of reconciling the Persian evidence with Herodotus can be observed. See, above, §2 (Nabonidus) and §4.5 (Gallus). For discussion of ancient approaches to Arabia, see Eph’al 1982: 5, 192-214; Retsö 2003: 578-87. The general point is that different groups had different visions of where Arabia was and who the Arabians (not to mention the problematic ‘Arab’) were, but

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While Herodotus largely follows the convention of a northern Arabia, the annual ‘gift’ of frankincense (III.97) rendered by the Arabians must also include south Arabia.53 In Herodotus’ account (III.197-98), the majority of subject peoples give silver to the king. At times, however, silver is replaced by specialized local production: the Ethiopians bring ivory, the Egyptians grain, the Indians gold. The Arabian gift of frankincense is, therefore, potentially problematic, for the bush (Boswellia sacra) which produces the frankincense resin has a very limited habitat, and certainly does not grow to the north of the Arabian Peninsula where we have suggested the textual sources place Arabia. The primary source for frankincense is Dhofar, the mountainous border between Oman and Yemen.54 From the standpoint of logistics, one would assume that access to frankincese would more readily fall to the inhabitants of Maka, which lay close to mountainous border between Oman and Yemen, than the Arabians. Who could have collected this frankincense? How was it conveyed to Iran? The texts are silent on this account, but there are several clues that point to overland caravan trade. First, the important oases such as Dedan and Taym served as key stops on the caravan route for centuries, and, as mentioned above (n.6), Nabonidus’ decision to relocate to Taym may well have been occasioned by a desire to exert greater control over the transit of aromatics. Certainly overland trade was the norm throughout the Hellenistic and early Roman periods, as indicated by a considerable Nabataean investment in the region as well as the attempt by Rome to conquer Arabia during the campaign of Gallus in 25 BCE.55 It also stands to reason that if the frankincense were conveyed by boat via Oman and the Persian Gulf, the inhabitants of Maka, not the Arabians, would again be the most logical agents. Herodotus’s record of the frankincense tribute therefore links the Arabians with the production of incense in south Arabia. Graf’s division of Arabia into two units (north and south Arabia) on the basis of the gift-giving vs. tax-exempt Arabians is the most sensible way to understand the Herodotean account, but it presumes that Herodotus’ presentation of the satrapal

53

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most often Arabia was dened through its loci of interaction, chiey the desert regions that immediately bordered other empires or regions. While I have serious reservations about the overall accuracy of this passage from Herodotus, I think that the basic point, that the Arabians supplied frankincense to the Persian empire, is true. The specics of the tax status and the ‘gifting’ are more questionable. Somalia is also a major production site for frankincense, and in antiquity it may well have been conveyed across the Bab el-Mandeb Strait to Yemen, whence it was conveyed further north via caravans. For further discussion of the frankincense trade, see Van Beek 1960; Groom 1981; de Maigret 1997; Zarins 1997; al-Salameen 2009. For a full discussion of the incense trade, see Groom 1981. For an overview of Nabataean trade, see Macdonald 1997; Graf & Sidebotham 2003.

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tax structure is an accurate portrayal of Achaemenid administrative practice (Graf 1990a: 138f.). As mentioned, the Herodotean taxation account simply cannot be reconciled with the Persian records, and therefore this division into two groups must be limited to Herodotus’ own understanding of Arabia. It is probably unnecessary in any event. It is enough to say that for Herodotus, as for so many other ancient authors, Arabia was a large, uid, desert land. Even though the primary arena of contact with the Arabians was in northwest Arabia, it stretched onward and southward to the edge of the sea (cf. Hdt. III.107). The problem of tax-exempt and giftgiving Arabians is a problem best restricted to the Historia itself.

5. Archaeological and epigraphic evidence from Achaemenid Arabia Put simply, there is scarely any archaeological evidence from the Arabian peninsula that conrms an ofcial Persian presence. There are no architectural remains that can be linked specically to imperial use, nor have any ofcial seals or documents been recovered, excepting the aforementioned seal from Dilmun/ Bahrain (Potts 2010: 525). As discussed above, the Persian Gulf coast was likely Maka (listed separately on DNa) and hence not a part of Persian Arabya. There are a few texts discovered in Arabia that relate to the Achaemenid empire. The rst, from Tawilan in south Jordan, is a cuneiform business document, written on clay in Babylonian: One (?)…, two oxen (?)… belonging to Samsa-yabi, three sheep (?) … belonging to Samsa-idri, they brought and sold for silver. Qusu-šamsa’ the son of Qusu-yada’ has taken (them). If he does not …, Qusu-šamsa’ [shall pay (?)] two [… of silver (?)] for each ram to Samsa-yabi. Witnesses: ab-x son of Arriya; Addu-ramu (?) son of Arriya…; Nabu(?)-eirnapištišu son of (?) Zeriya. Harran, month of Addar, 24th day, accession year of Darius king of the lands. (Dalley 1984: 21)

Note that the text is dated to the accession year of a ‘Darius,’ although we cannot be sure whether this refers to Darius I (522 BCE), II (423 BCE) or III (380 BCE).56 This tablet documents transactions in Syria, and it is uncertain how or why it ended up in Tawilan.57 It is certainly possible, given the importance of safeguarding communications and trade between Egypt and Mesopotamia/Iran, that Tawilan may have served as a waystation or garrison, and perhaps this document 56

57

Dalley 1984. The text is also discussed by Weippert 1987: 102; Bartlett 1992: 13; Bienkowski 2001: 360. The tabet was not found in an occupation deposit, further compounding problems of context. See Bennett & Bienkowski 1995: 102f.

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was stored or lost in such a place. The Persian royal road system likely ran through Jordan (along the course of what would later become the Via Nova Traiana) as well as the coastal route, or Via Maris through Palestine, and protection of this road would have been essential (Graf 1994). Some sort of Persian presence along the roadway is therefore likely; it is best, however, to be cautious about concluding that there was a major operation in Tawilan from this solitary and seemingly outof-place nd.58 Far more critical to the discussion is the apparent presence of a ‘governor’ in Dedan, evidenced by a Lihyanite inscription from this site (in Saudi Arabia), dated “at the time Gu am bin ahr and of Abd, f t of Dedan, …”59 The word f t is most likely a variation of the Aramaic p t, “governor.” A second inscription, this from Taym, heavily restored, may also refer to a governor, although its fragmentary nature makes this attribution far less certain.60 In the Dedan inscription, bry may be part of a dating formula, and was probably followed by the name of a king.61 This name is not preserved in the text, although whether by damage to the stone or intentional erasure is not certain. The Dedan inscription has been subject to heavy scrutiny, and while the date has been called into question, most specialists place it in the Achaemenid period.62 If this is indeed the case, then some sort of ofcial, nominally a governor, was present at Dedan. Was he a Persian representative? Was the king referenced in the bry formula a Persian monarch or a local king?63 The precise standing of this

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60

61

62

63

For other inscriptions, as well as seals and seal impressions from Jordan during the Persian period, see Bienkowski 2001: 360. Note Bienkowski’s (ibid. 361) conclusion about the Persian period in south Jordan, “There is no evidence for the status of Edom or Moab within the Persian empire, and no basis for the bald statement that Busayra and Tall al-Khalay were integrated into the Persian administrative system.” For the ‘bald statement,’ which is not generally accepted, see Elayi & Sapin 1998: 155. nrn bn rw tq bym gm bn hr wbd f t ddn b-r[y PN mlk l yn]; translation from Knauf 1990: 205. The restored section of the text is not universally accepted; see n.63. This is restored to include reference to “ ahr, governor of Taym.” Note, however, that only the t of p t, “governor,” is preserved. See Knauf 1990: 210f.; Grabbe 2004: 163. Winnett & Reed 1970: 116 n.17; Eph’al 1982: 204 n.691. Grabbe (2004: 163) renders bry differently, “under the ru[le of PN, king of Liyn].” Jaussen & Savignac 1909, 2: 524f.; Winnett & Reed 1970: 115-7; Bartlett 1979: 58-62; Eph’al 1982: 204; Graf 1990b: 49; Knauf 1990: 204-7; al-Theeb 1997: 241; Lemaire 1999: 17; Grabbe 2004: 163. I share the disinclination of Eph’al (1982: 204), Lemaire (1999: 17) and others in reading a reference to a “king of Liyn” in the inscription. Certainly the implication that the governor of Dedan was under the rule of this king would have signicant repercussions for our understanding of the power structure; Grabbe (2004: 163), among

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governor eludes us; indeed, it cannot be proven that he is an Achaemenid ofcial. Nevertheless, several scholars have used this inscription as evidence of a formal Persian presence in Arabia. Eph’al sees the inscription as “important evidence of Persian rule in North Arabia” (1982: 204); Knauf uses it as evidence for the “full integration” of Arabia into the empire (1990: 202); Bartlett is willing to accept the possibility that the governor may in fact have been a satrap (1990: 29f.); Grabbe argues for a ‘dimorphic’ approach, whereby the Persian governor controlled the towns and roads, while allied local dynasts exercised control over the open, and largely desert, countryside (2004: 163). Graf, on the contrary, is reluctant to see the governor as a Persian ofcial, considering Dedan as part of the ‘independent’ Arabia, discussed above. He argues that ft is a relic from the Neo-Babylonian period, entering the local vernacular during Nabonidus’ stay at Taym (1990a-b). Given the importance of the aromatic trade to the Persian kings, it is not unlikely that they took some steps to safeguard and control the trade route. Incense burners are attested throughout the empire, and the well-known relief of Darius enthroned, once gracing the Apadana but moved later to the Treasury at Persepolis, shows two conical incense burners placed before the king’s throne.64 Installing ofcials at key waypoints along the caravan route, such as Dedan and Taym, would certainly make sense. Whether they were appointed as actual governors by the Persian king is less certain; they may have been lesser ofcials charged with simple collection of tariffs and security details. Even so, these ofcials would doubtless be accompanied by a retinue of attendants and troops, which would have made a strong impact on local residents. Such an important ofcial with a clerical and military entourage might well have appeared as ‘governors’ to the locals. I am therefore hesitant to commit to a full satrapal structure on the basis of this inscription. My own view of the Persian power structure in Arabia accords more closely with Grabbe’s reading (2004: 163), which suggests a cooperative system of rule. I have previously proposed that the heart of the Arabian Peninsula, dotted by oasis settlements along the caravan route, was essentially a series of interconnected islands amidst a desert sea (Anderson 2010). To the degree that there was active imperial control, it was limited and spotty; the majority of Arabia was quite simply impractical (even impossible) for outsiders to administer directly. Agreements with local tribes and kingdoms were surely in effect, and so long as tribute, or ‘gifts,’ were paid and security maintained, there was no incentive for greater involvement.

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others, suggests that it was a dimorphic relationship, but this is based entirely on his restoration of the text. For discussion of incense burners, see Shea 1983; Fowler 1984; Kaptan 1996: 262; Retsö 1997; Hassell 2002. On the incense trade more widely see Groom 1981 and the many excellent essays collected in Avanzini 1997. Treasury reliefs: Schmidt 1970, pl.121. For discussion of incense burners on cylinder seals, see Lerner 2010: 157f.

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6. Summary Throughout this paper, the different categories of evidence for Achaemenid engagement with and in Arabia have been critically evaluated. From Persia, the dahyva lists show that Arabia was a regular part of the King’s vision of empire, although to what degree this highly ideological vision was imagined remains an open question. Jacobs is inclined to read these lists as straightforward and factual records of satrapal organization, which leads him to classify Arabia as a main satrapy under the aegis of the great satrapy of Egypt.65 Indeed, if his assessment of the dahyva lists is to hold true, Arabia must be a satrapy. Whether or not this is the case (and certainly there is precious little evidence beyond the lists themselves to support it), the dahyva lists were nevertheless critical aspects of the King’s narrative of harmonious order and divinely-appointed legitimacy. Arabia, like all the subject lands, is essential and thematically central; there is no indication that it has any special status (positive or negative). It is simply part of the empire. The visual record from Persia seems to communicate the same message. While the gures gracing the walls and staircases of Persepolis are unlabeled, making it impossible to be certain, for example, which members of the gift-bearer procession on the Apadana are the Arabians, it would make little sense if they were absent given their regular presence in the dahyva lists. On the royal tombs, in the cases where labels are preserved, the Arabians are present as expected alongside other personications of subject lands. The same is seen on the monumental statue of Darius from Susa; the H-g-r of the inscription is condently linked with Arabia, and the Arabians support the king in the same way as every other subject land. The only wrinkle is the torque worn by the Arabian on the tomb of Artaxerxes III, an enigmatic symbol which, if signicant of favored status, must represent a development very late in the Achaemenid period. The Fortication tablets from Persepolis bear record of at least a few Arabian groups traveling to Persia to meet with the King. The nature of their business is not preserved, but at the very least these texts show that Arabians could be ofcially engaged on important tasks. Overall, the most striking features of the Arabians as encountered through ofcial Persian art are their regularity, their conventional and expected presence. Whatever the actual character of Persian administration in Arabia, the Achaemenid kings stressed its inclusion as a full member of the empire, just like any other subject land. And yet we hardly know anything, from Persian sources, about where

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For discussion, see §3.1 above. For a contrary view, see Roaf 1974: 78. Note that Xenophon (Cyr. VIII.6.7), in describing Cyrus’ commissioning of satraps, mentions one Megabyzus who was sent to Arabia.

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or what Arabia was. It is a name only.66 To contextualize and understand Achaemenid Arabia, it is necessary to engage source material from beyond Persia, both textual and archaeological, but using outside evidence creates a whole new set of problems. The historical accuracy of literary sources is highly suspect, and certainly Herodotus’ account of satrapal organization conicts with Persian information. Indeed, much Persian scholarship of the past few decades has grappled with how to use Herodotus, either attempting to reconcile his account (through often tortured means) or discounting it altogether.67 Herodotus is a problem for the entire Persian empire. But his treatment of Arabia is compounded by the fact that he is steeped in a long-lasting and widespread classical tradition that viewed peripheries and deserts as places beyond the reach of civilization, strange lands lled with fascinating and fantastic beasts and peoples. It is Herodotus that separates out Arabia from other Achaemenid lands, both in his account of their special tax status and through his broader portrait of Arabia as a remote, inaccessible land. There is doubtless some truth in his account (the Arabians surely did supply frankincense in some capacity, for example), but much of his narrative is the product of Mediterranean imaginings about the far corners of the known world. The archaeological evidence for Achaemenid Arabia is extremely thin. A Babylonian receipt from a transaction in Syria was somehow misplaced in Jordan, but this can hardly be taken as secure evidence of an ofcial Achaemenid presence. The ‘governor’ inscription from Dedan is more compelling, but remains ambiguous. If it indeed refers to a Persian administrator of some sort, then it likely attests to an imperial interest in protecting, taxing, and managing the overland trade in luxury aromatics; whether this was a small garrison or a larger administrative center cannot be determined. The majority of Achaemenid contacts with Arabia would have taken place in the immediate vicinity of Mesopotamia, Syria, and Egypt, and these near neighbors doutbless formed the core of Achaemenid/Arabian interaction. How far and how often the Persians ventured into the Peninsula, and whether or not Arabia was an ofcial satrapy remain open questions.

7. Epilogue: (un)mapping the Persian empire Extents and boundaries have played a major part in this discussion. The interest in dening, in a spatial sense, Achaemenid Arabia has proven to be impossible on the basis of current evidence, hence the title of this paper. We simply do not know the 66

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The hierogylphic H-g-r on the base of the monumental statue of Darius from Susa is the most secure Persian connection to the Arabian peninsula, as discussed above. See above, §4.7. For summary discussion, see Rollinger 2003: 275-7; Jacobs 2003.

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‘borders’ of Achaemenid Arabia, and frankly I doubt that any rm ones existed. In the following section, I would like to discuss briey the way that scholars have engaged Persia’s problems of boundaries and borders in a very specic application: the creation of illustrative maps. Monmonier’s provocatively titled How to lie with maps presents the major obstacles in mapping something as loose and exible as the Persian empire (1991: 87112). As he points out, maps both create and distort reality, imposing xed boundaries in place of uid ones, converting fragmented landscapes into holistic units. This is especially relevant to the Persian empire, a vast network of subject lands linked in various and shifting degrees to the Iranian heartland. The empire was not a single cohesive unit; there was no wall built around it. Indeed, the very existence of borders and boundaries in the ancient world has come under increasing scrutiny, as scholars have repeatedly and correctly recognized the problems of imposing modern conceptions of nationhood on the past.68 To be sure, there were dened areas of hegemony and control, and rivers, coastlines, mountain ranges, and other topographical obstacles often acted as xed markers of extent; but the open landscape is much more difcult to classify and was generally more ambiguously engaged in antiquity (cf. above, §2). Fixed political boundaries, of course, existed. They are known as early as the third millennium BCE. Eannatum campaigned against Umma for transgressing Lagash’s boundaries, as recounted in the inscription on the Stele of the Vultures (II.24-9, X.12-XI.3): …the ruler of Umma, an aggressive act he committed against it, and into Lagash, up to its frontier he pressed… Eanatum, a man of just words, had a border territory from Umma marked off, and under the control of Umma he left it. He erected a stele in that place. (translation D.A. Foxvog, CDLI)

Boundaries and borders such as these were certainly common, but it should be pointed out that they were also generally local. The city-states of Sumer were small and lay in close proximity to one another – determining a dened boundary was

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See, e.g., Dietler 1994; Gosden 2001; Meskell 2002.

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therefore both possible and practical.69 The Achaemenid empire, however, was a vast entity, stretching across western Asia, its borders thus extending across several thousand kilometers. In the west of Egypt, in the south of Arabia, in the north of Sogdiana or Armenia, in these and many other dahyva it is impossible to know the geographical extent of the Achaemenid empire or the degree to which imperial control was exerted. So long as tribute was delivered and revolts were suppressed, it seems that the majority of Achaemenid contact with these regions took place in the areas immediately neighboring the central provinces. There was little incentive physically to dominate the far corners, as has been pointed out above with Arabia. In any event, the search for the ends of the Persian empire is hardly an activity that the kings themselves would approve. Darius I, on inscription after inscription, makes it clear that his kingdom has no end, no boundary: Ich (bin) Dareios, der große König, König der Könige, König der Länder mit allen Stämmen, König auf dieser großen Erde auch weithin … (DNap 8-12, translation Schmitt 2009: 101)

This stock introduction, regularly repeated and clearly broadcast throughout the empire, was often followed by a claim of divine appointment, as at Susa: Es kündet Dareios, der König: Ahuramazd, der der größte unter den Göttern (ist), – er hat mich erschaffen, er hat mich (zum) König gemacht, er hat mir dieses Reich verliehen …” (DSfp 8-11, translation Schmitt 2009: 128)

The Great King was not merely a king, after all. He was an agent of the supreme god, the tool by which Ahuramazd’s will was accomplished on earth. Any boundaries of empire would be incompatible with the ruling ideology; the Achaemenid rulers clearly considered the entirety of the known world as their demesne.70 This brief discussion illustrates the general problems faced in dening the edges of the empire: boundaries to Persian power certainly existed, but they are nearly impossible to demarcate, especially as they doubtless shifted as circumstance dictated. How have Achaemenid scholars resolved these questions in their graphical representations of the Persian empire? An examination of major publications shows four main approaches: 1) traditional territorial demarcations, 2) text labels, 3) environmentally-dened maps, and 4) minimalist maps.

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One might also consider Hadrian’s wall and the Antonine wall in Britain, which were limited constructions in a restricted space. The series of forts and waystations along the edge of the Jordanian desert may have served as a de facto border of the Roman empire, the so-called limes arabicus, although this is a contentious issue. For discussion, see Parker 1976; idem 1986; idem 1987a-b; Graf 1978; Banning 1986. On the Roman frontier more generally, see Whittaker 1994 and Elton 1996. Roaf 1974: 78; Root 1979: 310f.; Briant 2002: 175-83; Lincoln 2007: 13.

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7.1. Traditional territorial demarcations The traditional approach to demarcating political boundaries is simply to indicate them with a line or a shaded area on the map (Monmonier 1991: 88-94). Most scholars are disinclined to commit to such symbology for the reasons discussed above, but some variations can be observed in Achaemenid studies. Petit uses a line to indicate imperial and satrapal boundaries (Petit 1990; g.2). Jacobs’ maps add color and texture to differentiate the satrapies (Jacobs 1994, map 3; g.3). Given the subject matter of both works, it is not surprising that they dene the territories as they do; nevertheless the implications of these maps are signicant. For example, Jacobs’ map implies complete control of Egypt’s eastern desert, whereas Petit restricts Egypt much more narrowly to the region around the Nile. Note that both leave open a degree of uidity through the avoidance of a single solid line border line; Petit’s line is dashed and Jacobs uses only the color, without including a line. The British Museum catalogue edited by Curtis and Tallis follows this approach, using a pink shading (again without bounding line). The legend of this map is particularly telling: “Extent of Empire” (g.4).71

7.2. Text labels A second approach is to resist the hegemonic claims made by traditional boundary maps, instead using text labels to identify zones of political control. Olmstead (g. 5), Wiesehöfer (g.6), and Cook (g.7) reject the approach used above and instead insert names (capitalized) to indicate satrapies. The placement of these labels is still very important, however: Cook’s “ARABAYA” is placed far to the north and west, near Petra, whereas Wiesehofer places it further south and east (in the middle of the Empty Quarter of Saudi Arabia, incidentally), and Olmstead’s label encompasses the entirety of the Peninsula.72 It is also worth noting that south Arabia is cropped from all three maps.

7.3. Environmentally-dened maps A third category of maps observed in Achaemenid studies is the type that prioritizes geographic features such as rivers, lakes, and mountain ranges. These maps clearly communicate the importance of landscape and its ability to impede or assist transit and communication. Note that both the maps of Brosius (g.8) and Briant 71 72

Petit 1990, map 1; Curtis & Tallis 2005: 11. Olmstead 1948, map 1 (overleaf); Wiesehöfer 1996; Cook 1983, g.1.

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(g.9) include text labels for satrapies as well as the location of principal sites.73 Doubtless Briant’s map includes the mountain ranges in order to explain the course of the roads. Brosius’ decision to emphasize the rivers (but not the mountains) is an interesting choice, although the legend suggests that it was meant to show elevation as well.74

7.4. Minimalist maps The fourth category of maps comprises are the minimalist maps. Major sites and geographic features are indicated, but there is no attempt to dene the empire’s extent, no lines that frame the border of the empire nor even shade its approximate coverage. Allen’s map has no title, no legend, only a scale bar (2005: 12f.; g.10) Persia’s control of the landscape is intentionally left ambiguous; but the visual result is that it becomes an agglomeration of individual sites, an empire without territory. A most recent approach is seen in the map which accompanies Perrot’s recent edited volume on Susa (2013: xxvi-vii; g.11). High resolution satellite imagery (optimized to remove cloud cover and distracting ocean noise) is draped on a digital elevation model (using hillshades to emphasize topography), with relevant labels placed appropriately. It is essentially an environmental map, and the relationship between fertile and desolate springs into especially sharp focus; at the same time it is a minimalist map in terms of dening any sort of reach of empire.75 All these maps show sensitivity to Monmonier’s basic cartographic truth: lines on a map create their own realities, they reify their contents and generate illusions of permanence and uniformity. Achaemenid scholars have grown increasingly aware of this problem; some indeed have reacted by omitting all but the most cursory indications of Achaemenid presence. They are honest maps, but omission becomes void, leaving the empire without a body. Taken as a whole, these maps provide another vantage point from which to observe the continuing struggle with boundaries, borders, and, ultimately, the dahyva themselves.76

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Briant 1996, g.35; Brosius 2006, map 1. Note that Kuhrt uses Brosius’ map in her sourcebook (2007: 190). Cf. Dandamaev 1989, map 1. The legend on Brosius’ map (marking land over 1000 meters) seems to be in error, possibly the result of the shift from color to black-and-white. The presence of Athens on the map makes it clear that it is not intended to convey Achaemenid hegemony, but rather to situate Susa in a wider geographic context. The following gures are recreations of the original maps, with extent, symbology, and placement of labels preserved.

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g.2: Petit’s satrapal boundaries map of Persian satrapies (after Petit 1990)

g.3: Jacobs’ boundaries of the great satrapy Egypt (after Jacobs 1994)

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g.4: Curtis and Tallis’ boundaries of the Persian empire (after Curtis & Tallis 2005)

g.5: Olmstead’s location of the Persian satrapies (after Olmstead 1948)

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g.6: Wiesehöfer’s location of satrapies (after Wiesehöfer 1996)

g.7: Cook’s map of the Persian empire (after Cook 1983)

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g.8: Brosius’ use of rivers and labels (after Brosius 2006)

g.9: Briant’s use of topography and routes (after Briant 1996)

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g.10: Allen’s location of principal sites and regions (after Allen 2005)

g.11: Perrot’s use of satellite imagery and labels (after Perrot 2013)

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BROSIUS, M. 2006, The Persians, London. CALMEYER, P. 1991, Ägyptischer Stil und reichsachaimenidische Inhalte auf dem Sockel der Dareios-Statue aus Susa/Heliopolis, in: AchHist 6, Leiden: 285-303. CASSON, L. 1989, The Periplus Maris Erythraei: Text with introduction, translation, and commentary, Princeton. –––– 1995, The Greek and Latin sources for the southwestern coast of Arabia, AAE 6: 21422. CLARKE, K. 1997, In search of the author of Strabo’s Geography, JRS 87: 92-110. COLBURN, H. 2014a, The archaeology of Achaemenid rule in Egypt (diss. University of Michigan), Ann Arbor. –––– 2014b, Art of the Achaemenid empire, and art in the Achaemenid empire, in: B.A. Brown & M.H. Feldman (eds.), Critical approaches to ancient Near Eastern art, Berlin. CONNORS, C. 2011, Eratosthenes, Strabo, and the geographer’s gaze, PCP 46: 139-52. COOK, J.M. 1983, The Persian empire, London. CURTIS, J. & TALLIS, N. (eds.) 2005, Forgotten empire: The world of ancient Persia, London. DALLEY, S. 1984, The cuneiform tablet from Tell Tawilan, Levant 16: 19-22. DANDAMAEV, M.A. 1986, s.v. Arabia I: The Achaemenid province Arabya, EncIr 2: 229. –––– 1989, A political history of the Achaemenid empire, Leiden. DE MAIGRET, A. 1997, The frankincense road from Najran to Ma’an: a hypothetical itinerary, in: Avanzini (ed.): 315-32. DIETLER, M. 1994, Our ancestors the Gauls: Archaeology, ethnic nationalism, and the manipulation of Celtic identity in modern Europe, American Anthropologist 96: 584-605. DUECK, D. 2000, Strabo of Amasia: A Greek man of letters in Augustan Rome, London. DUSINBERRE, E.R.M. 1999, Satrapal Sardis: Achaemenid bowls in an Achaemenid capital, AJA 103: 157-71. ELAYI, J. & SAPIN, J. 1998, Beyond the river: New perspectives on Transeuphratene, Shefeld. ELTON, H. 1996, Frontiers of the Roman empire, Bloomington. EPH’AL, I. 1982, The ancient Arabs: Nomads on the borders of the Fertile Crescent, 9th-5th centuries BC, Jerusalem. FOWLER, M.D. 1984, Excavated incense burners, BiAr 47: 183-86. GOSDEN, C. 2001, Postcolonial archaeology: Issues of culture, identity, and knowledge, in: I. Hodder (ed.), Archaeological theory today, Cambridge: 241-61. GRABBE, L.L. 2004, A history of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, vol. 1: Yehud, a history of the Persian province of Judah (Library of Second Temple Studies 47), London. GRAF, D.F. 1978, The Saracens and the defense of the Arabian frontier, BASOR 229: 1-26. –––– 1990a, Arabia during Achaemenid times, in: AchHist 4, Leiden: 131-48. –––– 1990b, The origin of the Nabataeans, Aram 2: 45-75. –––– 1994, The Persian royal road system, in: AchHist 8, Leiden: 167-89. GRAF, D.F. & SIDEBOTHAM, S.E. 2003, Nabataean trade, in: Markoe (ed.): 65-74. GROOM, N.S.J. 1981, Frankincense and myrrh: A study of the Arabian incense trade, London.

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GUNTER, A.C. & ROOT, M.C. 1998, Replicating, inscribing, giving: Ernst Herzfeld and Artaxerxes’ silver phiale in the Freer Gallery of Art, ArsOr 28: 3-40. HALLOCK, R.T. 1969, Persepolis Fortification tablets (OIP 92), Chicago. –––– 1978, Selected Fortication texts, CDAFI 8: 109-36. HASSELL, J. 2002, Cuboid incense-burning altars from South Arabia in the collection of the American Foundation for the Study of Man: Some unpublished aspects, AAE 13: 157– 92. HEALEY, J.F. & AL-THEEB, S. 1993, The Nabataean tomb inscriptions of Mada’in Salih, Oxford. HOYLAND, R.G. 2001, Arabia and the Arabs: From the Bronze Age to the coming of Islam, London. JACOBS, B. 1994, Die Satrapienverwaltung im Perserreich zur Zeit Darius’ III. (TAVO Beih. B87), Wiesbaden. –––– 1999, ‘Freie’ Völker im Achämenidenreich: Zu einem Topos in der antiken Überlieferung zur persischen Reichsverwaltung, in: S. Durugönül & M. Durukan (eds.), Uluslararas Kilikia Arkeolojisi Sempozyumu Bildirileri, Mersin: 41-55. –––– 2003, Die altpersischen Länder-Listen und Herodots sogenannte Satrapienliste (Historien III 89-94): Eine Gegenüberstellung und ein Überblick über die jüngere Forschung, in: R. Dittmann, C. Eder & B. Jacobs (eds.), Altertumswissenschaften im Dialog: Festschrift für Wolfram Nagel zur Vollendung des 80. Lebensjahres (AOAT 306), Münster: 301-43. –––– 2006, s.v. Achaemenid satrapies: The administrative units of the Achaemenid empire, EncIr (online edition). JAUSSEN, A. & SAVIGNAC, R. 1909, Mission archéologique en Arabie, vol. 1: De Jérusalem au Hedjaz, Médain-Saleh, Paris. KAPTAN, D. 1996, The Great King’s audience, in: F. Blakolmer & J. Borchhardt (eds.), Fremde Zeiten: Festschrift für Jürgen Borchhardt, zum sechzigsten Geburtstag, Wien: 259-71. KNAUF, E.A. 1989, Nabataean origins, in: M.M. Ibrahim (ed.), Arabian studies in honor of Mahmoud Ghul, Wiesbaden: 56-61. –––– 1990, The Persian administration in Arabia, Transeuphratène 2: 201-17. KUHRT, A. 2007, The Persian empire: A corpus of sources from the Achaemenid period, 2 vols., London. LEMAIRE, A. 1999, Der Beitrag idumäischer Ostraka zur Geschichte Palästinas im Übergang von der persischen zur hellenistischen Zeit, ZDPV 115: 12-23. LERNER, J.A. 2010, An Achaemenid cylinder seal of a woman enthroned, in J. Curtis & StJ. Simpson (eds.), The world of Achaemenid Persia: History, art and society in Iran and the ancient Near East, London: 153-64. LINCOLN, B. 2007, Religion, empire, and torture: The case of Achaemenian Persia, with a Postscript on Abu Ghraib, Chicago. LUSCHEY, H. 1983, Die Darius-Statuen aus Susa und ihre Rekonstruktion, in H. Koch & D.N. Mackenzie (eds.), Kunst, Kultur und Geschichte der Achämenidenzeit und ihr Fortleben (AMI Erg.Bd. 10), Berlin: 191-206. MACDONALD, M.C.A. 1997, Trade routes and trade goods at the northern end of the ‘Incense Road’ in the rst millennium BC, in: Avanzini (ed.): 333-50.

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FROM COPY TO PROXY THE POLITICS OF MATTER AND MIMESIS IN ACHAEMENID ARMENIA Lori Khatchadourian (Ithaca)

1. Introduction This study occupies the third part in a series of inquiries on the archaeology of the Achaemenid empire whose stakes are animated by key themes in the work of Margaret Cool Root.1 The rst of the trilogy sprang from Root’s engagement (1991) with the politics of knowledge production in ancient studies and charted the space that such critical inquiry cleared for a self-aware Achaemenid archaeology as an emergent eld of practice (Khatchadourian 2012). The second harnessed Root’s work on the theoretical terrain of participatory imperial cosmology (1979), giving close scrutiny to the material workings of hegemony and the distance between the real and the imagined in Achaemenid Armenia (Khatchadourian 2013). The present study emerges out of the broad transformation accomplished across the breadth of Root’s oeuvre that established the independent epistemological prerogative of material, and especially visual production, in the study of the Achaemenid past. Today it is business as usual to take seriously the semiotic capacities of the empire’s objects, from the minuscule seal to the monumental sculpture, thanks in large measure to Root’s impactful career. Caught in the movement toward the material that Root helped set in motion, this study moves still closer toward an account of the materiality of the Achaemenid empire, or the ‘vibrant’ congeries of objects and substances that were implicated in the projects that protected or attenuated imperial sovereignty.2 The approach taken here is by way of a particular assemblage of objects that traditions of archaeological scholarship have come to couple as prototype and likeness, model and mimic. 1

2

This paper was written in 2013. The analysis is based on ceramic materials from the 2005-2011 excavations of Tsaghkahovit. For fuller analysis that includes subsequently excavated datasets, see Imperial matter: Ancient Persia and the archaeology of empires (2016). The concepts explored here represent early formulations of ideas that are further developed in that book. On ‘vibrant’ matter see Bennett 2010.

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The rst half of this study regures the theoretical terrain for explaining these pairings, exemplied in the Achaemenid case by the metal vessel and its ceramic copy, and offers a view on their social and material ‘entanglements’ that coalesces around the concepts of delegate and proxy (Thomas 1991; Hodder 2012). In the spirit of Root’s pioneering work, considerable space in these pages is reserved for critical social and material analysis that emerges out of close encounters with the archaeological record of the Achaemenid world, thus mining its robust but unrealized potential to contribute to archaeological theory. In the second half, the focus turns to a small and fragmentary but intriguing corpus of ceramic ‘proxies’ from the remote semi-subterranean settlement of Tsaghkahovit, located in modern central Armenia, on the elevated “Plain of Flowers” from which it takes its name.

2. The emulation hypothesis From Tiwanaku to Rome and beyond, it is by now axiomatic within the archaeology of expansive states that objects of formal resemblance separated by the sociopolitical inequities of their users and by intervals of value along an aesthetic continuum index particular affective dispositions toward a polity.3 These are affects of political desire. Held in their grip are subjects of the state, intent to preserve or enhance their relative power through reference to the aesthetics and practices of the sovereign establishment. The axiom assumes an earnest ambition of the subjugated to replicate material forms both because of their inherent capacities to project xed social values (i.e., a capacity that resides within the symbol-laden object) and their capacities to enable imitative practices as symbolic device. Thus, residing within the logic of what we might call the ‘emulation hypothesis’ are two implicit claims, one on the nature of things, the other on the relation of subjects to sovereigns. The emulation hypothesis has found fertile ground in Achaemenid archaeology. Important groundwork was laid with Miller’s efforts to reformulate the vocabulary for attending to parallels between ceramics and Achaemenid metal vessels. In systematizing the otherwise fuzzy language of ceramic copy under the terms imitation, adaptation, and derivation, Miller xed her sights on certain Attic black-gloss wares, a corpus of Achaemenid-inspired forms that emerged in a political context beyond the reach of Persian rule (Miller 1993; idem 1997). It was precisely on the grounds of this exteriority that she drew a stark distinction between the pottery production of Athens, a sovereign polity itself on course toward hegemonic expansion, and the imitative production of subject societies within Achaemenid dominion. In Athens, Miller perceived imitation and related processes as complex affairs in which issues of cultural intelligibility, political calculus, and appropriative refor3

See, e.g., Goldstein 2003; Revell 2007.

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mulation were in play. Athenians selectively harnessed Persian forms that could be incorporated into existing conventions of conviviality, and they did so with a careful eye to their own prerogatives. The end result was a material assemblage that was, in Miller’s view, the Athenians’ own, irreducible to the semiosis of the copy. Here, the process of adaptation (though importantly, not the adapted vessels themselves) had real effects on the world, serving to resolve tensions, to “ ‘democratize’ oriental forms,” to redene the symbolism of the objects themselves (1993: 141). Within the space of the empire, however, ceramic copies worked rather differently for Miller. Here they operated within a “straightforward model of emulation by subject periphery of an imperial centre” (1997: 136). In a value-laden formulation, Miller held that “[t]he periphery’s goal in emulation is to elevate itself to the cultural level of the centre” (1993: 138). Relatively primitive subalterns turned to emulation deferentially, as an “expression of ideological acquiescence” and “an admission of the magnetic power of the centre” (ibid.). In Miller’s account, peripheral imitation and adaptation had no real aftereffects, no acknowledged impact on the world whether material, symbolic, or otherwise. In producing ceramic copies derived from metal forms, peripheral groups worked toward the modest goal of expressing their loyalty and overcoming their cultural ‘inferiority.’ It was not Miller’s concern to detail the workings of imitation and emulation within the bounds of the Achaemenid empire. But her theoretical perspectives bring the emulation hypothesis explicitly to bear on the polity itself and, as we shall see, have influenced subsequent studies. Ceramic imitations of metal prototypes and the patterns of consumption that they enabled, particularly ‘diacritical’ feasts, have become recurrent concerns in the emergent social archaeology of the Achaemenid empire (Dietler 2001). At the forefront of this turn was Dusinberre’s compelling analysis of Sardis under Persian rule (2003). Dusinberre described the emulative practices of the city’s non-élite, who enthusiastically adopted the standardized deep Achaemenid bowls known from precious metal forms as part of a broader aspiration to replicate Persian customs of wine-drinking and thus elevate their own social standing.4 In a more targeted study from this same region, Paspalas also gave voice to the emulative arts of the Lydians in his examination of a single ‘Persianizing’ ceramic kantharoid cup that, in his view, worked symbolically to “radiate” the authority of the king and satisfy the desires of Lydians who “coveted” association with the court (2000: 163). Petrie, Magee, and Khan turn to emulation to explain the consumption practices of local élites in northwest South Asia (2003). In their estimation, such privileged actors sought to “improve their relative status,” maintain or enhance their local prestige, and display their afnity to imperial regimes of value by banqueting with such “indicators” as ceramic copies of Achaemenid metal bowls and rhyta (Petrie 4

Dusinberre 1999: 191-5; see also idem 2013.

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et al. 2008: 1). Here, emulation is seen possibly to pivot on a reciprocity of political desire (ibid. 11). The sovereign and his principal protectors may have welcomed such replication of forms and practices as but one approach to the ongoing work of legitimation and political renewal. From the empire’s north, in a study of feasting practices within one complex at the rural settlement of Tsaghkahovit, I have referred to the ways in which local leaders in Armenia may have looked to Achaemenid metal vessels (particularly the shallow carinated bowl, of which ceramic versions are numerous in the complex) to establish the material terms of commensality in ways broadly consonant with Achaemenid court practice. Such feasts, I have suggested, would have served to preserve or advance élite social power within the community (Khatchadourian 2008: 314-31). This study emerged from a perspective on objects as active and effective mediators in unfolding social relations and less as conduits of xed cultural meanings passed down by their human creators. Nonetheless, the Tsaghkahovit case contributes to the wider trend of explaining copies in emulative social terms. The emulation hypothesis is ultimately a proposition about political life. It is also a quiet but unmistakable claim for subaltern acquiescence. Imperial subjects aspire to upward social mobility within a prevailing political order that they agree, tacitly or not, to uphold. Loyal subjects satisfy an aspiration for prestige whose unintended consequence is their willful submission to the snares of their own subjection, thus catering to that most inveterate passion of the powerful: to reproduce the established terms of distinction and inequality through the consensual workings of hegemony.

3. Matter, mimicry, and making do It is a “general social truism,” Miller remarked in a concise encapsulation of the fundamental supposition behind the emulation hypothesis, “that each rank tries to upgrade itself by mimicking what it perceives to be the lifestyles of its immediate superiors (…)” (1993: 137). As it turns out, comparative social analysis admits of no such truism, even if this idea has had its proponents in classic moral philosophy (Smith 1982: 52). Since the mid-1980s, social theory and post-colonial thought have subverted this conformist postulate. These alternatives merit our critical attention before we become too comfortable with a vision of coordinated empire constituted by satrapal subalterns who earnestly drank their way up the ladder of social power. For as Bhabha was among the rst to argue, the emulative arts are never quite so straightforward (1997). Bhabha elaborated the concept of mimicry to capture an ambivalence in colonial and post-colonial literature. Mimicry entails the authoritative remaking of individuals in the image of a colonial power. These ‘mimic men’ engage in mimesis that is always flawed, always failing precisely to re-present because of excess or

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slippage. Mimicry produces a quality of “almost the same, but not quite,” and in the space of this unrealized doubling, such incomplete mimesis approaches irony and mockery. Its disruptive effects “on the authority of colonial discourse” can be a safe but menacing subversion that is beyond reprisal because it emerges from practices of conformity and assimilation, and is thus “both against the rules and within them” (Bhabha 1997: 153, 156). Mimicry is a discursive representation of the civilizing mission gone right and gone wrong, in that colonialism’s disciplinary gaze is answered by “the displacing gaze of its disciplinary double” (ibid. 153). Bhabha clears a space for rethinking the unintended effects of imitation on colonial power, but his mimicry is analytically limited by the denial of its practical operations beyond the discursive eld. Mimicry to him is not an agentive capacity of a colonial subject, not a strategy of social practice, but a pathology imposed on the subject by the authoritative voice of colonial power within a space of discourse that is, however ambivalent, nevertheless closed (Aching 2002: 38). In leaving behind the agentive qualities of mimicry that Lacan recognized as key to the constitution of the subject (1978), Bhabha diminished its real-world force and its potential “as a form of politics ‘on a lower frequency’ ” (Aching 2002: 32-8). It is to De Certeau that we can turn for a fuller account of the social workings of subject engagement with hegemonic cultural practice. De Certeau was concerned neither with colonialism nor mimicry, but was instead acutely attuned to the experience of ordinary existence under conditions of modernity (1984). His explanation of the practices of everyday life within ordered, hierarchical systems has proven productive beyond the critique of capitalism’s consumer society, and for this reason has not escaped archaeology’s notice.5 Central to De Certeau’s theory of practice are the everyday acts of “artisan-like inventiveness” that can result from the consumption practices of the masses (1984: xviii). With submission and consent, ordinary people, or “users,” can take the products and practices that are given to them within a dominant order and tinker, poach, or manipulate, such that consumption itself becomes a secondary production, silent and hidden. “Poets of their own acts” (ibid.), users make out of that which is imposed “something quite different from what their conquerors had in mind” (ibid.). Users can subvert or simply create a certain “play” in the dominant order not by rejection, but through their ways of using that which is available, albeit to different ends and with reference to alien social conventions from those of the system to which they are subject. Such forms of secondary ‘consumer production,’ which De Certeau called the “tactics” of practice, deflect or diffuse the dominant social order without challenging it. These minuscule procedures, the “makeshift creativity of groups,” the quotidian “ruses,” allow for escape without leaving, for conformity that evades, for an insinuation of “countless differences into the dominant text” (De Certeau 1984: 5

Hutson 2002; Robin 2002; Mullins 2012.

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xiv, xxii). De Certeau’s tactics are not tantamount to “hidden transcripts” of resistance (Scott 1985). They arise not as refusals of dominant structures but as ways of ‘making do’ in the spaces of social life that such structures do not regulate. These procedures are nevertheless political acts: “The tactics of consumption, the ingenious ways in which the weak make use of the strong (…) lend a political dimension to everyday practices” (De Certeau 1984: xvii). De Certeau and Bhabha take us far from Miller’s “social truism.” They alert us to the unanticipated effects attendant to subaltern replication of established logics of practice, and thus fracture the metaphorical mirror that putatively re-presents imperial values within the enamored consuming subject. But both fall short in their inattention to how the world of matter participates in the production of these affects and effects. In the case of mimicry, while it may be tempting simply to add materiality to its conceptual force eld, Bhabha’s formulation does not permit this (Fahlander 2007: 27). The restricted agency of mimicry’s production, by which not even imitative subjects can have real effects, much less their imitative objects, prohibits it. A theory of the non-discursive subversions and ironies potentially entailed in material imitation must thus go by another name. De Certeau may offer more scope for the admission of matter into the tactical art of imitation. In a certain sense, De Certeau observes the tactical practices of subjects whose capacities for creativity emerge in spite of, rather than through, a backdrop of constraining objects. Thus bricolage, or makeshift creativity, operates in the ways that a given text is read, or a planned city is walked, such that tactics become tactics only when the subject escapes or subverts the proscriptions of the object. Yet it is possible to include within De Certeau’s concept of ‘secondary’ production the materially productive capacities of users to imitate primary objects of dominant cultural production. That is, users can engage in tactical making not only at the point of use, but also through material production itself. Imitations can be seen as one such form of two-fold secondary production, in which subjects operate tactically both through the chaîne opératoire of ‘secondary’ manufacture, and also as crafty users of those products in the Certeauean sense. They ‘make do,’ they conform, they acquiesce to expected practices of consumption, but produce material and social novelties that are fully intelligible only within the immediate spheres of their making and use. In this way, imitations can diffuse the hegemonic force of that which the dominant make available, inadvertently or not. Bhabha and De Certeau attend to the discursive and social terrain in which subjection, consumption, and copy intersect, but their accounts are insufcient for a reguring of the putatively emulative arts. Also required is a different optic on the relations amongst objects, and between objects and subjects, under the conditions of layered sovereignty that obtain within imperial formations (Stoler & McGranahan 2007). While the turn to matter in the humanities and social sciences has opened our gaze onto a world of things that is variously construed as vibrant, agentive, efcacious, entangled, gripping, enabling, constraining, affording, and gene-

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rally productive of social life, what has not yet emerged out of these ontological conversations is an effort to grasp the relations, capacities, and limitations of objects within distinct constellations of power.6 Yet this is precisely what students of empire must work out if we are to make sense of those objects that go by the name of imitations. There does exist a foundation upon which such an inquiry can build. It begins with Thomas’ Entangled objects, an early effort to take seriously the things of empire, through the lens of the colonial Pacic (1991). The objects that held Thomas’ attention were not imitations, but European products that the colonized appropriated – shell-inlay rifles, iron hatchets, whale teeth. For Thomas, such objects possess no “irresistible magnetism” that “compels their adoption and imposes a choice irrespective of the cost to culture and autonomy” (1991: 87). In the process of their acquisition these archetypes of cultural distinction, being neither stable nor self-evident in their “founded material form,” became “not what they were made to be” but instead subject to creative redenition and repurposing in the context of local agendas and object orders. “The circulation of objects, especially across the edges of societies, civilizations, and trading regimes, is not merely a physical process but is also a movement and displacement of competing conceptions of things, a jostle of transaction forms” (ibid. 4, 123). Critically drawn to Appadurai’s rethinking of the commodity and the politics of value, Thomas recognized that objects undergo social transformations in their appropriation (ibid. 28). They “cannot be seen as unproblematic equivalents of whatever we take them to be (…). The uses to which things were put were not inscribed in them by their metropolitan producers (…)” (ibid. 108). Thomas’s study appeared alongside and in advance of other interventions on the intersection of colonialism and objects that have looked at such things as clothes and soap, pots and leather.7 A review of this scholarship is beyond the scope of this study. Sufce it to say that while anthropology has alerted us to the economic and cultural entanglements of people and things in colonial contexts, it has left us illequipped to recognize how objects themselves fare, and what work they do, as participants within political communities of layered sovereignty. If we are to attend to the ways in which human-thing dependencies further (or fragment) imperial projects, a conceptual apparatus is required that centers simultaneously on the object and the political.

6

7

For the world of things, see, e.g., Latour 2005; Ingold 2007; Boivin 2008; Bennett 2010; Harman 2010; Miller 2010; Olsen 2010; Hodder 2012. See, e.g., Comaroff 1991; McClintock 1995; Burke 1996; Cohn 1996; Howes 1996; Gosden 2004; Dietler 2010.

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4. Proxies and delegates Amidst the vast universe of objects that motivate, enable, constrain, and circulate within imperial formations, ‘proxies’ are but one sort.8 They are homologous to the proxies that we conventionally understand as human agents, sharing with them similar relational properties; just as a human proxy is authorized to act on behalf of another person, so too a material proxy is tasked to act for another object. This other object I term a ‘delegate.’ Like proxies, delegates also represent. But their referents are multiple rather than singular. The delegate conglomerates, or acts for the many. The proxy corresponds, or acts as the one. The designation of a thing as a ‘delegate’ tasked by humans to act has a wellknown precedent within science and technology studies. Latour used the term to refer to a very particular class of things, namely, technological mechanisms (like hinges and turnspits) that singularly substitute functions otherwise carried out by humans (closing a door, turning a skewer; Latour 1992). The usage advanced here differs from Latour’s formulation in three important respects. For one, the material delegates of empire do not serve to replace through singularity, the one for the other (a relation reserved for proxies), but rather, as stated above, to conglomerate the many into the one. Secondly, imperial delegates are less technological than political entities, empowered to conglomerate disparate elements through their activities. Such disparate elements are not mechanical functions but, as we shall see through example below, ideas, institutions, and/or values (Hodder 2012: 113-37). In harnessing the political connotation of the term delegate (and proxy), the effect is not to coopt things to the logics of human relations (as exist, e.g., within representative democracies), but to challenge human claims to monopoly over these relations. Thus, in a third departure from Latour that rules out the charge of anthropomorphism, far from substituting for humans, delegates in the present formulation accomplish things that humans simply cannot (Latour 1992: 234). This is because they conglomerate and re-present abstractions, not functions. Matter, affordance, and signication provide key measures that further distinguish delegates from proxies, apart from their differing relational properties. Objects of empire are delegates when the sovereign establishment closely regulates the ow of the materials out of which they are made. The resulting regimes of exchange value in turn hinge upon the continued ows of the coveted matter (as, e.g., marble to Rome, alpaca wool to the Inkas, silver to Persia). For objects to be delegates they also must afford the practices that reproduce a sovereign’s prerogative to rule. Privileged agents of empire come to depend on such objects because they enable the practices that allow their authority to perdure (as, e.g., marble forum-basi8

See Khatchadourian 2016 for a fuller elaboration of the concepts of ‘proxy’ and ‘delegate.’

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licae in Rome afford gathering in assemblies; ne textiles afford rites of passage ceremonies for Inkan nobles; silver amphorae afford Persian royal banquets). Finally, delegates are delegates when they conspire with other delegates to signify the fundamental political principles of an imperial polity – principles whose transmission comes to depend on these materializations (as, e.g., participatory politics and forum-basilicae, royal genealogy and Inka textile designs; D’Altroy 2003: 294). Proxies are bound up in these same relations, but only at a remove. They cannot exist without delegates. The delegates with whom they singularly correspond as simulacral substitutes mediate their involvement in the institutions that establish value, political practice, and imperial ideology. They are more shallowly entangled with the host of political institutions in which delegates mingle. Thus with respect to matter, proxies reproduce imperial regimes of value only by association with delegates, not by the chemical properties of their own substances. Proxy matter itself is less valued within the regulatory regimes of the empire. The affordances of proxies in the practical reproduction of rule are attenuated by the fact that proxies are not themselves used in the practices of the sovereign establishment. And nally, the role of proxies in signication is diminished relative to delegates by, once again, their singularity. I said above that delegates conspire with other delegates to signify political principles. They work most effectively within the assemblages of signs and symbols that surround them. Proxies act, if not alone, then in relative isolation vis-à-vis a broader material world of signication. The distinctions between delegates and proxies have consequences for their reliability as political “actants” (Latour 2005). For it is out of these very distinctions that there arises the possibility for material mimicry and the tactical arts of making do, both at the point of manufacture and in ways of use. As the ‘secondary productions’ of subject groups, proxies are more deeply entangled than delegates in the economic, social, and symbolic institutions of subalterns, and thus do more work in shaping the subjectivities of the conquered. It is in the space between delegates and proxies that things can go wrong, that the values, practices, and principles of an empire can be dulled by what are, in effect, rogue proxies. The challenge for the archaeology of empire is, then, to distinguish between poor and proper proxies, between those objects that act in accordance with the delegates that authorize them, and those that may, under certain conditions, help their makers and users tinker with, poach from, or generally evade the expectations handed down from their material masters. This challenge is best addressed not by abstraction but thick description.

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g.1: Room C (Precinct A) showing depth of dugouts and style of masonry (photograph author)

g.2: plan of Tsaghkahovit (A.T. Smith)

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5. Achaemenid Tsaghkahovit: subterranean satrapal subjects The settlement of Tsaghkahovit is located on a small intermontane plateau in central Armenia dened by the northern slope of Mt. Aragats, the southwestern slopes of the Pambak range, and the east slope of Mt. Kolgat.9 It is nestled in the hilly northern ank of the Aragats massif, a variegated curtain that effectively works to obscure the site from view along the various passes leading into and out of the Tsaghkahovit Plain. Yet the possibilities for concealment furnished by the natural environment evidently provided insufcient camouage to the people of Tsaghkahovit, who laid down roots in this place sometime in the late seventh or early sixth century BCE during the poorly-understood interval between the collapse of the kingdom of Urartu and Armenia’s capitulation to Achaemenid rule.10 For even as the ruins of a long-abandoned Late Bronze Age citadel at Tsaghkahovit offered both a ready model and the g.3: plan of Precinct A showing excavated units available materials for conas of 2011 and visible surface architecture spicuous fortied dwelling, (A.T. Smith and author) the newcomers developed an 9

10

The Tsaghkahovit excavations are conducted under the auspices of the joint AmericanArmenian project for the Archaeology and Geography of Ancient Transcaucasian Societies (ARAGATS). For detailed discussion of Tsaghkahovit’s Iron Age chronology on the basis of C14 dates and artifact analysis, see Khatchadourian 2014. A historical overview of Achaemenid Armenia can be found in idem 2008.

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alternative, even inverted, spatial logic. That is, they built a settlement not merely on the surrounding hills and basins of this outcrop, but beneath the earth’s surface in these lower elevation reaches. The Iron Age Tsaghkahovit community lived literally underground.11 Builders excavated dugouts averaging well over a meter in depth and, with iron chisels and axes, roughly hewed large boulders of locally available basaltic-andesite that were used to line the dugout walls (g.1). They roofed the structures with wooden beams, perhaps through a corbelling technique with rafters supported by pillars resting on stone bases.12 Sod may have been placed atop the superstructure to provide insulation and camouage against the surrounding landscape. The community maintained this hidden settlement into the era of Achaemenid rule in Armenia, without modication of what had clearly become a commitment to the protective benets of earth-sheltered living. Tsaghkahovit’s unhurried, peaceable abandonment occurred sometime between the late fth and fourth century BCE. The ceramic corpus discussed below was recovered from several rooms of two complexes (g.2). Precinct A is located south of the outcrop g.4: excavated rooms in Precinct A that dominates the site and consists of (drawing H. Sargsyan and L. Ter-Minasyan) an orderly nucleation of over twenty rooms with Room I as its approximate architectonic center (g.3).13 A discussion of functional variability among the various rooms of the complex on the basis of xed internal features, artifacts, and macrobotanical and zooarchaeological analysis has been given elsewhere (Khatchadourian 2014; g.4). The complex as a whole hosted such activities as human dwelling, food processing, craft production, consumption, storage, and livestock shelter. Room I is particularly salient as the probable point of entry into the complex (through the courtyard of Room K), from 11 12 13

For a fuller interpretation of this practice, see Khatchadourian 2016. Lisic‘yan 1955; ‘ik‘ovani 1967; Mat‘evosyan 1985. See Khatchadourian 2014 for full description of recent investigations at Tsaghkahovit.

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which access was afforded into rooms located deeper into the complex. The sizable hearth built against the northeastern wall of Room I further supports its interpretation as a central place, as do the many interior features that point to a multifunctional space with heavy trafc ows. Less can be said at present about Precinct C to the north due to limited exposures, though visible surface architecture suggests a sector with numerous distinct clusters made up of far fewer rooms than Precinct A, suggesting some kind of social distinction between the precincts (g.5). Only one such cluster, comprising the adjoining Room AC and Room AD, has been partially exposed thus far. Both rooms contained ceramics pertinent to this study, especially Room AC, a large space that was almost entirely paved with a well-made agstone oor and contained a receptacle that extended along the length of the southeast wall as well as what appeared to be a central grinding and cooking station rich in plant remains including cultivated grape (Vitis vinifera).

g.5: excavated rooms in Precinct C as of 2011 (H. Sargsyan and L. Ter-Minasyan)

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6. Proxies 6.1. Animal-handled amphora Near the hearth in the northern corner of Room I were discovered the necks and handles of two amphorae. One is sufciently preserved to discern an overall quality of axial symmetry created by the correspondence between the height of the neck and its basal diameter (both 10 cm; g.6). A narrow rib marks the transition between the neck and shoulder. A bowed handle, circular in section, joins the vessel at the top rim and the top of the shoulder. The vessel’s orange-red exterior is slipped and polished, while the interior below the neck is not polished. Prolonged ring in a reducing atmosphere, high temperatures, and ne grain size account for the striking hardness of the fabric. Adorning the handle in low relief are three highly stylized anatomical elements of a four-legged mammal likely created during the leather-hard state through either a process of clay surface displacement, like planorelief carving, or of g.6: zoomorphic handled amphora fragment (Ar/Ts.WSI2. appliqué surface addition 07.C.02; restoration A. Ayvazyan, photograph V. Hakobyan) joined by a uid clay slurry or slip (Rice 2005: 146-48). The animal is depicted in prole. The lowest of the three linear components extends down the handle toward the shoulder and represents the beast’s hind limbs, whose terminus is either fragmented or abraded to a lower plane, and may have consisted of a hoof-like element (see, e.g., g.13). Attached to the hind leg is a second straight element that stands in for the beast’s minimal, diagrammatic body. This element is fragmented at the top, as is the third and shortest element, which parallels the second and appears to represent the beast’s exed forelimb, tucked tightly beneath the body. The knee joint meets the vessel at the rim. The animal is, in other words, in mid-leap. Instrumental neutron activation analysis (INAA), conducted on this and other samples by Dr. Leah Minc at the Oregon State University Radiation Center, indicates that the chemical composition of the fabric does not match any of the ceramic reference groups of the Tsaghkahovit Plain (Minc 2009). The vessel is statistically an outlier, and thus an import, though its place of origin remains unknown.

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g.7: zoomorphic spout-handled amphora fragment (Ar/Ts. WSI 2.07.C.03) (restoration A. Ayvazyan, photograph V. Hakobyan)

In the case of the second vessel (g.7), preserved after restoration are part of the rim and thin-walled neck, as well as the upper part of a spouted (or ‘beaked’) handle, hollow and circular in section. The spout’s opening is fragmented, but the orientation of the orice in relation to the horizontal plane of the top of the handle suggests that it extended outward, perpendicular to the axis of the vessel. Projecting vertically off the rim of the vessel where it meets the handle is a protrusion, semi-triangular in prole, which tapers toward the vessel’s interior. Surfaces are slipped and burnished red on both exterior and interior. Straddling both sides of the spouted handle are linear relief elements that depict, once again, the legs of a leaping quadruped created with the same technique of either displacement or appliqué. The limbs terminate through a gradual lowering of the plane of relief, without any apparent delineation of hoofs. They appear to be the beast’s forelimbs (radii and metapodials), and the vertical projection off the rim its neck, providing the overall impression that the animal is meant to be leaping out of the vessel. The similarities in technical execution of the relief decoration, overall vessel morphology and surface treatment suggest that the two pots were made by the same workshop or potting community, if not the same hand. Indeed, INAA indicates that the fabric of this amphora chemically matches that of the previous vessel. It is thus also an import from the same unidentied source. The overall body form of both animalhandled amphorae likely resembled the vessel from neighboring Room H (g.8).

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g.8: amphora with handles and upper shoulder reconstructed (Ar/Ts.WSH.30.C.56) (drawing H. Sargsyan)

g.9: example of a theriomorphic handle fragment perhaps in the form of an animal head (Ar/Ts.WSAC.17.C.01) (photograph C. Kearns)

g.10: theriomorphic handle fragment (Ar/Ts.WSH.29.C.05; photograph C. Kearns)

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Theriomorphic-handled jar – Provisionally, this type is principally dened modally, on the basis of a decorative attribute rather than morphology, but the vessel would certainly have been a handled jar and quite possibly an amphora (Haerinck 1980). The Tsaghkahovit assemblage includes four theriomorphic fragments of handles, two from the oors in Room G and Room H, and two from above the oors in Room AC and Room H. Each is distinct in form and presumed orientation. In two cases, what appears to be depicted is the face or head of an animal (g.9), while in a third case, two fragmented circular protrusions may represent horns (g.10). These red burnished examples contrast with the black polished fourth specimen, whose theriomorphic form is only barely discernable. Trace-element analysis suggests that one of the specimens (g.9) possibly belongs to one of the three reference groups for the Tsaghkahovit Plain (the others belonging either denitely or probably).14 In other words, none are clear imports. Vertically uted jars – Four jars have circumferential vertical uting that creates a series of alternating protrusions and depressions. One was found on the oor of

g.11a-b: fluted vessel fragment (Ar/Ts.WSAD.14.C.04) (photograph and drawing C. Kearns)

Room AC and the remaining three were recovered from above the oors in Room Room L, and in another sector of the site. Three of the examples have lustrous black or dark-gray burnished exterior surfaces (gs.11a-b, 12). Also, three of the four (including the two pictured) are denite products of local workshops, rmly linked to the clay sources on the northern slope of Mt. Aragats (the fourth has not been analyzed). AD,

14

‘Possible group afliation’ means that the multivariate probability of membership to one of the three dened reference groups for the Tsaghkahovit was less than 5%, plus the specimen fell outside the 95% condence interval ellipse for group membership as dened on the primary discriminating elements and on the discriminant function axes, but the specimen is assigned to a group anyway by discriminate function analysis (personal communication, Leah Minc).

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g.12 (above): fluted vessel fragment (Ar/Ts.WSL.03.C.05), oriented horizontally to make flutes more visible (photograph C. Kearns)

g.13 (right): restored but fragmentary zoomorphic spouted rhyton (Ar/Ts.WSH.30.C.55; drawing H. Sargsyan)

g.14 (left): interior of fragmentary bowl with petals (Ar/Ts.WSI2.11.C.01) (photograph H. Hakobyan)

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g.15: vessel fragment with grooving (Ar/Ts.WSAC2.23. C.01) (drawing N. Mkhitaryan; photograph H. Hakobyan)

g.16: composite amphora fragment (Ar/Ts.WSAC2.27. C.01; photograph H. Hakobyan)

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Zoomorphic rhyton – Two vessels of this type have been recovered to date, one from the southern quadrant of the oor in Room H and the other in a wash deposit of Room N. The former, substantially restored, reveals the rear, body, legs, and horn of a recumbent animal whose portly body bears down on its legs, each with precisely rendered joints and hoofs (g.13). The horn arcs across part of the animal’s upper body, marking it as a goat or ibex. The vessel’s overall form is uncertain, but a vertical or a side spout is probable, on parallel with the enduring tradition of animal vessels in southwest Asia. The slipped exterior red surface is burnished, while the interior of this restricted vessel was unslipped. The presence of ‘spalling’ of the top portion of the tail may point to a structurally vulnerable appliqué element, but a displacement technique cannot be dismissed. Whatever the technical solution, it produced an effect that appears very similar to the relief elements on the animal-handled amphorae. There are pronounced striations on the interior of the vessel that could indicate wheel manufacture, although surface features can be polysemic (Roux & Courty 1995: 18). INAA results on the fragmentary, unrestored specimen are inconclusive, providing a possible but uncertain link to the northern Aragats clay sources. Bowl with petals – Recovered from the same area of Room I as the zoomorphic amphorae was a black burnished bowl (diameter 16.5 cm) with tapered rim and petals or lotus buds that encircle the body, only two of which are preserved (g.14). The petals appear to have been created through a combination of grooving and the application of pressure on the vessel’s interior (‘petal-grooving’).15 INAA data are unavailable. Grooved vessel – Found on the oor of Room AC, this black-burnished vessel is distinguished for the incised parallel vertical grooves that surround the body (g. 15). The resulting protrusions, rounded in cross section, may have been further dened through pressure against the interior surface. Seven protrusions are partially preserved, each averaging approximately 0.25 cm in width. The vessel appeared to be a jar prior to restoration, but it may instead be a bowl as is assumed in the depicted orientation. INAA indicates that it is the product of a local workshop. Composite amphora – The vessel was found on the floor of Room AC (g.16). Its surfaces are modeled with more than one distinctive decorative attribute. Horizontal fluting encircles the vessel’s neck, of which two thin arrises and one and a half individual flutes are preserved. A series of petals or lotus buds bulge on the shoulder, forged through a combination of grooving and pressure on the vessel interior. The adjacency of the petals is interrupted at one point where a handle would have 15

For ‘petal grooving’ see Miller 1993: 118.

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joined the shoulder, suggested by the circular spall (another non-joining sherd is similarly spalled, where a second handle was afxed). And nally, widely spaced on the vessel body are a number of slightly arced, nearly vertical, elongated relief lobes created as if through the upward stroke of a thumb on the vessel’s interior.16 INAA results are inconclusive, providing a possible but uncertain link to the northern Aragats clay sources.

7. Delegates The Tsaghkahovit proxies share the greatest formal afnities with vessels of precious metal from the Achaemenid ‘royal table’ (Simpson 2005). Animal-handled amphorae (fluted and unfluted) are among the hallmarks of Achaemenid toreutics, associated most directly with imperial cultural production because of their participation in the gift-bearing processions depicted in relief on the grand staircases of the Apadana at Persepolis.17 On the eastern staircase facade, the Armenian and Lydian delegates each carry double-handled amphorae with composite animals on their handles, rendered through a combination of low relief and modeling. The relief elements include the bodies, wings, and extended hind legs of the beasts, while the tightly tucked forelegs are formed as if in three dimensions, in such a way that the joints of the bent legs meet the vessel rim. Rising above the top of the vessel are the rear-facing heads of grifns (in the case of the Armenian’s vessel) and bulls (in the case of the Lydian’s two vessels). Projecting perpendicularly from one of the handles of each vessel is a spout. One other visual representation of the form occurs on a wall painting in Karaburun tomb II in Lycia, where a servant carries before a reclining (Persian?) dignitary and his wife a double-handled vessel with outward facing grifn heads (Mellink 1972: 265). Several attributes of the depicted vessels (including double handles, amphora body form, fluting, animal imagery) have antecedents in the ceramics of Assyria, the Armenian highlands, prehistoric Iran, and Egypt (Amandry 1959: 39; Paspalas 2000). It is especially notable for present purposes that the vessel morphology (minus spout and explicit zoomorphic adornment), occurs in the ceramic repertoires of Urartu and later Iron Age sites of northwestern Iran during the seventh through early sixth centuries. Indeed, there is good reason to look to the late

16

17

These ‘fronds’ are not shown. The fragments that bear them do not join to the restored part of the vessel. Schmidt 1953: 85; idem 1957: 95; Amandry 1959: 38f.; Root 1979: 89-95; Calmeyer 1993: 152f.

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Urartian period for the earliest concerted production of the form.18 But by the midrst millennium BCE, the overall vessel type (including animal handles, with or without spout) conjoined old and new stylistic elements and appropriated them to an Achaemenid political aesthetic (anchored by the Apadana relief), and thus instances dating to this era are most reasonably situated in relation to a Persepolitan cultural and political arena. Indeed, it is in this way that scholars have long interpreted the numerous metal realia known from both legitimate and illegitimate excavations across southwest Asia. Among the provenanced specimens are the gilded silver amphorae with composite lion-ibex handles from Kukuva Mogila in the barrow cemetery at Duvanli (Bulgaria) dated to the third quarter of the fth century BCE, and the single-handlespouted silver amphora with ibex from a barrow in Filippovka (southern Urals) dated to the mid-fth or early fourth century BCE. On both vessels, flexed forelimbs join the rim at the knee, heads turn back, spouts are perpendicular, bodies are vertically fluted, and a relief band joins the neck to the body.19 Numerous unprovenanced metal animal-handled and spouted amphorae (or handle fragments) dated on stylistic grounds are known from hordes or collections in Iran, Afghanistan, Syria, Egypt, Turkey, and ancient Iraq.20 Most are of silver or gilded silver, some of bronze, and all share the basic iconographic elements of the examples from secure contexts, though they vary in such details as the presence or absence of vertical fluting, presence, location, or absence of spout, and the species of animal on the handle. The metal corpus may have been manufactured in workshops in Asia Minor (Treister 2010). The Tsaghkahovit animal-handled amphorae are the only known instances of the vessel type to occur in ceramic. Others have noted this absence (Paspalas 2000: 140). With respect to Athens, Miller has suggested that the form was perhaps “culturally ungrammatical.” It is possible that the very opposite was the case in formerly Urartian lands, that it was here quite ‘coherent’ given the probable origins of the basic form in that region.21 The highly schematic iconography of the Tsaghkahovit vessels – perhaps due as much to the constraints imposed by the clay medium as to creative license – does not attenuate the afliation of these objects to the metal assemblage. Apart from the basic conceptual and morphological similarities, the

18

19 20

21

See Paspalas 2000: 160; Khatchadourian [forthc.]. Abramova (1969) and Medvedskaya (1989) have taken the upright nubs on the handles of Urartian vessels to be highly stylized horns. Such nubbed handles are numerous at Tsaghkahovit, suggesting that the style endured even after the indisputably zoomorphic handles were in circulation. Treister 2010, n.22; Treister & Yablonsky 2012. Catalogues of these can be found in Amandry 1959 and Paspalas 2000. See also Muscarella 2000. For Athens see Miller 1993: 139; for material coherence Hodder 2012.

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use of relief rather than incision or paint to render the beasts’ bodies on the proxies bespeaks an effort to attain the modeled dimensionality of the toreutics, while the thin walls and highly red polished surfaces afford a delicacy and luster akin to the metal variants. If the latter are taken as a standard, however, there is one signicant anomaly in the case of the spouted amphora from Tsaghkahovit: the outward orientation of the forelimbs and implied bearing of the beast, as though leaping out of the vessel itself, is without precedent in the metal corpus. I shall return to this. Vertically fluted jars and theriomorphic-handled jars are also linked to the metal animal-amphorae. Dark-burnished fluted vessels like those from Tsaghkahovit nd few ceramic parallels but are similar to the vessels carried by the Apadana’s Lydian delegation, as well as provenanced and unprovenanced silver amphorae and goblets.22 The ceramic theriomorphic handled vessels may have evolved out of the beak-spouted amphora, representing a kind of iconographic synecdoche in which the fully modeled animal head stands in for a bodily whole (Haerinck 1980: 52). This may have been the conventional ceramic incarnation of the animal-handled amphora in the northern reaches of the empire, judging by the examples from secure contexts in Azerbaijan (ibid.). The twin-spouted animal-handled amphorae from the excavations at Mingechaur and Glinjanye, for example, carry either stylized representations of a fully modeled beast or beasts’ heads. Haerinck’s dating of the form to the fth or early fourth century BCE corresponds with the Tsaghkahovit corpus. Achaemenid metal vessels with petals or grooves also provide the point of reference for the bowl with petals and grooved vessel from Tsaghkahovit. Though highly fragmentary, it is nevertheless clear that in its details the Tsaghkahovit bowl with petals compares to a metal bowl type that is relatively rare in the metal corpus, on account of the continuous axis of the rim off the body (Abka’i-Khavari 1988, g.1). This rim prole is distinct from the famous everted-rimmed silver bowls known from both secure and unsecure contexts.23 Yet the Tsaghkahovit bowl shares with a great many Achaemenid metal bowls the petal motif itself. I am not aware of any other ceramic bowls from this period with lotus-like petals, though ceramic bowls with omphaloi are numerous in the mid-rst millennium Near East and also exist in black-burnish at Tsaghkahovit.24 In contrast, the Tsaghkahovit grooved vessel, if taken to be a bowl, has numerous comparanda in the corpus of Attic black-gloss ware, themselves derived from Achaemenid metals.25 If instead 22

23

24 25

See Carter 1994, g.14.14; for silver amphorae and goblets see, e.g., Özgen & Öztürk 1996, gs.65-6. Abka’i-Khavari 1988; Özgen & Öztürk 1996, gs.33-41; Gunter & Root 1998; Simpson 2005, gs.101-4; Rehm 2006; Treister & Yablonsky 2012. Dusinberre 1999; Khatchadourian 2008, type 15. Abka’i-Khavari 1988; Miller 1993; Simpson 2005, g.97; Treister 2010, g.7.

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shown to be a jar, it would correspond to the ceramic grooved jars from Berd (Armenia) and the Achaemenid Village 1 at Susa.26 The zoomorphic rhyta and composite amphora defy easy placement within wider circles of cultural production. They are at once innovative, and at the same time indirectly referential of Achaemenid delegates. The rhyta (discussed in Khatchadourian 2008), belong to a long tradition in the Near East of pottery formed in the shape of animals (in which ibexes/goats are nevertheless relatively rare). But it takes leave of that tradition in the way the zoomorphic form of the pot is achieved, not through the full-fledged modeling of earlier animal pots, but through relief elements that dene with precision the legs, hoofs, and horns of the recumbent beast. It is thus akin to well-known Achaemenid rhyta both in overall concept, as a (likely) spouted animal-shaped vessel, but also in the rendering of detail. Yet it has no particular delegate partner. Ceramic parallels are also yet to be found.27 In similar fashion, the composite amphora, with its horizontal flutes, petalled-shoulder, and haphazard vertical lobes on the body, brings together a number of elements from Achaemenid metalware to ultimately novel effect.

8. Delegate entanglements: matter, affordance, and signication There is a way in which the sublime beauty and opulence of the Achaemenid metal vessels have disarmed modern scholars. The impulse to catalogue the corpus, to pedestal the objects as paragons for the lesser art of imitation, has left us with a misplaced sense of familiarity. We can easily recognize the world out of which these objects emerged, but we are in fact little versed in their own productive roles within political economies of value, conventions of practice, and the metaphysics of imperial power. In the interest of space, I shall focus particularly on the symbolic efcacy of the delegate in conglomerating political values and institutions. To comment only briefly on their practical affordances, the consensus view that the metal vessels were used at royal banquets to pour and drink wine, the quintessential lubricant of Achaemenid commensal politics, is little in dispute. It is time, however, at long last to regard them less as hapless indices of luxury and ostentation than active material collaborators in the micro-politics of élite feasting (see Dusinberre 2013). Equally briefly, in regard to the vessels’ entanglement within regimes of value imposed upon a circulating world of matter, sufce it to say that silver, the lustrous metal of which most delegates are made, provided a standard of value for the empire’s monetized and non-monetized economies, flowing in and out of imperial

26 27

Silver: Simpson 2005, g.126. Ceramic: Stronach 1974, pl.L4; Karapetyan 2003, 23.4. But see Moorey 1980, g.24.568.

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coffers in the form of taxes, tribute, and gifts. The delegates at once facilitated these flows and depended upon their continuance (Khatchadourian 2016). In perhaps the closest critical analysis of a single silver delegate, Gunter and Root lead us into the terrain of signication. They suggest that Achaemenid metal carinated bowls, or phialae, with their elaborate floral forms, symbolically link to the Persian institution of the paradeisos, an enclosed space of abundance and exquisite pleasure, containing luxuriant gardens and assorted domesticated and wild animals (1998: 28). The paradeisos (OP pairidaida-) was no mere hedonistic retreat, but a physical and imagined space tightly intertwined in Achaemenid political cosmology, in which it gured as a symbol of lost cosmogonic perfection and a redoubt for its practical recreation (Lincoln 2012: 9). In the aftermath of the intrusion of the Lie, that “negation of proper sovereignty,” it was the paradeisos that left open the possibility of the eventual restoration of original worldly perfection at the end of time (ibid. 12). This could only be accomplished by the labor of the kings, whose efforts to constitute proper sovereignty through expansionist politics that brought all into the fold were “nothing less than a soteriological project” (ibid. 19). To Gunter and Root, a kind of homology exists between the phialae and paradeisos, both symbolizing an ideology in which power and plenty are central. In light of Lincoln’s account of the paradise, I would like to go further to suggest that the vessels bearing vegetative motifs – most obviously the petals of the phialae, but perhaps also fronds and leaves rendered as flutes and gadroons – acted as delegates in the eschatological project of restoring paradise on earth. Through their use in rituals of wine-drinking, these delegates symbolized and extended this restorative work outside the connes of the paradise’s protective enclosure, eliding the sociopolitical work of conspicuous commensal consumption with that of cosmological renewal. Upon close scrutiny it appears that the animal-handled amphorae were no less entangled than the phialae in key tenets of Achaemenid political philosophy. In this case it is the tactile, even kinesthetic quality of the vessel – the movements and muscle senses entailed in its use – that may inform the vessel’s capacity to intervene semiotically in human relations. I arrive at this suggestion by way of Achaemenid glyptics, and one particularly prevalent theme within its iconographic repertoire, that of heroic encounter. Against the backdrop of its long and shifting life in western Asiatic glyptic, Garrison and Root have carefully discerned the motif’s social signicance within the Achaemenid context. They dene the heroic encounter as a scene in which “a protagonist exerts power or control over animals or creatures in a manner that explicitly transcends the plausible” (2001: 42). The motif entails a central male gure in direct physical engagement with animals, often through the seizure of the beast’s neck, head or limbs. The identity of the hero is, as Garrison and Root convincingly argue, deliberately ambiguous – only sometimes marked as royal, but more often intelligible generically as the ‘Persian Man’ conjured in royal inscriptions. The ‘Persian Man’ was a potent and potentially in-

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clusive ideological construct that cued a masculine ideal to which many males could likely relate, given the antiquity and wide distribution of the heroic encounter theme. It was thus also one to which they could (or should) aspire (ibid. 57). It is the ‘Persian Man’ who bears the burden of assisting the kings in their struggle to constitute proper sovereignty, as we learn from the poetic metaphor of a warrior on Darius’s tomb at Naqš-e Rustam: “the spear of a Persian man has gone forth far.” The gesture entailed in the images of heroic encounter depicted on the seals is consonant with that afforded by the animal-handled amphora, whose use demands the single-handed grasp of one or both sides of a leaping beastly body. Across these two thingly domains of image and object there is a coherence that reinforces and perhaps co-constitutes their mutual conceptual and practical entanglements (Hodder 2012). The violation of natural scale (that is, the diminutive size of the animal relative to the human who grips it) is inconsequential for this interpretation, for both the seals and the vessels portray or require a gesture of physical engagement with the beasts that transcends the plausible. Taken on their own, then, the vessels may be seen to invoke an immanence just before the domination of a prey – an anticipatory moment that can be played out again and again before each seizure of the handles to pour the next round. Through the practice of conspicuous consumption, the vessels symbolically allow for the individual’s transguration into the ‘Persian Man,’ an identity that takes hold as he takes hold of the handles that provide for his metamorphosis into the hero of a dangerous encounter. In so far as the heroism of the hunt is what brings the zoological abundance of the paradise into being, it is tempting to speculate that the ‘vessels of heroic encounter’ once again cohere with the themes of the paradise. We might also suppose that attendant to the privilege of becoming a ‘Persian Man’ was an obligation in turn to protect the abundance that the wine-lled amphora embodies, just as scenes of hero-encounter in other media (seals and monumental sculpture) are tied in various ways to protection, whether of commodities or spaces (Garrison & Root 2001: 58). The ‘Persian Man’ who comes into being in the grasping of the vessel assumes in return the responsibility to safeguard its contents from danger or unauthorized use and, by extension, perhaps to safeguard the cosmological project in whose name the bounty of the grape has been harvested. Before returning to the Tsaghkahovit proxies, there is one nal point to be made about the metal delegates. I suggest that, at least by the time the Apadana was completed, all of the realia – indeed the very notion of a metal serving or drinking vessel – became inextricably bound within the logic of sovereignty enshrined in that monument’s relief compositions. That is, I suggest that the metal vessels thereafter existed only in their metaphorical or actual manifestations as gifts – either gifts already given or gifts destined for gifting in reciprocal exchange for what Grant has called, in an apt formulation from a different context, the “gift of em-

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pire.”28 The Apadana in effect entrapped the objects as embodiments of subaltern gratitude and the generosity of the sovereign from which it springs. Against the backdrop of this visual idiom of gifting, the circulation, display, and use of the actual vessels could have served to cement the reciprocal compact of giving and taking between sovereign and subject that was necessary for imperial reproduction.

9. Proxy pots and partial sovereignty Some of the Tsaghkahovit proxies are curiously peculiar. In the case of the amphora of g.7, for instance, the beast’s forelegs, loosely flexed at the knee, clearly face outward from the vessel. This is a complete reversal of delegate form, in which tightly tucked forelegs always face the vessel, the knee joining at the rim. Consider also the composite jar of g.16, with its horizontal flutes, petals, and broadly spaced grooves (not shown). This proxy is authorized to act by no particular delegate, even as it synthesizes elements of many. The same can be said of the zoomorphic rhyta (g.13). As for the theriomorphic handle adornments, accepting Haerink’s suggestion that the vessels bearing such protomes derived from the zoomorphic amphora form, they are less peculiar than simply deviant. The substitution of anatomical details achieved through delicate clay surface displacement or appliqué with highly stylized, ‘chunky’ animal heads speaks to a broader phenomenon observable with several Tsaghkahovit proxies: some seem to have been produced casually, if not carelessly, against the standards of the site’s own newares. The grooved vessel of g.15 is thick-walled and poorly polished compared to other serving and consumption vessels from the site. And its broadly spaced groves appear hastily rendered with the stroke of a nger or tool, resulting in slightly arced elements, rather than the tightly adjacent linear grooves that would be expected of a metal delegate’s proper proxy. In terms of their formal properties, then, some of the proxies are products of an artisan-like inventiveness that extends beyond their material constitution as mere clay. In some cases they conform to the basic formconcept of the delegates but dispense with those essential qualities of exactitude and elegance that make the latter objects of social distinction and the political sublime. In other cases, the proxies poach on the delegate through inversion, recombination, or selective conformity – all of which signal and enable the ‘plays,’ ‘ruses,’ or ‘ironies’ of Certeauean tactics. Most of the proxies are the products of local workshops. The clays procured for their manufacture were the same as those used for storage, cooking, and consump-

28

Grant 2009; see also Khatchadourian 2016.

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tion vessels of various types, from the ne carinated bowl to the coarsest of cups.29 The production of these proxies thus activated the established webs of local interaction necessary for clay extraction, processing, forming, and ring. These clays circulated within a local economy of value that likely operated independently of the political economy of the empire. The proxies’ imbrication within local networks of value and social interaction necessarily diminished their capacities to act as authorized by their delegates in the work of political reproduction. They could have instead worked to preserve local relations of power that bore upon practices of resource procurement. As to the zoomorphic amphorae and other possibly imported proxies, nothing can be said about the networks of interaction they engaged until the places of production can be identied. But the amphora with outward facing animal does nevertheless indicate that the Tsaghkahovit community was not alone in its experimentation with the tactical arts. Finally, there is the spatial context of their use in subterranean houses tucked into the slopes and ridges of hilly flanks, obscured behind layers of natural and cultural concealment. Within these underground havens, where the evidence for steep or even modest social hierarchy is limited, the proxies mingled with a host of ordinary objects of ‘primary’ production (that is, objects not mediated by an imperial delegate). With the possible exception of the zoomorphic rhyta of Room H, the proxies were recovered from rooms whose faunal and botanical remains provide no compelling evidence for feasting. That is, the practical affordances of these vessels appear to have included rather quotidian habits of consumption in the workaday spaces of the house. When the settlement was abandoned, these ‘imitations’ were left behind. Yet proxies cannot exist without their delegates, and thus they cannot withdraw entirely from the political institutions in which delegates are entangled. Proxies, unruly or not, are engaged with those institutions and never fully detached. Whether these engagements are emulative or tactical, in various ways they ensnare human producers, human users, and material proxies alike. Potters may have chosen to ‘play’ on the delegates’ charge throughout the chaîne opératoire, or they may have aspired to create proper proxies. A Tsaghkahovit user like the reveler who seized the handles of the zoomorphic amphorae may indeed have partaken of the semiotic transgurations that rendered him a ‘Persian Man,’ and thus contributed in small measure to the participatory project of Achaemenid sovereignty and cosmological renewal. Or, he may have toyed with these concepts, experimented with them, or mocked them by loosening the conventions of use. Indeed, we might view the abandonment of the proxies as a suspension of the symbolic economy of the gift in which, as I argued above, the Apadana inextricably bound the delegates. 29

Apart from those discussed here, 224 sherds from Achaemenid-era Tsaghkahovit have undergone INAA, and only 2.2% traced to non-local clay sources.

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All of these gestures are forms of what De Certeau called “secondary production.” As to the proxies themselves, against or in line with the intentions of their makers and users, they may have worked efcaciously to forge subjects of the empire through their practical affordances and symbolic resonance. Or they may have brought about the redenition of their intended purposes and meanings in the terms of the ordinary, not least under pressure from the conspiring objects of the modest semi-subterranean built environment. The possibility for earnest efforts at emulation cannot, of course, be foreclosed. But close contextual and material analysis of the Tsaghkahovit proxies instead points to a eld of human and object interaction geared toward the minuscule procedures of ‘making do,’ whose effects, as De Certeau realized, dilute in small measure the solidity of the dominant social order. Such miniscule maneuvers are not the preserve of De Certeau’s capitalist subject nor Bhabha’s colonial subject but a capability that inheres within humans and things. The efforts that concern proxies, from production to discard, are reducible to neither resistance nor conformity. Rather, they amount to what Yurchak, writing in a very different context, has called “minute internal displacements and mutations” that “do not have to contradict the political and ethical parameters of the system and, importantly, may even allow one to preserve the possibilities, promises, positive ideals, and ethical values of the system while avoiding the negative (…) constraints within which these are articulated” (2006: 28). The proxies at Tsaghkahovit were not contrarian, not discernably deant against, say, onerous demands for tribute or troops. And they may well have held open the possibility of preserving the promises and values of their delegates. On present evidence, however, their efcacy in creating imperial subjectivities can best be described as partial, as they, along with their makers and users, sometimes worked tactically to allow for conformity that evades, for escape without leaving.

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MARGARET AND ACHAEMENID IMPERIAL ART Amélie Kuhrt (London)

In 1979, Carl Nylander wrote: “Achaemenid [artistic] creations have often been written off as the technically accomplished but somewhat tired and uninspired end product of the long Near Eastern development, an uninteresting and innocuous ‘art de bonne compagnie qui vous reserve ni surprise ni deception’ ” (Nylander 1979: 348). He moved on to describe how what was labelled the ‘eclecticism’ of Achaemenid art created a negative image of Achaemenid artistic production – it was simply a result of the activities of the various imported workers, among which the Greek input, following the discovery of the Susa Foundation Charter (DSf), was quickly considered to have played the most important role. This climaxed in Gisela Richter’s extraordinary evaluation that “Achaemenid art is basically nothing much but provincial Greek art where a certain foreign element is noticeable” (ibid. 351). And there the matter ended. In response to this stalemate, Nylander went on to outline the new and more fertile approach presented by the work of a certain Dr. Root (ibid. 352). And this is how I first became aware of Margaret and her work. Our library did not have her book on the subject at that time (Root 1979), but by a fortunate chance I was shortly given the opportunity to review it (Kuhrt 1984). Reading her study was an eye-opener. Margaret had taken up Nylander’s challenge to define exactly which motifs the Persian kings selected from the extant repertoire of imagery deployed by earlier great empires, such as Assyria and Egypt, and how they reshaped them to express a specific and distinctive Persian vision of imperial power. This work has left a permanent mark on subsequent studies of Achaemenid art. It demonstrates that simply tracing the appearance of, for example, the age-old winged sun disc in Achaemenid contexts does not help in understanding why or how it was used by the Persian rulers – its setting, reformulation, adaptation need to be interrogated before its meaning in a new empire emerges. Suddenly things made sense. I should admit to having one slight reservation at the time of my review – namely: (…) precisely how the necessary knowledge was acquired so that motifs laden with specific symbolic meaning in one cultural area could be reshaped in order to retain some of their traditional impact while being sufficiently transformed to become carriers of [… a] completely different imperial message. (Kuhrt 1984: 159)

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Recent publications of Assyrian documents show, as Ann Gunter argues in this volume, the centrality of the royal input in the design of royal monuments and the care taken to ensure that royal statues, for instance, be presented, arrayed, and disposed exactly as the king with his scholars had determined (note particularly Cole & Machinist 1998, n° 34). Along with the evidence for awareness of earlier motifs (Root 1994), this newer material helps to vindicate Margaret’s arguments in The King and Kingship, and lays my hesitation to rest. This and virtually every one of the issues that Margaret raised in that book have shaped her subsequent work. One long held view that she has challenged successfully was the overemphasis on the Greek contribution to the fashioning of the sculptured programme at Persepolis. She engaged in depth with that question in a long review article published in 1993, where she spelt out the way in which the labels ‘art’ and ‘artist’ have been reserved for Greece, as opposed to ‘craftsman/ artisan’ and ‘artefact’ routinely applied to the rich artistic productions of the Near East over three millennia, creating an aesthetic hierarchy. The topic has cropped up several times and its historiography is addressed in Pierre Briant’s article here.1 Margaret’s comparison of the question with the work of mediaeval craftsmen in the building of the great European gothic cathedrals has been illuminating. One aspect of Achaemenid production that she drew attention to was the diversity of models on which the kings drew. While the obvious ones derived (as said) from Mesopotamia, particularly Assyria, and Pharaonic Egypt, she also included local Iranian imagery. This as a major element shaping Achaemenid art has emerged more prominently in recent work, where she has stressed the prominence of Elamite artistic traditions as a creative inspiration, particularly traceable in seal production (Root 1991), although she is careful to avoid falling into the trap of tying style to ethnicity. The importance of the Elamite forerunners to Achaemenid art has, of course, been most spectacularly illustrated in recent years by the find of the Arn tomb, containing the magnificent bowl which, Bruno Jacobs and Robert Rollinger suggest, includes Urartian motifs; so that strand, too, needs to be added to the complex of models exploited by the rulers of the new empire.2 If we accept, as most now do, that Achaemenid art presented a programme deliberately devised to propound a new imperial message, what evidence is there for its diffusion? The question has been wrestled with by scholars over the years, many equating the scantiness of clear traces of its impact in the provinces with an

1 2

See, e.g., Root 1984 and idem 1994. See Álvarez-Mon 2004 for the bowl from Arn; the material from the tomb is discussed in detail in idem 2010 and idem 2011. On the Urartian connection, see already Seidl 1994.

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apparent ‘hands off’ form of government.3 That its impact was stronger than it appears at first sight was brought out very clearly in Margaret’s essay arguing for the Parthenon as a deliberate attempt to emulate the Persepolis complex (Root 1985). Margaret Miller’s 1998 study can be seen as a development of this approach, focussing on Athens’ response and receptiveness to Persian forms, something taken further in this volume both by herself and Karen Lawrence. Rather different, but related to the question, has been the analysis of the impact of Achaemenid wares on diverse local subject communities: Beth Dusinberre’s tracking of the change in dining behaviour in Achaemenid Sardis (Dusinberre 1999) has stimulated others to examine material particularly in the western provinces more closely (as, e.g., Miller 2007 and idem 2010, Kistler 2010) and a further instance is Laurie Katchadourian’s subtle analysis in this volume of finds in a region marginal to the empire. The central role in assessing the Achaemenid imperial artistic programme is, of course, played by Persepolis – Pasargadae and Susa cannot rival it in the sheer wealth of its preserved monumental imagery. And several papers in this volume are acknowledgments of that with their focus on the site itself. Björn Anderson discussing how Arabs/Arabia are presented in text and image at the site, Ali Mousavi tracking the disposition (or rather displacement) of royal inscriptions, Shahrokh Razmjou making a case for understanding the ‘Palace of Darius’ as a ritual space, and Alexander Nagel’s emphasis on the importance of the use of colour (now largely vanished) all concentrate their attention on the great palatial terrace. Rather differently, Rémy Boucharlat draws attention to current work at Persepolis that is beginning to reveal something of the urban setting of the site. While this remains somewhat hazy as yet, the Italian and Iranian team working there are beginning to give us a picture of settlements in relation to the palace platform. And Henry Colburn, using the large number of seals used on the Persepolis tablets as a guide, makes a case for Persepolis as a thriving city – an approach which resonates with Margaret urging us to remember that seals are a historical, as well as social and artistic, source. That brings us to sigillography. In her 1978 book Margaret made an interesting observation: when considering the sculpted heraldic image of the hero in combat with monsters at Persepolis, she noted that the figure does not wear royal dress so that here it seems to represent “the king as the heroic archetype of the Persian man,” who protects his realm. But in the virtually identical scenes on seals the hero is crowned indicating, she argued, that in the popular imagination the mythical hero and king were merged. That insight drew on the major research project she was then embarking on, i.e., the study of the seal impressions of the Persepolis 3

Note the discussion by Sancisi-Weerdenburg (1990) as well as Root’s (1991) vigorous confronting of the issue.

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Fortification archive, the fruits of which are amply documented in her publications, the work of her graduate students as well as colleagues, and the issue in 2001 of the first volume, with Mark Garrison, of impressions bearing images of “heroic encounter.” Her research on this material has had a major impact on the study of Achaemenid seals, and the several articles here building or dependent on her work (Mark Garrison and Wouter Henkelman, Henry Colburn, Margaret Miller, Deniz Kaptan, Maria Brosius, Christopher Tuplin) reflect that. With her work on the Persepolis seal impressions she has highlighted the importance of paying attention to the possibilities of hand attribution, the diversity of styles revealed, the protocols of seal use, the seal as an expression of the owner’s or patron’s status, the interplay between ‘minor’ art production and monumental works – the possibilities are legion.4 In conclusion: it is difficult to overstate the importance of Margaret’s contribution to understanding Achaemenid art as a meaningful, powerful, and coherent expression of Persian identity at a particular significant moment of Iran’s long history.5 All of us who have wrestled with the history of the Achaemenid empire are enormously in her debt, as the articles collected here in her honour demonstrate.

4 5

Note the introduction to Root (1984), where many of these topics are already laid out. I have omitted to mention, but it should not be forgotten, the very interesting work that Margaret is currently engaged on, i.e. trying to define the responses of subject peoples coming from a variety of cultural backgrounds to specific scenes/motifs; see, e.g., Root 2007 and idem 2008.

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Bibliography ÁLVAREZ-MOn, J. 2004, Imago Mundi: Cosmological and ideological aspects of the Arjan bowl, IrAnt 39: 203-37. –––– 2010, The Arjn tomb: At the crossroads of the Elamite and the Persian empires (AI 49), Leuven. –––– 2011, The golden griffin from Arjn, in: J. Álvarez-Mon & M.B. Garrison (eds.), Elam and Persia, Winona Lake: 299-373. COLE, S.W. & MACHINIST, P. 1998, Letters from priests to the kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal (SAA 13), Helsinki. DUSINBERRE, E.R.M. 1999, Satrapal Sardis: Achaemenid bowls in an Achaemenid capital, AJA 103: 73-102. GARRISON, M.B. & ROOT M.C. 2001, Seals on the Persepolis Fortification tablets, vol. 1: Images of heroic encounter (OIP 117), Chicago. KISTLER, E. 2010, Achämenidische Becher und die Logik kommensaler Politik im Reich der Achämeniden, in: B. Jacobs & R. Rollinger (eds.), Der Achämenidenhof / The Achaemenid court (CleO 2), Wiesbaden: 411-51. KUHRT, A. 1984, The Achaemenid concept of kingship, Iran 22: 156-60. MILLER, M.C. 1998, Athens and Persia in the fifth century BC: A study in cultural receptivity, Cambridge. –––– 2007, The poetics of emulation in the Achaemenid world: The figured bowls of the ‘Lydian Treasure,’ AWE 6: 43-72. –––– 2010, Luxury toreutic in the western satrapies: Court-inspired gift-exchange diffusion, in: B. Jacobs & R. Rollinger (eds.), Der Achämenidenhof (CleO 2), Wiesbaden: 853897. NYLANDER, C. 1979, Achaemenid imperial art, in: M. Larsen (ed.), Power and propaganda: A symposium on ancient empires (Mesopotamia 7), Copenhagen: 345-59. ROOT, M.C. 1979, The king and kingship in Achaemenid art: Essays on the creation of an iconography of empire (AI 19), Leiden. –––– 1984, The art of seals, a gallery guide: Aesthetic and social dynamics of the impressed image from antiquity to the present, Ann Arbor. –––– 1985, The Parthenon frieze and the Apadana reliefs at Persepolis: Reassessing a programmatic relationship, AJA 89: 103-22. –––– 1991, From the Heart: Powerful Persianisms in the art of the western empire, in: AchHist 6, Leiden: 1-29. –––– 1993, Contextualizing ancient Near Eastern art, Topoi 3: 217-45. –––– 1994, Lifting the veil: Approaches to the study of artistic transmission beyond the boundaries of historical periodisation, in: AchHist 8, Leiden: 9-37. –––– 2007, Reading Persepolis in Greek: Gifts of the Yauna, in: C. Tuplin (ed.), Persian Responses: Political and cultural interaction with(in) the Achaemenid empire, Swansea: 177-224. –––– 2008, Reading Persepolis in Greek, part two: Marrriage metaphors and unmanly virtues, in: S.M.R. Darbandi & A. Zournatzi (eds.), Ancient Greece and ancient Iran: Cross-cultural encounters, Athens: 195-221.

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SANCISI-WEERDENBURG, H.W.A.M. 1990, The quest for an elusive empire, in: AchHist 4, Leiden: 263-74. SEIDL, U. 1994, Achaimenidische Entlehnungen aus der urartäischen Kultur, in: AchHist 8, Leiden: 107-29.