From Republic to Empire: Rhetoric, Religion, and Power in the Visual Culture of Ancient Rome 9780806142586, 2012013825

Table of contents :
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
List of Illustrations
Preface
Acknowledgments
List of Abbreviations
Introduction
Chapter I. Ritualizing Death in Republican Rome: Memory, Religion, Class Struggle, and the Wax Ancestral Mask: Tradition’s Origin and Influence on Veristic Portraiture
Chapter II. The Leader and the Divine: Official and Nonofficial Modes of Representation
Chapter III. The Cult Statue of Julius Caesar and Heroic and Divine Imagery of Deified Leaders in the Late Republic and Early Principate
Chapter IV. From Warrior to Statesman in Art and Ideology: Octavian/Augustus and the Image of Alexander the Great
Appendix: Triumphal Frieze of the Actian Victory Monument at Nikopolis
Chapter V. The Ideology of “Peace through Victory” and the Ara Pacis Augustae: Visual Rhetoric and the Creation of a Dynastic Narrative
Appendix A: The “Aeneas Panel” of the Ara Pacis
Appendix B: The Mausoleum of Augustus and Its Quadrigate Imagery
Appendix C: The Ustrinum Augusti
Chapter VI. The Acanthus of the Ara Pacis as an Apolline and Dionysiac Symbol of Anamorphosis, Anakyklosis, and Numen Mixtum
Chapter VII. The Smaller Cancelleria (“Vicomagistri”) Reliefs and Julio-Claudian Imperial Altars: Limitations of the Evidence and Problems in Interpretation
Appendix: The Ara Providentiae Augustae, Colossal Seated Statue of Augustus, and Julio-Claudian Ideology
Chapter VIII. The “Insanity” of Caligula or the“Insanity” of the Jews? Differences in Perception and Religious Beliefs
Appendix: The Portraiture of Caligula—Myth, Reality, and Contemporary Attempts at Polychromy
Chapter IX. “Star Power” in Imperial Rome: Astral Theology, Castorian Imagery, and the Dual Heirs in the Transmission of Leadership
Conclusion
Color Plates
Bibliography
General Index
Index of Museums and Collections

Citation preview

from Republic to E mpire Rhetoric, Religion, and Power in the Visual Culture of Ancient Rome john p ol l i ni

From Republic to Empire

From Republic to Empire Rhetoric, Religion, and Power in the Visual Culture of Ancient Rome

John Pollini

University of Oklahoma Press | Norman

Also by John Pollini The Portraiture of Gaius and Lucius Caesar (New York, 1987) Gallo-Roman Bronzes and the Process of Romanization: The Cobannus Hoard (Leiden, The Netherlands, 2002) The de Nion Head: A Masterpiece of Archaic Greek Sculpture (Mainz am Rhein, Germany, 2003) (ed.) Terra Marique: Studies in Art History and Marine Archaeology in Honor of Anna Marguerite McCann (Oxford, 2005)

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Pollini, John. From republic to empire : rhetoric, religion, and power in the visual culture of ancient Rome / John Pollini.—1st    p.    cm.—(Oklahoma series in classical culture ; v. 48) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-8061-4258-6 (hardcover: alk. paper) 1. Art—Political aspects—Rome. 2. Art, Roman. 3. Visual communication—Political aspects—Rome. 4. Art and society—Rome. I. Title. N72.P6P655 2012 709.38—dc23 2012013825

From Republic to Empire: Rhetoric, Religion, and Power in the Visual Culture of Ancient Rome is Volume 48 in the Oklahoma Series in Classical Culture.

The paper in this book meets the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Committee on Production Guidelines for Book Longevity of the Council on Library Resources, Inc. ∞ Copyright © 2012 by the University of Oklahoma Press, Norman, Publishing Division of the University. Manufactured in the U.S.A. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the United States Copyright Act— without the prior written permission of the University of Oklahoma Press. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

IVNONI FORTVNAEQVE VXORIS SVAE OMNIVM FEMINARVM OPTIMAE ET ROMVLORVM MATRI HOC OPVS DONVM DEDIT AVCTOR

Contents



List of Illustrations  viii Preface xvii Acknowledgments xxi List of Abbreviations xxiii 

Introduction 3 I. Ritualizing Death in Republican Rome: Memory, Religion, Class Struggle, and the Wax Ancestral Mask Tradition’s Origin and Influence on Veristic Portraiture  13 II. The Leader and the Divine: Official and Nonofficial Modes of Representation 69 Appendix: A Colossal Statue of Titus or Domitian and the Neokorate Temples of Ephesos  116 III. The Cult Statue of Julius Caesar and Heroic and Divine Imagery of Deified Leaders in the Late Republic and Early Principate  133 IV. From Warrior to Statesman in Art and Ideology: Octavian/ Augustus and the Image of Alexander the Great  162 Appendix: Triumphal Frieze of the Actian Victory Monument at Nikopolis  191 V. The Ideology of “Peace through Victory” and the Ara Pacis Augustae: Visual Rhetoric and the Creation of a Dynastic Narrative 204 Appendix A: The “Aeneas Panel” of the Ara Pacis  242 Appendix B: The Mausoleum of Augustus and Its Quadrigate Imagery   248 Appendix C: The Ustrinum Augusti  257

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VI. The Acanthus of the Ara Pacis as an Apolline and Dionysiac Symbol of Anamorphosis, Anakyklosis, and Numen Mixtum 271 VII. The Smaller Cancelleria (“Vicomagistri”) Reliefs and JulioClaudian Imperial Altars: Limitations of the Evidence and Problems in Interpretation  309 Appendix: The Ara Providentiae Augustae, Colossal Seated Statue of Augustus, and Julio-Claudian Ideology  354 VIII. The “Insanity” of Caligula or the “Insanity” of the Jews? Differences in Perception and Religious Beliefs  369  Appendix: The Portraiture of Caligula—Myth, Reality,   and Contemporary Attempts at Polychromy  397 IX. “Star Power” in Imperial Rome: Astral Theology, Castorian Imagery, and the Dual Heirs in the Transmission of Leadership  412 Conclusion 455

Bibliography 489 General Index 525 Index of Museums and Collections



546

c on ten ts v ii

Illustrations

Figures i.1. Grave relief  15 i.2. Barberini Togatus 16 i.3. Plan of Forum of Augustus  22 i.4. Colossal statue of Genius Augusti  24 i.5. Colossal statue of Mars Ultor  25 i.6. Domestic shrine with images  27 i.7. Portrait bust in aedicula 27 i.8. Wall painting of a ritualistic meal  28 i.9. Statue of Numa Pompilius  38 i.10. Denarius, 54 b.c.e. 38 i.11. Terracotta head  40 i.12. Invented image of Homer  43 i.13 Invented image of Hesiod (?)  43 i.14. Hellenistic portrait of a Greek  43 i.15. Hellenistic portrait of an Egyptian priest  43 i.16. Roman Republican portrait of a man  44 i.17. Roman Republican portrait of a man  44 i.18. Roman Republican portrait of a man  44 i.19. Gold stater, 196 b.c.e. 44 i.20. Statue of Roman general  45 i.21. Denarius, ca. 50 b.c.e. 46 i.22. “Capitoline Brutus”  47 i.23. Republican portrait of a Roman or Italian  48 i.24. Portrait of “Marius”  49 i.25. Portrait of “Sulla”  49 i.26. Portrait of Cato the Younger  49 i.27. Portrait of Gn. Pompey the Great  50 i.28. Portrait of M. Licinius Crassus  50 i.29. Portrait of M. Licinius Crassus  50

viii

i.30. Portrait of Gn. Pompey the Great  50 i.31. Portrait of C. Iulius Caesar  51 i.32. Portrait of C. Iulius Caesar  51 i.33. Portrait of an unknown man of the Late Republic  53 i.34. Portrait of Ronald Reagan by Robbie Conal  53 i.35. Portrait from a Roman grave relief  54 i.36. Portrait of an unknown Roman  54 ii.1. Denarius, 125 b.c.e. 72 ii.2. Cistophoric silver tetradrachm, 39 b.c.e. 73 ii.3. Denarius, ca. 31–29 b.c.e. 73 ii.4. Denarius, ca. 29–27 b.c.e. 74 ii.5. Relief with statue of Vesta, Vestal Virgins, and Augustus  77 ii.6. Denarius, 13 b.c.e. 78 ii.7. Bronze coin of Pergamon, before 2 b.c.e. 78 ii.8. Marble head of Julia, daughter of Augustus  78 ii.9. Dupondius, ca. 7 b.c.e. 80 ii.10. Dais of Diocletianic Curia  81 ii.11. Sestertius, 192 c.e. 81 ii.12. Denarius, 17–16 b.c.e. 82 ii.13. Denarius, 29–27 b.c.e. 82 ii.14. Reconstruction of Actian Arch  82 ii.15. Denarius of L. Vinicius, 17–16 b.c.e. 83 ii.16. Reconstruction of Parthian Arch  83 ii.17. Gemma Augustea  84 ii.18. “Tiberius Cup”  86 ii.19. “Augustus Cup”  87 ii.20. Seated statue of Augustus  89 ii.21. Seated statue of Livia  89 ii.22. Sestertius, Antonine period  90



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ii.23. Cast of relief showing pediment of Temple of Mars Ultor  90 ii.24. Bronze statue of Divus Augustus  91 ii.25. Seated statue of Augustus  91 ii.26. Seated statue of Augustus  92 ii.27. Dupondius, ca. 41–50 c.e. 94 ii.28. Grand Camée de France  95 ii.29. Inscribed marble statue base  96 ii.30. Sestertius, 22–23 c.e. 97 ii.31. Marble relief and aureus showing Tiberius  98–99 ii.32. As, 64–66 c.e. 99 ii.33. Sestertius, 37–38 c.e. 101 ii.34. Sestertius, 40–41 c.e. 102 ii.35. Sestertius, 64 c.e. 102 ii.36. Reconstruction of Parthian Arch of Nero  103 ii.37. Larger Cancelleria Reliefs  104 ii.38. Sestertius, 92–94 c.e. 104 ii.39. Arch of Trajan at Beneventum  106–107 ii.40. Colossal head and left forearm of Titus or Domitian  108 ii.41. Reconstruction of colossal statue of Titus or Domitian  109 ii.42. Statue of Divus Vespasianus  110 ii.43. Statue of Divus Titus  110 ii.44. Bronze equestrian statue of Domitian/Nerva  111 ii.45. Tetradrachm, Claudian date  112 ii.46. Coin of Tralles, ca. 198–211 c.e. 112 ii.47. Brass coin, 29–35 c.e. 113 ii.48. Cistophoric tetradrachm, Hadrianic date  113 ii.49. Cistophoric tetradrachm, Hadrianic date  114 ii.50. Cistophoric tetradrachm, Hadrianic date  114 ii.51. Plan of Upper Agora at Ephesos  116 ii.52. Bronze coin, 218–222 c.e. 117 iii.1. Plan of Roman Forum  134 iii.2. Present remains of Temple of Divus Iulius and altar  135 iii.3. Aureus, ca. 36 b.c.e. 135 iii.4. Seminude statue of Augustus  136 iii.5. Denarius, ca. 40 b.c.e. 137 iii.6. Reconstruction of Divus Iulius in his temple  138 iii.7. Augustus as augur  139 iii.8. Silver lituus 139 iii.9. Cameo of apotheosis of Claudius  139

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iii.10. Apotheosis of Romulus on “Belvedere Altar”  141 iii.11. Terracotta relief from Via Cassia  144 iii.12. Denarius, 12 b.c.e. 145 iii.13. Relief from Carthage  146 iii.14. Denarius, 17 b.c.e. 147 iii.15. Dupondius, ca. 21–22 c.e. 149 iii.16. Sestertius, ca. 22–23 c.e. 149 iii.17. Portrait of Augustus (Type III)  149 iii.18. Detail of Divus Augustus on the Ravenna Relief  150 iii.19. Dupondius, Caligulan period  151 iii.20. Reconstruction of Colossus set up by Nero  152 iii.21. As, 64–66 c.e. 153 iii.22. Aureus, 64–66 c.e. 153 iv.1. Stele of Naram-Sin  162 iv.2. Azara Herm of Alexander the Great  163 iv.3. Reconstruction of the Forum of Julius Caesar  164 iv.4. Bronze equestrian statue of Alexander the Great  165 iv.5. Octavian (Type III)  167 iv.6. Head of Alexander  167 iv.7. Sestertius, 40–38 b.c.e. 168 iv.8. Denarius, ca. 38 b.c.e. 168 iv.9. Denarius, ca. 31 b.c.e. 169 iv.10. “Rondanini” Alexander  171 iv.11. Carnelian gemstone  172 iv.12. Portrait of Augustus (Type IV)  173 iv.13. “Schwarzenberg” Alexander  173 iv.14. “Fouquet” Alexander  174 iv.15. Statue of Augustus from Prima Porta  176–77 iv.16. Battle scene on “Alexander Sarcophagus”  179 iv.17. Battle scene on Victory Monument of L. Aemilius Paullus  iv.18. Ara Pacis Augustae  180 iv.19. Sesterius, 64–68 c.e. 181 iv.20. As, 65–66 c.e. 181 iv.21. Frieze from Apollo Sosianus Temple showing battle scene  iv.22. Modern reconstruction of the Doryphoros by Polykleitos  iv.23. Five-shekel coin, 326–323 b.c.e. 189 iv.24. Painting from Pompeii  189 iv.25. Denarius, 69–70 c.e. 190 iv.26. Reconstructed podium of the Actian Victory Monument 



179

184 188

191

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iv.27. Reconstructed altar and statues of the Actian Victory Monument  192 iv.28. Reconstructed altar of the Actian Victory Monument  192 iv.29. Section of Actian Victory Monument altar frieze  192 v.1. Section of Column of Trajan  205 v.2. Section of Column of Marcus Aurelius  205 v.3. Model of the Ara Pacis  206 v.4. Plan of the Ara Pacis  206 v.5. Plan of Campus Martius  211 v.6. Ancient bronze globe  214 v.7. Shadows cast by the obelisk  214–15 v.8. Plan of area of Palazzo di Montecitorio  216 v.9. Plan of Campus Martius  218 v.10. Front (west) side of the Ara Pacis  220 v.11. Augurium of Lavinium, Ara Pacis  221 v.12. Augurium of the Lupercal, Ara Pacis  222 v.13. Model of south side of the Ara Pacis  224 v.14. Model of north side of the Ara Pacis  224 v.15. Compared processional friezes of the Ara Pacis  225 v.16. Augustus in south processional frieze, Ara Pacis  226 v.17. Hand holding a lituus 227 v.18. Back (east) side of the Ara Pacis  229 v.19. Roma panel, Ara Pacis  230 v.20. Relief scene of Roma on altar from Carthage  230 v.21. Sestertius, 65 c.e. 231 v.22. Tellus Italiae panel, Ara Pacis  232 v.23. Reconstructed south side of the Ara Pacis  233 v.24. Inner altar of the Ara Pacis  235 v.25. Altar table frieze, Ara Pacis  235 v.26. Inner altar of the Ara Pacis  236 v.27. Reconstructed sketch of Ara Pacis  236 v.28. Fragments of inner altar frieze, Ara Pacis  238 v.29. Fragments of inner altar frieze, Ara Pacis  240 v.30. Denarius, 49 b.c.e. 242 v.31. Child’s sarcophagus from the Via Cassia  244 v.32. Detail of the Aeneas panel of the Ara Pacis  245 v.33. Mausoleum Augusti  248–49 v.34. Line drawing of the reconstructed Mausoleum Augusti  249 v.35. Reconstruction of the Mausoleum Augusti  249 v.36. Laurels on a relief fragment from the Mausoleum Augusti  250

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v.37. Relief fragment of Augustus’ Clipeus Virtutis 250 v.38. Inscribed Clipeus Virtutis relief  250 vi.1. Central section of floral scroll relief on the Ara Pacis  274 vi.2. Silver amphora from Nicopol (Chertomlyk)  276 vi.3. Pergamene floral scroll slab from altar  277 vi.4. Section of north scroll frieze of the Ara Pacis  279 vi.5. Section of north scroll frieze of the Ara Pacis  281 vi.6. Double winglike palmette finial of Late Classical grave stele  283 vi.7. Statue of Apollo with swan  287 vi.8. Late fifth century red-figure calyx krater  290 vi.9. Reconstruction of colossal acanthus column at Delphi  291 vi.10. Line drawing of doorpost of Temple of Apollo Palatinus  292 vi.11. Marble tripod decorated with acanthus, ivy, and laurel  293 vi.12. Section of frieze from Temple of Divus Iulius  295 vi.13. Relief with snake ascending treelike candelabrum  297 VI.14. Section of north scroll frieze of the Ara Pacis with lituus-like vines  299  vii.1. Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs A and B conjoined  310 vii.2. Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs A and B separated  310 vii.3. Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs A and B  310 vii.4. Four prominent togati and four ministrants in Relief A  312 vii.5. Beginning of procession in Relief B  314 vii.6. Tibicen carved partly on Relief A, partly on Relief B  315 vii.7. Reconstruction of postulated missing section of Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs  316 vii.8. Three plans for the location of Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs A and B  317 vii.9. Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs A and B correctly conjoined  318 vii.10. Detail of tubicines in Relief B  319 vii.11. Detail of break in Reliefs A and B and sketch of molding  320 vii.12. Detail of head of right-hand riciniatus 323 vii.13. Detail of head of middle riciniatus 323 vii.14. Detail of head of left-hand riciniatus 323 vii.15. Fragmentary section of relief with boy ministrants  324 vii.16. Gaius Caesar on north side of the Ara Pacis  325 vii.17. Detail of foreground of Smaller Cancelleria Relief A  327 vii.18. Denarius, 29–27 b.c.e. 331 vii.19. Herm of C. Caecilius Iucundus  332 vii.20. Valle-Medici Relief showing Temple of the Magna Mater  336 vii.21. Valle-Medici Relief showing Temple of Mars Ultor  336 vii.22. Fragment of Valle-Medici Relief with flamen 337



il lu stration s x iii

vii.23. Fragment of Valle-Medici Relief with boy ministrant  337 vii.24. Fragment of a relief from 1923 excavations  338 vii.25. Fragment of a relief block showing banqueting Vestal Virgins  339 vii.26. Fragment of a relief block showing flaming candelabrum  340 vii.27. Fragment of relief with togati in procession  341 vii.28. Fragment of the pulvinus of an altar table  341 vii.29. Fragment of relief showing the circular Temple of Vesta  341 vii.30. Fragment of relief showing corona civica 342 vii.31. Fragment of relief with section of roof  342 vii.32. Fragment of relief with parts of a togatus 343 vii.33. Author’s postulated plan of inner altar  347 vii.34. Left corner of Relief A  348 vii.35. Right corner of Relief B  348 vii.36. Author’s plan of inner altar podium  350 vii.37. As, 31–32 c.e. 354 vii.38. As, 77–78 c.e. 354 vii.39. Reconstructed Augustan monuments and Ara Providentiae Augustae 356 viii.1. Sestertius, 37–38 c.e. 382 viii.2. Statue of the Genius of Caligula  384 viii.3. Portrait of Caligula  385 viii.4. Bust of the Numen of Caracalla/ Constantine  386 viii.5. Jupiter-like statue of Claudius  388–89 ix.1. Tomb of Amenhotep II  412 ix.2. Alignment of the three great pyramids  413 ix.3. Alignment of the three stars in the Belt of Orion/Osiris  413 ix.4. Relationship between the three stars and the three great pyramids  413 ix.5. Denarius, 44 b.c.e. 415 ix.6. Denarius, 18–17 b.c.e. 415 ix.7. Denarius, 31–29 b.c.e. 416 ix.8. Ravenna Relief  417 ix.9. Capricorn superimposed on solar disc on Gemma Augustea  418 ix.10. Heroized Germanicus on Ravenna Relief  418 ix.11. Support of the statue of Augustus from Prima Porta  421 ix.12. Denarius, 13 b.c.e. 421 ix.13. Bronze tablet of the Lex de Imperio Vespasiano 422 ix.14. Athenian votive relief  424 ix.15. Present ruins of the Temple of the Castores  425

xi v i l lu strations

ix.16. Castores from the Temple of the Castores  426 ix.17. Denarius, 209 b.c.e. 426 ix.18. Plastic vase of head of the deified Alexander the Great  428 ix.19. Aureus, 37–38 c.e. 428 ix.20. Augustan Lares altar with two bullae 429 ix.21. Cast of a relief from Como  430 ix.22. Statues of Gaius Caesar and Lucius Caesar  431 ix.23. Statue of one of the Castores  432 ix.24. Plan of Roman Agora and reconstruction of statue of Lucius Caesar  433 ix.25. Sestertius, 22–23 c.e. 436 ix.26. Dupondius, 40–41 c.e. 436 ix.27. Sestertius, 71 c.e. 438 ix.28. Relief from the “Parthian Monument” at Ephesos  439 ix.29. Aes medallion, 140–143 c.e. 440 ix.30. Aes medallion, 161–165 c.e. 440 ix.31. Aes medallion, 155 c.e. 441 ix.32. Aureus, 177–178 c.e. 441 ix.33. Sestertius, 161 c.e. 442 ix.34. Aes medallion, 185 c.e. 442 ix.35. Aes medallion, 187 c.e. 442 ix.36. Inscription of Septimius Severus  443 ix.37. Aureus, ca. 204–207 c.e. 444 ix.38. Denarius, ca. 204–207 c.e. 444 ix.39. Statues of the Castores  445 Color Plates I. Reconstruction of Forum of Augustus  465 II. Hemicycle in Forum of Augustus  466 III. Reconstructed Hall of the Colossus  467 IV. Fresco with masked Etruscan performer (Phersu)  468 V. Aureus of Sulla, 82 b.c.e. 469 VI. Sestertius, 37–38 c.e. 469 VII. Dupondius, after 22 c.e. 469 VIII. Aureus, 112–117 c.e. 469 IX. Dupondius, 64 c.e. 469 X. 1878 engraving after a wall relief of Ramesses II  470 XI. “Alexander Mosaic”  471



il lu stration s xv

XII. Detail of the “Alexander Mosaic”  471 XIII. Tetradrachm, ca. 297–296 b.c.e. 472 XIV. Bronze statue of Germanicus  472 XV. Augustus’ Actian Victory Monument  473 XVI. Aureus, 140–144 c.e. 473 XVII. Colorized reconstruction of the Ara Pacis  474 XVIII. Plan of Campus Martius  475 XIX. Aerial view of reconstructed Augustan monuments  476 XX. Optimum view of Augustan monuments  476 XXI. Reconstructed Ustrinum Augusti (frontal view)  476 XXII. Reconstructed Ustrinum Augusti (aerial view)  477 XXIII. Reconstructed Ustrinum Augusti in the Campus Martius, seen from the south  477 XXIV. Colorized reconstruction of the Aeneas Panel, Ara Pacis  478 XXV. Reconstruction of the front (east side), Ara Pacis  479 XXVI. Reconstructed model of the Mausoleum Augusti  480 XXVII. Aerial perspective of model of the Mausoleum Augusti  480 XXVIII. Detail of the model  481 XXIX. Reconstructed model of the Mausoleum Augusti  482 XXX. Reconstructed model of the Mausoleum Augusti  482 XXXI. Reconstructed console of model of the Mausoleum Augusti  483 XXXII. Acanthus mollis, Capitoline Arx, Rome  484 XXXIII. Acanthus calyx at foot of cross on mosaic, San Clemente  485 XXXIV. Portrait of Caligula  486 XXXV. Colorized portrait of Caligula (Version B)  487 XXXVI. Colorized portrait of Caligula (Version C)  487 XXXVII. Octodrachm, third century b.c.e. 488 XXXVIII. Castores (Dioskouroi) at the Battle of Lake Regillus  488 XXXIX. Aureus, 2 b.c.e. 488 XL. Aureus, 81–84 c.e. 488 XLI. Aureus, ca. 201–202 c.e. 488

xvi i l lustrations

preface

T 

his volume contains several chapters that derive from papers that I have presented over the past few years at international conferences. Chapters II, III, VII, and VIII are based on papers given at symposia titled “Roman Imperial Ideology” held between 2000 and 2003 at the Villa Vergiliana in Cuma (Naples), Italy. This annual series of conference papers was sponsored by the Vergilian Society in conjunction with the University of Oklahoma in Norman and organized by Professor J. Rufus Fears of the Department of Classics at the University of Oklahoma, who suggested that I submit these papers, together with other essays, for publication by the University of Oklahoma Press. Chapter IV is based on a paper that I gave at the conference “The Art of Warfare,” held at the Michael C. Carlos Museum at Emory University in 2007 and organized by Dr. Jasper Gaunt, Curator of Ancient Art at the Carlos Museum. Chapter IX contains many of the ideas that I presented in 2004 at the symposium “The Interaction of Indigenous and Foreign Cults in Magna Graecia” at the Villa Vergiliana, which was sponsored by the Vergilian Society, Brandeis University, and the University of Salerno and organized by Professor Patricia Johnston and Professor Giovanni Casadio. Papers delivered at three other international conferences that were subsequently published appear here in updated, revised, and in some cases expanded form. “Ritualizing Death in Republican Rome: Memory, Religion, Class Struggle, and the Wax Ancestral Mask Tradition’s Origin and Influence on Veristic Portraiture” (chapter I) appeared in an earlier form in 2007 in Performing Death: Social Analyses of Funerary Traditions in the Ancient Near East and Mediterranean (Oriental Institute Seminars 3, University of Chicago), edited by Nicola Laneri, 237–85 (now in a second edition). Chapter V is a much expanded revision (with new computer models) of “‘Frieden-durch-Sieg’ Ideologie und die Ara Pacis Augustae: Bildrhetorik und die Schöpfung einer dynastischen Erzählweise,” published in 2002 in Krieg und Sieg: Narrative Wanddarstellungen von Altägypten bis ins Mittelalter (Internationales Kolloquium 23.–30. Juli

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1997 im Schloss Heindorf, Langenlois; Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften XXIV), edited by Manfred Bietak and Mario Schwarz, 137–59. A third paper, “The Acanthus of the Ara Pacis as an Apolline and Dionysiac Symbol of Anamorphosis, Anakyklosis, and Numen Mixtum” (chapter VI), was originally published in 1993 in Von der Bauforschung zur Denkmalpflege: Festschrift für Alois Machatschek, edited by Martin Kubelík and Mario Schwarz, 181–217. These essays have been included in updated and revised form because of the importance of the matters they address. In the case of chapter I, the Oriental Institute’s seminar series is well known to those involved in the archaeology and culture of the Near East and Egypt; however, those in Greek and Roman art and archaeology are less familiar with it. The other two essays were published in limited print runs and are consequently less widely available, and one of them was originally written, delivered, and published in German. I have consequently translated that paper and publish the revised and expanded version here in English for the first time. The chapters are presented in a roughly chronological order; however, given the nature of the different topics considered, some overlap is inevitable. Certain monuments and works of art, as well as terms and concepts, come up in more than one chapter. In those cases, I have referred the reader to other chapters in which given objects and subjects are more fully discussed in the text, notes, or both. To avoid interrupting the flow of the narrative, I have presented certain relevant side issues that require more extensive discussion in appendices to some chapters. For abbreviations of secondary literature (books, articles, and other essays), I have followed the style and abbreviated citations of the American Journal of Archaeology (AJA). Those abbreviations not found in AJA are included in my own list that follows. If more than one article or book appeared in the same year for a given author, the year is followed by a lowercase letter: for example, Pollini (1990a) or (1990b). The translations of the Greek and Latin cited here are my own. In some cases I have not provided a direct translation of a passage but have paraphrased it, while citing the original Greek or Latin for those specialists who would like to compare the original text. In certain cases I have not translated quotations in modern foreign languages familiar to scholars in the field. If the English meaning of a Latin word is obvious, I have also omitted that translation. For the citation of primary literature (classical authors and their texts), I follow the list of abbreviations in the Oxford Classical Dictionary (third edition). Abbreviations not in OCD3 will be found in Liddell and Scott’s GreekEnglish Lexicon (Oxford 1968) and the Oxford Latin Dictionary (Oxford 1982).

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The spelling of Latin and Greek proper names and places in English is always a problem. As much as possible, I have tried to retain Greek spellings for Greek people and places, rather than their Latinate forms. In cases in which people and places are known to the majority of readers today, I have used the common English spelling (e.g., “Rome” instead of “Roma”). When I speak of Julius Caesar, who was elevated to divine status after his death, I refer to him either as the “deified Julius Caesar” or by the Latin “Divus Iulius” (rather than “Divus Julius”). I have tried to avoid as much as possible modern monarchical terms like “emperor,” “empress,” or “prince.” I have retained the term “imperial,” as it refers to the holders of imperium (legal power), which came to be monopolized by the Caesars and the male members of their houses. I also speak of a Roman “Empire” (Imperium Romanum), which Rome had already come to possess in the Republic. “Dynasty” and “dynastic” are employed in the sense of a private family dynasty, not as an expression of an official monarchical dynasty. There is also the sometimes complicated matter of capitalization and italicization. We see the problem particularly with the word genius, referring to the divine procreative spirit of a Roman male. When it denotes specifically the genius of the head of the Roman State, I have capitalized it as Genius. I have adopted this usage simply because it seems the best way to differentiate the genius of an ordinary man from that of the Pater Patriae (“Father of the Country”). The usage of this term is not standardized in the writings of others. When referring to the Genius Augusti, the personification of the Genius of Augustus or his successors, I have capitalized but not italicized the words because they are commonly, though not universally, not italicized. A further and analogous problem arises when referring to the numen, the numinous divine force or spirit. Numen is capitalized and italicized here in referring to the Numen of the leader of the Roman State but not italicized when referring specifically to the Numen Augusti. I have tried to be as consistent as possible, although consistency seems to have been a rather foreign concept in antiquity. Figures are integrated in the chapters and in a number of cases are referenced more than once from chapter to chapter. Accordingly, I have used the following designation: “(fig. IV.3),” for figure 3 in chapter IV, for example. This also helps to remind the reader of the chapter in which the object, plan, or reconstruction is first discussed. In some cases, I have used lowercase letters to indicate different views of the same object or some specific connection (for example, fig. V.36a–b). Color plates appear at the end of the book. For those essays initially published elsewhere, I have replaced a number of illustrations with better-quality or additional images. Although I would have preferred dating by a.u.c. (ab Urbe Condita, “from the founding of the City”), I have used b.c.e. (Before the



preface x ix

Common Era) and c.e. (Common Era), which are more commonly used now, at least in American publications, than the older designations b.c. and a.d. (used in some of my previously published essays that are updated and revised in this volume). Because this book is designed to reach an audience wider than that for scholarly articles, I have endeavored to define technical terms as may seem necessary. Those who desire more information on various terms, people, and places may also consult OCD3 or Der Neue Pauly (now translated into English as The New Pauly). Much is also available online, of course, although websites should be used with great caution because of problems with their accuracy or reliability— caveat lector! A particularly useful new online source for bibliography for individual Roman monuments is the “Oxford Bibliographies Online” (http://www .oxfordbibliographiesonline.com), which I became aware of only after completing the manuscript of this book. Additions are ongoing. If an ancient object has been moved to a new location or storage area, I have indicated in the text or notes where it is currently to be found.

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Acknowledgments

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irst and foremost, I would like to thank the National Endowment for the Humanities for its fellowship support and the University of Southern California for several grants to carry out the research for this book. I would also like to express my gratitude to the Anne and Henry Zarrow Foundation for its generous subvention that enables the publication of the numerous illustrations in this work. Special thanks are owed, above all, to Professor Emerita Janina Darling and Professor Peter Holliday, who read the entire penultimate manuscript and offered their expertise in both editorial comments and corrections. I am indebted as well to the two referees of the University of Oklahoma Press, Professor J. Rufus Fears and Professor Steven Tuck, who read the first draft of the manuscript, and to the following scholars, who read and offered very helpful comments on individual chapters: Dr. Edward Zarrow for chapters II and III; Professor Frank Romer for an early version of chapter VIII; and Professor Olga Palagia for chapter IX. In addition, I would like to express my appreciation to Professor Paul Scotton for discussing with me aspects of the Julian Basilica at Corinth and Joseph Geranio for helping me with numismatic matters and digitized images of coins. For discussions over the years on a variety of subjects dealt with here and for other assistance and information, I would also like to thank my former graduate students Professor Barbette Spaeth, Professor Patricia Butz, Dr. Peter Schertz, Dr. Catie Mihalopoulos, Professor Roger Von Dippe, and Professor Candace Weddle. I am particularly grateful to Nicholas Cipolla, who collaborated with me in the production of computer models and some of the plans and illustrations used in chapter V and for the countless hours that he spent creating and correcting them. These models are part of an ongoing virtual reality project focusing on the Augustan monuments in the northern Campus Martius for which a grant from the Taggart Foundation is gratefully acknowledged. For other digitized images used in chapters I and V, I thank especially Drs. Claudio Parisi Presicce, Orietta Rossini, and Lucrezia

x x i

Ungaro. For a number of the images used in various chapters, I am indebted to William Storage and Robert Freeman. I have also acknowledged images acquired from other friends and colleagues in the captions. I am grateful, too, to Dr. Orietta Rossini, Dr. Marilda De Nuccio, and Dr. Angela Carbonaro for their assistance in locating fragments belonging to the Ara Gentis Iuliae. I would like to thank as well the many individuals with whom I have had discussions either privately or at various conferences or who have helped in other ways over the years, especially the curators and their assistants at the numerous museums in Europe and the United States where I have carried out work in connection with this project. Some I have thanked specifically in my notes for their indispensable help with certain aspects of my research. I am grateful to the University of Oklahoma Press, particularly former editor John Drayton, manuscript editor Steven B. Baker, and acquisitions editor Alessandra Jacobi Tamulevich, as well as freelance copyeditor Kathy Burford Lewis and, in the production department, Emmy Ezzell and Anna María Rodríguez for seeing this publication through to completion. Finally, and most importantly, I would like to express my heartfelt appreciation to my ever-patient wife, Phyllis, who read my manuscript at various stages and prepared the index. She offered many suggestions that I believe help to make this work more accessible to those without a scholarly background in the field.

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Ac knowle d gme nts

Abbreviations

This list of abbreviations includes both primary and secondary sources not otherwise indicated in the standard abbreviation of periodicals, books, and series followed by the American Journal of Archaeology. BMC Ionia: R. Stuart Poole, ed., British Museum, Department of Coins and Medals: Ionia (London 1873–1929; repr. Bologna 1975–83) BMC Lydia: B. V. Head, A Catalogue of the Greek Coins of Lydia (London 1901; repr. Bologna 1964) BMCRE: H. Mattingly, Coins of the Roman Empire in the British Museum, I: Augustus to Vitellius (London 1923; repr. with revisions 1976); II: Vespasian to Domitian (1930); III: Nerva to Hadrian (1936); IV: Antoninus Pius to Commodus (1940) BMCRR: H. A. Grueber, Coins of the Roman Republic in the British Museum, I–III (London 1901; repr. 1970) CAH Plates IV: S. A. Cook, F. E. Adcock, M. P. Charlesworth, eds., The Cambridge Ancient History, 4th volume of plates (Cambridge 1934) CHCL: E. J. Kenney and W. V. Clausen, eds., The Cambridge History of Classical Literature, II.3: The Age of Augustus (Cambridge 1982) DNP: H. Cancik and H. Schneider, eds., Der Neue Pauly: Enzyklopaedie der Antike Altertum (Stuttgart 1996–) EV: Enciclopedia Virgiliana, I (Rome 1984) Friedländer: L. Friedländer, Roman Life and Manners under the Early Empire, trans. from the German, 6th ed. (London 1907–13) I. Eph.: H. Wankel, ed., Die Inschriften von Ephesos (Bonn 1979–84) Inscr. Ital.: A. Degrassi, Inscriptiones Italiae (Rome 1931–) IvP: M. Frankel, ed., Die Inscriften von Pergamon (Berlin 1890–95) JÖAI: Jahreshefte des Österreichischen Archäologischen Instituts in Wien MPC: G. Spinola, Il Museo Pio Clementino, I (Vatican City 1996), II (1999), III (2004)

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OCCAA: P. Murray and L. Murray, The Oxford Companion to Christian Art and Architecture (Oxford 1996) ODWR: J. Bowker, ed., The Oxford Dictionary of World Religions (Oxford 1997) OED: Oxford English Dictionary (Oxford 1971) OLD: P. G. W. Glare, ed., Oxford Latin Dictionary (Oxford 1982) POG: G. M. A. Richter, The Portraits of the Greeks, I–III (Ithaca 1965) RAC: T. Klauser, ed., Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum (Stuttgart 1950–) RG: Res Gestae Divi Augusti RIC2: C. H. V. Sutherland and R. A. G. Carson, eds., The Roman Imperial Coinage (rev. ed.; London 1984) RPC: A. Burnett, M. Amandry, and P.  P. Ripollès, Roman Provincial Coinage, I: From the Death of Caesar to the Death of Vitellius (44 BC–AD 69) (London 1992) RRC: M. Crawford, Roman Republican Coinage, I–II (Cambridge 1974) Serv. ad Aen.: G. Thulo and H. Hagen, eds., Servi Grammatici Qui Feruntur in Vergilii Carmina Commentarii (vol. I: Aeneid, books 1–5; vol. II: Aeneid, books 6–12) (Hildesheim 1961) Serv. ad Eclog.: G. Thulo and H. Hagen, eds., Servi Grammatici Qui Feruntur in Vergilii Carmina Commentarii (vol. III: Commentarius in Vergilii Bucolicon) (Hildesheim 1961) Serv. ad Georg.: G. Thulo and H. Hagen, eds., Servi Grammatici Qui Feruntur in Vergilii Carmina Commentarii (vol. III: Commentarius in Vergilii Georgicon) (Hildesheim 1961) SNG: Sylloge Nummorum Graecorum, Deutschland: Sammlung von Aulock, I–XVIII (Berlin 1957–68)

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From Republic to Empire

Introduction

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ncient art and artifacts have long been studied by art historians and archaeologists for their artistic, iconographical, and chronological value. Over the past forty years or so social historians have also become increasingly engaged with the material culture of antiquity for what it can tell us about ancient life.1 New directions and the application of new methodologies are welcome developments, though not the tendency of some to minimize the importance of iconography, which is fundamental, in the way that grammar and syntax are fundamental to any language. Since each approach has its limitations, a multipronged, interdisciplinary way of looking at the material cultural of the ancient world is essential and is the approach applied to the various issues and monuments examined here. As a cultural archaeologist, I am interested in how the Romans understood their religion, culture, and history in terms of their art and how they used, projected, and disseminated visual imagery as a means of honoring and commemorating themselves and their achievements. The temporal focus of this book is the later Roman Republic and earlier Empire, especially the age of Augustus, which was the pivotal period between Republic and Empire, when a new artistic vocabulary was developed to give form and meaning to a new ideology. In some chapters a broader time frame comes into play, with discussion of works and events from the earlier Republic (particularly in the first chapter) to the period of Septimius Severus at the end of the second century and the beginning of the third century c.e. (primarily in the final chapter). A variety of works are examined—coins, statues, reliefs—with particular emphasis on distinguishing between those that reflect the point of view of the Roman State and those that are private or otherwise nonofficial, including public monuments erected by local governments in Italy and the provinces. In the world of ancient Rome, political ideology and discourse were shaped and defined by rhetoric, religion, and power. In speaking of the official art of the Romans, I prefer the word “rhetoric” to the more commonly used “propaganda,” which is generally employed today pejoratively, often to characterize the ideologies of those branded as enemies of the state—foreign or domestic, real or

3

perceived.2 The word has also been used on occasion with reference to one’s own government when deception has been clearly demonstrated. But propaganda is not as black or white a concept as contemporary politicians might have us believe. In reality, it is far more subtle, especially in its more efficacious forms. Propaganda is often a nexus or amalgam of half-truths employed not merely to convey information but to deceive and influence a target audience’s opinions and behavior. It is also important to be aware that propaganda is not generated solely from the top down. Leaders, too, are subject to what Jacques Ellul has termed “sociological propaganda,” that is, the myths that members of a society or a group come to believe about themselves and their own belief systems.3 In current political usage—whether by politicians themselves or by a self-regulating public media—a euphemistic substitute for “propaganda” is “spin.” Although aspects of propaganda certainly existed in antiquity, as evidenced in the anti-Octavian and anti-Antony tracts and pamphlets that were disseminated in the civil war period of the Second Triumvirate, the word itself was not coined until the seventeenth century, when it was used by the Catholic Church in describing its efforts to propagate its religious ideology to counter attacks by those representing the Protestant Reformation.4 By contrast, the term “rhetoric” is not anachronistic; indeed, ars rhetorica was regarded as fundamental to advanced Greco-Roman education.5 Linguistically, rhetoric denotes the use of language in an artful and eloquent way to sway or persuade an audience to a particular point of view. In its epideictic form, ancient rhetoric could serve a highly didactic purpose, in that individuals could be held up not only for praise but also for blame and censure, since it was generally understood that no one, not even a hero like an Achilles or Herakles/Hercules, was perfect.6 When the highly sophisticated techniques of Greek rhetoric were introduced into Rome in the late Republic, Roman leaders were initially able to monopolize it for their own purposes because among their fellow citizens they were the ones who could read and study manuals of rhetoric in Greek. Realizing the potential danger that rhetoric might pose in the “wrong” hands as a tool of rabble-rousing demagogues,7 some members of the Greek-educated Roman aristocracy initially opposed teaching it in Latin, which would have made it more accessible to Rome’s nonelite class. The censors Licinius Crassus and Domitius Ahenobarbus even issued an edict in 92 b.c.e. against the teaching of rhetoric in Latin.8 Their efforts were in vain, however, because not long after that decree Latin manuals on rhetoric such as Rhetorica ad Herennium and Cicero’s De Inventione appeared. Rhetoric was too practical and useful a tool to remain the sole domain of the privileged.

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In their application to the official imagery of Roman state art, “rhetoric” and “rhetorical” are used here primarily in the sense of a certain eloquence in the visual presentation, communication, and commemoration of the ideals, virtues, and political programs of the leaders of the Roman State. The form of artistic rhetoric that we find employed in official Roman statuary and relief art is most akin to panegyric, what the Romans called laudatio, denoting that which is both praiseworthy and commemorative in nature. The image that a Roman leader sought to project and propagate was intended not just to win consensus with regard to his political goals but also to establish before man and gods that his virtues and achievements merited his being remembered in a positive light for all time.9 For the Romans, the preservation of renown through memoria was the essence of immortality. Thus, Roman leaders who distinguished themselves in life by their achievements, especially in behalf of the state, were entitled to live on not just in the private memory of their individual families but also in the commonly shared memory of the community.10 This memorialization took different forms, ultimately leading to the consecration and deification of great leaders of the Roman State, beginning with Julius Caesar in 42 b.c.e.11 Intimately bound up with memory, politics, and power—and integral to the fabric of the social and political life of Rome—was Roman religion, since it was believed that the state could function and prosper only if the pax deorum or pax deum (literally, “peace of the gods”) was achieved and maintained.12 For the gods to grant victory, peace, and prosperity to the Roman State, the Romans had to render them proper care through sacrifice and pious devotion. This cultivation of the gods is what is understood as a “cult” (i.e., cultus deorum) and is the essence of what the Romans meant by “religion” (religio)13—the reciprocal set of obligations between man and his gods. For the Romans, their success in war and peace, which resulted in the creation of the greatest empire of the ancient world, demonstrated that they were indeed the most religious of all peoples of antiquity, for why else would they have been so favored by the gods that Rome came to control most of the known Western world?14 When speaking of “Roman religion,” it would be a mistake to think of it as somehow monolithic in view of the fact that the Romans practiced many different forms of religion, both indigenous and foreign. Since variety is indeed the spice of life, the Romans were fortunate to have lived in a world full of gods. Although it would therefore be appropriate to speak in the plural of Roman religions, the focus of this book is principally on the state religion of Rome, which was under the supervision of its magistrates. Their responsibility was to look after not only the business of the Roman State—civic and military—but also the care of the state gods, whose goodwill was essential for the well-being of



In trodu ction 5

the state. Official state religion and private domestic worship often overlapped, especially in the case of the so-called imperial cult, which focused on the leader of the Roman State and served to bind together the many peoples of a far-flung Empire with diverse religious beliefs. A few considerations and caveats about Roman political imagery are in order in a work such as this. In the study of Roman relief art of a historical and political nature, a great deal of scholarly attention has been devoted to trying to decipher, deconstruct, and understand what is represented and what the imagery and imagistic codes meant, especially to those who commissioned this art or for whom it was commissioned. As part of the human condition, natural curiosity drives us to know about our past, though we often end up asking more questions about it than we can answer. Even so, we can at least try to engage with it, especially in considering the ideas and imagery of our common Western cultural heritage that had their roots in antiquity. And while we may never divine or decode the details, we may be able to understand aspects of this imagery in a broad ideological and cultural context. In the case of the Ara Pacis Augustae, for example, we may argue over identifying individuals, subjects, and details, but certain overriding themes and messages can be determined with reasonable certainty because of our knowledge of various elements of the political, social, and historical milieu in which this great Augustan monument was created. In such relief art, I am not overly concerned with the historicity of what is represented, since historic reality is difficult to establish, especially at a distance of over two thousand years. In art commemorating historical events or situations in some way, we are more often than not confronted—especially for the imperial period—with history not as it actually occurred but as it ought to have occurred.15 However, if an event or situation turned out in the desired way, it could be represented more or less accurately, with a measure of artistic license depending on the circumstances. In the iconosphere and iconoculture of ancient Rome, it is legitimate to ask to what extent viewers actively engaged with the imagery that surrounded them. Like people today, most ancient observers probably took note when new imagery was first introduced into their environment, but what did they think about such things and how much time did they devote to understanding them? Were individuals so bombarded with the imagery around them that they stopped “seeing” after a while, as they went about their everyday business?16 In the same way, many of us today simply stop seeing, turned off by the repetitive, at times mindnumbing commercial and political advertisements in various visual media. Because every bit and scrap of the very fragmentary past is so precious, scholars tend to pore endlessly over every artifact, scrutinizing its vocabulary

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and parsing its syntax in an attempt to understand what we are looking at. In our hermeneutic quest, we can err on the side of overinterpretation of the visual evidence. In our endeavor to understand or even reconstruct the past to some degree, we are in a number of ways more engaged with that remote time than were many of those who lived in it. For this reason, we should approach our study of material culture fully cognizant that our ideas and views about antiquity are highly imperfect and partial. Since there is always the risk of appearing too definitive in our interpretations, let me state for the record the obvious fact that my own opinions in a number of instances may be no more valid than those of others. Moreover, new archaeological evidence may alter in the future my own thinking about particular monuments and works. What I do hope to offer here are a number of new or different ways of looking at the material evidence that has come down to us thus far from the world of ancient Rome. This book is divided into nine chapters in which a variety of works of Roman art are interpreted within a historical and cultural context. Chapter I, “Ritualizing Death in Republican Rome: Memory, Religion, Class Struggle, and the Wax Ancestral Mask Tradition’s Origin and Influence on Veristic Portraiture,” investigates the tradition of ancestral wax masks (imagines) that played such an integral part in what it meant to be a Roman noble. Although none of the actual masks of the Roman elite has survived, a number of ancient literary sources provide information about what they looked like and how they functioned in Roman society, especially in the context of performative funerary and religious rites. These wax masks also served a didactic purpose, as they were intended not only to impress others with the prominence of the nobleman’s lineage but also to inculcate moral and civic values in members of the family. Young males of noble houses, in particular, were expected to emulate the illustrious achievements of their ancestors to bring further distinction to the family. Although ancestor worship and various forms of portraiture were practiced among the Etruscans and other early Italic peoples, the wax masks themselves appear to have been an entirely Roman invention to fulfill specifically Roman social, political, and ritualistic needs. Chapter I considers the origin of this ancestral wax mask tradition and offers a reassessment with regard to the impact it may have had on Roman sculptural portraiture, especially on so-called veristic images: that is, true-to-life portraits of not only members of the noble class but also the nonelite. Chapter II, “The Leader and the Divine: Official and Nonofficial Modes of Representation,” examines the different ways in which Roman leaders were represented in relation to the divine in the visual arts. This survey sets the



In trodu ction 7

background for the next chapter, to which it is closely related. Particularly significant is the way that the rhetoric and imagery of leadership responded to the evolving political situation, especially during the transition from Republic to Empire. The founding of the Principate in 27 b.c.e. by Octavian, now renamed Augustus, marked a turning point in the development of a new or reinvented artistic vocabulary that presented the leader of the Roman State, the Princeps, as “First Citizen” and “first among equals,” in keeping with the ideology and rhetoric of the Roman Republican system of government.17 Some modern historians, especially those who lived and wrote during the period of European fascism in the 1930s and 1940s, have vilified Augustus as a tyrant even after 27 b.c.e.; others in more recent years have portrayed him more favorably.18 I am less interested here in the reality of Augustus’ character than in ancient perceptions of him. How did he and his successors project themselves in official state media, and how and why may this imagery have differed from that created in the private sphere over time? Beginning with the Augustan Principate, essential distinctions are observed between works that are official from the point of view of the Roman State and those that belong to the realm of private or otherwise nonofficial art. Such differences encompass the use of divine symbols and attributes as well as the representation of the leader in a godlike fashion or mingling with divinities as intimate companions (comites)— a manner of representation reflecting Hellenistic encomium, rather than the traditions of the old Roman Republic, whether real or invented. The discussion of the imagery of leadership continues in chapter III, “The Cult Statue of Julius Caesar and Heroic and Divine Imagery of Deified Leaders in the Late Republic and Early Principate.” How did the Romans conceive of divinization? How did they come to terms in the late Republic with the elevation of the assassinated Julius Caesar to the status of a state god? In this context the chapter addresses the issue of how the deified Caesar (Divus Iulius) was represented, as the first true historical Roman personage to be officially voted divine status. Receiving particular scrutiny is our evidence for the physical appearance of the cult image of Divus Iulius that stood in his temple in the Roman Forum. Related matters are what models may have served for Caesar’s cult figure and how that image figured into the early political ideology of Caesar’s adopted son Octavian, who could now claim, in the unstable political milieu of the late Republic, the unique status of divi filius (“son of the deified one”). The theomorphic (godlike) imagery that was created for the deified Caesar served as a model for future leaders of the Roman State who were either deified or raised to the status of the heroized dead. Critical considerations in distinguishing between official and nonofficial imagery of the Princeps and his

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family—particularly representations that lack context or are of an ambiguous nature—are the period in which a given portrait was made and whether or not it was a posthumous creation. Chapter IV, “From Warrior to Statesman in Art and Ideology: Octavian/ Augustus and the Image of Alexander the Great,” looks at the role of Alexander and his imagery in Roman politics. Imitated and emulated by his Greek successors as well as by the Roman nobility, Alexander figured prominently in the ideology of Hellenistic and Roman leadership. This chapter explores some of the ways in which Roman leaders prior to Octavian employed Alexanderlike imagery and how and why he differed from them, particularly after he founded the Principate and took the name “Augustus.” Recalling Alexander could be problematic for Roman leaders at any time, since he was not only daring and tactically brilliant but also rash, irascible, and otherwise flawed. In the official imagery of his Principate, Augustus highlighted his own role as a peacemaker rather than as an active warrior-leader in the mold of Alexander. Augustus offered a new and more encompassing model of a charismatic leader—one who brought not just peace, but peace through victory. It is this Roman concept of peace that has not always been fully appreciated. The very notion of the Pax Romana is embodied in such notable Augustan monuments as the Ara Pacis and the statue of Augustus from Prima Porta. These works are discussed in this context along with the newly discovered fragmentary sculptural friezes from the great Augustan Victory Monument at Nikopolis (“City of Victory”) in Greece, celebrating Octavian’s victory over Antony and Cleopatra in 31 b.c.e. at nearby Actium. The idea of “peace through victory” is further and more specifically explored in chapter V, “The Ideology of ‘Peace through Victory’ and the Ara Pacis Augustae: Visual Rhetoric and the Creation of a Dynastic Narrative,” which also considers the various ways in which Roman monuments—particularly the Altar of Augustan Peace—might have been viewed and read in antiquity. How might the Ara Pacis’ ensemble of staccato images have induced a highly educated Roman observer to create for himself a coherent “dynastic narrative” of the Augustan and Julio-Claudian families? Besides considering narratological theory, audience response, and Augustan ideological themes, this chapter examines the relationship between verbal and visual modes of expression and likens the sculptural imagery of the Ara Pacis to the structure, syntax, and diction of the Latin language, as well as to a number of ancient rhetorical figures of speech. It also offers a new interpretation of the religious event commemorated in the two long processional friezes that decorated the north and south sides of the exterior precinct wall of this monumental altar. Discussed as well



In trodu ction 9

are the subjects of the west (front) and east (back) pendant panels of the precinct walls, including how these panels relate ideologically and narratologically to one another and to the processional friezes. Important, too, is the subject matter of the monument’s smaller friezes, including the three little-discussed, different-sized ones that once decorated the inner altar. The ways in which they relate to one another and may have been visually read are critical to an appreciation of the complexity of the program of the Ara Pacis. The new reading of the inner altar friezes offered here shows how these reliefs may also have contributed to the monument’s ideological theme of peace achieved through military success under the good auspices of the gods. Closely related to the preceding chapter is chapter VI, “The Acanthus of the Ara Pacis as an Apolline and Dionysiac Symbol of Anamorphosis, Anakyklosis, and Numen Mixtum,” which focuses on the representation and symbolic significance of the altar’s floral scroll friezes, especially the great acanthus plant that dominates these reliefs. The acanthus of the Ara Pacis is remarkable because other plant forms, signifying the metonymous presence of the gods, magically grow out of the innumerable convolutions of its vines. The history of the use of the acanthus in Greek and Roman art provides the background for a new interpretation of its significance as a symbol of the co-numinous workings of Apollo and Dionysos as gods of rebirth and regeneration. Acanthus and the other types of flora employed in the representational program of the Ara Pacis and of other works serve to convey the message of peace—specifically Pax Augusta— guaranteed by the gods. Also explored is the way the decorative scrolls embrace and bind together the entire “narrative” of dynasty and destiny represented in the figured reliefs directly above the scrollwork of the Ara Pacis. Chapter VII, “The Smaller Cancelleria (‘Vicomagistri’) Reliefs and JulioClaudian Imperial Altars: Limitations of the Evidence and Problems in Interpretation,” examines various aspects of the so-called Altar of the Vicomagistri, also known as the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs. These reliefs in the Vatican Museum had long been interpreted incorrectly as belonging to one of the altars to the cult of the Augustan Lares set up in the many vici (“districts”) of the City of Rome. This chapter reevaluates arguments for the separation of the two extant sections that make up this frieze and reassesses the subject matter of the scenes. The question of what these reliefs may once have decorated is also addressed. This discussion serves to underscore the myriad difficulties encountered in reconstructing and interpreting works known only from fragmentary remains and/or the written record, as well as in identifying lost monuments of Roman antiquity. Chapter VIII, “The ‘Insanity’ of Caligula or the ‘Insanity’ of the Jews? Differences in Perception and Religious Beliefs,” addresses the question of Caligula’s

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“insanity,” especially in light of Roman religion and his relationship with the Jews. Both literary testimony and archaeological evidence for Caligula’s seemingly eccentric acts are examined in light of the possible reasons for such behavior. Also considered are the provocative actions of Jews, whose religion was regarded by the Romans as intolerant and dogmatic and seen more as a superstitio than a religio. On occasion the Jews acted rashly, even “insanely” from a Roman point of view—evidence that perceptions of what constitutes insanity can differ from culture to culture and from period to period. Behavior regarded as “insane” can cover the spectrum from the merely unconventional to the clinically mad. Also addressed, in a broader sense, is the nature of Caligula’s divinity in the context of Roman polytheism and in particular the worship of the divine procreative spirit and presence (the Genius and Numen) that Roman leaders, like all Roman males, were believed to possess. Of particular relevance is Caligula’s decree that a statue of himself be set up in the Temple of Yahweh in Jerusalem. This action, which has long been interpreted as “proof” of Caligula’s madness, is seen in a different light—not as evidence of insanity but as a nuanced and complex response to what was regarded as sacrilegious and seditious Jewish behavior. Chapter IX, “‘Star Power’ in Imperial Rome: Astral Theology, Castorian Imagery, and the Dual Heirs in the Transmission of Leadership,” looks broadly at the way imagery involving Jupiter’s twin sons Castor and Pollux was used in promoting the intended successors of the Princeps, from the time of Augustus to that of Septimius Severus at the end of the second century and beginning of the third century. Because of the high death toll among younger members of the imperial family, two male youths—usually the two eldest sons—were marked out for succession, in accordance with the notion of “an heir and a spare.” Designated Principes Iuventutis (“Leaders of the Youths”), they could be either the biological or adopted sons of the Princeps. As “twin” leaders they could be rhetorically and visually compared to the Dioskouroi, the Divine Twins known to the Romans as the Castores. Associated with the constellation of the Twins (Gemini), the Castores are astral gods. Connected as well with royal apotheosis, they came to play an important role in the ideology of leadership of both Hellenistic kings and Roman leaders. This final chapter also addresses the question of how Hellenistic concepts of soterial and divine kingship found their way into the private encomiastic literature and art of the Roman Republic. How these ideas, which were incompatible with the official ideology of Republican Rome, came to be adapted to serve the needs of Augustus and increasingly of his successors is fundamental to an understanding of the evolution of the visual imagery of the imperial period.



In trodu ction 1 1

Notes 1. See recently, e.g., Stewart (2008), with further literature on this subject. 2. See also Levick (1982) 105–106, who prefers the term “publicity.” 3. Ellul (1965) 15, 62–71, 81. As Ellul notes in general (63), “Sociological propaganda is a phenomenon much more difficult to grasp than political propaganda, and is rarely discussed. Basically it is the penetration of an ideology by means of its sociological context.” 4. The Congregatio de Fide Propaganda (“Society for the Propagation of the Faith”) was established by Pope Gregory XV in 1622: OED 1466 s.v. “propaganda.” 5. For rhetoric in Greco-Roman education in Roman times, see in general Marrou (1956), especially 229–39; Bonner (1977); Clarke (1996); Kennedy (1972); Dominik (1997). For the intellectual life of the Romans in the late Republic, see Rawson (1985), especially 143– 55 (for rhetoric); Wallace-Hadrill (1988). 6. On the theory and practice of epideictic oratory, see Russell and Wilson (1981) xi–xxxiv. 7. Rawson (1985) 78. 8. See Clarke (1996) 11–13. 9. With regard to the Latin concept of consensus, see Sumi (2005) 16–46 et passim. 10. See especially Connerton (1989) 1–5. For other works on memory and images of memory, see also in general Yates (1966); Herrmann and Chaffin (eds.) (1988); Küchler and Melion (eds.) (1991); Gillis (ed.) (1994). 11. Romulus had been deified prior to this time, but he was a legendary rather than a truly historical personage. 12. For this concept in the sense of the favor or blessings of the gods, see Liebeschuetz (1979) 9, 56, 58; Sordi (1985) 146–54; Davies (2004) 10, 85, 89, 93, 95 et passim, especially 98–105. 13. Cicero (Nat. D. 2.71), for example, speaks of the cultus deorum as the care or practice of worshiping the gods. On Roman religion, see in general Liebeschuetz (1979); Beard et al. (1998); North (2000); Scheid (2003); Davies (2004).

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14. On the religiosity of the Romans, see, e.g., Cic. Nat. D. 2.8; Har. resp. 19. See also Polyb. 6.56.6–14. In late antiquity, Romans who followed the traditional religion of their ancestors held the Christians responsible for the ruin of Rome and the collapse of the Empire. In adopting Christianity and abandoning the care of their ancestral gods, they were considered to have brought down upon themselves the wrath of the very gods that had made Rome great in the first place. See Augustine (Ep. 135–38, De civ. D. 1.1), who tried to refute such opinions. See also Momigliano (1963) 10; Ando (2001) 373 with n. 20. 15. For the question of historicity in Roman “historical” reliefs, see Pollini (1978). Cf. the modern example of the photograph of the raising of the American flag atop Mount Suribachi on Iwo Jima in World War II taken on February 23, 1945, by Joe Rosenthal. This famous photo actually represented a second, staged flag-raising event, because it was deemed that the flag used the first time was too small: www. iwojima.com/raising/raisingb.htm (accessed December 27, 2010). 16. See, e.g., the speculative construction of how a nonelite viewer might have responded to the imagery on the Column of Trajan: Clarke (2003) 41. Along these same lines, see also Stewart (2008), especially 123–27. 17. The term princeps was already used in the Republic for a leading senator. For the nature of Augustus’ authority in the state and the fact that the form of government that Augustus instituted was not referred to as a Principate in his day, see Gruen (2005) 33–34. Technically, Augustus was Princeps Senatus (Leader of the Senate), which made him de facto Princeps of the State. The term Princeps Senatus was apparently first used for him in 28 b.c.e.: Kearsley (2009) 157. 18. Most notable among his severe critics, of course, was Ronald Syme and his highly influential work The Roman Revolution, published in 1939. On Syme and Augustus, see especially Galsterer (1990); Yavetz (1990).

Chap ter I

Ritualizing Death in Republican Rome Memory, Religion, Class Struggle, and the Wax Ancestral Mask Tradition’s Origin and Influence on Veristic Portraiture

O 

ne of the most important and distinctive aspects of Roman aristocratic culture, religion, and rituals, as well as self-identity,1 was the right to have one’s wax mask (imago; pl. imagines) kept by the family and passed down to future generations.2 This right, known as the ius imaginis (“right of the image”), which included having a public funeral at state expense, was a great social and political privilege for prominent nobles.3 The right of a wax imago was reserved for those who had attained at least one of the highest offices of the Roman State, the so-called curule magistracies, consisting of the office of curule aedile, censor, praetor, and consul. Since women could not hold political office, they were de facto excluded from having this “right.”4 This chapter considers various aspects of the tradition of wax ancestral masks, including their appearance, their function in performative rituals and in the Romans’ concept of memory, and their religio-magical nature, as well as the origins of this tradition and its role in the development of veristic (true-to-life) portraiture. The Form and Function of Wax Masks Because no wax aristocratic mask—or even a representation of one in Roman art—has come down to us, we are dependent on a number of passages in various ancient literary sources for information about them.5 These records establish that the majority of such masks were intended to be exact likenesses of the deceased. In addition to being closely modeled on the individual’s facial features, they were painted to present as lifelike an appearance as possible. Because of their association with aristocratic funerary practices, ancestral imagines were long assumed to be death-masks. However, Harriet Flower has convincingly argued, based on relatively recent epigraphical evidence, that these aristocratic wax imagines were not death-masks but life-masks that were derived from casts of the face of living individuals.6 Although I agree with Flower that most wax imagines were life-masks, it is reasonable to conclude that some would still have been death-masks, since at least a few Roman nobles would have died before their life-masks had been commissioned. We can only speculate on this

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matter, because we have no firm evidence for exactly when in their careers Roman curule magistrates usually had their life-mask crafted in wax. It cannot be assumed that a mask was made when a man first became a curule aedile, typically from about the age of thirty-six years on. An individual might have waited until a higher, more impressive office had been achieved before having his mask made. In the culture of Republican Rome, in which age mattered, such a life-mask may not have been commissioned until the person was somewhat older and had become (or had at least been designated) praetor and/or consul,7 the two highest and most prestigious curule magistracies. More than one lifemask may also have been created, representing an individual at different stages of his career. The ages at which magistracies were held varied, depending on the period of the Republic, circumstances, and of course the person himself. As we shall see, extant marble portraits of Crassus, Pompey, and Caesar, undoubtedly ultimately based on life-masks, seem to represent them at the height of their careers, when they were middle-aged men and apparently had already achieved the consulship. Of course if an individual died before a life-mask had been created, then a death-mask could easily have been made. Such might have been the case, for example, with Scipio Hispanicus, who died just after becoming praetor in 139 b.c.e.8 If a death-mask were produced, adjustments could have been made in the wax to make it more lifelike by minimizing alteration of the face as a result of the rigor mortis that sets in soon after death.9 The very texture of wax and its appearance when painted have the ability to convey the feeling and look of real flesh.10 For this reason, wax funerary images, though not necessarily wax masks, and wax sculptures in general were used by nobility in the medieval period and in the Renaissance as well as later. Some of these preserved wax sculptures to which hair and clothing were added, as in the case of the wax image of King Ferdinand IV of Naples,11 are so lifelike that it must have been difficult on seeing such a portrait not to think that the living person was in a sense revivified. From ancient literary sources, we know that wax ancestral masks were prominently displayed in cupboards (armaria) in the atrium, the formal and ceremonial reception room of a nobleman’s house,12 where the master received clients and friends on a daily basis during the so-called salutatio (“greeting”).13 We get a sense of what the masks looked like set in their cupboards from a few representations of portraits of the deceased on funerary monuments of the nonelite classes, such as a small marble grave plaque in the National Museum of Denmark in Copenhagen (fig. i.1).14

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The actual ancestral masks were intended not only to impress visitors with a nobleman’s lineage but also to serve a didactic purpose, inculcating moral and civic values in members of the family. Growing up in a nobleman’s house in the presence of these wax masks must have exerted enormous pressure on the young males of the family to emulate the illustrious achievements of their ancestors and to bring further distinction to the family. But it was not only the young that these imagines inspired; as Sallust tells us, the great and noble men of the Republic were ever mindful of their ancestors because of these wax masks (Iug. 4.5–6):15

Fig. i.1. Grave relief, National Museum of Denmark, Copenhagen. Courtesy of the Department of Classical and Near Eastern Antiquities, National Museum of Denmark, Copenhagen

Nam saepe ego audivi Q. Maxumum, P. Scipionem, praeterea civitatis nostrae praeclaros viros solitos ita dicere, cum maiorum imagines intuerentur, vehementissume sibi animum ad virtutem accendi. Scilicet non ceram illam neque figuram tantam vim in sese habere, sed memoria rerum gestarum eam flammam egregiis viris in pectore crescere neque prius sedari, quam virtus eorum famam atque gloriam adaequaverit. For I have often heard that Quintus Maximus, Publius Scipio, and besides these, other renowned men of our country were accustomed to say, when they looked at the images of their ancestors, that their fiber of being was mightily moved toward virtue. They did not mean, of course, that the wax or image had that much power over them, but that as a result of the memory of these things, this flame grew in the breasts of noble men that could not be quenched before their own virtue had equaled the fame and glory of ancestors.

We gain a sense of a nobleman’s pride in his ancestors in the so-called Barberini Togatus, a marble statue dating to the early first century c.e. now in the Museo della Centrale Montemartini (Musei Capitolini) in Rome (fig. i.2).16 The



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Fig. i.2. Barberini Togatus, Museo della Centrale Montemartini (Musei Capitolini), Rome. Photo by Laura Maish

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type of shoe worn by this figure distinguishes him as a member of the nobility.17 The Barberini Togatus holds in his left hand the portrait bust of one ancestor, while placing his right arm around another. These two busts are not to be understood as wax masks, but rather as sculptural portraits in the round. At least the one being held in the hand is to be thought of as being of a lighter-weight material than marble, either bronze or terracotta, although it should also be remembered that we are dealing here with a work of art, not reality.18 Portrait statues and busts like these, as well as shield images (imagines clipeatae) and painted portraits (imagines pictae), were set up in the atrium in close proximity to the wax imagines. Also on display at the entrance to a noble’s house were family trees (stemmata) with the names and/or painted pictures of family members. These painted portraits with accompanying names included strings or painted lines linking prominent family members: stemmata vero lineis discurrebant ad imagines pictas (Plin. HN 35.6).19 An important aspect of ancestral wax imagines was their performative function in the context of aristocratic funeral rituals, which themselves represented the social, political, cultural, and religious norms of the Roman nobility and Roman society as a whole.20 We are told that in the funeral procession of a recently deceased nobleman all of the wax ancestral masks were worn by hired actors chosen for their general resemblance to those who had passed on.21 Unlike a theatrical mask, the wax imago only covered the face of the actor, who also donned the garment of the highest office held by each magistrate, while repeating any of his famous sayings. Each mask-wearing actor thereby took on that magistrate’s persona.22 Interestingly, the Latin word persona is also the very term for a theatrical mask.23 Likeness, gesture, and voice were all forms of performative encoding that made up the wax ancestral mask tradition.24 Before the public eulogy (laudatio funebris) delivered by a male member of the family in honor of the recently deceased, the entire choros of mask-wearing actors took seats on the Rostra, the public speakers’ platform in the Roman Forum.25 The family speaker would eulogize in chronological order each of these revivified ancestors. The choreography of this funereal ritual was, in short, a way of mediating between the dead and the living. A practical matter regarding these wax masks should also be considered: namely, how was their form preserved during the extreme heat of summer funerals? Unfortunately, there is no ancient commentary on this potential

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problem. However, as in making wax figures in modern times, rosin (a resinous pine substance) could have been used to harden the wax (most likely beeswax) and make it more durable.26 The same would be true of stearic acid, derived from animal or vegetable fats. Since the ways to make a mask are limited, we can only suppose that a process similar to that used in modern times in maskmaking took place in antiquity. A direct plaster mold of the person’s face would probably have been made first. After the subject’s hair had been covered with a cap and an ample amount of olive oil had been applied to his face to prevent the painful pulling out of hair on the forehead, eyebrows, and eyelids when the cast was removed, he would have lain in the supine position.27 If the subject wore a beard, it would have to be shaved off or covered in some way.28 Two thin boards with an oval cut-out section could then have been placed on either side of the head to catch the overflow plaster that was built up around the exposed face, or else some sort of wide strip of heavy canvas or leather would have been placed around the face to form a cone-shaped collar, as was done in the Renaissance.29 Breathing tubes (reed or metal) would have been inserted into the nostrils before the plaster was placed over the nose. After the plaster mold had set, it would have needed to be removed before the face became too hot, as the drying plaster causes a burning sensation.30 When the cast had dried, any imperfection or roughness in the surface could be removed or smoothed over. Hot wax would then have been poured into the mold and excess hot wax poured out. To facilitate separation of the wax mask, the mold could be submerged in a basin of water. After the wax mask had been produced, openings would have been made in the mask’s eyes, nostrils, and mouth to enable the wearer of the mask to see, breathe, and speak. Strips of some sort of cloth or fabric could have been added to the inside of the mask to give it further strength and to provide a firm base for the attachment of cords to bind the mask to the wearer’s head. So that the wax masks would be as lifelike as possible, they would have been painted to reflect the complexion of the individual represented. It has never been questioned why hired actors rather than slaves, clients, or even relatives of the nobleman’s house represented the revivified ancestors at funeral processions. To be sure, anyone of the right height and build could have worn the clothes of the deceased and remembered a few lines of some of his famous sayings. Actors, however, had the advantage of being accustomed not only to wearing masks but also to performing in them. This background would have been particularly useful because an inexperienced person wearing a funerary mask could easily trip during the procession, causing much embarrassment and possibly being interpreted as a bad omen. Actors would also have



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been adept in the use of their voices in dramatically repeating famous sayings attributed to the great ancestors they were representing. The Role of Wax Imagines in the Culture and Cult of Memory The tradition of the ancestral mask and the contexts in which it was displayed are important in understanding the Roman concept of memoria (“remembrance”), particularly with regard to the collective memory of the community.31 In order to preserve their kind, all living organisms develop strategies to survive, reproduce, and pass on characteristics and traits. Only human beings, painfully aware of their mortality, have devised various mythologies and rituals in the hope of surviving beyond the grave. It is perhaps the ultimate irony that man, the so-called rational animal, has difficulty rationally accepting the finality of death. Some religions envision the deceased either enjoying places of bliss, where they will continue a happy existence in some form, or else suffering in eternal torment. The business of death clearly has important ramifications for the way man interrelates with his fellow man and the way private and social memory is constructed and transmitted to future generations. Although cremation or inhumation was intended as a way of disposing of the dead safely, funeral ceremonies and rituals were created for the living in an attempt to make sense of death and to give it—and, conversely, life—meaning. Unlike certain monotheistic and/or mystery religions that hold out the hope of a better life to come, traditional Greek and Roman religion, based more on nature and a practical view of reality, had little sense of a well-defined hereafter. What passed for an afterlife was rather nebulous and was not eagerly sought. In the Odyssey (11.487–91), for example, the great Greek hero Achilles declares in effect that he would rather be a serf among the living than lord of the dead. And instead of the sort of immortality in the next world that we find in the polytheistic beliefs of the ancient Egyptians and other peoples of the Near East, what mattered in the case of heroes and other worthies of the Greek world were imperishable kleos (“fame/glory”) and remembrance.32 For the Romans, too, the way to survive death and to live on in human memory was through the perpetuation of the individual’s gloria as a result of achievements in life. The accomplishments of Augustus, for example, stood as a testimonial before gods and men of his right to be eternally remembered, as he makes clear in his own record of his achievements, the Res Gestae. The Roman poet Ennius once commented (Epigram 10) that there was no need to mourn his death because he would continue to live through his literary accomplishments. More well known perhaps is Horace’s famous prediction (Carm. 3.30) that his literary works would be more lasting than bronze and more lofty than the pyramids. As a result of his literary accomplishments, Horace believed that

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he would not altogether die: a mighty part of him would escape death. The preservation of accomplishments in memory was the essence of true immortality for the Romans, as evidenced also in Polybios (6.54.2): ἐξ ὧν καινοποιουμένης ἀεὶ τῶν ἀγαθῶν ἀνδρῶν τῆς ἐπ’ ἀρετῇ φήμης ἀθανατίζεται μὲν ἡ τῶν καλόν τι διαπραξαμένων εὔκλεια, γνώριμος δὲ τοῖς πολλοῖς καὶ παραδόσιμος τοῖς ἐπιγινομένοις ἡ τῶν εὐεργετησάντων τὴν πατρίδα γίνεται δόξα. Accordingly, because the reputation for virtue of good men is continuously being renewed, the glory of those who performed something noble becomes immortal, while the repute of those who performed services for the fatherland becomes well known to many and is transmitted to posterity.

In the highly structured and status-conscious society of ancient Rome, there was a hierarchy of remembrance intimately bound to a hierarchy of power in the hereditary nobility. As Paul Connerton aptly put it, “Power speaks through blood.”33 And in ancient Rome it was this hierarchy of power that largely controlled and conditioned the collective memory shared by a given group or community.34 Roman nobles who distinguished themselves in life by their achievements, especially in behalf of the State, were entitled to live on not just in the private memory of their individual families but also in the shared memory of the community. This memorialization took different forms, ultimately leading to the consecration and deification of the leader of the Roman State, beginning with Julius Caesar in 42 b.c.e., the year of his official deification (see chapter III). But long before these late Republican developments, the Roman nobility had created for themselves a form of collective memory that found expression in the tradition of the wax ancestral masks. Connerton maintains that “remembering” is “not a matter of reproduction but construction; it is the construction of a ‘schema,’ a coding, which enables us to distinguish and, therefore, to recall.”35 However, reproduction and construction of memory are not mutually exclusive. In fact, one of the most effective ways in which recollected knowledge is learned, shared, and passed on to future generations—the essence of what we mean by “culture”—is through reproduction, which often takes the form of ritualistic performances.36 By their very nature, rituals are repetitive and establish a continuity involving the past, present, and future. Funerary rites function in the same way, but with the continuity being between the living and dead, with implications for future generations.37 The interconnection of past, present, and future in establishing



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ancestral linkage in aristocratic Roman culture is perhaps nowhere better demonstrated in Roman literature than in Vergil’s famous review of Roman heroes in book VI of the Aeneid (752–892)38 and in Roman art in the programmatic display of portrait statues in the Forum Augustum.39 Remembering and memorializing the dead is a temporal experience that creates a collective solidarity within societies and legitimizes and perpetuates the power of the ruling elite. The reiterative aspect of the Roman nobility’s funereal rituals, in which wax masks were paraded before the community, gave the past a sense of presentness with implications for the future.40 This elite funerary ritual was one of the Republic’s established institutions, which not only were shaped by the collective gaze of Roman society, whether patrician or plebeian, but also served to validate and perpetuate aristocratic power.41 Through such rites the Romans created, we might say, their own ideology and rhetoric of ritualistic reenactment.42 In his discussion of death rituals, Richard Wollheim offered a psychoanalytic explanation for them and stressed that such rites are coded representations.43 The performative nature of the Roman wax ancestral mask tradition in the context of public funeral rituals was certainly a way of encoding, as well as of reproducing, collective memory. That these rites were at public expense is also important;44 in being sanctioned by the Roman Senate, they became not only a shared cultural experience, involving the participation of the community in the funeral, but also a means of reinforcing the hereditary nobility and connecting in a highly personalized communal manner with the deceased. In all these ways, we may say that Roman aristocratic funereal rituals were politicized.45 Politics is one of the reasons why human societies carry out funeral rites, especially at the top of the social order.46 As a part of the ideology of burial rituals, John Robb pointed out, “Funerary rites furnish a locus for legitimization of social order, or for struggle and contestation of one.”47 In modern Western cultures we tend to emphasize the uniqueness of the individual, whereas in the strongly clan- and family-oriented society of ancient Rome an individual was regarded as an extension of the family (familia) and the clan (gens). And given the intricate Roman client-system, it is not difficult to understand the Roman State itself as an extended family of sorts.48 The laudatio funebris that Marc Antony delivered at Caesar’s funeral in the Roman Forum is instructive in conveying the importance of lineage and dynasty, as well as the strong sense of a familial communality in Roman society.49 As reconstructed by Cassius Dio (44.37.3), the following words are attributed to Antony:

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οὐ μὴν ἀλλ’ ἔγωγε οὐ τοῦτο μάλιστα νῦν ἐπαινῶ τοῦ Καίσαρος, ὅτι τὰ μὲν νεώτατα ἐκ πολλῶν καὶ γενναίων ἀνδρῶν ἔφυ, τὰ δὲ ἀρχαιότατα ἐκ βασιλέων καὶ θεῶν ἐγίγνετο, ἀλλ’ ὅτι . . . μὲν τῆς πόλεως ἡμῶν ὅλης συγγενής ἐστιν (ἐκ γὰρ ὧν οὗτος ἐγεννήθη, πρὸς τούτων ἡμεῖς ᾠκίσθημεν. Truly I praise Caesar now, not so much because of his recent descent, on the one hand, from many noble men, and, on the other hand, his ancient origins from kings and gods, but because . . . he is a kinsman of our whole city, for he is a descendant of those who also founded our city.

Also indicative of the notion of a communal kinship is the way the Roman people are addressed in Antony’s speech, as they are by other authors delivering solemn addresses, appeals, and prayers. The Romans are called Quirites, that is, descendants of their common founding ancestor Romulus, who according to tradition was called Quirinus after his translation into heaven. In prayers offered on the occasion of the Ludi Saeculares (“Secular Games”) (CIL VI.32323 = ILS 5050), Augustus made frequent use of the term Quirites in the context of the Roman people, himself, his house, and his extended family in order to stress the past, present, and future in terms of a common national bond. In a similar vein Vergil speaks of the Romans as the Aeneades, the descendants of their common ancestor Aeneas, and as nepotes, literally “grandchildren” of Aeneas.50 Patronymics like Quirites and Aeneadae are more than mere surnames for Romans; they qualify and stress the Romans’ common descent and evoke the concept of a “national family.” Hence, the Roman public’s participation in mourning the death of a high officeholder is an expression of familial loss, while the achievements of the deceased enter the common conscience to be preserved in collective memory. The official title of Parens Patriae (“Parent of the Country”) that the Senate accorded Augustus during his lifetime,51 an honor that underscored his relation to the Roman people as, in effect, their paterfamilias (“father of the family”), illustrates the idea of a communal kinship. The title Pater Patriae was also recorded among the tituli on the stone base of Augustus’ statue that stood in the center of his monumental Forum Augustum in Rome (RG 35.1) (fig. i.3 and plate I). This sculptural composition represented him standing in a triumphal chariot drawn by four horses. Such an image was also borne in his funeral procession and most likely adorned his mausoleum.52 Over time, funereal ritual performances became more ostentatious as members of the aristocracy competed to outdo one another.53 In this sense, too, the funeral procession came to be like a Roman triumph. In fact Seneca,



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Fig. i.3. Plan of Forum of Augustus. After Pollini (2002 a) fig. 5

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commenting on the funeral of Tiberius’ brother Drusus Maior, notes how the throngs of officials and people gave it more the dimensions of a triumph than of a funeral (De Consolatione ad Marciam 3.1).54 With Augustus, moreover, the desire for “memory dominance” became “memory appropriation,” for he was the first to include in his funeral procession not only the wax masks of his own ancestors but also those of other noble families (Cass. Dio 56.34.1–3).55 Many of the wax imagines displayed in Augustus’ funeral procession would in all likelihood have served as the basis for the portrait features of the statues of the summi viri (“leading men”) of Rome arrayed in niches in the Forum Augustum (fig. i.3; plates I–II).56 Set in such architectural framings, with their individual tituli and elogia inscribed beneath,57 these statues must likewise have reminded viewers of the wax ancestral imagines that were set in the cupboards of a nobleman’s home and identified with painted inscriptions. The portrait images in the back wall of the lateral porticoes of the Forum Augustum flanked Augustus’ own great quadrigate statue in the center (RG 35) (see further chapter IV). This imposing sculptural composition stood equidistant from the images of two of Rome’s founding fathers in the central niche of each of the great pendant hemicycles (fig. i.3).58 In the right hemicycle was a statue of Romulus, founder of the City; in the left hemicycle was a statue group of Aeneas, fatherfounder of the Roman people, carrying on his shoulders his aged father Anchises, who symbolized the Trojan past (plate II). By Aeneas’ side was his small son Iulus, the ancestor of the Gens Iulia (Julian Clan/ House), who symbolized the Roman future. The invented wax imago of Romulus and undoubtedly also that of Aeneas were borne along in Augustus’ funeral.59 In his forum and in his funeral Augustus therefore visually extended the concept of dynasty beyond that of the individual gens. He symbolically claimed kinship with both Rome’s founders and other illustrious noble families, especially in his role as Alter Conditor

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(“Second Founder”) of Rome.60 In so doing, he not only underscored the concept of a Roman communality but also created for the first time in his forum, as well as later in his funeral, the concept of a “dynasty” of the Roman State. Just as wax ancestral masks were intended to inspire the youth of the Roman aristocracy to emulate the virtues and fame of illustrious ancestors (Polyb. 6.53), so too the portrait statues of the summi viri of the Forum Augustum were meant to inspire Rome’s young men—especially the nobiles—who came to the Forum of Augustus to assume the toga virilis (“manly toga”) when they came of age and were formally enrolled in the military (Cass. Dio 55.10.2).61 The portrait images with their catalogue of tituli and elogia were also undoubtedly intended as exempla both for the senators who met in the Temple of Mars Ultor in the Forum Augustum to decide on the awarding of triumphs (Cass. Dio 55.10.3) and for military leaders setting out from there to take up their commands in the provinces (Cass. Dio 55.10.2). In much the same way, a commander during the time of the Republic sought inspiration and precedents in his own ancestors’ acta maiorum (“ancestral deeds”),62 the records of which were stored in the tablinum (“master’s study/reception room”) of his home in close proximity to the wax imagines in the atrium. The Forum Augustum was, in effect, a composite “atrium-peristyle” complex—a domus forensis (forumlike house), so to speak, of the Augustan State and a National Gallery of Honor, all rolled into one. And as in an individual’s home, with its domestic shrine and focus on the worship of the paterfamilias’ divine procreative spirit, the genius, the portrait imagines of Rome’s new state dynasty were set in a religious context in the Forum Augustum with its great Temple of Mars, further underscoring the connection of imago and religio. Located at the far end of the left portico, in close proximity to the temple, was a highly embellished room that is called today the Aula del Colosso (“Hall of the Colossus”) because of a colossal statue that once stood on a marble reveted base against the back wall of this room (plate III).63 The footprints of this huge figure are still to be seen on the surface of the base.64 Also found in this hall were fragments of colossal left and right hands that once held a stafflike object.65 In this hall Claudius may have acted as a judge during his Principate, based on a passage in Suetonius (Claud. 33.1) in which Claudius, struck by the aroma of the meal being prepared for the Salii in the Temple of Mars Ultor next door, left the tribunal to join them in their meal. If Claudius did dispense justice in this hall, it may have served the same purpose during the Principate of Augustus. And since oaths were sworn by the Genius of the living Princeps, a statue of the Genius Augusti may originally have been set up on the existing base66 or



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Fig. i.4a. Colossal statue of Genius Augusti from Puteoli (Pozzuoli), Museo Pio Clementino. Photo by author Fig. i.4b. Head of Genius Augusti from Puteoli (with Augustus’ Type IV.A hairstyle). Photo by author

near what served as a tribunal for a judge.67 Such a Genius statue would have looked like the colossal figure of the Genius Augusti said to be from Puteoli (modern Pozzuoli) now in the Sala Rotonda of the Vatican’s Museo Pio Clementino (fig. i.4a–b).68 The left hand of the statue from Puteoli holds a cornucopia that is largely original; the right forearm is restored holding a patera (shallow sacrificial bowl), since the Genius Augusti typically holds either a patera or acerra (incense box) in that hand. The fact that the right hand found in the hall apparently held a stafflike object, not a sacrificial bowl or an incense box, indicates that it did not belong to a statue of the Genius Augusti. It has been suggested recently that the colossal figure once would have held a lituus, the crook-shaped staff of an augur (plate III),69 an important priesthood that Augustus held.70 Although this is a possibility, it seems more likely that the right hand held a ruler’s staff or a spear.71 If it held a staff, the hand may have belonged to a seminude statue of Divus Augustus, analogous typologically to those found at Herculaneum (cf. fig. II.24) and Thessaloniki (fig. III.4).72 An image of the deified Augustus might have been set up in the Hall of the Colossus after his death, possibly by Claudius. It may even have replaced a statue of the Genius Augusti, since Claudius had, after all, changed the facial features of Alexander to those of Augustus in two paintings by Apelles that decorated the walls of this hall (Plin. HN 35.27, 93–94).73

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Another possibility has not been considered: the fragments of the colossal right hand may have had nothing to do with the statue that was set up on the base in the Aula del Colosso but instead belonged to the cult image of Mars Ultor that once stood nearby in the apse of his temple. Fragments of statues are often found in locations in which they were not originally displayed. If the right hand belonged to Mars, the hole would have been for a spear, as in the case of the upraised hand of Mars in a relief from Carthage, now in the Archaeological Museum in Algiers, generally thought to reflect the statuary group that stood in the apse of the Temple of Mars Ultor in Augustus’ Forum.74 Similarly posed with a spear is the colossal, partly restored Flavian marble statue of Mars Ultor in the Musei Capitolini in Rome, which is probably a marble copy of the original cult image (fig. i.5), only on a considerably smaller scale.75 The other hand would have held his shield, resting against him. Wax Imagines in Roman Religion and Magic Focusing on the political dynamics of wax ancestral masks, Harriet Flower concluded that they served no religious or magical purpose.76 However, given the strong relationship between politics and religion in ancient Rome and in the ancient world in general, I would argue that the wax imagines did have an important religio-magico dimension, for which there is both direct and circumstantial evidence. Every aspect of a Roman’s life—from the cradle to the grave, from morning to night—was governed by religion. The Roman house has aptly been likened to a temple; the father of the family, to its chief priest.77 This religious dimension is all the more true in the case of a nobleman’s home, the vestibule of which was decorated like a temple with the spolia (“war booty”) of victorious conquerors.78 In a sense, the home of a Roman noble was a microcosm of the macrocosm of the Roman State. In the Roman home the gods were present everywhere, watching over the threshold, the door panels, and the door hinges, and were even numinously present in everyday household tools.79 The veneration of ancestors, common to many ancient cultures,80 was evident in various forms of Roman domestic worship of the spirits of the dead, the Di Manes or Di Parentes, and of the divine procreative force of the head of the family, the genius, as well as of the gods of the home and pantry, the Lares and Penates.81 Varro (in Censorinus 2.2) connects



Fig. i.5. Colossal statue of Mars Ultor, Musei Capitolini, Rome. Photo by author

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the family’s ancestors to the genius in the ritual consecration of wine and notes that in the Aeneid (5.62–63) Aeneas honors his father Anchises with funeral games to which the Trojan Penates were also summoned. At the funeral of a Roman nobleman, the mask-wearing actors were likely to have accompanied the corpse to the grave, standing by as sacrifices were offered to the Di Manes or Di Parentes, represented by the ancestral wax imagines. This scenario is at least suggested by Polybios,82 who reports (6.53.4): Μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα, θάψαντες καὶ ποιήσαντες τὰ νομιζόμενα τιθέασι τὴν ἐικόνα τοῦ μεταλλάξαντος εἰς τὸν ἐπιφανέστατον τόπον τῆς οἰκίας, ξύλινα ναΐδια περιτιθέντες. Following these things [i.e., the eulogies in the Forum], after they interred the body and performed the customary rites, they put the image [i.e., wax mask] of the deceased in the most prominent place of the home [i.e., the atrium], placed in a wooden shrine.

The performance of the customary rites after the body is interred must refer to sacrifices at the family tomb, which was the locus of the cult worship of ancestors. Directly after these funeral rites, the masks worn by the actors would have been returned to their shrinelike cupboards in the atrium. The genius of the head of the family was worshiped not only on a daily basis while he was alive but also on the anniversary of his birth after his death, when he became one of the ancestors.83 The genius of the paterfamilias and the genii of those who came before him were representative of the fertility of the family and were guarantors of the continuing fertility and prosperity of his house. As anthropologists have shown, funerary rituals are broadly related to fertility ceremonies.84 Maurice Bloch concluded in his study of the funerary practices of the Merina in Madagascar that “it is the dead as a whole and the tomb which retain this power of life and the ability to transfer it.”85 Along these same lines, Peter Metcalf and Richard Huntington have noted that “the moment of death is related not only to the process of afterlife, but also to the process of living, aging, and producing progeny.”86 These observations are applicable as well to the Romans. The wax imagines underscored the procreative nature of the genius, with which they were associated conceptually and visually, especially since the wax ancestral masks were kept in the atrium, where the master’s lararium (“household ”) was also usually located. Moreover, the Lar Familiaris was the divine tutelary spirit of the family, of which ancestors were an integral part, while the Penates were believed to be guardian spirits of ancestors. In a nobleman’s house, all these domestic divinities were generally worshiped together,

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usually in the context of the lararium.87 There is even evidence for inscriptions of the cursus (“career”) of the deceased nobleman being kept in the lararium.88 The domestic religious practices and veneration of ancestors of the nobility were imitated by the nonaristocratic classes. For example, the household shrines of the nonelite contained images of their own ancestors, as in the House of Menander at Pompeii (fig. i.6) and a house at Herculaneum.89 The images from the House of Menander are not themselves wax masks but instead crudely carved wooden heads that were undoubtedly once covered over with a layer of wax-modeled facial features (probably also painted) in imitation of the wax ancestral masks that remained the exclusive right of the Roman nobility.90 In the case of a relief from the nonaristocratic Tomb of the Haterii now in the Museo Gregoriano Profano of the Vatican, the bust of a male family member, now to be counted among their ancestors, is placed in an aedicular structure (fig. i.7) reminiscent of the armaria of the Roman nobiles.91 Entwined about the base of the bust of the deceased is a snake, symbolic of his genius, to underscore—both figuratively and literally—the relationship between the man and his divine spirit.92 Also found in the context of domestic lararia are scenes showing ritual meals in honor of the deceased of the family (fig. i.8).93 The ancestral wax imagines of Roman noblemen were displayed not just in the home and at funerals but also during special festivals and public sacrifices. The historian Polybios (6.53.6), who came to know many noble Romans during his stay in Rome (167–150 b.c.e. and perhaps for some years after), notes that the wax masks displayed at public sacrifices were carefully decorated: ταύτας δὴ τὰς ἐικόνας ἔν τε ταῖς δημοτελέσι θυσίαις ἀνοίγοντες κοσμοῦσι φιλοτίμως (“Displaying these imagines during



Fig. i.6. Domestic shrine with images in House of Menander, Pompeii. Photo by author

Fig. i.7. Portrait bust in aedicula from Tomb of the Haterii, Museo Gregoriano Profano, Vatican. Photo by author

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Fig. i.8. Wall painting of a ritualistic meal for a deceased ancestor from a domestic lararium at Pompeii (VI.1.1). After Pollini (2007b) fig. 13.5

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public sacrifices, they eagerly decorate them”). The decorating of the wax masks on these occasions must be a reference to their being crowned with wreaths or garlands,94 since there is specific mention of such adornment in Cicero (Mur. 88).95 Wreaths and festoons were generally an important part of sacrificial ritual, as they are found in the context of private and public altars and sacrifices96 and are represented surrounding portraits in funerary monuments.97 Despite Polybios’ comment about the display of wax imagines at public sacrifices, little or no attention has been focused on the nature of these ceremonies. The public sacrifices must surely be the feriae familiares, the family cultic festivals of the leading families of the old Roman aristocracy. These ceremonies sometimes became public cults after being gentilicial (clan) cults.98 On the eighth day after a funeral, noble families celebrated the novemdialis cena (“ninth-day meal”), which took the form of a lavish banquet that might be attended by the whole Roman people and often included gladiatorial games.99 As for the question of a possible magical function of wax imagines, it is important to remember that in most religions magic plays a significant and intimate role, even though that might not generally be perceived.100 For example, the transubstantiation of the Eucharist in the Catholic mass is in reality an act of magic: in Catholic theology the transformation of the host (bread) and wine into the body and blood of Christ is regarded not as symbolic but as literal.101 In a similar way, the ancestors of the Roman elite were conceived as magically revivified at funeral rites through the medium of mask-wearing actors. Anthropologists have long recognized the magical nature of ancestral reenactment ceremonies in other cultures, such as those of the Yuma Indians of Colorado, in which actors also wear masks and imitate the deeds and gestures of their ancestors.102 In a number of cultures, wearers of masks represent ghosts or spirits of the dead.103 As Lucien Lévy-Bruhl pointed out long ago, the very term “represent” in its literal etymological sense means to “re-present”: that is, to cause that which has disappeared to reappear again.104 The mask-wearing actor becomes, in effect, the ancestor whom he represents. In the case of the West African Nupe people’s ndakó gboyá cult, which involves performative ceremonies in which individuals wear ancestor masks, anthropologist Siegfried Nadel noted that “once the performer is inside the mask, he is inseparable from the thing he ‘represents’; he is the ndakó gboyá [the ‘Grandfather’ or ‘Ancestor’], the people insist, and no longer so-and-so, whom you know and have talked to.”105

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Discussing the paradoxical and transformative nature of masks, A. David Napier points out that “the mask is a means of transgressing boundaries because it provides an avenue for selective personification in manipulating certain recognized paradoxes.”106 Those who wear masks, especially in the context of performative rituals, mediate magically between the natural and supernatural realms.107 In short, both direct and circumstantial evidence indicates that the wax imagines of the Roman nobility would have had an important religiomagical dimension, sanctioned by long-standing tradition. Origins of the Wax Ancestral Mask Tradition When and why the Roman wax ancestral mask tradition came into being are important questions that have not been fully studied or understood. Because a number of Roman customs and insignia of political office appear to have been taken over from the Etruscans, scholars in the past have sought the origins of this tradition in Etruscan funerary practices.108 Although ancestor worship and various forms of portraiture, including nonwax masks, are certainly found among the Etruscans and other early Italic peoples, not to mention other Mediterranean peoples, the wax ancestral mask itself seems to have been an entirely Roman invention.109 Our earliest literary evidence for it dates to the beginning of the second century b.c.e. In the Amphitruo (ll. 458–59), a comedy by Plautus, the god Mercury takes on the appearance of Sosia, a slave of Amphitryon, and confronts him. Mercury tries to convince Sosia that he himself is really Sosia. Mercury’s lifelike guise is conveyed by the term imago, the same word used for the wax ancestral mask. Sosia, moreover, says that in death he will never have this imago of himself that stands before him; that is, as a slave, Sosia would not be entitled to have a wax mask of himself at his funeral, as this right was reserved for the Roman nobility. The oldest reference to the ancestral wax images of the nobility is found about a half-century later in the Histories (6.53–54) of Polybios, a Greek who became a friend of one of Rome’s most prominent aristocratic politicians, P. Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus, and who was therefore in a position to have intimate knowledge of Roman aristocratic practices. From Polybios’ description it is clear that the tradition of wax imagines was long established by the mid-second century b.c.e. Since the principal audience for his Histories consisted of Greeks unfamiliar with Roman customs, he provides us with more information about the masks than would have been the case if his primary audience were Roman. A considerable body of circumstantial evidence indicates that internal political, legal, and religious factors, as well as external foreign artistic impulses, gave rise to the wax ancestral mask in the second half of the fourth century b.c.e. This was a period of great social and political change, resulting from conflict



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between the two major social orders, the patricians and the plebeians.110 Prior to this time the plebeians were generally greatly disadvantaged by being denied high political offices and land and by being reduced to debt-bondage. Two new laws in particular, enacted from the mid- to late fourth century b.c.e., redressed the inequities suffered by the plebeians, though the actual implementation of these new rights would take time. One of the significant outcomes of this process was the creation of a new plebeian nobility of the wealthy, who often had close political ties to ambitious patrician families interested in strengthening their own position in the Roman State. The new alliances forged between politically powerful patricians and plebeians resulted in what modern scholarship has termed the “new Roman nobility.”111 A number of the old and hitherto powerful patrician families did not adjust to this new political reality and went into decline at this time. Among the losers was the old Julian clan (Gens Iulia), which would not regain power again until the late Republic, with the rise of Julius Caesar and his adopted son Octavian, the future Augustus. Intent upon wealth, power, and status, the new plebeian nobility had far more in common with the new patrician nobility than with lower-class plebeians. As part of a politics of exclusion, the new patrician and plebeian nobility made it difficult for nonnoble plebeian outsiders to gain access to political power. As we shall see, this was hardly a unique situation in Roman politics. Since the founding of the Republic shortly before the end of the sixth century, the patrician class dominated the highest offices of the state.112 Although a few nonpatricians achieved the highest magistracies early on, their sons— unlike the sons of patricians—generally did not follow in their footsteps. Only in the patrician class was there a sense that access to political power was a hereditary right, with 99 percent of high offices being held by patricians by the end of the fifth century b.c.e.113 Discontented with this virtual monopoly, the plebeians were eventually able to force the patriciate to make various political concessions. In 376 b.c.e. two plebeian tribunes, C. Licinius Stolo and L. Sextius Lateranus, brought forward legislation that included admission of the plebeians to the consulship.114 Although members of the patriciate opposed this steadfastly, after about a decade of turmoil they were finally forced to make concessions, with the Lex Licinia Sextia in 367 b.c.e. mandating that one of the two consuls be a plebeian.115 At that time a new curule office—the praetorship—was created, which was held only by patricians until 336 b.c.e., when the plebeian Q. Publius Philo was elected to that office. As a result of the Licinio-Sextian legislation, two new curule aedileships were added to the magistracies, which were

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at first monopolized by the patriciate but not long after also held by wealthy and powerful plebeians.116 With the passage in 342 b.c.e. of a plebiscite introduced by the tribune L. Genucius that was known as the Lex Genucia, it became legal for both of the consuls to be plebeians,117 although not for both to be patricians, as had been the case in the past. In 339 b.c.e. another law, the Lex Publilia, was passed mandating that one of the censors—another curule magistracy—be plebeian. Because of the political gains of plebeians who became nobiles by virtue of attaining curule magistracies for which they were newly eligible, competition for the highest political offices dramatically increased, for despite their power and influence patricians still had to canvass for votes in public elections. Meanwhile, Roman expansionism in Italy was resulting in spoils of war that victorious officeholders could bring back to embellish the City and their own homes.118 As time went on, the setting up of statues of honored military victors in public places became more and more commonplace.119 In 338 b.c.e. honorific statues were set up to L. Furius Camillus and C. Maenius, the consuls and generals in the war with the Latins, while a generation later Spurius Carvilius set up a colossal bronze statue of Jupiter on the Capitoline and a smaller one of himself at its foot for his victory over the Samnites.120 Because success in battle often led to gaining or continuing to hold political offices, such public visual imagery became a powerful reminder of successful individuals and their families.121 Throughout this time there were innovations in the representational arts as well as architectural projects to honor individuals and families.122 Many of these projects took the form of temples as thank-offerings to the gods for the victories and successes they had brought to the Roman people. Also playing an important part in the competition for political offices were triumphal displays that included parading the conquered and spoils of war as well as “triumphal paintings” in which the military achievements of office-holding generals were graphically represented.123 We have a sense of the role of images in electoral rhetoric from an incident involving triumphal paintings. Pliny (HN 35.23) tells us that after storming Carthage in 146 b.c.e. the Roman commander L. Hostilius Mancinus commissioned paintings showing his exploits that he then displayed in the Roman Forum and personally explained to onlookers. These paintings made such an impression on the electorate that Hostilius Mancinus was elected consul at the next assembly.124 But since the right of triumph, the setting up of honorific statues and paintings, and architectural projects were not the exclusive prerogatives of patricians or plebeians, how could the patrician nobility gain a political advantage over



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the plebeian nobility? In this politically charged atmosphere, new strategies had to be devised; one of these, I believe, took the form of ancestral wax imagines, which initially and for some generations to come certainly advantaged the patrician aristocracy over the plebeian nobility.125 The second half of the fourth century saw not just political and social change but also important artistic developments that in my view played a key role in the creation of the wax imagines of the Roman nobility. The employment of hired actors to wear the ancestral masks and the choros-like appearance of these revivified ancestors in the funeral procession logically point to a strong connection between the ancestral imagines and theatrical performances. This association, however, need not be anything more than simply the concept of wearing a mask to impersonate some specific being, whether real or fictitious. To be sure, the wax imagines were quite different from theatrical masks, which took the form of stock characters, whether caricatured or idealized, usually with large, shallow funnelshaped mouths to magnify the sound of the actor’s voice.126 Theatrical masks also typically covered the entire head, rather than just the face, as in the case of wax ancestral masks.127 It is uncertain exactly how early some form of theatrical performance and the use of theatrical masks were introduced into Rome, but they were most likely known by the middle of the fourth century.128 According to the Roman historian Livy (7.1–7), the first theatrical performances sanctioned by the Senate were the ludi scaenici (“theatrical performances”), put on in 364 b.c.e. in an attempt to appease the gods because of a pestilence raging in Rome at the time. Livy specifically mentions that ludiones (“performers”), who were brought to Rome from Etruria, danced to the accompaniment of flute players.129 The relationship between a dancer and an actor was especially close, as is made clear by the Etruscan word ister (“dancer”), from which is derived the Latin histrio (“masked ritual performer”).130 Although Livy claims the ludi scaenici were a new thing for the warlike Romans (nova res bellicoso populo), they would certainly have been aware of masked performances long before this time, given Rome’s close contacts with Etruria and the period of Etruscan kingship in Rome beginning in the sixth century b.c.e. Etruscan tomb paintings portraying performers and masks go back at least to the late sixth century, the very time that dramatic performances were taking root in Greece.131 In fact, the Latin term for a theatrical mask, persona, derives from the Etruscan word phersu, which has a specific reference to a masked performer (Phersu) depicted on the walls of late sixth century Etruscan tombs (e.g., plate IV).132 In the fourth century, masks would also have been known to the Romans not only from the neighboring Oscans’ Atellan farces (Atellanae), which appealed to the early Romans and were taken up by them, but also from crude Greek-style

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farcical dramas (phylakes) from southern Italy (Magna Graecia).133 Although Greek-style plays were not translated and performed in Rome until 240 b.c.e.,134 it is likely that Roman patricians would have been at least somewhat familiar with the more sophisticated masked performances of Greek theater in southern Italy and Sicily through travel and contacts with these areas. At this time, too, we find temples to abstract divinities and patriotic myths and legends as a result of Greek influence, especially again from southern Italy and Sicily.135 Therefore, by the second half of the fourth century b.c.e. the Roman patriciate was certainly well aware of theatrical masks and their impact on a general populace eager for entertainment. Moreover, we have evidence at least for the third and second centuries that the voting public was influenced by Roman-style plays, the fabulae praetextatae, dealing with historical personages and situations.136 The curule aediles, who were just beginning their political careers, were for the most part in charge of putting on these plays during public holidays. Like the wax ancestral imagines, such plays were a useful way of honoring particular families whose prominent members figured in them. An important artistic innovation of the fourth century that undoubtedly played a key role in the tradition of the wax imagines of the Roman nobility was the making of plaster casts of the faces of the living for portrait sculpture. This Greek “invention” is generally attributed to Lysistratos, the brother of the great master sculptor Lysippos.137 Lysistratos’ new approach to portrait sculpture in the second half of the fourth century b.c.e. is explicated by Pliny the Elder (23– 79 c.e.), who states the following (HN 35.153): Hominis autem imaginem gypso e facie ipsa primus omnium expressit ceraque in eam formam gypsi infusa emendare instituit Lysistratus Sicyonius, frater Lysippi, de quo diximus. Hic et similitudines reddere instituit; ante eum quam pulcherrimas facere studebant. Idem et de signis effigies exprimere invenit, crevitque res in tantum, ut nulla signa statuaeve sine argilla fierent. The first individual, moreover, to mold a human portrait out of plaster from the face itself and to introduce a way of correcting [the end result] from the wax poured into the plaster mold was Lysistratus of Sicyon, brother of Lysippus, about whom we have [already] spoken. Lysistratus introduced a way of rendering likenesses, for before him they would take pains to make [portraits] as beautiful [i.e., idealized] as they could. The same [Lysistratus] invented making casts from statues, and [this] practice grew to such an extent that no figures or statues were produced without clay [models].



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Lysistratos was undoubtedly not the inventor of the technique of making life casts, as some have believed, but was perhaps the first to use this method in making molds of the face of an individual or at least in popularizing this technique.138 A recent study of the Riace Bronzes suggests that beginning in the late Archaic period Greek sculptors made casts of different parts of the body when producing life-size bronze sculptures of naked athletes.139 Because of the general preference for ideal types in the late Archaic and early and high Classical periods, there had been no need to reproduce the exact facial features of an individual. The first sign of change came with the Athenian Demetrios of Alopeke, most likely working in the early decades of the fourth century b.c.e. He was known for his bronze portraits in the round, which were rather exceptional in being realistic looking.140 Because of the realism in his work, Lucian (Philops. 18) calls Demetrios the “man-maker” (ἀνθρωποποιός), while Quintilian (12.10.9) writes that Demetrios is criticized for taking realism too far (perhaps even to caricature), being more in love with likeness than with beauty (i.e., than in idealizing his portraits): Nam Demetrios tanquam nimius in ea [i.e., veritate] reprehenditur et fuit similitudinis quam pulchritudinis amantior. Though not mentioned in the extant literary sources, Demetrios conceivably might already have experimented with making plaster casts of the facial features of his living subjects, since body casting was well known to Greek sculptors by his time. Only with the growing interest in the second half of the fourth century in representing individuals the way they actually looked was there a need to make plaster casts of the face. By Lysistratos’ time, the greater reception of realism in Greek portrait sculpture may have led to his being credited with the “invention” of the face-cast or at least the popularization of this technique. We have the analogous case of Hippodamos of Miletos (498–408 b.c.e.), who was credited with orthogonal town planning (Arist. Pol. 2.5.1), though this system had already existed for several centuries before him.141 It is postulated that he was considered its inventor because he wrote a treatise on the subject and thus popularized it. Lysistratos may likewise have set down in writing his method of taking casts of the face and using the wax face-masks to create works of art in bronze. In any case, it is important to remember that Pliny’s original source for attributing the invention of face-casts to Lysistratos was Xenokrates, a sculptor and art critic associated with the Sikyonian School, to which Lysippos and Lysistratos belonged.142 Xenokrates’ pride in his School may have caused him to make the attribution to Lysistratos, who certainly did use the method and popularized it. Remarkably, no one has made a direct connection between the origins of the Roman wax ancestral mask and Lysistratos’ technique to produce portraits that looked more like their human models.143 While Lysistratos was principally

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concerned with taking casts of the face as a basis for creating great works of art that realistically resembled his human subjects, the Romans were primarily interested in producing veristic images of living persons in wax, from which portraits in the round could also be created. Lysistratos’ artistic motivation for making casts of the faces of living subjects was therefore only a secondary benefit to the Romans. In any case, the influence and popularity of Lysistratos’ facecasting of living individuals was, in my opinion, one of the principal catalysts for the creation of Roman wax ancestral masks. We know that Greek artistic impulses were being felt in Rome from at least the fifth century b.c.e., whether indirectly through their influence on the Etruscans or directly through Greek artists working in Rome. The earliest Greek artists known to have been active in Rome, according to Pliny (HN 35.154), were the painters Damophilos and Gorgasos, who decorated the temple of the goddess Ceres in the Circus Maximus in 493 b.c.e. Pliny (HN 34.15) also notes that the first bronze statue in Rome, an image of Ceres, was set up shortly after 485 b.c.e. Both direct and indirect influence from Greece is also apparent in Rome in the portraiture of the fifth and fourth centuries.144 As noted, before the fourth century a portrait was generally conceived as more or less an ideal type that was modified to some degree toward a person’s likeness or individuality. Lysistratos’ approach represented a radical change, an inversion, so to speak, of the old notion of what constituted a portrait. Starting with an exact likeness, produced in wax from the plaster mold of an individual’s face, he modified the image to create an aesthetically pleasing work of art. In short, he improved upon the mere physical representation of the individual portrayed. The initial process of making a face-cast would have been the same for a bronze portrait or a wax ancestral mask. After the mask of a living person was produced, clay would have been added to the back of it. With the addition of more clay, the entire head would have been roughly formed, with strips or sheets of wax overlaid on the back sections of the clay head, joining them to the wax face-mask to form a thick wax skin over the clay core of the head. Ears in wax would then have been added, and the hair would have been delineated in low relief or additional wax strips or sheets added and modeled to produce a fuller mass of hair. After the statue was cast, the hair could be further delineated by cold work and chasing. The head might also be cast in two sections—a front face-mask section and a back section, as in the case of the head of the “Capitoline Brutus,” a work that probably dates to the mid-Republican period.145 If a head were to be cast as a whole in bronze, as was usually the case, the wax head formed over the clay internal core would be overlaid with a thick enveloping clay mantle known as the “investment.” Bronze pins (chaplets) would be pushed



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through the external clay investment and wax skin into the internal clay core at crucial points to keep the clay walls of the inner core and outer investment mantle separated when the molten bronze “burnt out” the wax. This is known as the “cire perdu” (lost wax) method of bronze casting.146 Greek artistic developments in creating more accurate likenesses were in all probability an outgrowth of an increasing Greek interest already evident in the fifth century in writing various forms of literary biographies, encomia, and autobiographies (i.e., memoirs) of important men.147 Fourth-century works like Xenophon’s Agesilaus and Cyropedia, as well as Aristoxenos’ lives of various philosophers, had considerable impact on the development of biography as a literary genre.148 Such Greek biographical and encomiastic efforts would have been known to the Roman aristocracy, who employed in their own funeral culture even before the fourth century a home-grown form of encomium to extol the virtues of their illustrious dead.149 The written versions of these distinctive early Roman eulogies were kept in the tablinum of the homes of noble families. Cicero characterized these panegyrics as frequently exaggerated and undistinguished from a literary point of view (Ad. Brut. 61–62, De or. 2.341). Because of trade, it is likely that Lysistratos’ new technique in producing portrait images caught on in Rome soon after its popularization in the later fourth century, the very time when honorific images in bronze were being set up in Rome. Aside from the final material, the only significant difference between Lysistratos’ artistically altered life-masks and the Roman nobility’s wax ancestral masks was the Romans’ insistence on exactitude in the reproduction of an individual’s facial features. The desire for verisimilitude in ancestral imagines, specifically commented on by ancient writers, is underscored by the hiring of actors to wear the wax imagines who were like the deceased in height and general appearance. The mask-wearing actor’s gesturing and repeating of sayings or even jokes were important in revealing the character and virtue of the deceased.150 As the biographer Plutarch noted (Vit. Alex. 1.2), the difference between writing biography and history was that biography highlights the virtues and vices of an individual and that “a slight thing like a phrase or a jest often makes a greater revelation of character than battles where thousands fall, or the greatest armaments, or sieges of cities” (πρᾶγμα βραχὺ πολλάκις καὶ ῥῆμα καὶ παιδιά τις ἔμφασιν ἤθους ἐποίησε μᾶλλον ἢ μάχαι μυριόνεκροι καὶ παρατάξεις αἱ μέγισται καὶ πολιορκίαι πόλεων). Since wax ancestral masks covered only the face, an actor wearing a wax imago would have recalled a Roman triumphator, whose face became masklike when—at least in the earlier period of the Republic—it was painted red on the

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day of his triumph in imitation of the Archaic terracotta cult statue of Jupiter Optimus Maximus in his temple on the Capitoline Hill. The appearance of the face of Jupiter, which was sometimes repainted on the occasion of festivals,151 is suggested by a late fifth century b.c.e. polychromatic terracotta head of the Etruscan Jupiter (Tinia) from a temple at Lo Scasato (Falerii), now in the Museo Nazionale Etrusco di Villa Giulia in Rome.152 There were similarities as well between a funeral procession (pompa funebris) and a triumphal procession (pompa triumphalis).153 The dressed-up and mask-wearing actors impersonating deceased ancestors in the funeral rites rode in chariots like the triumphator in his triumphal robes.154 Etymologically, the Latin noun currus (“chariot”) and its adjectival form currulis (pertaining to a chariot) appear to be related to the Latin adjective curulis (relating to a curule magistrate), as in the sella curulis (“curule chair” of office).155 In any case, since the Roman triumph already seems to have been in vogue by the late Archaic period and therefore preceded the establishment of the wax ancestral mask tradition, it is likely that the painted face of the triumphator may have influenced at least to some degree the form of the wax ancestral imago.156 In the second half of the fourth century b.c.e., when the preponderance of evidence indicates that ancestral masks were produced for the first time, the new plebeian nobility finally began to be allowed to hold curule magistracies and consequently to have wax imagines of prominent plebeian officeholders in their ranks. But what would have been the special advantage offered by wax imagines to the patrician nobility in the competition for curule magistracies? The answer, I believe, lies in the fact that patricians could claim a long and distinguished line of curule officeholders within their families going back a number of generations, a distinction that the new plebeian nobility lacked. Although the consulship was open to plebeians at early as 367 b.c.e., they were initially denied other curule magistracies such as the praetorship, curule aedileship, and censorship. The disadvantage that the new plebeian nobility must consequently have felt is mirrored much later on in the writings of Cicero, who was the first in his family to hold a curule magistracy and was hence a novus homo (“new man”). Coming not from Rome but from the small town of Arpinum and therefore being an outsider, Cicero felt the need to prove himself and at the same time to belittle when necessary those who had long formed the inner circle of the Roman aristocracy. Knowing that he was at a disadvantage because of his lack of a long aristocratic pedigree, he was impelled to overcompensate, to strive all the more to achieve great things both politically and intellectually. It would take noble plebeian families generations to accumulate sufficient wax ancestral masks to impress a voting electorate. In speaking about Near



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Fig. i.9a. Statue of Numa Pompilius from atrium of House of the Vestals, Roman Forum. Photo by author Fig. i.9b. Detail of head of Numa Pompilius. Photo by author Fig. i.10. Denarius (obv.: head of L. Iunius Brutus), 54 b.c.e. After Pollini (2007b) fig. 13.8

Eastern ancestor veneration, Glen Schwartz noted, “When social hierarchies developed, ancestor veneration was reconfigured to legitimize and sanction power and status of the new elite, who claimed proximity to important ancestors.”157 With the rise of plebeian magistrates at this turning point in Roman history, the creation of wax ancestral masks was a calculated way for members of the old nobility to distinguish themselves from the new nobility and thereby to limit plebeian access to power, at least for the foreseeable future. In addition, the patricians had yet another advantage that they could exploit through the vehicle of the ancestral imagines: they could commission wax masks of legendary heroes to whom the ancient families claimed kinship, as well as masks of actual ancestors who had held high office long ago.158 The Greeks, after all, had invented images of Homer and other noteworthy individuals who lived long before portraiture existed as an art form in Greece.159

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Although Polybios does not speak of the making of wax masks of legendary or remote ancestors, several ancient sources refer to the existence in their own day of wax masks of figures such as Aeneas, the kings of Alba Longa, Romulus, and Numa Pompilius (fig. i.9a–b), as well as an actual historical personage, L. Iunius Brutus (fig. i.10), the so-called tyrant-slayer and one of the first consuls of the new Roman Republic.160 All these characters from Roman legend and history lived or were said to have lived long before realistic-looking portraiture existed in Italy. The facial features of such invented imagines would probably have been generalized or endowed with some distinctive or familial physiognomic trait, as in the case of sculptural and numismatic images of historical characters from the distant past, such as L. Iunius Brutus (fig. i.10).161 At family funerals and public festivals at which wax imago-wearing actors appeared, patricians would thus be assured of the most impressive display of ancestral glory possible, which could not help but impress the electorate by comparison with even the most prominent members of the new plebeian nobility. The Role of Wax Imagines in Roman Veristic Portraiture With our new understanding of the Roman nobility’s desire to reproduce accurately the facial features of a curule magistrate through the medium of a lifemask, it would appear that the wax ancestral mask tradition did play a catalytic and central role in the creation of true-to-life portraits in various media from the late fourth century b.c.e. on. This is an important point, for the “new art history” attempts to reduce portraits to a series of conventional types, dictated by ideological concerns in the case of the elite class.162 Although, as we shall see, it is perfectly true that stereotyping is found in certain portraits, the fact that we now know that life-masks served as the basis of veristic aristocratic portraiture alters or at least modifies this reductionist notion of conventional types. Scholars have traditionally regarded Roman verism as a form of hyper- or super-realism, a brutal “warts-and-all” portrayal, sometimes even described as “cartographic.”163 The images used as examples of Roman verism are typically portraits of homely or ugly middle-aged to old men from the late Republican and early imperial periods. The term “verism” can certainly be used to describe a factual, descriptive, or literal approach to representing all the imperfections of the physiognomy of an actual person. However, not all Romans would have been homely or ugly. If a portrait represents a good-looking Roman in a factually accurate way, would such a likeness qualify as a veristic image? This is a question that most have ignored in discussions of Roman verism. The Oxford English Dictionary defines verism as “the rigid representation of the truth or reality,”164 a definition that does not require that the subject’s facial features be



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Fig. i.11. Terracotta head from the Campana Collection, Louvre, Paris. After Pollini (2007b) fig. 13.9

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ugly, unattractive, or time-worn. In any case, the age at which veristic three-dimensional portraits were created based on life-masks is significant, because a likeness made in this way of a person in his thirties or slightly older demonstrates that Roman veristic images do not have to represent only wizened old men, a common misperception. It had long been argued that the Roman nobility’s wax ancestral masks—in the past generally taken as deathmasks—gave rise to Roman verism in late Republican portraiture.165 Already in 1792 Ennio Quirino Visconti proposed that ancestor masks inspired the Roman sculptural portrait bust.166 Later Otto Benndorf, following Theodor Mommsen, suggested a connection between wax death-masks and veristic Roman portrait sculpture.167 However, some scholars dismissed this association because of the differences between late Republican lifelike portrait sculpture and death-masks,168 which reflect the dramatically altered facial features of the deceased after rigor mortis has set in.169 Very few images produced in the later Republic really resemble death-masks, and the few that do, like the terracotta head from the Campana Collection in the Louvre (fig. i.11),170 are not associated with the Roman aristocracy. But if the majority of wax ancestral masks were in fact life-masks, as clearly seems to be the case, then we must reconsider the role of the wax ancestral mask tradition in the creation of what has come to be called Roman veristic portraiture. It is not my intention here to rehearse all of the arguments with regard to the origins of Roman veristic portraiture, especially its supposed roots in Etruria or even in Egypt.171 Instead, I shall indicate some of the problems with “verism”/“veristic” and its relation to the term “realism.”172 My own views on the main line of development of verism, particularly as it relates to the question of realism in Greek portraiture, are also presented here.173 The Roman concept of veritas (“truthfulness”), from which “verism” derives, loomed large in the rhetorical, moral, and ethical disquisitions of Roman authors, even though “truth” was understood in subjective terms. The Roman architect Vitruvius, a staunch supporter of veritas in figural representations, railed in his de Architectura (7.5.3–4) against the untruthful monstra (in this context, “monstrosities”) that were to be found in Roman wall paintings of his day.174 Even in the early imperial period, when idealizing or classicizing trends in portraiture became dominant, some Romans continued to desire exactitude in representing individuals as they actually looked. Pliny the Elder (HN 35.4), for example,

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bemoans the fact that by his day (the third quarter of the first century c.e.) “even the painting of portrait images, by which especially exact likenesses were transmitted through time, has entirely gone out of fashion” (imaginum quidem pictura qua maxime similes in aevum propagabantur figurae in totum exolevit). His nephew Pliny the Younger (Ep. 4.28.3) also writes to a friend (on behalf of another friend) to ask him to commission an artist to make copies of painted portraits of the historian Cornelius Nepos and the Epicurean philosopher Titus Catus “without departing from the originals even to improve on [i.e., to idealize or ennoble] them” (ne in melius quidem sinas aberrare).175 The terms “verism” and “veristic” were coined in attempting to explain why so many images of Romans in the late Republic looked so different from portraits of Greeks.176 Roman “verism” could thereby be distinguished from Late Classical and Hellenistic Greek “realism.”177 At the time when “verism” and “veristic” came into usage in the modern era to describe Roman portraits, Roman art in general had long been considered derivative or inferior to Greek art. This rather simplistic view, which is still current in some quarters, ultimately goes back to eighteenth-century art historical theory, as propounded by Johann Joachim Winckelmann, who “pedestalized” Greek art, sculpture in particular, and viewed Roman art rather negatively, regarding it as “imitative.” When Winckelmann wrote his highly influential work Geschichte der Kunst des Altertums,178 he was unaware that a number of the works that he praised so highly as original Greek masterpieces were in fact produced in the Roman period as copies or adaptations of Greek originals that are now lost.179 By holding up verism in portraiture as something distinctly and uniquely Roman, scholars more sympathetic to the Roman achievement could claim that the Romans were capable of producing something new and important in its own right in art.180 Partly for this reason,181 portraiture is generally regarded today as one of the two great artistic achievements of the Romans, the other being architecture. However, scholars like Gisela Richter took issue with the idea that verism was something distinctly Roman, claiming that this form of hyperrealism can also be found in Hellenistic portraits of Greeks and of Romans in Greece and pointing out that the majority of marble sculptors working in the service of Rome—whether in Greece or in Rome itself—were Greeks.182 For Richter, verism was a dry form of realism, for which she coined the expression “veristic realism.”183 According to Richter and others who have followed her, the only apparent difference between Greek and Roman verism derives from the fact that Romans looked ethnically different from Greeks.184 One scholar, following much in the same vein, even postulated that Greek sculptors with a negative view of Romans caricatured them by creating portraits that exaggerated



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their physiognomic features.185 However, this “subversive” interpretation of Roman verism has not found much favor.186 Although it is true that Romans often look different from Greeks, this is due in part to the Romans’ distinctive close-cropped hairstyle, which contributes to their look of a negotiator (“businessman”),187 as well as their lack of beards during the later Republic. Part of the difficulty in understanding the differences between Greek and Roman portraiture concerns the terms “realism” and “verism.” Elements of realism in Greek portraiture are already evident in the fifth century b.c.e.188 and in an advanced form in such fourth-century images as those of Plato (427– 347)189 and Aristotle (384–322)190 that were produced during their lifetimes191 and are now known to us only through Greco-Roman copies.192 An epigram in the anonymous Life of Aristotle193 mentions that Aristotle was bald, but in copies of his portrait that have come down to us, he is shown with thin, wavy strands of hair brushed down over his forehead to cover his balding head. Although the original lost portrait of Aristotle, made when he was around sixty years old, has been attributed to Lysippos, I believe that it may very well have been the work of his brother Lysistratos and been based on a life-mask.194 Portraits like those of Plato and Aristotle would have a profound effect on realistic portraiture to come. Caution should always be exercised when discussing images like the very realistic-looking portrait of Aristotle’s contemporary Demosthenes (384–322 b.c.e.) that was made by Polyeuktos some forty-two years after Demosthenes’ death and was probably not based on a life-mask.195 Demosthenes’ image in a number of Greco-Roman replicas may very well be an essentially invented likeness that captures his bitter and harsh character, mentioned by Plutarch (Dem. 4.8). Unlike verism, which implies that the image is based on the actual physiognomic features of the individual being portrayed, a naturalistic-looking portrait of a named person can be characterized as “realistic” even if it is not based in any way on the actual features. In short, the term “realism” can be applied even to invented but highly naturalistic images like those of Homer (fig. i.12)196 and the so-called Pseudo-Seneca, who is most likely to be taken as Hesiod (fig. i.13).197 Both Homer and Hesiod lived in the late eighth century b.c.e., long before the birth of portrait sculpture in Greece. The realism of these two Hellenistic baroque interpretations is certainly equal to what is seen in most portraits that have been classified in the past as examples of Roman verism. In fact, if we did not know that these were invented images, we might think that they were true likenesses of actual individuals. As already noted, we know from ancient literary sources of the existence of ancestral wax masks of legendary Roman characters like Numa Pompilius,

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Fig. i.12. Invented image of Homer, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Photo by author Fig. i.13. Invented image of Hesiod (?) (“Pseudo-Seneca”), Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples. Photo by author

Fig. i.14. Hellenistic portrait of a Greek, Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, Copenhagen. Photo by author

Fig. i.15. Hellenistic portrait of an Egyptian priest from the Athenian Agora. Photo by author



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Fig. i.16. Roman Republican portrait of a man, Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, Copenhagen. Photo by author Fig. i.17. Roman Republican portrait of a man, Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, Copenhagen. Photo by author

Fig. i.18. Roman Republican portrait of a man, Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, Copenhagen. Photo by author Fig. i.19. Gold stater (obv.: head of T. Quinctius Flamininus), 196 b.c.e. After Houghton and Lorber (1983) fig. 109

who is said to have lived in the late eighth century, and actual historical personages like L. Iunius Brutus, who lived in the early fifth century, before there was true realism in either Greek or Roman portraiture.198 The numismatic and sculptural images of Numa Pompilius (fig. i.9a–b)199 are rather idealized, while the coin portrait of L. Iunius Brutus (fig. i.10)200 appears rather realistic. In addition, a number of images of actual unknown Greeks and others created in the late Hellenistic period (e.g., figs. i.14 and i.15)201 are in some cases indistinguishable from veristic-looking portraits of Romans (e.g., figs. i.16– i.18).202 Here we must allow for a two-way process, since artistic currents rarely flow in only one direction. As Evelyn Harrison noted in the case of a veristic-looking marble portrait of an Egyptian priest in Athens that was created around the middle of the first century b.c.e. (fig. i.15), it would seem that at

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this time “two opposite processes were going on on the two sides of the Adriatic: at the same time that the Roman portrait was being Hellenized the Greek portrait was being Romanized.”203 By comparison with their Roman counterparts, however, Greek veristic-looking portraits were by no means common, tending to be more the exception than the rule.204 The earliest extant image of an identifiable historical Roman personage is that of T. Quinctius Flamininus, who had his portrait struck on gold staters minted in Greece (fig. i.19) following his victory over Philip V of Macedon at Kynoskephalai around 196 b.c.e.205 Since Flamininus was in Greece at the time the staters with his image were minted, it is likely that he sat for the presumably Greek artist or die-engraver, who would have needed little time to sketch his profile. Though Flamininus’ numismatic portrait recalls that of Philip V in the tousled hair locks and the custom of a short beard, the facial features are obviously not the same.206 Despite some variation in his features among the various issues, the image of Flamininus certainly conveys a sense of reality that would qualify it as a true likeness and therefore a veristic portrait.207 His physiognomy on this coinage would probably not have been appreciably different from that in his bronze portrait statue set up next to the colossal image of Apollo opposite the Circus Flaminius in Rome (Plut. Vit. Flam. 1), which would also have been a creation of some Greek sculptor working in Rome.208 Flamininus’ features in his three-dimensional likeness may have been based on a life-mask made around the time he became consul in 198 b.c.e. at the age of thirty-one.209



Fig. i.20a. Statue of Roman general from sea off Punta del Serrone (near Brindisi), Museo Archeologico Provinciale, Brindisi. After La Rocca and Parisi Presicce (eds.) (2010) fig. ii.13 Fig. i.20b. Detail of head of Roman general. After Papini (2004) fig. 419 Fig. i.20c. Detail of head of Roman general. After Papini (2004) fig. 421

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Fig. i.21. Denarius (obv.: head of M. Claudius Marcellus, consul 222 b.c.e.), ca. 50 b.c.e. After Kent (1978) pl. 19.75

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Clay bullae found at various sites and most recently at Kedesh (Israel), dating sometime before about 146 b.c.e., bear images of Romans with veristic characteristics.210 Important, too, is another relatively recent discovery: the upper half of an over life-size bronze statue dredged up from the sea off Punta del Serrone near Brindisi, now in the Museo Archeologico Provinciale, Brindisi, could very well represent a distinguished Roman general active in the first quarter of the second century b.c.e. (fig. i.20a–c).211 Because his youthful facial features convey a true sense of likeness, this sculpture may be a good example of a veristic portrait of a rather goodlooking individual. In the late Republic it became common to represent ancestors on coins, with naturalistic images in all likelihood based on a wax ancestral mask or sculpted portrait. Among the earliest actual historical personages to be so represented is M. Claudius Marcellus, consul of 222 b.c.e., whose image appears on denarii issued by P. Lentulus Marcellinus around 50 b.c.e. (fig. i.21).212 This representation of Claudius Marcellus would have been in keeping with trends in portraiture in the second half of the third century b.c.e. Beginning in the late second century and continuing through the first century b.c.e., we also find a number of extant veristic portraits of the upper classes. The majority of these are in marble, while the number of images of the nonelite carved in limestone, especially from the second half of the first century b.c.e., testifies to the rising affluence of a significant number of the nonelite for the first time not only in Roman history but also in Western civilization. Literary sources suggest that marble portrait sculpture began in Rome in the second century b.c.e., when cult images of the gods, carved in marble by Greek sculptors such as Timarchides and Polykles (Pliny HN 36.35), were also being created. The earliest known marble portrait statue of a Roman to have been set up in Rome also dates to the second century b.c.e. It is the image of the Roman poet Ennius that Cicero mentions in his Pro Archia (9.22) as reputedly set up in the context of the Tomb of the Scipiones on the Via Appia.213 The earliest known temple in Greek marble (Pentelic), the so-called Round Temple by the Tiber River, dates from the late second century b.c.e.214 Even when the marble quarries at Luna (Carrara), Italy, were opened on a large scale under Augustus, most of that marble was used for architecture and architectural sculpture, as in the Ara Pacis.215 In the case of high-quality portraits, like the statue of Augustus from the Via Labicana in the Museo Nazionale Romano al Palazzo Massimo in Rome, Parian marble was used for the head and Luna for the lower-quality body.216 According to Pliny (HN 36.14), it was not until the

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mid-first century c.e. that a good and abundant source of statuary marble was found at Luna. From that time on, we also begin to find more high-quality portraits in the West carved in this superior type of marble.217 Although there are a number of extant veristic portraits datable to the late second/first century b.c.e., these represent only a fraction of the images in existence at that time, since Roman commanders were already setting up portraits of themselves in the fourth century b.c.e., if not earlier. Terracotta was a popular medium of artistic expression, including various forms of portraits in the Etruscan world,218 but it does not seem to have been used by the nobles of Rome for images of themselves.219 Instead, until at least the first century b.c.e., bronze was preferred, especially for life-size and less than life-size portrait sculpture destined for public places.220 As Pliny (HN 34.15) suggests, one of the reasons that bronze was the favored material for portrait statues was its ability to impart great realism to the likeness (similitudo expressa) of an individual.221 Its costliness also contributed to the social distinction attributed to its use. Even in Greece, which had good sources of white statuary marble, bronze was the favored medium for statues, particularly of historical personages throughout the classical period.222 In Italy, the Etruscans were especially skilled in producing bronze sculptures and decorative items that were much sought after. As Rome expanded, numerous Etruscan bronzes were brought back to be set up in Rome—two thousand bronze images alone from the Volsinii in the year 264 b.c.e. (Plin. HN 34.34). Representative of bronze craftsmanship from this period is the head of the socalled Capitoline Brutus, possibly from an equestrian statue, which stylistically appears to date between 350 and 250 b.c.e. (fig. i.22).223 The unknown Roman portrayed in this sculpture wears a beard, which Varro tells us (Rust. 2.11.10) began to go out of fashion in Rome around 300 b.c.e.224 The reason for this change is unknown, but it likely began with the upper classes, as was usually the case. Since beards continued to be worn in Greece at this time, perhaps the change in fashion in Rome might be attributable at least in part to the process of making wax masks in the later part of the fourth century. As noted above, beards, especially full ones, had to be covered up in making the plaster lifemask, because the removal of the cast from the face would otherwise have been unbearably painful. The “Capitoline Brutus” and certain other bronzes of the so-called Mid-Italic



Fig. i.22. “Capitoline Brutus,” Palazzo dei Conservatori, Rome. Photo by author

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Fig. i.23. Republican portrait of a Roman or Italian from Delos, Archaeological Museum of Delos. After Pollini (2007b) fig. 13.20

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tradition from outside Rome in this general period have an air of individuality and are realistic-looking enough to qualify as veristic.225 By 158 b.c.e. the Roman Forum contained so many portrait images that the censors decreed that all be removed except those that had been set up by order of the Roman People or Senate (Plin. HN 34.30).226 In his Breviarium, Zacharias reports that in Rome alone there were some 3,785 bronze images of Roman rulers and commanders (aenea simulacra regum et ducum), presumably in public locations.227 That so few of the many portraits from this period have come down to us is probably due largely to the material from which most were made: being highly recyclable, a great many Roman bronze sculptures were destroyed for economic reasons. Others suffered destruction as a result of natural or human agency, in particular attacks by Christian fanatics in the Late Antique period. Because of the Roman nobles’ pride in their wax ancestral masks and the social privilege of passing these masks down to posterity, it is reasonable to assume that this tradition predisposed the nobility to commission veristic images of themselves in bronze for prominent public places as well as for domestic settings. There was a considerable advantage in making plaster life-mask molds and producing bronze sculptures from them: if the actual wax ancestral masks or even the original plaster face-casts were destroyed in a fire or natural disaster, another plaster cast could be made from a sculptural portrait. This secondary plaster cast could then in turn be used to produce new wax ancestral masks. When the grown children of the family left the house of the paterfamilias to set up their own homes, they would then have been able to reproduce the wax ancestral masks for their own abodes,228 either from the original plaster face-cast or from a secondary plaster cast made directly from a sculptural image of the individual. The very process of replicating the ancestral wax imagines for subsequent generations, as well as making bronze and eventually marble replicas based on these masks, would have served to keep veristic imagery alive. In portraits of the Roman aristocracy and of culturally discerning Roman and Italian businessmen (negotiatores) like the individual portrayed in a marble head from Delos (e.g., fig. i.23),229 more often than not we find a form of what might be called “ennobled verism.” These images embrace a range of styles in their emotional content and surface treatment. This spectrum is evident even in the many marble portrait replicas created in the early imperial period based

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on some lost Republican prototype that may in turn have been based on a lifemask. Some of the portraits of the Roman aristocrats show their subjects with dramatically turned heads and powerfully modeled physiognomic features (the so-called Pathosbild), as in two marble portraits of unknown Roman aristocrats in the Munich Glyptothek—the “Marius” (fig. i.24)230 and the “Sulla” (fig. i.25),231 which reflect the high baroque tradition of Hellenistic art. Other sculptural likenesses are presented as sedate-looking, with heads facing more forward and with classicizing tendencies to various degrees. A stoiclooking, somewhat idealized bronze portrait bust from Volubilis, now in the Musée des Antiquités Préislamiques in Rabat (Morocco), represents Cato the Younger (“Uticensis”) (fig. i.26).232 The only comments that have come down to us about Cato’s physical appearance are generalized, though certainly in agreement with his facial features as preserved in the Volubilis portrait. Lucan, for example, mentions in his Pharsalia (2.373) that Cato “admitted no joy to his rigid countenance” (nec duroque admisit gaudia vultu). Likewise Plutarch comments (Vit. Cat. Min. 2) that “in countenance” (τῷ προσώπῳ) Cato was “unmovable, stoical, and altogether steadfast” (ἄτρεπτον καὶ ἀπαθὲς καὶ βέβαιον ἐν πᾶσιν). The bronze portrait bust from Volubilis was most likely based on a lost threedimensional prototype reflecting Cato’s life-mask, probably created around 54 b.c.e., when he became praetor at the age of forty-one.233 Two portraits now in the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen from the Tomb of the Licinii Crassi in Rome show modified forms of verism234—a



Fig. i.24. Portrait of “Marius,” Glyptothek, Munich. Photo by author Fig. i.25. Portrait of “Sulla,” Glyptothek, Munich. Photo by Hans Rupprecht Goette Fig. i.26. Portrait of Cato the Younger (“Uticensis”), Musée des Antiquités Préislamiques, Rabat. After Pollini (2007b) fig. 13.23

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Fig. i.27. Portrait of Gn. Pompey the Great (Cos. II), Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, Copenhagen. Photo by author Fig. i.28. Portrait of M. Licinius Crassus, Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, Copenhagen. Photo by author

Fig. i.30. Portrait of Gn. Pompey the Great (Cos. I), Museo Archeologico, Venice. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and the Classical Numismatic Group

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Fig. i.29. Portrait of M. Licinius Crassus, Louvre, Paris. Photo by William Storage

portrait of Gn. Pompey the Great (106– 48 b.c.e.) (fig. i.27)235 and an image of the fabulously wealthy M. Licinius Crassus (115–53 b.c.e.) (fig. i.28).236 The late Republican style of the lost prototype of Crassus’ portrait is conveyed somewhat better by a replica in the Louvre (fig. i.29)237 than by the more idealized early imperial image in the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek. Although we have no description of his physiognomy, his portrait shows him at about sixty years of age, the time when he was consul for the second time with Pompey.238 The gravitas and severitas associated with Crassus are conveyed well by these likenesses. As for Pompey, Plutarch (Vit. Pomp. 2.1) remarks on his “affable dignity” (ἐράσμιον ἀξιωματικὸν), while noting that “there was a certain gentle swelling up of his hair and a suppleness of the contours of his face around his eyes, producing a resemblance— more talked about than apparent—to the images of King Alexander” (ἦν δὲ

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τις καὶ ἀναστολὴ τῆς κóμῆς ἀτρέμα καὶ τῶν περὶ τὰ ὄμματα ῥυθμῶν ὑγρότης τοῦ προσώπου, ποιοῦσα μᾶλλον λεγομένην ἢ φαινομένην ὁμοιότητα πρὸς τὰς Ἀλεξάνδρου τοῦ βασιλέως εἰκόνας).239 In the Copenhagen portrait, which is in agreement with Plutarch’s description, Pompey appears to be in his early fifties, the age at which he became consul for the second time (55 b.c.e.).240 This portrait, like the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek Crassus from the same tomb, is a somewhat idealized early imperial image of Pompey. An earlier type of Pompey, exemplified by a head in the Museo Archeologico in Venice (fig. i.30), shows him at about the time when he first became consul.241 In this earlier type, the turn of head and uplifted gaze were undoubtedly intended to recall an early image of Alexander the Great by Lysippos (Plut., Vit. Alex. 4.1; Mor. De Alex. fort. 2.2). Pompey also appears somewhat more idealized in this earlier type than in the presumed prototype that lies behind the Copenhagen head, probably because he was younger when the earlier model was created. This fact should also serve as a cautionary note with regard to notions of stylistic choices and trends, since the portraits of Pompey and Crassus were in all likelihood ultimately based on their life-masks, taken at different stages of their lives and magisterial careers. Presenting a more harshly rendered version of verism are a few portraits of the Rome elite, such as the marble likeness of C. Iulius Caesar from Tusculum, now in the Museo d’Antichità in Turin (fig. i.31a–b).242 This sculptural image, the only one of Caesar generally considered to have survived from shortly before or shortly after his death, conforms very well with his numismatic images as well as with the general description of him as having a distinctive clinocephalia (saddle-shaped dip in his skull),243 which Caesar liked to conceal by wearing



Fig. i.31a. Portrait of C. Iulius Caesar from Tusculum, Museo d’Antichità, Turin. After Pollini (2005a) fig. 8.18 Fig. i.31b. Portrait of C. Iulius Caesar from Tusculum, Museo d’Antichità, Turin. After Pollini (2005a) fig. 8.19 Fig. i.32. Portrait of C. Iulius Caesar, Sala dei Busti, Museo Pio Clementino, Vatican. After Pollini (2005a) fig. 8.20

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the laurel wreath granted to him for life by the Roman Senate.244 The Tusculum head was probably based on a portrait created at some point between the time he became dictator in 46 and dictator perpetuus in 44, when he was between the ages of fifty-four and fifty-six. I have therefore called this the “Caesar Dictator” type.245 This image of Caesar differs markedly from later classicizing, reinterpreted replicas like the marble head in the Sala dei Busti of the Museo Pio Clementino (formerly in the Chiaramonti) in the Vatican (fig. i.32) and in the Camposanto in Pisa.246 The so-called Chiaramonti portrait type reformulates Caesar’s veristic image, modifying it toward the classical ideal for ideological reasons in keeping with Octavian’s preference for a style that became the hallmark of Augustan classicism after the founding of the Principate.247 For this reason, I have designated it the “Divus Iulius” type. Caesar’s classicizing type may originally have been commissioned by Octavian for the cult image of Divus Iulius in his Temple in the Roman Forum (see chapter III). The ennobling or rejuvenation of Caesar’s facial features would have helped to convey his new status as a state divinity. In late Republican portraiture we sense—or at least can allow for the possibility—that some veristic-looking images even went beyond the bounds of literal representation, exaggerating the blemishes and wrinkles of a person’s face. Without the aid of photography, of course, we have no way to determine how accurately a portrait represented someone. But since Roman portraiture was a medium encoded with moral and ethical values, it would have been understandable for an individual of “the old school,” who saw himself as the embodivment of Roman virtues such as severitas, gravitas, constantia, and dignitas, to commission a portrait of himself in which the sculptor was to exaggerate the elements of aging in the face of his subject in the belief that the greater the number of wrinkles, the greater the virtues and accomplishments of the individual represented. A portrait of an old man of the late Republican period in the Palazzo Comunale in Osimo (Italy) suggests an exaggerated imagery (fig. i.33).248 Because this portrait appears to exceed the boundaries of true verism (i.e., what the person actually looked like), we might classify it as “super-” or “hyper-veristic.” Of course not all cultures interpret defects of the flesh in the same way. For example, American artist Robbie Conal has created super-veristic billboard portraits of noted politicians (e.g., Ronald Reagan: fig. i.34), whose grimness of expression and mass of wrinkles are intended to portray mean-spiritedness and moral bankruptcy.249 A Roman of the late Republic, however, would have had an altogether different interpretation of Conal’s imagery. This modern comparison also points up the necessity of interpreting art in the context of the cultural milieu and time in which it was produced.

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Fig. i.33. Portrait of an unknown man of the Late Republic, Palazzo Comunale, Osimo. Photo by author Fig. i.34. Portrait of Ronald Reagan by Robbie Conal. After Pollini (1990b) fig. B

But what of the late first century b.c.e. images of freedmen (liberti or libertini) on grave stelae that have so often been cited as examples of Roman verism? In treatment, they show a certain affinity with local Etruscan workshops that produced equally crude funerary sculpture.250 Although some have seen Etruscan influence in the Roman freedmen reliefs, it is more likely that the reverse was true in the later Republican period, when the Etruscans continued to be Romanized and assimilated into Roman culture.251 Many of the stylistic similarities between portraits of Roman freedmen and Etruscans have more to do with a comparable lack of ability on the part of local sculptors and the limitations of similar types of local stones, most notably limestone, which often account for the rough, woodcut quality found in both late Etruscan and Roman funerary portraiture.252 Some have interpreted this crude style as merely a simplification of Hellenistic realism in portraiture.253 Certain veristic-looking images seem almost stereotypical, as in the case of a portrait on a grave relief in the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen (fig. i.35) and a sculpture in the round in the Museo Chiaramonti in the Vatican (fig. i.36), both of which were created at the end of the first century b.c.e. As Paul Zanker has pointed out, the similarity of features in these two portraits may be in part a result of their having been produced in the same workshop.254 Some ateliers must certainly have catered to the growing market in funerary portraits of freedmen, many of whom may have been more interested in fitting



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Fig. i.35. Portrait from a Roman grave relief, Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, Copenhagen. After Pollini (2007b) fig. 13.31 Fig. i.36. Portrait of an unknown Roman, Museo Chiaramonti, Vatican. Photo by author

into Roman society than in having their facial features more or less faithfully represented. Like the upper-class Romans who competed with one another for status and felt the need to parade their civic and military accomplishments, the lower classes of Roman society also wanted to leave a record of their social status, their own achievements, and their own sense of self-worth. Their portraits were intended as visual biographies in stone, analogous to the inscriptions that accompanied their funerary images. Although their imagery varied in minor details, many of these male and female funerary portraits have a certain communal Roman look that was defined by the Roman nobility. The “wannabe” aspirations of freedmen encompassed all aspects of their appearance in their grave images—facial features, hairstyle, pose, dress, and gestures.255 Because freedmen were socially disadvantaged even after receiving Roman citizenship or accumulating great wealth, they had all the more reason to want to look Roman in their funerary portraiture, which was to define and perpetuate their Romanitas through the ages. And in portrait imagery, nothing conveyed a “Roman look” better than the nobility’s veristic wax ancestral masks, a right denied to freedmen. This was the very point of the previously cited words of the fictional slave Amphitryon in Plautus’ Amphitruo (458–59). In seeking out the best Greek sculptors to capture noble countenances in bronze and marble, the Roman elite also made Hellenistic visual culture their own. Roman

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freedmen sought to imitate these aristocratic aspects of imagery in their own funerary portraiture. However, in the mass-produced, crude, or less refined freedmen portraits of local workshops, the visual language of the nobility was generally reduced to utter banality. If human nature teaches us anything, it is that the more unobtainable the goal, the more it is sought. In the portrayal of the fictional freedman Trimalchio in his Satyrica, Petronius captured well the lower class’s desire to ape the Roman elite, not only in life but also in death.256 We might say that Trimalchio sought to “out-Roman” what it was to be Roman. Such imitation is of course a phenomenon hardly limited to the Roman world. David Freedberg notes, for example, that the nonelite of European society used wax masks and wax images, following the tradition of their own aristocracy.257 In his study of funerary inscriptions, Georg Misch has pointed out that the Roman lower classes even copied the style of the epitaphs of the nobility.258 In grave reliefs freedmen also added the praenomen (personal name) and nomen (clan name) of their former master to their own cognomen (family name), thereby adopting another symbol of Romanitas—the ius trium nominum, the mark of a Roman citizen. But perhaps nowhere is the imitation of the Roman aristocracy by both the provincial elite and wealthy freedmen more manifest than in domestic architecture and its artistic decoration.259 Andrew Wallace-Hadrill has shown in his consideration of wall paintings from houses of Pompeii and Herculaneum that as time progressed and as certain wall schemes proliferated, most notably Fourth Style wall decorations, the paintings in the homes of all but the upper class declined in quality.260 As he hypothesized, “One might argue that as the demand for decoration spread to the less well-off, the ateliers of decorators responded by reducing the quality of a former luxury; or that the ateliers deliberately introduced simpler and cheaper schemes of decoration in order to tap a wider market.”261 We may posit a similar scenario for the production of freedmen relief portraits by local workshops, as the lower classes’ demand for grave reliefs grew in response to a changing and better economic situation. The rather uniform look of freedmen in their funerary reliefs is all the more remarkable when we consider the many different ethnicities of those who came from all over the Empire. For example, if we can believe the reported numbers, about a million Gauls were enslaved as a result of Julius Caesar’s conquest of Gaul,262 yet where are the images of Gallic-looking peoples, who surely made up a good portion of the freedman class? Neither could all freedmen have been homely or unattractive, contrary to the evidence of the vast majority of grave monuments. In short, the Roman veristic look seems to have been by and large an affectation on the part of freedmen, who saw themselves as novi Romani. But



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like the novus homo Cicero, who joined the ranks of Roman nobility through hard-won political success, even freedmen who achieved great personal wealth could not escape being viewed as outsiders. There is often a very human tendency to generalize and compartmentalize in discussing such a complex subject as Roman portraiture. Nevertheless, it is important to realize that Roman portraiture at that time defies generalization, because of all the different factors discussed here, as well as the great range of styles that were available in the later Republican period. In a number of cases conscious choices were made to express different values, concepts of self-worth, achievements, personal aesthetics, popular stylistic trends, or reactions against them. Although Roman portraiture developed in the Republic in part under the influence of Etruscan and especially Greek art, the Romans had their own social and religious traditions and values, which were different from those of the Etruscans and especially from those of the Greeks.263 As far as “Roman verism” is concerned, we can at least say that in essence it is a form of realism based on the actual features of a historical person. Veristic portraiture could also be expressed in a variety of artistic styles, ranging from the highly modeled forms of Hellenistic naturalism of the aristocracy to the rough, sometimes woodcutlike style mass-produced in local Roman workshops for the nonelite. Whatever the style or the clientele, the preference for verism in Roman portrait sculpture appears to have been ultimately inspired in part by the wax ancestral masks of the Roman nobility. This ancient cultural tradition in wax was perpetuated in altered forms in the more enduring media of bronze and stone, though recycling of images for a variety of reasons and the ravages of time exacted their toll.

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Notes 1. On Roman identity in general, see Bell and Hansen (eds.) (2008). For identity and Roman portrait statues, see Fejfer (2008), especially 262–327. 2. The Latin word imago, which is equivalent to the English “image,” means any sort of portrait image. In this context, however, I use imago/imagines to refer specifically to the wax ancestral masks of the nobility. Several ancient authors speak of these ancestral masks as being made of wax. See, e.g., Plin. HN 35.6: expressi cera vultus (“faces rendered in wax”). 3. The ius imaginis was not a formal law but rather a right sanctioned by tradition. On the “right of images,” also known as ius imaginum (a modern neologism), see Flower (1996) 53–59, 61, with further bibliography. Only ius imaginis (“right of an image”) is attested in the ancient sources (Cic. Verr. 5.36): ius imaginis ad memoriam posteritatemque prodendae (“the right to hand on a [wax] image to memory and posterity”). For the relationship of public ceremony and power, especially in the funerals of curule officeholders, see Sumi (2005) 10–13, 41–46. 4. By the late Republic, noble women gained other honorific distinctions that were intimately linked with the wax ancestral mask tradition. For women being represented as “ancestors” in other contexts, see Flower (2002). 5. For a comprehensive treatment of the wax ancestral masks of the Roman nobility, especially the literary and epigraphic evidence, see Flower (1996), with earlier bibliography; see also 281–325 (appendix A) for all known literary references to these masks. My general observations about wax imagines are based on these ancient sources. See further Zadoks-Josephus Jitta (1932) 22–31. For various aspects involving the images of ancestors in the Greek, Etruscan, and Roman world, see Højte (ed.) (2002) 174–75. 6. Flower (1996) 2, 36, 38, 340. Some earlier scholars were of the opinion that imagines could have been either life-masks or death-masks: Drerup (1980) 108 with n. 94; however, Drerup himself concluded that they were death-masks (107). Most of the examples of death-masks are half and full masks in plaster that are nonaristocratic and date largely to the second and third centuries c.e. For a catalogue and discussion of these, see Drerup (1980) 85–95. A wax full mask with a neck that has come down to us from a grave in Cuma is now on display in the Museo Archeologico



Nazionale in Naples (mus. inv. 86.497). This wax mask, with added glass eyes, appears to date to the late imperial period and is unrelated to the ancestral wax masks of the Roman nobility. For this unusual example and the report of a second wax mask of a woman, see Drerup (1980) 95–96, pl. 49.1; Schlosser (2008) 177, 180, fig. 1. Worthy of note is a passage in Quintilian (6.1.40) about a non-noble woman who introduced in court a wax death-mask of her husband (actually taken from an unknown cadaver). This mask caused laughter in the court because of its ghastly form, which argues against the wax ancestral imagines’ being death-masks (at least unaltered ones). Relevant, too, is the senatorial decree of 20 c.e. against the nobleman Gn. Calpurnius Piso, who was found guilty of high treason (maiestas), a disgrace that resulted in the Senate’s revoking (among other things) his right to an imago. This decree, recorded in an inscription recently discovered in Seville, Spain (the Roman province of Baetica), forbade displaying Piso’s wax mask with the other masks of the Calpurnii in funeral processions or placing it among the other masks in the family home (ne inter reliquas imagines, [quibus] exequias eorum funerum celebrare solent, imago Gn. Pisonis patris duceretur, neve imaginibus familiae Calpurniae imago eius interponeretur): Eck et al. (1996). Piso’s wax life-mask had probably been made no later than 7 c.e., when he became consul: Flower (1996) 16, 23–31, 55–59, 248–52. For another mask made from life being banned from funerals, see the case of a relative of Gn. Calpurnius Piso, Scribonius Libo Drusus, who was accused of maiestas but committed suicide during the trial in 16 c.e. (Tac. Ann. 2.27– 32): Flower (1996) 26, 121, 247, 258. 7. Scribonius Libo Drusus was either praetor or designated praetor at the time when his life-mask was banned from use in any funerals. 8. See Flower (1996) 169, although she does not consider the possibility of the creation of a death-mask if someone died soon after achieving high office but before a life-mask had been produced. 9. As Zadoks-Josephus Jitta (1932) 47–48, notes, “A few hours after death the face of the deceased has already considerably altered; the rigor mortis fixes these changes. These are due to two principal facts: the moisture of the soft parts of the face disappears and the muscles loose [sic] their tone because there is no longer any nervous stimulus. The combined consequences of both these phenomena are clearly discernible when we observe the death mask from a stylistic

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point of view. The bony structure becomes more apparent. The form of the forepart of the skull grows very pronounced. Temples and cheeks fall in, cheekand jaw-bones strongly protrude. . . . The closed eyes sink deep into the orbits because the moisture in the tissues supporting the eyeballs and the tone in the eye-muscles disappear. The bridge of the nose grows very pronounced; its tip falls in. The naso-labial furrows become deeper, the folds grow limp. The mouth hangs loosely down with drooping corners and is often drawn awry; the lips are sunken, especially the upper one, so that the distance between nose and lips is unnaturally lengthened. The chin, no longer under control, becomes long drawn out while its point falls slightly in. The entire face is often drawn awry owing to the position of the head. Every detail, every little line and wrinkle is smoothed away.” Therefore, true death-masks would have appeared rather ghastly, as the previously cited passage in Quintilian (6.1.40) makes clear. Alterations in the face as a result of death have been important in the discussion of whether or not death-masks played a significant role in the development of the Roman “veristic” style, which scholars have traditionally interpreted as a type of hyperrealism showing “warts and all.” For a discussion of “verism” and the problem with this term, see further below. 10. This is also true of wax images intended to resemble dead flesh. See Panzanelli (ed.) (2008) 2; Massey (2008) figs. 1–2, 4, 7, and 9 for several eighteenth-century anatomical wax models; and Kornmeier (2008) 74–80 for various wax “death heads” of decapitated victims of the French Revolution, allegedly attributed to Marie Tussaud: figs. 6–10. 11. For this tradition and the use of wax for various types of images, see most recently the various essays in Panzanelli (ed.) (2008), especially that by Julian von Schlosser (2008), 251, who states, “The bust of Ferdinand IV of Naples (pls. 6, 7) is almost frighteningly alive; fidelity to life here verges on indiscretion.” This impression is all the more remarkable in black and white photos. See also Freedberg (1989) 243, who discusses the dressing up of wax statues in museums to make them seem as lifelike as possible. For such images of the English royal family in the Undercroft Museum of Westminster Abbey, see Freedberg (1989) 218–19, figs. 115–16 with n. 67 for further bibliography; for the French royal family, see Freedberg (1989) 216– 18 with n. 64. For the Westminster Abbey images, see also Schlosser (2008) 204–11, figs. 10–14.

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12. See, e.g., Sen. Ben. 3.28.2. For this usage of the atrium, see Flower (1996) 185–222. 13. Flower (1996) 217–20. For the salutatio and the relationship between patronus and cliens in the context of the Roman house, see Wallace-Hadrill (1994) 12; Hales (2003) 5, 1–19. 14. Mus. inv. 1187: Zadoks-Josephus Jitta (1932) 26, 43, pl. IV.a; Flower (1996) 7, pl. 1; La Rocca and Parisi Presicce (eds.) (2011) 45 (cat. 1.2). See also similar pendant portraits in the grave relief of T. Paconius Caledus in the Gabinetto delle Maschere of the Vatican’s Museo Pio Clementino (mus. inv. 808): Helbig4 I (1963) 154–55 (no. 210) (E. Simon); MPC II, 163–64 (no. 33); Zadoks-Josephus Jitta (1932) 43, pl. V.a. Cf. also the tombstones in St. Paul’s in Rome and on the Via Appia: Zadoks-Josephus Jitta (1932) 26, pls. IV.a– b. For actual sculptural busts placed in a cupboardlike aedicular structure, see the Tomb of the Haterii: n. 91 below. 15. See also Cicero’s comment (Phil. 2.26) that M. Iunius Brutus had been inspired to assassinate Caesar by the wax mask of his ancestor L. Iunius Brutus. Cf. the similar story told by Cassius Dio (43.45.3), who claims that it was the statue of the tyrannicide L. Iunius Brutus on the Capitoline that moved Caesar’s assassins to commit the deed. 16. Mus. inv. 2392: Helbig4 II (1966) 418–19 (no. 1615) (H. v. Heintze). The head of the togatus, though ancient, does not belong to this body. See also Drerup (1980) 105, 123, pl. 51.1–2; Lahusen (1985) 281–82. This statue has been moved from the Braccio Nuovo of the Palazzo dei Conservatori to the Museo della Centrale Montemartini (Musei Capitolini), on the Via Ostiense. See also Flower (1996) 5–6 with n. 24 for earlier bibliography. The “column” on which one of the busts rests is not a “herm,” as Flower indicates, but a stylized palm tree. Also, it cannot be established whether or not the togatus is a novus homo, as Flower suggests may be the case. 17. For the shoes of the Roman nobility, see Goldman (1994) 116–22; Pollini (1993b) 434–36. 18. A real bronze bust of this size would have been quite heavy, but it would not have strained credulity as much as would holding a marble bust in one hand. 19. See also Sen. Ben. 3.28.2. For these other forms of portraits in the atrium and elsewhere in the homes of the nobility, see further Bettini (1991) 169–83 with detailed notes, especially for the stemmata and tree metaphor in Latin. See also Flower (1996) 40–46.

20. For the use of Roman images in various contexts in general, see Fejfer (2008); Lahusen (2010). 21. For these masks, Polybios (6.53.5) uses the word πρόσωπον (“face”), not προσωπεῖον (“theatrical mask”), while Pliny (HN 35.6) employs vultus (“face”), not persona (“theatrical mask”). See also Zadoks-Josephus Jitta (1932) 23, 27, 30; and in general McDonnell (1999) especially 546–49. 22. See Bartsch (2006) 117–31, 216–29 et passim, especially for a Roman citizen’s expected behavior in public and its philosophical underpinnings, seen as a mirror, in a sense, of the self. I thank Janina Darling for this reference. 23. See also Napier (1986) 8, 18–20 et passim. 24. Cf. also Connerton (1989) 59. 25. The sella curulis, an inlaid ivory seat upon which each of the revivified ancestors sat, was also very distinctive, as it bore the name “curule,” the very term for high office. For the sella curulis, see in general Schäfer (1989); Flower (1996) 77–79, 129, 204 et passim. As noted, the right (ius) to hand one of these wax imagines to one’s family, as well as to posterity, was accorded only to those who had achieved curule magistracies (Cic. Verr. 5.36). For the laudatio at the funerals of Roman aristocrats, see Sumi (2005) especially 44–45. 26. As Panzanelli (ed.) (2008) 9 n. 1 notes, “the most common substitute for beeswax was tallow, an animal fat that burns with a dense, foul smoke; paraffin was introduced in the mid-nineteenth century as an alternative.” For using resins to harden the wax, see Miller (1987) 44. 27. At Johns Hopkins University in the 1980s, students from the departments of Classics and Material Science and I successfully produced several wax masks by the method described here. In the first attempt, however, not enough olive oil was applied to eyebrows and hairline, resulting in a painful removal of the cast from the student’s face, leaving hairs embedded in the plaster. I thank Dante Beretta, who was then a graduate student in the Department of Classics, for undergoing this ordeal. The same process could have been used to produce a wax face-mask for the creation of a bronze portrait head. Based on ancient literary sources, this was apparently how Lysistratos produced his molds from life, as discussed below. I also thank Michael Bashoura, a student at the University of Southern California specializing in dental reconstructive surgery and art history, who worked with me further in making life-masks.



28. On this point, see also the Renaissance artist Cennino d’Andrea Cennini’s process for making lifemasks: Cennini (1933) 124. 29. For this method, see Cennini (1933) 124–27. 30. As when we made an actual wax mask in the 1980s (see above, n. 27), the person being cast would tell the caster when his face was becoming too hot. 31. See OLD 1096–97 s.v. “memoria,” especially no. 7. For an anthropological approach to memory and memorialization as part of death rituals, see Laneri (ed.) (2007), especially 8–9. 32. See Bloch (1982) 228; Rutherford (2007), especially 230. 33. Connerton (1989) 86. 34. See Connerton (1989) 86, following Foucault (1980) 147. 35. Connerton (1989) 2; later on (35), however, he writes: “Social habits are essentially legitimating performances. And if habit-memory is inherently performative, then social habit-memory must be distinctively social-performative.” 36. For rituals in general and their performative nature, see especially Rappaport (1999) 23–68, 115–17. 37. For various aspects of performative funerary rituals, especially from an anthropological point of view, see Brown (ed.) (1971); Parker Pearson (1999); Rappaport (1999); Kyriakidis (ed.) (2007); Laneri (ed.) (2007). For an anthropological approach to Roman funereal rituals, especially focusing on the temporal aspects of the aristocratic funeral, see Bettini (1991) 167–93. 38. See also Bettini (1991) 142–57. 39. See further below. 40. Cf. Connerton (1989) 63. See also Bettini (1991) 169–93. 41. Cf. Bartsch (2006) 117. 42. Cf. Connerton (1989) 61, 68. 43. Wollheim (1979), especially 23–33. See also Connerton (1989) 49. 44. The award of a public funeral continued under the Empire. See, e.g., the public funeral of Passienus Crispus, twice consul and married to both Nero’s aunt and his mother: Suet. Vit. Passieni Crispi. 45. For the political and cultural aspects of funerary rituals, see Laneri (2007), especially 6–8. 46. For politics as performance, see Sumi (2005) 7–15. Cf. Augustus, who on his deathbed compared himself to a mime, having played his part in life well on the world stage: Suet. Aug. 99.1.

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47. Robb (1991) 287; for the various ways that societies evaluate dying and burial: 293–94. 48. Meslin (1981) 53–55, 126–32, 203–19; Hales (2003) 18–19. 49. Being related to the larger community was not only a Roman phenomenon. For example, Schwartz (1991) 46, in discussing third-millennium Syria, notes that in early societies “all members of the society were understood to share a common ancestor, an idea that served to reinforce communality.” 50. See, e.g., Aen. 1.257–96, 6.755–853. For the use of Aeneadae, e.g.: 8.640; for nepotes: 3.409, 6.757, 8.731. 51. App. B Civ. 2.106 (45 b.c.e.); Cass. Dio 44.4.4. On this title, which is like that of Pater Patriae, see Weinstock (1971) 200–205. For the titles Parens Patriae and Pater Patriae in general, see Alföldi (1971b). 52. For the mausoleum and my new reconstruction of it, see chapter V with appendix B below. 53. Such display was also found in the ritual of the triumph, which is like the funereal rituals of the aristocracy, as well as the funeral processions of the principes of the Roman State under the Empire. The attempt to outdo what had come before sometimes runs contrary to what is said about other societies, where funereal ostentation declines after a new political order is established. For examples of the latter, see Morris (1992); Schwartz (2007) 47. 54. For comparisons between Roman funerals and triumphs, see App. Pun. 66, Mith. 17.117; Val. Max. 2.10.3; Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 8.59.3. See also Versnel (1970) 115–29; Bartsch (2006) 121. 55. Even an image of Caesar’s great rival Pompey is mentioned. Because Augustus left detailed instructions for his funeral, we know that this was his intent: Suet. Aug. 101.4; Cass. Dio 56.33.1. Tacitus (Ann. 3.76) also tells of the funeral in 22 c.e. of Iunia, the half-sister of M. Iunius Brutus and wife of Cassius, in which the imagines of some twenty noble families were paraded. Tacitus (Ann. 4.9) also describes the funeral of Tiberius’ son Drusus Minor in 23 c.e., in which many imagines were displayed. 56. One of the best general discussions of these images in the Forum of Augustus is still Rowell (1940). On these statues, see also Geiger (2008). 57. The tituli were three- or four-line inscriptions that usually gave the individual’s name, patronymic, and offices (cursus honorum), in order of descending importance. For several examples of these, see Spannagel (1999) 267–79, 288–97, 317–25, 332–36,

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especially 291–92, with n. 211, pls. 19.3–4, 20–23, with further bibliography, including the fundamental work on the inscriptions by Degrassi. Degrassi thought that the larger marble tablets of each elogium, on which the accomplishments (res gestae) of the individual were inscribed, were attached to the wall below each niche (see pls. 19.4, 24.1). His conclusion was based on Ov. Fast. 5.565–66, which describes the record of the famous deeds (elogia) of these leading men as being below their statues (claraque dispositis acta subesse viris). Although this reconstruction was commonly followed by subsequent scholars, Bauer (1987) 766, as well as Bauer in Hofter et al. (eds.) (1988) 187, argued against the placement of the elogium on the wall below. According to Bauer, the traces of the marble revetment of the sockel beneath the niches, consisting of narrow, vertical plates, precluded the elogia-tablets’ being attached beneath the niches. Instead, Bauer locates the elogia-tablets above the statues, which seems unlikely to me, as the inscriptions would then be too high to be read. Such an inscription was usually placed below an image on the base or on the pillar of a herm. This is also in keeping with what Ovid tells us about the location of the Forum of Augustus’ elogia as being below the statues. I have discussed this matter with Lucrezia Ungaro, who is likewise of the opinion that the elogia plaque went below. On this matter, see also Spannagel (1999) 291 n. 211. Cf. Geiger (2008) 62, fig. 2, who follows Degrassi’s placement of the elogia below. 58. For the Forum of Augustus in general, see Zanker (1968); Kellum (1981) 107–56; Anderson (1984) 65–100; Ganzert (1996); Ungaro (2007a). For the sculptural program, see especially Spannagel (1999) 86–400; Ganzert (2000); Geiger (2008). Based on recent archaeological excavations, it has been suggested that the Forum Augustum may have had two smaller pendant hemicycles south of the two great hemicyles. See Meneghini and Santangeli Valenzani (2007) 43–60, fig. 32 (new plan of the Forum Augustum) with further bibliography. Any conclusions on this matter, however, are necessarily preliminary until the finds have been published. 59. Although Cassius Dio (56.34.2) tells us that an image of Romulus was borne in his funeral, he does not mention Aeneas, whose invented image would also surely have been featured. Because of his son Iulus, the founder of the Julian House, Aeneas would have been numbered among Augustus’ ancestors. Tacitus (Ann. 4.9) specifically mentions the imagines of

both Romulus and Aeneas in the funeral procession of Tiberius’ son Drusus Minor in 23 c.e. 60. For Augustus as “Second Founder” of Rome, see chapters III, V, and IX below. 61. For a discussion of the evidence, see Anderson (1984) 94–97. 62. Sall. Iug. 85.12. In this particular case Sallust is critical of inexperienced commanders who have only the acta maiorum et Graecorum militaria praecepta (“the acts of ancestors and the military precepts of the Greeks”) to depend on. 63. On the colossal statue and the function of this room in the Forum Augustum, see Spannagel (1999) 304–16; Ungaro (2007b) 144–50 and (2008). 64. Ungaro (2008) 402–404, figs. 3–4. 65. Ungaro (2007b) 148–49 and (2008) 404–10, especially 404–405, fig. 5. 66. I suggested to Lucrezia Ungaro when we looked together at the fragments of the hands a number of years ago that this statue may have represented Augustus as a Genius figure, since we know from the epigraphical record (Acta Fratrum Arvalium) that the imperial Genius was worshiped in his forum: Taylor (1920), especially 124–28 and (1931) 202–204 with n. 49. See also La Rocca (1995). For the Acta Fratrum Arvalium, see Scheid (1998), especially 71, 74, 94, 102. 67. The judge may have sat on a specially constructed wooden platform that served as a tribunal, technically a sanctified area (templum) in front of the statue base. Public dealings had to be conducted in a sanctified space (a tribunal or some other area), as in the case of the Senate House, which was also a templum. This was one of the reasons why the Senate met in Roman temples (aedes), which were spaces that already had been inaugurated by augurs. On the various types of templa, see Catalano (1960) 252–61. See further chapter V below. 68. Mus. inv. 259: Helbig4 I (1963) 41–42 (no. 51) (v. Heintze); Kunckel (1974) 26, pls. 8.1, 9.1; HänleinSchäfer (1996) 87; MPC II, 266 (no. 22). For the Genius in the Lares cult, see also chapter VII. For the identification of this figure as specifically the Genius of Augustus, see Jucker (1981) 244, fig. 11. I do not agree with Boschung (1993a) 203 (cat. 276*), who gives no reasons for dismissing this as a figure of Augustus and who does not cite Jucker in his bibliography. The fringe of hairlocks of this Genius figure appears to be a free interpretation of Augustus’ Type IV.A (Stuttgart replica series), as do other portraits in this series: Pollini (1999a) 730.



69. For this proposal, see Ungaro (2007b) 147–51 and (2008) 410–12. 70. For the importance of augural symbolism, see chapters III, V, and VI below. 71. There is a large triangular “cut” in the upper surface of the base between the feet. See Ungaro (2008) 413, who suggests that this was for the point of a spear (“‘punta’ della lancia”). However, it would be rather odd to have the point of a spear located between the feet of the statue rather than at its side (here its right side). In my opinion, this “cut” could also have been damage to the revetment covering the upper surface of the base. 72. Ungaro (2008) 412–14 also considers whether the statue in the Hall of the Colossus may have been a seminude image of Divus Augustus. See further her earlier essay: Ungaro (2002) 114–21, especially 120, figs. 1, 4–5. For the Herculaneum bronze and the marble statue from Thessaloniki, see chapters II and III below respectively. 73. Spannagel (1999) 305–16 took the statue in the Hall of the Colossus to be Divus Iulius, but I think that this identification is less likely based on the painting program of the room. These paintings were to be understood as an indirect reference to Augustus, not Julius Caesar, as well as his future heirs Gaius and Lucius, who were likened to the Dioskouroi/Castores and also represented in this hall in one of Apelles’ paintings (Plin. HN 35.27, 93–94). See further below and chapter IX. 74. With regard to this relief, see chapter III below, with fig. III.13a. 75. The over life-size statue of Mars in the Musei Capitolini stands about 3.6 m high; the colossal marble fragments of the hand and the footprint found on the upper surface of the base in the Aula del Colosso are estimated to have come from a statue about 11 m high. For the Mars in the Musei Capitolini (mus. inv. 58), see Helbig4 II (1966) 46–48 (no. 1198) (E. Simon); Kraus (ed.) (1967) 247 (no. 270), fig. 270. This figure is reported to have been found in the Forum Transitorium (Forum Nervae). The original cult image from the Temple of Mars Ultor may have been in ivory and gold like many other cult statues. 76. Flower (1996) 209–11. There is evidence for family inscriptions of the cursus of the deceased being kept in the lararium. 77. Turcan (2000) 14.

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78. For the similarities between temples and the homes of the elite, see Wiseman (1987) 393–99. 79. For domestic religion and its complexities, see Orr (1978); Harmon (1978); Scheid (2003) 165–70; and especially Turcan (2000) 14–50. 80. For an extensive discussion of ancestor worship in third-millennium Syria, for example, see Porter (2002); Schwartz (1991), especially 45–47. 81. As Turcan (2000) 26 notes, “These Manes were present in the house through the images of the ancestors, or in the tutelary powers of the Lares.” 82. Pace Flower (1996) 210, who states, “There is no evidence at all to suggest that the imagines were ever present at the grave or played any role there.” 83. See Wissowa (1912) 178, with n. 4, 179 for inscriptional evidence. 84. See Laneri (ed.) (2007), especially 4–5. 85. Bloch (1994) 222. 86. Metcalf and Huntington (1991) 108. 87. The cult of the genius and the cult of the Lares and Penates were not always centered in the atrium, as evidenced especially in the case of homes of the non-noble classes at various sites, including Pompeii and Herculaneum: see in general Orr (1978) 1575–90; Fröhlich (1991); Kaufmann-Heinimann (1998). 88. Even Flower (1996) 211 admits this. 89. For both these houses, see Fröhlich (1991) 47, fig. 25.3 (“Casa a Graticcio” at Herculaneum) with further bibliography. See also Drerup (1980) 98–99, 121, pl. 50.1; Flower (1996) 42–46 et passim, pl. 2 (“Casa del Menandro”); Fejfer (2008) 178–79, figs. 104–105. 90. The wood of these heads appears to have been largely displaced by the hot volcanic ash/mud that engulfed them in Pompeii. It has not been definitively determined whether any trace of wood remains under the volcanic mud. At Herculaneum, on the other hand, there is carbonized evidence for wood used for similar crudely fashioned images of ancestors set up in a lararium: see especially Drerup (1980) 98–99, 121. 91. For the Tomb of the Haterii from the Via Labicana and its sculptures, see Giuliano (1957) 47 (no. 51), 48 (no. 52), pls. 32–33; Helbig4 I (1963) 773–81 (nos. 1071–77) and 773–74 (no. 1071) (E. Simon). The two portrait busts of a male and female member of the family are dated to the Trajanic period. These, too, are in the form of stone busts and do not represent the wax masks of the Roman nobility. See also Zadoks-Josephus Jitta (1932) 42.

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92. For the relationship of the genius and the snake, see Orr (1978) 1572–74 et passim. 93. Fröhlich (1991) 445–46, 154, 273 (L 55), figs. 29.3, 37.1. 94. For the use of garlands in the home in connection with religious rites, see Turcan 2000: 29. For the laying down of wreaths during the joint worship of the Manes and Lares, see Plin. HN 21.11; see also Turcan (2000) 31. 95. The wreaths described by Cicero are of laurel. 96. For their presence in domestic lararia, see Fröhlich (1991) 46, fig. 29.3. 97. See, e.g., the funerary relief of the Antistii in the British Museum: D’Ambra (2002) 226, fig. 2. 98. Turcan (2000) 36, 43–50; Scheid (2003) 145–46, 166–67. 99. Scheid (2003) 169. 100. See OCD3 637–38 s.v. “Magic” (especially no. 7). 101. I thank Father Richard Cipolla for verification of this aspect of the Catholic liturgy. 102. Roger Caillois, cited in Connerton (1989) 68. 103. Napier (1986) xxiii, 18 et passim. 104. Lévy-Bruhl (1935) 123–24. 105. Nadel (1970) 189; see also 190–91, 198–201, 208–23. 106. Napier (1986) 17. 107. Cf. Napier (1986) 16. For the form and function of masks in general, see also Lommel (1972). 108. For this view and problems with it, see Flower (1996) 339–51 (appendix D). 109. Zadoks-Josephus Jitta (1932) 11–21. See also Steingräber (2002), who discusses how the Etruscans and other Italic peoples made use of ancestral images in the context of tombs but not in the sort of public representational way found in Roman culture, especially in the case of wax ancestral imagines. 110. For the so-called conflict of the orders (the two “orders” being the aristocratic patricians and the nonaristocratic plebeians), see, e.g., Hölkeskamp (1987) and (1993); Cornell (1995), especially 242–71, 293–344. 111. Some have also proposed in vague terms a possible connection between the creation of the new nobility and the beginnings of the wax imagines tradition: see, e.g., Hölscher (1978) 325 and (1990) Hölkeskamp (1993) 27–30; Flower (1996) 339–51. 112. See especially Hölkeskamp (1987) and (1993); Cornell (1995). 113. Cornell (1995) 254, table 6.

114. Hölkeskamp (1987) and (1993); Cornell (1995), especially 330–40. 115. Livy 6.35–42. See also Cornell (1995) 334 et passim. 116. Fritz (1950). See also Cornell (1995) 334, 341. 117. Livy 7.42. For various reasons, however, it was not until 173 b.c.e. that two plebeians held the consulship together: Cornell (1995) 337–38. 118. See Gruen (1992) 84–103. For the Roman conquest of Italy, see Cornell (1995), especially 293–326, 345–68. 119. For this tradition, see Hölscher (1978) 315–44; and in general Sehlmeyer (1999). 120. For these honorific statues and the ancient sources recording them, see Gruen (1992) 88, 90. See also Lahusen (1983) 7–12 (Carvilius), 56–59 (Camillus and Maenius); Sehlmeyer (1999) 48–52; Papini (2004) 185–86. For a history of these honorific statues in the Republic, see in general Sehlmeyer (1999). 121. As already noted, the concept of individuality, although valued in Roman culture, was strongly subordinated to the family. 122. Hölscher (1978), (1980), and (1990). For the role of art during the Republican period, see in general Gruen (1992), especially 84–182. 123. See in general Holliday (2002). 124. For Roman triumphal paintings, including those of Hostilius Mancinus, see Holliday (2002) 104– 12, 213–19. 125. For what constitutes a nobilis, see Brunt (1982). 126. For numerous representations of theatrical masks in both Greek and Roman art, see Bieber (1961). 127. In addition to Bieber (1961), see OCD3 934–95 s.v. “masks.” 128. For the early history of the theater in Rome, see Beacham (1991) 1–26. Masks were certainly in use by the third century b.c.e., as is evident from P. Scipio Africanus’ borrowing of a mask (persona) from Terence: Suet. Vita Terenti 3. Theatrical masks may have fallen out of popularity sometime between the third and first centuries b.c.e. because of the growing interest in mimes, only to be reintroduced by Roscius in the first century b.c.e. On the problem of masks, see Gratwick (1982): 83–84; Beare (1968) 303–309; Beacham (1991) 183–84. 129. See Bieber (1961) 152; Gruen (1992) 185 with further bibliography. 130. Gratwick (1982) 83.



131. See Pallottino (1968) 328, 338, 430, pl. LXIX; Bieber (1961) 147–48, fig. 542–43; Haynes (2000) 232– 33, fig. 190. 132. In addition to the references in note 131, see Rheinfelder (1928) 1–26; Haynes (1963). 133. Beacham (1991) 4–6. 134. These first translations of Greek plays into Latin were made by L. Livius Andronicus, who came from Tarentum in Magna Graecia: OCD3 876–77 s.v. “Livius Andronicus, Lucius”; Bieber (1961) 152 et passim; Gruen (1992) 185, 230 et passim. For the influence of Greek dramatic meters on funerary inscriptions, see Rawson (1985) 22 with n. 13. 135. See Hölscher (1978) 349–50, who places the beginning of temples to abstract divinities in Rome in the fourth and third centuries b.c.e. 136. The earliest known example of a play written specifically for funeral games (ludi funebres) is Terence’s Adelphoi, in connection with the funeral of L. Aemilius Paullus in 160 b.c.e.: Williams (1982) 3–6. 137. On Lysistratos and his technique, see, e.g., Pollitt (1974) 185–87; Stewart (1990) 80, 293 (T 133) et passim. Death-masks or even life-masks may have been used as a basis for portraiture in early pharaonic Egypt, but there would not have been any connection between this early period and fourth-century b.c.e. Greece. For the use of masks in Egyptian portraiture, see Breckenridge (1968) 63; Rockwell (1993) 137. 138. I do not agree with Konstam and Hoffmann (2004) that Pliny (HN 36.153), who attributes to Lysistratos the invention of life-casts of the face, was necessarily mistaken just because body casting was known long before Lysistratos. 139. See Konstam and Hoffmann (2004). One would have to postulate that male models for figures of nude male gods, heroes, and athletes must have been taller than average, as a number of the figures that come down to us are somewhat larger than average and hence of “heroic” proportions. For the size of “heroic” figures, see Pollini (1995) 264 with n. 15, 266 with nn. 26–28. Though not suggesting that plaster casts of actual individuals were made, I proposed in my article on the Riace Bronzes (2000b), especially 41–50 with fig. 5, that reworked secondary wax models based on the same primary models were used for Warriors A and B, with some changes introduced for slight variations in pose. I also suggested that such interchangeable body parts could be used for different figures, which would be very practical in producing

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a large sculptural group, where some variation was necessary. Although not mentioned by Konstam and Hoffmann (2004), it was not necessary in these sorts of statues to use more than one live model, since some variation could be introduced in the wax models. 140. For Demetrios in general, see Robertson (1975) 504–506; interest in more individual portrait features is found as well in coins from the Persian sphere at about this time (506–507). See also Stewart (1990) 274–75. 141. See Wycherley (1962) 14–34. 142. Plin. HN 35.153. See also Pollitt (1974) 73–81, 186. 143. Cf. Drerup (1980) 120, who briefly mentions Lysistratos’ “invention” and the availability of this new technique but sees the origins of the wax ancestral mask tradition in the free-form funeral masks of the Etruscans. 144. See in general Hafner (1969) and (1970). 145. For the casting of the “Capitoline Brutus,” see Lahusen and Formigli (2001) 22, figs. 3.4–5. A similar method was employed in producing an early third-century c.e. plaster cast of the entire head of a deceased individual from Via Praenestina outside Rome: Drerup (1980) 87–89, pls. 38–39. 146. For the indirect and direct method of bronze casting, see Pollini (2002b) 2–3 with n. 5 for further references. 147. See especially Misch (1951); Momigliano (1993). 148. Momigliano (1993) 43–64 (Xenophon), 73–89 (Aristoxenos). See also Misch (1951) 177–286, especially 208–30. 149. Dionysios of Halikarnassos (5.17.2–3), in discussing the funeral oration of the first consul L. Iunius Brutus, notes that these funeral eulogies were already an ancient and native tradition at that time. See Flower (1996) 128–58, especially 132. 150. See, e.g., the funeral of Vespasian: Suet. Vesp. 19.2. 151. According to Pliny (HN 33.111–12), the painting of the face of Jupiter with lead-red paint (minium) was repeated periodically on festival days (festis diebus), no doubt as part of a renewal ceremony. As Duhn (1906) 20 probably correctly surmised based on his study of the traces of red paint found on urns, coffins, and skeletons (especially skulls) from Italian pre– Indo-European tombs, the intent in using blood-red was to impart a “pulsating and powerful life” (“pulsierendes, kraftvolles Leben”) to the cult image. For the painting of the face of both the triumphator and the

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cult image of Jupiter with lead-red, see also, e.g., Serv. ad Verg. Ecl. 6.22; Isid. Orig. 18.2.6; Tzetzes, Epistle 97 (after Cass. Dio). It is quite possible that this custom of painting the triumphator’s face was abandoned after the destruction of the Archaic terracotta statue in 83 b.c.e., after which it was replaced with a neoclassical image. For this new cult image of Jupiter, see Pollini (1993c) 260–61, figs. 77–78. With regard to the ancient passages cited above, see Versnel (1970) 59–60, 78–82, 115–16 et passim; Künzl (1988) 88, 94–96; Beard (2007) 84, 226, 231–32. For the triumph in general, see also Östenberg (2003) and (2009). 152. It is unclear whether the Archaic terracotta image of Jupiter was likewise red or a lighter color, necessitating painting it red, or whether it was the ritual repainting that was really significant as part of the renewal ceremony. For the Lo Scasato head, see Brendel (1978) 319, fig. 240. For an excellent color photo of this terracotta, see Cristofani (1979) 102. 153. The similarity of the two was already noted in antiquity by Seneca (De Consolatione ad Marciam 3.1): funus triumpho simillimum (“the funeral [is] very much like the triumph”). For a review of the evidence, see Versnel (1970) 115–31. 154. For the actors riding in chariots during the funeral procession, see especially Polyb. 6.53.8. 155. See Gell. NA 3.18.4; OLD 476 s.v. “currulis” and “currus”; 478 s.v. “curulis,” especially no. 3; OCD3 1382 s.v. “sella curulis.” 156. The painting of the triumphator’s face with lead-red pigment probably did not predate the creation of the cult image of Jupiter on the Capitol in the last years of the sixth century b.c.e. The earliest representation in art of what appears to be a Roman triumph or some form of it is found on the so-called Praeneste cista (toiletry container), now in the Staatliche Museen zu Berlin (Altes Museum), probably dating to around the third century b.c.e.: Künzl (1988) 99–100, fig. 62. 157. Schwartz (1991) 46. 158. Drerup (1980) 121. 159. See Parisi Presicce (2011). On invented images, see further below. 160. Tac. Ann. 4.9.2 (Aeneas, the Alban Kings, and Romulus); Cass. Dio 56.34 (Romulus); Livy 1.34.6 (Numa Pompilius); Cic. Phil. 2.26 and De or. 225–26 (L. Iunius Brutus). In some cases, the Senate voted that those who had attained divine status (e.g., Caesar and Augustus) were not to have a wax mask. In other cases, this seems not to have been the case (e.g., Aeneas,

Romulus, Vespasian). On this matter, see Flower (1996) 243 n. 94. For images of legendary or early historical figures, see in general Sehlmeyer (1999). 161. See further below for sculptural and numismatic images of Numa and L. Iunius Brutus. 162. For the concept of conventional types in Roman portraiture, see, e.g., Nodelman (1975). For the “new Roman art history,” see in general Brilliant (1998); Kampen (2003). 163. Kaschnitz von Weinberg (1926) 179 n. 1 was one of the first to use and define the term “verism.” For a discussion of Roman verism, see Breckenridge (1968), especially 143–46; and more recently Papini (2011a). For the term “cartographic,” see, e.g., Nodelman (1975) 27; Croz (2002) 238–50. 164. OED 3612.130 s.v. “verism.” 165. For the term “verism” or “verismus,” see Hinks (1934) 232; Richter (1955) 41; Kaschnitz von Weinberg (1965) 105–34; Jackson (1987). See also Gruen (1992) 153 with n. 90 for further bibliography. 166. Visconti (1792) x. See also Drerup (1980) 82. 167. Benndorf (1878). See also Drerup (1980) 82–83 for Benndorf and his influence on later studies. See further Kaschnitz von Weinberg (1965) 43–47. For a very useful survey of the historiography of the study of Roman Republican portraiture from the time of Winckelmann, see Papini (2004) 11–57. 168. For a discussion of the various views, see Zadoks-Josephus Jitta (1932) 79–88. See also Drerup (1980) 124–29; Lahusen (1985); Jackson (1987) 44–45; Gruen (1992) 154–55. 169. See, e.g., the comments of Zadoks-Josephus Jitta (1932) 47–48. 170. Mus. inv. S 848: de Kersauson (1986) 10–11 (no. 1 bis); Croz (2002) 38, 242, fig. 12. See also Zadoks-Josephus Jitta (1932) 48–49; Hiesinger (1973) 815– 16, fig. 7; Bianchi Bandinelli (1970) 93, fig. 101; Drerup (1980) 99, pl. 50.2; La Rocca and Parisi Presicce (eds.) (2011) 41 (cat. 1.1). 171. See Gruen (1992) 152–82 for an excellent review of the issues and problems, with further bibliography and new ideas expressed. However, in Gruen’s study, as in so many others, the wax ancestral masks were still regarded as “death masks.” For a few earlier surveys of the evidence, see, e.g., Breckenridge (1968) 143–86 and (1973); Hiesinger (1973); Smith (1981). See also Croz (2002) 238–50; Rose (2008) 102–18. For Etrusco-Italic portraiture in relation to Greek and Roman portraiture, see Papini (2011b).



172. Cf. Bianchi Bandinelli (1937) xix, who also criticized in passing the use of the term “verism.” 173. See, e.g., Hinks (1934) 232, who distinguished between Greek realism, a subjective term (in relation to the artist), and Roman verism, an objective term (in relation to the work). See also Fejfer (2008) 262–70. 174. Sed haec, quae ex veris rebus exempla sumebantur, nunc iniquis moribus inprobantur. Nam pinguntur tectoriis monstra potius quam ex rebus finitis imagines certa. . . . Haec autem nec sunt nec fieri possunt nec fuerunt. Ergo ita novi mores coegerunt uti inertiae mali iudices convincerent artium virtutes (“But these [paintings], which took their models from real things, are now rejected [as being] in bad taste. For monstrosities are depicted on frescoes rather than true images from real things. . . . These things, moreover, neither exist, nor can they exist, nor have they [ever] existed. Therefore, [these] new fashions have brought things to such a state that bad judges have condemned artistic excellence as boring”). Motivated by issues of veritas in representation, Horace at the very outset of his famous treatise on writing poetry, the Ars Poetica (1–13), compares painting and poetry in terms of what constitutes good and bad taste. On the issue of truth in Roman art, see Elsner (1995), especially 54–57, 75, 83, 85–86. 175. Other Romans also commented on the lack of exactitude in certain portrait images. For examples, see Pollini (1987) 11. 176. For the term “verism” in its application to Roman portraiture, see Kaschnitz von Weinberg (1926) 179 n. 1 and (1965) 105–34. 177. Richter (1968); Breckenridge (1968), especially 87–142. 178. This work has recently been retranslated into English as Johann Joachim Winckelmann, History of the Art of Antiquity (2006). For Winckelmann’s assessment that Roman art was “imitative” first of the Etruscans, then of the Greeks, see part I, chapter V (283–94, especially 284). 179. Winckelmann (2006) 283–89 et passim. 180. See, e.g., Kaschnitz von Weinberg (1926) 179 n. 1, who, following Franz Studniczka, makes a distinction between “verism” and both “realism” and “naturalism.” See also Breckenridge (1973) 826; Hiesinger (1973) 805; Jackson (1987) 32–33. 181. Roman verism, however, accounts for only one aspect of Roman portrait art. 182. Richter (1951b).

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183. Richter (1955) 45–46. See also Toynbee (1934), who uses “realistic” and “veristic” interchangeably. 184. For the “racist theory,” see especially Richter (1951a) 60. See also Richter (1951b), in which she argues that we have no names of Latin sculptors working at the time when veristic portraits appear, whereas we know the names of many Greek artists working for Roman patrons in Rome and elsewhere. Fittschen (1992), for example, showed how a statue that appeared to be a portrait of a Roman because of its dress turned out to have been originally an image of a Roman whose head was recut into a portrait of the New Comedy poet Poseidippos of Kassandreia, who lived from 316 to about 250 b.c.e. On the matter of differences in look between Greeks and Romans, see in general Croz (2002). 185. For this view, see Smith (1981) 34–38. 186. See, e.g., Fittschen (1992); Gruen (1992) 165– 67; Zanker (1995) 476. 187. See Stewart (1988) 40–42. For sculptural portraits of Romans in Greece in general, see also Croz (2002). 188. For the question of the beginnings of realism in Greek portraiture, especially with reference to the portraits of Themistokles and Pindar, see Himmelmann (2003); and Raeck (2003); La Rocca (2011), especially 64–77. 189. POG II (1965) 164–70; Breckenridge (1968) 101–102 et passim; Richter (1984) 181–86. 190. POG II (1965) 170–75, especially 173 (no. 7), figs. 976–78, 985 for the best extant portrait of Aristotle, which is in the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna. See also Breckenridge (1968) 120–24 et passim; Richter (1984) 95–99. 191. This seems likely in the case of Plato and is virtually certain for Aristotle. 192. On the use of “Greco-Roman” as opposed to “Roman” to described such copies, see Pollini (1996) 767–68. 193. POG II, 170. 194. Although the name of the sculptor of the portrait of Aristotle is not stated, it is assumed to have been a creation of Lysippos, whose patron Alexander the Great commissioned Aristotle’s portrait to be set up in Athens: CIG 136. See POG II, 171; Breckenridge (1968) 124. If this attribution is correct, Lysippos might have used his brother Lysistratos’ life-mask technique (discussed above) as the basis of his portrait of Aristotle. 195. POG II, 215–23; Breckenridge (1968) 127–28; Richter (1984) 108–13.

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196. POG II, 50–53 (“Hellenistic Type”), 51 (no. IV. 20), figs. 102–104 (marble head in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston); Richter (1984) 139–50. 197. POG II, 56–66; 59 (no. 12), figs. 165–66 (for the bronze head from the Villa of the Papyri outside Herculaneum, now in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples); Richter (1984) 135, 191–92 (“Pseudo-Seneca”). 198. For these wax ancestral masks of Numa Pompilius and L. Iunius Brutus, see above with n. 160. 199. The marble statue of Numa of second century c.e. date (most likely in the period of Antoninus Pius and based on a statue of Numa set up on the Capitoline Hill in the first half of the fourth century b.c.e.) was found with statues of the Vestals in a corner of the atrium of the House of the Vestals in the Roman Forum where a lime kiln was also found. See Becatti (1949) 100–102, who correctly surmised that the statue of Numa was probably not set up in the area of the atrium but in the Regia and that it and the statues of the Vestals were pulled down and taken off to a lime kiln in the Christian period as a result of Theodosius II’s decree to close down the temples of the gods. The odd rough area beneath the beard and neck was undoubtedly for the addition of stucco to complete the beard. For the denarius of C. (Marcius) Censorinus (88 b.c.e.) showing Numa (foreground) and Ancus Marcius (background), see RRC 357–60 (no. 346.1a); Kent (1978) 268 (no. 48), pl. 15. 200. Denarius of Q. Servilius Caepio Brutus (54 b.c.e.), showing L. Iunius Brutus: RRC 455–56 (no. 433); Kent (1978) 271 (no. 72), pl. 19. See also Sehlmeyer (1999) 72–73; Papini (2004) 160, fig. 90. 201. Johansen (1994) 56–57 (no. 16: mus. inv. 2032); Harrison (1953) 12–14 (no. 3), pl. 3.2. See also a portrait head of a Greek from Corinth: Harrison (1953) pl. 43c. Verism did not die out with the late Republic in Greece, as a veristic-style head of Trajanic date from Athens makes clear: Harrison (1953) 28–30, pl. 13. 202. Johansen (1994) 64–65 (no. 20: mus. inv. 3158), 68–69 (no. 22: mus. inv. 1936), 72–73 (no. 24: mus. inv. 1788). Cf. also the bronze statue of the so-called Hellenistic Ruler, which has been taken as either some unknown Hellenistic potentate or a Roman general: Helbig4 III (1969) 185–88 (no. 2273) (H. von Heintze); Himmelmann (1989) 126–49. See also Stewart (1990) 231, figs. 862–63. The ethnic ambiguity of this image points up the problem for those who believe that we can distinguish between Roman and Greek ethnic

types: cf. Smith (1988) 168 (cat. 61), pl. 41, who takes a statue, long regarded as Marc Antony, as representing a late Ptolemaic ruler. 203. Harrison (1953) 85; Croz (2002) 101, 181–83 (mus. inv. S 333). 204. One portrait, the so-called Euthydemos I, king of Bactria, in the Villa Albani (from the Torlonia Collection: mus. inv. 133) has been singled out in particular as showing a “veristic” treatment of the facial features. However, his portrait features do not agree closely enough—especially in the form of the nose (the lower tip of which is restored)—with coin portraits of Euthydemos I to make the identification likely. Helga von Heintze dismissed this as a portrait of Euthydemos I and took it instead to be some Roman commander of the late Republican period: Helbig4 IV (1972) 335–37 (no. 3260). For a summation of the arguments, see Smith (1988) appendix IV. 205. RRC 544 (548.1a–b); Kent (1978) 266 (no. 23), pl. 9; Smith (1988) 126–28; Gruen (1992) 161–62; Croz (2002) 127–28, 186–87 et passim. 206. See, e.g., Kraay (1966) 351–52 (no. 577), pl. 175 (Philip V); cf. 352 (no. 579), pl. 175 (T. Quinctius Flamininus). 207. Past arguments about whether Flamininus’ coin portrait qualifies as a veristic image depend on the preconceived—and in my opinion erroneous— belief that “verism” is a term to be reserved only for ugly old men. 208. See also Sehlmeyer (1999) 143–44; Papini (2004) 365. 209. KlPauly II, 563–64 s.v. “T. Quinctius F.” 210. See Rose (2008) 106–109 with further bibliography. Based on these images on bullae from Kedesh, Rose sees verism in Roman portraiture beginning around 200 b.c.e. as a natural outgrowth of some postulated Roman “identity crisis” as a result of being involved in foreign wars. But, as I argue here, verism in portraiture was not an external response but an internal one, determined by a political struggle between the old and new nobility by the second half of the fourth century b.c.e. 211. The statue was found in 1992 with other sculptures. See Papini (2004) 448–50, figs. 415–23; La Rocca and Parisi Presicce (eds.) (2010) 281–82, fig. II.13 (M. Papini). 212. RRC 460 (439.1); Kent (1978) 271 (no. 75), pl. 19. See also Sehlmeyer (1999) 121–22.



213. This tomb on the Via Appia in Rome also contained a head, the so-called Pseudo-Ennius, that is made of tufa from Aniene: Coarelli (1976) 24–26. 214. Maischberger (1997) 17. 215. Maischberger (1997) 18. The oldest known marble inscription in Luna (Carrara) marble is from Luna itself and dates around 155 b.c.e. Not until around 64 b.c.e. is there inscriptional evidence for Luna marble at Rome: Gordon (1983) 7. 216. For the Labicana Augustus, see Helbig4 III (1969) 216–18 (no. 2300) (H. von Heintze); La Regina (ed.) (1998) 61–62. 217. For the Roman quarries at Luna (Carrara), see Dolci (1980) and (1988); Attanasio et al. (2006) 69–79. 218. For Etruscan funerary sculpture in clay, see, e.g., Gazda (1973). For various types of Etruscan terracotta portraits, see in general Papini (2004) 227–333. 219. However, terracotta figures were popular for temple images and decorations. See especially Plin. HN 35.157–58 for pedimental sculpture in clay, which he reveres. 220. See Lahusen in Lahusen and Formigli (2001) 14–15; cf. Croz (2002) 105–22. 221. This is also true of bronze images of animals: Plin. HN 34.38. 222. See Stewart (1990) 24–25 et passim. 223. Helbig4 II (1966) 268–70 (no. 1449) (T. Dohrn); Brendel (1978) 399–400, fig. 308A–B. See Parisi Presicce (1997) 43–104, who suggests that the “Capitoline Brutus” might in reality have been an ancestral image of Augustus. Cf., however, Lahusen and Formigli (2001) 21–24, figs. 3.1–7; Papini (2004) 72–94, figs. 16–24. 224. Varro claimed that barbers first came to Italy from Sicily 453 years after the founding of Rome (i.e., ca. 300 b.c.e.) and that P. Titinius Mena introduced them. Before this time it was common for adult males to have long hair and full beards. 225. For a bronze head of a young man from near Fiesole now in the Louvre, often dated to the second half of the third century b.c.e., see Brendel (1978) 398, fig. 306; Papini (2004) 111–19, figs. 43–46. However, this head has also been dated as late as the first century b.c.e.: see, e.g., de Kersauson (1986) 8–9 (no. 1). For a date for this head in the first half of the third century b.c.e., see Lahusen and Formigli (2001) 18–19, figs. 1.1–4. The bronze head from S. Giovanni Lipioni from the Abruzzo, now in the Cabinet des Médailles in the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris (mus. inv. 857), is also problematic in its dating, since it has been

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placed anywhere from the late fourth to the first century b.c.e.: Lahusen and Formigli (2001) 25–26 (cat. 4), figs. 4.1–4; Papini (2004) 99–111, figs. 31–34. For the Mid-Italic tradition in portraiture, see Papini (2004) 127–45. 226. Pliny discusses these images in his chapter on bronze sculptures. 227. See Friedländer IV, 286 (appendix LIII). 228. See, e.g., Bettini (1991) 300 n. 12; Flower (1996) 48, 103. 229. On the Archaeological Museum of Delos, see Stewart (1979) 65–98 (especially 68–69, figs. 18c, 22a). For the negotiatores in general, see also Croz (2002) 203–15. 230. Giuliani (1986) 176–89 et passim, figs. 48, 50; La Rocca and Parisi Presicce (eds.) (2011) 170 (cat. 2.31). 231. Giuliani (1986) 176–89 et passim, figs. 49, 51–52; La Rocca and Parisi Presicce (eds.) (2011) 171 (cat. 2.32). 232. For the Volubilis portrait and others, see Massner (1982) 19–20 et passim, pls. 4b, 7a–b; Riß (ed.) (2001) 98, fig. 148. 233. KlPauly I, 1088 s.v. no. 10 “M. Porcius C. (Uticensis).” 234. For the tomb and its sculptures in general, see Kragelund (2002); Kragelund et al. (2003). 235. Johansen (1994) 24–25 (no. 1: mus. inv. 733). See also Giuliani (1986) 56–100 et passim, figs. 1–3. 236. Johansen (1994) 162–63 (no. 69: mus. inv. 749). See also Giuliani (1986) 223–38 et passim, figs. 62–63. 237. See de Kersauson (1986) 106–107 (no. 47: mus. inv. 1220). See also Giuliani (1986) 223, figs. 60–61. 238. KlPauly I, 1329–30 s.v. no. 2 “M. Licinius C. Dives.” 239. Plutarch provides the only useful description of Pompey’s features. For other ancient sources, see Giuliani (1986) 270 n. 44. 240. KlPauly IV, 1025 s.v. “Gn. P. Magnus.” 241. For the Venice head, see in general Giuliani (1986) 200–201, figs. 57–58; La Rocca and Parisi Presicce (eds.) (2011) 190–91 (cat. 2.46). 242. Pollini (2005a) 96, figs. 8.18–19. See also Donié (1996); Kienast (2001); Zarrow (2007). 243. Suet. Iul. 45. 244. Pollini (2005a) 95–96. 245. Caesar became praetor in 62 b.c.e. at the age of thirty-eight and consul in 59 at the age of forty-one. The Tusculum head represents Caesar in his mid-fifties: KlPauly I, 1002 s.v. “C. Iulius Caesar.”

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246. For the “Chiaramonti-Camposanto” type, see Pollini (2005a) 96–98 with further bibliography, figs. 8.20–21 and 8.22–23. See also chapter III below. For the so-called Chiaramonti Caesar, see MPC II, 136–37 (no. 122) fig. 22. 247. For this interpretation, see Pollini (2005a) 98. Already in the triumviral period Octavian’s style of rhetoric was a classicizing one: Pollini (1999a) 727 with further bibliography. For the rhetoric of Augustan classicism after the founding the Principate, see Pollini (1995) 267–73 and (1999a) 728. 248. Zanker (1983) 263–64, fig. 27. 249. In the words of the artist in a lecture, as well as in a conversation with him, “The corrugation of their flesh is a metaphor for the level of their corruption.” See also Pollini (1990b) 8–9, fig. B. 250. See in general Gazda (1973). 251. See Zanker’s criticism of Gazda: Zanker (1976) 594–98. See also Gruen (1992) 156–58. 252. See also Zanker (1976) 594. 253. Zanker (1976), especially 598. 254. Zanker (1976) 593–94, cf. figs. 3 and 4. For the grave reliefs of freedmen of the late Republican and early imperial periods, see also Zanker (1975). Cf. the conclusion about realism by Kockel (2005), especially 79–80, figs. 7–8. 255. For funerary monuments of the nonelite, see in general Kleiner (1987); Zanker (1975); Hesberg (1992); Lahusen (1985) 282–85; Kockel (2005). 256. Other Roman authors also comment on the lower classes’ imitation of their betters, even in their vices. For the ancient literary and archaeological evidence, see Wallace-Hadrill (1994) 143–47. 257. See Freedberg (1989) 218; for his discussion of wax masks and images in various cultures: 212–24. See also Price (1984) 108, who notes, “Even in the more complex society of nineteenth-century England, members of the working classes, to the annoyance of the Marxists, tended to conform to the ideology of the ruling class.” 258. Misch (1951) 223–24. 259. See especially Hales (2003) 1–20. 260. Wallace-Hadrill (1994) 147–74. 261. Wallace-Hadrill (1994) 168–69. 262. OCD3 781 s.v. “Iulius Caesar, Gaius.” 263. As Zanker (1995) 480–81 has also noted, the lack of the Greek notion of καλοκαγαθία (“the good and the beautiful”), fixed models, and certain aesthetic norms allowed Roman portraiture to develop in a different way.

C hap t er II

The Leader and the Divine Official and Nonofficial Modes of Representation

P 

ublic opinion is unquestionably a factor of major importance in the successful operation of any government. Through various public media, officials can project the desired image of themselves and their political agendas most effectively. In news programs, newspapers, and magazines today we are bombarded with images of leaders that are largely orchestrated by the government itself.1 In ancient times, by contrast, without modern technological means of mass dissemination, leaders depended on sculpture, painting, and coinage as visual vehicles for the promotion of themselves and their ideologies, which—as today—were closely tied to the religious cultures of the lands they governed.2 Official artistic creations that were designed not only to glorify the leader of state but also to further his political ambitions or goals are the primary focus of this chapter. For the Roman period, the official view is best represented in monuments sanctioned by the Roman State and especially by state coinage, which survives in abundance and can often be closely dated. With its great variety of types, frequency of issues, relatively widespread distribution, and durability, coinage was a suitable medium for propagating relatively simple political and religious messages, as well as publicizing the accomplishments and programs of political leaders.3 Of all the peoples of antiquity, the Romans were by far the most active in projecting a desired image of themselves and their policies in this medium. Though it is difficult to know the extent to which this messaging was efficacious, the public was certainly aware of it and sometimes even responded to it, as, for example, in the case of the defacement of coins of Caligula after the damnation of his memory.4 Differences in the way leaders are portrayed officially as opposed to nonofficially have not always been sufficiently appreciated or understood. As we shall see, there were certain changes over time in the artistic vocabulary. The examination here of such differences and developments provides a context for the discussion in chapter III of how Julius Caesar, the first historical Roman personage to be deified, came to be represented as a state god in Roman visual media. The special relationship that individuals claimed to enjoy with their gods was a dominant feature of Roman self-advertisement and served to enhance the

6 9

leader’s position and to help validate his programs or acts.5 There were two principal ways, broadly speaking, to express visually an association with the divine. For the purposes of this inquiry, I have termed these the “indirect” and the “direct” modes of representation, with the choice of one or the other form being governed by important political, religious, and social considerations within a given period. In the indirect mode, a relationship with the gods might be indicated by showing a divinity or divinities on one side of a coin and a symbol of the Roman State or representation of the living leader on the opposite side. Similarly, a divinity might appear within the context of a monument as a whole, but apart from the image of any living human being. The head of state might also be depicted sacrificing to a divinity, usually in the form of a statue or cult image. In the direct mode of representation, by contrast, a far more personal or intimate association with one or more gods was evoked. For example, a leader might be represented accompanied by a divinity or divinities, who would therefore appear as his comes or comites (“companion/s”). This manner of figuration would constitute a form of free mixing of the human and divine, with the divinity often symbolizing divine favor, aid, protection, or even the leader’s own virtues.6 Although many virtues and abstract concepts were personified in the Roman world, some came to be recognized as gods in their own right, with a temple and cult worship.7 In the direct mode of representation vis-à-vis the divine, the leader himself might also appear as theomorphic (godlike), taking on in some way the form of a divinity.8 Similarly, a leader’s facial features might be used for an image of a god or otherwise assimilated with those of a divinity. Some purported examples of assimilation are likely to be apocryphal or misconstrued, as in the case of a statue of Apollo that was said to have been set up by Augustus himself in the library of Palatine Apollo in the “public” part of his house. According to the fifth-century Scholia of Acro, commenting on Horace’s Epistle 1.3.17, this image of Apollo had the facial features of Augustus.9 This claim is reminiscent of the story—likely invented by Marc Antony’s faction— that Octavian (not yet renamed Augustus) acted like or represented himself as Apollo at a dinner party at his home on the Palatine in 39 or 38 b.c.e. (Suet. Aug. 70).10 In the case of the putative statue of Apollo with the facial features of Augustus, Servius notes in his fourth-century commentary on Vergil’s Eclogues 4.10 that there was a statue of Augustus with the insignia of Apollo, but he does not indicate where it stood or exactly when it was created. Significantly, such an image is not mentioned by Horace, Vergil, or any other contemporary or near contemporary source. Moreover, the surviving structure of the Palatine library has been dated on the basis of its brickwork to a Domitianic rebuilding.11

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The original library, along with any statue in it, may therefore have been destroyed in the great fire of Rome in 64c.e., which burned part of the Palatine Hill (Tac. Ann. 15.38). If, centuries later, the Scholia of Acro described an actual statue of Apollo with Augustus’ portrait features, it might have been a posthumous work mistakenly assumed to be set up by Augustus himself. Arthur Darby Nock warned long ago that it is important to “distinguish sharply between (a) the normal working theory of the principate, and the implications of what the Princeps officially says or does, and (b) the metaphorical language used by men of letters, or the corresponding expressions in art.”12 Failure to recognize this fundamental distinction can lead—and has led—to misinterpretation of the intentions and imagery of Roman leadership, especially over time. In some cases, a further distinction can be made between acts of the Princeps in his position as head of state and acts of the Senate, though the two were often in alignment in representing the official point of view of the government of Rome. The Ara Pacis Augustae, which has long been regarded as an expression of Augustus’ own ideology and rhetorical program, was in fact voted by the Senate (RG 12). And bronze coinage designated by SC (senatus consulto, “by decree of the Senate”) was nominally issued by the Senate but in reality appears to have been approved by the Princeps.13 In other cases, because of the increasingly sycophantic nature of its membership, the Senate could and often did go beyond the ideology of the Principate. Many of the extravagant honors proposed or voted to the Caesars by the Senate were turned down as part of an etiquette of power or for other reasons.14 A notable example was the Senate’s attempt to vote a temple to Nero as divus; this proposal shocked him, since such a temple was traditionally only voted to an honored deceased Princeps.15 In other cases, as we shall see, eccentric Caesars like Caligula and Nero often behaved inappropriately by the standards of Augustus or Tiberius. However, it was not necessary to observe the same norms in private behavior as in official acts. Thus, Caligula and Nero were said to have performed on the stage in the imperial residence or raced chariots in a private locale,16 but neither one carried on in this way in a public setting in Rome, though it was claimed that Caligula was about to do so for the first time had he not been assassinated—a typical sort of innuendo designed to blacken a person’s memory.17 In Nero’s case, his public stage performances were in Naples, where the makeup of the population was largely Greek, and in Greece itself, where different mores were observed. In their attempt to denigrate the “bad” Caesars, ancient authors often gloss over the significance of locale and audience and instead employ insinuation, exaggeration, and fabrication in their accounts. To be sure, there is much to criticize about the “bad” Caesars,



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but such judgments need to be rendered sine ira et studio (“without anger and zeal”), as Tacitus reminds us (Ann. 1.1).18 The Republic

Fig. ii.1. Denarius of C. Metellus (rev.: Jupiter driving biga of elephants with Victoria offering crown to him), 125 b.c.e. After Kent (1978) 267, pl. 12.36

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When state coinage first began to be minted at Rome in the third century b.c.e., a connection of the Roman State with the divine was expressed only indirectly. Exemplifying this mode of representation are an aureus of 211 b.c.e. with Mars on the obverse and the Roman eagle symbolizing the Roman State on the reverse19 and a denarius of the same year with the head of the goddess Roma on the obverse and the twin equestrian gods Castor and Pollux on the reverse.20 Beginning in the second century b.c.e. state coinage started to be increasingly affected by partisan politics. At first, moderation appears to have prevailed, with indirect references to ancestral virtues and accomplishments being used exclusively, as on a denarius of C. Metellus (fig. ii.1), dated to 125 b.c.e.21 Here the victory of his ancestor L. Caecilius Metellus over the Carthaginians and their elephants at the Battle of Panormus in 251 b.c.e. is celebrated by the representation of the god Jupiter riding in a chariot drawn by two elephants and being crowned by the goddess Victory. This coin type illustrates well the Roman belief that an individual’s suitability for public office was based on ancestral military virtue sanctioned by the gods, and in this case by the supreme god of the Roman pantheon. Although many details pertaining to this imagistic evolution remain imperfectly understood, one aspect that does seem clear is the increased use of coinage for self-advertisement in the 130s b.c.e. and thereafter. The impetus for this development seems to have been provided by the struggle among the Roman aristocracy after the passage of a law in 139 b.c.e., the Lex Gabinia Tabellaria, which introduced secret balloting.22 As a result, politicians were less sure of the votes of their clients and other supporters. For this reason, I believe that they began to make greater use of coin types with personal symbols and slogans to advertise their candidacy to the voting public.23 In state coinage, the visual expression of a direct association with the divine came only with the rise of charismatic strong men or dynasts in the course of the first century b.c.e. The monopolization of power in the hands of these individuals was undoubtedly influenced by the military reforms of Gaius Marius (156–86 b.c.e.) between 104 and 100 b.c.e.24 Prior to this time, Rome’s army had largely been a citizen militia that owed its loyalty to the Roman State. With Marius’ military reforms, a semiprofessional army was created that now owed its allegiance to its commander, who in turn looked out for the best interests

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of his troops. This shift from state to individual commanders ultimately led to living leaders being represented on coinage with divinities and/or appearing godlike. The earliest example of this sort of imagery appears on aurei (plate 5) and denarii issued in 82 b.c.e. by a mint moving with the Roman commander Sulla (138–78 b.c.e.).25 On this coinage Sulla is portrayed in the triumphator’s quadrigae (“four-horse chariot”), with the goddess Victoria flying toward him overhead and crowning him. The overriding message of divine favor contributing to military success is hardly surprising in view of the new importance of the army and the fact that such coinage was intended primarily to pay the commander’s troops. By the end of the Republic about a half-century later, association with the divine was carried much further, with the representation of the leader as godlike, following in the long-established encomiastic tradition of Hellenistic monarchy.26 Marc Antony, for example, appears wearing an ivy crown, the divine attribute of the god Dionysos, on a series of cistophoric silver tetradrachms minted in 39 b.c.e. for regional distribution in the province of Asia Minor, not in Rome (fig. ii.2).27 Nevertheless, Antony’s representation in this way would have lent support to Octavian’s accusation that Antony was behaving like the god Dionysos in the East—a prime example of the sorts of charges that were leveled in the bitter war of rhetoric against Antony.28 After Antony and Cleopatra had been defeated by Octavian at Actium in 31 and at Alexandria in 30 b.c.e., Octavian’s position was supreme in the Roman world29—a sure sign of divine approval. Despite having rebuked Antony for acting like a god, Octavian himself in this period began to adopt theomorphic imagery for himself on some of his coinage. The most notable example is found on the reverse of denarii with the legend CAESAR DIVI F (“son of the deified Caesar”) minted in the West, undoubtedly in Italy, shortly after Actium and Alexandria.30 In this coinage, a seminude Octavian appears like Neptune, holding one of the god’s divine attributes, the aplustre (stern ornament of a ship) (fig. ii.3). The scepter or spear that Octavian also grips and the globe on which he rests his foot allude to world rule following his great victories,31 further symbolized by the bust of the goddess Victoria on the obverse of this same coin type. It is not simply Neptune on the reverse, for the sea-god would not have been portrayed beardless, with short hair, a sword, and scepter or spear rather than his usual symbol, the trident. Octavian’s image on this coinage may have been inspired by a reverse type of silver tetradrachms of Demetrios Poliorketes (ca.



Fig. ii.2. Cistophoric silver tetradrachm (obv.: Antony wearing ivy crown of Dionysos paired with head of Octavia), 39 b.c.e. After Kent (1978) pl. 31.110

Fig. ii.3. Denarius (rev.: Octavian appearing like Neptune with foot on globe), ca. 31–29 b.c.e. After Pollini (1990a) fig. 13

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Fig. ii.4. Denarius (rev.: Octavian on rostral column), ca. 29–27 b.c.e. After Pollini (1990a) fig. 15

290 b.c.e.) commemorating his own great victory over Ptolemy I of Egypt.32 Since Augustus was known to have collected old regal coins (Suet. Aug. 75), it is likely that he would have known that coin type. The figure of Neptune also had been represented on sestertii of Sextus Pompey (ca. 42–40 b.c.e.),33 minted a decade or so before the issue portraying Octavian as Neptune-like. These numismatic images were quite possibly ultimately influenced by an important statue of Poseidon often attributed to Lysippos.34 In another denarius that appears to have been issued shortly after Actium (ca. 29–27 b.c.e.), Octavian is shown nude with a cloak over his shoulder and standing on a rostral column (fig. ii.4).35 He appears like a young Ares/Mars, holding a spear in his upraised right hand and with his left hand on the hilt of his sword, but without the war-god’s characteristic helmet. This coinage has sometimes been mistakenly associated with Octavian’s victory over Sextus Pompey at Naulochus in 36 b.c.e.,36 an event commemorated by a gilded statue set up to him by the Senate, as recorded in Appian (B Civ. 5.130).37 However, Appian clearly states that Octavian was represented on that column in the same garments—the ornamenta triumphalia for his ovatio—that he wore upon his entry into Rome. That is clearly not how he appears on the column on the coin! It quite likely represents another rostral column, which was set up to him after his victory at Actium and which is alluded to by Servius (ad Georg. 3.29). Octavian’s young Ares/Mars-like appearance here would also recall the other god besides Neptune whom Octavian credited for his victory at Actium.38 Pliny (HN 32.3) in fact refers to Mars in this context as Actiacus Mars (Actian Mars). The Principate of Augustus (27 b.c.e.–14 c.e.) The direct mode of representation in which Octavian adopted the trappings of a god was of short duration. After founding the Principate in 27 b.c.e. and taking the name “Augustus,” he began to propagate a new ideology in keeping with the traditions of an idealized Roman Republic rather than with the reality of the late Republic, which had come to be dominated by powerful leaders backed by their armies.39 One of Augustus’ principal aims was a reconciliation with the Roman nobility, whose support he needed to maintain peace and stability within the Empire after a century of foreign wars and civil conflict. The indirect mode would have been perceived as a less hubristic and therefore more appropriate way for him to be portrayed in relation to the divine in official visual media. His manner of representation needed to be in keeping with his self-proclaimed role in the Roman State as Princeps (“First Citizen”), whose

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powers were technically voted to him by the Senate and People of Rome.40 Accordingly, after 27 b.c.e. Augustus is shown in official artistic media not nude or seminude like a divinity but in a toga, sometimes with his head veiled as an expression of pietas (“piety”) or in military dress.41 Tellingly, after his conquest of Alexandria in 30 b.c.e., Augustus had some eighty silver statues of himself melted down and with the proceeds dedicated golden tripods in the Temple of Apollo Palatinus (RG 24.2; Suet. Aug. 52). Although it is not stated how he appeared in these silver statues (other than on foot, on a horse, or in a chariot), there is a distinct possibility that at least some showed him as godlike. Adding to the likelihood of such imagery is the statement in Cassius Dio (53.22.3) that these silver statues had been erected by Octavian’s friends and subject peoples. They would therefore not have been official state dedications. Dio places the melting down of these images in 27 b.c.e., when Augustus is likely to have been seeking an opportunity to reshape how he was portrayed publicly in Rome in statues that had been set up in his honor and perhaps with his explicit approval. The mere fact that these sculptures were in silver may have been felt to be problematic in the new era that he had inaugurated, since images of the gods were more likely to be in precious metals than were representations of living human beings.42 It seems clear, in any case, that these silver statues were not melted down because of a need for silver bullion for coinage, since there was no substantial minting of denarii at Rome or elsewhere in the West in 27 b.c.e. and the following years.43 Moreover, Augustus would already have had at his disposal the vast treasury of the Ptolemies following his victory at Alexandria. For official imagery, the Ara Pacis Augustae is arguably the most important extant monument of Augustan art and architecture (see further chapters V and VI). In the Altar of Augustan Peace, which was voted by the Senate and constructed between 13 and 9 b.c.e., Augustus appears with his family and state priests in one of the two long processional friezes that decorate the north and south sides of the altar’s enclosing precinct wall. On the south side, he is represented togate, with none of the trappings of divinity. He is shown officiating in a priestly capacity, with head veiled, most likely as an augur (fig. V.16a–c).44 The augur’s role of mediator between gods and man would have been particularly appropriate, singling Augustus out as having a special relationship with the gods while still maintaining his status as primus inter pares (“first among equals”). Such imagery would have been in keeping with the best Republican traditions and would have been attuned to the sensibilities of the upper class, which opposed worship of living Romans in a Roman context.45 In fact, the complexity of the ideological program of the entire Ara Pacis implies that the imagery of



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the monument was primarily directed not to the masses—as is often thought— but to a highly educated elite social class, well versed in the traditions of GrecoRoman literary and visual rhetoric. Augustus’ association with the divine and heroic figures that are also represented on the Ara Pacis is appropriately indirect. They do not appear in the processional frieze but rather in separate panels located at the front and back of the precinct wall (figs. V.10, V.18).46 They are consequently represented in the context of the monument as a whole, but not intimately mingling with Augustus and other mortals. The divine associations serve to recall Augustus’ descent from the gods and to evoke comparison of his inauguration of a new period of peace and prosperity with previous momentous inaugural events in Rome’s past. The disposition of images on the Ara Pacis had the merit of demonstrating divine favor without transgressing the bounds of propriety. Augustus’ ability to walk the fine line between human and divine in his official imagery was a testament to his genius as an image-maker. He was, indeed, a man for all seasons, who played well his role on the stage of life, as he himself observed on his deathbed (Suet. Aug. 99.1). An indirect relationship with the divine was also preferred by Augustus in the visual imagery of the Pantheon. Cassius Dio (53.27.2–3) tells us that when Marcus Agrippa wanted to place a statue of Augustus inside the Pantheon, in effect in direct association with the images of the gods within, Augustus dissuaded him from doing so, no doubt to avoid inciting the ire of the aristocracy. By contrast, no objection had been raised in 36 b.c.e. when municipalities of Italy placed Octavian’s statue among those of their own gods (App. B Civ. 5.132). Even though there is no indication that his images were formally worshiped with cult in these cities at that time, the political situation in the municipalities in the triumviral period was quite different from that in Rome under the Principate. In the case of the Pantheon, Agrippa complied with Augustus’ wishes and placed the Princeps’ statue appropriately outside the cella, along with his own statue as the dedicator of the temple;47 the two probably were depicted as pendant figures on either side of the back wall of the porch, perhaps in niches, as in the porch of the rebuilt Hadrianic Pantheon.48 Similarly indirect are representations of Augustus as a worshiper, with the divinity usually appearing as a statue or cult image, as in a relief in the Museo Nazionale, Palermo (fig. ii.5) in which a togate figure, undoubtedly Augustus as Pontifex Maximus, is depicted with an image of the goddess Vesta and the Vestal Virgins.49 For stylistic reasons, and by analogy with similar Augustan reliefs with topographical elements associated with the House of Augustus, the scene on the Palermo Relief appears to be taking place in the precinct of Vesta

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Fig. ii.5. Relief with statue of Vesta, Vestal Virgins, and Augustus as Pontifex Maximus, Museo Nazionale, Palermo. Photo by author

that Augustus built on the Palatine.50 Standing before a low altar and the seated statue of Vesta that he dedicated on the Palatine, Augustus is clearly not mixing freely with the goddess herself. The location of this Temple of Vesta, as well as of the Temples of Apollo, Magna Mater, and Victoria, in close proximity to Augustus’ house on the Palatine was another way of underscoring indirectly the relationship that he enjoyed with these gods.51 On Augustan state coinage we often find the head of Augustus on the obverse and an image of a divinity on the reverse of the same issue.52 Given such numismatic examples and the prevalence of indirect association with the divine in other aspects of Augustus’ official representational program, it would have been a clear departure for his daughter Julia (39 b.c.e.–14 c.e.) to have been depicted, as some have claimed, in the guise of the goddess Diana on the reverse of state denarii of 13 b.c.e. (fig. ii.6b).53 On the obverse is the head of Augustus himself (fig. ii.6a). Diana is not identified as Julia by an inscription on this coinage, though this concept could have been expressed in Latin by placing their names in apposition as “Julia Diana.”54 Moreover, a comparison of the head of the goddess on this issue with both numismatic and sculptural portraits of Julia



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Fig. ii.6a–b. Denarius (obv.: Augustus; rev.: Diana), 13 b.c.e. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and the Classical Numismatic Group

Fig. ii.7. Bronze coin of Pergamon (rev.: Julia Aphrodite) before 2 b.c.e. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and the Classical Numismatic Group

does not support the conclusion that she is represented as Diana on these aurei. Julia’s likeness is found on reverses of a local bronze issue minted by the Greek city of Pergamon before 2 b.c.e. (fig. ii.7);55 her sculptural portrait—the only one thus far identified reliably as Julia—is from Corinth (fig. ii.8a–c).56 Not only do her facial features in these images differ from those of Diana on the aurei, but her hairstyle is also quite dissimilar. In both the Pergamene issue and the sculptural portrait, Julia’s iconographic hairstyle features at the front a prominent hair knot (nodus) with a twist in it and in the case of the coin a short ponytail curled under at the nape of the neck.57 By contrast, Diana’s hair on the coinage of 13 b.c.e. is decorated with large pearls or jewels at the front and is tightly bound into a small braided bun at the back. Interestingly, a comparison of various obverses and reverses of this issue often shows a marked similarity between the facial features of Augustus and Diana.58 Obviously Augustus is not meant to be represented as or like Diana; rather, the goddess appears as a specifically Augustan divinity. This interpretation can be supported by epigraphic evidence such as an unofficial inscription dated about 6–5 b.c.e. mentioning Diana Augusta.59 The tendency to associate

Fig. ii.8a–c. Marble head of Julia, daughter of Augustus, from Corinth, Corinth Archaeological Museum. Photos by author

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divinities with the Princeps in this way is also evident in the list of many deities with the epithet Augustus or Augusta or the less common genitive form Augusti (“of Augustus”).60 The personalization of a particular god or goddess had a long history under the Republic, when gentilicial adjectives were added to the names of divinities, as in Victoria Mariana, Diana Valeriana, and Hercules Iulianus. As Duncan Fishwick has rightly shown, the intention behind all this seems to have been to adopt the divinity as a helper or protector.61 The consistent representation of Diana with features reminiscent of those of Augustus could therefore be seen both politically and religiously as a means of recalling Diana’s past aid to Augustus and hoped for future favor. Accompanying Julia’s portrait on the Pergamene issue is the numismatic legend ΙΟΥΛΙΑΝ ΑΦΡΟΔΙΤΗΝ (Julia [as] Aphrodite). Such divine honors in this context represent local sentiments, not the official position of the government of Rome. This sort of local honorific divine association is also found for other members of the imperial family. For example, toward the end of Augustus’ Principate someone named Philon dedicated in Ilion (Troy) a statue of Antonia Minor that bore the inscription τὴν ἑαυτοῦ θεὰν καὶ ἐυεργέτιν (“his goddess and benefactress”).62 Similarly, Augustus’ wife Livia was likened during her lifetime to Ceres and to Venus Genetrix in nonofficial provincial coinage and inscriptions.63 However, Livia was not represented as Ceres (or as Venus) in Roman state art or coinage, at least during the Principate of Augustus or of her son Tiberius, as some have supposed.64 The small seated female figure on the reverses of certain Augustan and Tiberian state coins is clearly intended to be either the goddess Ceres (when represented with ears of grain) or Pax (when shown with an olive branch and scepter or spear pointed downward, symbolizing peace).65 These numismatic images do not bear Livia’s name; nor, because of their size, do they have any recognizable portrait features. Of course people were free to read what they liked into such imagery, much in the same way that they might have seen a reference to Livia in the figure of “Tellus Italiae” (Saturnia Tellus) on the Ara Pacis (fig. V.22). But the Roman State itself was not making any direct official statements or claims about Livia’s being like a goddess during her lifetime. A direct mixing of divine and human elements in official or officially approved Augustan art seems to occur only rarely. And the most obvious example of such association is, I believe, not authentic: it is the composition on an aureus bearing the name of the minter Cossus Lentulus and showing a togate Augustus raising the kneeling personified Res Publica, both so labeled.66 This unique coin has been dated to the period 20–12 b.c.e. If it were genuinely Augustan, it might have been pulled from circulation before it was widely



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Fig. ii.9. Dupondius issued by the Senate (obv.: Augustus crowned by Victoriola), ca. 7 b.c.e. Courtesy Freeman & Sear

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distributed because of its unsuitable imagery. However, it seems to me a distinct possibility that it is a forgery that may have been based either on the coin type showing a seminude personification of Sicily being raised by the moneyer’s ancestor in armor67 or on a Vespasianic aureus showing a seminude standing male raising up a kneeling personification.68 Moreover, in considering whether the coin with Augustus and a divinity may have been forged, I think it is noteworthy that it is of gold and would therefore be of considerably greater value on the numismatic market than a coin of a baser metal. There is even another possibility: this coin may be a later rare invented “restored” type, perhaps from the time of Vespasian or Trajan, since there is evidence for such types during their Principates.69 In short, there are other ways to explain this imagery, which is at such odds with Augustus’ other official types. The singular example with the personified Res Publica aside, we find Augustus represented officially in direct association with the divine during his Principate only in a few cases involving Victoria and in a specific restricted usage involving the so-called imperial cult. A notable example of the former is found on a rare premedallic dupondius minted nominally on the authority of the Roman Senate around 7 b.c.e. (fig. ii.9).70 This issue was probably coined in conjunction with the triumph that was accorded to Augustus at that time but that Tiberius was permitted to celebrate as commander under the auspices of Augustus (suis auspiciis).71 Alternately—or also—this issue may have commemorated the vicennalia (twentieth anniversary) of the founding of the Principate.72 It is generally held that this bronze was not meant for general distribution but was given out to select individuals as a special present.73 It is significant that Victoria, who crowns Augustus, is conceived here almost as an extension of his personality, a personification of his ability to win constant victory and therefore tangible evidence of his charisma and the divine favor he enjoyed.74 So personalized is this concept of perpetual victory that Victoria was now transformed, as noted above, into Victoria Augusta or Victoria Augusti. Victory is represented as a Victoriola—as a statuette of Victoria, rather than the incarnation of Victory herself. The Victoriola behind Augustus’ bust, which rests on a globe in some issues, may have been intended to evoke another image—the statuette of Victoria that was brought back to Rome from Tarentum to celebrate his victory over Cleopatra. This figure of Victoria standing on a globe was set up on a pillar against the back wall of the Senate House, the Curia Iulia, in the Roman Forum.75 When Augustus as Princeps Senatus (“First of the Senate”) took his place on the dais

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in the Curia Iulia, he sat on the curule chair between the two consuls (Cass. Dio 54.10.5),76 a position that would have put him directly in front of the Victoriola. The remains of its statue base can still be seen today against the middle of the back wall of the dais in the reconstructed Diocletianic Senate house (fig. ii.10),77 which in this respect followed the earlier Curia Iulia. How the statue appeared on this base can be determined by a later representation of Commodus standing before the Victoriola on a globe on a sestertius of 192 c.e. (fig. ii.11).78 But no matter how provocative such imagery might have been, the figure was clearly a statuette of Victory, not the goddess herself. Similarly, before the founding of the Principate, a togate Octavian is shown on denarii of 29 b.c.e. sitting on a sella curulis and holding a globe with a Victoriola on it.79 In another example, Augustus is represented in a chariot being crowned by Victoria on aurei and denarii issued in 17/16 b.c.e. in Spain, most likely in



Fig. ii.10. Dais of Diocletianic Curia in Roman Forum with base for the Victoriola from Tarentum, following an Augustan model. After Zanker (1972) fig. 10 Fig. ii.11. Sestertius (rev.: Commodus standing before the Victoriola in the Curia), 192 c.e. After Hölscher (1967) pl. 1.11

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Fig. ii.12. Denarius (rev.: Augustus in quadrigae on double arch on viaduct, Colonia Patricia [Corduba]), 17–16 b.c.e. After Breglia (1968) 37

Fig. ii.13. Denarius (rev.: Augustus on Actian Arch, Roman Forum), 29–27 b.c.e. After Kleiner (1985) pl. III.1 Fig. ii.14. Reconstruction of Actian Arch, Roman Forum. After Kleiner (1985) pl. III.3

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Colonia Patricia (Corduba) (fig. ii.12).80 Here the images are clearly a statue group of Augustus and Victoria, because they crown arches on bridges or viaducts.81 Although it is not known where these statue groups were set up, they would have been outside of Rome, either in Spain itself, where the coins were issued,82 or possibly along the Via Flaminia from Rome to Ariminum (modern Rimini). We know that Augustus had various roads restored/repaved in Italy and the Empire. For example, he restored the Via Flaminia leading north to Ariminum in 27 b.c.e., setting up an arch outside Rome at the Milvian Bridge at the beginning of the Via Flaminia and another at its terminal point at Ariminum (RG 20.5; Cass. Dio 53.22.1–2).83 The arch at the Milvian Bridge no longer exists; the one at Ariminum still does in part, but it can no longer be determined what sort of statue stood atop it.84 Whether there were other arches set up to Augustus by the towns through which the Via Flaminia passed is not known. The numismatic examples showing arches with bigate or quadrigate statues of the Princeps do not mention specific roads, only QUOD VIAE MVN[itae] SVNT (“for repaving of the roads”) and that the S(enatus) P(opulus) Q(ue) R(omanus) set them up to Augustus. Since the statues in question appear on official state coinage during Augustus’ Principate, they would constitute an exceptional case, perhaps because they were outside Rome itself and dedicated by the Senate and/ or municipalities. In Rome, by contrast, Augustus appeared in a chariot without Victory on both his Actian and Parthian arches.85 The Actian Arch, commemorating his

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victories over Cleopatra in 31 and 30 b.c.e., was set up in 29 b.c.e. by vote of the Senate; the Parthian Arch, celebrating his diplomatic victory over Parthia in 20, was erected in 19 b.c.e. In the case of the Actian Arch, Fred Kleiner has noted that it offers the first documentable example of a living person’s being represented on an arch in Rome, as well as the first certain case of a quadrigate image atop an arch (figs. ii.13–14).86 The Parthian Arch, which may have replaced the Actian Arch in the Roman Forum,87 is most accurately represented on denarii of L. Vinicius in 17/16 b.c.e. (figs. ii.15–16).88 It shows a triple-bay arch with Augustus in a quadrigae on the attic over the large central vault. At a lower level over the arch’s flanking passageways stand two statues of submissive Parthian personifications doing homage to Augustus. Although they are in the context of the same monument, these personifications are clearly subordinate to and set apart from the image of Augustus. In neither the Actian nor Parthian arches, or for that matter in any other official monument set up in Rome itself (including most likely Augustus’ great quadrigate statue in the center of his forum), was he shown being crowned by Victoria.89 Even at his funeral, for which he left detailed instructions, his

Fig. ii.15. Denarius of L. Vinicius (rev.: Augustus on Parthian Arch), 17–16 b.c.e. After Kleiner (1985) pl. IV.1

Fig. ii.16. Reconstruction of Parthian Arch. After Kleiner (1985) pl. V.2



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Fig. ii.17. Gemma Augustea showing a Jupiter-like Augustus. Photo by author

image in a quadrigae was borne along in the procession, without any mention of an additional figure of Victoria accompanying him in the chariot (Cass. Dio 56.34.1–2). Instead, the Victoriola that was in the Senate House (the Curia Iulia) was carried separately at the head of the procession (Suet. Aug. 100.2). An important contrast can be observed between Augustus’ own record of his achievements in the Res Gestae,90 which was inscribed on bronze pillars in front of his mausoleum, and the personal/private views expressed about him in contemporary literature. In the Res Gestae, Augustus presents himself as a mortal elected by other mortals to serve men and gods, while in poets of the Augustan age such as Vergil, Horace, and Propertius, including even unsympathetic ones like Ovid, Augustus is seen as godlike and the elect of the gods.91 This conception of the Princeps, which has its roots in Hellenistic encomiastic literature, is related to the imagery on the Gemma Augustea (fig. ii.17).92 Because of its size, material, and imagery, this large sardonyx cameo is likely to have been commissioned by Augustus himself or by a member of his house. Even so, it would belong to the realm of private art and cannot be taken as representing official ideology.93 On the Gemma, most likely

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created toward the end of his Principate, Augustus is portrayed seminude and posed like Jupiter, surrounded by gods and personifications as his comites.94 In his right hand he casually holds the augural lituus, which underscores symbolically a nexus of ideological concepts discussed further in other chapters. First, the lituus denotes here his position (as augur) as interpreter of Jupiter’s will on earth and mediator between gods and man; second, it defines his role as “Second Founder” of Rome; third, it references his bringing of peace through victory; fourth, it alludes to his right to hold military auspicia as imperator and the fact that any victories carried out by those generals who undertook battle under his auspices (suis auspiciis) were accorded to him.95 Included in the company of divinities surrounding him is Victoria as the driver of the biga (“two-horse chariot”) bearing Augustus’ designated successor Tiberius, who, as I have argued elsewhere, is shown —albeit metaphorically— being greeted by Augustus and the Senate and Roman people (symbolized in the figure of Roma) in late 9 or early 10 c.e. (cf. Suet. Tib. 17.2).96 In some cases, we are faced with incomplete evidence. For example, on the two Boscoreale Cups, which in themselves are also private creations, there are four different scenes (two on each cup) alluding to historical events or situations.97 The historical interpretation of these scenes has been debated,98 but the question at issue here is the matter of mode of representation in relation to the divine. On one of the vessels the principal figure on both sides can be identified on the basis of portraiture as Augustus; on the other, as Tiberius. Thus they can be conveniently referred to as the “Augustus Cup” and the “Tiberius Cup.” The Tiberius Cup represents the beginning and victorious conclusion of a military campaign. On side A (fig. ii.18a), Tiberius, now headless, sacrifices in front of a portable tripod altar (foculus) wearing armor and carrying a spear. Surrounding him are sacrificial attendants, lictors, and soldiers. To the far right in the scene an ox is being sacrificed, with the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus on the Capitoline in the background (fig. ii.18b). On side B, Tiberius is shown after his military victory as a triumphator in a triumphal chariot, with a servus publicus (“state slave”) standing behind crowning him (fig. ii.18c). Preceding the chariot are again lictors and attendants leading an ox to sacrifice, while following the chariot are soldiers who have won military honors. Divinities do not appear as Tiberius’ companions on either side of the cup; nor is he shown as godlike. On side A of the other cup (fig. ii.19a), Augustus is depicted togate and seated on a sella castrensis (“camp stool”) as he receives barbarians of a northern type. As on the Tiberius Cup, no divinities are represented with him, only Roman



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Fig. ii.18a. “Tiberius Cup” (Side A): Tiberius (now headless) sacrificing, Boscoreale Treasure, Louvre, Paris. After Kuttner (1995) pl. 7

Fig. ii.18b. “Tiberius Cup” (Side A): Animal sacrifice before Temple of Jupiter on Capitoline Hill, Boscoreale Treasure, Louvre, Paris. After Kuttner (1995) pl. 9

Fig. ii.18c. “Tiberius Cup” (Side B): Tiberius as triumphator crowned by a state slave, Boscoreale Treasure, Louvre, Paris. After Kuttner (1995) pl. 10

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Fig. ii.19a. “Augustus Cup” (Side A): Augustus seated on a camp stool receiving barbarians in camp, Boscoreale Treasure, Louvre, Paris. After Kuttner (1995) pl. 5

Fig. ii.19b. “Augustus Cup” (Side B): Augustus seated on curule chair with attending divinities, Boscoreale Treasure, Louvre, Paris. After Kuttner (1995) pl. 2

soldiers and lictors. On side B (fig. ii.19b), however, there is a radical departure in imagery. Although Augustus is represented here as also togate and seated on the chair of a civic magistrate, the sella curulis (“curule chair”), he is surrounded by gods and personifications. Just to the left, Venus with Cupid places a Victoriola on a globe that Augustus holds out in his right hand. To the far left in the scene appear Augustus’ personified military virtues Honos (Honor) and Virtus (Virtue). To the right of Augustus is a youthful cuirassed Mars, who presents four female personifications of conquered regions of the Roman Empire. Unlike the other three scenes on the two cups, side B of the Augustus Cup does not allude to any one historical event or situation but is generic and clearly offers an example of the direct mode of representation in relation to the divine, with important Augustan gods and personifications mixing freely with the Princeps. In receiving from Venus the Victoriola on the globe, Augustus is portrayed as the ever-victorious ruler of the oikoumene, the inhabited civilized world—imagery akin to the encomiastic language of the Gemma Augustea.



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Because three of the other scenes (figs. ii.18a, b, ii.19a) are so typical of the sort of reliefs that we find in official art, it has been postulated that they were essentially copied from some now lost Augustan monument. However, if all four scenes reflect the same official monument, it is likely to have been created in the Tiberian period, when the direct mode of representation on side B of the Augustus Cup would have posed no problem because Augustus was then himself revered as a deified state god. But if the Boscoreale Cups copied some official monument or monuments of the late Augustan period, when the cups appear to date historically and stylistically, we can logically postulate that the artist copied only three of the scenes, with the mixing of divine and human elements on side B of the Augustus Cup (fig. ii.19b) being a new or transformed creation that would have been quite acceptable in a private work but decidedly problematic in an official one. The Boscoreale Cups would then represent an interesting combination of compositions from official and private spheres of art. In certain monuments we find some blurring of the distinction between what was regarded as strictly official or strictly private, especially when the private entered the public sphere. Such was the case with the so-called Lares cult that was reorganized by Augustus in the many vici (“districts”) of Rome in the last decade of the first century c.e. (see further chapter VII). Associated with the Lares cult was the worship of Augustus’ Genius, the divine procreative spirit that every Roman male possessed. There are also examples of veneration of his Numen, a divine force that was conceived as separate from the individual himself.99 Although Augustus did not permit the official worship of his mortal being in Rome or generally anywhere else in Italy (Cass. Dio 51.20.8),100 official and public were not synonymous concepts. For example, gravestones memorializing the virtues of deceased private individuals were certainly not official, though they were set up along roads outside cities for maximum public display. Similarly, Suetonius tells us (Aug. 59) that because the physician Antonius Musa saved Augustus’ life, money was raised to set up a statue of Musa next to that of Aesculapius, the god of healing. Such direct association with the divine in a nonofficial context extended from the aristocracy even down to the lower classes, except for the seminude enthroned Jupiter type, which social etiquette seems to have reserved for posthumous and nonofficial representations of the Princeps.101 Like private persons, foreign and Italian municipalities might institute worship of the leader of the Roman State and represent a living or deified Princeps in a variety of ways, including godlike.102 For example, during Augustus’ lifetime a group of Roman businessmen in a town in North Africa worshiped the Princeps as Augustus Deus (“the god Augustus”),103 and a certain P. Perelius

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Fig. ii.20. Seated statue of Augustus from Basilike Stoa in State Agora of Ephesos, Archaeological Museum, Selçuk. Photo by Candace Weddle Fig. ii.21. Seated statue of Livia from Basilike Stoa in State Agora of Ephesos, Archaeological Museum, Selçuk. Photo by Candace Weddle

Hedulus built a private temple of the Gens Augusta (“Augustan Clan”).104 In the Temple of Roma and Augustus built by Herod the Great at Caesarea in 9 b.c.e., we are told by the Jewish historian Josephus (BJ 1.414; AJ 15.339, 16.136) that Augustus was portrayed like Pheidias’ Olympian Zeus.105 Analogous to this image of Augustus is an over life-size, seminude seated statue of him appearing like Zeus/Jupiter in the Selçuk Museum (fig. Ii.20). This image and an over lifesize seated figure of Livia (fig. ii.21) probably appearing like Hera/Juno were once set up in the Basilike Stoa of the so-called State Agora at Ephesos, which may have served as a cult center, but not one that was officially approved or regulated by Rome.106 These figures may have been like the cult images of the deified Augustus and Livia in the Temple of Divus Augustus, also known as the Templum Novum,107 that are represented seated side by side on Antonine coins (fig. ii.22).108 Depicted in the center of the pediment of the Templum (Novum) Divi Augusti in Rome on these same coins is a standing, seminude figure of the deified Augustus holding a scepter in his left hand and a patera in his outstretched right hand.109 The same figure appears far more clearly on a handsome



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Fig. ii.22. Sestertius (rev.: Temple of Divus Augustus with cult images of Divus Augustus and Diva Augusta [Livia] within), Antonine period. After Galinsky (1996) fig. 117

sestertius of Caligula, who is shown sacrificing in front of the Templum Novum (plate VI).110 The pedimental statue is somewhat reminiscent of the seminude figure of Mars in the center of the pediment of the Temple of Mars Ultor in Augustus’ forum (fig. ii.23a–b),111 as well as the figure of Augustus with a ruler’s staff and thunderbolt on the mid-first century Ravenna Relief (fig. IX.8a).112 The statues and pedimental figure associated with the Temple of Divus Augustus were of course posthumous creations, as are perhaps also the statues of Augustus and Livia in the Selçuk Museum (figs. ii.20–21). But the representation of Augustus like Zeus/Jupiter and of Livia like Hera/Juno at Caesarea or Ephesos would have posed no problem even during their lifetimes in a context that was not officially sanctioned by the Roman State. Several statues set up by municipalities within Italy also portray Augustus seminude. Some of these are likely to be posthumous creations; but again, such a manner of representation would have been acceptable even before his death and deification in a work that was unofficial from the point of view of the government of Rome. One of these statues is the over life-size bronze image of a seminude Augustus with a thunderbolt and long ruler’s scepter from Herculaneum

Fig. ii.23a. Cast of relief showing pediment of Temple of Mars Ultor, Museo della Civiltà Romana, EUR. Photo by author Fig. ii.23b. Detail of relief showing Mars in the pediment of the Temple of Mars Ultor, façade of Villa Medici, Rome. After La Rocca (1994a) fig. 10

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Fig ii.24. Bronze statue of Divus Augustus holding ruler’s staff and thunderbolt from Herculaneum, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples. After Guidobaldi (2008) 124 Fig. ii.25. Seated statue of Augustus from Minturno, Antiquarium, Minturno. Photo by author

(fig. ii.24).113 Now in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale in Naples, it was once arrayed with other imperial figures in the so-called basilica at Herculaneum, which was probably a municipal cult building. Although this statue cannot be dated on the basis of literary or epigraphical evidence, it is obvious from its average quality that it was not set up by decree of the Senate. Consequently, Augustus’ Jupiter-like imagery alone cannot be used to date this work to the period after his death, though stylistically it does appear to be a posthumous creation.114 As a municipal dedication, a fragmentary seated seminude statue of Augustus from a temple in the Forum at Minturno south of Rome (fig. ii.25) would also have been an acceptable manner of representation both before and after Augustus’ death.115 An enthroned Jupiter-like statue of Augustus that can be securely dated to his lifetime was found in an apsidal shrine in the forum of the town of Tibur (Tivoli, Italy) (fig. ii.26).116 This now headless image can be identified as Augustus by its inscription, which reads PRO SALVTE ET REDITV CAESARIS A[ugusti] (“for the safety and return of Caesar Augustus”). The statue would consequently date after Augustus’ return from Syria in 19 or from Gaul



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Fig. ii.26. Seated statue of Augustus from Forum Sacellum at Tivoli. Photo by author

in 13 b.c.e. The inscription further indicates that the sculpture’s dedicant, Varenus Diphilus, set up the statue and shrine “with his own money.” Although displayed publicly in the forum of Tibur, this image is therefore a private—not official—expression of how Augustus was perceived by some in his lifetime and accords well with other private works, most notably the Jupiter-like Augustus found on the Gemma Augustea (fig. ii.17). Unlike the nonofficial municipal cults, certain provincial cities sought and received Augustus’ permission to set up temples to him, but this great honor was relatively rarely granted;117 and in these cases he imposed certain restrictions. For example, beginning in 29 b.c.e., non-Roman citizens were allowed to raise temples to Augustus at Pergamon and Nikomedia if the worship jointly included the goddess Roma (Cass. Dio 51.20.7; Tac. Ann. 4.37).118 Augustus also forbade his being designated a god (θεός); hence these temples in Asia Minor, in which Augustus was represented in military dress, were “of the Goddess Roma and of Imperator Augustus, son of the god [Divus Iulius]” (θεᾶς ‘Ρώμης κὰι ἀυτοκράτορος καίσαρος θεοῦ ‘υιοῦ Σεβαστοῦ).119 Moreover, sacrifices in these provincial cults were not permitted to be to Augustus, only on his behalf.120 Additionally, the Roman citizens of these provinces were expressly forbidden to worship Augustus officially but were instead permitted to erect temples to Roma and to his deified father (Cass. Dio 51.20.6–7)121—a highly significant distinction. These restrictions were undoubtedly imposed to avoid arousing envy

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and any further opposition to Augustus and his regime on the part of Rome’s senatorial aristocracy. The same reluctance to seem hubristic was articulated years later by Claudius in his letter to the Alexandrians: ἀρχιιερέα δ’ ἐμὸν καὶ ναῶν κατασκευὰς παρετοῦμε, οὔτε φορτικὸς τοῖς κατ’ ἐμαυτὸν ἀνθρόποις βουλόμενος εἶναι τὰ ἱερα δὲ καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα μόνοις τοῖς θεοἶς ἐξέρετα ὑπὸ τοῦ παντὸς αἰῶνος ἀποδεδόσθαι κρίν[ω]ν. I [Claudius] forbid the appointment of a high priest and setting up of temples to me, for I do not wish to be offensive to my contemporaries, as it is my judgment that temples and such honors have been granted from time immemorial to the gods alone.122

The Julio-Claudian Period (14–68 c.e.) Tiberius, who succeeded Augustus in 14 c.e., followed his predecessor’s lead in avoiding the portrayal of a direct relationship with the divine in official media. However, on state coinage under Tiberius one image that might be seen as blurring the distinction between the human and the divine is found on a series of dupondii minted nominally by the Senate. On the reverse appears a handsome portrait of Tiberius’ mother, Livia Augusta, widow of the now deified Augustus. This issue is known as the “Salus Augusta” coin type (plate VII) from the legend in the exergue under the profile head of Livia.123 This series was minted in 22/23 c.e. for Livia’s recovery in 22 from a grave illness that had implications for the safety of the Roman State, ostensibly in the eyes of the senators who voted honors to her. The Latin term for a person’s health or well-being is valetudo; however, by the time of the Principate, salus had come to be equated with the valetudo of the Princeps.124 The transferral of this concept to the mother of the current Princeps and wife of his deified predecessor—especially a person with the great personal auctoritas (“authority”) of Livia—was but the next step in the paying of extraordinary honors to the leader of the Roman State and important members of his family. Although the Senate also attempted to confer on Livia the title of Mater Patriae (“Mother of the Country”), Tiberius vetoed this honor for her (Tac. Ann. 1.14). After her death, the Senate also voted that an arch be set up to her memory, a distinction previously reserved only for the great men of Rome.125 In the case of the coin type with the Salus Augusta titulature, Livia is represented with a classicizing but personalized hairstyle and without any divine trappings or attributes. Instead, she wears a typical tunica (dress) and stola, an overgarment that was especially associated with proper Roman matrons.126 She



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Fig. ii.27. Dupondius (rev.: Ceres-like figure identified as Livia with legend DIVA AVGVSTA), 41–50 c.e. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and the Classical Numismatic Group

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is portrayed here with great propriety and dignity in her last portrait type,127 which is likely to have been created just after Augustus’ death in 14 c.e. At that time Livia was adopted in his will into the Julian clan and received the title Iulia Augusta (Tac. Ann. 1.8; Suet. Aug. 101.2; Cass. Dio 56.46.1). Livia also became the first priestess of her deified husband’s official cult and received privileges accorded the Vestal Virgins (Cass. Dio 56.46.1–2), who cared for his cult in Rome. Because of the likely connection of Livia’s last portrait type with the honors accorded her after her husband’s death, it is preferable, in my opinion, to refer to this as the “Iulia Augusta” type rather than the “Salus” type or the “Ceres” type, as some have done.128 “Salus” implies that the original model was created in connection with Livia’s recovery from her illness, while “Ceres” binds her too narrowly to a single goddess. Those who have seen Livia as represented as the goddess Salus Augusta have sometimes drawn a false analogy between this coin type and representations of the head of Iustitia and of Pietas on Tiberian dupondii at this same time.129 On these issues, the facial features of both Iustitia and Pietas are entirely idealized and devoid of any portrait features. Moreover, since Tiberius was so opposed to excessive honors being accorded by the Senate of Rome to either himself or his mother, it is difficult to conceive of his having permitted Livia to be represented officially as a divinity during his lifetime. Even under Augustus, Livia was only considered “Femina Princeps,” literally “First Lady,”130 by analogy with her husband as Princeps. In all likelihood, then, the Salus Augusta dupondii were not intended to represent Livia as Salus Augusta, but just as Livia herself.131 The titular on the coins may be explained as honoring and invoking the goddess for her intercession in connection with Livia’s grave illness, the implication being that with Livia’s recovery the safety (salus) of the Roman State would again be assured. Such a double meaning would have constituted a bit of flattery on the part of the Senate, which was nominally responsible for this bronze coinage. Of course after Livia had been deified, there would have been no obstacle to her representation in divine guise in an official context. But we find this manner of honoring her not under her son Tiberius but during the Principate of Claudius (41–54 c.e.), when a Ceres-like figure appears on state coinage with the legend DIVA AVGVSTA (fig. ii.27).132 In private and nonofficial works, Tiberius’ own imagery could vary from representation as godlike to depiction as an imperator, magistrate, or priest. An example of his portrayal like a divinity is found on the Grand Camée de France in the Cabinet des Médailles of the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris (fig. ii.28),133 a magnificent cameo even larger than the Gemma Augustea. On the Grand

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Fig. ii.28. Grand Camée de France, Cabinet des Médailles, Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris. After Megow (1987) pl. 33.5

Camée, a private creation generally considered to have been produced during Tiberius’ lifetime, he is represented seminude and Jupiter-like, surrounded by members of his family and the deified Augustus, who appears with scepter in hand in heaven above. An example of a larger work in which Tiberius appeared with divinities is a marble statue base from Puteoli (Pozzuoli) now in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale in Naples (fig. ii.29).134 The sides of the base are decorated with various representations of personified cities; the heads of these relief figures show signs of having been systematically mutilated, probably by early



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Fig. ii.29. Inscribed marble statue base from Puteoli showing personified cities of Asia Minor, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples. Photo by author

Christian fanatics in the Late Antique period. Atop the base was originally a seated statue of Tiberius, whose beneficence to fourteen cities of Asia (Minor) in 17 c.e. is recorded by Tacitus (Ann. 2.47; 4.13). The extant base is thought to copy or adapt a colossal statue of Tiberius that the cities of Asia set up to him by the Temple of Venus Genetrix in the Forum Iulium, with freestanding statues of the personified cities set in a row.135 These statues were depicted in relief around the base from Puteoli. The colossal statue of Tiberius may be represented on a sestertius issued on the authority of the Senate (SC) under Tiberius in 22–23 c.e. (fig. ii.30) and bearing the legend CIVITATIBVS ASIAE RESTITVTIS (“the city-states of Asia [Minor] restored”).136 Tiberius is presented on this coinage as togate, crowned with laurel, and seated on a curule chair with staff and patera in hand. To be sure, the monument in question had been dedicated by foreign cities, rather than by Tiberius or the Senate. However, it was still very publicly

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displayed in Rome itself, so any suggestion of the Princeps’ mixing freely with divinities might have been problematic. In the case of the statue base, the personified cities do not appear as companions of Tiberius but are in a subordinate position and on a smaller scale, and none are represented with Tiberius on the coin. In the same way, the statues of the personified cities of Asia in the Forum Iulium were obviously smaller than the image of Tiberius, which is described as a “colossus” (κολοσσός). There would therefore have been a clear distinction between mortal and divine, as well as a physical separation of the two. An important, previously unpublished marble relief of high quality that is said to be from southern Spain shows how the living Princeps Tiberius could be represented in relation to the divine in municipal cults, with no constraint imposed by official ideology (fig. ii.31a–b).137 This relief (H. 90 cm, W. 68 cm, D. 15.5 cm) features three figures—a standing togate male on the left, a highly idealized female, and an enthroned, now headless seminude male figure on the right holding a cornucopia in his left hand and resting his bare feet on a footstool. The togatus grasps a book scroll in his left hand, while clasping the hand of the seated seminude male figure. The female in the background places her left hand on the right shoulder of the seated figure and her right hand (barely visible) on the togatus’ back. At the top left part of this relief are two lines of inscribed words that are sufficiently preserved to indicated that they refer to Tiberius:138

Fig. ii.30. Sestertius (rev.: Tiberius seated on a curule seat [sella curulis] with legend CIVITATIBVS ASIAE RESTITVTIS), 22–23 c.e. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and the Classical Numismatic Group

AD C[. . .] [. . .]S TI AVGVST C[. . .]

Even without the inscription, it would be possible to establish that the togatus is Tiberius (fig. ii.31b), based on this figure’s facial features and iconographic hairstyle. Since the arrangement of hair locks is associated with his fifth portrait type, as evidenced in both sculptural and numismatic images (fig. II.31c),139 it is therefore likely that this relief dates some time after Tiberius became Princeps on the death of his adoptive father Augustus in 14 c.e. Tiberius’ fifth portrait type was in vogue from about that time until at least 31 c.e., when a new and somewhat different official type—his last official one—seems to have been created.140 In the relief from Spain, Tiberius’ civic role as Princeps is emphasized by his toga, his uncovered head, and the book roll in his left hand. It is clear that the enthroned seated figure is a Genius because of his seminudity and the cornucopia that he holds. It is not the Genius of the Princeps,



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Fig. ii.31a. Marble relief showing Tiberius greeting the Genius of a Spanish city with the goddess Concordia in the background, formerly in Collection of D. Auturo Moya Moreno, Seville, Spain. After Christie’s Antiquities, June 10, 2010, 93

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Fig. ii.31b. Detail of Tiberius from relief formerly in Collection of D. Auturo Moya Moreno. After Christie’s Antiquities, June 10, 2010, 94 Fig. ii.31c. Aureus (obv.: head of Tiberius) 15–16 c.e. Courtesy of British Museum

however, because the Genius Augusti is always shown at this time as togate, with head veiled, and carrying a cornucopia,141 as in the colossal statue from Puteoli in the Sala Rotonda in the Vatican’s Museo Pio Clementino (fig. i.4a–b).142 As we know from numismatic evidence, it is not until the time of Nero that the Genius Augusti (i.e., the Genius of Nero) is represented seminude, with cornucopia and patera (fig. ii.32), exactly like the Genius Populi Romani (“Genius of the Roman People”).143 The seminude enthroned figure in the relief also cannot be a representation of Divus Augustus, since the deified Augustus is shown either togate wearing the solar crown144 and/or with a star over his head or seminude holding a spear or ruler’s staff (e.g., fig. ii.24),145 but never a cornucopia. If this relief is indeed from southern Spain, the Genius in this case is most likely that of a people of a Spanish provincial city. The female figure in the background, with one hand on the Genius’ right shoulder and the other on that of Tiberius, must also be a personification, because she lacks any portraitlike facial features and wears a classical Greek hairstyle, diadem, and Greek-influenced dress, like so many other Roman personifications. Although she has no specific attribute, she may be interpreted in the context of this scene as Concordia Augusta introducing Tiberius to the Genius. As already noted, many of the imperial virtues and state gods of Rome received the epithet of Augustus/a from the time of Augustus on. Moreover, Tiberius had rebuilt the old Republican Temple of Concord in Rome, rededicating it in 10 or 12 c.e. as the adopted son of Augustus.146



Fig. ii.32. As (rev.: Genius of Nero with legend GENIO AVGVSTI and SC), 64–66 c.e. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and the Classical Numismatic Group

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The reported provenance of the relief and the free mixing of Tiberius and divinities in this scene suggest that this sculpture once belonged to some sort of municipal monument set up in honor of Tiberius as Princeps and the concordia (“harmony”) between the imperial government and the people of this provincial city. By comparison with the often mediocre sculpture found in Spain in the early imperial period, the high quality of this relief further suggests that it was produced by a Rome-trained sculptor working in one of the main centers of Roman Spain, possibly one of its two provincial capitals in the south: Colonia Patricia (Corduba; modern Córdoba), which was the capital of Baetica, or Colonia Augusta Emerita (modern Mérida), the capital of Lusitania.147 In the case of Augusta Emerita,148 we know of a temple in the West Forum of the city that resembled the Temple of Concordia in Rome in plan and appears to have been Tiberian in date.149 Although it is thought that this was a temple of the provincial imperial cult, for which reason the West Forum is generally called the “Provincial Forum,” there is no definitive evidence for this connection. Possibly coming from this forum is a dedicatory inscription to Concordia Augusti that was found nearby.150 If so, it may have been associated with a temple dedicated to Concordia and/or to the imperial cult or even with a statue of Concordia that once stood in this forum. Another tantalizing piece of evidence, based on coins minted at Emerita under Tiberius, suggests that there may have been an altar of Providentia Augusta in that city that was modeled to some degree on a monumental altar of the same name set up by Tiberius between 14 and 17 c.e. in Rome, probably located opposite the Ara Pacis across the Via Lata (see further chapter VII, appendix).151 If there were such an altar of Providentia at Emerita, it could have stood in several possible locations—before the Concordia-like temple in the West Forum, before the so-called Temple of Diana152 in the North Forum (the “Municipal Forum” or “Colonial Forum”), or even in the center of the porticoed space of the “Marble Forum” or “Forum Adiectum.” This portico may have served as an Augusteum and been modeled in part on the porticoes of the Forum of Augustus in Rome. It is clear, in any case, that a number of these imperial temples, altars, and porticoes reflected to some degree similar buildings in Rome, so that these colonial cities became in a sense simulacra Romae (“images of Rome”). It is difficult, of course, to say what the fragmentary Tiberian relief once adorned. The inscription might have shed some light on this matter; unfortunately not enough of it has survived to be particularly helpful, although the two incomplete words with C could refer to “Concordia” and/or “Colonia.” Both Corduba and Emerita Augusta were, after all, Roman colonies. The height of the panel (90 cm) suggests that it might once have been part of an altar (to

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Providentia Augusta?), a statue base, or even the side of a throne for a seated marble or bronze figure, perhaps of the Genius of the colony or of the people of the city, the goddess Concordia, or Tiberius himself. We know, for example, of figural side panels decorating a marble throne from Caere (Cerveteri, Italy) on which sat a marble statue of Claudius that is now in the Museo Gregoriano Profano of the Vatican.153 In any case, the imagery of this Tiberian relief is in accord with an association with a municipal imperial cult. With Tiberius’ Julio-Claudian successors, divine associations gradually began to be more direct not just in nonofficial art— whether private or municipal—but also in official state media. The earliest unambiguous example of living individuals represented on state coinage like divinities is to be found on sestertii minted in 37–38 c.e. in the Principate of Tiberius’ successor, Caligula (fig. ii.33).154 On this issue, the three sisters of Caligula—Agrippina, Drusilla, and Iulia—are identified by name in the guise of the personifications Securitas, Concordia, and Fortuna and holding their divine attributes.155 Although one might be tempted to interpret this coin type as a manifestation of the alleged madness of Caligula (see further chapter VIII), it is important to note that, technically speaking, these sestertii were issued on the authority of the Roman Senate, since they bear the abbreviation SC (Senatus consulto) in the exergue. Nevertheless, the choice of senatorial coin types was ostensibly determined or at least approved by the Princeps and/or his agents.156 In any case, it is interesting that this sort of intensified imagery tends to be more prevalent in issues on the authority of the Senate, as we have seen with the bronze premedallic dupondii of Augustus with the Victoriola behind his head (fig. ii.9) and the handsome bronze dupondius with the portrait of Livia with the legend SALVS AVGVSTA minted under Tiberius (plate VII). This sort of imagery could be promoted as the idea of the Senate rather than of the Princeps himself, though it is reasonable to conclude that the Senate would not have acted against his wishes. I believe it is relevant and significant that, by contrast, gold and silver coins issued on the authority of Caligula himself show no signs of direct association with divinities, no trappings of divinity, or, for that matter, any other manifestations of the megalomania attributed to Caligula by an extremely hostile and largely aristocratic literary tradition.157 Moreover, when it came to his own image, whether on state coinage issued solely on his own authority or nominally by the Senate with the SC designation, Caligula is invariably represented as a dignified Princeps, usually wearing the traditional toga praetexta of the senatorial class. For example, a sestertius of 37–38 c.e. (plate VI)158 shows



Fig. ii.33. Sestertius (rev.: Caligula’s three sisters: Agrippina, Drusilla, and Iulia), 37–38 c.e. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and the Classical Numismatic Group

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Fig. ii.34. Sestertius (rev.: togate Caligula addressing soldiers), 40–41 c.e. After Kent (1978) pl. 49.168

Fig. ii.35. Sestertius (rev.: Parthian Arch of Nero on Capitoline Hill with Nero and divinities Victoria and Pax), 64 c.e. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and the Classical Numismatic Group

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Caligula togate and offering sacrifice as an expression of familial pietas before the Temple of Divus Augustus, while another sestertius of 40–41 c.e. represents Caligula, again togate, addressing soldiers (fig. ii.34).159 These issues from the Rome mint may be considered to reflect his official view of himself and his role as Princeps of the Roman State. In any case, the “Three Sisters” coinage under Caligula points the way to the growing tendency in the official iconography of the later imperial period to present both the Princeps and members of his family in direct association with the divine. Changes in social and political sensibilities with regard to official imagery appear to have been determined, at least in part, by the changing makeup of the senatorial aristocracy. As time went on, most of the old Republican nobles had been driven to extinction through imperial intrigues or had simply died off. As Tacitus (Ann. 1.3) put it, Quotus quisque reliquus qui rem publicam vidisset (“How few were left who had seen/experienced the Republic”). The aristocracy was gradually replaced by novi homines (“newmade men”), first from the Italian municipal aristocracy and eventually from the provincial aristocracy.160 These individuals owed their senatorial rank and promotion within the Senate to imperial patronage and adlectio (“nomination”) to office.161 The Principate gradually became more outwardly monarchical in fact though not in theory for some time to come, with official media increasingly adopting the language of Hellenistic kingship for artistic representations. For example, on sestertii of 64 c.e. (fig. ii.35), Nero (54–68 c.e.) is shown as triumphator in a four-horse chariot (in quadrigis) accompanied by divinities as his comites atop his now vanished triumphal arch (fig. ii.36), which had been set up on the Capitoline Hill in 62 c.e. to celebrate his military successes over the Parthians.162 The numismatic image shows the triumphant Nero with not only Victoria, who appears with palm branch and crown held up to him, but also Pax (Peace personified) standing on the other side holding a caduceus and cornucopia, symbols of imperial peace and prosperity. Because of their association with the Julio-Claudian house, Victoria and Pax were now transformed into Victoria Augusta and Pax Augusta. This Neronian numismatic example is, to my knowledge, the earliest representation in official art of a personification other than Victoria appearing in Rome itself as a companion of the Princeps.163 Interestingly, Victoria is not shown in the chariot crowning Nero. In this case Nero seems to have followed Augustan triumphal imagery.

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Fig. ii.36. Reconstruction of Parthian Arch of Nero on Capitoline Hill. After Kleiner (1984) 9

The Flavian to Trajanic Periods By the end of the first century, Domitian was prepared to go a step further during his Principate (81–96 c.e.) than had his imperial predecessors with regard to direct association with the divine. In one of the state reliefs from the Palazzo della Cancelleria in Rome,164 Domitian—whose facial features in Panel B (fig. ii.37a–c) were recut after his damnation to those of his successor Nerva (96–98 c.e.) —was shown freely mixing not only with personifications but also with Olympian gods. Leading the way to a predestined victory165 over the barbarians of the north are Domitian’s divine comites—his patron goddess Minerva and the Roman war-god Mars. Such imagery was also reflected in state coinage, as in a sestertius of 92–94 c.e. in which a victorious Domitian in cuirass is flanked by Minerva and by Victoria, who crowns him (Fig. ii.38).166 Despite the megalomania that a hostile literary tradition attributed to Domitian,167 as it had to Caligula and Nero, Domitian was eventually surpassed by Trajan when it came to being represented with the divine in the official medium of state coinage. Before the Principate of Trajan (98–117 c.e.), no Princeps had ventured to have himself portrayed on state coinage freely associating with Jupiter, the supreme god of the Roman pantheon.168 However, on aurei dated



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Fig. ii.37a. Cancelleria Relief B showing Domitian setting out on campaign accompanied by the gods of Rome, Museo Gregoriano Profano ex Lateranense, Vatican. Photo by author

Fig. ii.37b–c. Head of Domitian recut into Nerva, Cancelleria Relief B. Museo Gregoriano Profano ex Lateranense, Vatican. Photos by author

Fig. ii.38. Sestertius (rev.: Domitian in cuirass flanked by Minerva and Victoria, who crowns him), 92– 94 c.e. After Hölscher (1967) pl. 6.3

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from 112–117 c.e., Trajan is represented with Jupiter, who holds a thunderbolt, the symbol of divine power (plate VIII).169 Here, though, a dramatic distinction is made between the two: Trajan is shown considerably smaller than Jupiter, in keeping with the principles of hierarchy. Trajan nevertheless stands beside the omnipotent father of

gods and men, under his divine protection both literally and figuratively. We hear of no objections to Trajan’s direct mode of representation expressed in the sources, including by Romans of the senatorial class.170 It is noteworthy that some colossal statues of Trajan set up in Rome were as large or larger than those of Domitian, yet there were no complaints about these either.171 Notwithstanding his beneficial policies, Domitian was generally viewed as a contemptible and tyrannical ruler by aristocratic Roman sources, mainly because of his more openly autocratic ways and especially because of how he dealt with members of the senatorial aristocracy. Whether a Caesar was praised or condemned, especially after death, had much to do with his relation with the Senate and upper classes, since they were often the ones who wrote.172 This was all part of the rhetoric of politics. Many of those who benefited under Domitian were the first to condemn him after his assassination. Such an individual was Pliny the Younger,173 who provides us with no better black and white example of how the “bad Domitian” was to be contrasted with the “good Trajan” than in his Panegyricus. This encomiastic speech, delivered in Trajan’s presence at a meeting of the Senate upon Pliny’s assumption of the consulship in 100 c.e., was not only laudatory toward Trajan but also didactic in intent.174 Despite associating Trajan with Jupiter,175 Pliny presents Trajan as the correct exemplum (“model”) of a Roman Princeps. In reality, we might say, the Panegyricus was an expression of how the Roman Senate hoped that Trajan would behave. In any case, Trajan is generally portrayed in the ancient literary sources as a beneficent and constitutional leader, one who in fact was worthy to be called Optimus Princeps (“Best First Citizen”).176 Interestingly, Optimus as a title had previously been reserved for the supreme god of the Roman State— Jupiter Optimus Maximus. The direct mode of representation was not confined to Trajanic coinage, as evidenced by the magnificently preserved Arch of Trajan at Beneventum, which had been voted by the Senate (figs. ii.39).177 Aptly called a “panegyric in stone,”178 this grand arch, with its complex imagery in which history and allegory commingle, served as an illustrated testimonial of Trajan’s domestic and foreign accomplishments, virtues, and programs. In sculptural panels in the attic, or uppermost part of this arch, Jupiter in the company of other important state gods extends his thunderbolt (fig. ii.39b) to Trajan, his vicegerent on earth (fig. ii.39c)—a gesture of divine approbation to rule and to conquer on behalf of the Roman People. Appearing in other panels in the company of important gods and personifications are not only Trajan and other members of the Roman aristocracy and military (e.g., fig. ii.39d) but also the lower classes, as recipients of imperial benefactions (fig. ii.39e). With Trajan, mixing of the human and



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Fig. ii.39a. Arch of Trajan at Beneventum (“City Side”): After Hassel (1966) pl. 2

Fig. ii.39b. Detail of Jupiter extending thunderbolt in company of other gods, Arch of Trajan at Beneventum (“City Side”). Photo by author Fig. ii.39c. Detail of Trajan about to receive thunderbolt from Jupiter, Arch of Trajan at Beneventum (“City Side”). Photo by author

Fig. ii.39d. Detail of Trajan with Mars and Italia, Arch of Trajan at Beneventum (“City Side”). Photo by author

Fig. ii.39e. Detail of Trajan, personifications, and members of the lower class, Arch of Trajan at Beneventum (Passageway). After Hassel (1966) pl. 1e

the divine, even in terms of the supreme god of the Roman pantheon, was now fully acceptable in official media. The Imagery of the Officially Sanctioned Imperial Cult in the Greek East While in the later imperial period the leader of the Roman State might be shown in the company of the gods during his lifetime, he was not portrayed as nude or seminude in an official context. This is true even in the provincial imperial cult of cities with neokoros status in the Greek East, where there was a long tradition of portraying mortals as in some way divine. In scholarship on the imperial cult, distinctions have generally not been made with regard to the imagery



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Fig. ii.40. Colossal head and left forearm of Titus or Domitian from Ephesos, Selçuk Museum. Photo by author

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in cult worship that was official as opposed to nonofficial from the point of view of the Roman State.179 In the East, especially in Asia (Minor) from the first through third centuries c.e., various provincial cities were accorded the special distinction of being allowed to worship the head of state officially in a temple devoted to that purpose. The term neokoros apparently first referred to the individual who assisted (literally as temple “warden” or “caretaker”) in performing priestly duties in these cults of the Augusti/Sebastoi, that is, of the deified Caesars. Eventually neokoros (pl. neokoroi) came to refer to a city with such a temple, so that the city itself was conceived to be the “warden/caretaker” of the temple and cult. Neokorate (koinon) temples, which were shrines to the imperial cult in cities with neokoros status, were relatively rare because they required the specific approval of the Roman State, as embodied in the Senate or the Princeps or both.180 Because cult worship involved a considerable expense, the wealthiest citizens of the provinces, who became the chief priests of the cult, were expected to fund these religious enterprises as part of their liturgies. Cities were eager to gain the prestigious designation neokoros and advertised this title in their inscriptions and on their coinage. Ephesos, the capital of Roman Asia, boasted of the great distinction of being “Twice,” then “Thrice,” and even for a time “Four Times Neokoros”; that is, the city was ultimately allowed to have as many as four temples devoted to the imperial cult.181 A fragmentary colossal marble portrait statue, parts of which are now in the Selçuk Museum (fig. ii.40),182 has long been regarded as having come from the cult temple of Domitian at Ephesos. This akrolithic image,183 most likely originally portrayed in military cuirass and holding a spear in the left hand (fig. ii.41), has been identified as Titus or Domitian. However, there is now reason to question whether this image came from the Domitianic neokorate temple: recent archaeological excavations suggest that the podium substructure in which the fragments of the statue were found may date from the early third

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century, not the Domitianic period (see appendix). Perhaps in the Late Antique era the statue was severely damaged and parts of it were dragged to the area of the findspot from the Temple of Domitian (later referred to as the Temple of Vespasian), the actual location of which has not been established. These pieces were incorporated in a late wall beneath the podium-terrace. But whether originally a portrait of Titus or of Domitian that was converted to an image of Divus Titus after Domitian’s memory had been damned, a cuirassed imperial image would not have represented the Princeps as a divinity. In many cases it is difficult to know whether a sculptural portrait was a cult figure or just one of the ornamenta (“decorations”) of the temple. However, when the statues are of colossal proportions, as in the case of the Flavian sculpture at Ephesos, the likelihood of their cultic significance increases. As Barbara Burrell has rightly pointed out, “Though not assured as being cult statues, these colossi were at least prominent images in the temples; koinon temples were generally large and colossi would have dominated the space effectively.”184 In addition to the statue from Ephesos, there are fragmentary imperial portraits on a grand scale from Pergamon and Sardis. From the ruins of the temple of Zeus Philios and Trajan at Pergamon have come parts of a statue of an enthroned Zeus and of standing images of Trajan and Hadrian. Both imperial figures were cuirassed, with the right arm raised and the left arm lowered. Because of stylistic differences and the fact that on coinage only the cuirassed statue of Trajan is represented with the image of Zeus in the temple, it is quite likely that the figure of Hadrian was added later185 and placed in the porch, by analogy with Hadrian’s actions with regard to his image in the porch of the Pantheon.186 Several colossal akrolithic images were found at Sardis in connection with the Temple of Artemis, which housed the imperial cult associated with the city’s second designation as neokoros.187 The fragmentary portraits of Antoninus Pius



Fig. ii.41. Reconstruction of colossal cuirassed statue of Titus or Domitian from Ephesos, Selçuk Museum. After Burrell (2004) fig. 27

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Fig. ii.42. Statue of Divus Vespasianus from Sacellum of the Augustales at Cape Miseno, Castello Museum, Baiae. After Fejfer (2008) pl. 7 Fig. ii.43. Statue of Divus Titus from Sacellum of the Augustales at Cape Miseno, Castello Museum, Baiae. After Fejfer (2008) pl. 6

and Faustina the Elder are likely to have been the cult statues, with the other images probably representing their sons Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus and their respective wives, Faustina the Younger and Lucilla.188 It has been suggested that Antoninus was represented naked and holding a spear, while enthroned like Zeus, and that Faustina the Elder, on a slightly smaller scale than her husband, was probably shown Hera-like, standing beside him.189 In the case of Antoninus, no trace of his torso has thus far been found, so there is no physical evidence upon which to base an assessment as to whether he was represented nude, seminude, or clothed.190 Enough remains of the figure of Lucius Verus to indicate that he was in military dress. Because all of these statues were akrolithic and therefore needed to be set up in an area that was not exposed to the elements, the images of Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus and their wives would probably have been displayed in the porch of the temple, with only Antoninus and his wife within the cella, possibly as divus and diva. If

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Fig. ii.44a. Bronze equestrian statue of Domitian/Nerva from Sacellum of the Augustales at Cape Miseno, Castello Museum, Baiae. After Pozzi et al. (1987) pl. V

Fig. ii.44b. Detail of head of Domitian with added “face mask” of Nerva, from Sacellum of the Augustales at Cape Miseno, Castello Museum, Baiae. After Lahusen and Formigli (2001) p. 391, fig. 105d

Antoninus’ statue were a posthumous creation, his representation nude or seminude would have posed no problem, since deified leaders were typically portrayed in that way in official contexts.191 Faustina the Elder’s veil, which is characteristic of her posthumous coin portraits, would also have been appropriate for a Hera-like image of her.192 Even when the cult was not officially sanctioned, distinctions were sometimes made within a given context between deified Caesars and the living Princeps. Such is the case with the sacellum (“shrine”) of Divus Vespasianus (fig. ii.42) and Divus Titus (fig. ii.43) set up by a municipal Collegium (“College”/“Association”) of the Augustales at Cape Miseno. Here two nude figures of the Flavian divi were placed as



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Fig. ii.45. Tetradrachm (rev.: statues of Augustus and Roma-Tyche in the provincial Temple of Augustus and Roma at Pergamon), Claudian date. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and the Classical Numismatic Group

Fig. ii.46. Coin of Tralles (rev.: Caracalla in cuirass in koinon temple [left]; seated Zeus in temple [right]), ca. 198–211 c.e. After Price and Trell (1977) fig. 447

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pendant figures in niches on either side of an apse at the back of the central room of the shrine, while a bronze equestrian image of a cuirassed Domitian (with face and front part of hair later changed to Nerva) (fig. ii.44a–b) was found in a side-room directly to the west of the sacellum.193 The original statue of Domitian therefore stood apart from the nude images of his deified father and brother. This separation of the living and the dead and deified was similar to the arrangement in the Pantheon, where the statues of Augustus and Agrippa had been set up in the porch rather than inside among the images of divinities (Cass. Dio 53.27.3). Our knowledge of the appearance of the cult statues in other officially sanctioned koinon temples derives from representations on provincial coins, many of which are crude and worn, with little aesthetic appeal. Of relatively good quality, however, is a tetradrachm of Claudian date showing the statue of Augustus in military cuirass being crowned by a personification in the provincial Temple of Roma and Augustus at Pergamon (fig. ii.45).194 Wearing a long dress and a helmet, the divinity looks like the goddess Athena but is most likely a Greek interpretation of Roma, conceived as a Tyche (“Fortune”) because of the cornucopia that she carries. She would be, in effect, a syncretistic Greek version of Roma-Fortuna.195 The cuirassed figure of Augustus, either alone or with the personification, appears on coinage down to the time of Trajan.196 Later examples like the representation of Hadrian in armor in Smyrna’s second temple to the imperial cult indicate that this sort of imagery continued for other leaders of the Roman State in the neokorate cities.197 At Nikomedia, a cuirassed statue of Hadrian was apparently added to the cult temple of the Augusti that already contained a half-draped figure of Divus Augustus.198 Years later, Septimius Severus, Geta, and Caracalla are represented in military dress within a temple that was probably associated with Nikomedia’s second grant of neokoros status.199 Caracalla appears in armor without his father and brother within a koinon temple at Tralles (fig. ii.46)200 and perhaps at Laodikeia.201 The same military imagery seems to be have been used for the statue of Elagabalus in his temple at Hierapolis.202 It has also been suggested that Caracalla—in tunic and perhaps cuirass, with a radiate crown—was

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represented assimilated to Helios in the cult temple at Philadelphia,203 though this figure has also been taken as simply Helios.204 In a few cases the leader of the Roman State is not portrayed in armor. Tiberius is represented on a local brass coin (ca. 29–35 c.e.) as togate and capite velato (“with head veiled”), holding what appears to be a simpulum, the sacrificial ladle of a pontifex, in Smyrna’s first provincial temple of the imperial cult (fig. ii.47).205 In a much later example, Commodus or Caracalla is portrayed in a toga and holding a patera in the imperial shrine at Laodikeia,206 while a coin of Ephesos shows a togate figure that is probably Elagabalus in that city’s fourth neokorate temple, with two cuirassed figures—Hadrian and Vespasian or Titus—in two of the city’s other three provincial temples.207 Military dress served to emphasize a Princeps’ military virtues and his role as savior (soter or conservator) of the civilized inhabited world (oikoumene), while Tiberius’ depiction as togate, with head veiled and holding a simpulum, would have highlighted his pietas and his position as Pontifex Maximus, chief priest of the Roman state religion under the Empire.208 Representation in a toga without head veiled would have emphasized the civic aspect of the head of state as a magistrate and First Citizen. These sorts of “appropriate” images of Roman leaders in neokorate temples are useful in interpreting various numismatic representations of the official temple dedicated to Roma, the Senate and People of Rome, and Augustus on Hadrianic cistophoric tetradrachms from Nikomedia in Bithynia.209 Although there are no archaeological remains or sculpture from this temple, the coinage shows various images within the temple, which bears the legend ROM S P AVG (Romae Senatui Populoque [Romano] Augusto) on its architrave. One coin type shows a seminude, beardless figure holding a staff in his right hand and what appears to be a Palladium (a small image of Athena, symbolic of Troy) in his left (fig. ii.48)210—a suitable way to represent the personified People (and Senate) of Rome, which shared the cult worship in this temple. Another coin type depicts two figures in a temple (fig. ii.49):211 to the left is a cuirassed male holding a spear in his right hand and a small statue (Victoriola?) in his left; to the right is a helmeted female who appears to be carrying a cornucopia in her left arm, while extending her right hand toward the head of the male figure, signifying that she is crowning him. Because of the great similarity of the imagery



Fig. ii.47. Brass coin (rev.: togate Tiberius in imperial temple), 29–35 c.e. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and the Classical Numismatic Group

Fig. ii.48. Cistophoric tetradrachm (rev.: beardless seminude figure [Populus Romanus?] holding the Palladium), Hadrianic date. After Metcalf (1980) pl. 30.19

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Fig. ii.49. Cistophoric tetradrachm (rev.: most likely statues of cuirassed Augustus and helmeted Roma with cornucopia), Hadrianic date. After Burrell (2004) fig. 112

Fig. ii.50. Cistophoric tetradrachm (rev.: statue of cuirassed Augustus or Hadrian), Hadrianic date. After Metcalf (1980) pl. 30.25

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of this two-figure group to that on the Pergamene coin, the cuirassed male is most likely Augustus and the female figure, Roma. These two would then represent the original statues in the Temple of Roma and Augustus that was officially sanctioned by Augustus in his lifetime. The last image depicted on this cistophoric series (II.50)212 is a sole male figure—either Augustus or Hadrian—wearing a cuirass and holding a spear in his right hand and a Victoriola in his outstretched left hand. To summarize, after the founding of the Principate in 27 b.c.e.—in a change from the imagery immediately preceding that time—representation of the living Princeps nude or seminude was limited to artistic creations that were private or otherwise unofficial from the point of view of the Roman State. In some instances in which the leader is portrayed as godlike in an official context, a posthumous date can definitely or probably be established for that image. Such is the case with the seminude pedimental figure of Divus Augustus in the Templum Novum—clearly a posthumous creation (plate VI). The direct mode of representation in relation to the divine began slowly in the early imperial period with the Senate’s depiction of Caligula’s three sisters as personifications on state coinage, and accelerated with the representation of Domitian and Trajan with Olympian gods. By then, the old Republican aristocracy, whom Augustus sought to appease for the sake of civic tranquillity, had passed away. Even though the direct manner of indicating a relationship with the divine became common in official art after Trajan, it was not exclusively the way the Princeps was portrayed vis-à-vis the gods. Whether the direct or indirect mode was expressed depended on the audience that the Caesars wished to address and the type of ideological messages they wished to project in their official representational programs. Thus, in the Greek East, Augustus had ordered that only nonRomans be allowed to worship him in the imperial cult temple at Pergamon— and then only with Roma. Romans resident there were to venerate instead Divus Iulius and Roma, in a separate temple. Under subsequent principes, the differentiation between Roman and non-Roman seems not to have been mandated for the officially sanctioned provincial shrines of other cities. In all of these neokorate temples, which were officially regulated by Rome from the time

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of Augustus through the end of the third century c.e., the living leader of the Roman State was represented in a cuirass or less commonly in a toga. Military attire would have reminded the populace of the might of Rome and the protection that Rome offered the civilized world. Representation in an official context as nude or seminude, whether in Rome or the provinces, seems to be quite consistently—though not exclusively—reserved for the deceased and would have served as one of the ways to indicate the deified status of the Princeps.213



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Appendix: A Colossal Statue of Titus or Domitian and the Neokorate Temples of Ephesos

Fig. ii.51. Plan of Upper Agora at Ephesos. After Price (1984) fig. 3

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The fragmentary colossal statue from Ephesos representing Titus or Domitian that is now in the Selçuk Museum has generally been assumed to have once adorned the Domitianic neokorate temple of the Augusti/Sebastoi, the foundations of which have long been identified as those found atop a grand podiumterrace (85.6 m by 64.6 m) just to the west of the State Agora of Ephesos (fig. ii.51). Regarded as also associated with the Domitianic temple, which has been dated to around 89/90 c.e. on the basis of inscriptional evidence, are at least thirteen inscribed statue bases from different locations in and around Ephesos that were dedicated by various cities of Asia to members of the Flavian family in connection with the imperial cult of that city.214 None of the statues that were originally set up on these bases has survived. The fragmentary colossal imperial

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image that has come down to us merits particular attention because of the complexity of problems involved in determining the Princeps represented, the statue’s relation to the Domitianic neokorate temple, and the identification of the sanctuary beneath which the sculpture was found. Discovered in 1930 were the colossal statue’s damaged head, measuring 0.74 m from chin to top of head, and a left forearm with hand, measuring 1.72 m in total height (fig. ii.40).215 In excavations in this area in 1969–70 additional parts of more than one statue of a similar size were found: a right forearm with hand (1.75 m), another hand from another figure, a right knee with lower leg (1.12 m), a left knee (0.60 m), part of a right foot, and part of a left foot.216 These body parts are in a high-quality white marble, most likely from Asia Minor. The tenon at the base of the neck of the portrait head indicates that it was made for insertion into the mortise of a statue body. In view of the incredible size and weight of such an enormous figure (which would have stood some 7 m high) and the fact that no trace of the torso has been found, it is virtually certain that the original portrait image was an akrolithic sculpture. In this sort of statuary, the head and limbs were carved in marble or some other stone and added to a torso in another material, usually wood that was painted or covered in gilt or sheet metal.217 Akrolithic statues were generally represented togate or cuirassed because the drapery of the toga or the rim of the armor would have concealed the join where the neck was inserted into the body. Except in relatively rare cases, the akrolithic technique was not used for nude and seminude figures because the join between the neck and torso would then have been far more visible. The body part most likely to have belonged to the same statue from Ephesos as the colossal portrait head is the left arm that was found with it in 1930. In view of the position of the upraised left arm and fingers and the groove in the hand for a shaft, this arm probably originally once held a bronze spear or possibly a scepter. Such figures are depicted in neokorate temples on Ephesian coins (fig. ii.52).218 These numismatic representations, as well as the fact that the head of the colossal statue and the other body parts were fashioned as separate pieces, indicate that the original figure was almost certainly cuirassed, as in the reconstruction (fig. ii.41).219 Because the back of the head is unfinished, it is clear that the statue was designed to be set against a wall or in a niche. A metal rod (or rods) may have been inserted in the back of the figure for attachment to a back wall. The lack of weathering indicates, moreover, that the statue had been set up in a sheltered location, within a building or at least in a covered porch or portico, as was the case with most akrolithic images.



Fig. ii.52. Bronze coin (rev.: four neokorate temples at Ephesos with statues in each), 218–222 c.e. After Burrell (2004) fig. 75

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Because of the sculpture’s colossal size, somewhat abstracted forms, and provincial nature, it has been difficult to identify the specific individual portrayed. The facial features, hairstyle, and stylistic treatment indicate a Flavian date, but it has been hotly debated whether the head represents Titus or Domitian.220 The very massive neck in relation to the face suggests that the statue may even have been reworked somewhat from a portrait of Domitian to that of his deified brother Titus after Domitian’s damnation and death in 96 c.e.221 In any case, there was a very strong family resemblance between the two brothers. In the end, what mattered most was the inscription that identified the person represented, but no inscription associated with this statue has survived. A makeover of this rather ambiguous portrait could also have been effected by simply erasing the name of Domitian in the now lost inscription accompanying it and inscribing in its place the name of Divus Titus—a not unusual practice in Roman times. Both the head and the left forearm were found in a barrel-vaulted cryptoporticus below the northwest part of the podium-terrace of the structure long presumed to be the Domitianic neokorate temple.222 These statuary fragments were partly built into a late wall construction, for which reason it was also assumed that the figure probably had been set up in the temple above. Other body parts, belonging to at least two colossal statues, were found nearby, also built into late walls. If the portrait statue of Titus—or Domitian renamed/reworked into a Titus—stood until late antiquity, it may very well have been attacked at that time by early Christians, who assaulted many of the sacred and secular images of the polytheistic peoples of the Empire.223 The breaks in the head and the forearm, as well as in the other statuary fragments, are consistent with the statue’s having either fallen over as a result of natural causes, like an earthquake, or been intentionally toppled by fanatics intent on destroying it. A similar fate was suffered by the over life-size seated statues of Augustus and Livia found nearby at the east end of the Basilike Stoa (Market Basilica) of the so-called State Agora at Ephesos and also now in the Selçuk Museum (figs. ii.20–21).224 At some point after Christians had carved crosses into the foreheads of these two images, they were broken up and used in the foundation of a sixth-century Byzantine structure. If the torso of the colossal Flavian statue had been in wood with overlays in gold or other metal, including perhaps a bronze breastplate, the metal would have been removed and recycled. If Christians were responsible, any bronze might have been reused for bed pans and everyday cooking pans and utensils as a form of degradation of the original image, as we know from other instances.225 In any case, the area where the sculptural fragments were found

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contains evidence for some sort of early fifth century c.e. structure, perhaps a defensive tower, which would indicate conversion of the area to another use, as so often occurred with the sacred shrines and buildings of the polytheistic peoples of the former Roman Empire.226 But had the colossal statue in fact been associated with the Flavian neokorate temple, as has long been presumed? The excavations that were resumed by the Austrian School in the summer of 2009 have raised questions about this assumption.227 Numismatic evidence from this location thus far dates no earlier than the third century c.e. In addition, the decorative sculptural reliefs of the large U-shaped altar that stood in front of the temple just to the east appear to date stylistically to the mid-second to early third century date,228 with no evidence thus far of earlier Flavian foundations in association with the temple or altar. The second story of the triple-storied façade of the colonnaded hall (10.4 m high) that ran the length of the north side of the podium-terrace was once made up of a row of engaged statues, resting on the balustrade of the first story, with its sculptural floral decorations. The style of the two figures previously identified as Attis and Isis, which may instead be barbarians, and the floral adornment are consistent with a mid-second century to possibly early third century date.229 Because of the evidence for a new dating, it is possible that the structure in this location dates to the early third century and may therefore be associated with the neokoria of Geta or Caracalla230 or of Elagabalus.231 The Hadrianic neokorate temple has been plausibly identified elsewhere, in a monumental complex in the northern district of Ephesos,232 though it cannot be ruled out that the temple on the site where the statuary fragments were found was dedicated to some unidentified divinity. There are two other possibilities: the colossal sculpture of Titus/Domitian may have been originally set up (1) somewhere in the large area north of the podium-terrace and the so-called Street of the Curetes that had been designated the “Domitianic Plaza” because of its proximity to what has been assumed to be the Flavian temple or (2) in the newly discovered large public area on a terrace south of the so-called Temple of Domitian.233 Traces of burning in the three front stairs of the temple’s crepidoma and on the great podium-terrace and the colossal statue’s reuse in wall construction within the cryptoporticus, combined with the Christians’ hatred of the imperial cult, might suggest that Christians were indeed responsible for intentionally destroying the temple and the image—whether set up here or nearby—sometime in the Late Antique period, probably in the early fifth century c.e. when the great Temple of Artemis at Ephesos was destroyed.234 If the sculpture had originally represented Domitian and was still on display long after his death,



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this colossal image would not have been regarded as representing Domitian. It would have been transformed into a deified Titus, perhaps, as indicated, simply by adding an inscription renaming it after Domitian’s memory had been damned. It is not out of the question, finally, that this portrait did in fact originally adorn the Flavian neokorate temple, the location of which has not yet been conclusively determined. If the temple had been relatively close to where the sculptural fragments were found, these marble body parts could have been dragged from the Flavian temple to the area of the findspot for use as wall-fill in the Late Antique period. Future excavations at Ephesos will perhaps clarify some of these remaining problems.

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Notes 1. Such images often strain credulity. Two examples from the not too distant past will suffice here. One of these featured then president Saddam Hussein, who was portrayed in the Iraqi media as the “education president” (Newsweek, Jan. 7, 1991, 20); the other showed another self-styled “education president,” George H. W. Bush. Preparing for his reelection campaign, Bush appeared surrounded with military props in an attempt to overcome a popular perception of him at the time as a “wimp” (Newsweek, Feb. 25, 1991, 21). Bush had been addressing Raytheon employees who helped produce the Patriot antimissile system. 2. For the language of imperial imagery in Roman art in general, see Hölscher (2004). For some politicians today, being seen as a God-fearing leader is an important aspect of their political programs. 3. See the seminal article by Jones (1956). See also, e.g., Pollini (1990a) 339 with nn. 15–20; Bergmann (1998) 91–98; Cheung (1998). With regard to the debate about who was responsible for the selection of coin types, as well as their intent, see further Sutherland (1983); Wallace-Hadrill (1986); Bruun (1999); Levick (1999a); Zarrow (2007) 17–24. As Meadows and Williams (2001) 49 observed, Romans wanted to spread around information about themselves “not however in order to persuade an audience of a particular political or ideological viewpoint, but in order to remind people of their appearances, of their achievements in war and politics, their virtues and their renown.” 4. In a number of cases of extant bronze coins with Caligula’s image, for example, the first initial of his praenomen “C” for “Caius” was obliterated. A sufficient number of examples of this form of damnatio survive on both base and precious metal coins to establish a pattern of behavior indicating that part of Caligula’s name was intentionally under attack in certain private quarters. Countermarking his coinage has been interpreted by some as another form of damning his memory. See, e.g., Varner (ed.) (2000) 108–11 (cat. 11). For other examples of damnatio on coinage, see sections under individuals in Varner (2004). 5. For the development of divine election of the Princeps as a political concept at Rome, see Fears (1977); Brunt (1979); Pollini (1990a); Gradel (2002). For visual imagery, see also Bergmann (1998); Hallett (2005). 6. For the cult of virtues in Roman ideology, see in general Fears (1981b). See also Charlesworth (1937);



Wallace-Hadrill (1981). Sutherland (1983) 81 indicates that the word “virtues” sounds self-congratulatory and prefers instead the word “qualities.” 7. See, e.g., Liebeschuetz (1979) 51, 178–79. 8. For theomorphic imagery, see in general Wrede (1981); Maderna (1988); Mikocki (1995); Bergmann (1998); and Hallett (2005). 9. Pollini (1978) 335–36. See also Hausmann (1981) 536–37; Hallett (2005) 247. 10. This was almost certainly the banquet at which Livia was betrothed to Octavian by her first husband: Scott (1933) 30–32. See also Charlesworth (1933) 175 n. 2, who observed: if Octavian played Apollo, who would have played the part of Jupiter? For a discussion of this statue and an explanation of how this story might have come about, see Pollini (1990a) 345. 11. Lugli (1946) 475. 12. Nock (1930) 263–64. See also Fears (1977) 10–11, 121–23 et passim; Pollini (1990a) 338. 13. On the issue of authority in the coinage of the early Principate, see Sutherland (1976) 12 et passim; Wallace-Hadrill (1986); Zarrow (2007) 134–37. 14. See Wallace-Hadrill (1982), especially 36–37; Price (1984) 72–74. 15. For Nero’s rejection of this proposal, see Tac. Ann. 15.74.3. For the bestowing of divine honors in Rome and Italy only after the death of those who had ruled well, see Cass. Dio 51.20.8. 16. For Caligula, see, e.g., Suet. Calig. 54; for Nero, Tac. Ann. 15.44. 17. Cass. Dio 59.29.6. See further chapter VIII below. 18. So Tacitus claims about his own method of writing history, although his historical works were hardly objective or free of a great deal of innuendo. Tacitus may just have meant not presenting history as mere character assassination. See Syme (1958) 420. For Tacitus’ historical methodology, see also Mellor (1993) 29–46, especially 35. 19. Mint, Rome (anonymous): RRC 154 (no. 44/2– 4). See also Sutherland (1974) figs. 43/44 (211–209 b.c.e.); Kent (1978) 13, pl. 8.20 (209 b.c.e.). 20. Mint, Rome (anonymous): RRC 155 (no. 44/5). See also Sutherland (1974) 46–47, figs. 50/51 (213–210 b.c.e.); Kent (1978) 12, pl. 8.17 (209 b.c.e.). 21. Mint, Rome (125 b.c.e.): RRC 62–65, 292 (no. 269/1). See also Sutherland (1974) 68, fig. 74 (130–125 b.c.e.); Kent (1978) 267, pl. 12.36 (125 b.c.e.). 22. For the law, see Berger (1980) 552, s.v. “Lex

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Gabinia Tabellaria.” See also RRC 728. 23. For different views, cf. Howgego (1995) 67–68; Meadows and Williams (2001) 37–44. 24. See in general Keppie (1984) 14–79. 25. RRC 80, 386 (no. 367/1–5). See also Sutherland (1974) 79, fig. 76; Kent (1978) 269, pl. 15.50. 26. See Pollini (1990a) with n. 1 for earlier bibliography on this subject. Cf. the closeness between the encomiastic visual language of Hellenistic monarchy and private works of imperial art like the Tazza Farnese, which I have interpreted as an Augustan rather than Hellenistic artistic creation: Pollini (1992). 27. Sutherland (1974) 114, figs. 171–72; BMCRR II, 502–503 (nos. 133–37), III, pl. cxiv.1–4; Sutherland (1970) 86–88; Kent (1978) 275, pl. 31.110; Pollini (1990a) 345, fig. 12, with further bibliography. 28. For Antony as Neos Dionysos, see Cass. Dio 48.39; 50.5.3; cf. Plut. Vit. Ant. 75.4. See also Scott (1933) 32; Mannsperger (1973); Pollini (1990a) 345; Beacham (2005). 29. By some accounts, however, Marcus Licinius Crassus remained something of a rival between 30 and 27 b.c.e.: See especially Kearsley (2009). 30. RIC2 I, 59 (no. 256); BMCRE I, 100 (no. 6l5), pl. 15.5; Giard (1988a) 66 (nos. 13–18), pl. i.13–17. See also Banti and Simonetti (1974), 60–64 (nos. 399– 401); Robertson (1975), 48 (no. 248), pl. 8; Gurval (1995) 48–49, 61, pl 1. On the dating of the CAESAR DIVI.F coinage, see Pollini (1990a) 342, 346 with n. 33; Sehlmeyer (1999) 258–59; Gurval (1995) 47–65. On the Western origin of this coinage, which was once thought to have been minted in the East, see Kraft (1969) 206–25; RRC 246. 31. Similar imagery of the dominus terrarum (“master of the world”) would have been evoked by a lost cuirassed statue of Caesar, probably placing his foot on a globe (see chapter III below). 32. For this influence, see Pollini (1990a) 347–48. In this same vein: Hallett (2005) 97–98, 119–20. 33. Pollini (1990a) 341, fig. 8. For a comparison of the Neptune-like Octavian type and those produced for Pompey, see Zarrow (2003) 126–27, 134. 34. Best known now in a marble Greco-Roman copy in the Museo Gregoriano Profano (formerly the Lateran): Pollini (1990a) 347 with n. 58. 35. Pollini (1990a) 348 with n. 62, fig. 15. See also Richardson (1992) 96 s.v. “Columna Rostrata (Augusti)”; LTUR I (1993) 308 s.v. “Columnae

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Rostratae Augusti” (D. Palombi). See also RIC2 I, 60 (no. 271), pl. 5; BMCRE I, 103 (no. 633), pl. 15.15. 36. As suggested by Zanker (1988) 39–41, fig. 31a. 37. Zanker (1988) 41–42, fig. 32b apparently did not note the inconsistency between Appian, whom he cites, and the imagery on this coin. See also Gurval (1995) 58, pl. 3; Sehlmeyer (1999) 255–56; and Hallett (2005) 97–98, who make the same mistake. For a discussion of this problem, see especially Pollini (1978) 267–68. See also Pollini (1990a) 348. 38. The Actian Victory Monument set up at Nikopolis in Greece was dedicated to Neptune and Mars from the spoils of war: Suet. Aug. 18.2, as confirmed by the partially preserved marble inscription at the site: Gurval (1995) 65–67. See also Pollini (1990a) 347. For the monumental altar at Nikopolis, see further chapter IV below with appendix. For all aspects pertaining to Actium and Octavian, see in general Gurval (1995). 39. As discussed in Pollini (1978) 256–385 and (1990a). 40. See the introduction above. 41. Cf. Hallett (2005) 160, who states that after the founding of the Principate Augustus was “now most often represented with veiled head.” In the more than 250 sculptural portraits of Augustus that have come down to us, however, he is relatively rarely (ca. 10 percent) shown with his head veiled. For a catalogue of these images, see Boschung (1993a). In coinage, Augustus’ portrait head is never veiled; a few small full figures are shown with veiled head, but it is not clear that they represent Augustus. Even before the founding of the Principate, he is very rarely represented veiled; when he is, it is as a full figure: e.g., RIC2 I, 60 (no. 272), pl. 5 (29–27 b.c.e.). For the different types of male statue bodies in context, see also Fejfer (2008), especially 181–227; for females, especially 331–69. 42. See, e.g., Plin. Pan. 52.2–4. 43. See Sutherland (1987a) 10–13, who points out that it was not until 19 b.c.e. that a very large series of silver denarii was struck. 44. Despite his appearance in this capacity, there were overtones of Romulean imagery that were also reflected in the cult statue of Divus Iulius in his temple in the Roman Forum: see chapter III below. 45. Charlesworth (1935) 27; Habicht (1973) 51–53. See also in general Gradel (2002). 46. Pollini (1978) 256–63 et passim; pace Kuttner (1995) 66–67.

47. See Fishwick (1992b). Cf. Pliny the Younger’s praise of Trajan (Pan. 52.2–4) for placing his own statues in the vestibule of the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, rather than among the images of the gods within. For the placement of Julius Caesar’s statue in the Pantheon, see further Zarrow (2007) 185–95. See also chapter III below. 48. We do not know what happened to the statue of Augustus after the Pantheon was rebuilt. Hadrian’s own statue may have replaced the original image of Augustus outside on the porch as a pendant to that of Agrippa, with the figure of Augustus being moved within the Pantheon. The statue of Mars (ancestral god of the Gens Romana) and Venus (progenitrix of the Gens Iulia) may have stood next to each other or as a group, with the image of the now deified Augustus on one side of them and the image of Divus Iulius on the other side. 49. Rizzo (1932) 45–46, pl. C; Ryberg (1955) 51–52, pl. XIV, fig. 27; Degrassi (1966–67) 112, fig. 8; Pollini (1978) 319. 50. Cf. also the “Sorrento Base” in the Museo Correale and its relation to the Palermo Relief: Rizzo (1932); Ryberg (1955) 49–53, pl. XIII, fig. 26; Degrassi (1966–67) 77–126; Pollini (1978) 318–19; Kuttner (1995) 61, fig. 15; Galinsky (1996) 216. For the Temple of Vesta on the Palatine, see Scott (2000); for the Vestal Virgins, see in general Wildfang (2006). For the House of Augustus in relation to other buildings, see Meyboom (2005). For the House of Augustus on the Palatine in general, see Carettoni (1983); Tomei (2004); and the recent controversial book by Carandini and Bruno (2008), reviewed by Wiseman (2009). For an excellent book highlighting the paintings from Augustus’ house, see Iacopi (2008). See further chapter IX below. 51. See chapter VIII below for Caligula’s similar way of indicating association with the divine in his own residence. 52. For the choice of types and the relationship of images on obverse and reverse in Augustan coinage, see Wallace-Hadrill (1986) 68–73. 53. Zanker (1988) 234 sees this image as a “Diana/ Julia” (his fig. 167c), not distinguishing the difference between official and private modes of representation. See further Pollini (1990a) 353–55, fig. 29b; Mikocki (1995) 31; Varner (2008) 185–86, fig. 1. For the portraiture of Julia, see Wood (2000) 27–74, especially 63–70 for coin evidence; Pollini (2002c) 22–29, especially figs. 23–25. See also RIC2 I, 72 (nos. 403), pl. 7; BMCRE I, 21



(nos. 104–105), pl. 4.2. 54. The same usage is found in Greek, as in ΙΟΥΛΙΑΝ ΑΦΡΟΔΙΤΗΝ (“Julia Aphrodite”) on the Pergamene coin (fig. ii.7) with Julia’s portrait. 55. RPC I, 400 (no. 2359), pl. 105. See further Pollini (1990a) 354, fig. 31; Wood (2000) 69, fig. 21; Pollini (2002c) 26, fig. 20. 56. Pollini (2002c) 26–29, figs. 23–25. 57. The back of the head of this sculptural portrait is unfortunately missing: Pollini (2002c) figs. 23, 25. 58. As I mentioned in an article on this subject, this resemblance had not been discussed or even noted in the case of these coins: Pollini (1990a) 355; for similar examples of assimilation, only with male divinities, 351–52. For a different problem in interpreting the Princeps’ name “Augustus” and Augustan divinities in inscriptions, see Pollini (2002b) 42–44. 59. CIL VI.1, 128; TLL II, 1395. 60. See TLL II, 1393–1402 s.v. “dei Augusti.” See also in general Panciera (2003). 61. Fishwick (1978). 62. ILS 8787. See also Habicht (1973) 43. 63. For the association of Ceres and Venus Genetrix with Livia, see Wood (2000) 88–90, 100–101, 112–13, 115–16, 119–24, 127, 132, 135–38, 140. See also Bartman (1999) 112 with n. 83, who, citing epigraphic evidence, notes that Livia was also occasionally styled θεά (“goddess”) during her lifetime. See further Pollini (2005a) 104–107. For Livia and various other divinities, see in general Mikocki (1995) 18–30. 64. Cf. Winkes (1988) 560–61, who correctly suggests that the identification of Livia with Ceres, for example, was not officially dictated but was a spontaneous expression of affection on the part of the people, especially in the provinces. 65. Ceres: BMCRE I, 91 (nos. 544–48), pls. 14.8– 14.9; Pax: BMCRE I, 124–27 (nos. 30–60), pls. 22.20– 23.9. See further Pollini (1990a) 350, fig. 20; Mikocki (1995) 18–21; Bartman (1999) 93–95, 140 with n. 73; Wood (2000) 88–89. For the portraiture of Livia in general, see Bartman (1999); Wood (2000) 75–141; Pollini (2005a) 104–11, 115–16. For the Roman goddess Ceres, see in general Spaeth (1996). 66. RIC2 I, 73 (no. 413). See also Grant (1954) 101– 103; Vermeule (1959/60); Weinstock (1971) pl. 3.15; Wallace-Hadrill (1986) 79; Zanker (1988) 91–92, fig. 74. As far as I know, this coin was first rejected as a genuine Augustan issue in Pollini (1978) 270–71. Since then, others have also raised doubts about it: see, e.g.,

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Fullerton (1985) 478 n. 39, pl. 56.17–18; Kuttner (1995) 249 n. 53. 67. This denarius was originally issued by the moneyer Mn. Aquillius in 71 b.c.e. (BMCRR I, 426 [nos. 3364–69], pl. XLIII.6; RRC 412 [no. 401.2], pl. L) and was essentially copied by L. Aquillius for another denarius in 17 b.c.e. (BMCRE I, 9 [nos. 49–50], pl. 2.7). I thank Edward Zarrow for bringing to my attention the similarity of the Res Publica type to those involving the personified Sicilia. For the identification of the military figure on both of these types as M’. Aquillius, who reorganized Sicily in 100 b.c.e. and was the ancestor of both moneyers, see BMCRR I, 416 n. 1; BMCRE I, cii. Unlike M’. Aquillius, however, Augustus was not deceased at the time when the unique coin showing him raising up a personification was ostensibly minted. 68. BMCRE II, 106 (no. 504), pl. 18.18. It is unlikely that the standing seminude male is Vespasian: while the artistic vocabulary of leadership had changed considerably by his time, his representation seminude during his lifetime would have been exceedingly unusual on official state coinage. This aureus was issued in 72 c.e., long before his death in 79. 69. On invented restored types, see Sutherland (1974) 208. 70. Although these coins have been variously dated between 12 and 2 b.c.e., the time of Tiberius’ triumph in 7 b.c.e. seems the most likely occasion for them. See RIC2 I, 75–76 (no. 433), pl. 8; BMCRE I, 41–43 (nos. *, 217–19, 224–25), pl. 20.4–6; Kent (1978) 278–79, pl. 39.140. Some of these coins omit the globe beneath Augustus’ bust. For these examples, see Pollini (1990a) 337 n. 10 with further bibliography. 71. The triumph itself had to be legally awarded to the one who held the imperium and had taken the military auspicia (a form of augury) under which the campaign was waged. The one who was awarded the triumph could either celebrate it himself or allow the actual commander of the campaign to do so, a practice that was extremely rare. Augustus permitted Tiberius to celebrate the triumph in order to promote him after his marriage to Augustus’ daughter Julia following the death of her husband Agrippa in 12 b.c.e. For auspicia and imperium with regard to the triumph, see Versnel (1970) 174–95, 304–55. 72. Grant (1950) 21. 73. See, e.g., Grant (1954) 101–103; Fears (1977) 256–57, citing Toynbee. 74. Cf. Hölscher (1967) 173–77. For the theology of

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victory at Rome with its Hellenistic background, see in general Fears (1981c), especially 804–12 et passim for the Augustan period. 75. For this statuette, see also Hölscher (1967) 6–7 et passim. 76. Recorded under the year 19 b.c.e. 77. For the location of this pillar, see Zanker (1972) 10, fig. 10. 78. BMCRE IV, 839 (nos. 704–705), pl. 110.10; Hölscher (1967) 21 et passim, pl. 1.11; Fears (1981c) 814, pl. VII.41. Cf. Zanker (1972) 42 (no. 12), who incorrectly takes the figure standing before the Victoriola as Octavian. Not only was this coin issued under Commodus, but the figure is also bearded. 79. Giard (1988a) 68 (nos. 43–47), pl. ii. 80. See, e.g., BMCRE I, 75 (nos. 432–34), pl. 10.6–8; Giard (1988a) 185–86 (nos. 1253–54, 1257–62), pl. L. 81. Cf. Kuttner (1995) 36. 82. See Kleiner (1985) 30. 83. See also the commentary by Cooley (2009) 195–97. 84. Kleiner (1985) 28–30, fig. VI.1. 85. Cass. Dio (51.19.1). Scholars have debated the location of both the Actian and Parthian arches in the Roman Forum. The foundation and fragments of one of these arches have been found to the south of Caesar’s Temple, that is, between it and the Temple of the Castores. Some believe that the Actian Arch was torn down about a decade after it was built, with the Parthian Arch replacing it. This is an attractive hypothesis, since Augustus wanted to put behind him the bitter period of the civil wars, as he himself said (cf. App. B Civ. 5.132). And even though the Actian Arch technically celebrated the victory over Cleopatra, it was difficult to avoid also associating it with Antony and his supporters. The Parthian Arch, by comparison, was for a diplomatic victory over a foreign foe, without any connection to defeating fellow Romans. In a similar way the Forum Augustum, originally vowed to avenge the assassination of Caesar, came to be associated with Augustus’ victory over Parthia. For various views, see, e.g., Zanker (1972) 15–17, figs. 18–22; Kleiner (1985) 23–27; Coarelli (1985) 258– 308; Simon (1986) 86–87, figs. 111–12, 114a; De Maria (1988) 90–106, 267–68 (no. 56: Actian Arch), 269– 72 (no. 59: Parthian Arch); Kleiner (1989) 198–200; LTUR I (1993) 80–81 s.v. “Arcus Augusti (a. 29 a.C),” 81–85 s.v. “Arcus Augusti (a. 19 a.C.)” with extensive bibliography (E. Niedergaard); Schipporeit (2008)

108–30; Lange (2009) 163–66. The Actian Arch is undoubtedly depicted on denarii issued between 29 and 27 b.c.e.: BMCRR II, 14 (no. 4348), fig. lix.17; BMCRE I, 102 (no. 624), fig. 15.8; Fuchs (1969), 40, pl. 7. 86–87. At the annual meeting of the Archaeological Institute of America in Anaheim, California, in 2010, A. H. Kontokosta (New York University) suggested that this numismatic image depicted another Actian arch at Brundisium (modern Brindisi), also mentioned by Cassius Dio (51.19.1), but it is unknown whether this second Actian arch was ever built. See Kleiner (1985) 23. 86. Kleiner (1985) 23–24. See also BMCRE I, 102 (no. 624), pl. 15.8. 87. Cf. Coarelli (1985) 258–308, who places the triple-bay Parthian Arch to the north of the Temple of Divus Iulius: when one faced the temple, the Parthian Arch adjoined it to left and the Actian Arch, to the right. For problems with this view, see Kleiner (1989) 198–200. It seems to me that there would not have been enough space for a triple-bay Parthian Arch on the north side of Caesar’s temple. Perhaps, as has been often suggested, a simple single-bay arch to Gaius and Lucius stood on this side of the temple, with a fragment of the inscription mentioning Lucius’ name now to be found in front of the Basilica Aemilia. For this inscription, see Lansford (2009) 62–63 (2.7); Heinemann (2007) 66–67, fig. 12. With this arrangement of arches, the eastern end of the Roman Forum proper would have presented the viewer with a dynastic façade of three generations of the Julian family. However, there are also problems with the location of the Arch of Gaius and Lucius on the north side of the Temple of Divus Iulius: see Heinemann (2007) 66–71. 88. BMCRR II, 50 (nos. 4477–78), pl. lxiv.7–8; BMCRE I, 14–15 (nos. 77–78), pl. 3.4; Fuchs (1969) 40–41, pl. 8.90; Kleiner (1985) 26, pl. IV.1. Coins issued in Spain in 18/17 b.c.e. showing a similar arch may offer a less accurately represented version of the Parthian Arch: BMCRE I, 73 (nos. 427–29), pl. 10.2–3; Fuchs (1969) 41, pl. 8. 91–92; Kleiner (1985) 26, pl. IV.2. 89. Pace Zanker (1968) 12 and Kuttner (1995) 149, who, for example, believe that a figure of Victoria would have stood behind Augustus in the chariot. For the statue, see further Spannagel (1999) 341; Geiger (2008) index s.v. “Augustus, quadriga.” 90. The Res Gestae is also known as the Monumentum Ancyranum (Mon. Anc.) after the best-preserved inscription on the walls of the Temple of Augustus and Roma in Ankyra (modern Ankara, Turkey). Much has



been written about this important inscription, which the Roman historian T. Mommsen called “die Königin der antiken Inschriften” (“the queen of ancient inscriptions”): Mommsen (ed.) (1883) xxxviii. For useful text and commentary, see Brunt and Moore (1970); Cooley (2009). For various aspects of the Res Gestae, see Adcock (1951) and (1952); Wigtil (1982); Ramage (1987); Sutherland (1987b); Simon (1993). See also Güven (1998); Elsner (1996); Scheid (2007). 91. The bibliography on these authors is enormous. For a succinct evaluation of them from the point of view of imperial ideology and private expression, see Fears (1977) 10–11, 121–29. See also Nock (1930) 263– 64; MacKay (1962); Bickerman (1973) 7–8; Habicht (1973); Millar (1973) 66–67. For Augustan literature and art, see especially Galinsky (1996) 80–140, 225–87. 92. Fundamental with regard to the Gemma Augustea is Kähler (1968). See also Megow (1987) 155–63 (A 10); Simon (1986) 156–61; Hölscher (1988) 371–73; Jeppesen (1994); Meyer (2000) 59–80 (problematic dating); Zwierlein-Diehl (2008) 98–123; Bergmann (2010) 329–33. For the imagery, narrativity, and dating of the Gemma, see Pollini (1978) 173–254 and (1993c). See also Pollini (1993c) 273–79 for its proleptic imagery. I am not convinced by the recently advanced proposal of Bergmann (2010) that Tiberius is represented as triumphator. In addition to the arguments in my 1978 and 1993 publications on the Gemma, it seems to me that if Tiberius were portrayed as a triumphator—and consequently dressed in the elaborate toga picta and tunica palmata—the engraver of the Gemma would have incised some of the designs of these embroidered triumphal garments, as in the case of various coin representations. For numismatic depictions of the toga picta and tunica palmata, see Bergmann (2010) 88, fig. 31a, 385–86 (cat. no. 58a–b). 93. For the suggestion that the Gemma Augustea may have been presented as a gift to either Augustus or Tiberius, see Pollini (1993c) 285–86. 94. Pace Hallett (2005) 257, who states that besides Republican style imagery, “the second public image Augustus favoured is that seen on the Gemma Augustea (Pl. 93): the princeps represented in the ‘Jupiter costume’ (or as a Roman would say, in the habitus of Jupiter).” See further chapter III below. 95. For the importance of the lituus in Augustan ideology, religion, and art, see further chapters III and V below. See also Pollini (1993c) 262–63; and Kearsley (2009).

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96. For this date, see Pollini (1993c) 269–70. 97. These paired silver scyphi (drinking cups), formerly in the Rothschild Collection, disappeared during World War II but have since been rejoined with the rest of the Boscoreale silver hoard in the Louvre. For the Boscoreale treasure as a whole, see Baratte (1986); for the cups themselves, see Kuttner (1995); Bergmann (2010) 91–92, 327–29 (cat. no. 42), figs. 32a–c (“Tiberius Cup”). 98. See Pollini (1978) 285–92, which still reflects my opinion on the two cups. 99. See Fishwick (1991) 383–96. Horace (Carm. 4.5.34–36) makes a comparison between Augustus’ Numen and Castor and Hercules, who, like Augustus, were known for their soterial roles for the good of mankind. See further chapter VII below. 100. See also Habicht (1973) 49–50; Fishwick (1987) 90–92. 101. See especially the comments of Tertulian, Ad nat. 1.10.26–27. Much has already been written on this topic. See, e.g., Wrede (1981) and more recently Hallett (2005). Cf. the opinion of Hallett (259) that the Jupiter type was not reserved for the Princeps, though he is able to cite only a single exception, a portrait statue of a youth from Rusellae (Italy): 187–89, pl. 108. However, this seminude statue type (with no surviving attributes) may equally have been used to suggest a philosopher or sage in order to underscore the young man’s scholarly precociousness, rather than to show him as Jupiter-like, which would make no sense for a private image of a youth. 102. Pollini (1978) 256–63 et passim; Price (1984) 170–206. For the coins of various cities, see also SNG (von Aulock); Price and Trell (1977); Burnett et al. (1992); Burrell (2004). The municipal cult of Augustus, which was not regulated by the Roman State, was free to employ the word θεός with reference to Augustus. This was unlike the provincial imperial cult, which was regulated by the Princeps and/or the Senate, as discussed below. See Bickerman (1973) 8–9; Burrell (2004). 103. ILS 3.2 (no. 9495). See also Bickerman (1973) 7. 104. Hermann (1961) 132. 105. Hänlein-Schäfer (1985) 84–85, 201–202 (A 48) et passim; Pollini (1993c) 260–61. For the appearance of the lost statue of Zeus based on literary and numismatic evidence, see Lapatin (2001) 79–90 et passim. 106. The remains of these two portrait statues, each with a cross inscribed on the forehead, were found in

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the foundation of a Byzantine structure built over the chalcidicum of a Basilike Stoa that was destroyed in the sixth century c.e. It is not known whether the statues were desecrated by Christians at the time when a small Christian church was built opposite the place where the seated statues of Augustus and Livia originally stood: Inan and Alföldi-Rosenbaum (1979) 57–58 (Augustus: cat. 3), pl. 2.2, 4.1 (late-Augustan/Tiberian); 61 (Livia: cat. 5), pls. 4.2, 5.1–2; 57 (cat. 2) pl. 2.1, 2.3–4 (another head of Augustus wearing a corona civica from the nearby temenos). See also Jobst (1980), especially 256–57; Price (1984) 140, 254–55 et passim; Langmann (1985) 65–69; Scherrer (1990) 100–101, fig. 4; Koester (ed.) (1995) 4, 18–19 et passim; Scherrer (1997) 98. The statues of Augustus and Livia with inscribed crosses will be discussed further in Pollini (in progress). 107. Hänlein-Schäfer (1985) 75–76, 113–28 (A 1), et passim; Richardson (1992) 45–46 s.v. “Augustus, Divus, Templum”; LTUR I (1993) 145–46 s.v. “Augustus, Divus, Templum (Novum); Aedes” (M. Torelli). 108. BMCRE IV, 352 (nos. 2064–66), pl. 50.2; Hänlein-Schäfer (1985) 128; Galinsky (1996) 204–205, fig. 117 (mislabeled the Temple of Mars Ultor). See also Bergmann (1998) 110–12. 109. The image is not togate and veiled, as some have claimed (e.g., Hallett [2005] 226). Cf. HänleinSchäfer (1985) 75, who correctly interprets this as the “Hüftmantel” type. 110. RIC2 I, 111 (no. 36), pl. 13.36; Breglia (1968) 50–51. 111. Although this figure is damaged, Mars can be seen to be bearded and to wear a triple-crested helmet and hold a spear and parazonium. See further chapter VII below. 112. For a Neronian date for the Ravenna Relief, see Pollini (1981). For a Claudian date, cf. La Rocca (1992b) 291–312. 113. Mus. inv. 5595. See Niemeyer (1968) 32, 104 (cat. 82), pl. 27; Lahusen and Formigli (2001) 73–75 (cat. 27) and (2007) 16–27 (cat. S1). See also Boschung (2002) 119 (no. 42.1), pl. 93.1; Guidobaldi (ed.) (2008) 124–25, 251–52 (cat. 18). 114. Because the statue of Augustus was found along with a statue of Claudius dated to 48 c.e. on the basis of inscriptional evidence, the image of Augustus has generally been dated to the Claudian period. However, it has also been suggested that the statue of Augustus dates instead to the period of Caligula:

Kreikenbom (1992) 167–68 (III.21). For the over lifesize, nude bronze statue of Claudius (mus. inv. 5593), see Guidobaldi (ed.) (2008) 126–27, 252 (cat. no. 19); Lahusen and Formigli (2001) 130–31 (cat. 72); Boschung (2002) 119 (no. 42.2), pl. 93.3. 115. The statue is now in the Antiquario Nazionale at Minturno (mus. inv. 39.3564). Niemeyer (1968) 30, 59, 60, 104 (no. 83), pl. 29.1; Hänlein-Schäfer (1985) 108–109; Maderna (1988) 165 (JT2); Boschung (1993a) 164 (cat. no. 131), pls. 128, 220.4; Boschung (2002) 43–45 (no. 5.1) pl. 26.1–2; Bergmann (2010) 282–83 (cat. no. 4). For private worship of Augustus before and after his death, see Taylor (1920) and (1931), especially 214–21; Santero (1983). 116. For this statue, see Boschung (2002) 77, fig. 15 (plan of the room), pl. 4.4 with further bibliography. 117. Millar (1977) 386–87. For all aspects of the imperial cult in Asia Minor, see Deininger (1965), especially 36–98; Price (1984); Burrell (2004). 118. See also Fayer (1976) 107–27; Price (1984) 252 (no. 19: Pergamon), 266 (no. 100: Nikomedia) et passim. For the worship of the goddess Roma in the Greek world, see Mellor (1975). See also Hänlein-Schäfer (1985) 6–11, 166–68 (A 26) et passim (Pergamon); 6, 9, 164–66 (A25) et passim (Nikomedia). 119. See Habicht (1973) 55–64, especially 83 for the inscriptional citations; see Kienast (1982) 203 with n. 3 for further literature on this topic. Cf. also Philo, Leg. 154. For the coinage of Pergamon on which Augustus is represented in the temple, see below with n. 194. 120. See Price (1980) 39. 121. Pollini (1978), especially 258–59. See also the comments of Millar and Habicht’s response in Habicht (1973) 96–98. 122. Hunt and Edgar (eds.) (1934) 82; for the entire letter: 78–89. 123. BMCRE I, 131 (nos. 81–84, pl. 24.2; RIC2 I, 97 [no. 47]). For this coin series, see Gross (1962) 16–21, pl. 2.2–3; Wood (2000) 82, 109–10 et passim, fig. 34; Pollini (2005a) 104–107, fig. 8.41. See also Mikocki (1995) 28. 124. Winkes (1995) 40–44, 48–49. See also Wood (2000) 82, 109–10, 116b. 125. Tac. Ann. 4.57; Cass. Dio 58.2.2–6; Vell. Pat. 2.130.5. 126. The long, single-beaded cord that joined the front and back of this overgarment can clearly be seen on these dupondii. For the tunica and stola in Roman literature and art, see in general Scholz (1992), especially



72–73 (Mü 1) for the Tiberian dupondii in question. 127. A new portrait type was generally created to commemorate some significant event in the life of the individual portrayed. 128. See further Pollini (2005a) 104–107. See also Wood (2000) 116–17, who likewise takes issue with the designations “Salus” type and “Ceres” type and calls this instead the “adoption type.” 129. For the Iustitia type, see BMCRE I, 131 (nos. 79–80), pl. 24.1 (“Bust of Livia as Justitia [?]”); for the Pietas type, see BMCRE I, 133 (no. 98), pl. 24.7 (“Bust of Livia”). See Wood (2000) 109–10. Cf., however, Hallett (2005) 241, who considers this issue to represent Salus Augusta with the portrait features of Livia. The legend on a coin is not always an indication of what is represented on that side of the coin. As Stewart (1993) 44 has noted, the helmeted head of Athena on a coin of Alexander the Great with the legend ΑΛΕΞΑΝΔΡΟΥ (“of Alexander”) was mistakenly identified in the Renaissance as an idealized portrait of Alexander. 130. The use of “empress” for Livia and other women of the imperial house is anachronistic and should be avoided. Augustus himself referred to Livia and his daughter Julia as principes feminae (“leading ladies”): Macrob. Sat. 2.5.6. Augustus’ contemporary Ovid (Pont. 3.1.125) also calls Livia “Femina Princeps.” See Pollini (2005a) 104. For the avoidance of other such anachronistic terms, see the preface above. 131. There are many gods to whom the epithet Augustus or Augusta was given as a form of co-option into the family. This practice did not originate with Augustus but had many Republican precedents. See above with n. 60. 132. BMCRE I, 195 (no. 224), pl. 37.7; RIC2 I, 128 (no. 101). See further Bartman (1999) 131, fig. 104; Wood (2000) 88–89. 133. On the Grand Camée de France, see Jeppesen (1974); Megow (1987) 202–207 (A 85), pl. 32.5–10; Boschung (1989) 64–68, 119 (cat. 44) and (1993a) 195 (cat. 216), pl. 205.4; Giard (1998b); Bergmann (1998) 108–109, 112, 116, pl. 21.3–4; Giuliani and Schmidt (2010); see also Meyer (2000) 11–28 (for a problematic interpretation). 134. Liverani (1989) 147–48, figs. 146–52 (all sides of the monument); Kuttner (1995) 41 with n. 37; Meyer (2000) 113–21 with additional bibliography. 135. Phlegon of Tralles reports the account of Apollonius the grammarian on the monument in Rome,

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which he mistakenly indicates was in the Roman Forum (ἐν τῇ Ῥωμαίων ἀγορᾷ), when he meant the Forum Iulium, where the Temple of Venus was located: Phlegon Mir. frag. 13 = FGrHist 1182 (no. 257) frag. 36.13 (ed. F. Jacoby 2.2 [Berlin, 1929]); Platner and Ashby (1929) 226–27; Kuttner (1995) 40–41, pl. 46; Ruck (2007) 213. 136. BMCRE I, cxxxiii–cxxxiv, 129 (nos. 70–73), pl. 23.16. 137. Formerly in the collection of D. Arturo Moya Moreno, Seville, Spain. This relief was acquired in the 1950s and has a Spanish export license from the Ministry of Culture (no. 237/2008). I thank Molly Morse Limmer, vice president, specialist head, Antiquities Department, Christie’s, New York, for this information and images of the relief (correspondence May 3, 2010). 138. TI[berius] AVGVST[us] is the likely reconstruction, though it cannot be determined definitively what case his name was in. The S before the TI and the lack of space to the left of the S could signify [SALV]S, or “safety”/“well-being.” Combined with the genitive (i.e., TI[berii] AVGVST[i]), the [SALV]S could refer to the “safety/well-being of Tiberius.” 139. The iconographic hairstyle of Tiberius’ fifth portrait type (of which there are now about twentyfive extant replicas) is best exemplified in a marble head in the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek (624), mus. inv. 1750: Pollini (2005b) 56 with n. 4, 67, fig. 2, pl. 12.1–2. Tiberius’ chin in the Copenhagen head is somewhat heavier than that of this relief image, whereas in certain other portraits his chin is shown as weaker, most likely under the influence of Augustus’ physiognomic features, in order to liken Tiberius physically to his adoptive father, a phenomenon seen in other imperial portraits to underscore dynastic relationships.   This sort of assimilation is also evident in certain of his coin portraits, like that on the aureus of 15–16 c.e. from the Lugdunum mint (fig. II.31c): BMC I, 120–21 (nos. 2–11), pl. 22.2–3; RIC2 I, 93 (nos. 3–4), pl. 11.3. Since the profile portrait of Tiberius in the relief from Spain was produced in a province, it may even have been based on a numismatic image like that on the aureus, which would also have been easier to copy in profile view than a model in the round. Even the two large locks at the nape of the neck are exactly the same in the relief and the coin image. In the relief from Spain, as is often the case in relief portraits in which the head is represented in profile, other aspects are simplified. Compare, for example, the relief head

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of Tiberius on the Ara Pacis, which is only an approximation of his officially commissioned portraits in the round: see my discussion in Pollini (2005b) 65 with pl. 9.1–2. When the face of Tiberius in the relief from Spain is seen frontally (the non-optimum view), the locks over the forehead are brushed continuously across the right side of the head, as in the coin portrait, instead of forking over the right eye, as in the Copenhagen head. 140. For Tiberius’ last type (Type VI: “Second Princeps” type), of which there are about twenty extant replicas, see Pollini (2005b) fig. 2, pls. 7.1–4, 12.3–6, 13.1–6. The fact that Type V was followed by Type VI does not necessarily mean that all Type V hairstyles were no longer produced after the creation of Type VI, as we know from other cases. 141. Hänlein Schäfer (1996). 142. See chapter I above. 143. BMCRE I, 248 (nos. 251–53), 272–73 (nos. 366– 72), pls. 45.1, 47.3–4; Kent (1978) pl. 56 (no. 199). See also Kunckel (1974) 28 (M IV.1–2), pl. I.3–4. The figure on this coin type is specifically identified as the “Genius Augusti.” 144. See below, e.g., fig. III.16. 145. For the manner of representation of Divus Augustus, see further chapter III below. See also fig. IX.8a. 146. For the Temple of Concord in Rome, see Richardson (1992) 98–99 s.v. “Concordia, Aedes”; LTUR I (1993) s.v. “Concordia, Aedes” (A. M. Ferroni). 147. Sculpture of high quality from the so-called Forum Adiectum (Marble Forum) at Mérida is very close in imagery to works produced in Rome: see especially Nogales Basarrate (2008). For workshops in Lusitania, Spain, see Nogales Basarrate (2009). 148. I thank Trinidad Nogales Basarrate for discussion, information, and recent bibliography on the fora and monuments of Mérida. 149. For this temple and its plan, see Mateos (2004); Mierse (1999) 68–69; Álvarez Martínez and Nogales Basarrate (2003) 297–99, 321: fig. 68 (2.A); Fishwick (2004) 44–59; Álvarez Martínez and Nogales Basarrate (2006). It is difficult to know whether the hexastyle porch of this temple is reflected in the image of a tetrastyle temple or porch bearing the inscription Aeternitati Augustae on a coin of Emerita, since die-engravers often took liberties in the way they represented buildings and monuments on coinage. Alternately, this coin image may represent another hitherto

unknown temple at Emerita. For this coin, see Álvarez Martínez and Nogales Basarrate (2006) 435–36, 439, fig. 9b. 150. This inscription (CIL II.465) forms the base of the composite “Obelisk of Santa Eulalia” in Mérida: see Álvarez Martínez and Nogales Basarrate (2003) 298– 99, pl. 99.A; Fishwick (2004) 51, pl. 79 (column), 81 (inscription). 151. However, there is debate as to whether the altar shown on the coins is the altar in Rome or the one in Emerita: see Fishwick (1987) 180–83, pl. XXXVIII.a–b (cf. as minted at Rome: pl. XXXVIII.c), who is of the opinion that this altar is the one set up in Rome, not in Emerita. Others believe that an altar of Providentia was also set up at Emerita, modeled on the one in Rome: Nogales Basarrate (2000) 31–36; Álvarez Martínez and Nogales Basarrate (2003) 299– 301, pl. 100B. 152. This is a misnomer going back to the Renaissance. In reality, this was probably a temple of the imperial cult. For this temple, see Álvarez Martínez and Nogales Basarrate (2003). 153. Giuliano (1957) 33–34 (no. 36), pl. 23 (especially figs. 36d–f); Fuchs (1989) 53–57 (no. 1), figs. 24–26; 61–64 (no. 3), figs. 33–38. 154. RIC2 I, 110 (no. 33), pl. 13; BMCRE I, 152 (nos. 36–37), pl. 28.4; Kent (1978) 282, pl. 48.167 (bottom). For the coin types of Caligula, see in general M. von Kaenel in Boschung (1989) 15–26. 155. For the role of Caligula’s three sisters in his representational program and the negative attitudes of the sources regarding them and their brother, see Wood (1995). 156. See above with n. 13. 157. See further chapter VIII below. 158. RIC2 I, 111 (no. 36), pl. 13; BMCRE I, 153 (nos. 41–43), pl. 28.6; Breglia (1968) 51 (no. 9). 159. RIC2 I, 111 (no. 48), pl. 14; BMCRE I, 151 (no. 33), pl. 28.3, 157 (no. 68), pl. 29.12; Kent (1978) 282 (no. 168), pl. 49.168. 160. See in general Syme (l939) 490–508. For the Senate itself, see Talbert (1984). 161. For senatorial status and the Princeps, see especially Millar (1977) 290–300; Sumi (2005) 228–34. 162. RIC2 I, 161 (nos. 143–50), 175 (nos. 292–93), pls. 19, 21; BMCRE I, 234–35 (nos. 183–90), pl. 43.3; Kent (1978) 286 (no. 202), pl. 57; Kleiner (1984) and (1985) 69–95, and 79 for Victoria and Pax, pls. XXII–XXIII, XXV (reconstructions of the arch); XXIV–XXV.1



(details from the coinage); and XXVI–XXXIV (for the numismatic evidence). 163. Cf. the subordination of personifications on the Parthian Arch of Augustus noted above. 164. Now in the Vatican’s Museo Gregoriano Profano ex Lateranense. With regard to these reliefs, see Magi (1945); Helbig4 I (1963) 8–12 (no. 12) (E. Simon); McCann (1972); Magi (1973); Bergmann (198l); Koeppel (1984) 29–30 (cat. 7), fig. 11; Ghedini (1986); D’Ambra (1994). 165. As suggested at the beginning of the relief by the figure of Victoria, only a wing of which survives in the background. 166. BMCRE II, xcv, 404 (no. *: not depicted). For a representation of this coin, see Hamberg (1945) pl. 8 (bottom left). See also Hölscher (1967) 55–56 with n. 321, 64, pl. 6.3. 167. For a more balanced view of Domitian and his Principate, see Jones (1992); Southern (1997). 168. Cf., however, the singularly unusual image of Domitian seated in the lap of Jupiter that Domitian is said to have set up in the temple that he built for Jupiter Custos on the Capitoline Hill: Tac. Hist. 3.74. For the temple, see Suet. Dom. 5. See also Richardson (1992) 218 s.v. “Iuppiter Conservator, Sacellum” (= “Iuppiter Custos”). For the role of Jupiter in imperial ideology, see in general Fears (1981a), especially 81–85. 169. BMCRE III, 100 (nos. 493–94), pl. 17.16; Sutherland (1974) 207, fig. 374; Fears (1977) 193–95 and (1981a) 84–85, pl. VI.34. 170. Cf. Pliny’s praise of Trajan at the outset of his Principate for not mixing his statues with those of the gods within the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus: Pan. 52.2–4. 171. See Ruck (2007) 215–21 for a discussion of colossal figures of Domitian and Trajan. 172. See, e.g., Tacitus’ historical judgment (Ann. 1.1) about some of the “bad” Caesars: while they lived, their histories were falsified by sycophants; and after their deaths, there was no shortage of those ready to vilify them. On Tacitus’ methodology, see also n. 18 above. For the damnation of the memory of the Caesars and members of their family and the mutilation of their images, see in general Varner (2004); Pollini (2006). For issues of recutting portraits and the application of three-dimensional technology in detecting it, see Pollini (2010). 173. For Pliny’s career, see OCD3 1198 s.v. “Pliny the Younger.”

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174. For the ideology expressed in the Panegyricus and by contemporaries of Pliny, see Bennett (1997) 63–73. 175. See, e.g., Pliny Pan. 1.5, 5.3–4, 8.3, 23.4, 52.3, 88.7–8, 94. 176. For the title Optimus Princeps, which (based on numismatic evidence) appears to have been granted to Trajan officially by the Senate in 103 c.e., see Bennett (1997) 105–106. However, Trajan already seems to have had this appellation unofficially soon after he became Princeps: see, e.g., Plin. Pan. 2.7, 88.7–8. 177. For detailed images of the arch, see Hassel (1966); Rotili (1972). For an interpretation of the program of the arch, see especially Fittschen (1972). See also Lorenz (1973); Gauer (1973); Bennett (1997); Bergmann (2010) 294–96 (cat. no. 19). 178. Bennett (1997) 205. For the panegyrical nature of the arch, see especially Fittschen (1972). 179. See, for example, Price (1984) 170–206; see also 179 n. 46, fig. 1b for misidentification of the statue of the Genius Augusti from Puteoli in the Vatican Museum, taken incorrectly as “emperor as a priest.” Rather than holding some implement indicative of a priesthood, this figure carries a cornucopia, associated with figures of genii. See Pollini (1999a) 731 with n. 76 for further bibliography. See also chapter I above and plate III. 180. On the question of authority, see most extensively Burrell (2004) 359–74, with further references, both primary and secondary. With regard to the term “neokorate,” cf. Burrell (2004) 13. 181. See Price (1984) 254–57 (nos. 31, 32, 36); Friesen (1993) 50–59 et passim; Burrell (2004) 76–77. 182. The head (mus. inv. 670) and arm were formerly in the Izmir Archaeological Museum. For the original report about its excavation, see Keil (1932) 53–61. Other fragments found in excavations in 1969/1970 may also belong to this statue: Meriç (1985). Compare the colossal size of this statue with Flavian images in the city of Rome: Ruck (2007) 215–18. 183. With regard to akrolithic statues, see the appendix to this chapter, especially n. 217. 184. Burrell (2004) 318. 185. Burrell (2004) 26–28, 319–20, figs. 50, 51, 53. On numismatic issues of Trajan and of Trajan Decius, Trajan’s stance on the coin is a reversal of that of the sculpture, suggesting that the die-engraver may have cut the die as he saw the statue. The image would then have ended up reversed on the cast coins. On this

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matter, see further Burrell (2004) 324. See also Müller (2011); Auinger and Fendt (2011). 186. See above with n. 48. 187. Burrell (2004) 102–103. 188. Burrell (2004) 103–109, figs. 32–45, with further references. 189. Burrell (2004) 105. 190. I thank Fikret Yegul for providing recent information about the statue of Antoninus Pius (in a communication of March 15, 2010). 191. Pace Hallett (2005) 237. The example that he cites (his pl. 133) as evidence that “deified emperors are most commonly represented togate” shows Divus Augustus seminude, not togate, as he indicates. The head of Antoninus has elements of both his early and late portraits: Burrell (2004) 104. 192. Burrell (2004) 105. 193. A marble inscription at the back of the apse was dedicated to the Genius of the Augustales, while inscriptional evidence indicates that Vespasian and Titus were represented as divi: see Pozzi et al. (1987); Miniero (2000); Adamo Muscettola (2000) 82–87, figs. 1–6; Lahusen and Formigli (2001) 175–76, 390–91 (cat. 105); Hallett (2005) 180–82. It is highly unlikely that the equestrian figure of Domitian/ Nerva fell into the sanctuary from the nearby theater. See also Fejfer (2008) 79–81. For the type of cuirass worn by Domitian/Nerva, see Cadario (2004) 315–21, pl. XLI.1–2. 194. RPC I, 379 (no. 2221), pl. 99; BMCRE I, 196 (no. 228); Hänlein-Schäfer (1985) pl. 32d; Burrell (2004) 19, fig. 46. See also BMCRE II, 94 (no. 449), 352 (no. 254*); III, 146 (no. 711); SNG (von Aulock) 6572; Giard (1988b) 113–14 (nos. 304–306), pl. XXXI. See further Price (1984) 182, 252 (no. 19), fig. 2b. Cf. the Greek decree specifying that a statue of King Attalos III of Pergamon be set up within the Temple of Asklepios Soter with the image of the god and that Attalos’ image be cuirassed (IvP 249 = OGIS 332): Hallett (2005) 52. 195. For a helmeted Roma wearing a long dress and with both breasts covered, see, e.g., the figure seated to the left of Augustus on the Gemma Augustea (fig. ii.17). For this and the Amazonian, one-breasted type, see in general LIMC VIII (1997) 1048–68 s.v. “Roma” (E. di Filippo Balestrazzi). 196. Burrell (2004) 19–22, figs. 47–49. 197. Burrell (2004) 44, 49. 198. Burrell (2004) 149–51, figs. 112–13.

199. Burrell (2004) 154, 322. 200. Represented on a coin of ca. 198–211 c.e. See SNG (von Aulock) 3290. Price and Trell (1977) fig. 447. See further Price (1984) 260 (no. 61); Burrell (2004) 130, fig. 103. 201. Burrell (2004) 323. The cuirassed figure in the temple might be Commodus, rather than Carcalla. 202. Burrell (2004) 135–36, 323, figs. 105–106. These coins are particularly worn. 203. Burrell (2004) 127, fig. 101. 204. BMC Lydia 202 (no. 86). 205. This temple was dedicated to Tiberius, Livia, and the Roman Senate: Price (1984) 66, 258 (no. 45). For this coin type from Smyrna, see RPC I, 419 (no. 2469), pl. 109. See also BMC Ionia 268 (nos. 266–68), pl. XXVIII.8; SNG (von Aulock) 2199, 7993; Price (1984) 258 (no. 45); Klose (1987) 212 (no. XXVI) V7, R1–34, pl. 19; Burnett et al. (1992) 2470; Burrell (2004) 38–43, fig. 59. 206. Burrell (2004) 120–23, 323, fig. 95. 207. BMC Ionia 83 (no. 261); 91 (no. 305), pl. 14.6; Burrell (2004) 76–77 (coin types 23–24), figs. 75–76. 208. Price (1984) 184–85. Under the Republic, the Pontifex Maximus was only head of the pontifical college: Beard et al. (1998) 55–58, 252 et passim; Scheid (2003) 131, 133–34. 209. For a discussion of these coins, see Metcalf (1980) 130–43 with further bibliography. 210. See, e.g., Metcalf (1980) 132 (cat. 19), pl. 30.19. Although Metcalf calls this figure “togate,” it is clearly seminude, wearing the chlamys, and appears to carry not a Victoriola but the Palladium. 211. Metcalf (1980) 133 (cat. 28), pl. 30.28; BMCRE III, 396 (note to no. 1097). 212. Metcalf (1980) 132–33 (cat. 25), pl. 30.25; BMCRE III, 396 (note to no. 1097). 213. An appreciation of the differences between official and nonofficial from the point of view of the Roman State is essential to an understanding of differences in imagery relating the Princeps and his family to the divine. Cf. Stevenson (1998), who does not make this distinction and therefore arrives at conclusions that I believe are erroneous. 214. For the association of these bases with the Domitianic temple, see Keil (1932) 60. See further Friesen (1993) 29–49, especially 42–49 for the date of the inauguration of the cult and the dedication of the temple. For a broader range of possible dates, see Burrell (2004) 62–63.



215. Keil (1932) fig. 40; Inan and Rosenbaum (1966) 67 (no. 27), pl. XVI.1; Meriç (1985) figs. 4–5. 216. Meriç (1985) figs. 3, 6–16. 217. For akroliths, see in general Despinis (1975); EAA 2nd suppl. (1994) 39–40 s.v. “acrolito” (G. Despinis). For the colossal statue from Ephesos in particular, see Burrell (2004) 64–65, 319. In a pseudo-akrolithic figure, the stone head and limbs would have been added to a stone body in the same material as the other parts or in a different, sometimes lower-quality marble or other stone. Because no trace of a torso has been found and because an all-stone colossal sculpture would be enormously heavy, it is unlikely that the pseudo-akrolithic technique was employed for the portrait image at Ephesos. For the pseudo-akrolithic technique, see Pollini (2003b) 304 with n. 6 for further references. 218. BMC Ionia 91 (no. 305), pl. XIV.6; Burrell (2004) 76–77 (coin types 23–24), figs. 75–76. The four neokorate temples on the coinage of Elagabalus are judged by Burrell to represent the temple of Vespasian (originally Domitian), of Hadrian, of Artemis (associated by Caracalla with the neokorate cult), and of Elagabalus, with the statues in the two temples at the bottom representing two cuirassed figures (likely Titus or Vespasian and Hadrian) and in the temples above, Artemis and a togate figure (probably Elagabalus). 219. For a reconstruction of this figure, see Rose (1997b) fig. 5 and Burrell (2004) fig. 27, based on Meriç (1985) pl. 24. 220. As in the colossal head from Ephesos, the locks often fork at both temples in Domitian’s portraits, but not usually in images of Titus. See, e.g., the following portraits of Domitian: a head in the Palazzo Massimo (depot) (mus. inv. 226) (Daltrop et al. [1966] 106, pl. 25a–b; Rose [1997b] 115, fig. 5); a head in the Braccio Nuovo (126) of the Vatican (Daltrop et al. [1966] 107, pl. 28a–b); a bronze bust in the Ny Carlsberg Glyptothek (664) (Daltrop et al. [1966] 101, pl. 28c–d); and a portrait (now lost) that was found near Pergamon (Daltrop et al. [1966] 105, pl. 33.a–b). The original excavator, J. Keil (1932) 59–60, first identified the head as Domitian. See Daltrop et. al. (1966) 86, pl. 15a–b, where it is identified as a portrait of Titus, although Daltrop had previously taken it as Domitian. See also Inan and Rosenbaum (1966) 67 (no. 27), pl. XVI.1 (Domitian); Friesen (1993) 60–63, pls. VI–VII (Titus); Burrell (2004) 64–65, figs. 26–27 (Titus), with an excellent discussion of this sculpture as a whole. The new museum label now identifies this portrait as Domitian.

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221. Varner (2004) 128–29, who identifies the head as a portrait of Domitian, is of the opinion that the sculptural fragments were stored in the cryptoporticus before being incorporated into a wall or walls. He does not mention any possibility of reworking. The original excavator, Keil (1932) 59–60, postulated that the parts of the statue were dumped in the cryptoporticus after the damnation of Domitian’s memory. 222. See, e.g., Price (1984) 255 (no. 31); Friesen (1993) 48–75. See also Burrell (2004) 61–66. 223. I will be addressing this issue in a book on Christian destruction and desecration on which I am currently working: Pollini (in progress). 224. Inan and Alföldi-Rosenbaum (1979) 57–58 (mus. inv. 1957): Augustus [cat. 3]) pl. 2.2; 61 (mus. inv. 1/10/75: Livia [cat. 5]) pl. 5.2; pl. 4 (both figures). See also Jobst (1980), especially 256–57; Price (1984) 140; Langmann (1985) 65–69; Scherrer (1990) 100–101, fig. 4; Hjort (1993), especially 100–101, figs. 1–3; Scherrer (1997) 98; Jacobs (2010) 280, 288. 225. See, e.g., the Christian historian Socrates Scholasticus (Hist. eccl. 5.16), who adds that bronze images of the gods in Alexandria “were melted down to be made into pots and other utensils for the church.” 226. Some had claimed that there was a Byzantine cistern in the temple: Keil (1932) 55–56; Friesen (1993) 63, with fig. 3. However, recent study of these remains makes this unlikely. But some Late Antique structure was built over the temple in the early fifth century c.e. after its destruction. With regard to the current excavations, see n. 227 below. 227. For information about the new excavations in 2009, I thank my former graduate student Dr. Candace Weddle, who excavated in the area of the so-called Domitianic Temple. I would also like to thank Sabine Ladstätter, director of the Austrian excavations at Ephesos, for additional information about the finds in and around the temple and its podium-terrace during the 2010 and 2011 excavation seasons (email communication of December 18, 2011). Dr. Ladstätter informs

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me that a new large public area on a terrace south of the so-called Domitianic Temple has recently been discovered as a result of a geophysical survey. This new area may in the future provide further information about other religious structures at Ephesos. 228. Keil (1932) 57, fig. 38; Alzinger (1980) 820. See also Burrell (2004) 64. Sections of this altar are now in the Selçuk Museum. Dr. Ladstätter agrees with the dating of the sculptural decorations of the altar to the mid-second to early third century c.e. 229. Friesen (1993) 70–73, pls. XI–XII; Burrell (2004) 64. Dr. Ladstätter concurs with this dating (see n. 227 above). 230. For Geta and Caracalla, see Burrell (2004) 70–75. 231. For Elagabalus, see Burrell (2004) 76–77. 232. Burrell (2004) 66–70, 315–16. The baroque temple on the Street of the Curetes has often been identified as the Temple of Hadrian, but this structure, though richly decorated, is not a great and imposing building, as one might expect for a provincial imperial cult temple. 233. See n. 227 above. It should also be pointed out that colossal imperial statues were not necessarily cult images but might simply be honorific: Burrell (2004) 317–18. 234. See also Burrell (2004) 303–304 for Christian attacks on temples in this region. She notes with regard to Ephesos that in the time of Theodosius I (late fourth century) it is likely that parts of the structure that has been taken as the Domitianic neokorate temple were reused “to rebuild the ‘tetragonos agora’ to the northwest. These may include Corinthian capitals decorated with eagles and dolphins.” The destruction of the Temple of Artemis will be discussed further in Pollini (in progress). For Christian destruction of the Parthenon, see Pollini (2007a).

Chap ter III

The Cult Statue of Julius Caesar and Heroic and Divine Imagery of Deified Leaders in the Late Republic and Early Principate

D 

uring the Ludi Victoriae Caesaris, the games held in honor of Julius Caesar after his death in July 44 b.c.e., a comet appeared in the skies for seven consecutive days. As Octavian himself said at the time, the people believed that this was a celestial sign that Caesar’s soul had been received among the immortal gods (eo sidere significari volgus credidit Caesaris animam inter deorum immortalium numina receptam) (Plin. HN 2.94). Translated to the realm of the heavenly deities, Caesar’s soul (anima) came to be called the Sidus Iulium (“star of Julius”).1 In the later part of the first century b.c.e., the notion of “catasterism” (καταστερισμός), or placement among the stars,2 was related to a growing interest in astrology and Stoic cosmological theories about the “sympathy” (συμπάθεια) of the universe, whereby what happens in one part influences what happens in another. As a microcosm of that universe, man was considered to be affected by what occurred in the heavens.3 In 42 b.c.e., two years after his assassination and translation to the stars, Caesar was formally consecrated by a Senatus Consultum as a god of the Roman State and was voted a temple, altar, and cult worship (Cass. Dio 47.18.2–4). These honors constituted a milestone in Roman religious practice,4 with Caesar becoming the first divus in a line of historical Roman leaders to be deified in Rome after death.5 The archaic and legal term divos (divus) was apparently used to distinguish him from an immortal god (deus).6 Caesar’s temple was constructed by his great-nephew and adopted son Octavian in front of the Regia in the Roman Forum (fig. iii.1). Only part of the foundation of this temple survives today (fig. iii.2). Along with a later flanking Augustan arch or arches, the temple defined the east side of the Roman Forum and formed an architectural façade honoring two to three generations of the Julian house.7 Although its foundation was laid in 42 b.c.e. (Cass. Dio 47.18.4),8 the temple itself was not dedicated until August 18, 29 b.c.e.,9 three days after Octavian’s triple triumph in Rome (RG 19; Cass. Dio 51.22.2), marking the end of a decade and a half of civil strife. Before the temple’s completion,

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Fig. iii.1. Plan of Roman Forum and fora of Caesar and Augustus. After Hesberg (1988b) fig. 40

it appeared on the reverse of aurei and denarii issued in 36 b.c.e. by a mint traveling with Octavian (fig. iii.3).10 The temple is clearly identifiable as that of Caesar by the inscription DIVO IVL[IO] (“to the Deified Julius”) in the architrave. The numismatic image, showing a completed temple, may reflect at least in part a building model, which Roman architects used in planning important structures.11 In the pediment appears a large star, the Sidus Iulium or Caesaris Astrum,12 signifying Caesar’s divinity and undoubtedly referring also to his comet. As Pliny tells us (HN 2.94), “a comet is worshiped in only one place in the entire world, in a temple in Rome ” (cometes in uno totius orbis loco colitur in templo Romae)—clearly a reference to the Temple of Divus Iulius in the Forum. At the time of the laying of the foundation of the temple in 42 b.c.e., a statue of Caesar was created and paraded in the Ludi Circenses, along with an image

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Fig. iii.2a. Present remains of Temple of Divus Iulius, Roman Forum. Photo by author

Fig. iii.2b. Present remains of core of closed-off altar in front of Temple of Divus Iulius. Photo by author

Fig. iii.3. Aureus (rev.: Temple of Divus Iulius, Roman Forum), ca. 36 b.c.e. After Zanker (1988) fig. 26

of Venus. Described in Greek as an agalma (ἄγαλμα), or cult image (Cass. Dio 47.18.4),13 the statue of Caesar was presumably destined for his temple in the Roman Forum. Represented within the temple on Octavian’s gold and silver coinage of about 36 b.c.e. (fig. iii.3), Caesar’s cult image is shown as togate, with head veiled and holding a lituus, the crook-shaped staff of an augur.14 However, in the reconstruction of the temple in Paul Zanker’s seminal study of the Roman Forum, the statue of Divus Iulius is represented seminude, with a Greek-style chlamys drawn across the lower part of his body.15 This sort of image, known in iconographical studies as



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Fig. iii.4. Seminude statue of Augustus, Archaeological Museum, Thessaloniki. Photo by author

the Hüftmantel Typus (“hip-mantel type”),16 was commonly used for representations of divinities, like the statue of Poseidon or Zeus from Pergamon in the Pergamonmuseum in Berlin,17 and for godlike images of leaders of the Roman State, like the undated statue of Augustus in the Archaeological Museum in Thessaloniki (fig. iii.4).18 But, as discussed in chapter II, portrayal nude or seminude was not necessarily an indication that a historical individual had been deified or for that matter was even dead. Time and context are determining factors in establishing the significance of such a manner of representation. And since

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Caesar was the first historical Roman to be consecrated as a state god and worshiped with a cult, no established Roman tradition for the manner of representing a deified human being in the City of Rome existed at that time. The Significance of Augural Imagery But aside from the matter of Caesar’s depiction on coinage as togate rather than nude or seminude in his temple, there is the issue of why he would be portrayed as an augur, one of the two most important priesthoods that he held.19 The lituus that he holds, the size of which is exaggerated on the coinage, was itself a magical instrument and symbol of the augur’s power to reveal the will of the gods to man—an important but indirect way of associating the newly deified Caesar with the divinities he was now joining.20 The significance of the lituus and its value for Caesar’s imagery are clearly attested on denarii of Quintus Voconius Vitulus bearing the legend DIVI IVLI (“of the Deified Julius”) and issued after ca. 40 b.c.e.21 On this coin type, the augural staff is prominently placed behind Caesar’s head (fig. iii.5). Based on Octavian’s coinage of ca. 36 b.c.e. (fig. iii.3), I have reconstructed Caesar’s cult image as I believe it would more or less have appeared, looking out from the temple onto the Forum (fig. iii.6), as Ovid notes in his Metamorphoses (15.840–42):22 ut semper Capitolia nostra forumque divus ab excelsa prospectet Iulius aede.

Fig. iii.5. Denarius (obv.: portrait of Caesar with lituus behind head), ca. 40 b.c.e. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and Classical Numismatic Group

that Divus Iulius may always peer out upon our Capitol and the Forum from his lofty temple.

Caesar would have looked, then, much like the image of Augustus on a Lares altar of 2 b.c.e. from the Vicus Sandaliarius in Rome, now in the Galleria degli Uffizi in Florence (fig. iii.7).23 Here Augustus is shown with head covered and holding a lituus in his right hand. A rare and little-known actual silver lituus of imperial date that has come down to us is found in the National Museum of Hungary in Budapest (fig. iii.8).24 In the scene on the altar from Vicus Sandaliarius Augustus is shown as he performs the tripudium, a specific type of military augury involving the eating habits of chickens. This kind of augury was performed for the departure of Augustus’ grandson and adopted son Gaius, represented to the left in the relief, on a military expedition to the East in 2 b.c.e. Also somewhat analogous to the depiction of Divus Iulius as an augur in his temple is the portrayal of the apotheosis of Claudius in a cameo



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Fig. iii.6. Reconstruction of image of Divus Iulius in his temple, Roman Forum, adapted by author from Zanker (1988) fig. iii. Photo by author

in the Cabinet des Médailles of the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris: Claudius, seminude and wearing an aegis, holds a lituus in his right hand (fig. iii.9).25 A further explanation for Caesar’s mode of representation—beyond simply the importance of the augurate—may be found in a passage of the Fasti (6.375) in which Ovid describes Quirinus as holding a lituus and wearing the trabea,26 the purple toga with scarlet stripes that was the dress of the Roman augur.27 Since the Sabine god Quirinus was conflated with the legendary Romulus,28 Ovid’s description is a direct reference to Romulus’ founding of Rome by “august augury”; or to quote a line of the poet Ennius preserved in Suetonius’ Life of Augustus (7.2): Augusto augurio . . . incluta condita Roma est (“Illustrious Rome was founded by august augury”). Like other great Romans before him, Caesar had been cast as Alter Conditor (“Second Founder”) after Romulus.29 In this respect, Caesar was considered to be a founding hero, or ἕρως κτίστης, as he was probably called in the Greek East.30 Prior to Caesar, the only Roman to be honored with a temple and worshiped as a deified hero within Rome itself was said to be Romulus,31 who interestingly is never called divus.32 Caesar had been brought into close association with Romulus by various honors accorded to him. For example, in 45 b.c.e. the

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Fig. iii.7. Augustus as augur on Vicus Sandaliarius Altar from Rome, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence. After Pollini (1987) pl. 14.1

Fig. iii.8. Silver lituus, National Museum of Hungary, Budapest. Photo by author Fig. iii.9. Cameo of apotheosis of Claudius, Cabinet des Médailles, Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris. After Megow (1987), pl. 27.1

Senate voted that a statue of Caesar bearing the inscription Θεῷ ἀνικήτῳ (“to the invincible god”) be set up on the Quirinal Hill in the Temple of RomulusQuirinus (Cass. Dio 43.45.3),33 which is represented in a relief of the Domitianic period.34 Unfortunately, we have no idea what Caesar’s statue within this temple



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looked like, although it probably represented him in cuirass or triumphal garb (toga picta and tunica palmata)35 for his recent victories, which he celebrated in a quadruple triumph in 46 b.c.e. and which were the prime motives for the creation of this statue. The Senate also voted in 45 that another image of Caesar—this one in ivory—be borne in procession in the company of the gods and Romulus-Quirinus during the Parilia, the birthday of Rome on April 21 (Cass. Dio 43.45.2; Cic. Att. 13.28.3).36 As far as the cult image of Romulus-Quirinus within his temple is concerned, we have neither visual nor literary evidence for its appearance. However, since Romulus had founded Rome “by august augury,” it is not unreasonable to postulate that this lost cult statue represented him as an augur, dressed in a trabea and holding a lituus—in effect, appearing as Ovid describes him in Fasti 6.375. In his description, Ovid quite possibly had the statue in the Quirinal temple in mind. Such an image would have served as an ideal model for the cult statue of Caesar in his own temple in the Roman Forum. But Caesar may have been represented as an augur for another reason, one that was pregnant with symbolic meaning, aside from serving to cast him as an Alter Conditor like Romulus. As already noted, Ovid mentions (Met. 15.840–42) that Caesar’s statue peered out from his temple onto not only the Forum but also the Capitolium, where the cult image of Jupiter Optimus Maximus resided in his great temple. Since augurs interpreted the will of Jupiter to man, the cult image of Caesar as an augur facing the Capitoline would also have brought him into a direct symbolic relationship with the father of gods and man. Moreover, the statue of Caesar—as well as of Romulus—as augur may have been recalled in the image of Augustus on the Ara Pacis with head veiled and originally holding a lituus (fig. v16a–e), as I have postulated and discuss in chapter V. Given Romulus’ status as first a hero and then a divinity, it is understandable that Augustus, too, would appropriate Romulean imagery for his own representational program.37 Some scholars, however, believe that allusions to Romulus were avoided after the founding of the Principate, even as Augustus supposedly “foreswore the memory of Caesar” after the creation of the Principate.38 While the young Octavian was taking auspices in his first consulship in 43 b.c.e., it was said that he beheld twelve vultures, as had Romulus on the occasion of the founding of Rome (Suet. Aug. 95). Interestingly, Cassius Dio reports (46.46.2) that Octavian saw six vultures on the day of the elections when he entered the Campus Martius and that he later (presumably that day or shortly thereafter) observed twelve more while haranguing the soldiers. And in the competition to name the City, Remus, on the Aventine, was the first to see six vultures, while Romulus on the Palatine shortly thereafter observed twelve (Livy 7.4). Octavian

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therefore equaled the number of vultures that both brothers had seen. This alleged omen would be consistent with Octavian’s being presented as a Second Founder of Rome, outdoing Romulus and thus following directly in the footsteps of Caesar, whose imagery as divus Octavian had approved. In a further recalling of Romulus, Augustus’ house on the Palatine was located in close proximity to the casa Romuli (“Hut of Romulus”), which Augustus presumably restored after fires in 38 and 12 b.c.e. (Cass. Dio 48.43.4; 54.29.4).39 It was reported that Romulus’ lituus, which was considered to be sacred and kept in the Curia Saliorum on the Palatine, had miraculously survived the fires.40 According to Suetonius (Aug. 7.2), Octavian had also toyed with the idea of taking the name “Romulus,” as though he were indeed Second Founder of Rome: Romulum appellari oportere quasi et ipsum conditorem urbis. However, he gave up this idea, adopting instead the name “Augustus,” with its various positive associations, among which was Romulus’ founding of Rome by “august augury.” After the establishment of the Principate in 27 b.c.e., Augustus did not abandon Romulus in his representational program; instead, the association with Romulus became more acceptably indirect.41 The infant Romulus, for example, was featured in the Lupercal scene on the Ara Pacis Augustae,42 while Fig. iii.10. Apotheosis of Romulus on “Belvedere Altar,” Museo Gregoriano Profano, Vatican. Photo by author



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the adult Romulus appeared in Augustus’ forum in the pediment of the Temple of Mars Ultor (“Mars the Avenger”) (fig. ii.23a: second figure from the left), taking augury for the founding of the city.43 A statue of Romulus as tropaeophorus (“trophy-bearer”), carrying a trophy decorated with the spolia opima (“rich spoils”) of his defeated opponent, was prominently located in the large niche of the southern hemicycle of the Forum Augustum along with images of Rome’s other great heroes, thereby underscoring Romulus’ heroic status. The lost statue of Romulus has long been recognized in a now badly faded painting from Pompeii,44 in marble statues from Colonia Patricia (Córdoba) and Augusta Emerita (Mérida), and in other media.45 In addition, as discussed in chapter I, a statue of Romulus was borne in Augustus’ funerary procession among other images of Rome’s heroes, in accordance with instructions that Augustus left in his will (Cass. Dio 56.34.2; Suet. Aug. 101.1). Romulus-Quirinus is also represented, in my opinion, on an Augustan Lares altar in the Vatican, known as the “Belvedere Altar” (fig. iii.10). He is shown ascending to heaven in the chariot of his father Mars in the area of the Caprae Palus,46 where the Pantheon of the Augustan age was later built.47 Appearing as testis (“witness”) behind the ascending Romulus is a small, now headless figure. This is likely to have been Iulius Proculus, whom the Julian family claimed as an ancestor.48 His hand is raised with two fingers outstretched—the speaker’s gesture (adlocutio) signifying that he bears witness to the apotheosis of Romulus. The Pantheon, which functioned as a dynastic temple honoring the celestial gods and Augustus’ deified father Julius Caesar,49 stood in a direct northsouth alignment with Augustus’ mausoleum (fig. V.5), with the Pantheon facing north toward his great dynastic tomb. This linear symbolism brought the Pantheon with its connection with Caesar and Romulus into an ideological relationship with the mausoleum of Augustus. Standing atop his tomb was an image of Augustus that is generally assumed to have been a statua pedestris (“standing statue”) (fig. V.34, plate XXIX).50 But for a number of reasons, as we shall see in chapter V (with appendix B), it was more likely to have been a great bronze image of Augustus in a triumphal quadrigae (fig. V.35, plates XXVI–XXVII, XXX).51 Such a sculpture, which would have been more visible than a single statue on the tomb (approximately 150 Roman feet high), would have directly recalled Augustus’ triple triumph in 29 b.c.e., an honor accorded only to Romulus before him.52 This symbolic allusion to Rome’s legendary founder may also explain why in his long career Augustus never again celebrated another triumph, though he had the right to do so on other occasions and thereby equal or exceed the four triumphs awarded to Caesar. Prior to Caesar, Romulus was said to be the only mortal honored with a

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temple and worshiped as a deified hero within Rome itself. In the Greek world, heroes were commonly honored with burial and a heroon (“hero shrine”) within the city, instead of interment outside the city walls.53 In keeping with this idea was the provision voted to Caesar before his death that he be buried within the pomerium, the sacred inner City (Cass. Dio 44.7.1), an honor reserved only for those of hero status.54 The Temple of Divus Iulius in the Roman Forum was in fact referred to as a heroon by Greek authors (e.g., Cass. Dio 47.18.4).55 The notion of Caesar as a founding hero was expressed at the time of his funeral when the Roman crowd attempted to cremate and bury him in the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus on the Capitoline Hill (App. B Civ. 2.148).56 After being prevented from doing so by the priests of the temple, the crowd took Caesar’s body to the Roman Forum. Here his earthly remains were cremated by the people of Rome, contrary to normal Roman funerary practice, which—like the Greek and Etruscan custom—dictated that cremation as well as burial be outside the walls of the City (Cic. Att. 14.15.1, Phil. 1.5). To mark the spot, the crowd built an altar and raised up a column of Numidian marble (“giallo antico”) twenty Roman feet high with an inscription on its base reading Parenti Patriae (“to the parent/father of his country”) (Suet. Iul. 85; Cass. Dio 44.51.1–2). Although this altar and column were promptly torn down by the consul P. Cornelius Dolabella, a round altar was later erected in the Forum (fig. iii.1), undoubtedly to mark the very spot where Caesar’s corpse had been cremated. This altar was at first open to view in an exedra built into the front of the podium of the Temple of Divus Iulius but was closed off at a later point in time by a wall (fig. iii.2a–b).57 Among the honors voted to Caesar before his assassination was the right to have the title Parens Patriae (“Parent of the Country”) inscribed on official Roman state coinage (Cass. Dio 44.4.4), a privilege that had been accorded to no other Roman during his lifetime.58 But it is one thing to be offered extraordinary honors and quite another to accept them. Ittai Gradel has argued that the Senate did in fact deify Caesar during his lifetime and even gave him the name “Divus Iulius,” in addition to voting him a temple, a sacred couch (pulvinar) for the display of his image, and a state priest (flamen) while he was still alive.59 Although Gradel maintains that several ancient sources confirm that these honors would in fact have been implemented if not for Caesar’s assassination soon after the passage of the decrees,60 the evidence is not, in my opinion, so clear-cut. Cassius Dio (44.4.1–6) records the most complete list of honors voted by the Senate, culminating in what were, in effect, divine honors. Dio goes on to say (44.4) that “indeed except for a few, [Caesar] accepted all others.” Although Dio does not specify which of the honors Caesar turned down, they



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Fig. iii.11. Terracotta relief from Via Cassia (near Rome), Museo Nazionale Romano al Palazzo Massimo. Photo by author

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are likely to have been the most excessive, placed last in Dio’s list (44.4.3–4). Cicero, who also provides evidence for the honors voted to Caesar (Phil. 2.110), notes that Antony did not actually become Caesar’s priest (flamen), an indication that Caesar did not accept a temple and a priest. It was evident, in any case, that Caesar was regarded as only a mortal, not a god. This is brought home by Dio’s comment (44.7.1) that the Senate’s decrees were “inscribed with golden letters on a silver slab and placed beneath the feet of Jupiter Capitolinus, making it very clear to him [Caesar] that he was a mortal.” Caesar’s rejection of at least some excessive honors is also indicated by the fact that he turned down the name and diadem of king, sending the diadem offered him during the Lupercalia to Jupiter and declaring that god to be the true king of the Romans.61 In addition, Caesar had an inscription naming him as hemitheos (ἡμίθεός), literally “half-god” (i.e., a hero), chiseled off a statue base (Cass. Dio 43.14.6, 21.2).62 This statue was a bronze image of Caesar said to have been mounted upon a globe, which the Senate set up to him in 46 b.c.e. after his victory over the Pompeians at Thapsus (North Africa). Although the literary sources do not describe the dress of the statue, a clay relief from the Via Cassia near Rome, now in the Museo Nazionale Romano al Palazzo Massimo, shows a figure with a globe by his feet that may be a free interpretation of the lost statue of Caesar on the Capitoline (fig. iii.11).63 His representation in cuirass, as in the relief, would have been appropriate for his victory at Thapsus. How accurately this rather crude work otherwise reflects the statue is unknown; but based on numismatic images, Caesar may have been represented with one foot on the globe as dominus terrarum (“master of the world”), imagery already found on Republican coinage.64 If so, Caesar’s statue may have been one of the models for the numismatic image of Octavian placing his foot on a globe discussed

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in chapter II, although Octavian is represented in this coin type as seminude rather than cuirassed (fig. II.3). Whether extraordinary honors were accepted or not, the mere fact that they were voted to the ambitious Caesar undoubtedly contributed to his assassination in 44 b.c.e.65 In the period of turmoil after his murder, it may have been deemed ill-advised to evoke the imagery of Hellenistic kingship by representing the newly deified Caesar nude or seminude in his temple—hence his depiction in a priestly capacity rather than in divine guise on Octavian’s coinage and, I believe, also in the actual cult image within his temple. Although it is not shown on the numismatic issue of ca. 36 b.c.e., a gilded bronze star/comet was presumably added to the head of Caesar’s cult statue, as it was in the case of other images of Divus Iulius (Serv. ad Aen. 7.681): Nam ideo Augustus omnibus statuis, quas divinitati Caesaris statuit, hanc stellam adiecit (“For that reason [i.e., the appearance of the comet] Augustus added this star to all statues set up to Caesar’s divinity”).66 Octavian also had a star inscribed on his own helmet (Serv. ad. Aen. 8.681),67 no doubt signifying his own “(re)birth” into the Gens Iulia,68 thereby underscoring his formal position in the State as divi filius (“son of the deified [Caesar]”).69 The Manner of Representation of Divus Iulius in Later Augustan Times The imagery regarded as appropriate for Divus Iulius, and indeed for subsequent divi, did not remain as conservative as that of Caesar’s cult image as reflected in the coinage of about 36 b.c.e. We know from a denarius minted by Lucius Lentulus that Caesar had been represented seminude in Rome during the Principate of Augustus (fig. iii.12).70 In a direct reference to Caesar’s catasterism in this coin type, Augustus is shown placing a star on the head of a statue of Caesar of the hip-mantle type.71 Although the coin has been variously dated within the last two decades of the first century b.c.e., I believe that it probably dates to 12 b.c.e. and commemorates the thirtieth anniversary of either the appearance of Caesar’s comet in 44 or, more likely, Caesar’s consecration as a god in 42.72 It was in 12 b.c.e., moreover, that Halley’s Comet appeared.73 It might be argued that the statue on Lentulus’ coinage reflects the image of Caesar with a star above his head that Octavian set up in the Temple of Venus Genetrix in Caesar’s own forum, the Forum Iulium, shortly after the appearance of the Sidus Iulium in 44 b.c.e. (Cass. Dio 45.7.1).74 But if that statue were in fact seminude, how can the contrast with the cult statue on Octavian’s coinage



Fig. iii.12. Denarius (rev.: Augustus crowning a statue of Divus Iulius with a star), 12 b.c.e. After Zanker (1988) fig. 25a

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Fig. iii.13a. Relief from Carthage with images of Mars Ultor flanked by Venus and Divus Iulius, Archaeological Museum, Algiers. Photo by author

Fig. iii.13b. Detail of head of rejuvenated Divus Iulius with hole for attachment of bronze star/comet in relief from Carthage, Archaeological Museum, Algiers. Photo by author

of ca. 36 b.c.e. be explained? The different iconography might be understood in terms of the difference between official and nonofficial modes of representation. The statue of Caesar that was placed in the Temple of Venus Genetrix shortly after 44 b.c.e. was undoubtedly Octavian’s private dedication, not an official consecrated image that received cult worship.75 The image of Caesar in the Temple of Venus Genetrix would consequently have been a decoration (ornamentum) of the temple. The conservative imagery for Caesar’s cult statue in the Temple of Divus Iulius might even be explained as a response to criticism of Octavian’s statue of Caesar in the Temple of Venus Genetrix, if indeed that image were represented seminude. In Rome itself, even a private work in a public setting might be regarded as problematic if the imagery were too radical. Another explanation for the seminude figure on the coinage of Lentulus is possible: it may represent a statue of Caesar that was set up with images of Mars and Venus

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in the apse of the Temple of Mars Ultor in the Forum Augustum (figs. I.3, iii.1). Although Augustus’ forum was dedicated in 2 b.c.e., the temple was well underway by 14–12 b.c.e., when Lentulus’ coinage was issued. The placement of Caesar’s statue with those of Mars and Venus no doubt served to underscore Augustus’ familial relationship with Venus Genetrix, progenitor of the Julian house, and Mars, the ancestral god of the Roman people. A relief from Carthage, now in the Archaeological Museum in Algiers (fig. iii.13a), is thought to reflect this statuary group.76 Some have argued that the seminude figure to the right of Mars with a drill-hole in his head for the attachment of a bronze star (fig. iii.13b) is a rejuvenated deified Julius Caesar.77 A few scholars, however, have suggested that this image represents another youthful member of the Julio-Claudian family,78 although the facial features and hairstyle of this figure do not agree with those of any known member of the Augustan or Julio-Claudian house. That Caesar might have been shown as a rejuvenated figure with idealized facial features is demonstrated, I believe, by coin images like those on aurei and denarii issued by Marcus Sanquinius on the occasion of the Ludi Saeculares held by Augustus in 17 b.c.e. (fig. iii.14b).79 Although some have denied the identification of Caesar on the reverses of these coins because of the lack of portrait features,80 the comet on his head with tail projecting upward makes it clear that the deified Caesar is indeed intended here, with some assimilation of facial features to those of Augustus, whose image appears on the obverse (fig. iii.14a). Such assimilation was no doubt intended to stress the filial relationship between Divus Iulius and Octavian as divi filius.81 In my view, a similar process is involved in the case of the seminude figure on the Carthage Relief (fig. iii.13a–b), which may be understood as a rejuvenated Caesar with idealized facial features and a generalized hairstyle. The actual statue of Divus Iulius in the Temple of Mars Ultor would probably have belonged to Caesar’s second portrait type, as suggested by the idealization of the Carthage Relief figure. As discussed in chapter I, his earlier portrait type, known as the “Tusculum” (or “Caesar Dictator”) type, which was very likely created between 46 and 44 b.c.e., was more realistic than his rather idealized second type (“Chiaramonti-Camposanto” or “Divus Iulius” type).82 This later type, which was made after Caesar’s death and deification and which survives in many replicas, probably served as well for his cult image in his temple in the Roman Forum. Other statues of Divus Iulius, like that recalled in the coinage of



Fig. iii.14a–b. Denarius (obv.: head of Augustus; rev.: rejuvenated Divus Iulius with comet over his head), 17 b.c.e. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and Classical Numismatic Group

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Lentulus (fig. iii.12), are also likely to have been of this second type. The question of the propriety of setting up a seminude statue of Caesar in the Temple of Mars Ultor remains. First of all, the true cult image in the temple was the statue of Mars, not the flanking figure of Caesar (fig. iii.13a).83 Caesar’s statue was in all probability a votive image set up by Octavian/Augustus for his avenging of Caesar’s assassination,84 since that was the original reason for the erection of a temple to Mars the Avenger.85 The setting up of statues of individuals in a temple “for vows or pious reasons” was not unusual,86 nor was the erection of a noncult statue of one divinity in the temple of another god.87 In short, Caesar’s statue in the Temple of Mars Ultor, as in the Temple of Venus Genetrix, would have been a noncult image, a private dedication like the golden statue of Cleopatra that Caesar himself placed in his Temple of Venus Genetrix next to the cult image of Venus (Cass. Dio 51.22.3; Appian B Civ. 2.102) or the statue of Tiberius that was set up in the Forum Iulium by the provinces of Asia after 17 c.e. as a thank-offering for Tiberius’ rescinding of taxes following a devastating earthquake in that region.88 The Forum Iulium with its Temple of Venus Genetrix (fig. iii.1) was not built at the behest of the Senate and People of Rome but of Julius Caesar, who paid for it himself.89 As Helga Gesche noted, this was a form of “Familienheiligtum” (“family sanctuary”),90 a private endeavor that undoubtedly served as a model for Augustus in building his own forum (fig. I.3), which was likewise a private undertaking.91 As the ancient sources indicate, Augustus built his forum and its temple on private land (in privato solo) that he himself had purchased (RG 21; Suet. Aug. 29.1–2, 56.2). The phrase in privato solo reflects a legal distinction and the technical status of the Forum Augustum, even though it was obviously a place for public viewing and usage. But again, because Augustus himself is involved, we see the beginning of a blurring of the distinction between strictly official and strictly private. A seminude statue of Divus Iulius in the Temple of Mars Ultor should be understood in light of the changed political milieu in which it was set up. More than thirty years would have passed since the cult image of the deified Caesar in augural attire had been planned for Caesar’s temple in the Roman Forum. By 2 b.c.e. most of Caesar’s contemporaries and political opponents were long dead. According to the evolved standards of the Principate at that time, a presumably seminude mode of representation of a divinized individual would not have been problematic. In the case of the living, however, a certain propriety still had to be observed, at least from an official point of view—hence Augustus’ insistence that his own statue be placed in the porch of the Pantheon rather than inside among the images of the gods, including that of Divus Iulius.92

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Fig. iii.15. Dupondius (obv.: Divus Augustus Pater wearing solar crown), ca. 21–22 c.e.. Sutherland (1974) fig. 276

Similarly, after the death of Augustus, the conservative-minded Tiberius permitted images of himself to be set up in temples if they were not objects of cult worship but only part of the temple’s ornamenta (Suet. Tib. 26.1). As discussed in chapter II, it is necessary to be aware of distinctions between private and public, official and nonofficial, municipal and provincial—differences that exerted a profound influence on how individuals might be represented, especially in the early imperial period.

Fig. iii.16. Sestertius (obv.: statue of Divus Augustus, togate and radiate), ca. 22–23 c.e. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and the Classical Numismatic Group

The Manner of Representation of Deified Principes after Caesar Apart from nude or seminude representations in an official context, how might the divine status of a deified Princeps be indicated, especially since divi were Fig. iii.17a. Portrait of Augustus (Type III), Museo Archeologico, Venice. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and the Classical Numismatic Group Fig. iii.17b. Detail with holes for attachment of solar rays in head of Augustus, Museo Archeologico, Venice. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and the Classical Numismatic Group



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Fig. iii.18. Detail of head of Divus Augustus on the Ravenna Relief, San Vitale, Ravenna. Photo by author

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also sometimes depicted togate?93 In Roman visual culture, the solar (or radiate) crown is an interesting and important attribute of deified leaders.94 However, the solar crown does not appear to have been used as an attribute of Divus Iulius, at least not in any representation that has come down to us.95 Instead, as we have seen, his image often bore a comet or star, which was added after his death to many of his preexisting statues as a sign of his divinity. It should also be noted that the sun was considered to be a star. While a comet or star is also found with images of Divus Augustus in sculpture and on coinage (see chapter IX),96 a radiate crown appears to have been used for the first time officially for representations of Augustus only after his death in 14 c.e. Asses and dupondii were issued under Tiberius showing a radiate head of Augustus with the legend DIVVS AVGVSTVS PATER (“Deified Father Augustus”) (fig. iii.15),97 and in 22–23 c.e. sestertii were minted with an image of an enthroned and togate Divus Augustus with solar rays emanating from his head and holding a long ruler’s scepter in his left hand and an olive branch in his extended right hand (fig. iii.16).98 On the Grand Camée de France (a work of private court art of the Tiberian period discussed in chapter II), a togate Divus Augustus also appears in heaven wearing a solar crown (e.g., fig. II.28).99 Some of Augustus’ sculptural images created in his lifetime had actual metal solar rays added to them posthumously to signify that he had attained divine status,100 as in the case of a veiled head of his third portrait type in the Museo Archeologico in Venice (fig. iii.17a–b).101 In relief art created after his death, an altar from Praeneste in the Museo Archeologico Praenestino (Palestrina) shows his portrait head surrounded by solar rays,102 while the Ravenna Relief, dating to the late Julio-Claudian period, represents now barely visible sun rays carved in the marble above the oak crown worn by the seminude Augustus (fig. iii.18).103 A drill-hole indicates that a metal comet or star was also once attached at the top front part of his head. In cases in which the deified Augustus is represented togate, a radiate crown and/or a star would have served to signify his divinity, since the toga, as a civic garment, could not alone convey the idea of divinity or godlike status. Eventually the solar crown was to be

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adopted even for the living Princeps. Although Nero is commonly said to have been the first to be represented while alive wearing the solar crown on Roman state coinage, a seated figure that has been identified as Caligula is shown with solar rays emanating directly from his head on the reverse of some state dupondii (fig. iii.19).104 Since this manner of representation is not found on all of these dupondii, the rays may have been included initially but then omitted, perhaps in response to some adverse reaction. It is even possible that the solar rays were included in error by a die-engraver who thought the figure was meant to be Divus Augustus, whose head is on the obverse of this coin type. But if Caligula did intend an image of himself with solar rays, this need not indicate that he is necessarily to be seen as Neos Helios/Novus Sol (“the new sun-god”); it might instead have been meant to highlight Caligula’s relationship to Divus Augustus as both his successor and direct descendant.105 This explanation of the imagery is all the more likely in light of the absence of representations of Caligula with the trappings of divinity on any other Roman state coinage over the course of his brief Principate (see further chapters II, VIII). Caligula, however, was clearly the first living Princeps to be represented on eastern provincial coinage with the radiate crown, probably as a Neos Helios in keeping with Hellenistic traditions, but these provincial numismatic examples do not provide evidence of Caligula’s official ideology or acceptable state imagery.106 As for Nero, he commonly adopted the solar crown for his own portrait imagery on the obverse of official state coinage, especially dupondii from 64 c.e. on (plate IX).107 In the case of some aurei and denarii from this period,108 Nero is represented on the reverse togate and holding a Victoriola in his left hand and a laurel branch in his right, undoubtedly referring to his diplomatic victory in 63 c.e. over the Parthians. This would in turn have recalled Augustus’ own great diplomatic success involving the Parthians in 20 b.c.e., celebrated in the central scene of his statue from Prima Porta (fig. iv.15a–b; see further chapter IV). Above the figures on Augustus’ cuirass are depicted the sun-god himself, riding in a solar chariot. In addition, Nero’s victory—like that of Augustus—would have indirectly recalled that of Alexander the Great over the Persians, from whom the Parthians were symbolically descended. Alexander, too, had been honored with solar imagery, including the radiate crown.109 Notwithstanding these allusions, I believe that the primary purpose of Nero’s



Fig. iii.19. Dupondius (rev.: seated figure of Caligula with solar rays emanating from his head), Caligulan period. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and the Classical Numismatic Group

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Fig. iii.20. Reconstruction of Colossus set up by Nero. After Bergmann (1994) fig. 10

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solar imagery was to signify his personal relationship with both Divus Augustus and Divus Claudius.110 That being said, a comparison between the sun-god Sol and Nero, the man who built the radiant Domus Aurea (“Golden House”), cannot of course be excluded, though it was undoubtedly not expressed officially. A certain ambiguity may nevertheless have been desired. There is a similar ambiguity in the case of the colossal (100 Roman feet high) bronze image created by Zenodorus for Nero’s Golden House.111 Ancient sources indicate that this colossus, which is represented on coinage, underwent several alterations over time, including transformation into a Herculean Commodus.112 Although the nude statue that Nero set up in his vestibule was most likely originally a representation of the sun-god Sol, a recent reconstruction shows it with the actual facial features and hairstyle of Nero (fig. iii.20).113 To be sure, the statue was set up in the private context of his home, but it could be seen from afar. For that reason, any suggestion of assimilation of physiognomic features may have been far more subtle. The facial features of the statue may have been somewhat heavy, like those of Nero,114 thereby implying but not expressing an explicit connection. The colossus may even have had a Nero-like hairstyle (coma in gradus formata [“hair arranged in banks”]), which was said to resemble the flickering rays of the sun. It certainly had a crown of solar rays, which was one of Sol’s distinctive attributes, a feature that can be made out even on the small images of the statue on Roman coinage. Although this figure quite likely once bore an inscription that would have identified it as a statue of the sun-god Sol, that would not have prevented its perception, at least by some, as a statue of Nero in the guise of the sun-god, a notion reflected in the hostile anti-Nero lit115 erary tradition. Those who lauded the Caesars interpreted such imagery positively; those who denigrated their memories saw it negatively. At the opening of his Pharsalia (45–59), Lucan pokes fun at Nero’s evocation of solar imagery and his being overweight by likening him to the sun-god Phoebus and advising him to stand in the middle of his solar chariot, since his leaning too much one way or the other would spell disaster for the universe.116 In another case, Suetonius (Ner. 25.2) claims that Nero had himself openly represented on his coinage as an Apollo Citharoedus (“Apollo playing a cithara,” a type of harp).117 Scholars have consequently identified an image of a citharaplaying Apollo on Neronian asses issued between 64 and 66 c.e. (fig. iii.21) as

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Nero in the guise of Apollo.118 But the facial features of Apollo are totally idealized and bear no resemblance to Nero, and the figure does not even sport a Neronian hairstyle. Furthermore, the titulature on the coin makes no claim that Nero appears here in the guise of Apollo. In another example, scholars have interpreted two images on Neronian aurei and denarii produced between 64 and 66 c.e. as a togate Nero in the guise of Sol, wearing the solar crown and holding a long ruler’s scepter, while standing beside his wife Popaea or Messalina, depicted as the goddess Concordia with head veiled and carrying a single or double cornucopia (fig. iii.22).119 Each figure holds a patera in the extended right hand. The titulature of this coin type reads AVGVSTVS and AVGVSTA, which has been seen as referring to Nero Augustus and Popaea/Messalina Augusta, both of whom held this title. However, without their actual names added to the titulature, these images might also represent the deified Augustus and the deified Livia, who received the name Augusta during her lifetime after the death of her husband. Because of the size of the figures and the generalizing tendencies, neither the facial features nor hairstyles help in their identification, which remains inconclusive.120 It is also possible that the ambiguity was intentional. As these examples illustrate, it is clearly necessary to analyze the information provided by an ancient source in light of the reliability of that source and available physical evidence, which may support or contradict the assertions made by those who quite often had their own agendas. A cautious approach is all the more important when considering observations and assertions about controversial figures like Caligula and Nero, whose eccentric behavior may be presented by ancient sources in a way that obscures the reality of the situation. What ultimately mattered most in interpreting imagery were context and the inscriptions that accompanied sculptural works. In the case of the solar crown or solar rays, these clearly served as attributes of a deified Princeps during the Principates of Augustus, Tiberius, and Claudius and later. Under Caligula and Nero, it had another meaning that might be regarded as signifying their assimilation with the divine. In my view, however, the solar crown or solar rays would have served primarily to recall



Fig. iii.21. As (rev.: cithara-playing Apollo), 64–66 c.e. After Kent (1978) pl. 56, fig. 197

Fig. iii.22. Aureus (rev.: figures of Augustus and Augusta), 64–66 c.e. After Kent (1978) pl. 54.191

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Caligula and Nero’s illustrious lineage, which included direct descent from Divus Augustus himself.121 As discussed in chapter II, in the early years of the Empire, the leader of state was not represented in Rome in a direct relation with the divine in an official state context or even in a private context with a public aspect. The foreshadowing of this policy is apparent in the wholly mortal way in which the first deified historical leader, Julius Caesar, was depicted within his temple on coinage of about 36 b.c.e. (figs. iii.3, iii.6) and, I believe, in the actual statue that was set up in his temple. But his conservative manner of representation, in a trabea, without any divine attributes, gave way within twenty years or so to rather different imagery. From that time on, it was common to portray deified leaders in both official and private contexts as nude or seminude, with the radiate crown appearing also as a common attribute beginning with Divus Augustus and continuing throughout the imperial period. This particular iconography for the deified therefore served, in a sense, as a bridge between the conservative imagery of an idealized Republic and the representation of the living leader of the Roman State in the company of divinities and/or in divine guise in the later Empire.

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Notes 1. Hor. Carm. 1.12.47; Ov. Met. 15.49; Suet. Iul. 88; Pliny HN 2.94: Cass. Dio 45.7.1. The comet is variously referred to also as cometes, stella crinata, sidus crinitum, and stella comans. For the star/comet of Caesar, see Pesce (1933); Scott (1941); Weinstock (1971), especially 370–84; Ramage (1985) 239–41; Domenicucci (1996); Gurval (1997); Ramsey and Licht (1997). The notion of great men’s souls being translated to the stars appears to go back to Pythagoras: Varro, Res Divinae I, frag. 25b ed. R. Agahd (Commentarius Bernensis of Lucan IX.9). 2. See further Weinstock (1971), especially 371– 73; Green (2004) 234–49. 3. Green (2004) 248–49. 4. On this matter, see Weinstock (1971) 391–401; Gesche (1968) 82–87 and (1978) 379–80. For the deification of Julius Caesar in general, see especially Taylor (1931) 78–99; Gesche (1968); Weinstock (1971) 364– 410 (also for Caesar’s cult in Rome, Italy, and the provinces); Gesche (1978); Fishwick (1987) 56–72; Gradel (2002) 54–72; Zarrow (2007). 5. Romulus had been deified, but he was a legendary rather than a verifiable historical personage. Moreover, he is never called a divus: see Wardle (2002) 190. For the apotheosis of the leadership of Rome in general, see Taylor (1931); Clauss (1999); Gradel (2002); Zanker (2004); Herz (2007). 6. It should be noted, however, that the word divus had already been used before this time for the immortal gods, principally in poetry: see Wardle (2002). 7. See Jordan (1875); Lugli (1946); Zanker (1972) 12–15, plans V–VII; Cecchini (1985); Coarelli (1985) 231–32 et passim; Steinby (1987), especially 147–56; Richardson (1992) 213–14 s.v. “Iulius, Divus, Aedes”; LTUR III (1996) 116–19 s.v “Iulius, Divus, Aedes,” with further bibliography (P. Gros). For the arches, see chapter II above. See also in general Favro (1996) 198. 8. Dio speaks of the foundation of the temple’s being laid on the spot where Caesar’s body had been cremated: ἡρῷόν οἱ ἔν τῇ ἀγορᾷ καὶ ἐν τῷ τόπῳ ἐν ᾧ ἐκέκαυτο προκατεβάλοντο. 9. With regard to the temple, see Inscr. Ital. XIII.3, 497; Richardson (1992) 213–14 s.v. “Iulius, Divus, Aedes”; LTUR III (1996) 116–19 s.v. “Divus, Iulius, Aedes”; Westall (1996). 10. BMCRR II, 580–81 (nos. 32–37), pl. CXXII.4– 5; RRC 537–38 (no. 540.1–2). The mere fact of the representation of a building on a coin does not necessarily



mean that it had been completed; in some cases (e.g., the Temple of Clementia Caesaris), it was never constructed: Burnett (1999), especially 140–42. 11. See, e.g., Benndorf (1902). 12. For the Caesaris astrum, see Verg. Ecl. 9.47. 13. With regard to the terms agalma, xoanon, eikon, and andrias, see Price (1984) 176–79. 14. For the lituus as a priest’s staff and as a symbol of power, see Schaewen (1940) 66–68; Dick (1973) 6–95; Alföldi (1980) 142–43; Pollini (1993c) 262–63. Michael Crawford in RRC 537–38 (no. 540.1–2) identifies the figure in the temple as “wearing veil and holding lituus in r. hand.” See also Hill (1989) 21–23, fig. 21. Babelon (1885/1886) II: 59 (no. 138) long ago identified this figure correctly as Julius Caesar with lituus. See also Zanker (1988) 35, fig. 26. 15. Zanker (1972) 12, illus. III (line drawing, showing cult image in a reconstructed Temple of the Deified Julius Caesar in the Roman Forum). Zanker (1972) 32–33 n. 56 was of course not unaware that this coin type represents the cult image of Caesar with head veiled and with lituus in hand, although he does not state this definitively. I quote him on this matter: “Auf dem hier abgebildeten Münzbild [Zanker’s fig. 15] ist der Divus Iulius vielleicht capite velato wiedergegeben. Andere Stempel derselben Prägung stellen ihn sicher mit freiem Oberkörper ohne Kopfbedeckung dar. Auch andere Zeugnisse sprechen dafür, daß die Kultstatue Caesars in diesem Schema des ‘Hüftmanteltypus’ dargestellt war (zum Schema H. G. Niemeyer, Studien zur statuarischen Darstellung der römischen Kaiser 1968, Taf. 24): 1. das Relief mit der Kultbildgruppe des Mars Ultortempels (P. Zanker, Forum Augustum, 1968, Abb. 47). 2. ein Münzbild des Jahres 12 (?) v. Chr. Der durch den Clipeus Virtutis bezeichnete Augustus setzt dem Divus Iulius einem Stern aufs Haupt.” Cf. Zanker (1988) 35, fig. 26, in which he only notes that Caesar is represented with a lituus. Contrary to Zanker’s earlier interpretation, I know of no examples of the coin type of Octavian showing the cult image of Caesar in his temple with his upper body and head uncovered, although this might seem to be the case if a die-engraver represented an image very poorly and summarily. Compare, e.g., the crudely represented image of this coin type in Fuchs (1969) pl. 5.58 with the better image in pl. 4.57. Cf. Zanker (1997) 183, in which he represents without discussion the aureus of Octavian with the Temple of Divus Iulius (fig. 11). See also Sehlmeyer (1999) 244–45.

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16. This type has long been studied in Roman art: see, e.g., Oehler (1961); Niemeyer (1968); and more recently Hallett (2005) 123–25, 258–60 et passim. 17. From the Gymnasium at Pergamon and dated ca. 160 b.c.e. Although commonly identified as Poseidon, this statue could be a figure of Zeus, depending on whether the object the god once held in his upraised left hand was a trident or a ruler’s staff. See Rohde (1982) 128–29, figs. 107–108; LIMC VII (1994) 452 (no. 33*) (E. Simon); Boschung (1993a) 189 (no. 197), pls. 117, 217.1; Drefus and Schraudolph (eds.) (1996) 80–81 (cat. 18); Ridgway (2000) 44–46, 169, 246. 18. See, e.g., Niemeyer (1968) 30, 58, 102–103 (no. 76), pl. 24.3. See also Boschung (1993a) 73–74, 187 (cat. 197), pls. 117, 217.1, who dates this statue to the time of Tiberius; Allamani-Souri (2003) 115, fig. 37. 19. The other priesthood was pontifex. For Caesar’s augurate, see Cass. Dio 42.51.4. See also Hoffman Lewis (1955) 81. Those who have touched upon the coin image have generally been hard pressed to explain Caesar’s augural imagery: cf. Zanker (1972) 32–33; Prayon (1982) 322, pl. 71.6 (Caesar as Pontifex Maximus, relocated from the Regia to the temple); Simon (1986) 84–85, fig. 108 (Octavian as augur, a reference to his inauguration of the place of Caesar’s cult); Zanker (1988) 35, fig. 26 (Caesar with lituus); Trillmich (1988) 501–502 (cat. 308) (representation of Caesar as a priest). For the importance of augury to Octavian/ Augustus and his position in the Roman State, see especially Kearsley (2009). 20. On the role of augurs in interpreting signs from the gods, see Wissowa (1912) 523–34. The lituus was probably later transformed into the crosier, the distinctive staff of a bishop. It is said that “crosier” derives from the medieval Latin crocia (“crook”) and that it was an elaborate form of the shepherd’s staff: OCCAA 123 s.v. “Crosier.” In antiquity the shepherd’s staff was the pedum, which did not end in a spiral but curved slightly. In my opinion, it was the augur’s lituus that was adapted for the bishop’s crooklike staff, although this relationship has not always been realized. As a magical instrument, the lituus allowed the person who held it to interpret the will or word of the gods (or of the Christian god). The notion of the bishop as the “shepherd” of his “flock” was undoubtedly an overlay on the original meaning and significance of the lituus. 21. BMCRR I, 591–92 (nos. 4308–10), pl. LVIII.15; RRC 530 (no. 526.2), pl. LXIII.7. With regard to

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augural symbolism on other late Republican coinage, see Frier (1967); Stewart (1997); Zarrow (2007) 109–19. 22. Cf. also Stat. Silv. 1.1.22–24. 23. Pollini (1978) 304–309 and (1987) 13, 30–35, 37–39, 42, 46, 51 n. 47, 53–55, 58 n. 78, 59, 89–90, 98 (cat. 12), pl. 14; Galinsky (1996) 304, 306, fig. 142a; Lott (2004) 125–26, 144–46, 192–93; Bergmann (2010) 298– 99 (cat. no. 21). 24. From a grave at ancient Brigetio (end of the third to the early fourth century c.e.). This lituus is not catalogued in Dick (1973). See, however, Barkóczi (1965) 219–20, 238, 253–55, figs. 3, 5, pls. II–III. 25. See Megow (1987) 199–200 (A 80), pl. 27.1. 26. [E]t lituo pulcher trabeaque Quirinus. Ovid is discoursing here on the Altar of Jupiter Pistor (“the Baker”) in the Area Capitolina and the altar’s dedication commemorating the failure of the Gauls to take the Arx in ca. 390 b.c.e. As Boyle (2003) 221 has pointed out, it is “the collaborative union of the great gods of Rome—Jupiter, Mars, Venus, Quirinus (pictured here as augur, with augural ‘crook’ and ‘purple robe,’ 375), and Vesta (‘Saturnian virgin,’ 383)—and the besieged Romans themselves which generates victory.” 27. Serv. ad Aen. 7.612; Smith (1878) 1137 s.v. “toga.” See also Goette (1990) 6. 28. Wissowa (1912) 153–56; Porte (1981). 29. Burkert (1962); Alföldi (1971b) 27–36; Weinstock (1971) 177–84; Yavetz (1983) 40; Fishwick (1987) 57, 67–68. See also chapter V below. 30. See Gesche (1968) 94–95; Weinstock (1971) 183. 31. This temple had suffered damage by fire in 49 b.c.e. (Cass. Dio 41.14.3) and was presumably repaired or rebuilt in part by 45 b.c.e., only to be rebuilt entirely by Augustus and dedicated in 16 b.c.e. (RG 19; Cass. Dio 54.19.4). For this temple, see Richardson (1992) 326–27 s.v. “Quirinus, Aedes.” 32. On this point, see Wardle (2002) 190. 33. Weinstock (1971) 186–88 et passim; Fishwick (1987) 58; Sehlmeyer (1999) 228–29. For problems in the interpretation of Caesar’s divine honors, see also Gradel (2002) 54–72. 34. A relief fragment from the Principate of Domitian that probably once decorated the Templum Gentis Flaviae represents the façade of the Temple of Romulus-Quirinus on the Quirinal: Simon (1986) 95–96, fig. 121; Paris (ed.) (1994) 39–41, fig. 2, and 52–53 (color plate). Appearing before the doorway of the temple is

the flamen Quirinalis (priest of Quirinus), who is distinguished by his galerus/galerum (“cap”) with olive wood disc and apex (“spike”). For the galerus/galerum and apex, see Schaewen (1940) 59–64; Dick (1973) 96–176. 35. For the tradition of representing generals in triumphal garb, see the examples of L. Papirius Cursor, triumphator over the Samnites and Tarantines (272 b.c.e.), and M. Fulvius Flaccus, conqueror of the Volsinii (264 b.c.e.), who had themselves represented in triumphal dress in temples in Rome: Festus 228L. For the Roman triumph in general, see Versnel (1970); Künzl (1988); Holliday (1997); Östenberg (2003); Beard (2007); Östenberg (2009); Bergmann (2010) 37–108. 36. Weinstock (1971) 285; Fishwick (1987) 55; Sehlmeyer (1999) 227–28. See also Gradel (2002) 54–72. 37. See Scott (1925); Gagé (1930); Alföldi (1971b) 36–39; Porte (1981), especially 333–42; Coarelli (1983). 38. See, e.g., Syme (1939) 317–18; Ramage (1985). Cf. White (1988) and Kienast (2001), both of whom rightly challenge this view. In any case, an omission or avoidance of reference to Caesar in private literary sources would not represent Augustus’ official position with regard to his adoptive father. 39. See Richardson (1992) 74 s.v. “Casa Romuli”; LTUR I (1993) 241–42 s.v. “Casa Romuli (Germalus).” 40. Cic. Div. 1.17.30, 2.38.80; Val. Max. 1.8.11; Plut. Vit. Cam. 32; Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 14.2.2; Serv. ad Aen. 7.188. See also Liegle (1942) 275. For the shrine of the Salii, see Richardson (1992) 105 s.v. “Curia Saliorum Palatinorum”; LTUR I (1993) 335–36 s.v. “Curia Saliorum.” 41. On the distinction between direct and indirect associations, see further chapter II above and Pollini (1990a). 42. See, e.g., Simon (1967) 24–25, pl. 1.2; La Rocca (1983) 43, 44 (pl.). See also chapter V. 43. Romulus as augur in the pediment was first proposed by Vittorio Spinazzola: Zanker (1968) 14, fig. 46. See also Geiger (2008) index s.v. “Romulus.” 44. Wall painting from the House of Fabius Ululitremulus (Casa Polybiorum) (IX.13.5). See Alföldi (1971b) 17 with n. 9 for further bibliography, fig. 2. See also Zanker (1968) 17, fig. 41; LIMC VII (1994) 641 s.v. “Romulus” (no. 9*) (J. P. Small); Galinsky (1996) 204, fig. 116; Spannagel (1999) 87, 397 (R 7), pl. 3.4. 45. See in general Spannagel (1999) 132–61, pls. 12–15. For the fragment of the statue from Mérida, see Nogales Basarrate (2008).



46. For the identification of Romulus, see Bickerman (1973) 15 n. 4. See also Pollini (1978) 299–302 with further references. The stories of Romulus vary in details. The earliest Latin source for Romulus’ apotheosis seems to have been Ennius Ann. 1.33 (see Skutsch [1985] 74, 205–206); Serv. ad. Aen. 6.777. For the Augustan period, see Ov. Fast. 2.491–96: rex [Romulus] patriis astra petebat equis (496) (“the king [Romulus] sought the stars by means of the horses of his father”). Cf. Ov. Met. 14.805–51; Livy 1.16; Plut. Vit. Rom. 27.5– 28.3. See also Galinsky (1996) 319–21, fig. 151. 47. For the connection of Romulus with the location of the Pantheon, see especially Coarelli (1983). For the Pantheon in general, see also Richardson (1992) 283–86 s.v. “Pantheon”; LTUR IV (1999) 54–61 s.v. “Pantheon” (A. Ziolkowski). 48. For Iulius Proculus and the Iulii, see Burkert (1962) 362–63, 371, 375; Gagé (1972). Cf. the testis who acknowledged that he had seen Augustus ascending to heaven, on the model of Iulius Proculus (Suet. Aug. 100; Cass. Dio 56.46). 49. The original function of the Pantheon was undoubtedly that of an Augusteum, or shrine to the gods and the living leader, based on Hellenistic models. After the founding of the Principate this idea was abandoned in favor of a dynastic shrine honoring the planetary gods and Divus Iulius: Coarelli (1983) 44–45; Fishwick (1992a) and (1992b) 334. 50. Such a figure appears, for example, in Henner von Hesberg’s study of the architecture of the Mausoleum in Hesberg and Panciera (1994) fig. 35. 51. I first proposed this in Pollini (1993c) 285, fig. 86. 52. For the three triumphs of Romulus, see Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 2.34 (over the Caeninenses and Antemnates), 54.1–2 (over the Camerini), 55.5 (over the Veientes). For the fragmentary inscription from the Fasti Triumphales Capitolini recording Romulus’ triumphs, see CIL2 I, 43, I (= Inscr. Ital. XIII.3, 70 [no. 86]). 53. Burkert (1985) 203. 54. See Gesche (1968) 60. In the end, Caesar’s body was cremated in the Roman Forum, where his temple was to be built, while his ashes were deposited in the so-called Tumulus Iuliorum in the Campus Martius, where his daughter Julia had been buried: Cass. Dio 44.51.1. See further Weinstock (1971) 355. Caligari (2001) attempts to locate the family tomb of Caesar in the area of Monte Cenci, but I do not find this theory convincing.

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55. See also Jordan (1875) 345, 350. For the parallel of Greek hero cults within the boundaries of the city, see Taylor (1931) 45–46. 56. On the funeral, see Weinstock (1971) 346–55; Sumi (2005) 74–120, especially 100–115. 57. Just when this altar was walled in is debated. Some have dated this alteration to the time of Augustus himself; others to the time of Hadrian; and still others to the Christian period. This last suggestion is the least likely based on the molding of the wall that is still in place. The base of this altar may originally have served as the base for the column in Numidian marble that Dolabella had torn down. For this altar, which is also shown on Octavian’s coins of 36 b.c.e., see especially Lugli (1946) 200–201 and Montagna Pasquinucci (1974), who, like Lugli, believes that the altar was walled in already in the Augustan period. See also Coarelli (1985). In the opinion of Montagna Pasquinucci (1974), this walling up of the altar would have occurred at the end of the first century b.c.e. or early in the first century c.e., supposedly as the result of Augustus’ attempt to distance himself from Caesar, a view expressed by R. Syme that Montagna Pasquinucci follows (155 with n. 32). I believe that the notion of Octavian/Augustus’s actively distancing himself from Caesar is overstated: see n. 38 above. 58. With regard to this honor, generally viewed as including the right to have his portrait on this coinage, see Weinstock (1971) 274–75. For various numismatic representations of Caesar that appear to date before his death, see RRC 491 (no. 480.21), pl. LVII; BMCRR 549 (nos. 4176–77), pl. LIV.22. Prior to his assassination, various statues of Caesar were set up as well: see Cadario (2006). For the statues of Caesar, see also Lahusen (1984) 46–51, 109, 151. Zarrow (2007) 107–109 has rightly pointed out that Cassius Dio refers only to the honor of the title Parens Patriae—with no mention of Caesar’s portrait—being placed on the coinage. 59. See Gradel (2002) 54–72, 262–65 et passim. 60. Gradel (2002) 262; with regard to the ancient sources, see 55 with n. 4, in which Gradel cites Cic. Phil. 2.43, 110; Cass. Dio 44.4ff; App. B Civ. 2.106; Suet. Iul. 76.1, 84.2. 61. Weinstock (1971) 331–40. 62. See further Gradel (2002) 54, 58–59 with other references; Cadario (2006) 27–32. 63. For this relief and a discussion of this lost statue, see Weinstock (1971) 40–53, pl. 4; Sehlmeyer (1999) 225–27. See also Gradel (2002) 54–72.

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64. See Weinstock (1971) 42–45. 65. See in general Weinstock (1971); Yavetz (1983) 25–48 et passim. 66. Servius (ad Aen. 9.47) also mentions that a golden star (aurea stella) was placed on Caesar’s statue on the Capitoline. 67. Ipse vero Augustus in honorem patris stellam in galea coepit habere depictam (“Indeed, Augustus himself began to have represented a star on his helmet in honor of his father [Caesar]”). In my view, it was in imitation of Octavian’s placement of a star on his helmet that Constantine added the Christian “solar star,” the Chi-Rho, to his helmet. For Constantine’s use of this symbol on his helmet, see Euseb. Vit. Const 1.31.4; Prudent. C. Symm. 1. 488. Constantine is also shown on his coinage (Ticinum) wearing a helmet with the Christogram on it: see, e.g., RIC VII, 364 (no. 36), pl. 9; Alföldi (1932); Kent (1978), 331 (no. 648), pl. 163. These sources do not make the connection between the symbols on the helmets of Constantine and Octavian. 68. See Ramsey and Licht (1997) 153. 69. Weinstock (1971) 373, 399 (with n. 12 for the inscriptional evidence); Gesche (1978). For the rhetoric of succession in the late Republic and early Empire, see Mlasowsky (1996). 70. See BMCRE I, 26 (no. 124), pl. 4.14; RIC2 I, 74 (no. 415), pl. 7; Weinstock (1971) 102, 379, pl. 28.10; Zanker (1988) 35, fig. 25a. See also Gurval (1997) on the varied dating. The seminude figure of Caesar is sometimes identified, wrongly in my opinion, as Agrippa: see, e.g., Niemeyer (1968) 58; Sehlmeyer (1999) 241. 71. As Hallett notes (2005) 127–28, this appears to be our earliest secure evidence for the hip-mantle type in Rome itself, although there may have been some earlier examples of the same type that are less reliably dated. 72. For anniversary issues in general, see Grant (1950). 73. The appearance of Halley’s Comet in 12 b.c.e. is confirmed by ancient Chinese sources: cometography.com/pcomets/001p.html (accessed December 28, 2010). Cassius Dio (54.29.8) also references a comet in 12 b.c.e. 74. This statue should not be confused with another image of Caesar in cuirass that he himself allowed to be set up in his honor in his own forum: Plin. HN 34.18; Ep. 8.6.1.

75. The statue is called a simulacrum (literally a “likeness”) by Pliny (HN 2.94) and Suetonius (Iul. 88). Cassius Dio (45.7.1) says it was a χαλκοῦν (“bronze work”). Attempts to distinguish between a consecrated cult image (i.e., the recipient of cult worship) and a noncult one based purely on linguistic differences are not always successful, since in some instances various terms were used interchangeably for images of mortals, gods, or divinized individuals: Price (1984) 176–79. See also Pekáry (1985) 56–58; Stewart (2003) 20–28, 184– 95. For statues and temples as private dedications, see further below. 76. See, e.g., Gsell (1899); Zanker (1968) 18–19, fig. 47; Fittschen (1976) 184–85; Spannagel (1999) 300– 303 et passim. Although this relief has nothing to do with the cult image of Caesar in his own temple in the Roman Forum, Zanker (1972) 32–33 n. 56 has adduced it as evidence, wrongly in my opinion, to support his reconstruction of Caesar’s earlier cult statue as seminude in Caesar’s temple in the Roman Forum. Another possibility is that Lentulus’ coin shows the statue of Caesar that was set up alongside Venus and Mars in the Agrippan Pantheon, which was built between about 27 and 25 b.c.e.: see Richardson (1992) 283 s.v. “Pantheon”; LTUR 4 (1999) 54–61; Meneghini and Santangeli Valenzani (2007) 31–42. 77. This was first proposed by Gsell (1899). See also Pesce (1933) 409–10; Gros (1976) 168 n. 114; Fittschen (1976) 187–88, fig. 8. 78. See, e.g., E. Strong in CAH Plates IV, 136b, who early on questioned the identification of Caesar; Zanker (1988) 196–97, fig. 151 with caption. 79. BMCRE I, 13 (nos. 69–73), pls. 2.l9–20, 3.1; RIC2 I, 66 (nos. 337–42), pl. 6.340; Sutherland and Kraay (1975) nos. 284–85, pl. 6. For other numismatic sources, see also Pollini (1990a) 352 n. 80; Hannestad (1992) fig. 1a–b; Spannagel (1999) 302; Bergmann (2010) 359 (cat. no. 53k.1–2) with further bibliography. 80. For various interpretations, see especially Fittschen (1976) 188. 81. For a discussion of assimilation in Augustan imagery, see Pollini (1990a); for this coin type: 352–53, fig. 26 (Caesar), fig. 27 (Augustus). For assimilation in general, see Massner (1982). 82. See chapter I above with nn. 242, 245 for the Tusculum/Caesar Dictator type and nn. 246–47 for the Chiaramonti-Camposanto/Divus Iulius type. 83. The same would be true of images of Octavian that were set up in temples of Italian municipalities



next to the statues (i.e., cult images) of their gods. See App. B Civ. 5.132. 84. See also Fishwick (1992b) 335–36 on this point. 85. The motive for building the temple was modified later (after 20 b.c.e.) to include the avenging of the loss of Roman standards to Parthia: Ov. Fast. 5.579–80. 86. P Oxy. 12, 1449, ll. 11–12. See Fishwick (1992b) 329–31. The tradition of setting up statues of distinguished individuals in temples dates back to earlier in the Republic: Pekáry (1985) 57. For Roman statuary in a social and cultural context, see in general Stewart (2003); Fejfer (2008). 87. See, e.g., the surviving statue of Hermes with the child Dionysos that had been set up in the Temple of Hera at Olympia and is mentioned by Pausanias: Mallwitz (1972) 146, fig. 116. 88. For this statue, see chapter II above with nn. 134–36. 89. The cost of the Forum Iulium was staggering— some hundred million sestertii: Plin. HN 36.103; Suet. Iul. 26.2. See in general Richardson (1992) 165–67 s.v. “Forum Iulium”; Ulrich (1993). See also Sauron (2001). 90. Gesche (1968) 68–69. Cf. Cicero, who, griefstricken over the death of his daughter Tullia, wanted to build a shrine (fanum) to her (Att. 12.36.1), but in the end abandoned the project. See Weinstock (1971) 291 with n. 3; Wrede (1981) 28–29, 80–81, 91. See also Wrede (1981) in general for the question of consecration of individuals in the private sphere. 91. For the Forum Augustum, see in general Zanker (1968); Richardson (1992) 160–62 s.v. “Forum Augustum”; Ganzert (1996); Spannagel (1999); Ganzert (2000); Ungaro (2002) and (2007a). 92. Cass. Dio 53.27.3–4. See also Fishwick (1992b). 93. Cf. Hallett (2005) 225: “A review of the representations of Divi (deified emperors) which have come down to us demonstrates that they were generally represented—not nude—but wearing the toga. This circumstance—which to my knowledge has been completely overlooked in studies of imperial iconography—is sufficiently important to what follows that I will provide here a fairly full presentation of the evidence (references to convenient illustrations are provided in the footnotes).” Among his select examples (as noted above), Hallett includes the figure of Divus Augustus in the pediment of the Temple Novum in Rome, which is clearly seminude, not togate as Hallett claims (226). Another example that he cites (his pl.

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133) presents Divus Augustus seminude, not togate. Besides this figure, there are other demonstrably posthumous examples of seminude or nude figures of divi, as on the Ravenna Relief and the Carthage Relief, as well as the nude figures of Divus Vespasian and Divus Titus from a sacellum of the Augustales at Cape Miseno (which makes use of the term divus on the base of the statues: see chapter II above). It is important to remember that an incalculable number of images of divi with even partially preserved bodies have not come down to us. Many (largely marble) Roman sculptures are headless statues or are portrait heads of imperial personages without bodies, typically with no accompanying inscriptions and no original context. It is therefore virtually impossible to know which nude or seminude figures originally represented divi, as opposed to gods or private individuals, who also made use of this imagery (see, e.g., Tert. Ad nat. 1.10.26– 27). In addition, in the case of imperial personages, we cannot know in a number of cases whether such statues were set up in the lifetime of an individual or after his or her death and official deification. See also Bergmann (1998) 110–12, who rightly cites evidence that there was no single accepted iconographical type for the representation of divi. 94. See in general the excellent study by Bergmann (1998). See also Hijmans (2006). 95. See Bergmann (1998) 89, who notes the unusual reference only by Florus (Epit. 2.13.91) to Caesar’s being offered among other honors in 44 b.c.e. the right to wear a radiate crown in the theater (in theatro distincta radiis corona). It is possible that Pompey was represented on the coinage of Aristarchos of Colchis with a solar crown, but this would be a case of non-Roman imagery. On this matter, see Bergmann (1998) 85–88. 96. See, e.g., the following undated aurei from the Principate of Tiberius: BMCRE I, 124 (nos. 28–29), pl. 22.18–19; RIC2 I, 95 (nos. 23–24), pl. 11. A comet or star was also sometimes used, as on the Ravenna Relief, for other deceased members of the imperial family who had not been officially deified. 97. BMCRE I, 140 (nos. 141–60), pls. 25.10–11, 26.1–6, 12. See also Bergmann (1998) 103 et passim, pl. 20.1. See also Kent (1978) 280 (no. 150), pl. 42; Sutherland (1974) 148, fig. 276. With regard to the figure of Divus Augustus on this coinage, see further chapter VII, appendix. 98. BMCRE I, cxxxiv, 130 (nos. 74–75), pl. 23.17; RIC2 I, 97 (no. 49), pl. 11; Fuchs (1969) 44, 80, 100–101,

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pl. 9. 107. See also Bergmann (1998) 107, pl. 20.3; Hallett (2005) 225–26, fig. 133 (left). 99. On the Grand Camée de France, see Jeppesen (1974); Megow (1987) 202–207 (A 85), pl. 32.5–10; Boschung (1989) 64–68, 119 (cat. 44) and (1993a) 195 (cat. 216), pl. 205.4; Giard (1998b); Bergmann (1998) 108–109, 112, 116, pl. 21.3–4. 100. See, e.g., Bergmann (1998) 110–12 et passim. 101. Boschung (1993a) 109 (cat. 5), pl. 6; Bergmann (1998) 111, pl. 24.2. With regard to this portrait type, see also Pollini (1999a) 730. 102. Bergmann (1998) 105, 112, pl. 21.2, 24.5–6. 103. See Bergmann (1998) 110 with n. 680, pl. 23.1–4 (especially 4). The Ravenna Relief has often been placed in the Claudian period, but cf. Pollini (1981) for a Neronian dating. See also chapter IX below, fig. IX.8a–b. 104. It was once thought that Augustus was represented as the seated togate figure on the reverse of these dupondii: BMCRE I, 160 (nos. 88–92), pl. 30.7 (Augustus); RIC2 I, 112 (no. 56), pl. 14 (Augustus?). However, this figure is now believed to be Caligula: see Kaenel (1978); Levy (1988); Bergmann (1998) 129 n. 816. Like Caligula, the seated figure not only appears with longer hair at the nape of the neck but also sits on a curule chair instead of a throne, as we might expect for Divus Augustus. Cf. Bergmann (1998) 129 n. 816, who doubts that the rays on his head are ancient. However, based on good-quality examples of this coin type, the rays do appear to be the work of an ancient engraver, not modern additions. This is also the opinion of Joseph Geranio, a Roman numismatist with whom I have consulted on this matter. I thank him for sharing prepublication information on this coin type with me. 105. Augustus’ daughter Julia was the mother of Agrippina Maior, who was the mother of Caligula. Caligula was therefore Augustus’ great-grandson. 106. For this provincial coinage, see Bergmann (1998) 127–29. 107. BMCRE I, 236–47, pls. 43.4–5, 43.9–10, 44.2– 4; RIC2 I, 163 (no. 202), 167 (no. 291), pl. 20. See also Bergmann (1998) 172–75. For Nero and the excesses of his imagery in official and nonofficial/private art in general, see Bergmann (1998) 133–230. Cf. Champlin (2003), especially 112–44. For Nero as artist and architect, see in general Tomei and Rea (2011). 108. BMCRE I, 208 (nos. 56–60), pl. 39.13–14; RIC2 I, 153 (nos. 46–47). See also Bergmann (1998) 175–81, pl. 34.4–6.

109. For Alexander’s solar imagery, see Bergmann (1998) 67–84 et passim. 110. For Divus Claudius’ imagery, see Bergmann (1998) 130–32. In addition to being the great-grandson of Augustus, Caligula was related by blood to Claudius, who was Augustus’ great-nephew. 111. Suetonius (Ner. 31.1) gives the height of the colossus as 120 Roman feet; Cassius Dio (66.15.1), as 100 Roman feet. The statue itself was undoubtedly a hundred-foot monument with all that this symbolized, while the base, probably filled with cement to support the weight of the statue, was 20 Roman feet high. For other literary sources, see Richardson (1992) 93–94 s.v. “Colossus Solis (Neronis)”; LTUR I (1993) 295–98 s.v. “Colossus: Nero” (C. Lega). For discussion of this colossal statue, see Bergmann (1994) and (1998) 190 fig. 3; Smith (2000); Albertson (2001); Hallett (2005) 178–79, 247, 251, 253, fig. 9; Ruck (2007) 213 et passim; Galinsky (2008) 10–11, fig. 14. Less well known, but interesting, is Pliny’s mention (HN 35. 51–52) of a colossal painting of Nero on linen 120 Roman feet in height that stood in the Gardens of Maius in Rome but was destroyed by fire when hit by a lightning bolt. Given the size of the painting, one wonders whether it was in a sense a pendant to the colossal bronze statue of Sol. 112. It was said that Commodus had the entire head cut off and replaced with his own and added accouterments of Hercules: SHA Comm. 17.9–10; Cass. Dio 73.22.3, Herodian 1.15.9. For representations on coinage, see Bergmann (1998) pl. 37.3, 5. 113. See Bergmann (1994) 26, fig. 10 and (1998) 191, fig. 3.



114. Cf. the image of Sol with heavy facial features on the cuirass of a now headless statue in the Museo Gregoriano Profano: Giuliano (1957) 26–27, pl. 18 (no. 29b); Helbig4 II (1963) 756 (no. 1053). The head of the cuirassed statue is missing. Since the pudgy Sol on the cuirass resembles Nero, the statue may once have represented Nero, though as far as I know this has not been previously suggested. 115. For hostility in the ancient sources toward certain Caesars, see further chapter VIII below. 116. Cf. Ov. Met. 2.1–328. We are of course to recall Phoebus’ advice to his son Phaeton to stay the middle course (2.137) lest disaster befall the universe and the earth below, as it did at the hands of the foolish, inexperienced youth. 117. Cf. chapter II above for the statue of Apollo in the Palatine library that was said to have the facial features of Augustus. 118. BMCRE I, 245 (nos. 234–38), 274 (nos. 376–77), pls. 44.7–8, 44.10, 45.2, 47.7; RIC2 I, 158 (nos. 73–82), pl. 18, 174 (nos. 380–81), pl. 21; Kent (1978) 285, pl. 56.197r. For a discussion of this coin type, dating, and Apolline imagery, see also Bergmann (1998) 185–89, pl. 36.1–5. 119. BMCRE I, 208 (nos. 52–55), pl. 39.11–12; RIC2 I, 153 (nos. 44–45), pl. 18. See also Bergmann (1998) 175–81, pl. 35.1–4. 120. Cf. Bergmann (1998) 178. 121. Caligula, as noted, was Augustus’ great-grandson. Nero was Augustus’ great-great-grandson: his mother Agrippina Minor was the granddaughter of Augustus’ daughter Julia.

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Cha p ter IV

From Warrior to Statesman in Art and Ideology Octavian/Augustus and the Image of Alexander the Great

L  Fig. iv.1. Stele of Naram-Sin (originally from Sippar), Louvre, Paris. After BonfanteWarren (2000) 41

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ong before the rise of Rome, imagery of the warrior-leader played an important role in the political and domestic ideology of the ancient world. Equally if not more importantly, it also validated his right to rule, as a result of his god-given charisma1 and his civic and military virtues.2 Illustrating this point for the ancient Near East is a stele on which the great Akkadian warriorking Naram-Sin stands victorious over his enemies (fig. iv.1).3 For Egypt, the pharaoh Ramesses II is shown shooting down his foes from his war-chariot in a wall relief in the Ramesseum near Luxor (plate X).4 Such images graphically symbolize the king’s prowess and his quest for immortality through accomplishing heroic deeds that usually involved warfare.5 For the Western tradition, it was Alexander the Great who embodied what it meant to be both a warrior-leader and an empire-builder.6 Leaders who came after him, especially those bent on empire, knew that their deeds would be measured and judged against his. Alexander was imitated and emulated not only by his Hellenistic Greek successors but also by the Romans, who saw themselves as inheritors of his world and charisma. Roman leaders from the great Scipio Africanus, who defeated Hannibal in the late second century b.c.e., to Pompey, Crassus, Caesar, and Marc Antony at the close of the Roman Republic all sought to recall Alexander in various ways.7 Intent upon comparing Alexander’s accomplishments with those of Rome’s military leaders, Roman historians pondered questions: If Alexander had lived, would he have turned his military aims and ambitions to the West? If he had engaged Roman legions, would he have defeated them as easily as he did the armies of degenerate eastern barbarians? For Roman historians like Livy (9.17–19), who wrote about the military acumen and accomplishments of the great commanders of the Republic, the answer to the latter question was a resounding

“no.” Matters of leadership and tactical ability aside, Roman and Greek historians considered the rather inflexible Macedonian phalanx of Alexander to be no match for the highly maneuverable Roman legion and its weaponry,8 as amply demonstrated at the battles of Kynoskephalai, Magnesia, and Pydna, in which Romans fought Greeks.9 Although Roman commanders sought to emulate Alexander in their deeds, few actually tried to imitate him closely in their portraiture. One who did to a certain extent was the Roman statesman and general Gnaeus Pompey.10 In an early imperial copy of a portrait of Pompey from Rome now in the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen, probably representing him as consul for the second time (fig. i.27),11 he is portrayed with a hairstyle intended to recall Alexander’s anastolé (wavelike hairdo), as represented, for example, in the so-called Azara Herm in the Louvre (fig. iv.2) bearing the name of Alexander on its base.12 But in Pompey’s coiffure the large undulating lock over Alexander’s forehead is reduced to a little up-welling tuft of hair. Though in looks Pompey fell rather short of the handsome and dashing young Alexander, it appears that it was not Pompey’s intention to bend the truth too much. Instead, it seems that he sought to cultivate a look that would indirectly recall Alexander and at the same time appeal more directly to a Roman audience—an image that would capture Pompey’s facilitas et humanitas (“affability and humanity”). The ancient biographer Plutarch (Vit. Pomp. 2.1) remarks on Pompey’s “affable dignity” (ἐράσμιον ἀξιωματικὸν), while noting that “there was a certain gentle swelling up of his hair and a suppleness of the contours of his face around his eyes, producing a resemblance—more talked about than apparent—to the images of King Alexander” (ἦν δὲ τις καὶ ἀναστολὴ τῆς κóμῆς ἀτρέμα καὶ τῶν περὶ τὰ ὄμματα ῥυθμῶν ὑγρότης τοῦ προσώπου, ποιοῦσα μᾶλλον λεγομένην ἢ φαινομένην ὁμοιότητα πρὸς τὰς Ἀλεξάνδρου τοῦ βασιλέως εἰκόνας).13 A comparison of the Azara Herm of Alexander and the Ny Carlsberg head of Pompey shows Alexander as more distant and aloof than Pompey, who appears more kindly and approachable. Julius Caesar also sought to recall Alexander, but not in portrait features or even in hairstyle. Of all the Romans, it was Caesar whom Plutarch chose to compare with Alexander in his parallel lives of famous Greeks and Romans.14



Fig. iv.2. Azara Herm of Alexander the Great, Louvre, Paris. Photo by author

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Fig. iv.3. Reconstruction of the Forum of Julius Caesar, Rome. After Brown (1961) fig. 36

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From the ancient literary record, we know that Caesar was going bald and had an oddly shaped skull, a physiological deformity called clinocephalia. This saddlelike formation of the skull can be seen in a marble portrait of him from Tusculum (fig. I.31a–b), an image that was probably created either shortly before or after his death.15 Not to be outdone by his great political rival Pompey in seeking association with Alexander, Caesar brought back to Rome from Greece a famous bronze equestrian statue of Alexander, created by his court sculptor Lysippos.16 One of the remarkable aspects of Alexander’s horse Boukephalos was its hooves, which were said to have resembled human feet (Plin. HN 8.154– 155; Stat. Silv. 1.1.84–88), a feature also shared with Caesar’s own horse (Suet. Iul 61).17 The statue of Alexander with his horse was set up in the middle of Caesar’s monumental forum in Rome, the Forum Iulium (fig. iv.3). As we also know from the Latin poet Statius (Silv. 1.1.84–88), the head of Alexander in Lysippos’ statue was replaced with that of Caesar—a specific example of a portrait statue of Alexander being altered to accommodate Caesar’s desire for association with him.18 The bronze equestrian statue of Domitian from Cape Miseno provides us with an example of the reuse and transformation of such a bronze equestrian image (fig. II.44a–b).19 In this case, Domitian, whose memory had been damned, underwent an actual “face-lift” in that his entire face was cut out and replaced with a “face-mask” of his imperial successor Nerva. Because of the similarity of the hairstyles of Domitian and Nerva, there was no need to replace Domitian’s entire head. The pose of this figure and the Macedonian-like cuirass decorated

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Fig. iv.4. Bronze equestrian statue of Alexander the Great from Herculaneum, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples. After La Rocca and Parisi Presicce (eds.) (2010) fig. ii.22

with a gorgoneion20 that Domitian/Nerva wears suggest that this statue might have adapted some lost equestrian image of Alexander. It may have been similar in appearance, though not scale, to a small bronze Greco-Roman equestrian statue of Alexander from Herculaneum, now in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale in Naples (fig. iv.4).21 In fact, the converted statue of Alexander with the head of Caesar that once stood in the Forum Iulium in Rome might also have been an “action figure” like the bronze figure from Herculaneum, rather than a static image, as reproduced in an artist’s reconstruction of Caesar’s forum (fig. iv.3).22 However, in the case of the now lost statue of Caesar, it is important to bear in mind that Alexander’s memory was not being damned by the replacement of his head with that of Caesar. Instead, the conversion was intended to make a graphic political statement—Caesar was now the “New Alexander.”



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Octavian and Alexander In the case of Octavian, recalling Alexander and his imagery was attractive as a means of compensating for Octavian’s youth and lack of military experience when contending early in his career with his older political opponents for control of the Roman State.23 At the age of only nineteen, the remarkable Octavian had entered the treacherous and turbulent world of Roman politics in the aftermath of Caesar’s assassination in 44 b.c.e. Religion, too, played a key role in shaping the image of the new savior (conservator) of the Roman State, for many divine portents and miraculous occurrences, not only around the time of his birth and during his youth but also at the time of his arrival in Rome after the murder of Caesar, presaged his rise to power and future greatness (Suet. Aug. 94–95). For example, as Octavian was entering the City, a circlelike rainbow suddenly formed around the sun’s disc out of a clear and cloudless sky (Suet. Aug. 95).24 This heavenly sign was most likely the inspiration for the famous story invented by Lactantius (De mort. pers. 44) about Constantine, who supposedly saw a signum caeleste (“heavenly sign”) in the sky before the Battle of the Milvian Bridge that presaged his rise to power.25 Modern scholarship has often speculated, rightly in my opinion, on this signum caeleste being a solar halo or nimbus, but to my knowledge it has not been noted that a very similar story was told about Octavian/Augustus, the founder of the Empire, whom Constantine emulated.26 After assuming his inheritance from Caesar and becoming leader of the Caesarian party, Octavian began his bitter uphill struggle with Marc Antony, who was then in his forties and already an accomplished political and military leader.27 Although it would have been natural to be concerned about comparison with the more tested Antony,28 Octavian was able to turn his youth into a political advantage by evoking comparison with Alexander, who was only twenty when he succeeded his father Philip, who—like Caesar—had been assassinated. The analogy between Octavian and Alexander was not lost on the Romans. In fact, a year after Caesar’s death, Cicero heaped praise and honors on Octavian in public (Phil. 5.42–51), while drawing a comparison between the youth of Octavian and that of Alexander (5.48). Octavian himself highlights his young age at the time in his own record of his achievement. In the Res Gestae (1.1), he begins his account of his career with the following words: Annos undeviginti natus, exercitum, privato consilio et privata impensa, comparavi, per quem, rem publicam, a dominatione factionis oppressam, in libertatem vindicavi (“At the age of nineteen, on my own responsibility and at my own expense, I raised an army, with which I successfully championed the liberty of the Republic, when it was oppressed by the tyranny of a faction”).

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The faction referred to was of course that of his political enemy Marc Antony and Antony’s supporters. Octavian could also cast his early military achievements in a more noble light than those of Alexander, for Alexander’s military exploits were regarded by Romans as an attempt to promote his own personal ambitions and glory, while Octavian could claim that his were intended to save the Roman State. In an early portrait type of Octavian, created around 40 b.c.e. and best represented by a head in a private collection in Alcudia, Majorca (fig. iv.5),29 the young leader is shown as mature and resolute, a force and presence to be reckoned with. In this portrait type, most likely Octavian’s third official one, he is honored as triumvir and restorer of the Republic.30 With furrowed brow, tousled hair, and dramatically turned and uplifted head, this type recalled Alexander’s imagery, especially sculptural works created by Lysippos, as reflected in part in the Azara Herm (fig. iv.2), as well as more dramatic looking Hellenistic reinterpretations, such as the head from Pergamon in the Archaeological Museum in Istanbul dating to the second century b.c.e. (fig. iv.6).31 The portrait model used for the Alcudia head seems also to have served for the image of Octavian on a sestertius minted between about 40 and 38 b.c.e. (fig. iv.7).32 On this coin the head of Octavian is presented on the obverse; that of his adoptive father, the deified Caesar, on the reverse. The Latin CAESAR DIVI F in the legend on the obverse indicates that Octavian is the “son of the deified one,” Caesar, who is identified on the reverse of the coin as DIVOS IVLIVS (= Divus Fig. iv.5. Octavian (Type III), private collection, Alcudia, Majorca. After Zanker (1978) fig. 1 Fig. iv.6. Head of Alexander from Pergamon, Archaeological Museum, Istanbul. Photo by author



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Fig. iv.7a–b. Sestertius (obv.: head of Octavian [Type III]; rev. head of Divus Iulius), 40–38 b.c.e. Courtesy Freeman & Sear

Fig. iv.8. Denarius (obv.: head of bearded Octavian), ca. 38 b.c.e. After Kent (1978) pl. 33.120

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Iulius), the “Deified Julius.”33 This imagery and the coin’s legends underscore both Octavian’s unique filial relationship with Caesar, the new state god, and Octavian’s pietas (“piety”) toward Caesar. Here, too, religion helped define not only who Octavian was but also his divine mission to avenge the assassination of his father Caesar. Octavian is shown on the obverse of the coin type of 40–38 b.c.e. noted above with a thin, neatly trimmed beard (fig. iv.7). In my opinion, this is not a beard of mourning, as some have claimed, but rather a military beard to highlight his role as Caesar’s avenger. The beard of mourning was a stubbly beard covering the entire lower part of the face, indicating that the person with such facial hair was too griefstricken to care about his personal appearance. Octavian was also represented with a beard or long side whiskers on aurei and denarii dating from around 43–38 b.c.e. (e.g., fig. iv.8).34 Long side whiskers or a short military beard would recall not only Alexander, who is represented, for example, on the “Alexander Mosaic” with long side whiskers (plates XI and XII),35 but also other military types like the Greek war-god Ares or the Homeric hero Diomedes.36 More often than not, however, Octavian was presented as clean-shaven, as was Alexander in most of his images. On some of Octavian’s coinage, as on a denarius minted in 31 b.c.e. (fig. iv.9)37 at the time of his victory at Actium, he is portrayed with large eyes reminiscent of those of Alexander, as on the handsome tetradrachm issued after Alexander’s death and deification by Lysimachos around 297/296 b.c.e. (plate XIII).38 From Plutarch (Mor. 335A–B), we know that Lysippos created a statue of Alexander with a melting gaze in his limpid eyes (τῶν ὀμμάτων τὴν διάχυσιν καὶ ὐγρότητα).39 Large and luminous eyes were intended to bring out Alexander’s divinely granted charisma, which raised a man to heroic or godlike status

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and caused him to be victorious over foreign enemies.40 Reflecting Alexandrian ocular imagery, Suetonius (Aug. 79.1) reports the following with regard to Octavian: Oculos habuit claros ac nitidos, quibus etiam existimari volebat inesse quiddam divini vigoris, gaudebatque, si quid sibi acrius contuenti quasi ad fulgorem solis vultum summitteret (“He [Octavian/Augustus] had bright and shining eyes, in which he wished to have it thought that there was a certain divine energy; and he was delighted if anyone would lower his face whenever he stared at anyone, as though [that person were blinded] by the radiance of the sun”).41 Alexander-like brilliance as a commander and military strategist who fought at the head of his army was not Octavian’s forte. To compensate, he surrounded himself with those who possessed the skills he lacked, most notably his talented friend and right-hand man, Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa. But perhaps more importantly, Octavian actually took the advice of those who knew better than he did, especially about military matters. Interestingly, the picture that we now have of Octavian is quite different from that in some of the ancient sources, who followed the rhetoric of his political rivals, especially Marc Antony during the bitter Second Triumviral period of the 30s b.c.e.42 This has not always been appreciated by contemporary writers who have accepted the portrayal of Octavian as weak and cowardly. Other ancient sources—obviously favorable to Octavian—paint a very different picture that is generally not commented on in scholarship. For example, in 46 b.c.e., when he was only seventeen years old, Octavian was said to have undergone great personal dangers to prove himself worthy in Caesar’s eyes. As Suetonius (Aug. 8.1) relates: Profectum mox avunculum [i.e., Caesar] in Hispanias adversus Cn. Pompei liberos vixdum firmus a gravi valitudine per infestas hostibus vias paucissimis comititbus naufragio etiam facto subsecutus, magno opere demeruit, approbata cito etiam morum indole super itineris industriam (“Scarcely over a severe illness, Octavian with a very few companions— and even after a shipwreck—by way of roads infested with enemies followed after his uncle [Caesar], who had presently set out for Spain against the sons of Gnaeus Pompey. With the immediate approbation of Octavian’s character even over the diligence shown by his making the journey, Octavian came to earn the great admiration of Caesar”).43 Caesar obviously saw something in Octavian, since he held him in high enough regard to adopt him in his will as heir to his personal estate and thus in effect choose him as his successor.44 Caesar also marked out Octavian for distinction by honoring him at the age of sixteen with membership in the



Fig. iv.9. Denarius (obv.: head of Octavian), ca. 31 b.c.e. After Kent (1978) pl. 34

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pontifical college. In Roman culture, the state priesthoods underscored the close relationship between religion and good government, since it was the duty of Roman magistrates to ensure the all important pax deorum (“peace of the gods”) to assure the safety and prosperity of the Roman State. In addition, Caesar awarded Octavian dona militaria (“military prizes”) at the age of seventeen, even though he had not taken part in any of Caesar’s wars. Octavian was also permitted to ride behind Caesar’s chariot during his African triumph in 46 b.c.e. (Suet. Aug. 8.1; Nic. Dam. 8.17). The next year Caesar made Octavian a patrician (Suet. Aug. 2.1; Cass. Dio 45.2.7) and in 45 designated him his magister equitum (“master of the horse”) in place of Lepidus (App. B Civ. 3.9; Cass. Dio 43.51.7). Quite likely to counter attacks by his detractors on his character and lack of military training, Octavian perhaps unnecessarily put himself in harm’s way. During the siege of Mutina in 43 b.c.e., for example, Suetonius (Aug. 10.4) notes: satis constat non modo ducis, sed etiam militis functum munere atque in media dimicatione, aquilifero legionis suae graviter saucio, aquilam umeris subisse diuque portasse (“it is well established that [Octavian] performed the duty not only of a leader but also of a soldier, for in the middle of the battle, when the standard-bearer of his legion was gravely injured, [Octavian] shouldered the eaglestandard and carried it for a long time”). Later on, in the Illyrian War of 35–33 b.c.e., Suetonius records (Aug. 20) that Octavian was wounded in the knee, and in the Cantabrian Wars in Spain around 26/25 b.c.e. his leg and arm were severely injured when a bridge collapsed. Though Octavian was indeed somewhat sickly in his early years, it is clear that he was certainly not the coward that Antony made him out to be. In fact, although his mother, Atia, attempted to teach him self-control, Octavian seems to have shared some of the rashness that characterized Alexander. Here too I am not so much concerned with the historical reality regarding Octavian’s courage as I am with the way it was projected in Augustan imagery and how this was meant to be received. It served Octavian’s purpose to recall Alexander throughout the Second Triumviral era. At the end of this period, Octavian is presented on state coinage as a godlike victor in the mold of Alexander, as we find on denarii of 31–29 b.c.e. (fig. II.3) issued to celebrate Octavian’s victory over Antony and Cleopatra.45 It is not known whether this image of Octavian might have been an adaptation of some lost statue of Alexander, perhaps indirectly reflected in the statue type known as the “Rondanini Alexander” (fig. iv.10), which most likely does represent an idealized Alexander.46 As discussed in chapter II, this coin type of Octavian shows him nude except for the commander’s mantle over his shoulders. He holds in his right hand an aplustre (the stern ornament of a ship) and in his left,

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a ruler’s scepter. These attributes and the placement of his foot on a globe signify world rule on land and sea—an allusion to a dominion even greater than that of Alexander. Like Alexander, Octavian could claim divine descent from the gods and the heroes of old. It was rumored that Octavian was in reality the product of a hieros gamos (“sacred marriage”)—what we would call today a “virgin birth”—for it was said that his mother, Atia, had been visited by the god Apollo, who came to her in the form of a snake.47 Snakes were considered beneficial and propitious in the ancient world, in contrast to their demonization in JudeoChristian religion. Snakes were also symbolic of a divine spiritual force; and for the Romans, they were specifically associated with the genius, the divine procreative spirit that every Roman male possessed.48 Hence, in the story of the hieros gamos of Atia, the snake symbolized her spiritual impregnation by Apollo, a concept that the Christians would later take over in connection with their claim of Jesus’ divinity. An analogous sacred union was known to the Romans in the story of Alexander’s origins because it was said that his mother, Olympias, had been impregnated by Zeus, who had likewise come to her in the form (that is, the spiritual form) of a snake.49 This story was also told in the case of Scipio Africanus, the great conqueror of Carthage who defeated Hannibal.50 Two gemstones dating to the late Republican period provide evidence for this sort of “virgin birth.”51 One of these may in fact refer to the hieros gamos of Octavian’s mother, Atia (fig. iv.11).52 Such stories were important in establishing the dual nature of a great leader, who by being partly divine and partly human was considered to be of heroic status. An omen reinforced this notion of Augustus’ greatness and heroic standing, while also recalling Alexander. As Suetonius relates (Aug. 94.5), when Octavian’s father, Gaius Octavius, was leading an army in Thrace, he received an omen from the priests of Dionysos about his son’s future greatness: while pouring a libation on an altar there, he saw a great flame shoot up to the sky, a miraculous event that only Alexander had experienced when he sacrificed on the very same altar. Other allusions, both direct and indirect, surrounded Octavian with an Alexander-like aura. When Octavian took Alexandria in 30 b.c.e., it was said that one of the reasons he spared the city from destruction was that Alexander had been its founder.53 In taking Alexandria and becoming pharaoh of Egypt, Octavian also took possession of the mummified body of Alexander, which was entombed in that city. In a symbolic way, thus Octavian might be said to have



Fig. iv.10. “Rondanini” Alexander, Glyptothek, Munich. Photo by author

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Fig. iv.11. Carnelian gemstone of “sacred marriage”: Apollo in the guise of Octavian’s togate father approaching his sleeping wife, Atia (?), Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg. After Simon (1986) fig. 216

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overcome Alexander himself. In addition, it was reported that when Octavian visited Alexander’s tomb, he touched Alexander’s nose, causing it to break off (Cass. Dio 51.16.5). The religio-magical and symbolic gesture of contactus (“laying on of the hand”) signified the transfer of Alexander’s divinely granted charisma to Octavian.54 The great dynastic Mausoleum of Augustus, quite possibly intended specifically to recall the Tomb of Alexander, was built in 28 b.c.e. in the northern Campus Martius in Rome (fig. V.35, plates XXVI–XXVII, XXX).55 Long ago Marie-Louise Bernhard proposed that the circular form of Augustus’ mausoleum was influenced by Alexander’s tomb, which she argued was a large masonry rotunda or tumulus.56 If so, Augustus’ mausoleum recalled not only Etruscan models, as some had said, but also Alexander’s mausoleum.57 With his victory over Egypt and the acquisition of what remained of Alexander’s former empire, Octavian could now turn his attention to consolidating his power and presenting himself as the savior of Rome and the Roman world from that other great Eastern threat: Cleopatra. At around the time of Octavian’s victories at Actium (31 b.c.e.) and Alexandria (30 b.c.e.) a new portrait type was created that represented him with more classicizing features and more neatly arranged hair locks. This new image, his fourth portrait type, is best exemplified by a sculpture in the Louvre (fig. iv.12a–b).58 It contrasts with the more emotionally charged type represented by the Alcudia head (fig. iv.5) that was closely associated with the turmoil of the Second Triumviral period. A particularly interesting comparison can be made between this new, Type IV image and the so-called Schwarzenberg head (fig. iv.13a–b), now in the Munich Glyptothek.59 The Schwarzenberg portrait has generally been taken as a likeness of Alexander, but its features are somewhat different from those of other portraits of him. In my opinion, the Schwarzenberg head shows some assimilation with Octavian’s features in his fourth portrait type. The resemblance between Alexander and Octavian is seen in the shape of the face, lips, chin, and cheekbones. These similarities suggest that the Schwarzenberg head was produced after the creation of Octavian’s fourth portrait type, which was probably intended to celebrate the end of the civil war and his triple triumph in 29 b.c.e.60 The assimilation of Octavian’s features to those of Alexander would have served to bring to mind the connection between Octavian and Alexander in an indirect way. Some have also associated the Schwarzenberg head with a famous lance-bearing Alexander by Lysippos, often taken with little evidence to have been a totally nude figure, like the bronze statuette known as the “Fouquet” Alexander in the Louvre

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Fig. iv.12a–b. Portrait of Augustus (Type IV), Louvre, Paris: a; b, three-quarter (optimum) view. Photo by author

Fig. iv.13a–b. “Schwarzenberg” Alexander, with assimilated facial features of Octavian Augustus. Glyptothek, Munich: a; b, threequarter (optimum) view. Photo by author

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(fig. iv.14).61 The cutting of the neck of the Schwarzenberg head in the form of a tenon for insertion into a statue body indicates that this portrait was most likely part of a cuirassed statue or had a cloak draped about the neck, as was typical for separately carved heads that were to be joined with body types.

Fig. iv.14. “Fouquet” Alexander, Louvre, Paris. After Pasquier (1991) 45

The Augustan Principate Allusions to Alexander continued after the Second Triumviral period, but with significant differences. After Octavian founded the Principate in 27 b.c.e. and took the name “Augustus,” he sought to transform his image from that of a ruthless dux (“military commander”) to that of an ideal and idealized civic leader, the Princeps of the Roman State.62 As discussed in chapter I, the earlier Alexander-like and godlike Octavian on coins minted between 31 and 29 b.c.e. now disappears from state coinage and other official art.63 Such imagery was deemed incompatible with the new ideology of the Principate, which maintained that Augustus as Princeps was primus inter pares (“first among equals”). The portrait type most closely associated with Augustus at this time is his fifth portrait type, the so-called Prima Porta type, which takes its name from the famous statue found in the villa of his wife Livia at Prima Porta that is now in the Braccio Nuovo of the Vatican Museum (fig. iv.15a–c).64 Type V—though not the Prima Porta statue itself—was probably created around 27 b.c.e. to celebrate the new “face” of the Principate, which promised an age of peace, security, and prosperity after a century of foreign wars and domestic strife. Because the Prima Porta statue itself was undoubtedly produced several years after the original model, this portrait type is perhaps better called Augustus’ “Princeps” type.65 By contrast with his emotion-filled earlier and younger-looking third portrait type produced during the triumviral period, with its dramatically turned and tilted head and somewhat tousled hair (fig. iv.5), the head of Type V

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(fig. iv.15a–b) is turned less to the side and is held upright, with neatly arranged hair and with facial features even more classically calm and idealized than in his only slightly earlier fourth type, created around 29 b.c.e. (fig. iv.12a–b).66 The “Princeps” type, the last of Augustus’ five principal portrait types, is both retrospective and prospective. It is retrospective in that it invites comparison with the prototypical ideal of the Classical Greek past rather than with the emotion-filled types that had characterized the portraiture of Alexander (fig. IV.6) and his Hellenistic successors. It is prospective in that it reflects the optimism of the Augustan Principate and visually signaled that Augustus himself—not Alexander—was to be the model for future Roman leaders to imitate and emulate. It would probably have been a form of Augustus’ “Princeps” type (V) that was used for his portrait head on his last signet ring, which was said to have been cut by the Greek gem-carver Dioskurides.67 The new ring would essentially have replaced an earlier one with an engraved image of Alexander that Octavian acquired from the treasury of the Ptolemies, quite likely at the time of his visit to the Tomb of Alexander, and was said to have used as his official signet ring.68 The new ring with Augustus’ own image would have symbolically signaled his less direct recalling of Alexander,69 who was not totally forgotten but now took a back seat to Augustus. For the Romans, allusion to Alexander had always been something of a twoedged sword, so they tended to use him with caution.70 Those who chose to emulate him did so not because of his wisdom or acumen as a statesman but because of his military genius and his courage and daring, as well as his defeat of a great eastern foe and his ability to win an empire for himself. Yet Alexander was regarded as also having a dark side. Long before Augustus, Alexander had been judged by Greek Peripatetic and Stoic philosophers to have had a number of character flaws.71 Likewise Cicero (Off. 1.90), who acknowledged that Alexander had surpassed his father Philip in rebus gestis et gloria (“accomplishments and glory”), judged Alexander inferior to Philip in facultas (“ability”) and humanitas (“humanity”) and considered him to be saepe turpissimus (“often very base”). In a letter to Atticus (13.28) Cicero further characterized Alexander as superbus (“haughty”), crudelis (“cruel”), and immoderatus (“immoderate”). Although Alexander was hailed as the bringer of the civilizing forces of Greece to the barbarian world, he himself, in the end, was viewed by some as a drunken, mad, and murderous tyrant, who no longer took counsel with his Macedonian Companions.72 He was considered to have become a slave to his passions and to have succumbed to barbarian ways. Octavian, in his rhetoric against Marc Antony, attributed many of these same negative traits to Antony, who had taken up with the eastern harlot and seductress Cleopatra—at least that is how she was



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Fig. iv.15a. Statue of Augustus from Prima Porta, Braccio Nuovo, Vatican. Photo by William Storage

Fig. iv.15b. Upper part of statue of Augustus from Prima Porta, Braccio Nuovo, Vatican. Photo by William Storage

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portrayed by the pro-Octavian faction.73 Yet we might question how Octavian could criticize Antony for behaving like Alexander, when Octavian evoked Alexander in his own ideological and artistic program. For those brought up in the Greco-Roman educational system, which focused on rhetoric, especially epideictic, it was not difficult to separate the good from the bad. In fact, it was one of the goals of Greco-Roman rhetoric to hold up the good qualities of an individual for praise and his bad qualities for blame.74 For the ancients and certainly for the ideology of Roman leadership, the “good Alexander” was worthy to emulate, while the character flaws of the “bad Alexander” ought to be avoided at all costs. Unlike Alexander and Antony, who had both succumbed to foreign temptations and seductive foreign loves, Augustus remained the model of self-control, promoting the Roman Way and restoring Republican values and Roman morality after so many years of strife. Aside from Alexander’s intemperance, there was indeed much to criticize about him. At the time of his death, he had not made provisions for an heir and a smooth and peaceful transmission of power but instead left his empire to the strongest of his Macedonian Companions, resulting in utter chaos and warfare. Augustus openly criticized Alexander for this failure. Plutarch reports Fig. iv.15c. Detail of the central scene on the cuirass of the statue of Augustus from Prima Porta, Braccio Nuovo, Vatican. Photo by author



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(Mor. 207d) Ἀκούσας δὲ ὅτι Αλέξανδρος δύο καὶ τριάκοντα γεγονὼς ἔτη κατεστραμμένος τὰ πλεῖστα διηπόρει τί ποιήσει τὸν λοιπὸν χρόνον, ἐθαύμαζεν εἰ μὴ μεῖζον Αλέξανδρος ἔργον ἡγεῖτο τοῦ κτήσασθαι τὴν ἡγεμονίαν τὸ διατάξαι τὴν ὑπάρχουσαν (“After hearing that Alexander at the age of thirty-two had made most of his conquests and was in a quandary as to what he should do for the rest of his life, he [Augustus] registered surprise that Alexander did not think the setting in order of the dominion that he conquered a greater task than the actual conquest”). Clearly Augustus considered himself to be better and greater than Alexander; although both were world conquerors, Augustus achieved something far more important than Alexander—a stable empire and world peace. Even Alexander’s conquests were called into question by the great modern Roman historian Sir Ronald Syme. As Syme conceded, “The Greeks might have had their Alexander—it was glorious, but it was not Empire.”75 It is true that Alexander had conquered a great land mass; but when he left his vanquished territories, many of them reverted to what they had been before. In Augustus’ own account of his accomplishments in the Res Gestae, he challenges the reader to recall and to compare his great achievements with those of Alexander. As Alexander had been the first Greek to conquer the unknown lands east of Persia, so Augustus advertised that he was the first not only to penetrate the distant and uncharted lands of the barbarians bordering on the North Sea but also to push into Ethiopia and Arabia, lands that Alexander had never conquered (RG 26). But, more importantly, Augustus boasts how he compelled the Parthians, the “successors” of Alexander’s Persians, to sue for peace by returning Roman military standards (RG 29.2), and how he also received ambassadors from kings seeking treaties from as far away as India (RG 31). The barbarians of lands far to the east that Alexander conquered, by constant warfare and after the loss of thousands of men, came of their own accord to Augustus to seek peace and friendship. The very name of Augustus and the fear of his might were enough to bring them to heel. In short, although Alexander was a brilliant commander and tactician, he was largely a failure as a ruler and statesman. In the accounts of Augustus and others, all that Alexander achieved—and more—was accomplished by Augustus, who far surpassed the great Alexander in the lasting nature of his achievements. Augustan “Peace through Victory” Following in the tradition of Alexander, historical battle scenes, as in the Alexander Mosaic (plates XI and XII) or the so-called Alexander Sarcophagus (fig. iv.16a–b),76 had a long history in Roman art. Such a scene appears,

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Fig. iv.16a. Battle scene on “Alexander Sarcophagus” from Sidon, ca. 312 b.c.e., Archaeological Museum, Istanbul. Photo by author Fig. iv.16b. Detail of Alexander, “Alexander Sarcophagus,” Archaeological Museum, Istanbul. Photo by author

for example, in the sculptural frieze that once decorated the Aemilius Paullus Monument at Delphi (fig. iv.17).77 This frieze uses common Greek motifs to celebrate the victory of the Roman general Aemilius Paullus over the Macedonians at Pydna in 168 b.c.e. From ancient literary testimony, we also know of painted panels showing battle scenes of generals that were carried in Roman



Fig. iv.17. Battle between Romans and Macedonians at Pydna (168 b.c.e.) on Victory Monument of L. Aemilius Paullus at Delphi. Photo by author

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Fig. iv.18. Ara Pacis Augustae, Rome (from southwest corner). Photo by author

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triumphs and later displayed in prominent public settings.78 Under the Principate, however, the focus of Augustus’ ideological program shifted from war to peace.79 Poets of the era proclaim the return of the Golden Age under Augustus, with a new prosperity as a result of the Pax Augusta. Modern historians and art historians alike have seen peace as the principal message of the Augustan program, as exemplified by the Ara Pacis Augustae, the monumental altar that embodies the very notion of Augustan peace (fig. iv.18).80 In the south processional frieze, Augustus is presented as the pious leader of the Roman State, the inaugurator of the new age of peace and prosperity (fig. V.16; see further chapters III, V, and VI). Three times while Augustus was leader of the Roman State, the Senate voted that the doors of the Temple of Janus be closed (RG 13), an action that signaled that Rome was at peace.81 In response to the closing of the doors of the Temple of Janus, represented on Neronian coins (fig. iv.19),82 the doors of the Ara Pacis, which are depicted on the coinage of both the Neronian (fig. iv.20) and Domitianic periods,83 may have been thrown open.

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But was peace per se in fact the principal focus of Augustus’ great public artistic and architectural programs? For the Senate to have voted three times that the doors of the Temple of Janus be closed, they would necessarily have been opened at least three times, signifying a state of war. According to Erich Gruen, modern historians have exaggerated the notion of peace in the ideology and artistic programs of Augustus.84 In my opinion, both points of view are at the same time correct yet incomplete: the Pax Augusta did not signify merely “peace” but rather “peace through victory.” As Lorna Hardwick has pointed out, “In talking about peace it is necessary also to talk about war.”85 The concept of peace as we understand it in the modern world is somewhat different from the way it was understood in antiquity, when the desire for peace could be taken as a sign of weakness by one’s enemy and therefore be an incentive to attack or to rebel.86 In this sense, peace was understood to be conditional. Like the SheWolf, the wet-nurse of Rome’s founder and the totem of the Roman people, Rome had to be ever vigilant, on guard against any foreign threats and swift to take action against any people that posed a danger to the State. This very idea was underscored in the crouching Roman camp dog that menaces the Parthian warrior in the central composition of the cuirass of the statue of Augustus from Prima Porta (fig. iv.15c).87 Vergil eloquently expresses the concept of a bellum iustum (“just war”)88 in one of the most famous passages of the Aeneid (6.851–53): Tu regere imperio populos, Romane, memento—hae tibi erunt artes—pacique imponere morem, parcere subiectis et debellare superbos (“Remember, O Roman, it is yours to rule by [legal] power [other] peoples—these shall be your arts—and to impose the habit of peace, to spare the subjected, and to defeat in war the haughty”). Seen in this light, it was Rome’s divine mission to impose peace on the unwilling: pacem dare not pacem petere (“to give peace,” not “to seek peace”).89 As we shall see further in chapters V and VI, the recurring theme of “peace through victory” defined Augustus’ ideology and his official artistic programs.90 To the



Fig. iv.19. Sesterius (rev.: Temple of Janus with closed doors), 64–68 c.e. After Sutherland (1974) fig. 309

Fig. iv.20. As (rev.: east side of Ara Pacis Augustae), 65–66 c.e. Courtesy Freeman & Sear

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Roman mind, there could not be peace without victory, whether that victory was military or diplomatic, as in the case of Augustus’ diplomatic success with regard to the Parthians. Although the ancients considered the ability to conquer a true manifestation of divine favor, Augustus closely linked this notion with the god-given ability of a leader to bring peace, stability, and prosperity to the world. He underscores this idea in the Res Gestae (13) when he states per totum imperium Populi Romani, terra marique . . . parta victoria pax (“throughout the entire domain of the Roman People, both on land and sea, peace [was] achieved through victory”). As we shall see in the next chapter, we are reminded of the connection of peace and victory in both the location of the Ara Pacis and its imagery. The Altar of Peace was set up in the Campus Martius, the “Field of [the Roman war god] Mars,” as a pendant to another Augustan monument, the Solarium Augusti, dedicated to the sun-god for the victory over Egypt. The Ara Pacis was voted for Augustus’ safe return from Spain and Gaul, where he had conquered barbarians. The theme of peace through military success is highlighted on the Ara Pacis in the two great figural allegorical panels on the back of the outer enclosure wall (fig. V.18a–b). The one to the left (fig. V.22) shows a great mother goddess figure, probably Tellus Italiae, the Land of Italy personified, surrounded by the bounties of peace and prosperity. The now very fragmentary panel to the right (fig. V.19a) once featured a victorious goddess Roma at rest, seated on weapons of conquered peoples. Like the mother goddess, Roma was once flanked by two figures, of which only one fragment now survives in the form of an idealized head with part of a cornucopia (fig. V.19b). The figures flanking Roma were undoubtedly the personifications of Honos and Virtus, referring to the military virtues of Augustus, under whom victories had been won. Taken together, these two pendant panels at the back of the altar allude not simply to peace, but to peace won through military might. Thematically relevant, too, are the subject and placement of the three friezes that once decorated the altar table, podium, and front side of the altar’s prothesis. As we shall also see in the next chapter, the subject matter and disposition of these friezes on the inner altar of the Ara Pacis visually convey the notion that the themes of divine peace and annual sacrifices for continued peace literally and figuratively rest on the conquered peoples and provinces of the Empire. The same message is also implied in the subject matter and arrangement of the recently excavated sculptural reliefs of the great altar of the Augustan Victory Monument at Nikopolis, a city Octavian founded near the site of his victory over Cleopatra and Antony at Actium in 31 b.c.e. The city had been given the name Nikopolis, “City of Victory,” by Octavian in imitation of

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Alexander, who had founded an earlier Nikopolis following his victory over Darius III at Issos in 333 b.c.e.91 On the Nikopolis Victory Monument was a frieze representing the triumph for Octavian’s Actian victory, one of the triple triumphal processions that took place in Rome in 29 b.c.e. For the Romans the triumph was not only a military but also a religious ceremony. The frieze from the Augustan Victory Monument at Nikopolis appeared directly above a slightly larger frieze showing parts of boats, weapons, and other ensigns of the conquered (see further the appendix to this chapter). Thus the achievement of peace heralded by the triumphal procession is shown to rest upon military victory, symbolized by the spolia that were the fruits of battle.92 Conceptually, this visual scheme was not unlike the disposition of friezes on the inner altar of the Ara Pacis, as noted above. This same concept is found even in a private work of art, the magnificent Gemma Augustea (fig. II.17), but expressed in the grandiloquent language and vocabulary of Hellenistic kingship.93 On the Gemma, Augustus is enthroned next to a victorious goddess Roma and surrounded by personifications of victory to the left and of the peace and prosperity of land and sea to the right. In the lower register are conquered barbarians symbolic of those who had already been or were about to be subjected to the might of Augustus.94 Here again the idea of peace resting upon victory is given visual and symbolic form. Only one securely dated Augustan state relief represents a battle scene. The figural frieze in question once decorated the interior of the Temple of Apollo in Circo, also known as the Temple of Apollo Sosianus, which stood next to the Theater of Marcellus at the foot of the Capitoline Hill in Rome.95 The original temple had been built by Gnaeus Iulius Mento and dedicated to Apollo Medicus in 431 b.c.e. (Livy 4.29.7). After winning a victory over the Jews in 37 b.c.e., Gaius Sosius, a supporter of Marc Antony, undertook to rebuild this temple as a thank-offering for his military success.96 Although work was begun after Sosius’ triumph in Rome in 34 b.c.e., the temple was left unfinished when he fled Rome two years later to join Antony in the East. It was finally completed around 25 b.c.e., shortly after the founding of the Principate.97 After reconciling with Augustus,98 Sosius dedicated the temple on the Princeps’ birthday, September 23.99 But now, rather than commemorating the triumph of Sosius in 34 b.c.e., the frieze from the temple appears to have celebrated at least one of Octavian’s battles, a cavalry engagement (fig. iv.21a),100 and his triple triumph in Rome in 29 (fig. iv.21b).101 The frieze with the cavalry battle is probably intended to refer to one of Octavian’s military campaigns, but not one in which Romans fight other Romans. Based on dress and weaponry, it appears that Romans are battling non-Romans, who wear either the Greek-style



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Fig. iv.21a. Frieze showing battle scene from Temple of Apollo Sosianus, Museo della Centrale Montemartini (Musei Capitolini), Rome. Photo by author

Fig. iv.21b. Frieze showing triumphal scene from Temple of Apollo Sosianus, Museo della Centrale Montemartini (Musei Capitolini), Rome. Photo by author

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exomis (one-armed tunic) or Hellenistic-style cuirass.102 However, no image of Octavian is identifiable among the few figures of combatants to survive. Since the rebuilding of the temple was already underway before Antony’s defeat, the themes of the frieze that was to decorate the temple’s interior—battle and triumph—may have been established at that time, with some later modifications to commemorate Octavian’s victories and triumphs. It is noteworthy that aside from the Sosius relief there is a general lack of representations of contemporary battles in either private or official art of the Augustan period.103 Battles are likewise downplayed in the private literature of this time praising Augustus and extolling his deeds; but more significantly, he is never portrayed actively fighting, unlike the battle-hardened Alexander. For example, in Book VIII of the Aeneid (675–88) Vergil describes the battle of Actium as a proleptic scene on the great shield of Aeneas. On this fictive shield, which represented the glorious deeds of Aeneas’ future descendants, Octavian appears front and center on the stern of his ship at Actium, aloof from battle, with divine beams of light emanating from his temples. A particularly effective way of celebrating military success without recourse to scenes of battle, like those in which Alexander was represented, was through

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the depiction of the triumph, as in the Augustan Victory Monument at Nikopolis. After Cornelius Balbus’ triumph in 19 b.c.e., only members of the imperial house would be accorded this honor, and then only as Augustus saw fit.104 This restrictiveness with regard to the triumph has been seen as Augustus’ way of monopolizing power in his own hands and at the same time circumscribing the power of the senatorial class, from which challenges to his authority and control over the government might come.105 Augustus likewise restricted senatorial selfrepresentation in the public iconosphere of Rome.106 In discussions of Augustus’ monopoly on triumphs, it has not generally been pointed out that such restrictions had much to do with the provincial system that Augustus created, as well as the nature of Roman imperium (legal “command”). Wars could only be conducted by an imperator or supreme military commander, who by virtue of his imperium could perform the religious and augural ceremony of taking auspicia (“auspices”) before a military mission.107 Augustus is shown, for example, with an augural lituus performing the tripudium, or military auspicia, on the Altar from the Vicus Sandaliarius in Rome (see further chapter III with fig. iii.7). There were essentially two types of provinciae during the Augustan Principate. “Imperial provinces” were often trouble spots in the Empire governed by Augustus’ loyal appointed legati pro praetore (governor-generals), who usually served for three years. “Senatorial provinces,” or more accurately “public provinces” (since they were transferred to the Roman people), were generally more peaceful, guarded with minimal military forces, and under the control of senators who had served their term as magistrates in the Senate.108 This arrangement was a brilliant way for Augustus to maintain control of the bulk of the legions, thereby guaranteeing that no senator would have the forces to challenge his auctoritas (his extralegal authority/influence).109 Since wars would generally be restricted to the troublesome imperial provinces and would technically be waged under Augustus’ auspices, any victories won by his legati would redound to Augustus himself.110 Accordingly, a triumph could be awarded only to Augustus by virtue of his legal imperium, though he in turn might allow that honor to be transferred to someone who had served as his legate in the conduct of a war. In reality, however, it was granted only to legati who were members of the imperial family. After his great triple triumph in 29 b.c.e. Augustus never again celebrated a triumph himself. But why would he not have wanted to equal or outdo in this regard his adoptive father Julius Caesar, who had celebrated four triumphs? To my knowledge, this question has never been asked. Augustus’ motives may have been twofold: to demonstrate his moderatio and indirectly to recall Romulus, who likewise celebrated three—not four—triumphs.111 But even



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though Augustus did not personally accept any triumphs after founding the Principate, he did not abandon the imagery and associations of the triumphator. Around the time of the tenth anniversary (decannalia) of his triple triumph, a chariot (with and without Augustus in it) is represented on his coinage, as it was during the period 31–27 b.c.e.112 Augustus was also represented as triumphator—in a sense, as perpetual triumphator—in his own forum in Rome, dedicated in 2 b.c.e. In the Forum of Augustus, which embodied a great deal of war imagery, he appeared in the center of the open plaza in a quadrigae (fig. i.3);113 I believe that he was also portrayed in this way atop his mausoleum (see further chapter V with plates XXIX, XXX, XXXIII). The emphasis again is on the aftermath of victory. The Forum of Augustus also contained images of Alexander, but the way they were employed is telling in light of the new ideology of the Principate. Pliny the Elder (HN 35.27, 93–94) reports that Augustus put on display in his forum two paintings by Alexander’s court painter Apelles that featured Alexander and other figures.114 These paintings, which were probably brought back from Alexandria as spolia, were displayed in central recesses opposite one another in the so-called Aula del Colosso, a small room at the rear of the left portico of Augustus’ forum briefly discussed in chapter I (fig. i.3, plate III).115 Pliny also describes the subjects of Apelles’ two paintings. One depicted Alexander with Nike (Victory personified) and the Dioskouroi/Castores, the Divine Twins, who brought aid in battle; the other showed Alexander triumphant in a chariot, with a personification of War with hands bound behind his back. It has not been noted that these two subjects were probably chosen because they portrayed Alexander not as engaged in fighting but instead as victorious in the aftermath of battle—themes consistent with Augustus’ own message of peace achieved through military might. According to Pliny (HN 35.94), long after the death and deification of Augustus, Claudius as Princeps had Augustus’ facial features painted over those of Alexander in both paintings to portray Augustus as the divine “New Alexander”—a way of also recalling the statue of Alexander set up in the Forum of Caesar with the head of Julius Caesar in place of that of Alexander, as noted above. In addition to these two paintings, Pliny (HN 35.114) mentions two others representing Alexander, which Octavian most likely brought back with him from the East. One of these was placed in the Porticus Octaviae, completed in 27 b.c.e. The other, depicting Alexander as a boy, was set up in the Porticus Philippi in 29 b.c.e. Unfortunately, he does not describe anything else about their composition.116 The statue of Augustus from Prima Porta (fig. iv.15a–c) also alludes to the theme of peace through victory. Although this particular sculpture comes from

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a private context, many have taken it to be a marble copy of a lost bronze original that was once set up in a prominent public place in Rome. In a bronze sculpture, the Cupid and dolphin leg-support would have been unnecessary. The commissioning of an original work of art for public display and a copy of it for private use is attested by Suetonius (Calig. 7), who tells us of an original statue of Germanicus’ dead son in the guise of Cupid dedicated by Livia in the Capitoline Temple of Venus and a copy of it that was placed in Augustus’ bedroom (as noted in chapter IX below). In the upper part of the cuirass of the Prima Porta statue (fig. iv.15b) is a scene that refers to the return of the Golden Age under Augustus and the peace that came with it, a point that is likewise stressed by the representation at the bottom of the breastplate of a bountiful earth goddess Terra Mater peacefully reclining with her babies.117 The two pairs of pendant images at the sides of the cuirass reference past conquests over northern barbarian peoples and victories during the civil war. These allusions are made either directly through the representation of conquered ethnic personifications, most likely Hispania and Gallia, or indirectly through the depiction of Augustus’ patronal gods Apollo and Diana, who aided him in his victories in the civil war of the triumviral period and in his contest with Cleopatra.118 The large central composition of the Prima Porta cuirass recalls not a military conquest but rather a great diplomatic victory: the return in 20 b.c.e. of Roman standards lost to the Parthians, Rome’s great eastern foe (fig. iv.15c). The Prima Porta statue—or at least the presumed bronze original behind it—was probably commissioned shortly after this event.119 In the center of the breastplate, a personification of the Parthian people, with characteristic unstrung bow and quiver of arrows, hands back a composite Roman standard120 to the figure of a Roman commander, possibly the personified Roman army (Exercitus Romanus)121 or an atypical youthful Ares/Mars type. Generally overlooked is the doryphoric stance of the Roman commander, which intentionally mirrors that of Augustus himself in the composition of the statue as a whole. Particularly important in this scene is the way this purely diplomatic victory is couched in military terms. The Roman commander, with his left hand on the hilt of his sword and his right hand outstretched, makes clear that saber-rattling by Augustus was all that was needed to compel the dreaded Parthians of the East to sue for peace. Augustus’ great and bloodless victory contrasts dramatically with Alexander’s quest to conquer the East, regardless of the thousands whom Alexander was willing to sacrifice for his own personal fame and glory, like Achilles of old. Poets like Vergil and Horace sang the praises of Augustus and his bellum iustum by highlighting his victories in



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Fig. iv.22. Modern bronze reconstruction of the Doryphoros by Polykleitos. After Pollini (1995) fig. 8.11

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the East, thus indirectly recalling yet contrasting the great conquests of Alexander that Augustus surpassed. In terms of stance and turn of head, the Augustus from Prima Porta has long been seen to cite the famous Doryphoros (“Spearbearer”) of Polykleitos (fig. iv.22).122 There has been considerable debate as to who—if anyone—the Doryphoros was originally intended to be. At least in Roman times, the Doryphoros was regarded as an image of Achilles. I believe this was also Polykleitos’ intention for a number of reasons, including the fact that his now lost treatise on the Doryphoros was well known in the Roman period and would presumably have indicated whom the figure represented. As I have argued elsewhere, the Doryphoros was not the only model recalled in the Prima Porta statue.123 The proportion of head to body is 1 to 7.5— exactly the midpoint between the 1 to 7 canon of Polykleitos and the 1 to 8 canon of Lysippos. Expressing each artist’s concept of the heroic ideal, these had been the most famous Greek standards of proportions for the human body up to the time of the Prima Porta statue. I do not believe that the 1 to 7.5 ratio in this figure of Augustus was coincidental but rather that it was a conscious choice on the part of the sculptor, in order to establish a new canon of proportions to express a new Roman concept of the heroic ideal. These findings also suggest that not one but two models were challenged by the Prima Porta statue. Since we know that Lysippos, as Alexander’s court sculptor, produced a number of portrait statues of Alexander, it is reasonable to conclude that among these would have been an image of Alexander in armor. Such a portrait statue is all the more likely because Macedonians124—like the Romans—preferred representations of warriors in cuirass to those that were nude or seminude. A silver five-shekel coin issued at Babylon in Alexander’s lifetime (fig. iv.23) shows him with helmet, military breastplate, and spear in hand, signifying that the land he conquered was δορίκτητος (“spear-won”).125 A spear was a common attribute of cuirassed figures, as evidenced in a fresco painting of a Macedonian warrior from a late fourth to early third century tomb at Vergina in Macedonia.126 Plutarch (Mor. 335F, 360D) mentions that there was a bronze statue of a “spear-bearing” Alexander by Lysippos but says nothing more about what it looked like.127

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A painting from Pompeii (fig. iv.24) that probably represents a lost Pergamene model shows a Hellenistic king who appears very much like the Prima Porta statue in pose and gesture.128 Hellenistic rulers frequently recalled Alexander in their imagery, so it is possible that behind this painted cuirassed figure was a now lost bronze statue of a doryphoric Alexander, perhaps even by Lysippos.129 Since Lysippos challenged the old canon of Polykleitos, what better way to challenge the old High Classical concept of the heroic ideal than with a statue of Alexander modeled on the doryphoric Achilles? This would be all the more appropriate because we know that Alexander himself not only emulated Achilles, the greatest legendary hero of Greece, but also claimed descent from him. Challenging archetypal models to surpass them was part and parcel of ancient rhetoric. In the same way that Lysippos sought to outdo the old Polykleitan canon embodied in the Doryphoros (fig. iv.22), I believe that the unknown sculptor of the Prima Porta Augustus sought to

Fig. iv.23. Five-shekel coin (rev.: victorious Alexander crowned by Nike), 326–323 b.c.e. After Wood (1997) 185 (right)

Fig. iv.24. Painting from Pompeii showing Hellenistic king in pose similar to that of the Prima Porta Augustus. After Pfuhl (1923) pl. 658



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Fig. iv.25. Denarius (rev.: cuirassed Vespasian holding spear point down), 69–70 c.e. After Kent (1978) pl. 64.288

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surpass the canons of proportions and statues of both Polykleitos and Lysippos. The language of the older models appears to have been inverted by the sculptor of the Prima Porta statue as part of a new artistic rhetoric in keeping with Augustus’ new ideology. Instead of actively hefting a spear as though marching off to war—as in Polykeitos’ Doryphoros—Augustus originally cradled a spear in his left hand, as is evident from the cuttings in his hand for the shaft (fig. iv.15b). A magnificent, over life-size bronze statue of Augustus’ greatnephew Germanicus, a great military commander in his own right, provides new evidence for the similar way Augustus once held a spear in his lowered left hand. This statue, found in 1963 in Amelia (Italy) and now in the Archaeological Museum in Amelia (plate XIV),130 is remarkably like the Augustus from Prima Porta in dress, gesture, and pose, suggesting that the famous Prima Porta figure, or more likely the original upon which it was based, may have served as the model for the statue of Germanicus. However, because of the lack of publications on this sculpture, it has not figured in the considerable literature on the Prima Porta Augustus. Germanicus’ bronze spear is held with its point facing down, very likely the same way that Augustus’ now missing spear would have been positioned. The spear pointed down is also found on a denarius of Vespasian (fig. iv.25) showing him wearing a cuirass and in the very same pose as the Prima Porta statue.131 For the Romans, the inversion of the spear point in this manner signified peace. A late Republican–early Augustan painting shows Aeneas’ son Iulus and the Etruscan king Mezentius making a peace treaty, with their two spears planted point-down in the ground as a symbol of making peace.132 The inversion of the spear in the Prima Porta statue would have created an image of Augustus as a military hero who had achieved peace. This was also an inversion of the active warrior imagery of the Polykeitan Doryphoros and probably also of a doryphoric Alexander by Lysippos. In outdoing great past models and in stressing the element of peace in the inverted spear imagery, the Augustus from Prima Porta would have conveyed the message that Augustus had surpassed both Achilles and Alexander in creating a vast Empire that was greater even than that of Alexander, while at the same time putting that Empire in order by bringing peace to the Roman world. In his transformation from dux to Princeps, Augustus became the new archetypal model of the heroic ideal, a specifically Roman one, intended to contrast with the more limited—and limiting—warrior imagery of Alexander or even the legendary Achilles and other great military leaders of the Greek and Roman past.

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Appendix: Triumphal Frieze of the Actian Victory Monument at Nikopolis Among the most interesting and important examples of Augustan relief art are the recently excavated friezes from the Augustan Victory Monument at Nikopolis (figs. iv.26–29, plate XV), not far from where Octavian won his great sea battle over Antony and Cleopatra in 31 b.c.e. The thousands of fragments of the friezes that once decorated this monument are part of an ongoing study.133 The following discussion is based on the preliminary published findings and some observations of my own. Located at the site of Octavian’s camp at the top of a hill overlooking Actium at a distance, the Nikopolis Victory Monument was an enormous two-terraced structure oriented roughly north-south (fig. iv.26, plate XV).134 The lower terrace took the form of a great podium, the front (south) wall of which was decorated with approximately thirty-six bronze rostra (ship’s beaks) of somewhat different sizes that were taken from enemy vessels captured in the Battle of Actium.135 Some of the rostra from captured ships were displayed in Octavian’s triumph in Rome and later placed in front of the podium of the Temple of Divus Iulius in the Roman Forum (fig. III.6: vertical slats on front of the podium in the reconstruction indicate where prows would have been attached).136 On the Fig. iv.26. Reconstructed terraced podium of the Actian Victory Monument, Nikopolis. After Zachos (2007) fig. 4



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Fig. iv.27. Reconstructed altar and statues of the Actian Victory Monument, Nikopolis. After Zachos (2007) fig. 5

Fig. iv.28. Reconstructed altar of the Actian Victory Monument with upper and lower friezes, Nikopolis. After Zachos (2007) fig. 6

Fig. iv.29. Section of Actian Victory Monument altar frieze showing Octavian in triumphal chariot with Alexander Helios and Cleopatra Selene, the children of Antony and Cleopatra VII, Nikopolis. After Zachos et al. (eds.) (2008) 69

upper part of the wall above the line of affixed rostra on the Nikopolis Monument ran a long marble dedicatory inscription in large Latin letters (plate XV) honoring the gods Mars and Neptune ([MAR]TI NEPTVNO [QVE]) for Octavian’s great maritime victory (Suet. Aug. 18.2).137 A statue of Apollo, Augustus’ patron divinity to whom he owed the victory, was most likely also set up here (Cass. Dio 51.1.1–2).138 Crowning the podium and forming the upper terrace was a U-shaped portico with an entrance on its east side and with a small rectangular exedra at the back of the north side in which were found statue bases. Running between the southern ends of the eastern and western arms of the portico toward the front of the monument was an altar in local limestone measuring approximately 6 by 22 meters.139 Just behind this monumental altar to the north were found traces of other statue bases. One of these supported a bronze statue (fig. iv.27) of the peasant Eutychus (Εὔτυχος = “Fortunate”) and another base, his donkey Nikon (Νίκων = “Victor”). Octavian was said to have met the two of them—regarded as good omens because of their names—just before the Battle of Actium140 near what would later become Nikopolis, his “City of Victory.” The altar itself was once adorned with two long friezes, one above the other, in Pentelic marble. The upper frieze, representing figures in a classicizing style moving in procession from right to left, was about 1 meter in height; the lower one, depicting a great variety of spolia (arms and ensigns), was slightly larger.141 Based on the ongoing study of the Nikopolis Victory Monument, these friezes once decorated the south (back) side of the altar and probably the two short east and west ends (fig. iv.28). The back of the altar would have been seen by a viewer approaching from the lower slope of the hill on the south side of the sanctuary. Now in thousands of pieces of various sizes, the friezes were probably smashed to bits in late antiquity, most likely by Christians intent on desecrating this non-Christian altar.142 Examples of destruction attributable to Christians rather than to non-Christian barbarians or natural forces are numerous in the ancient written and archaeological record.143 The Victory Monument’s upper frieze, which is essentially historical in its subject matter, refers to Octavian’s Actian triumph on the second day (August 14) of his triple triumph in Rome in 29 b.c.e.144 This identification is confirmed by the fragments representing captured enemy ships borne along on wheels in the procession.145 Reclining on one of these ships is a female figure, likely to be some sculptural simulacrum of Cleopatra, who had been on the flag ship of the Egyptians and fled from the Battle of Actium.146 Ancient literary descriptions of other triumphs speak of personifications and other figures in some plastic form being displayed in these processions. Cassius Dio (51.21.8) specifically mentions an image of Cleopatra VII reclining on a couch in Octavian’s Alexandrian



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triumph. Whether this effigy was a sculpture or a painting is unfortunately unknown, as well as whether it was brought back from Egypt or made in Rome. For the ancients, the image of a ruler, which in the case of the deceased Cleopatra had to serve in lieu of her actual person as part of the triumphal ritual, was often thought to be imbued with the power of that person.147 One of the most important and fairly well preserved sections of the frieze shows Octavian as triumphator riding in the currus triumphalis (fig. iv.29). Although the fragmentary head of Octavian has been found, it has not to my knowledge been published.148 In any case, this scene is unique: it is the only surviving sculptural representation of Octavian in triumph to have come down to us from antiquity. Singular also is the portrayal of two small children in his chariot, whose heads can just be seen peering above the high rim. To be sure, children are sometimes represented in later Roman sculpture and coinage riding with a triumphator in his chariot, rather than on trace-horses (e.g., plate XVI).149 The interesting aspect of the children in the relief from the Nikopolis Victory Monument is their likely identity: because of their size, hairstyles, and prominence in the scene, it is reasonable to conclude that they are Alexander Helios and Cleopatra Selene, the twins who were born to Antony and Cleopatra in 40 b.c.e., who would have been eleven years old in 29 b.c.e.150 According to Cassius Dio (51.28.7–8), both children took part in Octavian’s Alexandrian triumph on the third and final day of the celebrations, when an effigy of their deceased mother was also borne in the procession. Neither Cleopatra nor any of her children are specifically mentioned in the context of the Actian triumph, but the fact that the twins were in Rome for the celebration adds to the likelihood that they are the children represented in the chariot with Octavian in the frieze of the Nikopolis Victory Monument. The hairdo of the girl is very much like that of Cleopatra VII in her numismatic and sculptural images,151 while the Roman-looking hairstyle of the boy may have been modeled somewhat on that of Antony.152 The girl’s head is shown in profile; the boy’s, in three-quarter view. She appears rather mature for her age, but here the sculptor may have been influenced by the artistic conventions of the High Classical period, when children were often represented as miniature adults. The only possibility for the girl other than Cleopatra Selene would be Octavian’s daughter Julia, who at age ten was a year younger. However, the hairstyle of the girl is key: it is so like the hair of Cleopatra VII that it argues persuasively for her daughter’s being represented and effectively rules out Julia. The boy is unlikely to be anyone other than Alexander Helios, because the prominent boys of Octavian’s family were his stepson Tiberius and nephew Marcellus, both of whom were thirteen years old in 29 b.c.e. and therefore too old to

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appear just over the rim of Octavian’s chariot. Both children in the chariot are of the same height and of the opposite sex, further confirming that they are the twin children of Antony and Cleopatra.153 But what of Antony’s third child by Cleopatra, Ptolemy Philadelphos? At the time of the triple triumph, Ptolemy was only seven years of age and would probably have been too small even to be seen above the high rim of the currus triumphalis. Little Ptolemy might, however, have walked in the procession with the foreign kings and children who went before Augustus’ chariot, as he reports in the Res Gestae (4.3). This part of the frieze is unfortunately incomplete. Only a few kingly figures appear ahead of Octavian’s chariot,154 while walking behind him are a number of male figures clad in a bordered toga (toga praetexta) in the simple Republican style (toga exigua), as reported by Cassius Dio (51.20.2).155 Contrary to custom, as Dio also mentions (51.21.9), Octavian allowed his coconsul (Sextus Appuleius) and other magistrates to follow him, along with those senators who had participated in the victory. Various aspects of the Nikopolis frieze may be explained as artistic license or as motivated by political considerations.156 Missing from the triumphal chariot, for example, is the servus publicus (“public slave”), who would have stood behind Octavian holding a gold oak crown over his head while whispering in his ear the words Respice post te, hominem te esse memento (“Look behind you [and] remember that you are only a man”).157 Also omitted from the Nikopolis processional frieze are Tiberius and Marcellus. Suetonius (Tib. 6) reports that both youths accompanied Octavian’s chariot in the Actian triumph, riding on the left and right trace-horses of the chariot respectively. In the Nikopolis frieze all four horses survive; none bears a rider. Of course Suetonius may have been mistaken about the participation of Tiberius and Marcellus in the Actian triumph: we know that ancient literary sources can be incorrect or confused, as in the case of the late Vergilian commentator Servius (ad. Aen. 8.714), who erroneously reported the order of Octavian’s triple triumph.158 Perhaps Tiberius and Marcellus rode on another day of the triumph, or perhaps they were left out of this composition in order to focus attention on the two children who rode with Octavian in his chariot. To represent Alexander Helios and Cleopatra Selene in the currus triumphalis would have made very good political sense, since their inclusion would serve to underscore Octavian’s clementia. In 29 b.c.e. Antony would still have had a number of politically powerful supporters, sympathizers, and familial connections that Octavian would have wanted to win over in order to preserve the peace. Sparing Antony’s children by Cleopatra and having the two oldest ride with him in his chariot would have been an ostentatious gesture highlighting



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Octavian’s new politics of reconciliation. Such a merciful gesture would have been especially important after the brutality of the Second Triumviral period, which had torn the state apart and claimed the lives of thousands of Romans, including many members of the old Roman nobility. Octavian’s gesture could also be taken as a rejection of the vengeance and bloodshed that occurred during the time of Sulla. In fact, he himself makes the point (RG 3.1–2) that he spared the lives of all those citizens who asked for mercy, as well as those foreigners who could safely be pardoned.159 What better way to begin to heal the wounds of civil conflict than to show the children of Octavian’s two most bitter enemies now under his protection?160 This gesture of clemency is also demonstrated by the fact that Octavian turned the children over to his sister Octavia, whom Antony divorced in 32 b.c.e., to raise along with her own with Antony and with her earlier husband, C. Claudius Marcellus, as well as with Antony’s youngest son by his former wife, Fulvia.161 Moreover, when the Senate wanted to impose extraordinary sanctions against Antony and his ancestors after Actium, Octavian prevented this, even seeing to it that Antony’s name be restored to the Fasti Consulares, in which the names of the eponymous consuls were recorded, as we know from the inscribed Fasti Colotani.162 On the evidence of the Nikopolis frieze, it is likely that Cleopatra Selene and Alexander Helios actually rode in Octavian’s chariot in the Actian triumph, but it is by no means certain. Roman political art was highly interpretive and in some cases presented history not as it happened but as it should have happened.163 Lacking a detailed eyewitness account of the Actian triumph, we cannot know how accurately the planners and/or sculptors of the Nikopolis frieze represented the event, especially since this is rhetorical political art. Given the importance of the Augustan Victory Monument at Nikopolis, it is quite likely that the subject of its friezes was communicated from Rome, probably by means of sketches and with some planners being sent out to work with sculptors from the Attic workshop brought to the site to carve the friezes in Pentelic marble.164 Athenian sculptors would have been unfamiliar with details of a Roman triumph that took place in Rome. The carving of the triumphal frieze and of the slightly larger one below it representing spolia was probably completed not long after the Actian triumph of 29 b.c.e. Since the Ara Pacis, which was a similarly complex monument, was finished between 13 and 9 b.c.e., the Nikopolis frieze would probably have taken no longer than four years. The triumphal frieze was therefore most likely created in the 20s b.c.e., soon after the founding of Nikopolis itself, when the triple triumph in Rome was still very much in the public consciousness.

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Notes 1. For charisma and its role in the ideology of leadership, see especially the fundamental work of Taeger (1957) and (1960). 2. See Charlesworth (1937); Wallace-Hadrill (1981). 3. Amiet (1980) 104–107, 132, fig. 49; Bänder (1995). 4. Perry (ed.) (2005) 363 with color photo (facsimile). 5. See in general Taeger (1957) and (1960); Fears (1977). 6. For Alexander and his image, see, e.g., Taeger (1957) 171–233; Hölscher (1971); Alexandre le Grand (1976); Stewart (1993); Carlsen et al. (eds.) (1993). 7. See Michel (1967); Weippert (1972); Hannestad (1993); Isager (1993); Spencer (2002); and Braccesi (2006), who also deals with Alexander in the postclassical tradition. 8. See, e.g., Polybios (18.30–33) and Plutarch (Vit. Flam. 8), both of whom speak of the problems with the phalanx, especially if the terrain is not level. 9. Goldsworthy (2000) 76–81. 10. The best treatment of Pompey’s portraiture, particularly vis-à-vis Alexander, is that of Giuliani (1986) 56–100, especially 94–100, 200–208. For Pompey’s emulation of Alexander, see also Michel (1967) 35–66; Weippert (1972). For the life of Pompey, see Seager (1979); Southern (2002). 11. The portrait is from the family tomb of the Licinii Crassi: Johansen (1994) 24–25 (no. 1: mus. inv. 733). For this and an earlier type, probably representing Pompey as consul for the first time and reflected in an early replica in Venice, see Giuliani (1986) 56–100, figs. 1–3; Pollini (2007b) 259. 12. This image has generally been taken as a copy of a now lost portrait of Alexander made during his lifetime by his court sculptor Lysippos. See Stewart (1993) 165, 423 with further bibliography, figs. 45–46. 13. Plutarch provides the only useful description of Pompey’s features. For other ancient sources, see Giuliani (1986) 270 n. 44. 14. Among modern works on Julius Caesar, see especially Weinstock (1971); Southern (2001). 15. Pollini (2005a) 96 with further bibliography, figs. 8.18–19. 16. See Cadario (2006) 35–37. 17. See also Michel (1967) 102–103; Westall (1996) 92–93.



18. For this statue and the practice of reusing statues in general, see Blanck (1969) 14, 107. 19. Pozzi et al. (1987) especially 28–29, 49–54, figs. 25a–c, pls. I; Bergemann (1990) 83–86 (P 31), pls. 56–57; Lahusen and Formigli (2001) 175–78 (no. 105) 390–91 (105a–e); Varner (2004) 120–22, 261–62 (5.7) figs. 123a–c. 20. Pozzi et al. (1987) pls. II–III, V, VI. Cf. the image of Alexander wearing cuirass and gorgoneion in the Alexander Mosaic: Cohen (1997) 7, pls. I–II. 21. Mus. inv. no. 4996 (48 cm high): Pozzi et al. (1987) 32–33, figs. 30a–c; Stewart (1993) 45, 123–24, 127–28, 426 with further bibliography, fig. 21; Bergemann (1990) 75 nn. 250, 254, pls. 33c–d; La Rocca and Parisi Presicce (eds.) (2010) 208, 290–91 (no. II.22). 22. See, e.g., Brown (1961) fig. 36. 23. See in general Kienast (1969); Gillis (1977– 78); Weippert (1972) 214–59; Marrone (1980); Spencer (2002) 269. 24. Just before Caesar’s assassination, Octavian had been pursuing his education at the “college-town” of Apollonia. Suetonius reports: ingrediente eo [Octaviano] urbem repente liquido ac puro sereno circulus ad speciem caelestis arcus orbem solis ambiit (“as he [Octavian] entered the City, a circle like a rainbow, which suddenly appeared from a clear and cloudless sky, circumscribed the sun”). 25. Lactantius, writing several years after the Battle of the Milvian Bridge, relates that as the result of this “heavenly sign” Constantine had his soldiers inscribe crosses on their standards—in reality the Chi-Rho Christogram, which is also a solar sign. What mattered was that Constantine’s signum caeleste was interpreted as a cross by Christians, who were prone to see apparitions of the cross as a manifestation of divine will. Interestingly, in the depiction of the Battle of the Milvian Bridge in the Constantinian reliefs on the Arch of Constantine, there is no evidence of crosses or the Chi-Rho being inscribed on the shields of Constantine’s soldiers. 26. For the halo phenomenon, see Jones (1948) 85–86; Barnes (1981) 43 with n. 148. 27. For the life of Marc Antony, see in general Southern (1998b). 28. See, e.g., Suet. Aug. 10.4; 16.2. 29. This was once called the “Actian” or “Octavian” type, but numismatic evidence indicates that this type can be dated almost a decade earlier than Actium.

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See now Boschung (1993a) 11–22, 59–65, 110 (cat. 6), pls. 7–8; Pollini (1999a) 728–30, fig. 3. 30. I have called this third portrait type his “Second Triumvir” type: Pollini (1999a) 726–27, 730. 31. This head was long taken to represent Alexander and to have been part of a three-dimensional sculpture. However, Radt (1981) challenged this interpretation, arguing instead that the head came from the Great Altar of Zeus at Pergamon and was therefore not Alexander. Cf. Giuliani (1986) 71, especially 271 n. 53 (response to Radt), 300 n. 220; Stewart (1993) 332–33, 428 with further bibliography, figs. 128–29. 32. RRC 535/1 (ca. 38 b.c.e.); Kent (1978) 275 (no. 115), incorrectly dated to 31 b.c.e. See Pollini (1999a) 726 with n. 15, fig. 10. 33. This is also known as the DIVOS IVLIVS issue. For the use of the archaic and legal term divos/divus with reference to Divus Iulius, see chapter III and Wardle (2002). 34. RRC 492/1, 493/1a–b, 494/18, 494/25, 497/2a, 518/1, 523/1a, 525/1, 526/1, 528/3, 529/1, 534/3, 535/1, 528/1, 540/1; Kent (1978) 275 (no. 115), 276 (no. 120), pl. 33. See also Pollini (1987) 72. 35. Cohen (1997) pl. II (close-up in color of figure of Alexander). 36. For the use of prototypes, see Maderna (1988) especially 56–80 (Diomedes); Pollini (1987) 87 with nn. 144–45 (Ares). 37. See, e.g., BMCRE I, 98 (no. 599); Kent (1978) 276 (121), pl. 34. 38. Mørkholm (1991) 81–82, figs. 178–79, 181–82; Dahmen (2007) 16–17, 42–43, 119–20, pl. 8. See also Stewart (1993) 322, color pl. 8b, fig. 117. 39. See, e.g., Stewart (1993) 37, 343–43 (T 9). 40. Cf. Fears (1977) 2. For the role of charisma in the ideology of leadership, see Taeger (1957) especially 171–224 (for Alexander’s charisma) and (1960). See also Stewart (1993) 62. 41. For Octavian/Augustus’ charisma, see Taeger (1960) 89–210. 42. For this early period, see Kienast (1982) 1–66; Southern (1998b) 1–99. 43. See also Nic. Dam. 10–11, 22–24. 44. For Octavian’s early career and the honors bestowed upon him by Caesar, see Kienast (1982) 1–9; Southern (1998a) 1–21. 45. RIC2 I, 59 (no. 256); BMCRE I, 100 (no. 6l5), pl. 15.5. For other sources, see Pollini (1990a) 346.

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46. This figure has also been taken as an Achilles. For a discussion of this unique sculpture, see Stewart (1993) 113–17. 47. Suet. Aug. 94.4; Cass. Dio 45.2. See also a glass cameo in the Römisch-Germanisches Museum in Cologne (mus. inv. 72.153) in which the connection of Apollo and the sun in the birth of Augustus is indicated by the representation of a snake coiled around an Apolline tripod with the solar rays inscribed within the nimbus of the sun; for this and other miraculous occurrences surrounding the birth of Augustus, see Pollini (1993c) 282–84, fig. 84. 48. For the genius, see, e.g., Scheid (2003) 162–66. For the archaeological evidence for the worship of the genius in domestic cults, see chapter I above. 49. See, e.g., Plut. Vit. Alex. 3.1–4; cf. 2.3, 6. On the divinity of Alexander, see Stewart (1993) 95–102. 50. Livy (26.19.7) also compares the divine nature of Scipio’s birth with that of Alexander. 51. See Simon (1986) 164–65, 247–48, figs. 215–16. 52. It is possible that the togatus wearing a laurel (?) crown is Apollo in the guise of Octavian’s father, Octavius, who approaches a female (Atia?) reclining by a laurel tree (indicative of a shrine of Apollo), around which a serpent is coiled. Simon (1986) fig. 216 does not suggest Apollo and Atia specifically on this gemstone. 53. Plut. Vit. Ant. 80. Cf. Cassius Dio (51.16.3– 4), who indicates that in reality the city was spared because the Alexandrians might prove useful to the Romans in many ways. 54. For contactus, see Wagenvoort (1947) 12–58. Laying on of the hand(s) was also important in magical cures, as we know in the well-documented case of Vespasian, who is said to have miraculously healed two men in Alexandria by contactus after becoming Princeps: Tac. Hist. 4.81; Suet. Vesp. 7; Cass. Dio 65.8. For healing in general among Greeks and Romans, see Weinreich (1909). 55. The fundamental study of the Mausoleum of Augustus is Hesberg and Panciera (1994). See also chapter V below with appendix B. 56. Bernhard (1956). See, however, Adriani (2000) especially 15, 31, 59, 77. 57. For both the Hellenistic and Etruscan background to the Mausoleum of Augustus, see Reeder (1992). 58. This was once known as the “Forbes” type, after a head in the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. Dietrich

Boschung renamed it the “Louvre MA 1280” type after the head in the Louvre, which is thought to be closer to the lost prototype: see Boschung (1993a) 27–37, 60–65, 129 (cat. 44), pls. 36–37; Pollini (1999a) 727–28, 730, fig. 4. I have called this the “Triumphator” type. 59. Schwarzenberg (1967) and (1976); Stewart (1993) 165–71 et passim, figs. 40–41. 60. With regard to the triple triumph in Rome, see Lange (2009) 148–57. For the triumph in general in the Augustan period, see the collection of essays in Krasser et al. (eds.) (2008). 61. Stewart (1993) 163–71 et passim, 425 for further bibliography, fig. 32. See also Pollini (1995) 275. 62. For Augustus, see in general Kienast (1982); Southern (1998a). 63. See also Pollini (1978) 272–73 and (1990a). 64. For the Prima Porta portrait type, see Boschung (1993a) 38–59, 60–65, 179–81 (cat. 171), pls. 69–70; Pollini (1999a) 728, 730, fig. 5. For the Prima Porta statue in general, see Kähler (1959); Stemmer (1978) 145–46; Pollini (1995) with further bibliography; Cadrio (2004) 251–82. 65. See Pollini (1999a) 728, 730. 66. For these portrait types of Augustus and others, see in general Boschung (1993a); Pollini (1999a). 67. Although other ancient sources mention Augustus’ different signet rings (Plin. HN 37.10; Cass. Dio 51.3.6), only Suetonius (Aug. 50) tells us that Dioskurides made the one with his own image. For Dioskurides, see Vollenweider (1966) 56–64. 68. For the different rings of Augustus, see in general Instinsky (1962). 69. The new ring may have been created shortly after the founding of the Principate in 27 b.c.e. It is less likely that Augustus adopted his own image after recovering from his illness in 23 b.c.e. On this matter, see Instinsky (1962) 36–38. With regard to the change in Augustus’ last signet ring from an image of Alexander to one of Augustus himself by Dioskurides, see 31–38. 70. For the indirect use of Alexander’s imagery, especially for Pompey Magnus, see Giuliani (1986) 86–87. See in general Weippert (1972). 71. See Stroux (1933); Gillis (1977–78) 54–60; Giuliani (1986) 86–87; Stewart (1993) 14; Pollini (1995) 274–76. Achilles, on whom Alexander modeled himself, was judged to have had similar flaws: Pollini (1995) 273–74. For the assessment of Alexander’s good and bad qualities among the Romans, see especially Spencer (2002). See also Isager (1993).



72. For the perception of Alexander, see in general Spencer (2002). 73. For a historical perspective on Cleopatra, see Southern (1999). See also Walker and Higgs (eds.) (2001); Kleiner (2005a). 74. See especially Bonner (1977) 264–68. As applied to comparing and contrasting Alexander with Augustus: Pollini (1995) 274–76. 75. Syme (1939) 441. 76. Stewart (1993) 294–306, 422–23 with further bibliography. See also Pasinli (1997); Houser (1998). 77. Kähler (1965); Pollitt (1986) 155–58 et passim; Boschung (2001). 78. See in general Holliday (1997) and (2002) 80–83, 104–14, 211–19; Beard (2007) 153–59; Östenberg (2009) 189–99, 245, 248–51, 258. 79. For the representation of war in general in ancient Rome, see Dillon and Welch (eds.) (2006). 80. With regard to the Ara Pacis, see further chapters V and VI below. 81. For the significance of the Temple of Janus and the issue of war and peace in the Augustan period, see DeBrohun (2007). See also Lange (2009) 140–48. Citing Cass. Dio 54.36.2, Bosworth (1999) 14 indicates that the doors of the Temple of Janus were not in fact closed one of these three times because of the outbreak of hostilities in 11/10 b.c.e. involving the Dacians. Cf., however, Suetonius (Aug. 22.1), who states that the doors were closed three times under Augustus. 82. See, for example, a sestertius of Nero representing the Temple of Janus with doors closed: Kent (1978) 286 (no. 203), pl. 57. See also Simon (1967) 9. 83. Interestingly, the Ara Pacis was not shown on the coins of Augustus. For the coin evidence, see Moretti (1948) 117–18, fig. 100. 84. Gruen (1985). 85. In her article on concepts of peace, Hardwick (2000) does not discuss “peace through victory.” See also Rich (2003). 86. See Rosenstein (2007) 228–29. See also other essays in this collection, especially those of Raaflaub, Barton, and DeBrohun. 87. For the interpretation of this scene, see my detailed discussion in Pollini (1978) 11–35, especially 13, 28–30 for the dog. This animal has sometimes been taken incorrectly as a wolf, but as Dulière (1979) 234 has shown in his comprehensive study of the Roman wolf, it is not a wolf but a dog.

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88. For the notion of a bellum iustum, see Rüpke (1990) 117–22. 89. See also Barton (2007) 248. 90. The battles that Augustus fought during the period of the Principate were with barbarians on the frontiers of the Empire rather than within it, as was the case in the civil wars. 91. Suet. Aug. 18.2, Cass. Dio 51.1.3. Pompey, too, founded a city called Nikopolis after his victory over Mithradates VI. For the evidence, see Kienast (1969) 448 with n. 61. 92. Similar spolia pertaining to a sea victory, most likely the spoils of Actium, are to be found decorating a frieze from an Augustan building in the area of the Circus Flaminius in Rome. Sections of this frieze are in the Capitoline Museum (mus. inv. 2426): Hölscher (1988) 364–69 (cat. 200). 93. See further chapter II above. 94. In past discussions the entire lower register of the Gemma Augustea has been interpreted as representing the past. For a different view suggesting that the group of figures to the left represents a past victory, while the group to the right refers to future victories, and that the event commemorated dates to the end of 9 or beginning of 10 c.e., see Pollini (1993c) 263–73. 95. For this temple and its decorations, see Richardson (1992) 12–13 s.v. “Apollo, Aedes”; LTUR I (1993) 49–54; LTUR V (1999) 224–25. See also Shipley (1931) 25–28; Ryberg (1955) 145; Gros (1976) 185; La Rocca (1985) 94–95; Viscogliosi (1988) 144–47 (cat. 41–44); Bergmann (2010) 309–13 (cat. no. 32). 96. Sosius took Jerusalem in 37 b.c.e.. For inscriptional, literary, and numismatic evidence pertaining to Sosius and the Temple of Apollo Sosianus, see Shipley (1931) 25–28; Viscogliosi (1996) especially 1–4. 97. Although Shipley had concluded that the temple was rebuilt between Sosius’ triumph in 34 b.c.e. and the beginning of his consulship in 32, the findings of Viscogliosi (1996) indicate that the rebuilding of the temple, including its interior, was well underway before Sosius fled Rome. 98. Sosius appears to have not held a magistracy, but he was allowed to be numbered among those in the priestly college who saw to the cult of Apollo, as his name appears in the list of the XV Viri Sacris Faciundis of 17 b.c.e.: Viscogliosi (1996) 4. 99. CIL XII, P. 215, 252, 339. 100. La Rocca (1985) 93, figs. 26–27 (Romans fighting barbarians of a northern type).

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101. La Rocca (1985) 94–95, figs. 22–25. 102. For the cuirass in Latin poetry, see Charles (2004). 103. The only possible exception is a section of a frieze in the Palazzo Ducale that has been in Mantua since 1524 but came from Rome. The scene shows Romans battling northern barbarian types. Strong (1961) 23–24, 91 (no. 41) postulates on the basis of the style of the moldings that the relief might have come from the interior of the Temple of the Castores restored in the year 6 c.e. The bunching and overlapping of figures in the Mantua relief appear to be in the Hellenistic tradition, which is different from the more classicizing style of state reliefs of the Augustan period. In my opinion, it is also possible that the Mantua relief dates to the subsequent Tiberian period, in which case the battle scenes would refer to victories of Tiberius, not Augustus. Cf. the Hellenistic-style battle scenes that appear in the attic of the Tiberian Arch at Orange (ca. 26/27 c.e.): Amy et al. (1962); Gros (1979); Kleiner (1985) 47–48, pl. XI.1–2; Bromwich (1993) 183–86. For an attempt to date the arch to the Severan period, see Anderson (1987). For a critical review of this Severan redating and arguments in favor of the long established Tiberian date, see Kleiner (1989) 204–206. 104. See Hickson (1991) especially 127–30. 105. See, e.g., Hickson (1991). 106. See Eck (1984). 107. For the role of auspicia before marching off to war, see Rüpke (1990) 129–30; for the relationship between imperium and auspicium, 41–51; for Augustus and auspicia, 241. For the importance of augury for Augustus, see Kearsley (2009). 108. For the two types of provinces and their administration, see Salmon (1968) 74–94; Millar (1989); CAH X (1996) 324–70. 109. For Augustus’ power, authority, and achievement, see CAH X (1996) 113–46; Gruen (2005). 110. RG 4.1–2. See also Rüpke (1990) 129, 148, 152, 154. 111. For Augustus’ interest in recalling Romulus, see further chapters I, III, V, VII, IX. 112. See, e.g., BMCRE I, 7 (no. 38), pl. 1.20 (18 b.c.e.), 10 (no. 55), pl. 2.10 (18 b.c.e.), 68 (no. 390), pl. 8.15 (ca. 18 b.c.e.), 69 (nos. 395–401), pls. 8.16–20, 9.1–3 (19–16/15 b.c.e.), 73–74 (nos. 427–28), pl. 10.2–3 (18–17 b.c.e.), 75 (nos. 432–34), pl. 10.6–8 (17–16 b.c.e.). For the earlier coinage, see BMCRE I, 101 (nos. 616–17), pl. 15.6–7, 102 (no. 624), pl. 15.8.

113. RG 35.1. See Zanker (1968) 12, fig. 25; Ganzert (1996) 276; Spannagel (1999) 11, 20, 193, 203, 339–41, 357; Geiger (2008). 114. Augustus also set up two of Alexander’s tent poles, which were in the form of statues, in front of the Temple of Mars Ultor in the Forum Augustum: Plin. HN 34.48. 115. For this room, see chapter I above; for the paintings by Apelles, see also chapter IX below. It should be noted that in the reconstructed room (pl. III) the subjects of the paintings are not correct. 116. See further Marrone (1980) 36. Both of these paintings were also by Apelles. 117. Kähler (1959); Pollini (1978) 8–74 and (1995) with further bibliography. 118. For all these figures on the breastplate and their meaning as a whole, see Pollini (1978) 8–74. 119. For a detailed analysis of these figures and the event commemorated, see Pollini (1978) 11–35, 48–49. Cf. more recently Rose (2005) 25–27, who identifies the “commander” as the goddess Roma. In Roman art, Roma is usually represented as an Amazonian figure with one breast bare. She never appears with a dog, as does the commander on the Prima Porta cuirass. Rarely is Roma shown cuirassed, and then only in provincial art, as in the case of a relief figure from the Sebasteion in Aphrodisias: Rose (2005) fig. 6. Most importantly, she is always represented with long tresses falling on her shoulders (see also Rose’s fig. 6). The commander not only wears a cuirass but also lacks long hair tresses. The clump of hair at the right temple of the commander and his thick locks barely appearing below the rim of his helmet at the back are unlike hairstyles worn by male members of the imperial house or by female goddesses or personifications. However, this hairstyle is appropriate for a male personification. For the matter of the hair of the commander, see Pollini (1978) 21. 120. A legionary eagle is combined with the discs of the divisions of the Roman army—a bit of artistic license on the part of the sculptor. The unstrung bow and quiver are difficult to see in most photographs because of the shadow cast on this area of the statue, but I have personally inspected these details. 121. In a sense, the Genius Exercitus Romani, the divine spiritual force of the Roman army. For a discussion of various identifications, see Pollini (1978) 15–30. 122. See Pollini (1995) 128, fig. 8.11. Represented in fig. iv.22 is a modern bronze replica based on a composite cast in Munich.



123. Pollini (1995) 274–76. 124. Stewart (1993) 171. 125. Dahmen (2007) 6–9, 109–11, pl. 2.1–2. See also Stewart (1993) 162. 126. See, e.g., the soldier represented in the “Bella Tumulus” in Vergina (Greece): Andronikos (1989) 36–37, figs. 15–16. 127. On this statue and past scholarship on it, see Ridgway (1990) 115 with n. 14. 128. Pfuhl (1923) 816, 818, pl. 658; Swindler (1929) 309, fig. 487; Vermeule (1959/60) 14–15, B.6; Stemmer (1978) 138 and n. 461. 129. See Ridgway (1990) 139 n. 14, who notes that Stemmer had proposed that Lysippos’ Alexander with spear was cuirassed: Stemmer (1978) 133–39, especially n. 416. 130. The statue stands 2.09 m in height. It had been in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale dell’Umbria in Perugia for some thirty-five years before being returned to Amelia, where it was found just outside the town’s walls. To my knowledge, there is still no in-depth scholarly publication of the statue as a whole. For this sculpture, see Della Fina (1998) with photo of statue incorrectly flopped; Manconi and Danesi (2002) 133– 35. For the portrait head of this statue, see Lahusen and Formigli (2001) 90–92 (cat. no. 41) with further bibliography, 369 (color photos of the head); La Rocca and Parisi Presicce (eds.) (2011) 228–29 (cat. 3.6). 131. BMCRE II, 8 (no. 47), pl. 1.15; Kent (1978) 288 (no. 225), pl. 64. Vespasian also wears boots, also quite possibly reflecting in this respect the lost bronze original statue of Augustus, probably set up in a public place, on which the marble Prima Porta statue is presumed to be modeled. See Pollini (1978) 44–45. 132. La Regina (1998) 54 with color photo (two figures on the far left). 133. I thank Konstantinos Zachos for showing me the remains of the frieze and discussing it with me during my visit to the army base in Ioannina (June 6, 2007), where the fragments were being stored and worked on. I also owe special thanks to Dr. Zachos’ assistant, Evangelos Pavlides, for showing me Nikopolis and discussing with me many aspects of the Victory Monument and the frieze. For this important monument, see Zachos (2007) and Zachos et al. (eds.) (2008). See also Murray and Petsas (1989); Murray (2007); Zachos (2001) and (2003). For the role of Actium in Augustus’ politics in general, see Gurval (1995); Sumi (2005) 207–19; Kleiner and Buxton

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(2008) 77–78; Schäfer (2008) 149–50; Lange (2009) 95–123. 134. To be accurate, the orientation is more on a northeast and southwest alignment. 135. Zachos (2007) 411–18. For the rams that decorated the monument, see especially Murray (2007). 136. Cass. Dio 51.19.2. Propertius (2.1.34) also speaks of the rostra, probably as a poetic synecdoche for the ships that were borne along on the Via Sacra. 137. See recently Lange (2009) 109–11. 138. Where such a statue was located is still unknown, but a place on the upper terrace of the monument is likely: see further Lange (2009) 117–20. 139. Zachos (2007) 413–14. 140. Suet. Aug. 96; Plut. Vit. Ant. 65.3. These statues were later taken to Constantinople and set up in the Hippodrome: Nicetas Choniates, de Signis 650. See also Bassett (1991) 89. 141. The approximate sizes of the friezes have been determined from the scale of the objects represented, since to date it has not been possible to piece together any one section or sections to establish with certainty the total height of the frieze. For this frieze (“first category”), see Zachos (2007) 418–19, figs. 8–9. The “second category” to which Zachos refers is the floral decoration: Zachos (2007) 419. 142. At the same time when the friezes were smashed to pieces, the nonimagistic bronze rostra may also have been melted down. In any case, it is clear from the remains of lime kilns nearby that parts of the marble frieze were to be reduced to lime. 143. A particularly close parallel for the fate of the Nikopolis friezes is the smashing of the altar and statue of Nemesis at Rhamnous. For Christian attacks on images of classical antiquity in Greece, see Delivorrias (1991); Sauer (2003); Pollini (2007a); Pollini (in progress). 144. For this figured frieze (“third category”), see Zachos (2007) 419–30. For the primary sources for Octavian’s triple triumph, see Zachos (2007) 421 n. 37. See also Gurval (1995) 19–36; Östenberg (2003) 50–52, 129, 136–37, 143–45, 168, 240, 288–89 with further bibliography. 145. Zachos (2007) 422–23, fig. 11. I also saw at Ioannina other fragments of the ships borne in procession that have not yet been published. 146. This was one of the unpublished fragments of the frieze that I identified during my visit to the storage area in Ioannina in 2007. For the life of Cleopatra, see in general Southern (1999).

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147. The tradition of substitution of an image of the king for the king himself is very old, going back to the Near East and Egypt. See, e.g., Bahrani (1995) especially 376–78, who also mentions that Ashurbanipal records bringing back the statue of an Elamite king whom he defeated and who had apparently fled. The statue of the Elamite king was treated as though it were the king himself. For the ambiguity and blurring of distinctions between image and person in general, see Freedberg (1989). See also the effigy of Trajan borne in his posthumous triumph: n. 157 below. 148. Zachos showed me the head that goes with Octavian’s body when I was with him in Ioannina in 2007. For some of his latest publications, which show this section still without head, see Zachos (2007) 425 et passim, fig. 17; Zachos et al. (eds.) (2008) 56–72. 149. Aureus dating from 140–144 c.e. with Antoninus and his two adoptive sons: BMCRE IV, 37 (no. 239), pl. 6.9. For this coin type, see further chapter IX. For a sculptural relief of this same subject, see, e.g., Septimus Severus with his two sons Caracalla and Geta in a chariot in a relief from his tetrapylon at Leptis Magna in North Africa, see McCann (1968) 77, pl. XIX, figs. 1–2. 150. So also Zachos (2007) 425–29. 151. Cf. the marble portraits of Cleopatra in Berlin and in the Vatican: Bianchi et al. (1988) 184– 86 (Vatican, mus. inv. 38511), 187–88 (Berlin, mus. inv. 1976.10); Walker and Higgs (eds.) (2001) 218–19 (cat. 196: Vatican), 220–21 (cat. 198). See also Kleiner (2005a). Although there are no identifiable portraits of Cleopatra’s daughter Cleopatra Selene as a child with which to compare the relief image, a marble portrait in the Archaeological Museum in Cherchel (Algeria) may represent her as an adult, when she was queen of Mauritania: Walker and Higgs (eds.) (2001) 219 (cat. 197: mus. inv. S 66 [31]). Cf. Fittschen (1983) 168–70, fig. 29.1–3, who considered this image to represent her mother, Cleopatra VII, pl. 29. 152. Identifying Antony’s sculptural portraits has been problematic. For his numismatic image (his only undisputed likeness), see RRC nos. 517, 520–21, 527–28, 539/1, 541–43, 545; Kent (1978) nos. 103 (pl. 29), 107 (pl. 30), 110 (pl. 31), 111 (pl. 32). 153. Drusus Maior, the brother of Tiberius, was then nine years old and would therefore have been depicted slightly smaller than Julia. Thus far only a marble portrait from Corinth is likely to represent Augustus’ daughter Julia (Maior) as an adult: Pollini

(2002c) 22–29, figs. 23–25. See further chapter II above with fig. II.8a–c. Her resemblance to Augustus in this portrait is striking. The suggestion that the two heads appearing in Octavian’s chariot might have been not children but plastic busts of Cleopatra VII and Marc Antony strains credulity. In rejecting this proposal, see also Schäfer (2008) 150. 154. Zachos (2007) 425–26. 155. Zachos (2007) 424–25, fig. 16. For the toga exigua with arm bound up, see Quint. Inst. 11.3.137. For a discussion of the evolution of this Republican style toga, see Goette (1990) 20–28, especially 26–27 for Type Ab, 112 (nos. 116–19), pl. 3.4–6; Croom (2000) 42–45, fig. 10.1. 156. See also Zachos (2007) 428–29. 157. These details are known from ancient literary sources: e.g., Tert. Apol. 33.4; Pliny HN 33.4.11–12. On the Roman triumph in general, see chapter III above, n. 35. See also one of the Boscoreale Cups in the Louvre, probably created in the late Augustan–early Tiberian period and celebrating a triumph of Tiberius: Pollini (1978) 285–92; Kuttner (1995) 143–54 et passim, pl. 10. Here a state slave does not hold the oak crown over Tiberius’ head but rather places his hand on Tiberius’ crowned head—artistic shorthand signifying the gesture of crowning. For the crowns and crowning, see Bergmann (2010) 91–93, figs. 33a–c. On the Arch of Titus in the Roman Forum, the figure of Victoria personified, who replaces the public slave, is represented crowning the victorious Titus: Pfanner (1983) 48–49, fig. 31, pls. 45, 48.5, 51. However, the state slave crowning the triumphant Princeps continues to be employed in Roman art, as attested by a relief of Trajan’s posthumous triumph in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Palestrina. In this scene the effigy of the deceased Trajan in triumphal chariot (cf. SHA Hadr. 6) is crowned by the state slave, not with the usual gold corona Etrusca but rather with a crown consisting of two rows of gemstones (corona gemmata): see Musso (1987) 9, 12–15, figs. 2, 20, 26.



158. Servius indicates that the Actian triumph came first, then Dalmatia, and finally Alexandria. However, the triumph in 29 b.c.e. for Dalmatia occurred on August 13; for Actium, on August 14; and for Alexandria, on August 15. For the primary sources on Octavian’s triple triumph, see Zachos (2007) 421 n. 37. 159. Caesarion (Caesar’s illegitimate child by Cleopatra) and Marcus Antonius Antyllus (Antony’s elder son by Fulvia) could not safely be spared, since they might have been used to challenge Octavian or might themselves have threatened him, rekindling another civil war. See also Cass. Dio 51.6.1–2, 15.5. Antyllus, who had been betrothed to Augustus’ daughter Julia as part of the Treaty of Tarentum in 37 b.c.e., was executed just after the fall of Alexandria, because he was already an adult and therefore posed a great danger: see OCD3 1273 s.v. “Ptolemy XV” (= Caesarion); 116 s.v. “Antonius Antyllus, Marcus.” 160. According to Cassius Dio (51.6), the children of Antony by Cleopatra were spared as a favor to Juba, while Cleopatra Selene was given in marriage to Juba, along with the kingdom of his fathers, for his loyal service to Octavian in the campaigns. 161. That is, Iullus Antonius, who was born in 43 b.c.e. and was still a child after the capture of Alexandria in 30 b.c.e. He was married in 21 b.c.e. to Octavia’s elder daughter by Gaius Claudius Marcellus Minor but was condemned in 2 b.c.e. for adultery with Augustus’ daughter Julia and for allegedly plotting to overthrow Augustus: OCD3 114 s.v. “Antonius, Iullus.” On Octavia’s care for the children of Antony, see Plut. Vit. Ant. 87. 162. See Flower (2006) 116–21, fig. 16 (the restored name of Antony in the Fasti Colotani). 163. As noted in my introduction. See also Pollini (1978) 123–26, with regard to the Ara Pacis. 164. Zachos (2007) 429–30.

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Cha p ter V

The Ideology of “Peace through Victory” and the Ara Pacis Augustae Visual Rhetoric and the Creation of a Dynastic Narrative

T 

he Romans believed that their leaders were capable of achieving great things for the Roman State, their families, and themselves. Like the legendary Herakles/Hercules and Dionysos/Bacchus, who became gods after death because of their accomplishments in life, extraordinary Roman leaders were honored as saviors (conservatores) and benefactors (benefactores) not only of the Roman citizenry but also of mankind generally. Such men were able to achieve greatness not simply because they had innate ability but because they were favored by the gods to lead. In short, it was believed that some divine power worked through them, a notion that is reflected in many Roman works, including the Ara Pacis Augustae, the principal focus of this chapter. The discussion considers the religious, symbolic, and narrative program of the Altar of Augustan Peace, as well as its relation to other Augustan monuments in the northern and central part of the Campus Martius in Rome. Various narratological and rhetorical issues are of particular interest as a means of exploring the rhetorical mentalité, or mindset, behind the altar’s imagistic program and understanding the way ancient viewers with rhetorical training might have been able read it as a “dynastic narrative,” though not one couched in monarchical terms (which would have been at variance with the official ideology of the Augustan Principate).1 The Ara Pacis is arguably among the most important monuments of Roman art in celebrating the achievements and status of the leader of state.2 However, this monumental altar conveys its messages in a manner quite different from the later Column of Trajan (fig. v.1) and the Column of Marcus Aurelius (fig. v.2), which likewise extol the great accomplishments of the head of state. In the relief programs of the two columns the imperial story is told in a continuous series of images arranged in a seemingly logical diachronic sequence,3 a manner of representation that is relatively rare in Roman art. More commonly we encounter exemplary emblematic or iconic images arranged as staccatos, as on the Ara Pacis (figs. IV.18, v.3–4, 10–29, and plates XVII, XXIV–XXV), or

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Fig. v.1. Section of Column of Trajan, Rome. Photo by author

Fig. v.2. Section of Column of Marcus Aurelius, Rome. Photo by author

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Fig. v.3. Model of the Ara Pacis, Museo dell’Ara Pacis. Photo by author

Fig. v.4. Plan of the Ara Pacis showing direction of the altar table frieze (sacrificium anniversarium), Ara Pacis. After Pollini (2002a) fig. 9

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within the confines of a single tableau, as on the Gemma Augustea (fig. ii.17).4 Although such images do not constitute a traditional narrative, they often have narrative qualities or a narrative potential that might have induced an informed and highly educated ancient observer to create for himself a narrative of sorts and thereby become, in effect, a “viewer-narrator.”5 As Gerald Prince has shown, some narratives of a purely literary nature may have minimal narrativity, while certain non-narratives that adopt various narrative trappings may achieve a high degree of narrativity.6 Similarly, imagistic constructs like the Ara Pacis and Gemma Augustea might be considered “quasi-narratives” or “inferential-narratives.” They can be understood as narratives only insofar as a knowledgeable observer can create a narrative from embedded referential clues, be they symbols or scenes. This chapter does not necessarily explore how the imagery of the Ara Pacis was read by a particular individual on a single occasion but rather the various ways in which it might have been read by highly educated viewers on various occasions. These individuals, among whom would have been members of Rome’s elite class, would certainly have been able to interpret the complex visual language of the Ara Pacis in some of the ways I suggest. Although the imagery of the Ara Pacis was in keeping with Augustan ideology and no doubt planned with Augustus’ own input, it should not be forgotten that the Ara Pacis was technically decreed by the Senate (RG 12.2). At a fundamental level, the cognitive processing of visual disiecta membra (“scattered parts”) into a form of narrative would not have been difficult for a mind accustomed to the syntactic flexibility of the Latin language. This flexibility may also be understood as structurally “distactic,” in that discrete components or units are brought together to form a coherent whole. Such distactic structure is especially manifest in Latin poetry and rhetoric, in which various words, phrases, and clauses are brought together syntactically and held in suspension until the expressed thought is completed. At times, these word or clause relationships can be especially complicated, as in long periodic sentences with several subordinate clauses and in certain figures of speech, most notably hyperbaton (ὑπερβατόν, transgressio),7 an usually distactic word order of poetry, resulting in an unnatural or rhetorical separation of words for effect. Greco-Roman educational training would also have aided the viewer in creating a narrative out of an ensemble of visual images. From an early age, children were urged to learn and expand upon simple story lines of fables, using their imagination and training their descriptive powers in extending a narrative. At a later stage of their education, students were required to repeat a story from different starting points: either beginning somewhere in the middle, returning



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to what preceded, and then concluding, or beginning at the end and working back over the events that led to the conclusion.8 To hone their mnemonic skills, orators were also urged in the rhetorical handbook Rhetorica ad Herennium (3.17.30–31) to create mental loci or “backgrounds” (literally, “places/locales”), with associative images in each locus. Thus in giving a speech they could recall these compartmentalized mental imagines, moving in a sense through the visual environments either forward or backward during their oration.9 One form of narrative that an educated Roman observer might have created for himself out of a collection of visual images is what I have termed a “dynastic narrative,” which may be defined as the representation of, or allusion to, two or more diachronically or synchronically linked events or situations involving a dynasty of individuals. Scenes that focus on ceremonial display, religious devotion, and personal and familial achievements are often replete with symbols, formulaic gestures, and personifications that underscore imperial virtues. Such referential elements may help not only to complement and/or clarify an imagistic message but also to extend an explicit or implicit narrative in the manner of a subplot or paranarrative. It cannot be emphasized enough, however, that a “potential narrative” remains only a possibility, with no guarantee that even a very knowledgeable viewer would have attempted to read a series of related images as a narrative. In this regard, we are concerned with narratological theory, especially the relationship between verbal and visual modes of expression and manner of conveying ideas. For a sophisticated individual becoming a “viewer-narrator,” it should also be noted that complex imagistic constructs are designed not merely to be “read” once but to be “reread” again and again, as one would read the Aeneid or other great works of literature. And even though the Aeneid itself is sometimes evoked in the Ara Pacis’ imagery, this quintessential Roman epic is not followed slavishly. Various tales of the legendary past are instead adapted to create a new visual narrative, in the very way that Augustan poetry adapts— often brilliantly—traditional tales for its own specific purposes. Every reading of either a verbal or visual work of art is likely to bring new insights and interpretations, as well as a greater appreciation for the work and the story that it may tell. But unlike a literary creation, a monument laden with images and set up in a public space could be read in different ways, depending on how it was physically encountered. For example, someone approaching the Ara Pacis from its east (back) side along the Via Lata would have a different starting point in his narrative construct from that of a viewer who first experienced the west (front) side or, for that matter, the north or south sides. The way one approached the

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monument’s visual narrative and began reading would have been analogous to the way Roman children were taught to repeat stories from different starting points. Because of the complex artistic language of the Ara Pacis, it is clear that the great public state reliefs of the Augustan age were primarily designed for the educated elite, the segment of society from which opposition to Augustus’ auctoritas and dynastic plans might come, not the general populace, whose loyalty and support he now already had. The visual rhetoric of Augustus’ Bildprogramm (“representational program”) presupposes as the primary viewer an individual steeped in the literary and rhetorical traditions of Greco-Roman education. This imagistic program was itself a product and a symptom of the agonistic mentality of the ruling class of the late Republic. Like Caesar and Pompey, the Roman nobility contended with one another in their bid for support and everlasting fame and glory. Augustus’ state reliefs were visual testimonials before gods and men of his great accomplishments in life, his res gestae and his right to immortality, which to the Romans meant living on in human memory for all time, as discussed in chapter I. Besides serving as a memorial to himself and his dynasty, Augustus’ program sought to bind members of the ruling class to him and to his family, thereby achieving a concordia familiarum (“concord of families”) among the great and noble families of the Republic. The Princeps had to win over or at least gain the cooperation of this segment of society in order to prevent a return to the chaos of the last century of the late Republic, govern successfully now, and ensure the present and future stability of the Roman State. Notwithstanding its elitist character, the Augustan Bildprogramm also conveyed and reiterated certain simple underlying ideological messages that could be consciously or even subconsciously grasped by those who were less informed and/or semieducated. This social group might be considered a secondary or even tertiary audience. In fact, one of the reasons for the great success of Augustus’ state representational program was its multivalent character. Perhaps its most central theme, readily intelligible to all, was that Augustus was a benefactor and savior, who brought peace through victory to the Roman world.10 This message, which constituted the principal narrative “bit”11 in the “Augustan story,” was highlighted by Augustus himself when he boasted in his Res Gestae (13) that per totum imperium populi Romani terra marique parta victoriis pax (“throughout the entire empire of the Roman people, both on sea and land, peace [was] brought forth by victories”). The theme of concordia familiarum, which promoted the fictive image of one great dynasty of the Roman State, was also easily perceived by all. This concept



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was perhaps best expressed visually in the grandiose forum that Augustus built in Rome (fig. I.3; plates I–III, XVIII). It is surely no coincidence that it was dedicated in 2 b.c.e., the same year he officially received the title of Pater Patriae (“Father of His Country”), which was inscribed with his other titles on the base of his great triumphal statue that stood in the center of his forum. As noted in chapters I and III, Augustus, standing in a four-horse chariot, was surrounded literally and symbolically by figures placed in the niches of the pendant hemicycles and lateral porticoes (fig. I.3). These statues represented illustrious civic and military leaders of both Augustus’ own house and the leading families of the Republic. Dominating the Forum of Augustus was the great Temple of Mars Ultor, whose worship was brought within the pomerium, the “augurally delimited precinct” of the City, in which peace was to reside (plate XVIII: yellow area). In erecting the Ara Pacis Augustae in the Campus Martius outside the pomerium of the City, Augustus reciprocally introduced the Pax Augusta into the “Field of Mars” ( plate XVIII: green area). Through this dual action, he created a potent rhetorical contrapositum (“antithesis”), in which, we might say, victory and peace were chiastically linked in the cityscape of Rome (plate XVIII: crossed red arrows). The concept of military success was further emphasized by the fact that in 10 b.c.e. Augustus set up and dedicated to the sun-god Sol an Egyptian obelisk to serve as the gnomon (pointer) of his colossal sundial, the Solarium (or Horologium) Augusti, which was designed to measure the length of the year.12 The Solarium was also a victory monument celebrating the year of the vicennalia (twentieth anniversary) of his great military success over Egypt in 30 b.c.e., marking the end of the civil war period. The Solarium with its obelisk was planned in conjunction with the Ara Pacis, which was constituted in 13 b.c.e., the year of the fiftieth anniversary of Augustus’ birth in 63 b.c.e., and dedicated in 9 b.c.e. on January 30, the birthday of his wife Livia. Together, both commemorative monuments served as a visual metaphor for parta victoriis pax (“peace brought forth by victories” or “peace through victory”), an ideological shibboleth that was reiterated directly and indirectly in a number of Augustus’ representational programs. But there is yet another notable connection. As Edmund Buchner showed some time ago, the base of the obelisk was not on a north-south compass alignment but oriented toward Augustus’ mausoleum to the north, so that the central axis of the obelisk’s base passed through the center of the mausoleum, thus linking the Solarium–Ara Pacis complex with Augustus’ dynastic tomb (figs. v.5 and plates XIX and XX; appendix B in this chapter).13 In this way, his achievements in life of victory (= Solarium) and peace (= Ara Pacis) were conceived visually as

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Fig. v.5. Plan of Campus Martius (modified by author). After Pollini (2002a) fig. 8

ultimately leading (proleptically in his lifetime) to his eventual apotheosis after death (= Mausoleum Augusti) (see plate XX).14 Some aspects of Buchner’s analysis have been challenged, in particular certain technical matters related to his calculations, as well as his claim that a great butterfly-shaped solar screen with bronze lines laid out on travertine flagstones once covered a large open area (platea) in the northern Campus Martius (e.g., fig. V.5; plates XVIII–XX).15 Evidence has also emerged from excavations that the whole area around the Solarium was raised up by the time of Vespasian or



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Domitian,16 because of the accumulation of earth from the Tiber’s flooding of the Campus Martius, so that the Solarium no longer worked properly by Pliny’s day (HN 36.72–73) around the middle of the first century c.e. Consequently, a new meridian line was created to compensate for the raised level of the entire area surrounding the obelisk. Buchner found a Flavian section of the travertine flagstones (lapis stratus) that once formed the solar screen’s north-south inlaid bronze meridian strip, with short east-west bronze bars and some letters with names of the zodiac in Greek.17 He drilled in a number of spots but failed to locate any other flagstones, although he believed that some of the bore-hole core samples indicated the foundation (“Fundament”/“Fundamentierung”) for the flagstones of his postulated great solar screen at both the Augustan and Flavian levels. As a result of these samples, Buchner also altered somewhat his previous opinion regarding the shape of the solar screen and suggested instead that its butterflylike form was truncated as a result of being inscribed in a circle.18 No other foundations of buildings or facilities were found in the numerous areas where Buchner took core-samples, which argues in his favor that there had been some sort of solar screen, although this would constitute only negative evidence for his interpretation.19 While Buchner’s claim with regard to a foundation for the flagstones has been questioned and his concept of a grand travertine solar screen dismissed by a number of scholars,20 this screen need not have been constructed entirely with travertine flagstones.21 Potentially problematic for Buchner’s original theory was the discovery of two stone cippi (“boundary stones”) of Vespasianic and Hadrianic date inside the area of his postulated solar screen. These cippi defined the line of the expanded pomerium of the City under Vespasian. If a large travertine solar screen had been in place at that time, the plow used in the traditional ceremony of creating the line of the new pomerium would have had to go around the screen, though other strategies might also apply.22 Instead, Buchner’s critics have suggested that all there ever was in the Augustan period was the north-south meridian strip in travertine, with lines and letters in bronze, a Flavian section of which Buchner’s excavations turned up. In the Augustan period, this meridian strip would have served to calculate the length of the year and to check the Roman calendar by observing where the shadow of the obelisk fell on the bronze meridian line at noon every day throughout the year.23 The task of overseeing the Roman calendar, which became critical because of a miscalculated leap year, fell to Augustus in his capacity as Pontifex Maximus, the office that he assumed in 12 b.c.e. following the death of his political rival M. Aemilius Lepidus, who had held this position since the death of the former Pontifex Maximus Julius Caesar in 44 b.c.e. By implication, Augustus

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now came to control time itself, as symbolized by the Solarium. Because of the Vespasianic and later cippi found within the area of Buchner’s postulated solar screen, he credited Vespasian with planning the restoration of the Solarium, with its actual execution taking place under Vespasian or his son Domitian.24 In any case, Buchner’s proposed Augustan solar screen would no longer have been visible by the time of Vespasian, since by then it would have been buried below the Flavian ground level.25 Plowing for the new pomerium would have had no effect on a screen at the lower Augustan level.26 Although there may be some problems with Buchner’s calculations and interpretation of the archaeological evidence, in the end nothing either definitively proves or disproves his proposal.27 For this reason and because this is the period with which I am personally concerned, I have retained his original hypothetical Augustan solar screen, though I have shaded it to indicate actual and plausible parts of it in the reconstructions and models used in this chapter.28 Perhaps future excavations in the area of the postulated solar screen will clarify some of these matters. All that was really necessary, in my view, was that there be some sort of actual equinoctial line running at least from the meridian line toward the Ara Pacis. This strip need not have extended from the meridian line eastward more than was necessary to highlight the movement of the shadow cast by the obelisk during the course of the afternoon hours on September 23, the birthday of Augustus. Using Buchner’s calculations for the location of the base of the obelisk, Nicholas Cipolla, my collaborator in creating our computer reconstructions of the Solarium, was able to show graphically with a software program (“formZ”) how a shadow cast by the obelisk would travel eastward along a postulated equinoctial line from the north-south meridian line to the Ara Pacis both on the autumnal solar equinox and on Augustus’ birthday.29 This was demonstrated by inputting the geographical coordinates of Rome (41º 54'N, 12º 30'E), the approximate location and height of the obelisk, and the desired times of day.30 The “formZ” program could then automatically calculate and project the form and position of the obelisk’s shadow in our computer-based model. The results produced using this computer program proved to be very close to Buchner’s calculations, with the margin of error and some variables that come into play in such an endeavor. For our hypothetical model, the location of the base of the obelisk was moved a little more than 1 m to the right (i.e., to the east) of where Buchner had located it.31 With the base of the obelisk located there, we found that the shadow cast by the top of the bronze globe and the base of the bronze “needle” (itself in the form of an obelisk) on top of it (fig. v.6) fell at the center of the intersecting north-south meridian and the east-west equinoctial line at noon on the birthday of Augustus (fig. v.7a). Because of the sufficiently



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large diameter of the globe (ca. 74 cm) and the near coincidence between Augustus’ birthday on September 23 and the autumnal equinox on September 24 in the restored proleptic Julian calendar of around 9 b.c.e. (see note 29), the shadow of the globe would have covered the postulated bronze equinoctial line at least partially on the birthday of Augustus and fully on the autumnal equinox. Accordingly, during the course of the afternoon of both September 23 and 24, the shadow cast by the globe continued eastward along the east-west equinoctial line (figs. v.7b [at 2 p.m.] and v.7c [at 3:52 p.m.]). Although the shadow of the globe in these figures is shown as over the exact center of the equinoctial line, the actual shadow could have been slightly higher up or lower down over the equinoctial line, depending on the day and year. Our model revealed that by 4:31 p.m. on September 23 the long and diffuse shadow of the obelisk with its globe and “needle” pierced the west front doorway of the Ara Pacis, pointing toward the center of the inner altar table (fig. v.7d–e). In a 1:100 Fig. v.6. Ancient bronze globe with obelisk-like “needle” that once stood on the granite obelisk of the Solarium Augusti, Palazzo dei Conservatori, Rome. Photo by author

Fig. v.7a. Shadow cast by the obelisk’s globe and needle at noon on September 23 (computergenerated image by Nicholas Cipolla) Fig. v.7b. Shadow cast by the obelisk’s globe and needle at 2 p.m. on September 24 (computergenerated image by Nicholas Cipolla) Fig. v.7c. Shadow cast by the obelisk at 3:52 p.m. on September 24 (computer-generated image by Nicholas Cipolla)

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Fig. v.7d. Shadow cast by the obelisk piercing the west entrance of the Ara Pacis at 4:31 p.m. on September 23 (computer-generated image by Nicholas Cipolla)

Fig. v.7e. Detail of the top of the diffused shadow cast by the obelisk’s globe and needle at 4:31 p.m. on September 23 (computergenerated image by Nicholas Cipolla)

scale model of the obelisk, I found that the diffuse shadow of the top of the obelisk with ball and needle together took the form of a broad-headed spear point. In effect, the felicitous near coincidence of Augustus’ birthday and the cosmic autumnal equinox would have underscored the fact that he had brought peace to the world, as represented by the globe atop the obelisk. This “penetration” of the entrance of the Ara Pacis also has symbolic value in terms of cosmic birth or rebirth, since the word for “obelisk” in Egyptian is thn, from the verb “to pierce,” which can have sexual overtones in terms of regeneration or rebirth as a result of piercing or penetration.32 The phallic form



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Fig. v.8. Plan of area of Palazzo di Montecitorio in middle of the Campus Martius (note N–S orientation), showing my postulated location of Ustrinum Augusti with arrows indicating where fragments of inscriptions were found (plan altered by author). After de Caprariis (1993) fig. 1

of the Egyptian obelisk was undoubtedly significant as a symbol of the life-giving sun-god Amun-Ra, reborn into the world of man each day at Heliopolis (Egypt), where his sacred obelisk-like bnbn stone was enshrined and revered.33 The Latin word obeliscus derives from the Greek obeliskos, meaning “small spit” or “skewer,” which undoubtedly also had sexual overtones, given its obviously phallic shape. Since such associations would have been known to the educated Roman elite, one wonders whether there was an intentional pun associated with the shadow of a phallic, male-gendered obeliscus piercing the western opening of the female-gendered Ara Pacis. Sexual overtones in the context of cosmic birth and rebirth are to be found, after all, in Augustus’ own expression parta victoriis pax (“peace brought forth by victories”) in his Res Gestae (13), since the Latin perfect passive participle parta is from parire (“to procreate,” “to give birth to,” “to bring forth”). In any case, the findings produced by the computer program “formZ” further corroborate the symbolic function of the shadow cast by the globe following the line of the autumnal equinox (whether laid out on paving stones or not) over the course of the afternoon of Augustus’ birthday, thereby graphically proclaiming that he was born to bring peace through victory to the world.34 Also associated ideologically and symbolically with the Mausoleum/Solarium/Ara Pacis complex was the Ustrinum Augusti, where the mortal remains of Augustus were cremated (see further appendix C in this chapter). In most plans and models of the Campus Martius, this ustrinum is placed between Augustus’

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mausoleum and the Via Lata, where modern scholars generally thought it was situated.35 However, epigraphical evidence referring to the family of Germanicus (including rehabilitated members) found in this general area indicates that the ustrinum located here was probably constructed in the period of Claudius.36 Strabo (5.3.8) places the Ustrinum Augusti farther to the south “in the middle of the Campus” Martius (ἐν μέσῳ δὲ τῷ πεδίῳ), in an area most likely beneath the present Palazzo di Montecitorio, or Palazzo del Parlimento (fig. v.8).37 The fact that later Antonine ustrina were found in close proximity in this area adds to the probability that the ustrinum of Augustus was situated here, since the Antonines favored the establishment of connections with the founder of the Principate (fig. v.9).38 Placement of the Ustrinum Augusti on a small hill in the modern area of Montecitorio (as in the hypothetical models in plates XIX, XXI–XXIII)39 would have given it prominence in the open area of the Campus Martius and made it a sort of pendant to the mountainlike Mausoleum Augusti to the north. In fact the very name “Montecitorio” derives from the word monte (“mountain”), a reference to the hillock that occupied this area in antiquity.40 In this location, Augustus’ ustrinum would have been axially aligned with both the Solarium and the Mausoleum Augusti—the same axis as the cult statue of the deified Hadrian in his temple, the Hadrianeum, to the immediate south of where Augustus’ ustrinum was probably located (fig. v.9).41 There is no way to know, however, when the Ustrinum Augusti was built—whether it was preplanned at some point before Augustus’ death like his mausoleum or even built at the time of his successor Tiberius, possibly over the very spot where Augustus’ body had been cremated.42 But why would the Ustrinum Augusti have been located here rather than next to the Mausoleum Augusti? The area of the proposed ustrinum was also near the Caprae Palus, where Romulus was said to have ascended to heaven in the chariot of his father, Mars (cf. fig. III.10), and where Agrippa built the Pantheon (fig. v.9).43 Originally intended as an Augusteum by Agrippa, the Pantheon was turned into an Augustan dynastic shrine to the planetary gods, with Divus Iulius among them. Perched on the hillock of Montecitorio just northeast of where Romulus was thought to have been translated to heaven and where the Agrippan Pantheon was located, the Ustrinum Augusti would have evoked powerful Romulean and Caesarian memories in the cityscape of ancient Rome, in the same way that in the second century of the Empire the nearby Hadrianeum and ustrina of the Antonines would have exploited Augustan associations.



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Fig. v.9. Plan of Campus Martius with proposed site of ustrinum of Augustus, Antonine ustrina, and Hadrianeum according to Jolivet (plan altered by author). After Jolivet (1988) fig. 2

Narrativity and the Ara Pacis Augustae Before focusing on the narrative aspects of the representational program of the Ara Pacis, both in and of itself and in the context of the Campus Martius, I think it helpful to explain some narratological terms as they relate to art. “Narrativity” has to do with the degree to which a collection of images or an “imagistic ensemble” could be “read,” by a small and elite audience in some cases, by the public at large in others. “Structural enframement,” a term I coined, refers to an ensemble of images displayed within a given structure or complex of structures, whether or not visible at one and the same time to a single viewer. What an observer could see, comprehend, and contextualize in one place at one time, I would term “synoptic enframement.”44 This would be very much like a single snapshot view of an object in a spatial context. Only after visually experiencing the entire structural enframement would someone be able to comprehend and contextualize the whole of its imagistic program. The viewer could then cognitively arrange the individual synoptic enframements experienced in creating some sort of narrative whole. This kind of delayed activation or Nachträglichkeit—to borrow an expression from Sigmund Freud45—was an aspect of Greco-Roman educational training, whereby, as noted above, mental pictures (loci) were created as an aid in memorizing prodigious amounts of material, especially for rhetorical discourse. I believe that “structural enframement” and “synoptic enframement” are useful concepts and terms in understanding how the imagistic elements of the Ara Pacis might have been read as a narrative by an ancient viewer or likened to the structure, syntax, and diction of the Latin language and to a number of rhetorical figures of speech. This is an area that has not been explored in the majority of studies of the Ara Pacis that have appeared. In some respects, the structure of the altar’s representational program is like Ovid’s Metamorphoses, in which related or tenuously linked stories are recounted within an overall temporal framework established at the very outset of the work. Ovid begins the traditional invocation to the gods with the following words (Meta. 1.1–4): Di, coeptis . . . Adspirate meis primaque ab origine mundi ad mea perpetuum deducite tempora carmen! O Gods . . . inspire my undertakings, and take my perpetual song down from the first beginnings of the world to the present time.



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In a similar fashion, the images on the enclosing precinct (saeptum) wall of the Ara Pacis begin with the Roman past in the two front (west) panels alluding to the origins of the Roman people and the founding of Rome. The allegorical panels on the back (east) side of the Ara Pacis celebrate the present peace and prosperity of the Augustan State with implications for the future under the leadership of Augustus, the state priests of Rome, and the Augustan house, mingled with the blood of Rome’s noble Republican families, represented in the processional friezes on the north and south sides. Members of Augustus’ extended family appear for the most part in the last one-third of these two friezes, while figures associated with the chief priesthoods were disposed opposite one another in the first three-quarters on each side.46 Since Augustus was not yet Pontifex Maximus in 13 b.c.e., the display on the altar of the four major priesthoods (pontifices, augures, quindecimviri sacris faciundis, and septemviri epulones) in which he held membership was a useful way to highlight his special relationship with Rome’s religious establishment and sacred traditions, for no other Roman had previously held all of these priesthoods.47 The program of the Ara Pacis, in my opinion, is further bound together by the augural symbolism that permeates the entire monument in one form or another, further underscoring its religious foundation. Both figural reliefs on the west (front) side of the monument (fig. v.10) allude to auguria (“auguries”) from Rome’s legendary or myth-historical past: that is, to miraculous past events that had been prophesied. The right side represents the augurium Fig. v.10. Front (west) side of the Ara Pacis. Photo by author

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Fig. v.11a. Augurium of Lavinium (Aeneas’ Sacrifice of the Sow of Lavinium), Ara Pacis. Photo by author

Fig. v.11b. Detail of Temple of the Penates in the Aeneas Panel, Ara Pacis. Photo by author Fig. v.11c. Detail of the Sow of Lavinium in the Aeneas Panel, Ara Pacis. Photo by author

of Lavinium, the prophecy of Aeneas’ sacrifice of the Sow of Lavinium, symbolizing the future founding of the Italic town of Lavinium (fig. v.11a, c).48 Although it has been suggested that this panel shows a scene involving King Numa instead of Aeneas, this reinterpretation cannot be sustained for a number of iconographical and ideological reasons (see further appendix A of this chapter). It is clearly Pater Aeneas who sacrifices to the Penates, divinities connected with Jupiter in augury. The augural relevance of the Penates is demonstrated by the representation in the relief of two litui in the gable of their temple (fig. v.11a–b). Aeneas, the father-founder of the Roman people and the ancestor of the Julian house, was destined by Fate to make his way to Italy, the original home of his ancestors. Aeneas was guided to this end by Apollo and the Penates through augural signs. Augustus had been directed by the Penates and the



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Fig. v.12a. Augurium of the Lupercal (discovery by Mars and Faustulus of Romulus and Remus being suckled by the She-Wolf), Ara Pacis. Photo by author

Fig. v.12b. Feet of Picus (woodpecker) on a branch of the Ficus Ruminalis, Ara Pacis. Photo by author

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great gods—the Magni Di—at Actium, where he achieved his predestined victory over Antony and Cleopatra. The relief panel to the left of the front opening of the Ara Pacis refers to the augurium of the Lupercal (fig. v.12a).49 By divine will Romulus and Remus, the twin sons of Mars, were found and cared for in a miraculous way by the She-Wolf and the woodpecker Picus in the place where the City of Rome was destined to arise. All that remains of Picus are his small feet on a branch of the Ficus Ruminalis (fig. v.12b) in the future Roman Forum, where the basket carrying the twins came to rest after being set adrift on the inundating waters of Father Tiber. Lost now are the images of the sacred SheWolf and twins, who are iconographically integral to this scene. The subject can be determined by the figure of Mars, who appears on the left, and of the shepherd Faustulus, on the right. Mars, the father of the twins and father-founder of the Gens Romana (“Roman people”), and Faustulus, their future foster-parent, look on at this wondrous and felicitous sign (prodigium). Paratactically displayed in a synoptic enframement, both front panels act like a rhetorical comparatio (σύγκρισις), referring to great and auspicious beginnings and the union of Lavinium and Rome, as well as the Gens Iulia and the Gens Romana. At a metaphorical level, the mingling of the “ichorous” blood of Mars and of Venus, progenitrix of the Julian Clan, would in due course lead to the birth of the savior and benefactor of mankind, Augustus Caesar, who was to bring peace and the prophesied return of the Golden Age.50

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Past discussions of the Ara Pacis have not noted the broader significance of the two sacred animals that are represented—the Roman She-Wolf and the Sow of Lavinium. Inasmuch as every Roman colony set up an image of the SheWolf and every municipality with the ius Latinum (“Latin right”) an image of the Sow of Lavinium (fig. v.11a, c),51 both animals serve here as badges of the Roman and Latin peoples and, by extension, of the Italic peoples and the union of all three. A similar analogy is evoked, as we shall see, by the imagery of the pendant panels at the back (east) side focusing on Rome and Italy. Each of the figured panels on the front (west) side of the Ara Pacis serves as a narrative bit, in which the moment represented recalls the rest of the fated stories of Romulus and Remus, on the one hand, and of Aeneas, on the other. Also functioning as a narrative segment are both long friezes of the north and south sides of the saeptum wall (figs. v.13–14).52 I believe that, taken together, these reliefs represent two sides of the same procession, moving from the back side of the altar to the front in a parallel fashion, as in the case of the north and south processional friezes of the Parthenon, from which the Ara Pacis drew partial inspiration. As I have discussed at length elsewhere and indicate in my reconstructed schema (fig. v.15), prominent individual figures and groups of figures are disposed opposite one another on the two sides of the precinct wall.53 I believe that the augurs would have held the central position among the priestly groupings on both sides (figs. v.15, 16a). To be sure, none of the surviving figures is shown carrying the crook-shaped augural lituus.54 However, this omission becomes explicable if Augustus himself, who is readily identifiable by his distinctive portrait features in the south frieze (fig. v.16a–b),55 originally held this religious and magical staff (cf. fig. v.16c), with which as interpres (“interpreter”) of Jupiter he interprets the will of the supreme god of the Roman pantheon to man.56 We know that Augustus not only was an augur but also had the right as Princeps and Imperator to take auspicia (“auspices”), the auguria that magistrates and military commanders performed.57 In 29 b.c.e., in conjunction with closing the doors of the Temple of Janus to signify the cessation of war and the establishment of peace throughout the land, Augustus also revived the ancient ceremony of augurium salutis, an augury for the safety of the Roman State that had last been performed in 63 b.c.e.58 In the past, the majority of scholars considered Augustus to have been represented carrying out a sacrificial act or about to sacrifice, but neither interpretation is convincing. Although Augustus’ right hand is damaged (figs. v.16d–e), enough is preserved to show clearly that he did not hold a patera for making a libation.59 Had he held a patera, there would be some trace of it across the



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Fig. v.13. Model of south side of the Ara Pacis, Museo dell’Ara Pacis. Photo by author

Fig. v.14. Model of the north side of Ara Pacis, Museo dell’Ara Pacis. Photo by author

palm of his hand.60 The same would be true if he had held a sprig of laurel. And if he were offering sacrificial incense,61 the palm of his hand would be turned downward instead of facing out as it does.62 It has also been suggested that Augustus is merely raising his hand toward the sacrificial attendant holding an acerra further on in the frieze, as if to summon him to bring incense.63 But this sacrificial ministrant looks away from Augustus, not toward him. Moreover, a public sacrifice would require the presence of an altar. In spite of the fragmentary nature of this part of the frieze, it is clear that no altar of any sort

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is represented in front of the Princeps.64 As for the notion that the altar may be conceived as hidden behind the body of the lictor proximus (“nearest lictor”), who stands to the left facing Augustus,65 the altar is always clearly visible in Roman sacrificial scenes.66 Augustus, then, is not sacrificing, nor is he about to sacrifice. In closely examining Augustus’ right hand, I discovered a rise on the surface to the right of where the last two fingers are broken off (fig. v.16d–e: arrows).67 This slight elevation in the marble indicates that the fingers were not outstretched but grasped some object. The hand was not cupped about it, as in making a fist, since there is no trace of a rise in the marble in the middle of the palm. Furthermore, the base of the thumb is not thrust out but is rather flush with the palm, indicating that the thumb was extended forward and would have pressed



Fig. v.15. Compared processional friezes of the Ara Pacis (north side photographically reversed). Photo by author

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Fig. v.16a. Augustus in south processional frieze, Ara Pacis. Photo by author Fig. v.16b. Detail of the head of Augustus, Ara Pacis. Photo by author Fig. v.16c. Augustus with augural lituus restored in his right hand, Ara Pacis. Photo by author Fig. v.16d. Detail of the fragmentary right hand of Augustus, Ara Pacis. Photo by author Fig. v.16e. Detail of the fragmentary right hand of Augustus, Ara Pacis. Photo by author

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against a stafflike object. It would have been held only under the fingers, leaving a good part of the lower palm open. A lituus would have been held in just such a way (cf. fig. v.17), as we know from representations in other Roman reliefs,68 as well as from an actual silver lituus of imperial date (fig. III.8).69 Though somewhat stylized in form, this silver lituus—like all litui—has a handle that would have been positioned under the four fingers, as in my reconstruction of Augustus as augur with the augural staff in his right hand in the processional frieze of the Ara Pacis (fig. v.16c).70 Holding a lituus, added as a separate piece in marble or more likely in silvered or gilded bronze, and wearing the distinctive purple trabea with the scarlet stripes of an augur,71 Augustus would have stood out among the other figures in the frieze (colorized reconstruction: plate XVII). There are two augural events that might have been commemorated in the processional friezes of the Ara Pacis. One possibility is the particularly important augural ceremony known as a maximum augurium salutis rei publicae

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(“supreme augury for the safety of the Roman State”).72 This ceremony may have coincided with the last of the three senatorial decree under Augustus that the doors of the Temple of Janus be closed (cf. fig. iv.18), a time when the augurium salutis was normally taken.73 Alternately, as I argued long ago, Augustus may be shown on the altar marking out the templum terrestre (“terrestrial precinct”)74 on which the Altar of Augustan Peace was to be erected in its monumental marble form between 13 and 9 b.c.e. It is even possible that an augurium salutis was followed by the delineating of the Ara Pacis’ templum terrestre, which was the earthly equivalent of the archetypal templum caeleste (celestial templum). Both types of templa were marked out by an augur.75 Before proceeding to a destined precinct area in Rome to pace out a templum terrestre, an augur would first have taken augury by receiving signs at the Auguraculum on the Arx.76 That augurs stood in the performance of certain types of augural rites77 is clearly demonstrated by a scene of Augustus with lituus in hand on the Altar from the Vicus Sandaliarius (fig. iii.7: see further chapter III). The two figures on either side of Augustus in the processional frieze on the Ara Pacis are likely to have also been members of the College of Augurs, assisting him in the augural ceremony (fig. v.16a, c; plate XVII).78 A scene of inauguratio (“inauguration”) would have been closely associated with the Roman Senate’s constitutio (“constitution/foundation”) of the Ara Pacis, which we know from Augustus’ Res Gestae (12.2) took place on July 4, 13 b.c.e. to celebrate his safe return from Spain and Gaul.79 After the augural event that I believe is commemorated on the Ara Pacis there would probably have been a supplicatio (“thanksgiving”) to the gods, which took place over a number of days.80 As Augustus tells us in his Res Gestae (4.2), he celebrated some fifty-five such ceremonies of supplication at various temples of Rome. On the Ara Pacis, focus on an augural act would have metaphorically evoked an image of Augustus as the inaugurator of a new era of peace and prosperity— the new Golden Age, heralded in Augustan art and literature (e.g., Verg. Aen. 6.791–94) and called to mind as well by the magical floral decorations of the altar itself, with its lituus-shaped vines and tendrils (e.g., figs. vi.1a–b, 14; see further chapter VI). In my view, as discussed in chapter III, the cult statue of Divus Iulius with head veiled and holding a lituus in his temple in the Roman Forum (fig. III.6) quite likely served as a model for Augustus’ manner of representation on the Ara Pacis.81 It would have brought to mind that, like Caesar before him,



Fig. v.17. Hand holding a lituus. Photo by author

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Augustus is Alter Conditor (“Second Founder,” after Romulus) of Rome.82 At the same time it presumably would have recalled the statue of Romulus-Quirinus himself as augur in his own temple on the Quirinal (Ov. Fast. 6.375). Such allusions would certainly have been in the tradition of epideictic oratory, in which one exemplum served to recall another, either directly or indirectly.83 As noted, the very name “Augustus” that Octavian received in 27 b.c.e. was associated with both the founding of Rome and augury. Being derived from the Latin verb augere (“to increase”), “Augustus” also served as a pun for the increase in prosperity that he brought to the Roman world. As Second Founder of Rome, Augustus would therefore have been represented on the Ara Pacis revalidating the past through a religious and ritualistic act of renewing the Roman State and society, very much in the way the Parthenon frieze celebrates a similar act of renewal in the presentation of the new peplos to Athena every fourth year.84 Association of Augustus with his ancestor Aeneas, the archetypal dynastic hero, also figures prominently in the imagery of the Ara Pacis. Augustus and Aeneas—both with heads veiled and crowned with laurel—are posed in a very similar way (cf. figs. iv.18, v.11a, 16a; plate XVII).85 The likening of Augustus to Pius Aeneas functions as a visual simile (imago, εἰκών),86 while setting up at the same time rhetorical comparatio and aemulatio in the manner of ἐπίδειξις (demonstratio) and laudatio, both forms of laudatory oratory.87 It goes without saying that in any comparison or imitation the leader must somehow be different from his model in order to maintain his own distinct identity. An invited comparison, especially between an ancestor and his even greater descendant, was a common topos in Roman political rhetoric.88 As the destined inaugurator of the new order of the ages that was heralded years before by Vergil in his fourth Eclogue,89 Augustus is therefore presented on the Ara Pacis as surpassing the achievements of even his illustrious ancestor Aeneas. And since deification was based upon great accomplishments in life on behalf of the Roman State, the subtle implication of the future apotheosis of Augustus, as of his father before him, would not have been lost upon an individual viewing the Princeps’ image here and in other contexts. Augustus thus became the new model for future leaders to emulate, as he himself reportedly said in creating the sculptural program of the Forum Augustum: it was his intent “to lead citizens to require him while he was still alive, as well as leaders to come, to attain the standards set by the worthies of old” (ut ad illorum vitam velut ad exemplar, et ipse, dum viveret et insequentium aetatium principes exigeretur a civibus) (Suet. Aug. 31.5).90 The increase and future hope of the Roman State are further underscored by the representation of the large family of Augustus with its many children in the long friezes of the precinct wall.91

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Fig. v.18a. Back (east) side of the Ara Pacis. Photo by author Fig. v.18b. Reconstructed sketch (by Luperini) of the back (east) side of the Ara Pacis (altered by author). After Rossini (2006) 96 (top)

Themes of abundance and prosperity are also conveyed metaphorically and allegorically in the two large figural panels on the back (east) side of the Ara Pacis (figs. v.18a–b). These pendant panels function, in a sense, as a gloss on the principal narrative bit, the inaugural event of the Augustan present in the two long processional friezes. At the same time, the scenes on the back (east) side can be understood as alluding to the fated consequences of the inaugural occasions of the legendary past recalled in the two pendant panels at the front. At the back of the altar, the allegorical panel to the right (fig. v.19a–b) once represented a figure of a victorious Roma seated on a pile of weapons of the conquered.92 However, instead of clasping a spear, she probably held out a globe crowned with a Victoriola (a statuette of the goddess Victory), found in other representations of seated figures of Roma in Roman art, as in a scene on an altar from Carthage (fig. v.20), and especially on coinage (e.g., fig. v.21).93 Like the better-preserved three-figure composition in the panel to the left (fig. v.18a–b),



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Fig. v.19a. Roma panel, Ara Pacis. Photo by author Fig. v.19b. Head of Honos with cornucopia, from Roma panel, Ara Pacis. Photo by author Fig. v.20. Relief scene of Roma holding Victoriola on altar from Carthage, Bardo Museum, Tunis. Photo by author

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Roma was undoubtedly also once flanked by personifications (fig.V.18b), perhaps in some landscape or architectural setting, since all other panels at the front and back of the altar have a contextualized background. These figures were probably Honos (fig. v.19b) and Virtus, alluding to the two chief military virtues of Augustus.94 The divine triad of Roma, Honos, and Virtus would have metaphorically symbolized the victories won under Augustus’ military auspicia. Represented in the center of the panel to the left at the back is a figure whose identification has been much debated (fig. v.22).95 With two children in her lap and surrounded by other symbols of fertility, this female figure emphasizes the beneficia of Augustus—the fruitful result of parta victoriis pax Augusta terra marique (“Augustan peace brought forth by victories on land and sea”). The attributes and symbols of various mother goddess types seem to have been

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combined to create a synchretized, polysemous image of Tellus Italiae, the personified “Land of Italy,” or magna parens frugum, Saturnia Tellus/magna virum (“great mother of crops and heroes, Saturnian Tellus”) as Vergil calls her in his Georgics (2.173– 74). Vergil’s use of the epithet Saturnia to describe the “Land of Italy” is especially significant, since it intentionally recalls the first Golden Age in Italy under the god Saturn and serves as the archetype of a new one now dawning under Augustus (cf. also Verg. Ecl., 4.5–7). The identification of the altar’s great mother goddess as Tellus Italiae is further borne out when the paratactic nature of both back panels is considered. Taken together (fig. v.18a–b), the figures of Italia and Roma would have called to mind the memorable line in Vergil’s Aeneid (12. 827), written shortly before the creation of the Ara Pacis: Sit Romana potens / Itala virtute propago (“Let the power of Roman stock / be allied to the valor of Italy”). From this bond of Rome and Italy would come the future generations of soldiers, as symbolized by the two infants. Representing Italia would also be a way to honor the Italian soldiery that formed the backbone of his legions, the mainstay of his real power, who had brought victory in the civil wars.96 Romano-Italic manpower would safeguard the present and future peace and prosperity of the Roman State—the primary task laid upon the Romans by Fate as propounded by Aeneas’ father, Anchises (Aen. 6.851–53):

Fig. v.21. Sestertius (rev.: Roma holding out Victoriola), 65 c.e. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and the Classical Numismatic Group

Tu regere imperio populos, Romane, memento hae tibi erunt artes paciqur imponere morem parcere subiectis et debellare superbos. Be mindful, O Roman, [that it is yours] to rule nations by lawful power—these shall be your arts—to impose the ways of peace, to spare the conquered, and to defeat the arrogant in war.

One of the underlying themes of the two front panels of the Ara Pacis—the notion of the unity of Rome and Latium and, by extension, of Italy—is therefore reflected allegorically in the two back panels. The two babies in the lap of Tellus Italiae indirectly recall Romulus and Remus as infants in the scene of the Lupercal in the left front (west) panel.



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Fig. v.22. Tellus Italiae (Saturnia Tellus) panel, Ara Pacis. Photo by author

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Moreover, the symbolism of twins also reflects Augustus’ unofficial political formula of an “heir and a spare” for the continuity of his dynastic line and the transmission of power. In this context and at this time, Augustus’ grandsons and adopted sons Gaius and Lucius were being advertised as the future hope of Rome and the prosperity of the Roman State. They would therefore shortly be conceived as the destined saviors of the state like the twin gods Castor and Pollux. Chapter IX discusses the far-reaching significance of this binary, Castorian prescription of succession and power. Neither of the allegorical panels at the rear of the Ara Pacis should be thought of as referring only to the Augustan present, since both strongly imply that an auspicious future is to be expected under the continued guidance of Augustus, his house, and other leaders of the Roman State appearing in the altar’s two long processional friezes. Fundamental to our understanding of the Ara Pacis’ narratological character, especially as a form of visual rhetoric, is an examination of the way its compositional elements are like those of a literary work of art. As in any sophisticated literary narrative, the altar’s panels and frieze are disposed in relation to one another to form a compositional whole, embodying the Greek principle of συμμετρία καὶ ῥυθμός (“commensurability of parts and shapely pattern”). The

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imagistic parts of the Ara Pacis’ structural enframement are like clauses making up a well-balanced sentence. Such a formation is known in the parlance of rhetoric as parisosis (παρίσωσις).97 The arrangement of the altar’s programmatic friezes and panels in a parallel and/or antithetical way recalls the figures of diction known as isokolon (ἰσόκωλον = conpar)98 and antithesis (ἀντίθεσις, ἀντίθετον = contentio, contrapositum).99 The visually encompassing floral reliefs and pilasters act in a way like conjunctive and correlative clauses, binding together a series of related main clauses that provide the thematic substance in a highly complex narrative. At the same time, the scroll reliefs and pilasters serve as a subplot to the main narrative. They have, in effect, paranarrative potential that extends and enriches the principal narrative. To use an expression of Roland Barthes,100 they might be considered “catalyses” (or “catalyzers”) that are functional in this mode of narration only insofar as they relate to the narrative and add to its discourse. Unlike Barthes’ “cardinal functions,” or nuclei of the narrative itself, however, these catalyzers are “complementary,” in that they occur simultaneously with the principal narrative, while at the same time complementing it.101 Hermann Büsing has demonstrated a formal visual relationship between the vegetal forms of the altar’s scroll work and the figures in the processional friezes that cannot have been coincidental.102 Accordingly, he established that the figures of Augustus and Agrippa are equidistantly disposed from the central candelabrum that rises out of the massive calyx of the acanthus plant (fig. v.23).103 Although Büsing did not explore the ideological meaning behind his observations, it seems to me that this schematic interrelationship, in which Augustus Fig. v.23. Reconstructed south side of the Ara Pacis with Augustus and Agrippa disposed equidistantly from the central stalk of acanthus. After Pollini (2002a) fig. 13



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and his right-hand man are linked in the context of predestined and efflorescent generation, was created to underscore on the one hand the political connection of both men and on the other their familial relationship and the guaranteed dynastic continuance of the Julian line through Agrippa’s marriage to Augustus’ daughter Julia. This corresponding relationship between figures above and flora below would undoubtedly have been far more striking in antiquity when the marble forms were picked out in color (e.g., plate XVII).104 Structurally, the harmonious correspondence between the human figures in the figural friezes and the floral forms of the scroll friezes below recalls the balancing of the constituent parts of a complex periodic sentence in the Latin language. The balanced vegetal motifs of the scroll friezes, moreover, have a rhythmic ebb and flow that is reminiscent of the cadence of a metric line of poetry. Even the centrally located candelabrum rising out of the great acanthus calyx functions like a caesura in the middle of a poetic line. The repetition of various floral motives and of swans punctuating the tops of the candelabrumlike stalks of acanthus finds analogy with the rhetorical figure of diction known as “reduplication” (ἀναδίπλωσις = conduplicatio); that is, the repetition of one or more words for the purpose of amplificatio (“increase of expression”) and exornatio (“embellishment”).105 In the entire Bildprogramm of the Ara Pacis, the reiteration of visual motives thus functions like rhetorical “interlacement” (συμπλοκή = complexio): that is, the intertwining of the same words that begin phrases expressing similar and dissimilar ideas (ἐπαναφορά = repetitio), as well as the same words that end successive phrases (ἀντιστροφή = conversio).106 In short, what may be termed the visual grammar, syntax, vocabulary, and rhetorical figures of speech employed in the Ara Pacis highlight the ideology of Augustus and at the same time embellish the narrative potential of this highly poetic visual ensemble. As in the climax (κλῖμαξ = gradatio) of a complex periodic sentence,107 the conjunctive themes of the reliefs of the outer precinct wall lead to those of the inner altar. Though now deprived of its original paint, the inner surface of the saeptum wall still conveys the impression of a fencelike sacred enclosure with windowlike openings above (figs. v.24, 26, 27). Fruit-laden festoons are slung between the fictive sun-bleached skulls of sacrificial oxen, while sacral fillets flutter in the breeze and paterae dangle in the air as if by strings attached to the architraves above. Like the great exterior floral friezes, these polycarpophoric festoons, abounding in many vegetal forms, are magical in that fruits of all seasons appear together, a reiterative metaphor for the fruits of peace in the new Golden Age of Augustus. This fictive wall demarcates the sacred from the profane, indicating that we have now entered into the “holy of holies,” so to speak. In the center of the enclosure is the great sacrificial altar, which was once

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Fig. v.24. Inner altar of Ara Pacis (three-quarter view from southwest corner) showing part of the altar table frieze (sacrificium anniversarium). Photo by author Fig. v.25. Altar table frieze (north side) showing part of the sacrificium anniversarium procession, Ara Pacis. Photo by author

decorated with three different-sized friezes and embellished with acanthoid scrollwork reliefs (figs. v.24, 27; plate XXV). Resting on a stepped podium is the altar’s prothesis, on top of which burnt offerings were made annually to the gods on January 30, the date of the Ara Pacis’ dedication in 9 b.c.e.108 Of the three friezes that once decorated the altar,109 only the surviving sections and fragments of the smallest and best preserved have been set in part around the altar table (figs. v.24–27, plate XXV).110 This frieze represents the annual sacrifice on the anniversary of the dedication (sacrificium anniversarium) (e.g., figs. v.24–26).111 Because of the highly fragmentary nature of the other two larger friezes, their figural remnants have not been immured in



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Fig. v.26. Inner altar of Ara Pacis (three-quarter view from southeast corner) with arrows indicating direction of figures in procession on altar table frieze. Photo by author

Fig. v.27. Reconstructed sketch of Ara Pacis (by G. Gatti in Moretti [1948] fig. 99; altered by author). After Pollini (2002a) fig. 17

the reconstructed altar but are now on display in the new Ara Pacis Museum. The procession in the smallest frieze begins at the southeast corner of the altar table (figs. v.4, 26 with arrows indicating direction of the procession). From here figures move in opposite directions around the sides and wings of the table to come together in the center at the front, where the sacrifice itself was most likely represented (fig. v.4, plate XXV). This procession of figures is

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almost continuous except at the corners, where the frieze is punctuated by fearsome winged and horned lions with apotropaic powers (figs. v.24–26). Conceptually, the disposition of the frieze around the inner altar table recalls in part the Parthenon frieze, which likewise represents a highly idealized, ritualistic ceremony of renewal that begins at one corner of the building and comes together on the front (east) side.112 The Great Panathenaic procession arrives there in the spiritual presence of the twelve principal gods of the Athenian pantheon, who were in my view also depicted on the inner altar of the Ara Pacis. A relationship has also been noted between the fifth-century Altar of the Twelve Gods in the Athenian Agora and the Ara Pacis, which has a similar general ground plan.113 There is a long tradition in Greek and Roman art of using reliefs representing the Twelve Gods (dodekatheoi) to decorate altars and other sculptural objects.114 But instead of being depicted in the Ara Pacis’ smallest frieze, which is disposed like the Parthenon frieze, the Twelve Gods may have been the subject of the largest of the three friezes, measuring ca. 88–89 cm in height (ca. 3 Roman feet), on the inner altar’s prothesis.115 The very few preserved fragments of this frieze (fig. v.28a) represent in a classicizing style standing figures of divinities, though unfortunately none of their divine attributes have survived.116 The one female head to survive in part (fig. v.28b) has two hair bands in her hair, which is pulled back into a short hairdo like a ponytail, similar to classicizing hairstyles like those of Artemis/Diana or Aphrodite/Venus. In the past, these fragments were thought to be parts of personifications and to have come from a frieze that originally decorated the podium or lower part of the inner altar. In my opinion, however, these figures belonged to a frieze of the Twelve Gods that was placed at the front of the altar between the two projecting wings of the altar’s prothesis, directly below the small frieze of the sacrificium anniversarium, as in my reconstructed views (fig. v.27, plate XXV). Being on the front side, as in the case of the section of the Parthenon frieze with the Twelve Gods, this location is not only the most important ideologically but also the most visible of the entire inner altar. In contrast, the sides and back of the prothesis at this level would probably once have been ornamented with scroll motifs (figs. v.24, 26, 27). In any case, based on their size, twelve or thirteen standing figures of divinities could have filled the width of a frieze on the front side of the altar’s prothesis.117 My proposal that a frieze with the Twelve Gods decorated the inner altar of the Ara Pacis has relevance for the question of where—or whether—the goddess Pax Augusta (“Augustan Peace” personified) was represented on this monument. Some have attempted to see Pax in the mother goddess figure at the back of the precinct wall (figs. v.18, 22), although there are serious difficulties



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Fig. v.28a. Fragments of the largest inner altar frieze, Museo dell’Ara Pacis. Photo by author Fig. v.28b. Head of female divinity (Diana or Venus?), Museo dell’Ara Pacis. Photo by author

with such an identification. For one thing, we would expect Pax’s most important attribute, the caduceus, to have been represented in the scene.118 Moreover, peace in general would certainly be implied in a figure of Tellus Italiae, given the peace that Italy enjoyed under Augustus. It is not of course absolutely essential that Pax appear as a personification in the representational program of the Ara Pacis Augustae, since in a more general sense her numinous presence permeates the entire monument. However, if Pax Augusta were on the altar in personified form, she would have appeared, I believe, in the largest of the inner altar’s friezes, which I have postulated would have decorated the front of the altar’s prothesis. Because the altar as a whole honors her, she would most likely have been placed in the very center, like Pandora among the gods in the frieze that once decorated the front of the base of the statue of Athena Parthenos within the Parthenon, as we know from Pausanias (1.24.5) and Pliny (HN 36.18).119 A personified Pax Augusta, flanked on either side by equally distributed gods, would probably have been highlighted as the Thirteenth God, being welcomed by Jupiter himself, and most likely holding the caduceus in her hand. The notion of a Thirteenth God (τρισκαιδέκατος θεὸς) is attested in the literary and epigraphic record, particularly in the so-called ruler cult.120

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The size and iconography of the remaining fragmentary figures clearly indicate that they belonged to a medium-sized frieze (fig. v.29a), about 65 cm in total height, including margins at top and bottom, each of which is ca. 1.5–2 cm high.121 From the surviving evidence, it is likely that this frieze represented personifications of provinces and conquered gentes/nationes, as in the case of the Amazon-like figure with an exposed breast holding a double ax (fig. v.29b).122 The number of figures, moreover, suggests that this particular frieze once surrounded the entire podium of the inner altar (cf. my reconstructed views: figs. V.18b, 27; plate XXV). The placement of this frieze around the podium would make a great deal of sense, because the ideological concept of parta victoriis pax could then be expressed visually as peace resting on victories over barbarian peoples. In a similar way a peaceful goddess Roma in the relief at the back of the altar sits on a mound of conquered enemy arms (cf. figs. v.18a, b, 19a). The synoptic enframement of the front of the Ara Pacis with the three friezes decorating the inner altar, along with the reliefs on the outside of the saeptum wall (especially fig. v.27, plate XXV), would have made a powerful visual and ideological statement that could have extended the narrative possibilities of the Augustan achievement. The representational program of the inner altar would have reiterated with different imagery the fundamental idea that Augustus was fated to bring peace through victory to the Roman world. This concept is further extended when the Ara Pacis is considered within the greater topographical and architectural complex of interrelated Augustan monuments in the northern Campus Martius. When these structures were seen together from the optimum view, as in my reconstruction (cf. fig. v.5; plates XIX–XX), the story line of Peace (the Ara Pacis) through Victory (exemplified by the Solarium Augusti for victory over Egypt) leads directly to Augustus’ great dynastic mausoleum, thereby allowing a viewer-narrator to continue the narrative reading. From this angle, Augustus, whose statue once crowned his mausoleum, would have appeared to ascend to heaven. I believe that this statue was not a standing figure, as is generally thought,123 but a grand image of Augustus in a quadrigae, intended to evoke Romulus’ ascension to heaven in the chariot of his father Mars (cf. fig. III.10: see further appendix B).124 As the new ideal archetypal hero of the Roman State, Augustus was destined to have, as his ultimate fate and reward, deification for his great accomplishments in life. These deeds—his res gestae—were also once inscribed on two great bronze pillars before the entrance to his mausoleum (plates XXVI–XXVIII). In the end, Augustus became the very image that he had sought to create for himself and his Principate.



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Fig. v.29a. Fragments of the middle-sized inner altar frieze, Museo dell’Ara Pacis. Photo by author

Fig. v.29b. Cast of fragment of now missing Amazonian figure holding double ax, Museo dell’Ara Pacis. Photo by author

Out of the imagistic construct of the Ara Pacis in its setting, an informed and highly educated viewer would have been able to create for himself a dynastic narrative focusing on Augustus and associating and comparing his extraordinary achievements with two other momentous inaugural events from Rome’s past, as visually represented in the paratactically displayed front panels. The consequences of this preordained Roman past and Augustan present, represented in the two long processional friezes of the precinct wall, would in turn lead to an auspicious future under the continued leadership of Augustus, aided by members of his own family and of other noble houses. The security and peace of Rome and Italy are assured by Rome’s victories, alluded to in the two rear panels. The whole ensemble of figural images is architecturally and symbolically enframed and bound together by the magnificent scroll friezes and pilasters. As in the case of the Aeneid, the entire program of the Ara Pacis is a form of national epic of the dynasty and destiny of the leader and the Roman State, which from both a religious and an ideological point of view would have been intelligible not just to the educated elite. Even the general public would have been able to perceive and appreciate the ultimate narrative message of the Ara Pacis that the achievement and continuation into the future of the Pax Augusta depended directly on the ability of Augustus, his family, and the state priests to achieve collectively through religious devotion the pax deorum, the approval of and correct relationship with the gods essential to the Pax Augusta, the very concept embodied in the Ara Pacis Augustae.125



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Appendix A: The “Aeneas Panel” of the Ara Pacis

Fig. v.30. Denarius (obv.: head of Numa with his name on diadem), 49 b.c.e. After Rehak (2001) fig. 10

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A few years ago, Paul Rehak argued126—or rather reargued, based on a prior proposal by Laurence Richardson127—that the bearded male in the right front (west) panel of the Ara Pacis (figs. v.10–11a) is not Aeneas but Numa Pompilius, the second king of Rome and the originator of the Fetial Law, which set forth the criteria for a just war. According to the theory of Richardson and Rehak, Numa would be shown here sacrificing to the gods Jupiter and Dis (Pluto) or to Jupiter and Janus Quirinus.128 The proposed purpose of this sacrifice was to guarantee peace through a treaty between the Romans and an unspecified foreign king, represented by the fragmentary figure wearing a long-sleeved garment to the right in the panel. Although eloquently argued in great detail, this proposal is not tenable, in my opinion, for a number of reasons both iconographical and ideological. Since this interpretation has never been fully examined, I present here my counterarguments for maintaining the traditional identification of Aeneas about to sacrifice the Sow of Lavinium (fig. v.11a, c), together with some new thoughts on certain aspects of this panel. To begin with, since the bearded figure in the right front panel does not wear a diadem under his veil, he is not being represented as a king at the time of his sacrifice of a sow. By contrast, Numa Pompilius always wears the wide-band regal diadem, as in his various numismatic images (fig. v.30),129 including that on asses of Augustus dating to 23 b.c.e.130 Likewise, a marble statue from the House of the Vestals in the Roman Forum shows Numa, the founder of the cult of Vesta and of the College of the Vestals, wearing the broad kingly diadem (fig. i.9a–b).131 The figure to the right in the right front panel of the Ara Pacis is sometimes taken as Aeneas’ loyal friend, fides Achates.132 However, Achates is not to my knowledge represented in Roman art and evokes no imagery in keeping with the dynastic plans of Augustus.133 This now fragmentary figure is probably instead Aeneas’ son Iulus, now grown up after years of Aeneas’ peregrinations.134 The head (fig. v.19b) that was at one time represented with this figure has been correctly removed.135 This head, with the upper part of a cornucopia preserved, most likely represents Honos standing to the right of Roma in the right rear panel of the Ara Pacis (figs. v.18b, 19b).136 Most images of Iulus in Roman art show him as a small child next to his father Aeneas as he escapes from Troy bearing his father, Anchises, on his back. In such scenes Aeneas is shown as a young hero, still wearing armor and usually beardless.137 But the designer of the right front panel of the Ara Pacis chose to represent a fully bearded Aeneas, older and wiser at the end of his long journey, having been much buffeted on land and sea (multum ille et terris iactatus et alto: Verg. Aen. 1.3) and having at last reached the promised land of Italy. It therefore

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stands to reason that Iulus would no longer be shown as a boy (puer) in this relief but as a fully grown youth (iuvenis), the future hope of the Roman people.138 To make explicit the Trojan connection, this figure is depicted wearing a long-sleeved Trojan/Phrygian garment and carrying a cornel-wood spear (cornus), as described in the Aeneid (12.267). With the representation of Aeneas and Iulus, Augustus’ descent from both would have been recalled, thereby also promoting the Julian house. Though less common, depictions of a grown-up Iulus in Trojan/Phrygian costume are found in Roman art, as on a child’s sarcophagus from the Via Cassia near Grottarossa (Rome), now in the Museo Nazionale Romano al Palazzo Massimo in Rome (fig. v.31a–c).139 Aeneas is correspondingly shown not as youthful and clean-shaven but as older and bearded.140 So too Mars, who in the Republic was sometimes represented as more like the Greek Ares type, becomes under Augustus the older, fully bearded father Mars, as he appears on the left front panel of the Ara Pacis (fig. v.12a) or in his image in the Temple of Mars in the Forum of Augustus, which is reflected in a relief from Carthage (fig. iii.13a) and a colossal statue in the Musei Capitolini (fig. i.5).141 When considering Augustan art, we must bear in mind that its artistic language stands at the beginning of imperial imagery, when a new and flexible artistic vocabulary and iconography were being explored. Standing in the background in front of the rustic altar and to left of Aeneas is a boy who has sometimes been identified as Iulus.142 However, this is simply a generic priestly assistant, carrying a large bowl of fruit in his left hand and a guttus (wine pitcher) used for libations in his right hand (fig. v.11a, plate XXIV). Despite his rather mature features, which are also classicized (fig. v.32),143 his height clearly indicates that he is still a puer. Slung over his left arm is a shaggy fringed mantele (sacrificial towel).144 His tunic is belted with a knot of Hercules at the front. Although boy-ministrants throughout the entire imperial period are commonly represented wearing low-style shoes, the feet of the Ara Pacis figure are bare145—perhaps an antiquarian touch to suggest the great antiquity of the event and the sacredness of the place. Aeneas, too, is shown with bare feet. A similar aura of the distant past is evoked by the fact that Aeneas wears an oldstyle toga exigua (that is, without a tunic underneath).146 According to Aulus Gellius (NA 6.12.3), this is the oldest known way of wearing the toga. In this scene from the legendary past, Aeneas’ priestly boy-assistant— crowned with laurel like Aeneas—might be taken as a noble-born camillus (young male assistant of a priest). In olden times, and in certain cases even in the Augustan period, a camillus had to be a puer patrimus et matrimus (that is, a freeborn boy whose parents were both still alive).147 As we know from the Aeneid, Iulus lost his mother during the fall of Troy—a further reason why this



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Fig. v.31a. Child’s sarcophagus from the Via Cassia near Grottarossa (Rome) with scenes of Aeneas and Iulus, Museo Nazionale Romano al Palazzo Massimo. Photo by author

Fig. v.31b. Detail of Iulus, Venus, Cupid, and bearded Aeneas. Photo by author

Fig. v.31c. Detail of Iulus on horseback. Photo by author

Fig. v.32. Detail of the head of the older sacrificial ministrant in the Aeneas panel of Ara Pacis. Photo by author

figure could not be Iulus. This young priestly assistant has a quite distinctive hairstyle, with long tresses gathered at the back of the head, where they form a plaited loop that is knotted (fig. v.32), a feature difficult to see except close up and usually overlooked in scholarly discussion of this figure.148 Because of its uniqueness, this particular hairstyle would appear to be an invention of the Augustan period, when “archaic” customs were being revived or reinvented. The hair of the other youthful ministrant, by contrast, is cropped short. This other figure is a victimarius (“sacrificial assistant”), identifiable as such by the limus (kiltlike cloth) that he wears about his waist. The animal that he is in charge of is the famous Sow of Lavinium. Unlike the long-haired priestly assistant, a victimarius would not have been of noble birth, even in the legendary past. Rehak interpreted the two figures seated in the porch of a small temple in the upper left-hand corner of the Aeneas Panel (fig. v.11a, b) not as the two



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commonly identified youthful Penates but rather as two elderly bearded gods, Jupiter and Dis or Jupiter and Janus Quirinus. Only the head of one of these figures (to the left in the scene) is preserved. From Rehak’s photo the shadow along the lower jaw creates the impression that this figure has a beard. But this is an illusion. The photo that Rehak uses was originally taken by the noted German photographer Johannes Felbermeyer, who was commissioned by Laurence Richardson in 1980 to take this photo. At that time I happened to be studying this relief with a tall ladder.149 A few days before Felbermeyer took the photo, I had personally inspected all the figures very carefully, including the two Penates. The figures were then covered in a fine layer of soot from years of pollution accumulating on their surfaces.150 In running my hand along the jawline of the left-hand figure to see if it had a beard, as some thought it might, I created the beardlike effect seen in the Felbermeyer photo, which appears like a heavy 5 o’clock shadow. But there is, in fact, no indication of any beard being either plastically carved or incised. This figure’s face is completely smooth-shaven. As has been correctly and commonly stated in the past, these are the Penates, whose iconography was adapted from that of the Dioskouroi or Castores, as they were called by the Romans (see further chapter IX).151 At the state level, Rome had two pairs of Penates. One of these appears to have been an iconic image kept with the other sacra pignora (“sacred pledges/tokens”) within the symbolic hearth of the City, the Temple of Vesta in the Roman Forum, which was not accessible to the public.152 The other pair of Penates, who had their publicly accessible temple on the Velia Hill in Rome, were represented anthropomorphically in the form of the Castores, seated and holding spears.153 Their shrine on the Velia is thought to have been modeled on their temple at Lavinium, where legend had it that Aeneas sacrificed the Sow of Lavinium.154 In the right front panel of the Ara Pacis, the small temple, probably resembling somewhat the Penates’ small shrine on the Velia, was used—proleptically and anachronistically—to represent their as yet unbuilt temple in Lavinium. The fact that there was no temple to the Penates at the time Aeneas is said to have sacrificed to them is only one of the conflations and elements of artistic license in the Ara Pacis and specifically in this panel. According to the prophecy in the Aeneid (3.389–93), Aeneas would find the white sow having just given birth to a litter of thirty piglets under an oak (ilex), the tree that is shown in the Aeneas Panel. In the account of Dionysios of Halikarnassos (1.56–1.57.1), however, Aeneas finds the pregnant sow by the shore and follows her inland about twenty-four stades until she lies down and on the next day gives birth to her brood. Aeneas then sacrificed the sow and her offspring to his household gods, the Penates, in the place where their shrine stood in Lavinium at the time of

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Dionysios. The scene in the Aeneas Panel is therefore an artistic version of stories current in Augustus’ day. Rehak’s proposal that this panel has to do with a treaty of some sort as a guarantee of peace between Numa and some unspecified foreigner, for which a sacrifice to two infernal gods was made, is also problematic, since in scenes pertaining to treaties, a pig (or more correctly a piglet) is held over the altar upside down by two individuals while its throat is cut. Rehak reproduces such a scene on Augustan denarii and aurei from around 16–13 b.c.e.155 There is no indication that the animal depicted on these coins is a sow rather than a male piglet. Finally, the Ara Pacis Augustae is very much a dynastic monument in which Augustus is presented as the new Second Founder of Rome and two great inaugural events of Rome’s past are recalled in both front panels; so why would Augustus choose to have Numa represented, rather than his direct ancestor Aeneas and his son Iulus, from whom the Julian house claimed descent? On the Ara Pacis, the mimetic poses of Aeneas and Augustus, with their laureled and veiled heads as they perform pious ceremonial acts, were surely not coincidental but clearly intended to underscore their dynastic linkage, as well as their connection as founders.



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Appendix B: The Mausoleum of Augustus and Its Quadrigate Imagery Although we have substantial archaeological remains of the Mausoleum of Augustus (fig. v.33a–b),156 gaps in the evidence with regard to its original appearance have led to multiple reconstructive interpretations, including the 1938 reconstruction by Guglielmo Gatti157 and the more recent 1994 version by Henner von Hesberg (fig. v.34).158 Here I focus on three problematic aspects of the monument and certain ambiguities involving: (1) the area around the entrance at ground level, (2) the middle structure with its trees, and (3) the form of the image of Augustus crowning the summit.159 Lowermost Structure of the Mausoleum The first area considered here is at ground level around the entrance to the mausoleum (fig. v.33b, 35, plates XXVI–XXVIII), where fragmentary marble reliefs representing two laurels (fig. v.36) were discovered in past excavations there.160 These reliefs are plausibly reconstructed in two shallow niches flanking the doorway of the mausoleum (figs. v.34–35, plates XXVI–XXVIII). The fictive laurels would have recalled the actual laurels that adorned the two doorposts of Fig. v.33a. Aerial view of the Mausoleum Augusti and the Museo dell’Ara Pacis of the fascist period. After Cattaneo and Trifo (2004) 53

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Fig. v.33b. Present remains of Mausoleum Augusti. Photo by author

Augustus’ house on the Palatine Hill in Rome, as we know from his own record of his achievements (RG 34.2). Also found in the excavation of the mausoleum was a marble fragment depicting the Clipeus Virtutis (fig. v.37), an honorific shield on which were recorded the virtues of Augustus.161 This shield would have been a replica of the actual gold shield that was awarded to him by the Roman Senate and set up in the Curia Iulia, the Senate House in the Roman Forum (RG 34.2). The mausoleum’s fragmentary marble shield, which Hesberg logically places over the entrance, can be reconstructed on the basis of another ancient marble replica of the Clipeus Virtutis found at Arles (fig. v.38).162 Excavations at the front of the mausoleum in the mid-1990s also located the bedding/foundations of two sets of important pendant monuments at the same



Fig. v.34. Line drawing of reconstructed Mausoleum Augusti with hypothetical image of Augustus on foot atop (by H. von Hesberg). After Pollini (2002c) fig. 25 Fig. v.35. Reconstruction of Mausoleum Augusti with hypothetical quadrigate image of Augustus atop (H. von Hesberg’s drawing altered by J. Pollini). After Pollini (2002a) fig. 26

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Fig. v.36. Laurels on a relief fragment from Mausoleum Augusti. After Hesberg and Panciera (1994) pl. 6c

Fig. v.37. Relief fragment of Augustus’ Clipeus Virtutis. After Hesberg and Panciera (1994) pl. 5b

Fig. v.38. Inscribed Clipeus Virtutis relief from Arles, Musée de l’Arles Antique. Photo by author

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level163—the two granite obelisks that Augustus brought from Egypt to celebrate his victory over Cleopatra in 30 b.c.e. and the two marble pillars to which were affixed the bronze tablets of his Res Gestae. Suetonius (Aug. 101.2) tells us that this inscribed record of Augustus’ achievements stood on either side of the entrance to his tomb. This new information has been integrated into the model presented here (plates XXVI–XXVIII). Middle Structure of the Mausoleum The second debated area is in the middle structure, the section of the mausoleum with concentric ring walls and wedge-shaped hollows that served as planters for trees. For the possible types of trees planted, our primary source is the ancient geographer Strabo, who wrote at the time of Augustus. In his Geography (5.3.8), Strabo uses the word ἀειθαλέσι, which with reference to trees means literally “always” or “ever” green.164 Although Strabo does not name the specific type of evergreen trees, the two likely candidates are oak and laurel, since these two are closely associated with Augustus and are commonly represented in his various artistic programs. The oak is sacred to Jupiter; the laurel, to Apollo. Less likely to have been planted on the mausoleum in antiquity are cypress trees like the ones growing on the tomb today (fig. v.33a–b). These date to the fascist period and are based on Gatti’s 1938 postulated reconstruction. We know from ancient literary sources that over the door of Augustus’ house on the Palatine Hill in Rome was hung the corona civica (“civic crown”), to symbolize the oak crown awarded to him for “having saved the lives of Roman citizens” (ob cives servatos).165 Although different varieties of oak were used for the corona civica, the type frequently found in portraits representing Augustus and his successors wearing this particular crown appears to be a variety of the quercus robur (“common oak”).166 It has already been noted that the doorposts of Augustus’ Palatine house were dressed with laurels, which symbolized both victory and his patron god Apollo (RG 34.2). In his triple triumph in 29 b.c.e., around the time when his monumental tomb was being constructed, Augustus (then still known as Octavian) wore the triumphator’s laurel crown and carried a branch of laurel in his right hand (cf. fig. IV.29), while over his head the state-slave held a great golden oak crown, the corona triumphalis.167 Laurels could have been placed in planters ringing the upper outer shellwall of the mausoleum (e.g., plate XXVI). But if only laurels were growing on Augustus’ tomb, why did Strabo not mention them by name rather than just say that there were evergreen trees? The probable explanation is that more than one type of evergreen tree decorated the mausoleum. If oaks were



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planted, they are unlikely to have been quercus robur, the type often used for the corona civica, because this is a deciduous tree and therefore not “evergreen.”168 In any case, trees without leaves for part of the year would have left the mausoleum looking rather bare. The variety of oak on the tomb may instead have been the quercus ilex (“holly oak”), the only type of evergreen oak that grows in central Italy.169 The quercus ilex, moreover, was the type of oak first used for the corona civica, as Pliny the Elder tells us (HN 16.11).170 Since oak trees are larger than laurels and have deeper roots, they were probably located in the large semicircular planters in the outer ring of the mausoleum, while laurels—more likely bushes than trees—would have decorated the upper levels of the middle ring. When seen from ground level, laurel bushes would not have obstructed the view of the image of Augustus that crowned the summit of his mausoleum. By contrast, cypress trees, which grow quite tall, would have interfered with the view of the statue from ground level— another reason why they were unlikely to have been used on the mausoleum in antiquity. Image of Augustus Crowning His Mausoleum In reconstructions of the mausoleum—from Gatti’s model in 1938 to the more recent reconstruction by Hesberg—the image atop Augustus’ tomb is invariably shown as a colossal statua pedestris (statue on foot) (fig. v.34),171 although there is no specific evidence for the form that this figure took. From an architectural point of view, a single statue on foot—even a colossal one—would have been lost with respect to the height and mass of Augustus’ tomb, especially when seen from ground level, a viewing angle that others have not considered in their reconstructions (plate XXIX). A quadrigate image of Augustus atop the mausoleum would have been more appropriate, given the volumetric mass of the monument (plate XXX). The question of what sort of statue of Augustus crowned his tomb is more easily addressed by using a three-dimensional virtual model than by using a two-dimensional line-drawing, since certain problems in architectural design and construction become more evident when a model is looked at from different viewing angles. The entire corpus of Latin and Greek literature contains only one reference to the image atop Augustus’ tomb. In a passing comment, Strabo (5.3.8) notes the following: ἐπ’ ἄκρῳ μὲν οὖν ἐικών ἐστι χαλκῆ τοῦ Σεβαστοῦ Καισαρος (“Now then at the summit [of the mausoleum] is a bronze statue of Augustus Caesar”). The Greek word that he uses for the figure is eikon (ἐικών), a very general term that means any form of “image,” including a three-dimensional sculpture or a two-dimensional sketch or painting. Eikon, from which we

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derive our word “icon,” was commonly used with reference to any kind of a portrait image, including one mounted in a quadrigae (“four-horse chariot”). In fact, Cassius Dio (53.33.2) uses the very word eikon in referring to images of Augustus in a chariot that were set up on commemorative arches on the Milvian Bridge over the Tiber River in Rome and at Ariminum (modern Rimini).172 As discussed in chapter II, one of these quadrigate images is shown on Augustan denarii on an arch that may commemorate Augustus’ repairs of the Via Flaminia between Rome and Ariminum.173 Moreover, a great quadrigate statue of Augustus crowning his mausoleum would have evoked the image of King Mausolos in a chariot that once stood atop his mausoleum at Halikarnassos, one of the wonders of the ancient world. The marble chariot group of Mausolos atop his tomb is estimated to have been ca. 4.75–5.00 m in height, ca. 4.50 m in width, and ca. 6.50 m in length.174 Hesberg has suggested that the Mausoleum of Augustus may have been a “few meters” higher than that of Mausolos.175 Although the base of the statue of Augustus is generally reconstructed as round,176 there is no reason why it could not have been square. The base could even have been larger than the width of the circular internal cement shaft, which could easily have supported its weight. The base of the statue may also have been buttressed by the mausoleum’s highest ring-wall, which may have tapered up to a circular platform on which was a square or circular base. If the statue base were square, it might have been the inspiration for the later Mausoleum of Hadrian’s alternating geometric forms of square (base of mausoleum), circle (main core of mausoleum), square (base of statue). The rotunda of the Mausoleum of Augustus, however, was set not on a high square podium (as in the case of the Mausoleum of Hadrian) but in a square enclosure (120 m on each of its sides: plate XXVII).177 The idea of the geometry of square and circle (one inscribed within the other) and their relationship to the proportions of the ideal human body are discussed by Vitruvius (De arch. 3.1.3). In the case of Hadrian’s tomb, we know from ancient literary sources that it was crowned with a colossal quadrigate image of Hadrian, who emulated Augustus in a number of ways and modeled his mausoleum on that of his illustrious predecessor.178 When the Mausoleum of Augustus was erected in 28 b.c.e., the year after he celebrated his triple triumph, quadrigate imagery would have been especially strong. Moreover, in Augustus’ funeral, for which he left specific instructions (Suet. Aug, 101), his image in a four-horse chariot was borne along in procession (Cass. Dio 56.34.2) to symbolize not only his earthly victories but also his triumph over death and destined deification. If indeed the figure of Augustus were in quadrigis atop his tomb, then its appearance in the context of his



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mausoleum would have been all the more striking and symbolically potent. Visually, Augustus would therefore have indirectly recalled Romulus’ ascension to heaven in the chariot of Mars (Ov. Fast. 2.491–96).179 According to some legends, Romulus’ translation to heaven took place from the area of the Caprae Palus in the Campus Martius,180 south of the Mausoleum of Augustus. It could not have been coincidental that this very area was chosen by Agrippa as the site of the Pantheon (fig. v.5), which functioned as a dynastic temple honoring the celestial gods and Augustus’ deified father, Julius Caesar.181 Both the mausoleum and the Pantheon were being built around the time when Romulean imagery figured prominently in Octavian/Augustus’ program.182 Ascension to heaven by means of a chariot was not only influenced by Greek stories like that of the apotheosis of Herakles but was also featured in subsequent Roman visions of imperial apotheosis. Although a quadrigate statue of Augustus atop his tomb would directly have commemorated his triple triumph (an extraordinary honor celebrated also by Romulus),183 it would have pointed indirectly to Augustus’ ultimate victory over death itself. Completing this imagery were the twin pillars of bronze at the entrance to his tomb (plates XXVI–XXVIII) recording his accomplishments, the ultimate basis for his apotheosis.184 The inscription on bronze calls to mind the eternal Books of Fate, graven “on bronze and solid .  .  . iron” (ex aere et solido . . . ferro) (Ov. Met. 15.810), prophesying the apotheosis of Caesar, the great achievements of Augustus, and his ascension to starry heavens (Ov. Met. l5.803–42).185 Like the Books of Fate themselves, the fates of Venus’ descendants are tuta atque aeterna (“secure and eternal”) (Ov. Met. 15.812). Use of Computer Technology in Creating a Three-Dimensional Model of the Mausoleum of Augustus The computer-generated image of the Mausoleum of Augustus and an online console for it (plate XXXI) are not final products but serve as an example of the ways the new computer technology can be used in archaeology and how such didactics can be employed to disseminate knowledge.186 The computer image of the mausoleum was created by my graduate student collaborator Nicholas Cipolla, who used the program Macromedia Flash in creating this model.187 All of the proposed reconstructed elements that we input for the mausoleum model (e.g., obelisks, oak trees, laurel bushes) can be selected by clicking on one of several icons. When an icon is selected, an image of the reconstructed element is automatically inserted into the entire mausoleum model, while a scrollable text-box with supporting evidence for that particular reconstructed element is activated at the same time. This device allows the user to scroll up or down to see all of the available evidence. With the activation of the scroll-box, the blue

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columns of our “reliability meter” summarize the complex evidence graphically at a glance, thus providing the user with a handy graphic assessment of the degree of likelihood of a particular suggested reconstruction. A reliability meter, needless to say, represents a particular scholarly opinion or point of view. As is the case with any subjective apparatus, one scholarly assessment might privilege one type of evidence over another. For example, classicists and archaeologists may disagree about the relative importance that should be accorded the written record as compared with archaeological evidence. Accordingly, an assessment about the reliability may vary, depending on the scholar or group of scholars creating the reliability meter. Our console nevertheless offers the opportunity to have some degree of control within this virtual world by allowing the manipulation of various graphic options (the suggested reconstructed elements), while having available all the supporting evidence from the surviving written and archaeological record. Such an apparatus immediately emphasizes that there are always elements of uncertainty about reconstructions of monuments for which our information is imperfect. One of the most valuable learning experiences for a nonscholarly audience is being made aware of the limitations of our evidence and that what they see in a reconstructed model is not necessarily the reality of what once was. It is important to note at least two drawbacks to any model or virtual world. One pertains to the moment in time represented by the model, since the incomplete written and archaeological evidence often refers to different periods during which the monument existed. The other drawback involves the context in which the monument was originally situated. We usually have limited knowledge about the area and objects surrounding a given ancient structure because (1) they no longer exist; (2) our evidence is incomplete; or (3) the surrounding area has not yet been excavated. As monuments were altered over time, additional models representing different specific phases in the existence of that monument can be produced based on our available evidence, thereby creating a visual and virtual history—albeit an incomplete one—of a given monument. In creating such programs, especially for the web, we always need to include a caveat, particularly for the untrained user: what we create can never represent the “true” world of the past but only an approximation of that world, at a given moment in time, that is only as reliable as the available evidence. Finally, I would like to offer some “lessons learned” in the production of such 3-D computer models. That the creation of multimedia outputs is timeconsuming can hardly be overstated. The 3-D model and the programming of the mausoleum console were done on a home computer, in addition to normal academic research. Regarding pedagogical outcomes, the impact on students



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in classes in which virtual reconstructions were assigned was both positive and negative. Students achieved a high level of understanding of their chosen ancient site, while becoming more sophisticated consumers of various types of archaeological evidence made available at a moment’s notice with a critique of the original excavator’s conclusions and lack of attention to particulars, such as the precise detail needed for a student to finish a wall. Students also became acutely aware that the presentation of antiquity grows out of choices made in the present, which can include the decision to represent a particular moment in time or the decision to privilege one piece of evidence over another. But students tended to be overwhelmed with the workload of a one-semester course in which they not only received basic archaeological training and an introduction to regional case studies but also learned a complex software program used by architects for modeling buildings and landscapes. In short, students learned a great deal but were certainly overworked in the process. The investment of time was fruitful because of the extended interaction with the ancient place—albeit a virtual one. Whatever the cautions in creating virtual models and worlds, the goal of this research is to create new ways of allowing scholars, students, and the general public to experience and consider antiquity in all its complexity.

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Appendix C: The Ustrinum Augusti The Ustrinum Augusti was a monumental open-air structure that vaguely resembled the Ara Pacis in plan at its core, but on a somewhat larger scale (plates XXI–XXIII). Such imperial ustrina have in fact been called “altars of consecration.”188 Our only ancient source for the Ustrinum Augusti is Strabo (5.3.8), who describes its appearance briefly: ὁ τῆς καύστρας αὐτοῦ περίβολος, καὶ οὗτος λίθου λευκοῦ, κύκλῳ μὲν περικείμενον ἔχων σιδηροῦν περίφραγμα, ἐντὸς δ’ αἰγείροις κατάφυτος (“[there] is the wall of his crematorium, and this of white stone, which has a surrounding circular iron fence, and within [this wall] are planted black poplars”) (plates XXI–XXII).189 The iron used for the fence was considered to have apotropaic properties that would serve to keep away ghosts,190 while black poplars were sacred to Proserpina/Persephone, the goddess of the underworld.191 The ustrinum’s crematorium would have been the central structure (καύστρα = bustum), in which there was a construction of wooden beams (rogus/pyra), most likely resembling a tri-level lighthouse, not unlike a square version of a multiple-level wedding cake. The bustum and the wooden structure together probably rose up three stories, at least based on what we know from literary descriptions of later imperial funerals192 and representations on Antonine coins.193 The body of Augustus would likely have been placed in the second story of the wooden structure, with a caged eagle at the very top of the structure. Strabo speaks of the wall (περίβολος) surrounding the central structure (καύστρα = bustum) as being of white stone (οὗτος λίθου λευκοῦ), probably travertine, like most of the facing ashlar blocks of the Mausoleum Augusti.194 Although Strabo does not say what material was used for the bustum, this too was probably constructed in white travertine ashlar blocks, based on the representation of the bustum of Sabina on a relief from the Arco di Portogallo195 and some archaeological evidence from the later Antonine ustrina.196 Because of the intense heat from the burning wooden structure used for the pyre, especially radiating upward and outward, the bustum or at least the visible stone cornice surrounding its top would have been severely scorched and damaged unless somehow protected by a fire-resistant stone lining, like the lapis Gabinus (“stone from Gabii”) used for the back fire-wall of the Forum Augustum, or perhaps more likely by fired brick tiles (plate XXII).197 In any case, the bustum would not have been a solid cubelike platform but rather a masonry wall in the form of a large boxlike container that was filled with logs and brushwood, on top of which was constructed the upper parts of the wooden structure (rogus/ pyra) in which the body was placed.198 As the body and wood were consumed by the flames, the multilevel wooden structure would have collapsed in on itself



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within the high-walled boxlike bustum.199 As Cassius Dio tells us (56.42.3), the eagle that had been in a cage atop the tower would have been released when the fire was lit, thereby creating the impression that it was bearing Augustus’ soul to heaven.200

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Notes 1. Pace Stern (2006) 408–409. Many have talked in general about the “narrative” of the Ara Pacis’ imagery (see recently, e.g., Kleiner [2005b], especially 218– 25), but with very little discussion of the narratological aspects of the monument. That is, they do not discuss how such a narrative could have functioned, particularly in terms of the structure of the Latin language and the way Romans were taught to read and use rhetoric, as discussed below. 2. The list of publications on the Ara Pacis is enormous. See, for example, Moretti (1948) (fundamental); Simon (1967); Pollini (1978); La Rocca (1983); Koeppel (1987) and (1988). See also Rehak (2001); Andersen (2003); Rehak (2006) 96–137; Rossini (2006); Stern (2006); Kleiner and Buxton (2008); Bergmann (2010) 18–35, 306–307 (cat. no. 29). 3. The bibliography on these two great marble columns is also extensive. For their topographical significance, see Richardson (1992) 175–78 s.v. “Forum Traiani”; LTUR II (1995) 356–59 s.v. “Forum Triani: Columna” (S. Maffei); Richardson (1992) 95–96 s.v. “Columna Marci Aureli Antonini (Columna Antoniniana)”; LTUR I (1993) 302–305 s.v. “Columna Marci Aurelii Antonini” (S. Maffei). For their narrative content, see Brilliant (1984) 90–116; Krierer (1995) and (2002). For the Column of Trajan and its relationship to his forum, with a survey of previous literature on the subject, see the recent admirable work of Galinier (2007). For the Column of Trajan in general and further bibliography, see Bergmann (2010) 317–21 (cat. no. 37). 4. With regard to the Gemma Augustea, see further chapter II above. 5. For the role of the “viewer-narrator” in Roman art, see the excellent and important work of Brilliant (1984), especially 15–20. See also Pollini (1993c). For concepts of “focalization” in distinguishing between the narrator, the person who narrates in the text, and the person whose vision is narrated in the text, see Tsitsiou-Chelidoni (2009), especially 528–31. For viewing in Roman art in general, see Elsner (1995), as well as the various essays in Elsner (ed.) (1996). 6. Prince (1982). See also the fundamental work of Barthes (1975); Chatman (1975); Ricoeur (1984). For a discussion of modes of narration in ancient art, see Winter (1981) 2–3; Brilliant (1984) 15–20. 7. For similes and comparisons, see, e.g., Rhet. Her. 4.59–62; Quint. Inst. 2.4.21, 5.11.22–33, 9.1.35.



8. Quint. Inst. 2.4.15; Rhetores Graeci II.86.7 (Theon). See further Bonner (1977) 262. 9. Cf. Favro (1993), especially 232–33 for similar rhetorical strategies in reading the cityscape of Augustan Rome. See also in general Favro (1996) and (2005). 10. For the concept of “peace through victory,” see further chapter IV above. See also Hardwick (2000). 11. For the term “bit” in this context, see Brilliant (1984) 22 et passim. 12. For a recent extensive review of the evidence, controversies, and bibliography of this monument, see Heslin (2007). During the final editing of my manuscript for From Republic to Empire, an important article by L. Haselberger appeared in the Journal of Roman Archaeology. It discusses evidence and controversies about the Solarium and includes published responses and other remarks by four other scholars (P. J. Heslin, M. Schütz, R. Hannah, and G. Alföldy): see Haselberger (2011) 47–73. I have tried to incorporate here some of the key points. The views in this article do not substantially alter my own, which are essentially in accord with those of Haselberger, especially with regard to the importance of the Solarium in the visual rhetoric of Augustus. In his response to M. Schütz, R. Hannah (90–91) shows empirically that the long shadow of the Solarium’s obelisk, though diffuse, would still have been visible very late in the day. He did this by analyzing the long shadow of a monumental cenotaph (27.4 m) around 7:30 p.m. at Dunedin, New Zealand, which was similar in height to the Solarium’s obelisk. In the 1:100 three-dimensional scale model that I created of the Solarium’s obelisk with ball and needle at the top, I found that by about 4:30 p.m. the long shadow of the obelisk, though diffuse, was still very visible. See my discussion in the text below. For the obelisk itself, a monument set up originally by Psametik II (594–589 b.c.e.) in Heliopolis, see Swetnam-Burland (2010). The obelisk from the Solarium, rediscovered in 1748 and reerected in 1792, stands today just south of its original ancient location, in the Piazza Montecitorio before the entrance to the Palazzo di Montecitorio. See Buchner in LTUR III (1996) 37. 13. Although there may be a slight deviation between the line running from the axis of the base of the obelisk through the center of the mausoleum, due to accuracy of calculations and/or of maps of the northern Campus Martius, the intended symbolism associating the obelisk and the mausoleum is clear. See Buchner (1982) 48 (358)–55 (365), fig. 19. (Here

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and hereafter I cite Buchner’s 1982 monograph, which includes his two previously published articles in RM [1976 and 1980] with a supplement of excavations carried out in 1980/81. The page numbers in parentheses refer to the earlier articles.) On the axial discrepancy, cf. Heslin (2007) 14–15, fig. 1. I. It should be noted that L. Haselberger (2011) 47 n. 2 indicates that E. Buchner was preparing a new manuscript on the Solarium. However, Buchner passed away on August 27, 2011. The present state of his manuscript is unknown to me. 14. For the concept of apotheosis in connection with Augustus’ mausoleum, see further appendix B of this chapter. 15. The major challenge to Buchner’s calculations has come from M. Schütz (1990). See, however, his recent modified views in Haselberger (2011) 78–86 and n. 12 above. 16. Buchner originally considered this to be a renewal project of Domitian after the fire of 80 c.e. For Buchner’s revised view, see his article in LTUR III (1996) 36. Buchner estimated the difference between the Augustan and Flavian levels to be ca. 1.60 m; but see recently Haselberger (2011) 62, who discusses problems with Buchner’s measurements and puts the difference at ca. 0.60 m. 17. Buchner (1982) 57 (355)–77 (373), 78–80. 18. Buchner (1982) 73 (369)–77 (373). For his updated views, see Buchner’s article in LTUR III (1996) s.v. “Horologium Augusti,” 35–37, 392–93, and especially fig. 22 for his revised solar screen. Both these proposals have been taken as problematic. See Heslin (2007) 11–12. For the models used in my book, Buchner’s original hypothetical butterfly-shaped Solarium was retained, not because I believe that it is preferable to his updated form inscribed in a circle but to show the relation of the meridian to Buchner’s postulated equinoctial line (both represented in a darker shade to distinguish these two elements from the hypothetical solar screen) and to give an impression of where the obelisk’s shadow would fall during the course of the day. These models, moreover, should be understood as works in progress. Haselberger (2011) suggested that a miscalculation on Buchner’s part in regard to the location of the equinoctial line might explain Buchner’s lack of success in finding it when he took core samples. 19. Buchner (1982) 77 (373): “Und, bei keiner unserer Bohrungen haben wir andere antike oder auch nachantike Gebäude oder Anlagen entdeckt.”

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20. See Heslin (2007) 9–10. Heslin (2007) 3–6 pointed out that Pliny, who talks about the Solarium in his own day (HN 36.72), was really talking only about the north-south meridian line, not some grand solar screen. This, too, constitutes negative evidence. 21. The rest of the platea of the Solarium could even have been earthen, according to Buchner: LTUR III (1996) 36. 22. Peter Heslin admitted that in theory a section of the postulated travertine pavement of the solar screen could have been removed and then relaid after the plowing ceremony: Heslin (2007) 10 n. 42. It has not been noted that a plow could also have been lifted up and carried over obstacles, since we know that the plow was lifted at those points where gateways were to be located along the line of the pomerium (sacred boundary of the inner city of Rome). The same would have been true especially in the case of roads, which could not have been circumvented with the expanded pomerium. For the pomerium and its expansion over time, see Beard et al. (1998) 177–81 et passim. In any case, it would not have been necessary to lift the plow over the platea of the Augustan Solarium, which lay at a depth of 1.60 m (according to Buchner) or 0.60 m (according to Haselberger) below the Flavian level, as discussed below. 23. Heslin (2007) 5–6. 24. Heslin (2007) 5–6; cf. Heslin (2007) 9–10. By the time of Hadrian, when the second cippus was set up, the level of this area by the Solarium Augusti was ca. 2.95 m higher than in the Augustan period and around the Ara Pacis, ca. 1.85 m higher. As a result a retaining wall was constructed in the Hadrianic-Antonine period (Haselberger [2011] 57) around the entire Ara Pacis, which was at that time buried to the approximate height of the meander molding that separates the exterior friezes from the floral friezes below. See also Boatwright (1987) 64–72. 25. Buchner (1982) 77 (373). 26. The restored Flavian Solarium and its immediate surrounding area need not have been paved over entirely with travertine flagstones. 27. On this very point, see also Heslin (2007) 19. 28. See n. 18 above. As already pointed out, the reconstructions and models used in this chapter are to be understood as hypothetical and subject to future revision. 29. In the modern, Gregorian calendar the autumnal equinox falls on September 22 or 23, depending

on astronomical circumstances. Because of continuing problems in implementation of the Julian calendar after 45 b.c.e., stemming from miscalculations of leap years, Augustus as Pontifex Maximus regulated and stabilized the Julian calendar around 10/9 b.c.e., with the Solarium playing a role in this process. There has been a great deal of modern discussion of the vexing problem of this calendrical reform and when the autumnal equinox fell, especially from 9 b.c.e. As best we can determine, it appears that in this period the autumnal equinox was on September 27, a four-day difference from Augustus’ birthday on September 23 in the Julian calendar. However, it is important to note that at the time of the Solarium’s design and construction, astronomers would have been well aware of the three-day inaccuracy of the Roman calendar, and it is very likely that this error would have been taken into account when the colossal Solarium was built. Therefore, when Augustus decreed that three intercalary days would be omitted after 9 b.c.e., the Julian calendar was proleptically restored with the autumnal equinox occurring on September 24, even though the civil calendar would not be synchronized for at least a decade. This would seem to be further confirmed by a decree of 9 b.c.e. of the Provincial Council of Asia (Minor) indicating the felicitous near correspondence between the autumnal equinox and Augustus’ birthday: See Haselberg (2011) 66–67. For a discussion of past scholarship and the problems with the Julian calendar and its reform by Augustus by 10/9 b.c.e., see especially Chris Bennett: http://www.tyndalehouse. com/egypt/ptolemies/chron/roman/045bc_fr.htm. See also Bennett (2003) 228–32, with the chart for the autumnal equinox for 9–1 b.c.e.; Hannah (2005) 112– 30, especially 119–20. I would like to thank Robert Hannah for e-mail correspondence with me (January 23–24, 2012) about the birth date of Augustus and the day on which the autumnal equinox fell in September in the period in which the Solarium was first in use, as well as for his referral to C. Bennett’s website. See further below in the text. 30. Buchner (1982) 18 (330), 21 (333) calculated the height of the obelisk to be 100 Roman feet (29.42 m). Schütz (in Haselberger [2011] 78–79), however, recently calculated the height of the obelisk to be 30.7 m (= 104.4 Roman feet). Unfortunately, Schütz’s measurement could not be factored into our computer reconstruction due to the late publication of his revised calculations in his response to Haselberger. Because



the original location of the obelisk is not known precisely, our rendered images remain valid in that they still demonstrate that the shadow cast by the obelisk’s globe would have traveled along an equinoctial line during the autumnal equinox. Although we used 29.42 cm for 1 Roman foot, there is no standardized measurement of the Roman foot (pes) that is valid for all periods of Roman history. Roman bronze rulers from Pompeii, for example, show slight variations ranging from ca. 29.35 cm to 29.65 cm for a Roman foot. I thank Dr. Robert Cohon for this information and for allowing me to read the manuscript of his unpublished article “The Pes Romanus in Roman Reliefs.” For an interesting marble grave relief of the first–second centuries c.e. in the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City, Missouri, which shows various measuring tools of a Roman architect, see Cohon (2010). 31. Schütz (1990) 455–57 originally reckoned the obelisk to have been about 4 m to the southwest of the position that Buchner had calculated. See also Heslin (2007) 23. Testing Schütz’s calculations, we found that in “formZ” the shadow did not follow along the equinoctial line on September 23 except when moved a bit from Buchner’s proposed position. Schütz’s most recent calculations place the location of the obelisk closer to the position that Buchner had proposed: see Schütz in Haselberger (2011) 78–86. 32. See Swetnam-Burland (2010) 139 with n. 27. 33. Swetnam-Burland (2010) n. 27 does not make the obvious association of the phallic form of the Egyptian obelisk and the life-giving Amun-Ra, but she does note the etymological closeness of the word bnbn and the primeval mound of creation in Egyptian myth, which also implies the “action of ‘rising’ or ‘becoming erect,’” citing Baines (1970). 34. See also Buchner (1982) 347. 35. In the original German version of this chapter, I also indicated that the Ustrinum Augusti was next to the Mausoleum Augusti: Pollini (2002a) 142 and indicated it in figs. 6 and 7. 36. Most likely between about 49 and 59 c.e. See especially S. Panciera in von Hesberg and Panciera (1994) 148–61. Several of the inscriptions indicate that the bodies were cremated there. 37. See Jolivet (1988); Hesberg and Panciera (1994) 33–35, 148–61; Jolivet in LTUR V (1999) 97 s.v. “Ustrinum Augusti” (V. Jolivet); Haselberger et al. (2002) 249 s.v. “Ustrinum Domus Augustae.” In order to be on top

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of the ancient hill of Montecitorio, rather than cut into its southern slope, the site of the Ustrinum Augusti was probably a little north of where Jolivet places it in his plan (here fig. v.9). 38. For the Hadrianic and Antonine ustrina and the ustrinum of Marcus Aurelius, see chapter VII below with nn. 151, 153, 155. 39. The hypothetical models of the Ustrinum Augusti should also be considered in progress. 40. For this area in antiquity, see Lanciani (1990) map no. 15 (from Lanciani’s plan of Rome originally published in 1893–1901). 41. As suggested by Jolivet (1988). 42. We do not know where the bodies of Livia or Tiberius were cremated, but it is possible that they were cremated on the Ustrinum Augusti. 43. See also Rehak (2006) 34. 44. In the original German version of this essay, I employed “strukturelle Umrahmung” for the term “structural enframement” and “synoptische Umrahmung” for “synoptic enframement”: Pollini (2002a) 142. 45. For Freud’s term and concept, see Davis (1996) 160. 46. See below for the disposition of not only groups but also individual figures. 47. Usually Roman magistrates held membership in one or two (at the most) of these priesthoods: Pollini (1978), especially 83. For Augustus’ renewal of Roman religious traditions and the way he got around the problem of Lepidus’ being Pontifex Maximus until 12 b.c.e., see Scheid (2005). 48. For this panel, see, e.g., Moretti (1948) 215– 17 et passim, pls. B, C, XV; Simon (1967) 23–24, pls. 24–25; Pollini (1978) 128–32; La Rocca (1983) 40–43; Koeppel (1987) 110–11 (cat. 2), fig. 2 (no. 2); Goette (1990) 9, 107 (no. 23), pl. 1.6; Hölscher (1987) 17, 48, pl. 11.1; Fröhlich (1991) 115. See Stern (2006) 172–74, 402– 16 for a useful detailed study of the past identifications of the figures in this panel. 49. For the augural aspect of this panel, see Pollini (1978) 129. For past scholarship on this panel, see Stern (2006) 172–74, 397–402. 50. On the theme of the “Golden Age” in art and literature, see Gatz (1967); Reinhold (1978); EV, 412–18 s.v. aurea (M. Pavan); Galinsky (1996) 90–112. 51. Alföldi (1971a) 18–19, 271–78 et passim. 52. There has been a great deal of discussion about what is represented in the north and south

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processional friezes of the Ara Pacis. For a review of these views, see Stern (2006) 160–69, 174–394. 53. For an extensive discussion of the parallelism of individual figures and groups of figures on both processional friezes, see Pollini (1978) 75–172, especially 79–99, 123–32, with pl. IV. My pl. IV photographically reversed the north procession so that the position of figures and groups of figures can be seen in relation to one another as they move in the same direction from the back to the front of the altar. Cf. the schema of Rossini (2006) 50–53, which follows the priestly groupings of my original schema, but without showing the north procession photographically reversed. 54. Moretti (1948) 247 suggests that a figure in the background in the north frieze may have been represented holding a lituus, which would have been painted on the background. However, the lituus is never held in this way, delicately between the fingers in front of the face (Moretti’s fig. 178, p. 246), a gesture that may be apotropaic: Pollini (1978) 87. 55. For numbering of all the figures, see Pollini (1978) pl. IV. 56. Pollini (1978) 87–89. Interestingly, years later I came upon a reference to Sieveking (1937) 657, who had independently suggested in passing that Augustus might have held a lituus or statuette but offered no reasons for his conjectures. 57. There were essentially no differences between auspicia and auguria, only the persons performing one or the other. For these distinctions, see in general Catalano (1960); Linderski (1986). 58. On the successful conclusion of Pompey’s imperium in the war against Mithridates, see Cass. Dio 37.24.1–25.2. See also Kearsley (2009) 151. 59. For the suggestion of a libation, see Sieveking (1907) 183; Strong (1934) 546. 60. See also Studniczka (1909) 917. For the manner in which a patera would have been held, see, e.g., the sacrificial scene on an altar in Bologna: Ryberg (1955) pl. X, fig. 20. 61. As suggested by Hanell (1960) 61 and Toynbee (1961) 155. 62. For the gesture in offering incense, see, e.g., the position of the hand of the sacrificant depicted on the Augustan Ara Vici Aescleti, now in the Museo Nuovo Capitolino: Ryberg (1955) pl. XVI, fig. 30; Mustelli (1939) pl. LIX. 63. See Simon (1967) 16.

64. For the absence of an altar, see also Studniczka (1909) 917. 65. For the opinion that an altar is thus obscured, see Hanell (1960) 61. 66. Cf. the altar shown in the Aeneas Panel on the front side of the Ara Pacis (fig. V–11a, plate XXIV). See also, for example, the so-called Altar of Domitius Ahenobarbus: Ryberg (1955) pl. VIII, fig. 17b; the altar (inv. no. 311) in the Sala delle Muse in the Vatican’s Museo Pio Clementino: Ryberg (1955) pl. XVI, fig. 29; Lippold (1956) pl. 31 (516a); MPC II, 202–203; and the altar from Vicus Aescleti: Mustelli (1939) pl. LIX. 67. Pollini (1978) 88–89, pl. V. 68. My interpretation of Augustus holding a lituus on the Ara Pacis has been followed, for example, by La Rocca (1983) 38; Simon (1986) 38; Zanker (1988) 121; Rossini (2006) 54; Ungaro (2008) 399– 400. For the way the lituus is held, see, e.g., Tiberius on the Grand Camée (fig. II.28). It is interesting that the engraver of the Grand Camée has taken artistic license in reversing the curl of the lituus to make it more visible, since it is held up in the limited space close to the cuirassed figure standing in front of Tiberius. By contrast, compare how the sculptor of the relief scene of the Vicus Sandaliarius Altar (fig. III.7) represented the lower right arm of the frontally posed Augustus held out awkwardly at his side and bent upward because he could not naturalistically depict in low relief Augustus’ right arm extended straight out in front of his body. Cf. also the discussion in chapter II of how the lituus is held on the Gemma Augustea (fig. II.17). 69. For this lituus, see chapter III above. 70. Pollini (1978) pl. VI. On the importance of augury to Augustus, both before and after the establishment of the Principate in 27 b.c.e., see most recently Kearsley (2009) 166, who observes that “Augustus continued to anchor his leadership in augury. The frequent inclusion of augural symbols on visual monuments from the period of his leadership of Rome clearly reveals how the augural doctrine remained central to Augustan ideology.” 71. For the trabea, see Serv. ad Aen. 7.612; Smith (1878) 1137 s.v. “toga.” See also Goette (1990) 6. For a similar garment (himation) with horizontal stripes worn by Greek men, see figures on a hydria by the Ptoon Painter from the Hearst Collection, now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York (mus. inv. 162111): Boardman (1974) 35, fig. 51.1–2.



72. Several auguria salutis were performed during Augustus’ Principate, but only an extraordinary one was designated a maximum augurium salutis. For inscriptional evidence for the auguria salutis in the early first century c.e., see ILS 9337. In my 1978 dissertation I proposed as the augural ceremony only the marking out of the templum terrestre by Augustus as augur, not the alternate possibility of a maximum augurium salutis rei publicae (“greatest augury for the safety of the republic”). On the various augural rites, see Catalano (1960); Linderski (1986). 73. For the augurium salutis in general and its relation to the closing of the doors of the Temple of Janus, see Rüpke (1990) 141–43 with further bibliography; Sumi (2005) 213–15. See also Bosworth (1999) 14. Cf. Suet. Aug. 22.1; Cass. Dio 54.36.2. Augustus indicates in his Res Gestae (13) that the Senate voted three times to close the doors of the Temple of Janus. The first occasion was in 29 b.c.e.; the second in 25 b.c.e.; the third at some unknown date. 74. Acts of consecratio-dedicatio of aedes, aediculae, arae, pulvinaria, simulacra, and so forth had to take place in an inaugurated place. See, e.g., Serv. ad Aen. 1.446; Cic. Dom. 53.136–37. See also Catalano (1960) 256. To deconsecrate an object or place, an exauguratio had to be performed: Catalano (1960) 54–56, 281–83, 324–27 et passim. 75. On the concept of a celestial archetype and templum, see Eliade (1965) 6–11; Pollini (1978) 98–99. 76. Pollini (1978) 95–99. See also Varro, Ling. 5.47, who, in speaking about the area between the Caelian Hill and the Capitolium, which was connected by the Via Sacra, notes that augurs were accustomed to set out from the Arx (where they would have observed the flights of birds) along the Via Sacra to inaugurate places. On this point, see also Catalano (1960) 256–57, 386, and for the use of inaugurare to refer to the inauguration of places, 280. 77. Pace Billows (1993) 81 with n. 6, who claimed that augurs only sat in performing augural ceremonies, citing as his authority Nicholas Horsfall in a conversation, but no ancient source. There were, however, different forms of augury. Sitting made sense when you were waiting for a long time for signs from the gods, as in watching for birds or in consecrating a king (see, e.g., Livy 1.18.5–10 for the consecration of Numa as king by an augur). Other forms of augury, such as the tripudium (referenced in the Vicus Sandaliarius: fig. III.7), were clearly performed standing up.

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The marking out of a templum terrestre or the sacred boundary would be rather difficult sitting down! On using the lituus to delineate spaces as certain formulaic words were repeated by the augur, see Pollini (1978) 97–99 with the ancient literary references. 78. On these two figures, see further Pollini (1978) 89–90. 79. See also CIL I.1, 244, 320. For the constitutio of the Ara Pacis and its close relationship with inauguratio, see Pollini (1978) 95–99. For a commentary on this passage in the Res Gestae and the inscriptional evidence, see Cooley (2009) 154–57. 80. See Polacco (1960/61). See also Simon (1967), who originally proposed that the event commemorated on the Ara Pacis was the adventus of Augustus and a supplicatio (22) but later agreed with my interpretation: Simon (1986) 38. Cf. Billows (1993), who also saw the event represented in the processional friezes as a supplicatio, and Stern (2006) 160–69, 508, who postulated that the supplicatio represented on the Ara Pacis took place on the birthday of Augustus on September 23, though there is no evidence for this. 81. For the statue of Divus Iulius in his temple, see further chapter III above. 82. The concept of an Alter Conditor also had figured in the ideology of such great leaders of the Roman State as Camillus and Scipio Africanus: Meslin (1978) 95–98. As Brunt (1979) 171 observed, “It was Romulus as conditor rather than as rex who presented a model for imitation.” See also chapters I and III above. 83. See, e.g., my discussion of archetypes for the statue of the Augustus from Prima Porta: Pollini (1995), especially 273–76, as well as chapter IV above. 84. See, e.g, Neils (2001) 125–201. 85. For the use of laurel crowns on the Ara Pacis, see Bergmann (2010) 18–35. 86. It should be noted that in Latin rhetoric the word imago also means a literary simile. 87. For similes and comparisons, see, e.g., Rhet. Her. 4.59–62; Quint. Inst. 2.4.21, 5.11.22–33, 9.1.35. 88. See, e.g., Marc Antony’s funeral oration for Caesar, as reported by Cassius Dio (44.37.5–6); cf. Pliny the Younger’s Panegyricus for Trajan. 89. Verg. Ecl. 4.5–7: magnus ab integro saeculorum nascitur ordo. / iam redit et Virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna; / iam nova progenies caelo demittitur alto (“The great order of the ages is born afresh; / now justice returns, honored rules return; / now a new lineage is sent down from high heaven”).

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90. Aemulatio is a key element in the story line of the Forum Augustum’s program. 91. For the children on the Ara Pacis, see Pollini (1987) 21–28; Uzzi (2005), especially 143–46 with further references; Kleiner and Buxton (2008). It should be pointed out that the growth chart in Pollini (1987) 22–23 reflects charts not just in our day but also in the nineteenth century, before the impact of modern nutrition. For artists in Roman times, it is reasonable to conclude that certain standards would have been established for the height of children at various ages in relation to adults. 92. Moretti (1948) 248–51; more recently, Stern (2006) 169–71, 416–18. 93. On the Altar of the Gens Augusta from Carthage, now in the Bardo Museum, Tunis, see Ryberg (1955) 89, pl. XXVII, fig. 41b. For the sestertius showing Roma holding out a Victoriola (65 c.e.), see Moretti (1948) fig. 180; Rossini (2006) p. 46; BMCRE I, 231–33 (nos. 169–78), pl. 43.1. 94. The fragment of the head of a long-haired male that was once immured above the headless body of the figure standing to the right of Aeneas in the “Aeneas Panel” belongs instead in the “Roma Panel” and probably represents Honos, as discussed below. See also La Rocca (1983) 49, 51. It is less likely, in my opinion, that the Genius Senatus and the Genius Populi Romani were depicted with Roma, as others have suggested. 95. See, e.g., Galinsky (1992); Spaeth (1996) 125– 51. For a detailed review of the past scholarship on this panel, see Stern (2006) 169–71, 419–33. Cf. also Tellus Italiae on the Gemma Augustea: Pollini (1993c) 261–62. 96. Octavian had made the mistake of not sufficiently recognizing the role played by his military veterans in his victory over Antony and Cleopatra. After being demobilized and sent back to Italy after Actium, they became discontented and demonstrated against him publicly (Cass. Dio 51.3.1–2). The honoring of the Italian manpower of his legions indirectly in the figure of Tellus Italiae on the Ara Pacis can therefore be interpreted as a lesson well learned. 97. Arist. Rh. 1410a9. 98. Rhet. Her. 4.27; Quint. Inst. 9.3.80. 99. Rhet. Her. 4.21; Quint. Inst. 9.3.81–86. 100. Barthes (1975), especially 247–48. For its application to visual narratives, see Winter (1981) 12. 101. I use the term “complementary” in the sense that Wickhoff (1895) 9 used “kompletierend.” For a

discussion of these terms, see Meyboom (1978) 56, 60, et passim. For distinguishing between “simultaneous” (or “synoptic”) and “complementary” modes of narration, see also Pollini (1993c), especially 278 with nn. 91–92. 102. Büsing (1977). 103. It has been almost universally accepted that Agrippa is identifiable by his portraiture and his position just before Livia in the south processional frieze of the Ara Pacis, even though he may not have been in Rome during the ceremony commemorated. For this and other aspects of the historicity of what is represented, see Pollini (1978) 123–26. For the portraiture of Agrippa on the Ara Pacis, see more recently Romeo (1998) 124–32, figs. 186–88, although I do not agree with certain other portraits taken to be Agrippa in this work. 104. On the traces of color on the altar, see Moretti (1948) 176–78. Recently, attempts have been made to “colorize” the figural panels of the Ara Pacis by projecting colored light onto their surfaces: See, e.g., the website http://eternallycool.net/2009/01/the-arapacis-in-color. Although the results are somewhat cartoonish because of the intensity of the lighting, the advantage to this method is that it is nondestructive to the original marble surfaces. This important new technological approach will inevitably lead to improved methods of color illumination of ancient monuments. 105. For the meaning and use of conduplicatio, see Rhet. Her. 4.38; for amplificatio and exornatio: Rhet. Her. 2.46, 4.18. 106. Rhet. Her. 4.19–20; Quint. Inst. 9.1.33. 107. Rhet. Her. 4.34; Quint. Inst. 9.3.54–57. 108. On the evidence for this event, see Pollini (1978) 137–39. 109. Moretti (1948) 279–83 et passim; Kähler (1954) 89–100; Koeppel (1987) 137–51. Based on the internal evidence of the three friezes, we can establish exactly the height of the smallest frieze and approximately the height of the other two friezes, but the exact height of the different architectural parts of the inner altar cannot be known. Therefore, the height of the inner altar given by Kähler (1954) 89–93, fig. 10 is only an approximation. 110. Moretti (1948) pls. VI–VII; Kähler (1954) 90, fig. 10. The height of this frieze is 25.5 cm (38 cm with moldings), based on my measurement of this and other friezes and elements of the Ara Pacis in July 2010.



111. For this frieze, see especially Ryberg (1949) 90–91 and (1955) 41; Pollini (1978) 137–39; see also Weddle (2011) 40 for various aspects of the sacrifice. 112. The procession of the Parthenon frieze begins at the southwest corner of the building, runs left in a northerly direction, and then goes east, while the stretch on the right runs just east. See, e.g., Brommer (1979) 33–46, fig. 18. On the character and arrangement of both great processional friezes on the north and south sides of the saeptum-wall of the Ara Pacis, resembling in part the disposition of the Parthenon frieze, see Pollini (1978), especially 79–80 and above in this chapter. 113. See, e.g., Thompson (1952) 79–82; Borbein (1975), especially 246–48, figs. 1–2; and more recently again Zanker (1988) 160. Of course other altars may also have influenced the architects of the Ara Pacis. 114. See in general Long (1987). 115. For the length of the Roman foot (29.42 cm), see n. 30 above. For the height of the largest frieze of the Ara Pacis, see also Kähler (1954) 93, fig. 11. No section of this frieze is preserved to its full height, but it can be roughly estimated based on the proportions of the various extant body parts represented. There is also no preserved architectural element to establish the precise height of the front part of the inner altar’s prothesis (table for offerings), just below the smallest of the three friezes running around the top of the altar table. The restorers have estimated the height of the prothesis as ca. 85 cm, including the plinth, which is estimated to have been ca. 13 cm high. Given the Roman preference for numbers that are not odd fractions, I would propose a slightly greater total height for the prothesis of ca. 3.5 Roman feet = ca. 103 cm. 116. A number of years ago I was able to study at first hand all the preserved fragments of the frieze and other finds from the excavations of the Ara Pacis that were then stored in the carpenter’s workshop of the Terme Museum. Many of these fragments are now on display on the lower floor of the new building that houses the Ara Pacis. 117. The width of the space between the two wings of the prothesis in the modern reconstructed inner altar is 4.03 m. It would more likely originally have been about ca. 4.12 m (= ca. 14 Roman feet), since that would be an equal number of Roman feet. If the Twelve Gods were represented, there would also have been room for another figure. If there were only twelve gods, the total width allocated for each figure would

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have been ca. 34 cm; if there were thirteen, ca. 31 cm. Some figures may have overlapped somewhat. Cf. various representations of the Twelve Gods in Long (1987). 118. As we know from Augustan coinage, Pax is represented holding the caduceus: BMCRE I, 112 (nos. 691–93), pl. 17.4. See also Weinstock (1960), especially 53. 119. Leipen (1971) 23–27, figs. 60, 69 and color frontispiece. 120. See, e.g., Long (1987) 252–53 and s.v. “Thirteenth God” in her index. 121. Kähler (1954) 96, figs. 17–18. Some of the original marble fragments are on display in the Ara Pacis Museum. A few of the other elements on display are plaster copies of the original fragments published in Moretti’s monograph on the Ara Pacis that have since disappeared. Because these parts are missing, the plaster copies are based on photographs in Moretti’s book. I thank Dr. Orietta Rossini for this information and for her assistance in my remeasuring of parts of the altar with the help of Dr. Darius Arya in July 2010. These fragments, I should also note, were already missing in 1975 when I personally examined the fragmentary sections of the frieze in the Terme Museum. In any case, although no section of this middle-sized frieze is preserved to its full height, the proportions of the figures show that Kähler was essentially correct in his estimate. The area where the frieze would have gone has been fairly accurately reconstructed as 61 cm in height. 122. Moretti (1948) 84–85, fig. 71; Kähler (1954) figs. 17 (no. 2), 22. 123. Cf., for example, Henner von Hesberg (with his reconstruction of the Mausoleum of Augustus) in Hesberg and Panciera (1994) 28, fig. 47. 124. According to one legend, the ascension of Romulus took place not far away in the Campus Martius in the area of the Agrippan Pantheon, another dynastic monument intended to be a form of hero shrine or Augusteum. 125. Cf. the Parthenon frieze, in which a comparable pax deorum is achieved by the entire demos (“populace”). With regard to the pax deorum, see further chapter II above. 126. See Rehak (2001) and the more abbreviated version of his argument in (2006) 115–20. The idea is largely followed by Stern (2006) 406–16, though he sees Numa as sacrificing to the Penates rather than to Jupiter and Dis or Jupiter and Janus Quirinus, as Rehak suggests.

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127. The proposal regarding Numa and the peace treaty sacrifice had been presented in 1982 in a paper by Richardson, who was one of Rehak’s mentors, at a conference at Brown University on the “Age of Augustus” that I attended. In the question and answer session following the paper, I pointed out the implausibility of this identification. At that time, much of Richardson’s argument was based on his claim that the pig represented in the panel was not the Sow of Lavinium or even a sow at all because of the lack of any piglets, which often accompany the Sow of Lavinium in representations, and because of the lack of teats indicating that the animal was female. As I pointed out at the time, one can clearly see the beginning of a row of teats, proving that it was indeed a sow (fig. v.11c). Moreover, the entire area of the left part of the panel, including the whole rear part of the sow, is broken, allowing for the possibility of a piglet or two to be represented trailing the sow. Because thirty piglets were mentioned in the story, it was common to show a token number of them instead of the full number, as Rehak also notes (2001) 193, e.g., fig. 5. This form of tokenism—pars pro toto—is common in Roman art. Moreover, in most scenes the Sow of Lavinium is shown nursing her piglets, whereas the sow in the Ara Pacis panel is being led to sacrifice. Richardson’s paper was subsequently not published with the other papers at the conference or elsewhere to my knowledge. In his Art Bulletin article (2001) 201, Rehak acknowledges having read this unpublished paper by Richardson. Unlike Richardson, however, Rehak realized that this was a sow because of its visible teat and maintained the traditional view that this was indeed a sow, only not the famous Sow of Lavinium, because of the lack of piglets. 128. The Janus Quirinus identification was not originally proposed in Rehak (2001) 197. Cf. Rehak (2006) 118. 129. A head of Numa wearing a diadem inscribed with his name NVMA is represented, for example, on denarii of 49 b.c.e. issued by Pompey the Great: RRC 463 (no. 446) pl. 53; Rehak (2001) 198, fig. 10. On a coin of L. Pomponius Molo of ca. 97 b.c.e., Numa is shown as a full-length figure holding an oversized lituus and wearing on his head what appears to be a diadem: Rehak (2001) fig. 9. See also Papini (2004) 157–58, figs. 87 (denarius of C. Marcius Censorinus of 87 b.c.e.), 88 (denarius of Gn. Piso in 49 b.c.e.). Aeneas became king of the Latins only later, as indicated in the

partially preserved elogia from the Forum of Augustus: Spannagel (1999) 268–79. 130. RIC2 I, 32–33, 70–72 (nos. 390–96), pl. 7.395. Although the surface of this coin is now worn, the diadem in still clearly visible. In this image of Numa, his beard is very long and pointy. For a better numismatic example, see Bergmann (2010) 358 (cat. no. 53j). 131. The statue, probably of the Hadrianic period, is thought to have copied one that stood on the Capitoline Hill in the fourth century b.c.e. The rough surface of the beard indicates that the rest of the beard was added in marble-dust stucco that has degraded and fallen away. See recently Papini (2004) 164–66 with further bibliography. With regard to this statue, see also chapter I above. 132. As Achates is described in the Aeneid. For the identification of this figure as Achates, see Rehak (2001) 192 with n. 25. 133. There are no entries for Achates in DarSag, EAA, or LIMC. 134. The figure of Iulus was first suggested by Weinstock (1960) 57. 135. It is now displayed in the lower-floor showroom in the new structure housing the Ara Pacis. 136. See n. 94 above. 137. See, e.g., F. Canciani in LIMC I (1981) s.v. “Aineias,” 388–96. 138. Cf., however, Rose (1990) 465–66. 139. As I also once pointed out to Brian Rose in a conversation: Rose (1990) 466 n. 72. For this sarcophagus (mus. inv. 168186), see M. Sapelli in Giuliano (ed.) (1979) 318–24 (no. 190); and recently F. Canciani in LIMC I (1981) s.v. “Aineias,” 391 (no. 161); E. Parabeni in LIMC II (1984) s.v. “Askanios,” 861 (no. 11). 140. Rose does not mention this. 141. Pollini (1978) 22–23. 142. First seen as Iulus by Studniczka (1909) 923; see also Rose (1990) 465–67. Cf., however, Koeppel (1987) 110–11 (cat. 2), fig. 2 (no. 4). 143. Although idealized, his slightly modeled facial features seem more reminiscent of the Late Classical age than of either the High Classical or Hellenistic period. Cf., however, Hölscher (1987) 17, 48, pl. 11.1; Fröhlich (1991) 115; Fless (1995) 90. 144. Ovid (Fast. 4.933; cf. Verg. G. 4.377) associates a shaggy mantele with the patera and acerra as implements of sacrifice. Other terms for a towel of this sort (such as mappa, gausapa, and orarium) are also found, without any clear distinction being made: see, e.g.,



Spaulding (1911) 26–27; Schaewen (1940) 65–66; Fless (1995) 117–19. 145. Cf. the barefooted Lar-bearers in the so-called Vicomagistri Altar (= Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs) in the Vatican representing a procession celebrating the Genius of the Princeps and the Lares Augusti: Ryberg (1955) 77, pl. XXIV, fig. 37c; Hölscher (1984) 27, figs. 35–36 and (1988) 396–98 (no. 224); Liverani (1988). With regard to this monument, see further chapter VII below. In addition, unlike other priestly boy-ministrants, Lar-bearers usually wear unbelted tunics with a ricinium (shawl) over their head or shoulders. Cf., however, the bare-footed ministrants on the prothesis relief from the Tomb of the Haterii: e.g., Kleiner (1992) 196– 99, fig. 164. Bare feet in this last case might be a sign of mourning. For “barefootedness” in general, see RAC I (1950) 1186–93 s.v. “Barfüßigkeit” (P. Oppenheim). 146. Even in the later Republic a tunic was worn under the toga exigua. For Aeneas on the Ara Pacis, see Simon (1967) 23, pl. 25; Koeppel (1987) 110–11 (cat. 2), fig. 2 (no. 3); Goette (1990) 9 with n. 72 (pl. 1.6). 147. The word camillus has often been used to describe servile boy-ministrants in Roman art. However, this term technically applies only to freeborn pueri patrimini et matrimi, not servile ministrants. By the Augustan period the term was starting to fall out of use, probably reflecting the fact that slave-boys were now commonly employed to assist in sacrifices. These were usually delicati (pretty “pet” slave-boys), who besides assisting their masters at sacrifices also served them at table and in bed. For the term camillus and these servile sacrificial ministrants, see Pollini (2002b), especially 57–58 with further bibliography on this subject. 148. See also Fless (1995) 87, 90, 92, 97, who discusses this figure briefly but oddly does not mention this ministrant’s most unusual hairstyle. 149. To get a detailed photo of the Penates, Felbermeyer asked to use the ladder, which I held for him while he climbed up to take the picture. At the time I knew nothing of Richardson’s theory about reidentifying the scene as one pertaining to Numa Pompilius. I only learned of that a few years later at the Brown University conference mentioned in n. 127 above. 150. The entire Ara Pacis was later cleaned. 151. See also Stern (2006) 520–30. 152. Richardson (1992) 412–13 s.v. “Vesta, Aedes.” 153. Alföldi (1971a) 268–69, with further references. See also chapter IX below.

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154. For the Sow of Lavinium, see Alföldi (1971a) 271–77. 155. RIC2 I, 68 (no. 363) pl. 7, 73 (no. 411) pl. 7. See also Rehak (2001) 193, fig. 8, who claims that a sow is held over the altar; however, there is no indication of gender on the coin representation. 156. Hesberg and Panciera (1994) is fundamental. See also Richardson (1992) 247–49 s.v. “Mausoleum Augusti”; LTUR III (1996) 234–37 s.v. “Mausoleum Augusti: Das Monument” (H. von Hesberg), 237– 39 s.v. “Mausoleum Augusti: Le sepolture” (M. Macciocca); Favro (1996) 258–60 et passim; LTUR V (1999) 275 s.v. “Mausoleum Augusti” (H. von Hesberg); Davies (2000) 13–19, 49–67 et passim; Haselberger et al. (2002) 166–67 s.v. “Mausoleum Augustus”; Rehak (2006) 35–61 et passim. 157. Gatti (1934) and (1938) fig. 13. 158. Hesberg and Panciera (1994) fig. 49. 159. A preliminary report on this new reconstruction appeared in www.chart.ac.uk/chart2005/papers/ pollini.html. 160. See Hesberg and Panciera (1994) 14, cat. no. Vu 12, fig. 16, pl. 6e. 161. See Hesberg and Panciera (1994) 14–15, cat. no. 11, fig. 15, pl. 5b. 162. Now in the Musée de l’Arles Antique: Bromwich (1993) 149–50, pl. 19 with further bibliography. 163. Buchner (1996), especially fig. 3. Some had previously taken the two obelisks as being set up in the Flavian period; but since their bases are at the same level as the foundations for the pillars of the Res Gestae, they must also be of Augustan date. 164. ἄχρι κορυφῆς τοῖς ἀειθαλέσι τῶν δένδρων συνηρεφές. 165. See further RG 34.2; Cass. Dio 53.16.4. For the corona civica in Roman art in general, see Bergmann (2010) 135–212 et passim. 166. Pliny (HN 6.11) indicates that the corona civica was first made of quercus ilex but that later quercus aesculus, quercus petra, and a variety of quercus robur were also used. Although Pliny does not mention the quercus pubescens, this common type of oak found in central Italy may also have been employed. For the carbonized remains of the quercus pubescens from Oplontis, see Jashemski and Meyer (eds.) (2002) 156, fig. 145. It is difficult to tell in some cases which variety of oak was used as a model for the civic crown in portraits, as sculptors sometimes represented the leaves with artistic license and/or left them partly or wholly unfinished.

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For a discussion of the corona civica and the types of oak, see Jashemski and Meyer (eds.) (2002) 155–57. The late Wilhelmina Jashemski kindly provided this reference and discussed with me matters pertaining to Italian oak trees. I would also like to express my appreciation to Philip W. Rundel, Department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology, University of California, Los Angeles, for discussing with me the nature and different types of oak trees. 167. Also known as the corona Etrusca: Versnel (1970), especially 56–57, 74–77 et passim; for the laurel crown, composed of real laurel leaves, and the laurel branch held by the triumphator: 56–57 et passim. For both crowns used in the triumph, see most recently Bergmann (2010) 37–108. For Octavian’s triple triumph, see the appendix of chapter IV above on the Augustan Victory Monument at Nikopolis, Greece. 168. Like the quercus robur, the quercus aesculus and quercus petra are deciduous trees. 169. As proposed by Hesberg and Panciera (1994) 23, 27. The leaves of the quercus ilex, which is also called the evergreen oak, are more like holly in shape. 170. This usage would also have appealed to Augustus’ antiquarian interests: see, e.g., RG 8.5, 20; Suet. Aug. 29.4, 30.2, 31.4–5, 40.5, 72.3, 75, 89.2, 93. A stucco wreath of quercus ilex is represented over the doorway of the house of a likely Augustalis (i.e., priest of the imperial cult) at Pompeii in imitation of the corona civica over the door of Augustus’ house on the Palatine. Two laurel trees are also represented next to the corona civica, recalling the doorposts of Augustus’ Palatine house that were clothed in laurel. For this stucco wreath and painted representations of laurels, see Baldassarre (ed.) (1991) 109 (II.2.4), 110–11; Jashemski and Meyer (eds.) (2002) 155, fig. 144. 171. Hesberg and Panciera (1994) 28 estimated the height of the statue as being about three times life-size or about 5 m. For the colossal nature of such a statue in general, see Ruck (2009), especially 119, 126, 220 for the statue of Augustus on his tomb. 172. Augustus mentions this restoration of the Via Flaminia in his RG 20.5. 173. Some of these coins show him in a quadrigae, drawn by four horses; some in a biga, drawn by two elephants. The reference to his restoration of the roads is noted in the numismatic inscription QVOD VIAE MVN SVNT (“because roads were built”). A chariot (or even an equestrian figure) provided greater visibility of the honoree to the viewer at ground level. For

these images of Augustus in chariot, see BMCRE I, 75 (nos. 432–34), pl. 10.6–8; Giard (1988a) 185–86 (nos. 1253–54, 1257–62), pl. L. 174. Waywell (1978) 20. 175. Hesberg (1988a) 248. 176. See Hesberg’s reconstruction: Hesberg and Panciera (1994) fig. 47. 177. Hesberg (1988a) 246. 178. For this statue we have specific information: Cass. Dio fragment (FHG, Excerpta Salmasius, frag. 114, p. 396, 23–27 = Loeb ed. VIII, p. 466). It is also reported by John Malalas (Antiochinus): Richardson (1992) 249–51 s.v. “Mausoleum Hadriani.” The statue is estimated to have been four to five times life-size: Ruck (2007) 119–20, 128, 222–23. 179. Ov. Fast. 2.496: rex [Romulus] patriis astra petebat equis (“the king [Romulus] sought the stars by means of the horses of his father”). See also Hor. Carm. 3.3.16; Ov. Met. 14.805–51. 180. The stories of Romulus vary in details. The earliest Latin source for his apotheosis seems to have been Enn. Ann. 1.33 (Skutsch, 74, 205–206); Serv. Dan. Aen. 6.777. See also Livy 1.16; Plut. Ant. Rom. 27.5–28.3. 181. The original function of the Pantheon was undoubtedly that of an Augusteum (shrine to the gods and the living leader), based on Hellenistic models. After the founding of the Principate this idea was abandoned in favor of a dynastic shrine honoring also Divus Iulius among the celestial gods: Coarelli (1983) 44–45. See also chapter III above. 182. This imagery, which was especially strong ca. 30–27 b.c.e., is reflected in Augustan literature; see further Gagé (1930); Richard (1966); Pietrusinski (1975); Coarelli (1983) 45. 183. See further Weinstock (1971) 356–59. For the apotheosis of the Roman leader in general, see Zanker (2004). 184. Taylor (1931) 236–37; Pollini (1993c) 285, fig. 86. For the beddings for these two bronze pillars (each ca. 5 feet wide), see Buchner (1996) 167–68. For the provincial examples of the Res Gestae, see Botteri (2003). 185. Inscriptions on metal, most notably bronze, were of great symbolic and ceremonial significance with religious overtones; the Twelve Tables, e.g., were recorded on bronze (Livy, 3.57.10). See further Williamson (1987); the engraving of the Res Gestae on bronze pillars in front of the Mausoleum of Augustus and the passage from the Metamorphoses (neither



of which Williamson cites) would also lend support to her thesis. See further Pliny, who states (HN 34.99): Usus aeris ad perpetuitatem monimentorum iam pridem tralatus est tabulis aereis, in quibus publicae constitutiones inciduntur (“Bronze, in the form of bronze tablets, on which official enactments are inscribed, has for a long time been used to guarantee the perpetuity of monuments”). That bronze was known for its perennial nature is perhaps best expressed in Horace’s famous boast that he had finished a literary monumentum aere perennius (“monument more lasting than bronze”) (Carm. 3.30.1). 186. My graduate student Nicholas Cipolla and I created an online console to serve as a didactic tool for teaching students and for the general public. This console was presented at the national meetings of the Archaeological Institute of America (January 2004), as well as at international conferences at Stanford University (“Seeing the Past,” February 2005) and the University of London (CHArt: “Computer Technology and the Arts: Theory and Practice,” November 2005). For the CHArt conference and the console, see www.chart. ac.uk/chart2005/papers/pollini.html. 187. I would also like to give special thanks to Nicholas Cipolla for his collaboration not only on the Mausoleum of Augustus but also on our larger project, which focuses on the Ara Pacis, Solarium Augusti, and Ustrinum Augusti as part of the complex of Augustan monuments of the northern Campus Martius. 188. See, for example, part of the title of La Rocca’s appendix (1984) 101 on these imperial funerary monuments in the Campus Martius: “altari di ‘consecratio’” (“altars of ‘consecration’”). The image of the so-called Ara Pietatis on second century coins was probably in fact an imperial ustrinum. See chapter VII below. 189. That the poplars are planted within the wall (περίβολος) and not within the iron fence (σιδηροῦν περίφραγμα) is made clear by the masculine ending of the adjective κατάφυτος. 190. Lucian, Philops. 15; Paus. 9.38.5. See also Plin. HN 34.141 and 34.151. An iron fence also appears to have been used in Marcus Aurelius’ ustrinum: Kampmann (1985) 72. 191. See, e.g., the grove of Persephone’s black poplars that grow before the underworld palace of Hades: Hom. Od.10.508–12. For our model we used the Mediterranean black poplar (Populus nigra, var. italica; Eng. = Lombardy poplar), which resembles a cypress tree. See Lanzara and Pizzetti (1977) no. 147.

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192. See, e.g., Cass. Dio 75.5.3–5 (funeral of Pertinax); Herodian 4.2.6–7 (funeral of Septimius Severus). 193. For the coin evidence, see Kampmann (1985) 72 with n. 12. See also Zanker (2004) 44–48, fig. 19. 194. The facing blocks of Augustus’ mausoleum were of travertine except around the entrance, where they were of lunar marble: Hesberg and Panciera (1994) 11. 195. For this relief, see chapter VII below. 196. See Kampmann (1985), who indicates that travertine and marble were used. 197. Limestones and marbles can be reduced to lime, as we know only too well from the many marble statues that were reduced to lime in kilns by the

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Christians in late antiquity. For the possible use of a brick (my suggestion) or stone liner, see Kampmann (1985) 78. 198. Cf. the materials used for the rogus of Pertinax: Herodian 4.2.6–7. 199. Not unlike the demolition of buildings today, which are dynamited in such a way as to implode inward. Kampmann (1985) estimates that the height of the bustum of Marcus Aurelius was ca. 4 m; the width, ca. 10 m: see especially figs. 13–14 for his reconstructions. 200. For Augustus’ funeral, see also Suet. Aug. 99.2. Eagles were released in a similar manner in later imperial funerals.

C hap t er V I

The Acanthus of the Ara Pacis as an Apolline and Dionysiac Symbol of

Anamorphosis, Anakyklosis, and Numen Mixtum

M 

ost studies of the Ara Pacis in the past have largely focused on the great figural reliefs, representing scenes from Rome’s legendary past in the front panels and allegories of Roman abundance and might in the back panels, as well as a procession of Augustus, his extended family, and the state priests of Rome in the long friezes of the exterior enclosure. Over the years far less attention had been given to the great floral scroll panels that decorate the walls below these friezes and panels (figs. iv18, V.5, 10, 13, 14, 18a–b; plates XXIV, XXV).1 To be sure, the origin and style of the floral reliefs (with their faunal denizens) have been examined in depth, but the same has generally not been true of their iconographical and iconological significance.2 These reliefs usually have been seen as simply referring in a general way to the return of the Golden Age under Augustus and to fructifying abundance as a result of the Pax Augusta.3 But such an assessment belies the complexity and size of these reliefs, which are greater in height than their figural counterparts above.4 In fact, more space is devoted to floral motives on the Ara Pacis than on any other Greek or Roman monument, with the possible exception of the reliefs attributed to the so-called Valle-Medici reliefs that in the past have been associated with the putative “Ara Pietatis” (see chapter VII). In addition, both the plants and animals would have been painted, making them stand out more in antiquity than they do today. As chapter V indicates, there have been recent attempts to colorize the Ara Pacis through computer color illumination (see, e.g., plates XVII, XXIV), which can give us only a partial sense of how the originally painted monument may have looked. The reluctance of scholars to explore in depth the iconographical and iconological aspects of the floral friezes and panels of the Ara Pacis undoubtedly has been in part because these reliefs were considered to be only decorative, subordinate to the figural friezes and devoid of any religious or spiritual meaning.5 This attitude reflects an understandable modern human bias toward

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anthropomorphic representation. In antiquity, however, there would have been more receptiveness to these floral and faunal images because of the greater appreciation of the intimate relationship between nature and the divine among polytheistic peoples,6 not to mention that they would have stood out more vividly when painted. The plants, animals, and insects encountered so frequently in ancient art serve on occasion as symbols of human characteristics, virtues, or vices, as visual metonyms for various gods, or as manifestations of divine will. On the Ara Pacis, the floral and faunal images in fact have great religious value. It is not my intention to offer here an exhaustive study of the nature, meaning, and antecedents of all the various flora and fauna of the Ara Pacis’ scroll reliefs. My focus, rather, is on the most important plant form on the altar—the acanthus that dominates the entire floral garden and to a lesser degree the reiterated split palms that grace the top sections of the scroll reliefs. I am primarily concerned with the possible meaning and connections of this flora and fauna in the ideological and religious program of Augustus. To this end, it is necessary to delve into some of the rather complex religious associations between and among flora and fauna, as well as consider the origin and prior employment of these motifs in Greek art before their adaptation for Augustus’ religious and artistic program. Although associated with various divinities, especially Dionysos/Liber, the acanthus and acanthoid vines of the Ara Pacis also have a strong Apolline aspect that has not been sufficiently explored. Divine connections, coupled with the regenerative importance and the aesthetic appeal of the acanthus, undoubtedly account for its great popularity as a decorative motif in Augustan art and architecture. Most notably, the Corinthian capital and the related composite capital, with their characteristic ring of lush acanthus leaves, became favorite forms of ornamentation for both interior and exterior architectural settings in the Augustan period.7 The great emphasis given to acanthus in Augustan ornamentation helped assure its longevity and popularity in the art and architecture of Rome and its provinces. As a decorative motif in Greek art, the acanthus had a long history reaching back at least to the Classical period. The earliest representations appear to have imitated wild acanthus (acanthus spinosus/spinosa). The more luxuriant garden variety, acanthus mollis (“bearsfoot” or “bear’s breech”) (plate XXXII), became popular in later Greek and Roman art, notably in sacral and funerary contexts.8 The use of acathus spinosus on sepulchral stelae, as represented on fifth-century b.c.e. Attic white lekythoi (a type of vase for storing oil), supports the view that this plant was considered to have a potent prophylactic or apotropaic value. Like thistles and other thorny vegetation (ἄκανθα), the wild spiny variety of

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acanthus was associated with the powers of the netherworld.9 The prophylactic or apotropaic aspect of the acanthus spinosus was probably carried over to the nonspiny, more decorative garden variety, acanthus mollis. As a perennial plant, acanthus embodies the notion of regeneration and, by extension, the concept of immortality. Undoubtedly contributing to such symbolism is the fact that the acanthus is technically a weed10 with long spreading roots that are extremely difficult to eradicate. Should the smallest part of the root remain in the ground after the extirpation of the plant, the acanthus will quickly spring up again.11 The plant’s chthonic aspect is implied in the surely invented story of the creation of the Corinthian capital by the Greek artist Kallimachos, who was supposedly inspired by the sight of acanthus leaves growing up and about a basket (κάλαθος) that had been placed on a grave monument of a maiden near Corinth (Vitr. De arch. 4.1.9–10).12 Like the famed phoenix that regenerated itself periodically, acanthus also has an important “anamorphic” quality, which I would define as the ability of something to change back to its former state, as opposed to “metamorphosis,” which implies only change to some other state. Particularly when linked with seasonal or temporal change, this anamorphosis (ἀναμόρφωσις) becomes a form of anakyklosis (ἀνακύκλωσις), literally a (constant) “wheeling about” or figurative “eternal return.”13 Enough remains of the floral reliefs on the exterior precinct walls of the Ara Pacis to allow for a reasonable reconstruction of the whole schema.14 Missing sections have been restored in plaster. Of the four floral reliefs decorating the front (west) and back (east) of the saeptum wall (figs. v.10, 18a–b), the left front panel directly below the Lupercal panel is the most incomplete. The floral frieze on the south side below the processional frieze in which Augustus appears (figs. vi.1a–c) is less complete than that on the north side. Only about one-third of the south floral frieze survives, as opposed to slightly more than half of the north frieze. Nevertheless, a comparison of all of the extant sections reveals a great similarity in composition among the four smaller front and back floral panels and between the two long floral friezes, although no one panel or frieze reproduces another in all particulars. Variatio is the key to the altar’s floral and faunal presentation. Given the fragmentary nature of the panels, lost sections must also have included plants and animals not otherwise attested in the preserved sections;15 for example, olive, which is closely associated with Pax and must surely have been represented, is nowhere to be found in the extant floral scrolls of the exterior walls.16 The great floral scrolls on the Ara Pacis are both polycarpophoric and polytheriotrophic;17 that is, they abound in many vegetal and animal life forms.



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Fig. vi.1a. Central section of floral scroll relief on north side of the Ara Pacis. Photo by author

Fig. vi.1b. Detail of large central calyx of acanthus showing snake, birds, frog, and lizard, Ara Pacis. Photo by author

Fig. vi.1c. Detail of snake attacking nest of fledglings with one fledging escaping, Ara Pacis. Photo by author

Dominating the bottom central position of each floral relief on the exterior of the saeptum walls is a large efflorescent cluster of acanthus (fig. vi.1a–b),18 out of which rises a tall, slender, candelabrumlike stalk resembling the long flower spike of a real plant (plate XXXII). From the large central calyx or bell of the acanthus plant emanate sinuously spiraling acanthoid vines that fill the entire expanse of the framed field with innumerable convolutions. A number of other plants and flowers grow out of the husks and bracts of these unfolding acanthoid vines and tendrils. Inhabiting this dense floral “garden” are various birds, insects, and other creatures (e.g., vi.1c). Despite the naturalistic forms of individual elements, we are confronted not with a scene from the natural world but with a fantastic, magical landscape of patternized forms arranged in a highly ordered and symmetrical fashion. In fact, the whole harmonious schema of dignified and balanced floral images is in keeping with the old Classical notion of συμμετρία καὶ ῥυθμός (symmetria kai rhythmos, “symmetry and commensurability”), a concept embodied in other works of Augustan art to evoke Roman virtues/values such as ordo, concordia, and dignitas.19 In the floral reliefs of the Ara Pacis we are engaged intellectually, above all, by a constant play between reality and illusion. While the individual forms of the acanthus and other plants and flowers are represented in a naturalistic manner, no real acanthus plant has long foliate vines; nor of course can other plants and flowers grow out of it.20 Such a theme of magical abundance coming forth of its own accord (sua sponte) without cultivation (nullo culto) is appropriate for the return of the prophesied Golden Age now dawning under Augustus.21 This visual motif likewise finds resonance, as has also long been noted, in Augustan poets such as Horace, Tibullus, and above all Vergil. Apropos of the scroll reliefs and particularly the acanthus of the Ara Pacis is the literary analogue found in Vergil’s famous fourth Eclogue (18–20),22 with its prophecy that here, without cultivation, Tellus (Mother Earth) will pour forth wandering ivy with baccar and the Egyptian bean, mixed with smiling acanthus as her first gifts for a messianic child who will usher in a new age of peace and prosperity (At tibi prima, puer, nullo munuscula cultu / errantis hederas passim cum baccare tellus / mixtaque ridenti colocasia fundet acantho). Acanthus, then, is specifically mentioned among the plants intertwined or growing out of one another (mixtaque). The Ara Pacis’ motif of spiraling acanthoid vines sprouting out of a great central acanthus plant had a long future in imperial art. It is found, for example, in the later Julio-Claudian reliefs attributed to the “Ara Pietatis Augustae”23 and even in works of Christian art such as the apsidal mosaics in the Lateran Baptistery and in San Clemente in Rome (plate XXXIII),24 signifying death and



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Fig. vi.2. Silver amphora from Nikopol (Chertomlyk), Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg. After Pollini (1993a) fig. 9

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rebirth—one of central tenets of Christianity. The polycarpophoric and polytheriotrophic motifs of the Ara Pacis and other creations of Augustan decorative art25 were inspired by many sources in various media from earlier Greek and Roman art.26 These no doubt included creations dating from the late second century b.c.e. from western Asia Minor, especially from Pergamon.27 These Hellenistic productions in turn drew inspiration from earlier works of Greek art, exemplified by the late fifth century to early fourth century b.c.e. silver-gilt relief amphora from a Scythian tomb at Nikopol (Chertomlyk), Ukraine, now in the Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg (fig. vi.2).28 Sprawling over the main body of this 70 cm high vessel are spiraling floral vines in relief intertwined with other plant forms. As on the Ara Pacis, these floral scrolls sprout from a central acanthus calyx with birds gracing the tops of the tendrils. From an artistic and ideological point of view, one particularly interesting direct antecedent for the floral reliefs of the exterior precinct wall of the Ara Pacis, as well as for the basic structural form of the inner altar itself, is a small altar from Pergamon dated to the second century b.c.e. and probably more specifically to the first half of that century.29 Represented in relief on slabs that appear to have formed the ends of the altar table are floral scroll motifs that seem somewhat artificial (fig. vi.3). On each panel a fluted columnlike stalk30 ringed at intervals with acanthus leaves rises out of a large stylized calyx of acanthus. Out of this acanthus cluster and candelabrumlike central stalk grow acanthoid vines that in turn sprout other flower and plant forms. Individual vegetal forms are rendered somewhat naturalistically, yet the motifs are rather heavy and stiff by comparison with those of the Ara Pacis.31 If created in the first half of the second century b.c.e., the Pergamene altar may have been dedicated by Eumenes II to Eirene (Peace) and the Eleusinian gods.32 An association with these divinities is suggested by the representation on each of the altar table’s antae (“wings/ends”) of a large kerykeion (caduceus), symbolic of

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Fig. vi.3. Pergamene floral scroll slab from altar, Archaeological Museum, Istanbul. Photo by author

the goddess Peace (Eirene)33 and a torch, emblematic of the Eleusinian gods. If indeed dedicated or at least associated with the goddess Peace,34 this Pergamene altar would have been more closely connected with the Ara Pacis than previously realized. As has long been noted, there were significant ties between Pergamon and Rome, including Pergamene artistic influence. Of particular interest with regard to the Ara Pacis is the formal connection between vegetal forms in the floral scrolls and figures in the processional friezes directly above.35 As noted in the previous chapter, it can hardly be coincidental that the figures of Augustus and Agrippa are equidistantly disposed from the central floral candelabrumlike stalks that rise out of the massive acanthus plant (fig. v.23).36 As indicated in chapter V, the floral panels and pilasters serve in effect to bind together the structural framework of all the figural reliefs of the exterior enclosure and to extend and enrich the principal narrative of the monument. With myth-historical, historical, and allegorical scenes connected in this way, the imagistic program of the Ara Pacis might be thought of as a miniepic poem in sculptural form.



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Divine Associations and the Meaning of the Acanthus The magical inhabited floral scrolls of the Ara Pacis are theonomous in that they evoke the divine—specifically the life-giving powers of nature, which brings forth abundance.37 As manifestations of divine power, the flora and fauna here are metonyms for the divinities themselves.38 David Castriota has explored in particular the ways in which Dionysos/Liber, once the patron god of Antony and later reclaimed by Augustus, is ubiquitously present on the altar.39 Notwithstanding the negative association with Antony, Augustus was not anti-Dionysos/Liber.40 The god had long been worshiped as a soterial and beneficent deity of earthly prosperity who was closely associated with peace and freedom. Freedom, particularly freedom from care or want, is evident from his name “Liber,” which comes from the Latin adjective liber, meaning “free.” For political reasons Augustus had associated Antony with the orgiastic aspects of Dionysos and excesses of the god’s gift, leading to drunkenness. Accordingly, in Augustan art, Dionysos/Liber is rarely represented as a youthful, effeminate type. It was Dionysos’ positive side, more closely associated with the old Italic agrarian divinity Liber Pater (cf., e.g., Cic. Nat. D. 2.60), that was advanced by Augustus.41 In short, Dionysos was rehabilitated.42 As Castriota has pointed out, even allowing for the fragmentary nature of the floral reliefs, the grape and ivy clusters in them must have far outnumbered the sprigs of laurel sacred to Augustus’ own patron god Apollo.43 In the relief, ivy and laurel do not confront one another but amicably bifurcate from the same acanthoid vines (fig. vi.4), thereby symbolizing divine and political reconciliation, a theme strongly promoted throughout the Augustan Principate.44 In the literature of this period of peace, moreover, both gods are invoked together, for wine (Dionysos/Liber) and music (Apollo) win release from the cares and worry of war.45 Divine concordia, not only between Apollo and Dionysos/Liber but also among all the gods, is a central theme of the floral program of the Ara Pacis, a further manifestation of the pax deorum. In his consideration of the metonymous role of Apollo and Dionysos/Liber in the floral reliefs of the Ara Pacis, as well as their general significance in Augustan art and literature, Castriota has also explored the concept of numen mixtum, the unified divine force/power of more than one divinity, particularly as it applies to Apollo and Dionysos.46 In his Pharsalia (5.72–74) Lucan speaks specifically of the numen mixtum of these two divinities in the context of their worship at Delphi, the most important of Greek oracular shrines. This syncretistic unity was also commented on by Plutarch (Mor. 388F–89C), who served as a priest at Delphi in the second century c.e. Here the learned scholar stresses

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Fig. vi.4. Section of north scroll frieze of the Ara Pacis showing bifurcation of Apolline laurel and Dionysiac ivy from same acanthoid vine. Photo by author

the connection of Apollo and Dionysos through their respective solar (fire and light) and regenerative (plants and animals) aspects. This relationship is further demonstrated in the figure of the griffin or winged lion, fabled animals long connected with solar worship and vegetal renewal in the ancient Near East. Over the years both creatures came to be associated with Apollo and Dionysos.47 For this reason Erica Simon interpreted the horned winged lions at either end



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of the two acanthoid wings of the inner altar of the Ara Pacis (figs. v.24–26), as apotropaic emblems of the numen mixtum of Apollo and Dionysos.48 Already in the early 20s b.c.e. other Apolline and Dionysiac symbols are commingled in Augustus’ official cistophoric coinage as an expression of this divine union.49 Best conveying the concept of a numen mixtum and of concordia deorum is the acanthus of the Ara Pacis. This all-encompassing plant evokes a general aura of divine union and harmony responsible for the fructifying abundance of the new age, for out of its spiraling vines and tendrils sprout flora specifically associated with fertility divinities: for example, the ivy and grape of Dionysos/ Liber, the rose of Aphrodite/Venus, the poppy blossoms of Ceres/Magna Mater, the ears of grain of Demeter/Ceres, and the oak of Kybele/Magna Mater.50 Yet unlike these other plant forms, which often have very intimate associations with particular gods, acanthus is found in connection with a number of divinities51 and/or their attributes. In art, the lower extremities of a divinity will sometimes magically terminate in burgeoning acanthus. Notable among these divine “acanthopeds” are Dionysos/Liber,52 Kybele/Magna Mater,53 Artemis (Potnia Theron)/Diana,54 Helios/Sol,55 Eros/Cupid,56 and Nike/Victoria.57 Acanthus itself is therefore not so closely affiliated with a single deity that it became an exclusive symbol of or metonym for that god. When acanthus is miraculously transformed from a naturalistic plant cluster into a sprawling vine, however, it does take on more of a Dionysiac quality. Such an association is understandable, since Dionysos is the primary god of the vine58 and duly worshiped under the epithets ampeloeis (“the viny one”) and eumplelos (“rich in vines”).59 His viticulous nature is revealed in art through both partial and total metamorphosis into a vine. For example, in a Campana relief of the Augustan period the infant Dionysos/Liber is partially transformed into an acanthopedic divinity,60 while in another contemporary Campana relief he becomes the vine itself, attended by his female acolytes.61 Conditioned by such imagery in the arts, religion, and literature, any knowledgeable contemporary viewer of the Ara Pacis would have been fully cognizant of the theonomous and metonymic nature of miraculous floral scrolls, especially with their strong Dionysiac emphasis. After all, a great deal of earlier and contemporary ornamental art in the private sphere—much of it used in drinking and banqueting— focuses directly on Dionysiac imagery, including the god himself, his acolytes, and his attributes. The Ara Pacis, however, is not a private monument. Its ideological message depends directly upon its specific association with Augustus. It is my contention that although the metonymous presence of Dionysos/ Liber62 and of related female divinities of regeneration is manifest in the floral scrolls of the Ara Pacis, that of Phoibos Apollo, patron god of Augustus and of

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the new Golden Age, is more strongly felt. The Apolline element is not limited to the representation of the god’s sacred laurel intertwined with the great acanthoid vines. Past scholarship has correctly interpreted as Apolline symbols the numerous white swans appearing at regular intervals atop budding shoots in the floral reliefs (figs. vi.1a, 5; plates XVII, XXIV).63 Outnumbering any other creature on the altar, the swans—originally twenty in number64—are obviously the most important faunal element. Although also associated with Aphrodite/ Venus, chiefly as a goddess of procreation,65 the swans of the Ara Pacis are to be understood as symbols primarily of Apollo: they are almost always closely framed in the reliefs by another Apolline emblem, the palm.66 To my knowledge, the connection between these two elements has not been mentioned in past discussions of the Ara Pacis. Taking the form of sickle-shaped split palmettes, the palm is the most frequently appearing floral form after the acanthus on this monument (fig. vi.1a, 5; plates XVII, XXIV). Originally an old Near Eastern solar emblem, the palm came to be a symbol of Apollo in his solar aspect as Phoibos Apollo. So closely were Phoibos Apollo and Helios/Sol linked in Greek and Roman times that they were considered a numen mixtum. In fact, even though the two were distinct divine entities, many ancients considered them to be the same.67 In any case, such syncretism is of great consequence for both the Ara Pacis and the ideology of Augustus, particularly to underscore the element of eternity/immortality. Interestingly, the Greek word for palm (i.e., date palm)—φοῖνιξ —is the same as for the fabled bird the phoenix, which was believed to undergo anamorphosis



Fig. vi.5. Section of north scroll frieze of the Ara Pacis showing swan and split palmettes. Photo by author

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every five hundred years and which consequently served as a symbol of immortality.68 The phoenix, like the palm, is intimately linked with the sun and solar worship69 and symbolizes the victory of life over death. In some stories about the phoenix there is even a connection between the fabled bird and the palm tree. In one version, for example, the phoenix builds its nest in a palm tree, which, by the way, was also known for its longevity.70 The palm’s association with the sun seems only logical: the fanning out of the long, bladelike leaves from a central globular core resembles the solar disc with its emanating rays. It is not difficult to suppose that the fanlike effect of a palm’s fronds would have been the original source of inspiration for the artistic representation of the stylized full palmette motif so cherished in the decorative arts.71 It would be reasonable to assume, of course, that the joined sickle-shaped split palmettes of Classical Greek art, the ancestors of the Ara Pacis’ split palmettes, are nothing more than a variant of the full palmette fan with the tall vertical leaf omitted. Yet given that this particular type of sickle-shaped split palmette also strongly resembles the wings of a bird, and that the palm is closely associated with the fabled phoenix, one wonders whether some Classical Greek artist might not have been inspired by the story of the phoenix in creating a double winglike fan of palm fronds. The raised wingspread effect of this palmette motif might even have evoked the image of the phoenix fanning its own flames as part of its self-immolation.72 The double winglike palmette, moreover, is commonly found in Attic grave stelae (e.g., fig. vi.6).73 In such funereal contexts the general theme of victory over death implied by the palm and phoenix and the specific implication of the phoenix as a symbol of the rebirth of the soul (metempsychosis)74 would certainly have been appropriate. Any connection between phoenix and split palmette would also have been felicitous in the case of the Ara Pacis’ split palmettes, which flank the swans with their outstretched wings. Like the swan, the phoenix was associated with the advent of a new Golden Age75 and was a symbol of the reborn soul. In at least some versions of the story of the phoenix, the creature even sings its own “swan song.”76 The position that the split palmettes occupy on the Ara Pacis may be of significance. In the earliest known form of Corinthian capital, which crowns a freestanding column in the Temple of Apollo Epikourios at Bassai,77 a palmette is placed above the acanthus. In the floral reliefs and pilasters of the Ara Pacis, as in Classical Greek art, the positioning of a full or split palmette above acanthus may have had something to do with the palm’s association with celestial powers and with the acanthus’ connection with infernal powers and the notion of victory over death.78 As a symbol of victory in general79 and not solely of victory over death, the palm had special meaning for Augustus. As noted in chapter

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II, Octavian/Augustus is represented in a coin type following his victory at Actium as a victorious world ruler holding an aplustre (fig. ii.3),80 a stern ornament of a ship that resembles a split palmette.81 In addition, two omens involving palm directly pertain to Augustus, with one of these presaging his becoming leader of the Roman State and greater than his adoptive father, Divus Iulius. Suetonius relates in one miraculous story (Aug. 94.11) how a shoot of one palm, symbolizing victory, sprang up and within a few days grew to a height that “not only equaled the parent tree [i.e., Caesar symbolically] but even overshadowed it”; in another tale (Aug. 92.1), Augustus took it as a good omen when a palm tree grew up sua sponte (“of its own accord”) between the crevices of the pavement before his house and therefore transplanted and nourished this tree within his atrium beside his lararium. With regard to the Apolline aspects of the acanthus, the plant is to be found in art specifically with the laurel and ivy, as well as with other emblems of Apollo and Dionysos. For example, only three floral forms—acanthus, ivy, and laurel—are represented in relief on the shafts of a pair of marble candelabra from Otricoli of imperial date in the Vatican Museums.82 Most likely taken over originally from the Dionysiac sphere, acanthus—as a potent symbol of fertility and rebirth with prophetic overtones—becomes a special emblem of Apollo,83 who is god of both renewal and prophecy. It is also related that Apollo transformed the wild acanthus (acanthus spinosus/spinosa) into the “domestic” variety (acanthus mollis).84 Undoubtedly in large part because of its Apolline and anamorphic aspects—notwithstanding its other associations, luxuriant form, and aesthetic appeal—acanthus became a cherished ornamental form in Augustan art and architecture. Although I know of no image of Apollo in acanthopedic form, aniconic images of him with acanthus decoration do exist. The freestanding column with Corinthian capital within the Temple of Apollo at Bassai has been convincingly interpreted by Nicholas Yalouris as an aniconic image of Apollo,



Fig. vi.6. Double winglike palmette finial of Late Classical grave stele of Epikrates from Salamis, Athens National Museum. Photo by author

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who as a god of rebirth brings about the annual regeneration of life when he returns in spring from the land of the Hyperboreans.85 This land was believed to have been located far to the north, which, according to Yalouris, would further explain the north-south orientation of the Bassai temple.86 In addition to functioning as an aniconic image of Apollo Hyperboreas, the Bassai column may have been connected with “column worship” and “tree worship.” As such, it would have stood for the “tree of life” or “sacred tree,” an old artistic motif with roots in the ancient Near East.87 A Mycenaean example of a pole with stylized branches flanked by Apollo’s sacred griffins might have been an antecedent of the Bassai column as an aniconic image of Apollo himself.88 The Mycenaean pole would have been equivalent to the Near Eastern tree of life.89 Associated with the tree divinity of the Near East and with Dionysos,90 acanthus also came to assume an Apolline aspect in connection with Apollo’s role as a restorer of life after his annual return from the land of the Hyperboreans to Delphi, where he reclaimed the site from Dionysos. Hyperborean Apollo came to merge with godlike Agyieus, a Hyperborean hero,91 and to be worshiped under the epithet Agyieus, “god of streets and highways.” Acanthus is found in association with Apollo Agyieus in the form of a baetylus/βαίτυλος (“sacred pillar”), column, pillar, or pole.92 Because of the closeness of the cult of Dionysos to that of Apollo, ancient writers sometimes refer to these Agyieis as representations of Apollo, sometimes as representatives of Apollo and Dionysos.93 Attention, however, has not been drawn to the fact that the acanthus at the base of some of these aniconic representations94 of Apollo would in itself be symbolic of rebirth/regeneration. Among these examples is a baetylus depicted on a wall in the triclinium of the so-called Casa di Livia in Augustus’ house on the Palatine.95 In connection with concepts of death and regeneration, Apolline and Dionysiac symbols often overlap or merge. Such combined imagery took the form of a column in the garden of the Villa Doria Pamphilj in Rome.96 The column is crowned with a Corinthian capital, on top of which is set a smooth pinecone, a common Dionysiac symbol.97 Such objects are usually found in connection with funerals98 or in religious sanctuaries. They are generally aniconic images, which in funeral contexts symbolize the dead.99 As a god of regeneration and of light—clearly attested in his epithets “Phoibos” and “Lykios”—Apollo, as we have seen, is intimately associated with the sun-god Helios/Sol.100 Specifically in connection with the notion of rebirth, Helios/Sol is often represented rising out of acanthus.101 In Hellenistic Egypt this motif was apparently adapted from earlier Egyptian works showing the sun-god Amun-Ra rising out of the primeval lotus blossom.102 The association of Apollo and Helios with epiphany and rebirth may also explain why the

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doorway in the back chamber of the Temple of Apollo at Bassai is on the east side, facing the rising sun. In solar cults, the origins of which can be traced back to Egypt and the Near East, sunrise could serve as a metaphor for cyclical rebirth or eternal return (anakyklosis), since the sun was thought to have “died” each day, only to be “reborn” on the morrow103—an idea even captured in Horace’s alme Sol / . . . aliusque idem nasceris (“O nourishing sun / . . . you are born another and yet the same”) (Carm. Saec. 9–11). The role of the sun and the advent of a new Golden Age, closely bound up with theories of anakyklosis and metakosmesis (another form of “cosmic change”), played an important role in Hellenistic solar and ruler theology, later adapted by the Romans.104 Augustan art and ideology drew intentional conceptual and imagistic links from Augustus to the divine guarantors of the Golden Age, Apollo and Helios/ Sol as gods of light, rebirth, seasonal change, and prophecy. In art, for example, Helios/Sol was represented in a chariot as the central acroterion of Augustus’ Temple of Apollo Palatinus (Prop. 2.31.11). In the base of the temple’s cult image of Apollo were stored the prophetic Sibylline Books (Suet. Aug. 31.1–2; cf. Verg. Aen. 6. 69–74).105 The idea of the prophetic return of the Golden Age— one of the fullest expressions of Augustan ideology—was the central theme of the floral scrolls of the Ara Pacis. On the cuirass of the statue of Augustus from Prima Porta, moreover, Helios/Sol is represented driving his steeds across the heavens, heralding the dawning of the new age, while Apollo, depicted directly below, rides on the back of his sacred griffin with cithara in hand (fig. iv.15b– c).106 A literary analogue for the entire scene of the cuirass is Horace’s Carmen Saeculare (50), written for the centennial celebration, the Ludi Saeculares. In this hymn, Sol and Phoebus Apollo are brought into close association with Augustus as the restorer of the Golden Age: clarus Anchisae Venerisque sanguis (“illustrious progeny of Anchises and Venus”). Vergil, moreover, recounts in his fourth Eclogue (4–10) that it was under Apollo (tuus iam regnat Apollo) that the Sibylline Books prophesied the return of the Saturnian reign (redeunt Saturnia regna) and the rise of the great new order of the centuries (magnus ab integro saeclorum nascitur ordo).107 In the Aeneid (6.792–93), Vergil explicitly relates that it is Augustus, son of a god, who will found this new age (Augustus Caesar, divi genus, aurea condet / saecula). Specifically as divinities of regeneration, Apollo and Helios/Sol are closely associated with the Horai/Horae (Seasons),108 metonymously present in the Ara Pacis in blooming and budding life both in the diverse vegetal forms of the floral scroll reliefs of the exterior precinct wall and in the harvested fruits in the great festoons of the inner precinct wall (figs. v.24, 26–27, plates XVII, XXIV).109 The Horae also play an important role in the Augustan ideology of



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leadership.110 The relationship between the Seasons and Augustus is well illustrated in Georgics 1.27, in which Vergil hails Octavian/Augustus as auctor frugum tempestatuumque potens (“author of increase, master of the seasons”). Augustus, moreover, is likened to both spring and Sol in Horace’s ode expressing yearning for the return of Augustus (Carm. 4.5.5–8): lucem redde tuae, dux bone, patriae: instar veris enim vultus ubi tuus adfulsit populo, gratior it dies et soles melius nitent. Restore, O noble leader, the light to your country. For when, like spring, your countenance has shone upon your people, more pleasantly proceeds the day, and better shines the suns [of other days].

The return of Apollo in the spring from the land of the Hyperboreans or, according to Vergil (Aen. 4.143), from Lycia, the “land of (perpetual) light,”111 signaled rebirth and the victory over the demonic powers of winter.112 In the spring, too, Apollo himself was born. His epiphany and return were celebrated annually in the spring in his sanctuaries. In this regard he is a god of agricultural fertility closely affiliated with the Eleusinian divinities.113 According to Alkaios,114 Zeus sent the newborn god Apollo to Delphi in a chariot drawn by swans, and by the same means of conveyance Apollo returns annually to Delphi. In earlier Greek and Etruscan art,115 Apollo is shown in a “cygnean” (swandrawn) chariot or on the back of a swan. In his hymn to Apollo, Kallimachos sings of the god’s epidemia (ἐπιδημία: visit/residency), which was accompanied by swans singing, citharas, paeans, and dancing youths.116 Choruses of youths, gathered at the foot of the Delphic tripod, sang to summon the god home from the land of the Hyperboreans, a ceremony that finds resonance in the choruses of youths who sang Horace’s Carmen Saeculare, marking the return of the Golden Age. As noted, the reiterated swans in the Ara Pacis’ floral reliefs are of great importance as an Apolline emblem. Swans are also often found elsewhere in Augustan art, even in wall paintings with an Apolline context, as in the “Room of the Masks” in Augustus’ house on the Palatine.117 Here the private sphere mirrors official Augustan art.118 In a wall painting from Herculaneum, a swan is likewise featured atop Apollo’s Delphic tripod flanked by two griffins.119 And a marble statue of Apollo of imperial date in the Cleveland Museum of Art (fig. vi.7)120 shows the god with a griffin-decorated cithara resting on the back of

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Fig. vi.7. Statue of Apollo with swan, Cleveland Museum of Art. After Pollini (1993a) fig. 11

his sacred swan. Because they were considered to be singers and so beloved of the Muses, the swan in this composition marks out Apollo as musician and Μουσαγέτης (“leader of the Muses”).121 Cicero specifically notes (Tusc. 1.30.73) that swans were consecrated to Apollo precisely because they were given the gift of prophecy by him.122 In addition, swans are the very emblem of Apolline regeneration or anamorphosis. And with solar and seasonal overtones, they become a more general symbol of anakyklosis.123 Because of the prophetic powers that they derive from Apollo, swans can foresee their own death and sing their most glorious song just before dying, happy



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that they are to return to their master Apollo to be reborn. These anamorphic images of the swan and its “swan song” were well known from Socrates’ famous dialogue, preserved in Plato (Phd. 34E–85B), about the immortality of the soul. The swans alighting in the miraculous garden of the Ara Pacis seem intentionally to evoke an image analogous to that of the Homeric Hymn to Apollo (21.1–4): Φοῖβε, σὲ καὶ κύκνος ὑπὸ πτερύγων λίγ’ ἀείδει, ὄχθῃ ἐπιθρώσκων ποταμὸν πάρα δινήντα Πηνειόν. Phoibos, even the swan sings of you with clarion tone to the sound of his beating wings, as he alights upon the bank of the eddying river Peneios.

As the companions of Apollo, then, and even as a collective metonym for him, the swans on the Ara Pacis herald the advent of the Golden Age. This paradisiacal garden in stone may serve to recall the primeval garden of Phoibos Apollo in the land of the Hyperboreans, where day and spring rule eternally.124 The prophetic nature of the floral reliefs of the Ara Pacis underscores the association of Apollo and Augustus, who, as noted, was hailed by Horace as a new Apollo, bringer of light and spring to his people and country. Rebirth as an expression of anakyklosis is an element that again brings Apollo and Dionysos into close connection. The concept of a numen mixtum is especially evident in the association of both divinities at Delphi, where they are connected in a cycle of death and rebirth involving the changing of the seasons.125 Like Apollo, Dionysos is closely linked with the personified Seasons Eirene (Peace), Dike (Justice), and Eunomia (Good Order).126 The most important of the seasonal celebrations at Delphi was the theophania, a festival of renewal that took place on the seventh day of the Greek month Bysios (approximately February).127 At this time Apollo returned to reclaim his sanctuary from Dionysos, who ruled as “master of Delphi” during the three winter months. As one who brought about the regeneration of vegetal life in the spring, Apollo came into intimate association with Dionysos, god of the vine and vegetation in general. Both divinities were thought to have been born in the spring—Apollo, in fact, on the seventh of Bysios (Hes. Op. 770–71; Plut. Mor. 292F).128 Although Dionysos is regarded as a god of fertility and vernal regeneration, he is also a god of death like Osiris, with whom he was identified.129 It was this chthonian Dionysos who ruled Delphi during the winter months.130 It was commonly held that he was buried there within the Temple of Apollo, with

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the sacred omphalos (stone “navel”) of Apollo marking the spot of his grave.131 Dionysos’ grave site and the omphalos were located in the adyton of the temple near the golden cult image of Apollo and his sacred tripod. Upon this tripod sat the Pythia, priestess of Apollo, who gained divine inspiration from inhaling the vapors that were said to have escaped from fissures in the rock below the chamber and then gave forth her oracular responses.132 At Delphi, Dionysos was equated with Python, another chthonic power, whom Apollo had slain. Apollo’s victory over Python, which made him master of Delphi, is a mythic theme symbolizing the actual subsumption of one oracular divinity by another.133 This syncretistic commingling of divine powers united Apollo and Dionysos as a numen mixtum, further evidenced by the sharing at times of their epithets, iconography, and various attributes like the laurel, ivy, omphalos, and leogriffin.134 Plutarch (Mor. 388E–89C), as we have seen, highlights the syncretistic nature of both divinities. Because of the wordplay of μαντική/μανική (mantike/manike) some ancient Greeks believed that there was a relation between Apolline mantike (a prophesy resulting from a high state of emotion [μανία, mania]) and Dionysiac manike (frenzied madness resulting from intoxication [also from μανία, mania]).135 For the Romans, Apolline mania became a form of insania (“madness”), more closely related to Bacchic frenzy, as in Vergil’s description (Aen. 6.77–78) of the frenzy of the Cumaean Sibyl, who is herself patterned after the Delphic Pythia: At Phoebi nondum patiens immanis in antro / bacchatus vates (“Not yet enduring Apollo, the prophetess wildly rages [like a Bacchante] in the cave”).136 The dual function of the Delphic temple’s adyton as tomb of Dionysos and seat of Apolline prophecy, as well as the reciprocal possession of Delphi by both divinities in the cycle of death and rebirth, is in accord with the antithetical and complementary natures of Apollo and Dionysos, as is amply evident in the arts, notably in a Delphic context. For example, in a scene on a late fifth century red-figure Attic calyx krater in the Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg (fig. vi.8),137 both gods are shown above the omphalos at Delphi clasping hands—a symbolic gesture of divine ἁρμονία (“harmony/concord”). Directly behind them appears a large stylized date palm, here a “tree of life,” reminiscent of Apollo’s own birth138 and indicative of the solar element in the renewal of the seasons. The closeness of Apollo and Dionysos is further evidenced by monuments at Delphi itself. Both gods, represented as pendant kitharoidos (“lyre-playing”) figures, were the focal point of each of the pediments of the sixth Temple of Apollo.139 Delphi also had an important acanthus monument that seems to have been associated with the notion of Apolline and Dionysiac cyclical renewal. It took the form of a colossal freestanding acanthus column,140 originally some



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Fig. vi.8. Late fifth century red-figure calyx krater showing Apollo and Dionysos clasping hands above omphalos and in front of palm tree, Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg. After Pollini (1993a) fig. 12

13 m or more in height (fig. vi.9a–c). This column, dating to the fourth century b.c.e. (probably to the last third of that century), stood not far from the northeast façade of the Temple of Apollo. The column was unusual in that the base of each of the five fluted drums that made up its shaft was surrounded by large acanthus leaves.141 In this respect the column resembled some of the more simplified funerary columnar stelae that are commonly represented on fifth-century white Attic lekythoi.142 In a manner reminiscent of these funerary columns, the uppermost drum of the Delphic column terminated in an enormous Corinthian capital that served as a base for a triple caryatid prop supporting a now missing tripod, presumably in bronze. A large marble omphalos that survives (fig. vi.9d) is now thought to have been placed in the tripod (fig. vi.9a).143 The caryatid support was itself unusual in that it was composed of three outwardfacing female figures in kitoniskoi (short dresses) wearing tall foliate crowns on their heads (fig. vi.9c).144 These figures have been called “dancers,” but this designation is by no means certain, even though their movement and gestures might be interpreted as such.145 They are possibly the Charites (Graces)146 or Horai (Seasons).147 As givers of increase and acolytes of life-giving gods, the Charites, like the Horai, are affiliated with both Apollo and Dionysos148 and have chthonic, fecund, regenerative, and vernal associations. Acanthus and tripods are also connected in a number of other cases in Greek and Roman art. For example, a great acanthus finial once supported a tripod

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Fig. vi.9a. Reconstruction of colossal acanthus column at Delphi, fourth century b.c.e., Archaeological Museum didactic, Delphi. Photo by author Fig. vi.9b. Detail of fluted drum with acanthus decoration, Archaeological Museum, Delphi. Photo by author Fig. vi.9c. Detail of “dancers” on acanthus capital, Archaeological Museum, Delphi. Photo by author

on Lysikrates’ late third century b.c.e. choragic monument associated with Dionysos.149 In an example contemporary with Augustus, miraculous acanthus scrolls grow out of Apollo’s tripod, which was flanked by his sacred griffins, on the marble doorposts of the Temple of Apollo Palatinus (fig. vi.10).150 Stylized acanthus scrolls also decorate the legs of the Delphic tripod represented between the contesting figures of Apollo and Hercules on terracotta plaques that once adorned this temple.151 Acanthus was combined with the Apolline tripod on the interior column capitals of the completed Temple of Apollo Sosianus.152 On the legs of actual decorative Roman marble tripods from near Albano (e.g., fig. vi.11), a similar acanthus scroll motif is featured in relief,153 along with other



Fig. vi.9d. Detail of omphalos thought to have been inserted into the tripod of the acanthus column, Archaeological Museum, Delphi. Photo by author

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Fig. vi.10. Line drawing of marble doorpost of Temple of Apollo Palatinus with acanthus scrolls growing out of Apollo’s tripod and flanking griffins, Palatine Antiquarium, Rome. After Pollini (1993a) fig. 15

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Apolline and Dionysiac symbols. On these tripods, laurel wreaths crown the top of the bowl; Dionysiac masks adorn the pilaster capitals; and a panel between the legs of the tripod shows a scene of Maenads, while another similarly deployed panel represents Apollo’s griffin and lyre. Acanthus and tripods are found, too, in funereal contexts, such as the early imperial funerary altar of Iulius Proculus in the Museo Nazionale Romano in Rome.154 At each of the four corners of this monument is a plastically carved tripod, beneath which appears an acanthus calyx with tendrils budding rosettes that grow up between the legs. The bowl of each tripod is crowned with a wreath of Apolline laurel. Given the frequent connection of tripod and acanthus with Apolline and Dionysiac symbols and associations, one wonders whether the lost cultic tripod of Apollo at Delphi may have been likewise decorated with acanthus motifs. Besides symbolizing the numen mixtum of Apollo and Dionysos, especially as gods of regeneration, acanthus serves to connect the idea of rebirth with spiritual healing and resurrection. In this sense acanthus is found in connection with the worship of Apollo and his son Asklepios/Aesculapius, both of whom are soterial and healing gods.155 The Tholos at Epidauros, for example, played an important role in the formal development of all subsequent Corinthian capitals.156 Although the exact purpose of the Tholos at Epidauros has long puzzled scholars, it seems to have served some important cultic function in the worship of Asklepios as a god of healing and resurrection.157 As a son of Apollo, Asklepios was resurrected from the dead to become a god in his own right, for which reason Ovid (Meta. 745– 46) compares him to Divus Iulius. The choice of Corinthian capitals to decorate the interior of the Tholos could not have been purely coincidental, given the curative aspect of the plant and its connection with Asklepios. Moreover, because of its great medicinal properties (Plin. HN 22.76; Dioscurides, De Materia Medica 3.18),158 acanthus is doubly appropriate for Apollo and Asklepios as gods of healing. Besides physical healing, Asklepios is closely associated with spiritual healing and the rebirth of the soul, as implied in the famous last words of Socrates as reported by Plato (Phd. 118): Ὦ Κρίτων . . . τῷ Ἀσκληπῷ ὀφείλομεν ἀλεκτρυόνα (“Οh Krito, we owe a cock to Asklepios”). As a symbol of spiritual healing, acanthus had special significance for the program of the Ara Pacis, for one of the central ideological themes of the Augustan Principate was the healing of the

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wounds of the nation in the aftermath of the divisive civil wars. Another relief of Augustan date more directly expresses a similar message by showing acanthus vines growing behind personified captives—a combined imagery that implies not only the vegetal abundance brought about by the Pax Augusta but also the healing of the nation after the devastations of war in general.159 The special association of acanthus with gods of healing, rebirth, and resurrection, as well as its frequent employment for column capitals and other architectural decorations of heroa and other buildings associated with Hellenistic ruler cults, undoubtedly helped to promote the idea of acanthus as a symbol of life after death. From the time of Alexander the Great, concepts of immortality/eternity from both Near Eastern and Greek sources were conflated and gained impetus in Hellenistic ruler worship, only to be later adapted in the cult of Roman leaders. In the imagery of the leader’s immortality, acanthus played an important role. The splendid funeral cart of Alexander (Diod. Sic. l8.26–27), for example, appears to have combined Greek and Near Eastern forms, in keeping with Alexander’s idea of a culturally united empire.160 The representation of golden acanthus leaves on the columns supporting the golden vault of the carriage may have had special ideological significance for the idea of resurrection and immortality. The vault also seems to have been crowned with a palm ornament that in turn bore a golden olive crown (Diod. Sic. 18.27.2). Olive and palm, symbolizing peace and victory respectively, would have served as a visual metaphor for the idea of peace achieved through victory.161 Given such associations, the Hellenistic use of acanthus, alone or in combination with the palm, undoubtedly helped promote the plant’s great popularity in Augustan art and architecture, particularly in Corinthian and composite capitals.162 We have seen that acanthus is commonly represented in monuments linking Augustus with his patron god163 and that Apollo as a divinity of succor, healing, benefaction, and renewal is a soterial god closely associated with Helios/ Sol. In Hellenistic (especially Ptolemaic) religion and ideology, Helios was thought to be the giver of divine monarchs to mankind. Helios also acted as their protector, and rulers were likened to him when they returned to heaven. As a soterial divinity, Dionysos likewise played an important part in Hellenistic ruler worship.164 In fact, by the Roman period Apollo, Helios, and Dionysos were worshiped as one by some.165 In keeping with syncretistic religious



Fig. vi.11. Marble tripod decorated with acanthus, ivy, and laurel, vestibule of the Museo Etrusco, Vatican. Photo by author

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tendencies and following the Stoics and Orphics, Neo-Platonists later on believed that Apollo and Dionysos were equal but opposite powers of a higher unity, the sun. The practice of the mystery rites maintained that the sun was called Apollo when he was in the celestial region in the course of the day but was held to be Dionysos/Liber when in the infernal region during the night: In sacris enim haec religiosi arcani observatio tenetur, ut sol, cum in supero, id est, in diurno hemispherio est, Apollo vocitetur; cum in infero, id est, nocturno, Dionysus, qui est Liber pater, habeatur (Macrob. Sat. 1.18.2). This belief is a further manifestation of the concept of anakyklosis and can be found, as we have seen, in the symbolism of the anamorphic solar bird, the phoenix, signifying immortality. The Egyptians had long honored the phoenix at Heliopolis (“Sun City”) in Egypt.166 They believed that this bird embodied the celestial god Ra and the infernal god Osiris—undoubtedly the model for the later connection of Apollo, Dionysos, and Helios. In imitation of the soterial gods, Hellenistic and Roman leaders played the role of saviors and benefactors of their peoples. In Augustan ideology the greatest benefaction Augustus could claim was the establishment of peace brought forth by victories—parta victoriis pax (RG 13). As discussed in chapters IV and V, this theme reverberates both directly and indirectly in many Augustan monuments. So closely was the goddess Victoria linked to Augustus that she almost became an extension of his charisma.167 In imperial ideology, victory can have a special twofold significance when combined with acanthus. Particularly important in this regard is the figure of Victoria in a frieze that once decorated the Augustan Temple of Divus Iulius in the Roman Forum. Here the lower extremities of Victoria terminate in acanthus leaves with unwinding tendrils (fig. vi.12).168 This acanthopedic divinity is a visual metaphor, symbolizing in the context of Caesar’s temple not only his military successes, which brought forth prosperity, but also his own ultimate victory over death itself when he became a state divus.169 As a symbol of anamorphosis and anakyklosis, acanthus often has a special binary significance, serving to mediate between life and death and most likely contributing to the plant’s popularity in funerary contexts. Since graves were traditionally located just outside cities, acanthus might have come to be associated with the notion of delimiting the boundary between center and periphery. It was, after all, at a grave site just outside of Corinth that Kallimachos, the creator of the Corinthian capital, supposedly saw acanthus growing around a basket placed on the grave of a maiden. The basket is a kalathos, commonly used in sacrifices (notably those to Demeter), which probably signified that the maiden was a cultic acolyte. Although this story was undoubtedly invented, as already noted, acanthus again is found here in connection with gods of regeneration.

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Fig. vi.12. Section of frieze from Temple of Divus Iulius in Roman Forum showing a Victoria with acanthoid “legs,” Forum Antiquarium, Rome. Photo by author

Because of its funereal significance and implications of resurrection and immortality, acanthus would most likely have been planted on or around the Mausoleum of Augustus.170 Some evidence for this use is perhaps provided in the Culex (385–400), a poem probably of late Augustan date.171 In this story, acanthus is specifically mentioned growing at the circular marble tomb of a gnat, a fictitious monument that surely parodies the Mausoleum of Augustus. As we saw in the last chapter, solar symbolism in terms of resurrection and immortality played a significant role in the whole complex of Augustan monuments in the northern Campus Martius. Taking visual and symbolic form, the overriding message of this dynastic complex, including the Solarium Augusti, Ara Pacis, and great dynastic Mausoleum Augusti, was that Augustus’ victories (symbolized by the Solarium/Horologium dedicated to Sol) led to peace (symbolized by the Ara Pacis); as a result of this great achievement, Augustus’ immortality after death would be assured (symbolized by the mausoleum).172 The colossal image of Augustus atop his mausoleum, which I have interpreted as a great quadrigate statue, would even have given the visual impression that he was ascending to heaven (V.35; plates XX, XXVI, XXVII).173 Such an image would have recalled Helios/Sol in his chariot over the pediment of the Temple of Apollo on the Palatine (Prop. 31.11). This imagery, as we have seen, is also reflected in the figure of Helios/Sol driving his chariot in the upper part of the cuirass of the statue of Augustus from Prima Porta (fig. IV.15b), celebrating the dawning of the new Golden Age of Augustus. The acanthus of the Ara Pacis would have served as a visual metaphor for the benefits of peace introduced into the field of the war god Mars and, in accord with the altar’s location at the first milestone from the center of the city, symbolically delimited the border



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between the Roman spheres of domi et militiae (the domestic and the foreign), the civilized and the uncivilized, life and death.174 Augural Aspects of the Scroll Reliefs The planner(s) of the floral reliefs of the Ara Pacis departed from antecedent imagery in which divinities themselves appear along with their attributes, sacred plants, and animals. In representing polycarpophoric and polytheriotrophic themes, they chose a purely metonymic mode of allusion.175 The effect of this choice, as Castriota rightly notes, was “to attune the spectator to the profound content or associations of the floral friezes.”176 To my mind, the Ara Pacis’ floral reliefs were not anthropomorphic for a fundamental reason: the absence of the various divinities in human form was the most effective way to signify the efficacy of the prophetic and spiritual powers of the divine, for it was through miraculous vegetal growth or through the actions and/or sounds of creatures like those of the Ara Pacis’ magical garden that the gods revealed their will—the auguria divum (“auguries of the gods”) (Verg. Aen. 3.5).177 In early stages of religious evolution, such plants and animals were manifestations of the spirit world. Among the many divine revelations specifically related to Augustus, two omens involved the growth of palm, emblem of Apollo, as noted above. In addition, the various animals found on the Ara Pacis represent the three realms of the natural world governed by divination—earth, water, and air. In addition to the prophetic swans of Apollo that herald the Golden Age of Augustus, other creatures in the floral reliefs178 are sacred to, or at least associated with, Apollo. The most significant of these are the lizard, the frog, and the snake,179 especially those clustered at the very base of the great acanthus plant from which all things derive their vital source of energy (plate XVII). Although now preserved only on the north side of the altar (fig. vi.1a–b), the significant motif of acanthus with small animals surely would also have been found on the more important south side directly below the great processional frieze in which Augustus and the most prominent priesthoods and members of his family appear.180 Of the various Apolline animals, the frog is probably sacred to Apollo because it was believed to have the power of foresight (Cic. Div. 1.9.1).181 A frog under the great acanthus calyx on the Ara Pacis might also remind the viewer of the story of how Augustus as a child had miraculously silenced frogs at his grandfather’s country residence (Suet. Aug. 94.7). But perhaps the most important animal motif on the Ara Pacis, aside from the swans, is the snake that is about to consume fledglings huddled together in a nest directly below the great acanthus calyx (fig. vi.1b–c). Symbolically, the snake and nestlings recall the

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omen prefiguring the fall of Troy, out of whose ashes arose Rome;182 or as Propertius put it (4.1.87), Troia cades, et Troica Roma resurges (“You, O Troy, shall fall, and you, Trojan Rome, shall rise anew”). Vergil, too, had indicated (Aen. 1.206) illic [i.e., in Latium] fas regna resurgere Troiae (“in Latium by divine will Troy’s sway would rise again”). In the original Homeric version, the snake consumes not only the fledglings but also the mother bird, a motif found on another early imperial relief in San Pietro in Montorio in Rome in which the snake encircles a tree containing the nest (fig. vi.13a–b).183 Significantly, however, on the Ara Pacis the evil omen of the Homeric epic has been transformed into a good one. In much the same way, Jupiter promised Venus in the Aeneid (1.257–96) that the terrible fate of Troy would be converted into the glorious destiny of Rome,184 a theme that finds resonance in other Augustan authors.185 Fig. vi.13a. Relief with snake ascending treelike candelabrum to consume fledglings, San Pietro in Montorio, Rome. Photo by author

Fig. vi.13b. Detail of birds and nest, San Pietro in Montorio, Rome. Photo by author



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Rome, in turn, was destined to be refounded by Augustus, inaugurator of peace and prosperity throughout the entire world. Unlike the account of the Homeric epic, the snake and nestling motif of the Ara Pacis features one of the fledglings scurrying away from the imminent doom of his siblings—perhaps an oblique allusion to the escape from Troy of Aeneas, the father-founder of the Roman people, who appears prominently in the right panel on the front of the Ara Pacis (fig. v.11a, plate XXIV).186 Visually, too, the location of the motif at the very base of the acanthus is important, for out of this life-giving calyx all acanthoid vines and tendrils radiate outward and upward like a tree (figs. v.23, vi.1a; plate XVII). In a sense, it creates the image of a “family tree” whose myriad branches, in corresponding harmonious and rhythmic balance, point to the processional figures above—the Aeneadae, the Roman descendants of Trojan Aeneas.187 As noted in chapter I, an actual family tree was effected in the atrium of a noble Roman’s home by connecting with lines painted imagines of ancestors (Plin. HN 35.6). The prophetic aspect of the flora and fauna, complementing other augural aspects of the Ara Pacis discussed in chapter V,188 could also serve in a more general way to connect the fata (“fate”) of the Roman people to that of Augustus and his omina imperii (“omens of legal power/command”). These favorable signs presaging a leader’s advent to supreme power were a further reminder of divine approval of Augustus’ primacy in the Roman State. For those who founded dynasties, like Augustus and Vespasian after him, multiple omens foretelling a leader’s rise to power figure prominently in the vocabulary of legitimization.189 Such divine revelations were also among the requisite topoi expressed in epideictic. As Quintilian (Inst. 3.7.11) put it: Illa quoque interim ex eo, quod ante ipsum fuit, tempore trahentur, quae responsis vel auguriis futuram claritatem promiserint, ut eum, qui ex Thetide natus esset, maiorem patre suo futurum cecinisse dicuntur oracula. And sometimes those subjects drawn from the time before they [i.e., the individuals to be praised] were born will promise future greatness through prophecies and omens (auguria), as the oracles are said to have prophesied that he who was born of Thetis [Achilles] would be greater than his father.

Augustus, whose very name was chosen because of its association with all things holy (augusta), increase (auctus), augury (augurium), and the founding of Rome through “august augury” (augusto augurio),190 is intimately connected

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with the return of the Golden Age, as we have already seen.191 In the south processional frieze, as argued in the previous chapter and earlier elsewhere, Augustus would originally have been represented engaged in an augural act connected with a maximum augurium salutis rei publicae and/or the marking out of the templum terrestre of the future Ara Pacis in its marble form. Augustus’ appearance in the frieze holding a lituus, the crook-shaped staff of the augur (as restored in fig. v.16c), would have emphasized his role as interpreter of the will of the gods and mediator between gods and man—an effective means of legitimizing both his religious and political primacy in the Roman State.192 Moreover, the very form of the augural staff would have found resonance in the altar’s manifold lituus-shaped acanthus vines and tendrils, notably the leafless ones (fig. VI.14). Long known in Greek art, these spiraling acanthoid vines and tendrils might have taken on new meaning in a Roman context, especially one like the Ara Pacis with all of its augural associations. In much the same way, context and connection with Augustus gave new immediacy to the polysemous acanthus of the Ara Pacis. Although not restricted to any one god, the polycarpophoric and polytheriotrophic acanthus scrolls of the altar came to serve as a symbol of general harmony among divinities of fertility, as well as of Apolline and Dionysiac anamorphosis, anakyklosis, and numen mixtum. Filling the frame that embraces and binds together the entire narrative of dynasty and destiny represented in the figural reliefs, the miraculous acanthus scrollwork of the Ara Pacis serves as a metaphor for the new era of peace and prosperity that Augustus, as agent of divine will under the good auspices of his patron god Apollo, brought to Italy and the entire Roman world.



Fig. VI.14. Detail of two leafless lituusshaped vines of the great acanthus plant, first section of scroll reliefs, north side of precinct wall, Ara Pacis. Photo by author

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Notes 1. An article by Theodor Kraus in 1953 and two others by Gilles Sauron in 1982 and 1988 were the only scholarly publications focusing on the scroll reliefs of the Ara Pacis prior to my 1993 essay, which is presented in this chapter in a revised form. Since that time, David Castriota has dealt in detail with the scrollwork in his book (1995a), which is referenced in this chapter. See also Rehak (2006) 104–108 et passim. The most recent and comprehensive study of the scrolls, focusing on the botanical nature of the friezes, is Caneva (2010). For the forerunners of the scrollwork of the Ara Pacis, see Cohon (2004). 2. Cf., however, Castriota (1995a). See also Kellum (1994). 3. L’Orange (1985) is fundamental. See also, e.g., Simon (1967) 12–13; La Rocca (1983) 18–23; Simon (1986) 211–16; Zanker (1988) 179–83; Castriota (1995a), especially 124–44. For the Golden Age (aurea aetas, saeculum aureum) in general, see Gatz (1967); EV, 412– 18 s.v. aurea (M. Pavan) with extensive bibliography. See also Pollini (1992). 4. On this matter, see also L’Orange (1985) 211– 12; Castriota (1995a) 3–12. 5. For this view, see, e.g., Bianchi Bandinelli (1970) 191; Andreae (1977) 116. See further Castriota (1995a) 3–12, who rightly stresses the importance of the floral reliefs. See also Elsner (1995), who expresses the opinion that Roman art is fundamentally civic, while Christian art is spiritual. I disagree with this view, because Elsner’s concept of “spiritual” is from a Christian, not a Roman, point of view. In fact, every aspect of polytheistic belief about the cosmos, with its roots in animism, was imbued with the spiritual. 6. In early Christianity, by contrast, nature was more often regarded negatively and as the realm of the demonic. 7. In its earlier Greek usage the Corinthian capital was predominantly employed for interior embellishment. On the Corinthian capital in general, see Weigand (1920); on the Classical Corinthian capital, see Bauer (1973). For a survey of the Corinthian capital in the late Republic, see Hesberg (1981b); for the Corinthian temple, see Schenk (1997). On the influence of Classical forms of the Corinthian capital, especially of the fourth century b.c.e., on those of the Augustan period and the development of the Corinthian capital under Augustus in Rome, see Heilmeyer (1970),

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especially 10–51. See also Strong (1960) 124–25; Strong and Ward-Perkins (1962), especially 12–18; Strong (1963) 73–84; Bauer (1969) 183–204; Gros (1976) 191, 197–242 et passim; Simon (1986) 86, 90, 106, 131, 149, 151, 162, 212–13, 215. For the copying technique and spread of the Corinthian capital in the Augustan and later imperial period, see Pfanner (1989) 161–72, 232–36. 8. For acanthus in general, see Lenz (1859) 545– 46; Murr (1890) 272–74; Baumann (1982) fig. 378 (acanthus mollis) 189; figs. 377, 379 (acanthus spinosa). See also Everett (1981) I, 21–22 s.v. “Acanthus”; Graf (1982) I, 41–42; II, 2153; and Williamson (ed.) (1988) 204 s.v. “Acanthus mollis.” For acanthus in classical literature, see also RE I (1894) 1148–54 s.v. “ἄκανθος/ acanthus” (P. Wagler); Yates (1846). For acanthus and its use in Greek and Roman art, see Riegl (1893), especially 208–33, 248–58. See also Olck (1895); Meurer (1896) and (1909) 20, 48–50, 130–43, 517–35, 571–87, 594–96; Hauglid (1947); Kempter (1934); Schott (1959). 9. Murr (1890) 274; Hauglid (1947) 113–16. 10. Riegl (1893) xv et passim. 11. Based on conversations with the gardeners at the J. Paul Getty Villa Museum in Malibu. See also Williamson (ed.) (1988) 204. 12. For the connection of the acanthus with Greek grave stelae, especially as represented on Attic vases, see Schott (1959). 13. For this concept and the related term metakosmesis (μετκόσμησις) (“changed condition”) in general, see Eliade (1965); Trompf (1979), especially 4–115. For the notion of cyclical renewal as it pertains to the Ara Pacis, see Holliday (1990); Castriota (1995a) 126, 132. 14. For a description of the remains and line drawings of the original fragments of these panels and friezes, see Moretti (1948) 146–51, figs. 119–22 (cf. pls. XV–XVIII) and pl. X (cf. pls. XI–XII); for the floral pilasters: 168–71. 15. For possible missing flora and fauna, see Castriota (1995a) 13–57. 16. Olive is found in the garland festoons represented on the interior walls of the saeptum: e.g., Simon (1967) 13–14, fig. 7. For the difference in meaning between the interior festoons and exterior scroll decorations, see Castriota (1995a) 13–41. Olive is also to be found in other polycarpophoric and polytheriotrophic contexts of Augustan decorative art, such as a pair of silver relief cups in the British Museum featuring flora and fauna that are both found and not found

in the floral scrolls of the Ara Pacis. For these cups, see Haynes (1961) pl. 16.1–4; Corbett and Strong (1961), figs. 3–4, pls. XXXII a–b, d. 17. For these terms, see Castriota (1995a) 13–57. 18. Moretti (1948) 146–51, figs. 119–22, pl. X. 19. See Pollini (1995) with further bibliography. See also chapter V above. 20. Cf. also the fantastic nature of the festoons on the interior saeptum wall of the Ara Pacis, with fruits of summer and autumn, wild and cultivated, all bound together: Simon (1967) 13–14, figs. 7–8. 21. Fundamental are L’Orange (1985) 213–27; and Castriota (1995a), especially 124–69. 22. This analogue has long been noted: e.g., L’Orange (1985) 214–16. 23. See, e.g., the fragment in the Soane Collection: Ryberg (1955) pl. XVIII, fig. 34b. With regard to the socalled Ara Pietatis, see further chapter VII below. 24. See Toynbee and Ward-Perkins (1950) 24–26 et passim; L’Orange (1985) 226–27, figs. 134, 136. 25. In sculpture see, e.g., the carved door frame of the Eumachia building in Pompeii: Spinazzola (1928), pls. 21–22; Toynbee and Ward-Perkins (1950) 8–9; Zanker (1988) 320, fig. 252a–b. For a fuller discussion of this and other floral scrolls in other media in the Augustan period, see Castriota (1995a), especially 13–41. 26. Toynbee and Ward-Perkins (1950) 1–8. For one of the most elaborate floral scrolls growing out of a massive acanthus calyx in Roman art before the Augustan period (i.e., ca. 60–50 b.c.e.), see the painted frieze above the famous megalographies in the Villa of the Mysteries at Pompeii: Pappalardo (1982) figs. 1–18; Castriota (1995a) 13–41. For the role of Italy in the development of floral ornamentation, see Schauenburg (1957); Hesberg (1981a); Pfrommer (1982) 119–90; Castriota (1995a) 13–86. 27. See especially Kraus (1953); Castriota (1995a) 32–33, 43–51, 91, 164, 170; Cohon (2004). 28. Toynbee and Ward-Perkins (1950) 5; Kraus (1953) 51; Byvanck-Quarles van Ufford (1955) 50–51, fig. 12; Castriota (1995a) 58–86. See also Hauglid (1947) 109–10, fig. 15; Strong (1966) 88, pl. 21. Works like the Nikopol amphora, a product of Greek craftsmen, undoubtedly would have exerted influence on artists of western Asia Minor and in turn had a significant impact on later Roman ornamentation. 29. For the fragmentary slabs, see Winter (1908) 317–23 (no. 406), pl. XL, Beiblatt 41, 42. Deubner



(1949/50) 113–14 was apparently the first to notice the similarity of the vegetal motifs on the Pergamene fragmentary reliefs and the Ara Pacis. See also Kraus (1953) 58, 66, 68–69. Cf. Börker (1973) 303–305, 312– 16, figs. 12a–b, who would date these reliefs to the first century b.c.e. See also Castriota (1995a) 13–41, who explores further the possible connections between the Pergamene monument and the Ara Pacis and who offers a new and convincing reconstruction of the original Pergamene altar. Castriota likewise dates this monument to the second century b.c.e. 30. This thick fluted stalk, punctuated along its shaft by acanthus, resembles in part a colossal acanthus column at Delphi, which might in turn have influenced it. For this important acanthus monument, see the discussion below. 31. Unlike those of the Ara Pacis, however, the Pergamene reliefs feature various divinities and are true “peopled scrolls”: see further Toynbee and WardPerkins (1950). 32. Cf. also Castriota (1995a) 39–41, who independently saw a connection between Eirene and Eumenes II, only with a somewhat different interpretation. Although it is not known where the altar was set up at Pergamon, Castriota plausibly speculates that, based on the motifs and representations of divinities and the symbols in its “peopled scrolls,” this monument might have been one of the four small altars—possibly “Altar D”—set up in the Sanctuary of Demeter at Pergamon. 33. Already in the Greek period the kerykeion, made of olive wood, was a symbol of Peace (Eirene): Xen. Hell. 4.3.21; Aul. Gell. NA 10.27.3. Pax personified, holding the caduceus, is represented in Augustan art for the first time in 28 b.c.e. on cistophori of Asia Minor: Sutherland (1970), 12–14 et passim. I suggest that this figure may have been influenced by some lost Pergamene image of Eirene holding the kerykeion. If so, this would be another bit of evidence arguing for the cistophori being minted at Pergamon rather than at Ephesos. For the discussion of the location of the cistophoric mint, see Sutherland (1970) 85–90. For other Greek associations of the kerykeion and Eirene, see Castriota (1995a) 16, 20, 25–27, 33, 41. 34. If Eumenes II erected this altar to Eirene and the Eleusinian gods, it may have been intended to celebrate the peace and prosperity that he brought to his kingdom following the Peace of Apamea in 188 b.c.e. This peace treaty between Rome (with its ally Pergamon) and Antiochus III of Syria brought Eumenes

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great prestige and control of most of Seleucid Asia Minor. With regard to this peace treaty, see Gruen (1984) 639–43 et passim. 35. For this relationship, see Büsing (1977). 36. A further parallelism between individuals and groups of figures in the processional friezes, reminiscent of the north and south sides of the Parthenon frieze, can also be found. For parallel arrangements between individual and groups of figures represented in the two friezes, see above chapter V, fig. V. 15, in which the north frieze (photographically reversed) and south friezes are compared. See, further, Pollini (1978), especially 79–123 with pl. IV. See also Rossini (2006) 50–53, who follows my schema in the breakdown of groups. 37. For the term “theonomous” and its application to Greek and Roman tendril ornamentation, see Castriota (1995a) 58–86. 38. See Castriota (1995a), who also offers an excellent discussion of the metonymy and metonymic presence of various divinities in the Ara Pacis’ floral scrolls. 39. Castriota (1995a) 87–123 also examines the presence of Dionysos and Dionysiac symbolism in other works of Augustan art. Although Castriota rightly points out that the heavy emphasis on this Dionysiac symbolism is no doubt due to the replicative nature of decorative arts, it should be noted that a great deal of what survives in the decorative arts pertains to objects associated with eating and drinking or is intended to evoke the rustic in domestic settings— both spheres intimately associated with Dionysos. 40. Cf., however, Mannsperger (1973). 41. For the difference between Dionysos and Liber, see RE 5 (1905) 1010–46 s.v. “Dionysos” (O. Kern); RE 13 (1927) 68–76 s.v. “Liber Pater” (W. Schur); Bruhl (1953). For representations of Dionysos and Liber in ancient art, see LIMC III (1986) 414–514 s.v. “Dionysos” (C. Gasparri), 540–66 s.v. “Dionysos/Bacchus (= Liber Pater)” (C. Gasparri). 42. Mannsperger (1973). See also Smith (2007). 43. On this point, but in greater detail, see Castriota (1995a) 5–7, 13–14, 16, 22–25, 55, 57, 73–74, 78–79, 83, 86, 88, 105–106, 121–22, 135, 139, 143. 44. Cf., however, Sauron (1982) 94–101, who wrongly, in my opinion, interprets the floral reliefs as an allegory of Actium, with various plants associated with the patron divinities of Augustus and Antony being in opposition to one another. Although there are

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often allusions, both direct and indirect, to Augustus’ victory at Actium in Augustan art, the basic messages of the floral reliefs are reconciliation and concord. Concordia familiarum is likewise stressed in the processional friezes, where members of Antony’s family are shown included in the Augustan house. For a critical evaluation of Sauron’s problematic hypothesis, see Castriota (1995a) 87–123. 45. See, e.g., Prop. 4.6.69–86. Cf. Hor. Epod. 9. 46. See Castriota (1995a), especially 87–123. See also Simon (1962) 764. For the worship of Apollo and Dionysos, see Otto (1960) 182–89. 47. Jucker (1961b) 171–78; Simon (1962) 767–70; Castriota (1995) 87–123. 48. Simon (1962) 764. Although the lower part of the wings of the inner altar are missing, they would presumably have been decorated with floral scrolls, as suggested by Moretti (1948) 189–90, figs. 151–52. On these matters, see further Castriota (1995a) 87–123. 49. The principal work on this coinage is Sutherland (1970). For a discussion of this coinage in light of the numen mixtum of Apollo and Dionysos, see Castriota (1995a) 87–123. 50. See the attributes and sacred animals of various divinities in RE. See further Castriota (1995a) 13–57. 51. See, e.g., the numerous representations in Rohden and Winnefeld (1911); Borbein (1968); and Castriota (1995a), especially 58–86. 52. E.g., Rohden and Winnefeld (1911); Jucker (1961b) 167, fig. 50; LIMC III (1986) 559 (no. 265) (C. Gasparri). 53. Curtius (1934) calls her the “Rankengöttin” (“goddess of the tendrils”). A good example from an architrave of Severan date in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples [Curtius (1934) fig. 5 = Alinari 19048], shows her with lower extremities terminating in acanthus leaves and flanked by two horned leogriffins. A Rankengöttin with griffins is also depicted in a painted frieze of the “House of Livia” on the Palatine: Curtius (1934) 230 and (1929) 79, fig. 54. Curtius (1934) 227 makes the point that such plants growing out of the goddess are “ein weiteres Symbol ihrer Fruchtbarkeit, die sich in immer neuen Geburten äußert.” 54. E.g., Toynbee and Ward-Perkins (1950) 6–7, pl. II.2. 55. E.g., Cain (1985) Beilage 6. 56. Cain (1985) Beilage 6.

57. E.g., Kraus (1953) 39–40, pl. 9, 69, pl. 21.2; Montagna Pasquinucci (1973) 257 (illus.), 265–72, pl. VIb–IXa. See also fig. vi.12 in this chapter. 58. Although associated in general with wine, Dionysos/Bacchus is first and foremost the god of the vine. 59. For these and other epithets associating Dionysos with vegetal life in general, see Castriota (1995a) 58–86. 60. British Museum D 534. For bibliography, see above n. 52. 61. Louvre Museum, mus. inv. 3847; Rohden and Winnefeld (1911) 209–10, 297, pl. CXVIII.2. Cf. other similar Campana reliefs: Borbein (1968) 193–95, pls. 46–48. 62. Cf. Castriota (1995a) 87–123, who in demonstrating the metonymous presence of Dionysos in the floral scrolls of the Ara Pacis points out that the imagery of scrolls corresponds to or fits within the larger framework of Augustan art, literature, and ideology. But even here we must consider how the public or private nature of a given monument and its direct association with Augustus himself conditioned its “reading.” 63. Petersen (1902) 28–29, fig. 17 was the first to point out the significance of the swans of the Ara Pacis as an Apolline symbol. See also L’Orange (1985) 216, 225; Simon (1967) 13; Holliday (1990) 545. 64. Unlike the infrequent appearance of other animals and insects, six swans appear on each of the long friezes and two on each of the front and back panels. 65. Simon (1959) 32–36 suggests that swans were transferred from the Apolline to the Venusian sphere. Aphrodite can also be found riding swans in Greek and Etruscan art. For swans on the Ara Pacis as a Venusian symbol, see Büsing (1977). The figure of Tellus Italiae on the left back panel of the Ara Pacis has also been taken as Venus or at least as reflecting Venusian aspects: Galinsky (1992); Castriota (1995a) 6, 54–55, 66–72, 83, 86, 121–22, 141–43, 153, 162; Galinsky (1996) 106–11, 148–49. For an alternate view, see Spaeth (1996) 122–51. 66. As a decorative motif, the full palmette can be traced back to Egypt and the Near East and is commonly found in Greek art from the Orientalizing period on: Riegl (1893) 62 et passim. The more sinuous and attenuated full and split palmettes are found in Greek art from the second half of the fifth century on, especially in connection with acanthus decoration: Riegl (1893) 210–12 et passim. Castriota (1995a) does not discuss the specific meaning of the palm for the



program of the Ara Pacis. For the palm tree, see also Baumann (1982) 58–59, 172, 213. 67. E.g., Plut. Mor. 386B, 393D, 1130A. 68. The details of the phoenix’s self-rebirth and the cycle of time involved (usually five hundred years) varies from author to author. For phoinix (palm), see RE 20 (1941) 386–404 s.v. “Phoinix” (A. Stier). For phoinix (fabled bird), see RE 20 (1941) 414–23 s.v. “Phoinix” (A. Rusch). For the phoenix as a symbol of immortality and rebirth, see RE 20 (1941) 422. The most extensive treatment of the phoenix is Van den Broek (1972) (I thank David Castriota for this reference). For the homonymous name φοῖνιξ, see especially Van den Broek (1972) 51–66; for the life span: 67–145. The phoenix also has significance for the numen mixtum of Helios, Apollo, and Dionysos, as discussed below. 69. On the phoenix as a solar bird in general, see Van den Broek (1972) 233–304. Because of its solar aspect the phoenix’s iconography seems to have been mixed with that of the griffin and the eagle. For the Mycenaeans, the winged eaglelike griffin was the preeminent sun bird, whose name in Mycenaean Greek was po-ni-ke. On these matters, see further Van de Broek (1972) 62–66, 250–53, 279–80, 397–98 et passim. 70. Van den Broek (1972) 53–54, 183. 71. Although some have suggested that the “palmette” (a modern term like “palmetto”), or palmette anthimion, derives from a lily motif, most scholars have rightly assumed that the palmette motif represents a palm tree. Stylized fans of fronds are even to be found in Greek art for the representation of the whole date palm tree. See also a black-figure calyx krater by the Rycroft Painter: Boardman (1974) fig. 227. 72. This takes on special significance in late authors with regard to the sun’s role in igniting the fire: Van den Broek (1972) 205–206. 73. This motif is also found on the Corinthian capitals of the Lysikrates monument: Riegl (1893) fig. 110. 74. See especially Van den Broek (1972) 21, 132–45. 75. For the anacyclic association of the phoenix with the “Great Year” and return of the Golden Age, see Van den Broek (1972) 9, 23, 67–112. 76. Van den Broek (1972) 201–202. Although the sources for the story appear to be late, the connection between the phoenix and the swan, both solar birds associated with rebirth of the soul, would have been rather self-evident early on. 77. For an extensive discussion of the remains and reconstruction of the Bassai capital, see Bauer (1973)

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14–65 with many illustrations. See also Riegl (1893) 117; Robertson (1969) fig. 59a (based on Haller von Hallerstein’s drawings). For the temple and its columns in general, see Cooper (1978); Yalouris (1978). It has been debated whether the two flanking columns at the back of the chamber also had Corinthian capitals, a view discarded by Yalouris (102) based on Cooper. Cf. Bauer (1973) 14, 22–23, 48–49. There is likewise a difference of opinion as to the meaning of Apollo’s epithet “Epikourios.” Although “Epikourios” has also been interpreted as “ally” or “mercenary” (Cooper [1978] 21), this epithet is not incompatible with “bringer of aid” or, as Pausanias (8.30.4, 418–19) explained, “helper in time of plague,” more specifically the plague that had broken out during the Peloponnesian War. The primary meaning of ἐπικούριος is “succoring”: LSJ 640, sv. ἐπικούριος. The idea of epikourios meaning “mercenary” would go back to the god’s original worship as a martial god. His function as a helper or healer divinity is to be ascribed to the Classical period: Yalouris (1978) 91–94. 78. A sole palm blade peeks out above the central acanthus leaf on the pilasters of the Ara Pacis: Moretti (1948) 168–70, fig. 134. Palmettes are found alone or often in combination with acanthus on funerary stelae: e.g., Hauglid (1947) figs. 8, 9, 14. It is interesting that in at least one story of the regeneration of the phoenix (Lactant. Div. Inst. 83–88) acanthus is named among the aromatics used by the phoenix in making its final nest for self-immolation. 79. RE 20 (1941) 401–402 s.v. “Phoinix” (A. Stier). 80. RIC2 I, 59 (no. 256); BMCRE I, 100 (no. 6l5), pl. 15.5. See further Pollini (1990a) 346, fig. 13. 81. Although Sauron (1982) 95–96 does not cite this example, he also notes the similarity between aplustre and the split palms on the Ara Pacis but offers a different interpretation of this resemblance. 82. One candelabrum shows Apolline scenes on the base (mus. inv. 2403); the other, Dionysiac (mus. inv. 2408): Cain (1984) 183–84 (nos. 97–98), pls. 48–49. See also MPC III, 96–97 (no. 32), fig. 14 (= mus. inv. 2408); 100–101 (no. 39), fig. 15 (= mus. inv. 2402). Castriota (1995a) 87–123 rightly postulates that because of the symbolism these candelabra might follow or replicate Augustan models. 83. For the association of the acanthus with Apollo and his sacred animal, the griffin, see in general Jucker (1961b) 172–74. The acanthus is also connected with other symbols of rebirth, like the eagle

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(Jucker [1961b] 138–42) and other divinities of rebirth, like Helios. The sun is or comes close to being equated with Apollo: Jucker (1961b) 178–86. For the use of the acanthus plant in various funereal contexts as a symbol of rebirth, see Jucker (1961b) 133– 38 et passim. See also Schott (1959). See further below. 84. Meurer (1909) 20 mentions this story but unfortunately does not give his ancient source. 85. Yalouris (1978) 96–104. 86. Yalouris (1978) 99. 87. Philpot (1897); Kepinski (1982). For an important study of the iconography and iconology of the “sacred tree,” especially in the cult of the ruler, see Castriota (1995b) with further bibliography. 88. Yalouris (1978) 104, pl. 46. 89. For the ancient tradition of the great god of plants (including Apollo and his griffins), see Jucker (1961b) 164–95. 90. Castriota (1995a) 58–86. 91. See further Yalouris (1978) 98–103. 92. Yalouris (1978) 101–103. For Apollo Agyieus and his representation in Greek and Roman art, see RE 1.1 (1893) 909–13 s.v. “Agyieus” (E. Reisch) and LIMC II (1984) s.v. “Apollon Agyieus,” 327–32 (E. di Filippo Balestrazzi). The baetyli of Apollo at Apollonia must have been of significance to Augustus, since they are represented in the “Room of the Masks” in his house on the Palatine and in the terracotta plaques that once decorated the Temple of Apollo Palatinus: Picard-Schmitter (1971) 73–82; Carettoni (1983) 27, pl. 6; Simon (1978) 219–20. The interest in Apollo Agyieus and Apollonia undoubtedly stems from the fact that Octavian spent time at Apollonia studying. For the baitylos/baetylus form in general, see Cain (1985) 78 with further bibliography in n. 355. Some of the candelabra take this baitylos/baetylus form: see, e.g., Cain’s group of candelabra (“Balusterschaft”) rising out of acanthus: 75–81, pls. 38. 1–2; 43.1–2. Cain concludes that this type was conceived in the Augustan period. For the original meaning of the baitylos/baetylus form as an aniconic image of different gods (especially Apollo, Artemis/Diana, Hekate, Dionysos), see Cain (1985) 78–80, n. 362. See also Thompson (1973) 62–69, who distinguishes between baityloi and agyias pillars; J. C. Reeder (1989). 93. See further Yalouris (1978) 101–103. 94. See, e.g., LIMC II (1984) 228–30 s.v. “Apollon Agyieus” (nos. 10, 15, 27). 95. Strazzulla (1990) 24, fig. 4.

96. In the giardino del teatro: Pensabene in Calza et al. (eds.) (1977) 315–16 (no. 390), pl. 223. Although of unknown provenance, this column is probably from the area of Rome. Pensabene dates it to the period of the Second Triumvirate on the basis of the style of the acanthus capital. 97. The true pinecone is commonly represented at the top of his thyrsos: RE 5 (1905) 1042 s.v. “Dionysos.” The pine was considered a tree of life and was also a symbol of perpetually self-renewing nature: Van den Broek (1972) 162. 98. In funereal contexts the cone generally rests directly on a base with a funerary inscription, a true cippus: Van den Broek (1972) 162. 99. For the use of aniconic images as votive objects in sanctuaries, see Vagnetti (1971) pl. 57, figs. 1–4 (Veii); Ricciotti (1973) 181–82. 100. Helios is likewise associated with baetyli and other forms of sacred pillars, most notably the obelisk. 101. Most of these are in bust form and are the product of “Volkskunst”: see, for example, Jucker (1961b) 183–86. This type was also adapted for representations in funereal art. 102. Jucker (1961b) 183. 103. See chapter V above for the connection between the phallic nature of the Egyptian obelisk that Augustus brought from Egypt to serve as the gnomon of his Solarium and the significance of the obelisk in the worship of life-giving Amun-Ra. 104. For the Near Eastern tradition, see Engnell (1943) 4–15; for the Hellenistic and Roman tradition, see Cumont (1912) 22–23, 55, 59, 69–75, 101, 103, 106– 107; Warde Fowler (1914) 58–61; Weinstock (1971) 381–84. For the Eastern tradition and its effect on Hellenistic thinking, see Fears (1977) 76–77. 105. The Sibylline Books had undergone revision under Augustus, who removed them from the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus on the Capitoline to the Temple of Apollo Palatinus: Platner and Ashby (1929) 17 s.v. “Apollo Palatinus, Aedes.” See also Richardson (1992) 14 s.v. “Apollo Palatinus, Aedes”; LTUR I (1993) 54–57 s.v. “Apollo Palatinus, Aedes” (P. Gros). For new reconstructions of this temple, see Zink (2008); Zink with Piening (2009). 106. Kähler (1959) figs. 11, 21 (top); Simon (1986) 54, fig. 57. On the griffin as a symbol of Apollo, see Simon (1962), especially 763–67. 107. For the theme of the return of Saturnia regna in the Ptolemaic and Roman cults of the leader, see Alföldi (1979).



108. Roscher I, 423–34. 109. E.g., Simon (1967) figs. 2.1, 7, 8. 110. In Roman art under the Principate, the Seasons come to symbolize the Happiness of the Times or Ages (Felicitas Temporum, Felicia Tempora), the Golden Age (Aurea Aetas, Aureum Saeculum), and Eternity (of Happiness), all blessings guaranteed by the Princeps: Pollini (1992), especially 294–98. 111. For the meaning of Lycia: Roscher I, 422–23. 112. Roscher I, 425–26. 113. At Delphi a statue was set up to him as Apollo Sitalkas (i.e., “strong in grain”): Paus. 10.15.2; Strabo 13. 613. See also Castriota (1995a) 18–19. 114. Bergk (ed.) (1882) frags. 2f. See also Roscher I, 425–30; Fontenrose (1959) 382–83. 115. Apollo is sometime represented on Attic vases and other media being transported by a swan or swans, especially in connection with his return from the land of the Hyperboreans. For various Greek examples, see LIMC II (1984) 227–28 (nos. 343, 344, 346, 350) s.v. “Apollon” (E. Simon); for Apollo/Aplu on a swan or in a swan biga in Etruscan art: 346–47 (nos. 65–76) s.v. “Apollon/Aplu” (I. Karauskopf). 116. Bergk (ed.) (1882) for fragment of Ananios 986; Roscher I, 426. 117. Carettoni (1983) 23–27, pl. D (cf. also frieze with swan motif from upper cubiculum [room 15], 74, fig. 13, pl. W.2). For the swan in Roman art in general, see Toynbee (1973) 259–61. 118. See in general Zanker (1988). 119. Reinach (1922) 347 (no. 8). 120. Mus. inv. 24.1017: Bieber (1944) 76–77, fig. 10. 121. RE 2 N.S. (1923) 782–92 s.v. “Schwan” (H. Gossen). 122. As originally noted in Pollini (1978) 127. Cf. also Serv. ad Aen. 1.393, 398 with reference to the twelve swans sent as an augural sign to Aeneas: Verg. Aen. 1.390–95. The swans on the Ara Pacis have long been recognized as sacred to Apollo: see, e.g., Petersen (1902) 29; L’Orange (1985) 216. 123. Swans are conceived in a similar manner in legends of other peoples, as, for example, in tales of the Celtic god Bhorvon and the Indian sun-god Brahma. For the role of the swan in these legends and in the story of Apollo and the land of the Hyperboreans, see Yalouris (1978) 96, 99. 124. Sophokles (in Strabo 295); cf. Diod. Sic. 2.47; Plin. HN 4.89; Pind. Pyth. 10.37f; Roscher I, 426–27. The Christians later borrowed the acanthus scroll as

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a symbol of paradise: Toynbee and Ward-Perkins (1950) 41. 125. For the relationship of Apollo and Dionysos at Delphi, see in general Harrison (1922) 401–402 and 556–61 (Delphic Dionysos at Eleusis); Fontenrose (1959), especially 374–94. 126. For the three Horai (goddesses of the seasons), see Hesiod, Th. 900–903. For their relationship with Apollo and Dionysos, see Castriota (1995a) 19–20. For the Horai/Horae in Greek and Roman art, see LIMC V (1990) 502–10 s.v. “Horai” (V. Machaira) and 511–38 s.v. “Horae” (L. Abad Casal). See also Pollini (1992) 294–96 with further bibliography. 127. Among the ancients in the Mediterranean, spring began at this time: Fontenrose (1959) 380, 383. 128. See further Roscher I, 427. 129. See further Fontenrose (1959) 378–80. 130. For Dionysos’ role at Delphi in general, see Amandry (1950) 196–200; Fontenrose (1959) 374–94, 468. 131. The earliest evidence for this appears to be Philorchoros FHG 328 F7. See further Parke and Wormell (1956) 15, n. 31. 132. Scholars had rejected the idea that there were ever fissures in the rock beneath the adyton through which vapors escaped. However, a reexamination of the early excavation evidence and the discovery in recent years of intersecting fissures beneath the adyton indicate that this aspect of the Pythia’s ritual was not a myth: Hale et al. (2003). I thank John Hale for this reference. 133. The connection between Python and Dionysos becomes more explicable when we also consider that Dionysos took the form of a snake. See further Fontenrose (1959) 378–81. 134. For this Apolline and Dionysiac interchange, see Marcadé (1969) 174–93; Stewart (1982) 208–15; Castriota (1995a) 87–123. 135. E.g., Pl. Phdr. 244A–45C, 265A–B; see also Plut. Mor. 397B–C, 404, 414E. With reference to the Pythia, μανία (mania) is often mistranslated as “madness.” As Fontenrose (1959) 212 points out, its true meaning here is “a high state of emotion and comprehends all kinds of transport, enthusiasm, and inspiration.” See further Fontenrose (1978) 204–12. According to Plutarch (Mor. 716B), Dionysos also had a role in Delphic prophecy. On these matters, see further Castriota (1995a) 134–35. 136. Cf. also Luc. 5. 169–70: bacchatur demens aliena per antrum / colla ferens (“Frenetic, she [the Pythia] whirls about the cave like a Bacchante, her

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mind possessed by another [Apollo]”). See further Fontenrose (1959) 204, 210. 137. ARV2 1185.7; LIMC II (1984) 279 (no. 278a) (W. Lambrinudakis). For other examples of Apollo and Dionysos in each other’s company in various media, see LIMC II (1984) 277–80 (W. Lambrinudakis). For artistic imagery of Dionysos as a god of rebirth, see Castriota (1995a) 73–123. 138. See Hymn. Hom. Ap. (117–19), in which Leto clasps a palm tree as she gives birth to Apollo and Artemis on Delos, whereupon the Earth below rejoices. 139. Without their distinguishing attributes, the gods are often difficult to differentiate. For the interchange of Apolline and Dionysiac iconography, see Stewart (1982). 140. Surviving are segments of the column, its Corinthian capital, and caryatid support. For a reconstruction of the column, see Bommelaer and Laroche (1991) 199–200 (no. 509), fig. 69 (reconstruction), pl. III (location of base of column in the sanctuary). For a review of the problems concerning the column and its date, see Ridgway (1990) 15, 22–26 (with n. 9), 55–56, ills. 7–9, pl. 4. 141. In this respect it resembles the columnar shaft represented on the Pergamene altar. One wonders if this motif on the Pergamene altar might even have been inspired by the acanthus column at Delphi. Cf. also Roman decorative candelabra, which bear a superficial resemblance in shape to the Delphic column: Cain (1985), especially group b (“Akanthus-Phialenschaft”) 75–76, 83–87, pl. 37.1–3. 142. For several line drawings of these stelae, see, e.g., Hauglid (1947) fig. 2; cf. fig. 3. 143. As also suggested on the museum’s label. 144. See especially Pouilloux and Roux (1963) 123– 49, pl. XXVIII.2 (reconstructions of entire column); Marcadé (1974) 239–54; Frel (1978–79) 75–82; Ridgway (1990) 22–23, 26, 55–56, ill. 7, pl. 4. For good detailed photos of the female figures, see de Miré and de la Coste-Messelière (1957) 326, pls. 163–69. 145. They have sometimes been called “kalathiskos [small basket] dancers” because of the kalathiskoslike ornaments that they wear on their heads. These “dancers” are particularly popular in later Roman art in various decorative contexts, only here their kalathiskos takes on the appearance of a grasslike or reedlike crown. For the representation of such figures on marble candelabra, Campana reliefs, Arretine pottery, and cuirasses, see, e.g., Cain (1985) 135–36, Beilag 14;

Borbein (1968) 188–89, pl. 40.1; Chase (1916) 56 (b–c), pl. II; Stemmer (1978) Kat. VII, 1, pl. 49.2, 155. The “kalathiskos dancers” have been attributed to Classical Greek sculptor Kallimachos based on a statement of Pliny: HN 34.92 (saltantes Lacaenae). See further Fuchs (1959) 91–96. They are often found in cultic contexts, especially that of Athena, Dionysos, Apollo, Demeter, and perhaps Aphrodite: Cain (1985) 135, n. 814 with further literature. 146. LIMC III (1986) 191–203 (E. B. Harrison). Oddly, the Delphic figures are not included even among the possible or doubtful representations of the Charites, who often wear a tall polos (a nonfoliate crown) on their heads. Cf. the three Charites dancing around a herm of Hekate (nos. 28–33). For the Charites in general, see also Harrison (1922) 286–99, 437–38. A colossal statue of Apollo on Delos is said to have held figures of the Charites: Callim. Aet. frag. 114; see also Pfeiffer (1952) 21–22. 147. For the Horai, see n. 126 above. 148. This relationship with Dionysos goes back to at least the late fifth century b.c.e. In Augustan times Dionysos is found as leader or guide of the Horai on marble candelabra: e.g., Cain (1985) 174 (no. 73), pls. 9.4, 68.2.4. 149. Travlos (1971) 348–51; Ridgway (1990) 15–18 with n. 4, ills. 1–3. 150. For this decorative element, see Carettoni (1983) 17, fig. 1. For the use of the Delphic tripod in Augustan art, see Schneider (1986) 58–63. The horned winged lions on the ends or wings of the inner altar table of the Ara Pacis were brought into association with the acanthus decorations above and presumably below: Castriota (1995a) 119–23. As Simon (1962) 764 noted, such fabled creatures are symbolic of the numen mixtum of Apollo and Dionysos. Although sacred to Apollo, the leogriffin is also associated with Dionysos, especially in connection with vegetal renewal, a tradition that can be traced back to the Near East: Jucker (1961b) 171–78; Simon (1962) 768; Castriota (1995a) 87–123. 151. Andreae (1977) 102–103, fig. 40; Strazzulla (1990) 17–22, fig. 1 and color plate of the same. 152. A double row of acanthus leaves decorated the kalathos (“basket”) of the capital: Hofter et al. (eds.) (1988) 140–41 (no. 34a) (M. Bertoletti) and 126 (fig. 46). 153. Mercklin (1934) documents three marble tripods: one from the Aventine in the Museo Nuovo of the Palazzo dei Conservatori (formerly the Museo Mussolini) (pl. 14): Stuart Jones (1926) pl. 8, S. 19



(secondo portico no. 9); the other two (recut and restored) are from the area around Domitian’s Villa at Castel Gondolfo and are now in the Vatican: Lippold (1956) II.2, 45–46 (no. 235) pl. 26 (= mus. inv. 2337); 46–48 (no. 236) pl. 26 (= mus. inv. 2323). See also MPC III, 36–38 (no. 12), fig. 7a (= mus. inv. 2323); 47 (no. 27) (= mus. inv. 2337). Mercklin (1934) 215–16 speculated about whether all three surviving tripods could originally have come from the same building, presumably a theater because of the mixed Apolline and Bacchic symbols represented on them. He suggests a Domitianic date for at least the two found near Domitian’s Villa. Even if of Domitianic date, these tripods may have been based on Augustan models, perhaps even set up in the Theater of Marcellus. 154. Mus. inv. 121985. The altar is dated to the Claudian period: Candida (1979) 34–37, pls. 12–13. 155. Both are worshiped under the epithets epikourios (“succoring”) and epikouros (“helper,” “ally”): LSJ 640 s.v. ἐπικούριος, ἐπίκουρος ΙΙ. For Asklepios/Aesculapius, see RE 2 (1896) 1642–97 s.v. “Asklepios” (E. Thraemer); LIMC II (1984) 863–97 s.v. “Asklepios” (B. Holtzmann). 156. The Tholos has generally been attributed to Polykleitos the Younger. For the Corinthian capitals, see Bauer (1973) 87–108. 157. For the tholos, called a thymele in inscriptions, see Lawrence (1983) 241–44, figs. 213–16, with further bibliography. If the tholos did function as the tomb of Asklepios, as some have speculated, then the motif of a palmette above an acanthus scroll on the cornice of the building’s exterior would be particularly appropriate. 158. For Dioscurides Medicus, see Dietrich (1988) 363–64. 159. Schmidt-Colinet (1977) 236 (W 84); Zanker (1988) 182, fig. 142. Neither author, however, makes the connection between acanthus and healing. 160. For this carriage, see Müller (1905); Miller (1986) 401–11. 161. Although Diodoros’ use of the word φοῖνιξ has been questioned, I believe that the suggestion of Miller (1986) 410–11, fig. 2b that this crowning element was a palm ornament is correct and that it signified victory. However, she does not note the greater metaphorical significance of the palm and olive taken together. 162. In the Classical and Hellenistic periods the Corinthian capital was used primarily for interiors and was probably regarded as the most sacred of the three principal column capitals: Onians (1979) 72–79. For its

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use in such heroa or other buildings of the Hellenistic ruler cult, such as the Philippeon at Olympia, the Arsinoeion at Samothrace, the Temenos of the Ruler Cult at Pergamon, and the Mausoleum at Belevi, see further Pollitt (1986) 247–49, 289–90. For the employment of acanthus in various Hellenistic monumental tombs in general, see Fedak (1990). 163. See Bauer (1969); Heilmeyer (1970); Viscogliosi (1988); Hofter et al. (eds.) (1988) 140–48 (M. Bertoletti). 164. For this tradition and its impact on Rome, see Castriota (1995a) 87–123. 165. See, e.g., Dio Chrys. Or. 31.11; Macrob. Sat. 1.18.1–2. For further literature on this matter, see Stewart (1982) 215 with n. 77. 166. See RE 20 (1941), especially 416–22 s.v. “Phoinix” (A. Rusch). See also Jucker (1961b) 183; Van den Broek (1972) 14–17, 403–14 et passim. 167. On this point, see especially Pollini (1990a) 337 with n. 10. For Victoria and Augustus in general, see Hölscher (1967) 157–64 et passim. 168. Kraus (1953) 39–40, pl. 9. 169. Kraus (1953). Cf., however, Hölscher (1984) 20, fig. 28 and (1988) 373–74, no. 260 (cf. also fig. 168), who sees only a connection with Venus as victrix and progenetrix of the Julian family in the use of the acanthus. 170. See chapter V above, appendix B. 171. For this poem and its date, see CHCL 175, 211– 13 (J. C. Bramble). 172. Cf. Buchner (1982) 347–48, 365. See also Barton (1995) 44–47. 173. See chapter V above, appendix B. 174. Torelli (1982) 29. See further Pollini (1993c) 270. Every aspect of the Roman notion of domi et militiae was governed by religion: Rüpke (1990), especially 235–64. 175. See also Castriota (1995a) 62, who characterizes the Ara Pacis’ floral motifs as a “more radical form of metonymic allusion.” 176. Castriota (1995a) 62. 177. For a treatment of omens and portents in literature, see Krauss (1930). As they pertain to the leaders of Rome: Lattimore (1934); Hopkins (1978) 231–40. For the importance of birds, in particular, in omens and augury, see Pollard (1977) 116–29. 178. Cf., however, Castriota (1995a) 87–123, who stresses the Dionysiac significance of all the tiny animals in the floral reliefs. 179. RE 2.1 (1895) 109 s.v. “Apollon” (K. Wernicke). The snake can also recall Python, the monster that

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Apollo overcame to become master of Delphi: Fontenrose (1959), especially 13–22, 55, figs. 2–3 (Python as a snake). See the colossal marble statue of Apollo from Cyrene in the British Museum with snake (= Python) coiled about the tree trunk support: Stewart (1982) 213 with nn. 69–70, fig. 16 (cf. also fig. 15). Snakes also appear framing the Delphic tripods that are represented on the acanthus capitals from the interior of the Temple of Apollo Sosianus in Rome. Snakes are typically symbolic of Apollo’s son Asklepios/Aesculapius. 180. This missing section on the south side has been restored with a cast made from the preserved section on the north side: Moretti (1948) pl. X. 181. A frog was also represented at the foot of an Apolline palm dedicated at Delphi: Plut. De Pyth. or. 12. In addition, frogs were thought to be prophets of weather: e.g., Verg. G. 1.378; Plin. HN 18.361–62. 182. RE 2 (1896) 1680–82 s.v. “Asklepios” (E. Thraemer). It was in the form of his sacred snake that Asklepios/Aesculapius came to Rome: Ov. Met. 745–46. 183. For this relief, see Ghisellini (1988) pls. 70, 71.2–4; Cohon (2004) 103–105, fig. 16. 184. For the idea of the transformation of the evil fate of Troy into the glorious destiny of Rome in Vergil, see Bailey (1935) 211. 185. E.g., Hor. Carm. 3.3.18–68; Ov. Fast. 1.523–32. Cf. also Prop. 4.41–54. 186. See chapter V above, especially appendix A. 187. Cf., however, Sauron (1982) 85. 188. Pollini (1978) 86–90, especially 127–32. 189. E.g., in Suetonius’ Vitae, more omina imperii are recorded for Augustus and Vespasian than for any of the other principes: Augustus had seventeen; Vespasian, twelve. See also Lattimore (1934) 443; Hopkins (1978) 232. 190. See also chapters IV and V above. For the name “Augustus” and these associations, see Suet. Aug. 7.2. See also Cass. Dio, 53.16.6–8; Ov. Fast. 1.607–16; Flor. 2.34.66. 191. See also Pollini (1993c). 192. Over time Augustus accumulated more and more forms of power, even in the religious sphere, becoming Pontifex Maximus in 12 b.c.e. With this position, which originally had meant nothing more than being the head of the College of the Pontifices, the Princeps was in effect the head of Roman state religion: see Scheid (2003) 130–31 et passim. See also Hoffman Lewis (1955) 72–73 et passim.

Chap ter V II

The Smaller Cancelleria (“Vicomagistri”) Reliefs and Julio-Claudian Imperial Altars Limitations of the Evidence and Problems in Interpretation

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etween 1937 and 1939 two sets of white marble figural reliefs were discovered under the Palazzo della Cancelleria in the Campus Martius in Rome.1 Both sets are to be found today in the Vatican’s Museo Gregoriano Profano ex Lateranense. The better-known and larger set of reliefs, originally carved in the Domitianic period, is commonly referred to simply as the “Cancelleria Reliefs” (fig. II.37a),2 while the smaller set, consisting of shorter “Relief A” (left segment) and longer “Relief B” (right segment), has sometimes been designated the “Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs” (figs. vii.1–3).3 The good state of preservation of both these sets of reliefs, which were found near the Republican tomb of the consul Aulus Hirtius (consul 43 b.c.e.), suggests that their findspot was a sculptural depot and that the reliefs were brought to this place from their original location to be reused for something else or perhaps even to be reduced to lime in the Late Antique period.4 My focus in this chapter is on various aspects of the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs, including their possible original function, religious and ideological meaning, and date. This analysis will serve to point out some of the most vexing sorts of problems encountered when dealing with Roman sculptural monuments discovered out of context and with little to no information about them in the literary, epigraphic, and numismatic record. Complicating the situation even further, these reliefs depict religious activities that are not well known because so much has been lost to us regarding Roman religious practices. Despite these limitations, concentrated examination of these reliefs is useful not only in pointing up the problems and issues that scholars face in dealing with this sort of material evidence but also in emphasizing that we are sometimes frustratingly left with more questions than answers. Despite scholarly disagreement about the specific Principate in which the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs were created, it is clear at least that they can be broadly dated to the Julio-Claudian era (ca. 14–68 c.e.). Although they have

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Fig. vii.1. Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs A and B conjoined prior to the mid1980s, Museo Gregoriano Profano ex Lateranense, Vatican. Photo by author

Fig. vii.2. Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs A and B separated in present museum display, Museo Gregoriano Profano ex Lateranense, Vatican. Photo by William Storage

Fig. vii.3a. Smaller Cancelleria Relief A. Photo by William Storage

Fig. vii.3b. Smaller Cancelleria Relief B. Photo by William Storage

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sometimes been assigned to the Tiberian period (14–37), considerations based on Roman religious practices, as well as artistic style, suggest a somewhat later dating to the Principate of Claudius (41–54),5 a matter of significance in interpreting the subject of the reliefs. The drapery of the figures in the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs appears somewhat transparent, with corporeal forms showing beneath the folds, by contrast with the heavier drapery that tends to obscure the bodies of figures in the processional friezes of the Ara Pacis Augustae. There is also a significant difference in the disposition of figures in space in the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs, with figures in the background tiered significantly higher than those in the foreground, a treatment that anticipates the spatial illusionism of the menorah panel of the Arch of Titus. In the case of the Ara Pacis, by contrast, the figures of the inner altar friezes are arranged essentially isocephalically in the Classical Greek manner. Even in the large north and south processional friezes of the Ara Pacis’ precinct wall, the figures are positioned differently than in the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs, with the foreground figures of the Ara Pacis being slightly higher than those in the background (e.g., figs. V.15–16a). The Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs, where figures in the background are tiered higher than those in the foreground, provide far more sense of spatial depth than in the Ara Pacis processional friezes. In the past, the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs were often thought to have once formed part of one of the Lares altars that were set up in the many vici (“districts”) of Rome from the time of Augustus on.6 The reliefs were consequently commonly referred to as having belonged to the “Altar of the Vicomagistri.” The designation “Vicomagistri” was based on the supposition that the four adult togate figures (three in the foreground and another in the middle ground to the left) at the left end of Relief A were vicomagistri (figs. vii.3a, 4a). Four in number and usually of freedman status,7 the vicomagistri were in charge of sacrifices to the Lares Augusti and the Genius Augusti (the Genius of the living Princeps) in Rome’s many vici.8 Appearing in front of them (to the right) in the procession on Relief A are four youthful males with bare feet and veiled heads who are dressed in unbelted tunics, with two of the youths carrying statuettes of the Lares Augusti and one holding a statuette of the Genius Augusti (figs. vii.3a, 4b). Because of their dress, accouterments, and number, they have been commonly identified as the vicoministri, the servile assistants of the vicomagistri. The sacrificial animals (victimae) further to the right (fig. vii.3b) in front of the four youthful ministrants imply a sacrifice of some sort, as close examination of the imagery indicates. Since the period of the late Roman Republic, the cult of the Lares Compitales, or Lares of the Crossroads (compita), had been banned in Rome, because these



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Fig. vii.4a. Four prominent togati wearing high-laced calcei in Relief A of Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs. Photo by William Storage

Fig. vii.4b. Detail of four youthful ministrants (riciniati), three of whom carry statuettes, in Relief A of Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs. Photo by author

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neighborhood cults served as flash points for civic disturbances and violence involving the City’s lower classes.9 As part of his program of religious renewal, Augustus reorganized these urban neighborhood compital cults between 12 b.c.e., when he became Pontifex Maximus, and 7 b.c.e., when he divided the City of Rome into 14 regiones (“divisions”). This measure was seen as a means of controlling and refocusing into peaceful ways the activities of those participating in the Compitalia, the annual festival celebrating the Lares Compitales. In this reorganization the Lares that had been called the Lares Compitales were transformed into the Lares Augusti (“Augustan Lares”) by the addition of the adjectival epithet Augustus. Augustus’ divine procreative spirit/force, the Genius Augusti, came to be worshiped in the vici as well. By personalizing the Lares/ Genius Augusti cult throughout the entire City of Rome, Augustus in effect bound the lowest ranks of society to himself—a useful way to discourage the often disruptive activities of the urban masses.10 Though technically a private cult (sacra privata), as opposed to an official state cult overseen by aristocratic state priests,11 the worship of the Lares Augusti and the Genius Augusti in all of the vici of the City had a very public face, especially since the Compitalia were celebrated by the Roman people as a whole.12 The vicomagistri were even accorded the right of the toga praetexta and lictors like the official magistrates when they performed their priestly duties.13 Although the cult was largely paid for by the vicomagistri, Augustus, who was an official magistrate by virtue of his perpetual tribunician power, donated some of the monuments and gave statues of various gods to the vici out of the money that the urban plebs (lower class) gave to him as a New Year’s gift at the beginning of each January.14 Augustus also restored the Ludi Compitalicii (“Compital Games”), which had been banned under Caesar (Suet. Aug. 31.4).15 These compital cults were reorganized, governed by city-wide rules, and patronized by Augustus, which put them in a very special category, not on a par with the great official state cults of Rome to be sure, but nevertheless not as private as one might think. J. Bert Lott rightly commented that the Augustan regime did not just concern itself with the massive monuments of the city’s most important public spaces, but also planned and improved the smaller public and private spaces of streets and neighborhoods. In particular, neighborhoods played an important and regulated part in the administration of the city, performing vital public services under the guidance of local magistri (i.e., regionary magistrates) and the urban praetor. The Augustan neighborhoods participated in fire prevention and suppression, police protection, food and water distribution, and census taking.16



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Fig. vii.5. Two consuls of Rome with lictors at beginning of procession in Relief B of Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs. Photo by William Storage

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In short, the compital cult of the City of Rome represented the beginning of a blurring of the distinction between official and private, especially when it came to activities pertaining to the imperial cult. This assimilative process can also be witnessed in the application of the epithet Augustus/a to various state gods and personified imperial virtues, as well as to the Lares Augusti, all of which served to tie these divinities specifically to Augustus and his house.17 Some of these state Augustan divinities were worshiped as well at the compita in the vici of the City, with some of their images being those donated by Augustus himself. It is nevertheless unlikely that the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs have anything to do with the compital cults of Rome practiced by the vicomagistri and vicoministri. First of all, the procession in relief segment B is led by two magistrates, marked out by their number, their high-laced calcei with double knots (often referred to as “patrician” or “senatorial” shoes),18 and the lictors who accompany them (figs. vii.3b, 5: two togate figures to far right).19 These two prominent individuals, who turn toward each other, are most likely the two consuls of Rome. Their presence would indicate that the ceremony represented is of great significance and that the sacrificial animals in the procession (fig. vii.3b) should refer to an official Roman state cult. Moreover, as Tonio Hölscher has correctly observed, these reliefs would be rather unusual for one of the many Lares altars set up in the vici of Rome, since these altars were typically small, with scenes far less elaborate and far less masterfully carved than the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs.20 It is therefore reasonable to conclude that they would once have belonged to an important state monument. Rejecting the idea that cultic personnel represented in section A of the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs would be vicomagistri and vicoministri, Hölscher suggested instead that these reliefs were to be associated with the Sacellum (“shrine”) of the Lares Publici at the top of the Velia (in summa Via Sacra) in the vicinity of the later Arch of Titus.21 Although this shrine was restored by Augustus, probably around 4 b.c.e. (RG

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19), we do not know whether the Lares Augusti (and possibly the Genius Augusti) would have been added to this state cult of the Lares Publici. In fact, the little evidence that exists suggests that they were not.22 Nothing in the scenes of the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs specifically connects them with the Velia shrine. Moreover, it is difficult to see how reliefs of this size would have decorated an altar in a relatively small shrine, as the name sacellum implies. But before an attempt is made to interpret the scenes on the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs, other pertinent matters need to be considered. Technical Aspects of the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs Until the mid-1980s sections A and B were displayed conjoined in the Museo Gregoriano Profano ex Lateranense (fig. vii.1). They are now separated in the museum (fig. vii.2) to reflect more recent thinking that they were not originally contiguous. However, technical evidence and other considerations presented here indicate that the two reliefs did in fact originally form a continuous scene, without any missing section between them, and that they most likely once decorated one side of the podium of an inner altar surrounded by a precinct wall, in the tradition of the Ara Pacis (e.g., V.3–4, 24, 27).23 When these reliefs are conjoined, a togate figure is divided in half vertically where the two sections of the reliefs meet (fig. vii.6a–c). The division of a figure between two reliefs is not



Fig. vii.6a. Tibicen carved partly on Smaller Cancelleria Relief A, partly on Relief B. Photo by author Fig. vii.6b. Detail of upper part of tibicen’s body. After M. L. Anderson (1984) fig. 7 Fig. vii.6c. Author’s reconstructed sketch of tibicen where Reliefs A and B conjoin. Photo by author

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Fig. vii.7. Reconstruction of M. L. Anderson’s postulated missing section of Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs. After M. L. Anderson (1984) fig. 9

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unusual in Roman art, because figural scenes were typically carved after marble frieze/relief blocks were joined together. The subdivided togate figure can be identified as a flute-player (tibicen) because he holds up one of the double flutes (tibiae) that were commonly played at Roman sacrifices.24 In the background to the left is another musician who holds in his left hand a lyre (fides), identifying him as a lyre-player (fidicen). When sections A and B are placed together upright on a flat surface, the lines of the folds of the toga of the tibicen, the slight awkwardness in the position of his damaged right arm, and the slight misalignment of the moldings above and below the figural scene suggested to Maxwell Anderson that the two reliefs were not originally conjoined. He consequently proposed that a section between A and B was missing, which he calculated to have been 30.72 cm wide (fig. vii.7) and to have included an additional tibicen and fidicen, bringing the number of musicians to four.25 According to Anderson’s theory of the missing section, the figures from left to right would have been: (1) Relief A: vicomagistri and vicoministri, fidicen, and left half of tibicen; (2) postulated missing section: missing right half of tibicen, missing second fidicen, and missing left half of second tibicen; (3) Relief B: right half of postulated second tibicen, followed by sacrificial attendants and others. Several years after Anderson published his article, Paolo Liverani, who followed Anderson in the belief that the two reliefs were not originally conjoined, rejected the idea that there was once a short section between A and B, proposing instead that the reliefs decorated two different sides of an essentially square altar. He suggested two possible ways that the reliefs might have been disposed on the postulated altar: they either were placed on opposite sides of the monument (fig. vii.8b) or were on adjacent sides (fig. vii.8c).26

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Fig. vii.8a–c. P. Liverani’s three plans (a, b, c) for the location of Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs A and B on the postulated altar (modified by author). After Liverani (1988) fig. 11a–c

Although there is no distinctive pattern of discoloration continuing across both reliefs that would in itself prove that the two were once conjoined, we have no reason to expect such discoloration, since the reliefs were not deposited joined together. Relief A was found with its relief side facing down, leaning against a tomb, while Relief B was discovered lying nearby with its relief side facing up.27 And while it is true that slight rasp marks near the right edge of section A do not continue across to B,28 these faint marks are more vertical than horizontal and would not necessarily have continued onto B. Inserting a section between A and B also would not solve the problem of the horizontal moldings not lining up when the two reliefs are placed upright. Furthermore, a serious iconographical issue is raised by the proposed intermediate section with two additional figures: two tibicines and two fidicines are never, to my knowledge, represented together in Roman art.29 In various sacrificial scenes only one tibicen is usually shown and then rarely accompanied by a fidicen.30 Aside from the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs, I know of only three reliefs in which one tibicen and one fidicen appear together: the so-called Altar of Domitius Ahenobarbus,31 the Ara Borghese,32 and the Casali Relief.33 There is also the matter of the horizontal dimensions of the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs. Section A is 6 Roman feet (1.77 m) in length, while B is 10 Roman feet (2.94 m).34 If the two finished reliefs were originally conjoined (fig. vii.8a), the total length of one side of the postulated altar would have been 16 Roman feet, which is not only an even unit measure but also very similar to the length of one of the sides of the reconstructed podium of the inner altar of the Ara Pacis.35 Section A of the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs is 3.5 Roman feet in total height (1.04 m), while B is 7.5 mm less in height than A. This minor discrepancy, probably caused by a slight mistake in measuring the height of B,36 is the reason the moldings and drapery patterns of the subdivided tibicen on the two reliefs do not quite line up when the reliefs are placed together upright on a level surface. Raising section B up 7.5 mm, however, produces a horizontal alignment of the moldings and a match-up of the folds of drapery of the tibicen



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Fig. vii.9. Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs A and B correctly conjoined on an old base mount prior to their later installation in the renovated Museo Gregoriano Profano, Vatican. Courtesy Musei Vaticani, Neg. viii.32.7

(fig. vii.6c).37 The simplest way to have corrected such a discrepancy in antiquity would have been to raise block B to be on the same level as A. The relief would then have been carved with the two blocks conjoined. To correct the problem on the altar’s podium itself, the appropriate very small amount of mortar would have been added to the plinth under section B to raise it to be level with A. An old photo of the two conjoined relief blocks taken many years ago and prior to their present installation as separate units in the Museum Gregoriano Profano shows how the moldings of A and B were brought into perfect alignment in this way (fig. vii.9). Only when the two sections were taken off their old mount in the museum did the discrepancy become noticeable. Based on the width of the other togate figures in the relief, the width of the tibicen appears to be correct when the two reliefs are conjoined. Although the tip of his elbow below the sleeve of his tunic is extant,38 the whole of his right forearm has been abraded and worn away, so that it looks almost like part of the vertical folds of his toga. His right arm originally would have been bent upward almost vertically to hold the double flute brought up close to his face (see the reconstructed tibicen in fig. vii.6c).39 Like other limbs of figures represented in the relief, such as the now broken off arm of the victimarius in front of the first bull (figs. vii.3b, 10) and of the victimarius in front of the second bull (fig. vii.3b), the right hand of the tibicen was probably once carved at least partly in the round (cf. fig. vii.6c). Several of the discrepancies in the figure of the tibicen that Anderson found unparalleled elsewhere in the reliefs can be explained in part by the fact that none of the other figures is divided between the two sections. Other oddities, moreover, can be found in other parts of the reliefs. For example, the foreground figure following the two togate individuals at the

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front of the procession on Relief B steps on the foot of the tuba/trumpet-player (tubicen) in the background (figs. vii.3b, 10), while the head of the leftmost tubicen appears in the background high above the level of the victimarius in the foreground; yet this same tubicen’s feet remain on the ground line, resulting in an abnormally elongated figure. Other important factors also indicate that sections A and B were originally conjoined. One of the strongest arguments for this connection is the distinctive pattern of breaks in both reliefs. The top of each block at some time suffered a blow at the level of the moldings, causing a roughly V-shaped break where the two reliefs would have met (fig. vii.6a). The fact that the break on section B is a little lower than that on A is not at all unusual, since marble fractures somewhat differently according to the crystalline structure of a particular block. Even more telling is the distinctive, slightly concave break occurring on the ledge of the reliefs between the feet of the subdivided tibicen (figs. vii.6a, 11a). This break matches up exactly where the two blocks connect. Although the width of the break is 2 cm on section A and 3 cm on section B, what determines the match between the two reliefs is the height and depth of the break between the feet of the tibicen when the blocks are conjoined. The height of the break on both reliefs is 2 cm, with the depth being 4 cm. The dimensions of the break at this very point on each block can hardly be coincidental. Moreover, the depth of the relief block above the head of the tibicen on both blocks is the same (6 cm), while the depths of the left edge of block A and the right edge of block B are the same as well (8 cm). The correspondence in the reduced dimensions where blocks A and B meet also cannot be coincidental. The way the ornamental pattern of the lowermost molding divides is also significant. On section A the trefoil lotus blossom at the right edge of the relief block divides so that the left and central petals of the blossom are carved on A while the right petal of the lotus is carved on B. Although the head of the spiraling tendril that frames the right side of the lotus blossom is now partly



Fig. vii.10. Detail of tubicines (tuba/ trumpet players) in Smaller Cancelleria Relief B. Photo by author

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Fig. vii.11a. Detail of concave break in the ledge of Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs A and B between the feet of the subdivided tibicen. Photo by author

Fig. vii.11b. Author’s reconstructive sketch of the decorative molding where A and B conjoin. Photo by author

damaged, it is clear that the head of the spiral would have fit perfectly into the now abraded area along the left edge of B (fig. vii.11a–b). Consequently, this spiral and the one that frames the left side of the lotus on A would have come together back-to-back at the point where the two reliefs meet. Unless sections A and B were originally conjoined, it would have been virtually impossible

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for the distinctive pattern of breakage—especially between the feet of the subdivided tibicen—to have occurred at precisely the same point or for the lotus blossom in the lowermost molding to have been carved in such a distinctive asymmetrical fashion across the two blocks. Relief blocks A and B must therefore have originally formed an unbroken, continuous scene, 16 Roman feet in length (fig. vii.1, 8a). Iconographical and Cultic Interpretations As already indicated, the togati at the head of the procession on the far right side of Relief B are probably the consuls of Rome, because they are two in number, wear distinctive double-knotted shoes, and are accompanied by lictors (figs. vii.3b, 5).40 Following these two prominent individuals, who may appear here in both a magisterial and priestly capacity, are other figures, including tubicines (“tuba/trumpet-players”) and victimarii (“sacrificial personnel”) leading three bovine animals to sacrifice. In her fundamental study of the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs, Inez Scott Ryberg judged the three animals (reading from right to left) to be a bull, a steer, and a heifer/cow, identifications that are followed by most scholars.41 The types of sacrificial animals represented here may shed some further light on the nature of the ceremony taking place. After the animals come four youths in fairly high relief (figs. vii.3a, 4b). The three preserved heads of these young men (figs. vii.12a–b, 13a–b, 14a– b) are carved nearly in the round except at the back, where they are attached at points to the relief ground. Their prominence in the procession is further underscored by their distinctive appearance, with heads veiled by a fringed religious shawl (ricinium), unbelted tunics, and bare feet. The hands of the first of these youthful riciniati (“wearers of the ricinium”) are outstretched (fig. vii.4b), but this now headless figure does not appear to have held a statuette, because there are no traces of a statue base on the body of the youth or over the body of the togate fidicen in the background to the immediate right.42 This first riciniatus may, however, have held something smaller, like an incense box or container and/or libation dish/bowl (patera).43 The next two veiled figures to the left carry fragmentary statuettes of traditional Lares figures (figs. vii.4b, 12a–b, 13a–b),44 while the fourth youth still farther to the left bears a togate statuette of the Genius of the living Princeps (figs. vii.4b, 14a–b). It is clear, then, that the ceremony represented involved the worship of the Lares Augusti and Genius Augusti. Thus it is understandable that this scene has been taken in the past as depicting a compital event conducted by the vicomagistri of the City. However, the two consuls also appear to be involved—further evidence



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that the relief depicts instead an important state ceremony, not a typical sacrifice at one of the many privately dedicated Lares altars of the vici. Each of the riciniati in Relief A has a short hairstyle and facial features that are typical of the early Julio-Claudian period, as well as a slight beard that would be the lanugo (“beard of youth”) worn by freeborn Roman boys from the time their beards began to grow until they first shaved them as part of a ceremony known as the depositio barbae (“laying aside of the beard”).45 This event usually took place several years after a youth assumed the toga virilis (“manly toga”), when he formally reached the state of manhood.46 Because adolescent servile sacrificial ministrants are invariably represented as smooth-shaven and/or depilated, in keeping with the pederastic ideal, the representation of the youths on the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs with the lanugo indicates that they are not servile vicoministri.47 It has been suggested, correctly in my opinion, that the fringed ricinium the youths wear means that they are freeborn pueri patrimi et matrimi, an appellation indicating that both parents were still alive.48 The riciniati in Relief A sometimes have been taken as young members of the imperial house or of some other aristocratic family.49 For example, it has been proposed that they are Germanicus’ three sons, Nero Iulius (now headless figure: fig. vii.4b), Drusus Iulius (Drusus III), Gaius Caligula, and some unknown relative (figs. vii.12–14a–b).50 According to a different interpretation, they represent Tiberius’ grandson Tiberius Gemellus, who was the son of Drusus Minor (Drusus II), and Caligula, along with two unknown youths.51 In more recent years the identification of these four figures as various members of the JulioClaudian family has been rightly rejected for iconographical, chronological, and historical reasons.52 Moreover, the facial features and hairstyles of the young men in Relief A are not recognizable as those of any other known members of the imperial house.53 Another possible identification of the group of riciniati should be considered. In the Acta Fratrum Arvalium (“Acts of the Arval Brethren”),54 we are informed about four pueri patrimi et matrimi who were sons of senators and sometimes described as riciniati and praetextati.55 In the case of these pueri, the term praetextatus may have alluded to their wearing a “tunica praetexta” (“embroidered tunic”) rather than the toga praetexta (“embroidered toga”).56 Without any traces of paint visible to the naked eye on the unbelted tunics of the riciniati on Relief A, we cannot know with certainty if these four figures wore a tunica praetexta with two long vertical crimson stripes (clavi). It is not clear how long the Arvals’ well-born assistants served in their priestly capacity or until what age they might have been described as pueri, which if used in the technical sense

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Fig. vii.12a. Detail of head of riciniatus to right, holding statuette of Lar. Photo by author Fig. vii.12b. Detail of head of riciniatus to right. Photo by author

Fig. vii.13a. Detail of head of middle riciniatus, holding statuette of Lar. Photo by author Fig. vii.13b. Detail of head of middle riciniatus. Photo by author

Fig. vii.14a. Detail of head of riciniatus to left, holding statuette of the Genius Augusti. Photo by author Fig. vii.14b. Detail of head of riciniatus to left. Photo by author

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Fig. vii.15. Fragmentary section of relief with boy ministrants, from Tiberian Ara Providentiae Augustae, Museo Gregoriano, Profano, Vatican. Photo by author

should refer to a preadolescent.57 As noted, the lanugo of the four riciniati on Relief A indicates that they are already postpubescent. In other early imperial state reliefs appear much younger Genius- and Laresbearers with short hair and the ricinium who could be described more accurately as pueri.58 One of these reliefs (fig. vii.15), which seems to date to the time of Tiberius, might have once belonged to the Ara Providentiae Augustae.59 Worthy of note in this regard is the representation of Augustus’ grandson and adopted son Gaius at the age of seven with a fringed ricinium draped over his shoulder in the north frieze of the Ara Pacis (fig. vii.16).60 Appearing as a priestly assistant (minister),61 Gaius does not have around his neck the bulla typically worn as a protective amulet until a young Roman male donned the toga virilis.62 In this respect, Gaius is like the four riciniati in Relief A, who also lack the bulla, even though some or all of them may have not yet received the manly toga. The absence of the bulla in these cases may be an indication that it was not needed in a circumstance in which a boy or adolescent was acting in

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Fig. vii.16. Fragmentary section of relief with Gaius Caesar from north side of the Ara Pacis, Louvre, Paris. Photo by author

the capacity of a priestly assistant and therefore under the special protection of a god or gods. However attractive the identification of the riciniati of the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs as the four pueri patrimi et matrimi of the Fratres Arvales might be, no evidence indicates that they performed in ceremonies like the one represented, even though they may have brought statuettes of the Lares and the



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Genius to table for the performance of sacrifices at the Arval president’s residence.63 For such occasions the Genius Augusti would have been included, since it is recorded by Cassius Dio (51.19.7) that beginning in 30 b.c.e. the Genius of Octavian/Augustus was worshiped at all public and private banquets.64 Such a role for freeborn pueri would presumably have been based on the early Roman custom of the paterfamilias’ children serving in domestic cult worship.65 By the imperial age this function was usually taken over by slave-boy ministri,66 as evidenced, for example, in the Cena Trimalchionis of Petronius’ Satyrica (60), in which Trimalchio’s slave-boys bring to the table their master’s own Lares and genius.67 We do not know whether other state priests may have also used freeborn ministri in the sacrificial ritual or at special banquets following the sacrifice. Farther to the left in Relief A are the four prominent togati (figs. vii.3a, 4a), noted earlier as wearing double-knotted, high-laced calcei and crowned with laurels. Three of these togati are posed frontally in high relief in the foreground; the fourth is in the middle ground to the far left in the scene. The two central togati are now headless. In addition, three togate figures, also wearing laurels, appear in low relief in the background. As noted, the three figures in high relief in the foreground and the one figure in the middle ground have often been identified in the past as vicomagistri, who were usually freedmen. But seemingly arguing against such an identification is the fact that the type of shoe on the feet of these figures is usually worn by members of the upper class, for which reason these togati have instead sometimes been viewed as senators.68 However, vicomagistri may have been accorded the privilege of wearing this special type of shoe under certain circumstances. By way of analogy, for the year 195 b.c.e. Livy (34.7.3–10) speaks of the granting of the toga praetexta, associated with adult males of the upper class, to magistrates in colonies and municipalities and also in Rome to vicomagistri, who were of the lowest class of society: Magistratibus in coloniis municipiisque, hic Romae infimo generi, magistris vicorum, togae praetextae ius permittemus, nec ut vivi solum habeant id tantum insigne, sed etiam ut cum eo crementur mortui.69 Moreover, the fictional freedman Trimalchio was permitted to wear the toga praetexta and to be accompanied by two lictors in the performance of his duties as a Sevir Augustalis (a priest of the Princeps) in the imperial cult.70 In the imperial period, slave boys are also shown in situations involving sacrifices wearing a tunica praetexta, typically associated—like the toga praetexta—with freeborn Roman boys and adult males of the upper class.71 Clearly, then, privileges and insignia that properly belonged to the upper class or even just to the freeborn might be granted to members of an “inferior”

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social group while they were carrying out their religious duties, in this case involving the imperial cult.72 Several other factors, however, indicate that the four prominent togati in the foreground and middle ground are not in fact anonymous vicomagistri. The two togate figures whose heads are preserved have distinctly portraitlike features (e.g., figs. vii.4a, 17), suggesting that they may have been intended to represent—not that they actually did represent—specific personages. First of all, their facial features are not identifiable as those of any individual whose portraiture is known. Second, of the two headless figures, the one to the right is clearly the tallest of the group, judging from the height of his preserved shoulders, and is probably the most important individual in this grouping of figures, since the two outer flanking togati with preserved heads turn their faces toward him. On the Ara Pacis, the hierarchical principle of one tall figure among other members of a priestly college is seen in the groupings of priests



Fig. vii.17. Detail of head of togatus in foreground of Smaller Cancelleria Relief A. Photo by author

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belonging to the Roman aristocracy (fig. V.15).73 Finally, since the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs appear to represent a significant state ceremony, the four togati in high relief at the far left of section A are likely to be members of the upper class, who may be further identifiable. It is reasonable to conclude that the libations that were poured to the Genius of Augustus at all public and private banquets would have included those of the state cult,74 especially of the Septemvir Epulones, one of the four major priesthoods that was specifically in charge of official state banquets in conjunction with the worship of Jupiter (epulum Iovis) and in connection with various games, including the Ludi Romani.75 Relevant and generally overlooked in the debate about who the four togati might be are the three figures in low relief directly behind them, who have generally been regarded as mere types or “fillers.” It may be significant that the four foreground and three background figures would together total seven (figs. vii.3a, 4a). The togatus in the background directly to the left of the leftmost riciniatus turns his head to the left (figs. vii. 4a–b, 17), which further supports the idea that the seven togate figures at this end of the relief are be taken as an integral group.76 If these seven togate individuals are the septemviri epulones, the four riciniati would likely be their assistant ministri. The statuette of the Genius Augusti carried by one of these riciniati would not be that of the first Princeps, Augustus himself, because of the postAugustan style of the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs. It must therefore be the Genius of one of Augustus’ imperial successors, who likewise bore the title Augustus on becoming Princeps. We shall return to the question of just who that might be. Worship of the Genius Augusti in the State Cult A central issue with regard to the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs is the matter of when the Genius Augusti was worshiped in the state cult, since the reliefs clearly represent such an official ceremony. The earliest indisputable evidence for the worship of the Genius of the living Princeps in the state cult is not until the time of Nero, based on an entry for the year 55 in the Acta Fratrum Arvalium referring to a sacrifice of a bull (taurus) to Nero’s Genius.77 But because the Acta are notoriously fragmentary, especially in the early imperial period before the Principate of Nero, the question cannot be settled with certainty. Moreover, we lack similar documents for the other state priesthoods, so it is difficult to know the specifics of their ritualistic practices. Ittai Gradel has proposed that worship of the Genius Augusti became part of official state cult during the Principate of Claudius and consequently suggests a Claudian date for the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs.78 Gradel also suggests that the tallest of the togati in high relief in the foreground at the end of Relief A is Claudius himself, participating

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in the procession (fig. vii.4a: central now headless foreground figure).79 But if that were the case, then his lictor proximus should be represented next to him in the scene, just as Augustus is accompanied by his lictor proximus in the south processional frieze of the Ara Pacis (fig. V.16a: see chapter V).80 Claudius, or any other Princeps for that matter, is therefore all but excluded as a possibility for the tallest togatus in the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs. The most likely identification of this figure is as the president of a priestly college, accompanied by other members of his priesthood. As important aspect of the problem of establishing when the Genius Augusti was worshiped in the official cult is the nature of the private compital cult beginning in 12 b.c.e., when the Lares cult was reorganized by Augustus. Gradel maintains that because it was associated with largely freedman vicomagistri and servile vicoministri and because the worship of the genius of the paterfamilias in the domestic cult had traditionally involved the master’s clientes and servants (both slave and nonslave), Augustus would not have put Rome’s aristocratic class in the position of worshiping his Genius in official state cult. By this argument, such a subordinate, cliens-like relationship would have been far too demeaning for Rome’s elite class, especially Roman senators, with whom Augustus claimed to be only primus inter pares. But if one accepts this premise, why would Claudius have introduced such worship during his own Principate, especially since, like Tiberius before him, he followed the precepts of Augustus? It seems to me more likely that Caligula would have been responsible for the establishment of an official cult of the Genius of the living Princeps. In fact, some good circumstantial evidence indicates that his Genius was officially worshiped around 39 c.e. by state priests who belonged to the Arval Brethren.81 Although it is true that at the beginning of his Principate in 37 c.e. Caligula forbade the official worship of his Genius, or even the setting up of statues to himself, his attitude changed shortly thereafter.82 Everything began to change following his recovery from a near fatal illness six months into his Principate. After that time he became very suspicious of the loyalty of those around him, including the senatorial order. Caligula, who was at that point becoming increasingly abusive toward the Senate, may then have introduced the official worship of his Genius as part of the state cult conducted by priests of the senatorial order. If such an action were perceived by the senators as demeaning, so much the better from Caligula’s point of view! But would they all really have been insulted? After all, the wealthiest, undoubtedly including members of the senatorial class, vied to be priests of Caligula’s Numen (Suet. Calig. 22.3; Cass. Dio 59.28.6), a divine force similar to the Genius, as discussed in chapter VIII



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below. When the worship of the Genius Augusti was introduced by 12 b.c.e. in the compital cult, the Princeps’ supreme position in the Roman State was already an undeniable and recognized fact. The Roman aristocracy was increasingly dependent on him: in order to be advanced to the highest offices of the state, the senatorial class needed his nominatio (“nomination”) and commendatio (“recommendation”).83 Despite minority grumblings, the Senate became a sycophantic body, as we know from Tacitus’ characterization in his Annals. Senatorial subservience was demonstrated by the extraordinary honors that were voted to Augustus and his successors time and again, even though a number were turned down as going too far. Although it is true that the clientes and slaves of the paterfamilias worshiped his genius, his wife and children would also certainly have done so, as they did in the case of other gods in the domestic cult.84 Furthermore, just as oaths were sworn to the genius of the head of the household in the domestic sphere,85 so, too, they were regularly sworn to Augustus’ Genius by all classes of society, especially in legal proceedings and in the army. This practice may have begun around the time when he became Pontifex Maximus.86 Gradel’s claim that the imperial Genius was not officially worshiped in the state cult until the time of Claudius also does not accord with Cassius Dio’s statement (51.19.7) that already in 30 b.c.e. the Roman Senate had decreed the following: τούς τε ἱερέας καὶ τὰς ἱερείας ἐν ταῖς ὑπέρ τε τοῦ δήμου καὶ τῆς βουλῆς ἐυχαῖς καὶ ὑπὲρ ἐκείνου ομοίως εὔχεσθαι, καὶ ἐν τοῖς συσσιτίοις οὐχ ὅτι τοῖς κοινοῖς ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῖς ἰδίοις πάντας αὐτῷ σπένδειν ἐκέλευσαν (“on behalf of the people and the Senate the priests and priestesses in their prayers were to pray to (or for) [Octavian], and at all banquets, not only public but also private, everyone was to pour a libation to him”).87 These libations were an extraordinary honor and, in effect, a recognition that Octavian/Augustus was the savior of the Roman State (Servator Rei Publicae), as further acknowledged by the Senate in 27 b.c.e. with the grant of the corona civica (“civic crown”) to him for saving the lives of citizens (ob cives servatos) (RG 34.2).88 The entire citizenry was accordingly placed in his debt. It has generally been assumed that it was not the living person of Octavian/ Augustus that was honored with libations but rather his Genius, by analogy with the libations offered at meals to the genius of the paterfamilias.89 And the Genius of Augustus would have been greater than that of any private citizen by virtue of the fact that he was father of the nation, even though he did not officially receive the title Pater Patriae until 2 b.c.e. Gradel, however, has maintained that the libations were poured to Octavian/Augustus himself, not to his Genius.90 Lily Ross Taylor indicated that the word Genius is

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“suppressed” (i.e., understood) in the passage in Cassius Dio when “to him” is used in a case like the one involving the libations.91 In support of the notion that the Genius of the Princeps was intended here, Taylor also pointed out the appearance of the head of Octavian on an ithyphalic terminal herm on his silver coinage before 27 b.c.e. (fig. vii.18), since the genius was also worshiped in this form.92 Providing further confirmation of this association is an inscribed herm from Pompeii, now in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale in Naples, dedicated to the genius of C. Caecilius Iucundus (fig. vii.19).93 In addition, when the Senate consecrated Julius Caesar as a divus in 42 b.c.e., it was probably technically his Genius (i.e., the Genius Divi Iulii) that was legally and officially recognized as the object of public worship, although in general usage he is simply referred to as Divus Iulius. The language of the Senatus Consultum regarding his consecration appears to be preserved in an inscription from Aesernia reading Genio Deivi Iuli parentis patriae quem senatus populusque Romanus in deorum numerum rettulit (“To the spirit/force [Genius] of Divus Iulius, as father of his country, whom the Senate and People of Rome numbered among the gods”).94 Without a specific reference to the Genius in the passage in Dio, it might also be inferred that the libations were to Octavian/Augustus’ Numen, the numinous divine force/spirit that he also possessed, which again was different from his mortal being.95 In fact, Horace (Carm. 4.5.33–35) specifically refers to Augustus’ Numen in the context of meals when a libation was made at table: te multa prece, te prosequitur mero  / defuso pateris, et Laribus tuum  / miscet numen (“you [Augustus] with many a prayer, you with pure wine poured from bowls, he [i.e., the paterfamilias] worships, and mingles your divine spirit [Numen] with his household gods”).96 As a member of the Roman elite, Horace certainly had no problem pouring libations to Augustus’ Numen or referring to the Princeps as a praesens divus (“a god [here] present”), as he does in Carm. 3.5.2.97 The difference between the mortal Augustus and his divine Numen is also underscored by the Ara Numinis Augusti (“Altar of the Numen of Augustus”), which Tiberius dedicated by 6–9 c.e. somewhere in Rome.98 It is noteworthy that the altar was not “to Augustus” but “to his Numen,” clearly specified rather than understood (or “suppressed,” to use Lily Ross Taylor’s terminology). Since the four major state priesthoods appear to have been involved in ceremonies at the altar, this worship of the Numen would have been an official state cult.99 Although the numen and genius were technically different entities, there was a certain fluidity and ambiguity in what was understood by these divine



Fig. vii.18. Denarius (rev.: ithyphalic terminal herm of Octavian), 29–27 b.c.e. After Pollini (1990a) fig. 7

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Fig. vii.19. Herm of C. Caecilius Iucundus, from House of C. Caecilius Iucundus at Pompeii, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples. After Lahusen and Formigli (2007) fig. 136.1

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forces/spirits,100 since even the gods possessed genii and numina, a notion that undoubtedly went back to the early days of Roman animism.101 Even the Genius Augusti and the Lares Augusti were conceived as possessing numina, as Ovid makes clear in reference to the Lares cult in his Fasti (5.145–46): Mille lares geniumque ducis, qui tradidit illos,  / Urbs habet, et vici numina trina colunt (“The City has a thousand Lares and the Genius of the leader [Augustus], who handed them over, and the vici worship three divinities [numina] [i.e., the two Lares Augusti and the Genius Augusti of each vicus]”). Horace (Epist. 2.1.15–16), moreover, writes: Praesenti tibi maturos largimur honores/iurandasque tuum per numen ponimus aras (“Upon you being present [in spirit] we lavish timely honors and set up [Lares] altars to swear by your Numen [i.e., the Numen of Augustus’ Genius]). These forms of worship of Augustus’ Genius and Numen, whether in public or in private, underscored that he was regarded as no ordinary human being, but one who was of a dual nature, partly human, partly divine, a notion that would have been taken over by Christians in transforming Jesus into a partly human/partly divine being.102 This divine spirit/essence could also be considered an anima (“soul”). Thus the comet that appeared in the sky after Julius Caesar’s death was understood to be the translation of his anima to the heavenly gods (see further chapter III). Only upon death would the mortal and divine aspects of the Princeps be separated, with the divine element then returning to heaven from whence it had come. In fact, Dionysios of Halikarnassos (Ant. Rom. 7.72.13) speaks of hemitheoi (ἡμιθεοί)—meaning literally “half gods”—as individuals “whose souls [ψυχαὶ = animae] had departed their mortal bodies [and] are said to have ascended to heaven and to have obtained honors such as those of the gods.” Among the hemitheoi Dionysios

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names are Herakles, Asklepios, and the Dioskouroi, who had existed as mortals on earth before they attained total divine status after death. The very word hemitheos (ἡμιθεός), or semideus,103 was in essence an expression of this dual nature, even as Jesus was conceived by Christians as a man-god who was the son of their god. The Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs and the Ara Providentiae Augustae The Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs’ representation of an important state ceremony, the size of the relief blocks and of individual figures, and the style and nature of the moldings framing the scenes are consistent with their having once adorned the podium of a monumental altar like the Ara Pacis Augustae.104 The height of the figural relief of the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs is approximately 72 cm; the height of the middle-sized figural relief (without margins at top and bottom) that I have postulated decorated the podium of the Ara Pacis is approximately 62 cm (65 cm with margins; see chapter V). The average height of the heads (from chin to top of head) of the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs is 8.5 cm, while an average-sized head of the figures of the middle-sized relief of the Ara Pacis is 8 cm in height. From various extant fragments, as well as literary, epigraphic, and numismatic sources, we know that the Ara Pacis influenced subsequent imperial monumental altars.105 It has in fact been proposed that the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs may once have decorated the Ara Providentiae Augustae (“Altar of Augustan Providence”),106 set up in the Tiberian period somewhere in the Campus Agrippae, east of the Via Lata (see appendix to this chapter).107 At first sight, this appears to be an attractive hypothesis because of the various ways in which the Ara Providentiae Augustae and the Ara Pacis are otherwise related. If the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs were part of the Tiberian Ara Providentiae Augustae, then the Genius Augusti statuette carried by one of the riciniati in Relief A would represent the Genius of Tiberius, who as Princeps closely followed the precepts and practices of Augustus. A fragment of the Acta of the Arvals indicates that an ox (bos mas) was sacrificed to Jupiter on Tiberius’ birthday in the year 33 c.e.,108 but whether a bull (taurus) was also offered to his Genius cannot be determined on the basis of our present evidence. A heifer/ cow (bos femina/vacca) was the appropriate sacrifice for a female personification, goddess, or deified woman (diva). In the case of the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs, the heifer/cow comes after the bull, which indicates that the female honored was a diva, not a goddess or personification. According to the principles of Roman sacrificial protocol, a heifer/cow that was offered to a goddess or personification would come before a bull to the Genius of the Princeps.109 At the



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time of Tiberius there was no diva in the state cult. Therefore if the hierarchy of sacrifice were strictly followed, the reliefs would not date to the Principate of Tiberius, an opinion that is also in accord with the somewhat later, postTiberian style of the reliefs.110 The first female to be defied was Caligula’s sister Drusilla, who died in 38 c.e.111 The records of the Arvals indicate that her consecratio and worship were associated with the Temple of Divus Augustus, the Templum Novum,112 which was largely built in the Principate of Tiberius but dedicated by Caligula (Suet. Calig. 21).113 The Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs would not have adorned the altar that stood before this temple, because that altar was of a typically simple and ordinary type, as indicated by its representation on Caligula’s coinage (plate VI).114 Although Caligula’s architectural program was rather frivolous and shortlived, Claudius left a more enduring record of building accomplishments, focusing on his pietas toward Augustus and other members of the family including Livia, whom he deified in 42.115 Stylistically, the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs, with their more advanced arrangement of figures in space and the way the faces of the togati in higher relief are carved, accord best with a Claudian date.116 Gradel has suggested that these reliefs, which he believes represented the consecration ceremony for Livia’s deification, once decorated the front of a new statue base in the Templum Novum that was made to hold the seated cult image of Divus Augustus and now also a seated figure of Diva Augusta (Livia).117 Although this proposal cannot be ruled out altogether, the length of the combined Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs (16 Roman feet) would seem insufficient for a base holding two colossal seated cult figures. Coins of Antonine date represent the two seated figures of the deified Augustus and Livia in the Templum Novum (fig. II.22),118 but we have no other evidence for their appearance. If there were relief decorations on a single large base, no attempt was made to represent them on the coinage. Although this may of course be attributable to artistic license, like the depiction of the two statues as abnormally shoved together on the coinage, it does not lend support to Gradel’s proposal. The new statue of the deified Livia may simply have been added on its own base, which is unlikely to have been large enough to accommodate a continuous relief 16 Roman feet in length. Adding Livia’s statue separately would obviously have been a much simpler undertaking than hoisting the colossal image of Divus Augustus onto a new base to be shared with the comparably large statue of his wife.

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Ara Pietatis, Ara Gentis Iuliae, Ara Numinis Augusti, and Ara Reditus Claudii Based on their dimensions, the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs seem best suited (as already noted) to adorning the inner altar podium of a monumental altar like the Ara Pacis. In the past, a number of scholars have supported the idea that Claudius set up such an altar, the so-called Ara Pietatis (“Altar of Piety”), as an expression of his pietas toward the deified Augustus and Livia. It was also long believed that this altar was originally vowed because of Livia’s severe illness in 22 c.e., but never actually built by Tiberius. It was only in 43, a number of years after her death in 29, that Claudius was said to have dedicated an unspecified object, assumed by scholars to have been an altar to Pietas, in connection with his deification of Livia in the preceding year.119 This putative Ara Pietatis has been taken by some as the Ara Gentis Iuliae, which was once located on or near the Capitoline Hill in Rome. Could the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs have been part of either monument? Several large fragmentary figural reliefs and other sculptural decorations have been attributed to the Ara Pietatis, which was assumed to have been set up somewhere in the Campus Martius in Rome.120 Several of these reliefs, known already in the sixteenth century in the Palazzo Della Valle, were later immured in the façade of the Villa Medici on the Pincio Hill in Rome, for which reason they came to be called the Valle-Medici Reliefs (figs. vii.20– 23).121 They came originally from a property owned by the Della Valle family in the area of the Church of Santa Maria in Via Lata along the Via del Corso, which follows the course of the ancient Via Lata in Rome at a higher level.122 Other reliefs very similar in dimensions, subject matter, and style came to light in excavations in 1923 and 1933, also in the vicinity of the Church of Santa Maria in Via Lata (figs. vii.24–26).123 Most of these reliefs, as well as the Valle-Medici ones, were apparently reused as spolia in Diocletian’s so-called Arcus Novus, which once spanned the Via Lata. Because the height and dimensions of figures and objects in the Valle-Medici Reliefs are comparable to what is found in the processional friezes of the outer precinct wall of the Ara Pacis, it would be reasonable to conclude that the ValleMedici Reliefs likewise once decorated a monumental altar. However, rather than two slightly longer sides of the structure being decorated with parallel friezes representing figures in a single procession, as on the Ara Pacis, the ValleMedici Reliefs appear to depict sacrifices and processions clustered around specific temples that were connected in some way with Augustus. Two of the temples can be identified as that of the Magna Mater on the Palatine (fig. vii.20) and that of Mars Ultor in the Forum of Augustus (figs. II.23a–b; vii.21).124



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Fig. vii.20. ValleMedici Relief (cast of original in façade of Villa Medici) showing Temple of the Magna Mater on the Palatine, Museo della Civiltà Romana, EUR. Photo by author

Fig. vii.21. ValleMedici Relief (cast of original in façade of Villa Medici) showing Temple of Mars Ultor in Forum Augustum, Museo della Civiltà Romana, EUR. Photo by author

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Fig. vii.22. Fragmentary section of Valle-Medici Relief (cast of original in façade of Villa Medici) with flamen (L. Iunius Silanus Torquatus?) wearing spiked galerus and laena, Museo della Civiltà Romana, EUR. Photo by author

Fig. vii.23. Fragmentary section of Valle-Medici Relief (cast of original in façade of Villa Medici) with boy ministrant carrying a Lar, Museo dell’Ara Pacis, Rome. Photo by author

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Fig. vii.24. Fragmentary section of relief from 1923 excavations on the Via del Corso showing tetrastyle Ionic temple with Amazonomachy in its pediment, Museo dell’Ara Pacis, Rome. Photo by author

Although suggestions have been made about the possible arrangement or partial arrangement of these reliefs on a monumental altar, their disposition cannot be determined with any great certainty.125 One important fragmentary section shows a flamen wearing a galerus (skullcap hat) with disc and apex (spike) projecting out of it (fig. vii.22) and the distinctive laena, the so-called double toga of this priesthood;126 another represents a boy sacrificial minister holding a statue of a Lar, in this case undoubtedly a Lar Augusti (fig. vii.23). Yet another fragment from the 1923 excavations on the Via del Corso shows a small tretrastyle Ionic temple, with an Amazonomachy in its pediment (fig. vii.24).127 Some have attempted to interpret this structure as the Temple of Fides on the

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Fig. vii.25. Fragment of a relief block from excavations of 1933 showing banqueting Vestal Virgins, Museo dell’Ara Pacis, Rome. Photo by author

Capitoline, while others have seen it as the Temple of Victoria that stood next to Augustus’ home on the Palatine. The Temple of Victoria on the Palatine is more plausible because of the close association of Victory with Augustus (see chapters II and V) and the proximity of the temple to his Palatine residence.128 A number of years ago another set of figural reliefs and architectural fragments were discovered by Eugenio La Rocca in various sculptural storage areas of Rome that appear on the basis of subject, dimensions, and style to have belonged originally to the same monument as the Valle-Medici and related reliefs.129 These newly discovered fragments (figs. vii.27–32) came from random diggings (“indiscriminati sterri”) in the 1930s along the southwestern slope of the Capitoline Hill.130 Among the fragments is a relief with a figural procession of togati (fig. vii.27)131 that resembles very closely the frieze of the small altar table of the Ara Pacis, as well as a horned lion protome (fig. vii.28), probably from the pulvinus of an altar table,132 that is like the winged horned lion protomes on the altar table of the Ara Pacis (cf. figs. V.24–26). Both of these newly found fragments and other decorative sculptural elements from the slope of the Capitoline Hill133 strongly suggest a connection with a monumental imperial altar that resembled the Ara Pacis. Another fragmentary marble relief from the 1933 excavations of the Via del Corso, showing a flaming candelabrum with



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Fig. vii.26. Fragment of a relief block from excavations of 1933 showing flaming candelabrum with festoon and patera (libation bowl), Museo dell’Ara Pacis, Rome. Photo by author

festoon and a suspended patera (libation bowl) (fig. vii.26), also undoubtedly belongs to this monumental altar134 because of its size and resemblance to the fencelike structure of the interior wall of the Ara Pacis with its suspended paterae and festoons slung between bucrania (ox skulls) (figs. V.3, 24, 26–27). From the same area on the slope of the Capitoline Hill came other figural reliefs comparable in size to the Valle-Medici Reliefs that likewise show a variety of structures, including a circular Temple of Vesta (fig. vii.29a–b),135 a building that seems to be the House of Augustus on the Palatine with the corona civica in its pediment (fig. vii.30),136 and parts of a building showing a roof and pediment (fig. vii.31).137 Another relief segment represents part of a togatus and the upper part of a boy wearing a garment over his left shoulder (part of an exomis?), leaving his chest bare (fig. vii.32).138 His hair is thick and long, covering his ears but not quite extending to his shoulders. La Rocca suggested that this boy is the young Nero, who was about six years old in the year 44 c.e., when Claudius celebrated his triumphal return (reditus) from Britain. Accordingly, La Rocca proposed that these relief fragments and those that have been associated with the so-called Ara Pietatis were once part of a putative Ara Reditus Claudii located in the area of the Porta Carmentale and Theater of Marcellus.139 However, the literary and epigraphic record, including the Acta Fratrum Arvalium, contains no evidence for such a monument.

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Fig. vii.27. Fragmentary section of relief with togati in procession from 1930s excavations on the southwestern slope of Capitoline Hill, Musei Capitolini, Rome. After La Rocca (1994a) fig. 30

Fig. vii.28. Fragmentary section of the pulvinus of altar table with horned lion protome from 1930s excavations on the southwestern slope of Capitoline Hill, Musei Capitolini, Rome. After La Rocca (1994a) fig. 31

Fig. vii.29a. Fragmentary section of relief showing the roof of circular Temple of Vesta from 1930s excavations on the southwestern slope of Capitoline Hill, Musei Capitolini, Rome. After La Rocca (1994a) fig. 18

Fig. vii.29b. Fragmentary section of relief showing the side of circular Temple of Vesta from 1930s excavations on the southwestern slope of Capitoline Hill, Musei Capitolini, Rome. After La Rocca (1994a) fig. 19

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Fig. vii.30. Fragmentary section of relief showing corona civica (on House of Augustus?) from 1930s excavations on the southwestern slope of Capitoline Hill, Musei Capitolini, Rome. After La Rocca (1994a) fig. 22

Fig. vii.31. Fragmentary section of relief with section of roof of a building from 1930s excavations on the southwestern slope of Capitoline Hill, Musei Capitolini, Rome. After La Rocca (1994a) fig. 20

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As far as the long-haired boy is concerned, the Ara Pacis may provide an instructive analogy. The only longhaired children represented there (one wearing an exomis) are hostage barbarian princes, the so-called pignora (“pledges/ tokens”) of empire, who were raised with the children of the imperial families and whose appearance served to recall the vastness of Rome’s domain and the benevolence of its rule.140 In my view, the boy on the fragment from the slope of the Capitoline is probably a British prince, whose representation in imitation of the long-haired barbarian children in the north and south friezes of the Ara Pacis would have alluded to Claudius’ conquests in Britain, which began in 43 c.e. and for which he received a triumph in 44.141 If the Valle-Medici and related reliefs decorated the exterior precinct wall of a monumental altar, three or four buildings would probably have been represented on each side, by analogy with the Ara Pacis, with its parallel groupings of figure and in accordance with the usual principles of symmetry and balance.142 The temples and what appears to be the Palatine House of Augustus in the reliefs would be connected directly with him in one way or another. Because of similar references to cults important to Augustus on the so-called Sorrento Base,143 we may postulate that there would have likewise been represented the Augustan Temple of Vesta on the Palatine (fig. vii.29a–b) and two other temples: the Temple of Apollo on the Palatine and the Temple of Divus Augustus (i.e., the Templum Novum) between the Palatine and Capitoline

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Fig. vii.32. Fragmentary section of relief with parts of a togatus and longhaired boy in procession from 1930s excavations on the southwestern slope of Capitoline Hill, Museo dell’Ara Pacis, Rome. Photo by author

Hills.144 Based on our current evidence, it cannot be established how these temples and building would have been disposed in relation to one another or whether some may have been represented instead on the front and back panels of the monument. Even grouping according to some sort of topographical location can be problematic. On one of the Valle-Medici reliefs, the prominent figure of a flamen, wearing a spiked skullcap and double toga (laena) and accompanied by a lictor, has been plausibly identified as L. Iunius Silanus Torquatus (fig. vii.22).145 He had been betrothed to Claudius’ daughter and held the post of Flamen Augustalis (priest of the deified Augustus) under Claudius. This relief fragment would



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then probably have been associated with a scene of sacrifice around the Temple of Divus Augustus. But was that scene on the so-called Ara Pietatis? In 1982 Gerhard Koeppel published a note questioning not only the association of the Valle-Medici and related reliefs with the so-called Ara Pietatis but also the very existence of an Ara Pietatis, referring to it as a “Geisterbau” (“ghost of a structure”).146 Koeppel argued that a now lost inscription recorded by the Anonymus Einsiedlensis in the medieval period indicated that Claudius had dedicated an unspecified object to Pietas Augusta in 43/44 c.e. that scholars had assumed to be a monumental—and otherwise unknown—Ara Pietatis. Moreover, because this anonymous medieval source reportedly saw the lost inscription in Capitolio, Koeppel assumed that whatever Claudius set up was on the Capitoline Hill.147 Mario Torelli argued further that the reliefs in question were actually from the Ara Gentis Iuliae (“Altar of the Julian Clan”), which stood on the Capitoline Hill in the Claudian period, and that this altar was the “official name” of the monument known to modern scholars as the Ara Pietatis.148 La Rocca, however, suggested that the Ara Gentis Iuliae may instead have reflected a change in name of yet another altar, the Augustan Ara Numinis Augusti,149 the very existence of which Gradel questioned based on his reading of the inscriptional evidence for it.150 In any case, all the reliefs generally attributed to the so-called Ara Pietatis appear to be Claudian in date, not Augustan. Moreover, any conjecture that Claudius completely rebuilt the Ara Numinis Augustis and renamed it the Ara Gentis Iuliae is purely speculative. In arriving at the old identification of the Ara Pietatis, Raymond Bloch had adduced numismatic evidence from the Hadrianic to Antonine periods depicting two images of an altarlike structure with the legends PIETATI AVG and PIET AVG SC151 that now have been rightly dismissed as representing an Ara Pietatis.152 They most likely portray the ashlar masonry structure that surrounded a bustum or crematorium, which together constituted an ustrinum. La Rocca called such ustrina “altars of consecration,” on which the bodies of the Caesars and member of their families were cremated in the Campus Martius.153 The outer masonry enclosure might in turn have been surrounded by a metal fence of some sort, as it was in the case of the Ustrinum Augusti (plates XXI– XXIII).154 A relief from the so-called Arco di Portogallo showing the cremation and ascension of Hadrian’s wife Sabina also depicts the ashlar block structure of the bustum with flames rising out of it.155 Second-century coins with legends referring to imperial pietas would therefore not depict a Claudian Ara Pietatis but rather a type of imperial ustrinum, as a visual expression of pietas toward the deceased.

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Further complicating the picture are the discoveries between 1925 and 1927 of the foundations of some sort of monument and of important Julio-Claudian inscriptions beneath the Palazzo Verospi, located between the Palazzo di Montecitorio (or Palazzo del Parlimento) and the Via del Corso (figs. V.8–9).156 The datable inscriptions indicate that Tiberius dedicated here in 22 c.e. some monument that Claudius appears to have restored in 43 c.e. These dates are very significant, because 22 was the year of supplications to the gods and of games voted on the occasion of Livia’s serious illness (Tac. Ann. 3.64), commemorated also at that time by the issuance of Tiberian dupondii with the head of Pietas,157 while 43 was the year when the lost inscription recorded in the Anonymus Einsiedlensis attests that Claudius dedicated something to Pietas at the time he deified Livia. The inscriptions from below the Palazzo Verospi indicate that some important Julio-Claudian monument most likely stood in this area, which was especially known for its imperial ustrina and temples (fig. V.9). Not far to the south is the Church of Santa Maria in Via Lata, which was the area of the discovery of the relief fragments from the excavations of 1923 and 1933 and the related Valle-Medici Reliefs. Accordingly, the question has been raised whether these inscriptions provide any evidence for a Claudian Ara Pietatis in the vicinity of the Palazzo Verospi or whether they are to be associated with an ustrinum of the Julio-Claudians with a enclosing precinct wall decorated with figural reliefs.158 If it were a monumental altar, it might have been located—like the Ara Pacis—about 120 Roman feet from the Via Lata and, for ideological reasons, in axial alignment with it (fig. V.8). In addition, such a Julio-Claudian monument would have been near Claudius’ arch for his victory over the Britons that spanned the Via Lata a little farther to the south of the findspot of the inscriptions.159 The proposed structure, whatever it was, would have promoted Claudius’ dynastic rhetoric, his pietas toward Augustus and other family members,160 and, above all, his need to link onto the Augustan past as a way of legitimizing his own Principate. Claudius had been intentionally sidelined in the earlier dynastic plans of the Julio-Claudians because of his physical disabilities, which were regarded as a family embarrassment.161 Because of the location of the later second century imperial ustrina and temples in this same area west of the Via Lata and in axial alignment with the center of the Mausoleum of Augustus, the obelisk of the Solarium Augusti, and the cult image of Divus Hadrianus in the Hadrianeum, Vincent Jolivet very plausibly suggested that the foundations of the Ustrinum Augusti are to be found beneath the entrance to the Palazzo del Parlimento (Palazzo di Montecitorio), very close to the findspot of the Tiberian and Claudian inscriptions (fig. V.8).162 As discussed



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in chapter V (appendix C), such a location for Augustus’ ustrinum would also have made it highly visible, raised up on the ancient hillock in this area now known as Montecitorio. Moreover, it would have associated Augustus’ divinization with that of Romulus, who was said to have ascended to heaven nearby after his death in what had been the Caprae Palus, where Agrippa built his Pantheon because of that area’s Romulean associations.163 It is therefore likely that somewhere in this vicinity also once stood the Ustrinum of Gaius and Lucius, as well as that of Drusus Maior. Both structures served as a form of memneion (“cenotaph”). Together they would have constituted a sort of memneion-ustrinum.164 On the whole, it seems more likely that the Tiberian and Claudian inscriptions from under the Palazzo Verospi were directly related to a Julio-Claudian ustrinum than to a phantom Claudian Ara Pietatis. Another factor also argues against the existence of a true monumental Ara Pietatis. Although other imperial altars—the Ara Pacis, Ara Providentiae Augustae, and Ara Gentis Iuliae—all appear in the literary and epigraphic record, there is no mention of an Ara Pietatis.165 Moreover, the recently rediscovered fragmentary reliefs from the southwestern slope of the Capitoline, which obviously were not reused in the Arcus Novus on the Via Lata, were probably discarded in the area where the monument that they originally decorated once stood: on the Capitoline Hill. When all factors are taken into consideration, the Valle-Medici and associated reliefs seem to me most likely to have once adorned the Ara Gentis Iuliae, which the Acta Fratrum Arvalium places on the Capitoline in the Claudian period. But the question remains: could the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs also once have decorated this monumental altar? More precisely, would they have adorned the base of the podium of an inner altar?166 As noted, the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs, found near the Tomb of Hirtius under the Palazzo della Cancelleria, were not discovered in situ but were brought there from some other location. Stylistically, they appear to date to the later Julio-Claudian period, most likely to the period of Claudius. The stylistic difference between them and the Valle-Medici and related reliefs may be due in part to the workshop of carvers and other considerations. Similar differences can be found in other monuments, as in the case of the Ara Pacis, in which somewhat different styles were employed for panels on the front and back of the precinct wall and for the long processional friezes, not to mention the differences between these great friezes and the small altar table frieze with its own procession of figures.167 Even more striking stylistically is the combination on the socalled Altar of Domitius Ahenobarbus, in which eastern Hellenistic reliefs of a sea thiasos (retinue of Dionysos) were reused on three sides of the base, while a relief produced in a local workshop of Rome decorated the fourth side.168

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The style of the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs is similar to that of a section of the relief fragment from the 1933 excavations showing banqueting Vestal Virgins (fig. vii.25) that has long been associated with the Valle-Medici Reliefs.169 Both the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs and the Vestal Virgins relief show an analogous overlapping and tiering of figures, with substantial space above the heads in the background. Based on the approximately 43 cm preserved height of the fragmentary block with the banqueting Vestals, this relief would originally have been about 50 cm high, somewhat less than two-thirds the height of the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs (ca. 70 cm), indicating that the segment with the Vestals might have decorated another part of the podium or another monument altogether. In the case of the Ara Pacis (as discussed in chapter V), three different-sized friezes adorned the podium and prothesis (the altar structure that sits directly on the podium), which together constituted the entire inner altar.170 Hypothetical Reconstruction of the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs as Part of the Podium of a Monumental Altar Although it is likely that the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs once decorated the podium of a monumental altar, more may be discovered from their dimensions and the subjects of their scenes. Reliefs A and B, together measuring 16

Fig. vii.33. Author’s postulated plan of inner altar. Photo by author



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Fig. vii.34. Left corner of Relief A of Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs showing boy ministrant. Photo by author Fig. vii.35. Right corner of Relief B of Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs showing lion’s paw object. Photo by author

Roman feet (4.72 m), are of the appropriate size to have adorned the left side of the podium of an inner altar (fig. vii.33), like that of the Ara Pacis (figs. V.14, 26–27). The north and south sides of the reconstructed podium of the Ara Pacis measure 4.24 m, almost 14.5 Roman feet, while the long east (back) side of the podium is 5.08 m, just over 17 Roman feet.171 These dimensions, which are only approximations of the original, are based on the incomplete surviving remains of the tufa foundations and fragments of the friezes that probably decorated the podium. It is possible that the actual length of the frieze on at least one side was closer to that of the combined A and B Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs. The boy sacrificial ministrant represented at the corner of Relief A (fig. vii.34) and the lion’s paw object on the corner of Relief B (fig. vii.35) indicate that adjoining reliefs would have decorated the front and back of the postulated

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inner altar podium (fig. vii.33). Since the movement of the boy ministrant on the end of Relief A is to the right, the same direction as the figures on the main face of Relief A, he would in all probability have once been part of a processional relief on the back of the podium. If these reliefs were inspired in part by the small processional frieze on the inner altar table of the Ara Pacis, there would have also been figural reliefs decorating the right side of the inner altar podium. In the case of the small altar table frieze of the Ara Pacis (fig. V.25), beginning at the southwest corner (figs. V.4, 26: arrows indicate direction of the movement), figures in the left frieze (south side)172 move right to left (toward the front of the altar), while figures at the back (east) side (fig. v.26)173 and on the right (north) side (fig. v.25) of the altar table move from left to right (toward the front of the altar).174 By analogy, the figures decorating the right side of the podium of the putative Claudian monumental altar would have moved from the back toward the front of the monument (fig. vii.33). As on the Ara Pacis, which undoubtedly once bore reliefs on all sides of its podium,175 the lion’s paw object on the end of section B (fig. vii.35) probably originally formed part of a scene on the left wing of the front part of the inner altar podium. This lion’s paw could have been the leg of a portable tripod altar (foculus), throne, table, or couch. A table or couch could have served for the display of images of various divinities, while a throne could have held a seated deity. Any of these objects with a foot in the form of a lion’s paw would have been appropriate for a scene of libation. Like the left wing of the podium, the right pendant wing may have been adorned with a scene of libation. After considering the types of animals to be sacrificed, I shall return to the question of what figures may have been represented on the two pendant wings at the front of an inner altar’s podium. As already noted, a bull (taurus) was the appropriate animal to sacrifice to the Genius of the living Princeps, as well as to certain other celestial gods like Mars and Apollo. By contrast, an ox/castrated bull (bos mas) was sacrificed to Jupiter and to deified human males (divi), while deified human females (divae) received a heifer/cow (bos femina/vacca).176 The order in which animals were to be sacrificed was generally governed by a hierarchical principle involving the importance and sex of the divinity or deified human being. With few anomalies,177 the order was as follows: (1) the animal to be sacrificed to Jupiter, as king of gods, (2) those to other gods and personifications, (3) those to divi and divae, (4) those to the Genius of a living male, and (5) those to its female equivalent, the Juno, of a living female of the imperial family. There was, in addition, a correspondence between the sex of the divinity and of the sacrificial animal. A bull was sacrificed to male celestial gods like Mars and Apollo, as well



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as to the Genius of the living Princeps; an ox/castrated bull, to Jupiter and to a divus; and a heifer/cow, to a goddess, female personification, diva, and Juno of a living female.178 If the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs are Claudian in date, as seems to be the case, then the bull that leads off the procession of animals was most likely to be sacrificed to the Genius Augusti (i.e., of Claudius), followed by an ox to Divus Augustus and a heifer/cow to Diva Livia (fig. vii.3b). Moreover, the statuette of the Genius of Claudius would be that carried by one of the riciniati (figs. vii.3a, 4b, 14a) and would logically appear on this side of the altar (fig. vii.36). As for the Lares Augusti, also represented on this side of the altar, pigs were usually sacrifices to them.179 We may postulate, therefore, that pigs may have appeared on the back side of the altar, with a boy carrying a sacrificial dish leading the way on this side of the podium (figs. vii.34, 36), following directly behind and moving in the same direction as the togati at the left end of Relief A (figs. vii.3a, 4a). Given the principle of symmetrical composition, the direction of the procession, and the parallel disposition of individual figures and/or groups Fig. vii.36. Author’s plan of inner altar podium with postulated subjects represented in the friezes. Photo by author

RIGHT SIDE

BACK

LEFT SIDE

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of figures in reliefs on opposite sides of monuments like the Ara Pacis (cf. fig. v.15),180 it is likely that other animals being led to sacrifice were also represented on the right side of the proposed monument when facing it (fig. vii.36). The relief on the right side should have featured three bovine animals, as in Relief B. Sacrifices offered to the Genius and the divi were also offered in conjunction with the Capitoline Triad (Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva), who protected both the Roman State and the safety (salus) of the living Princeps. Although we lack information with regard to the activities of other state priesthoods, the Arval Brethren made sacrifices to the Capitoline Triad on a number of occasions connected with events or matters pertaining to the Princeps.181 Among the most common were the anniversary of his assumption of imperial power (imperium) and sacrifices for his safety and return (reditus) to Rome. For the anniversary of his imperium, sacrifices to the Capitoline Triad, the living Princeps’ Genius, and the divi took place on the Capitoline Hill (in Capitolio).182 For his safety and return, victims were sacrificed to the Capitoline Triad on the Capitoline, to the divi at the Temple of Divus Augustus (in templo novo), and to the living Princeps’ Genius in the Forum of Augustus (in Foro Augusto).183 Along with these, sacrifices could also be offered to other gods (e.g., a bull to Mars Ultor; a heifer/cow to Salus). One plausible procession of bovine sacrificial victims that might be represented moving from right to left (i.e., from the back of the altar to the front) on the right side of the proposed altar’s podium,184 and therefore parallel to the three preserved bovine victims on Relief B, would be an ox for Jupiter at the front of the procession (according to hierarchical protocol), followed by a heifer/ cow to Juno and another heifer/cow to Minerva (fig. vii.36). On the front of the altar’s podium may have been represented libations over a lion-pawed foculus (figs. vii.35–36) to various divinities who were also represented—on the left wing, the Genius Augusti (Claudius), Divus Augustus, and Diva Augusta (Livia); on the right wing, the Capitoline Triad of Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva (fig. vii.36). These identifications would link the divinities honored with libations on each wing with the types of sacrificial animals offered to them in the adjoining figural scenes on the left (Reliefs A and B) and, as postulated, on the right side of the altar’s podium. Augustus relates in his Res Gestae (9) that the Senate decreed that every fourth year the two consuls and four major priesthoods were to undertake vows and celebrate games (Ludi Augustales or Augustalia, from October 3 to 12) for his health (valetudo). These events would have involved animal sacrifices.185 If such an occasion were commemorated by the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs, we would expect representatives of the four priesthoods to appear in the reliefs,



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as they do in the processional friezes of the exterior precinct wall of the Ara Pacis.186 I have suggested that one of the priestly colleges, the septemviri epulones, may already be represented at the end of Relief A (fig. vii.4a). Members of the other priesthoods (pontifices, augures, and quindecimviri) might have appeared in the missing right and back sides of the putative altar’s podium. If the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs do not specifically refer to a celebration for the health of the Princeps, the presence of individuals who appear to be the consuls and the combination and types of victims in Relief B (fig. vii.3b) indicate that some sort of sacrifices associated with the imperial cult would have been the subject represented.187 If that were the case, members of the Arval Brethren might also (or instead) have been represented in the reliefs. The Fratres Arvales were twelve in number, so we would expect only a token number of them to have appeared. The Arvals took part in sacrifices involving the imperial cult and worshiped the Mater Larum (“Mother of the Lares”) and the Lares privately.188 Moreover, they specifically offered sacrifices at imperial altars like the Ara Pacis, Ara Providentiae Augustae, and Ara Gentis Iuliae.189 Since the Arvals were of the senatorial class, they—rather than the septemviri epulones—might be represented in the four prominent togati with high-laced, double-knotted shoes who follow the riciniati in the procession on Relief A (figs. vii.3a, 4a).190 Also possibly appearing in the surviving fragments and proposed lost sections of the frieze are members of the Sodales Augustales, a priesthood created after the death of Augustus and made up of twenty-one aristocrats selected by lot, with the addition of four members of the imperial family191 who were likewise members of the Fratres Arvales (fig. vii.36).192 Although we know less about this priesthood than about the Arval Brethren, the Sodales Augustales were clearly involved in cultic activities associated with the worship of Divus Augustus and subsequent deified Caesars.193 Neither the Flamen Augustalis nor any of the other flamines were represented on Reliefs A or B, since none of the extant figures wears the laena or galerus of a flamen, one of whom we have already seen represented in the Valle-Medici Reliefs (fig. vii.22). If flamines did appear in lost sections of the postulated frieze around the podium of a monumental altar, they would have been represented on either the right or back side. It is clear, then, that a number of possible types of sacrifices might be alluded to in the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs. However, because they entail so many unknown aspects, we cannot establish precisely what rites were once represented, though it is likely that they pertained to the imperial cult. Based on technical considerations, I have suggested with far greater confidence that sections A and B of the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs should once again be conjoined in the Museo Gregoriano Profano (fig. vii.1) and that these reliefs were originally

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associated with a monumental altar. I have proposed further that these reliefs may once have decorated the podium of the inner altar of this monument and that the Valle-Medici Reliefs, once associated with a putative Ara Pietatis, along with other related reliefs may have adorned the exterior precinct wall of the same Ara Pacis–like structure. However, because of the limitations of our evidence, these proposals are speculative. In any case, this investigation has served to review what we know of some of these important monumental imperial altars and point up some of the many problems in interpretation when we have no definite archaeological context or sufficient information from numismatic or literary sources. The arguments advanced here are nonetheless revealing of the rhetorical, ideological, and dynastic focus of Augustus and his Julio-Claudian successors in the context of Roman religious worship and rituralistic practices.



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Appendix: The Ara Providentiae Augustae, Colossal Seated Statue of Augustus, and Julio-Claudian Ideology

Fig. vii.37. As (rev.: Ara Providentiae Augustae), 31–32 c.e. After Fuchs (1969) pl. 9.105

Fig. vii.38. as (rev.: Ara Providentiae Augustae). Courtesy of British Museum

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The Ara Providentiae Augustae appears on the reverse of asses of the Tiberian period (possibly in late 31–early 32) with the abbreviated legend PROVIDENT (figs. vii.37–38).194 These numismatic images, showing double doors on one side of an altar, resemble the exterior precinct wall of the Ara Pacis with its double doors. Although most numismatic representations of the Ara Providentiae have no figural reliefs like those of the Ara Pacis, a few do show some form of decoration. The clearest examples of the Ara Providentiae with figural reliefs, above some sort of vegetal reliefs (acanthus scrolls?), are found on as coinage from the time of Vespasian on which two large seated figures are shown on either side of the upper part of the altar (fig. vii.38).195 The inclusion of details on some coins that are excluded on others is by no means unusual in Roman numismatic art. The Ara Pacis, for example, is sometimes depicted on coin issues without any figural reliefs, while even in the best numismatic representation of the altar’s decoration, on Neronian asses of 65–66 c.e., only a single seated figure is shown in each of two pendant relief blocks above scroll reliefs (fig. IV.20).196 These figures are on the back on the saeptum wall of the Ara Pacis (fig. V.18a–b): on the left, a Great Mother Goddess (Tellus Italiae), which was flanked in the actual altar by Aurae Velificantes (fig. V.22), and on the right, a victorious Roma at rest, probably appearing with the personifications Honos and Virtus on either side of her (fig. V.19a–b).197 By analogy, the two seated figures on coin images of the Ara Providentiae would quite likely also have been flanked in the actual monument by subordinate figures. Epigraphical evidence indicates that the Ara Providentiae was already in existence by 20 c.e., because in a Senatus Consultum de Cn. Pisone Patre, dating to December 10 of that year, the Sodales Augustales are mentioned (ll. 82–84) as having decreed that Piso’s name be removed from the base of the statue of Germanicus that they had dedicated in campo ad Aram Providentiae (“in the Campus [Martius] at the Ara Providentiae”).198 Since Tiberius created the Sodales Augustales following the death and deification of Augustus in 14 c.e. and dedicated this priesthood to the Gens Iulia,199 the statue of Germanicus must have been set up sometime between 14 and 20. One likely occasion for such an image is Germanicus’ triumph in Rome on May 26, 17 (Tac. Ann. 2.41). As far as a terminus post quem for the Ara Providentiae is concerned, the earliest possible date for its creation

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would have been after Tiberius’ formal adoption into the Gens Iulia on June 26 in 4 c.e. Tiberius in turn adopted Germanicus at the behest of Augustus, a clear indication of Augustus’ intention that Germanicus ultimately succeed Tiberius. Since there is no mention of the Ara Providentiae in Augustus’ Res Gestae, which was revised for the last time in 13,200 it is likely that the altar was set up at the outset of Tiberius’ Principate to underscore his right to succeed Augustus.201 It probably would not have taken more than a year or two to complete an altar of the size of the Ara Providentiae,202 so there would have been sufficient time for the statue of Germanicus to have been erected ad Aram Providentiae in 17 c.e. or slightly earlier. Tiberius’ desire to emphasize his filial relationship with Augustus would explain the use of Pater in the legend DIVVS AVGVSTVS PATER surrounding the radiate portrait of Augustus on the obverse of Tiberian coins (fig. III.15) with a reverse labeled image of the Ara Providentiae.203 This radiate portrait may reflect the head of the seated statue of Divus Augustus Pater represented near an altar in the background on the reverse of Tiberian sestertii dated to 22–23 (fig. III.16).204 This numismatic image has been taken to be the statue of Augustus dedicated by Livia near the Theater of Marcellus just before her illness in 22 (Tac. Ann. 3.64),205 though the theater does not appear on the coinage in question. Since there was no shortage of images of Augustus in Rome, the seated figure on the sestertii of 22–23 may instead have been a colossal statue of Divus Augustus Pater once set up near the Ara Providentiae, which may be the altar represented on these coins.206 In the early imperial period, some huge statues certainly existed in Rome, including images of Augustus,207 a fifty-foot bronze figure of Apollo in the Palatine Library of Augustus,208 and a colossal bronze of Jupiter that Claudius placed in the Campus Martius next to the Theater of Pompey. The first numismatic representations of the Ara Providentiae, so labeled in the legend, were probably issued to commemorate sacrifices that took place at the altar in thanks to Divine Providence for preserving Tiberius from the machinations of Sejanus, who was executed in 31 c.e. because he was believed to have plotted a coup against the Princeps.209 Post-Tiberian sacrifices were made at the Ara Providentiae for the safety (pro salute) of the Princeps in connection with other forestalled coups and, most importantly, the adoption of a future Princeps210—further evidence of the reason for the altar’s erection in the first place. The ideological concept of Providentia Augusta was, in effect, a melding of the notion of Augustus’ foresight (Providentia Augusti) and the foresight of the gods (Providentia Deorum). In the end, Augustus’ decision to adopt Tiberius, thereby providing for the future stability of the Roman State



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Fig. vii.39a. Author’s reconstructed location of the Ara Providentiae Augustae and postulated colossal statue of Divus Augustus in relation to the Solarium–Ara Pacis complex. After Buchner (1982) fig. 12 (modified) Fig. vii.39b. Author’s reconstruction of Ara Providentiae Augustae and postulated colossal statue of Divus Augustus in relation to the Solarium–Ara Pacis complex. After Buchner (1982) fig. 13 (modified)

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and the Empire, would have great consequences for the dynastic succession of future leaders of the Roman State. To be sure, much is unknown about the Ara Providentiae Augustae, but circumstantial and comparative evidence allows at least an attempt at locating this important Tiberian monument. The original association of the Ara Providentiae with Augustus’ personal foresight in adopting Tiberius, as well as the altar’s location in the Campus Agrippae and its outward resemblance to the Ara Pacis, suggested to Filippo Coarelli that the Ara Providentiae was erected to the east of the Via Lata (Via Flaminia) on line with the Ara Pacis and at the same distance from the Via Lata as the Ara Pacis.211 As a pendant altar, the Ara Providentiae would most likely have been comparable in size to the Ara Pacis (fig. vii.39a–b),212 although not as large or as close to the Via Lata as indicated in Coarelli’s plan, which is out of scale. Aligning the Ara Providentiae Augustae along the same axis as the Ara Pacis Augustae and the base of the obelisk of the Solarium Augustis would have extended an essential ideological concept embodied in the Solarium Augusti/ Ara Pacis complex: Augustus was born to bring peace through victory to the Roman world, as indicated by the fact that the shadow cast by the Solarium’s

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obelisk, symbolizing victory over Egypt, pointed toward the middle of the Ara Pacis on the birthday of Augustus on September 23.213 Augustus’ forethought in adopting Tiberius as his successor, visually symbolized in the Ara Providentiae Augustae, would guarantee the continuation of the Pax Augusta and the safety of Tiberius, Princeps and savior of the Roman world. Both monumental altars were also related in a personal way with members of the imperial house: the Ara Pacis Augustae, with the birthdays of both Augustus and his wife Livia,214 mother of Tiberius; and the Ara Providentiae Augustae, with the celebration of Tiberius’ adoption into the Gens Iulia. If the Ara Providentiae Augustae were indeed located across from the Ara Pacis, so that the Via Lata ran between them at the same distance from each altar (i.e., ca. 120 Roman feet), we may also posit a likely location for the seated statue of Divus Augustus Pater shown on Tiberian coinage of 22–23 c.e. (fig. iii.16).215 Given the Ara Providentiae’s close ideological relationship with the Solarium/ Ara Pacis complex, I believe that the statue may have stood on the same axis as the obelisk, the Ara Pacis, and the Ara Providentiae (fig. vii.39a–b). If the image of Augustus stood the same distance from the Via Lata as the obelisk of the Solarium Augusti, then the Ara Providentiae would have been equidistant from both the Ara Pacis and the statue. This placement would have underscored the message that Augustus became a divus after his death at least in part because of his foresight in adopting Tiberius. A statue on the same axis would also have served as a focal point, a point of destination—if only a visual one—for anyone at the Ara Providentiae. In order for the image of Augustus to be seen readily from the Via Lata, it may well have been of colossal size.216 Like many aspects of the so-called Smaller Cancelleria Relief and the possible dispositions of now missing figural reliefs on the monument, the nature of Ara Providentiae Augustae, its location, and possible relationship with a postulated monumental seated image of Augustus must remain in the realm of speculation. I have sought here not to arrive at definitive conclusions but to offer some suggestions in light of the sort of visual imagery that formed part of the rhetoric, religion, and power of ancient Rome.



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Notes 1. The Palazzo della Cancelleria is located between the Corso Vittorio Emanuele II and the Via del Pellegrino on the Piazza della Cancelleria. On the discovery of these reliefs, see Colini (1938); Magi (1939a, 1939b); Fuhrmann (1940) 463–75. See also M. L. Anderson (1984) 33–34. The marble has not been tested, but it is likely to be lunar (Carrara). 2. For the Domitianic Cancelleria Reliefs, see Magi (1945); Helbig4 I (1963) 8–12 (no. 12) (E. Simon); Magi (1973); D’Ambra (1994). 3. Mus. inv. 1156–57. For these reliefs, see especially Ryberg (1955) 75–80, pls. 23–24; Helbig4 I (1963) 203–206 (no. 258) (E. Simon); Bonanno (1976) 47–51; M. L. Anderson (1984); Hölscher (1988) 396–98 (no. 224); Liverani (1988); Fless (1995) 15, 38 n. 216, 42, 49, 52, 55, 70–71, 75–76, 80–82, 84–85, 86 n. 68, 93, 106 (cat. 18), pls. 13.2, 14.2, 17.1, 38.1, 42.1, with extensive bibliography; Gradel (2002) 165–97. The reliefs are presently being studied for traces of ancient pigment. 4. For the findspot and line drawings of the location of both sets of reliefs in the proximity of the Tomb of Hirtius, see Magi (1945) 37–54, figs. 37–38, 40, 42; Coarelli (1977) 831. 5. For the religious practices, see Gradel (2002) 165–97. For the stylistic dating to the Claudian period, see also Bonanno (1976) 50, pls. 101–15; Feletti Maj (1977) 286; Daltrop (1982) 210–11 (no. 130); Koeppel (1983b) 105–106; Cordischi (1985), especially 243– 44. Ryberg (1955) 75–80, however, saw these reliefs as being early Julio-Claudian, while Goette (1990) 11 no. 77 favored a Tiberian date based on the style of the toga, but this would only establish a general terminus post quem for the reliefs. 6. For Lares altars, see in general Zanker (1970/71); Hano (1986); Galinsky (1996) 302–12; Beard et al. (1998) 185–86; Lott (2004) 128–71, 180–219. The vicomagistri were presumably four in number, because four roads typically met at the crossroads where a Lares altar would be set up. It is unknown exactly how many vici there were in the Augustan period, but by the time of Vespasian there appear to have been 265: see Wallace-Hadrill (2005) 77. 7. Wissowa (1912) 171; Liebeschuetz (1979) 70–71 with further references. 8. For the vici and the cult of the Lares Compitales of Rome, see in general Lott (2004). See also Gradel (2002) 116–39 et passim; Wallace-Hadrill (2008) 266–68, 275–83, 293.

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9. See Gradel (2002) 117; Lott (2004) 45–80 et passim. 10. On the Lares cult and its reorganization under Augustus, see Taylor (1931) 181–223; Alföldi (1973) 18–36; Liebeschuetz (1979) 69–71; Bömer (1981) 38–56; Fishwick (1987) 84–85; Lott (2004). 11. Gradel (2002) 119 sees the compital cult as being strictly a private form of worship. 12. Festus, Glos. Lat. 298L. See also Lott (2004) 35. 13. Livy (34.7.3–10); OCD3 860, s.v. “lictores.” See also n. 40 below. 14. Lott (2004) 74–80, 114–15, 130–31. 15. Lott (2004) 61–65, 115. 16. Lott (2004) 178. 17. E.g., Diana, who was associated with the lower classes, also received the epithet Augusta in the compital cults after the Augustan reforms of 7 b.c.e.: Lott (2004) 68, 108–10. For the use of the epithet Augustus/a with divinities, see chapter II above with n. 60. 18. For a discussion of the problem of differentiating between patrician and senatorial shoes, probably by color, calcei patricii (the mulleus) being red and calcei senatorii, black, see Pollini (1993b) 434–36 with further bibliography. 19. With regard to these lictors, see n. 40 below. 20. Hölscher (1988) 396–98 (no. 224). 21. Hölscher (1988) 396–98. For this Temple of the Lares Publici, see Richardson (1992) 232 s.v. “Lares Aedes”; Tomei (1994); LTUR III (1996) 174 s.v. “Lares, Aedes”; Haselberger et al. (2002) 160 s.v. “Lares, Aedes.” 22. See Gradel (2002) 130, who argues against any connection between the state cult of the Lares Publici and the Lares Augusti. 23. Ryberg (1955) 64–80; Pollini (1978) 75–172; Koeppel (1987) and (1988). Although no Lares-bearers appear on the Ara Pacis, which was being constructed at the very beginning of the time of the reorganization of the Lares cult under Augustus, at least one youthful ministrant with a Lar statue in hand is represented on one of the Valle-Medici Reliefs (fig. vii.23). For this figure, see Fless (1995) 106–107 (cat. 22), figs. 16.2, 36.2 with further bibliography. See also below. 24. For various representations of musicians in Roman relief art, see in general Fless (1995) 79–86. For the important aspect of music and other sounds in Roman sacrificial rituals, including the one referenced in the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs, see Weddle (2011) 72–122.

25. M. L. Anderson (1984) 48–52, fig. 9. In conversation in 1983 with Maxwell Anderson at the time of the Vatican exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where he was then curator, I expressed my doubts (for both technical and iconographical reasons) about his belief that relief blocks A and B should be separated. See also the exhibition catalogue The Vatican Collections (1983) 210–11 (no. 13), in which sections A and B are correctly conjoined, based on the alignment of the tops and bottoms of the figural relief scenes, rather than on the bottom of the relief blocks, where it can be seen that relief block B is higher than block A in the photograph. 26. Liverani (1988) 16–19, fig. 11(a) (= my fig. vii.8) indicates a plan with panels A and B on the same side and the postulated figures on the adjoining sides moving in the same direction toward panels A and B. However, the direction of movement of the side to the right is speculative, since the only remaining element from that side, a lion’s paw (fig. vii.35), is “frontal.” 27. For the findspot, see n. 1 above. Discoloration on marble varies from place to place, depending on what sorts of lichens attached themselves to the stone. Different lichens produce different-colored oxalates (discoloration) on marble. Some lichens that produce one type of oxalate might thrive in an oxygenrich environment, while others do better in one that is less oxygen-rich. Whether an object was deposited lying face up or face down affects the amount of oxygen in its environment. I thank Norman Herz for this information. 28. M. L. Anderson (1984) 41. 29. See M. L. Anderson (1984) 34 n. 5, 49 n. 23, who cites Etruscan examples on some Volterran urns, but these are unrelated to this sort of Roman sacrificial procession. Moreover, the examples cited in his article are scenes from mythology (e.g., Sirens playing syrinx, lyre, and flute) that also do not feature two sets of fluteplayers and lyre-players. For various musicians represented in processions in Etruscan art, see Holliday (2002) 130 et passim. 30. Fless (1995) 82; Weddle (2011) 88. 31. Paris, Louvre (MA 975): Fless (1995) 103 (cat. 2), pl. 12.1; Bergmann (2010) 302–303 (cat. no. 26). 32. Villa Borghese: Fless (1995) 103 (cat. 3), pl. 44.1. 33. Known only from the Dal Pozzo–Albani drawings (Codex Coburgensis: fol. 164.2): Fless (1995) 111 (cat. 46, II), pl. 9.1.



34. Liverani (1988) 6. The Roman foot varies slightly, from ca. 29.35 cm to 29.65 cm, based on bronze rulers found at Pompeii: see chapter V above, n. 30 (29.42 cm). See also Wilson Jones (2000) 72; Rowland and Howe (eds.) (1999) 167 n. 90. It is clear that panel A was cut down from a block of marble that in its uncarved state was also originally 10 Roman feet in length: the lifting hole in the bottom of panel A would be centrally located if the panel had been cut down from a block 10 Roman feet long, which would then match the centrally located hole in the top of panel B. For these holes, see Liverani (1988) 6–12, especially figs. 3–5. But the holes, which were useful only in transporting the marble, provide no information about how panels A and B were positioned in relation to one another on the postulated altar. 35. The sides of the modern reconstructed podium of the Ara Pacis measure 4.12 m (ca. 14 Roman feet) in length. However, no entire side of the podium is preserved, so this measurement is only an estimate. 36. Not caused by wear, as suggested by M. L. Anderson (1984) 34–36. 37. In M. L. Anderson’s fig. 3, panel B is still slightly too low. Note also how the diagonal folds on Relief B stop abruptly at the edge of the panel, while the folds on Relief A are vertical. The diagonal folds are to be understood as passing behind the vertical folds, as they do on other togate figures. 38. This detail is virtually impossible to see in photographs, but it can be examined visually or manually on the relief itself. 39. Contra M. L. Anderson (1984) 42, who claimed that “the elbow of this figure’s right arm is crooked in much the same way as that of the lyre player to the left. This indicates that his arm extended rightward, although a precise angle is difficult to determine, owing to the incompleteness of the elbow.” 40. Only a token number of consular lictors appear—pars pro toto (“part for the whole”): see Ryberg (1955) 45–46, 76. The lictors carry the fasces of magistrates in the left hand and two rods in the right hand: see Schäfer (1989) 230 n. 238. Cf. Gradel (2002) 182, who believes that these are the lictores curiatii, accompanying ministri of the Sodales Augustales. Ryberg (1955) 45 n. 38, however, concluded that lictores curiatii carried only two rods, not the bound fasces; see also Schäfer (1989) 229. The lictors of the vicomagistri carried only fasces, not the rods: Schäfer (1989) 230; see also, e.g., the Altar from Vicus Aescleti:

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Ryberg (1955) 59–60, pl. XVI, fig. 30; Hölscher (1988) 390–91 (no. 217). 41. Ryberg (1955) 76, 79. See also Gradel (2002) 167, 172–73, 177–79, who agrees with Ryberg on the types of animals and their order. 42. Cf. Alföldi (1973) 29, who thought that this figure once carried a statuette, which he postulated as being of Divus Augustus. 43. See, e.g., a female figure with a small incense bowl on a restored relief of apparently early imperial date portraying a sacrifice to a divus: Ryberg (1955) 96, pl. 29, fig. 45e; see also Livia holding an incense jar and patera on the Lares altar from Vicus Sandaliarius datable to 2 b.c.e. (fig. III.7): Ryberg (1955) 60, pl. 16, fig. 31; Pollini (1987) 13, 30, 53, 89–90, 98, pl. 14. 44. Only two Lares are represented on Lares altars and in paintings: see in general Alföldi (1973) and Fröhlich (1991). 45. For the lanugo (“beard of youth”), see TLL 7.2, 936–37 s.v. “lanugo.” See also RE 3.1 (1897) 31 s.v. “Bart” (A. Mau); Eyben (1972) 692–93; Fless (1995) 52 with n. 343. 46. The ceremony of depositio barbae took place for Octavian at age twenty-three; for Nero, at twentyone; for Caligula, at nineteen, on the same day that he donned the toga virilis: RE III.1 (1897) 30–34 s.v. “Bart,” especially 33; Wiedemann (1989) 116–17. See also Eyben (1972) 693. 47. For the servile nature of the vicoministri, see Liebeschuetz (1979) 71, with further references. On the representation of slaves, see also Pollini (1999b). 48. See Fless (1995) 53, who indicates that wearing the ricinium was to be associated with freeborn pueri patrimi et matrimi; the carrying of the mantele (a fleecy towel), with servile ministrants. Three figures to the left in a scene on the Belvedere Altar in the Museo Gregoriano Profano ex Lateranense (mus. inv. 1115) were often regarded as servile vicoministri wearing the ricinium. However, these appear to be women wearing the suffibulum (not the fringed ricinium of the vicominstri) and are identifiable as three (of the six) Vestal Virgins, to whom Augustus hands over Lares figures for the Temple of Vesta on the Palatine: see Galinsky (1996) 319 with n. 85, fig. 149. For the suffibulum, see Ryberg (1955) 41, 52, 71, pl. XXII.36– 37. This altar lacks the usual inscription naming the vicus, vicomagistri, or year of dedication of the Lares altar, giving further credence to this interpretation. Cf. with regard to this monument Ryberg (1955)

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56–58; Helbig4 I (1963) 198–201 (no. 255) (E. Simon); Zanker (1969); Alföldi (1973) 30–32; Hölscher (1988) 394–96 (no. 223); Fless (1995) 52, 104 (cat. 9); Lott (2004) 105–106, with nn. 133–35, 217–18 (no. 65), fig. 8. 49. See, e.g., Ryberg (1955) 77. 50. E.g., Alföldi (1973) 28–29. 51. See Jucker (1976) 248–50. 52. See especially Boschung (1989) 63–64. See further Hölscher (1988) 396–98 (no. 224); Fless (1995) 52–53. If the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs were part of the Tiberian Ara Providentiae, which was erected no later than 20 c.e., then virtually all of these young members of the imperial family would be eliminated as possibilities. In that year, Tiberius Gemellus was an infant and Caligula was only eight years old, much too young for even the shortest of the three youths, who all wear the beard of youth, while Drusus Iulius was twelve and Nero Iulius was fourteen. See also the appendix to this chapter. 53. See also Boschung (1989) 63–67. For Nero Iulius and Drusus Iulius (Drusus III), see further Pollini (1990b) 28 (cat. 8). 54. Fragments of the Acta extend from 21 b.c.e. to 304 c.e., though they are quite incomplete, with some Principates better preserved than others. On the Acta and the Arval Brethren (Fratres Arvales), see Hoffman Lewis (1955) 112–13, 118–32, 144–50; Scheid (1975); Syme (1980); Beard (1985); Paladino (1988); Scheid (1990); KlPauly II (1997) 68–69 s.v. “Arvales fratres” (J. Scheid); Scheid (1998). The Arvals are associated primarily with the worship of the Dea Dia, whose sacred grove has been excavated over the years at La Magliana (ca. 7 km southwest of Rome on the right bank of the Tiber) and has been found to contain a shrine of the imperial cult among various cult buildings. 55. Some of these pueri were sons or grandsons of the Arvals. On these pueri, see Scheid (1990) 535–36, 539–41, 547–49 (list of these pueri), 633, 639–40, 648. 56. See Scheid (1990) 484–505, 636–37. The Arvals themselves were also described at times as praetextati, which in their case undoubtedly referred to the toga praetexta. For the concept of a tunica praetexta, see Livy 22.46.6. 57. On the age of pueri, see Wiedemann (1989) 32–33, 114–15. 58. See, e.g., a section of the Valle-Medici Reliefs in the façade of the Villa Medici in Rome: Ryberg (1955) 68, pl. 20, fig. 35d; Fless (1995) 106 (cat. 22), pl. 16.2 with further bibliography.

59. This relief fragment is in the Museo Gregoriano Profano ex Lateranense of the Vatican Museums: Ryberg (1955) 80, pl. 20, fig. 35e; Feletti Maj (1977) 289–90, fig. 131; Fless (1995) 106 (cat. 19), pl. 17.2, with further bibliography. 60. See Pollini (1987), especially 21–28, 96 (cat. 4), pl. 6, fig. 2 (no. 37), 3–4. I had originally taken this ricinium as possibly being a mantele, a thick fleecy towel for wiping hands (25 n. 32), but this interpretation is incorrect, as the cloth is only fringed, not entirely fleecy. See also Simon (1967) figs. 16.1, 23 for detailed photos. Contrast Gaius’ fringed ricinium with the thick fleecy towel (mantele) wrapped around the left arm of the tray-carrying boy in the Aeneas panel of the Ara Pacis. His servile status is clearly indicated by the long pleated hair queue that is knotted up in a loop at the back of his head: Simon (1967) 23, pl. 24. For this figure, see further my discussion in chapter V above, appendix A. On the mantele, see also Fless (1995) 53. 61. The term minister means an “assistant” of any sort, not necessarily a vicominister: that is, a servile minister of a vicus. 62. On the laying aside of the bulla and the assumption of the toga virilis, see Prop. 4.1.31–32 and Pers. 5.30–33. See further RE 3 s.v. “Bulla,” cols. 1047– 51 (A. Mau); Goette (1986). 63. I thank John Scheid for discussing with me the pueri of the Arvals. Although there is no specific reference to statuettes of the Lares or Genius in the Acta of the Arvals, we know that pueri, with the assistance of the publici (public slaves), oversaw the carrying of the Arvals’ sacrificial offerings to the domestic altar of the president: Scheid (1990) 539–41. 64. See further below with n. 87. 65. For the Roman domestic cult, see in general Orr (1978). 66. Boy or adolescent priestly assistants, who were typically servile, are properly referred to as minister/ ministri, not camillus/camilli: Pollini (2002b) 57–58 with further bibliography. Except for very rare antiquarian usage in literary sources, the term camillus/ camilli is no longer in use by the Augustan age. 67. Though this is a fictional dinner, Roman customs are obviously being reflected, albeit in an excessive and satirical manner. During the dinner, Trimalichio’s pueri (ministri) are described as wearing their white tunics tucked up (candidas succincti tunicas). One of them also carries a patera vini for the wine libation. The boys place the two Lares on the table. The



third figure was presumably a statuette of Trimalchio’s own genius, since the guests are described as kissing his true image (veram imaginem). To satirize Trimalchio’s greedy crassness further, Petronius tells us that Trimalchio calls these three images Cerdo (Gain), Felicio (Luck), and Lucrio (Profit)—the last presumably referring to his genius. 68. On differentiating types of footwear, see n. 18 above. For the identification as senators, see, e.g., Alföldi (1973) 28. See also Ryberg (1955) 77 n. 51. 69. “Shall we permit the right of the toga praetexta to the magistrates in the colonies and municipalities, [and] here in Rome to the lowest rank/class, the vicomagistri, not only that they possess so great an insignia in life but also that in death they be cremated in this [honorific dress]?” This quotation is in the form of one of a series of rhetorical questions that Livy puts into the mouth of Lucius Valerius, one of the tribunes of the people, who argues for the repeal of the Lex Oppia, which prevented women from enjoying certain privileges. See also Lott (2004) 41–42. 70. Petron. Sat. 30, 71. For the Seviri Augustales, see Fishwick (1991) 609–16; Beard et al. (1998) 357–58. 71. See also Pollini (2002b) 59. 72. On the extension of honors originally restricted to one social group to another, see Ryberg (1955) 77; RE VIII.2 (1958) 2482 s.v. vici magister (J. Bleicken); Bömer (1981) 40–41 (also with a Greek parallel); Fless (1995) 53. For the imitation of Roman customs by the municipal aristocracy, see especially Bergemann (1990) 23–24. For the granting of official dress and lictors to the curatores viarum (who were not curule magistrates) only in the regions under their control and on certain days in the Augustan period, see Cass. Dio 55.8.6–7. See further Alföldi (1973) 22–23. 73. For these taller figures, their placement opposite one another in the two friezes, and the location of the priestly colleges surrounding them on the Ara Pacis, see Pollini (1978), especially 79–95, pl. 4 (schema). 74. Contra Gradel (2002) 207. 75. Wissowa (1912) 423; Hoffman Lewis (1955) 8, 92–93 et passim. 76. The figure to the right of the riciniatus turns his head to the right (like the riciniatus)—a visual clue that further emphasizes that the seven togati at the end of Relief A constitute a separate group. 77. Scheid (1998) 57–58; Gradel (2002) 130, 164. It should be noted that offerings to the genius of the

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paterfamilias in the domestic cults were wine and incense, while the sacrifice of a bull to the Princeps’ Genius was no doubt influenced by the state cult of the Genius Populi Romani, which received the same: see, e.g., Gradel (2002) 125, 137. 78. Gradel (2002) 162–97. 79. His superior height in relation to the figures on either side of him on the same ground level can be determined by the height of his shoulders by comparison with theirs. The figure to the far left is to be understood as being in the middle ground, since the curving sinus (the curved hanging front part) of his toga is higher than that of the togate figure in front of him. For the unnatural elongation of background figures with their feet on the same level as those in the foreground in Relief B, see also the discussion above in this chapter. 80. For Augustus on the Ara Pacis with lictors bearing fasces, see Ryberg (1955) 45, pl. 12, fig. 23a; Fless (1995) cat. 8. For the imperial figure accompanied by lictores curiatii/calatores with two rods each on the so-called Suovetaurilia Relief or Grimani Relief in the Louvre, see Ryberg (1955) 107, pl. 35, fig. 54a; Fless (1995) cat. 17, pl. 43.1 with further bibliography; Bergmann (2010) 303–304 (cat. no. 27). For an interesting interpretation of the Grimani Reliefs, see Tortorella (1992). 81. See Scheid (1998) 42, who plausibly restores the line in the Acta as “Gen[io ipsius taurum et].” Though favoring a Claudian date, Gradel (2002) 141, 162–64 also admits the possibility that Caligula introduced the practice of official Genius worship. 82. Cass. Dio 59.4.4. In Dio’s Greek the equivalent for the genius is usually “tyche” (τύχῆ). Daimon (δαίμων) could also be used for the genius, as, e.g., Plutarch (Vit. Caes. 69.2) in referring to Caesar’s Daimon, who accompanied him in life and after his death pursued his assassins. 83. Kienast (1982) 129–30; Sumi (2005) 228–34. For the Senate in general, see Talbert (1984). 84. For the Roman domestic cult, see Orr (1978). Worship of the genius of the paterfamilias would have gone back to early Roman religion. See further chapter I above on domestic worship of the genius. 85. See Orr (1978) 1571. 86. For the beginnings of oaths sworn by the Genius of the Princeps, and specifically that of Augustus, see Taylor (1931) 190–92 et passim. See also in general Herrmann (1968).

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87. This honor was certainly not turned down, since Dio (51.20.4–5) states that Octavian accepted all but a few, and prayers and libations are not included among those he turned down. 88. See also Keinast (1982) 71, 81 et passim, with further bibliography. For the history and representation of the corona civica, see also Bergmann (2010) 135–88. 89. Taylor (1931) 151–53, 181–83; Liebeschuetz (1979) 68–69. 90. Gradel (2002) 207–12, 232, 247. For the Genius of the Princeps, see also chapter VIII below. 91. Taylor (1931) 217–18. 92. Taylor (1931) 152, fig. 25. This image appears on denarii minted between 29 and 27 b.c.e. See Pollini (1990a) 348–49, fig. 16. Interestingly, Liegle (1941) 94 took this as a representation of Octavian’s Numen. 93. From the House of C. Caecilius Iucundus (mus. inv. 110663): De Caro (1996) 207; Lahusen and Formigli (2007) 134–39 (B12). 94. Note that an alternate Latin spelling for Divi is Deivi. See CIL X.2668. See also Wardle (2002) 187. Although some have taken this inscription as dating to Caesar’s lifetime because of the mention of his Genius, it is more likely to date after his death and official deification, since he is referred to as Divus Iulius. For the worship of the genius of a dead person, see Wissowa (1912) 178 with n. 4, 179. 95. Cf. Gradel (2002), especially 232, 247. For the Numen of the Princeps, see also chapter VIII below. 96. Cf. also Ov. Fast. 3.421–22: ignibus aeternis aeterni numina praesunt Caesaris (“the divine essence of eternal Caesar is present over the eternal flames”). 97. The notion of praesens, referring to the active presence of Augustus’ divine Numen, also recalls the Athenians’ hailing of Demetrios Poliorketes (Ath. 6.253e) as their “savior” in 290 b.c.e. in the following words: “For the other gods are either far away or do not hear or do not exist or care not for us; but you are present and seen by us, not in wood or stone, but in flesh and blood. And so we pray to you” (emphasis added). See also Galinsky (1996) 259–60. 98. 6–9 c.e. was the period of the editing of the Fasti Praenestini, in which the altar is mentioned (CIL I 308). See also Inscr. Ital. XIII.3, 401 (= Ehrenberg and Jones [1976] 46). Cf. Gradel (2002) 238, who has questioned the accuracy of the traditional reading of this inscription. On this altar (about which we know very little, including whether it even was a monumental

altar), see further Torelli (1982) 63–66, who incorrectly gives the date of Tiberius’ return from “exile” (63) as 4 c.e. (in reality 2 c.e.), a mistake followed in LTUR III (1996) 349 s.v. “N[umen] Augusti, Ara” (D. Palombi). 99. After Augustus’ death, the Ara Numinis Augusti may have become an Ara Divi Augusti Patris (“Altar of Deified Father Augustus”): LTUR II (1995) 369 s.v. “Gens Iulia, Ara” (E. La Rocca). 100. See Orr (1978) 1569–71. The Juno (Iuno) of a woman (the female spiritual equivalent of the genius for a male) was also worshiped by the Romans. As Orr (1978) points out (1571) “the Genius is used to designate father and mother and was even substituted occasionally for the Juno”; CIL XI, 1820 “Genio Sancte Sacrum IUL Silvanus V.E.” The fluidity of the gender of the genius in the minds of the Romans is even underscored by Servius (ad Aen. 2. 351), who indicates that an old shield on the Capitoline Hill bore the inscription Genio Urbis Romae, sive mas sive femina (“to the Genius of the City of Rome, be it male or female”). For the domestic worship of the genius, see also chapter I above. 101. Scheid (2003) 153, 166. 102. Gradel (2002), following in the tradition of his mentor Simon Price, warns against looking at Roman religion in Christian terms. However, we should also be aware that most Christian theological beliefs were taken over and adapted from various ancient religions, philosophies, and mythologies with which Christianity competed. The concept of Jesus as the savior and benefactor of mankind and the notion of his apotheosis reflect ideas that are also in the Roman imperial cult, and that were in turn adapted from Hellenistic ruler worship. 103. See, e.g., Ov. Met. 1.192. 104. For the reliefs of the inner altar of the Ara Pacis, see Moretti (1948) 84–85, 90–91, 180–82, 186– 88, figs. 70–77, 148, pl. VI; Kähler (1954) fig. 17. On the Ara Pacis, including a new reconstruction of the friezes that decorated the inner altar, see Pollini (2002a) and chapter V above. 105. See in general Ryberg (1955) 64–80; Fishwick (2004) 112–13. 106. See Helbig4 IV (1972) 206 (no. 258) (E. Simon). Cf. Ryberg (1955) 80. See also Richardson (1992) 322 s.v. “Providentia Augusta, Ara”; LTUR IV (1999) 165– 66 s.v. “Providentia, Ara” (M. Torelli). On the subject of providentia, imperial power, and succession, see Charlesworth (1936); Scott (1982); Martin (1982),



especially 115–20. See also below with regard to the Ara Numinis Augusti. 107. A fragment of an inscription under Caligula from the Acta Fratrum Arvalium for June 26 (the anniversary of Tiberius’ adoption by Augustus) in the year 38 c.e. records that a cow (vacca) was sacrificed in campo Agrippae ad Aram Providentiae Augustae (CIL VI.2028 d 15). For the full text, see Scheid (1975) 190– 91, frag. d, ll. 13–17; Scheid and Broise (1980) 218 (ll. 21–22), 224 (ll. 28–29), 226 (under June 26), 232–36; Martin (1982) 116. See also below for the Senatus Consultum de Cn. Pisone Patre. On the Campus Agrippae, which was subsequently given to the Roman people by Augustus in 7 b.c.e. (Cass. Dio 55.8.3), see LTUR 1 (1993) 217 s.v. “Campus Agrippae”; Haselberger et al. (2002) 72 s.v. “Campus Agrippae,” with fold-out map. 108. Scheid (1998) 18.1–3, fig. 8. 109. Gradel (2002) 179. 110. For the style, see above with n. 5. 111. Barrett (1989) 86–87. 112. Scheid (1998) 31.99–100; see also 72.30–31 for the sacrifices offered in the year 60 c.e. to Divus Augustus, Diva Livia, and Divus Claudius at the Templum Novum. Divus Claudius’ own temple, the Claudianum, was not completed by either his wife Agrippina Minor or her son Nero but was finished by Vespasian: Richardson (1992) 87–88 s.v. “Claudius, Divus. Templum.” 113. For the Templum Novum, see chapter II above. 114. RIC2 I, 111 (no. 36), pl. 13; BMCRE I, 153 (nos. 41–43), pl. 28.6; Breglia (1968) 51 (no. 9). 115. Levick (1990) 45. 116. See above with n. 5. 117. Gradel (2002) 180–85 with n. 23. Livia was deified by Claudius on January 17, 42 c.e. Gradel (165–66) follows Anderson’s idea that the reliefs had a missing section and makes no reference to Liverani’s 1988 article. For the colossal cult images of Augustus and Livia, see Ruck (2007) 56–57, 70, 212. 118. BMCRE IV, 352 (no. 2064–66), pl. 50.2. See also Galinsky (1996) 204–205, fig. 117 (mislabeled the Temple of Mars Ultor). For colossal statues of Augustus and others, see below nn. 207–208, 216. 119. See below with n. 146. 120. These reliefs were initially thought to have belonged to the Ara Pacis Augustae. However, basing his study on that of Sieveking (1907), Studniczka (1909) 907–909 recognized that they were not part of the Ara Pacis, taking them instead to have once

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belonged to the so-called Ara Pietatis. See also Bloch (1939). For a description and measurements, see Koeppel (1983a) 98–116 with extensive earlier bibliography. See also Rehak (1985); Reuter (1991); Kleiner (1992) 141–45, 164 (bibliography); La Rocca (1994a); LTUR III (1996) 87–89 s.v. “Pietas Augusta, Ara.” 121. These also included relief fragments that appear to have come from Claudius’ victory arch that spanned the Via Lata, carrying the Aqua Virgo over it. Plaster casts of these reliefs are to be found in the Museo della Civiltà Romana at EUR outside of Rome, while another set of casts, along with other original fragments from the same monument, is now on display in the Ara Pacis Museum in Rome. 122. See especially Cagiano de Azevedo (1951); La Rocca (1994a) 267. 123. For the Valle-Medici Reliefs and those from near Santa Maria in Via Lata, see Koeppel (1983a) 98–116 with further bibliography. 124. The relief shows the Temple of Mars, not, as Torelli (1982) 77–78 suggested, the Temple of the Deified Augustus. The central figure in the pediment is Mars, not Augustus, as is clear from the faint traces of Mars’ beard and remains of a triple-crested helmet (not a radiate crown). This conclusion is based on my personal inspection of the cast of the reliefs in the Museo della Civiltà Romana. See also Pollini (1983) 573. 125. See, e.g., Torelli’s scheme (1982) 63–88, fig. 7 for a proposed reconstruction; see also Rehak (1990), fig. 4b. 126. On the dress of the flamen on the so-called Ara Pietatis, see Ryberg (1955) 72 (“Ara Pietatis”), pl. XIX, fig. 35a and c. Cf., e.g., the dress of the four major flamines on the Ara Pacis: Ryberg (1955) 44, pl. 12, fig. 23b; Pollini (1978) 82–84, 91–93, pl. 4. nos. S-19, S-21, S-22, S-23; Koeppel (1987) 121–22 (nos. 20, 22, 23, 24). 127. Based on my personal inspection of this relief from casts in the Museo della Civiltà Romana, it is clear that female figures (Amazons) are represented, as Rehak (1990) 177–81, fig. 1a–b also noted. 128. For a review of these identifications, see Rehak (1990) 181–84. 129. La Rocca (1994a) 282–86 et passim; see also his earlier article (1992a). 130. La Rocca (1994a) 282: “I frammenti raccolti lungo l’anello circolare ora composto dalle vie di teatro di Marcello e di Santa Maria della Consolazione furono depositi nei magazzini del Governatorato, per la maggior parte nei fornici del teatro di Marcello e nelle cantine della casa dei Vallati appena ricostruita.”

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131. La Rocca (1994a) 286 (no. 30), fig. 30. 132. La Rocca (1994a) 286 (no. 10), figs. 31–32; cf. the winged lion protomes on the Ara Pacis (figs. 33–34). 133. La Rocca (1994a) 286 (nos. 11–12), figs. 35–36, 38–39; cf. fig. 40 (floral frieze of Ara Pacis). 134. See Helbig4 I (1963) 527 (no. 1751) (E. Simon); Torelli (1982) 71 (Fragment G). 135. La Rocca (1994a) 282, figs. 18–19. 136. La Rocca (1994a) 284 (no. 2), fig. 22. 137. La Rocca (1994a) 284 (no. 6), fig. 20. It is not clear whether or not the stepped podium is of a temple (284 [no. 2]), fig. 24. 138. La Rocca (1994a) 284–86 (no. 7), figs. 25–27. 139. La Rocca (1994a) 288–92. 140. Pollini (1987), especially 22–24. 141. Levick (1990) 143–44. 142. See, e.g., Pollini (1978) 79–95. See also Rossini (2006) 50–53, who follows my schema. 143. See, e.g., Ryberg (1955) 49–51; Hölscher (1988) 375–78 (no. 208); Gradel (2002) 132–35. See also chapter II above, n. 50. 144. For the Palatine House of Augustus with further bibliography, see chapter II above, n. 50; chapter IX below, n. 138. 145. Kleiner (1971). For L. Iunius Silanus Torquatus, see also Hoffman Lewis (1955) 38 (no. 6); Ryberg (1955) 68, pl. 19, figs. 35a, 35c. This figure was once wrongly identified as Claudius, who was never a Flamen Augustalis. 146. Koeppel (1982a) 453–55. See also Cordischi (1985). 147. Koeppel did not, however, question the accuracy of the Anonymus Einsiedlensis in reporting that the inscription was found “in Capitolio”; it is of note that the medieval source erred in stating that the Arch of Titus, whose inscription he also copied, was likewise to be found “in Capitolio” (!): Torelli (1992) 128 n. 149. 148. Torelli (1982) 76. For the evidence of the Ara Gentis Iuliae, see LTUR II (1995) 369–70 s.v. “Gens Iulia, Ara” (E. La Rocca). 149. La Rocca (1994a) 289–91. 150. Gradel (2002) 238. 151. See BMCRE III, 361 (f), 363, pl. 66.8–10; IV, 229, 236, pl. 35.6. 152. For these and other coins showing similar structures, see La Rocca (1984), especially 105–106, pls. XXII–XXIII. 153. For these “altari di consecrazione,” see La Rocca (1984) 101–14 with figs. 13–16 for

reconstructions. Cf. the reconstruction of what was likely to have been the Ustrinum of Marcus Aurelius: Kampmann (1985), figs. 13–14. 154. For the Ustrinum Augusti, see further chapter V above, with appendix C. 155. Relief in the Palazzo dei Conservatori (mus. inv. 1213): Helbig4 II (1966) 569–70, n. 1800 (E. Simon); Nash (1968) 83–84, 86, figs. 85–86, 88; La Rocca (ed.) (1986) 24–32 et passim, pls. VII–XIII, color pls. 7–8. 156. For these finds, see de Caprariis (1993) 93–110. 157. BMCRE I, cxxxv, 133 (no. 98), pl. 24.7, showing head of Pietas (not Livia) on the reverse. 158. For these finds, see de Caprariis (1993), especially 107–108; see also Torelli (1992) 127–28. 159. For the arch and its reliefs, see La Rocca (1994a) 267–73 with earlier bibliography. 160. For Claudius’ pietas toward family members, see Levick (1990) 45; for pietas among the imperial virtues, see Fishwick (1991) 455–74 with further bibliography. 161. See Levick (1990) 1–52. 162. Jolivet (1988). 163. See especially Coarelli (1983) 41–46. 164. See also Torelli (1992) 129. 165. It is especially telling that there is no mention of an “Ara Pietatis” in the Acta Fratrum Arvalium, even given their fragmentary nature: see the index in Scheid (1998) 389 s.v. “ara.” 166. See Fuhrmann (1940) 436–67, who first proposed a connection between the Valle-Medici Reliefs, which he believed belonged to the “Ara Pietatis,” and the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs. 167. See, e.g., Ryberg (1955) 41. 168. First indicated by Raimond Wünsche, former director of Antiquities of the Munich Glypotothek. See also Kuttner (1993). 169. Palazzo dei Conservatori, mus. inv. 2391 (now on display in the Ara Pacis Museum in Rome, along with casts of the Valle-Medici Reliefs and other original fragments associated with the same monument): Colini (1935) (no. 9), fig. 9; Mustelli (1939) 108 (no. 15), pl. LXIV.253; Ryberg (1955) 74–75, pl. XXII, fig. 36–37; Nash (1968) 78, fig. 80. Cf. Cordischi (1985) 258, who because of stylistic differences thought that the relief segment with the Vestals did not belong with the other Valle-Medici Reliefs. With regard to the Vestals in this relief (and the Ara Pacis), see also Jucker (1961a) 94; Weddle (2011) 149–50. For the Vestals in general, see Wildfang (2006).



170. One of the problems in determining the exact size of the inner altar of the Ara Pacis is that the height of the individual parts of the podium-prothesis can only be estimated because of missing sections of the structure. Cf. the preserved height of the inner altar friezes of the Ara Pacis: smallest frieze (around altar table) = ca. 25.5 cm without moldings and 38 cm including moldings; medium-sized frieze (presumably around the lower podium of the inner altar) = ca. 61 cm without moldings and ca. 65 cm including moldings; largest frieze (presumably on the front of the altar table) = ca. 88–89 cm without moldings and (speculatively) ca. 103 cm including the plinth. For these three friezes and their disposition on the inner altar, see further chapter V above. 171. Based on my measurements of the podium. 172. A few fragmentary figures have been set on this side of the altar: see fig. V.26. 173. A single figure can be seen (barely visible in the photo) at either end of the frieze at the back in close proximity to the two winged horned lions: see fig. V.26. 174. See chapter V above. The schema was originally presented in Pollini (2002a) figs. 9, 19. The division of the inner altar table friezes of the Ara Pacis (at the southeast corner) is conceptually like that of the Parthenon frieze (which divides at the southwest corner). 175. Cf. also the reliefs of the great Gigantomachy frieze decorating the left and right front wings of the Altar of Zeus at Pergamon, one of the monumental altars that undoubtedly inspired the form of the Ara Pacis. For the Altar of Zeus, see, e.g., Rohde (1982) 39 (fig. 24) 61, 152–53; and most recently Kästner (2011). 176. Taylor (1931) 186, 192. For the appropriate sacrificial victims for various gods, see in general Wissowa (1912) 412–15; Gradel (2002) 22, 78–79, 179 et passim. 177. See, e.g., the Acta Fratrum Arvalium for the year 66 c.e. (under Nero), when the sacrificial animal for the Genius comes after those for the divi and divae: Scheid (1998) 80.25–27, 81.5–8. 178. If it is not a mistake, there is a rare case in the Acta Fratrum Arvalium in which a heifer/cow is offered to Honos, a male god: Scheid (1998) 79.5. 179. Both a pig (for the Lares Augusti) and a bull (for the Genius Augusti) are shown on a Lares altar from the Vicus Aescleti, now in the Palazzo dei Conservatori in Rome: Ryberg (1955) 59–60, pl. XVI, fig. 30; Hölscher (1988) 390–91 (no. 217).

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180. For a detailed discussion of this sort of parallelism and for reading the Ara Pacis’ processional friezes in relation to one another and to the small inner altar frieze, see Pollini (1978) 75–139, pl. IV and chapter V with fig. V.15 above. I believe that a schema similar to that of the Parthenon frieze was intentionally employed for the Ara Pacis for the purpose of emulation: see Pollini (1978) 93, 138. See also Pollini (1995), especially 272–76 with nn. 81 and 82, for a discussion of Roman exempla and Greek paradeigmata with reference to other important imperially commissioned works of art, such as the statue of Augustus from Prima Porta, which were intended to recall specific monuments of the past only to outdo them. For the Prima Porta statue, see chapter IV above. 181. See, e.g., the index for divinities (375–76) in Scheid (1998) s.v. “Iuno,” “Iuppiter,” “Minerva.” These occasions included assumption of imperium, birthdays, consulships, and returns to Rome. 182. See, e.g., Scheid (1998) 65.9–14 (October 13, the dies imperii of Nero). 183. See, e.g., Scheid (1998) 71.24–33 (June 23 for Nero’s [safety and] return). 184. Cf. again the movement of figures in the small sacrificial frieze on the altar table of the Ara Pacis and the north and south great processional friezes on the precinct wall. 185. Fishwick (1987) 162. For these days, see Inscr. Ital. XIII.3, 516–20. 186. For the Ara Pacis, see chapter V above. For priesthoods and the Princeps, see Hoffmann Lewis (1955) 19–20, 111–70. See also Beard et al. (1998) 186–96. 187. Cf. La Rocca (1994a) 289–92, who believes that the sacrifices that had been attributed to the “Ara Pietatis” and the relief fragments from the southwestern slope of the Capitoline (which I would see as perhaps belonging to the same monument as the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs) are to be associated with celebrations on August 1, the birthday of Claudius, among other imperial events. 188. See, e.g., Scheid (1990) 580–85, 587–98, 602, 621–25, 659–60. 189. See the index in Scheid (1998) for altars connected with different personifications. 190. The togati in Relief A wear laurel wreaths. The Arvals wore crowns of wheat (coronae spiceae) only when they sacrificed to the Dea Dia in connection with agricultural fertility in her shrine outside of Rome.

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They probably wore laurel crowns when they performed religious rites pertaining to the imperial cult: Scheid (1990) 572–73. For crowns in general, see Bergmann (2010). 191. For these priesthoods, see Hoffman Lewis (1955) 133; for specific members of the imperial family: Tiberius (no. 1), Germanicus (no. 2), Claudius (no. 4), Drusus Minor (no. 8). 192. Hoffman Lewis (1955) 121–22, Tiberius (no. 9), Germanicus (no. 16), Drusus Minor (no. 18), 129, Claudius (no. 66). 193. Cassius Dio (59.7.4) mentions that the Sodales Augustales were present at games connected with the dedication of the Temple of the Deified Augustus. See also Ryberg (1955) 80. 194. For numismatic images of the Ara Providentiae, see Sutherland (1941); Fuchs (1969) 44, pl. 9.105– 106; BMCRE I, 141 (nos. 146–50), pls. 25.12, 26.2 and II, 132 (no. 611), pl. 23.12; 158 (no. 687), pl. 27.13; 192*, pl. 36.8; 201 (no. 810), pl. 38.8; 204–205 (nos. 820– 21), pl. 39.7; 210 (nos. 846–47), pl. 41.1; 214 (nos. 866– 67), pl. 42.2; 282–83 (nos. 268–71), pl. 54.2–3; Martin (1982) 103–14, 431–32 (nos. 5–6), pls. I.5, 12, 13, 14; Giard (1988a) 54 (nos. 131–35), pl. 8. The Tiberian coins, as well as the issue by Titus, bear on the obverse the head of Divus Augustus Pater wearing a radiate crown. 195. BMCRE II, 132 (no. 611), pl. 23.12 (71 c.e.). Cf. Giard (1998a) 189 (no. 848), pl. LXIX; 192 (nos. 878, 879, 880, 881), pl. LXXI. The Ara Providentiae disappears from the coinage after the Flavian period: see Scott (1982), especially 450–58. I thank Sarah E. Cox for pointing out that the better numismatic representations of the Ara Providentiae with decorative reliefs were in the Flavian period; see further her excellent article: Cox (2005), especially 263, comparing her figs. 10–11. 196. Fuchs (1969) 45–46, pl. 11. 122; BMCRE I, 271 (nos. 360–62), pl. 47.2; RIC2 I, 156, 176 (no. 418), 178 (nos. 456–61), 181 (nos. 526–31), pl. 21.458; Giard (1988a) 130–31 (nos. 112–13, 120–21), pl. 37; 135 (no. 150), 136 (no. 168), pl. 39. See also Simon (1967) 9 with line drawing. Later representations on coins dating to the time of Domitian (86 c.e.) show the altar (labeled “Ara Pacis”) flanked by two togate figures capite velato (most likely statues), each holding out in the right hand a patera, indicating that they are priests (Augustus and Domitian? Vespasian and Titus?): BMCRE II, 384 (no. 391†), pl. 74.6. For some of the best representations

of this issue and others showing the Ara Pacis, see Moretti (1948) 117–18, figs. 102 (Neronian), 101 (Domitianic). For the Domitianic coin, see also Hill (1989) 65 (fig. 104). Interestingly, the Domitianic issue, unlike the Neronian coins and the Ara Pacis itself, shows standing figures (not vegetal reliefs) in the pendant panels below those representing seated figures. Scholars have consequently questioned whether this really is the Ara Pacis or another altar of peace set up by Domitian. In my opinion, the artist took artistic license in transferring to the lower half of the back of the altar the two pendant front panels of the Ara Pacis, with just the main figures of Mars (to the left) and Aeneas (to the right) being indicated. The Ara Pacis is not shown on any Augustan coinage, probably because none of the imperial mints were producing coins at the time of the altar’s dedication in 9 b.c.e. See further Sutherland (1987b) 87–88. 197. For these identifications, see Pollini (1978) 128–31. See also Galinsky (1996) 148–50, with further bibliography, and chapter V above. 198. See Eck (1993) 197 with n. 39. See also Eck et al. (1996) 44, 75–76, with commentary on lines 82–84 on 197–201; Potter (1998); Bodel (1999). For the erasure, see Kajava (1995). 199. Tac. Ann. 1.54, Hist. 2.95; Cass. Dio 56.46.1. See also Hoffman Lewis (1955) 110–20, 133–36; Scheid (1990) 252–60. 200. Both the Ara Pacis and the Ara Fortuna Redux are mentioned in RG 11–12. See Eck et al. (1996) 201. See also OCD3 1309 s.v. “Res gestae.” 201. Compare the Ara Providentiae Augustae with an Ara Adoptionis proposed by the Senate to commemorate the testamentary adoption by Augustus of Livia into the Julian house after Augustus’ death. However, Tiberius vetoed the construction of this altar and other similar honors for Livia (Tac. Ann. 1.14.3): Bodel (1999) 55. 202. Pace Eck et al. (1996) 201. The Ara Pacis, which presumably was about the same size as the Ara Providentiae, was erected between its constitutio on July 4, 13 b.c.e., and its dedication on January 30, 9 b.c.e. The delay in dedicating the Ara Pacis would probably have been caused by the time needed to set up and test the shadow cast by the obelisk of the pendant Solarium Augusti, which was dedicated in 10/9 b.c.e. On this matter, see Buchner (1982) 49–50, who estimates that it would have taken about one and a half years to erect the Ara Pacis itself.



203. For this coin type, see n. 194 above. 204. For the issue of 22–23 c.e.: BMCRE I, 130 (nos. 74–75), pl. 23.17; Giard (1988a) 45 (nos. 50–51), pl. 3. 205. See, e.g., Torelli (1982) 68, III. 14 with caption. The statue that Tacitus mentions (Ann. 3.64) and its proximity to the Theater of Marcellus are confirmed by epigraphical evidence; namely, the Fasti Praenestini (Inscr. Ital. XIII.3, 477) and the Acta Fratrum Arvalium (CIL VI.2028: for May 24, 38 c.e.), but there is no way to determine if it was in fact the one represented on the Tiberian sestertii in question. Cf. BMCRE I, cxxxiv, which does not associate the seated figure of Augustus on the coinage of 22–23 c.e. with either the statue that Livia set up near the theater or the radiate head. 206. Fuchs (1969) 44, 80, 100–101, pl. 9.107 also takes this altar to be the Ara Providentiae. In an analogous situation, statues of Salus Publica, Concordia, and Pax may have been set up by Augustus in the vicinity of the Ara Pacis in 11 b.c.e. Although Cassius Dio (54.35.2) does not indicate where these statues were located, Ovid (Fast. 3.881–82) connects Concordia and Romana Salus with the Ara Pacis, thereby suggesting some association of Dio’s three statues and the Ara Pacis. We already know from the inscription mentioning Piso (see above with n. 198) that a statue of Germanicus was set up near the Ara Providentiae Augustae in the Campus Agrippae. Gradel (2002) 185 believes that the altar and statue on the coin were in front of the Theater of Marcellus and that here the Arvals sacrificed in connection with the dedication of Augustus’ statue (see caption to his fig. 7.3A). However, such an altar would have been small, not the monumental one that appears to be represented. 207. See, e.g., the approximately 1.20 m high head of Octavian/Augustus (heavily restored) probably from the Aventine and now in the Cortile della Pigna in the Vatican (mus. inv. 5137): Kreikenbom (1992) 175–76 (cat. III 32), pl. 9a–b; Boschung (1993a) 119–20 (cat. 25), pl. 30; Ruck (2007) 56, 279 (cat. 4). For colossal statues of Roman leaders and Caesars, see in general Kreikenbom (1992) 39–109; for the City of Rome itself, see Ruck (2007). See also Hallett (2009). The most famous colossal bronze statue was the one of Nero that stood before his Golden House: see chapter III above with n. 111. 208. For this and other colossal statues, see Plin. HN 34.43. See also examples in chapters I–III, V, VIII–IX. 209. The Ara Providentiae Augustae could not have been erected to commemorate Sejanus’ execution

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because the altar is already mentioned in the official decree of 20 c.e. (cf. Martin [1982] 108–15). In connection with the execution of Sejanus, statues were also set up to the providentia of Tiberius: ILS 157 (Umbria) and 158 (Gortyn, Crete) = Ehrenberg and Jones (1976) 65 (nos. 51 and 52). 210. For the evidence, see the index in Scheid (1998) 376 s.v. “Providentia.” 211. See Coarelli (1983) 42, plan on 43 and (1997) 553, fig. 140. Since the northern border of the Campus Agrippae is at the modern Via delle Vite, the Ara Providentiae would have been just within the northern boundary of the Campus Agrippae in the area of S. Silvestro. For the northern confines of the Campus Agrippae, see Scheid and Broise (1980) 232 with n. 24. The tufa foundations of the Ara Pacis were discovered under the Palazzo Fiano (Almagià) near the Via in Lucina. For the Ara Pacis, see Buchner (1982) 338–41; LTUR IV (1999) 70–74 s.v. “Pax Augusta, ara”; Haselberger et al. (2002) 189 s.v. “Pax Augusta, Ara.” See also Torelli (1992), who ties together all these monuments into a coherent imperial ideological program under Aurelian in the third century. He believes with good reason that Aurelian erected the so-called Arco di Portogallo, which employs on its piers two spoliated reliefs (to be found today in the Palazzo dei Conseratori) that symbolized imperial adoption, providence, piety, and apotheosis. In setting up this arch, Aurelian,

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who also added his Temple of Sol nearby, further linked together ideologically the imperial monuments on either side of the Via Lata in the Campus Martius and Campus Agrippae. 212. My plan and aerial perspective are adapted from Buchner (1982) figs. 12 (plan), 13 (aerial perspective). 213. See chapter V above with fig. V.7a–e. 214. In addition to the obelisk of the Solarium Augusti’s casting a shadow toward the center of the Ara Pacis on Augustus’ birthday, the constitutio of the altar took place in 13 b.c.e., the fiftieth anniversary of Augustus’ birth in 63 b.c.e., while the dedicatio occurred in 9 b.c.e. on the birthday of Livia on January 30. For the evidence, see Pollini (1978) 77, 95–99 with further bibliography and chapter V above. 215. See above with n. 204. 216. Although coins can be notoriously deceptive in depicting objects in correct scale, the representation on the reverse of Tiberian sestertii (22–23 c.e.) (fig. III.16 above) of a seated statue of Divus Augustus Pater next to a smaller-scale monumental altar makes a case for the statue’s having been colossal. Such a figure might have been comparable to or even slightly larger than Pheidias’ statue of the seated Olympian Zeus, which is estimated to have been over 13 m high with its base. For the size of the Olympian Zeus, see Lapatin (2001) 80–81.

Chap ter V III

The “Insanity” of Caligula or the “Insanity” of the Jews? Differences in Perception and Religious Beliefs

can be a rather ambiguous term. It may be applied to someone who “I nsane” is clinically insane or to behavior that is unconventional or bizarre accord-

ing to a given set of normative cultural standards. Perceptions about what constitutes insanity may differ from culture to culture, as well as from period to period. Gaius Iulius Caesar Germanicus, better known to history as Caligula,1 has generally been regarded as insane, usually in the clinical sense of the word. The stories told about him by ancient sources reflect a very hostile literary tradition comprised of various anecdotes, innuendoes, and contradictory statements.2 Modern historians have often concluded that these stories—however biased—could not all be lies, especially since they go back to Caligula’s contemporaries, including eyewitnesses like Philo and Seneca who actually knew Caligula. But how reliable are even eyewitness accounts, especially by those who had an agenda? After all, “eyewitnesses” reported that Jesus appeared after his death to his disciples and others, a story that found its way into later sources and has been accepted by many Christians as true. We have similar historical testimony reported by Cassius Dio (46.2) that the Roman senator and expraetor Numerius Atticus personally witnessed Augustus ascending to heaven after his death.3 In the case of Caligula, it is difficult to corroborate even eyewitness reports when the archaeological, epigraphical, and numismatic evidence is taken into account. Modern researchers who have tried to diagnose the nature of Caligula’s presumed insanity4 have been remarkably gullible in depending on a historical tradition that was more interested in teaching moral lessons than in attempting to record historical facts objectively. In reporting some of the stories that would strain credulity, ancient biographers and historians would sometimes “cover” themselves by employing phrases like “it is handed down,” “it is said,” or “they say.” Attempts to explain some of the more outlandish behavior reported about Caligula generally fail to take into account that his ancient detractors would

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have had no qualms about not only distorting what he actually said or did but also freely inventing stories about him. The tale of Caligula’s “intention” to make his horse Incitatus a consul of Rome is an instructive example for the process whereby innuendo becomes “reality.” Suetonius reports (Calig. 55.3): [Incitatum] consulatum quoque traditur destinasse (“it is also handed down that he [Caligula] planned to make his horse Incitatus a consul”).5 He does not state that Caligula really did do that. In Robert Graves’s historical novel I, Claudius, as well as in the television series of the same name produced by the BBC, Caligula actually does make Incitatus a Roman senator.6 In all probability, what was reported in antiquity about this incident was either a total fabrication or perhaps a distortion of one of Caligula’s caustic criticisms about the Senate and its lack of any common “horse sense,” as we might say today. In any event, we should give as much credence to medical explanations of Caligula’s alleged madness, when based upon such “evidence,” as we would to such biblical myths as Moses’ miraculous parting of the Red Sea, which contemporary scientists have tried to explain as some sort of natural phenomenon.7 The parting of the Red Sea is a variant of the common ancient topos of the “narrow escape,”8 which we shall revisit later. Some art historians have even thought that insanity could be detected in Caligula’s portrait images, most notably a marble head in the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen (plate XXXIV).9 Even today, schoolchildren who visit the Ny Carlsberg are shown this head of Caligula by museum staff and asked, “Doesn’t he look crazy?”10 The somewhat odd appearance of this portrait is in fact a result of paint remaining in the iris and eyelashes of only one of his eyes. Plates XXXV–XXXVI (discussed further in the appendix to this chapter) present two slightly different polychromed versions (Versions B and C) of how the portrait might have looked originally. Such images, reflecting official models created in Rome that represented the Princeps as he wished to appear,11 were typically painted. It is my purpose here to address the meaning of insanity as it pertains to the question of Caligula’s belief in his own divinity and as understood by ancient polytheistic peoples. In this context I examine Caligula’s alleged impersonations of various gods and heroes, a charge that is often used as evidence of his madness. Particularly important is the matter of Caligula’s ostensibly planning to set up an image of himself in the Temple of the Jewish god Yahweh in Jerusalem, an action that has been taken as one of the major proofs of his insanity. In my view, this episode can be understood in another and completely new way, which serves to illustrate the differences in religious beliefs and traditions of ancient polytheistic Romans and monotheistic Jews (though it should not be assumed that all Jews were necessarily monotheistic).

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The Question of Caligula’s Insanity In his excellent study Caligula: The Corruption of Power, Anthony Barrett presents a balanced view of Caligula that helps dispel the notion that he was clinically insane.12 Yet some—apparently in the belief that where there is smoke, there must be fire—still espouse the traditional view that Caligula was in fact certifiably mad.13 I find unconvincing any attempt to draw some sort of analogy between the modern holocausts that took place in Joseph Stalin’s Russia and Adolf Hitler’s Germany and the cruel acts attributed to Caligula, especially if to imply that he was insane. Equally flawed are comparisons drawn between those who were inclined to disbelieve or dismiss as exaggerations stories about what was going on in prewar Nazi Germany (or Stalinist Russia) and scholars who are skeptical about Caligula’s cruelty and attendant madness.14 In the former case, we have documentable and corroborative evidence from those who actually suffered and bear the scars of brutality, as well as from those who did not have an agenda for “inventing” the atrocities committed in Hitler’s Germany and Stalin’s Russia. In the case of Caligula, by contrast, we do not have such proof. The fact that a story was reported some two thousand years ago does not make it any truer than a story appearing in the tabloids today. That is not to say that Caligula was not cruel or tyrannical. A penchant for cruelty toward people, as well as animals, is unfortunately part of human nature. Although many today would interpret forcing individuals to fight to the death in ancient arenas for entertainment as something abhorrent, it was obviously not regarded as such by a large segment of ancient Roman society. The slaughter of humans in the arena was seen as an effective way to rid society of criminals and captives of war, who were considered a menace to society and a threat to the social order. Holocausts have a long tradition, reflected even in the biblical story of the Hebrews’ complete destruction of the men, women, children, and animals (cherem) of the Canaanites in order to dispossess the native inhabitants of their land and destroy the images of their gods.15 Although many of the details were undoubtedly exaggerated and embroidered,16 the biblical account of the takeover of the land of Canaan was regarded as true throughout the centuries and used as a model for the destruction of others. For example, it served the early white settlers of America as a model and justification for arguably the worst holocaust in human history—that of the native peoples of the Americas.17 The biblical myth of the “Promised Land” was used by Zionists in their ethnic cleansing of Palestine both before and after the founding of the modern state of Israel.18 Torture and other heinous crimes against humanity, whether practiced openly by regimes or behind closed doors,



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whether carried out at the behest of dictators, religious zealots, or supposedly democratic governments, are generally not the work of the clinically insane but of those motivated by ideology and/or hatred toward certain groups of peoples who are perceived to be different—the so-called Other. Although it is said that Caligula could be generous and merciful, he is also characterized—and probably rightly so—as arrogant, self-important, jealous, cruel, and tyrannical. Interestingly, these traits he shared with the Jewish god Yahweh, as represented in the Old Testament. Clearly such negative character flaws are not in themselves indicative of clinical insanity. Despite the attempt of modern historians to view Caligula more rationally (what some historians would regard as “revisionist history”),19 the notion of an insane Caligula will undoubtedly live on in popular fantasy to titillate and/or perpetuate feelings of moral and cultural superiority.20 We largely owe this simplistic view to a legacy of sycophancy and calumny.21 In particular, the schizophrenic image of Caligula that we find in Suetonius is more related to the author’s biographical intent and methodology than to historical reality.22 Lacking a consistent objective approach and compartmentalizing his material per species, Suetonius creates a portrait of Caligula as “now the man, now the monster” (Calig. 22.1)23 by lumping together Caligula’s “good” deeds, followed by an aggregate of his “bad” ones. To explain the rather dramatic metamorphosis of Caligula from the wise and good Princeps who enjoyed immense popularity at the outset of his Principate to a cruel and demented monster, ancient writers sought and conveniently found a cause. Although we can probably safely dismiss the claim that Caligula’s alleged dementia was the result of aphrodisiacs supposedly administered by his wife Caesonia, the nearly fatal illness that he suffered approximately six months after he became Princeps provided the most logical—and simplistic— explanation to ancient biographers and historians. Caligula’s illness likely was the result of a sickly nature aggravated by the strain and overwhelming burden of running an empire, especially for one so young and inexperienced.24 When the whole record of his Principate is examined objectively, many of his acts after he recovered from his illness prove to be demonstrably sane, as well as practical.25 For those who subscribe to the insanity theory, these inconsistencies can always be explained away, I suppose, as passing moments of lucidity in an otherwise deranged mind. This, too, is a simplistic explanation. Caligula’s increasingly autocratic demeanor and ill treatment of members of the Senate and others close to him were precipitated by a number of factors, not least of which was fear of conspiracies, whether imaginary or real. It is understandable, for example, that during the time of his grave illness, those closest

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to him would have come up with a contingency plan for a successor if he were to die. Actions just prior to Tiberius’ death would have been fresh in Caligula’s mind and may have made him particularly suspicious of Macro, the ambitious commander of the Praetorian Guard whom Caligula forced to commit suicide. Foreseeing the immanent death of Tiberius by natural causes, Macro had logically taken measures to ensure that the army would pledge its loyalty to Caligula and that succession would be orderly.26 There were allegations that Macro had hastened Tiberius’ end when the old man supposedly showed some signs of recovering at his villa at Misenum in 37 c.e. Had Tiberius recovered, Macro’s precipitous plans for an orderly succession, which ingratiated him with Caligula at the time, might have put Macro’s own life in jeopardy, especially given Tiberius’ suspicious nature and fear of conspiracies. If Macro had actually played a role in Tiberius’ death, Caligula may have been justifiably suspicious of him during his own severe illness. Even if Macro were blameless, we can imagine that accusations would have been made against him by delatores (“traducers”), since he had acted before as “kingmaker.” No doubt there were those who envied Macro and wanted him out of the way so that they themselves could curry favor with Caligula. Although Caligula had dismissed rumors of conspiracies against him at the outset of his Principate,27 such allegations might have gained impetus after his severe illness and near death. Others who logically stood to gain in the event of Caligula’s demise—namely the young Gemellus, whom Caligula had adopted as his son, and Caligula’s father-in-law Silanus—were also suspected rightly or wrongly and forced to commit suicide.28 Under the circumstances, we can believe that after his recovery Caligula may well have uttered the words of the tragic poet Accius that were attributed to Caligula by Suetonius (Calig. 30.1): Oderint, dum metuant (“Let them hate [me] so long as they fear [me]”).29 A growing climate of fear would have guaranteed conspiracy plots, which in the end did lead to Caligula’s assassination.30 Undoubtedly fueling charges of insanity was Caligula’s rather paradoxical nature. He loved praise but seemed to have little tolerance at times for outright sycophancy—one of the reasons why he detested the Senate. Charming and quick-witted, he possessed a sharp tongue and an odd sense of humor, which at times could be dark. One telling anecdote involves a Gallic shoemaker who reportedly laughed at Caligula when he saw him uttering oracles on a lofty platform, supposedly in the guise of Jupiter (Cass. Dio 59.26.8–9). When Caligula asked him why he had laughed and what he thought Caligula to be, the Gaul replied that he considered Caligula to be a μέγα παραλήρημα— figuratively translated “a load of absurd dribble.” Apparently seeing the humor in



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this observation, Caligula did the man no harm.31 In political situations, Caligula tended to favor a direct approach which was neither tactful nor prudent, but in keeping with his character. For example, in reproaching Flavius Vespasianus for his failure as aedile to keep the city’s alleys free of muck and mire, Caligula is said to have ordered that mud be flung on his toga (Cass. Dio 59.12). Interestingly, among historians, the more reliable but hardly unbiased Tacitus does not specifically say that Caligula was insane. Instead, he characterizes him as ingenio mobili (“fickle by nature”) (Agr. 13), which would also explain the comment Tacitus makes (Ann. 13.3) that Caligula’s turbata mens (“turbulent mind”) did not impair his power of speech. In short, Caligula’s actions could be viewed as irrational. Caligula’s traits of being emotional, petulant, or subject to uncontrolled outbursts may have been in part inherited from his parents. His father, Germanicus, had acted rashly at times, while his mother, Agrippina Maior, was known for her arrogance and sharp tongue—personality flaws that ultimately led to her demise.32 What ancient authors considered to be insanity or insane behavior is subject to interpretation depending on context and the motives of the individuals writing, as well as preconceived ideas and established topoi regarding stereotypical tyrants.33 Many of Caligula’s seemingly irrational actions may simply be chalked up to his youth and inexperience in governing. Some of his views of the world and politics would have been conditioned by the cynical and reclusive Tiberius, who undoubtedly lectured Caligula on governing and lamented the pathetic and sycophantic nature of the Senate, a body that Tiberius despised so much that he did not grace it with his presence for the last ten years of his Principate. Dio (59.16.4–5) reports that in a speech to the Senate criticizing and chastising them, Caligula mentioned Tiberius’ admonitions to him about the Senate. That Caligula was an attentive student of Tiberius is perhaps reflected in a twisted saying about Caligula reported by Suetonius (Calig. 10.2): nec servum meliorem ullum nec deteriorem dominum fuisse (“no one had been a better slave or a worse master”).34 Although apparently an excellent student and an accomplished public speaker, Caligula lacked practical experience in holding important political offices and exercising power under Tiberius.35 When Caligula was cast upon the world stage, he misused his unlimited authority and, in the end, would have to answer for his actions and arrogance. His assassination was undoubtedly orchestrated by members of the Senate, who conspired with certain members of his Praetorian Guard. Many of the stories told about Caligula and his supposed madness were also seized upon by a Judeo-Christian tradition eager to promulgate the image of Jews, as well as Christians, as innocent victims persecuted by “evil tyrants”

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and by others who failed to recognize and believe in their one “true” god. The accounts of the two principal Jewish sources on Caligula—Philo, who was a contemporary of Caligula, and Josephus, who wrote some twenty-five years later—are biased and replete with this sort of moralizing and “victim mentality.” To them, Caligula was a hater of Jews who was out to destroy them as a people. The common term used by both authors in referring to Caligula is μανία (mania). However, even this word need not mean insanity in a clinical sense. It has several meanings, including that which is prophetic, telestic (or ritualistic), poetic, and erotic.36 The word μανία generally denotes a state of inspired ecstasy, frenzy, fanaticism, enthusiasm, or passion, when the normal order of things is inverted. It is precisely in this sense that Suetonius uses the word insania when he gives examples of Caligula’s excessive passions (Calig. 55): Quorum vero studio teneretur, omnibus ad insaniam favit (“He favored to the point of senseless extravagance [insania] all those to whom he clung with passion”). Mania is related to the notion of λύττα/λύσσα (“rage/fury”), another term employed to describe Caligula. Mania might also be characterized by impassioned outbursts or gesticulation. This state of being is sometimes likened to drunkenness, for which reason the inebriated followers of Dionysos are sometimes said to be seized with Dionysiac mania.37 Suetonius characterizes Caligula in the same way after recounting a list of his extravagant behaviors: Ita bacchantem atque grassantem (“Thus while he was acting frantically and out of control”). Mania could even be used to describe Caligula’s passionate addiction to the circus, theater, singing, and dancing and may also embrace the notion of ὕβρις (hubris) in the traditional sense of the Greek word.38 In fact, it is specifically in this sense of ὕβρις that Caligula’s hatred of the Jews was said to be manifest. The words used by Josephus (AJ 19.1) are εἰς . . . Ἰουδαίους . . . τῆς ὕβρεως τὴν μανίαν (“the passion of his insolence/violence against the Jews”). Philo (Leg. 132)39 employs the same terms, μανία and λύττα, to describe the Greeks when they attacked the Jews of Alexandria,40 yet both words could equally be used to describe the Jews themselves in their actions taken against others, especially when impelled by religious fanaticism. For example, at a site now known as Tel Dor, Hasmonean Jews around 100 b.c.e. may have wantonly destroyed various Greek polytheistic images, possibly including a magnificent mosaic from a second-century b.c.e. temple.41 It was because of Jewish religious mania that the Romans considered Judaism, like its later offspring Christianity, to be not a religion, but a superstitio, literally that which stands above or beyond proper religio.42 Even Josephus (e.g., BJ 5.396, 407) recognized the mania of the Jews and how things ended badly for them because of their “insane” behavior.43 A hateful and contemptuous attitude toward non-Jews was not part of Judaism’s



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religio (i.e., cult worship) but appeared in its theosophy, as expressed in its holy scriptures, the Bible. For the Romans, religio was literally a “reciprocal bond” between man and gods, in the nature of a legal contract. As Cicero defined it, religio is also cultus deorum (the care/nurturing of the gods), and in this respect the Romans surpassed all nations (Nat. D. 2.8): Et si conferre volumus nostra cum externis, ceteris rebus aut pares aut etiam inferiores reperiemur, religione id est cultu deorum multo superiores (“And if we compare our national character with those of other nations, we will find that we are either equal or inferior in other things, but in religion—that is, in the care/nurturing of the gods—we are superior by far”). This was not a rhetorical flourish on the part of Cicero, for the gods, in keeping with their part of the contractual arrangement, had indeed given the Romans hegemony over a vast empire. Moreover, proper religio (that is, polytheistic religion) did not impel men to commit insolent, outrageous, and violent acts on behalf of some god or gods. When polytheists acted belligerently, it was usually a reaction to attacks on their religion or social/family values. According to Philo (Leg. 353), Caligula himself called the Jews θεομισεῖς (“god-haters”), because they did not recognize the divinity that he possessed. The most common charges leveled by non-Jews at Jews were those of ἀμιξία (amixia, the unwillingness to mix with other peoples) and μισαανθρωπία (misanthropia, a hatred of the human race),44 as well as ἀσέβεια (asebeia, impiety) and ἀθεότης (atheism), because the majority of Jews not only denied the existence of the gods of other peoples but also despised them. Little wonder that such “atheistic” Jews—and later “atheistic” Christians—were reviled by their polytheistic neighbors.45 The concept of the Jews as “the chosen people”46 was not persuasive to their ancient contemporaries, since there had never been a great Jewish nation— demonstrable proof that their god was not all-powerful, contrary to what Jews claimed. As recent research has argued, even the notion of David and Solomon as great kings was probably an exaggerated construct to magnify individuals who were little more than minor and rather disreputable tribal chieftains.47 Jews themselves were hard put to explain why—if their god were omnipotent and the only “true” one—they often ended up being the conquered rather than the conquerors. In antiquity, victory was directly based on divine favor, a sentiment that has endured through the centuries in the battle cry “God is with us.” Jews, however, could always rationalize their suffering at the hands of others by creating and promoting a belief that their god was angry with them for some reason, usually for impiety and falling away from a path of righteousness or demonstrating a lack of obedience to Yahweh.48 A similar mindset is reflected in

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televangelist Jerry Falwell’s assertion that “pagans, abortionists, feminists, gays, the ACLU, and People for the American Way” were responsible for his god’s allowing the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon on 9/11.49 The Nature of Caligula’s Divinity According to the ancient tradition, among the clearest signs of Caligula’s insanity were his desire to be worshiped as a god and his alleged belief in his own divinity.50 Although the sources mention that Caligula impersonated heroes and gods, only Philo and Cassius Dio (who may have been following Philo) connect this activity with a desire actually to be a god.51 Philo claims that Caligula first impersonated the demigods Dionysos, Herakles, and the Dioskouroi, who had mortal mothers, and then progressed to impersonating deities regarded as wholly divine, such as Hermes, Apollo, and Ares.52 Cassius Dio includes in this list even the king of the gods.53 Philo offers lengthy descriptions of each of these impersonations in order to demonstrate that Caligula lacked the virtues traditionally attributed to these demigods and gods and to provide further evidence for Caligula’s mania and his reason for hating the Jews, who alone did not believe in his divinity. The claim that Caligula impersonated various divinities was more likely a distortion of his efforts at pantomime performed in a private context54 than an expression of his desire to be a particular god. Nor do passages that mention Caligula’s wearing female or effeminate clothing, like silk garments, reveal that he was a transvestite, as has sometimes been claimed.55 Pantomime was a form of theatrical performance in which a sole actor would not speak but dance, playing a multiplicity of roles wearing the masks and dress of various heroes and heroines, gods and goddesses, and fabulous beasts, while musicians played and an individual or chorus sang—an ancient forerunner of modern ballet.56 Suetonius, for example, specifically says that Caligula most passionately pursued the theatrical arts of singing and dancing (scaenicas saltandi canendique artes studiossime appeteret) (Calig. 11) and that he performed as a singer and dancer (cantor et saltator) (Calig. 54.1). Intimations of his playacting are reflected in his dressing up in a wig and long robes at night and his dancing and singing during his time on Capri with Tiberius (Suet. Calig. 11).57 Suetonius also reports (Calig. 11.2) that Tiberius encouraged Caligula’s passion for these artes in order to soften the young man’s “savage” nature: si per has mansuefieri posset ferum eius ingenium. If Tiberius did in fact encourage Caligula, it was most likely to keep Caligula from becoming bored in the highly restricted environment on Capri. Acting roles would also explain ancient comments about his impersonating various gods and heroes. Suetonius (Calig. 52), for example,



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mentions Caligula’s wearing a golden beard and holding in his hand a thunderbolt, trident, or caduceus or dressing up in the garb of Venus, Juno, or Artemis. Philo likens Caligula’s impersonations in two instances to theatrical performances: εἶθ’ ὥσπερ ἐν θεάτρῳ σκευὴν ἄλλοτε ἀλλοίαν ἀνελάμβανε, τοτὲ μὲν λεοντῆν καὶ ῥόπαλον, ἀμφότερα ἐπίχρυσα, διακοσμούμενος εἰς Ἡρακλέα, τοτὲ δὲ πίλους ἐπὶ τῆς κεφαλῆς, ὁπότε ἄσκοιτο εἰς Διοσκούρους· ἔστι δὲ ὅτε κιττῷ καὶ θύρσῳ καὶ νεβρίσιν εἰς Διόνυσον ἠσκεῖτο. (Leg. 79) Thereupon, just as if in a theater, he assumed different sorts of costumes at different times, sometimes a lion skin and club, both with gold overlay, adorning himself in the manner of Herakles, sometimes ovoid hats on his head when he dressed like the Dioskouroi; then again with ivy, thyrsos and a fawn skin when he dressed in the manner of Dionysos.

and ὁ δὲ ὥσπερ ἐπὶ σκηνῆς ἐναλλάττων πολυειδῆ προσωπεῖα φαντασίαις ψευδέσιν ἠπάτα τοὺς ὁρῶντας. (Leg. 111) Just as one puts on in turn different sorts of masks on the stage, he [Caligula] would deceive those watching with his false appearances.

In the last comment, Philo uses the phrase ὥσπερ . . . ἐναλλάττων πολυειδῆ προσωπεῖα (“just as one would put on in turn different sorts of masks”), which implies pantomime, since the pantomimus, who alone played all the parts, constantly had to change into the masks and dress of the different characters he played. Therefore, Philo’s comparison of Caligula’s impersonations of divinities to theatrical performances was most likely in reality a twisted view of Caligula’s passion for performing as a pantomimus. Pantomimes may also explain some of the claims that Caligula debauched numerous women, including his own sisters. Besides the charge of incest, a common enough topos employed for character-assassination,58 Cassius Dio (59.26.5) specifically makes the claim that Caligula seduced numerous women and his sisters in the context of his impersonating Zeus, who in myth seduced many females and even had an incestuous relationship with his sister/wife Hera.59 It is not difficult to see how this sort of pantomime could have lent itself to

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situations in which Caligula showed off his often acerbic wit. Suetonius (Calig. 33) reports that Caligula once stood next to a statue of Jupiter and asked the tragic actor Apelles who was greater. This suggests a possible theatrical context, perhaps while Caligula was taking a break from one of his performances dressed up in his Jupiter costume. It is also significant that Suetonius (Calig. 33) included this story as an example of one of Caligula’s jokes (inter varios iocos).60 The ancient sources certainly testify to Caligula’s almost fanatical passion for theater and actors, whom he often had in his company even when traveling.61 It is understandable that such thespian indulgences in private contexts would have been distorted by his detractors and passed on in an uncritical and hostile literary tradition. Even Caligula’s dressing the part of goddesses in acting would not have been at all unusual for male actors.62 Since women were not allowed to perform in tragedies, comedies, farces, and pantomimes, male actors in mask and costume played the part of goddesses and heroines.63 Besides silk garments and women’s cloths, Caligula is said to have sometimes worn the cothurnus and womanish soccus. In reality, he might have worn these shoes when performing various dramatic roles, for the cothurnus (κόθορνος) was the high-soled buskin boot of tragedy; the soccus, the low-style shoe of comedy.64 As for the charge of wearing silk garments, which were regarded as effeminate (Suet. Calig. 52; Tac. Ann. 2.33), such clothing was worn by pantomimes.65 As in a modern ballet, these flowing garments would have allowed the body freedom in dancing, while complementing the beauty of various movements and gestures. Moreover, it is said that Caligula often wore cloaks embroidered with gems (saepe depictas gemmatasque indutus paenulas) or long-sleeved tunics and bracelets (manuleatus et armillatus),66 all of which would be typical dress for pantomimi.67 Although this type of wardrobe might remind us of a Liberace-style performer, donning such extravagant dress was not an act of madness per se but a manifestation of Caligula’s excessive passion for pantomime. What would have been shocking— at least to the conservative aristocratic society of Rome—was Caligula’s debasement of his dignitas by dancing and acting, activities too servile and vulgar for an aristocrat,68 even if practiced in private. Suetonius’ comment (Calig. 54.2)69 that on the day of his death Caligula was preparing to appear for the very first time on the stage—that is, the public stage—indicates that Caligula’s performances had been conducted in private.70 However, the claim that he was about to perform in public is nothing more than innuendo. For many raised in a Judeo-Christian tradition, it is difficult to accept that any mortal could see himself as divine; hence, it is logical to suppose that anyone believing himself to be somehow divine must surely be insane or at least



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afflicted with a severe case of self-delusional megalomania. Even the imperial cult—that is, the cult of the divinity of the leader—has generally not been taken seriously by modern scholarship as an expression of true religious belief and sentiment. Instead, the imperial cult has been regarded as little more than a tool to foster loyalty to a leader and his political system.71 Such a point of view, however, reflects a modern monotheistic Western cultural bias with regard to other people’s gods and belief systems. Much the same might be said of the Christian religion, which focuses on an individual whose “official” deification came only long after his death72 and whose worship was much influenced by various ancient polytheistic religions, including the imperial cult. For the majority of the polytheistic peoples of antiquity, it would probably have been far easier to believe in the divinity of a noble-born Princeps or king than of a low-born carpenter who came from a backward country village (pagus) like Nazareth and had suffered crucifixion, a form of execution reserved for slaves and common criminals.73 Today people tend to think of Judaism and Christianity as monolithic, but just as many different religious sects in the modern world do not necessarily agree theologically with one another, in the ancient world there were different forms of Judaism and Christianity, so we should really speak of Judaisms and Christianities.74 Likewise, individual Jews and Christians in antiquity ran the gamut from those who were only nominally Jews or Christians in their beliefs to those who were fanatical. Despite the monotheism on which both later orthodox Judaism and Christianity are based, not all ancient Jews or Christians, especially converts to those religions, were even exclusively monotheistic.75 The boundaries between Judaism and polytheism, between Christianity and polytheism, and between Judaism and Christianity could be very fluid at times.76 Some Jews desirous of Greek citizenship participated in the worship of the gods, pursued Greek education and customs, participated in the ephebate, which involved athletic exercise in the nude, and even underwent a procedure to reverse their circumcision.77 As for Christians, Augustine, bishop of Hippo, was not pleased that some Christians of his day (in the late fourth–early fifth century) continued to worship other gods, an indication that polytheistic or henotheistic trends were still strong in Christianity.78 Some Christian converts, concluding that Christianity was not what it claimed to be, gave it up altogether, as Pliny the Younger records (Ep. 10.96.6). Many past misunderstandings about the nature of divinity and the religions of the polytheistic peoples of antiquity stem from a monotheistic conviction that the beliefs of other peoples are untrue, mythical, strange, even demonic. Yet, mutatis mutandis, the religious customs of both Jews and Christians, including

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especially Jewish dietary prohibitions, would have seemed odd, foolish, or even insane to many of their polytheistic neighbors.79 For example, Philo reports (Leg. 367) that Caligula said the following when taking leave of the embassy of Alexandrian Jews: οὐ μονηροὶ μᾶλλον ἢ δυστυχεῖς εἶναί μοι δοκοῦσιν ἄνθρωποι και ανόητοι μὴ πιστεύοντες, ὅτι θεοῦ κεκλήρωμαι φύσιν (“They seem to me not to be so much knaves as unfortunate and foolish in not believing that by fate I have come to possess the nature/essence of a god”). Although this statement is not commented on in the scholarly literature, it is extremely important because, by Philo’s own words, Caligula does not say that he is a living god but that he possesses the “nature/essence of a god.” Theologically speaking, this means that when fate chose him to become Princeps, he acquired a divine essence that worked through him. When looked at in light of ancient polytheistic belief systems, Caligula’s understanding of the nature/essence of his divinity could hardly be regarded as insane. Like all of Rome’s other principes, Caligula was considered to possess a dual nature, at the same time human and divine. It was not his mortal but his divine element that was commonly worshiped throughout the Empire. As discussed in previous chapters, all Roman males possessed a genius, a divine spirit/force imbued with procreative powers. The focus of the cult of the home was centered around the worship of the genius of the paterfamilias.80 After Caligula became Princeps and Pater Patriae,81 his Genius became greater than that of any other Roman male.82 Unlike the traditional bloodless sacrifice to the genius of the Roman paterfamilias, to which wine, flowers, and incense were usually offered, the Genius of the Princeps received in state ceremonies the sacrifice of a taurus (uncastrated bull), a potent symbol of the Princeps’ divine procreative power (see further chapter VII).83 In this form of worship, as well as in the loyalty oaths sworn by his Genius (Suet. Calig. 27.3), Caligula followed the tradition of his predecessor Augustus, although at first Caligula forbade sacrifice to his own Genius.84 Like Augustus and Tiberius, Caligula also possessed sacrosanctitas (“sacrosanctity”/“personal inviolability”) by virtue of his tribunicia potestas (“tribunician power”).85 Official monuments and inscriptions provide no evidence lending validity to the allegation that Caligula claimed to be a living god. In representing himself on his official coinage he did not even revert to Augustus’ official pre-Principate numismatic imagery, in which he (then Octavian) was represented, for example, like the god Neptune, seminude and holding one of the god’s divine attributes, the aplustre (stern ornament of a ship) (fig. ii.3).86 All of Caligula’s images on official state coinage have a noticeable absence of divine trappings, divine guise, or any other sign of the megalomania attributed to him by an



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Fig. viii.1. Sestertius (obv.: head of Caligula wearing laurel wreath), 37–38 c.e. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and Classical Numismatic Group

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extremely hostile literary tradition.87 Although Caligula supposedly saw himself like Jupiter,88 the king of the gods does not even appear on Caligula’s coinage, which has very conservative imagery. Caligula is represented on his coinage as a dignified and pious leader, carrying out the appropriate duties of Princeps. Thus, he is shown like his predecessors on numismatic obverses with or without laurel crown (fig. viii.1) or on reverses as togate and sometimes with head veiled (capite velato) as a sign of his piety (pietas). For example, he appears togate addressing his troops on a sestertius of 40–41 c.e. (fig. ii.34)89 and capite velato on a sestertius of 37–38 c.e. offering sacrifices to the deified Augustus (plate VI).90 Caligula’s official image—in toga or military dress—is often reflected in surviving sculptural portraits of him that were set up in public and in private throughout the Roman Empire.91 The charge of regarding oneself as a god was a topos for evil tyrants; hence the assertion that Domitian also demanded to be called dominus et deus (“master and god”), a claim that is not borne out by the official numismatic and epigraphical record.92 From the normative perspective of ancient polytheism and the growing tendencies in the early imperial period toward a more openly monarchical system of government, Caligula’s actions do not seem so bizarre or exceptional, especially by comparison with those of his successors, including the later so-called good emperors.93 In some regards, to be sure, Caligula broke new ground. For example, he introduced sacrifices of exotic birds in the cult of his Numen (Suet. Calig. 22.3; Cass. Dio 59.28.6).94 He was also the first to see to the deification of a woman: his much-loved sister Drusilla after her death in 38 c.e.95 If an individual regarded Caligula or any other head of the Roman State as somehow divine or as a “personal savior” (soter/conservator), that was entirely a private view or belief.96 The voting of divine honors to him, as well as to his predecessors, reflected a long-standing tradition of veneration of leaders by many peoples of the Empire. Even in those cases, the offering of divine honors was not the same as worshiping an individual as a living god. It is often said that Caligula was the first to set up a temple to himself in Rome (templum etiam numini suo proprium) (Suet. Calig. 22.3),97 its presumed cult statue being a golden portrait statue (simulacrum aureum iconicum) of himself dressed in the same clothes that he wore on a daily basis.98 The dressing of cult figures in clothing had a long history in antiquity and has survived, for example, in Catholicism, especially in the cult of the Madonna.99 The temple in question was not erected on Caligula’s own authority but was voted by the Senate, though he seems to have paid for it himself.100 It is important to note that this was not a shrine to Caligula as a living person but to his Numen

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(numini suo proprium), which is significantly different from his mortal being.101 The numen, a divine force similar to but technically not the same as the genius,102 appears to be less definable than the genius. As discussed in chapter VII, the public—though not official—worship of the Genius of the Princeps at Rome originated with Augustus. Libations were poured to the Genius Augusti at all public and private banquets beginning in 30 b.c.e. (Cass. Dio 51.19.7).103 Between 12 and 7 b.c.e. the traditional Republican cult of the Lares Compitales (Lares of the Crossroads [compita]) was reorganized by Augustus,104 with his familial Lares being added at that time to the worship of the Lares Publici. Statuettes of the Lares Augusti and of the Genius Augusti, which was also venerated in the new cult,105 were set up with Lares altars in each of the many vici of the City.106 Likewise going back to the Augustan period is the veneration of the Princeps’ Numen, with Tiberius setting up the Ara Numinis Augusti (“Altar of the Numen of Augustus”) in Rome while Augustus was still alive.107 Like an aedes (temple building), an altar was a templum, a place consecrated by augural rites.108 The temple that was set up to Caligula’s Numen in Rome therefore merely marks another step forward in surrounding the living Princeps with a divine aura. Even the conservative Seneca in his de Consolatione ad Polybium (12.3) speaks reverently of Claudius’ Numen.109 In effect, then, the human Princeps was not himself conceived as divine; rather, divinity was regarded as inherent in the Principate. As for the difference between worshiping the Genius and the Numen of the Princeps, the genius of Roman males was considered external to the person (like a comes, or companion) and similar to a divine guiding spirit, while the numen was a divine power or force (vis divina), the very essence of what divinity is.110 In strict theological terms, then, the “divinity” of the Princeps does not refer to the mortal man but rather to the Numen working through the human Princeps. Caligula probably was speaking of his Numen in his comment to the Jews, as reported by Philo: θεοῦ κεκλήρωμαι φύσιν (“by fate I had come to possess the nature/essence of divinity”). Logically, if a Princeps were already a god in life, how could he become a divinity after death? As noted in previous chapters, when the consul designatus Anicius Cerialis voiced his opinion in the Senate that a temple should be built to Nero as divus, the proposal was vetoed by Nero, who was no doubt concerned that it might be taken as a bad omen foreshadowing his own death. As Tacitus points out (Ann. 15.74), this honor was reserved for a Princeps only after his death. There are other differences, too, between genius and numen. The genius of a man was commonly given corporeal form and is therefore often portrayed in Roman art as an ideal human, togate and with head veiled (capite velato),



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Fig. viii.2a. Statue of the Genius of Caligula from Puteoli, Pergamonmuseum, Berlin. Photo by author Fig. viii.2b. Head of Genius of Caligula from Puteoli, Pergamonmuseum, Berlin. Photo by author

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carrying a cornucopia and usually a patera.111 This manner of representation is particularly found with the imperial Genius. For example, an over life-size marble togate statue carrying a cornucopia from Puteoli (Pozzuoli) in the Pergamonmuseum in Berlin (fig. viii.2a)112 has been recognized in the past as an imperial Genius of the early Principate because of its size, but scholars have not been able to determine whose Genius it represents because of its overly generalized facial features (fig. viii.2b).113 This sort of idealization, which is exactly what we would expect for the figure of an imperial Genius, is paralleled in a colossal statue of the Genius of Augustus from Puteoli now in the Vatican’s Museo Pio Clementino (fig. i.4a–b).114 In my opinion, the Genius in Berlin can be identified as that of Caligula by the iconographical arrangement of hair locks over the forehead. The configuration resembles that of Caligula’s chief portrait type, as exemplified by an image from Gortyn (Crete) in the Heraklion Archaeological Museum (fig. viii.3).115 In both the Berlin

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Genius and the Gortyn portrait, the fringe of hair forks in the center of the forehead and forms one pincer over the right eye and a partial pincer over the left temple. Supporting my proposed identification of the Berlin Genius is the fact that it was found near the area where Caligula built a bridge between Puteoli and Baiae in 39 c.e.116 And though we have no information as to the context in which this Genius was originally set up, it is represented in an appropriate manner, wearing a toga drawn up over the head and the high-laced boots of a Roman patrician. This manner of representation is in accord with Caligula’s generally conservative imagery for works of an official nature. I know of only one image in Roman art that can be specifically identified as the Numen of a Princeps. It is a provincial cuirassed bust of Caracalla in the Musée Archéologique de Philippeville (fig. viii.4), which was later identified in its altered inscription as the Numen of Constantine.117 The inscription reads as follows: NVMINI CONSTANTISAN CTISSIMI ET INVICTISSIMI

Fig. viii.3. Portrait of Caligula from agora of Gortyn, Heraklion Archaeological Museum, Crete. Photo by author

To the Numen of Constantine, the most sacred and unconquerable

The second line of the inscription has clearly been altered. The name of Antoninus (i.e., Caracalla) was eradicated and the name of Constantine inscribed.118 Unlike what we find in many other reworked imperial images, there was no attempt in this case to recut the facial features of Caracalla into those of Constantine.119 Since this is a provincial sculpture of little artistic merit, it probably did not matter to the owner that the physiognomic features did not resemble those of Constantine.120 Thus, it became more of a symbolic portrait of Constantine. What was of primary importance for worship was not



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Fig. viii.4. Bust of the Numen of Caracalla, Musée Archéologique de Philippeville, altered to the Numen of Constantine. From Blanck (1969) pl. 4a

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so much the individual as the holder of the Principate, whoever that might be, and the concept of imperial rule. The numen itself was probably rarely represented in Roman art because of its animistic nature. The gods themselves and inanimate things possessed a numen.121 In Latin prose and poetry, the gods are even referred to as numina.122 In this sense, the Roman concept of the numen of a god was like the invisible nature/essence of the Jewish god, at least after the Jews had given up representing Yahweh in the form of a man-bull or bullock.123 Since the god/goddess and his/her numen were for all practical purposes one and the same, a separate iconography for the numen was probably considered superfluous. That being the case, what would the golden image of Caligula set up in the temple of his Numen have looked like? As already noted, the image is described by Suetonius (Calig. 22.3) as a simulacrum .  .  . aureum iconicum (golden portrait statue).124 Unlike his Genius, whose facial features are generalized and idealized almost beyond the point of recognition, the Numen of Caligula clearly bore his distinctive physiognomic features,125 as in the case of the cuirassed bust of the Numen of Caracalla in the Musée Archéologique de Philippeville. The dressing up of the statue of Caligula’s Numen in the same clothes that he himself wore on a daily basis would have presented the viewer with a divine Doppelgänger-like image. This statue would therefore have been a novelty that owed its inventiveness to the creative mind of Caligula. As evidence for his mania, Caligula was also charged in the ancient sources with impiety for giving orders that images of the gods that were famous for their sanctity or artistic merit be brought from Greece to Rome to decorate his homes and gardens throughout Italy (Suet. Calig. 22.2; Joseph. AJ 19.7–8). If true, such behavior could hardly have been a sign of insanity, since “importing” images of gods, whether great works of art or not, had a long tradition in antiquity. Yet it is in this very context that Caligula is charged with planning not only to have Pheidias’ famous statue of Olympian Zeus set up in a temple on the Palatine but also to have the statue’s head replaced with a portrait of himself. Suetonius (Calig. 22) and Cassius Dio (59.28.3) add this further detail about his supposed intention to replace the god’s head.126 In examining these allegations, we should remember that impietas was one of the classic topoi attributed to the stereotypical “evil tyrant.”127 Except for Suetonius’ comment on Caligula’s desire to have statues famous for their sanctity or artistic worth, no specific works other than

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the statue of Olympian Zeus are mentioned as having had their heads replaced with his portrait. That is not to say, however, that in certain cases Caligula’s head may not have been substituted for that of heroes or gods in famous works of art. It would not have been the first or last instance of an old masterpiece of Greek art undergoing this sort of honorific substitution. In two notable examples cited in chapter IV, the face or head of Alexander the Great in a bronze equestrian statue by Lysippos was replaced with the physiognomy of Julius Caesar (Stat. Silv. 1.1.84– 85), and Alexander’s portrait in two paintings by Apelles was painted over with the facial features of Augustus (Plin. HN 35.94). Although we do not know the circumstances or the period in which the equestrian image of Alexander with the face of Julius Caesar was set up in the Forum Iulium (fig. IV.3), we do know that painting the features of Augustus on the head of Alexander in the works by Apelles in the Forum Augustum (plate III) did not take place until some time after the death and deification of Augustus. The command for alteration of these publicly displayed paintings came from Claudius, so the act could be construed as official. Such honorific substitutions might even have been carried out by Greeks themselves in the hope of garnering imperial favors and benefactions from the honoree.128 Claims that Caligula had ordered the replacement of heads of divinities in sacred or old masterpieces with his own portrait should be considered in context. The representation of Caligula looking like a particular male hero or god would not in itself have been unusual, since the practice of combining a portrait head with a newly made ideal Greco-Roman body type of a god or hero (“Idealplastik”) was a long established tradition.129 As indicated in chapter II, Augustus had been so represented in nonofficial state contexts during his lifetime and in both private and official settings after his death. Such images could serve as visual similes, likening the individual to a hero or god or suggesting qualities of a hero or god that he possessed. Setting up such works in the private context of Caligula’s homes or villas or by others would also not have been unusual. At Claudius’s private villa at Punta Epitaffio at Baiae, an image of his mother, Antonia Minor, appearing like Venus Genetrix was set up with statues of various divinities in his nymphaeum.130 Rather than asserting a claim that Antonia is Venus, this sort of Venusian imagery makes reference to Antonia’s fertility, which had resulted in the felicitous birth of Claudius and his brother Germanicus. Thus, Antonia could be likened to Venus, mother of the Roman race and ancestral goddess of the Julian house. Similarly, the famous image of Commodus wearing the skin of the Nemean Lion and bearing the golden apples of the Hesperides and Hercules’ club in the



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Fig. viii.5a. Jupiterlike statue of Claudius from Lanuvium, Vatican Museum. Photo by author

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Capitoline Museum,131 a portrait that also comes from a private context, makes no claim that he is Hercules, only that he is like Hercules in that he labors on behalf of mankind.132 In the case of images like this, we must distinguish sharply between official and private contexts. Thus, a portrait image of Caligula with a GrecoRoman ideal body type set up in one of his private villas could not be considered part of some official policy by which he demanded to be worshiped as a god. Likewise, the public display at Lanuvium of a colossal marble image of the living Claudius (fig. viii.5a–b), now in the Vatican Museum,133 that represented him like Jupiter cannot be taken as an official statement about the Princeps on the part of the government of Rome.134 Individuals and communities throughout the Empire generally had the right to honor the Princeps in whatever way they wanted, as long as it was in a respectful manner and not official from the point of view of the Roman State.135 As for the story that Caligula desired to have the statue of Olympian Zeus brought to Rome and its head replaced with his own portrait, the fact that this was not done belies the reliability of such allegations and relegates them to the category of innuendo. Moving this colossal statue would have been difficult but not impossible, as we know from its removal to Constantinople by Christians in the Late Antique period in order to deprive the world-renowned sanctuary at Olympia of the spiritual power/force that inhabited the cult image of Zeus.136 I doubt that even Caligula would have done this. The head of Zeus could easily have been replaced with that of Caligula at Olympia, if that had been Caligula’s intention, which it clearly was not. In attempting to explain why such a plan was never carried out, the ancient sources fabricated various stories with supernatural twists (Suet. Calig. 57, Cass. Dio 59.28.3–4, Joseph. AJ 19. 8–9). Among these explanations were that Jupiter destroyed with lightning bolts the ship that was supposedly sent from Rome to Greece to transport the statue; that Jupiter’s laughter was heard when any attempt was made to dismantle the statue; and that the god’s laughter caused the scaffolding to collapse and the workmen to flee in fright. The more imaginative Josephus (AJ 19.8–10)137 came up with a “cliff-hanger” to explain why Caligula could not carry out his plan: Memmius Regulus,138 who was charged with the task, allegedly postponed moving the statue because of technical problems and serious omens. After reporting this unwelcome news to Caligula, Memmius was saved from execution only



Fig. viii.5b. Head of statue of Claudius from Lanuvium. Photo by author

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by the timely assassination of Caligula. This story is a variation of the topos of the “narrow escape” so familiar in Roman literature, whereby a person escapes destruction by the usual evil tyrant in the nick of time.139 Such stories were concocted to explain how “good men” could manage to survive and in some cases even prosper—as did Tacitus—under evil tyrants. The same topos would also be adduced as further evidence of Caligula’s impiety and mania in the account of his command to have a likeness of himself set up in the Temple of Yahweh in Jerusalem. The Statue of Caligula for the Yahweh Temple in Jerusalem The story about Caligula’s decree to have an image of himself set up in the Yahweh Temple in Jerusalem has been cited frequently as a primary example of his “insanity.” Our principal sources for this tale are Philo and Josephus,140 whose works were clearly not written sine ira et studio (“without anger and zeal”)141 and whose knack for storytelling follows a long tradition of Jewish historical fiction writing.142 In Philo and Josephus, Jews appear as innocent victims of a megalomaniacal tyrant who decided without justification to have a statue of himself erected in the holy temple.143 Some scholars have even postulated that Caligula’s command was intended to force Jews to worship him as a god, even though such behavior, if true, would have been a major departure from Roman policy and tradition.144 There is in fact no credible evidence for Caligula’s imposing his worship on any other peoples of the Empire.145 Moreover, the setting up of an image of the Princeps in the temple of a divinity does not necessarily imply cult worship of that individual. We know, for example, that Tiberius did not permit images of himself to be set up among those of the gods in temples and therefore as objects of cult worship, but only as part of the ornamenta of temples (Suet. Tib. 26.1; cf. Tac. Ann. 4.38). We can be skeptical also about Philo’s claim that the statue of Caligula was intended to represent him in the guise of the Νεός Ζεύς Ἐπιφανής (“New Zeus Epiphanes”).146 Philo may have invented this to recall the hated Antiochus IV Epiphanes, who in the second century b.c.e. sacked Jerusalem and rededicated the Yahweh Temple as a Temple to Olympian Zeus in an attempt to Hellenize Jews and turn them from their “atheistic” view of the gods of Olympus.147 Like Caligula, Antiochus IV was eccentric and called by antiAntiochus factions Ἐπιμανής (“Manic”/“Crazy”), a play on his title Ἐπιφανής (“Manifest” of a god).148 According to both Philo and Josephus, Caligula not only hated Jews but also was bent on destroying them as a people, an allegation that is not supported by the evidence.149 It would be more accurate to say that Caligula was far less

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tolerant than his predecessors when it came to fanatical Jewish behavior and gave every indication that he would punish intolerance with intolerance. His decision to set up a statue of himself in the Jewish temple was, I maintain, not a whimsical one resulting from madness but explicable in the context of the Jews’ own intolerant actions. Philo (Leg. 199–203) specifically tells us that an incident that had taken place in the coastal town of Jamnia shortly before, in the winter of 39–40 c.e.,150 prompted Caligula to command the setting up of his statue in the Yahweh Temple in Jerusalem. Josephus is silent—probably intentionally— about the cause of Caligula’s ire and his resulting decision with regard to his statue in order to cast Caligula in as bad a light as possible. Jamnia was one of the most populous towns in Judea and an imperial estate that Augustus’ wife Livia had inherited from Salome, sister of Herod the Great.151 Jamnia had a mixed population, with the majority of its inhabitants being Jewish. As was customary throughout the East, the Greeks of Jamnia set up an altar (βωμός) to the divinity of Caligula,152 but it was promptly torn down by Jews in a passionate rage that could be described as an example of mania.153 Adopting an apologetic tone, Philo (Leg. 200–203) attempts to excuse this act of desecration by saying that Greeks, whom he characterizes as subversive trouble-making Jew-haters, set up the altar not to honor Caligula but merely to injure the Jews.154 However, the outrage involving the altar was committed not because of Jews’ being compelled in any way to take part in the imperial cult, but because of their religious intolerance as a result of their attitude toward the gods of other peoples, including the gods of Rome. Quite likely inspired by biblical precedents for destroying the sacred altars, shrines, and images of other peoples’ gods155 and trusting in their superior numbers in the town, the Jews who tore down the altar obviously felt that they could commit such a reckless and lawless act with impunity. What happened at Jamnia was not only sacrilegious but also seditious, because an attack on an altar to the divinity of Caligula was in effect an affront to and an attack on the Roman State, especially since Caligula was not only Princeps but also Pater Patriae. To add insult to injury, this offense took place in a town that was part of Caligula’s personal estate. Undoubtedly because this was a crime of both asebeia (impiety) and seditio (sedition), it was reported to Caligula by the local Roman procurator C. Herennius Capito.156 Apparently Caligula felt that such an act could not go unpunished lest it set a bad precedent, especially in light of the rioting and violence that had occurred in 38–39 c.e. in Alexandria between Greeks and Jews.157 Setting up a statue of himself in the Jerusalem Temple may have seemed a particularly appropriate response in light of the Jewish tradition of “an eye for and eye, a tooth for a tooth,” though



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Augustus or Tiberius would not have done the same.158 Under them, the culpable Jews would probably have received only a strong reprimand for their actions. However, Caligula was a horse of a different color. As discussed above, a direct and bold approach was in keeping with his character. In any case, his command that a statue of himself be set up in the Jerusalem Temple would have been calculated to send a strong message that there were limits to his patience. Roman toleration and even protection of the Jews, especially from the Greeks, had always been based on Jews’ behaving in a civilized way.159 Because of serious conflicts in the accounts of Philo and Josephus, both the events and the chronology involving Caligula’s command are problematic and have resulted in scholarly debates about various details of the incident.160 Although prone to exaggeration and at times fabrication of facts, Philo was at least contemporary to the events; Josephus, writing some twenty-five years later, is sometimes confused, contradictory, and fanciful on a number of details.161 According to Philo, Caligula rescinded his order as a result of the direct intervention of Julius Agrippa, the grandson of Herod the Great of Judea.162 Caligula supposedly did this due to his close relationship with Agrippa, who was a friend of the imperial family and had known Caligula since his time with Tiberius on Capri. Undoubtedly to blacken Caligula’s memory and to negate his generous act of clemency, Philo claims (Leg. 337) that Caligula was in reality only delaying his plan to set up his statue in the Jerusalem Temple. Philo indicates that Caligula had a new statue made in Rome that he intended to sneak into the Jerusalem Temple during a trip he was planning to the East in the following year. Conveniently for Philo’s version of the story, Caligula was assassinated before that trip took place. Josephus, by contrast, mentions nothing about the scheme reported by Philo. Aware that Caligula’s rescinding of his order did not fit the picture of a madman intent on utterly destroying the Jewish people, Josephus took a different and more fanciful approach (AJ 18. 261–309; BJ 184–203).163 He produced another scenario, which required Caligula’s order to have come late in his Principate. In this way, it could be claimed that only Caligula’s assassination on January 24 of 41 c.e. prevented his statue from actually being set up in the temple.164 This version also had the merit of allowing Josephus to interpret Caligula’s assassination as proof of Yahweh’s having intervened to miraculously save the Jewish people (AJ 306, 308–309). With the story assigned to late in Caligula’s Principate, it could also be claimed that Petronius, the governor of Syria, escaped a death sentence for presumptuously writing a letter to the Princeps pleading the Jewish cause with regard to the temple. In the accounts of both Josephus and Philo,165 Petronius, though technically an agent of Rome and a

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foreign “occupier” in Jewish eyes, is made into a hero through whom Yahweh worked for the protection of the Jews.166 In purely moralizing terms, this example could be used to show that even an “enemy” could see the justice and the righteousness of the Jewish cause. As part of their rhetorical technique, Philo and Josephus therefore set up Petronius as a foil to Caligula, in much the same way Tacitus used Germanicus as a foil to Tiberius, Corbulo to Nero, and Agricola to Domitian.167 From what we know of Petronius, it is questionable whether he was in fact as pro-Jewish as Philo and Josephus make him out to be.168 Although Petronius would have wanted to prevent a Jewish rebellion and needless bloodshed, he would have had more to lose than to gain by delaying Caligula’s command. From a strategic point of view, the quicker Petronius acted, the more likely he would have been to carry out Caligula’s order—if that were indeed Caligula’s true intent! By delaying, Petronius would have jeopardized his own life and given oppositional Jews more time to organize and increase their resistance, potentially resulting in heavy losses on the Roman side. Instead, according to Philo and Josephus, Petronius not only delayed having the statue made but also parked his legions in Ptolemais on the coast while journeying inland himself to Tiberias to inform Jewish leaders of Caligula’s intentions. Petronius then pleaded with them not to oppose Caligula’s command—again according to Philo—knowing full well that those Jews prone to religious fanaticism would never agree. If Petronius knew anything about Jews,169 he would have realized that he could never reason with them on such an emotional issue. Tactically, it is doubtful that he would have put his troops in any more danger than necessary by making his orders known to the Jews ahead of time. If speed were of the essence, Petronius would not even have needed to create a new statue of Caligula, since there would have been no shortage of his statues already in existence in Syria, especially in Antioch, the seat of Petronius’ governorship.170 Modern historians have never really questioned the accounts of Philo and Josephus, who credit Petronius with the idea of delaying the creation of Caligula’s statue and then procrastinating in setting it up. But another explanation for these dilatory tactics has not been considered. I would suggest that this strategy of procrastination was not the idea of Petronius, the loyal Roman administrator, but rather part of a charade orchestrated by Caligula himself. The threat of setting up the statue would have sent a strong message designed to make Jews think twice about committing acts of asebeia and seditio in the future. Such a theory might also explain the story that Caligula was having another statue of himself made in Rome that he would slip unnoticed into the Jerusalem Temple during a trip that he was planning to the East in the near



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future. If there is a kernel of truth here, the story of the second statue might have only been a threat—an insurance policy, so to speak—should more extremist Jews not desist from their intolerance and mania in the future. The original command to set up the statue in the Jerusalem Temple, combined with the possible threat of setting up another statue at a later date, would have been in keeping with what we know of not only Caligula’s character and “innovative” approaches but also his penchant for high drama. He would not have been unaware of the consequences of his actions had he actually tried to set up his image in the Jerusalem Temple. From his long friendship with Julius Agrippa, whom he had recently appointed king of Judea, he would have known about Jewish intransigence and intolerance of other religions. Past history, the recent violence in Alexandria, and the Jews’ actions at Jamnia would only have confirmed Caligula’s opinion about Jewish extremism. It is unlikely that he would have wanted to deal with a Jewish rebellion and bloody war in the East when he was apparently still planning to invade Britain in the very near future.171 Knowing how Jews would probably react, Caligula ordered Petronius to take two legions and auxiliaries, approximately half of the Roman forces for the defense of the Mesopotamian frontier, to counter the inevitable Jewish resistance.172 Caligula knew only too well that it would take a demonstrable show of force to lend credibility to his resolve and to deter the Jews. The divine Augustus, after all, had used a similar saber-rattling ploy to get the mighty Parthian nation to make concessions and to return the standards of the legions that had been lost to Parthia in previous wars.173 Augustus even celebrated this great diplomatic success as a military victory.174 In examining the different stories constructed by Philo and Josephus to explain why Caligula rescinded his order to set up the statue, we must also wonder if King Agrippa might have been part of Caligula’s charade. After all, Agrippa was a close friend, owed his new kingdom to the Princeps, and was a conniving scoundrel to boot. If there were a Jewish rebellion, Agrippa would have had much to lose, including his kingdom. In Philo’s story (Leg. 266–75), Agrippa supposedly went into shock when he learned of Caligula’s plan, had to be carried out of the room unconscious on a stretcher, and did not come to for several days. Such histrionics were undoubtedly concocted by Philo to show the shocking depravity of Caligula’s plan, which also demonstrated the depths of his mania. But instead of going to Caligula to plead with him, as we might expect, Agrippa, according to Philo (Leg. 276–330), wrote him a long letter making a case for the Jewish cause.175 Caligula, needless to say, agreed and immediately rescinded his orders to set up the statue (Philo, Leg. 330–33). The Jews were saved and King Agrippa became a Jewish hero.

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According to Josephus’ different version of events (AJ 289–301), Agrippa threw a lavish party for Caligula, pulling out all the stops. Caligula supposedly was so taken with this gala that he unwittingly granted the sly Agrippa a boon. Agrippa asked him to rescind his order to set up the statue in the Jerusalem Temple, and Caligula this time also quickly agreed. Again, the Jews were saved and Agrippa became a Jewish hero. In either version, Caligula’s concession is a little too quick and convenient, especially after commanding that a statue of himself be made and mobilizing two legions to see to its erection. We cannot know, of course, whether or not Agrippa was part of some such plan to provide an excuse for Caligula’s reversing his decision. In any event, it is logical that Agrippa would have attempted to intercede, if for no other reason than to save his newly awarded kingdom from erupting in war. Moreover, neither Philo nor Josephus would have been privy to all of Caligula’s personal correspondence with Petronius. It is likely that Petronius knew Caligula’s real intentions, if they included a delay in making the statue, while informing the Jewish leaders about setting up the statue in the Jerusalem Temple. Going to the trouble of having an actual statue made and marching the legions to Ptolemais would have shown that Caligula was not bluffing. At the same time, Ptolemais was far enough away from Jerusalem so as not to precipitate an actual war. I feel that another piece of the puzzle can be explained in light of such a scenario. When Jewish leaders come to Petronius proposing that they send an embassy to Caligula, Petronius refuses (Philo, Leg. 239–53). Instead of allowing the Jews to send an embassy, which would have been the safer course and have provided an excellent excuse for delay, Petronius tells the Jews that he will write to Caligula, supposedly to plead the Jewish case. Perhaps the reason why Petronius was not worried about sending such a letter to Caligula, thereby risking his own position and possibly his life, was that he was in on Caligula’s real plan all along. A successful outcome, apparently as a result of Petronius’ letter, would not only put Jews in his debt but also make them grateful to Caligula for rescinding his order. Moreover, Jews could credit their god for softening Caligula’s heart and saving them yet again from destruction.176 This would be a win-win situation for all parties. In the end, the assassination of Caligula afforded Josephus the opportunity to create an even better scenario, in which he could credit Yahweh with destroying Caligula rather than merely changing his heart.177 This turn of affairs also allowed the imaginative Josephus (AJ 302– 309; BJ 202–203) to weave into his story the familiar topos of the narrow escape. According to Josephus’ version of events, the “fatal” letter that Petronius sends to Caligula so piques the ire of the Princeps that he sends a response in which he commands Petronius to commit suicide for his presumptuousness in pleading



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the cause of the Jews (Joseph. AJ 303–304, BJ 203). But as Fate would have it—or perhaps Yahweh in the Jewish version—the letter is delayed en route. Because this letter does not reach Petronius until after another letter arrives announcing the assassination of Caligula, a good man is once again saved from an evil tyrant! Caligula may have created such a charade to bring Jews to their senses, so that they would desist from further “insane” acts, as is perhaps suggested in an injunction added to the letter that he sent to Petronius to inform his governor that he had changed his mind about setting up his statue in the Jerusalem Temple (Philo, Leg. 334). In this case, the proviso in the letter would have been made known publicly. The letter is also revealing for its pragmatic sensibility.178 As Philo tells us, Caligula orders that if Jews in the future were caught preventing anyone from setting up altars or temples or any images of him outside Jerusalem, Petronius was to punish them or send them to Caligula in Rome for punishment.179 Although this was certainly a somewhat risky and unconventional way to conduct foreign diplomacy, Caligula would have been giving Jews a very stern and sage piece of advice that might be characterized as eminently sane: if Jews wished their god and religion to be respected, they would have to learn to be respectful of the gods and religious beliefs of other peoples. Such mutual regard for both religious and social conduct among civilized nations180 is reflected in Roman religion itself and is best expressed in three simple Latin words that underscore the principles of a reciprocal relationship: do ut des (“I give in order that you may give”).

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Appendix: The Portraiture of Caligula—Myth, Reality, and Contemporary Attempts at Polychromy Caligula’s surviving sculptural images present him as a rather handsome youth in his twenties, reflecting his actual age during his brief Principate.181 These replicas ultimately go back to an official prototype that represented him as he wished to be seen, not necessarily as he actually looked. Descriptions of him in the hostile ancient literary record paint a very different picture of his physical appearance, not to mention his character.182 If the few biased literary sources that survive are to be believed, Caligula was rather ugly looking or, I should say, as ugly as his character was judged by his detractors to have been.183 One of the consequences of these negative portrayals of Caligula by ancient writers, notably Seneca and Suetonius, was that early on in the study of Caligula’s portraiture some researchers refused to believe that the sculptural images that had already been correctly identified as Caligula on the basis of numismatic evidence really represented him.184 After all, these sculptural portraits did not match the literary sources, which claimed that he was quite ugly. The reason why Caligula’s physical appearance was construed so negatively in the ancient literary tradition has a great deal to do with the influence of Greek pseudo-scientific theories about physiognomy that were adopted by the Romans. Although going back to at least the fifth century b.c.e.,185 Greek physiognomic theory is perhaps best known today from an ancient treatise known as the Physiognomica (“Physiognomics”), a work attributed in the past to Aristotle but more likely to have been a third-century b.c.e. creation of his school of philosophy.186 These pseudo-scientific studies maintained that a person’s outward appearance could reveal his true nature and inner character. In short, there was a definable relationship between what a person looked like and how he behaved. The Physiognomica exerted a great deal of influence on later proponents of physiognomic theory, as well as on Greek and Roman biographers and historians.187 Consequently, ancient literary accounts of Caligula’s physical appearance cannot be accepted uncritically. An unbiased analysis of the evidence is especially important in light of recent interest in producing polychrome re-creations of Caligula’s portraits, among others.188 Based on surviving traces of paint on an important sculptural portrait of Caligula in the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen (plate XXXIV), archaeologists, museum curators, conservators, and technicians have worked together to produce hypothetical polychrome versions of what the head might have looked like originally.189 Notable among these modern efforts at colorization are Version A and the improved Version B (plate XXXV) represented in Brinkmann and Scholl (eds.) (2010).190 Because so much about the original mixing



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of pigments is unknown for an accurate reconstruction of the original polychrome look of the Ny Carlsberg head of Caligula, I present here an alternate colorized version, designated C (plate XXXVI). My computer-generated image is based on Version B, which had been produced based on studies of Fayum portraits that are generally painted on wood. As a result, colorized Version B has, in my opinion, a painted-on-wood quality to it. Since pigments react differently to marble surfaces than they do to plaster or wooden surfaces, the appearance of the original portrait may have been quite different from what we find in Version B. Costly polychrome marble sculptures that were meant to be seen close-up indoors, for example, may have had a more subtle tinted quality to the flesh, which would have made them more naturalistic looking.191 Suetonius (Calig. 50) describes Caligula’s complexion as “very pale” (colore expallido), which in physiognomic theory was indicative of cowardice.192 What we can deduce from this comment is that his complexion was fair, for which reason I have lightened his skin tone somewhat on my Version C. None of the sources report on Caligula’s hair or eye color. His hair might have been brown to light brown based on traces of pigments found on the hair of the Ny Carlsberg head193 and the fact that the hair color of his relatives, Augustus and Nero, was reported to have been subflavus (Suet. Aug. 79; Ner. 51), which is probably to be understood today as dirty blond. It should, however, be pointed out that it is sometimes difficult to translate ancient color descriptions into modern equivalents.194 As for Caligula’s eye color, it was initially reported that a microscopic trace of “brown ocher” was found in the iris of the proper left eye of the Copenhagen portrait, for which reason Versions A and B depict Caligula with brown eyes.195 However, this need not mean that the irises were indeed painted brown, since this color may have been mixed with other pigments, especially for the darker outer rim of the pupil or the rim of the iris, intended to add depth and tonality to the final painting. Alternately, a small fleck of brownish pigment might have inadvertently ended up on the left iris during the painting of the hair. The most recent technical analysis revealed that there was a concentration of the pigment Egyptian blue in the area of the pupil and iris of the proper right eye of the Ny Carlsberg head.196 Egyptian blue may have been mixed with carbon black and lead white to produce a blue-gray color.197 However, what pigments were ultimately used to create the color of the iris cannot be established based on our present knowledge. A bronze bust of Caligula in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York represents him with a blue-gray iris of his proper right eye and an intense bluish to bluish-green iris of his proper left eye.198 It is possible that Caligula’s eyes were a blue-gray color based on what appears to have also

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been a family trait, since ancient sources state that the color of the eyes of both Tiberius (Plin. HN 11.142) and Nero (Suet. Ner. 51) was caesius, which is likely to be blue-gray,199 while the color of Augustus’ eyes (Plin. HN 11.143) was glaucus, most likely a light sea-gray.200 For this reason, I have changed the color of the irises from the brown of Versions A and B to blue-gray in my Version C. It is unlikely, in any case, that all the artists throughout Rome’s vast empire would have faithfully reproduced the eye color, hair color, or complexion of Caligula, since few would ever have seen him in person. Even if plaster or terracotta (or even wax) models were painted and sent out via the art market, there is no guarantee that the models would have been consistent in their colorization or that artists would have followed the models precisely.201 We can be fairly sure of the variability of ancient polychrome sculptural images, since surviving replicas of portraits of given imperial individuals show diversity in the carving of the facial features. Sculptors were certainly capable of producing faithful copies,202 though subtle coloration of marble portraits would have presented a particular challenge to painters who were not highly skilled in this field. Some contemporary efforts to reproduce the painted appearance of ancient sculpture, especially on plaster casts, give us a sense of how relatively inexpensive ancient works might have looked rather kitschy.203 In antiquity, artists most likely also took into consideration where their sculptures were to be located—indoors or outdoors, at a distance from the viewer or close up—and adjusted the colorization accordingly. All of these factors could have contributed to variability in the polychromy of ancient marble portraits.



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Notes 1. Although Balsdon (1934) xvi rightly notes that Caligula’s nickname, given to him in childhood, came to be used to mock him in adult life, I have retained its use here simply to distinguish him from others with the name “Gaius,” especially the adopted son and intended successor of Augustus. 2. For a discussion of the ancient primary and secondary sources, see Wardle (1994) 11–95. For recent histories on Caligula, see Barrett (1989); Wilkinson (2005); Winterling and Schneider (2011). 3. Dio adds that Numerius bore witness when Romulus ascended to heaven, as did Iulius Proculus. For the story of Romulus’ ascension, see especially Plut. Vit. Rom. 27.5–28.3. Cf. Livy 1.16; Cic. Rep. 2.20; Ov. Fast. 2.491–96, Met. 14.805–28. See also chapter III. 4. For these medical theories, see especially Barrett (1989) 73, 215–16. See also Wardle (1994) 330–31. For another attempt to explain Caligula’s condition in medical terms (in this case, epileptic seizures), see Massaro and Montgomery (1978); Benediktson (1992). However, as even Benediktson admits (160), there is no evidence that Caligula had seizures as an adult. 5. Obviously, Caligula never did make his horse a senator. Cf. also Cass. Dio 59.14.7; Wardle (1994) 351–52. 6. See Graves (1934) 373, who declares, “Caligula was so extravagantly fond of him [Incitatus] that he made him first a citizen and then a senator and at last put him on the lists of his nominees for the Consulship four years in advance.” Although we might appreciate Graves’ work as entertaining historical fiction, it was quite irresponsible of Alistair Cooke, the host of the British Broadcasting Corporation program, to tell his audience that this is “history.” 7. See, e.g., Meehan (1993). I thank Linda Nolan for this reference. 8. In the biblical myth, the Jews narrowly escape the pursuing forces of pharaoh by the parting of the Red Sea and are thereby saved from utter destruction. Like most of the Exodus myth, as well as the stories of other ancient cultures, such tales were invariably the creations of later generations to magnify the importance of a people and give them a sense of history, purpose, and a common cause. 9. See, e.g., Brilliant (1969) 14. For this portrait of Caligula (mus. inv. 2687), see Poulsen (1974) 89–90 (no. 54), pls. XC–XCI; Boschung (1989) 111–12 (cat. 18), pls. 17, 18.1–4. The attempt to discover the character (or character flaws) and mental state of a person

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through the observation of facial and bodily features developed into a pseudo-science in antiquity, going back to the fifth century b.c.e. See further the appendix to this chapter. 10. I thank Dr. Mette Moltesen, Curator of Greek and Roman Art at the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, for this information. 11. See Pollini (1982) 2. Note that in this article my photo of the Walters’ portrait (fig. 2) was flopped by the press. The photo was published correctly in the following issue. For the portraiture of Caligula in general, see Boschung (1989). See also von den Hoff (2009), which H. R. Goette made me aware of after this book was in press. 12. Barrett (1989) 213–41. Cf. the older work of Balsdon (1934) and the references in n. 2 above. 13. See, e.g., Ferrill (1991), who uses ancient sources uncritically. Cf. also Yavetz (1996), who reviews the past scholarship on the issue of Caligula’s alleged madness. Yavetz appears to favor the madness tradition, since, as he reasons, all cannot be explained away. He also subscribes (118) to the use of history to promote moral judgments and is critical of those who believe it “fashionable to write history wertfrei.” 14. For such an analogy, see, e.g., Yavetz (1996) 114–15. 15. The horrific account is given in the Book of Joshua. See, e.g., the account of the destruction of Jericho and its inhabitants (6:21): “Then they [the Hebrews] devoted to destruction by the edge of the sword all in the city [Jericho], both men and women, young and old, oxen, sheep, and donkeys.” In Deuteronomy (7:16) Yahweh commands the Hebrews when they come into the “promised land”: “You shall devour all the peoples that the Lord your God is giving over to you, showing them no pity.” See also Exodus 34:11–14; Deuteronomy 12:2–3. Although the Bible’s account of the Hebrew takeover does not reflect historical reality in detail—and in its rapidity—as we know from the archaeological evidence, the wholesale slaughter of groups of peoples was a common enough practice in antiquity and one that the Bible is obviously not ashamed to proclaim. The term cherem or herem in Hebrew has several meanings, including accursed (thing) and to destroy utterly (i.e., to devote or to consecrate to Yahweh for destruction). See, e.g., Numbers 21:1–3, 21–35; Deuteronomy 2:32–3:6. The term cherem/herem also came to take on the meaning of a ban, especially the banning of a Jew from the

synagogue, a fate that was tantamount to being “dead” to the rest of Jewish society. 16. See Finkelstein and Silberman (2001), especially 72–96. 17. See Stannard (1992). 18. See the excellent book by the Israeli historian Pappé (2006). 19. E.g., Yavetz (1996), especially 108–10 et passim. 20. See, e.g., Barber and Reed (2000), a relatively recent book by two “award-winning writers” (so described on the book’s back cover) that presents as “history” what is in essence a trashy novel about Caligula with enough sex and violence to satiate sadists and masochists. This book states its purpose in its foreword (5): “Ever since the cinematic holocaust of Tinto Brass’ blood-splattered porno epic ‘Caligula’ in 1980, connoisseurs of visceral history have thirsted for more information and details on the pleasuredomes and necrodromes of Ancient Rome. Yet the true glories of the Roman Empire—the slaughter, the sexual depravity, the insanity—were virtually impossible to glean from the handful of arid, academic texts available. Finally, here is a book which counts—a book which pointedly eschews the mind-numbing minutiae of politico-military history and instead brings the glorious, often shocking decadence of Ancient Rome to bloody, pulsating life.” To this can now be added the TV series Spartacus: Blood and Sand (2010), with its absurd claim that “Spartacus is a historical depiction of ancient Rome’s society and culture.” 21. As is well known, even ancient historians like Tacitus admitted that the Caesars had no dearth of flatterers while they lived and no shortage of detractors in death: Ann. 1.1. A number of these harsh critics were men who had personally benefited from the very Caesars they later denigrated. Tacitus himself was no exception. 22. On Suetonius and his work in general, see Wallace-Hadrill (1983); Baldwin (1983); Lounsbury (1987). For Suetonius’ Life of Caligula, see Hurley (1993) and especially Wardle (1994). 23. Hactenus quasi de principe, reliqua ut de monstro narranda sunt (“Up to this point [we have told of him] as a Princeps as it were; the rest must be recounted [about him] as of a monster”). For the structure of Suetonius’ Life of Caligula, see Wardle (1994), especially 20–30. 24. It is interesting that Caligula, like the young Octavian, was sickly and later also suffered a grave



illness and almost died. On the question of Caligula’s fitness to govern, see Barrett (1989), especially 213–41. 25. See especially Barrett (1989) 115–39, 213–41 for Caligula’s policies specifically with regard to North Africa, Britain, and Germany after his illness. 26. Barrett (1989) 34–41; Levick (1999b) 219. 27. See, e.g., Barrett (1989) 65–66. 28. As his adopted son, Gemellus, who was seventeen in 37 c.e., would probably have succeeded Caligula and could have been manipulated by Macro. There may then also have been a link between Gemellus and Silanus, since Silanus’ daughter, who was married to Caligula, would probably have been married to Gemellus. Gemellus may have been less intractable than Caligula and therefore perceived as being more manipulable. Cf. Barrett (1989) 67, 74–79; Wardle (1994) 221–24. 29. For this cliché and its origins, see Hurley (1993) 122. See also Wardle (1994) 256. 30. For the question of later conspiracies, see Barrett (1989) 91–113, 154–71. 31. In a blatant attempt to disparage Caligula, Dio implies that the only reason the man did not suffer any harm was because he was only a shoemaker. 32. See also Barrett (1989) 2–6. 33. See especially Schrömbges (1988) 171–90; Barrett (1989) 214–16; Wardle (1994) 70–74. 34. Cf. Tac. Ann. 6.20.1: neque meliorem umquam servum neque deteriorem dominum fuisse, ascribed to C. Passenius Crispus, consul and orator. 35. Tiberius did appoint Caligula to the low office of quaestor in 33 c.e. and promised to advance him to other offices five years earlier than was customary. See further Barrett (1989) 31–37, 47–48 for Caligula’s intellectual compatibility with Tiberius. Cf. Augustus’ early promotion of his grandsons and adopted sons Gaius and Lucius, whom Augustus wanted to succeed him: see chapter IX. 36. See Dodds (1968) 64–101 et passim. 37. See, e.g., Burkert (1983) 168–71, 177–78, 184 and (1985) 81, 110–11, 162–65. 38. See also Bilde (1978) 73. 39. Cf. also Philo, Leg. 121. 40. Jews were especially disliked in the Hellenized part of the Roman Empire because of the privileges and exemptions they enjoyed under Rome, including the right to collect money throughout the Empire for the Temple of Yahweh in Jerusalem, For this so-called temple tax, see Smallwood (1981) 120–43; Barrett (1989) 183–85.

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41. See Romey (2001) 17. 42. See OCD3 1456 s.v. “superstitio.” See also Beard et al. (1998) 215–31, who point out (225): “In Greek translations from Latin, superstitio was rendered not by deisidaimonia but by an uncomfortable shuffle of terms—from mataiotes (‘vanity’) to atheotes (‘atheism’).” 43. These passages are part of a long speech (BJ 5.360–420) that Josephus himself delivers to the fanatical Jewish rebels in 70 c.e. in an attempt to convince them to desist from their insane path that ultimately led to the destruction of the Temple of Jerusalem. 44. Jewish amixia in particular led to charges of misanthropia: Assmann (1997) 32–35. So, too, Tacitus’s charge (Ann. 15.44) against the Christians and their punishment under Nero: odio humani generis (“[their] hatred of the human race”). Christianity preached hatred of the gods and of many of the customs of other peoples. 45. For the matter of images in the imperial cult and how they relate to the Jews and Christians, see Pekáry (1985) 149–51. 46. See, e.g., Deuteronomy 7:6. 47. See, e.g., McKenzie (2000); Finkelstein and Silberman (2001) 123–45 et passim; Halpern (2001). 48. For an excellent example of this sort of rationalized attribution for the good and bad things that befell the Jews, see the long speech by Josephus (BJ 5.360–420), which also contains a historical sketch of the fortunes and misfortunes of the Jews. 49. Falwell’s comments on September 13, 2001, on the Christian Broadcasting Network 700 Club, hosted by Pat Robertson, another Christian preacher, were as follows: “[W]hat we saw on [September 11], as terrible as it is, could be miniscule if, in fact—if, in fact—God continues to lift the curtain and allow the enemies of America to give us probably what we deserve. The ACLU’s got to take a lot of blame for this. And, I know that I’ll hear from them for this. But, throwing God out successfully with the help of the federal court system, throwing God out of the public square, out of schools. The abortionists have got to bear some burden for this because God will not be mocked. And when we destroy 40 million little innocent babies, we make God mad. I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People for the American Way, all of them who have tried to secularize America. I point the

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finger in their face and say, ‘You helped this happen.’” Pat Robertson endorsed this view: “Well, I totally concur, and the problem is we have adopted their agenda at the highest levels of our government.” 50. Philo, Leg. 75, 162. For the perpetuation of this tradition in modern scholarship, see Yavetz (1996) 110–12 et passim. 51. Cf. Suetonius and Josephus, who imply that this activity was one of Caligula’s eccentricities. See further Bellemore (1994) 72–73. 52. Philo, Leg. 75–118. Cf. Suet. Calig. 52; Joseph. AJ 19.30. Simpson (1981) dispels the common claim that Caligula saw himself as Jupiter. It is interesting that Philo does not say that Caligula imitated female gods. See also Wardle (1994) 336. 53. Cass. Dio 59.26.6–10. 54. Cf. Barrett (1989) 146. Although rightly questioning the validity of such stories of Caligula’s impersonating various gods, Barrett indicates that “while they [i.e., these stories] tell us much about Caligula’s penchant for transvestism, they say almost nothing about any claim of divinity.” In this context, Barrett also mentions the story of Octavian’s masquerading as Apollo at a dinner party of the Twelve Gods (cena δωδεκάθεος) at which the guests were dressed as gods and goddesses. This story, however, is probably a fiction, invented in the triumviral period by the opposing leaders and their supporters. See further chapter II above with regard to this alleged episode. 55. See, e.g., the quotation from Barrett (1989) 146. 56. For pantomime and the related mime, see Jory (1996); Csapo and Slater (1995) 369–89; and OCD3 1107 s.v. “pantomime.” 57. Although Suetonius does not state directly that Caligula played various parts in theatrical performances at Tiberius’ villas on Capri, the wearing of the wig and long robes is mentioned in the context of Caligula’s great passion for the theatrical arts (scaenicae artes). 58. See also Barrett (1989) 85, who puts little credence in the charge of incest; and Wardle (1994) 224–56. 59. See, e.g., the memorable line in Verg. Aen. 1.46–47 in which Juno boasts: Ast ego, quae divum incedo regina, Iovisque et soror et coniunx (“Yet I, who as queen of gods stride, both sister and wife of Jupiter”). 60. See also Barrett (1989) 146; Wardle (1994) 262–63.

61. The great tragedian Apelles appears to have been with Caligula constantly (Cass. Dio 59.5.2). Cf. Cass. Dio 59.21.2, in which it is said that Caligula also took actors and gladiators with him to Gaul. See further Barrett (1989) 46–47. 62. According to Suetonius (Calig. 52), Caligula wore clothing and shoes that did not follow the usage of his fellow citizens, sometimes not even of his sex or of ordinary mortals. Supposedly he wore in public embroidered cloaks covered with precious stones, long-sleeved tunics, silk garments (forbidden for men by law since 16 c.e.: Tac. Ann. 2.33.1; Cass. Dio 57.15.1), and women’s robes. See also Wardle (1994) 336–37. On official occasions, as evidenced on coinage and in a literary anecdote (Suet. Calig. 53.3), Caligula wore the traditional male toga. For his clothing in general, see also Boschung (1989) 73–79. 63. It was only in Roman popular mimes, in which actors did not wear masks, that women were allowed for the first time to play roles on the stage: Bieber (1961) 161–66. Although the issue is not discussed, it may be precisely because mimes did not wear masks that women were needed to play female roles. 64. Other prominent Roman leaders had also worn the cothurni. For the wearing of the cothurnus and soccus, see Wardle (1994) 337–38. 65. For silk garments worn by pantomimi, see Jory (1996) 5, 8. 66. However, it is very dubious that Caligula dressed this way in public, as Suetonius claims (Calig. 52). More likely he put on these shows in private, but with various people witnessing the spectacle. 67. For such costumes, see Jory (1996) 5–6, 18–19. 68. For the Roman attitude toward dance, see Jory (1996) 24. 69. Suetonius indicates that Caligula’s dancing reportedly took place at night in his private residence on the Palatine. On one occasion it is said that he summoned three ex-consuls to a surprise performance on the Palatine around midnight (cf. also Cass. Dio 59.5.5). Only in the case of joining in singing and gesticulating like an actor did Caligula sometimes get carried away at public performances, undoubtedly from his imperial box rather than onstage (Calig. 54.1). 70. Cf., however, Barrett (1989) 47, who is hard pressed to explain Suetonius’ comment. Nero is also said to have performed onstage. In Rome, however, this was only done in private. The first time Nero appeared on a public stage was in 64 c.e. and then



only in the strongly Hellenized city of Naples, where Romans relaxed their customs. On Nero’s penchant for theater and acting, see Griffin (1984) 160–61 et passim. 71. For criticism of this biased view, see especially Price (1984) 7–19. See also Pekáry (1985) 125–26. For the question of “sincerity of belief,” see Simpson (1996) 67 with n. 35. As Simpson points out, the fact that Christian authors express such scorn about the belief in the apotheosis of Rome’s principes confirms that many people sincerely believed in it. 72. What individual Christians thought about the nature of Jesus’ divinity is of little relevance to the question of official deification. His divinity was first officially recognized by the state only under Constantine at the Council of Nicaea in 325 c.e., although the nature of his divinity continued to be debated long after. 73. Since the word “pagan” derives from pagus, Jesus might even have qualified as a “pagan” divinity in Roman eyes. 74. White (1988); Nicholls (1993) 31–32 et passim; Frankfurter (1998) 35–36. For a discussion of “Christianities,” as well as of “Judaisms” and “polytheisms,” see also Frankfurter (1998) 33–36. Although his work is intended to convey a message to pluralistic-minded Christians today, Riley (1997) 1–14, 97–138 discusses just how different early Christianities were, especially in how they viewed Jesus. See also Hopkins (1999). It is interesting that the various ways Christians regarded Jesus fit essentially the four categories of beings already established by Hesiod (Op. 106–201): gods, daimones, heroes, and humans. From the middle of the first century to the middle of the second century and later Christians gradually split off from Judaism: Hopkins (1999), especially 87–90. 75. Traces of a plurality of gods can be found even in the Bible: consider, e.g., Rachel, who makes off with her father’s household gods (Gen. 31.19). See also Alter (1996) 169. 76. For the inscriptional evidence, see the excellent article by Kant (1987). Gruen’s conclusion (1998) 244 that in the Hellenistic period “Jews hold firmly to their own convictions, without compromise or assimilation” tells only part of the story. See also the henotheistic cult of Theos Hypsistos that was widespread in the East between the second century b.c.e. and the fifth century c.e. Cf. the worship of Zeus Hypsistos. For this cult, see Mitchell (1999).

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77. Smallwood (1981) 234–35, 249 et passim. On the varying degree of “Hellenization” of Jews, see Green (1990) 497–54; Gruen (1998) 1–40. On reversing circumcision, see Joseph. AJ 12.241; 1 Maccabees 1.15. For the medical procedure to restore the foreskin, see Galen in Kühn (ed.) (1825). 78. Reacting to this situation, Augustine (Enarrationes in Psalmos 26.2.19) admonished his flock: “God . . . does not want to be worshiped with those others [i.e., other divinities], not even if he is worshiped much more and they much less” (Non vult . . . Deus coli cum illis, nec si ipse colatur multo amplius, et illi multo minus). 79. See in general Wilken (1984). 80. See chapter I above for the domestic cult of the genius. 81. Although Caligula accepted all of the Augustan titles en bloc, he did not take that of Pater Patriae immediately but waited a little while (Cass. Dio 59.3.2). On this title, see Barrett (1989) 70. Even though Augustus did not officially receive the title of Pater Patriae until 2 b.c.e., he was already considered the father of the Roman State because of his position as Princeps and the worship of his Genius at all public and private banquets since 30 b.c.e. On this matter, see further chapter VII above. 82. It was Caligula’s accession to the Principate that made his Genius greater than that of any living man. The situation in pharaonic Egypt is somewhat analogous, since divinity was not inherent in the living king but in the institution of kingship. Contrary to popular belief, pharaoh was not a living god on earth but came to possess an aura of divinity only through the ceremony of coronation. It was after his death that he became a true god. Thus, a king could not become a god after death if he had been a god in life. On the matter of the divinity of pharaoh, see Goedicke (1960); Hornung (1982) 141–42. 83. Taylor (1931) 192–93 et passim; Fishwick (1991) 379, 501–505 et passim. The bull above all had long been revered by most of the peoples of the ancient Mediterranean as the very symbol of male procreation and was often associated with the worship of the king or leader. For the bull in the ancient world, see Rice (1998). 84. Initially Caligula did not allow statues to be set up to him or sacrifices made to his τύχη, the equivalent of the Roman Genius: Cass. Dio 59.4.4. See further Barrett (1989) 145. For genius worship, see Fishwick

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(1991) 377 et passim; Wardle (1994) 249–50. For blood sacrifices to the divinity of Caligula, see Simpson (1996). 85. On the sacrosanctitas of the tribuni plebis (“tribune of the common people”), see Sordi (1981). 86. On this coin type, the scepter that Octavian also grips and the globe on which he rests his foot allude to world rule following his victory at Actium in 31 b.c.e., further symbolized by the bust of the goddess Victoria on the obverse of this coinage. For this coin type, see further chapter II above. 87. For the coin types of Caligula, see in general H.-M. von Kaenel in Boschung (1989) 15–26. The only real exception was the representation of Caligula’s three sisters—Agrippina, Drusilla, and Iulia—in the guise of various personifications on sesterii minted in 37–38 c.e.: RIC2 I, 110 (no. 33), pl. 13; BMCRE I, 152 (nos. 36–37), pl. 28.4. As discussed in chapter II above, this coinage was issued nominally on the authority of the Roman Senate, since it bears the abbreviation SC (Senatus Consulto) in the exergue. 88. See Fears (1981a) 71–73. 89. RIC2 I, 111 (no. 48), pl. 14; BMCRE I, 151 (no. 33), pl. 28.3; 157 (no. 68) pl. 29.12; Kent (1978) 282 (no. 168), pl. 49.168. 90. RIC2 I, 111 (no. 36), pl. 13; BMCRE I, 153 (nos. 41–43), pl. 28.6; Breglia (1968) 51 (no. 9). 91. For his surviving images, see Boschung (1989). 92. Cf. Southern (1997) 45–46, who does not adduce any official documents, inscriptions, or coins for her evidence. For a more critical and sensible view, see Fears (1977) 191, 223–24; Jones (1992) 108–109. For other common negative topoi that characterize an “evil tyrant” stereotype, see further Wardle (1994) 70–74 with a useful table in n. 398 comparing the “tyrannical vices” of each of the Caesars whom Suetonius considered to be tyrants. 93. Suetonius (Calig. 22.1) claims by way of innuendo that Caligula came close to assuming a diadem and transforming the Principate into the form of a monarchy. The important point, however, is that Caligula did not do this. 94. Simpson (1996) suggests that he used this unconventional form of sacrifice in order to assert publicly his dominance over senators and others of the elite class, who would have to make these offerings. This untraditional form of sacrifice no doubt had irritation value, as it was a way of humiliating senators. The sacrifice of exotic birds appears to have only been

to his Numen, not his Genius, the latter of which I suspect would have continued to receive the sacrifice of a bull. Cf. Simpson (1996), who does not make a distinction between the types of blood sacrifice that Caligula’s Genius and Numen received. For the worship of Caligula’s Numen, see further below. 95. Such an honor for a woman was not considered excessive, as indicated by the Senate’s desire to deify Livia after her death, although it was prevented from doing so by Tiberius. Livia was deified in 42 c.e. by Claudius: Suet. Claud. 11.2. On this matter and the deification of other women in Julio-Claudian times, see further Barrett (1989) 86–87. For Diva Drusilla, in particular, see also Herz (1981). See also chapters II and VII, above. 96. For this private view in the case of Caligula, see Bellemore (1994) 76. Gestures reserved for the gods could also be little more than a form of flattery, as we know in the case of the obsequious Lucius Vitellius, who prostrated himself (proskynesis) before Caligula, while calling him divine names and offering to sacrifice to him (Suet. Vit. 2.5; Cass. Dio 59.27.2–6). See further Barrett (1989) 150. 97. Modern scholarship has often assumed, on the basis of a comment made by Cassius Dio (59.28.2), that Rome had two temples to Caligula. Dio may have been confused on this point, thinking that the temple voted by the Senate and the temple paid for by Caligula were not one but two temples. Dio also speaks of another structure set up on the Capitoline by Caligula. This was not an aedes (temple building), but κατάλυσις τίνα (“some sort of lodge”), as Dio calls it. Suetonius (Calig. 22.4) indicates that Caligula only laid foundations for this lodging (novae domus fundamenta) on the Capitoline, suggesting that it was never finished. On the matter of one or two temples, see further Simpson (1981) 502–506; Barrett (1989) 147, 151; Wardle (1994) 211–212. See also chapter IX below with regard to the statue. 98. Suet. Calig. 22.3: In templo simulacrum stabat aureum iconicum amiciebaturque cotidie veste, quali ipse uteretur. In the past, it had been assumed that golden statues (statuae aureae), as opposed to gilded ones (statuae auratae/inauratae), were reserved for gods and rulers/principes. However, typology, customs, and place may have differed in such usage. For example, in some cases a distinction is made between golden statues only being for a Princeps or a member of his house, while a golden bust might serve for



a private citizen. Yet in the eastern part of the Roman Empire, golden statues were set up to private individuals. Although ancient authors often make a distinction between gold and gilded, in some cases we cannot be sure that they were using these words in a technical sense or could necessarily tell the difference between a gilded statue and a golden one. See the discussion in Pekáry (1985) 66–80, especially 69–70 with a review of the older literature on this subject. On the term simulacrum, often but not exclusively employed for sacred images, see Stewart (2003) 21–22, who indicates: “Simualcrum is often used in a very general sense to refer to all kinds of images and effigies and representations; but in contexts where the subject is evidently a statue, this image is usually a god and only very rarely a portrait statue of a mortal. Then the subject tends to be a king, a dynast, a dead emperor—all figures who can in some sense be treated as divine.” Stewart, however, does not mention this specific simulacrum of Caligula, further described by the adjective iconicum (“giving an exact image”) to make the point that it is a portrait statue. 99. The weaving of a new peplos for the cult image of Athena Polias in the Erechtheion is of course one of our best-known examples. For a male figure, see the cult image of Asklepios at Titane in the Peloponnese. The statue is described as wearing a white woolen chiton and cloak: Paus. 2.11.6. For the ancient custom of dressing statues, see Fishwick (1991) 562–63; Wardle (1994) 212. Caligula’s image was different in that it was dressed every day with the same clothes that Caligula wore. 100. See Cass. Dio 59.28.2. In an analogous situation, we have evidence that individuals who were voted honorific statues often paid for the privilege. The Hellenistic kings were known to have done so to spare those desiring to honor the leader the expense. See, e.g., Pekáry (1985), especially 19–20. 101. Pace Gatti (1981) 169–70. For consecrated statues—whether of gods or leaders—possessing a divine substance through the “animation” of the image, see Winter (1992) and Beaulieu (1993), who discuss this theological concept for the Near East, which would have been similar to practices and beliefs in Greece and Rome. 102. For a discussion of the differences between the genius and the numen, see further Fishwick (1991) 377– 87; for the worship of the Numina of both living and deified principes of Rome: 389–422. For the numen, see also Pötscher (1978). See further chapter VII above.

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103. See also Hor. Carm. 4.5; Taylor (1931) 181– 83. See further Fishwick (1991) 375–76 with n. 2. Cf., however, Barrett (1989) 152, who indicates that in Rome “the genius of the emperor had been worshiped privately.” 104. In 12 b.c.e. Augustus became Pontifex Maximus, a role that also came to designate the head of the Roman State religion; in 7 b.c.e. the regiones (regions) of the City were reorganized. On the Lares cult and its reorganization under Augustus, see in general Taylor (1931) 181–223; Alföldi (1973) 18–36 with further bibliography; Bömer (1981) 38–56; Fishwick (1987) 84–85 et passim; Lott (2004). 105. For the Genius Augusti in particular, see especially Fishwick (1987) 85 and (1991) 375–87 et passim with further bibliography. 106. For the evidence of the monuments, see in particular Ryberg (1955) 55–63; Zanker (1970/71); Alföldi (1973) 30–36; Pollini (1978) 298–309. For the monumental evidence from Rome and cities outside of Rome, see further Fishwick (1987) 85 n. 13 et passim. See also the discussion in chapter VII above. 107. Probably around 6 c.e.: Inscr. Ital. XIII.3, 115. For the date, see especially Alföldi (1973) 42–44; Fishwick (1987) 86–87 and (1991) 378. Cf. Pippidi (1933); Taylor (1937). See also Chapter VII above. 108. Cf., e.g., the Ara Pacis: Pollini (1978) 95–99 with further references to templa. See also chapter V above. 109. See further Griffin (1976) 218–19; Wardle (1994) 37. 110. See further chapter VII above. 111. See Kunckel (1974). 112. Mus. inv. 157: Blümel (1933) 9 (R19), pls. 13–14; Kunckel (1974) 26–27, 78 (A 3), pls. 8.2, 9.2. The statue is 2.05 m high. 113. See, e.g., Curtius (1948) 71, who mistakenly took this as the Genius of Germanicus. For the iconographical hairstyles of Germanicus, see Boschung (1993b) 59–61. It is highly unlikely that an over lifesize genius figure would have referred to Germanicus, since there is no precedent for anyone other than the Princeps’ Genius being so represented. For the Berlin Genius, see also more recently Kunckel (1974) 26–27; Goette (1990) 39 n. 179.4b expresses no opinion on who this figure might represent. 114. Sala Rotonda, mus. inv. no. 259: Kunckel (1974) 26–28, 78 (A 1), pls. 8.1, 9.1. The statue is 2.47 m high. For the identification of this Genius as that of

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Augustus, see Jucker (1981) 244, fig. 11, based on its iconographical hairstyle of the old so-called Forbes Type (Boschung’s “Paris Louvre MA 1280” Type; Pollini’s Type IV). See also MPC II, 266 (no. 22), fig. 42 (Statua del Genio di Augusto) and chapter I above. For the portrait typology of Augustus, see Boschung (1993a), especially 27–37, 60–65, 129 (cat. 44), pls. 36–37; Pollini (1999a) 727–28, 730, fig. 4. Not all genii need be represented as idealized. In rare cases, the genius of a private paterfamilias might even take the form of a veristic portrait, as in the case of the herm of C. Caecilius Iucundus (mus. inv. 110663) from the House of Caecilius Iucundus at Pompeii (V.1.26), now in the National Archaeological Museum, Naples (fig. VII.19): Kunckel (1974) 100 (F VIII 1), pl. 65; De Caro (1996) 207. The herm on which the bronze portrait is set is inscribed to the man’s genius. 115. Mus. inv. 64: Boschung (1989) 107 (cat. 1), pl. 1. Cf. a portrait of Caligula in the Archaeological Museum in Venice (mus. inv. 142): Boschung (1989) 108 (cat. 4), pl. 4. 116. For the bridge, see Cass. Dio 59.17.5. Although this bridge has been interpreted as the work of a madman, it was probably intended to serve a political purpose: to demonstrate the power and resources of Rome to the Parthian king’s son Darius, who accompanied Caligula across it. For the findspot of the statue of the Genius, see Kunckel (1974) 27. 117. See Blanck (1969) 26–27 (A1), pl. 4a. Fishwick (1991) 375–422 cites no example of a representation of a numen in Roman art. 118. For the erasure of inscriptions for a variety of reasons, see in general Flower (2006). 119. In a number of cases in Roman art the name was changed on the base while the image remained the same. In other instances the altered portrait features do not closely resemble the new honoree because of the difficulty in recutting portrait images. For various examples, see Blanck (1969). See also Pollini (1984); Varner (ed.) (2000) with further bibliography. 120. The exactitude of reproducing an individual’s physiognomy was not always important. Recutting a portrait of one individual into that of another always entails compromises. See in general Pollini (1987) 10–14; (1999a), especially 731–33; (2010). 121. Fishwick (1991) 383–84, 452. 122. See, e.g., Suet. Aug. 70.1; Verg. Aen. 2.621–22. 123. See, e.g., a pottery fragment from the northeast Sinai dating to ca. 800 b.c.e. that crudely depicts

a bull-headed anthropomorphic god who is labeled “Yahweh” in the Hebrew inscription: Meshel (1979); Beck (1982); McCarter (1987) 137–55; Patai (1990) 53. For images in Judaism, see Gutmann (1970). 124. Cf. also Cass. Dio 59.28.2. 125. It is possible that this statue represented the Genius of Caligula’s Numen, since we have epigraphical evidence for a Genius Numinis. This is probably less likely to be the case, however, because imperial Genii were generally highly idealized, as we have seen, and would therefore not have been described as a simulacrum iconicum. A representation of a Numen Genii is even less likely because there appears to be no evidence for such a concept. On this latter point, see Fishwick (1991) 383–84. It could also be argued the Caligula was being inventive in this case. 126. Josephus (AJ 19.8), who also mentions Caligula’s intent to bring the statue to Rome, says nothing about replacing its head with a portrait image of Caligula. 127. See further Wardle (1994) 73. 128. Such may have been the case with equestrian statues set up on the Athenian Acropolis in Classical Greek times that were rededicated to Germanicus and Drusus Minor as the Dioskouroi. For these equestrian figures, see Paus. 1.22.4. See also Blanck (1969) 82–83. Possibly the heads of the riders were replaced with portraits of Germanicus and Drusus. With regard to these statues, see further chapter IX below. 129. For the use of ideal Greco-Roman body types, see, e.g., Niemeyer (1968), especially 54–64. See also in general Bergmann (1998) and Hallett (2005), as well as chapter II above. 130. For the finds at Punta Epitaffio, see Piccoli (1983) 79, figs. 122, 124, 126–29; Miniero (2000) 57–65. For the portraiture of Antonia Minor, see Wood (2000) 142–76, especially 165–67, figs. 64–66, for the statue from Claudius’ nymphaeum. See also Pollini (2005a) 102–16. For representations of Antonia Minor looking like Venus, see Mikocki (1993) 33–34. 131. For this portrait of Commodus, see Fittschen and Zanker (1985) 85–90 (no. 78), pls. 91–92. 132. Cf. the use of the appellation neos in the case of Antony (neos Dionysos) or Gaius Caesar (neos Ares). Here the sense of neos is like a new Dionysos or a new Ares present among us. I thank Frank Romer for reminding me of the neos appellation. 133. Mus. inv. 252. It is not known whether the now lost inscription found in proximity to this statue



actually belonged to it. The inscription indicates that a statue was voted by the Senate and People of Lanuvium in 42/43 c.e. For the statue of Claudius, see Helbig4 I (1963) 37–38 (no. 45); Kleiner (1992) 131–33, fig. 106; MPC II, 260 (no. 16), fig. 43a. Cf. also a similar statue of Claudius from the Metroon in Olympia: 131–33, fig. 107. Because of the closeness in typology between these two statues, it has been postulated that they go back to an official model created in Rome at the beginning of Claudius’ Principate. The imagery, however, makes it highly unlikely that any model with Claudius’ portrait head would have been official. In both instances the Jupiter body type, which was a type available for replication, was combined with a portrait head of Claudius. 134. On distinguishing sharply between images set up by the official state government of Rome and by municipal/provincial governments, as well as by private citizens, see Fears (1977) 10–12 et passim; Pollini (1993c) 260. See further chapter II above. 135. For these images, see especially Pekáry (1985). If the official approval of the Senate and/or the Princeps himself was sought, then certain restrictions might be imposed: see, e.g., the discussion of the imperial cult in the neokorate cities of the Greek East in chapter II. 136. For the dismantling of the statue of Olympian Zeus in late antiquity, when this statue and other famous works of Greek art were removed to Constantinople, see Bassett (2000). 137. See also Cass. Dio 59.28.3–4. 138. Publius Memmius Regulus, who had been suffect consul in 31 b.c.e., governed Moesia, Macedonia, and Achaia at this time: RE 15.1 (1931) 626–36 (no. 29) s.v. “P. Memmius Regulus” (M. Fluss). See also Oliver (1966); Barrett (1989) 90. 139. See, e.g., Balsdon (1934) 55–56; Barrett (1989) 112. 140. See Balsdon (1934) 111–13. 141. Cf. Tac. Ann. 1.1. 142. For the creation of Jewish historical fiction to demonstrate the intellectual, cultural, and religious superiority of the Jews in the Hellenistic period, especially in Alexandria, where Philo resided, see Gruen (1998). 143. In general, see, e.g., Smallwood (1981). See also Balsdon (1934) 141–44; Firpo (1988); Barrett (1989) 182–91; Borgen (1996). 144. See, e.g., Bilde (1978) 72–74, who discusses this mistaken interpretation.

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145. Caligula’s building of a “temple” to himself at Miletos, as recorded in Cassius Dio (59.28), is sometimes adduced as evidence for his imposition of his cult. See, e.g., Gatti (1981) 168. However, Dio’s words can be interpreted in another way: the cities of Asia Minor did not have to be ordered to set up shrines to the Princeps of Rome, since they were usually only too willing to do so to promote the imperial cult and their own city, following a long-standing practice in the Greek East. More likely, Caligula allowed them to erect a sacred temenos to himself. The only difference was that Caligula was worshiped there by himself, a practice that differed from the joint worship that Augustus and Tiberius allowed. See further Barrett (1989) 143– 45, 152–53. Cf. also the case of Hadrian, who took an active role in setting up altars and temples to himself in the provinces but was not regarded as insane. See Price (1984) 68–69 and 257 (no. 40) for the Milesian temple. See also chapter II above. 146. Philo, Leg. 188, 265, 346; cf. 118, 203, 220. Cf. Tacitus (Hist. 5.9) and Josephus (BJ 2.203), who do not indicate that the statue was to be in the guise of Zeus. See further Simpson (1981) 491–511; Bellemore (1994) 75. 147. Antiochus made Hellenization compulsory rather than voluntary, as it had been prior to that time. For Antiochus’ harsh treatment of the Jews and the internal politics of competing factions of Hellenized and non-Hellenized Jews, see Smallwood (1981) 2–4 et passim; Green (1990) 437–524, especially 505–17. 148. Green (1990) 437. 149. See, e.g., Philo, Leg. 256, 268, 373. 150. Philo actually cites three reasons. The other two appear specious: namely, Caligula’s supposed claim to divinity that Jews were unable to accept (Leg. 198) and the wicked advice given to him by Jew-hating Greeks (Leg. 203–205). See further Bilde (1978) 73–75; Smallwood (1981) 158, 175; Barrett (1989) 143, 188–91. 151. Jamnia was passed on to Tiberius, then to Caligula. See further Smallwood (1981) 158, 175. 152. In the Greek world, that divinity would probably have been Caligula’s Daimon or Tyche, which were like his Genius or Numen. For the relation of the daimon and tyche to the genius and numen, see Taylor (1931) 9–10, 32, 47, 50, 151, 206, 246; Fears (1977) 239 with n. 93 for further bibliography. 153. See also the case of the Hasmonean Jews, who may have destroyed various images of the gods of the Greeks at Tel Dor in 100 b.c.e., as noted above. In the

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turmoil between Jews and Greeks over the rights of citizenship, the Greeks were responsible for the destruction and desecration of synagogues in Alexandria in 38 c.e.: Philo, In Flacc. 41–72; Leg. 120–37. However, it seems that the Greek attacks had less to do with Jewish religion per se than with the Jews themselves, who were seen by the anti-Jewish Greek factions as enjoying a privileged status under Rome. The Jews, whom the Greeks considered to be resident aliens, were also demanding Alexandrian citizenship. See Smallwood (1987) 114–20 with further references. 154. Here, too, Philo’s anti-Greek sentiment is made clear in his disparaging remarks (Leg. 201) about the altar’s being made of the most ordinary material: βωμὸν εἰκαιοτάτα ὕλης. For Philo’s malicious interpretation, see also Smallwood (1987) 123. 155. See, for example, Deuteronomy 12:2–3; 2 Kings 10:26–27; 1 Maccabees 5.44, 5.68, 10.83–84; 2 Maccabees 12.26. 156. Philo (Leg. 199) also characterizes Capito as a Jew-hater and claims that he had exaggerated the Jews’ desecration of the altar. More likely Capito, a minor bureaucrat, would have been very cautious lest the Greeks report the incident to Caligula, thus incurring imperial wrath for not having given an account of the affair, especially since Jamnia was part of Caligula’s estate. 157. The connection between Caligula’s command to set up his statue in the Jerusalem Temple and the behavior of the Greeks and Jews in Alexandria is also suggested by Josephus (AJ 18. 261; cf. 257–60). For the situation in Alexandria in 38–39 c.e., in which Greeks and Jews were equally culpable, and the root causes of the problem, see Smallwood (1981) 220–55. 158. See, e.g., the praise of Marcus Agrippa, Augustus, and Tiberius for their respect of the Jews as reported in a letter that Julius Agrippa supposedly wrote to Caligula to persuade him to rescind his order to set up his statue in the Jerusalem Temple: Philo, Leg. 294–321. 159. See Garnsey (1984) 9–11. 160. For the problem of the chronology, see especially Smallwood (1957). Cf. Bilde (1978), who surprisingly believes that Josephus rather than the contemporary Philo is more reliable. See also Barrett (1989) 188–91. 161. For the reliability of these two sources on the incident, see especially Smallwood (1981) 174–80 and (1987).

162. Julius Agrippa is often incorrectly called “Herod Agrippa.” See further Barrett (1989) 34–37 et passim. 163. Cf. Tac. Hist. 5.9. Both Josephus and Tacitus may be following some unnamed source on this matter. In any case, it is reasonable to conclude that Philo, an eyewitness to the events, is more credible on this aspect of the story. 164. For the assassination of Caligula, see especially Barrett (1989) 154–71. 165. For the overly biased accounts of both authors, see Smallwood (1987). 166. On the heroization of Petronius by Philo and Josephus, see Bilde (1978), especially 76–79 et passim. Petronius comes off in Jewish lore as a sort of Otto Schindler of his day. 167. For the rhetorical devices used to heighten the contrast between good and bad characters, see Krohn (1934). See also Walker (1952) 110–31 (for Germanicus and Tiberius) and 204–54 (the chapter “Type-Characters in the ‘Annals’”). 168. On Petronius’ attitude toward the Jews, cf. Bilde (1978) 76–79. 169. Philo (Leg. 245) tells us that Petronius had a basic knowledge of Jewish philosophy and religion. 170. See, e.g., Philo, Leg. 220. 171. Barrett (1989) 138–39. In carrying out the conquest of Britain, Claudius was probably following the plans of Caligula. See RE 12 (1924–25) 1758, 1797 s.v. “Legio” (E. Ritterling); Balsdon (1934) 13–16. 172. See Philo, Leg. 207; Joseph. AJ 18.262. Cf. Josephus (BJ 2.186), who mistakenly indicates three legions. 173. For the primary literary, epigraphic, and numismatic sources, see Pollini (1978) 12–13 with n. 12. 174. As we know from such famous works as Augustus’ statue from Prima Porta and his Parthian arch in the Roman Forum: Pollini (1978) 12–13 with additional bibliography. See also chapter IV. 175. See further Zeitlin (1965/66), who rightly questions the authenticity of such a letter. 176. See, e.g., Philo, Leg. 366–67. Cf. also their narrow escape in the Red Sea myth. 177. Joseph. AJ 18.306, 19.15–16. With regard to Philo, see also Bilde (1978) 88–89. 178. Yet Philo (Leg. 333–35) typically manages to twist Caligula’s words into something negative. 179. If a Jew had Roman citizenship, as Saul of Tarsus (St. Paul) did, he could appeal directly to Caesar.



No doubt this is what Caligula intended in having Jews sent to him in Rome for judgment. 180. See also Claudius’ decree and warning to both the Greeks and Jews that they must live together in a civilized manner: Smallwood (1981) 247–50. 181. For Caligula’s portraits in general, see Boschung (1989). 182. Evans (1969) 54–55. 183. The earlier contemporary sources are known especially from the second century c.e. biographer Suetonius’ Life of Caligula (50). See further Wardle (1994) 323–30. 184. For the evolution of the study of Caligula’s portraiture, going back to the time of Johann J. Bernouilli, see Boschung (1989) 28–29. 185. One of the first proponents of this theory was Zopyros in fifth century b.c.e. Athens. See Evans (1969) 6, 10, 13, 42–43. 186. Aristotle, however, was also apparently receptive to this theory, as indicated in a passage in his Prior Analytics (2.27). 187. See in general Evans (1969). For the effect of physiognomic theory on Suetonius in particular, see Couisson (1953); Wardle (1994) 326. 188. Physiognomic theory and the portraiture of Caligula are briefly mention in Varner (2004) 22. I presented a paper on this subject, entitled “Caligula: Myth and Reality,” at the symposium “Caligula 3-D: Man, Myth, Emperor” that took place at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts (VMFA), Richmond, Virginia, on December 4, 2011. The project in which I participated, “Creating a ‘Total Environment’ for the Caligula in the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts,” was co-directed by Bernard Frischer, director of the Virtual World Heritage Laboratory at the University of Virginia, and Peter Schertz, the Jack and Mary Ann Frable Curator of Ancient Art at the VMFA, with the support of a grant from the National Endowment of the Humanities. The papers given at the symposium will be published under the title of the symposium. My article will include a colorized version of the Richmond Caligula that is somewhat different from the “official” model with respect to the skin tone, eye color, and hair color. 189. Several three-dimensional polychrome versions have also been produced for the magnificent portrait statue of Caligula in the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts (mus. inv. 71-20). No traces of paint were found on the fleshy parts of the body, only on the drapery. An analysis of the surviving pigments was carried out

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by Mark Abbe, who presented his findings in a paper at the symposium on Caligula at the VMFA. For the Richmond statue of Caligula, see also Boschung (1989) 109–10 (cat. 11) pls. 11, 42–43. Based on archival material recently discovered by Maria Grazia Picozzi, it has been shown that the Richmond Caligula, long thought to be from Rome, actually comes from Bovillae, as first reported by Picozzi in Carinci et al. (1990) 56 n. 242. Her paper “The Modern History of the Richmond Caligula” will be published with the papers of the Caligula symposium (see n. 188 above). The findspot of the statue indicates that it was most likely one of a number of statues from a shrine originally set up to Augustus and his house (Sacrarium Gentis Iuliae) by Tiberius in 16 c.e. (Tac. Ann. 2.41.1): Paolo Liverani’s paper “Caligula: Notes and an Hypothesis on the Context,” which deals with this matter, will also be published with others from the Caligula symposium. 190. Brinkmann and Scholl (eds.) (2010) 219–35, fig. 255 (Version A), fig. 262 (Version B). For another recent and important study of a polychrome sculpture from antiquity and associated problems, see Verri et al. (2010). I thank Jan Stubbe Østergaard, former curator of Greek and Roman Art at the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, for discussing with me his views and the approaches utilized in creating Versions A and B. 191. Although the color scheme is not entirely correct, the nineteenth-century color reproduction of the statue of Augustus from Prima Porta in the Vatican by L. Fenger in Brinkmann and Wünsche (eds.) (2004) 24 in my opinion conveys a better sense of the subtleness of painting, especially of the flesh of ancient sculpture, by at least the more accomplished artists. For coloration of ancient sculpture, see also my comments and illustration of a colorized modern marble portrait of Tanagra in the Santa Barbara Museum of Art by Jean-Léon Gérôme (ca. 1890), who was interested in the question of the painting of sculpture in antiquity: Pollini (2000a) 245–47, fig. 29 (unfortunately, the color photo does not do justice to the original work). See also recently des Cars et al. (eds.) (2010) 298 (cat. 169–70), 300. It should be pointed out in this regard that nineteenth-century artists had their own sense of aesthetics, which may have been different from that of artists of antiquity. 192. For the effect of physiognomic theory on Suetonius in particular, see Couisson (1953); Wardle (1994) 326; Varner (2004) 246 with n. 13. 193. See nn. 195 and 196 below.

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194. On the subject of color and the rhetoric of color in Roman literature, see in general Bradley (2009). This study is important for our understanding of ancient perceptions, semantic associations, and linguistic nuances as transmitted by a Latin color vocabulary, but it does not provide much in the way of solid archaeological evidence for colorization. 195. For an analysis of the pigments of this sculpture, see also the collection of essays in Brinkmann and Scholl (eds.) (2010) 219–25 (J. Stubbe Østergaard); 226–35 (H. Stege, I. Fiedler, U. Baumer). It had been previously reported (p. 235) that a microscopic trace of brown ochre had been found in the iris of the proper left eye: “Geringe Reste braunen Ockers konnten mikroskopisch für die Iris nachgewiesen werden.” 196. See the latest preliminary report on the analysis of the traces of pigment on the Ny Carlsberg Caligula: Sargent and Therkildsen (2010), especially 14, 20, 23–24, figs 9–10, and 11 with caption (also online: http://www.glyptoteket.dk/tracking-colour2.pdf). In fig. 11 the concentration of Egyptian blue (EB) can be seen in the area of both the pupil and iris of the proper right eye. In the report, however, the concentration of EB is mentioned only for the pupil, not the iris, but fig. 11 clearly shows that EB also extends onto the iris. The person reporting may have been influenced by the fact that the pupil of the real human eye tends to be more or less in the middle of the eye, where we see the concentration of the EB. However, in ancient painting as well in sculpture, the pupil is usually represented higher up and slightly under the upper lid, as in the colorized images of Caligula. This was an artistic convention that is not accurate in the real world. EB would have served as an undercoat for the black pigment of the pupil and could have been mixed with more fugitive pigments to produce a blue-gray iris. The reported traces of reddish-brown and pink madder lake were probably used in the outer edge of the iris. I thank Jan Stubbe Østergaard for bringing this report to my attention. Testing is no longer ongoing on the traces of pigments found on this portrait of Caligula. 197. I thank Mark Abbe and Jan Stubbe Østergaard for discussing Egyptian blue with me. 198. Mus. inv. 23.160.23; height 25.5 cm. My observations are based on my personal examination of this bronze portrait. The pigment used for the iris behind the clear lens of the proper right eye appears bluegray; that of the left eye, a more intense bluish or bluegreenish color, which may be the result of corrosion of

the bronze around the eye. See Lahusen and Formigli (2001) 129 (cat. 71), figs. 71.1–4 with further bibliography. The authors, however, claim that the eyes are green (“grün”). I would like to thank Mark Abbe for discussing this portrait with me. I am also especially grateful to Dorothy Abramitis of the museum’s conservation staff for making a sight inspection of the bust and confirming my observations. As she cautions, however, any conclusions would have to be based on a technical analysis of the eyes, which I have formally requested. I hope to be able to report the new findings in the article based on my paper at the conference on Caligula at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts (see n. 188 above). 199. OLD 254. Cf. glaucus in n. 200 below. 200. On the meaning of glaucus as an eye color we are probably on somewhat surer ground, since glaucus is obviously related to glaucoma, the Latin term for cataracts of the eye (OLD 766), in which the lenses of the eye become opaque/light gray. It is also the color of the sea when the sky is gray and the sun shines on it. And given the importance of the cult of Sol/Apollo to Augustus, this may also be the explanation for Suetonius’ comment (Aug. 79) on Augustus’ eyes being “clear and bright/piercing” (oculos habuit claros et nitidos), “in which [Augustus] wished to have it believed that there was a certain divine power” (quibus etiam existimari volebat inesse quiddam divini vigoris).



201. Recently, Jan Stubbe Østergaard suggested to me that perhaps painted wax images were sent out to workshops. Though this is possible, given the Roman nobles’ interests in painted wax ancestor masks, there is thus far no evidence for the distribution of painted wax models in the early Empire. 202. See, for example, Caligula’s portraits in Boschung (1989). For the question of variability, see also the much larger number of surviving portraits of Augustus: Boschung (1993a) and my review article that discusses many of these issues: Pollini (1999a). 203. Painted plaster casts of ancient sculpture more often than not look kitschy partly because plaster reacts differently than marble to paint and because casts are generally not painted by skilled artists. See, for example, the painted plaster cast of the statue of Augustus from Prima Porta: Brinkmann and Wünsche (eds.) (2004) 186–97. Although the coloration of plaster casts has a place in scholarly discourse and as practice pieces, the display of such colorized plaster casts as part of a museum exhibition often does a disservice, in my opinion, since visitors often think polychromed plaster casts faithfully reproduce the original appearance of ancient sculptures.

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Cha p ter IX

“Star Power” in Imperial Rome Astral Theology, Castorian Imagery, and the Dual Heirs in the Transmission of Leadership

F 

rom the beginning of human history, man has looked to the night sky, home of the celestial gods, in the belief that our destiny is inextricably bound up with the stars and constellations. Whether in the two stylized heavenly stars of Shamash and Ishtar on the Akkadian victory stele of Naram-Sin (ca. 2250 b.c.e.) (fig. iv.1)1 or on the star-speckled ceiling imitating heaven in the Tomb of Amenhotep II (ca. 1427–1400 b.c.e.) in the Valley of the Kings in Egypt (fig. ix.1),2 from earliest historical times we have represented stars as symbols of our aspiration for various forms of immortality. In our own day, we have the Hollywood “Walk of Fame,” as well as references to movie stars, rock stars, all-star athletes, and even academic stars.

Fig. ix.1. Tomb of Amenhotep II (ca. 1427–1400 b.c.e.). After Weeks (2005) 245 (top)

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Fig. ix.2. Alignment of the three great pyramids on the Gizeh plateau. After Bauval and Gilbert (1994) pl. 6 Fig. ix.3. Alignment of the three stars in the Belt of Orion/ Osiris constellation. After Bauval and Gilbert (1994) pl. 6

In ruler cults, the role of stars— particularly astral theology—has a likewise long history. For example, in ancient Egypt an air shaft in the king’s chamber in the great pyramid of Khufu at Gizeh is thought to have been a passageway to speed pharaoh’s soul heavenward to the constellation of Osiris, better known to us today by the Greek name Orion. Osiris, a god of regeneration and rebirth, served as the heavenly paradigm for pharaoh and his resurrection after death to dwell in the heavens with the gods forever, as preordained by fate. The arrangement of the three great pyramids in relation to one another on the Gizeh plateau and to the Nile (fig. ix.2) imitates the alignment of the three stars making up the belt of Osiris/Orion (fig. ix.3), including the slightly off-axis position of the smallest star and the smallest of the Gizeh pyramids. The life-giving fluvial course of the Nile itself was



Fig. ix.4. Reconstruction of the relationship between the three stars in the Belt of Orion/Osiris and the three great pyramids at Gizeh, as well as between the Milky Way and the Nile River. After Bauval and Gilbert (1994) pl. 16

IX. “Sta r P ower” in Im peria l Rom e

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considered to be mirrored in the Milky Way (fig. ix.4).3 Such celestial analogies, which are found in various cultures,4 are cornerstones of the legitimization of temporal power. They can be traced back as early as the Narmer Palette, created over five thousand years ago.5 In the transmission of ideas of astral divinity to the Western world, the Greeks played a key role, especially in the Hellenistic period following the conquests of Alexander the Great in the East.6 Alexander’s Hellenistic successors took over and fashioned for themselves ideological programs based on Near Eastern and Egyptian systems of divine kingship that were replete with astral symbolism. For example, in a third-century b.c.e. gold octodrachm, the deified Ptolemy III is represented wearing the solar crown (plate XXXVII),7 reflecting the fact that the sun was believed to be the “king of stars” and that the souls of kings were thought to descend from the sun to be born on earth and to return to the sun after death and deification.8 When Rome expanded eastward and took over the Hellenistic kingdoms of Alexander’s former empire, it absorbed many aspects of Hellenistic royal ideology, including astral and solar theology, to help define the nature of leadership.9 Incompatible with the traditions of the Roman Republic, the ideology of Hellenistic kingship found expression for a long time only in the private literature and art of the Roman elite, who saw themselves as the inheritors of Alexander’s empire.10 However, toward the very end of the Republic, in the Second Triumviral period in the second half of the first century b.c.e., regal ideology began to permeate even official media, most notably state coinage. As discussed in chapter II, Julius Caesar’s adopted son Octavian, despite having railed against Marc Antony for acting like an eastern godlike king, was represented on state denarii like a god after he defeated Antony and Cleopatra at the Battle of Actium in 31 b.c.e. (figs. ii.3–4).11 But with the founding of the Principate by Octavian—now renamed Augustus—in 27 b.c.e., the trappings of divinity and the language of Hellenistic kingship were all but given up in official art during the lifetime of the Princeps in the earlier part of the imperial period.12 Only after death and deification were Rome’s leaders represented at that time in official state media as godlike. The first Roman leader to be deified by the government of Rome was Julius Caesar, who was consecrated by the Roman Senate in 42 b.c.e. as a divus, a mortal who was recognized as a state god (see further chapter III). Caesar’s state cult is particularly significant for our understanding of astral theology, which was now for the first time introduced into the official imagery and ideology of the Principate. When a comet appeared in the skies for seven consecutive days during the games held in Caesar’s honor after his death,13 this astral

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Fig. ix.5a. Denarius (obv.: head of Julius Caesar with star behind it), 44 b.c.e. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and the Classical Numismatic Group

phenomenon was taken to be the translation of Caesar’s soul (anima) to the realm of the heavenly gods.14 In the year of his assassination (44 b.c.e.), Caesar’s head already appears with a star behind it on the obverses of Roman state denarii (fig. ix.5a).15 The Sidus or Astrum Iulium, the “Julian star” or “comet,” was later represented on Augustus’ coinage, including aurei dating around 18–17 b.c.e. (fig. ix.6),16 and in the pediment of Caesar’s temple (figs. iii.3, 6). The star or comet came to be used as the mark of a divus or son of a divus. Thus, shortly after construction commenced on Caesar’s temple, Octavian had a star inscribed on his own helmet (Serv. ad. Aen. 8.681),17 signifying his adoption into the Julian house and his formal position now as divi filius. As “son of the deified one,” Octavian was marked out as Caesar’s legal heir and rightful successor in the sense that he was now the new head of the so-called Caesarian party, but not the hereditary heir to Caesar’s position as leader of the Roman State, although that is what it really amounted to. Octavian’s inscribing of his helmet with Caesar’s star is also evoked in the Aeneid (8.680–81) when Vergil describes Octavian in the Battle of Actium with his brows pouring forth double flames and his father’s star on his head: geminas cui tempora flammas laeta vomunt patriumque aperitur vertice sidus. On certain numismatic issues from ca. 44–38 b.c.e. Octavian was represented as divi filius on the obverse (fig. iv.7a), with the head of Divus Iulius on the reverse (fig. iv.7b).18 In some cases Caesar’s star was placed in front of Octavian’s head.19 All of this visual symbolism made clear Octavian’s position as the new rising star of Roman politics. Although Octavian/Augustus’ real power was of course always based on his control of the Roman armies, the nature of his auctoritas—the extralegal authority that



Fig. ix.5b. Denarius (rev.: Venus holding a victoriola and scepter), 44 b.c.e. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and the Classical Numismatic Group

Fig. ix.6. Denarius (rev.: sidus [comet] of Divus Iulius), 18–17 b.c.e. After Kent (1978) pl. 40.145

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Fig. ix.7. Denarius (rev.: Venus holding helmet and scepter with star imposed on shield), 31–29 b.c.e. After Kent (1978) pl. 35.121

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was the basis of his primacy in the Roman State—was more complex, relying in part on his unique position as divi filius. The star had still further significance as a symbol of Venus, whom Caesar claimed as an ancestral goddess. Venus holding a scepter, in some cases with a star at the bottom, appears on the reverse of denarii of 44 b.c.e. (fig. ix.5b)20 that show on the obverse Caesar with a star behind his head (fig. ix.5a). Since the chronology of coins with Caesar’s head is notoriously difficult,21 it is unclear whether the star refers here to his death/deification or to the divinity of Venus, the bright starlike planet in the night sky. It might, in fact, signify both. In some of this coinage of 44 b.c.e., Venus is shown on the reverse with stars on a globe.22 In 31–29 b.c.e. Octavian issued denarii with his own head on the obverse and Venus holding a helmet and scepter on the reverse, while behind her is a shield with a superimposed star (fig. ix.7).23 The legend CAESAR DIVI F on the reverse stresses Octavian’s relation to Caesar. The star on the shield was also reminiscent of the starburst of the royal house of Macedon, the family of Alexander,24 whom Caesar and Octavian/Augustus emulated.25 As noted in chapter III, shortly after Caesar was officially consecrated as a divus in 42 b.c.e., Octavian had bronze stars placed on the heads of all the statues set up to Divus Iulius. This act is most likely commemorated on state coinage of 12 b.c.e. (fig. iii.12), the thirtieth anniversary of Caesar’s deification, when Halley’s Comet also appeared.26 On this coin type Octavian/ Augustus places a bronze star on the head of a seminude statue of the deified Caesar.27 Because the honoree was dead, it was now acceptable for Caesar’s divinity to be expressed openly and officially in the vocabulary of Hellenistic kingship.28 Several years earlier, in 17 b.c.e., on aurei and denarii issued by Marcus Sanquinius on the occasion of the Ludi Saeculares (“Secular Games”), the head of Divus Iulius was represented on the reverse with a comet over his head and with his physiognomy rejuvenated and assimilated to that of Augustus, who appears on the obverse (fig. iii.14a–b).29 The enhanced resemblance was undoubtedly intended to underscore Augustus’ filial relationship with Caesar—the visual equivalent of Augustus’ being referred to as divi filius. Similarly youthful is the figure generally identified as Divus Iulius, with a drill-hole in his head for the attachment of a star or comet, in a sculptural relief from Carthage, now in the Archaeological Museum in Algiers (fig. III.13a–b).30 Caesar appears here with both Mars and Venus, in imitation of the three divine statues that were set up in the Temple of Mars Ultor in Augustus’ Forum in Rome (Cass. Dio 56.46.4).

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Fig. ix.8a. Ravenna Relief showing the Augustan and JulioClaudian family, San Vitale, Ravenna. Photo by author

Fig. ix.8b. Head of Augustus on Ravenna Relief. Photo by author

Fig. ix.8c. Celestial globe with zodiac and Augustus’ foot above his natal sign, Capricorn. Photo by author

In a relief not commissioned by the state now in San Vitale in Ravenna (the Ravenna Relief), statuelike figures of various members of the Augustan and Julio-Claudian family are also represented (fig. ix.8a).31 Although the identity of some of these has been disputed, the figure to the far right is unquestionably Divus Augustus,32 based not only on his facial features (fig. ix.8b), iconographic hairstyle, and drilled hole over his head for the attachment of



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Fig. ix.9. Capricorn superimposed on solar disc inscribed with rays of the sun on the Gemma Augustea. Photo by author

a bronze star or comet (fig. iii.18) but also on the fact that he places his foot on a celestial globe inscribed with some of the signs of the zodiac, most notably Capricorn, the astral sign associated with Augustus (fig. ix.8c).33 According to some accounts, Capricorn was the vehicle by which Augustus’ soul was translated to the stars.34 On the Gemma Augustea (fig. ii.17), Capricorn is superimposed on the solar disc, inscribed with the rays of the sun (fig. ix.9).35 In keeping with the ideology of Hellenistic kingship,36 this divine astral badge symbolizes the descent of Augustus from the sun, the king of stars, and his foreordained deification after death, when his soul would return to the stars.37 Around the time Augustus died in 14 c.e., bloodred comets were reported to have appeared,38 signifying that—like his adoptive father Caesar—he had now become a divus in heaven. Also represented on the Ravenna Relief is Germanicus, whom Tiberius adopted in 4 c.e. at the behest of Augustus. Germanicus, who had been marked out to succeed Tiberius eventually as Princeps, died in the year 19 c.e. at the age of thirty-four. Although never officially divinized, Germanicus is represented in the Ravenna Relief like a divus, seminude and with a star carved in relief on his head (fig. ix.10a). Above the star is a drill-hole (fig. ix.10b) for the attachment of either a bronze star or a bronze flame for the tail of a comet. As this case clearly

Fig. ix.10a. Heroized Germanicus on Ravenna Relief. Photo by author Fig. ix.10b. Drillhole for attachment of bronze star or comet on head of Germanicus on Ravenna Relief. Photo by author

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shows, stars or comets could also serve to mark out those who had achieved a heroic or unofficial divine status after death. In the visual arts, comets and stars, as well as the sun, could herald the birth or rebirth (i.e., by adoption) of a child destined for great things, underscoring the belief that the fate of individuals, especially extraordinary human beings, was written in the stars. We are told that the birth of Augustus in 63 b.c.e. was accompanied by amazing portents, including those of an astral nature. It was reported, for example, that before his birth his mother dreamed that her internal organs were borne up to the stars and spread over land and sea—clearly a sign that the future Augustus would hold sway over the world. His father is said to have dreamed that the sun rose from the womb of his wife, then pregnant with the future Augustus. It was also rumored that Augustus was really the product of a virgin birth, his true father being the god Apollo, who is closely associated with the sun-god Helios/Sol.39 This story of course recalls that of Alexander the Great’s divine conception, which in turn evoked the birth of Alexander’s legendary ancestor Herakles, who was the son of Zeus by a mortal woman.40 Since Augustus was seen as the Alter Conditor (“Second Founder”) of Rome, the virgin birth of Romulus, who became a god after his death and was worshiped as Quirinus, would also have been recalled.41 After Romulus died and ascended to heaven, he was said to have appeared to Iulius Proculus, a leading Roman senator (cf. fig. iii.10). As noted in chapter VIII, these stories parallel and appear to have informed the report of the divinity of Jesus and of his supposed appearance to his followers after his death by crucifixion.42 Although we know that Christianity borrowed and adapted much from polytheistic philosophy, religion, mythology, and magic,43 it is not always appreciated how directly and greatly in debt Christianity is to the imperial cult for its language and symbolism. Even the story of Herod’s slaughter of the innocents at the time of Jesus’ birth—undoubtedly based in part on the myth of the infant Moses—is reminiscent of the circumstances surrounding the birth of Augustus. According to Suetonius (Aug. 94.3), it was foretold that a king for the Roman people would be born, whereupon the Roman Senate, fearing the return of kingship, decreed that no male child born in the year of Augustus’ birth should live. In inventing a story about the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem rather than in Nazareth in order to fulfill the biblical prophecy of the birth of the messiah in Bethlehem and of a star’s leading the Magi there, Christians most likely blended biblical tradition and the star or comet of the deified Julius Caesar and Augustus.44 Interestingly, a late Gothic painting by Giotto di Bondone represents the star of Bethlehem as a comet with a long trailing tail.45 Venus’ star also led her hero-son Aeneas from Troy to Italy, where it was prophesied



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that a new race would arise from him—the Aeneadae, or future Romans—and that a child would be born—Augustus Caesar—who as savior and benefactor of mankind would bring peace to the world and usher in a new Golden Age.46 This story no doubt also set the stage for the later Christian concept of the “Prince of Peace.” The interrelation of astral theology and the notion of a savior and benefactor, which had a long tradition in Hellenistic royal ideology, was to provide a paradigm for imperial power and succession in Rome. Augustus’ “Dual Heir” System of Succession and Castorian Imagery Under the Principate, dynastic succession was of paramount importance in guaranteeing a stable government and a peaceful Empire after almost a hundred years of civil strife and foreign wars. Although Augustus determined that supreme power was to remain within his family, he did not produce a son of his own blood; moreover, his first intended successor, his sister Octavia Minor’s son Marcellus, died in 23 b.c.e. at the age of nineteen (Cass. Dio 53.30.4). To deal with the problem of the high mortality rate of the young in ancient Rome, Augustus thereafter devised what I have termed the “dual heir” system, which provided for an “heir and a spare.” He consequently adopted at the same time in 17 b.c.e. his grandsons, Gaius (born in 20) and Lucius (born in 17),47 the children of his daughter Julia and his trusted right-hand man and son-in-law Marcus Agrippa. Gaius is likely to have been represented as an infant in the figure of Cupid riding a dolphin, symbolic of his mother Venus, in the statue of Augustus from Prima Porta (fig. ix.11a–c).48 Although the facial features of Cupid cannot be shown to be the actual features of Gaius as an infant, the face has a portraitlike quality, quite different from that of an entirely idealized divinity. In short, the Prima Porta Cupid was most likely to be understood as a symbolic portrait of Gaius that served to underscore the descent of the Iulii (i.e., Julian house) from Venus. When one of Germanicus’ sons died as an infant verging on boyhood (puerascens), this same association with Venus was undoubtedly what inspired Livia to dedicate a statue of the child in the guise of Cupid (effigiem habitu Cupidinis) in the Capitoline Temple of Venus and prompted Augustus to place a copy of it in his bedroom, which he often kissed upon entering the room (Suet. Calig. 7).49 Both Gaius and Lucius are later shown with their mother on Augustan denarii dated ca. 13 b.c.e. (fig. ix.12).50 Interestingly, however, the two boys appear on this coinage to be older than their actual ages in 13 b.c.e. These images would therefore be not only symbolic but also proleptic, as in the use of the future perfect tense in Latin. Such proleptic imagery is also found in Roman art in the Gemma Augustea (see chapter II with n. 92 above).

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Fig. ix.11b–c. Symbolic portrait of Gaius Caesar serving as head of the Cupid figure of statue of Augustus from Prima Porta. Photo by author Fig. ix.11a. Cupid riding dolphin support of the statue of Augustus from Prima Porta, Braccio Nuovo, Vatican. Photo by author

At least initially, extraordinary imperial powers could not be transferred en bloc to a successor, since the Principate was not in theory a hereditary monarchy.51 Augustus had to walk a fine line to avoid criticism and the appearance of setting up a kingship with a “crown prince” to succeed him. His dilemma was to provide for continuity and stability in the Roman State after his death, while not officially or publicly designating a successor in the manner of a monarchy. Legally, his successors were only heirs to his private estate, not heirs to a political office, since the title of Princeps did not denote a political office; it represented only a collection of powers legally granted by the Roman Senate. As Princeps, Augustus was therefore, at least in theory, the agent of the Senate and People of Rome. Later on in the JulioClaudian period, of course, all of Augustus’ legal powers would be transmitted together to his successor, as officially expressed for the first time in the famous Lex de Imperio Vespasiano (“law regarding the [legal] power of Vespasian”), known from a large inscribed bronze tablet now preserved in the Capitoline Museum in Rome (fig. ix.13).52 The two most important powers that the Senate voted to Augustus were tribunicia potestas (“tribunicial power”), which gave him great civic authority, and maius imperium (“supreme legal power”) over



Fig. ix.12. Denarius (rev.: symbolic portraits of Julia with sons Gaius and Lucius), 13 b.c.e. After Kent (1978) pl. 39.136

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Fig. ix.13. Bronze tablet of the Lex de Imperio Vespasiano. Photo by author

the military throughout the Empire. Unlike anyone before him, Augustus held these powers for life, without the need for renewal. To be sure, Agrippa and Tiberius eventually gained both these legal powers under Augustus, but they were of fixed duration and had to be renewed. Augustus’ heir had to earn his

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powers and magisterial, military, and priestly offices over time, until they were virtually equal to those of the Princeps. In this manner, Augustus’ intended successor and heir to his private estate would be the most powerful man in the Empire after Augustus’ death and therefore de facto Princeps.53 Because of the fragility of life at this time, as brought home by the death of his nephew Marcellus early in his Principate, Augustus determined to groom not one but two individuals for power. A number of the principes who came after Augustus adopted this dual heir system, in which a pair of young men of the imperial family—usually the Princeps’ two eldest sons, whether by birth or adoption—were carefully groomed to govern the Roman State. A drawback of this scheme, of course, was the possibility that rivalries might arise between the two or that others might be tempted to manipulate the younger to depose the older, as occurred later. Augustus may not have foreseen this problem, perhaps assuming that the younger heir would be satisfied to play a role like that of Augustus’ loyal confidant Agrippa. Although rarely ever biological twins, the dual heirs were regarded as the twin leaders of the Iuventus, a youth organization that Augustus revived, primarily to prepare the sons of the senatorial and equestrian orders for military and civic careers. The title Principes Iuventutis—like that of Princeps—was not a legal one but honorific, with religious and political overtones.54 Although three years apart in age, Gaius and Lucius could be considered symbolic twins, since Augustus had adopted both of them at the same time.55 As “twin” Principes Iuventutis, they could be compared explicitly or implicitly—both during their lifetimes and after death if they died young—to the Divine Twins, Castor and Pollux. Known in the Greek world as the Dioskouroi,56 the Divine Twins were especially associated with Sparta, where they were said to have been born.57 They were also honored on the Hellenistic coinage of that city.58 However, veneration of the Dioskouroi was not limited to Sparta but extended over a wide geographical area. Rulers who came after Alexander, including Eumenes II and Attalos II of Pergamon, invoked association with them,59 while Lysander was said to have included statues of the Dioskouroi (who were the patron gods of sailors) topped with stars in his monument to the naval commanders at Delphi.60 The Divine Twins are also shown as recipients of cult worship in a fourth-century b.c.e. Athenian votive relief, now in the Museo Nazionale Romano al Palazzo Altemps in Rome (fig. ix.14).61 The Dioskouri are thought to have been introduced into Italy in the eighth century b.c.e., after the Spartans set up their colony Taras, better known later as Tarentum.62 From here the cult of the Divine Twins grew in popularity and spread throughout southern Italy and Sicily before reaching



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Fig. ix.14. Athenian votive relief showing the worship of the Dioskouroi, fourth century b.c.e., Museo Nazionale Romano al Palazzo Altemps, Rome. Photo by author

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both Etruria63 and Latium.64 By the late sixth century b.c.e., the cult already had come to Rome from the Latium town of Lavinium.65 The Dioskouroi were said to have been set in the heavens as stars by their father, Zeus/Jupiter, because of their deeds and their great fraternal love for one another.66 The Divine Twins played a significant role in the Romans’ concept of bringing divine aid, especially in the context of military victory. In the Battle of Sagra, which took place around the mid-sixth century b.c.e. in southern Italy, the Dioskouroi were said to have appeared and to have brought victory to the Lokrians.67 Their epiphany in a moment of crisis was later adopted as a topos for other battles. According to Roman legend, two handsome youths miraculously appeared on magnificent white horses at a critical moment in the Battle of Lake Regillus just north of Rome at the outset of the Roman Republic.68 As the story goes, it was later realized that the two youths were Castor and Pollux.69 At this defining moment in the early history of the City their presence gave hope to the beleaguered Roman army, under the command of Aulus Postumius Albinus, and brought victory to Rome. Although no ancient representation of the battle has come down to us, it is the subject of a noted Renaissance fresco by Tomasso Laureti in the “Sala dei Capitani” in the Palazzo dei Conservatori in Rome (plate XXXVIII).70 Because of the Castores’ role in the Battle of Lake Regillus and their close association with horses, they became the patron gods of the Roman equestrian class at an early stage. For their role as savior-gods and benefactors,71 they were honored with a temple and cult in 484 b.c.e. near the spot in the Roman Forum

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Fig. ix.15. Present ruins of the Temple of the Castores (podium and three columns) in the Roman Forum. Photo by author

where they reportedly had watered their horses after the victorious battle72 and where an altar was erected to them.73 The ruins of the Temple of the Castores that are seen today (fig. ix.15) largely date to the Augustan period,74 when the temple was rebuilt and rededicated in the year 6 c.e. in the name of Augustus’ two stepsons, Tiberius and his brother Drusus Maior, who had died in 9 b.c.e. Their association with the Temple of the Castores is highly significant, for the fraternal love of Tiberius and Drusus was well known, and the Castores were said to have been seen at the hour of Drusus’ death, when shooting stars appeared in the heavens. It is likely that Augustus originally planned to have the temple dedicated in the names of Gaius and Lucius, had they not died prematurely.75 In Greek religion, a table was set for the Divine Twins, who were summoned to it in a rite of guest reception known as the theoxenia (“entertaining of the gods”).76 Because of this ritual the Castores came to be identified in Roman religion with the Penates, protective divinities of the Roman hearth, whether of an individual or of the state. At the state level, Rome had two pairs of Penates. One pair appears to have consisted of iconic images kept with the other sacra pignora within the symbolic hearth of the City in the Roman Forum—the Temple of Vesta, which was closed to the public.77 The other two Penates, whose publicly accessible temple was on the Velian Hill in Rome, were represented as a pair of seated gods holding spears.78 The Shrine of the Penates on the Velia is thought to have been modeled on their temple at Lavinium, where legend had it that



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Aeneas sacrificed the Sow of Lavinium.79 As chapter V (with appendix A) indicates, the temple at Lavinium appears on a hillock in the right front panel of the Ara Pacis (fig. v.11b), reminding the Romans of their own Shrine of the Penates on the Velia. On the Ara Pacis the temple appears proleptically, since it would not have existed at the time Aeneas carried out rites preparatory to his sacrifice of the Sow of Lavinium. In the porch of the temple on the Ara Pacis the two seated Penates/Castores are shown as seminude youths holding spears, presumably as they appeared in their images in the shrine on the Velia (cf. fig. v.11b).80 The representation of the Penates/Castores here and the other pairs on the Ara Pacis (especially Romulus and Remus and the two children with Tellus Italiae) would also indirectly recall Gaius and Lucius, who were themselves depicted in the processional friezes of the monument. The iconography of the Castores varies to a certain degree. From at least the fifth century b.c.e., they were generally represented as paired, seminude figures with stars above their heads,81 as exemplified in a double-sided gemstone dated to the third century b.c.e.82 They were also commonly depicted wearing a pilos (egg-shaped cap), which was often crowned or decorated with a star, as in wall paintings from the House of the Dioskouroi at Pompeii dating to the mid-first century c.e.83 Frequently shown accompanying the Twins are their horses, as in the paintings from the House of the Dioskouroi and the two ancient colossal marble statues now guarding the entrance to the Capitoline Hill in Rome (fig. ix.16a–b) that originally came from a Temple of the Castores in the Campus Martius.84 As Claudio Parisi Presicce has convincingly shown, these statues do not date to Neronian times, as previously thought, but were more likely set up in the Antonine era.85 Castorian imagery was not particularly important in the Neronian period but became so in the Principate of Antoninus Pius, when the dual heir system was revived. As early as the third century b.c.e., the Castores were represented on the state coinage of Rome on horseback with stars over their heads and brandishing spears (fig. ix.17).86 A century later, they appeared on denarii as paired heads, wearing laurel wreaths, the symbol of victory, and with stars over their heads.87 In Roman art and literature the Castores would continue to be represented as savior gods and benefactors, a notion that gained impetus from the royal ideology of the Hellenistic successors of Alexander the Great, whom the Roman nobility of the Republic sought to emulate.88 Whether on official coinage issued during their lifetimes, like the numismatic issue of King Antiochos IV of Syria,89 or in private media, such as the seal-impressions from Cyprus of the Ptolemaic kings of Egypt,90 Hellenistic rulers are sometimes shown with the star of the Dioskouroi/Dioscuri over their heads or on their helmets to signify

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Fig. ix.16a. One of the Castores from the Temple of the Castores in the Campus Martius, now on the left at the entrance to the Capitoline Hill, Rome. Photo by author Fig. ix.16b. One of the Castores from the Temple of the Castores in the Campus Martius, now on the right at the entrance to the Capitoline Hill, Rome. Photo by author

their role as “saviors and benefactors” (σωτῆρες καὶ ἐυεργέτες) of their people. Also reflective of this ideology is a Hellenistic vase molded in the form of a portrait of the deceased and deified Alexander the Great with a large solar star represented above his head from Amisus (Pontus), now in the Musée Cinquantenaire, Brussels (fig. ix.18).91 Two smaller flanking astral symbols allude to the stars of the Dioskouroi—a way of indicating that Alexander was now dwelled among the celestial gods. From ancient literature, we know of a famous lost painting by Apelles representing Alexander between the Dioskouroi.92 This painting and another of Alexander by Apelles were brought back to Rome by Augustus, who set them in facing walls of the so-called Aula del Colosso, the small square room at the end of the long northwestern lateral portico of the Forum Augustum, next to the Temple of Mars (cf. fig. i.3, plate III).93 This was an appropriate context in which to display them, since the Forum Augustum served as a national gallery of honor and showplace for Roman military victory. Through his association with these paintings in their new context, Augustus could be equated with Alexander,



Fig. ix.17. Denarius (rev.: Castores on horseback with stars over their heads and brandishing spears), 209 b.c.e. After Kent (1978) pl. 8.17

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Fig. ix.18. Plastic vase of head of the deified Alexander the Great with three stars represented over his head, Musée Cinquantenaire, Brussels. After Wood (1997) 63

Fig. ix.19. Aureus (rev.: head of Divus Augustus with two stars by his head), 37–38 c.e. After Kent (1978) 281 (no. 165) pl. 48

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while Gaius and Lucius, who consecrated the Temple of Mars Ultor in 2 b.c.e., could be likened to the Castores, who flanked Alexander in one of the paintings.94 As discussed in chapter IV, Claudius later had the face of Alexander in Apelles’ two masterpieces replaced with that of the deified Augustus (Plin. HN 35.94), so that Augustus could then be seen quite literally as the “New Alexander.” Even before the Principate of Claudius, Caligula had issued aurei and denarii with the portrait of the deified Augustus on the reverse, wearing a solar crown and with a star on each side of his head (fig. ix.19).95 Scholars have long debated why on this coinage two stars flank the head of Augustus instead of the usual one star on or above it.96 Based on the analogy of the two stars on either side of the head of Alexander on the molded Hellenistic vase (fig. ix.18), as well as of the Divine Twins’ flanking Alexander in Apelles’ painting, the two stars on Caligula’s coins were probably intended to allude to the Castores, the message being that the deified Augustus was now in heaven with them. The stars associated with the Castores signified divinity, or more precisely “catasterism” (καταστερισμός), the “translation of a soul to heaven,” as we saw in chapter III. Relevant to this interpretation is the fact that in a common version of the myth of the Divine Twins, Castor was mortal-born but after death was translated to heaven to dwell with his immortal-born brother Pollux,97 thus forming the constellation of Gemini. The attainment of immortality by the mortal-born Castor therefore provided an appropriate paradigm for divinity achieved through accomplishments in life. The reported appearance of the Castores upon the death of a great individual could also imply that the divine astral Twins had come to accompany the deceased’s soul to heaven. In the dual heir system of succession, Castorian imagery found its principal expression in connection with the leadership of the youth organization, the Iuventus. As twin leaders of the Iuventus, the sons of the Princeps also became the leaders of the equestrian order at Rome, whose patron gods were the Castores.98 To honor Gaius and Lucius in both of these capacities, Augustus struck denarii and aurei that were disseminated throughout the Empire beginning in 2 b.c.e.

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Fig. ix.20. Fragment of an Augustan Lares altar with two bullae represented, most likely a reference to Gaius and Lucius Caesar, Museo della Centrale Montemartini (Musei Capitolini). Photo by author

(plate XXXIX).99 On this so-called crossed shields coinage, the two youths are represented in an appropriately Republican fashion, wearing togas100 and with the silver shields and spears awarded to them by the Roman equestrian class (RG 14.2). With the head of Augustus on the obverse side of this coinage, the paired Principes Iuventutis on the reverse were demonstrably marked out by Augustus as future leaders of the Roman State. This formulaic numismatic imagery of Princeps on the obverse and Principes Iuventutis on the reverse served as well for Augustus’ imperial successors, whether the paired youths appeared as whole figures or only as portrait heads.101 On Roman state coinage from Spain, moreover, Gaius and Lucius are hailed in the legend as CAESAR[ES] GEM[INI]102 (“Twin Caesars”), obviously to invite comparison with the divine Gemini, Castor and Pollux. The Augustan dual heir system, though not specifically an association with the Divine Twins, was also reflected in the nonofficial sphere, as evidenced by the indirect allusion to Gaius and Lucius on a beautiful fragmentary Augustan (Lares?) altar now in the Museo della Centrale Montemartini (Museo Capitolino) in Rome showing two bullae (protective amulets) suspended above a finely carved festoon (fig. ix.20).103 The two bullae represented on this public altar very likely celebrated the passage of Gaius and Lucius from childhood to



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Fig. ix.21. Cast of a relief from Como probably showing the transvectio equitum, Museo della Civiltà Romana, EUR. Photo by author

manhood, an event commemorated in Roman families by the dedication of the bulla in the domestic lararium. As Seviri Turmae (commanders of one of the six equestrian squadrons) as well as Principes Iuventutis, Gaius and Lucius would have participated in the official annual equestrian pass in review known as the transvectio equitum, which Augustus had revived.104 This event was held on July 15 to commemorate the anniversary of the Battle of Lake Regillus, in which the Castores had aided the Roman army and brought victory to the Roman people (cf. plate XXXVIII). A provincial sculptural relief from Como in northern Italy shows part of what is likely to be the transvectio equitum (fig. ix.21).105 This formal equestrian procession, sometimes numbering around five thousand participants, each year passed in review in front of the Temple of the Castores in the Roman Forum, where sacrifices to the Divine Twins were also offered. Wearing purple togas with scarlet stripes (trabeae) and olive crowns, Gaius and Lucius would ride along together at the head of the procession, probably on white horses like the Castores and brandishing silver spears and shields (Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 6.13.4–5), vividly evoking Castorian imagery and recalling not only the Battle of Lake Regillus but also other past Roman military victories with which the Divine Twins were connected. In official Augustan ideology, association of the Princeps’ living dual heirs

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Fig. ix.22a. Statue of Gaius Caesar, Archaeological Museum, Corinth, ca. 2 b.c.e. Photo by author Fig. ix.22b. Statue of Lucius Caesar, Archaeological Museum, Corinth, ca. 2 b.c.e. Photo by author

with the Castores was more implied than overtly stated. However, in works that were unofficial (from the point of view of the Roman State) Castorian imagery could be far more direct, in keeping with the tradition of Hellenistic kingship that commonly represented living leaders and successors as godlike. For example, two seminude statues from the so-called Julian Basilica at Corinth portray Gaius (fig. ix.22a) and Lucius (fig. ix.22b) as paired heroic nude figures.106 These statues may have been dedicated about the time of Gaius’ military



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Fig. ix.23. Statue of one of the Castores from the Theater at Leptis Magna. After Parisi Presicce (1994) fig. 15

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mission to the East in 2 b.c.e., when he very likely visited Corinth, the administrative capital of Achaia.107 In that same year, Gaius and Lucius consecrated the Temple of Mars Ultor in the Forum Augustum, and Lucius received the toga virilis. The equestrian order also bestowed on Lucius the title of Princeps Iuventutis,108 an honor reflected in the crossed shields coin series representing both Gaius and Lucius (plate XXXIX). As an alternate possible date, the Corinth statues might have been set up around the time of Lucius’ death in 2 c.e. at the age of eighteen or Gaius’ death in 4 c.e. at the age of twenty-two. However, I believe that these dates are less likely because of the several significant events associated with 2 b.c.e., as noted. The fact that Lucius appears older than fourteen in the Corinth statue might simply reflect a desire to represent the two youths as more “twinlike.”109 The Corinth figures, which were based on models of Classical Greek art,110 resemble the two statues of the Divine Twins in the Augustan theater of Leptis Magna in North Africa (fig. ix.23).111 Although lacking the distinctive egg-shaped cap of the Castores, as well as their horses, the Corinth statues’ pairing, comparable poses, heroic nudity with mantles arranged in a similar fashion, and idealized facial features would have invited a comparison of the two young men with the Divine Twins. At about the same time that the statues of Gaius and Lucius were set up at Corinth, I believe that equestrian images of both youths would have been placed over the two gateways to the Roman Agora in Athens, which had been monumentalized during the Augustan period (IX.24a–b).112 Although we have only the inscribed base of the equestrian statue of Lucius from the west (back) gateway to the Roman Agora, it is reasonable to conclude that a pendant equestrian image of Gaius stood over the east (front) gateway to the Agora, since it was common to represent both brothers in such architectural showplaces.113 These statues would have reminded the Athenians that Gaius and Lucius were

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Fig. ix.24a. Plan of Roman Agora (Market) in relation to the Athenian Agora ca. 14 c.e. A. Agora. B. Roman Market. C. Tower of the Winds. D. Hellenistic (?) stoa. After Hoff (2001) fig. 4

Fig. ix.24b. Reconstruction of equestrian statue of Lucius Caesar over the west (back) gateway of the Roman Agora. After Hoff (2001) fig. 13

like the Dioskouroi, whose equestrian images had been set up in the High Classical period in front of the Propylaea, the main gateway on the Akropolis. In the early imperial period, the name of Germanicus was added to one of the two bases near the Propylaea, while another now missing name, in all probability that of Tiberius’ son Drusus Minor, was added to the other,114 which would have also evoked pendant equestrian images of Gaius and Lucius over the gateways to the Roman Agora.



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The setting up of both groups of imperial heirs in the context of gateways and doorways would underscore the Dioskouroi’s protection of home and state, as well as the similarity of the Principes Iuventutis to the Dioskouroi/Castores, and at the same time recall other elite Greek equestrian groups.115 An inscription from an Augustan arch in Pisa indicates that Gaius and Lucius were represented there, too, as equestrian figures, again in their role as Principes Iuventutis.116 Equestrian statues of them may also have been set up on some sort of arch or quadrifons in the Roman Forum between the Temple of Julius Caesar and the Basilica Aemilia, near which an inscription with Lucius’ name was found.117 In yet another inscription, from Cyprus, it has been postulated that the two youths are called the “twin sons” (δίδυμoι υἷοί) of Augustus, while Augustus himself is referred to as Zeus—appropriately, since Zeus was considered the father of one or both of the Dioskouroi.118 An inscription from Ephesos indicates that long after their deaths both Gaius and Lucius continued to be worshiped there along with the Dioskouroi and Alexander the Great.119 The premature passing of his adopted sons forced Augustus to designate another pair of heirs by adoption, namely, his stepson Tiberius, who at the behest of the Princeps in turn adopted Augustus’ grandson Germanicus in 4 c.e.120 Augustus’ new plan for succession is expressed in the Gemma Augustea (fig. ii.17), created a few years before his death in 14.121 Enthroned in the company of gods and personifications, Augustus is posed like Jupiter with a ruler’s scepter in his hand. To the far left in the scene, a victorious Tiberius descends from the two-horse chariot of Victoria. He carries a shorter staff associated with the Hellenistic tradition of princely succession, while Germanicus in armor stands with his hand on the pommel of his sword and with his horse by his side—all signs of military readiness in the tradition of the Castores.122

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Dual Heirs and Castorian Imagery in the Post-Augustan Period Augustus’ dual heir system was perpetuated by not only his Julio-Claudian successors but also later Roman principes, depending on dynastic needs and changing political situations. Under Tiberius the new Principes Iuventutis, Germanicus and Tiberius’ natural son Drusus Minor, were voted twin arches with statues that were set up on either side of the Temple of Mars Ultor in Augustus’ Forum (fig. i.3, plate I),123 conceptually linking these dual heirs to Augustus and the military tradition of the Forum. Although we do not know what form the statues (effigies) took, it is likely that they were equestrian statues because of the role of the Principes Iuventutis in the transvectio equitum, rather than quadrigate images as is sometimes found in modern reconstructions (cf. plate I, for example).124 Germanicus and Drusus began this annual equestrian review next to the podium of the Temple of Mars, in close proximity to their arches. In private literature each was hailed as the sidus iuvenale (“youthful star”),125 a direct reference to the celestial Castores as the patron gods of the Iuventus organization and to Caesar’s star of divinity, the Sidus Iulium. From an anecdote preserved by Cassius Dio (57.14.9, 22.1) we also learn that Drusus Minor punched out a fellow equestrian, earning him the nickname “Castor”: in some versions of the mythic exploits of the Dioskouroi, Kastor (= Castor), rather than his brother Polydeukes (= Pollux), was known for his prowess in boxing.126 As noted above, during the Tiberian Principate the two equestrian statues of the Dioskouroi that stood by the Propylaea in Athens had the names of Germanicus and probably Drusus Minor added to their bases. As we know occurred in other instances, the heads of the Divine Twins may also have been replaced with portraits of these two young members of the imperial family127 to honor them as the “New Dioskouroi,” as well as to recall or respond to equestrian statues of Gaius and Lucius on the monumental gateways to the Roman Agora in Athens (fig. ix.24a–b). In Rome itself, equestrian images of Gaius and Lucius and of Germanicus and Drusus Minor were set up as ornamenta inside the Temple of Concord, which was rededicated in 10 c.e. by Tiberius in his own name and that of his dead brother Drusus Maior.128 Tiberius and Drusus Maior may also have been represented, perhaps as pendant standing figures in the porch of the temple, like the images of Augustus and Agrippa in the Pantheon.129 In the context of the Temple of Concord, the multiple pairings of statues would have underscored not only the concord and unity of the paired imperial personages but also their Castorian roles in dynastic rhetoric. Tiberius’ Principate is notable for the birth of the only true biological twins in the Julio-Claudian imperial family—Germanicus Gemellus and Tiberius



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Fig. ix.25. Sestertius (rev.: busts of Germanicus Gemellus and Tiberius Gemellus topping crossed cornucopiae), 22–23 c.e. After Kent (1978) pl. 45.156

Fig. ix.26. Dupondius (rev.: Nero Iulius and Drusus Iulius, sons of Germanicus, on horseback), 40–41 c.e. After Zanker (1972) fig. 30

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Gemellus, who were the sons of Drusus Minor and Livilla and whose birth is commemorated on brass sestertii (fig. ix.25).130 Their portrait busts grace the tops of two crossed cornucopiae, between which is a caduceus symbolizing peace. The message is quite clear: the Gemelli represent the double fertility, prosperity, and future hope of the Julio-Claudian family as a result of the peace now guaranteed by Tiberius. As a reflection of the established Castorian imagery of the Principate, they were accorded cult worship at Ephesos, where an inscription hails them as the “New Dioskouroi and Sons of Drusus.”131 The Julio-Claudian house was unfortunately ill-starred in the matter of the survival of heirs. First Germanicus and then Drusus Minor died prematurely, followed by Germanicus Gemellus. Not long after, Nero Iulius and Drusus Iulius, the two eldest sons of Germanicus, were falsely charged with conspiring against Tiberius, resulting in their demise as well. The same fate befell the surviving twin, Tiberius Gemellus, soon after Caligula came to power.132 Nero Iulius and Drusus Iulius were represented in Castorian fashion as the twin Principes Iuventutis on horseback on the reverse of a brass dupondius issued by their brother Caligula after he became Princeps (fig. ix.26).133 Without any male heirs of his own, Caligula was the first to exploit for himself as Princeps an association with the Castores. At that time he was called sidus,134 no doubt to evoke Castorian imagery and to recall that his father Germanicus had been called sidus iuvenale. As discussed in chapter VIII, Caligula was also said to have dressed up with the attributes of various gods, including the Divine Twins. His connection with them was even architectural, involving adding to his house on the Palatine an entrance in the Roman Forum behind the Temple of the Castores.135 In so doing, he made the Castores, in effect, the “gatekeepers” of the palatial home of the Caesars on the Palatine.136 The Divine Twins thus became not just saviors and benefactors of mankind in general but specifically protective deities of the Princeps and his official residence in Rome, underscoring the connection between the Castores and the Penates as

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the protective gods of the home. Recent excavations in the area between Caligula’s vestibule and the podium of the Temple of the Castores (fig. ix.15) suggest that there may even have been some physical connection between them, probably in the form of a portico.137 Augustus himself created a house on the Palatine that was strategically located near the Temple of the Magna Mater, the Temple of Victoria, and the Temple of his patron god Apollo.138 Caligula’s vestibule also stood in close proximity to the Temple of Divus Augustus, located to the southwest just behind the Basilica Iulia in the Roman Forum. This temple, undertaken by Tiberius and largely constructed by him, was dedicated by Caligula, who celebrates the event on his coinage (plate VI).139 There was a brief lapse in Augustus’ dual heir system when Caligula did not live to produce or adopt male heirs after the demise of Gemellus.140 The precarious and problematic circumstances under which the disabled Claudius became Princeps after Caligula’s assassination demonstrate why Augustus devised the system in the first place. Like Tiberius before him, Claudius had a son of his own and also adopted one. As under Augustus and Tiberius, priority was established by age. Claudius’ adopted stepson Nero was consequently first in line, while Claudius’ own son Britannicus became the spare heir. The younger male was often at a serious disadvantage, as demonstrated in the case of Britannicus, who died under suspicious circumstances shortly after the likewise suspicious death of his father in 54 c.e.141 Interestingly, we have no evidence of Castorian imagery for either Nero or Britannicus. Nero did not receive the honorific title of Princeps Iuventutis until 51, when he was fourteen and also received the toga virilis (Tac. Ann. 12.41).142 In imitation of Augustus, Claudius became consul in that year to enhance the dignity of the ceremony of the toga virilis.143 A bust of Nero is shown on the reverse of aurei and denarii with the legend PRINC[EPS] IVVENT[VTIS].144 Britannicus, however, died in 55 c.e., a year after his father and before his fourteenth birthday, when he too would have received the toga virilis, as well as the title Princeps Iuventutis.145 Like Caligula, Nero was relatively young when he died, leaving no biological or adopted male heirs. The lack of any surviving male youths of the Julio-Claudian house resulted in the very thing that Augustus had feared most—the outbreak of a new civil war, which in this case was fortunately short-lived. After the year-long war, Vespasian established the new Flavian dynasty in 69 c.e. At that time he already had two grown sons, thirty-year-old Titus and eighteen-year-old Domitian, who became the new dual heirs. From the very outset of his Principate, Vespasian minted aurei and denarii with his head on the obverse and the heads of both Titus and Domitian on the reverse.146 Following Augustus’ crossed shield numismatic model (plate XXXIX), Titus



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Fig. ix.27a–b. Sestertius (obv.: Vespasian; rev.: Titus and Domitian in military dress leaning on spears), 71 c.e. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and the Classical Numismatic Group

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and Domitian were also shown on the reverse of Vespasian’s coinage as paired standing or seated figures in either civic or military dress (e.g., fig. ix.27a–b).147 Titus and Domitian themselves appear to have been allowed to mint coins with their own images on the obverse.148 Because of the Augustan dual heir tradition, which Vespasian greatly admired and promoted,149 there was a sense—without it being directly stated—that as the new Principes Iuventutis the two young men were to be thought of in Castorian terms and are so represented on their father’s coinage. Mounted on galloping horses, they wear military attire and carry spears, with the titles CAESARES and PRIN[CIPES] IVVEN[TVTIS] following their names in the legend.150 Although Titus and Domitian were certainly not members of the Julio-Claudian family, both received the title “Caesar,”151 which would be used to designate a potential successor for the rest of the Roman imperial period. Through such imagery and allusions, Vespasian sought to link himself and his sons to Augustus and the Julio-Claudian house as a way to legitimize his Principate and his new dynasty. Neither Titus nor Domitian used specific Castorian imagery on coinage when each succeeded as Princeps in his own right. Domitian, however, did restore the Temple of the Castores in the Roman Forum that had been damaged in the great fire of 80 c.e. After this restoration, he linked the Castores with his patron goddess Minerva by renaming it the Templum Castorum et Minervae. He may also have rebuilt or restored another Temple of the Castores located in the so-called Circus Flaminius in the Campus Martius, just north of the Tiber Island (fig. V.5). This temple was presumably also destroyed or damaged in the fire.152 These restorations would not have been exceptional, as they were part of a much larger urban rebuilding program undertaken by Domitian at that time. As a private expression of adulation, the Roman poet Statius (Silv. 4.2.47– 49) likened Domitian to the divine Twin Pollux and even compared Domitian’s horse to Castor’s horse Cyllarus (Silv. 1.1.53–54).153 When the only male child of his own blood died as an infant at the outset of his Principate, Domitian had him deified and had aurei and denarii minted in his honor.154 On the reverses, the dead infant is shown naked and superimposed on a globe with his hands extended to the stars (plate XL)—a direct allusion to the child’s apotheosis, in keeping with the traditions of Castorian and

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Caesarian divinity.155 With no other children of his own, Domitian was compelled to adopt two of his cousin’s seven children, T. Flavius Vespasianus and T. Flavius Domitianus. They were the sons of Flavius Clemens, who was put to death in 96 c.e.156 After Domitian’s assassination in 98, nothing more is heard of either adopted son. Following the Flavian dynasty, the dual heir system was abandoned until shortly before the death of Hadrian on January 24, 138 c.e. Hadrian adopted Antoninus, who was later called Antoninus Pius. Antoninus in turn was compelled by Hadrian to adopt two sons, Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus,157 in the same way that Tiberius had been constrained by Augustus to adopt Germanicus. A sculptural relief now in the Ephesos-Museum in Vienna (fig. ix.28)

Fig. ix.28. Relief from the “Parthian Monument” at Ephesos, EphesosMuseum, Vienna. Photo by author



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Fig. ix.29a–b. Aes medallion (obv.: Antonius Pius; rev.: Castores), 140–143 c.e. After Gnecchi (1912) pl. 54.6

Fig. ix.30a–b. Aes medallion (obv.: Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus facing one another; rev.: Castores), 161–165 c.e. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and the Classical Numismatic Group

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visually testifies to Hadrian’s plans for succession. This section of frieze was one of a series of reliefs that once decorated the podium of a monumental imperial altar, the so-called Parthian Monument, erected at Ephesos just after the death and deification of Lucius Verus in 169 c.e.158 However, the scene of adoption of Antoninus, Marcus, and Lucius commemorated on this altar took place in 138, the last year of Hadrian’s life. The two central adult togate figures can be identified as Hadrian (to the right) and Antoninus Pius (to the left). Hadrian is marked out by his greater height, according to the principles of hierarchy. Flanking Antoninus are his adopted sons: Marcus Aurelius, then sixteen,159 and Lucius Verus, seven,160 who is protectively sandwiched between Hadrian and Antoninus. Interestingly, aurei issued from 140 to 144 c.e. (plate XVI) show Antoninus Pius in a triumphal chariot with his two adopted sons, both of whom are inaccurately depicted as being of the same height, despite the great differences in their ages (in 140 Marcus Aurelius was eighteen to nineteen; Lucius Verus, nine to ten).161 Though not explained by scholars,162 this fictive imagery may very well have been motivated by an ideological desire to present the dual heirs like the coeval twin Castores.163 Such intentional distortion would also be in keeping with the renewed interest in the Castores in the Antonine age, as evidenced in other official coins and commemorative medallions. For example, Antoninus Pius issued aes medallions with his own portrait on the obverse and the nude Castores with their horses on the reverse (fig. ix.29a– b), no doubt to recall his adopted sons Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus.164 On other medallions issued between 161 and 165 c.e., Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus are represented facing one another on the obverse, while it has been proposed that the Castores appear with their horses on the reverse (fig. ix.30a–b).165 However, these two figures are not

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nude or seminude; nor do they wear their distinctive cap, the pileus. Instead, they appear in Roman military attire and are possibly bearded, suggesting that they are not the Castores but Aurelius and Verus appearing like the Castores, who had long since become associated with the imperial dual heirs as protective gods. The connection between the Castores and the dual heirs in popular imagination is also reflected in an inscription from a nonofficial altar in Sparta that refers to Aurelius and Verus as the “New Dioskouroi” (Νέοι Διόσκουροι).166 In addition, a relatively recent study of the two colossal statues of the Castores on the Capitoline Hill (fig. ix.16a–b) convincingly concludes that these sculptures were produced in the Principate of Antoninus Pius rather than earlier, as some have thought.167 These two figures appear to have come from the Temple of the Castores in the Circus Flaminius in the Campus Martius.168 Their redating to the early Antonine period would coincide with the renewed interest at that time in the Castores as models for the two Principes Iuventutis, in this case Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus, as part of the revival of the Augustan dual heir system after a lapse of many years. A number of other Augustan themes were also revived in Antonine aes medallic coinage.169 While Princeps Iuventutis under Antoninus, Marcus Aurelius is represented on the obverse of aes medallions that have on the reverse one of the Divine Twins with his horse by his side (fig. ix.31a–b).170 A similar reverse type appeared on aurei in 177– 178 c.e., shortly before Aurelius’ death in 180 (fig. ix.32a–b).171 This coin issue, however, honors his own son Lucius Aurelius Commodus, who appears on the obverse. Such numismatic imagery provides us with further corroborative evidence that Aurelius intended that Commodus become his successor and in fact made him co-Princeps. However, Commodus was not Aurelius’ only male



Fig. ix.31a–b. Aes medallion (obv.: Marcus Aurelius; rev.: one of the Castores), 155 c.e. After Gnecchi (1912) pl. 62.2

Fig. ix.32a–b. Aureus (obv.: young Commodus; rev.: one of the Castores), 177–178 c.e. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and Classical Numismatic Group

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child. Commodus had a biological twin, T. Aurelius Fulvus Antoninus, who was born in 161 (SHA Comm. 1.1–4) but died at the age of four.172 Aurei and denarii feature their mother, Faustina Minor, on the obverse and the twin infant boys Lucius (Commodus) and Antoninus on the reverse, seated upon a pulvinar (“throne”), with the legend SAECVLI FELICIT[AS] (“the fertile prosperity of the century”) (fig. ix.33).173 These coins stressed the importance of imperial fecundity and succession, as well as the Augustan notion of an heir and a spare. On the aurei of this type, the infants have a barely visible star over their heads, a direct reference to the Castores.174 During his own Principate, Commodus continued his association with the Divine Twins, as evidenced in the reverses of certain aes medallion types, like the issue of 185 c.e. showing Jupiter flanked by Castor and Pollux, with the portrait image of Commodus on the obverse (fig. ix.34).175 In a more direct association on an issue dated to 187, Commodus is seated before one of the Twins, who appears with his horse (fig. ix.35).176

Fig. ix.33. Sestertius (rev.: twin infant sons of Marcus Aurelius and Faustina Minor on pulvinar), 161 c.e. After Kent (1978) pl. 98.338

Fig. ix.34. Aes medallion (rev.: Jupiter seated between the Castores), 185 c.e. Courtesy Freeman & Sear

Fig. ix.35. Aes medallion (rev.: Commodus seated in front of one of the Castores), 187 c.e., Münzkabinett der Staatlichen Museen, Berlin. Photo by author

Septimius Severus, who succeeded Commodus in 193 c.e., was not related to the Antonines but falsely claimed kinship with them in order to legitimize his own Principate following Commodus’ fall and damnation. Even Septimius’ early portrait types show an intentional resemblance in hairstyle and look to Antoninus Pius and Marcus Aurelius—visual evidence in support of Septimius’ claim to be the adopted son of Marcus Aurelius and grandson of Antoninus Pius.177 An inscription that was once displayed on the Palatine Hill (fig. ix.36) is one of several that chronicle Septimius’ fictive lineage going back to his supposed great-great-great grandfather (adnepos) Nerva.178 Septimius associated his own two sons, Caracalla and Geta, in various ways—both indirect and direct—with the Castores, at least in

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Fig. ix.36. Inscription of Septimius Severus from the Palatine Hill, Rome. Photo by author

part as a likely reflection of the same connection that had been promoted by the Antonine principes. Beginning in 196 c.e., Caracalla and Geta, as the new Principes Iuventutis, were portrayed facing one another on the reverses of aurei and denarii, while the obverse represented their mother, Julia Domna,179 or, from about 201, their father, Septimius (plate XLI).180 A specific connection with the Castores is reflected in aurei and sestertii representing Geta as Princeps Iuventutis on the obverse and one of the Divine Twins with horse on the reverse,181 a type that also intentionally recalls Antonine models. Caracalla and Geta both appear on Septimius’ arch in the Roman Forum on horseback like the Castores, flanking the six-horse chariot of Septimius, who is shown on the arch on coinage of 204–207 c.e. as being either alone (fig. ix.37) or later accompanied by Caracalla in his father’s chariot (fig. ix.38).182 Both Caracalla and Geta appeared on either side of another relief, from Septimius’ monumental quadrifons arch in the North African city of Leptis Magna, the birthplace of Septimius. This relief is of interest not only because it illustrates the earliest portrait types of the



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Fig. ix.37. Aureus (rev.: Arch of Septimius Severus in Roman Forum with Septimius alone in triumphal chariot flanked by Caracalla and Geta on horseback), ca. 204–207 c.e. Courtesy Freeman & Sear Fig. ix.38. Denarius (rev.: Arch of Septimius Severus in Roman Forum with Septimius and Caracalla in triumphal chariot flanked by Caracalla and Geta on horseback), ca. 204– 207 c.e. After Brilliant (1967) pl. 96a

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two brothers,183 but also because Caracalla, but not Geta, is represented joining hands with Septimius, a long-established gesture of imperial concord and unity that visually reflects the order of succession. A relatively recent study of the statues of Castor and Pollux (fig. ix.39a–b) on the Quirinal Hill in Rome offers another possible Severan connection with the Divine Twins. It has been argued that these colossal marble images are not of Constantinian date, as previously had been thought, but were created at the time of Septimius and probably once decorated a dynastic temple dedicated to Hercules and Dionysos/Bacchus, the tutelary gods of Caracalla and Geta.184 The attribution of these two statues to the Severan period has much to recommend it in light of Septimius’ dynastic rhetoric and the promotion of his two sons as the “New Castores.” In myth, one of the reasons for the Castores’ placement in the heavens was their fraternal love for one another. Ironically, the last pair of dual heirs, Septimius Severus’ natural sons Caracalla and Geta, hated one another vehemently. Shortly after their father’s death, Caracalla had Geta murdered and his memory damned.185 With the death of Geta, the old Augustan dual heir system, along with its associated Castorian imagery for the two Principes Iuventutis, came to an end, never to be revived as long as the old notion of the Roman Principate endured. Yet this would change with the “Dominate” that was ushered in with Diocletian and his founding of the Tetrarchy in 293 c.e.,186 which lies beyond the scope of this work.187

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Fig. ix.39a–b. Statues of the Castores on the Quirinal Hill, Rome, probably from time of Septimius Severus. Photos by author

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Notes 1. In this relief, the godlike Naram-Sin aspires to attain heaven, in which the great gods Shamash and Ishtar dwell as stars. For this relief, see Bänder (1995). 2. Tomb K 35: see Weeks (2005) 240–45. For an even older example, going back to the Old Kingdom tomb of Unas at Saqqara (ca. 2530 b.c.e.), see Schulz and Seidel (eds.) (1998) 70–73, fig. 57. 3. See Bauval and Gilbert (1994), especially 105–34. 4. Cf., e.g., the Christian “Lord’s Prayer”: “thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” The notion of a celestial paradigm is also found in the Roman religious practice in which an augur traced out on the ground with his lituus the templum terrestre in imitation of the templum caeleste. On this matter, see also chapter V. Festus (Gloss. Lat. 476) tells us that the Romans used bronze stars to mark out on the ground the divinely ordained space of the terrestrial templum, which was considered to be augustum (“august”). See also Scheid (2003) 60. For all aspects of augury, see Catalano (1960); Linderski (1986). 5. On the back of the palette the emblematic pictograph of the falcon-god Horus with his enemy’s head on a leash serves as the divine analogy for pharaoh’s symbolic smiting of his enemy, the subject of the main scene on this side of the palette. Because Narmer is shown with bare feet, this scene may represent a specific ritualized slaying of the enemy leader on sanctified ground after the battle, perhaps in connection with the Sed Festival, celebrating the continued rule of the pharaoh. For the Narmer Palette, see, e.g., Wilkinson (2000); Morenz (2003). I thank Lynn Swartz Dodd for discussing this matter with me and for these references. 6. For the pre-Hellenistic period, see Yalouris (1980). 7. Kraay (1966) 382 (no. 803), pl. 219; Jenkins (1972) 236 (no. 556). 8. For solar theology in Hellenistic and Roman times, see Cumont (1912). For this notion on the Gemma Augustea, see Pollini (1993c), 281–82 with n. 104. 9. See in general Cumont (1912); L’Orange (1982); Clauss (1999) 265–68. 10. See in general RRC; Crawford (1985); Poulsen (1994). 11. See also Pollini (1990a) for this and other examples.

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12. See further chapter II above. See also Pollini (1990a). 13. Hor. Carm. 1.12.47; Ov. Met. 15.49; Suet. Iul. 88; Pliny HN 2.94: Cass. Dio 45.7.1. The comet is also referred to by Latin terms such as comites, stella crinata, sidus crinitum, and stella comans. For the question of the star/comet of Caesar, see chapter III above with n. 1. 14. For this idea, which appears to go back to Pythagoras, see Varro, Rust. I, frag. 25b ed. R. Agahd (Commentarius Bernensis of Lucan ix.9). 15. RRC 489 (no. 480.5a–b). 16. BMCRE I, 59 (nos. 323–28), pl. 6.6–8; RIC2 I, 44 (no. 37a–b, 38a–b), pl. 2. 37a; Kent (1978) 279 (no. 145), pl. 40. 17. See chapter III above with n. 67. 18. RRC 535 (no. 535.1), ca. 38 b.c.e. 19. BMCRE II, 413 (no. 108), pl. cv. 11; RRC 535 (no. 535.2), ca. 38 b.c.e. 20. RRC 489 (no. 480.5a–b), 490 (nos. 480.11, 14), 491 (no. 480.18). 21. See RRC, especially 492–95. 22. See RRC 490 (nos. 480.15, 17). 23. BMCRE I, 98 (nos. 599–601), pl. 14.16–17; RIC2 I, 59 (no. 250a), pl. 5. See also Sutherland (1974) 119– 20, fig. 205; Kent (1978) 276 (no. 121), pl. 35.121r. 24. The Macedonian star appears on various objects, from shields to decorative objects: see Ginouvès (ed.) (1994) figs. 58, 139, 149; Liampi (1998), especially 7–8, 35–36 et passim, pls. 14.122.1, 33.4. 25. See in general, e.g., Michel (1967); Weippert (1972); Marrone 1980. See also chapter IV above. 26. See chapter III above with n. 73. 27. As noted in chapter III above, this statue may have been set up in the Temple of Venus Genetrix in Caesar’s own Forum. 28. Cf., however, the conservative imagery on coinage minted shortly after Caesar’s death, when the appropriate manner of representation of deceased and deified mortals was still being worked out. On this coinage, as discussed in chapter III above, Caesar is shown in his temple in a toga (trabea) and holding a lituus, not as in any way godlike. 29. With regard to this coin type, see chapter III above with n. 77. 30. See chapter III above with n. 76. 31. For various interpretations of the figures, see Jucker (1976); Pollini (1981); Dohna (1998). 32. Because it is logical to suppose that Divus Augustus would have been represented toward the

center of the relief, there must once have been another section with other members of the Julio-Claudian family adjoining this panel with Augustus: Pollini (1981) 138–39. Cf. Pinney (1989). 33. For Augustus and the Capricorn, see Dwyer (1973); Barton (1995). 34. German. Arat. 558–60. See also Pollini (1981) 119 with n. 17. 35. Pollini (1993c) 280–84. 36. Pollini (1993c) 281. 37. This was also a topos in Augustan literature: see, e.g., Verg. G. 1.24–42; Ov. Met. 15.868–70. 38. For these comets and other portents, see Cass. Dio 56.29.3. 39. Apollo and Helios/Sol were so closely associated that they were sometimes even thought to be the same divinity. See, e.g., Plut. Mor. 386B, 393D, 1130A. With regard to this connection, see further chapter VI above. 40. Liebeschuetz (1979) 61, 66. 41. See in general Scheid (1990). 42. Cf. also the story of the first-century Christian Samaritan magician Simon Magus, who is said to have appeared to people in Puteoli after his death. Such apparitions of the dead were common in ancient dreams. For Simon Magus, see ODWR 902 s.v. “Simon Magus”; Dickie (2001) 196–98 et passim. 43. Most notably from various Eastern mystery cults, especially that of Mithras, a god of light and salvation, who was said to have been born on December 25. Mithras was adored by shepherds and Magi, who were Persian astrological fortune-tellers that gave gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. See Carpenter (1920) 19–35, 203–205, et passim; Cumont (1956), especially 188–208 et passim. For the Magi, see de Jong (1997). For other aspects of Mithraism, see the collected papers in Hinnells (ed.) (1994) and Clauss (2000), especially 168–72. 44. A comet was usually an ill omen, but in the case of Caesar’s comet it was a positive one. As noted, comets were reported to have appeared again in 14 c.e., at the time that Augustus became a god. Some have tried to associate Jesus’ birth with the year 6 b.c.e. because of the alignment of Jupiter and Saturn on April 16, 6 b.c.e. The concept of a star moving and shining down on a particular spot is an astronomical impossibility. Some also believed the star of Bethlehem to be a comet. Christians tend to treat the star of Bethlehem as uniquely Christian and therefore do not look



for its origins in other ancient mythologies: see, e.g., Kalokyris (1969). 45. Carrà (1949) pl. 13. 46. While the young Octavian was studying at Apollonia in Greece before Caesar’s death, Theogenes, a renowned astrologer, cast Octavian’s horoscope. Dumbstruck, Theogenes reportedly threw himself at Octavian’s feet, the implication being that Octavian would become the future ruler of the world, as well as the savior and benefactor of mankind. Suetonius (Aug. 94.12) only reports that Theogenes threw himself at the feet of Octavian. Cf. Cass. Dio 56.25.5 for Augustus’ publication of his horoscope. 47. With regard to Augustus’ vision for his two adopted sons, see his letter to Gaius in Gell. NA 15.7.3: Augustus speaks of Gaius and his brother (indicated by the plural “you”) as preparing to succeed to Augustus’ position (stationem meam). 48. Pollini (1987) 41, pl. 2.2–3. 49. In context: unus iam puerascens insigni festivitate, cuius effigiem habitu Cupidinis in aede Capitolinae Vereris Livia dedicavit, Augustus in cubiculo suo positam, quotiensque introiret, exosculabatur. 50. BMCRE I, 21–22 (nos. 106, 108–109), pl. 4.3, 4.5; RIC2 I, 72 (nos. 404–405), pl. 7.404; Fischer (1981) 35–38; Pollini (1987) 20 with n. 8. See also Kent (1978) 278 (no. 136), pl. 39. 51. For the term princeps, see RE 44 (1954) 1998– 2296 s.v. “princeps” (L. Wickert). For Augustus’ strategies for the transmission of power, see the excellent and sensible article by Gruen (2005) with further key bibliography. 52. This law, which defined the legal power and prerogatives of Vespasian’s Julio-Claudian predecessors, was approved by the Roman Senate on December 22 in 69 c.e. The inscribed bronze tablet in the Capitoline Museum was discovered in 1347 by Cola di Rienzo in the Basilica di San Giovanni in Laterano. On this inscription and law, see Millar (1977) 351–52; Berger (1980) 550–51 s.v. “Lex de imperio” and “Lex de imperio Vespasiano”; Gordon (1983) 121–23. 53. See Pollini (1987) 1–2 with further bibliography. For problems with succession in the Augustan period, see also Bowersock (1984); Gruen (2005). For dynastic succession in the Augustan and Julio-Claudian period in general, especially with regard to the numismatic evidence, see Mellado Rivera (2003). 54. For the concept of Princeps Iuventutis and those who held this title, see in general RE 44 (1954)

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2296–2311 s.v. “princeps iuventutis” (W. Beringer). The Iuventus may have reflected similar Greek organizations, especially of Macedon: RE 44 (1954) 2298. See also the representations of armed teenagers in wall paintings from a Macedonian tomb: Tsibidou-Avloniti (2002) 95–96, pl. 23B. 55. Fischer (1981) 35–38; Pollini (1987) 20 with n. 8. 56. See LIMC III (1986) 567–635 s.v. “Disokouroi” (C. Augé); Bonanno Aravantinos (1994). For the Dioskouroi in Greek religion, see in general Burkert (1985) 212–13. For the dynastic ideology regarding Gaius and Lucius, as well as other paired Julio-Claudian Principes Iuventutis, especially after death, see Heinemann (2007). 57. The Divine Twins were also worshiped under the name of Tyndaridai. See Burkert (1985) 212–13. From the Archaic period on, the Dioskouroi symbolized the Spartan Eurypontid-Agiad diarchy: Cartledge and Spawforth (1989) 63 (I thank Olga Palagia for this reference, as well as those in nn. 59–60 below). 58. For the coinage of Sparta, see Grunauer–von Hoerschelmann (1978) 5, 21, 24, 33. 59. Queyrel (2003) 214–15. See also further below. 60. Plut. Vit. Lys. 12. For the Dioskouroi as patron gods of sailors, see n. 71 below. 61. De Angelis d’Ossat (2002) 143 with further bibliography. 62. For the Dioskouroi in Magna Graecia, see Guzzo (1994). 63. For the Dioskouroi in Etruria, see Strazzulla (1994). 64. For the Dioskouroi in Latium, see Bertinetti (1994); Cancellieri (1994). 65. For the archaeological and inscriptional evidence, see Alföldi (1971a) 265–71; Condos (1997) 111–13. 66. Their name Dioskouroi (Dios + kouroi) meant literally sons (or youths) of Zeus. Myths vary as to whether one or both brothers were considered to be the offspring of Zeus: OCD3 484 s.v. “Dioscuri.” 67. See Van Compernolle (1969). 68. According to Livy, the battle took place in the year 499 b.c.e.; according to Dionysios of Halikarnassos, in 496 b.c.e.: Ogilvie (1965) 286. 69. Livy 2.20.10–13; Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 6.13; Cic. Nat. D. 2.2.6, 3.5.11; Val. Max. 1.8.1. Cf. Plut. Vit. Caius Marcius Coriolanis 3.5. 70. Poulsen (1994) 91–92, fig. 1; Wiseman (2004) pl. 7. See also Guarino and Masini (2008).

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71. The tradition of the Castores/Dioskouroi as savior-gods also explains their connection with sailors, who would pray to the Twins to bring them safely through storms. According to myth, Poseidon rewarded the two for their dutifulness by giving them horses and granting them the power to save sailors or the shipwrecked: Hyg. Poet. astr 2.22; Condos (1997) 111–12. For the tradition of the Castores as saviorgods, see also Poulsen (1994). Ancient sailors associated with the Twins the atmospheric phenomenon that we know today as St. Elmo’s Fire. 72. Livy 2.42.5. Denarii issued in 96 b.c.e. by A. Albinus, a descendant of the general Aulus Postumius Albinus, show the Castores watering their horses at the fountain in the Forum: RRC 333–35 (no. 10a–b), pl. 43. See also Poulsen (1994) 94, fig. 5. 73. Extant now is a later imperial altar, which has been dated to the Trajanic period: LIMC III (1986) 612 (no. 1*) s.v. “Dioskouroi/Castores” (F. Gury). 74. Richardson (1992) 74–75 s.v. “Castor, Aedes”; LTUR I (1993) 242–46 s.v. “Castor, Aedes, Templum” (F. Coarelli). See also Strong and Ward-Perkins (1962) and most recently Champlin (2011) 82–90. 75. The Castores, described as two youths (νεανίσκοι δύο), were seen riding through Drusus’ camp on the Rhine, where shooting stars also appeared in the heavens: Cass. Dio 55.1.5. See Val. Max. 5.5 praef. 3 for the reference to the fraternal love between Drusus and Tiberius, who rushed over the Alps to Drusus’ deathbed. See also Scott (1930a) 380. For the association of Tiberius and Drusus with the Twins, see in general Champlin (2011). I do not agree with his conclusion (98–99) that the connection of the Castores with members of the imperial family was an invention of Tiberius rather than Augustus. It is inconceivable, in my view, that the dual heir system would have overlooked an indirect association of Gaius and Lucius with the Divine Twins. 76. See OCD3 484 s.v. “Dioscuri”; Burkert (1985) 107. 77. Richardson (1992) 412–13 s.v. “Vesta, Aedes”; LTUR V (1999) 125–28 s.v. “Vesta, Aedes” (R. T. Scott). 78. Alföldi (1971a) 268–69; Palombi (1997); Richardson (1992) 289 s.v. “Penates Dei, Aedes”; LTUR IV (1999) 75–78 s.v. “Penates, Aedes” (D. Palombi). 79. Alföldi (1971a) 271–78. See also chapter V above, especially appendix A. 80. With regard to these figures, see chapter V above, appendix A.

81. Kyrieleis (1986) 58 indicates that the earliest representations of the Dioskouroi with stars over their heads are in Attic vase painting of the late fifth century b.c.e. The earliest reference in literature associating the star with the Dioskouroi is in Euripides: see Poulsen (1994), especially 92–94, figs. 2–4; Condos (1997) 113. 82. Hyacinth (gemstone), Kunsthistorischesmuseum, Vienna IX.A.44: LIMC III (1986) 575 (no. 89*) s.v. “Dioskouroi” (C. Augé); La Rocca (1994b) 74, fig. 4. 83. LIMC III (1986), 615 (no. 34*) s.v. “Dioskouroi/ Castores” (F. Gury). 84. Parisi Presicce (1994) with pls. 1–7. See also Helbig4 II (1966) 8–10 (no. 1164) (E. Simon); LIMC III (1986) 617 (no. 57*) s.v. “Dioskouroi/Castores” (F. Gury). 85. Parisi Presicce (1994) 166–69. 86. Denarius: RRC 160 (no. 57.2), 207 b.c.e. For other examples, see Angeli Bufalini Petrocchi (1994), figs. 1–4. See also Kent (1978) 266 (no. 22), pl. 8 (205 b.c.e.). 87. Denarius of Mn. Fonteius 108/107 b.c.e.: RRC 316–17 (no. 307.1a). For other examples, see Angeli Bufalini Petrocchi (1994) 103–104, fig. 6–7. 88. See Caccamo Caltabiano (1999). 89. Tetradrachm dating to about 170 b.c.e.: Kyrieleis (1986) fig. 1. 90. For these seal impressions from Nea Paphos in Nicosia, Cyprus, see Kyrieleis (1986) figs. 5–8; Poulsen (1991) 143. 91. See Weinstock (1971) 375, pl. 27.1. 92. Plin. HN 35.27, 93–94. See also La Rocca (1994b) 82; Caccamo Caltabiano (1999) 68. 93. See especially La Rocca (1994b) 82. For this painting, see also chapter IV above. For the room, see further chapter I above. 94. Although Gaius and Lucius consecrated the temple, Augustus dedicated it: Cass. Dio 55.10.6. I do not agree with Champlin (2011) 98 that the association of Augustus with Alexander and of Gaius and Lucius with the Castores is “wishful thinking.” On the indirect manner of representing a relationship with the divine, see chapter II above. 95. These coins were issued at the outset of his Principate in 37 c.e.: BMCRE I, cxliv, 146 (nos. 1–4), pl. 27.1–4, in which the two stars are considered to refer to Augustus and Tiberius; RIC2 I, 108 (no. 1). Kent (1978) 281 (no. 165), pl. 48. See also Weinstock (1971) 384, fig. 29.3. 96. For the star on coinage, see chapter III above.



97. In most versions of the Greek myth, Castor was the son of two mortals, Tyndareus and Leda, while Pollux was the son of Zeus and Leda. See also Champlin (2011) 73–74. 98. See Alföldi (1952), especially 40–53. 99. BMCRE I, 88–91 (nos. 513–43), pls. 13.7–20, 14.1–4; RIC2 I, 55–56 (nos. 205–15), pl. 4.207, 209, 211. See also Kent (1978) 279–80 (no. 148), pl. 41. 100. Only after assuming the toga virilis could a male formally become Princeps Iuventutis. Although the age when one assumed the toga virilis could vary, both Gaius and Lucius donned the “manly toga” when they were in their fifteenth year, the same age as Octavian/Augustus when he had done the same. For this coin type, see MacDonald (1978/79). 101. Cf. also figs. ix.27b and plate XLI. 102. Étienne (1974) 398, pl. XII.2. See also Poulsen (1991) 125; Burnett et al. (eds.) (1992) 103 (no. 211). 103. Mus. inv. S/1276 (in storage area). I thank Marina Mattei and Marina Bertoletti for their assistance in locating this fragmentary altar, which was once in the garden of the Palazzo dei Conservatori. For this altar, see Goette (1986) 138–39, fig. 4. 104. According to tradition, the transvectio equitum was established by Q. Fabius Maximus Rullianus and P. Decius Mus in 304 b.c.e.: Livy 9.46.14–15; Val. Max. 2.2.9. See further Veyne (1960); Junkelmann (1990) 15–30 and (1991) 49–54; McDonnell (1999) 545– 46. Champlin (2011) 98 claims that Gaius and Lucius would not have participated in the transvectio as Principes Iuventutis but as Seviri Turmae. However, the fact that they were Seviri Turmae did not negate their also being Principes Iuventutis. Moreover, Champlin states that all five thousand of those who participated in the transvectio rode white horses, but this is not attested in the ancient sources. White horses were rare, so it is unlikely that there were so many white horses in the entire Empire. Rose (2005) 45 n. 132 suggests that Gaius left on his eastern mission in May of 2 b.c.e., but there is no definitive evidence for a departure in May. He may have left after the transvectio of July 15. For the transvectio equitum, see Taylor (1924), especially 159–65. 105. For this relief from a grave in Como, dated to the first half of second century c.e., see Junkelmann (1991) fig. 21; cf. also fig. 22. 106. For the images of Gaius (“Corinth 135”) and Lucius (“Corinth 136”), see Pollini (1987) 19–20 (cat. 14 = Gaius; cat. 38 = Lucius) with further bibliography. See also Boschung (2002) 64–65 (nos. 17.2 [Gaius], 17.3

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[Lucius], pls. 48.2 [17.2], 49.1 [17.3]). For a head of Octavia Minor from Athens created by the same workshop and probably by the same hand as the image of Gaius, see Pollini (2002c) 36. Two similar paired, headless figures that most likely represented the two brothers in a similar Castorian way were found in an Augusteum in Narona (Vid, Croatia) between 1995 and 1996: see Marin et al. (2007–2008) 346–49, 373–75 (nos. 9–10), 380–81, 387–90. 107. These two statues were undoubtedly set up at approximately this time rather than significantly later, in the Claudian period, as previously believed. I thank Paul Scotton for the information on the Julian Basilica and for allowing me to read his manuscript in which he discusses the revised date to the Augustan period. He is presently preparing a monograph on the Julian Basilica. 108. Hoff (2001) 597. 109. Cf. the representation of Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus as the same height in aurei issued beginning in 140 c.e., when Marcus Aurelius was eighteen to nineteen years old and Lucius Verus was nine to ten: n. 161 below and plate XVI. 110. See, e.g., de Grazia Vanderpool (2000). 111. For the Augustan theater and statues, see LIMC III (1986) 614–15 (no. 29*) (Hadrianic) s.v. “Dioskouroi/Castores” (F. Gury); Parisi Presicce (1994) 164–65, figs. 14–15. For a pair of statues at Cyrene dating to the mid-second century c.e. and other pairs, see also Traversari (1959), especially 197. 112. See Hoff (2001) 594, who dates this monumentalization to ca. 21–9 b.c.e. and postulates further (596–98) that the inscription on Lucius’ statue base dates to 2 b.c.e. This dating would correspond also to the likely date of the setting up of the statues of Gaius and Lucius at Corinth. 113. It is odd that Hoff (2001) 597 rejects the idea of an equestrian statue of Gaius having been set up at the same time as a pendant to Lucius’ statue on the west propylon. He argues that the east propylon would have been the less important of the two monumental entrances to the Roman Agora because it was the west entrance that faced the old Athenian Agora. In my view, however, the east side was in fact more important if one considers the orientation of temples, which usually have the entrance or principal side on the east end, as in the case of the Parthenon. Since a statue was dedicated to Gaius as the “New Ares” in 2 b.c.e. in the Athenian Agora, one could argue that the statue of

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Lucius on the west propylon of the Roman Agora was not just a pendant to an equestrian statue of Gaius on the east propylon but was also, in a sense, flanked by the statue of Gaius as the New Ares in the Athenian Agora. See also Travlos (1971) 28, who indicates that the donors of the Roman Agora were Caesar and (after 27 b.c.e.) Augustus but that it was dedicated by the Athenian people to Athena Archegetis in the archonship of Nikias (11/10 or 10/9 b.c.e.). 114. Some have taken these to be works of Lykios, son of Myron. For Lykios, see RE 13.2 (1927) 2293–94 s.v. “Lykios” (no. 5). Cf. Pausanias (1.22.4), who misinterpreted the group. See also Stuart Jones (1966) 115 note. See further Raubitschek (1949) 146–52 (135) 517–19, who dismissed the identification with Lykios. Cf. the quadrigate image of King Eumenes II of Pergamon that stood atop the great pylon below the Propylaea that is generally said to have been replaced by a chariot with Marcus Agrippa: Travlos (1971) 483, fig. 622. However, it is more likely that only the head was replaced with that of Agrippa, by analogy with the famous Lysippan statue of Alexander the Great, which was set up in the center of the Forum Iulium in Rome and whose original head was replaced with a head of Caesar to represent him as the Novus Alexander: Stat. Silv. 1.1.84–88. After all, what would be the point of spending a great deal of time and money to redo the entire statue, when it would have been easier (and sufficient) to replace just the head? See also Blanck (1969) 14. Cf. the bronze equestrian statue of Domitian from Cape Miseno, now in the Museo del Castello at Baiae, in which the face of Domitian was cut out and replaced with the face of Nerva (fig. II.44a–b): see chapter II (with n. 193) above and chapter IV (with n. 19) above for this statue. 115. On such groups, see Pollini (2003a) 55–57, fig. 2. 116. Rose (1997a) 99–100 (cat. 28). On top of this arch stood an image of Gaius in triumphal garb flanked by equestrian statues of Gaius and Lucius. See below for the images of Caracalla and Geta on the Arch of Septimius Severus in the Roman Forum. 117. For this arch/quadrifons and the inscription with Lucius’ name on it nearby, see chapter II above, n. 87. For other paired equestrian images, see below. 118. Pollini (1987) 20 n. 8.; see, however, Champlin (2011) 98, who points out the problematic reading of this inscription. 119. SEG IV, 521. See further Pollini (1987) 4 with n. 18, pace Champlin (2011) 98.

120. Gruen (2005) 48, points out that Augustus’ having Tiberius adopt Germanicus was intended to “reduce the likelihood of factions within the household.” Although this is probably true in part, I believe that the main reason was to have a back-up plan given the unpredictability of life. He had already learned this the hard way. 121. Pollini (1993c) with further bibliography. For the Gemma Augustea, see also chapters II and IV above. 122. For this imagery, see further Pollini (1993c). 123. The twin arches were voted by the Senate in 19 c.e. in honor of Germanicus’ military exploits in the East: Tac. Ann. 2.64. Based on the findspots of fragmentary inscriptions from these arches (CIL VI.911 = 31199), it appears that the Arch of Drusus was on the proper left (northwest) side of the Temple of Mars Ultor; that of Germanicus, on the right (southwest): see J. C. Anderson (1984) 97. See also Richardson (1992) 25 s.v. “Arcus Drusi et Germanici”; LTUR II (1995) 292 s.v. “Forum Augustum” (V. Kockel). For a recent plan of the Forum of Augustus with the two arches represented, see Meneghini and Santangeli Valenzani (2007) fig. 32; for a three-quarter reconstruction of the Forum showing the Arch of Drusus, see fig. 36. The arch is shown with a quadrigate image on top, an incorrect reconstruction in my opinion, because neither Germanicus nor Drusus Minor celebrated a triumph: see chapter I above and plate I. 124. Tacitus (Ann. 2.64) notes only that the Senate voted Germanicus and Drusus honorary arches crowned with a portrait image (effigies) of each but unfortunately does not mention what form these sculptures took. If they were shown on horseback, as was common for honorific arches of this sort, the Castores would have been recalled, especially because of the special emphasis placed on military accomplishments in the Forum of Augustus. However, as we know from the arch to Gaius and Lucius at Pisa, more than one statue type of the same person could be set up on an arch. Images on horseback would have been more easily seen from ground level. For the arch at Pisa, see Rose (1997a) 99–100 (cat. 28). 125. Ov. Tr. 2.167–68. 126. See also Scott (1930a) and (1930b); Poulsen (1991) 126–27. 127. The replacement of the original head of an old sculptural masterpiece with the portrait head of some Roman personage is known in a number of other



cases. Cicero (Att. 6.1) did not care for the Athenians’ habit of reusing statues dedicated to one person by adding inscriptions referring to another individual: Odi falsas inscriptiones statuarum alienarum. 128. For these pairs of equestrian figures, see the convincing arguments of Heinemann (2007) 90–93. For a representation of the temple on sestertii, see Nash (1968) I, 292–94, fig. 347. See also Gaspari (1979); Richardson (1992) 98–99 s.v. “Concordia, Aedes”; LTUR I (1993) 316–20 s.v. “Concordia, Aedes” (A. Ferroni). See also Champlin (2011) 82–86. 129. They would not, however, be the two figures (identified as Mercury and Herakles) shown at either side of the entrance of the Temple of Concord on Tiberius’ coinage: BMCRE I, 137 (no. 116), pl. 24.14. For the images of Augustus and Agrippa in the context of the Pantheon, see further chapter II above. 130. BMCRE I, 133 (nos. 95–97), pl. 24.6; RIC2 I, 97 (no. 42), pl. 11. See also Kent (1978) 280 (no. 156), pl. 45. 131. I. Eph. 4337. Scott (1930b) 158, n. 3 and 160. See also Harland (1996) 330. 132. See chapter VIII above. 133. BMCRE I, 154 (no. 44), 157–58 (no. 70–71), pls. 29.1, 30.2; RIC2 I, 111 (no. 49), pl. 14. See also Zanker (1972) 19, fig. 30. 134. Suet. Calig. 13; Sen. Dial. 73. 135. See Meyboom (2005) for Augustus’ similar association of temples and other structures with his own house on the Palatine. 136. Suet. Calig. 22.2; Cass. Dio 59.28.5. For the connection of the Disokouroi/Castores with doors and gateways, see Waite (1919) and (1920). At Sparta, the Dioskouroi were worshiped as two upright doorposts: Plut. Mor. De frat. amor. 1. They are also found in Etruscan art as door beams: LIMC III (1986) 606 s.v. “Dioskouroi/Tinas Clinas” (R. D. de Puma). For the domestic cult of the Penates, see Orr (1978). 137. The excavators indicate that there was some sort of formal relationship between the Temple of the Castores and the vestibule to Caligula’s extension of the imperial residence on the Palatine. See Gradel (2002) 154–55. Although we need to await the formal publication of the site, it seems to me that some sort of portico, possibly in wood, would have joined the temple with the Caligulan vestibule, since a cement platform or foundation was found beneath the area of the postulated portico (see “B”–“C” Domitian’s aula [“hall”], directly behind the Temple of the Castores).

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There is no evidence for any kind of entrance through the Temple of the Castores connecting the temple with Caligula’s vestibule, which entered—as we would expect in a Roman domus—directly into an enormous formal atrium, followed by another large room, a tablinum on axis with the atrium. In my opinion, the tablinum may have also served as both a domestic and public shrine containing a golden portrait statue of Caligula (simulacrum . . . aureum iconicum) dressed in the same clothes that he wore on a daily basis (Suet. Calig. 22.3; Cass. Dio 59.28.2), probably to create the impression that Caligula himself was there (in loco principis) greeting those who came to his home, much in the way that the dominus of a Roman home greeted his clientes in the morning. For the claim that Caligula would stand between the cult statues of Castor and Pollux and permit himself to be worshiped as Jupiter Latiaris, see Suet. Calig. 22.2. See also Cass. Dio 59.28.5; Tamm (1964). Perhaps a statue of Caligula was set up in the temple as an ornamentum, as we know was commonly done by others before and after. See also chapter VIII. 138. For the House of Augustus and the surrounding temples, see Tomei (2004); Pensabene (2004). For the Palatine House of Augustus in general, see Carettoni (1983); Iacopi (2008); and the recent controversial book by Carandini and Bruno (2008), reviewed by Wiseman (2009). For the Temple of Apollo Palatinus, see Richardson (1992), 14 s.v. “Apollo Palatinus, Aedes”; LTUR I (1993) 54–57 s.v. “Apollo Palatinus” (P. Gros). For the Temple of Victoria, see Richardson (1992) 420 s.v. “Victoria, Aedes”; LTUR V (1999) 149– 50 s.v. “Victoria, Aedes” (P. Pensabene). For the Temple of the Magna Mater, see Richardson (1992) 242–43 s.v. “Magna Mater, Aedes”; LTUR III (1996) 206–208 s.v. “Magna Mater, Aedes” (P. Pensabene). 139. The Temple of Divus Augustus, located behind the Basilica Iulia between the Vicus Tuscus (west) and the Vicus Iugarius (east), was Ionic and hexastyle: BMCRE I, 153, 156–57 (nos. 41–43, 58, 69), pls. 28.6, 28.8, 29.14; RIC2 I, 111 (no. 36), pl. 13. See also Breglia (1968) 50, with plate on 51. For the temple, see Richardson (1992) 45–46 s.v. “Augustus, Divus, Templum”; LTUR I (1993) 145–46 s.v. “Augustus, Divus, Templum (Novum); Aedes” (M. Torelli). 140. Caligula’s only child, his daughter Julia Drusilla, was murdered at the time of Caligula’s assassination: Suet. Calig. 59. Gemellus, who was forced to commit suicide, had been adopted and made Princeps

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Inventutis shortly after Caligula came to power: Suet. Calig. 15.2; Cass. Dio 59.8.1. 141. Griffin (1984) 32. 142. Griffin (1984) 29. 143. Levick (1990) 72. 144. BMCRE I (1976) 175 (nos. 79–81), pl. 33.3–4. See also Levick (1990) 72–73, fig. 29. 145. Griffin (1984) 46; (1990) 77. 146. BMCRE II, 1 (nos. 1–5), pl. 1.1: RIC II, 15 (no. 2), 48 (no. 283), 53 (no. 321), 54 (no. 330), 57 (no. 358). 147. BMCRE II, as standing figures: 2 (no. 6), pl. 1.2; as seated figures: 8 (nos. 45–46), pl. 1.14; RIC II, as seated figures: 17 (nos. 23–26), 49 (no. 293), 52 (no. 315); as standing figures: 15 (no. 3), 47 (no. 270), 53 (no. 322), 54 (no. 331), pl. 1.20. 148. The head of Titus first appear on obverses in 72–73 c.e.; that of Domitian in 73: see BMCRE II, xxxv–xxxvi; Sutherland (1974) 181. 149. See especially BMCRE II, xviii–lxix; RIC II, 6–7; Grant (1950) 88–91. 150. The legend identifies both as Caesares and Principes Iuventutis: BMCRE II, 80–81, 87 (nos. 395–96, 426), pls. 13.14–15, 15.5; RIC II, 18 (no. 27), 49 (no. 292). 151. BMCRE II, xxxi–xxxii et passim. 152. Richardson (1992) 75–76 s.v. “Castor et Pollux, Aedes”; LTUR I (1993) 245–46 s.v. “Castor et Pollux in Circo” (F. Coarelli). 153. Scott (1936) 114; Poulsen (1991) 133–34. Although it has been asserted that Domitian wished to represent himself as a living god on earth, including the demand that he be called Dominus et Deus (“Lord and God”), no evidence in official art or documents substantiates this claim. Domitian was, however, the first living Princeps to be represented in official monuments accompanied by Olympian gods, as in Panel A of the Cancelleria Reliefs in the Vatican’s Museo Gregoriano Profano. Only in nonofficial literature and art was Domitian directly compared to or equated with the gods, following a long-standing private encomiastic tradition. On this matter, see further chapter II. The fundamental study of the Cancelleria Reliefs is Magi (1945). See also Kleiner (1992) 191–92, 203–204. 154. BMCRE II, lxxxix, 311 (nos. 62–63), pl. 61.6– 7; Sutherland (1974) figs. 346–47; Kent (1978) 290 (no. 242), pl. 68. Domitian was also shown on the obverse in certain issues with his divinized son on the reverse: BMCRE II, lxxxix, 347 (no. 246), pl. 67.13; RIC II, 179 (no. 209A). On the obverse of this same coin type, both

Domitian and his wife Domitia are represented in a dignified manner without any divine trappings. 155. Stars indicating divinization would continue to play a role in official imperial ideology and imagery, as for example on a Hadrianic aureus showing on the reverse Hadrian’s deified parents (DIVIS PARENTIBVS) with a star over each head: see Kent (1978) 293 (no. 276), pl. 79 (aureus, 138 c.e.), who suggests that this coin might have been minted at the outset of the Principate of Antoninus Pius and that it shows Hadrian before he was divinized, since there is no star over his head. 156. Southern (1997) 115–16. 157. The date of the adoption was February 25, 138 c.e.; Hadrian died in July of the same year. 158. For this altar (“Partherdenkmal”) and the date of adoption, see Oberleitner and Lessing (1978) 68–70, 78–79 (cat. 61), fig. 58. See also Knibbe and Langmann (1993) 5–18; and Oberleitner (2009). 159. Born April 26, 121 c.e.: SHA Marc. 1.5. 160. Born December 15, 130 c.e.: SHA Verus 1.8. 161. BMCRE IV (1968) 37 (no. 239), pl. 6.9. Cf. the similar representation on aes medallions of 145 c.e., when Marcus Aurelius was already a married man: Gnecchi (1912) 22, pls. 53.3, 55.6–7. 162. See, e. g., Fittschen (1999) 35 with n. 218 and 37 with n. 227, who notes the difference in age between Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus, shown as being of the same size, but offers no explanation for the discrepancy. 163. Cf. above regarding the statues of Gaius and Lucius at Corinth. 164. Gnecchi (1912) 20 (no. 95), pl. 54.6 (140–143 c.e.); Poulsen (1991) 134. 165. Gnecchi (1912) 43 (no. 5), pl. 71.5 (161–165 c.e.); Poulsen (1991) 134. 166. IG V1, 447; Poulsen (1991) 135 with other inscriptional evidence. 167. For the old dating of these figures to the Republic and to the late Julio-Claudian periods, as well as the new dating to the early Antonine era, see Parisi Presicce (1994) 166–69, who is also of the opinion that they were restored under Commodus. 168. Possibly they were the cult figures of the temple: Parisi Presicce (1994) 168–71. For the fragment of the marble plan with the temple in the Circus Flaminius, see Tucci (1994), fig. 1. 169. For a discussion of these medallions, see Alföldi (1971a) 271–74, pls. VI, figs. 1–3; VII, figs. 1–4.



170. Gnecchi (1912) 31–32 (no. 39), pl. 62.2 (155 c.e.); Poulsen (1991) 134. 171. BMCRE IV, 502 (nos. 774–75), pl. 69.11; Poulsen (1991) 134. 172. See Fittschen (1999) 9. 173. BMCRE IV, 403 (nos. 136–40), pl. 55.19; RIC III, 271 (nos. 709–12), pl. 11.223 (I thank Janina Darling for this RIC reference). Faustina had at least a dozen children, only six of whom survived childhood (five girls and Commodus). See Birley (1981) 239 et passim; OCD3 99 s.v. “Annia Galeria Faustina”; Fittschen (1999) 2–10. 174. See RIC III, 271 (nos. 709–10). 175. Gnecchi (1912) 59–60 (no. 74), pl. 83.2 ; see also LIMC III (1986) 621 (no. 93*) s.v. “Dioskouroi/Castores” (F. Gury). 176. Gnecchi (1912) 62 (no. 96), pl. 84.6; see also LIMC III (1986) 618 (no. 70a*) s.v. “Dioskouroi/Castores” (F. Gury). 177. See McCann (1968) 95–99, pl. XL, fig. 1 (Antoninus Pius), cat. 27 (Septimius Severus); 103– 106, pl. XLI, cat. 30 (Septimius Severus), fig. 1 (Marcus Aurelius). 178. For the Palatine inscription excavated in 1870 in the Farnese Gardens overlooking the Circus Maximus, see CIL VI.1.193 (no. 1028). Although I have checked with the Direzione, the present location of this inscription is unknown. For other such inscriptions with similar language, see also CIL VI.1.193 (no. 1024), 194 (no. 1030–32), etc. 179. BMCRE V, 157–58 (nos. 3–6), pl. 27.1, 3 (198– 209 c.e.); RIC IV.1, 166 (no. 540: 196–211 c.e.). See also Kent (1978) 304 (no. 383), pl. 110. On this coinage, Caracalla wears a laurel crown, attesting to his priority as the senior Caesar. 180. BMCRE V, 191 (no. 184), pl. 31.10 (200–201 c.e.); 214 (no. 308), pl. 34.16 (201–210 c.e.); RIC IV.1, 111 (no. 155a–c), 114 (nos. 174, 178a–b). 181. BMCRE V, 318 (ca. 199–204 c.e.); RIC IV.1, 315 (no. 6), pl. 14.2 (ca. 198–200 c.e.). 182. BMCRE V, issued by Septimius: 216, 340 (nos. 320–21, 840*), pl. 35.5; issued by Caracalla: 344 (no. 845); RIC V.1, Septimius: 124 (no. 259), pl. 7.2, 195 (no. 764); Caracalla: 226 (no. 87A), 242 (no. 212A), 280 (no. 419). See also Nash (1968) I, 127, fig. 134. The inconsistency in the numismatic record may reflect a later addition of the image of Caracalla to the chariot as the senior of Septimius’ two sons. It is interesting that the Forum Arch is shown on coinage issued

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not only by Septimius but also by Caracalla, but not by Geta. This, too, may indicate that Caracalla wished to highlight that his image was added later to the arch. Caracalla’s repetition on horseback as a pendant figure to his brother Geta would not have been unusual in such contexts. As noted above, the inscriptional evidence on the Arch of Gaius and Lucius at Pisa makes it clear that Gaius was represented twice; Lucius, once: above with n. 116. For the Arch of Septimius Severus in the Roman Forum, see Brilliant (1967). 183. See Pollini (2005c) with earlier bibliography. 184. These statues of the Castores should not be

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confused with those on the Capitoline Hill (see above). For the Quirinal statues, see Nista (ed.) (1994) 200– 201, pls. VIII–XVI. See also LIMC III (1986) 619 (77*) s.v. “Dioskouroi” (F. Gury). The statues were once thought to have been associated with the Baths of Constantine: Nash (1968) II, 442, figs. 1244–45. 185. Birley (1988) 188–89. For Geta’s damnatio, see also Varner (2004) 168–84; Pollini (2005c). 186. See OCD3 471–72 s.v. “Diocletian.” 187. Eventually Saints Peter and Paul would take on the role of the Castores in Christianity. For the late Roman and Christian periods, see Poulsen (1993).

Conclusion

G 

iven the high rate of illiteracy and the number of different languages spoken in Roman antiquity, oral and visual rhetoric was an extremely effective way to convey ideological messages and to keep the leader and his achievements ever before the eyes of the populace as a whole.1 Although the more complex aspects of those messages might be appreciated only by the educated elite, the general public could still understand fundamental themes, especially those that were reiterated in the iconosphere of Rome and in other cities under Roman sway. One of the essential concepts in Roman culture was the emphasis on the preservation of renown through memoria, whereby important individuals and their accomplishments were remembered and commemorated down through the ages. Living on in human memory was regarded as the essence of true immortality. As Polybios (6.54.2) notes, “the glory of those who performed something noble becomes immortal, while the repute of those who performed services for the fatherland becomes well known to many and is transmitted to posterity” (ἡ τῶν καλόν τι διαπραξαμένων εὔκλεια, γνώριμος δὲ τοῖς πολλοῖς καὶ παραδόσιμος τοῖς ἐπιγινομένοις ἡ τῶν εὐεργετησάντων τὴν πατρίδα γίνεται δόξα). Playing an important role in the preservation of memory were the wax ancestral masks of members of the elite class of Rome who had achieved high political office. The masks of a Roman political leader and his male ancestors were kept on display in the atrium of his home, where he received clients and friends on a daily basis. On the death of a prominent family member, these masks were worn by hired actors, who marched in the funeral procession dressed in the garments of the highest office held by the deceased, while bearing the insignia of his political office. During the public eulogy for the dead, this entire choros of mask-wearing actors accompanied the deceased in the funeral procession and sat on the speakers’ platform in the Roman Forum, where each ancestor was eulogized in chronological order by a male of the family. The care taken to choose actors who resembled the deceased in height and general appearance underlined a basic need to revivify the dead, for in donning the mask and clothes of the deceased, the actors took on the deceased’s persona (also the Latin term for “mask”). These family eulogies constitute one of the earliest forms of Roman epideictic rhetoric. Although it has not been definitely established when the use of wax masks

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came about in Rome, I have argued that a number of pieces of circumstantial evidence indicate that they were first created in the second half of the fourth century b.c.e., when various internal legal, political, and religious factors, as well as external foreign impulses, came together to give rise to this distinctively Roman creation, which served both a civic and religio-magical function. Ancestral masks have implications not just for funerary customs but also for the development of true-to-life portraiture in Roman art and culture. These masks were generally not death-masks, as had long been believed, but life-masks. This new awareness of their nature has important implications for the Roman interest in verism in portrait sculpture, which—like the ancestral masks themselves—served a didactic role in portraying the virtue and character of honored individuals, thereby inspiring not just appreciation for their accomplishments but also a desire to emulate their deeds. The nobility’s interest in verism was adopted to various degrees in due course by the nonelite classes of Roman society for their own portrait imagery. Essential to the achievement of great things, by individuals or by the Roman State, was the right relationship with the gods. A component of the visual imagery of Roman leaders was the assertion of an association with the divine. The important distinctions concerning whether such connections were expressed directly or indirectly, officially or nonofficially, generally have not been fully appreciated in past scholarship and consequently have led to misunderstandings. The very name “Augustus” that the Senate voted to Octavian at the time of his institution of the Principate in 27 b.c.e. suggested a divine association, since among the definitions of the Latin adjective augustus/a are “consecrated” and “holy.” While still known as Octavian, the victorious young military leader (dux) appears on some official coins as godlike, with the trappings of divinity. This direct mode of representation in relation to the divine followed in the tradition of Hellenistic kingship—a perception of the leader of the Roman State that was clearly at variance with Augustus’ official image following his avowed restoring of authority to the Senate and Roman People.2 Thus in the Augustan and earlier Julio-Claudian periods the association of the Princeps and his family with the divine is indirect in official media, though a direct connection continued to be acceptable in private creations and municipal or provincial works that were unofficial from the point of view of the state government at Rome, as well as in the representation of the deified deceased. Only with the acclimatization of Roman society to a Principate hardening into a de facto monarchy over the course of the first two centuries c.e. do we find the living leader or members of his family portrayed in some rare instances in official state coinage or monuments as somehow godlike but not as living

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gods. With the passage of time, the more common tendency was for the living Princeps to be shown mixing freely with divinities, as though they were companions (comites). At first the living leader is shown in official state imagery with personifications, then with Olympian gods, and finally—under Trajan— with Jupiter, the supreme god of the Roman pantheon. However, the Princeps continues to be represented as a mortal and usually somewhat smaller in scale than divinities, in keeping with hierarchical principles. No doubt contributing to this evolution in imagery over time is the simple fact that all those who had personally known the Republic had passed away, leaving only those who had not experienced any form of government in Rome other than the Principate (cf. Tac. Ann. 1.3). The period of the late Republic was in a sense transitional, with the principles of the old Republic being challenged by the reality of single individuals aspiring to dominate the Roman State. The issue of Caesar’s divinization in 42 b.c.e. presented a particular problem, at least initially. Though deified after death, Caesar had been a mortal being whose excessive ambitions, as well as the extraordinary awards voted to him, had contributed to his demise. Both of these factors undoubtedly came into play when a decision needed to be made about the appropriate imagery for his cult statue in his temple in the Roman Forum. Interestingly, the modern scholarly reconstruction of this cult image as seminude differs radically from that transmitted to us on Roman state coinage. The numismatic representation of this statue clearly shows Caesar in a wholly human way, as an augur, fully clothed and with head piously veiled. Later in the Augustan period, however, we do find godlike imagery for Divus Iulius—the suitability of this manner of representation having been finally resolved even for state-sponsored images of a deified mortal. Before Octavian’s “makeover” into Augustus in 27 b.c.e., the recalling of Alexander the Great had been especially attractive to Octavian as a means of compensating for his youth and lack of military experience, especially when contending for control of the Roman State against older political opponents like Marc Antony. Octavian was able to turn his youth into a political advantage by evoking the young Alexander, who was only twenty when he succeeded his father, Philip II, and therefore just about the same age as Octavian at the time of the death of Julius Caesar. While Octavian was presented as a theomorphic victor in the mold of Alexander on Octavian’s coinage celebrating his victory over Antony and Cleopatra, such imagery quickly disappeared in official state art after the founding of the Principate. A directional change is also discernible in the portraiture of Octavian/ Augustus. Octavian’s third and best-known early portrait type—the so-called



C onclu sion 4 5 7

Alcudia type (formerly known as the “Actian” type)—was emotionally charged and Alexander-like. But once he became Augustus, his image was radically different, being characterized by classically calm facial features and neatly composed hair. This new paradigm of the Roman heroic ideal is embodied above all in the statue of Augustus from Prima Porta, in which earlier Greek warrior imagery is recalled but rhetorically reformulated. In this work, Augustus is presented as the bringer of peace, stability, and prosperity after a nearly a hundred years of foreign wars and bitter civil discord. His visual message, moreover, was not just one of peace but rather one of peace as the consequence of victory— parta victoriis pax, as he clearly states in his own record of his achievements, the Res Gestae (13). This pervasive theme in Augustan art, which all levels of society could grasp, did not require that Augustus be portrayed as actively engaged in battle. He needed only to be seen as an ever-victorious leader, whether that success was won by arms or by diplomacy, as brilliantly heralded by the central scene of the cuirass of the Prima Porta statue. The quintessential monument advertising the peace that Augustus had brought to the Roman world is of course the Ara Pacis Augustae—appropriately the altar not simply of peace but of a specifically Augustan peace. In short, the Pax Romana had now been transformed into the Pax Augusta, both conceptually and visually. Like memory itself, the imagery presented in such relief art is selective.3 Some works might emphasize religious piety; others might highlight military success; and still others might focus on the imperial family. In the case of the Ara Pacis, all of these chords and more are struck. From a narratological point of view, I have suggested that out of this monument’s complex ensemble of staccato images a highly educated Roman observer could have created for himself a narrative of the dynasty and destiny of Augustus. In processing the artistic language of the Ara Pacis, the sophisticated viewer, cognizant of Augustus’ accomplishments and trained in Greco-Roman rhetoric, would thus become a “viewer-narrator.” The imagery of the Ara Pacis implies that not only the Pax Augusta was attained but also the pax deorum (“peace of the gods”), without which victory—and the peace that comes as its result—could not have been achieved. The Ara Pacis Augustae was not an isolated monument in the northern Campus Martius but part of a larger Augustan complex that also included the Solarium (or Horologium) Augusti to the immediate west, the Mausoleum Augusti to the north, and the Ustrinum Augusti to the south. All of these monuments in one way or another tie into and extend the narrative being told in the Ara Pacis’ imagistic program. Approaching the Ara Pacis–Solarium Augusti complex from the south near the Via Lata, so that the Mausoleum

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Augusti to the north was equidistant between the Solarium and the Ara Pacis, a viewer would have experienced all three monuments synoptically from this optimum perspective. They succinctly signify Augustus’ greatest achievement in life—“peace through victory,” which would ultimately lead to his apotheosis, as symbolized by his mausoleum, after his mortal remains had been cremated at the site of the Ustrinum Augusti. With a great image of Augustus in triumphal chariot at the summit of his mausoleum (instead of the single statue of him on foot of past reconstructions), the viewer could also literally visualize Augustus’ departure to heaven in a manner like that of Romulus, who is said to have been translated to the celestial realm in the chariot of his father, Mars, in the area of the Pantheon, just southwest of Augustus’ ustrinum. During Augustus’ lifetime this sort of imagery did not officially indicate his deification, since he is represented only as triumphator. However, his future apotheosis after death could be inferred. The concept of divine favor as a result of religiosity lay at the very heart of Roman religion, for the essence of religio was a reciprocal relationship in which devotion to the gods was rewarded, according to the principle of do ut des (“I give so that you may give”), as the Roman saying goes.4 Bearing witness to the piety of the Augustan Principate is the representation of the principal priesthoods of Rome in the Ara Pacis’ long processional friezes. Taking into consideration both the physical evidence and the thematic imagery of this monument, I have concluded that Augustus was represented in its south procession frieze as an augur, originally holding an augural lituus in his partially preserved right hand. He would have appeared here as a symbolic “Second Founder” of Rome, either marking out the terrestrial templum (“sacred precinct”) on which the Augustan Altar of Peace was to be erected in its final marble form or performing a maximum augurium salutis rei publicae (“greatest augury for the safety of the state”), probably in conjunction with a sequential supplicatio at all the temples of Rome. As a parallel to this event, two other great augural moments in the history of Rome are heralded in the two front panels—Aeneas’ sacrifice of the Sow of Lavinium and the discovery of the twins Romulus and Remus by their father, Mars, and foster-father, Faustulus, in the spot where Rome was to arise, as had been prophesied. An augural connection is further borne out by the augural symbolism of the great scroll reliefs, which are dominated by acanthus, with its convolutions of lituus-shaped vines and tendrils, out of which grow various plants of the four seasons. The acanthus plant came to refer to Apollo and Dionysos (Bacchus/Liber) as gods representing anamorphosis, anakyklosis, and numen mixtum, that is, rebirth and regeneration in the great circle of life, as a result of the co-numinous



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workings of Apollo and Dionysos/Liber. Acanthus functions on the Ara Pacis as a symbol of general harmony among divinities of fertility and underscores the message of the Pax Augusta and the concomitant concept of divine blessings and favor. Also expressive of the co-numinous workings of Apollo and Dionysos/Liber as a numen mixtum are the numerous split palmettes associated with Helios/Sol shown above the acanthus vines on the Ara Pacis. Together, acanthus and palmette symbolize the close relationship of Apollo and Helios/ Sol and underscore Apollo’s solar aspect, as well as the importance of these two divinities as guarantors of the message of Augustan peace. Coupled with the Ara Pacis’ ubiquitous augural references, heralding the prophetic return of the Golden Age under Augustus, the miraculous acanthus scrolls serve as a metaphor for the new era of peace and prosperity that Augustus brought to Italy and the entire Roman world, especially under the good auspices of his patron god Apollo. The acanthus underscores the very name Augustus, which besides meaning “consecrated” and “holy” signifies “increase,” thereby becoming a pun for the prophetic increase in prosperity resulting from the Pax Augusta. The flora and fauna in the magnificent scroll decorations of the Ara Pacis serve not only individually as visual metonyms for various Augustan divinities and virtues but also collectively as manifestations of divine will, that Augustus was fated to be Princeps et Pacifer, or “Prince of Peace.” The concept of pax deorum under Augustus was, I believe, also reflected in the fragmentary figural reliefs of the inner altar of the Ara Pacis. I have proposed that the largest of these friezes would have been located only on the front side of the altar’s prothesis and would originally have represented the Twelve Olympian gods of the Roman pantheon, possibly with Pax as the “thirteenth god” in the center, being received by Jupiter. Directly above this large relief panel, but running around the entire altar table, is the smallest of the three inner altar friezes, representing the anniversary sacrifice to Pax, a ceremony of renewal that was performed before the Ara Pacis annually. The middle-sized frieze, with its many personifications of the conquered or pacified peoples and provinces of the Empire, I place all around the podium on which the prothesis sits. With the disposition of these three friezes in this manner on the inner altar, the ideological concept of “peace through victory” is expressed literally and visually as peace (alluded to in the relief panel of the Twelve Gods with perhaps Pax herself and the frieze of the annual sacrifice to her) resting directly upon the pacified peoples of the Empire (represented in the frieze that runs around the entire podium of the inner altar). As attested by the literary and archaeological evidence, the Ara Pacis served as a model for other monumental imperial altars, among which was most likely

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an altar originally decorated with the so-called Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs, erroneously known in the past as the Altar of the Vicomagistri because it was generally believed that these reliefs formed part of a large Lares altar that had been set up in one of the many vici (“districts”/“neighborhoods”) of Rome. The two segments that have come down to us were joined together and displayed for many years as a single continuous relief in the Vatican Museums. In more recent years, however, the two sections have been displayed as separated panels, on the assumption that there was once a middle section between them that is now lost or that each section belonged to a different side of a square altar. I have shown that for both technical and iconographical reasons the two frieze blocks should instead be rejoined, without a postulated missing middle section or deployment on different sides. On the basis of a number of pieces of circumstantial evidence, I have proposed that the two sections of the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs decorated one side of the podium of an altar set within a sculptural precinct enclosure in the manner of the Ara Pacis. It had once been suggested that these reliefs may have belonged to the Ara Providentiae Augustae (“Altar of Augustan Providence”), set up by Tiberius most likely opposite the Ara Pacis Augustae, across the Via Lata and at the same distance from the Via Lata as the Ara Pacis. However, various factors, including a recent reevaluation of the beginning of the worship of the Genius Augusti as part of Roman official state cult, Roman ritualistic practices, and artistic style, indicate that the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs may instead have once adorned the podium of the so-called Ara Gentis Iuliae (“Altar of the Julian Clan”), set up by Claudius on the Capitoline Hill in Rome. Associated with this same altar may have been the Valle-Medici and other related reliefs that have often been connected with a putative “Ara Pietatis,” the very existence of which is very doubtful. Yet another altar is relevant to an event that has loomed large for those who consider Caligula to have been insane; namely, the connection between the destruction of an altar to the divinity of Caligula in Jamnia in ancient Judea by Jews and Caligula’s decision to set up a statue of himself in the Temple of Yahweh in Jerusalem, which caused a great stir within the Jewish population. Although Caligula’s behavior on various occasions could certainly be described as eccentric, conclusions that he was clinically insane, reflecting a hostile ancient literary tradition, are misleading or erroneous. A case in point is his impersonation of gods and heroes. Such impersonation was quite likely a manifestation of his passionate interest in pantomime and acting in a private setting, not a demonstration of some “insane” belief that he himself was a living god on earth. As for Caligula’s decree to set up his statue in the Yahweh Temple,



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a careful look at the historical sources and the motivations of those who sought to malign him suggest that this was not the act of a madman but rather a response to Jewish destruction and desecration of the altar set up to Caligula’s divinity at Jamnia by Greeks. In Roman eyes this act of fanaticism on the part of Jews could be considered an example of Jewish religious mania or insanity. Caligula’s gut response, involving his supposed plans to set up a statue of himself in the Jerusalem Temple, would have served as a lesson to Jews impelled by religious fanaticism that such a sacrilegious and seditious action would not be tolerated by Rome; if Jews wished their religious practices to be respected, they would have to learn to be respectful of those of other peoples. The importance of maintaining the right relationship with the gods, resulting in divine approbation, continued to be at the heart of Roman religion throughout the time of the Empire, as it had been during the Republic. The value of divine association and protection is manifest in the first two centuries of the imperial period in connection with advancing the intended successors of the Princeps, a complex and rather cumbersome process initially, since the Principate was not in theory a hereditary monarchy. Astral theology and imagery involving the celestial twin gods Castor and Pollux were used to imply a certain divine aura for the Princeps’ intended heirs or, more accurately, the “heir and a spare.” The Divine Twins, known to the Greeks as the Dioskouroi and to the Romans as the Castores, reportedly appeared as savior gods on white horses at the famous Battle of Lake Regillus and brought victory to the Romans in the early days of the Republic. Because of this role, Castor and Pollux became the patron divinities of the equestrian class, with which the Princeps’ two eldest sons—whether by birth or adoption—were closely associated, particularly through the paramilitary youth organization known as the Iuventus. As leaders of this organization and of the Roman equestrian class, the Princeps’ intended heirs were also designated Principes Iuventutis (“Leaders of the Youth”). As symbolic twins, they were compared to the Divine Twins, the Castores, in both art and literature and were cast as future saviors and benefactors of the Roman State. The dual heir system, with its element of divine inspiration and sanction, was to play an essential role in the transmission of power well after its inauguration by the ever-innovative Augustus. In matters of succession, as in so many other aspects of Roman culture explored here, the workings and interrelation of rhetoric, religion, and power are manifest in the visual culture of the Roman people.

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Notes 1. With regard to ancient literacy, see in general Harris (1989). For similarities between visual and verbal rhetoric, see Keuls (1978); Brilliant (1984), especially 68–78. See also Preisshofen and Zanker (1970–71); Giuliani (1986) 49–50, 79–100.



2. As Augustus himself indicates in his Res Gestae (34.1): rem publicam ex mea potestate in senatus populique Romani arbitrium transtuli (“I transferred the republic from my own control to the authority of the Senate and Roman People”). 3. For the selectivity of memory, see Gillis (1994) 4. 4. North (2000) 37–38.

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Plate I. Reconstruction of Forum of Augustus. Courtesy of the Sovraintendenza ai Beni Culturali del Comune di Roma, Archivio Museo dei Fori Imperiali

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Plate II. Left hemicycle in Forum of Augustus. Courtesy of the Sovraintendenza ai Beni Culturali del Comune di Roma, Archivio Museo dei Fori Imperiali

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Plate III. Reconstructed Hall of the Colossus in Forum of Augustus (lituus held by statue and restored paintings incorrect in my opinion). Courtesy of the Sovraintendenza ai Beni Culturali del Comune di Roma, Archivio Museo dei Fori Imperiali

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Plate IV. Masked performer, Phersu (so inscribed), from wall of late sixth century b.c.e. Etruscan Tomb of the Augurs. Photo by author

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Plate V. Aureus of Sulla (rev.: Sulla in quadriga being crowned by Victoria), 82 b.c.e. After Sutherland (1974) fig. 76

Plate VI. Sestertius (rev.: Caligula sacrificing before Temple of Divus Augustus), 37–38 c.e. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and the Classical Numismatic Group

Plate VII. Dupondius (obv.: Portrait of Livia with legend SALVS AVGVSTA), after 22 c.e. After Simon (1986) pl. 12.4

Plate viii. Aureus (rev. Trajan and Jupiter holding thunderbolt), 112–117 c.e. After Sutherland (1974) fig. 374 Plate IX. Dupondius (obv.: head of Nero wearing solar crown), 64 c.e. After Sutherland (1974) fig. 308

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Plate X. 1878 engraving after a wall relief of Ramesses II in the Ramesseum near Luxor. After Perry (ed.) (2005) 363

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Plate XI. “Alexander Mosaic” from the House of the Faun, Pompeii, now in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples. After Kraus (1975) pl. 104

Plate XII. Detail of Alexander the Great in the “Alexander Mosaic.” After Kraus (1975) pl. 105

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Plate XIII. Tetradrachm (obv.: posthumous head of Alexander with ram’s horn), ca. 297–296 b.c.e. After Wood (1997) p. 10

Plate XIV. Bronze statue of Germanicus, Archaeological Museum, Amelia. After Manconi and Danesi (2002) 134

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Plate XV. Augustus’ Actian Victory Monument at Nikopolis (blocks with Latin inscriptions in foreground and podium in background). Photo by author

Plate XVI. Aureus (rev.: Antoninus Pius as triumphator with adopted sons Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus), 140–144 c.e. Courtesy of British Museum

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Plate XVII. Colorized reconstruction of the Ara Pacis (three-quarter view from the southwest), somewhat altered by the author. After museum brochure I Colori del Ara, Museo dell’Ara Pacis, Rome (n.d.)

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Plate XVIII. Plan of Campus Martius (with topographical chiastic effect). After Pollini (2002c) fig. 8

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Plate XIX. Aerial view of reconstructed Augustan monuments in northern Campus Martius (Mausoleum of Augustus, Ara Pacis, Ustrinum of Augustus) with the obelisk’s shadow cast on the Ara Pacis at 4:31 p.m. on September 23 (computer-generated image by Nicholas Cipolla)

Plate XX. Optimum view of Augustan Monuments in the northern Campus Martius (computer-generated image by Nicholas Cipolla)

Plate XXI. Reconstructed Ustrinum Augusti in the Campus Martius (computer-generated image by Nicholas Cipolla)

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Plate XXII. Reconstructed Ustrinum Augusti in middle of the Campus Martius from elevated perspective (computergenerated image by Nicholas Cipolla)

Plate XXIII. Reconstructed Ustrinum Augusti in middle of the Campus Martius with Solarium, Ara Pacis, and Mausoleum Augusti to the north (computer-generated image by Nicholas Cipolla)

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Plate XXIV. Colorized reconstruction of the Aeneas Panel, Ara Pacis. After museum brochure I Colori del Ara, Museo dell’Ara Pacis, Rome (n.d.)

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Plate XXV. Reconstruction of the front (east side) of Ara Pacis, showing location of three inner altar friezes (computer-generated image by Nicholas Cipolla)

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Plate XXVI. Reconstructed model of the Mausoleum Augusti with hypothetical quadrigate image of Augustus atop (computer-generated image by Nicholas Cipolla)

Plate XXVII. Aerial perspective of reconstructed model of Mausoleum Augusti (computergenerated image by Nicholas Cipolla)

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Plate XXVIII. Detail of model showing location of Egyptian obelisks and pillars bearing bronze tablets of Res Gestae of Augustus (computer-generated image by Nicholas Cipolla)

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Plate XXIX. Reconstructed model of the Mausoleum Augusti with statue of Augustus on foot as seen from ground level (computer-generated image by Nicholas Cipolla) Plate XXX. Reconstructed model of the Mausoleum Augusti with quadrigate image of Augustus as seen from ground level (computer-generated image by Nicholas Cipolla)

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Plate XXXI. Reconstructed console of model of the Mausoleum Augusti with quadrigate image of Augustus as seen from ground level (computer-generated image by Nicholas Cipolla)

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Plate XXXII. Acanthus mollis with tall central stalks, Capitoline Arx, Rome. Photo by author

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Plate XXXIII. Acanthus calyx at foot of cross in apse of upper church, San Clemente, Rome. After Bussagli (ed.) (1999) 319

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Plate XXXIV. Portrait of Caligula, Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, Copenhagen. Photo by author

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Plate XXXV. Portrait of Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek Caligula (Version B). After Brinkmann and Scholl (eds.) (2010) 228 Plate XXXVI. Portrait of Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek Caligula recolorized by author after Brinkmann and Scholl (eds.) (2010) 228 (Version C).

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Plate XXXVII. Octodrachm (obv.: Ptolemy III Euergetes wearing solar crown and aegis with trident), third century b.c.e. After Jenkins (1972) fig. 566

Plate XXXVIII. Castores (Dioskouroi) on white horses (upper middle) succoring Romans at Battle of Lake Regillus, fresco by Tomasso Laureti (1587–94), Sala dei Capitani, Palazzo dei Conservatori (Musei Capitolini), Rome. Photo by author

Plate XXXIX. Aureus (obv.: head of Augustus; rev.: Gaius and Lucius Caesar with crossed shields), 2 b.c.e. Courtesy Freeman & Sear

Plate XLI. Aureus (obv.: Septimius Severus; rev.: Caracalla [left] and Geta [right]), ca. 201–202 c.e. Courtesy Joseph Geranio and Classical Numismatic Group

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Plate XL. Aureus (rev.: dead infant son of Domitian and Domitia on a globe with heavenly stars above), 81–84 c.e. After Sutherland (1974) fig. 347

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GENERAL index References to illustrations appear in bold type. At the end of the index is a separate list of museums (arranged by city), with references to cited works in these collections.

acanthus/acanthoid (as decorative element), 10, 233–34, 271–84, 289–96, 298, 301n30, 303n66, 304n83, 304n92, 305–306n124, 307n150, 307n159, 308n169, 460, figs. V.23, VI.1–5, VI.9–12, plates XXXII–XXXIII Accius (poet), 373 acerra (incense box), 24, 224, 267n144 Achates, 242, 267nn132–33 Achilles, 4, 18, 187–90, 198n46, 199n71, 298 Acta Fratrum Arvalium (Acts of the Arval Brethren), 61n66, 322, 328, 334, 340, 346, 360n54, 363n107, 365n165, 365nn177–78, 367n205 acta maiorum, 23, 61n62 “Actian”/“Actium” portrait type of Augustus. See “Alcudia” portrait type Actian Arch, 82–83, 124–25n85, 125n87, fig. II.13–14 Actian Victory Monument. See Nikopolis (Greece), Actian Victory Monument at Actium, 9, 73–74, 122n38, 168, 172, 182, 184, 191, 193, 196, 197n29, 200n92, 201n133, 203n158, 222, 264n96, 283, 302n44, 404n86, 414–15 adventus, 264n80 adyton, 289, 306n132 aedes (temple building), 61n67, 263n74, 383, 405n97 Aemilius Lepidus, Marcus, 170, 212, 262n47 Aemilius Paullus, Lucius, 63n136, 179; Aemilius Paullus Monument, 179, fig. IV.17 Aeneadae, 21, 60n50, 298, 420 Aeneas, 21–22, 26, 39, 60–61n59, 64n160, 184, 190, 221, 223, 228, 231, 242–47, 263n66, 264n94, 266–67n129, 298, 305n122, 361n60, 367n196, 419, 426, 459, figs. V.11a, V.31a–b, plate XXIV Aeneid, 20, 26, 181, 184, 208, 231, 241, 243, 246, 267n132, 285, 297, 415 Aesernia, inscription from, 331 agalma, 135, 155n13

Agora, Athenian, 237, 433, 450n113, fig. IX.24 Agora, Roman, 432–33, 435, 450n113, fig. IX.24 Agrippa, Julius (Herod Agrippa, grandson of Herod the Great), 392, 394–95, 408n158, 409n162 Agrippa, Marcus Vipsanius, 76, 112, 123n48, 123n51, 124n71, 158n70, 169, 217, 233–34, 254, 265n103, 266n124, 277, 346, 408n158, 420, 422–23, 435, 450n114, 450n129 Agrippina Maior, 160n105, 374 Agrippina Minor, 101, 161n121, 363n112, 404n87, fig. II.33 (“three sisters” coin with Drusilla and Iulia) Agyieus, 284, 304n92 akrolith, 108–10, 117, 130n183, 131n217 akrolithic technique, 117, 131n217 Alban kings, 64n160 Albinus, Aulus (moneyer, descendant of Aulus Postumius Albus), 448n72 Albinus, Aulus Postumius (general), 424, 448n72 “Alcudia” (“Actium”/“Actian”/“Second Triumvir”/Type III) portrait type of Augustus, 167, 172, 197–98n29, 198n30, 458, fig. IV.5 Alexander Helios (son of Cleopatra and Marc Antony), 192, 194–96, fig. IV.29 “Alexander Mosaic,” 168, 178, 197n20, plates XI–XII “Alexander Sarcophagus,” 178–79, fig. IV.16 Alexander the Great, 9, 24, 50–51, 66n194, 127n129, 151, 161n109, 162–75, 177–79, 183–84, 186–90, 197n10, 197n12, 197n20, 198n31, 198n35, 198n40, 198nn49–50, 199nn69–72, 199n74, 201n114, 201n129, 293, 387, 414, 416, 419, 423, 426–28, 434, 449n94, 450n114, 457–58; funeral cart of, 293; tomb of, 171–72, 175; figs. IV.2, IV.4, IV.6, IV.10, IV.13– 14, IV.16, IV.23, IX.18, plates XI–XIII Alexandria/Alexandrians, 73, 75, 93, 132n225, 171–72, 186, 194, 198nn53–54, 203nn158–59, 203n161, 375, 381, 391, 394, 407n142, 408n153, 408n157

5 2 5

Alkaios, 286 Altar, Belvedere, 141–42, 360n48, fig. III.10 Altar, Bologna, 262n60 “Altar, Vicomagistri.” See Cancelleria Reliefs, Smaller Altar from Vicus Aescleti (Ara Vici Aescleti), 262n62, 263n66, 359–60n40, 365n179 Altar from Vicus Sandaliarius, 137, 139, 185, 227, 263n68, 360n43, fig. III.7 Altar of Domitius Ahenobarbus, 263n66, 317, 346 Altar of Iulius Proculus, 292, 307n154 Altar of Jupiter Pistor, 156n26 Altar of Providentia. See Ara Providentiae Augustae “Altar of the Gens Augusta” (Carthage), 229–30, 264n93, fig. V.20 Altar of the Twelve Gods (Athens), 237 Altar of Zeus (Pergamon), 198n31, 365n175 Alter Conditor (“Second Founder”), 22, 138, 140, 228, 264n82, 419 Amazonomachy, 338, fig. VII.24 Amelia (Italy), statue of Germanicus from, 190, 201n130, plate XIV Amenhotep II, Tomb of, 412 Amisus (Pontus), portrait vase of Alexander from, 427–28, fig. IX.18 amixia, 376, 402n44 Amphitryon, 29, 54 Amun-Ra, 216, 261n33, 284, 305n103 anakyklosis, 10, 271, 273, 285, 287–88, 294, 299, 459 anamorphosis, 10, 271, 273, 281, 287, 294, 299, 459 Anchises, 22, 26, 231, 242, 285 Ancus Marcius, 66n199 aniconic image, 283–84, 304n92, 305n99 Aniene, tufa from, 67n213 anima, 133, 332, 415 Anonymus Eidsiedlensis, 344–45, 364n147 antae, 276 Antiochus III of Syria, 301n34 Antiochus IV Epiphanes, 390, 408n147 Antistii, funerary relief of the, 62n97 Antonia Minor, 73, 387, 407n130, fig. II.2 Antoninus Pius, 66n199, 109–11, 130nn190–91, 426, 439–42, 453n155, 453n177, figs. IX.28, IX.29a, plate XVI Antonius, Iullus, 203n161 Antonius Antyllus, Marcus, 203n159 Antonius Musa, 88 Antony, Marc (Marcus Antonius), 4, 9, 20–21, 67n202, 70, 73, 122n28, 124n85, 144, 162, 166–67, 169– 70, 175, 177, 182–84, 191–92, 194–96, 202n152,

52 6

g e ne ral inde x

202–203n153, 203nn159–62, 222, 264n88, 264n96, 278, 302n44, 407n132, 414, 457, fig. II.2 Apelles (actor), 379, 403n61 Apelles (court painter of Alexander), 24, 61n73, 186, 201nn115–16, 387, 427–28 Aphrodisias, Sebasteion at, 201n119 Aphrodite, 78–79, 123n54, 237, 280–81, 303n65, 307n145. See also Venus aplustre (stern ornament of ship; attribute of Neptune/ Poseidon), 73, 170, 283, 304, 381 Apollo, Phoibos (Phoebus), 280–81, 284–85, 288 Apollo/Apolline, 10, 45, 70–71, 75, 77, 121n10, 152– 53, 161nn117–18, 171–72, 183–84, 187, 193, 197n24, 198n47, 198n52, 200nn95–96, 200n98, 221, 251, 271–72, 278–96, 299, 302n46, 302n49, 303n63, 303n68, 303–304n77, 304n83, 304n89, 304n92, 305nn105–106, 305n113, 305n115, 305nn122– 23, 306nn125–26, 306n134, 306nn137–39, 306– 307n145, 307n146, 307n150, 307n153, 308n179, 308n181, 342, 349, 355, 377, 402n54, 411n200, 419, 437, 447n39, 452n138, 459–60, figs. VI.7–8 Apollo Agyieus, 284, 304n92, 304n94 Apollo Citharoedus (Kitharoidos), 152–53, 289, fig. III.21 Apollo Epikourios, 282, 303–304n77 Apollo Hyperboreas, 284 Apollo Medicus, 183 Apollonia, 197n24, 304n92, 447n46 Apollonius (the grammarian), 127–28n135 Apollo Sitalkas, 305n113 Appuleius, Sextus, 195 Aquillius, Lucius (moneyer), 124n67 Aquillius, Manius (M’.) (ancestor of L. and Mn. Aquillius), 124n67 Aquillius, Manlius (Mn.) (moneyer), 124n67 Ara Adoptionis, 367n201 Ara Borghese, 317 Ara Fortuna Redux, 367n200 Ara Gentis Iuliae, 335, 344, 346, 352, 364n148, 410n189, 461 Ara Numinis Augusti, 331, 335, 344, 363nn98–99, 363n106, 383 Ara Pacis Augustae (Altar of Augustan Peace), 6, 9–10, 46, 71, 75–76, 79, 100, 128n139, 140–41, 180–83, 196, 199n83, 203n163, 204, 206–10, 213–16, 219– 43, 245–47, 257, 259nn1–2, 260n24, 262nn52–54, 263n66, 263n68, 264nn79–80, 264n85, 264n91, 264n94, 264n96, 265nn103–104, 265nn109–10, 265n112, 265nn115–16, 265–66n117, 267n146,

267n150, 269n187, 271–83, 285–89, 292–93, 295– 99, 300n1, 300n13, 300–301n16, 301n20, 302n48, 310nn29–30, 301n31, 302n38, 302n44, 302n48, 303nn62–66, 304n78, 304n81, 305n122, 307n150, 308n175, 311, 315, 317, 324, 327, 329, 333, 335, 337, 339–40, 342, 345–49, 351–54, 356–57, 358n23, 359n35, 361n60, 361n73, 362n80, 363n104, 363– 64n120, 364n126, 364nn132–33, 365nn169–70, 365nn170–75, 366n180, 366n184, 366n196, 366– 67n196, 367n200, 367n202, 367n206, 368n211, 368n214, 406n108, 426, 458–61, figs. IV.18, IV.20, V.3–4, V.10–16, V.18–19, V.22–29, V.32, VI.1, VI.4–5, VII.39, plates XVII, XIX–XX, XXIII–XXV “Ara Pietatis,” 269n188, 271, 275, 335, 340, 344–46, 353, 363–64n120, 364n126, 365nn165–66, 366n187, 461 Ara Providentiae Augustae (Altar of Augustan Providence), 100–101, 129n151, 324, 333, 346, 352, 354–57, 360n52, 363nn106–107, 366n195, 367nn201–202, 367n206, 367–68n209, 368n211, 461, figs. VII.37–39 Ara Reditus Claudii, 335, 340 Ara Vici Aescleti. See Altar from Vicus Aescleti Arch, Actian. See Actian Arch Arch, Parthian. See Parthian Arch Arch at Orange, 200n103 Arch of Constantine, 197n25 Arch of Drusus, 451nn123–24 Arch of Gaius and Lucius (Pisa), 434, 450n116, 451n124, 453–54n182; Arch of Gaius and Lucius (Roman Forum), 125n87, 434 Arch of Germanicus, 435, 451nn123–24 Arch of Nero, Parthian. See Parthian Arch Arch of Septimius Severus (Leptis Magna), 443– 44, 202n149; Arch of Septimius Severus (Roman Forum), 443, 450n116, 453–54n182, figs. IX.37–38 Arch of Titus, 203n157, 311, 314, 364n147 Arch of Trajan at Beneventum, 105–107, fig. II.39 “Arco di Portogallo,” 257, 344, 368n211 Arcus Novus (of Diocletian), 335, 346 Ares, 74, 168, 187, 198n36, 243, 377, 407n132, 450n113. See also Mars Ariminum (modern Rimini), 82, 253 Aristarchos of Colchis, 160n95 Aristotle, 42, 66nn190–91, 66n194, 397, 409n186 Aristoxenos, 36 Arles, marble copy of Clipeus Virtutis from. See Clipeus Virtutis armaria, 14, 27



Arsinoeion (Samothrace), 307–308n162 Artemis (Pothnia Theron), 109, 119, 131n218, 132n234, 237, 280, 304n92, 306n138, 378. See also Diana Arval Brethren. See Fratres Arvales Arx, 156n26, 227, 268n76. See also Capitoline (Hill) asebeia, 376, 391, 393 Ashurbanipal, 202n147 Asklepios/Aesculapius, 88, 130n194, 292, 307n155, 307n157, 308n179, 308n182, 333, 405n99 astral theology, 11, 412–14. 420, 462 Astrum Caesaris/Astrum Iulium. See Sidus Iulium Atellan farces (Atellanae), 32 Athena, 112–13, 127n129, 228, 238, 306–307n145, 405n99, 450n113; Athena Archegetis, 450n113; Athena Parthenos, 238; Athena Polias, 405n99. See also Minerva Atia (mother of Augustus), 170–72, 198n52 Attalos II, 423 Attalos III, 130n194 Atticus, Numerius, 369 Atticus, Titus Pomponius, 175 auctoritas, 93, 185, 415–16 augur/augural/augury, 24, 61n67, 75, 85, 121n71, 135, 137–48, 156nn19–20, 156nn20–21, 156n26, 157n43, 185, 200n107, 210, 220–21, 223, 226–28, 262n49, 263n70, 263nn72–76, 263–64n77, 296, 298–99, 305n122, 308n177, 352, 383, 446n4, 457, 459–60. See also augurium (pl. auguria); auspicium (pl. auspicia) Auguraculum, 227 augurium (pl. auguria), 220–23, 226–27, 262n57, 263nn72–73, 295–99, 459. See also augur/augural/ augury; augurium of the Lupercal, 222, fig. V.12; augurium salutis, 223, 226–27, 263nn72–73, 299, 459 Augusteum, 100, 157n49, 217, 266n124, 269n181, 450n106 Augustine, St. (Bishop of Hippo), 12n14, 380, 404n78 Augustus birth/birthday of, 145, 166, 171, 183, 198n47, 213– 16, 222, 260–61n29, 264n80, 357, 368n214, 419 as Octavian (prior to 27 B.C.E.): 4, 8–9, 30, 52, 68n247, 70, 73–76, 81, 121n10, 122n33, 122n38, 124n78, 133–35, 137, 140–41, 144–48, 155n15, 156n19, 158n57, 158n67, 159n83, 166–75, 177, 182–84, 186, 191–96, 197n24, 198n52, 202n144, 202n148, 201–202n153, 203nn159–60, 228, 251, 254, 264n96, 268n167, 283, 286, 304n92, 326, 330–31, 360n46, 362n87, 362n92, 367n207,

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381, 401n24, 402n54, 404n85, 414–16, 447n46, 449n100, 456–57 as Augustus (from 27 B.C.E.): 3, 8–9, 11, 12n17, 18–19, 21–25, 30, 46, 59n46, 60nn55–59, 61n66, 61n68, 61nn72–73, 64n160, 67n215, 67n223, 70–71, 74–85, 87–95, 97, 99–102, 112–15, 118, 122n41, 123n48, 123n50, 123n58, 124n67, 124nn70–71, 124n18, 124–25n85, 125nn89– 90, 125nn93–94, 126n99, 126n102, 126nn106– 107, 126n114, 127n115, 127nn130–31, 128n139, 130n19, 130n191, 130n195, 132n224, 136– 42, 145–51, 153–54, 155n15, 156n19, 156n31, 157n38, 157n48, 158n57, 158n67, 159n81, 159–60n93, 160n97, 160nn104–105, 161n110, 161n117, 161n121, 162, 166, 169, 171–78, 180–90, 195, 198n41, 198n47, 198n55, 198n57, 199n62, 199nn66–69, 199n74, 199n81, 199n83, 200n90, 200n103, 200n107, 200n109, 200n111, 201n114, 201n131, 201–202n133, 202–203n153, 203n159, 203n161, 207, 209–10, 212–17, 220–28, 230– 34, 238–39, 241–43, 247–54, 257–58, 259n12, 260–61n29, 262n47, 262n56, 263n68, 263n70, 263nn72–73, 264n80, 264n83, 268nn170–72, 268–69n173, 269n187, 270n194, 270n200, 271– 73, 275, 277–78, 280–86, 288, 291, 293–96, 298– 99, 300n7, 302n44, 303n62, 304n92, 305n103, 305n105, 308nn189–90, 308n192, 311, 313– 14, 324, 326, 328–35, 339–40, 342–46, 350– 57, 358n10, 358n23, 360n42, 360n48, 362n80, 362n97, 363n99, 363n107, 363n112, 363n117, 364n124, 366n180, 366nn193–94, 366–67n196, 367n201, 367nn205–207, 368n214, 368n216, 369, 381–84, 387, 391–92, 394, 398–99, 400n1, 401n35, 404n81, 406n104, 406n114, 408n145, 408n158, 409n174, 409–10n189, 410n191, 411n200, 411n203, 414–23, 425, 427–30, 434–35, 437– 39, 446–47n32, 447n44, 447nn46–47, 447n49, 447n51, 448n75, 449nn94–95, 447n100, 450n113, 451n120, 451nn123–24, 451n129, 451n135, 452nn138–39, 456–60, 462, 463n2 triumph/s of, 21, 80, 124n71, 133, 142, 172, 183–86, 191–96, 202n144, 203n158, 251, 253, 268n167 deathbed of, 59n46, 76 funeral of, 22–23, 60n55, 60–61n59, 83–84, 253, 270n200 as Divus Augustus (the deified Augustus), 24, 61n72, 89–91, 99, 102, 112, 114, 123n48, 128n145, 130n191, 149–51, 154, 159n93, 159–60n93, 160n97, 160n104, 334, 342, 344, 350–52, 355–57,

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360n42, 363n112, 366nn193–94, 368n216, 417–18, 428, 437, 446–47n32, 452n139 numismatic images of, figs. II.3–4, II.6a, II.9, II.22, II.45, II.49, III.12, III.14–16, IV.7a, IV.8– 9, VII.18, IX.10, IX.19, plate XXXIX sculptural images of, figs. II.5, II.20, II.24–26, III.4, III.7, III.17–18, IV.5, IV.12, IV.15, V.16, IX.8, plate XXX See also Ara Pacis Augustae; Nikopolis (Greece), Actian Victory Monument at; Genius Augusti (Genius of Augustus); Temples: Temple of Divus Augustus (Templum Novum), Temple of Roma and Augustus (Ankyra/Ancyrana), Temple of Roma and Augustus (Caesarea), Temple of Roma and Augustus (Pergamon) augustus/augusta (as epithet), 79, 99, 127n131, 313–14, 358n17 Augustus Deus, 88 Aula del Colosso (Hall of the Colossus), 23–25, 61nn71–73, 61n75, 186, 201n115, 427, plate III Aurae Velificantes, 232, 354, fig. V.22 Aurelian, 368n211 Aurelius, Marcus, 110, 204, 262n38, 269n190, 270n199, 364–65n153, 439–42, 450n109, 453nn161–62, 453n177, figs. IX.28, IX.30a, IX.31a, plate XVI Aurelius Commodus, Lucius. See Commodus Aurelius Fulvus Antoninus, Titus (twin brother of Commodus), 442, fig. IX.33 auspicium (pl. auspicia), 85, 124n71, 185, 200n107, 223, 230, 262n57 Aventine (Hill), 140, 307n153, 367n207 Azara Herm (of Alexander the Great), 163, 167, 197n12, fig. IV.2 Bacchante, 289, 306n136 Bacchus/Bacchic. See Dionysos/Dionysiac Baetica, 57n6, 100 baetylus/baitylos (“sacred pillar”) 284, 304n92, 305n100 Baia (ancient Baiae), 110–11, 385, 387, 450n114 Barberini Togatus, 15–16, 58n16, 58n18, fig. I.2 Basilica Aemilia, 125n87, 434 Basilica di San Giovanni in Laterano, 447n52 Basilica Iulia (Basilica of Gaius and Lucius), 437, 452n139 Basilike Stoa at Ephesos, 89, 118, 126n106 Bassai. See Temple of Apollo Epikourios (Bassai) Baths of Constantine, 454n184 Battles: Battle of Actium, 184, 191, 193, 414–15; Battle

of Issos, 183, plates XI–XII; Battle of Kynoskephalai (Cynoscephalae), 45, 163; Battle of Lake Regillus, 424, 430, 448n68, 462, plate XXXVIII; Battle of Magnesia, 163; Battle of the Milvian Bridge, 166, 197n25; Battle of Panormus, 72; Battle of Pydna, 163, 179, fig. IV.17; Battle of Sagra, 424 beard/bearded, 17, 42, 45, 47, 66n199, 67n224, 126n111, 168, 242–43, 246, 267nn130–31, 322, 360n45, 360n52, 364n124, 378, 441; beard of mourning, 168; beard of vengeance, 168; beard of youth (lanugo), 322, 360n45, 360n52; military beard, 168 Belevi, Mausoleum at, 308n162 bellum iustum, 181, 187, 200n88 Belvedere Altar, 141–42, 360n48, fig. III.10 Bhorvon (Celtic god), 305n123 biga/bigate, 72, 82, 85, 268n173, 305n115, fig. II.1 birds: in augury, 139, 263nn76–77, 308n177, fig. III.7; as a decorative element, 274–76, 282, 297, figs. VI.1c, VI.2, VI.13; fledglings, 297; in sacrifice, 404–405n94. See also phoenix Bologna Altar, 262n60 Boscoreale Cups, 85–88, 126n97, 203n157, fig. II.18 (“Tiberius Cup”), fig. II.19 (“Augustus Cup”) bos femina/vacca, (heifer, cow), 333, 349 bos mas (ox, castrated bull), 333, 349 Boukephalos (Alexander’s horse), 164 Bovillae, statue of Caligula from, 409n188, 409–10n189 Brahma (Indian sun god), 305n123 Brigetio, silver lituus from grave at, 137, 139, 156n24, 226, fig. III.8 Britain (Britons), 340, 342, 345, 394, 401n25, 409n171 Britannicus, 437 Brutus, Lucius Iunius. See Iunius Brutus, Lucius Brutus, Marcus Iunius. See Iunius Brutus, Marcus Buchner, Edmund, 210–13, 259n12, 259–60n13, 260nn15–19, 260n22, 260n25, 261nn30–31, 261n34, 268n163, 269n184, 308n172, 367n202, 368n212 bulla (pl. bullae), 46, 67, 210, 324, 361n62, 429–30, fig. IX.20 bustum, 257–58, 270n199, 344 Bysios (Greek month), 288 caduceus/kerykeion, 102, 238, 268n118, 276, 301n33, 378, 436 Caecilius Iucundus, Lucius, herm of genius of, 331–32, 362n93, 406n114, fig. VII.19 Caecilius Metellus, Lucius (ancestor of moneyer C. Metellus), 72 Caelian (Hill), 263n76



Caesar, Gaius (grandson and adopted son of Augustus), 61n73, 125n87, 137, 232, 324–26, 361n60, 401n35, 407n132, 420–23, 425–26, 428–35, 447n47, 448n56, 448n75, 449n94, 449n100, 449n104, 449– 50n106, 450n113, 450n116, 451n124, 453n163, 453–54n182, figs. VII.16, IX.11–12, IX.22a, plate XXXIX Caesar, Julius (Caesar, Gaius Iulius) career of, 14, 30, 51–52, 55, 68nn245–46, 122n31, 138–39, 142–45, 147–48, 156n19, 156n33, 158n58, 58n74, 160n95, 162–66, 169–70, 185–86, 203n159, 209, 212, 227–28, 254, 264n88, 283, 294, 313, 362n82, 387, 415–16, 450nn113–14, 457 assassination of, 58n15, 124n85, 133, 143, 145, 148, 166, 168, 197n24, 415 funeral and cremation of, 20–21, 143, 155n8, 157n54, 157n57, 264n88 as Divus Iulius (deified Julius Caesar), 5, 8, 19, 52, 61n73, 64–65n160, 69, 73, 92, 114, 122n30, 122n44, 123nn47–48, 125n87, 133–35, 137–43, 145–48, 154, 155n1, 155nn14–15, 157n38, 157n49, 158n57, 158nn66–67, 158n70, 159n76, 159n82, 167–68, 191, 198n33, 217, 227, 254, 269n181, 283, 292, 294, 331–32, 362n82, 362n94, 387, 414–16, 418–19, 435, 446n28, 450n114, 457 numismatic images of, figs. III.3, III.5–6, III.12, III.14, IV.7b, IX.5a sculptural images of, figs. I.31–32, III.13 See also Sidus Iulium; Temples: Temple of Divus Iulius (Roman Forum), Temple of Roma and Divus Iulius Caesar, Lucius, 61n72, 125n87, 232, 346, 401n35, 420– 21, 423, 425–26, 428–35, 448n56, 448n75, 449n94, 449n100, 449n104, 449–50n106, 450nn112–13, 450nn116–17, 451n124, 453–54n182, figs. IX.12, IX.22b, IX.24, plate XXXIX Caesarea, 89–90 Caesarion, 203n159 Caesonia (wife of Caligula), 372 calceus (pl. calcei), 314, 321, 326, 352, 358n18; calceus patricius (pl. calcei patricii) (mulleus), 358n18; calceus senatorius (pl. calcei senatorii), 358n18 calendar, 212, 214, 261n29 Caligula (Gaius Iulius Caesar Germanicus), 10–11, 69, 71, 90, 101–103, 114, 121n4, 126–27n114, 129nn154– 55, 151, 153, 160nn104–105, 161n110, 161n121, 322, 329, 334, 360n46, 360n52, 362n81, 369–79, 381– 87, 389–99, 400nn1–3, 400nn4–6, 400n9, 400n11, 400n13, 401n20, 401nn23–25, 401n28, 401n31,

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401n35, 402nn51–52, 402n54, 402n57, 403nn61– 62, 403n66, 403n69, 404nn81–82, 404n84, 404n87, 404n93, 404–405n94, 405nn95–97, 405nn98–99, 406nn115–16, 407nn125–26, 408n145, 408n150– 52, 408nn156–58, 409n164, 409n171, 409nn178–79, 409n181, 409n184, 409n188, 409–10n189, 410n196, 410–11n198, 411n202, 428, 436–37, 451–52n137, 452n140, 461–62, figs. II.34, III.19, VIII.1, VIII.3, plates VI, XXXIV–XXXVI. See also Daimon of Caligula; Genius Augusti (Caligula); Tyche of Caligula Calpurnius Piso (Pater), Gnaeus, 57n6, 354, 363n107, 367n206 Camillus. See Furius Camillus, Lucius camillus, 243, 267n147, 361n66 Campana relief/s, 280, 303n61, 306n145 Campus Agrippae, 333, 356, 366n107, 367n206, 368n211 Campus Martius, 140, 157n54, 172, 182, 204, 210–12, 216–19, 239, 254, 259–60n13, 266n124, 269nn187– 88, 295, 309, 335, 344, 354–55, 368n211, 426, 438– 41, 458, figs. V.5, V.8–9, plates XVIII–XXI Canaan/Canaanites, 171 Cancelleria Reliefs, Larger (Flavian), 103, 309, 452n153, fig. II.37 Cancelleria Reliefs, Smaller (“Vicomagistri Reliefs”), 10, 267n145, 309–12, 314–29, 333–35, 346–53, 357, 358n1, 358n24, 359nn25–27, 359n34, 359nn36– 39, 359–60n40, 360n52, 361n76, 362n79, 365n166, 366n187, 366n190, 452n153, 461, figs. VII.1–14, VII.17, VII.34–36 Cantabrian Wars, 170 Cape Miseno (Baia), 111, 130n193, 159–60n93, 164, 450n114 Capito. See Herennius Capito, Gaius Capitoline (Hill), 31, 37, 58n15, 66n199, 85, 102, 129n168, 140, 143–44, 158n66, 183, 187, 305n105, 335, 339, 340–46, 351, 363n100, 366n187, 405n97, 426, 441, 454n184, 461. See also Arx “Capitoline Brutus,” 35, 47, 64n145, 67n223, fig. I.22 Caprae Palus, 142, 217, 254, 346 Capri, 377, 392, 402n57 Capricorn (astral sign), 417–18, figs. IX.8c, IX.9 Caracalla, 112–13, 119, 131n201, 131n201, 131n218, 202n149, 385–86, 442–44, 450n116, 453n179, 453– 54n182, figs. II.46, IX.37–38, plate XLI; Numen of, 385–86, fig.VIII.4 Carrara. See Luna (Carrara) Carthage, reliefs from. See Algiers, Archaeological

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Museum; Tunis, Bardo Museum Carvilius, Spurius, 31, 63n120 Casa di Livia. See House of Livia Casali Relief, 317 Cassius Dio, 20, 58n15, 60–61n59, 75–76, 124–25n85, 140, 143–44, 158n58, 158n73, 159n73, 161n111, 193– 95, 198n53, 201n160, 253, 258, 264n88, 326, 330–31, 362n82, 366n193, 367n206, 369, 374, 377–78, 386, 400n3, 401n31, 405n97, 408n145, 435 Cassius (Longinus), 60n55 Castor, 126n99, 428, 435, 438, 449n97 Castores (Castor and Pollux/Dioskouroi/Divine Twins), 11, 61n73, 72, 124n85, 186, 200n103, 232, 246, 333, 377–78, 407n128, 423–32, 434–38, 440–45, 448nn56–57, 448nn62–64, 448n66, 448nn71–72, 448n75, 449nn81–84, 449n94, 451n124, 451n136, 451–52n137, 453n167, 453nn175–76, 454n184, 454n187, 462, figs. IX.14, IX.16–17, IX.23, IX.29b, IX.30b, IX.31b, IX.32b, IX.34–35, IX.39, plate XXXVIII catasterism, 133, 145, 428 Catholic Church, 4, 28, 62n101, 382 Cato the Younger (“Uticensis”), 49, 68n232, fig. I.26 Catus, Titus, 41 Cennini, Cennino d’Andrea, 59n28 Censorinus, Gaius Marcius (moneyer), 66n199, 266n129 Ceres/Demeter, 35, 79, 94, 123nn63–65, 127n128, 280, 294, 301n32, 307 Cerialis, Anicius, 383 charisma, 9, 80, 162, 168, 172, 294 Charites (the Graces), 290, 307n146 cherem/herem, 371, 400n15 “Chiaramonti-Camposanto” (“Divus Iulius”) portrait type of Julius Caesar, 51–52, 147, fig. I.32 Chi-Rho (Christogram), 158n67, 197n25 Christian/Christianity, 12n14, 48, 66n199, 96, 118– 19, 126n106, 132n225, 132n234, 156n20, 158n57, 158n67, 171, 193, 197n25, 202n143, 270n197, 275– 76, 300nn5–6, 305–306n124, 332–33, 363n102, 369, 374–76, 379–80, 389, 402nn44–45, 402n49, 403n71, 403n74, 419–20, 446n4, 447n44, 454n187 Church of Santa Maria in Via Lata, 335, 345 Cicero, Marcus Tullius, 4, 12n13, 28, 36–37, 46, 56, 58n15, 62n95, 144, 159n90, 166, 175, 287, 376, 451n127 cippus (pl. cippi), 212–13, 260n24, 305n98 Circus Flaminius, 45, 200n92, 438, 441, 453n168 Circus Maximus, 35, 453n178

civil war/conflict/strife, 4, 74, 124n85, 172, 187, 196, 200n90, 203n159, 210, 231, 293, 420, 437, 458. See also Second Triumvirate/triumviral period Claudianum (Temple of Divus Claudius), 363n112 Claudius, 23–24, 93–94, 101, 126–27n114, 137– 39, 152–53, 161n109, 186, 217, 311, 328–30, 334–35, 340, 342–46, 350–51, 355, 363n112, 363n117, 364n121, 364n145, 365n160, 366n187, 366nn191–92, 383, 387–89, 405n95, 407n130, 407n133, 409n171, 409n180, 428, 437, 461, figs. III.9, VIII.5. See also Genius Augusti (Genius of Claudius); Temples: Temple of Divus Claudius (Claudianum) Claudius Marcellus, Marcus, 46, fig. I.21 Claudius Marcellus Minor, Gaius (first husband of Octavia Minor), 196, 203n161 clementia, 195 Cleopatra (VII), 73, 80, 83, 124n85, 148, 170, 172, 175, 182, 187, 191, 193–95, 199n73, 202n151, 202– 203n153, 203nn159–60, 222, 251, 264n96, 414, 457 Cleopatra Selene, 194–96, 202n151, 203n160 cliens (pl. clientes), 58n13, 329–30, 452n137 Clipeus Virtutis, 155n15, 249–50, figs. V.37–38 Colonia Augusta Emerita. See Mérida Colonia Patricia (Corduba). See Córdoba colossal sculpture/s, 23–25, 31, 45, 61n62, 61nn72– 73, 61n75, 96–97, 99, 105, 108–11, 116–20, 129n171, 130n182, 131n217, 131n220, 132n233, 152, 161n111, 243, 252–53, 268n171, 292, 295, 307n146, 308n179, 334, 354–55, 357, 363nn117–18, 367nn207–208, 368n216, 384, 388–89, 426, 441, 444, figs. I.4–5, II.40–41, III.20, VIII.5, IX.16 Colossus of Nero, 152, 161n111, fig. III.20 Column of Marcus Aurelius, 204, 259n3, fig. V.2 Column of Trajan, 12n16, 204, 259n3, fig. V.1 comes (pl. comites), 70, 85, 102–103, 383, 446n13, 457 comet (astral sign, sign of divinity), 131–34, 145–47, 150, 155n1, 158n73, 160n96, 332, 414–16, 418–19, 446n13, 447n37, 447n44 Commodus, 81, 113, 124n78, 131n201, 152, 161n112, 387, 407n131, 441–42, 443n167, 443n173, figs. II.11, IX.32a, IX.33, IX.35 Como (Italy), relief from, 430, 449n105, fig. IX.21 Compitalia, 313 Conal, Robbie, 52–53, 68n249, fig. I.34 (portrait of Ronald Reagan) Concord/Concordia (as personification), 98–99, 100– 101, 128n146, 153, 235, 367n206, 451nn128–29, fig. II.31a



Concordia Augusta/Concordia Augusti, 99–100 concordia familiarum, 209, 302n44 consensus, 5, 12n9 Constantine, 158n67, 166, 197n25, 385–86, 403n72, fig. VIII.4 constitutio, 227, 264n79, 367n202, 368n214 contactus, 172, 198n54 Córdoba (ancient Colonia Patricia [Corduba]), 82, 100, 142 Corinthian capital, 132, 272–73, 282–84, 290, 292– 94, 300n7, 303n73, 304n77, 306n140, 307n156, 307–308n162 Cornelius Balbus, 185 Cornelius Dolabella, Publius, 143, 158n57 Cornelius Nepos, 41 Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus Africanus, Publius, 23n128, 162, 171, 264n82 cornus, 243 corona. See Crowns cothernus (pl. cotherni), 379, 403n64 Council of Nicaea, 403n72 Crassus, Marcus Licinius. See Licinius Crassus, Marcus Crassus, Publius Licinius. See Licinius Crassus, Publius Crowns corona civica (oak crown), 126n106, 150, 251–52, 268nn165–66, 268n170, 330, 340, 342, 362n88, figs. III.18, VII.30 coronae spiceae, 366n190 corona gemmata, 203n157 corona triumphalis (corona Etrusca) (golden oak crown), 195, 203n157, 251, 268n167 crown, ivy, 73 crown, laurel, 96, 198n52, 203n157, 228, 243, 251, 264n85, 268n167, 326, 366n190, 382, 426, 453n179 crown, olive, 293, 430 crown, radiate/solar, 95, 99, 112, 149–54, 160n95, 364, 366n194, 414, 428, figs. II.28, III.15–16, 19–20, IX.19, plates IX, XXXVII cultus deorum, 5, 12n13 Cumaean Sibyl, 289 Cupid/Eros, 87, 187, 280, 420–21, 447n49, fig. IX.11 Curia Iulia (in Roman Forum), 81, 84, 240, 249, fig. II.10 (dais with statue base in Curia) Curia Saliorum (on Palatine Hill), 141, 157n40 currus triumphalis, 194–95 cursus (honorum), 27, 60n57, 61n76 curule chair, 81, 87, 96, 160n104

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curule office/office-holder, 13–14, 30–31, 33, 37, 39, 57n3, 59n25, 361n72 Cyllarus (Castor’s horse), 438 Cyrene (Libya), 308n179, 450n111 Dacians, 199n81 daimon (pl. daimones), 362n82, 403n74, 408n152; Daimon of Julius Caesar, 362n82; Daimon of Caligula, 408n152 Dalmatia, 203n158 Dal Pozzo-Albani drawings, 359n33 damnation (damnatio) of memory, 69, 103, 118, 121n4, 129n172, 132n221, 442, 454n185 Damophilos (painter), 35 Darius (Parthian king’s son at time of Caligula), 405n116 Darius III, 183 Dea Dia, 360n54, 366n190 death-mask. See mask, death decannalia, 186 Decius Mus, Publius, 449n104 deification, 5, 19, 90, 147, 155n1, 160n93, 166, 186, 228, 239, 253, 334–35, 354, 382, 387, 403n72, 405n95, 414, 416, 418, 440 Delos, 48, 68n229, 306n138, 307n146 Delphi/Delphic, 179, 278, 284, 286, 288–92, 301n30, 305n113, 306n125, 306n130, 306n135, 306n141, 307n146, 307n150, 308n179, 308n181, 423 Demeter. See Ceres/Demeter Demetrios of Alopeke (sculptor), 34, 64n140 Demetrios Poliorketes, 73, 362n97 Demosthenes, 42 depositio barbae, 322, 360n46 Diana, 77–79, 100, 123n53, 187, 237, 280, 304, 358n17, fig. II.6b; Diana Augusta, 78–79, 358n17, Diana Valeriana, 79. See also Artemis Dike (Justice), 288 Di Manes, 25–26, 62n94 Dio, Cassius. See Cassius Dio Diocletian/Diocletianic, 81, 335, 444 Diodoros Sikeliotes (Diodorus Siculus), 307n161 Diomedes, 168, 198n36 Dionysios of Halikarnassos, 64n149, 246–47, 332, 448n68 Dionysos/Dionysiac (Bacchus/Bacchic), 10, 73, 122n28, 159n87, 171, 204, 272, 278–80, 283–84, 288–94, 302n39, 302n41, 302n46, 302n49, 303n58, 303n62, 304n92, 305n97, 306nn125–26, 306n130, 306n133, 306n135, 306n137, 306n139, 306–307n145, 307n148,

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307n150, 307n153, 346, 375, 377–78, 407n132, 444, 459–60, fig. VI.8. See also Liber Dioskouroi. See Castores Dioskurides, 177, 199n67, 199n69 Di Parentes, 25–26 Diphilus, Varenus (private dedicant), 92 Dis (Pluto), 242, 266n126 Diva Augusta (Livia), 90, 94, 334, 351, 363n112. See also Livia divi filius, 8, 145, 147, 415–16 Divus Augustus. See Augustus Dolabella. See Cornelius Dolabella, Publius domi et militiae, 296, 307n174 Domitia, 452–53n154 Domitian/Domitianic, 70, 103–105, 108–109, 111– 12, 114, 116–20, 129nn167–68, 129n171, 130n193, 131n214, 131n218, 131n220, 132n221, 132n227, 132n234, 139, 156–57n34, 164–65, 180, 212–13, 260n16, 307n153, 309, 358n2, 366–67n196, 382, 393, 437–39, 450n114, 451–52n136, 452n148, 452n153, 452–53n154, figs. II.37–38, II.40–41, II.44, IX.27b Domitianus, Titus Flavius. See Flavius Domitianus, Titus Domus Aurea (Golden House of Nero), 152, 367n207 Doryphoros/doryphoric, 187–90, fig. IV.22 do ut des, 396, 459 Drusilla, 101, 334, 382, 404n87, 405n95, fig. II.33 (“three sisters” coin with Agrippina Minor and Iulia) Drusus Iulius (Drusus III), 61n73, 322, 360nn52–53, 436, fig. IX.26 Drusus Maior (Drusus I), 22, 202n153, 346, 425, 435, 448n75 Drusus Minor (Drusus II), 60n55, 60–61n59, 322, 366nn191–92, 407n128, 433, 435–36, 451nn123–24 dux, 174, 190, 286, 456 dynastic narrative, 9, 204, 208–209, 241 Egypt/Egyptian, 18, 40, 44, 63n137, 74, 162, 171–72, 182, 193–94, 202n147, 210, 215–16, 239, 251, 261n33, 275, 284–85, 294, 303n66, 305n103, 357, 398, 404n82, 410nn196–97, 412–14, 426 Eirene, 276–77, 288, 301nn32–34. See also Pax (personified) Elagabalus, 119, 131n218 Eleusinian gods, 276–77, 286, 301n34 elogium (pl. elogia), 22–23, 60n57, 266–67n129 Emerita, Colonia Augusta. See Mérida

enframement: structural, 219, 233, 262n44; synoptic, 219, 222, 239, 262n44 Ennius, Quintus, 18, 46, 138, 157n46; Pseudo-Ennius, 67n213 Ephesos, 89–90, 108–109, 113, 116–20, 131n217, 131n220, 132n227, 132n234, 301n33, 434, 436, 440, fig. II.51. See also Temples (at Ephesos) epideictic/epideixis (oratory), 4, 126n6, 177, 228, 453, 455 epulum Iovis, 328 Erechtheion, 405n99 Eros. See Cupid Etruria/Etruscan/s, 7, 29, 32, 35, 37, 40, 47, 53, 56, 57n5, 62n109, 64n143, 65n178, 67n218, 143, 172, 190, 198n57, 286, 303n65, 305n115, 359n29, 424, 468n63, 451n136 Eumachia building in Pompeii, 301n25 Eumenes II, 276, 301n32, 301–302n34, 423, 450n114 Eunomia (Good Order personified), 288 Euripides, 449n81 Euthydemos I, 67n204 exomis, 184, 340, 342 Fabius Maximus Rullianus, Quintus, 449n104 fabulae praetextatae, 33 Farnese Gardens, 453n178 Fasti Colotani, 196, 203n162 Fasti Consulares, 196 Fasti Praenestini, 362n98, 367n205 Fasti Triumphales Capitolini, 157n52 Faustina the Elder, 110–11 Faustina the Younger (Minor), 110, 442, 453n173 Faustulus, 222, 459, fig. V.12a Fayum portraits, 398 Ferdinand IV, 14, 58n11 feriae familiares, 28 fidicen (pl. fidicines)/flute-player, 32, 316–17, 321, 359n29 flamen (pl. flamines), 143–44, 156–57n34, 338, 343, 364n126, 364n145 Flamen Augustalis, 343, 352, 364n145 Flamen Quirinalis, 156–57n34 Flamininus, Titus Quinctius. See Quinctius Flamininus, Titus Flavius Clemens, 439 Flavius Domitianus, Titus (son of Flavius Clemens and adopted son of Domitian), 439 Flavius Vespasianus, Titus (son of Flavius Clemens and adopted son of Domitian), 439



foculus (portable tripod altar), 85, 349, 351 Fonteius, Manlius (moneyer), 449n87 foot, Roman (metric equivalent), 261n30, 359n34 “Forbes” (“Louvre MA 1280,” Type IV) portrait type of Augustus, 198–99n58, 406n114 Fortuna, 101, 112 Forum Adiectum (Marble Forum) at Mérida, 100, 128n147 Forum Augustum (Forum of Augustus). 20–23, 25, 60nn57–58, 61n63, 61n66, 90, 124n85, 134, 142, 147–48, 158n91, 186, 201n114, 210, 228, 243, 257, 264n90, 266–67n129, 335, 351, 387, 416, 427, 432, 435, 451nn123–24, figs. I.3, III.1, plates I–III Forum Iulium (Forum of Julius Caesar), 96–97, 134, 145, 148, 158n74, 158n89, 164–65, 186, 387, 446n27, 450n114, figs. III.1, IV.3 Forum Romanum (Roman Forum), 8, 16, 20, 26, 31, 48, 52, 66n199, 80, 83, 122n44, 124n85, 125n87, 127– 28n135, 133–35, 137, 140, 143, 148, 155n15, 157n54, 159n76, 191, 203n157, 222, 227, 242, 246, 249, 294, 409n174, 424–25, 430, 434, 436–38, 443, 448n72, 450n116, 453–54n182, 455, 457, fig. III.1 Forum Traiani (Forum of Trajan), 259n3 Forum Transitorium (Forum Nervae), 61n75 “Fouquet” Alexander, 172–74, fig. IV.14 Fratres Arvales (Arval Brethren), 325–26, 329, 333–34, 351–52, 360nn55–56, 361n63, 366n190, 367n206 freedman/freedmen (liberti/libertini), 53–56, 68n254, 311, 325, 329 frog (decorative element/symbol), 274, 296, 308n181, fig. VI.1b Fulvia, 196, 203n159 Fulvius Flaccus, Marcus, 157n35 funeral/funerary rituals, 7, 10–23, 26–29, 32, 36–37, 39, 53–55, 57n3, 57nn6–7, 59n25, 59n37, 59nn44– 45, 60nn53–55, 60–61n59, 62n97, 63n134, 63n136, 64n143, 64n149, 64nn153–54, 67n218, 68n255, 83–84, 142–43, 158n56, 253, 257, 264n88, 269n188, 270n192, 270n200, 272, 284, 290, 292–94, 304n78, 305n98, 455–56 Furius Camillus, Lucius, 31, 63n120, 264n82 Gaius Caesar (grandson/adopted son of Augustus). See Caesar, Gaius galerus (spiked cap of a flamen), 157n34, 337–38, 352, fig. VII.22 Gallia (personified), 187 Gardens of Maius, 161n111 Gaul/s, 55, 91, 156n26, 182, 227, 373, 403n61

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Gellius, Aulus, 243 Gemellus, Germanicus, 435–36, fig. IX.25 Gemellus, Tiberius, 322, 360n52, 373, 401n28, 436–37, 452n140, fig. IX.25 Gemma Augustea, 84, 87, 92, 94, 125nn92–94, 130n195, 183, 200n94, 207, 263n68, 264n95, 418, 420, 434, 446n8, figs. II.17, IX.9 genius, 23, 25–27, 62n87, 62n92, 171, 198n48, 326, 329– 31, 361n67, 361–62n77, 362n82, 362n84, 362n94, 363n100, 381, 383, 404n84, 406n114, 408n152 Genius (of the Princeps or of a personification), 11, 23–24, 61n66, 66n68, 97, 101, 130n193, 267n145, 311, 321, 324, 326, 328–33, 349–51, 361n63, 361– 62n77, 362n81, 362n86, 363n100, 365n177, 381, 383– 84, 405n102, 406n103, 406n113, 406n116 Genius Augusti, 23–24, 99, 128n143, 130n179, 311, 313, 315, 321, 326, 328–33, 365n179, 383, 406n105, 461 (Genius of Augustus), 24, 61n68, 88, 99, 130n179, 326, 328, 330, 384, 404n81, fig. I.4 (Genius of Caligula), 362n81, 381, 384–86, 404n82, 404n84, 404–405n94, 408n158, fig. VIII.2 (Genius of Claudius), 350–51 (Genius of Divus Iulius), 331, 362n94 (Genius of Nero), 99, 128n143, 328, fig. II.32 (Genius of Tiberius) 333 Genius Exercitus Romani, 176–77, 201n121, fig. IV.15c Genius Numinis (of Caligula), 407n125 Genius of a Spanish city, 97–99, fig. II.31a Genius Populi Romani, 99, 264n94, 362n77 Genius Senatus, 264n94 gens (clan), 20; Gens Augusta, 89, 264n93; Gens Iulia, 22, 30, 123n48, 145, 222, 354–55, 357, 363n99, 364n148; Gens Romana, 123n48, 222 Genucius, Lucius, 31 Germanicus, 187, 190, 217, 322, 354–55, 366n192, 387n206, 369, 374, 393, 406n113, 407n128, 409n167, 417–18, 420, 433–36, 439, 451n120, 451nn123–24, figs. IX.8a, IX.10, plate XIV Geta, 112, 119, 202n149, 442–44, 450n116, 453–54n182, 454n185, figs. IX.37–38, plate XLI Gigantomachy, 365n175 Giotto di Bondone, 365n175 Gizeh (Giza), 413 Golden Age (Aurea Aetas) theme, 180, 187, 222, 227, 231, 234, 262n50, 271, 275, 281–82, 285–86, 288, 295–96, 299, 300n3, 303n75, 305n110, 420, 460 Golden House (of Nero) (Domus Aurea), 152, 367n207 Gorgasos (painter), 35 Gortyn (Crete), 367–68n209, 384–85

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Grand Camée de France, 94–96, 127n133, 150, 160n99, 263n68, fig. II.28 Gregory XV, Pope, 12n4 griffin, 279, 284–86, 291–92, 302n53, 303n69, 304n83, 304n89, 305n106, 307n150, fig. VI.10 guttus (pitcher for libations), 243 Hadrian/Hadrianic, 76, 109, 112–14, 119, 123n48, 131n218, 132n232, 158n57, 212, 217, 253, 260n24, 262n38, 267n131, 269n178, 344–45, 408n145, 439– 40, 450n111, 453n155, 453n157, fig. IX.28 Hadrianeum (Temple of Hadrian), 217–18, 345, fig. V.9 Halley’s Comet, 145, 158n73, 416 Hannibal, 162, 171 Hekate, 304n92, 307n146 Heliopolis, 216, 259n12, 294 Helios/Sol, 113, 151–53, 161n111, 161n114, 182, 210, 280–81, 284–85, 293–95, 303n68, 304n83, 305n100, 411n200, 419, 447n39, 460 hemitheos, 144, 333 Hera. See Juno/Hera Herculaneum, 24, 27, 55, 61n72, 62n87, 62nn89–90, 66n197, 90–91, 165, 286 Hercules/Herakles, 4, 126n99, 161n112, 204, 243, 291, 387, 389, 444; Hercules Iulianus, 79 Herennius Capito, Gaius, 391, 408n156 Hermes, 159n87, 377. See also Mercury Herod the Great, 89, 391–92, 419 heroon (pl. heroa), 143, 293, 307–308n162 Hesiod, 42, 66n197, 403n74 Hierapolis, 112 hieros gamos (“sacred marriage”), 171–72, 198n52, fig. IV.11 Hippodamos of Miletos, 34 Hirtius, Aulus, 309, 346, 358n4 Hispania (personified), 187 historicity, 6, 12n15, 265n105 histrio, 32 Homer/Homeric, 38, 42–43, 168, 288, 297–98, fig. I.12 Honos, 87, 182, 230, 242, 264n94, 354, 365n178, figs. II.19, V.19b Horace, 18, 65n174, 70, 84, 126n99, 187, 269n185, 275, 285–86, 288, 331–32 Horai/Horae (the Seasons), 285–86, 288, 290, 305n110, 306n126, 307n148 Horologium Augusti. See Solarium/Horologium Augusti Hostilius Mancinus, Lucius, 31, 63, 124

House of Augustus (Palatine Hill), 70, 76–77, 123n50, 141, 249, 251, 268n170, 283–84, 286, 304n92, 340, 342, 437, 451n135, 452n138. See also Room of the Masks House of Fabius Ululitremulus (Casa Polybiorum), wall painting from, 157n44 House of Livia (“Casa di Livia”) (within House of Augustus), 284, 302n53 House of Menander (Pompeii), 27 House of the Dioskouroi (Pompeii), 426 House of the Vestals, 38, 66n199, 242 Hyperboreans, land of the, 284, 286, 288, 305n115, 305n123 Hypsistos, Theos, 403n76 Hypsistos, Zeus, 403n76 imago (pl. imagines), 7, 13, 15–16, 18, 22–23, 25–29, 32–33, 36–39, 48, 57n2, 57nn5–6, 59n25, 60n55, 60–61n59, 62n82, 62n109, 62n111, 208, 228, 264n86, 298, 367n67; imagines clipeatae, 16; imagines pictae, 16 imperial cult, 6, 80, 91, 100–101, 107–109, 112–14, 116, 126n102, 127n117, 129n152, 132n232, 137, 149, 159nn75–76, 268n170, 314, 326–28, 352, 360n54, 363n102, 366n190, 380, 391, 402n45, 407n135, 408n145, 419 imperium, 124n71, 182, 185, 200n107, 209, 262n58, 351, 366n181, 421 inauguratio, 227 Incitatus (Caligula’s horse), 370, 400n6 Ishtar, 412, 446n1 ister (Etruscan word for “dancer”), 32 Italia (personified)/Tellus Italiae/Saturnia Tellus, 79, 106–107, 182, 231, 238, 264nn95–96, 275, 303n65, 354, 426, fig. II.39 Italic, 7, 29, 47, 62n109, 65n171, 67–68n225, 221, 223, 278 Iulia (Caligula’s sister), 101, 404n87, fig. II.33 (“three sisters” coin with Agrippina Minor and Drusilla) Iulia Augusta. See Livia Iulius Mento, Gnaeus, 183 Iullus Antonius. See Antonius, Iullus Iulus (Ascanius) (son of Aeneas), 22, 60n59, 190, 242– 45, 247, 267n134, 267n139, 267n142, fig. V.31, plate XXIV Iunia, 60n55 Iunius Brutus, Lucius, 38–39, 44, 58n15, 64n149, 64n160, 66n198, 66n200, fig. I.10 Iunius Brutus, Marcus, 58n15, 60n55



Iunius Silanus Torquatus, Lucius, 337, 343, 364n145, fig. VII.22 ius imaginis, 13, 57n3, 59n25 ius trium nominum, 55 iuvenis, 243 Iuventus, 423, 428, 435, 448n54, 462 ivy (decorative element/symbol), 71, 275, 278–80, 283, 289, 378, figs. VI.4, VI.11 Iwo Jima Memorial, 12n15 Jamnia, 391, 394, 408n156, 461–62 Janus. See Temple of Janus Quirinus, 242, 246, 266n128 Jerusalem, city of, 200n96, 390, 395–96. See also Temple of Yahweh in Jerusalem Jews/Judaism/Hebrews, 11, 183, 371, 374–77, 380– 83, 386, 390–96, 400n8, 400–401n15, 401n40, 402nn43–45, 402n48, 403nn74–76, 404n77, 406– 407n123, 407n142, 408n147, 408n150, 408n153, 408nn156–58, 409n166, 409nn168–69, 409nn179– 80, 461–62 Josephus, 89, 375, 389–95, 402n43, 402n48, 402n51, 407n126, 408n146, 408n157, 408n160, 409n163, 409n166, 409n172 Juba, 203n160 Judeo-Christian tradition, 374, 379 Julia (daughter of Augustus), 77–79, 123nn53–54, 124n71, 127n130, 160n105, 161n121, 194, 202n153, 203n159, 203n161, 234, 420–21, figs. II.8, IX.12; Julia Aphrodite, 78–79, 123n54, fig. II.7 Julia (daughter of Julius Caesar), 157n54 Julia Domna, 443 Julia Drusilla (daughter of Caligula), 452n140 Julian Basilica (Corinth), 431, 450n107 Juno/Iuno (female spiritual equivalent of the male genius), 349–50, 363n100 Juno/Hera, 89–90, 351, 378, 402 Jupiter, 11, 31, 37, 64nn151–52, 64n156, 72, 85, 89–92, 95, 103–107, 121n10, 123n47, 125n94, 126n101, 129n168, 129n170, 140, 143–44, 156n26, 221, 223, 238, 242, 246, 251, 266n126, 297, 305n105, 328, 333, 349–51, 355, 373, 379, 382, 389, 402n52, 402n59, 424, 434, 442, 451–52n137, 457, 460, figs. II.1, II.39, IX.34, plate VIII; Jupiter type, 88, 125n94, 126n101, 407n133. See also Zeus kalathiskos, 306n145, 307n152 kalathos, 294, 307n152 Kallimachos, 273, 286, 294, 306–307n152

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Kedesh (Israel), clay bullae from, 276, 301n33 kerykeion. See caduceus/kerykeion kitharoidos, 289 Kybele. See Magna Mater Kynoskephalai (Cynoscephalae), 45, 163 Lactantius, 166, 197n25 laena (garment of flamen), 337–38, 341, 352, fig. VII.22 La Magliana, sacred grove of the Arvals at, 360n54 lanugo (beard of youth), 322, 324, 360n45 Lanuvium, statue of Claudius from, 388–89, 407n133, fig. VIII.5 Laodikeia, 112–13 lapis Gabinus, 257 Lar (pl. Lares), 10, 25, 61n68, 62n81, 62n87, 62n94, 88, 137, 141, 311–15, 321–26, 329, 332, 337, 350, 352, 358n6, 358n8, 358n10, 358nn21–23, 360nn43–44, 360n48, 361n63, 361n67, 365n179, 406n104, 461, figs. VII.4b, VII.15, VII.23, IX.20; Lares Augusti (“Augustan Lares”), 267n145, 313–15, 321, 332, 350, 358n22, 365n179, 383; Lares Compitales (“Lares of the Crossroads”), 313, 358n8, 383; Lares Publici, 314–15, 358n22, 383; Lar Familiaris, 16 lararium, 26–27, 61n76, 62n90, 283, 430 Late Antique period/late antiquity, 12n14, 48, 96, 109, 118–20, 132n226, 193, 270n197, 309, 407n136 Lateran Baptistry mosaics, 275–76 Latium, 231, 297, 424, 448n64 laudatio, 5, 228; laudatio funebris, 16, 20, 59n25 laurel (symbol/decorative element), 151, 198n52, 224, 248, 251–52, 254, 268n167, 268n170, 278–79, 281, 283, 289, 292–93, figs. VI.4, VI.11. See also Crowns: crown, laurel Lavinium, 221–23, 242, 245–46, 266n127, 424–26, 459 Leda, 449n97 legati pro praetore, 185 Lentulus, Cossus (moneyer), 79 Lentulus, Lucius (moneyer), 145–48, 159n76 Lentulus Marcellinus, Publius (moneyer), 46 Lepidus. See Aemilius Lepidus, Marcus Leptis Magna. See Arch of Septimius Severus (Leptis Magna) Leto, 36n138 Lex de Imperio Vespasiano, 421–22, 447n52, fig. IX.13; Lex Gabinia Tabellaria, 72; Lex Genucia, 31; Lex Licinia Sextia, 30; Lex Oppia, 361n69; Lex Publilia, 31 libation/s, 171, 223, 243, 262n59, 321, 328, 330–31, 340, 349, 351, 361n67, 362n87, 383

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Liber, 272, 278, 280, 294, 302n41, 459–60. See also Dionysos liberti/libertini. See freedman/freedmen Licinius Crassus, Lucius, 4 Licinius Crassus, Marcus, 50–51, 68n238, 162, fig. I.28 Licinius Crassus (the Younger), Marcus (grandson of triumvir Marcus Licinius Crassus), 122n29 Licinius Stolo, Gaius, 30 lictor, 85, 87, 225, 313–14, 321, 326, 329, 343, 358n40, 361n72, 362n80; lictor proximus, 225, 329 limus (type of apron worn by sacrificial attendants/ priests), 245 lion, 237, 279, 307, 339, 348–49, 351, 359n26, 364n132, 365n173, 378, 387 lituus (pl. litui), 24, 85, 125n95, 129, 135, 137–41, 155nn14–15, 156nn19–20, 156n24, 185, 223, 226–27, 262n54, 262n56, 263n68, 263–64n77, 266–67n129, 299, 446n4, 446n28, 459, figs. III.3, III.5, III.7, III.9, V.16c, V.17 Livia, 79, 89–90, 93–94, 101, 118, 121n10, 123nn63– 65, 123n106, 127nn129–30, 131n205, 132n224, 153, 174, 187, 210, 262n42, 265n103, 334–35, 345, 350– 51, 355, 357, 360n43, 363n112, 363n117, 365n157, 367n205, 368n214, 391, 405n95, 417, 420; adoption into the Julian clan as Iulia (Livia) Augusta, 94, 127n128, 367n201; deification, 363n117, 405n95, figs. II.21–22, II.27, IX.8a, plate VII. See also Diva Augusta Livilla, 436 Livius Andronicus, Lucius, 63n134 Livy, 32, 162, 198n50, 326, 361n69 lizard (decorative element in Ara Pacis scroll reliefs), 274, 296, fig. VI.1b locus (pl. loci) (in rhetoric), 208, 219 Lo Scasato, head of Etruscan Jupiter (Tinia) from, 37, 64n152 lotus (decorative element of the Smaller Cancelleria Reliefs), 284, 319–21, fig. VII.11 Lucan, 49, 152, 278 Lucian, 34 Lucilla, 110 Lucius Caesar. See Caesar, Lucius Lucius Verus. See Verus, Lucius Ludi (games/performances): Ludi Augustales/ Augustalia, 351; Ludi Circenses, 134; Ludi Compitalicii, 313; ludi funebres, 63n136; ludiones (“performers”), 32; Ludi Romani, 328; Ludi Saeculares, 21, 147, 285, 416; ludi scaenici, 32; Ludi Victoriae Caesaris, 133

Luna (Carrara), 46–47, 67n215, 270n194, 358n1 Lupercal, 141, 222, 231, 273; Lupercalia, 144 Lykios (son of Myron), 450n114 Lysander, 423 Lysikrates monument, 291, 303n73 Lysimachos, 168 Lysippos/Lysippan, 33–34, 42, 51, 66n194, 74, 164, 167– 68, 172, 188–90, 197n12, 201n129, 387, 450n114 Lysistratos (brother of Lysippos), 33–36, 42, 59n27, 63nn137–38, 64n143, 66n194 Macedonian/s, 164, 179, 188, 446n24, 447–48n54; Macedonian Companions, 175, 177 Macro, 373, 401n28 Maenads, 292 Maenius, Gaius, 31, 63n120 Magna Mater/Kybele, 77, 280, 335, 437, 452n138 Magni Di, 272 maiestas, 57n6 maius imperium (“supreme legal power”), 421 mania, 289, 306n135, 375, 377, 386, 390–91, 394, 462 mantele (fleecy towel), 243, 267n144, 360n48, 361n60 Mantua relief, 200n103 Marcellus (nephew of Augustus), 195, 420, 423. See also Theater of Marcellus Marcus Aurelius. See Aurelius, Marcus Marius, Gaius, 49, 72 Mars, 23, 25, 61n75, 72, 74, 87, 90, 103–104, 106–107, 122n38, 123n48, 126n108, 126n111, 142, 146–48, 155n15, 156n26, 159n76, 182, 187, 193, 201n114, 210, 217, 222, 239, 243, 254, 295, 335, 349, 351, 363n118, 364n124, 366–67n196, 416, 427–28, 432, 435, 451n123, 459, figs. I.5, II.19b, II.37, II.39, III.13, V.12a. See also Ares Masks: death-mask, 13–14, 40, 57n6, 57n8, 57–58n9, 63n137, 65n171, 456; life-mask, 13–14, 39–40, 42, 45, 47, 49, 51, 57nn6–8, 59nn27–28, 59n30, 63n137, 456; theatrical mask, 33, 59n21, 63nn126–28, 379; wax mask, 7, 13, 20, 22–23, 25–29, 32–40, 42, 46–48, 54–56, 57nn2–6, 58n15, 59nn25–27, 59n30, 62n109, 62n111, 64n143, 64–65n160, 65n171, 66n198, 68n257, 411n201, 455–56 Mater Larum, 355 Mausoleum at Belevi, 308n162 Mausoleum Augusti (Mausoleum of Augustus), 21, 84, 142, 157n50, 172, 186, 210–11, 216–17, 239, 248– 55, 257, 259–60n13, 266n35, 268n156, 268n171, 269n187, 270n194, 295, 345, 458–59, fig. V.33–36, plates XX, XXIII, XXVI–XXXI



Mausoleum of Hadrian, 253, 269n178 Mausolos, 253 maximum augurium salutis rei publicae, 226–27, 263n72, 299, 459. See also augurium salutis Memmius Regulus, Publius, 389, 407n138 memneion (“cenotaph”), 346 memoria, 5, 15, 18, 57n3, 59n31, 455 Mercury, 29, 451n129. See also Hermes Mérida (ancient Colonia Augusta Emerita), 100, 128nn147–48, 128n149, 129n151, 142, 157n45 Messalina, 153 metakosmesis, 285, 300n13 Metamorphoses (of Ovid), 137, 219, 269n185 Metellus, Gaius, 72, fig. II.1 metempsychosis, 182 Mezentius, 190 Miletos, 34, 408n145 Milvian Bridge, 82, 166, 197n25, 253 Minerva, 103–104, 351, 366n181, 438, figs. II.37–38. See also Athena minister (pl. ministri), 324, 326, 328, 338, 359–60n40, 361n61, 361nn66–67 minium (lead-red paint), 64n151, 64n156 Minturno, Forum of, 91, 127n115 misanthropia, 402n44 Misenum (modern Miseno), 373. See also Cape Miseno (Baia) Mithras, 447n43 Mithridates VI, 200n91, 262n58, 447n43 monotheism/monotheistic, 18, 370, 380 monstra (sing. monstrum), 40 Monte Cenci, 157n54 Moses, 370, 419 mulleus. See calceus patricius municipal cult, 76, 88, 90–92, 100–101, 111, 126n102, 149, 159n83. See also imperial cult Muses, 187 Mutina, siege of, 170 Naram-Sin, Stele of, 162, 412, 466n1, fig. IV.1 Narmer Palette, 162, 412, 446n1, 446n5 Narona, paired figures from, 450n106 narrative/narrativity, 9–10, 125n92, 204, 207–209, 219, 223, 229, 232–34, 239, 241, 259n1, 259n3, 264n100, 277, 299, 458 Naulochus, 74 Nea Paphos, seal impressions from, 449n90 Nemesis at Rhamnous, altar and statue of, 202n143 neokorate (koinon) temples (at Ankyra, Ephesos,

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Hierapolis, Laodikeia, Nikomedia, Pergamon, Philadelphia, Sardis, Smyrna, Tralles), 108, 112–14, 116–20, 130n180, 131n218, 132n234, 407n135. See also individual cities neokoros, 107–109, 112 Neo-Platonists, 20 Neptune, 73–74, 122n33, 122n38, 193, 381, fig. II.3 (Neptune-like Octavian). See also Poseidon Nero/Neronian, 44, 71, 99, 102–103, 121, 121n15, 151– 53, 160n103, 161n111, 161n114, 161, 180, 199n82, 328, 340, 354, 360n46, 360nn52–53, 363n112, 365n177, 366nn182–83, 366–67n196, 383, 393, 398– 99, 402n44, 403n70, 426, 436–37, plate IX. See also Colossus of Nero; Genius Augusti (Genius of Nero); Golden House; Parthian Arch of Nero Nero Iulius, 322, 360nn52–53, 436, fig. IX.26 Nerva, 61n75, 104, 111–12, 130n193, 164–65, 442, 450n14, figs. II.37, II.44 Nike, 186, 189, 280. See also Victoria Nikomedia, neokorate temple at, 92, 112–14, 127n118, figs. II.48–50 Nikopol (Chertomlyk burial mound), Ukraine, silver amphora from, 276, 301n28, fig. VI.2 Nikopolis (Greece), Actian Victory Monument at, 9, 122n38, 182–83, 191–96, 200n91, 201–202n133, 202n143, 268n167, figs. IV.26–29, plate XV nobilis (pl. nobiles), 23, 27, 31, 63n125 novemdialis cena, 28 novus homo, 37, 56, 58n16 Numa Pompilius, 38–39, 42, 44, 64n160, 65n161, 66n199, 221, 242, 247, 263n77, 266nn126–27, 266n129, 267nn130–31, figs. I.9–10, V.30 numen (pl. numina)/Numen, 11, 88, 126n99, 329, 331– 32, 362n92, 362n97, 382–83, 385–86, 406n117, 407n125, 408n152; numen mixtum, 278, 280–81, 288–89, 292, 299, 302n49, 303n68, 307n150, 459– 60; Numen of Augustus, 126n99, 331–32, 362n92, 362n97, 383; Numen of Caligula, 329, 382–83, 386, 404–405n94, 407n125, 408n152; Numen of Caracalla/Constantine, 385–86, fig. VIII.4 Numerius Atticus, 369, 400n3 oak (quercus), 150, 195, 203n157, 246, 251–52, 254, 268n166, 268nn168–70, 280. See also Crowns: corona civica; corona triumphalis Obelisk of Solarium Augusti, 210, 212–16, 259n12, 259–60n13, 260n18, 261nn30–31, 261n33, 345, 356– 57, 367n202, 368n214, fig. V.6, plate XX. See also Solarium/Horologium Augusti

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Octavia Minor, 73, 196, 203n161, 420, 449–50n106, fig. II.2 Octavian. See Augustus Octavius (father of Augustus), 171, 198n52 Odyssey of Homer, 18 oikoumene (inhabited civilized world), 87, 113 olive (decorative element/symbol), 79, 150, 273, 293, 300–301n16, 307n161, 430 Olympia, 159n87, 307–308n162, 389, 407n133. See also Zeus, statue of at Olympia Olympias (mother of Alexander the Great), 171 omina imperii, 298, 308n189 omphalos, 289–91, figs. VI.8–9 Orion, 413 ornamenta triumphalia, 74 ornamentum (pl. ornamenta), 109, 146, 149, 390, 435, 451–52n137 Osiris, 288, 294, 413 ovatio (form of victory celebration/lesser triumph), 74 Ovid, 60n57, 84, 127n130, 137–38, 140, 156n26, 219, 267n144, 292, 332 Paconius Caledus, Titus, grave relief of, 58n14 Palatine (Hill), 70–71, 77, 123n50, 140–41, 161n117, 249, 251, 284, 286, 295, 304n92, 335, 339–40, 342, 355, 360n48, 386, 403n69, 436–37, 442, 451n135, 451–52n137, 452n138, 453n178 Palatine library. See Temple of Apollo, Palatine library Palazzo della Cancelleria, 103, 309, 358n1 Palazzo di Montecitorio (Palazzo del Parlimento), 217, 259n12, 345–46 Palazzo Fiano (Almagià), 368n211 Palazzo Verospi, 345–56 Palermo Relief, 76–77, 123n50, fig. II.5 Palladium (image of Athena/Minerva), 113, 131n210 palm/palmette (decorative element/symbol), 58, 102, 272, 281–83, 289–90, 293, 296, 303n66, 303n68, 303n71, 304n78, 304n81, 306n138, 307n157, 307n161, 308n181, 460, figs. VI.5–6, VI.8 Pandora, 238 Pantheon, 76, 109, 112, 123nn47–48, 142, 148, 157n47, 157n49, 159n76, 217, 254, 266n124, 269n181, 346, 435, 451n129, 459 pantomime (mime), 59n46, 63n128, 377–79, 402n56, 403nn63–65, 461 Papirius Cursor, Lucius, 157n35 Parens Patriae (title), 21, 60n51, 143, 158n58 Parthenon frieze, 223, 228, 237–38, 265n112, 266n125, 302n36, 365n174, 366n180

Parthia/Parthians, 83, 102, 151, 159n85, 178, 181– 82, 187, 394, 406n116; Parthian Arch of Augustus, 82–83, 124n85, 125n87, 409n174, II.15–16; Parthian Arch of Nero, 102–103, 129nn162–63, figs. II.35–36 Parthian Monument (Vienna), 439–40, fig. IX.28 Passienus Crispus, Gaius (husband of Nero’s aunt and his mother), 59n44 patera, 24, 89, 96, 99, 113, 153, 223–24, 262n60, 267n144, 321, 340, 360n43, 361n67, 366n196, 384 paterfamilias, 21, 23, 26, 48, 326, 329–31, 361–62n77, 362n84, 381, 406n114 Pater Patriae (title), 60n51, 210, 330, 381, 391, 404n81 patrician/s, patriciate, 20, 30–33, 37–39, 62n110, 170, 314, 358n18 Pausanias, 159n87, 238, 303–304n77, 450n114 Pax (personified), 79, 102–103, 123n65, 129n162, 237– 38, 266n118, 273, 367n206, 460, figs. II.35–36. See also Eirene Pax Augusta, 10, 102, 180–81, 210, 230, 237–38, 241, 271, 293, 357, 368n211, 458, 460 pax deorum/pax deum, 5, 170, 266n125, 278, 460 Pax Romana, 9, 458 Peace of Apamea, 301–302n34 Penates, 25–26, 62n87, 221, 246, 266n126, 267n149, 425–26, 436, 448n78, 458n136, fig. V.11b Perelius Hedulus, Publius (private dedicant), 88–89 Pergamon/Pergamene, 78–79, 92, 109, 112, 114, 123n54, 127nn118–19, 130n194, 131n220, 136, 156n17, 167, 189, 198, 276–77, 301nn31–33, 306n141, 307–308n162, 365, 423. See also Altar of Zeus; Temple of Roma and Augustus (Pergamon); Temple of Roma and Divus Iulius (Pergamon) Persephone/Proserpina, 257, 269n191 Persia/Persians, 64n140, 151, 178, 447n43. See also Parthia/Parthians persona (mask), 16, 32, 59n21, 63n128, 455 Pertinax, 270n193, 270n198 Petronius (author), 55, 326, 361n67 Petronius (governor of Syria), 392–96, 409n166, 409nn168–69 Phaeton, 161n116 Pheidias, 89, 368n216, 386 Philadelphia (Asia Minor), 113 Philip II (father of Alexander the Great), 165, 166, 457 Philip V of Macedon, 45, 67n206 Philippeion at Olympia, 307–308n162 Philo (author), 369, 375–78, 381, 383, 390–96, 402n52, 407n142, 408n150, 408n154, 408n156, 408n160, 409n163, 409n166, 409n169, 409n178



Philo, Quintus Publius (consul), 30 Philon (private dedicant), 79 Phlegon of Tralles, 127–28n135 Phoebus (sun god), 152, 161n116. See also Apollo, Phoibos (Phoebus) phoenix, 273, 281–82, 294, 303nn68–69, 303nn75–76, 304n78, 308n166 phylakes (type of Greek performance), 33 physiognomic theory, 397–98, 409nn185–88, 410n192 Piazza Montecitorio, 259n12 Picus, 222, fig. V.12 pietas, 75, 102, 113, 168, 334–35, 344–45, 365n160, 382 pig/piglet (as sacrificial victim), 247, 266n127, 350, 365n179. See also Sow of Lavinium pignora (sing. pignus), 246, 342, 425 pilos (cap of the Castores), 426 Pindar, 66n188 pine/pinecone (decorative element/symbol), 284, 305nn97–98 Piso, Gneus (moneyer), 266–67n129 Piso (Pater), Gnaeus Calpurnius. See Calpurnius Piso (Pater), Gnaeus Plato, 42, 66n191, 288, 292 Plautus, 29, 54 plebeian/s, 20, 30–32, 37–39, 61n110, 63n117 Pliny the Elder, 31, 33–35, 40, 46–47, 59n21, 63n138, 64n151, 68n226, 74, 159n75, 161n111, 186, 203n157, 212, 238, 252, 260n20, 268n166, 269n185, 306– 307n145, 446n13 Pliny the Younger, 41, 105, 123n47, 129n170, 130n174, 264n88, 380 Plutarch, 36, 42, 49–51, 68n239, 163, 168, 177–78, 188, 197n8, 197n13, 278, 306n135 Pollux (Polydeukes), 428, 435, 438, 449n97. See also Castores Polybios, 19, 26–29, 39, 59n21, 197n8, 455 Polyeuktos (sculptor), 42 Polykleitos, 188–90 Polykleitos the Younger, 307n156 Polykles, 46 polytheism/polytheistic, 11, 18, 118–19, 272, 300n5, 370, 375–76, 380–82, 403nn74–75, 404n78 pomerium, 143, 210, 212–13, 260n22 Pompeii, 27–28, 55, 62n87, 142, 189, 261n30, 268n170, 301nn25–26, 331–32, 359n34, 406n114, 426 Pompey, Gnaeus (the Great), 14, 50–51, 60n55, 68n239, 160n95, 162–64, 169, 197nn10–11, 197n13, 199n70, 200n91, 209, 262n58, 266n129, 355, figs. I.27, I.30 Pompey, Sextus, 74, 122n33

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Pomponius Molo, Lucius, 266n129 pontifex (pl. pontifices) (in general), 113, 156n18; Pontifex Maximus, 76–77, 113, 131n208, 212, 220, 260–61n29, 262n47, 308n192, 313, 330, 409n104 Popaea, 153 poplars, 269n189, 269n191 Porta Carmentale, 340 Porticus Octaviae, 186 Porticus Philippi, 186 Poseidippos of Kassandreia (poet), 66n184 Poseidon, 74, 136, 156n17, 448n71. See also Neptune Praeneste cista, 64n156 praetextatus (pl. praetextati), 322, 360n56 Praetorian Guard, 373 priesthoods, Roman, 131n179, 137, 156n19, 170, 220, 262n47, 296, 328–29, 331, 338, 351–52, 354, 366n186, 366n191, 459 Prima Porta statue of Augustus, 9, 151, 174, 176– 77, 181, 186–90, 199n64, 199n87, 201nn119–21, 201n131, 285, 295, 366n180, 409n174, 410n191, 411n203, 420–21, 458, figs. IV.15, IX.11 primus inter pares, 75, 174, 329 Princeps (pl. Principes) Iuventutis, 11, 423, 429–30, 432, 434–38, 441, 443–44, 447–48n54, 448n56, 449n100, 449n104, 452n140, 452n150, 462 Proculus, Iulius, 142, 157n48, 292, 400n3, 419 prodigium, 222 propaganda, 3–4, 12n3 Propertius, 84, 202n136 Propylaea, 433, 435, 450n114 Proserpina/Persephone, 257, 269n191 prothesis (the part of the altar that rests on the podium), 182, 235, 237–38, 265n115, 265–66n117, 267n145, 347, 460 providentia, 363n106, 367–68n209. See also Ara Providentiae Augustae Psametik (Psammetichus) 259n12 pseudo-akrolithic figures/technique, 131n217 Pseudo-Ennius, 67n213 “Pseudo-Seneca”/Hesiod (?), 42, 66n197, fig. I.13 Ptolemais, 393, 395 Ptolemies/Ptolemaic, 66–67n202, 75, 175, 293, 305n107, 426 Ptolemy I, 74 Ptolemy III (Euergetes), 414, plate XXXVII Ptolemy Philadelphos, 195 Ptoon Painter, 263n71 Publius Philo, Quintus, 30 puer (pl. pueri), 243, 322, 324, 326, 360n55, 360n57,

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361n63, 361n67; puer patrimi et matrimi, 243, 267n147, 322, 325, 360n48, 360n55, 361n63 pulvinar (sacred couch/throne), 143, 445 pulvinus (part of an altar table), 339, 341 Punta del Serrone (near Brindisi), bronze statue from sea off, 45–46, 67n211, fig. I.20 Puteoli (modern Pozzuoli): statue base from, 95–96, fig. II.29; statue of Genius of Augustus from, 24, 61n68, 99, 130n179, fig. I.4; statue of Genius of Caligula from, 384–85, 406n113, fig. VIII.2 pyramids, astral alignment of, 413–14, figs. IX.2–4 Pythagoras, 155n1, 446n14 Pythia, 289, 306n132, 306nn135–36 Python, 289, 306n133, 308n179 quadrigate images (in quadriga/quadrigae): 22, 73, 82–84, 102–104, 125n89, 142, 186, 239, 248–49, 252– 54, 268–69n173, 295, 435, 444, 450n114, 451n123, figs. II.12–13, II.15–16, II.35–36, V.35, IX.37–38, plates V, XVI, XXX quercus. See oak (quercus) Quinctius Flamininus, Titus, 44–45, 67nn206–207, fig. I.19 quindecimviri sacris faciundis (XV Viri Sacris Faciundis), 200n98, 220, 352 Quintilian, 34, 57n6, 58n9, 298 Quirinal (Hill), 139–40, 156–57n34, 228, 444 Quirinus. See Romulus-Quirinus. See also Janus-Quirinus Quirites, 21 radiate crown. See Crown, radiate/solar Ramesses II, 162, plate X Ravenna Relief, 90, 126n112, 150, 159–60n93, 160n96, 160n103, 417–18, 446–47n32, figs. III.18, IX.8, IX.10 reditus, 340, 351 regiones, 313, 406n104 religio, 5, 11, 23, 375–76, 459 religion/religious practices/traditions, Roman, 5–7, 11, 12nn13–14, 13, 16, 18, 23, 25, 27, 29, 56, 62n79, 62n94, 69–70, 108, 113, 133, 166, 168–70, 172, 183, 185, 204, 208, 220, 228, 241, 262n47, 271–72, 280, 284, 296, 299, 308n174, 308n192, 309, 311, 313, 327, 353, 357, 358n5, 362n84, 363n102, 366n190, 370, 376, 380, 396, 406n104, 419, 423, 446n4, 456, 458– 59, 462 Remus, 140, 222–23, 231, 426, 454 Res Gestae (Monumentum Ancyranum), 18, 84,

125n90, 166, 178, 182, 195, 209, 216, 227, 251, 263n73, 264n79, 268n163, 269nn184–85, 351, 355, 361n200, 446n4, 458, plate XXVIII Res Publica (personified), 79–80, 123–24n66, 124n67 rhetoric (ars rhetorica)/rhetorical, 3–5, 8–9, 12n5, 20, 31, 40, 68n247, 71, 73, 76, 105, 158n69, 169, 175, 177, 189–90, 196, 204, 207–10, 219, 222, 228, 232– 34, 259n9, 259n12, 264n86, 345, 353, 357, 361n69, 376, 393, 409n167, 410n194, 435, 444, 455, 458, 462, 463n1. See also epideictic/epideixis; laudatio rhetorical terms, 210, 222, 228, 233–34, 264n90, 265n105 Riace Bronzes, 34, 63–64n139 riciniatus (pl. riciniati), 312, 321–25, 328, 350, 352, 361n76, figs. VII.4b, VII.14 ricinium (fringed religious shawl), 267n145, 312, 321, 323–25, 360n48, 361n60, figs. VII.4b, VII.14, VII.16 Rimini (ancient Ariminum), 82, 253 road/roads. See Via rogus (pyre), 257, 270n198 Roma (personified), 72, 84, 112, 114, 125n90, 130n195, 182–83, 201n119, 229–31, 264n94, 354, figs. II.17, II.45, II.49, V.19a, V.20–21 Roman Forum. See Forum Romanum Romanitas, 54–55 Romulus, 60–61n59, 64–65n160, 135, 140–42, 155n5, 157nn43–44, 157nn46–47, 185, 217, 222–23, 228, 231, 239, 254, 264n82, 266n124, 269nn179–80, 346, 400n3, 419, 426, 459, fig. III.10; triumphs of, 142– 43, 157n52, 185; Romulus-Quirinus, 21, 138–40, 142, 228, 419. See also Temple of Romulus-Quirinus “Rondanini” Alexander, 170–71, 198n46, fig. IV.10 Room of the Masks (House of Augustus), 286, 304n92 Roscius, 63n128 rostra (beaks of ships), 191, 193, 202n136, 202n142 rostral column, statue of Octavian on, 74, 122n35, fig. II.4 Rusellae, statue of a youth from, 126n101 Rycroft Painter, 303n71 Sabina, 257, 344 sacellum of the Augustales at Cape Miseno (ancient Misenum), 110–11, 159–60n93 Sacellum of the Lares Publici. See Temple of the Penates on the Velian Hill Sacrarium Gentis Iuliae (Bovillae), 410n189 sacrificial victims, 310–11, 321, 351–52, 365nn176–77, 404–405n94, fig. VII.3b



sacrificium anniversarium (of Ara Pacis), 206, 235–37, figs. V.4, V.24–25 sacrosanctitas, 404n85 saeptum, 220, 223, 234, 239, 265n112, 273, 275, 300– 301n16, 301n20, 354 Salii, 23, 157n40 Sallust, 15, 61n62 Salome (sister of Herod the Great), 391 salus, 93–94, 351; Salus Augusta, 93–94, 127nn128–29, plate VII; Salus Publica, 367n206 Samnites, 31, 157n35 Samothrace, Arsinoeion at, 308n162 San Clemente, mosaic in, 275, plate XXXIII Sanctuary of Demeter at Pergamon, 301n32 San Giovanni Lipioni (Abruzzo), bronze head from, 67n225 San Pietro in Montorio, 297 Sanquinius, Marcus (moneyer), 147, 417 Sardis, 109 Saturnia Tellus. See Italia (personified) Saul of Tarsus (St. Paul), 409n179, 454 Scholia of Acro, 70 “Schwarzenberg” Alexander, 172–74, fig. IV.13 Scipio Africanus. See Cornelius Scipio Africanus, Publius Scipio Hispanicus, 14 Scribonius Libo Drusus, 57nn6–7 “Second Founder.” See Alter Conditor Second Triumvirate/triumviral period, 4, 68n247, 76, 169–70, 172, 174, 187, 196, 305n96, 402n54, 414. See also civil war/conflict/strife Securitas (personified), 101 seditio, 391, 393 Sejanus, 355, 367–68n209 sella curulis, 47, 59n25, 64n155, 81, 87, 97 Senatus Consultum, 133, 331; Senatus Consultum de Cn. Pisone Patre, 354, 363n107 Seneca, 21–22, 64n153, 369, 397 septemviri epulones, 220, 328, 352 Septimius Severus, 3, 11, 112, 202n149, 270n192, 442– 45, 450n116, 453n177, 453–54n182, figs. IX.36 (inscription), IX.37–38, plate XLI. See also Arch of Septimius Severus (Leptis Magna and Roman Forum) Servilius Caepio Brutus, Quintus (moneyer), 66n200 Servius, 70, 74, 158n66, 195, 203n158, 363n100 servus publicus, 85, 195 Sevir Augustalis, 326, 361n70 Seviri Turmae, 430, 449n104

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Sextius Lateranus, Lucius, 30 Shamash, 412, 446n1 She-Wolf, 181, 222–23 shoes, types of, 16, 58n17, 243, 314, 321, 326, 352, 358n18, 379, 403n62. See also calceus, calceus patricius (mulleus), calceus senatorius, cothernus, soccus Sibylline Books, 285, 305n105 Sidus Iulium (Astrum Caesaris/Astrum Iulium), 133– 34, 145, 155n12, 415, 435 Sikyonian School, 34 Silanus. See Iunius Silanus Torquatus, Lucius Simon Magus, 447n42 simpulum, 113 simulacrum, 159n75, 193, 382, 386, 405n98, 407n125, 451–52n137 Smyrna. See Temple of Tiberius, Livia, and the Roman Senate snake/serpent (symbol/decorative element), 27, 62n92, 171, 198n47, 274, 296–98, 306n133, 308n179, 308n182, figs. VI.1c, VI.13 Soane Collection, Julio-Claudian relief fragment in, 301n23 soccus, 379 Socrates (philosopher), 288, 292 Socrates Scholasticus, 132n225 Sodales Augustales, 352, 354, 359–60n40, 366n193 Sol. See Helios/Sol solar crown. See Crown, radiate/solar Solarium/Horologium Augusti, 182, 210–17, 239, 259n12, 260n16, 260n18, 260nn20–22, 260n24, 260n26, 260–61n29, 269n187, 295, 305n103, 345, 356–57, 367n202, 368n214, 458–59, figs. V.6– 7, plates XIX–XX, XXIII. See also Obelisk of Solarium/Horalogium Augusti Sophokles, 305–306n124 Sorrento Base, 123n50, 342 Sosia, 29 Sosius, Gaius, 183–84, 200nn96–98 Sow of Lavinium, 221, 223, 242, 245–46, 266n127, 268nn154–55, 426, 459, figs. V.11a, V.11c, plate XXIV Spain, 57, 81–82, 125n88, 128n147, 169–70, 182, 227, 429; Tiberian relief from, 97–100, 128nn137–39, fig. II.31a–b Sparta/Spartan, 423, 441, 448nn57–58, 451n136 spolia, 25, 142, 183, 186, 193, 196, 200n92, 335 star. See astral theology; Sidus Iulium Statius, Publius Papinius, 164, 438

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statua pedestris, 142, 252 stemmata, 16, 58n19 Stoic, 133, 175, 294 stola, 93, 127n126 Strabo, 217, 251–52, 257, 305–306n124 Suetonius, 23, 88, 138, 141, 152, 159n75, 161n111, 169–71, 187, 195, 197n24, 199n67, 199n81, 251, 283, 308n189, 370, 372–75, 377, 379, 386, 397–98, 401nn22–23, 402n51, 402n57, 403n62, 403n66, 403nn69–70, 404nn92–93, 405n97, 409n183, 409n187, 411n200, 419, 447n46 suffibulum (head covering of Vestal Virgins), 360n48 Sulla, 73, 196, plate V; portrait of so-called Sulla, 49, fig. I.25 summi viri, 22–23 Suovetaurilia Relief, 362n80 superstitio, 11, 375, 402n42 supplicatio, 227, 264n80, 459 swan/s (decorative element/symbol), 234, 281–82, 286– 88, 296, 303nn63–65, 303n76, 305n115, 305n117, 305nn122–23, figs. VI.5, VI.7 tablinum, 23, 36, 451–52n137 Tacitus, 60n53, 60–61n59, 72, 96, 102, 121n18, 129n172, 330, 367n205, 374, 383, 390, 393, 401n21, 402n44, 408n146, 409n163, 451n124 Tanagra, head of, 410n191 Taras (Tarentum) (Italy), 423 taurus (uncastrated bull), 328, 333, 349, 381, 404n83 Tazza Farnese, 122n26 Tel Dor, 375, 408n153 Tellus Italiae. See Italia (personified) temenos, 126n106, 408n145; Temenos of the Ruler Cult at Pergamon, 307–308n162 Temples (aedes) (in Rome, unless otherwise indicated) Temple of Apollo (Palatine Hill), 75, 77, 285, 291, 304n92, 305n105, 342, 452n138; Palatine library of, 70–71, 355 Temple of Apollo Epikourios (Bassai), 282–85, 303–304n77 Temple of Apollo Sosianus (Temple of Apollo in Circo), 183–84, 200nn96–97, 291, 308n179, fig. IV.21 Temple of Artemis (Ephesos), 117, 119, 131n218, 132n234, fig. II.52 Temple of Asklepios Soter (Pergamon), 130n194 Temple of the Castores (in Circo Flaminio) in the Campus Martius, 426–27, 438, 441, 452n168 Temple of the Castores (Templum Castorum [et

Minervae]) in the Roman Forum, 124–25n85, 200n103, 425, 430, 436–38, 448n74, 451–52n137, fig. IX.15 Temple of Clementia Caesaris (never built), 155n10 Temple of Concord/Concordia, 99–100, 128n146, 435, 451nn128–29 Temple of Diana at Augusta Emerita (Mérida), 100 Temple of Divus Augustus (Templum Novum), 89–90, 102, 114, 126n107, 126n109, 159–60n93, 334, 342, 351, 363n112, 364n124, 366n193, 437, 452n139, fig. II.22, plate VI Temple of Divus Claudius (Claudianum), 363n112 Temple of Divus Iulius (Roman Forum), 8, 52, 122n44, 124–25n85, 125n87, 134–35, 137–38, 143, 145–48, 155n5, 155nn7–9, 155nn14–15, 159n76, 191, 227, 294–95, 415, 434, 457, figs. III.2–3, III.6, VI.12 Temple of Domitian (later of Vespasian) (Ephesos), 108–109, 113, 116–20, 131n214, 131n218, 132n227, 132n234, fig. II.52 Temple of Elagabalus (Ephesos), 112–13, 117, 119, 131n218, fig. II.52 Temple of Fides, 338–39 Temple of Hadrian (Ephesos), 113, 117, 119, 131n218, 132n232, fig. II.52 Temple of Hadrian (Hadrianeum) (Rome), 217–18, 345, fig. V.9 Temple of Hera (Olympia), 159n87 Temple of Janus, 180–81, 199nn81–82, 223, 227, 263n73, fig. IV.19 Temple of Jupiter Custos, 129n168 Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, 37, 123n47, 129n170, 140, 143, 305n105 Temple of Magna Mater, 77, 335–36, 437, 452n138, fig. VII.21 Temple of Mars Ultor, 23–25, 61n75, 90, 126n108, 142, 147–48, 155n15, 159n85, 201n114, 210, 335– 36, 416, 428, 432, 435, 451n123, figs. II.23, VII.20 Temple of Roma and Augustus (Ankyra/Ancyrana), 125n90 Temple of Roma and Augustus (Caesarea), 89 Temple of Roma and Augustus (Pergamon), 92, 112, 114, 127nn118–19, fig. II.45 Temple of Roma and Divus Iulius (Pergamon), 114 Temple of Romulus-Quirinus, 140, 156n31, 156–57n34 Temple of Sol, 368n211 Temple of the Gens Flavia (Templum Gentis Flaviae), 156–57n34



Temple of the Penates on the Velian Hill (Sacellum of the Lares Publici), 221, 246, 314–15, 425–26, fig. V.11b Temple of Tiberius, Livia, and the Roman Senate (Smyrna), 113, 131n205, fig. II.47 Temple of Venus Genetrix, 96, 145–46, 148 Temple of Venus on the Capitoline Hill, 187, 420 Temple of Vesta in the Roman Forum, 246, 425 Temple of Vesta on the Palatine Hill, 76–77, 123n50, 340–42, 360n48 Temple of Victoria on the Palatine Hill, 77, 339, 437, 452n138 Temple of Yahweh (Jerusalem), 11, 370, 390–96, 401n40, 402n43, 408nn157–58, 461–62 Temple of Zeus Philios and Trajan (Pergamon), 109 templum, 61n67; templum caeleste, 227, 263n75, 446n4; templum terrestre, 227, 263n72, 263–64n77, 299, 446n4, 459 Templum Gentis Flaviae (Temple of the Gens Flavia), 156–57n34 Terence, 63n128, 63n136 Terra Mater, 187 Thapsus, victory at, 144 Theater of Marcellus, 183, 307n153, 340, 355, 367n205 Theater of Pompey, 160n95, 355 Themistokles, 66n188 Theodosius (I), 132n234 Theodosius II, 66n199 Theogenes (astrologer), 447n46 theophania (festival of renewal), 288 Theos Hypsistos, 403n76 Thirteenth God, 238, 460 Tholos at Epidauros, 292, 307nn156–57 thyrsos, 305n97, 378 Tiberius, 22, 60n55, 60–61n59, 71, 79–80, 85–87, 93–101, 113, 124nn70–71, 125nn92–93, 126n97, 128nn138–40, 131n205, 148–50, 153, 156n18, 160n96, 194–95, 200n103, 202–203n153, 203n157, 217, 262n42, 263n68, 322, 324, 329, 331, 333– 35, 345, 354–57, 360n52, 362–63n98, 363n107, 366nn191–92, 367n201, 367–68n209, 373–74, 377, 381, 383, 390, 392–93, 399, 401n35, 402n57, 405n95, 408n145, 408n150, 408n158, 409n167, 409– 10n189, 418, 422, 425, 433–37, 439, 448n75, 449n95, 451n120, 451n129, 461, figs. II.17–18, II.28, II.30– 31, II.47. See also Genius Augusti (Genius of Tiberius) tibicen (flute-player), 315–21, fig. VII.6 Tibullus, 275

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Tibur (modern Tivoli), statue of Augustus from Forum Sacellum at, 91–92 Timarchides (sculptor), 46 Titinius Mena, Publius, 67n224 tituli (sing. titulus), 21–23, 60n57 Titus, 108–11, 113, 116, 118–20, 130n193, 131nn218–20, 159–60n93, 203n157, 311, 314, 364n147, 366n194, 366–67n196, 437–38, 452n148, figs. II.40–41, II.43, IX.27b Toga, types of: toga exigua, 195, 203n155, 243, 267n146; toga picta, 125n92, 140; toga praetexta, 101, 195, 313, 322, 326, 360n56, 361n69; toga virilis, 23, 322, 324, 360n46, 361n62, 432, 437, 449n100. See also trabea Tombs Tomb, Scythian (at Nikopol), 276 Tomb of Alexander, 171–72, 175 Tomb of Amenhotep II, 412, fig. IX.1 tomb of Julius Caesar (Tomb of the Julian Family/ Tumulus Iuliorum), 157n54 Tomb of Hirtius, 309, 317, 346, 358n4 Tomb of the Augurs, plate IV Tomb of the Haterii, 27, 58n14, 62n91, 267n145, fig. I.7 Tomb of the Licinii Crassi, 49, 51, 197n11 Tomb of the Scipiones, 46 Tomb of Unas (at Saqqara), 446n2 See also Mausoleum of Augustus; Mausoleum of Hadrian topos (pl. topoi), 228, 298, 370, 374, 378, 382, 386, 390, 395, 404n92, 424, 447n37 trabea, 138, 140, 156n26, 226, 263n71, 430 Trajan, 12n16, 62n91, 66n201, 80, 103–107, 109, 112, 114, 123n47, 129nn170–71, 130n176, 130n185, 202n147, 203n157, 204, 259n3, 264n88, 448n73, 457, fig. II.39, plate VIII Trajan Decius, 130n185 Tralles, neokorate temple at. 112, fig. II.46 transvectio equitum, 430, 435, 449n104, fig. IX.21 Trimalchio, 55, 326, 361n67 tripod, 75, 85, 198n47, 286, 289–93, 307n150, 307n153, 308n179, 349, fig. VI.11 tripudium, 137, 139, 185, 263–64n77, fig. III.7 triumph/triumphal, 21–23, 31, 37, 60nn53–54, 64n151, 64n153, 64n156, 80, 85, 102, 124nn70–71. 125n92, 133, 140, 142, 157n35, 157n52, 170, 172, 180, 183– 86, 191–96, 199n60, 200n97, 202n144, 202n147, 203nn157–58, 210, 251, 253, 268n167, 354, 440, 444, 450n116, 451n123, 459, figs. IV.21b, IV.29; triumphal painting/s, 31, 63n124

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triumphator, 36–37, 64n151, 64n156, 73, 85–86, 102, 125n92, 157n35, 186, 194, 198–99n58, 251, 268n167, 459, plate XVI triumviral period. See Second Triumvirate Trojan, 22, 26, 243, 297–98 Troy, 79, 113, 242–43, 297–98, 308n184, 419 tubicen (pl. tubicines) (tuba/trumpet-player), 319, 321, fig. VII.10 Tullia (daughter of Cicero), 159n90 Tumulus Iuliorum (Tomb of the Julian Family, tomb of Julius Caesar), 157n54 tunica palmata, 125n92, 140 tunica praetexta, 322, 326, 360n56 Tusculum, portrait of Julius Caesar from, 51–52, 68n245, 147, 159n82, 164, fig. I.31 Twelves Gods (dodekatheoi), 237, 265–66n117, 402n54, 460 tyche, 362n82, 408n152; Tyche of Caligula, 408n152; Tyche (Fortuna) (personified) 112 Tyndareus, 449n97 Tyndaridai, 448n57 ustrinum, 217, 269n188, 344–46; Ustrinum Augusti, 216–18, 257, 261n35, 261–62n37, 261n39, 261n42, 269n187, 269n191, 344–46, 458–59, figs. V.8–9, plates XXI–XXIII; Ustrinum of Marcus Aurelius, 262n38, 269n190, 364–65n153 vacca/bos femina (heifer, cow), 333, 349, 363n107 Valerius, Lucius, 361n69 valetudo (health), 93, 351 Valle-Medici Reliefs, 90, 271, 335–37, 339–40, 342– 47, 352–53, 358n23, 360n58, 364n123, 365n166, 365n169, 461, figs. II.23a, VII.20–23 Varenus Diphilus (private dedicant), 92 Varro, 25–26, 47, 67n224, 263n76 Velian (Hill), 246, 314–15, 425–26 Venus, 79, 87, 96, 123n48, 123n63, 127–28n135, 135, 145–48, 156n26, 159n76, 187, 222, 237–38, 244, 254, 280–81, 285, 297, 303n65, 308n169, 378, 387, 407n130, 415–16, 419–20, figs. II.19b, III.13a, V.31a–b, IX.5b, IX.7. See also Aphrodite Vergil, 20–21, 70, 84, 181, 184, 187, 195, 228, 231, 275, 285–86, 289, 295, 308n184, 415 Vergina, “Bella Tumulus” at, 188, 201n126 verism/veristic, 7, 13, 35–36, 39–42, 44–49, 51–56, 57–58n9, 65nn163–65, 163nn172–176, 65n176, 65nn180–81, 66nn183–84, 66n201, 67n204, 67n207, 67n210, 406n114, 456

Verus, Lucius, 110, 439–41, 450n109, 453n160, 453n162, figs. IX.28, IX.30a, plate XVI Vespasian/Vespasianic, 64n150, 64–65n160, 80, 109– 13, 124n68, 130n193, 131n218, 159–60n93, 190, 198n54, 201n131, 211–13, 298, 308n189, 354, 358n6, 363n112, 366–67n196, 374, 421–22, 437–39, 447n52, figs. IV.25, IX.27a Vesta, 76–77, 123n50, 156n26, 242, 246, 267n152, 340– 42, 360n48, 425, 448n77 Vestal Virgins/Vestals, 38, 66n199, 76–77, 94, 123n50, 242, 339, 347, 360n48, 365n169, figs. II.5, VII.25 Via Appia, 46, 58n14, 67n213, 74, 122n37, 148 Via Cassia, 144, 243–44 Via Flaminia, 82, 268n172, 356 Via Lata, 100, 208, 217, 333, 335, 345–46, 356–57, 364n121, 364n123, 368n211, 458, 461 Via Praenestina, 64n145 Via Sacra, 202n136, 263n76, 314 vicennalia (20th anniversary), 80 vicomagistri (sing. vicomagister), 311, 313–14, 316, 321, 326–27, 329, 358n6, 359–60n40, 360n48, 360n69 “Vicomagistri Altar”/“Vicomagistri Reliefs.” See Cancelleria Reliefs, Smaller victimarius (pl. victimarii), 245, 318–19, 321 Victoria (Victory personified), 72–73, 77, 79–85, 87, 102–104, 125n89, 129n162, 129n165, 133, 186, 203n157, 280, 294–95, 308n167, 339, 404n86, 434, 437, 452n138, figs. II.1, II.12, II.17, II.19b, II.35– 38, VI.12, plate V; Victoria Augusta/Augusti, 80, 102; Victoria Mariana, 79 Victoriola, 80–81, 84, 87, 101, 113–14, 124n78, 131n210, 151, 229–31, 264n93, 415, figs. II.9–11, V.20–21 vicus (pl. vici), 10, 88, 311, 313–14, 322, 332, 358n6, 358n8, 360n48, 361n61, 361n72, 383, 461



Villa at Punta Epitaffio (Baia), statue of Antonia Minor from, 387, 407n130 Villa Doria Pamphilj, column topped by pinecone and acathus capital in, 284, 305n96 Villa Medici, 90, 335–37, 360n58 Villa of the Mysteries, 301n26 Villa of the Papyri, invented image of Hesiod (?) from, 43, 66n197, 301n26, 403n74, fig. I.13 Vinicius, Lucius (moneyer), 83 Virtus (personified), 87, 182, 230, 354, fig. II.19b Vitellius, Lucius, 405n96 Vitruvius, 40, 253 Voconius Vitulus, Quintus (moneyer), 137 Volubilis, bust of Cato the Younger from, 49, 68n232, fig. I.26 Winckelmann, Johann Joachim, 41, 65n167, 65n178 Xenokrates (sculptor and art critic), 34 Xenophon, 36 Yahweh, 372, 376, 386, 392–93, 395–96, 400n15, 406– 407n123. See also Temple of Yahweh (Jerusalem) Yuma Indians, 28 Zacharias, 48 Zenodorus (sculptor), 152 Zeus, 90, 109–10, 112, 136, 156n17, 171, 198n31, 286, 365n175, 378, 390, 408n146, 419, 424, 434, 448n66, 449n97, fig. II.46; statue of at Olympia, 89, 126n105, 368n216, 386–87, 389, 407n126, 407n136; Zeus Hypsistos, 403n76. See also Jupiter Zopyros, 409n185

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Index of Museums and Collections

Alcudia (Majorca), private collection head of Octavian/Augustus (“Actian” type/Type III), 167, 172, 197–98n29, fig. IV.5 Algiers, Archaeological Museum relief from Carthage depicting Mars Ultor flanked by Venus and Divus Iulius, 25, 146–47, 159n76, 159–60n93, 416, fig. III.13 Amelia (Italy), Museo Archeologico bronze cuirassed statue of Germanicus, 190, 201n130, plate XIV Arles, Musée de l’Arles Antique marble copy of Clipeus Virtutis, 249–50, fig. V.38 Athens, Agora Museum head of an Egyptian priest, 43–46, fig. I.15 head of an unknown man of Trajanic date, 66n201 Athens, National Archaeological Museum grave stele of Epikrates from Salamis, 282–83, fig. VI.6 Baia, Museo Archeologico del Castello equestrian statue of Domitian/Nerva, 111–12, 130n193, 164–65, 450n114, fig. II.44 nude statue of Divus Titus, 110–11, 130n193, 450n114, fig. II.43 nude statue of Divus Vespasianus, 110–11, 130n193, 450n114, fig. II.42 statue of Antonia Minor from Villa at Punta Epitaffio, 387, 407n130 Baltimore, Walters Art Gallery head of young Caligula (?), 400n11 Berlin, Staatliches Museen Altes Museum head of Cleopatra, 102n151 Praeneste cista, 64n156 Pergamonmuseum Altar of Zeus from Pergamon, 198n31, 365n175

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colossal head of Hadrian from the Temple of Zeus Philios and Trajan at Pergamon, 109 colossal head of Trajan from the Temple of Zeus Philios and Trajan at Pergamon, 109 statue of Genius of Caligula from Puteoli, 384– 85, 406n113, fig. VIII.2 statue of Poseidon or Zeus from Pergamon, 136, 156n17 Bologna, Museo Civico Bologna Altar, 262n60 Boston, Museum of Fine Arts head of Augustus (“Forbes” type / “Louvre MA 1280,” Type IV), 198–99n58 invented image of Homer, 42–43, fig. I.12 Brindisi, Museo Archeologico Provinciale bronze statue of male from the sea off Punta del Serrone, 45–46, 67n211, fig. I.20 Brussels, Musée Cinquantenaire vase in the form of a head of the deified Alexander the Great from Amisus (Pontus), 427–28, fig. IX.18 Budapest, National Museum of Hungary silver lituus from grave at Brigetio, 137, 139, 156n24, 226, fig. III.8 Cairo, Egyptian Museum Narmer Palette, 162, 412, 446n1, 446n5 Cherchel (Algeria), Archaeological Museum head of Cleopatra Selene (?), 202n151 Cleveland, Cleveland Museum of Art statue of Apollo with swan, 286–87, fig. VI.7 Cologne (Köln), Römisch-Germanisches Museum cameo depicting snake, tripod, and solar rays, 198n47 Copenhagen, National Museum of Denmark Roman grave relief, 14–15, fig. I.1

Copenhagen, Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek bronze bust of Domitian, 131n220 head of Caligula, 370, 397–99, 410n190, 410nn195– 96, plates XXXIV–XXXVI head of Marcus Licinius Crassus, 49–50, fig. I.28–29 head of Pompey the Great, 49–51, 163, fig. I.27 head of Tiberius, 128n139 portrait of a Greek, 43–44, fig. I.14 portrait on a Roman grave relief, 53–54, fig. I.35 Republican portrait of an unknown man (1), 44, fig. I.16 Republican portrait of an unknown man (2), 44, fig. I.17 Republican portrait of an unknown man (3), 44, fig. I.18 Corinth, Archaeological Museum head of Julia (Maior), daughter of Augustus, 78, 202–203n153, fig. II.8 head of Octavia Minor, 449–50n106 head of an unknown Greek, 66n201 statue of Gaius Caesar (grandson/adopted son of Augustus), 431–32, 450n107, 450n112, fig. IX.22a statue of Lucius Caesar, 431–32, 450n107, 450n112, fig. IX.22b Delos, Archaeological Museum Republican portrait head of unknown Roman or Italian male, 48, fig. I.23 Delphi, Archaeological Museum acanthus column, 289–91, 301n30, 306nn140–44, 306–307n144, fig. VI.9 Aemilius Paullus Monument, 179, fig. IV.17 Florence, Galleria degli Uffizi Altar from Vicus Sandaliarius, 137, 139, 185, 227, 263n68, 360n43, fig. III.7 Heraklion, Archaeological Museum head of Caligula from Gortyn, 384–85, fig. VIII.3 Istanbul, Archaeological Museum Alexander Sarcophagus, 178–79, fig. IV.16 colossal head of Lucilla from Sardis, 109–10 head of Alexander the Great from Pergamon, 167, 198n31, fig. IV.6 relief with floral scroll from Pergamon, 276–77, 301nn30–33, 301–302n34, fig. VI.3



Kansas City, Missouri, Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art grave relief with architect’s measuring tools, 261n30 London, British Museum Campana relief depicting the infant Dionysos/ Liber, 280 colossal head of Faustina the Elder from Sardis, 109–11 funerary relief of the Antistii, 62n97 silver cups decorated with flora and fauna, 300–301n16 statue of Apollo from Cyrene, 308n179 London, Undercroft Museum of Westminster Abbey wax images of the English royal family, 58n11 Mantua, Museum of the Palazzo Ducale Mantua battle relief, 200n103 Minturno, Antiquario Nazionale seminude seated statue of Augustus, 91–92, 127n115, fig. II.25 Munich, Glyptothek head of “Marius,” 49, fig. I.24 head of “Sulla,” 49, fig. I.25 “Rondanini” Alexander, 170–71, 198n46, fig. IV.10 “Schwarzenberg” Alexander, 172–74, fig. IV.13 Naples, Museo Archaeologico Nazionale Alexander Mosaic from Pompeii, 168, 178, 197n20, plates XI–XII architrave with Kybele/Magna Mater, 302n53 bronze equestrian statuette of Alexander the Great from Herculaneum, 165, fig. IV.4 bronze nude statue of Claudius from Herculaneum, 126–27n114 bronze seminude statue of Augustus from Herculaneum, 24, 90–91, 126–27n114, fig. II.24 herm of genius of Gaius Caecilius Iucundus, 331–32, 362n93, 406n114, fig. VII.19 invented image of Hesiod (?) (“Pseudo-Seneca”) from Villa of the Papyri, 66n197, 301n26, 403n74, fig. I.13 statue base from Puteoli, 95–96, fig. II.29 Tazza Farnese, 122n26 wax (full) mask from Cumae, 57n6 New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art bronze bust of Caligula, 398, 410–11n198 hydria by the Ptoon Painter (from the Hearst Collection), 263n71

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Olympia, Archaeological Museum statue of Claudius from the Metroon, 407n133 statue of Hermes with the child Dionysos (“Hermes of Praxiteles”), 159n87 Osimo, Palazzo Comunale Republican portrait of unknown man, 52–53, fig. I.33 Palermo, Museo Nazionale relief depicting Vesta, Vestal Virgins, and Augustus as Pontifex Maximus (“Palermo Relief”), 76–77, 123n50, fig. II.5 Palestrina, Museo Archeologico Praenestino altar from Praeneste depicting head of Augustus with solar rays, 150 relief showing Trajan in posthumous triumph, 203n157 Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Cabinet des Médailles bronze male head from San Giovanni Lipioni, 67n225 cameo of apotheosis of Claudius, 137–39, fig. III.9 Campana relief depicting Dionysos and acolytes, 280 Grand Camée de France, 94–95, fig. II.28 Paris, Louvre Ara Pacis relief panel with figure of Gaius Caesar, 324–25, 361n60, fig. VII.16 Azara herm of Alexander the Great, 163, 167, 197n12, fig. IV.2 Boscoreale Cups, 85–88, 126n97, 203n157, figs. II.18 (“Tiberius Cup”), II.19 (“Augustus Cup”) bronze head of male from near Fiesole, 67–68n225 “Fouquet” Alexander, 172–73, fig. IV.14 head of Augustus (“Louvre MA 1280” / “Forbes type” / Type IV), 172, 198–99n58, 406n114, fig. IV.12 head of M. Licinius Crassus, 50, fig. I.29 Stele of Naram–Sin, 162, 412, 446n1, fig. IV.1 Suovetaurilia Relief, 362n80 terracotta head of aged man from the Campana Collection, 40, fig. I.11 Philippeville (Algeria), Musée de Philippeville bust of Numen of Caracalla (with inscription of Constantine), 385–86, 406nn119–20, fig. VIII.4 Rabat (Morocco), Musée des Antiquités préislamiques bronze bust of Cato the Younger (Uticensis) from Volubilis, 49, 68n232, fig. I.26

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Ravenna, San Vitale Ravenna Relief, 90, 126n112, 150, 159–60n93, 160n96, 160n103, 417–18, 446–47n32, figs. III.18, IX.8, IX.10 Reggio Calabria, Museo Nazionale della Magna Grecia Riace Bronzes, 34, 63–64n139 Richmond, Virginia Museum of Fine Arts togate statue of Caligula from Bovillae, 409n188, 409–10n189 Rome, Forum Antiquarium section of frieze from the Temple of Divus Iulius, 293–94, fig. VI.12 statue of Numa (displayed in Curia Iulia), 38–39, 66n199, 242, 267n131, fig. I.9 Rome, Musei Capitolini Depositi del Teatro di Marcello relief of togati in procession from 1930s excavations on the southwestern slope of the Capitoline Hill (inv. TM 707), 339–341, fig. VII.27 relief with horned lion protome from 1930s excavations on the southwestern slope of the Capitoline Hill (inv. TM 2447), 339–41, fig. VII.28 Depositi di San Omobono relief showing section of roof from 1930s excavations on the southwestern slope of the Capitoline Hill (inv. SO 143), 339–40, 342, 364n137, fig. VII.31 Magazzino Sculture di Palazzo Nuovo relief fragments showing Temple of Vesta from the 1930s excavations on the southwestern slope of the Capitoline Hill, 339–42, figs. VII.29a (inv. MC 3346/S), VII.29b (inv. MC 3345/S) [the whereabouts, as well as the inventory number, of the fragment from these excavations showing a corona civica (339–40, 342, fig. VII.30) is unknown at the time of publication and is still being researched by the museum staff] Museo della Centrale Montemartini Barberini Togatus, 15–16, 58n16, 58n18, fig. I.2 fragment of Lares altar depicting bullae, 429, 449n103, fig. IX.20 frieze from Temple of Apollo Sosianus, 183–84, fig. IV.21 Museo del Palazzo dei Conservatori Altar from Vicus Aescleti, 262n62, 263n66, 359– 60n40, 365n179

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“Arco di Portogallo” reliefs, 257, 344, 368n211 “Capitoline Brutus,” 35, 47, 64n145, 67n223, fig. I.22 Castores depicted in fresco by Tomasso Laureti, 424, plate XXXVIII globe and “needle” from obelisk of the Solarium Augusti, 213–14, fig. V.6 Museo Nuovo (formerly Museo Mussolini, in Palazzo dei Conservatori) marble tripod from the Aventine Hill, 307n153 Palazzo Nuovo (Museo Capitolino) bronze tablet inscribed with Lex de Imperio Vespasiano, 421–22, 447n52, fig. IX.13 colossal statue of Mars Ultor, 25, 61n75, fig. I.5 section of frieze depicting spolia from area of Circus Flaminius, 200n92 Rome (EUR), Museo della Civiltà Romana cast of relief from Como depicting transvectio equitum, 430, 449n105, fig. IX.21 casts of Valle-Medici Reliefs, 90, 126n111, 335–39, 343–44, 352, 364n121, 364nn124–27, 364n145, figs. II.23a, VII.20–22 Rome, Museo dell’Ara Pacis Ara Pacis (reconstructed) and associated fragments. See Ara Pacis cast of section of Valle-Medici Relief, 335, 337–38, 358n23, fig. VII.23 relief fragments from 1923 excavations on the Via del Corso showing temple with Amazonomachy in pediment, 335, 338, 345, fig. VII.24 relief fragment from 1933 excavations on the southwestern slope of the Capitoline Hill showing banqueting Vestal Virgins, 335, 339, 347, 365n169, fig. VII.25 relief fragment from 1933 excavations on the southwestern slope of the Capitoline Hill showing flaming candelabrum, festoon, and patera, 340, 342–43, fig. VII.26 relief fragment from 1933 excavations on the southwestern slope of the Capitoline Hill showing long-haired boy, 340, 342–43, fig. VII.32 Rome, Museo Nazionale Etrusco di Villa Giulia terracotta head of Tinia (Etruscan Jupiter) from Lo Scasato, 37, 64n152 Rome, Museo Nazionale Romano alle Terme (Terme Museum) funerary altar of Iulius Proculus, 292, 307n154 al Palazzo Altemps



Athenian votive relief depicting the Dioskouroi (Castores/Divine Twins), 423–24, fig. IX.14 al Palazzo Massimo child’s sarcophagus from the Via Cassia depicting Iulus and Aeneas, 243–44, 267n139, fig. V.31 head of Domitian (in depot), 131n220 relief representing the façade of the Temple of Romulus-Quirinus, 139, 156–57n34 statue of Augustus with veiled head from the Via Labicana, 46 statue of “Hellenistic Ruler,” 66–67n202 terracotta relief from the Via Cassia, 144, 158n63, fig. III.11 Rome, Palatine Antiquarium marble doorpost from the Temple of Apollo Palatinus, 291–92, fig. VI.10 terracotta plaques from the Temple of Apollo Palatinus, 304n92 Rome, Villa Albani portrait of “Euthydemos I” from the Torlonia Collection, 67n204 Rome, Villa Borghese Ara Borghese, 317 Santa Barbara, Museum of Art head of Tanagra by Jean-Léon Gérôme, 410n191 Selçuk (Turkey), Archaeological Museum altar section from Ephesos, 119, 132n228 colossal statue (head and forearm) of Titus or Domitian from Ephesos, 108–109, 116–20, 131n217, 131n220, fig. II.40 head of Augustus with a corona civica from Ephesos, 126n106 statue of Augustus with an inscribed cross on the forehead from Ephesos, 89, 118, 126n106, fig. II.20 statue of Livia with an inscribed cross on the forehead from Ephesos, 89, 118, 126n106, fig. II.21 Sorrento, Museo Correale Sorrento Base, 123n50, 342 St. Petersburg, Hermitage Museum gemstone depicting hieros gamos (“sacred marriage”), 171–72, 198n52, fig. IV.11 red-figure calyx krater, 290–91, fig. VI.8 silver amphora from Scythian tomb at Nikopol, 276, 301n28, fig. VI.2

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Thessalonike, Archaeological Museum seminude statue of Augustus, 24, 136, fig. III.4 Toledo (Ohio), Toledo Museum of Art black-figure calyx krater by the Rycroft Painter, 303n71 Tunis, Bardo Museum relief from Carthage depicting Roma holding a Victoriola (“Altar of the Gens Augusta”), 229–30, 264n93, fig. V.20 Turin, Museo d’Antichità head of Julius Caesar from Tusculum, 51–52, 68n245, 147, 159n82, 164, fig. I.31 Vatican City, Musei Vaticani Braccio Nuovo head of Domitian, 131n220 statue of Augustus from Prima Porta, 9, 151, 174, 176–77, 181, 186–90, 199n64, 199n87, 201nn119–21, 201n131, 285, 295, 366n180, 409n174, 410n191, 411n203, 420–21, 458, figs. IV.15, IX.11 (Cupid support) Cortile della Pigna colossal head of Augustus, 367n207 Museo Chiaramonti veiled head of an unknown man, 53–54, fig. I.36 Museo Etrusco (vestibule) marble tripod, 291–93, fig. VI.11 Museo Gregoriano Profano (ex Lateranense) altar (inv. 311), 263n66 Belvedere Altar, 142, 360n48, fig. III.10 Cancelleria Reliefs, Larger (Flavian), 103, 309, 452n153, fig. II.37 Cancelleria (“Vicomagistri”) Reliefs, Smaller, 10, 267n145, 309–11, 314–29, 333–35, 346– 53, 357, 358n1, 358n24, 359nn25–27, 359n34,

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359nn36–39, 359–60n40, 360n52, 361n76, 362n79, 365n166, 366n187, 366n190, 452n153, 461, figs. VII.1–14, VII.17, VII.34–36 head of Cleopatra VII, 202n151 marble throne from Caere, 101 relief from Ara Providentiae Augustae (?), 324, fig. VII.15 statue of Claudius from Lanuvium, 389, 407n133, fig. VIII.5 statue with image of Sol on the cuirass, 161n114 Tomb of the Haterii, 27, 58n14, 62n91, 267n145, fig. I.7 Museo Pio Clementino Altar of Domitius Ahenobarbus, 263n66, 317, 346 grave relief of Titus Paconius Caledus, 58n14 head of Julius Caesar, 51–52, 68nn246–47, 58n147, fig. I.32 statue of Genius of Augustus from Puteoli, 24, 61n68, 99, 130n179, 384, fig. I.4 two tripods from the area around Domitian’s Villa at Castel Gondolfo, 307n153 Venice, Museo Archeologico Nazionale head of Augustus (“Actium” type / “Alcudia” type / Type III), 149–50, fig. III.17 head of Caligula, 406n115 head of Pompey the Great, 50–51, fig. I.30 Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum Gemma Augustea, 84, 87, 92, 94, 125nn92–94, 130n195, 183, 200n94, 207, 263n68, 264n95, 418, 420, 434, 446n8, figs. II.17, IX.9, II.17, IX.9 gemstone depicting the Castores, 426 head of Aristotle, 42, 66n191 Parthian Monument (Ephesos-Museum), 439–40, fig. IX.28

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